Forgery and Counterforgery: The Use of Literary Deceit in Early Christian Polemics (59 page)

There are numerous other points that stand in tension with the historical Paul, as already noted. Spiritual charisma is received by the laying on of hands rather than at baptism (4:14); God is the savior “especially” to those who have faith (especially? 4:10); widows are to be enrolled in the church, showing that the church is becoming a social institution (5:9); the presbyteroi—a word and concept found nowhere in Paul—are rulers of the church who deserve to be paid (5:17–18); the written words of Jesus are now Scripture (1 Tim. 5:18; cf. 1 Tim. 6:3); and on and on. Again, a few of these comments—and there are many more like them—may be explained away in isolation as a sensible development from Paul. But it is the collocation of odd comments, in combination with so many other factors, that shows that this is a book written after Paul’s demise, by someone living in a later context when the church is established and settling in for the long run.

2 Timothy

Even though 2 Timothy was written by the same hand as 1 Timothy, there are reasons for thinking that it was not meant to be read with it, as the second letter directed to the same situation. Unlike the other letter, where Timothy is Paul’s delegate left in Ephesus for the organization—or at least the instruction—of the church (1 Tim. 1:3), there is nothing here to indicate that he is to be thought of in this light. In fact, 4:12 may speak against the idea (Paul has sent Tychicus to Ephesus). Nothing indicates that Timothy is to be regarded as Paul’s delegate in charge of a community. He is portrayed instead as a young man who needs to work to combat his youthful passions (2:22). He has been Paul’s faithful companion until now, and he is urged to come meet Paul in Rome soon, and to bring some of Paul’s prized possessions with him (4:9, 13, 21), as Paul awaits a second trial (4:16).

As with 1 Timothy, there are numerous passages that sound Pauline. It is no wonder that scholars since Harrison have “found” authentically Pauline fragments in the letter. But more than anything else it is the abundance of verisimilitude that continues to puzzle scholars who are otherwise not intimately acquainted with the ancient craft of forgery, persuading them that surely this must be the real Paul himself. This author remembers Timothy in his prayers (1:3), he recalls his tears (1:4), he longs to see him (1:4); he remembers his grandmother Lois and mother Eunice (1:5) and recalls how God’s charisma was bestowed upon him by the laying on of hands (1:6); he refers to his enemies in Asia who have turned against him, citing two of them by name (1:15); but he indicates that Onesiphorus was faithful and came to find him in Rome after rendering him a service in Ephesus (1:16–18); he refers to other aspects of his past, including his persecutions at Antioch, Iconium, and Lystra (3:11); he himself is about to be sacrificed (4:6). And then comes the shower of verisimilitudes of 4:9–18, where the author cites names, places, and events from his life, thereby assuring the reader that he really is Paul, before the highly personalized greetings and benediction of 4:19–22.
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Given the comparative brevity of the letter, and the extent to which it is consumed with establishing the identity of the author through verisimilitude, it is no surprise that there are fewer passages that appear offensive to Pauline authorship here. But there are several that bear noting. Here again the spiritual gift is bestowed on Timothy by a leader of the community (in this case, Paul) laying on hands, rather than by the Spirit at baptism (1:6). The opponents of Paul are called by name, repeatedly (1:15: Phygelus and Hermogenes; 2:17: Hymenaeus and Philetus; 4:10: Demas; 4:14: Alexander). The love of money has become one of the issues in the community (3:2; cf. 1 Tim. 6:10), which seems to suppose a more established and occasionally prosperous constituency.

In particular it is hard to understand how this letter—if authentic—could be understood as a directive to the young Timothy. Here the problem is not
the general one of how to fit the Pastoral epistles into a sensible chronology of Paul’s life as established on the basis of his letters and Acts. The problem is that Timothy is being portrayed as a young companion of Paul (as seen already in 2:22), who needs to be warned against the passions that commonly afflict the young. At the same time, Paul is portrayed as in prison in Rome, having stood trial once, and awaiting a second trial (4:16). The letter is often read as a “last will and testament” of Paul, prior to his death. And although this characterization is sometimes challenged—especially by those who want to urge that the letter is authentic, since often these testaments are produced as fictions after the death of the protagonist—there is clearly something to it. Paul is expecting another trial, and he is fully expecting to be sacrificed: “The moment of my departure has arrived.” He knows he is about to be condemned and executed, but looking back on his life, he knows he has “fought the good fight” (4:6–7).

But how does one reconcile these two data with anything like a sensible chronology of Paul’s life? Timothy is still a young man but Paul is at the end of his life? In the book of Acts Timothy becomes associated with Paul rather early on, in Lystra (Acts 16:1). He is already an adult then, and already a disciple of Jesus. He then accompanies Paul on his missionary journeys. In Paul’s own letters Timothy is a coauthor of what is probably the earliest surviving correspondence, 1 Thessalonians—so presumably they have been together for some years, prior to its having been written in, say, 49
CE
. Even if Timothy was a young man then—there is nothing to indicate that he was—how could he still be young fifteen years later when Paul, on any reasonable chronology, is face-to-face with death at the end of a relatively long and productive ministry? On any reckoning Timothy must have been at least middle-aged by then. But not for the author of 2 Timothy. This author, not concerned with working out a viable chronology from Acts, which he probably did not know, or with Paul’s other letters, with which, for the purpose, he probably did not bother, portrays Paul in his final days, and Timothy as a youthful companion. The chronology does not seem to work.

Titus

Like the other two Pastoral epistles, the book of Titus contains numerous passages that reflect the views of the historical Paul. This again is no surprise, as the letter comes from the pen of a later follower who saw himself as standing in the Pauline tradition. And here too there are a number of impressive verisimilitudes, especially in the closing, where the author urges his recipient to meet him at Nicopolis, where he has decided to spend the winter (3:12). Like the others, however, it also contains comments that are difficult to reconcile with the historical Paul.

We have already seen that the word
presbyteroi
—let alone the concept that it represents—is absent from Paul. Here, not only are there
presbyteroi
, but the recipient is urged to appoint
presbyteroi
in every town on Crete (1:5). This presupposes an amazingly successful mission on the island—were all the towns converted, with thriving Christian communities?—and also assumes that the
churches were established and hierarchically organized. No Corinthian charismata here! And, as we have seen in other pseudo-Pauline writings, here too we find a Haustafel (2:2–10) for a community that is settled in for the long haul. The false teachers who have arisen within the communities are to be silenced, not argued with (1:9–11). The author himself offers no arguments against their deceptive “doctrine”; unlike Paul, he does not reason with them and show why they are wrong. He simply orders them to be rebuked for propounding “Jewish myths”—a strange injunction if from the real Paul, proud of his Jewish heritage.

But it is no stranger than the comment that follows, that “to the pure, all things are pure” (1:15). Is that why Jewish purity regulations and rules of kosher are no longer applicable, because they are rooted in foundationless Jewish mythology that now can be mocked, rather than revered for what it was, a set of good and true commandments given to God’s chosen people to regulate their lives, at least before the coming of the messiah? Where in Paul are those who keep purity laws thought to be corrupt, unbelieving, detestable, and disobedient (1:15–16)? This does not appear to be Paul the Pharisee, “blameless with respect to the righteousness that is in the Law” (Phil. 3:6). On the contrary, this is an author who was once a slave to his passions and pleasures, who spent his days “filled with malice and envy, filled with hatred for others” (3:3). And now that he has been justified, this is one—contrast Paul—who simply refuses to engage in “stupid controversies” and “quarrels over the Law,” deemed here as unprofitable and futile. Is this the author of Romans and Galatians?

There is some reason to suspect, on the other hand, that the author was intimately familiar with another Pauline letter, but this one too a forgery. The reminiscence of the author’s former life in 3:3–8 sounds very much like an allusion to Ephesians 2:1–10, where “Paul” begins by outlining his former life as a pagan sinner (3:3; cf. Eph. 2:3), whom God has now “saved” (past tense! 3:5; cf. Eph. 2:5), not because of “good deeds” (no word of “works of the Law” here, 3:5; cf. Eph. 2:9), through Jesus Christ, by “grace” (3:7; cf. Eph. 2:5, 8), so as to be an heir of eternal life (3:7; cf. Eph. 2:7). The author indicates that this “word” that he is delivering is “faithful” (3:8). Does he mean that he has self-consciously derived his “word” from what he (wrongly) thinks is an actual description of the conversion of Paul, in the equally pseudonymous letter to the Ephesians?

Taken collectively or as individual letters, the Pastoral epistles thus have appeared to a strong majority of critics to be pseudepigraphic productions of a post-Pauline age. Yet, as noted, there have been spirited defenses of their complete, or partial, authenticity over the years.
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The idea of partial authenticity was most convincingly
floated by P. N. Harrison, in his classic study of 1921 previously mentioned. There was a clear and certain attraction to his proposal, that even though in their final form the Pastoral letters did not come from Paul, they were ultimately based on bona fide fragments of Pauline correspondence. Objections were eventually raised, however, and the theory was finally demolished by Cook, who showed that the alleged differences between source and redaction required by the theory in fact do not exist. There is a unity of theme and style throughout the books.
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Some scholars still find it difficult to believe that a forger would employ such extensive verisimilitudes as found, in particular, in the opening and closing of 2 Timothy.
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The most direct attack on such views occurs in a justly acclaimed article by Norbert Brox, in which he makes a completely compelling case that “Fake personal notes are well known as stylistic devices in ancient pseudepigraphy and do not come as a surprise in the Pastoral epistles either.”
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Other scholars have wanted to insist that we take seriously the fact the most of Paul’s other letters were coauthored, and that, as a result, we should expect large differences in content and, especially, vocabulary and style, in comparison with letters, such as the Pastorals, that he produced himself. On the surface of the matter, this seems like a sensible objection, and certainly worth considering. One obvious problem is that the letters in question differ not only in choice of words and stylistic preferences, but also, quite seriously, in substance. Are we to think that Paul signed off on the content of the earlier letters without agreeing on what they actually had to say?

There is, however, a larger problem with the assertion that coauthored letters will naturally differ from single-author letters. Where is the evidence? Luke Timothy Johnson has asserted that this solution can explain why the Pastorals
may differ so much from the other Pauline letters.
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But he offers not a shred of proof. This is odd for many reasons, not least of which is the fact that Johnson has made an outstanding career out of showing how parallels in the Greco-Roman environment can illuminate the writings of the New Testament in terms of genre, theme, vocabulary, rhetoric, and so on. The similarities of the New Testament literature with the literature of its surroundings provide lasting insights into its character and the force of its rhetoric. But when it comes to the Deutero-Pauline letters, Johnson wants to argue that the key to their interpretation is a phenomenon for which he cannot—or at least does not—cite a single parallel or analogy from antiquity: joint composition of letters (or in modern parlance, composition by committee). Why would this explanation for the distinctive character of the Deutero-Pauline letters be preferable to one for which there are abundant parallels and analogies scattered throughout all of antiquity, the use of literary forgery?

Something similar can be said of Michael Prior’s use of the same argument in his study of 2 Timothy. Prior, at least, does try to find some evidence. After a diligent search, he locates some eighteen instances of coauthored letters from various ancient sources, mainly the papyri. After examining them, he then states “we have no way of knowing how the letters were composed, or what part each member of the coauthorship team played.” That is precisely right: we literally have not a single clue. But then, in the very next sentence, Prior claims, “The indications are that the writers are on an equal footing.”
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But what indications would those be, if the examples do not give us any clues? Later, coming to the Pauline corpus, Prior asserts, “When seen against the background of ancient co-authored letters one would expect a real coauthorship for those letters.”
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Yet he provides no analysis of the “ancient co-authored letters” that would lead us to think that they should appear stylistically or materially different from single-authored letters.
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This is a case made by assertion. If there is evidence to be adduced, then someone ought to adduce it. Until that happens, historians should be loath to accept as the “most probable” assertion one that has no demonstrable ancient analogy, in preference to what is abundantly attested in myriad places, that forgers produced works that differed stylistically and materially from those of the authors in whose name they wrote.