Revisiting My Review of Paul Was Not a Christian: Why It’s a "Half Success"

When I first reviewed Pamela Eisenbaum’s provocative book, Paul Was Not a Christian: The Original Message of a Misunderstood Apostle, for the Review of Biblical Literature, I walked away with a mixed verdict. It is a book I frequently recommend for its historical grounding, but one where I must firmly draw the line at its core theological conclusion. I call the book a "half success."

Where I Fully Agree: Restoring Paul to Second Temple Judaism

Eisenbaum masterfully hits the mark when it comes to Paul’s identity. As I noted in my review, she successfully demonstrates that Paul lived and died an unambiguous Jew. He never abandoned Judaism, never rejected the Torah, and never intended to found a new religion in opposition to his heritage.

She also does a brilliant job critiquing the traditional Western, post-Reformation lenses (influenced deeply by Augustine and Luther) that project an anachronistic "introspective conscience" onto Paul's letters. Paul's mission can—and should—be understood through the framework of radical Jewish monotheism and covenant theology.

 

Where I Must Disagree: The "Two-Ways Salvation" Problem

Where the book falls short for me is its insistence on a "two-ways salvation" model. Eisenbaum claims that because the Jews are already justified through the covenant, they have no theological need for Christ—meaning Jesus is strictly an expiation for lawless Gentiles. 

To be absolutely clear: Paul did not exempt Jews from needing Christ.

As a Pauline scholar, I find Eisenbaum's "two-ways" position scripturally unsustainable. Paul’s letters consistently stress the word "all". Both Jews and Greeks are under the power of sin (Rom 3:9), meaning no group is exempt from the need for redemption. Furthermore, Paul’s deep personal anguish in Romans 9:2–3 over his fellow kindred who had not accepted Christ makes absolutely no sense if he viewed Christ as merely an optional path for the Jewish people. While Paul certainly did not require Gentiles to become Jewish to enter God's household, he absolutely maintained that Christ is the fulfillment and Lord of all—Jews and Gentiles alike (1 Cor 8:6, Rom 10:4).

The Missing Context: Pistis Christou and the Roman Empire
Furthermore, I find Eisenbaum's view of Christ’s faithfulness (pistis christou) to be far too restrictive. By confining it strictly to a theological expiation on the cross, she sacrifices the vital sociopolitical, historical, and counter-imperial context of the Gospel. Christ’s faithfulness was a transformative message of peace and justice that directly challenged Caesar’s kingdom.

 
Because this is left out, the concept of a believer's "participating faith"—how Gentiles actually live out and emulate that transformative faith in their daily lives under empire—remains vastly underdeveloped in her work.

The Bottom Line

Eisenbaum succeeds in making Paul more Jewish than normally expected, but she fails to persuade me on "two-ways salvation". Nevertheless, it remains a highly valuable text for anyone looking to strip away centuries of Western bias and see Paul's apocalyptic vision clearly. 

I extensively wrote about Paul and his theology during my over 20 years of scholarship. For example, see How to Read Paul (2021, Fortress Press). 

"Invisible Labor and the Erasure of Ruth"

Today, I highlight the essay written by Song-Mi Suzie Park, a Korean American professor of Hebrew Bible at Austin Theological Seminary: "Invisible Labor and the Erasure of Ruth," featured in my edited volume, At the Intersection of Hermeneutics and Homiletics. As the essay title suggests, Park argues that despite Ruth’s rigorous labor, she remains invisible in the end—her substantial efforts unrecognized and her identity erased. She also points out an isomorphic parallel between invisible labor in ancient times and modern society, particularly in America, where many immigrants work tirelessly only to remain invisible, often at the expense of their human dignity. This is a poignant reality that calls for a critical rereading of the Book of Ruth.

A Journey of Faith, Scholarship, and Love

I see myself as an all-around scholar in the field of biblical studies. At times I write monographs; at others, I edit volumes, curating central themes and bringing diverse scholars together. I am a fervently passionate educator, dedicated to my students, and I frequently lecture for church communities, leaders, and broader audiences. Beyond scholarship, I am a poet. I love to dance, I love talking with others, and I love life itself. Ultimately, in everything I do, love remains my true life and vocation.

Reading Scripture, Reading the Self

I am working on an ongoing edited volume, Reading Scripture, Reading the Self: Critical Autobiographical Interpretation. This book will mark a distinctive juncture in biblical studies by taking the self seriously, effectively deepening and extending the foundations of contextual interpretation.

The Ultimate Hermeneutic: Why Reading Requires the Self

Autobiographical biblical interpretation culminates in the most robust and engaging hermeneutic possible because it embraces the interpreter's subjectivity as an essential asset rather than a liability. The reasons for this are manifold. First, it offers methodological freedom, holistically integrating textual, historical, and contextual elements without artificial boundaries. Second, it practices epistemological honesty; recognizing that there is no reading without a reader, it demands that the interpreter critically examine their own complex identity. Third, this self-awareness fosters a deeply authentic and vulnerable engagement with scripture. Finally, autobiographical interpretation aligns with the true purpose of hermeneutics: the goal of reading is not merely to reconstruct the ancient past, but to actively explore and generate life meaning through a transformative dialogue with the text.

At its core, critical autobiographical interpretation is a dialogical process. It is the space where the reader’s subjectivity engages directly with the text, allowing for mutual challenge and transformation. But to say it is simply a way to read is to undersell it. I argue that autobiographical interpretation is the ultimate hermeneutic—the necessary culmination of the interpretive process. Here is why interpretation is never truly finished until the self is brought to the table.

Methodological Integration: The Capstone of Exegesis
Autobiographical interpretation is often unfairly dismissed as pure subjectivism, a way of ignoring historical context or literary structure in favor of "what this means to me." But true critical autobiographical interpretation does exactly the opposite: it requires methodological integration.

It does not abandon historical-critical, literary, or linguistic methods; rather, it builds upon them. We still do the hard work of understanding the text's original context and structural nuances. However, autobiographical interpretation serves as the capstone. It takes the raw data uncovered by these traditional methods and bridges the gap between the ancient world and the modern reader, integrating rigorous scholarship with lived reality.

 
Epistemological Honesty: Abandoning the "View from Nowhere"
For a long time, the academic ideal was total objectivity—the belief that a reader could act as a blank slate, absorbing a text without any personal bias. We now know this "view from nowhere" is a myth. Every reader comes to a text with baggage: cultural background, gender, race, economic status, and personal trauma or triumph.

Autobiographical interpretation is the ultimate hermeneutic because it demands epistemological honesty. Instead of pretending our biases do not exist, we name them. By explicitly acknowledging our social location and personal experiences, we actually protect the text from hidden agendas. It is far more honest to lay our subjectivity on the table than to mask our personal interpretations as "universal, objective truth."

Authentic Engagement: The Text as a Dialogue Partner
If we only read a text for its historical data or literary form, we treat it like a dead artifact under a microscope. But profound texts—especially sacred, philosophical, or deeply artistic ones—are meant to be living dialogue partners.

Authentic engagement requires vulnerability. We cannot have a true dialogue if one party is hiding behind a wall of academic detachment. Autobiographical interpretation invites the reader to step out from behind the safety of "objective" analysis and risk something of themselves. The text asks questions of the reader just as the reader asks questions of the text. This mutual interrogation is where the true vitality of reading is found.

The True Telos of Interpretation: Information vs. Transformation
Finally, we have to ask: what is the actual goal (the telos) of reading and interpreting texts? If the goal is merely to accumulate historical trivia or master ancient languages, then traditional methods are sufficient. But if the goal of interpretation is wisdom, ethical formation, or spiritual growth, then those methods fall short on their own.

The true telos of interpretation is transformation. The reading process remains incomplete until the words on the page intersect with the flesh and blood of the reader's life. Autobiographical interpretation insists that we haven't actually finished interpreting a text until we have allowed it to challenge our assumptions, reframe our narratives, and change how we live in the world.

Quiet Companions: What My Houseplants Taught Me About Just Existing

For me, houseplants are far more than just plants. They keep me company beside my desk, constant and unwavering. They speak to me without words, smiling and dancing in moments unnoticed. I greet them every morning and whisper goodbye at night.

Caring for them is a gentle ritual. Recently, I gathered some acorns from the oak tree in my garden and placed them in the soil so my plants might find extra companionship and support. Together, we simply exist.

My role is small—just occasional watering, watching, and loving. The rest belongs to nature, as they grow through the simple gifts of sunshine, water, and earth.

  

The Decisive Difference Between Humans and AI

The Decisive Difference Between Humans and AI

A fundamental difference between human beings and artificial intelligence lies in their modes of existence. AI depends on electricity and technological infrastructure to operate, whereas human beings are self-organizing biological organisms capable of maintaining their own living processes. We do not need an external power grid to remain alive. Our minds, too, are embodied in this ongoing biological process.

Human existence is therefore not simply a matter of processing information; it is a living, self-organizing, and environmentally embedded process. While AI operates through externally powered computation, human beings live through the continuous self-organization of a biological organism and its embodied mental activity.

This distinction raises a deeper philosophical question: Is intelligence fundamentally the processing of information, or is it an activity that emerges from being alive? AI demonstrates that sophisticated information processing can occur without biological life. Yet human intelligence is inseparable from our embodied existence as living organisms. For more, see the AI page on my blog.

The Ontological Boundary

What truly distinguishes life from death is not merely the passage of time, but the act of inhabiting the present moment.

Death seals existence into a static state—an unyielding permanence where all motion ceases, choices end, and the narrative is forever closed. It does not place us into an eternity we inhabit, but rather strips us of our capacity to change. What has been can no longer become otherwise.

Life, by contrast, is inherently unfinished and exists exclusively in the fluid realm of the "now." While the past survives as memory and the future opens as expectation, neither can be accessed except through the present. We remember in the present, hope in the present, and act in the present. Therefore, the current moment is the sole territory where consciousness, agency, and possibility reside.

To live fully is to actively participate in the dynamic friction of this unfinished existence. Memory and foresight must serve what is still possible right now. When we instead drift continuously into past regret or future anticipation, treating our lives as already settled or not yet begun, we surrender to a "pseudo-eternity"—a static state that mimics death while we are still breathing.

Living in the present is not simply a mindfulness exercise; it is the fundamental ontological boundary between being and non-being. It is the only space where a choice can still be made, the story remains open, and life asserts itself against the vast finality of death.

The Rawness of the Soul: Why Truth Needs No Eloquence

Truth is rarely dressed in beautiful language. While masters of eloquence can easily manipulate words to sound profound, polish often masks a lack of substance. If we cannot trust beautiful words, what can we trust? The answer lies in the rawness of human expression—in the utterance of a deep, uncovered soul.

This tension between elegance and authenticity is perfectly illustrated in the parable of the Pharisee and the tax collector (Luke 18:9–14). The Pharisee offers a long, well-articulated prayer of thanksgiving. He is not necessarily a hypocrite; he is a genuinely moral person who fasts, tithes, and follows the law. Yet, his polished prayer overflows with pride. In his presence at the Temple, he shows a profound lack of humility and empathy toward a tax collector who stands behind him. In contrast, the tax collector offers no eloquent preamble. He speaks only a few raw words: "God, have mercy on me, a sinner" (Luke 18:13).

The defining difference is self-awareness. Truthful words require a deep soul that sees itself clearly and stands humbly before the divine. Truth does not need a grand vocabulary; it is best expressed in concise moments of absolute vulnerability.

Long ago, the ancient Chinese sage Laozi captured this exact paradox in Chapter 81 of the Dao De Jing: “Truthful words are not beautiful; beautiful words are not truthful.” True language transcends mere rhetoric. It is not measured by the elegance of the tongue, but by the raw honesty embedded in the spirit.

The paradox of truth

For as long as humanity inhabits the earth, Laozi’s ancient observation remains poignantly true: "Truthful words are not beautiful; beautiful words are not truthful" (Dao De Jing 81).

The Ultimate Hermeneutic

The Ultimate Hermeneutic: Why Reading Requires the Self

Autobiographical biblical interpretation culminates in the most robust and engaging hermeneutic possible because it embraces the interpreter's subjectivity as an essential asset rather than a liability. The reasons for this are manifold. First, it offers methodological freedom, holistically integrating textual, historical, and contextual elements without artificial boundaries. Second, it practices epistemological honesty; recognizing that there is no reading without a reader, it demands that the interpreter critically examine their own complex identity. Third, this self-awareness fosters a deeply authentic and vulnerable engagement with scripture. Finally, autobiographical interpretation aligns with the true purpose of hermeneutics: the goal of reading is not merely to reconstruct the ancient past, but to actively explore and generate life meaning through a transformative dialogue with the text.

At its core, critical autobiographical interpretation is a dialogical process. It is the space where the reader’s subjectivity engages directly with the text, allowing for mutual challenge and transformation. But to say it is simply a way to read is to undersell it. I argue that autobiographical interpretation is the ultimate hermeneutic—the necessary culmination of the interpretive process. Here is why interpretation is never truly finished until the self is brought to the table.

Methodological Integration: The Capstone of Exegesis
Autobiographical interpretation is often unfairly dismissed as pure subjectivism, a way of ignoring historical context or literary structure in favor of "what this means to me." But true critical autobiographical interpretation does exactly the opposite: it requires methodological integration.

It does not abandon historical-critical, literary, or linguistic methods; rather, it builds upon them. We still do the hard work of understanding the text's original context and structural nuances. However, autobiographical interpretation serves as the capstone. It takes the raw data uncovered by these traditional methods and bridges the gap between the ancient world and the modern reader, integrating rigorous scholarship with lived reality.

 
Epistemological Honesty: Abandoning the "View from Nowhere"
For a long time, the academic ideal was total objectivity—the belief that a reader could act as a blank slate, absorbing a text without any personal bias. We now know this "view from nowhere" is a myth. Every reader comes to a text with baggage: cultural background, gender, race, economic status, and personal trauma or triumph.

Autobiographical interpretation is the ultimate hermeneutic because it demands epistemological honesty. Instead of pretending our biases do not exist, we name them. By explicitly acknowledging our social location and personal experiences, we actually protect the text from hidden agendas. It is far more honest to lay our subjectivity on the table than to mask our personal interpretations as "universal, objective truth."

Authentic Engagement: The Text as a Dialogue Partner
If we only read a text for its historical data or literary form, we treat it like a dead artifact under a microscope. But profound texts—especially sacred, philosophical, or deeply artistic ones—are meant to be living dialogue partners.

Authentic engagement requires vulnerability. We cannot have a true dialogue if one party is hiding behind a wall of academic detachment. Autobiographical interpretation invites the reader to step out from behind the safety of "objective" analysis and risk something of themselves. The text asks questions of the reader just as the reader asks questions of the text. This mutual interrogation is where the true vitality of reading is found.

The True Telos of Interpretation: Information vs. Transformation
Finally, we have to ask: what is the actual goal (the telos) of reading and interpreting texts? If the goal is merely to accumulate historical trivia or master ancient languages, then traditional methods are sufficient. But if the goal of interpretation is wisdom, ethical formation, or spiritual growth, then those methods fall short on their own.

The true telos of interpretation is transformation. The reading process remains incomplete until the words on the page intersect with the flesh and blood of the reader's life. Autobiographical interpretation insists that we haven't actually finished interpreting a text until we have allowed it to challenge our assumptions, reframe our narratives, and change how we live in the world.