3. God’s Wisdom—Revealed by the Spirit (2:6–16)
The problem that Paul addresses at the outset of this letter is probably the best known of them all. Moreover, because our own experience is of a church divided, and especially because we have sometimes also experienced painfully destructive quarrels within the church in various ways, we instinctively feel ourselves immediately in touch with their problem.
Nonetheless, this is an extremely complex issue, made so especially by two further pieces of data in the letter: (i) On the one hand, because this is the first item to which Paul speaks, it is common to read the rest of the letter in light of chapters 1–4; that is, behind every issue (e.g., 7:1–16 or 8:1–11:1) the Corinthians are perceived as divided into parties. On the other hand, scarcely anything explicit is said in the rest of the letter to indicate the existence of actual parties within the church, nor is there any mention of Apollos or Cephas of the kind that would suggest that they are themselves rallying points for such parties.
(ii) At the same time, although the Corinthians were quarreling with one another over their leaders (1:10–12), nothing in this opening argument with them indicates that they were deeply divided on issues as such. This is not to say that they were not; it is to say that nothing in this entire section (1:10–4:21) explicitly so indicates. Furthermore, anyone reading this material with the presupposition that the problem basically involved parties within the church must always feel a lack of coherence to Paul’s answer, since so little of it speaks directly to such an issue. The question persists, then, as to whether, or how much, the concern addressed at the outset should affect our understanding of the other problems in the church.
So what is the problem addressed here? A careful reading of the whole indicates that at least four issues are involved: (1) There is “quarreling” and “divisiveness” among them, with their various teachers as rallying points. This is evidenced by several explicit statements (1:10–12; 3:3–4, 21), plus some indirect statements (3:5–9; 4:1–2) as to how they should regard these teachers. At the same time, however, there is not the slightest hint that the teachers were themselves party to this quarreling; indeed, Paul’s twofold affirmations of Apollos toward the beginning of the letter (3:5–9) and at the end (16:12) suggest the exact opposite.
(2) This quarreling is in some way being carried on in the name of “wisdom.” The Greek word group sophia/sophos (“wisdom”/“wise”) dominates the discussion throughout our chapters 1–3. The high incidence in this opening material of what is an otherwise infrequent word group, plus the fact that in most cases the word is used in a pejorative sense, is a sure indication that this is a Corinthian way of speaking, not Paul’s.
(3) Related to these first two items are the repeated references to the Corinthians’ “boasting” (1:29–31; 3:21; 4:7) and being “puffed up” (4:6, 18–19). Their quarrels took the form of boasting in mere humans, apparently in the name of wisdom (3:18–21; cf. 4:6). The problem, however, probably goes much deeper than that. As Munck observed: “Their view of Christian leaders as teachers of wisdom really ministers to their own exaltation. It is true that they boast about these great names, but only to boast about themselves.”
(4) Apart from the personal application to himself and Apollos in the middle (3:5–23) the rest of the response has a decidedly apologetic ring to it, in which Paul is defending not only his own past ministry among them (1:16–17; 2:1–3:4), but also his present relationship to them, since he is being “judged” by them (4:1–21). Given the express statement toward the end (4:18) that some are “puffed up” against Paul, plus the earlier indication (4:6) that some are “puffed up” for one (apparently Apollos in this case), against the other (probably Paul), it seems altogether likely that the quarreling over their leaders is not just for Apollos or Cephas, but is decidedly over against Paul at the same time.
The question remains, however, as to how these four elements represent a single issue. Although the answer to this is somewhat speculative, nonetheless some good guesses can be made. Interpreters commonly see the emphasis on wisdom as stemming from the Corinthian believers’ response to the ministry of Apollos, either from his content or his style, or perhaps both. This has much to commend it and may well be so. But since very little in the church in Corinth, as seen in this letter, reflects a Jewish background, it seems better to see the problem as stemming from Hellenistic influences. In this case, therefore, it is possible that the key lies with the phenomenon in the Hellenistic world of the itinerant philosopher, many of whom were sophists—more concerned with polished oration than with significant content. The coming and going in turn of Paul, Apollos, and Peter (if indeed he had visited the church), and especially some marked contrasts in style and content among them, had perhaps led the Corinthians themselves to begin to think of their new-found faith as an expression of sophia— the divine sophia, to be sure, but sophia nonetheless.
Within this kind of context they were quarreling over their leaders as teachers of wisdom, boasting in one or the other, and judging them from this merely human perspective, from which perspective neither Paul nor his gospel comes off very well. The message of a crucified Messiah, preached by an apostle who lived in considerable weakness, is hardly designed to impress the “wise,” as they now considered themselves. In any case—and this is the crucial item for these chapters—the greater issue for Paul is not the division itself; that is merely a symptom. The greater issue is the threat posed to the gospel, and along with that to the nature of the church and its apostolic ministry. Thus, in a more profound way than is sometimes recognized, this opening issue is the most crucial in the letter, not because their “quarrels” were the most significant problem in the church, but because the nature of this particular strife had as its root cause a false theology, in which they had exchanged the theology of the cross for an ingenuous triumphalism that went beyond, or excluded, the cross.
In Paul’s argument with them, therefore, three things needed to be squared away: (1) their radical misunderstanding (or confusion) about the nature of the gospel; (2) their misguided perception as to the nature of the church and their teachers—and the latter’s relationship to the gospel; and (3) his need to accomplish both of these while both reasserting his own authority among them and yet not destroying the very thing he has argued with them as to the role of leadership. The reassertion of his authority, of course, is crucial to the whole letter, since his very ability to pronounce authoritative judgments on their behavior is dependent on this.
The argument itself follows these lines. The opening paragraph (1:10–17) states the problem and serves both as introduction and as transition to the argument proper. Then in three consecutive paragraphs Paul argues that the nature of the gospel itself (1:18–25), their own experience of it as the newly formed people of God (1:26–31), and Paul’s preaching that brought about their existence (2:1–5) all stand in contradiction to their new stance based on (merely human) wisdom. He then follows this (2:6–3:4) by noting that for those who have the Spirit this former preaching of the cross was divine wisdom, since it was revealed as such by the Spirit; but alas the Corinthians, contrary to their most cherished notions, have been acting just like those who do not have the Spirit (3:1–4). This last paragraph serves in turn as a transition for Paul to speak to their radical misunderstanding of the nature of the church and the role of leadership (3:5–17). This part of the argument then concludes (3:18–23) with his forbidding their “boasting in mere humans” and redirecting their focus christologically. At the end (chap. 4) he finally turns to the problem of their rejection of him and tells them that they may not judge someone else’s “servant” (vv. 1–5). He then assails their pride by setting his own apostolic ministry, with its theology of the cross, against their false theology that has allowed them to judge him in the first place (vv. 6–13), and finally he reasserts his authority, but does so by changing images to that of father and children (vv. 14–21).
10I appeal to you, brothers and sisters, in the name of our Lord Jesus Christ, that all of you agree with one another in what you say and that there be no divisions among you, but that you be perfectly united in mind and thought. 11My brothers and sisters, some from Chloe’s household have informed me that there are quarrels among you. 12What I mean is this: One of you says, “I follow Paul”; another, “I follow Apollos”; another, “I follow Cephas”; still another, “I follow Christ.”
13Is Christ divided? Was Paul crucified for you? Were you baptized into the name of Paul? 14I thank God that I did not baptize any of you except Crispus and Gaius, 15so no one can say that you were baptized in my name. 16(Yes, I also baptized the household of Stephanas; beyond that, I don’t remember if I baptized anyone else.) 17For Christ did not send me to baptize, but to preach the gospel—not with wisdom and eloquence, so that the cross of Christ not be emptied of its power.
That is, Peter
Or in; also in v. 15
In the structure of the letter and in Paul’s present argument this section fulfills a threefold purpose. First, it introduces the body of the letter. Second, it states in a very specific way the nature of the problem that is first to be taken up plus the source of Paul’s information about it. Third, and most important for Paul, the second paragraph (vv. 13–17) in particular offers an initial apologetic, which at the same time serves as a means of shifting the focus from the problem of “divisions over leaders” to the greater theological issue underlying its visible expression—the nature of the gospel itself. And all of that leads to what at first blush appears to be a very circuitous way of reasoning but in the end turns out to be one of the more significant moments in all of Christian Scripture.
10 With this sentence Paul makes an immediate transition from the thanksgiving to the body of the letter proper. This particular “request formula” occurs commonly in antiquity, both in personal letters and in more official documents. Paul had already used the formula in 1 Thessalonians (4:1, 10; 5:14); it will appear again twice in this letter (4:16; 16:16). The use of the vocative (“brothers and sisters”) and the accompanying authorizing prepositional phrase (“in the name of our Lord Jesus Christ”) indicate that, for Paul, it belongs more to the “official” category than to the simple request formula. Here Paul is appealing to them with his full apostolic authority.
Nonetheless, it is still “appeal,” or exhortation, not demand—although the circumstances could certainly warrant the latter. The reason for this is not simply that his own authority is being called into question, so he dare not demand in such a context. Rather, from a perspective consistent throughout the letter, Paul urges them as “brothers and sisters” to conform their behavior to the gospel, not as law but as a response to the grace that is in Christ. Here, therefore, the appeal is made “in the name of our Lord Jesus Christ” (cf. 2 Thess. 3:6). This phrase picks up the christological emphasis from the thanksgiving and thus serves as the ground of the appeal. Possibly the use of the phrase “in the name of” anticipates the later baptismal argument to come (v. 13). That is, the Corinthian believers belong to Christ alone, having been baptized with Christ’s name as the referent, not that of Paul or one of the others. More likely, however, this usage reflects that of an earlier letter (2 Thess. 3:6), where the authority of the name serves as the basis of the appeal.
The content of the appeal is expressed both positively and negatively. In the structure of Paul’s sentence the verb “I appeal” is followed by a single “that” clause, which functions as the object of the verb but at the same time moves very close to a purpose clause. The “that” controls all three verbs that follow, which alternate between positive and negative ways of getting at the same concern. Thus:
I urge that
A. you all say the same thing,
B. that is, that there be no divisions among you,
A. rather, that you be knit together in the same mind
and the same opinion.
Positively, Paul urges unity by thrice repeating “the same”—that they might all say the same thing and that they might be “knit together” in the same mind and the same opinion. Although the words “mind” and “opinion” (NIV “thought”) imply that at least they must agree on the fundamental nature of the gospel, as will soon be spelled out in some detail (1:18–3:23), they do not thereby also imply that in the Christian faith unity demands uniformity; the argument for the need for diversity that will come later (in chap. 12), not to mention Paul’s later argument with the Galatians (2:1–10), rules that out. What, then, can it mean for him to appeal that they all be of the same mind and opinion (“to agree with one another in what you say”)?
The answer lies in what he says negatively, which reflects the actual situation in Corinth: “that there may be no divisions among you.” Although the Greek word for “divisions” (schismata) is that from which we derive the English word “schism,” it does not in fact mean that, at least not in the sense of a “party” or “faction.” The word properly means “tear/rent” (cf. Mark 2:21) or the “plowing” of a field. The best illustration of the present usage is found in the Gospel of John (7:40–43; 9:16; 10:19–21), where various groups are said to have divided opinions about Jesus, meaning they were arguing with one another as to his significance. Thus Paul does not refer to distinctly formed groups or “parties” here, but to divided opinions over their various leaders, which according to two sentences (vv. 11 and 3:3) have developed into jealousy and quarrels. Appropriately, therefore, Paul goes on to urge that they rather be “restored/knit together” (NIV “perfectly united”), the same word found in the Gospel of Mark for the “mending/restoring” of the nets (1:19). At first blush one might want to respond, “really, Paul?” But such an unlikely result is hardly what Paul is after, which has to do, not with “everyday talk,” but with their understanding of the nature of the gospel itself. On this matter they must be of “one mind,” and clearly they are not.
11 Paul now proceeds to explain to them how he came to know about their divisions: he was “informed” by “some from Chloe’s household.” Although one cannot be sure, it is unlikely that these informants were themselves members of the Corinthian community. The church had sent Stephanas, Fortunatus, and Achaicus (16:15–17) to Paul as their representatives, who at the same time had almost certainly also carried the church’s letter to him. Had Chloe’s people been members at Corinth, they would most likely have been among those who “followed Paul.” Yet Paul is not at all pleased by this slogan. Furthermore, Paul’s informants are here being quoted as trustworthy witnesses. Had they been “Paul’s people,” it would hardly have served his own interests for him to quote them as his authorities on the situation there. Most likely, therefore, Chloe was a wealthy Asian—whether a Christian or not cannot be known—whose business interests caused her agents to travel between Ephesus and Corinth. Some of them had become believers and were members of the church in Ephesus. Having been to Corinth on business, they visited the Christian community there, and on their return to Ephesus had given Paul an “earful” as to the real situation.
What they have informed Paul is that “there are quarrels among you.” It is noteworthy that Paul must be informed by outsiders about these quarrels. This seems to corroborate what was argued in the introduction (pp. 7–8), that their letter to Paul does not itself reflect intramural tensions within a divided community who were asking his judgment on various issues where they had differences. Indeed, it would be quite the opposite. The very nature of their slogans noted next (v. 12)—including the existence of those who “follow Paul,” but without his blessing—implies that such a community would scarcely be asking him to arbitrate their internal differences. Rather, the community in general (or many within the community) stands over against its apostle on those various issues. The point is that Paul has now been informed about the true condition of the community, which probably differs considerably from what he would have picked up from their letter, although the three official delegates who brought it may also have given him an “earful.” He would have known from that letter that they were decidedly not about to follow his instructions; what he probably did not know until informed by Chloe’s people was the true nature of the opposition and some of the thinking that lay behind it. That will now be replayed for their hearing in the explanation that follows.
12 The explanation Paul now proceeds to elaborate is a crux in terms of how one is going to understand this letter as a whole and especially the historical situation of the church to which Paul is writing. Hence it is important to establish what can actually be known (which is not too much) from what is explicitly said.
Paul’s own sentence reads (lit.): “that each one of you says,” which is then followed by a quartet of catchphrases, “I am of Paul; I am of Apollos; I am of Cephas; I am of Christ.” But how much this describes the actual situation in Corinth and how much is Paul’s own rhetorical response to what he has learned by way of report is much less certain; nor can the later reader be sure as to the degree or nature of these slogans within the church itself. On the one hand, it seems unlikely that Paul would get much of a hearing at all, if this reflects too much creativity on his part; on the other hand, given the nature of the rhetoric itself, one can be less sure how much, or whether, these names represent actual vying “parties” within the believing community itself. In either case, it is difficult to imagine that Paul’s own rhetoric in attempting to “fix” the problem would be very effective if it did not come relatively close to the actual situation in the church. Very likely these slogans are Paul’s own way of getting at the problem; and it further seems unlikely that Paul would get any kind of hearing if their differences were not actually being generated around favoritism regarding their various leaders—although it is altogether unlikely that the leaders themselves are party to it. This is obviously true of Paul and Christ; the evidence at the end of the letter (16:12) makes clear that Paul did not think that Apollos was guilty in any way. Of Peter and his presence (or nonpresence) there, nothing certain can be known.
But the exact nature of this quarreling and how it took shape in the community are matters on which far more certainty is expressed in the literature than is actually warranted by what is explicit in the text. Paul says that “each one of you is saying,” by which he probably does not mean that every individual is involved in the sloganeering, but that in large measure the whole church has been affected by it. The slogans literally read “I am of (Paul),” which means something like “I am Paul’s person,” or as the NIV has it, “I follow Paul.” But in what way and for what reason? Here we are left with a good deal of guesswork.
Furthermore, how much of the rest of the letter is to be read in the light of this rhetoric is equally speculative. It is not difficult for us to imagine how any of this might affect our understanding of the rest of the letter at any given point. But it seems far better to err on the side of caution in this case, since there is very little hereafter that is expressly tied to the rhetoric of these few sentences.
Paul begins with those who claim him as their teacher of wisdom. Are these loyalists, who have stood by him in the face of opposition? Or are they sloganeering in his name, but without his knowledge, nor perhaps fully understanding his own position? We simply do not know. We do know, from both the rhetoric that immediately follows (v. 13) and the more deliberate appeal that comes later (3:4–9), that he is scarcely pleased to have his name used in this way. In any case, as Barrett has noted, the very existence of those who lay claim to Paul “itself implies opposition to Paul in Corinth.” This is an especially important point, for although he begins his response by taking on the distortion of the gospel and the church revealed by these quarrels, he concludes the argument by defending his apostleship and his authority over them (4:1–21).
As to the nature of the other slogans, our best guesses lie with the reference to Apollos. He is the one teacher who certainly followed Paul in Corinth (see Acts 18:24–28). Moreover, he is the one to whom Paul repeatedly refers in his own response (3:4–9, 22; 4:6). Indeed, the most natural understanding of the last sentence (4:6) is that Paul for all practical purposes has narrowed the present issue (chaps. 1–4) to himself and Apollos and that the Corinthians are “puffed up” in favor of the one (Apollos) against the other (Paul). According to Luke’s account (Acts 18:24), Apollos was “a learned [or eloquent] man, with a thorough knowledge of the Scriptures,” whose own defective understanding of the Christian faith had been repaired by two of Paul’s colleagues, Priscilla and Aquila. Paul himself acknowledges later (3:5–9) that Apollos’s work was not in competition with his own, but rather that it “watered” what he had “sown.” How, then, did some within the community see it differently? Most likely the contrasts in the third part of the following response (2:1–5) fit here, as well as the emphasis in the community on sophia (wisdom). It is not so much that Apollos himself advocated understanding the gospel in terms of wisdom—although this cannot be ruled out, given his origins in Alexandria, the home of his contemporary, the Jewish Platonist Philo—but that the Corinthians themselves had become enamored with sophia and saw Apollos as best fitting their new understanding. This would be especially so if their love of wisdom included a fascination for the values of the Greek philosophical, rhetorical tradition (see on 2:1–5).
The presence of Peter in Corinth is less certain. The most probable evidence in favor of it is a much later reference to Peter (9:5), where it is presupposed that the Corinthians knew that he traveled about with his wife. That would make most sense had he visited Corinth, although enough was probably known about the early apostles in the various churches to make one properly hesitant. What is more important, however, is the question as to whether his influence was of such a nature in Corinth as to have created a “Cephas party.” In this case, all the evidence of 1 Corinthians seems to speak against it. Whatever some meant when they said, “I follow Cephas,” it had not brought about theological divisions in the church. Despite the opinions of many, not a single item in 1 Corinthians explicitly suggests a Judaizing faction in the church; and in the one issue that might point to such, namely that of food sacrificed to idols (chaps. 8–10), Paul explicitly says that those who are “defiled” by the Corinthian “gnostics” are people who had formerly been accustomed to idols (8:7) and are therefore clearly Gentiles. This is not to say that Peter had not left his mark on some in the church, but it does not seem to have been an indelible, or visible, theological mark. More likely there is a personal allegiance factor here, involving some who had been converted and baptized under his ministry, or perhaps the issue is related to Paul’s apostleship vis-à-vis that of Peter.
Most difficult of all is the slogan “I follow Christ.” The difficulties stem from several factors: (1) the very placing of Christ’s name alongside those of merely human leaders, (2) the probability that all the groups would equally believe that they were following Christ, (3) the fact that this is what Paul would certainly want them all to do, (4) the lack of a single further explicit allusion to such a group, and (5) the fact that the rhetorical questions in v. 13 that are intended to show the absurdity of their quarreling in this fashion could in each instance be answered favorably by such a group. It is our lack of certain information that has allowed the guesses about this group to run the gamut: to deny altogether that there was such a group; to see it as Paul’s own position over against theirs; to apply to them what is applied by others to Apollos; to see them as Jewish extremists; to see them as Gnostics who curse Jesus (12:3) but affirm Christ as the true “Spiritual Man”; to see them as enthusiasts, the Corinthian pneumatikoi, who have an exaltation Christology that has avoided the cross.
What, then, shall one say to all this? The grammar of the passage seems to demand that there were in fact Corinthian believers saying such a thing. But beyond that all is speculation, including the suggestion that this was a party with a definable theology. If such were the case, Conzelmann’s position is particularly attractive, but his own confidence in it seems to outrun the evidence itself. In the long run the popular view may still be the best one: here are some people who form no distinct group at all, but who in their own attempt to rise above the rest, those boasting in mere men, have fallen into their own brand of spiritual elitism that makes them no better than the others.
But do these slogans represent actual “parties” within the community? Probably not, since nothing else in this entire argument (chaps. 1–4) nor in the rest of the letter so indicates. As Munck has insightfully noted: “At bottom it is only the word ‘I’, in the sentences ‘I belong to Paul’ etc. against which he argues.” As Munck further suggests, the whole church has fallen prey to a love for disputation, in which various members exalt themselves (“boast”) by supposing that their wisdom has been taken over from one of their renowned leaders, one of those close or well known to them, or in some cases even from Christ himself. This solution makes the most sense of the argument that follows, including Paul’s rejection in the following outpouring (vv. 13–17) of those who so use his name.
13 Paul is aghast at what he has learned from Chloe’s people; and often in such moments he turns to rhetoric, designed to help his readers/listeners to see the total absurdity of their own position. Despite some debate over the meaning of the first one, the point of these questions is clear. In each case they represent logical extensions of their slogans, yet in each case the question also demands a strongly negative response on the part of the Corinthians.
The first question also presents our first difficulty. Although it could be read as an exclamation: “Christ is divided!” it seems more likely that it is a rhetorical question, leading off the series. But what can it possibly mean? Most often the verb is translated as a passive (NIV, “Is Christ divided?”), with Christ as a metonym for the church (as in 12:12). Thus by their divisions they are dividing Christ himself. The difficulty with this view is how it could have been the natural question to follow out of the fourth slogan, especially since it would be favorable to this group (“Of course Christ is not divided,” they would answer; “we are following him”). The alternative is to give the verb its more natural meaning—“to apportion out,” or “to separate into component parts.” In this case the implication is not so much that Christ is being divided into parts and apportioned out as that he has been apportioned out as only one among many. Thus Paul is asking, in direct response to the final slogan, “Absurd! Can Christ be made a party in the same breath as the others?” or “Do you mean to say that Christ has been apportioned out so that only one group has him?”
The next questions take on the absurdity of their slogans, which are in the name of mere humans. By parceling out Christ as one among others, and by saying “I am of Paul, etc.,” they must allow then that Paul, too, could have been crucified for them or that they had been baptized into Paul’s name. And here also would be the significance of the regular use of the preposition “into” for this formula in the NT. That is, these early believers apparently did not think of themselves as simply baptized in the name of Jesus, with his name being used “over them” as some kind of identity marker, as it were. Rather, this rite carried with it the significance of entering into an enduring relationship with the one “into” whose name they had been baptized. Only with such a view as the presupposition of Paul’s usage here could this question carry the weight that seems to be intended by this twofold question: “crucified in behalf of” and “baptized into the name of.” These two questions, of course, are the reductio ad absurdum and are intended to demolish their slogans. Judiciously, he chooses to use his own name to press his point; by implication what he says is obviously true for Apollos and Peter. By means of the final question on baptism, however, he is also able to make the transition to his apologetic for the gospel, and his own role in its proclamation.
What is less apparent is how much one is to make of the question about baptism. The crucifixion of Jesus and the baptism of the believer are ideas that seem to flow together naturally in Paul (e.g., Rom. 6:2–3; Col. 2:12–15). One must not make too much of the collocation here, however, as some have done, and suggest that by baptism one has appropriated the work of the cross. Not only is that foreign to Paul’s purposes, but the rest of the paragraph stands in firm opposition to it. Paul’s reason for this question probably flows out of their slogans. To be baptized “into the name of” someone means that the baptisand has turned over allegiance, has given oneself to, and thus entered into an enduring relationship with, the one into whose name one has been baptized, where name carries the greater significance of all that is associated with the person who bears that name. The Corinthian slogans at least imply such an understanding. But since they were not baptized into Paul’s name, by that very fact they cannot say “I am of Paul.” It also seems probable, on the basis of what Paul says at two later moments (10:1–6 and 15:29), that the Corinthians themselves held a somewhat “magical” view of baptism. With such a view they perhaps also held in high regard those who had baptized them. Hence again their ability to say “I am of Apollos,” etc. Thus Paul in the rest of the paragraph disabuses them altogether of the importance of the person doing the baptizing and at the same time puts into proper perspective this initiatory rite whereby one in faith responded to the gospel and thus gave oneself totally to Christ.
14–15 In what follows Paul is not trying to work out a theology of baptism, nor is he in effect negating baptism. Rather, having just mentioned the absurd—that anyone should be baptized in his name—he goes on to say how grateful to God he is for a simple, uncalculated historical reality, namely that he baptized so few. This at least, he says, works in my favor, lest those baptized by him turn about and say the very absurdity of the preceding remonstrance (v. 13), that they had been baptized into him—and thereby form something of a sect in his name. Was Paul skittish here, as though by now he would put nothing beyond the Corinthian believers? Perhaps; but it is also possible, as a following sentence implies (v. 17), that he really does feel a need to put the rite into proper perspective, at least in relationship to the proclamation of the gospel.
No doubt the two exceptions mentioned are related to the fact that both men were very early converts in the city. “Crispus” is almost surely the Jewish synagogue ruler of that name mentioned by Luke (Acts 18:8). “Gaius” is most likely to be identified with the “Gaius, host to me and to the whole church,” at the end of Romans (16:23), since Paul was apparently in Corinth when he wrote the letter to Rome. This means that Gaius scarcely fits the description of the majority of believers given a bit later (1:26–29). The fact that he hosted the church means that he was a man of substance; it probably also means that he belonged to that class of Roman freedmen who had come to Corinth and had “made it big” in the commercial enterprises of the city.
16 And then Paul remembers—or his memory has been jogged by Stephanas himself (cf. 16:15–17): “Ah yes,” he interrupts, “I also baptized the household of Stephanas,” an interjection that shows how truly ad hoc this letter is and that is appropriately put in parentheses in the NIV. Having thus had his memory jogged once, and as if to cover his tracks lest it fail him further about something he obviously did not consider important in the same way as they did, he adds: “beyond that, I don’t remember if I baptized anyone else.” Nothing more is known of Stephanas, except what we learn at the end of the letter (16:15–17), that he and his family were the first converts in the province and that he was obviously a leader in the church. Language in the middle of that commendation (16:16) suggests that Paul still approves of his leadership, which makes his own role, if any at all, in the dissensions especially difficult to assess.
17 With the aside about Stephanas the argument has started to slip away somewhat, so with this sentence Paul gets himself back on track. The “for” that begins the sentence refers to the final words of the preceding parenthesis: “I don’t remember whether I baptized anyone else.” For, he goes on to explain, that is not my calling—nor my point. His point has been to jolt the Corinthians into seeing the folly of their kind of allegiance to mere humans—something to which he will return a bit later (3:3–9). But for now, having made it clear what he did not come to do (“to baptize”), he moves on to what he did come to do (“preach the gospel”), with language reflecting the OT prophetic tradition (see esp. Isa. 6:8); namely, Paul did not choose to become an apostle, rather “Christ sent me.” This in turn will serve as the turning point in the argument, whereby he sets out to contrast their present concern, “wisdom evidenced by eloquence,” with what should be their concern, namely the gospel, with its focus on “the cross of Christ.”
In saying “Christ did not send me to baptize” Paul does not intend to minimize Christian baptism; his use of this imagery in a later letter (Rom. 6:3–7) would forever rule that out. The reason for expressing his own calling in this negative way has been dictated by the nature of the argument. Not only were they not baptized into his name (v. 13), but he actually baptized very few of them, which was to his great advantage lest some begin to think in these terms (vv. 14–16); in any case this discussion of who baptized whom is quite beside the point (v. 17a), so let us get on to the real issue, which has to do with the nature of the gospel itself (v. 17b).
Nonetheless, it is possible—probable, it would seem to me—that “who baptized whom” had a role in their divisions. Thus Paul does indeed separate the act of baptizing from the proclamation of the gospel, a fact that must also be taken into account as part of his understanding of baptism. It also seems clear from this passage that Paul does not understand baptism to effect salvation. The preaching of the cross does that—when of course it is accompanied by the effectual work of the Spirit. But it would be quite wrong to go on, as some do, and say that baptism is a purely secondary matter. Surely Paul would not have so understood it. For him baptism comes after the hearing of the gospel, but it does so as the God-ordained mode of faith’s response to the gospel.
Paul describes his own task as that of “preaching the gospel,” which he here elaborates with a striking contrast: “not with wisdom and eloquence, lest the cross of Christ be emptied of its power.” The very way this is said, plus the long elaboration of it that follows immediately (1:18–2:16), makes it probable that “wisdom and eloquence” reflect Corinthian values. Thus Paul’s general intent with these words seems clear: to set forth his own ministry, both its content and form, in sharp contrast to their present stance. It also thereby serves apologetic purposes. But the precise meaning of the negative phrase, which literally reads “not in sophia [wisdom] of logos [word],” is not quite so clear. Is the emphasis on the content (wisdom) or on the form (word), or perhaps both? In light of the contrastive purpose clause that follows, the Greek genitive, “of word,” is most likely descriptive, and means something like “not with a kind of sophia that is characterized by rhetoric/eloquence (or perhaps reason or logic),” hence the rendering of the present NIV. Thus the emphasis is first of all on content; Paul is about to set out the divine wisdom of the cross in contrast to merely “human wisdom.” But it probably also includes a concern over form, since according to the third part of the response (2:1–5), the human wisdom with which they are most enamored is that characterized by the Greek philosophical, rhetorical tradition. This seems to be corroborated by the way the following argument flows out of this phrase.
This is the first occurrence of sophia in the letter; the argument that follows indicates that this is the real issue. What exactly the Corinthians themselves would have meant by it is a matter of considerable debate. Since Paul does not speak of a “higher” wisdom or use language that would seem to reflect a personification of wisdom (see comment on 1:24 and 30 below), but rather speaks of it as “of this world” (1:20), or “merely human” (1:25), most likely it reflects the current philosophical milieu, with its emphasis both on human understanding and rhetorical skill. Given the way that Paul will soon set his own preaching in contrast to this “wisdom of word” (2:1–5), it probably also reflects the position from which they are currently judging him and his ministry (cf. 4:1–5).
But here the contrast, which begins as though it might be similar to the one that follows (2:1–5; cf. 1 Thess. 1:5), makes a surprising turn toward the content of the preaching, not its manner or effect. In so doing Paul also sets up the powerful cadences that follow, a fact that is blurred in most English translations. “Christ sent me to preach,” he says, “not wisdom characterized by logos.” But there is another logos, he will go on to argue (v. 18)—the logos of the cross, which is foolishness to the perishing, who are doing so precisely because they think existence is predicated on wisdom. Thus he concludes his sentence, “so that the cross of Christ not be emptied of its power.” The other contrast, the question of form and manner, between preaching in such a way as “to distinguish myself in logos and sophia” (2:1) and “with a demonstration of the Spirit’s power” (2:5), is a real one and must be spoken to, which he will later. But the more urgent concern is between sophia itself and the message of the cross. To have come with the former, Paul says, in effect would have been totally to negate the latter. Therefore it is to this issue that he will first turn (vv. 18–25).
It is easy to see the urgency of a paragraph like this for the contemporary church, which not only often experiences quarrels such as these at the local level, but also is deeply fragmented at every other level. We have churches and denominations, renewal movements that all too often are broken off and become their own “church of Christ,” and every imaginable individualistic movement and sect. Even in a day of various kinds of ecumenism, the likelihood of total visible unity in the church is more remote than ever. This fragmentation is both a shame on our house and a cause for deep repentance. If there is a way forward, it probably lies less in structures and more in our readiness to recapture Paul’s focus here—on the preaching of the cross as the great divine contradiction to our merely human ways of doing things.
Having set up the contrast in the preceding sentence (v. 17) between the “wisdom of logos” and the preaching of the cross, Paul now moves to a series of arguments that will have this contrast as its point of reference. The Corinthians’ “boasting” in mere humans in the name of wisdom ultimately impacts the nature of the gospel itself. In a series of three paragraphs, therefore, Paul tries to get these believers to see that their own existence as Christians, especially with regard to their Christian beginnings, stands in total contradiction to their present “boasting.”
Each of the paragraphs is predicated on the same reality, namely that the message of the cross is not something to which one may add human wisdom, in any form, and thereby make it superior; rather, the cross stands in absolute, uncompromising contradiction to merely human wisdom. The cross in fact is folly to wisdom humanly conceived; but it is God’s folly, folly that is at the same time God’s wisdom and power.
Thus he says in effect, “So you think the gospel is a form of sophia? How foolish can you get? Look at the message; it is based on the story of a crucified Messiah. Who in the name of wisdom would have dreamed that up? Only God is so wise as to be so “foolish” (1:18–25); “Furthermore, look at its recipients. Yourselves! Who in the name of wisdom would have chosen you to be the new people of God?” (1:26–31); “Finally, remember my own preaching. Who in the name of wisdom would have come in such weakness? Yet look at its results” (2:1–5).
18For the message of the cross is foolishness to those who are perishing, but to us who are being saved it is the power of God. 19For it is written:
“I will destroy the wisdom of the wise;
the intelligence of the intelligent I will frustrate.”
20Where is the wise person? Where is the teacher of the law? Where is the philosopher of this age? Has not God made foolish the wisdom of the world? 21For since in the wisdom of God the world through its wisdom did not know him, God was pleased through the foolishness of what was preached to save those who believe. 22Jews demand signs and Greeks look for wisdom, 23but we preach Christ crucified: a stumbling block to Jews and foolishness to Gentiles, 24but to those whom God has called, both Jews and Greeks, Christ the power of God and the wisdom of God. 25For the foolishness of God is wiser than human wisdom, and the weakness of God is stronger than human strength.
Isaiah 29:14
This paragraph is crucial not only to the present argument (1:10–4:21) but to the entire letter as well. Indeed, it is one of the truly great moments in the apostle Paul—and in the whole of Christian Scripture. Here Paul argues, with OT support, that what had always been the divine intent, and thus had been foretold in the prophets, God has now accomplished through the crucifixion: The creator and sustainer of the universe has brought an end to human self-sufficiency as that is evidenced through human wisdom and devices. No, Paul argues with his Corinthian friends, the gospel is not some new sophia (wisdom, or philosophy), not even a new divine sophia. For sophia allows for human judgments or evaluations of God’s activity. But the gospel stands as the divine antithesis to such judgments. No mere human, in their right mind or otherwise, would ever have dreamed up God’s scheme for redemption—through a crucified Messiah. It is too preposterous, too humiliating, for a deity.
It is altogether likely, of course, that Paul’s Corinthian opponents would also have sensed the humiliation of that message, and that that is why they had “moved on” to “higher” things, far beyond the mere “milk” that Paul had offered them. But Paul recognizes that to move beyond the cross is not to “move on” at all, but is to abandon Christ altogether. Hence he here argues that the message of the cross is absolute—and fundamental—and as such stands over against the merely human wisdom of their present position.
18 The “for” that begins this sentence ties it to what has immediately preceded (v. 17) as an explanation of the final clause in that sentence. Unfortunately our paragraph break and the limits of English tend to cause us to miss the subtle contrast that Paul intends. At the end of the preceding sentence he had said (lit.): “not in the wisdom of logos (word, rhetoric, reason), lest the cross of Christ be invalidated.” Now he says, “For the logos (word, message) of the cross is foolishness to those who are perishing.” There is a logos (speech) that belongs to wisdom, and there is a logos (message) whose content is the cross—but they are mutually exclusive.
From the standpoint of his new position in Christ, Paul with this sentence herewith sets forth the two basic groups of humankind. Formerly, as a Jew, it was for him Jew and Gentile (just as for the Greco-Roman it was Greek/Roman and barbarian). Now it is “us who are being saved” and “those who are perishing.” The former groups, Jew and Gentile, continue to exist (indeed, in v. 22 they will serve as representatives for the two most common human “idolatries”), but apart from Christ they now both belong to the “perishing.” In Pauline theology the new division is not so much predicated on their response to the message of the cross as it is on the event of the cross and resurrection itself. That is, the crucifixion and resurrection of Jesus for Paul marked the “turning of the ages,” whereby God decisively judged and condemned the present age and is in process of bringing it to an end. Those who still belong to it and its ways, therefore, are in process of “perishing” with it. From this “old-age” point of view the message of the cross is foolishness.
On the other hand, those who are “being saved,” because they have been called (v. 24) and believe (v. 21), have come to see their present existence as the result of God’s power, which was also effected by God through the cross and resurrection of Jesus. For Paul, of course, it is not just “those” who are being saved, but us, a word that includes himself but especially serves to remind the Corinthians of who they and he are together.
The contrast between “foolishness” and “power” is not precise, of course. The greater precision (between folly and wisdom, power and weakness) will come later in the paragraph (vv. 22–25). For now the contrast has been set up by the language of the preceding sentence (v. 17), between “wisdom of word” and “the cross being emptied” (the NIV rightly adds “of its power”).
19 Paul now moves on to argue that this folly of God, with its message of the cross, is in fact God’s way of doing what he said he would do: set aside and destroy human wisdom. For Paul to say “for it is written” is sufficient argument. Scripture has already spoken to this issue; God is now merely bringing it to pass. With these words the Corinthian believers are thus brought face to face with the first of six OT citations in the argumentation that follows, all of which appear to have been chosen to give scriptural support to Paul’s basic point throughout—the sheer folly of mere humans trying to “match wits with God,” as it were.
This first citation, from the prophet Isaiah (29:14), was almost certainly chosen because, containing the word “wisdom” as it does, it makes precisely the point Paul wants to press here. In its original context this passage belongs to that grand series of texts that regularly warn Israel, or someone in Israel, not to try to match wits with God (cf. Isa. 40:12–14, 25; Job 38–42). Yet it is the folly of our human machinations that we think we can outwit God, or that lets us think that God ought to be at least as smart as we are. Paul sees this Isaiah passage as now having eschatological fulfillment. In the cross, the promised “great reversal” has been played out before human eyes in its ultimate way, thereby doing away with merely human wisdom.
20 After the manner of the prophet Isaiah (33:18; cf. Isa. 19:11–12), Paul turns to rhetoric to advance his own position against the Corinthians. What is not clear is what Paul himself intended by these questions. Was he inviting the various “wise ones” of the world to step forth and take cognizance of what God had done in the cross? If so, then Paul is now beginning a debate with his hypothetical disputants, and in such a summons, of course, the Corinthians themselves are expected to participate. In this view the final question would thus begin the debate. As attractive as this alternative might be, especially in light of what follows (in vv. 22–25), it seems more likely that these questions, rather than beginning the argument or explanation proper, continue the point of the preceding quotation of Isaiah. In this case Paul would be reflecting the sarcasm of a passage like the earlier one in Isaiah (19:12), in which the prophet asks in light of what God was about to do, “Where are your wise men now?” Thus Paul is asking rhetorically, “In view of what God has done by means of the cross, what is left of the wise of this present age? Where now are all the teachers of wisdom, both Jew and Greek; has not God by this deed not only rendered the wise as foolish but also nullified their very wisdom itself?”
Despite the dismissal of the idea by some, the questions themselves probably reflect the various “wise ones” of the ancient world. “Where are the wise?” would refer to the Greek thinker or philosopher (or it could be the general term of which the next two are the specific expressions). The second question is the one that makes this suggestion seem certain: “Where is the teacher of the law [not ‘scholar’(!) as in the original NIV and Barrett]?” The Greek word grammateus is that used among Jews for their rabbis, the teachers of the law (cf. the Gospels, where it was traditionally translated “scribe”; hence the KJV for this passage: “Where is the scribe?”); the word is simply not found among Greeks for their scholars or teachers. Paul by these two designations is anticipating the distinctions that follow immediately (v. 22), namely that the Jews demand signs and the Greeks want evidence of wisdom.
The third question (where is the syzētētēs of this age?) then probably generalizes for the sake of the Corinthians themselves. This noun is a rare one, but its corresponding verb and abstract noun are common. Literally it means “debater”; given the nature of much that went under the name of philosophy in the contemporary world, the translation “philosopher” is probably not far off. The qualification “of this age” stands only with the third term, but is probably intended to reflect all three. The various wise ones all belong to this present age that has been judged by God and is on its way out.
With the final rhetorical question Paul sets his own argument in motion. The question appeals to what God has done in Christ: “Has not God made foolish the wisdom of the world?” That is, “the judgment on the [world] is passed . . . not by reasoning, but by asserting an act of God.” The cross is foolishness to the perishing (v. 18), but by means of it God has himself thereby rendered as foolish the world’s wisdom, wisdom that belongs merely to the sphere of human self-sufficiency. God has not simply made such wisdom appear foolish; by means of the cross God has actually turned the tables on such wisdom altogether, so that it has been made into its very opposite—foolishness. It is not presently self-evident that God has done so, of course, so the rest of the paragraph is Paul’s explication of how this is so.
21 Paul now sets out to explain to the Corinthians how what he has just asserted by way of a rhetorical question is true. He begins with a proposition on which he assumes he and they will agree, namely that “the world through its wisdom did not [come to] know [God].” The kosmos (“world”) is now personified and represents the whole human order of things in its fallenness. On their own, especially through the “wisdom” that belongs to them in their creaturely, fallen existence, human beings failed to know God altogether. Again, this is an assertion based on what for Paul is a self-evident reality. As he will elaborate in a later letter (Rom. 1:18–31), left to themselves mere creatures cannot find out the living God. The best they can do is to create gods in the likeness of created things, or, as so often happens, in their own distorted likenesses. The true knowledge of God, meaning not so much a proper apprehension of God’s being and character as a correct understanding of what God is doing in the world, can come only by revelation—through the Spirit. It is precisely this point that Paul will pick up in the explanation that follows these opening three paragraphs (in 2:6–16).
Paul asserts that it was within the province of God’s own wisdom that things have been so arranged. He does not explain how so here, but the reason seems clear. A God discovered by human wisdom will be both a projection of human fallenness and a source of human pride, and this constitutes the worship of the creature, not the Creator. The gods of the “wise” are seldom gracious to the undeserving, and they tend to make considerable demands on the ability of people to understand them; hence they become gods only for the elite and “deserving.” It should be noted that Paul is here acknowledging that there is another sophia, God’s wisdom, which he is about to explicate (see v. 24); but that wisdom turns out to be the exact opposite of human wisdom. Again, how all of this is God’s wisdom, and how we come to know it, is what the argument that follows (2:6–16) will take up in detail.
On the contrary, Paul says, “God was pleased” to bring people into a proper relationship with their Creator “through the foolishness of what was preached.” The word kērygma (KJV, “preaching”) here means not the act of preaching itself, but the content of that proclamation, namely the message of a crucified Messiah. This is confirmed by the next sentences (vv. 22–25), which go on to explicate “the foolishness of what was preached.” God’s purpose in all of this is “to save those who believe.” This is the first clear expression in the Pauline letters of what was certainly central to his theology, namely that it was God alone who initiated salvation for those whom God calls (cf. vv. 24, 27), and the human response to that call of grace is to “believe.” But believing does not mean simply giving mental assent to; it means putting one’s whole trust in as well. Thus, in contrast to the present Corinthian emphasis on wisdom, Paul insists—as they should well remember from their own experience—that salvation does not come “through wisdom” at all but “through the foolishness of the event of the cross.” And precisely because it stands in contradiction to ordinary human wisdom, it is only for “those who believe,” for those who will take the risk and put their whole trust in God to save in this way.
22 The rest of the paragraph now picks up the theme of “the foolishness of the cross” from the “thesis sentence” (v. 18), by way of the immediately preceding clause, and reinforces the two points Paul wants to make in refutation of the present Corinthian stance: (1) Wisdom (their thing) and the cross (God’s thing) stand in absolute contradiction one to the other; (2) the “foolish thing” (the cross) is where God was pleased to demonstrate his saving power and redeeming grace on behalf of humankind. But Paul makes these points in grand style.
First, the contrasts of the “thesis sentence” (foolishness/power) are now picked up and given precision. This Paul does by dividing the “perishing” into two basic classes, chosen partly because they reflect his Jewish view of the world, but mostly because they reflect the two basic ways that humanity in its “right mind” (i.e., through wisdom) is religious. Thus the “Jews” and “Greeks” here illustrate the basic idolatries of humanity. God must function as the all-powerful or the all-wise, but always in terms of our best interests—power in our behalf, wisdom like ours! For both of these the ultimate idolatry is that of insisting that God conform to our own prior views as to how “the God who makes sense” ought to do things.
Thus “Jews demand signs.” This reflects Jewish messianic expectations. God had acted powerfully in their behalf in history; the promised Messiah would restore the former glory by acting powerfully on their behalf once again. “Show us a sign,” they repeatedly demand of Jesus, “authenticate yourself; validate your messianic credentials with powerful displays.” And who can blame them? They had been down a long time and were looking for a mighty deliverer. They knew how God had acted in the past—with a mighty hand and an outstretched arm. Their idolatry was that they now had God completely figured out; he would simply repeat the exodus, in still greater splendor.
“Greeks look for wisdom.” This, too, was a national characteristic. As early as Herodotus it is said of them: “All Greeks were zealous for every kind of learning.” Again, who can fault them? Theirs were the advances in Western civilization as none before. Indeed it was their very advances in learning that caused many to abandon the traditional gods and turn to sophia, or philosophia. Their idolatry was to conceive of God as ultimate Reason, meaning of course what we deem to be reasonable.
These, then, are the two basic idolatries, and they are ever with us. The demand for power and the insistence on wisdom, always for us or from our point of view, are still the basic idolatries of our fallen world, which also have the unfortunate habit of sneaking their way into the community of faith.
23 To the seekers of signs and wisdom Paul now presents the ultimate divine contradiction: “But we preach Christ crucified.” Rather than giving them the signs and wisdom they demand—and God has plenty of both—they get weakness and folly. Indeed, “Christ crucified” is a contradiction in terms, of the same category as “fried ice.” One may have a Messiah, or one may have a crucifixion; but one may not have both—at least not from the perspective of merely human understanding. Messiah meant power, splendor, triumph; crucifixion meant weakness, humiliation, defeat. Little wonder that both Jew and Greek were scandalized by the Christian message. During Roman times crucifixion was the ultimate penalty, reserved mainly for rebellious subjects of various kinds (insurrectionists and the like) and slaves. Jesus died as a state criminal, a scandal to Jew, Greek, and Christian alike.
To the Jew the message of a crucified Messiah was the ultimate scandal. Although in Roman times the Jews did not crucify, they did afterward hang those who had been stoned, especially blasphemers and idolaters. They saw hanging therefore as the fulfillment of the law (“because anyone who is hung on a tree is under God’s curse,” Deut. 21:23). This also helps to explain the deep rage of the apostle himself against Christ; he was infuriated that fellow Jews should honor as God one whom God himself had obviously cursed by having him hanged (cf. Gal. 1:13–14; 3:13). There is simply no way that “Christ crucified” could be fitted into their understanding either of God or of Scripture. Hence, “a stumbling block to Jews.”
To the “Gentiles” the message of “Christ crucified” was a “pernicious superstition” and utter “foolishness.” As Hengel notes, Paul’s word for folly here “does not denote either a purely intellectual defect nor a lack of transcendental wisdom. Something more is involved,” something more closely akin to “madness.” It is hard for those in the christianized West, where the cross for untold centuries has been the primary symbol of the faith, to appreciate how utterly mad the message of a God who got himself crucified by his enemies must have seemed to the first-century Greek or Roman. But it is precisely the depth of this scandal and folly that we must appreciate if we are to understand both why the Corinthians were moving away from it toward “wisdom” and why it was well over a century before the cross appears among Christians as a symbol of their faith.
24 Since the Jews seek signs and the Greeks look for wisdom, and since God is all-wise and all-powerful, why not, one might wonder, give them signs and wisdom rather than this “pernicious superstition” that will offend them both? Paul’s reason for not doing so lies in the double reality that (1) the nasty business of a crucified Messiah was in fact the ultimate expression of God’s “power” and “wisdom,” and (2) as such it is available for those whom “God has called, both Jews and Greeks.” Again, the apostle brings the Corinthians back to viewing things from above, rather than from below, from God’s perspective rather than from their own perspective of (merely human) wisdom.
From any merely human perspective the central message of the Christian gospel must always appear as folly. But to people from both groups this folly turns out to be the very place where God is powerfully at work, calling out a people for his name. Those who are “being saved” (v. 18), the “believing ones” (v. 21), are so because of God’s prior action; they are “those whom God has called” (see 1:1–2, 9). For them the preaching of “Christ crucified” is effectual; it is “Christ the power of God and the wisdom of God.” Paul’s concern here is not so much on their being able to perceive the cross as wisdom (that will be explained in 2:6–16), but on the actual effective work of the cross in the world. Thus in saying that Christ is the “wisdom of God,” he is not using philosophical categories, nor is he personifying wisdom in Christ; rather, this is an evangelical statement, i.e., a statement about the effectual working of the Christian evangel. Christ is the “wisdom of God” precisely because he is “the power of God for the salvation of everyone who believes” (Rom. 1:16; cf. v. 30 below).
25 Christ crucified as God’s power, and therefore God’s wisdom, at work in the world is the ultimate contradiction to merely human ways of perceiving reality. Paul now brings closure to his argument by grounding the historical outworking of that reality in a theological axiom: God is both wiser and more powerful than mere human beings. But Paul says that by keeping intact the paradoxical language of the paragraph. To the perishing the cross is folly; and so it is—God’s folly, which because it is God’s thing turns out to be “wiser than [human] wisdom.” In the cross God “outsmarted” his human creatures and thereby nullified their wisdom. In the same cross God also “overpowered” his enemies, with lavish grace and forgiveness, and thereby divested them of their strength.
Thus played out before human eyes is the scandalous and contradictory wisdom of God. Had God consulted us for wisdom we could have given him a more workable plan, something that would attract the sign-seeker and the lover of wisdom. As it is, in God’s own wisdom we were left out of the consultation. We are thus also left with the awful risk: trust God and be saved by his wise folly, or keep up our pretensions and perish. Better the former, because this “weakness of God is stronger than [human] strength”; it accomplishes that which all human pretensions cannot do. It brings one into “fellowship with God’s Son, Jesus Christ our Lord” (v. 9).
One can scarcely conceive of a more important—and more difficult—passage for today’s church than this one. It is difficult, for the very reason it was in Corinth. We simply cannot abide the scandal of God’s doing things God’s way, without our help. And to do it by means of such weakness and folly! But we have often succeeded in blunting the scandal by symbol, or creed, or propositions. God will not be so easily tamed, and, freed from its shackles, the preaching of the cross alone has the power to set people free. Paul does not tell us how so here, but the whole story makes it plain. In the death of his Son, God has judged us who were responsible for it. Christ has thereby not only taken on himself our sins and guilt and “removed them.” He has disarmed us in the divine presence by forgiving us when we richly deserved death. Thus forgiven we are set free not only from our sins but to become God’s new people in the world. It thus achieves what the god of human expectations cannot achieve—it creates disciples who will trust the one true God for life. Such “weakness” in God is scandalous to those who think of themselves as righteous and thus not needing forgiveness; but to those who recognize themselves as in need of mercy this is the good news that sets us free to follow our Savior. Thus this weakness is also the ultimate power, and therefore the true wisdom of God.
26Brothers and sisters, think of what you were when you were called. Not many of you were wise by human standards; not many were influential; not many were of noble birth. 27But God chose the foolish things of the world to shame the wise; God chose the weak things of the world to shame the strong. 28God chose the lowly things of this world and the despised things—and the things that are not—to nullify the things that are, 29so that no one may boast before him. 30It is because of him that you are in Christ Jesus, who has become for us wisdom from God—that is, our righteousness, holiness and redemption. 31Therefore, as it is written: “Let the one who boasts boast in the Lord.”
Jer. 9:24
To further his argument that the gospel he preached stands in direct contradiction to human expectations about God, Paul turns from the content of the gospel to the existence of the Corinthians themselves as believers. Not from the world’s “beautiful people,” but for the most part from the lower classes, the “nobodies,” God chose those who would make up God’s new people. Thus they are themselves evidence of the divine foolishness that confounds the wise. This paragraph scarcely flatters their self-exaltation; it thereby serves all the more to demolish their boasting in mere humans. “Boasting” is the new theme that is picked up here, not only because that is what they were doing by their quarrels over their leaders, but also because it is the main theme of the passage from Jeremiah (9:23–24) that serves as the framework for the argument.
The paragraph opens by reminding them, most of them at least, of their own humbler origins (v. 26); in the next sentences (vv. 27–28) this is turned into a theological statement, in which God’s choosing people like them is asserted to have the same design as the cross itself—to save them, but at the same time to “shame” and “nullify” the very values in which they are currently boasting. The election of such people reveals the ultimate divine intent (v. 29): to obliterate completely all human grounds for “boasting”—based on self-sufficiency—and thereby to cast one completely in trust upon the living God (v. 31). This was made possible through the work of Christ, whom God made to become the true “wisdom” for us, in that he effected redemption for us, thereby making us right with God (v. 30).
26 A turn in the argument is signaled by the vocative, “brothers and sisters,” and by an untranslated “for.” The latter is an inferential or explanatory conjunction, indicating that this paragraph (and the next) will offer specific illustrations further to demonstrate the point of the preceding paragraph (vv. 18–25). Thus he bids them “look at what you were when you were called” (lit. “consider your calling”), picking up from the end of the preceding paragraph (v. 24) the motif of their being “called” (cf. vv. 1–2, 9). Ordinarily this word refers to the act of calling. However, the context here demands a meaning very much like that of the NIV. That is, even though Paul is now referring to their call to salvation, his present concern is with who they were at the time of that call, just as he will do later in a quite different context (7:17–24). Perhaps the Pauline nuance could be captured by paraphrasing: “Look at what was involved in the fact of your being called by God; who you were when he called you.” His point in getting them so to consider themselves is that in calling out a people for his name God showed no regard for the Corinthian believers’ present values—worldly wisdom or merit. Indeed, in calling them, God chiefly chose those who are a living contradiction to those values.
What follows spells out in (rhetorical) detail their status at the time of their call: “Not many were wise (sophoi) by human standards; not many were influential (dynatoi); not many were of noble birth (eugeneis).” The prepositional phrase “by human standards,” which qualifies “wise,” is intended for all three terms (cf. “of this age” in v. 20) and reflects the perspective of their current thinking. This is the first appearance of “flesh” (sarx) in Paul’s extant letters; eventually it will serve as the basic term to describe our present, “this-worldly” existence, which most often refers to humanity in its fallenness over against God (e.g., Gal. 5; Rom. 8). The irony of the Corinthian believers’ present situation is that they are judging Paul and his gospel from this point of view, which, were they to apply it to themselves, would only serve to show how insignificant they really are. So Paul will apply it for them, to show how different God’s perspective is from their own.
But what specifically did he intend by the choice of the terms “wise, influential, well-born”? The first two seem to have been dictated by the argument itself. These are the adjectives of the two nouns that previously described Christ crucified (v. 24); he is the wisdom (sophia) and power (dynamis) of God and therefore stands in contradiction to those who are sophoi and dynatoi by the standards of this age. At the same time this play on terms reflects the first two items in the citation from Jeremiah (9:23); however, in Jeremiah the LXX (rightly) translates the second term by ischyros, with the implication of strength or might (cf. vv. 25 and 27). Dynatos, on the other hand, which can also suggest might, when applied to people more often carries the sense, as it does here, of the “prominent and influential,” those who “carry the clout” in any sociological setting. Thus before their conversion the majority of the believers did not belong to the “wise” and “influential” in Corinth.
Nor did they have distinguished ancestry: “not many were well born.” This is the more surprising term. Jeremiah has “wealthy” to complete his triad; and it might be argued, given the origins of Roman Corinth, that very few people in that city were “well born.” But the nouveaux riches form their own aristocracy, and the majority of the Corinthian believers did not belong to it. It may be that this word was chosen in place of “wealthy” because it is more sociologically determinative: Some of them may have been wealthy, but few would have been well born. On the other hand, Munck has mustered a considerable amount of evidence to show that part of the “boast” of the sophists was precisely that they belonged to the “wise, powerful, and well born.”
This passage has long held interest for understanding the social status of the early Hellenistic Christian communities. Traditionally, it was understood to say that the Christian faith appealed primarily to the “dregs” of society. Hence, more than a century later the antagonist Celsus sneered:
Their injunctions are like this. “Let no one educated, no one wise, no one sensible draw near. For these abilities are thought by us to be evils. But as for anyone ignorant, anyone stupid, anyone uneducated, anyone who is a child, let him come boldly.” By the fact that they themselves admit that these people are worthy of their God, they show that they want and are able to convince only the foolish, dishonourable and stupid, and only slaves, women, and children.
In recent years some have argued for quite the opposite, that despite this statement of Paul’s, which is dismissed as rhetoric, the early Hellenistic believers “came by and large from fairly well-to-do bourgeois circles with a fair percentage also from upper class people as well as the very poor.” Several sociological studies from the preceding century were more judicious, demonstrating that the truly unique feature of early Christianity was its nonhomogeneous character, that it cut across all sociological lines and accepted as “brothers and sisters” both slave and free, Jew and Gentile, male and female.
In saying “not many,” Paul is well aware that some of their number were in fact well-off by human standards (e.g., Crispus, Gaius, Erastus, Stephanas). Some of them indeed had their own domiciles and, according to a later remonstrance in this letter (11:17–22), were abusing the “have-nots” at the Lord’s Table. But primarily the community was composed of people who were not “upper class,” although from this statement one cannot determine how many would have belonged to the truly “poor”—slaves and poor freedmen—and how many would have been artisans and craftsmen, such as Paul was himself.
But sociology is not Paul’s concern; his is theological, and he is capitalizing on the less-than-pretentious social standing of the majority—which at the same time may have had philosophical overtones—to make his point. What Celsus saw as the shame of Christianity, Paul saw as its greater glory. By bringing “good news to the poor” through his Son, God has forever aligned himself with the disenfranchised; at the same time we have played out before our eyes God’s own overthrow of the world’s false standards. Every middle-class or upper-class domestication of the gospel is therefore a betrayal of that gospel.
27–28 With these sets of contrasts Paul now goes on to display the “greater glory” of the gospel. The Corinthians did not stumble onto a great thing in hearing the good news as it was preached by Paul; rather “God chose” the likes of them; and he did so in order to shame the world, and finally to bring it to nothing. In the final analysis, therefore, this sentence (vv. 26–29) is not so much a demeaning of the Corinthians as it is an exaltation of the marvelous grace of God.
The contrasts themselves echo the language of the preceding paragraph (vv. 22–25), but now by way of the preceding sentence (v. 26), to which the Corinthian believers directly correspond. God chose not the “wise,” but the “foolish things of the world”; not the “influential,” but the “weak things of the world”; not the “well born,” but the “lowly things of the world.” What God did in the cross and in calling the “lowly” Corinthians not only exhibits God’s own character, that God is gracious, but also illustrates that God is not beholden to the world: “Whatever the Lord pleases he does” (Ps. 135:6, NRSV [in the context of “choosing” Israel as his own possession!]). Thus God is not only not accountable to the “wise” of this world, but by God’s gracious activity in Christ, God has actually “shamed” the wise. By this latter term Paul does not mean something subjective, the “feelings of shame” that the wise are now to feel. Rather, he has here picked up an OT theme that expresses the vindication of God over his enemies (or over the enemies of the righteous), a vindication that is related to God’s righteous judgments (e.g., Ps. 6:10; 31:17; 35:4, 26–27). With Paul this vindication has become eschatological; in choosing the Corinthians, the final vindication over God’s enemies has already begun. God has already “disgraced” them by overturning their warped perspective.
Paul’s eschatological perspective is made clear by the final contrasts. He begins with “lowly,” to which he adds “the despised things” (cf. 6:4); then in typical rhetorical fashion he labels these, including the Corinthians, as “the things that are not”—the “nothings”—which God chose in order “to nullify the things that are.” The verb “to nullify” is what makes certain that this is rhetorical, eschatological language, not philosophical. This verb occurs throughout 1 Corinthians in decidedly eschatological contexts to express Paul’s conviction that in Christ God has already set the future in motion, whereby the present age is “on its way out,” is being done away with by the eternal God. Through Christ crucified, and by God’s subsequent calling of the Corinthians to be participants in the “glory” (2:7), God has already chosen “the things that are not” to render ineffective “the things that are” (the wise, with their “this age,” merely human point of view).
29 With this clause Paul expresses the ultimate purpose of the divine folly: “so that no one may boast before God.” As it turns out, God has deliberately chosen the foolish things of the world, the cross and the Corinthian believers, so as to remove forever, from every human creature, any possible grounds on their part of standing in the divine presence with something in their hands. The ground is level at the foot of the cross; not a single thing that any of us possesses will advantage anyone before the living God—not brilliance, “clout,” achievement, money, or prestige. By choosing the lowly Corinthians, God by loud declaration has forever ruled out every imaginable human system of gaining divine favor. It is all—“trust God completely” (v. 31)—or nothing.
The verb “boast,” which is a predominantly Pauline word in the NT, occurs here for the first time, most likely because of its prior usage in Jeremiah (9:23–24) which Paul is about to quote (v. 31). This word presents considerable difficulty for translation. It can mean “to take pride in” or “to glory in,” hence “boast.” But at times, especially here, it comes very close to the concept of “trust,” that is, “to put one’s full confidence in.” We “boast” in that in which we have risked everything in order to secure ourselves. There is an interesting fluctuation between positive and pejorative usages in Paul; but there is no problem in finding the key. For him the watershed is the grace of God manifested in the death of Christ for sinners, whereby God has eliminated every human pretension and all self-sufficiency. Thus one must put full confidence, one must “boast, glory” in the Lord and in the Lord’s mercy. Every other form of “boasting” is thereby abolished (cf. 3:21; 4:7; Rom. 2:23; 3:27), except that which reflects the “weakness” and “foolishness” of God (e.g., Rom. 5:3; 2 Cor. 12:9).
30–31 The opening sentences of this paragraph reminded the Corinthians that their own calling, like the cross itself, expresses the “foolishness” of God that is “wiser than human wisdom.” But all of that was said negatively: God was thereby intent on “shaming” and “bringing to an end” human wisdom, so that no mere creature may have grounds for boasting in God’s presence. Now, by way of contrast, Paul addresses the Corinthians directly to express positively what God has done in calling them. The sentence is strictly soteriological and corresponds to the preceding sentences (vv. 26–29) in the same way that an earlier concluding clause (v. 24) did to Jewish and Gentile expectations (vv. 22–23, or “demands,” as Paul calls them).
The contrasts themselves, which stand out in the Greek text, are difficult to transfer into English. Literally, Paul says, “but of him you are, in Christ Jesus.” Paul’s point is clear: In contrast to the world, you owe your existence to the prior activity of God, which has been effected in history through Christ Jesus. As in the preceding sentence all the emphasis falls on God’s activity, activity expressed most vividly in human history “in Christ Jesus.”
The way Paul expresses this divine activity in Christ has had a long history of misinterpretation in the church, related in part to the translation of the KJV (“who of God is made unto us wisdom, and righteousness, and sanctification, and redemption”)—as though this were a christological statement—and in part to reading it in light of other passages (Col. 2:2–3 and Jas. 1:5). Thus Christ is seen as the source of wisdom for Christians, whereby they either come to know God or are enlightened about his ways, in other words, Christ became wisdom for us so that we might thereby become wise. But that is to miss Paul’s point by a wide margin. In keeping with what he had said earlier (v. 24), he asserts that God made Christ to become true “wisdom” for us—which is then immediately interpreted in historical-soteriological terms, “that is, our righteousness, holiness and redemption.” Thus Paul is not suggesting, as the KJV implied, that Christ has been made these four things for believers. Rather, God has made him, the crucified-now-risen One, to become “wisdom” for us— but not of the kind with which the Corinthians are now enamored. True wisdom is to be understood in terms of the three illustrative metaphors, which refer to the saving event of Christ.
The metaphors themselves lack what we might ordinarily consider logical sequence (i.e., “redemption” brings about our “righteousness” [= right standing with God], followed by “holiness”). But that misses Paul’s present concern. These are not three different steps in the saving process; they are rather three different metaphors for the same event (our salvation that was effected in Christ), each taken from a different sphere of our human existence and each emphasizing a different aspect of the one reality (cf. 6:11). The fact that he uses nouns to describe this event, rather than verbs, is dictated by the fact that they stand in apposition to the noun “wisdom.”
This is the first appearance of “righteousness” (= “justification”) in Paul. As a result of the later “Judaizing” controversy in Galatia, it became his dominant metaphor in Galatians and Romans, but not elsewhere (!). Paul’s usage here and in a later passage (6:11) suggests two things: (1) It was probably already a metaphor Paul was using to express the saving work of Christ; and (2) it regularly functioned for him as one among several metaphors he used to connote the rich breadth of that work. “Righteousness,” therefore, is not so much an ethical term here as it is forensic, and it highlights the believer’s undeserved stance of right standing before God, despite one’s guilt from having broken his law. We have already met the term “holiness” in the salutation (1:2). This is a religious metaphor, and in this kind of list it moves us into the ethical sphere. It was a recurring motif in Paul’s two earlier letters (1 and 2 Thessalonians) and is picked up again in this letter at the end of his remonstrance of one brother taking another to court (6:11). The term “redemption” is a metaphor from slavery, and it had a rich history among the Jews to express their own deliverance from the bondage of Egypt. The emphasis is more on the deliverance of captives unto freedom than it is on the concept of “ransom” by payment; in Pauline usage (e.g., Rom. 3:24; Col. 1:14) it usually refers to deliverance from the bondage of sin.
Thus there is “wisdom” with God, to be sure. But it is of another kind from what the Corinthians currently delight in and squabble over. Wisdom does not have to do with “getting smart,” nor with status or rhetoric. God’s wisdom—the real thing—has to do with salvation through Christ Jesus. Indeed, divine wisdom rests ultimately in God’s “outsmarting” all forms of merely human wisdom, and in doing so with what for them is altogether foolish. In a community where “wisdom” was part of a higher “spirituality” divorced from ethical consequences, Paul says that God has made Christ to become “wisdom” for us all right, but that means God has made him to become for us the one who redeems from sin and leads to holiness—ethical behavior that is consonant with the gospel. All of this is made clear here by the final purpose clause (v. 31), which contains the second citation from the OT prophets (cf. v. 19), intended to demolish the Corinthians’ current position of “wisdom.” Just as the ultimate goal in God’s choosing the “foolish things” of the world was to eradicate human boasting in God’s presence, so on the positive side the final goal of the work of Christ was to make possible the one true ground for boasting: “Let the one who boasts, boast in the Lord.” With other grounds for confidence now swept aside by the “divine contradiction,” the Corinthians (and thus we ourselves) are left with the ultimate “risk”—to trust God alone with their lives, and thus to “boast” in God, meaning here in “God’s folly,” a crucified Messiah.
Thus an argument that began with a citation from the prophet Isaiah now concludes with an equally penetrating word from Jeremiah. Using a passage that was originally an indictment on Israel’s lack of true wisdom, Paul cites from its concluding word (9:24) and, as usual, has adapted the passage to the present context. In place of the “in this” of Jeremiah, which there pointed ahead to the clause that followed (“that they understand and know me”), Paul has substituted “in the Lord,” which of course is close to Jeremiah’s overall sense, if not his precise intent. “The Lord” in this adaptation refers to Christ, especially to the work of Christ in our behalf spelled out in the preceding sentence (v. 30). Thus God has eliminated altogether all boasting based on merely human grounds in favor of boasting in the ultimate divine foolishness, redemption by way of a crucified Messiah, wherein alone one has favor with God.
The conclusion of this paragraph, “no human boasting” but rather “boasting in Christ” through whom God has effected salvation for us, continues (rightly) to play a significant role in the church. All of this is quite in keeping with the grand cadences of Romans and Galatians, with which the Protestant tradition is so familiar. Unfortunately, the means (the cross as the divine scandal) and the evidence (God’s choice of the lowly) for this conclusion do not always get the same hearing. It is not that God cannot, or will not, save the affluent. But for Paul the glory of the gospel does not lie there; rather, it lies in God’s mercy toward the very people whom most of the affluent tend to write off—the foolish, the weak, the despised. Such people do not fit well into the “suburban captivity of the church.” This paragraph should therefore serve as a continual warning against our remaking into our own more comfortable images God’s distinctly revealed priorities of mercy for the helpless—as part of the evidence that God’s ways are not ours.
1And so it was with me, brothers and sisters. When I came to you, I did not come with eloquence or human wisdom as I proclaimed to you the testimony about God. 2For I resolved to know nothing while I was with you except Jesus Christ and him crucified. 3I came to you in weakness with great fear and trembling. 4My message and my preaching were not with wise and persuasive words, but with a demonstration of the Spirit’s power, 5so that your faith might not rest on human wisdom, but on God’s power.
Some manuscripts as I proclaimed to you God’s mystery
With this paragraph Paul concludes his argument that both the message of the cross itself and the Corinthians’ very existence as believers stand in contradiction to their present posturing regarding “wisdom.” Along with the preceding paragraph (1:26–31) it further demonstrates the point being made at the beginning (1:18–25), this time in terms of Paul’s effective ministry among them despite his weaknesses and failure to rely on the kind of “powerful” speech with which they are enamored. Thus, not only the means (the cross) and the people (the church in Corinth), but also the preacher (Paul) declare that God is in the process of overturning the world’s systems. At the same time, of course, the entire paragraph has a strong apologetic overtone. Paul’s own ministry has been justified before them by way of its results among them.
The paragraph is replete with themes from the opening paragraph (1:17–25), signaling its very close ties to what has preceded. The argument has two parts (vv. 1–2, 3–5), both of which begin with “and I.” The first set of sentences, which pick up the language with which the whole argument began (1:17 and 23), remind them of the content of his preaching, but now emphasizing that it was a deliberate act on his part. They are then reminded (vv. 3–4) of the form of the preacher and his preaching, which bears the same character as the message itself—“weakness.” Nonetheless, as at the beginning (1:22–25), in this “weakness” the power of God is at work, now expressed in terms of the Spirit. A final purpose clause (v. 5) gives the reason for all this, that their faith might be of God and in God alone and not in human wisdom (cf. 1:31).
In every possible way Paul has tried to show them the folly of their present fascination with wisdom, which has inherent within it the folly of self-sufficiency and self-congratulation. Thus not only the message itself (1:18–25) and the recipients themselves—you (1:26–31)—but the preacher himself (me!) whom God used to bring them to faith had to reject self-reliance. At the same time one senses that for Paul this is not merely a historical replay of his time with them, but it also functions as something of a paradigm for his understanding of Christian ministry, one that will be spelled out in greater detail toward the end of the present argument (4:11–13) and especially in his next preserved letter to them (2 Cor. 2:14–6:13).
1 Paul needs to rehearse one more piece of history with them—his own preaching when he was among them, both its form and content. As before (1:26), the new paragraph is signaled by the conjunction “and I” (captured well with the NIV’s “and so it was with me”) and the vocative (“brothers and sisters”). In this case the conjunction suggests the closest possible tie to what has immediately preceded (v. 31): “By means of the cross and in choosing you, God in effect eliminated human boasting, so that the only boast left is in the Lord. And I, for my part, when I came to you, evidenced the same reality. I was totally stripped of self-reliance, so that God’s power could be manifested and so that your faith might rest on God alone.”
In a way similar to how the argument began (1:17), Paul describes his preaching as (lit.) “not according to excellence of word or wisdom,” which the NIV has helpfully rendered, “not . . . with eloquence or human wisdom.” Although Paul’s point seems clear enough, the precise nuances are less so. “According to excellence” most likely refers to his manner of preaching, hence “not in such a way as to distinguish myself” (Conzelmann). The two kinds of “excellence” that he rejected are terms we have already met (see 1:5 and 17). As before, it is not certain whether “word” emphasizes form or content, or both. Probably here it leans toward form (hence “eloquence”), while “wisdom” reflects content; as the following negation (v. 4) indicates, however, it too could refer to form in this context. In either case, Paul is once more picking up their terms and negating them in light of the crucified Messiah. Those who seek wisdom may sound as if they are involved in a noble affair; in reality they are engaged in various forms of self-congratulatory, and therefore divisive, competition over “excellence” of speech, rhetoric, or profundity, “full of sound and fury, signifying nothing.”
Paul would have none of that, precisely because he came to them to “proclaim . . . the testimony about God.” Despite its acceptance by a large number of scholars, the noun “mystery” is unlikely to be original. In fact, that choice of words at this point would serve rather to deflect Paul’s present concern. To be sure, he uses such language again shortly (v. 7, and later in 4:1), but that reflects the considerable shift of argument at that point (2:6–16). Here, as he did earlier (1:6), he is recalling for their sakes his initial preaching among them, preaching that took the form of “proclaiming” the “testimony of God.” Although this latter expression is not common in Paul, it had already been used in his second letter to the Thessalonians (1:10) to refer to his own preaching of the gospel. Thus it is a happy choice of terms to recall what he was about when he first preached among them. Rather than engaging in rhetoric or philosophy, Paul was bearing witness to God, i.e., what God had done in Christ to effect salvation, as the next sentence now goes on to explain.
2 Paul begins this next sentence with an explanatory “for,” thus indicating that he is about to offer reasons for the behavior just noted. He did not attempt to distinguish himself in either eloquence or philosophical reasoning because he had already “resolved to know nothing . . . except Jesus Christ and him crucified.” This is the “testimony about God” to which he bore witness while he was among them. “To know nothing” does not mean that he left all other knowledge aside, but rather that he had the gospel, with its crucified Messiah, as his singular focus and passion while he was among them. It has often been speculated that this sentence is to be understood as his (somewhat negative) response to the recent ministry in Athens, as recorded in Acts 17:16–34. The problem with that suggestion is that (1) it misreads the evidence of Acts as being a failure of sorts, and (2) it assumes that this resolve on the part of Paul was a change of strategy, or a return to a former strategy, neither of which is implied by what is actually said. To say “I resolved” means nothing more than that he purposed to continue his regular practice (cf. Gal. 3:1). After all, according to Luke’s narrative (Acts 18:1–8) Paul’s preaching began in the synagogue among Jews and Godfearers, where it was always his practice to begin by preaching “Jesus Christ” (cf., e.g., Acts 13:26–42, which Luke sets forth as the primary exhibit of Paul’s proclaiming Christ in such a setting). Neither does the addition “and him crucified” suggest a new strategy. For Paul that was simply part of proclaiming Christ; it is added from his opening explanation (1:23) for emphasis—and to tie what is said here to the way the argument began (1:18–25). If any contrast is implied in the words “I resolved,” it would be with the wandering sophists and orators, with whom he is now being compared, rather than with his own preaching before and after Athens. If anything, that resolve would have been increased by the experience in Thessalonica, where he had already had to put distance between himself and such itinerant “flatterers” and “man-pleasers” (1 Thess. 2:1–10).
3 With another “and I” Paul resumes the description of his preaching; but now it focuses less on the form of preaching and more directly on the “form” of the preacher. The verb can mean either “I came to you,” emphasizing that this is how he was when he arrived, or “I was with you,” suggesting that he manifested “weakness” in his ongoing relationship with them. The latter is to be preferred for two reasons: (1) There is a precise analogy at the end of the letter (16:10), which speaks of Timothy’s coming and not fearing while he is with you (the same combination of verbs and prepositional phrase as here and in v. 1); (2) the opening sentences (vv. 1–2) emphasize his resolve when he came to them; here the emphasis is on the ongoing visit.
From this distance it is impossible to know the exact nature of Paul’s being with them “in weakness.” He is most likely referring to some observable physical condition. In any case his intent seems clear: for him there was a genuine correspondence between his own personal weaknesses and his gospel (cf. Col. 1:24). At the heart of his preaching stood the “weakness of God” (1:25), the story of a crucified Messiah (v. 2). His own weaknesses served as a further visible demonstration of the same message, but even more to demonstrate that the message was of divine, not human, origin (see esp. 2 Cor. 4:7 and 13:4). Thus the apostle regularly glories in his weaknesses, not because he “enjoyed ill health” but because they were a sure evidence that the power was of God and not of himself. Apparently this became a point of genuine contention between Paul and this church, as the long apologetic sections of the next letter reveal (2 Cor. 4:7–5:10 and 11:17–12:10). Possibly Paul has already gotten inklings of the problem from his informants, hence this passage, and especially his outburst as this argument begins finally to wear down (4:8–13).
Along with “weakness” he adds “and in fear and much trembling,” but it is not at all clear what this means. The two words often occur together in the LXX (e.g., Exod. 15:16; Isa. 19:16), usually to express the dread that people (esp. enemies) are to sense in the presence of God and God’s activity in the world. The combination is unique to Paul in the NT (2 Cor. 7:15; Phil. 2:12; Eph. 6:5), but elsewhere does not seem to refer to people over against God. Most likely here it reflects the general picture given in Acts 18:9–11, where for reasons unknown to us Paul seems overwhelmed by the task of evangelizing in this great city. In any case it is a condition which he is gladly willing that the Corinthians should now recall, so that they will be reminded of how unlike the sophists his preaching and appearance truly were.
4–5 But Paul does not glory in his weaknesses for their own sake, nor simply to contrast himself with the sophists. Rather, he does so to remind the Corinthians, as they should well remember, that the real power does not lie in the person or presentation of the preacher but in the work of the Spirit, as is evidenced by their own existence. Thus, to what he has just said about himself, he adds words about his preaching that recall the opening sentence (v. 1); however, in this case the negative “not with the persuasion of wisdom” receives its corresponding counterpart “but with a demonstration of the Spirit’s power.”
His preaching is first described by their term, logos (“word”; cf. 1:17 and 2:1). Although it was not to their liking, Paul does have a logos, the logos of the cross (1:18; 2:2). But unlike the Corinthians, who attached wisdom to logos, he attaches kērygma (“preaching” or “proclamation”; cf. 1:21). Logos and kērygma therefore probably refer to the content and form of Paul’s actual delivery (hence “message and preaching”). He deliberately avoided the very thing that now fascinates them, “the persuasion of wisdom.” But his preaching did not thereby lack “persuasion.” What it lacked was the kind of persuasion found among the sophists and rhetoricians, where the power lay in the person and the delivery. Paul’s preaching, on the other hand, despite his personal appearance and whatever its actual form, produced the desired results, namely it brought about the faith of the Corinthians.
What accompanied Paul’s preaching was “a demonstration of the Spirit’s power.” Is Paul now in danger of rebuilding what he has been tearing down, as some suggest? Hardly. His intent is clear from the context: Even though he was weak and his preaching lacked “rhetoric” and “wisdom,” their very coming to faith demonstrated that it did not lack power.
Thus, very much in keeping with the message itself (cf. 1:23–25), his preaching exhibited “the weakness of God” that is stronger than human strength (1:25). What is less certain is to what specific “proof” he might be referring. The Greek literally reads “of the Spirit and power,” which some see as referring to two realities, “spiritual gifts and miracles.” But in Paul the terms “Spirit” and “power” are at times nearly interchangeable (cf. 5:4). To speak of the Spirit is automatically to speak of power (cf. Rom. 15:13, 19). The combination here is probably very close to a hendiadys (the use of two words to express the same reality: “the Spirit, that is, Power”), hence the NIV’s “the Spirit’s power.” But to what powerful demonstration of the Spirit does this refer? It is possible, but not probable given the context of “weakness,” that it reflects the “signs and wonders” spoken of in the next letter (2 Cor. 12:12). More likely it refers to their actual conversion, with its concomitant gift of the Spirit, which was probably evidenced by the Spirit’s giftings, especially tongues. This seems to be more in keeping with Paul’s concern. The evidence lies not in external “proofs” that Paul will muster against mere wisdom and rhetoric. Rather, the evidence lies with the Corinthians themselves and their own experience of the Spirit as they responded to the message of the gospel.
This is the first specific mention of the Spirit in 1 Corinthians, although the gifts of the Spirit were alluded to in the thanksgiving (1:4–7). In the introduction (pp. 11–13) I have argued that this is the crucial point of difference between Paul and the “arrogant” who have opposed him (4:18). For them “Spirit” meant the gift of tongues; it meant to have arrived in the “excellence of wisdom” (v. 1; cf. 4:8, 10), to have entered into a new existence that raised them above merely earthly existence, quite unrelated to genuine ethical behavior. For Paul, on the other hand, “Spirit” included inspired utterances—as long as they edified—but for him the emphasis lay on the Spirit’s power, power to transform lives (as here), to reveal God’s secret wisdom (2:6–16), to minister in weakness (4:9–13), and to effect holiness in the believing community (5:3–5). In other words, the purpose of the Spirit’s coming was not to transport one above the present age, but to empower one to live within it.
With the concluding purpose clause (v. 5) the argument that began in 1:18 now comes full circle. The message of the cross, which is folly to the “wise,” is the saving power of God to those who believe. The goal of all the divine activity, both in the cross and in choosing them, and now in Paul’s preaching that brought the cross and them together, has been to disarm the wise and powerful so that those who believe must trust God alone and completely. Thus, as the citation from Jeremiah concludes the second paragraph (vv. 26–31), so this paragraph concludes: “so that your faith might not rest on [human] wisdom, but on God’s power.” In another context this might seem to suggest that faith rests on evidences; but that would scarcely make sense here. Throughout this passage the “power of God” has the cross as its paradigm. The true alternative to wisdom humanly conceived is not “signs” but the gospel, which the Spirit brings to bear on our lives in powerful ways.
This paragraph has had an interesting history of application in the church, depending on where the emphasis has been placed. Some emphasize what Paul did not do, that is, preach with excellence of word and wisdom, and glory in a more rough-hewn presentation (which, interestingly enough, is often accompanied by a kind of bombast that seems intent on persuasion of a rhetorical kind, despite protests to the contrary). Others wish to emphasize the “positive,” the “proofs” of the Spirit’s power, which they see as in contrast to mere preaching. On the other hand, the polished oratory sometimes heard in North American pulpits, where the sermon itself seems often to be the goal of what is said, makes one wonder whether the text has been heard at all. Paul’s own point needs a fresh hearing. What he is rejecting is not preaching, not even persuasive preaching; rather, it is the real danger in all preaching—self-reliance. The danger always lies in letting the form and content get in the way of what should be the single concern: the gospel proclaimed through human weakness but accompanied by the powerful work of the Spirit so that lives are changed through a divine-human encounter. That is hard to teach in a course in homiletics, but it still stands as the true need in genuinely Christian preaching.
6We do, however, speak a message of wisdom among the mature, but not the wisdom of this age or of the rulers of this age, who are coming to nothing. 7No, we declare God’s wisdom, a mystery that has been hidden and that God destined for our glory before time began. 8None of the rulers of this age understood it, for if they had, they would not have crucified the Lord of glory. 9However, as it is written:
“What no eye has seen,
what no ear has heard,
and what no human mind has conceived”—
the things God has prepared for those who love him—
10these are the things God has revealed to us by his Spirit.
The Spirit searches all things, even the deep things of God. 11For who knows a person’s thoughts except their own spirit within them? In the same way no one knows the thoughts of God except the Spirit of God. 12What we have received is not the spirit of the world but the Spirit who is from God, so that we may understand what God has freely given us. 13This is what we speak, not in words taught us by human wisdom but in words taught by the Spirit, explaining spiritual realities with Spirit-taught words. 14The person without the Spirit does not accept the things that come from the Spirit of God but considers them foolishness, and cannot understand them because they are discerned only through the Spirit. 15The person with the Spirit makes judgments about all things, but such a person is not subject to merely human judgments, 16for
“Who has known the mind of the Lord
so as to instruct him?”
But we have the mind of Christ.
Isaiah 64:4
Or Spirit, interpreting spiritual truths to those who have the Spirit
Isaiah 40:13
To this point Paul has been rather hard on “wisdom”—because he is arguing against a Corinthian attitude toward it that has placed him and his gospel in a less than favorable light. But not all is pejorative. He also asserted that God acted by means of God’s own wisdom (1:21) and in so doing made Christ to become “wisdom” for us. But in Paul’s making this point, he transformed “wisdom” from a philosophical, rhetorical term into a historical, soteriological one (1:24, 30). Taking up the concluding language of the preceding passage (vv. 4–5, “not in the persuasion of wisdom, but with a demonstration of the Spirit’s power”), he now makes a considerable turn in the argument in order to reassert that the gospel he preaches does in fact demonstrate God’s wisdom. But it cannot be perceived as such by those who are pursuing sophia as such; it is recognized only by those who have the Spirit.
As with much that immediately preceded (in 1:18–2:5), what comes next is full of bite. The Corinthians, enamored by wisdom and thinking of themselves as “spiritual” (= “people of the Spirit”), are less than enchanted with Paul’s message, which they regard merely as “milk.” With fine irony Paul demolishes these various misperceptions and false boastings. The gospel of the crucified Messiah is wisdom all right, he affirms, but not of the kind they are now pursuing. True wisdom is indeed for those who are “spiritual,” meaning for those who have the Spirit, who has revealed what God has really accomplished in Christ. Because they do have the Spirit, and thus the mind of Christ, they should have seen the cross for what it is—God’s wisdom—and thereby have been able to make true judgments. But by pursuing sophia, they are acting just like those without the Spirit, who are likewise pursuing wisdom but see the cross as foolishness. The net result—and the irony—is that they are “spiritual,” yet “unspiritual”; they are pursuing “wisdom,” yet missing the very wisdom of God.
The argument, which is in three parts, can be easily traced: (1) Paul begins (vv. 6–10a) by setting forth the nature of God’s wisdom in terms of the basic contrast between those for whom it was destined and those who cannot perceive it. God’s wisdom, predestined by God to bring us to glory, was therefore held “as a mystery” (= secret), hidden from the present age and its leaders. (2) He then goes on (vv. 10b–13) to explain how believers are let in on the secret, and why others are left out. We have received the Spirit, who knows the mind of God and has revealed to us what God is doing in the world. (3) The final paragraph (vv. 14–16) concludes by reaffirming all this in terms of “natural” and “spiritual” people, that is, as the NIV rightly has it, persons without or with the Spirit.
The people of this age, who are pursuing mere “wisdom” and so consider the cross “foolishness,” do not have the Spirit; therefore, they cannot understand true wisdom (v. 14) nor make valid judgments (v. 15), an activity that is properly available only to those who have the Spirit. The paragraph concludes with a citation from Isa. 40:13, which offers biblical support for people’s inability to comprehend, a situation that is now reversed for those who have the Spirit and therefore the “mind of Christ.”
Despite what appears to be a simple—and explicable—turn in the argument, this paragraph has suffered much in the church, both in the hands of scholars and in popular preaching and Bible reading. The reasons for this have to do partly with the language (e.g., wisdom, mystery, hidden, rulers of this age, “deep things of God,” spiritual/natural person, the mind of Christ) and partly with the several contrasts set up both in this paragraph and in the way the next turn in the argument begins (3:1–4). As a result the paragraph has been variously viewed as an example of Paul’s playing the Corinthians’ game after all—that he really is arguing that those who are truly “spiritual” do possess a “deeper wisdom,” and that he thereby establishes two classes within the church—one “spiritual” and “mature”; the other “natural” (or “worldly”) and “immature” (or “babes”). But such a view runs counter not only to the argument as a whole (not to mention this paragraph), but also to the whole of Pauline theology. Indeed, such an argument would effectively destroy the very reason for everything said up to this point. Paul is not here rebuilding what he has just torn down; rather he is retooling their understanding of the Spirit and “spirituality” so that they might perceive the truth of what he has been arguing to this point: that everything is predicated on God’s new “upside down” world, where God’s own wisdom has been displayed in the offering of a “crucified Messiah” as the divine remedy for human fallenness. To read the passage otherwise is both a travesty and a disregard for Paul’s own passion for his gospel of a “crucified Messiah,” now raised from the dead.
While it is true that much of the language of this paragraph is not common to Paul, the explanation of this phenomenon is, as before, to be found in his using their language but filling it with his own content and thus refuting them. The theology, however, is his own, and it differs radically from theirs. For Paul—as for them—the Spirit is the key to everything. For him the Spirit is an eschatological reality, marking the turning of the ages. This becomes crucial for understanding the several contrasts in the passage. On the one hand, those who are still of this age, who have not received the Spirit, do not understand the wisdom of God in Christ crucified; but their wisdom is under divine judgment and already on its way out. Those who have the Spirit, on the other hand, have “the mind of Christ” and thus understand God’s activity, revealed to them by the Spirit. This is why Paul comes down so hard on his Corinthian friends. They do have the Spirit; they are part of the new era that God is ushering in. But their present conduct and stance toward wisdom betray them. Paul includes them among the “spiritual” (vv. 7–13), yet later addresses them as “fleshly” and “merely human” because their quarrels indicate that they are acting just like those who do not have the Spirit (3:1–4). The real contrast is therefore between believer and nonbeliever, between those who have and those who do not have the Spirit. Paul’s concern throughout is to get the Corinthians to understand who they are—in terms of the cross—and to stop acting like non-Spirit people. At the same time, as with the immediately preceding conclusion to the previous argument (2:1–5), an unmistakable note of personal apologetic lies just below the surface, if not right out in the open.
6 The “however” that begins this sentence marks a decisive turn in the argument; but it also closely ties what follows to what has immediately preceded (in vv. 4–5). Despite the insistence that his preaching was not with the “persuasion of wisdom” so that their faith might not rest on “human wisdom,” Paul says “we nevertheless do speak wisdom.” In so asserting, his first concern is to ensure that he is not misunderstood. By “wisdom” he does not refer to what is currently fascinating the Corinthians: wisdom that belongs strictly to the present age and its rulers, who are already “coming to nothing.”
What, then, does he mean by “wisdom”? Whatever else, the emphasis now is on the content of sophia, not its form, as in the previous paragraph; nonetheless, he says very little that actually describes this content. The reason for this is first of all that Paul assumes his readers will pick that up from what has preceded (1:23–24, 30; cf. 2:2). He has already declared: “We preach Christ crucified . . . the wisdom of God.” That this is the basic thrust of its content is confirmed by the otherwise unnecessary reference to the crucifixion that follows (v. 8, rather than simply “killed” him). With a crucified Messiah as its assumed content, Paul’s present concern is to explain both the nature of this wisdom, which made it impossible for those in pursuit of merely human wisdom to recognize it as such, and the source of this wisdom, the very Spirit whom they think themselves to be so well-versed in.
What has caused some to think that Paul is dealing with “deeper truths” is the phrase “among the teleioi [NIV ‘mature’],” which anticipates the “mere infants” to follow (3:1). Since Paul says that he speaks this “wisdom” among “the mature” and that he could not so address them, it is thus often assumed that there are hidden depths of Christian truth that he did indeed possess but kept to himself in Corinth because of their lack of maturity. But the rest of the paragraph makes it clear that this would be a terribly unfortunate reading of Paul. The equation to come (3:1), where “infants” is the opposite of “spiritual” (= people of the Spirit), indicates that the teleioi of this verse are those who have received the Spirit (v. 12) and therefore anticipates the pneumatikos person (= person of the Spirit) referred to at the end (v. 15). The argument of the whole paragraph, especially the language “for our glory” (v. 7), “for those who love him” (i.e., “us,” v. 9), “revealed it to us” (v. 10), and “we have received the Spirit who is from God” (v. 12), implies that Paul is, as earlier, addressing the whole church and drawing them all into the orbit of what he is saying. Most likely the terminology is theirs. Part of their rejection of Paul is that they consider him to be treating them like mere babes, feeding them only with milk, while they perceive themselves to have advanced to maturity (cf. 4:8). A similar usage much later in the letter (14:20) suggests that “infants” and “grown-ups” is the basic intent of the imagery. Therefore, the usage would seem to be at least partly ironic. Those “in Christ” (1:30) are “the mature,” and thus the Corinthians are included. But their behavior indicates that they are very much mere babes. Paul’s concern, as later in the letter (14:20), is to persuade them to adopt the thinking that goes along with being “mature” in Christ.
The wisdom of which Paul is now speaking, he is quick to reassert, is of a radically different kind from that which the Corinthians are currently pursuing, which is “of this age” (cf. 1:20). However, in this case he adds “or of the rulers of this age, who are coming to nothing.” This latter verb is the eschatological one used earlier (v. 28; to “nullify” the things that are) and therefore by implication, along with the age itself, these “rulers” are also “coming to nothing”; that is, they are in the process of “being abolished.”
But who are the “rulers of this age”? and why are they brought in here? The answer to the second question is twofold. Partly it anticipates what will be said a bit later (v. 8), where they represent the people of the present age who fail to recognize the wisdom of God and who thereby stand in contrast to those who are destined for glory; but it also seems to reflect an early expression of the Christian kērygma as it was preached in the Pauline circle. As to the first question, there was a a considerable movement in the latter part of the twentieth century to view the “rulers” as demonic powers, or at least to view Paul’s words as intending the Corinthians to see demonic powers lying behind the activity of the earthly rulers. This oft-repeated, but totally unwarranted, assertion has finally been laid to rest, since the linguistic evidence, the context, and Pauline theology all argue against it. Given the evidence that follows (v. 8), the “rulers” here at least include those responsible for the crucifixion. But in this first instance the term probably also intends the “leaders” of this age in the broader sense, including the various “wise ones” mentioned earlier (1:20 and 26). Those to whom the Corinthians would especially give deference do not really know true wisdom; indeed, they are themselves “coming to nothing.”
7–8 In these two sentences Paul elaborates the two sides of the preceding sentence (v. 6). The first (v. 7) explains the nature of God’s wisdom that made it impossible for the wise of this age to grasp it; the second (v. 8) repeats the failure of the “rulers” in terms of their responsibility for the crucifixion.
He begins with a sharp contrast to the negative side of what has just been said. “No,” he says, “we speak God’s wisdom,” which he immediately qualifies in four ways. The first three describe its nature, so as to distinguish it from the wisdom of this age. First, God’s wisdom is described as existing “in mystery,” a prepositional phrase full of potential pitfalls for both reader and interpreter. To begin with, one cannot be certain whether this phrase modifies “wisdom” as an adjective (hence the original NIV’s “secret wisdom”) or the verb “we speak” as an adverb. Although the former seems preferable grammatically, when that is transferred directly into English, it can lead to every imaginable wrong idea. God’s wisdom is not some inaccessible teaching, spoken in secret. As Paul will develop more fully in Colossians and Ephesians, in the singular the term “mystery” ordinarily refers to something formerly hidden in God from all human eyes but now revealed in history through Christ and made understandable to his people through the Spirit. The seeds of this idea are sown here for the first time in Paul; in particular it embraces the ultimate paradox—the crucifixion of “the Lord of glory” (v. 8).
Second, and to clarify the phrase “in mystery,” God’s wisdom—salvation through a crucified Messiah—“has been hidden.” The perfect tense, plus the phrase that follows (“before time began”), indicates that such wisdom has been hidden in God from eternity until such a time (“now”) as it was ready to be revealed. What follows in v. 8 suggests further that God’s “secret” continues to remain hidden from the “rulers,” the representatives of the “wise” of this age.
Third, God’s secret wisdom, long hidden—and still hidden to some—was “destined” by God “for our glory before time began.” This is the clause that begins to clarify both the content of “wisdom” and the identity of the “mature” (v. 6). The verb “destined” is an intensified form of the ordinary verb for “determining.” The emphasis lies on “decide beforehand” (BDAG); therefore, to “predestine.” As in the letter’s salutation (1:1), God’s call is the expression of God’s prior will, which in this case is further intensified by the phrase “before time began” (lit. “before the ages”). What God determined “before the ages” has been worked out in the present age, which is being brought to its conclusion as the final glorious age has dawned and is awaiting its consummation—“for our glory.” What has been predestined technically is God’s wisdom; the larger context indicates that Paul has in view God’s gracious activity in Christ, whereby through the crucifixion he determined eternal salvation for his people—including especially the Corinthian believers. Just as God chose the foolish and weak for salvation and thereby “shamed” the wise and powerful, who are being brought to nothing (1:26–28), so now Paul repeats that God “destined” his people for glory (not shame), and has done so in contrast to the rulers of this age who are “coming to nothing.” “For our glory” is eschatological language, referring to the final goal of salvation, namely that God’s people should share in God’s own glory. Hence the Crucified One is in this context also called “the Lord of glory” (v. 8).
Fourth (v. 8a), God’s wisdom is something that “none of the rulers of this age understood.” With this clause Paul elaborates the negative side of the preceding sentence (v. 6), but now in light of the preceding description of God’s wisdom. The reason for their failure is that it was “hidden in God” and could only be grasped by a revelation coming by way of the Spirit (v. 10). The reason for repeating this idea seems to be twofold: first, to reestablish the contrast between “us” and “them” that is crucial to his argument; and second, to confirm their part in the historical event itself, which both demonstrated their “ignorance” of God’s ways and implicated them in the carrying out of his plan. What the “rulers of this age” did not understand was the nature of true wisdom—God’s wisdom, as spelled out in what has preceded (1:18–2:5)—which stands in contradiction to human understanding; and because they were thus “ignorant” they did what human “wisdom” demanded — they crucified the one who for them was one more messianic pretender. Thus the divine irony: The very ones who were trying to do away with Jesus by crucifying him were in fact carrying out God’s prior will—“destined for our glory before time began.” Instead of crucifying a messianic pretender, they killed “the Lord of glory” himself, the very one who, as Lord of all the ages, is therefore Lord of the final glory that is both his and his people’s ultimate destiny. The Pauline irony, of course, is that the Corinthians in pursuing sophia are pursuing what belongs to this age, which is passing away and whose rulers were implicated in the divine irony.
9 In typical style Paul concludes the argument to this point with scriptural support. In this case, however, there are considerable difficulties with the “citation.” First, what is he citing? and second, how does it function in the argument? These questions are made more difficult by the fact that the “citation” occurs in two parts, which as they now stand form an anacoluthon in the Greek sentence (grammar that “doesn’t follow”). Literally the text reads:
line 1:
“What eye did not see,
line 2:
and ear did not hear,
line 3:
and did not enter into the heart of anthrōpou (= “no human mind conceived”)
line 4:
“What God prepared for those who love him.”
Of the two difficulties, the function of the quotation is the more easily resolved. Paul cites two realities, which sustain the two parts of the preceding argument. First, Scripture supports the fact that people in the present age do not understand what God accomplished in Christ: God’s ways (God’s “wisdom”) are not even conceivable to the merely human mind. Second, what they are ignorant of is the salvation that God “has prepared for those who love him.” Lines 1–3, therefore, support what is said above regarding the inability of “mere humans” to perceive what God is doing (vv. 6b and 8); line 4 supports what is said in between (v. 7), that “long before time began,” God had “destined for our glory” the “things” (= the events of our recent past) that have now been “revealed to us by the Spirit” (v. 10a), namely, eternal salvation for us through Christ. At the same time, line 4 anticipates the next section of the argument, which is picked up immediately in the sentence that follows (v. 10b).
That much seems clear enough. Paul’s syntax also indicates that the clause functions to conclude the argument to this point. The introductory formula, “however, as it is written,” is identical to a later passage in the letter to the believers in Rome (Rom. 15:3). As in that later passage, the “however” is a strong adversative to the immediately preceding negatives (v. 8), especially the first one. Thus Paul says, “the rulers of this age did not understand, but even as it stands written. . . .” This structural observation also helps, despite the anacoluthon, to make sense of how the two clauses go together. The original NIV had unfortunately disregarded the relative pronoun, “what things,” of line 1 and made the relative clause of line 4 the object of the verbs in lines 1 to 3. More likely the exact opposite of this, as the current NIV has it, is what Paul intended, with line 4 standing in apposition to the first three lines, and our v. 10 then serving as the proper conclusion to the (now extra) long subject of the preceding poetic lines. Thus, “what . . . , what . . . , and what . . . , the things that God has prepared for those who love him, these are now the very things God has revealed to us by his Spirit” (cf. Moffatt: “What no eye has ever seen, etc., God has prepared all that for those who love him”). In this (almost certainly correct) understanding, the emphasis lies altogether on line 4, which is precisely the point with which the present argument began (v. 6). Paul thus argues: “We speak God’s wisdom, salvation through Christ crucified, which none of the rulers of this age understood; but even as it is written: What no one could see, hear, or understand about God’s ways, these are the very things God has prepared for those who love him.” The next part of the paragraph goes on to explain how those who love God do understand the divine “wisdom.”
But what is Paul quoting? First of all, no OT passage resembles this one in its entirety. The closest thing to it is a passage in Isaiah (64:4 [LXX 64:3]), which contains some close verbal similarities to lines 1 and 2. In that case line 4 might be a free adaptation of “what things you will do for those who wait for mercy.” The closest parallel to line 3 is to be found in the LXX a bit later in Isaiah (65:17): “and it shall not enter their hearts.” Because no exact parallel is to be found in the OT, and because the citation appears to be complete in its present form, several alternative suggestions have been presented: e.g., an unknown apocalyptic writing, a prior Jewish collation of OT passages, or a prior apocalyptic amalgam of OT ideas. The fact that the passage appears in this same form in the Ascension of Isaiah suggests most strongly that Paul himself is not freely paraphrasing the OT. Most likely the “citation” is an amalgamation of OT texts that had already been joined and reflected on in apocalyptic Judaism, which Paul knew either directly or indirectly. In any case, the introductory formula, “as it is written,” makes it certain that he considered the citation to be God’s Word, and therefore the twin points made above (vv. 6–8) have previously been announced by God and are now seen as having come to pass.
10a If the main point of the citation in the preceding verse (v. 9) was to support what was said at the end of the preceding argument, its final line, “the things God has prepared for those who love him,” prepares the way for the main concern of the entire passage, namely that God’s wisdom can be known only by God’s people because they alone have the Spirit. But there is some difference of opinion, based on a textual difference, as to how this sentence is related syntactically to what has preceded. If “but” is the correct reading, then the sentence stands (as in the original NIV) as an adversative to the whole of the preceding citation (v. 9), with special emphasis on the contrast between their inability and “our” ability to grasp God’s wisdom. That is, this first sentence basically stands in contrast to the preceding lines 1–3.
However, on the analogy of what Paul will say later in Romans (15:3–4) and on the basis of its excellent support, an explanatory “for” is by far the preferred reading, and makes perfectly good sense in the present context, despite the reluctance of most English versions to deal with it at all. In this case, the explanation picks up the emphasis on line 4 in the citation. The others could not understand the things that “God has prepared for those who love him, for to us God has revealed [them] by the Spirit.” The contrast, therefore, despite the emphatic position of “to us,” lies not primarily between “us” and “them” as such; rather it lies on the reason they could not, but we can, understand the things that God has prepared for his people. That is, as the next sentences (vv. 10b–13) make clear, the emphasis lies on the means of revelation, the Spirit, not on the recipients themselves, although the latter of course are always in view, an emphasis that will be picked up again in the conclusion (vv. 14–16).
10b–11 With his next sentence (v. 10b) Paul begins the main part of his argument. The absolute key to understanding God’s wisdom lies with the Spirit. The basis of the argument that follows is the Greek philosophic principle of “like is known only by like,” that is, humans do not on their own possess the quality that would make it possible to know God or God’s wisdom. Only “like is known by like”; only God can know God. Therefore, the Spirit of God becomes the link between God and humanity, the “quality” from God himself who makes the knowing possible. This of course is for Paul a fortuitous bit of reasoning, for two reasons: (1) This is what he really believes about our ability to know the ways of God that are otherwise “past finding out”; left to themselves, the natural man/woman cannot know God by reason or intuition, as Paul will affirm later (v. 14). (2) This is precisely the linkage he needs in his argument with the Corinthians. By their own experience of the Spirit of God, they consider themselves to be “spiritual.” Apparently they have thought of spirituality mostly in terms of ecstasy and experience, which has led some of them to deny the physical body, on the one hand, and to a sense of “having arrived” (cf. 4:8), on the other. What Paul is about to do is to present the Spirit as the key to the proper understanding of the gospel itself, especially of his preaching (v. 13) and their own gifts (v. 12); and in this context as always, the gospel, God’s wisdom, is the message of salvation through the Crucified One.
The sentence begins with a “for,” which links the explanation that follows as a kind of commentary to the first assertion, that God has revealed [God’s wisdom] to us through the Spirit. The Spirit is first of all linked with God: “The Spirit searches all things, even the deep things of God.” Although somewhat unusual language for Paul, it is not inexplicable. Elsewhere he speaks of the “depth of the riches of the wisdom and knowledge of God” (Rom. 11:33), reflecting his sense of the profound greatness of God, which is part of Paul’s Jewishness, both OT and apocalyptic. The idea of the Spirit’s “searching” all things, even the depths of God, is best understood in light of Paul’s own explanation that follows immediately (v. 11). Perhaps the present sentence, too, has a tinge of irony. The Corinthians considered Paul’s preaching to be “milk”; on the contrary, he implies, redemption through the cross comes from the profound depths of God’s own wisdom, which God’s Spirit, given to those who love God, has searched out and revealed to us.
With yet another explanatory “for,” Paul next (v. 11) offers a supporting analogy for the fact that the Spirit knows the things of God, and makes the further point that the Spirit alone knows them. Here in particular the principle of “like is known by like” is spelled out in detail, in this case influenced by the OT motif that no one has ever seen God. The analogy itself is a simple one, and insists that just as the only person who knows what goes on inside one’s own mind is oneself, so only God knows the things of God. Paul makes that point by use of the word pneuma (“spirit”) because first of all he is talking about the Holy Spirit and second because it is for him a common word for the interior expression of the human person.
Thus, while Paul would undoubtedly understand the human “spirit” as a distinguishable constituent of the human personality, this sentence is not trying to make a definitive anthropological statement, nor is it suggesting that the analogy of the Trinity fits the human personality. Moreover, Paul is not trying to make a definitive pneumatological statement. It is analogy, pure and simple. And the analogy does not have to do with the constituents of personality; rather, it has to do with our common experience of personal reality. At the human level, I alone know what I am thinking, and no one else, unless I choose to reveal my thoughts in the form of words. So also only God knows what God is about. God’s Spirit, therefore, who as God knows the mind of God, becomes the link to our knowing God also, because as the next sentence goes on to affirm: “we have received the Spirit of God.”
12 With this sentence and the next we come to the heart of things, the central issue in the entire paragraph. The argument began with the assertion that Paul does indeed speak wisdom among the “grown-ups” of God’s people. That wisdom in fact is not esoteric knowledge of deeper truths about God; rather it is simply God’s own plan for saving his people. As such it is contrasted to “wisdom” of the leaders of the present age, who cannot know God’s wisdom because it is the “secret, hidden” wisdom that was/is destined for, and finally revealed to, those who love God. That revelation has been given by the Spirit, who alone knows the inner secrets of God, and whom, as this verse now affirms, “we have received.” Since “like is known by like,” the Spirit, who alone knows the thoughts of God, becomes the link on the human side for our knowing the thoughts of God.
As before (vv. 6–9) Paul makes this point once again by way of antithesis to those of the present age. He is forever reminding the Corinthians that they belong to a different world order, a different age, and therefore must not do as they are now doing—pursue or think in terms of merely human sophia. In receiving the Spirit, it was not “the spirit of the world” that “we have received.” If this were made to walk on all fours, it could be seen as unusual language. But Paul’s point is simple. He is not suggesting that there is a “spirit” of the world comparable to the Holy Spirit, nor is he referring to demonic “spirits.” He is rather saying something about the Holy Spirit. The Spirit whom we have received is not “of this world”; rather, the divine Pneuma is “the Spirit who is from God.” The implication, of course, is that, since the Corinthian believers have the Holy Spirit, who is not of this world, they should desist thinking like this world.
The final clause of the sentence picks up the main concern of all that has preceded (esp. vv. 6 and 10) and thereby gives the reason, spoken to in this context, for Paul’s and their having received the Spirit, namely, “that we may understand what God has freely given us.” This latter phrase in particular picks up the motif “what God has prepared for those who love him” (v. 9) and gives us a clear glimpse into the content of the wisdom that God has revealed to his people by the Spirit. The verb Paul uses here (charizomai) seems to be a deliberate allusion to the “grace” (charis) of God, or the “gift” (charisma) of salvation (as in Rom. 6:23); it appears here in the neuter plural (“what things have been freely bestowed”) because it is reflecting the preceding neuter plurals (v. 9). Therefore, this language seems determinative that Paul, in talking about God’s wisdom in this passage, is referring to salvation through the Crucified One (as in 1:23–24; 2:2). And God’s people are to “understand” that precisely because they have received the Spirit.
13 Having been arguing that their common gift of the Spirit is what enables the Corinthian believers to understand God’s wisdom, Paul now returns to his own preaching of that wisdom, first mentioned in two preceding sentences (vv. 6 and 7) and links it to the same reception of the Spirit. This sentence, therefore, not only continues the argument at hand, but also recalls the preceding paragraph (2:1–5) with its underlying apologetic motif. “What we preached to you was God’s wisdom to be sure,” he asserted (vv. 6–7), despite what they may think. Now he returns to that assertion by way of the preceding explanation (vv. 10–12). Just as we have all received the Spirit so as to understand the gift of salvation, so also the message “I” preach is given “in words taught by the Spirit.” The Spirit is thus the key to everything—Paul’s preaching (vv. 4–5, 13), their conversion (vv. 4–5, 12), and especially their understanding of the content of his preaching as the true wisdom of God (vv. 6–13). As throughout the paragraph—and the entire argument (beginning with 1:17)—what he says positively about his own ministry is placed in antithesis to what is merely human: “not in words (logois) taught by human sophia.” The ties to the final paragraph of the preceding argument (2:1–5) are obvious. The noun “words” of course does not refer simply to language as such, but to the meaning, or message, contained in the words as they give expression to the gospel.
What is less obvious is the further explanation of this teaching. Did Paul intend as the current NIV has it, “explaining spiritual realities with Spirit-taught words,” or as the NIV margin has it, “interpreting spiritual truths to those who have the Spirit”? The problems are two: (1) finding a proper meaning for the verb synkrinontes, and (2) determining whether the word pneumatikois refers to the just-mentioned “words taught by the Spirit” or means “people of the Spirit” and anticipates the antitheses to follow (vv. 14–15). On this second matter the possibility that it anticipates what follows has in its favor the immediate contrast of the “psychikos person,” here referring simply to any human being without the Divine Spirit (v. 14). In this context that could make a lot of sense. Nonetheless, the grammar would seem to favor the view that Paul is giving further explication of what he has just said. “We speak words taught by the Spirit,” he asserts, “which means that we [explain] ‘spiritual’ things [probably referring to the ‘things freely given us by God,’ v. 12] by means of, or with, the ‘spiritual’ words taught us by the Spirit.”
As to the meaning of the verb, Paul is the only one to use it elsewhere in the NT—twice in his next (preserved) letter to them (2 Cor. 10:12), where it plainly means “compare,” a meaning that does not seem appropriate here. Some have argued that it should here carry its classical sense of “combining”; however, Paul’s septuagintal background seems determinative in favor of “explaining” or “interpreting.” Most likely therefore he intended something like “explaining the things of the Spirit [as described in v. 12] by means of the words taught by the Spirit,” that is, “in language appropriate to the message, not with human wisdom.”
14 In a sense the argument to this point has been consummated with the preceding sentence. Both the “what” (God’s hidden wisdom, salvation through the cross) and the “how” (revelation by means of the Spirit) of God’s wisdom “have been sketched in antithetical language.” With his concluding sentences (vv. 14–16) Paul now picks up the negative side of the antithesis, in light of what has been argued positively about the work of the Spirit in the preceding clauses (vv. 10b–13). At the same time he seems to be setting up the Corinthians for the polemic that will come hard on the heels of this passage (in 3:1–4).
The thrust of this present, somewhat long, sentence is an elaboration of the negative side of what has been said above (vv. 6, 8–9, and also 12 and 13) in terms of the people of this age who miss out on God’s wisdom; only the language is new. Those who belong to this age are now called psychikoi (NASB, NAB, “the natural man/woman”) in contrast to those with the Spirit, who are called pneumatikoi (v. 15; cf. 15:44–46). There has been considerable debate over this unusual term, mostly in terms of its origins and why Paul uses it. Whatever else, the ensuing description demonstrates that it can refer only to those who do not have the Spirit, and thus to what is merely human. But why this usage, since Paul elsewhere prefers some form of sarx (“flesh”) when making a contrast with pneuma (“Spirit”), as he does in the polemical paragraph that immediately follows? Perhaps it is a Corinthian term that he is picking up and turning against them. But in this case it is difficult to see how they might have been using it, unless they were describing Paul in this manner. More likely it comes out of his own Jewish background, where the Greek noun psychē has been used to translate Heb. nephesh, which often simply denotes humanity in its natural, physical existence. This seems to be his present point. With this term he is designating people who are not now, nor have they ever been, believers. They are strictly people who know only the “wisdom of this age” (v. 6). When he turns to address the Corinthians, who are in fact acting just like these people without the Spirit, he calls them sarkinoi (3:1), which will have have a different nuance altogether.
The psychikoi are thus described in three ways, each in terms of their relationship—or lack thereof—to the Spirit. First, they do not “accept the things that come from the Spirit of God.” This description stands in conspicuous contrast to the preceding “we [who] have received . . . the Spirit of God” (v. 12). The verb in this case is the ordinary one for “receiving” or “accepting” another person. The implication is not that psychikos persons are simply incapable of understanding the things of the Spirit, but that, because of their being “merely human” (i.e., without the help of the Spirit), they “reject” that which “comes from the Spirit of God.”
Second, the reason for this “not accepting/rejecting” is that what comes from the Spirit appears as “foolishness to [them].” Because they have not received the Spirit, in the sense described earlier as a gift from God (v. 12), their view of everything is from the bottom up, twisted and distorted. This is another sure indication that Paul is still pursuing the preceding argument (1:18–2:5), where the preaching of Christ crucified, God’s wisdom, is rejected as foolishness by those who are perishing (1:18, 23). People are revealed for who they are by their response to the cross; to see it as foolishness means to stand over against God and God’s ways—and to stand under divine judgment as without God’s Spirit and therefore apart from “what God has freely given us.”
Third, again in antithesis to what was said above (v. 12), the “natural man/woman cannot understand” the very things that the one who has received the Spirit can. Here the emphasis lies on their inability. Again it is “like is known by like” (see v. 11); without the Spirit they lack the one essential “quality” necessary for them to know God and God’s ways—“because they are discerned only through the Spirit.” This last phrase demonstrates the fluidity of Paul’s use of language. The word pneumatikos is now an adverb, but the context makes it clear that Paul intends “by means of the Spirit,” not by some intuitive process. For Paul, “to be spiritual” and “to discern spiritually” simply means to have the Spirit, who so endows and enables.
The verb translated “discern” is a crucial one. The fact that it occurs only in this letter in the Pauline corpus (ten times), and that in every case but one (14:24) it appears in a polemical or ironic context, makes one think that it is probably a Corinthian word that Paul is taking up against them. Finding a proper meaning for it is difficult. Technically it can mean to “examine” in a judicial sense, and it clearly has that meaning in the two instances where he charges them with “judging” him (4:3–4; 9:3). Here there seems to be a play on the word; many think it is also ironic, anticipating the usage that follows (in 4:3–4). Probably it means something very close to “discern” in the sense of being able to make appropriate “judgments” about what God is doing in the world; and the person “without the Spirit” obviously cannot do that. As such it is immediately picked up in the next sentence as the one proper activity of the truly pneumatikos person.
15–16 With these sentences the argument of the present paragraph, as well as that of the entire opening engagement with the believers in Corinth (from 1:17), is brought to its conclusion. At the same time they serve to lead into the strong polemical application of all this to the Corinthians and their quarreling (3:1–4). The four parts seem to form an ABB′A′ pattern:
A The person with the Spirit examines all things;
B But they in turn are examined by no one.
B′ For who has known the mind of the Lord so as to instruct him?
A′ But we have the mind of Christ.
The first line stands in sharp contrast to the final word about the psychikos person in the preceding sentence. That person is totally unable to understand the things of the Spirit because such things are “examined” by pneumatikos means, that is, they are examined, discerned, so as to be understood by means of the Spirit, whom the psychikos does not have. But the pneumatikos person, the one living in and by the Spirit, is not at such a disadvantage. This person can “make judgments about all things.” Such a statement of course must not be wrested from its context. It is the Spirit who “searches all things, even the depths of God” (v. 10); therefore the person who has the Spirit can discern God’s ways by means of the indwelling Spirit. Not necessarily all things, of course, but all things that pertain to the work of salvation, matters formerly hidden in God but now revealed through the Spirit.
The second line, which stands in contrast to the first, reverses the order of things in light of what has just been said (in our v. 14). But here there seems to be a play on the word “discern.” The person lacking the Spirit cannot discern what God is doing; the one with the Spirit is able to do so because of the Spirit; therefore, the one without the Spirit cannot “examine,” or “make judgments” on, the person with the Spirit. In its first instance this simply means that the person who belongs to this age is not in a position to judge as “foolish” the person who belongs to the age to come. It has truly been said that “the profane person cannot understand holiness; but the holy person can well understand the depths of evil.” The one whose life has been invaded by the Spirit of God has the capacity to discern all things, including those without the Spirit; but the inverse is not possible. Here is another sentence that, taken out of its context, has suffered much in the church. There are always some who consider themselves full of the Spirit in such a way as to be beyond discipline or the counsel of others. Such a reading of the text is an unfortunate travesty, since these people are usually among those most needing such discipline.
But one wonders whether with these words the argument does not also move subtly toward the next paragraph, and even more so toward the conclusion to be reached a bit later (4:1–5). The Corinthians regard themselves as “Spiritual” and as such they are also “examining” the apostle. Paul allows that the truly “Spiritual” person, the one who understands what God has done in Christ crucified, discerns, “examines” all things. Thus such a person will be able oneself to make the necessary judgments about them that follow. Indeed, the whole of this letter will be the spelling out of the principle detailed in line A. But also because he has so understood “the mind of Christ,” Paul disallows their making judgments on him. To the contrary, by their actions they have proved themselves to be less than truly “spiritual,” indeed “fleshly,” acting like mere humans who do not have the Spirit. Thus as a “person of the Spirit” he himself is not subject “to any [merely] human judgments.” And as he will insist a bit later (4:3–4), being judged by “any human court” is inconsequential because he belongs to the Lord, who alone will judge him, as well as all others.
The third line (B′) gives scriptural support for the assertion of the second (B). But it does so without an introductory formula (e.g., “it is written”). Thus Paul reworks the content of a well-known passage in Isaiah (40:13) in such a way that in its present form it serves as a rhetorical question, demanding the answer “No one.” “For,” he asks rhetorically in light of line B, “who has known the mind of the Lord so as to instruct him?” Again, in the context of the argument this is probably a bit of double entendre. On the one hand, it simply asks rhetorically of the psychikoi how they can expect to know true wisdom, and thereby pass judgment on the one who has the Spirit, when they do not have the mind of the Lord. “Who is the person who wants to match wits with God?” he asks. But surely this, too, is directed now at his Corinthian friends themselves. “Who among his detractors, now enamored with human wisdom and passing judgment on Paul, is so capable of knowing the mind of the Lord that they can bypass the very wisdom of God itself as it is revealed in the cross?” Indeed, whoever would pursue wisdom so as to avoid the story of the cross fares no better than the person who would commit the ultimate folly of thinking they could instruct the Lord himself.
The final line (A′) corresponds to the preceding assertion (line A; v. 15), but now in direct response to the immediately preceding rhetorical question. “But,” in contrast to those who lack the Spirit and thereby do not know the mind of the Lord, “we have the mind of Christ,” and now one can be no longer sure whether the “we” is still an editorial we—or is subtly intended also to include all who belong to Christ, and thus the Corinthian believers as well. By “mind” he probably means the thoughts of Christ as they are revealed by the Spirit. In fact in the Greek Bible that Paul cites, the word “mind” translates Heb. ruah, which ordinarily means “spirit.” In any case, Paul is indirectly urging them to “use your heads” as those have been brought into conformity to what God was actually doing through Christ and the cross.
Paul’s point thus takes him back to the preceding argument (1:17–2:5), that God’s ways are not our ways, and that the “wisdom” by/with which they are currently enamored goes in all the wrong directions. Rather, to proclaim God’s “crucified Messiah” is “the mind of Christ” to which they must return or else miss out altogether on what God is now doing in the world through Christ and the Spirit.
Paul’s argument has now been brought full circle. He began by insisting that his message was in fact an expression of wisdom—God’s own wisdom, revealed as such by the Spirit. He at least—in contrast to the merely psychikos person, the mere human being without the Spirit—understands the mind of Christ. As those who possess the Spirit, the Corinthians also potentially possess that same mind. However, as he will now point out, their behavior betrays them. They do, but they don’t. The concern from here on will be to force them to acknowledge the folly of their “wisdom,” which is expressing itself in quarrels and thereby destroying the very church for which Christ died.
This paragraph has endured a most unfortunate history of application in the church. Paul’s own point has been almost totally lost in favor of an interpretation that is nearly 180 degrees the opposite of his. Almost every form of spiritual elitism, “deeper life” movement, and “second blessing” doctrine has appealed to this text. To receive the Spirit according to their special expression paves the way for people to know “deeper truths” about God. One special brand of this elitism surfaces among some who have pushed the possibilities of “faith” to the extreme, and regularly make a “special revelation” from the Spirit their final court of appeal. Other “lesser” brothers and sisters are simply living below their full privileges in Christ. Indeed, some advocates of this form of spirituality bid fair to repeat the Corinthian error in its totality. What is painful about so much of this is not simply the improper use of this passage, but that so often it is accompanied by a toning down of the message of the cross, which lies at the very heart of this passage. In fact one is hard-pressed to hear the content of “God’s wisdom” ever expounded as the paradigm for truly Christian living.
Paul’s concern needs to be resurrected throughout the church. The gift of the Spirit does not lead to special status among believers; rather, it leads to special status vis-à-vis the world. But it should do so always in terms of the centrality of the message of our crucified/risen Savior. The Spirit should identify God’s people in such a way that their values and worldview are radically different from the wisdom of this age. They do know what God is about in Christ; they do live out the life of the future in the present age that is passing away; they are marked by the cross forever. As such they are the people of the Spirit, who stand in bold contrast to those who are merely human and do not understand the scandal of the cross. Being “S/spiritual” does not lead to elitism; it leads to a deeper understanding of God’s profound mystery—redemption through a crucified Messiah.