Where Walter Wink Is Right, Where He Overreaches, and the One Thing He Left Out
Previously, we examined Walter Wink’s argument in detail. He presents a compelling case, suggesting that sayings long used to silence the oppressed can, in fact, be understood as strategies for bold and imaginative resistance.
Examples such as refusing the backhanded slap, the debtor’s act of disrobing, and carrying a burden beyond what was required are all reframed as part of a “third way” that avoids both passivity and violence. This interpretation has inspired many to find new courage in these teachings.
However, it is important to remember that a persuasive argument must also be reliable. Wink’s interpretation depends on a number of specific historical and linguistic claims, and any idea that cannot withstand careful examination is ultimately unconvincing.
In this article, we will take a closer look at each of these claims to see how well they hold up under scrutiny and how they affect the larger case Wink is making. The results are mixed: some claims are well supported, others are less certain, and one is particularly weak. Additionally, there is a significant omission that deserves attention.
Our purpose here is not to discredit Wink, but rather to pursue a clearer understanding of the truth. As we will see, even if some of the details do not withstand scrutiny, the broader vision remains significant and depends on how these details hold together.
The Backhand: Stronger Than You Might Expect
Let us start with Wink’s most famous claim, the one about turning the other cheek, because here the news is good for him. This argument holds up remarkably well.
The exegetical foundation is genuinely solid. The specification of the right cheek really is significant. For a right-handed assailant facing his victim, striking the right cheek requires a backhand, and in the honor culture of the ancient Near East, the backhand was the more dishonoring of the two blows.
This is not Wink’s private invention. The Greek verb in Matthew 5:39 points to a public insult rather than to serious bodily harm, and the same verb appears elsewhere for exactly this kind of humiliating slap, including in Paul’s own catalog of indignities in 2 Corinthians 11 and in the Greek of Job and Lamentations for blows of public humiliation.
More importantly, the reading is endorsed by mainstream, heavyweight scholarship, not just by activists who like its conclusion. The major critical commentators W. D. Davies and Dale C. Allison, whose work on Matthew is a standard reference, observe that Matthew mentions the right cheek precisely in order to make clear that a backhanded insult is in view.
And the Mishnah does grade the penalties as Wink says, with a backhanded blow carrying a fine several times larger than an open-handed one, because the insult is graver.
Marcus Borg affirmed essentially the same reading. In his reflection on Martin Luther King’s protests, published at Beliefnet, Borg described how being struck on the right cheek meant being backhanded, and how, given the customs of the day, a backhand was how a superior struck an inferior, while equals settled things with fists.
So the foundation Wink builds on is real and widely shared. The interesting question is what he builds on top of it, because that is where the ground gets softer.
The Naked Debtor: Creative but Thinly Evidenced
Wink’s second example, involving the debtor who strips naked in court, is much more debated among scholars, and it is important to be forthright about its limitations.
Wink himself acknowledged a textual problem, and it is worth being honest about it. Matthew and Luke do not tell the same saying. In one version, it is the outer garment that is taken and the inner one that is surrendered in protest; in the other, the order is reversed.
Wink has to argue that Luke preserved the more historically accurate arrangement on the grounds that Jewish law treated the outer garment as collateral. That is a defensible move, but it is a harmonization, a decision to smooth over a genuine disagreement between the sources, and not every scholar accepts it.
A more significant issue lies in the interpretive leap at the heart of this reading. Moving from the instruction to “give up your inner garment as well” to the idea of deliberately stripping naked in court as a form of protest is a substantial and creative inference.
There is little direct evidence from the first century to support this scenario. We do not have records of debtors actually engaging in such acts, nor do we find descriptions of naked protest in courtrooms from that period.
While it is true that nakedness carried a strong sense of shame in Jewish culture, as seen in traditions dating back to Genesis, the specific scene Wink describes is a modern reconstruction. It is an imaginative interpretation rather than a documented historical event.
The Roman Mile: Weakest of All
Wink’s third example, which concerns the second mile and the so-called Roman mile law, is supported by the least historical evidence. It is important to acknowledge this openly.
The general practice is well documented: Roman soldiers could require civilians in occupied territories to carry their burdens, as illustrated in the Gospels when Simon of Cyrene is compelled to carry the cross. This much is clear.
The difficulty arises with the specific claim that there was a one-mile limit, enforced by penalties for soldiers who exceeded it. This particular detail is central to Wink’s interpretation, yet it is difficult to substantiate with direct evidence.
Scholarly discussions have identified two main problems with this claim. First, the term often associated with this law appears anachronistic, as the earliest references to it by that name date to much later than the time of Jesus. Earlier Roman terminology for compelled service was different.
Second, and more significantly, there is no known first-century primary source that specifies a one-mile limit or prescribes penalties for soldiers who exceeded it. If such a law had existed, it would likely be cited directly; instead, scholars rely on general inference, which suggests that the evidence is lacking.
Even so, this lack of direct evidence does not entirely undermine Wink’s interpretation. Many scholars accept that some form of regulation existed to limit the abuse of civilians by Roman soldiers, and there is evidence from various periods of the empire that military discipline was enforced in such matters.
Thus, while the specific one-mile rule is not directly attested, it can be reasonably inferred from the broader pattern of Roman regulation. The most accurate assessment is that Wink goes too far in suggesting he can cite a specific law, when in reality he is drawing a plausible but unproven conclusion from general historical patterns.
This matters because his reading still depends on the larger claim that the command assumes a regulated, and therefore resistible, system.
The Deeper Charge: Good Ethics, Shaky Exegesis
If we take a broader view beyond the individual examples, a more systematic critique emerges. One of the most prominent voices raising this concern is Kevin Carnahan, a professor of philosophy and religion at Central Methodist University.
In his essay for the Political Theology Network, Carnahan contends that Wink’s interpretation would not meet the standards of a historical-critical approach to the Bible, yet it has gained popularity because, as he puts it, “it is good ethics, so no one wants to point out too loudly that it’s bad exegesis.”
This is a strong critique, and it is important to understand his reasoning. Carnahan’s main concern is with Wink’s method. In each example, Wink draws on obscure aspects of first-century culture, the backhanded slap, the taboo of nakedness, and the supposed mile law, to reinterpret what appear to be passive commands as acts of resistance.
While each individual move may be plausible, the overall argument relies on a series of assumptions that support the same larger thesis. Carnahan worries that the argument is persuasive largely because it aligns with what many modern readers hope to find: a Jesus who is a nonviolent revolutionary.
A similar, though more measured, concern is raised by ethicist Sandra Sullivan-Dunbar, who has included Wink’s work in her introductory Christian ethics courses for many years. In her own contribution to Political Theology, she explains that while she personally has reservations about Wink’s exegesis, she continues to teach his work because it effectively demonstrates to students that the Bible requires interpretation and that a literal reading is not always sufficient.
However, she distinguishes between appreciating Wink as a teacher and endorsing his specific historical claims, and she does not accept the latter.
The Elephant in the Room: The Apocalyptic Jesus
Now we come to what may be the most serious problem of all, and it is not an error but an omission. It is raised most pointedly by the scholar Joseph Scrivner, who calls it an unaddressed elephant in the room.
Here is the issue. The dominant view in critical scholarship, associated with major figures like E. P. Sanders and Dale Allison, is that the historical Jesus was a first-century Jewish apocalypticist, a prophet who believed that God was about to intervene decisively in history to overthrow evil and establish his kingdom, and that this intervention was imminent.
This view is powerful in part because it passes what scholars call the criterion of dissimilarity. It is unlikely to have been invented by the later church, which had to explain why that dramatic end had not yet arrived, so its awkwardness is a mark of its authenticity.
If that picture is right, then Wink’s reading must be judged against a Jesus whose horizon was apocalyptic expectation, not merely ethical strategy.
This perspective has important implications for the teaching of “turn the other cheek.” If Jesus truly believed that God’s intervention was imminent, then the instruction to accept a blow without retaliation may not have been intended as a clever act of resistance, but rather as a call to patient endurance.
In this view, what might appear as passivity is actually a profound expression of trust in God, a willingness to wait for divine justice rather than taking matters into one’s own hands. The act of not retaliating becomes a way to maintain faith and resist the surrounding empire’s values, in anticipation of God’s coming kingdom.
Scrivner’s main criticism of Wink concerns transparency. Wink, along with some other scholars, rejects the apocalyptic interpretation of Jesus and, as a result, tends to view passivity only in negative terms.
However, Wink does not inform his readers that he is setting aside the majority scholarly view or that there is a significant alternative interpretation of these teachings. Scrivner argues that Wink’s work would have been more honest had he acknowledged the existence of this other perspective.
This is important because if the apocalyptic view of Jesus is correct, then Wink’s interpretation, however inspiring, may not accurately reflect what Jesus intended in these passages.
A related critique comes from the field of social-scientific research. Drawing on studies of honor and shame in the ancient world, some scholars argue that a careful reading of the Sermon on the Mount suggests Jesus was calling his followers to reject the entire system of honor and shame, rather than to use it strategically.
This interpretation challenges Wink’s approach, which rests on the idea that Jesus cleverly subverted the honor code from within.
What Wink Got Right
It is important, however, to consider a balancing perspective. Several scholars maintain that Wink has been evaluated by an inappropriate standard.
Scott Paeth articulates this view in his contribution to Political Theology. He argues that Carnahan’s critique is based on a misunderstanding of Wink’s project.
Wink was not primarily engaged in historical-critical analysis; rather, his work is best understood as constructive biblical theology, seeking to reinterpret ancient texts in light of contemporary issues. From this perspective, Paeth contends that Wink should not be faulted for failing to meet the standards of historical reconstruction, since his aim was to use biblical material to address present-day concerns.
Lisa Sowle Cahill offers a related argument from a different perspective. She maintains that Wink’s assertion that Jesus taught forgiveness and love of enemies is strongly supported by the Gospel texts.
Building on this foundation, the idea that Jesus advocated for active, nonviolent resistance is not a significant stretch. In this view, the specific examples Wink uses, such as the backhanded slap or the extra mile, serve mainly as illustrations of a broader, well-supported claim: that Jesus called for enemy love expressed through creative, nonviolent action.
The Honest Verdict
Given all of this, what conclusions can we draw? Rather than offering a simple endorsement or rejection, the evidence leads us to a more nuanced and accurate understanding.
Wink’s main linguistic claim, that the verb translated as “resist not” refers specifically to violent or insurrectionary opposition, is well supported. His interpretation of the backhanded slap and the right cheek is also strong, with backing from respected scholars such as Davies, Allison, and Borg.
However, his reconstruction of the naked debtor relies more on imagination than on solid evidence, depending on a contested harmonization and a scenario for which we have no documentation. The argument regarding the Roman mile law is even weaker, as it relies on inferences from general patterns rather than direct first-century sources.
Perhaps most significantly, Wink does not address his departure from the apocalyptic view of Jesus, a choice that shapes his entire argument and which he should have made explicit to his readers.
It is important to note, however, that most of the criticisms focus on the specific historical reconstructions rather than the broader theological message. The central claim, that Jesus taught love for enemies, rejected both passive submission and violent retaliation, and called his followers to a creative and loving alternative, remains intact.
This message is consistent with the overall themes of the Sermon on the Mount and with the direction of Jesus’s life and teachings. The vision itself does not depend on the details of the backhanded slap, the naked debtor, or the extra mile; these serve as illustrations, and the vision can endure even if some of its examples are less certain.
This leads us to an important question for our final discussion: if some of Wink’s historical arguments are uncertain, can the underlying vision be more securely grounded?
I believe that it can, and that the strongest foundation is found in material we have already examined, specifically in Paul’s writings in Romans 12 and 13, where a similar “third way” is articulated in a less-disputed context. We will turn to this synthesis in our concluding article.
This article is part of a series exploring Romans 13.
Part 1: How Romans 13 Became a Method of Control, and What the Rest of Scripture Says Back – The Curious Christian
Part 2: Why Context Changes Almost Everything About Romans 13 – The Curious Christian
Part 3: Paul, His Scars, and the Subversive Reading of Romans 13 – The Curious Christian
Part 4: The Man Who Argued We Had Mistranslated Jesus for Two Thousand Years – The Curious Christian
