The Origin of Paul's Religion

by J. Gresham Machen

It might conceivably be explained by the appearances of the risen Christ. If, at the very beginning of the Church's life, Jesus appeared to His disciples, after His death, alive and in heavenly glory, it is conceivable that that experience might have originated the lofty New Testament conception of Jesus' person. But what in turn caused that experience itself? On naturalistic principles the appearances of the risen Christ can be explained only by an impression which the disciples already had of the majesty of Jesus' person. If they had listened to lofty claims of Jesus like those which are recorded in the Gospels, if they had witnessed miracles like the walking on the water or the feeding of the five thousand, then, conceivably, though not probably, they might have come to believe that so great a person could not be holden of death, and this belief might have been sufficient, without further miracle, to induce the pathological experiences in which they thought they saw Him alive after His passion. But if the miraculous be removed from the life of Jesus, a double portion of the miraculous must be heaped up upon the appearances. The smaller be the Jesus whom the disciples had known in Galilee, the more unaccountable becomes the experience which caused them to believe in His resurrection. By one path or another, therefore, the historian of Christian origins is pushed off from the safe ground of the phenomenal world toward the abyss of supernaturalism. To account for the faith of the early Church, the supernatural must be found either in the life of Jesus on earth, or else in the appearances of the risen Christ. But if the supernatural is found in one place, there is no objection to finding it in both places. And in both places it is found by the whole New Testament.

Three difficulties, therefore, beset the reconstruction of the "liberal Jesus." In the first place, it is difficult to disengage His picture from the miraculous elements which have defaced it in the Gospels; in the second place, when the supposed historical Jesus has been reconstructed, there is a moral contradiction at the center of His being, caused by His lofty claims; in the third place, it is hard to see how, in the thinking of the early disciples, the purely human Jesus gave place without the slightest struggle to the heavenly Christ of the Pauline Epistles and of the whole New Testament.

But suppose all the difficulties have been removed. Suppose a human Jesus has been reconstructed. What is the result of comparing that human Jesus with Paul? At first sight there seems to be nothing but contradiction. But closer examination discloses points of agreement. The agreement between Jesus and Paul extends even to those elements in the Gospel account of Jesus which are accepted by modern naturalistic criticism.

In the first place, Jesus and Paul present the same view of the Kingdom of God. The term "kingdom of God" is not very frequent in the Epistles; but it is used as though familiar to the readers, and when it does occur, it has the same meaning as in the teaching of Jesus. The similarity appears, in the first place, in a negative feature—both in Jesus and in Paul, the idea of the Kingdom is divorced from all political and materialistic associations. That fact may seem to us to be a matter of course. But in the Judaism of the first century it was far from being a matter of course. On the contrary, it meant nothing less than a revolution in thought and in life. How did Paul, the patriot and the Pharisee, come to separate the thought of the Kingdom from political associations? How did he come to do so even if he had come to think that the Messiah had already appeared? How did he come to do so unless he was influenced in some way by the teaching of Jesus? But the similarity is not merely negative. In positive aspects also, the Kingdom of God in Paul is similar to that which appears in the teaching of Jesus. Both in Jesus and in Paul, the implications of entrance are ethical. "Or know ye not," says Paul, "that the unrighteous shall not inherit the kingdom of God" (1 Cor. vi. 9). Then follows, after these words, as in Gal. v. 19-21, a long list of sins which exclude a man from participation in the Kingdom. Paul is here continuing faithfully the teaching of Him who said, "Repent ye; for the kingdom of heaven is at hand." Finally both in Jesus and in Paul the Kingdom appears partly as present and partly as future. In the above passages from Galatians and 1 Corinthians, for example, and in 1 Cor. xv. 50, it is future; whereas in such passages as Rom. xiv. 17 ("for the kingdom of God is not eating and drinking but righteousness and peace and joy in the Holy Spirit"), the present aspect is rather in view. The same two aspects of the Kingdom appear also in the teaching of Jesus; all attempts at making Jesus' conception thoroughly eschatological have failed. Both in Jesus and in Paul, therefore, the Kingdom of God is both transcendent and ethical. Both in Jesus and in Paul, finally, the coming of the Kingdom means joy as well as judgment. When Paul says that the Kingdom of God is "righteousness and peace and joy in the Holy Ghost," he is like Jesus not merely in word but in the whole spirit of the message; Jesus also proclaimed the coming of the Kingdom as a "gospel."

In the second place, Paul is like Jesus in his doctrine of the fatherhood of God. That doctrine, it will probably be admitted, was characteristic of Jesus; indeed the tendency in certain quarters is to regard it as the very sum and substance of all that Jesus said. Certainly no parallel to Jesus' presentation of God as Father has been found in extra-Christian literature. The term "father" is indeed applied to God here and there in the Old Testament. But in the Old Testament it is usually in relation to the people of Israel that God is thought of as Father rather than in relation to the individual. Even in the Old Testament, it is true, the conception of the fatherhood of God is not without importance. The consciousness of belonging to God's chosen people and thus being under God's fatherly care was immensely valuable for the life of the individual Israelite; it was no mere product of an unsatisfying state religion like the religions of Greece or Rome. There was preparation in Old Testament revelation, here as elsewhere, for the coming of the Messiah. In Jewish literature outside of the Old Testament, moreover, and in rabbinical sources, the conception of God as Father is not altogether absent.[91] But it appears comparatively seldom, and it lacks altogether the true content of Jesus' teaching. Despite all previous uses of the word "father" as applied to God, Jesus was ushering in a new era when He taught His disciples to say, "Our Father which art in heaven."

This conception of the fatherhood of God appears in Paul in just the same way as in Jesus. In Paul as well as in Jesus it is not something to be turned to occasionally; on the contrary it is one of the constituent elements of the religious life. It is no wonder that the words, "God our Father," appear regularly at the beginnings of the Epistles. The fatherhood of God in Paul is not something to be argued about or defended; it is altogether a matter of course. But it has not lost, through repetition, one whit of its freshness. The name "Father" applied to God in Paul is more than a bare title; it is the welling up of the depths of the soul. "Abba, Father" on the lips of Paul's converts was exactly the same, not only in form but also in deepest import, as the word which Jesus first taught His disciples when they said to Him, "Lord, teach us to pray."

But the fatherhood of God in Paul is like the teaching of Jesus in even more definite ways than in the fervor of the religious life which it evokes. It is also like Jesus' teaching in being the possession, not of the world, but of the household of faith. If, indeed, the fatherhood of God in Jesus' teaching were like the fatherhood of God in modern liberalism—a relationship which God sustains toward men as men—then it would be as far removed as possible from the teaching of Paul. But as a matter of fact, both Paul and Jesus reserved the term Father for the relation in which God stands to the disciples of Jesus. One passage, indeed (Matt. v. 45; Luke vi. 35), has been quoted as making God the Father of all men. But only by a strange misinterpretation. It is strange how in the day of our boasted grammatico-historical exegesis, so egregious an error can be allowed to live. The prejudices of the reader have triumphed here over all exegetical principles; a vague modernism has been attributed to the sternest, as well as most merciful, Prophet who ever walked upon earth. When Jesus says, "Love your enemies, and pray for them that persecute you; that ye may be sons of your Father who is in heaven: for he maketh his sun to rise on the evil and the good, and sendeth rain on the just and the unjust," He certainly does not mean that God is the Father of all men both evil and good. God cares for all, but He is not said to be the Father of all. On the contrary, it may almost be said that the very point of the passage is that God cares for all although He is not the Father of all. That it is which makes Him the example for those who are to do good not merely to friends or brothers but also to enemies.

This interpretation does not mean that God does not stand toward all men in a relation analogous to that of a father to his children; it does not mean that He does not love all or care for all. But it does mean that however close may be the relationship which God sustains to all men, the lofty term Father is reserved for a relationship which is far more intimate still. Jesus extends to all men those common blessings which the modern preacher sums up in the term "fatherhood of God"; but He extends to His own disciples not only those blessings but infinitely more. It is not the men of the world—not the "publicans," not the "Gentiles"—who can say, according to the teaching of Jesus, "Our Father which art in Heaven." Rather it is the little group of Jesus' disciples—which little group, however, all without exception are freely invited to join.

So it is exactly also in the teaching of Paul. God stands, according to Paul, in a vital relation to all men. He is the author of the being of all; He cares for all; He has planted His law in the hearts of all. He stands thus in a relation toward all which is analogous to that of father to child. The Book of Acts is quite in accord with the Epistles when it makes Paul say of all men, "For we are also His offspring." But in Paul just as in Jesus the lofty term "Father" is reserved for a more intimate relationship. Paul accepts all the truth of natural religion; all the truth that reappears in the vague liberalism of modern times. But he adds to it the truth of the gospel. Those are truly sons of God, he says, who have been received by adoption into God's household, and in whose hearts God's Spirit cries, "Abba, Father."

There was nothing narrow about such a gospel; for the door of the household of faith was opened wide to all. Jesus had died in order to open that door, and the apostle went up and down the world, enduring peril upon peril in order to bring men in. There was need for such service, because of sin. Neither in Jesus nor in Paul is sin covered up, nor the necessity of a great transformation concealed. Jesus came not to reveal to men that they were already children of God, but to make them God's children by His redeeming work.