Contents Title Page introduction by ruth rendell the epistle of paul the apostle to the romans 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 a note about pocket canons Copyright a note about pocket canons The Authorised King James Version of the Bible, translated between 1603–11, coincided with an extraordinary flowering of English literature. This version, more than any other, and possibly more than any other work in history, has had an influence in shaping the language we speak and write today. Twenty-four of the eighty original books of the King James Bible are brought to you in this series. They encompass categories as diverse as history, philosophy, law, poetry and fiction. Each Pocket Canon also has its own introduction, specially commissioned from an impressive range of writers, to provide a personal interpretation of the text and explore its contemporary relevance. introduction by ruth rendell Ruth Rendell is the author of more than forty novels, among them the Inspector Wexford series, and six volumes of short stories. She also writes under the pseudonym Barbara Vine. Many of her books have been adapted for television and feature films based on her work have been made by Claude Chabrol and Pedro Almodovar. She has received numerous fiction prizes, including the Arts Council’s National Book Award for Genre Fiction, four Gold Daggers from the Crime Writers’ Association, the Edgar Allan Poe Award and the Angel Award for Fiction. Ruth Rendell received a CBE in 1996 and in the following year was made a Life Peer. Her latest novel is A Sight for Sore Eyes. The Road to Damascus is a phrase which has entered our language and our literature, becoming a metaphor for the sort of life-changing experience which strikes with suddenness and leaves its object transformed. It first happened to Paul the Apostle whose course of life, beliefs and objectives were all overturned by what happened to him on that actual road to that actual city. He is believed to have been born in Tarsus, now part of Turkey, and was a Roman Citizen, a useful status which conferred certain judicial privileges, including that of appellatio, appeal to Caesar himself. He spoke Greek as his mother tongue, but in his letters he refers to his Jewishness – he had been a rabbinical student. Yet by profession he was a tentmaker, a trade somewhat frowned upon by strict Judaic orthodoxy. It will be seen that there were inconsistencies in his early life which modern scholars cannot account for and mysteries they cannot solve. What is beyond doubt is that he was initially at the forefront of those who persecuted the Christians of Jerusalem. He might have been a temple guard and may possibly have been present at the arrest and crucifixion of Jesus. Certain it is that he played a significant part in the stoning of Stephen, a devout and active Christian. Stephen died and Paul ‘made havoc of the [Christian] church, and entering every house and haling men and women, committed them to prison’ (Acts 8:3). He asked the high priest for letters to the synagogues of Damascus, there to root out trouble-makers and bring them back as prisoners to Jerusalem. It was on this journey that the event took place which so immediately and entirely converted him. Here, at one moment, we have a rabid oppressor and man of violence, ‘breathing out threatenings and slaughter against the disciples of the Lord’ (Acts 9:1), at the next the most obedient and devout of those disciples and an undoubted founder of the Christian religion. It is rather as if a camp guard suddenly became merciful to the inmates of Auschwitz and survived to become a great philosopher. What happened to Paul on his Road to Damascus? Was he an epileptic, as some say, and this his first seizure? Had he been overworking and become, as we might put it today, ‘stressed-out’? Or did he really hear the bidding of God? Acts says and he says himself that he saw a bright light and fell down, heard a voice call him by name and ask him, ‘Why persecutest thou me?’ (Acts 9:4) Paul inquired who this was and the voice replied he was Jesus and said, ‘It is hard for thee to kick against the pricks.’ The metaphor, of course, is that of the ass or ox kicking against the stings of the goad and the meaning that the speaker understood Saul’s difficulties and the promptings of his conscience. From that moment, Saul now called Paul, saw himself as appointed to bear Christ’s name ‘before the Gentiles, and kings, and the children of Israel’ (Acts 8:3). He was somewhere between twenty and thirty years old, a small hook-nosed, bandy-legged man, humble and proud, brave and meek, the prisoner, as he joyfully (and sometimes with anguish) called himself, of Jesus Christ. Although he would have preferred everyone to be as he was, celibate and unencumbered by a family, he advocated marriage as ‘honourable to all’. After his conversion he became a missionary and he wrote his epistles, thus becoming one of the greatest letter-writers the world has ever known and propounding principles and precepts of a startling originality. Of these the letter he wrote to the Romans, meaning to the Christians or ‘church’ of Rome, is generally thought the finest and perhaps the only one of whose sole and consistent authorship we can be certain. Paul wrote this letter while staying in Corinth, capital of the Greek province of Achaia, during the cold months of the year, very probably a winter in the late fifties AD. When it was finished he appointed a woman called Phebe to carry it to Rome. In the final chapter, he asks its recipients to receive Phebe in a way becoming to them and to give her whatever assistance she may ask for, thus somewhat weakening the arguments of those critics who down the ages have called him a misogynist and despiser of women. Phebe must have travelled to Rome by sea, bringing to the beleaguered servants of the Roman church a foundation document of the faith. Only by reading Romans in the knowledge of the kind of world Paul lived in can his letter be more fully understood. The Roman dominance of the known world was one of the most oppressive tyrannies nations have ever lived under. A huge proportion of the population was enslaved and few Romans, if any, thought of slavery as wrong. Punishment for any offences in the area of sedition was draconian. The Emperor Claudius had expelled the Jews from Rome and in a few years’ time Titus was to sack Jerusalem, destroy the Temple and scatter the people of Israel. It was a superstitious world where sorcerers abounded, where signs and portents were part of everyday life, where cults of all kinds flourished, and where great religious ceremonies centred on blood sacrifice. Today to believers, agnostics and atheists alike, crucifixion is a word both awesome and commonplace and one that brings to mind a single event: the execution of Jesus Christ. The sign of the cross is indicative of Christianity, and the idea of the cross is ineluctably bound up with Christ’s death. But if we think about that death at all, even the most indifferent to the faith it gave rise to, think of it as honourable, a unique martyrdom. Anyone who travelled the Roman Empire at that time would have seen crosses on which the dead or dying hung, comparable perhaps to roadside gallows bearing their decaying corpses in mediaeval Britain. And to everyone, including Paul himself, crucifixion was a disgraceful manner of death, so that it is all the more extraordinary that he could write as he does in his letter to the Galatians, ‘God forbid that I should glory save in the cross of our Lord Jesus Christ’ (Galatians 6:14). But perhaps the most important fact readers of this letter should know before they begin it, is how early it appears in the scheme of writings which form the New Testament. Most assume, and understandably, that the Gospels come first, then the Acts of the Apostles and after that the Epistles of Paul. Thus, Paul would have been writing with the Gospels as his source material. But none of those books existed when he set down his knowledge and beliefs. The earliest of the Gospels, that of Mark, cannot have been composed much before 70 AD, and by that time Paul’s literary output was over and he was most probably dead. If readers today find a number of his precepts familiar, this is because they have come across them before, in church, in Sunday school, in literature and enshrined in Christian philosophy, as owing their provenance to the Gospels. But Paul came first. Authorities have been commenting on Romans for nearly two thousand years. Every word Paul wrote in his letter has been minutely examined, both in translation and in the original, with commentators probing Greek prepositions and classical usage, in an effort to shed light on unfathomable obscurities. We shall approach it more humbly, remembering always that when Paul wrote it Jesus Christ had been crucified only about twenty-five years before. He begins in the classical Greek fashion of starting a letter, with his name and his vocation: ‘Paul, a servant of Jesus Christ, called to be an apostle,’ then sets down the tenets of his faith. Kind and comforting messages for his letter’s recipients follow; he mentions them always in his prayers and says how he longs to see them. Paul has never been to Rome but he intends to go, hoping for a safe journey in order to preach in person while there. He tells them he is not ashamed of the Gospel (in its sense of the good news). A tradition of shame prevails towards Christianity because Christ came not in majesty but in a way likely to be looked on as abjection and foolishness. Paul knows that this apparently weak message is in fact the supreme power of God himself directed towards man’s salvation. Faith can arise only through human beings’ close contact with the Gospel. Paul explains the disastrous progress of evil in society as the natural process of cause and effect, not as the direct act of God. His first chapter ends with an exposure of certain kinds of ‘unrighteousness’ and here we come upon our first major difficulty in interpreting exactly what he meant. Through the ages men have taken six verses in particular to mean that all homosexuality was abhorrent to Christianity, ‘men with men working that which is unseemly’ being a phrase on which it is hard to put any other construction. Paul would have known of the importance of homosexuality in Greek thought where homosexual love was often glorified as superior to the heterosexual; he also knew that it was an abomination to the Jews which may be the reason for his harsh denunciations. Throughout his letters, though he comes to regard circumcision as unnecessary and certain dietary laws superfluous, and of course is confident that the Messiah has come, he otherwise holds fast to the Jewish Law. Certain authorities have sought to emphasise that his invective may be directed only against physical abuse in the kind of cult ceremonies Paul, coming as he did from Tarsus, would have been well acquainted with. Readers must draw their own conclusions. The last four lines of the first chapter are interesting in a quite different way. They can be interpreted as meaning that those who watch, applaud and approve wrongdoing in others, though doing none themselves, are more guilty than those who commit it. An example would be that of the dictator who, rather than carry out torture himself, allow its use by his security forces and looks on with approbation. He follows directly with a denunciation of hypocrisy. God will render to every man according to how he has behaved, for He cares nothing for rank, riches or status, and is no respector of persons. Perhaps it is at this point that we should remind ourselves that Paul was not writing for believers living centuries after Christ. He had no doubt that the end of the world was at hand, as had all Christians of his day, and to him the Second Coming was a reality to be expected at any moment. Therefore repentance, amendment of behaviour and a full knowledge of God and Jesus are matters of urgency. Circumcision, he tells us, is of no use in itself, the physical act that is, but ‘circumcision is that of the heart’. In other words, to have faith is most important of all, but being a Jew (i.e. a circumcised person) matters too, the rite of circumcision affecting the spirit as well as the flesh, because it was to the Jews originally that the oracles of God were sent by Moses. All men, however, Jew and Gentile alike, are sinners and Jews need not think themselves better than the rest of the world. Inheritance of the world was promised to Abraham and his descendants, and this gift was made not on condition that it was merited through fulfilment of the law, but simply on the basis of the rightness of the faith they upheld. The relevance to all Christians is in Abraham’s faith as the paradigm of their own. It was quite a new thought that Abraham was the father of all who believe, not only of the Jews. But if those who have a claim to the inheritance do so on the basis of their obedience to the law alone, they will be disappointed, since no one is truly obedient but Christ Himself. Against all hope Abraham continued to believe in God’s promise that he would be the ancestor of many nations, even though he and his wife were old and childless. By the conception and birth of his son Isaac his faith was proved. Just as he never doubted God’s promise, so we must never doubt it. Man’s parent-and-child relationship with God is integral to forgiveness and absolution, and his purpose for humanity is altogether merciful. We were enemies of God, but by the death of his son became his friends, thus atonement through Christ should be a source of joy. (In the next chapter Paul points out that while it is rare for someone to give his life to save even a good man, and not much rarer to do so for someone who has been his benefactor, Christ died for the wicked.) But at the very place where sin most outrageously abounded, in Israel’s rejection of Jesus, there grace abounded more and triumphed gloriously. Certain people would draw the inference that we must go on sinning that grace may be multiplied, but this Paul rejects utterly.