When discussing commentaries friends have repeatedly suggested to me that the commentary genre is at present not the most creative format within which to work. This may or may not be true, but the enterprise certainly provides for some strange experiences. It has been my experience that things go smoothly as long as one does not ask too many questions. The present paper, however, is the preliminary outcome of asking too many questions about how to arrive at an ‘outline’ of the letter to the Galatians. Nearly all commentaries and Introductions to the New Testament contain such an outline, table of contents, or paraphrase of the argument. However, despite an extensive search, I have not been able to find any consideration given to possible criteria and methods for determining such an outline.

Since the publication of E. A. Judge's ‘Paul's Boasting in relation to Contemporary Professional Practice’, and more especially since the appearance of H. D. Betz's Der Apostel Paulus und die sokratische Tradition, scholarly attention to Paul's ‘boasting’ in 2 Corinthians 10–12 has focussed on the question of literary form.

In the past fifteen years or so New Testament scholars have sought to balance the predominantly historical orientation of biblical studies with insights and methods derived from literary studies and literary criticism. In addition, discussions of hermeneutics and pastoral ‘application’ have attempted to replace the overall framework of meaning that has been eroded by the eclipse of biblical theology understood as salvation history. Finally, the studies of the social world of early Christianity have focused anew on the social-political situation and economic-cultural conditions of the New Testament writers and their communities. However, these discussions have not yet led to the formulation of a new integrative paradigm in biblical interpretation. This paper seeks to contribute to this three-pronged discussion by utilizing rhetorical criticism for the interpretation of Paul's first extant letter to the community of Corinth. My main goal is thereby not to add a ‘new interpretation’ to the many variant readings of 1 Corinthians but to explore the questions, methods, and strategies involved in the interpretation of the letter.

In recent decades, emphasising the ‘orality/aurality’ of the Roman world, some scholars have asserted that in early Christian circles texts were ‘performed’, not ‘read’ (and could not have been read), likening this action to descriptions of oratorical delivery of speeches (from memory) or theatrical performance. It has even been suggested that some texts, particularly the Gospel of Mark, were composed in ‘performance’, and not through an author working up a text in written form. These claims seem to be based on numerous oversimplifications (and so distortions) of relevant historical matters, however, and also involve a failure to take account of the full range of relevant data about the use of texts in early Christianity and the wider Roman-era setting. So, at least some of the crucial claims and inferences made are highly dubious. In this essay, I offer corrections to some crucial oversimplifications, and I point to the sorts of data that must be taken into account in drawing a more reliable picture of the place of texts and how they functioned in early Christianity.

The problem of the use of the Old Testament in the New Testament is a vast one, complicated by side-issues of textual variants and involved in the kindred problem of the relation or harmony of the two Testaments. It is also a problem which has been well worked over by many scholars. Books have been written on the subject, comparing the text of the Old Testament quotations with the existing Greek and Hebrew recensions or comparing the exegetical principles and methods of the New Testament writers with those of the rabbis.1

The literary mindset (‘default setting’) of modern Western culture prevents those trained in that culture from recognizing that oral cultures operate differently. The classic solution to the Synoptic problem, and the chief alternatives, have envisaged the relationships between the Gospel traditions in almost exclusively literary terms. But the earliest phase of transmission of the Jesus tradition was without doubt predominantly by word of mouth. And recent studies of oral cultures provide several characteristic features of oral tradition. Much of the Synoptic tradition, even in its present form, reflects in particular the combination of stability and flexibility so characteristic of the performances of oral tradition. Re-envisaging the early transmission of the Jesus tradition therefore requires us to recognize that the literary paradigm (including a clearly delineated Q document) is too restrictive in the range of possible explanations it offers for the diverse/divergent character of Synoptic parallels. Variation in detail may simply attest the character of oral performance rather than constituting evidence of literary redaction.

Despite the relative brevity of 1 and 2 Thessalonians, there is little scholarly consensus today concerning their interpretation. Whether the issue is the integrity of 1 Thess 2. 13–16 or the authenticity of 2 Thessalonians, whether the problem involves the interpretation of the so-called ‘apology’ in 1 Thess 2. 1–12 or that of τὸ κατέχον of 2 Thessalonians, whether the question deals with the eschatology of 1 Thess 4. 13–5. 11 or of 2 Thessalonians, or whether the query involves the form-critical analysis of either document, there is little agreement among contemporary New Testament scholars.

At several junctures in the history of its interpretation Paul's letter to the Galatians has been seen as the embarrassing member of the Pauline letter-family, the one refusing to be brought into line with the others, and even, in some regards, the one threatening the unity and good-natured comradery of the family. Luther, to be sure, called on the familial image in an entirely positive sense, when he confessed himself to be happily betrothed to the letter. Others have considered that betrothal the prelude to an unfortunate marriage, in which Luther was led astray, or led further astray, by this intractable and regrettable letter.

By any standards, discussion of Paul's reaction to slavery and slave-ownership is exceptionally complex and controversial. There are more than enough difficulties in attempting to grasp the true character and significance of slavery in the Graeco-Roman world of the first century, due not merely to the fragmentary and one-sided nature of our evidence but also to the deep-rooted political and philosophical commitments which influence almost every significant treatment of the topic. But to discuss Paul in relation to slavery is to add further complications. If, with the majority of scholars, we bracket off Col 3. 22–4. 1, Eph 6. 5–9, 1 Tim 6. 1–2 and Tit 2. 9–10 as Deutero-Pauline, we are left with comparatively few texts which refer directly to the institution of slavery: Gal 3. 28 (cf. 1 Cor 12. 13), 1 Cor 7. 21–24 and the letter to Philemon are all that remain. But even these texts contain sufficient complexities and ambiguities to render an assessment of Paul's view of slavery far from straightforward. Moreover, varying ideological commitments play a significant role in interpretation here too.

As we read those parts of Josephus'1 works which coincide with the Apostolic Age (in round figures A.D. 30–70) we encounter a number of references to certain prophetic figures. In the absence of existing descriptive titles we will refer to them as the Jewish Sign Prophets.

Rom 5.18–19 summarises Paul's view of condemnation in Adam and salvation in Christ. Since Paul believes that all human beings participate in Adam's sin and in Christ's ‘righteous act’, a universal salvation is affirmed. This view is clearly at variance with other parts of Romans (not to mention his other extant works). The difference in view could be explained by the fact that Paul in Rom 5.18–19 is using the mythical concept of participation and that he is focusing on the effects of Christ's reconciling act rather than on how the reconciling word is brought to human beings.

The subject of this paper could include an enormous variety of aspects. The one that probably comes to mind first is the mutual responsibility of a master and his disciples to one another. For example, what kind of promise is implied in Jesus's assurance to those he calls that he will make of them fishers of men? Or what degree of obedience or of support do those who accept the call owe him? On this phase of the subject, however, a good deal has been written, though perhaps not much that is truly satisfactory. I shall go into a question which seems to have been totally neglected: namely, what is the responsibility of a master and his disciples in the outside world for one another's conduct? More precisely, how far is Jesus held accountable by the outside world for the conduct of his followers, and how far are the latter held accountable for his conduct?

To understand the Apostle Paul's attitude to his own people, it is necessary to place it in the perspective of his interpretation of the Gospel as a whole. Two main approaches to this have been taken. There are those who see Paul's point of departure in his conviction that Jesus of Nazareth was the Messiah and in the transformation of the understanding of the messianic condition which this demanded. Others point out that in his epistles Paul seems to be most concerned, not with the messiahship of Jesus, but with the criticism of the Law, that Paul's call (misnamed a ‘conversion’) arose from a new insight into the meaning, function and weakness of the Law (and with this, the insight into the nature of the self), not from a new concept of messiahship. They claim that Judaism, always tolerant of diversity of belief even in messianic claimants, could absorb Paul's paradoxical doctrine of a crucified Messiah but could not overlook Paul's acceptance of Gentiles, sinners who did not observe the Law, as members of the people of God. This passed the limits of Jewish tolerance and brought down upon the Apostle the wrath of his own people. The two positions indicated are too polarized. The immediate cause of the Jewish opposition to Paul centred in the Law. But his understanding of the Law was inextricably bound up with the significance which he had come to ascribe to Jesus of Nazareth as the Messiah and with the challenge that this issued to all the fundamental symbols of Jewish life. To isolate the criticism of the Law from the total messianic situation as Paul conceived it is both to exaggerate and to trivialize it. That criticism was a derivative of the place which Paul ascribed to Jesus as the Messiah.

Our knowledge of the corpus of extra-biblical and extra-rabbinical Aramaic texts has largely been the acquisition of the last seventy-five to a hundred years. Through numerous discoveries in Egypt, Arabia, Palestine, Syria, Asia Minor, Armenia, Mesopotamia, Persia and the Indus Valley we have come to know what various phases of Aramaic were like from the tenth century B.C. until roughly the eighth century A.D. This knowledge has enabled us to situate the biblical Aramaic of Ezra and Daniel in a matrix similar to that provided by extra-biblical Hebrew texts for biblical Hebrew.

Instructions given to the ‘older’ and ‘younger’ in some early Christian texts prompt inquiry into the rationale for this polarity and its ideological freight. Demographics suggest that the adult population rarely contained more than two generations, and comparative study indicates that where age was marked these categories usually sufficed. Their ambiguity and flexibility made them suited to ideological deployment, legitimating the power of the ‘older’. 1 Peter, 1 Clement, the Pastorals, and Polycarp demonstrate this phenomenon in early Christianity, with 1 Tim 4.12 and Ignatius Mag. 3.1 as exceptions that prove the rule. But why are age qualifications absent from the authentic Paulines?

The prospect of writing anything further about the prologue of John reminds one of the verdict quoted by W. C. van Unnik in a similar context some twenty years ago: ‘the new things he said were not true and the true things were not new’. The prudent course may, therefore, be to refine an already established position with the hope of being able to say something true, even if it is not altogether new. The thesis of this article is that the prologue is a chiasm with verse 12 b at its centre. That the prologue is chiastic is not a new thesis; that its centre is v. 12 b is. The first part of this paper attempts to establish this thesis. The second part studies the key phrase in v. 12 b, τέκνα Θεοũ, and the implications of its position in the prologue.

Hatte die Jesusbewegung revolutionäre Züge? Eine Antwort auf diese Frage hängt davon ab, was wir unter ‘Revolution’ verstehen. Der im folgenden verwandte übertragene Begriff von ‘Revolution’ setzt zwei allgemeine (etwas triviale) Annahmen über die Geschichte voraus:

It is argued that ἐκκλησία was first used by the Hellenists, probably in Jerusalem, and that it was chosen because of its strong background in the lxx. This raises the issue of why ἐκκλησία was chosen rather than συναγωγή, which occurs over twice as often in the lxx. The case is put that ἐκκλησία was chosen because συναγωγή was already in use by Jewish communities as a designation for their groups and their buildings. This view has not been argued for in detail, and the implications of this choice have not been fully explored. Through the use of ἐκκλησία the Hellenists could express their continuity with the OT ‘assembly’ of the people of God and could also distinguish themselves from other Jewish communities, without making the claim that they alone were the heirs of that people.