Per Caritatem

In his article, “Introduction to the Joint Declaration of the Doctrine of Justification,” David G. Truemper lists the following as principles for ecumenical conversation.  I found them both encouraging and challenging.  If only we could see these principles embodied in actual theological and religious dialogue, perhaps a real movement toward unity or at least understanding (rather than caricature) might occur.

1. One may disagree with and/or condemn another’s position only after one has demonstrated the ability to state the other’s position in such a way that the other agrees with that formulation.
2. Since even very simply formulae have great power to create meaning, one must handle theological and doctrinal formulae with great care.  One must ask whether this or that formula is an essential expression of truth as we have come to understand it, or is it (merely) a way people at one time and place chose to articulate essential truth?
3. The truth that is sought in ecumenical conversation resides beneath the surface of venerable and traditional formulae and not necessarily in the formulae per se.
4. Language and terminology are cultural artifacts and therefore are susceptible to change; thus merely asserting an ancient or traditional formula does not necessarily assert the same thing as the formula originally intended and conveyed.
5. Given the increasingly evident pluralism of the global village we now inhabit, spokespersons for the faith will do well to observe Luther’s advice, made in another connection, “Es gehört Bescheidenheit dazu” (modesty is required here).[1]
6. Since God’s communication with human beings in various cultural settings and cultural circumstances must be held to be in a fundamental sense “effective,” we must conclude that there will be diverse appropriations of even central truths of the Christian faith.  Accordingly, the goal of ecumenical conversation is mutual understanding and what the Joint Declaration calls “differentiated consensus,” not uniformity of formula or of emphasis.
7. Ecumenical conversation is a profoundly churchly action, undertaken not with the goal of defending the fortress of doctrine, but with the awareness that the gospel defends and protects the church, against whose mission not even the gates of Hades will ultimately prevail.[2]

Notes

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[1] Luthers Werke, Tischreden 5, Nr 5245 (1540).

[2] David E. Aune (ed).  Rereading Paul Together:  Protestant and Catholic Perspectives on Justification. (Grand Rapids:  Baker Academic, 2006) p. 41-42.

Leave it to the Smithy to find a nugget like this. Being the non-Betty Crocker that I am, I’m proud to say that I’m familiar with this recipe.   (Of course whether you find it tasty is an altogether different issue). 

“Here is a recipe for producing medieval philosophy: Combine classical pagan philosophy, mainly Greek but also in its Roman versions, with the new Christian religion. Season with a variety of flavorings from the Jewish and Islamic intellectual heritages. Stir and simmer for 1300 years or more, until done.”  Paul Vincent Spade, in the Stanford Internet Encyclopedia of Philosophy

Next, we turn to Phoinix’s appeal, in which he employs two myths:  the myth of the daughters of Zeus, and the myth of Meleagros, applying both by analogy to Achilles’ situation.  In the first myth (IX.502-12), the “spirits of prayer,” that is, the “daughters of Zeus” have the ability to heal those afflicted by Ruin.  If these daughters are treated with due respect in their peace-making and other salutary activities, a person may receive blessing and protection from Zeus.  But if a person dishonors them, they supplicate Zeus to send Ruin upon such a person.  Phoinix concedes that Agamemnon had acted out of pride,[1] but he adds that now he has (in at least some minimal sense) recognized his error and seeks (again in some sense) to make peace with Achilles.  Thus, Phoinix urges Achilles to put his anger aside and accept Agamemnon’s offer.  Should he stand firm in his rejection of Agamemnon’s gifts, Phoinix implies that Achilles will offend the daughters of Zeus.  If this is the case, does Achilles’ refusal to accept reparations from Agamemnon result in his own madness-a madness that comes in the form of a blinding delusion sent by Zeus? Does this madness manifest in Achilles’ inability to reason properly, as his anger overrides his deliberating processes?[2]

In the second myth, Meleagros, like Achilles, has withdrawn from his previous war activity and is currently keeping company with his bride, Kleopatra.  Meleagros’ comrades offer him gifts in the hope that he will put away his wrath and return to the battle.  He refuses the offer; however, his wife at last convinces him to rejoin the war efforts, which results the enemies’ retreat.  Although Meleagros fought valiantly and successfully, the elders reneged on their previous offer.  Phoinix clearly exhorts Achilles not to do as Meleagros did, but instead to accept Agamemenon’s gifts and return to battle in order to maximize his honor.  “With gifts promised, go forth. [...] But if without gifts you go into the fighting where men perish, your honor will no longer be as great, though you drive back the battle.”[3] At this point, Phoinix’s speech ends, and Achilles responds, stating that he doesn’t need honor of this sort, because he is honored by Zeus.[4] In light of Achilles’ former reflections on the deficiency of honor based on human opinion and unworthy sources (Agamemnon), he seems to suggest that he will now seek honor from Zeus alone.   If this is the case, then does it follow that only humans can obtain honor, as the gods are (supposedly) better sources (at least metaphysically speaking) than humans?[5]

Although the aforementioned suggestion fits with what Achilles says, it doesn’t make sense of his actions.  After all, upon hearing Aias’ rather simple, emotion-driven speech, Achilles decides to remain in Troy and return to battle when the fire reaches the Myrmidons’ ships.  Whatever we make of Aias’ pleadings, we should not conclude that Phoinix’s speech has no affect on Achilles, as he ends up doing just what Meleagros did:  he returns to the fight and rejects the gifts.  So how do we account for Achilles’ drastic change of plans, as well as his decision to follow the negative example of Meleagros?  Since Achilles wants to show his independence from Agamemnon, his rejection of the gifts functions as a way to demonstrate his self-sufficiency.  In other words, Achilles fights on his own terms and decides when, for what purpose, and on what grounds he will re-engage the battle.  But has Achilles made the right decision-has he acted for the sake of justice?  Perhaps Achilles should have rejected all the gifts and demanded only the return of Briseis.  Would that decision have been the best way to serve justice for all parties involved, even if, as mentioned before, Briseis was taken by force as a war “prize”?

Given the difficulty of determining what Achilles should have done, could Homer’s purpose be to highlight an irresolvable tension connected with justice and the spirited soul?  Does the spirited soul, because of its desire for honor, end up obfuscating honor in order to avenge being dishonored?  That is, perhaps the warrior’s desire for honor is so strong that it ends up overpowering his desire for justice.  This certainly seems to be the case with regard to Achilles’ quarrel with Agamemnon, which results eventually in the loss of many lives-including the life of Patroklos, Achilles dearest friend.  We also see this tension manifest in Achilles’ appeals to Zeus for divine aid.  If Zeus helps Achilles, then Achilles cannot claim to be the indispensable element in the Achaian victory.  Here we are also moved to call Zeus’ justice into question.  Does he help Achilles win the decisive battle with Hektor because he is angered over the wrong done to Achilles, or does he act because of a personal favor that he owes to Thetis?  When all is said and done, perhaps the desire for honor is a problem for both gods and humans.  For humans the desire for honor results in an obfuscation of justice and the need to seek a (non-arbitrary) source higher than themselves to firmly establish and convey that honor.  For gods-or better, for Zeus, the most powerful of the gods-presumably there is no external source or being to which he can turn for the bestowal of such honor. Yet, throughout the Iliad, we have the sense that the gods need humans in order to demonstrate their power and worth.  Moreover, the gods (Zeus included) often seem just as fickle, untrustworthy and subject to wayward passions as humans.  Is there then in the Iliad a stable, worthy source for the bestowal of honor?

Perhaps the most we can conclude about the relationship between the will of Zeus and the life of Achilles is that at times Achilles’ choices and desires seem to coincide with Zeus’ plan, yet at other times they clearly conflict (e.g., the death of Patroklos).[6] Zeus’ will does have a comprehensiveness to it and even seems to include a desire to educate Achilles and make him a willing partner in accomplishing Zeus’ goals.  What then does Zeus want Achilles to learn?  In the final book of the Iliad, after submitting to Zeus’ desire that he return the body of Hektor to Priam, Achilles engages in a discourse with Priam about the design of providence and the fate of mortals.  As both men are grieving their losses, Achilles turns to Priam and says,

Such is the way the gods spun life for unfortunate mortals, that we live in unhappiness, but the gods themselves have no sorrows.  There are two urns that stand on the door-sill of Zeus.  They are unlike for the gifts they bestow:  an urn of evils, an urn of blessings.  If Zeus who delights in thunder mingles these and bestows them on man, he shifts, and moves now in evil, again in good fortune.  But when Zeus bestows from the urn of sorrows, he makes a failure of man, and the evil hunger drives him over the shining earth, and he wanders respected neither of gods nor mortals.[7]

Achilles stresses the difference between gods and humans, specifically highlighting the sorrows experienced by humans in contrast with the absence of sorrow experienced by the gods.  Here Achilles cannot mean that gods have no sorrows whatsoever, as he himself has admitted that Thetis, in marrying a mortal, endured much grief and distress. Perhaps Achilles means to emphasize that the sorrows of humans are of a different sort or have a significantly greater “sting” because of human mortality.  Humans can, as Achilles indicates, receive blessings from Zeus, but these are at best temporary and are sure to be followed by grief and misfortune-as the lives of both Achilles and Priam make clear.  No human being is free from the experiences of sorrow, and death itself stands as the victor of all mortals.

In book nine, Achilles had already begun to question the value of eternal glory since it is had at the cost of life itself (as well as the good things in life and with no guarantee of honor in the here and now).  This led Achilles to attempt to break with the customary honor system and demonstrate his self-sufficiency.  Yet, Achilles is not able to make a full break, as the tension in his spirited-soul compels him to pursue honor at great cost-the loss of Patroklos’ life, as well as his own.[8] Even after defeating Hektor and achieving his long, sought-after glory, Achilles remains dissatisfied and unfulfilled. Perhaps this is what he means by Zeus’ sorrows, making “a failure of man, and the evil hunger drives him over the shining earth, and he wanders respected neither of gods nor mortals.”  Achilles’ quest for honor and glory leaves him unsettled with regard to the value of his achievements and acutely aware of the loss he has experienced along the way.  In the end, Achilles does, by way of Zeus’ will and divine interventions, achieve eternal glory; however, his accomplishment does not produce his own personal happiness.  Rather, Achilles’ glory lives on as a hard-learned lesson in human finitude. Achilles, by way of Zeus’ hand, has come to realize that every aspect of his life and death involves dependence on others.  In his defeat of Hektor-the most glorious victory of his military career-Achilles acknowledges the indispensability of Athene’s aid.  Concerning his own death, Achilles concedes his dependence upon his fellow Greeks for a proper burial.  With the realization of his need for others to secure an honorable burial, Achilles gains an understanding of his place in the grand schema of things.  Neither beasts nor gods require burial-the former because they lack the kind of soul (however tenuous that soul may be in Homer’s account) which humans (and demigods) possess, the latter because they do not die.    Homer, then, ends his tale of Achilles’ hard-learned lesson in human finitude with the warrior’s acceptance of his place somewhere between gods and beasts.

Notes

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[1] Agamemnon himself describes his actions toward Achilles as “madness” and as issuing from the “persuasion” of his “heart’s evil” (IX.115ff., 201).

[2] Perhaps this would explain to some extent Achilles’ treatment of Hektor’s body, dragging it around in an almost ritualistic way.

[3] Iliad IX.602-5, 214.

[4] Iliad IX.607-8, 214.

[5] Since Zeus is considered the greatest, most powerful god, presumably, he would be the greatest source of honor.

[6] Though one could devote an entire essay to the significance of Patroklos’ death in the Iliad, let it suffice for my present purposes to simply assert that the death of Patroklos compels Achilles to return to battle and is arguably a crucial element in the overall plan of Zeus for Achilles.

[7] Iliad XXIV.525-33, 489.

[8] He also comes to the realization that he must depend upon his fellow Achaians for a proper burial.

In book one of the Iliad, we learn that as part of the so-called “spoils of war,” Agamemnon and Achilles have claimed two concubines for themselves, Chryseis and Briseis.  Agamemnon declared Chryseis as his own, but her father, Chryses, intervened and offered a ransom for her return.  When Agamemnon refused the offer, Chryses prayed to Apollo for help, and he responded by sending a plague on the Achaians.  After several days of intense suffering resulting in many Achaian deaths, Achilles summons an assembly and seeks the help of a prophet named, Kalchas, to determine the reason for the plague.  Kalchas reveals that the deadly pestilence is the work of Apollo in answer to Chryses’ prayer and was due to Agamemnon’s refusal to return Chryseis and his dishonoring of Kalchas.[1] Agamemnon is enraged and says that he will return Chryseis in exchange for Briseis, Achilles’ “prize.” Achilles is offended by Agamemnon’s proposal and considers it an act of dishonor.  Agamemnon eventually takes Briseis, which results in Achilles’ rage toward Agamemnon and his withdrawal from the war.[2]

Later in book nine, after things have gone exceedingly bad for the Achaians, Agamemnon sends an embassy with lavish gifts to try and convince Achilles to rejoin the war efforts.[3] The embassy consists of Odysseus, Phoinix and Aias, each giving a speech designed to move Achilles to return and fight.  Though Achilles is still infuriated with Agamemnon, he greets the ambassadors warmly.  This seems suggest that the offense nurtured by Achilles is personal; yet, in book one just prior to his oath that he would not rejoin the Achaians, he calls them “nonentities.”[4] Here Achilles is not only angry with Agamemnon but with the other Achaian men who failed to speak against the king’s unjust actions.  Has Achilles then in book nine decided that Agamemnon as the representative of the people is to bear the blame personally and not Achilles’ comrades? If so, is Achilles’ withdrawal just?  One is hard-pressed to answer in the affirmative, as many of Achilles’ friends lose their lives because of Achilles’ inability to reconcile with Agamemnon.

Returning to the ambassadors, it is instructive to briefly examine the content of the speeches, as well as Achilles’ response to each.  Odysseus speaks first and appeals to Achilles’ sense of comradeship, playing upon the welcome Achilles has given his three visitors.  “Up, then! if you are minded, late though it be, to rescue the afflicted sons of the Achaians from the Trojan onslaught.”[5] Odysseus then warns Achilles that to fail to do so will result in great emotional torment and regret for Achilles. “It will be an affliction to you hereafter, there will be no remedy found to heal the evil thing when it has been done.”[6] Next Odysseus appeals to an admonition that Achilles’ father had given him, to keep his anger in check and not allow his pride to dictate his actions.  Odysseus thus exhorts Achilles to employ his spiritedness properly, lest it become his downfall.  Agamemnon’s gifts are then enumerated, which among other things include the return of Briseis.  Finally, Odysseus appeals to Achilles’ desire for honor and glory, suggesting that should he return, Hektor will provide him the opportunity to “win very great glory” among men.[7]

Achilles responds to Odysseus by charging him with a kind of double-speak-”I detest that man, who hides one thing in the depths of his heart, and speaks forth another.”[8] Since Agamemnon did not come himself to make reparations with Achilles but sent extravagant gifts via ambassadors, he perceives that Agamemnon still views himself as superior to Achilles.  (Odysseus does in fact leave out Agamemnon’s statement that Achilles must yield to him). Achilles then speaks about fate in a leveling, relativizing way that seems to indicate that he is now calling into question the whole honor system of his day.  “Fate is the same for the man who holds back, the same if he fights hard.  We are all held in a single honour, the brave with the weaklings.  A man dies still if he has done nothing, as one who had done much.”[9] Perhaps Achilles has overstated things because of his anger toward Agamemnon;[10] nonetheless, his experience has resulted in a time of reflection upon the arbitrary nature of the code of honor of his day.[11] That is, Achilles has come to realize that the value of honor is intricately tied to the source conferring it, and the source itself can be self-interested, and hence, less honorable than the conferee. In light of his realizations, perhaps Achilles’ withdrawal and time of reflection has led him to seek to demonstrate a self-sufficiency and honor that does not depend on Agamemnon and the opinion of (human) others.  (I shall elaborate more on this possibility as the essay unfolds).

Clearly, Achilles sees Agamemnon’s taking of Briseis as an unjust, deceptive act and even equates it to a man stealing another man’s wife.[12] In fact, Achilles connects Agamemnon’s deed with Paris’ theft regarding Helen.[13] Over the course of Achilles’ response to Odysseus,  we sense that his argument and outrage presupposes a moral principle which involves (1) a call to respect and honor a man’s love for his wife/concubine and (2) a censure against taking a man’s wife/concubine arbitrarily and by force.  Presumably, Achilles wants to apply this principle in a transcultural, “timeless-truth” manner.

Are the sons of Atreus alone among mortal the ones who love their wives?  Since any who is a good man, and careful, loves her who is his own and cares for her, even now as I loved this one from my heart, though it was my spear that won her.[14]

From Achilles’ point of view, Briseis is his wife, his part of the “booty” that he rightfully deserved and earned through his valiant fighting; [15] hence, Agamemnon is in the wrong for taking her from him and dishonoring him. However, as we shall see, since Achilles ultimately rejects Agamemnon’s reconciliatory gifts, can we conclude that his decisions here are just? Should Achilles allow a personal affront to be the basis of his choices and actions? After all, his withdrawal affects not only himself but the lives of many others as well.

As Achilles continues his discourse with Odysseus, he announces that he will return to his homeland of Phthia and that no gift which Agamemnon might offer would change his mind.  Then he recounts the prophecy of his two fates, which Thetis had revealed to him:  a short, glorious life or a long, inglorious life.  In light of his calling into question the value of the present honor code, Achilles has now (in contrast with his original choice in book one) chosen a long life without glory and even recommends his comrades to follow suit.[16] Life itself, as well as the goods of this life-marriage, a peaceful, non-military existence-now appear more valuable to Achilles than the arbitrary bestowal of honor in the present system.  “A man’s life cannot come back again, it cannot be lifted nor captured again by force, once it has crossed the teeth’s barrier.”[17] In other words, how estimable is this so-called eternal glory if it comes at the cost of the goods of this life and the loss of life itself-not to mention the possibility of dishonor in the present?

Notes

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[1] Iliad I.94-100, 61.

[2] For a taste of Achilles’ anger toward Agamemnon, cf. I.225-44, p. 65.

[3] The gifts include gold, horses, women, Briseis (with a promise that he has not had intercourse with her).  Cf. Iliad IX.264-276, 205.

[4] Iliad I.231, 239-44, 65.

[5] Iliad IX.246-47, 204.

[6] Iliad IX.249-50, 204.

[7] Iliad IX.303, 206.

[8] Iliad IX.311-12, 206.

[9] Iliad IX.318-20, 206.

[10] As already mentioned, the Achaians are also to a certain extent guilty in Achilles’ mind, as they failed to speak against Agamemnon’s act.  Even so, Achilles’ anger and resentment is (understandably) more specifically focused upon Agamemnon, who now possesses the “bride of his heart” (IX.336, 207).

[11] Sarpedon articulates (in a positive, uncritical light) various aspects of the honor code in book XII.315-326, 266-67.

[12] “All the other prizes of honour he gave the great men and the princes are held fast by them, but from me alone of all the Achaians he has taken and keeps the bride of my heart” (Iliad IX.333-36, 207).

[13] “And why was it the son of Atreus assembled and led here these people?  Was it not for the sake of lovely-haired Helen?” (Iliad IX.337-39, 207).

[14] Iliad IX.340-43, 207.

[15] One wonders how taking other humans as “booty” (even if the captives are willing) can be considered just.  If justice is giving to the other what is his/her due, then the category, “other,” in the Iliad excludes  women.  If we say that treating women as property and part of the spoils of war was simply accepted and unquestioned in Homer’s day, and hence, these kinds of practices were considered just, then are we not admitting that justice itself (or at least justice as practiced) is a conventional notion that changes over time and is dependent upon what the people of a particular cultural have deemed it to be?  Also, is the definition of justice as “giving to the other what is his/her due,” a definition derived from Homer, or is it a later definition common in Socrates’ day?  If the latter, why should we assume it is operative in Homer’s day or that it applies in a transcultural way?

[16] Iliad IX.407-18, 209.

[17] Iliad IX.408-9, 209.

In the opening lines of the Iliad, we confront immediately the interplay between the gods and humans.  More specifically, we are encouraged to pay particular attention to the relationship between the “will of Zeus” and the wrath of Achilles-a wrath, which is described as contributing to or in some sense even causing the deaths of thousands of Achilles’ own men.[1] Throughout the Iliad, we see divinities intervening in human affairs, humans supplicating and sacrificing to gods, and plans and goals contrived by both.  We have the impression that Zeus is the most powerful of the gods; yet, as I shall highlight, his power is not without limits.  Moreover, certain events, actions, and deliberations on the part of Zeus lead us to ask the following questions: In what sense (if any) may Zeus be deemed just?  Is the will of Zeus ultimate?  That is, does it overrule and make irrelevant the plans and desires of humans (as well as the other divinities), or does Zeus’ will somehow work (non-violently) with human agency?  Lastly, is Achilles’ moral improvement part of Zeus’ will, and if so, what role do Achilles’ own choices play toward such an end?  Achilles is by far the most complex human, that is, semi-human character.  Does this complexity arise from his nature as a demigod, or does it come about because of an irresolvable tension in his spirited-soul?  If so, to what extent do these inherent conflictions affect his decisions and motivate his desires (e.g., for honor, justice and self-sufficiency)?  In this essay, I examine selected passages from the Iliad in order to attempt to address at least some of these questions.  I offer no promise of being able to adequately answer them such that the relationship between the gods and humans form a coherent, tension-less whole; I do, however, pledge to raise additional questions and perplexities along the way.

Before turning directly to the Iliad, we must first address a hermeneutical issue centering on a myth that seems to be presupposed by Homer as common knowledge of his readers.  The myth concerns Zeus’s involvement in the marriage of Thetis to the mortal, Peleus, and is presented poetically by Pindar at least two centuries after Homer.[2] In Isthmian 8, an ode written by Pindar at least two centuries after Homer, we are told that a dispute between Zeus and Poseidon occurred regarding the goddess, Thetis, Achilles’ mother.  Apparently, both Zeus and Poseidon wanted Thetis as a bride; however, they had been warned by an oracle of Themis that marriage to Thetis by either Zeus or Poseidon would result in “a son mightier than his father” (Isthmian 8, line 34), who would then threaten the reign of the gods-perhaps Zeus’ reign more than Poseidon’s, given Zeus’ preeminent divine status.  Zeus was, no doubt, aware of the previous revolts of disgruntled divine sons, such as the Titan, Cronos, who deposed his father, Ouranos.  In fact, Zeus himself was situated in this line of ousting sons, as he deposed his own father, Cronos.  If (as I do) we accept the hypothesis that the “Thetis myth” was well-known to Homer’s audience, then it is reasonable to conclude that Zeus has decided to put an end to this tradition of overthrowing one’s father by convincing Thetis to marry a mortal, Peleus.[3] From the Iliad, we know that Thetis and Peleus do marry and that their marriage results in the birth of Achilles, whose fate, according to Pindar’s myth, is to die in battle. As Homer’s poem unfolds, Achilles is made aware of his fate; yet, he seems to have a choice in the matter.  That is, Homer presents Achilles as having a genuine choice between a brief, but glorious life as a warrior, and a long, ordinary and rather inglorious life in Phthia.  If Zeus in fact has an overarching plan or will for Achilles’ life, it seems that Achilles is in some sense an active participant who makes choices.

As I mentioned in the introductory paragraph, Zeus’ power is limited.  In book 1, we are told that Thetis aided Zeus during a revolt among the gods spearheaded by Hera, Poseidon and Athena.[4] Thus, Zeus is in some sense indebted to Thetis, which in addition to the Thetis myth mentioned above, helps to explain why Thetis has so much sway with Zeus in the Iliad.  With the revolt incident, we see that Zeus’ sovereignty can be challenged by the other gods, which means that he must be deal wisely with his fellow gods, lest they turn on him.  Hera, Zeus’ wife, presents perhaps the greatest challenge to Zeus’ reign.  Zeus has a pre-history of womanizing (both with female goddesses and female humans), and this causes a great deal of tension in his marriage.  Hera resents Zeus’ flings and the various offspring produced by his affairs, and her resentment often gives rise to schemes and ploys to avenge herself and her honor.[5] As the seduction scene in book 14 indicates, Hera is well-aware of Zeus’ weaknesses and exploits his desires as a way to further her own partisan alliances in the war.  The fact that Zeus can be seduced, duped and distracted demonstrates that his power is limited.  If Zeus’ power is limited, then we are pressed to ask whether his justice is limited as well.  Can we expect Zeus’ justice to extend to all humans when we know that he can be seduced, bound, and distracted for significant periods of time?  Would not such a state of affairs give his adversaries sufficient time and opportunity to thwart Zeus’ intentions regarding the lives of particular humans?  Whatever kind of justice may be attributed to Zeus-perhaps a level of impartiality not exhibited by the other unreflectively partisan gods-it must be a limited justice that does not extend equally to all.[6] To be sure, Zeus exhibits an ability to exercise a disinterested view of justice.  We are told that Troy is his favorite city because of its religious piety; yet, Zeus has decreed that Troy will fall.  Paris, in taking Helen from Menelaus, has violated international hospitality customs-customs that are of great concern to Zeus.  Thus, the Trojan War may be understood as a violation against international justice, and as such, would necessitate a response from Zeus.[7] Agamemnon then becomes an instrument in Zeus’ plan for retributive justice against Troy.  However, Agamemnon, in taking Briseis from Achilles, acts unjustly and creates what appears to be a setback for Zeus’ plan.  Now Zeus must deal with injustice on multiple levels, and this is perhaps why, upon hearing Thetis’ request, Zeus “made no answer but sat in silence a long time.”[8] With at least some awareness of the potentially problematic issues regarding Zeus’ rule, justice and causality in view, let us now turn to Achilles.

Notes

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[1] The Iliad of Homer. Trans., Richmond Lattimore.  Chicago:  Univ. of Chicago Press, 1961.  All subsequent references to the Iliad are to this translation.  Iliad I.1-3, 59.

[2] Here the idea is clearly not a claim of drawing an inference from the text of the Iliad, but rather of the possibility that a myth which was considered by ancient hearers as worthy of retention was then later written down in poetic form by Pindar.  If so, it is reasonable to claim that the myth was part of the common heritage of Homer’s audience, just as the gods were presupposed as common knowledge rather than explained or argued for.  All references to Pindar’s ode are taken from Pindar’s Victory Songs, trans., Frank J. Nisetich [class handout].

[3] In Pindar’s ode, Themis proclaims, “‘Let her [Thetis] marry a mortal instead and see her son killed in battle, a son equal to Ares in might of hand or to the lightning bolt in speed of foot.  It is my counsel to give her as a wedding prize to Aiakos’ son Peleus’” (Isthmian 8, lines 35-40).

[4] Iliad I.396ff., 69-70.

[5] Hera in many ways stands for the institution of marriage; thus, when it is dishonored, Hera is likewise dishonored.

[6] Likewise, in book 15 Zeus, though it causes him distress, resolves not to intervene and spare the death of his own son, Sarpedon.  He also allows (wills?) his favorite human, Hektor, to die at Achilles’ hands. Is it possible that Hektor could have avoided his fate?

[7] Unfortunately, the solution that seems (at least on the surface) most reasonable-a dual between Menelaus and Paris-is interrupted by the gods (first Aphrodite intervenes, then Hera and Athene provoke a battle) such that a decisive outcome is rendered impossible. Interestingly, Zeus gives in to Hera’s complaints and even commands and incites Hera and Athene to “‘make it so that the Trojans are first offenders to do injury against the oaths to the far-famed Achaians’” (Iliad VI.71-72, 115).  Does this action speak against Zeus’ justice?  Perhaps one can make sense of Zeus’ decisions here as part of his overall plan in which the war simply cannot end at this point, because what he wants to achieve on a larger scale (which involves his promise to Thetis and his overseeing of Achilles’ destiny, as well as perhaps his desire to prevent the birth of future demigods who might detract from his glory) would be thwarted.   Yet, here again, we have to ask whether Zeus’ acting out of self-interest to prevent the future intermingling between gods and humans, which produce these glory and honor-seeking demigods (even if Zeus has been reformed from his philandering days) is consistent with justice?

[8] Iliad I.511-12, 72.  Zeus’ pause was perhaps also due to his anticipation of an unfavorable response by Hera.

In Romans 2:14-15, St. Paul speaks of, “Gentiles, who do not possess the law,” yet, who do “what the law requires.” Even though they, unlike Israel, do not possess the Torah,[1] they “are a law to themselves.  They show that what the law requires is written on their hearts, to which their own conscience also bears witness” (NRSV).  So who are these Gentiles?   Are they the so-called “righteous” pagans in the line of Vergil or Socrates, or Aristotle?  According to Wright (and I find his argument compelling exegetically), the people in view in Rom 2:14-15 are Christian Gentiles.  As Wright explains,

Paul’s view, to anticipate the later argument, is that those who are in Christ, who are indwelt by the Spirit, do in fact ‘do the law,’ even though, in the case of Gentiles, they have never heard it.  The law, in Paul’s view, pointed to that fullness of life and obedience to God which comes about in the Messiah; those who attain that fullness of life and obedience are therefore ‘doing the Torah’ in the senses that, to Paul, really matter (p. 441).[2]

Though on the surface it has a paradoxical ring, Paul’s view carefully avoids, on the one hand, implying that the Torah was something bad and thus to be discarded-rather he upholds the holiness of the Torah-and, on the other, suggesting that “Gentile Christians are second-class citizens in the kingdom of the Messiah.”  In effect, Paul has his cake and eats it too:  Gentiles Christians “are not under the Torah, but at the same time they are essentially doing what the Torah really wanted” (p. 441).

Wright’s exegesis takes into account the important cultural-historical (not to mention theological) issue of the early Church:  what is the relationship between Judaism and Christianity, and are uncircumcised, non Torah-trained Gentiles to be received as full members of the Church?  Paul’s emphatic answer is, “yes, because in Christ circumcision is no longer the badge marking out God’s people; rather, faith in the faithful obedience of God’s Messiah is the indicator of God’s people.”

Wright also spends some time dealing with objections to his position.  The primary objection centers on the word, φύσει, physei, both in terms of its meaning and grammatical function.   Some scholars see physei functioning adverbially and modifying the verb “do.”  However, as Wright points out, physei is found in the middle of the clause, ὅταν γὰρ ἔθνη τὰ μὴ νόμον ἔχοντα φύσει τὰ τοῦ νόμου ποιῶσιν; consequently, physei, could modify either “do” or “having the law” (pp. 441-42).  Wright opts for the latter, as it makes sense of the present passage, harmonizes well with the larger section through 5:21, and is in agreement with Paul’s usage of physei in 2:27.  In other words, physei in Rom 2:14 refers to “origin” or “parentage.”  “Gentiles do not, by nature-that is, by origin or parentage-possess the Torah.”  Likewise, in Rom 2:27, ἡ ἐκ φύσεως ἀκροβυστία τὸν νόμον τελοῦσα, φύσεως (”the by-nature uncircumcision that fulfills the Torah”) “cannot here refer to something that is common, innate, to all humans.  Jews, too, are born uncircumcised; that is, in that sense, the ‘natural’ state.  It must refer to Gentile humanity as opposed to Jewish (cf. Gal 2:15)” (p. 442).

Additional support for Wright’s interpretation is found in 2:15a, where we read, “[t]hey show that what the law requires is written on their hearts” (NRSV).  This language of the law “written on the heart” is New Covenant language, of which Jeremiah (Jer 31:33) and Ezekiel (Ezek 36:26, cf. the “new heart”) speak.  “Paul clearly believed, and elaborated this at various points, that the covenant had been renewed, according to this promise, through Jesus, and that this renewal was being implemented by the Spirit in those who were ‘in Christ’” (p. 442).

Notes

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[1] “Though not having the law, they are a law to themselves” (Rom 2:14b, NRSV).

[2] N.T. Wright, “The Letter to the Romans,” in Vol. X of The New Interpreter’s Bible (Nashville: Abingdon Press, 2002): 395-770.

“African ethics is like North American communitarianism in its emphasis on community, although (as we shall see later) there are important differences between the two in the process by which norms are established.  The concern that motivates communitarianism in its critique of the ‘unfettered self’ or of ‘atomism’ against liberalism is entirely in keeping with African ethics, which rejects the idea that being a human person and acting with responsibility is merely the result of having assented to rational principles, or arguing and thinking rationally.  For Black Africa, it is not the Cartesian cogito ergo sum (”I think, therefore I am”) but an existential cognatus [cognitus] sum, ergo sumus (”I am known [relationally related], therefore we are”) that is decisive”  (Bénézet Bujo, Foundations of an African Ethic:  Beyond the Universal Claims of Western Morality, p. 4).

[N.b.  The translation "I am known," for cognatus sum seems problematic, as
cognatus means something in the neighborhood of "I am related," or "I am
connected (in a familial sense)."  The Latin equivalent of "I am known," is cognitus sum.  Even so, both potential meanings are suggestive].

In this final section, I shall address from a theologico-philosophical point of view claims (1)-(3) and (5) of the opening division of my essay [Part I].  In article 1 of Ord 4, d 36, q 1, John Duns Scotus, in stark contrast to most of his ancient (e.g., Aristotle) and early medieval predecessors, argues that slavery (as described by Aristotle in bk. I of the Politics)[1] is incompatible with natural law, “not good but bad for the slave,” and is introduced “only by positive law.”[2] Scotus further states that there are only two instances in which this kind of slavery can be just:  (a) voluntary servitude (e.g. to pay a debt), and (b) in the case of hardened criminals who might otherwise harm themselves or others.  Yet, he is quick to qualify his claim regarding (a) voluntary servitude, as it still may go against the law of nature. Scotus’s argument is rooted in his view of the will as a self-determining active power.  A sufficient explanation of his view of the will is beyond the scope of this essay; however, for our purposes, I shall present his position in broad strokes.  According to Scotus, both natures and wills are active powers, yet the two are distinguished in terms of the mutually exclusive modalities in which they operate (i.e. natures operate necessarily and wills operate contingently, that is, freely).  If one claims that the will acts necessarily,[3] then it ceases to be a will and is transformed into a nature.  For Scotus, the will cannot be determined from anything outside of itself, lest it cease to be a will and hence, forfeit all claims to acting as a moral agent.  A person who acts necessarily and hence cannot act otherwise cannot justly be held to be morally responsible for his or her actions. Consequently, to willingly reduce oneself to the status of property-a position that could justly be occupied only by an animal or an inanimate object given Scotus’s distinctions-is according to Scotus “foolish.” It is to attempt, as a being created with a free will, to act as if one were an un-free, determined nature.  Freedom, for Scotus, is an essential component of our humanity and is part of what it means to be created in God’s image.  Thus, any endeavor to nullify that freedom, whether voluntary or involuntary is a violation not only of God’s design for human beings but also of the very ontology of human beings as well.  Lastly, to Scotus’s philosophical-theological arguments against slavery, we may add a further theological point:  the introduction of slavery is a consequence of the Fall.[4] Using Gordon Wenham’s phrase, slavery is not “creational-ly ideal.” In Gen 1:26-30, God gave Adam and Eve dominion over the animals, plants and the created order as a whole, excepting one another of course.[5] Adam was not commanded to dominate (or enslave) Eve, nor was Eve to dominate (or enslave) Adam.

In sum, Scotus’s condemnation of slavery as inherently unjust, coupled with the Augustinian theological claim based on Genesis that slavery is a result of the Fall and does not reflect God’s telos for human relationships, provides us with substantive building blocks for a case against (1) the charge that owning human beings and treating them as property is morally acceptable to God, (2) that slavery is a “natural” state of at least some human beings (Aristotle), and (3) that slavery is compatible with natural law.

As we have seen with the 1 Cor 7 passage [Part II, III], careful exegesis demands attentiveness to the occasional, as well as, the historico-cultural context and apocalyptic vision of the early church.  Failure to do so has resulted in shameful, inhumane, sub-Christian treatment of African Americans under the banner of Christ and by way of specific appeal to St. Paul’s writings.[6] Each new generation of Christian thinkers and activists must confront the particular moral and ethical issues of their day, which requires wisdom, seeking truth wherever it can be found (whether in divine revelation or elsewhere), and instruction from the Holy Spirit working through his people in the context of the church, “not by appeal to a previous blueprint by Jesus [or the New Testament writers] for the church.”[7] Such an approach requires wisdom, which is, of course, never easy but always worth the struggle.   To the question, should Christians today actively seek to eradicate slavery-the practice of reifying human beings and reducing them to the status of property-I answer with a resounding “yes.” For the Christian today, I see no moral imperatives in Scripture compelling support for the institution of slavery.   Just as Paul called the Christian communities of his day to live out its kingdom values, we too must live and act in such a way that challenges the injustices of society.  Our historical and cultural situation is of course different from that of Paul and the early church.  Nonetheless, the Church would do well to reflect on Paul’s subversive strategies, to recall Scotus’s condemnation of slavery, and to work towards developing a position in the spirit of Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. and Pope John Paul II, in which the enslavement of human beings is once and for all condemned as an “intrinsically evil” (intrinsece malum) act.[8] The faith and eschatological-ly grounded hope of our African American brothers and sisters serve as an exemplar for all Christians of striving for justice and standing for the dignity of all human beings.  Will we follow with an appropriate response of (active) love?

Bibliography/Works Cited/Consulted

Aland, Barbara, Aland, Kurt, and Black, Matthew et al. The Greek New Testament, 4th ed., Federal Republic of Germany: United Bible Societies, 1993, c1979.

Augustine.  De civitate Dei, ed. and trans. R.W. Dyson.  Cambridge:  Cambridge University Press, 1998.

Bailey, Kenneth E.  “Women in the New Testament:  A Middle Eastern Cultural View,” Theology Matters Vol. 6, no. 1 (Jan/Feb 2000):  1-11.  [An online version of this article is available at:
http://www.cbeinternational.org/new/pdf_files/free_articles/kebaileynt.pdf ].

Bartchy, S. Scott. “Slavery,” in Vol. 4, Q-Z of The International Standard Bible Encyclopedia, eds. Geoffrey W. Bromiley et al. (Grand Rapids:  Eerdmans, 1988):  539-46.

Brown, Raymond E.  An Introduction to the New Testament. New York:  Doubleday, 1997.

Felder, Cain Hope.  “The Letter to Philemon,” in Vol. XI of The New Interpreter’s Bible (Nashville: Abingdon Press, 2000): 883-887.

Finley, M. I.  Ancient Slavery and Modern Ideology. New York:  Viking Press, 1980.

Garnsey, Peter.  Ideas of Slavery from Aristotle to Augustine. Cambridge:  Cambridge University Press, 1996.

Glancy, Jennifer A.  Slavery in Early Christianity. Oxford:  Oxford University Press, 2002.

Harrill, J.A.  “Slavery,” in The Dictionary of Paul and His Letters, eds. Ralph P. Martin and Daniel G. Reid (Downer’s Grove:  Intervarsity Press, 1993):  1124-27.

Hays, Richard B.   First Corinthians. Louisville:  Westminster John Knox Press, 1997.

Lewis, Lloyd A.  “An African American Appraisal of the Philemon-Paul-Onesimus Triangle,” in Stony the Road We Trod:  African American Biblical Interpretation. (Minneapolis:  Augsburg Fortress Press, 1991):  232-246.

Martin, Clarice J.  “The Haustafeln (Household Codes) in African American Biblical Interpretation: ‘Free Slaves’ and ‘Subordinate Women,’” in Stony the Road We Trod:  African American Biblical Interpretation. (Minneapolis:  Augsburg Fortress Press, 1991):  206-231.

Rupprecht, A.A.  “Slave, Slavery,” in The Dictionary of New Testament Background, eds. Craig A. Evans and Stanley E. Porter (Downer’s Grove:  Intervarsity Press, 2000):  881-83.

Sampley, J. Paul.  “The First Letter to the Corinthians,” in Vol. X of The New Interpreter’s Bible (Nashville: Abingdon Press, 2002):  773-1003.

Witherington III, Ben.  Conflict and Community in Corinth: A Socio-Rhetorical Commentary on 1 and 2 Corinthians.  Grand Rapids:  Eerdmans, 1995.

Wolter, Allan B. (trans.) and Frank, William A. (ed.),   On the Will and Morality. Washington, D.C.: Catholic University of America Press, 1997.

Notes

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[1] Scotus describes Aristotle’s view of slavery as found in book I of the Politics as that “according to which the master can sell the slave like an animal, for cannot exercise acts of manly excellence, since he has to perform servile actions at the command of his master.  {Addition:  And this servitude or enslavement is such that an individual loses all his legal rights to another person, which is something not to the good of the slave, but to his detriment, and this slavery is what Aristotle talks about when he says a slave is like an inanimate instrument, neither can he be good or virtuous.  This kind of slavery, as we said, is not good but bad for the slave, and therefore the Apostle says:  ‘Know that you are free and do not make yourself subject to any man’}” (Wolter, Duns Scotus on the Will and Morality, p. 325).

[2] Wolter, Duns Scotus on the Will and Morality, p. 325.

[3] The language used here tends to reify will.  When Scotus uses the term “will,” he means a person who possesses a genuine will that is free.

[4] Augustine likewise appeals to the Fall of Adam as the causal origin of slavery; however, he seems to employ this claim as a way to justify the continuance of the institution. “The first cause of servitude, therefore, is sin, by which man was placed under man in a condition of bondage:  a condition which can come about only by the judgment of God, in Whom there is no injustice.” Augustine, De civitate Dei, 19.15, p. 943. Cf. also Garnsey’s detailed analysis of Augustine’s position on slavery in Ideas of Slavery from Aristotle to Augustine, pp. 206-19.

[5] Cf. also, Augustine, De civitate Dei, 19.15, p. 942.

[6] Cf. Cone’s discussion of slave catechisms produced by Christians in the Antebellum South, The Spirituals and the Blues, pp. 22-23.

[7] Brown, An Introduction to the New Testament, p. 331.

[8] In Veritatis Splendor, paragraph 80, Pope John Paul II states, “[r]eason attests that there are objects of the human act which are by their nature ‘incapable of being ordered’ to God, because they radically contradict the good of the person made in his image. These are the acts which, in the Church’s moral tradition, have been termed ‘intrinsically evil’ (intrinsece malum): they are such always and per se, in other words, on account of their very object, and quite apart from the ulterior intentions of the one acting and the circumstances. Consequently, without in the least denying the influence on morality exercised by circumstances and especially by intentions, the Church teaches that ‘there exist acts which per se and in themselves, independently of circumstances, are always seriously wrong by reason of their object’ [Reconciliatio et Paenitentia (December 2, 1984), 17: AAS 77 (1985), 221; cf. Paul VI, Address to Members of the Congregation of the Most Holy Redeemer, (September 1967): AAS 59 (1967), 962].  The Second Vatican Council itself, in discussing the respect due to the human person, gives a number of examples of such acts: ‘Whatever is hostile to life itself, such as any kind of homicide, genocide, abortion, euthanasia and voluntary suicide; whatever violates the integrity of the human person, such as mutilation, physical and mental torture and attempts to coerce the spirit; whatever is offensive to human dignity, such as subhuman living conditions, arbitrary imprisonment, deportation, slavery, prostitution and trafficking in women and children; degrading conditions of work which treat labourers as mere instruments of profit, and not as free responsible persons: all these and the like are a disgrace, and so long as they infect human civilization they contaminate those who inflict them more than those who suffer injustice, and they are a negation of the honour due to the Creator’ [Gaudium et Spes, 27].”  http://www.vatican.va/edocs/ENG0222/__P8.HTM (accessed February 25, 2009).

[Part I, Part II] Scholars, of course, are divided over the date and composition of 1 Corinthians and Philemon and disagree over the location from which each was written.  With Sampley and Witherington, I conclude that 1 Corinthians was composed in Ephesus in the late fall or early winter 53-54 AD.[1] With Brown, I hold that Philemon was also composed in Ephesus in 56 AD, approximately two to three years after 1 Corinthians.[2] As is well-known, Paul, in his very short letter to Philemon, devotes significant space to the master/slave relationship. Some scholars have concluded that in his letter to Philemon Paul’s position on slavery has changed and changed for the better in comparison to his exhortations to slaves in 1 Cor 7.[3] But has Paul altered his view in any substantive way?   Perhaps not, if we keep firmly before us the fact the specific appeals regarding the recently converted Onesimus are directed at Philemon, Paul’s friend and co-laborer in Christ (Plm 1).   In contrast, there is no indication that the slaves addressed in 1 Corinthians had exclusively Christian masters.  Rather, it is more plausible to suggest that at least some, and perhaps even most slaves whom Paul addressed in 1 Corinthians had non-Christian masters.[4] In Philemon, then, what we have is an impassioned plea to a mature Christian leader to enact in this world the kind of relationships that will characterize the age to come.

As Brown observes, “[t]he letter, designed to persuade, is astute, with almost every verse hinting at something more than is stated.”[5] Apparently, Onesimus, Philemon’s slave, had been converted by Paul during Paul’s imprisonment (Phlm 9-10).  Paul addresses Philemon as a Christian brother and one whose life and works had been a great source of encouragement to him (Phlm 4-7).  Now that Onesimus has been brought into union with the living Christ, Paul challenges Philemon to recognize Onesimus’s new status in Christ, not simply in a “spiritual” inner sense, but καὶ ἐν σαρκὶ καὶ ἐν κυρίῳ (”both in the flesh and in the Lord,” Plm 16, NRSV).  In other words, pace Nietzsche’s complaint that Christianity has an exclusively “other-worldly-world” focus, new life in Christ necessarily involves socio-political ramifications.  Thus, Paul, in a pastoral and caring manner, encourages his fellow brother in Christ, Philemon, to embody this Gospel in his relationship with Onesimus.  Consider, for example, the strong emotional language Paul employs to urge Philemon to action, “I am appealing to you for my child [in the Lord], Onesimus” (v. 10, NRSV); “if you consider me your partner, welcome him as you would welcome me” (v. 17, italics added, NRSV); “Confident of your obedience, I am writing to you, knowing that you will do even more than I say” (v. 21, italics added, NRSV).  Acknowledging the strong rhetorical flavor of this letter, we may reasonably conclude that Paul expected Philemon to manumit Onesimus-to receive him “no longer as a slave but more than a slave, a beloved brother” (Plm 16, NRSV).[6] Even if one were to concede that Paul to some degree participated in the cultural blindness of his day by not directly speaking against slavery as an institution (and in part due to his strong apocalyptic convictions), nonetheless, he does call the Christianity community to a different standard, to, as it were, kingdom values.

Many scholars, of course, are quick to point out that slaves were the economic backbone of Roman society.  For instance, Bartchy writes,

[i]n such an economic context it was virtually impossible for anyone to conceive of abolishing slavery as a legal-economic institution.  To have turned all the slaves into free day laborers would have been to create an economy in which those at the bottom would have suffered even more insecurity and potential poverty than before.[7]

Though this is no doubt true historically speaking, arguments along these lines have been employed (and sadly enough by Christians) to justify slavery as an institution.[8] As I shall contend in the concluding section, Christians ought to see slavery[9] as a consequence of the fall and, hence, as completely un-natural and inconsistent with God’s ideal for human beings and with human ontology (viz. as free beings).   Bartchy goes on to say that neither Jesus (nor the Twelve) nor Paul owned slaves.  By example of their own lives, both Jesus and the pioneers of early Christianity issued a challenge to the “early Christians to conceive of themselves as living already among themselves in an alternative social-legal environment.”[10] Through God’s activity of calling into being these “alternative households,” that is, Christian communities in which the slave/master relationship is relativized and slavery to Christ (the ultimate suffering, foot-washing Servant) is the only form of servitude that will continue into the eschaton, we see the Gospel and Paul’s exhortations to kingdom living issuing a threat to the economic structure of Roman society.[11]

Before turning to the more theologico-philosophical section of my essay, we must address a lingering question concerning my translation of 1 Cor 7:24. To what does the “this” refer in the phrase which I have translated, “on account of this” (ἐν τούτῳ, v. 24)?  In verse 23, Paul commands the currently enslaved believers not to become slaves of human masters. Why?  Because they have been “bought with a price” (ἀγοράζω (agorazō),[12] Christ’s blood, whose value infinitely outweighs any monetary amount offered for the purchase of a human being.  Consequently, the only true Master for a Christian is Jesus Christ, who alone is worthy of devotion and unyielding submission.[13] The Christian community then must exhibit kingdom relationships to the on-looking world-relationships characterized not by the arbitrary, self-serving, power-oriented standards of unregenerate human beings, but by mutual respect and recognition of the equal status of all believers before God.  “There is no longer Jew or Greek, there is no longer slave or free, there is no longer male and female; for all of you are one in Christ Jesus” (Gal 3:28, NRSV).

Notes

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[1] Cf.  Sampley, “The First Letter to the Corinthians,” p. 777.  Sampley presents his case for this early dating based on Paul’s travel information given in 1 Cor 16:5-9.   In this passage, Paul announces his plan to visit Corinth after a stay in Ephesus until Pentecost, a Jewish festival that occurs fifty days after the second day of the Passover celebration (p. 776).  This has led some scholars to postulate that Paul wrote 1 Corinthians “in late fall or winter, leaving time for the pre-Pentecost, remaining work in Ephesus to which Paul alludes by the metaphor of the ‘wide door’ opened him there (1 Cor 16:9)” (p. 776).  The question then becomes, which late fall or winter?  According to Sampley, if one gives credence to the Acts 18 account of Paul’s missionary activity (vs. 22-23), coupled with the time needed to secure his mission in Ephesus, one may posit an early date for 1 Corinthians, ca. late fall or winter 53-54 AD (pp. 776-77).  Witherington also opts for an early dating (53-54 AD) of 1 Corinthians, pointing to the evidence of the inscription found at Delphi mentioning Gallio’s name, which corroborates with the Acts 18 account and thus allows us to establish a date for Gallio’s service in Corinth (50-51 or 51-52 AD) (cf. Conflict and Community in Corinth, pp. 71-73).

[2] Cf. Brown, An Introduction to the New Testament, pp. 507-8.  Felder opts for Rome as the place of composition and a later date as well (ca. 61 AD).  If Felder is correct, my overall argument is not diminished and perhaps even strengthened.  Cf. Felder, “The Letter to Philemon,” p. 884.

[3] Cf. Brown, An Introduction to the New Testament, pp. 506-7.

[4] Witherington concurs. Cf. Conflict and Community in Corinth, p. 183.

[5] Brown, An Introduction to the New Testament, p. 505.

[6] As Lewis highlights, it is curious that Paul introduces himself in this letter as a “prisoner of Christ,” rather than a “slave of Christ” (Phil 1:1) or a “slave” and “apostle” of Christ (Rom 1:1) (Lewis, “The Philemon-Paul-Onesimus Triangle,” pp. 240-41).  In this letter, Paul is clearly appealing to Philemon as a friend and fellow brother; thus, he refrains from imposing apostolic authority.  Perhaps he avoids the title “slave of Christ,” because his aim is to persuade Philemon to manumit Onesimus and to en-flesh the eschatological reality of Christian relationships that characterize the next aeon in the present aeon.

[7] Bartchy, “Slavery,” p. 546.

[8] Cf. Garnsey, Ideas of Slavery from Aristotle to Augustine, p. 156, footnote 3.

[9] That is, human ownership of other human beings in which those owned are considered as “things” and property of their masters.

[10] Bartchy, “Slavery,” p. 546.

[11] Bartchy, “Slavery,” p. 546.  Witherington has similar comments, cf. e.g., Conflict and Community in Corinth, p. 185.

[12] The same verb is used in 1 Cor 6:20, where Paul exhorts the believers to, glorify God with their bodies, since they were “bought with a price.”

[13] The following goes beyond my competence, but I propose it as “food for thought.”  In contrast with the Covenant (Ex 20:22-23:33) and Deuteronomic (Dt 12-26) Codes, the Holiness Code in Lev 25:39-55 explicitly forbids the enslavement of fellow Hebrews, as they are God’s “slaves,” whom he delivered from Egyptian bondage (Lev 25:42).  Is it possible that Paul has Lev 25:39-55 in mind and is engaging in a Christocentric variation on an OT theme?  That is, just as the Hebrews were commanded by God not to re-enslave their fellow Hebrews because God himself had delivered them from the hands of their oppressors and made them his slaves, so too Christians, using Paul’s language, are slaves of Christ, having been bought with a price, Christ’s blood, and ideally are not to be the slaves of other human beings.  Brown, for example, notes that Paul “betrays his Jewish roots” in his outcry against the sexual immorality condemned in 1 Cor 5:1-2; “for marriage within such a degree of kindred was forbidden by the Mosaic Law” (Lev 18:8; 20:11) (An Introduction to the New Testament, p. 518).  Sadly, American slaveholders in the South appealed to Lev 25 to justify their proslavery position, claiming that just as God permitted the Hebrews to enslave other people groups, so too, they, as God’s chosen people, have a divine sanction to enslave African Americans (cf. Martin, “The Haustafeln,” p. 215).

Paul opens 1 Corinthians with his typical greeting and thanksgiving section (1:1-9).[1] Following more or less Brown’s outline, the letter divides neatly into four parts, wherein Paul:  (1) addresses divisions in the Corinthian church, 1:10-4:21, (2) speaks to various moral and practical issues (incest, lawsuits, sexual immorality, marriage and re-marriage, status of slaves, food offered to idols, and issues concerning the worship service), 5:1-11:34, (3) gives instructions regarding the proper use of spiritual gifts and exhorts the Corinthians to the superior way of love (chapter 13), chapters 12-14, and (4) presents a theologically rich discourse on the resurrection of Christ and its implications for the Christian, chapter 15.  In the final chapter (chapter 16), Paul provides practical information regarding the collection for the saints, announces his travel plans, and closes with his final greetings.

In the latter part of chapter 1, Paul brings to a close a passage contrasting the wisdom and power of God with the wisdom and power of the present, fading world (1:18-31).   Paul’s exhortation in 1 Cor 1:26-28 functions on multiple levels, creating polysemous applications for his diverse Corinthian audience.  As many commentators observe, Corinth was a religiously diverse city of considerable socio-economic import. The Corinthian church was a microcosm of the social structures of the larger culture.  “There was no middle class in the Greco-Roman world.  At the top of the pyramid were a few rich persons who were, therefore, automatically persons of power and status.”[2] This reflection of the larger culture is indicated in 1 Cor 1:26, where Paul states that few of the saints at Corinth were wise according to worldly standards (σοφοὶ κατὰ σάρκα), few were powerful (δυνατοί), and few were of noble or high birth (εὐγενεῖς).  Thus, we can reasonably posit that most in church at Corinth were of low birth (perhaps slaves), weak or lacking in worldly power (perhaps women, who, in a patriarchal society, generally occupy subordinate socio-political positions), and unsophisticated, non-philosophical individuals (those whom the world considered “foolish”).  To these no-bodys (τὰ μὴ ὄντα, literally, “things that are not,” italics added) by worldly standards, Paul speaks words of immense encouragement:  “But God chose what is foolish in the world to shame the wise; God chose what is weak in the world to shame the strong; God chose what is low and despised in the world, things that are not, to reduce to nothing things that are” (1 Cor 1:27-28, NRSV).  Yet, to those few in the Corinthian church who were wise, powerful, and high born, Paul words are meant to convict, to urge them back to God’s system of values, which in the eyes of the world is weakness and foolishness.  Paul then informs the Corinthians of his purpose in reminding them who they were and who, by God’s gracious call, they now are in Christ:  “so that no one (πᾶσα σὰρξ) might boast in the presence of God” (1 Cor 1:29-30, NRSV).  Both their calling to intimate union with Christ and the spiritual charismata they have received for the upbuilding of Christ’s body were gifts.  What, or better, who, is wisdom for the Christian, asks Paul?   His unequivocal answer is:  Christ! “Who became for us wisdom from God, and righteousness and sanctification and redemption” (1 Cor 1:31, NRSV).  Since the Corinthians have so quickly forgotten the source of everything good thing which they have and are, he reminds them once again in whom alone proper boasting is found.  “As it is written, ‘Let the one who boasts, boast in the Lord’” (1 Cor 1:31, NRSV).  As we shall see, Paul’s exhortation in this opening chapter to the Corinthian believers to relate to one another in a way that recognizes their mutual, equal status in Christ, is a theme permeates the letter as a whole and has particular bearing on our focus passage, 1 Cor 7:20-24.

As we saw in our brief overview of 1 Corinthians, chapter 7 falls between Paul’s admonitions regarding lawsuits and sexual immorality and his directives concerning food offered to idols.  More specifically, chapter 7 consists of Paul’s responses to particular questions, which the Corinthians had raised and sent to him by letter on an earlier occasion (1 Cor 7:1). The focus of the present essay centers on Paul’s teaching regarding slaves in 1 Cor 7:20-24.  This passage reads as follows:

20 ἕκαστος ἐν τῇ κλήσει ᾗ ἐκλήθη, ἐν ταύτῃ μενέτω.	Each person should remain in the situation in which he was called.
21 δοῦλος ἐκλήθης, μή σοι μελέτω· ἀλλʼ εἰ καὶ δύνασαι ἐλεύθερος γενέσθαι, μᾶλλον χρῆσαι.	Were you a slave when called? Do not be consumed by it; (however, if you are able to obtain the status of one who has been freed, by all means, take advantage of it)!
22 ὁ γὰρ ἐν κυρίῳ κληθεὶς δοῦλος ἀπελεύθερος κυρίου ἐστίν, ὁμοίως ὁ ἐλεύθερος κληθεὶς δοῦλός ἐστιν Χριστοῦ.	For he, who was a slave when called, is, in the Lord, one who has been freed by the Lord. Likewise, he, who was a free person when called, is a slave of Christ.
23 τιμῆς ἠγοράσθητε· μὴ γίνεσθε δοῦλοι ἀνθρώπων.	You were bought with a price; do not become the slaves of fellow humans beings.
24 ἕκαστος ἐν ᾧ ἐκλήθη, ἀδελφοί, ἐν τούτῳ μενέτω παρὰ θεῷ.[2]	On account of this, brothers and sisters, before God, let each person, while finding himself in the situation in which he was called, so remain.[3] (My translation).

Verses 20 and 24 form an inclusio, with verse 24 offering an explanatory variation on the theme, “remain in the situation in which you were called,” stated in verse 20.[4] Before explicating my (no doubt controversial) translation of verse 24, we should walk carefully through the passage and see how it relates it to its immediate context.  As we shall see, the Gospel for Paul necessarily affects one’s relationships with others, and, hence, ipso facto affects the broader socio-political sphere.  A believer’s redemption in Christ involves not only the vertical dimension (God and humans) but the horizontal dimension as well (humans and other humans).  In fact, the horizontal, socio-political dimension is precisely where the radical transformation resulting from one’s redemption is embodied and displayed to an on-looking world, for good or for ill.

Though many New Testament scholars highlight the positive ways in which slaves in the Roman world were treated-some received an excellent education, others gained greater economic security than poor, free-born individuals-nonetheless, slaves were still considered legally the property of another person.  As S. Scott Bartchy observes, “a slave was a res, a thing, a chattel to be owned, bought, and sold.”[5] In addition to this de-humanizing reification, a slave could not enter into a legal marriage, could not represent himself legally, could not inherit, and was subject to physical, sexual (particularly if a female) and other abuses by his or her master.[6] With these very concrete, tangible realities in mind, Paul wants the slave to understand who s/he is and to whom s/he now belongs.  Those who currently find themselves under the yoke of human masters are in actuality ἀπελεύθεροι κυρίου (v. 22), who have been “bought with a price” (v. 23), the shed blood and broken body of our Lord.  Paul, as one who knows what it is like to be concerned for his own safety and the well-being of others, to be beaten, to be despised and humiliated, is no doubt acutely aware of the daily hardships endured by slaves and exhorts them not to make their current status as slaves the driving focal point of their concerns and their understanding of who they are.[7] Yet, in the very same breath, he encourages them to seize their freedom, should they be presented with such an opportunity (v. 21).

The verb, μεριμνάω (merimnaō)/ μέριμνα (merimna), in 1 Cor 7:21 is used repeatedly in our present passage and also occurs in 1 Cor 7:32-34. In this latter passage, Paul uses the verb four times and begins the passage with the noun variant, ἀμέριμνος (amerimnos), which is found only here in the New Testament.  The verb μέριμνα can be translated in many ways; however, in our passage at hand, it means “to care for,” “to be concerned about something or someone.”   As used in 1 Cor 7, as well as in 1 Cor 12:25, Php 2:20, and Matt 6:25-34, μέριμνα is bound up with an object(s) of care, an intentionality or directedness and focus on something or someone.  Our English phrase, “to be consumed with one’s work,” captures the intentional nature and all-encompassing aspect of the verb but perhaps loses what is conveyed in notion of care.  One can, of course, be consumed with positive and negative and greater and lesser activities, attitudes, and goals.  As a pastor and fellow sufferer for the sake of Christ, Paul exhorts these slaves not to allow the cares of this (presently fading) world to consume them, causing them not only to lose sight of their Christocentric identity and life-focus, but perhaps also to lose hope.  Thus, for those slaves who are not presented with the opportunity to obtain their freedom (manumission was clearly not in their power to decide, as they were not considered persons under Roman law, and consequently, had no legal rights),[8] Paul wants to encourage them with the truth that in Christ they have been freed from the bonds of sin, and in Christ their status before God is not less but equal to their (free) fellow-Christians.  Moreover, all Christians are δοῦλοι ἐστιν Χριστοῦ. “Thus values and status are turned upside down in Christ.”[9]

Paul likewise urges various other groups of believers at the church in Corinth (the married, unmarried, widows, virgins, 1 Cor 7:25-39) not to allow the understandable, legitimate concerns of this life to distract them from their kingdom callings.  These exhortations as a whole must be interpreted in light of Paul’s strong apocalyptic conviction that the “present world is passing away” (1 Cor 7:31).   In fact, 1 Cor 7:25-31 is permeated with eschatological language, which reflects Paul’s belief in the imminent return of the Lord Jesus Christ (i.e., he expected the parousia to occur during his own lifetime).  For example, in the pericope immediately following our focus passage, Paul speaks of the “impending crisis” (1 Cor 7:26), stresses that the “appointed time has grown short” (1 Cor 7:29), and, as just mentioned, describes the present structure of the world as “passing way” (παράγει γὰρ τὸ σχῆμα τοῦ κόσμου τούτου, 1 Cor 7:31).  With Paul’s apocalyptic and eschatological views in mind, we are now in a position to discuss my translation of 1 Cor 7:24.

In 1 Cor 7:24, Paul states, “[o]n account of this (ἐν τούτῳ), brothers and sisters, before God, let each person, while finding himself in the situation (ἐν ᾧ) in which he was called, so remain” (ἕκαστος ἐν ᾧ ἐκλήθη, ἀδελφοί, ἐν τούτῳ μενέτω παρὰ θεῷ).  Paul has made use of an inclusio to frame this passage; yet, he has also varied his original theme.  In 1 Cor 7:20, we read, ἕκαστος ἐν τῇ κλήσει ᾗ ἐκλήθη, ἐν ταύτῃ μενέτω, whereas in verse 24, we find two substitutions, (1) ἐν ᾧ for ἐν τῇ κλήσει and (2) ἐν τούτῳ for ἐν ταύτῃ.  Are these variations significant?  More specifically, do the substitutions in the second parallel passage serve both to establish the inclusio structure and yet simultaneously function as a prelude to the explicit eschatological themes in the pericope which immediately follows (1 Cor 7:25-31)?  I contend that verse 24 does serve this dual purpose, as it creates an organic connection between the two passages (1 Cor 7:20-24 and 1 Cor 7:25-31)-passages, which must be interpreted in light of Paul’s apocalyptic and eschatological concerns and emphases.  Moreover, emphasizing the temporal dimension of 1 Cor 7:24 helps us to make sense out of Paul’s exhortation in verse 21 (μᾶλλον χρῆσαι, “by all means, take advantage of it,” that is, of gaining your freedom).  If we fail to take into account Paul’s strong apocalyptic orientation, then his instructions that follow regarding marriage, re-marriage and celibacy can easily be misconstrued as “nay-saying” (Nietzsche) and as espousing a disparaging view of embodiment and life in this world.  In light of Paul’s knowledge of the OT teaching affirming the goodness of creation, his high view of the Incarnation, his teaching on the sacraments as a means for sanctification in this life, and his firm belief in our embodied state in the age to come, the principle of charity demands that we seek a more this-world-friendly interpretation.  Here perhaps we would benefit by bringing our 1 Cor 7 passage in dialogue with Paul’s letter to Philemon.

Notes

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[1] As both Witherington and Brown attest, Paul’s authorship and the unity of 1 Corinthians are widely accepted among scholars (Cf. Witherington, Conflict and Community in Corinth, p. 71, and Brown, An Introduction to the New Testament, p. 512).

[2] Sampley, “The First Letter to the Corinthians,” p. 814.

^[3] Aland et al., The Greek New Testament, p. 451.

[4] All other Scripture verses, unless indicated otherwise, are taken from the New Revised Standard Version. Nashville: Thomas Nelson Publishers, 1989, and will be abbreviated as NRSV.

[5] As far as I can see, even if my translation proves problematic, the main thrust of my exegesis remains defensible.

[6] Bartchy, “Slavery,” p. 544.

[7] Bartchy, “Slavery,” p. 544. Bartchy acknowledges that slaves were considered property and things; yet, he seems at times to present an overly romanticized view of slaves in the Greco-Roman world, emphasizing the varied roles slaves had, depending on to whom they belonged. Bartchy adds that slaves in the NT period constituted a “logical” and a “juridical” class but not a social class (p. 544). I find this a somewhat confusing claim. If such were the case, why would the apostle Paul feel the need to address gender and social status issues, as he does in our current passage as well as other crucial texts such as Gal 3:28? For a less romanticized view of slavery in the Roman period, cf. Glancy, Slavery in Early Christianity. Cf. also A.A. Rupprecht’s discussion of the use of the ergastulum to house slaves who worked in chain gangs (”Slave, Slavery,” in The Dictionary of New Testament Background, p. 881) and J.A. Harill’s comments on the severity of the physical torture of Roman slaves by means of the flagellum (”Slavery,” in The Dictionary of Paul and His Letters, p. 1125).

[8] It is also worth highlighting that in 1 Cor 7:18-19, two verses immediately prior to our focus passage, Paul relativizes the circumcised verses uncircumcised distinction. Thus, we have in close proximity two of the three distinctions annulled in Gal 3:28: “There is no longer Jew or Greek, there is no longer slave or free, there is no longer male and female; for all of you are one in Christ Jesus” (NRSV). In light of Kenneth Bailey’s thesis that women in the Corinthian church had misconstrued Paul’s message and were engaging in anti-male sexism, perhaps the absence of the relativization of the male-female distinction in Christ was purposed by Paul. If so, once again, the cultural-historical and occasional nature of the letter must be stressed, and one must resist a “timeless truth” application of Paul’s commands to women in the Corinthian church (e.g., in 1 Cor 14:34-36) to our contemporary, ecclesial situation (cf. Bailey, “Women in the New Testament,” pp. 6ff.).

[9] Witherington, Conflict and Community in Corinth, p. 184.

[10] Witherington, Conflict and Community in Corinth, p. 185. Cf. also, Lewis, “The Philemon-Paul-Onesimus Triangle,” pp. 236-39, especially p. 239.