Last Time:

THE QUEST FOR THE HISTORICAL PAUL (Part 7/8: Paul and Salvation by Any Means Necessary)

Hermann Detering and others argue for a significantly later date for the composition of the Gospel of Mark than the mainstream scholarly consensus, which typically places it around 65–75 CE. Detering proposed that Mark was written no earlier than 136 CE, after the Bar Kokhba Revolt (132–136 CE). His argument is primarily based on his analysis of Mark 13 (the “Synoptic Apocalypse” or “Olivet Discourse”), which he considered an independent literary unit reflecting the historical context of the Bar Kokhba Revolt rather than the First Jewish-Roman War (66–74 CE). He suggested that this chapter, and by extension the Gospel, was composed in response to the events of the early 2nd century, particularly the revolt’s aftermath.  Detering contended that there is no explicit evidence of Mark’s existence until the mid-2nd century, with the earliest clear references appearing in Irenaeus (ca. 180 CE).

Price notes Luke addresses his Gospel and Acts to “most excellent Theophilus” (Luke 1:3, Acts 1:1), suggesting a person of high status, or a symbolic name (“lover of God”) for a broader audience.  Taken internally for Luke-Acts, a specific historical figure might be intended given the honorific “most excellent” (used for officials like Felix in Acts 23:26).  If Luke-Acts has a late date this could be referring to Theophilus of Antioch who was born around 120 and died 183-190 CE.    Luke’s gospel is first mentioned around 160-70 CE by Irenaeus.  No one quoted it earlier than that.  It’s common apologetic practice to identify the earliest point a gospel could be, e.g., 70 CE for Mark, and dating it as close to that date as possible since that is closest to the life of Jesus and is most useful for the purpose of mining historical nuggets.

No gospel narrative is quoted by the apostolic fathers and some think they seem to have an apocryphal appearance and not authoritative.  The genre is similar to ancient Hellenistic romances like “Chariton’s Chaereas and Callirhoe.”  Such novels were most prominent in the second century and had instances of character escaping and surviving the cross, as we also see in satirical Roman tales like the Satyricon, and even paradoxographical ghost stories.  I’ve also noted previously that the Gospels are probably not earlier than the turn of the second century because the theme of the dead Jesus converting the soldier at the cross imitates the death of Cleomenes at the end of Plutarch’s parallel lives of Cleomenes.  The Gospels also seem to reflect some of the parallelism style innovations of Plutarch’s Parallel Lives (e.g., forgiving death of Jesus – forgiving death of Steven ; humiliating death of John the Baptist – tortuous humiliating death of Jesus).  The most notable parallelism is how New Testament Gospel story units are silently linked to LXX Old Testament scripture (Haggadic Midrash) and Greek figures (mimesis)

Talbert noted that elements of Luke-Acts seem to reflect the second century apologists like Irenaeus claiming they got their sources from eyewitnesses, unlike the Gnostics who might have been divining/hallucinating with their special revelation.  Luke’s gospel also reflects elements of the 2nd and 3rd century infancy gospels attesting to the “divine brat” Jesus.

Unlike Ehrman thinks, there is no evidence that the material unique to Matthew was from a special source, anymore than the material unique to Luke.  It looks like the evangelists just invented them.  Price notes there are parables unique to Luke that are complete short stories – often with a central character wondering “what shall I do?  I will do so and so …”  Luke also has a tendency to interpret his parables before he tells them.  Luke Acts seems to use 2nd Maccabees, Euripides’ Bacchae and Josephus.

The Gospels and letters may be entirely too late to function as reliable sources about the historical Jesus.  We can see they are literary-saturated when compared with Q.  Sarah Rollens in her essay SCRIBAL GALILEE in “The Next Quest For The Historical Jesus (2024)” shows the simplistic nature of Q may represent an early source contrasting to the sophistication of the gospels, but as she also shows we need to be skeptical because the form and content are so reflective of the job nature of the Q writers it seems particularly difficult to sort out the content from the author.

There seems to be a Q source that we find in Luke and Matthew (Luke’s being more primitive), while not necessarily overly informative about the historical Jesus at least testifies to the original climate in which some materials about Jesus were circling.

Sarah Rollens notes this argument only really pertains to the Q document, as the Gospels and Acts reflect a more sophisticated production. She writes:

Regardless of where one falls on the question of the historical Jesus proper, the topic of “scribal Galilee” and the early Jesus movement is, to my mind, only relevant to Q, because when we turn to the later gospels, we are dealing with cultural expressions of a translocal movement that have lost much of their regional specificity and that have begun to show marks of more elite forms of literature. What this means, then, is that Q provides us with some of the most relevant data for understanding scribal Galilee close to the time and place of the historical Jesus and the bureaucratic perpetuation of ideas in his name (392).

She argues what we see in Q reflects mid-level urban administrative/bureaucratic scribal activity in both content and form:

Not only does Jesus spout numerous ethical teachings in Q, but in general his wise sayings valorize “clarity of perception,” “guidance,” “good speech,” and “moral examples,” which reflect, as one Q expert notes, “the self-consciously ‘public’ nature of the scribal pursuit [in these sorts of texts].” In other words, the content of Q reflects precisely the scribal, intellectual values that other sapiential, instructional literature does. There are other details in Q’s content that suggest a distinct kind of administrative scribal competency. In particular, many of the examples that Q uses throughout Jesus’s sayings are topoi drawn from the world of urban administration.… It is not impossible that people from a different social location would be familiar with such phenomena, but to use them so consistently and with so little reflection on their appropriateness seems to suggest we are dealing with authors who saw these sorts of situations on a day-to-day basis and who considered these scenarios the most appropriate ones with which to argue…[T]his discussion has focused on examples that reveal the unstated assumptions of the authors or the experiences that they (apparently) assume to be self-evidently persuasive. Many of these happen to be scenarios with which village scribes would have been intimately familiar… [In terms of form], Q’s authors decided to write this down, they drew on their repertoire of knowledge for what official documents and records looked like… [Bazzana] has shown that specific lexical items in Q reflect the “highly formulaic documents” that administrative officials regularly penned…The compositional techniques of the document, as we have noted, betray habits associated with mundane administrative writing: drafting petitions, creating contracts, recording inventories of storage caches, and the like (396).

Given the early dating of Q, we have an interesting window here into how writing about the Jesus movement developed:

Gousopoulos finds the latter option compelling, which thus provides us with an instance of administrative figures, connected translocally to their counterparts in other towns and villages, sharing aspirations to own and (presumably) to read elite literature. Against the idealized picture of how the Jesus movement spread in the Four Gospels, Acts, and Eusebius’s idealized narrative, the collaboration, communication, and spread of ideas through preexisting scribal networks simply make more sense than any other romanticized idea of apostles transporting texts around as part of their “mission” in first-century Roman Palestine… As I have shown, Q uses a cache of imagery and literary techniques that makes sense originating among middling administrative figures. We should thus abandon the idea that illiterate peasants kept the Jesus traditions alive simply by telling stories for decades until the gospels were written. Rather, we can agree with Douglas Oakman that “Jesus of Nazareth entered the pages of history due to the work of sympathetic scribes.” …In short, village administrators truly might have been some of the most well-connected people in the social landscape of the Roman Empire—akin to the axial figures and mediating intellectuals that we often find facilitating the spread of social and political movements throughout history. The movement of ideas and people through these sorts of networks makes much more sense than simply taking over the gospel myths themselves and concluding that we are dealing with radical itinerant preachers or a cadre of charismatic wonder-workers. Yes, that is what the texts are about, but we are not obliged to accept this as a viable historical explanation for the development of the tradition (408).

Rollens provides us a window into the reception history about who traditionally wanted to share ideas about Jesus. Recall, Q is a hypothetical lost document preserved as the material common to Matthew and Luke that does not come from Mark.  There is something there that would later be incorporated into the Jesus portrait like Paul’s portrait appropriated Simon Magus as I will discuss below, but it’s too clouded by administrative coloring to determine what and so for instance the Q1 sayings are simply cynical as a group and so as Price notes they need not lead back to a single sage, let alone the historical Jesus.  It’s remarkable that Q being developed through mid-level administrators echoes Paul administrating and visiting his churches, Paul perhaps imitating the form of Q. Dr. M David Litwa comments “one of the striking things about Paul’s letters is they sound like Papal missives or decrees. Paul was a self-made man from Tarsus and a self proclaimed apostle. But his long and weighty letters make him sound like a Roman provincial administrator. In fact, the letters themselves depict Paul as such an administrator who makes the rounds to his communities, keeping in touch with local leaders, sending out official embassies, solving problems, receiving deputations, and keeping the power that the faith serves at the forefront of their minds. But would the historical Paul have the time and the authority to write such stately letters? It seems that by day Paul makes tents by day but by night makes polished, almost papal correspondence.”

Regarding intertextuality, as Robyn Faith Walsh showed, ancient literary networks are where writings circulated and were added to and revised. Ancient literary networks existed where writings were circulated, revised, and expanded upon through collaboration, copying, and adaptation. These networks often involved scholars, scribes, philosophers, and communities who shared texts across regions, leading to dynamic textual traditions. Livesey pushes the gospels/acts, the Pauline letters, and patristic evidence until late, and so the direction of intertextuality is more of an open question.  Certainly, as Vinzent notes, every possible speculative solution has been championed, from Markan priority to Lukan priority.  We sometimes argue Paul influenced Mark due to shared themes, but the occasional nature of the Pauline content of the Markan material seems instead to be summarized by Paul and would be opaque to a letter reader without a sophisticated understand of Mark.  So, we have Paul say the law was given so that sin would become sinful beyond measure, which seems to summarize the corrupt trial of Jesus by the Jewish elite. 

Early Christian communities circulated letters (e.g., Paul’s epistles), gospels, and apocryphal texts across the Mediterranean, from Rome to Antioch to Alexandria.  The New Testament texts were copied by hand, with scribes introducing variants (e.g., the longer ending of Mark 16:9–20; Luke’s preface; the various strata of John, etc). This reflects bible practice generally as prof Joel Baden notes in the Hebrew bible contradictions and layered storytelling reveal a long editorial history. This also speaks to a school origin of the Pauline letters since we seem to have with Paul editorial work of multiple voices and letters stitched together.  And, some communities added apocryphal gospels (e.g., Gospel of Thomas) to their canons.  Church Fathers like Origen and Jerome commented on and revised texts, creating recensions (e.g., the Vulgate). Theological debates led to selective copying or suppression of certain texts.  Monastic scriptoria became hubs for copying and annotating texts, with monks adding scholia or harmonizing gospel accounts (e.g., Tatian’s Diatessaron).  Papyri like P66 (c. 200 CE) show early gospel variants, and Codex Sinaiticus (4th century) includes corrections by multiple scribes.

So, when we see the literary centrality and yet 4 different purposes of the soldier at the cross in the 4 gospels which in a previous article I identified as central to the texts, this suggests the gospels were in circulation and being created and revised in relation to one another more than just the traditional observation “Matthew copied 90 percent of Mark.”  We similarly see the 2 Joseph genealogies in Matthew and Luke as too idiosyncratic to just be there by chance but too different to reflect a common source like Q.

The Dutch Radical Critics

As for the Pauline letters, The Dutch Radical Critics who Livesey, Detering and Price are indebted to, were a group of 19th-century scholars primarily associated with the University of Leiden, who concluded that all of Paul’s letters were pseudonymous based on a skeptical, historical-critical approach to the New Testament. Their views, articulated by figures like Allard Pierson, Abraham Dirk Loman, and Samuel Adrianus Naber, were rooted in a broader rejection of traditional Christian narratives and an emphasis on naturalistic explanations for the development of early Christianity. Here’s why they reached this conclusion:

The Dutch Radicals argued that all Pauline letters were written in the second century (c. 100–150 CE), long after Paul’s supposed lifetime (c. 5–62 CE). They believed Christianity itself emerged later than traditionally thought, as a syncretistic movement blending Jewish, Hellenistic, and Gnostic elements. Since the letters reflect developed theological concepts (e.g., Christology in Colossians or ecclesiastical structure in the Pastorals), they saw them as products of a later era, not the mid-first century.

The Radicals emphasized the absence of early, independent evidence for Paul’s existence or his letters outside Christian tradition. They noted that no non-Christian sources (e.g., Roman or Jewish records) mention Paul, and early Christian references (e.g., Clement of Rome, Ignatius) are either too late or ambiguous. This led them to view Paul as a legendary or fictional figure, with the letters attributed to him as later fabrications.

They highlighted variations in style, vocabulary, and theology across the Pauline corpus. For example, the Pastoral Epistles (1–2 Timothy, Titus) differ markedly from Romans or 1 Corinthians in tone and content, suggesting different authors. Even the “authentic” letters (e.g., Galatians, Romans) were seen as too rhetorically polished or theologically advanced to reflect a single historical figure.  One example I gave is what seems like Paul’s brilliant one sentence summary of what lies behind the corrupt trial of Jesus by the Jewish elites (the law makes sin sinful beyond measure).  Another was summing up Mark’s crucifix allusions with “Christ died according to the scriptures.  The Radicals argued these differences pointed to multiple authors writing under Paul’s name to address diverse second-century issues.

Pseudepigraphy was a Common Practice. The Radicals viewed pseudepigraphy as a widespread literary convention in antiquity, where texts were attributed to authoritative figures to gain credibility. They compared Paul’s letters to other pseudonymous works, like the letters of Plato or the apocryphal writings of the early church. They argued that early Christians created a “Paul” persona to unify disparate communities and legitimize theological developments, much like other religious movements used revered names.

The Dutch Radicals rejected the historicity of much of the New Testament, including the Gospels and Acts. They saw Paul’s dramatic conversion (Acts 9) and missionary exploits as legendary, akin to mythological hero narratives. Without a historical Paul, the letters attributed to him are necessarily pseudonymous, written by later Christians to retroactively construct an apostolic foundation for the faith.

The Radicals noted that Pauline theology, especially in letters like Ephesians or Colossians, incorporates Hellenistic concepts (e.g., cosmic Christ, mystery religions) and proto-Gnostic ideas (e.g., knowledge as salvation). They argued these reflect second-century debates rather than the Jewish apocalyptic context of a first-century Paul, suggesting the letters were crafted to address later theological controversies.

The Radicals challenged the traditional timeline of early Christianity, arguing that the rapid spread of the church and the sophistication of its literature were implausible within a few decades of Jesus’ death (c. 30 CE). They proposed that the Pauline letters were part of a gradual literary development, written by anonymous authors to create a unified Christian narrative. 

Price provides a helpful summary of the Dutch Radical case against the authenticity of the 7 usually accepted Pauline epistles:

The grounds for maintaining the pseudepigraphical character of all the epistles are as follows. 

1. The question of their form

a. They are treatises, not letters, whether to an individual or a group.  The matter of the epistle is destined for publicity. If the letter is always more or less private and confidential, the epistle is meant for the market-place … All that is in the letter—address and so forth—[and] is of primary importance, becomes in the epistle ornamental detail, merely added to maintain the illusion of this literary form. A real letter is seldom wholly intelligible to us until we know to whom it is addressed and the special circumstances for which it was written. To the understanding of most epistles this is by no means essential.

 b. They cannot have been written to the ancient churches whose names they bear since they have left no trace on the history of those churches.

c. The imaginary nature of the letters is evident from catholicizing phrases like “to all that are in Rome, called to be saints,” “to the church of God which is at Corinth, them that are sanctified in Jesus Christ, called to be saints, with all who invoke the name of our Lord Jesus Christ in all places, etc.,” “to the church of God which is at Corinth with all the saints in the whole of Achaia,” “to all the churches of Galatia.” Admittedly, one can reply that these phrases represent later, post-Pauline additions to make it easier to circulate the letter far beyond its originally intended readership. But again, how is this different from the desperate fundamentalist attempt to ascribe the Deuteronomic account of Moses’s death to a later writer in order to attribute the rest of the Pentateuch to Moses himself?

d. They have been redacted. They teem with discontinuities and internal contradictions indicating, for example, that the epistles to the Corinthians and Romans are patchwork quilts in the style of a Synoptic Gospel, while Galatians seems to have been a Marcionite  document overlaid with a corrective series of orthodox interpolations. As Darrell J. Doughty  points out, when we see such anomalies and anacoluthas in the Gospels, we readily recognize them as redactional seams, but when they arise in the epistles we brush the dust off our rusty harmonizations and go to work! It is just the sort of “blindness and insight” (Paul de Man) evident in the earliest days of the Higher Criticism when it simply did not occur to scalpel-wielding Old Testament critics to subject the New Testament to the same surgery. 

2. Their contents

a. There is confusion over the nature of the churches and Paul’s implied relations with them. In Romans, “Paul” writes to a church ostensibly unknown to him, yet he does so with great presumption. In Galatians and Corinthians he is portrayed as writing to old friends and having to cajole, then threaten, after first boasting and flattering—none of which must be necessary if he is the authoritative oracle Romans makes him out to be. Which is the real Paul? Perhaps neither!

b. We can draw no coherent picture of the opponents Paul faces in his epistles. It seems rather that a pseudepigraphist or redactor is aiming scattershot at various heretical options current in his day, much like the later works of Irenaeus and Epiphanius who wrote “against all heresies.” This is why scholars assuming Pauline authorship have repeatedly come up with implausible chimeras combining elements of Gnostics, Judaizers, apocalyptic enthusiasts, and charismatic triumphalists as candidates for Paul’s opponents. This is like a police artist’s conception of a crook created by combining features from this and that page of the standard sketchbooks.

c. The complexity and depth of the theology and ethics betoken a time long after the days of the historical Paul, who must have lived only a few years subsequent to the crucifixion. Apologists argue that we can trace a process of development between earlier and later epistles, reflecting a deepening of Paul’s thought. Paul himself, as he is presented in these very same epistles, would hardly countenance such a view since he represents himself everywhere simply as the recipient of a prepackaged revelation from heaven, a “gospel not from man.”

d. The kind of virulent advocacy, opposition, and reinterpretation of Pauline doctrine evidenced in these writings really is more appropriate if their subject is an authority of the past. We seem to be witnessing a debate over Paulinism by the Christians of a subsequent generation, much as we see in James 2:14-26 and 2 Peter 3:15-16, only here the writers are all posing as Paul in order to correct things authoritatively from within the Paulinist ranks. Paul’s “previous” teaching to these churches (“Do you not remember that when I was with you I told you?”) smacks of intrascholastic controversy, like Lutherans arguing over Luther. Imagine the peasants and proletarians of Corinth or Iconium scratching their heads over Paul’s ratiocinations on the subtleties of justification and the Law. “How could the unphilosophic Galatians understand this letter? Loman compares it with Hegel lecturing to the aborigines of the East Indies,” says Gustaaf van den Bergh. What we actually seem to have are rebuttals of one Paulinist’s interpretations by another, pulling rank by assuming the pose of Paul himself: “And why not do evil that good may come?—as some people slanderously charge us with saying. Their condemnation is just” (Rom. 3:8; cf. Gal. 5:11).

e. Is it really conceivable that the pronounced post-Jewish Christianity of Paulinism, which had utterly abandoned the authority of the twelve apostles, the Jewish Torah, and the nationalistic conception of the messiah for a spiritualized and internationalized religion, could have arisen only a matter of a few short years after the death of Jesus? Why do the Synoptic Gospels seem to attest a more primitive Christology than Paul? If Van Manen is right, it is because they are earlier than the Pauline epistles.

f. Insofar as the epistles address issues of concern to their intended readers (even if these are not the imagined readers in the Corinthian churches of 50 CE but the implied or actual readers of the next century), the concerns addressed are anachronistic for the mid-first century; they are really later concerns over celibacy (encratism) and the criteria of true apostleship.

g. There is a historical retrospective tone to the epistles. They look back on the work of the apostles as something now in the past. Note, for instance, 1 Corinthians 3:6ff, where Paul is the revered founder of the Corinthian Church and Apollos is his successor; the whole thing is now in the hands of the post-apostolic generation, which is addressed with the warning: “Let each take care how he builds!” Paul’s work is over. The writer can already assess that Saint Paul did more than the other apostles (15:8-10).

h. An advanced, post-apostolic gnosis is in view in 1 Corinthians 1:17-31; 2:6, 16 (cf. Baur on Colossians and Ephesians), though again, apologists desperately posit that Paul liked to turn his opponents’ terminology and conceptuality against them. This would surely be the strangest and most muddying of polemical techniques, distorting the clear notes of the bugle into a confusing din: if Paul sounds so much like Corinthian Gnostics, does he agree or disagree with them?

i. Romans 9-11 speaks of the rejection of Israel in a manner impossible before the fall of Jerusalem in 70 C.E. Baur made the same point in the case of 1 Thessalonians 2:14-16, though, as we have seen, apologists claim these verses are a later interpolation in an otherwise genuine epistle. What event can have decisively signaled that God had written off the Jewish people? What, besides the disaster of 70 C.E. (or even that of 132 C.E.), could be the event to which Romans refers? Why has their “table” (temple altar) become their downfall and a “retribution” (Rom. 11:9)? Why is a parallel drawn with Elijah lamenting, “Lord … they have demolished thy altars” (Rom. 11:3)?

j. There were apparently no persecutions in the early period in which Paul would have lived; these were the phenomena of a later period. Yet they are mentioned as a matter of present experience in the writer’s day (Rom. 5:3-5; 8:17-39; 12:12, 14; 2 Cor. 1:3-7).

k. The epistles come from a time when “traditions” can be said (by Paul!) to derive from Paul (2 Thess. 2:15). Would he have spoken in this way of his own teachings, with the palpable air of venerable antiquity? Not likely. Again, what we have here is like 2 Peter 3:2, where the writer, passing himself off as “Simeon Peter,” momentarily lets the mask slip and mentions how “your apostles” prophesied in the past of events that have now come present. Where is Peter writing this from? Heaven? Likewise, how old would Paul have to be for his teachings to be known as traditions? In 2 Thessalonians 2:5, Paul recalls the days of long ago: “when I was with you, I told you.” What makes this any different from Luke 24:44, “These are my words which I spoke to you when I was still with you”? In each case, do we not have a writer clumsily putting his own words into the mouth of an authority of the past, having him speak as if from the Great Beyond in the present, forgetting to have him speak as from his own time? He is still with them in “story time,” though someone seems to have forgotten it. “In a word,” writes Van Manen, “the church has existed for not a few years merely. The historical background of the epistles, even of the principle epistles, is a later age. … Everything points to later days—at least the close of the first or the beginning of the second century.”  Price, Robert M.. The Amazing Colossal Apostle: The Search for the Historical Paul (pp. 51-56). Signature Books. Kindle Edition.

Hermann Detering, a German pastor and scholar aligned with the Dutch Radical Criticism tradition, denied the historicity of Paul, arguing that the figure of Paul was a literary construct rather than a historical person. His views, articulated in works like The Fabricated Paul (1995) extend the Dutch Radicals’ skepticism by concluding that all Pauline letters are pseudonymous and that Paul himself is a fictionalized figure. Below are the key reasons for Detering’s denial of a historical Paul, based on his writings and the Dutch Radical framework, along with critical context:

Detering argued that none of the 13 New Testament letters attributed to Paul were written by a historical Paul, building on the Dutch Radicals’ claim that they are second-century products. He pointed to internal evidence, such as variations in style, vocabulary, and theology across the letters (e.g., the Pastoral Epistles’ ecclesiastical focus versus Romans’ theological depth), as indicating multiple authors. Even the “undisputed” letters (Romans, 1–2 Corinthians, Galatians, Philippians, 1 Thessalonians, Philemon) were seen as too rhetorically polished or theologically advanced for a mid-first-century figure, suggesting later composition(e.g., Paul seems to summarizes Mark crafting the crucifixion out of Psalms, 2^nd Isaiah and Deuteronomy with “Christ died for our sins according to the scriptures” with no context or explanation for his reader).

Detering noted “literary seams” and inconsistencies, such as conflicting portrayals of Paul’s relationship with congregations or vague descriptions of opponents, which he interpreted as evidence of fictional composition rather than genuine correspondence.

Detering emphasized the absence of early, non-Christian sources corroborating Paul’s existence or activities. The Dutch Radicals dismissed early Christian references like 1 Clement (c. 95 CE) and Ignatius’ letters (c. 110 CE) as either too late, inauthentic, or unreliable. Without external validation, Detering argued that the Pauline letters and Acts lack a historical anchor, making Paul’s existence questionable.

He contended that the earliest mentions of Paul’s letters (e.g., by Marcion or Irenaeus) appear in the second century, which he saw as suspiciously late for a figure supposedly active in the 50s–60s.

Detering proposed a radical hypothesis that “Paul” was a rebranded version of Simon Magus, a Samaritan figure described as a sorcerer and heretic in Acts 8:9-24 and later Christian texts like the Pseudo-Clementines.  For example, Price notes:

What did Simon Magus conclude on the question of the Torah? According to Irenaeus, “Simon Magus said that men are saved by grace and not by just works. For actions are not just by nature, but by accident; according as they were laid down by the angels who made the world, and who desired by commandments of this kind to bring men into servitude to themselves.” Unless I am mistaken, that is exactly the teaching of the Epistle to the Galatians.  (Price, Robert M.. The Amazing Colossal Apostle: The Search for the Historical Paul (pp. 237-238). Signature Books. Kindle Edition).

If Paul was a fictional character as Livesey, Price, and Detering argue, there are striking similarities between Paul and Simon Magus, suggesting literary borrowing.  To explore the potential similarities between the Apostle Paul as a fictive character (as constructed in the authentic Pauline epistles and Acts) and Simon Magus (as depicted in Acts, Josephus, and other early Christian sources), we can analyze their portrayals in terms of their lives, actions, and theological implications. This comparison assumes Paul is a literary creation, and draws on the available sources to identify parallels with Simon Magus, a figure often labeled as a magician, heretic, or founder of Gnosticism. The analysis will focus on shared themes, roles, and narrative functions, while critically examining the sources for possible overlap or intentional literary mirroring. Below, I outline key similarities in their lives and theologies, grounded in the texts, with citations where relevant.  We will see Acts has created a “Parallel Life” between Paul and Simon in the style of Plutarch who was key for my earlier article.  For example,

Paul’s gift of money to the Jerusalem church and Simon Magus’s bribe attempt are two distinct events in the New Testament, reflecting contrasting motivations and outcomes. Below is a comparison based on their context, intent, and implications, grounded in the biblical accounts (Acts 24:17, Romans 15:25-28 for Paul; Acts 8:9-24 for Simon Magus).

1. Context

• Paul’s Gift: Paul, an apostle, collected financial contributions from Gentile churches (e.g., in Macedonia and Achaia) to support the impoverished Jerusalem church. This collection, mentioned in Acts 24:17 and Romans 15:25-28, was delivered during his final visit to Jerusalem. It was a deliberate, organized effort to aid the Jewish Christians and foster unity between Gentile and Jewish believers.
• Simon Magus’s Bribe: Simon, a former sorcerer in Samaria who professed faith in Christ, witnessed the apostles Peter and John imparting the Holy Spirit through the laying on of hands (Acts 8:9-24). Amazed by this power, he offered money to buy the ability to confer the Holy Spirit, revealing his misunderstanding of spiritual gifts.

2. Intent

• Paul’s Gift: Paul’s intent was altruistic and theological. The collection was meant to relieve the material needs of the Jerusalem church, which faced poverty, possibly due to persecution or economic hardship. It also symbolized unity, as Gentile churches expressed gratitude for the spiritual heritage received from Jewish believers (Romans 15:27). Paul saw it as a way to bridge ethnic divisions within the early church.
• Simon Magus’s Bribe: Simon’s intent was self-serving. He sought to purchase spiritual authority or power, likely to enhance his own status or influence, as he had previously enjoyed prominence as a sorcerer (Acts 8:9-11). His offer reflected a transactional mindset, treating divine gifts as commodities.

3. Nature of the Act

• Paul’s Gift: The gift was a voluntary, communal effort, with funds gathered from multiple churches over time (1 Corinthians 16:1-4). It was given freely, with no expectation of personal gain, and was presented as an act of service and love. Paul ensured accountability by involving representatives from the contributing churches (2 Corinthians 8:16-24).
• Simon Magus’s Bribe: Simon’s offer was an individual, impulsive act. He proposed a direct financial transaction to acquire a spiritual gift, misunderstanding the nature of the Holy Spirit’s work, which cannot be bought or controlled (Acts 8:20). His action, later termed “simony,” became synonymous with attempting to purchase spiritual favors or ecclesiastical offices.

4. Response and Outcome

• Paul’s Gift: The Jerusalem church presumably received the gift, though Acts is silent on their explicit reaction. However, Paul’s delivery of the collection coincided with his arrest in Jerusalem (Acts 21:27-36), suggesting it did not shield him from opposition. The gift fulfilled its purpose of aiding the church and reinforcing unity, though it may not have fully resolved tensions between Jewish and Gentile Christians.
• Simon Magus’s Bribe: Peter sharply rebuked Simon, declaring, “May your silver perish with you, because you thought you could obtain the gift of God with money!” (Acts 8:20). Peter called him to repent, highlighting the sinfulness of his heart. Simon’s response was ambiguous, requesting prayer but not clearly repenting (Acts 8:24), leaving his spiritual state uncertain.

5. Theological Implications

• Paul’s Gift: This act reflects biblical principles of generosity, stewardship, and unity in the body of Christ. It aligns with teachings on sacrificial giving (2 Corinthians 9:6-7) and the mutual care among believers (Galatians 6:2). The collection also prefigured the church’s ongoing practice of charitable giving.
• Simon Magus’s Bribe: Simon’s attempt illustrates the danger of commodifying spiritual gifts and misunderstanding God’s grace. It underscores that divine power is not for sale and that true faith requires a transformed heart, not external transactions. The incident warns against exploiting religion for personal gain.

Paul’s gift was a selfless act of charity to support and unite the early church, rooted in love and accountability. Simon Magus’s bribe was a misguided, self-interested attempt to buy spiritual power, revealing a corrupted heart. While Paul’s action strengthened the church’s mission, Simon’s led to rebuke and a cautionary tale against simony. The contrast highlights the difference between genuine service and manipulative ambition in the early Christian context.

But in this we can abstract a more general syncretism between Paul and Simon.  Scholars like Gerd Lüdemann (as referenced in A Polite Bribe) argue that the delivery of the funds may have been a point of contention. The collection was meant to symbolize unity between Paul’s Gentile churches and the Jerusalem church, but it could have been perceived by some as an attempt to gain favor or influence (hence the term “polite bribe”). The tensions described in Acts 21, combined with Paul’s own concerns in Romans 15:30–31, suggest that his mission and the collection were not universally welcomed. The accusations against him in Jerusalem (Acts 21:27–29) focus on his teachings and actions among Gentiles, which could include his efforts to integrate Gentile and Jewish Christians through the collection.  Additionally, some scholars point to the silence in Acts about the outcome of the collection as significant. After Paul delivers the funds (implied in Acts 21:17–26), there is no mention of whether the Jerusalem church accepted or rejected it, which could imply a lack of enthusiasm or outright rejection. This ambiguity, combined with the immediate hostility Paul faces in the temple, supports the idea that his visit with the collection was met with mixed or negative reactions.

Similarities in Life and Narrative Role Between Paul and Simon

Charismatic Figures with Supernatural Claims:

Paul: In Acts, Paul is portrayed as a dynamic figure performing miracles, such as healing a lame man (Acts 14:8–10) and casting out a spirit of divination (Acts 16:16–18). His dramatic conversion on the road to Damascus involves a divine vision of Jesus (Acts 9:3–9), which he claims grants him apostolic authority (Galatians 1:11–12). As a fictive character, Paul’s miracles and visions position him as a divinely empowered leader, appealing to both Jews and Gentiles.

Simon Magus: In Acts 8:9–11, Simon is described as a Samaritan sorcerer who “used sorcery and bewitched the people of Samaria, giving out that himself was some great one,” with followers calling him “the great power of God.” Josephus describes a Simon, possibly the same figure, as a Cypriot Jew who used magical skills to influence Drusilla’s marriage to Felix (Antiquities XX.7 §2). Both figures are depicted as charismatic leaders who amaze audiences with extraordinary acts, suggesting a narrative parallel where both wield supernatural influence, though Paul’s is framed positively and Simon’s negatively.

Encounters with Roman Authorities:

Paul: In Acts, Paul frequently interacts with Roman officials, such as Felix, the procurator of Judea, before whom he defends his faith (Acts 24:10–21). His discussions with Felix, alongside Drusilla, focus on “justice, self-control, and the coming judgment” (Acts 24:25), positioning Paul as a moral and theological authority engaging with power structures.

Simon Magus: Josephus records a Simon who, as a friend of Felix, persuades Drusilla to leave her husband and marry Felix (Antiquities XX.7 §2). In Acts 8, Simon’s attempt to buy spiritual power occurs in Samaria, but later traditions (e.g., Justin Martyr, Irenaeus) place him in Rome, interacting with imperial figures like Nero and performing magical feats (First Apology I.26; Adversus Haereses). Both characters are linked to Felix and Drusilla in their respective narratives, suggesting a possible literary conflation or intentional contrast, where Paul’s righteous engagement with authorities contrasts with Simon’s manipulative influence.

Conversion and Transformation Narratives:

Paul: Acts presents Paul’s conversion from Saul, a persecutor of Christians, to a devoted apostle through a divine encounter (Acts 9:1–19). This transformation is central to his character, emphasizing a shift from opposition to advocacy for Christianity, though his independence from other apostles (Galatians 1:15–17) highlights his unique authority.

Simon Magus: In Acts 8:13, Simon is baptized by Philip after witnessing his miracles, suggesting a conversion to Christianity. However, his attempt to purchase the power to confer the Holy Spirit (Acts 8:18–19) leads to Peter’s rebuke, leaving his ultimate fate ambiguous (Acts 8:24). Some sources, like Justin Martyr, claim Simon continued as a heretic, founding a sect (First Apology I.26). Both figures undergo a form of conversion, but Paul’s is portrayed as genuine and redemptive, while Simon’s is superficial, possibly reflecting a narrative critique of rival charismatic leaders.

Conflict with Peter:

Paul: In Galatians 2:11–14, Paul recounts a confrontation with Peter (Cephas) in Antioch over issues of Jewish law and Gentile inclusion, highlighting theological tensions. Acts downplays this conflict, portraying Paul and Peter as more aligned (e.g., Acts 15), possibly to promote church unity.

Simon Magus: In Acts 8:20–24, Simon is rebuked by Peter for trying to buy spiritual power, a direct clash over the nature of divine gifts. Apocryphal texts like the Acts of Peter and Pseudo-Clementines amplify this conflict, depicting Simon as Peter’s arch-enemy, often engaging in magical contests (e.g., Simon’s attempt to fly in Rome, thwarted by Peter’s prayer). The shared motif of Peter as an opponent suggests that Simon Magus may serve as a narrative foil or caricature of Paul, especially in sources critical of Paul’s “lawless” theology (e.g., Pseudo-Clementines).

Similarities in Theology and Influence

Claims to Divine Authority:

Paul: In his letters, Paul asserts that his gospel comes directly from a revelation of Jesus Christ (Galatians 1:11–12), positioning himself as a divinely appointed apostle. His theology emphasizes grace, faith, and freedom from the Jewish law (Romans 3:28, Galatians 3:23–25), which some early Jewish Christians (e.g., Ebionites) viewed as heretical.

Simon Magus: Acts 8:10 reports that Simon’s followers called him “the great power of God,” implying a claim to divine or messianic status. Later sources, like the Pseudo-Clementines, attribute to Simon a quasi-Trinitarian theology, where he claims to be the “Son” to Jews, “Father” to Samaritans, and “Holy Spirit” to others (First Apology I.26). Both figures are portrayed as claiming unique divine authority, though Paul’s is framed within Christian orthodoxy, while Simon’s is condemned as heretical, possibly reflecting debates over competing visions of Christianity.

Association with Gnostic or Heretical Movements:

Paul: Paul’s emphasis on mystical revelations (e.g., 2 Corinthians 12:1–4) and salvation through knowledge of Christ (1 Corinthians 2:6–8) resonates with themes later associated with Gnosticism. Some scholars, like Hermann Detering and Robert M. Price, argue that Paul’s theology influenced Gnostic sects, and the Pseudo-Clementines’ attacks on Simon Magus may implicitly target Paul’s “lawless” teachings (e.g., rejection of Torah observance).

Simon Magus: Early Christian writers like Irenaeus and Hippolytus label Simon as the founder of Gnosticism, attributing to him teachings about a divine “Ennoia” (Helena) and salvation through esoteric knowledge (Adversus Haereses; Philosophumena vi, vii–xx). The Simonians, his supposed followers, are described as a Gnostic sect. The shared association with Gnostic-like ideas suggests that Paul and Simon may represent competing interpretations of spiritual knowledge, with Simon’s theology exaggerated to vilify him as a heretic.

Controversial Figures in Early Christianity:

Paul: As a fictive character, Paul is depicted as a polarizing figure, clashing with Jewish Christians over circumcision and the law (Galatians 2:1–14, Acts 15:1–2). His claim to apostleship, independent of the Jerusalem apostles, stirred controversy (1 Corinthians 9:1–2), and some sects, like the Ebionites, rejected him as a false apostle.

Simon Magus: Simon is consistently portrayed as a heretic, from Acts’ account of his simony to later traditions of his magical contests with Peter (Acts of Peter, Pseudo-Clementines). His attempt to purchase spiritual power and alleged Gnostic teachings made him a symbol of heresy. Both figures are central to early Christian debates about orthodoxy, with Paul’s contested legacy and Simon’s vilification possibly reflecting a single archetype of a charismatic, divisive leader.

Narrative and Historical Context

The similarities between Paul and Simon Magus may stem from literary or polemical strategies in early Christian texts:

Literary Doubling or Polemic: Some scholars, like Detering and Price, propose that Simon Magus in Acts and apocryphal texts is a caricature of the Paul character, reflecting Jewish Christian (e.g., Ebionite) opposition to Paul’s antinomian theology. The Pseudo-Clementines, for instance, portray Simon as a “lawless” figure opposing Peter, mirroring criticisms of Paul’s rejection of the Jewish law. Acts may contrast Paul (Acts 9) with Simon (Acts 8) to rehabilitate Paul’s image, presenting him as a true apostle against Simon’s false one.

Shared Historical Milieu: Both figures operate in a 1st-century context where charismatic leaders, miracle-workers, and competing religious movements (e.g., Samaritan, Jewish, and early Christian) vied for influence. Josephus’ Simon, linked to Felix and Drusilla, and Acts’ Simon, active in Samaria, may reflect a historical figure whose legacy was split into orthodox (Paul) and heretical (Simon) personas in Christian narratives.

Encryption or Conflation: The suggestion that Simon Magus is a cipher for Paul, as proposed by some is supported by shared details like connections to Felix and Drusilla, claims to divine authority, and physical descriptions (e.g., “small” in stature, as “Paul” and “Simon Atomos” imply). This could indicate that early Christian writers used Simon as a coded critique of Paul’s controversial teachings.

If Paul is a fictive character, his portrayal in the authentic epistles (e.g., Galatians, Romans, 1 Corinthians) and Acts shares striking parallels with Simon Magus in Acts, Josephus, and apocryphal sources. Both are charismatic figures with supernatural claims, engage with Roman authorities (notably Felix and Drusilla), undergo conversion narratives, clash with Peter, and are linked to Gnostic or heretical ideas. Their theologies emphasize divine authority and esoteric knowledge, though Paul’s is framed as orthodox and Simon’s as heretical. Traditionally critics who have investigated these similarities suggest that Simon Magus may have been constructed as a foil or caricature of Paul, reflecting early Christian debates over orthodoxy, law, and apostolic authority. Detering and Price, though, see Magus a la Josephus as the historical one and Paul the invention.  It is akin to seeing the unjust humiliating death of historical John the Baptist and see it doubling in the unjust torture and even more humiliating death of fictive Jesus.  Note that John’s death account in the gospels struggles to be reconciled with that of Josephus.  The overlap in their narratives (Paul and Simon), especially in Acts and Josephus, supports the idea that they could represent divergent literary treatments of a similar historical or legendary archetype.

Detering argued that the Pseudo-Clementines’ attacks on Simon Magus were veiled critiques of Paul, reflecting early Christian conflicts. Detering suggested that Simon, a Gnostic teacher, was the original figure behind the Pauline tradition, later domesticated into “Paul” by Catholic editors who forged epistles to align his teachings with orthodoxy.

He supported this by noting similarities between Simon’s and Paul’s profiles in apocryphal texts (e.g., both associated with Rome, opposition to Peter), arguing that the church rehabilitated Simon’s legacy by transforming him into the apostle Paul.

Detering placed the composition of the Pauline letters in the second century, particularly within Marcionite or Gnostic circles. He argued that Marcion, a mid-second-century heretic who compiled a collection of Pauline letters (the Apostolikon), may have authored or heavily influenced them. The letters’ theological themes, like the rejection of the Jewish Law and emphasis on a transcendent God, align with Marcion’s teachings, suggesting they were crafted to support his theology.

He posited that the Catholic Church later redacted these letters to counter Marcionite heresy, creating a fictional Paul as a unifying apostolic figure. This explains why Galatians, for instance, emphasizes Paul’s independence from Jerusalem apostles, which Detering saw as a Marcionite polemic against Jewish-Christian authority. 

Paul thus seems to be a composite of figures like Simon Magus and as Berman notes, the figure Saul in Josephus.  The Acts of Paul (late second century) derives its information from the character of Saul under Nero in Josephus, and the idea of Paul dying under Nero thus comes from Josephus, though Josephus doesn’t mention Saul ever becoming a Christian or writing letters.  Josephus identifies Saul as a relative of Herod Agrippa the 2^nd.   Josephus mentions a calamity happening in Damascus and a sinking ship metaphor, just as we have with Paul.  Similarly in Acts Paul is going to see Nero, but his death is only implied, as with the cliffhanger Josephus has.  Again, this suggests the Acts of the Apostles is no earlier than Josephus, but could be much later.  

In this series of three articles, I’ve tried to explore Livesey’s idea that the letters are fictive epistles that depend on Acts.  Such fictive letters would diverge from Acts with their own theology as such letters did and would also explain why Paul is not portrayed a letter writer in Acts and seems in the letters to be making insightful summary statements about complex theological issues in the gospels and Acts like the crucifixion narrative being crafted out of psalms, 2^nd Isaiah and Deuteronomy, and the highly sophisticated understanding of Jewish law and tradition being present in the story of Jesus’ corrupt trial with the Jewish elite.  As I’ve shown, Paul offers the sophisticated one liners (e.g., the law makes sin sinful beyond measure; Christ died for our sins according to the scriptures) without context or explanation for his listening church members.  Hebrews 5:7 is the same summarizing the complex theology of the Gethsemane story in Mark. 

Following the Dutch Radicals, Detering viewed early Christianity as a second-century syncretistic movement blending Jewish, Hellenistic, and Gnostic elements, rather than a first-century historical phenomenon. He argued that Paul, like Jesus, was a symbolic figure created to embody theological ideals, not a real person. His dramatic conversion in Acts 9 and missionary exploits were seen as legendary narratives, akin to mythological hero stories, designed to legitimize Christian origins.

He suggested that the Pauline letters served as theological propaganda, projecting a unified Christian identity onto a fictional apostolic past, possibly to counter rival sects like the Ebionites.

Detering argued that the Pauline letters exhibit characteristics of pseudepigrapha, such as abnormal length, formal structure, and rhetorical flourishes, which differ from typical ancient letters. He saw them as literary constructs, not genuine correspondence, designed to address second-century debates (e.g., circumcision, the Law) rather than first-century church issues.

He highlighted Galatians’ protest against dependence on Jerusalem apostles (Gal 1:1, 1:16) as a second-century Marcionite argument, later softened by Catholic editors, indicating a fictionalized Paul tailored to later controversies. Detering’s arguments build on the Dutch Radical School’s skepticism, particularly the works of Abraham Dirk Loman and G.A. van den Bergh van Eysinga, but take them further by denying Paul’s existence entirely.

Price also proposes that the Paul of the epistles is a sanitized version of earlier figures like Simon Magus (as attested in Josephus).  The death of Paul by Nero is part and parcel of the apocryphal acts of the apostles, which is wholly legendary.  The reference to Paul in 1 Clement (which is attributed to Clement though there is no name on the text) seems to be the death of Peter and Paul because of jealousy, which refers to the late apocryphal Acts of the Apostles being martyred for getting wives to be celibate with their husbands to receive salvation.  Price suggests that Marcion or his followers may have shaped or even authored epistles like Romans to align with their theology, later co-opted by emerging Catholic orthodoxy. For example, Price questions whether Romans was written to a Roman church that didn’t yet exist, implying it could be a 2nd-century Marcionite composition. This challenges the traditional timeline and authorship tied to a 1st-century Paul. 

Livesey argues for Acts predating the epistles and the Dutch Radical approach.  Analogously, we wouldn’t suppose that any of the massive amounts of literature that are ascribed to Peter are actually penned by Peter.

The name “Paul” (from Latin Paulus, meaning “small”) may have been symbolically chosen to represent humility or a “lesser” apostle, as seen in 1 Corinthians 15:9, where the author calls himself the “least” of the apostles. The wink to the reader is of course that Paul is also the apostle predicted in the Old Testament to bring the message of God to the world at the end of the age!  This, combined with the epistles’ alignment with later theological debates (e.g., Marcionism vs. Catholicism), supports the view that Paul may be more a literary or theological archetype than a verifiable historical person. As I said above,  M David Litwa comments “one of the striking things about Paul’s letters is they sound like Papal missives or decrees.  Paul was a self-made man from Tarsus and a self proclaimed apostle.  But his long and weighty letters make him sound like a Roman provincial administrator.  In fact, the letters themselves depict Paul as such an administrator who makes the rounds to his communities, keeping in touch with local leaders, sending out official embassies, solving problems, receiving deputations, and keeping the power that the faith serves at the forefront of their minds.  But would the historical Paul have the time and the authority to write such stately letters?  It seems that by day Paul makes tents by day but by night makes polished, almost papal correspondence.”

CONCLUSION

In these 8 blog posts I have tried to show why I am not convinced Paul was an historical person and was rather first a literary creation in Acts as a parallel to the converted soldier in Luke realizing the dead Jesus’s innocence following similar pericopes in Matthew and Mark ultimately going back to Plutarch’s Cleomenes III. 

It is interesting to note that treating Jesus or Paul as historical figures seems to reflect the ancient idea of a superficial exoteric level of a religion which must then be passed over to the esoteric truth.  Carrier comments regarding Plutarch, who (Plutarch) was a big influence in my first article:

Near the end of the first century, around the same time the Gospels were being written, the Greek scholar Plutarch honored Clea, a priestess of the mysteries of Isis, with a treatise about her religion entitled On Isis and Osiris. In this he explains why her cult had adopted a certain belief about the life and resurrection of Osiris, in the “true” account reserved for those who, like her, were initiated into its secrets. He said the real truth was that Osiris was never really a historical person whose activity took place on Earth, as public accounts portrayed him to be. Osiris was, rather, a celestial being, whose trials and sufferings took place in outer space just below the moon, where death and turmoil reign. Thence Osiris descends every year, becomes incarnate by assuming a mortal body of flesh, and is killed by Set (in Greek, Typhon, the Egyptian analog to Satan). Then he is resurrected—literally undergoing, Plutarch says, an anabiôsis, a “return to life,” and a palingenesia, a “regeneration” (the same word used of the resurrection in Matthew 19:28). From there Osiris ascends back to heaven in glory.  That means there were public stories that portrayed the death and resurrection of Osiris as taking place on Earth, in human history; these also imagined him descending to rule the underworld. But, Plutarch explains, those stories disguised the true teachings reserved for those of sufficient rank. “You must not think,” he says, “that any of these tales actually happened.” No, we “must not treat legend as if it were history at all.” Gods like Osiris were never really “generals, admirals, or kings, who lived in very ancient times” only to become gods after death; to the contrary, they were always celestial deities in some form, whether living as gods far above, or as demigods invisibly “in the space about us,” carrying “the prayers and petitions of men” up from Earth into outer space, and transporting divine “oracles and gifts” back from those same stellar reaches to the earth below. Accordingly, Plutarch reminds Clea, “the holy and sacred Osiris” does not rule “beneath the earth” as the ignorant public thinks, but “is far removed from the earth, uncontaminated and unpolluted and pure from all matter that is subject to destruction and death.” (p. 31-32).

We see this too in Paul.  For Paul, as I said the resurrection was the key because if the dead are not raised, we might as well enjoy blissful wickedness for tomorrow we die.  But, there is a further point.  Besides the crucifixion, Pauline theology focuses on the Parousia, Jesus’ return.  Ehrman notes Paul doesn’t call believers “saved,” but only will be on Christ’s return.   But this isn’t quite right because in the authentic letters Paul doesn’t talk about a second coming, but just a coming.

First in Plato’s Greek, “Parousia” refers to the becoming incarnate of something, e.g., the beautiful mansion may be encountered as Houseness and Beauty incarnate: now that’s a house!  Aristotle gives the examples of a great painting as Art or the majestic circling bird of prey as nature.  We mean something similar when we read a particularly incisive passage in one of the authentic letters and note “Now that’s Paul!.”  Paul is present.  By the same token, Jesus is present in the holy scriptures, not literally, but every time we read he re-appears pointing us to re-examine ourselves and do better in light of what the world did to Jesus, which teaches us about ourselves and our sinful hearts that need to be circumcised to reveal the law written on them (Rom 2:15).

Paul doesn’t speak of the second coming of Christ in his seven authentic letters but rather a coming Parousia or presence of Christ. In 1 Thessalonians we see this idea of union between man and divine which has an antecedent in Jacob’s ladder with the image of believers meeting Christ in the air, which is not a rapture to heaven since Paul is clear the faithful will remain and rule on earth in the next age.  It refers to the maturing and fruit bearing of the church as the true body of Christ being the hands and feet of Jesus in the world.  We thus again see an example of Plutarch’s message to the priestess of Isis that there is an esoteric meeting over and above the exoteric meeting.  Similarly, Jacob’s ladder is not about a literal ladder but the union of divine and person in covenant.

Jacob’s Ladder in Genesis 28:10–17 can be interpreted as a symbol of union with the divine, and some Christian theologians draw a parallel to the meeting of the faithful with Christ in the air as described in 1 Thessalonians 4:17. In the biblical account, Jacob dreams of a ladder (or staircase) connecting earth to heaven, with angels ascending and descending, and God at the top affirming His covenant. The ladder is often seen in Christian theology as a symbol of divine-human connection, prefiguring Christ as the mediator between God and humanity (John 1:51, where Jesus is likened to the ladder).  1 Thessalonians 4:17: This verse describes the faithful being “caught up together… in the clouds to meet the Lord in the air,” often associated with the rapture in Christian eschatology. It signifies a direct encounter and union with Christ.

Both images depict a bridging of the earthly and divine realms. Jacob’s Ladder represents God reaching down to humanity, and the Thessalonian passage portrays believers being lifted up to meet Christ. The ladder’s angels moving up and down mirror the dynamic interaction between heaven and earth, akin to the faithful being drawn upward to Christ. Early Church Fathers, like Augustine, and later theologians, such as Calvin, saw the ladder as a type of Christ, who unites humanity with God.

While the contexts differ—Jacob’s Ladder is a personal, covenantal vision, and 1 Thessalonians speaks of a collective, eschatological event—the shared theme of divine encounter and union makes the comparison theologically compelling.  When I described Jacob’s Ladder as a “personal, covenantal vision,” I was referring to its specific context and significance in the narrative of Genesis 28:10–17. The dream of the ladder is given directly to Jacob, an individual, while he is alone, fleeing from his brother Esau. It’s a private, divine encounter tailored to Jacob’s situation—his uncertainty, vulnerability, and need for reassurance as he journeys to Haran. 

Unlike broader revelations given to groups (e.g., the giving of the Law to Israel at Sinai), this vision is intimate, addressing Jacob’s personal destiny and relationship with God. It marks a pivotal moment in his spiritual journey, transforming him from a fugitive into the heir of God’s promise.

In the vision, God appears at the top of the ladder and reaffirms the covenant originally made with Abraham (Genesis 12:1–3) and passed to Isaac. God promises Jacob: (1) the land of Canaan, (2) numerous descendants, (3) blessing to all nations through his offspring, and (4) God’s presence and protection (Genesis 28:13–15). 

This covenantal promise ties Jacob to God’s redemptive plan, emphasizing continuity with Abraham’s lineage and God’s faithfulness. The ladder itself symbolizes the connection between heaven (God’s realm) and earth (Jacob’s reality), underscoring that God’s covenant bridges the divine and human. 

The vision also prompts Jacob’s response: he names the place Bethel (“house of God”) and vows to worship God (Genesis 28:16–22), solidifying his personal commitment to the covenant.

In contrast to the collective, eschatological event in 1 Thessalonians 4:17, where the faithful are gathered to meet Christ in a communal, end-times encounter with the promise of there one day being a Kingdom of God on earth, Jacob’s Ladder is a singular, formative moment for one person, rooted in the establishment of God’s covenant with Israel. Theologically, it’s often seen as a foreshadowing of Christ (John 1:51), who fulfills the covenant and becomes the ultimate “ladder” connecting humanity to God.

In his authentic letters (Romans, 1 Corinthians, 2 Corinthians, Galatians, Philippians, 1 Thessalonians, Philemon), Paul’s eschatological vision focuses on the role of the faithful in the “next age” or the eschaton, which he associates with Christ’s “presence/arrival (Parousia) and the establishment of God’s kingdom. While Paul doesn’t provide a detailed blueprint for the faithful’s role on earth specifically in the next age, his teachings emphasize their “participation” in a transformed existence under God’s reign. Paul teaches that the faithful will be resurrected or transformed at Christ’s arrival. In 1 Corinthians 15:42–54, he describes the resurrection body as imperishable, glorious, and spiritual, contrasting it with the perishable, physical body. The faithful will share in Christ’s resurrection, living in a renewed state.

In 1 Thessalonians 4:16–17, the faithful (both the dead and living) will be raised or caught up to meet Christ “in the air,” suggesting a transformative union with Him. While the location (“air”) is ambiguous, some interpret this as a prelude to a renewed earth.

Paul implies the faithful will have a role in God’s kingdom. In 2 Corinthians 5:10, he mentions the judgment seat of Christ, where believers’ works are evaluated, suggesting a future responsibility or reward. In Romans 8:17, he calls the faithful “co-heirs with Christ,” sharing in His glory, which may include participation in His rule (cf. 1 Corinthians 6:2–3, where saints judge the world and angels).

This reigning is not detailed but points to a role of authority or service in the eschatological kingdom, likely on a renewed earth.

In Romans 8:19–23, Paul envisions a liberated creation, freed from decay, where the faithful, as God’s children, share in this redemption. This suggests the next age involves a restored earth, where the faithful live in harmony with God’s renewed creation, free from sin and suffering.

Paul’s focus on cosmic renewal implies the faithful’s role includes living as part of this restored order, embodying God’s purposes.

Paul emphasizes eternal communion with God and Christ. In Philippians 1:23, he expresses a desire to “be with Christ,” and in 1 Thessalonians 5:10, he says the faithful will “live with Him.” This suggests a role of worship, fellowship, and eternal relationship with God in the next age.  While not explicitly earthly, this aligns with the Jewish expectation of a renewed earth as the setting for God’s kingdom, which Paul likely assumes.

Paul urges the faithful to live in anticipation of the next age by embodying kingdom values now (e.g., Romans 12:1–2, Galatians 5:22–25). In the next age, this ethical life likely continues, as the faithful reflect God’s glory and righteousness in a perfected state.  He assumes a Jewish apocalyptic framework where the “age to come” involves a renewed earth (influenced by Isaiah 65–66).  His emphasis is on transformation (resurrection, glorification) and union with Christ rather than precise roles. The “earthly” aspect is implied in the renewal of creation but not always explicit.  Unlike other Christian traditions (e.g., Revelation’s millennial reign), Paul’s authentic letters avoid detailed speculation about earthly structures in the next age so if the letters are late they may assume Revelation’s context. 

The earlier context about Jacob’s Ladder and 1 Thessalonians 4:17 ties in here. The ladder symbolizes divine-human connection, and Paul’s vision of meeting Christ “in the air” and living in a renewed creation echoes this, with the faithful participating in God’s eternal plan. Their role in the next age fulfills the covenantal promise seen in Jacob’s vision, where God’s presence dwells with humanity.  If we are considering Plutarch, what is the esoteric meaning of the surface level idea of believers uniting with Jesus in the sky?

Paul and other New Testament writings describe the church as the “body of Christ,” with the metaphor of “hands and feet” often implied in Paul’s teachings about the church’s role and function. He explicitly uses the “body of Christ” metaphor in his undisputed letters to describe the church as a unified, diverse community that embodies Christ’s presence and mission. Paul compares the church to a human body with many parts (e.g., hands, feet, eyes), each with distinct functions but united as one body under Christ, the head. He writes, “Now you are the body of Christ, and each one of you is a part of it” (1 Cor 12:27).

The “hands and feet” imagery is implicit here, as Paul emphasizes the active roles of members (e.g., apostles, prophets, teachers) working together for the body’s purpose. The diversity of gifts (e.g., serving, teaching) suggests members act as Christ’s hands and feet in practical service.  This metaphor underscores unity, interdependence, and the active role of believers in embodying Christ’s work through love and service (1 Cor 13).

Paul again describes the church as “one body in Christ” with many members, each having different functions. The implication is that believers collectively serve as Christ’s presence/parousia in the world, performing His work through their actions (e.g., generosity, mercy, leadership; Rom 12:6–8).

The “hands and feet” concept is inferred from the call to active service, as members use their gifts to extend Christ’s ministry.  Paul doesn’t explicitly say “hands and feet of Christ,” but the body metaphor includes members acting as Christ’s agents in the world. For example, in 2 Corinthians 5:20, Paul calls believers “ambassadors for Christ,” suggesting they carry out His mission through actions, akin to hands and feet performing practical tasks.  In Galatians 6:2, Paul urges believers to “carry each other’s burdens,” fulfilling the law of Christ, which aligns with the idea of being His hands and feet through service.

The “body of Christ” image appears in other New Testament texts, particularly in letters attributed to Paul but debated for authorship, and the “hands and feet” idea is reinforced through teachings on the church’s active role.  Ephesians, possibly written by a Pauline disciple, calls the church “the body” with Christ as the head, emphasizing growth and unity through love. Members are equipped for ministry (Eph 4:11–12), implying they act as Christ’s hands and feet in building up the community and spreading the gospel.

The imagery of a body working together suggests practical, active roles for believers.  Colossians, also possibly deutero-Pauline, identifies the church as Christ’s body, with Christ as the head. Paul’s suffering “for the sake of his body” (Col 1:24) implies the church continues Christ’s work, with members serving as His instruments.

The Gospels and Acts don’t use the “body of Christ” phrase but support the idea of believers as Christ’s hands and feet. In John 20:21, Jesus says, “As the Father has sent me, I am sending you,” commissioning disciples to continue His mission. Acts portrays the early church acting as Christ’s agents (e.g., healing, preaching; Acts 3:6, 4:32–35). 1 Peter 4:10–11 (not Pauline) urges believers to use their gifts to serve, effectively acting as Christ’s hands and feet in the world.

The “body of Christ” metaphor emphasizes the church as the living, active presence of Christ on earth, with members collectively embodying His love, service, and mission.  When we participate in the church, such as works of love or reading scripture, Christ too returns and shines (Parousia) through it.

The “hands and feet” imagery, while not verbatim, flows naturally from Paul’s teaching that each member has a role (e.g., serving, teaching, helping) to extend Christ’s work. This is reinforced in modern theology, where the church is often described as Christ’s hands and feet in contexts of mission, charity, and justice.

In relation to our earlier question about Jacob’s Ladder and 1 Thessalonians, the body metaphor complements the idea of divine-human union. Just as the ladder symbolizes connection with God, and 1 Thessalonians 4:17 envisions meeting Christ, the church as Christ’s body actively bridges heaven and earth by continuing His work until the eschaton, if there will be one.  The dead body of Christ re-animates as the church matures and bears fruits. The “hands and feet” phrase is more common in modern Christian rhetoric than in the New Testament itself, but it captures Paul’s emphasis on the church’s active, diverse roles.

If the esoteric meaning was the presencing (Parousia) of Christ through the one day mature body of Christ (the church), an exoteric physical coming of Jesus for the faithful would answer the problem that many saints had died and so what would happen to them?  As I said, Paul’s key point is that Jesus is the first fruits of the general resurrection harvest of souls at the end of the age and that believers would share in this pharisaic-type mass resurrection (1 Corinthians 15:20-23).  After all, what good is the apotheosis of Christ if there is no resurrection for the dead in Christ?  In fact, Paul notes if there is no resurrection believer’s faith is in vain and people are still in their sins (1 Corinthians 15:17). 

Ehrman comments:

The “rapture” is a modern doctrine/idea.   Even though some conservative Christians think this is one of the main points of the Christian faith, historically it has rarely been that.  In fact, for most of history, most Christians simply haven’t believed in a rapture.  The doctrine of the rapture is that Jesus will be returning from heaven (sometime soon) and when he does those who had believed in him before they died will be raised from the dead and taken up to meet him in the air, and all those who are living will also be taken up (raptured).   Those who do not believe in Jesus will be “Left Behind.”  What will follow, for those still around on earth, will not be pretty.  There will be seven years of horrible suffering, known as the “Tribulation,” before Jesus finally puts an end to it all by destroying the Antichrist and his forces of evil and bringing in the millennium, a utopian time and place where God will rule the earth through his Christ.  I used to firmly believe this myself when I was an evangelical Christian.  I passionately believed it.  And preached it.  And convinced others about it.   So did my friends.  I’m not in evangelical circles any more (you may have noticed) so I don’t know if this still enjoys the prominence that it used to have in the 1970s (I rather doubt it), but for us it was a big deal.  Christians who believe in the rapture base their views on several passages of Scripture, but above all on 1 Thessalonians 4:13-18.  I should say, to begin with, that the word “rapture” never occurs in the Bible.   That would be surprising to some people.  Moreover, of even greater surprise, there is not a single verse in the entire book of Revelation that speaks of, alludes to, or even imagines that there is going to be any such thing as a rapture.   The sequence of Rapture-Leading-To-Tribulation is a modern creation that has been made by taking the passage in 1 Thessalonians about Jesus returning and combining it with the lengthy discussion of the future catastrophes to strike the earth found in the book of Revelation (in Revelation you will find chapter after chapter after chapter of massive calamities to hit the earth; I recommend listening to it electronically, where you can get sound effects).  This view of rapture-then-tribulation was popularized, among other things, by our friends at Dallas Theological Seminary and the version of the Bible called the “Scofield Reference Bible.”  It supported this view vigorously and it made a huge impact.  Probably still does.  The passage in 1 Thessalonians is very interesting indeed.   Christians in Thessalonica had become deeply perplexed and worried:  when they had become followers of Jesus, in part it was because Paul had told them not only that Christ had died and been raised from the dead, but that he was coming back, very soon, to save this world.   They, the believers in Jesus, would receive eternal rewards for their faith.   This crummy world would be destroyed, and the followers of Jesus would live forever in the new world to come.  But it never came.  And some of the members of the congregation had died in the interim.  And those who were still alive were upset.   Have our family and friends who have passed away missed out on the glories of Jesus’ coming kingdom?  Paul writes 1 Thessalonians in part in order to assuage their fears.   And the passage on which the modern “rapture” doctrine is based is the key.    Read it for yourself (again 4:13-18).  Now if possible!  In it Paul indicates that the Thessalonians should not grieve about those who have “fallen asleep” (a euphemism for “died”).   Jesus is in fact coming back on the clouds of heaven, with great celestial sights and sounds accompanying him, and then “the dead in Christ will rise first.”   They will meet Jesus in the air.   Then “we who are left, who are alive at his coming” will also be taken up to meet Jesus in the clouds.   And then all the believers will be reunited with one another, and with Christ, to receive their eternal reward.  And so, Paul concludes, the Thessalonians should comfort one another with these words.  It’s a fascinating passage.   Paul really did think Jesus was coming back overhead, and those who believed in him would join up with him in the clouds.   How desperately we wish we could know what he thought would happen next.  What’s going to happen once the reunion in the clouds occurs?  Would everyone then descend back down to earth?  Would everyone continue on up into heaven?  What would happen to those left behind?  What would happen to the earth?  Where would the kingdom be?  What would eternal life be like?  I’ve got a million questions, and Paul doesn’t give the answers.  The reason is almost certainly because Paul is writing to people to whom he has already preached these views and they know the answers.  He goes on to tell the Thessalonians to remember the things that he taught them, and then there follows another intriguing passage in which he stresses one (but just one) of his earlier teachings, that the end of the age brought by Jesus’ return was going to come suddenly and without advanced warning.   Meaning: it could happen any time now.  And so Paul urges his readers to “keep awake and stay sober.”   They don’t want to miss the big event, and they don’t want to be caught unawares (or doing something they shouldn’t be doing) like everyone else would be (1 Thess 5:1-11).

Appropriating Plutarch, in fact, a literal homecoming of Christ is unnecessary if the figurative “church/Body of Christ” fully matured (Parousia) and transformed the world (The Great Commission) to be Christlike since this would be God’s kingdom on earth realized (Matthew 28:16-20; Romans 15:15-21; Galatians 1:15-16).  Compare pointing to the esoteric in Mark 4:11-12.  

A big theme in the bible is not just intrinsic motivation, but threats of punishment or hopes of reward were powerful motivators of moral conduce.  Apocalyptism augmented this:  The end time judgment is imminent so you better start loving God and neighbor.  As Paul says, “For all of us must appear before the judgment seat of Christ, so that each may receive due recompense for actions done in the body, whether good or evil (2 Cor 5:10).”  Absent a final judgment and reward/punishment, we might as well indulge in the sins of the flesh like gluttony and fornication for tomorrow we die (1 Corinthians 15:32; Luke 12:19; Isaiah 22:13).  In 1 Corinthians 15, Paul uses this logic to highlight the futility of such a worldview. He argues that the resurrection of Christ and believers gives life eternal significance, countering the idea of living only for temporary pleasures. He emphasizes that because the dead are raised, Christians should live with hope and purpose, not indulging in the pleasures of the flesh as if there’s no tomorrow.  In terms of bringing about the Kingdom of God on earth the issue isn’t so much that there is a next life but that you believe there is a next life, because then you will act nobly. That’s how we get kids to behave with an all-knowing Santa Clause.