The Stories we Tell Ourselves

The world doesn’t need another blog post about the horrors of academia. Yet, I feel compelled to write. The compulsion is primarily cathartic. Writing about my own academic life helps to expunge the feelings; I have hope that this will bring me comfort. But, beyond the search for rest, I also know that writing helps me think. Putting things down on the page makes it feel more concrete, helps me sort things out, make sense of my present state. And, so I hope that writing this will help me understand my own life, as well as the mess that is ‘academia’ (and, primarily my own niche disciplinary space).

Pasts
My parent divorced when I was the age that my son is now. It’s odd to recognise this. I’m not sure that it says anything, really, about my story. Except that I grew up in a broken home.

My mother gained custody of my older brother and I. We had only recently moved to Alabama when my parents split up. You see, my dad had a nice job at a nuclear power plant in Arkansas. But, my parents wanted an adventure, they wanted to branch out and try something exciting. So, they bought a petshop in Alabama and we packed up our nice two story house that was built into the side of a mountain and headed east. My dad split himself between the two properties because he had to sell the house and wind things down. And, then the worst happened: they grew farther and farther apart. Soon there was nothing left, and the deed was done. My mother took my brother and I further East to North Carolina, her birthplace as well as my own.

We were poor. Really poor. But, we were OK. And, eventually my brother and I decided we wanted to live with my dad; subsequently he won custody of us and we moved back to Arkansas. Then down to Texas. Then to another place in Texas, where we settled.

It was a nice, tiny town. The kind of place where you knew everyone in the high school, and for the most part you could get along with your peers. I wanted to be liked, and I achieved that by having a cooler older brother, and by getting involved in extracurricular activities. I never knew what I wanted to be when I grew up, but I did know that I liked theatre, writing, journalism, and cross country. And, all of those and more were easy to get into when your school was small and you had little competition for entry. Eventually I graduated valedictorian and decided to go to a small (1200 or so students) private Christian university near my hometown.

I still didn’t know what I wanted to be, and started out majoring in psychology. Because the school was Christian a general education requirement was taking Old Testament and New Testament survey courses. It was in my first semester that I took OT survey, and it blew my mind. I had no clue about, for instance, redaction criticism, or social scientific criticism, despite growing up in churches. It was like the whole world opened to me. I couldn’t not change my major. Which set me on a new course in life.

It wasn’t only religion courses that blew my mind and really opened the world for me. I took philosophy courses and got obsessed with, especially, ‘postmodernism’. I did a special project on Derrida and conceptions of justice in Christianity and in Derrida’s later more overtly political writings. I couldn’t look back, and signed up for the brand new MA programme at the university. Why did I go on to an MA programme? Because I simply couldn’t stop. I wanted to learn more, and I felt a genuine ‘calling’ to academia. And, especially to teaching at the university level.

Despite being a tiny private Christian university, I learned about a lot of things one wouldn’t expect. It was here, after all, that I was encouraged to pursue work on Derrida. It was also here that I became interested in anti-capitalism, critical theory, and literary theory. One of the NT profs became somewhat of a mentor, and he pointed me to work by Zizek, Badiou, Agamben, and Taubes. This was the heyday of the philosophical reception of Paul (which, perhaps, peaked sometime around 2014, though is still certainly going on), and I was inspired. I started to believe that academia was some glorious thing, where you were joining the intellectual fight! And, you could make a genuine difference if you stuck with it. I went into a PhD programme in 2014 believing this. Quickly, I was disabused of that notion.

But, I was too far gone! Here I am in the mid-late 2010s with absolutely no hope about the future. I’m watching well-renowned programmes dissolve (such as Stirling in the UK), learning about shitty pasts (Sheffield…), and sitting there trying to figure out what the hell I am going to do in a few years when I graduate. I don’t regret it, even though I have so much school debt. But, I had for so long only seen the future as rosy, as open. I thought that because I was relatively smart (valedictorian; great GPA in BA and MA programme), had been publishing, making connections, and walking in the right direction that I would have some sort of future. That things would just work out.

I graduated and stayed for several more months in the UK, hoping for a job. Nothing happens. Student Visa ends, and after 6 years I have to say goodbye to my home, to my friends, to my research networks. It was gutting. My partner, son, and I get back to Texas late January 2020. A few weeks later the world closes down because of Covid. I feel well and truly fucked. How could I have done this to my life? How could I have done this to my tiny family?

My wife finds a job and I become a stay-at-home-dad, which is a pleasurable experience. I still feel guilty. I try to find work. I apply to so many academic jobs, no matter what they are. I’m willing to do anything, even if it means moving for one lousy year.

A year after moving back I get a job in Collection Development at a public library. My main tasks are purchasing new materials, and paying close attention to the budget. It takes a lot of energy and work. And, for the first year and a half I am looking for some way out. I am desperate to escape to academia, convinced that only this will bring my family happiness and prosperity.

In late 2022 I finally get my break: I am picked for a postdoc back in Europe. Partner and I had dreamed of getting back to Europe since we were kicked out of England. We’d dreamed about it and also made long-term goals about what steps we’d take to finally get back. Finally, happiness is right around the corner!

Still, I can’t shake the feeling that something is wrong. I put off moving for months, and all throughout that time I am constantly on the tipping point of backing out. The postdoc is a long one. It isn’t some measly 1 year gig, but 3 years in total.

Finally, I put in my notice at my library job 3 weeks before I’m supposed to leave for Norway, then take a week off to go tell family in North Carolina.

On May 13th I regretfully and tearfully say goodbye to my partner and my 5 year old. I haven’t seen them since that day, except through infrequent videochats.

In the meantime, I’m loving my time in Norway. The library is great, friendly colleagues, I have a nice little flat, the city is big, but not too busy or crowded. However, it steadily starts to sink in more and more that I don’t know what I am doing. I don’t know what my goals are. I don’t see a way out. What happens after? What do I do when I am nearly 40 and lose this temporary job?

In many academic fields there is an escape. You don’t have to be aligned with a university. You can go into ‘industry’ or perhaps government. You can sidestep out and kinda dissumulate yourself, contorting into a different shape or presence. You can fit into something new. But, in many of the disciplines similar to mine, there is no space for that. Who needs a NT scholar who specialises in contemporary philosophical reception? No one does.

I worked hard to produce novel research. But, after the three years here, this work won’t really have provided anything for me or my family. I’m not working toward a future, but instead I am staring at the end of a road.

It’s at times like these that I wonder what it is all for. What was the point of this journey? And, further, why did I leave my decent local government job to move half-way across the world? It wasn’t for the pay; my spouse had to quit their job, and so we are making much less. It wasn’t for future opportunities, as there are fewer academic jobs every year in my field. It may have been to escape, as we did not enjoy life in America. Or, perhaps for the desire for more adventure?

I remember the adventurous spirit that my parents had. My dad leaving his well-paid job and our cool house on a mountain. I remember how that ended in disaster. And, I sometimes wonder what I am supposed to do as an adult, how to juggle taking chances and providing a safe place for my son in tandem with my partner.

From experience, I’m just not sure that throwing everything away for precarity and adventure is worth it.

Maybe it’s time to abandon the dream.

Short Book Review: 1 and 2 Corinthians, ed. by Yung Suk Kim

After finishing my Masters in 2013, I made sure to keep abreast of scholarship. One book that was on my radar was this wonderful volume edited by Yung Suk Kim, and part of Fortress Press’s Texts and Contexts series. While this volume was published before the restructuring of Fortress Press (now, I imagine, a book like this would be published in Fortress Academic/Lexington Books), it was still quite expensive at the time; if I recall somewhere around $90. Which was unfortunate, because Fortress generally had very affordable academic book prices. Because of the expense, I put this on a wishlist, and was surprised to receive it as a gift.

What is the purpose of the volume? All edited volumes, after all, have particular scope defined in some way by the series they are published in. This particular volume, then, has various goals, some of which include breaking through dominant, western European readings of biblical texts, readings which are generally seen as the default within the broad discipline of biblical studies. To quote from the editors of the series, ‘each volume focuses on clusters of contexts and of issues or themes, as determined by the editors in consultation with potential contributors. . .[And] the interpreters’ contexts will be allowed to play a central role in choosing a theme’ (xii).

While I can’t say how the volume evolved (only the editor is privy to that knowledge), it is composed of three main parts: 1) Identity, Power, and Race; 2) Ritual, Culture and Food; and 3) Community, Women, and Sexuality. It would be impossible to address fully (especially in a ‘short’ review) all aspects of these themes for the entire (known) Corinthian correspondence. But, the texts discussed, and the scholars discussing them, do a wonderful job of marrying some immense texts with very particular, and diverse, contexts. Love Sechrest and Jeremy Punt, for example, provide incisive essays in the initial part, with Punt using near contemporary South Africa as the ‘interpretive canvas’ for reading 1 Corinthians 7:17-24, and Sechrest using the context of the prosperity gospel in the American South as a type of foil for thinking about issues that Paul faced, and writes about, in 2 Corinthians.

All of the essays in the volume are, I think, important in their own ways; part of that importance come from the multiplicity of contexts discussed. The volume, besides using the American South and South African contexts, pays attention to Muslim and Catholic women dress (Janelle Peters, pp. 129-146), queer hermeneutics in Spain (Luis Menendez Antuna, pp. 147-162), and African purification rites (J. Ayodeji Adewuya, 67-78).

This multiplicity, I think, adds to the strength of the volume. The individual chapters are developed and enlightening research. But, they also provide for the reader new worlds from which to read texts that are too often staid from commonality. That commonality isn’t the liveliness of a text coming to life, but instead is the commonality of several centuries of western-centric, white readings that assume the ease of invisibleness, as if the strictures of usual historical-critical methods are the default and ‘objective’ way to encounter these texts.

I’m excited to pass this one along.

The Great Big Giant Book Give-Away

Several months ago I said I had a ‘gift’ to my colleagues.
Well, this is it.

Basically, a few months ago I decided that I wanted to do something. Both to be a nice person, and to give myself motivation to use my blog more. Oh, and, yes, as a marketing tool for my recent book, The Scandal of Community: Pauline Factions and the Circulation of Grace.

So, over the next few month I am going to be doing reviews, and subsequently giving out, free books. I have bought several that I think are either really great, classics in NT/Bib studies/RS/etc., or ones that I don’t see get enough attention.

I want this to be something I do long-term, but for now I will be trying to keep to a schedule of a review/give-away every two weeks or so.

In mid/late October I will be doing a special give away of my book, so keep your eyes peeled!

You may be wondering how the give-away will work.

Whenever I publish a review on the blog, anyone who retweets it will be ‘entered in’ to possibly get the book. At the moment this will be a twitter exclusive thing, because I don’t like facebook. Also, I will try to make this fairly worldwide, even though shipping may be expensive and slow for some places in the world

Anyway, I am excited about doing this, and about sending out free books!

Four Months Later, and an Excerpt

It has now been four whole months since my book, The Scandal of Community: Pauline Factions and the Circulation of Grace dropped. I’m not very good at self-marketing; nonetheless, it has been nice to hear from some who have bought the book (despite it’s price… though use the code LEX30AUTH21 for 30% on the publisher’s website!). I have also monitored where it is showing up, and am pleased to see that it is in several libraries now. There is something special about seeing that one’s work is in places like Harvard Divinity School library, Candler School of Theology’s library, and other places.

I hope that it continues to make its way to other places, and if you happen to work in higher ed and can recommend resources to your library, please consider doing so for my book.

I wanted, as well, to put some extracts from the book, so I have produced the opening section below. This is, of course, just an opening portion of the introduction. But, if you want to learn more about what I am doing in the book, look at my previous post on Ideological Criticism and Pauline Studies, where I talk a little about the book, and/or visit the link to the book above and read the description.

Introduction

“Fifty years after the tumultuous and revolutionary moments of 1968, Paul, the Apostle of Christ was released in cinemas. It may seem unfair to contrast this film with a time of burgeoning revolutionary possibility. But, the juxtaposition is important, precisely because it was during those turbulent moments of youthful resistance that Pier Paolo Pasolini was nearing the end of his work on the unfinished screenplay St. Paul (reaching end points in both 1968 and 1974). Rather than an attempt at a faithful historically accurate portrayal of Paul, Pasolini’s work exhibited well the subversive, undulating potential felt through the protests in France, and subsequent autonomic capacities during
the late 1960s and 1970s in Italy. Robert Seesengood and Joseph Marchal describe the script as a writing that “can operate as one site for thinking more about modes of resistance and their consequences, their intersections
and failed interconnections, remainders and after-effects, hold-outs and hangovers.”

Pier Paolo Pasolini, https://images.gr-assets.com/authors/1492398844p5/37893.jpg

A juxtaposition of divergent Pauls has the capacity to unshroud a powerful pervasiveness: the apparent inability to reach beyond our figurations, the ubiquity of ideological content projected onto historical figures who are only seen partially through pinpricks in the sheets of time. Productions of historical labor can only take us so far, even if those limits are constantly in negotiation. And this is surely a reality that biblical scholars know all too well, even if they tend to adopt trends in theory and history slowly.

Elizabeth Castelli, translator of Pasolini’s screenplay and New Testament scholar, notes the autobiographical traces present in Pasolini’s work. It is through these traces that we detect some essential elements of translation, committing not only a form of violence against the object (text), but also permitting a necessary cultural carryover; we have the ambivalent, fluctuating tension exaggerated, perhaps paralleling the loudly exclaimed archaeologies of Jesus scholarship that Albert Schweitzer wrote about, projects that persist having imbibed the dangers Schweitzer pointed out, and often transformed those warnings into further fuel for the confidence of historical consensus.

Our historical figurations resemble ourselves. Pasolini (like all who translate historical figures for consumption in the present) reveals to us that Pauline figurations are mirrors; or perhaps, instead of mirrors, they are like photo manipulation software, which allows the subject to manipulate the self referential object however they want; covering up their own imperfections, straightening lines, contouring and thinning in order to produce conventionality. Such manipulation is also evident in the contemporary, biblicist Paul film Paul, the Apostle of Christ. Although seemingly concerned with translating the text faithfully into film, it fills in gaps and relies on historically dubious texts, like Acts. Luke/Acts, of course, must be heavily qualified and the contents sifted to unearth Paul’s story; one works through the temporal tensions and anachronisms in the text. As George Aichele writes about crafting a Paul film, “It would be difficult to tell much of a story about Paul using the letters alone, and the material in those letters would still have to be harmonized and re-contextualized as verbal dialogue.” With regard to the message of the biblicist film, producer T. J. Berden notes that this particular portrayal of Paul’s “life personifies ‘forgiveness,’ a concept that seems almost impossible today—but desperately needed.” Like all biblical films, then, there is a political message, one that shapes the figurations of the subject; Pauline forgiveness here, after all, is not abstract, but is directed toward a contemporary America whose political tensions have catalyzed white supremacism and dangerous nationalisms. Paul becomes a form who is filled with the message of the creator(s), a construction directed to the contemporary problem of cultural and political opposition. This Paul is necessarily a figuration; how could he not be?

Pasolini’s work, as Armando Maggi insists, revolves around analogy and contrast. This is seen most evidently when noting the autobiographical elements of Saint Paul. As Maggi writes, “[the screenplay] works as a powerful revelation of what Pasolini identified as the ultimate sense of his work and existence.” The work, like all translations of the apostle, is inextricably bound to the translator. But, in this mixture Pasolini is able to expertly bring forth the difficult to spot contradictions in Paul, revealing points of departure from usual scholarship, opening up precious interpretive paths. Pasolini reads Paul as instantiating the Church, founding an “everlasting manifestation of a political and repressive power,” while also inaugurating “the end of times according to the contemporary Christian view of the imminent return of Christ.” Such a contradiction is banal, on one level, but it brings out tension that is evident when recognizing Paul’s apocalyptic flourishes, as well as his contradictory moments. These are the political realities that are bound up within Pasolini’s figuration of Paul, and they are missed by our other translation of Paul, as bound up as it is in staging “forgiveness” as a central Pauline trait that the audience is called to imitate during such a fractious political age. Pasolini recognizes and draws out revolutionary spirits, those parallels between Paul’s historical experiments in political activity, and the revolutionary moments from 1938 to 1968. Such moments embrace political critique and movement, while also inviting one to fall back into the constraints of power. And Pasolini makes this explicit, these Pauline contradictions, when he writes:

In fact here the story of two Pauls is narrated: the saint and the priest . . . I am
all for the saint, while I am certainly not very tender toward the priest . . . [The
screenplay leaves] the spectator to choose and to resolve the contradictions and
to establish whether this THEOLOGICAL FILM be a hymn to Holiness or to
the Church.”

If you didn’t want to click on the above link, then here is the description from the back of the book:

“Taylor M. Weaver offers a provocative reading of Pauline community, focusing on social and historical readings of the Pauline collection, body metaphors, and socio-politics of the gift, through models and methods developed by critical theorists. Weaver pays attention to conceptual apparatuses revolving around gifting, community, and immunity found in the writings of Italian philosopher Roberto Esposito, augmenting common readings of the historical Paul, while also enriching philosophical co-optations of Paul. Using critical theories (revolving around munus/gift), Weaver unveils different gifting types, showing how these expand one’s understanding of early Christian community. The study ends with a new exegesis of 2 Corinthians 8:1–15, illuminating the text through effective theoretical avenues. This book expands methodological borders, providing innovative models of Pauline Christianity, and developing new readings of community profitable to both New Testament studies and theory.”

Ideological Criticism and Pauline Studies

Recently (well, relatively) Zeba Crook (one of my favourite scholars!) asked a question on social media about Pauline studies.

While scholars like James Crossley (another gem in the field) and William Arnal are known for authoring important works in, for lack of better designations, ‘ideological criticism’, what is there in Pauline studies that is comparable?

I did indeed reply to Zeba, pointing to Ward Blanton as a foremost champion of this sort of work in both NT generally and Pauline in particular. And, I did engage in some self-advertisement as well. Though, I doubt this resulted in any sales of my book, The Scandal of Community: Pauline Factions and the Circulation of Grace. Nonetheless, I didn’t elaborate, and Zeba kindly asked me to.

A belated reply is, indeed, a reply. Even if the lateness is embarrassing and misses an energetic moment.

Crossley’s work on uses of Jesus is forceful, critical and unique. The volumes that focus on these receptions of Jesus in our contemporary moments are also highly readable. A foremost example is Jesus in an Age of Neoliberalism: Quests, Scholarship and Ideology.

Blanton’s work is different in both scope and style, but it is still important if you are interested in interrogating the modes, scope, and methods in NT studies. A great, easy short example is his chapter in the Paul in Critical Contexts Series book Paul in the Grip of the Philosophers. His chapter, “Mad with the Love of Undead Life” is broadly a evaluation of Slavoj Zizek’s appropriations of Paul. But, in describing Zizek’s Paul, he spends considerable time noting the reception of the reception. Or, how NT scholars have reacted to the receptions of Paul. And, well, they haven’t always been very welcoming, often sliding into a patronising mode (whether they mean to or not). Often, the general response is:

‘Oh, how interesting that you are interested in our object of study! Too bad you say such silly things. We would love to tell you how you are wrong without spending time understanding what exactly you are talking about!’

This is annoying, yes, but also understandable. It is indicative of a problem in biblical studies broadly, and especially NT studies. But, let’s be honest, the hyper-specialisation and feeling that people ‘outside’ can’t contribute to our little discourses is Higher Education-wide! Noting this problem is important. Because that barrier has to be broken beyond; this is, fundamentally a problem that ideological criticism is useful for.

Blanton’s authored two books that are also useful. One is more concerned with NT studies broadly, rather than focused only on Paul. Displacing Christian Origins is, basically, a critique of the field of NT studies by noting how it has lost its inchoate interest in disciplines outside of itself, with an eye to noting the importance of philosophy in some of the formative moments in the field.

While some may protest, claiming that biblical studies is broadly diverse in method and discipline, the lion’s share of the field is skeptical of non-dominant modes of discourse, even if various modes and methods are championed (I’m reminded of the discussion on this in Yvonne Sherwood and Stephen Moore’s Invention of the Biblical Scholar; some scholars may moan about ‘theory’ taking over, but that is not what is really happening in the discipline).

Blanton’s most recent book is A Materialism for the Masses: Saint Paul and the Philosophy of Undying Life. While this volume is less invested in the particular space of the discipline, it serves as a sort of reply to the reception of the

philosophical interest in Paul, while also critiquing histories of Pauline reception. Basically, Blanton wants to destabilise some dominant figurations of Paul, here, many of which are fuelled by the pretensions of NT studies.

There are many other examples of this sort of work, but let me end by talking up my own work.

I’ve published several pieces that either incorporate a broad ‘ideological critique’ of the discipline, or are more forcefully act as ideological critique. My chapter (‘Rethinking Pauline Gift and Social Functions’) Robert Myles’ Class Struggle in the New Testament spends considerable time critiquing the reaction of NT studies to Marxist criticism and talk of class; others, like Neil Elliott, have done great work on this. The piece, however, is about how gift can function in this discourse, and is useful for thinking about early Pauline community, despite the fear of class talk.

My article in Journal for Cultural and Religious Theory, ‘Badiou and Pauline Theology: Detecting a Theology of Death’, like Blanton’s previous work on the lazy reaction of NT scholars to theoretical interest in Paul, is concerned with sketching and augmenting a Badiouian Paul. While this one is less ideologicacl critical, part of the point of the article is to show that contra the ideologically informed assumptions of many NT scholars, the archive of work done outside of the discipline is actually important.

And, finally, my book! The Scandal of Community: Pauline Factions and the Circulation of Grace is at heart about the

It really is a beautiful cover

assumptions of NT scholars and what methods and disciplines they find viable for the historical work. I do this by paying attention to hermeneutical assumptions, while also making a positive case for utilising the archive of Pauline reception work, especially that being done by theorists and philosophers.

That is, of course, only part of what is going on in the book! The book is, after all, about Pauline community. But, what I show is that when we talk about concepts like community, we have to open up the disciplinary realms that we are willing to engage with.

Currently, I want to engage this further, and have been toying with a book proposal for a while that takes to task the assumptions of social scientific readings of early Christianity, and how these readings come with deeply embedded capitalist assumptions that colour readings. But, who knows how many years off that project is to completion!

Pauline Eschatology: Dan Oudshoorn’s 2nd Volume on What Paul is Up to

Sorry Dan for being so slow!

Months after providing a bit of a review of Dan Oudshoorn’s first volume in his Paul and the Uprising of the Dead trilogy, I am finally back. While this volume is slimmer than the previous one, I found myself delayed by a move and trying to finish a manuscript. If you were awaiting this (um, sorry Dan!), then I offer my sincere apologies.

Oudshoorn’s previous volume provided several important contributions. They aren’t limited to the following, but these were what I found to be useful both for the critical scholar, and to someone relatively new to the subject: 1) Oudshoorn presents the reader with a fairly comprehensive survey of various positions on a) social stratification in early Christian congregations, and b) Paul and imperialism, b) nuanced discussions in eschatology; 2) while being fair with interlocutors he disagrees with, he also does a good job sussing out the evidence with, especially, matters dealing with stratification, dismantling some structural foundations of new consensus scholarship; and 3) Oudshoorn keenly uncovers ways of reading texts from below in a way that most middle class, comfortable scholars are not able to quite recognize, as they have not lived the conditions necessary to cultivate the forms of historical imagination needed; this, I think, is a particularly important point, and reminds me of a challenge that Larry Welborn put in a review of Bruce Longenecker’s Remember the Poor, namely that scholars needs to “cultivate an awareness of the inconspicuous strategies that ensured survival and flourishing for oppressed classes.” These, of course, are not comprehensive goods found in the book, but they stand out in particular to me.

Oudshoorn’s second volume (Pauline Eschatology: The Apocalyptic Rupture of Eternal Imperialism) is slimmer, but no less readable and important. Like the previous volume, it expertly deals with historical material, taking care to recognise the socio-material realities of what constitutes historical situations and change.

The volume is divided into, really, two main chapters (ignoring the introduction and conclusion), the first being “Apocalyptic Eschatology and the Founding Narratives of Empire: History and Resistance,” and “The Ideo-Theology of Rome: Justifying Empire.” If one has a decent grasp on the field of recent works in NT studies (especially works on Paul), then the general flow of these chapters may be evident from the titles.

Oudshoorn early on makes quite clear the basic thesis, noting that as he came of age( academically) much focus tended to be on claims about the end of history, and this is a reminder that ‘imperialism is heavily invested in promoting a realized form of eschatology’ (p 2). And, further, perhaps we can see some clear parallels between current iterations of empire (neoliberal capitalism, for instance) and the imperial cults of the first century CE. The book isn’t primarily focused on creating these parallels directly, even if they serve a useful purpose (perhaps, like, Neil Elliott wonderful book Arrogance of Nations). He doesn’t, for instance, set out bait for historical critical scholars to cry ‘Anachronism!’ The parallels, however, provide a good overview of what is happening here. Oudshoorn wants to show that, much as ’empire’ today is invested in rather grand (even theological!) claims about itself, and that these claims are forceful and have material impacts, so it was in the ancient world.

Many Pauline scholars would readily agree. And, while this may cause one to wonder why Oudshoorn pays so much attention to it, I want to gesture back to my previous review. I made clear there that one thing to keep in mind is that these are individual volumes in a larger project. Oudshoorn spends time on this, then, precisely because it elaborates on earlier parts of the broader picture he is painting. Here, then, we get some of the fine details and nuances that make sense of the scene.

What is empire trying to do? It really boils down to delimiting the future, to attempting to ‘eliminate the future as a domain of radical new possibilities that disrupt, overturn, or destroy the status quo…’, even if never bringing this goal to completion (p. 5).

While history is often purported to be a neutral mission of fact-finding, it never escapes ideology, and our ways of organising the past tell stories about what we value and about who is in charge. This can be seen quite clearly in the ancient world, though as Oudshoorn rightly notes it is true of the modern, as invested as we are in our own forms of mythmaking (pp. 9-10).

Just doing neutral research, yall!
Author: National Eye Institute

Our ways of marking time are important. And, while we tend to believe that divisions of time are products of objectivity and scientific achievement, they have generally tended to have much more to do with honour and ideology than simply with interest in mere precision. Oudshoorn notes, for instance, that the Romans often ‘marked time with honorific eras, with saeculum (marking a generation according to its oldest living member), and with anniversaries of years’ (p. 13). In fact, ‘events marked a shift to a new moment in history’ such as the ‘founding and refounding of (a new, better, truer) Rome by people like Romulus, Augustus, and Nero. . .’ (ibid). This helped shape Roman conceptions of historical progress.

Calendrical reforms occur in Rome that underscore the importance of the emperor. As time goes on the ‘cultic center’ shifts from older ways of reckoning hisotrical progress and centres on figures associated with the imperial cult. Oudshoorn notes that this has the effect of making the emperor ‘increasingly important to Roman ways of marking time and defining one’s identity and world as Roman’ (14). It’s a universalising project, one that brings all people under one calendar, under one understanding of time, that centres on a distinct imperial class.

Oudshoorn takes great pains to make this broader case, pointing to the creation of this cyclical, universal calendar, as well as noting the theological, political, and ideological ends of such a project. Holidays coinciding with births, the naturalisation of cycles of time guaranteed to subjects of the empire, and the requirement that citizens celebrate and participate unveils how deeply ways of marking time determine the scope of history, and re-fashion subjects of the body politic.

Christina Horsten/dpa

This interest in celebrating and moulding history is also about remaking the future, or perhaps rendering the present time as a time that persists in it’s abundance and perfection, a type of realised eschatology. As Oudshoorn notes, much was made about Golden Ages of the past, and Roman reforms (including attempts to re-make the subject through dividing time) is concerned with acknowledging a new age that corresponds to previous primeval golden ages. He notes the importance of the Secular Games, quotes from Virgil, Horace, and Ovid’s descriptions of past ages of prosperity to which Rome was reaching toward (pp 21-26). But of course, a golden age is only as good as its propaganda, which is why it is almost as if successive emperors have to re-do them, re-jig things in order to make this eternal moment in time more real. And, it is hard to make these moments seem real to any but the higher classes when there, as Oudshoorn shows through Cicero, was massive transfers of wealth to centres of the Empire (p. 30). We are surely familiar with this today. Many want to pretend, for instance, that America is relishing in a Golden Era (exemplified, perhaps by Golden Toilets), despite systemic racism, a massive underclass, the disenfranchisement of labour, and the rise of white nationalist violence.

From Chrono Trigger, Square.

But, just as there are resistances today, the ancient world found ways to resist. Rebellions are a great example, of course, but so are other forms of resisting history. Oudshoorn (drawing from Anathea Portier-Young) notes that apocalypticisms were a sort of ‘”equally totalizing counterdiscourse” dealing with themes of universalism, moral and ontological dualisms, vindication, imminence, judgment, and inspiration’ (p. 35; Portier-Young, Against Empire, 35). They exist as a type of ‘liberation of historical time’, a rupture (p. 36).

Oudshoorn goes on to note in the rest of the chapter Paul’s place in this, how Paul’s language follows along in the tradition of apocalypticisms, pointing to important, foundational work by scholars like J-L Martyn, perhaps best known for his Galatians work. This apocalypticism, despite in some ways mirroring the ‘ideo-theology of Rome’, is different in a crucial sense. It doesn’t posit a ‘clean instantaneous break’, but instead its rupture persists as a sort of overlapping of old and new ages (p. 42). Oudshoorn makes clear what this doesn’t simply mean: 1) it is not simply some individual internal struggle regarding righteousness; 2) it isn’t something strictly spiritual; 3) it doesn’t call for some aloofness wherein one ‘can simply continue to do what they can to make the world a better place, all while remaining very aware that the world is passing away’ (p. 43). Instead, this apocalypticism is a sort of interpellation, a call of a new, ‘militant subject’ who is part of an ‘awakened collective’ (ibid.). This is, quite obviously, political talk. And, Oudshoorn points to how Pauline language that goes against the realised eschatology of Rome buttresses this fact.

Despite all of this, Oudshoorn ends this chapter with a reminder that empires work to assimilate opposition, and attempting to co-opt imperial themes (in an attempt to flip them transgressively) is dangerous, inviting one to fall back into the ‘status quo’ of imperial power (p. 48).

Oudshoorn’s final chapter is a more thorough overview of what he terms the ‘ideo-theology’ of Rome, or, ‘the combination of beliefs and practices that provided the moral, spiritual, political, and economic foundations for the widespread implementation of imperial power’ (p. 52); this is important. If the general idea is that Pauline apocalypticism is connected to, or partially an obverse of/reaction to realised Roman eschatology, then understanding this ideo-theology would be important to understanding Paul.

http://www.romanimperialcult.org/history.html

Oudshoorn points to four main foundations of Rome’s imperial theology: 1) household; 2) honour and shame; 3) patronage; 4) ‘traditional Roman religiosity’ (p. 53). Most of these should be broadly familiar to those, especially, interested in social-scientific readings of NT texts. Further, aspects of them were touched on in the previous volume. Oudshoorn, however, point to numerous contemporaneous primary texts that undergird these as part and parcel of the broader ‘imperial theology’ of Rome, as well as pointing back to the Augustan reforms that he has discussed previously. This is important, especially, for his portrayal of the ideal Roman family, and the overall structure of the household. Significant time is spent on slavery, with Oudshoorn underscoring how views on slaves ‘contributed to the ideo-theology required to maintain the empire,’ primarily through a ‘view of foreigners and the urban poor as subhuman, targets of violence, and as objects to be feared’, which ‘justified military campaigns abroad and oppression at home’ (p. 65).

Oudshoorn’s section on patronage (pp. 69-79) is , I think, particularly important because of patronage’s pervasiveness, it’s ‘asymmetrical’ nature, and the types of social and material dependencies central to it (p 70). And, his final of the four foundations is crucial because, as Oudshoorn notes, it acts socially in a way that parallels the way that forms of conservative Christianity intertwine society and politics and make proclamations about normativity (pp. 79-83).

In order to keep this review from becoming unmanageable, let me gesture to the next big steps that Oudshoorn takes in the book, before saying a few concluding thoughts.

After discussing these four pillars of Roman imperial theology, Oudshoorn spends considerable time on detailing the Roman imperial cult, looking at source material (pp. 84-92), backgrounds for the spread of the cult in the east including details of the cult during the broad period of the NT’s composition/descriptions (pp. 92-99), and some of the central ‘themes’ of the cult (pp. 100-34). The themes, as he reckons them, are: 1) predestination to universal rule; 2) the gospel of Roman peace, salvation, and liberty; 3) war, victory, and justice; 4) piety; 5) mercy; 6) the rule of law; 7) the cult of Roma; and, 8) reverence of the divine Caesars.

Evaluating the Text, with a Final, Captivating End

This volume is, like the initial one, well-researched and well-written. It advances the broader work in important ways. But, I do think it could be useful for other purposes as well. This volume could be easily augmented for classroom use. While Oudshoorn is doing some important and novel things overall, he also provides a wonderful introduction and overview of Roman imperial ideology, the imperial cult, and how these things effect how we read the NT.

Tomb of Dean Fotherby, Canterbury Cathedral; http://www.canterbury-archaeology.org.uk/fotherby/4590809662

Oudshoorn also provides some important charges, really, for the person doing work in this area. I think, over all, he attends to historical imagination in a novel way. And, this is perfectly displayed in his surprising, and rousing, conclusion. Here, I think, is Oudshoorn at his absolute best, with a play between historicising and extracting theories’ energising potentialities. In these final pages, Oudshoorn notes works that have attempted to supersede Foucauldian biopower, positing a type of necropower wherein large intersections of underclasses are subjected to forms of zombie-like life, with their value is accorded to the maximization of economy (pp. 135-36; Achille Mbembe, “Necropolitics”‘ pp. 40, 31-32, 34). And, attempts to break from these forms of life often results in subjects embracing ‘an incredibly brutal form of “necroempowerment,” wherein he. . . seeks to transform the situation of vulnerability “into possibilities for action and self-empowerment, and that reconfigure this situation through dystopian practices and perverse self-affirmation achieved through violent means”‘ (p. 136; Sayak Valencia, Gore Capitalism, 301, 74). The ethics that arises from these dispositifs , rather than ‘do no harm’ is ‘”Receive no harm, or Participate in harm as agents and no longer (only) as victims“‘ (p. 136; Valencia, 114). This gives way, as Valencia and Mbembe make clear, to a type of thanatophilia (or, perhaps as Roberto Esposito would say, a form of thanatopolitical community).

Oudshoorn, after detailing our situation using Mbembe and Valencia, points out however that these predilections existed before capitalism, before our current global situation/s. In fact, ‘although they are embodied in a wide variety of permutations and overcoded with many different glosses, ideologies, or gods, these dynamics are representative of imperialism qua imperialism’ (p. 137). These are dynamics present in the ancient world as well, in the Pauline context. ‘Empires are necrotizing fasciitis. Wherever they go, pain, rot, and ultimately annihilation quickly follow (p. 138).

In Oudshoorn’s story, the Pauline faction attempts in its own way to depart from this. ‘Paul and his coworkers do not pursue’ he writes, ‘the forms of necroempowerment that tempt other members of subaltern populations within the Roman Empire’ (Ibid.). More on that will follow, of course, in Volume Three.

Sexual Assault and our Discipline/s

Most of the Biblical Studies’ (and antecedent disciplines’) Social-Media-sphere are by now  well aware of Jan Joosten and his being caught with nearly 30k images of child abuse. It should go without saying that Joosten’s disgusting, abusive activities are derserving of punishment. And, indeed, his sentence of 1 year (if that…) is much too lenient for these crimes.

But, we have to remember that we have been here before. Several times. We can note, for instance, the well-known case of NT scholar Richard Pervo and Christian ethicist Bernd Wannenwetsch. Pervo, like Joosten, was caught with child pornography while a faculty member at the University of Minnesota. It should be noted that while he was suspended from the university, he was allowed the dignity to resign. And, while he did not teach at an institution of Higher Education after he was caught with child porn, he continued his work as a Fellow of the Westar Institute, with no mention of his past that I can find. The SBL made sure that he was highly lauded in his obituary, the writer of it noting that he was basically the funniest guy who ever had anything to do with NT studies. Nice. Thanks Prof. Rothschild….

We always see Twitter and Facebook erupt in outrage when horrible people in our discipline are caught, the most recent example being Dirk Obbink. And, I have to admit that I want to dwell in both the outrage of the whole disgusting affair, as well as other issues regarding what to do about citation. I’m thankful for the reminder that we should always remember the victim that @NaylorDavis supplied, rather than dwelling in outrage. And, also instructive is the twitter thread by @MAdryaelTong where we are reminded that instead of just sitting on the issues of citation, we need to think about prevention and long-term strategies/solutions. There are instructive questions in that thread.

Regarding prevention: with those examples of creeps who persist despite grievances being raised, maybe the idea of easily accessible databases need to be taken seriously?

So, in the last few years there has been a lot of attention given to child abuse in Southern Baptist circles. And, one of the big problems is that SBC higher ups just don’t seem to take it seriously. Pastors who abuse children don’t stop abusing them after they are caught. Instead (even if they have gone to jail over it), they just move on to another church to continue doing the same horrible things. When light was thrown on this darkness, the SBC threw their hands up and simply said ‘Yes, this is terrible. But, hey, we are an autonomous body so, sorry! Can’t do anything’. What a terrible response. They have the resources and socio-political power to make the right steps to make change. They could use their resources to set up a national database that would track pastors and church workers who abuse children and others. Further, they could compel individual churches to comply with safety measures and with making sure to check workers against the database. But, the will isn’t there. So, instead a personal friend of mine actually started a database with his own resources.

I know there are Google docs with this sort of info in academia that circulate to keep young scholars safe. But, maybe, just maybe, it would be instructive for HE institutions to throw money at creating some type of database. Further, government resources need to be withheld from public institutions unless they make sure that their tech infrastructure is able to track and report on faculty and staff who are peddling in child abuse.

 

Pauline Politics? Yes, Please!

This blog has been much too silent. But, I have things to say, I suppose. For the time being (in order to keep my head a little sharp), I will be publishing reviews of books that I have been recently reading. There have been several, but I wanted to start with a great, new book by Dan Oudshoorn.

Oudshoorn’s book, Pauline Politics: An Examination of Various Perspectives, is the first volume in a trilogy of works that have long been gestating. All of the volumes are currently out. I look forward to getting the other two in the near future.

Please purchase directly from the publisher, rather than Amazon. https://wipfandstock.com/pauline-politics.html

 

 

Pauline Politics is, I think, a good intervention in the cacophonous and overcrowded discussions on Paul, astutely evaluating various perspectives relating to, especially, the political kernel of Pauline thought. It is, as well, I think a work that attempts to break from the problem in NT Studies noted by Steve Friesen a decade and a half ago: capitalist criticism.

One would expect that ‘various perspectives’ would be evaluated, since the title mentions such being done. And, this does happen. So, that’s great! A title that honestly deals with much of what is going on in the volume. With regards to the purpose of the series as a whole, Oudshoorn writes that the series ‘will explore some of the diverse and contradictory ways in which Paulinism has been understood, and [Oudshoorn] will assert that the Pauline faction presents us with a particularly creative and subversive combination of eschatology, economics, and political ethics– a combination that abolishes the combination favored by empires, both then and now’ (p 2). This quote gives a fairly good idea of what is happening here, and of course tips the hat to the author’s figuration of Paul.

Divisions

Oudshoorn’s first volume is divided into three main sections. In his first section (pp. 25-66) he examines some of the main, various political interpretations of Paul. He does a good job of including all of the main perspectives on levels of Paul’s (or those various peoples who collectively contribute to the writing of the 7 uncontested Pauline epistles) politicisation. He provides summaries, doing a good job of fairly dealing with material that he doesn’t agree with, both noting the strengths, and then pointing to some of the main faults. In this sections he notes, for instance, the conservative or passive readings of Paul, counter-imperial readings, non-applicable Pauls, and more. He notes the nuances in the arguemnts of those authors he engages, and concisely points to the flaws with their particular readings. As an example, he brings up some of those various weaknesses with Pauline figurations that are ‘spiritualised’ and materially disconnected by pointing to outdated views on ancient life, the split between religion and politics, and the tendency to individualise ancient people (pp 38-40).

The second section of the book focuses on a subject that, personally, I have grown tired of (mostly because of writing on it for several years!). Namely, the socioeconomic status of Paul and early Jesus groups. Now, I noted my boredom of the subject precisely because I found this section to be exceptional! Ourdshoorn does an excellent job sifting through the data, criticising the social-functional readings of early new consensus scholars (though, unless I have read him wrong, he doesn’t include Deissmann with these readings, whereas it seems to me that he was a precursor; Steven Friesen points out the poor reading of Deissmann by new consensus authors [thereby destabilising the concept of ‘new’ consensus] in his 2004 JSNT article, ‘Poverty in Pauline Studies’), and pointing to alternative readings that are fuelled by his own experience among marginalised communities. These alternative readings are, he notes, difficult for many middle-class scholars to entertain, precisely because they lack the experience and imagination due to social privilege. There are so many gems in this section, gestures and emphases that have really helped me in thinking about my own work in new ways. For instance, Oudshoorn’s reminder that there are sorts of micro-divisions within those overarching social divisions that are mainstays, a reminder that helps us to imagine the relations between people in seemingly insignificantly different social places. More could be said aboit this section, but I want to end by noting that I am glad that he read Justin Meggitt’s work well. Too often I come across poor readings of Meggitt (especially in the reactions of the new consensus social-functionalist scholars).

This is Dan.

The final main section of the book is titled ‘Pauline Apocalyptic Eschatology.’ This section, especially, felt foundational. As if it is getting the reader primed for the fullness of the trilogy. Here, Oudshoorn details the apocalyptic markers found in Paul. But, he also spends much time noting the various ends that eschatological readings produce when, for instance, they are directed by scholars like Bultmann, Dodd, and Ratzinger, whose realized eschatology ‘result[s] in a form of conservative bourgeois moralism’ (p. 178). He notes how pervasive and mistaken are those eschatological Pauline figurations that ‘inserts foreign categories of thought into Paul’s letters’ and the problem of ‘[s]hifting the Pauline focus from history to eternity, concrete actions to anthropology, and from cosmic events to existential personal encounters’ (180).

Gripes

The subtitle of the book notes that there will be an examination of various perspectives.  This does not mean that all perspectives every where are examined, of course. The book, after all, is 226 pages including the bibliography. And, because of this, I am sure that there would be some who would nitpick on certain details. For instance, because this book is dealing with ‘Pauline politics’, one would rightly expect that the empire critical approaches would factor into the discussion. And, they do. And, in fact, while Oudshoorn is up front with where he aligns with regards to this scholarly debate, he does a good job of representing the perspective of scholars who do not think that Paul had anything to say about Empire. Oudshoorn mentions one of the more important books on the topic, Seyoon Kim’s Christ and Caesar. Of course, perhaps more could have been said in this section. Maybe those who are dead set against a counter-imperial Paul would cry foul and expect more time and attention to be paid to the arguments against such a Paul. But, time and space are limited. And, in fact, I think the more robust arguments against a counter-imperial Paul are dealt with well. In other words, I think Oudshoorn makes a great case, even if I can imagine a hypothetical person who is not interested in a counter-imperial Paul disagreeing.

There are places of minor disagreement, or at least where I wanted more discussion. But, they certainly don’t problematise the thrust of the text as a whole. Just as an instance (again, these are small things), in a brief sub-section on ‘mobility’, he notes that ‘the ability to travel is frequently interpreted as a marker of wealth and privilege, as those who were poor could not afford to travel’ (pp. 100-101). This was in a larger section detailing the arguments made that Paul was wealthy. I think this is a weak argument (and I doubt Oudshoorn disagrees). I would have liked to have seen in dismantled, not only by thinking about it along with the experience of contemporary poor people who travel over large locations, but also through recent scholarship. An excellent book by Timothy Luckritz Marquis, Transient Apostle comes to mind (of course, being a precarious scholar I no longer have access to this book, and so cannot say much more with precision). I also was surpised to see little Marxist criticism interacted with (most of this Oudshoorn looked at was Kautsky). This may be because Oudshoorn sees Kautsky (and presumably other Marxist NT scholars?) as ‘importing class orders associated with post-industrial Europe in the Pauline context’ (p. 122). Perhaps this is due to my own biases, but I think paying attention to, for instance, G.E.M. de Ste. Croix would be helpful for the aims of this work. And, I side with Christina Petterson and Roland Boer in thinking that often scholars sidestep some important voices and methods (like Marxist criticism!) because of the charge of ‘anachronism’.

Final Words

This is an excellent, precise piece of scholarship. Not only does it pay precise attention to various discussions going on in Pauline studies, but it does a great job of advancing some of them by paying attention to arguments not often considered because of, especially, a lack of scholarly imagination. It is a reminder, then, that what Steve Friesen has said about ‘capitalist criticism’ in NT studies is too true. Scholars are beholden to a particular socio-economic form, such that it impedes their imagination and keeps them from thinking about texts in different ways. Furthermore, Oudshoorn does a good job of connecting the three sections. Especially important is noting the intimate connections between his work on the socio-economic place of Paul and Jesus communities, political, ethics, and eschatology. These sections flow well into each other, and it is clear how the social make-up of these communities isn’t somehow abstracted from a Pauline eschatology or the ethical and political pointedness of Paulinism.

On Finishing and Continuing

Many already know this, but I recently (Nov 14) defended my doctoral project.

I passed with minor corrections, which is the most common result. What this means is that there are a few issues, but they are not significant (no structural issues, nor issues with methodology; no crippling problems).

The viva itself was a lot of fun. In the weeks leading up to the event, I was nervous, hurriedly reading back through my dissertation and trying to anticipate questions, as well as noting any issues that I discerned in the text.

Me, looking angry. But, I actually was not.

But, while I had moments of anxiety beforehand, it ended up being a great back and forth between two top scholars in the fields that I interacted with (NT studies and critical legal studies/political philosophy). It was great sparring with two scholars who actually read what I wrote carefully (even the footnotes!), who didn’t simply thumb through my manuscript, skimming quickly over the the voluminous amount of ink and paper I presented to them.

This was also a significant moment for me in that not only did I pass (which is great as a distinct box being ticked), but I received feedback that really justified the time I spent, the amount of work I put into this.

The viva process is a gauntlet that a student goes through, being put through a type of ritualistic process, being pressed on weak points, and coming out the other end a recognised scholar. And, while this was great, it was amazing also receiving feedback that confirmed that, yes, I am on the right track, that my scholarship has meaning!

What was most surprising to me, actually, were the positive evaluations that I received. My project was couched firmly on the edge of several disciplines. While I do New Testament, and Pauline studies, my work sought to poke holes in both methodologies in Pauline research, but more importantly, it advocated for an unusual path in reading Paul, namely through reading with philosophy (and specifically with the Italian biopolitical philosopher Roberto Esposito). This isn’t everyone’s cup of tea. And after saying that I noted that I didn’t think that scholars like E.P. Sanders of Paula Fredriksen would be interested. Why did I say this (and even gesture to this in my project)? Because of their thoroughgoing historicism, and their reactions to Zizek and Badiou, whose work they do not think has much to add to the historical study of Paul. I’ve long held that this is short-sighted, following from work done by Ward Blanton.

But James Crossley, who was my external examiner, was adamant that I am on to something here, that my project does have the capacity to convince scholars like Sanders and Fredriksen. That, in fact, I was able to tread new ground in Paul, and that it stands up to scrutiny.

Wow, that felt great to hear in the moment! I did not anticipate being told this, especially because I am often a bit skeptical about the broader NT studies community. This was an important moment for me, verifying that I am a part of the guild. And, it has really boosted my belief in another project that I am working on, and with which I am hoping to land a postdoc. My new project (that I am have been partially playing with since the summer of 2017) is similar to my other work in that while it is multi-disciplinary and on the ‘edge’, has the capacity to (I hope) provide crucial criticism to NT studies, and chart a separate path.

So, here I am. Stuck in a strange moment where I am both completing and continuing, remembering the past, while anticipating (anxiously) the future. I don’t know where I will go, but I am grateful to be where I am.

Wow. I am still surprised that my four year journey is pretty much over.

On Being Stuck on Early Christian Stratification

I recently had a chapter accepted into an edited volume on, broadly, class and the New Testament. And, my piece concerned, among other things, those darn economic/poverty classifications in the first century, and some connections with mutualism and poverty.

This is one of those subjects that has always left me feeling a little isolated. My entry into this subject began with Bruce Longenecker’s 2010 book Remember the Poor, and continued on to Steve Friesen’s masterful work (some in concert with Walter Scheidel), and then I found the 1997 classic Paul, Poverty, and Survival by Justin Meggitt. I’ve tried to stay abreast of the work that has come out recently (I recall Zeba Crook and John Kloppenborg writing some amazing research on things related to my interests, here).

Now, I recognise something: Meggitt’s book, while a classic because it hit back in a powerful way at the so-called New Consensus, was criticised thoroughly. Dale Martin, Holmberg, Longenecker, David Downs, Meeks, and others spent many hundreds of words dispelling some of the simplicities. Binary representations of the Roman empire, or the problem of pointing to concrete evidence of ‘mutualism’, for instance. I use Meggitt’s work in a very particular way (to be seen in the forthcoming chapter mentioned above).

When it comes to stratification, work is still being done to figure early Christian congregations. I have serious doubts about some of this work, even while really enjoying (and commending!) it. I’ve expressed some of my reservations, primarily my pessimism about having sufficient evidence in regards to both associations in general, and early Christian congregations in particular.

Catacomb of Marcellinus and Peter, Rome

A bit ago I did, however, find an intriguing article by Ryan Schellenberg, someone I was not familiar with previously. I wish I had stumbled into his stuff before I finished my essay. Instead of wasting anyone’s time with my own poor synopsis, I want to just quote the abstract:
“Although there is broad consensus that the majority of the early Christ-followers were poor, descriptions of the economic practices of their assemblies have focused on the contributions of a surplus-possessing minority. This article employs ethnographic accounts of the economic activities of the poor to challenge the assumption that Paul’s injunctions to generosity were targeted primarily at wealthier members. Since there is ample evidence from numerous societies of sharing among the poor, one cannot deduce from the fact that Paul commends generosity that he is addressing those with surplus resources. Moreover, the moral rhetoric employed by Paul addresses just such concerns as commonly arise when the poor participate in networks of reciprocal exchange. What Paul envisions and seeks to nurture are local networks of Christfollowers who utilize their mostly subsistence-level resources for their mutual benefit.” (Schellenberg, “Subsistence, Swapping, and Paul’s Rhetoric of Generosity,” JBL 137 (2018): 215)

What should be highlighted is this central point: that there is evidence that the poor  engaged in non-hierarchical economic activity, despite poverty; further, the article notes that the aim of this activity accords closely to Meggitt’s ‘mutualism’, even if Meggitt’s work seems to obscure the fragility of such practices.

Furthermore, there has been robust discussion on (as noted above) stratification in early Christian communities, and that because of the usual types of resource allocation seen in association, there must be wealthy members bankrolling things (who to pay for meals, burials, etc?). I’m unsure, as noted above, however, about the evidence. While I have much to go through, what I have seen seems too provisional because of the nature of the evidence and the analogous games being played.

This post, I think, calls for a followup. But, in conclusion, I think there are some provocative things going on in Ryan Schellenberg’s article. Maybe I will try to spell those out more thoroughly in the near future. If you have access to JBL, go check it out.