. . . after sleeping through the last half century. You have to update him (probably a “him”) on the developments in scholarship regarding apocalypticism. What do you say? That was the mental exercise we played in Boustan’s seminar yesterday.

It was interesting to try to pin down what might be this gentleman’s perspective. We need to know what he knows before we update him. So, he’s probably working under the assumption that apocalypticism is a popular or populist movement driven by an ideology formed in crisis or persecution (often compared with other “millenarian” movements). This understanding would be set up against the established–perhaps “institutionalized”–tradition.

This understanding goes back to Max Weber’s dichotomy between the priest and the prophet. The priest is embedded within the institutionalized structures and their authority is generated by their status within those structures. The prophet is imagined to be a charismatic leader, whose authority is derived simply from the leader’s own charisma. Weber has preference for charismatic leaders as the force for change in world history. He believes the early charisma is always institutionalized if the movement continues. All that to say there is an underlying bias here: prophet = good and priest = bad.

Boustan asked if this hypothetical person would “like” apocalyptic writings. There was some disagreement in the seminar about this. I thought that the fictional 50′s scholar would not like apocalyptic writings because, in general, I believe the bias of embarrassment by apocalyptic thought (See Weiss, Schweitzer, and later, Koch) would still be more likely than a Marxist Bible scholar.

Even though the apocalyptic writings would have been conceived in the tradition of prophecy (and prophecy is a good thing viz-a-viz Weber), apocalyptic would have been a kind of corruption of that tradition.

Since the 70′s, in addition to the definitional issues, we would have to update this fictional scholar on the developments in the relation between Wisdom and Apocalypticism. That is, more and more, scholars see apocalyptic literature as learned and scribal. Jonathan Z. Smith called apocalyptic literature “Wisdom without a royal patron.” And that theme is what we’ll be talking about this quarter in our seminar.

We are discussing Smith’s landmark essay in our Wisdom and Apocalyptic seminar today and I thought I might share this definitive quote from his summary:

In the course of this investigation, several characteristics of apocalypticism emerged on which I would insist. Apocalypticism is Wisdom lacking a royal court and patron and therefore it surfaces during the period of Late Antiquity not as a response to religious persecution but as an expression of the trauma of the cessation of native kingship. Apocalypticism is a learned rather than a popular religious phenomenon. It is widely distributed throughout the Mediterranean world and is best understood as part of the inner history of the tradition within which it occurs rather than as a syncretism with foreign (most usually held to be Iranian) influences.

From Jonathan Z. Smith, “Wisdom and Apocalyptic,” in Map Is Not Territory: Studies in the History of Religion (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1978), 86.

In reading on apocalyptic things, I came across this fun bit by John J. Collins in Knowing the End from the Beginning: The Prophetic, The Apocalyptic, and their Relationships (note the use of “Apocalyptic” in the title), edited by Lester L. Grabbe and Robert Haak (T & T Clark):

Categories and definitions were the subject of sustained discussion in the 1970s and early ’80s, beginning with the work of Klaus Koch and Paul Hanson, and continuing through the SBL genres project and the Uppsala colloquium. One of the most widely shared points of agreement in that discussion was the use of ‘apocalyptic’ as a noun was a source of confusion, and that distinctions should be made between apocalypse as a literary genre, apocalypticism, whether as a social movement or as a worldview, and apocalyptic eschatology. It is true that these distinctions have not been embraced by British scholarship. In fact, there was very little British participation in those debates, and the objections to the use of ‘apocalyptic’ do not appear to have been grasped in that part of the world. [45]

He also clarifies that the objection to the use of “apocalyptic” as a noun is not grammatical, but because of the “intrinsic vagueness of the term.” Collins later adds, “To revert to this usage, in my view, is to set the discussion back to the state of confusion that prevailed before Koch wrote his monograph” (46). Oh ye British in “that part of the world”! Trying to confound us again, eh? There is a relevant discussion about this in the comments of a blog post on Ben Myers’ blog from awhile back, kicked off by Mike Bird’s comment (reflecting the trend that Collins has noted here) and reacted against by others.

I tend to side with Collins (and Mike Bird) here. It does provoke interesting questions related to transatlantic scholarly discussions, though. We already have a big enough problem crossing language barriers. And I must say that I find it amusing that Collins makes the point within a book using “apocalyptic” as a noun in its subtitle (which is what provoked Mike Bird’s comment in the aforementioned conversation).

I should note that I received this book courtesy of Abigail Cox at T & T Clark and it is on the docket to be reviewed! Thank you Abby!

Is destruction the defining characteristic of apocalyptic thought? If you look at the chart that I have included in a previous post, you see that “judgment/destruction of the wicked” is the only category that appears in every Apocalypse that is listed in the chart. This makes sense as a defining characteristic. Apocalyptic writing is a rallying cry, a kind of fantasy about the future that proclaims ultimate vindication of the righteous ones. Apocalyptic eschatology spurs on the faithful to remain faithful by reminding them that the unfaithful will get theirs in the end.

If destruction of some kind is a defining characteristic of apocalyptic eschatology, then can we make a judgment on whether Jesus or the Christ-confessing movement is “apocalyptic” in some way? That is, do the first century followers of Jesus of Nazareth have a sense that the end will bring destruction and judgment of the wicked? Without a doubt, yes.

The Jesus that we have presented in the Gospels is depicted as the Son of Man who will come to judge the nations. The “Sermon on the Mount,” for example has the statement:  “Enter through the narrow gate; for the gate is wide and the road is easy that leads to destruction, and there are many who take it” (Matt 7:13). Jesus speaks of the coming day of judgment in destructive terms: “Truly I tell you, it will be more tolerable for the land of Sodom and Gomorrah on the day of judgment than for that town” (Matt 10:15). “I came to bring fire to the earth, and how I wish it were already kindled!” (Luke 12:49). The Son of Man condemns the wicked to a destructive end: “Then he will say to those at his left hand, ‘You that are accursed, depart from me into the eternal fire prepared for the devil and his angels’” (Mt 25:41).

The only way around this is the way of the Jesus Seminar: Jesus never said that stuff. Whether he did or not, that is how he is remembered by the community of his followers. I am interested in whether the early followers of Jesus were motivated by apocalyptic eschatology and here I have no doubt that they were.

But is it all about destruction? Does the final destruction mean for the followers of Jesus that present behavior doesn’t matter? Without a doubt, no. For instance, note what Bartchy calls Jesus’ Nazareth Charter in Luke 4:18-19. Jesus appears to be announcing the purpose for his ministry. This includes bringing good news to the poor, proclaiming release for the captives, recovery of sight to the blind, letting the oppressed go free, and proclaim the year of the Jubilee. Here Jesus is quoting Isaiah 61:1-2 and yet he leaves out the statement immediately following: to proclaim “the day of vengeance of our God.” In his ministry, Jesus challenges the dominant cultural values and social codes of his situation, including honor and purity, as he touches and eats with those who are marginalized and thought to be unclean.

Apocalyptic eschatology in the Jesus movement is destructive, yes. But it also contains other strands of the prophetic view of history that seem to be more “optimistic.” For his early followers, Jesus embodied both destruction and the present transformation of behavior.

I had a conversation with a very intelligent and well-read UCLA undergrad yesterday about how we define the various terms used for eschatology and apocalyptic things in New Testament studies. I went back to a paper I wrote on the history of scholarship on apocalypticism and thought it might be good to post the brief section on definitions. When defining “apocalyptic” things, I tend to rely on the “established” apocalyptic scholars who have worked with the “official” conferences (like the Uppsala Colloquium) and meetings (like the Society of Biblical Literature Genres Project) on the topic. Folks who have participated in these efforts have contributed much to our understanding. So, here goes . . .

Though the term refers to an “uncovering” or “disclosure,” apocalypticism ironically remains one of the most mysterious topics in the study of the New Testament. A great deal of scholarly ink has been spilled simply attempting to define “apocalypticism” and its related terms.

Some basic terminological distinctions have come to be generally accepted in contemporary scholarship. Past scholarship relied heavily upon the term “apocalyptic” as a loose category and used the term more as a noun than an adjective. John J. Collins states, however, “More recent scholarship . . . distinguishes between apocalypse as a literary genre, apocalypticism as a social ideology, and apocalyptic eschatology as a set of ideas and motifs that may also be found in other literary genres and social settings.”¹ These three categories are generally defined according to the class of texts generally accepted as “apocalyptic” by the consensus of modern scholarship (e.g., Daniel, Revelation, and 1 Enoch). The definitions of apocalypticism and apocalyptic eschatology, then, are connected to themes seen in the apocalypse genre. The definition of the genre put forth by Semeia 14 is widely cited and bears repeating in full here:

“Apocalypse” is a genre of revelatory literature with a narrative framework, in which a revelation is mediated by an otherworldly being to a human recipient, disclosing a transcendent reality which is both temporal, insofar as it envisages eschatological salvation, and spatial insofar as it involves another, supernatural world.²

This definition is seeking the lowest common denominator and therefore leaves out several features found in many apocalypses, such as pseudonymity or ex eventu prophecy. Building off the work of David Hellholm and David Aune who both reacted to Semeia 14, a group of scholars sought to expand this description to include social features of the apocalypse genre in Semeia 36:

[Such a work is] intended to interpret present, earthly circumstances in light of the supernatural world and of the future, and to influence both the understanding and the behavior of the audience by means of divine authority.³

Semeia 14 distinguishes between two main types of the apocalypse genre: the otherworldly journey (e.g., 1 Enoch 1-36) and the historical apocalypse (e.g., Daniel). In the former, the human is guided either in a heavenly ascent or a descent to the netherworld. The historical apocalypse presents a review of history relevant to its depiction of the final judgment, such as with the four kingdoms in Daniel.

The following is a helpful chart adapted⁴ from Semeia 14 to show the some of the characteristics that may be found in various apocalypses:

The fact that a judgment of the wicked is included in all of the texts in this chart adds weight to the suggestion that such texts had some intention to influence behavior, seen in the addition from Semeia 36. Apocalyptic eschatology, then, would be an ideology about the coming “end” which assumes some combination of these aspects. Likewise, apocalypticism is defined as a social movement of people motivated by these concepts.
__________
¹ John J. Collins, The Apocalyptic Imagination: An Introduction to Jewish Apocalyptic Literature (Grand Rapids, Mich.: Eerdmans, 1998), 2.
² J. J. Collins, ed., Apocalypse: The Morphology of a Genre (Semeia 14; Missoula, Mont.: Scholars Press), 9.
³ Adela Yarbro Collins, Early Christian Apocalypticism: Genre and Social Setting (Semeia 36; Missoula, Mont.: Scholars Press, 1986), 7.
⁴ J. J. Collins, Apocalyptic Imagination, 7.

I would like to extend my gratitude to Abby at T&T Clark (see their blog) for sending along a fabulous (brand) new survey on the origins of Christianity. Jonathan Knight’s Christian Origins [publisher link - find the table of contents there] is a comprehensive introduction to the Jewish origins of Christianity, with an emphasis on the eschatological connection between Second Temple Judaism and the beginnings of the Jesus movement. The book is particularly relevant for my own interests because (1) I have just begun my doctoral program in Christian origins at UCLA and (2) I’m crazy about apocalyptic eschatology.

Knight’s work is quite ambitious. Within these pages, you find 31 mostly bite-sized chapters ranging topics as diverse as the sources of Second Temple Judaism, Diaspora Judaism, “Who Did Jesus Think He Was?”, Pauline soteriology and ethics, the “breach” between Christianity and Judaism, and the rise of Gnosticism. Knight covers both social and theological topics. He is sensitive to matters of scholarly nuance and introduces readers to important names and arguments within scholarship, while also keeping his prose accessible. Before going to far, we should note that Knight serves as a Research Fellow of the Katie Wheeler Trust and Visiting Fellow in New Testament and Christian Ministry at York St John University, UK. Knight is an ordained Anglican priest and has also written a book on Jesus. His preface notes that his next book will be on apocalypticism, “as if this has become a theme which I cannot evade” (xiii).

Knight attempts to dispossess the reader of the concept of an unambiguous “fixed” Christianity (or Judaism for that matter). He would like to take the reader back past the councils of the early church to the rich complexity of early Christianity. The book is divided into four parts, “From Judaism to Jesus,” “Jesus and His Mission,” “Paul and Christian Beginnings,” and “The Birth of Early Christianity.” The second part, especially the eleventh chapter on “An Approach to Jesus,” is a good primer on “historical Jesus” studies. To my enjoyment, Johannes Weiss receives a whole page and is not simply subsumed as a sentence or two under Schweitzer. Knight’s section on Paul does not survey the history of scholarship in the same way that he does for the historical Jesus, but it does reflect that scholarship. He surveys the writings of Paul (undisputed and disputed), gives a “whistlestop tour” of Pauline soteriology, highlights his eschatology, and considers his ethics.

Having just finished a presentation on the history of Christian writings on Judaism, I was happy to see Knight guide the reader through that difficult issue. For example, when speaking of Christianity’s possible inheritance of apocalyptic eschatology from Judaism, Knight rightly cautions,

In saying this, we must be careful to note the differences between ancient Judaism and modern Christianity and not to impose the younger understanding arbitrarily on older and quite different texts. This is to call for sensitivity in interpretation which allows the ancient texts to speak for themselves and not through a Christian matrix. Christian readers should recognize their natural bias in this respect. [58]

On mentioning E.P. Sanders’ “covenantal nomism,” Knight observes, “Sanders criticizes earlier scholarship on Judaism–particularly Christian scholarship–for its presentation of that relation as dominated by the perennial balance between sins and merits” (33). Knight could have tread a bit more carefully in his chapter on the “breach” between Judaism and Christianity. Even calling whatever “parting of the ways” that occured between the Jesus movement and its religious heritage a “breach” seems a bit harsh (?). Knight’s comment to start off the chapter uncharacteristically lacks some sensitivity to reader reaction: “The separation that occured was the result of reaction against the Christians by people of Jewish descent” (266). Out of context, this statement could be read as “blaming” the Jews for the separation and that is certainly thin ice. The content of the chapter, however, does cover key issues, including christological developments, the “twelfth benediction” of the Jamnian Academy and John 9, the polemic against the Pharisees in Matthew 23, Justin Martyr’s Dialogue with Trypho, and so-called “Jewish Christianity” such as the Ebionites.

To give an idea of his comments on Jesus’ death and resurrection, Knight strongly dismisses the idea that Jesus did not actually die on the cross (148) and more gently suggests that we “need not doubt” statements regarding the empty tomb (155, cf. 260). Contrary to being an intentional apologetic, however, Knight’s agenda in discussing the resurrection of Jesus is in what Jesus’ early followers did with the event. Knight suggests that the empty tomb is an “ambiguous symbol” and that resurrection appearances are “apocalyptic visions in which a heavenly mediator appears to the disciples and communicates a revelation to them” (260).

The biggest oversight in the book from my perspective is its lack of addressing the issue of women in the church. Knight breezes past a comment that the first half of 1 Corinthians 11 is “controversial,” barely mentioning “a statement of the subordination of women to men” (181). In his endnote for this sentence, he does refer to work done by Morna Hooker and Elisabeth Schüssler Fiorenza. Curiously, in the next endnote, which is regarding spiritual gifts in 1 Cor 12-14, he refers to Wayne Grudem’s work on prophecy in 1 Corinthians without explanation. Grudem’s work in this area is highly tilted in favor of the subordination of women. The missing engagement of women’s roles is felt particularly strongly in his chapter on “The Development of the Christian Ministry.” Within this chapter, Knight has the following statement under his treatment of “deacons”:

A whole passage in the Pastoral Epistles (1 Tim. 3.8-13) prescribes rules for their [deacons'] behaviour, including the behaviour of women deacons. The fact that the same epistle forbids women to teach or to have authority over men (1 Tim 2.12) is an indicator of the subordinate role of deacons in the communities addressed at that time. [291]

As far as I can see, this is the only statement on women in ministry in Knight’s book. I believe a book like this must address the patriarchal and androcentric nature of the surrounding society. Regarding gender roles in the family, Knight only casually mentions the household codes (191) and even then does not mention the role of husbands and wives. Within the book’s index, there are no entries for any of the following terms: women, female, gender, family, feminism, patriarchalism, or androcentrism. Knight nowhere mentions Paul’s key text (however one interprets it) in Galatians 3:28, “There is no longer Jew or Greek, there is no longer slave or free, there is no longer male and female; for all of you are one in Christ Jesus.”

The book uses endnotes rather than footnotes, and 100 pages of them at that. While I know Nick Norelli prefers the latter (he demotes his reviewed books one star out of five if they use endnotes!), endnotes do seem appropriate for a book aimed at a survey introducing newcomers to the field. The “Index of Names” is a misnomer, as it is an index of names and topics, where it would be helpful to have them separated.

Any oversights aside, I would highly recommend this book for use in a Christian origins or introductory New Testament course (though the latter should probably supplement Knight with a New Testament introduction proper). My two favorite things about this book are: (1) Knight’s integration of the study of apocalyptic eschatology into nearly all aspects of Christian origins and (2) Knight’s adroit descriptions of complex scholarly arguments in an accessible manner. My most significant caution about using the book would be the need to supplement Knight’s work with solid coverage of gender roles in Christian origins. The material is certainly appropriate for seminarians or other graduate students and may be challenging to undergraduates, but in a positive way. As noted, Knight is a Christian, but his purpose is not to coddle conservative evangelicals–far from it. His insistence on nuance and ambiguity may just make a fundamentalist student’s head explode. But maybe they could grow a new one. On the other end, I do not believe it is too confessional for a secular classroom. With that said, I wish everyone happy reading!

In a course I am currently taking on Post-Reformation and Modern Theology, the professor (Richard Muller) mentioned the relationship between Johannes Weiss and his father-in-law, Albrecht Ritschl. I first discovered this interesting relationship in my course on the history of NT scholarship. It’s a fascinating historical example.

Ritschl, the theological liberal (a descriptor, not a polemic), advocated an understanding of the “kingdom” that focused on morality and ethics (influenced by Kant and Schleiermacher). The little work of Johannes Weiss, Jesus’ Proclamation of the Kingdom of God, undermined the biblical basis for Ritschl’s work. Weiss found that Jesus’ teaching on the kingdom was not so much the foundation for a moral society, but was rather deeply eschatological. Apocalyptic eschatology was not a hot topic in biblical studies at the time. Quite the opposite. In fact, it was closer to an embarrassment to biblical scholars since contemporary apocalyptic movements are considered, well, silly.

So, Weiss bucks the theological trends of his own 19th century Germany, including the imposing shadow of his own father-in-law. Weiss did, however, wait a few years after the death of Ritschl to publish his work. He also did not disagree with Ritschlian theology. Rather, he believed that Jesus’ message was eschatological, but that Jesus’ immediacy was simply wrong. While he believes that Jesus was wrong about the kingdom, Weiss also thinks that the “Exalted Christ,” if he were to return, would now affirm the agenda of liberal theology and would bring about the transformation of society.

What impresses me so much about Weiss is that he went against the grain, even his own theological presuppositions, to pursue historical research of Jesus and the texts. What a rare occurrence!

I have just been reading the Paul Hanson’s section in the ABD article on “Apocalypses and Apocalypticism.” I came across a distinction between two types of biblical eschatology that seems helpful. Eschatology is the study of what will happen at the end of time. The Bible sees the end of time as a dramatic shift brought about by God’s initiative, according to God’s plan. There’s going to be judgment of the righteous and the wicked and a new era of God’s peace will be ushered in. According to scholars, the Bible contains two distinct major forms of eschatology: prophetic and apocalyptic. Prophetic eschatology is the understanding that “God’s new order would unfold within the realities of this world.” Apocalyptic eschatology, which is an outgrowth of prophetic eschatology, is more “dualistic.” In other words, in apocalyptic eschatology, the present era is more distinctly at odds with God’s new order than prophetic eschatology.

I am primarily interested in, as are many scholars, what are the circumstances that give rise to people thinking about the end of the world. In that vein, here’s where I found Hanson’s comment really interesting:

Prophetic eschatology and apocalyptic eschatology are best viewed as two sides of a continuum. The development from the one to the other is not ineluctably chronological, however, but is intertwined with changes in social and political conditions. Periods and conditions permitting members of the protagonist community to sense that human effort would be repaid by improved fortune tended to foster prophetic eschatology, that is, the view that God’s new order would unfold within the realities of the world. Periods of extreme suffering, whether at the hands of opponents within the community or those of foreign adversaries, tended to cast doubts on the effectiveness of human reform and thus to abet apocalyptic eschatology, with its more rigidly dualistic view of divine deliverance, entailing destruction of this world and resurrection of the faithful to a blessed heavenly existence. (Vol. 1, 281; emphasis mine)

In other words, when people had something like what we would call “freedom of speech” (and action, for that matter), prophetic eschatology was more likely. Where dissenting speech and action brought more persecution, apocalyptic eschatology was more likely. The anticipation of the end and the negative feeling towards the present state of the world was more powerful in apocalyptic eschatology. I presume the logic is that when people feel persecuted, they’re going to express their anticipation of the end more dramatically than if they believe they can change things.

It’s an interesting distinction. I think I need to look deeper into this and think about what specific texts are designated one or the other according to scholarly consensus.

A little while ago, I came across an interesting article by a new Fuller professor in New Testament, David Downs. Downs came to us from his PhD program at Princeton Theological Seminary, where he wrote the article, “‘Early Catholicism’ and Apocalypticism in the Pastoral Epistles” (Catholic Biblical Quarterly 67, no. 4 [October 2005]: 641-661). For my class on the history of NT scholarship, I have to write a paper surveying a particular topic in the history of scholarship and I’m thinking about something within apocalypticism. Seems like Downs’ article is a good starting place.

What was the deal with apocalypticism in the early church? Where did the “apocalyptic mindset” of the early Jews and the early followers of Jesus come from? One theory posits that the early Christians (if we can call them that) increasingly set aside their radical apocalyptic fervor as the church developed more structure. It’s a bit like ABC’s Lost. Some people desperately want to get off the island, to get rescued, and will try anything (build a raft, make a huge S.O.S. sign) to accomplish that. Other passengers from Oceanic Flight 815 are more “realistic” about their chances for rescue and decide to set down roots and get comfortable (build a church, set up a kitchen on the beach).

Apocalypticism, the idea that there is a coming cosmic transition and an accompanying judgment of people by God, was common amidst early Jewish texts into the first century C.E., when the early followers of Jesus picked it up. “Early catholicism” (from the German Frühkatholizismus) refers to a growing inclination towards hierarchical church structure, distance between clergy and laity, establishment of a biblical canon, emphasis on sacraments, and a diminished apocalyptic expectation of the immediate return of Christ (the parousia). Some scholars think that traces of such “early catholicism” in the church can be found within the New Testament, particularly the Pastoral Epistles (those being 1 Timothy, 2 Timothy, and Titus).

At this point, David Downs would like to question a few established assumptions:

To what extent do these letters exhibit the primary feature of early catholicism, namely, a diminished apocalyptic worldview? Or, in short, are “early catholicism” and “apocalypticism” mutually exclusive categories? Is the dawn of the former necessarily tied to the eclipse of the latter? (644)

In other words, is it really such a simple transition from heightened apocalyptic anticipation to a more settled, structured ecclesiology? And is “transition” even the correct word? Can we truly characterize these two emphases as moving along a progressive continuum from one to the other?

First, Downs points out that “[o]ne could hardly imagine a religious group in the ancient (or modern) world simultaneously more apocalyptic and more highly structured than the Dead Sea sect” (648). In the Jews represented by the Dead Sea Scrolls, one finds both structure and fervor. Apocalypticism is seen in various places:

The ideas that the Qumran sect appears to have shared with—or, more likely, inherited from—the apocalypses include: (1) the belief that divine mysteries have been revealed to members of the community (1QH 9:21); (2) the perception of communion with the heavenly world, particularly angelic figures (1QM 7:5-6; lQSa 2:3-9; 1QH 11:20-23); (3) an affinity for the periodization of history (CD 2:9-10; 4Q552-553); (4) a strong dualism, possibly influenced by the Enochic tradition (1QS 3-4; 1QM); and (5) an eschatology shaped by the conviction that the last days have begun but are not yet completed (CD 4:4; lQSa; lQpHab 7:1-14; 4Q174). [649]

Hierarchy is seen, for example, in the Community Rule (e.g., 1QS 5:20-23, 6:2-3). Downs uses the Qumran community to show that “apocalypticism and institutionalism are not mutually exclusive categories” (651). Therefore, we should not see “church order” in and of itself as an indicator for diminished apocalyptic fervor.

On the other hand, Downs mentions earlier Dibelius and Conzelmann’s Hermeneia commentary on the Pastoral Epistles in which they conclude that the letters have an “ethic of good citizenship” in their attempt to fit into the Greco-Roman culture. 1 Timothy 2:1-4 is a classic demonstration of this:

First of all, then, I urge that supplications, prayers, intercessions, and thanksgivings be made for everyone, for kings and all who are in high positions, so that we may lead a quiet and peaceable life in all godliness and dignity. This is right and is acceptable in the sight of God our Savior, who desires everyone to be saved and to come to the knowledge of the truth.

The idea here (at least as the author writes it) is to be good citizen, so that your countercultural behavior might not hinder the spread of the gospel. We certainly don’t see such a desire in the Dead Sea Scrolls. I wonder if an increasing acceptance of Hellenistic culture and desire to be good Roman citizens can be an indicator of diminished apocalypticism, even if institutionalization cannot. If a group embraces their surrounding society and culture, what reason do they have for desiring the world to end?

And before getting into Downs’ assessment of the letters themselves, I’ll leave it there for the day.