1. Debt and Debtor in the Greek World and in the Bible

The words formed from the root ὀϕειλ- (ὀϕείλω; ὀϕειλέτης; ὀϕειλή; ὀϕείλημα) belong to a group of terms that express, in classical and Hellenistic Greek, the awareness that, in the conditions of this world, individuals and everything that happens do not enjoy autonomy and self-sufficiency but are necessarily subject to destiny, to the obligatory nature of norms or to binding restrictions.Footnote ⁹ The fate of ‘being at the mercy’ of destiny, for humans and—if you believe PlatoFootnote ¹⁰—even for gods, is denoted by ἀνάγκη. The verbs ἀπόκειμαι and μέλλω, in turn, underline the inevitability and the inexorability of what must happen. The impersonal δεῖ, on the other hand, extends to the maximum the sense of being subject: the power to constrain extends from humans all the way to the gods, passing through laws and magic, and concerns the life of everyone and everything.Footnote ¹¹

Ὀϕείλω and its derivatives, in contrast to the meanings and nuances described above, all of them rather fatalistic, articulate not that which happens/must happen to the world and to persons, but rather the obligations of humans in relation to their peers and to the gods. In classical and Hellenistic Greek this linguistic stock is utilized especially in its juridical and economic-commercial meaning, but a good number of its occurrences contain also the positive sense of obligation and commitment.Footnote ¹²

The verb tied to a direct object means ‘to owe something’ (and also ‘to someone’ if it is followed by an indirect object), while the infinitive construction expresses ‘having to do (undergo) something’. One's due in the first place regards things, especially debts or monetary compensations; but also, and not seldom, spiritual realities (e.g., ‘life for everyone’, ὀϕείλουσι καὶ ἐκεῖνοι τὴν ψυχὴν πᾶσιν, Claudius Aelianus Varia Historia X.5; ‘I owe many thanks to the gods’, ὀϕείλω τοῖς θεοῖς πολλὴν χάριν, Sophocles Antigone 332; ‘the just man owes injury to his enemies and profit to his friends’, τοῖς μὲν ἐχθροῖς βλάβην ὀϕείλεσθαι παρὰ τοῦ δικαίου ἀνδρός, τοῖς δὲ ϕίλοις ὠϕελίαν, Plato Republic I 335e). The one to whom something is owed is usually a human being, as the creditor or the offended party; and yet there are not a few cases where one has an obligation also to a god, offended by the lack of observance of his regulations, or obliging by means of his benevolence; this requires an act of worship in order to settle the debt.Footnote ¹³

Both senses of the verb (‘to have a debt’ and ‘to have to act according to what is prescribed’) are found in biblical Greek where, however, the tally of the word is notably less frequent. In comparison with its profane usage, what hits us instead is the fact that in the Greek of the Septuagint ὀϕείλω is never used to describe the obligations of a human being with regard to God.Footnote ¹⁴ This phenomenon is still more surprising because it is also true for the NT, with the exception of the parables of the unfaithful servant in Matthew (18.23–25) and the two debtors in Luke (7.41–43). In both of these, the images of the debtor and the creditor indicate in fact the relationship of a human being with God: the essence of this relationship, however, consists not in the obligation of loans or payments, but in the person's being a sinner (= a debtor who has not paid and is not even able to pay) from whose debt only the mercy of God can free him.

In a similar way the noun ὀϕειλέτης also means, in secular Greek, both ‘debtor’—especially in the economic field—and ‘one who is obligated to a service’. In the case of the verb, the second meaning is present above all in the infinitive construction, while the first is found in constructions with the dative indicating the creditor and the genitive indicating what is owed to him. Both of these meanings are present in biblical Greek, yet still surprising is the very low preference for the term ὀϕειλέτης. This word, indeed, is never used by the LXX and occurs in the NT only seven times.Footnote ¹⁵

In Matt 18.24 the word appears in the sense of monetary debt and describes one who owed ten thousand talents (εἷς ὀϕειλέτης μυρίων ταλάντων). In the sense of obligation it is present, on the other hand, in the writings of Paul: in Gal 5.3 referring to the obligation, on the part of whoever lets himself be circumcised, to observe the whole law (ὀϕειλέτης ἐστὶν ὅλον τὸν νόμον ποιῆσαι); in Rom 1.14 to the obligation of a universal mission on the part of the Apostle (Ἕλλησίν τε καὶ βαρβάροις, σοϕοῖς τε καὶ ἀνοήτοις ὀϕειλέτης εἰμί) and in Rom 15.27 to the debt of gratitude of the Gentiles towards the Judeo-Christians of Jerusalem (ὀϕειλέται εἰσὶν αὐτῶν), from whom they received the spiritual gifts that oblige them to material support in return. The denial of the debt, which, given the context, cannot be other than moral (the Christian is no longer subject to the absolutism of the flesh), is found in Rom 8.12: ὀϕειλέται ἐσμὲν οὐ τῇ σαρκί.

The NT uses this word also in the sense of ‘culpable’. Such a use occurs in the fifth petition of the Lord's Prayer (Matt 6.12), where the term describes one who is guilty in regard to other people, and in Luke 13.4, where God himself is the offended party. As is indicated by the parallelism between vv. 2 and 4 of the Lukan text, the term in this context is effectively synonymous with ἁμαρτωλός.Footnote ¹⁶ The latter meaning finds no correspondence in profane Greek; it corresponds instead to the use of חוֹב (‘debt’)—in the sense of sin—which is also found in rabbinic Judaism.Footnote ¹⁷ For our analyses it is important to note that such a use represents the only case in biblical and intertestamental Greek in which a human being is spoken of as an ὀϕειλέτης of God.

Concerning the other two nouns of this group, ὀϕειλή and ὀϕείλημα, the former is rare in the secular texts and means literally ‘monetary debt’. In the NT it is used also in a figurative sense to indicate obligatory behavior (fear and respect toward authority in Rom 13.7) and even to describe euphemistically marital sexual intercourse (1 Cor 7.3). ‘The sum owed’ and ‘obligation’ in general are the secular meanings also of the second noun, ὀϕείλημα. This word keeps this sense in the NT (Rom 4.4). In Matt 6.12 we find instead another nuance, foreign to the Greek world but perfectly compatible with Judaism, that is to say, sin as being in arrears with God.

What conclusions can be inferred from this short review of the use of the root ὀϕειλ-, for the understanding of the anacoluthon in Rom 8.12?

What has been said about the significations and the connotations of the verb ὀϕείλω and of its derivatives in biblical and intertestamental Greek easily explains why the Apostle does not want to and is not even able to utilize them to describe the new status of believers in regard to God. The association between debt and sin, already widespread in Judaism and present in the NT, was the only one perceived when the root was used to describe the relationship of humanity to God. That rendered the term ‘debtor’ (ὀϕειλέτης) too ambiguous, even misleading, to be utilized in the argument that would serve the purpose of justifying the thesis (subpropositio) that ‘there is now no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus’ (Rom 8.1) and to proclaim the state of peace and friendship between God and those justified by faith (cf. Rom 5.1–11).Footnote ¹⁸

Apart from the association with sin, ὀϕείλω and ὀϕειλέτης prove to be inadequate for describing the situation of the believer vis-à-vis God, even in their purely neutral sense (= obligation in regard to another). Given their economic connotation the LXX and the NT do not use them ever in such a contextFootnote ¹⁹ because such a usage would represent a distortion per excessum of the nature of the relationship with God. Indeed, this way God would appear venal and the gratuitous nature of his acting would be reduced. Consequently, the very foundation for a free response would be lacking for the believer as the receiver of unmerited gifts. Everything would become a ‘do ut des’ typical among business partners.Footnote ²⁰ On the other side, however, and paradoxically, in the field of monotheistic religion, both words would prove to be even too weak to express adequately the depth of religious dependence on the part of the believer. Indeed, the latter does not owe something to some god, in such a way as to have to repay the debt, and be able to do so, as soon as possible,Footnote ²¹ but rather has received, and continues to receive, everything from the One God and thus depends on him totally and at all times, and as such has neither the possibility nor the obligation to pay back a debt of this sort. It is therefore perfectly understandable that in order to do justice to this absolute character of the believer's dependence upon God, both the OT and NT employ not the concept of debt but rather that of ownership or its equivalent.Footnote ²²

For the above reasons, the hypothesis of those who see in the anacoluthon of Rom 8.12 a laudable example of laconicism and elegance does not hold up. According to them, Paul would have left to the intuition of his readers exactly what he did not want to and was not able to say (‘we are debtors to the Spirit’). Must we therefore resign ourselves to the hypothesis of a failure in communication on the part of the Apostle? No, or at least not before taking a look at the phenomenon of the anacoluthon in the ancient world.

2. Anacoluthon: Only an Accident in the Course of Communication?

As the etymology itself of the term suggests (ἀνακόλουθος means ‘without sequence’), we have an anacoluthon where a link necessary to the syntax of two or more elements of a sentence is skipped, in such a manner that the element with which the phrase begins remains without a prop, ‘suspended’ with respect to the following elements.Footnote ²³ Such a gap is usually caused by the spontaneity of the discourse and gives the impression of a lack of planning and of proceeding too rapidly in the expounding and unfolding of ideas. These conditions are typical of spoken communication in which, from antiquity until today, the anacoluthon is a phenomenon at the same time both widespread and commonly censured. The history of the evolution of the term already says as much: in Greek, from the original and neutral ‘without sequence’ ἀνακόλουθος quickly came to mean ‘anomalous’, ‘inconclusive’ and ‘incoherent’.Footnote ²⁴ Thus it is not surprising that Philo, in On Flight and Finding, giving the list of the three adulterated goods (infidelity, incoherence and ignorance), for the second employs precisely τὸ ἀνακόλουθον.Footnote ²⁵ Neither does it amaze us that Marcus Aurelius uses the term to describe an inconsequent way of acting (ἀνακόλουθον), proper to an irrational creature, while with its opposite (ἀκολουθία) he denotes being conformed to the image of the immortals.Footnote ²⁶ For him ἀνακόλουθον, exactly as in our times for I. Asimov and for C. Collodi,Footnote ²⁷ was therefore not only an ominous outcome and simultaneously a clear indication of incapacity and of ignorance, but even a sign of a humanity that was limited or perhaps not yet fully developed. ἀκολουθία in reality expresses the dignity of humankind and is the sign of its affinity with the divine.

Rebuffed and barely excusable in speech, seen as a sign of inadequate command of a language, the anacoluthon finds instead a more benevolent reception and even an appreciation in writing, where the ancients intentionally employed it as a mimesis of speech in order to exploit one of its effects. The deliberate rupture of syntax, in fact, served the purpose of reproducing the spontaneity and unprogrammed nature of off-the-cuff discourse. In such a manner the authors not only made manifest their emotional involvement (= they wrote with the passion of the heart rather than with the coldness of the head), but also reinforced their attempts to convince the reader of their sincerity. Referring to an example taken from the discourses of Demosthenes, Hermogenes of Tarsus in his Περὶ ἰδεῶν λόγου explains such a use of anacoluthon in the following manner:

In writing, therefore, rather than being a sign of oratorical and/or literary incapacity on the part of the one who employs it, the anacoluthon becomes a respectable and recommendable figure of speech which serves the ends of both the ethos and the pathos of the author.

Modern research perceives yet another advantage in the anacoluthon: its exceptional power as a means of publicity, thanks to its breaking of normal syntactic usage.Footnote ²⁹ The one who uses it is contravening the rules, and precisely in the act of upsetting the cards on the table achieves a stronger expressive purpose and makes the contents more engaging.Footnote ³⁰ In writing, therefore, besides being a mimesis of speech, the grammatical irregularity can also attract the attention of the audience and direct its interest toward the content of the reasoning.Footnote ³¹ In a nutshell, the anacoluthon serves not only the ethos and the pathos of the writer, but even the logos of his discourse.

What can be the importance of the above-mentioned considerations for the Pauline anacoluthon? None at all, if one lends importance to the typically oral character of his literary output. In this case the anacoluthon would remain only a communicative accident.Footnote ³² It is of capital value, however, when one takes into consideration recent discoveries about the modalities of writing in antiquity, that do not leave much room for the possibility of errors caused by oversight and a lack of control due to haste and spontaneity. The works of E. R. RichardsFootnote ³³ and especially of T. DorandiFootnote ³⁴ prove beyond all reasonable doubt that in antiquity each of the stages of composition of a written text (dictation–written on a tablet–clean copy–private reading–publication) offered the author abundant opportunities to correct himself or to be corrected. The remaining grammatical irregularities, if not attributable to the carelessness of the copyist, must be therefore interpreted as conscious, intentional and functional. In Paul, as in the other literary works of his time, with the exception of emergency situations, we find anacolutha not because they happen, but because they are planned. The duty of the exegete is not, therefore, that of apologizing to his readers for the presumed mistakes of the text on which he/she is commenting, perhaps even supplying—as happens not rarely in the case of Rom 8.12—the missing part; but of understanding the reason for the irregularity.

3. The Reasons for the Silence

One of the few commentators on the Letter to the Romans who have not limited themselves merely to observing the presence of the anacoluthon in Rom 8.12, but have attempted to understand its function, is R. Penna. As others have done, he notes the formal necessity of adding to the words ‘debtors not of the flesh’ in v. 12 a positive construction in the adverse form. And yet, the fact that Paul has not inserted it he interprets not as an involuntary slip in the thought and/or its form, but as a deliberate choice of the Apostle, having the purpose of underlining and emphasizing the negative part: ‘the necessity for Christians not to feel debtors toward the flesh’.Footnote ³⁵ In the light of what we have just said about the use of the anacoluthon in ancient literature, such an attempt seems more than justified. The question remains open, however, about that to which the Apostle effectively wanted to give prominence. The previously presented semantics of debt, and the composition of Rom 8.12–14, with which we will deal shortly, seem to point in a direction different from that proposed by R. Penna.

Indeed, the parallelisms which can be found within our three verses (12–14) confer upon them a strong unitary character and at the same time reveal their argumentative disposition and the literary construction in the form of a chiasm. Here is a graphic presentation of this set of phenomena:

Ἄρα οὖν, ἀδελϕοί,

This unit as a whole does not seem to have an explicitly hortatory characterFootnote ³⁶ (commands or imperatives are totally absent!) but, as R. Penna rightly notes,Footnote ³⁷ it still forms part of the Christian indicative. The Apostle, indeed, informs the Christian reader about what are his/her new possibilities (negatively in ‘a’ and positively in ‘a'’) and justifies these affirmations respectively with the ominous consequences of the past dependence upon the flesh (b) and with the new status of the believer who is now led by the Spirit and as such is a son of God (b').

Inside this argumentative arrangement (negation–justification–affirmation–justification) the chiastic construction also has its own logic: the past of the flesh, which no longer exists (ἐσμὲν οὐ), presented in parts α–β–γ, is set in opposition to the present of the Spirit (εἰσίν), which is made manifest in corresponding parts γ'–β'–α'. The abundant quantity and the exact correspondence of the terms and of the paradoxical expressions in the two central parts (β, γ, γ' and β') make their parallelism clear. They also help the reader to become aware of the symmetry of the peripheral elements (α and α'), associated by the fact of their both being nominal phrases, while being frugal in the presence of obvious verbal repetition. The progression inside this chiasm is clear: from the negative formulation of the status of the Christian (‘debtors not to the flesh, to live according to the flesh’—α and β) and from the indication of the ominous results of such a dependence (γ), one passes to the proclamation of the favorable possibilities, present and future (γ'), describing finally in a positive (‘led by the Spirit’—β') and surprising (‘son of God’—α') manner the basis for the whole situation: the new status of the believer.

From this reconstruction of the argumentative and literary logic of the passage it becomes clear that the initial part (vv. 12–13a) does not remain autonomous and even less does it constitute the principal exposition of the Apostle. It serves rather as a dark background against which the positive content of vv. 13b–14 stands out more clearly. Indeed, the blacker the blackboard, the more visible will be that which one wants to write on it. As a result, the principal function of the anacoluthon of v. 12 is not so much to underline the negative part as to make clearer the positive: the announcement of the divine sonship of believers in v. 14.

We note in passing that not only the expression ‘but to the Spirit’, but any positive addition whatever to v. 12, would have whitened the blackboard in a counterproductive manner. As a premature anticipation of the content of v. 14, such a complement would also have ruined both the logic of the argumentation of the text, which begins with negation and ends by affirming, as well as the formal beauty of the chiasm, which is based solely upon the contrasts. For these reasons Paul could not have desired any positive integration, or even to lead us to believe as much. The silence he maintains after ‘debtors not to the flesh’ is necessary, at the risk of losing the WOW effect in vv. 13b-14. And so the question returns: Why does the Apostle not simply remain silent, but with an unusual formulation (ὀϕειλέται ἐσμὲν οὐ τῇ σαρκί) raise in his readers the expectation of a completion which he had no intention of satisfying?

First of all, because in this way his silence is not a mere absence of content, but a provocative absence, that irritates and questions; a suspense that lays the ground for the final surprise. Paul's reticence regarding the addition which should almost automatically be placed here allows the reader not only to understand his/her status over against the mournful slavery of the past, but also to become aware of the incomparability of being a son of God set against other benefits of his/her being Christian. Being children of God means not only not being debtors to the flesh, but even not being debtors to God himself. He is not simply a creditor who would have given something which sooner or later the believer would take account of and would be expected to repay. He is the Father, the gratuitous and inexhaustible source not only of individual gifts but of the existence itself of his children who depend on Him in toto and at all times.

Furthermore, the value of the anacoluthon is precisely that it makes one think. Thanks to it the totality of divine sonship is not proclaimed to the reader only from the outside: one is rather enticed into using one's own legs to arrive there by oneself. Instead of remaining a passive recipient of some content thought up by others, one must become oneself a protagonist of the communicative process and, as a result, one is helped to appreciate more one's relationship with the Father, as a personal discovery. The anacoluthon, which in the telling of so many would pass as a failure of communication, becomes in the hands of Paul an efficacious instrument of a particular midwifery, such that ‘his silence speaks with more force than those who vainly chatter’.