2023-04-17

§ 27. The Healing of the Leper

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This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution 4.0 International License.

by Neil Godfrey

Critique of the Gospel History of the Synoptics
by Bruno Bauer

Volume 2

—o0o—

14

§ 27.

The Healing of the Leper.

Matthew 8:1-4.

Immediately after calling the two pairs of brothers, Jesus goes with them to Capernaum, where they are based, and he appears as a powerful teacher in the synagogue, so much so that the people are amazed. Even a man who was possessed by an unclean spirit and present in the synagogue, or rather the demon in this man, recognizes in Jesus “the Holy One of God” and senses that he has come to destroy him and his kind. When he cried out and revealed that he knew who Jesus was, Jesus commanded him to be silent and to come out of the possessed man, and he was freed to the amazement of those present.

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Luke includes this account of Mark’s (Mark 1:21-28) in his writing in its entirety, after he had led the Lord of Nazareth to Capernaum (Luke 4:31-37). The only mistake he made was to allow Jesus to go to Capernaum and even stay at Peter’s house (verse 38) before reporting the calling of the first disciples.

Although Matthew was indeed hasty in mentioning Capernaum (Matthew 4:13), he does not report the calling of the first disciples as late as Luke, but instead has Jesus travel around Galilee and gain great fame in order to give the Sermon on the Mount an appropriate background. And he reports the sermon itself so early because he wants to show by example that Jesus’ teachings must have greatly affected the people.

He cannot report the incident in the synagogue in Capernaum, so he leaves it aside for later when it would be more appropriate to bring it up. Now, however, he is dominated by Luke, from whom he borrowed the occasion, idea, and structure of the Sermon on the Mount, and he must now, willingly or unwillingly, have the Lord come to Capernaum and heal the centurion’s servant. But before that, as the Lord is coming down from the mountain to Capernaum, he sends the leper to meet him. Why? He wanted to fill in the empty space between the descent from the mountain and the meeting with the centurion upon entering the city. He did not want the triumphal procession of the divine envoy and new legislator to go unnoticed in one place, and if just then the people were amazed at the powerful preaching of the preacher, he wanted to immediately start the miracle-working upon coming down from the mountain and arriving in the plain. He was led to this healing in particular by the following circumstance. After the great sermon, Luke says, the Lord entered Capernaum *). Matthew reads the same thing word for word from Mark **) at a place where he had just read the healing of the leper – he needed no more than this to believe he was justified in inserting this healing precisely here, where a miracle was so necessary to him before Jesus entered Capernaum.

*) Luke 7:1 εισηλθεν εις Καπερναουμ

**) Mark 2:1 και παλιν εισηλθεν εις Καπερναουμ

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The fact that he placed it in the wrong place and was forced to leave out the punchline of the whole thing, we have already seen.

Luke reports it at the place where he found it in Mark; he places it on the journey that Jesus took when he left the house of Peter, but he had already disorderly arranged the travel plan from the beginning when he lets Jesus call Peter on this journey. In addition, he has given the situation an indefinite definiteness, while Mark leaves it completely indefinite, as appropriate to the punchline. According to Mark’s account, the leper came to the Lord while he was traveling throughout Galilee, but according to Luke, when Jesus was in one of the cities where, as he said at the beginning of his journey, he must also preach the gospel ***). Finally, Luke does not reproduce the contrast on which Mark has built the whole thing purely; he does not say that despite the prohibition, the healed man made the matter known and Jesus had to stay away from the cities and retreat into the wilderness. Rather, he chooses the indefinite portrayal that the reputation of Jesus only spread further *), that the crowds flocked to him to hear him and be healed, and that he himself stayed in the wilderness and – the standing formula! – prayed. Peter’s catch of fish made this weakening of the contrast necessary, as it not only interrupts the journey, but also gives the impression that it only begins when Jesus meets the leper in one of the cities. At least now the travel report makes a new start when Jesus and the sick man meet, and it would have to end too quickly if the healed man immediately made Jesus known as his savior and forced him to withdraw into secrecy. The news of the miraculous event must therefore spread only generally – one does not know how, but in any case in a way that takes more time – among the people.

***) Luke 5:12: και εγένετο εν τω είναι αυτόν εν μιά των πόλεων.  4:43: και ταϊς ετέραις πόλεσιν ευαγγελίσασθαι με δεί.

*) Luke 5:15: διήρχετο δε μάλλον ο λόγος περί αυτού.

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So in Mark we find the conception of the story in its first purity, simplicity, and epigrammatic elaboration. The tension of the whole is calculated for the point at which Jesus so strictly forbids the announcement of the miracle, and the appropriate resolution of the tension is given in the circumstance that the healed man nevertheless and even immediately, after leaving Jesus, speaks much about the matter, makes it known, and thereby causes the crowds to rush to the Lord himself in the wilderness, where he had withdrawn to.

But why does Jesus forbid the healed man so strictly to speak of the matter? Why does he tell him to show himself only to the priest and to offer the cleansing sacrifice commanded by Moses “as a testimony to them”? The matter cannot be understood as if the man were not first to speak with the people at length and first show himself to the priest, as if it were then permitted for him to make the matter known. The prohibition is rather absolute: he is not to speak with anyone at all about the matter **), that is, he is not to betray his doctor as the miraculous Messiah; for the healed man had recognized Jesus not only through the miracle but had already recognized him as the Messiah from the outset when he addressed him with the words: “if you will, you can make me clean.” The solution does not lie in the assumption that Jesus himself was initially uncertain of his messianic calling: for in this case, he could not have spoken as if the assumption of the sick man regarding his messianic dignity and power was fully correct. Instead of merely forbidding him to speak of the miracle, he should have told him that his assumption was too far-reaching. Or did Jesus’s still obscure intuition of his messianic calling get hit electrically by the recognition of another, so that in this recognition he saw what was not yet clearly recognized by himself, then he should have spoken differently in this case as well. But just as his words simply confirm the assumption of the healed man, his messianic nature must have been long recognized and generally acknowledged if someone were to come up with the idea of demanding the liberation from leprosy from him without further ado.

**) “Ορα μηδενί μηδέν είπης.

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In the third edition of his work, *) Strauss finds “the true reason for that prohibition” in the account of the fourth Gospel. Just as in John 6:15, the people, because they had concluded from the miraculous feeding that he was the Messiah, intended to make him king by force, “so he had to fear from the dissemination of any act or discourse that seemed to testify to him as the expected Messiah an excitement of the fleshly Messianic hopes of his contemporaries, whose transformation into the spiritual was the task of his life.” If Jesus really had something to fear, then he must have had very little confidence in the power and clarity of his speech, or his speech must have been of such a nature that he could not rely on its impression at all. Or, as for the deeds, it would have been not only less dangerous, but also dignified and appropriate if he had not performed any that could cast a false light on his work and his purpose. But how does the critic reason from the assumption that Jesus really worked miracles—namely, miracles according to the popular notion? Only the apologist can fall into the contradiction that, on the one hand, he demands miracles from Jesus so that he can worship him as the Messiah, and on the other hand, he must hide them away in order to see Jesus as the spiritual Messiah. And what about the testimony of the fourth Gospel? How can that serve to explain the difficulty? What is it other than the view pushed to the extreme pinnacle that is just now to be explained?

*) E. J., I, 548.

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Also Wilke *) explains that “Jesus does not want to make a big deal out of it.” The meaning of his command, with which he dismisses the healed man, is: “Don’t say anything about the healing, let the people see for themselves that you have been healed when you bring your cleansing offering.” Very well! To some extent, this explanation is based on the text, but not entirely, as it puts an accent on the “you” and “the people themselves” which the text does not know. On the other hand, it does not exhaust the text, as the words of the text: “for a testimony to them,” are too solemn to only mean: “so that the people see that you have been healed.”

We would vainly try to explain the words which the evangelist puts in Jesus’ mouth if we did not, with a jolt, move away from the apologetic standpoint which takes those words as Jesus’ words from the outset. But the following consideration gives us that jolt. It is true that the words imply that Jesus does not want to make a big deal out of it, and if he did not want to, it could only be because he did not want people’s view of his personality to be too much restricted to one side, namely that of a miracle worker. But if he had really had this principle, he would not have followed it at the right time or rather he would have either not been able to perform miracles at all or only very rarely. Does this not give miracle working a great predominance when he heals a large number of sick people in the evening when he had taken up residence in Peter’s house (C. 1, 33) and later, when crowds from all of Palestine flocked to him (C. 3, 7), so many that he exhausted himself? Why, if only one leper is healed, forbid the announcement of the story, since he healed in the presence of a large crowd before and (C. 3, 8) the crowds came to him because they had heard of his deeds, i.e. his miracles? And scarcely has Jesus forbidden the leper to speak of the matter, than the first thing he does after leaving him is to make the matter known. And what is the result? The people streamed to him from all directions! But if the prohibition was so completely useless, Jesus would have known beforehand, and therefore he would not have bothered to oblige the healed man to be silent. On the other hand, if he had really issued the prohibition, we may be sure—and we must presuppose this of any real man—that his word was so firm, so serious, and so penetrating that the healed man could not have forgotten it even for a moment.

*) Der Urevangelist, p. 182.

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All possibility of seeing words of Jesus in this prohibition has thus disappeared for us. It was made by the evangelist, but since it is the core of the whole story, since it is the punchline that the miracle only serves to bring about, nothing can give us the certainty that Jesus performed this miracle. In addition, the whole situation is purely fabricated: the first disciples had to be called urgently so that Jesus could come to Capernaum as quickly as possible, but he had to arrive immediately on his first appearance in Capernaum, because at the time when Mark wrote, this city was considered the center of his Galilean travels, and because it was now fitting that he should embark on his first mission journey from Capernaum: in short, if the early entry into Capernaum and the departure the following day are events that only took place in the pragmatic reflection of Mark, then we also know where Jesus was traveling when he met the leper.

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The enigmatic prohibition now stands as a free creation of Mark’s and its meaning will now only be revealed. As the belief in miracles had developed to the extent that it was believed that the Lord had often performed miracles, healed the sick and raised the dead, a contradiction arose which is necessarily inherent in the Christian idea of miracles. It was established that Jesus had performed miracles, thereby accrediting himself as the one sent by God and testifying to the divine origin of his work. On the other hand, with the rise of the Christian principle, the Jewish demand for signs had been so far restricted and the proof from the spirit had become so prominent, or at least a postulate, that one did not want to rely solely on miracles or view Jesus solely as a miracle worker and thus somehow had to limit the view of miracles. In the graphic portrayal of the gospel story, this contradiction took on the form that Jesus performs miracles – for that was once absolutely necessary – and at the same time declares that he does not want to attach weight to such deeds. The miracles must therefore – forgive the expression – be hidden away in the corner or placed under a bushel: Jesus forbids their publication. However, the evangelical view is unable to remain consistent; it does so already in that it forms miracles that must be hidden away again, and thus it has, at the same time as it hides them, a secret interest in miracles and yet it cannot have told the story in vain. Therefore, it must somehow present the prohibition as futile: in the present case, it portrays the situation in such a way that the healed man nevertheless makes the miracle known and causes the crowds from all over to rush after the Lord into the seclusion of the desert (Mark 1, 45).

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Now, the solemn words “as a testimony to them”? The context in which we find them will explain them. If the leper turns to Jesus convinced that he is the Messiah and therefore can help him, and if Jesus then heals him with a single word, it seems that this would result in a conflict with the order of the law, namely that the legal ceremony of priestly purification and cleansing would no longer be necessary. After this healing, however, the clashes with the Pharisees and with the law follow (Mark 2.) – is it not clear that this healing and Jesus’ statement are intended to form the transition to this new section? In the sense that the transition would make it clear that Jesus did not willfully bring about the collisions with the law, and in fact did everything to avoid them where they could be avoided? “To be a testimony to them,” therefore, means that my higher authority should not overturn or violate the legal order at any cost, as a testimony to all who would like to reflect on it.

The new contradiction into which the entire prohibition falls at the end is loud enough to draw our attention.

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§ 26. Overview of the report of Matthew and ancillary accounts

Creative Commons License
This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution 4.0 International License.

by Neil Godfrey

Critique of the Gospel History of the Synoptics
by Bruno Bauer

Volume 2

—o0o—

1

Fifth Section.

The Two Miracle Days.


Matthew 8:1 – 9:34.


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§ 26:

Overview of the report of Matthew and ancillary accounts.

The two days, on the first of which even the Sermon on the Mount is held, are true miracle days, not only in the sense that they are distinguished by miracles from others, but also because they must have been of a wondrous nature themselves, since it would have been impossible for Jesus otherwise to perform so many extraordinary miracles in a time that must appear disproportionately short.

As Jesus descends from the mountain after the sermon, a leper asks him for healing, and he immediately cleanses him of his leprosy. Like a triumphator, the envoy of God descends from the mountain into the plain and the city: there, on the height of the mountain, he has called the laws of the kingdom of heaven far beyond the earth, and now, accompanied by the admiring crowd, he descends to take possession of the earth by blessing, saving, and healing through compassionate deeds. Upon entering Capernaum, a centurion asks him (Matthew 8:5) to heal his servant, and Jesus heals him from a distance. Upon entering the house of Peter, he sees his mother-in-law lying ill with fever; moved with pity, he immediately heals her, and when all sorts of sick people were brought to him in the evening, he healed them all.

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But when he sees the crowd of people, he gives the command to sail to the other side of the lake. On the way to the lake, a scribe wants to join him and tells him what he can expect in the company of the Son of Man; another one of his disciples wants to bury his father before following him, and he tells him that his followers have no contact with the realm of death. Finally, while crossing the lake, a great storm arises, and he calms it with a single word.

As soon as he landed on the other side of the lake, two possessed men immediately met him, whom he freed from the demons, but because of the consequences of this healing, he had to leave the area immediately. Therefore, he returned to Capernaum, healed a paralytic who was immediately brought to him, went to the shore of the lake after a dispute with the Pharisees, called Matthew, and when he followed him immediately and gave a banquet in his house, new conflicts with the Pharisees followed. While he was still talking with his opponents, the ruler Jairus came, asked for the restoration of his daughter who had just died, and Jesus immediately set out for his house. On the way, his garment touched a woman who had suffered from bleeding for twelve years, and when he arrived at the house of mourning, he resurrected the daughter.

As he departed again, two blind men followed him, crying out for help. He healed them, and as soon as they left him, a mute man was brought to him, and he also restored his speech.

If we have given due admiration to these two days, their extraordinary length, and the abundance of miracles they gave rise to, they give us an important hint about the composition of the Gospels. Because even after that, it remains the case that only individual days from the life of Jesus are reported, which are then more or less rich in events, and it finally turns out that we only learn about very few days from the life of the Lord with any precision.

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So it is, says Paulus. But he calls out to us when we complain that we do not learn more about such a rich life and are limited to the notes of very few days, is it not “this fact that only full traditions of individual days exist, a sign that such news is drawn from almost contemporary recordings of certain eyewitnesses *)?” So we should not lament the fact that the gospel story is not a portrayal of the life of Jesus, but rather a collection of anecdotes that only inform us about a few days. Rather, we should rejoice that there were eyewitnesses to the life of Jesus who inform us about a couple of days all the more accurately and reliably, since their recordings are almost contemporaneous with the events. “Almost contemporaneous” means in this context that the recordings were written no later than the day after the events, and often, therefore, probably during the night that followed the events.

*) Eusebius’ Ecclesiastical History, Handbook I, pages 586-587.

But how painful – we cannot be satisfied yet – how sad it is that these so quickly prepared protocol writers have only reported to us about eight to nine days, although there must have been other days that contained enough remarkable events. It was not their fault, Paulus answers, because “on many other days, such observers who could and would write were lacking.” Incomprehensible or rather inexcusable! People who could write and were so willing to do so should have contented themselves with the protocol of one day or at most two days? No one will consider this impossibility possible, at least Paulus will not be able to convince anyone. If there were such diligent writers, they would have been all the more encouraged by the importance of one day to keep a record for the other days as well. But since we find no reliable trace of such diaries, no one will blame us if we doubt that there was even a single one of those protocol writers during the lifetime of Jesus.

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Paulus himself must strengthen us in this doubt, since he says that Matthew combines similar events in his account, even if they happened at different times. But how can the apologist make such a claim? He cannot and should not, and at the moment he utters it, he must twist and turn the words in his mouth. Thus, Paulus says, “Matthew tells in categories, not just chronologically.” “Not just:” so also at the same time? Also at the same time when he constructs a priori and combines similar events from the most remote corners? Even the rationalistic apologist – but in reality, all apologists, including the anointed and the faithful, are die-hard rationalists – even the apologist who is by nature rationalistic must come to such monstrous assertions.

Even when Paulus apparently makes an effort to say that Matthew does not tell chronologically, he must speak in such a way that it finally becomes clear that the evangelist tells in a completely chronological way! That “not just” is too powerful. The healing of Peter’s mother-in-law happened much earlier according to the account of Mark and Luke than Matthew indicates. However, Matthew also goes back “from two healings that happened immediately after the Sermon on the Mount, C. 8, 1-13, to the earlier one of Peter’s mother-in-law.” A monstrous regression, if Matthew so clearly presents the visit to Peter’s house as a consequence (v. 14) of the arrival in Capernaum after the Sermon on the Mount *)! In the end, Matthew would have to go back to something earlier if he were to send the leper (C. 8, 1. 2.) to the Lord upon his return from the mountain. At least Paulus would have to claim this, since even Luke – not to mention Mark – lets the healing of that leper happen long before the Sermon on the Mount.

*) 8: 5: είεελθότι δε αυτώ εις Καπερναούμ. V. 14: και ελθων ο Ι. εις την οικίαν Πέτρου.

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So already at the beginning and from this instructive dialogue with Paulus, it has become clear to us that Matthew arrived at the rich content of these two miracle days because he rearranged the reports of his predecessors and connected what they had separated and assigned to different times. As in all these cases, the proof is simply established by presenting the facts. First, we consider the beginning, middle, and end of the narrative.

On his triumphal procession, as he descends from the mountain in the company of the enthusiastic and numerous crowd, a leper approaches Jesus, who frees him from his affliction. But how can Jesus forbid the healed man to speak about the miracle when the crowd surrounded him as he healed the sick man? In Mark’s account, where Jesus is only wandering in Galilee when the leper coincidentally meets him, this prohibition is natural, and the prohibition can be sternly and seriously pronounced – Jesus threatened him and immediately drove him away **) – and, by way of contrast, one expects the result that the healed man nevertheless spoke a great deal about the matter and made the story known ***). Although Matthew omits that threat because he must, as the crowd is present, he cannot eliminate one thing: Jesus’ prohibition altogether; he must keep this thing and thereby provide us with evidence that he has misplaced the story from its true context to a very unsuitable place.

**) Mark 1:43: και εμβριμησάμενος αυτω, ευθέως εξέβαλεν αυτόν.

***) ο δε εξελθών ήρξατο κηρύσσειν πολλά και διαφημίζει τον λόγον

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Furthermore! He has also provided us with the proof that he borrowed this account from Mark. At the end of the two-day work, Jesus heals two blind men – where they come from, we will get to that later! – and when Matthew reports that he threatened and forbade them to speak of the matter, but they went out and made him known everywhere, he uses the same words he found in Mark’s account of the leper, but which he did not need to use when he copied it. He does not want to let the good go to waste *), but he picked up this morsel at the wrong time. That prohibition only makes sense if no one from the crowd is present during the healing, and again only the healed can make the miracle known if the crowd did not see it themselves. This is also the case in Mark’s account of the leper: but Matthew copies the end of this account, even though he must reveal the next moment (9:33), when the blind men had gone out and the dumb man was brought to him, that the usual crowds surrounded Jesus. So why impress on the blind men that prohibition so strongly when the crowd saw the miracle, and why did those men have to chatter first to make their healing known when the crowd had already witnessed the miracle?

*) Matth. 9, 30. 31: και ενεβριμήσατο αυτοίς ο Ι. λ. οράτε, μηδείς γινωσκέτω, οι δε εξελθόντες διαφήμισαν αυτόν.

No one writes like this, and no one gets so lost in their own writing if they have freely conceived the plan of a historical presentation in their head and independently elaborated on the details according to this plan: only a compiler writes like this, who has the works of his predecessors lying on the table on both sides and cannot even overcome them to the extent that he does not get lost in the most glaring contradictions.

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Only Matthew could shape the center and turning point of the two-day work as he did. Where does the second day begin? Matthew does not tell us. He does report that in the evening when Jesus had come into Peter’s house, he healed all kinds of sick people. But when he continues (Ch. 8, 18) that Jesus, when he saw the crowd around him, gave the command to cross to the other side of the sea and immediately crossed over, and when it continues in one go that he met the two demon-possessed men over there, returned and continued his miracle-working here, if there is nowhere that shows where a night could be inserted, what follows? Firstly, that the two miraculous days become even more wonderful in a third sense – they are two days that immediately followed each other and were not separated by any night. Another consequence is the complete certainty that Matthew also connected something foreign in the middle here and thereby caused this extraordinary accumulation of miracles. Nothing but a keyword, which he finds in two places next to Mark – at the third place it was too closely connected with another event and could not mislead it, Mark 6:47 – nothing but the keyword “when it was evening,” led him into this confusion. Just now, Matthew had written to Mark the news that Jesus had healed the sick “when it was evening” who were brought to him at Peter’s house *): instead of continuing to transcribe that Jesus got up very early and went into the desert, Mark 1:35 – but he couldn’t do that either because he was far beyond the story of the leper, which now follows in Mark 1:40 – he readily moves forward to another place in his predecessor’s writing, where he also finds the formula “when it was evening” and where Jesus in the evening avoids the crowd of people and gives the command to cross over to the other side *), Mark 4:35 – of course, we must add – that even Mark has let himself go at this point, he has let himself go too much, since he also lets Jesus cross over to the other side of the river in the evening, sends the demon-possessed men to him over there, lets him immediately return, sends the crowd back to him on this side and connects the raising of Jairus’ daughter and the healing of the woman with the issue of blood with his arrival on this side, Mark 4:35-5:43. Mark also made a mistake and attached a long series of events to Jesus’ evening departure without mentioning that it had become night, but at least where Matthew first found the formula “when it was evening” in his writing, he did not fail to note that and under what circumstances a night had passed. In addition, he has the important advantage that he already knows that Jesus is in the boat (Ch. 4:36) when he gives the command to cross over, whereas it is incomprehensible to Matthew how Jesus suddenly comes up with the idea of escaping the crowd by boat.

*) Matthew 8:16, Mark 1:32: οψιας γενομενης 

*) Mark 4, 35: και λεγει αυτοις . . . . οψιας γενομενης διελθωμεν εις το περαν. και αφεντες τον οχλον . . . Matth. 8, 18: ιδων δε ο Ιησους πολλους οχλους περι αυτον εκελευσεν απελθειν εις το περαν

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Yes, in Matthew’s account it is not even clear why Jesus found it necessary to leave Capernaum when he saw the crowds (C. 8, 18.). He had just healed the sick, as the evangelist adds (v. 17.), so that the prophecy would be fulfilled: “He took up our infirmities and bore our diseases.” So why did he withdraw from the work that the spirit of prophecy had already entrusted to him? Why? It is inexplicable. Only in Mark is there a reason when Jesus left early in the morning, after healing all kinds of sick people in the evening. He is only a guest in Capernaum and to fulfill his task of preaching the gospel to neighboring towns, he moves on (Mark 1:38-39). The other time when he was already in the boat when he sailed to the other side, he had done enough, taught the people, and had nothing else to do for the day (Mark 4:35-36).

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We could have told you from the beginning that two days, on one of which the Sermon on the Mount was delivered, never existed and cannot belong to real history; but we have now provided proof of this statement ourselves, from the nature of the present section. However, we have lost all desire to welcome the apologist who would have sent us a good load of heavenly fire for this “assertion” right at the beginning of our work, now that we have proved this statement from the nature of the present section itself. Not only those diligent yet again so lazy scribes of whom Paulus speaks, but also the two days that were so fortunate to find an observer who “could and would” write, never existed. Only Matthew created these two days through a failed compilation of the information from his predecessors. —-

If he had only really compiled similar material, he could have confused the chronology of his predecessors as much as he wanted or needed for his purpose! But he not only did not do that, he also interrupted the objective order and unity of thought that he found particularly in Mark’s scripture at an important point.

We will not dwell on the fact that he places the healing of the leper before the miracle of Peter’s mother-in-law and before the healing of the crowd of sick people in Capernaum, or that he generally links these miracles so closely to the crossing of the sea and the healing of the two Gadarenes. This combination would not have much significance or justification, as long as the connected events consist of pure miracles, although there would already be an error in placing the healing of Peter’s mother-in-law too late, as it is supposed to serve, according to the original type, to strengthen the bond between Jesus and Capernaum.

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We will not dwell any longer on the fact that in between the command to cross the sea and the actual entering of the boat in Matthew 8:19-22, there are two verses about true discipleship from Luke 9:57-60 inserted, which interrupt the flow of the narrative too much.

Instead, we will point out that in the midst of this series of miracle reports, Matthew has inserted the account of clashes with the Pharisees that Mark had developed as a separate unit, and not even fully inserted, but distributed to various places. According to Mark’s account, Jesus leaves Peter’s house, where he had entered for the first time, and travels around Galilee, heals the leper, but has to stay in the wilderness when the news of the miracle spreads. Only after several days does he return to Capernaum. Here the contrast with the Pharisees arises immediately, which gradually intensifies on the occasion of Jesus’ entire appearance and breaks out into open accusation. To a paralytic who is brought to him immediately upon his return to the city, Jesus says, “Child, your sins are forgiven.” Then some scribes who happened to be present said to themselves, “Why does he talk like this? He’s blaspheming.” (Mark 2:7) This is followed by the banquet at Levi’s, who had just been called, and the scribes and Pharisees immediately ask Jesus’ disciples, “Why does he eat with tax collectors and sinners?” (Matthew 2:16) The Pharisees’ fasting and the disciples of John give rise to the following discussion about new wine and old wineskins. Now the Pharisees even have the opportunity to observe how Jesus allows his disciples to break the Sabbath and, when they drew his attention to it, he rebuked them. They even spy on him at another opportunity, to see if he will keep the Sabbath holy, so that they can accuse him (Luke 6:2). He breaks the Sabbath, and they immediately conspire to destroy him. Jesus has to withdraw to the sea, but when the people flock to him, he heals a great number of sick people and is also recognized by the demons. When he returns home after choosing the Twelve, the scribes from Jerusalem are already there, and they now openly come forward with the accusation that he has Beelzebul, and by the prince of demons he drives out demons (Matthew 12:22).

11

Now, after Mark reports that Jesus, after those collisions, went back to the sea and taught the people in parables, comes the command of Jesus to sail to the other side, the story of the stilling of the storm, the healing of the demoniac in the country of the Gadarenes, and after returning to CapernauAre you anyway we’ll see what happens yeahm, the raising of Jairus’ daughter and the healing of the woman with the issue of blood (Mark 4:35-5:43).

How Matthew came to link the command to sail to the other side with the first visit to Peter’s house, we have already seen: enough, Jesus drives out the demons from two possessed men over there in the land of the Gadarenes and returns to Capernaum, forced by the inhabitants of the shore. But here he cannot immediately meet the crowd that awaited him, nor Jairus. Why? Because Matthew has something else to report before that. When Jesus returned to Capernaum from the journey he took after the first visit to Peter’s house, they brought him the paralytic and the collision with the Pharisees ensued. This and the following events must be reported by Matthew now. On the other hand, he must report at this moment a completely different return of Jesus, which was forced upon him by the Gadarenes on a different occasion. Two entries into Capernaum have become one under his hand: what is left for him to do? He must hurry and not delay the second entry too long. That is, he cannot bring all the complications that Mark follows with the first return to Capernaum here so that Jairus can come out soon enough with his request that he entrusted to the Lord on the occasion of the second return. Therefore, Matthew omits everything from the Sabbath disputes to the accusation of a covenant with the devil, to bring it up later in a different context, and as soon as he brings the Lord to the conversation about new wine and old wineskins, he sends the ruler Jairus to him. As a transition to the new miracle story, he even uses a formula that in Mark’s account introduces not Jairus but his servant, who brings him the news of his daughter’s death*). “While the Lord was still speaking,” namely to the woman with the issue of blood, these servants come with their message, after Jairus had only asked the Lord to heal his dying daughter (Mark 5:35). Matthew sends Jairus to Jesus after the death of his daughter, and “while he was still speaking,” namely about new wine and old wineskins, the grieving father comes to him with the request that he may raise his daughter who had just died. In Mark’s account, that transitional formula is in its place since it leads from one miracle – the healing of the woman with the issue of blood – to the point where – through the now occurred death of the girl – the demand for the other miracle reaches its peak. In Matthew’s account, however, it links two completely unrelated circles, the conflict with the Pharisees and the miraculous activity that the Lord developed when he had to leave the land of the Gadarenes over there. But this link is all the more inappropriate since it cuts the former circle, the image of his entanglements with the Pharisees, in the middle and had to push the other half to a later location.

*) Mark 5, 35: ετι αυτου λαλουντος. Matth. 9, 18 : ταυτα αυτου λαλουντος.

12

Finally, let us note that in Matthew’s account, after the raising of Jairus’ daughter, two closely connected healings follow, namely, the healing of the two blind men and the healing of the mute man. However, in the latter, the presence of the crowd is assumed, which is excluded in the former (C. 9, 31, 33.). Thus, our general overview of this presentation of the two-day work is concluded: not only are foreign circles compressed in it, but also miracles are piled up that originally belong to very different contexts.

13

Luke, in terms of composition, has remained more faithful to the type of holy history formed by Mark. When he motivates Jesus’ move to Capernaum by the unbelief of the people of Nazareth, he takes his predecessor’s account completely. Jesus teaches in the synagogue of Capernaum, heals the demoniac, Peter’s mother-in-law, and the sick crowd in the evening. In the morning, he sets out to proclaim the gospel in other cities and, after calling Peter on the journey, he heals a leper in one of those cities. Now, while he does not let Jesus return to Capernaum, and forgets to specify the situation of what follows, he does follow the sequence of complications with the Pharisees (Chapters 4, 31 – 6, 11). However, he does not reproduce them entirely, but separates the main charge of the whole, the open accusation of the devil’s alliance, and moves it to another place (Chapter 11, 14). He could not bring it up here, for Jesus’ retreat into solitude at the lake and the selection of the twelve, which, according to Mark’s account, precedes the open attack of the Pharisees, had been reworked for the occasion of the Sermon on the Mount. And now, having already deviated considerably from his predecessor’s type, and unable to connect the discourse on the devil’s alliance, he uses his current emancipation to insert even more material from his own resources into that type. He behaves in fact extraordinarily audacious, as audacious as profane historians may never venture to. After the discourse that Matthew turned into the Sermon on the Mount, the Lord goes to Capernaum, and at the entrance to the city, a centurion, through his friends, asks for help for his dead sick servant. Then follows the miracle at Nain, the message of the Baptist, and the meal at the house of the Pharisee Simon. After these digressions, Luke finally returns to his predecessor’s account, Jesus delivers the parable of the sower, crosses over to the land of the Gadarenes, and after returning, helps Jairus and the woman with the issue of blood (Chapter 8, 1-56).

14

So, it is clear that the Sermon on the Mount is mainly responsible for breaking the original type of holy history formed by Mark. It caused Luke to deviate from Mark later on, while Matthew rushed to share it as quickly as possible, to explain why the people were amazed at the Lord’s teaching at the beginning of his work. And so, it happened that he was forced to pile up a multitude of miracles and remarkable entanglements in one place, in order not to fall behind his predecessors.

That’s it for the overview! The specifics of the particular pragmatism of the three accounts, and the changes that the original type underwent through its later editors, will be taught to us by examining each one in detail.

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§ 25. A look back at the fourth Gospel

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This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution 4.0 International License.

by Neil Godfrey

Critique of the Gospel History of the Synoptics

by Bruno Bauer

Volume 1

—o0o—

387

§ 25.

A look back at the fourth Gospel.


It must be a reconciling look.

And a look, if it is only heartfelt and sincere, is enough.

We are not yet in a position to judge the relationship between the historical material of the synoptic Gospels and the fourth Gospel, even as far as we have come to know the former. This particularly concerns the question of why the fourth Gospel lacks a prehistory, a question whose sufficient and satisfying answer has not yet been given, if we were to infer only indirectly from its content whether it excludes or presupposes it. We need clear indications as to whether it consciously excludes or assumes the holy prehistory, or whether it does so unconsciously. To gain this final certainty of judgment, we must have achieved certainty through the complete comparison as to whether the fourth evangelist was familiar with one or more writings of the synoptic circle. So, for now, let’s leave this for later!

388

One point, and a point of comprehensive importance, we can already shed light on. In our criticism of the fourth Gospel, we have shown that the speeches it attributes to the Lord (as well as to the Baptist and other persons) are the free literary work of the author. Despite this result, we acknowledged that reflection also played a role in the synoptic presentation of Jesus’ speeches, but we said that the subjectivity of the means through which they passed is here most abolished since they passed through the general spirit of the community. We thus still left the appearance that we possess in the synoptic presentation the speeches of Jesus in their historical originality, and we had to leave this appearance standing, as only later investigation could show us in what sense to understand that category of the original. Now we can make the first accounting.

The contrast has now become rational. The speeches of Jesus in the synoptic Gospels are not any less the product of later reflection than those reported in the fourth. Nonetheless, the contrast remains, but as an inner one, as a contrast in one and the same line of development of one and the same principle. Both are free literary works: the circle of teaching development that the Synoptics created and the one in which the fourth Evangelist leads us. Both are the reflection of the same principle, but we find its original reflection in the synoptic writings, and its later work in the presentation of the fourth. The Synoptics took the principle in its simple universality, which it had found in the community up to their time, and they give us its religious reflection, which expresses itself positively in individual sentences, sayings, gnomic and parabolic forms, and they only differ in that Matthew, the latest, tries to set the positive determinations more freely in flow and bring them into a kind of systematic connection, although he cannot completely break away from the standpoint of his predecessors since he inserts positive sentences he finds or creates and elaborates new sentences himself that have no inner connection with the initiated context.

389

The reflection of the fourth gospel stands opposed to the original and religious reflection and its positive nature. Its assumption is no longer the simple generality of the principle as it is immediately given in the life and faith of the community, but the universality as it has contracted into the simplicity of the essence and seeks to fathom the inner necessity of the individual determinations in this world of essence and their eternal presuppositions.

At least this much we had to express here in order to give the fourth evangelist the satisfaction which the criticism of the synoptic gospels has given him. We can now proceed with a lighter heart, since the previous tension between the two circles of the evangelical view has diminished, and we are given the certainty that we are dealing with free humanity and works of self-consciousness in both circles – a certainty that we may hope and expect will be even more comprehensively confirmed in the following part of the investigation and bring about the final reckoning.

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§ 23. Unconnected Sayings

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This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution 4.0 International License.

by Neil Godfrey

Critique of the Gospel History of the Synoptics

by Bruno Bauer

Volume 1

—o0o—

371

§ 23.

Unconnected Sayings.

Matthew 7:1-10.


1. Judging.

Chapter 7, verse 1.

Matthew suddenly returns to the speech of Luke, which he included in the Sermon on the Mount. He quotes the Lord as saying, “Do not judge, so that you will not be judged. For with the judgment you make, you will be judged, and with the measure you use, it will be measured to you.”

In judging others, people provide themselves with the standard by which they will be judged.

Matthew has simplified a saying from the Lord’s speech in Luke and brought it into a very successful general expression, in which its meaning is infinitely expanded. For when it says in Luke (6:37), “Do not judge, and you will not be judged. Do not condemn, and you will not be condemned. Forgive, and you will be forgiven,” the idea is immediately restricted to specific directions, and the full generality of the interaction cannot be asserted. Matthew removes the specific elements concerning condemnation and forgiveness, and instead adopts the construction of the following saying in Luke, “with the measure you use, it will be measured to you,” creating a universal expression that contains all the relationships of this idea. “With the judgment you make, you will be judged,” that is, your judgment of others is in itself and in every case a judgment of yourself. Depending on whether you find the weak, only the bad and not the good in others, you reveal how much power the good has for you personally.

372

“Whatever measure you use, it will be measured to you” (Matthew 7:2) is the abstract expression of the same idea, and rightly connected by Matthew immediately with the saying about judging. Luke also concludes the saying about judging with this sentence, but his previous elaboration of the same (verse 37) extends to verse 38 so much that the concluding sentence, “Whatever measure you use,” can only with difficulty be brought back to the theme of “Do not judge.” “Give, and it will be given to you: A good, pressed, shaken, and overflowing measure will be given to you. For with the measure you use, it will be measured to you.” What does “give” mean here? It cannot be said with certainty whether it still belongs to the theme and perhaps should remind us to give recognition to others. The expression would not be particularly suitable in this context, and if we do not want to be plagued with strained interpretations, we must ultimately give in to the impression of the words to the extent that we admit that they express the idea of retribution, which the benevolent can expect. That is, we must then admit that Luke has introduced a foreign idea into this context.

But not only that: he has also substantially changed a saying that he borrowed from Mark and given it a new position. We cannot blame him for doing it at all in this case, but he did it badly in that he did not do it more skillfully and did not make the key words he took from the text of Mark stand out more clearly. Mark, in whose work we first find this proverb, did not phrase it correctly. According to the interpretation of the parable of the sower (Mark 4:24-25), Jesus says to the disciples: “Consider carefully what you hear. With the measure you use, it will be measured to you – and even more. Whoever has will be given more; whoever does not have, even what they have will be taken from them.” But how can this saying relate to the understanding and acceptance of truth? The following saying (v. 25), “Whoever has will be given more; whoever does not have, even what they have will be taken from them,” is appropriately placed where the theoretical interest in truth is discussed, but the saying about measurement is impossible. Wilke says,” *) Indeed, these words – (with what measure) – have meaning only when they are understood as an exhortation to reflect on the meaning of parabolic speeches, because here a gain really takes place for the one who has.” Indeed, for “the one who has.” “But ‘with what measure you measure,’ what does that have to do with understanding a truth presented? It is certainly true that the evangelist seemed to place the proverb of the measure in its appropriate place here, but it is equally true that he inserted it at a very inappropriate time, since it refers solely and exclusively to the moral relationship to others and to the evaluation of them. The same thing happened to Mark here, which only did not happen to him as often as to his followers because he did not accumulate as much material for preaching as they did: he allowed himself to be misled by an external reference, that of the relationship of exchange contained in the saying, ‘to him who has, more will be given,’ to insert the proverb of the measure here. Luke has already given the proverb its correct position when he connected it with the speech on judging others, but he has not yet succeeded in carrying out the connection completely. By working out the idea of mutual giving and receiving so elaborately, the appearance has arisen as if he were speaking at the same time about giving and sharing in the sense of benevolence. Only Matthew has combined the element that in the writing of Mark had received its place by chance and in the writing of Luke had found its natural connection through the inner power of elective affinity with the subject matter to which it properly belongs, into an organic whole. He would have provided proof again that Will was accusing him unfairly when he claimed that we found in him ‘mere rearrangements and relocations of the parts of speech from their original position’ *). We find not only clever combinations and elaborations in him, but it has often happened that sayings, after wandering through the writings of Mark and Luke in rather tumultuous and disruptive surroundings, found a proper connection only with him and were introduced by him into their ideal home.” 

*) ibid. p. 379

*) ibid. p. 691

374

We say “through him” and “into their ideal home!” This must present no small difficulty to the apologist, and to the critic who is still entangled in the material interests of apologetics, when he is asked to explain why the same sayings of Jesus in the different Gospels are not only delivered on different occasions but also in substantially different senses. However, Fritzsche says that there is no need to be surprised about this, as it is inherent in the nature of such proverbial expressions that they could be used in one sense or another depending on the occasion *). Therefore, if Matthew presents the same saying twice on different occasions, he must have known that Jesus had delivered it twice and specifically on these occasions. Or if each evangelist only allows the same saying to arise once, but each on a different occasion, then each of them would have known only one of these occasions as the home of the saying. Tholuck sees the matter in the same way. “With what right, he asks, has the latest criticism of the Gospels so persistently refused to admit that Christ could have repeated himself in individual utterances or even in smaller discourses)?” *)

**) Fritzsche on Mark 4:21-25: minime mirum est, cum ejusdem proverbiales locutiones pro re nata modo in hunc, modo in illum intellectum ferantur.

*) a. a. O. p. 16. Similarly, Paulus, I. 585.

375

If we still followed the traditional hypothesis, we would answer: the entire substance of the gospel narrative is not the life of Jesus in its empirical expansion, but in its ideal condensation in memory. Here, brevity and simplification are the first law, and all that is essential is only present once, but in memory it can appear differently and therefore also have a different meaning.

However, we no longer follow this hypothesis and no longer need its still mysterious attempts at explanation, as with each step forward that criticism takes, the mystery of the literary origin of the Gospels becomes more and more revealed. The last two Synoptics, especially Matthew, include a saying at different occasions, when they anticipate it once from the scripture of their predecessor and then copy it again when they come to its original position. They have the saying only once but at different occasions, unless they copy it with its context after its anticipation. This has happened this time, both Luke and Matthew leave out the saying about the measure when they give the speech that Jesus gave to the disciples when they asked him to interpret the parable of the sower.

2. The Judging of Splinters.

Matthew 7, 1-5.

Although the thought takes a essentially different direction when judging was previously talked about, with which one sets the standard for oneself, and now the splinter-judging of the hypocrite is characterized, Matthew is still concerned at least with the external connection that is given in the thought of judging, when he places both sayings directly next to each other and omits and preserves the sayings that separate and distinguish them in the scripture of Luke (Luke 6, 39-42) for later use.

376

He later used them appropriately, as we will see. But here in the discourse of Luke, they have no connection whatsoever with the preceding or following saying about the speck and the log. Luke is now exhausted, just as Matthew was at his time, and no longer has the strength required to create a coherent whole out of his main idea and let the individual sayings emerge from it. He even creates a new paragraph with the words of verse 39: “He also told them this parable” and then follows with the saying: “Can the blind lead the blind? Will they not both fall into a pit?” At best, this saying could be related in a remote way to the following saying about the speck and the log *), although it would have to be very remote, since nothing in the latter saying could induce one to reflect on the fate of the lesser sinner who is judged over his speck. No, there is no connection possible, any more than there is any connection between the saying in verse 40, “A disciple is not above his teacher, but everyone who is fully trained will be like his teacher,” and the saying about the blind guide and the speck and the log (verses 41-42). When it is remarked that a disciple is not above his teacher, it is only meant to urge him to the appropriate humility. But what is the point of this exhortation here?

*) Schneckenburger, Beiträge p. 18, even says: “What Luke gives from verse 30 onwards is so well connected internally that we may well consider it to belong together originally (!).” Even if it were so connected – but we will see that it is anything but – this does not mean that it is original, etc. A completely new type of human or inhuman memory would have had to be invented for sayings of this kind and of such a connection to have been preserved in memory.

377

And what is the rationale for the following verse on judging specks, which only considers the hypocrite’s faults in relation to the smaller faults of the brother, when in the next verse (v.43), it is stated “for there is no good tree that produces bad fruit, nor on the other hand a bad tree that produces good fruit”? What is the purpose of this verse, which contains a completely different logic? Either it can be related as a justification to everything and everyone, or it should not stand here as such.

Matthew only takes this verse later to incorporate it into his Sermon on the Mount; before that, after criticizing splinter-judging, he gives the exhortation, which was probably an original norm for the apostles, not to waste holy things and pearls of truth in the face of insensitivity (v. 6), and then he jumps back to the place in Luke’s scripture where he had already borrowed the Lord’s prayer.

1. Prayer answered.

Matthew 7:7-11.

Prayer is answered, it is certainly answered: for if self-interest, which otherwise wants to prevail everywhere in human relationships, remains silent in the family and in the relationship between father and children, how much more will the heavenly Father give good things to his children when they ask him?

After the Lord had taught his disciples to pray, Luke continues, he described to them in a parable (Luke 11:5-8) the power of persistent and unremitting prayer and then (vv. 9-13) guaranteed the certainty of prayer being answered in his own words *), which are the same as those we read in Matthew.

*) καγω υμιν λεγω

378

Schleiermacher is aware, of course *), that this discourse “relates to the prayer of the Lord in its main content.” That is indeed how it seemed to the evangelist, but it is not the case: just because the discourse mentions prayer, he believes himself entitled to include and elaborate on this saying about prayer answered. But before, the issue was not about whether one should pray at all, or whether one should pray constantly and persistently, but in what formula.

*) Ibid. pp. 173, 174.

Even though the connection is not the best, it does not follow that Luke has no authorial contribution to the parable and the accompanying exposition of the idea of the certainty of prayer being answered. Instead, we can still detect his handiwork. At the end (v. 13), it says, “If you then, who are evil, know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more will the heavenly Father give the Holy Spirit to those who ask him!” This mention of the Holy Spirit, especially as it forms the climax of the whole passage, is not prepared for. Luke could not yet master the elements and thoughts that presented themselves to him while writing. Matthew changed it with a correct touch and instead of the “Holy Spirit,” he simply used “good things.” – αγαθα

An gospel that allows the Lord to pray so often should encourage believers to pray more frequently as well. So it uses the structure, flow, and punchline of the parable that was already recounted in chapter 11, verse 5, but only the characters are changed, to emphasize the necessity of constant and persistent prayer once again. It is expressly noted in the introduction to this parable of the widow who, through her persistent begging, persuaded the harsh and unwilling judge to grant her rights (Luke 18:1-5), that this need for persistence should be recommended. However, suddenly, at the end of the parable, the thought is given a special direction, and it is reminded that God, who is not as harsh as that judge but patient, will even more readily grant justice to His chosen ones who cry out to Him day and night. Jesus emphatically adds, “I tell you, he will give them justice speedily (Luke 18:6-8). – εν ταχει. ” But then, the discourse takes a new direction again by asking at the end if the Son of Man, when he comes, will find such faith on earth? Why? The evangelist wants to indicate that the chosen ones will receive their justice when the Son of Man comes.

379

From the Parousia of the Son of Man, which had just been discussed in detail in chapter 17, verses 20-37, the parable, which was introduced with a general exhortation, was supposed to be added as a parenthetical appendix through the concluding remark. But how was this possible when nothing had been said before about the Parousia of the Son of Man being able to be accelerated, and therefore nothing could have been hinted at that fervent prayer would have this accelerating power? The Evangelist did not strictly work out the context, but we only find coherence when we turn to the Gospel of Mark and read in the discourse on the Parousia (chapter 13, verse 20) that God would shorten the days of distress preceding the coming of the Son of Man for the sake of the elect. Luke remembered this remark when he spoke of the Parousia in chapter 17 and included it. By concluding that the prayer of the elect would be the reason why God would shorten those days and bring the day of judgment soon – εν ταχει –, he introduced this remark through the parable he had already developed in another context with the same essential content.

380

Later, when he takes up the discourse on the Parousia at the place where Mark communicates it, he remembers that he had anticipated the idea of the acceleration of the day of judgment, and he includes it here.


4. The Law and the Prophets.

Matt. 7:12.

Therefore, whatever you wish that others would do to you, do also to them, for this is the Law and the Prophets.

But why “therefore” – ουν? Nothing is said about it when Tholuck notes that “some clauses have fallen out of the Evangelist’s report immediately beforehand” *). This would come down to a meaningless assertion – or rather, it is itself – that the Evangelist later remembered that Jesus had connected this saying very closely with a previous saying through “therefore,” but had forgotten what that earlier saying was. What a terribly precise and yet so superficial and careless inspiration!

*) ibid. p. 499

Fritzsche believes that the saying is related to the remark that love reigns in the family relationship, a love that should also be extended to one’s neighbor **). However, the fact that a human father shows kindness to his son was only the metaphorical premise of the conclusion, that the heavenly Father will fulfill the requests of his children to a much greater extent, and had fulfilled its whole purpose as that premise. If something new was to be linked to what came before, it had to be connected with the main idea, with the idea of the certainty of prayer being answered, not with an image that only served to explain this idea.

**) to Matth. p. 292

381

So in the end, we would have to agree with Calvin that the connecting particle is unnecessary, and the sentence should be read separately on its own *). That is indeed the case, but the Evangelist saw it differently; he thought to bring the sentence that he had not yet included from the Gospel of Luke here in the best context, here where it is impossible for us to discover a kind of connection for it.

*) ουν: “The connecting particle is unnecessary, as is often the case in concise sentences. I have said before that not only one sermon of Christ is referred to by Matthew, but that the sum of his doctrine is woven together from various sermons. Therefore, this sentence should be read separately.”


5. The Narrow Gate.

Matthew 7:13-14.

When Jesus was on his journey to Jerusalem and was teaching in towns and villages, someone asked him: “Lord, are only a few people going to be saved?” (Luke 13:22-24)

What a curious question! It already contains the answer, and in fact, it is nothing but the theme that Jesus only elaborates on metaphorically in his response when he says, “Strive to enter through the narrow gate, for many, I tell you, will seek to enter and will not be able.”

Questions of this kind, which already contain the answer, are nothing but creations of pragmatism, and it is only reasonable that Matthew separated the saying from such a contrived context and incorporated the content of the question into it **). By omitting the question, he designates the narrow gate as the gate that leads to life, and since he is engaged in developing the theme freely, he calls the way to it narrow and says that few find it (not clear whether the way or the gate). Actually, he should have combined both, the way and the gate, but he only thinks of the gate, which he reads about in Luke and which he is particularly concerned with: a confusion that shows he is dominated by a tert who only speaks of the gate. Finally, he freely creates the counterpart to the gate of salvation by setting the wide gate and the broad way that leads to destruction against it: again not without some confusion, as he adds to both the way and the gate that many go through it (έισέλθωσιν), thus again having only the gate in mind and forgetting the way in the construction of the sentence.*)

**) ολιγοι εισιν οι ευρισκοντες αυτην Ch. 7:14

*) De Wette’s explanation, 1, 1, 70  “δι’ αυτης scil. Οδου, not πυλης see 8:14” (the way is arranged in this way by the gate), is simply incorrect, and we do not understand what the reference to Matthew 8:14, where the entrance into a house is mentioned εισ την οικιαν, but not the passage through a gate, is supposed to mean or help. We only see that it is unnecessary torture.

382

Schleiermacher does not fail to notice that Jesus “used the same image somewhat differently on another occasion” **). But if, firstly, it is highly probable that Luke transformed an image that had arisen and become common in the community into a saying of Jesus, then it is absolutely certain that it was only Matthew who developed this figurative saying extensively. The proof lies in the confusion just demonstrated and in the agreement between the introduction and construction of the saying ***).

**) p. 194

***) Luke: αγωνιζεσθε εισελθειν δια της στενης πυλης οτι — και. Matthew: εισελθετε δια της στενης πυλης οτι — και 


6. The false prophets.

Matt. 7, 15-20.

Habit, even the habit of words, is a very special power. When we think of teachers whose statements we do not immediately trust, or to whom we definitely deny our belief, the last sentence with which we calm ourselves down or which we use as the final argument in polemics is the saying: “By their fruits you will know them.” We even experience often enough how this argument is taken up at the wrong time, when it was more important to explore a doctrine to its inner core instead of drawing hasty conclusions from it. But it is so, this argument is very sought after and is so frequently sought after because it is written.


383

However, or rather precisely because of that abuse, we allow ourselves some modest doubts as to whether the saying about the fruits originally arose in and with the reflection on the false prophets and as a criterion for their teaching. First, it cannot be denied that the criterion is too general to be limited solely to the doctrine of false prophets. “You will know them by their fruits” can refer to the entire worldly environment of the believers and contain advice for them on whether something is similar to them or not, and they should judge from the ultimate result of each direction.

Even more general is the idea in the saying, “A good tree cannot produce bad fruit, and a bad tree cannot produce good fruit,” and in the extensive elaboration of this saying. The fact, it is meant to say, depending on its moral or immoral determination, has the general determination of the inner as its presupposition.

Finally, the thought takes on a new, unexpected turn when judgment is mentioned at the end, verse 19: “Every tree that does not produce good fruit will be cut down and thrown into the fire.” The evangelist draws attention to the dissonance and lets us hear it clearly so that we do not lose it in the flow of hearing or reading. “Therefore, you will know them by their fruits,” he lets the Lord conclude in verse 20. But what does the statement of the criterion of spiritual health have to do with the reflection on judgment, and what does the saying that the exterior corresponds to the interior have to do with it?

384

The evangelist has confused sayings that have nothing to do with each other and brought a saying that was originally much more general into a narrower relationship.

The test! Matthew returns to Luke’s discourse, which he left after the saying about speck and plank, and thus comes to the saying that the fruit always corresponds to the nature of the tree. Here, with Luke, the thought is pure, that is to say, in the generality that belongs to it, the saying that “every tree is known by its own fruit” remains in this generality, in which the saying remains from the outset. Even the following, that the good person brings forth good things from the good treasure of his heart and the bad person brings forth bad things, for out of the abundance of the heart, the mouth speaks, still belongs to the same dialectic of the inner and outer (Luke 6:43-45).

Matthew has changed things: he has given a more restricted relationship to a general thought by making the saying about the fruit of the tree into a criterion that believers should use against false prophets. Because once the tree is mentioned, he copies the saying about the fate of the tree that does not bear good fruit word for word from Luke 3:9 for the second time. But he omits the saying about the speech that comes from the treasure of the heart because the intervention of the false prophets had already made the execution of this section rich enough. He brings it up again at a later opportunity, where he does not fail to take up the saying about the fruit of the tree again from Luke’s scripture (Matthew 12:33-35).

Who are the false prophets? Whether they are teachers within the community or others who are outside the community and have found a special way to salvation? The question is so important and so infinitely difficult to answer despite the analogy we have in the Old Testament regarding the use of that word, that it would be unfair if we were to answer it and rob good theologians of the joy they find in dealing with such extremely grand tasks from commentary to commentary.

———————-


§ 22. The True Concern

Creative Commons License
This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution 4.0 International License.

by Neil Godfrey

Critique of the Gospel History of the Synoptics

by Bruno Bauer

Volume 1

—o0o—

364

§ 22.

The True Concern.

Matth. 6, 19—34.

“Here, says Tholuck *), the connection breaks off in a striking way.” As if the connection had been the best so far! The matter is rather to be understood in this way. So far, the evangelist had formed larger sections, which he placed side by side without any connection, and just as he had worked in chapter 5,17. 6,1 so he does it here: he does not think of connecting the following section with the previous one. He only wants to have coherence within the individual sections, and there he has always used transitional articles – ουν, γαρ, δε – even if the coherence was missing in the section from which we just came.

Even now, he wants to give a self-contained section, for the beginning and end of it deal with the thought that the concern for earthly things does not befit the believer, but here he is already faced with the fact that he cannot insert a transitional particle twice (v. 22, 24) even with the best of intentions: he is forced to insert two sayings without any connection. He is already starting to falter, his strength is leaving him, and he despairs of being able to give the rich treasury of sayings at his disposal and which he wants to use in the Sermon on the Mount, this treasure of pearls strung on cords, to his readers. Already here in the present section, he no longer forms such beautiful wholes out of his own strength, as before; without any essential change, he takes the sayings as he finds them in the scripture of Luke and afterwards – to mention it immediately – in chapter 7, 1-20 he does not even attempt to form separate, similar sections in them, but counts the pearls for his reader one by one.

*) a. a. O. p. 452.

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1. The Care for Heavenly and Earthly Goods. 

Matthew 6:19-21, 25-34.

The exhortation not to seek after earthly treasures but rather heavenly ones (Matt. 6:19-21) has two points: that the latter are imperishable while the former are perishable, and that where our treasure is, there will our hearts be also. Although both points can be easily tolerated side by side in Matthew’s presentation, it is better motivated that the latter is added as a reason for the whole statement, since in the beginning of Luke 12:33-34 it is said: “Sell what you have and give alms.” There we know what the reminder that the heart is attached to treasure is meant to do: the believer should free himself from everything he possesses that is earthly.

With a new approach, the warning against earthly worries begins in Matthew 6:25: “Therefore I tell you, do not be anxious about your life, what you will eat or what you will drink.” Why? Because (v. 24) no one can serve two masters, and therefore not God and Mammon. But the following passage does not speak of the service rendered to Mammon, only of worry about earthly needs. The “little faith ones” are reminded that the heavenly Father feeds the birds of the sky — why shouldn’t He also provide for them, who are worth much more? — that no one can add a cubit to his height — why worry, then, about clothing? — that life is more than food, and the body more than clothing — that is, whoever has given the greater will not deny the lesser — that the lilies of the field do not toil and yet grow in their splendor, that only the Gentiles are concerned with earthly needs, while the heavenly Father knows that His own need everything necessary for bodily nourishment: but seek first the kingdom of God and His righteousness, and all these things will be added to you as well.

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It is not in the slightest bit implied here that one should serve Mammon. Neither is it in the passage from Luke that Matthew copied and appended to his own account. Matthew even preserved the transition phrase, as Luke had used it:  διὰ τοῦτο λέγω ὑμῖν.  But Luke was justified in using this transition because he was not speaking about the service of Mammon but rather about the foolishness of accumulating wealth in order to eat, drink, and be merry, rather than being rich in spiritual things (Luke 12:16-31). In that context, the conclusion of the discourse, “Seek first the kingdom of God,” and the introduction, “Therefore I tell you, do not be anxious about your life,” have meaning, significance, and coherence.

The conclusion, “But seek first the kingdom of God,” *)  is a real conclusion that is prepared for by every individual part of the preceding development, and thus summarizes and dominates the whole. In Matthew’s account, however, it is not this conclusion because, to mention just one thing, he does not take into account the idea of the twofold service. Finally, even more importantly, this saying does not stand at the end of the development, but a new reason is given for not worrying, one which pertains to tomorrow, and that is a new qualification. The reasoning here is that tomorrow will take care of its own needs, and each day has enough trouble of its own. Perhaps the reason the evangelist added this new point at this juncture was the fact that, in Luke, after that conclusion (Luke 12:32), the exhortation follows that the little flock should not be afraid, for it has pleased the Father to give them the kingdom. Perhaps Matthew thought it was more appropriate to replace this exhortation with a new point that was indeed very striking, but that did not belong either in the context or at the conclusion of this discourse.

*) Luke 12:31 πλην ζητειτε την βασιλειαν του θεου, Matthew 8:33 explanatory ζητειτε δε πρωτον την βασιλειαν του θεου

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If someone looks at the matter in a humane and understanding way and reads the speech in Luke 12:22-31 with its rich reasoning, its rapid succession of individual reasons, and at the same time with its clean depiction of images in a straightforward manner as is necessary for questions of this kind, and properly appreciates its artistic structure, they must concede that it is a free literary creation and nothing less than a speech of Jesus that has been preserved in this form in memory for years. The security of Christian self-awareness, which knows itself to be secure in possession of its eternal treasure and lifted above anxious care for earthly needs, created this speech. Also, the parable of the rich man who intended to gather his treasures and died before enjoying them is also a literary work and its point, which had already become a proverb in 1 Corinthians 15:32, is borrowed literally from the book of Sirach (C. 11:19).*) 

*) This reminiscence is also noted by Weisse, who remarks (II, 150) that it is “not likely that we possess this parable in its genuine form.” Rather, we have it in the form in which it first arose, we have it firsthand — from that of Luke.

That Luke freely composed this entire passage is not unlikely, even though he has tied it to an occasion that is sharpened to a different point: we have already noted that the plastic art of the evangelical narrative did not reach so far that it could have created a complete connection in the whole and the large. Before the warning to seek earthly treasures stands Jesus’ response in which he rejected the request of a man from the crowd to settle the dispute over the division of the inheritance between him and his brother. “Man,” Jesus replied, “who made me a judge or an arbitrator between you?” (Luke 12:13-14). It is true that this word is not directed against greed or worldly concerns in general but is the expression of the same opposition to positive law that we have already learned about above. It should not be said that with this response of Jesus, he merely “does not want to interfere with the development of the state’s life in general,” *)  but that the new principle has nothing to do with this forum of law at all. So even if it is certain that different things are brought together here, we must nevertheless go further and assert that it is not even certain that Luke had no literary share in the representation of that collision that was supposed to be the occasion for the following speech on the true concerns. First of all, it is unlikely enough that a stranger ever made a proposal to the Lord to settle an inheritance dispute between him and his brother, not to mention at this occasion where he was surrounded by countless strangers. It is more likely that the same thought, the same reaction against positive law that produced the exhortation to believers to settle their disputes amicably among themselves (Luke 12:57), also created that collision in order to express in a different turn that the Christian principle cannot involve itself in the decisions of positive law. The thought was given and familiar to the Gospel from the community: why should it not be represented in various forms? And if he used it this time (C. 12:13-15) to create an occasion for the speech on earthly concerns, what does that prove other than that he was not more successful with his pragmatism this time than usual?

*) Weisse, a. a. O.

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2. Worship and Service to Mammon.

Matthew 6:24.

That the idea that one cannot serve two masters, and thus cannot serve both God and Mammon at the same time, although the connection, “for he will hate the one and love the other,” is supposed to be very close, does not have such a close connection with the following exhortation not to worry about life, as the transitional formula claims. We have already noted that this formula belongs in a completely different context.

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At the end of the parable of the rich man and before the prohibition of earthly concerns, Matthew reads in the Gospel of Luke (12:21) the remark: “So is the one who lays up treasure for himself and is not rich toward God.” This contrast, this resonance that lies in the words treasure and riches, reminds the evangelist of another form of this contrast where riches are also mentioned, and without further consideration, he writes down the saying he read later in the Gospel of Luke (16:13), a saying that has found its place here only because of its external connection, as the parable of the unjust steward (Luke 16:9) and the subsequent saying about faithfulness and its testing in small matters (verse 10-12) also mention Mammon.– 

Matthew’s willingness to follow even the most distant resonance, to let himself be drawn in the most unexpected direction by a single word, and his precise knowledge of the Gospel of Luke are demonstrated to us at this point in his Sermon on the Mount with an example that is strong enough to bring down the whole edifice of apologetics. How deep and firm must be the foundation of this building then?

3. The Inner Light.

Matthew 6:23.

After the exhortation to seek not earthly but imperishable heavenly treasures (verses 19-21), for where your treasure is, there your heart will be also, follows the saying that the believer must always maintain the inner light if he does not want to be surrounded by deep darkness. This inner light is just as important and indispensable to spiritual life as the eye is to the body as a lamp.

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If even the evangelist did not dare to connect this sentence with the preceding and following ones through transitional particles, does the apologist think he can establish and develop the connection in the best way possible? “The direction towards earthly goods,” says Tholuck, “makes the mind only concerned with earthly things.” – What a tautology! – “But if the eye of the mind is earthly, how will the whole person be in darkness * )!” However, the mind, namely the heart, which was previously mentioned, is already the general aspect of the human being, or the whole person. On the other hand, “the light within you” is a last, but highest point in humans, from which all decision and self-determination ultimately arise, and which therefore must also be maintained with the greatest care in its purity as this source and as the last refuge of truth.

And how should this saying be related to the following one about serving two masters? “The health of the inner eye,” Tholuck replies **), “consists in recognizing the true, highest good as the only one, to which everything else must be subordinated.” With a “therefore” like this, one could connect the most remote things. The saying about the inner eye deals purely and solely with the inner relationship of the spirit to itself; in the saying about serving two masters, it is a matter of the division of the spirit between opposing interests.

*) a. a. O. p. 458.

**) p. 462.

In the Gospel of Luke, after the saying about the imperishable treasure, Matthew reads the admonition (Luke 12:35-36): “Let your loins be girded and your lamps burning, and be like men who are waiting for their master to come home from the marriage feast.” Matthew does not copy this saying – he later works it into a parable – but the word “lamp” reminds him of another saying about the lamp of the body and the spirit that he reads in Luke (11:34-36) and that has found its place here only through an external allusion – “No one after lighting a lamp puts it in a cellar or under a basket” (verse 33). Matthew copies it, but leaves out the unclear and confused tautology of the closing statement (verse 36). This is how this saying ended up here.

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§ 21. The righteousness of hypocrites

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This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution 4.0 International License.

by Neil Godfrey

Critique of the Gospel History of the Synoptics

by Bruno Bauer

Volume 1

—o0o—

353

§21.

The righteousness of hypocrites.

Matthew 6:1-18.

A new section that is self-contained. Once again, a parallel is drawn between the righteousness of hypocrites and that of believers, and at three points – giving alms, praying, and fasting – this contrast is illustrated.

This section begins, if we follow the reading of some manuscripts, with the general admonition not to perform “righteousness” before people in order to be seen by them. This way of introducing the topic would correspond to the author’s method of introducing the dialectic between the old and new law with a general remark. However, a completely different idea is explored here than before. The discourse is directed against external activity and against the boasting that makes the externality of such activity count before people. Previously, the dialectic was carried out between the idea and its limited, positive formulation in the Old Testament law. Now, pure, abstract Pharisaism is fought against, previously the simple, traditional law.

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The author is well aware that there is no direct connection between the two parts of the discourse – the form and elaboration of the contrast is different – and he does not even think of connecting the two sections with a transitional particle. However, for him there is a connection in the sense that the thought of the Pharisees’ hypocrisy is close at hand when the law in general is mentioned, as he himself demonstrated when he inserted the mention of the Pharisees and scribes in the wrong place in the previous section (Ch. 5, 20).

So, the connection only lies in this resonance, that if one of these strings is touched, the other also begins to ring in the mind of the evangelist. In the saying about oaths, this resonance had caused the confusion (Ch. 5, 34-36), which we have already resolved.

In any case, the connection should not be understood as Tholuck understands it: “after the Redeemer has shown the extent of the fulfillment of the law that comes to his disciples, he shows here first and foremost the way in which it is practiced with regard to those three types of good works to which the pride of Pharisaic piety is particularly attached: almsgiving, prayer, fasting *).” If this transition is more than a blind spot, then the Lord should not have already spoken so thoroughly about the way the new law is to be carried out beforehand, and he would have to choose the examples of how the law is to be practiced from the previous section in this new section.

*) a. a. O. p. 345.

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1. Giving Alms and Fasting.

Matthew 6:1–4, 16–18.

Whoever gives alms and fasts should do it for themselves and in secret, if they want to gain the heavenly reward that will be given publicly in the future. Otherwise, if they do it for the sake of human praise, they have already received their reward and achieved what they wanted.

The hypocrites, who else are they but the Pharisees, of whom it is already said in the earlier Gospel (Mark 12:38–40) that they seek the appearance of piety, walk in their robes, and pray much for show? Do we now have before us in Matthew’s detailed discourse the original polemic of Jesus against the Pharisees? But why only in the Gospel of Matthew, the latest one? Why don’t we find this discourse in the Gospel of Luke? Why didn’t he include the Lord’s Prayer in a context where he also argued against the hypocrites?

We should not see these polemics as the words of Jesus that have come to us by chance, who knows how. This is the place where we must eradicate one of the prejudices that have made it impossible to fully understand the historical accounts of the Gospels. We will not even talk about the fact that Gospel passages that contain references to Palestinian conditions, whether in collisions or in speeches, are considered as historical reports. This prejudice falls away by the following reflection. But to conclude from the local references of such passages that they had meaning only for Jewish Christians or even only for Palestinians, or to see these passages as evidence that the scripture to which they belong was written by a Jewish Christian, perhaps even in Palestine, is a prejudice that can be no greater or more harmful for the critic.

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Why, then, does Mark not have as many of Jesus’ speeches against the Pharisees, why does the apostle Paul, who also dealt with Jewish Christians, not fight more vigorously against the school he once belonged to, and why does the Gospel of Luke lack the polemic against Pharisaic hypocrisy that we read in the present section?

The answer given by Paul is strange. He says that the Sermon on the Mount in Luke is an “excerpt from a complete, unwritten essay.” This excerpt was already made by a Palestinian Christian before Luke, who wanted to provide an “extract for all Christians to read” and therefore excluded everything “anti-Pharisaic” and what “related to specific Palestinian circumstances.” What self-denial!

The person whose essay Luke transcribed, according to Schleiermacher *), “may have made his recording (of the Sermon on the Mount) initially for someone whom he believed might find some things incomprehensible (!) and insignificant, as the polemic against the Pharisees might seem to a Gentile Christian.”

*) a. a. O. p. 89.

And if one were, we answer, the most fervent Gentile Christian, had never seen Palestine or a Jewish Christian, if he wrote a gospel, he could weave a thousand references to the Pharisees into it and add Palestinian local colors that were known to everyone to his historical painting. Such colors become categories in the end – Pharisees and scribes are still standing categories for us – and are applied most diligently and in relationships that have nothing to do with the historical originals. This type of representation and historiography is therefore abstract and reveals itself through this abstract attitude as the later and less original. It is manufactured and artistic work.

357

So, once again, Matthew has freely worked. In order to have Jesus fight against hypocrisy, he has him argue against those who were already regarded as hypocrites.

What kind of tradition must one have in mind to believe that such a diligently crafted exposition as the sections on giving alms and fasting had vegetated as an actual speech by Jesus in the memory of the listeners and those who had heard them again from the first listeners? Just look seriously at the sentences once: this exchange of command, exhortation, description of the opposition, reflection, and prohibition – this should have been in the head for years and not rather owe its origin to the pen?

Matthew worked freely: he used a prayer, which he reads in the Gospel of Luke in a completely different context, to further fill out the present section.


2. The Prayer.

Matt. 6:5-13. Luke 11:1-4.

First, Matthew follows the original direction of the section he created by having the Lord command that people should not pray like the hypocrites in front of others, but in secret, because God sees in secret (verses 5-6).

There follows a punchline (verses 7-8) that is connected to the previous only by the fact that prayer is also mentioned. “And when you pray,” it says, “do not babble like the pagans, for they think that by their many words they will be heard. Do not be like them, for your Father knows what you need before you ask him.”

The Evangelist does not reflect on the fact that this punchline actually goes further than was necessary if the much babbling during prayer was to be proven useless, and that it brings forth the appearance in its boldness that prayer is not necessary at all. Instead, he has the Lord continue: “Thus – ουτως – you should pray” (verse 9), and then follows the prayer that we also read in the Gospel of Luke 11:2-4.

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“So shall you pray!” that is, at the same time, the formula of true prayer *) or rather, since the previous discussion was not about the content of the prayer but only about speaking too much, the formula of prayer as such should be conveyed to the believers. The fixed prayer formula! But what a surplus! The statement about speaking too much during prayer is fully concluded with its point in verse 8. Why add a new point, a point against an enemy who has already been defeated and is a dead enemy? And what a disruptive surplus! Now it seems, or rather it is so: a literally fixed formula should be given, which the believers should use to avoid the danger of speaking too much. That is the meaning that lies in the context as Matthew has constructed it, but a meaning that Jesus could never have intended if he really conveyed this prayer to his followers. This view, that a formula should be fixed, is never formed at the point where a principle is born and expresses itself with its first originality, but later, when it has become a positive and external power for consciousness with its expression.

It is of no use to deny the context as Matthew has constructed it **); it is also useless to seek help from Luke! Neander agrees with Schleiermacher when he asserts: “In the Sermon on the Mount in Matthew, this prayer is only inserted by someone who possessed only the formula without the information where and when it was first conveyed.” “The pragmatic context in Luke 11:1 is, however, very natural.” *) But what does it help Neander to say: “Certainly (!) Christ did not want to give the disciples a formula to repeat in their prayers,” when Luke explicitly says that the disciples asked Jesus once to teach them to pray, just as John had taught his disciples to pray, and now Jesus immediately fulfills their request and says, “When you pray, say!” It can only be a stubborn apologetic interest to deny that the prayer of the Lord should be conveyed not only as “a formula in their prayers,” but as the only prayer formula. So it remains with an interpretation that we also find in Matthew, but which we cannot share.

*) Bengel: ουτως, his verbis, hac sententia.

**) such as Calvin very naively protests against this context. He is content to remark on ουτως: quamquam (!) non jubet Christus suos conceptis verbis orare, sed tantum ostendit, quorsum vota omnia precesque reflerri deceat. Even Friztche, in his book on Matthew, p. 263-264, has not grasped the context sharply enough when he says: e Matthaei mente Jesus vituperata gentilium loguacitate concisarum precum ponere decrevit exemplum. Not an example, but a formula!

*) Schleiermacher, p. 173. Neander, p. 235. 236.

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Before we ask whether Luke actually reports excellently on the occasion on which this prayer was taught, we must allow the apologist to speak up for Matthew. Tholuck does so. He wants to defend both evangelists. “Is there anything violent,” he says **), “or is there any compulsion in assuming that the disciples, having presented a prayer that Jesus had set forth before the people ****) as an example of how to pray without using vain repetitions ***), which really did not have the character of a formula in our context ***), did not regard it as a special formula †) designated for them, and therefore later asked for a special formula for themselves ††), ignoring the type of a true prayer †††)?”

**) ibid. p. 378. 379.

***) So only as an example, which is set aside when the idea that it was supposed to explain is grasped? No! As a formula!

*****) But Matthew says in the historical introduction to the sermon that it was addressed to the disciples.

†) Really not?

††) Then they had their ears elsewhere when the Lord said, “When you pray!” προσεύχεσθε! προσεύχεσθε υμείς!

†††) Is it still an example?

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This is very violent! Just as violent as this whole reasoning is anxious and precarious! Wouldn’t the Lord have had to give them a strict reprimand for being very inattentive and handling his words very carelessly? Shouldn’t they have doubted whether this instruction to pray, when Jesus gave it to the people, also applied to them? What reprimand would they have deserved if they thought they needed something special, a particular formula?

“And if one were to find it completely unlikely that everyone would have fallen into such a misunderstanding,” Tholuck continues to argue, “could it not have been one or the other? But Luke only speaks of one of the disciples.”

All, all are innocent! Even the one Luke speaks of is innocent; no one has ever come up with such a ridiculous misunderstanding. Because when this one, who asks Jesus for a prayer formula in Luke’s script, appeared for this purpose, the Sermon on the Mount was not yet written, and Matthew had not yet included this prayer in the Sermon on the Mount from Luke’s script. But this one is also innocent because he never existed, never asked the Lord for a prayer, and is only a product of pragmatism, as Luke needed him to bring the Lord to words and give him cause to share this prayer.

So it is: the occasion that Luke speaks of is manufactured and very unfortunate. On the journey to Jerusalem (Luke 10:38), when Jesus was somewhere praying (Luke 11:1) – but only in Luke’s script is Jesus’ prayer this stereotypical formula – one of the disciples spoke to him when he stopped, “Lord, teach us to pray, just as John taught his disciples to pray.” How pragmatism teaches! Where else could Luke have gotten this news about John but from his own pragmatism? If they really had to lag behind John’s disciples in this regard, should the apostles have only noticed and felt this lack now, when they were leaving Galilee?

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Schleiermacher, of course, knows how to appease us: earlier, when Jesus was in Galilee and when he performed the prayer (!) at the “usual prayer times”, he was always “found in multitudinous surroundings and the disciples could not immediately, when he stopped, take the opportunity to ask him for a formula, which they at the same time (!) wanted as a brief epitome of his religious views, but then also as something peculiar to his school (!) and unknown outside of it *)”.

*) a. a. O. p. 172.

But Luke himself reports often enough that “the Lord was with the disciples in solitude,” and, according to his account, Jesus prays in the solitude to which he has withdrawn with the disciples, as in Luke 6:12, 9:18, and 28! And always, constantly, when he traveled with the disciples in the country or even when he was in Capernaum, the crowd could not have besieged him. Finally, what does Schleiermacher read into the disciples’ desire **)? They want to learn to pray, but they do not ask for a symbol that would distinguish them as members of a school or church from other communities.

**) and Neander attributes this to him when he says, p. 236-237, Jesus “used this opportunity – the disciples’ request – to summarize the essence of Christianity in a few words in the form of a prayer!” As Schleiermacher simply refers to the disciple’s question, Neander refers to Jesus’ words: “When you pray, say!”

It was right for Matthew not to care in the slightest about the occasion on which, according to Luke, the Lord’s Prayer was supposed to have originated, to let it fall calmly and to insert the prayer into his Sermon on the Mount. He acted more sensibly than the apologists who usually value such features of evangelical pragmatism differently. The occasion that Matthew created when he lets the Lord recite the prayer so that the disciples could use it as a formula and avoid the danger of too much babbling is not particularly well constructed, but we cannot expect the evangelist to conduct critical investigations into whether it was in the spirit of the Lord to prescribe a standing prayer formula and whether it was the time to prescribe positive formulas of any kind when the new principle had not yet formed a church community during the lifetime of Jesus. Enough, Matthew finds the prayer recommended as a formula in the scripture of Luke and, as such, lets Jesus recite it in the Sermon on the Mount.

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If it is certain that Jesus did not prescribe this prayer as a fixed formula for his disciples, the question still remains whether he even communicated it to them. But what do we mean by “communicated”? It would still be a prescribed formula! Did he, therefore, use it with them repeatedly, and did the habit of it stick in their memory? Again, a formula! Why ask these questions, since it was not in the spirit of Jesus to prescribe formulas, as formulas as the positive form of devotion only develop in the existing community! This prayer also developed in the community. We say in the community because we cannot determine how much influence Luke had in the development of the prayer that he first communicates. Mark knows nothing about the whole affair.

This prayer has developed from the simple and general religious categories that the community inherited with the Old Testament, and only one request, “forgive us our debts, as we also have forgiven our debtors,” is purely in line with Christian self-awareness. If we have to follow the authority of some respected manuscripts, which do not include the closing of the prayer in Matt. 6:13, “For thine is the kingdom, and the power, and the glory, forever. Amen!” this is evidence that the prayer gradually developed in the community. This is the same evidence that is already established in the fact that in Luke’s account, the two petitions, “Thy will be done, on earth as it is in heaven,” and “Deliver us from evil,” are still missing and are only added by Matthew.

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After the conclusion of the prayer, Matthew suddenly returns to a single part of the prayer, attempting to give the best possible coherence. When it says before (V. 12): “Forgive us our debts, as we also have forgiven our debtors,” the speech continues in verse 14-15 as a justification: “For if you forgive others their trespasses, your heavenly Father will also forgive you.” It is already inappropriate that in this justification, the point that immediately precedes it, verse 13, which had already led the thought in a different direction, is skipped over. Moreover, this relationship between the sentences should appear even more inappropriate to us when we see that in verse 12, the equality of the relationship – “as we also have forgiven” – was the main idea, while in the justification of this idea in verse 14-15, the behavior of people is made a condition for the same behavior from God. Only the resonance of the word “forgiveness” has led the evangelist to include this saying here. He has taken it from the scripture of Mark (Mark 11:25-26).

Furthermore, Matthew must not be distracted from his theme, the warning against hypocrisy. He even resists the temptation to add the saying about the power of prayer that follows the prayer instruction in the scripture of Luke – later he makes up for this omission in chapter 7 verse 7. He returns to the theme once more (chapter 5:16-18) only to suddenly switch to a new subject in verse 10.

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§ 20. The New Law

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This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution 4.0 International License.

by Neil Godfrey

Critique of the Gospel History of the Synoptics

by Bruno Bauer

Volume 1

—o0o—

322

§20.

The New Law.

Matth. 5, 17—48.

In an almost completed, only interrupted at a few points, context, Jesus explains how his relationship to the law should be understood.

Firstly, the question arises whether this fairly long explanation is connected to the beginning of the Sermon on the Mount. Tholuck answers with yes and no, as befits a theologian. No, namely: “an immediate – but therein lies already the hidden yes! – an immediate connection with the preceding words cannot be easily demonstrated *).” Yes, namely: “until V. 16 the introitus and now – now the yes emerges from its first hiding place – and now follows the originally intended argumentum **).” But we do not know whether there can be a greater and more precise connection than when what follows was already intended in the preceding. More is not needed to see the best, indeed “immediate” connection in a speech; or should there only be a connection if the speaker has first presented the logical division of his speech in advance or if he moves from one part to another with mathematical sequences of consequences? It is enough if it is clear that what follows was already intended in the preceding. But in this speech it is not clear, indeed the opposite is certain. We ask the apologist to study the speech as Luke gives it, to see what connection means. Here the Beatitudes are the appropriate introduction, which is already in internal connection with the matter itself and is also correctly linked rhetorically; here what follows is already intended in the Beatitudes, for the whole speech only develops the thought that believers should strive for kindness and love in relation to the world in general and their fellow believers, and they should do so, says the introduction, even if they are oppressed and confined in the world. They are in opposition and yet should love it and through meekness cause it to no longer be an opposition to them. That’s what you call connection!

*) a. a. O. p. 131.

**) a. a. O. p. 132.

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However, if the proclamation of the new law, which now follows, should already have been intended in the Beatitudes of Matthew, then they must have emphasized the difference between the old and new economy with definite emphasis, and the Beatitudes must have been carried out in this sense, which did not happen and could not have happened because Matthew here used the introduction to a speech that did not consider such dialectics.

Moreover, it had just been about the disciples. Does the new law only apply to them, should not all believers hear it, and is it not expressed as if everyone really heard it?

Neander tries it differently. He says: “pointing to the completion of the kingdom of God in verse 18, in which everything was to find its final fulfillment, Christ also (!) points to the ultimate goal in the fulfillment of the promises associated with the Beatitudes, and thus this is connected with what was said earlier *).”

*) a. a. O. p. 160. 161.

Yes! It must be true that humanity still has a lot of time left for its development, so it does not need to hurry! That so much useless torture is written down, admired! And so much time must be wasted to expose their insignificance!

In our text, we read nothing of a “at the same time” of this kind; the correct explanation of this section will also destroy any illusion that there is a relationship to those Beatitudes, and how unclear Jesus would have spoken if he wanted to refer to the Beatitudes and did not mention them at all! In this whole section (v. 17-48), he is solely concerned with the relationship between the old and new law. He begins with the words: “Do not think that I have come to abolish the Law or the Prophets” – what it has to do with the prophets, we will soon see – he makes the relationship between the old and new law tangible through several individual cases – should we still think of the Beatitudes? We forget them, as the evangelist did.

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This section of the New Testament is particularly dangerous for the apologist. They cannot bear to hear anything about the difference between the Old and New Testaments, so they try to silence this speech. Our task is to thoroughly and openly develop the content of this section and free it from the torture to which the apologists have subjected it.

As a reward for our efforts, this section will finally reveal its origin to us.


1. The introduction and the theme.

Matthew 5:17-18, Luke 16:17.

“Do not think that I have come to abolish the Law or the Prophets; I have not come to abolish them but to fulfill them,” says Jesus in Matthew 5:17.

Jesus could have spoken like this only if he had given the impression, through word and deed, that his intention was to abolish the entire Old Testament law. Whether his audience actually had this opinion, as reported by Matthew, is not something we need to question since it is the premise for the entire speech. However, we do not find any traces elsewhere that indicate that this opinion prevailed in Jesus’ environment. It is not clear how people could even have thought that Jesus wanted to abolish the prophets. It was only late, shortly before the journey that would lead to his death, that the disciples recognized him as the Messiah, and only then did he refer to the prophecies of the scriptures, but in a way that could not arouse suspicion that he intended to abolish the prophets in the end. Didn’t he say that he had to suffer, as it was written?

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The mention of the prophets is partially to blame for the fact that this entire section dissolves to the extent that it shows it did not come from the Lord.

First of all, it remains the case that Jesus did not give any reason to believe that he wanted to dissolve the prophets. He could not have done so, because he did not always mention the declaration that he was the Messiah, and therefore could not have given rise to comparisons between his actions and the prophecies of the prophets. Later on, in the community, there was indeed a great deal of enthusiasm for searching for the image of the Lord in the prophecies of the Old Testament, but they were so convinced from the outset of the unity of fulfillment and promise that no one thought of a difference between the two, or of the possibility that the Lord might have dissolved the prophetic views.

Furthermore, Jesus only speaks in the following text about the law, its commandments, and how he fulfills them. But he does not mention the prophets at all. Even Tholuck *) must admit: “As far as he fulfilled the prophecies, Christ does not mention it further.” But then why mention the prophets at all and raise the expectation that he would speak more extensively about them and explain that he had no intention of dissolving them? Could he, if he wanted to fulfill his duty as a teacher and if indeed the prejudice existed that he held revolutionary ideas about the prophets, as Tholuck expresses it, only “casually” say that his entry into the world was the fulfillment of the old prophecies? He could not. Neander indeed says: “If Christ had the whole Old Testament in mind in relation to both parts, he could still emphasize one particular relationship afterwards *).” But did it matter what he had in mind at the time? Would not a very dangerous prejudice have led him to make these statements, and would he not have had to oppose it just as extensively, to the extent that it would have harmed the correct appreciation of the prophets? He would have had to do so. But he did not need to, because he did not have to fight against a prejudice of this kind, in short because he simply could not say: “Do not think that I intend to dissolve the prophets.”

*) p. 136.

*) a. a. O. p. 159. 160.

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The last torture would finally resort to the means of not separating the prophets as heralds of the future from the law, but of setting them with the law as legislators, so that Jesus here in the introduction, as in the following, always only spoke of the law. In vain! When an evangelist speaks of the prophets, he thinks of their prophecies, especially Matthew regards the prophets only as God’s men who prophesied about the Messiah, and it remains that law and prophets should designate the two main parts of the Old Testament, that is, we come to the result that only Matthew made this confusing combination because the formula “the law and the prophets” was too familiar to him, that if he wrote down the first word, he should also immediately add the following. And if he wanted to write down the word “fulfill”, then he had to think immediately of the prophets, whose prophecies he has often demonstrated the “fulfillment” of? Only here can he bring nothing about these prophecies, and only the habit of the formula has put the prophets here.

Now the law stands alone. Jesus says he does not want to dissolve it but to fulfill it, that is, to complete it, to lead it to perfection, and to confirm it in a higher sense than it was given and had been valid so far. Whoever speaks like this assumes that the law, as it is expressed in the Old Testament, has not yet been set in its truth and that it will be raised to its true meaning only through him and his higher and fundamentally transforming confirmation. *)

*) This is also how Weisse understands the matter, II, 31, only that he could not yet eliminate the prophets.

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From the elevated standpoint of this consciousness, Jesus later says, when he shows through individual examples how he fulfills the law, namely to lead it to its truth: “You have heard that it was said to the ancients – (through Moses) – but I say to you.”

Nevertheless, Jesus declares in verse 18: “For truly, I say to you, until heaven and earth pass away, not an iota, not a dot, will pass from the Law until all is accomplished.” How does this reconcile with the bold statement that through him the law gains its truth, a truth that cannot be achieved unless the old is fundamentally abolished? It reconciles very well! When the law is abolished in its higher confirmation, this is not done superficially, so that a kind of quintessence is expressed from the whole of the law, but the true negation is the most thorough thing that can happen, and it becomes truly, that is, itself the most meaningful position and creation when it gives attention to every determination of the old and incorporates it into the process of higher confirmation. Of course, the letter of the old is not excluded as such, but its idea, but this will now create its own specificity out of itself, which is parallel to the iota and dot of the old.

It is still worthwhile to consider for a moment the double end-date to which this statement refers. Our effort will be rewarded by being led to the source from which the evangelist drew this time. The double indication of the end date is already disturbing, and the fact that both indications are not related to each other. But both are also kept very indefinite. When it is said, until heaven and earth pass away, is it assumed that they will really pass away? Some, like Tholuck, affirm it because it is the teaching of scripture that at the end of time a new heaven and a new earth will be created. However, it must be stated specifically as in 2 Peter 3:13, that the new heaven and new earth will be created when the old is “burned up,” or as in Revelation 21:1, it must be specifically said that “the first heaven and the first earth” will pass away.

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And then, “when all is accomplished,” will some jot and some tittle of the law be able to be pushed under the bench? Tholuck affirms it to the extent that there will come a time when God will be all in all and the law will disappear in grace. Of course, it would not help if we were to say that the law is eternal and does not lose its determinative power even if it has become internal. Rather, we ask what the evangelist was thinking. Well, he did not think beyond these end dates. He borrowed this saying – we do not yet want to say the entire theme of this discourse – from Luke’s scripture. Here the Lord says (chapter 16, verse 17): “Is it easier for heaven and earth to pass away than for one dot of the law to become void.” And Matthew caused those unanswerable questions only when he transformed a case that is given as an example of the impossibility of violating the law into a possible one, albeit one that is in the farthest distance.

We have now reached the critical point where the question can no longer be avoided as to whether Jesus expressed himself in this way about the law. But how did he express himself about it? We have just heard it, but the apologist does not want us to hear it that way. He wants us to hear it differently out of fear that it could cause damage to the Old Testament and the assumption of the unity of revelation. Therefore, we must first heal him of his fear or show him that the Christian principle as such does not want to share it with him.

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Tholuck *) claims that “Jesus here is not only dealing with the Old Testament but with its teachings in the form given to it by Pharisaism.” But if Jesus always only contrasts the legal commandment and its fulfillment without ever mentioning parallels to Pharisaic interpretations and traditions, how can he then be fighting against Pharisaism? In these parallels, Tholuck continues, “Christ essentially (!) does not form a contradictory opposition against the Old Testament, but rather everywhere gives the latter its fulfillment.” If not essentially, then at least in words? And is fulfillment without negation even possible? Must not the moment whose sole supremacy hitherto hindered fulfillment be removed and overcome? Must it not cease to be an inner determination, and how is that possible without the most painful operation? We will not follow Tholuck’s principle “that we must consider the statements of Christ as indications of the spiritual meaning of the commandments of the Old Testament,” at least not in the sense in which it is formulated. Jesus does not say, “the spiritual meaning says,” but rather, “but I say to you!” And even if we were to maintain the category of the “spiritual meaning” and say that Jesus drew it from the Old Testament, as noted, this extraction is not so easily achieved as if only an innocent shell were to be removed from the Old, but rather the actual historical determination of the latter must be negated. The seriousness, splendor, and richness of history would otherwise be transformed into child’s play.

*) a.a.O. p. 162. 163.

But then Olshausen **) responds, “an inappropriate sense would arise that Jesus opposed himself and his teachings to the Mosaic.” Well, then, let it be inappropriate like all truth! We have already answered this when we remembered that an earlier standpoint can be recognized as “eternal truth” and yet undergo a penetrating negation in this recognition.

**) Bibl. Comm. l, 218. Similarly, Fritzsche on Matthew, p. 222.

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We only draw the sum that results from these apologetic arguments; for one must finally come to this point on these fearful surreptitious paths, that one says, as Bengel does, that the law of Moses did not declare Jesus to be imperfect – imperfecta. There is no difference at all between Moses and Christ, and the law of Moses has not been surpassed by the preaching of Christ *). Or one must finally say with Calvin that God had indeed promised a new covenant for the time of Christ’s coming, but at the same time showed that it would not be different from the first one **).

*) Nulla pugna est inter Mosen et Christum. Mosis legem pon excedit sermo Cbristi.

**) Pollicitus quidem fuerat deus novum foedus Cbristi adveplu, sed simul ostenderat, mipime diversum fore a primo.

So the question is: did Jesus examine this dialectic between the law and the new principle – and let us note that this dialectic is read in this context in Matthew 5:17-48? No! When Luke says, “It is easier for heaven and earth to pass away than for one stroke of a letter in the Law to fail,” he immediately adds an example (Luke 16:18) from which one can see in what sense the law is to remain eternal. “Everyone who divorces his wife and marries another commits adultery, and he who marries one who is divorced from her husband commits adultery.” The law therefore remains eternal, but is also transformed into something else, since under Moses’ law divorce was subject to the unconditional discretion of the husband. Luke took this statement from the Gospel of Mark, since when he explains Jesus’ teaching on divorce, he wisely does not copy the entire story of the Pharisees’ question that led to it. But did Matthew also take this statement from Luke’s Gospel? Indeed! How else would he have included it twice? The first time he borrowed it from Luke’s Gospel, where he found it in the passage about the eternity of the law, which gave him the idea for his parallel between the old and new laws. The second time he wrote it down (Matthew 19:9) was when he came to the story of the Pharisees’ question in the Gospel of Mark. Luke had taken only the point from this story of his predecessor and turned it into a reflection, namely that nothing from the law could perish. Matthew adds only the defensive turn to this reflection, “Do not think that I have come to abolish the Law,” and just as Luke explains the meaning in which the law will endure forever with one example, so Matthew explains the idea of the duration and completion of the law with a long series of examples.

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Jesus had not yet given any reason for a prejudice to arise among the disciples or the people, to which he would have had to respond with the words: “Do not think that I have come to abolish the Law.” If he had really pursued the dialectic of the Law and the new principle to such an extent, the struggles that Paul had to endure would have been unnecessary and impossible. Only at a later time, when the danger of antinomianism threatened, could it be said: “Do not think, etc.”

If we can no longer see the personal work of Jesus in this parallel between the Old and the New, as drawn by Matthew, we still possess in it the work of his spirit, as he worked in the community. Indeed, as the Gospel of Luke teaches us, Jesus’ saying about the Old Testament determination regarding divorce and the true unity of marriage provided the initial impulse for this parallel, insofar as it only carries out the extraordinary idea of the abolition of the Law in the higher idea of morality in a series of several examples. Just as in the question about the right to divorce, it is possible that Matthew has also used actual sayings of Jesus and worked them into the other points of the parallel. Whether this is the case will be the task of the following investigation to decide. But we can now state with certainty that the dialectical structure that we see in this section is the admirable work of Matthew.

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2. The Consistent Value of the Law.

5: 19-20.

Jesus had said that the fulfillment of the law must be carried out so thoroughly that not a single stroke of it should fall away. “Therefore, whoever breaks one of the least of these commandments and teaches others to do the same will be called least in the kingdom of heaven, but whoever practices and teaches these commands will be called great in the kingdom of heaven.” According to his assumption that we have actual sayings of Jesus before us, Weisse must naturally assert *) that it is not probable that this sentence was spoken “in immediate connection with the preceding one, because such an elaboration of that bold paradox would give the appearance of being more than fair to the literal sense.” But the preceding sentence is not a saying of Jesus, and the present sentence is a free elaboration by the evangelist, and he can be sure that with this elaboration he will not cause any lasting misunderstanding because in the following he explains thoroughly in what sense each individual commandment of the law is to be observed and fulfilled.

*) II, 34. 35

Even the following saying in verse 20: “For I tell you that unless your righteousness surpasses that of the Pharisees and the teachers of the law, you will certainly not enter the kingdom of heaven,” does not belong to Jesus. How could such an isolated saying, which in itself has no particular point, have been preserved in the memory of the disciples and the community? Was it necessary for this saying to exist before one could know what Jesus thought of the righteousness of the Pharisees? Was it not generally known what Jesus thought of them, and were there not completely different sayings from which it was clear that he considered them worthless? Only from his otherwise knowledge of Jesus’ view, did Matthew form this saying and put it here.

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But he has formed it at the wrong time and placed it in the wrong position, even if he also designates it with the particle “for” as a justification for the preceding saying. If he wanted to justify the preceding saying, he should have shown what an infinite value each individual determination of the law has – but what does the reflection on the Pharisees serve for this? Indeed, what do the scribes and Pharisees have to do with this place, where something completely different is at stake, where it is about the dots and strokes of the law? In the following dialectic of the old and the new – as we will prove – no regard is given to the Pharisees and their interpretation of the law, but the law as such is drawn into the dialectic in its historical origin. Only later in chapter 6, 1-18, where a completely new theme is being pursued, is there talk of the righteousness of the hypocrites. So, what do the Pharisees have to do with it already here, where only the law as such is being considered? They do not belong here, the evangelist has thought of them at the wrong time, he has thought of them too hastily, and through an innocent oversight of his pragmatism, by not being able to push the thought of the Pharisees back in a discussion of the law, he has caused false interpretations of a section in which he does not mention the Pharisees and their interpretation of the law with a single syllable.

The apologists cling to this inappropriate reflection of the evangelist when they claim that in the following parallel Jesus had to deal with “the Old Testament doctrine in the form in which Pharisaism gave it” *). Even Neander, who admits that Jesus in this section “sets up a contrast against the standpoint of the law in general,” must, for the sake of the evangelist’s reflection, once again force the reference to the Pharisees onto the section and say that Jesus “at the same time emphasizes the contrast against the Pharisaic interpretation and application of the law” **). But criticism has freed us from this confusion, and the correct explanation of the following section will confirm this result of criticism.

*) Tholuck, p. 162. Also Bengel, Calvin, Olshausen, Fritzsche, Paulus 1, 580, de Wette 1, 1, 55.

**) ibid. p. 162. 163.

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3. Killing.

Matth. 5: 21—26. Mark 11: 25. Luk. 12: 58-59.

To the Old Testament commandment, “Thou shalt not kill, but whoever kills is guilty of judgment,” Jesus opposes his own words: whoever is angry with his brother ***) is guilty of judgment, but whoever says to his brother, “You fool,” shall be liable to the Sanhedrin, and whoever says to him, “You madman,” shall be liable to hellfire.

Where is there any trace of Pharisaic determinations here? Yes, says de Wette†), “but whoever kills is guilty of judgment” is “an addition of the scribes,” Paul even calls it a “weakening” addition. As if the law did not command that the murderer be judged, as if Jesus were only adding this legal provision in order to oppose the escalation that goes from judgment to hellfire.

***) The addition “without cause” – εἰκῆ – is certainly added here only later and arose from the fear that too many might fall under Christ’s judgment, even if justified anger was the cause.

†) 1, 1, 58.

††) a. a. O. I. 580.

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Whether or not Jesus actually formed and delivered this and similar sayings that we will encounter in this context cannot be decided and is, for the matter at hand, irrelevant. What remains certain, however, is that the infinity of self-consciousness that entered the world with him produced this idea of the infinity of moral determinations. Let us not rely on the fact that the Sanhedrin is mentioned in this saying, for just as easily as a contradiction of the situation could arise if a later reflection were reported as a saying of Jesus, it could also often happen that determinations were included in such a saying that corresponded to the assumed situation and were used with a free consciousness for historical custom, because they were still generally known.

Regarding the meaning of the saying *), we only briefly note that, like all the following sayings that are similar to it, it is meant entirely seriously. But the seriousness is not this awkwardness, as if the meaning were now that someone who calls his brother a fool should be brought before the court; rather, the saying has a complete awareness of this incongruity, but this seriousness and awareness of incongruity are not brought together in the form of a reasonable reflection. But the expression itself is such that in its peak it goes beyond itself and points to an idea for which a single sentence is not sufficient to express and fully present it. Through this dissolution of itself, in which it goes beyond itself, the determined sentence becomes again the appropriate expression of the idea, since it represents in itself the drive towards the infinity of the same and draws the idea into this drive in a lively manner.

*) developed well by Weisse, II, 40. 41.

A new thought follows! One should not only refrain from disturbing the relationship with one’s neighbor, but if it is disturbed, leave everything else and restore it first. “If you are offering your gift at the altar and there remember that your brother has something against you – εχει τι κατα σου – leave your gift there in front of the altar. First go and be reconciled to your brother; then come and offer your gift” (v. 23-24). Nothing but further elaboration of the saying in Mark 11:25: “And when you stand praying, if you hold anything against anyone, forgive them, so that your Father in heaven may forgive you your sins.” – ει τι εχετε κατα τινος. Wilke *) says that in the Gospel of Mark, this saying was inserted, originally it must have stood before Matthew 6:14, and the whole of Mark 11:24-26 is a later addition. However, firstly, the hand that transcribed that saying from the Gospel of Matthew would have also taken over the following from the same scripture, and certainly would have retained the same construction of the whole, which did not happen. Furthermore, Matthew repeats the same saying several times, but not exactly the same in one section, which he would have done if Mark 11:25 belonged before Matthew 6:14. Finally, even though Mark, even if he is still so original and mostly delivers a complete composition, is not always correct, and in particular in the speech passages his pragmatism often suffers from the lack of coherence, which is even more striking in the writings of his successors. So this time, the first words that Jesus speaks on the occasion of Mark 11:20-21, which we must leave standing, as we will later see, are alien to the inner nature of the occasion.

*) p. 666.

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Without emphasizing that a new idea is being introduced, the speech continues (v. 25-26): “Settle matters quickly with your adversary who is taking you to court. Do it while you are still together on the way, or your adversary may hand you over to the judge, and the judge may hand you over to the officer, and you may be thrown into prison. Truly I tell you, you will not get out until you have paid the last penny.” The only connection to the previous statement is the idea that one should fulfill their obligation at the last moment when there is still time. In the previous statement, it is when one is about to offer a gift on the altar, and here it is when one is still on the way with their adversary. In both statements, the demand to reconcile a disrupted relationship is also the point, but in a completely different sense. In the first statement, one should leave everything until they have reconciled with their brother, and in this statement, one should not leave it to the decision of formal justice.

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It is obvious that there is no connection here: the proof of this lies in the fact that Matthew took a saying from the Gospel of Luke without copying the point of the same. Specifically, Luke (12:58) introduces the same saying, which we read in Matthew, with the words: “And why do you not judge for yourselves what is right?”. This explanatory sentence was left out by Matthew when he included the saying itself in his Gospel, perhaps because that introduction would have interrupted the flow of his presentation.

In Luke, the saying stands in no connection with its surroundings. It is already disjointed that Jesus is speaking to the crowds (v.54), a formula that for us can have no other meaning than if Luke had said: “Now I want to share some of Jesus’ sayings.” What Jesus is saying to the crowds this time is that they know how to interpret the appearance of the sky, but not the signs of the times. But if, as in v.58 without further ado, it is to be continued, “And why do you not judge for yourselves what is right?”, then the disadvantages of legal proceedings must have been discussed beforehand. Perhaps the similarity of “judging” and “discerning” ( δοκιμάζετε and κρίνειν v.57) and “deciding” caused this juxtaposition.

If we find sayings compiled in the Gospel of Luke that have no internal connection whatsoever, this is not proof that he picked them up individually from other writings and placed them unchanged next to each other. Matthew provides us with enough examples of how a new, larger whole can emerge from a found saying, no matter how small it may be; and Luke has shown us with the saying on divorce how he knows how to provide a new general foundation for a new sentence. He may have worked independently here as well, and if he cannot create a complete connection, it may be because he has not yet learned to arrange the richness of the given material and to combine it with his own literary creations into a whole. *) The kind of pragmatism that melds the facts and teachings, the events and the thoughts that emerge from the speeches into a completed whole seems not to be inherent in Christianity when it comes to producing a larger whole. Even Mark usually fails when he tries to incorporate larger speech material into his narrative. Interest in form and the ability to process content to the extent that it finds the form that makes it a whole and nothing but its necessary self-representation had to come to the Christian spirit from another realm of life. As long as the immediate religious interest prevailed, it could not even feel the need for form; the positive as such had meaning for it, and the mental activity that cannot be absent in any realm revealed its greater mobility only in the transformation and further processing of the individual, which was positively given to each evangelist.

*) The saying about divorce and the eternity of the law is immediately preceded by the saying: “The law and the prophets were until John: from that time the kingdom of God is preached, and every one presseth into it.” Luke 16:16. As far as this, we can see a complete connection, in that the saying about the eternity of the law should specify, restrict, and indicate the thought contained in verse 16, that it is not just the law in the abstract that is over. But with what precedes and what follows, this reflection in verses 16-18 is completely disconnected. Before it, there is a saying against the Pharisees, that they justify themselves before men, but God knows their hearts, because what is exalted among men is an abomination in the sight of God. Verse 15 is already inappropriate in itself, as the Pharisees are not seen as something exalted, but rather as those who feign moral purity, for only such can be accused of God knowing their hearts. And how does the religious-historical reflection that the law and the prophets extend up to John fit with this accusation against the Pharisees? Why would there be a religious-historical reflection where there was only a sermon against the Pharisees? Finally, after the reflection on the law, the parable of the rich man and Lazarus follows in verse 19, whose first point is that whoever enjoys his own things here will suffer there beyond, and whoever suffers here will enjoy there beyond. Where the lack of coherence is so great, it is not even worth the tiny effort to reject the attempts of those who try to find coherence here. But there is indeed coherence with what is further back, where Jesus warned against watching for temporal treasures, because one cannot serve God and mammon at the same time, verse 13. There is a kind of coherence here, even if it is clumsily executed. The saying about mammon is heard incidentally by the Pharisees, who are described as greedy (φιλάργυροι), and they murmur against it, verse 14. The Lord then speaks against them, but says not a word about their love for wealth, but rather against their self-righteousness. With the occasion that the Pharisees murmur because Jesus had spoken against mammon worship, the speech about the law in verses 16-18 has no affinity. It is only in verse 19 that the speech turns to wealth, but it will never be able to be brought into internal coherence with the occasion, as it is not only irrelevant, but also very unfortunate. For does it really go without saying that the Pharisees and the rich (φιλάργυρος) are one, that the Pharisees must immediately murmur when love of wealth is criticized, and that the parable of the rich man must be directed against them?

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This time, Luke did not even need to use a written source for his saying, because what he presented here is nothing else but the principle that one should stay away from secular courts. Jesus had not yet established a particular community and therefore could not have instilled this antipathy against the formal legal system in his followers. That saying only arose from the revolution in which the community drew its members into it.

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4. Adultery.

Matthew 5:27-30, Mark 9:43-47.

Jesus opposed the legal prohibition against adultery with the statement that whoever looks at a woman with lustful intent has already committed adultery with her in his heart.

The only basis for this statement was probably the word about the eye that should be plucked out and thrown away if it offends, which Matthew finds in the scripture of Mark (9:47) and copies to this point, even adding the word about the right hand, while later, when he copies the saying where Mark has it, he repeats it in full, also speaking of the foot that should be cut off if it offends.

There is no thought of a supposed addition by which the Pharisees and scribes had deprived the law of its power. But, as de Wette says*, “it should be added that the scribes merely stopped at the accomplished, external adultery.” Well, if they did so, they thought like the law!

*) 1, I, 61

The extraordinary audacity of this saying, which is set against the law, must have appeared too great to the apologists and its sharpness too cutting to let it stand as it is. “The involuntary rising lust,” says de Wette, “is not designated as sin,” but according to the Tertullian it is sin, when “the rising desire is nourished intentionally and repeatedly.” **) But in the context of this section, that which is considered the slightest offense, even no offense at all to humans, should appear as a sin that is to be prohibited and avoided just as strictly as the transgressions that the law punishes. However, intentional cultivation and maintenance of desire is one of the most extreme offenses and is also considered such where only humans live together *). Fritzsche thinks that it is called adultery if someone looks at a woman in the case that they both feel desire for each other **); but that would again be an offense which has always been considered so dirty in human society that it did not need a new legislator to be described as punishable and immoral.

**) Ibid., also Tholuck, a, a. O. 214.

*) Also Fritzsche, Matthew p. 231, disagrees with this explanation: lascivus est, ut irritante libidinis causa feminam intueri velit.

**) Fritzsche, Matthew p. 232: quicunque mulieri oculos adjiciat ad concupiscendum, i. e. ut adsit cupiditas, mutua opinor.

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The saying, however, only deals with the man and is so far from designating only deliberately harbored lust as adultery that rather his opinion is: even the lust that arises in a moment at the sight of a woman is to be equated with actual adultery. The expression used by the evangelist is somewhat imprecise and had to be, because it is about the will and this can never be described as something only involuntary and accidental and even if it is involuntarily aroused, it does not cease to be will. According to the evangelist, προς το επιθυμησαι αυτης should not be the same as ωοτε, the accidental result, but also not an abstractly cherished and nurtured intention. Desire is the will that is immediately connected with the sight or arises with it in the same moment.

5.  Divorce.

Matthew 5:31-32, Luke 16:18.

When Jesus, with the exception of the case where the woman has broken the marriage by mixing with another, asserts the complete indissolubility of marriage, it was impossible for the apologists to find an addition of the scribes against which he would declare himself here, for the will of man cannot be favored more than it is by the Old Testament law. And yet, says Olshausen, Jesus declares himself here against the Pharisaic interpretation, which “reckoned the legal permission of divorce as part of the essence of marriage” *), as if the will of man were not authorized by the law in all aspects of the marital relationship. This standpoint, which does not recognize the dialectic between the law and the Gospel, then produces such horrific expressions as that of the same apologist **): “The correct view of marriage as an indissoluble soul life was based on the Old Testament” – the Old Testament, which exposed the wife to the immoral will of man!

*) p. 224.

**) Ibid. p. 223.

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The Protestant commentator is in a bad position when he wants to justify the admissibility of divorce not in the concept, but in a biblical passage, or perhaps in both. “Since Jesus,” says de Wette ***), “admits one sacrosanct reason for separation, he also admits several others.” Strange! When Jesus, with the words “except for adultery,” declares divorce absolutely inadmissible for all other cases except this one!

***) 1, 1, 63.

How great – truly terrifying! – must be the embarrassment of the apologist when it is perfectly certain that initially there was no case known in which Jesus had allowed divorce, and that only the latest of the synoptics attempted to soften the harsh saying by inserting the clause on his own initiative! Neither Luke (16:18) nor Mark (9:11) say a word about Jesus having allowed divorce in any case; according to their accounts, he simply forbids it. Only Matthew, who pushed and developed the dogmatic reflection in the circle of synoptic storytelling most boldly, took offense at the unconditional prohibition of divorce and added the clause twice when he borrowed the saying from Luke and had to put it back in place on the order of Mark (19:9), that the man could dismiss the woman on the grounds of adultery, i.e., on the grounds of sacrosanct adultery.

343

6. The Oath.

Matthew 5:33-37.

The law only prohibited perjury and required that sworn vows be faithfully kept; but I tell you, says Jesus, not to swear at all (v. 34), rather let your speech be simply yes or no.

Here, too, we are supposed to see a “addition” by the scribes*) in the words “you shall fulfill your oaths to the Lord!” But it is impossible for us to do so, as it is simply the straightforward commandment of the law that vows taken must be seriously carried out. We find nothing here about the scribes “only looking to see that the vows were properly fulfilled out of preference for the hierarchy, but otherwise letting false swearing go unpunished”**). We find only the contrast between the legal command not to commit perjury and the new command not to swear at all.

*) de Wette, 1, 1, 63.

**) Ibid.

Nor can we find anything in our text to suggest that Jesus only intended to “exclude frivolous swearing” ***). It is equally impossible for us to forget the text so far as to claim *) that because the law allows oaths, even commands them, Jesus must express the same view of oaths here. Finally, if Bengel says **) that in this passage both the false and true ways of swearing are prohibited, but not swearing in general, then our thoughts fail us and we only regain our senses when we return to the holy text and acknowledge that here the abstract postulate of truthfulness is being established, a postulate that has arisen from the revolutionary position of the community in relation to positive worldly conditions.

***) Tholuck, a. a. O. p. 280.

*) For example, Calvin: lex non modo permittit jurare, sed diserte etiam jubet. Itaque (!) nihil sibi aliud voluit Christus, quam illicita esse juramenta omnia, qual sacrum dei nomen abusu aliquo profanant, cujus reverentiae servire debuerant. But can there be stronger words than μη ομοσαι ολωσ? με ολως, Not at all!

**) ulrumque falso et vere jurandi genus, non tamen verum juramentum universaliter prohibet. Verus juramenti usus in lege non modo ut divortium permittitur sed plane stabilitur, neque hic a Christo tollitur!

344

Indeed, the evangelist has inserted a thought into this saying, which actually does not belong here and has a completely different point, namely the idea that one should not distinguish between oaths as if some were weaker than those made to God and therefore could be neglected with less danger (v. 34-36). Against this distinction, the evangelist has the Lord polemicize in his speech against the Pharisees and scribes and dissolve the hypocritical distinction until it is clear that the oath at the temple or in heaven is not different from the oath made to God because the temple and heaven can only have the meaning of God’s dwelling and throne (Matt. 23:16-22).

In the Sermon on the Mount, the evangelist only adds a new example when he shows, in the case of an oath made on one’s head, that it is made on something that is so little in the control of human beings – for who can make a hair white or black? – that it forms something absolutely fixed for him and the oath made on it is just as significant as if it were made to the Absolute itself.

345

The evangelist has thus combined different points, but he has woven them into one and completely removed any reason for the apologist not to recognize the prohibition of oaths in this passage.*)  He has the Lord speak in one breath: “But I say to you, do not swear at all, neither by heaven, for it is the throne of God, nor by the earth, etc.” Certainly – to use the word again – the evangelist has not yet achieved perfect unity in his presentation. If he first prohibits oaths altogether, he should have said when transitioning to the second thought: “You must not even  – μηδε – swear by heaven, for it is just as if you were swearing by God.” He has overlooked something in the combination of both thoughts. But it is completely clear that only the one thought, that every oath should be avoided, occupies him, as he closes the dissolution of that false distinction of oaths with the words (V. 37): “Let your word be ‘Yes, yes’ or ‘No, no’.”

*) Tholuck, for example, in the same place: “From v. 35-38 it follows that the Redeemer had in mind primarily the oaths of ordinary life με ομοσαι are prohibited and that the oath spoken with due reverence is not included in it.” But even if the evangelist had not woven both points together so skillfully as he has done, if he had thus let the here foreign thought of v. 35, 38 emerge sharply and independently, that would still not be a reason to deprive the other thought – “do not swear at all” – μη ομοσαι ολψε – of its force. Even Fritzsche, in his commentary on Matthew, p. 238, has been led astray by the argumentation in v. 35-36 to the apologetic misunderstanding of this entire passage.

346

7. Retaliation.

Matthew 5:28-42.

While older interpreters like Bengel, unconcerned about how their explanation fits into the text, simply write that retaliation is the most appropriate punishment *), the modern apologist has to work harder to dispel the appearance that Jesus is in opposition to the Old Testament law. Thus Tholuck **) finds that Jesus “is not addressing the authorities” – but isn’t he speaking about positive law and commandments? – one must therefore “assume that the fleshly sense of the scribes had made that judicial norm of retaliation the norm for ordinary life, even for satisfying uncontrolled revenge.” But to simply write such a peculiar note without any evidence, a couple of citations, and the like, is not enough. The caricature that the apologist unconsciously paints in his anxiety is too extreme!

*) Talio poenarum convenientissima.

**) p. 307.

Jesus is opposing the Old Testament law and fulfilling it by forbidding the desire for revenge and the irritable nature that still characterized the law.

Matthew has returned here to the speech of Luke, which he had left after the Beatitudes, but he does not take it up again at the same point where he had left it before, otherwise he would have had to write down the commandment of loving enemies in Luke 6:27 before the prohibition of revenge. In the speech as it is shared by Luke (Luke 6:27-36), the idea of loving enemies is the dominant one, and it is the perspective under which the individual commandments are placed, so it is appropriate for the transition from the Beatitudes and Woes. “But I say to you” – the transition in verse 27 is meant to impress upon the listeners – although the world stands against you as an enemy force, and you must suffer, love your enemies and do everything possible so that at least from your side the harshness of the opposition will be softened. This is also the basis for the commandment that believers should not retaliate against those who offend and oppress them, and should not respond to pressure with the counter-pressure of revenge, but with the yielding of love (verse 29-30). You should not treat people as they do, but as you would have them do to you (verse 31). And what would you do special if you only wanted to repay love with love; you would only follow the natural self-esteem that even sinners cannot deny. God acts differently, he is also kind to the ungrateful and wicked, so if you truly want to be sons of the Most High, be merciful – do everything on your side that can mitigate the opposition – as your Father is merciful (verse 32-36). And do not judge, do not condemn, forgive! – The speech continues in an appropriate context in verse 37.

347

To the commandment “Do not judge!” Matthew only returns very late, after he has inserted the sayings that follow in Chapter 6 into his discourse. He even brings the saying “Therefore, whatever you want others to do for you, do also the same for them” only in Chapter 7, verse 12. Why? In the dialectic of the fulfillment of the law, he is only concerned with the sayings that explicitly refer to the pressure and enmity of the opposition. But for this interest, that saying seemed too general to be inserted in the middle of the dialectical development. Finally, Matthew has separated the sayings that, in Luke’s account, are placed under the aspect of the commandment of love for enemies – and rightly so – into two groups: first (verses 38-42) he has the Lord prohibit the revenge of retaliation, and then (verses 43-48) command the love for enemies. Therefore, he does not start this development, as Luke does, with the words “Love your enemies.”

348

However, we cannot simply accept Schneckenburger’s *) claim that the section of Matthew 5:38-48 is “much better logically ordered than Luke 6:27-36”. While Matthew has separated more sharply the commandment of loving one’s enemies, which is contained in the prohibition of retaliation, and presented it separately, this does not mean that Luke’s composition is less skillful if he develops both ideas in one context. If Matthew deserves praise for more accurate distinction, Luke should not be denied the credit for presenting the prohibition of revenge in its true meaning, as one and the same as the commandment of loving one’s enemies. As Schneckenburger continues, “since the better logical arrangement cannot simply be attributed to the more systematic redaction of Matthew, we must assume a better tradition that flowed to him.” But where in the world should this tradition come from, which should remember that Jesus separated these two closely related ideas so precisely on this occasion that no longer exists for us? It is Matthew, the later writer, who had the text of Luke calmly before him and could subdivide the given material into more precise subcategories, and it was he who separated them here.

The proof will be completed immediately.

*) Briträge p. 18.

 

8. Love of Enemies.

Matthew 5:43-48.

Now, here it is clear, triumph the apologists, that the Lord is only “arguing against the carnal interpretation of the Old Testament commandment”! “You shall love your neighbor!” is commanded in the law, but where, asks the victorious apologist, where does it say that you should hate your enemy? “Love your enemy!” is an “addition by the scribes” *), a “false gloss of the Pharisees” **), a “conclusion” that only the Pharisees drew from the Mosaic commandment ***).

*) Tholuck, p. 325.

**) de Wette, 1, 1, 65.

***) Paulus, 1, 582.

349

Let’s take it easy! When one asks so boldly where in the Old Testament the commandment of hatred is written, we have much more reason to ask where it is reported to us that the Pharisees added this addition to the law. Where is the evidence?

We don’t know them. We only know so much that the Jew in general hates his opponent, who appears to him at the same time as an opponent of Jehovah, and that this hatred is the necessary consequence of the law because in this the love is linked to the natural bond of the national connection, and from the Psalms we see that the sufferers and persecuted speak most eloquently when they invoke all evil upon their opponents, and that they believe they are divinely entitled to their curses and that their prayers will be heard.

“To hate your enemy” is a correct conclusion from the legal view, but a statement that, despite all its correctness, is so harshly spoken, as is done here, is hard, awkward in its form – as a positive commandment – and as superfluous in the present context as it is disturbing and dragging. If love of enemies is to be recommended, if it is to be recommended in contrast to the Mosaic law, then the commandment “you shall love your neighbor” would suffice for the parallel, and it would only need to be said: not only the neighbor but also the enemy you must love.

So who made the addition “you shall hate your enemy”? Not the Pharisees, not Jesus, but the same writer who worked out these parallels between the old and new law: the pragmatist whom the church called Matthew. He reads the commandment of love of enemies in the scripture of Luke, he wants to set it in contrast to the Old Testament law, and if he wanted to make the parallel completely and precisely, he certainly did not just need the old commandment of neighborly love, but for the sake of external completeness, he had to write down the other as a consequence of this commandment: “you shall hate your enemy.”

350

By linking the saying of Luke to the reflection on the Old Testament law, Matthew gave rise to a question that the saying in its original form could not have prompted. According to the law, the neighbor is the fellow countryman, the Israelite in general, and more specifically, the compatriot who is in closer relationship through tribal and urban affiliations. But is the law mentioned in this sense here? Is the new law of love for enemies formulated in such a way that the boundaries of nationality should not limit love? Not in the least! However, it does not follow, as Tholuck concludes *, that Jesus does not want to contrast another law against the Old Testament commandment. Rather, it cannot be denied that Matthew has confused different things. The saying that he opposes to the law does not even consider polemicizing against the limitation of love to the kinship of the people. This limit is already generally overcome in the relationships between neighbor and enemy. Especially when we see how in the original version of the saying, believers are reminded that even “sinners” love those from whom they receive love, that this kind of love is nothing special and basically selfish (Luke 6:32-34), any thought of polemicizing against the national limitation of love fades away. In itself, in the idea of ​​the boundlessness of this love, the boundary of nationalism is indeed overcome, and in this respect, Matthew did not put this idea in an incorrect opposition when he opposed it to the Old Testament commandment of love. On the other hand, it happened involuntarily that he expanded the Old Testament version of the commandment and regarded the neighbor spoken of therein as a friend in general. Otherwise, he could not have opposed the enemy to the neighbor at all. In short, the idea is not as pure and simple in Matthew’s presentation as in the scripture of Luke, where the polemical consideration of the Old Testament commandment is still absent.

*) p. 330.

351

This is not to be called a change when Matthew (Ch. 5, 45) illustrates God’s kindness and mercy, which he also shows to the evil and ungrateful, by saying that he causes his sun to rise on the good and the bad and sends rain on the righteous and the unrighteous, which is also mentioned in Luke 6, 35. But it is certainly a change when Luke only says that even “sinners” love those who love them back, and Matthew speaks of tax collectors in Chapter 5, 46 and, if we can trust the manuscripts *), also of the Gentiles in verse 47, who demonstrate that the mere love of a friend is not yet an act of morality. This change is interesting and very important for a later question, as it proves how later pragmatism strives to incorporate more restricted local relationships into the historical narrative. At the time when Matthew wrote, the living interest among the Jews in tax collectors and sinners as a class of people no longer existed in the community; but according to Mark 2, 15.16, the formula tax collectors and sinners had become a standard one, and if Matthew now finds sinners mentioned in Luke’s speech, he has nothing else to do but to add the more specific word “tax collectors”.

*) namely, even if they are reputable manuscripts that read so, since from Matthew 18, 17 the combination “heathen and tax collector” became a common formula and the scribes were reminded of the Gentiles by the mention of tax collectors. It is possible that Matthew himself was already one of these scribes, but it is also possible that he was content to substitute “tax collectors” for “sinners”.

352

The last parallel of the old and new commandment of love is concluded by Matthew (Ch. 5, 48) with the exhortation: “Be ye therefore perfect, even as your Father which is in heaven is perfect.” It cannot be denied that the apologist will take considerable offense at this conclusion. The exhortation to perfection is too general in this context: “perfect” – teletai is also, according to De Wette, “in the immediate context and according to Luke 6:36, in a restricted sense: elevated above hate, to accept” – a meaning that the word can never have. Tholuck has recognized this and says that we must give the sentence a more general turn: “in this, as in all other matters.” But how would this more general reference fit with the section in verse 27, with the section in verse 33? And is not the exhortation to perfection closely linked to the exhortation to love your enemies through “therefore,” οὖν and does it not remain the case that the exhortation, which refers to a specific duty, is expressed in far too general terms, indeed suddenly in the widest generality?

Everything is explained when we turn to the Gospel of Luke. Here, after the exhortation to love your enemies, Matthew reads at the end, and in a transition that is also made with “therefore” – οὖν – the exhortation (Ch. 6:36) that believers should imitate God in the compassion of mercy – γινεσθε ουν οικτιρμονες. He stays with this and leaves this exhortation in its old place, but at the same time feels the need, because he has just listed a long series of commandments of the new law, to give the concluding formula a more general reference. It should be the last exhortation, but it should also impress all the preceding ones once again through the reference to the divine example – from which there was no mention before, of course! – because only at the last point does Luke bring him to this thought of the divine example – the formula should therefore have both a specific and a general reference at the same moment: hence this confusion.

353

“Indeed”, says Weisse *), “we certainly believe that Jesus expressed in the sense and partly in the expressions of the present discourse a cycle of expanding, limiting, and more definite contrasts against Mosaic laws.”

*) Ibid. II. 39.

We have proven the opposite.

Weisse suspects that in Matthew’s presentation, “the rhythmic structure of the whole may have been lost.”

We have seen that what exists of rhythmic structure was created by Matthew.

——————————-


2023-04-16

§ 19. The Introduction

Creative Commons License
This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution 4.0 International License.

by Neil Godfrey

Critique of the Gospel History of the Synoptics

by Bruno Bauer

Volume 1

—o0o—

299

Section Four.

The Sermon on the Mount.

Matthew 5:3 – 7:27

——–

§ 19.

The Introduction

Matthew 5:3-16.


1. The Beatitudes.

Matthew 5:3-15. Luke 6:20-26.

Some keywords in the Beatitudes, with which Jesus, according to Matthew’s account, begins his sermon, contain the assumption that the listeners to whom these words apply are in a depressed state. This speech does not only contain, as Neander, for example, believes *), “the opposition against the fleshly direction of the Jewish spirit, which was expressed in the ideas of the messianic kingdom,” but from the beginning, its macarisms are addressed to those who are already affected by the misfortune of the world, shattered and humiliated, and who face those who possess power and authority as the suffering ones. But these depressed individuals are blessed because the opposition that is currently oppressing them is not permanent, and their reward is eternal. The mourners (V. 4) shall be comforted. The meek (V. 5), namely those who endure their suffering calmly and calmly, and who are not tempted by the worldly pressure, or their abandoned situation, to lose control and despair of the good cause, will possess the earth. The merciful (V. 7) can also be these same depressed people, insofar as they are not led to harshness by the opposition; they have not become roughened by the pressure, do not wish destruction upon the opposition, and instead have compassion for those who seem lost. However, we must admit that this reference to the pressure of the opposition is not even hinted at in this verse. Note well: we mean the pressure of the opposition that the world exerts on the church. In the verse about the peacemakers (V. 9), this reference to the general opposition of the world is also not expressed. If one were to say that the peacemakers are those who do not increase the struggle of the world by throwing themselves into it passionately and impulsively, but rather calm it through kindness and gentleness, one would bring a direction into the verse that is not expressed in the slightest. Just look at how clearly V. 10 expresses the idea of the struggle: Blessed are those who are persecuted for righteousness’ sake. Yes, in the final beatitude, which concludes the whole, the speech is so full in its description of the pressure that the believers experience, that it is clear – now what? – initially – that the speaker, if he wanted to speak about persecutions and sufferings, understood how to make his intention quite clear. “Blessed are you,” it says in V. 11-12, “when they revile and persecute you, and say all kinds of evil against you falsely for my sake. Rejoice and be exceedingly glad, for great is your reward in heaven, for so they persecuted the prophets who were before you.”

*) a. a. O. p. 148. 149.

300

What does Tholuck conclude from this increase in tone, from this greater richness of rhythm with which the speech concludes? Something that the evangelist had as little thought of as it would ever come to the mind of a true connoisseur of style. We read nine Beatitudes in our text, Tholuck only reads seven. But where are the other two? Tholuck cannot account for the holy and significant number seven. “The beatitude in verse 10 is to be thought of as an appendix, of which verse 11, as the structure of the sentence already proves, is to be regarded only as a further elaboration” *).

*) Tholuck, op. cit., p. 111.

301

It’s strange! The clear, definite, marked, and complete – in short, everything that can only exist as a concluding element in a speech – should be just an attachment. Rather, it is the point, it is the final expression of the matter itself, to which everything that has gone before only relates as a starting point and preliminary stage.

We infer something quite different from the present arrangement of the Beatitudes – and at this conclusion one must probably remain – namely that the final beatitude (v. 11) is not really prepared for in the speech as reported by Matthew, that it presupposes quite different antecedents that lead up to it, and therefore does not stand here in its true context. Whether the merciful and the peacemakers are to be understood as such in relation to the general opposition of the worldly persecutors is by no means indicated. Those who hunger and thirst for righteousness (v. 6), those who are pure in heart (v. 8), need not necessarily be pressed and persecuted by the world as such, and the spiritually poor (v. 3) can also be the rich, the rulers, and the worldly happy. Nevertheless, the last two beatitudes, which address the persecuted, are supposed to be the concluding expression of the preceding blessings, but in these, except for the second and third (v. 4, 5), nothing suggests the assumption of a worldly pressure.

The lack of coherence is still apparent from another perspective. The first seven beatitudes relate to all who are worthy of the goods of the kingdom of heaven. Even the eighth is still quite general: “Blessed are those who are persecuted for righteousness’ sake, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.” But if the persecuted are finally comforted (v. 11, 12) by the fact that the prophets were also persecuted, then the idea of a common fate must be motivated by the fact that they have the same task to fulfill as the prophets. They teach and proclaim the truth like the prophets, so they are the apostles. However, this transition to the apostles is not prepared for when, after seven general beatitudes, immediately before (v. 10), only those who are persecuted for righteousness’ sake are blessed. Finally, the last beatitude is supposed to be the summary of everything so far and the general expression which is motivated and explained by the details of the preceding beatitudes. Instead, it is something new that enters unexpectedly and takes a direction that suddenly deviates from the one that has been followed so far.

302

Tholuck does indeed say that “from the parallel with the prophets one cannot conclude that the Savior is only speaking of the apostles. To a certain extent, every Christian enters the hostile world as a prophet.” *) But if the listener were to think about how every Christian is a prophet “to a certain extent,” etc., and were to stray so far into the realm of a remote analogy, then some hint should have been given to him.

The speech continues immediately (v. 13-14): “You are the salt of the earth, you are the light of the world.” These are not addressed to the apostles, the same ones who were just comforted with the fate of the prophets (v. 12), according to Tholuck himself **): “These words (v. 13) primarily apply to the apostles, but also to anyone who is filled with the spirit to the extent that the apostles were.” As if the exegete and critic, when it comes to the context of a biblical verse, could play the preacher who can expand a Bible verse for edification and give it a broader application, and not have to ask much more about which subjects the verse originally referred to.

*) a. a.O. p. 115,

**) p. 121

303

Fritzsche admits that the first blessing for the persecuted applies to all believers and the second (v. 11-12) applies to the apostles. But when he says that the latter is an application to the apostles, the Tert is unaware of this category, since it does not indicate a transition from the general to the specific, without any suggestion that it wants to move on to something new. On the contrary, it speaks as if it is still heading in the same direction that it has taken from the beginning.

It is clear that the Beatitudes have a conclusion and a climax, whose underlying theme – that of suffering – is not only not dominant and not the soul of them, but, apart from lacking unity of thought, they are supposed to converge in a certain direction at the end, which was completely foreign to them up to that point. They lack internal coherence, and the leap to the reference to the apostles is precisely a leap that no one could have thought of in the whole previous direction of the speech. If the evangelist nonetheless thought he was creating a coherent whole, then he could only be mistaken to such an extent if he really had an organic whole before him in a foreign writing, whose keywords, beginning, and end he retained while enriching it with new members that were originally foreign to him, i.e. breaking its symmetry.

The unanimous assertion of all those *) who have spoken on this matter so far would give us cause for concern if the number of voices could be counted. Who would dare to claim that the Beatitudes of Matthew originated from those that we read in the Gospel of Luke, when theologians and critics compete to characterize the low standpoint on which the beatitudes of Luke stand? Even Neander says *) : “The presentation in Luke comes from someone who understood the beatitudes in too narrow and limited a way.” Even Weisse says **) that in Luke “the depth of those sayings – (which he read in the authentic collection of sayings of the apostle Matthew) – is clearly flattened.”

*) Wilke, of course, excepted, a.a.O. p. 685.

*) p. 155-156.

**) II, 31

304

It does no harm! We know of no law that requires the perfect to be the beginning. But there is a strict, inviolable law that the original is coherent in its structure and contains the seed of the later, more perfect creation. If luck is on its side, the later creation can be just as perfectly rounded as the original, but it cannot do so if it immediately retains the structure of the original, and the confusion of form that then arises reveals it to be a derivative work.

In Luke’s account, we find perfect coherence. There are four beatitudes: the fact that the fourth begins with an increase in tone and a more intense rhythm at a point where the listener or reader still has the preceding passages in their ear and can fully grasp them is already soothing. If, as in Matthew, eight approaches have already been made, and the theme has already been carried out eight times, this advantage is lost, and the listener can no longer have all these iterations of the basic melody present, as must be the case if the final full development of the thought is to make its proper impression. Just listen to a piece of music once, examine an original piece of writing, and see if the final recording and final execution of the theme will come so late, after the impression of the first sentence has been weakened or even blurred by so many new approaches.

In Luke, however, the final sentence also truly carries through the thought that has been expressed in the previous three sentences. It is one thought in all four parts. When it is said at the end (6:22) that blessed are you when people hate you, exclude you, insult you, and reject your name as evil, we know that the same people who were just praised and comforted as the poor, hungry, and weeping are being talked about (v. 20-21).

305

When in the final words of comfort (v. 23) it says, “Rejoice in that day and leap for joy, for behold, your reward is great in heaven; for so their fathers did to the prophets,” then, as with Matthew, the reference to the apostles also applies to the general comfort intended for all believers. However, it is no longer disruptive here because it was not mentioned as frequently as it was in Matthew, where the reference to the apostles becomes dominant, as in the case of the salt of the earth and the light of the world. Furthermore, in Luke’s speech, there is no printer’s mark to suggest that the mention of the prophets should be understood as referring to the apostles. It only says, “for so their fathers did to the prophets,” who are only a selected part of the people that the entire rest of the masses opposes. But when Matthew says, “so persecuted they the prophets which were before you,” and immediately afterwards, the addressees are compared to the prophets and called the salt of the earth and the light of the world, it is clear that only the apostles are meant.

Luke says, “when they hate you, etc., and reject your name as evil.” *)  Matthew puts the keyword “evil” in a different position, saying, **) “when they speak all manner of evil against you.” But how clumsily the addition “lying” follows afterwards! The writer who first wrote down the praise of the suffering, reviled and insulted could not possibly have thought that he had to add that they would be reviled and insulted by liars, so that everyone would know that he was only speaking of innocent sufferers. That went without saying. Only a later writer who saw the work already finished and was no longer fresh with the idea from which it had originated could have thought of adding that superfluous qualifier. *)

*) και εκβαλωσιν το ονομα υμων ως πονηρον

**) και ειπωσιν παν πονηρον ρημα καθ υμων ψευδομενοι

*) The addition is missing in some manuscripts, but it may also be that the inappropriateness of it was felt later, and it was omitted for that reason.

306

When they cast you out and revile you, it also says in Luke, “for the sake of the Son of Man”: this speech was inserted by Luke according to the nature of the scripture, since in the Gospel of Mark, Jesus was only recognized as the Messiah by the disciples late and he himself did not give them further revelations concerning his destiny and messianic mission. Matthew has completely destroyed the type of this scripture, he cannot imagine it any other way than that Jesus always spoke of his messianic destiny from the beginning and pointed to his person: he now lets the Lord say, “if they revile you for my sake.”

One should not look down so condescendingly on the limited standpoint of Luke’s beatitudes because they give the promise to the poor, hungry, and weeping that their suffering will end in the future and that their reward in heaven is great **). It is true that the third Synoptist has given his special preference to the poor and oppressed, and when he speaks of the poor, he means those who are poor in the sense that they lack the goods of this world. But in the present context, he by no means means that the poor, simply because they are poor, are the object of divine favor, but he thinks of them as also those who inwardly toughen themselves in worldly suffering in order to obtain eternal goods, and therefore have to suffer in the world because they strive for heavenly reward. In this lies the peculiar view of the evangelist that he considers suffering and poverty and the striving for heavenly reward as manifestations of one and the same essence.

**) If the Bible and Spinoza were to reclaim their property from the apologetic arguments about the category of reward, i.e., if they deemed it worthwhile, we would not know what they would get back. Probably nothing! For on the one hand, the apologists are so opposed to the idea of reward that they flee to Spinozist principles, which are again so notorious to them that they hold fast to the idea of reward – in short, they have neither one nor the other, neither Bible nor Spinoza. However, when we mention Spinoza, we do him a disservice, for the theologian, as an apologist, cannot even seriously grasp the idea of inner blessedness; he needs the reward again, even if he smuggles it in under a different name. On the other hand, it should be noted briefly that religious consciousness, because it objectifies the inner determinations of the spirit to the external, cannot do without the category of reward and takes it completely seriously. The reward is a consequence of its self-determination, which is completely independent of the latter, set by God and determined by unconditional volition. Therefore, the reward is not again a consequence of the self-determination of the spirit, but it is the purpose, the goal, for the sake of which the religious spirit decides, resolves, and persists in its resolution.

307

According to the usual understanding, Luke did not include the spiritual aspects that the Beatitudes have in Matthew either because they were not present in the source he used, or because of the unfavorable circumstances of the audience, etc. However, it can also be shown that Matthew took offense at Luke’s presentation, which he had in front of him, and deliberately elevated the Beatitudes to a spiritual level. The hungry became those who hunger and thirst for righteousness, the mourners became the grieving, and the entire speech was enriched with new determinations that drive the thought with irresistible force into the realm of spiritual interests. Only the beginning of the speech, “Blessed are the poor,” could not be easily abandoned by Matthew, at least he had to retain it if he wanted to give the speech he found in Luke. So what does he do to elevate this determination to the spiritual realm? He writes: “Blessed are the poor in spirit!” This is how this difficult expression came into being, which is so hard to explain, i.e., not to express in a few more general terms, precisely because it does not contain an original concept determination and is not created purely as such from the spirit and its self-awareness. We are infinitely far from denying its deep meaning, and we even think that criticism could best fathom and bring to light its meaning if it dissolved the fancies that have inflated the human spirit, made it proud and unloving towards others. We only say that the meaning that Matthew generated through that simple combination is, despite its infinite depth, that accidental one which we can call the wit of contrast. This play of contrast, if it only brings together opposing words, can indeed evoke a deeper resonance but must also let it fade away in an indeterminate depth.

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Luke followed each of the four Beatitudes with a corresponding Woe upon the rich, the full, those who laugh now, and those who are well spoken of by others. This was appropriate because the Beatitudes themselves already formed a contrast by choosing one side of the opposing parties, comforting those who are persecuted, oppressed, and brought to earthly defeat for their love of the Kingdom of Heaven with the promise of their reward in heaven. Would not the tension of the reader remain unsatisfied if the other side of the contrast were not also determined? Luke knew from the Old Testament narrative (Deuteronomy 27) that this must be the case.

Matthew left out the Woes, not as Bengel suggests, because he knew he would count eight Woes later in the Gospel over the Pharisees *), but because he did not create the speech in terms of its structure and could no longer feel the original direction of the speech, nor the gap that arose from leaving out the Woes. Before that, he was too preoccupied with reworking the Beatitudes, and afterward, the connection of his last macarism to the apostles drew him into too narrow a direction for him to have the space and the thought to rework Luke’s Woes and set them in symmetry with his own Beatitudes.

*) Gn. N. T .: conferri ex opposito possunt oeto vae eorumque arüo (!), guae in seribas st pdarisaeo» pronuneiabantur. But then there would have to be at least nine Woes to read in Chapter 23 if they were to be connected with the Beatitudes of the Sermon on the Mount. In any case, Matthew also based these Woes on Luke’s scripture.

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The final proof that in the writing of Luke the speech can be found in its originality, lies ultimately in the completed coherence that the Beatitudes and Woes have with the following. But I tell you, Jesus continues here after the end of the Woes: love your enemies and do good to those who hate you. Magnificent! This is a depth of connection that can be compared with the depth of individual Beatitudes in Matthew. Actually, only one Beatitude in Matthew has truly infinite value and is clearly developed: Blessed are the pure in heart, for they shall see God. Whether the meek and merciful are blessed because they are in opposition to the external worldly opposition is not indicated at all. But here, with Luke, the depth of thought has come out completely clearly: even if you are pressed and oppressed, suffering under the pressure of the world, I tell you: do not hate the opposition, but love those who persecute you, bless those who curse you (Luke 6:27).

The speech in Luke is a literary product of the evangelist, and the one that Matthew conveys is adapted by him based on the former.

If we were to draw a conclusion from the above according to DeWette’s guidance regarding the origin of the entire Sermon on the Mount in Matthew, what would be said? De Wette, at least, could not reproach us. He says: “This introduction (5:1-16) particularly sets the authenticity of the speech beyond doubt, for it belongs to the most ingenious and meaningful passages in the Gospels.” However, we will not draw the opposite conclusion, but examine the following first. But as for the fame of the meaningful, it has already become certain to us that when Luke and Matthew wrote, the new principle was still creatively working in the spirits.

*) I, 1, 51.

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Olshausen is a bit more forceful in his approach. “If one were to consider the more detailed presentation of Matthew as an elaboration of the shorter discourse of the Lord,” he says **), “this view would undoubtedly be refuted by the peculiarity of the sentences that Matthew alone has; a subsequent elaboration of the thought would be less original and profound.” Olshausen, it seems, only wants to dispute the view that the discourse in Matthew is a subsequent elaboration that Jesus himself gave to the shorter discourse that Luke relates. We will not mention the obvious fact that Jesus may have understood how to shed completely new light on a topic he had already addressed earlier. Instead, we will ascribe to the more terrifying view, to which we have come, the view that Olshausen disputes. So, later in the community, an already earlier planned topic could not be further elaborated upon, even more deeply? Especially during a time when the principle was still working in its first force and was busy spreading its richness? In the historical development of a principle and its self-awareness, the deeper always follows later. The deeper, as far as it is truly deeper, can then also be more original in the sense that it is drawn deeper from the eternal source of the spirit than the earlier view.

**) I, 206.

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Of course, Olshausen had to add apologetically: “In the shortened form of Luke, nothing essential is missing.” We just don’t understand why the apologist still speaks of the depth in the presentation of Matthew and what purpose that talk should serve if there is no essential difference.

Ah! The criticism frees us from such pain, from such involuntary lies! Don’t say we speak like the Pharisee! No, we speak as human beings who feel themselves again as human beings and breathe free air after being bound by the letter for millennia and played with the chains like slaves! Free means: moral!

 

2. The Salt of the Earth.

Matth. 5, 13. Luk. 14, 34. 3S. Mark, 9, 50.

“You are the salt of the earth,” Jesus says in Matthew, “but if the salt loses its saltiness, how can it be made salty again? It is no longer good for anything, except to be thrown out and trampled underfoot.”

Augustine attempted to connect this saying with the preceding one. He explains it as follows *): “If you, from whom the people are to receive seasoning, lose the kingdom of heaven for fear of temporal persecutions, where will people come from who will heal you of this error?” But in vain! The preceding thought of the persecutions is not in the slightest degree brought into this new saying; and if one is to think of persecutions, one must rather assume that salt can become tasteless in happy, peaceful times. Moreover, the image becomes forced, painful, and even ridiculous when the words “with what shall it be salted” are supposed to be the salt itself as the subject, so that the thought would be that if the salt loses its power, there is no way to strengthen it again. Those addressed, however, are only relevant in their relation to the world: if you lose the power of salt: with what will the world be salted then?

*) Augustine on the Sermon on the Mount, Book I, 16.

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The basis for this saying can be found in Luke Ch. 14, 34-35. Here Jesus says: “Salt is a beautiful thing, but if salt loses its flavor *), with what shall it be seasoned? It is neither useful on the land nor in the manure heap; it is thrown out **).” But even here this saying stands in no appropriate context. Jesus travels around with many people following him; he turns around and speaks to them (14:25-26): “If anyone comes to me and does not give up everything (v. 27), he cannot be my disciple.” This idea is taken up again in verse 33 with the same conclusion, “Whoever does not give up everything cannot be my disciple,” from which the saying about salt immediately follows in verse 34. But what relationship can there be between these two statements? Salt is the corrosive force and as such has a relationship to others, while giving up one’s own possessions only concerns the personal relationship of the individual to the kingdom of heaven. De Wette explains the connection as follows ***): “Disciples who are not capable of such renunciation do not correspond to their calling to instruct and improve others.” However, neither before, when the demands made of the true disciples were discussed, was it in such a way that speaking of their giving instruction and improvement to others was mentioned; rather, only what they had to do for their own person to gain the kingdom of heaven and become worthy followers of Jesus was discussed. Moreover, on the other hand, the idea of renunciation is again excluded in the saying about salt, and in the image of salt, it is not even contained at all. The saying about salt, “Salt is a beautiful thing,” already stands without connection to the preceding words through this beginning.

*) εαν δε το αλας μωρανθη in Luke as in Matthew

**) εξω βαλλουσιν αυτο Matthäus has expressed this more gracefully by connecting it with the preceding phrase: “it is good for nothing.” ουδεν ισχυει ετι ει μη βληθηναι εξω

***) ibid. 1, 2, 77

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But Matthew found a connection here: he sees that just now what is the duty of those who want to be Jesus’ disciples was being discussed, so he concludes that the power of salt is also essential to true disciples, and by taking the disciples in the narrower sense in which they are the apostles, the saying that we read in his writing arises.

Between the exposition of the idea of the necessity of renunciation, Luke has inserted another thought (V. 28-32), namely that one must take counsel with oneself before every undertaking. Whoever wants to build a tower first calculates the cost and whether he can pay for it from his wealth. The king who wants to fight another estimates his power beforehand to see if it is sufficient for the undertaking. But if this idea is to prove the necessity of renunciation – V. 28 γὰρ, V. 33 ουτως ουν – then it is not clear where the proving power could lie. Once it is written, however, there must be coherence for the apologist. “For which of you (V. 28), if he wants to build a tower, does not first calculate the cost to see if he can carry out the matter?” This “for” says de Wette*, “refers to the previous invitation to consider whether one feels capable of such a following.” But there was not only no mention of such deliberation and consideration before, but it was excluded when it was said that everyone must renounce the dearest thing if he wants to be Jesus’ disciple.

*) Same source.

So the proving transition from the idea that one must consider important undertakings to the necessity of renunciation is neither proving nor a real transition at all, but only a blind one. Luke does not even take up that first idea again in the transition; he does not say, “So now let each one consider what he must do and how far his strength reaches, etc.,” but he could not have made the transition better. For at the beginning, when the demands on the true disciples were discussed (V. 26-27), not a word was said about the necessity of deliberation, and afterwards, in the figurative speech about the estimation of the costs of an undertaking and one’s own means, it was not mentioned again that one must renounce all property.

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If it becomes certain from this confusion that Luke has combined thoughts here that he did not create himself, but found, it is not excluded that he proceeded freely and independently in the elaboration. He created the occasion for this whole discourse himself, that Jesus is wandering around and looking back at the crowd of people following him, from the beginning of the speech: “Whoever comes to me.” But he also, regarding what concerns us here first, developed the saying of the salt that he found in the scripture of Mark from his own resources.

He borrowed it from the scripture of Mark: he retained the same beginning: “a beautiful thing is salt” – καλον το αλας –; he also continues in the same construction: “but if the salt” – εαν δε το αλας – “should become foolish,” while Mark writes: “should become saltless.” Mark goes on to write: “With what will you season?” – εν τινι αρτυσετε *); Luke says: “With what should it be seasoned?” – εν τινι αρτυθησεται, for which Matthew has written: “should be salted” – ἁλισθήσεται, retaining the expression that Mark had used earlier (9:49).

*) The common text reads Mark 9:50 εν τινι αυτο αρτυσετε; In no way did Mark write this object αυτο, so that he would give the impression that he was saying: with what would you season it, namely the salt? He says too specifically in v. 49 that salt serves to season the offering, but the believer should also be an offering that is prepared by salt. So he can only mean that if the salt loses its power, there is no longer anything with which to season the offering, the individual himself. It is even probable, based on the authority of respected manuscripts, that Mark had already written the passive αρτυθησεται.

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If we now ask whether the statement in Mark’s account is in proper context, we must answer in the negative. Jesus speaks to the Twelve and rebukes them because they had been arguing among themselves about who was the greatest. The meaning of the rebuke cannot yet be examined here: enough, Jesus puts a child in their midst with the words, “Whoever receives one of these little children receives me, and whoever receives me receives not me but him who sent me.” After this (9:42), having indicated the great guilt of anyone who would cause one of the little ones who believe in him to stumble, the speech suddenly jumps to the offense (v. 43) that each one finds in his own person, and Jesus commands that if anyone finds that one of his members causes him to stumble, he should remove it from himself before he is thrown with the offensive member into the eternal fire. For, the speech continues, by connecting with the keyword “fire,” “Everyone will be salted with fire, and every sacrifice will be salted with salt. Salt is good, but if the salt has lost its saltiness, how will you make it salty again? Have salt in yourselves, and be at peace with one another” (v. 49-50).

We can immediately omit, namely disregard, a part of this speech, namely the final conclusion, “be at peace with one another,” if we want to discuss the context of the speech. Mark wrote the words, he wrote them to bring the speech back to its occasion—the disciples’ argument with each other. But any question of whether this exhortation is connected with the statement about salt and the members of the body that one should remove if they cause offense would be superfluous since it is so clear that Mark added the exhortation only at the end to return to the beginning.

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The question now remains as to how the speech about salt relates to what came before it. According to Mark’s account, there should be a very close connection when he makes the transition with the word “for” –  γὰρ.  Just before this, the eternal fire of hell was mentioned and the saying about salt begins with the words: “For every one will be salted with fire.” If we really relate the two, as they appear to be related, the sense that arises could be: for every one of the condemned must be salted with fire, as if it were a sacrifice offered to divine justice, just as according to the law (Lev. 2:13) every sacrifice is seasoned with salt. However, the abstract, perpetual torment of hell cannot be compared to salt, which cleanses, refreshes, strengthens and invigorates. The condemned cannot be said, without further ado, to be a sacrifice for God, and if they were really the subject, they would have to have been mentioned earlier – which is not the case – they would have to have already been mentioned as these subjects, and then the evangelist would necessarily have to say, to keep the speech focused on them: each one of them.

Perhaps a connection will emerge if we understand “every one” as it must be understood, namely as raising these thoughts to universality and incorporating the subjects of whom there was already talk before. Verse 43-48 spoke of those who overcome the offense they feel in themselves, thus attaining eternal salvation through pain and care *): they are the ones who, by fire, that is, by this self-denial pain, escape the hellfire. However, then the saying itself would bypass the immediate context where hellfire was mentioned or rather jump over it and with “for”, which must be linked to the next thing, connect to a more distant saying.

*) For example, Fritzsche on Mark, p. 403: “to be prepared for the happiness of eternal life by means of tribulation”.

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So now arises the last possible explanation that includes both the reference to the hellfire and to the suffering of those who voluntarily overcome temptation. “Because of the general sinfulness of humanity,” says Olshausen *), “each one must be salted with fire, whether they voluntarily engage in self-denial and serious purification from sin or whether they are involuntarily led to punishment.” But even so, a healthy connection is still not established: for even if it were possible to compare the inner struggle with temptations to fire, in one sentence, “for everyone must be salted with fire,” two very different fires are combined as if they were one and the same. The fires of hell are not purifying because they are eternal, while the fire of self-denial refreshes and renews. Indeed, if it is said that everyone must be salted with fire, then it refers to the fire that refreshes and purifies like salt and makes the one who is purified by it pleasing to God like an offering that is made pleasing to God only by salt. And yet, with “for,” it is intended to be connected to the mention of the hellfire, that is, the connection that the transition word intends is not present.

*) I, 565. de Wette agrees with him in 1, 2, 166.

But the whole saying about salt divides itself into two parts, in which salt is used as a metaphor for spiritual qualities with essentially different meanings. The first sentence is unclear enough when the necessity of purification through self-denial is taught by mixing two metaphors, “salted with fire.” But if it is immediately followed by, “a beautiful thing is salt, but if salt has lost its taste, how can its saltiness be restored? Have salt in yourselves,” then the metaphor has become completely different, and the two halves of the saying fall apart without connection. De Wette wants to reunite them, but the bond he applies is not suitable. According to his explanation, in the second half of the saying, salt is wisdom, and this “concept of the salt of wisdom” should already “play a role” when the necessity of being salted is mentioned before (v. 49) *). However, it cannot play a role, and it should not play a role because salt is never a metaphor for the purposeful wisdom, but always for the stimulating and exciting power of the mind. Furthermore, the salt with which everyone should be salted (v. 49) is – one must accept the expression as it is written – the fire of self-denial, and the being salted refers to the temptations that one finds in oneself and overcomes in the fire of testing – in short, it is an inner process that arises from the occasion of temptations and is the struggle of the spirit with itself. On the other hand, the salt whose corrosive power is discussed in the second half of the saying is not possessed by everyone, cannot be possessed by everyone because it is the stimulating power of particular personalities that influence others and, like salt, awaken and refresh their life force.

*) 1, 2, 166.

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Already Luke has omitted the first unclear half of the saying when he borrowed the second half from the Gospel of Mark. Matthew, who does not hesitate to include the same saying twice in his Gospel, that is, if he has borrowed it once from Luke, he writes it again from the Gospel of Mark when he finds it here in another place and is just in the process of incorporating it into his work, acted differently this time: when he comes to the account of the dispute among the disciples over rank in the Gospel of Mark and is just copying the passage on the sin of the eye, etc., which he had already included in an earlier part of his Gospel, he takes great care not to copy any further. This saying about salt is still too vividly in his memory, he knows how much he struggled with its ambiguity and how much effort it took him to present it clearly and to bring out its underlying meaning. Matthew had worked hard, but also with much success, when he reworked this saying into a word to the disciples and an admonition that they should always remember their purpose to be the salt of the earth.

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It remains to be asked how Mark came to a confusion of presentation in this instance, which is otherwise so rare in his writing. Either he was dependent on foreign literary works that he could not fit properly into his plan, or he had not yet been able to fully master and reconcile the echoes that presented themselves to him while working on this speech. We opt for the latter. The self-overcoming of the believer seemed to him to be a sacrifice that was true and pleasing to God, and the pain of testing naturally corresponds to fire, the feeling of the penetrating and corrosive power that is inherent in the will in self-denial to salt, and this combination reminded him of the legal requirement (Lev. 2:13) that every offering be seasoned with salt. Once he was occupied with the idea of salt, he praised the corrosive, refreshing power of the spirit, whose counterpart it is, and put into the Lord’s mouth the exhortation that the disciples should guard the salt that was indispensable to them. And he added that they should keep peace among themselves so that the occasion of this speech would not be forgotten.

 

3. The Light of the World.

Matt. 5:11-16. Mark 1, Luke 8:16, 11:33.

“You are the light of the world,” says the Lord to the disciples (Matt. 5), and after briefly alluding to the same idea in another image – the city on a hill that cannot be hidden – he develops the idea under the image of light, stating that their effectiveness must and will have an influence on the world. To think or want otherwise would be just as absurd as imagining people would put a light under a basket instead of on a lampstand.

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The conclusion of this passage (verse 16) is disturbing, as it says: “Let your light shine before men in such a way that they may see your good works, and glorify your Father who is in heaven.” The salt and light metaphor of the disciples is indeed meant to have an impact on others, but a person’s behavior and good works do not have this immediate relation to others. Rather, the person who leads such a life is concerned with their own purely personal relationship. The evangelist has expanded a thought that was originally meant to move in a particular direction at the end.

The image of the light that is not put under a basket or under a bed, but on a lampstand, is first found in this brief passage in Mark (4:21), then with the addition “so that those who come in may see the light” in Luke (8:16), and Matthew has only slightly changed this addition when he says, “and it gives light to all in the house.” Both Mark and Luke have the Lord speaking this parable just after interpreting the parable of the sower for the disciples. It must therefore have been intended to insinuate to the disciples *), that they should make use of their abilities when hearing the parables. However, before we have critically examined the pragmatism of the Synoptics, which is linked to the interpretation of the parable of the sower, in its entire extent, we can already note here that Mark and Luke were not particularly fortunate in their use of the image of the light. Luke even emphasizes the inappropriateness of the image, which must be inherent in this context, when he says: “No one after lighting a lamp covers it with a jar or puts it under a bed, but puts it on a stand, so that those who enter may see the light.”

*) as Wilke also explains on page 327.

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Correct! The light that is put on a lampstand shines not only for the one who lights it, but for all who are in the house or enter it. Mareus was misled by an indefinite allusion to put the proverb in an inappropriate place, while Matthew, with his tact, omitted it in this place where Jesus explains the parable of the sower. But he cleverly applied it to indicate the necessary position of the disciples in the world. Finally, he was particularly successful in strengthening the image in its relationship to the illuminating power of the disciples by adding that the mountain city could not escape the view. It must be seen; so the disciples must let their light shine, and it is their inner, unstoppable purpose to shine as the light of the world.

Luke also used the proverb once again in the context where some demanded a sign (Ch. 11:16), but Jesus rejected this demand when the crowds later became more dense, and reminded them that the Queen of the South and the Ninevites, who believed without a sign, would put this superstitious generation to shame (V.29-32). Therefore, if immediately afterward (V.33) the parable of the light and lampstand is mentioned, the only possible interpretation is that Jesus speaks of his mission to shine everywhere. It may be that the Evangelist had a similar allusion in mind, but it is certain that this parable was spoken by Jesus to encourage others not to hide their light. The context is missing here just as much as later when the Evangelist, carried away by the keyword “light,” adds the saying about the inner light (V.34-36), a saying that we find again in another place in Matthew’s Sermon on the Mount.

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§ 18. Transition to the Sermon on the Mount

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This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution 4.0 International License.

by Neil Godfrey

Critique of the Gospel History of the Synoptics

by Bruno Bauer

Volume 1

—o0o—

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§18.

Transition to the Sermon on the Mount.

 

1. The account of Matthew.

Ch. 4:23-5:1.

Matthew does not mention that after the calling of the four fishermen, Jesus went to Capernaum, preached and healed there. According to his account, Jesus immediately travels throughout Galilee after calling the first four disciples, preaching and healing every disease among the people. As a result, all the sick are brought to him after his fame had spread throughout Syria. Matthew lists the various ailments of the sick people, and Jesus heals them. Many crowds from Galilee, the Decapolis, Jerusalem, Judea, and the region beyond the Jordan follow him.

The description is very comprehensive, with the words “whole, all” used in every case, so we see a very general presentation before us. Suddenly, however, the narrative becomes specific when Matthew says: “When Jesus saw the crowds, he went up on the mountain; and after he sat down, his disciples came to him. Then he began to speak, and taught them” — the Sermon on the Mount.

This is inconsistent. The crowds have been around Jesus for a long time, he is teaching them and healing their sick; how can he only now, upon seeing them, go up on the mountain? He has already seen them for some time. Fritzsche’s explanation: “When he saw them once, he went up on the mountain” *), is not acceptable to the narrative, as it would be far too complicated and even tedious. Matthew knows nothing of this “once,” nor does he need it, as it is much easier for him to dive headfirst from the general into the specific. He needs no transition, he forgets the expansion of the general when it suits him, and it immediately shrinks to a single detail. Then he can say, “When Jesus saw the crowds, he went up on the mountain.”

*) Matthäus p. 197. Hanc turbam aliquando conspicatus montem petiit. = (Matthew p. 197. Having seen this crowd at some point, he went up the mountain.)

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However, we cannot follow this leap into the individual, since we cannot forget that the crowds did not just come to Jesus at that moment, but had long been around him, so he would have had to climb the mountain long before, if the sight of the crowds was a reason to do so. We must say that an event that falls from the sky is no longer an event for us and for this world, and the sermon that Jesus delivered on the mountain can never – to put it cautiously – have been delivered on this occasion.

This is also difficult: Matthew does not say that the crowd followed the Lord to the mountain; only the disciples are reported to have approached him, and he delivered the following sermon to them. But at the end (7: 28-29), it says that after Jesus finished his speech, the people were amazed by his teachings because he preached with authority, unlike the scribes. But where did the people suddenly come from? We do not know. And where did the disciples come from, to whom the speech is addressed according to chapter 5, verse 1? We do not know either, because the expression “his disciples” cannot possibly only refer to the four who have been called so far. So, for this speech, we lack nothing less than a not insignificant detail in the real world, the occasion and the audience, because even if the people are mentioned suddenly at the end, we do not know how they could have heard the speech, as the Lord withdrew to the mountain in front of them.

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We know where all these necessary details for a speech come from if we open the Gospel of Mark. Here we read that Jesus once, after having worked for some time under opposition, withdrew with his disciples to the Sea of Galilee. A great multitude came to him from Judea, Jerusalem, Idumea, beyond the Jordan, and from the vicinity of Tyre and Sidon when they heard about his deeds. Jesus healed them, but wanted to avoid the large crowds, so he had a boat prepared and eventually went up to the mountain, where he called only those whom he designated as his permanent companions and apostles at that moment (Mark 3:7-14). Here, the ascent of the mountain makes sense, as Jesus wants to avoid the crowd, and, as Mark reports, he has an even more specific reason, he wants to avoid complete exhaustion, as the sick come to touch him and be healed by him.

In Matthew’s account, the retreat to the mountain makes no sense, as it is not even said that Jesus was exhausted or could have been while healing. Nothing is indicated in this regard since the evangelist rushes to the speech and can’t introduce it soon enough.

However, his entire interest is focused on the speech. He reads in the Gospel of Mark that Jesus immediately appeared as a teacher in public (in Capernaum) after calling the fishermen (Mark 1:21). This note is too dull for him, and he wants to convey a speech himself to provide a clear example of how powerfully Jesus taught, and when he has delivered the speech, he does not forget, like Mark, to note that the people were astonished at Jesus’ teaching because he taught with authority and not like the scribes (Mark 1:22). He literally repeats his predecessor’s remark.

In the general description of Jesus’ activities, Matthew first makes the insignificant change that he substitutes Decapolis for Idumea, then adds the remark, “his reputation spread throughout all Syria,” instead of the phrase “those from the vicinity of Tyre and Sidon came to him,” because he wants to bring up Mark 1:28. But the most significant change is that he maintains the depiction in the broadest generality, which becomes even more extensive but also less specific since this description is intended to make us more familiar with Jesus’ activities. Jesus teaches, heals, heals everything, all illnesses that are important to the evangelist—in short, we have a compendium of everything that belonged to Jesus’ activities before us. This is the abstraction of the later view, for which everything was already finished at the beginning, Jesus’ recognition was generally grounded, and his activities encompassed everything that they could encompass.

286

One part of the difficulties is solved. However, everything will become clear when we see how Matthew came to link the Sermon on the Mount to that miraculous activity of Jesus. He received this combination from Luke.

 

2. The account of Luke.

Chapter 6, 17-20.

Only Luke knows something about a Sermon on the Mount. Not Mark. After the account of the fishing expedition of Peter, Luke took up the Gospel of Mark again at the point where he had left it, and he follows it until that turning point where the hostile attitude of the Pharisees awakens. He also tells that Jesus (6: 12) went up the mountain to pray and after a night spent in prayer, he chose twelve from his disciples to be apostles. With them, he descended to the plain and – but the evangelist does not think of a proper construction of sentences or connection of words – suddenly a large crowd of his disciples and a great multitude of people from all Judea (v. 17) and Jerusalem and from the coast of Tyre and Sidon, who had come to hear him and to be healed of their diseases – one does not see what this multitude is all about – the evangelist does not say how, where – enough, he is satisfied that they are here, he wants nothing more, and after briefly saying that the whole crowd sought to touch Jesus because power was coming from him and healing them all, he reports that Jesus lifted up his eyes to his disciples and gave them the sermon, which is held here in the plain. Jesus gave this speech to his disciples, and yet it says at the end (7: 1): when he had finished saying all this to the people (εις τας ακοας του λαου), he went on, and so on.

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How beautiful, how vivid is this motivation of the sermon, Jesus spends the night in prayer before choosing the twelve disciples, and so on. And yet nothing could be less vivid, more confused and laboriously compiled. Jesus ascends the mountain to pray, but only Luke knows this intention, for whom it is a standing formula that he prayed. We do not learn why Jesus chose the disciples at this particular time, but as we will see with Mark, the calling of the apostles has a very specific motive. Mark motivated Jesus’ ascent of the mountain by saying that Jesus wanted to avoid the crowds of people; in Luke’s account, Jesus finds the crowd of people below in the plain when he descends from the mountain. But now, of course, we cannot find out where this crowd suddenly came from, and even the evangelist cannot even manage to incorporate the note of the people’s presence into his account. But it is clear why he rearranged Mark’s account: he wants to have an audience before which the following sermon could be delivered, but he had to report on the calling of the apostles beforehand because Mark compels him to do so, and because it is appropriate for Jesus to proclaim the general principles of the Kingdom of Heaven to the newly chosen officers after such an important act. But at the end, he notes that Jesus gave this speech to the people; he forgets that it was addressed to the disciples – naturally, why should he have bothered to gather the crowd around the Lord, and did not the principles presented in the speech apply to everyone? Hence this contradiction regarding the audience, a contradiction that is natural and original only in Luke’s scripture because the selection of the narrower circle of disciples comes first here, a contradiction that Matthew faithfully copied even though he did not report on the calling of the twelve beforehand. Matthew was not yet allowed to report on this here, for it was still too early at this point, but he could certainly insert the speech at the beginning of his historical account, especially since his interest was focused on the Lord’s speeches in general and it was important for him to proclaim the general principles that should apply in the new economy right from the beginning.

*) See this reference, for example, in Schneckenburger, Beiträge zur Eint, ins N. T. p. 17.

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The contradiction regarding the audience is explained *), Matthew was dependent on Luke. But if both Gospel writers contradict each other regarding where the speech was held, that is also explained. According to Mark, Jesus can only move the selection of the apostles to the mountain; the crowd, according to Mark again, can only be found in the plain. So when the purpose for which he climbed the mountain is fulfilled, Jesus must descend to the plain if he wants to find the people whose presence will give him a reason for his speech. However, Matthew cannot report on the selection of the apostles yet, but he still writes according to Mark that Jesus climbed a mountain when he was surrounded by crowds from all neighboring countries: so what else can Jesus do on the mountain except give the speech that only became the Sermon on the Mount through Matthew **)?

*) and we do not need the tortured harmonics of Frische’s, Matthew p. 201: “Jesus addressed the disciples following his prayer, but there were people listening in from afar, I suppose.”

**) The only thought that can keep us going through such a lengthy, but in itself very insignificant work and give it its only value, is that we ourselves become free and moral people when we see how the contradictions in the Gospels arose and no longer waste our time with half-truths, deceive our minds, and mistreat the Gospels. A truly apologetic half-truth, a theological juste milieu, is the harmonistic reconciliation of the contradiction that Bengel undertakes. “Jesus prayed on the mountain, that is, on the upper part of it, and appointed the apostles” – but does Matthew say a word about it? – afterwards he came to the middle region of the mountain where is it written? he himself descended, encountered the people who were climbing up and here in the middle region — —- —- Oh, what agony!

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Luke differs from Mark by providing larger speeches of the Lord and selecting historical occasions for them. At the very beginning of his account of Jesus’ public ministry, he expanded the saying about the fulfillment of time in this way and gave a detailed account of how Jesus appeared as a teacher in Nazareth. Therefore, he does not need to present Jesus more extensively as a teacher here at the beginning and is satisfied with copying Mark’s account of Jesus’ appearance in the synagogue of Capernaum with the note of the powerful impression of his teaching. He waits until the apostles are chosen to let the Lord teach the laws of the kingdom of heaven.

Matthew has an even greater interest in presenting the Lord as a teacher and preacher. He cannot wait until the apostles are chosen, he wants to show immediately at the beginning of his account how powerful Jesus’ speech was. Therefore, he is silent about the Lord’s appearance in Capernaum and hastens to include the great speech that he finds in Luke, in order to give a solid basis for Mark’s note on the powerful impression of Jesus’ teaching (Mark 1:22).

Luke was the first to link this speech to this particular occasion, but he created the occasion himself by placing the crowd that surrounded Jesus before he climbed the mountain, listening to the Lord in the plain when he descended from the mountain.

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He formed the occasion very unfortunately because the crowd surrounded Jesus and “tried to touch him, because power was coming from him and healing them all” (Luke 6:19), so where does the “peace and quiet” *) necessary for the delivery of the sermon come from?

*) Wilke, p. 585.

 

3. The Mountain.

If we do not know the occasion on which this sermon was delivered, we know even less about which mountain it was delivered on. Matthew was the one who first referred to it as the Sermon on the Mount. Nevertheless, if we still ask which mountain it is, we do so with the awareness that we are dealing with a concept. However, it is worth looking at it more closely, since it is an evangelical category and we should never treat categories superficially. “The mountain,” this specific, individual mountain, is something very general, since it is mentioned several times in very different historical contexts, more often by Matthew than by the other Evangelists. “The mountain” makes Jesus’ sermon, which we will get to know soon, the Sermon on the Mount (Matt. 5:1) and is originally the mountain on which Jesus chose the Twelve (Mark 3:13, Luke 6:12). “The mountain” is also where the Transfiguration takes place according to Luke (9:28), while Mark and Matthew speak only of “a high mountain” (Mark 9:2, Matt. 17:2). According to Matthew (16:29), the second feeding of the multitude took place “on the mountain,” although he and Mark say nothing about the first feeding, nor does Luke, who only reports one feeding that he knows of. However, the fourth Evangelist tells us that Jesus climbed “the mountain” and sat down there when he fed the crowd (John 6: 3, 5). Finally, Matthew alone reports that the apostles went “to the mountain” when the angel (28:8) summoned them to Galilee, where they would see the risen Jesus (28:16).

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“The mountain!” How strange! Always in the most different situations, “the mountain!” Matthew, who uses this category more often than the others, tells us what kind of mountain it is, where it is located, and what its characteristics are. For him, at least, it is certain that it is the mountain that is the necessary and appropriate stage for great, far-reaching events, the basis for the great. Or should we still prove it in detail to the apologist? Should we ask how Matthew, if he had a specific geographical understanding, could simply say (5, 1) “Jesus went up to the mountain,” after previously saying only: “Jesus traveled throughout Galilee”? Is there only “the mountain” in “all of Galilee”? Should we ask which “mountain” it is where the second feeding occurred, and how Matthew came to know about a mountain that the other two knew nothing about, just as they knew nothing about “the mountain” on which the disciples saw the risen one again?

Furthermore, where does “the mountain” come from, where, according to Luke’s account, the Transfiguration took place, the mountain that Matthew knows as little about as Mark.

And we would like to see the mountain on which Jesus (after climbing it alone) can sit down and arrange and direct the feeding of the people who lay in the grass in the valley (John 6:10)!

The apologist’s excuse *), that “the mountain” το ορος is the mountain range, which they try to apply in Matthew 5:1, is even cut off at the only place where it seems applicable, Mark 3:13, i.e., at the place where we first see the mountain in an apparently understandable historical context. Because even this context is a pure fabrication **) and the mountain from which it was appropriate for the twelve to be called is not a mountain range with its wide branches, canyons, forests, and countless elevations, but a mountain that tapers properly to a single elevation, namely the one height on which such a sublime and significant action must take place.

*) de Wette, I, 1, 50.

**) as Wilke, p. 574, has clearly shown.

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The mountain is always a specific one, meaning that it corresponds to the ideal height of the event that takes place on it. It is the mountain where revelations, transfigurations, and legislation have been at home since the time of Abraham and Moses.

What did Matthew care so much about – he was not a modern apologist who alone knows the torment of this great world question – where the mountain was located on which the Lord proclaimed the laws of the new economy? To him, it was the mountain on which words had to be spoken that were of infinite importance and were spoken to be spread far and wide and heard by the whole world. Matthew does not even say that the crowd followed the Lord when he descended from the mountain where he gave the sermon they heard – as it eventually turns out (chapter 7, verse 28) – but he cannot say it because Mark does not dictate it to him and even forbids it, but why would he care about such trivialities that would not add or detract from his report and whose omission would only bring death to apologetics as long as he can let the Lord preach? And if he wants to say, as Luke commands him, that the people heard the sermon, he says it without worrying about how they could hear it. If the sermon contained words of life for the people, they would have heard them no matter how it happened.

Gfrörer says *), the mountain received this degree of fame in the legend from the feeding that took place on it. But Mark knows nothing yet of this locality of the feeding story. Gfrörer, of course, relies on the testimony of the fourth evangelist. But – shall we say it again? – we would like to see the mountain on which and so on. Art, to be sure, knows how to show us mountains on whose summit Jesus stands and is visible while the people are standing in the plain a few spans below. From such a mountain, the painter can make the Lord speak down to the people or give him any other relationship to the people. But such mountains do not exist in the real world. Nature is not Raphael and has quite different laws of spatiality than the ideal view of the evangelists.

*) Heil. Sage. l. 199.

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4. The task of criticism.

As we now move on to the critical examination of the structure, composition, and inner character of the Sermon on the Mount in order to discover its origin, we must first gain insight into the nature of our task, to the extent possible and necessary before the examination itself.

Despite having the same beginning, the same ending, and coinciding points of contact, the speeches which the two synoptics convey are very different. Matthew’s is much longer and thus contains elements which would cause the individual parts of the sermon that Luke conveys to fall apart if one were to attempt to bring them together. Many of these elements are unique to Matthew’s writings alone, while Luke has included many of them as sayings of Jesus spoken on other occasions. Similarly, Matthew doesn’t include some parts of Luke’s sermon, but presents them as sayings of Jesus on other occasions.

From this fact, the task of criticism has emerged, or rather, criticism must explain this fact.

The difficulties arising from the evangelical accounts of location, time, occasion, and audience are for us a thing of the past, as we have seen how they originated and that the occasion on which the speech was supposed to have been delivered never existed and purely arose from the pragmatism of Luke and Matthew. Our task is therefore simplified and the difficulties that concern those points, as well as views that seek to solve them in other ways, can no longer hinder or occupy us. For example, Strauss says: “Jesus spoke to the assembled people in general (!), but with special (!) reference to his disciples, for we have no reason to doubt that a specific solemn act of speech underlies all this” – we have shown that none of this can be the case.

*) I, 640.

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All opinions that consider the sermon as one that was spoken at a specific occasion or even at a certain one that has long been resolved have lost all claims to consideration. At least the point where they seek the difficulty falls far short of where it really lies, and we have to grasp and solve it. At the highest peak of difficulty, the standpoint on which those views are based disappears, and it is completely dissolved when we solve the difficulty in its most acute form.

For Neander, for example, the Sermon on the Mount is “an example of a connected exhortation speech **). “The two versions of this speech in Matthew and Luke, he says, certainly stem from different traditions and different listeners. In Matthew, we have the speech more complete, more precise” ***).

Paulus explains this precision by the fact that one of the listeners, “perhaps Matthew himself, who as a tax collector could not be inexperienced in writing,” wrote down the speech shortly afterwards. “The record from which Luke drew or extracted had not grasped the context without many gaps.” On the other hand, the greater extent of the speech in Matthew may be explained by the fact that “related thoughts” were added later *).

**) ibid. p. 145.

***) Ibid. p. 148.

*) Exeg. Handb. l, 584. 585.

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It is important to note “related in meaning”! Later on, when discussing the issue itself, it will be important to understand how this category is defined. The apologist has the question of coherence in mind. Similarly, Neander says, “the Greek editor of the underlying document from Matthew had inserted many related sayings of Christ that had been spoken on other occasions within these organically connected utterances.”

It must be related in order to avoid breaking the coherence.

Schleiermacher also tells us, when Paulus explained the accuracy of the speech in Matthew so well, how the brevity of the speech in the writing of Luke arose. “Our informant seems to have had a less favorable place to hear from, so he did not hear everything and lost the context here and there; and he may have come to record it later, when he had already forgotten some things.” **)

**) Ibid, p. 89. Now only the apologetics remain with their “they could tell the truth,” when the favor of circumstance, an unfavorable place, etc., is so important!

Moreover, in this context of little significance, at least unexpected for everyone, Schleiermacher adds the other possibility: “He may have inadvertently included some analogous (!) things from other sayings of Christ.”

Even Schleiermacher does not dare to favor his favorite against Matthew this time, when he assigns such an unfavorable place to the informant, whose work Luke is copying here. So let us not be surprised when Tholuck calls “the speech, as it appears – in the Gospel of Matthew – original in all its parts.” It is “more orderly” than that of Luke. “The sayings scattered back and forth by Luke and also by Mark are presented in it in a coherent and Christ-like way.” *)

*) Interpretation of the Sermon on the Mount. 1833. p. 22.

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However, Tholuck takes a step back. The speech in Matthew is only an “excerpt.” “For this latter reason, we will also not be offended if the connection is less apparent here and there” **).

**) Ibid. p. 23.

No! we will pay close attention to whether this praised connection really exists. “Even if it is less apparent!” As if there is only a connection where it is apparent! Listen to the apologist! He has a purpose! He means, as he should, we should be satisfied with the assumption of connection even if it is not apparent. Even if it is not——–o, the best connection is there in itself! The thunder of the apologist over the critic, the thunderbolt and lightning and curse and perished over the critic if he does not acquiesce in the silent recognition of the connection or call the apologetic evidence of the connection failed in stubborn disbelief!

No, we now forget the result of the above criticism: we now set ourselves the task of determining from the Sermon on the Mount itself, through the internal criticism of its components,

  1. whether it is held as a whole by Jesus,
  2. whether its connection is really so extraordinary,
  3. whether Luke is rightly inferior to Matthew.

We start the matter from scratch, or rather from the bottom, we take the subordinate standpoint of the apologist and see if reason can feel at home here.

But we go further. The apologist resists the possibility that individual sayings of Jesus, which arose on different occasions, have been united into a whole in the Sermon on the Mount. The mere idea of such a possibility appears to Schleiermacher as “impermissible, at least unsupported by anything” *).

*) Schleiermacher, ibid. p. 90. De Wette (1, 1, 48.) also considers “the representation in Matthew to be original and that in Luke to be derived and erroneous.” Matthew did not compose the speech he provided from sayings made at different times and on other occasions. “Only an expansion of the speech by Matthew” can be admitted.

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Weisse was the first to show that this idea is not only supported by much evidence, but that it is not just an idea, but more, that it is a reality.

On this higher standpoint of historical criticism, the first question is now the relationship between Luke and Matthew, until the question reaches its highest point and becomes the question of whether we actually read the words of the Lord in the Sermon on the Mount. Weisse does not yet reach this final point in his investigation. He leaves an unexamined positive standing. The first and third Synoptics have used here, as elsewhere, the “collection of sayings of the Apostle Matthew” which was written in Hebrew. “These pieces borrowed from such an authentic scripture are in every respect to be regarded as authentic, reliable and unadulterated as the reports of Mark” **).

**) ev. Gesch. II, 3.

But both differ greatly from each other in the parallel sayings! How does this reconcile with this praise?

The first and third evangelist, Weisse replies, “did not draw on each other, as both did in relation to Mark, but both independently from each other from the common source. Luke used it less completely than the Gospel that bears its name.” The first evangelist has shown “greater fidelity” in reproducing the collection of sayings of Matthew, and his presentation is “more original” compared to that of Luke **).

*) ev. Gesch. ll, 4.

**) p. 28.

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But not only is Luke’s account less complete, but in most parts – we must immediately add the scattered parallels to the speech that Matthew provides – fundamentally different.

Furthermore: so far it has been shown to us that in all parts where Matthew does not have agreement with Mark, but only with Luke, he is dependent on the latter. Now has he completely disassociated himself from Luke? Now, at this moment, where he borrowed the occasion for this speech from him?

If the differences in their presentation of the speech sections, which we are now turning to critique, are essential, then one of them must have proceeded independently and creatively in this presentation. But if one, why not both? Both! This is at least possible.

Our task is set!

  1. Is the account of the first synoptist the more original?
  2. Did the first evangelist use the writing of Luke for his account of the Sermon on the Mount?
  3. If so, where did Luke get his material from, and do we still have sayings of Jesus before us in these speech sections?

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§ 17. The calling of the first four apostles

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This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution 4.0 International License.

by Neil Godfrey

Critique of the Gospel History of the Synoptics

by Bruno Bauer

Volume 1

—o0o—

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§ 17.

The calling of the first four apostles.

The account of Matthew.
4: 18—22.

 

With the same words, the same sentence construction as Mark, Matthew also reports the calling of the first four apostles, and like him, he immediately connects his account to the note that Jesus appeared in Galilee preaching about the kingdom of heaven. At the Sea of Galilee, Jesus finds the two pairs of brothers, Peter and Andrew, and James and John, occupied with their fishing, and with the words “Follow me, and I will make you fishers of men,” he immediately persuades them to join him.

Matthew is the later of the two writers; the few and, moreover, insignificant deviations he has allowed himself prove that he is copying Mark’s account. Matthew says (V. 18), Jesus “saw two brothers, Simon Peter and Andrew his brother.” Likewise V. 21: Jesus “saw another pair of brothers, James the son of Zebedee, and John his brother.” But why mention twice that Simon and Andrew were brothers? Even the most unskilled writer would not do this if he were writing from his own head. Just look at how Mark writes: Jesus (1, 16) “saw Simon and Andrew, the brother of Simon” (V. 19) “saw James the son of Zebedee, and John his brother”: This is how a man writes who is looking straight at the subject matter while writing and not looking left and right – who knows where? – or perhaps looking at a book he is copying from. Matthew did the latter. In the moment when he wants to say that Jesus saw Simon and Andrew, he immediately remembers that they were brothers, impatiently writes it down, and does not immediately see that Mark also brings up this note at that time, when he notes that Andrew was the brother of Simon. After so hastily writing down his statement that they were brothers, he is still so dependent on the writing of his predecessor and so in the flow, that he also copied his note, thus a note that he had already written down in the same moment. He does the same thing when he comes to the Zebedee family.

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After such an obvious proof, we hardly need to mention that the sentence of Matthew: “they left the ship and their father” (V. 22.), is only freed from this clumsy doubling of the accusative when we reshape it back into the form that Mark originally gave it, when he says (1, 20): “they left their father Zebedee in the ship with the hired servants.”

 

The account of Luke.
5: 1-11.

At the same point where Mark and Matthew told the story, Luke could not recount the calling of the four disciples. His interest was focused on explaining how Capernaum, not Nazareth, became Jesus’ usual place of residence. Therefore, when he recounted how the Nazarenes drove the prophet out of town, he was irresistibly compelled to bring the Lord to Capernaum at the same time, i.e. he comes to the point in Mark’s narrative where Jesus enters this town, teaches in the synagogue, heals a demoniac, is led from the synagogue by Peter to his house, heals his mother-in-law, and in the evening, when the news of his presence in the house had become known and all the sick of the place were brought to him, he also healed them. Luke copies all of this from the writings of Mark because he has brought the Lord to Capernaum and now he must tell what happened there. Now he must copy at least so much, that he reports that the next morning Jesus withdrew into the wilderness, followed by people who begged him not to leave, but he claimed that it was his destiny to preach the Kingdom of God in other cities as well, and so he wandered around preaching in the synagogues of Galilee.*)

*) Luke 4:31-44. Mark 1:21-39.

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So, Luke could not tell the story of the calling of the disciples at the same place where he read it in Mark; he had to bring the Lord from Nazareth straight to Capernaum. So, when will he be able to report the calling of the apostles? When Jesus has left Capernaum. Now, as he travels around Galilee teaching, he can come to the lake where the two pairs of brothers are to be found. But Jesus is teaching by the lake to a large crowd who want to hear the word of God. How does he get to the fishermen? Mark tells him: from his account, he sees that the Lord liked to escape the crowd at the lake by having a boat ready (Mark 3:9); Mark also tells him that when a large crowd had gathered around the lake to hear him, Jesus got into a boat and taught from there (Mark 4:1). Well, Jesus did the same thing this time, concludes Luke, and his account is introduced in the best way possible. Jesus is at the lake of Gennesaret, he sees how eager the people are to hear the word of God from him – we do not find out what he is really teaching, of course! Because this whole introduction is used for a foreign purpose: Jesus is only supposed to come to the lake to come into contact with the fishermen who absolutely have to be called. And how does he find them? – he sees two boats on the shore of the lake – but why exactly two boats? – the two pairs of brothers are supposed to be called! What are the two pairs of brothers doing at the shore at this moment? They are washing their nets!

Stop! Not so fast! The confusion has become so great that we must pause to consider where we are. These people are supposed to be called now, especially Peter is to be convinced to follow through an incredible miracle, and what are they doing at the moment when the crowd is clamoring for the Lord to let them hear the word of God, what are they doing? They are washing their nets! Either they were not worthy to be called, or it would indeed take a miracle to fill their boats with fish if they were to be shaken out of their dullness.

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However, they are innocent! It is only Luke’s pragmatism that makes them appear so dull. It was he who created the occasion for Jesus to be teaching and surrounded by a crowd eager to learn, so that they and their boats would catch his eye when he was to make their acquaintance. Only Luke has them engaged in washing their nets in this new environment, where they must have had different thoughts, because he read in the Scripture of Mark that they were partly occupied with fishing and partly with mending their nets when Jesus found them (Mark 1:16, 19). Luke lets them continue their work undisturbed, as he sees them in Mark’s narrative, and precisely this activity of washing their nets he assumes at this moment because he wants the boats to be close enough for the Lord to step into one of them immediately.

If one demands stronger evidence before conceding that Luke created this pragmatism, that he put a note he found in Mark’s Gospel into a new but foreign context, then one will hear more than he wanted to hear, so much that he can only resort to condemning the critic. But why does apologetics force the critic to reveal the nature of the letter through its literalistic interpretation?

It is clear that the occupation of the two pairs of brothers, as the crowd is eager to hear the Lord, does not belong in this context; that the situation in which Jesus stands from the crowd after being pressed into a boat is borrowed from other accounts in Mark, we have noted. But to complete the proof, we can also show that the crowd is not in its place here. Jesus, as previously mentioned, leaves Capernaum, the crowd follows him and wants to persuade him not to leave, but Jesus does not respond to their request and preaches in the synagogues of Galilee. Yet it says (Luke 5:1) that the crowd was eager to hear the word of God from him! “The” crowd! It is not indicated that it is a different, new crowd. So where does “the” crowd come from? The author needs it, and all other considerations must yield to his need.

269

The whole story of the fishing and the calling of Peter is not in its place here. Before this (Luke 4:44), the evangelist has reported that after leaving Capernaum, Jesus preached in the synagogues of Galilee. Afterwards (Luke 5:12), he says that while Jesus was in one of the towns, a leper approached him for healing. For now, we can observe that the note about Jesus traveling around in Galilee is meant to explain how Jesus could be met by the leper in “one of the towns” and be asked for help. But that note and the account of the healing of the leper are now separated by the long story of Peter’s fishing trip, which has a separate interest in itself, and they have lost the close connection that immediately connects them in the Gospel of Mark (Mark 1:39-40). Wilke *) does try to help Luke’s account a bit, by suggesting that the note that Jesus was already traveling through Galilee **) when he called the first disciples should be deleted because it was transferred from Mark 1:39. He suggests that the crowd that is pressing Jesus by the sea and wanting to hear the word of God from him is the same crowd that was holding him back from leaving Capernaum. Jesus gives in to them, teaches by the sea, and only then (Luke 5:11), after calling the two pairs of brothers, sets out on the journey where he encounters the leper. However, it is Luke himself who has transferred the note that Jesus was traveling around in the synagogues of Galilee from the Gospel of Mark. He is not so restrained and cautious that he would not copy a note at the very moment when he is copying a report of Jesus leaving Capernaum that is still closely connected to it, and which he very much needs. He must have the disciples called on a journey of Jesus, just like Mark, indeed on a journey where Jesus is preaching; he must have given the note of the real journey since he does not give it after the calling of the disciples and only says that the new companions followed the Lord. So Jesus was already on the journey when he called them *).

*) p. 590.

**) Luke 4:44 και ην κηρυσσων εν ταις συναγωγαις της Γαλιλαιας

*) that is, Luke, because out of obedience to Mark’s account, he had to write that the Lord was on a journey when he happened to come to the Sea of Galilee and called the first disciples – he forgets that Jesus was already near this sea when he left Capernaum and set out on the journey that would take him to the Sea of Galilee.

270

Luke wants to recount the first calling of Peter. Jesus sees, as the crowd presses in on him, two boats on the shore and happens to step into the one belonging to Peter. After teaching the crowd, he tells Peter to sail out to the deeper part of the lake and cast his nets. Peter says they had been fishing all night and caught nothing, but he will do it at Jesus’ word. When he does, the catch is so great that the nets begin to tear. Peter then recognizes in Jesus the holy one before whom, as a sinful man, he cannot stand. Jesus tells him not to be afraid, as from now on he will catch people.

“No!” says the apologist *), Luke does not want to recount the first calling of Peter. Doesn’t Jesus already know the disciple if he was previously a guest in his house? Luke must explain why he leads Jesus as a guest into the home of a man of whom he had not previously reported how he became acquainted with the Lord. Luke has not mentioned in any way that Jesus had already chosen the fishermen as his disciples; he has not reported anything about a “first calling,” and when he describes the fishing trip, he sheds light on the meeting between Jesus and the two sets of brothers in such a way that it is clear that he wants to, indeed he must, report on their first chance encounter. But why should we continue arguing with the stubborn apologist, since we have already explained why Luke could only report the calling of the first disciples here? Why fight when we can show him that Luke understood the difficulty better than he did! When Mark leads him into the house of Peter, he has no choice but to mention the name of Simon in his account, as he must also mention the latter’s mother-in-law, who is healed of her fever. But he knows that he has gone astray. In Mark’s account (1:36), he reads that the next morning, when Jesus leaves Capernaum, Peter and the others, namely the other disciples, rush after him and tell him that everyone is “looking for” him in Capernaum. At least here, where he could have done it, he suppresses the name of Peter, saying that the crowd (4:42) “looked for” Jesus, caught up with him, and tried to persuade him to stay, but he could not suppress the name of the disciple without distorting the whole structure and meaning of the original account. If the crowd chooses the Lord, it is because, according to the context, the miraculous healings had aroused their interest in Jesus. However, Jesus’ response, which Luke has retained (4:43), “I must proclaim the good news of the kingdom of God to the other towns also because that is why I was sent,” does not fit. It only fits in Mark’s account, where Peter and the others seek out Jesus and he responds to their request for him to stay with the words, “Let us go somewhere else—to the nearby villages—so I can preach there also. That is why I have come.”

*For example, Hoffmann, p. 344.

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Although Luke, if he already met Peter before he tells his calling story, avoids him as much as possible, his person has nevertheless become familiar, important and significant to him – he was forced to let the Lord stay in his house – and therefore the last contradiction has arisen, which we must still emphasize.

Does Luke report the calling of the two pairs of brothers? Yes and no! Both! That is the contradiction! Peter is the main person, his brother Andrew is completely forgotten, the Lord gets into his boat to teach and he alone gets the rich catch of fish and Jesus calls out to him: “From now on you will catch people.” And yet – impossible! but it is written (5:11)! – and yet, just as Peter is being called, Luke writes the words: “And they left everything and followed him.” “They,” the others, of whom Luke, solely focused on Peter, has not said a word that they are also called, but whom he must bring into play and send after the Lord as followers because he reads in the account of Mark that they became disciples of the Lord at the same time as Peter. He already has them in mind when he leaves two boats on the shore by chance, as he later presents the situation in such a way that the other boat, in which the companions of Peter, the two sons of Zebedee, were also present, had accidentally gone along when Peter, on Jesus’ command, sailed deeper into the middle of the lake; they had to be at hand so that Peter could wave to them, so that they could assist him in pulling out the heavy nets, and so that they too could be amazed at the miracle like Peter and follow the Lord – in short, they are a coincidental addition and yet could not be missing because Mark is an invincible authority and demands it that way. Luke only has Peter called, but Mark commands him to also add the sons of Zebedee to the Lord as disciples. He obeys blindly.

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If the apologists believe that not the first calling of the four disciples, but the strengthening of their faith through a particular miracle is being reported here, then a similar thought may have occurred to Luke. Not the same thought! That is certain: he wants to tell the story of the first calling of Peter and his companions, whom he had not yet been able to introduce into his account. But once Jesus had been led – although unannounced – into the house of Peter, Luke had become familiar with the person of the latter, despite all his reluctance, and in essence, Jesus cannot be completely unfamiliar with the man in whose house he had spent the night as a guest. So how can the first calling of the apostle, which is to be reported, still proceed as simply as it did according to Mark? It is to be the first calling, but it must take on a character that suggests that it is also a growth in Peter’s understanding of the nature of the Lord. A simple word is no longer sufficient if the one who is to be called is the man under whose roof the Lord has just rested as a guest. Something extraordinary must happen, so that Peter himself can express his amazement and his faith and no longer needs to follow the Lord silently, as happens according to Mark’s account. In short, a miracle is necessary here, and here on the sea, where fishermen are called to become fishers of men, no other miracle was closer than the wonderful catch of fish that the Lord provided for Peter.

*) The fact that Peter appears as the main character in this calling story, as Luke has fashioned it, is partly also due to Mark. When he speaks of those four first disciples in chapter 1, verse 36, he puts Simon at the head, so that the others only appear as his entourage. Peter is the outstanding focal point, the others the subordinate surroundings: ὁ Σίμων καὶ οἱ μετ’ αὐτοῦ

We have already shown the apologists who, like Hoffmann, do not see the first calling of the four disciples in the account of Matthew, that Luke wants nothing to do with them and their reasoning. If he reads in Mark’s account that Jesus said to Peter, who wanted to keep him in Capernaum, “Let us go to the other towns, so I can preach there too,” if he reads that Peter followed the Lord on his journey with the others, would he then forcibly suppress the name of Peter and arrange it so that Jesus only happened to see the two boats on the lake later that belonged to Peter and the sons of Zebedee *)?

*) Calvin correctly said: “If they had been called earlier, it would have followed that they were apostates who, deserting their Master and rejecting their calling, returned to their former way of life.” Of course, now Calvin must say: “The calling of the four apostles is described more briefly by Matthew and Mark, which Luke elaborates on in more detail.” But the reports are not only quantitative, but qualitatively different.

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Once the mystery is solved and the origin of the report in the third Gospel is recognized, all talk about the miracle of the great catch of fish falls away. Luke had no other source than the Gospel of Mark and his own pragmatism in this section of his Gospel. So we know where he got the miracle from: his own pragmatism. We don’t need to babble and say, as Hoffmann does, that the miracle served “to prepare the disciples for the knowledge of the person of Jesus they were to receive” **), that is, we have escaped the danger of madness or foolishness that we would necessarily succumb to if we were to assume that a lucky catch of fish was the basis and foundation of Christian knowledge. We are spared the senselessness and do not need to assert with Hoffmann that “the vision” was revealed in the miracle of the great catch of fish, with which Jesus was able to “penetrate deeply into physical nature”. As far as we know, this can only be called a deep insight into nature that understands its order and laws. But to know where a couple of fish or hundreds of them happen to be located! Enough, enough! No further!

**) ibid., p. 345.

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Even Neander and the apologists who concede that Luke, like the other synoptics, wanted to report the same event cannot confuse us anymore when they claim that “Matthew gives us an abbreviated account, while Luke provides a more detailed, vivid account from an eyewitness *)” – Mark does not exist for them. We have seen what this vividness amounts to. Everything, every single detail contradicts the other in Luke’s account; everything is haphazardly patched together. We must speak bluntly if we are forced to accept this terribly anxious admiration for vividness.

But if Neander then gushes with admiration for the “simple sense of truth” which he claims Schleiermacher demonstrated in explaining this section of the Gospel of Luke, if he tries to take away from the critic his palladium, his consolation, his good right, his consciousness that he is the sincere friend of truth, then we must also show him that there is nothing more terrifying than the secret cunning of the literalist. Who asks Schleiermacher to give Luke **) a faith that he takes away from Matthew? A coincidence, a preference, a feeling that is not justified, but which must be all the more tyrannical and barbaric in asserting itself. Thus, Schleiermacher finds it significant that Luke does not mention Andrew; but we saw how this comes about very simply because for this evangelist, Peter is already the main person, and how he even forgot the brother only by chance. Schleiermacher attaches importance to the fact that according to Luke’s account, the calling of Peter and the sons of Zebedee are interconnected and are one. But what a beautiful calling of the sons of Zebedee that Luke doesn’t even report! What a splendid vividness when the sons of Zebedee appear until the end as a random appendage and suddenly at the end of the story become disciples and followers of the Lord.

*) Neander, p. 159.

**) Schleiermacher, a. a. O. p. 71-72.

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Is it “finer tact, humility, and simple truthfulness” when, like Schleiermacher, one time raises Luke high above Mark and his fellow sufferers, and then knows how to find a backdoor through which they can slip into the heaven of glory that the apologist has built? We want nothing to do with these virtues. Honesty is the best policy! To comfort the mistreated, to not let Mark and Matthew suffer too much, Schleiermacher says, “we should not be surprised about the differences between their account and that of Luke. For the three disciples *) could not have told the incident, which had certainly remained memorable to them, in exactly the same way due to their differing ways of expressing themselves, sometimes more clearly and precisely, and at other times not.” Where is our understanding? Or what causes us this dreadful headache when we are told that we should admire these kinds of reasoning but cannot? Terrible agony! The variations that the three disciples played on the same theme are said to be the cause of the differences in the gospel accounts! Mark, Matthew, and Luke are not writers, not people, they are the echoes of a song that – who knows how long before the moment they echoed it – was sung! Oh! Who will free us from these sufferings to which the human mind must succumb? How anxious is our situation when we are human, want to see people in front of us, and want to interact with people, but are supposed to see dead masks in the evangelists.

*) Andrew, namely, must definitely retreat: as far as Luke himself in the speech that is supposed to reconcile Mark and Matthew.

Schleiermacher’s index card theory cannot at least bring us back to being human. This time, says the apologetic critic, Luke has again copied the work of a collector who set the calling of Peter later because he “learned about it later and added it to the others in the order he learned it.” We would indeed like to know what would become of historiography if it were a law that the historian had to tell the facts in the same order in which he learned them. Pleasure! Air! We’re done for! Ha! What a relief! We feel like humans again, we interact with human beings again: we remember again which scripture Luke used and how he came to tell the incident, which he knows from Mark’s account, just as he did, and to place it where we find it *).

*) The general expression of apologetics that Schleiermacher applies when he says that someone can arrange the events in a history book in the order in which they learn them can be found in Augustine’s well-known harmonistic work. As the newer apologetic reasoning consistently returns to this point, lacking only the openness and naivete of expression available to Augustine, we want to present the view of the great Church Father here for the benefit and profit of all.

“What is told at a later point does not necessarily have to have happened later. An evangelist can rather “make up” for what he “omitted” before.”  De consensu Evangelistarmu Lib. II, c. 51).

So how does Augustine conceive of this making up and omitting? Does it happen consciously or not? It seems not consciously.

“For no one has the power to decide in what order he wants to remember things, no matter how well and accurately he knows them. What is to come to our mind sooner or later does not depend on our will, but on how it is given to us.”  (Quid enim prius posteriusve homini veniat in mentem, non est, ut volumus, sed ut datur.)

But what chance then tossed the individual parts of the report together so randomly and arbitrarily in the minds of the evangelists?

God! Augustine replies. “It is certainly enough,” he says at the same place, “that each evangelist believed he had to tell in the order that God pleased to insert what he now tells into his memory.”

Augustine says the same thing ibid. c. 44 and often.

Therefore, the historical sequence and that of memory (ordo rei gestae und ordo recordationis) must be carefully distinguished, idid. c. 81.

But – and how could the apologist exist without the but, which devours the previous something down to the last morsel? – but it is of the utmost importance to always keep in mind – although Augustine just said the opposite before! – to always consider that the evangelists did not omit anything involuntarily and unconsciously, not because they did not know exactly what the order of events was, but that they followed the order of their memory, which was different from the actual order, with full consciousness. With full consciousness, they omitted something to make up for it later, just as they also anticipated some things in their reports (ibid. c. 81.).

Every word about this theory would be superfluous since it destroys itself with its two contradictory sides, and criticism teaches us how the disorder of the gospel reports came about. But we must still rejoice when apologetics so naively express and diligently develop their theory.

Compared to this neat and precise elaboration, how flabby and negligent appears the statement with which Olshausen (I, 24.) dismisses everything, saying that “the presentation of the official work of Jesus in the synoptic gospels is handled in such a way that one does not see anywhere the intention (!) to preserve a specific chronological sequence in the reported events,” a statement that finds its quick death at every transition from one event to another!

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It has been such a struggle and taken so much time to navigate through the apologetic twists and turns to reach the original source, Mark!

The account of Mark.
1: 16-20.

But before that, we have another question to ask. Can we make that extreme concession, which we haven’t really brought up yet in the debate between the Synoptics and the fourth Gospel, but which we’ve referred to as a possible way out? Is it really true that “the Lord first came into contact with some disciples in Judea and then later in Galilee he permanently bound them to his person *).” Once we pose the question – and we must now do so in all seriousness, since the authority of the fourth Gospel could not withstand criticism – we would like to see the reason that might compel us to answer in the affirmative. We no longer know that Jesus went to John’s baptism; we know that he never came into the close contact with the Baptist as the fourth Evangelist portrays. There is no trace in the Synoptic accounts that some of Jesus’ disciples had been followers of the Baptist before. However, we can say how the fourth Evangelist came to make the Baptist the intermediary through whom the first disciples were brought to Jesus. The testimony of the Baptist in this specific form ascribed to him by the Evangelist was important and indispensable for the entire pragmatism of his writing. As he laments so often that it was not properly appreciated and recognized by the people, he had to create some faithful persons in his writing who were better disposed and who experienced the full force of this testimony by being moved to join the Lord. It was clearly evident from them that the preaching of the Baptist was the turning point to salvation. They themselves had to have gone through the discipline of John, this important point of transition, in short, they had to be disciples of the Baptist who were moved by their master’s testimony to become followers of the Messiah. Naturally, Jesus had to win his first disciples in the Jordan Valley where the Baptist was staying.

*) Kr. d. ev. Gesch. des Joh. p. 49. 50.

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Mark now stands alone, but not more firmly than his successors. The glory remains with him that his portrayal is original, simple, pure, and nothing but the expression of the general idea he wants to convey. But the idea, however simple and pure it may be presented, when squeezed into a single fact, is so revolutionary in its universality that it does not rest until it has wrestled itself out of the contradiction of being a single event and regained its self-awareness of its universality, which manifests itself quite differently in history.

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It must be striking how Jesus calls four completely unknown people who are busy with their trade at Lake Gennesaret to become disciples. Equally striking is how these people leave their trade, their home, and their father on the word of a man who was hitherto unknown to them and about whom they have not yet learned anything that could seem significant to them.

Otherwise, in the life that we know, the formation of a circle of disciples happens quite differently, namely gradually through the growing experience of the importance and the stimulating or creative power of the man, that is, through the thorough experience that is only capable of bringing individuals to the point where they completely surrender their personality to someone else’s.

Therefore, the account of Mark lifts us up into a world that is infinitely different from the ordinary, into the world of wonders, and Jesus would have had to put a miraculous power into his call if he had really called the first disciples in this way, to force them to obedience, people whose destiny he also miraculously understood at first sight *). But as soon as we no longer see, like Mark and the earlier immediate faith, only the reflection of the idea in the fact, and the apologist haggles about the individual fact, we must express that such magic is not only impossible but also unworthy, even if it had been at the Lord’s disposal. Free people can only be convinced to join something greater through experience and through the inner voice, and if it were possible that someone else could chain them to themselves with magical power at first sight, just with a word, before they have learned anything about him, then he must first despise the humanity in them and degrade them to machines.

*) Calvin: Here the energy of the voice of Christ is apparent: not that the voice alone penetrates so effectively into the hearts of men, but because the Lord, who wants to draw and carry away those to himself, compels them from within by the Spirit to obey his voice.

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And what magical power, what coincidence must have played here, if Jesus had bound four men, the two pairs of brothers whom he happened to encounter close to each other at the lake, to his person through the same call!

Furthermore, it is usually not the first step for men who appear with a new principle to call disciples. Instead, they gather and acquire their disciples by developing and publicly expressing their principle.

Mark knew nothing less than the specific circumstances under which the first disciples were motivated to join Jesus. In fact, it was not even a specificity of the idea that prompted him to portray the calling of those disciples as the first thing that Jesus did when he appeared. Did Elijah call Elisha the moment he appeared? Did Moses choose the elders before he began the work of freeing his people, or did he not already speak as a legislator before then? Indeed, did not Mark himself know well where the selection of a circle of disciples belonged, when he later told (Chapter 3, 13-14) that Jesus chose twelve according to his will to be around him? There was nothing more than a random circumstance that made the Christian church think of the selection of disciples as the first public act of their Lord. Mark wants nothing more with this arrangement of his account than to explain how it came about that Jesus made Capernaum the center of his travels in Galilee. As a guest of Peter, he resides in this city and in order to find this residence, he must wander around the Sea of ​​Galilee “by chance” at his first appearance and call the two pairs of brothers who are settled in Capernaum. This arrangement of the story passed unchanged into the Gospel of Matthew, as far as possible into that of Luke, it passed into the belief of the community, and even the fourth evangelist cannot change it anymore, he also retains it, only that with him the new interest is added that he wants to portray the testimony of the Baptist as the power that led the believers to Jesus.

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So the account of Mark proves to be pure fabrication, it is modeled after the Old Testament story of the calling of Elisha by Elijah, and the call of Jesus, “I will make you fishers of men,” is a slight combination of the former profession of these disciples and their later ministry.

Weisse *) considers it “possible that the Old Testament memory, as in many other cases, was intended by Jesus himself and placed in his action. However, that he spoke those words expressly as an invitation to the still hesitant disciples to follow him and devote themselves entirely to him (!) is made probable by the emphasis with which it is also elsewhere affirmed that it was not the disciples who chose Jesus, but Jesus who chose the disciples.” However, Mark knows nothing of the disciples having even hesitated to devote themselves to the unknown man up until then. But let us consider the picture that would emerge if the Lord had to gradually draw the still hesitant disciples out of their resistance through the magic of his words; magic would still have to be exercised by the unknown man, but the picture becomes oppressive and torturous if the disciples even offer the slightest resistance, while in Mark’s account, where a single word makes these people into different individuals, everything is in order, even though this order does not belong to the real world.

Furthermore, why would Jesus have said so interestedly (John 15:16): “You did not choose me, but I chose you.” What man who is even somewhat secure in himself would speak like that! It is much more self-evident that the higher spirit draws others to itself through the power of its superiority. But let us remember just how interested the Lord is said to have spoken; the fourth evangelist has created a contrast here that is so exaggerated, so unsustainable, as has only ever been written down by him. What in the real world becomes gradual and apparently coincidental, this relationship between master and disciple he wanted to see through an abstract dogmatic theory in the light of a higher necessity. Mark incorporated this idea of necessity into the story.

*) 1, 476

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§ 16. The first appearance and preaching of Jesus in Galilee

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This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution 4.0 International License.

by Neil Godfrey

Critique of the Gospel History of the Synoptics

by Bruno Bauer

Volume 1

—o0o—

250

§ 16.

The first appearance and preaching of Jesus in Galilee.


1. The account of Matthew.

4: 13-17.

When Jesus returned to Galilee, he left Nazareth *) and settled in Capernaum, and from there he preached, “Repent, for the kingdom of heaven has come near.”

*) καταλιπων την Ναζαρετ ελθων κατωκησεν εις Καπερναουμ

Most strange! Jesus leaves Nazareth when he returns to Galilee, and the evangelist has not indicated with a single word that Jesus arrived in Nazareth or even went to that city. What writer would write like this if he were purely writing from his own mind and not compiling something? But let’s continue.

How much stranger it becomes when Matthew says that Jesus settled in Capernaum so that the prophecy of Isaiah, “Land of Zebulun and land of Naphtali, the Way of the Sea, beyond the Jordan, Galilee of the Gentiles– the people living in darkness have seen a great light; on those living in the land of the shadow of death a light has dawned,” would be fulfilled. This utterance of the prophet originally refers to the northern provinces of the Jewish land and is based on the conclusion that if a difficult work is accomplished, then a less difficult one can also be accomplished: if those provinces, which can almost be considered as heathen and are called the circle of Gentiles, provinces that until now were always the first prey of the invading enemies, if even these are revived and enlightened in the forthcoming fulfillment, then it is certain that the remaining members of the theocracy will also come to new life. So in what did this prophecy find its fulfillment? When Jesus returned to Galilee to appear there, or when Capernaum became his dwelling place? 

The former seems to be more the Evangelist’s idea, as it is most likely that the mention of Galilee (Γαλιλαια των εθνων) in the prophecy of Isaiah led him to the thought that a prophecy was now being fulfilled. But then he would have had to quote the passage in V. 12 as soon as he mentioned Jesus’ return to Galilee, and he could not have commented so extensively in V. 13 that Jesus left Nazareth and settled in Capernaum. We are therefore forced to attribute to the Evangelist the view that the prophecy was fulfilled when Jesus moved his residence from Nazareth to Capernaum. And that is really his opinion: does he not call Capernaum the city by the sea (παρα-θαλασσης), to bring it into line with the way by the sea in the prophecy (οδός θαλασσης)? Does he not say that Capernaum was located in the district of Zebulon and Naphtali, so that it is correct when the prophecy speaks of the land of these two tribes? But then the fact remains that Capernaum is also important because it is located in Galilee; it remains that Jesus had to move to Capernaum so that the prophecy of the glory of Galilee would be fulfilled. As if Nazareth did not also lie in this province! If one were to leave Galilee, this keyword out of the game and now say that only the mention of the land of Zebulon and Naphtali in the prophetic utterance and the circumstance that Capernaum was located on the border of both districts were responsible for the fact that the evangelist saw the fulfillment of a prophecy in Jesus’ move to Capernaum, then even that does not help, because Nazareth lay in the former tribal territory of Zebulon. Or if one goes so far as to say that Capernaum was so important to the prophet because it was precisely on the border where those two tribal territories touched, then of course we are still surprised by the Evangelist’s micrology that he did not consider the closer location of Nazareth in the tribal territory of Zebulon to be worthy of attention and that Capernaum lay just on the border of both tribal territories in order to link it to an Old Testament prophecy. However, the Evangelist does not see it in such a way that Capernaum is important as a border town, but in his opinion this town is located in both tribal territories. Ὁρίοα – αs will be shown more precisely in C. 15, 22, the Evangelist does not mean abstract borders, but boundaries in the sense in which we use this word for the closed territory itself *). Capernaum is located in two tribal territories, in the land of Zebulon and in the land of Naphtali. But how is that possible, how could Matthew think that! Impossible!  It is written there, and how the Evangelist came to that, he tells us himself. If that prophecy was fulfilled because Capernaum was by the sea, because it was in Galilee, then it was also fulfilled in the fact that it was in the territories of Zebulon and Naphtali. It was so self-evident that when Matthew wrote “Capernaum by the sea,” he did not hesitate for a moment to add, “in the territory of Zebulun and Naphtali.” But then Capernaum is also important because it was in Galilee. The Lord moved to this city under higher guidance so that the prophecy of the salvation of Galilee would be fulfilled – in short, the evangelist not only does not know that Nazareth was in the ancient territory of Zebulun, but at this moment he forgets what he knew in chapter 2, verse 23, that Nazareth was also a city of Galilee.

*) Those commentaries, geographies, and land charts which make Capernaum a border town between the territories of Zebulun and Naphtali have no better reason for doing so than Matthew. Or rather, they rely on a false explanation of a verse in his text, and he — how does he know that Capernaum was related to those two territories? From a failed combination of the information about Jesus’ residence with a prophetic pronouncement. Certainly not from his accurate knowledge of ancient geography. Even if he can forget for a moment that Nazareth was in Galilee, that it was approximately located in the district encompassed by the former territory of Zebulun, he proves that he was not even precisely familiar with the later division of Palestine, as it was at the time of Jesus. How, then, could he have made such thorough archaeological studies to know where the former boundary between the territories of Zebulun and Naphtali was? No one knew less about it than him. The present evidence may suffice, but he has often betrayed to us how his mental map of the land looked like. Or rather, his map consisted of nothing but the notes that his predecessors provided him, which he pieced together with his pragmatism as it suited him. So, C. 3, S. L. From the note C. 19, later!

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So if he knew to which province Nazareth belonged, it was absolutely impossible for him to bring this degree of confusion into his account if he had written freely according to his own view. He had to be so dependent on a foreign scripture — no, on two scriptures at this moment — that he compiled their information without realizing the contradictions into which his pragmatism was getting him involved. Obviously, the crux of the difficulty — if this word is still appropriate — is the note that Jesus left Nazareth and settled in Capernaum; this note presents the matter in such a way that the prophecy of the salvation of Galilee was only fulfilled when Jesus settled in Capernaum after returning from abroad, having left Nazareth. We still have the two scriptures that Matthew used before us: Mark tells him that Jesus, when the Baptist was delivered up, went to Galilee (Mark 1:14); Mark leads Jesus immediately to the Sea of Galilee and to Capernaum (verse 16, 21); but — the question remained — how does Jesus immediately come to this locality? Luke answers: his fellow citizens in Nazareth had not wanted to accept his preaching and had forced him, as is always the fate of the prophets, to try his salvation in foreign lands. Matthew does not take over this whole story from Luke’s scripture, but he does mention the fact itself *) that Jesus of Nazareth turned to Capernaum to explain why the latter city immediately became the center of Jesus’ activity from the beginning. By taking up the note from Mark’s scripture that Jesus went to Galilee, that he comes to the Sea of Galilee and that Capernaum becomes the center of his sphere of activity, this double: “Galilee and the region by the sea” leads him to Isaiah’s prophecy. That was already a mistake that he did not remember that Nazareth was also in Galilee; if he now borrows from Luke’s scripture the remark that Jesus had given up Nazareth as his place of residence when he went to Capernaum: then, of course, the result that the evangelist’s pragmatism leads to, that Nazareth did not lie in Galilee, can no longer be misunderstood.

*) which thus appears twice in his scripture.

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2.  The account of Luke.
4: 14-32.

If the mere note that Jesus left Nazareth upon his return to Galilee caused such confusion in the Gospel of Matthew that it cannot be greater, then the magnitude of the confusion reaches its proper infinity when Luke reports in full detail the event that forced Jesus to break with Nazareth upon his first appearance in Galilee.

Luke reworks an account that originally had a completely different position, namely, an event that (Mark 6:1-6) belonged to the later period of Jesus’ stay in Galilee, to explain how Capernaum became the focal point of Jesus’ activity in Galilee from the very beginning. So, what inconveniences must we prepare ourselves for?

Luke wants to report on Jesus’ first appearance in Galilee. If Mark says (Chapter 1, verses 14-15) that the Lord began preaching in Galilee, announcing that the time was fulfilled and the kingdom of God had come, then Luke must also indicate this summary of Jesus’ preaching at the beginning of his account.

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He does it. Upon arriving in Nazareth, he tells us that Jesus went to the synagogue on the Sabbath and, when he stood up to read and was given the book of the prophet Isaiah, it miraculously happened that he found the passage where (Isaiah 61:1) the Messiah speaks of his evangelical mission and proclaims the favorable year of the Lord. Then Jesus said, “Today this scripture has been fulfilled.” The first appearance of Jesus is to be reported, yes, his first sermon, his first announcement that the time has been fulfilled and the kingdom of heaven has come. And yet, Luke says in verse 16 that Jesus “as his custom was,” (κατα το ειωθος αυτω) regularly attended the synagogue in Nazareth, that is, just as he always used the Sabbath gatherings in the synagogue to preach the gospel to the people, he did so this time as well. But his first appearance is to be reported, so how can he have followed a practice that had already become a habit for him, when he announced the fulfillment of the time for the first time? One should not rely on the fact that it is already reported before that “the report about Jesus spread throughout the whole region and he was teaching in their synagogues and was praised by all” (verse 14-15). This does not make things any better, but rather remains the old contradiction. How could it be possible for a writer who has a clear and independent view of the circumstances and the sequence of events to report in one breath that Jesus returned to Galilee and his reputation spread throughout the land? Shouldn’t the writer at least indicate in a few words what Jesus did, what he said, and how his reputation could have arisen at all? So if Jesus followed a habit the first time he appeared in a synagogue on the Sabbath, about which we have learned nothing and which could not have arisen at the first moment of his appearance, it is therefore – to say it again – the same contradiction that arises when his reputation spread everywhere before he had done anything that could have given rise to it.

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Anyone who would deny the contradiction would have to deal with the evangelist himself. He felt it very well, because as soon as he can, at the moment when he moves Jesus to Capernaum, he repeats his remark that the Lord taught on the Sabbath (verse 31), that people were astonished at his teaching because it was powerful (verse 32), and he even adds the note again that the reputation of the Lord went out to all the surrounding areas (verse 37). Exactly the same thing that was reported earlier, literally the same thing, because now, when the evangelist reports how Jesus worked in Capernaum, we know where the admiration for Jesus’ teaching came from and how his reputation could spread! What the evangelist put into the air the first time has now fallen to the ground where it belongs and has found a proper foundation.

So the author has brought the same formulas twice, he makes two attempts to report how Jesus’ reputation arose; but he does even more, he lets the Lord even arrive in Galilee twice. First, after the end of the temptation story, he says (verse 14), “And Jesus returned in the power of the Spirit to Galilee.” Why, then, if Galilee is already the scene, the remark that when Jesus is expelled from Nazareth and comes to Capernaum, he comes to “a city in Galilee” (verse 31)? Yes, why, when Jesus comes to Galilee twice, the same remark that Jesus taught, that people were amazed at his teaching, and his reputation spread everywhere? The evangelist lets Jesus arrive in Galilee twice; but we will soon see what prompted him to do so when we have indicated the final contradiction in his presentation.

In the Gospel of Mark (chapter 6, verse 2), Luke read that the Nazarenes, when Jesus once appeared in their synagogue, also wondered where such wonders came from through his hand. Luke retains this consideration of the miracles, indeed he directs them – according to the context of the scripture he used, correctly enough – even closer to the fact that they were directed to the miraculous deeds that had happened in Capernaum. Even more! Luke further elaborates this reflection, which he puts into the Lord’s mouth, deviating from Mark, but appropriately to its point. When the Nazarenes ask, “Isn’t this Joseph’s son?” he has the Lord reply: “Indeed – but how do you conclude this, Jesus? Indeed, you will throw the proverb at me: Physician, heal yourself: what we have heard of your deeds in Capernaum, do them here in your hometown”; to which Jesus replied that Elijah was only sent to the one widow in Zarephath, even though many others in Israel were suffering, and Elisha only freed the one Naaman, the Syrian, from leprosy, even though there were many lepers in Israel (verses 23-27), so they should not be surprised if he bestowed his blessings on a foreign city.

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It is certain: Luke used the account of Mark for this narrative. For his presentation has two points, each of which makes the other superfluous; indeed, the one which he borrows from Mark, or rather copies from mere dependence on the letter, the point that the prophet is not welcome in his homeland, disturbs and interrupts the elaboration of the other, which is based on the thought of unconditional election. This point was already aimed at when Jesus made the proverb “Physician, heal yourself,” that is, “let your blessings come to your own,” the theme of his speech (v. 23). But the elaboration of this theme (vv. 25-27) is delayed and deprived of its connection if the completely different point about the fate of the prophet in his homeland is inserted between the two (v. 24). The former point about the wonderful caprice of the election of grace is the work of Luke, who in general has devoted much effort to the elaboration and presentation of this event, while the other he borrowed from Mark’s gospel, from the same gospel that taught him that Capernaum was the place where the Lord preferred to perform his miracles – in short, in the midst of the diligent elaboration of this pragmatism, Luke does not notice that he has the Lord speak of miracles that he could not have performed yet, as he had only just appeared and could only perform them after he had been rejected by the Nazarenes and had gone to Capernaum. There must have been a very special interest that so vividly occupied the evangelist that he could overlook such a glaring contradiction.

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This interest was also very significant for the reader *) of the Gospel of Mark. Although Mark explains how Jesus came to Capernaum – he came there as a guest of the disciples he had just recruited (Mark 1:21, 29) – he does not report how he arrived at the Sea of Galilee and the surrounding area of Capernaum, where he could recruit his disciples. Moreover, in Mark’s Gospel, it is not even explained how this city came to be the scene of the Savior’s deeds, which became the center of Jesus’ activity in later accounts. Actually, Jesus should have gone to Nazareth, and as Luke concludes, only special circumstances – which ones, other than those reported by Mark on a later occasion? – led him to settle in Capernaum. Thus, Luke has indeed explained why Jesus left Nazareth and settled elsewhere, but why in Capernaum specifically? That Luke cannot explain. He only knows that Jesus went to this city, which he knows from Mark’s Gospel, but at this moment, where he is only interested in reporting the move of the Lord, it was not possible for him to copy from the same Gospel that Jesus came to Capernaum as a guest of the recruited disciples **).

*) Not for the “legend,” which Gfrörer attributes this interest to. Heil. Sage, I, 121.

**) When de Wette, in the way Luke presented the incident in Nazareth, sees “evidence that Luke revised the Gospel tradition later than Matthew,” we need not be reminded that when Matthew revised the Gospel of Mark, he also had the Gospel of Luke before him. Matthew 4:13 [corrected from 3:14] καταλιπων την ναζαρετ is just an excerpt from Luke’s account.

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But the contradiction is too great! One would almost not believe it possible, and even Wilke*) doubts whether “this passage was really inserted here by Luke.” “Would Luke have the Nazarenes say, when he tells that Jesus returned from the wilderness to Nazareth, that Jesus should do such deeds here as he did in Capernaum? Could the narrator have forgotten this?”

*) Wilke, p. 592.

Why not? He forgot it tremendously, but what extraordinary interests were occupying him! They were absolute interests, for the realization of which he could forget everything else. Was it not a question of the utmost importance why Jesus did not first attempt his healing in Nazareth upon his return to Galilee? Why did he go straight to the Sea of Galilee, which became the center around which all his excursions revolved? Must he not have been previously rejected by the people of Nazareth, and so seriously that in their fury they had already taken him to the edge of the city on the hillside to throw him down, and only the wonderful divine protection had enabled him to pass unharmed through the crowd of his outraged countrymen? (Luke 4:28-30)

And then what an invitation for a writer who sometimes loves a picturesque treatment of details and is not unskilled in using his talent, when he reads in the scripture of his predecessor (Mark 1:14-15) that Jesus appeared in Galilee with the preaching of the arrival of the kingdom of heaven and the fulfillment of time, what an invitation to illustrate this preaching clearly with a single example! Once the Lord is in Nazareth, he must deliver the sermon of fulfillment here, and in order for its content to appear in all its necessity and divine justification, a miraculous coincidence, no! A fortuitous wonder, or rather, the immediate divine providence must guide Jesus’ hand to find the right passage in the holy book that fits this occasion.

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The dependence on the Gospel of Mark and the interest in bringing up the incident in Nazareth also explain the fact that Luke portrays Jesus arriving in Galilee twice and achieving the same success. The first time, after his temptation, Jesus returns to Galilee and his reputation spreads throughout the region  *), but we do not know how his reputation could have spread so quickly in the beginning. But Luke knows, and now we know too, because he reads in the Gospel of Mark that the news of Jesus spread throughout the land immediately upon his first appearance in Galilee **). Mark reports earlier that Jesus arrived in Galilee, recruited his first disciples by the sea, went with them to Capernaum, taught in the synagogue on the Sabbath, astonished everyone with his preaching, and finally healed a demonic there. But what does that matter to Luke? He can only bring the Lord to Capernaum from Nazareth, but he still wants to say that the Lord used to teach in the synagogues. And when he wants to describe the impact of this teaching, Mark has given him the keywords or rather whole sentences. The first time, when he says that Jesus “taught in the synagogues,” he only describes the impression in general, that Jesus was praised by everyone ***). But when he brings the Lord back to Galilee for the second time – i.e., as it is now impossible to ignore, taking up the entire account of Mark for the second time – when he says that Jesus came to Capernaum “a city of Galilee,” he repeats verbatim the details already used by Mark. Now he says that people were amazed by his teaching when he preached on the Sabbath *), because his words were powerful, and now he concludes the story of the healing of the demonic in the synagogue of Capernaum with the same words that Mark used in the parallel account, i.e. with the same words that he had already written earlier when he reported that Jesus’ reputation had spread to all places upon his arrival in Galilee **). Now we know how Jesus gained this reputation; before, when we already read the same words, we did not know.

*) Luke 4:14 και φημη εξηλθεν καθ ολης της περιχωρου περι αυτου

**) Mark 1:28 εξηλθεν δε η ακοη αυτου ευθυς εις ολην την περιχωρον της Γαλιλαιας

***) Luke 4:15 δοξαζομενος υπο παντων

*) Luke 4:32  και εξεπλησσοντο επι τη διδαχη αυτου οτι εν εξουσια ην ο λογος αυτου   Mark 1:22 και εξεπλησσοντο επι τη διδαχη αυτου ην γαρ διδασκων αυτους ως εξουσιαν εχων

**)Luke 4:37 και εξεπορευετο ηχος περι αυτου εις παντα τοπον της περιχωρου 

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One more consideration, one more outlook remains; perhaps we can free Luke from criticism this time and shed a more favorable light on his pragmatism. Wilke ***) points out to us that “a strange parallelism is found if one puts the passage (the account of the incident in Nazareth) back in its place”, namely after the account of the raising of Jairus’ daughter, where it is found in Mark. At the end of this account, Matthew has the remark that the fame of Jesus spread throughout that region †), i.e. a remark that Mark does not include at the parallel place, but which Luke may well have written down before the account of the incident in Nazareth (Luke 4:14). Shouldn’t Luke have placed this account where Mark has it, and closed the story of the daughter of Jairus with the remark that Matthew left out? But then Luke would have written a formula that he borrowed from the first part of Mark’s gospel. How would he have been able to do that if he wasn’t specifically occupied with inserting the story of the incident in Nazareth into this front part of the gospel? But he must have inserted this story here, otherwise, if the great episode in chapter 4, verses 16 to 30, preceded chapter 4, verse 31, how else could he have made this new, striking introduction, saying: Jesus came to Capernaum, “a city in Galilee”? With Matthew, it’s different; when he found the account of the incident in Nazareth after the account of the raising of Jairus’ daughter in Mark, he could look back in Luke’s gospel for the same account, and he could well use a formula that he found there as an introduction to the following account, which seemed fitting to him as a conclusion to the account of the raising of Jairus’ daughter.

***) Wilke, p. 592.

†) Matthew 9:26
και εξηλθεν η φημη αυτη εις ολην την γην εκεινην

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3. The account of Mark.
1: 14-15

After removing all the disturbing additions, nothing remains of the original type that we find in the scripture of Mark, except the note that Jesus appeared with the preaching that the kingdom of God had come.

Mark does not consider the formula that he puts in the mouth of the Lord as one in which he summarily summarized the preaching of Jesus, but rather he considers it as the specific formula with which Jesus announced the arrival of the kingdom of God. He wants to give the words of the Lord himself. However, Weisse has rightly pointed out *)  that Jesus “repeated these words in the form of a formula at the beginning of his career, which we cannot consider probable since summarizing his sermons into specific formulas was undoubtedly not in his spirit.” But if Weisse thinks that “the occasion in Matt. 10:7 is where Jesus spoke this formula literally,” then we remind him of who reports to us that Jesus, during the instruction and sending of the twelve, commanded them to go out and preach: the kingdom of heaven has come. It is Matthew, the pragmatist, who has already put the same formula in the mouth of the Baptist, which the Lord used and which he now also passes on to the disciples. From this standpoint, the formula has become a talisman of the latest reflection that passes from the Baptist to Jesus, from him to the disciples, or it is a means of pragmatism that uses it to clearly bring out the unity and coherence of the sacred history. For is it not clear that the same interest pervades this story if the same formula can be used to express and announce the content of all subsequent standpoints? Mark and Luke know nothing of Jesus prescribing this formula for their preaching, so we don’t even need to ask here whether that occasion, which Weisse speaks of, ever existed, since it is certain before solving this question that Matthew allows the formula, which according to the report of Mark was only the Lord’s own, to be handed down to the disciples from his authority.

*) cf. ibid. i, 315.

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In the Gospel of Mark, this formula is not only originally at home, but it is also born here. It is the work of later reflection. The evidence? Mark has the Lord say (1:15), “Repent, and believe in the gospel.” But the gospel is the message of salvation that is revealed in the person and work of the Savior: how can Jesus already say, “believe in the gospel”? He did not speak in this way; Mark, who also has him speak elsewhere (8:35, 10:29) of the gospel and of sacrifice for it, attributes to him words here that could only arise at a later point. Luke and Matthew borrow from his writing the formula of Jesus’ preaching or adapt it to a new form, following him with good faith in his authority, only taking offense at the idea that Jesus should already demand faith in the gospel. Therefore, they omit this invitation and thus proceed in this case just as they do at the two other places where they also eliminate the mention of the gospel.

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As noted, Matthew found it significant that Jesus appeared in Galilee in order and according to the divine promise through the prophet. His pragmatism was not particularly well executed, but once he has led us into the realm of reflection, we are allowed to linger there for a moment and ask whether the fact that Jesus was born, raised, and preached in Galilee could be significant in any way. But we don’t even need to ask, for Paulus has already answered aptly when he says *), that a province like Galilee, which was less priestly, lived in the most diverse contact with Gentiles, was the most suitable ground on which to prepare for and carry out the transition to the universality of the Christian principle. Here, where hierarchical interests had less power, where the ceremonial service, because it was more remote, did not have the same restrictive influence as in Judaea, here the barriers of the enclosed Jewish national identity had already been overcome, and the spirit that ultimately toppled the barriers of nationality found the most suitable ground for its work.

*) exeg. Handb. l, 417. Likewise Weisse, I, 243.

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§ 15. Jesus’ return to Galilee

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This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution 4.0 International License.

by Neil Godfrey

Critique of the Gospel History of the Synoptics

by Bruno Bauer

Volume 1

—o0o—

245

Third section.

The beginning of Jesus’ public ministry.

Matthew 4:12-25

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§ 15.

Jesus’ return to Galilee.

Matthew 4:12.

As Matthew says, when Jesus heard that John had been arrested, he returned to Galilee. According to the Evangelist, Jesus was moved by the news of John’s imprisonment to return to Galilee and start his public ministry. He received this news when he emerged from the seclusion that had led to his temptations.

The motivation behind Jesus’ return to Galilee and his decision to start his public ministry in that region presents us with a significant difficulty. We should not take issue with the idea that Jesus was moved to start his public ministry by the news of John’s unfortunate fate, as a man who is sure of his mission would not be deterred by the prospect of persecution and suffering. However, no one who knows that a high ideal is attached to his person would recklessly court danger, and even less would he risk everything at the outset of his public ministry. Yet this is what Jesus is said to have done. De Wette believes *) that “Jesus only wanted to distance himself from the sphere of influence of John, so as not to attract dangerous attention to himself.” However, he could not have chosen a more ineffective means for this purpose, as he would have instead invited danger, since the same Herod who had imprisoned John also ruled over Galilee.

*) 1, 1, 44.

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The crux of the matter is that the news of the unfortunate fate of the Baptist is said to have prompted the Lord to appear in Galilee. But why should we bother, in the manner of apologists, with the question of how that news could have prompted Jesus to take that step, why should we distress ourselves further to process a pragmatic remark that is already ill-timed and belongs only to Matthew? Why should we give more power to the letter when we can fully explain and dissolve it by understanding how it came about? Of the Synoptics, Matthew, the latest, the pragmatist, the man of reflection, is the only one who knows of this motive that is said to have driven the Lord to Galilee. Luke knows nothing of it, he only says (chapter 4, verse 14): “And Jesus returned in the power of the Spirit into Galilee,” meaning in the power of the same Spirit that had led him to the desert, where he was tempted. Of course, Luke cannot really be an authority on this matter since he had already reported on the Baptist’s imprisonment so hastily in chapter 3, verses 19-20. But Mark steps in to untie the knot – and he really does untie it. After his account of the temptation story, he simply reports, “After John was put in prison, Jesus went into Galilee” (chapter 1, verse 14). So for his still unbiased view, the fact that the Baptist had just been imprisoned and that Jesus went to Galilee and appeared there are only connected, and it is only Matthew who connects them through the reflection that the news of his forerunner’s unfortunate end was the motive for Jesus to appear in Galilee with his preaching.

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But is the view of Mark, despite all appearances of its impartiality, set by a very specific reflection? The certainty and naivety with which it appears is no reason to deny its origin from reflection from the outset, as even the most reflective pragmatism is capable and powerful enough to not need to bring reflection to the fore in its sensible mediation, but rather to process it plastically into the grouping of facts and let it work as the inner reflection. As you can see, we have the often-discussed question in mind as to whether Jesus really appeared only or even immediately after the Baptist was imprisoned. On the contrary, the fourth evangelist reports that Jesus and the Baptist worked side by side for a longer period of time. So how do the Synoptics come to their report that John was imprisoned before Jesus appeared? Well, this report is also “false” enough, de Wette replies *), it is an “inaccuracy” that “belongs to the oldest evangelical tradition.” However, the criticism of the fourth gospel has already freed us, or rather the Synoptics, from this authority, since nothing that it reports about the simultaneous activity of Jesus and the Baptist could be proven as actual history. Therefore, if until now we only expressed the suspicion **) that the ideal view, that the morning star had to go down, should the sun of salvation rise, could have pushed the imprisonment of the Baptist back, namely before Jesus appeared: now we must rather have the opposite suspicion, that it has pushed this event into a later time, so that John really appears as the morning star who must pale at the rising of the sun ***). And with this suspicion, with the certainty that it is well-founded – but why do we even speak of suspicion – with the certainty that the matter was completely different, it will be left at that. Neither could Jesus have returned to Galilee upon hearing that John had been arrested, nor at the moment when the fate of the Baptist was fulfilled. We know nothing more of Jesus going to the Jordan to receive baptism, the note that he was tempted in the wilderness after his baptism has long been resolved – so how could Jesus return to Galilee after the temptation, during which the Baptist was arrested? All this pragmatism of the Synoptics no longer exists for us, if Jesus did not go to the Jordan for baptism and those forty days he spent in the wilderness after his baptism no longer belong to his life story. How then should we go about bringing him back from the Jordan to Galilee, after the Baptist was arrested? How? We simply no longer need to bring him back, if we know nothing of him leaving Galilee beforehand. Then we also no longer know when he appeared in Galilee, and in any case, we do not know that it happened immediately after the arrest of the Baptist; the only thing we know is the present fact that evangelical pragmatism has brought the arrest of the Baptist, which may have happened years earlier, so close to the appearance of Jesus that the splendid harmony in the history of the kingdom of God becomes most evident when the Messiah immediately follows the forerunner. The evangelical perspective wants to see the idea as a fact immediately: so let us not be surprised or further torment ourselves through apologetic struggles with the torment of this pragmatism, when we notice how the inner connection between the historical appearance of the Baptist and Jesus has become the immediate chronological succession of both men.

*) loc. cit. We just don’t understand how de Wette can struggle to explain why Jesus sought to avoid Herod’s dangerous attention.

**) Kr. d. ev. Gesch. des Joh. p. 108.

***) A view that Calvin expresses with full faith in its correctness in Matthew 3:1: “But when Christ, the sun of righteousness, soon followed his John, his morning star, it is not surprising that John disappeared, so that the brightness of Christ alone might be more conspicuous.” Of course, Calvin must again struggle to reconcile the synoptic account with the fourth Gospel and somehow forget the time in which, according to the latter, John and Jesus worked simultaneously. He says: “Although Christ performed the duties of a teacher during that time, he did not properly begin the preaching of the Gospel until he succeeded John.” Any word about this excuse would be just as unnecessary as its torture. As if Jesus did not appear with the preaching of the Gospel, according to the unanimous account of the synoptics (Mark 1:15). Or would that not be Jesus’ peculiar preaching if, according to the fourth Gospel, he already taught Nicodemus and the Samaritan about the Kingdom of God before the Baptist’s imprisonment? That would not be his usual activity if he had already performed so many miracles beforehand that Nicodemus acknowledges him as a divine envoy? And that is clear enough if Jesus so violently purifies the temple!

249

“The oldest evangelical tradition” *) is not only to be acquitted of the mistaken notion which the fourth evangelist imputes to it, but it is also very innocent in this matter and has by no means had a hand in the chronological arrangement that was put into effect. It does not concern itself with works of such a definite nature; it leaves these to the writer and must leave them to him since he alone possesses the corresponding determining judgment. Only the fact that the Baptist was imprisoned before Jesus’ appearance was certain to tradition, and it was only Mark who brought both into the context we find in his account, which Matthew made even more anxious by shifting into Jesus the reflection that for him the time had come to appear when the Baptist had left the stage. Mark turned the inner connection of the story into a reflective intentionality of the story, and Matthew went so far as to turn it into a reflection of Jesus.

*) which, for example, de Wette charges with this “inaccuracy” in the same place.

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2023-04-14

§ 14. The Temptation of Jesus

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This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution 4.0 International License.

by Neil Godfrey

Critique of the Gospel History of the Synoptics

by Bruno Bauer

Volume 1

—o0o—

213

§ 14.

The Temptation of Jesus.

 

1.  The biblical account.

Then, according to Matthew (Ch. 4:1), Jesus was led by the Spirit into the wilderness to be tempted by the devil. “Then” (τοτε): the evangelist sees the matter in such a way that baptism and temptation are connected events. Mark has preceded him in this connection of both events: immediately (ευθεως) after the baptism, according to his account (Mark 1:13), Jesus went into the wilderness, and Luke has maintained the same connection of both events when he says that Jesus returned from the Jordan and was led into the wilderness.

When Matthew says that Jesus was led into the wilderness by the Spirit, he has the view that the Lord followed a higher necessity or rather was driven by it, and the driving spirit for him is the divine one. The purpose for which Jesus was led into the wilderness is his temptation by the devil. But if this was directly intended by the divine Spirit that led Jesus, then the difficult and unanswered question arises for the apologetic standpoint, how the divine Spirit could have had such an intention. For God did not need to lead Jesus into temptation if he wanted to know whether he would withstand it, since he could have known that the one whom he had just called his beloved Son would be inaccessible to temptation. Or if one understands the concept of temptation correctly to mean that it is the internal entanglement of the subject with the power of evil, then the divine Spirit would have intended that the Messiah should experience the opposite of his duty as a seductive illusion within him – an intention that can never be attributed directly to the divine Spirit, who always intends only the good and that without dialectical detours through evil. The apologist will therefore appreciate it if we remind him that only Matthew presents the temptation as immediately intended by the Spirit, and if we show him how the evangelist came to this presentation. He is the last, the pragmatic one among the synoptics, and as such he does not want to just copy the information he reads in the writings of his predecessors, but rather explain and put them in their inner context. So he reads at Luke and Mark that the Spirit had driven Jesus into the wilderness, and as Mark says, had even pushed him out (ἐκβάλλει), but that the Lord had been tempted in his solitude, so he concludes, thus this temptation was intended by the divine Spirit when he led Jesus into the wilderness. Luke and Mark still present the matter as if it was just coincidence that the stay in the wilderness gave rise to the temptation. We are far from claiming that Matthew has simply misinterpreted their account, as if they did not also have the view that the temptation was already intended by the Spirit when he led Jesus in such a way that he could be exposed to it: but they did not dare to seriously carry out this reflection and explicitly present the temptation as the direct intention of the Spirit; rather, they keep both things apart to such an extent that the temptation only appears as the indirect consequence of the guidance of the Spirit. Luke did not even dare to present the Holy Spirit as a directly acting subject and as independent of the person of Jesus, he only says that Jesus returned from the Jordan full of the Holy Spirit and was led by the Spirit into the wilderness (Luke 4:1), i.e., the Spirit does not work as a foreign subjectivity, but as the inner driving inspiration of Jesus. Finally, Mark proves his impartiality and originality of his account by placing both the guidance of the Spirit and the temptation side by side, but at the same time separating them so that the latter only follows the former indirectly. “And immediately, he was driven by the Spirit into the wilderness, and he was there in the wilderness for forty days, tempted by Satan.”

214

The reports diverge widely regarding when the temptation began and how long it lasted, but their contradiction touches directly on their inconsistencies with Luke’s account. It is remarkable and even disturbing for the flow of the sentence that the aforementioned evangelist speaks in the form of a participle of the consequence of the inspiration that led Jesus into the wilderness before he has said that the Lord is already there:  – και ηγετο εν τω πνευματι εις την ερημον ημερας τεσσαρακοντα πειραζομενος υπο διαβολου. No author who is the first and undisturbed in presenting his perspective can write so confusedly, “He was led by the Spirit into the wilderness, forty days long tempted by the devil,” and only later (Luke 4:2) suggest that Jesus is really in the wilderness, saying, “He ate nothing during those days.” If he were the first and relying purely on his perspective, he would do it better; he would write like Mark: “And the Spirit drove him into the wilderness, and he was in the wilderness forty days, tempted by Satan.” *) Furthermore, Luke says nothing about the temptations to which Jesus was exposed during these days; on the contrary! he has to let the forty days pass first so that Jesus can hunger and this hunger can provide an opportunity for temptation. It cannot be denied that in Luke’s account, two different perspectives cross each other and mutually interfere at the point where they touch each other. According to one – the indefinite earlier one from which Luke has not yet completely escaped – the diabolic temptation lasted forty days, but it was not yet possible to specify what it consisted of and how the devil sought to carry out his intentions. According to the other perspective, which was later developed, it did not last this long, since it had consisted of individual attacks and a special occasion had to be created for the first emergence of Satan. The hunger that followed the forty-day fast thus became the first opportunity that Satan used for his attacks – but then how could it be said that the temptation lasted forty days? It was very easy, given Luke’s authorial character, which could not yet be completely separated from that of his predecessor (as we have already noted in a striking example *)), and the fact that he found that less precise perspective in the writing of Mark. He was involuntarily drawn into its train and wrote it down verbatim.**)

*) και ην εκει εν τη ερημω ημερας τεσσαρακοντα πειραζομενος υπο του σατανα.

*) Luke 3:3-4

**) It is indisputably certain that the words ημερας τεσσαρακοντα πειραζομενος υπο του διαβολου in the scripture of Luke are authentic, because if the first temptation is related to hunger, it must be said beforehand that Jesus fasted. Luke also says this: και ουκ εφαγεν ουδεν εν ταις ημεραις εκειναις. ‘In those days’ and ‘after the lapse of them’ (και συντελεσθεισων αυτων) can only be said by a writer who has previously spoken of those days and specified that it was a certain number of days. Similarly, it is certain that the words ‘tempted by Satan for forty days’ especially in this extremely clumsy position, cannot possibly originate from a writer who freely writes from his own view and has a completely different understanding of the temptation, its cessation, and therefore its duration. This contradiction is the strongest proof that the words ‘ἡμέρας τεσσεράκοντα πειραζόμενος ὑπὸ τοῦ διαβόλου = tempted by Satan for forty days’ were read in the Gospel of Luke by the writer of Mark and were only retained by him because he cannot deny the dependence on the scripture of his predecessor under completely different assumptions. Wilke (a.a.O. p. 664) thinks that the words were inserted later from Luke’s scripture into Mark’s, but that contradiction alone will be proof that they are only in Mark’s Gospel. Wilke (op. cit. p. 664.) thinks that the words were rather shifted from the writing of Luke into that of Marcus later, but that contradiction will be proof enough that they are at home in that of Marκ alone. For the necessity of deleting the words και ην εκει εν τη ερημω ημερας τεσσαρακοντα πειραζομενος υπο του σατανα in Mark 1:13, Wilke (in the same reference, p. 664) cites the two consecutive και ην: Mark immediately continues with και ην μετα των θηριων. “Mark’s writing style is not so disconnected and irregular,” says Wilke. But interdum dormitat Homerus, why not Mark? Why not at the moment when it is possible that he is still struggling with the object and has not yet completely overcome the individual determinations of it? Is it not possible then that the individual determinations, 1. for what purpose this stay in the wilderness became for Jesus and 2. what his state was during this time, do not yet present themselves easily and comfortably to him and are now inserted into the narrative with a uniform approach? Wilke also says: in the writing of Mark “one should not seek anything else but the message that Jesus stayed somewhere after his baptism and before he appeared publicly (which happened only after John’s arrest)” (p. 663). But precisely in the writing of Mark, who usually does not leave any part of his account unmotivated, we should expect to be told the purpose for which Jesus was driven into the wilderness. The more violent the way in which the Spirit brought (ἐκβάλλει) Jesus into the wilderness, the more certain we can be that there must have been a special reason for this stay in solitude. Mark cannot mean to say that Jesus stayed in the wilderness for a long, indefinite time; for (C. 1, 9.) Jesus comes from Galilee to the baptism, and he returns to Galilee when the Baptist was arrested. Therefore, Mark had to say necessarily why and how long Jesus had kept himself away from his home, and the two other Synoptics had to be authorized by a statement of his work to set Jesus’ baptism, his temptation and his return to his home after the arrest of the Baptist in such close connection that everything follows one after the other. Otherwise, Mark never leaves such a large gap in the life of the Lord open and indefinite, as he would have done here if those words were to be struck out. Although Wilke says, ‘of John the Baptist himself, before he appeared, it is said (Luke 1:80) that he was in the wilderness until the time of his coming forth. The same is said of Jesus. Is anything else required?’ We require much more, namely nothing more and nothing less than the note of the temptation. Because 1. Wilke must not rely on a note that is only in Luke’s Gospel to determine what can be expected from Mark. 2. The wilderness and the preacher of repentance go well together, but not the wilderness and the one whose presence is so joyful (Mark 2:19) that fasting or penance in his vicinity would be a contradiction; therefore, if he himself withdraws into the wilderness, there must be particularly urgent reasons for it. 3. The Baptist has not yet appeared in Luke 1:80, but Jesus is inaugurated for his public ministry through baptism; so why the withdrawal into the wilderness? It remains that the Gospel of Mark must not be without the note of the temptation.

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If now Mark has nothing further to report on the temptation than that it happened at all and lasted forty days, where does Luke get the starting point for the first specific temptation he reports, the fasting? From the Gospel of Mark. The latter ends his account with the words, “And the angels ministered to him.” The Messiah, like Moses, was served by angels, and surely Mark already means for the same purpose for which that angel served Moses (1 Kings 19:5-8), namely for the miraculous preservation of life. But Mark hardly means that the Lord was served by angels every day during his stay in the wilderness and during the temptation. Instead, just as Elijah was strengthened by the miraculous food for a journey of forty days, so the Lord was given the miraculous food by the angels after a struggle he had endured for forty days. On the one hand, therefore, as far as Mark assumes that Jesus fasted during the time of temptation, Luke has cleverly linked his account to it. But in this respect, he has made a mistake by leaving the note of the forty-day temptation standing even after he had made the exhaustion following the forty-day fast the first specific cause of the temptation.

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Matthew could calmly observe Luke’s account and discover its internal contradictions. With artistic skill, he reconciled the matter by making the fasting last for forty days and nights, and only after Jesus finally *) becomes hungry does he allow the tempter to approach him.

*) ὕστερον is shifted from the Gospel of Matthew in Luke 4:2.

At the end of the narrative, Matthew also had to make some adjustments. Luke, who was still too preoccupied with forming the three specific temptations, had not yet thought of reconciling them with the conclusion of Mark’s account, which states that the angels ministered to Jesus. The temptations in Luke’s account follow one another in such a way that Satan first tries to use Jesus’ hunger for his purposes, then leads him up a high mountain, and finally takes him to Jerusalem, where he places him on the pinnacle of the temple. Luke had wanted to preserve the unity of place as much as possible, so he still had the second temptation occur outside *) before Satan takes Jesus to Jerusalem. But here in the city, he no longer has the opportunity to make use of the ministering of the angels, which only has purpose and meaning in the wilderness, so he forgets it and notes instead at the end that Satan had departed from the Lord for the time being.

*) Bengel says: “He observes no progression in locations.” Similarly, Gfrörer in his work “Heilige Sage I, 115” states, “Finally, the devil brings the Lord to the holiest place of Judaism, the Temple.” However, in this sense of progression, Luke surely did not have the location of the temptations in mind. Unity of place was the main concern for him.

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Matthew, since he doesn’t have to create the story anymore, nor does he have to laboriously move the narrative from the wilderness over the mountain to Jerusalem, has the advantage **), that he can boldly and recklessly intervene in the location determinations, arrange the temptations according to their intensity, and finally, as Mark did, connect them to the end of the story. So Satan leads Jesus directly from the wilderness to the pinnacle of the temple, from there to that mountain where he shows him all the kingdoms of the world and their glory, and here in the open, in solitude, the angels wait for the Lord when the tempter had left him.

**) But Bengel cannot even admit that, since according to his conviction Luke basically knew the matter just as well as Matthaeus, Bengel may therefore only say, eo temporis ordine describit assultus, quo facti sunt.

Now there is no question as to whether the biblical accounts of the temptation of Jesus tell us history! Yes, they want to, they imagine the process as an externally occurring event. But why ask if we, just like them and the earlier community, may understand the temptation of Jesus by Satan as a real event – well understood! an event whose threads Satan guided with wonderful power when he brought Jesus from the wilderness to the pinnacle of the temple and that mountain where all the kingdoms of the world and their glory can be seen? Why ask when we have seen how these accounts owe their origin to the art of writing? But one thing – and that is the main thing – we have not yet seen arise, the note that Jesus was tempted in the wilderness at all, which we already find in the Gospel of Mark. Until we have also established the idea of the story from which the postulate of the fact had to necessarily emerge, in the self-awareness of the community, until then we must still allow the attempt to grasp the accounts historically and have patience with the apologetic explanations.

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With the best of intentions, we cannot keep our resolution. The apologist cannot help but provoke and make us impatient. But let us practice more courageously in patience. The believing theologian wants to grasp the core of the report historically, but he is overcome by an insurmountable dread when he has to acknowledge the true core of the narrative, the visible and personal appearance of the devil. However, he is skilled enough to make amends for his disbelief in the biblical text: does he not repent for his unbelief, or does he not give the devil sufficient satisfaction when he makes up for the rudeness with which he expels him from the report by waging a holy war against reason and at least fighting for his existence in general?

So, let’s fight! First, we grant the devil his full right, which is attributed to him by the biblical text. He is indeed a fallen angel, but still an angel who appears visibly as an individual and according to the report, can be recognized outwardly approaching Jesus. Otherwise, the apologists admit that the appearances of angels are perceived in their individual visibility: why should the devil suddenly lose this privilege of his angelic nature? We know why. The devil is not only considered a particular individual, like any other angel, but also the general power of evil. But then, let’s confess that evil in its generality cannot exist at the same time as an individual! Certainly – who denies this? – the general will always bring itself to the determination of the individual, but this individuality is no longer that self-being which still belongs to the immediacy of being, it is no longer the point of an exclusive individuality, but the individuality that carries within itself the determination of the general, i.e., in its actual existence, self-consciousness. However, this self-consciousness is no longer an individual ego, but the generality into which the ego is elevated from its immediacy, in which it appears as an unrestricted majority and has abandoned its punctuality. Finally, evil as pure negativity cannot even bring itself to this existence of universality, i.e., to the fulfillment of self-consciousness; it is only a moment in the development of the spirit, i.e., in that elevation of the ego to its true universality, a moment that is overcome in the completed elevation, in the infinite self-consciousness. It is the dialectical appearance of determination that exists only at the moment of that elevation and experiences its nothingness in the result.

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The apologist may well – that is his right – reject this concept of evil “most emphatically, *)” but as long as he cannot help the devil achieve his existence other than by protesting against reason and science, we are allowed to simply reject the protest. This is what is done in the form of law, since the protest does not provide any new evidence, with this statement.

*) such as Neander, p. 100.

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Or are these new and important arguments that Hoffmann brings forth? He disputes against Schleiermacher, who famously called the idea of the devil “incoherent,” because it is not comprehensible “how the most outstanding insight could coexist with such heinous wickedness.” Nothing is easier to comprehend, according to Hoffmann *), one just should not “confuse insight as the correct development of intelligence with intelligence itself, which can just as easily waste its power in error.” But if we are to be fair advocates of the devil, we will never speak words that cannot be understood. So tell us, the apologist, how is it possible for intelligence to be developed without passing through error? Understand us correctly: we want to know the idea that has appeared in history and has not announced itself in the appearance of error for centuries before. So, if the devil is supposed to be there to represent error, then we don’t need him, or he is an abstract representative, superfluous since we must recognize a much livelier and more substantive appearance of error in the manifold attempts of history. On the other hand, we ask the apologist to give us an idea of absolute error. We are unable to form one, for error is never without a share of truth that works on it internally until it is resolved, proven to be a mere appearance, and dissolved into the universality of self-consciousness.

*) op cit. p. 317.

With a different turn of reflection, Schleiermacher says, “But if the devil lost even the purest understanding in his fall, it cannot be seen how, through one error of the will, the understanding should be lost forever.” “Unless,” Hoffmann replies, “the action simultaneously sets the disposition and determines a chain of similar actions.” In short, the spirit is always a struggle against a specificity that can only assert itself for a moment and only as a moment within it, for the sake of its universality, which it can never lose except in the state of insanity. And the apologist would not want to make the devil a lunatic in the medical sense, would he?

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No! He still has another means for his final desperation. Every advocate who cannot rely on the inner reasons has a trick that he can play to win. But lamenting unbelief is already worn out. Protesting with disgust does not help anymore when it comes to thinking. So prepare the matter so well that it no longer repels! “The ethical worldview of revelation removes all adventurousness from the doctrine of the devil,” says Hoffmann*. Not all! We would not even say that the idea of the devil seems adventurous to us; we have too much respect for what religious consciousness has created. Of course, but that goes without saying. Why does the apologist think that this would impress us? The Hebrew view, when it adopted the dualistic idea of nature religion, had to reconcile it with its determinacy and interests, and the Christian view had to continue this transformation. But what does that mean other than that an idea that in the circle of nature religion embraced both the spiritual and natural opposition was limited in its later modification to the realm of spiritual opposition alone? Does the idea not still remain mere imagination, since, as religious consciousness cannot do otherwise, it makes dialectic, which only appears in the historical mediation of self-consciousness, into an individual subject?

That would be one part of the process.

A new difficulty arises. Not in the biblical account! It can still be reconciled with the assumption of Jesus’ sinlessness that the Savior of humanity was tempted, for the tempting thoughts came from outside, belonged to a foreign subject, and were repulsed as soon as they were expressed. Already here the difficulty begins, since a real temptation, a temptation that would be worth the word, could only exist if those thoughts became real thoughts of Jesus, even if only for a moment of the struggle. But in its terrible seriousness, the difficulty arises when the educated theologian no longer lets the devil appear externally visible; for somehow the interior of Jesus must now be drawn into the development of the event. The process becomes – it may be as it will, or the matter may be held in the indeterminacy that apologetic reasoning can only achieve – an internal one: either —

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But let us first hear from the theologian who expressed his disgust most emphatically and whose protest the apologists faithfully repeat, even though it must also apply to their interpretation. Schleiermacher, who was first so shocked when the temptation was made into a process in Jesus’ soul, has tried the ultimate means to cut off all the harmful consequences that would inevitably arise if the biblical account were still understood as a report of a fact in Jesus’ life. He has turned it into a parable. Let us see if he himself is not caught by his own protest.

2.  The Temptation story as a parable.

“If Jesus even entertained such thoughts in the slightest way,” says Schleiermacher*), “he is no longer Christ, and the explanation which regards the temptation as an internal process in Christ himself appears to me as the worst neoteric blasphemy committed against his person.”

*) On the Writings of Luke, p. 54.

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Harsh judge, you have pronounced the sentence on yourself!

According to Schleiermacher, the temptation story is a parable that Jesus presented to his disciples. “The three main characters of Christ, for himself and for those who were to promote his kingdom with extraordinary powers through him, are expressed in it.”

Harsh judge!

For now, Jesus would have sinned against himself and committed the worst sin against his person if he had made himself the subject of a parable and taught his disciples the idea that unworthy thoughts could arise in his soul. Jesus could not even create the parable if he did not consider himself capable of such thoughts as those presented as tempting in the parable, for only such a subject can become the person of a parable in which the presented complications are natural and self-understood. For example, in the parable of the sower, it is natural that he sows and the seed falls here and there. But what makes this entire explanation impossible is the fact that no one can make themselves the subject of a parable. Only fictitious characters may serve as the subject of a parable because only they can serve its purpose. These individual characters, a sower, a king, a merchant, give the parable the appearance of reporting an actual event, but an appearance that always dissolves at the end of the parable when it is seen that these individual characters are only representatives of their kind and are already fictitious in their behavior to portray the relations of a higher world. Making a historical person or even the subject presenting the parable would make this transition to the general and to a world above the empirical more difficult or even impossible if they were made the subject of the parable.

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Therefore, even Schleiermacher’s explanation cannot do justice to the dogmatic interest, what can we expect from those who make the temptation an event that occurred in the soul of Jesus?

 

3.  The temptation as an inner event.

As an inner event, the temptation remains, for the apologist, essentially the same as it is presented in the biblical account; it is brought about by Satan and consists of the three attacks that the evangelists report. Only to the extent that the theologian departs from the view of the sacred writers does he no longer assume that the devil appeared externally visible to forcibly take Jesus from the wilderness to the top of the temple and that mountain.

“The most appropriate,” says Olshausen *), “is undoubtedly to locate the incident as a purely spiritual, inner event, into the inner world of the spirit. The temptation consisted of the ψυχη Jesus being exposed to the full influence of the kingdom of darkness.” Hoffmann informs us more precisely about the true course of events **). “In the temptation, the inner vision was raised to the outer, not as if what was only subjectively present had now become objective; rather, a real fact, but a fact of the spirit world, was now seen.” “A psychic seeing really transported Jesus, who remained in the wilderness, to the top of the temple and the high mountain.” “The devil did not act physically, but as a spirit.”

What agony! If we free ourselves from the biblical account and reason, if we do not want to tolerate this senseless torture – do we deserve the apologetic thunder? Well, if that is the case, then let us be thundered and lightning-struck, if only to show that the senselessness is as enormous as it is purposeless.

*) I, 183, 184

**) ibid. p. 327.

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First, let us free the account from the terrible torture under which it has been groaning and moaning for so long, until the apologist finally silenced it. The Evangelists know nothing of a spiritual seeing, of Jesus wandering while remaining in the wilderness. Why does Luke not mention the angels waiting on Jesus and bringing him food after the third temptation on the pinnacle of the temple? Because he deemed it inappropriate and unnecessary if Jesus were in the holy city. Why does Matthew include this conclusion that was present in the original account of Mark? Because he has altered the sequence of temptations and placed Jesus in a situation – away from human society – during the third diabolical attack, where the attendance of angels could indeed have been useful. It cannot, therefore, be denied that both Evangelists allow Jesus to be truly and outwardly transported by the miraculous power of the devil *) to the pinnacle of the temple and the high mountain.

Once the account has regained its right and free speech, reason will also be reinstated in its rights, and its business will be just as easy to carry out since it is only a matter of drawing attention to the contradictions in the apologetic argument. We need only restore language to its privilege that words are not just sounds but also signify thoughts. If we read those arguments, it would indeed seem that words signify everything except the thought that everyone has associated with them until now. But with a jolt, the apologist will awaken and be shocked to realize what he has spoken or written in his sleep.

*) As Bengel says: “mirabilis potestas tentatori concessa”. Bengel also acknowledges that the devil appeared to the Lord in an externally visible manner, so he leaves the report unharmed in this respect, even if he dares the wonderful guess: “videtur tentato sub schemate γραμματιως, scribae, apparuisse; quia sγεγραπται, scriptum est, ei ter opponitur.”

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“The absolute purity of Jesus, says Olshausen *), in no way allows for the derivation of an impure thought from him.” But if Olshausen also says that the temptation consisted in the fact that Jesus’ soul was exposed to the influence of the realm of darkness, then is not this exposure already the most real possibility of temptation, or a deficiency that cannot be restrained by any force in the guise of indeterminacy, but is driven by its inner dialectic towards specificity and revealed positively in thoughts that recognize it as a deficiency? What need is there for the devil when Jesus’ soul was capable of exposure, from which the tempting thoughts alone could arise? Finally, when Olshausen says, “the temptation of Jesus took place in the depths of his inner life **),” then in this depth of the innermost, the temptation is drawn so far in – but should we really write down words whose tautology is the most absurd thing in the world? – so far into the depth of the innermost that it has become an inner determination of the spirit and the question is only whether it should be established or overcome as this determination.

Hoffmann justifies the possibility of Jesus’ temptation somewhat coarser by asking: “with the high swelling of self-feeling, after the outstanding assurance was given to him in the baptism that he was the Son of God, was it not possible that a frivolous confidence in the already received certainty of victory would have taken hold of him, through which he would have been distracted from waking and praying ***) ?” We are far from making Jesus a character who was ever capable of frivolity in relation to his historical mission, but to the good apologist who rides so high on his words, we may point out that frivolity already contains temptation within it and that it takes only the smallest and most remote opportunity, not of temptation but of instant downfall. If frivolity is not yet the fall itself, then the slightest and most remote thing is enough to drag it into the abyss.

*) l, 183.

**) I, 192.

***) p. 313. 311.

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Hoffmann also informs us about how the temptation occurred in detail. He says *) : “The first thought for Jesus when he was hungry had to be (!) that he only needed to exploit his power over nature for the sake of his earthly needs. These thoughts, in which there was nothing evil in themselves, inexplicably became a demand and thus a temptation arose.” In the compendiums of psychology, one may find this machine called human, with its drawers labeled thought, will, etc. In life and reality, however, one does not know this mummy; in reality, the thought itself is what determines, in itself the will, as it translates into the postulate through its own motion.

Now we understand what it means when the apologist declares so emphatically that “a purely internal creation of the stimulus to sin (in Jesus) was beyond the limits of possibility **) :” it means nothing, they are words written for the sake of a dogmatic assumption, but are immediately forgotten when the theologian speaks of the matter itself, when he speaks of temptation. Does not Hoffmann himself say: “since Jesus was a real human being, it goes without saying that after the lasting elevation (after the baptism), a state of emotional weakness ensued, as it always does with strong swells of feeling. Already in this lay temptation in itself.” Enough! The theologian need not say more to acknowledge that the possibility of sin lay in Jesus. At least this much the theologian must say if he wishes to speak about how Jesus could be tempted at all. He has said enough: if there was already temptation in those oscillations of the inner spiritual life in themselves, then the devil is too late, for these same inner oscillations of the spirit drive the in-itself already towards real temptation soon enough.

*) p. 321.

**) Ibid. p. 320.

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The other view, which is possible on this standpoint of apologetics, considers the temptation as a series of “facts of Jesus’ inner life,” but does not dare to determine anything more precise about “to what extent and in what way Satan actually collaborated here” to lead Jesus astray. Even less does it believe it has the right to do so, since the temptation story is “only a fragmentary symbolic representation of those facts of his inner life” *).

*) Neander, p. 101.

So this representation should not be a parable, since it contains “historical truth,” even down to the point that Jesus actually withdrew into solitude and fasted when he fell into those struggles that are symbolically depicted in the temptation story. But how should the disciples, how should the Church, if this representation was calculated for their “practical need,” separate the symbolic element from the historical one? Wouldn’t Jesus have caused the greatest misunderstandings and errors through this representation if he spoke as if he were telling a real event from his life and gave no hint at which point he transitioned to the symbolic representation? If it is a bare empirical fact that he went into the wilderness, fasted, and finally hungered, how can one suddenly recognize that the first tempting thought “presented to him” was not presented by the bodily appearing Devil, that he was not led up to the pinnacle of the temple as really as he had really gone into the wilderness before? Who can make this separation in form at all? Who else but the unbelieving apologist who, despite all his insistence on the existence of the Devil, still does not dare to accept a real, bodily appearance of the Devil openly and decisively? Yes, only the half-believing apologist understands this separation, he alone knows that when the Devil leaves the scene, at that moment the symbolic element begins. The disciples of Jesus did not understand this trick yet; when they heard the Lord talk about an appearance of Satan, they were sure that it had really happened just as their Master spoke.

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And how incredible does the first temptation become without the belief that Satan tempted Jesus, by a hunger that could have been satisfied by the first root available!

Neander’s explanation still has the same apologetic interest that we have already recognized in his inconsistency as its basis. The temptations, he says *), presented themselves to the Lord “in the form of a vision”. “But,” he immediately adds, “we cannot assume that in him there were such temptations that could have stimulated any germ of self-interest within him, which could have been incited by an external stimulus.” That is a lot! No, it is too much, for a person to think anything under these words, or we would have to see more than a ghost in Jesus. Even “to what extent” the devil collaborated in this, Neander wants to leave undecided, and now we are to believe that visions that formed in Jesus without devilish stimuli, formed in him without having any “point of connection”? Where do they come from? How could they even exist for a moment in Jesus? Where is even the appearance of a struggle, if they did not stand in him as serious visions, contrary to his own being? Neander wants to name the point of connection: “only the sensual weakness, which can exist without self-interest, was common to Jesus and human nature, and from this side a struggle could strike him.” Again, the apologetic half-measure, which can only hold out for a moment through a long-lost psychology and immediately collapses in its weakness when its category is properly carried out. If sensual weakness is to be the point at which a temptation could “connect” with Jesus, then it must be a mental determination – i.e., we must not remain at the earlier rationalistic view, which derived evil from sensuality and from the influences of the latter on the mind. However, sensuality, when it comes to evil and temptation, is not only to be understood mentally, but the determination of the spirit itself, which as such is the impulse of movement in which it develops its power, reigns for a moment and is then overcome by the universality of the spirit. However, it cannot be overcome (or the overcoming does not deserve this name) if it is not actually experienced in the critical moment as the inner, serious determination of the spirit.

*) Neander, p. 85.

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4.  The Temptation as an Inner Struggle.

But can Jesus’ dialogue with Satan be interpreted as an inner struggle within the Lord’s soul? Would those three temptations still retain the meaning that could be significant for Jesus if they were seen in the form in which they are reported as historical events? Without hesitation! Only now do they gain the meaning that they would lack if they were to be seen as historical events in the form in which they are reported.

The temptation in the first temptation is neither just the impulse to satisfy sensual needs, nor is the way of satisfying hunger only of interest in relation to sensual needs; rather, this relationship to needs recedes into the background at the moment of temptation, and the point is solely and purely the relationship of the spirit to nature. The temptation lies in the ambiguous power of the spirit to recognize and want everything, in the power whose delusion can lead it to no longer recognize nature as such, but to transform it against its determination and to turn it into a food for the spirit in a malevolent desire. This is “that spiritually intensified sensual pleasure which, driven by spiritual hunger, desires the sensual not for its own sake, but precisely as nourishment for the spirit.”

Spiritual lust is directed against the relationships that are already of a spiritual nature in the second temptation. “Throw yourself down,” that is the tempting voice here, “throw yourself into all dangers, you can dare everything, for no relationship is valid for you and no collision is so difficult that it could harm you. The abyss into which ordinary spirits are shattered when they wantonly venture into it and do not want to go through the laborious mediations by which it ceases to be an abyss, this abyss holds no danger for the high-standing spirit. In the face of the first temptation, the apt response is that the spirit must not create its own nourishment arbitrarily, but must only accept it as given. Equally striking is the answer to the second temptation: the spirit must not create collisions wantonly, i.e., only to prove its superior power in them.

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In the first two temptations, evil appears veiled: it still hesitates with the catchword and the seductive appearance that is inherent in the idea of the power of the spirit and can become the most tempting incitement to sin. The progress to the third temptation lies in the fact that evil emerges in its true form and seeks to seduce by showing the abundance of power and glory it commands.

Indeed, such a temptation to the “sin of genius” could not be spared to the Lord. The higher spirit is always exposed to deeper temptations, as thoughts arise in him that are unknown or at least do not approach a lower spirit with this cutting danger. The temptations to which Jesus was exposed had to be the widest-ranging, most daring, and encompass the entire interest of the spirit, its relationship to nature, existing relationships, and the impulse of the spirit towards world domination.

But no time was more suitable or natural for these tempting thoughts to emerge than the time after the baptism, when Jesus had decided on his messianic mission. Was the consciousness of his mission of such infinite scope decided in him at the same moment as the consciousness of the way, even the possibility, of carrying out his mission? Whoever receives the certainty of a mission of such immense scope for the first time must and should feel himself raised to such an extraordinary height in the same moment, where the considerations for all reasonable relationships to which not only the lower spirit but also the idea must submit themselves no longer appear necessary.

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However, it should not be assumed that the temptations followed one another rapidly and only took a short time. Rather, each temptation must be preceded by an indefinite agitation of the soul, in which the tempting thought gradually announces itself as a premonition of a possibility and presents itself to the soul in changing forms until it solidifies in the sharpness of its entire danger. It is therefore more than likely that what our Gospels present as a fact completed in a short time was actually a series of inner struggles and took a longer period of time, which is necessary to assume between the baptism of Jesus and his public appearance.

If Jesus really experienced struggles of this kind, there was no reason for him not to speak of them to his disciples. It is always pleasant and one likes to do it with trusted ones whom one loves, to speak with them about inner experiences and to share with them the struggles and mental mediations by which one has come to the decisiveness of a certain standpoint. One believes that by opening up the most hidden aspects of one’s own mind, one gives the best testimony of trust and affection to those who are trusted; on the other hand, one feels driven by an irresistible force to make such disclosures because only by speaking of these transitions does one fully confront their struggles and reveal that they have indeed ceased to be struggles, and that they have become something foreign that is now discarded and done away with. Thus, Jesus may have spoken of the struggles of his temptations – perhaps more than once – but in this case, it was necessary for him to condense what had spread out over a longer period of time into a coherent form and present it as a fact, for which no form was more suitable than the symbolic.

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So far, we have followed Weisse’s view *). However, not to the extent that he believes Jesus “should have explained this parable with the intention of providing his disciples with a historical or psychological insight into his states of mind or the course of his moral education. It was also not the character of that time to give such insights.” But if Jesus had become like us in being tempted and had taken the thought of temptation seriously, we do not see why the Lord should not have been driven by the general human feeling that does not rest until the secrets of the soul are uncovered. Indeed, it would be quite appropriate in this case for Jesus to have led the way with the example of boldness and self-assurance, which is unharmed in confessing internal struggles and mediations and which only became possible in his community. After all, according to Weisse’s view, Jesus appears at the beginning as a real human when he is tempted. Why should he suddenly stop being human and not fully experience the nature of humanity? He cannot, because he is not a human being, not a real self-consciousness that experiences the dialectic of the opposition as its own nature, and as we have already seen, he remains, even according to Weisse, the ghost of apologetics. A temptation in which the tempting thoughts remain even “relatively” external is no longer a temptation, a struggle in which the possibility of being different has not even become the “mere internal actuality of the will” is not a struggle, because there is no enemy to be fought inside self-consciousness.

*) II, 18-26

If Weisse’s view falls back on the apologetic circle from this side, it cannot escape the same fate if it describes the temptation story as a parable that Jesus himself told. Weisse suspects that “when telling this parable, Jesus did not immerse himself in the first person; rather, the subject of the parable formed the typical personality of the ‘Son of Man.’ What was told about this personality then had a meaning that, by extending the content drawn from deep moral experience to the universality of the idea, rises just as far above the individuality and contingency of the psychological fact as such as it does above the abstract universality of the merely parabolic.” However, the impossible will never be made possible. The temptation story cannot be a parable that Jesus himself told. Even the Son of Man is not a personality that would be “typical” in the sense that attributes and actions attributed to it could be grasped by Jesus and the disciples with consciousness as an expression of an idea that could be separated and distinguished from this personality. Rather, whatever the Son of Man does, suffers, and experiences, no matter how general it may be, no matter how much it may be the determination of the idea, it will always be the determination, the doing or suffering, that belongs individually to this personality for the consciousness of Jesus and the disciples.

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All apologetic arguments are now exhausted, and the only gain to be had from such a significant expenditure of effort, from all these temptations and struggles of human thought, is the unshakable result that the biblical account of the temptation neither narrates a fact from the life of Jesus, nor can it be a symbolic representation that Jesus gave of the struggles within himself. The evangelists, to be sure, want to report a fact from the life of Jesus; but on the one hand, it remains impossible to grasp these reports historically, as they demand, especially since we have seen how they gradually came into being. On the other hand – and this is the final decisive proof – it is only the convention of artistic representation to arrange the life of a hero so that the temptations converge in the one moment before the public appearance and form the decisive struggle that the rest of life follows in the one chosen direction; at most, at the end of life, there may be one more struggle that looks similar to a temptation for this representation. In real life, however, temptations arise in their true significance and danger only when the self-consciousness has already begun the struggle with the hostile powers, comes into direct contact with them, and either gets to know them in their seductive appearance or feels tempted to overcome them in a way that disregards human and moral laws.

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It is only a matter of how the view that formed the account came to be.

 

5.  The Origin of the Temptation Story.

According to Strauss, it arose and was “put together from Old Testament prototypes.” “For, if the most devout of the Hebrews of antiquity, and even the people of Israel themselves, were tempted by God in the earlier view and by the devil in the later one, what was more natural than the idea that Satan would dare to attack the Messiah, the head of all the righteous and the representative and champion of the people of God, more than anyone else *) ?”

However, as has already been noted, and we need only repeat it because it is completely accurate: “the mere idea of the possibility, or even the equally abstract idea of the necessity of such a course of events, would only be called an idea. We would only find that type molded into a real myth if either an incident arose from Jesus’ inner life *) which allowed no other expression than a symbolic one for the thought process of that time, or if a spiritual element of the general world-historical conditions of Christianity were to be depicted, with an expression corresponding to it **) .”

*) L. J. I, 479. 481.

*) Of course, we do not accept this first case, which Weisse had to posit according to the positive nature of his view. If the community were to produce a view, it would necessarily be interested in doing so.

**) Weisse, II, 14, in agreement with Neander, L. J. Ch. p. 93.

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That’s right! Only internal movements and experiences of the community could have aroused the interest required for the development of such a significant perspective and could have given it general significance at all. It goes without saying that if the community was to represent its experiences and internal struggles as a struggle of the Savior, they had to be struggles that it had to face as a community, in communion with its principle and only because of its principle with itself and the world. They were struggles in which the self-consciousness of the principle, as it lived in the community, was itself drawn in.

The puzzle is solved. Although Neander says – allow us to transcribe the long sentence – “the mythical interpretation contradicts the content of this narrative, for we do not recognize in it the shining through of a certain circle of ideas that characterizes the environment in which Christianity first developed, as we would expect if it were the spirit of this environment that had invented such a myth, but rather we find in it the spirit of wisdom and prudence, which is in conflict with the dominant ideas and spiritual trends of this time.” Now, precisely this contradiction with its struggles and the victory of the spirit, the triumph of the principle and its self-consciousness, is objectified in this perspective as the struggle and victory of the person in whose form the community could only envision its principle.

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Even Weisse cannot divert us from the only path that leads to an explanation of the problem, when he asserts that there is no moment in the Temptation Story that can be recognized as part of the “general world-historical relations” of the community. He says: “In the Temptation Story, it is so exclusively the ethical, belonging to the personality as such, to the will and actions of the individual, that has determined its form and individual character, that in every interpretation that seeks to expand or touch on something more distant, this characteristic peculiarity is completely lost and blurred.” However, the personal is also in this narrative nothing more than the only possible form available to the community when it completes the perception of its interests, experiences, and the self-consciousness of its principle. The personality of religious perception is always also of general significance, namely the substance of the community, and that in the Temptation Story, the ethical forms the climax, comes solely from the fact that in it the ethical power of the community or its principle is viewed in collision with the world conditions.

The Temptation Story portrays the subordination and incorporation of the community into the reason of nature and history. The struggle fought in this matter is the one that the idea of the abstract universality, power, and transcendence of the principle had to lead with the empirical world until victory was won, the reason of the world conditions recognized, and the idea of immediately intervening from the universality of the idea to destroy the opposition abandoned.

A principle of such wide universality as the Christian one, which drew the whole life of the spirit out of previous relations and concentrated it in a faith that was already the inversion of all world relations, if it saw in the life and suffering of the Crucified the revelation of absolute truth – such a principle could not help but have been revolutionized to the innermost core of its ideas, desires, and passions without violent struggles and upheavals, could not have come into contact with reality and history at all, and finally balanced itself. The absolute world of faith was an absolutely inner one, it was for the perception a beyond and, as far as it had previously appeared in empirical appearance, in the sufferings of the Redeemer, it appeared as a contradiction with itself, with its meaning of being the absolute, and with the real world – how could the perception of the Absolute have felt calmly, coolly, and phlegmatically satisfied in these contradictions? Impossible! Those contradictions are in themselves the driving force behind their movement and triggering, or they are already their triggering themselves. If absolute truth appears in lowliness – does the high still apply? If the world of faith is the inner one – does the existing, real world still have validity before it? Just as little as history and the laws of its development can still find recognition if the only principle that applies to perception is a transcendent and so general, so comprehensive one that the laborious mediations of the real historical spirit disappear as null and unnecessary before it!

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If we want to know whether the Christian principle really developed as the idea of this upheaval of all reasonable laws, we certainly do not have to look far. The belief in miracles nullified the laws of nature, so that nature no longer remained as such and was only taken as a testimony of the spirit on the detour when it revealed itself and the harmony of its law, but only as this testimony and as a confirmation of the spirit, it was considered when it was robbed of its naturalness and determinacy by force and turned into a game of the spirit. We can see how little the existing conditions of history were valued, how the self-consciousness of the new principle trembled with impatience to see them shattered and how a deadly collision arose between the omnipotence of the principle and the historical conditions in the Book of Revelation. The fact that people finally indulged in the thought that the new principle would soon subject the glory of the world to itself and give its followers the plunder for enjoyment is taught to us by the early development of chiliasm.

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Do we need more evidence to convince ourselves that all the struggles and collisions that the temptation story portrays occupied the community to the fullest extent and were very serious and impactful for it? The sobriety and inner security of the principle carried the victory, a victory that the temptation story portrays after the experiences of the community, because they concern the principle itself, were transformed into an event in the life of Jesus. The moment had to come when the community, in danger of plunging into the abyss into which its feverish excitement threatened to throw it, became frightened, regained its composure, and at least allowed the existing, nature, historical circumstances, and the power of the world to remain to the extent that it resigned itself to the sudden overthrow of them and, in faith in the divine omnipotence, which would carry out and decide the fight at the right time, calmed down *).

*) When apologists (such as Neander, p. 105) say that the temptation story is “not a real but true story” in the “form” in which it is transmitted in the Gospels, this is only a flight into an indeterminacy, in which the question of reality is to be cut off. The advantage of the criticism, which traces the account back to its birthplace, in the self-awareness of the community, is that it can also designate and understand the temptation story as a real story. It cannot cut off the question of true reality; it poses and answers that question.

The Old Testament models, the temptations to which the pious were subjected, the passage through the desert during which the people also struggled with temptations, Moses’ forty-day fast, the angel’s visit who brought food to Elijah – all this did not create the biblical account but only served to give a more precise form to a view that had developed independently within the community. The formative self-awareness reached for those models because it seemed natural to it that, according to the unanimous law of history, the experiences of the Messiah had to have the same form in which similar struggles had always taken place; finally, it also reached for these models because it instinctively sensed in them the same thought with which it was occupied in its own representation.

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Mark made the first attempt and gathered the simple elements of the narrative. Jesus is tempted for forty days in the wilderness and stays among the animals during this time. As for the latter mention, we may rightfully assume from the outset that no detail is insignificant in such a brief account. If one says that the animals are the natural environment of someone who dwells in the wilderness, one must remember that the decoration of a scene in a freely composed work of art always has an inner relation to the mood, movement, and main purpose of the scene, that it belongs as an attribute to the acting person and reflects its interior. In short, the animals that surround Jesus during the temptation are the symbol of the “passions and desires” *) that seek to intrude into him.

Luke, who developed the elements that Mark provided into specific forms, no longer needs this environment of animals, since the individual attacks of the devil have brought the passions and desires to the fore and transformed them into thoughts. With the same artistic skill, Luke also worked out the meaning that lies in the symbol of the wilderness and the fast to the specific temptations – of course, we add, by means of the struggles of the community providing him with the material. What is fasting as a symbol other than withdrawing from the ordinary entanglement with the nourishing spiritual substance, so that it no longer, as if it understood itself so naturally, and without any special effort of the will, is in unity with the spirit, but is separated as a foreign object, as an object of reflection and free appropriation by the ego, which appears as the empty, which must again unite with its substance through a struggle of will and the effort of a new decision? The true and only suitable place for this struggle of deprivation and the now mediated appropriation is the wilderness because here only is the struggle, the deprivation, and the double possibility of decision serious and urgent. In the solitude, the spirit is separated from the power, enjoyment, and glory of the world, but all the more in tension against the satisfaction that is denied to it, and now the question has become immense: whether it should forcefully absorb the substance within itself to immediately eliminate its deprivations, satisfy itself, and appropriate the world with all its glory, or should it be content with the inner possession of its infinite principle and trust in its silent and gradual working power.

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The community has fought through the desert of the world, struggled with diabolical temptations, and in the history that Mark and Luke wrote and that Matthew artistically completed, made a vow to trust only in the inner strength of their principle. We will not answer the obvious question of whether they have always kept this vow in every historical collision among their members, as we will be condemned just for thinking about raising it.

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§ 13. The Baptism of Jesus

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This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution 4.0 International License.

by Neil Godfrey

Critique of the Gospel History of the Synoptics

by Bruno Bauer

Volume 1

—o0o—

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§ 13.

The Baptism of Jesus.


1. The Time.

“In those days,” says Mark (C. 1,6.), namely in those days when the Baptist was working in the manner described, Jesus of Nazareth came and was baptized. However, the context has not left the time when Jesus came to the Jordan so indefinite. As we noticed in the speech attributed by Mark to the Baptist, it reveals the later view that the effectiveness of John’s work was compressed into the shortest possible time. So here too, the evangelist sees the matter in the same way, even though he has not yet brought reflective seriousness into the account, that Jesus in any case, when he came to be baptized, arrived at the moment when the time of the Baptist was already measured. The baptism of the Messiah, which was considered the turning point and the final determination of the Baptist’s effectiveness, needed only just to have passed so that John could step down from the scene.

To this end of the Baptist’s effectiveness, Luke rushes so impatiently that he immediately adds the remark to his report of John’s preaching that Herod had imprisoned him. The baptism of Jesus, which is now mentioned retrospectively (Luk. 3, 21. 22.), is thus pushed even more to the end of John’s public activity, for the arrangement of the report can only appear so indifferent if both the imprisonment of the Baptist and the baptism of Jesus were not separated by a longer period. But this arrangement of the report would bring with it an inconvenience: the evangelist had to take up the earlier material again to indicate the situation and time in which Jesus underwent baptism; he does so, but thereby introduces into his account a feature that Mark does not know and which was excluded by the original plan of the report. The account of the original evangelist has only Jesus in view: he comes and is baptized and, as he comes out of the water, sees the wonderful appearance of the descending Spirit upon him. Here, Jesus is not only the central point, or rather the only point, to which the wonderful event refers, but he and the Baptist alone are on the stage when this miracle occurs. But Luke must go back to the past to tell the miracle, he must say when it happened – when Jesus was baptized and praying *) – but when was Jesus baptized? Now, “when all the people were baptized.” Suddenly, the people are on the stage as a chorus, drawn into the mystery of the miracle, as the heavens opened and the Spirit descended upon Jesus – the consequence of the clumsy arrangement of the report.

*)   Ἰησοῦ βαπτισθέντος καὶ προσευχομένου — Only he also has the stereotyped note that Jesus was praying at this moment.

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Matthew returns to the original type, as far as he had left it in its originality. He had already brought in that indefinite definiteness that is generally characteristic of his pragmatism, when he portrays the preaching of the Baptist – this general message – as an expression that was incidentally brought about by a single occasion. “Then,” he says (rare), when the Baptist appeared, the people flocked to him, along with a multitude of Pharisees and Sadducees. “Then,” he continues (Matt. 3:13), Jesus came to be baptized – that is, at the time when the people flocked to the Baptist immediately after his appearance. However, we would do the evangelist a disservice if we were to simply hold onto his words in their specificity and not reflect on that secret power that also makes them indefinite. The evangelist certainly traces that statement, which describes the entire historical position of the Baptist, back to a single, incidental cause, but we cannot simply deny that he involuntarily felt how comprehensive, far-reaching, and universal that statement was; its content must involuntarily expand for him and also take up a greater space in relation to time. Therefore, if he adds Jesus’ arrival at the Jordan to the occasion that prompted this statement with the formula “then,” for his feeling, at least enough time has elapsed that he cannot believe that the two events happened one after the other. On the other hand, the formula should be specific again, and the author could not even use it if he did not have the view that the Baptist’s career was only a short one and events followed one another quickly. So, if we see the pragmatism of the Synoptics so clearly emerging, if the same formula is so specific and so indefinite at the same time – will we still hesitate to confess that the evangelists do not inform us about the time when Jesus was baptized?

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2. The Refusal of the Baptist.

Among the Synoptics, it is only Matthew – the latest one – who reports that the Baptist recognized Jesus as the Messiah at the moment he came to be baptized. John did not want to baptize the Lord; rather, he needed to be baptized by Him (Matt. 3:14). The fact that Mark and Luke know nothing about such a refusal of the Baptist – which is the actual difficulty – does not concern the apologist, as at least Mark – the supposed epitomizer – cannot raise any scruples against him, and Luke even seems to come to his aid when he reports that the families of Jesus and the Baptist were related to each other. Doesn’t this mean that John at least knew “the earlier life of Jesus” *) and therefore found it strange that the lesser one should baptize the Messiah? The fourth evangelist, on the other hand, puts the theologian in a difficult position, since according to his account, the Baptist explicitly testifies that he had not known Jesus before the baptism. The apologist is also forced to argue that both men must have been familiar with each other.

*) Neander, p. 67

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Where should we start unwinding a tangle that is as complicated as hardly any other? Which of the threads, which are intertwined in a colorful mess, should we grasp first? If we try with one, immediately the other, which is wound over it, hinders us. And we certainly cannot tear any of them? Patience and caution will help us.

First Luke! Let’s go to the second and fourth evangelists! These three threads seem to be wound up in the same order at first. When Luke tells the story of Jesus’ baptism, he knows nothing about the fact that the Baptist knew Jesus and refused to baptize him. And yet, the same Luke is called upon by the apologist to testify for Matthew? Yes, his backstory! says the apologist. The Baptist already knew the Messiah in the womb, the mothers of both knew each other and visited each other, they spoke to each other about the extraordinary destiny of their children – so should they have forgotten that they belonged together according to divine providence? Shouldn’t they have had fellowship as young men, or at least should John have heard of the “earlier life of Jesus” – Neander probably means the childhood story? We will see! – namely, although we have an absolute right to do so, we will not yet remind ourselves that this childhood story belongs only to the ideal view; we will meet the apologist on his own ground, that of the letter, as far as we still share it with him, that is, have not yet investigated it.

We can still leave out innocent, unpretentious Mark, who is hardly there for the apologist, but who will appear to his horror – to the downfall of the apologetic building. But the theologian will surely acknowledge the fourth evangelist. How can we think that! Everything, everything must be sacrificed to theological fear. “I did not know him,” this word of the Baptist is no longer so firm that it should not mean the opposite.

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We ask for patience once again, as the theologian will lead us far from the goal, and we must travel a long way back to reach the truth, but the path that has such a goal in sight will not be boring, will it? Boring only for theology, which with one exercise of power turns no into yes and is only diligent and verbose in repeating the same phrase in a thousand books!

“I did not know him” now means: in comparison with my later consciousness of Jesus, “everything earlier appeared to me as ignorance.” *) About the negligent fourth evangelist, that he did not even hint that the Baptist only meant his earlier ignorance as relative! About the clumsiness of making the Baptist speak as if he wanted to be understood as an absolute ignorance! Did the fourth evangelist then wait for another scripture to be written or possibly written, from which his readers could conclude how the Baptist meant that ignorance? No, says Neander, the appeal to the different perspectives of the presentation comes again – “it was particularly important for the evangelist John to assert the weight of the divine testimony” by which the Baptist had learned to recognize the Lord as the Messiah. As is well known, the Baptist says in the fourth gospel that the sign at the baptism of Jesus was given to him and had already been promised to him by God earlier so that he would recognize the Messiah in the individual over whom it would be seen at the baptism. But if the Baptist had really “heard about those wonderful circumstances at the birth of Jesus” and “expected” him to be the Messiah, he would not have needed the vision. He was already faithful in the womb and had paid homage to the Messiah, and now, after being given the opportunity to see the Messiah himself for years and hear about the wonder of his birth, should he have changed his nature so much and needed a new sign? He would have deserved punishment, not a new miracle.

*) Neander, p. 68

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Or if for any reason he had recognized the messianic nature of Jesus, the vision was just as unnecessary, as his recognition had to be confirmed by the subsequent historical events.

Yes, answers Hoffmann, *) as the Baptist had already known Jesus as the Messiah before the baptism, but “he was no more informed about the true nature of the Messiah and about the deeper meaning of the messianic name ‘Son of God’ than his contemporaries before that event (at the baptism).” We are astonished – not only that a miracle should suddenly transform theoretical insight and enrich it with an entirely new meaning, but even more so by the erudition of the apologist, which surpasses our understanding of the matter. He must have used sources that we have not yet been able to discover. The fourth Evangelist, at least, knows nothing about the fact that the “event” at the baptism of Jesus expanded the theoretical understanding of the Baptist in this way.

*) loc. cit. p. 287.

On the contrary! According to his account, the Baptist already possessed the deepest theory before Jesus came to him, which was already firm and certain to him; only the specific person who was the Messiah was unknown to him, and he was only shown this through the sign promised by God. After the baptism, he says: “I saw and testified that ‘this’ is the Son of God,” meaning that this sign made me aware that in this person, I had to see the reality of the idea that was already firm to me.

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It will have to remain forever that, according to the fourth Gospel, the Baptist did not even have a suspicion that Jesus was the Messiah before the miracle of the baptism, but rather he absolutely did not know.

Let’s go back to Luke! He also knows nothing of the Baptist even suspecting, let alone recognizing, Jesus as the Messiah when he came to be baptized. But his backstory – wouldn’t it necessarily presuppose that the Baptist recognized the man whom he had already worshiped in the womb? Would it not have been punishable if he had denied the homage to the man that he had already offered as an embryo? He had to know him, he had to have known him since his youth, he had to have attached himself to him and served him from childhood on, or woe to him if he had only “suspected” that he might be the Messiah! The tremendous miracles of his childhood would have been wasted for him and his family. Earlier, his ignorance, of which we hear in the fourth Gospel, was excused by the fact that the long journey to the mountains prevented the acquaintance of the two boys and youths. Although, critics replied, for Mary this journey was not an obstacle when she went to visit her relative Elizabeth. We answer: Luke has completely forgotten this journey and everything that led to it when he came to the Gospel of Mark, which led him in completely different directions. The backstory, this new creation, lies forgotten behind him when he reads the account of the baptism of Jesus in Mark’s Gospel and takes it up unchanged in his work, namely that no prior acquaintance between the Baptist and Jesus is assumed.

So far, the matter would be set straight. With regard to the claim that the Baptist did not know Jesus was the Messiah before the baptism, three witnesses testify in favor of Matthew. But before we examine or even accept their testimony, we must separate one of the three witnesses – we ask for patience once again. The fourth Gospel cannot testify in the same way as Mark and Luke because it deviates from them in a circumstance in which they agree with Matthew.

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Mark (C. 1, 10) states it as clearly as only humans can speak, that Jesus, as he emerged from the water, saw the wonderful apparition; Matthew expressly agrees with him *) and as for Luke, we have already seen that he only allows the wonderful apparition to happen at the moment of Jesus’ baptism, in an indefinite representation. However, at the end of the account, he still makes it clear that, in his view, the apparition refers to Jesus, since like Mark, he has the heavenly voice speak in the form of a direct address: “you are my beloved Son”.

*) “Strauss (I, 436.) also suggests that in Matthew it is most natural to refer ειδε and ανεωχθησαν αυτω to Jesus, who had just been the subject; but since it immediately states that he saw the divine Spirit coming upon him, not upon himself (in Mark, the επ’ αυτον, which does not fit into his construction, is explained as dependent on Matthew), it appears that the one who saw was not the same as the one upon whom he saw the Spirit descending, and one is led to refer ειδε and ανεωχθησαν αυτω to the more remote subject, the Baptist, who is also the most natural witness to the appearance since the heavenly voice speaks of Jesus in the third person.”

However,

      1. We do not see why the ‘επ αυτον should not fit into Mark’s construction. He saw the spirit “come upon him,” and the historian can just as well say “upon him” as “upon himself.” “Upon himself” (‘εφ’ αυτων) he will say when, as a reporter, he at the same time reproduces the active relationship, the perception of Jesus as such, thus including in his account the reflection with which Jesus himself perceived the direction of the appearance on his person. “Upon him,” says the historian when he looks at the matter from a distance, i.e. does not consider the matter from Jesus’ standpoint, but expresses the relationship of the appearance to Jesus himself. “Upon himself” reflects the internal reflection between Jesus and the appearance; “upon him” is the reflection of the writer who brings both together.
      2. Matthew borrowed the formula ‘αυτον’ from Mark, and even if we were to forget this relationship for a moment, it remains the case that according to his account, Jesus is the one who saw the appearance.
      3. The reason why the heavenly voice in Matthew’s account speaks in the third person (ουτος εστιν ο υιος μου) is that in Mark, although Matthew knows the direct address “ου ει ο μου,” he recalls the key phrases “ο αγαπητος, εν ω εθδοκησα” and sees that they come from a prophecy in Isaiah 42:1 or elsewhere in the Second Book of Isaiah where the words already indicate the Messiah. In short, he sees that they have already been spoken in Isaiah 42:1 about the Messiah in the third person. Mark weaves the Old Testament citations into the plastic depiction of the story, but Matthew lets them appear as quotes even where Mark has incorporated them into the internal structure of the narrative. So he does here too. He reads that Isaiah 42:1 speaks of the Messiah in the third person and only to restore this form of speech and thus make it clear to himself and others that the voice that had already pointed to the Messiah in the Second Book of Isaiah was now heard, he transforms the direct address into a call that points to the Messiah. In all other respects, however, he must keep the words, so he cannot give a full translation like in Chapter 11, 18, because here he is bound to the type of the narrative in Mark’s text. Nothing but this prosaic reflection on the text of the Old Testament has led Matthew to make his modification, and he has not thought in the slightest that the voice, because it speaks of Jesus in the third person, should be heard or perceived by anyone other than Jesus himself. By the way, Matthew does not notice that the heavenly voice, i.e. Mark, also took words from Ps. 2, 7, since his attention was focused on the words αγαπητος and ευδοκησα, because they seemed to him the most characteristic ones, and he remained with them after he had once found the locus classicus of the Ο.Τ..
      4. When Hoffmann (p. 305) says that it cannot succeed in making “the heavenly voice arise from Isa. 42:1, even though the words are similar there,” he can now see, not that Matthew has lent these words to the heavenly voice – for this merit belongs to Mark – but that Matthew himself knew very well where these words originally came from. “It is precisely because Matthew considers the Isaianic utterance fulfilled in Jesus at another place, 12:18, that this origin cannot be accepted,” Hoffmann further believes. So, because Matthew considers this saying once (12:19-20) as a prophecy about Jesus’ modesty, could he not relate it to the Messiah from another perspective? This reasoning would be invalid in itself if we were not talking about a gospel where we encounter so many duplicates. This time, however, the duality is explained to us just as we will usually find it later: namely, from Matthew’s dependence on the scripture of another. Mark has given him the words of the heavenly voice, and after he had once brought the prophecy that underlies them in the sense prescribed by his predecessor, he could very easily apply them as a pointer to another aspect of the messianic work that he later also found reflected in it. He did so in 12:17.

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The fourth Gospel, on the other hand, emphasizes very clearly that the miraculous appearance at the baptism of Jesus was already predetermined and only intended for the Baptist. In our criticism of his account, we have shown how his view of the baptism of John became fundamentally different from that of the Synoptics, but at the same time, we also discovered how he had to come to this reversal of the matter. We can now say outright why he gave the Baptist this relationship to the baptism miracle. Only in his Gospel does Jesus appeal to the testimony of the Baptist and continues to use it against his opponents. Mark knows nothing of such an appeal by Jesus to the testimony of his forerunner, and Luke and Matthew know no more than he does. Even when they, more often than their predecessor, have the Lord referring to the Baptist, their view is always only that Jesus referred to the appearance and work of his forerunner as the prophecy and precondition of his own work. This view, which had become dominant in the community, was only pushed by the apologetic direction of the fourth evangelist to that painful precision, where it has become the belief that Jesus had appealed to a specific testimony concerning himself and could really do so. Therefore, the Baptist had to become the consummate theorist and Christologist, and finally his testimony had to be divinely authenticated, so that it would not appear merely as a subjective theory, and it receives this highest confirmation when God himself shows the Baptist the person of whom he must bear witness. This is how it came about that the miraculous appearance was intended for the Baptist.

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Τhe Synoptics are now left alone to resolve their disagreement with each other without any outside interference. Now we can properly appreciate the impartiality of Mark and Luke – whose background we can almost forget as much as they themselves do – they do not have the interested testimony of the Baptist, that he did not know Jesus as the Messiah before his baptism, because they also know nothing afterwards that he testified so definitively about Jesus. Their focus is only on Jesus: the Lord comes to the baptism, receives it, and according to the express remark of Mark, sees the wonderful appearance of the Spirit descending upon him; therefore, their account has the same interest, the same content, as that of Matthew, and the only difference is that he attributes to the Baptist the knowledge of Jesus’ messiahship and lets him act accordingly.

So how did the Baptist come to this insight? Or do we need to clarify again that he had this insight? It is almost necessary when we see how de Wette still wriggles apologetically and says that in the words of the Baptist, “there is no indication that he recognized Jesus directly as the Messiah *).” But he could not have greeted Jesus more specifically as the Messiah than when he says that he himself needs to be baptized by him; for who alone has a stronger baptism, who else but the one who comes with the baptism of the Spirit? Jesus also completely accepts this recognition: “Let it be so now,” he says, meaning that later the Baptist can do everything that he believes he owes to him as the Messiah.

*) 1, 1, 33

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The Baptist therefore recognized Jesus as the Messiah when he came to him for baptism, but how he came to this insight is impossible to say. Neander calls out to us: “Let us recall the appearance of Christ, who with the expression of holy devotion and heavenly calm was praying before John” – but it is unnecessary to write down the rest, that is, that in the soul of the Baptist all memories of Jesus’ previous life were awakened. Neander does not want to tell us how the Baptist recognized Jesus as the Messiah, he assumes that both men were already acquainted with each other, and that the Baptist even expected Jesus to appear as the Messiah. We want to know how the Baptist could greet a man he had never known before as the Messiah. Perhaps we could still use a part of Neander’s reasoning: was it perhaps the “expression of holy devotion and heavenly calm” with which Jesus was praying before him that so touched the Baptist that he recognized the Messiah in this man? How would that be possible, since the Baptist greeted Jesus as the Messiah at the same moment he approached him, already before Jesus could stop and prepare himself devoutly for the baptism?

Ah! Welcome, apologist of a better time, which has not yet so much tangled up the holy text and still occasionally gave honor to the letter! Your words are balm for the wounds that modern faith has inflicted on us in the text. Ah! How we breathe freely again and are glad to be out of these windings and turnings of the newer apologetic hollow path, where we had to press and duck and get wounded everywhere. “John did not yet know,” says Bengel, *) “that this was Christ. However, in the first moment he sees Jesus, he is seized by the sympathy that already attracted him in the womb and concludes from his gracious appearance that this must be the Messiah.” Well done, at least that is the right distance at which both men stood when John recognized who the approaching baptizer was; but how the Baptist came to this realization remains a mystery to us, as we cannot understand how he could see, at first sight, that this person, unknown to him until then, no matter how gracious his appearance may have been, was the Expected One.

*) Nondum scierat Johannes, hunc esse Christum. Interea, ut primum Jesnu videt, ex sympathia illa, qua in utero commotus fuerat et ex aspectu gratiosissimo judicat, hunc baptismi candidatum esse Christum. 

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The mystery may be solved for us when we hear how Jesus removes John’s doubts and his refusal to baptize him, the Messiah.


3. The abstract necessity of Jesus’ baptism.

“Allow it now,” Jesus answered, “for thus it is fitting for us to fulfill all righteousness, namely for me to fulfill it, and for you not to hinder me.”

The earlier dogmatic view was already embarrassed by the fact that Jesus underwent a baptism that was connected with the recognition of sinfulness, with a confession of sin, and that demanded faith in the future from the baptized. Although Jesus had answered all objections in advance when he explained why he had to undergo baptism, the apologist still cannot be satisfied with the answer, as it simply repeats the question and conceals the difficulty in a general category without solving it. The question still remains the same: why did Jesus have to fulfill all righteousness to such an extent that he underwent a baptism that could not have been intended for him, since he had no sins to confess and could not confess faith in the future without giving the appearance that he was not sure whether he himself was the Messiah.

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Also come forth, you apologetic armies! Bengel has exhausted everything you could bring forth as reasons, brought it to a general expression, and drawn the consequence with commendable naivety. The necessity and appropriateness, he says, have an extraordinary wide range in the divine decrees and works *); i.e., nothing specific can be thought of under this necessity, it extends so far that it cannot be encompassed and traced back to rational laws – in short, it is in itself pure arbitrariness. As such, it can overturn all laws and turn the highest into the lowest. – Bengel himself says: “according to the definite conception of righteousness, it would necessarily seem that John should be baptized by Jesus, according to the general scope of righteousness, the matter is reversed” **). But if there was no specific reason why Jesus had to be baptized, if there was no internal, rational connection between his personality and John’s baptism, then his baptism was an empty formality that had neither sense nor reason for him. Bengel has also drawn this consequence ***).

*) Decentia in divinis consiliis et operibus admiranda latissime patet.

**) Pro particulari justitiae intuitu Johannes videretur baptizandus a Jesu: pro universo justitiae ambitu conversa res est.

***) Non sibi baptizatus est Christus.

All apologetic explanations of this point come back to the formula “not for his sake” that Jesus had himself baptized for. Even Strauss has been drawn into the web of apologetics when he welcomes the information from Justinus, “according to which it was the Jewish expectation that the Messiah would be anointed by Elijah, who preceded him, and thus be inaugurated among his people,” and then claims, “Jesus could regard John’s baptism as this anointing and thus submit to it as the Messiah himself” *). In this case, if it had really been Jesus’ way to take Jewish expectations so seriously and to allow himself to be bound by them, he would have had to at least state that he was being baptized in a completely different sense than the believers who saw in this baptism an indication of the coming one and an act of repentance. He would have had to say categorically that the baptism, in the infinite significance that it had for others, had nothing to do with him. However, we have shown in the criticism of the fourth gospel what an unfortunate circumstance it is for that Jewish expectation, which Justinus speaks of, that it was not known to any Jew at the time of Jesus **). And then we have resolved the contradiction that would have existed if Jesus, with the full consciousness of his messianic destiny, had undergone a baptism that pointed to the coming one, in such a way that we have shown that John’s baptism was not placed in this narrow relationship with messianic expectation in any way.

*) L. J. I , 434, 435.

**) p. 13, 17.

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It would remain only the stumbling block that Jesus, the sinless one, went to a baptism that called for repentance, thus intended for sinners. Will the apologist perhaps eliminate this stumbling block? Oh, he can do anything!

“To repent,” says Hoffmann, ***) the Johannine baptism called all those who had abandoned the law, to a mere ceremonial declaration that he would keep the law, the only one who had done no evil.” But even this declaration of intention would be only an empty formality if it did not have as its presupposition the most serious possibility of evil, a possibility which the apologist denies in this serious sense. And to whom did Jesus declare his intention to keep the law? God? Who sees into the heart? Himself? Did he not know his sinlessness? To humans? Never! From one whom no one can accuse of sin, no one should demand that he declare his mere intention to keep the law, especially on an occasion that was as inappropriate as possible. For either the appearance would then fall on Jesus that he also needed repentance, or a significant act would have had to be reduced to an empty formality for the sake of such an audacious and untimely demand.

***) L. J. p. 301.

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“As Hoffmann continues, ‘the concept of divine law (δικαιοσυνη) also includes the fulfillment of what God demanded.’ As if that were not precisely the difficulty, how an action could be demanded of Jesus that was not appropriate for him.

If the apologist – Hoffmann does not do so – really attempts to incorporate this demand into the concept of divine law, he arrives at that thoughtless expansion of divine law at which nothing more can be thought and which we have already sufficiently seen in Bengel.

Furthermore, ‘when the feeling of messiahship had developed into a clear consciousness, the demand to do nothing other than the will of his Father, and not to emerge from the stillness before being called, had to touch his holy heart. He received this call at his baptism. In this respect, it is Jesus’ consecration to his office.’ Well then! Jesus would have forgotten this demand soon enough. If he went to the baptism, not knowing yet that it would become his consecration to his office, then he had emerged before the divine call. He would have acted very prematurely, because according to the consistent report of the Synoptics, the miracle that makes his baptism his consecration to his office and allows him to hear the divine call, ‘happened in an unforeseen way for Jesus.'” *)

*) Weisse, ev. Gesch. I, 275.

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“It required, the apologist continues his a priori construction *), a confirmation of his internal awareness of being the Messiah through a fact.” So the baptism is still not the purpose for which Jesus came to John, but it is only a mechanical opportunity for the miracle that should make Jesus certain of his cause, and he himself was mechanically drawn to it without an internal purpose or drive, without an internal relationship to it.

The apologist constructs even more boldly: “The view (of the baptism miracle) could rightly become Jesus’ alone, it needed a witness whose testimony served to strengthen Jesus himself.” So Jesus belonged to those weak characters who are not sure of themselves and their true destiny until someone else confirms their conviction, and on the other hand, the Baptist was drawn into the matter as a means, resembling those “confidants” who are only there in some plays to help the hero in weak moments.

Now let us hear the apologist say **) : “the spirit present and active in Jesus from birth could not guarantee the completion of the work of redemption on its own,” so the blasphemy is complete and we still do not know any better than before how Jesus could go to the baptism without the feeling of sinfulness, since he did not know beforehand that it would become important and significant for him in a completely different way than for the sinners.

In its final purity, the apologetic category under which the baptism of Jesus should be secured against all dangerous consequences is that of “consecration” ***). But how would it be possible for the apologist to carry out even a single category purely in the midst of the contradictions in the Gospel accounts! We must first free his presentation from its confusion and bring it back to simple expression. “The certain thing, despite all the differences in the accounts, is the underlying fact that John was moved by a revelation he received during the baptism to inaugurate Jesus as the Messiah.” *) It may – happening for the last time in this matter – we want to be thrown back to the fourth evangelist: but if, according to his account, the baptism itself was only the occasion and the reason for that sign that taught the Baptist to recognize Jesus as the Messiah, how can the same sign already or – with such contradictions, all words are equal – only move him to baptize Jesus and inaugurate him as the Messiah? Baptism itself is the inauguration, and how can it be conditioned by a miracle that only happened during its course or – as the Synoptics specify, who alone give more precise information about it – after the baptism?

*) Hoffmann, op. cit., p. 305.

**) Ibid., p. 303.

***) Neander, op. cit., p. 63.

*) Neander, op. cit., P. 69.

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Let us now give the category of consecration its pure simplicity, and the difficulty that apologetics seeks to avoid stands before us in all its horror. For what is consecrated has previously been involved with the profane and is only lifted out of its context, thus was previously tainted with impurity.

And did Jesus know when he went to the Baptist that his baptism would be his “consecration” for messianic work? According to the gospel account, he did not know. So, if he did not go to the baptism with the same need as everyone else, we also do not know what necessity drove him to do it.

At least the apologists did not tell us. But let us look again at all their reasoning, their “it had to be, it was necessary, it was fitting,” etc.: did they really solve the riddle for us? Isn’t their embarrassment lesson enough? What more do we want? The same stumbling block that the modern apologist finds in the fact that Jesus is said to have gone to the baptism in the same way as everyone else, was felt very soon by the community when their view of the Lord took on a form that had to collide with the news that Jesus had undergone baptism, and with the same categories: “it was fitting, it was necessary,” which we still read in apologetic writings today, they tried to eliminate the offense. The latest of the synoptic writers was given the opportunity to give voice to this puzzlement, and he put it in the mouth of the only person who was given in the narrative. Now John must feel puzzled that Jesus should come to him for baptism, and in order for him to find an offense in it, he must suddenly recognize Jesus as the Messiah. Nevertheless – as Matthew reads in Mark’s scripture – it must come to baptism, so Jesus must necessarily remove that offense, and he now gives the divine decree as the reason why he must submit himself to this messianic glory, that is, a reason that is completely vague and gives the appearance that Jesus underwent baptism only formally because it was appropriate for him to fulfill all righteousness. Of course, we must add that Matthew gave this reason the best tone because he kept it in an indeterminacy that still sounds most determined: it was left to the pragmatism of the later apologists to formulate those more specific reflections that we have come to know in their adventurous and partly frightening character.

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4.  The inner purpose of the baptism of Jesus.

Now that the reflective standpoint of the fourth evangelist and Matthew no longer hinders us, we can dare to re-establish the baptism in that inner relationship to the person of Jesus, which the original evangelist placed it in when he allowed the Lord to go to the Baptist like all others. “There is no historical reason that could lead us to assume in Jesus a different motive for the desire for baptism than in all other baptized persons.” The sinlessness of Jesus cannot cause us any concern either, since it is in no way to be thought that he was completely alien to any personal feeling and awareness of sin. It must be unequivocally asserted that the Lord never allowed the possibility of sin in him to actually become sin. However, in order to truly be a savior, and even if he were only capable of pitying the misery of the human spirit, he had to experience the burden of sinfulness as his personal affliction. In general, the greater a spirit is, the deeper he experiences in himself the general contradiction that moves humanity: thus, whoever stands the highest and carries the greatest power of purity within himself must also experience that contradiction and sense of sinfulness in the deepest recesses of his being. And it was precisely this feeling of contradiction and sinfulness that drove Jesus to the baptism of John.

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In this development was also included the messianic self-consciousness of Jesus and was carried forward to that critical point where gradual development achieves its result in a single stroke. If Christ goes to the baptism of John with the feeling of sinfulness, this is a sign that his messianic self-consciousness was still in gradual development, but at the same time, it is proof that his self-consciousness was in greater movement, struggling fiercely and pushing towards the result, the final completion – the baptism was the blow that would bring maturity. If the same motive led Jesus to it as all others, yet “the ceremony, in the moment of its actual occurrence and after that moment, became something different for him than for those neophytes.” Spirits of various kinds can subject themselves to religious ceremonies, and all may be touched by the same idea of the action; but the way, the intensity with which they are affected by the idea, will be different in each of them. The higher-standing spirit will be seized more powerfully, and the higher it stands, the deeper the idea will exclude itself in it. Thus it was in the moment of the baptism that the inner opposition, which is the deepest in the world, and which, after a thousand years of struggle, was first summarized in a symbolic form in the baptism of John, decided and dissolved into the consciousness of absolute victory in the self-consciousness of Jesus. This certainty of victory completed Jesus’ consciousness of his messianic destiny.

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The wondrous appearance of the descending Spirit – that is certain – referred only to Jesus and could only refer to him, since it was only the objectification of what was happening in his soul, for the inner spiritual perception. *)

Very nice! if not for new doubts that arise and which must also be drawn into the contradiction with reason and the biblical account.

*) Essentially the view of Weisse, ev. Gesch. l, 278.

 

5.  Doubts about the historical credibility of the biblical account.

Another interpretation, other than the one that sees the motive that drove Jesus to baptism in his personal sense of sinfulness, cannot stand before the court of reason and morality. Any other interpretation that reduces Jesus’ baptism to a mere formality would lead to the accusation that Jesus played an unethical game with an act as serious as John’s baptism. This is the harm that the consequences of apologetics have prevented the last-mentioned interpretation from advancing any further, even though it is still apologetic in the sense that, for the sake of a particular interest, it suddenly stops its progress in both the substance itself and the account.

It does not want to allow “under any condition a concept of Jesus’ sinlessness that would exclude an inner struggle of the soul of such a kind in which the evil is present as a living spiritual potency” **), but if it asserts that this potency does not even need to “become an actuality of the will that does not enter into external action and conduct” – then what is Jesus other than still the ghost of apologetics! A possibility that cannot even experience the irresistible dialectic that leads it to reality, even as the reality that is in itself, is not worth being called a possibility. A struggle “in which victory is decided from the outset” is no longer a struggle for the one who is already so much a victor in the beginning that the contrast “cannot find a place in his soul,” but a game that does not touch him internally.

**) Weisse, I, 280.

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This interpretation must still, like apologetics, find a stumbling block in the fact that Jesus went to be baptized – for how could he have done so if the feeling of sinfulness in him was not the most serious and real? – and seeks to remove this stumbling block by giving the baptism of John as wide an indeterminacy as possible. “The moment of sin-consciousness and the need for liberation from the consciousness of sin does not need to be thought of as a dogmatically established formula of the John baptism,” says Weisse. What do we need to know about whether or what formula John used or had his followers recite at his baptism, if it is so certain that his baptism was seen as an act of repentance! The action may not have been completely silent, but even if, as is very likely, it did not require a confession of individual sins, was it therefore less a confession of sinfulness in general? Let us not torture ourselves with words that cannot be thought of anything: Jesus, at least, when he went to the baptism of repentance, will not have encapsulated the acknowledgment of the motive that prompted him to do so with these apologist’s excuses.

Even the report of the wonderful appearance of the Spirit cannot yet fully acknowledge this view. Weisse must assert that what Mark “reports, he wants to be regarded at first (!) as nothing other than a subjective process in the soul of the divine baptizer.” But if he goes so far as to say that “this narrative, in its original form – with Mark – may be a literal account of an expression that Jesus himself may have made about what was going on in him at the moment of his baptism by John,” *) we hold him to his word. Can Mark clearly indicate that he wants the process to be considered an external appearance when he says, “Jesus saw” or even when he says, “a voice came from heaven” – φωνη εγενετο εκ του ουρανων  -? It came from heaven, which Jesus saw open. What torture! The same torture of human language, reason, and biblical account that must finally emerge when one takes the words of the account more seriously and now, as Hoffmann says **), “the process is to be understood as a spiritual seeing, as an inner perception of a really happening event.” If it was a real event, how can it be limited to inner perception alone, since its elements – the opening of heaven, the descent of the Spirit in an external symbol, and the heavenly voice – all belong to externality, and thus it must have presented itself to the external means of perception. Luke has correctly explained the report of his predecessor when he says (Luke 3:22) that the Holy Spirit descended “in bodily form” like a dove upon Jesus – well, if the substrate of this symbolic appearance was a tangible one, then we do not know what stronger expression the theologian demands to be moved to confess that the evangelists want to speak of an outwardly perceivable appearance.

*) Weisse, l, 473. 474.

**) Ibid., p. 304.

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The apologist himself is responsible if we now take doubt seriously. Why did he show us the dangerous point at which the report possesses the seed of its dissolution? Why did he already dissolve the report so far that we can no longer see an external perception in it? Are we to blame that the dissolution is now complete and the worm of doubt continues to eat away? Once it is established that the evangelists transformed an inner vision into the perception of an external appearance, the same power that supposedly caused this transformation could have also produced the whole thing from the beginning. But the fact that the Holy Spirit could appear in the form of a dove is so impossible that the entire report of the miraculous appearance falls apart if this main component no longer exists. Or would one assume that for Jesus, the “inner spiritual perception” was what was happening in his soul, which objectified into a vision, and that the Holy Spirit appeared to him in the form of a dove? Then the apologist would have to claim that Jesus had seen the Holy Spirit in a symbol which only the rabbis knew, and which they inherited from the Oriental symbolism that considered the dove as the image of the living natural power. We don’t even know if the dove had already been elevated to the symbol of the Holy Spirit during the time of Jesus, because the Jewish writings in which we find this comparison are of later origin. So Jesus would have had to make this combination of pagan symbolism with Jewish language, which attributed to the Spirit of God a brooding hovering over the life-giving seeds of the earthly (Genesis 1:2), himself. But at the moment of baptism, where he had to think about completely different things, how could such an extensive combination have been possible for him? No, such things can only become possible for a community and a writer later on when it is necessary to shape a general view that gradually becomes established, and to bring about certainty through this shaping. For in a religious community, it only becomes certainty when a general assumption is developed into the form of a particular fact.

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No one in the community knew when or how the Lord had come to the conviction of his calling, or how he had even come to this certainty of his destiny. But as gradually, alongside the belief in the sacrificial death and resurrection of the Redeemer, interest in his life story emerged, the rounding out of the historical view demanded that the beginning of salvation be demonstrated, i.e. the moment when the Lord emerged from obscurity and embarked on his mission. But where was this starting point? No one knew, or rather everyone: was it not, according to the law clearly read in the Old Testament, the moment when Jesus, like the prophets, was called by the divine voice and became certain of his destiny, the moment when, like the prophets, the Spirit of God came upon him *) ? Did he not have to be called, initiated and strengthened for his task in the same way as the divine messengers in the time of the Old Testament through a vision? It was understood that in this vision Jesus had to hear the voice that in the prophecies of the Old Testament (Psalm 2:7, Isaiah 42:1) had already proclaimed him as the Son of God and the object of divine favor. Finally, if the Holy Spirit was to descend on Jesus in a vision, if it was to become visible to him or rather to the perception of the community that the Spirit had descended on him, then he had to assume a visible form, so that all doubts were quelled in advance. If the form and shape could not have been more fitting for the Spirit, as long as it only came down from heaven to earth, than that of a bird, then which bird was uncertain and left to the writer who first developed this view in detail. The writer, whose combination passed into the scriptures of Luke and Matthew and, as we see from the fourth gospel, finally into the belief of the community, could start from a Jewish comparison, or he could start from the pagan view that the dove was a sacred bird. We do not dare to determine which one, as so much randomness plays a role in such combinations; we also lose nothing if we do not come to a decisive certainty in this question: enough, the dove became a symbol for the appearance of the Holy Spirit.

*) There was no need to reflect on a single messianic passage in the Old Testament (e.g. Isaiah 11:2, where the Spirit of the Lord rests upon the Messiah), as this particular view is formed in the Old Testament itself according to the general view that the Spirit of the Lord comes upon the prophets and divine messengers at their calling.

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We have no interest in doubting the account of Jesus’ baptism, as we cannot find any offense in it if Jesus, who as the Son of Man belonged to humanity and did not remain indifferent to its struggles and difficulties, went to be baptized. The apologist would feel relieved of a burdensome weight if he could get rid of that report, as according to his assumptions, it must be inexplicable how Jesus could undergo such a ceremony. We honor truth, humanity, and Jesus himself by giving him back the sense of sinfulness, which apologetics have taken away from him, and not as an lifeless semblance: a stone, a ghost can be without this feeling, which is precisely the deepest in the highest spirits, but a person who has given a new form to world history through the power of his inner being – not.

So we certainly do not have a dogmatic interest when we doubt a note that should actually be welcome to us because it shows us Jesus as a human among humans. It is something stronger than dogmatic interest that moves us to push the doubt so far that we finally ask seriously whether it is really true that Jesus was baptized by John.

“The fact of this baptism,” says Weisse *), “is one of the least space-giving facts of evangelical history to historical skepticism.” Why? “The same thing is reported unanimously in all the Gospels.” But this argument, which belongs to the old apologetics, has now lost all its power, since this unanimity has lost its halo. Luke and Matthew copied the report from the work of Mark, and if the late fourth evangelist did not have any of his predecessors in view, the fact was so universally recognized at his time, the form in which the Holy Spirit appeared had become so well known, that the main thing could be given to him from the general belief of the community. This fact, Weisse continues, “was universally regarded in apostolic history – (which is that?) – as the moment from which the evangelical proclamation of the deeds of the Lord had to begin.” We openly admit our ignorance: we do not know a single one of these testimonies. Not a single one! Perhaps Weisse means the testimonies of the Acts of the Apostles, in which case we say again: we do not know a single one, because a writer who has excluded the report and the associated view from the scripture of Mark, who is thus already accustomed to this type, will not deny it in his later work. So if Peter, for example, says in Acts 1:22 that the Lord began his activity from John’s baptism, he must speak like this because the author of the third Gospel lets him speak. We do not know a single one.

*) “evangelische Geschichte” by Heinrich August Eduard Weisse, volume 1, page 273.

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“A dogmatic interest that might have tempted to invent this event cannot easily be found,” Weisse continues, “rather, the dogmatic concepts that soon found their place in the Christian Church may seem to pose a difficulty in explaining this event.” This is well said and cautious! It is right of Weisse not to say that those dogmatic concepts could have made it difficult to “invent” that event. For at the time when Mark wrote, these concepts had not yet been developed to the extent, or at least not yet so widely accepted and integrated into the general understanding, that one would have taken offense if Jesus appeared as one who was subjected to the law. Later, however – that is something else – one could no longer reconcile with this view, as Matthew and the fourth evangelist demonstrate sufficiently: but their offense, as well as the fact that they still report on the baptism of Jesus, proves nothing for or against the historical foundation of a view that they found and could no longer avoid.

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But we may certainly consider it as evidence against the historical character of the Gospel account, as well as the most significant proof of its late origin, that Paul in his letters never alludes to Jesus being baptized by John. We attach less importance to the fact that Jesus himself never mentioned this event, which marked the beginning of his public ministry. We can simply acknowledge this as an immediate tact of the evangelists, who were prevented from using this as a means of confirming the Lord’s calling. At least, this tact guided the Synoptics, and the fourth Evangelist did not need this proof, as he had given the Lord much stronger ones.

The contemptuous treatment that is usually given to the argument from silence does not deserve it, at least not in the present case, since we do not find any evidence where we should necessarily find it – in the Pauline letters. But let us leave aside the despised conclusion – although it is not as contemptible as Weisse suggests when he speaks of “repeated testimonies” – we can trace the matter back to its origin. John was regarded as the forerunner of the Lord, his work as a precondition of the gospel, and the general view of history of the community had arranged the relationship between the herald and the Messiah in such a way that the latter appeared when the former left the scene. Now, at the moment when the Lord is called, the forerunner is still in his place, so both must meet on the scene at this moment. If Jesus is to be called, what could be a more appropriate occasion than to undergo John’s baptism? “How external!” one will cry. So be it! The gospel has been mediated through John’s baptism; to reveal this inner connection in history itself, but hidden from the eyes, the religious view must bring both personally together. Therefore, if the Baptist testified of Jesus, then the latter must go to him and submit to his baptism. But it is anything but a historical law that the greater or later one must go through the previous historical mediations; rather, we may describe it as the irony of history and acknowledge in it precisely the proof of its extraordinary speed and productivity that it usually brings its greatest heroes from the very edge of the scene and suddenly lets them emerge here without having to lead them through the earlier interests that were at work there. Later on, from the power of their self-awareness, the later ones can and will recognize and appreciate as their forerunners the powers that prevailed on the scene of their activity. Thus, Jesus recognized in John his Elias and in the baptism of repentance the divine appointment (Mark 11:29); but they do not need to have personally attended the school that the time before them had to go through. The ideal coincidence of the earlier and the later in the memory and recognition of the latter is not enough for the religious consciousness of the community, and it must finally view the inner connection between the appearance of the Baptist and Jesus and the idea that the work of salvation is prepared by John’s baptism in the image that we first find in the Gospel of Mark. We still find this category of external connection in apologetic books today *) ; it belongs to religious reflection in general, but since it is not a law of history, we can never be sure whether it was this that happened by chance this time, and the founder of the community himself personally went through the historical transition point that would lead to his work. If we look at how this category is essentially intertwined with religious consciousness, and if we have to decide whether it is more likely that it happened by chance or whether the pragmatism of religious historical perspective arranged it so that Jesus was consecrated and prepared for his work through John’s baptism, then we unhesitatingly decide in favor of the infinitely overwhelming probability that this arrangement in history belongs to later religious reflection **).

*) Neander, for example, is limited to this category when he wants to make it understandable why Jesus had to be baptized by John. He says (p. 63), Jesus had to “await the external (!) consecration” for his public activity from the one “who was to emerge as the final appearance of Old Testament prophecy in order to form the preparatory transition point for the immediate entry of the Messianic time itself.”

**) Neander (p. 62) is still fighting against the assumption of earlier criticism “that Jesus himself was first one of John’s disciples” – a fight that has now become unnecessary. But even in this fight, the apologist could not prevail, for if he cannot adduce a better historical testimony against the criticism than the statement of Peter (Acts 1:22) that the Lord had worked from the baptism of John onwards, his case would be lost. The third evangelist speaks in the person of Peter, or Peter must speak according to the view that had become dominant in the community. According to this later view, the course of John had only achieved its highest significance and its final purpose when Jesus was baptized, so that the Baptist no longer needed to remain on the historical stage when the Messiah was consecrated by him. It is only this later view that has reduced the historical intervals so much that the Baptist only needed to appear, bear witness to the future and baptize him, who had come at that moment, in order to be able to leave the stage immediately afterwards. (How Acts 13:23 is to be understood will be explained later.)

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This also settles the previous dispute between criticism and apologetics as to whether a personality who is already the Son of God by birth needed such an enormous miracle to stimulate their self-awareness. When Mark wrote and had the Holy Spirit descend on Jesus at his baptism, there was no theory yet that could make this explanation of how Jesus was initiated and equipped with heavenly powers unnecessary or offensive. At that time, baptism seemed to be the most appropriate occasion on which the messianic self-awareness in the Lord was awakened by the call from heaven and the power of the Holy Spirit was imparted to him. However, afterwards, when Jesus had become the God-revealed, one had to feel the contradiction that would arise from the fact that the Holy Spirit had descended on the Lord only at his baptism. Luke – according to his habit – still leaves both sides of the contradiction side by side, but Matthew, the reflective pragmatist, brings them together and tries to eliminate the offense as far as possible. Finally, the fourth evangelist, for whom Jesus is the incarnate Logos, had to make the greatest effort to eliminate the contradiction, and he actually did his utmost. He does not even say outright that Jesus was baptized, but only hints at the fact after a long detour, after he has made John’s water baptism a mere means by which he was able to find the Messiah, and the wonderful appearance at Jesus’ baptism had to be intended for John alone, so that he would be sure that “he” (John) was the one in whom the Holy Spirit dwelled (John 1:33).

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