Paul and the Faithfulness of God
N. T. Wright | Review by: Douglas J. Moo
N. T. Wright. Paul and the Faithfulness of God. 2 vols. Christian Origins and the Question of God 4. Minneapolis: Fortress, 2013. 1,696 pp. $89.00.
Reviewing N. T. Wright’s Paul and the Faithfulness of God is like trying to get a handle on the U.S. tax code. In 1,513 pages (like Luke-Acts, split into two volumes), Wright not only outlines his distinctive vision of Paul’s theology (chs. 9-11); he also describes the worldview that generates that theology (chs. 6-8) and, in keeping with his view of theology as historically rooted, sets it in first-century context. After an introductory chapter, therefore, Wright offers a rather lengthy description of Paul’s first-century context (four chapters on Judaism, Greek philosophy, Greco-Roman religion and culture, and Roman imperial ideology, respectively). In chiastic fashion, Wright then toward the end of the book returns to assess the way in which Paul’s theologizing addresses these first-century realities. The result is a “Pauline theology” unlike any we’ve seen before—and a long, complex, at times repetitive book that’s extraordinarily difficult to review. (What possessed me to agree to do this? I asked myself more than once!)
In an attempt to tame the monster, I’ll focus somewhat narrowly on Wright’s overall method and on key elements in his outline of Paul’s theology. Moreover, I’ll assume general familiarity with Wright’s viewpoints and will thus focus more on assessment than description.
But before turning to specifics, I want to express my gratitude to Wright for what he’s done in these volumes. The astonishing scope of this work, as Wright “locates” Paul’s theology within his first-century world, is a breath of fresh air in an environment in which academics learn more and more about less and less—until they know everything about nothing. Wright’s resolute concern to make sense of Paul in his historical context—a fundamental value that pervades all his work and which, he suggests, is the essence of the “new perspective on Paul” (460)—is a virtue in his work that hasn’t always been sufficiently appreciated by evangelicals.
Of course, Wright is engaged in risky business. One can imagine experts from all the academic fields Wright touches on carping at his failure to quote this or that source, contesting his reading of key texts, perhaps even disputing the accuracy of the overall picture that emerges. I don’t know enough about most of these areas to offer any criticism of my own. And what criticisms I do offer below should be set in a context of deep appreciation for someone who creates an impressive “big picture” of Paul’s theology in its context—a picture I myself would never be able to draw.
Runaway Rhetoric
Wright’s writing style is one factor that’s made him one of the most popular and prolific academics in recent years, and that breezy, engaging, refreshingly frank style characterizes these volumes also. Of course, this can also be problematic: in the pursuit of rhetorical effect, Wright can say things I suspect he’d himself agree to be exaggerations at best. For instance, in his description of the historical concern to locate Paul in his Jewish context, he claims: “For the ‘old perspective,’ Paul had to ditch everything about his previous worldview, theology, and culture—the old symbols, the ancient stories, the praxis, the view of God himself” (460). One can only respond “Really?” and trust that Wright would, on reflection, wish to retract this statement. Sometimes these rhetorical flourishes set up false dichotomies:
Coherent Shape
Within the ongoing debate about just how we should define or describe “Paul’s theology,” Wright, as one might expect, seeks to identify the coherent shape of Paul’s thinking, treating the text of the occasional letters as a series of snapshots that together reveal this larger picture. While refreshingly critical of the academic consensus about a seven-letter Pauline corpus, Wright nevertheless decides to use Ephesians, 2 Thessalonians, and (less clearly) 2 Timothy (“as a concession to troubled consciences”) only to shed light on conclusions reached on the basis of other letters, and 1 Timothy and Titus “for illumination, not support” (61). If one starts from the correct vantage point, one finds revealed in these letters a “deeply coherent thinker” (568). That vantage point is Paul’s Jewish heritage: “Paul remained a deeply Jewish theologian who had rethought and reworked every aspect of his native Jewish theology in the light of the Messiah and the spirit, resulting in his own vocational self-understanding as the apostle to the pagans” (46). Once we set Paul firmly within the worldview of the story of God’s covenant with Abraham and its outworking in history, all the usual dichotomies academics find in Paul—apocalyptic vs. salvation history; juridical vs. participationist categories; affirmation of Judaism vs. the creation of a “third race”; indeed, “new” vs. “old” perspectives—fall to the wayside. Most readers of Paul over the centuries have misread him, Wright contends, because they begin with the wrong “story.”
Though scholars almost universally recognize the Old Testament/Jewish context for Paul’s theology, debate continues over the degree to which Paul’s theologizing is rooted in story, or narrative. Wright reads text after text within the framework of the story of Abraham’s covenant, even when those texts mention nothing about Abraham or covenant. To be sure, if these categories are fundamental to Paul’s thinking, we shouldn’t expect to find them explicitly enunciated everywhere. As Wright notes, worldview is something we don’t look at but through (462-63). Still, I’m not convinced we can make this story—or, indeed, any “story”—as basic as Wright wants, especially when the alleged narrative framework is privileged over the framework supplied by explicit textual evidence (e.g., Rom. 5-8). Israel’s story undoubtedly lies behind Paul’s theology at some level, but it’s just that question of “level” that’s so critical. I’m sure Paul’s theology is rooted ultimately in his reading of Israel’s story, but the question is still how central that story is in shaping the specific framework of Paul’s theology.
Getting the Story Right
But it’s not only a matter of getting the right story; it’s also necessary to get the story right. Fundamental to the validity of Wright’s theological enterprise is that we read Israel’s story the way he does. I applaud Wright’s criticism of those “ultra-apocalypticists” (e.g., J. L. Martyn) who want to discard much of the Old Testament as inconsequential for Paul. But Paul’s conversion (Wright argues the Damascus Road was both a “call” and a “conversion,” in the right senses of those words) may have led Paul to re-read the story more than Wright allows. I make four points about Wright’s version of the story.
First, Wright’s familiar “Israel in exile” focus is reiterated, with, however, the acknowledgment that this view, while widespread, wasn’t necessarily universal (158). What’s important is that Paul clearly shared this perspective (1165). I’ve grown to think the debate about this plank in Wright’s platform is perhaps unnecessary. Considering the number of times Paul interprets the coming of Messiah via restoration prophecies, it doesn’t seem to be all that important (note: I’m not saying entirely inconsequential) whether we call the situation to which this restoration responds “exile” or not.
Second, the unitary idea of “covenant” Wright operates with isn’t so clearly supported in Paul. Wright, of course, focuses on the covenant with Abraham but seems to include within this one covenant both the Mosaic and the “New.” For example, in commenting on 2 Corinthians 3, he writes, “[T]he covenant is not now a matter of possessing or hearing the Mosaic law. It is a matter of the transformation of the heart, wrought by the Spirit" (983). To be sure, Wright acknowledges discontinuity in this single covenant, cautiously recognizing the “two voices” in the Pentateuch that Francis Watson highlights. Wright, however, in a point typical of his approach, stresses that these two voices stand in temporal sequence (1456-65; “What time is it?” is the critical issue). But if, as Wright admits, these two periods of time overlap, do we not have in fact two alternative “ways of working” (something he denies)? The dawning of a new age with the death and resurrection of the Messiah and gift of the eschatological Spirit is, indeed, central to Paul’s antitheses of “letter”/Spirit, condemnation/righteousness, “law”/faith. But to reiterate a point that I and others have made often enough: the salvation-historical antithesis of Abraham/Moses embodies a fundamental anthropological antithesis that lies at the heart of Paul’s critique of Judaism. (I think here especially of Stephen Westerholm; and also Watson, in his own way.)
For the rest, see:
http://thegospelcoalition.org/book-reviews/review/paul_and_the_faithfulness_of_god
Reviewing N. T. Wright’s Paul and the Faithfulness of God is like trying to get a handle on the U.S. tax code. In 1,513 pages (like Luke-Acts, split into two volumes), Wright not only outlines his distinctive vision of Paul’s theology (chs. 9-11); he also describes the worldview that generates that theology (chs. 6-8) and, in keeping with his view of theology as historically rooted, sets it in first-century context. After an introductory chapter, therefore, Wright offers a rather lengthy description of Paul’s first-century context (four chapters on Judaism, Greek philosophy, Greco-Roman religion and culture, and Roman imperial ideology, respectively). In chiastic fashion, Wright then toward the end of the book returns to assess the way in which Paul’s theologizing addresses these first-century realities. The result is a “Pauline theology” unlike any we’ve seen before—and a long, complex, at times repetitive book that’s extraordinarily difficult to review. (What possessed me to agree to do this? I asked myself more than once!)
In an attempt to tame the monster, I’ll focus somewhat narrowly on Wright’s overall method and on key elements in his outline of Paul’s theology. Moreover, I’ll assume general familiarity with Wright’s viewpoints and will thus focus more on assessment than description.
But before turning to specifics, I want to express my gratitude to Wright for what he’s done in these volumes. The astonishing scope of this work, as Wright “locates” Paul’s theology within his first-century world, is a breath of fresh air in an environment in which academics learn more and more about less and less—until they know everything about nothing. Wright’s resolute concern to make sense of Paul in his historical context—a fundamental value that pervades all his work and which, he suggests, is the essence of the “new perspective on Paul” (460)—is a virtue in his work that hasn’t always been sufficiently appreciated by evangelicals.
Of course, Wright is engaged in risky business. One can imagine experts from all the academic fields Wright touches on carping at his failure to quote this or that source, contesting his reading of key texts, perhaps even disputing the accuracy of the overall picture that emerges. I don’t know enough about most of these areas to offer any criticism of my own. And what criticisms I do offer below should be set in a context of deep appreciation for someone who creates an impressive “big picture” of Paul’s theology in its context—a picture I myself would never be able to draw.
Runaway Rhetoric
Wright’s writing style is one factor that’s made him one of the most popular and prolific academics in recent years, and that breezy, engaging, refreshingly frank style characterizes these volumes also. Of course, this can also be problematic: in the pursuit of rhetorical effect, Wright can say things I suspect he’d himself agree to be exaggerations at best. For instance, in his description of the historical concern to locate Paul in his Jewish context, he claims: “For the ‘old perspective,’ Paul had to ditch everything about his previous worldview, theology, and culture—the old symbols, the ancient stories, the praxis, the view of God himself” (460). One can only respond “Really?” and trust that Wright would, on reflection, wish to retract this statement. Sometimes these rhetorical flourishes set up false dichotomies:
When ancient Jews spoke of salvation, however, they were usually referring to the salvation of the world, or of Israel: of a world, or at least a people, over which evil no longer had any power. Neither the average ancient pagan, nor the average ancient Jew, was walking around worrying about how their soul might get to a disembodied heaven after they had died. (742)I won’t list other instances, but Paul and the Faithfulness of God contains too many of these kinds of rhetorically effective but exaggerated or overly generalized claims. A related problem is Wright’s tendency to set himself against the world—and then wonder why the world is so blind as to fail to see what he sees. A key thread, for instance, is Wright’s insistence that the basic story Paul’s working with has to do with God’s fulfillment of his covenant promises to Abraham—a vital focus that “almost all exegetes miss” and that has been “screened out from the official traditions of the church from at least the time of the great creeds” (494). This problem is sometimes compounded by a caricature of the tradition with which he disagrees (as in his critique of “traditional western soteriology” [a rather broad category!] as focused on soul saving [754-55]).
Coherent Shape
Within the ongoing debate about just how we should define or describe “Paul’s theology,” Wright, as one might expect, seeks to identify the coherent shape of Paul’s thinking, treating the text of the occasional letters as a series of snapshots that together reveal this larger picture. While refreshingly critical of the academic consensus about a seven-letter Pauline corpus, Wright nevertheless decides to use Ephesians, 2 Thessalonians, and (less clearly) 2 Timothy (“as a concession to troubled consciences”) only to shed light on conclusions reached on the basis of other letters, and 1 Timothy and Titus “for illumination, not support” (61). If one starts from the correct vantage point, one finds revealed in these letters a “deeply coherent thinker” (568). That vantage point is Paul’s Jewish heritage: “Paul remained a deeply Jewish theologian who had rethought and reworked every aspect of his native Jewish theology in the light of the Messiah and the spirit, resulting in his own vocational self-understanding as the apostle to the pagans” (46). Once we set Paul firmly within the worldview of the story of God’s covenant with Abraham and its outworking in history, all the usual dichotomies academics find in Paul—apocalyptic vs. salvation history; juridical vs. participationist categories; affirmation of Judaism vs. the creation of a “third race”; indeed, “new” vs. “old” perspectives—fall to the wayside. Most readers of Paul over the centuries have misread him, Wright contends, because they begin with the wrong “story.”
Though scholars almost universally recognize the Old Testament/Jewish context for Paul’s theology, debate continues over the degree to which Paul’s theologizing is rooted in story, or narrative. Wright reads text after text within the framework of the story of Abraham’s covenant, even when those texts mention nothing about Abraham or covenant. To be sure, if these categories are fundamental to Paul’s thinking, we shouldn’t expect to find them explicitly enunciated everywhere. As Wright notes, worldview is something we don’t look at but through (462-63). Still, I’m not convinced we can make this story—or, indeed, any “story”—as basic as Wright wants, especially when the alleged narrative framework is privileged over the framework supplied by explicit textual evidence (e.g., Rom. 5-8). Israel’s story undoubtedly lies behind Paul’s theology at some level, but it’s just that question of “level” that’s so critical. I’m sure Paul’s theology is rooted ultimately in his reading of Israel’s story, but the question is still how central that story is in shaping the specific framework of Paul’s theology.
Getting the Story Right
But it’s not only a matter of getting the right story; it’s also necessary to get the story right. Fundamental to the validity of Wright’s theological enterprise is that we read Israel’s story the way he does. I applaud Wright’s criticism of those “ultra-apocalypticists” (e.g., J. L. Martyn) who want to discard much of the Old Testament as inconsequential for Paul. But Paul’s conversion (Wright argues the Damascus Road was both a “call” and a “conversion,” in the right senses of those words) may have led Paul to re-read the story more than Wright allows. I make four points about Wright’s version of the story.
First, Wright’s familiar “Israel in exile” focus is reiterated, with, however, the acknowledgment that this view, while widespread, wasn’t necessarily universal (158). What’s important is that Paul clearly shared this perspective (1165). I’ve grown to think the debate about this plank in Wright’s platform is perhaps unnecessary. Considering the number of times Paul interprets the coming of Messiah via restoration prophecies, it doesn’t seem to be all that important (note: I’m not saying entirely inconsequential) whether we call the situation to which this restoration responds “exile” or not.
Second, the unitary idea of “covenant” Wright operates with isn’t so clearly supported in Paul. Wright, of course, focuses on the covenant with Abraham but seems to include within this one covenant both the Mosaic and the “New.” For example, in commenting on 2 Corinthians 3, he writes, “[T]he covenant is not now a matter of possessing or hearing the Mosaic law. It is a matter of the transformation of the heart, wrought by the Spirit" (983). To be sure, Wright acknowledges discontinuity in this single covenant, cautiously recognizing the “two voices” in the Pentateuch that Francis Watson highlights. Wright, however, in a point typical of his approach, stresses that these two voices stand in temporal sequence (1456-65; “What time is it?” is the critical issue). But if, as Wright admits, these two periods of time overlap, do we not have in fact two alternative “ways of working” (something he denies)? The dawning of a new age with the death and resurrection of the Messiah and gift of the eschatological Spirit is, indeed, central to Paul’s antitheses of “letter”/Spirit, condemnation/righteousness, “law”/faith. But to reiterate a point that I and others have made often enough: the salvation-historical antithesis of Abraham/Moses embodies a fundamental anthropological antithesis that lies at the heart of Paul’s critique of Judaism. (I think here especially of Stephen Westerholm; and also Watson, in his own way.)
For the rest, see:
http://thegospelcoalition.org/book-reviews/review/paul_and_the_faithfulness_of_god
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