The relation of the so-called ‘mystical’ to the so-called ‘juridical’ aspect of Paul's theology has been frequently discussed. While Albert Schweitzer thought that the doctrine of justification by faith was no more than a ‘side-crater’ in the Pauline theology, Rudolf Bultmann considered the idea of a participation in the destiny of Christ a Gnostic influence not really fitting into the Pauline pattern of thought. This disagreement is not of merely historical interest; behind it lies the central theological problem of the significance of Jesus' life, death and resurrection for us today. Is this significance to be expressed in the categories of an example to be followed or a forerunner, who opens the way ahead for us, or are the categories of sacrificial or vicarious death more adequate? At first sight, the two patterns seem to contradict each other. According to the first, the believer dies with Christ; Christ's death becomes the believer's death; according to the second, Christ dies under the curse of divine judgement, lest the believer undergo this judgement. However, the first observation that we make in the Pauline texts is the coincidence of both lines in the same sentence: II Cor. v. 14: ‘One has died for all; therefore all have died’; I Thess. v. 10: ‘Christ died for us so that whether we wake or sleep we might live with him.’

Until the latter half of the eighteenth century, the apostolic authorship of ‘the Gospel according to Matthew’ seems to have been generally accepted. But questions and doubts began to arise from different points of view in the examination of what were regarded as the relevant documents; and it would be a reasonable assessment of the general opinion of current scholarship to say that, whilst it may be agreed that Matthew is probably in some sense behind the Gospel that bears his name, there are few, if any, who would claim for him complete responsibility for the work. Yet, in the second, third and fourth centuries of the Christian era, the authorship of Matthew was not merely unquestioned: it was repeatedly and positively affirmed. These affirmations, however, have been subjected to close scrutiny, and even the basic declaration of Papias of Hierapolis, a declaration that belongs to the earlier part of the second century, has been used to refute the claim to apostolic authorship. It is the purpose here to examine the early evidence again, in the hope of finding some solid ground in the critical morass where so many seekers are apt to lose their way.

The first two chapters of I Corinthians are an important source for illuminating Paul's understanding of his missionary proclamation and teaching. The evidence is, however, by no means unambiguous and has been variously assessed. At one extreme stands a view such as that of Hans Windisch, who believes that Paul's christology here, as elsewhere, has been decisively influenced by Jewish wisdom teaching. Completely in the opposite direction goes the recent work of Ulrich Wilckens, who rejects any essential relationship between Paul and wisdom theology. Wilckens's studies represent a prominent tendency in recent scholarship and well merit more detailed exploration than the outline that is possible here. According to this scholar the Corinthian opponents are gnostics. Their wisdom is derived not from Greek rhetoric but from a revelatory theology whose chief offence to Paul is that it denies significance to the cross. Yet in the crucial section, I Cor. ii. 6–16, Paul himself would almost appear to be the gnostic, so similar are his words and ideas to gnostic views. The apostle's language here stems, however, from the Corinthian theology, not from his own characteristic thought. What Paul intends to do is in fact to attack the gnostic christology; but since he actually shares many ideas with the gnostics, this section, despite its intent, could actually be taken entirely in the gnostic sense. The paradoxical result of Wilckens's argument is that in those sections where Paul describes the Corinthian wisdom, one finds only Paul's derogatory and inaccurate judgement, while in the section where Paul would seem to be speaking of his own wisdom teaching, one can see the real view of the Corinthians.

Luke xv. 11–32, an elaborate, circumstantial, in fact the longest, parable, calls now for the endeavours of a symposium. This paper cannot do more than open the legal aspects, which have already been handled by Professor David Daube and Professor Jean Dauvillier, and the symbolic aspects, which have been ignored. A complete investigation of the symbolism is not to be looked for until the midrashic links between the parable and its associated passages in Deuteronomy have been expounded by an expert in the technique of delivery of sermons amongst the Jews. Our parable's place in a lectionary cycle has been identified, and the implications of this also must be brought out: in part these will overlap with the work just alluded to, and in part they will reveal the early church's view of the parable's implicit significance. This work, however, will relate to the stage at which the parable became a written document, and to its worth for those who first used it in liturgy. This paper is concerned with Jesus’ own meaning, so far as we can rediscover it from the shape and content of the parable in the light of contemporary attitudes. Though this means covering ground already covered often, and much current exegesis will be confirmed, there is more by way of subtle statement and even more subtle contention in the parable than could have been realized before. Close studies of the vocabulary from Wetstein to J. Jeremias do not help us much at this stage of refinement; but it is interesting to note that in Jeremias's view, well substantiated as to the greater part of the parable, traces of the semitic origin of the document before us are visible throughout.

My purpose here is to suggest the possibility that Matthew used Mark and a primitive version of Luke in the composition of his Gospel. Although I can only point to some thematic and structural patterns, I find that both word studies and detailed analysis of passages support this possibility. The hypothetical primitive version of Luke resembles what we know of Marcion's Gospel both in content and in arrangement. It consists of the bulk of the material in Luke between the pericopes on John the Baptist and the Passion narrative, inclusive. It contains all the Marcan material in Luke, all the material common to Matthew and Luke, and much of the material peculiar to Luke. I shall refer to it as ‘Primitive Luke’.