Becoming Christian: Essays on 1 Peter and the Making of Christian Identity 9781472550293, 9780567322029, 9780567423825

Table of contents :
Contents
Abbreviations and Primary Sources
Preface
Introduction
Chapter 1 The Product of a Petrine Circle?Challenging an Emerging Consensus
1.1. Introduction: an emerging consensus
1.2. Pauline traditions in 1 Peter
1.3. Non-Pauline traditions in 1 Peter
1.4. From literary (in)dependence to intertextuality
1.5. A Petrine tradition from a Petrine circle?
1.6. The names in 1 Peter: Silvanus and Mark
1.7. First Peter as the product of an early Christian synthesis?
1.8. Why Peter?
1.9. Conclusions
Chapter 2 The Themes of 1 Peter: Insights from the Earliest Manuscripts (the Crosby-Schøyen Codex ms 193 and theBodmer Miscellaneous Codex containing P72)
2.1. Introduction
2.2. Crosby-Schøyen Codex ms 193
2.3. The Bodmer Miscellaneous Codex
2.4. The significance of C-S and BMC for the interpretation of 1 Peter
Chapter 3 ‘Already Dead’ or ‘Since Died’? Who are ‘the Dead’ and When Was the Gospel Preached to Them (1 Pet. 4.6)?
3.1. Introduction
3.2. Competing interpretations of 1 Pet. 4.6
3.3. Dalton’s interpretation of 4.6
3.4. Earliest Christian eschatology
3.5. Literary context
3.6. The grammar of 4.6
3.7. The wider context of New Testament theology
3.8. Post New Testament texts and the Wirkungsgeschichte of 1 Pet. 4.6
3.9. Conclusions
Chapter 4 Aliens and Strangers? The Socio-Economic Location of the Addressees of 1 Peter
4.1. Introduction
4.2. The socio-economic structure of the Roman empire
4.3. Roman imperialism and the development of Asia Minor
4.4. The addressees of 1 Peter
4.5. Conclusions
Chapter 5‘ Race’, ‘Nation’, ‘People’: Ethnoracial Identity Construction in 1 Pet. 2.9
5.1. Introduction
5.2. Γένος, ἔθνος, and λαός in classical and Jewish literature
5.3. Γένος, ἔθνος, and λαός in the New Testament
5.4. First Peter 2.9 and the language of race in early Christian literature
5.5. First Peter 2.9 and the making of an ethnoracial form of Christian identity
Chapter 6 The Label Χριστιανός (1 Pet. 4.16): Suffering, Conflict, and the Making of Christian Identity
6.1. Introduction
6.2. The origins of the term
6.3. Χριστιανός in 1 Peter 4
6.4. Suffering ὡς Χριστιανός: 1 Peter and the letters of Pliny
6.5. Χριστιανός, conflict, and the making of Christian identity
6.6. Conclusion
Chapter7 Between Conformity and Resistance: Beyond the Balch–Elliott Debate Towards a Postcolonial Reading of 1 Peter
7.1. The Balch–Elliott debate and the reasons for a new methodology
7.2. Resources from postcolonial studies
7.3. Towards a postcolonial reading of 1 Peter
7.4. Conclusion: polite resistance
Map 1: The Roman Provinces of Asia Minor (late first century ce)
Map 2: The Road Network in Asia Minor
Bibliography
Index of Biblical and Other Ancient Sources
Index of Authors

Citation preview

EARLY CHRISTIANITY IN CONTEXT Editor John M. G. Barclay Editorial Board Loveday Alexander, Troels-Engberg-Pedersen, Bart Ehrman, Joel Marcus, John Riches, Matthias Konradt

Published under

Library of New Testament Studies

394 Formerly the Journal for the Study of the New Testament Supplement Series

Editor Mark Goodacre Editorial Board John M. G. Barclay, Craig Blomberg, R. Alan Culpepper, James D. G. Dunn, Craig A. Evans, Stephen Fowl, Robert Fowler, Simon J. Gathercole, John S. Kloppenborg, Michael Labahn, Robert Wall, Steve Walton, Robert L. Webb, Catrin H. Williams

BECOMING CHRISTIAN Essays on 1 Peter and the Making of Christian Identity

David G. Horrell

LON DON • N E W DE L H I • N E W YOR K • SY DN EY

Bloomsbury T&T Clark An imprint of Bloomsbury Publishing Plc

50 Bedford Square 1385 Broadway London New York WC1B 3DP NY 10018 UK USA www.bloomsbury.com First published 2013 © David G. Horrell, 2013 All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or any information storage or retrieval system, without prior permission in writing from the publishers. David G. Horrell has asserted his right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988, to be identified as Author of this work. No responsibility for loss caused to any individual or organization acting on or refraining from action as a result of the material in this publication can be accepted by Bloomsbury Academic or the author.

British Library Cataloguing-in-Publication Data A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library. ISBN: ePDF: 978-0-567-42382-5 Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data A catalog record for this book is available from the Library of Congress.

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Contents Abbreviations and Primary Sources vii Preface ix Introduction 1 1. The Product of a Petrine Circle? Challenging an Emerging Consensus 1.1. Introduction: an emerging consensus 1.2. Pauline traditions in 1 Peter 1.3. Non-Pauline traditions in 1 Peter 1.4. From literary (in)dependence to intertextuality 1.5. A Petrine tradition from a Petrine circle? 1.6. The names in 1 Peter: Silvanus and Mark 1.7. First Peter as the product of an early Christian synthesis? 1.8. Why Peter? 1.9. Conclusions 2. The Themes of 1 Peter: Insights from the Earliest Manuscripts (the Crosby-Schøyen Codex ms 193 and the Bodmer Miscellaneous Codex containing P72) 2.1. Introduction 2.2. Crosby-Schøyen Codex ms 193 2.3. The Bodmer Miscellaneous Codex 2.4. The significance of C-S and BMC for the interpretation of 1 Peter

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3. ‘Already Dead’ or ‘Since Died’? Who are ‘the Dead’ and When was the Gospel Preached to Them (1 Pet. 4.6)? 73 3.1. Introduction 3.2. Competing interpretations of 1 Pet. 4.6 3.3. Dalton’s interpretation of 4.6 3.4. Earliest Christian eschatology 3.5. Literary context 3.6. The grammar of 4.6 3.7. The wider context of New Testament theology 3.8. Post New Testament texts and the Wirkungsgeschichte of 1 Pet. 4.6 3.9. Conclusions

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4. Aliens and Strangers? The Socio-Economic Location of the Addressees of 1 Peter 4.1. Introduction 4.2. The socio-economic structure of the Roman empire 4.3. Roman imperialism and the development of Asia Minor 4.4. The addressees of 1 Peter 4.5. Conclusions 5. ‘Race’, ‘Nation’, ‘People’: Ethnoracial Identity Construction in 1 Pet. 2.9 5.1. Introduction 5.2. Γένος, ἔθνος, and λαός in classical and Jewish literature 5.3. Γένος, ἔθνος, and λαός in the New Testament 5.4. First Peter 2.9 and the language of race in early Christian literature 5.5. First Peter 2.9 and the making of an ethnoracial form of Christian identity 6. The Label Χριστιανός (1 Pet. 4.16): Suffering, Conflict, and the Making of Christian Identity 6.1. Introduction 6.2. The origins of the term 6.3. Χριστιανός in 1 Peter 4 6.4. Suffering ὡς Χριστιανός: 1 Peter and the letters of Pliny 6.5. Χριστιανός, conflict, and the making of Christian identity 6.6. Conclusion 7. Between Conformity and Resistance: Beyond the Balch–Elliott Debate Towards a Postcolonial Reading of 1 Peter 7.1. The Balch–Elliott debate and the reasons for a new methodology 7.2. Resources from postcolonial studies 7.3. Towards a postcolonial reading of 1 Peter 7.4. Conclusion: polite resistance

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Map 1: The Roman Provinces of Asia Minor (late first century ce) 239 Map 2: The Road Network in Asia Minor 240 Bibliography 243 Index of Biblical and Other Ancient Sources 275 Index of Authors 289

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Abbreviations and Primary Sources In general, abbreviations for primary texts and scholarly resources follow those given in the SBL Handbook of Style (Peabody: Hendrickson, 1999), or are easily recognizable. Listed below are additional abbreviations, or items where further publication details are given. Biblical texts are cited from either the Novum Testamentum Graece (27th edn; Stuttgart: Deutsche Bibelgesellschaft) or from the Editio Critica Maior (ECM). The LXX is cited from the volumes of the Göttingen series (ed. R. Hanhart et al.; Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht), where available, or from A. Rahlfs, Septuaginta (Stuttgart: Deutsche Bibelgesellschaft, 1979). The Hebrew text is taken from Biblia Hebraica Stuttgartensia (ed. K. Elliger and W. Rudolph; 4th edn; Stuttgart: Deutsche Bibelgesellschaft, 1990). Classical texts, including Josephus and Philo, are in general cited from the Loeb Classical Library (LCL) series. Other ancient and patristic texts are cited from editions and series as indicated by abbreviations. I have not listed these in the final bibliography, except where I quote an editor’s or translator’s notes or judgements, where they may be found under the name of the editor/translator. ANF

The Ante-Nicene Fathers (Edinburgh: T&T Clark; repr. Grand Rapids: Eerdmans). BP Biblia Patristica: Index des citations et allusions bibliques dans la littérature patristique (7 vols; Paris: éditions du Centre National de la Recherche Scientifique, 1975–99). ECM Aland, Barbara, et al. (eds), Novum Testamentum Editio Critico Maior IV: Die Katholischen Briefe. 1. Der Jakobusbrief; 2. Die Petrusbriefe (Stuttgart: Deutsche Bibelgesellschaft, 1997, 2000). FC Fontes Christiani (Freiburg, Basel, Vienna: Herder). GCS Die griechischen christlichen Schriftsteller der ersten Jahrhunderte (Leipzig: Hinrich/ Berlin: Akademie/ Berlin & New York: De Gruyter). Superscript numbers before a volume number refer to the edition, and volumes of Clement of Alexandria’s works are also indicated as Clem. I–IV. Hatch-Redpath Edwin Hatch and Henry A. Redpath, A Concordance to the Septuagint and the Other Greek Versions of the Old Testament (Graz: Akademische, 1954).

viii L-N

LSJ MM NPNF OECS SNTW TCGNT

Abbreviations and Primary Sources J. P. Louw and E. A. Nida, Greek–English Lexicon of the New Testament Based on Semantic Domains (2nd edn; New York: United Bible Societies, 1988). Cited from the electronic edition in BibleWorks 6. H. G. Liddell, R. Scott, and H. S Jones (with R. McKenzie), A Greek–English Lexicon (9th edn; 2 vols; Oxford: Clarendon, 1940). J. H. Moulton and G. Milligan, Vocabulary of the Greek New Testament (London: Hodder & Stoughton, 1930; repr. Peabody: Hendrickson, 2004). The Nicene and Post-Nicene Fathers (Edinburgh: T&T Clark; repr. Grand Rapids: Eerdmans). Oxford Early Christian Studies Studies of the New Testament and its World Bruce M. Metzger, A Textual Commentary on the Greek New Testament (2nd edn; Stuttgart: Deutsche Bibelgesellschaft, 1994).

Preface The studies contained in this book represent various aspects of my research into 1 Peter during the last twelve years or so. In many cases they challenge wellestablished views on the letter and, I hope, open up some new perspectives. They represent part of an extended programme of research that will hopefully culminate in the publication of a major commentary on 1 Peter, for which these essays represent prolegomena. I am acutely conscious, though, of how much remains to be done on the larger project, and how long the focus on prolegomena could continue. Each of the following chapters has previously been published in some form, though all have been revised and updated, and in some cases extensively reworked and expanded, for inclusion here. Most have also been presented, in various forms, as papers, and I would like to record my gratitude, albeit in a rather generalized way, to all those whose questions and comments have helped me along the way. I would also like to record a general thanks to my colleagues and students at the University of Exeter, many of whom have at various times offered comments, suggestions, and assistance. Elsewhere, Lutz Doering and Kelly Liebengood have offered valuable feedback. I also thank John Barclay not only for incisive suggestions at various points, but also for accepting this work for inclusion in the Early Christianity in Context series. An earlier version of chapter 1 appeared as ‘The Product of a Petrine Circle? A Reassessment of the Origin and Character of 1 Peter’, Journal for the Study of the New Testament 86 (2002), 29–60, subsequently reprinted in Paul Foster (ed.), New Testament Studies (vol. 4; SAGE Benchmarks in Religious Studies; London: Sage, 2010). A revised and reworked version, focused on the Pauline traditions, was presented by invitation to the Reception of Paul seminar at the 2009 meeting of the SNTS in Vienna. I am grateful to Clare Rothschild for that invitation, and to William Campbell for his response to the paper. Chapter 2 was originally dedicated to my Exeter colleague Alastair Logan, and published in New Testament Studies 55 (2009), 502–22 © Cambridge University Press, reproduced with permission. I owe a particular debt to Peter Williams for first alerting me to the significance of the Crosby-Schøyen text of 1 Peter, and to Peter Head for very valuable comments and bibliographical leads on P72. A version of chapter 3 was published in New Testament Studies 49 (2003), 70– 89 © Cambridge University Press, reproduced with permission. In revising it for inclusion here, I have particularly expanded the material on the history of interpretation, and am especially grateful to Morwenna Ludlow for her comments on a draft of the new version. An earlier version of chapter 4 was

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published in Bruce W. Longenecker and Kelly D. Liebengood (eds), Engaging Economics: New Testament Scenarios and Early Christian Reception (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2009), 176–202. I am grateful to William B. Eerdmans Publishing Company for permission to include a revised and expanded version here. I am also grateful to Stephen Mitchell for permission to adapt material from the maps in his magisterial two-volume study of Anatolia, and to Sue Rouillard for producing the maps included here. A somewhat shorter version of chapter 5 was published in New Testament Studies 58 (2012), 123–43 © Cambridge University Press, reproduced with permission. An earlier, and much shorter, version of chapter 6 was published in Journal of Biblical Literature 126 (2007), 361–81, reproduced with permission. I have also incorporated into this chapter some of the ideas from a paper presented to a symposium on the psychology of early Christian religion held in Heidelberg in October 2006 and published as ‘Leiden als Diskriminierung und Martyrium: (Selbst-) Stigmatisierung und Soziale Identität am Beispiel des ersten Petrusbriefes’, in Gerd Theissen and Petra von Gemünden (eds), Erkennen und Erleben: Beiträge zur psychologischen Erforschung des frühen Christentums (Gütersloh: Gütersloher Verlagshaus, 2007), 110–32. I renew my thanks to Gerd Theissen for that invitation. I also owe thanks to Kavin Rowe for comments on drafts of these papers, and to Stephen Mitchell for discussing the topic with me and making many valuable bibliographical suggestions. Chapter 7 began as an invited presentation in 2006 to the SBL Consultation on Methodological Reassessments of the Letters of James, Peter, and Jude, and I would like to thank Robert Webb and John Elliott in particular, as well as other members of the steering committee, for that invitation and for generous and thoughtful comments on my earlier draft. I would also like to thank John White for an initial orientation to the literature on postcolonialism, and Stephen Moore for valuable comments on a draft. The paper was subsequently published in Robert L. Webb and Betsy Bauman-Martin (eds), Reading First Peter with New Eyes: Methodological Reassessments of the Letter of First Peter (LNTS 364; London & New York: T&T Clark, 2007), 111–43. I would like to express my gratitude to the British Academy for a Small Research Grant that supported some of the early stages of the work, specifically on chapters 2, 4, 6, and 7, and enabled me to make use of the excellent library resources in Cambridge, London, Oxford, and Heidelberg. I am also grateful to the Alexander von Humboldt Foundation for funding a short research visit to Germany in 2010, where I was able to spend time in the fine libraries of Mainz and Heidelberg. I would also like to thank my hosts Friedrich Wilhelm Horn, Gerd Theissen, and Ruben Zimmermann. The completion of this book was greatly assisted by a month spent during 2012 as a visiting fellow at the Catholic University of Leuven, where the library resources were excellent. I am very grateful to the University for that award, and in particular to my host, Reimund Bieringer. I would also like to thank those who have, at various times, assisted me with keeping my bibliographical database and associated files in order: Bradley

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Arnold, Anna Davis, Julianne Gonzalez (née Burnett), Cherryl Hunt, Helen John, Jonathan Morgan, and Travis Williams. I owe Travis a particular debt for all the secondary literature that came to my attention through his own research on 1 Peter, from which I have learnt a great deal. John White and Susan Woan also informed my own work through their doctoral studies. Needless to say, none of those to whom I owe my thanks bears any responsibility for the perspectives and arguments represented here, nor for any omissions or errors in my material. Some people regard expressions of thanks to one’s family as irrelevant and indulgent in the context of a scholarly book. But I am acutely aware of the extent to which my immediate family, Carrie, Em, and Cate, form the secure and loving context in which I can happily work (and live!), and for that an expression of profound thanks is important to record. They know, I trust, that I would happily dedicate every book to them, and much more besides, as inadequate tokens of appreciation for what their love, companionship, and support mean to me. But I would like to dedicate this book of essays to the person, primopetrophile par excellence, who has done more than anyone else to further the scholarly understanding of 1 Peter: John H. Elliott. From his doctoral dissertation, published as a monograph in 1966, to the crowning achievement of his magisterial Anchor Bible commentary, published in 2000, and in subsequent publications too, Jack has shown how much this short letter yields for the understanding of early Christianity. His monograph of 1981, A Home for the Homeless, not only opened up new perspectives on 1 Peter but also pioneered social-scientific analysis of a New Testament text, with considerable success and influence. I am delighted that Jack agreed to my proposal to dedicate this book to him. Not only through his published work, but also his kindness in sending me offprints, responding to papers at conferences, and generally offering encouragement in my work on this letter, he has provided considerable stimulus to my efforts. He knows that I disagree with him on some significant points, as will be evident to any reader of this book, but I trust that he also knows how much I have learned from his work, and that any disagreements are expressed with great respect – pace rather than contra, as it were – and in the belief that rigorous and reasoned criticism is the life-blood of any scholarly discipline.

Introduction Compared with the Gospels and the Pauline letters, 1 Peter is, and is likely to remain, a relatively neglected corner of the New Testament, despite a degree of rehabilitation, brought about in no small part by the work of John Elliott, from whom the memorable and programmatic phrase about ‘rehabilitating an exegetical step-child’ comes.1 To be sure, there have been a good number of major commentaries and monographs published in recent decades, such that 1 Peter has received a fair amount of scholarly attention. Yet it remains indicative that it was not until 2011, and volume 149, that a book on 1 Peter appeared in the SNTS monograph series.2 There are of course reasons why the Gospels and Pauline letters will probably remain of more central interest to many scholars. But 1 Peter – so this book argues – offers much insight into crucial processes in the making of Christian identity, illustrating with particular clarity the complex ways in which this identity was forged from Jewish traditions and negotiated in the generally hostile Roman empire. Indeed, a central aim of this book (esp. chapters 5–7) is to show how singularly important 1 Peter’s contribution is to some of the crucial steps in this process. The chapters that follow are a collection of studies rather than a monograph pursuing a single cumulative argument. They challenge a number of views on 1 Peter that have become the consensus in recent years, and offer a range of new perspectives on the letter, in some cases using social-scientific and postcolonial perspectives to shed light on the ways in which the letter contributes to the making of Christian identity.3 Since they are based on 1 John H. Elliott, ‘The Rehabilitation of an Exegetical Step-Child: 1 Peter in Recent Research’, JBL 95 (1976), 243–54, repr. in Charles H. Talbert (ed.), Perspectives on First Peter (Macon, GA: Mercer University Press, 1986), 3–16. 2 Martin Williams, The Doctrine of Salvation in the First Letter of Peter (SNTSMS 149; Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2011). This will, however, very soon be followed by another in this series: the published version of Kelly D. Liebengood, ‘Zechariah 9–14 as the Substructure of 1 Peter’s Eschatological Program’, PhD thesis (University of St Andrews, 2010). For a bibliography of works to the mid 1990s, see Anthony Casurella, Bibliography of Literature on First Peter (Leiden: Brill, 1996); John H. Elliott, 1 Peter: A New Translation with Introduction and Commentary (AB37B; New York: Doubleday, 2000), 155–304. 3 I use these resources to illuminate the historical material, where they seem apposite, rather than as models that are applied to the text. I shall not engage the methodological debates on this approach here, but see David G. Horrell, ‘Models and Methods in Social-Scientific Interpretation: A Response to Philip Esler’, JSNT 78 (2000), 83–105; David G. Horrell, ‘Whither Social-Scientific Approaches to New Testament Interpretation? Reflections on Contested Methodologies and the

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previously published studies (see Preface for details), the arguments they make have already generated some reaction, and some movement away from previous consensuses, as well as some criticism, to which I occasionally respond in the notes. In the opening chapter, I present a challenge to what Frank Matera describes as an ‘emerging consensus’, that 1 Peter emerged from a ‘Petrine circle’.4 This consensus, I seek to show, is based on very weak foundations – there is simply no substantial evidence for such a Petrine circle – and it should be abandoned in favour of a view of 1 Peter as a richly intertextual letter drawing on a range of early Christian traditions, written in the name of the apostle who came to be seen as the leader par excellence for the early Christian Church. There are signs of both Pauline and non-Pauline influence, such that 1 Peter should not be one-sidedly depicted as fitting either categorization. An approach from the perspective of intertextuality – which stresses that all texts are enmeshed in intertextual webs – should help to make clear, however, that this view of 1 Peter does not by any means imply that its author is not theologically creative, even if he is someone who integrates a range of material and tradition into his own distinctive construction. The second chapter takes its cue from recent developments in textual criticism that have encouraged New Testament scholars to regard New Testament manuscripts not merely as sources of variant readings to enable a reconstruction of the original text but as interpretative renderings with their own intrinsic interest and important material evidence for early Christianity. It examines what the two (probably) earliest manuscripts of 1 Peter indicate about the status of this writing, and what early readers took to be its key themes, given the other texts with which it is bound. In both cases, and with some striking overlaps, 1 Peter is regarded as a text focused on the Easter themes of the suffering, martyrdom, and vindication of Christ, and the related suffering and hope of his faithful people in a hostile world. The manuscripts themselves thus offer important insights into the earliest history of 1 Peter’s interpretation. In modern scholarship it was once well established that 1 Peter was, or contained, homiletical or liturgical material reflecting its use in baptismal or paschal contexts. This view of 1 Peter’s origins came to be decisively – and rightly – rejected in favour of the conviction that now generally prevails: that 1 Peter is a genuine letter, and most likely a literary unity from the start. However, these two manuscripts call for some reconsideration of the older views. While these older theories remain unconvincing explanations of 1 Peter’s origins, they do rightly identify themes and connections which the earliest editors and readers evidently also perceived.

Future’, in Todd D. Still and David G. Horrell (eds), After the First Urban Christians: The SocialScientific Study of Pauline Christianity Twenty-Five Years Later (London and New York: T&T Clark, 2009), 6–20. 4 Frank J. Matera, New Testament Theology: Exploring Diversity and Unity (Louisville, KY, and London: Westminster John Knox, 2007), 373.

Introduction

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The third chapter focuses on just one verse in the letter (4.6), though a verse that is, along with 3.19-20, among the most enigmatic and intriguing in 1 Peter, and indeed the New Testament as a whole. It raises important soteriological questions about the fate of the dead and post-mortem opportunities for salvation. Recent commentators, particularly in English, have largely followed a view that sees the verse instead as referring to those who, though now dead, heard the Gospel while still alive. I seek to show that this consensus, too, rests on weak foundations, and that a range of reasons supports the alternative view, that the verse refers to a proclamation of good news made to the dead. The early history of interpretation adds support to this view, showing how this enigmatic and limited depiction influenced a range of perspectives on the prospects for the dead that have been entertained and debated ever since. In chapter 4 I explore what we can plausibly say about the socio-economic level of the Christians5 to which 1 Peter is addressed. In particular, the chapter engages with the recent discussion about levels of poverty and wealth among the early Christians – a discussion focused primarily on the communities depicted in the Pauline letters – and with the influential social profile of the addressees of 1 Peter presented in Elliott’s ground-breaking work, A Home for the Homeless. Setting the evidence from 1 Peter into the context both of the economic scales developed for the Roman empire and the early Christian assemblies and of the impact of Romanization on Asia Minor, this chapter offers a sketch of the likely profile of the Christians addressed in 1 Peter that sees them encompassing a range of low to middling economic groups, mostly in urban centres, and mostly gentile in origin. As such, they look pretty much like the kind of congregations recent research has found in the Pauline letters. Elliott’s argument that they are rural πάροικοι and παρεπίδημοι (cf. 1 Pet. 1.1, 17; 2.11) does not seem convincing, nor does Karen Jobes’ proposal about their origins as Jewish colonists from Rome. Though the evidence does not permit substantial or detailed reconstructions, it adds another perspective confirming what has emerged from study of the Pauline texts, and should do enough to lay to rest some of the common presuppositions about 1 Peter’s addressees coming from remote rural areas where urbanization was scarcely evident. Like chapter 3, chapter 5 focuses upon just one verse within the letter (2.9), though one which is, I argue, particularly significant for the construction of Christian group identity in that it uniquely applies three words from the vocabulary of ethnoracial identity to the Church: γένος, ἔθνος, and λαός, widely translated as ‘race’, ‘nation’, and ‘people’. A survey of these words in pre-Christian Jewish literature (especially the LXX) and in the New Testament reveals how crucial this text in 1 Peter is to the process by which Christian identity came to be conceived in ethnoracial terms. A study of the history 5 I am not persuaded that there is a better alternative to the label ‘Christian’, though I appreciate the dangers of anachronistically assuming the established ecclesial perspective of a later time. ‘Christian’ is of course used as a designation in 1 Peter, even though, as chapter 6 makes clear, it was at the time primarily an outsiders’ label. I also continue to use the label ‘Jew’, the appropriateness of which is subject to much ongoing discussion.

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of early interpretation of this verse, along with the wider use of ethnoracial language in early Christian writers, indicates the importance of the move made by the author of 1 Peter, particularly in applying the word γένος to the Christian movement, a move that paved the way for the depiction of Christians as a new race, a third race, and so on. While much modern scholarship has insisted that Christian identity is not ‘really’ ethnic, in contrast to other identities that are actually so, modern social-scientific definitions of ethnicity and race, and ancient evidence concerning the fluidity of ethnic identities, make clear that all ‘ethnic’ and ‘racial’ identities are constructed, believed, and sustained through discourse, thus opening up questions about the extent to which early Christian identity is, or is not, essentially ethnic or ethnoracial in character, and what it would mean to describe it in this way. What we can certainly see, I argue, is that 1 Peter not only makes a singularly important move in the making of such Christian identity, but also employs diverse forms of what Denise Kimber Buell calls ‘ethnic reasoning’ in constructing group identity. Chapter 6 is the longest in the book. Like some of the previous chapters, it is focused on just one verse (4.16), and on one word in particular: Χριστιανός. But this verse, and this particular word, like the word γένος in 2.9, invites a wide-ranging consideration of some crucial aspects of the making of Christian identity. Through a study of the origins of the term Χριστιανός, its context in 1 Pet. 4.12-19, and a comparative study of Pliny’s famous epistle (Ep. 10.96) and related evidence, two key arguments emerge. The first is a critical one: that the current consensus (especially in English-language scholarship) that the suffering referred to in 1 Peter is a matter of informal, ‘unofficial’, public hostility and verbal abuse, not a sign of ‘official’ persecution, is flawed in many respects, and should be abandoned. Indeed, the posing of the issue in terms of the alternatives of ‘unofficial’ or ‘official’ hostility is misleading, and misconstrues the legal position of Christianity in the pre-Decian era (i.e. prior to the mid third century). The second argument is more positive: drawing on social-psychological resources concerning stigma and social identity, we can see how the author of 1 Peter takes the first crucial steps towards the positive claiming of the label Χριστιανός as an identity-defining label that insiders should proudly bear. Ironically, conflict with outsiders plays its part in the process whereby Χριστιανός eventually emerges as the most salient label for members of the movement. The final chapter takes its point of departure from one of the most significant debates about 1 Peter, that between John Elliott and David Balch, who proposed two contrasting views of the way the letter sought to position the Christian communities in relation to the wider society. Like some others who have sought to move beyond these two alternatives, I seek a perspective that will do justice to the nuanced position between conformity and resistance that the letter seems to urge. But I also seek a perspective that will take as of central importance the imperial context in which the early Christian communities existed, and I turn to postcolonialism as offering resources to grasp precisely the dynamics of this kind of situation. I offer a postcolonial reading of the

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letter, stressing how the author both invites his readers into a new identitydefining narrative, a kind of alternative transcript, that dislocates and alienates them from the empire, and also commends patterns of behaviour that represent a stance somewhere between conformity and resistance, a stance we may label ‘polite resistance’. Importantly, and building upon the previous chapter, I show that 2.13-17, far from indicating the absence of any hostility from Rome, as is often supposed, represents a careful drawing of a line of resistance, holding to which could prove fatal. This is not the place for a lengthy treatment of the various introductory issues concerning authorship, date, and place of origin, all of which continue to be the subject of scholarly discussion and disagreement. But a brief indication of my perspective on such matters is in order before we move to the studies that follow. With a majority of the major commentators on 1 Peter, I incline to the view that the letter is pseudonymous, written probably around 75–95 ce,6 either in Rome or perhaps Asia Minor.7 In some of the 6 Arguments regarding authorship and date are, of course, closely bound up, unless, like J. Ramsey Michaels, 1 Peter (WBC 49; Waco, TX: Word Books, 1988), lv–lxvii, one argues that Peter could have remained alive into the 70s. The arguments for pseudonymous composition (in the period after 70 ce) are concisely set out by Norbert Brox, Der erste Petrusbrief (EKKNT, 21; Zürich/Neukirchen-Vluyn: Benziger/Neukirchener, 1989 [1979]), 43–47. Cf. also David G. Horrell, The Epistles of Peter and Jude (London: Epworth, 1998), 8–10; David G. Horrell, 1 Peter (NTG; London and New York: T&T Clark, 2008), 20–23. Recent commentators who place the letter into approximately the last quarter of the first century include: Elliott, 1 Peter, 134–38 (c. 73–92 ce); Paul J. Achtemeier, 1 Peter (Hermeneia; Philadelphia: Fortress Press, 1996), 43–50 (c. 80–100 ce); Reinhard Feldmeier, The First Letter of Peter: A Commentary on the Greek Text (Waco, TX: Baylor University Press, 2008), 39–40 (c. 81–90 ce); Jacques Schlosser, La première épître de Pierre (Commentaire biblique: Nouveau Testament 21; Paris: Cerf, 2011), 33–35 (c. 70–90 ce). Leonhard Goppelt, A Commentary on I Peter (Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 1993), 46–52, suggests pseudonymity and a date of 65–80 ce. Among those who argue for authenticity and an early date are Donald Guthrie, New Testament Introduction (4th edn; Leicester/Downers Grove: Apollos/IVP, 1990), 762–81, 786–88; I. Howard Marshall, 1 Peter (Leicester: InterVarsity Press, 1991), 22–24; Wayne A. Grudem, 1 Peter (TNTC; Leicester: Inter-Varsity Press, 1988), 21–37; Thomas R. Schreiner, 1, 2, Peter, Jude (NAC 37; Nashville, TN: Broadman & Holman, 2003), 21–37. Discussion about the role of an amanuensis, perhaps specifically Silvanus, has also played a prominent part in debates about date and authorship. Dates in the early second century are also sometimes proposed, particularly if the similarities with Pliny’s correspondence are stressed (see §6.4 n. 106): e.g. Francis W. Beare, The First Epistle of Peter (3rd edn; Oxford: Blackwell, 1970 [1947]), 32–35; also F. Lapham, Peter: The Myth, the Man and the Writings (JSNTSup 239; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 2003), 142. 7 For a brief overview of reasons, see Horrell, 1 Peter, 23–25. Particularly important is the identification of Babylon as Rome (1 Pet. 5.13; see §7.3.1 with n. 77) as well as the literary affinities with documents like 1 Clement. The view that the letter originated in Rome is widely held: e.g. Elliott, 1 Peter, 131–34; Achtemeier, 1 Peter, 64; Goppelt, I Peter, 48; Feldmeier, First Epistle of Peter, 40–42; Schlosser, Première épître, 38. Some scholars, however, have pointed out that if the letter is pseudepigraphic, then the description of its origin as from ‘Babylon’ (Rome) may also be a part of the pseudepigraphical framework: see Norbert Brox, ‘Zur pseudepigraphischen Rahmung des ersten Petrusbriefes’, BZ 19 (1975), 78–96, 95; Claus-Hunno Hunzinger, ‘Babylon als Deckname für Rom und die Datierung des 1. Petrusbriefes’, in Henning Graf Reventlow (ed.), Gottes Wort und Gottesland (Hertzberg/Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1965), 67–77 (77);

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studies below (e.g. chapters 2, 4) these decisions make little difference to the arguments proposed, which could equally stand if the letter were early and authentically Peter’s. In the case of chapter 1, the debate only makes sense on the assumption that the letter is pseudonymous. With regard to chapter 3, my arguments gain added weight if we assume a late-first- (or even earlysecond-) century dating of the letter, but are by no means implausible with any proposed date, particularly assuming (as even proponents of authenticity tend to argue) that the letter is unlikely to be earlier than the early 60s. In other cases (chapters 5–7) the arguments are sustainable on any date after the fire of Rome in 64 ce, but cohere most cogently with a date after 70 ce, most likely in the range suggested above (or conceivably somewhat later). The following studies, then, offer a diverse range of perspectives on this fascinating letter, and their arguments do not stand or fall together. Nonetheless, the central claim that I hope they combine to sustain is that 1 Peter makes a crucial and underappreciated contribution to the making of Christian identity, taking some key steps to articulate and define this identity and its social ‘position’, using Jewish traditions and (specifically ethnoracial) terminology, laying positive claim to a hostile outsiders’ label, and carefully positioning the Church’s stance with regard to civil obedience and its limits. These steps were important and influential to the process which continued in the decades and centuries thereafter – a process we may describe, using the label that appears in 1 Pet. 4.16, as one of becoming ‘Christian’.

Andreas Lindemann, Paulus im ältesten Christentum: Das Bild des Apostels und die Rezeption der paulinischen Theologie in der frühchristlichen Literatur bis Marcion (BHT 58; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1979), 253; Jens Herzer, Petrus oder Paulus? Studien über das Verhältnis des ersten Petrusbriefes zur paulinischen Tradition (WUNT 103; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1998), 264–66; Paul A. Holloway, Coping with Prejudice: 1 Peter in Social-Psychological Perspective (WUNT 244; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2009), 16–17. For a cautious discussion of the issue, see Lutz Doering, ‘Apostle, Co-Elder, and Witness of Suffering: Author Construction and Peter Image in First Peter’, in Jörg Frey et al. (eds), Pseudepigraphie und Verfasserfiktion in frühchristlichen Briefen (WUNT 246; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2009), 645–81 (667–69).

Chapter 1 The Product of a Petrine Circle? Challenging an Emerging Consensus 1.1. Introduction: an emerging consensus Views of the character and literary relationships of 1 Peter have shifted significantly in recent decades. For many years, 1 Peter was regarded as a ‘Pauline’ document and as exhibiting literary dependence on at least some of the Pauline letters. The case for 1 Peter’s literary dependence on Romans was first set out in detail by W. Seufert in an 1874 essay.1 In a subsequent and lengthy essay, published in two parts, Seufert outlined the close parallels with Ephesians, seeing both letters as products of the Pauline tradition. In this case, however, he attributed the similarities not to literary dependence but to common authorship and shared dependence on Romans,2 tentatively suggesting the author of Acts as a possible candidate for the writing of both 1 Peter and Ephesians.3 An even more extensive survey of the literary relations of 1 Peter was published by Ora Foster in 1913. Foster firmly agreed with the consensus that ‘the Epistle is thoroughly Pauline’, seeing clear evidence of direct literary dependence on Ephesians and Romans.4 Similarly, in his 1941 study of Paul’s ‘literary influence’, Albert Barnett found evidence for 1 Peter’s acquaintance with a number of the Pauline epistles, most clearly Romans, Ephesians, Galatians and 2 Corinthians, but others too, suggesting ‘the existence and influence of Paul’s letters as a published collection’.5 Arguments for 1 Peter’s dependence on Ephesians, and a rejection of the alternative of

1 W. Seufert, ‘Das Abhängigkeitsverhältniss des I. Petrusbriefs vom Römerbrief’, ZWT 17 (1874), 360–88. 2 W. Seufert, ‘Das Verwandtschaftsverhältniss des ersten Petrusbriefs und Epheserbriefs’, ZWT 24 (1881), 178–97, 332–80, e.g. 186, 341–42. 3 Seufert, ‘Verwandtschaftsverhältniss’, 379–80. 4 Ora D. Foster, ‘The Literary Relations of “The First Epistle of Peter” with their Bearing on Date and Place of Authorship’, Transactions of the Connecticut Academy of Arts and Sciences 17 (1913), 363–538 (371; cf. 479–80). 5 Albert E. Barnett, Paul Becomes a Literary Influence (Chicago, IL: University of Chicago Press, 1941), 51–69, with quotation from 51.

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Ephesians’ dependence on 1 Peter, were presented in the early 1950s by Leslie Mitton.6 These arguments for literary dependence were one key aspect of a scholarly tradition that regarded 1 Peter as clearly Pauline in character, a view that continues into recent literature, particularly in German. For example, Werner Kümmel, in his influential Introduction to the New Testament, boldly affirms that ‘there can be no doubt that the author of I Pet stands in the line of succession of Pauline theology’.7 Helmut Koester, Hans Hübner and Udo Schnelle are among those who express similar judgements about 1 Peter’s dependence on the Pauline tradition.8 Among English-speaking commentators, Francis Beare, for example, has similarly expressed the conviction that 1 Peter exhibits the signs of Pauline influence and of literary dependence on a number of the Pauline letters.9 In recent years, these views of 1 Peter have been decisively challenged. An important and early move to articulate a different view was made by Edward Gordon Selwyn. Selwyn questions the alleged ‘Paulinism’ of 1 Peter10 and develops at length the alternative view, building on the work of Philip Carrington, that the similarities between 1 Peter and the Pauline literature are to be explained rather by their use of shared Christian traditions.11 Similarly, Ceslas Spicq depicts 1 Peter as ‘une Épître de la Tradition’, an epistle which incorporates diverse and varied strands of early Christian tradition and should not be one-sidedly labelled ‘Pauline’.12 Many recent commentators, while accepting that there are some parallels between 1 Peter and the Pauline tradition, suggest that these may have come from the sharing of common

6 C. Leslie Mitton, ‘The Relationship between 1 Peter and Ephesians’, JTS 1 (1950), 67–73; C. Leslie Mitton, The Epistle to the Ephesians: Its Authorship, Origin and Purpose (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1951), 176–97. 7 Werner Georg Kümmel, Introduction to the New Testament (2nd edn; London: SCM, 1975), 423. 8 See Helmut Koester, Introduction to the New Testament: Vol 2, History and Literature of Early Christianity (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1982), 292–93; Hans Hübner, Biblische Theologie des Neuen Testaments. Band 2: Die Theologie des Paulus und ihre neutestamentliche Wirkungsgeschichte (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1993), 387–95; Udo Schnelle, The History and Theology of the New Testament Writings (London: SCM, 1998), 410–11. For Hübner, 1 Peter is the ‘Höhepunkt der Wirkungsgeschichte der paulinischen Theologie’ (387). 9 Beare, First Epistle of Peter, 44–45, 219. 10 Edward Gordon Selwyn, ‘The Problem of the Authorship of I Peter’, ExpTim 59 (1948), 256–58 (256). 11 Edward Gordon Selwyn, The First Epistle of St. Peter (2nd edn; London and Basingstoke: Macmillan, 1947 [1946]), 17–24, 365–466; Philip Carrington, The Primitive Christian Catechism: A Study in the Epistles (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1940). 12 Ceslas Spicq, Les Épitres de Saint Pierre (SB; Paris: Gabalda, 1966), 15. Cf. also Ceslas Spicq, ‘La Ia Petri et le témoignage évangélique de saint Pierre’, ST 20 (1966), 37–61 (37); François Bovon, ‘Foi chrétienne et Religion populaire dans la première Épitre de Pierre’, ETR 53 (1978), 25–41; Norbert Brox, ‘Der erste Petrusbrief in der literarischen Tradition des Urchristentums’, Kairos 20 (1978), 182–92; Goppelt, I Peter, 26–36.

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Christian tradition, and stress equally the influence of other Christian traditions within the letter.13 Especially but by no means exclusively in English-language scholarship, this rejection of the ‘Pauline’ view of 1 Peter and an increased emphasis upon the letter’s distinctive character has contributed to what John Elliott, whose work has done much to establish this new view of 1 Peter, describes as a ‘liberation of 1 Peter from its “Pauline bondage”’.14 According to Elliott, writing in 1976, ‘the theory of a Petrine dependence upon Paul must now be rejected in favor of a common Petrine and Pauline use of a broadly varied (liturgical, parenetic, and catechetical) tradition’.15 Elliott’s alternative view of the epistle is forcefully stated: ‘1 Peter is the product of a Petrine tradition transmitted by Petrine tradents of a Petrine circle.’16 On this basis, while accepting that the letter is formally pseudonymous, Elliott maintains that 1 Peter is ‘authentically Petrine in the sense that it expresses the thoughts, the theology, and the concerns of the apostle Peter as shared, preserved and developed by the group with which he was most closely associated’.17 Elliott elsewhere makes it clear that he sees this Petrine circle as based in Rome and as treasuring not only distinctively Petrine traditions but more generally those of the Roman Christian community (including Paul’s letter to the Romans); hence there are diverse and varied traditions woven into the epistle, which represents the Roman community’s letter of encouragement and exhortation to the suffering Christians of Asia Minor.18 Further weight has been added to the notion of 1 Peter’s distinctively Petrine character by Jens Herzer’s book-length examination and critique of the hypothesis of the ‘Paulinism’ of 1 Peter: Herzer’s conclusion is that direct Pauline influence on 1 Peter is neither provable nor probable.19 Kazuhito Shimada has also offered detailed 13 E.g. Michaels, 1 Peter, xliii–xlv; Achtemeier, 1 Peter, 23. 14 Elliott, ‘Rehabilitation’, 248. Elliott, 1 Peter, 40, reiterates the plea: ‘It is high time for 1 Peter to be liberated from its “Pauline captivity” and read as a distinctive voice of the early Church.’ 15 Elliott, ‘Rehabilitation’, 247; cf. Elliott, 1 Peter, 37–40. 16 Elliott, ‘Rehabilitation’, 248. Cf. further John H. Elliott, ‘Peter, Silvanus and Mark in I Peter and Acts: Sociological-Exegetical Perspectives on a Petrine Group in Rome’, in W. Haubeck and M. Bachmann (eds), Wort in der Zeit: Neutestamentliche Studien. Festgabe für Karl Heinrich Rengstorff zum 75. Geburtstag (Leiden: Brill, 1980), 250–67; John H. Elliott, A Home for the Homeless: A Social-Scientific Criticism of 1 Peter, its Situation and Strategy (2nd edn; Minneapolis, MN: Fortress, 1990 [1981]), 271–72; Elliott, 1 Peter, 127–30, 889–90. 17 Elliott, ‘Peter, Silvanus and Mark’, 253–54. 18 John H. Elliott, ‘The Roman Provenance of 1 Peter and the Gospel of Mark: A Response to David Dungan’, in Bruce Corley (ed.), Colloquy on New Testament Studies: A Time for Reappraisal and Fresh Approaches (Macon, GA: Mercer University Press, 1983), 181–94; John H. Elliott, ‘Backward and Forward “In His Steps”: Following Jesus from Rome to Raymond and Beyond: The Tradition, Redaction, and Reception of 1 Peter 2:18-25’, in Fernando F. Segovia (ed.), Discipleship in the New Testament (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1985), 184–209, 196–98; John H. Elliott, What is Social-Scientific Criticism? (UK title: Social-Scientific Criticism of the New Testament) (Minneapolis/London: Fortress/SPCK, 1993), 85; Elliott, 1 Peter, 130–34. 19 Herzer, Petrus oder Paulus? For an overview and critique, see David G. Horrell, ‘Review of Jens Herzer, Petrus oder Paulus?’, JTS 51 (2000), 287–92.

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criticism of the arguments for 1 Peter’s literary dependence on Romans and Ephesians, overturning – or at least, attempting to overturn – the verdict of Seufert, Barnett, Mitton, and others from a previous generation.20 The view of 1 Peter as the product of a Petrine group or school (probably in Rome)21 is not new,22 but has been growing in influence, especially through the detailed work of Elliott.23 Ralph Martin, for example, has suggested that ‘the insight that a document like I Peter may well be the final product of a group associated with Peter in his lifetime and intent on publishing his teaching after his demise is gaining ground, and holds out the most promise for future understanding’.24 Clifton Black similarly finds Elliott’s view broadly convincing: ‘1 Peter probably was the product of a distinctive group, or circle, within primitive Christianity, perhaps originating in Rome, which aligned itself with the witness of the apostle Peter.’25 Kathleen Corley also comments that ‘the argument for a separate Petrine school is gaining wider acceptance’.26 Indeed, some have argued specifically for a Petrine ‘school’: Marion Soards links 1 Peter with 2 Peter and Jude, suggesting that together 20 Kazuhito Shimada, ‘Is I Peter Dependent on Ephesians? A Critique of C.L. Mitton’, AJBI 17 (1991), 77–106; Kazuhito Shimada, ‘Is I Peter Dependent on Romans?’, AJBI 19 (1993), 87–137. Both essays are reprinted in Kazuhito Shimada, Studies on First Peter (Tokyo: Kyo Bun Kwan, 1998). Elliott, 1 Peter, 22, considers that the case for literary dependence on Romans and Ephesians has been decisively refuted by Shimada. 21 On the question of the letter’s place of origin, see the Introduction (p. 5). 22 Already in the 1940s Carrington, Catechism, referred to ‘the school of Peter’ (24) and, in a chapter on ‘the socio-religious unit’, saw 1 Peter (and, correspondingly, Colossians and Ephesians) as reflecting a ‘school’ context, focused on the figures of Peter and Paul respectively, similar to the rabbinic schools (66–73). Ethelbert Stauffer, Die Theologie des Neuen Testaments (5th edn; Gütersloh: Bertelsmann, 1948), suggested Peter’s influence on 1 Peter, Mark’s Gospel (specifically the passion narrative) and the speeches attributed to Peter in Acts, and spoke of a Petruskreis: ‘Möglicherweise stammt schon die Urgestalt der Passionsgeschichte aus dem Petruskreis. Auch im 1 Pt dürften petrinische Traditionen mitverarbeitet sein’ (18). According to Ernest Best, 1 Peter (NCBC; London/Grand Rapids: Marshall, Morgan & Scott/Eerdmans, 1971), 63, ‘the epistle was pseudonymous but emerged from a Petrine school’. Donald P. Senior, 1 & 2 Peter (New Testament Message 20; Wilmington, Delaware/Dublin: Glazier/Veritas, 1980), also suggested that the letter emerged from ‘a Petrine group at Rome’ (xv). 23 A recent commentary in French, for example, follows Elliott’s perspective, seeing 1 Peter as the product of ‘un groupe qui se réclamait de Pierre, qui gardait fidèlement sa mémoire, qui se voulait l’héritier de sa responsabilité apostolique’. Silvanus and Mark are seen as ‘l’indice de l’existence d’un tel groupe’. Paul Bony, La Première épître de Pierre: Chrétiens en diaspora (Lire la Bible 137; Paris: Cerf, 2004), 13. 24 Ralph P. Martin, ‘The Theology of Jude, 1 Peter, and 2 Peter’, in Andrew Chester and Ralph P. Martin, The Theology of the Letters of James, Peter and Jude (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1994), 92. 25 Clifton C. Black, Mark: Images of an Apostolic Interpreter (Columbia, SC: University of South Carolina Press, 1994), 64. Cf., similarly, Terence V. Smith, Petrine Controversies in Early Christianity: Attitudes towards Peter in Christian Writings of the First Two Centuries (WUNT 2.15; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1985), 153–54. 26 Kathleen Corley, ‘1 Peter’, in Elisabeth Schüssler Fiorenza (ed.), Searching the Scriptures, Vol.2: A Feminist Commentary (London: SCM, 1995), 349–60 (350).

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they provide evidence for the existence of a Petrine school, analogous to the other ancient schools which existed at the time.27 Similarly, Otto Knoch sees 1 and 2 Peter as witnesses to the existence of a Petrusschule in Rome.28 Most, however, prefer to speak of a ‘circle’ or ‘group’ of Petrine associates.29 Such is the momentum behind this perspective that Eugene Boring regards 1 Peter’s origin in a Petrine circle as ‘virtually certain’, although he also argues that this should not lead us to discount the idea of Pauline influence.30 Indeed, Elliott notes in his magisterial commentary that ‘[n]umerous scholars now consider the theory plausible, if not probable’.31 It is no surprise, then, that Frank Matera has recently described as an ‘emerging consensus … that the letter had its origin in a Petrine circle that revered the memory and teaching of Peter’.32 There has been surprisingly little critical questioning of this ‘emerging consensus’.33 The aim of this chapter is to assess how valid it is to regard 1 Peter in this way. This will involve a brief consideration of some of the Christian (Pauline and non-Pauline) traditions evident in the letter, some appraisal of the evidence (or lack of it) for a ‘Petrine group’ in Rome, and (if 1 Peter is not the product of a distinctive Petrine group) an attempt to answer the question as to why it 27 Marion L. Soards, ‘1 Peter, 2 Peter and Jude as Evidence for a Petrine School’, ANRW 2.25.5 (1988), 3827–49 28 Otto B. Knoch, ‘Gab es eine Petrusschule in Rom? Überlegungen zu einer bedeutsamen Frage’, SNTSU 16 (1991), 105–26. 29 R. J. Bauckham, Jude, 2 Peter (WBC 50; Waco, TX: Word Books, 1983), 146. Note his sharp criticism of Soards in Richard J. Bauckham, Jude and the Relatives of Jesus (Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1990), 147. 30 M. Eugene Boring, ‘First Peter in Recent Study’, WW 24 (2004), 358–67 (361–62), with the quoted phrase from 361. Earl J. Richard, Reading 1 Peter, Jude, and 2 Peter: A Literary and Theological Commentary (Reading the New Testament; Macon, GA: Smyth & Helwys, 2000), 10, who also supports the view that the author belonged ‘to a Petrine group in Rome’, suggests that there is ‘much evidence in the New Testament (Paul, Acts, 1 Peter) and early postNew Testament writers (especially Clement of Rome and Papias) to postulate the existence of such a Petrine circle’. 31 Elliott, 1 Peter, 127. 32 Matera, New Testament Theology, 373. 33 Aside from the earlier essay on which this chapter is based, first published in 2002, scepticism concerning the idea of Petrine school origins has been expressed in some recent German literature. Brief comments are made by Karl Matthias Schmidt, Mahnung und Erinnerung im Maskenspiel: Epistolographie, Rhetorik, und Narrativik der pseudepigraphen Petrusbriefe (HBS 38; Freiburg, Basel, Vienna: Herder, 2003), 420 and Joachim Gnilka, Petrus und Rom: Das Petrusbild in den ersten zwei Jahrhunderten (Freiburg, Basel, Vienna: Herder, 2002), 198–200, though Gnilka ends by suggesting – rather speculatively in my view – that 1 Peter may have had its origins in one of the various Hausgemeinden that constituted the churches in Rome. In a wider study of Schulen im Neuen Testament, focused mainly on the proposals for Pauline and Johannine schools, Thomas Schmeller concludes that there is insufficient evidence for any Petrine school (Thomas Schmeller, Schulen im Neuen Testament? Zur Stellung des Urchristentums in der Bildungswelt seiner Zeit [HBS 30; Freiburg: Herder, 2001], 29–31). Somewhat more extensive are the critical arguments of Gudrun Guttenberger, Passio Christiana: Die alltagsmartyrologische Position des Ersten Petrusbriefes (Stuttgarter Bibelstudien 223; Stuttgart: Katholisches Bibelwerk, 2010), 78–87.

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was written in the name of Peter (1.1), and mentions Silvanus and Mark (5.1213). It will be argued that 1 Peter is characterized by a series of intertextual relationships, including with Paul’s letters (notably Romans), and is best seen as the product of a consolidating or synthesizing form of early Christianity (whether in Rome or elsewhere) rather than of a specifically Petrine circle or school, a circle for which there is no substantive evidence.

1.2. Pauline traditions in 1 Peter A comprehensive study of every suggested parallel between the Pauline tradition and 1 Peter cannot be attempted in the space available here. Seufert’s pioneering study of the parallels with Romans alone runs to twenty-eight pages, with another sixty-nine in subsequent articles devoted to the parallels with Ephesians.34 Even in his monograph-length investigation of the supposed ‘Paulinism’ of 1 Peter, Herzer examines only a selection of the possible texts and themes.35 However, an illustrative selection of a variety of parallels, related in particular to the arguments of Herzer’s book, will serve to demonstrate the links between 1 Peter and Pauline language and tradition.36 1.2.1. The epistolary frame In both the opening and the closing verses of 1 Peter a number of similarities with the typical Pauline pattern can be seen, while differences and distinctive ideas at the same time indicate that 1 Peter is certainly not simply an imitation of a Pauline letter. For example, the description of Peter as ἀπόστολος Ἰησοῦ Χριστοῦ (1.1) is reminiscent of Paul, although Paul generally has Χριστοῦ Ἰησοῦ rather than Ἰησοῦ Χριστοῦ37 (cf. 1 Cor. 1.1; 2 Cor. 1.1; but note Gal. 1.1; Tit. 1.1).38 Similarly, the phrase χάρις ὑμῖν καὶ εἰρήνη (1 Pet. 1.2) is a characteristically Pauline greeting (Rom. 1.7; 1 Cor. 1.3; 2 Cor. 1.2; Gal. 1.3; Eph. 1.2; Phil. 1.2; Col. 1.2; 1 Thess. 1.1; 2 Thess. 1.2; Philemon 3; note also 34 Seufert, ‘Abhängigkeitsverhältniss’; Seufert, ‘Verwandtschaftsverhältniss’. Foster’s extensive study of the literary relations of 1 Peter more generally runs to some 175 pages (Foster, ‘Literary Relations’). 35 Herzer, Petrus oder Paulus?, 12, cf. 4. 36 For a concise overview of the parallels, see also Klaus Berger, Theologiegeschichte des Urchristentums: Theologie des Neuen Testaments (2nd edn; Tübingen and Basel: Francke, 1995), 419–30. 37 As Herzer points out, but overinterprets, arguing against any indebtedness of 1 Peter to the Pauline letter form and pressing the case for 1 Peter’s independence (Herzer, Petrus oder Paulus?, 31–34). Herzer is cautiously followed at this point by Doering, ‘Apostle’, 649. 38 Doering, ‘Apostle’, 648–52, argues that the use of ἀπόστολος without any additional justification contrasts with Paul’s uses, where there is generally some arguing for his apostolicity, reflecting his necessity to defend this status. Since ‘Peter was known as apostle in early Christianity without any reservation’ – he is ‘the apostle par excellence’ – Doering suggests that ‘only Peter would properly be able to write in the style of 1 Pet. 1:1’ (649–50). I think Doering makes a significant point about the ‘Peter image’ presented in the letter, specifically through the use of the title apostle, but presses the differences with the Pauline prescripts too much at this point.

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Rev. 1.4), although a notable difference is the verb πληθυνθείη which follows in 1 Peter, a verb unknown in the Pauline letters but found, for example, in Jewish epistolary tradition (Dan. 4.1; 6.26 [LXX: Theodotion]) and in the greetings of Jude, 2 Peter, and 1 Clement.39 The common features of the Pauline tradition and 1 Peter may be contrasted with the letter openings of James, 1-2-3 John, and Jude. The author of 1 Peter may possibly not have been conscious that the tradition of Christian epistolography which he followed was decisively shaped by Paul,40 but that would not negate the de facto Pauline influence on the letter form.41 The opening blessing (1 Pet. 1.3-9) also has some striking similarities to the Pauline letters, most notably Eph. 1.3-14.42 The opening phrase (Εὐλογητὸς ὁ θεὸς καὶ πατὴρ τοῦ κυρίου ἡμῶν Ἰησοῦ Χριστοῦ) is identical in the Greek of 1 Pet. 1.3, Eph. 1.3, and also 2 Cor. 1.3,43 introducing the (only) three New Testament examples of what Nils Dahl calls ‘letter-opening benedictions’.44 There are also a number of verbal similarities in the following verses: 1 Pet. 1.3-9 εἰς ἐλπίδα ζῶσαν (v. 3) εἰς κληρονομίαν … εἰς ὑμᾶς (v. 4) εἰς ἔπαινον καὶ δόξαν (v. 7) αἵματος Ἰησοῦ Χριστοῦ (1.2) πρὸ καταβολῆς κόσμου (1.20) περιποίησιν (2.9 [cf. Isa. 43.21])

Eph. 1.3-14 τοὺς προηλπικότας ἐν τῷ Χριστῷ (v. 12) τῆς κληρονομίας ἡμῶν (v. 14) εἰς ἔπαινον δόξης... (vv. 6, 12, 14) διὰ τοῦ αἵματος αὐτοῦ (v. 7) πρὸ καταβολῆς κόσμου (v. 4) περιποιήσεως (v. 14)

Barnett sets out the two passages together (though without identifying specific points of similarity), and comments that ‘there is an unmistakable resemblance’

39 Cf. Lutz Doering, ‘First Peter as Early Christian Diaspora Letter’, in Karl-Wilhelm Niebuhr and Robert W. Wall (eds), The Catholic Epistles and Apostolic Tradition: A New Perspective on James to Jude (Waco, TX: Baylor University Press, 2009), 215–36, 441–57 (234), who rightly observes ‘that 1 Peter has taken up and supplemented the well-known Pauline salutation’ in a way that ‘links up with encyclical letter writing in the biblical Jewish tradition’. 40 So Herzer, Petrus oder Paulus?, 83, who denies that the epistolary frame of 1 Peter indicates any dependence on Paul or the Pauline tradition. 41 Lothar Wehr, Petrus und Paulus – Kontrahenten und Partner. Die beiden Apostel im Spiegel des Neuen Testaments, der Apostolischen Väter und früher Zeugnisse Ihrer Verehrung (NTAbh 30; Münster: Aschendorff, 1996), 185, rightly sees the Briefformular of 1 Peter as dependent on the Pauline form. 42 Cf. Seufert, ‘Verwandtschaftsverhältniss’, 184–90, though Seufert offers a rather maximalist view of the similarities. 43 Cf. Seufert, ‘Verwandtschaftsverhältniss’, 184; Mitton, ‘1 Peter and Ephesians’, 73. 44 Nils Alstrup Dahl, Studies in Ephesians: Introductory Questions, Text- & EditionCritical Issues, Interpretation of Texts and Themes (WUNT 131; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2000), 301. Dahl notes three examples in the New Testament of the formula ‘who is blessed forever’ (Rom. 1.25; 9.5; 2 Cor. 11.31) and four of ‘more extended praise of God introduced with εὐλογητός’ (in addition to the examples in 2 Corinthians, Ephesians, and 1 Peter, Dahl points to Lk. 1.67-79; see 300–301).

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with ‘literary relationship a matter of practical certainty’.45 One can however point out, as both Shimada and Herzer have done, that the precise similarities are limited, and that the blessing in 1 Peter has its own distinctive shape and content.46 Both authors favour a stance similar to Selwyn’s, that the parallels are best explained by independent use of common early Christian traditions.47 Dahl likewise, in an extensive study of forms of benediction and congratulation in Jewish texts, sees the three benedictions in 2 Cor. 1.3-7, Eph. 1.3-14, and 1 Pet. 1.3-7 as ‘modeled upon a common pattern’ reflecting ‘a form that was used by Paul and other preachers’.48 But some kind of literary or intertextual relationship remains highly plausible, especially given the lack of non-Pauline examples of the phrasing found in 1.3.49 It is perhaps revealing when Dahl comments that ‘[t]he similarity of design cannot be due simply to literary imitation … since each of the three benedictions has its own structure and function’.50 Yet a literary or intertextual relationship need not entail precise or extensive repetition of large amounts of the source text, but can involve a more subtle and creative engagement. In the letter closing, the most striking link with Paul is the exhortation ἀσπάσασθε ἀλλήλους ἐν φιλήματι ἀγάπης (1 Pet. 5.14), which is paralleled only, and almost precisely, in Paul (Rom. 16.16; 1 Cor. 16.20; 2 Cor. 13.12; 1 Thess. 5.26). The only significant distinction is that Paul describes the kiss as a holy kiss (φιλήματι ἁγίῳ) rather than one of love (ἀγάπης). For Herzer this difference is enough to establish the independence (‘Eigenständigkeit’) of 1 Peter from Paul, the similarity being explained by their common adoption of an early Christian tradition.51 Certainly, as Herzer suggests, greeting with a kiss may have become a widespread and not exclusively Pauline custom in early Christianity, and even if it was introduced to the Roman church by Paul (Rom. 16.16) the author of 1 Peter (if based in Rome) may not have been aware of the Pauline link. Nevertheless, since the custom is known to us (aside from 1 Peter) only through the Pauline letters, to speak of 1 Peter’s independence from Pauline tradition here does not do justice to the available evidence. Rather, the form of the epistolary greeting and the specific custom of the kiss indicate some kind of Pauline influence on 1 Peter. 1.2.2. The expression ἐν Χριστῷ The expression ἐν Χριστῷ, so frequent and typical in Paul, occurs elsewhere in the New Testament only in 1 Peter (3.16; 5.10, 14), although there are less 45 Barnett, Literary Influence, 54. 46 Shimada, Studies, 81–85; Herzer, Petrus oder Paulus?, 50–54. 47 Cf. Selwyn, First Epistle, 19–23, 363–466. 48 Dahl, Studies in Ephesians, 301. Cf. Wehr, Petrus und Paulus, 185, who comments that 1 Pet. 1.3 is an established liturgical formula, which gives no basis for concluding that there is literary dependence on 2 Cor. 1.3 (or Eph. 1.3). 49 As Mitton comments, ‘the similarity is not adequately accounted for by Selwyn’s plea that the sentence “represents a common form of expression”, unless other instances of it, not derived from Paul’s use of it, can be cited’ (Mitton, ‘1 Peter and Ephesians’, 73). 50 Dahl, Studies in Ephesians, 301. 51 Herzer, Petrus oder Paulus?, 77–80.

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precise parallels in the Johannine language of mutual indwelling (Jn 14.20; 15.4-11; 17.21-26; 1 Jn 2.5-6, 24, 27; 4.12-16). We may agree with Herzer that the formula is used in 1 Peter in a distinctive way, and conveys the distinctive theology of the letter rather than a blandly reproduced Paulinism.52 It may be conceivable, as Herzer suggests, that the formula had become an independent Christian expression used without awareness of its Pauline origins, though given its absence from the rest of the New Testament this seems a less than likely suggestion.53 Once again, insofar as our evidence allows us to say anything, the distinctively Pauline character and origin of the formula is clear: the use of the phrase ἐν Χριστῷ in 1 Peter most likely indicates the influence of Pauline tradition.54 1.2.3. The term χάρισμα Another term found in the New Testament only in the Pauline letters and 1 Peter (4.10) is χάρισμα, used to describe the varied gifts given to the members of the Christian community. The exhortation in 1 Peter to every Christian to use their gifts in service of one another, ἕκαστος καθὼς ἔλαβεν χάρισμα (4.10), is widely regarded as a clear sign of indebtedness to Pauline tradition.55 Herzer once again demurs, emphasizing the differences between the Pauline and Petrine usage (e.g. the tendency in the Pauline letters to emphasize the giving of the gifts [δίδωμι: Rom. 12.6; 1 Cor. 12.7ff.], compared with receiving [λαμβάνω] in 1 Peter) and linking the view of gifts in 1 Peter to the tradition in Acts 6, with the division of labour between the two tasks of proclamation and service (1 Pet. 4.11; Acts 6.1-4).56 But while the general and illustrative twofold exhortation εἴ τις λαλεῖ … εἴ τις διακονεῖ (1 Pet. 4.11) is very broadly reminiscent of Acts 6, the language of χάρισμα is distinctively Pauline. Moreover, as Lothar Wehr points out, while the word ποικίλος (found in 1 Pet. 4.10) does not appear in the genuine Pauline letters, its meaning appropriately conveys an important aspect of Paul’s teaching on the χαρίσματα.57 Τhe similarities between 1 Pet. 4.10-11 and Rom. 12.6-8, and the specific use of the Pauline vocabulary, are 52 Herzer, Petrus oder Paulus?, 84–106. Again, however, Herzer overstresses the differences and their significance for 1 Peter’s independence; he concedes, for example, that the idea expressed in 1 Pet. 5.10 is paralleled in Rom. 8.17, but points out that Paul there uses σύν rather than ἐν (104). That there are significant differences need not be denied, but an identical use of phrases or expressions is surely most unlikely in any subsequent adaptation or transmission of tradition (cf. the Pastorals’ presentation of the Pauline tradition!). 53 Herzer, Petrus oder Paulus?, 102–106. 54 Cf. Brox, Petrusbrief, 161: ‘… zeigt aber ein weiteres Mal das paulinische Kolarit des 1 Petr.’; Wehr, Petrus und Paulus, 186–87. Elliott, 1 Peter, 38, concedes that the ‘in Christ’ theme may be distinctively Pauline. 55 E.g. on 4.10 Brox comments: ‘Der paulinische Charakter ethischer Elemente des 1 Petr ist an dieser Stelle aber immerhin besonders deutlich’ (Brox, Petrusbrief, 207). Wehr, Petrus und Paulus, 188–93, finds the use of both χάρις and χάρισμα in 4.10 indicative of a dependence on Pauline thought, though without any proof of a direct literary relationship with the Pauline letters. 56 Herzer, Petrus oder Paulus?, 158–72. 57 Wehr, Petrus und Paulus, 191 n. 284.

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close enough to suggest again the (direct or indirect) influence of Paul (perhaps specifically Romans) on 1 Peter. 1.2.4. The paraenetic tradition Close similarities between the paraenesis in 1 Peter 3, Romans 12, and 1 Thessalonians 5 have often been noted.58 Particularly striking are the parallels between 1 Thess. 5.15, Rom. 12.17, and 1 Pet. 3.9: ὁρᾶτε μή τις κακὸν ἀντὶ κακοῦ τινι ἀποδῷ, ἀλλὰ πάντοτε τὸ ἀγαθὸν διώκετε [καὶ] εἰς ἀλλήλους καὶ εἰς πάντας (1 Thess. 5.15) μηδενὶ κακὸν ἀντὶ κακοῦ ἀποδιδόντες, προνοούμενοι καλὰ ἐνώπιον πάντων ἀνθρώπων (Rom. 12.17) μὴ ἀποδιδόντες κακὸν ἀντὶ κακοῦ ἢ λοιδορίαν ἀντὶ λοιδορίας, τοὐναντίον δὲ εὐλογοῦντες ὅτι εἰς τοῦτο ἐκλήθητε ἵνα εὐλογίαν κληρονομήσητε (1 Pet. 3.9)

Given the similarities between this teaching and that found in the Sermon on the Mount/Plain (Mt. 5.44; Lk. 6.27-28), it is not unlikely that these passages share a common source in early Christian (dominical) paraenesis.59 However, the precise linguistic parallels between the texts listed above do not derive from the synoptic tradition, so again, as far as our evidence shows, the particular formulation of paraenetical tradition found in 1 Peter seems to reflect Pauline influence, with Paul’s letter to the Romans quite possibly being one of the channels through which this teaching was known to the author of 1 Peter, whether through a Roman context or not. Indeed, as we shall see further in the following section, some of the most significant parallels between 1 Peter and Romans are to be found in Romans 12–13.60 1.2.5. Christian obligations within the state and household First Peter’s teaching about the Christian’s obligations to the state and within the household also displays clear parallels with the Pauline tradition. Again it is possible, and not infrequently suggested, that both the Pauline and Petrine versions derive from shared early Christian tradition.61 However, the parallels are such as to suggest some particular link between 1 Peter (2.13-17) and the Pauline tradition (Rom. 13.1-7), particularly in the use of ὑποτάσσω and in reference to the authorities as those who reward right and punish wrong (cf. also 1 Tim. 2.1-4; Tit. 3.1). Barnett comments: ‘That Rom. 13:1-7 was in the mind of the author of I Peter is highly probable. The theme, the arrangement 58 See further John Piper, ‘Hope as the Motivation of Love: 1 Peter 3:9–12’, NTS 26 (1980), 212–31 (218–23), who sets out the parallels on p. 219. Cf. also Selwyn, First Epistle, 407–13; Michaels, 1 Peter, 174. 59 Cf., e.g., Piper, ‘Hope’, 221; Michaels, 1 Peter, 175; Herzer, Petrus oder Paulus?, 255–56. 60 Cf. Seufert, ‘Abhängigkeitsverhältniss’, 362–74; Seufert, ‘Verwandtschaftsverhältniss’, 365–66, with a list of parallels between Romans 12–13 and 1 Peter/Ephesians: ‘Lehrreich ist hier besonders die durchgehende Benützung von Röm 12 und 13 in unseren beiden Briefen’ (365). 61 Cf. Selwyn, First Epistle, 426–39; Herzer, Petrus oder Paulus?, 227.

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of thought, the resemblances in language, support this probability.’62 Barnett does not explore or set out these parallels in detail. But a careful investigation does indeed reveal a striking number of parallels of vocabulary:63 Word πᾶς ὑποτάσσω ἀγαθός/κακός

ἔπαινον ἐκδικσυνείδησις φοβέω τιμάω/τιμή

Rom. 13.1-7 πᾶσα ψυχή ὑποτασσέσθω … ὑποτάσσεσθαι τῷ ἀγαθῷ ἔργῳ … τῷ κακῷ … τὸ ἀγαθὸν ποίει … τὸ ἀγαθόν... τὸ κακὸν ποιῇς... τῷ τὸ κακὸν πράσσοντι ἔπαινον ἔκδικος διὰ τὴν συνείδησιν φόβος... μη φοβεῖσθαι … τῷ τὸν φόβον τὸν φόβον τῷ τὴν τιμὴν τὴν τιμήν

1 Pet. 2.13-17 πάσῃ ἀνθρωπίνῃ κτίσει ὑποτάγητε κακοποιῶν … ἀγαθοποιῶν … ἀγαθοποιοῦντας (cf. 2.12, 20; 3.17; 4.15) ἔπαινον ἐκδίκησις (διὰ συνείδησιν θεοῦ, 2.19) τὸν θεὸν φοβεῖσθε τὸν βασιλέα τιμᾶτε

We shall consider how best to make sense of this range of parallels below, but for now we should note that they form an impressive list, and would seem to indicate some kind of relationship between the texts, particularly given that they are much more extensive than exist between Romans 13 and either 1 Tim. 2.1-4 or Tit. 3.1 (the latter a very brief summary of the Pauline teaching).64 Shimada points to differences ‘[f]rom a context-analytical point of view’, in sequence, and in ‘[w]ords, phrases and usages’, concluding that dependence on Romans is unlikely.65 But his criteria for dependence are much too stringent.66 First Peter’s adaptation of ‘household code’ material also suggests some proximity to the deutero-Pauline Haustafeln (Col. 3.18–4.1; Eph. 5.21–6.9; 1 Pet. 2.18–3.7). These Christian Haustafeln clearly have non-Christian literary antecedents,67 and the code in Colossians (probably the earliest such code in the New Testament) has a neat and precise structure, suggesting at least 62 Barnett, Literary Influence, 62. 63 I am grateful to Mark Reasoner, in email correspondence, for the stimulus to look in detail at these parallels of vocabulary. 64 See Berger, Theologiegeschichte, 427, for parallels between 1 Pet. 2.13-17, Rom. 13.1-7, and Tit. 3.1, though Berger explains these differently (see below). 65 Shimada, Studies, 141–44. 66 Cf. Shimada, Studies, 105–106. Because Shimada takes ‘“a direct dependence” to mean a conscious effort on the side of the alleged borrower … to make the quotation or reference look very much like the original text’, his first criterion is that ‘[a] passage should be quoted explicitly and extensively (and the author and writings, from which he allegedly quotes, should be identified, if possible)’ (105). This criterion would rule out all but the most explicit and extensive forms of literary dependence, including some of the more obvious citations of the Old Testament in the New Testament, the use of Jude in 2 Peter (or vice versa), etc. 67 See esp. David L. Balch, Let Wives Be Submissive: The Domestic Code in 1 Peter (SBLMS 26; Atlanta, GA: Scholars Press, 1981).

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some prior tradition of formulation. Broadly comparable but less directly parallel texts in Did. 4.10-11 and Barn. 19.7 also indicate that some forms of ‘household’ teaching came into early Christianity independently of the Pauline tradition. But 1 Peter’s household-code teaching and exhortations about submission to the governing authorities seem to reflect the influence of Pauline tradition – at least to as great an extent as do the Pastorals. One of 1 Peter’s distinctive contributions is to draw together the Pauline teaching on the state with that on the household. Certainly 1 Peter presents this teaching in a distinctive manner, motivating and justifying the expected conduct in ways which vary from what is found in Paul.68 But so do the Pastoral Epistles, where Tit. 3.1 presents only a concise summary of the teaching elaborated in Rom. 13.1-7, and 1 Tim. 2.1-2 introduces the appeal to pray ‘for kings and all who are in high positions’, and where various elements of Haustafel teaching appear rather than the complete and balanced ‘tables’ of Colossians and Ephesians (see 1 Tim. 5.1–6.2; Tit. 2.1-10). Herzer may be right to insist that the paraenesis concerning governing authorities and the household in 1 Peter demonstrates significant differences (‘große[!] Unterschiede’) from the Pauline tradition, but it seems difficult to sustain the conclusion ‘that a direct Pauline influence is improbable, and that the assumption of a specific presentation of well-known Christian ethical conventions most adequately defines the relationship of 1 Peter to the Pauline tradition’.69 Klaus Berger similarly sees in these texts concerning conduct in relation to the authorities ‘a general piece of early Christian paraenesis’, suggesting that ‘1 Peter presents the comparatively older version’.70 The problems with the view of the two texts as independent adaptations of early Christian paraenesis are, however, considerable. First, alongside 1 Peter, we have evidence for this paraenesis only in the Pauline tradition; proposals regarding prior pieces of early Christian paraenesis can only be hypothetical, given the silence of our sources. Second, the rather extensive linguistic parallels, as detailed above, suggest a rather closer literary relationship between 1 Peter and Romans. Determining which of the two texts is the earlier requires not only a consideration of the two passages in question, but also of the wider arguments for the dating of Romans and 1 Peter, and on this score it seems to me that the case for the priority of Romans – and consequently, for the priority of Rom. 13.1-7 as a formulation of the teaching on relating to the authorities – is weighty.71 1.2.6. Further specific Pauline parallels In addition to the parallels already mentioned, there are a number of places in 1 Peter where the influence of Pauline thought and language has been suggested. Examples include: 1 Pet. 1.14 (συσχηματιζόμενοι ...) and Rom. 12.2 (συσχηματίζεσθε ...), the only two occurrences of this verb in the 68 Cf. Herzer, Petrus oder Paulus?, 227–44. 69 Herzer, Petrus oder Paulus?, 244. 70 Berger, Theologiegeschichte, 427. 71 For brief comments on the likely date of 1 Peter, see the Introduction, p. 5.

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New Testament; 1 Pet. 2.24 (ἵνα ταῖς ἁμαρτίαις ἀπογενόμενοι τῇ δικαιοσύνῃ ζήσωμεν) and Rom. 6.11, 18 (νεκροὺς μὲν τῇ ἁμαρτίᾳ ζῶντας δὲ τῷ θεῷ … ἐλευθερωθέντες δὲ ἀπὸ τῆς ἁμαρτίας ἐδουλώθητε τῇ δικαιοσύνῃ).72 Both here and in other parallels we have considered, the fact that many of the suggested links are specifically with Romans is striking, though there are also close links with Ephesians,73 and with other New Testament writings (see below). Many recent authors suggest that the evidence is not such as to prove literary dependence,74 though, as we have seen, their notion of dependence is often defined in too simple and restrictive a way, requiring extensive, precise, and explicit borrowing, and failing to acknowledge the possibility of more subtle and creative forms of intertextual relationship. The extensive parallels we have seen in one key example from Romans (Rom. 13.1-7//1 Pet. 2.13-17) and one from Ephesians (Eph. 1.3-13//1 Pet. 1.3-9) are significant, and the hypothesis that 1 Peter shows the influence of Romans (and probably other Pauline letters, including Ephesians) seems highly plausible.75 Since Romans may be seen, to some extent at least, as synthesizing and consolidating key aspects of Pauline teaching76 – and the same may be said, mutatis mutandis, for Ephesians – the influence of these two letters in particular indicates a significant connection between 1 Peter and the Pauline tradition. 1.2.7. A ‘Pauline’ letter? Taken together the above observations lead to the conclusion that 1 Peter shows clear signs of awareness of and dependence upon Pauline language and tradition.77 In some cases the parallels may indicate shared use of common 72 See further, e.g., Brox, ‘Tradition’, 183–84. 73 For the parallels with Ephesians see Mitton, Ephesians, 176–97. Cf. also Michaels, 1 Peter, xliii–xlv; Elliott, ‘Rehabilitation’, 246–47. Shimada, Studies, 57–99, offers a detailed critique of Mitton. 74 E.g. Shimada, Studies, 57–166; Elliott, 1 Peter, 22; Michaels, 1 Peter, xliii–xlv; Achtemeier, 1 Peter, 15–17. 75 The influence is sometimes explained by the Roman provenance of 1 Peter, which does indeed give a plausible explanation for the parallels with Romans (and also with 1 Clement, etc.), though given the rapid circulation of early Christian texts the parallels with Romans should probably not be given undue weight in ascertaining the provenance of 1 Peter (cf. Introduction, p. 5). Cf. Elliott, ‘Rehabilitation’, 247, who suggests that ‘the author of 1 Peter was dependent less on a letter of Paul than on a cherished document of the Roman community from which he wrote. The influence, then, would be more Roman than Pauline.’ Cf. also Elliott, ‘Roman Provenance’, 186 n. 5 (‘Numerous echoes of Paul’s letter to the Romans in 1 Peter ...’); Elliott, 1 Peter, 37–38; Best, 1 Peter, 32–36. Nevertheless, what the Roman community cherished was, after all, a letter of Paul’s! 76 Cf. Günther Bornkamm, Paul (London: Hodder & Stoughton, 1971), 88–96. 77 Even Elliott, who is concerned to detach 1 Peter from dependence on the Pauline tradition, acknowledges that ‘[i]t is possible, if not probable, that the Petrine author was familiar with one or more of Paul’s letters (esp. Romans)’ (Elliott, 1 Peter, 37). Elliott’s suggestion that the influence of Romans was not through ‘direct literary borrowing’ but only from Romans as a part of ‘the body of teaching and traditional exhortation collected at Rome’ (38) does not alter the fact that this is an indication of Pauline influence on 1 Peter (cf. also n. 75 above).

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Christian tradition, but in others it is clear that, as far as our evidence allows us to see, the material is distinctively Pauline. There are too many points of contact, in terms both of specific words or phrases and of elements of theology or paraenesis, to justify the view that 1 Peter is independent of Paul. It is more difficult to decide exactly how one should describe this relationship between 1 Peter and the Pauline writings, or specifically between 1 Peter and Romans. Unlike 2 Peter, there is in 1 Peter, of course, no explicit mention of Paul or his writings. Early studies arguing for 1 Peter’s dependence on Paul’s letters undoubtedly presented a rather maximalist analysis of the possible parallels. Moreover, the implication of their conclusions was that 1 Peter was a rather ‘secondary’ text, adapting and reproducing Pauline teaching as a letter in the ‘Pauline tradition’, showing the influence of Paul but lacking his creative genius.78 Those who have reacted against such conclusions have gone too far in the other direction. Shimada, for example, sets criteria for literary dependence that would only be satisfied by precise, explicit, and extensive reproduction of material from the source text,79 while Herzer similarly sees the differences in form and nuance as signs of the independence of 1 Peter from the Pauline letters. Yet what these recent studies have valuably shown is that 1 Peter cannot be appropriately described as a ‘Pauline’ letter. Wehr rightly points out that the indications of Pauline influence are not decisive for the theological content and character of the letter: ‘The first letter of Peter is only marginally influenced by Paul (“nur am Rande paulinisch beinflußt”) and is far from being a “deutero-Pauline” letter.’80 In other words: ‘1 Peter is influenced by Paul, but is not Pauline in a narrower sense.’81 Some of the expressions and traditions evident in 1 Peter are indeed of Pauline origin, and indicate some proximity to the Pauline tradition, but there is much in the letter that is not at all Pauline, as I shall now proceed briefly to show, and even that which is Pauline is presented in a distinctive way within the letter.82

1.3. Non-Pauline traditions in 1 Peter Even more than in the investigation of possible Pauline parallels, here I can present only a sample of the non-Pauline traditions in 1 Peter. However, an exhaustive survey is unnecessary to establish the conclusion relevant to the argument of this chapter, namely that 1 Peter draws on varied Christian traditions some of which are independent from the Pauline tradition. 78 Foster, ‘Literary Relations’, 376, for example, comments that ‘our author was not an original writer’, though was equally ‘no slavish copyist’. 79 See n. 66 above. 80 Wehr, Petrus und Paulus, 200. 81 Wehr, Petrus und Paulus, 214. 82 Cf. the brief but convincing comments of Feldmeier, First Epistle of Peter, 27–28, with a critical but balanced assessment of Herzer’s work at n. 15.

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1.3.1. The address to diaspora exiles While the epistolary frame of 1 Peter seems to reflect some indebtedness to the specifically Pauline letter tradition (see §1.2.1. above), the opening address of 1 Peter is by no means thoroughly Pauline. We have already mentioned that the verb πληθυνθείη, which concludes the otherwise Pauline greeting χάρις ὑμῖν καὶ εἰρήνη (1.2) seems to reflect a more Jewish(-Christian) influence. This impression is further reinforced by the address ἐκλεκτοῖς παρεπιδήμοις διασπορᾶς (1.1) only the first word of which appears in the Pauline letters (and ἐκλεκτοί appears in a prescript only in Tit. 1.1).83 The description of the believers as παρεπίδημοι, and as πάροικοι (both terms are found in 2.11; cf. 1.17), quite apart from its overall significance for the strategy of 1 Peter,84 draws on a scriptural image and is closely paralleled in the New Testament in Heb. 11.13 (also in Acts 7.6, 29; Eph. 2.19; see further §4.4.1). The distinctively Jewish term διασπορά is found elsewhere in the New Testament only in Jn 7.35 and Jas 1.1 (cf. e.g. LXX Deut. 28.25; 30.4; Ps. 146.2; Isa. 49.6; 2 Macc. 1.27). The opening address of the letter, then, seems to reflect a distinctive Jewish-Christian influence, alongside its evidently Pauline characteristics.85 1.3.2. Gospel traditions There is some disagreement over the extent of 1 Peter’s knowledge and use of Gospel traditions. However, for the purposes of the present argument, substantial engagement with the debate is unnecessary. While I remain unconvinced by those who see extensive parallels which point towards the authenticity of 1 Peter,86 the important points in the present context are uncontentious: 1 Peter does contain some clear allusions to the Gospel traditions,87 though, in common with virtually all early Christian epistles,

83 Herzer, Petrus oder Paulus?, 34, is therefore almost, but not quite, correct when he states in relation to these three terms: ‘Keiner dieser Begriffe findet sich in den Präskripten des Corpus Paulinum.’ 84 See further chapters 4 and 7 below. 85 On the parallels and similarities between 1 Peter and Jewish diaspora letters, see esp. Doering, ‘Diaspora Letter’. 86 E.g. Spicq, ‘Témoignage évangélique’; Robert H. Gundry, ‘“Verba Christi” in 1 Peter: Their Implication concerning the Authorship of 1 Peter and the Authenticity of the Gospel Tradition’, NTS 13 (1967), 336–50; Robert H. Gundry, ‘Further Verba on Verba Christi in First Peter’, Bib 55 (1974), 211–32. Note the critical comments of Brox, ‘Tradition’, 187–90. 87 This is agreed by Ernest Best, ‘1 Peter and the Gospel Tradition’, NTS 16 (1970), 95–113, who takes issue with the arguments of Gundry, ‘Verba Christi’ (concerning the extent of Gospel allusions in 1 Peter and the conclusions to be drawn from these). For further discussion of the use of Gospel tradition in 1 Peter, see Gerhard Maier, ‘Jesustradition im 1. Petrusbrief?’, in David Wenham (ed.), Gospel Perspectives, Vol 5: The Jesus Tradition Outside the Gospels (Sheffield: JSOT Press, 1985), 85–128; Rainer Metzner, Die Rezeption des Matthäusevangeliums im 1. Petrusbrief (WUNT 2.74; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1995).

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it does not explicitly or clearly quote from them (contrast 2 Pet. 1.17-18).88 Whether the author knew of these traditions specifically as Jesus traditions or only as Christian paraenetical tradition is hard to determine. It is possible, moreover, that some of the teaching known to the author of 1 Peter was known to him via the Pauline tradition (cf. §1.2.4. above). But the author of 1 Peter’s knowledge of some Gospel traditions, independently of Paul, seems virtually certain. The clearest allusions in 1 Peter are to parts of the Sermon on the Mount – a point that should be noted in connection with the supposed connection between Peter and Mark (see below) – e.g. 1 Pet. 2.12 (Mt. 5.16); 1 Pet. 3.14 (Mt. 5.10); 1 Pet. 4.14 (Mt. 5.11-12). The parallels in vocabulary are particularly close in the makarisms:89 ἀλλ’ εἰ καὶ πάσχοιτε διὰ δικαιοσύνην, μακάριοι (1 Pet. 3.14) μακάριοι οἱ δεδιωγμένοι ἕνεκεν δικαιοσύνης (Mt. 5.10) εἰ ὀνειδίζεσθε ἐν ὀνόματι Χριστοῦ, μακάριοι (1 Pet. 4.14) μακάριοι ἐστε ὅταν ὀνειδίσωσιν ὑμᾶς ... ἕνεκεν ἐμοῦ (Mt. 5.11)

1.3.3. The christological interpretation of Isaiah 53 To discuss the influence of Isaiah 53 on New Testament Christology is to intrude into another area of continuing debate in which widely divergent positions are taken.90 Nevertheless, for our purposes here, the relevant conclusions are once again relatively uncontroversial. While Paul occasionally quotes from or alludes to parts of Isa. 52.13–53.12, the fourth so-called servant song (e.g. Rom. 4.25; 10.16; 15.21), this passage is hardly prominent in his christological reflection. On the other hand, its influence on 1 Pet. 2.21-25 is obvious and profound, with several phrases from Isaiah 53 directly quoted in this section of 1 Peter.91 Furthermore, important for 1 Peter’s Christology are the image of the spotless lamb whose blood was shed (1 Pet. 1.19), probably derived from Isa. 53.7 as well as from the Passover sacrifice, and the picture of the ‘sprinkling with the blood of Jesus Christ’ (1.2), again derived from the imagery of the Jewish sacrificial system (cf. Heb. 9.11-27; 12.24; Exod. 24.3-9; Numbers 19). These influences on 1 Peter distinguish its Christology from that of Paul, who refers only infrequently to the blood of Christ and only once in passing 88 See further Michael B. Thompson, Clothed with Christ: The Example and Teaching of Jesus in Romans 12.1–15.13 (JSNTSup 59; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1991), 37–63. The eucharistic words (1 Cor. 11.23-25) are an exception, for obvious reasons, i.e. their liturgical use in Christian worship. 89 Cf. Wehr, Petrus und Paulus, 204, who sets out these same parallels. 90 See, e.g., William H. Bellinger and William R. Farmer (eds), Jesus and the Suffering Servant: Isaiah 53 and Christian Origins (Harrisburg, PA: Trinity Press International, 1998). 91 See further Elliott, ‘Backward and Forward’; David G. Horrell, ‘Jesus Remembered in 1 Peter? Early Jesus Traditions, Isaiah 53, and 1 Pet. 2.21-25’, in Alicia J. Batten and John S. Kloppenborg (eds), Early Jesus Traditions in James and 1–2 Peter (LNTS; London and New York: T&T Clark, forthcoming).

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to Christ as τὸ πάσχα ἡμῶν and seems when he does so to be echoing tradition (1 Cor. 5.7; cf. Jn 1.29, 36; Acts 8.32).92 On the other hand, they link 1 Peter to those traditions of early Christianity that saw Christ’s death primarily in terms derived from the Jewish sacrificial system (cf. esp. Hebrews) and found in Isa. 52.13–53.12, an important source for christological reflection (cf. Acts 8.28-35). 1.3.4. Shared paraenesis in James and 1 Peter If it is clear that 1 Peter exhibits some close parallels with the Pauline letters, it is equally clear that there are some close parallels with James. Among a considerable number of parallels between James and 1 Peter probably the most extensive are found between 1 Pet. 5.5-9 and Jas 4.6-10:93 1 Peter 5.5b-9 (NRSV) And all of you must clothe yourselves with humility in your dealings with one another, for ‘God opposes the proud, but gives grace to the humble’. Humble yourselves therefore under the mighty hand of God, so that he may exalt you in due time. Cast all your anxiety on him, because he cares for you. Discipline yourselves, keep alert. Like a roaring lion your adversary the devil prowls around, looking for someone to devour. Resist him, steadfast in your faith, for you know that your brothers and sisters in all the world are undergoing the same kinds of suffering.

James 4.6-10 (NRSV) But he gives all the more grace; therefore it says, ‘God opposes the proud, but gives grace to the humble’. Submit yourselves therefore to God. Resist the devil, and he will flee from you. Draw near to God, and he will draw near to you. Cleanse your hands, you sinners, and purify your hearts, you double-minded. Lament and mourn and weep. Let your laughter be turned into mourning and your joy into dejection. Humble yourselves before the Lord, and he will exalt you.

92 Aside from eucharistic passages (1 Cor. 10.16; 11.25, 27) Paul mentions the blood of Christ only in Rom. 3.25 and 5.9. Cf. Herzer, Petrus oder Paulus?, 126–30. 93 Cf. also 1 Pet. 1.1//Jas 1.1; 1 Pet. 1.6-7//Jas 1.2-3; 1 Pet. 1.24//Jas 1.10-11; 1 Pet. 2.1-2//Jas 1.21. See further, e.g., Spicq, ‘Témoignage évangélique’, 38 n. 5; Brox, ‘Tradition’, 186; Matthias Konradt, ‘Der Jakobusbrief als Brief des Jakobus. Erwägungen zum historischen Kontext des Jakobusbriefes im Lichte der traditionsgeschichtlichen Beziehungen zum 1. Petrusbriefes und zum Hintergrund der Autorfiktion’, in Petra von Gemünden, Matthias Konradt, and Gerd Theissen, Der Jakobusbrief. Beiträge zur Rehabiliterung der “strohernen Epistel” (Beiträge zum Verstehen der Bibel 3; Münster: Lit, 2003), 16–53, 19–28; Matthias Konradt, ‘The Historical Context of the Letter of James in Light of its Traditio-Historical Relations with First Peter’, in Karl-Wilhelm Niebuhr and Robert W. Wall (eds), The Catholic Epistles and Apostolic Tradition (Waco, TX: Baylor University Press, 2009), 101–25, 403–25, 103–10; David R. Nienhuis, Not by Paul Alone: The Formation of the Catholic Epistle Collection and the Christian Canon (Waco, TX: Baylor University Press, 2007); David R. Nienhuis, ‘The Letter of James as a Canon-Conscious Pseudepigraph’, in Niebuhr and Wall (eds), The Catholic Epistles and Apostolic Tradition, 183–200, 433–37. Nienhuis in particular develops the argument that there is a deliberate intertextual relationship between James and 1 Peter (and between James and the other letters in the Catholic Epistle collection), a relationship Nienhuis explains by proposing James as a second-century ‘canon-conscious pseudepigraph’.

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The crucial phrases in the Greek text are as follows: ὅτι [ὁ] θεὸς ὑπερηφάνοις ἀντιτάσσεται, ταπεινοῖς δὲ δίδωσιν χάριν. [Prov. 3.34 LXX] ταπεινώθητε οὖν ὑπὸ τὴν κραταιὰν τοῦ θεοῦ, ἵνα ὑμᾶς ὑψώσῃ ἐν καιρῷ ὁ ... διάβολος ... ᾧ ἀντίστητε

διὸ λέγει· ὁ θεὸς ὑπερηφάνοις ἀντιτάσσεται, ταπεινοῖς δὲ δίδωσιν χάριν. ταπεινώθητε ἐνώπιον κυρίου, καὶ ὑψώσει ὑμᾶς. ἀντίστητε δὲ τῷ διαβόλῳ

The different order and precise content of the teaching in each epistle suggest that this is not an instance of explicit and extensive literary borrowing, so failing Shimada’s criteria for direct literary dependence.94 But as we have noted in the case of Pauline influence, such a set of criteria defines literary dependence in much too restrictive a way. Although a good deal of the overlap consists of the common quotation of scripture, it is notable not only that these are the only two quotations of Prov. 3.34 (LXX) in the New Testament (though note the allusion in Lk. 1.51), but also that both James and 1 Peter quote Prov. 3.34 with exactly the same variation from the LXX text.95 Both letters urge their readers to humble themselves before God, who will then exalt them (1 Pet. 5.6; Jas 4.10), and to resist the Devil (1 Pet. 5.8-9; Jas 4.7). Although the idea of resisting the Devil (by putting on the armour of God) is paralleled also in Ephesians (Eph. 6.11, 16), the similarities between James and 1 Peter in these verses are much closer, with a series of parallels unique to these two early Christian epistles. Whether the parallels are due to common dependence on established Christian teaching, as many suggest,96 or a more direct literary or textual relationship is hard to say. While the former position is the dominant contemporary view, it needs to be noted that it remains something of an argument from silence, given the lack of any explicit evidence for the supposed common stock of early Christian teaching which Carrington and Selwyn influentially sought to reconstruct. As with the issue of 1 Peter’s relation to the Pauline letters, scholars of an earlier generation tended to conclude that ‘a positive literary connexion exists between James and 1 Peter’, even if they disagreed about which letter had priority.97 More recently David Nienhuis has argued for literary dependence, 94 Shimada, Studies, 105. Cf n. 66 above. 95 Both have ὁ θεός in place of the LXX’s κύριος. 96 Cf., e.g., Michaels, 1 Peter, xliv; Goppelt, I Peter, 356; Elliott, 1 Peter, 23, 849. For a recent example of such a position, but arguing for a more specific connection between James and 1 Peter, see Konradt, ‘Jakobusbrief’, 21; Konradt, ‘Historical Context’, 105. Konradt sees 1 Peter and James as sharing common tradition from Antioch, and specifically from the JewishChristian side of the debate there (Konradt, ‘Jakobusbrief’, 30–42; ‘Historical Context’, 111– 17). It is questionable, however, whether such a view can adequately account for the Pauline elements of 1 Peter, and their entirely positive appropriation (cf. Konradt’s comments on this point: ‘Jakobusbrief’, 39 with n. 119; ‘Historical Context’, 116 with n. 119). 97 Charles Bigg, A Critical and Exegetical Commentary on the Epistles of St. Peter and St. Jude (International Critical Commentary; Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1901), 23, who states that

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in the form of a complex intertextual relationship between James and the other Catholic Epistles, with James as the latest letter in this collection, written in the second century in an attempt to complete a non-Pauline letter collection from the ‘pillar’ apostles (cf. Gal. 2.9) to counterbalance the weight and influence of the Pauline corpus.98 Whether Nienhuis’ thesis is found convincing or not – and it may be, for example, that the (sometimes somewhat subtle) intertextual links could reflect a different chronological ordering and direction of priority – the indications of a relationship between 1 Peter and James, whichever text has chronological priority, shows at least that 1 Peter contains traditions and teachings that are distinct from the Pauline tradition. 1.3.5. Christological creeds Three passages in 1 Peter are often thought to contain credal formulae, concise and rhythmic traditional expressions of the story of Christ’s saving work and subsequent exaltation: 1.18-21; 2.21-25; 3.18-22. It is notable that there is to some extent a logical sequence in these three passages, as they focus in turn on different phases in the ‘story’ of Christ: in 1.18-21 we read of Christ ‘destined before the foundation of the world’ (v. 20), in 2.21-25 of his suffering and passion, and in 3.18-22 of his having ‘gone into heaven … at the right hand of God’ (v. 22).99 It may be debated whether these sections contain traditional credal formulae, or whether in fact they are the author’s own work.100 The important point in the context of the present argument is that these traditions, while paralleled to some extent in the Pauline corpus (cf. esp. 1 Tim. 3.16; 2 Tim. 1.9-10; Tit. 2.14), do not represent specifically Pauline formulations. To the extent that they are traditional, they would seem to reflect a broader, common Christian confession, like the shared apostolic kerygma Paul cites in 1 Cor. 15.3-4. 1.3.6. A ‘non-Pauline’ letter? The investigation of non-Pauline traditions in 1 Peter has necessarily been selective and brief, but enough has hopefully been done to establish a relatively uncontroversial conclusion: 1 Peter draws on a wide range of Christian traditions.101 Some, as we saw in the previous section, are distinctively Pauline; others, as we have seen above, are clearly un-Pauline or are shared ‘there can be little doubt’ about this literary connection. For an early and thorough survey of the relevant texts and scholarly opinions, see Foster, ‘Literary Relations’, 508–18. Foster concludes that ‘James depends directly upon the First Epistle of Peter’ (518). 98 Nienhuis, Not by Paul. 99 Cf. Horrell, Peter and Jude, 69. 100 Achtemeier, 1 Peter, 126, 130–31, for example, is cautious about identifying traditional credal/liturgical material and is inclined to attribute such material to the author of the epistle. 101 For a more detailed recent survey, see Elliott, 1 Peter, 20–41, who concludes that ‘various forms of diverse traditions have been employed and combined by the Petrine author’ (37). Foster, ‘Literary Relations’, 371, makes the observation that 1 Peter ‘contains, in proportion to its size, perhaps more points of contact with other New Testament literature than any other book of the New Testament’.

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in common with Paul without a distinctively Pauline origin being evident. These non-Pauline traditions in 1 Peter demonstrate the author of 1 Peter’s awareness of a wide range of early Christian material and also thereby indicate the inappropriateness of labelling 1 Peter ‘Pauline’. Other parallels might profitably have been investigated – for example, those with Hebrews, possibly explained by a common Roman provenance102 – but we have assembled sufficient material to be able to affirm the widespread view that 1 Peter is indeed an ‘epistle of tradition’, both Pauline and non-Pauline (cf. above n. 12). Unlike the letter of James, which seems to indicate some direct and polemical (or at least ‘corrective’) engagement with the Pauline tradition (Jas 2.14-24; cf. Rom. 3.27–4.22),103 it is notable, as Wehr points out, that the author of 1 Peter integrates these various early Christian traditions without perceiving tensions between them.104 This conclusion, however, should also be subject to an important qualification: 1 Peter is by no means merely a compilation of early Christian tradition, but rather a creative and distinctive letter into which a wide range of Christian traditions are incorporated.105 We have seen that scholarship on this subject has been somewhat preoccupied with the question about literary dependence, particularly evident in the shift from the view that 1 Peter exhibits clear signs of literary dependence on the Pauline letters, to the more recent view that it does not. Neither perspective is entirely satisfactory.

1.4. From literary (in)dependence to intertextuality One way forward may be to adopt the terminology and approach of intertextuality. First coined by Julia Kristeva, drawing on the work of Mikhail Bakhtin, the concept is fundamentally opposed to the post-Enlightenment notion of the independent, creative, originating author, stressing instead that all texts exist in a complex relation of repetition and difference from other

102 For a Roman provenance for Hebrews see, e.g., Barnabas Lindars, The Theology of the Letter to the Hebrews (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1991), 17–18; cf. Heb. 13.24. 103 The date of James remains a matter of debate, and this clearly affects whether we see the letter as engaging with Paul, genuine Pauline letters, or the developing Pauline tradition. But the literary parallels (and contrasts) between James 2 and Romans 4 seem clearly to suggest some kind of critical relationship between the two perspectives. On the connections between James and Paul, see Nienhuis, Not by Paul, 113–17, 187–97, 215–24, 227–31; Nienhuis, ‘James’, 185–89. Nienhuis does not see James as polemically engaged with Paul, but rather as written to bring a corrective theological and canonical counterbalance to the Pauline letters, for readers for whom Paul was an acknowledged authority. For a concise overview of the issues, see Andrew Chester, ‘The Theology of James’, in Andrew Chester and Ralph P. Martin, The Theology of the Letters of James, Peter, and Jude (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1994), 1–62 (46–53). 104 Wehr, Petrus und Paulus, 213. Wehr goes on to draw conclusions about what this indicates about the Petrusbild reflected in this letter; on this topic, see §1.8 below. 105 Cf. Bovon, ‘Foi chrétienne’, who sets out the range of influences and traditional themes in 1 Peter, including Jewish and pagan as well as the predominant Christian traditions, while also pointing to the originality of the letter.

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texts: ‘every text is a mosaic of other texts’.106 The dictum of Charles Grivel – ‘Il n’est de texte que d’intertexte’ – represents a claim, so Heinrich Plett explains, ‘that no text exists in isolation but is always connected to a “universe of texts” … Whenever a new text comes into being it relates to previous texts and in its turn becomes the precursor of subsequent texts.’107 This applies to modern writers, despite the value placed on ‘originality’; but it is even more true of ancient writers, for whom imitation was a central and assumed part of the process of composition.108 Moreover, as Wolfgang Raible comments, in a study of the various forms that intertextuality may take, understanding a text – in commenting on it, paraphrasing it, and so on – inevitably assumes its recodifying (Umkodierung), not merely repetition.109 These basic assertions should be enough to demonstrate the inadequacy of any contrast between, say, the ‘creative’ Paul and the ‘compiler’ of traditions who wrote 1 Peter. Much of the work on intertextuality in biblical studies has been focused on the relationship between Old and New Testament texts,110 though in both Testaments, taken separately, there are also clear examples of texts with a close intertextual relationship, where one text is, in a sense a ‘rewritten’ version of the other (Samuel-Kings/Chronicles; Colossians/Ephesians; 2 Peter/Jude).111 With regard to the New Testament epistles in particular, Thomas Brodie has spoken of their ‘triple intertextuality’: ‘Most epistles have at least three types of literary connection: with the Old Testament; with other epistles; and with the

106 Susanne Gillmayr-Bucher, ‘Intertextuality: Between Literary Theory and Text Analysis’, in Thomas L. Brodie, Dennis R. MacDonald, and Stanley E. Porter (eds), The Intertextuality of the Epistles: Explorations of Theory and Practice (Sheffield: Phoenix, 2006), 13–23 (14). 107 Heinrich F. Plett, ‘Intertextualities’, in Heinrich F. Plett (ed.), Intertextuality (Research in Text Theory/Untersuchungen zur Texttheorie 15; Berlin and New York: De Gruyter, 1991), 3–29 (17). Cf. Gary A. Phillips, ‘Sign/Text/Différance: The Contribution of Intertextual Theory to Biblical Criticism’, in Plett (ed.), Intertextuality, 78–97 (93): ‘Every text is to be viewed as always already bound up within a systemic differentiating relationship with other texts, readings, readers, woven in Peirce’s terms as sign to sign. One text defers, differs from, is differentiated from another. In viewing every text as a supplement, as writing, as sign, the reader’s individualizing, authorizing voice disappears in favor of the effects of difference and the process of differentiation …’ 108 On the ancient practices of imitation in writing, see Thomas L. Brodie, The Birthing of the New Testament: The Intertextual Development of the New Testament Writings (New Testament Monographs 1; Sheffield: Phoenix, 2004), 3–17. 109 Wolfgang Raible, ‘Arten des Kommentierens – Arten der Sinnbildung – Arten des Verstehens’, in Jan Assmann and Burkhard Gladigow (eds), Text und Kommentar: Archäologie der literarischen Kommunikation IV (Munich: Fink, 1995), 51–73. 110 For a useful introduction see Steve Moyise, ‘Intertextuality and the Study of the Old Testament in the New Testament’, in Steve Moyise (ed.), The Old Testament in the New Testament: Essays in Honour of J.L. North (JSNTSup 189; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 2000), 14–41. 111 Cf. Brodie, Birthing, 23–30.

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gospels.’112 One need not accept either Brodie’s specific literary proposals113 or the idea that this necessarily characterizes all the New Testament epistles to the same extent in order to agree that this is a legitimate and valuable description of 1 Peter. It has long been recognized that 1 Peter is – along with Romans and Hebrews – one of the New Testament letters most saturated with quotations from and allusions to the Old Testament.114 Moreover, one of the major reasons not to describe 1 Peter, overall, as a ‘Pauline’ document is its use of other early Christian traditions. It seems clear enough, then, that we can legitimately describe 1 Peter as ‘a mosaic of other texts’, though this does not by any means imply that it is thereby lacking in creativity or originality. What the focus on intertextuality brings to the fore is that 1 Peter is, like other early Christian literature, including Paul’s letters, richly and thoroughly embedded in a network of (inter)textual relations. The evidence we have surveyed above suggests that there is some kind of literary relationship with the Pauline corpus, notably with Romans, but the rich interaction with other textual traditions makes it inappropriate to describe 1 Peter as a ‘Pauline’ letter. First Peter represents a creative and original construction which is, at the same time, deeply indebted to a range of earlier texts and textual traditions. Yet, despite its indebtedness to the Pauline letters and many points of intertextual relation, it is, of course, written in the name of Peter, not Paul. Assuming this attribution to be an example of pseudonymity,115 we must ask more about how the letter represents a particular image of Peter, a Petrusbild.116 What does the attribution to Peter indicate about the letter’s origins and character? Specifically, is there evidence to support the idea that the letter originated within a Petrine circle in Rome, a circle which preserved and presented distinctively Petrine traditions?

112 Brodie, Birthing, 585. For discussion of this ‘triple intertextuality’ see 585–94 and, presenting very similar material, Thomas L. Brodie, ‘The Triple Intertextuality of the Epistles’, in Thomas L. Brodie, Dennis R. MacDonald, and Stanley E. Porter (eds), The Intertextuality of the Epistles: Explorations of Theory and Practice (New Testament Monographs 16; Sheffield: Phoenix, 2006), 71–89. A collection of essays on this topic is found in this edited volume. 113 For example, his proposal that there is a close relationship between Mk 10.1-45 and 1 Pet. 2.18–3.17, such that ‘Mark systematically distilled the text of 1 Peter’ (Brodie, Birthing, 195) seems to me highly implausible, building far too much on rather loose (and differently ordered) thematic connections. His wider thesis about a Proto-Luke as the basis for the New Testament also seems unlikely to convince many. 114 See, e.g., William L. Schutter, Hermeneutic and Composition in 1 Peter (WUNT 2.30; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1989); Sue Woan, ‘The Psalms in 1 Peter’, in Steve Moyise and Maarten J. J. Menken (eds), The Psalms in the New Testament (London and New York: T&T Clark, 2004), 213–29. On the similar quotations used in Rom. 9.33 and 1 Pet. 2.6-10, see Berger, Theologiegeschichte, 421–22. Again, there are both striking similarities and significant differences between 1 Peter and Romans. 115 See Introduction, p. 5 with n. 6. 116 On this, see the recent essay of Doering, ‘Apostle’; also Smith, Petrine Controversies, 150–56.

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1.5. A Petrine tradition from a Petrine circle? One can say for sure that, if our ‘letter’ [sc. 1 Peter] lacked the first word Peter, no one would have come to suppose that it was written by Peter … It would be much easier to believe that it was written by Paul.117

Adolf Jülicher and Erich Fascher’s assertion raises a still pertinent question, even though the range of traditions and materials in the letter prevents our accepting the suggestion that 1 Peter is characteristically Pauline: is there anything other than the name Πέτρος (1.1) that marks it out as specifically Petrine? The name Πέτρος is not of course to be lightly dismissed as insignificant to the letter’s interpretation, but for the moment I leave it aside to focus on the content of the letter. In the body of the letter, there is little evidence which could indicate a distinctively Petrine tradition. One might point to the prominence of ‘rock’ imagery in 2.4-8 and relate this to Jesus’ recorded naming of Simon as ‘rock’ (πέτρα) in Mt. 16.18 (cf. Jn 1.42).118 However, quite apart from the fact that the word in 1 Pet. 2.4-8 is λίθος, except in 2.8, where Isa. 8.14 (LXX) is quoted, the ‘stone’ texts which form the basis of 1 Peter’s exegesis here (Ps. 117.22 [LXX]; Isa. 8.14; 28.16) were used elsewhere and recognized as important texts for early Christian reflection.119 Indeed, it is significant to note that the two Isaiah texts are linked already in Rom. 9.33. The exhortation to the elders to ‘shepherd the flock’ (ποιμάνατε τὸ ἐν ὑμῖν ποίμνιον τοῦ θεοῦ; 5.2), given by one who is described as συμπρεσβύτερος καὶ μάρτυς τῶν τοῦ Χριστοῦ παθημάτων (5.1), might also be taken to indicate a specific connection with Peter (cf. Jn 21.16). However, with regard to the shepherd imagery, the tradition of Jesus urging Peter to shepherd his sheep (Jn 21.16), along with the imagery of Jesus as the Good Shepherd (Jn 10.1-18), is found only in John’s Gospel, so whether or not it is authentic it is clearly a tradition known and preserved within Johannine circles and therefore does not indicate 1 Peter’s production by a specifically Petrine circle, a point to which we shall return.120 117 Adolf Jülicher and Erich Fascher, Einleitung in das Neue Testament (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1931), 192–93, quoted in part by Brox, ‘Pseudepigraphischen Rahmung’, 78. Cf. also Beare, First Epistle of Peter, 44: ‘It is certainly true that if the name “Peter” did not stand at the head of the Epistle, it would never have occurred to anyone to suggest him as the author.’ 118 Cf. Spicq, ‘Témoignage évangélique’, 56–61; further Gundry, ‘Verba Christi’. On the use of )pyk in Aramaic to mean ‘rock’, in relation to Peter’s name, see Doering, ‘Apostle’, 650–52; Martin Hengel, Saint Peter: The Underestimated Apostle (Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 2010), 14–28. 119 See Mk 12.10-11, quoting Ps. 117.22-23 (par. Mt. 21.42-44; Lk. 20.17-18. Allusions to Isa. 8.14 are also added in Matthew and Luke’s accounts, if Mt. 21.44 is original); Rom. 9.32-33; 10.11. See further John H. Elliott, The Elect and the Holy: An Exegetical Examination of 1 Peter 2:4-10 and the Phrase basileion hierateuma (NovTSup, 12; Leiden: Brill, 1966); Richard J. Bauckham, ‘James, 1 and 2 Peter, Jude’, in Don A. Carson and Hugh G. M. Williamson (eds), It is Written: Scripture Citing Scripture (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1988), 303–17 (309–13). 120 We may therefore accept Doering’s point that this image contributes to the Petrusbild constructed in the letter, while maintaining that the imagery does not imply the existence of a

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Moreover, the use of the imagery of shepherd and sheep to describe pastoral leadership is rooted in scripture (Ezek. 34.1-31) and so can hardly with confidence be regarded as the specific imagery or tradition of a Petrine group. Indeed, a close parallel to the exhortation in 1 Pet. 5.2 is found in Acts 20.28, where the departing Paul (!) addresses the elders of the Ephesian church. With regard to the description of ‘Peter’ in 5.1, there are no grounds on which to associate the term πρεσβύτερος specifically with Peter121 and many commentators agree that the reference to Peter as μάρτυς is meant not in the sense of someone who was with Jesus and who watched his painful death (which in any case, according to the Synoptics, Peter did not)122 but of someone who bears witness to, who proclaims, Christ’s suffering and death (cf. 1.1012) and who follows in his footsteps in suffering, perhaps even (as the term came to imply) to martyrdom (2.21; 4.13).123 Hence ‘Peter’ is presented as a co-elder and witness, sharing a ‘common bond’ with those elders who are here addressed,124 though his status is also one of authority (ἀπόστολος) and honour (as μάρτυς).125 The key point in the context of the present argument is that this depiction of ‘Peter’ is made in terms available to early Christian groups generally and does not indicate the preservation of a distinctively Petrine tradition nor imply the existence of a specifically ‘Petrine’ circle.126

distinctively ‘Petrine’ circle responsible for its production: ‘the letter thus indirectly constructs the image of Peter as shepherd that also appears in John 21:15-17, but due to the post-Easter standing of Peter was perhaps more widespread in early Christian tradition’ (Doering, ‘Apostle’, 657). 121 It is of course widely used in a range of New Testament writings to refer to Christian leaders (Acts, James, Pastorals, 2–3 John); see R. Alastair Campbell, The Elders: Seniority within Earliest Christianity (SNTW; Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1994). Again, this is not to deny that the depiction of the author as συμπρεσβύτερος contributes to the constructed image of the author, and thus to the Petrusbild, so Doering, ‘Apostle’, 652–56. 122 So Smith, Petrine Controversies, 154; Achtemeier, 1 Peter, 323. 123 See, e.g., Angelika Reichert, Eine Urchristliche praeparatio ad martyrium: Studien zur Komposition, Traditionsgeschichte und Theologie des 1. Petrusbriefes (BBET 22; Frankfurt: Lang, 1989), 541–44; Smith, Petrine Controversies, 154–55; Doering, ‘Apostle’, 658–61; Bony, Première épître de Pierre, 11–12, 172, who notes the contrast between ‘eye witness’ (αὐτόπτης, Lk. 1.2) and ‘martyr-witness’ (‘témoin-martyr’, μάρτυς, Rev. 2.13). If Peter’s status as martyr is in view here, this obviously has implications for the letter’s authorship, helpfully discussed on this point by Reichert (543), Bony (12–13), and Doering (660–61). 124 Cf., e.g., Michaels, 1 Peter, 277–81; Achtemeier, 1 Peter, 323–24; J. N. D. Kelly, A Commentary on the Epistles of Peter and Jude (BNTC; London: A & C Black, 1969), 198–99; Brox, Petrusbrief, 229–30. Otherwise Beare, First Epistle of Peter, 198, who sees 5.1 as ‘[t]he only attempt in the body of the letter to bring forward the personal status of Peter’ with a ‘mockmodesty’ that swiftly moves to emphasize Peter’s unique position and eminence. 125 Cf. Doering, ‘Apostle’, 656, who speaks of ‘a mixture of authority and collegiality in the Peter image developed in First Peter’; also Smith, Petrine Controversies, 154–55, who comments that as μάρτυς ‘Peter is ideally suitable to provide the readers with an example of how they should behave in the persecution/suffering situation.’ In this way, ‘the appeal to the Peterfigure in 1 Peter is vitally related to the characteristic themes and subject-matter of the letter’. 126 Pace Knoch, ‘Petrusschule’.

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The argument that 1 Peter represents a specifically Petrine tradition is severely limited not least by lack of evidence.127 Aside from 1 and 2 Peter – which may or may not convey anything specifically Petrine but which are in any case very different from one another – we know very little about any distinctively ‘Petrine’ formulation of the gospel.128 Moreover, what we do know – Peter’s role as apostle to the Jews (Gal. 2.7), his siding with the people from James at Antioch (Gal. 2.11-14), etc. – has no significant bearing on the content of 1 Peter, which simply applies to (predominantly) gentile Christians129 exclusively Jewish identity descriptions (2.9, etc.) without giving any indication that the extent of obedience to Jewish law and relations between Jewish and gentile Christians are contentious issues (see further chapter 5 below).130 From the Gospels we know of Peter’s prominence as a disciple of Jesus, and also of his increasing authority as a leader within the Christian churches (Mt. 16.18-19; Jn 21.15-19). But evidence from Matthew and John – which appear to represent two distinct strands of early Christianity – about the high regard for Peter as leader of the Christian movement does not demonstrate the existence of a Petrine circle which preserved traditions about Peter and promoted his distinctive teaching. On the contrary, it demonstrates Peter’s increasing prominence within Christian circles generally (see further below). The pseudo-Petrine literature also supports this view, rather than the idea of a specifically Petrine group or school; certainly this literature shows little if any specific connection with 1 Peter.131 Indeed, in a thorough study of ‘the Peter writings’ – that is, those texts attributed to Peter (1–2 Peter, GosPet, ApocPet) – David Schmidt concludes that ‘[t]here is no internal evidence to tie these four pseudo-Petrine writings together. In fact, there is almost no evidence to link any two or three together,’ with 2 Peter and the Apocalypse of Peter as the possible exceptions.132 Furthermore, in terms of external evidence concerning date and locale, evidence for close relationships is lacking.133 ‘Thus,’ Schmidt concludes, ‘the suggestion that the Peter writings may reflect a common 127 Cf. Black, Mark, 64. 128 Cf. Norbert Brox, ‘Tendenz und Pseudepigraphie im ersten Petrusbrief’, Kairos 20 (1978), 110–20 (114): ‘Wir kennen keine Originalurkunden authentischer petrinscher Theologie.’ 129 The (predominantly) gentile audience is indicated in 1.14, 18; 2.10; 3.6; 4.3-4. See further §4.4.2. 130 This is one of the arguments in favour of the letter’s pseudonymity: not only is the specific focus of the historical Peter no longer evident, but the consciousness of ‘Christian’ identity (cf. 4.16) seems to have moved beyond that of the period in which Paul and Peter were alive. Cf. Feldmeier, First Epistle of Peter, 35. 131 Cf. Richard J. Bauckham, ‘The Apocalypse of Peter: An Account of Research’, ANRW 2.25.6 (1988), 4712–50 (4724), who notes that the Apocalypse of Peter reflects knowledge of 2 Peter and Matthew; Lapham, Peter, 246. On the pseudo-Petrine literature, see the overview in Pheme Perkins, Peter: Apostle for the Whole Church (Columbia, SC: University of South Carolina Press, 1994), 131–67 and the detailed studies in Lapham, Peter. 132 David Henry Schmidt, ‘The Peter Writings: Their Redactors and their Relationships’, PhD thesis (Evanston, IL: Northwestern University, 1972), 191. 133 Schmidt, ‘Peter Writings’, 198–99.

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school of disciples or followers of Peter, such as an Isaiah school, does not seem acceptable.’134 In Acts we do have records of speeches and sermons of Peter, which could conceivably contribute to the recovery of a distinctively Petrine theology. But the closest parallels between Acts and 1 Peter are not found specifically in the places in Acts where Peter’s voice is recorded (e.g. Acts 20.28//1 Pet. 5.2) and the speeches in Acts reflect Lukan theology as much as that of their speakers. Any parallels with 1 Peter are likely to reflect either the common use of early Christian kerygma and tradition or a common outlook shared by both Luke and the author of 1 Peter.135 In view of all this it must be acknowledged that we have little evidence revealing any distinctive or particular way in which Peter formulated the Christian Gospel, and even the little evidence there is gives us no firm reasons to conclude that 1 Peter has a distinctively Petrine character.136 Nor does there appear to be any substantial evidence to link various texts, even the texts attributed to Peter, together as products of the supposed Petrine circle. If 1 Peter were authentic, then it would of course constitute a unique piece of evidence for precisely such a ‘Petrine’ formulation of Christian theology.137 However, if on other grounds 1 Peter is thought to be pseudonymous, then the body of the letter gives us no grounds on which to say that it is ‘the product of a Petrine tradition transmitted by Petrine tradents of a Petrine circle’.138 Evidence for such a judgement, and for the existence of such a circle, could only be found, then, in connection with the names found in the letter – Silvanus, Mark, and, of course, Peter – to which we now turn. 134 Schmidt, ‘Peter Writings’, 200. Cf. also Smith, Petrine Controversies, 62–64; Brox, ‘Pseudepigraphie’, 115. 135 Cf. Smith, Petrine Controversies, 151–52; Black, Mark, 64–65. As Black points out, ‘many of the formal similarities between Peter’s address in Acts 15:7-11 and 1 Peter, delineated by Elliott, are replicated in other speeches in Acts, not all of which are delivered by Peter’. Black refers here to Elliott, ‘Peter, Silvanus and Mark’, 264 n. 31. 136 Cf. Norbert Brox, ‘Situation und Sprache der Minderheit im ersten Petrusbrief’, Kairos 19 (1977), 1–13, 3; Brox, ‘Pseudepigraphie’, 114–15, who argues that apart from the name Peter there is nothing distinctively Petrine about the content of 1 Peter. It is not insignificant that 1 Peter plays very little role, partly due to the debate about authenticity, in the recent studies of the person of Peter (and Petrine theology) by Hengel, Saint Peter (see 86–89 on ‘Petrine theology’) and Markus Bockmuehl, The Remembered Peter in Ancient Reception and Modern Debate (WUNT 262; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2010) (most of whose references to 1 Peter come on p. 203). 137 For this reason at least, arguments over authenticity are significant. Elliott, ‘Peter, Silvanus and Mark’ (cf. also Elliott, 1 Peter, 130) offers his Petrine circle theory as a means of somewhat circumventing the debate about authorship – it is pseudonymous but nevertheless represents genuinely and specifically Petrine material – but this is successful only if we grant his argument that the letter reflects Petrine traditions preserved by a Petrine circle, precisely the point at issue here. 138 Elliott, ‘Rehabilitation’, 248. Cf. the comment of Schmeller, Schulen, 30: ‘Der Brief [sc. 1 Peter] selbst enthält jedenfalls keine Hinweise auf die bewußte Pflege einer Tradition, die auf eine bestimmte Größe der Vergangenheit zurückgeht. Um die Annahme einer petrinischen Tradition wahrscheinlich zu machen, wären deshalb weitere Dokumente aus demselben Traditionsstrom unverzichtbar.’

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1.6. The names in 1 Peter: Silvanus and Mark Elliott claims that 1 Peter ‘is the product not of a single individual but of a group of which Peter, Silvanus and Mark were chief representatives’.139 The names in 1 Peter are, for Elliott, a crucial part of the evidence to support the theory of 1 Peter’s production by a Petrine circle: ‘The explicit naming of Silvanus and Mark in 1 Pet. 5:12-13 makes sense if they were actually intimate colleagues of the Apostle Peter and associated with the composition and dispatch of the letter in Peter’s name.’140 While Elliott considers that Peter was already dead by the time of the letter’s composition (which he dates to 73–92 ce), he seems to regard Silvanus and Mark as active and involved in the letter’s ‘composition and dispatch’.141 Others are more inclined to see Silvanus and Mark as part of the fiction of pseudonymity.142 This particular disagreement need not detain us here. As Elliott comments elsewhere, ‘[e]ven if all three names be conceded to have been part of the fiction of pseudepigraphy – a large concession for which there is no evidence or necessity – the significance of the names for the addressees would remain’.143 Moreover, the names indicate something about the production and intentions of the letter, whether the names mentioned are historical or fictional in terms of their involvement in it. In his commentary, Elliott offers seven reasons in support of the ‘Petrine group’ theory.144 The first two are based on the observation – rooted both in New Testament evidence and in what is sociologically ‘likely’ – that ‘Peter, like Paul and others, worked in groups or teams.’145 While this observation is true, it does not by any means establish that, by the time of 1 Peter’s writing, there was a distinctively Petrine group (in Rome, where Elliott locates 1 Peter) – which is, of course, the crucial point. The remaining five points are all based upon the naming of Silvanus and Mark, whom Elliott regards as ‘actually intimate colleagues of the Apostle Peter’.146 While Elliott is right that there is evidence in Acts to link Peter, Silvanus, and Mark, as we shall see below, the evidence does not establish any strong link, especially in the case of Mark. Moreover, what we do know of Silvanus and Mark would suggest that their links were both with Peter/Jerusalem and with Paul, thus undermining Elliott’s 139 Elliott, ‘Peter, Silvanus and Mark’, 250; cf. Elliott, 1 Peter, 127–30, 889–90; Senior, 1 & 2 Peter, xiv–xv. 140 Elliott, 1 Peter, 128. Feldmeier, First Epistle of Peter, 38–39, 253–55, cautiously supports such an idea. Cf. also Knoch, ‘Petrusschule’, 116. 141 Cf. Elliott, 1 Peter, 90–91 (delivery of the letter by Silvanus), 134–38 (on date), 889. 142 E.g., Beare, First Epistle of Peter, 50: ‘The mention of Mark and Silvanus, and also of Babylon, has no significance except as part of the device of pseudonymity’; cf. also 208–209. Note also the comment of Holloway, Coping with Prejudice, 19, who regards the idea ‘that the aged Silvanus showed up with a letter from Peter decades after the latter’s famous demise’ as ‘patently untenable’ on the assumption of the letter’s pseudonymity. 143 Elliott, ‘Peter, Silvanus and Mark’, 264. 144 Elliott, 1 Peter, 127–29. 145 Elliott, 1 Peter, 128. 146 Elliott, 1 Peter, 128.

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claim that the collaborative character of the early Christian mission implies the existence of a distinctively Petrine group, which is the point at issue. There is obviously no doubt that the naming of the author of the letter as Peter serves to connect the document specifically with that apostle and thus claims his authority for the teaching sent in his name. If the letter is neither authentically by Peter, nor specifically Petrine in content and origins, then some plausible explanation is needed as to why it was written in his name. An attempt at such an explanation will be offered below (§1.8). What is necessary here is to see first whether the names Silvanus and Mark add any weight to the idea that the letter originated in a Petrine circle.147 It is widely agreed that the Silvanus mentioned in 1 Pet. 5.12 is to be identified with the Silas/Silvanus known from the book of Acts and the letters of Paul.148 According to Acts, Silas travelled to Antioch, along with others, bearing the apostles’ letter after the Jerusalem council (Acts 15.22-35) and subsequently became a co-worker of Paul’s (Acts 15.40–18.5). Paul refers to him, along with Timothy, as a co-author of 1 Thessalonians (1 Thess. 1.1; cf. 2 Thess. 1.1) and co-founder of the Corinthian church (2 Cor. 1.19). His mention in 1 Peter may therefore be seen as a further indication, and perhaps explanation (if Silvanus was involved in co-writing the letter), of the Pauline influences upon 1 Peter. Silvanus has featured prominently in discussions of 1 Peter’s authenticity, the reference to the letter having been written διὰ Σιλουανοῦ being taken to indicate his role as secretary.149

147 It is possible that another (female) individual – ἡ ἐν Βαβυλῶνι συνεκλεκτή – sends greetings along with Mark in 5.12. However, most commentators agree that the reference is almost certainly collective – perhaps with ἐκκλησία, or even ἀδελφότης as the implied noun – rather than to a specific woman, such as Peter’s wife; so, e.g., Brox, Petrusbrief, 247; Beare, First Epistle of Peter, 210. Otherwise Elliott, Home, 272, who suggests that ‘an unnamed Christian “sister”’ is in view here, though he more recently argues for a corporate reference, specifically to the ‘brotherhood’ (ἀδελφότης) (Elliott, 1 Peter, 880–82). Judith K. Applegate, ‘The Co-Elect Woman of 1 Peter’, in Amy-Jill Levine and Maria Mayo Robbins (eds), A Feminist Companion to the Catholic Epistles and Hebrews (London and New York: T&T Clark, 2004), 89–102, argues that a specific woman is in view. 148 Achtemeier, 1 Peter, 351, however, suggests that he may simply be another Silvanus, otherwise unknown to us, who was entrusted with the delivery of the letter. If this were the case, then we would have no other evidence with which to link Silvanus to any particular circle, Petrine or Pauline. 149 A case argued especially by Selwyn, First Epistle, who defended the authenticity of the epistle by arguing for Silvanus’ role as Peter’s secretary, suggesting that some of the problems traditionally associated with Petrine authorship (e.g. the quality of the Greek, the Pauline influences, etc.) could thus be overcome. Note the criticisms of Beare, First Epistle of Peter, 212–16. For a recent defence of the reference to Silvanus as indicating a role as secretary/ writer, see Torrey Seland, Strangers in the Light: Philonic Perspectives on Christian Identity in 1 Peter (Biblical Interpretation 76; Leiden: Brill, 2005), 9–37. Thomas Söding, ‘Grüße aus Rom. Die Stellung des Ersten Petrusbriefes in der Geschichte des Urchristentums und im Kanon’, in Thomas Söding (ed.), Hoffnung in Bedrängnis. Studien zum Ersten Petrusbrief (Stuttgarter Bibelstudien 216; Stuttgart: Katholisches Bibelwerk, 2009), 11–45 (16–17), also takes Silvanus to be the real author of the letter, even with a date perhaps in the 70s ce (see 18–19).

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More recently, however, authors such as Norbert Brox, Elliott, Herzer, and others have pointed to the links between Silvanus and Peter. If, as seems most likely, the phrase διὰ Σιλουανοῦ describes Silvanus as the bearer, rather than the writer, of the letter150 then the parallel with Acts 15.22-23 is significant: there Silvanus (along with Barsabbas) – ἄνδρας ἡγουμένους ἐν τοῖς ἀδελφοῖς – is sent from the Jerusalem congregation to deliver a letter from the Jerusalem apostles (most notably, Peter and James) to the gentile believers in Antioch, Syria, and Cilicia.151 Whether the reference to Silvanus in 1 Peter is historical or part of the pseudepigraphical construction, it might signify to the addressees the idea that a Petrine representative is again delivering a Petrine letter to gentile churches. However, a number of counter-points also need to be given due consideration. Silvanus’ link specifically with Peter is hardly strong: the apostolic letter he delivers is sent from the leaders of the Jerusalem church and not solely from Peter (Acts 15.22); both Silas and Barsabbas are sent as representatives from the Jerusalem church; and they travel with Paul and Barnabas back to Antioch (i.e. a party of four departs with the letter). Moreover, Silas/Silvanus is more prominent as a companion and fellow missionary of Paul’s (Acts 15.40–18.5; 2 Cor. 1.19; 1 Thess. 1.1; 2 Thess. 1.1). If Silvanus has links with Peter, then, through his prominent position in the Jerusalem congregation (and this should not be denied), he also has strong – indeed, rather stronger – links with Paul. There is really no basis for the view that Silvanus was a member of a specifically Petrine group in Rome, aside from his mention in 1 Peter. The case of Mark is broadly similar. The Mark of 1 Pet. 5.13 is generally identified with the (John) Mark known both from Acts and the Pauline letters. The description of Mark in 1 Peter as ὁ υἱός μου suggests a close and affectionate relationship between Peter and a more junior Christian, possibly one converted by Peter. However, in the New Testament there is only one indirect piece of evidence to link the two: in Acts 12.12, on his miraculous release from prison, Peter goes to the house of Mary, the mother of John Mark.152 Mark at this time was away from Jerusalem, which seems to have been his home base (cf. Acts 13.13), probably in Antioch with Barnabas and Paul (cf. Acts 11.30; 12.25). 150 See, e.g., the convincing arguments of Brox, ‘Pseudepigraphischen Rahmung’, 83– 90; Achtemeier, 1 Peter, 350–51; E. Randolph Richards, ‘Silvanus Was Not Peter’s Secretary: Theological Bias in Interpreting διά Σιλουανου ... ἔγραψα in 1 Peter 5:12’, JETS 43 (2000), 417– 32. On the practice and function of letter-carrying, see Peter M. Head, ‘Named Letter-Carriers among the Oxyrhynchus Papyri’, JSNT 31 (2009), 279–99. 151 Cf. Brox, ‘Pseudepigraphischen Rahmung’, 89–90; Elliott, ‘Peter, Silvanus and Mark’, 262–63; Herzer, Petrus oder Paulus?, 69–71. Brox, it should be noted, does not see this evidence as supporting a Petrine circle origin for 1 Peter, but draws rather different conclusions (see below). 152 Cf. Brox, ‘Pseudepigraphischen Rahmung’, 90; Elliott, ‘Peter, Silvanus and Mark’, 260. The (indirect) link is missed by Black, Mark, 65: ‘it is only at 1 Peter 5:13 that a connection is established in the New Testament between Mark and Peter’. See further U. H. J. Körtner, ‘Markus der Mitarbeiter des Petrus’, ZNW 71 (1980), 160–73 (162–72), who concludes that it is unlikely that Mark was actually a co-worker of Peter’s (171).

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Mark also joined Paul and Barnabas on a missionary journey, though only as far as Perga in Pamphylia (Acts 13.13). According to Luke, when Barnabas later wished to take Mark on another mission journey, Paul resisted the idea of joining again with the one who had previously left them, and disagreed with Barnabas to the extent that they went their separate ways, Paul with Silas, Barnabas with Mark (Acts 15.36-40).153 From Philemon 24, assuming that the Mark there named is the same person, it seems that Mark was subsequently active once again among Paul’s co-workers, an impression reinforced by his positive mention in Col. 4.10 and 2 Tim. 4.11. Thus, evidence for Mark’s connection with Peter is slim and tenuous, while his links with Paul and the Pauline mission are significantly more extensive. An important and oft-cited reference connecting Peter and Mark is of course the somewhat later report of Papias, recorded by Eusebius, that Mark ‘followed Peter’, became Peter’s interpreter (ἑρμηνευτής), and ‘wrote accurately all that he remembered, not, indeed, in order, of the things said or done by the Lord’ (HE 3.39.15; cf. 2.15.1-2). The historicity of these remarks is certainly not beyond doubt, and it has been suggested that the connection of Peter with Mark has simply been derived from 1 Pet. 5.13.154 But even if Papias is right to record a connection between Peter and Mark, that hardly proves the existence of a Petrine ‘circle’ responsible for 1 Peter. There may be similarities to be noted between the Gospel of Mark and 1 Peter,155 but there are also features of Mark which suggest that it is in some ways a ‘Pauline’ Gospel.156 As in the case of 1 Peter, the most plausible answer to the question of Pauline or Petrine influence may be not either/or, but both/and. One particular problem for the view that both Mark and 1 Peter represent the Petrine traditions of a Petrine circle is that the Gospel traditions most clearly echoed in 1 Peter – those from the Sermon on the Mount – are not found in Mark!157 So Mark’s Gospel and 1 153 On these details, see Elliott, ‘Peter, Silvanus and Mark’, 260. 154 Philipp Vielhauer, Geschichte der urchristlichen Literatur: Einleitung in das Neue Testament, die Apokryphen und die Apostolischen Vater (Berlin and New York: de Gruyter, 1975), 260–61. In Vielhauer’s opinion, the ‘Papiasnotiz’ concerning the link between Peter and Mark is ‘historisch wertlos’ (261). For a recent defence of the value of Papias’ comment, see Hengel, Saint Peter, 46 (and more generally on Peter’s influence on the Gospel of Mark, 36–48). 155 See, e.g., David L. Dungan, ‘The Purpose and Provenance of the Gospel of Mark according to the “Two-Gospel” (Griesbach) Hypothesis’, in Bruce Corley (ed.), Colloquy on New Testament Studies: A Time for Reappraisal and Fresh Approaches (Macon, GA: Mercer University Press, 1983), 133–56; Elliott, ‘Backward and Forward’, 195–97; Brodie, Birthing, 189–95. On the other hand, just as many suggest that without the name ‘Peter’ no one would have thought to connect 1 Peter with the apostle Peter, so Vielhauer suggests that: ‘ohne die Papiasnotiz käme niemand auf die Idee, im MkEv persönliche Erinnerungen des Petrus zu suchen und zu finden’ (Vielhauer, Geschichte, 260). 156 See, e.g., Joel Marcus, ‘Mark – Interpreter of Paul’, NTS 46 (2000), 473–87. 157 Dungan, ‘The Purpose and Provenance of Mark’, argues that the similarities between Mark and 1 Peter lend some support to the Griesbach hypothesis, with both documents representing attempts at reconciliation, bridge-building, between Jewish and Pauline Christianities. Apart from the other arguments to be ranged against the Griesbach hypothesis, here it would be odd, if both documents represented a similar reconciling tendency, for 1 Peter to echo precisely those Gospel traditions which the supposedly irenic Mark chose to omit.

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Peter can hardly both be regarded as literary products of the same distinctive (Petrine) circle. Clifton Black is therefore right to conclude that the names Silvanus and Mark are unlikely to have been ‘originally regarded as paradigmatic of Petrine Christianity ... it appears much more probable that Mark, like Silvanus, was remembered in rather minor though consistently positive association with the Pauline tradition’.158 The names Silvanus and Mark cannot substantiate the idea of a specifically Petrine circle in Rome, a group whose Petrine theology is recorded in 1 Peter.159 The names in 1 Peter may or may not be part of the pseudepigraphical construction of the epistle, but either way, if the ‘group’ they represent is responsible for the letter it is a group which has links with Paul and the Pauline tradition as much as with Peter, and which may be better labelled ‘early Christian’ than ‘Petrine’.

1.7. First Peter as the product of an early Christian synthesis? We may begin to draw the argument of this chapter together and attempt to reach some conclusions concerning the character of 1 Peter and its place in early Christian history. 1 Peter shows the influence of Paul and the Pauline tradition, but is not a ‘Pauline’ letter; it also draws on other strands of early Christian tradition and exhibits its own distinctive character.160 Neither the content of 1 Peter nor the names mentioned in it (except that of Peter himself) can provide sufficient evidence to support the idea that 1 Peter represents a specifically Petrine tradition preserved and recorded by a Petrine circle or school. On the contrary, both the content of the epistle and the names within it combine to support the view that 1 Peter reflects both Jewish-Christian (Jerusalem) and Pauline traditions; both Silvanus and Mark have Jerusalem connections, as well as being Pauline co-workers. As such, 1 Peter does not appear to be the product of a Petrine circle, nor indeed of a Pauline circle, 158 Black, Mark, 66. Wehr, Petrus und Paulus, 199, puts the point strongly: ‘In der Nennung von Silvanus und Markus am Schluß des Briefes wird man paulinischen Einfluß sehen müssen.’ Wehr considers that the two co-workers are named not in some conscious attempt here to combine Pauline and Petrine tradition, but simply because of the author’s desire to mention ‘apostolische Mitarbeiter’ (200). 159 Cf. also Brox, ‘Pseudepigraphie’, 112–14. 160 In response to the earlier essay on which this chapter is based, Doering suggests that I tend ‘to make too little of the distinctive features of First Peter’ which mean that ‘it is distinct, and … presents itself as distinct, from the Pauline letter tradition’ (Doering, ‘Apostle’, 681 n. 165). I take the point, but with two qualifications: (i) my main concerns were, and are (in this particular argument), to reassert the extent to which there are (some) significant connections with the Pauline tradition, which should not be denied, and, more broadly, to question the idea of a specifically ‘Petrine’ circle of production; (ii) the close similarities between 1 Peter and the Pauline letters in the letter-frame (see §1.2.1 above) mean that, notwithstanding 1 Peter’s distinctive content and theology, it ‘presents itself’ (so Doering) as more like a Pauline letter than anything else, much more so than the other letters in the Catholic Epistle collection (though 2 Peter comes next closest).

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but rather of an early Christianity in which diverse and sometimes opposing Christian traditions were drawn together. Further evidence from slightly later texts with some connections or similarities to 1 Peter also adds plausibility to this argument. Perhaps the most obvious examples are 2 Peter and 1 Clement. In terms of literary content 2 Peter is much more closely related to Jude than to 1 Peter: much of the central section of Jude (vv. 4-18) is taken up in 2 Pet. 2.1–3.3.161 By contrast, there are few clear echoes of 1 Peter,162 although the author of 2 Peter clearly knows of the former epistle and explicitly aims to continue its admonitory purpose (2 Pet. 3.1). Indeed, the differences between 1 and 2 Peter render implausible the view that they both emanate from a single ‘school’.163 As seems to be the case with 1 Peter, the author of 2 Peter is aware of Paul and his letters, though clear echoes of the Pauline corpus are few.164 Paul and his letters are highly regarded – Paul is ὁ ἀγαπητὸς ἡμῶν ἀδελφός and his letters are ranked as scripture (2 Pet. 3.15-16) – though the letters are acknowledged to be hard to understand and subject in some quarters to distorted and deviant interpretation (3.16). With its explicit self-connection to ‘Peter’s’ former letter, 2 Peter is usually seen as originating in the same location as 1 Peter (often taken to be Rome) and being addressed to the same (or some of the same) areas.165 As such, and with its explicit mention of the two great apostles, Peter and Paul, it represents a further example of a kind of synthesis of ‘Pauline’ and ‘Petrine’ or ‘Gentile’ and ‘Jewish’ streams of early Christianity. If written from Rome – though this is by no means certain – then 1 Peter indicates the Roman churches’ concern to influence and support Christian communities elsewhere. Certainly it depicts itself as a letter from Rome, thus presenting itself as probably the first example of such ‘pastoral outreach’ from Rome (cf. Ignatius Rom. 3.1: ἄλλους ἐδιδάξατε). The same categorization fits 1 Clement, sent from Rome to Corinth around the end of the first century ce.166 For the author of 1 Clement, Peter and Paul are the apostolic heroes par excellence: 161 See Horrell, Peter and Jude, 140–42, and other studies mentioned there. Most modern scholars have concluded that 2 Peter has used Jude, rather than vice versa, but that there is a close literary relationship of some kind is hardly open to dispute. Mark Mathews has recently made the case for the priority of 2 Peter: Mark D. Mathews, ‘The Literary Relationship of 2 Peter and Jude: Does the Synoptic Tradition Resolve this Synoptic Problem?’, Neot 44 (2010), 47–66. 162 Though see G. H. Boobyer, ‘The Indebtedness of 2 Peter to 1 Peter’, in A. J. B. Higgins (ed.), New Testament Essays: Studies in Memory of T. W. Manson (Manchester: Manchester University Press, 1959), 34–53; William J. Dalton, ‘The Interpretation of 1 Peter 3,19 and 4,6: Light from 2 Peter’, Bib 60 (1979), 547–55; Tord Fornberg, An Early Church in a Pluralistic Society: A Study of 2 Peter (Lund: Gleerup, 1977), 12–13, who suggest points of connection between the two epistles. 163 So Bauckham, Jude, 2 Peter, 146. 164 Cf. Bauckham, Jude, 2 Peter, 147–48. 165 See 1 Pet. 1.1; Horrell, Peter and Jude, 136–37. 166 For discussion of date, see David G. Horrell, The Social Ethos of the Corinthian Correspondence: Interests and Ideology from 1 Corinthians to 1 Clement (SNTW; Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1996), 238–41 (towards the end of the first century); Horacio E. Lona, Der erste Clemensbrief (Kommentar zu den Apostolischen Vätern; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1998), 75–78 (the last decade of the first century).

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they are named together as τοὺς ἀγαθοὺς ἀποστόλους (1 Clem. 5.1-7; cf. also Ignatius Rom. 4.3). Interestingly there has been debate about the character of 1 Clement not too dissimilar to the debate about 1 Peter: is 1 Clement essentially a Pauline/Hellenistic writing (as L. Sanders argued in 1943) or rather a writing dependent on Jewish and Jewish-Christian traditions (as K. Beyschlag argued in 1966)?167 As with 1 Peter, the truth almost certainly lies in a both/and rather than an either/or answer. Like 1 Peter, 1 Clement is clearly indebted to Paul (see e.g. 1 Clem. 37.4–38.1; 47.1-4; 49.5) but equally influenced by a range of other traditions, both Christian and non-Christian.168 All these traditions are woven together in the service of a socially conservative, ‘love-patriarchal’ Christianity which seeks to restore proper ‘order’ to the church at Corinth.169 1 Clement’s clear regard for both Peter and Paul, its use of both Pauline and non-Pauline tradition, the character of its social/ethical teaching, etc., all add plausibility to a similar view of 1 Peter, whether it actually emanates from Rome or not. Conversely, aside from the authorial attribution, there is no more reason to regard 1 Peter as a ‘Petrine’ product than there is 1 Clement. One major question then remains: why was the letter written in the name of Peter, if it does not represent the specifically Petrine traditions treasured by a Petrine circle? And the corollary questions: why was the letter not written in the name of Paul, and why were Silvanus and Mark mentioned?

1.8. Why Peter? A general reason for writing in the name of Peter is not hard to find: the (growing) prominence and authority of Peter in the early Church. Peter was undoubtedly a central figure in the early Christian movement, as the Gospels in their varied ways make clear, and had clearly been regarded as a leading authority from early times (1 Cor. 1.12; 9.5; 15.5; Gal. 2.9; etc.).170 The writing of a letter under Peter’s name seems much more likely to reflect the central place of Peter in early Christianity than the influence of a distinctively Petrine circle, especially given the lack of substantive evidence for any such circle.171 167 L. Sanders, L’Hellénisme de Saint Clément de Rome et le Paulinisme (Studia Hellenistica; Louvain: Catholic University of Louvain, 1943); K. Beyschlag, Clemens Romanus und der Fruhkatholizismus: Untersuchungen zu I Clemens 1–7 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1966). See further references in Horrell, Social Ethos, 5 n. 26. 168 See, e.g., the use of the Phoenix story in 1 Clem. 25. On the Stoic parallels in 1 Clement see Sanders, L’Hellénisme, 109–30. The influence of the Old Testament (LXX) is also prominent: on the use of Old Testament and New Testament tradition in 1 Clement see Donald A. Hagner, The Use of the Old and New Testaments in Clement of Rome (NovTSup 34; Leiden: Brill, 1973), though he makes rather maximalist claims. 169 See further Horrell, Social Ethos, 250–80. 170 See Hengel, Saint Peter, 28–36. 171 Knoch, ‘Petrusschule’, valuably draws attention to the high regard for the figure of Peter and his consequent authority in the church, but his observations apply without his central but unsubstantiated assumption, that the Petrine letters and appeals to Peter’s authority emanate from a Petruskreis or Petrusschule.

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As Brox points out, given the author’s location in Rome (or his desire to make his letter appear to be of Roman origin) and the widespread ‘knowledge’ (whether historically accurate or not) of Peter’s final end in Rome,172 the name of Peter is an obvious choice: ‘Because the author is actually, or fictitiously, writing from Rome, he writes under the name of the apostolic authority whose name had through history become linked with Rome.’173 After all, Peter later came to be regarded as the first ‘bishop’ of Rome and was from early times regarded as a key figure for the Church as a whole.174 Who better to send an epistle to the churches scattered in Asia Minor? Indeed, rather than regard 1 Peter as evidence for the existence of a Petrine circle or school, ‘1 Peter’, as Pheme Perkins suggests, ‘should be seen as evidence for the universalizing of Peter as a leader for the whole church’.175 Arguing against the idea of a Petrine ‘school’, Thomas Schmeller makes a similar point: ‘It is equally possible that Peter was taken up here as a church-wide authority (“als gesamtkirchliche Autorität”), that the name does not stand directly for any specific tradition.’176 More specifically, given his status as a suffering μάρτυς, ‘Peter is ideally suitable [sic] to provide the readers with an example of how they should behave in the persecution/suffering situation’, such that ‘the appeal to the Peter-figure in 1 Peter is vitally related to the characteristic themes and subject-matter of the letter’.177 172 The historicity of this has long been disputed; contrast, e.g., the recent scepticism of Michael D. Goulder, ‘Did Peter ever Go to Rome?’, SJT 57 (2004), 377–96 and Otto Zwierlein, Petrus in Rom. Die literarischen Zeugnisse (Untersuchungen zur antiken Literatur und Geschichte 96; Berlin: De Gruyter, 2009) with the positive assessments of Richard J. Bauckham, ‘The Martyrdom of Peter in Early Christian Literature’, ANRW 2.26.1 (1992), 539–95 and Markus Bockmuehl, ‘Peter’s Death in Rome? Back to Front and Upside Down’, SJT 60 (2007), 1–23. As Bockmuehl points out, early Christian tradition is remarkably unanimous concerning Peter’s death in Rome, with no competing location for his tomb even among more hostile sources. Bauckham offers a thorough and cogent overview of the early sources, concluding that there is high historical probability for Peter’s martyrdom in Rome, whereas Zwierlein (whose work is focused on the later apocryphal Acts and martyrdom accounts) offers a rather restricted coverage of the earliest literary evidence (7–35), without reference to Bauckham’s work. 173 Brox, ‘Pseudepigraphischen Rahmung’, 96 (and see 95–96): ‘Weil der Autor tatsächlich oder fiktiv von Rom. aus schreibt, schreibt er unter der apostolischen Autorität, deren Namen sich durch die Geschichte an Rom geheftet hat.’ Brox argues that there is no need to regard the name Peter as indicating that the letter’s content is distinctively Petrine; indeed, it exhibits a Pauline character. Rather, since the apostles’ teaching was regarded as essentially in agreement the particular name given to the letter guaranteed its apostolic authority and did not necessarily indicate the presentation of a particular individual’s tradition (92–95). See also Brox, ‘Minderheit’, 2–3, and Brox, ‘Pseudepigraphie’, 114–20, where he speaks of the ‘Petrus-RomTradition’, which explains why the name Peter was the most suitable to attach to this letter. 174 See Perkins, Peter, 168–73. Cf. Doering, ‘Apostle’, 649, and Feldmeier, First Epistle of Peter, 35, with Peter as ‘apostle par excellence’ though as Feldmeier notes this is likely to reflect a time later than the earliest period (cf. Mt. 16.18-19). 175 Perkins, Peter, 120; cf. Koester, Introduction, 2.293. 176 Schmeller, Schulen, 30. Cf. also Wehr, Petrus und Paulus, 214; Feldmeier, First Epistle of Peter, 35. 177 Smith, Petrine Controversies, 154–55.

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Furthermore, it is important to note that the areas to which 1 Peter was addressed are areas in which Paul’s missionary activity was distinctly limited: ‘in three of the four/five provinces addressed in 1 Pet neither Paul nor Silvanus, according to Paul’s own words or the record of Acts, ever set foot’.178 It may be that these provinces were ones in which Peter and/or his associates were active as missionaries, though the absence of evidence prevents that suggestion being more than a possibility.179 But there are snippets of evidence pointing to a certain hostility towards Paul in some of these areas: according to Acts 16.7 the ‘Spirit of Jesus’ would not allow Paul and his companions, Silas and Timothy, to enter Bithynia,180 and in 2 Tim. 1.15 ‘Paul’ records that everyone in Asia had turned against him. Whether these texts record historical reminiscence of opposition to Paul, or antagonism that had developed in the period when these texts were written, makes little difference in relation to 1 Peter, which also reflects the situation in Asia Minor in the late first century ce. There is little detail to go on, but these references may provide some further indications as to why the name of Peter was more suited than Paul’s to carry authority and command respect throughout the provinces of Asia Minor, quite apart from the general prominence which Peter had attained.181 Elsewhere too Paul was apparently regarded negatively (cf. Acts 21.17-28; Rom. 3.8); his legacy was highly contested, as the Pastoral Epistles show, and his letters were soon seen as dangerously open to diverse interpretations (2 Pet. 3.16).182 There are, then, good reasons to use the name of Peter rather than of Paul in a letter that draws together diverse Christian traditions to address Christian congregations spread over a wide geographical area. In view of the tendency in earlier scholarship to conclude that the name of Paul as author would more naturally fit the character of the letter (see above), it is also important to stress that 1 Peter’s content, as we have seen, does not mark it overall as a Pauline document, but as something much more broadly influenced by various streams of early Christian tradition. Silvanus and Mark are both known in the traditions as members of the Pauline circle, but are also well-placed to serve as bridge-builders between Paul and Jerusalem, since they both apparently belonged to the church in Jerusalem before travelling with Paul. Certainly there is insufficient evidence to link them with a specifically Petrine circle in Rome, a circle for which there is virtually no 178 Elliott, ‘Peter, Silvanus and Mark’, 261. Pace Knoch, ‘Petrusschule’, 115, who comments that 1 Peter is directed ‘an Christen im paulinischen Mission- und Einflußgebiet’. 179 See further §4.4.1. 180 One might of course note that this report also mentions Silas/Silvanus, who is named in 1 Peter. But any hint of ‘opposition’ towards Silvanus would be just as problematic for the view that he is a key figure in the Petrine circle which produced 1 Peter as for the view that opposition to Paul may form part of the explanation for the letter being written in Peter’s name, and not Paul’s. 181 These, then, may be among the reasons why ‘Peter’ was a better choice than ‘Paul’ as pseudonym, given Reichert’s suggestion that ‘Interesse an einem Märtyrer-Apostel als fiktiven Autor hätte genauso gut zum Paulus-Pseudonym führen können’ (Reichert, Praeparatio, 545). 182 Cf. also Knoch, ‘Petrusschule’, 120–26, on Paul’s more dubious reputation in Rome, compared with Peter’s.

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evidence anyway, but their names may have served to link Peter and Paul and – rather than indicating that the letter is the product of a Petrine circle – to show that the epistle’s message is neither Petrine nor Pauline but apostolic, ‘the true grace of God’ (1 Pet. 5.12).183

1.9. Conclusions While recent work on 1 Peter has done much to reclaim the letter as a distinctive work and not merely a bland example of ‘Paulinism’ – and this achievement is important to stress – the idea that 1 Peter is ‘the product of a Petrine tradition transmitted by Petrine tradents of a Petrine circle’184 seems difficult to sustain. There is no evidence from outside the epistle for the existence of such a circle, nor does the epistle itself lend any substantial support to the thesis, either from its content or from the names mentioned in it. On the contrary, much of the available evidence combines to support the view of 1 Peter as a letter which is richly and triply intertextual, which weaves together a variety of early Christian traditions in its own distinctive attempt to address the situation of the suffering Christians scattered in the ‘diaspora’, sent under the name of the apostle who came to be seen as ‘a leader for the whole church’,185 ‘the apostolic foundational figure’:186 (1) The content of the letter displays no particularly ‘Petrine’ character; (2) the letter is clearly indebted to Pauline tradition at some points, but also draws on non-Pauline traditions; (3) the names of Silvanus and Mark are connected both with Paul and with Peter/Jerusalem; (4) other writings from early Christianity (in Rome and elsewhere) display a similar tendency in their drawing together of a range of early Christian traditions and their veneration of both Peter and Paul. The main reason to think in terms of a specifically Petrine origin – the sheer fact of the attribution of the letter to Peter – has another plausible explanation, namely the prominence of Peter, as apostle and suffering martyr, in early Christianity in general and Rome in particular, combined with the somewhat shaky status of Paul in some parts of Asia Minor (and, perhaps, in Rome). The false step scholarship has made in reaching the ‘consensus’ that 1 Peter is the product of a Petrine group is to assume that high regard for the authority of Peter, and literature produced in his name, must imply the existence of a specifically Petrine circle. The error here, it seems to me, stems from something not dissimilar from the long-established but critically unexamined scholarly tendency to assume that the Gospels emerge from and 183 Cf. also Brox, ‘Pseudepigraphischen Rahmung’; Brox, ‘Minderheit’; Brox, ‘Pseudepigraphie’. I am grateful to John Barclay for some fruitful suggestions on this section of the chapter. 184 Elliott, ‘Rehabilitation’, 248. 185 Perkins, Peter, 120. 186 Hengel, Saint Peter, 31 (quoting Peter Lampe and Ulrich Luz with approval on this point).

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relate to distinctive early Christian communities – Matthaean, Markan, Lukan, and Johannine. Richard Bauckham has raised penetrating questions about this tendency, arguing instead that the Gospels were written and intended for early Christian groups more generally.187 One need not accept all the details of Bauckham’s argument to accept the challenge to question established assumptions.188 Indeed, a similar argument can be made about the widely prevalent talk of ‘Pauline churches’ or ‘Pauline communities’: I have argued elsewhere that there is very little to support the notion of ideologically distinct Pauline communities, and that – without in any way denying the diversity and conflicts within early Christianity – we might better speak simply of ‘early Christian communities’.189 So too there are questions to be raised about the idea that 1 Peter emerges from a Petrine group: the evidence we have examined in this chapter suggests that 1 Peter is more plausibly seen as a product of a synthesizing and proto-orthodox form of early Christianity than of a specifically Petrine circle.190 Such a conclusion inevitably raises the spectre of Ferdinand Christian Baur, for whom 1 Peter was an instance of the Roman church’s moves to synthesize the opposed factions of Jewish (Petrine) and Gentile (Pauline) Christianity by constructing agreement and unity between Peter and Paul. Thus Baur speaks of a mediating tendency (‘vermittelnden Tendenz’) in the two Petrine epistles and of Silvanus and Mark as intermediary figures (‘Mittelspersonen’).191 To some extent the preceding investigation lends support to Baur’s view of 1 Peter as a consolidating, unifying document.192 But it should not be taken to support the wider theory within which he located this synthesizing Tendenz of 1 Peter. There is no evidence that 1 Peter is interested in fostering a theological reconciliation between law-observant and law-free factions,193 and in any case 187 Richard J. Bauckham, ‘For Whom were the Gospels Written?’, in Richard J. Bauckham (ed.), The Gospels for All Christians: Rethinking the Gospel Audiences (Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans; Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1998), 9–48. 188 For example, one might accept that the Gospels were, initially at least, intended for some particular local context, without then concluding that this (ecclesial) context should be regarded as distinctively ‘Matthaean’ or ‘Markan’ in theological or ideological terms – though it might well be geographically distinctive in certain ways. Cf. the important points raised by Margaret M. Mitchell, ‘Patristic Counter-Evidence to the Claim that “The Gospels Were Written for All Christians”’, NTS 51 (2005), 36–79. 189 David G. Horrell, ‘Pauline Churches or Early Christian Churches? Unity, Disagreement, and the Eucharist’, in Anatoly Alexeev et al. (eds), Einheit der Kirche im Neuen Testament (WUNT 218; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2008), 185–203. 190 Hence Brox, ‘Minderheit’, 3, argues that rather than being ‘Petrine’ the epistle is ‘ein Zeugnis des frühen Christentums’. 191 Ferdinand Christian Baur, Das Christentum und die christliche Kirche der drei ersten Jahrhunderte (2nd edn; Tübingen, repr. Stuttgart–Bad Cannstatt: Friedrich Frommann, 1966 [1860]), 143–44; cf. Wehr, Petrus und Paulus, 181, who notes the ongoing view, stemming from Baur, of 1 Peter as embodying a Versöhnungstendenz. 192 So Bovon, ‘Foi chrétienne’, 31, also comments: ‘F.C. Baur n’avait pas tort. La fin du premier siècle rapproche, voire réconcilie Pierre et Paul. Cette réconciliation culminera à Rome …’ 193 Cf. Brox, ‘Minderheit’, 2; Brox, ‘Pseudepigraphie’, 116–20.

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there are good reasons to reject Baur’s view that this division formed a basic fault-line through an essentially bipartisan earliest Christianity. Elliott and others are surely right to discern the aims and strategy of 1 Peter from the content of the letter itself and not from some grand theory of early Christian history. Nonetheless, Elliott also speaks of the letter as representative of ‘a body of tradition gradually coalescing at Rome’.194 He acknowledges that 1 Peter incorporates a wide diversity of (Roman) Christian traditions and that the early Christian literature associated with Rome shows ‘an interest in consolidation, both liturgical consolidation and the binding together of traditions’.195 Black also speaks of ‘Petrine Christianity’ as ‘highly synthetic and amalgamative of other Christian forms’.196 Such comments are perhaps somewhat closer to Baur than the polemic against his theory would suggest and, moreover, raise questions as to what sense it makes to label this consolidating, synthetic form of Christianity as distinctively ‘Petrine’, rather than simply ‘early Christian’. Instead of seeing the presentation of Peter in 1 Peter as indicating a distinctively Petrine tradition, it is more convincing to see him as representing an encompassing claim to prominence and authority. As Wehr comments, ‘Peter is exemplar (“Vorbild”) and authority in the Church … Peter stands for the integration of different streams of early Christian tradition.’197 Without reviving Baur’s theory as such, we may nonetheless conclude that 1 Peter does provide evidence of the ways in which leading figures, whether in Rome or in Asia Minor, presented, consolidated, and synthesized – and at the same time developed and reinterpreted – a variety of early Christian traditions, including some which stemmed from Paul, and found in Peter an appropriate figure of authority and an exemplar of faithful suffering witness. Despite the ‘emerging consensus’ of which Matera writes, the view of 1 Peter as the distinctive product of a Petrine tradition from a Petrine circle should be rejected.

194 Elliott, 1 Peter, 130. 195 In B. Corley (ed.), Colloquy on New Testament Studies: A Time for Reappraisal and Fresh Approaches (Macon, GA: Mercer University Press, 1983), 177. Cf. also Elliott, ‘Peter, Silvanus and Mark’, 253 n. 9, 266–67; Elliott, ‘Roman Provenance’, 193–94 – though he elsewhere stresses the idea of the ‘Petrine group’ as ‘independent’ (Elliott, Home, 271). 196 Black, Mark, 64. 197 Wehr, Petrus und Paulus, 214. His comments are worth citing more fully: ‘Für das Petrusbild des 1 Petr ist der gesamtkirchliche Anspruch kennzeichend. “Petrus”, der sich an paulinisches Missionsgebiet, aber auch an nicht-paulinische Gemeinden wendet, verbindet verschiedene Traditionsströme, zu denen auch paulinische Elemente gehören. Petrus ist Vorbild und Autorität in der Kirche … Petrus steht für die Integration verschiedener urchristlicher Traditionsströme.’

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Chapter 2 The Themes of 1 Peter: Insights from the Earliest Manuscripts (the Crosby-Schøyen Codex ms 193 and the Bodmer Miscellaneous Codex containing P72) 2.1. Introduction Recent developments in textual criticism have significantly broadened the range of insights to be gained from study of New Testament manuscripts. While the efforts to weigh competing readings and thus establish the earliest form of the text remain crucial,1 recent studies have shown how the manuscripts (and their variant readings) are themselves valuable records of reception and interpretation, and, as the earliest material artefacts of Christianity, crucial witnesses to early Christianity’s visual and material culture.2 My interest in this chapter is in what are, as things currently stand, very likely the two earliest manuscripts of 1 Peter. Not only does their antiquity make them significant, so also does the character and content of the manuscripts themselves. I am not here concerned with the variant readings of 1 Peter which these two manuscripts present but with the ways in which, as collections of literature, they offer insights into the early interpretation of 1 Peter, the literary connections made with it, and what early transmitters of the text of 1 Peter took to be its key themes. The two manuscripts are the Crosby-Schøyen Codex ms 193 (hereafter C-S), in Sahidic Coptic, and the Bodmer Miscellaneous Codex (hereafter BMC),3 in Greek. The Coptic manuscript, as a recently published translational 1 Consider, e.g., the massive labour represented in ECM. For a recent discussion of the term ‘original text’ and the question of how central it should be to text-critical studies, see Eldon Jay Epp, ‘The Multivalence of the Term “Original Text” in New Testament Textual Criticism’, HTR 92 (1999), 245–81, repr. in Eldon Jay Epp, Perspectives on New Testament Textual Criticism: Collected Essays, 1962–2004 (NovTSup 116; Leiden: Brill, 2005), 551–93. 2 See, e.g., David C. Parker, The Living Text of the Gospels (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1997); Bart D. Ehrman, The Orthodox Corruption of Scripture: The Effect of Early Christological Controversies on the Text of the New Testament (New York and Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1993); Larry W. Hurtado, The Earliest Christian Artifacts: Manuscripts and Christian Origins (Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 2006). 3 For this title for the codex, cf. Tommy Wasserman, ‘Papyrus 72 and the Bodmer Miscellaneous Codex’, NTS 51 (2005), 137–54. Tobias Nicklas and Tommy Wasserman, ‘Theologische Linien im Codex Bodmer Miscellani?’, in Thomas J. Kraus and Tobias Nicklas (eds), New Testament

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version, has received very little attention in treatments of the text of 1 Peter.4 The Bodmer Codex, published in parts between 1958 and 1964, is much better known, at least so far as its New Testament items are concerned: it includes 1 Peter, 2 Peter, and Jude, known together as P72. However, while the variant readings of P72 have been carefully assessed,5 the significance of the manuscript context in which these New Testament texts appear has less frequently been considered.6 Both codices, it should be noted, ‘derive from the same early Christian library’,7 a library of the Pachomian monastic Order, ‘discovered late in 1952 in Upper Egypt near Dishnā’.8 However, the codices almost certainly date from before the foundation of the Order itself, as does ‘much of the material of the highest quality in the collection … suggesting that it entered the Library as gifts from outside, perhaps contributed by prosperous persons entering the Order’.9 Moreover, their texts of 1 Peter ‘appear to be quite unrelated’,10 and it is certainly not the case that one is a translated copy of the other. The Greek Vorlage on which C-S depends was evidently quite distinct from – and perhaps considerably older than – that presented in P72 (see below on dating).11 The Manuscripts: Their Texts and their World (Texts and Editions for New Testament Study; Leiden and Boston: Brill, 2006), 161–88 (161), give the same title in Latin: Codex Bodmer Miscellani. 4 For the publication of the MS, see James E. Goehring (ed.), The Crosby-Schøyen Codex MS 193 in the Schøyen Collection (CSCO 521; Leuven: Peeters, 1990). It is cited as sa 31 in ECM. Too recent to be noted by Michaels, 1 Peter, who pays particular attention to the textual variants, it is not mentioned in the commentaries of Paul Achtemeier or John Elliott (though Elliott does include Bethge’s article [see below] in a note listing works on ‘the textual attestation of 1 Peter and text-critical questions’; Elliott, 1 Peter, 150 n. 53; see 149–50 on the text of 1 Peter; cf. also Achtemeier, 1 Peter, 74–75). Some of the most significant readings of the text of 1 Peter have been presented by a member of the team which edited the codex: Hans-Gebhard Bethge, ‘Der Text des ersten Petrusbriefes im Crosby-Schøyen-Codex (Ms. 193 Schøyen Collection)’, ZNW 84 (1993), 255–67. Brief mention is made of C-S in important discussions of the Bodmer Codex by Wasserman, ‘Papyrus 72’, 146 n. 36, 154, and by Nicklas and Wasserman, ‘Theologische Linien’, 180–82, 186. 5 See, e.g., Francis W. Beare, ‘Some Remarks on the Text of 1 Peter in the Bodmer Papyrus’, in F. L. Cross (ed.), Studia Evangelica III (TU 88; Berlin: Akademie-Verlag, 1964); Francis W. Beare, ‘The Text of 1 Peter in Papyrus 72’, JBL 80 (1961), 253–60; Eduard Massaux, ‘Le texte de la Ia Petri du Papyrus Bodmer VIII (P72)’, ETL 39 (1963), 616–71; Jerome D. Quinn, ‘Notes on the Text of the P72 1 Pt 2,3; 5,14; and 5,9’, CBQ 27 (1965), 241–49. 6 There have been some studies with this latter focus, most recently Wasserman, ‘Papyrus 72’, and Nicklas and Wasserman, ‘Theologische Linien’, as the interaction through this chapter will show. These have, however, come mostly from those whose primary interest and expertise is in the text-historical/text-critical areas. 7 William W. Willis, ‘The Letter of Peter (1 Peter)’, in Goehring (ed.), Crosby-Schøyen Codex, 135–215 (137). 8 James M. Robinson, ‘The Manuscript’s History and Codicology’, in Goehring (ed.), Crosby-Schøyen Codex, xvii–xlvii (xxvii, cf. also xxxv). For a longer account of the discoveries, see James M. Robinson, ‘The Pachomian Monastic Library at the Chester Beatty Library and the Bibliothèque Bodmer’, Manuscripts of the Middle East 5 (1990–1991), 26–40. 9 Robinson, ‘Pachomian Monastic Library’, 27. 10 Willis, ‘Letter of Peter’, 137. 11 ‘The Crosby-Schøyen text agrees with only one of the twenty-nine unique significant readings of P72’ (Willis, ‘Letter of Peter’, 137).

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shared geographical provenance of these two codices means that we should be wary of taking them as two entirely unrelated witnesses to the ways in which early Christians collected and interpreted their writings. The particular groupings of texts may reflect interests and emphases in the Christian communities of Upper Egypt which collected them. Nonetheless, the two codices do give us two distinct glimpses into the early reception of 1 Peter. I shall consider each in turn, before drawing some comparative and broader conclusions; I begin with C-S.

2.2. Crosby-Schøyen Codex ms 193 C-S comprises a codex which originally had 136 pages, though these were not numbered sequentially throughout. Each page measures approximately 15 x 15 cm.12 The date of C-S cannot be precisely determined, and opinions range from late second to early fifth century,13 but William Willis, the editor and translator of its text of 1 Peter, concludes ‘that it may be dated with some confidence to the middle of the III century’.14 The Greek Vorlage from which the Coptic translation was made – at a stage prior to the production of C-S itself – must have been older still, quite probably older than the text of P72.15 And whatever its precise date, C-S is undoubtedly an important witness to the early history of the letter. It is interesting first to note the inscriptio with which 1 Peter begins in C-S (repeated as the subscript): tepistolh mpetros = ἡ ἐπιστολὴ (τοῦ) Πέτρου. The author of this text, then, and probably the author of the Greek Vorlage too, seems likely to have known – or to have accepted – only this one letter of Peter.16 This early inscriptio reflects a time, or at least a locale, in which 12 See Robinson, ‘History’, xliii–lxiv, who notes that the thirty-five sheets of papyrus comprising the quire are 14.7 cm high in the centre and around 30–32 cm wide. 13 See Robinson, ‘History’, xxxiii. Kurt Aland and Barbara Aland, Der Text des Neuen Testaments (2nd edn; Stuttgart: Deutsche Bibelgesellschaft, 1989), 210, suggest ‘wahrscheinlich wohl um 400’, though without there giving arguments for this date. 14 Willis, ‘Letter of Peter’, 137, citing support from C. H. Roberts for an early dating in n. 4; Robinson, ‘History’, xxxiii; Bethge, ‘Crosby-Schøyen-Codex’, 258–59. Bethge therefore notes: ‘Möglicherweise ist dieses Manuskript mit seinem koptischen Text sogar die älteste handschriftliche Bezeugung des 1Petr!’ (259). 15 Willis, ‘Letter of Peter’, 138, notes that since C-S is evidently a ‘copy of a copy’, not itself a direct translation from the Greek, ‘the original translation on which it is based must be pushed back to a.d. 200, perhaps even earlier. Apparently, therefore, the Crosby-Schøyen text derives from a Greek manuscript earlier than P72 and no longer extant.’ Similarly, Bethge, ‘Crosby-Schøyen-Codex’, 259, who also suggests that it goes back to the second century (259 n. 18). 16 Willis, ‘Letter of Peter’, 146; Bethge, ‘Crosby-Schøyen-Codex’, 260. This is perhaps not surprising, since knowledge of 2 Peter seems to appear relatively late, around the early third century, and the letter was evidently disputed for some time up until the end of the fourth century. See further Nienhuis, Not by Paul, 19, 29–97; Kelly, Peter and Jude, 224–25. Eusebius refers to both letters attributed to Peter, noting that the one called ‘the first’ (ἡ λεγομένη αὐτοῦ προτέρα) is recognized, while the second is not accepted as canonical (HE 3.3.1, 4). In listing the writings

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2 Peter was either not yet known or, if known, not accepted. Moreover, in C-S, 1 Peter does not form part of a collection of New Testament texts, but a more diverse collection. The contents of the codex are especially significant. The texts in their order in the codex, with the likely original pagination, are as follows:17 Melito of Sardis, On the Passover 1–45 2 Maccabees 5.27–7.41 46–66 1 Peter 1–33 Jonah 1–1718 Unidentified Text [pagination missing]

Despite the discontinuous pagination, it is evidently all the work of one scribe,19 though it seems likely that the very fragmentary final homily was added at a later stage (but still by the same scribe).20 The collection of texts makes no distinction between ‘canonical’ or scriptural texts and others. Melito’s Peri Pascha – of which only §§47–105 are preserved in C-S, the opening sections being lost – focuses on the story of the Passover lamb as a prefiguration of the redemptive sufferings of Christ.21 Also notable in combination with the Passover lamb motif is the use of the Isaianic suffering servant material, particularly its sheep/lamb imagery (quoted explicitly in §64; see also, e.g. §§4, 8, 44, 71).22 Israel is strongly criticized for her killing of Christ, and her status as the people of God is explicitly said to have been of the New Testament, however, he refers to ‘the letter of Peter’, which should be accepted (τὴν Πέτρου κυρωτέον ἐπιστολήν), contrasted with the second letter of Peter (Πέτρου δευτέρα ἐπιστολή) which is among the disputed books (HE 3.25.2–3). This gives some pause for thought about whether the use of the title ἡ ἐπιστολὴ Πέτρου necessarily indicates ignorance of the existence of the second letter (a point I owe to Peter Head), though there is a deliberate contrast in Eusebius between the (recognized) letter of Peter and the second, disputed one. 17 There may possibly have been a brief opening tractate, but since the opening pages of the codex are missing, it is impossible to know what, if anything, might have filled them. The extant pagination for Melito (which begins only at p. 17, the previous pages being mostly lost), suggests a separately paginated six-page section at the beginning of the codex. See Robinson, ‘History’, xlvi; James E. Goehring and William W. Willis, ‘On the Passover by Melito of Sardis’, in Goehring (ed.), Crosby-Schøyen Codex, 1–79 (4). 18 However, the text of Jonah begins, prior to p. 1, on the same page (p. 33) as the ending of 1 Peter (see plate 8 in Goehring [ed.], Crosby-Schøyen Codex). 19 See James E. Goehring, ‘The Manuscript’s Language and Orthography’, in Goehring (ed.), Crosby-Schøyen Codex, xlix–lxii. 20 James E. Goehring, ‘Unidentified Text’, in Goehring (ed.), Crosby-Schøyen Codex, 261–75 (263). 21 Larry Hurtado’s valuable catalogue of early Christian literary texts in MSS of the second and third centuries omits to list the C-S text of Melito; Hurtado, Earliest Christian Artifacts, 223 §191, though cf. 223 §167. On p. 167 he also refers to C-S, mentioning its text of Melito, but wrongly includes Jeremiah and Lamentations among the texts included in the codex. 22 Othmar Perler, Méliton de Sardes: sur la pâque, et fragments. Introduction, texte critique, traduction et notes (SC 123; Paris: Cerf, 1966), 136, notes that ‘[l]es allusions au texte d’Isaïe … sont frequentes dans Méliton’.

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brought to an end by the establishment of the Church (e.g. §43: ὁ λαὸς ἐκενώθη τῆς ἐκκλησίας ἀνασταθείσης, καὶ ὁ τύπος ἐλύθη τοῦ κυρίου φανερωθέντος).23 The deliverance purchased for the members of the Church – ‘from slavery to freedom, from death to life, from tyranny to everlasting kingdom’ (§§67–68 [C-S]24) – gives them a new identity which is described in terms drawn again from Old Testament texts in Exodus (19.6) and Isaiah (43.20): ‘he made us a new priesthood and a chosen people and an eternal kingdom’ (§68 [C-S]).25 This is also a striking and precise parallel to 1 Pet. 2.9. Indeed, there are a number of close parallels between 1 Peter and Melito, at the level both of terminology and theme, and of more exact literary parallels, close enough to allow the possibility of, if not prove, literary dependency.26 More generally, 1 Peter and Melito’s Peri Pascha represent a common interpretation of the death of Christ in terms drawn both from the Exodus Passover account and Isaiah 53. This, Elliott suggests, points at least to a shared oral tradition of interpretation (and possibly to Melito’s knowledge of 1 Peter).27 The second text is an extract from 2 Maccabees, the ‘martyrology section’ of the book.28 Its title in C-S is ‘The Martyrs of the Jews who Lived under Antiochus the King’, abbreviated in the subscript to ‘The Jewish Martyrs’.29 According to the editors, ‘though on the whole it seems to parallel Septuagint 2 Maccabees closely, it often gives a paraphrase or digest, or chooses a different word’.30 This section of 2 Maccabees describes the persecution of Jews which followed the king’s demand that they join in the offerings and celebrations associated with his birthday, actions which are taken to represent the acceptance of Greek customs (6.7-9). First, two women are publicly paraded and killed for having circumcised their sons (6.10). Then we hear about the hideous deaths 23 Greek text from Perler, Méliton, who translates that the people of Israel ‘perdit sa raison d’être’ (83). Richard C. White, Melito of Sardis: Sermon ‘on the Passover’. A New English Translation with Introduction and Commentary (Lexington, KY: Lexington Theological Seminary Library, 1976), 28, renders the phrase ‘the people was abolished’; cf. Stuart George Hall (ed.), Melito of Sardis on Pascha and Fragments: Texts and Translations (OECT; Oxford: Clarendon, 1979), 21: ‘the people was made void’. 24 ET from Goehring and Willis, ‘On the Passover’, 43. 25 These words are missing from the text of Melito in the Bodmer Papyrus, on which see below, and fall within a lacuna in the Latin text. See Perler, Méliton, 98, 173. There is therefore some uncertainty about their originality, but they are, significantly, present within the C-S text. 26 Along with Melito 68//1 Pet. 2.9, Melito 12//1 Pet. 1.19 is also an especially precise parallel, where the shared terminology might well reflect the influence of 1 Peter on Melito. See Elliott, 1 Peter, 145–46. 27 Elliott, 1 Peter, 145, who details further parallels. 28 See Edmund S. Meltzer and Hans-Gebhard Bethge, ‘The Jewish Martyrs (2 Maccabees 5:27–7:41)’, in Goehring (ed.), Crosby-Schøyen Codex, 81–133 (83), who note that the other known Coptic ms of 2 Maccabees includes virtually the identical section (5.27–7.21, possibly running to 7.41 in its original complete form). 29 Meltzer and Bethge, ‘The Jewish Martyrs’, 83. 30 Meltzer and Bethge, ‘The Jewish Martyrs’, 84.

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of Eleazar, and of seven brothers and their mother, who refused to eat pork and thus defile themselves. The text was especially important, Jonathan Goldstein notes, since it contained ‘the earliest surviving examples of elaborate stories of monotheists suffering martyrdom’ and as such provided the direct source for the patterns that thereafter prevailed in Jewish and Christian literature: the cheerful acceptance by the martyr of terrible pain rather than commit an act viewed by pagans as trivial; the dialogue between the martyr and his persecutors and tormentors; the vivid description of the torments; the martyr’s persistent faith to the death; the care to record both the anger and the admiration of the pagans as the tortures prove to be in vain; the presentation of the martyr as an example to be followed by the rest of the faithful.31

Indeed, Goldstein notes, because it was written in Greek, it was more eagerly accepted and preserved by Christians than by Jews, for many of whom a work in Greek could not be holy. Thus, 2 Maccabees, already alluded to, Goldstein suggests, in Heb. 11.35-36, was ‘preserved only by the Church’, until it was rediscovered by medieval Jews ‘in the possession of their Christian contemporaries’.32 It is notable, then, that C-S refers at 6.6 to ‘the festivals of our fathers (neneiote)’, apparently claiming the Jewish ancestors as the Christians’ own (cf. 1 Cor. 10.1).33 After 1 Peter, the fourth text to be found in C-S is a complete text of Jonah, entitled ‘Jonah the Prophet’. The text again closely follows the Septuagint, with some variations, mostly due ‘to the simple preferences of the translator’.34 According to Charles Hedrick, editor and translator of the C-S text of Jonah, ‘[t]he relatively numerous remains of the Coptic text of Jonah suggest that it played a significant role in the liturgical life of early Coptic Christianity particularly in Upper Egypt’.35 The story of Jonah was also ‘an overwhelmingly favorite subject’ in early Christian art, appearing ‘more than seventy times … [i]n the pre-Constantinian era’, often with several episodes from the narrative depicted.36 The earliest such example is in the third-century

31 Jonathan A. Goldstein, II Maccabees: A New Translation with Introduction and Commentary (AB 41A; New York: Doubleday, 1983), 282. For a detailed study of the martyrdoms in 2 and 4 Maccabees, see Jan Willem van Henten, The Maccabean Martyrs as Saviours of the Jewish People: A Study of 2 and 4 Maccabees (Journal for the Study of Judaism Supplements 57; Leiden: Brill, 1997), who stresses how the martyrs are presented as ideal figures, an example for other Jews. 32 Goldstein, II Maccabees, 27. 33 Cf. LXX: πατρῴους, ‘ancestral’, with no possessive adjective (so Goldstein, II Maccabees, 268, translates: ‘the traditional festivals’). 34 Charles W. Hedrick, ‘Jonah the Prophet (Jonah)’, in Goehring (ed.), Crosby-Schøyen Codex, 217–59 (220). 35 Hedrick, ‘Jonah’, 219. 36 Robin Margaret Jensen, Understanding Early Christian Art (London and New York: Routledge, 2000), 69, 172.

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Callistus Catacomb in Rome.37 The images of Jonah in early Christian art help to indicate one major reason for the story’s popularity: its perceived relevance as a type of the Easter story, a sign of resurrection, notably in the ‘three days and three nights’ (2.1) Jonah spends inside the fish.38 This christological parallel is strengthened further by the implication that Jonah has, in this threeday period, indeed gone to the realm of the dead (Jon. 2.2 MT: lw)#$; 2.3 LXX: ᾅδης; C-S: em_n\te). It was thus also appropriate as a symbol of the resurrection hope for the deceased whose place of repose it marked, as they awaited the final day of resurrection.39 Moreover, and interestingly for the interpretation of 1 Peter, there is also a link between resurrection and baptism in the symbolism of the Jonah story. As Robin Jensen comments: Since Christian baptism is itself a symbol of Jesus’ passion, death, and resurrection, the baptismal connection would be logical even without the added detail of the water – water into which Jonah is tossed and the initiate is immersed. Jonah’s nudity [as he is commonly depicted in early Christian art] thus symbolizes the nudity of the candidates for baptism as they are dipped and ‘reborn’ from the womblike waters of the baptismal font.40

The typological significance of the Jonah story seems to have been picked up very early in the Christian tradition.41 A saying recorded in both Matthew and Luke makes reference to ‘the sign of Jonah’ (τὸ σημεῖον Ἰωνᾶ: Mt. 12.39; 16.4; Lk 11.29). Luke’s version and interpretation of the saying, which may be closest to an earlier Q form,42 is least clear about precisely what this sign is, though many favour the view that the most likely implied referent of the sign is Christ’s vindication at his resurrection (and/or his ascension or parousia).43 Matthew’s 37 For a colour picture, see L. V. Rutgers, Subterranean Rome: In Search of the Roots of Christianity in the Catacombs of the Eternal City (Leuven: Peeters, 2000), 93. 38 See Jensen, Early Christian Art, 171–74. Cf. Justin, Dial. 107; Origen, Comm in Matt 12.3; Basil, De Spiritu Sanc. 14.32. 39 And this is also an instance, as Thomas Mathews stresses, where the biblical subject was ‘twisted’ as it was depicted in the pre-existing imagery of Roman mythology: Jonah is often depicted in the form and pose of Endymion, a favourite motif on Roman sarcophagi, a type of ‘happy repose’. Jonah’s rest beneath the fig tree, of course, was hardly happy, so the ‘sculptor transformed the story and made the prophet’s rest into a metaphor of the repose of the blessed’. Thomas F. Mathews, The Clash of Gods: A Reinterpretation of Early Christian Art (revised and expanded edn; Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1999 [1993]), 30–33; cf. also Jensen, Early Christian Art, 173. 40 Jensen, Early Christian Art, 173. 41 See further Yvonne Sherwood, A Biblical Text and its Afterlives: The Survival of Jonah in Western Culture (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2000), 11–21. 42 See David R. Catchpole, The Quest for Q (Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1993), 51–53. There is also the question of the relationship of this saying to Mk 8.12. For an early study of the whole tradition-complex, see Richard A. Edwards, The Sign of Jonah in the Theology of the Evangelists and Q (SBT 18; London: SCM, 1971). 43 See, e.g., Alfred Plummer, A Critical and Exegetical Commentary on the Gospel According to S. Luke (ICC; Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1901), 307; Joachim Jeremias, ‘Ἰωνᾶς’, TDNT

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version – which describes Jonah, like the inscriptio in C-S, as Jonah ‘the prophet’ (12.39)44 – more clearly indicates that the sign refers to the Easter events, since it contains the crucial comparison, ‘just as Jonah was three days and three nights in the belly of the sea-monster, so will the Son of Man be three days and three nights in the heart of the earth’ (v. 40).45 As such, the sign of Jonah can equally well be applied to the general Christian hope for resurrection, as in 3 Cor. 3.2931 (a text, incidentally, which appears in the second of our codices; see below). There are perhaps other reasons too why the text of Jonah may have appealed to readers who also treasured 1 Peter: it is a story about a righteous man (1.14) called to missionary witness in a world of wickedness and vice (1.2). Indeed, one possible interpretation of ‘the sign of Jonah’ as presented and interpreted in Lk 11.29-30 is of Jonah, like Jesus, as a preacher of repentance.46 Because of Jonah’s witness to the Lord, the sailors – who nobly seek to avoid causing the death of a righteous man (1.14) – are converted to worshipping God (1.16), as are the inhabitants of Nineveh (3.5-8), much to Jonah’s chagrin. Jonah’s prayer to God in the midst of his affliction (2.2-9) is especially apposite for those who are suffering affliction, even to death, but who look to God as the source of 3.409; I. Howard Marshall, The Gospel of Luke: A Commentary on the Greek Text (NIGTC; Exeter: Paternoster, 1978), 483; Joel B. Green, The Gospel of Luke (NICNT; Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 1997), 463 (as one of two good possibilities); N. T. Wright, ‘Resurrection in Q?’, in David G. Horrell and Christopher M. Tuckett (eds), Christology, Controversy and Community: New Testament Essays in Honour of David R. Catchpole (NovTSup 99; Leiden and Boston: Brill, 2000), 93–96. As well as the future ἔσται (v. 30), the references to the people of Nineveh and the queen of the South ‘rising up’ at ‘the judgement’ suggest a focus on the eschatological future (cf. also in Mt. 12.41-42). Catchpole, Quest, 51–52, also points to 3 Macc. 6.8 as Jewish precedent for taking Jonah as a model of ‘divine intervention to rescue faithful servants’. 44 Cf. W. D. Davies and Dale C. Allison, A Critical and Exegetical Commentary on the Gospel According to Saint Matthew, 3 vols (ICC; Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1988–1997) 2.355, who suggest that Matthew made this addition since it ‘stresses the prophetic significance of what happened to Jonah’. 45 The potential difficulty, that the time-space of three days and three nights does not correspond to the resurrection on the third day, is apparently not an issue for Matthew. As Ulrich Luz comments: ‘Am exakten Zeitraum ist er wenig interessiert, so wichtig ihm ist, daß Jona, “der Prophet”, typologisch in seinem Geschick das Ereignis von Tod und Auferstehung Jesu vorausbildet. Sie sind also das “Zeichen”, das Gott dieser Generation geben wird’ (Ulrich Luz, Das Evangelium nach Matthäus. Teilband 2, Mt. 8–17 [EKKNT 1/2; Zürich: Benziger, 1990], 278). Similarly, Davies and Allison, Matthew 2.355–56. Far less convincing is David Hill’s view that, because the time period does not correspond, ‘it is unlikely that this verse represents a post eventum prophecy of Jesus’ resurrection: it is incorrect in the details. It is probable that the Jonah reference and its application to Jesus is not concerned with the idea of deliverance or resurrection, but only with the idea of judgment and death. The death of the Son of Man … is the only sign that will be given’ (David Hill, The Gospel of Matthew [NCBC; London/Grand Rapids, MI: Marshall, Morgan & Scott/Eerdmans, 1972], 220). 46 An older view discussed and rejected by Jeremias, ‘Ἰωνᾶς’, TDNT 3.409. Green, Luke, 464, nonetheless sees this still as one of two possibilities that make good sense in the narrative: ‘Just as Jonah proclaimed repentance to the people prior to their judgment, so does Jesus.’ But as Jeremias points out ‘[t]he future ἔσται at 11:30 rules out the possibility that Lk. finds the renewed sign of Jonah in the present activity of Jesus as a preacher of repentance’ (409).

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their salvation. These are central themes in 1 Peter too: the missionary witness of God’s people in a hostile world and their related afflictions, and their hope for vindication and salvation (cf. 1.3-9; 2.12; 3.15-16).47 The final text included in the codex is fragmentary and as yet unidentified. Differences in presentation (one column of text per page, compared with two throughout the rest of the codex; no apparent title or subscript) suggest that it ‘represents a secondary addition to an original collection of four tractates’, though it is ‘written in the same scribal hand’.48 It is possible that the four texts were already linked – perhaps in an earlier Coptic or Greek Vorlage – and that the fifth was later added, perhaps by the scribe of C-S, possibly because it became apparent that there were spare pages at the end of the codex.49 Too little of the text is extant to analyse its content in any detail. It ‘exhorts its hearers to prayer, action and watchfulness’,50 drawing on biblical images and allusions to do so (e.g. references to the good shepherd [125, 7];51 to virgins and their lamps [126, 2-4]; to Noah and Joseph [126, 6, 12]). The rhetorical style has been seen as reminiscent of Melito, though this is insufficient basis to conclude that he was the author.52 The style seems to suggest that the text takes the form of a homily, though some other form of exhortation or catechesis is also possible.53 It is evident that C-S has a clear thematic coherence, focused around the Easter themes of suffering and vindication.54 Hans-Gebhard Bethge summarizes the themes concisely: ‘Suffering, Passion, Easter’.55 More fully, we might say that the collection focuses on the paschal suffering of Christ (esp. in Melito), and the suffering (and martyrdom) of God’s people (esp. in 2 Maccabees), and, more generally, the existence and mission of Christians in a hostile gentile world (cf. Jonah, also a key Easter parable). It is striking how well these themes also reflect those central to 1 Peter. Indeed, given the way in which 1 Peter contains and connects all the above themes, we might well argue that it is perhaps the central text in terms of the thematic coherence of the codex.56 First Peter, like Melito’s 47 See further Armand Puig i Tàrrech, ‘The Mission According to the New Testament: Choice or Need?’, in Anatoly Alexeev et al. (eds), Einheit der Kirche im Neuen Testament (WUNT 218; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2008), 231–47 (237–47). 48 Goehring, ‘Unidentified Text’, 263. 49 See Goehring, ‘Unidentified Text’, 263. 50 Goehring, ‘Unidentified Text’, 264. 51 The text is cited according to the codex page number then line number(s), following the convention in Goehring, ‘Unidentified Text’. 52 See Goehring, ‘Unidentified Text’, 263 with n. 2, 264 with n. 5; Alistair StewartSykes, The Lamb’s High Feast: Melito, Peri Pascha and the Quartodeciman Paschal Liturgy at Sardis (Vigiliae Christianae Supplements 42; Leiden: Brill, 1998), 180. 53 Goehring, ‘Unidentified Text’, 264. 54 Willis, ‘Letter of Peter’, 137. 55 Bethge, ‘Crosby-Schøyen-Codex’, 257. 56 Indeed, if both the opening and concluding texts were by Melito, or at least had that rhetorical style, then it is at least intriguing to notice a kind of symmetical structure to the codex, with 1 Peter in the central structural position, a suggestion I owe to R. Barry Matlock. The differing lengths of the opening and closing texts, however, together with the indications that the final text was added after the initial four were complete, argue against any kind of deliberate structural arrangement of this kind.

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Peri Pascha, which it may have influenced, draws on both Exodus Passover and Isaianic suffering servant material to depict the suffering and sacrifice of Christ (1.2, 19; 2.21-25). First Peter is clearly addressed to Christians who are suffering due to the hostility of the world around them, suffering not only informal slander and approbation but also, on occasion, trials and executions for confessing the name ‘Christian’.57 And Christ’s path of suffering is presented as an example, a way of discipleship (2.21), which leads to glory and salvation (1.3-12, 21; 4.1-2; 5.10). C-S clearly shows that early readers indeed took these to be the central themes of 1 Peter, linking it with other texts that depicted the paschal sufferings of Christ and the suffering of God’s people.

2.3. The Bodmer Miscellaneous Codex The Bodmer Miscellaneous Codex is more complex to assess. For a start, it has not been preserved in its assembled form, and was published in a number of separate volumes in the Papyrus Bodmer series.58 The codex contains the work of several scribes and was formed by the amalgamation of a number of previously distinct writings.59 The order and contents of the codex thus remain somewhat open to debate.60 Nonetheless, we can be highly confident that these texts were collected together to form one codex, originally containing around 190 pages in total.61 The

57 A good deal of recent scholarship has concluded that 1 Peter reflects mostly informal approbation and public hostility, not trials and possible executions, but I think that both scenarios, connected through the accusatorial process, are likely in view. See chapter 6. 58 Michel Testuz, Papyrus Bodmer V. Nativite de Marie (Cologne-Geneva: Bibliotheca Bodmeriana, 1958); Michel Testuz, Papyrus Bodmer VII–IX. VII: L’Epître de Jude; VIII: Les deux Epîtres de Pierre; IX: Les Psaumes 33 et 34 (Cologne-Geneva: Bibliotheca Bodmeriana, 1959); Michel Testuz, Papyrus Bodmer X–XII. X: Correspondance apocryphe des Corinthiens et de l’apôtre Paul; XI: Onzieme Ode de Salomon; XII: Fragment d’un Hymne liturgique (Cologne-Geneva: Bibliotheca Bodmeriana, 1959); Michel Testuz, Papyrus Bodmer XIII. Meliton de Sardes, Homelie sur la Pâque (Cologne-Geneva: Bibliotheca Bodmeriana, 1960); Victor Martin, Papyrus Bodmer XX. Apologie de Phileas evêque de Thmouis (Cologne-Geneva: Bibliotheca Bodmeriana, 1964). A new edition of the Apology of Phileas has since been published: Albert Pietersma, The Acts of Phileas Bishop of Thmuis (Including Fragments of the Greek Psalter): P. Chester Beatty XV (With a New Edition of P. Bodmer XX, and Halkin’s Latin Acta) (Cahiers d’Orientalisme 7; Geneva: Victor Chevalier, 1984). 59 See Testuz, Papyrus Bodmer VII–IX, 9, who suggests that the texts must have existed ‘en plusiers brochures séparées, qu’on a réunies en un seul livre’; also Wolfgang Wiefel, ‘Kanongeschichtliche Erwägungen zu Papyrus Bodmer VII/VIII (P72)’, Archiv für Papyrusforschung 22 (1973), 289–303 (299). 60 Cf. Testuz, Papyrus Bodmer VII–IX, 9; Martin, Papyrus Bodmer XX, 9; Eric G. Turner, The Typology of the Early Codex (Pennsylvania: University of Pennsylvania Press, 1977), 80; Wasserman, ‘Papyrus 72’, 140–45; Nicklas and Wasserman, ‘Theologische Linien’, 161–67. 61 For the estimate of c. 190 pages, see Winfried Grunewald and K. Junack, Das Neue Testament auf Papyrus. I: Die katholischen Briefe (ANTF 6; Berlin and New York: De Gruyter, 1986), 17. Testuz, Papyrus Bodmer VII–IX, 8–9, estimated c. 180 pages, prior to the reconstruction of the Apology of Phileas. My own count from the various Bodmer Papyrus volumes brings a total of around 190 pages, of which 183 are extant.

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papyrus sheets measure around 28 x 15.5 cm, giving a page size of 14 x 15.5 cm,62 similar to that of C-S. Connections in the pagination or evident in the preserved manuscripts enable some of the links between texts in the collection to be confirmed beyond doubt. Michel Testuz, editor of the majority of the relevant Papyrus Bodmer volumes, concluded that four scribes had been involved in the work.63 Eric Turner considered that six were evident, though this analysis was apparently based only on the evidence and the few photographic plates presented in Testuz’s published volumes.64 Turner’s conclusions are accepted and developed by Kim Haines-Eitzen, though again with only Testuz’s few plates to go on.65 More recent work by Tommy Wasserman, based on the more extensive materials now available, presents a strong case for reducing this to five; Wasserman argues, against Turner and Haines-Eitzen, that both Jude and 1–2 Peter are products of the same scribal hand.66 But despite four or five distinct scribal hands, the codicological connections indicate three distinct sections, two of them connected by a common scribe.67 The contents of the codex in the order proposed by Testuz are as follows; I have also indicated the three sections of the codex as numbered by Winfried Grunewald (and later Wasserman).68 I Nativity of Mary (= Protevangelium of James) [scribe A] I Apocryphal Correspondence of Paul with the Corinthians (3 Corinthians) [scribe B] 62 Martin, Papyrus Bodmer XX, 7; Testuz, Papyrus Bodmer VII–IX, 9. On the small size variations between different sections of the codex, see Turner, Typology, 80. 63 See Testuz, Papyrus Bodmer VII–IX, 8. 64 Turner, Typology, 79–80. See the comments of Wasserman, ‘Papyrus 72’, 141–42. 65 See Kim Haines-Eitzen, Guardians of Letters: Literacy, Power, and the Transmitters of Early Christian Literature (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2000), 97–100 (with the comment on 97 that ‘we must rely on the single plates that are published with each text’ in the editions by Testuz). Note again the comments of Wasserman, ‘Papyrus 72’, 148–49 with n. 42. 66 See Wasserman, ‘Papyrus 72’, 148–54; Nicklas and Wasserman, ‘Theologische Linien’, 163–64. Wasserman accepts, though, that different hands may be responsible for the Nativity of Mary and Melito (Wasserman, ‘Papyrus 72’, 149; cf. Nicklas and Wasserman, ‘Theologische Linien’, 162). 67 For the physical connections that make each section evident, see Testuz, Papyrus Bodmer VII–IX, 9. Nicklas and Wasserman, ‘Theologische Linien’, comment: ‘Serie I und Serie III sind also codicologisch unverbunden, gleichzeitig über den gemeinsamen Schreiber B eng miteinander zu verknüpfen’ (164). 68 These three sections, it should be noted, follow the connections noted by Testuz, which have been largely affirmed by Grunewald and Wasserman. See Testuz, Papyrus Bodmer VII–IX, 8–9; Grunewald and Junack, Die Katholischen Briefe, 19; Wasserman, ‘Papyrus 72’, 142–46; Nicklas and Wasserman, ‘Theologische Linien’, 162, 165–66. For observations on each of the texts included in the complete codex, see Nicklas and Wasserman, ‘Theologische Linien’, 167– 85, who suggest that the order of texts in the codex may have been different from that proposed by Testuz, with the Apology of Phileas (and Psalms 33–34) at the beginning or the end of the collection (see also Wasserman, ‘Papyrus 72’, 143–45: ‘it is likely that they [sc. sections I and III] followed in sequence, whereas section II was placed either at the beginning or the end in the final collection’ (143).

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I Odes of Solomon 11 [scribe B] I The Epistle of Jude [scribe B] I Melito of Sardis, On the Passover [scribe A or E] I Fragment of a liturgical hymn [scribe A or E] II Apology of Phileas [scribe C] II Psalms 33-34 LXX [scribe D] III 1 and 2 Peter [scribe B]

The creation of the codex in its final form, Grunewald suggests, was occasioned by the martyrdom of Phileas in 304–307 ce:69 this was the impetus to construct a collection with the Apology of Phileas (and Psalms 33–34, undoubtedly part of the same text as the Apology) as its core.70 The earlier collections (I and III), dating probably from the third century,71 may have been supplemented and drawn together into a new codex in the early fourth century.72 This means, of course, that the text of 1 Peter as preserved in this codex has a number of contexts, at different stages of the growth of the collection.73 The first stage is its grouping with 2 Peter in a distinct manuscript (section III); in contrast to C-S, we find the letter entitled πετρου ἐπιστολη α’ and linked with a second letter attributed to the same apostle, a link suggested already by the explicit reference to a previous letter in 2 Pet. 3.1. This manuscript, then, provides an early example of the kind of ‘Petrine witness’ which Robert Wall suggests is the canonical function of 2 Peter, when placed alongside 1 Peter. According to Wall: the function of 2 Peter within the New Testament is to provide its current reading community, with 1 Peter, a more robust Petrine witness to God’s revelation in Christ Jesus … the biblical canon puts these two writings together, even though they address different theological crises by different theological conceptions, so that

69 On the possible date range for the martyrdom, see Martin, Papyrus Bodmer XX, 10; Pietersma, Acts of Phileas, 14. Grunewald and Junack, Die Katholischen Briefe, 23, give 303 ce, but this is probably a little too early. 70 Grunewald and Junack, Die Katholischen Briefe, 23–24. Cf. also Wasserman, ‘Papyrus 72’, 143–45; Nicklas and Wasserman, ‘Theologische Linien’, 167, for the view that the collection may have opened with this text. 71 For the third-century dating, see Testuz, Papyrus Bodmer VII–IX, 9; Testuz, Papyrus Bodmer V, 10; Testuz, Papyrus Bodmer X–XII, 9; Testuz, Papyrus Bodmer XIII, 11; Wasserman, ‘Papyrus 72’, 147. 72 Cf. Wiefel, ‘Kanongeschichtliche Erwägungen’. Grunewald and Junack, Die Katholischen Briefe, 24, however, consider it more likely that these other texts were only copied after the first circulation of the Apology, making the whole collection date from the fourth century, a conclusion also hinted at in Wasserman’s suggestion that the scribe of P72 might have been responsible for the final assembly of the codex (Wasserman, ‘Papyrus 72’, 148). But Wasserman favours the view that sections I and III were earlier: Wasserman, ‘Papyrus 72’, 145–47; Nicklas and Wasserman, ‘Theologische Linien’, 165–66. 73 Cf. esp. Wiefel, ‘Kanongeschichtliche Erwägungen’.

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these two integral and complementary parts may complete a fully biblical Petrine witness to the Christian gospel.74

The combination of 1 and 2 Peter provides a fuller depiction of emerging orthodoxy, and a clear opposition to ‘false’ teachers (a dominant concern in 2 Peter), presented under the name of the apostle who represented the ‘rock’ on which the Church was built (Mt. 16.18). Indeed, this interpretation of the significance of the grouping of 1 and 2 Peter can be strengthened when we consider the marginal headings, or thematic summaries, that occur through 1 and 2 Peter but nowhere else in the BMC.75 These generally brief phrases are loosely comparable in a broad sense with the later κεφάλαια recorded by Euthalius in the fifth century and found in subsequent manuscripts.76 But they mostly pick up key terms from the text, offering a concise summary of its theme, and do not demarcate sections as such, and are in these respects rather different from the κεφάλαια, with their more extended summary of the content of each designated section.77 They function to indicate the topic under discussion, not to mark the beginning of a reading section.78 This feature of the Petrine texts of the BMC, Wolfgang Wiefel suggests, is an indication of the particular value placed upon these writings, compared with others in the collection.79 It is indeed striking that it is only in these two letters, and nowhere else in the codex, that these marginal notes appear. This may be explicable, however, on the grounds that this particular tract, containing only 1 and 2 Peter, was first produced separately, before being incorporated into the larger codex. What seems more persuasive is Wiefel’s suggestion that these headings offer

74 Robert W. Wall, ‘The Canonical Function of 2 Peter’, BibInt 9 (2001), 64–81 (67). 75 These are presented in their marginal location in the text of P72 edited by Testuz, and are listed and discussed by Wiefel, ‘Kanongeschichtliche Erwägungen’, 301; Grunewald and Junack, Die Katholischen Briefe, 21; Nicklas and Wasserman, ‘Theologische Linien’, 183–84. Testuz comments on the form of the headings as evidence that the scribe was not a native Greek speaker, but more probably a Copt, a proposal supported by the appearance of at least one Coptic word in the margin of the text of 2 Peter (at 2.22): ‘ces sous-titres n’ont probablement pas été composés par un homme de langue grecque, puisque le terme qui accompagne la préposition ΠΕΡΙ n’est pas mis au cas voulu. C’est, croyons-nous, un copte, qui prend les mots tels qu’il les trouve dans le texte pout en fair ses sous-titres’ (Testuz, Papyrus Bodmer VII–IX, 33). However, one should note that the headings do not simply repeat words from the text of 1 Peter, so require some independent knowledge of Greek vocabulary on the part of their author. 76 See Euthalius in Migne PG 85, 680–81, and the collation of τιτλοί/κεφάλαια in Hermann Freiherr von Soden, Die Schriften des Neuen Testaments in ihrer ältesten erreichbaren Textgestalt (vol. 1; Berlin: Alexander Duncker, 1902), 458. 77 Hence Grunewald and Junack, Die Katholischen Briefe, 21, comment on these ‘marginalen Zwischenüberschriften, die aber offensichtlich in keine Beziehung zu den später gebräuchlichen Einteilungen in κεφάλαια zu setzen sind: sie nehmen direkten Bezug auf den daneben stehenden Text’. 78 I am grateful to Hugh Pyper for stressing this point in discussion. 79 Wiefel, ‘Kanongeschichtliche Erwägungen’, 301.

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‘hints, that allow a bit of hermeneutics to become visible’.80 Wiefel suggests a Jewish precedent for this interpretative practice, in the division of the text into short sections evident already in the biblical manuscripts from Qumran, divisions which Joachim Conrad and others argue to reflect theological interpretative interests.81 In other words, these marginal summaries indicate for us, as for the early readers of the codex, something of what were taken to be the main topics of the two letters. These marginal notes are indeed an interesting feature of the text of 1 (and 2) Peter in P72, and an indication of the letter’s early history of interpretation, though they pass unnoticed, as far as I am aware, in virtually all the largest modern commentaries.82 They are as follows (preserving the spellings in BMC): 1 Peter 1.15 περι αγειοσυνη 1.22 περι αγνια 2.5 περι ϊερατευμα αγιον 2.9 περι γενος εγλεκτον βασιλιον ϊερατευμα εθνος αγιον λαον περιποησιν 3.18 περι θανατου εν σαρκι και ζωοποιου και ακεκλεισμενοις83 4.1 περι χ̅ρ̅υ̅ παθος εν σαρκι 4.6 περι σαρκος 4.8 περι αγαπη 4.19 περι θ̅υ̅ κτειστη

80 Wiefel, ‘Kanongeschichtliche Erwägungen’, 301. 81 Wiefel, ‘Kanongeschichtliche Erwägungen’, 301; Joachim Conrad, ‘Die Entstehung und Motivierung alttestamentlicher Paraschen im Licht der Qumranfunde’, in Siegfried Wagner (ed.), Bibel und Qumran: Beiträge zur Erforschung der Bezeihungen zwischen Bibel- und Qumranwissenschaft. FS Hans Bardtke (Berlin: Evangelische Haupt-Bibelgesellschaft, 1968), 47–56. More recently, see Emanuel Tov, ‘The Background of the Sense Divisions in the Biblical Texts’, in Marjo C. A. Korpel and Josef M. Oesch (eds), Delimitation Criticism: A New Tool in Biblical Scholarship (Pericope: Scripture as Written and Read in Antiquity 1; Assen: Van Gorcum, 2000), 312–50. On the wider significance of such aspects of ‘paratext’, see August den Hollander, Ulrich Schmid, and Willem Smelik, ‘Introduction’, in August den Hollander, Ulrich Schmid, and Willem Smelik (eds), Paratext and Megatext as Channels of Jewish and Christian Traditions (Jewish and Christian Perspectives 6; Leiden and Boston: Brill, 2003), vii–xiii (vii–viii). 82 An exception is Beare, First Epistle of Peter, 4–5, who lists these ‘marginal notes (a primitive system of lectionary indications?)’ as evidence of the Coptic scribe’s ‘very numerous itacisms … [and] outright errors which reveal his imperfect knowledge of Greek’ (4). No positive interpretative (or textual) significance is drawn from them. It is unlikely that they represent lectionary headings, since they do not mark the beginning of sections. 83 Beare, First Epistle of Peter, 4, suggests that this ‘is probably an error for κατακεκλησμενοις which is read by C and a few minuscules, and is widely represented in the Old Latin’ (and also the Syriac Peshitta and Ethiopic traditions). Indeed, P72’s marginal note may thus be a very early witness to the presence of this word in the textual tradition. Given the scribe’s poor Greek, it is unlikely he introduced this word without some influence or precedent.

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2 Peter 2.1 περι ψεδοδιδασκαλοι 2.15 περι τεκνα καταρα 3.3 περι εμπεκται 3.14 περι ειρηνη

As Wiefel points out, these summary phrases together give a clear indication of the priorities of Christian life in the world: holiness and purity, the holy priesthood and chosen people of God, belief in the sufferings of Christ in the flesh and in the creator God, separation from false teachers and scoffers, love and peace.84 In short, Wiefel claims, ‘in these headings we encounter the image (Bild) of a mainstream orthodox (großkirchlichen) Christianity’.85 This rather exaggerates the extent to which the headings themselves constitute a minisummary of the key aspects of orthodox early Christianity, especially given their rather poor Greek, except insofar as 1 and 2 Peter together themselves constitute such an orthodox Bild. But they do perhaps show something of the effect of placing 1 and 2 Peter side-by-side, and provide a historical example in the manuscript tradition where the two letters together represent a combined witness to the doctrines and concerns of early orthodoxy.86 Whatever their combined doctrinal force, the summary notes certainly reflect an interpretative reading of the text which, by identifying and summarizing topics, influences subsequent readings. More specifically, for 1 Peter in particular, it is interesting to note that by far the two longest marginal notes relate to the declaration of the identity of the new people of God (2.9) – a verse, we recall, closely paralleled in Melito – and the death and new life of Christ, in the context of his enigmatic proclamation to the imprisoned spirits (3.18; cf. also the heading to 4.1 on this theme). This focus of attention in the thematic summaries gives a further indication of what was seen as the theological centre of the epistle. The tract containing 1 and 2 Peter was combined with another collection of texts (Part I of the codex), some written by the same scribe, containing the Nativity of Mary, 3 Corinthians, the 11th Ode of Solomon, the letter of Jude, Melito’s Peri Pascha, and a liturgical hymn. It is interesting to note, first, the linking of 1–2 Peter with Jude, a hint as to the early stages in the clustering of ‘catholic epistles’,87 and second, that here we find these subsequently

84 Wiefel, ‘Kanongeschichtliche Erwägungen’, 302. 85 Wiefel, ‘Kanongeschichtliche Erwägungen’, 302. 86 Cf., from a modern canonical-theological perspective, Wall, ‘Canonical Function’. 87 On the development of the Catholic Epistle Corpus, see Wiefel, ‘Kanongeschichtliche Erwägungen’, 293–96; Nienhuis, Not by Paul, 29–97; Jacques Schlosser, ‘Le corpus des Epîtres catholiques’, in Jacques Schlosser (ed.), The Catholic Epistles and the Tradition (BETL 176; Leuven: Leuven University Press/Peeters, 2004), 3–41. The wider evidence indicates that 1 Peter and 1 John were the first to be firmly accepted and cited, with 2 Peter gaining acceptance only relatively late in the process.

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canonized writings grouped with other early Christian literature, with no evident distinctions of status or value.88 It is difficult, however, to see any close thematic connections to explain the bringing together of this collection of texts, though this is an issue to which we shall shortly return. The inclusion of Jude might well be explained either on the grounds of the status of its author89 or because of the evident similarity of its material with that of 2 Peter (there is a large amount of closely shared material suggesting clear literary dependence).90 But it is hard to see any reason, in terms of closely shared theme or common outlook, for linking these three texts with the Nativity of Mary, 3 Corinthians, and the 11th Ode of Solomon. It may be that a concern for mainstream orthodoxy and defence against socalled heresies was a prominent motivation. Jude, like 2 Peter, with which it shares much material in common, is dominated by a polemical denunciation of false teachers. The Nativity of Mary, the opening tract in section I, is clearly concerned to stress the purity and virginity of Mary, and the virginal conception of Jesus, drawing especially on Luke’s nativity story (ProtJas 11.1-6; 19.1– 20.4), thus, among other things, countering any low or adoptionist Christology. It is interesting to note that three unique readings in P72 also indicate a concern to stress the deity of Christ, perhaps again with an anti-adoptionist motivation: in Jude 5, instead of κυριος (where some MSS, including Alexandrinus and Vaticanus, have Ἰησους), P72 has θεος Χριστος; in 1 Pet. 5.1, ‘the sufferings of Christ’ are, in P72 (and in minuscule 1735), τα του θεου παθηματα; and in 2 Pet. 1.2, the omission of και leads to the reading ἐν ἐπιγνωσει θεου Ἰησου του κυριου ἡμων.91 In the apocryphal correspondence of Paul with the Corinthians, Paul is called upon in order to oppose false teachers, who deny, among other things, God’s omnipotence, creation of the world, the real humanity of Christ, and the resurrection from the dead (3 Cor. 1.9-15). The eleventh Ode is perhaps the most difficult to connect thematically,92 though James Charlesworth has suggested that it may have been found valuable in further stressing a belief in resurrection and future life, with its depiction and promise of paradise (OdeSol 11.16-19, 23-24). Charlesworth also notes a link between Jude’s polemic against false teachers who are like fruitless trees (Jude 12) and the positive

88 Cf. Wiefel, ‘Kanongeschichtliche Erwägungen’, 297–98. 89 As a brother of Jesus and brother of James ‘the Just’, leader of the Jerusalem church, Jude was a figure of some significance in the leadership of early Jewish Christianity (see further Bauckham, Jude and the Relatives of Jesus). This significance may have been particularly important in the context of a Catholic Epistle collection, the purpose of which was, at least in part, to counterbalance the influence of the Pauline Epistle collection: see Nienhuis, Not by Paul. 90 See §1.7 n. 161. 91 See Wasserman, ‘Papyrus 72’, 152–53. More generally, on this issue, see Ehrman, Orthodox Corruption of Scripture. 92 A point made emphatically by Nicklas and Wasserman, ‘Theologische Linien’, 175: ‘Spätestens an der 11. Ode Salomos aber scheitert u.E. jeder Versuch, ein übergreifendes Thema oder eine gemeinsame theologische Richtung mit dem Rest des Manuskripts herzustellen.’

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depiction of the blossoming fruitful trees ‘in the land of eternal life’ (OdeSol 16.a-c, unique to the PBod text).93 One thing that is striking about the contents of sections I and III of the codex is the appearance of Melito’s Peri Pascha alongside 1 Peter, as in C-S. The fragment of a hymn that immediately follows the Peri Pascha is too brief to say very much about. It is clearly some kind of liturgical hymn, its call to praise (υμνησατε τον πατερα94 οι αγειοι) and response (υμνουμεν ὑπερυψουμεν αγειοι) suggesting the possibility of antiphonal performance.95 Since it immediately follows the Peri Pascha, it has been suggested that it may have been used as part of the paschal liturgy, perhaps ‘sung after the baptism and before the agape/eucharist’.96 Othmar Perler considers it likely that Melito is the author of the hymn. Even if this remains unprovable, a close and early connection between the Peri Pascha and the hymn seems highly likely.97 Certainly, the appearance of 1 Peter and the Peri Pascha, as in C-S, suggests that the paschal/Easter theme was again a prominent reason for the selection and collection of these texts.98 A number of proposals have been made regarding the theological motivation or thematic focus that led to the creation of the entire codex which, in its final form, now also included the Apology of Phileas and Greek Psalms 33–34 (section II). Victor Martin, editor and translator of the Apology of Phileas in the Papyrus Bodmer series, proposed that the texts were united by their character as ‘theological literature’, developing and defending aspects of orthodox Christian doctrine.99 However, as Haines-Eitzen points out, ‘Martin’s explanation … has the disadvantage of being so general that one wonders what early Christian literature would not fit in the category of “theological literature”, or what third and fourth century Christian writings are not concerned in some way with the questions of doctrine – particularly 93 James H. Charlesworth, ‘Bodmer Papyrus and Ode of Solomon 11: What Function or Functions Did the Collection Serve?’, paper presented at the Society of Biblical Literature Annual Meeting (Boston, MA, 2008). 94 Abbreviated as a nomen sacrum here in BMC: Π̅Ρ̅Α̅. 95 So Testuz, Papyrus Bodmer X–XII, 73: ‘Ce pourrait être alors un cantique en dialogue, chanté alternativement, comme le sense du texte le suggère.’ 96 Perler, Méliton, 129. 97 See Othmar Perler, Ein Hymnus zur Ostervigil von Meliton? (Papyrus Bodmer XII) (Paradosis: Beiträge zur altchristlichen Literatur und Theologie 15; Freiburg, Switzerland: Universitätsverlag Freiburg Schweiz, 1960). While finding Melito’s authorship highly likely, Perler concedes: ‘Unumstößliche Sicherheit konnte allerdings nicht erreicht werden’ (88). Cf. Perler, Méliton, 128–29, where he includes this hymn as a fragment of Melito’s writings; also Hurtado, Earliest Christian Artifacts, 225 §192. For an early connection with the Peri Pascha, but caution on Melito’s authorship, see Stewart-Sykes, Lamb’s High Feast, 179–80; cf. also Hall (ed.), Melito, xxxviii–ix. Nicklas and Wasserman conclude concerning the hymn: ‘Vielleicht wurden sie bereits aus einer Sammlung, die eventuell das Thema Ostern (und damit zusammenhängend Taufe) hatte, gemeinsam übernommen’ (‘Theologische Linien’, 182). 98 It is also worth noting the possibility of some shared connections with Asia Minor (Melito, 1 Peter [and 2 Peter, by implication], 3 Corinthians), a suggestion I owe to Patrick Egan. 99 Martin, Papyrus Bodmer XX, 9–10.

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in the form of controversies over “orthodoxy” and “heresy”.’100 Moreover, so far as 1 Peter is concerned, we might note that it is hardly concerned with any explicit rebuke of ‘heretics’, unlike Jude and 2 Peter. Nonetheless, as we have already seen, Martin’s suggestion has some merit, at least so far as the combined force of sections I and III of the codex are concerned. Haines-Eitzen’s own proposal is that ‘the most pervasive theme in the texts gathered into this codex is that of the body’, a proposal cautiously affirmed to a degree by Wasserman.101 However, this proposal also fails convincingly to capture a unifying theme. In the first place, to be even plausibly considered, the motif of the ‘body’ must be understood in immensely broad and diverse ways – Haines-Eitzen notes, for example, the Nativity’s insistence that Jesus was born in the flesh, the spiritualized notion of the flesh in the 11th Ode of Solomon, the polemic against those who defile the flesh in 2 Peter, and the theme of persecution and martyrdom in the Apology and the two Psalms.102 Thus, like Martin’s category of ‘theological literature’, the motif of the body becomes too diffuse to capture any supposedly clear common thread. The theme of the body (σῶμα) as such is, after all, hardly apparent in these texts, not least 1 Peter (from which the word is absent). Wasserman assesses these earlier proposals, and adds the possibility of some ‘liturgical connection between some of the writings’103 – a connection he unfortunately leaves unspecified – and also ‘several characteristics typical of incipient orthodoxy … especially in the area of Christology’.104 However, Nicklas and Wasserman are cautious about the possibility of identifying any specific theme which might explain the formation of the whole collection.105 In their view, the BMC may occupy ‘a middle position between codices whose texts are quite clearly interconnected by one dominant theme that binds the individual texts tightly together, and those in which no internal connection whatsoever is discernable ... The manuscript remains enigmatic.’106 The earlier proposals by Wolfgang Wiefel, however, are also worth our attention. Wiefel distinguishes the two phases of the codex’s development and attempts to provide a Sitz im Leben for each.107 The texts collected in the first phase, during the third century (sections I and III above), constituted a 100 Haines-Eitzen, Guardians of Letters, 103. 101 Haines-Eitzen, Guardians of Letters, 103; Wasserman, ‘Papyrus 72’, 147: ‘The body is certainly an important theme in the codex; however, one may well hesitate to call it “the most pervasive”.’ Similarly, Nicklas and Wasserman, ‘Theologische Linien’, 167. 102 Haines-Eitzen, Guardians of Letters, 103–104. 103 Wasserman, ‘Papyrus 72’, 154; cf. 146. 104 Wasserman, ‘Papyrus 72’, 147; cf. 154. He sees this latter tendency in some of the distinctive variants of P72 (see above with n. 91). 105 Wasserman, ‘Papyrus 72’, 154; Nicklas and Wasserman, ‘Theologische Linien’, 185– 88. 106 Nicklas and Wasserman, ‘Theologische Linien’, 185, 188. 107 Wiefel, ‘Kanongeschichtliche Erwägungen’, 290–93. Cf. Nicklas and Wasserman, ‘Theologische Linien’, 166, who describe Wiefel’s proposal as ‘[e]inen sehr komplexen Vorschlag’.

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‘private anthology’ for personal use, characterized by a ‘clearly antiheretical slant (Tendenz)’.108 In the second phase, during the early fourth century, when section II was added, the codex was likely used for private reading at festival times, particularly at Easter.109 The change evident in this second phase may thus be summarized: ‘the anthology, originally compiled with an antiheretical purpose, came to be intended for edifying reading (Vorlesung) on feastdays’.110 Certain aspects of Wiefel’s proposals seem somewhat unconvincing. The suggestion that the codex was intended for personal or (subsequently) private use, on the basis of its relatively small size, is not necessarily to be accepted.111 There is some merit, as we have seen, in seeing the collection as a presentation of emerging orthodoxy – to which 1 Peter makes a clear contribution – with defence against heretics and false teachers also a prominent concern (here 2 Peter is more pertinent). But unlike Jude, 2 Peter, and 3 Corinthians, 1 Peter is plainly unpolemical, and has no explicit concern to combat false teaching. The proposed shift to a Paschal focus with the addition of section II is also less than convincing, since it seems hardly related to the content of the texts added at this point, particularly the Apology of Phileas.112 It is rather Melito’s Peri Pascha and 1 Peter that are central here. While this means that Wiefel’s attempt to identify distinct motives and uses at different stages in the codex’s history is unconvincing, his linking of the contents with an Easter theme and the Paschal celebrations remains of interest. First Peter is crucial here. Indeed, Wiefel goes on to note that, if we add 1 Peter to Melito’s Peri Pascha, ‘then half of the extant content (85 out of 167 preserved pages) consists of texts connected with Easter’.113 While Nicklas and Wasserman see the inclusion of Psalms 33–34 (LXX) along with 1–2 Peter as most likely a coincidence,114 Wiefel explains the inclusion of Psalms 33–34 on the basis of a link between Psalm 33 and 1 Peter. Noting that the Psalm is cited twice in 1 Peter – in 2.3 and 3.10-12, the latter being ‘the longest OT quotation in 1 Peter as a whole’ – Wiefel 108 Wiefel, ‘Kanongeschichtliche Erwägungen’, 297, 299. 109 Wiefel, ‘Kanongeschichtliche Erwägungen’, 299–300. 110 Wiefel, ‘Kanongeschichtliche Erwägungen’, 300. 111 Christian books were purchased and read privately (see Haines-Eitzen, Guardians of Letters; Harry Y. Gamble, Books and Readers in the Early Church: A History of Early Christian Texts [New Haven and London: Yale University Press, 1995], 231–37), but the dominant context for reading/hearing – not least given the low rates of literacy – would have been the congregational meetings. Moreover, the miniatures made specifically for private use were often much smaller than either BMC or C-S: Gamble notes that ‘the accepted criterion for description as a miniature is a breadth of less than ten centimeters’ (Gamble, Books and Readers, 332 n. 101). 112 Cf. Nicklas and Wasserman, ‘Theologische Linien’, 167, who note that Wiefel’s theory leaves unclear what role the Apology has in the collection. 113 Wiefel, ‘Kanongeschichtliche Erwägungen’, 300. On the total number of pages in the codex, see above n. 61. 114 Cf. Nicklas and Wasserman, ‘Theologische Linien’, 170; I think this underestimates the likelihood that literary and thematic connections were perceived, on which see below.

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raises the question whether 1 Peter was understood as a homily on Psalm 33.115 Beyond the important citations (and possible echoes) of Psalm 33 in 1 Peter, there are also close thematic resonances between these two Psalms and 1 Peter. Both Psalms depict the cry of the righteous Davidide to God, for deliverance from those who persecute him and cause him suffering. As such they contain christologically relevant motifs, and were evidently taken to be of messianic significance by early Christians (cf. the quotation of Ps. 33.21 [LXX] in Jn 19.36). They are also particularly relevant to the situation of people suffering rejection and persecution in a hostile world (cf. 4 Macc. 18.15). First Peter explicitly describes the suffering Christ as a model for Christian discipleship, just as these Psalms depict the righteous sufferer in the line of David, who endures suffering confident of God’s just vindication. Indeed, these two Psalms offer an excellent Old Testament source to connect two themes central to 1 Peter: the suffering and vindication of Christ, and the suffering and vindication of God’s righteous people. Furthermore, Psalm 33 contains another theme of great importance to 1 Peter, that of ‘doing good’ (Ps. 33.15 [LXX], quoted in 1 Pet. 3.11). There is also more to say about the significance of the Apology of Phileas, quite possibly the key to the formation of the codex in its final form. It is interesting to note that in the other extant Greek manuscript of this text, Papyrus Chester Beatty XV, which dates from roughly the same time as (this part of) BMC (i.e. early to mid fourth century), Phileas is also bound together with a collection of Greek Psalms.116 Even more important for our consideration here are the content and character of the Apology of Phileas (elsewhere called the Acts of Phileas). It is a martyrdom account which details the repeated questioning of Phileas by the prefect Culcianus. Culcianus repeatedly urges Phileas to sacrifice to the gods – and on one occasion to swear an oath, probably to the genius of the emperors117 – while Phileas gives a range of reasons for his firm and repeated refusal. Although the death of Phileas is not narrated in the BMC version (contrast the Chester Beatty Papyrus and the Latin version),118 it is clear that attempts by the whole court to persuade him will not change his resolute refusal to comply with the prefect’s request. This account, Albert Pietersma comments, is ‘unique in our hagiographical corpus’: extant in two Greek manuscripts ‘written within living memory of the death of Phileas, bishop of Thmuis’119 and in ‘a remarkably stable and 115 Wiefel, ‘Kanongeschichtliche Erwägungen’, 299. He does not, however, refer to W. Bornemann’s much earlier proposal to this effect, on which see below. 116 See Pietersma, Acts of Phileas, 11, for the comment on the Psalms; 14 for the dating. Psalms 1–4 are include in the poorly preserved and damaged Chester Beatty ms, so the original must have contained at least this number. 117 See BMC col. 7, lines 7–12 (from Pietersma’s new edition). Culcianus swears, then urges Phileas to do the same, a request he refuses, citing the ϊερα και θεια γραφη ‘let your yes be yes and your no no’ (Mt. 5.37). In P. Chester Beatty XV, Culcianus’ oath is explicitly ‘by the genius of the emperors’ (τὴν τύχην τῶν βασιλέ[ω]ν, Pietersma, Acts of Phileas, 42). 118 See Pietersma, Acts of Phileas, 18–20. 119 Pietersma, Acts of Phileas, 29.

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homogeneous Latin tradition’.120 The style of the text, with its repeated and compact exchanges – Κουλκιανος ειπεν … Φιλεας ειπεν121 – may suggest a close relationship with the original record of proceedings, though the more ‘eulogizing’ tendency of the Bodmer Papyrus version, compared with Chester Beatty, makes the latter seem perhaps the closer of the two accounts.122 P.Bodmer, notably, opens the account with the words απολογεια [sic]123 φιλεου επισκοπου θμουεως αρχοντος δε αλεξανδρειας (note απολογια again in col. 1 line 5), describes him in the closing lines (col. 17, 1–2) as τον μακαριον φιλεαν, and concludes with a blessing for all the saints (ιρηνη τοις αγειοις πασει). A comparison with C-S is striking: there, along with Melito and 1 Peter, we had 2 Maccabees 5–7, an account of the Jewish martyrs; here, along with Melito and 1 Peter, we have an account of the trial of a recent Christian martyr. The thematic resonances which cluster in BMC, and specifically around 1 Peter, are, then, closer than has been recognized. Wiefel, we recall, noted that when the pages of Melito and 1 Peter were added together, half of the BMC comprised texts with an Easter connection. However, if we now add Pss 33–34, texts which clearly focus on the theme of the suffering and hope for vindication of the Davidic righteous one, and the Apology of Phileas, a Christian martyrology, then over a hundred pages of the codex (101 of the 183 that are extant) contain texts relating to the themes of the paschal suffering of Christ, and the related suffering of his people in a hostile world. The parallel with the focal themes of C-S is close indeed. There are also some striking points of connection with 1 Peter. Just as Phileas is here labelled an ἀπολογία, so the addressees of 1 Peter are instructed ‘always to be ready to offer an ἀπολογία to anyone who demands an account (λόγος) from you’ (3.15).124 Second, as with martyr-acts elsewhere, so the Apology of Phileas epitomizes the kind of ‘polite resistance’ (see chapter 7) that 1 Peter calls for in its instruction that the emperor should be honoured, but God (alone) should be worshipped (2.17). The refusal to sacrifice (and to 120 For which, Pietersma suggests, P. Chester Beatty XV gives the Greek Vorlage; it is evidently much closer to the Latin version than P. Bodmer. See Pietersma, Acts of Phileas, 14–23, 29. 121 ειπεν is abbreviated to ει᾽ in BMC, a practice consistent with original records of proceedings; see Martin, Papyrus Bodmer XX, 11; Pietersma, Acts of Phileas, 26. 122 See Pietersma, Acts of Phileas, 23–29. Of course, the account could be written to imitate the format of court proceedings, so some caution is in order. 123 Writing EI for I (and vice versa), along with many other itacisms, is very common in BMC. Cf. Testuz, Papyrus Bodmer VII–IX, 16. 124 The possibly legal nuances of this language in 1 Peter have long been noted; e.g. Hans Windisch, Die Katholischen Briefe (2nd edn, HNT 15; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1930 [1911]), 70 [‘λόγον αἰτεῖν, gewiß auch vor dem Richter’]; Bo Reicke, The Epistles of James, Peter and Jude (AB 37; New York: Doubleday, 1964), 107–108; Beare, First Epistle of Peter, 164–65. But recent commentators, less inclined to see ‘official’ persecution in view in 1 Peter (see chapter 6), have tended to suggest that the context implied here is everyday rather than judicial; e.g. Brox, Petrusbrief, 159–60; Otto Knoch, Der erste und zweite Petrusbrief. Der Judasbrief (RNT; Regensburg: Friedrich Pustet, 1990), 97; Elliott, 1 Peter, 627–28; Karen H. Jobes, 1 Peter (BECNT; Grand Rapids, MI: Baker Academic, 2005), 230.

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swear) is the central focus in Phileas. Finally, it is worth pointing out that, in explaining that God does not desire sacrifices, Phileas, answering the question ‘what sacrifices does God then desire?’ (ποιων ουν θυσιων ο θσ δεεται), responds as follows: ‘a clean heart and a pure soul and rational feelings that lead to pieties and works of righteousness, for the sake of which every single person will receive recompense’ (καρδιας καθαρας και ψυχης ειλικρινους και λογικων αισθηματων εις ευσεβειας και εργα δικαιοσυνης αγοντων υπερ ων αμοιβας εις εκαστος αποληψεται, col. 5, lines 4–12).125 Precise verbal resonances with 1 Peter are few – though note καθαρᾶς καρδίας in 1.22 (cf. 3.15) – but the thematic similarities are notable: the offering to God of spiritual sacrifices (2.5), and entrusting one’s life (ψυχή) to God while doing good (4.19). It would be far-fetched to claim close verbal or thematic resonances between 1 Peter and the Apology; nonetheless there are some important connections to be drawn, especially in the light of the comparison with C-S. We cannot claim, then, that a single theme or theological motif unites every one of the diverse texts collected in BMC. Nonetheless, there are a number of aspects of the codex’s content that are significant for understanding the way early editors/readers understood the themes and content of 1 Peter. First, linked with 2 Peter, and then with the other texts in section I of the codex, 1 (and 2) Peter provides a body of Petrine teaching which is valuable and instructive for an emerging Christian orthodoxy, not least in its battles against what is perceived as false teaching and heresy. Second, there is the prominent focus on Easter themes central to Christian faith and discipleship. As in C-S, there is the striking collocation of 1 Peter and Melito’s Peri Pascha. This would seem to indicate that early editors, like modern scholars, recognized the thematic (and textual?) resonances connecting the two works, and their common focus on the themes of Christ’s suffering, death, and vindication. The linking of 1 Peter with Psalms 33–34 not only highlights still further the paschal theme, but also connects this christological motif with the suffering of God’s people in a hostile world, their following of the one who suffered for them, and their hope of salvation and vindication. Given the clear use of Psalm 33 in 1 Peter, there is also an intertextual as well as a thematic relationship. The inclusion of the Apology of Phileas, perhaps the key to the making of the final collection, indicates, as in C-S, the thematic link between the suffering of Christ and the suffering of God’s faithful people. In short, while the clear thematic coherence that characterizes C-S is less evident in BMC, there is still a good deal to suggest a similar focus linking a number of texts with themes central to 1 Peter: the suffering and vindication of Christ, and the related suffering and hope of his followers.

125

Text from Pietersma, Acts of Phileas, 89.

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2.4. The significance of C-S and BMC for the interpretation of 1 Peter It remains to consider the significance of these early codices for the interpretation of 1 Peter, particularly in relation to a history of research in which proposals concerning a baptismal, homiletical, liturgical, or paschal origin for 1 Peter, after a period of popularity, have in more recent decades come to be decisively rejected.126 In an early attempt to resolve the literary questions about the letter, Richard Perdelwitz proposed that 1 Peter contained two originally separate writings: the first, in which suffering is depicted only as a hypothetical possibility, containing 1.3–4.11, and the second, in which suffering is a present reality, containing 1.1-2 and 4.12–5.14.127 Perdelwitz made the influential proposal that the first of these documents (1 Pet. 1.3–4.11) represented an address to baptisands, such that this central portion of the letter represented a Taufrede, a baptismal homily.128 The view of the letter as a Taufrede was also developed by W. Bornemann, though without reference to Perdelwitz or his partition theory. Defending Harnack’s earlier (and original) proposal that 1 Peter bore the character of a homily,129 Bornemann argued that 1 Pet. 1.3–5.11 (the letter frame being added later), ‘was originally a baptismal homily (Taufrede), specifically connected with Ps 34 [LXX 33] presented around 90 [ce] by Silvanus in a city of Asia Minor’.130 Much of Bornemann’s article was devoted to an attempt to demonstrate a large number of allusions to this Psalm in the text of 1 Peter.131 The view of 1 Peter’s origin as a baptismal homily became popular, and not only in German scholarship.132 It was subsequently developed still further by Herbert Preisker, in his supplement to Hans Windisch’s commentary on the Catholic Epistles. Where Windisch had followed Perdelwitz in regarding 1.3– 4.12 as a baptismal address, with the remainder of the letter as an admonitory

126 See Elliott, 1 Peter, 7–12, for a concise but thorough treatment of this history of research. 127 Richard Perdelwitz, Die Mysterienreligion und das Problem des 1. Petrusbriefes. Ein literarischer und religionsgeschichtlicher Versuch (Giessen: Alfred Töpelmann, 1911), 12–16. 128 Perdelwitz, Mysterienreligion, 19, 22. The majority of Perdelwitz’s book (29–105), it should be noted, constitutes an attempt to illuminate various aspects of 1 Peter as influenced by the mystery religions. For a critique of this aspect of his work, see Selwyn, First Epistle, 305–11. 129 Adolf von Harnack, Die Chronologie der altchristlichen Literatur bis Eusebius (Vol 1; Leipzig: Hinrichs, 1897), 451: ‘so stellt sich das Schriftstück, ähnlich wie der Epheserbrief, nicht als ein eigentlicher Brief, sondern als ein homiletischer Aufsatz dar …’. Harnack’s view was criticized by Wrede, Jülicher, and Knopf, to whom Bornemann responds. 130 W. Bornemann, ‘Der erste Petrusbrief – eine Taufrede des Silvanus?’, ZNW 19 (1920), 143–65 (146). 131 Bornemann’s thesis has been criticized in some detail by Schutter, 1 Peter, 44–49, but has recently been reevaluated and revived in a very different form by Woan, ‘Psalms in 1 Peter’; Susan A. Woan, ‘The Use of the Old Testament in 1 Peter, with especial focus on the role of Psalm 34’, PhD thesis (University of Exeter, 2008). 132 See Elliott, 1 Peter, 8, for a list.

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writing (Mahnschreiben),133 Preisker sought to solve the problems this left open – particularly the question of how and why the two parts were joined – with a bold new hypothesis about the liturgical character of the letter: 1 Peter represented the literary record of an early Christian baptismal service (1.3–4.11), which ended with the concluding service of the whole community (4.12–5.11). As a whole, then, the letter presented the oldest record of an early Christian service.134 The style and contents of the letter, Preisker proposed, could be shown to support this theory. The entire content of the letter was then analysed as a series of parts of the service, from the opening psalmic prayer to the closing blessing, with the actual baptism itself taking place between 1.21 and 22.135 This baptismal liturgy, of the Roman Christian community, was later given a letter frame and sent to the churches of Asia Minor.136 Preisker’s analysis was enthusiastically endorsed by Frank Leslie Cross, but developed still further in a liturgical direction.137 Cross’ work begins, however, by setting 1 Peter – with its unusually large number of uses of πάσχω/πάθημα – into the context of the earliest Christian Easter Passover celebrations, using Melito and Hippolytus in particular to illuminate the character of that festal time. It was a feast which celebrated ‘the Redemptive Work of Christ in the Death and Resurrection together’ and was ‘pre-eminently the season for baptism in Hippolytus’ time’.138 First Peter, Cross argues, combines the themes of suffering and joy, ‘precisely the dominant note in the ethos of Easter’.139 With its Exodus and specifically Passover allusions,140 and its focus on the suffering and vindication of Christ, 1 Peter seems to fit ‘a “Paschal” context’.141 Cross agrees with Perdelwitz, Bornemann, Preisker, and others that 1 Peter is, in large part at least, a baptismal homily,142 but goes beyond this theory in proposing that the baptismal context is specifically that of the Paschal Baptismal Eucharist: ‘The themes of I Peter are Baptism, Passover, Passion-Resurrection, moral duties. Taken together they seem to connect the “Epistle” with the Paschal Baptismal Eucharist, as the one setting where these subjects belong together.’143 Building on the liturgical theory of Preisker in particular, Cross suggests that ‘our “Epistle” partakes of the nature of both a homily and a liturgy, viz. that it is the Celebrant’s part for the Paschal Vigil, for which, as the most solemn occasion in the Church’s year, the Baptismal-Eucharistic text must have been very carefully 133 Windisch, Die Katholischen Briefe, 82. 134 Herbert Preisker, ‘Anhang zum ersten Petrusbrief’, in Hans Windisch, Die Katholischen Briefe (3rd edn, HNT 15; Tübingen: Mohr, 1951), 152–62 (157). 135 Preisker, ‘Anhang’, 157. 136 Preisker, ‘Anhang’, 158. 137 Frank Leslie Cross, 1 Peter: A Paschal Liturgy (2nd edn; London: Mowbray, 1957). 138 Cross, 1 Peter, 18, 9, respectively. 139 Cross, 1 Peter, 24. 140 See Cross, 1 Peter, 24–27. 141 Cross, 1 Peter, 19. 142 Cross, 1 Peter, 28–35. 143 Cross, 1 Peter, 36.

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prepared’.144 Following Preisker closely, Cross then sets out a liturgical analysis of the letter (from 1.3–4.11),145 including the moment of baptism between 1.21 and 22, suggesting that there are similarities between the material in 1 Peter and the Baptismal Rite in Hippolytus’ Apostolic Tradition. Some subsequent work developed such liturgical analyses further,146 but criticisms were also expressed.147 The ingenious but speculative proposals of Preisker and Cross came increasingly to be seen as unconvincing – ‘impressive in their breath-taking ingenuity’, as J. N. D. Kelly puts it148 – and as obscuring rather than highlighting the central concerns and themes of the letter. Recent scholarship has almost unanimously come to reject the liturgical and homiletical theories of earlier scholarship, together with their proposals for literary partition and a baptismal connection. An important early statement of what has come to be the modern consensus is made by Kelly, who concludes that 1 Peter ‘is, and always has been, a genuine unity, with a single consistent message, and was written as a real letter to the churches named in the address’.149 Similarly, in his magisterial commentary, John Elliott concludes his review of scholarship on the genre and integrity of the letter thus: ‘1 Peter from the outset was conceived, composed, and dispatched as an integral, genuine letter. This conclusion represents the position of the vast majority of recent research on 1 Peter.’150 There is perhaps some irony in the fact that those who proposed a paschal or baptismal setting for 1 Peter, or noted specifically its connections with Melito or with Psalm 33 (LXX), wrote before the discovery of the manuscripts in 144 Cross, 1 Peter, 37. 145 Cross does not explicitly espouse a partition theory like that of Perdelwitz, but it is interesting that he finds only this major section susceptible to a liturgical analysis (cf. his comment on p. 40). 146 E.g. M.-É. Boismard, Quatre hymnes baptismales dans la première epître de Pierre (LD 30; Paris: Cerf, 1961), found evidence of four baptismal hymns in 1 Peter (1.3-5, 20; 2.2225; and 5.5-9); A. R. C. Leaney, ‘I Peter and the Passover: An Interpretation’, NTS 10 (1963–64), 238–51, attempts to develop further the connections between 1 Peter and the Passover by noting points of connection with the Jewish Passover Haggadah. Oscar S. Brooks, ‘I Peter 3:21 – the Clue to the Literary Structure of the Epistle’, NovT 16 (1974), 290–305 sees 1 Pet. 3.21 as the key to the literary structure of the epistle and the climax of the homily, a key which makes clear ‘the importance of baptism to the mind of the author’ (305). 147 See, e.g., C. F. D. Moule, ‘The Nature and Purpose of 1 Peter’, NTS 3 (1956–57), 1–11, who argues specifically against the baptismal liturgy theories of Preisker and especially Cross (but interestingly does not deny the baptismal focus of 1 Peter; this is beyond dispute [4]). T. C. G. Thornton, ‘I Peter, a Paschal Liturgy?’, JTS 12 (1961), 14–26, also focuses his critique on Cross, but goes further in disputing the baptismal character of 1 Peter, seeing the letter instead as concerned with ethical exhortation (24). David Hill, ‘On Suffering and Baptism in I Peter’, NovT 18 (1976), 181–89, argues against the baptismal homily/liturgy view, maintaining that the ‘baptismal theme’ is ‘quite subsidiary, almost incidental, to the main purpose and meaning of I Peter’ (185). 148 Kelly, Peter and Jude, 18, cited in Elliott, 1 Peter, 10. Kelly proceeds to offer sharp criticism of their speculative theories (18). 149 Kelly, Peter and Jude, 20. 150 Elliott, 1 Peter, 11.

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which these texts were collected together with 1 Peter, while the rejection of their proposals became established precisely in the period shortly after the publication of the Bodmer Miscellaneous Codex.151 Or, to put the issue in a different way, while recent commentators on 1 Peter have, as we have noted, paid little attention to the significance of the manuscript contexts in which the earliest copies of 1 Peter have been found, those whose attention is primarily focused on these manuscripts sometimes echo earlier views of 1 Peter, in a way which can sound dated to those familiar with recent scholarship on the letter. Thus, Willis opens his introduction to the C-S text of 1 Peter with the following words: ‘In an early mixed codex the selection of the texts for which was the theme of the Pasch, it is not surprising to find 1 Peter, long recognized as a baptismal homily appropriate to the Easter season.’152 How far, then, should these earliest manuscripts of 1 Peter cause us to revise our views of the letter, and perhaps reassess the proposals from an earlier phase of Petrine scholarship? I conclude with two suggestions. (1) We should not, I think, reject the strong consensus of recent scholarship that 1 Peter is a genuine letter, and a literary unity. Nonetheless, there is perhaps a somewhat more blurry line between epistolary and liturgical origin than the recent consensus suggests. For a start, as a letter which has long been seen as ‘an epistle of tradition’, incorporating a wide range of early Christian traditions and materials, 1 Peter may well include material that has been formed and shaped in liturgical contexts, even if the precise identification of such materials is not possible with any confidence.153 Moreover, the immediate reception of a letter is in a liturgical context, in the sense that it is read (and intended to be read) to a congregational gathering.154 From the earliest times the dominant Christian context for the reading of scriptural texts and other letters and communications was the ecclesial meeting (cf. 1 Thess. 5.27; Col. 4.16: 1 Tim. 4.13; Rev. 1.3).155 It was not only texts from the Jewish scriptures 151 C-S, of course, has only been relatively recently published. 152 Willis, ‘Letter of Peter’, 137 (but note the continuation of these comments, cited below, at n. 161). Cf. Nicklas and Wasserman, ‘Theologische Linien’, 183, writing on the contents of BMC: ‘Eines der entscheidenden Themen des 1.Petrusbriefes ist die Taufe.’ 153 Spicq, Épitres de Pierre, 15. See further chapter 1 above. An earlier phase of New Testament scholarship was much more inclined than recent commentators to identify hymnic and credal fragments in texts like 1 Peter; so, e.g., Rudolf Bultmann, ‘Bekenntnis- und Liedfragmente im ersten Petrusbrief’, Exegetica: Aufsätze zur Erforschung des Neuen Testaments (Tübingen: Mohr, 1967 [1947]), 285–97 (orig. in Coniectanea Neotestamentica 11, in honorem Antonii Fridrichsen, Lund: Gleerup, 1–14); Boismard, Quatre hymnes. For some critical remarks on such scholarship and its implications, see C. J. A. Lash, ‘Fashionable Sports: Hymn-Hunting in 1 Peter’, in E. A. Livingstone (ed.), Studia Evangelica VII (TU 126; Berlin: Akademie, 1982), 293–97; Michael Peppard, ‘“Poetry”, “Hymns” and “Traditional Material” in New Testament Epistles or How to Do Things with Indentations’, JSNT 30 (2008), 319–42. 154 I am grateful to Peter Head for these suggestions, which complicate and nuance the stark alternatives of either homiletical/liturgical or epistolary. 155 See further Gamble, Books and Readers, 205–208, 211–18; Larry W. Hurtado, ‘The New Testament in the Second Century: Text, Collections and Canon’, in J. W. Childers and D. C. Parker (eds), Transmission and Reception: New Testament Text-Critical and Exegetical Studies

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and the (later canonized) New Testament that continued to be read in early Christian worship; other letters and valued writings were also included (cf., e.g., Eusebius HE 3.3.6; 3.16; 4.23.11). Martyr-acts too were read in the context of Christian meetings, perhaps from as early as the second century.156 It is unlikely that 1 Peter originated as a baptismal homily on Psalm 33, as Bornemann argued, but the Psalm, the use of which may have been known from the context of congregational worship, has clearly enough influenced the author of the letter, even if not to the extent that Bornemann argued.157 The BMC suggests that this intertextual and/or thematic link between 1 Peter and Psalms 33–34 was soon recognized by readers of the epistle. It is impossible to be certain how the particular codices we have considered here were used, whether liturgically – specifically at Easter, or throughout the year? – or, say, for catechetical instruction.158 Bethge, for example, regards C-S as ‘a liturgical book for the Easter season’.159 Wasserman notes ‘a liturgical connection between the 11th Ode, Melito’s Homily, the hymnal fragment and 1 Peter’ in BMC. He is uncertain whether ‘the Bodmer codex was actually used in church services’ but nonetheless sees the liturgical connections as likely explained ‘by the fact that these texts were transmitted in a liturgical context’.160 The appearance of two psalms in the collection would also support a liturgical use. C-S, with its clear and well-spaced text, and its tight thematic focus, perhaps more strongly implies a liturgical use, while the less polished presentation of the BMC text, and its wider range of topics and material, might possibly suggest a use in teaching and instruction, whether in congregational or private settings. But even if we do assume some kind of liturgical/congregational use, this is, of course, quite different from the view which sees in the text of 1 Peter the record of a (baptismal/eucharistic/paschal) liturgy. Finding 1 Peter in early liturgical use does not imply that the document originated as a liturgical order, later set within an epistolary frame. It is important to distinguish between the search for the origins of 1 Peter and the early interpretation and use of the letter. Early twentieth-century scholarship on 1 Peter rightly and astutely recognized in 1 Peter paschal themes, and connections with Melito and Psalm 33. Where it went wrong was in seeing these themes and connections as indications of the origins of the letter, in homily or liturgy, the addition of an epistolary frame turning these materials into the form of a letter. (2) Perhaps the main way in which these manuscripts of 1 Peter make a contribution to our understanding of the letter is in indicating what early (Texts and Studies: Contributions to Biblical and Patristic Literature, 3rd Series 4; Piscataway, NJ: Gorgias, 2006), 3–27 (11–14). For second-century evidence of the continuation of this practice, see Justin 1 Apol. 67.3. 156 Gamble, Books and Readers, 218. 157 See above n. 131. 158 A suggestion I owe to Morwenna Ludlow. 159 Bethge, ‘Crosby-Schøyen-Codex’, 257. 160 Wasserman, ‘Papyrus 72’, 146.

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interpreters took to be its central themes and theological focus. As Willis remarks, ‘whatever may be one’s view of the text [of 1 Peter] as a baptismal sermon or liturgy, its inclusion in the Crosby-Schøyen codex confirms at least that the scribe or organizer of the codex considered the epistle Paschal in character’.161 Indeed, the two earliest copies of 1 Peter, C-S in particular, indicate that some of the earliest interpreters of the letter found it full of paschal themes, seeing connections with Melito and (in BMC) with certain psalms. They also found it a text resonant with the themes of persecution and martyrdom, and the suffering of God’s people in the world, a suffering that imitates that of Christ. This thematic focus is less consistently evident in BMC, but is nonetheless prominent – more prominent than scholars have recognized – as we have seen above. As Wiefel astutely comments, noting the scholarly discussion linking 1 Peter with baptism and especially the Easter festival: ‘1 Peter is not originally an Easter text, but it was read as such.’162 First Peter originated as a letter, but was quickly recognized as a text especially suited to the Easter season and its baptisms and instruction, and probably came quite early to be read in such liturgical and eucharistic contexts. In identifying such themes as central to the letter, these codices – products and reflections of a somewhat later time and context – do not, of course, allow us to assume that these were also in the mind of the author of 1 Peter. But they do provide a view, an interpretation of the letter, which can, not entirely unlike exegetical works and commentaries (also reflections of later times and contexts), point us to the theological centre of the letter and to its dominant themes and concerns, whether or not these were consciously intended by its author. In identifying as the central themes of 1 Peter the suffering and vindication of Christ, and the related suffering and hope of his faithful people in a hostile world, the producers of these early codices concur with modern commentators.163 This in itself illustrates how these early manuscripts constitute a valuable and fascinating part of the history of the letter’s interpretation, an illuminating pointer to the dominant themes of the letter.

161 Willis, ‘Letter of Peter’, 137. 162 Wiefel, ‘Kanongeschichtliche Erwägungen’, 300. 163 E.g., Elliott characterizes 1 Peter as follows: ‘First Peter is, in a sense, an Easter letter. The basis for the hope it celebrates, and the impetus for the creation of the distinctive community it describes, are grounded in God’s resurrection of Jesus Christ from the dead and the regeneration of those who confess him as Lord … It is most appropriate, therefore, that it is 1 Peter to which the church listens in its liturgical celebration of the Sundays of the Easter season.’ John H. Elliott, Conflict, Community, and Honor: 1 Peter in Social-Scientific Perspective (Cascade Companions; Eugene, OR: Cascade Books, 2007), 2–3.

Chapter 3 ‘Already Dead’ or ‘Since Died’? Who are ‘the Dead’ and When Was the Gospel Preached to Them (1 Pet. 4.6)? 3.1. Introduction Among the difficult passages in 1 Peter, two stand out as particularly enigmatic: 3.18-22 and 4.6. Writing in 1911, Karl Gschwind describes 3.19 as ‘immensely difficult’ and 4.6 as causing exegetes ‘severe struggles’, such that it has become a crux interpretum along with 3.19.1 Among more recent commentators, Paul Achtemeier describes 3.18-22 as ‘the most difficult passage in the entire letter’, while 4.6 is also ‘replete with difficulties’.2 Norbert Brox likewise refers to the sentence in 4.6 as ‘extremely difficult’: ‘In my opinion it is one of the texts in 1 Peter that cannot now be explained with any certainty and is in this respect even more mysterious than 3.19-22.’3 Quite apart from their exegetical difficulty, these passages are also theologically intriguing and important, since they raise questions about the fate of the dead, and about the possible opportunity for the dead to hear and respond to the gospel. The first passage, 3.18-22, contains many interpretative challenges, though attention has focused in particular on 3.19, with its enigmatic reference to Christ’s proclamation to the spirits in prison. This reference has often been linked with 4.6, where the author announces that ‘the gospel was proclaimed even to the dead’ (NRSV). These verses have been much discussed not merely because of their obscurity, but also because of their influence on the doctrine of Christ’s descent into hell, the realm of the dead, during the period – the so-called triduum mortis – between his death and resurrection. As such, these texts from 1 Peter not only constitute a crucial basis for the development of historic Christian creeds,4 but also raise important issues about soteriology: do these ‘dead’ have a post-mortem opportunity to respond to Christ, and thus to attain salvation? 1 Karl Gschwind, Die Niederfahrt Christi in die Unterwelt (NTAbh 2.3-5; Münster: Aschendorff, 1911), 14, 23. 2 Achtemeier, 1 Peter, 240, 287. 3 Brox, Petrusbrief, 196. Other commentators make similar comments, e.g. Selwyn, First Epistle, 314. 4 Cf. Heinz-Jürgen Vogels, Christi Abstieg ins Totenreich und das Läuterungsgericht an den Toten (Freiburger Theologische Studien 102; Freiburg, Basel, Wien: Herder, 1976), 10–11, whose study is explicitly both exegetical and dogmatic in its focus.

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The history of interpretation of both passages is complex and diverse.5 One point of particular relevance here is the question of the connection (if any) between 3.19 and 4.6. The two texts have often been linked, not least in modern scholarship, with 3.19 seen as depicting a more specific aspect of the general proclamation to the dead referred to in 4.6.6 Some scholars, however, have argued that the two verses should be distinguished, and do not at all refer to the same ‘event’.7 A particularly important and influential argument for this position is set out by William Dalton, whose work I shall especially engage in what follows. In the case of 3.18-22, Dalton proposes, building on earlier work by Frederick Spitta, Bo Reicke, and Edward Gordon Selwyn, the meaning can best be illuminated against the background of the narratives in Genesis 6–7 and their interpretation in Jewish tradition, especially in 1 Enoch.8 The πνεύματα, then, are not the spirits of dead human beings, but are the supernatural angelic beings (or possibly their offspring) referred to in Gen. 6.1-4, who were disobedient (3.20; see 1 En. 6–16).9 These disobedient spirits, according to 1 En. 10 (e.g. v. 13) were locked up in prison, which is therefore where Christ went. And rather than this involving a ‘descent’, Dalton argues that it is most likely that the writer implies that it was on his post-resurrection ascent that Christ went to this prison.10 Again the background in the Enochic literature is significant: according to 2 En. 7.1-4 the imprisoned spirits were kept in the ‘second heaven’ (cf. also 2 En. 18.4).11 Like Enoch, according to the legends developed in the pseudepigrapha attributed to him, Christ made a proclamation (ἐκήρυξεν) to these spirits (1 Pet. 3.19). This was not a proclamation of the gospel, for which the writer of 1 Peter generally uses the verb εὐαγγελίζω (1.12, 25; 4.6; cf. 4.17), but was rather an announcement of Christ’s victory and sovereignty, as the author acclaims it in

5 Surveys of early interpretation and the history of scholarship are thoroughly set out in Gschwind, Niederfahrt, 14–96; Bo Reicke, The Disobedient Spirits and Christian Baptism: A Study of 1 Pet. III.19 and its Context (ASNU 13; Copenhagen: Ejnar Munksgaard, 1946), 7–51 (focused on 3.19); and William J. Dalton, Christ’s Proclamation to the Spirits: A Study of 1 Peter 3:18–4:6 (2nd fully revised edn, AnBib 23; Rome: Pontifical Biblical Institute, 1989 [1965]), 25– 66. The whole topic of the Dogmengeschichte of the descensus ad inferos is throughly discussed by Vogels, Christi Abstieg, 183–235. Cf. more recently Jared Wicks, ‘Christ’s Saving Descent to the Dead: Early Witnesses from Ignatius of Antioch to Origen’, Pro Ecclesia 17 (2008), 281–309. 6 E.g. Reicke, Spirits, 204–10; Vogels, Christi Abstieg, 148–52; Goppelt, I Peter, 259, 289. 7 Friedrich Spitta, Christi Predigt an die Geister (1 Petr. 3,19ff). Ein Beitrag zur Neutestamentlichen Theologie (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1890), 63–66; Gschwind, Niederfahrt, 23–40; Selwyn, First Epistle, 313–62; Dalton, Christ’s Proclamation, 240; Dalton, ‘1 Peter 3,19 and 4,6’, 548. 8 Spitta, Christi Predigt, 22–28; Reicke, Spirits, 52–92; Selwyn, First Epistle, 198–99. 9 Cf. also Reicke, Spirits, 90; Selwyn, First Epistle, 198–99. 10 On this point Dalton notes the earlier proposal to this effect by Gschwind, Niederfahrt (see Dalton, Christ’s Proclamation, 20). 11 Enoch ascends through ten heavens in 2 Enoch (see 22.1), and the text mentions seven heavens as having been originally created (30.2-3). Cf. also 2 Cor. 12.2.

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3.22.12 This, Dalton suggests, is more compatible with the interpretation of the same legends found in 2 Pet. 2.4-10 and Jude 6, and also fits the context in 1 Peter:13 the author is not concerned here with the proclamation of the gospel to the ungodly, but rather with the victory of Christ over all hostile powers and the sure salvation for those who believe (see 3.20-21). This reconstruction has been broadly followed (with or without reference to Dalton) by many recent commentators, particularly in English.14 While it is not without its critics,15 on the whole it seems to offer a coherent and convincing explanation for the mysteries of 3.19 and its surrounding verses (though the exegetical details remain, of course, challenging and difficult). My focus in this chapter is rather on Dalton’s (equally influential) interpretation of 4.6, which I find much less convincing.

3.2. Competing interpretations of 1 Pet. 4.6 In his review of the history of interpretation of 4.6, Dalton lists four different proposals.16 The first is that the verse refers to ‘Christ’s preaching, during the three days between his death and resurrection, to all the dead, thus offering to all those who had lived in pre-Christian times the grace of faith and conversion’.17 This view, according to Dalton, only emerges clearly in ‘the writings of liberal Protestants, in the middle of the 19th century’ but has been widespread among commentators since then.18 However, this significant 12 Cf. also Selwyn, First Epistle, 200. 13 Dalton, ‘1 Peter 3,19 and 4,6’. Cf. also Kelly, Peter and Jude, 156–57. 14 E.g. Kelly, Peter and Jude, 153–57; Peter H. Davids, The First Epistle of Peter (NICNT; Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 1990), 139–41; Achtemeier, 1 Peter, 254–62; M. Eugene Boring, 1 Peter (ANTC; Nashville: Abingdon, 1999), 137–39; Elliott, 1 Peter, 651–62; Richard, Reading 1 Peter, 158–59 (though he reads ἐν φυλακῇ differently); Jobes, 1 Peter, 243–45; Douglas Harink, 1 & 2 Peter (SCM Theological Commentary on the Bible; London: SCM, 2009), 99–101. Also Frank Matera, New Testament Christology (Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox, 1999), 182–83. 15 Vogels, Christi Abstieg, in particular argues against an Enochic background to 3.19 (74–87) and insists on a connection between 3.19 and 4.6 (148–52), in a critical engagement with the first edition of Dalton’s work. Vogels’ own view is that both 3.19 and 4.6 refer to a proclamation of forgiveness by Christ in the realm of the dead, after his death but before his resurrection. Chapter 3.19 refers to a preaching of the gospel to the sinners of the flood generation, with 4.6 a more general reference to a preaching to all the dead. Also key to Vogels’ argument is that Christ’s proclamation brought about a purifying judgement (Läuterungsgericht): this is crucial to his reading of 4.6, on which see below. 16 Dalton, Christ’s Proclamation, 51–60. For a much earlier resumé of the different perspectives, with reference to early interpreters, see Gschwind, Niederfahrt, 23–24. Marshall, 1 Peter, 136–38, lists three views, in a concise summary of the options, essentially omitting the second view in Dalton’s list. 17 Dalton, Christ’s Proclamation, 51. 18 Dalton, Christ’s Proclamation, 52. E.g. Reicke, Spirits, 202–10; Reicke, James, Peter and Jude, 119–20; Goppelt, I Peter, 288–91; Best, 1 Peter, 156–57; Beare, First Epistle of Peter, 182; C. E. B. Cranfield, The First Epistle of Peter (London: SCM, 1950), 90–91.

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claim is highly questionable; there is clear evidence for this view among early interpreters of the letter, as we shall see (§3.8).19 For conciseness, I shall refer to this interpretation as the ‘already dead’ view, since crucially the proclamation of the gospel is regarded as being made to people already (literally) dead when they heard it. The second view listed by Dalton is that which takes the verse, as in the first interpretation, to refer to a proclamation of the gospel to the dead by Christ, in the time between (or immediately after) his death and resurrection, but one made only to the righteous of the Old Testament. This is therefore a variation of the ‘already dead’ view, as summarized above, but with a more restricted scope in view. Dalton states that ‘at the present moment, this interpretation seems to have been largely abandoned’,20 though it was a popular reading in the early Church.21 However, a rather different version of it – one which in most ways fits with the fourth view, listed below – was proposed by J. Ramsay Michaels in a commentary which appeared just too late for Dalton to discuss.22 The third view Dalton mentions is, he suggests, ‘the earliest to be explicitly proposed, going back to Clement of Alexandria’23 and takes the text to refer to the proclamation of the gospel by early Christian apostles and missionaries ‘to those who were spiritually dead’.24 Clement’s views, as we shall see below (§3.8), are, however, somewhat diverse and unclear on this text and the related issues. Nonetheless, this ‘spiritual’ interpretation is now very widely agreed to be an unlikely interpretation, with the preceding phrase in 4.5 (‘the living and the dead’) supporting the conviction that ‘dead’ in v. 6 must refer to the physically dead.25 The fourth view Dalton mentions, and the one which he supports, is that ‘the dead’ referred to in 4.6 ‘are those Christians, who heard the gospel preached on earth, but died before the writing of the epistle, that is, before the parousia, which was regarded as imminent’.26 This interpretation, though ‘a late-comer in the tangled scene of the interpretation of 1 Pet. 4:6’, has gained considerable support in recent decades, not least due to the influence of Dalton’s monograph, 19 Cf. Jeffrey A. Trumbower, Rescue for the Dead: The Posthumous Salvation of NonChristians in Early Christianity (Oxford and New York: Oxford University Press, 2001), 46–47, 96; Vogels, Christi Abstieg, 185. 20 Dalton, Christ’s Proclamation, 54. 21 Vogels, Christi Abstieg, 185, notes that Christian interpreters of the second century mostly saw the preaching of Christ to the dead as directed specifically towards the Old Testament righteous, the patriarchs and prophets, rather than to all the (sinful) dead, which is what Vogels understands 1 Pet. 4.6 to depict. This is by no means a clear or unanimous view, though; see further §3.8. 22 Dalton, Christ’s Proclamation, 54. Michaels, 1 Peter; Dalton’s revised second edition appeared in 1989, the first having been published in 1965. 23 Dalton, Christ’s Proclamation, 55–56; Goppelt, I Peter, 288 with n. 57. On interpreters who support this view, see also Gschwind, Niederfahrt, 24, who himself argues for it (24–40). 24 Dalton, Christ’s Proclamation, 51. 25 Cf. Dalton, Christ’s Proclamation, 57; Goppelt, I Peter, 288; Brox, Petrusbrief, 196; Davids, First Epistle of Peter, 153. 26 Dalton, Christ’s Proclamation, 51.

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and, somewhat earlier, of Spitta’s monograph and Selwyn’s commentary, which also promoted this view.27 The variation on this view mentioned above is the view that the ‘dead’ in view here are the righteous of pre-Christian times, who heard the gospel ‘in the old covenant’ during their lifetime (rather than in the realm of the dead).28 As indicated above, Michaels argues for this view, agreeing with Dalton ‘that “the dead” in v 6 are Christians who heard the gospel in their lifetime’ but proposing that this refers to ‘the righteous of Israel’s past’ who ‘are freely regarded as Christians before the coming of Christ’.29 Crucially, Michaels therefore sides with Dalton in rejecting the idea of any proclamation of the gospel to people already dead. Again for sake of conciseness I shall label this interpretation the ‘since died’ view, as the key point is that the people in view heard the gospel during their lifetime and have since died. The major division, then, appears to be essentially between two views: one, the ‘already dead’ view, that the verse refers to a proclamation of the gospel to people already literally dead; the other, the ‘since died’ view, that the verse concerns the proclamation of the gospel on earth, to Christian converts (or to the righteous of the past) who have, since hearing the gospel, died.

3.3. Dalton’s interpretation of 4.6 Dalton presents both a critique of the views he rejects and also a positive case in favour of this latter interpretation of 4.6. One of his key arguments, as we have already noted, is that the two passages, 3.18-22 and 4.6, in fact refer to quite different ‘events’ and should be interpreted independently, contrary to much exegesis which assumes a common topic. His interpretation of 3.18-22 I have already summarized above. When he turns to 1 Pet. 4.6, therefore, Dalton suggests a quite different interpretation from that which he sees as explaining 3.18-22. Here it is quite clear from the context that the subject is dead human beings (νεκροί), not angelic or evil spirits, and that the gospel was proclaimed to them (καὶ νεκροῖς εὐηγγελίσθη). Dalton argues in this case that the dead ‘are to be taken as those faithful Christians who heard the gospel in their lifetime but who, in the meantime, have died’.30 He connects this with the apparent concern among some early Christians about those who had died before Christ’s return 27 Dalton, Christ’s Proclamation, 57. Cf. Selwyn, First Epistle, 337–39; Spitta, Christi Predigt, 63–66. For some other early interpreters who also suggest this view, see Reichert, Praeparatio, 316 n. 2. On those who have since followed Dalton’s view, see below. 28 Gschwind, Niederfahrt, 24, mentions Beza and Horneius, cited in a seventeenthcentury exposition of the Catholic epistles, as supporters of this view that the verse refers to ‘Verstorbene der vorchristlichen Zeit, denen auf Erden im alten Bunde das Evangelium verkündet worden wäre’ (my emphasis). 29 Michaels, 1 Peter, 237, my emphasis. 30 Dalton, ‘1 Peter 3,19 and 4,6’, 553–54; cf. Dalton, Christ’s Proclamation, 225–41.

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(1 Thess. 4.13-18) and with those who scoff at the promise of that coming (2 Pet. 3.3-13).31 The author’s purpose, therefore, is to emphasize to the letter’s oppressed recipients the promise of vindication for believers, despite their earthly experiences of hostility and, for some of their number, death. Dalton’s interpretation of both these passages has been broadly followed in most recent commentaries on 1 Peter in English (not always in direct dependence on Dalton), although Dalton himself is candid about the level of confidence that can be attained in the case of 4.6.32 J. N. D. Kelly, for example, sees this as ‘much the most attractive solution’, citing Spitta, Moffatt, Selwyn, and Dalton as its proponents.33 Peter Davids, Paul Achtemeier, John Elliott, and many others also argue for this interpretation of 4.6.34 Michaels, as we have seen, presents a variation on this view which accepts Dalton’s key points, proposing that ‘his thorough and cogent argument only needs to be refined and broadened’ such that it can include those whom the author of 1 Peter counts as Christians before the time of Christ.35 The most awkward point of this particular suggestion is probably the requirement to take the verb εὐαγγελίζειν to refer to a proclamation of the gospel prior to the coming of Christ, despite the parallels Michaels notes in Heb. 4.2, 6 and Gal. 3.8, since the verb elsewhere in 1 Peter clearly refers to proclamation in the time of the letter’s addressees (cf. 1.12, 25).36 German commentators, as Dalton notes in the second edition of his monograph, have taken somewhat less account of his arguments and generally follow the ‘already dead’ interpretation of 4.6.37

31 Dalton, ‘1 Peter 3,19 and 4,6’, 553–55; Dalton, Christ’s Proclamation, 226–29. Cf. the earlier proposal of Spitta, Christi Predigt, 63–66. 32 ‘In all fairness, the notorious difficulty of the passage should be remembered. It is quite plain that not all difficulties will disappear in the interpretation proposed here’ (Dalton, Christ’s Proclamation, 230). 33 Kelly, Peter and Jude, 174. 34 Davids, The First Epistle of Peter, 153–55, does so without reference to Dalton; Achtemeier, 1 Peter, 286–91, and Elliott, 1 Peter, 730–42, cite Dalton among various authors in mounting their own arguments for this view. Cf. also Richard, Reading 1 Peter, 173; Jobes, 1 Peter, 270–73; Harink, 1 & 2 Peter, 110 with n. 8; Matera, Christology, 183; Schlosser, Première épître, 239, 244 (though with acknowledgement of the ongoing debates and uncertainty). Exceptions include Boring, 1 Peter, 147–48, who remains rather agnostic on the likely meaning, and Joel B. Green, 1 Peter (Two Horizons New Testament Commentary; Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 2007), 127–28, influenced, inter alia, by the earlier article on which this chapter is based, which he sees as speaking ‘decisively against the popular identification of “the dead” … with Christians who had already died’ (127–28 n. 156). 35 Michaels, 1 Peter, 237. 36 Michaels, 1 Peter, 241. 37 Cf. Dalton, Christ’s Proclamation, 22. E.g. Goppelt, I Peter, 288–91; Brox, Petrusbrief, 196–201; H. Frankemölle, 1. und 2. Petrusbrief. Judasbrief (NEchtB 18/20; Würzburg: Echter Verlag, 1987), 62–63; Knoch, Petrusbrief, 110–11; Wolfgang Schrage, ‘Der erste Petrusbrief’, in Horst Balz and Wolfgang Schrage, Die “Katholischen” Briefe. Die Briefe des Jakobus, Petrus, Johannes und Judas (NTD 10; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1993), 60–121 (111); Feldmeier, First Epistle of Peter, 215–16. Cf. also Vogels, Christi Abstieg, 142–69; Reichert, Praeparatio, 314–22.

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Since the ‘since died’ view of 4.6 seems to be gaining increasingly widespread acceptance, at least in English-language scholarship, it is important to draw attention to its weaknesses and to consider how far a different view might be more compelling. In the following discussion I shall therefore raise critical questions about the plausibility of the ‘since died’ interpretation of 4.6 supported by Dalton and developed in the major recent commentaries, and present some counterarguments in favour of the view of 4.6 as a reference to the proclamation of the gospel to people already dead.

3.4. Earliest Christian eschatology A major and decisive difficulty with Dalton’s argument is the attempt to interpret the text against a background similar to that reflected in 1 Thessalonians 4–5, namely one in which the death of some believers before the anticipated return of Christ is a cause of anxiety. Selwyn had earlier suggested that the problem in view in 1 Pet. 4.6 is the same as that alluded to in 1 Thess. 4.13-18. Indeed, Selwyn saw extensive points of contact between the two epistles, which bolstered his theory concerning Silvanus’ major role in the writing of 1 Peter.38 Dalton likewise suggests that the ‘context of thought [of 1 Pet. 4.6] seems to be similar to that of 1 Thes [sic] 4:13-18, in the setting of a lively expectation of the imminent coming of the Lord’.39 More recently, Elliott also asserts that the ‘situation envisioned [in 1 Pet. 4.6] is thus similar to the situation presupposed in Paul’s first letter to the Thessalonians (1 Thess 4:13-18)’.40 The first problem for this view is the simple but rather crucial fact that there is no evidence of a concern about Christians who have died before the parousia in 1 Peter.41 Dalton admits: ‘The problem of the Thessalonians about Christians who have died does not arise explicitly in 1 Peter.’ But he then rather weakly suggests: ‘Yet the background is very similar.’42 Paul Achtemeier, while favouring Dalton’s interpretation of 4.6, also concedes that ‘there is no indication in the immediate context of this verse, or in the letter as a whole, that this [sc. concern for Christians who had died] had been a problem for the Christians in Asia Minor’.43 Dalton’s attempt to shed light on this verse by looking to the arguments of 2 Peter against those who live wickedly and deny the parousia faces two problems.44 First, just as there is no explicit concern in 1 Peter about the issue faced in 1 Thessalonians, so there is also no evident concern about the delay or non-occurrence of the parousia, although 1 Peter 38 Selwyn, First Epistle, 338; cf. 9–17, 20, 365–466. 39 Dalton, Christ’s Proclamation, 58; cf. 226–28. 40 Elliott, 1 Peter, 734. 41 So also Michaels, 1 Peter, 237; Reichert, Praeparatio, 316. 42 Dalton, Christ’s Proclamation, 228. 43 Achtemeier, 1 Peter, 290. 44 Dalton, ‘1 Peter 3,19 and 4,6’, 553–55.

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does express the eschatological hope that this day is near (1.5; 4.12, 17).45 Second, Dalton conflates two distinct problems; a concern about the fate of believers who have died prior to an expected parousia is not the same as a concern about whether this parousia is going to occur at all, in the near (or even distant) future. The former concern is based on the notion that someone who has died might have missed out on the salvation to be attained at the parousia; the latter does not see the death of some Christians as in itself problematic, but rather faces the obvious problem that the considerable delay of an event expected soon leads to doubts about whether it will ever materialize. One is the issue of concern in 1 Thessalonians, the other in 2 Peter; but neither is evident as a concern in 1 Peter. Richard Bauckham has suggested that the problem which 2 Peter addresses could plausibly arise near the end of the first Christian generation, sometime around 80–90 ce when virtually all of the first generation of believers had died.46 The problems which 1 Thessalonians addresses are quite different, and only make sense in the earliest years of the Christian movement, when the death of any member of the first-generation community might be perceived as a problem – have such people therefore missed out on the salvation imminently expected?47 The denial of the resurrection at Corinth, some years after 1 Thessalonians,48 could of course reflect a view that ‘the dead in Christ have perished’ (1 Cor. 15.18), though it seems more likely that the Corinthians denied only the idea of future bodily resurrection, not immortality itself (cf. 1 Cor. 15.29). In any case, there is no evidence that denial of the resurrection was an issue for 1 Peter. A serious problem for the ‘since died’ view of 1 Pet. 4.6, then, is whether 1 Peter could possibly be early enough to be contextualized in a scenario like 1 Thessalonians. Dalton is clear that 1 Peter should indeed be interpreted in the context of ‘the eschatological expectations of the primitive church’,49 recognizing that this requires an early date for 1 Peter (how early he does not specify).50 He finds the evidence overall to favour the letter’s authenticity and 45 Pace David C. Parker, ‘The Eschatology of 1 Peter’, BTB 24 (1994), 27–32, who attempts to show that an imminent future eschatological expectation is not present in the letter. 46 Bauckham, Jude, 2 Peter, 158. Cf. 2 Pet. 3.4, and the reference to the time when ‘the fathers fell asleep’, generally taken as a reference to the first, founding generation of Christians, though for a recent argument in favour of taking οἱ πατέρες to refer to the Old Testament fathers, see Edward Adams, ‘“Where is the Promise of his Coming?” The Complaint of the Scoffers in 2 Peter 3.4’, NTS 51 (2005), 106–22 (111–14). 47 Cf. the arguments of Gerd Lüdemann, Paul, Apostle to the Gentiles: Studies in Chronology (London: SCM, 1984), 201–61, that the situation presupposed by 1 Thess. 4.13-18 must be significantly earlier than that assumed in 1 Cor. 15.51-52, even though the latter still has a sense of imminent expectation (‘we will not all die …’). 48 On Lüdemann’s view, there is a gap of around eight to eleven years between the two epistles; more conventional chronologies suggest around three to five years; see Lüdemann, Paul, 262–63, etc. 49 Dalton, Christ’s Proclamation, 226. 50 Dalton, Christ’s Proclamation, 58 n. 38: ‘If 1 Peter is a late document, then it would be difficult to use 1 Thessalonians to elucidate it. But if 1 Peter is an early document, in which the

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(thus) relatively early date.51 Selwyn also argued for a relatively early date (63–64 ce).52 Nonetheless, even an authentic 1 Peter written in the early 60s is rather late plausibly to reflect the scenario presumed by 1 Thessalonians, where the time gap between Christ’s resurrection and his parousia is believed to be so short that the deaths of even some of the first believers cause surprise and concern. Even ten or twenty years marks a significant extension of this timetable.53 The problem is even more acute for commentators such as Achtemeier and Elliott, who favour a similar view to Dalton, but take 1 Peter as a pseudonymous composition written in the last quarter of the first century.54 While Dalton recognizes that his proposal can only stand on the basis of an early date for 1 Peter, Achtemeier and Elliott reject the arguments for an early date and for Petrine authorship without perceiving the difficulty this thus creates for their favoured interpretation of 4.6. The basic point is simply expressed by Goppelt, who dates 1 Peter between 65 and 80, somewhat earlier than Achtemeier and Elliott: ‘the death of Christians before the parousia is for the generation of I Peter no longer a pressing concern, as it was for the Thessalonian church’.55 Since such a concern is neither explicitly evident in 1 Peter nor plausible at its likely time of composition, serious question marks are raised over a key foundation of the ‘since died’ view.

3.5. Literary context Leaving aside questions over the eschatological scenario which is envisaged, another key argument of Dalton, Achtemeier, Elliott, and others is that their proposed interpretation makes best sense of the verse within its immediate and wider context in the letter, taking into account 1 Peter’s pastoral intentions and theological emphases. ‘Only on this view’, Howard Marshall writes, ‘does the verse make sense in the context.’56 It is suggested that the literary context many references to the imminent coming of the Lord are taken realistically, then its affinity with 1 Thessalonians is obvious.’ 51 Dalton, Christ’s Proclamation, 77–91 (he accepts that Silvanus may have had a role as secretary [91]). 52 Selwyn, First Epistle, 62. 53 Lüdemann proposes c. 41 ce as the likely date for 1 Thessalonians, thus challenging the usual view of around 49–51 (cf. n. 48 above). John Knox broadly agrees with Lüdemann’s scheme, but suggests that 43 is the earliest realistic date for 1 Thessalonians and Paul’s mission at Corinth (John Knox, ‘Chapters in a Life of Paul – A Response to Robert Jewett and Gerd Luedemann’, in Corley (ed.), Colloquy on New Testament Studies, 339–64 [357–61]). See further Horrell, Social Ethos, 73–74, in support of this early dating. 54 See Achtemeier, 1 Peter, 1–50 (80–100 ce); Elliott, 1 Peter, 118–38 (73–92 ce). This view of the date and authorship of the letter is widely held among recent exegetes (cf. Elliott, 1 Peter, 138 n. 47; Introduction above, n. 6). 55 Goppelt, I Peter, 289. 56 Marshall, 1 Peter, 139. Cf. Dalton, Christ’s Proclamation, 60.

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provides crucial support for the ‘since died’ interpretation, and renders highly implausible the view that 4.6 refers to a universal proclamation of the gospel to the dead. (Since, on Dalton’s view, 3.18-22 and 4.6 refer to quite different events, the scenario of 3.18-22 should not influence the reading of 4.6.) The main concern of the letter, it is pointed out, is to encourage Christians suffering hostility for their faith to persevere, with confidence in their ‘living hope’ (1.3).57 The immediate context leading up to 4.6 specifically stresses ‘the contrast between the unbelieving pagans and the Christians’, concluding, Dalton says, ‘with the condemnation of the pagans’. Thus, he suggests, ‘surely we would expect the preaching of Christ and the eschatological life of 4:6 to refer to the vindication of Christians’.58 Achtemeier similarly interprets the significance of 4.6 in its context: ‘Christians, who had suffered not only the obloquy of their contemporaries but also the fate of death that seemed to demonstrate the fruitlessness of the life of self-denial they led (v. 4), may nevertheless look forward to vindication in the final judgement.’59 Elliott also affirms that ‘[t]he point of 4:6 is not the universal judgment and salvation of all but the vindication of oppressed believers’.60 For Elliott, ‘the notion of a second opportunity for repentance and life offered to those who died before Christ … is thoroughly inconsistent with the theology, ethics, and aim of 1 Peter as a whole’.61 The possibility of a ‘second chance’, Elliott asserts, ‘would contradict clearer statements in the letter (1:3-4, 3:10, 4:5, 18; and 5:8) and would hardly be an encouragement for suffering addressees in the present’.62 Certainly Dalton, Elliott, and Achtemeier are right to point to 1 Peter’s general concern to encourage Christian believers suffering hostility in their ‘pagan’ environment: there is much in the letter which serves as a reminder of the sure and certain hope that awaits those who have placed their faith in God (1.3-9, etc.). However, as suggested above, it seems unlikely that the author of 1 Peter would need to assure his readers specifically that those who had died, negatively judged by their contemporaries, had not missed their salvation but would inherit life: there is no indication that the readers of 1 Peter doubted this. More particularly, we need to consider whether this is the likely function of v. 6 in its immediate context. Many commentators agree, though they vary in the ways in which they stress this, that v. 6 provides a supporting reason for the statement made in v. 5 – hence the γάρ in the introductory phrase, which most exegetes see as linking v. 6 with what precedes, while εἰς τοῦτο points forward to the ἵνα clause.63 This means, as Michaels notes, that v. 6 57 Cf., e.g., Elliott, 1 Peter, 734; Kelly, Peter and Jude, 174–75. 58 Dalton, Christ’s Proclamation, 228. 59 Achtemeier, 1 Peter, 290. 60 Elliott, 1 Peter, 742. 61 Elliott, 1 Peter, 731. 62 Elliott, 1 Peter, 733. Elliott refers here to Best, 1 Peter, 156, who cites these texts as indications that ‘in the letter death apparently settles the fate of men’. 63 E.g. Selwyn, First Epistle, 214; Vogels, Christi Abstieg, 147; Dalton, Christ’s Proclamation, 231; Achtemeier, 1 Peter, 286–87. Michaels, 1 Peter, 236, notes the precise

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is something of a ‘postscript’ rather than a central point in this paragraph.64 If, then, the point of the verse is primarily to support the statement in v. 5 – that God stands ready to judge the living and the dead – then the immediate context could just as well lead us to see v. 6 as a statement about the universal announcement of the gospel as to see it as a promise of vindication for dead Christians: God can justly judge all people, both the living and the dead, only because the gospel has been announced to all, to the dead as well as to the living.65 Moreover, while Dalton is right to insist that 3.18-22 and 4.6 describe somewhat different events and that 4.6 should not be interpreted directly in the light of 3.18-22, nevertheless 3.18-22 does show that the author of 1 Peter conceives of a proclamation made by the crucified and risen Christ in a realm other than that of the world of living humanity. This adds plausibility to the view that 4.6, while describing a somewhat different event, may also refer to a proclamation somewhere other than in the realm of the living. This interpretation of the verse would not by any means run as counter to the theology of 1 Peter as Elliott claims. Despite the general concern of the letter to reassure suffering Christians, other aspects of its message are also noteworthy. There is the clear concern to urge believers to ‘do good’, an ethical imperative which is motivated in a variety of ways.66 This motivation includes, significantly, a stress upon the impartiality of God’s judgement which serves as a warning, even a ‘threat’, to believers: God judges ἀπροσωπολήμτως, so Christians should live out their lives ἐν φόβῳ (1.17; cf. 2.23; 4.17-18).67 Also significant is a deliberate reticence about specifying the fate of unbelievers. Certainly the author is clear that the sinful practices which characterize τὰ ἔθνη (4.3) are such as to incur the (negative) judgement of God. But he nowhere depicts their condemnation as a foregone conclusion, neither, pace Dalton, in 4.1-6 (‘the condemnation of the pagans’) nor, pace Elliott, by explicitly excluding the idea of a ‘second chance’.68 The verses cited by Elliott and Best as ‘contradicting’ this idea – 1.3-4; 3.10; 4.5, 18; and 5.8 – all refer to the value of the believers’ faith, or to the need to turn from evil and do good, but they parallel in Rom. 14.9. Elliott, 1 Peter, 731, sees the whole phrase εἰς τοῦτο γάρ as ‘supporting a preceding point’, on analogy with 1 Pet. 2.21. 64 Michaels, 1 Peter, 225; cf. p. 235: ‘merely a footnote to v. 5’. Rudolf Knopf, Die Briefe Petri und Judä (KEK 12; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1912), 170, regards it as something of a digression (Abschweifung), while also stressing the strong connections between vv. 5 and 6 (167). 65 This point is already strongly made by Ernst Kühl, Die Briefe Petri und Judae (KEK 12; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1897), 259 (emphasized in the original): ‘Die Voraussetzung … ist die, dass ein Gericht Christi über Todte und Lebendige nach der gleichen Norm nur dann denkbar ist, wenn ihnen durch Verkündigung des Evangeliums die Möglichkeit der Errettung gegeben war, oder genauer, wenn von einer Verantwortlichkeit der νεκροί gesprochen werden kann.’ Similarly, Knoch, Petrusbrief, 110; Brox, Petrusbrief, 199; Spicq, Epitres de Pierre, 147. 66 See further Lauri Thurén, Argument and Theology in 1 Peter: The Origins of Christian Paraenesis (JSNTSup 114; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1995). Cf. also §5.5 below, on the contrasting strategies evident in the ‘ethnic reasoning’ displayed in 1 Peter. 67 Thurén, Argument and Theology, 113. 68 Dalton, Christ’s Proclamation, 228; Elliott, 1 Peter, 733.

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nowhere rule out the possibility of conversion and salvation for sinners, before or after death, nor do they specifically exclude the idea of a ‘second chance’ (this is simply not an issue to which they refer). Moreover, it is not necessarily a ‘second chance’ which 4.6 has in view, even on the ‘already dead’ view: if, as Best suggests, ‘the preaching of 4:6 is envisaged as having taken place once only in the past it would not suggest to persecuted believers that they [or their non-Christian opponents] would have a second chance after death’.69 It is also relevant to note that the author displays some optimism about the possibility that the believers’ testimony may lead their sinful contemporaries to realize their errors and acknowledge God, even if this does not occur until the day of God’s final coming in judgement and salvation, ἐν ἡμέρᾳ ἐπισκοπῆς (2.12 [cf. Isa 10.3]; 3.1-2; 3.15-16; cf. 2 Pet. 3.9). And rather than declare the fate of the believers’ opponents as sealed, he shows a certain ‘reluctance to fasten in detail on the fate of the ungodly’, apparent in 3.12, 3.16, 4.5, and 4.18.70 Most notable here is 3.12, the concluding part of arguably the pivotal Old Testament quotation in the letter (Ps. 33.13-17 LXX).71 Having followed the LXX text very closely in 3.10-11, the author quotes the LXX precisely in 3.12 (= Ps. 33.16-17 LXX) but deliberately (one must surely assume) omits the concluding phrase ἐξολεθρεῦσαι ἐκ γῆς τὸ μνημόσυνον αὐτῶν (‘to destroy the memory of them from the earth’).72 Thus the author of 1 Peter can hardly be said to focus consistently on the vindication of believers and the condemnation of unbelievers: there is an obvious tendency to avoid clear statements regarding the latter. Since 4.6 seems to provide justification for the statement about God’s readiness for universal judgement of the living and the dead, and since an emphasis on God’s impartial judgement of all and a reticence to declare as to the final fate of unbelievers are apparent elsewhere in the letter, it is by no means clear that the literary context speaks in favour of the ‘since died’ interpretation. On the contrary, on the ‘already dead’ interpretation, while the verse remains enigmatic, it would cohere well with its immediate and wider literary context.

3.6. The grammar of 4.6 Certain aspects of the Greek of v. 6 are particularly relevant to the discussion here. And given the obscurities of the text, we do well to share Dalton’s 69 Best, 1 Peter, 156–57; thus Best argues that the ‘already dead’ view of 4.6 can be defended against this objection. 70 Michaels, 1 Peter, 182. 71 See Woan, ‘Psalms in 1 Peter’; Woan, ‘Use’. To a strictly limited extent this revives Bornemann’s thesis regarding the centrality of Psalm 34 to 1 Peter, though many aspects of Bornemann’s case remain implausible; see Bornemann, ‘Der erste Petrusbrief’. 72 This phrase is included in the citation of the same section of Psalm 33 LXX in 1 Clem. 22.6 and was later added to some MSS of 1 Peter.

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candid acknowledgement that difficulties remain for any of the interpretations proposed, including his own.73 For example, as Dalton concedes, it is somewhat unnatural to take the phrase καὶ νεκροῖς εὐηγγελίσθη to mean that the gospel was preached to people who since hearing it have died.74 The καί in particular, here meaning ‘also’ or ‘even’, suggests something distinct and different from the usual proclamation to the living.75 Kelly, moreover, while following Dalton’s interpretation, suggests that the aorist here implies a ‘definite occasion’, which fits ill with his view that what is implied here is the proclamation of the gospel (over a period of time in various places) to converts who have since died.76 Also a ‘severe problem’ for Dalton’s view is the fact that since the phrase ‘the living and the dead’ in v. 5 has a general reference, we should expect the same to be true of ‘dead’ in v. 6. As Dalton himself remarks, ‘[i]t seems quite arbitrary to limit the dead of 4:6 to the Christian dead’.77 Indeed, these various points led Ernst Kühl, in his commentary of 1897, to declare that only by disregarding all philological considerations could the phrase be taken to refer to those who heard the gospel while alive and have since died.78 On the other hand, however, there are at least two potential difficulties for the view that the verse refers to a proclamation made to those already dead at the time. The first concerns the passive verb εὐηγγελίσθη. This may be taken as a personal passive79 – ‘he (Christ) was proclaimed’ – in which case the difficulty is whether it is possible to regard the proclamation as having also been made by Christ, as is generally assumed on the ‘already dead’ view (cf. the explicit naming of Christ in 3.18-19). The idea that Christ proclaimed the good news about Christ may seem awkward; but it is not as awkward as Dalton suggests.80 If Christ can announce his own victory to the imprisoned spirits in 3.18-1981 then the idea of Christ announcing the good news about himself 73 Dalton, Christ’s Proclamation, 230 (quoted above; see n. 32). 74 Dalton, Christ’s Proclamation, 59. Perhaps this is why this particular view does not seem to feature in the early history of interpretation. 75 So, already, Kühl, Briefe Petri, 255. 76 Kelly, Peter and Jude, 173; cf. 174. Vogels, Christi Abstieg, 162, notes that virtually all modern interpreters have accepted this point, but points out ‘damit ist zunächst nur etwas über die Aktionsart, nicht aber über die Zeit dieses Gerichts gesagt’. 77 Dalton, Christ’s Proclamation, 59; cf. Achtemeier, 1 Peter, 290. However, Dalton addresses this issue on p. 237. 78 Kühl, Briefe Petri, 255–56: ‘Man muss sich wirklich über alle philologische Gegengründe hinwegsetzen, wenn man zu der … Uebersetzung gelangen will: “den jetzt Todten, nämlich als sie noch am Leben waren”.’ Kühl suggests that for the readers to have perceived this meaning the author would have to have written τοῖς νῦν νεκροῖς οὖσιν (256). 79 As is argued by Selwyn, First Epistle, 214; Dalton, Christ’s Proclamation, 232–33; and others. Dalton cites 1 Tim. 3.16 as a parallel supporting this view. 80 Dalton, Christ’s Proclamation, 233: ‘Actually, if Christ is the subject of “was preached”, then we are surely justified in concluding that the preaching was not done by Christ himself but by others.’ Cf. also Best, 1 Peter, 155. 81 Christ is clearly the subject of ἐκήρυξεν, except in the implausible proposal to amend the text of 3.19 to make Enoch the subject, which has not gained any significant support; see Elliott, 1 Peter, 652.

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to the human dead is no less plausible.82 It is equally possible to treat the verb as an impersonal passive – ‘good news was proclaimed’ – which raises no difficulties for either the ‘already died’ or the ‘since died’ view, though it has been pointed out that the impersonal passive is uncommon in the New Testament.83 Indeed, this reading of the verb is proposed by a number of commentators, including some who take the ‘since died’ view.84 Whichever view we take, it is clear that no agent is named. As Angelika Reichert points out, the impersonal formulation expresses no explicit interest in the identity of the person who makes the proclamation, but stresses the proclamation of the gospel as such.85 Indeed, the lack of explicit information as to the agent(s) who proclaimed the gospel leaves the way open for various possibilities, as we see in the later interpretations and speculations on this subject (see below). But the passive form εὐηγγελίσθη does not seem to raise any insuperable difficulties for the ‘already dead’ view. The second difficulty concerns the interpretation of the two subjunctive verbs in the ἵνα clause. This remains the most difficult point for the ‘preached to the dead’ interpretation. Dalton firmly asserts: ‘the grammar of the passage requires that the action of the verbs in both the μέν and the δέ clauses should follow that of the main verb’.86 Indeed, Eduard Schweizer declared this to be the real crux,87 at least for those who support the interpretation that sees the gospel as proclaimed to those who had already died, since on this reading the judgement ‘in the flesh’ (σαρκί) must have preceded the evangelization. In that case, as Schweizer notes, ‘one would then have to translate as if κριθέντες stood there’.88 Schweizer’s solution is to regard the ἵνα as causal rather than 82 Cf. Reichert, Praeparatio, 329. However, her suggestion (329 n. 2) that Christ could also be implied as the subject of εὐηγγελίσθη by his being identified as the ‘one who stands ready to judge’ in v. 5 seems less likely: God is probably intended as the judge here (so, e.g., Elliott, 1 Peter, 729–30). 83 Cf. Goppelt, I Peter, 288 n. 56; Dalton, Christ’s Proclamation, 232; BDF §130. Dalton describes this use as ‘very rare in the New Testament’, citing only BDF in support, where the claim is in fact that ‘[t]he impersonal passive … is not common in the New Testament’. Goppelt and Dalton cite Rom. 10.10 as the only relevant New Testament parallel to the impersonal use of the passive. 84 E.g. Elliott, 1 Peter, 732; Davids, The First Epistle of Peter, 154 with n. 20 (both of whom take the ‘since died’ view). Cf. also (among those who take the ‘already dead’ view) Goppelt, I Peter, 288; Johannes E. Huther and Ernst Kühl, Kritisch-exegetisches Handbuch über den 1. Brief des Petrus, den Brief des Judas, und den 2. Brief des Petrus (KEK 12; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1887), 235; Kühl, Briefe Petri, 256–57. 85 Reichert, Praeparatio, 329–30: ‘Nur drückt die Formulierung mit dem unpersönlichen Passiv kein Interesse an der Person des Verkündigers aus, sondern betont das Geschehen der Evangeliumsverkündigung als solches.’ 86 Dalton, Christ’s Proclamation, 240. This is a point also stressed by Vogels, Christi Abstieg, 162–64, who makes sense of this through his argument that the purpose of the proclamation (to those ‘already dead’) was indeed both a (purifying) judgement and an opportunity to live by the power of the spirit. 87 Eduard Schweizer, ‘1 Petrus 4.6’, TZ 8 (1952), 152–54 (153). 88 Schweizer, ‘1 Petrus 4.6’, 153; cf. Beare, First Epistle of Peter, 182.

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final, such that it can designate ‘a cause lying in the past’. Thus he suggests that past (judgement) and future (life) can be implied after the same conjunction, as in his translation: ‘For that same reason it/he was proclaimed to the dead, because they were admittedly judged in the flesh from a human perspective, but from God’s perspective were to live in the Spirit.’89 Yet reading the ἵνα as causal is difficult,90 as a sense of purpose seems so clearly to link ‘the gospel was proclaimed’ with ‘in order that they might live’. The difficulty with this phrase is eased to some degree by the widespread agreement that the μέν … δέ construction ‘indicates that the first half (μέν) is to be understood as subordinate to the second half (δέ) and hence carries a concessive force’.91 As Ceslas Spicq remarks, the first half of the phrase, which he translates ‘ayant été jugés …’ (‘having been judged’), ‘is only a parenthesis’.92 This view of the relation of the two parts of the phrase may also be indicated by the choice of tenses, κριθῶσι (aorist) and ζῶσι (present), particularly if we follow Stanley Porter’s aspectual view of the tenses, in which the aorist serves generally as a ‘background’ tense, used to express a perfective, external, or summary perspective, while the present is the ‘foreground’ tense, giving an imperfective, internal, or progressive (openended, ongoing) view.93 Regarding the ‘judgement’ phrase as parenthetical also avoids the strange notion that the gospel was proclaimed to the dead ‘in order that they might be judged …’94 Thus even Dalton translates: ‘In order that though judged in the flesh in the eyes of people they might live in the spirit in the eyes of God.’95 The crucial question then is whether the concessive, parenthetical half of the phrase can legitimately be taken as having occurred prior to the evangelization, the purpose of which is clearly that the dead ‘might live in the spirit’. Since the ‘judgement’ part of the phrase seems so clearly to be parenthetical, the judgement being a matter of human perspective (κατὰ ἀνθρώπους),96 and since the real weight of the purpose clause falls entirely 89 Schweizer, ‘1 Petrus 4.6’, 153: ‘Darum nämlich wurde auch Toten verkündet, weil sie zwar nach Menschenweise im Fleisch gerichtet wurden, nach Gottesweise aber im Geist leben sollen.’ 90 Note Dalton’s critical remarks (Dalton, Christ’s Proclamation, 240 n. 96); also Reichert, Praeparatio, 319. 91 Achtemeier, 1 Peter, 287; cf. Michaels, 1 Peter, 238, and many others. 92 Spicq, Epitres de Pierre, 147. Cf. Selwyn, First Epistle, 215, who also regards it as ‘parenthetic’; Kühl, Briefe Petri, 257, sees the first clause as subordinated to the second. 93 Stanley E. Porter, Idioms of the Greek New Testament (2nd edn; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1994), 21, 23, 29, 35, 57, drawing on his broader study, Stanley E. Porter, Verbal Aspect in the Greek of the New Testament, with Reference to Tense and Mood [Studies in Biblical Greek 1; New York: Peter Lang, 1989]). This seems preferable, especially in view of the fact that the verbs are subjunctive in mood, to Elliott’s suggestion that the aorist tense of κριθῶσι implies ‘an event of the past’ (Elliott, 1 Peter, 736). 94 As in KJV, and cf. Vogels, Christi Abstieg, 162–64; Brox, Petrusbrief, 197. Note the critical comments of Dalton, Christ’s Proclamation, 239 nn. 94–95. 95 Dalton, Christ’s Proclamation, 236, 239. Cf. 3.18, with the parallel phrases μὲν σαρκί … δὲ πνεύματι. 96 There are various ways to construe the meaning of the balancing phrases κατὰ ἀνθρώπους … κατὰ θεόν. Dalton proposes the sense ‘in the eyes of’ or ‘in the opinion of’ (Dalton,

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on the second part of the phrase, ‘so that they might live’, this would seem plausible, as many translations imply.97 Indeed, Schweizer’s question as to whether one may legitimately translate the phrase thus, as if the author had used an aorist or perfect participle instead of the subjunctive κριθῶσι, has been answered affirmatively by Reichert. She cites examples of a form of rhetorical parataxis in which the logical connection with the main clause implied by the conjunction relates only to the second part of the subordinate clause. This would seem to bear out a similar argument made much earlier by Kühl, who suggests that there was no other way the author could have conveyed this meaning, given his intention to make a strong contrast between the two balancing phrases.98 Thus, Reichert concludes, the construction of the ἵνα clause in 1 Pet. 4.6 is ‘no argument against the most obvious interpretation of the verse’, which she takes to be ‘a proclamation of the gospel to those who were already physically dead’.99

3.7. The wider context of New Testament theology Further arguments against the ‘already dead’ interpretation of 1 Pet. 4.6 are said to derive from the wider context of New Testament theology. There are several points raised in this connection. One is that if the gospel was preached to the dead this would seem to imply a ‘notion of disembodied souls in Hades’ which, according to Achtemeier, ‘is a view of the afterlife quite absent from the New Testament’.100 Another is that the idea of preaching to souls in the world of the dead (apart from this text under discussion) is due to later speculations and has no roots in the New Testament … the normal meaning of the term, ‘preach the gospel’, would imply the possible conversion of these souls. Such an idea is alien to the rest of the New Testament, which insists on this life as the arena where eternal life is decided.101

Christ’s Proclamation, 238), implying the idea that death itself was regarded as (negative) judgement, from a human perspective (cf. also Kelly, Peter and Jude, 172; Wis. 3.1-4, to which many commentators point in connection with this verse). Elliott prefers to translate ‘according to human standards … according to God’s standard’, and relates it specifically to those who have condemned and maligned the Christians (Elliott, 1 Peter, 735–38). Cf. also Michaels, 1 Peter, 238; Achtemeier, 1 Peter, 288. 97 E.g. NRSV, which renders κριθῶσι as a pluperfect: ‘though they had been judged in the flesh … they might live’. RSV and Dalton’s translations allow this interpretation in English, though without necessarily implying it. 98 Huther and Kühl, Handbuch, 237; Kühl, Briefe Petri, 258. Knopf, Briefe Petri, 169, also notes that the author’s use of μέν and δέ serves to stress the antithetical relationship between the two clauses. 99 Reichert, Praeparatio, 320–21, with the quotation from 321. 100 Achtemeier, 1 Peter, 289. 101 Dalton, Christ’s Proclamation, 234–35; also Achtemeier, 1 Peter, 289.

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Achtemeier mentions two further points: if the proclamation of the gospel to the dead is meant to justify God’s universal judgement, then ‘what of those who have died since the advent of Christ without hearing the gospel?’ And ‘if v. 6 refers to the final judgment, there will be no condemnation involved in it … That is once more an idea quite foreign to the New Testament, where the final judgment is a time of separation of good from evil.’102 The last two points can perhaps be dealt with briefly. It is quite conceivable that the author of 1 Peter has in mind some proclamation of the gospel to the dead – meaning (perhaps) all those who had lived and died before Christ – without considering the question concerning those who came afterwards, in the era when the gospel was announced on the earth. Other New Testament authors envisage the gospel as having been ‘fully proclaimed’ (Rom. 15.19; cf. 10.18),103 and proclaimed indeed to ‘all creation’ (Col. 1.23),104 and think in terms of corporate groups or types of people, without raising our questions about the possible fate of each individual at different or subsequent points in time (Rom. 11.25-26). Concerning the apparent absence of condemnation from the final divine judgement in v. 6 a number of comments may be made. The author does not declare that all the dead will ‘live in the spirit’ but only that this is the purpose of the proclamation of the gospel; the extent of a response, if any, is not specified. Indeed, the anarthrous νεκροί leaves it unclear whether the proclamation is universal or only to some of the dead.105 This actually fits well with the tendency of the author of 1 Peter, as noted above, not to specify the fate of unbelievers, nor to fasten on the details of their condemnation. And the idea that God’s purpose is to provide for the salvation of all is by no means absent from the New Testament, Rom. 11.25-36 being probably the clearest expression of it.106 In response to the point concerning the absence from the New Testament of the idea of ‘disembodied souls in Hades’, it may first be noted that the author of 1 Peter does not actually specify the form or the place in which ‘the dead’ are located. Nevertheless, even if we grant that the thought may be of ‘disembodied souls in Hades’ – though whether ‘souls’ should be regarded as ‘disembodied’ is also open to question107 – this conception of life beyond 102 Achtemeier, 1 Peter, 289. 103 Cf. Best, 1 Peter, 157. 104 Spicq, Epitres de Pierre, 146, regards this as without doubt the best parallel to 1 Pet. 4.6a. 105 Cf. Reichert, Praeparatio, 328; Schweizer, ‘1 Petrus 4.6’, 154. Knopf, Briefe Petri, 167, argues that the anarthrous νεκροί implies an unrestricted and general reference to the dead here. 106 Cf. also Jn 3.17. Spicq, Epitres de Pierre, 147, comments on 1 Pet. 4.6: ‘le but de l’intervention suprême du Christ n’est pas de juger et de condamner, mais de donner la vie éternelle’ and cites the parallel in John 3. On the contrasting strands evident in Paul, which represent both a ‘universal’ and a ‘limited’ view of salvation, see Sven Hillert, Limited and Universal Salvation: A Text-Oriented and Hermeneutical Study of Two Perspectives in Paul (ConBNT 31; Stockholm: Almqvist and Wiksell, 1999). 107 Tertullian spends one (short) chapter of his treatise on the soul (anima) arguing that it is necessarily corporeal (De anima 7).

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death (but before the final day of judgement and resurrection) is by no means as ‘absent’ from the New Testament as Achtemeier suggests. The reference to Hades as the location of the dead in Lk. 16.23 is relevant, though Luke would here support Achtemeier and Dalton’s other point, namely that postdeath conversion is an impossibility (cf. Lk. 16.26). The picture in Rev. 20.13 is, however, rather different: ὁ θάνατος καὶ ὁ ᾅδης ἔδωκαν τοὺς νεκροὺς τοὺς ἐν αὐτοῖς, καὶ ἐκρίθησαν ἕκαστος κατὰ τὰ ἔργα αὐτῶν. Here Hades is the place of the dead prior to the final judgement, the outcome of which may or may not prove favourable to the dead: death and Hades are thrown into the lake of fire, along with ‘anyone whose name was not found written in the book of life’ (Rev. 20.14-15). According to David Aune, the conception of ψυχή in Revelation is of ‘an essence which differs from the body and is not dissolved by death’; the ψυχή is ‘(presumably) disembodied’ (see Rev. 6.9-11; 20.46).108 In Revelation, the ‘souls’ of those martyred for Christ’s sake are not in Hades but beneath the altar of God, that is in heaven (or one of the heavens of Jewish cosmology), but they are in something of a special category. As we have already seen, ‘the dead’ – that is, οἱ λοιποὶ τῶν νεκρῶν, as Rev. 20.5 puts it – are indeed depicted as in Hades, awaiting the final judgement. That leaves us with the final objection that any idea of post-death conversion is foreign to the New Testament. There are indeed New Testament indications that such conversion is regarded as impossible (Lk. 16.26; cf. 2 Clem. 8.3) – though pace Dalton, Heb. 9.27 does not explicitly make this point109 – just as some New Testament authors regard (re)conversion after apostasy as impossible (Heb. 6.4-6). But there are some, admittedly enigmatic, New Testament references which should be considered in this connection.110 One such reference is 1 Cor. 15.29 (οἱ βαπτιζόμενοι ὑπὲρ τῶν νεκρῶν).111 There have been many different attempts to explain the curious practice Paul alludes to here, the details of which are likely permanently to elude us, but there are good grounds on which to conclude that it is some form of vicarious baptism.112 In a monograph on the subject Mathis Rissi argued that the specific 108 David E. Aune, Revelation 6–16 (WBC 52B; Nashville: Thomas Nelson, 1997), 404, quoting Thayer’s Lexicon, and citing Diogn. 6.1-9; Wis. 3.1. Cf. J. H. Thayer, A Greek– English Lexicon of the New Testament (New York: American Book Company, 1889), 677. Cf. also Reinhard Feldmeier, ‘Salvation and Anthropology in First Peter’, in Niebuhr and Wall (eds), Catholic Epistles, 203–13, 437–41. But note the caution about the notion of disembodiment expressed in n. 107 above. 109 Dalton, Christ’s Proclamation, 235. This verse does not actually concern itself with the possibility or otherwise of post-death conversion, which it rules neither out nor in, but only with the assertion that human beings only die once and that after death comes judgement, thus supporting the author’s point that Christ only need die once to deal with sin once and for all (vv. 25-28) and when he comes again will come as bringer of (final) salvation. For Hebrews, of course, conversion can happen only once, whether one is thereafter dead or alive: apostates cannot reconvert (Heb. 6.4-6). 110 For a fuller treatment of this subject, see the recent monograph by Trumbower, Rescue for the Dead, 33–47. 111 Neither Dalton nor Achtemeier makes any reference to this verse. 112 See, e.g., Nicholas H. Taylor, ‘Baptism for the Dead (1Cor. 15:29)?’, Neot 36 (2002), 111–20.

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idea of such a form of baptism was unlikely to have been derived directly from either a Jewish or a ‘pagan’ background, but that what does come clearly from this ‘world of ideas’ is the belief ‘that it is possible for the fate of the departed to be influenced by the living’.113 The well-known parallel in 2 Maccabees 12, for example, does not relate to the act of baptism specifically, but rather shows that the fate of the dead (at the future resurrection, which is the crucial point for Paul) could be affected positively by the actions of the living ὑπὲρ νεκρῶν (2 Macc. 12.43-44).114 Having acknowledged the Corinthian practice as a form of vicarious baptism, Rissi struggles to discern a form in which Paul could possibly have countenanced this ‘magical’ rite, given a rather orthodox Protestant reading of a Paul for whom baptism could only reflect an appropriation by faith of what has happened in the death and resurrection of Christ. Rissi therefore proposes that this baptism was undertaken on behalf of those who had believed but died unbaptized, a form of vicarious baptism that Paul could tolerate.115 This solution, however, arises more from the awkward conjunction of the apparent practice of vicarious baptism and a Paul seen as a proponent of Protestant orthodoxy than from the evidence of the text.116 Richard DeMaris’ valuable study of the Corinthian custom stresses the contemporary preoccupation with the world of the dead and with seeking to ensure the safety and welfare of the deceased; he rightly warns against attempts to remove the ‘magical’ or ‘superstitious’ aspects of the ritual.117 The crucial point in this context is that the Corinthians’ baptism for the dead is a practice which is believed to make some difference to the fate of the dead, to effect or ensure their transfer to salvation. This is, of course, somewhat different from the notion of a proclamation of the gospel to the dead, as in 1 Pet. 4.6, but it is relevant enough to cast considerable doubt over Dalton’s assertion that notions of post-death conversion/initiation are entirely absent from the New Testament. Also relevant are other New Testament texts that may indicate an emerging belief that the universal proclamation of the gospel encompasses more than the realm of living humanity. Colossians 1.23 has 65.

113

Mathis Rissi, Die Taufe für die Toten (ATANT 42; Zürich, Stuttgart: Zwingli, 1962),

114 See Rissi, Taufe, 59–62; Trumbower, Rescue for the Dead, 26–30. 115 Rissi, Taufe, 68–92. 116 Other solutions, such as that supported by Anthony C. Thiselton, The First Epistle to the Corinthians (NIGTC; Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 2000), 1242–49, namely that people are being baptized ‘for the sake of’ their dead (Christian) relatives, so that they can be reunited with them when they too die, also seem too dominated by the concern to align this practice with Christian orthodoxy. And J. R. White’s recent attempt to further Murphy-O’Connor’s suggestion that ‘the dead’ here are the apostles, Paul included, seems even less convincing as a reading of the text; see J. R. White, ‘“Baptized on Account of the Dead”: The Meaning of 1 Corinthians 15:29 in its Context’, JBL 116 (1997), 487–99. 117 Richard E. DeMaris, ‘Corinthian Religion and Baptism for the Dead (1 Corinthians 15:29): Insights from Archaeology and Anthropology’, JBL 114 (1995), 661–82 (680). His suggestion that this rite functioned as a means of ensuring that community members made a safe transition from the world of the living to that of the dead, however, probably underplays the role of baptism as an initiatory rite. Cf. Taylor, ‘Baptism for the Dead?’

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already been mentioned, with its acclamation of the gospel’s announcement to ‘all creation’ (ἐν πάσῃ κτίσει), and Eph. 4.8-10 may also be pertinent, with its reference to Christ’s descent εἰς τὰ κατώτερα. Also significant, if also enigmatic, is Jn 5.25-29, which Dalton nowhere mentions.118 Most commentators, admittedly, regard vv. 24-25 as referring to the spiritually dead who respond to Jesus; in John’s realized eschatological perspective these have already passed from death to life.119 Verses 28-29 are seen, by contrast, as referring to the physically dead on the (still future) day of general resurrection and final judgement. However, both Selwyn and HeinzJürgen Vogels have argued in some detail that v. 25 refers to a proclamation of Christ among the physically dead, offering salvation to those who respond: on this view, the text refers first to earthly hearers of the message (v. 24), then to hearers in the realm of the dead (v. 25) and then to the final universal judgement (vv. 28-29).120 Certain features of the text strongly support this reading: the switch from present tenses (ἀκούων, πιστεύων, κτλ., v. 24) to future (ἀκούσουσιν, ζήσουσιν, v. 25); the unqualified description of the dead as νεκροί (v. 25; cf. θάνατος, v. 24); and the phrase ἔρχεται ὥρα καὶ νῦν ἐστιν. To be sure, this last phrase distinguishes the proclamation to the dead of v. 25 from that of v. 28 (which lacks the crucial καὶ νῦν), but that does not mean that it is a ‘present’ event, as it were, in exactly the same way as the hearing/ responding of v. 24. The phrase rather indicates ‘the hour of Christ’s death and glorification’,121 as in 4.23 (and cf. 17.5). Even if this reading remains less than entirely secure, it does at least show how John 5 could be taken to cohere with, and contribute to, a view of Christ’s preaching to the (physically) dead. As such, this passage forms a significant parallel to the thought of 1 Pet. 4.6, on the ‘already dead’ interpretation.

3.8. Post New Testament texts and the Wirkungsgeschichte of 1 Pet. 4.6 Post New Testament Christian texts from the second century and beyond also indicate an interest in the idea of the gospel being proclaimed to the dead.122 118 Nor, curiously, does Trumbower, Rescue for the Dead. 119 So, e.g., C. K. Barrett, The Gospel According to St John (London: SPCK, 1955), 218– 19; Raymond E. Brown, The Gospel According to John (I–XII) (AB 29; New York: Doubleday, 1966), 215; George R. Beasley-Murray, John (WBC 36; Waco, TX: Word, 1987), 76–77. 120 Selwyn, First Epistle, 346–52 (though he does not see this as the meaning of 1 Pet. 4.6 [354]); Vogels, Christi Abstieg, 51–58. 121 Selwyn, First Epistle, 348. 122 I offer here only a brief sketch of some key texts. For more detailed treatments, see esp. Trumbower, Rescue for the Dead; Wicks, ‘Saving Descent’; Vogels, Christi Abstieg, 183–235; also, more briefly, Reichert, Praeparatio, 323–29; Taylor, ‘Baptism for the Dead?’ For a broader study of the topic of descents to the underworld, within which is discussed the New Testament and post New Testament tradition of Christ’s descent to Hades, see Richard J. Bauckham, The Fate of the Dead: Studies on the Jewish and Christian Apocalypses (NovTSup 93; Leiden: Brill, 1998), 9–48.

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While Dalton connects 1 Peter with primitive Christian eschatology, distancing it from these ‘later speculations’,123 the widely accepted dating of 1 Peter late in the first century makes the very early context, as we have seen, less plausible, and the connections with emerging doctrines and convictions more likely. Indeed, the recent emphasis on the importance of Wirkungsgeschichte should incline us to see these early Christian perspectives as a significant part of the picture for discerning the meaning of 1 Pet. 4.6. The views of later Christian writers do not of course prove that the author of 1 Peter had the same idea in mind, but they do indicate what the text was taken to mean and the range of meanings (and uncertainties) it invited. Discerning when later texts are specifically influenced by 1 Pet. 4.6 is naturally far from easy, not least given that 1 Pet. 3.19 was also taken to refer to a descent of Christ to the realm of the dead and his proclamation there. But these two New Testament texts together constitute the most obvious and influential New Testament sources for such an idea, and when later texts use the vocabulary of 4.6 specifically, we may see the influence of that text, or at least a similar trajectory of thought, at work.124 In the Shepherd of Hermas, for example, it is the apostles and teachers who, when ‘they died (κοιμηθέντες) in the power and faith of the Son of God … preached (ἐκήρυψαν) also to those who had died before them (τοῖς προκεκοιμημένοις) and themselves gave to them the seal of the kerygma (τὴν σφραγῖδα τοῦ κηρύγματος)’ (Sim. 9.16.5). The Gospel of Peter, which most scholars date to the second half of the second century, possibly earlier,125 records a dialogue between a voice from heaven and the cross which emerges from Christ’s tomb following three men coming out from it (two having entered): ‘And they heard a voice out of the heavens crying, “Have you preached to those who sleep?” (ἐκήρυξας τοῖς κοιμωμένοις;), and from the cross (ἀπὸ τοῦ σταυροῦ) there was heard the answer, “Yes”’ (Gos. Pet. 10.4142).126 Whether the cross that speaks is effectively Christ himself is somewhat unclear,127 though it is by no means an unreasonable deduction.

123 Dalton, Christ’s Proclamation, 234. 124 Most, though not all, of the texts cited in the following paragraphs are listed as allusions to 1 Pet. 4.6 in BP I, 529. Needless to say, this by no means proves that the writers had this specific text in view. 125 J. K. Elliott (ed.), The Apocryphal New Testament: A Collection of Apocryphal Christian Literature in an English Translation (Oxford: Clarendon, 1993), 150. John Dominic Crossan, The Cross that Spoke: The Origins of the Passion Narrative (San Francisco: Harper & Row, 1988), has controversially argued that the ‘original stratum’ of the Gospel of Peter (the ‘Cross Gospel’, which includes the section cited below) is the sole passion and resurrection narrative from which the four canonical Gospels derive their accounts, and hence is relatively early. But he seems to have persuaded few. 126 Greek text from GCS (NF) 11, 42. ET from Elliott, Apocryphal New Testament, 156– 57. 127 Cf. Reichert, Praeparatio, 326 with n. 3.

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Melito, on whose writings the influence of 1 Peter is clear (cf. §2.2), alludes to 4.6 in an interesting comment in his treatise On Baptism. Discussing Christ’s baptism in the Jordan, Melito goes on to acclaim him as ‘the king of heaven, the ruler of creation, and sun of the east, who appeared both to the dead in Hades (τοῖς ἐν ᾅδου νεκροῖς) and to the mortals on earth (τοῖς ἐν κόσμῳ βροτοῖς, Frag. 8b, 42–44).128 Two clearly Christian texts from the Sibylline Oracles, dating probably from the second century,129 also refer to Christ going to the realm of the dead, and in both cases this takes place during the three days before his resurrection (Sib. Or. 1.377–79; 8.310–14). In the first text he announces to the dead his resurrection (ἀγγέλλων ἐπαναστασίην τεθνεῶσιν, 1.378); in the second he announces hope to all the dead saints (ἀγγέλλων ἐλπίδα πᾶσιν τοῖς ἁγίοις, 8.310–11).130 While in this latter text it appears to be (only) the righteous dead who have hope, a wider offer of salvation may be evident in one of the Odes of Solomon. Christ speaks of his visit to Sheol, where the dead cried out to him for mercy, an appeal to which he responds positively (Odes Sol. 42.11–20). The idea that Christ’s journey to the realm of the dead was specifically to announce salvation to the righteous of Israel is found in a text quoted by Justin Martyr, one he alleges has been removed from the book of Jeremiah by the Jews: ‘The Lord God, the holy one of Israel, remembered his dead people, who lay asleep in the earth of the tomb (τῶν νεκρῶν αὐτοῦ, τῶν κεκοιμημένων εἰς γῆν χώματος), and he descended to them to proclaim to them the good news of his salvation (καὶ κατέβη πρὸς αὐτοὺς εὐαγγελίσασθαι αὐτοῖς τὸ σωτήριον αὐτοῦ)’ (Dial. 72.4).131 There is widespread agreement that this logion, absent from any known versions of Jeremiah, is most likely a Christian interpolation,132 and as Brox comments, the only biblical basis for it is 1 Pet. 3.19 and 4.6.133 The same saying is cited no less than six times by Irenaeus, though he once attributes it to Isaiah (Adv. Haer. 3.20.4) and once to Jeremiah (Adv. Haer. 4.22.1, in which context he also cites Eph. 4.9).134 In some of these places, Irenaeus also comments on the nature and purpose of this descent. In his Demonstratio, he explains that this text presents the reasons for Christ’s 128 Greek text from Perler SC 123, 232. 129 See John J. Collins, ‘Sibylline Oracles’, in OTP 1.317–472 (332 and 416–17). 130 Greek text from GCS 8, 24, and 162. Augustine also cites the Sybilline Oracles as predicting Christ’s death and resurrection, including the notion ‘that he may speak to those in hell (ut inferis loquatur)’ (City of God 18.23; I am grateful to Morwenna Ludlow for this reference). 131 Greek text from Philippe Bobichon (ed.), Justin Martyr, Dialogue avec Tryphon: Édition critique, traduction, commentaire, 2 vols (Paradosis 47/1–2, Fribourg, Switzerland: Academic Press Fribourg, 2003), 1.382, on whose (French) translation the English translation above is partly based. 132 See Reichert, Praeparatio, 324, who suggests that it originated in the first half of the second century. 133 In FC 8.5 (2001), 232–33 n. 107. Wicks, ‘Saving Descent’, 285, sees the influence of Mt. 27.52; Eph. 4.9, and 1 Pet. 4.6, though only this last text expresses the specific idea of evangelizing the dead. 134 The other references are Dem. 78; Adv. Haer. 4.33.1; 4.33.12; 5.31.1.

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death, ‘for his descent into hell was for the salvation of the dead’ (Dem. 78).135 Who constitute ‘the dead’ is not further specified. In Adv. Haer. 5.31.1 he precedes his quotation with the comment that Christ dwelt in the place of the dead for three days (tribus diebus conversatus est ubi erant mortui), and cites other biblical texts that imply such a theme (Ps. 86.13; Mt. 12.40; Eph. 4.9).136 Irenaeus also has a longer discussion of Christ’s descent to the dead where he does not cite the pseudo-Jeremiah logion; here he refers to Christ’s preaching, and sees the recipients of his forgiveness as Israel’s righteous, the patriarchs, and the prophets (Adv. Haer. 4.27.2).137 A similar view is also found in Tertullian: discussing Christ’s descent ad inferna at the time of his dying, where the souls of the dead await the final judgement, he expresses the view – though, significantly, making clear that this is precisely his own opinion – that it was specifically to the souls of the patriarchs that Christ went (puto, ad animas patriarcharum; De anima 7.3).138 What Tertullian’s comment seems to suggest, along with the somewhat diverse comments of Irenaeus and the other texts we have noted, is that ancient writers were widely agreed on the ‘fact’ of Christ’s descent to the dead, and on his proclamation of the good news of salvation, but recognized that it was not entirely clear to whom this good news related, even if the idea that the Old Testament righteous are in view seems to predominate.139 Clement of Alexandria presents an interesting and somewhat confusing range of ideas, which further confirms the diversity of contemporary views. In his Adumbrationes on 1 Peter (extant only in Latin), he paraphrases 3.19 as Christ’s preaching to those who at one time were unbelievers (praedicavit eis, qui quondam erant increduli). In the following remark, an amalgamation of Job 28.22 and Deut. 4.12, he may perhaps imply that this took place in the realm of the dead (certainly, he uses the same quotation in this connection in Strom. 6.6.45.1, though there it is cited with an additional opening, ‘Hades says to Destruction’):140 ‘They did not see his form, but they heard the sound of his voice’ (Speciem quidem eius non viderunt, sonitum vero vocis audierunt).141 When commenting on 4.6, however, Clement implies that the preaching to the dead was ‘evidently to us, who were at one time unbelievers’ (nobis, videlicet, qui quondam exstabamus infideles), suggesting the spiritual 135 The work is extant only in Armenian; I base my quotation above on the German and French translations in Brox FC 8.1 (1993), 85 and Froidevaux SC 62 (1959), 144–45. 136 Latin text from Brox FC 8.5 (2001), 232. 137 ‘dominum in ea quae sunt sub terra descendisse evangelizantem et illis adventum suum, remissionem peccatorum existentem his qui credunt in eum … iusti et prophetae et patriarchae’ (text from Brox FC 8.4 [1997] 218). 138 Latin text from CCSL 2.2, 790. 139 As Morwenna Ludlow has pointed out to me, this concern to affirm the salvation of the Patriarchs may be motivated in part by Marcion’s rejection of this notion. 140 Cf. Dalton, Christ’s Proclamation, 29 with n. 11, but the references should be to Deut. 4.12, not 4.13, and not to Strom. 6.6.37 but 6.6.45. 141 Adumbr. on 1 Pet. 3.19. Latin text from GCS 217 (Clem III), 205. There may also be an allusion here to Jn 20.29.

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interpretation of ‘the dead’.142 He is hardly clear or exegetically consistent, however, in the remarks on these verses. That he accepts ideas of a preaching to the (physically) dead is, however, clear in the Stromateis. In 2.9.43.5–44.1-3 he cites the Shepherd of Hermas, which refers, as we have seen, to the apostles’ preaching to the dead after their own deaths, a proclamation which brings the new possibility of life to these dead. A more extended discussion is found in Strom. 6.6, where almost the whole chapter is concerned with the topic of the proclamation of the gospel to the dead in Hades. Clement echoes some of the language of 1 Pet. 3.19-20 and 4.6 (cf., e.g., the uses of εὐαγγελίζω in 6.6.44.5 and 45.4, and references to those sinners of the flood generation). He recalls his discussion in Strom. 2 and his mention of Hermas, seeing the apostles’ preaching to the dead as a following of the Lord’s example (Strom. 6.6.45.5; 6.6.46.4–5). He ponders whether this proclamation is directed only to the Jews or to all, favouring the more universal interpretation; and it is clear that a positive response is possible for both Jews and Gentiles (Strom. 6.6.46.3; 6.6.47.3).143 Clement sees it as a matter of justice that those who lived before the coming of Christ should be offered the chance to respond to the gospel, as well as those fortunate enough to come afterwards (48.3–7). Although from a somewhat later period (414–15 ce), one of Augustine’s letters is of particular interest here, since the entire letter (Ep. 164) is given to discussing the interpretative and doctrinal difficulties raised by 1 Pet. 3.18-21 and 4.6.144 Although Augustine proposes (tentatively) that both 3.19 and 4.6 could be read as referring to the spiritually dead (Ep. 164.5 §16 and 7 §21), he explicitly acknowledges other readings to be possible (7 §22). Indeed, earlier in the letter he also entertains the possibility that 1 Pet. 4.6 does refer to the physically dead, probably unbelievers from the days of Noah (4 §11). Augustine has no doubt that Christ did descend into hell (2 §3), but he is especially concerned about the doctrinal implications of any notion of a post-mortem opportunity for salvation, since this would (he avers) make it pointless to preach the gospel in this life (4 §§12–13). What is clear and significant, though, is that his attempt to grapple with the complexities of these texts in 1 Peter takes place in a context where some evidently do take the texts to indicate the possibility of salvation for those already dead, and, indeed, the possibility that this salvation might be universal, an empyting of hell (2 §5; 3 §8). This is precisely the view expressed by Evodius, in the letter to which Augustine is replying (Ep. 163). This brief and selective survey hardly proves the correctness of the ‘already dead’ interpretation. But it does show that, from New Testament times onwards, various ideas were entertained about a proclamation of the gospel to the dead and opportunities for salvation post-mortem. Moreover, not least under the influence of 1 Pet. 3.19 and 4.6, the doctrine of Christ’s descent to the realm 142 Adumbr. on 1 Pet. 4.6 (GCS 217 [Clem III], 205). For ET, see ANF 2, 572. 143 Cf. also Trumbower, Rescue for the Dead, 99–100. 144 On this letter see also Trumbower, Rescue for the Dead, 131–33. For a recent ET, see Roland Teske and Boniface Ramsey (eds), Letters 156–210 (The Works of Saint Augustine, A Translation for the 21st Century, II/3; New York: New City Press, 2004), 62–73.

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of the dead, and his proclamation of good news there, is widely established, even with a diversity of perspective on the recipients of this message and its potential outcome.145 As Jeffrey Trumbower rightly emphasizes, early Christian beliefs about the fate of the dead, as well as about their location and existence, ‘were neither univocal nor unequivocal. Numerous conceptions of posthumous rescue found their way into the earliest Christian speculations … The language of 1 Pet. 4:6 is sufficiently sparse to admit various interpretations on this score.’146 Indeed, pace Dalton (see §3.2), it is clear that 1 Pet. 4.6 was taken, at least by some, long before the nineteenth century, to indicate the possibility that all of the dead might have an opportunity to attain salvation; it should also be clear that there is no sharp disjunction between the various beliefs expressed in the New Testament, particularly in 1 Peter, and the second-century (and later) ideas about Christ’s preaching to the dead. One cannot, again pace Dalton, plausibly make a distinction between the New Testament ideas and such ‘later speculations’. What a study of the Wirkungsgeschichte of 1 Pet. 4.6 (a history inevitably bound up with that of 3.19) does show is that it is precisely the compact and enigmatic content of this brief text that leaves the interpretative space for a wide range of possibilities, as are indeed evident in the writings we have surveyed.

3.9. Conclusions This chapter has not sought to deal fully with every significant aspect of 1 Pet. 4.6. I have focused on what seems to me the main point at issue in contemporary interpretation of this verse, namely whether it should be taken to refer to a proclamation of the gospel made to people already dead at the time or one made to people (specifically Christians) who have since died. Despite its current popularity, especially in recent commentaries in English, there are reasons why the ‘since died’ view proposed by Spitta, Selwyn, and Dalton is implausible. A crucial weakness concerns a central and key feature of this viewpoint, that 1 Peter responds to an issue of anxiety similar to that addressed in 1 Thessalonians, an issue arising in the context of the earliest Christian eschatology and concerning the deaths of some Christians before the parousia. This is implausible as a background for 1 Pet. 4.6 firstly because the letter shows no clear signs of such a concern and secondly because the letter can hardly have been early enough for such a scenario to be imaginable. 145 As Wicks, ‘Saving Descent’, 294, concludes, texts from ‘the second century provide a bundle of varied testimonies to the conviction that Christ extended his saving mission to the netherworld for the benefit of many who had preceded him in death’. 146 Trumbower, Rescue for the Dead, 33 and 96 respectively. He also argues that the general principle that joining the saved community was only possible before death ‘was slow to develop and not universally accepted in the Christian movement’s first four hundred years … Many early Christians were able to retain their sense of God’s justice while allowing for the possibility of posthumous salvation for non-Christians’ (3). For an indication as to the diversity and breath of early Christian views of the scope of salvation, from complete universalism to more limited perspectives, see also Bauckham, Fate of the Dead, 149–59.

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On the other hand, the arguments raised against the view that the verse describes a proclamation of the gospel made to ‘the dead’ are by no means as decisive as often suggested. There remain some difficulties in construing the Greek in this way, but there do for the ‘since died’ view also. And the ‘already dead’ view, as I have labelled it, can be seen as plausible within the context of 1 Peter, the New Testament, and early Christianity more widely. Within the context of the letter, and of 4.1-6 more specifically, there are good grounds for regarding 4.6 as providing a supporting explanation which relates to the preceding verse; thus there is a contextual reason why a comment on the (still enigmatic) proclamation to the dead, as well as the living, should be apposite. Other verses in 1 Peter, which emphasize the impartiality of God’s judgement, show optimism about the possibility of the gentiles’ conversion, or reveal a marked reticence about specifying the fate of those who are currently unbelievers, also add to the picture within which the ‘already dead’ interpretation of 4.6 may make sense. The description of the proclamation to the spirits in 3.1822, while it is rightly seen to depict a different event from that in view in 4.6, adds further plausibility to the notion that the author of 1 Peter may conceive of proclamations being made other than in the realm of living humanity. Elsewhere in the New Testament, despite the comments of Dalton and Achtemeier, there are indications of precisely the views which would be congruent with the ‘already dead’ interpretation of 1 Pet. 4.6: the picture of the dead in Hades awaiting judgement, the possibility of post-death initiation and salvation. It may be that the very picture suggested here for 1 Pet. 4.6 is also implied in Jn 5.25. Various ideas about a proclamation to the dead, and the chance of their posthumous salvation, are also present in a variety of early Christian writings, adding further plausibility to the idea that they are reflected here in 1 Peter. Indeed, the brief and enigmatic character of the reference to this notion in 1 Pet. 4.6 (and the equally enigmatic 3.19) is a major reason why the history of interpretation is full of debate and diversity of opinion. There are, then, good reasons to reject or at least to doubt the ‘since died’ view, and reasons why the ‘already dead’ view is a good deal more plausible on historical and exegetical grounds than Dalton and others suggest. Elliott is no doubt right to point out that the idea of a universal proclamation of the gospel to the dead has been favoured for ‘dogmatic’ reasons147 but he fails to note that dogmatic convictions have also influenced the rejection of this reading of the verse.148 While liberals may be inclined to favour the interpretation which opens the possibility of post-death conversion and 147 Elliott, 1 Peter, 731: ‘The interest in a possible correspondence between 3:19 and 4:6 appears motivated more by dogmatic than by exegetical concerns; namely, a desire to find here a biblical expression of the universality of salvation …’. 148 E.g. Huther and Kühl, Handbuch, 238–39, who sees the clear meaning of the passage, given the strong connection between vv. 5 and 6, to be that a judgement of the dead is only possible if they have been given the opportunity of salvation through the proclamation of the gospel, comment as follows: ‘Was die Ausleger bestimmt hat, diesen nächstliegenden Sinn nicht anzuerkennen, sind wohl meistentheils dogmatische Bedenken.’

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universal salvation, other interpreters may object – and have objected – to this reading precisely because it appears to countenance these possibilities.149 In any case, this verse hardly provides secure ground for a theology of human salvation; it neither specifies clearly the extent of the proclamation to the dead nor declares the outcome of it, and as in the case of 1 Cor. 15.29 remains in many ways enigmatic, as Brox has rightly stressed.150 Indeed, on the ‘already dead’ reading the verse is more of an enigma than on Dalton’s reading, the resulting clarity of which is an attractive feature. If the verse does refer to an announcement of the gospel to the human dead, much remains uncertain: who made the announcement and where, to how many of the dead, and with what result? Indeed, the diversity of early Christian perspectives on Christ’s (or the apostles’) proclamation to the dead – perspectives which to a considerable degree represent the Wirkungsgeschichte of 1 Pet. 4.6 (and 3.19) – indicates a grappling with precisely some of these ambiguities. But given that the New Testament and other early Christian literature give us so many glimpses of diverse and (to us) enigmatic beliefs and practices, not least in relation to the place and fate of the dead – 1 Cor. 15.29 being a key example – the fact that so much remains mysterious, or at least unknown, on the reading of 1 Pet. 4.6 defended here may in fact be another point in its favour. There would seem good reasons to reject what is becoming a consensus on the ‘since died’ interpretation of this influential verse and to reinstate a much older alternative.

149 This was clearly the case with Augustine; see §3.8 above. 150 Brox, Petrusbrief, 197–98: ‘Man steht zunächst recht ratlos vor der Aussage über die Predigt an die Toten und noch viel ratloser also vor den vielen Erklärungen, die sie gefunden hat … Fast alles bleibt an ihr unklar, bis auf den Punkt, daß eine Predigt an Tote gemeint ist, die nicht vor, sondern nach deren Tod stattfand. Wer wann gepredigt hat, wo gepredigt etc., bleibt ungesagt. Wir kennen, im Unterschied zu Ps-Petrus und seinen Lesern, nicht die zugehörigen frühchristlichen Vorstellungen.’

Chapter 4 Aliens and Strangers? The Socio-Economic Location of the Addressees of 1 Peter 4.1. Introduction Recent years have seen a lively discussion of the socio-economic level of the earliest Christians. A so-called ‘old consensus’ that they came from among the poor, usually attributed to Adolf Deissmann (not entirely accurately),1 was replaced in the 1970s and 1980s with a so-called ‘new consensus’ that they represented a cross-section of urban society, and included some individuals of relatively high wealth and status.2 The initial impetus for this ‘new consensus’ was provided by Edwin Judge, who in 1960 suggested that, in contrast to Deissmann’s view, ‘[f]ar from being a socially depressed group … if the Corinthians are at all typical, the Christians were dominated by a socially pretentious section of the population of the big cities’.3 The main foundations, however, were laid in Gerd Theissen’s essay on social stratification in the Corinthian community, first published in 1974.4 Theissen’s basic thesis is that ‘the Corinthian congregation is marked by internal stratification. The majority of the members, who come from the lower classes (aus den unteren Schichten), stand in contrast to a few influential members who come from the upper classes

1 Note the comments of Steven J. Friesen, ‘Poverty in Pauline Studies: Beyond the SoCalled New Consensus’, JSNT 26 (2004), 323–61 (325); Gerd Theissen, ‘The Social Structure of Pauline Communities: Some Critical Remarks on J. J. Meggitt, Paul, Poverty and Survival’, JSNT 84 (2001), 65–84 (66), who questions whether there was either an ‘old’ or a ‘new’ consensus. 2 For an overview of the discussion to the mid-1990s, see Horrell, Social Ethos, 91–101; for more recent discussion, see Bruce W. Longenecker, ‘Socio-Economic Profiling of the First Urban Christians’, in Todd D. Still and David G. Horrell (eds), After the First Urban Christians: The Social-Scientific Study of Pauline Christianity Twenty-Five Years Later (London and New York: T&T Clark, 2009), 36–59. 3 Edwin A. Judge, The Social Pattern of Early Christian Groups in the First Century: Some Prologomena to the Study of the New Testament Ideas of Social Obligation (London: Tyndale, 1960), 60. 4 Gerd Theissen, ‘Soziale Schichtung in der korinthischen Gemeinde: Ein Beitrag zur Soziologie des hellenistischen Urchristentums’, ZNW 65 (1974), 232–72; repr. in Gerd Theissen, Studien zur Soziologie des Urchristentums (WUNT 19; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1979 [3rd edn, 1988]); ET in Gerd Theissen, The Social Setting of Pauline Christianity: Essays on Corinth (Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1982).

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(aus der Oberschicht)’.5 The individuals named in 1 Corinthians, Theissen argued, seem mostly to have been people of some wealth and social position.6 Report of an ‘emerging consensus’ was first announced, and supported, by Abraham Malherbe, in his Social Aspects of Early Christianity, published in 1977.7 A further significant contribution to the establishment of this consensus was a chapter on the social level of the Pauline Christians in Wayne Meeks’ classic and wide-ranging treatment of the first urban Christians.8 Building on Theissen’s detailed analysis, Meeks agreed that ‘[t]he “emerging consensus” that Malherbe reports seems to be valid: a Pauline congregation generally reflected a fair cross-section of urban society’.9 This consensus then provided the basis for a wide range of further studies, many of which placed a good deal of weight on the conviction that there were wealthy, elite, ruling-class members among the early Pauline congregations, which have been the main focus for study.10 The relatively uncontroversial development of the ‘new consensus’ perspective was brought to an end in 1998 with the publication of Justin Meggitt’s Paul,

5 Theissen, Social Setting, 69; German from Theissen, Studien, 231. The use of ‘class’ to translate the German Schicht (more properly, ‘stratum’) is problematic and raises various methodological issues; see further Geza Alföldy, Die römische Gesellschaft: Augsewählte Beiträge (Wiesbaden: Franz Steiner, 1986), 72–78; Richard L. Rohrbaugh, ‘Methodological Considerations in the Debate over the Social Class Status of Early Christians’, JAAR 52 (1984), 512–46; Dale B. Martin, ‘Ancient Slavery, Class, and Early Christianity’, Fides et Historia 23 (1991), 105–13. Any use of the term ‘middle class’ is particularly contentious for the ancient world. 6 Theissen, Social Setting, 95. Theissen bases his conclusions on assessment in relation to four criteria deemed to indicate high social status: holding offices, having houses, assisting the congregation, and travelling (see 73–94). 7 Abraham J. Malherbe, Social Aspects of Early Christianity (2nd edn; Philadelphia: Fortress Press, 1983 [1977]), 31. 8 Wayne A. Meeks, The First Urban Christians: The Social World of the Apostle Paul (New Haven and London: Yale University Press, 1983), 51–73, repr. in David G. Horrell (ed.), Social-Scientific Approaches to New Testament Interpretation (Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1999), 195–232. 9 Meeks, First Urban Christians, 73. 10 E.g. John K. Chow, Patronage and Power: A Study of Social Networks in Corinth (JSNTSup 75; Sheffield: JSOT Press, 1992); Andrew D. Clarke, Secular and Christian Leadership in Corinth: A Socio-Historical and Exegetical Study of 1 Corinthians 1–6 (AGAJU 18; Leiden: Brill, 1993). My own earlier study broadly followed the ‘new consensus’ picture, but was more cautious about the socio-economic level of the members: ‘we can hardly state with confidence that the most socially prominent members of the Corinthian congregation belong to the “elite”, the “ruling class”, of Corinth … Nevertheless, there do seem to be at least some members of the ἐκκλησία who are relatively well-to-do, who are heads of households which include slaves, the owners of accommodation of some size, and people with some wealth at their disposal’ (Horrell, Social Ethos, 98). I would now be still more cautious, especially regarding wealth and housing (cf. David G. Horrell, ‘Domestic Space and Christian Meetings at Corinth: Imagining New Contexts and the Buildings East of the Theatre’, NTS 50 [2004], 349–69), but would affirm the conclusion that the churches included a range of people from urban society (cf. Horrell, Social Ethos, 100– 101). I have also questioned the cogency of the label ‘Pauline community’, though some such shorthand terms are hard to avoid; see Horrell, ‘Pauline Churches’.

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Poverty and Survival.11 This book constitutes a frontal assault on the new consensus, attacking the reading of the evidence on which its reconstruction is based and insisting that Paul and the earliest Christians shared in the absolute material poverty that was the lot of 99 per cent of the Roman empire’s inhabitants. Meggitt’s book has generated considerable debate, including some vigorous defence of a ‘new consensus’ position. One of the more telling criticisms has been that Meggitt operates with a somewhat crude binary model, which effectively divides the inhabitants of the Roman empire into two groups: the elite rich, and the 99 per cent poor.12 An influential attempt to develop a more sophisticated and detailed model which avoids this criticism has been made by Steven Friesen, who outlines a ‘poverty scale’ for Roman urban society with seven categories ranging from the super-wealthy imperial elites (PS1) to those below subsistence level (PS7).13 It is important to note, though, that Friesen concurs with Meggitt’s central arguments: that there is little if any evidence to place any of the Pauline Christians into the category of the wealthy elite (PS1-3), and that the vast majority of the empire’s inhabitants, and of the early Christians, were poor, living around or not much above subsistence level.14 It is unsurprising that the discussion of the socio-economic level of the earliest Christians has focused heavily on the Pauline letters. Though even here the evidence is scanty, there are at least snippets of prosopographical and other information to consider within a literary deposit of some size. First Peter, on the other hand, in this as in other respects, stands relatively neglected. This too is unsurprising: it is one relatively short letter, the authorship and date of which are open to discussion and which provides no significant prosopographical data, at least concerning the addressees of the letter.15 11 Justin J. Meggitt, Paul, Poverty and Survival (SNTW; Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1998). 12 See Dale B. Martin, ‘Review Essay: Justin J Meggitt, Paul, Poverty and Survival’, JSNT 84 (2001), 51–64 (54–57); Theissen, ‘Critical Remarks’, 70–75; Friesen, ‘Poverty’, 339; Bengt Holmberg, ‘The Methods of Historical Reconstruction in the Scholarly “Recovery” of Corinthian Christianity’, in Edward Adams and David G. Horrell (eds), Christianity at Corinth: The Quest for the Pauline Church (Louisville and London: Westminster John Knox, 2004), 255– 71 (261–66); Bruce W. Longenecker, ‘Exposing the Economic Middle: A Revised Economy Scale for the Study of Early Urban Christianity’, JSNT 31 (2009), 243–78. Note the criticisms raised of a binary model in the work of ancient historians by Walter Scheidel, ‘Stratification, Deprivation and Quality of Life’, in Margaret Atkins and Robin Osborne (eds), Poverty in the Roman World (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2006), 40–59 (40–45). It should be noted, however, that Meggitt does at some points note the significance of differentiations among ‘the poor’ (e.g. p. 5); furthermore, his strategy of stressing the material poverty of the mass of the empire’s population is understandable as an attempt to confront the frequent presumption in ‘new consensus’ writing that some members of the churches were wealthy, elite, upper class, etc. 13 Friesen, ‘Poverty’. 14 Friesen, ‘Poverty’, 348. 15 There is, of course, mention of Peter, Silvanus, and Mark (1.1; 5.12-13), but even if these references allow any socio-economic deductions to be drawn, and are not part of what Francis W. Beare calls ‘the apparatus of pseudonymity’, they tell us nothing about the Christians to whom the letter was sent (Beare, First Epistle of Peter, 48). The συνεκλεκτή in 5.13 is usually taken, rightly in my view, as a reference to the Christian community; see §1.6 n. 147.

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Moreover, it is open to question how much the author actually knew about the communities addressed in the letter, not least given the huge geographical area envisaged (1 Pet. 1.1; see map 1, p. 239). If the author were based in Asia Minor, as some suggest, then his knowledge of Christian congregations in the region would probably be closer than if he were in Rome, but in either case we should not expect much local detail.16 Yet, in a sense, the letter’s broad and generalizing address adds to the historical value of 1 Peter, since it reveals what the author presumes as a plausible depiction of early Christian communities across Asia Minor, and a depiction that must match the realities reasonably well if the letter is to be an effective communication (if there were no οἰκέται among the addressees, the letter’s exhortations miss their mark on this score, and so on …). First Peter deserves more careful attention than it has generally received, and constitutes precious early evidence concerning the spread of Christianity in Asia Minor. John Elliott describes it as ‘one of the most socially significant writings of the early church’.17 Indeed, the main exception to this general neglect is Elliott’s groundbreaking and influential study, A Home for the Homeless, the first social-scientific study of the letter, which attempts, among other things, to provide a ‘social profile’ of the addressees of the letter. The starting point for Elliott’s analysis of the letter is an argument for the correlation and central importance of two key terms: πάροικος and οἶκος (τοῦ θεοῦ). These terms, Elliott proposes, ‘are not merely linguistic but also sociological and theological correlates’.18 They therefore invite consideration as to the ways in which they ‘provide clues to the social condition of the addressees as well as to the socioreligious response offered by the document itself’.19 After examining the meaning and use of πάροικος and related terms in both secular and biblical texts, Elliott concludes that it refers to those ‘being or

16 On the letter’s place of origin, see Introduction above, p. 5. 17 Elliott, Home, xxxii. It is curious that 1 Peter does not receive more attention in Stephen Mitchell’s massive and magisterial treatment of Anatolia, on which I am dependent for much of the broader information about Asia Minor below. Discussing the origins of Christianity in Anatolia, Mitchell focuses on Paul’s mission and letter to the Galatians, while later describing the testimony of Pliny’s famous letter (Ep. 10.96) as ‘a unique and unparalleled claim that Christianity had established a major hold on northern Asia Minor by the early second century’ (Stephen Mitchell, Anatolia: Land, Men, and Gods in Asia Minor, Volume II: The Rise of the Church [Oxford: Clarendon, 1993], 37; see 37–38). Mitchell’s only substantive comment on 1 Peter is to note that, insofar as there was an early Christian mission in the areas north of the extent of Paul’s activity, ‘the evangelist was surely Peter, who addressed the Jews of Pontus, Galatia, Cappadocia, Asia, and Bithynia in his first epistle’ (Mitchell, Anatolia II, 3). As we shall see below, this understanding of the ethnic-religious identity of the addressees has a long and venerable history, but is unlikely to be correct, and has been rejected by the majority of modern commentators. Of course, 1 Peter gives little precise or detailed information concerning the spread and establishment of Christianity in these provinces, but it is nonetheless a source of some significance. 18 Elliott, Home, 23. 19 Elliott, Home, 24.

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living as a resident alien in a foreign environment or away from home’.20 More specifically, the term πάροικος denotes the ‘resident alien’ while παρεπίδημος refers to the ‘transient stranger’.21 Furthermore, in 1 Peter, Elliott argues that the description of the addressees as πάροικοι and παρεπίδημοι (see 1.1, 17; 2.11) refers to their ‘actual political and social condition’.22 This description thus gives us a concrete indication as to their social situation: they are ‘resident aliens and transient strangers’ who ‘shared the same vulnerable condition of the many thousands of Jewish and other ethnic πάροικοι of Asia Minor and throughout the Roman empire’.23 Indeed, in summarizing the findings of his opening chapter, Elliott makes clear how fundamentally his conclusions as to the significance of the designation πάροικοι καὶ παρεπίδημοι shape his reflections on the social profile of the addressees: In 1 Peter the terms paroikia, paroikoi and parepidēmoi identify the addressees as a combination of displaced persons who are currently aliens permanently residing in (paroikia, paroikoi) or strangers temporarily visiting or passing through (parepidēmoi) the four provinces of Asia Minor named in the salutation (1:1). These terms … indicate not only the geographical dislocation of the recipients but also the political, legal, social and religious limitations and estrangement which such displacement entails. As paroikoi they may well have been numbered among the rural population and villagers who had been relocated to city territories and assigned inferior status to the citizenry. And as both paroikoi and parepidēmoi they may have been included among the numerous immigrant artisans, craftsmen, traders, merchants residing permanently in or temporarily traveling through the villages, towns and cities of the eastern provinces.24

Elliott’s next chapter expands many of these observations in offering a ‘social profile’ of the addressees of 1 Peter. For Elliott, the ‘limited’ urbanization of much of Asia Minor combined with the ‘internal evidence’ of 1 Peter ‘suggest that the letter is directed to a predominantly rural audience’.25 The Christian communities in view contained a mix of Jews and non-Jews, though mostly 20 Elliott, Home, 35. 21 Elliott, Home, 34. 22 Elliott, Home, 35. This is somewhat qualified on p. 42, where Elliott notes that ‘[t]here is neither need nor reason to postulate mutually exclusive literal/figurative options here … these words in 1 Peter are used to describe religious as well as social circumstances’. Cf. also Elliott, 1 Peter, 482: ‘The experience of many as actual strangers and resident aliens provided an existential basis for the depiction of all believers as strangers and resident aliens in a metaphorical sense.’ 23 Elliott, Home, 37; cf. 129. 24 Elliott, Home, 48. 25 Elliott, Home, 62–63. Note, however, that this conclusion is both reiterated and qualified in what follows: most πάροικοι were located in rural areas (68), and this is where most of the addressees were likely to be located (69), but ‘the letter is intended for Christians in the cities also’ (69) and the reference to οἰκέται (2.18-20) suggests an urban location (69). Nonetheless, in his more recent commentary, Elliott reiterates the likely ‘rural location of the letter’s addressees’ which ‘marks 1 Peter as a notable exception to the generalization that early Christianity everywhere constituted an “urban phenomenon”’ (Elliott, 1 Peter, 90).

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the latter.26 And the conclusion that the addressees were πάροικοι forms the basis for a series of suggestions about their likely legal, economic, and social status: excluded from civic rights; mostly (though not exclusively) in rural areas and involved in agriculture; generally ‘from the working proletariat of the urban and rural areas’ and in ‘an inferior economic position’.27 These are the main contours of contemporary scholarship with which this present study must engage. In the examination of the socio-economic status of the addressees of 1 Peter that follows, the findings will be related to the current ‘new consensus’ debate focused on the Pauline evidence, as sketched above. More specifically, Elliott’s proposals concerning the recipients of the letter will provide a set of hypotheses to test.

4.2. The socio-economic structure of the Roman empire Before considering the specific evidence from the letter itself, it is important to provide a broader sketch of the Roman economy and of the developments in Asia Minor in the period with which we are concerned. Moses Finley’s The Ancient Economy, first published in 1973, remains a landmark study, particularly important for presenting a so-called ‘primitivist’ view of the Roman economy: primarily dependent on agriculture, with landownership as the main form of wealth28 and cities as essentially centres of consumption, dependent on the produce and wealth generated from the land.29 There were certainly various kinds of trading activity and small-scale industries producing goods of various kinds in cities, but these remained mostly minor and rudimentary.30 The empire itself made significant demands in terms of taxation, both in cash but also, and importantly, in kind, with much agricultural produce needed to supply grain to Rome and also to support military presence and activity. As a more recent author summarizes the situation: ‘the overriding aim of farming was to extract profits in order to finance the social and political status of wealthy Romans’.31 Subsequent studies have challenged and revised aspects of Finley’s depiction: for example, Peter Temin argues that a ‘market economy’ was more developed and significant than Finley perceived,32 and Kevin Greene argues that the archaeological evidence shows that technological improvements (often related to farming and food processing) were much more important 26 Elliott, Home, 65–67; also 45–46 with 55–56 nn. 76–77. 27 See Elliott, Home, 67–70, with quotations from p. 70. 28 Moses I. Finley, The Ancient Economy (2nd edn; London: Penguin, 1985 [1973]), 188. 29 Finley, Ancient Economy, 123–49, 191–96. 30 Cf. also Richard Duncan-Jones, The Economy of the Roman Empire: Quantitative Studies (2nd edn; Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1982 [1974]), 1–2. 31 Kevin Greene, ‘Technological Innovation and Economic Progress in the Ancient World: M. I. Finley Re-Considered’, Economic History Review 53 (2000), 29–59 (42). 32 Peter Temin, ‘A Market Economy in the Early Roman Empire’, JRS 91 (2001), 169–81.

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than Finley suggested, and that there was greater ‘economic dynamism’ than Finley allowed.33 Recent ‘regional fieldwork studies’, Greene notes, suggest ‘that the productivity of Greek and Roman farming was able to support a far higher population than had ever been imagined, and that supposedly “sparsely occupied” areas … were actually more densely populated both before and after their Roman conquests than hitherto thought’.34 Nonetheless many other authors have reaffirmed the essential outlines of Finley’s primitivist portrait.35 Richard Duncan-Jones comments that ‘[t]he Roman economy remained a primitive system which would today qualify the Roman Empire for recognition as a “developing” country. Almost everywhere a large part of the population was engaged in agriculture at a relatively low level, while industry depended on a backward technology and was rarely organized in large units.’36 Robin Osborne, writing in 2006, characterizes the Roman economy as an ‘underdeveloped’, pre-industrial economy based fundamentally on agriculture and with a largely rural population. Life expectancy was very low – estimates suggest around twenty to thirty at birth – and there was widespread malnutrition and periodic famine.37 In terms of the overall socio-economic structure of the empire’s population, there is widespread agreement that wealth and power were heavily concentrated in relatively few hands, with the richest elites comprising in total only around 1–2 per cent of the population.38 The concentration of wealth in few hands in a pre-industrial agriculturally based economy implies the corollary that the 33 Greene, ‘Technological Innovation’, 32. 34 Greene, ‘Technological Innovation’, 51. 35 Note Greene’s assessment: ‘His overall framework has remained intact: gross disparities in wealth, the importance of political power and social status, and the limitations of financial systems, are not in dispute. However, most commentators are more positive about the level and nature of economic activity that took place within this framework (‘Technological Innovation’, 52). On the primitivist/anti-primitivist debate, see also Meggitt, Paul, 41–73, who supports Finley’s ‘primitivist’ picture. 36 Duncan-Jones, Economy, 1; see further 1–2. 37 For all these points, see Robin Osborne, ‘Roman Poverty in Context’, in Atkins and Osborne (eds), Poverty in the Roman World, 1–20 (4). See further Geza Alföldy, The Social History of Rome (London and Sydney: Croom Helm, 1985), 94–156; Ekkehard W. Stegemann and Wolfgang Stegemann, The Jesus Movement: A Social History of its First Century (Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1999), 7–95. On life expectancy, see Richard Duncan-Jones, Structure and Scale in the Roman Economy (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1990), 93–104. His conclusion is as follows: ‘An uncontroversial working assumption about Roman life-expectancy at birth places it within a range between 20 and 30 years. Big nutritional differences, apart from anything else, almost certainly meant major class-variants in survival rates. An upper-class figure for lifeexpectation at birth of over 30 years, and what may be a servile figure below 20, suggest possible elements in the range of variation’ (103–104). 38 See Alföldy, Social History, 147; Scheidel, ‘Stratification’, 42 with n. 6; Stegemann and Stegemann, Jesus Movement, 77, who suggest between and 1 and 5 per cent for the upper stratum as a whole. For more detailed calculations, leading to the conclusion that ‘the richest elites made up only about 1.23 per cent of the empire’s inhabitants’, see Friesen, ‘Poverty’, 360–61. On the extreme inequalities of wealth, see S. J. Batomsky, ‘Rich and Poor: The Great Divide in Ancient Rome and Victorian England’, Greece and Rome 37 (1990), 37–43; Duncan-Jones, Economy, 3–5.

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majority of the empire’s population did not live comfortably; as Meggitt and Friesen have stressed, ‘the overwhelming majority of the population under Roman imperialism lived near the subsistence level’.39 Nonetheless, there is good reason to try to press beyond the binary model – a few very rich, an undifferentiated mass of the poor – found in both ancient (elite) depictions and some modern scholarship.40 There is insufficient evidence to allow precise, robust conclusions to be drawn about the percentage of people living at various levels of socio-economic status, but, as Friesen has shown, estimates can be attempted. The chart from his article of 2004 is as follows:41 PS1 PS2 PS3 PS4 PS5 PS6 PS7

Imperial elites Regional elites Municipal elites Moderate surplus Stable near subsistence At subsistence Below subsistence

0.04% 1.00% 1.76% 7%? 22%? 40% 28%

It is notable that the figures are most speculative in categories 4 and 5, as Friesen indicates with question marks.42 This is unfortunate, since, as John Barclay remarks, it is precisely here that the distinctions are crucial: how much is ‘moderate surplus’ and how many of the population (and, more specifically, of the early Christians) might have lived at this level?43 More recent work has attempted to add further detail and refinement to the picture, particularly in terms of these crucial middle groups. In an essay from 2006, Walter Scheidel specifically addresses this issue, arguing for a sizeable ‘middling group’ comprising 20–25 per cent of Roman society. Scheidel argues that: the concentration of a large percentage of all assets in the top 3 to 5 per cent of the population … is in no way incompatible with the existence of a substantial middling 39 Friesen, ‘Poverty’, 343; Meggitt, Paul, passim; Stegemann and Stegemann, Jesus Movement, 88–93. 40 For this argument against a binary model, see Scheidel, ‘Stratification’, 40–45; Longenecker, ‘Economic Middle’. Among the examples Longenecker cites (247) are Tacitus’ contrasts between those who are ‘virtuous and associated with great houses’ and ‘the dirty plebs’ (plebs sordida, Hist. 1.4) or between ‘citizens of repute’ and ‘the rabble’ (Ann. 3.36), though in neither of these instances does Tacitus simply give a binary view of Roman society. 41 Friesen, ‘Poverty’, 347. 42 See Friesen, ‘Poverty’, 343–45. But the figures in all categories below PS3 are necessarily based on very limited evidence. As Longenecker, ‘Economic Middle’, 252–53, points out, Friesen’s figures for PS6 and PS7 are derived from a 1993 study by C. R. Whittaker of the poor in the city of Rome, with comparisons with cities in pre-industrial Europe, but Friesen takes the top end of Whittaker’s percentages for PS6 (30–40 per cent) and PS7 (24–28 per cent); see Friesen, ‘Poverty’, 345 n. 69, for his reasons for doing this. 43 John M. G. Barclay, ‘Poverty in Pauline Studies: A Response to Steven Friesen’, JSNT 26 (2004), 363–66 (365).

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group of owner-producers … I conclude that there is sufficient evidence in support of the notion of an economic continuum from a narrow elite to a steadily broadening middling group as we move down the resource ladder … It is perfectly possible to reconcile the dominance of a disproportionately affluent elite with the presence of a substantial ‘middle’.44

Drawing on Scheidel’s work, Bruce Longenecker argued in an article from 2009 that the percentages in Friesen’s scale – which Longenecker prefers to call an ‘economy scale’ (ES) – should be revised, with the ‘middling’ category of moderate surplus (PS/ES4) increased significantly to include around 17 per cent of the population, and PS/ES5, 6, and 7 adjusted to 25, 30, and 25 per cent respectively.45 It is important to note that this still leaves 80 per cent of the population living near subsistence level, so the picture of a large majority living in poverty remains. However, since their earlier essays, Scheidel and Friesen have collaborated to present a detailed, quantitative study that attempts to estimate the size of the Roman economy (in terms of GDP) and to model the likely patterns of income distribution. They conclude that elite groups, comprising around 1.5 per cent of the population, controlled 15–25 per cent of total income, while ‘middling’ groups – those with a real income of between 2.4 and 10 times above bare subsistence – comprised around 6–12 per cent, and controlled 15–25 per cent of total income. Among the large majority without such levels of income, 55– 60 per cent may have lived at or around subsistence level, with a further 10–22 per cent hovering below the level of subsistence.46 ‘Middling’ groups may have been more common in urban than in rural areas, but overall ‘“middling” incomes must necessarily have remained the exception while subsistence was the norm’.47 In his most recent work, from 2010, Longenecker accepts the broad outlines of Scheidel and Friesen’s calculations, while proposing a figure for ‘middling’ (ES4) groups at the upper end of their estimates (around 12 per cent) and suggesting that this figure in urban areas might have been more like 15 per cent. Consequently, his revised figures for ES4–7 are 15, 27, 30, and 25 per cent respectively, differing only little from the scale set out in his 2009 article.48 Friesen’s poverty scale, like Meggitt’s work before, is explicitly and deliberately focused on the urban context most relevant to studies of the Pauline Christians. Similarly, Longenecker states that his focus is on ‘Greco-Roman urbanism’, though he occasionally discusses the wider picture.49 Scheidel and Friesen’s recent work, however, as well as the influential analyses of Geza 44 Scheidel, ‘Stratification’, 54. 45 Longenecker, ‘Economic Middle’, 262–64. 46 Walter Scheidel and Steven J. Friesen, ‘The Size of the Economy and the Distribution of Income in the Roman Empire’, JRS 99 (2009), 61–91, esp. 82–85. 47 Scheidel and Friesen, ‘Economy’, 90. 48 Bruce W. Longenecker, Remember the Poor: Paul, Poverty, and the Greco-Roman World (Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 2010), 44–53. 49 Longenecker, ‘Economic Middle’, 244; Longenecker, Remember the Poor, 50–53.

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Alföldy and others, are not specifically focused on cities alone, but rather on the population as a whole. Since around 85–90 per cent of the population was rural, and with many city dwellers also directly engaged in agriculture, it is important that any overall sketch of the population take rural conditions into full account.50 Much agricultural land was owned by imperial elites and wealthy landowners, distantly absent or resident in local cities;51 rural peasants were therefore often working land owned by others, which meant, of course, that taxes and rents (often in kind) would have to be paid from the produce of their plot.52 Slaves with various levels of responsibility, from steward-managers (οἰκονόμοι, etc.) to more menial and lower-status positions, were often used on rural estates.53 In terms of overall per capita averages the standard of living was probably much higher in the cities: wealth and its conspicuous display, in monumental public buildings, imperial temples, baths, and so on, was concentrated here, and most wealthy land-owners lived away from their estates in urban centres. Alföldy, for example, sees the most oppressed and impoverished sections of the Roman empire’s population as the lower strata 50 For these broad figures, and more precise estimates specifically related to Anatolia, see Stephen Mitchell, Anatolia: Land, Men, and Gods in Asia Minor, Volume I: The Celts and the Impact of Roman Rule (Oxford: Clarendon, 1993), 244. Cf. also Alföldy, Social History, 97–99. Cities were generally small, most between 5,000 and 15,000, with few over 25,000; see DuncanJones, Economy, 259–87; Mitchell, Anatolia I, 244. 51 Mitchell, Anatolia I, 253. 52 For one depiction of the oppression that could be brought upon those who owed such taxes, see Philo, Spec. Leg. 3.159–62. The rural economy was less monetized than the urban; see Mitchell, Anatolia I, 245, 255–56. 53 See Keith Bradley, Slavery and Society at Rome (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1994), 55–61, 71–72, and the lengthy description in Columella, Res rustica 1.8.1–1.9.9. Columella gives a clear indication of the strong distinction (in his mind, at least) between rural slaves, hardened to labour, who should be kept away from the towns, and those ‘lazy and sleepy-headed class of servants’ (1.8.2) accustomed to life in the city (cf. also Seneca, De ira 3.29.1). He also discusses the formation of squads or gangs of ten to work (and be guarded) most efficiently (1.9.7–8). It is, however, debated how far the widespread use of slaves on rural estates was characteristic throughout the empire (see Bradley, Slavery, 61). For Asia Minor, Broughton concludes, on the basis of the inscriptional evidence, that ‘[t]here is little evidence for the existence of agricultural slavery in Asia Minor in the Roman period … the use of slaves on the land was largely for household purposes or for management, and that the labor for by far the greater part of agricultural production was performed by free proprietors on small holdings or by free tenants on rented lands’ (T. R. S. Broughton, ‘Roman Asia Minor’, in Tenney Frank (ed.), An Economic Survey of Ancient Rome [Vol. IV; Baltimore: Johns Hopkins Press, 1938], 499–916 [690–91]). Serfdom, Broughton notes (692, 839), was in evidence; see further Geoffrey E. M. De Ste Croix, The Class Struggle in the Ancient Greek World from the Archaic Age to the Arab Conquests (London: Duckworth, 1981), 135–36, 147–62. It is open to question, though, how far the extent of slave use in agriculture would be evident in the inscriptional record; see Bradley, Slavery, 61; more generally on the importance of slavery and serfdom in agricultural production, though focused mostly on an earlier period, see De Ste Croix, Class Struggle, 505–509. See also Mitchell, Anatolia I, 160, 164, for some references to slaves in various administrative and managerial roles on large rural estates (and nn. 141–42 below, on οἰκέται).

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in the countryside.54 For Asia Minor specifically, Mitchell calculates a rough estimate of the division per year of the grain harvest, suggesting that ‘average [rural] peasant consumption would be 225 kilos, average city consumption 720 kilos’.55 Mitchell also notes evidence that the rural diet contained – of necessity – basic and barely digestible foods that city dwellers found hard to stomach, and that rural areas, ironically, may have suffered most in times of famine, since the cities, whose elites controlled much of the agricultural land and its produce, would ‘take away all the wheat and barley that they needed for their own annual consumption and a good proportion of the less favoured crops. The country people would have to live on the residue.’56 Nonetheless such average figures and general observations should not lead us to conclude that the majority of city dwellers were more comfortable than their rural counterparts; as Meggitt stresses, the squalid conditions and consequent disease, expensive accommodation and frequent overcrowding made life harsh and often brief for many of the urban poor.57 The urban poor were unlikely to have been at any significant advantage over their rural counterparts, even if poverty was more consistently evident in the countryside. These economic reconstructions necessarily remain speculative, as Scheidel and Friesen stress, but they give us a broad picture of a socio-economic system dominated by a small, wealthy elite, with a small but significant range of ‘middling’ groups, and a large majority living near subsistence level. This kind of economic scale58 forms an important context in which to locate the early Christians. The models above do not, of course, tell us anything about where the early Christians fitted into this structure. Nor do they inform us about the particular development of Asia Minor in the period immediately prior to and including the time of 1 Peter’s composition. This is a more specific socioeconomic context within which to read and understand the letter.

4.3. Roman imperialism and the development of Asia Minor Roman involvement in Asia Minor – the crucial datum for our period – began in the early second century bce during the reign of Antiochus III.59 More direct 54 Alföldy, Social History, 142–46; cf. 134 on the relatively better situation of the urban lower strata. 55 Mitchell, Anatolia I, 255. 56 Mitchell, Anatolia I, 169. Cf. also De Ste Croix, Class Struggle, 13–14. 57 Cf. Meggitt, Paul, 54 n. 65, 73 n. 186, and the general description of urban poverty on 53–73. Duncan-Jones, Structure and Scale, 104, comments on ‘the heavy mortality in large urban centres of the Mediterranean in the pre-modern period’, often due to infectious disease, for which seasonal peaks are visible. 58 ‘Economy scale’, or ‘economic scale’, seems a more apposite designation for a scale that includes the extremes of wealth as well as poverty, notwithstanding the importance of Friesen’s deliberate bringing of poverty to the centre of attention. 59 For a brief overview of the development of Roman involvement in Asia Minor, see Richard J. A. Talbert, Atlas of Classical History (London and New York: Routledge, 1985), 159.

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governance and control began in 133 bce, when the Attalid kingdom centred around Pergamum was bequeathed to Rome, leading to the creation of the province of Asia.60 Already in this period the Roman elite benefited from the right to collect Asian taxes and from opportunities to acquire land.61 In 74 bce Nicomedes III bequeathed Bithynia to Rome, which, following the pattern for Asia, also became a Roman province.62 The next significant development was the creation of the new province of Pontus in the north-east, following Pompey’s defeat of Mithradates. Pontus was then joined to Bithynia under arrangements made under Pompey in 63 bce.63 Roman involvement in central Asia Minor, the main area of the Galatian or Celtic tribes, culminated in the annexation of the possessions of Amyntas, a Galatian ruler murdered in around 25 ce, and the consequent creation of the province of Galatia.64 This ‘conversion of Amyntas’ kingdom into a province’, Mitchell notes, ‘provided a model for the annexation of a large part of the rest of Anatolia over the following century’.65 As various rulers died, so their territories were added to the province.66 One of the things this indicates – something unavoidably obscured by simple maps of provincial boundaries – is the dynamic process of annexation and provincial expansion, a process difficult to reconstruct from the available sources, which led to frequently changing boundaries. Indeed, between 70 and 112 ce, the likely period of 1 Peter’s composition, Cappadocia was part of the massive province of Galatia (which also incorporated Paphlagonia, Pontus Galaticus, Pontus Polemoniacus, and Armenia Minor during this time; see map 1, p. 239).67 As Mitchell points out, ‘Roman rule brought immense changes to newly annexed areas, but the instruments of these changes were not, for the most part, the governors, but the new social, economic and political conditions entailed by annexation to the empire.’68 Various aspects of these changing conditions warrant brief consideration.69 For detailed discussion, see Broughton, ‘Roman Asia Minor’, 505–98; Mitchell, Anatolia I; A. N. Sherwin-White, Roman Foreign Policy in the East 168 b.c. to a.d. 1 (London: Duckworth, 1984). 60 Broughton, ‘Roman Asia Minor’, 526; Mitchell, Anatolia I, 29; Elliott, 1 Peter, 88. 61 Mitchell, Anatolia I, 29–30. 62 Broughton, ‘Roman Asia Minor’, 526. 63 Mitchell, Anatolia I, 31; Broughton, ‘Roman Asia Minor’, 527–33. 64 Mitchell, Anatolia I, 38–40, 61–63. 65 Mitchell, Anatolia I, 63. 66 See Mitchell, Anatolia I, 63, for details. 67 See Mitchell, Anatolia I, 63, and his detailed discussion of provincial boundaries in Asia Minor 25 bc–ad 235 (Mitchell, Anatolia II, 151–57); also Broughton, ‘Roman Asia Minor’, 597–98. Cf. also Eckhard J. Schnabel, Early Christian Mission, Vol. 2: Paul and the Early Church (Downers Grove, IL and Leicester: IVP & Apollos, 2004), 1617 (fig. 31), though the legend for Schnabel’s two maps of Asia Minor needs to be reversed (cf. fig. 18 p. 1604). 68 Mitchell, Anatolia I, 69; cf. 241. 69 See now the thorough study in Travis B. Williams, ‘Contextualizing Conflict: A Socio-Historical Investigation into the Persecutions of 1 Peter in their Anatolian Setting’, PhD thesis (University of Exeter, 2011), 57–122 (now forthcoming in NovTSup). Williams offers an economic scale, based on the work of Friesen and Longenecker, but focuses specifically on urban centres in Anatolia (109).

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One of the most significant changes is the urbanization that accompanied Roman imperial domination. By deliberate policy and acts of foundation, new cities were established across the provinces of Asia Minor. Mitchell provides a detailed study of the course of such urban establishments, noting that the creation of ‘a patchwork of cities and their territories, each adjacent to its neighbours … constitutes the single most remarkable difference between central Anatolia before it came under Roman rule, and the Asian provinces of the high empire’.70 Indeed, after surveying the relevant evidence, Mitchell concludes that ‘by the end of the Julio-Claudian period most of Pontus, Paphlagonia, north Galatia, Galatian Phrygia, Lycaonia, and Pisidia was divided up between contiguous city territories; only Cappadocia was left outside this pattern of settlement, and remained largely without cities’.71 Moreover, in the period of the Roman empire, the inscriptional evidence shows ‘unequivocally that the plateau was densely populated’.72 This change makes clear how important it is to distinguish pre-Roman and Roman Asia Minor, and (without denying that the coastal areas of the province of Asia were more densely populated and heavily urbanized than the interior plateau)73 should lead us to be cautious about regarding 1 Peter as necessarily addressed to predominantly rural areas, a point to which we shall return.74 This urban development, Roman style, entailed the construction of public buildings, and in particular imperial sanctuaries and temples devoted to the imperial cult. The three Roman cities substantially excavated in central Asia Minor – Ancyra, Pessinus, and Pisidian Antioch – all have as a ‘central feature … a temple dedicated to the imperial cult, built in the time of Augustus or Tiberius’.75 These temples were central and integral to a wider ‘transformation of civic space, whereby imperial buildings literally took over and dominated the urban landscape, thus symbolizing unequivocally the central position that the emperor occupied in city life’.76 The work of Simon Price, Mitchell, and others, has shown how important and prominent was the imperial cult to civic life in the provinces of Asia Minor.77

70 Mitchell, Anatolia I, 80. 71 Mitchell, Anatolia I, 98. 72 Mitchell, Anatolia I, 148. 73 Cf. Mitchell, Anatolia I, 80. 74 Cf. Elliott, 1 Peter, 90: ‘The predominantly rural feature of the provinces other than Asia …’ Jobes, 1 Peter, 22, describes the area to which 1 Peter was addressed as ‘a remote and undeveloped region’, ‘a vast geographical area with small cities few and far between’. 75 Mitchell, Anatolia I, 100. 76 Mitchell, Anatolia I, 107. 77 Simon R. F. Price, Rituals and Power: The Roman Imperial Cult in Asia Minor (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1984); Mitchell, Anatolia I, 100–17. One significant disagreement is that, whereas Price sees the cult as essentially an urban phenomenon, Mitchell argues that its impact and influence also spread through the rural regions; Mitchell, Anatolia I, 102 with n. 18.

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Another major impact of Roman rule was the development of Asia Minor’s network of roads (see map 2, pp. 240–41).78 Facilitating movements of military personnel and supplies, particularly to the Euphrates frontier, was the main reason for this undertaking, but the massive development of the network also, of course, made communications, trade, and travel much easier. The scale of the work should be emphasized: the main highways were, on average, around eight metres wide and covered around 9,000 kilometres.79 The cost of paying for such an enterprise, which would have been so great as to bankrupt the state and would thus also have been impossible for local communities to bear, leads Mitchell to conclude that the task must have entailed a system of unpaid labour forced upon citizens and slaves, often by the military.80 Indeed, military presence – a regular feature of life throughout the region – brought many demands to the communities of Asia Minor. Soldiers were regularly stationed on the roads, protecting routes, collecting fines, and no doubt taking opportunity to make various demands, legitimate and illegitimate, of the local communities,81 which had a duty ‘to feed, clothe, house, and even to provide armour and equipment for the armies’.82 These obligations, Mitchell notes, ‘were a distinct economic burden’.83 Indeed, much of the agricultural produce, especially grain, paid as tax in kind, was probably used to supply the needs of the military.84 As already noted above for the empire generally, so too for Asia Minor agriculture formed the centre of the economy. One of the changes in the Roman period is that – not least due to Roman tax demands forcing people to sell or mortgage their land – ‘much … of the rural territory of central Anatolia was parcelled out into large estates owned by local city gentry, [and] wealthy aristocrats from further afield’, often of Roman or Italian origin. Rural villages formed part of such estates.85 Many country dwellers were thus ‘effectively serfs, tied to the land with obligations to provide the landowner with labour and produce’.86 The foundations of the rural economy were grain and wool, though vines were also cultivated in some parts.87 Salt was an important product of the

78 Mitchell, Anatolia I, 124–36. The map presented on pp. 240–41 draws, with the author’s permission, on several of the maps in Mitchell’s book. 79 Mitchell, Anatolia I, 125–26. 80 Mitchell, Anatolia I, 126–27. 81 See Mitchell, Anatolia I, 118–24, 141. 82 Mitchell, Anatolia I, 134. 83 Mitchell, Anatolia I, 134. 84 Mitchell, Anatolia I, 245–53. 85 See Mitchell, Anatolia I, 148–58, with quotation on 149. Mitchell includes a third category of landowner here – the Roman emperor himself – though it was only in the second century that emperors began to acquire land in this area (see 156). 86 Mitchell, Anatolia I, 176. On serfdom in the ancient Greek and Roman worlds, see De Ste Croix, Class Struggle, 135–36, 147–62. 87 Mitchell, Anatolia I, 144–47.

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province of Galatia88 and quarrying was also a significant economic activity, notably the marble quarrying which was undertaken in the upper Tembris valley west of Ancyra.89 Despite the highly developed road network, due to the high costs of land transport, most trade in the region was probably local, often involving transporting goods and produce from the country into local city markets.90 But there is also evidence for the long-distance transport of goods, not only of items such as marble, but also grain and other produce – much of which, Mitchell argues, would have been taken as a tax contribution in kind and used for military provisions.91 Overall, the detailed picture of Asia Minor’s development presented by Mitchell makes clear the impact of Roman rule and the associated economic and population expansion. The establishment of cities (with contiguous territories) and a major road network are key infrastructural developments, with the wealth of the elite conspicuously displayed in public buildings, imperial temples, baths, and so on. The concentration of wealth and land ownership in relatively few hands fits with the broader outlines of the economic scale outlined above. Indeed, despite the developments of the imperial period, one should not assume that there was any widespread improvement in the economic position of the majority of the population. On the contrary, the demands for taxes and rents, plus the related responsibilities for sustaining the military presence in the region, would have weighed heavily upon the poor, many of whom laboured as peasants on land owned by others. Moreover, while an economic scale such as outlined above presents a profile of economic strata, its picture is inevitably static, thus leaving aside the issue of vulnerability to fluctuations in food availability due to various factors. The poor, needless to say, were most vulnerable to the effects of famine.

4.4. The addressees of 1 Peter 4.4.1. Aliens and strangers? With the contours of recent debate in mind, and the broader context of Roman Asia Minor to inform our investigation, we turn to consider the data in 1 Peter. It is important, first, to assess the implications of the depiction of the addressees as πάροικοι καὶ παρεπίδημοι, since this is central to Elliott’s description of their socio-economic status. Elliott, we recall, took these terms to indicate that the letter’s addressees were ‘resident aliens and transient strangers’, identities which had further implications in terms of their inferior social, economic, and

88 Mitchell, Anatolia I, 147. 89 Mitchell, Anatolia I, 159, 242. 90 Mitchell, Anatolia I, 242, 247. On the relative costs of transport by land and by sea, see Finley, Ancient Economy, 126; Duncan-Jones, Economy, 366–69. 91 Mitchell, Anatolia I, 245–53, esp. 249–50.

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political-legal status. It is only fair to note that few have been convinced by this argument.92 More recently, Karen Jobes has presented a new variation of this proposal for a literal interpretation of the addressees’ identity as πάροικοι καὶ παρεπίδημοι.93 Noting the lack of evidence for evangelization of northern Asia Minor, Jobes suggests that ‘the Christians to whom Peter writes had become Christians elsewhere, had some association with Peter prior to his writing to them, and now found themselves foreigners and resident aliens scattered throughout Asia Minor’.94 One possibility is that the first converts in Asia Minor had been Pentecost pilgrims who heard Peter’s preaching in Jerusalem (Acts 2.9-11).95 More likely, according to Jobes, is that they were among those (probably Jews) converted during a visit of Peter to Rome in the 40s, then deported from Rome and made part of the extensive colonization of Asia Minor under Claudius.96 This intriguing theory is, however, subject to many of the same objections brought against Elliott’s proposal, which Jobes does not adequately address,97 and suffers from major additional difficulties: (1) the uncertainty about any visit of Peter to Rome in the 40s98 and the associated implication of a very 92 See, e.g., Reinhard Feldmeier, Die Christen als Fremde: Die Metapher der Fremde in der antiken Welt, im Urchristentum und im 1. Petrusbrief (WUNT 64; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1992), esp. 203–10; Steven R. Bechtler, Following in his Steps: Suffering, Community, and Christology in 1 Peter (SBLDS 162; Atlanta, GA: Scholars, 1998), 70–82; Achtemeier, 1 Peter, 174–75; Seland, Strangers, 39–78. Those who have followed a similar view to Elliott’s include Armand Puig i Tàrrech, ‘Le Milieu de la Première Épître de Pierre’, Revista Catalona de Teologia 5 (1980), 95–129 (101–16); Scot McKnight, 1 Peter (NIV Application Commentary; Grand Rapids, MI: Zondervan, 1996), 24–26, 47–52; Scot McKnight, ‘Aliens and Exiles: Social Location and Christian Vocation’, WW 24 (2004), 378–86 (381–83); Jobes, 1 Peter, 24–41 (on which see below). Jennifer G. Bird, Abuse, Power and Fearful Obedience: Reconsidering 1 Peter’s Commands to Wives (LNTS 442; London and New York: T&T Clark, 2011) asserts that ‘there can be no doubt that some aspect of their social-political status is forefront [sic] on the author’s mind in relation to these communities’ (63), and translates the terms as ‘immigrants and refugees’, despite subsequently noting that the label paroikos could be used of ‘peasants in the outer-lying areas’ (65). 93 Jobes, 1 Peter, 24–41. 94 Jobes, 1 Peter, 26. 95 Jobes, 1 Peter, 27–28. 96 Jobes, 1 Peter, 28–41. A somewhat comparable idea is suggested by Lapham, Peter, 131, 136, who sees the addressees as literally ‘temporary sojourners’, Christians who had migrated from Babylonia and eastern Syria in the wake of the (Jewish) unrest there under Trajan (early second century ce). 97 It is certainly not the case that ‘[t]he primary objection to Elliott’s specific social reconstruction has been that the relationships between the social and economic classes in first-century Asia Minor are too complex, and the terms that refer to them are understood too imprecisely, to validate Elliott’s hypothesis’ (Jobes, 1 Peter, 31). See below for the much more specific and decisive objections, which equally affect Jobes’ theory. 98 Patristic tradition does record such a visit in the time of Claudius, e.g. in Eusebius HE 2.14.6; 2.17.1; Jerome, De vir. ill. 1.1, but the tradition may or may not have any firm historical foundation. Helga Botermann, Das Judenedikt des Kaisers Claudius: Römischer Staat und Christiani im 1 Jahrhundert (Hermes Einzelschriften 71; Stuttgart: Franz Steiner, 1996), 136–40, develops the idea that Peter visited Rome in the early 40s, as a theory that would explain the unrest

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early date for 1 Peter;99 (2) the lack of any positive evidence to associate Jews expelled from Rome with colonists arriving in Asia Minor in this period (the evidence for the foundation of the Jewish communities of Asia Minor indicates that they were well established from the first century bce, and began earlier still);100 (3) most crucially, a misunderstanding of the character and development of Roman colonies in Asia Minor. Early on, these were indeed true colonies, involving the settlement of Roman veterans and others from Rome,101 but increasingly, especially in Claudius’ time, involving the creation of titular colonies, that is the giving of a colonial title to an existing city as an honour.102 According to the list compiled by E. T. Salmon, only three colonies were actually founded in Asia Minor during the reign of Claudius.103 One problem with Elliott’s argument, which applies equally to Jobes’ theory, has been highlighted by Stephen Bechtler, namely that in extra-biblical Greek the term πάροικος is used to denote a non-citizen, whether native or among the Jews that led to Claudius’ edict. However, she acknowledges that this can be no more than a vague possibility, given the lack of clear evidence. Acts 12.17 gives no direct indication as to the ‘other place’ to which Peter went, though Carsten Peter Thiede, ‘Babylon, der andere Ort: Anmerkungen zu 1 Petr 5,13 und Apg 12,17’, Bib 67 (1986), 532–38, argues that an allusion to Ezek. 12.3 indicates Babylon/Rome. After a lengthy discussion Schnabel, Mission, 2.721–27, concludes cautiously that the evidence does not permit us to draw any confident conclusions about the geographical movements of Peter after his departure from Jerusalem in c. 41 ce. 99 On the date of 1 Peter, see Introduction, n. 6. Jobes’ theory would not absolutely require a particular date for 1 Peter, but if it addresses the situation of colonists sent from Rome in the 40s ce, then a date close to that time is clearly implied. As Jobes comments, implicitly acknowledging that even the early 60s would be quite far beyond this specific context: ‘Even if Peter wrote in the 60s, the colonization of Roman Christians still provides a motivation for the letter to these remote regions’ (Jobes, 1 Peter, 39). 100 As far as I am aware, there is no direct connection between expulsions of Jews from the city of Rome and Roman colonization. On the general topic of expulsions from Rome, see David Noy, Foreigners at Rome: Citizens and Strangers (London: Duckworth, 2002), 37–47, with 41–43 on expulsions of Jews; and on the Jews in Rome under the Julio-Claudians, E. Mary Smallwood, The Jews under Roman Rule: From Pompey to Diocletian (SJLA 20; Leiden: Brill, 1976), 201–19. On the Jewish communities in Asia Minor, see below with nn. 131–34. It is not by any means impossible that some Jews expelled from Rome in the 40s made their way to Asia Minor, where they would have found established Jewish communities. But we have no evidence for this, still less that Jews converted to Christianity in Rome were among such refugees and were later addressed in 1 Peter, and Jobes’ theory simply builds speculation upon silence. 101 Colonies functioned mainly to establish communities with strategic importance and loyalty to Rome, and usually entailed the settlement of army veterans and urban poor from Rome. For an overview, see E. T. Salmon, Roman Colonization under the Republic (London: Thames & Hudson, 1969), 13–28. In a study of the Augustan colonies of southern Asia Minor, Barbara Levick concludes that ‘[t]he overwhelming majority of the colonists … were born in Italy or at least in the west’ (Barbara Levick, Roman Colonies in Southern Asia Minor [Oxford: Clarendon, 1967], 60, cf. 66). She suggests that ‘romanization’ was at least part of the purpose of such colonies, in these areas (184–92). 102 See Salmon, Roman Colonization, esp. ch. 10. Jobes’ appeal to the work of Noy, Foreigners at Rome, and Salmon, Roman Colonization, to support her specific proposals, thus seems, so far as I can see, misplaced. 103 Salmon, Roman Colonization, 160.

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non-native, rather than a resident alien as such.104 As Mitchell notes, the rural population of Anatolia were often described as πάροικοι, περίοικοι, κάτοικοι, κωμέται, or simply as the λαός.105 As such, the description of the addressees as πάροικοι might still allow a significant deduction to be made about their social, political, and economic status. Yet there are also telling difficulties with Elliott’s argument for taking this description in a literal, socio-political sense. The recipients of the letter are initially addressed, as a group, as παρεπίδημοι (1.1), while in 1.17 they are said to live out a παροικία, and in 2.11 are exhorted ὡς παροίκους καὶ παρεπιδήμους. The noun παρεπίδημος is rare in Greek literature, and occurs only twice in the LXX (Gen. 23.4; Ps. 38.13).106 Its pairing with πάροικος in 2.11 suggests that the words function in 1 Peter as a hendiadys, both equally appropriate to describe the addressees, which implies that the author is using the terms to convey something about the character of their experience rather than their literal socio-political status (in which case someone would be either a πάροικος or a παρεπίδημος).107 More crucially still, the use of παρεπίδημος, and the phrase pairing πάροικος with παρεπίδημος, indicates the decisive influence of the LXX on the author’s language. Specifically, 2.11 appropriates the language with which Abraham voices the nature of his residence among the Hittites (Gen. 23.4). There Abraham describes himself as a ‘a stranger and an alien’ (b#$wtw-rg, πάροικος καὶ παρεπίδημος).108 Further texts in the LXX, echoing this selfdescription, already indicate a kind of broadening or spiritualizing of the 104 Bechtler, Following, 71–73. Cf. also Elliott, 1 Peter, 477–78, where the evidence cited indicates that the term πάροικοι stands in distinction to citizens. Elliott recognizes that the term can thus include natives of the locality, such as tenant farmers, but arguably does not take this sufficiently into account. 105 Mitchell, Anatolia I, 176; see 176–78; Broughton, ‘Roman Asia Minor’, 629–40. Cf. De Ste Croix, Class Struggle, 160, on περίοικοι in Greek texts as those without political rights. 106 See esp. Feldmeier, Christen als Fremde, 8–12, who notes: ‘Der ... Begriff παρεπίδημος begegnet sowohl im biblisch-jüdischen wie im paganen Schriftum ausgesprochen selten’ (8, italics original). Cf. also Bechtler, Following, 80; Walter Grundmann, ‘δῆμος, κτλ.’, TDNT 2.64; for occasional references in the papyri, see MM, 493. In literature prior to the time of 1 Peter see, e.g., Polybius, Hist. 32.6.4, who refers to the Greek παρεπίδημοι in Rome; Callixenus Frag. 2. The sense, and the close connection with ξένος – noted by Feldmeier, Christen als Fremde, 10 – is clearly conveyed in a comment from the grammarian Aristophanes, Nomina aetatum p.279.3: Ξένος· ὁ ἐξ ἑτέρας πόλεως παρεπίδημος. Uses of the verbal form παρεπιδημέω are somewhat more common, e.g. in Polybius, Hist. 4.4.1, etc.; Diodorus Siculus, Bib. hist. 1.83.8, etc. The abstract noun παρεπιδημία, ‘residence in a foreign city’ (LSJ, 1337), is occasionally found, as, e.g., metaphorically in Plato, Spuria, p.365.b: παρεπιδημία τίς ἐστιν ὁ βίος; and in Polybius, Hist. 4.4.2; 33.15.2, etc. 107 The use of ὡς might also suggest that the author is giving a metaphorical depiction of their identity, given some such uses of ὡς elsewhere in the letter (1.19; 2.2, 5, 25; 5.8); cf. Achtemeier, 1 Peter, 173 n. 14. However, not all uses of ὡς are of this kind (cf. 2.12-14, 16; 4.1012, 15-16; 5.3, 12), so the point cannot bear any weight. 108 Cited also by Philo, Conf. 79. On the Hebrew coupling see further Joyce Reynolds and Robert Tannenbaum, Jews and God-Fearers at Aphrodisias: Greek Inscriptions with Commentary (Cambridge Philological Society Supplementary Series 12; Cambridge: Cambridge Philological Society, 1987), 48, 58–59.

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term, beyond a strictly literal or socio-political designation.109 Perhaps the clearest example is in 1 Chron. 29.15: πάροικοί ἐσμεν ἐναντίον σου (i.e. Yhwh), clearly spiritualizing, to some extent, since the verse ends: ὡς σκιὰ αἱ ἡμέραι ἡμῶν ἐπὶ γῆς καὶ οὐκ ἔστιν ὑπομονή (‘our days on the earth are like a shadow, and there is no abiding’ [ESV]).110 This does not deny that the terms, at least in 1 Peter, are used to depict a sense of social alienation, or estrangement from the world due to the hostility of the wider society, which seems to me a key point in Elliott’s argument (see further chapter 7).111 It does, however, strongly suggest that the terms as used in 1 Peter do not reflect their use as socio-political designations in Graeco-Roman society but rather their use in Jewish tradition to express the alienation and estrangement of God’s people from the world.112 Indeed, Torrey Seland has shown how these terms are used specifically to denote proselytes.113 ‘This does not mean’, he insists, ‘that the author considered the readers to have been former proselytes but that, in his perception of the social world of his Christian recipients, their social situation had become similar to that of Jewish proselytes.’114 As such, pace Elliott, the terms describe not the addressees’ socio-legal status prior to conversion, but their socio-spiritual status consequent on their conversion. Unfortunately, therefore, this designation of the addressees can tell us nothing about their concrete socio-economic status. If the addressees are not literally πάροικοι, then one major reason to identify them as (mostly) rural dwellers also disappears (see above with n. 105). Other reasons adduced by Elliott – the limited urbanization of much of Asia Minor and the rural metaphors used in the letter (Elliott lists 1.22-24, 2.25, and 5.2-4)115 – are also questionable. Bechtler has rightly pointed out that the supposedly rural metaphors could just as well be used by urban authors for urbanized audiences (cf. 1 Cor. 9.7-10; Gal. 6.7-8), and has noted that many of the images in the letter are not especially rural.116 And as we have seen, one of the most obvious impacts of Roman rule was the establishment of a network of urban centres, linked by a comprehensive network of roads. While, 109 Pace Elliott, Home, 27–29. See further Feldmeier, Christen als Fremde, 39–54, 207–208; Reinhard Feldmeier, ‘The “Nation” of Strangers: Social Contempt and its Theological Interpretations in Ancient Judaism and Early Christianity’, in Mark G. Brett (ed.), Ethnicity and the Bible (Leiden: Brill, 1996), 240–70 (244–47), on ‘self-description as strangers before God’ in the post-exilic situation. 110 Cf. also Lev. 25.23 (πάροικοι... ἐναντίον μου); Ps. 39.12 [38.13 LXX] (πάροικος ἐγώ εἰμι παρὰ σοὶ καὶ παρεπίδημος). 111 Cf. Elliott, Home, 42–43: ‘the fundamental contrast in 1 Peter is not a cosmological but a sociological one: the Christian community set apart from and in tension with its social neighbours’; Elliott, 1 Peter, 481: ‘a condition of social, not cosmological, estrangement’. 112 See the central arguments of Feldmeier, Christen als Fremde; Feldmeier, ‘“Nation” of Strangers’. 113 Torrey Seland, ‘πάροικος καὶ παρεπίδημος: Proselyte Characterizations in 1 Peter?’, BBR 11 (2001), 239–68; repr. in Seland, Strangers, 39–78. 114 Seland, Strangers, 61. 115 Elliott, Home, 63. 116 Bechtler, Following, 67.

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as elsewhere, the majority of the population remained rural, the character of Asia Minor in the first two centuries ce cannot itself substantially support the hypothesis that 1 Peter was primarily addressed to rural areas. Indeed, there are some reasons to suggest the opposite, beyond the general observation that early Christianity seemed initially to spread through the empire as a primarily urban phenomenon.117 Since the letter addresses itself to Christians spread across a vast geographical area, it seems likely, a priori, that what was envisaged was a distribution (using the road and pathway network) linking urban settlements (cf. map 2, pp. 240–41).118 More significantly, the facility in Greek one can expect among the population is higher in the towns than in the countryside. Knowledge of the Greek language was widespread in the country as well as the cities,119 but the epigraphic evidence shows that the Greek used in the cities was the ‘orthodox regular language of high culture’, while the Greek of the countryside was much more variegated, ‘deformed’ grammatically and orthographically.120 It is also in the rural areas that indigenous languages persisted most strongly. Mitchell notes, for example, ‘that Celtic remained widely spoken in Galatia, especially no doubt in the country districts, until late Antiquity’, an observation supported by a comment of Jerome.121 From further afield, but still of relevance, is Irenaeus’ comment on those ‘barbarians’ who cannot read the language of the scriptures, but nonetheless assent to the apostolic rule of faith (Adv. haer. 3.4.2.). Questions remain about the precise quality of the Greek of 1 Peter,122 but it is clearly a literary text which demands a good level of facility in the language in order to understand it. This does not 117 For more detailed arguments along these lines, see Williams, ‘Contextualizing Conflict’, 62–68. 118 The suggestion that the sequence of provinces/areas named in the letter opening (1.1) reflects the likely route of the letter carrier, beginning at a port in Pontus, was first made by H. Ewald, Sieben Sendschreiben des Neuen Bundes (Göttingen: Dieterichsche Buchhandlung, 1870), 2–3, and developed (with the idea of Silvanus as bearer) by F. J. A. Hort, The First Epistle of St. Peter I.1–II.17: The Greek Text with Introductory Lecture, Commentary, and Additional Notes (London: Macmillan, 1898 [repr. Eugene, OR: Wipf & Stock, 2005]), 168–84, and further refined by Colin J. Hemer, ‘The Address of 1 Peter’, ExpTim 89 (1978), 239–43, who argues for Amisus rather than Sinope as the starting point for the route. For a map suggesting a possible route for Silvanus, see Elliott, 1 Peter, 93. 119 Jobes’ comment that ‘Greek or Latin was spoken only by administrative officials’ (Jobes, 1 Peter, 20; cf. 22) is certainly inaccurate. 120 See Mitchell, Anatolia I, 174–75, who notes that ‘the Greek language was widely if unevenly adopted in the countryside of Anatolia’ and that ‘a majority of the inhabitants of Asia Minor were, in some measure, bilingual in Greek and an indigenous language’. 121 Mitchell, Anatolia I, 50; see further 50–51, 172–75. Jerome comments, in the Preface to Book 2 of his Commentary on Galatians: ‘While the Galatians, in common with the whole East, speak Greek, their own language is almost identical with that of the Treviri’ (that is, the translator notes, ‘the people who lived between the Moselle and the Forest of Ardennes in and about the modern Treves’; NPNF II.6, 497 n. 4). Cf. also Acts 14.11, where Paul and Barnabas are acclaimed by crowds in Lystra Λυκαονιστί, ‘in the Lycaonian language’. 122 See, e.g., Jobes’ use of comparative analysis to demonstrate that the Greek of 1 Peter may well reflect the work of someone for whom Greek was not their first language; Jobes, 1 Peter, 6–8, 325–38.

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by any means prove that it was written with urban congregations in mind, but it does make this scenario somewhat more likely than that the addressees were mostly in rural areas. Pliny makes a relevant comment when he remarks that Christianity has spread through ‘not only the towns, but villages and rural districts too’ (Ep. 10.96.9: Neque civitates tantum, sed vicos etiam atque agros …). While this reveals that Christianity, by the time of Pliny’s letter, was indeed evident in the countryside as well as the cities, the wording also implies that Christianity was initially and most naturally an urban phenomenon that had by this time – the early second century – begun to spread even to the rural areas.123 4.4.2. Ethnic-religious identity It is also pertinent to enquire whether the addressees were likely to have been Jews or gentiles. The opening verse of the epistle addresses its readers in thoroughly Jewish terms, as ‘the elect strangers of the Diaspora’ (1.1; cf. Jas 1.1). Moreover, 1 Peter is a letter particularly saturated with quotations and allusions to the Jewish scriptures (cf. §5.1). From the time of the early Church onwards, interpreters have therefore taken 1 Peter as a letter addressed to Jews (e.g. Eusebius, HE 3.1.2; 3.4.2, Jerome, De vir. ill. 1). Later, Calvin and Wesley are among those who make a similar assumption,124 one still represented, albeit as a minority position, in recent scholarship.125 However, the trend in recent scholarship has been to argue that the letter is addressed to (mostly) gentile converts, given the ways in which it depicts their former lifestyle.126 Particularly significant are references to their ‘former ignorance’ (1.14), to being ransomed from ‘futile ways’ (1.18), once ‘not a people … now God’s people’ (2.10), and especially to their having spent time enough living like the gentiles do (4.3-4). The author depicts this as a wicked and debauched lifestyle, and comments that their neighbours are surprised 123 Cf. Judge, Social Pattern, 61: ‘Pliny accepted the fact that Christians represented a broad cross-section of society, from Roman citizens downwards, but reserved his surprise, apart from their numbers, in which he is an alarmist, for the ominous fact that the new religion was infecting not merely the cities, but the countryside. Until then however we may safely regard Christianity as a socially well backed movement of the great Hellenistic cities.’ Judge’s view of Christianity as a movement dominated by the well-to-do of the cities is open to serious question, but his point about the primarily urban focus of early Christianity seems better founded. 124 John Calvin, Calvin’s Commentaries: The Epistle of Paul the Apostle to the Hebrews and the First and Second Epistles of St. Peter (Edinburgh and London: Oliver & Boyd, 1963 [1551]), 230, insists that the word ‘dispersion’ ‘can apply only to the Jews’; John Wesley, Explanatory Notes upon the New Testament (London: Epworth, 1976 [1754]), sees the recipients as Jewish Christians (‘the Christians, chiefly those of Jewish extraction’). 125 Mitchell, Anatolia II, 3, apparently regards the letter as addressed to Jews. Lapham, Peter, 119–20, supports the ‘traditional’ view, though he sees the addressees as Jewish Christians. See also Ben Witherington III, Letters and Homilies for Hellenized Christians. Vol. 2: A SocioRhetorical Commentary on 1–2 Peter (Downers Grove, IL: InterVarsity, 2007), 25–36. 126 See, e.g., Mark Dubis, ‘Research on 1 Peter: A Survey of Scholarly Literature Since 1985’, CBR 4 (2006), 199–239 (204–205); Reinhard Feldmeier, Der erste Brief des Petrus (THNT 15/1; Leipzig: Evangelische Verlagsanstalt, 2005), 29; Brox, Petrusbrief, 25; Elliott, Home, 45–46.

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that they no longer join in. While it is perhaps not impossible that the author depicted Jewish converts in these ways,127 it seems highly unlikely, and much more likely to refer to people who have converted from a gentile way of life, which Jews not infrequently criticized as idolatrous and immoral (e.g. Deut. 29.16-18; Isa. 46.1-10; Wis. 13–15; 1 Macc. 1.41-64; Bel. 1.1-22). The letter, then, seems to envisage, or imply, an audience of predominantly gentile converts.128 Determining the actual composition of the communities to which 1 Peter was sent is naturally more difficult and inevitably somewhat speculative. While the verses cited immediately above seem to imply a gentile audience, Elliott also finds reasons to suggest that there were at least some Jews among the readership; he comments that ‘the use of and appeal to the Jewish Scriptures’, and to significant events, venerated figures, and ‘honorific predicates of the ancient people of God … suggest readers of Jewish origin or with previous Jewish background, for whom such tradition would have most meaning and weight’.129 Yet this latter evidence is far from direct, and the question of how well an audience understood the scriptural quotations and allusions in an early Christian letter is a rather open one, as Christopher Stanley has suggested.130 There were significant numbers of Jews in Asia Minor, with communities established since at least the third century bce, perhaps earlier.131 Philo states that there were great numbers of Jews in every city of Asia (Leg. Gai. 33 §245).132 Indeed, ‘[f]rom the first century b.c., substantial testimony exists of a considerable Jewish diaspora in Asia Minor’.133 Evidence is strongest for Jewish communities in the cities, but there is also evidence for some rural groups.134 It is entirely possible, then, that among the converts to Christianity addressed by the author of 1 Peter were some Jews. Also entirely plausible is that some of the converts were previously among the Jewish sympathizers referred to – it would seem – as σεβομένοι τὸν θεόν, 127 So Jobes, 1 Peter, 23–24. 128 Bechtler, Following, 61–64; Williams, ‘Contextualizing Conflict’, 85–89. 129 Elliott, Home, 55–56 n. 77; further Elliott, 1 Peter, 95–96. 130 Christopher Stanley, Arguing With Scripture: The Rhetoric of Quotations on the Letters of Paul (London and New York: Continuum, 2004). 131 See Josephus, Ant. 12.147–53 on the sending of Jews by Antiochus III from Babylon to central Anatolia; Emil Schürer, The History of the Jewish People in the Age of Jesus Christ (175 b.c.–a.d. 135) (rev. edn Geza Vermes, Fergus Millar, Matthew Black, and Martin Goodman; vol 3.1; Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1986), 17; Mitchell, Anatolia II, 32. For possibly earlier presence, including settlement in Sardis, see Schürer, History, 17, 20–21. 132 Cf. Mitchell, Anatolia II, 33: ‘By the mid-first century bc there were impressive concentrations of Jews in several Phrygian cities’. 133 Schürer, History, 18. The most importance literary evidence is from Josephus, Ant. 14.185–267; 16.160–78; Cicero, pro Flacco 28.66–69, but substantial archaeological and inscriptional evidence fills out the picture. For a survey of this evidence see Schürer, History, 17– 38; Mitchell, Anatolia II, 31–37; and for a study of the Jewish communities of Asia Minor, Paul R. Trebilco, Jewish Communities in Asia Minor (SNTSMS 69; Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1991). 134 Mitchell, Anatolia II, 35–36.

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φοβούμενοι τὸν θεόν, or θεοσεβής.135 As such they would have had some prior knowledge of Judaism and its scriptures, without having become full proselytes, and would therefore have been better placed to understand the letter than those without such knowledge. It remains open to question, though, how far such sympathizers – who had already demonstrated their attraction to the Jewish ethic and way of life – could be described as having lived in ignorance, following their passions (1.14), or as having indulged these passions as the gentiles do (4.2-3). These depictions, as we have already noted, seem to indicate converts who have turned away from what Christians and Jews often depicted as the excess and immorality of the gentile way of life. Whether they might refer to Jews and godfearers, as well as to other gentile converts, depends in part on how far this is a polemical and rhetorical depiction of the contrast between their pre and post-conversion lives rather than any kind of empirically accurate description. It is difficult, then, to adduce solid evidence for firm conclusions as to the likely ethnic-religious composition of the communities addressed in 1 Peter. Indeed, the difficulty is compounded by the likelihood that, on the ground, the categories of Jew, Christian, and gentile (itself a generalizing label that lumps non-Jews into one category) were far less clear-cut or demarcated than scholarly discussion often implies.136 The most plausible conclusion, nonetheless, is the view that currently stands as the scholarly consensus: that the Christian groups to which 1 Peter was addressed were largely, but by no means exclusively, comprised of former gentiles who had converted to this new way of life. 4.4.3. Socio-economic status Elliott’s interpretation of the addressees of 1 Peter as πάροικοι and παρεπίδημοι formed the basis, as we have seen, for a clear hypothesis regarding their socioeconomic level: generally, they were ‘from the working proletariat of the urban 135 For a cautious discussion, see Schürer, History, 165–69, concluding that ‘these expressions in Greek could be used to refer to a category of gentiles who were in some definite way attached to Jewish synagogues’ (168) and whose observance of Jewish law would probably have included sabbath observance and dietary laws, though not circumcision, which was required for full conversion (169). See also Mitchell, Anatolia II, 8 n. 59; 31–32; Reynolds and Tannenbaum, Jews and God Fearers. On the importance of the godfearers for the early Christian (Pauline) mission, see Theissen, Social Setting, 102–104. The scepticism of A. T. Kraabel seems unwarranted; see A. T. Kraabel, ‘The Disappearance of the “God-fearers”’, Numen 28 (1981), 113–26; A. T. Kraabel, ‘Greeks, Jews and Lutherans in the Middle Half of Acts’, HTR 79 (1986), 147–57; and discussion in T. M. Finn, ‘The God-fearers Reconsidered’, CBQ 47 (1985), 75–84; I.A. Levinskaya, ‘The Inscription from Aphrodisias and the Problem of God-Fearers’, TynBul 41 (1990), 312–18. 136 Mitchell, Anatolia II, 35, notes evidence for close fraternization between Jews and Christians, and later efforts to prevent this. Cf. further Judith M. Lieu, ‘“The Parting of the Ways”: Theological Construct or Historical Reality?’, JSNT 56 (1994), 101–19, repr. in Judith M. Lieu, Neither Jew Nor Greek? Constructing Early Christianity (SNTW; Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 2002), 11–29.

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and rural areas’, mostly the latter, and in ‘an inferior economic position’.137 If Elliott’s interpretation of the terms πάροικος and παρεπίδημος does not in the end convince, then all the associated implications about the status and location of the addressees also fall away. We need then to return to the letter to ask whether there are any other hints concerning the socio-economic location of the recipients. There are indeed a few points worthy of attention, mostly (though not exclusively) in the so-called domestic code (2.18–3.7), even if the amount of evidence they represent is slim. It is significant that the first group the writer addresses specifically in this table of ethical instruction is the οἰκέται. It is possible, as Elliott has suggested, that the use of the term οἰκέται reflects, in part, the author’s focus on house(hold) imagery as a central metaphor for the Church.138 The οἰκέται are thus paradigmatic for all the believers, and their exhortation to follow in the footsteps of Christ, even in suffering, is a pattern for all within the Church.139 It may be questioned, however, whether the οἶκος-metaphor is as prominent and central to the letter as Elliott has argued.140 In any case, it seems that the description of some members of the Church as οἰκέται is intended as one that will literally match their social position: they are instructed to submit to their masters (δεσπόται), even to those who are cruel (2.18-20). This designation, as opposed to the more generic and common δοῦλοι, suggests that these are domestic slaves, used in the household rather than in agricultural or industrial activity.141 This does not exclude the possibility of a rural location, though it does more likely point to an urban context, where the majority of οἰκέται were used.142 Given the variety of slave roles and status, and of owners’ treatment of their slaves, it would be misleading to imply that the socio-economic standing of all slaves was identical.143 Nonetheless, in general slaves were allocated rations, clothing, and living quarters that were basic, amounting to ‘a fairly bleak material regime for most Roman slaves’.144 This does not mean 137 Elliott, Home, 70. 138 Elliott, Home, 200–208. 139 Elliott, Home, 206–207; Elliott, 1 Peter, 523. 140 Feldmeier, Christen als Fremde, 205–206. Note the use of δοῦλοι in 2.16. 141 Broughton, ‘Roman Asia Minor’, 840, concludes: ‘If, however, slaves were little used in agriculture or in industry, the large number attested for Pergamum and probably existent in many of the other cities must have been used chiefly for household services; it is true that the great majority of the slaves and freedmen that are mentioned in inscriptions did belong to this class.’ Even if the opening comment may be open to some doubt (see n. 53 above), the prevalence of domestic slaves, at least in urban settings, remains likely. See also Spicq, TLNT 1.384; OCD, 1415; Philo, Spec. Leg. 1.127. 142 A point also made by Elliott, Home, 69. An inscription from Sardis detailing the estate of Mnesimachus, which includes villages with their inhabitants, shows that the word οἰκέτης could also be used of slaves in such rural contexts; see Broughton, ‘Roman Asia Minor’, 631–32. 143 Slaves were appointed to a range of positions, with a consequently varied status, both in rural and urban contexts: see further Dale B. Martin, Slavery as Salvation: The Metaphor of Slavery in Pauline Christianity (London and New Haven: Yale University Press, 1990), 1–49. On the variety of roles, material welfare and power, see Bradley, Slavery, 55–80. 144 See Bradley, Slavery, 81–106, with quotation on 89; also Meggitt, Paul, 54 n. 65.

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that slaves’ living conditions were necessarily any worse than for many of the empire’s free poor; indeed, slaves may have had somewhat greater material security given their owners’ duty and incentive to provide for them.145 But, as Keith Bradley points out, ‘slaves were especially vulnerable in times of crisis’; Dio, for example, refers to an occasion in 6 ce when, due to a severe famine in Rome, gladiators and the slaves that were for sale ‘were banished to a distance of one hundred miles’.146 Moreover, Bradley notes, ‘[e]ven when food was not in short supply it was axiomatic that slaves should eat the poorest and cheapest food in the household’.147 All this implies that, despite the inevitable risk of over-generalizing, we should place the οἰκέται in ES6, that is, ‘at subsistence level’, with the possibility that some might slip into ES7, especially during times when food was particularly scarce.148 It is difficult to know what significance to draw from the fact that slaveowners are not directly addressed in the household code. Elliott takes this to ‘suggest that pagan masters are assumed’,149 such that there is no corresponding group of owners/masters within the churches addressed.150 This is, however, a precarious assumption, given the other New Testament texts where reciprocal teaching is also lacking, but where the existence of household heads among the believers is explicitly indicated.151 Indeed, as we shall see below, there are some indications of the presence of male heads of household among the addressees of the letter. The instruction to wives (3.1-6) supports the view that, in at least some instances, Christian slaves, and certainly Christian wives, were in households where the paterfamilias was not a Christian (3.2). Given the general view that it was the duty of household members to follow the religion(s) of the head of the household, it is unsurprising if these Christians found themselves in situations of particular difficulty, where suffering for their faith might well occur.152 It is understandable in such a context that the author’s advice to wives is to make their new faith appealing through their pure and quiet demeanour rather than through speaking about it aloud (ἄνευ λόγου; 3.1-2). Nonetheless, despite the 145 Bradley, Slavery, 92. 146 Dio, Rom. hist. 55.26.1; Bradley, Slavery, 100. 147 Bradley, Slavery, 101; cf. Tertullian, Apol. 14.1; Musonius, Frag. 18B (for text and ET see Cora E. Lutz, ‘Musonius Rufus: “The Roman Socrates”’, Yale Classical Studies 10 [1947], 3–147 [118–19]). 148 Illustrating the difficulties of the terminology here, Holmberg, ‘Historical Reconstruction’, 262, comments: ‘People who live below the minimum existence for more than a month are only found in graves.’ Periodic fluctuations lead to malnutrition, which can of course be chronic, for people struggling at the margins of survival. 149 Elliott, 1 Peter, 516. 150 Elliott, 1 Peter, 95. 151 See esp. the instruction to slaves in 1 Tim. 6.1-2 and Tit. 2.9-10, where it is clear that the leaders of the churches are heads of household (1 Tim. 3.1-12; Tit. 1.5-7). First Timothy 3.12 indicates that these households included more than just wife and children. Other New Testament texts containing household codes do, of course, offer reciprocal instruction to slaves and masters (Col. 3.22–4.1; Eph. 6.5-9). 152 See Plutarch Mor. 140D; Balch, Wives; Elliott, 1 Peter, 557–58.

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arguments of some commentators, the author does not imply that marriage to a non-believer was by any means the norm for wives in the churches.153 Nor, we might suggest, was it necessarily the norm for Christian slaves. The instruction to ‘be subject to your own husbands’, etc. applies equally to those with believing husbands, as the example of Sarah and Abraham suggests.154 The instruction to wives concerning their proper adornment (κόσμος) – not the external adornment of braided hair, gold, and clothing, but the inner adornment of a gentle and quiet spirit (3.3-4) – picks up a topos common in Jewish, Greek, and Roman moral exhortation. Plutarch expresses the point in a very similar way: ‘“Adornment” (κόσμος), said Crates, “is what adorns”; and what adorns a woman is what makes her better ordered (κοσμιωτέραν) – not gold, nor emerald nor scarlet, but whatever gives an impression of dignity (σεμνότης), discipline (εὐταξία), and modesty (αἰδώς)’ (Mor. 141E).155 In early Christian literature there is an especially close parallel in 1 Tim. 2.9-10, and, as Elliott notes, the Church Fathers show considerable interest in this text in 1 Peter, taking it to establish ‘an authoritative prohibition of external adornment for Christian women’.156 Bruce Winter has drawn attention to the emergence of so-called ‘new women’ from the first century bce onwards – women who, at least in the eyes of their critics, adorned themselves elaborately and were sexually promiscuous – and has argued that this is a relevant background for understanding the instructions to women and wives in the Pauline communities (especially the Pastoral Epistles).157 153 Beare, First Epistle of Peter, 153, commenting on εἴ τινες κτλ., asserts: ‘There is no suggestion that these are exceptional cases; the implication of the whole passage, on the contrary, is that the women whom he is addressing are nearly all married to pagan husbands.’ Elliott, 1 Peter, 557, more correctly interprets the force of the phrase: ‘The conditional formulation “even if” (kai ei) indicates that the author allows for the fact that “some” (tines) of the husbands mentioned in v 1b may be nonbelievers.’ 154 Pace Achtemeier, 1 Peter, 210: ‘What is clear is that the conduct of wives with nonChristian husbands is the chief concern of the author here.’ This emphasis enables Achtemeier to make the implausible and apologetic claim that this passage (vv. 1-6) says ‘nothing … about the general status of women within the Christian community, or within Christian marriage’ (208), but that v. 7 indicates the ‘equality between men and women inherent within the Christian community’ (219), an ‘equality … enjoined as a Christian duty’ (209). 155 Text and ET from Sarah B. Pomeroy (ed.), Plutarch’s Advice to the Bride and Groom and A Consolation to his Wife. English Translations, Commentary, Interpretive Essays, and Bibliography [New York, Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1999]), also cited in Elliott, 1 Peter, 563. Cf. also Mor. 144D, 145E–146. For comparable statements from a Pythagorean community, see Elliott, 1 Peter, 563–64 with n. 174. For critique of women’s finery in the Jewish tradition, see Isa. 3.16–4.1; T. Reub. 5.1-6; Philo, Sac. 21; Virt. 39–40. See further Alicia J. Batten, ‘Neither Gold nor Braided Hair (1 Timothy 2.9; 1 Peter 3.3): Adornment, Gender and Honour in Antiquity’, NTS 55 (2009), 484–501. 156 Elliott, 1 Peter 565, with nn. 175–76. One of the most prominent and extended examples is Tertullian, De cultu fem. 157 Bruce W. Winter, Roman Wives, Roman Widows: The Appearance of New Women and the Pauline Communities (Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 2003). Winter claims that the existence of these ‘new women’ was previously ‘unknown to Pauline scholars’ (xii), but he misses the work of Jouette M. Bassler, ‘The Widows’ Tale: A Fresh Look at 1 Tim. 5:3-16’, JBL 103 (1984), 23–41, which he does not cite, even in his chapter on 1 Tim. 5 (123–40).

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If a similar background is in view in 1 Peter, then this author too may be reacting against the (potential) influence of these new values on the wives of the Christian communities. Winter sees the phenomenon of the ‘new woman’ as one originating in upper-class Roman circles, but notes that the influence of these new values filtered down through society.158 For Elliott, this echo of ‘conventional sentiments concerning appropriate attire … reveals little or nothing about the actual social status of the wives addressed’.159 Others, however, take a different view. Francis W. Beare comments on v. 3: It is implied that the Christian communities included among their members women of wealth and position. Slave girls and women of the poor might indeed try to make themselves attractive by putting up their hair in braids and by giving some attention to their dress, but they would hardly need the warning against flaunting gold jewellry. Even the ἐμπλοκῆς τριχῶν – ‘the braiding of hair’ – suggests the services of the hairdresser, and the ἐνδύσεως ἱματίων – literally ‘the putting on of garments’ – clearly implies sumptuousness, and perhaps even such elaborate dressing as would require the help of maids.160

Beare is probably guilty of reading too much from the text here, just as interpreters influenced later by the so-called ‘new consensus’ have often taken restricted hints in the texts to imply considerable wealth and social position and have rightly been criticized for this.161 Nonetheless, just because the pattern of instruction is an established topos does not mean we should entirely dismiss its socio-economic relevance. The wives addressed by the author of 1 Peter are

158 Winter, Roman Wives, 8. Winter supports the ‘new consensus’ view, which ‘means that the possibility of some Christian women belonging to, or being influenced by, the upper-class values of the “new” woman cannot be discounted a priori’. However, Winter stresses that the new consensus ‘does not argue that all [such Christians] were from the upper social registers, or even the middle class, which is an inaccurate classification of first-century society’. The influence of the ‘new woman’ phenomenon ‘filtered down from the Senatorial ranks to women in the wider Roman society’ (8). 159 Elliott, 1 Peter, 564. 160 Beare, First Epistle of Peter, 155. 161 E.g. because Gaius is host to the whole church at Corinth, he ‘is evidently a man of some wealth’ (Meeks, First Urban Christians, 57); Phoebe functions as a ‘protector or patroness of many Christians’ and so ‘is an independent woman … who has some wealth’ (60). Cf. also Theissen, Social Setting, 69–119. A striking example is found in Anthony Thiselton’s recent comments on Chloe: on the basis solely of the reference to οἱ Χλόης (1 Cor. 1.11) and the view that ‘in its first-century Roman period the city [of Corinth] hummed with wealth’ she is seen as a ‘businesswoman’ who has likely sent her ‘middle managers to Corinth’ to conduct her business on her behalf (Anthony C. Thiselton, First Corinthians: A Shorter Exegetical and Pastoral Commentary [Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 2006], 6–7); cf. Thiselton, Corinthians, 121, where she is termed a ‘wealthy Asian woman’. For the most extended and penetrating critique of such deductions, see Meggitt, Paul. In relation to Gaius and the issue of housing, see also Horrell, ‘Domestic Space’.

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instructed not to adorn themselves in this ostentatious way (ὧν ἔστω οὐχ …) and are given positive role models of submission and obedience from the Jewish scriptural tradition, the most relevant source of authoritative guidance for the author (3.5-6). A more cautious conclusion, then, is that of Jobes, who comments that ‘at least some’ of those addressed ‘actually have enough wealth to make this instruction meaningful’.162 There is precious little information, of course, to enable us to define what ‘enough wealth’ might mean here, and where these wives might be placed on the economic scale. On the one hand, warning against such external adornment by no means requires that the level of wealth is that of the highest social groups (ES1–3), of whose presence there is no hint in the letter. On the other hand, it does suggest that these are people living above bare subsistence (ES5–7), with some surplus resources at least at times.163 That would suggest the ‘middling’ groups of ES4, if not higher. The instruction to Christian husbands (3.7) – whether their wives are assumed to be Christian or not164 – yields no relevant information on their likely socio-economic status, though we can assume that this is the same as (and certainly not lower than) their wives, so, for some at least, probably ES4. There may be a little more information, though still only minimal data, in the later reference to πρεσβύτεροι (5.1-5). Commentators have long debated what exactly this term denotes, and whether it refers primarily to age or to a position of leadership. Alastair Campbell has persuasively argued that, at this early period of Christian history, the term refers not to an ecclesiastical office as such, nor simply to age, but rather to a position of seniority, denoting those who are leaders of the early Christian communities by virtue of their social position as heads of households.165 This helps to explain, on the one hand, why the term has some associations which seem primarily to do with age (cf. 5.5; also 1 Clem. 3.3; 57.1-2; Tit. 2.2-4), and, on the other hand, why the

162 Jobes, 1 Peter, 204; cf. also Batten, ‘Neither Gold’, 497; Witherington, 1–2 Peter, 35. Jobes also refers here to the addressees as being ‘among the “foreigners and resident aliens”’ of Asia Minor, but for critique of her view on this description of the letter’s recipients, see above. 163 Domestic slaves could sometimes be elaborately dressed by their owners, including jewellery, though this was a means to display the wealth and status of their owners, who would be even more sumptuously dressed, and was not something over which slaves had any control. See Bradley, Slavery, 87–88. 164 While the majority of commentators assume a Christian wife, arguments to the contrary have been presented by Carl D. Gross, ‘Are the Wives of 1 Peter 3.7 Christians?’, JSNT 35 (1989), 89–96. Cf. Jobes, 1 Peter, 207–208, who makes the point that this instruction may include the situation of a husband with an unbelieving wife. 165 Campbell, Elders, with summary on 236–51; followed, for example, by Elliott, 1 Peter, 813–15; Jobes, 1 Peter, 302–303. For some critical remarks on aspects of Campbell’s thesis as they relate to the somewhat earlier period of the genuine Pauline epistles, see David G. Horrell, ‘Leadership Patterns and the Development of Ideology in Early Christianity’, in David G. Horrell (ed.), Social-Scientific Approaches to New Testament Interpretation (Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1999), 309–37 (315–20), and in relation to 1 Clement, Horrell, Social Ethos, 247–48.

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terms πρεσβύτερος and ἐπίσκοπος (here ἐπισκοπέω)166 are interchangeable.167 There is evidently also some connection with seniority in the faith (cf. 1 Cor. 16.15-18; 1 Tim. 3.4-6), hence the corresponding instruction here to νεώτεροι, a term Elliott persuasively argues to refer to ‘the most recent converts of the community’.168 The πρεσβύτεροι addressed in 1 Peter, then, may well include some of the masters and husbands whose slaves and wives are also members of the community. These male heads of household have a responsibility as leaders of the churches, and are instructed in this role.169 What one can reasonably deduce from this about their socio-economic level, however, is rather little. Nothing requires or implies that such senior figures, even if they be heads of households, have wealth or high social status.170 Similarly, while the vocabulary of ‘doing good’ (cf. 2.12, 14-15; 3.16-17; 4.19; etc.) could be used to describe the euergetism of wealthy benefactors, it is by no means restricted to such deeds, as 2.20 (and probably 3.6) clearly shows, together with the scriptural texts whose language is quoted in 3.10-11. Thus these references cannot be taken to indicate anything about the socio-economic standing of the addressees – and particularly the male householders – of the letter.171 If some of their households include οἰκέται, as we may plausibly assume, then they would not appear to be among the most destitute, and, of course, have a 166 ἐπισκοποῦντες should probably be accepted here, though it is omitted in )*, B, 323, and some citations and versions. It is supported by P72, )2, A, Ψ, 33, 69, 1739, and many other miniscules, the Latin versions, and became the established Byzantine reading. For discussion, see Metzger, TCGNT, 625; Michaels, 1 Peter, 276 n. b. 167 Cf. 1 Clem. 42.4-5; 44.4-5; Tit. 1.5-7. Notably parallel to the use of πρεσβύτερος, ποιμαίνω, and ἐπισκοπέω in 1 Pet. 5.1-2 is Acts 20.17, 28, where the same three roots are used to describe the position and calling of the Ephesian church leaders. 168 Elliott, 1 Peter, 840; see 836–40 for the weighing of various scholarly proposals. 169 Cf. Horrell, ‘Leadership Patterns’, 330. Such a pattern of instruction is especially clear in the Pastoral Epistles, where the ἐπίσκοποι, πρεσβύτεροι, and διάκονοι, as leaders of the churches, have responsibilities for respectable citizenship and good household management (1 Tim. 3.1-13; Tit. 1.5-9). 170 Among the instructions given to them is a warning to fulfil their responsibilities μηδὲ αἰσχροκερδῶς ἀλλὰ προθύμως (5.2). Although this adverb appears only here in the New Testament and LXX, related words and similar warnings are found elsewhere, notably in the Pastorals’ instructions to church leaders (see 1 Tim. 3.3, 8; 6.10; 2 Tim 3.2; Tit. 1.7, 11; also Heb. 13.5; Did. 3.5; 15.1, etc.). When listing the qualities required of a military general, Onosander mentions that he should be frugal and not given to avarice (De imp. off. 1.1). Indeed, as Elliott, 1 Peter, 829, notes, it was ‘conventional opinion that the gaining (kerdainō) of wealth for oneself was highly shameful (aischros)’. It is therefore unsurprising that early Christian leaders were warned against such greed, especially given the established obligation of congregations to provide support for leaders (e.g. 1 Cor. 9.4-14; Did. 11–13). But I do not think the warning in itself says anything significant about the socio-economic level of the πρεσβύτεροι here. 171 Pace Bruce W. Winter, Seek the Welfare of the City: Christians as Benefactors and Citizens (First-Century Christians in the Graeco-Roman World; Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 1994), 25–40, esp. 26, 33, 37, 39; also Witherington, 1–2 Peter, 35. For an extended consideration and critique of this interpretation of ‘doing good’ in 1 Peter, see Travis B. Williams, Good Works in 1 Peter: A Sociological and Theological Response to Early Christian Suffering (WUNT 2; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, forthcoming).

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social status higher than that of the slaves they own, even if they own only one or two.172 Again, we might very tentatively point to ES4–5 as a plausible but by no means necessary location for such people. The specific data, it is clear, are very limited.

4.5. Conclusions The first conclusion to be drawn from this survey is a negative one. The description of the addressees as πάροικοι and παρεπίδημοι cannot serve as an indication of their socio-economic status. Elliott’s social profile of the addressees – as mostly rural, at the lower end of the economic and social scale – based largely as it is on his conclusions regarding what it meant to be a πάροικος or a παρεπίδημος, does not bear critical scrutiny. This is an unfortunate conclusion, since Elliott’s ground-breaking work offered the promise of a more detailed socio-economic profile than is otherwise possible. But the foundations cannot support the edifice. Without the hypothesis about the socio-economic location of πάροικοι and παρεπίδημοι, there is much less that can be said about the profile of the letter’s recipients. Nonetheless, some tentative conclusions are still possible. There is little to support the view that the addressees are mostly country dwellers. Indeed, the hints in the letter, and the broader evidence, suggest the opposite. Instead of 1 Peter being ‘a notable exception’ to the generally urban focus of earliest Christianity,173 it seems unexceptional insofar as the most likely setting for its addressees is households in urban centres, as we find in the Pauline letters. We should beware of too confident a conclusion here, however, not least due to our ignorance of so much about the location and spread of earliest Christianity.174 While urban centres emerge most prominently and obviously as the focus of early Christian activity, we can hardly rule out significant Christian presence in villages and the countryside, as Pliny indicates in 111–12 ce (Ep. 10.96.9). In terms of their ethnic-religious mix, again, much like the evidence from the Pauline letters, the indications from 1 Peter are that the converts to Christianity are largely gentile (perhaps including former godfearers) but also include some Jews.

172 It is also reasonable, therefore, to note that the addressees include both free persons and slaves (Elliott, 1 Peter, 95). Whether it is right to take 2.13-17 as ‘specific instruction’ for ‘free persons’, as Elliott does, on the basis of 2.16 (ὡς ἐλεύθεροι), is more open to question, since the depiction of the addressees as ‘free’ here might express a theological conviction more than a sociological description, as in 1 Cor. 7.22. 173 Elliott, 1 Peter, 90. 174 Paul, for example, refers on a number of occasions to various provinces, leaving open the precise location and spread of Christians within those areas; e.g. Rom. 15.26; 2 Cor. 1.1; 11.10; 1 Thess. 1.7-8.

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In terms of socio-economic status, the churches addressed in 1 Peter contained both domestic slaves, relatively low in social status, and probably living around subsistence level, and free persons, some of whom may have been male householders and masters whose seniority and socio-economic status gave them a position of authority within the community. The women of the communities included at least some with sufficient resources to make elaborate dressing a possibility, suggesting a ‘middling’ status somewhat above subsistence level both for them and their husbands. While there is clearly insufficient evidence to produce a detailed social profile of the members of these churches, there are at least enough hints to suggest that the addressees of 1 Peter included members from the middle to bottom categories of the economic scale, ES4–6/7. Allowing for some alarmist exaggeration on Pliny’s part, this is broadly congruent with Pliny’s depiction of the Christians of Pontus: ‘a great many individuals, of every age and class, both men and women’ (Multi enim omnis aetatis, omnis ordinis, utriusque sexus etiam … [Ep. 10.96.9]). This is also a conclusion congruent with Friesen’s analysis of the Christians mentioned in Paul’s letters, adding some limited support to that picture of early Christianity’s social composition and, importantly, implying that the addressees of 1 Peter were not distinctive or different in socio-economic location from those we encounter in the Pauline letters, pace Elliott. In some respects, though, this is also not too far from a kind of severely chastened ‘new consensus’ picture.175 Absent, importantly, are the tenuous deductions that take indications of some surplus resources to imply elite status or considerable wealth. In their place is the insistence that the majority of the empire’s inhabitants lived at or around subsistence level, and that such economic realities must be taken into account.176 That changes the picture quite considerably from that presented by Theissen, Meeks, and others, where the impression is given that many of the named individuals mentioned in the Pauline correspondence were ‘wealthy’ or ‘upper class’ (see above n. 161). But – with those important amendments – to conclude that the early Christian communities encompassed a ‘fair cross-section of urban society’, as Meeks put it, seems a not unreasonable conclusion to draw from an analysis of the limited evidence in 1 Peter.177

175 Cf. Barclay, ‘Response’, 365, who comments on Friesen’s proposals: ‘To place a few, as Friesen tentatively does, among the 7% in PS 4 is to make a claim for substantial wealth stratification in the Pauline churches – much as claimed by Theissen and Meeks, though with different vocabulary.’ 176 In commenting that the ‘extreme top and bottom of the Greco-Roman social scale are missing from the picture’, Meeks remarks: ‘There may well have been members of the Pauline communities who lived at the subsistence level, but we hear nothing of them’ (Meeks, First Urban Christians, 73). But if the conclusions embodied in the Poverty/Economy Scale are even broadly correct, then it is highly likely that many of the groups or individuals mentioned – those who go hungry in 1 Cor. 11.21, the οἰκέται of 1 Pet. 2.18, etc. – are in precisely this position. 177 Meeks, First Urban Christians, 73. Cf. also Joel B. Green, ‘Modernity, History and the Theological Interpretation of the Bible’, SJT 54 (2001), 308–29 (325).

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Finally, it remains to consider whether this conclusion has consequences for our understanding and interpretation of 1 Peter. Only a few tentative remarks can be offered here. First, without by any means wishing to amalgamate 1 Peter, once again, into the group of later Pauline epistles, the indications concerning its circle of addressees coheres with other aspects of its content to suggest some points of similarity with the Pauline letters and related communities (see further chapter 1). Elliott’s depiction of 1 Peter as a distinctive product ‘of a Petrine tradition transmitted by Petrine tradents of a Petrine circle’,178 and addressed, distinctively, to a predominantly rural audience, does not seem to match either the content or envisaged recipients of the letter, notwithstanding the value of his efforts to liberate 1 Peter from its ‘Pauline bondage’.179 Second, while we must be wary of assuming any deterministic link between social context and theological ideas, such that the latter become merely a reflection of the former, it is entirely reasonable to think that the composition of the early Christian communities had some impact on the kind of teaching that emerged from and was addressed to such communities. Several aspects of the character of 1 Peter’s content may perhaps be highlighted in this regard. One is the insertion of the addressees into a (Jewish) narrative of identity that dislocates them from the empire and invites them into a selfunderstanding based on the experience of dispersion and alienation (see chapter 7). If this was not, pace Elliott, the social experience of the addressees prior to conversion, but rather the consequence of that conversion, then we may understand the letter to be reinforcing and deepening that sense of social dislocation for a group of people many of whom may previously have been thoroughly integrated into the fabric of urban social life. A second aspect concerns what we may term, following Gerd Theissen, the ‘love-patriarchal’ character of the ethical instruction in the letter.180 According to Theissen, this ethos, which he saw developing in the Pauline and especially post-Pauline letters, served as a means to integrate and sustain the socially diverse early Christian communities.181 Similarly, if 1 Peter is addressed to communities containing a ‘fair cross-section’ of urban society, from slaves to householders, then its patterns of community-ethics may reflect the need to hold such a diverse congregation together. A third and final aspect concerns what I have termed the ‘polite resistance’ that characterizes the author’s stance towards the wider world, and specifically the empire (see chapter 7). While underscoring 178 Elliott, ‘Rehabilitation’, 248. 179 Cf. Elliott, ‘Rehabilitation’, 248; Elliott, 1 Peter, 40. 180 Theissen coined the term ‘love-patriarchalism’ (Liebespatriarchalismus), drawing on the work of Ernst Troeltsch, and describes it as follows: ‘This love-patriarchalism takes social differences for granted but ameliorates them through an obligation of respect and love, an obligation imposed on those who are socially stronger. From the weaker are required subordination, fidelity, and esteem’ (Theissen, Social Setting, 107). 181 See Theissen, Social Setting, 107–10, 138–40, 163–64. I have previously criticized the suggestion that this term adequately captures the ethos of the early Pauline letters (specifically 1–2 Corinthians), but found it appropriate to designate the character of later letters, such as 1 Clement and the Pastorals; see Horrell, Social Ethos.

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the need to worship only God (2.17) and to own the name Christian boldly, whatever the cost (4.16), the author of 1 Peter urges the recipients of the letter to honour the emperor (2.13-17), and to do what all will recognize and commend as good (2.12, etc.). This may perhaps, at least in part, reflect the socio-economic location – and socio-economic diversity – of the addressees, for whom a nuanced and subtle form of accommodated resistance might seem more realistic, not least as a survival strategy, than a more radical and visible stance, such as is promoted in the book of Revelation (see §7.4). Given the minimal data on which any socio-economic profile of the addressees of 1 Peter must be based, it would be foolish to construct on that basis a bold theory concerning the impact of this profile on the content of the letter. Nevertheless, when various facets of the letter’s character, content, and situation seem together to build a coherent picture, we may cautiously hope that social analysis and theological interpretation can be mutually informative, and further develop our understanding of this fascinating text and its place in early Christian history.

Chapter 5 ‘Race’, ‘Nation’, ‘People’: Ethnoracial Identity Construction in 1 Pet. 2.9 5.1. Introduction First Peter 2.4-10 has long been recognized as a passage particularly full of words and images from the Jewish scriptures, in a letter which is, compared with other New Testament texts, among the most saturated with quotations from, and allusions to, these scriptures. As John Elliott and Richard Bauckham have shown, this passage constitutes a rich example of a kind of (loosely defined) midrashic exegesis, with a number of biblical texts and interpretative comments woven into the fabric of a carefully structured passage.1 Moreover, these verses occupy a climactic position at the close of the first main section of the letter. As Elliott puts it, the writer here brings ‘to a resounding climax the line of thought begun in 1:3’.2 He describes Christ as the elect ‘stone’, chosen by God but rejected by people, and the Church as the elect and holy people of God. The passage culminates in a powerful description of the glorious status and honourable identity of this new ‘people’ (2.9-10). This declaration not only draws together the affirmations and the exhortations found in 1.3–2.10 but also lays the foundation for the instruction which is to follow in the second major section of the letter (2.11–4.11). ‘Here’ in 2.4-10, Elliott writes, ‘the fundamental indicative for the entire epistle has been spoken’.3 It is the final verses, and verse 9a in particular, with its rich description of Christian identity, in which I am interested here, especially in what we would call the ‘ethnic’ or ‘ethnoracial’ terms used to denote this identity.4 It is striking and highly significant, as we shall go on to see, that here in the space of one verse no less than three key terms from the vocabulary of ethnic identity are applied to the Church: γένος, ἔθνος, and λαός, widely translated as ‘race’, ‘nation’, and ‘people’ (e.g. RSV, NRSV, NJB, ESV, NAB, NASV).5 1 Elliott, Elect, 16–49; Bauckham, ‘James, 1 and 2 Peter, Jude’. 2 Elliott, 1 Peter, 407. 3 Elliott, Elect, 217. 4 I use the term ‘ethnoracial’ (following Denise Kimber Buell) in the discussion below, since it captures the overlapping discourses of ethnicity and race, both of which are socially constructed rather than objective or biological categories. See further §5.5. 5 On the sense that γένος, ἔθνος, and λαός together represent the three crucial terms in this respect, cf. Denise Kimber Buell, Why This New Race: Ethnic Reasoning in Early Christianity

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While commentators note the importance of 2.9-10 as an appropriation of Israel’s identity for the Church they have not generally paid much attention to the significance of the specifically ethnoracial terms in which Christian identity is here constructed.6 For example, Paul Achtemeier comments that ‘[t]he application to the Christian community in this verse [2.9] of titles drawn from OT descriptions of Israel as God’s elect and chosen people points again to the fact that for our author the Christian community has now become God’s elect and chosen people’.7 The emphasis, for Achtemeier, falls on the Church’s appropriation of Israel’s identity as elect and chosen. For Elliott, the stress falls on communal identity: ‘[m]ultiple honorary epithets of ancient Israel, all corporate in nature, are employed in 2:9-10 to affirm the communal identity of the believers’.8 For Reinhard Feldmeier the key emphasis is on ‘Zugehörigkeit zu Gott’, or ‘belongingness to God’, as the English translation somewhat awkwardly puts it: ‘That shows itself in that all the attributes of the people of God that are transferred to the Christian community are connected in the closest way with God: chosen race, royal priesthood, holy tribe, a people of God’s own possession, people of God.’9 Eugene Boring rightly observes that ‘[t]his passage presents one of the most dense constellations of ecclesiological imagery in the New Testament’.10 Yet these are not only communal, Jewish, theological or ecclesiological images, they are also phrases in which the identity of the people is described in emphatically ethnic, or ethnoracial, terms.11 One or two recent commentators do briefly observe the significance of the ethnic language used, specifically the language of ‘race’ (γένος): Karen Jobes discusses the significance of the ‘understanding of Christians that they formed a new race’ in her comments on 2.912 and Joel Green remarks briefly on the use of the term (New York: Columbia University Press, 2005), 62, 69, 87, et passim. Love L. Sechrest, A Former Jew: Paul and the Dialectics of Race (LNTS 410; London and New York: T&T Clark, 2009) focuses on the terms ἔθνος and γένος. Despite the risks of anachronism and problematic associations, I shall continue to use the English terms given above as translations, while recognizing their fluid and contestable meanings. See further the reflections in §5.5. One might also add φυλή (cf. John M. G. Barclay, Jews in the Mediterranean Diaspora from Alexander to Trajan (323 bce–117 ce) [Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1996], 405), though this is not in the New Testament used to denote Christians (depending on how one reads Jas 1.1) but either to denote the ‘tribes’ of Israel (e.g. Mt. 19.28; Rom. 11.1) or as a general category of human groups (e.g. Rev. 13.7; 14.6). 6 Because of its influence on the Reformation doctrine of the priesthood of all believers, the phrase βασίλειον ἱεράτευμα has received much greater attention: see, e.g., Elliott, Elect; Elliott, 1 Peter, 449–55; Brox, Petrusbrief, 108–10. 7 Achtemeier, 1 Peter, 167. 8 Elliott, 1 Peter, 444. Cf. also Torrey Seland, ‘Resident Aliens in Mission: Missional Practices in the Emerging Church of 1 Peter’, BBR 19 (2009), 565–89 (586). 9 Feldmeier, First Epistle of Peter, 141 (italics original); German original Feldmeier, Brief des Petrus, 93. 10 Boring, 1 Peter, 98. 11 For further examples of a lack of attention to the specifically ethnic terms, γένος in particular, cf. Schreiner, 1, 2 Peter, 114; Brox, Petrusbrief, 103. 12 Jobes, 1 Peter, 159; cf. Elliott, 1 Peter, 435, who rightly notes that references to Christians specifically as a new or a third race postdate 1 Peter.

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γένος here, an ‘appellation’ he sees as ‘surprising since the γένος (genos) of which Peter writes is comprised of persons otherwise unrelated’.13 But the significance of the specifically ethnoracial terms in which the Christian community is here described remains largely unexplored. Indeed, the surprise which Green expresses is indicative of the need to develop an appropriate and theoretically informed understanding of the ways in which the concepts of ethnicity and race operate, in antiquity as well as in the modern world. Conversely, in some important recent work which has begun to draw attention to the significance of ethnoracial language in the construction of early Christian identity, this particular text has not yet received careful attention.14 My claim will be that it warrants such attention as a uniquely dense collocation of ethnic identity language, and a crucial early step in the construction of Christian identity in ethnoracial terms. I shall explore the significance of this description of Christian identity in four stages: first, by outlining the use of the terms γένος, ἔθνος, and λαός in pre-Christian Jewish literature; second, by surveying their occurrences elsewhere in the New Testament; third by examining the influence of 1 Pet. 2.9 on subsequent Christian writing; and fourth, by considering these findings and their contribution to the making of Christian identity in the light of modern theories of ethnicity and race.

5.2. Γένος, ἔθνος, and λαός in classical and Jewish literature In Classical Greek both ἔθνος and γένος have a fairly wide range of meanings and uses. Ἔθνος was commonly employed to denote groups of people, whether the inhabitants of a particular polis or a larger population,15 or members of clubs, guilds, and associations.16 More generally it could be used to designate ‘a class of beings who share a common identification’, human or animal.17 13 Green, 1 Peter, 61. 14 See esp. Buell, Why This New Race; Denise Kimber Buell, ‘Rethinking the Relevance of Race for Early Christian Self-Definition’, HTR 94 (2001), 449–76; Denise Kimber Buell, ‘Race and Universalism in Early Christianity’, JECS 10 (2002), 429–68; and Judith M. Lieu, ‘The Race of the God-fearers’, in Judith M. Lieu, Neither Jew Nor Greek? Constructing Early Christianity (SNTW; Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 2002), 49–68 (first published in JTS 46 [1995] 483–501); Judith M. Lieu, Christian Identity in the Jewish and Graeco-Roman World (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2004), 239–68, all works which focus mostly on second and third-century evidence. Caroline Johnson Hodge, If Sons, then Heirs: A Study of Kinship and Ethnicity in the Letters of Paul (Oxford and New York: Oxford University Press, 2007) and Sechrest, Former Jew, focus on Paul (cf. also Denise Kimber Buell and Caroline Johnson Hodge, ‘The Politics of Interpretation: The Rhetoric of Race and Ethnicity in Paul’, JBL 123 [2004], 235–51). For brief comments on 1 Peter, see Buell, Why This New Race, 45–46; Buell, ‘Relevance of Race’, 472; Lieu, Christian Identity, 40. 15 Jonathan Hall, Ethnic Identity in Greek Antiquity (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1997), 34–35; Herodotus 1.57; 5.77; 7.161; 8.73. 16 LSJ, 480; Anthony J. Saldarini, Matthew’s Christian-Jewish Community (Chicago and London: Chicago University Press, 1994), 59–60. 17 Hall, Ethnic Identity, 35. Cf. Homer, Il. 2.459 (birds); 2.87 (bees), 2.469 (flies); 2.91; 3.32 (warriors).

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It was also employed to describe ‘people groups foreign to a specific people group’, a use that becomes especially prominent in biblical Greek.18 In a recent analysis of the term ἔθνος (and also of γένος) Love Sechrest explores ‘the features associated with ethnic and racial identity in the early Christian period’ by examining the words or topics that are associated with the key terms in the contexts where they appear.19 She concludes that conflict (or war) and territory are most frequently associated with the term ἔθνος in the selected non-Jewish writers from the period (Diodorus Siculus, Dionysius of Halicarnassus, Strabo, and Plutarch).20 Notwithstanding the need for more explicit methodological reflection,21 Sechrest’s findings are interesting and significant, not least in regard to the contrasts she finds with Jewish uses of the term (on which see below). Γένος likewise can be applied to both human and non-human groups, to sorts and kinds of things as well as to what we might call ethnic or racial groups.22 As Jonathan Hall notes, it has a somewhat ‘more specialised meaning’ than ἔθνος, ‘with its focus on the notion (however fictive) of shared descent’.23 Sechrest, while not utilizing the category of descent as such, finds that ‘kinship’ ideas are most frequently associated with uses of γένος in the non-Jewish authors she studies.24 While γένος can be used as ‘a subdivision of ἔθνος’25 it need not be so, and the two terms can be used as synonyms.26 Λαός seems always to refer to groups of people, such as soldiers, sailors, country-folk, or a gathered crowd, the assembled inhabitants (LSJ, 1029).

18 BDAG, 276 §2; MM, 181, who note uses of ἔθνη to denote the rural barbarians living outside the polis. For non-biblical ‘pagan’ uses, see, e.g., Aristotle, Pol. 7.2.5 (1324b 10): ἐν τοῖς ἔθνεσιν (‘the non-Hellenic nations’ [LCL]); Cass. Dio, Rom. hist. 36.41.1; to denote foreign groups in Rome, see Appian, Bell. civ. 2.2.13; 2.26.107; 3.35.140. Cf. also IG II2 1283 (260–59 bce), in which ἔθνος is used of (immigrant) groups in Athens (l. 5). I am grateful to John Kloppenborg for alerting me to this inscription. 19 Sechrest, Former Jew, 90–91. For the analysis, see 54–109 and summary charts on 232–33. 20 See Sechrest, Former Jew, 66–70, 94–96. 21 It is not entirely clear to me, nor is it explained and justified in Sechrest’s work, why the terms and themes that appear in the contexts where ἔθνος or γένος occur should constitute our sense of what ἔθνος or γένος as terms were taken to mean. 22 Cf. Homer, Il. 12.23: ‘the race of men half-divine (ἡμιθέων γένος ἀνδρῶν)’ (LCL); Il. 2.852: ‘the race (γένος) of wild she-mules’ (LCL). Ael. Arist., Or. 45.1: ‘the race of poets’ (τὸ τῶν ποιητῶν γένος). Cf. MM, 124, for the common use in the papyri for ‘a species or class of things’, as well as uses corresponding ‘to gens, a tribe or clan’. 23 Hall, Ethnic Identity, 36. Cf. Homer, Il. 13.354: ‘Both were of one stock (γένος) and of one parentage (πάτρη).’ Homer, Od. 15.267: ἐξ Ἰθάκης γένος εἰμί (‘Of Ithaca I am by birth’ [LCL]), seems to mean, in effect, ‘I am an Ithacan.’ Sophocles, Oedipus Tyr. 1383: ‘of the race of Laius (γένους τοῦ Λαΐου)’ (LCL, 1994 edn). 24 See Sechrest, Former Jew, 84–87, 94–96. 25 LSJ, 480; cf. 344; as in, e.g., Herodotus, 1.101: ‘Deioces, then, united the Median nation (τὸ Μηδικὸν ἔθνος) … The Median tribes (Μήδων γένεα) are these …’ (LCL). 26 Hall, Ethnic Identity, 36; Sechrest, Former Jew, 90; see, e.g., Herodotus 1.56–57; Ael. Arist., Or. 1.50 (173D).

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Sometimes the specific sense is of the people in distinction from the leaders,27 hence the established meaning the ‘common folk’ or peasants.28 But λαός came also to be used to refer to the whole population, what might equally be described as an ἔθνος or γένος, ‘the people’ as a collective whole.29 More relevant for our purposes here is a brief survey of the uses of these terms in pre-Christian Jewish literature, especially in the LXX, the biblical tradition on which the author of 1 Peter seems to have drawn. In contrast to non-biblical Greek literature, where the term is relatively infrequent, λαός is a common term in the LXX, with over 2,000 occurrences generally rendering the Hebrew M(.30 Hermann Strathmann notes the strong tendency in the LXX to use λαός for M( when referring to Israel, and ‘a corresponding inclination to use ἔθνος instead when M( does not refer to Israel’.31 These tendencies are not consistently applied; nonetheless, as Strathmann puts it, ‘the truly distinctive feature of the LXX usage is the careful restriction of the use of the term to Israel. All else is subsidiary …’32 Septuagintal usage of γένος reflects the term’s established range of meanings; hence it can be used to denote different kinds of things, plants, animals, and so on (Gen. 1.11-12, 21, 24-25; Wis. 19.11); specific kin or tribal groups, or lines of descent (Lev. 20.17-18; 21.13-14, 17; 1 Macc. 5.2; 12.21; 2 Macc. 5.22); or people in general as one (human) ‘race’ (Gen. 11.6; 2 Macc. 7.28).33 But by far the most frequent use, and one that becomes especially prominent in writings of the first two centuries bce, is to denote the people of Israel.34 As Judith Lieu puts it: ‘The sense of being a race or people is one proudly held in Jewish literature from the Maccabaean period, often in a context of suffering and persecution … γένος joins the more widespread and older λαός in proclaiming a sense of identity in the midst of hostility and attempted annihilation ...’35 Sometimes this is with the full and explicit label τὸ γένος Ισραηλ, sometimes simply τὸ γένος, or τὸ γένος ἡμῶν. In the book of Judith, for example, γένος is used around twelve times to refer to the people of Israel; 2 and 3 Maccabees

27 E.g. Homer, Il. 2.365; 13.108; Od. 3.305. Cf. also H. Strathmann, TDNT 4.30. 28 Cf. Polybius, Hist. 4.52.7; Spicq, TLNT 2.373; MM, 370. Note however Spicq’s discussion of the Egyptian papyri, in which he suggests that λαός may refer to a ‘superior stratum of the population’, as opposed to lower class(es) of labourers or farmers’ (TLNT 2.373–74). 29 TDNT 4.31. Cf. Plutarch, Rom. 26.3; Spicq, TLNT 2.373. Josephus also uses the word with this established range of meanings: the surrounding crowd (War 1.122); the populace (War 1.550); the people of Israel (Ant. 10.12); and other people(s), such as the λαός of Egypt (Ant. 2.301; cf. Philo, Migr. Abr. 62). 30 See TDNT 4.29-32; Hatch-Redpath, 853–62; of the seventeen Hebrew words listed as possible equivalents, M( is the term in the vast majority of cases. 31 TDNT 4.33. 32 TDNT 4.34. 33 It is most frequently used to render the Hebrew Nym (‘kind’ or ‘species’) and M( (‘people’) – Hatch-Redpath, 239, list seventeen instances for Nym and sixteen for M(. 34 E.g. Exod. 1.9; 5.14; Josh. 4.14; 11.21; Isa. 22.4; 42.5; 43.20; Jer. 38.1; 38.35, 37; 1 Esd. 1.32; Est. 3.13; 6.13; Add Est. 8.21; Pss Sol. 7.8; 17.7; cf. Lieu, ‘Race’, 58–60. 35 Lieu, ‘Race’, 58.

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also have a significant number of such occurrences.36 As with λαός, while context is necessary for interpretation – mere use of the word cannot by itself signify ‘the people of Israel’ – γένος has clearly become a standard term with which to designate that people. The use of γένος in this way is also prominent in Josephus and Philo.37 By contrast, ἔθνος is frequently used in the opposite way, to denote outsiders as distinct from ‘the people’. Just as λαός and γένος are standard terms for the people of Israel, often translating M( in the Hebrew, so ἔθνη is a common designation of ‘the nations’, gentiles, often (but by no means always) rendering Mywg (e.g. Exod. 34.24; Lev. 18.24).38 In Exod. 1.9, Pharoah speaks τῷ ἔθνει αὐτοῦ (Heb. wM() concerning τὸ γένος τῶν υἱῶν Ισραηλ (Heb. ynb M( l)r#y).39 Deuteronomy 7.6-7, an important text to which we shall return, describes Israel as a people (λαός; Heb. M() holy, chosen, and special to God, set among the nations (ἔθνη; Heb. Mym(). The book of Judith also provides a clear example: ‘Woe to the nations (ἔθνεσιν) that rise up against my people (τῷ γένει μου)’ (16.17). Second Maccabees 8.9 desribes Nicanor in charge of ‘twenty thousand Gentiles of all nations (παμφύλων ἔθνη)’, whose task it is to wipe out ‘the entire Judean race (τὸ σύμπαν τῆς Ιουδαίας γένος)’ (cf. also Wis. 10.15). Yet ἔθνος can also be used of the people of Israel, not least among later writings.40 The foundational promise to Abram is to make of him ‘a great nation’ (ἔθνος μέγα/lwdg ywg; Gen. 12.2). A number of times in the book of Exodus, for example, Israel is described as an ἔθνος (23.11; 33.13 [Heb. M(]; 32.10 [ywg]). In Exod. 19.6, another important text to which we shall return, God declares that the people will be a holy nation, the Greek here – with ἔθνος 36 Judith 5.10; 6.2, 5, 19; 8.20, 32; 9.14; 11.10; 12.3; 13.20; 15.9; 16.17. Interestingly, the NRSV translation variously uses people, nation, race, and descendants to render γένος here. There is a further reference in Jdt. 16.24, though this looks most likely to refer more specifically to Judith’s kin (NRSV: ‘kindred’; cf., possibly, 12.3). Second Maccabees 5.22; 6.12; 7.16; 7.38; 8.9; 12.31; 14.8-9; 3 Macc. 3.2; 6.4, 9, 13; 7.10. 37 Both authors use Ἰουδαῖος as the standard designation, and also use ἔθνος to denote the Jewish people (as a ‘nation’, see n. 40 below). For uses of γένος to denote the Jewish ‘race’ (τὸ γένος ἡμῶν, τὸ Ἰουδαϊκὸν γένος, κτλ.), see, e.g., Josephus, C. Ap. 1.1–2, 59, 106, 130, 160; 2.8, 288; Philo, Leg. Gai. 3–4, 201 (cf. also 265, for Jews among all the human ‘races’). Philo’s comments in Sacr. AC 6–7 are especially interesting: he writes of Isaac being added ‘but not this time, with the others, to a people, but to a “race” or “genus” (οὐκέθ’ ὡς οἱ πρότεροι λαῷ, γένει δέ ...), as Moses says (Gen. xxxv. 29). For genus is one, that which is above all, but people is a name for many’ (LCL). Genesis 35.29 LXX speaks of Isaac being added πρὸς τὸ γένος αὐτοῦ. Philo goes on to speak of those who have become ‘pupils of God’ as being translated ‘into the genus (γένος) of the imperishable and fully perfect’ (LCL). 38 See Bertram, TDNT 2.364–69; Hatch-Redpath, 368–73, who list fifteen Hebrew words for which ἔθνος can stand as an equivalent. 39 Cf. Isa. 42.6 and 49.6 (in some MSS), for the contrast between the διαθήκη γένους (M( tyrb) and the ἔθνη (Mywg); G. Bertram, TDNT 2.367, insists that M( tyrb ‘refers to the chosen people’. 40 See 1 Esd. 1.4 (τὸ ἔθνος αὐτοῦ Ἰσραήλ); 8.66 (τὸ ἔθνος τοῦ Ἰσραήλ); cf. also 1.32, 34, 49; 2.5; 5.9; 8.10, 13, 64. For examples in Josephus and Philo see C. Ap. 2.220; War 1.232, 581; 2.282; Ant. 14.290; 18.6; Leg. Gai. 117, 119, 137, 161, 279.

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rather than the more usual λαός – being a rendering of the Hebrew with what Georg Bertram calls ‘philological accuracy’ (ἔθνος ἅγιον/#$wdq ywg; contrast Deut. 7.6).41 While λαός is thus the most common and established designation for the people of Israel in the LXX, γένος also becomes a standard term, especially in the last two centuries bce, and ἔθνος can be used similarly, as is the case in Josephus and Philo. The emerging prominence of γένος is particularly noteworthy, since, with its focus on the idea of shared descent, it corresponds most closely to what we would term an ethnic or racial designation and, as we shall see, highlights what is central to modern definitions of ethnic groups (see §5.5). One of the findings of Sechrest’s analysis, to which I have already referred, is that in Jewish literature of the period (LXX, Apocrypha, Josephus, and Philo) the terms ἔθνος and γένος are strongly associated with what she terms the topic of religion. ‘Kinship’ remains most prominently associated with γένος, while territory is notably less evident than it was among the non-Jewish authors included in her study. Her conclusion is that this latter finding probably reflects the influence of Diaspora existence – where ‘social and religious identification … continued despite the lack of a territorial homeland’42 – and that ‘religion is that element in the Jewish culture of the Second Temple period by which the group as a collective determined itself to be a group’: ‘the central criterion of Jewish identity for the Jews studied here was the Torah-ordered worship of the God of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob’.43 In a study of the maintenance of identity through distinction (Abgrenzung), focused particularly on the book of Jubilees, Eberhard Schwarz identifies three fundamental identity-forming designations (Identitätsgründende Aussagen) of Israel: Israel as ‘holy people’, Israel as ‘chosen people’, and Israel as a people who belong to God, God’s special possession (Eigentumsvolk).44 It is striking that all three of these designations are repeated in 1 Pet. 2.9, a text that falls quite outside the purview of Schwarz’s study. Schwarz regards Deut. 7.6 as a

41 TDNT 2.366. Cf. Hort, Epistle of St. Peter, 126, though ἔθνος ἅγιον (as opposed to λαός ἅγιος) is not quite ‘unique’ here; see Exod. 19.6; 23.22 [LXX]; Wis. 17.2. 42 Sechrest, Former Jew, 97. 43 Sechrest, Former Jew, 105; see 97–105. For Sechrest, this indicates a problem with those, such as Philip Esler, who view Jewish ethnicity as primarily linked to territory (and thus insist on the translation ‘Judaean’ for Ἰουδαῖος): ‘Esler’s understanding of Jewish identity privileges territory, through its reliance on Greco-Roman concepts about ancient ethnic identity and modern ideas about the peripheral importance of religion’ (Sechrest, Former Jew, 106 n. 89, referring to Philip F. Esler, Conflict and Identity in Romans [Minneapolis, MN: Fortress, 2003], 62–76). 44 Eberhard Schwarz, Identität durch Abgrenzung: Abgrenzungsprozesse in Israel im 2.vorchristlichen Jahrhundert und ihre traditionsgeschichtlichen Voraussetzungen. Zugleich ein Beitrag zur Erforschung des Jubiläenbuches (Europäische Hochschulschriften, Series 23 Theology, 162; Frankfurt/Bern: Peter Lang, 1982), 53–57.

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crucial text in this regard, set as it is in the context of instruction to maintain, with violence, clear distinction between the people and the other ἔθνη in the land: For you are a people holy (λαὸς ἅγιος) to the Lord your God. The Lord your God has chosen (προείλατο) you to be a people for his treasured possession (λαὸν περιούσιον), out of all the peoples (τὰ ἔθνη) who are on the face of the earth.

A similar and also important declaration is found in Exod. 19.5-6: So now, if you will indeed hear my voice and keep my covenant, you shall be to me a special people (λαὸς περιούσιος) from among all the nations (τῶν ἔθνων), for all the earth is mine; and you shall be to me a royal priesthood (βασίλειον ἱεράτευμα) and a holy nation (ἔθνος ἅγιον).

It is of course this latter text that the author of 1 Peter has echoed in his rich declaration of the identity of the new people of God (cf. 2.10), specifically in the phrases βασίλειον ἱεράτευμα and ἔθνος ἅγιον. Also woven into 1 Pet. 2.9 is a phrase from Isa. 43.20 describing Israel as ‘my chosen people’ (τὸ γένος μου τὸ ἐκλεκτόν), where for the Hebrew M( the LXX has γένος. There are only two places in the LXX where γένος ἐκλεκτόν occurs – here in Isaiah and once in the Old Greek version of Esther (Add Est. 8 E21: τοῦ ἐκλεκτοῦ γένους),45 though the idea of being ‘chosen’ is of course more widely prominent, hence Schwarz’s identification of ‘chosen people’ as a key identity designation. Further reflecting the influence of Isaiah is the description of 1 Peter’s addressees as a people for God’s special possession.46 Rather than using the precise phrase from Exod. 19.5, λαός περιούσιος – this adjective appears in the New Testament only at Tit. 2.14 (cf. also 1 Clem. 64) – the author of 1 Peter expresses this idea by linking λαός with the noun περιποίησις (λαός εἰς περιποίησιν). Given the way the verse continues this is undoubtedly a further echo from Isaiah 43 (v. 21), where the verbal form περιποιησάμην is used, though the precise nominal phrase εἰς περιποίησιν occurs in Hag. 2.9 and Mal. 3.17.47 The author of 1 Peter goes on to describe the vocation of this chosen race, drawing further on Isa. 43.21, ‘to proclaim the virtues (τὰς ἀρετάς) of the one who called you out of darkness into his marvellous light’. Finally, in v. 10, drawing on Hosea 1–2, the author declares that the addressees, once ‘no people’ (οὐ λαός) are now λαὸς θεοῦ. 45 It is hard to see why Jobes, 1 Peter, 158, says that ‘[t]he phrase “a chosen race” (γένος ἐκλεκτόν, genos eklekton) echoes Isa. 43:3, which announces that God himself is Israel’s only savior’. She goes on to note the specific relevance of Isa. 43.20. 46 For a brief survey of Isaiah’s influence on 1 Peter, see Steve Moyise, ‘Isaiah in 1 Peter’, in Steve Moyise and Maarten J. J. Menken (eds), Isaiah in the New Testament (London and New York: T&T Clark, 2005), 175–88. 47 Malachi 3.17, the content of which is much more closely related to 1 Pet. 2.9 than Hag. 2.9, might therefore be seen as another text echoed by the author of 1 Peter here (so Hort, Epistle of St. Peter, 127).

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What is immediately striking is how, compressed into just half a verse, not only are the three key terms, γένος, ἔθνος, and λαός, all used to denote the communities of Christians in Asia Minor but also these ethnic-identity terms are linked with central Jewish identifications: chosen or elect, holy, and God’s own or special possession. How significant this description is can be seen when we set this verse in the context of the New Testament writings more generally, and consider the influence of 1 Pet. 2.9a in subsequent Christian writing.

5.3. Γένος, ἔθνος, and λαός in the New Testament Γένος appears relatively infrequently in the New Testament (20x) with the usual lexical range. It can denote various ‘kinds’ of things (fish [Mt. 13.47]; demons [Mk 9.29]; tongues [1 Cor. 12.10, 28; 14.10]); ethnic or geographical origin (Mk 7.26 [Syrophoencia]; Acts 4.36 [Cyprus]; Acts 18.2 [Pontus]); some kind of ancestral, kinship, or familial group or lineage (Acts 4.6; 7.13; Rev. 22.16); or more generally a common descent from God (Acts 17.28-29). The notion of ancestral or ethnoracial descent is clearly prominent in the five occurrences where the term refers to the Jewish people (Acts 7.19; 13.26; 2 Cor. 11.26; Gal. 1.14; Phil. 3.5). It is interesting to note how concisely the term can function in contrast to ἔθνη: Paul describes his having faced dangers ἐκ γένους, ‘from my own people’, and ἐξ ἐθνῶν, ‘from gentiles’ (2 Cor. 11.26). What is striking is that there is only one place where the word γένος is used to denote members of the Christian assemblies: 1 Pet. 2.9.48 Ἔθνος is considerably more common (162x), though with a narrower lexical range. Continuing the established Septuagintal pattern, the large majority of references, including two in 1 Peter (2.12 and 4.3), use the plural form to denote the nations, that is, gentiles, as distinct from Jews.49 Sometimes the sense is a more neutral or potentially all-inclusive reference to all nations,50 including Paul’s citations of the promise to Abraham to be the father of ‘many nations’ (Rom. 4.17-18; Gal. 3.8), or singular uses making a general point (‘nation will rise against nation’, etc.).51 In both Luke-Acts and John there are also a number of uses of ἔθνος to refer to the Jewish nation.52 Indeed, all of the five uses of ἔθνος in the Gospel of John have this referent (Jn 11.48, 50-52; 18.35).53 Again what 48 For this observation, see, e.g., F. Büchsel, TDNT 1.685; Peter Richardson, Israel in the Apostolic Church (SNTSMS 10; Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1969), 172 n. 8. 49 For clear examples where the contrast is drawn, see Lk. 2.32; Acts 4.27; 14.5; 26.23; Rom. 15.10; 2 Cor. 11.26; Gal. 2.14-15. 50 E.g. Mt. 28.19; Mk 11.17; Lk. 12.30; Acts 14.5; 26.23; Rev. 2.26. 51 Mark 13.8 and par.; cf. Acts 7.7; Rev. 13.7; 14.6. 52 τὸ ἔθνος ἡμῶν, τὸ ἔθνος τῶν Ἰουδαιῶν, κτλ.: Lk. 7.5; 23.2; Acts 10.22; 24.2, 10, 17; 26.4; 28.19. 53 Cf. Hort, Epistle of St. Peter, 126, who notes that ἔθνος is never used of Israel in the New Testament Epistles and the Apocalypse, and that in most uses in the Gospels and Acts ‘it is so used only in sentences spoken by, or of persons of another nation’ except in Jn 11.50-52.

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is striking is that the term is almost never used to denote Christians as a people, with just two exceptions: the clearest and most direct example in 1 Pet. 2.9 and one other in the Gospel of Matthew. In Matthew, at the conclusion to the parable of the tenants of the vineyard, just after the quotation of the same ‘stone’-text also quoted in 1 Pet. 2.7 (Ps. 118.22 [117.22 LXX]), the writer declares that ‘the kingdom of God will be taken away from you and given to a people (ἔθνει) producing its fruits’ (Mt. 21.43). This is hardly a direct statement about Christian identity, in contrast to 1 Pet. 2.9, but it is at least an implicit indication that the members of the churches were conceived by the writer of the Gospel as a ‘people’, specifically a people who had in some sense taken over the possessions and identity of the people of Israel.54 Λαός is also quite common in the New Testament (142x), with a particular concentration in Luke-Acts (83x). Generally, and particularly in Luke-Acts, the predominant use, almost always in the singular form, is in reference to the people of Israel, again following established Septuagintal custom.55 Some occurrences, especially in the book of Revelation, have a more general, or potentially more general, reference.56 Especially significant for our purposes are those texts where λαός clearly, or at least potentially, refers to the ‘people’ who now constitute the members of the Christian movement. There are two such examples in the book of Acts. In Acts 15.14, when James begins to speak about Peter’s experience of the conversion of gentiles, he describes this conversion in terms of God’s taking ‘from among the gentiles (ἐξ ἐθνῶν) a people (λαός) for his name’. Slightly more cryptic is Acts 18.10, where Paul is encouraged in a vision not to be afraid, ‘for there are many in this city who are my people (λαός μοι)’. Much more explicit is Rom. 9.25-26 where Paul, discussing God’s calling of people not only from the Jews (ἐξ Ἰουδαίων) but also from the gentiles (ἐξ ἐθνῶν), quotes from the same parts of Hosea that are drawn on in 1 Pet. 2.10.57 Those previously ‘not my people’ will be called ‘my people’ (καλέσω τὸν οὐ λαόν μου λαόν μου; Rom. 9.25). Scriptural quotation is also the source of another instance where Paul implicitly 54 Cf. Graham N. Stanton, A Gospel for a New People: Studies in Matthew (Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1992), 11–12, noting the use of ἔθνος in 21.43: ‘The evangelist considered his readers to be a “new people” – in effect a “third race” (tertium genus) over against both Jews and Gentiles.’ See further 85–107 for the basis for this conclusion in Stanton’s sociological perspective on Matthew’s notion of the Christian community. Otherwise Saldarini, Matthew, 58–63, who, less plausibly, reads ἔθνος here as a reference to a group within Judaism, contrasted with the Jerusalem leadership, who are the rejected ἔθνος. 55 For especially clear examples, see Acts 26.17, 23; Rom. 15.10; 2 Pet. 2.1; for the plural λαοὶ Ἰσραήλ, see Acts 4.27. 56 Luke 2.31; Acts 4.25; Rom. 15.11; Rev. 5.9; 7.9; 10.11; 11.9; 13.7; 14.6; 17.15. 57 Elliott (along with Selwyn, Dodd, and others) concludes that the ‘differences between Paul and 1 Peter’ in their uses of Hosea ‘argue against any literary dependency of one upon the other’ (Elliott, 1 Peter, 442; cf. Elliott, Elect, 45–46, where he suggests that the explanation for the similarities is ‘the use of common Christian tradition’ [45]). The number of scriptural allusions shared with Romans 9 (cf. also 1 Pet. 2.6-8 and Rom. 9.33) is nonetheless striking. On the broader question of 1 Peter’s connections with Pauline tradition, see chapter 1 above.

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identifies his readers as the λαός θεοῦ (2 Cor. 6.16, quoting Lev. 26.12; Ezek. 37.27; cf. also Jer. 31.33). Here, in an oddly disjunctive passage calling for distinction and separation from unbelievers (2 Cor. 6.14–7.1), Paul describes himself and his readers as the temple of God (cf. 1 Cor. 3.16), relating the scriptural declaration ‘I will be their God and they shall be my people’ to his Corinthian addressees (described elsewhere as formerly gentiles; 1 Cor. 12.2). The same language is taken up in the climactic vision of the new Jerusalem in the closing chapters of Revelation (21.3). Also comparable to 1 Pet. 2.9 is Tit. 2.14, where the purpose of Christ’s self-giving is described as being ‘to purify for himself a special people (λαὸν περιούσιον)’, another instance where a scriptural phrase is applied to the Christian community. Scriptural phrasing also provides the language for the appeal of Rev. 18.4, ‘Come out of her, my people’ (ὁ λαός μου; cf. Jer. 51.45). A number of instances in Hebrews are interesting in that they illustrate clearly how a term rooted in scriptural language about the people of Israel comes to be applied to the Christian communities precisely through the application of this whole discursive tradition to the latter – a process that is, of course, common in the New Testament and intrinsic to the formation of Christian discourse (cf. e.g. Rom. 15.4; 1 Cor. 10.1 [οἱ πατέρες ἡμῶν]; 10.11). The term λαός is comparatively frequent in Hebrews (13x), often in the context of describing Jewish practice (5.3; 7.5, 11; 9.7, 19 [bis], 25) or quoting scripture (8.10; 10.30). But precisely because of the way the writer sees these Jewish practices and scriptures as foreshadowing and describing the achievements of Christ, there are also uses of λαός that evidently apply to the community presently addressed, the people for whom Jesus the great high priest has finally made effective sacrifice (2.17; 4.9; 7.27; 13.12).58 Indeed, the extent to which there is an identification of the one people of God, past and present, is illustrated in 11.25-26: as a hero of faith, Moses is described as having chosen to endure mistreatment with ‘the people of God (τῷ λαῷ τοῦ θεοῦ)’; yet his suffering is also strikingly described as ‘the reproach of Christ (τὸν ὀνειδισμὸν τοῦ Χριστοῦ)’, which Moses chose rather than the wealth of Egypt (cf. 1 Cor. 10.4; 1 Pet. 1.11). In his commentary on 1 Peter, F. J. A. Hort notes how λαός ‘[i]n the Gospels, Acts, and Hebrews frequently denotes the Jewish people’, as it does elsewhere in the New Testament in quotations, but finds it ‘remarkable that, with the exception of two or three transitional instances in Hebrews [citing 4.9; 11.25; 13.12], its transference to the new Israel is likewise throughout the N.T. confined to quotations and … borrowed phrases’ (citing Tit. 1.14 and Rev. 18.4 as instances of the latter).59 The limited use of λαός to denote the Christian community is indeed notable, but this could hardly be done except by way of ‘quotations’ and ‘borrowed phrases’: New Testament descriptions of the members of the Christian communities are often steeped in scriptural 58 Cf. also 1 Clem. 59.4; 2 Clem. 2.3; Barn. 13.1-6. 59 Hort, Epistle of St. Peter, 128.

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language and one could scarcely refer to the Church as the λαὸς θεοῦ without at the same time ‘borrowing’ scriptural phraseology. This brief overview gives us something of a perspective from which to assess the significance of 1 Pet. 2.9a in terms of establishing the idea that Christian identity is specifically an ethnic or ethnoracial identity, that is identity as a ‘people’, a ‘nation’, or a ‘race’. Several points are noteworthy: (1) This is the only New Testament text in which all three ‘people’ words occur together: γένος, ἔθνος, λαός. No other text even approaches this concentration of terms, and the occurrence of all three here suggests an almost deliberate attempt to pack the verse with ethnoracial identity labels.60 This is, then, the most full and explicit New Testament declaration that the scattered members of the Christian assemblies specifically constitute a ‘people’, like Ἕλληνες or Ἰουδαῖοι. (2) Aside from Mt. 21.43, a less direct and developed reference to the identity of the Christians, 1 Pet. 2.9 is the only New Testament text that describes members of the churches as an ἔθνος, and the only one to repeat the concise scriptural designation ‘holy people’.61 (3) This is the only New Testament text in which the term γένος – an influential label for the people of Israel, especially in literature near to the New Testament period – is applied to the Church.62 This is highly significant: while λαός is somewhat more widely used, it is the loosest of the ‘people’ terms, insofar as it can be used to describe various kinds of assembled groups – such as an assembled crowd – whereas γένος most clearly implies a specifically ‘ethnic’ type of identity, with its focus on the idea of shared descent.63 This is not of course to claim that 1 Peter uniquely constructs Christian identity in ethnic terms. Moves to engender precisely this kind of Christian identity are prominent elsewhere in the New Testament, especially in Paul.64 In particular, Paul spends considerable energy developing the notion that Christians share a line of descent, as Abraham’s offspring (Rom. 4.1-25; Gal. 60 Is this perhaps why the author picks the phrase ἔθνος ἅγιον from Exod. 19.5, rather than the more common λαὸς ἅγιος (Deut. 7.6; 14.2, 21; Hos. 12.1 LXX; Isa. 30.19)? 61 The more common LXX phrase, λαός ἅγιος, does not occur in the New Testament either, though some other applications of the term λαός to the Church suggest the theme of holiness, more or less explicitly: 2 Cor. 6.14–7.1, where the general idea of separation is prominent; Tit. 2.14, where the purpose of Christ’s self-giving is ‘to purify for himself a special people (λάος περιούσιος)’; and Heb. 13.12, where the purpose of Jesus’ suffering is ‘to sanctify (ἵνα ἁγιάσῃ) … the people (τὸν λαόν)’. 62 In a study of ‘the race of the God-fearers’, Judith Lieu focuses on the θεοσεβ- language and thus misses this point: ‘Both the idea of Christians as a race, a γένος, and an emphasis on their “fear of God” (θεοσέβεια) … seem to have been emerging more widely in the middle of the second century. Although these terms are foreign to the New Testament and earlier Apostolic Fathers …’ Here she cites in a note (only) uses of θεοσέβεια in 1 Tim. 2.10; Jn 9.32; 1 Clem. 17.3; and 2 Clem. 20.4. See Lieu, ‘Race’, 54 with n. 15. 63 See further below for the importance of a belief in shared descent in modern socialscientific definitions of ethnic groups. 64 See further Johnson Hodge, If Sons; Buell and Johnson Hodge, ‘Politics of Interpretation’, 243–50; Sechrest, Former Jew.

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3.6-29). His most frequent label for members of the churches is ἀδελφοί, a designation that depicts them as members of a common family, with a shared status as God’s adopted sons (Rom. 8.14-17; Gal. 4.5-7), with Jesus as eldest brother (Rom. 8.29) and Jerusalem as mother (Gal. 4.26).65 This already gets to the heart of a key aspect of the term γένος, namely that of shared descent, but without using the word as such. Paul also appropriates other Jewish identity markers, such as circumcision (Phil. 3.3; cf. Rom. 2.25-29) and the notion of holiness, with the designation ἅγιοι among his most common labels for the members of the Christian assemblies. Indeed, he comes at least close to an explicit identification of the Church as Israel.66 Yet it is only in 1 Pet. 2.9 that this essentially Jewish form of ethnic identity is clearly and forcefully named as such, and applied to Christians, in a way that no reader can miss. Members of this brotherhood (ἀδελφότης, 2.17; 5.9) are a chosen race, a holy nation, and a special people; they are the people of God (2.10).

5.4. First Peter 2.9 and the language of race in early Christian literature The significance of this can be further assessed by considering two features of early Christian discourse subsequent to 1 Peter: first, citations of 1 Pet. 2.9 and second, descriptions of Christians as a ‘race’ (γένος).67 Among the earliest citations of 1 Pet. 2.9 relevant to our purpose – i.e. those where some aspect of the γένος/ἔθνος/λαός phrasing is taken up68 – there is one in Melito’s Peri Pascha 68,69 a work with a number of points of connection with 1 Peter, and several in Clement of Alexandria. These latter prove to be particularly interesting.

65 See further David G. Horrell, ‘From ἀδελφοί to οἶκος θεοῦ: Social Transformation in Pauline Christianity’, JBL 120 (2001), 293–311; Reidar Aasgaard, ‘My Beloved Brothers and Sisters!’ Christian Siblingship in Paul (JSNTSup 265; London and New York: T&T Clark, 2004). 66 He refers to ‘the Israel according to the flesh’ (1 Cor. 10.18), which stands in implicit contrast to a new Israel, or a redefined Israel, according to the Spirit or the promise (cf. Rom. 9.7-8; Gal. 4.21-31). He may even denote the Church as ‘the Israel of God’, if that is the right construal of Gal. 6.16, though that is open to considerable debate. See the recent discussion, with strong arguments for taking this as a reference to the Church, in Sechrest, Former Jew, 181–86. 67 I focus specifically on the term γένος because (1) it seems to be the most significant in subsequent literature (e.g. in Clement of Alexandria’s citations of 1 Pet. 2.9 and in the description of Christians as a third race), (2) it is the term that most strongly denotes a specifically ethnoracial form of identity, with its focus on the idea of shared descent, and partly also for reasons of space. 68 Elsewhere, different terms and images are the focus. For example, in 1 Clem. 59.2; Ep. Apost. 21; and Minucius Felix, Oct. 1.4, it is the imagery of darkness to light that is cited. 69 Drawing extensively on Exodus imagery to describe the achievements of Christ, Melito declares, echoing a number of phrases from 1 Pet. 2.9: ‘It is he that has delivered us from slavery to liberty, from darkness to light, from death to life, from tyranny to eternal royalty (εἰς βασιλείαν αἰώνιον) and made us a new priesthood (ἱεράτευμα καινόν) and an eternal people personal to him (λαὸν περιούσιον αἰώνιον).’ Text and ET from Hall, Melito. There is some textual uncertainty about this short section, which is not present in all MSS of Melito; see §2.2 n. 25.

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In the Protrepticus (4.59.3), Clement quotes much of 1 Pet. 2.9-10 in the context of an address rejecting the sexual immorality and idolatry of the Graeco-Roman world (Homer is cited in the immediately preceding verses) and depicting the new Christian identity to which he calls the addressees: ‘we are the chosen race, the royal priesthood, a holy nation, a special people, who once were no people, but are now the people of God’ (ἡμεῖς τὸ γένος τὸ ἐκλεκτόν, τὸ βασίλειον ἱεράτευμα, ἔθνος ἅγιον, λαὸς περιούσιος, οἱ ποτὲ οὐ λαός, νῦν δὲ λαὸς τοῦ θεοῦ).70 It is notable that it is the identity-defining labels that are picked out here (as they are, incidentally, in the marginal summary at 2.9 in the Bodmer Miscellaneous Codex containing P72).71 A less extensive allusion is found in the Paedagogus (1.6.32.4), where Clement draws a contrast between the Christian’s old and new identity, describing the putting off of the old person and taking off of evil clothing, and putting on the immortality of Christ, ‘in order that we may become new, a holy people, born again … (ἵνα καινοὶ γενόμενοι, λαὸς ἅγιος, ἀναγεννηθέντες)’.72 In his Adumbrationes on 1 Peter (extant only in Latin), Clement quotes part of 2.9 – ‘But you are a chosen race (genus electum), a royal priesthood’ – and comments, significantly, as follows: ‘That we are a chosen race by the election of God is abundantly clear (Quoniam electum genus sumus dei electione, abunde clarum est).’73 Particularly interesting are a number of allusions to 1 Pet. 2.9 in the Stromateis, where Clement refers to Christians as a γένος. Those who reverence and honour God continually in every way, thus displaying true gnõsis,74 are ‘the elect race (τὸ γένος τὸ ἐκλεκτόν)’ (Strom. 7.7.35.2).75 Similarly, those 70 Greek text from GCS 312 (Clem I), 46. 71 See §2.3, pp. 58–59. 72 Greek text from GCS 312 (Clem I), 109. One might perhaps question how secure this is as an allusion to 1 Pet. 2.9, given the phrase λαὸς ἅγιος, rather than ἔθνος ἅγιον. However, it is notable that the surrounding words contain a number of points of contact with the language of 1 Peter, making an allusion to the letter likely, though hardly beyond question. Apart from ἀναγεννηθέντες in the phrase quoted above (cf. 1 Pet. 1.3, 23, only here in New Testament), the sentence quoted continues immediately on as follows: ἀμίαντον φυλάξωμεν τὸν ἄνθρωπον καὶ νήπιοι ὦμεν ὡς βρέφος τοῦ θεοῦ κεκαθαρμένον πορνείας καὶ πονηρίας. This is strongly reminiscent of 1 Pet. 2.1–2. 73 Latin text from GCS 217 (Clem III), 204, ll. 21–22. 74 On Clement’s view of gnõsis as the goal of the mature Christian life, see John Behr, Asceticism and Anthropology in Irenaeus and Clement (OECS; Oxford and New York: Oxford University Press, 1999), 185–207; Henny Fiskå Hägg, Clement of Alexandria and the Beginnings of Christian Apophaticism (OECS; Oxford and New York: Oxford University Press, 2006), 32, 150–52. 75 Greek texts in this paragraph from GCS 217 (Clem III). In this and the following reference, where only the phrase γένος ἐκλεκτόν is echoed from 1 Pet. 2.9, it is conceivable that the allusion might be to Isa. 43.20, though given Clement’s clear use of 1 Pet. 2.9-10 elsewhere, including in his Adumbrationes where he highlights just this phrase (see below), this is unlikely (insofar as the influence of the two biblical texts can neatly be separated). Although the phrase in 1 Pet. 2.9 is anarthrous (contrast Isa. 43.20 LXX), it is unsurprising that Clement used the definite article, and the possessive pronoun of the phrase in Isaiah (τὸ γένος μου τὸ ἐκλεκτόν) is not included. Among the early citations of Isa. 43.20, Clement, Strom. 6.6.50.4 and Tertullian, Marc.

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who seek God are described as τὸ γένος τὸ ἐκλεκτόν (Strom. 7.10.58.6). Later, echoing the words βασίλειος and γένος from 1 Pet. 2.9,76 Clement describes the decision to be righteous as taking ‘the royal road (ἡ ὁδὸς λέγεται βασιλική), which the royal race travels (ἣν τὸ βασιλικὸν ὁδεύει γένος)’ (Strom. 7.12.73.5). In Clement’s own contributions to the extracts from Theodotus, the Transfiguration – ‘when he appeared in glory to the apostles upon the mountain’ – is described as an occasion when the Lord showed himself, ‘not for his own sake, but for the sake of the church, which is the chosen race (τὸ γένος τὸ ἐκλεκτόν)’ (Exc. ex Theod. 4.1).77 Here γένος ἐκλεκτόν seems to have become a concise way to describe and define the Church (and this not in a context where distinctiveness from the surrounding society is the topic). And Clement’s reference to the one, singular, Church is both emphatic and polemical. As Annewies van den Hoek notes, ‘Clement’s concept of church has a strongly polemical orientation. When he speaks about the gatherings of heretics, he is eager to use the plural ἐκκλησίας in order to deny their claim to be ἐκκλησία in the singular, the one and true church, in which the just assemble.’78 There is a further possible allusion to 1 Pet. 2.9 in Extract 1.3, again a comment of Clement’s own (signalled by φαμέν),79 where Clement speaks of ‘the elect seed (τὸ ἐκλεκτὸν σπέρμα)’ which makes into one (ἑνοποιοῦσα) in faith the races (γένη) that seemed divided’. Here, however, the allusion to 1 Pet. 2.9 is much less secure, with only ἐκλεκτόν – applied here to the seed – to suggest any connection.80 It may be, as Everett Procter notes, that the language here is borrowed from the Valentinians, and used to refute ‘their assumption that they alone are “the elect” race or “seed”’ and to insist ‘that the 3.5.3 do not include the γένος ἐκλεκτόν phrase, and two references in Cyprian that do are focused on the water imagery and its baptismal relevance (Cyprian, Ep. 63.8; Test. 1.12). The reference to Job’s children as ‘a chosen and honored race from the seed of Jacob’ (γένος ἐκλεκτόν ἔντιμον ἐκ σπέρματος Ιακωβ, T.Job 1.5) may reflect the influence of the Jewish scriptures generally and Isa. 43.20 in particular and need not be a sign of Christian editing, nor of the influence of 1 Pet. 2.9, though the Testament as a whole is thought to show at least some signs of Christian redaction; see OTP 1.833–34. 76 This combination of words means that 1 Pet. 2.9, rather than Isa. 43.20, has to be the scriptural influence here. 77 On the reasons to take Extracts 4–5 as Clement’s own work, see François Sagnard, Clément d’Alexandrie, Extraits de Théodote: texte grec, introduction, traduction et notes (SC 23; Paris: Cerf, 1970), 59 n. 2 (and for the agreement on this, see 8–9); Werner Foerster, Gnosis: A Selection of Gnostic Texts (Vol. I. Patristic Evidence; Oxford: Clarendon, 1972), 223, who omits §§4–5. For the Greek text with English translation, see Robert Pierce Casey, The Excerpta ex Theodoto of Clement of Alexandria (Studies and Documents 1; London: Christophers, 1934). 78 Annewies van den Hoek, ‘The “Catechetical” School of Early Christian Alexandria and its Philonic Heritage’, HTR 90 (1997), 59–87 (72). 79 See Sagnard, Clément, 55 with n. 6. Foerster, Gnosis, 222, omits 1.3 from his translation. Casey, Excerpta, 25, describes 1.3 as ‘an excellent example of his [sc. Clement’s] favourite kind of adaptation’. 80 Γένος does of course appear here too, but not in a way that would indicate any allusion to or influence from 1 Pet. 2.9 or Isa. 43.20. Casey, Excerpta, 41, translates ‘genera’ here.

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terms “the elect,” “seed,” and “spark” refer to every Christian who is given life by the Logos, and therefore, to the one church that unites the whole human race in faith’.81 Overall, it is significant that of the seven or eight allusions to 1 Pet. 2.9 in Clement’s works,82 five contain some focus on the word γένος, four of which pick up from the verse the key phrase γένος ἐκλεκτόν. This would seem to be for Clement the most significant designation of the Church in 1 Pet. 2.9, as his comment in the Adumbrationes makes clear. This is also confirmed, as we shall see, by Clement’s use elsewhere of the language of ‘race’ (γένος) to describe the identity of Christians (see below). Another citation uses the phrase λαὸς ἅγιος, closely equivalent to ἔθνος ἅγιον;83 and the most extensive quotation of 2.9-10 (in Prot. 4.59.3) focuses entirely on the various identitydefining labels for the people of God. Given that 1 Pet. 2.9 is the only New Testament text to apply the term γένος to the Christian movement, and given the extent to which Clement focuses especially on the phrase γένος ἐκλεκτόν, using it as a designation of the Church, it is also relevant to consider other places where γένος language came to be applied to Christians. Whether or not these reflect the direct influence of 1 Pet. 2.9, they certainly continue a mode of description initiated by 1 Peter. During the second century, talk of Christians as a ‘race’ (γένος) seems to have become firmly established.84 The Martyrdom of Polycarp describes Christians as a ‘godly and pious race’ (… τοῦ θεοφιλοῦς καὶ θεοσεβοῦς γένους τῶν Χριστιανῶν) (Mart. Pol. 3.2). Elsewhere in the same text, and also in Hermas, they are ‘the race of the righteous’ (τὸ γένος τῶν δικαίων; Mart. Pol. 14.1; 17.1; Sim. 9.17.5). Justin Martyr describes them as ‘the true high-priestly race of God’ (ἀρχιερατικὸν τὸ ἀληθινὸν γένος... τοῦ θεοῦ) (Dial. 116.3).85 A number of texts, not least in Clement of Alexandria (e.g. Strom. 5.14.98.4), use this ‘race’ language in the context of a threefold classification, Greeks, Jews, and Christians, a classification already found in Paul, though without the language of ‘race’ or the specific designation ‘Christians’ (1 Cor. 10.32). An important if somewhat difficult example – possibly recording the first description of Christians as a τρίτον γένος – is in Clement’s Stromateis. The context is one where Clement uses quotations from the Kerygma Petrou to show that Greeks and others also knew God, but did not know or worship him in the right way. In other words, Clement claims that the Christians are 81 Everett Procter, Christian Controversy in Alexandria: Clement’s Polemic against the Basilideans and Valentinians (American University Studies Series VII Theology and Religion 172; New York: Peter Lang, 1995), 98. 82 Seven are listed in BP I, eight in the biblical index to Clement’s works provided in GCS 39.1.2 (Clem IV.1), 25. The additional reference here is to Exc ex Theod. 1.3, on which see above. 83 Cf. also Justin, Dial. 119.3 (λαὸς ἅγιός ἐσμεν). 84 On this topic, see esp. Buell, ‘Relevance of Race’; Buell, ‘Race and Universalism’; Lieu, ‘Race’; Lieu, Christian Identity, 239–68. For a brief overview of some of this material, see David F. Wright, ‘A Race Apart? Jews, Gentiles, Christians’, BSac 160 (2003), 131–41 (134–37). 85 Text from Bobichon.

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not announcing a new God, but a new way (rightly) to worship him (echoing Jer. 31.31-32 and Heb. 8.8-10 on the new covenant). In this distinguishing of old and new ways of worship distinctions are drawn between three groups of people, and three modes of worship: He made a new covenant with us; for what belonged to the Greeks and Jews is old. But we, who worship him in a new way, in a third race, are Christians (τὰ γὰρ Ἑλλήνων καὶ Ἰουδαίων παλαία, ἡμεῖς δὲ οἱ καινῶς αὐτὸν τρίτῳ γένει σεβόμενοι Χριστιανοί). For clearly, as I think, he showed that the one and only God was known by the Greeks in a gentile way (ἐθνικῶς), by the Jews in a Jewish way (Ἰουδαϊκῶς), and in a new and spiritual way by us (Strom. 6.5.41.6–7).86

Two things somewhat complicate this text. One is the question as to whether the crucial phrases are taken from the Kerygma Petrou or are Clement’s own comment – this is not entirely clear, though the KP is usually taken to include the reference to worshipping τρίτῳ γένει.87 This would seem plausible, given the signalling of the return to Clement’s voice with ‘as I think’ (οἶμαι). The second is the uncertainty about the sense of γένος here: Does it denote a distinct ‘kind’ or ‘form’ of (Christian) worship88 or a distinct Christian identity ‘as a third race’?89 Whatever our decision on this point, the idea that Christians form a third people grouping is certainly evident here.90 And Clement goes on shortly thereafter to describe Christians as a ‘race’ (γένος, Strom. 6.5.42.2; see below), indicating that this term is in his view apposite to designate their identity. 86 Text from GCS 452 (Clem II), 452. 87 See Wilhelm Schneemelcher, ‘The Kerygma Petrou’, in E. Hennecke and Wilhelm Schneemelcher (eds), New Testament Apocrypha, Vol. 2 (London: Lutterworth, 1965), 94–102 (100); Patrick Descourtieux (ed.), Clément d’Alexandrie, Les Stromates: Stromate VI (SC 446, Paris: Cerf, 1999), 144–45; Lieu, Christian Identity, 261–62 with nn. 87–88. For a wide-ranging study of the KP, see Henning Paulsen, ‘Das Kerygma Petri und die urchristliche Apologetik’, ZKG 88 (1977), 1–37 (repr. in Henning Paulsen, Zur Literatur und Geschichte des frühen Christentums [WUNT 99; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1997], 173–209). 88 Adolf von Harnack, Die Mission und Ausbreitung des Christentums in den ersten drei Jahrhunderten, 2 vols (4th edn; Leipzig: Hinrich, 1924), 1.264 (‘auf die dritte Weise’). Harnack’s comment is significant: ‘Das Bemerkenswerte ist aber, daß er ganz bestimmt drei Arten feststellt, nicht mehr und nicht weniger, und das Christentum ausdrücklich als das neue, dritte genus der Gottesverehrung bezeichnet … doch ist zu beachten, daß hier die Christen selbst noch nicht “das dritte Geschlecht” heißen, sondern ihre Gottesverehrung als die dritte gilt. Nicht in drei Völker teilt unser Verfasser die Menschheit, sondern in drei Klassen von Gottesverehrern’ (1.265). 89 Schneemelcher, ‘Kerygma Petrou’, 100: ‘But we are Christians, who as a third race worship him in a new way’; cf. also Descourtieux, Clément, 145 (‘comme une troisième race’). 90 Cf. the comment of Paulsen, ‘Kerygma Petri’, 20–21: ‘Sicher soll mit dieser Aussage zunächst nur die spezifische Form der christlichen Gottesverehrung artikuliert werden. Daß es aber zu einer faktischen Identifizierung mit konkreten, soziologischen Gegebenheiten kommt, deutet sich im KerP vor allem in der Verbindung mit den paränetischen Konsequenzen an.’ Sechrest’s comment that ‘the only thing standing in the way of such an understanding [sc. of this passage as a reference to ‘the third race’] is Harnack’s assumption … that the word “race” cannot refer to people-groups classified by religion’ does not engage the difficulties here, nor do justice to Harnack’s comments (Sechrest, Former Jew, 16).

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The distinction between Greeks, Jews, and Christians is also the context for an explicit description of Christians as a ‘this new race (καινὸν τοῦτο γένος)’ in the Epistle to Diognetus (Diogn. 1).91 A similar threefold classification of peoples is found in the Greek version of Aristides’ Apology, where it is said ‘that there are three races (γένη) of people in the world, which are those known among us as worshippers of gods, and Jews, and Christians (θεῶν προσκυνηταὶ, καὶ Ἰουδαῖοι, καὶ Χριστιανοί)’ (Apol. 2).92 The writer proceeds to classify the ‘worshippers of gods’ into three races (τρία γένη): Chaldaeans, Greeks, and Egyptians. Clement of Alexandria not infrequently uses ‘race’ language to talk specifically of the way in which those from among both Greeks and Jews have been brought together into what he calls ‘the one race of the saved (τὸ ἓν γένος τοῦ σῳζομένου)’ (Strom. 6.5.42.2; cf. Strom. 3.10.70.1–2; 6.13.106.4). Sometimes this divine calling is expressed as encompassing both Greeks and Barbarians: there is, Clement asserts, since the coming (parousia) of Christ, ‘the catholic/universal calling (ἡ κλῆσις ἡ καθολική) to be a special people of righteousness (εἰς περιούσιον δικαιοσύνης λαόν) … brought together by one Lord, the only God of both Greeks and Barbarians, or rather of the whole human race (παντὸς τοῦ τῶν ἀνθρώπων γένους)’ (Strom. 6.17.159.9).93 Here, as Buell has shown, using Jonathan Hall’s terminology, Clement uses one particular kind of ethnic reasoning, an ‘aggregative’ or universalizing strategy, suggesting that all can be incorporated into this new people of God.94 A second, and contrasting, strategy is an ‘oppositional’ one, which uses ethnic language to distinguish the in-group from others, and which we have seen in Aristides, the Kerygma Petrou, as well as elsewhere in Clement of Alexandria.95 Particularly in this latter type of use, the notion of Christians as a third race, alongside Jews and Greeks, is at least implicitly present, and represents a positive and self-defining Christian claim, as it does in the somewhat later pseudo-Cyprianic work De Pascha computus, dated to 243 ce,96 where 91 Cf. also Barn. 5.7 (τὸν λαὸν τὸν καινὸν); Mt. 21.43 (discussed above). 92 For the text, see J. Rendel Harris and J. Armitage Robinson, The Apology of Aristides on Behalf of the Christians (Texts and Studies 1.1; Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1891). For discussion, see Lieu, ‘Race’, 55–56; Lieu, Christian Identity, 260–61. Cf. also Joseph Clifford Fenton, ‘New Testament Designations of the Catholic Church and of its Members’, CBQ 9 (1947), 127–46 (142), who cites Aristides’ Apology as an indication ‘that the term γένος, used by St. Peter as a designation of the Church, was an important factor in the teaching of the early Christian society’. The Syriac version lists four races: ‘Barbarians and Greeks, Jews and Christians’. See Harris and Robinson, Apology of Aristides, 36; Lieu, Christian Identity, 260. Cf. Apol. 15 where Christians are said to descend (γενεαλογοῦνται) from Christ. 93 Cf. Prot. 12.120.2, where Christ summons ‘countless tribes (μυρία φῦλα), all people of reason, both Barbarians and Greeks, I call on the whole human race (τὸ πᾶν ἀνθρώπων γένος καλῶ)’ (GCS 312 [Clem I], 84). 94 Buell, ‘Race and Universalism’, 441–50; Buell, Why This New Race, 138–65; cf. Hall, Ethnic Identity, 47. 95 Cf. Buell, ‘Race and Universalism’, 442. 96 See J. Quasten, Patrology. Vol II: The Ante-Nicene Literature after Irenaeus (Utrecht and Antwerp: Spectrum, 1958), 369. Adolf von Harnack, The Expansion of Christianity in the

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Christians (‘we’) are positively identified as ‘the third race of humankind (tertium genus hominum)’ (De Pascha comp. 17). By contrast, the idea of Christians as a third race is one which Tertullian, at the end of the second century, depicts as a negative designation used by outsiders and indeed one he treats with some scorn. ‘We are called the third race (Plane, tertium genus dicimur)’ (Ad. nat. 1.8.1), he reports, while ridiculing the idea that Christians are somehow a different species: ‘Have Christians teeth of a different sort from others? Have they more ample jaws? I don’t think so (non opinor)!’ (Ad. nat. 1.7.34). He poses the rhetorical challenge: ‘If you attach any meaning to these names, pray tell us what are the first and second race, that so we may know something of this “third”’ (Ad. nat. 1.8.1). Yet elsewhere, rather less polemically, he describes Christians as a third race (genus tertium), in contrast to synagogues of the Jews (synagogas Iudaeorum) and peoples of the nations (populos nationum), from whom comes the cry to be rid of ‘the third race’ (genus tertium; Scorp. 10.10). He also finds a parallel to the logic of Christians existing as a third race in the existence of what he calls ‘a third race in sex’ – that is, eunuchs, alongside male and female (Ad. nat. 1.20.4).97 These latter examples suggest that the description of Christians as the third race was not necessarily something Tertullian rejected – though the example of eunuchs, a destabilizing ‘third’ category that threatens the clear distinction between the two sexes, suggests that the notion retains an unsettling edge. Indeed, there is perhaps a tacit indication in Tertullian of the tension implicit in describing Christians as members of a genus – in one sense this is ridiculous and in another sense not – something that perhaps hints at a deeper and more general tension between the apparent fixity yet real fluidity of ‘ethnic’ or ‘racial’ categorizations. As Adolf von Harnack observed in his classic treatment of this subject, the description of Christians as a third race thus seems to exist both as an internal self-description and as a label apparently used by opponents. The description of Christians as a genus by Suetonius (Nero 16.2) might reflect an early use of this terminology on the part of outsiders, though the language may reflect the perspective of the time of composition (early second century) rather than the period being described (60s ce). Harnack thought it unlikely that the opponents borrowed the phrase from Christian literature and concluded that ‘the term rose as spontaneously to the lips of Christians as of their opponents’, noting the ‘chronological succession of its occurrences’ in the Preaching of Peter (early second century),98 Tertullian (197 ce), and

First Three Centuries (vol. 1; London and New York: Williams and Norgate/Putnam, 1904), 313, gives 242–43 ce. 97 ‘You too have your “third race” (tertium genus) not as a third religious rite (tertio ritu), but a third sex (tertio sexu) …’ Latin texts here and in the citations above from CCSL 1–2; ET in ANF 3. 98 For the date of 100–120 ce, see Paulsen, ‘Kerygma Petri’, 13 (185 in repr.).

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later Pseudo-Cyprian (243 ce).99 ‘Christians’, Harnack comments, ‘held themselves to be the new People and the third race of mankind’.100 Unlike the label Χριστιανός, which seems to have arisen as an outsiders’ label, gradually claimed as an insiders’ self-designation (see chapter 6), the description of Christians as a γένος, as what we would call an ethnic or ethnoracial group, seems to have arisen as a facet of Christian self-definition, even if similar language also came to be used by outsiders. Indeed, it is possible – though no more than this – that the process is the reverse of that which took place with the label Χριστιανός.101 Christian self-description in ethnoracial terms, drawing of course on Jewish identity discourse, and reinforced by the kinds of exclusivism that led to hostile criticism (Tacitus, Ann. 15.44), shaped outsiders’ perceptions and descriptions. It would be rash to propose that 1 Pet. 2.9 is somehow the direct source for all talk of Christians as a γένος.102 Nonetheless, whatever the extent of its direct influence, it is clearly the first application of the term to Christians, in the context of a clear and extensive description of the members of the churches as an ethnoracial group. Moreover, as we have seen, 1 Pet. 2.9 exerts some notable influence on later descriptions of Christians as a γένος ἐκλεκτόν, a designation of the Church that both highlights the fundamental theme of election and also makes an essentially ‘ethnic’ term central to this self-description. As such, it represents a rather crucial step in the making of Christian identity. Descriptions of Christians as the third race are a further aspect of this development. Even though, as we have noted, the idea of Christians as a third grouping alongside Jews and Greeks is present in nuce as early as 1 Corinthians, it is only later linked specifically with the language of race. And 1 Pet. 2.9 marks an early and crucial step in defining Christian identity in this way, with its uniquely emphatic description of members of the Church as a race, a nation, and a people.

99 Harnack, Expansion, 1.347–48 n.2. Cf. also Lieu, ‘Race’, 57–59, who sees ‘[t]wo trajectories … [that] lead to the designation of Christians being a “race”’ (57): one arising from the slurs of opponents; the other from Christian appropriation of Jewish identity designations. She tentatively suggests: ‘it is possible that the Jews already spoke of themselves as the third race, only to have the epithet taken over by the Christians’ (59). Similarly, Lieu, Christian Identity, 262–66. Origen’s use of the phrase τρίτον γένος in C. Cels 5.61 is interesting, though somewhat opaque. Harnack, Expansion, 1.350 n.1, regards it as irrelevant, as it refers to a third kind of sect grouping among the Christians, which Origen identifies as the Valentinians. Since the phrase seems to come from Celsus, it may perhaps be a further indication of the currency of the label among the non-Christian critics of Christianity. 100 Harnack, Expansion, 1.335. 101 Cf. Wright, ‘A Race Apart’, 137, discussing the description of Christians as a ‘third race’: ‘A badge of pride so easily became a hostile sneer.’ 102 Bigg, St. Peter and St. Jude, 134, however, suggests regarding γένος that ‘[f]rom its use here [in 1 Pet. 2.9] possibly comes the expression τρίτον γένος, applied to Christians’.

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5.5. First Peter 2.9 and the making of an ethnoracial form of Christian identity The crucial question, of course, is what we should make of all this information, and how we should understand the rhetorical move made by the author of 1 Peter. A first point to observe is that the declaration of Christian identity in 1 Pet. 2.9-10 not only draws on the Jewish scriptures but, more than this, appropriates what are arguably the key identity designations of Israel (γένος ἐκλεκτόν, ἔθνος ἅγιον, λαὸς θεοῦ) to describe the identity of the predominantly gentile recipients of the letter.103 This appropriation of Jewish identity designations is not, of course, unique; the New Testament in general, and Paul in particular, represent precisely this kind of strategy, as we have already noted above in regard to Paul’s construction of Christian identity in ethnic terms. Yet this passage in 1 Peter is a particularly rich and explicit example of this claim to the identity and status of Israel. As Peter Richardson puts it, the ‘transpositions’ of Jewish attributes and titles to the Church ‘reach a climax within the New Testament in [1 Pet] 2:1-10’, a text which represents ‘a conscious attempt … to appropriate the Ehrentitel Israels for the new people of God’.104 Hence Paul Achtemeier can make the claim that ‘Israel as a totality has become for this letter the controlling metaphor in terms of which its theology is expressed’.105 Achtemeier continues: ‘In 1 Peter the language and hence the reality of Israel pass without remainder into the language and hence the reality of the new people of God. The constitutive nature of this language is most evident in 1 Pet. 2:9-10.’106 According to Richardson, what this suggests is that ‘[t]he Church has taken over the inheritance … of Israel’.107 This claiming for the Church of Israel’s identity raises challenging historical, theological, and ethical questions.108 Whether or not this should be judged a form of supercessionism, it is notable that 1 Peter is simply silent about the continued existence of what Paul elsewhere called ὁ Ἰσραὴλ κατὰ σάρκα (1 Cor. 10.18), unlike many other early Christian texts which explicitly draw the 103 On the identity of the recipients, see §4.4.2. 104 Richardson, Israel, 172–73. 105 Achtemeier, 1 Peter, 69. 106 Achtemeier, 1 Peter, 69. Similar points are made in Paul J. Achtemeier, ‘The Christology of 1 Peter: Some Reflections’, in Mark A. Powell and David R. Bauer (eds), Who Do You Say That I Am? Essays on Christology in Honor of Jack Dean Kingsbury (Louisville: Westminster John Knox, 1999), 140–54. Achtemeier insists that ‘[t]his is evidently not an instance of anti-Semitism’ (1 Peter, 72). But this skates too quickly over the issues: what does this ‘without remainder’ mean, and what are the implications for the continuing status of Israel as God’s people? One might read the silence of 1 Peter critically here, as does Betsy J. Bauman-Martin, ‘Speaking Jewish: Postcolonial Aliens and Strangers in First Peter’, in Robert L. Webb and Betsy BaumanMartin (eds), Reading 1 Peter with New Eyes: Methodological Reassessments of the Letter of First Peter (LNTS 364; London and New York: T&T Clark, 2007), 144–77. 107 Richardson, Israel, 174. 108 See further Horrell, 1 Peter, 102–105; Bauman-Martin, ‘Speaking Jewish’.

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contrast between ‘old’ and ‘new’ and suggest that the former is obsolete (e.g. Heb. 7.18-19; 8.6-13; 9.11-15; Barn. 16.5-8; Melito, Peri Pascha, 43).109 As Ramsey Michaels puts it: The titles of honor are used with no awareness or recognition of an ‘old’ Israel, as if they were applicable to Christians alone and had never had any other reference. If there is ‘anti-Jewish polemic’ here, it is a polemic that comes to expression simply by pretending that the ‘other’ Israel does not exist.110

The Church, it seems, has simply become the chosen race, the holy nation, hence Achtemeier’s talk of ‘the language and hence the reality of Israel’ passing ‘without remainder’ into that of ‘the new people of God’.111 But our focus in this chapter has been not so much on the appropriation of Jewish identity labels (chosen, holy, etc.) as on the specifically ethnic terms – also drawn from Jewish tradition – that are deployed to denote the Church in 1 Pet. 2.9. As we have seen, this is the most explicitly ‘ethnic’ description of Christian identity in the whole New Testament, and one that initiates an influential discourse about ethnicity and ‘race’ in early Christian writing. These ethnoracial terms are, as we have also seen, taken over from the language of Jewish self-identity, such that they acquire a particular resonance in early Christian literature; and this raises the further question about whether, and in what ways, Christian identity itself should be seen as ethnic or ethnoracial in character. Despite the prominence of ethnoracial terminology, both in 1 Peter and the New Testament more widely, the established tendency in scholarship, as Denise Kimber Buell and Caroline Johnson Hodge have pointed out, has been to depict Christianity ‘as a “universal” religion, one that transcends ethnic and familial particularities’.112 Jewish ethnic particularism is contrasted with nonethnic universal Christianity,113 with Paul especially seen as ‘the transition 109 Cf. Schrage, ‘Petrusbrief’, 85: ‘Der Verfasser überträgt dabei [in 2.9-10] traditionelle Aussagen und Ehrentitel, die ursprünglich Israel galten, auf die Kirche und betont damit deren Kontinuität zum Bundesvolk das Alten Testaments. Das geschieht so selbstverständlich und undialektisch, daß das “Israel nach dem Fleisch” (1. Kor. 10,18) anders als bei Paulus kein Problem mehr zu sein scheint.’ 110 Michaels, 1 Peter, 107. Cf. Richardson, Israel, 173: ‘there is no hint of interest in Israel in 1 Peter’; Lieu, Christian Identity, 40, on 1 Pet. 2.9-10: ‘There is no hint that there were others, also of “the Dispersion” (1.1), who claimed the same epithets and appealed to the same Scriptures.’ 111 Cf. also Brox, Petrusbrief, 103: ‘Für den 1Petr sind solche Aussagen von vornherein auf die christliche Gemeinde hin und für niemand sonst gemacht.’ 112 Johnson Hodge, If Sons, 3. See further Buell, ‘Relevance of Race’, 453–56. 113 Johnson Hodge, If Sons, 4. This contrast was previously challenged in an essay by Nils Alstrup Dahl, ‘The One God of Jews and Gentiles (Romans 3.29-30)’, Studies in Paul (Minneapolis, MN: Augsburg, 1977), 178–91, and later by John M. G. Barclay, ‘Universalism and Particularism: Twin Components of Both Judaism and Early Christianity’, in Markus Bockmuehl and Michael B. Thompson (eds), A Vision for the Church: Studies in Early Christian Ecclesiology in Honour of J.P.M. Sweet (Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1997), 207–24. Dahl criticizes ‘the common but simplistic notion of a contrast between Christian universalism and Jewish particularism. Jewish

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point between an old, exclusive, ethnic Judaism and a new, inclusive, universal Christianity’.114 Insofar as early Christianity adopts terms of ethnic or kinshipbased identity, these tend to be described as ‘fictive’.115 Charles Cosgrove, for example, insists that Paul’s ‘spiritual’ redefinition of Jewish identity to constitute being Christian ‘is expressly not a notion of ethnic identity’.116 Recent discussions of the subject of ethnicity and race, however, may lead us to question this contrast between ‘real’ ethnicities and the self-evidently ‘fictive’ kind of quasi-ethnic language used in early Christian discourse. For a start, much recent social-science scholarship has stressed the ways in which ethnicity, and other concepts such as ‘race’ and ‘nation’, are essentially ‘social constructions, the product of specific historical and geographical forces, rather than biologically given ideas whose meaning is dictated by nature’.117 This modern emphasis may in fact cohere well with ancient notions in our period of what we now call ethnic identity, in which there was not only a sense of stability and continuity through descent, but also – in dialectical tension with it – some sense of mutability and possibility: one could become, or cease to be, Greek, Roman, or Jewish depending on one’s connections (including adoption) and conduct, which generally included monotheism at the time of Paul was universalistic in its own way, and Christian monotheism remained exclusive ... We would come closer to the truth by saying that both Jewish and Christian monotheism are particular as well as universal, specific as well as general’ (191). Barclay argues that ‘both Judaism and early Christianity contained elements of universalism and particularism to varying degrees and in various forms’ (209). It is, however, notable that Barclay sees Judaism’s particularism as ‘an aspect of ethnicity’ while Christianity’s is that ‘of a voluntarist association’ (209; cf. 217, 220–21): in place of ‘ethnic particularism’ comes an ‘ecclesial particularism’ (215). Notwithstanding the degree of truth in this contrast, Barclay’s comment that Christians ‘could not demarcate themselves from “the world” by ethnicity’ (219) needs to be recast in light of both the fact that ethnic identity could be adopted (cf. 212–13 on Jewish proselytism, and nn. 120–22 below) and the extent to which early Christians, Paul (Barclay’s focus) included, used ethnic discourse to construct their distinctive identity, as Johnson Hodge and Buell have highlighted. 114 Johnson Hodge, If Sons, 7. 115 Cf. Sechrest, Former Jew, 126 with n. 26, who insists, in connection with Paul’s discussion of kinship with Abraham, that ‘Paul is speaking of new kinship relations with Gentiles that are as “real” as any other kind of ethnic relationship’ (n. 26). 116 Charles H. Cosgrove, ‘Did Paul Value Ethnicity?’, CBQ 68 (2006), 268–90 (272). 117 Peter Jackson and Jan Penrose, ‘Introduction: Placing “Race” and “Nation”’, in Peter Jackson and Jan Penrose (eds), Constructions of Race, Place and Nation (London/Minneapolis, MN: UCL Press/University of Minnesota Press, 1993/94), 1–23 (1). Cf. also John Stone, ‘Max Weber on Race, Ethnicity, and Nationalism’, in John Stone and Rutledge Dennis (eds), Race and Ethnicity: Comparative and Theoretical Approaches (Malden, MA and Oxford: Blackwell, 2003), 28–42 (33). Kevin Avruch opens his essay as follows: ‘For scholars of the postmodernist persuasion the great insight into ethnicity – ethnic identity, nationalism, culture, history, or most anything else that is social, for that matter – is that ethnicity is socially constructed: It is not a given but rather a thing which is made and thus potentially unstable, inconstant, and negotiable … But what makes this insight worth pursuing (and it is, at least in the long run, essentially correct), is that it so sharply flies in the face of what most ethnic “actors,” the players themselves, believe’ (Kevin Avruch, ‘Culture and Ethnic Conflict in the New World Disorder’, in Stone and Dennis [eds], Race and Ethnicity, 72–82 [73]). An important influence on such constructionist notions of ethnicity is the seminal work of Fredrik Barth (ed.), Ethnic Groups and Boundaries: The Social Organization of Culture Difference (Boston: Little, Brown & Company, 1969).

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religious dimensions. Thus Tim Whitmarsh speaks of ‘a deep self-consciousness about the fluidity of identity construction’ among elite Greeks under the Roman empire, suggesting that ‘what happened to the Greeks in the Roman period involved a similar kind of denaturalisation of identity to that experienced in the modern global village’.118 Regarding Judaism, Shaye Cohen argues that ‘in the second century b.c.e., the metaphoric boundary separating Judaeans from nonJudaeans became more and more permeable. Outsiders could become insiders.’119 Unfortunately, since he regards ethnicity as ‘closed, immutable, an ascribed characteristic based on birth’, Cohen depicts this development as a shift from ethnic to cultural-religious identity.120 John Barclay is more convincing, it seems to me, in depicting Judaism in the period as ‘primarily an ethnic tradition’, though one which proselytes could join so as ‘to acquire in effect a new “ethnicity” in kinship and custom’.121 Or, as Sechrest puts it, Jewish notions of ethnicity and race in the period of the first centuries bce and ce make ‘religion’ the central ‘criterion of identity’ (though kinship and other factors remain significant) such that Jewish ethnicity is most prominently a religio-cultural concept.122 Indeed, one of the valuable things this constructionist perspective brings to light is that there is a wide range of factors that could potentially be used as signifiers of ethnic identity, only some of which are salient in any given discursive or social contexts. This socially constructed characteristic applies also to the language of race, despite that term’s use to convey what is often perceived as a more ‘biological’ 118 Tim Whitmarsh, ‘Greece and Rome’, in George Boys-Stones, Barbara Graziosi, and Phiroze Vasunia (eds), The Oxford Handbook of Hellenic Studies (Oxford and New York: Oxford University Press, 2009), 114–28 (124). On this process of Greek identity construction in the Roman era, see Tim Whitmarsh, Greek Literature and the Roman Empire: The Politics of Imitation (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2001). Cf. also Richard Alston, ‘Changing Ethnicities: from the Egyptian to the Roman City’, in Tim Cornell and Kathryn Lomas (eds), Gender and Ethnicity in Ancient Italy (Accordia Specialist Studies on Italy 6; London: Accordia Research Institute, University of London, 1997), 83–96, who stresses the ideological and political dimensions of ethnicity (‘ethnicity is an ideological alignment’ [85]) and explores the fluidity between Egyptian and Greek ethnicities in Roman Egypt. 119 Shaye J. D. Cohen, The Beginnings of Jewishness: Boundaries, Varieties, Uncertainties (Berkeley and Los Angeles, CA/London: University of California Press, 1999), 110. 120 Cohen, Jewishness, 136. Cf. the straightforward statement at the opening of his chapter: ‘Ethnic (or ethnic-geographic) identity is immutable; non-Judaeans cannot become Judaeans any more than non-Egyptians can become Egyptians, or non-Syrians can become Syrians’ (109). Cohen also suggests that, from the fourth century bce, the Greeks ‘deemphasized the immutable and emphasized the mutable elements’ of their identity, such that ‘“Hellene” changed from an ethnic or ethnic-geographic term to a cultural term’ (132). Again it seems that the crucial error is regarding ethnicity as something that can only apply to (supposedly) immutable facets of identity or origin, in contrast to the modern social-scientific emphasis on its mutability and constructed nature, however much it is regarded or described as fixed in social life – wherein, of course, lies much of its complexity. Cf. the critical comments of Buell, ‘Relevance of Race’, 468–69; Buell, Why This New Race, 162–63. 121 Barclay, Jews, 408; see 402–13. On Jewish proselytism, see also Barclay, ‘Universalism’, 212–13. It may also be relevant, then, to note that πάροικος and παρεπίδημος (1 Pet. 1.1; 2.11) are proselyte terminology; see Seland, ‘πάροικος’ (repr. in Seland, Strangers). 122 Sechrest, Former Jew, 97–105, esp. 104–105, also 209.

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and thus immutable description of identity. The term ‘ethnicity’, indeed, appears to have come into modern English-language usage in the 1940s and 1950s, as a deliberate alternative to the language of race at a time when the latter was perceived to have become ‘deeply compromised by “racism”’,123 while talk about ‘racial’ characteristics had apparently displaced earlier uses of the term ‘ethnic’ to denote the ‘heathen, pagan, or Gentile’ in the nineteenth century.124 There is, then, no clear distinction between ethnic and racial identity, between the discourses of ethnicity and of race, or between ethno-politics and the politics of race.125 Because of the tainted history of the language of race, some maintain that it is better to abandon that language altogether.126 It is certainly valuable to be reminded that there is no objective, fixed meaning to terms like nation and race, and that we must beware of importing modern and debatable assumptions – about the biological essentialism of race, or the nation-state as the obvious locus of sovereignty – into our studies of early Christianity and our translations of ancient texts.127 Yet others insist, persuasively, in my 123 Werner Sollors, ‘Foreword: Theories of American Ethnicity’, in Werner Sollors (ed.), Theories of Ethnicity: A Classical Reader (New York, NY: New York University Press, 1996), x–xliv (xxix); and see p. x on the origin of ‘ethnicity’ in the USA in 1941–42. Cf. also John Hutchinson and Anthony D. Smith, ‘Introduction’, in John Hutchinson and Anthony D. Smith (eds), Ethnicity (Oxford Readers; Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1996), 3–14 (4), who comment that ethnicity is often seen as a ‘new term’ in English from the 1950s onward, but note its earlier derivation from Greek and its uses (from ancient times) to refer especially to ‘others’. 124 Raymond Williams, Keywords: A Vocabulary of Culture and Society (2nd edn; London: Fontana, 1983), 119. 125 Cf. Thomas H. Eriksen, ‘Ethnicity, Race, Class and Nation’, in John Hutchinson and Anthony D. Smith (eds), Ethnicity (Oxford Readers; Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1996 [1993]), 28–31. On the various terms and their histories, see also Williams, Keywords, 213–14, 248–50. Some writers continue to draw some distinctions between the (nonetheless) overlapping notions of ethnicity and race; e.g. Stephen Cornell and Douglas Hartmann, Ethnicity and Race: Making Identities in a Changing World (Sociology for a New Century; Thousand Oaks, CA: Pine Forge, 2007), 33: ‘Ethnicity refers to perceived common ancestry, the perception of a shared history of some sort, and shared symbols of peoplehood. Race refers to a group of human beings socially defined on the basis of physical characteristics. A human group might well meet both sets of criteria at once.’ 126 E.g. Calvin J. Roetzel, ‘No “Race of Israel” in Paul’, in Virginia Wiles, Alexandra Brown, and Graydon F. Snyder (eds), Putting Body and Soul Together: Essays in Honor of Robin Scroggs (Valley Forge, PA: Trinity Press International, 1997), 230–44; Esler, Conflict and Identity, 40, 55. Contrast the comments of Buell, ‘Race and Universalism’, 432–35, who deliberately uses ‘race and ethnicity interchangeably’ (435). 127 Roetzel, ‘Race of Israel’, argues against the use of ‘race’ language to denote Israel’s identity in Pauline scholarship, noting that ‘[t]he concept of race has its origins largely in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries, and the concept of the “race of Israel” is a product of racial theories of that recent period and not a historical product of the first century’ (239, cf. 244). He prefers talk of Israel as an ‘ethnic people’ (243). His critique of the use of race language in Pauline scholarship – for example, in descriptions of Israel’s failing as ‘the attempt to confine grace to race’ (239, quoting N. T. Wright) – is important. Yet ethnic as well as racial identities are often depicted and understood as objective and immutable, while actually being social constructions, as Roetzel recognizes (234, 236, etc.), and whether ‘racial’ identity can or cannot be changed depends precisely on one’s definition of race. Rather than reject use of the term as one possible

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view, that it is better to continue to use the language of race, alongside that of ethnicity, while making clear that race, like ethnicity, refers to a facet of identity that is constructed rather than given.128 This means that the concepts of both ethnicity and of race can become relevant to the critical study of early Christianity (and scholarship on early Christianity), contrary to a view that would see these – and especially ‘race’ – as intrinsically irrelevant to describe ‘a historical movement constituted by means of joining’.129 As Buell puts it: if we view both race and religion as socially and historically contingent concepts with no essential meanings or intrinsic relationship with one another, then we must not read early Christian literature through a lens that presumes a disjuncture between Christianness and race (or kinship). Instead of seeing conversion in contrast to ethnoracial identity, early Christians perceived ethnicity/race as concepts flexible enough to encompass both the radical transformation of identity attributed to the conversion process and the stability of identity hoped for in its wake.130

Indeed, one of the reasons why Buell finds Hall’s work so valuable is in his insistence that ethnic identity ‘is ultimately constructed through written and spoken discourse’; ‘ethnicity is not a primordial given, but is instead repeatedly and actively structured through discursive strategies’.131 If this is accepted, as I think it should be, then it is not only early Christianity which constitutes, in Averil Cameron’s words, ‘ a case of the construction of reality through text’, but other identities too, at least if we take ‘text’ in a broad sense to include written, oral, and visual modes of discourse and their associated social practices.132 Modern sociological definitions of ethnic groups, like the term γένος, often emphasize belief in common origins or shared descent, as in Max Weber’s classic rendering of γένος – where the notion of descent may also reflect what is believed to be or depicted as an immutable form of identity – it seems to me more fruitful to use it at the same time as exposing the (often ideological) uses to which it is put in various discursive contexts. Cf. Buell and Johnson Hodge, ‘Politics of Interpretation’, who argue persuasively that critical use of the concepts of ethnicity and race is important in order to prevent scholars from overlooking ‘the saliency of race in our own interpretive frameworks’ (251). As Buell comments elsewhere, ‘If we want to move beyond racism, we need to grapple with the elusive elasticity of race … we need to keep the term active so as to be able to interrogate the ways that our interpretive models encode, and thus perpetuate, particular notions about “race”’ (Buell, ‘Race and Universalism’, 434). 128 Cf. the important study of Benjamin Isaac, The Invention of Racism in Classical Antiquity (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 2004), who insists that ‘race … does not exist’ (30; cf. 32–33, 515, etc.) but accepts the importance of belief in the shared characteristics of what is defined as ‘race’: ‘This, however, is a sociological fact, not a biological one’ (33). 129 Buell, ‘Race and Universalism’, 436. 130 Buell, ‘Race and Universalism’, 436. 131 Hall, Ethnic Identity, 2 and 41 respectively. Cf. Mark G. Brett, ‘Interpreting Ethnicity: Method, Hermeneutics, Ethics’, in Brett (ed.), Ethnicity and the Bible, 3–22 (10): ‘Although ethnie can be exceptionally durable once formed, they are also symbolic constructions which have to be maintained by reiterated practices and transactions.’ 132 Averil Cameron, Christianity and the Rhetoric of Empire: The Development of Christian Discourse (Sather Classical Lectures 55; Berkeley, Los Angeles, Oxford: University of California Press, 1991), 21; quoted by Lieu, Christian Identity, 8.

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definition: ‘human groups (other than kinship groups) which cherish a belief in their common origins of such a kind that it provides a basis for the creation of a community’.133 It is important to stress, as John Stone makes clear, that Weber’s definition highlights the importance of beliefs rather than ‘any objective features of group membership … It is this sense of common ancestry that is vital, but the identification with shared origins is largely, if not wholly, fictitious.’134 The same goes for the notion of race, which Benjamin Isaac defines as ‘a group of people who are believed to share imagined common characteristics, physical and mental or moral, which cannot be changed by human will, because they are thought to be determined by unalterable, stable physical factors: hereditary, or external, such as climate or geography’. It is belief in the reality of race that is crucial, even if, for Isaac, such beliefs are inevitably false.135 In the light of such perspectives, it is interesting to set out a more expansive, modern, social-scientific definition of an ethnic group, and to consider how early Christianity in general – and 1 Peter in particular – includes all aspects in some form or other: 1. a common proper name, to identify and express the ‘essence’ of the community; 2. a myth of common ancestry, a myth rather than a fact, a myth that includes the idea of a common origin in time and place and that gives an ethnie a sense of fictive kinship, what Horowitz terms a ‘super-family’ ... ; 3. shared historical memories, or better, shared memories of a common past or pasts, including heroes, events and their commemoration; 4. one or more elements of common culture, which need not be specified but normally include religion, customs, or language; 5. a link with a homeland, not necessarily its physical occupation by the ethnie, only its symbolic attachment to the ancestral land, as with diaspora peoples; 6. a sense of solidarity on the part of at least some sections of the ethnie’s population.136

Anthony Smith, from whose work this definition comes, does not pretend that every element is evident and identifiable in all ethnic groups. Moreover, different facets of ethnoracial identity may be prominent or salient in different contexts, ancient and modern. All this makes what is already a somewhat broad, even loose, definition seem even more fuzzy. Yet this perhaps goes to show – contrary to popular preconceptions that we know exactly what we are talking about when we use the categories of ‘race’, or ‘ethnic origin’ – how malleable, how essentially constructed, such group identities are. 133 Cited in Stone, ‘Max Weber’, 32. 134 Stone, ‘Max Weber’, 32, my emphasis. 135 Isaac, Invention of Racism, 34–35. 136 Hutchinson and Smith, ‘Introduction’, 6–7. This summarizes the more extended discussion of the ‘foundations of ethnic community’ in Anthony D. Smith, The Ethnic Origins of Nations (Oxford: Blackwell, 1986), 22–31, for whom the roots of modern nations are to be found in a model of ethnic community (x). Sechrest, Former Jew, 48–50, also presents this definition of an ethnic group, drawing on Smith’s work.

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Drawing on this broad definition, it would not be far fetched to claim that the making of early Christianity, drawing heavily, of course, on Jewish discourse and tradition, constitutes precisely the creation of these facets of an ethnic group’s identity. In particular, 1 Peter could be shown to make interesting and significant contributions to most of these elements: 1 Peter takes a particularly crucial first step towards the claiming of Χριστιανός as the insiders’ common proper name (see chapter 6), and, as we have seen, makes a fundamental contribution to the construction of Christian identity in ethnic terms by the brute fact of its application to the Church of ethnic or racial descriptors. Moreover, with its stress upon the addressees’ new birth, from imperishable seed with God as father, the letter constructs a particular sense of common (divine) ancestry (cf. 1.2-3, 17, 23; 2.2). The complex and much discussed phrase βασίλειον ἱεράτευμα also implies the notion that the addressees are, or have become, a kind of ethnoracial group based on hereditary descent (cf. Justin, Dial. 116.3). The shared historical memories focus on the ‘heroic’ figure of Christ, whose sufferings and subsequent glory indicate a paradigmatic path for his followers (2.21-25; cf. 1.3-12); and a certain pattern of living – ‘doing good’ – is constitutive of the believers’ (kin-based) identity (3.6).137 The idea of a homeland is also implied in the use of diaspora and Babylon imagery (1.1; 5.13), even though this homeland appears symbolic or other-worldly (‘an inheritance … kept in heaven’, 1.4) rather than earthly. And the sense of solidarity, evident in a number of ways in the letter, is perhaps best epitomized in the kinship language of 2.17 and 5.9 (ἀδελφοτής), the positive counterpart to the dislocation and alienation indicated by the addressees’ description as πάροικοι καὶ παρεπίδημοι (2.11; cf. 1.1, 17).138 This is not to suggest, of course, that early Christian identity is entirely or uncomplicatedly to be described as an ethnic or ethnoracial form of identity. The movement also bears close similarities with voluntary associations, or with modern conversionist sects.139 The idea of incorporating people from a diversity of ethnic backgrounds is strongly embedded in early Christian discourse, especially in the Pauline letters (Gal. 3.28; Col. 3.11), and people remained conscious of their former ‘ethnic’ identity, which could still identify 137 Cf. Philo, Virt. 206–207, on those among the Jews – Abraham’s offspring are particularly in view – who fail to reproduce the virtues of their ancestors (αἱ τῶν προγόνων ἀρεταί) and are thus ‘denied any part in the grandeur of their noble birth (εὐγενεία)’ (LCL). I am grateful to John Barclay for alerting me to this comparison. 138 This juxtaposition is, of course, central to the thesis of Elliott, Home, where the household (οἶκος) is seen as the central positive image of belonging (cf. 1 Pet. 2.5; 4.17). 139 E.g. for an important recent study that locates Christian and Jewish groups among the various associations of antiquity, see Philip A. Harland, Dynamics of Identity in the World of the Early Christians: Associations, Judeans, and Cultural Minorities (London and New York: T&T Clark, 2009). For the use of modern models of religious sects, see Elliott, Home, who argues that it is the conversionist sect in particular that provides ‘the closest sociological analogue’ for ‘the addressees and their situation as described in 1 Peter’ (102; see further 101–106). Harland, it should be noted, offers some probing criticisms of the use of the sect analogy: Philip A. Harland, Associations, Synagogues, and Congregations (Minneapolis, MN: Fortress, 2003), 177–95; Harland, Dynamics, 25–26, 63–65.

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and distinguish them from other Christians, as again Paul makes clear (Gal. 2.15; Rom. 9.3).140 But none of this contradicts the fact that the early Christians, and the author of 1 Peter in particular, used ethnoracial language to describe and construct ‘Christian’ identity, and that certain social practices – such as endogamy and commensality – were used to mark boundaries between insiders and outsiders.141 And once we see ethnic identity as socially constructed through discourse, as something believed more than objective or factual, then early Christian identity is as ‘really’ ethnic as are other forms of ethnic identity in the ancient and indeed the modern world.142 One might also question whether such constructionist definitions of ethnic identity imply that any religious group might be defined as an ethnic group, if it exhibits all or most of the above characteristics. I think the answer to this would be affirmative, at least potentially. But it is especially clear if that religious group uses ethnoracial terminology of itself, such that it explicitly identifies and regards itself as such a group – which is partly why 1 Peter marks such a crucial step in the history of the making of Christian identity. In drawing on the specific traditions of Judaism – a form of ethnic identity with religio-cultural practices at its heart – the author of 1 Peter, along with other early Christian writers, was able to construct just such a form of identity, without recourse to a specific territorial attachment or to biological (human) kinship links. In short, as Buell and Lieu in their different ways have shown, it suited early Christians to claim and describe their identity in ethnic terms, to use ‘ethnic reasoning’ as one discursive means to articulate that identity. It remains to ask, finally, what kind of rhetorical strategy, what form of ethnic reasoning, is evident in 1 Pet. 2.9 and the letter more broadly, and how this relates to the context and aims of this text. It is relevant to recall here Lieu’s observation that γένος comes to prominence in Jewish self-identity discourse precisely in a context of ‘hostility and attempted annihilation’.143 Similarly, 1 Peter’s use of γένος language, and the rich depictions of Christian identity in the passage in which it appears, comes in a context of evident hostility and suffering. The letter’s overall strategy, in which the identity designations of 2.9 play an important role, is – put in terms of social identity theory – to develop a positive sense of in-group identity, of the status and honour that accrue to membership of the community, in the 140 In Rom. 9.3, Paul clearly uses συγγενεῖς to refer broadly to fellow Israelites. This may well be the sense also in the uses of the same word in Romans 16 (7, 11, 21), though translations (e.g. NRSV) sometimes suggest a narrower group (‘relatives’). Sechrest, Former Jew, makes a strong argument for regarding Paul as ‘a former Jew’, whose ‘conversion … entailed a change in racial identity’ (163). The Christian groups, too, as Paul depicts them, form an essentially ethnoracial entity: ‘the portrayal of Christian racial identity developed here is that of an emergent, newly-formed, Jewish-like racial group’ (206). 141 Cf. 1 Cor. 6.15; 7.39 (μόνον ἐν κυρίῳ); 1 Cor. 10.16-17; 11.17-34; Tertullian, Ad uxor. 2. 142 I wrote these particular lines before I had access to Sechrest’s recent study, but it is notable that her work (Former Jew, focused on Paul) adds substantial weight to this claim. 143 Lieu, ‘Race’, 58, cited above at n. 35. Perhaps it is no accident that we also find the terminology in defensive tracts by Josephus (C. Ap.) and Philo (Leg. Gai.); see above n. 37.

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face of negative evaluation and stigmatization on the part of outsiders (see further chapter 6). The adoption of ethnic-identity language, along with the honorific and highly valued designations of Israel’s special identity, represents a strategy of ‘social creativity’, that is where group members ‘seek positive distinctiveness for the in-group by redefining or altering the elements of the comparative situation’.144 Despite the shame which their accusers seek to bring upon them, the readers of the letter are assured of their special status and ineradicable bonds, as members of God’s γένος ἐκλεκτόν. In this sense, 1 Peter’s mode of ethnic reasoning is ‘oppositional’: as Buell says of Aristides’ Apology, ‘Christians are a genos distinct from other peoples.’145 They may be surrounded by people (τὰ ἔθνη!), who malign them as evildoers (1 Pet. 2.12), and by immorality and licentious excess (4.2-4), but they are a chosen race and a holy nation, dwelling as aliens and strangers scattered in a hostile world (1.1, 17; 2.11). Yet in another sense, 1 Peter’s discursive strategy is strikingly non-oppositional. Unlike plenty of other early Christian texts (see above), there is no direct claim here that the Church lays claim to an identity which is at the same time denied to Israel, no assertion that Israel’s covenant is now obsolete or that Christians are now able to be and to enjoy all that Israel failed to attain. As we have noted above, there is simply a silence about such comparisons – a somewhat ominous silence, to be sure – and the author (perhaps surprisingly) makes no comment on the fate or status of the non-Christian Jews of whose existence he must surely have known. On the other hand, some aspects of 1 Peter’s strategy of ethnic reasoning might be seen as ‘aggregative’, where ‘ethnicity is established through connections more than by distinctions’, as in Clement of Alexandria’s universalizing rhetoric about the drawing of Jews and Greeks, or Greeks and Barbarians, into the one race of the saved.146 At first glance this might not seem to be an evident part of 1 Peter’s strategy, but there are aspects of our passage, and the letter more generally, that do seem to suggest it. To begin with, the language of 2.9, drawn from Isaiah 43, states that the vocation of the chosen race is to ‘proclaim the virtues of the one who called you out of darkness into his marvellous light’. As many commentators point out, this vocation is one both of worship and of proclamation, an act which ‘declares’ (ἐξαγγέλλω) God’s excellence in and to the world.147 This missionary dimension is more explicit 144 Henri Tajfel and John Turner, ‘An Integrative Theory of Intergroup Conflict’, in M. A. Hogg and D. Abrams (eds), Intergroup Relations: Essential Readings (Philadelphia: Psychology Press, 2001 [1979]), 94–109 (originally published in W. G. Austin and S. Worchel [eds], The Social Psychology of Intergroup Relations [Monterey, CA: Brooks/Cole, 1979] 33–47), 104. Cf. Hall, Ethnic Identity, 31, on strategies that an ethnic group can employ in the face of negative social identity. 145 Buell, ‘Race and Universalism’, 442. 146 Cf. Buell, ‘Race and Universalism’, 442; Denise Kimber Buell, Making Christians: Clement of Alexandria and the Rhetoric of Legitimacy (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1999), 104–106 (‘He [Clement] positions Christianity as an ethnos – but one that encompasses and erases all others, by referring to all humans as one genos, unified by their common condition as created beings’ [106]). 147 Cf. Goppelt, I Peter, 149–51; Feldmeier, First Epistle of Peter, 141; Green, 1 Peter, 62;

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still in 2.12 where the motivation to ‘conduct yourselves honourably among the gentiles’ is so that, seeing the Christians’ good works, these non-believers may glorify God on the day of visitation (cf. Rom. 15.9-10). This suggests the possibility of conversion, a possibility more clearly expressed as a motivation for the good conduct asked of wives (3.1); and the same motivation may be assumed, at least in part, as a reason for slaves to behave in a way which is creditable before God (2.18-20). In other words, even those who are presently hostile or cruel towards the γένος ἐκλεκτόν are regarded as potentially members of it. The model of mission here is not so much one of proactive evangelism (cf. 3.15: ‘to those who ask’!) as one based on the ‘attraction’ intended to be generated by the life and conduct of the Church’s members.148 This subtle and complex mix of oppositional and aggregative strategies bears out Buell’s point that these are not exclusive alternatives but can coexist in varied and flexible ways.149 In the end, though, the significance of 1 Pet. 2.9 for the use of ethnic categories in constructing Christian identity may lie primarily in the simple fact of its having taken the terms γένος, ἔθνος, and λαός, and, drawing on established Jewish traditions, applied them to the Church. Just as 1 Peter represents the first attempt to claim what came to be the identity label par excellence – Χριστιανός – as a positive badge of self-identity, as we shall see in the next chapter, so too it represents the first move to designate Christians explicitly as a γένος, a move that was of considerable significance in the evolution of Christian identity discourse.

Elliott, 1 Peter, 439–40: ‘this proclamation of God’s honor is fitting not only within but also beyond the boundaries of the Christian community’. See also Stephen Ayodeji A. Fagbemi, Who Are the Elect in 1 Peter? A Study in Biblical Exegesis and its Application to the Anglican Church of Nigeria (Studies in Biblical Literature, 104; New York: Lang, 2007), 105–20. For the argument that the primary focus is towards God, see Balch, Wives, 133; Torrey Seland, ‘The “Common Priesthood” of Philo and 1 Peter: A Philonic Reading of 1 Peter 2:5, 9’, JSNT 57 (1995), 87–119 (116–18), repr. in Seland, Strangers, 111–13; cf. also Michaels, 1 Peter, 110, who rejects any sharp distinction between worship and testimony, but suggests that ἐξαγγέλλω ‘belongs in the category of worship, not missionary activity’. Seland, ‘Resident Aliens’, 583–85, offers a rather different argument, opposing Balch and concluding that the term includes a sense of missionary proclamation. 148 Cf. Puig i Tàrrech, ‘Mission’; Seland, ‘Resident Aliens’, though Seland puts more weight on the ‘proclamation of the gospel’ as part of what the author of 1 Peter expects from his readers. Fagbemi, Who Are the Elect?, 118–19, 247–49, 258–59, etc., similarly proposes a missiological interpretation, seeing ‘praxis’ and ‘lifestyle’ – ‘reactive evangelism’ rather than ‘proactive evangelistic activity’ – as the primary ‘missiological strategy’, an expression of the Christian identity constructed by the author. 149 Discussing Clement of Alexandria, Buell, ‘Race and Universalism’, 445, writes: ‘we find oppositional reasoning – Christians form a distinct race, superior to others – coexisting with aggregative reasoning – “others” can become Christians by adopting the true worship through a process of training in faith.’ Through studies of various early Christian texts, she suggests, ‘we can begin to glimpse both the pervasiveness of ethnic reasoning and its strategic flexibility for early Christian self-definition’.

Chapter 6 The Label Χριστιανός (1 Pet. 4.16): Suffering, Conflict, and the Making of Christian Identity 6.1. Introduction It is perhaps surprising that New Testament scholars have not devoted more attention in recent years to the origin and significance of the term Χριστιανός, given its eventual significance as the definitive label for the movement that began around Jesus of Nazareth.1 One obvious reason for this comparative neglect is the rarity of the term in the New Testament itself; it occurs only three times – twice in Acts (11.26, 26.28) and once in 1 Peter (4.16) – becoming more frequent in Christian literature only rather later, notably in Ignatius, the Martyrdom of Polycarp, and the Epistle to Diognetus.2 Another reason is 1 As will be evident in the notes that follow, many of the pertinent discussions of the name come from the earlier decades of the twentieth century, up to the 1960s. Notable recent discussions include those by Justin Taylor, ‘Why Were the Disciples First Called “Christians” At Antioch? (Acts 11,26)’, RB 101 (1994), 75–94; Botermann, Judenedikt, 141–88; Jan N. Bremmer, The Rise and Fall of the Afterlife (London and New York: Routledge, 2002), 103–108, 175–78; Tim Hegedus, ‘Naming Christians in Antiquity’, SR 32 (2004), 173–90. Also noteworthy as broader treatments of the making of Christian identity are Lieu, Christian Identity; Lieu, Neither Jew Nor Greek? 2 In the Apostolic Fathers the term appears once in the Didache (12.4), in Ignatius (Eph. 11.2; 14.2 [textually uncertain]; Magn. 4.1; Trall. 6.1 [used adjectivally]; Rom. 3.2; 3.3 [textually uncertain]; Pol. 7.3), and in Mart. Pol. 3.2; 10.1; 12.1-2; Diogn. 1.1; 2.6, 10; 4.6; 5.1; 6.1-9. Also in Kerygma Petrou 2 (apud Clem. Alex. Strom. 6.5.41.6) – cf. §5.4 above; Acts of Paul and Thecla 14, 16. Ignatius is evidently the first Christian writer to employ the term with any frequency. He is also the first author to use (or coin?) the substantive Χριστιανισμός (Magn. 10.1; 10.3; Rom. 3.3; Phld. 6.1; also in Mart. Pol. 10.1). By the time of Diognetus the label Χριστιανός seems to be well-established as a standard and accepted self-designation, as also in, e.g., Tertullian’s Apology, written in Latin, although the Apologists, as Judith Lieu notes, were aware that the term belonged ‘to the vocabulary of opposition and denigration’, a situation that changes by the third century, when use of the name by Christians has become ‘natural’ (Lieu, Christian Identity, 257, 259). The important early non-Christian references are in Tacitus, Ann. 15.44; Suetonius, Nero 16.2; Pliny, Ep. 10.96–97; Lucian, Alex. 25, 38; De morte Peregr. 11–13, 16; Josephus, Ant. 18.64 (the authenticity of which is famously disputed). The inscription from Pompey in CIL 4 §679 does not, pace Theodor Zahn, Introduction to the New Testament, 3 vols (3rd edn; Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1909), 2.192, prove ‘the common use of the name Christian in Pompeii prior to the year 79, when the city was buried’, since the reconstruction is too uncertain. The editor of CIL comments: ‘Lectio inscriptionis … admodum incerta est’; cf. also the cautious comments of Bigg, St. Peter

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perhaps the sense that there is little to say, or at least little new to say, since the pertinent features of the word’s etymology are well established. In this chapter I shall argue that, despite the paucity of references, there is indeed considerable insight to be gained from examining this label and its significance, particularly when analysis is enriched with social-scientific and social-psychological resources relating especially to the impact of conflict, stigmatization and negative labels, and to the construction of social identity. I shall also argue, more specifically, that the reference in 1 Pet. 4.16 is – despite the greater focus of attention on Acts 11.26 – especially valuable with regard to illuminating the origin and significance of the term, and, indeed, that this text represents the earliest witness to the crucial process whereby the term was transformed from a hostile label applied by outsiders to a self-designation borne with honour. Close investigation of this term also leads to greater understanding of the nature of the suffering faced by the recipients of 1 Peter, and, importantly, calls into question the recent consensus that this suffering is a matter (only) of informal public hostility (see §6.4). Indeed, this study also calls into question the presentation of a dichotomy between ‘official’ persecution and ‘informal’ hostility, a false dichotomy that often underpins this consensus.

6.2. The origins of the term It has been long and uncontroversially established that the word Χριστιανός is a Latinism, the ending -ιανός being a Graecized form of the Latin -ianus.3 The Latin form -ianus evidently emerges relatively late, appearing in literature ‘only gradually toward the end of the Republic’ and ‘more and more frequently … after the beginning of the imperial era’.4 Generally, the formations derive from a proper name or title, and denote the followers, supporters, adherents, or partisans of a person, as in the examples Brutianus, Drusianus, Augustianus, Caesarianus, and so on.5 The basic sense conveyed by the suffix is that of and St. Jude, 179; Henry J. Cadbury, ‘Names for Christians and Christianity in Acts’, in F. J. Foakes Jackson, Kirsopp Lake, and Henry J. Cadbury (eds), The Beginnings of Christianity, Part I: The Acts of the Apostles (vol. 5: Additional Notes to the Commentary; London: Macmillan, 1933), 375–92 (385 n. 2). 3 See, e.g., Zahn, Introduction, 2.193; Cadbury, ‘Names for Christians’, 384–85; Elias Bickerman (Bikerman), ‘Les Hérodiens’, RB 47 (1938), 184–97 (193); Erik Peterson, ‘Christianus’, in Frühkirche, Judentum und Gnosis (Rome, Freiburg, Vienna: Herder, 1959 [1946]), 64–87 (69); Ceslas Spicq, ‘Ce que signifie le titre de Chrétien’, ST 15 (1961), 68–78, cited here from the reprint in Ceslas Spicq, Theologie Morale du Nouveau Testament (2 vols; Paris: Gabalda, 1970), 1.407–16 (411); Taylor, ‘Disciples’, 76. I have seen no demurral from this conclusion in the commentaries or other works on 1 Peter. 4 Zahn, Introduction, 2.193; cf. also Adolf von Harnack, The Expansion of Christianity in the First Three Centuries (vol. 2; London/New York: Williams and Norgate/Putnam, 1905), 15–16 n. 1. 5 See H. H. Rowley, ‘The Herodians in the Gospels’, JTS 41 (1940), 14–27 (26);

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‘belonging to’.6 Edwin Judge comments that the suffix -ianus ‘classifies people as partisans of a political or military leader’.7 The context could define the relation of dependence or allegiance more precisely, to include clients, slaves, etc., as well as the more common sense of political or military support.8 As Elias Bickerman indicates, the normal Greek way to form such a term would be with the suffix -ειος, as in Ἐπικυρεῖοι, Ἡρωδεῖοι, οr with -ιστος, as in Ἡεροδισταί.9 But under the influence of Latin, words of the -ianus type were constructed in Greek too, whether by transliteration, borrowing, or imitation of the Latin form.10 Alongside Χριστιανός, the two most important are the frequently encountered Καισαριανός, noted as a parallel to Χριστιανός by Adolf Deissmann,11 and Ἡρῳδιανός, as in Mk 3.6, 12.13 and Mt. 22.16.12 Indeed, Bickerman claims that these three are the only examples of a Latintype adjective used as a substantive found in Greek of the Roman period, with the qualification that the names of Christian sects are formed by simple analogy with the name Χριστιανός13 (we should also note οἱ Πομπηιανοί in Bickerman, ‘Les Hérodiens’, 193; Harold B. Mattingley, ‘The Origin of the Name Christiani’, JTS 9 (1958), 26–37 (27); Elliott, 1 Peter, 789; for many examples, see Zahn, Introduction, 2.193. 6 Elias Bickerman, ‘The Name of Christians’, HTR 42 (1949), 109–24 (118). 7 Edwin A. Judge, The First Christians in the Roman World: Augustan and New Testament Essays (ed. James R. Harrison; WUNT 229; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2008), 437 (an essay from 1994); cf. similarly 610 (an essay from 2003). Cf. Kirsopp Lake and Henry J. Cadbury, The Beginnings of Christianity, Part I: The Acts of the Apostles (ed. F. J. Foakes Jackson and Kirsopp Lake; vol. 4: English Translation and Commentary; London: Macmillan, 1933), 130: ‘used to express partisans’. Judge continues the phrase cited above with the words ‘and is mildly contemptuous’, but this seems to me much more open to question: there is no derogatory sense in, e.g., Epictetus, Diss 1.19.19; Appian, Bell. civ. 3.82; 3.91. 8 Rowley, ‘Herodians’, 26. Cf. Colin J. Hemer, The Book of Acts in the Setting of Hellenistic History (WUNT 49; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1989), 177 with n. 36, who also notes that the form could be used for adoptive cognomina. 9 Cf., e.g., Lucian, Alex. 38; Josephus, War 1.319 (τῶν Ἡρωδείων); cf. Ant. 14.450 (Γαλιλαῖοι); Bickerman, ‘The Name’, 116; Bickerman, ‘Les Hérodiens’, 192–94; Peterson, ‘Christianus’, 69–73; etc. Peterson (‘Christianus’, 69–74) argues that a Greek speaker would not use a word with an -ιανός ending to express the sense of Parteizugehörigkeit, for which the -ειος form would be more appropriate, while -ιανός forms denoted Klientelverhältnisse. He then suggests that the term must have been coined by people who spoke Latin but who used the word in Greek as a way to mock the ‘clients’ of the crucified Christ by using a word analagous to the Greek Ἡρῳδιανός (p. 73). This is, as Mattingley notes, ‘over-subtle’ (‘Origin’, 28 n. 1). Evidence against the suggestion is provided by Lucian, Alex. 38, with Χριστιανός and Ἐπικούρειος in close juxtaposition, both used with a pejorative tone. Also note the range of terms in Eusebius’ list of sects, with their varied forms (HE 4.22.5–7). 10 See further Bickerman, ‘Name of Christians’, 116–19. 11 G. Adolf Deissmann, Light from the Ancient East (London: Hodder and Stoughton, 1910), 382; Spicq, ‘Le titre de Chrétien’, 412; Epictetus, Diss. 1.19.19; Appian, Bell. civ. 3.91. 12 Cf. Zahn, Introduction, 2.193–94; and further discussion in Bickerman, ‘Les Hérodiens’, and Rowley, ‘The Herodians’. 13 Bickerman, ‘Les Hérodiens’, 194. For comments on and criticisms of Bickerman’s proposal that the origin of the word Καισαριανοί gives the clue to the origin and meaning of the Ἡρῳδιανοί, see Rowley, ‘The Herodians’, 24. Peterson argues that Χριστιανοί was modelled on the term Ἡρῳδιανοί (‘Christianus’, 73–75); for comments see Mattingley, ‘Origin’, 27–28. Gerd Lüdemann,

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Appian, Bell. civ. 3.82).14 Thus, as Bickerman observes, ‘[i]n Greek as in Latin the suffix -ianus is a substitute for the possessive genitive’.15 The form of the word does not itself necessarily imply any positive or negative judgement of those so labelled;16 the nuances depend on the context and on the view of the person whose name or title forms the word. That is to say, to anticipate the argument below, that the negative connotations of the term Χριστιανός derive not from its etymology per se, but from the contexts in which it was used. 6.2.1. Who coined the designation? Most scholars agree that the designation originated with outsiders, not the Christians themselves.17 The main support for the contrary argument of scholars such as Elias Bickerman, Baruch Lifshitz, and Ceslas Spicq, that the Christians coined the term themselves as their official self-designation, derives from Luke’s use of the active form χρηματίσαι in Acts 11.26.18 However, as Justin Taylor shows, through an examination of relevant uses of the verb, ‘there is no need to conclude that Acts 11, 26 must mean that the name of Christians was one which the disciples gave themselves’. The active voice of the verb χρηματίζω, rather like the German heißen (or the French s’appeler), ‘does not necessarily carry the sense that the name borne is self-chosen’.19 Examples clearly show that it could be used for the naming of or designation by others.20 The fact that early Church Early Christianity According to the Traditions in Acts (London: SCM, 1989), 138, finds the political connotations of the term Χριστιανός ‘uncertain’, due to the existence of comparably formed names for the Christian sects. However, the likely reason for this is that such names are formed subsequently by analogy with Χριστιανός: Christian writers coined comparable designations to denote Christian (heretical) and Jewish sects: see, e.g., Justin Dial. 35.6; Hegesippus (in Eusebius HE 4.22.5–7): Σιμωνιανοί, Καρποκρατιανοί, κτλ. Botermann, Judenedikt, 147–67, mounts a strong argument for the ‘political’ rather than ‘theological’ understanding of the term’s origins, i.e. that it derives from Roman encounter with the Christians rather than from the split between Jews and Christians. 14 Noted in BDAG, 440. Cf. already Lake and Cadbury, Beginnings, 4.130. 15 Bickerman, ‘The Name’, 118. 16 Mattingley, ‘Origin’, 31–32, followed by Elliott, 1 Peter, 791, sees the name as expressing ridicule, since the Christians were ‘ludicrously like Nero’s Augustiani. The name Christiani would adroitly ridicule both groups at once’ (31). On Mattingley’s specific proposal for the origin of the name see further below. 17 See Elliott, 1 Peter, 790 with n. 609; Hegedus, ‘Naming’, 176–77. 18 See Bickerman, ‘The Name’, passim; Spicq, ‘Le titre de Chrétien’, 409–11. Baruch Lifshitz, ‘L’origine du nom des Chrétiens’, NovT 16 (1962), 65–70, argues that the Christians of Antioch coined the name themselves, to indicate their distinction both from pagans and from Jews, as those who followed a Messiah who had already come. However, it is unlikely that the name was coined in Greek and then passed into Latin, as Lifshitz proposes (70). The Western text tradition (D, on which see further below) also has an active form: ἐχρηματισαν. Botermann, Judenedikt, 142–47, and esp. 155–56, also takes χρηματίσαι here as active, arguing that Luke’s report indicates that (some time after 62 ce) Christians took on this name in Antioch; but she sees the origin of the name in a different context. See further below. 19 Taylor, ‘Disciples’, 83. Cf. Peterson, ‘Christianos’, 66–69. 20 E.g. Strabo 13.1.55 (ἐχρημάτιζε Χαλκηδόνιος [‘he passed for a Chalcedonian’, LCL]); Appian, Rom. hist. 5.6.1 (χρηματίσαι ... διὰ τὴν πρᾶξιν Κρητικός [‘he gained the title of Creticus for his work’, LCL]). Cf. also Plutarch, Lives: Anthony 54; Polybius 30.2.4; Diodorus Siculus 1.44.

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tradition regarded the name Christian as one which the apostles gave themselves does not add significant weight to Bickerman’s case either.21 Such a conviction seems most likely to reflect a desire to affirm the pedigree and value of the label by assigning it an apostolic origin (cf. e.g. 1 Clem. 42.4) and claiming it as a self-designation rather than one which originated with hostile outsiders – even though in both respects this probably falsifies the historical realities. The slow adoption of the name by Christians themselves also speaks against its origin as a self-designation.22 It is also notable that all three New Testament occurrences – assuming the standard interpretation of Acts 11.26 – depict the term as one used by outsiders. More difficult to determine is whether the name was more likely coined by general members of the populace, as many suggest, or by Roman authorities, as Erik Peterson and Justin Taylor argue.23 A decision on this matter depends to some extent on the likely place of origin (on which see below), but we shall assume for the moment that Luke’s statement that the term was first used in Antioch is correct. There are a number of reasons that may favour an origin among members of the Roman administration. First is the etymology of the word, which, as we have seen, suggests an ‘origin within Latin-speaking circles’.24 This is not decisive support for the argument, given both the presence in Antioch of a considerable number of Romans/Italians, traders, and such-like,25 and the awareness of Latin terms and forms among the wider populace, but it remains highly plausible that a new term of Latin formation would originate in the encounter between Romans and the followers of Christ. Second is the use of the term χρηματίζω, the verb Luke uses in Acts 11.26, to refer to official or juridical designation rather than to informal naming, an

21 See Bickerman, ‘The Name’, 113–14. 22 Bickerman’s attempt to answer this point by suggesting that the name is used rarely because it is understood as the term with which Christians denote themselves ‘for the outside world’, and not for one another (where terms like ἀδελφοί, ἅγιοι, etc. are used), is not entirely convincing (Bickerman, ‘The Name’, 115). Cf. also the criticisms of Bickerman’s thesis in Bremmer, Afterlife, 106. 23 Peterson, ‘Christianus’; Taylor, ‘Disciples’; also Botermann, Judenedikt, 147–57; Marta Sordi, The Christians and the Roman Empire (London: Routledge, 1994), 22 n. 27; Bremmer, Afterlife, 106 (cautiously); Harnack, Expansion, 2.15–16 n. 1. Harnack, commenting on the Latin form of the name, suggests that ‘[i]f one wishes to be very circumspect [that is, with regard to the possibility of a Latinism being first coined by Greek speakers], one may conjecture that the name was first coined by Roman magistrates in Antioch, and then passed into currency among the common people. The Christians themselves hesitated for long to use the name …’. 24 Elliott, 1 Peter, 789. Elliott goes on to attribute the origin of the term to ‘its invention by Gentile residents of Antioch’ (790) but one may wonder whether he, like many others, takes the indications of ‘origin within Latin-speaking circles’ seriously enough. 25 On the presence of Romans/Italians in Syria, especially in the large commercial centres like Antioch, see Maurice Sartre, ‘Romains et Italiens en Syrie: Contribution à l’histoire de la première province romaine de Syrie’, in O. Salomies (ed.), The Greek East in the Roman Context (Helsinki: Foundation of the Finnish Institute at Athens, 2001), 127–40 (130–33).

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argument developed especially by Peterson.26 This point about the force of χρηματίζω is widely accepted, though, as is sometimes observed, it does not entirely rule out the possibility of an origin for the term among the general populace: the name may subsequently have come to be the Christians’ official designation.27 Still, this latter possibility is perhaps not the most probable scenario, given the cumulative force of the various facets of the evidence. Similarly, Luke’s use of πρώτως, Peterson argues, also conveys a legal or juristic sense, as in legal documents where it indicates that something is now being recorded that will henceforth have force (Peterson suggests the German word ‘erstmalig’, ‘for the first time … in the sense of a norm that is determinative for the future’).28 It remains open to question whether these words need always or necessarily convey such legal or juristic nuances, so the arguments are again less than decisive, but a probable case begins to mount.29 Third is the general point, developed by Taylor, that ‘in the non-Christian first-century sources, the names Christ and Christian are invariably associated with public disorders and crimes’.30 This may at least partly explain the reluctance of the Christians to adopt the name as a self-designation and their later apologetic efforts to argue for positive nuances inherent in the name, on the basis of the similarity between Χριστός and χρηστός (‘useful’, ‘good’; e.g. Justin, 1 Apol. 4.1, 5; 46.4; Theophilus, Ad Auto. 1.1, 12; Tertullian, Apol. 3.5).31 In the end, it is difficult to be certain about the precise circles of origin of the term, but there is a good deal to be said for the thesis that it was first coined in Latin, in the sphere of Roman administration.32 Further aspects of this issue will be discussed below.

26 Peterson, ‘Christianus’, 67–69: ‘Χρηματίζειν ist im Unterschied zu καλεῖν ein Terminus der Amtssprache … [es] bedeutet “einen rechtmäßigen Namen (Titel) führen”. Der juristische Charakter des Wortes ist auch in der Literatur deutlich zu erkennen’ (67). See also Taylor, ‘Disciples’, 80, 82–83, who, however, points out that Rom. 7.3 and other texts indicate that the verb need not always convey an official sense (80 n. 19). LSJ, 2005, note that from Polybius on, the active form of the verb ‘takes some special senses’, notably ‘to take and bear a title or name, to be called, or styled so and so’, or more generally ‘to be called’ (citing Polybius 5.57.2; 30.2.4 [χρηματίζειν βασιλεύς]; Ep. Arist. 298, et al.). 27 Cf. Mattingley, ‘Origin’, 28: ‘Christianus, when Luke wrote, was certainly the official term, and this justifies his use of the verb χρηματίζειν, even though the name originated as a popular nickname. Once invented it may have passed gradually and almost imperceptibly into legal use.’ Also Bickerman, ‘The Name’, 110–11, who goes on to argue that Χριστιανοί is ‘[t]he name which the followers of Jesus gave themselves officially at Antioch’ (123–24). 28 Peterson, ‘Christianus’, 68 with n. 10, who gives examples from the papyri. As Botermann (Judenedikt, 157–58) points out, these philological aspects of the understanding of Acts 11.26 have been somewhat neglected by New Testament commentators. 29 Pace Hegedus, ‘Naming’, 177, who sees the term as originating among the gentile population of Antioch, and considers that the view that it was coined by Roman authorities in Antioch ‘goes beyond the evidence’. 30 Taylor, ‘Disciples’, 84. Cf. Botermann, Judenedikt, 156, 187–88. 31 Cf. Lieu, Christian Identity, 258–59. Note also the wordplay in 1 Pet. 2.3. 32 So also Judge, First Christians, 437, 609–10.

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6.2.2. Where did the term originate? Given the Latin roots of the term, and its occurrence in reports about happenings in Rome by Tacitus and Suetonius, a number of scholars have suggested, contra Luke, that the name Χριστιανός/Christianus originated in Rome.33 The appearance of the term in 1 Peter, usually assigned a Roman origin, might add some weight to this proposal (though on 1 Peter’s place of origin, see the Introduction above, n. 7). Nevertheless, while we can be reasonably sure that the term was known and used in Rome, probably from or around the time of Nero’s persecution (see below), this does not constitute an entirely convincing case against the name’s origins in Antioch. Luke’s record is, of course, the primary datum in support of the latter location, but there are strong grounds for taking his report – or his citation of a source – seriously. The note he gives about the origins of the term Χριστιανός seems unlikely to have been constructed in service of any theological agenda or apologetic Tendenz; it reads rather straightforwardly like the conveying of a piece of information of which Luke was aware, fitting somewhat awkwardly into the sentence which it concludes. Luke was no doubt aware that the gentile mission achieved notable success in Antioch and that the church there achieved a distinct and visible identity vis-à-vis Judaism; in terms of the narrative logic of Luke-Acts, he could well have decided that this was an appropriate place to announce the origin of the appellation, at the point and the place where gentile converts have begun to be included in the Christian community (Acts 11.19-20).34 But these are equally strong reasons why a term like Χριστιανός should actually have arisen in such a location, precisely where our earliest sources report the church’s controversial practice expressed in the commensality of Jews and gentiles, a practice which Paul describes as involving Peter (and other Jews) in living ἐθνικῶς καὶ οὐχὶ Ἰουδαϊκῶς (Gal. 2.14; cf. Acts 15.1-35).35 The Latin form of the term, moreover, is no proof against an origin in Antioch, especially 33 See Taylor, ‘Disciples’, 79–80. Cadbury, ‘Names for Christians’, 385, entertains the possibility, referring to the argument for an origin in Rome, as a Scheltname, by A. Gercke (‘Der Christenname ein Scheltname’, in Festschrift zur Jahrhundertfeier der Universität Breslau [1911], 360ff.; this work has not been accessible to me). Cadbury notes: ‘Whether a Latin formation would be made first … at Antioch of Syria, is to say the least uncertain.’ But he seems to prefer the conclusion that it was formed in Greek (-ιανός) to the conclusion that Acts is mistaken in locating the origins of the word in Antioch. Zahn, Introduction, 2.191, notes and rejects Baur’s argument that the name originated in Rome. According to Baur, the origin of such a Latinism in a city with a Greek-speaking population is unlikely: ‘Der Name is ohne Zweifel in Rom entstanden’ (Baur, Christentum, 432 n. 2) 34 Cf. further C. Kavin Rowe, World Upside Down: Reading Acts in the Graeco-Roman Age (Oxford and New York: Oxford University Press, 2009), 129–35. ‘Put positively, according to Acts, the distinctive life of Jews and gentiles together in the Antiochene community forms the public witness that calls forth the label Χριστιανός’ (129). 35 See further James G. Crossley, The Date of Mark’s Gospel: Insight from the Law in Earliest Christianity (JSNTSup 266; London and New York: T&T Clark, 2004), 141–54, who argues that the scenario is one in which Jewish food laws were being broken, by both Jews and gentiles, such that ‘outsiders would stop identifying that group as Jewish’.

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if the name did originate as an official designation in administrative circles. The fact that the earliest uses of the term in Christian texts, outside Acts and 1 Peter, occur in writings linked with Antioch – perhaps the Didache36 and certainly Ignatius – seems also to support Luke’s information.37 Helga Botermann suggests that Luke is not reporting the name’s place of origin, but rather the place where Christians first adopted the name themselves, probably at a time after the narrative of Acts ends and in connection with their refusal to pay the fiscus Iudaicus post 70 ce.38 This hypothesis requires more substantive argument than Botermann gives for taking χρηματίσαι to mean active self-naming, not least since many scholars reject this interpretation (as Botermann indicates), yet this claim is crucial if one wants to deny that Luke here reports something about the place of origin of the name. An origin in Antioch, if unprovable, therefore seems the most plausible conclusion, even if our evidence does not allow any level of certainty on this point, and Rome must remain a possibility. Nevertheless, what the evidence of Acts, 1 Peter, Pliny, Tacitus, and so on indicates, is that, though slow to appear with any frequency in Christian literature, the term did become known across the Empire, certainly by the end of the first or early second century, and probably some time before this.39 6.2.3. When did the term originate? Many scholars, focusing primarily on Acts 11.26, presume that the name Χριστιανός originated in Antioch around 39–44 ce.40 Arguments in favour of this early date have been mounted by Taylor, who suggests that the term originated c. 39–40 ce when there was disorder among the Jews in Antioch, caused by Christian messianic preaching, similar to the trouble that arose in Rome under Claudius, as Suetonius reports (Claud. 25.4).41 Accepting the literary analysis of M.-É. Boismard and A. Lamouille, Taylor follows the 36 Kurt Niederwimmer, The Didache (Hermeneia; Minneapolis: Fortress, 1998), 186, suggests that the term is here ‘already a common and unproblematic self-designation … a title of honor’. Given that this is the sole occurrence of the term in the Didache the claim that it is ‘already … common’ is hardly warranted, especially given the possible doubts about its authenticity here. But in any case, Niederwimmer argues that we must be agnostic about the provenance of the text. See below, n. 46. 37 Cf. Taylor, ‘Disciples’, 77. 38 Botermann, Judenedikt, 141–88. On her own proposal for place and time of origin, see below with n. 63. 39 Noting that ‘[i]n papyri the term first appears in the earlier third century but becomes more popular only after ad 250’, Bremmer, Afterlife, 108, links the widespread knowledge and adoption of the designation ‘Christian’ to the time of Decius’ persecution, but these crucial moves seem to have been made rather earlier, not least in 1 Peter’s attempt to claim the label as a positive sign of honour; see further below. 40 Zahn, Introduction, 2.192 (43–44 ce); Harnack, Expansion, 2.18 (c. 40–45 ce); Lifshitz, ‘Origine du nom’, 65 (c. 40 ce); Taylor, ‘Disciples’, 94 (39–40 ce); Sordi, Christians, 15 (36–37 ce, adopted by the Christians themselves c. 42 ce). 41 Taylor, ‘Disciples’. There is much debate on whether Suetonius’ report should be taken as a reference to Christ; see below n. 58.

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Western text of Acts 11.26 represented in Codex Bezae (D(2)):42 καὶ τότε πρῶτον ἐχρημάτισαν ἐν Ἀντιοχείᾳ οἱ μαθηταὶ Χριστιανοί. With the crucial τότε (‘at that time’), absent from the more widely attested Alexandrian text of Acts (P45, P74, ℵ, A, B, etc.), Luke is seen to be ‘tracing the origin of the name “Christians” to Antioch at the period of the foundation of the church there’.43 It is unlikely, though, that this is the original reading. It is much more plausible to regard the Western text of D here as an attempt ‘through the introduction of the τότε, to connect the abrupt notice in v. 26b rationally and causally with what precedes’.44 Taylor also cites the Didache (12.4) as representing ‘the first Christian author to use the name clearly as a self-designation’, locating this work in Syria, quite likely Antioch, and dating it to 50–70 ce.45 Such an early date for the Didache is, however, rather unlikely, and its place of origin is unknown.46 With these supports for an early dating of the term rather shaky, Taylor’s argument largely depends on a number of later reports about Antioch: Malalas’ dating of disturbances among the Jews there to the third year of Gaius (39–40 ce);47 Eusebius’ dating of Peter’s departure from Antioch to Rome to the same year;48 Isodore of Seville’s report that the name ‘Christians’ first arose in Antioch due to Peter’s preaching; and the Suda’s notice about the renaming of those called Nazarenes and Galileans as Christians at Antioch, after Peter’s ordination of Evodius.49 Quite apart from the problem that these diverse sources date from some considerable time after the period they describe, and might in some cases have been derived from Acts 11.26 combined with later convictions about Peter’s founding role in the early Church, the crucial report 42 Taylor, ‘Disciples’, 76, 79. NA27 also lists two Latin manuscripts (gig p) and a marginal reading in the Syriac Harklean version (syhmg) as supporting this reading. Boismard and Lamouille offer a complex redactional analysis of Acts, in which the Western text tradition generally represents the second stage, after the oldest, which was inseparable from Luke’s Gospel; the Alexandrian text represents a third stage of redaction (see vol. II, 55–57). Acts 11.26b, in its ‘Western’ form, is attributed to the second stage of Acts’ redaction (see vol. II, 109; cf. vol. III, 167). See M.-É. Boismard and A. Lamouille, Les Actes des deux Apôtres (Études Bibliques 12–14, 3 vols, I: Introduction – Textes; II: Le Sens des Récits; III: Analyses Littéraires; Paris: Gabalda, 1990). 43 Taylor, ‘Disciples’, 86. For a convenient comparison of the texts of Vaticanus (B) and Bezae (D), see James Hardy Ropes, The Beginnings of Christianity, Part I: The Acts of the Apostles, ed. F. J. Foakes Jackson and Kirsopp Lake (vol. 3: The Text of Acts; London: Macmillan, 1926), 108–109. 44 Peterson, ‘Christianus’, 65; cf. Mattingley, ‘Origin’, 26 n. 5. 45 Taylor, ‘Disciples’, 77. 46 Cf. Niederwimmer, Didache, 52–54, who suggests 110–120 ce as the most plausible date, though conceding that this is a matter of judgement; on the place of origin, ‘we are completely in the dark’ (53). Though Niederwimmer judges an urban provenance in Syria/Palestine possible, he does not think that ‘the major city of Antioch should be considered as its location’ (54). There is, moreover, some doubt about the genuineness of the term Χριστιανός in the original text here (see Peterson, ‘Christianus’, 87), though this is dismissed by Niederwimmer (186–87 n. 11). 47 Taylor, ‘Disciples’, 86–89. 48 Taylor, ‘Disciples’, 89–90. 49 Taylor, ‘Disciples’, 90–91.

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in Malalas gives no indication that the trouble among Jews owed anything to messianic preaching or other Christian activity.50 Taylor presents an intriguing proposal, but there is hardly sufficient evidence to make it more than that.51 Indeed, even taking Luke’s information with full seriousness, there are grounds for questioning this early date. As is often noted, if we follow the Alexandrian text generally accepted as the most likely reading here, Luke himself does not state that the term originated in Antioch at the time he had just described, but only that it was there that ‘the disciples were first called “Christians”’ (NRSV; ἐγένετο … χρηματίσαι τε πρώτως ἐν Ἀντιοχείᾳ τοὺς μαθητὰς Χριστιανούς). This closing phrase is only loosely connected with what precedes.52 There is a grammatical connection, as Harold Mattingley points out, since the infinitive χρηματίσαι is governed by εγένετο, like the preceding two infinitives,53 but the statement itself, with a different subject (‘the disciples’), reads like a distinct item of information. Thus, as Gerd Lüdemann remarks, ‘[e]ven if the information about the emergence of the name Christian is reliable, one certainly cannot say whether Luke has put it at the right chronological point’.54 Helga Botermann likewise stresses that this is a summary report about Antioch, and that Luke is not concerned to indicate the time of the name’s use, but the place.55 The term πρώτως, indeed, conveys the implication that Luke knew of subsequent occasions when the name was used.56 A further reason to doubt the early origins of the name is its absence from the earliest New Testament writings, and its rarity throughout the New Testament. Even if one were to concede Bickerman’s point that it was not a term Christians used of one another, but only of themselves in relation to the outside world,57 the fact that Paul nowhere uses the term, despite his unquestionably close 50 Taylor also suggests that Josephus’ report about the Christians in the so-called Testimonium Flavianum (Ant. 18.63–64) fits into its context, a listing of troublesome events (θόρυβοι) that occurred during Pilate’s governorship, as another instance of unrest. The word θόρυβος, missing from this passage, was unnecessary, Taylor suggests, since this implication was conveyed by the term Χριστιανός itself, which Taylor sees as from the outset ‘synonymous with sedition and crime’ (‘Disciples’, 85–86, 94). For a recent discussion of the issues surrounding the Testimonium Flavianum, see James Carleton Paget, ‘Some Observations on Josephus and Christianity’, JTS 52 (2001), 539–624. 51 Botermann, Judenedikt, 155, refers to Taylor’s combination of sources as a ‘halsbrecherischen Eklektizismus’. 52 Cf. Peterson, ‘Christianus’, 65; Lüdemann, Acts, 137. 53 Mattingley, ‘Origin’, 26 n. 5, directed at Peterson’s comment, cited above, though I am not so convinced that this means that ‘[a]ll are the results of Paul’s arrival in Antioch’ even if ‘the third may well be regarded as a delayed result, without any violence to the grammar’. 54 Lüdemann, Acts, 138. Similarly, Hemer, Acts, 177, notes that ‘Luke’s aside does not imply the word was in use at the date of which he writes; it will suffice if it was widespread at the date at which he writes’. 55 Botermann, Judenedikt, 145. 56 Cadbury, ‘Names for Christians’, 386 with n. 1; Taylor, ‘Disciples’, 75–76. On the possibly juristic nuances of πρώτως, see above with n. 28. A number of texts, including P74 and A, read πρώτον, which became the Majority Text reading; πρώτως is supported by P45, ℵ, B, et al. 57 Bickerman, ‘Name of Christians’, 115.

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links with Antioch (Acts 11.26-30; 13.1-3; 14.26–15.35; Gal. 2.11), must raise doubts about its formulation there in the time prior to any of the letters, even though such an argument from silence can hardly be decisive. Suetonius’ report may also suggest that the name Christiani was not yet in use in the 40s ce, though only if the Christian interpretation of the reference to Chrestus is accepted.58 Paul’s own terminology is to refer to a Christian as an ἄνθρωπος ἐν Χριστῷ (2 Cor. 12.2) or as someone who is simply Χριστοῦ (1 Cor. 1.12; 3.23; 2 Cor. 10.7; cf. also Mk 9.41). This use of the name of Christ is also evident, significantly, in our text in 1 Peter (4.14), shortly before the crucial use of the term Χριστιανός (4.16). The early Christians, it seems, could and would choose to designate themselves as bearing the name Χριστοῦ (or Ἰησοῦ: Acts 5.40-41).59 To anticipate our later discussion somewhat, their own form of confession would more likely have been Χριστοῦ εἰμί rather than Χριστιανὸς εἰμί. Mattingley argues that the term Christiani/Χριστιανοί was modelled on the comparable Augustiani, the ‘paramilitary corps of handsome, tough youths’ who, formed around Nero from 59 ce, ‘devoted themselves to rhythmic praise of the emperor’s person and his divine voice’.60 Mattingley’s proposal is that the term Christiani was formulated by ‘the Greco-Syrian population’ of Antioch, who would have known of Nero’s infamous Augustiani, as a deliberate and mocking parallel.61 As such, the name probably originated around 59–60: before 64, when it was evidently known among the populace of Rome, but only after the formation of the Augustiani.62 Yet the existence of so many other comparable -iani forms (see above) means that a specific link with the formation of the Augustiani is unnecessary to explain the coining of the term Christiani/Χριστιανοί, and Mattingley’s interesting suggestion is too speculative to convince. Botermann makes the intriguing suggestion that the term was first coined c. 57–59 ce, perhaps by Agrippa, in the context of Paul’s hearing in Jerusalem, 58 For strong arguments in favour of the interpretatio Christiana, see Botermann, Judenedikt, 50–102, esp. 57–71; John Granger Cook, Roman Attitudes Toward the Christians: From Claudius to Hadrian (WUNT 261; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2010), 14–28. Vigorous arguments against this position are presented by H. Dixon Slingerland, Claudian Policymaking and the Early Imperial Repression of Judaism at Rome (South Florida Studies in the History of Judaism 160; Atlanta, GA: Scholars, 1997). Edwin A. Judge and G. S. R. Thomas, ‘The Origin of the Church at Rome: A New Solution?’, RTR 25 (1966), 81–94 (repr. in Judge, First Christians, 442–55) suggest reference to an unknown messianic figure, thus accepting a messianic interpretation but denying a specifically Christian connection (see Judge, First Christians, 446– 49). 59 It is uncertain what the καλὸν ὄνομα of Jas 2.7 is, though it seems likely to be the name of the Lord Jesus Christ (cf. 2.1). Certainly there is no basis to conclude that it refers to the label Χριστιανός. On the various self-designations used by early Christians, see now the detailed study of Paul Trebilco, Self-Designations and Group Identity in the New Testament (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2012). 60 Mattingley, ‘Origin’, 29. 61 Mattingley, ‘Origin’, 28. 62 Mattingley, ‘Origin’, 29–31, et passim.

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or during his imprisonment in Caesarea, was then written in the report sent by Festus to Rome where Paul was sent for trial, and thus came to the attention of the imperial authorities in Rome (cf. Acts 26.24–27.2). However, this builds rather too much on a slender foundation: it is conceivable, though hardly demonstrable, that Luke’s use of the term in Acts 26.28 indicates the point at which the term originated – but Luke gives no real indication that this was the case.63 Tacitus’ famous remarks about Nero’s punishment of the Christians (Ann. 15.44), following the fire of 64 ce, do provide, as Mattingley notes, evidence that the term Christiani was known in Rome at this time. Although Tacitus’ account was written later (early second century), he clearly makes the point that, back at the time immediately after the fire, the populace were already referring to the members of this new superstition as Christiani (quos … vulgus Christianos appellabat).64 Suetonius similarly refers to Nero’s punishment of the Christiani (Nero 16.2), but does not give any explicit indication that this designation was current at the time of which he writes. It is possible that both writers are guilty of anachronism here, but Tacitus’ rather deliberate statement, combined with the evidence from Acts (πρώτως …) and the other indications that the name was known across the Empire by the end of the century, seems to support the conclusion that the name was indeed used by, or before, 64 ce. It is unlikely that our sparse evidence will allow a more specific hypothesis to be sustained. There are strong reasons to doubt that the name was formed as early as the 40s ce, not least since Luke himself – our most explicit source about the origins of the name – does not make such a claim.65 If it did originate in Antioch, as seems the most reasonable conclusion, and was known in Rome by the mid 60s, then it must have been coined at least a little before that time, though how long must remain uncertain. It is possible that Mattingley and Botermann, despite their different hypotheses, suggest approximately the right date (c. 57–60), even though the hypotheses themselves do not carry conviction. If it is right that the name originated in the circles of Roman administration and jurisdiction, then this requires, of course, that the Christians came to attention in Antioch before the time of Nero’s branding them as criminals. Indeed, the narrative of Acts, confirmed in part by Paul’s own reports, firmly supports the notion that Christians (generally as troublemakers among the Jews) did come to the attention of the city administration in various places (Acts 16.19-39; 17.5-9; 19.23-40; 2 Cor. 11.23-25). However, as Botermann comments, there was no reason for these local authorites, charged with keeping the peace in 63 Botermann, Judenedikt, 171–77. 64 It is the use of the imperfect appellabat rather than the present appellat that is significant here; cf. Mattingley, ‘Origin’, 32 n. 4; Zahn, Introduction, 2.191–92; Harnack, Expansion, 2.19. 65 The absence of the name from Suetonius’ report of disturbances among the Jews of Rome, impulsore Chresto (Claud. 25.4) – assuming that Chrestus is a reference to Christ (see above n. 58) – also implies that it had not been coined in the 40s ce. Cf. Botermann, Judenedikt, 142.

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their domain, to involve the wider provincial Roman administration in such cases;66 hence her suggestion that the transport of Paul the prisoner to Rome first brought the name to the attention of the imperial authorities in Rome. It is possible, of course, that the name did originate in Antioch (pace Botermann) but came to attention in Rome precisely because of the appearance of Paul as a prisoner there. But it is hard to feel that we can get much beyond informed speculation regarding such possibilities. Reports of Nero’s actions against the Christians after the fire of 64, however, provide the first explicit indication that the adherents of this new superstition were labelled Christiani specifically in Rome. Thereafter, of course, the name is available to, and used by, Roman officials to designate members of this movement, which had now come to imperial attention.

6.3. Χριστιανός in 1 Peter 4 Of the three New Testament uses of the word Χριστιανός, Acts 11.26 seems to have received most attention. In one sense this is understandable, since Luke’s notice most explicitly conveys specific historical information: the name was first applied to the believers at Antioch. However, Luke’s two Χριστιανός texts actually communicate rather little about the meaning and significance of the term, the contexts in which it arose, and the nuances that attached to it.67 Acts 11.26 simply tells us where the term was first used, without giving any indication as to whether the term was a (neutral) designation to identify this group, or a label which conveyed hostility and derision. Acts 26.28 similarly gives little clear indication either way: on the lips of Herod Agrippa the term may well be meant to express a mocking taunt,68 but this is hardly explicit in the text itself and can only be inferred on the basis of insights gleaned from elsewhere. By contrast, the text in 1 Peter, while it lacks the kind of explicit historical notice given by Luke, offers a much richer insight into the origin, meaning, and significance of the label Χριστιανός. As such, it constitutes our earliest window ‘from the inside’ onto this rather important development in the construction of Christian identity, one specifically forged in the encounter between Christians and outsiders. Moreover, it reveals, as does 1 Peter as a whole, much about the ways in which the early Christians were forced to negotiate their relationships with the wider world in general and with the Roman empire in particular.

66 Botermann, Judenedikt, 168–69. Cf. also Cook, Roman Attitudes, 144–45. 67 Though note Rowe’s reflections on the ‘narrative logic surrounding the use of the term Christian in Acts’ (Rowe, World Upside Down, 132; see 129–35). 68 So Mattingley, ‘Origin’, 32; Elliott, 1 Peter, 790–91; Rowe, World Upside Down, 131 (‘doubtless insulting’). C. K. Barrett, by contrast, doubts that there is any irony intended (by Luke) in his presentation of Agrippa’s words. C. K. Barrett, A Critical and Exegetical Commentary on the Acts of the Apostles. Vol. II (ICC; London and New York: T&T Clark, 1998), 1171.

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A new section of 1 Peter begins at 4.12 with a reference to the ‘fiery ordeal’ (πυρώσει) currently faced (ἐν ὑμῖν … γινομένῃ) by those whom the author addresses.69 Older scholarship on 1 Peter found a clear contrast between the vivid depiction of present suffering here, and a more hypothetical portrayal earlier in the letter.70 This was taken to reflect either some form of literary partition, or an attempt to address two types of situation.71 Recent commentators, however, have almost unanimously rejected such theories, along with earlier ideas about the letter’s origin as a baptismal homily or Paschal liturgy, and affirm the unity and integrity of the letter (see §2.4 above). The theme of suffering runs throughout (1.6; 2.19-20; 3.14-17; 4.1, 12-19; 5.9-10) and is from the start depicted as an experienced reality (1.6), even though – significantly – it here finds its most vivid and explicit portrayal.72 This suffering, which the author insists should not come as a surprise, is explained and discussed in various ways.73 First, it is a cause for rejoicing insofar as it constitutes a sharing in the sufferings of Christ;74 indeed accepting these sufferings with joy now is imperative (χαίρετε)75 so that (ἵνα) the addressees may rejoice far more when Christ’s glory is revealed (cf. 1.5-9).76 The nature and cause of this suffering emerge more clearly in v. 14, which closely parallels the beatitude in Mt. 5.11 and Lk. 6.22: being reviled for the 69 While there is disagreement about the precise structure of 1 Peter, 2.11 and 4.12 clearly mark some kind of break. Whether 4.12 marks the beginning of a major new section in the letter, as commentators have often suggested, is questioned in some analyses of the letter, e.g. Dalton, Christ’s Proclamation, 93–108; Charles H. Talbert, ‘Once Again: The Plan of 1 Peter’, in Talbert (ed.), Perspectives on First Peter, 141–51; Troy W. Martin, Metaphor and Composition in 1 Peter (SBLDS 131; Atlanta, Georgia: Scholars, 1992). In his rhetorical analysis, Barth L. Campbell, Honor, Shame, and the Rhetoric of 1 Peter (SBLDS 160; Atlanta, Georgia: Scholars, 1998) sees 4.12 as the beginning of an extended peroratio. For an overview, see Horrell, 1 Peter, 9–20. 70 For a thorough overview of this early scholarship, see Williams, ‘Contextualizing Conflict’, 323–33. 71 See, e.g., Beare, First Epistle of Peter, 25–28, for the distinction between a ‘baptismal discourse’ (1.3–4.11) and ‘the letter proper’ (4.12–5.11), following Perdelwitz, Mysterienreligion, 12–26. Moule, ‘Nature and Purpose’, sees the letter as ‘genuinely epistolary’ (7), but addressed to communities some of which were actually experiencing suffering, others of which were not. 72 Cf. Goppelt, I Peter, 37: ‘the three parts of the letter [1.3–2.10; 2.11–4.11; 4.12–5.11] address the conflict in stages … the author’s encouraging and exhorting address with respect to the conflict situation is developed progressively, while the terminology used remains the same’. 73 A comparable structure occurs three times consecutively, with a depiction of suffering followed by some explanation or reason as to why the Christians should be able to find comfort in their sufferings: ‘rejoice as you share in Christ’s sufferings ἵνα …’ (v. 13); ‘being reviled for the name of Christ is a blessing ὅτι …’ (v. 14); ‘suffering as a Christian is no shame but an occasion for glory ὅτι …’ (vv.16–17). The headline statement of v. 12 is balanced by the overall concluding statement in v. 19 (ὥστε …). 74 A notion most closely paralleled in the Pauline letters (see Rom. 8.17; 2 Cor. 1.5-7; Phil. 3.10-11; Col. 1.24), and which thus forms one indication of Pauline influence on 1 Peter. See further chapter 1 above. 75 Rightly interpreted as imperative, in parallel with the μὴ ξενίζεσθε in v. 12, by Achtemeier, 1 Peter, 306. 76 Cf. Achtemeier, 1 Peter, 307.

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name of Christ (εἰ ὀνειδίζεσθε ἐν ὀνόματι Χριστοῦ). In other words, they are those who bear the name of Christ – insider’s terminology (cf. §6.2.4. above) – and may (εἰ…) suffer persecution as a result (see Mk 13.13; Mt. 10.22). The use of the verb ὀνειδίζω (also in Mt. 5.11 and Lk. 6.22) should not necessarily be taken to imply only verbal or informal harassment:77 Spicq notes that the term has a very wide range of meaning, ‘from simple reproach to cursing and blasphemy, with invective, mockery, affront, insult, and abuse included in between’. Indeed, in the LXX it is associated with declarations of enmity and war (e.g. 1 Sam. 17.10; 2 Sam. 21.21; 23.9; Zeph. 2.8).78 Again the author insists that such maltreatment be accepted positively; it is a mark of blessing (μακάριοι) because (ὅτι) the Spirit rests upon those who endure it. The following verses (vv. 15-16) reveal still more about the envisaged situation, as they distinguish between suffering which is, and is not, a cause for glory and honour. One of the themes of the letter has been the need for Christians to ‘do good’, to conduct themselves honourably and in ways that (in some respects at least) cohere with what is widely recognized as moral (e.g. 2.11-12, 20; 3.8-17).79 So they are urged here to ensure that none of them suffers as a consequence of wicked conduct, which might result in their being labelled a murderer (φονεύς), a thief (κλέπτης), or any kind of evildoer (κακοποιός), or, indeed, an ἀλλοτριεπίσκοπος, probably best understood as someone who interferes in others’ business.80 The first three terms most readily imply a context of criminal accusation (cf. 2.14), even if the catch-all κακοποιός could also have a more general resonance.81 The last term, possibly 77 Michaels, 1 Peter, 263, for example, restricts the term to ‘verbal abuse’ or ‘ridicule’. See further below on the tendency among recent commentators to regard the suffering depicted in 1 Peter as (only) a matter of informal hostility and verbal abuse, rather than persecution leading to possible death. 78 Spicq, TLNT 2.585, with further examples listed there. Spicq sees the particular construction ὀνειδίζειν ἐν in 2 Sam. 23.9 as ‘a Hebraism, repeated by 1 Pet. 4:14’. 79 This is widely seen as an apologetic strategy to urge conduct that is recognized as good by the wider world, so as to reduce conflict and hostility, whether specifically through civic benefaction (a view expounded especially by Bruce Winter) or more generally the doing of ‘good’ deeds. See, e.g., W. C. van Unnik, ‘The Teaching of Good Works in I Peter’, in Sparsa Collecta: The Collected Essays of W.C. van Unnik: Part 2 (NovTSup 30; Leiden: Brill, 1980), 83–105; Bruce W. Winter, ‘The Public Honouring of Christian Benefactors: Romans 13.3-4 and 1 Peter 2.14-15’, JSNT 34 (1988), 87–103; Winter, Seek the Welfare, 11–40. However, this has recently been challenged by Travis Williams, who suggests that the ‘good works’ should be seen as those congruent with the Judaeo-Christian tradition, and thus as including both actions that would meet with wider social approval and others that would not. See Williams, ‘Contextualizing Conflict’, 245–62; Williams, Good Works. 80 See Elliott, 1 Peter, 785–88, for the meaning of this hapax, coined here for the first time in Greek literature and appearing only very rarely some centuries thereafter; also Jeannine K. Brown, ‘Just a Busybody? A Look at the Greco-Roman Topos of Meddling For Defining άλλοτριεπίσκοπος in 1 Peter 4:15’, JBL 125 (2006), 549–68. 81 Cf. Brown, ‘Just a Busybody?’, 560–61. For arguments in favour of a judicial context being implied here, see Holloway, Coping with Prejudice, 67–68; Cook, Roman Attitudes, 240– 46. Whether this text, and also 3.14-16, likely refers to judicial contexts implying the possibility of persecution in the courts, or rather to contexts where informal public hostility was expressed,

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coined by the author, may represent a specific cause for the author’s concern, given its contrast with the more common and general terms that precede it.82 His concern, not unlike Paul’s in 1 Thessalonians, may be to urge the Christians not to stick their noses into others’ business, nor to be proactive or aggressive missionaries, but to keep a low profile as far as possible.83 But as Jeannine Brown has shown, this ‘meddling’, while unlikely (in this context) to refer to a specifically illegal activity, was ‘a weighty social transgression in the first-century world’.84 Unlike being reviled for the name of Christ, such accusations (if well-founded) and their consequent suffering are not an occasion for rejoicing, but are rightly seen as a cause for shame – as is implied by the contrasting insistence that suffering ὡς Χριστιανός is no cause for shame (μὴ αἰσχυνέσθω). Indeed, those who suffer this accusation should glorify God ἐν τῷ ὀνόματι τούτῳ. The text and translation of this significant last phrase are somewhat uncertain. The first issue to be addressed is a textual one: in place of ὀνόματι, μέρει appears in later manuscripts (including the eighth-to-ninth-century uncials K, L, P, and 049) and is the established Byzantine and Majority Text reading. However, the reading ὀνόματι is supported by many important manuscripts (ℵ, A, B, Ψ, 33, 1739, etc.), including the early uncials and the Bodmer and Crosby-Schøyen papyri (P72, C-S [pairan], on which see chapter 2) and almost all the translational versions.85 Indeed, most commentators accept ὀνόματι with little (or no) discussion.86 J. Ramsey Michaels, however, has argued for the originality of μέρει, on the grounds that it is the more difficult emendation to envisage: ‘it is hard to see why, if ὀνόματι were original, it would have been changed to μέρει. On the other hand, an alteration of the has been a matter of dispute, reflecting the wider debates about the nature of the suffering depicted in the letter. Recent commentators, tending towards the view that the suffering is informal and mostly verbal, have argued against seeing a law-court setting here; see, e.g., Elliott, 1 Peter, 627–28; Michaels, 1 Peter, 188; Achtemeier, 1 Peter, 233. But this often reflects a view of the nature of the hostility that I think needs to be called into question. See also Holloway, Coping with Prejudice, 4–5, 65–73, 202–205 (on 3.14-16), 220–27 (on 4.12-19); Travis B. Williams, ‘Suffering from a Critical Oversight: The Persecutions of 1 Peter within Modern Scholarship’, CBR 10 (2012), 271–88; Williams, ‘Contextualizing Conflict’. 82 It is notable how ὡς is used to mark ἀλλοτριεπίσκοπος as an item somewhat distinct from the first three in the list. 83 On Paul’s perspective in this regard, see John M. G. Barclay, ‘Conflict in Thessalonica’, CBQ 55 (1993), 512–30; David G. Horrell, Solidarity and Difference: A Contemporary Reading of Paul’s Ethics (London and New York: T&T Clark, 2005), 257–61. 84 Brown, ‘Just a Busybody?’, 561. Referring to Brown’s essay, Holloway offers a judicious summary of the advice here: ‘The readers must not suffer for misdeeds that they have done, whether these be acts of obvious criminality … or social nuisance, … both of which could have serious consequences’ (Holloway, Coping with Prejudice, 225). 85 A few minuscules amalgamate both readings (378, 2147, 2652). For the full range of evidence and variants, see ECM, 184. 86 E.g., Brox, Petrusbrief, 222; Davids, The First Epistle of Peter, 170 with n. 17; Feldmeier, First Epistle of Peter, 227. The variant does not find mention in UBS4 or Metzger’s TCGNT either.

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colorless μέρει to ὀνόματι is quite conceivable in light of the ἐν ὀνόματι Χριστοῦ of v. 14.’87 Achtemeier and Elliott note Michaels’ point but dismiss it swiftly, on the grounds of the strong and early attestation for ὀνόματι.88 However, the recent decision of the Editio Critica Maior to prefer μέρει indicates that the issue requires serious consideration: this is one of only seven changes to the preferred text compared to NA27/UBS4, and almost certainly the most significant, though it is marked as an instance where the alternative reading also needs careful consideration.89 The main issue, if ὀνόματι is to be retained as the original reading, is to offer some plausible explanation as to how the reading μέρει arose. One proposal has been made by Kelly, although he assumes ὀνόματι to be original such that his main concern is to elucidate the proper meaning of the phrase ἐν τῷ ὀνόματι τούτῳ.90 This phrase, Kelly argues, is an idiomatic use of ὄνομα which means something like ‘in this capacity’ or ‘on this account’, as in Mt. 10.41-42, where εἰς ὄνομα προφήτου/δικαίου/μαθητοῦ means ‘as being in the category of prophet/disciple’ (etc.), or (more simply) ‘because he is …’.91 Similarly, Kelly suggests, ἐν ὀνόματι ὅτι Χριστοῦ ἐστε in Mk 9.41 means ‘on the ground that you are Christ’s’,92 or perhaps, as the RV has it, ‘because you are Christ’s’. Kelly points to similar instances where ὀνόματι means ‘on the ground that’ or ‘in the category of’ (cf. P. Oxy. 37.17-18 [49 ce]; Josephus, Ant. 12.154) and where, in the context of accountancy, ὄνομα bears the sense ‘account’.93 Thus, the meaning of the idiom in 1 Pet. 4.16, Kelly proposes, is ‘in this capacity’ or ‘on this account’, and the variant ἐν τῷ μέρει τούτῳ indicates how some Greek scribes understood the phrase.94 87 Michaels, 1 Peter, 257, n. e. 88 Achtemeier, 1 Peter, 303–304 n. 6; Elliott, 1 Peter, 796. 89 See ECM, 23–24. 90 It is therefore somewhat misleading to suggest that Kelly is the only modern commentator to take the reading μέρει ‘seriously enough to offer an explanation of how it came into being if it is not original’ (Michaels, 1 Peter, 269). Kelly’s comments on the textual issue itself are very brief, and are anticipated in the (also brief) comments of Selwyn and Blakeney, on which see n. 94 below. 91 Cf. Kelly, Peter and Jude, 190–91. 92 Kelly, Peter and Jude, 191. 93 Kelly, Peter and Jude, 191; cf. LSJ, 1232, s.v. ὄνομα, IV.2. 94 Kelly, Peter and Jude, 191. Selwyn, First Epistle, 226, comments that the variant with μέρει ‘has little authority and looks like a gloss’, though he also cites E. H. Blakeney’s suggestion that ‘the gloss may nonetheless be instructive, and point to the correct translation being “on his account”’. Interestingly, some years earlier, Charles Bigg entertained a similar possibility, in the context of discussing the textual issue here, but insisted that ‘the true reading [in 1 Pet. 4.16] is no doubt ὀνόματι, and ὄνομα can only be rendered “name”’ (Bigg, St. Peter and St. Jude, 180). While in Mk 9.41 ὄνομα might carry the sense given in the RV’s translation (cited above), Bigg states that there is nowhere else in the New Testament where it can mean ‘reason’ or ‘account’, ‘nor does the word appear to possess this sense in Greek’. He notes the comparable Latin phrase hoc nomine, which, based on its use in ledgers, ‘sometimes means “on this account”’, but warns against confusing ‘the idioms of the two languages without authority’ – though Kelly’s examples would seem to supply the necessary evidence for a similar idiom in Greek.

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Kelly’s suggestions do not necessarily offer the best way to interpret the phrase ἐν τῷ ὀνόματι τούτῳ (see below) but they do provide a possible explanation as to how the reading μέρει could have arisen: some scribe or scribes took the phrase in this idiomatic sense, but clarified or glossed the meaning by substituting μέρει for ὀνόματι, thus ‘on this account’ or ‘in this matter’ (cf. NKJV: ‘let him glorify God in this matter’). While this does not provide a compelling reason for the scribal change, it does suggest a strong possibility. Michaels may be right to maintain that the change to μέρει is harder to imagine than a change from μέρει to ὀνόματι, but the lectio difficilior principle alone cannot always be decisive, particularly in a situation where the textual evidence weighs heavily in the opposite direction.95 As Travis Williams remarks, those who propose to accept the reading μέρει ‘must be able to explain how an original μέρει could have left no trace in the textual record prior to the solidification of the Byzantine text-type’.96 Since there is at least a feasible explanation for the substitution of ὀνόματι by μέρει, and – most importantly – much stronger MS support for ὀνόματι, this reading should be maintained. There remains the question as to what exactly we should take ἐν τῷ ὀνόματι τούτῳ to mean. Most commentators rightly agree that the antecedent to which ‘this name’ refers is not Χριστοῦ (v. 14) but the much nearer Χριστιανός (v. 16).97 It is, moreover, unnecessary to avoid the direct translation ‘name’ here, since unlike the uses in Mt. 10.41-42 and Mk 9.41, in this case there is no difficulty in taking ὄνομα in its literal sense. However, the sense of the phrase here may well be one that would also make sense in these other examples, and for which the idiom discussed by Kelly is in some respects illuminating. Matthew 10.41-42 refers to those whose welcome and generosity are based, crucially, on identifying the recipient as prophet, righteous person, or disciple. These are the designations, the labels, that (rightly) identify who they are: they bear the identity ‘prophet’, and so on. The same goes for Mk 9.41: a reward is promised to those whose giving of (even) ‘a cup of water’ is based upon the labelling of the recipient as Χριστοῦ. Glossing the meaning in rather sociological terms, we may say that what ὄνομα represents here is the label that defines a person’s identity – a point we shall explore in more detail below. A proper translation of the phrase also depends, however, on the precise sense to be given to ἐν. Elliott distinguishes three options: instrumental (‘with’,

95 Michaels, 1 Peter, 270: ‘It is hard to believe that they [sc. later copyists] would sacrifice the theological richness of the “name” in favor of such a colourless word as μέρος, … merely to clarify the meaning for their readers.’ This would be more plausible, Michaels suggests, in the process of translation, ‘but there is no evidence that this variant originated in the translation process (e.g. from Greek to Latin)’. We need to bear in mind, though, that the referent of ὄνομα here is not Χριστός but Χριστιανός, so the theological resonances are less pertinent, and the desire to clarify what was taken as an idiom might well be of some influence. 96 Williams, ‘Contextualizing Conflict’, 270. 97 Elliott, 1 Peter, 796; Davids, First Epistle of Peter, 170 n. 17.

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‘by’, or ‘through this name’),98 locative (‘in the sphere of this name’),99 and causative (‘because of this name’).100 To these may be added the idiomatic (‘on this account’), as proposed by Kelly.101 The distinctions here are not in all cases very great, but Elliott makes a strong case for the instrumental sense:102 ἐν is frequently used in this way in 1 Peter (Elliott lists 1.2, 5a, 6b, 12, 17, 22; 2.2, 18; 3.2, 4; 4.19; 5.14) and is also linked with the verb ‘glorify’ (δοξάζω) in Jn 13.31-32; 17.10; Rom. 15.6; and 1 Cor. 6.20.103 Elliott continues: ‘The issue addressed here is not the sphere in which the believers find themselves or the cause for which they glorify God but a specific name (Christianos) with which they are stigmatized.’104 When labelled, and made to suffer, as Χριστιανοί – in other words, when this term is used to designate their identity – they are not to be ashamed but to glorify God with this name, bearing it as a means to honour God. A further explanation (ὅτι) is then given as to why this suffering can be joyfully embraced: God’s eschatological judgement (τὸ κρίμα) begins with God’s own household (v. 17). But if the judgement of the righteous is hard, how much worse will it be for the unrighteous (v. 18)? Thus, the author concludes, drawing this section of the text to a close (ὥστε), those who suffer according to God’s will – not, that is, for genuine wrongdoing – can entrust themselves to God’s faithfulness (v. 19). The context in which the word Χριστιανός appears in 1 Peter is highly significant for understanding the origin and importance of the term within the history of early Christianity. The setting is one of hostility and suffering, where believers are reviled for their allegiance to Christ. It is in this section of 1 Peter that this situation is most vividly and explicitly portrayed, and here too that the term Χριστιανός appears. This may be no accident, for the term indicates clearly and precisely what the target of external criticism was, compared with the rather less specific references earlier in the letter: the Christians’ allegiance to Christ. But it also, crucially, indicates the form in which this criticism was expressed. The insiders’ terminology, known from elsewhere in the New Testament, as we have seen, is expressed earlier in this passage: being reviled for the name of Christ (ἐν ὀνόματι Χριστοῦ). The 98 Cf. Lutherbibel (1985): ‘ehre Gott mit diesem Namen’. 99 Cf. also Selwyn, First Epistle, 225–26; Achtemeier, 1 Peter, 315; Mark Dubis, 1 Peter: A Handbook on the Greek Text (BHGNT; Waco, TX: Baylor University Press, 2010), 153; RSV: ‘under that name …’; NAS: ‘in that name let him glorify God’. 100 E.g. NRSV: ‘because you bear this name’. 101 For the various options, see Elliott, 1 Peter, 796; Williams, ‘Contextualizing Conflict’, 273. 102 Elliott, 1 Peter, 796–97. This sense is also preferred by Brox, Petrusbrief, 222; Davids, First Epistle of Peter, 170 n. 17. Williams, ‘Contextualizing Conflict’, 273, prefers the ‘causal’ reading, which Elliott accepts for the construction in 4.14, seeing this as an instance where the idiomatic reading makes best sense (‘because of Christ’; Elliott, 1 Peter, 779–81). 103 In some of these cases (e.g. 1 Cor. 6.20) there is however some ambiguity as to whether an instrumental or locative sense is implied. 104 Elliott, 1 Peter, 796.

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term Χριστιανός is functionally equivalent – it means, after all, supporters or partisans of Χριστός – but it emerges specifically as one of a number of labels (along with ‘murderer’, ‘thief’, and so on) that may be the direct cause of suffering. Just as someone may be identified as ‘disciple’, or as ‘belonging to Christ’ (cf. Mt. 10.41-42; Mk 9.41), so they may bear the identity ‘thief’, ‘meddler’, or ‘Christian’. The implication is that these labels are, or may be,105 attached, by outsiders, as accusations. There must be no truth in accusations of being murderers and thieves, or even ‘those who meddle in others’ affairs’, for Christians are to be demonstrably ἀγαθοποιοί not κακοποιοί (cf. 4.15, 19); but the accusation of being a Χριστιανός, evidently a reality which was leading to suffering, should be embraced with rejoicing.

6.4. Suffering ὡς Χριστιανός: 1 Peter and the letters of Pliny What kind of suffering in what kind of situation does the text then envisage, and how does the name Χριστιανός relate to this? This question is best answered via a consideration of the relationship, if any, between the situation depicted in 1 Peter and that reflected in Pliny’s famous correspondence with Trajan (Ep. 10.96–97), dated to c. 111–12 ce. While some scholars have proposed that the similarities are close and that 1 Peter therefore dates from the same period,106 the tendency among recent commentators is to favour an earlier date for 1 Peter and to downplay any similarities. John Elliott puts this especially forcefully: ‘the situation described by Pliny bears no substantive resemblance to the situation portrayed in 1 Peter … the Pliny–Trajan exchange has no bearing on the import of the label “Christian” in 1 Peter’.107 Conclusions about relative dates are, to some extent, separable from conclusions about similarities: similarities between the Pliny correspondence and 1 Peter need not necessarily require that the writings emerged contemporaneously, as we shall see. Yet the disassociation of 1 Peter’s and Pliny’s accounts of Christian suffering also influences a wider and well-established contemporary view, that 105 It is difficult to say whether the addressees were actually encountering accusations that they were murderers and thieves, though the kind of stock, polemical criticisms often directed against Christians – that they were guilty of incest, cannibalism, murder, etc. – make this not implausible: see, e.g., Geoffrey E. M. De Ste Croix, ‘Why Were the Early Christians Persecuted?’, Past and Present 26 (1963), 6–38 (20–21); Craig S. de Vos, ‘Popular Graeco-Roman Responses to Christianity’, in Philip F. Esler (ed.), The Early Christian World (vol. 2; London and New York: Routledge, 2000), 869–89 (877–85); Sordi, Christians, 32–33; Eusebius, HE 4.7.11; 5.1.14, 26; 9.5.2; Justin, 1 Apol. 26; 2 Apol. 12; Tertullian, Apol. 2.5; 6.11–7.5. But Pliny discovers nothing that is explicitly criminal in his investigation of the cult’s activities. We can be more confident that accusations of being ‘meddlers’ were a reality, and still more confident that they were actually derided as Χριστιανοί. 106 E.g. John Knox, ‘Pliny and I Peter: A Note on I Pet 4 14-16 and 3 15’, JBL 72 (1953), 187–89; Beare, First Epistle of Peter, 32–35; F. Gerald Downing, ‘Pliny’s Prosecutions of Christians: Revelation and 1 Peter’, JSNT 34 (1988), 105–23. 107 Elliott, 1 Peter, 792, my emphasis.

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the suffering depicted in 1 Peter is a matter not of ‘official’ imperial persecution but rather of ‘unofficial’ public hostility. Indeed it has become something of a ‘current consensus’, especially in English-language scholarship, that ‘the persecution of 1 Peter is local, sporadic and unofficial, stemming from the antagonism and discrimination of the general populace’.108 This consensus, as we shall see, is open to serious doubt. First we must note the essential features of the situation Pliny reports, though more detailed consideration of some aspects of the letters will follow later.109 Christians are coming to trial for their faith. Those who refuse to renounce Christianity are executed (or, if Roman citizens, sent to Rome for trial); those who deny ever being Christians are released, provided that they demonstrate their religio-political loyalty by invoking the gods and offering to the emperor’s statue, and prove their non-allegiance to Christ by reviling his name.110 Those who admit to having previously been Christians are set 108 Dubis, ‘Research on 1 Peter’, 203. Another recent overview of scholarship gives a very similar conclusion: ‘the social situation that these Christians are facing is not official Roman persecution, but rather slander and verbal abuse intended to discredit them’ (Robert L. Webb, ‘The Petrine Epistles: Recent Developments and Trends’, in Scot McKnight and Grant R. Osborne [eds], The Face of New Testament Studies: A Survey of Recent Research [Grand Rapids: Baker, 2004], 373–90 [383]). For further examples, see n. 136 below. For a probing and thorough investigation of the history of research on this subject, and further arguments for the kind of perspective developed below, see Williams, ‘Contextualizing Conflict’; Williams, ‘Suffering’. 109 For a detailed recent study of the letters, which supports the arguments made here, see Cook, Roman Attitudes, 138–240; also Jakob Engberg, Impulsore Chresto: Opposition to Christianity in the Roman Empire c.50–250 AD (Early Christianity in the Context of Antiquity, 2; Frankfurt: Lang, 2007), 173–206. 110 It is sometimes argued that the Christians were persecuted for religious and not political reasons, partly on the ground that the imperial cult plays no prominent role in the persecutions, and when it does, appears only as part of the broader requirement to worship ‘the gods’. See, e.g., Fergus Millar, ‘The Imperial Cult and the Persecutions’, in W. den Boer (ed.), Le culte des souverains dans l’empire romain (Entretiens Hardt XIX; Geneva, 1973), 145–65, esp. 160, 164; Anthony R. Birley, ‘Die “freiwilligen” Märtyrer. Zum Problem der Selbst-Auslieferer’, in R. von Haeling (ed.), Rom und das himmlische Jerusalem. Die frühen Christen zwischen Anpassung und Ablehnung (Darmstadt: Wissenschaftliche Buchgesellschaft, 2000), 97–123 (121–23); Harland, Associations, 239–51. This refusal to honour the gods (labelled ‘atheism’) was perceived to threaten the pax which due piety towards the gods maintained – hence the Christians could well be blamed for calamities such as the fire of Rome, as well as famine, disease, etc. (see De Ste Croix, ‘The Early Christians’, 24–31; Birley, ‘Die “freiwilligen” Märtyrer’, 121). Yet this has inseparably religious and political dimensions: the pax Romana and the pax deorum were inextricably intertwined, with the maintenance of each dependent on the other. As Tertullian comments, Christians are accused of ‘sacrilege and treason at once’ (Itaque sacrilegii et maiestatis; Apol. 10.1–2), cited on this point by Rowe, World Upside Down, 252 n. 206. De Ste Croix also prefers to label the reasons for the persecution of Christians ‘religious’, stating that ‘emperor-worship is a factor of almost no independent importance in the persecution of the Christians’ (De Ste Croix, ‘The Early Christians’, 27 and 10, respectively, my emphasis), but captures the religiopolitical interconnections in his remark on Christianity’s ‘unique offence – against the gods and therefore against the state’ (Geoffrey E. M. De Ste Croix, ‘Why Were The Early Christians Persecuted? – A Rejoinder’, Past and Present 27 [1964], 28–33 [33]). It is unnecessary and unconvincing to relegate the significance of the test of cultic devotion to the emperor to merely a way to detect whether someone was a Christian or not, as does Harland, Associations, 244–47.

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the same test. Pliny does not state what he has then done with such former Christians, but he has ascertained from them and from further investigations that the cult does not seem to involve any criminal practices as such; and he evidently favours allowing such people the opportunity to repent (see further below). It is clear that those who refuse to renounce their profession of Christianity are executed for this and not for any other or associated crimes (flagitia): even though Pliny professes uncertainty as to whether punishment is due for the name itself (nomen ipsum) – that is, merely for being a Christianus – or for crimes associated with the name (flagitia cohaerentia nomini),111 his practice is evidently to proceed on the basis purely of the confession of Christianity.112 The ‘stubbornness and unshakeable obstinacy’ (pertinaciam certe et inflexibilem obstinationem, Ep. 10.96.3) which Pliny reports as justifying punishment do not represent the crime itself, namely the crime of contumacia113 – this could hardly be the ground for the trial prior to the point when the Christian refused to recant114 – but simply the obstinacy of refusing to abandon their Christian confession, ‘clinging to what is itself already punishable’.115 Indeed, Trajan affirms this legal procedure (actus)116 in his reply to Pliny, confirming that punishment was to be executed upon any who were proven to be Christians, that is, for the name itself.117

111 On these possible accusations, see n. 105 above. 112 So De Ste Croix, ‘A Rejoinder’, 30: ‘There is not the least suggestion in Pliny’s letter or in Trajan’s reply that on this occasion the “flagitia” were actually the ground of persecution, although Pliny was prepared to regard persecution for “flagitia” as a theoretical possibility … Pliny executed the confessors for the “Name”, without any evidence of “flagitia”, or indeed of anything except their confession that they were Christians, and he later discovered (from apostates) that there were no “flagitia”. He nevertheless, in the acknowledged absence of “flagitia”, still regarded Christianity as something disgusting.’ See further De Ste Croix, ‘The Early Christians’, passim, which demonstrates persuasively that Christians were persecuted ‘for the Name’ beginning ‘either in 64 or at some time between 64 and 112’ (10). Similarly, T. D. Barnes, ‘Legislation against the Christians’, JRS 58 (1968), 32–50 (37). 113 As is argued by A. N. Sherwin-White, who maintains that at least in the early period Christians were punished for some identifiable crime, not simply for the name itself. A. N. Sherwin-White, ‘The Early Persecutions and Roman Law Again’, JTS 3 (1952), 199–213; A. N. Sherwin-White, ‘Why Were the Early Christians Persecuted? – An Amendment’, Past and Present 27 (1964), 23–27. 114 This and other decisive arguments against Sherwin-White’s argument (see previous note) are presented by De Ste Croix, ‘The Early Christians’, 18–19, and De Ste Croix, ‘Rejoinder’; more recently Cook, Roman Attitudes, 169–70. 115 Goppelt, I Peter, 41. 116 According to Sherwin-White, ‘An Amendment’, 25, ‘actus is technical for judicial procedure’. 117 This affirmation of Trajan’s is explicit not so much in his positive statement si deferantur et arguantur, puniendi sunt, which could in principle refer to an accusation regarding some form of criminal activity (flagitium) but in the negative that follows: qui negaverit se Christianum esse … quamvis suspectus in praeteritum, veniam ex paenitentia impetret (Ep. 10.97.2).

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Elliott gives a number of reasons why he considers the situation reflected in 1 Peter to be different in key respects from that described by Pliny.118 The author of 1 Peter ‘speaks only of the “reproach” and “suffering”’ experienced by the Christians ‘and says nothing of their delation by others, their arrest or examination by Roman governors/legates, their trials, or their execution … Suffering public ridicule by being stigmatized as a “Christ-lackey” (4:16) is several steps removed from being legally denounced, arrested, and punished as a criminal.’119 The exhortation to those who suffer ὡς Χριστιανός ‘not to be ashamed’ (μὴ αἰσχυνέσθω) is argued to be too weak if martyrdom were potentially in view, and appropriate rather for a context of verbal ridicule: ‘If being a Christian were itself a crime, then its consequence would be legal punishment, not shame (v 16a).’120 Moreover, there is, according to Elliott, ‘no evidence proving that at this early point in Christian history’ profession of Christianity constituted a ‘public crime’ or ‘violated some putative Roman law or edict’.121 Even the Pliny–Trajan correspondence, Elliott suggests, reveals no ‘official Roman policy proscribing Christianity’, thus making ‘clear that for Roman authorities in the early second century Christianity was still an unknown quantity’.122 Furthermore, the author of 1 Peter does not ‘present any critique of Rome anywhere in the letter, an omission difficult to imagine if Roman authorities were indeed executing innocent Christians as criminals’.123 However, these points are by no means persuasive. It should be no great surprise that a Christian writer can reinforce the Christian duty to respect the authority of the state even in a context where the authorities are responsible 118 In addition to the points addressed above Elliott also suggests a further difference, that the situation Pliny discusses pertains only to Pontus (from where letter 10.96 was written), whereas 1 Peter envisions a situation faced by Christians throughout the provinces of northern Asia Minor and indeed the whole world (5.9). This does not, however, mean that the situations cannot be similar, only that what Pliny describes for Pontus(-Bithynia) must also be plausible in other parts of the region, and in the Empire as a whole. 119 Elliott, 1 Peter, 793. 120 Elliott, 1 Peter, 794; cf. Bigg, St. Peter and St. Jude, 180; Davids, The First Epistle of Peter, 170. 121 Elliott, 1 Peter, 791, citing a similar statement by William J. Dalton, ‘The First Epistle of Peter’, in Raymond E. Brown, Joseph A. Fitzmyer, and Ronald E. Murphy (eds), The New Jerome Biblical Commentary (Engelwood Cliffs, NJ: Prentice-Hall, 1990), 903–908 (908). It is particularly unconvincing when Elliott uses Paul’s experience, as recorded in Acts, to argue against the idea that any sense of ‘criminality’ was associated with the label ‘Christian’ from the earliest times: ‘If the label had had this sort of connotation for Herod Agrippa and Festus, Paul, as a Christian, would have stood condemned. In actuality, however, he was not condemned but instead was allowed to plead his case before Nero in Rome’ (Elliott, 1 Peter, 791). Yet this is precisely what Pliny also records doing in the case of Roman citizens (Ep. 10.96.4), in a context where Christians are executed for the nomen ipsum. 122 Elliott, 1 Peter, 792. 123 Elliott, 1 Peter, 793 (similarly, 502); cf. also Bechtler, Following, 50; Michaels, 1 Peter, lxiii. A similar point was made much earlier by Gustav Schoenaich, ‘Die Neronische Christenverfolgung’, Festschrift zur Jahrhundertfeier der Universität Breslau am 2. August 1911 (ed. Schlesischen Philologenverein; Breslau: Trewendt & Granier, 1911), 167–86 (184): in 1 Peter ‘das Verhältnis der Christen zum römischen Staat ist noch ungestört’.

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for punishments meted out to Christians. Paul’s infamous exhortations to the Roman Christians (Rom. 13.1-7) were in essence repeated in writings that almost certainly postdate Nero’s scapegoating of Christians (on which see below), an act that was evidently remembered among Christians and nonChristians alike.124 And even on the point of martyrdom early Christians could and did reiterate their political loyalty in these terms, while at the same time refusing to comply with the demand to abandon their Christian confession (Mart. Pol. 10–11; see §7.3.3).125 Specifically with regard to 1 Peter, it is worth noting that this letter’s affirmation of Roman imperial rule is a good deal more reserved, even implicitly critical, than Paul’s.126 Submission to the emperor as supreme and to governors as his appointees is appropriate (only) as part of a general policy of submission to every human institution (πάσῃ ἀνθρωπίνῃ κτίσει; 2.13); so the emperor is an ἀνθρωπίνη κτίσις and not divi filius or υἱὸς θεοῦ, still less dominus et deus noster (Suetonius, Dom. 13).127 Likewise, honouring the emperor (2.17) is appropriate (only) as part of a general disposition to honour all people. And the emperor is not to be revered; that attitude is reserved for God (τὸν θεὸν φοβεῖσθε, τὸν βασιλέα τιμᾶτε) – so however politically loyal 1 Peter urges Christians to be, on the basis of these instructions they would fail the ‘sacrifice test’ with which Pliny tested Christians (see further chapter 7).128 Unlike in Paul, here there is no affirmation that the authorities that exist have been instituted by God or that they act as God’s servant (Rom. 13.1-4). As in Romans, so too in 1 Peter the governing authorities are described as appointed to punish those who do evil and praise those who do good (1 Pet. 2.14; Rom. 13.3-4), but here there is no presumption that they necessarily fulfil this role – a presumption that is strikingly unqualified in Romans 13.129 The author of 1 Peter is probably optimistic that, by showing themselves to be ἀγαθοποιοί and not κακοποιοί, Christians can, in the end, stem the criticism and hostility that unjustly attach to them out of ignorance (2.15; cf. 2.12; 3.14), a hope which also motivates an apologist like Tertullian, however false the optimism proved to be (cf. Apol. 1–4, etc.). 124 E.g. 1 Tim. 2.1-2; Tit. 3.1; 1 Clem. 60.4–61.2. For explicit references to Nero’s persecution of Christians see, e.g., in Christian literature: Tertullian, Apol. 5.3; Eusebius, HE 2.25.4–5 (quoting Tertullian); 4.26.9 (quoting Melito); in non-Christian sources: Tacitus, Ann. 15.44; Suetonius, Nero 16.2. 125 Glossing the Pauline call for submission with the ‘Petrine clause’ of Acts 5.29 soon became a means to explain the limits to civil obedience and an expression of the Christians’ circumscribed political loyalty. See further Ulrich Wilckens, Der Brief an die Römer (EKKNT 6.3; Zürich/Neukirchen-Vluyn: Benziger/Neukirchener, 1982), 44–45 with n. 190. 126 I am indebted here to a comparison set out by Gerd Theissen, in lectures on ‘Ethik des Neuen Testaments’, given at the University of Heidelberg in 2003. 127 On these various denotations of the emperor, see the classic work of Deissmann, Light, 347–84; also Simon R. F. Price, ‘Gods and Emperors: The Greek Language of the Roman Imperial Cult’, Journal of Hellenic Studies 104 (1984), 79–95; Price, Rituals and Power, 53–62, 75–76. 128 On the ‘sacrifice test’ see De Ste Croix, ‘The Early Christians’, 19–21. 129 See further Horrell, Solidarity, 252–57.

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It is also unnecessary and unconvincing to assume that what the author of 1 Peter depicts as the Christians’ suffering is only a matter of public hostility and verbal reproach. They are, after all, said to be suffering a ‘fiery trial’ (πυρώσει) which some may well find a surprise and a shock (μὴ ξενίζεσθε, 4.12). And given 1 Peter’s consistent use of the verb πάσχω to refer to Christ’s suffering to death (2.21, 23; 3.18; 4.1), its use in 4.15, along with the reference in 4.13 to sharing in Christ’s sufferings (παθήματα; cf. 1.11; 5.1, 9), may certainly be taken to indicate that the suffering inflicted by outsiders could be anything ‘up to and including execution’.130 The key point about Jesus’ suffering, after all, was that he was killed, not that he suffered public ridicule. That the author describes the response to suffering in terms of ‘shame’ (4.16) does not mean that it cannot refer to something as momentous as potentially suffering to death. As Elliott has shown, such a view reflects an anachronistic and culturally inappropriate perception of the importance of shame and honour, far more significant in the ancient world than in the modern West.131 More specifically, as Holloway remarks, ‘public shaming was … an important and well-developed part of the Roman penal system. Criminals were regularly mocked and humiliated in their deaths, and in many cases were likened to animals.’132 Thus, for a person judged and condemned by society, a death might well be described in terms of shame and ignominy, as indeed is Christ’s death (Heb. 12.2), though the author of 1 Peter insists that this verdict is not appropriate in the case of those who suffer ὡς Χριστιανός (cf. 4.6; Wis. 2.18–3.5, etc.). The fact that the author describes suffering in terms of being reviled, shamed, and so on by no means proves that the processes involved cannot include legal trials and executions, nor should we present ‘public hostility’ and ‘official persecution’ as alternatives, despite the tendency of recent English-language commentators so to do (see further below). Elliott seems to presume that the author would speak of ‘delation by others, arrest or examination … trials, or … execution’ were these to be a real possibility.133 But why should he necessarily name such particulars? Is it not equally plausible that he depicts the process of suffering rather in terms that reveal its perception from the inside, from the perspective of those facing suffering as Χριστιανοί? They face being reviled for the name of Christ, being caused to suffer, perhaps to death, for being a Christian, but must take this not as a stigma of shame or degradation but as a mark of honour and glory. 130 Goppelt, I Peter, 38; cf. 336. 131 See John H. Elliott, ‘Disgraced yet Graced: The Gospel according to 1 Peter in the Key of Honor and Shame’, BTB 25 (1995), 166–78; also Campbell, Honor, Shame. Fundamental to bringing this to the attention of New Testament scholars was Bruce J. Malina, The New Testament World: Insights from Cultural Anthropology (Atlanta/London: John Knox/SCM, 1981), 25–50, since revised and updated in Bruce J. Malina, The New Testament World: Insights from Cultural Anthropology, Third Edition, Revised and Expanded (Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox, 2001). 132 Holloway, Coping with Prejudice, 225. The punishments inflicted on Christians under Nero included being dressed in animal skins (Tacitus, Ann. 15.44). 133 Elliott, 1 Peter, 793.

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There are also closer similarities between Pliny’s letters and 1 Peter than Elliott and others perceive.134 One similarity is that the hostility against Christians originates among the local populace.135 Many recent commentators, like Elliott, see the suffering in 1 Peter as stemming from public hostility and opposition to the Christians, rather than from official enactment of some Roman edict defining Christianity as a crime.136 But the same goes for Pliny’s cognitiones, which were brought about only at the instigation of accusers, who brought Christians to the governor’s attention and mounted formal accusations against them. Pliny has gone so far as to follow up names provided anonymously on a pamphlet – another sign of public opposition to the Christians – but is reprimanded by Trajan for entertaining such anonymous accusations, which violated the principle that the accuser must publicly face the accused (Acts 25.16).137 Indeed, a later rescript of Hadrian reiterates this policy, one that was of some (limited) benefit and protection to Christians.138 To pose as alternative causes for suffering either public hostility or a Roman edict outlawing Christianity is thus to misunderstand the pre-Decian legal position with regard to Christianity.139 As is often noted, it is only with Decius’ edict in 250 ce requiring people to sacrifice to the gods that a general persecution of Christians was instigated, though even this was not specifically targeted at Christians and lasted little more than a year.140 But prior to this, 134 On the other hand, Beare exaggerates when he states that ‘Pliny’s description of his experience and methods could not conceivably correspond more closely to the words of 1 Peter 4.12-16’ (Beare, First Epistle of Peter, 33). 135 On such popular hostility, see further Vos, ‘Graeco-Roman Responses’. 136 E.g. Elliott, 1 Peter, 794; Davids, The First Epistle of Peter, 10; Jobes, 1 Peter, 9; Bechtler, Following, 83–105; Richard, Reading 1 Peter, 17; Achtemeier, 1 Peter, 314; Brox, Petrusbrief, 24–34; Hegedus, ‘Naming’, 178, who follows Elliott closely; most recently, Williams, Salvation, 5–8. For a much earlier representative of this view, see Schoenaich, ‘Christenverfolgung’, 182–83. 137 See further Sherwin-White, ‘Early Persecutions’, 204–205. 138 The rescript is recorded by Justin (1 Apol. 68.5–10) and then by Eusebius (HE 4.9). It is not insignificant that this rescript was preserved by Christians: Bickerman argues that Christians preserved Hadrian’s rescript (this preservation indicating that they regarded it as valuable to their cause) precisely because it ‘upheld the principle of cognitio even with reference to the Christians’ (311) and thus ‘made it easier for the “good governors” to resist the demands of the Provincials for a wholesale persecution of Christians’ (315). The accusatory procedure required the accuser to appear at trial and to prove their case, and meant that only an individual Christian or at most a limited group of named Christians could be brought to trial (cf. 312). Like Trajan before him, Hadrian insisted that moves towards mass, anonymous prosecutions be resisted. Elias J. Bickerman, ‘Trajan, Hadrian and the Christians’, Rivista di Filogia e di Instruzione Classica 96 (1968), 290–315. Among recent studies, see Williams, ‘Contextualizing Conflict’, 198–200; Engberg, Impulsore Chresto, 206–14; Holloway, Coping with Prejudice, 47–48; Cook, Roman Attitudes, 252–80. 139 Cf. Joachim Molthagen, ‘Die Lage der Christen im römischen Reich nach dem 1. Petrusbrief: Zum Problem einer Domitianischen Verfolgung’, Historia 44 (1995), 422–58 (452); Holloway, Coping with Prejudice, 65. For a thorough overview of the period 50–250 ce, see Engberg, Impulsore Chresto. 140 See further William H. C. Frend, ‘Martyrdom and Political Oppression’, in Philip F.

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at least from the time of Trajan and probably from that of Nero (see below), profession of Christianity was indeed treated, albeit sporadically, as a crime punishable by death, but one in which trial and punishment depended first and foremost on persons being brought to Roman attention by an accuser and then on the disposition of particular governors, who wielded considerable power and freedom and did not need an imperial edict to act in such matters;141 their primary responsibility was to ensure the peace and quiet of their provinces.142 As Geoffrey de Ste Croix maintains, there was no ‘binding’ imperial precedent set for provincial governors by Nero or Trajan, no ‘general law’ proscribing Christianity, since ‘the standard procedure in punishing Christians was “accusatory” and not “inquisitorial”’. Under the cognitio system all that was necessary were ‘a prosecutor, a charge of Christianity, and a governor willing to punish on that charge’.143 Christianity was effectively illegal from the time of Nero (see below), but this did not mean it was outlawed by edict, nor systematically targeted in some officially organized action. Rather, cases came to court when circumstance and popular hostility led to accusations, and when governors were disposed to hear and judge them.144 These cases were occasional and local, but, as Paul Holloway has recently shown, the actions were reflective of a broader social prejudice embedded at both popular and official levels.145 Another notable similarity is that the suffering is specifically attached to the label ‘Christian’ (Χριστιανός/Christianus). The Christians 1 Peter addresses may be reviled for the name of Christ (4.14), a form of hostility which is then precisely depicted in terms of the possibility of having to suffer ὡς Χριστιανός. Those whom Pliny has executed are deemed guilty solely on the basis of their confession of being a Christianus, for the nomen ipsum rather than for any other crime; he asks the accused in person if they are Christiani (Ep. 10.96.3). First Peter thus provides the earliest Christian evidence of suffering for the Esler (ed.), The Early Christian World (vol. 2; London and New York: Routledge, 2000), 815–39 (827–28); Sordi, Christians, 100–105. On the outbreak of the persecution, see Eusebius, HE 6.41.9–13. For accessible examples of the libelli certifying that people had made the necessary sacrifices, see J. Stevenson, A New Eusebius (rev. edn; London: SPCK, 1987), 214–15. For further detail, see John R. Knipfing, ‘The Libelli of the Decian Persecution’, HTR 16 (1923), 345–90 and, more broadly on Decius’ decree and its significance, James B. Rives, ‘The Decree of Decius and the Religion of the Empire’, JRS 89 (1999), 135–54. Those whose actions are certified in the extant libelli include a pagan priestess who, according to her own testimony, has served the gods all her life, thus indicating that the edict was not only targeted at those suspected of Christianity. 141 See De Ste Croix, ‘Early Christians’, 11–17. It is not the case that for Roman criminal law nullum crimen sine lege, as is sometimes presumed by those who consider that persecution of Christians must reflect the existence of a law proscribing Christianity. See Barnes, ‘Legislation’, 36 n. 48; De Ste Croix, ‘Early Christians’, 12. 142 Cf. Pliny Ep. 10.117 (Trajan); Justinian, Dig. 1.18.13 (Ulpian). On the role of the governor, see Cook, Roman Attitudes, 143–46; Williams, ‘Contextualizing Conflict’, 149–61. 143 De Ste Croix, ‘Early Christians’, 15–17. Cf. also Barnes, ‘Legislation’, 36. 144 See De Ste Croix, ‘Early Christians’, 6–7, 21–24. For a useful overview, see Frend, ‘Martyrdom’. 145 Holloway, Coping with Prejudice, 40–73.

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nomen ipsum in which the specific Latinism by which the Romans identified these criminals appears.146 Indeed, as we have already seen, the term may well have originated in the encounter between Roman officialdom and the emerging Jewish-Messianic sect that came to be known as Christianity. Thus, without either text explicitly quoting these words, Pliny’s letter indicates the crucial question from the Roman side, Christianus es?, just as 1 Peter indicates the answer that led to suffering on the part of the Christian, Christianus sum/ Χριστιανός εἰμί (cf., e.g., Mart. Pol. 10.1; Eusebius, HE 5.1.20).147 But given that there are similarities, with both writings reflecting a context of public hostility which could lead to accusations in which believers suffered for the confession Christianus sum, the question remains as to whether the similarities suggest or require that 1 Peter was written at the same time as Pliny’s letters. The crucial issues here concern the legal position of Christianity, specifically whether the Pliny–Trajan correspondence marks a decisive point of change; and whether Pliny’s seeming unawareness of legislation or precedent implies that there had previously been no persecution or trials of Christians in the region, as Gerald Downing argues.148 Trajan’s reply to Pliny, as T. D. Barnes notes, defined the legal position of Christians until Decius: ‘After Trajan’s rescript, if not already before, Christianity was a crime in a special category: whereas all other criminals, once convicted, were punished for what they had done in the past, the Christian was punished for what he was in the present, and up to the last moment could gain pardon by apostasy.’149 Christians were, as we have already noted, punished merely for confession of the name, and could escape by renouncing that name (a policy that Tertullian scathingly ridicules; Apol. 2.10–11). Comments by New Testament scholars, that ‘Christianity was not declared formally illegal until 249 ce under the emperor Decius’,150 are misleading and somewhat beside the point. As we have already seen, prosecution of Christians was generally dependent on accusation being brought and on governors being willing to prosecute. More pertinent, in relation to ascertaining the setting and date to which 1 Peter belongs, is the question whether Trajan alters the legal position of Christianity with his reply or simply confirms a principle already

146 Although there are other New Testament references to suffering for ‘the name’, none is strictly comparable, since they do not have the name Χριστιανός in view, but rather the name of Jesus and/or Christ, etc. (Mt. 10.22; Mk 13.13; esp. Acts 5.40-41; cf. also 1 Pet. 4.14). Moreover, in Acts 5.40-41 the cause of suffering is an encounter with the Jewish Sanhedrin. 147 On the importance of martyrdom as the crucial context in which ‘Christian’ identity was forged, see further Lieu, Neither Jew Nor Greek?, 211–31; Bremmer, Afterlife, 106–108, who suggests that ‘the only occasion where the followers of Jesus publicly used the self-designation “Christian” was in confrontation with Roman magistrates’ (107). 148 Downing, ‘Pliny’s Prosecutions’. 149 Barnes, ‘Legislation’, 48. 150 Achtemeier, 1 Peter, 314, refering only to Balch, Wives, 140. Balch, however, also makes the point that provincial governors, under the procedures for hearing cases extra ordinem, already had the power ‘to martyr a Christian’ without any such law.

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established, a question on which Barnes remains agnostic.151 There is, Barnes notes, ‘no evidence to prove earlier legislation by the Senate or the emperor’. Indeed, he suggests ‘the exchange of letters between Pliny and Trajan implies that there was none’.152 It has been suggested, not least due to Tertullian’s reference to an institutum Neronianum (Ad. nat. 1.7.9), that a special law, or a senatusconsultum, proscribing Christianity was introduced during Nero’s rule, or even before.153 This must remain at best uncertain, given the lack of any firm evidence,154 but Nero’s action against the Christiani at least created precedent and marks the first significant occasion known to us on which people were identified and punished on the basis of their being Christians.155 Their crime, at least ostensibly, was that of arson – though Tacitus makes it reasonably clear that he does not believe this charge156 – but the arrests are made on the basis of confessing Christianity, not arson.157 Moreover, as Tacitus records, the large numbers rounded up were convicted ‘not so much on the count of arson as for 151 Barnes, ‘Legislation’, 37, 48–49. 152 Barnes, ‘Legislation’, 48; cf. 34: ‘Pliny did not know of any law or senatusconsultum which outlawed the Christians, and Trajan did not enlighten his ignorance.’ 153 See, e.g., Paul Keresztes, ‘Law and Arbitrariness in the Persecution of the Christians and Justin’s First Apology’, VC 18 (1964), 204–14 (204–205). A. Giovannini, ‘L’interdit contre les chrétiens: raison d’état ou mesure de police?’, Cahiers du Centre Glotz (Paris) 7 (1996), 103–34 (103, 122–24), argues that it was ‘un sénatus-consulte, et non pas un édit de Néron … qui a constitué la base légale de la persécution des chrétiens jusqu’à sa révocation par Galère en 311’. Even where people were ignorant of the origins of the edict or of reasons which lay behind it, this senatusconsultum, made known around Italy by the consuls and in the provinces by governors, ensured that ‘tout le monde savait dans l’empire romain qu’il était interdit être chrétien sous peine de mort’ (128–29). Sordi, Christians, 63, suggests that a special law ‘which, however vague in its outlines, evidently forbade Christians the right to exist’ predated Nero, probably going back to a senatusconsultum of 35 ce (see pp. 17–20, 31–32): ‘Nero was the first to put this law into practice, but, as it was not annulled with the abolitio of his other laws, we have good reason to believe it dates back even further than Nero’s reign.’ 154 See further Barnes, ‘Legislation’, 32–35, who examines the literary evidence for early legislation (pre-Trajan), and finds none convincing. 155 On the precedent created by an emperor’s decision, see Justinian, Dig. 1.4.1.1 (Ulpian). Nor would this precedent have been negated after Nero’s death, even given his possible damnatio memoriae. See Cook, Roman Attitudes, 97–98; pace Sherwin-White, ‘Early Persecutions’, 201. Engberg, Impulsore Chresto, 81–106, argues that ‘even before Nero, Christians were opposed from all kinds of authorities’ (89, sic), such that Nero’s action does not mark the beginning of such persecution. 156 So de Ste Croix, ‘Early Christians’, 8 with n. 14: ‘His words “abolendo rumori Nero subdidit reos” (44.3) prove that.’ 157 De Ste Croix, ‘Early Christians’, 8 with n. 11: ‘The imperfect tense, “qui fatebantur” shows that the confession was one of Christianity and not of incendiarism.’ Giovannini, ‘L’interdit’, 120, 124–28, 134, argues that parallels with the Bacchanalian affair of the second century bce, combined with the Christians’ celebration of the terrible event of the fire in Rome in 64 ce, inclined Rome to see the Christians as guilty of crimes, which thus were the initial basis for censure. Thereafter, however, the name alone became sufficient basis for condemnation (as had been the case with the Bacchanalians before). Cf. also A. Giovannini, ‘Tacite, l’incendium Neronis et les chrétiens’, Revue des Études Augustiniennes 30 (1984), 3–23.

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hatred of the human race (odio humani generis convicti sunt)’. This charge of ‘misanthropy’ no doubt stems from the Christians’ ‘antisocial’ rejection of the common customs regarding worshipping the gods of the pantheon, their total refusal to worship any god but their own. The monotheistic exclusiveness of the Christians was believed to alienate the goodwill of the gods, to endanger what the Romans called the pax deorum (the right harmonious relationship between gods and men), and to be responsible for disasters which overtook the community.158

Jews, of course, commonly faced similar accusations, for similar reasons, but their religion and way of life was treated with a (fragile) toleration and respect, owing to its antiquity.159 Precisely as Christians began to be noticed as something different and distinct, so they were attacked and reviled as followers of a new and pernicious superstition (exitabilis superstitio).160 De Ste Croix well summarizes the implications of Nero’s action: once the first batch of Nero’s Christian victims had been condemned, whether on a charge of incendiarism or for a wider ‘complex of guilt’, there would be nothing to prevent the magistrate conducting the trials (probably the Praefectus Urbi) from condemning the rest on the charge familiar to us in the second century, of simply ‘being a Christian’ – a status which now necessarily involved, by definition, membership of an anti-social and potentially criminal conspiracy.161

Thus, following Nero’s action, and whether or not there was a formal edict or senatusconsultum, being a Christian itself – without any ‘associated crimes’ needing to be proven – became effectively illegal, subject to punishment when brought to attention through the formal accusatorial process.162 We have already noted that a governor like Pliny ‘had no need to rely on any law which made Christianity a capital crime’ in order to proceed as he did.163 And he does not (at least explicitly) reveal knowledge of any such edict or 158 De Ste Croix, ‘Early Christians’, 24. De Ste Croix argues that this stance is most concisely labelled with the ‘name the Greeks gave to it, “atheism” (ἀθεότης)’. See further Stephen Benko, Pagan Rome and the Early Christians (Bloomington, IN: Indiana University Press, 1985), 1–29; Vos, ‘Graeco-Roman Responses’, 870–73; Cook, Roman Attitudes, 88, 174; Harland, Associations, 243–45. 159 See, e.g., Tacitus, Hist. 5.5.3. For the similarity and the difference with Jews, see De Ste Croix, ‘Early Christians’, 25; cf. also Frend, ‘Martyrdom’, 819, 821, 835 n. 12, and the treatment of the imperial cult in James S. McLaren, ‘Jews and the Imperial Cult: From Augustus to Domitian’, JSNT 27 (2005), 257–78. 160 Tacitus Ann. 15.44; cf. Suetonius Nero 16.2 (superstitionis novae et malificae); Pliny Ep. 10.96.8 (superstitionem pravam et immodicam). On this view of Christianity as a superstition, see Engberg, Impulsore Chresto, 215–27. 161 De Ste Croix, ‘Early Christians’, 8. Cf. also Frend, ‘Martyrdom’, 821, 835: ‘… a religion deemed since the Neronian persecution to be illegal’; Tertullian Apol. 4.3–5. 162 Otherwise Schoenaich, ‘Christenverfolgung’, 181–84, who argues that the Neronian persecution ‘eine rein lokale ist und sich auf die Hauptstadt beschränkt’ (182). 163 Barnes, ‘Legislation’, 36.

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senatusconsultum. Pliny’s apparent ignorance of such law, or indeed of any clear precedent to guide him, has led Downing to suggest ‘that Pliny refers to no precedents because neither he nor anyone else around has any that would be of any use. No kind of court action has been happening in his province or anywhere in the neighbourhood or in Rome, either … He asks Trajan to create a ruling.’164 Thus, ‘Pliny and Trajan are taking the first steps in opening the courts to informers against Christians.’165 It is notable, however, that many Roman historians believe that Christianity was effectively illegal – regarded as inherently criminal – from the time of Nero (or even before), whether or not there was formal legislation to this effect, such that Trajan’s rescript largely confirms rather than innovates policy regarding the Christians.166 Indeed, Pliny gives the impression ‘that trials of Christians were far from rare’ and had been going on for some time, even if Pliny himself had not formerly been directly involved.167 Despite the self-deprecating opening of Pliny’s letter, in which he confesses to ignorance on a range of questions concerning the judgement of Christians – matters on which he would no doubt value Trajan’s pronouncement – what he writes gives us grounds to doubt Downing’s argument that he is ignorant of any precedent, inventing procedures ‘out of his own head’.168 First, we should note that the expressions of doubt and uncertainty are by no means unusual in Pliny’s correspondence with Trajan – even, at times, to the extent of trying the emperor’s patience.169 Second, we need to note the specific issue to which Pliny’s doubt primarily relates. He deals with three classes of Christians: ‘those who confessed to being Christians; those who denied ever being Christians; and those who admitted to being Christians in the past, but

164 Downing, ‘Pliny’s Prosecutions’, 108. 165 Downing, ‘Pliny’s Prosecutions’, 113. 166 Cf. De Ste Croix, ‘Early Christians’, 8; Frend, ‘Martyrdom’, 821, 835; Sordi, Christians, 63; Giovannini, ‘L’interdit’; Botermann, Judenedikt, 156, 187; F. Vittinghoff, ‘“Christianus sum”: Das “Verbrechen” von Aussenseitern der römischen Gesellschaft’, Historia 33 (1984), 331–57 (336, 355). Joachim Molthagen, ‘“Cognitionibus de Christianis interfui numquam”. Das Nichtwissen des Plinius und die Anfänge der Christenprozesse’, Zeitschrift für Theologie und Gemeinde 9 (2004), 112–40 (128–33, 138–39), sees the general criminalization of Christians as occurring with Domitian, Nero’s action after the fire of Rome being one root of this development. 167 Barnes, ‘Legislation’, 37; cf. Goppelt, I Peter, 43; Sordi, Christians, 60. Pliny reports that he has never been present at a trial of Christians and does not know what punishments are usual (Cognitionibus de Christianis interfui numquam: ideo nescio quid et quatenus aut puniri soleat aut quaeri; Ep. 10.96.1), thereby implying that such things have a reasonably wellestablished history, but not one in which Pliny has previously participated directly. He also refers to Christians who report having ceased to be Christians ‘twenty years ago’ (§6). On the earlier history of persecution, see also Engberg, Impulsore Chresto. 168 Downing, ‘Pliny’s Prosecutions’, 109. 169 See Ep. 10.19; 10.31; 10.43; 10.45; 10.47; 10.68; 10.79.5; 10.114. Cf. Cook, Roman Attitudes, 158, who cites some of the same examples. Some impatience on the part of Trajan at Pliny’s doubts and requests for advice is evident in Ep. 10.32; 10.69; 10.117.

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said that they were no longer’.170 As Barnes notes, ‘Pliny was certain how he ought to treat the first two classes. The second he released, while the first he either executed on the spot (the non-citizens) or sent to Rome for punishment (the citizens).’171 Indeed, observes De Ste Croix, ‘[i]n spite of his “nescio quid … puniri soleat”, his own actions … show that he knew confessors should be executed for the “Name”, for “being Christians”’ – Interrogavi ipsos an essent Christiani … perserverantes duci iussi (§3).172 Whether this reflects his knowledge of an edict, or even the influence of such a legal pronouncement, is uncertain (and ‘precedent’ would suffice); but what seems clear is that he knows more than he claims to know, and is already clear (as is Trajan) that Christians are liable to capital punishment.173 Pliny’s uncertainty, exacerbated no doubt by the growing numbers of Christians being brought to his attention (§§4–5, 9), relates primarily to the third group, on which he concentrates (§6ff.) and which probably constituted the cause of his letter.174 His main point seems to be to argue the case for allowing paenitentiae locus – the closing words of the letter – and it is this above all for which he hopes to obtain Trajan’s approval.175 Trajan’s brief reply, which does not respond to all of Pliny’s questions, confirms that Pliny has followed correct legal procedure (actus). Trajan insists that Christians are not to be hunted out, but also reiterates that they are indeed to be punished if charged and found guilty of being Christian,176 though released if the charge is denied, no matter what their past commitments. In other words, Trajan agrees with Pliny’s appeal to allow repentance even for those formerly ‘guilty’.177 Third, another notable feature of Pliny’s treatment of the Christians, which again suggests less ignorance than he professes, is his use of what De Ste Croix

170 Barnes, ‘Legislation’, 36. 171 Barnes, ‘Legislation’, 36. Cf. also Molthagen, ‘Cognitionibus’, 114–26. 172 De Ste Croix, ‘Rejoinder’, 29. Cf. also Frend, ‘Martyrdom’, 821: ‘he [Pliny] knew that Christianity was illegal for he had no hesitation in ordering that those who confessed be executed’. This conclusion is further affirmed by Cook, Roman Attitudes, 156–63: ‘his actions show that he was thoroughly convinced that being a Christian (the nomen) was itself worthy of death – even when the individual had committed no other crimes’ (157–58). 173 Cf. Giovannini, ‘L’interdit’, 115–20, 128–29. 174 Cf. Barnes, ‘Legislation’, 36; Giovannini, ‘L’interdit’, 117; Molthagen, ‘Cognitionibus’, 117; Cook, Roman Attitudes, 148, 156–58. 175 So Barnes, ‘Legislation’, 36 with n. 49: ‘That this is the main point of the letter … can be securely deduced from three facts: Pliny places his suggestion in an emphatic position, at the very end; he constructs the argument of the letter to build up to it; and he stresses how large a number are still in custody [§9].’ 176 Cf. Giovannini, ‘L’interdit’, 118: ‘Trajan affirme clairement le principe que c’est le nomen ipsum et le nomen seul qui est punissable … Trajan, pas plus que Pline, n’a le moindre doute sur le fait que les chrétiens sont, en tant que chrétiens, condamnables et doivent être condamnés.’ 177 See further Barnes, ‘Legislation’, 37; De Ste Croix, ‘Early Christians’, 20. Cf. also Eusebius, HE 5.1.47. This odd way of treating a crime is ridiculed by Tertullian, Apol. 2.

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calls the ‘sacrifice-test’.178 Pliny knows that there are certain things a true Christian will not do: offer cult to the gods and to the emperor’s statue, and revile the name of Christ (§5; cf. Mart. Pol. 9.3; Tertullian, Apol. 10.1–2).179 Trajan again briefly affirms the policy, though omitting any reference to the need to sacrifice to his own statue or to curse Christ. The requirement to ‘offer worship to our gods (supplicando dis nostris)’ (Ep. 10.97.2) is the key point he reiterates. The features of this test are of course well chosen, and reveal a rather good knowledge of the procedures necessary for convicting Christians.180 Pliny’s letter thus reveals rather more awareness than the opening of his letter might suggest, leading one to doubt the argument that he was beginning to act without knowledge or precedent. Indeed, the letter also suggests that trials of Christians in the region may well have occurred before. Apart from the general indication that such trials were not uncommon (§§1–2; see above) he specifically mentions people who report having ceased to be Christians ‘two or more years previously, and some of them even twenty years ago’ (§6). Since we cannot be sure why such people abandoned their faith it is impossible to be confident that they did so in the face of hostility leading to accusations and trials, but it seems plausible to imagine a public setting comparable to that over which Pliny presides in the present.181 There are, then, notable similarities between the Pliny–Trajan correspondence and 1 Peter, but this does not necessarily require that the letters date from precisely the same period. Despite his avowed lack of knowledge, Pliny himself implies that trials like those he describes were certainly not unknown; they could well have taken place any time after 64 ce. The fact that we have no records of such early trials is not altogether surprising. Pliny was, after all, a governor unusually given to corresponding with the emperor; others did not place so much on record nor have their correspondence published and preserved. The similarities could, of course, reflect 1 Peter’s origins at the same time as Pliny’s letters, but given that this is not a necessary deduction it is better to date 1 Peter according to the whole range of indications usually taken into account. These, though by no means conclusive, incline most recent commentators to a date somewhere in the last quarter of the first century, and the parallels with Pliny do not negate this proposal.182 178 De Ste Croix, ‘The Early Christians’, 19–21. On the ways in which the activities required reflect established Roman customs, see Cook, Roman Attitudes, 176–82. 179 Benko, Pagan Rome, 10, takes 1 Cor. 12.3 as ‘indicating that the Romans used it [sc. the test of cursing Christ] as early as the time of Paul’, though this is far from proven by this text. 180 Cf. a similar ‘sacrifice test’ used on Jews in Antioch, c. 66–67 ce, as recorded by Josephus, War 7.50–51; the date is shown by 7.46). De Ste Croix notes this incident as the earliest known use of such a test in the Roman world. 181 See Cook, Roman Attitudes, 135–36, 198, on Pliny’s hints concerning previous trials and possible persecutions. 182 See Introduction, n. 6. On the other hand, Goppelt’s argument (I Peter, 45) that 1 Peter should be dated before Domitian, since it shows no sign that the issue of paying divine homage to the emperor has arisen, is also unconvincing, not least in the light of 1 Pet. 2.17 (cf. p. 187 above, and further chapter 7).

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But the similarities do enable us to sketch more fully the kind of scenario that probably underlies the letter: Christians are experiencing hostility from the populace among whom they live, suffering verbal slander and accusation. This hostility can reach the level where it takes the form of legal accusations, which result in Christians being brought before the governor for trial. It is likely that the popular slander included some of the typical kinds of criminal accusation – that the Christians committed incest, were murderers, cannibals, and so on183 – and the accusations brought to the governor may also have included mention of such flagitia. This again is confirmed in 1 Peter’s account, where the likelihood of accusations of various kinds of evil-doing is apparent (4.15) – and the author is concerned that no such accusations should stick. But the crucial accusation, in the end, would be that of being Christianus, the nomen coined by Romans to designate such persons. This, if proven in the manner Pliny describes, would most likely lead to suffering like Christ, suffering to death. And it is precisely such suffering that the author of 1 Peter insists is a noble experience which, far from being shameful and degrading – as outsiders no doubt saw it – brings glory to God. These remarks should make clear why the current consensus in recent (especially English-language) scholarship on 1 Peter – that the suffering at issue in 1 Peter is a matter of informal public hostility and not official persecution – is misleading and unconvincing. To depict these as two alternatives does not rightly appreciate the legal status of Christianity in the first three centuries, nor the connections between public hostility and the accusatorial process, which remained the route through which Christians generally came to judicial attention. Imperial precedent had effectively criminalized Christianity, but this stance was enacted only when and where popular hostility and prejudice – which could of course take many forms – escalated to the point where accusations were brought and where governors were disposed to hear such cases. The occasional and local nature of Christian persecution does not mean that there was no official stance towards Christianity, but is in fact reflective precisely of that stance.

6.5. Χριστιανός, conflict, and the making of Christian identity Just as 1 Peter provides our earliest glimpse ‘from the inside’ into the specific contexts and experiences in which the term Χριστιανός arose and was employed, so the term itself provides us with a window onto significant aspects of the development of early Christian identity. In the final section of this chapter, I shall explore the significance of the term Χριστιανός, and the settings in which it arose, as depicted particularly in 1 Peter 4, for the making

183

See above n. 105.

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of Christian identity, drawing on a range of social-psychological and socialscientific resources to illuminate the social processes at work.184 A first step is to see the label Χριστιανός as a form of stigma. That is to say, in the words of Erving Goffman’s classic definition, it is ‘an attribute that is deeply discrediting’ in terms of the wider society’s values and assumptions.185 Someone who bears a stigma is ‘the bearer of a “mark” that defines him or her as deviant, flawed, limited, spoiled, or generally undesirable’.186 The forms in which stigma is indicated and felt through the processes of social interaction vary widely, but in the case of the label Χριστιανός, 1 Peter makes it clear that those who bore this ‘mark’187 were subject both to informal hostility and to official censure, negative responses that could combine in the accusatorial process to bring about physical suffering and death. Also clear from 1 Peter is the reality that, from an outsider’s point of view, bearing this mark was a cause of shame. Indeed, Goffman notes that this is precisely a product of the process of stigmatization: ‘Shame becomes a central possibility, arising from the individual’s perception of one of his own attributes as being a defiling thing to possess.’188

184 For a broader application of these theoretical resources to the formation of Christian identity, see David G. Horrell, ‘“Becoming Christian”: Solidifying Christian Identity and Content’, in Anthony J. Blasi, Jean Duhaime, and Paul-Andre Turcotte (eds), Handbook of Early Christianity: Social Science Approaches (Walnut Creek, CA: Alta Mira Press, 2002), 309–35. The most extensive and detailed applications of social identity theory to New Testament studies are by Philip Esler (see, e.g., Philip F. Esler, Galatians [New Testament Readings; London and New York: Routledge, 1998]; Esler, Conflict and Identity). A good many studies have since adopted this theoretical perspective, including Alistair S. May, ‘The Body for the Lord’: Sex and Identity in 1 Corinthians 5–7 (JSNTSup 278; London and New York: T&T Clark, 2004); Matthew J. Marohl, Faithfulness and the Purpose of Hebrews: A Social Identity Approach (Princeton Theological Monograph Series; Eugene, OR: Pickwick, 2008). 185 Erving Goffman, Stigma: Notes on the Management of Spoiled Identity (London: Penguin, 1990 [1963]), 13, taken up, e.g., by Irwin Katz, Stigma: A Social Psychological Analysis (Hillsdale, NJ: Lawrence Erlbaum, 1981), 2. Gudrun Guttenberger has recently applied Goffman’s work on stigma to 1 Peter (Guttenberger, Passio Christiana, 53–62). Noting that the identity of stigmatized persons may be constructed with a focus either on the ‘in-group’, in which case an aggressive distancing from those outside usually follows, or on the ‘out-group’, in which case the perspectives and expectations of those outside are adopted, she proposes that the author of 1 Peter offers a ‘third way’: ‘Der Vf. des 1 Petr kombiniert also eine Identitätskonstruktion, die zu einer in-group-Ausrichtung gehört mit Verhaltensweisen der “Normalbevölkerung” gegenüber, die an eine out-group-Orientierung gebunden ist’ (59–60). 186 E. E. Jones et al., Social Stigma: The Psychology of Marked Relationships (New York: Freeman, 1984), 6. 187 This is the terminology of Jones et al., Social Stigma. 188 Goffman, Stigma, 18. Goffman’s terminology here also indicates that, while Malina and others may be right to call attention to the importance of shame (and honour) in the ancient world, albeit in ways that risk becoming over-generalized and thus losing analytical worth, such values are also pertinent to the modern experience of stigma. See Malina, New Testament World, 25–50; Elliott, ‘Disgraced yet Graced’, and many others. For critical analysis from an anthropological perspective, see Louise J. Lawrence, An Ethnography of the Gospel of Matthew (WUNT 2.165; Tübingen: Mohr, 2003).

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One of the key points about a stigma, of course, is that it assumes a larger role than simply being one of a number of characteristics an individual may bear. It is, or is felt to be, an identity-defining mark, one which the processes of social interaction and labelling make central to the designation of who or what someone is.189 In Irwin Katz’s words: ‘certain negative qualities or traits have the power to discredit, in the eyes of others, the whole moral being of the possessor’.190 In the terms used by social identity theorists, in such cases a particular feature of a person’s identity becomes especially or predominantly salient. Why certain features of a person’s necessarily complex and multifaceted identity become salient at different points in time, and in different contexts, is precisely one of the things that has interested social identity theorists such as Henri Tajfel and his collaborators and successors. As the designation of their approach suggests, these social psychologists have focused on those facets of identity that may be defined as ‘social’ as opposed to ‘personal’, that is to say on ‘that part of an individual’s self-concept that derives from his knowledge of his membership of a social group (or groups) together with the value and emotional significance attached to that membership’.191 The label Χριστιανός is a stigmatizing label associated not with a facet of personal identity – such as disability or disfigurement – but with a feature of social identity deriving from group membership. Tajfel continues: however rich and complex may be the individuals’ view of themselves in relation to the surrounding world, social and physical, some aspects of that view are contributed by the membership of certain social groups or categories. Some of these memberships are more salient than others; and some may vary in salience in time and as a function of a variety of social situations.192

As a European Jew who survived the horrors of the Second World War, Tajfel was especially concerned to understand how social groups and identities operate, how these relate to intergroup conflicts, and why certain aspects of social identity become salient at certain times and places. Experiments in the 1950s by Muzafer Sherif showed that simply categorizing people into groups led to an increase of positive bonds within the group and, in certain situations, hostility towards those outside the group.193 In studying this categorization process, Tajfel identified two major principles, ‘accentuation and assimilation: people tend to exaggerate the differences between categories and simultaneously minimize the differences within categories’.194 This may 189 Cf. Katz, Stigma, 118–23. 190 Katz, Stigma, 118. 191 Henri Tajfel, Human Groups and Social Categories (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1981), 255. 192 Tajfel, Human Groups, 255. 193 Muzafer Sherif, Experiments in Group Conflict (San Francisco: Freeman, 1956). 194 Rupert Brown, ‘Tajfel’s Contribution to the Reduction of Intergroup Conflict’, in W. P. Robinson (ed.), Social Groups and Identities: Developing the Legacy of Henri Tajfel (Oxford: Butterworth Heinemann, 1996), 169–89 (170).

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be described as a form of stereotyping, whether positive stereotyping (of group members) or negative stereotyping (of non-members).195 Where this process takes a negative form, we may also describe it as stigmatization – that is, where someone has their identity defined, or ‘spoilt’ (Goffman), by the successful attribution to them of a discrediting ‘mark’ or stigma.196 According to Rupert Brown, one from a number of key identity categories – race, gender, and religion, in particular – tends to dominate in real-life situations, though ‘which category dimension will assume pre-eminence in any situation is very dependent on particular local circumstances’.197 As a term coined and applied by outsiders, Χριστιανός indicates that those thus identified had come to be perceived as a distinct and distinguishable grouping. We noted above that it was in Antioch, according to our sources, that a significant group of Jewish and gentile converts followed practices which marked them out as living a gentile rather than Jewish way of life (Gal. 2.14), and precisely in that place, according to Luke, that the term Χριστιανός was first used to designate the members of this group (Acts 11.26).198 Suetonius (or his sources) may also indicate an important historical development in this regard. In his reports concerning the edict of Claudius, around 41 or 49 ce, depending on how this is dated,199 he reports the reason for the expulsion of Jews from Rome as their causing disturbances impulsore Chresto (Claud. 25.4).200 If this is a ‘Christian’ reference – that is, a slightly garbled reference to disturbances caused by proclamation of Christ among the Jews of Rome, though this is open to considerable debate201 – then it is notable that it is depicted from the Roman perspective as ‘Jewish trouble’.202 This is confirmed by Claudius’ response: he expelled Jews from Rome, as both Acts and Suetonius report (Iudaeos … expulit; Acts 18.2: χωρίζεσθαι … Ἰουδαίους).203 195 See Michael A. Hogg and Dominic Abrams, Social Identifications: A Social Psychology of Intergroup Relations and Group Processes (London and New York: Routledge, 1988), 68–78. 196 Cf. Jones, Social Stigma, 6. 197 Brown, ‘Tajfel’s Contribution’, 172–73. 198 See above p. 170 with n. 35. 199 See the discussion in Lüdemann, Paul, 164–71, who dates the edict to 41 ce; and Botermann, Judenedikt, 15–140, esp. 134–35, who argues for two edicts, one in 41 and one a few years later (possibly 49 ce). 200 Variant spellings of Christ/Christian, with e or i in Latin, ε, ει, or η in Greek, are not infrequent in the sources, including the three occurrences of Χριστιανός in the New Testament, which are spelt with η in Sinaiticus. See further Botermann, Judenedikt, 89–95; G. H. R. Horsley (ed.), New Documents Illustrating Early Christianity: Volume 2, A Review of the Greek Inscriptions and Papyri Published in 1977 (North Ryde: Macquarie University, 1982), 172–75; G. H. R. Horsley (ed.), New Documents Illustrating Early Christianity: Volume 3, A Review of the Greek Inscriptions and Papyri Published in 1978 (North Ryde: Macquarie University, 1983), 128–39. 201 See n. 58 above. 202 Cf. Barnes, ‘Legislation’, 44: if the report refers to rioting ‘occasioned by the preaching of Christianity’ – a view Barnes sees as unlikely – then ‘to the emperor a Christian was still a type of Jew’. 203 Since Suetonius evidently knows of the Christians (see his comments on Nero’s

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When Suetonius comes to describe Nero’s persecution in the 60s he labels the victims Christiani (Nero 16.2). By the time of the fire, or in its aftermath,204 the Romans are evidently able to identify Christians as a distinct group.205 This should not of course be taken to imply that this moment was one of clear or general distinction between Judaism and Christianity. As Judith Lieu has warned, the image of a ‘parting of the ways’ may not do justice to the historically messy ‘criss-crossing of muddy tracks’ which characterized the interaction of Jews and Christians in the early centuries.206 Indeed, attention to the term Χριστιανός does not by any means resolve the myriad complex historical questions concerning the eventual separation of Christianity and Judaism. But it does at least direct us to an important aspect of this process, and to a significant indication of an emerging social identity: the point at which Christians become visible to outsiders, at least in certain places and at certain times, as a distinct group, identifiable with a distinctive name. More specifically, the term Χριστιανός emerges, as we have seen, in the context of hostility and accusation, as a term applied by outsiders, quite possibly in judicial contexts, as a label for members of this group. This has a number of ramifications. One, connected with the point above, is that it indicates that outsiders (now) take as the most salient feature of the group members’ identity their being ‘supporters of Christ’, Χριστιανοί/Christiani. This is the key category with which they are to be identified – and, indeed, hated, accused, convicted, and executed. This reflects a comparable conviction about social identity to that already expressed from an insiders’ perspective. In the baptismal tradition that may have originated at Antioch (notably) and which Paul and his followers repeat, it is affirmed that other aspects of a person’s social identity – ethnic-religious, social, and sexual – are no longer of significance (Gal. 3.28; 1 Cor. 12.13; Col. 3.11); the primary category which unites them is being ‘in Christ’, itself a category described and constructed in ethnoracial terms (see chapter 5). In particular, the distinction between Jew and gentile, circumcised and uncircumcised, is now ‘nothing’ compared with the new identification that a person belongs to Christ (1 Cor. 7.19; Gal. 5.6; 6.15; cf. also 1 Cor. 3.23).

persecution, treated above), his depiction of Claudius’ action in these terms suggests either that he did not connect this incident with Christianity as such or that he is being faithful to his source in the way he reports it. 204 Giovannini argues that it was the Christians’ behaviour during the fire, specifically their greeting it as a sign of the imminent return of Christ, that drew both the populace’s and the authorities’ attention to them (‘l’interdit’, 103, 122–24; cf. also Giovannini, ‘Tacite’). 205 Cf. Lieu, Neither Jew Nor Greek?, 21. Indeed, De Ste Croix suggests that Jews instead of Christians might have found themselves the targets for Nero’s scapegoating, ‘[h]ad not the Empress Poppaea Sabina been particularly sympathetic towards the Jews’ (‘Early Christians’, 8; cf. Josephus, Ant. 20.195), since Jews were also regarded as anti-social ‘atheists’ (‘Early Christians, 25 with n. 133). Cf. also Frend, ‘Martyrdom’, 820 (and above n. 159). This only reinforces the point that the Romans are now able to distinguish the two groups. 206 Lieu, ‘Parting of the Ways’, in Neither Jew Nor Greek?, 29.

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An ironic and surely unintended consequence, then, of the outsiders’ hostile labelling of believers as Χριστιανοί is that it confirms and increases the salience of this aspect of the insiders’ shared social identity, increases the extent to which this facet of their identity defines their commonality and sense of belonging together, increases, indeed, their sense that this badge is the one they must own or deny in the face of hostility. The outsiders’ hostile criticism plays its part, then, in forging and fostering a sense of shared Christian identity. However negative the consequences of conflict with the wider public and the Roman imperium were for Christians, individually and corporately – and 1 Peter’s attempts to provide consolation and hope are testimony to the reality of the negative pressures207 – we should not ignore the crucial and positive consequences, at least from a sociological perspective, for the formation of specifically ‘Christian’ identity.208 If conflict and hostility thus play a part in heightening the extent to which ‘Christian’ becomes the defining mark of identity for members of this group, this leads us to ask how members of the group cope with, and react to, this essentially stigmatizing process of labelling. Another axiom of social identity theory is that people ‘strive to achieve or to maintain positive social identity’ and that such positive social identity is ‘based to a large extent on favourable comparisons that can be made between the in-group and some relevant outgroups’.209 It is, social identity theorists observe, ‘a psychological requirement that groups provide their members with a positive social identity’.210 Negative identifiers, and stigmas in particular, are of course negative precisely because of the way in which they are judged by the wider society, or by dominant social groups relative to the specific in-group so identified. People who are disabled, or fat – key examples for studies of stigma – have to cope with the negative stereotypes, assumptions and attitudes with which they are confronted. The same is the case, mutatis mutandis, with the Christians, whose group membership, as we have seen, was taken to indicate an anti-social criminality and who were thus shamed by those among whom they live, whether by the shaming of ridicule and hostility or by the more physical shame of arrest and execution. The question, then, is what strategies are available to those who are negatively labelled, stigmatized, in terms of either individual or group responses.

207 On 1 Peter as a specifically consolatory letter, see Holloway, Coping with Prejudice. 208 The importance of conflict and hostility in strengthening group identity and boundaries was classically identified by Georg Simmel and later developed in work by Lewis Coser. See Georg Simmel, Conflict and the Web of Group-Affiliations (Glencoe: The Free Press, 1955 [1908]); Lewis Coser, The Functions of Social Conflict (London: Routledge and Kegan Paul, 1956); and the overview related to New Testament studies in Todd D. Still, Conflict at Thessalonica: A Pauline Church and its Neighbours (JSNTSup; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic, 1999), 107–24. 209 Tajfel and Turner, ‘An Integrative Theory’, 101. 210 John C. Turner, ‘Henri Tajfel: An Introduction’, in Robinson (ed.), Social Groups and Identities, 1–23 (16).

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6.5.1. Self-stigmatization and the significance of Christian martyrs One possibility, explored in particular by Wolfgang Lipp, is self-stigmatization (Selbststigmatisierung).211 It is notable that Lipp’s ideas about self-stigmatization seem to go largely unnoticed in English-language social psychology and sociology:212 when self-stigmatization is discussed in such literature it is usually (and briefly) treated in terms of the possibility that someone may regard themselves as bearing a stigma, or exaggerate its significance, even if others do not so regard them.213 For example, a person may consider themselves fat, or be conscious of a disability, even if others do not notice this. Lipp, by contrast, gives a much more specific interpretation and significance to this notion. Lipp is primarily concerned to explore the connections between stigma and charisma, in an attempt to explain the origins of the latter, which in Max Weber’s classic analysis remained inexplicable, though of huge social significance as the great revolutionary force.214 Lipp sees negative labels, stigmata, as representing socially ascribed guilt.215 Self-stigmatization is the process in which certain individuals not only ‘accept the stigmata that society ascribes to them, but … go further, surpassing social judgment in their own behaviour, the stigmatized aspects of which they intensify’.216 In other words, the stigma originates in an external (and negative) judgement which the stigmatized person in a sense accepts, intensifying and exaggerating it in their own perception and behaviour. This intensified acceptance of the very characteristics that mark them out as ‘guilty’ is, ultimately, and crucially for Lipp, a strategy that may lead to the re-evaluation of these characteristics:

211 Wolfgang Lipp, ‘Charisma – Social Deviation, Leadership and Cultural Change: A Sociology of Deviance Approach’, Annual Review of the Social Sciences of Religion 1 (1977), 59–77; Wolfgang Lipp, Stigma und Charisma: Über soziales Grenzverhalten (Schriften zur Kultursoziologie; Berlin: Dietrich Reimer, 1985); Wolfgang Lipp, ‘Selbststigmatisierung’, in M. Brusten and J. Hohmeier (eds), Selbststigmatisierung: zur Produktion gesellschaftlicher Randgruppen (vol. 1; Neuwied and Darmstadt: Luchterhand, 1975), 25–53. 212 Lipp’s ideas have, however, been applied to the Jesus movement and early Christianity in some German New Testament scholarship: see Martin N. Ebertz, Das Charisma des Gekreuzigten: Zur Soziologie der Jesusbewegung (WUNT 45; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1987); H. Mödritzer, Stigma und Charisma im Neuen Testament und seiner Umwelt (NTOA 28; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1994). 213 E.g. in Jones, Social Stigma, 122–30. 214 See Max Weber, Economy and Society: An Outline of Interpretive Sociology (vol. 1; Berkeley and Los Angeles: University of California Press, 1968) 212ff.; 244 on charisma as a ‘revolutionary force’. For further discussion, see S. N. Eisenstadt (ed.), Max Weber on Charisma and Institution Building (Chicago and London: University of Chicago Press, 1968). 215 Lipp, Stigma und Charisma, 75, 90–124. It is perhaps questionable whether all forms of stigma (being disabled, fat, etc.) should be seen as representative of social ‘guilt’. It may also be suggested that, for the first-century culture, it is ‘shame’ rather than ‘guilt’ that is the pivotal value, though this may make notions of (self-)stigmatization still more pertinent. Cf. Malina, New Testament World, 25–50; Mödritzer, Stigma und Charisma, 21–22. 216 Lipp, ‘Charisma’, 71.

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Since social individuals are unable to annul the defects which they have – the one who is poor will not from tomorrow onwards become rich; the one who is black will not become white – they are in the end obliged to acknowledge them (sich zu ihnen zu bekennen). They identify themselves with these defects, emphasise them, and strive in this way to get them accepted (sie … durchzusetzen). The goal of freeing themselves from guilt can only be realised, paradoxically, through strategies that increase the guilt in the eyes of society, that is, through self-stigmatization.217

Lipp’s key proposal is that in this process of accepting and exaggerating the marks of stigmatization lies the potential for the stigmatized person to become a charismatic figure, whose exaggerated self-stigmatization can make them radical figures of challenge, figures that can have a revolutionary impact on a society and its values. Self-stigmatization is thus a process ‘on the basis of which marginal figures (Randfiguren), persons marked by guilt, are transformed into bringers of salvation and leading figures (Heilsbringer und Führergestalten) and, so, processes which take place on the periphery of society become central events (Kerngeschehen)’.218 Self-stigmatization, according to Lipp, is therefore the crucial bridge between stigma and charisma, and a key explanation for the origins of charisma and its revolutionizing impact. One important feature of Christian identity, of course, in contrast to identities (and stigmas) based on skin colour, physical size or disability, is that it can be more or less visible – depending, at least in part, on the decisions and actions of the individuals and groups involved.219 Like Jews, Christians could be more or less assimilated and integrated into the social fabric of the wider society in which they lived.220 There was evidently considerable disagreement about what constituted an acceptable level of accommodation to GraecoRoman society (cf. §7.4). As we have seen the withdrawal from worship of the gods and the emperor (and his family) marked the Christians as anti-social ‘atheists’ whose conduct caused suspicion and hatred, though the extent to which such behaviour was evident would have varied considerably. As Paul Holloway has persuasively shown, the Christians experienced what we might label social prejudice, which ‘was at all times a lethal threat’ even if it was often only latent.221 Self-stigmatization would imply an active and deliberate exaggeration of the ‘visibility’ of such behaviour. Does 1 Peter call for this?

217 Lipp, Stigma und Charisma, 258–59. 218 Lipp, Stigma und Charisma, 83. Or, more simply put, ‘stigmata can suddenly appear as characteristics of charisma’; Lipp, ‘Charisma’, 70. 219 Cf. Guttenberger, Passio Christiana, 57–58, on the significance of this distinction in relation to 1 Peter. 220 Cf. the broader studies of Barclay, Jews; Harland, Associations, though it seems to me that Harland underestimates the degree of conflict evident in 1 Peter, on which see chapter 7 below. 221 Holloway, Coping with Prejudice, 72. Drawing extensively on the relevant socialpsychological literature, Holloway defines social prejudice as ‘a negative social attitude toward members of an identifiable social group based simply on their group membership’ (21).

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A theme running through 1 Peter is the exhortation to suffering Christians to ‘do good’ and so to silence the criticism of those among whom they live (2.12-15; 3.1, 6, 9-17; 4.19). This doing good includes conforming, as far as possible, to conventional social expectations: honouring the emperor (2.1317), submitting to masters and husbands (2.18–3.6), and generally avoiding confrontational, disruptive, or intrusive behaviour (cf. ἀλλοτριεπίσκοπος; 4.15).222 They give an answer when called on to make their defence (3.15), but generally it seems that mission is conceived of not in terms of active evangelism but rather of ‘passive attraction’, with the worshipping and charitable life of the Christian community serving to attract outsiders to it.223 Such a practice of quietness and conformity is evident elsewhere in the New Testament, not only in the infamous household codes (Col. 3.18–4.1; Eph. 5.21–6.9; Tit. 2.1-10) and in Rom. 13.1-7 (cf. 1 Tim. 2.1-2; Tit. 3.1-2), but also in early letters such as 1 Thess. 4.11-12 (cf. 2 Thess. 3.11-12; see also chapter 7 below). What this means is that there is here no general call to active self-stigmatization: Christians are not urged to intensify or to display in a provocative manner the ‘mark’ or stigma – their Christian commitment – that society regards as deviant. On the contrary, they are urged to lessen social hostility as far as is possible without abandoning their faith. Of course, this commitment to Christ is precisely what marks them as deviant, given its positive expression in suspicious acts of Christian worship and its negative expression in refusal to worship the Roman gods and the emperor.224 Insofar as Christians are known as such, they are, potentially at least, stigmatized people; but the letter does not urge them to confront this stigmatization by actively magnifying its visibility. On the contrary, Christians are urged to live good lives among their non-Christian neighbours, while sanctifying Christ ‘in their hearts’ (3.15). However, in the particular contexts and situations where the stigmatizing label ‘Christian’ is applied, there is in 1 Peter an appeal for a certain kind of self-stigmatization. Not only must believers acknowledge this name, making their confession, but they must bear the name proudly, regarding it as a means to bring glory to God. They affirm (publicly) and thereby accept that this particular ‘mark’ defines their identity. If it is right to see this labelling context as a judicial one, like the trials Pliny describes, then the significance of the selfascription is accentuated: whatever the evidence to convict someone of being a Christian, their condemnation or acquittal rests entirely on their decision to accept or reject the label at that (public) moment, as when Polycarp declares, μετὰ παρρησίας ἄκουε· Χριστιανός εἰμι (Mart. Pol. 10.1).225 And their answer 222 On this word, see above with nn. 80–82. 223 See Puig i Tàrrech, ‘Mission’. More emphasis on evangelism through proclamation is suggested by Seland, ‘Resident Aliens’. 224 Pliny (Ep. 10.96.7) refers to their meetings before dawn to sing hymns to Christ quasi deo and knows that no true Christian will sacrifice to the Roman gods and the emperor. See further above. 225 On the importance of the phrase ‘I am a Christian’, from Mart. Pol. (10.1) onwards, see Judith M. Lieu, ‘“I am a Christian”: Martyrdom and the Beginning of “Christian” Identity’, in

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may determine whether their fate is life or death. In other words, the context in which self-stigmatization occurs is the extreme one where martyrdom may be the outcome. The evidence of those who voluntarily offered themselves as martyrs, even to the embarrassment of their Roman judges, shows that there were those within the early Christian movement who quite actively sought to self-stigmatize by confessing to be Christians even when no one was asking them so to do.226 Ignatius may be a prime and prominent example: determined to go to his martyr’s death, fixated even upon it, a self-stigmatized and charismatic leader in the early church.227 What can we then say about the purpose and outcome of this selfstigmatization, and its significance for the history of early Christianity? In terms of understanding the strategy advocated by 1 Peter, it may be helpful to draw a distinction between moderate, ‘everyday’ and ‘extreme’ forms of conflict and suffering.228 In the everyday experience of public hostility and informal discrimination – the experience of a good many, perhaps most, early Christians – 1 Peter seeks to encourage Christians with a positive view of their identity as God’s people, thus countering the negative perspective they encounter in the wider society, a strategy of social creativity we have seen in our study of 2.9 (see chapter 5; also further below). There is no call for selfstigmatization, no call to intensify or amplify the distinctive Christian identity that is already the cause of hostility and prejudice. On the contrary, at least in 1 Peter, the encouragement is to keep a low profile, to be good citizens as far as possible, and to avoid unnecessary conflict. However, in the particular contexts where the label ‘Christian’ is applied (by outsiders), contexts where the more extreme form of suffering to death is a possibility – the experience of only a minority of the earliest Christians – the letter does urge a form of self-stigmatization, at least to the extent of boldly and proudly owning the label applied as a shameful accusation. As Lipp has argued, this provocative self-stigmatization stands as a challenge to the wider society to change its negative judgement towards the stigma. The significance of this for early Christianity, then, is that it is the martyrs, those specifically called to an active and defiant self-stigmatization, who form the vanguard, a group embodying in their positive adherence to the designation ‘Christian’ both a ‘creative’ strategy to build a positive sense Neither Jew Nor Greek? Constructing Early Christianity (SNTW; Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 2002), 211–31; Lieu, Christian Identity, 253–59. 226 See De Ste Croix, ‘The Early Christians’, 21–24; Eusebius, HE 8.9.5. Tertullian, Ad Scap. 5. The Montanists, who were prominent in Asia Minor somewhat later, were particularly inclined to provoke their own martyrdom (see Birley, ‘Die “freiwilligen” Märtyrer’, 105–21), i.e. in the terms used here, to engage in an active form of self-stigmatization. 227 Cf. De Ste Croix, ‘The Early Christians’, 23; Judith M. Lieu, Image and Reality: The Jews in the World of the Christians in the Second Century (Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1996), 29. On the forms of self-stigmatization in Ignatius, see Mödritzer, Stigma und Charisma, 245–64. 228 For this distinction in relation to various aspects of the psychology of early Christian religion, see Gerd Theissen, Erleben und Verhalten der ersten Christen. Eine Psychologie des Urchristentums (Gütersloh: Gütersloher Verlagshaus, 2007).

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of in-group identity and a challenge to the wider society. These then are the Christian virtuosi229 who, in extreme situations, intensify the stigmatization which members of the movement experience and, in daring to act in this extraordinary, außeralltäglich way, emerge – post mortem, in a sense – as the charismatic figures of the Christian movement. As charismatics, these socially marginal figures not only form an internal focus for the Christian movement, and its building of its own sense of positive group identity, but also, in the end, exert their revolutionary force on the wider society, Randfiguren who become Heilsbringer und Führergestalten (Lipp). As such, Lipp’s theory about the transformation of stigma into charisma may offer some insight into the reasons why the martyrs – and the discourses about martyrdom – were of such central significance for the making of Christian identity, as some recent studies have stressed.230 6.5.2. Social creativity: claiming the label Χριστιανός While Lipp’s theory offers one way to consider 1 Peter’s response to the stigmatization that the label Χριστιανός represents, social identity theory offers further valuable perspectives. Henri Tajfel and John Turner have set out the options for an individual suffering negative social identity, setting these options within the framework of two contrasting patterns of social assumptions, labelled ‘social mobility’ and ‘social change’.231 Where social mobility is believed to be a possibility, a likely strategy for the individual facing a negative social identity is individual mobility, that is, leaving the group.232 This was, of course, a real option for the early Christians, as again the evidence of Pliny confirms: cursing Christ and offering to the gods is sufficient, whatever a person’s past commitments, to secure their pardon and reintegration into society. And Pliny knows of Christians who have abandoned their faith, in the recent and the more distant past. First Peter does not show explicit concern to warn against apostasy, as by contrast does the letter to the Hebrews (Heb. 6.4-8; cf. 10.24-39). But its general concern to offer consolation and hope, and its specific plea not to be ashamed at bearing the name Χριστιανός, indicates the perceived need to counteract pressures to abandon this commitment. Other strategies described by Tajfel and Turner come under the general heading of social creativity, that is where group members ‘seek positive 229 Using virtuoso in Weber’s sense to refer to the exceptional and extraordinary performance of social and religious roles. See Max Weber, The Sociology of Religion (Boston/ London: Methuen, 1965), 162–65. 230 Lieu, ‘“I am a Christian”’; Daniel Boyarin, Dying For God: Martyrdom and the Making of Christianity and Judaism (Stanford: Stanford University Press, 1999); Elizabeth A. Castelli, Martyrdom and Memory: Early Christian Culture Making (New York, Chichester: Columbia University Press, 2004). 231 Tajfel and Turner, ‘An Integrative Theory’, 95–96. See also M. A. Hogg and G. M. Vaughan, Social Psychology (London/New York: Pearson/Prentice-Hall, 2005), 411; Hogg and Abrams, Social Identifications, 54–57. 232 Tajfel and Turner, ‘Intergroup Conflict’, 103–104.

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distinctiveness for the in-group by redefining or altering the elements of the comparative situation’.233 Most relevant to our consideration of the term Χριστιανός in 1 Peter 4 is the strategy of ‘changing the values assigned to the attributes of the group, so that comparisons which were previously negative are now perceived as positive’: the ‘classic example’, Tajfel and Turner note, is ‘Black is beautiful’.234 In other words, terms and designators with a negative social identity value are retained, but reclaimed and reinterpreted, with what we may perhaps call polemical pride, as positive ones. Gay people’s (re)claiming of the derogatory label ‘queer’ is one recent example: the term is now used (with polemical pride?) as a self-designation.235 A 2005 BBC documentary on contemporary life among British Pakistanis examined another comparable example: the use of the term ‘Paki’ over the decades. Although it was deemed acceptable in mainstream television coverage in the seventies and early eighties, for many British Asians today it remains a totally unacceptable form of racist abuse. However, some young British Pakistanis are now trying to reclaim the word as a badge they are proud of.236

Ancient examples of a comparable process may exist in names like Pharisees and Cynics, both of which may have begun as negative designations used by outsiders, but then came to be claimed by insiders as their own selfdescription.237 Similarly, in 1 Peter 4, while being ‘in Christ’ and bearing ‘the name of Christ’ (1 Pet. 4.14) are insiders’ ways to describe their identity, Χριστιανός is a label applied from outside, in the context of accusation. It, and the suffering which can follow as its consequence, are doubtless perceived by outsiders as a cause of shame, degradation, and humiliation; from this perspective, owning the label Χριστιανός boldly is a form of self-stigmatization. Yet 1 Peter 4 also represents an attempt to reverse this social verdict, at least in the eyes of insiders. A label applied as an accusation, a cause for punishment and shame, is to be regarded as a badge of honour and pride. Thus 1 Peter 4 233 Tajfel and Turner, ‘Intergroup Conflict’, 104. 234 Tajfel and Turner, ‘Intergroup Conflict’, 104; see also Hogg and Vaughan, Social Psychology, 413. 235 For one of many examples, there is a society titled ‘Imperial Queers’, which (to quote the website) ‘is the Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual and Transgendered society of Imperial College, London’ (http://www.union.ic.ac.uk/scc/IQ/about.html), accessed March 2005. According to Patrick S. Cheng, Radical Love: An Introduction to Queer Theology (New York: Seabury, 2011), 5, ‘[t]he use of the word “queer” as a positive term of pride for LGBT people can be traced as far back as the late 1980s’. 236 ‘British, Paki and Proud’, 9.20–11.00pm, BBC 2, 5 March 2005. The quotation is taken from the description of the programme at (www.bbc.co.uk/print/bradford/features/2005/03/ paki.shtml), accessed 21 March 2005. 237 See A. I. Baumgarten, ‘The Name of the Pharisees’, JBL 103 (1983), 411–28, esp. 423–27. Baumgarten is uncertain whether the name of the Pharisees did begin as a denunciation or not, though this is certainly a possibility.

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provides a brief but unique and illuminating insight into the beginnings of the process whereby the label applied as a term of disdain by outsiders comes first to be one which insiders accept – but as a source of honour, not shame – and then one which they later claim and use themselves as their basic designation of group-belonging. Ignatius reveals a further stage in the process, expressing the desire not only to be called a Christian but to be one (μὴ μόνον καλεῖσθαι Χριστιανούς, ἀλλὰ καὶ εἶναι. Magn. 4.1; cf. Rom. 3.2): here the term is well on the way to being used by insiders as a ‘true’ designation of what they really are.238 In terms of social identity theory, then, we see the author of 1 Peter here engaging in a strategy of social creativity, attempting to give a positive value to what outsiders perceive as a cause of shame, to the term Χριστιανός, insisting that the ‘true’ value of suffering ὡς Χριστιανός is as a way of bringing glory to God. For the early Christians, of course, this is but one facet of a fundamental need, rooted in the very origins of the movement, to reverse the social valuejudgements through which others perceived them. Jesus’ death as a criminal on a cross marked him as a rebel who ended his days in degradation and shame; but the early Christians insisted that his death was instead a moment of glory and not shame, or, at least, that the verdict of the cross was reversed by the vindication of the resurrection. Similarly, the label Χριστιανός was used to indicate an anti-social criminality which was justly a cause for shame and punishment; but the author of 1 Peter insists that the label is no shame but instead a source of honour, even and especially when it leads to suffering, precisely because it represents a sharing in Christ’s sufferings (4.13), a following in his footsteps (2.21). This reversal of societal judgements, the insistence that the very opposite is in fact the case, was one means, essential to early Christianity, whereby attempts were made to construct and sustain a positive sense of group identity.

6.6. Conclusion A study of the term Χριστιανός thus provides an important source of insight into the development of early Christianity. Philological considerations, combined with the Roman sources, scanty though they are, indicate the likely emergence of this label in the encounter between Christians and hostile outsiders, perhaps specifically governing (Roman) officials, and testify to the early emergence of a focus on the nomen ipsum. A study of the broader historical evidence also calls into question the current consensus in studies of 1 Peter, in which the suffering of the addressees is seen as a matter (only) of informal slander 238 Cf. Lieu, Image and Reality, 29: ‘the epithet “Christians” … has become his [sc. Ignatius’] most favoured name for believers and a designation of honour which represents the goal of their individual and corporate existence. One must be and not simply be called “Christian” [cf. Magn 4.1; Rom. 3.2], and for Ignatius himself this will be most truly demonstrated or even achieved in his martyrdom.’

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and public hostility. It is much more convincing to see informal and official hostility as reflections of a general prejudice against Christians, which not only led to ‘everyday’ expressions of hostility but could also come together through the accusatorial process to be expressed in judicial condemnation and official censure. Where 1 Peter 4 is especially important is in uniquely providing a corroborating picture from the inside of the process, setting the term Χριστιανός in the context of a consolatory address to those suffering hostility, derision, and punishment for bearing this name. Moreover, 1 Peter marks a crucial point in the process whereby this hostile label came to be borne with pride by insiders, later becoming their standard self-designation. In relation to the hostility of outsiders this may be seen as a strategy of selfstigmatization, an acceptance and accentuation of the very characteristic that is the focus of stigma. Yet in relation to the insiders’ perspective, the author’s positive revaluation of the nomen ipsum represents a strategy of social creativity, building a positive sense of group identity for those who belong. This is but one example, yet a key one nonetheless, of the early Christians struggling to reverse, at least in their own eyes, society’s verdict on them. And ironically, though unsurprisingly in the light of social-scientific studies of conflict, the very hostility that the label Χριστιανός/Christianus represents, by focusing attention precisely on this facet of the believers’ social identity, plays a significant role in fostering an emerging sense of Christian identity, making this label, for insider and outsider alike, the most salient designation of the followers of Jesus.

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Chapter 7 Between Conformity and Resistance: Beyond the Balch–Elliott Debate Towards a Postcolonial Reading of 1 Peter 7.1. The Balch–Elliott debate and the reasons for a new methodology First Peter is likely to remain a relatively neglected corner of the New Testament canon, despite the best efforts of primopetrophiles to rehabilitate it.1 It would hardly leap to mind as an obvious storm centre of debate and discussion in modern scholarship. Stephen Neill, with perhaps a touch of hyperbole, did in fact describe this short letter as precisely that in his 1964 survey of the history of New Testament interpretation, referring specifically to the starkly contrasting views of 1 Peter in two (then) recently published commentaries, those of Edward Gordon Selwyn and Francis Wright Beare.2 But a more obvious and prominent ‘storm centre’ in the interpretation of 1 Peter came a few decades later, in the early 1980s, when the letter was the focus of an important debate between David Balch and John Elliott, a debate generated by the contrasting conclusions of their two contemporaneously published monographs.3 The Balch–Elliott debate was and remains significant not only for the interpretation of 1 Peter but also for the use of social-scientific resources in New Testament studies, an approach that was then still relatively new but developing rapidly.4 1 The allusion is to the title of Elliott, ‘Rehabilitation’; see Introduction above with n. 1. The term ‘primopetrophile’ is also Elliott’s (1 Peter, xiii). 2 Stephen Neill, The Interpretation of the New Testament 1861–1961 (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1964), 343: ‘In a very real sense, the little Epistle called 1 Peter is the stormcentre of New Testament studies.’ For Neill, it might be noted, the divergent results in these two commentaries raise serious questions: ‘Now if two scholars can arrive at such widely divergent results, both on the basis of theoretically scientific methods of study, something must have gone seriously wrong somewhere’ (344). The two commentaries are: Beare, First Epistle of Peter; Selwyn, First Epistle. 3 Balch, Wives; Elliott, Home. In a recent review of research on 1 Peter, Mark Dubis comments that ‘[o]ne of the principal debates related to the study of 1 Peter has been that between Elliott and Balch’ (Dubis, ‘Research on 1 Peter’, 212). 4 For an overview of this wider development, see David G. Horrell, ‘Social Sciences Studying Formative Christian Phenomena: A Creative Movement’, in Anthony J. Blasi, Jean Duhaime, and Paul-Andre Turcotte (eds), Handbook of Early Christianity: Social Science Approaches (Walnut Creek, CA: Alta Mira Press, 2002), 3–28.

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The focus for Balch’s work, a published version of his doctoral thesis originally presented in 1974, was the domestic code in 1 Peter (1 Pet. 2.11– 3.12). In tracing the origins of this code to the Greek ‘household management’ (οἰκονομία) tradition stemming especially from Plato and Aristotle,5 Balch made an important and lasting contribution to the understanding of the New Testament Haustafeln generally. In terms of the function of the code in 1 Peter, Balch saw this as connected with the tensions evident between Christians and their wider society. Such tensions would have been especially prominent in households where some individual members, slaves or wives for example (cf. 1 Pet. 2.18-20; 3.1-6), had converted to Christianity without the head of the household, or the household as a whole, having done so. In such instances, Christians came in for criticism not only for following a strange and novel eastern cult but also for ‘corrupting and reversing Roman social and household customs’,6 and failing to conform to the social expectation that household members would follow the patterns of religious observance of the head of the household.7 In the domestic code instruction, then, the author of 1 Peter is seen by Balch as urging such Christians to lessen criticism of their social deviance by conforming as closely as possible to accepted Hellenistic social norms, without compromising their commitment to Christ. The code thus has an apologetic purpose, to demonstrate that Christians follow a respectable form of ‘constitution’.8 In his later paper responding to Elliott’s work, Balch draws on social-scientific studies of how minority groups variously adapt to a wider society and culture to illuminate the strategy of assimilation or acculturation he sees in 1 Peter.9 In short, the purpose of 1 Peter, and specifically its domestic code, was to lessen the hostility and antagonism suffered by Christians by urging them to demonstrate their conformity to conventional social expectations. The Church, in other words, was to accommodate to the world, in order to reduce the tension between them. Elliott’s ground-breaking work of what he then called ‘sociological exegesis’ (since relabelled ‘social-scientific criticism’) took a different approach to 1 Peter. In seeking to understand the situation of the addressees, Elliott focused on the terms πάροικοι and παρεπίδημοι (cf. 1 Pet. 1.1; 1.17; 2.11), arguing – against an established tendency to read these terms as metaphors indicating that the Christians’ true home was in heaven – that these labels described their socio-political status (see §4.1).10 For these estranged and dislocated people, the Church offered a ‘home’, a place of belonging in which these ‘strangers’ found a positive and valued identity as God’s own people. The strategy of 1 5 Balch, Wives, 23–62. 6 Balch, Wives, 119. 7 Balch, Wives, 65–80. 8 Balch, Wives, 81–121. 9 David L. Balch, ‘Hellenization/Acculturation in 1 Peter’, in Talbert (ed.), Perspectives on First Peter, 79–101 (86–96). 10 The metaphorical interpretation is also rejected, much earlier, by Calvin, Hebrews, I Peter, II Peter, 230.

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Peter, then, was to foster internal cohesion among the community of believers, the ‘brotherhood’ (ἀδελφότης, 2.17; 5.9), to build a distinctive communal identity and resist external pressures to conform. In order to grasp and illuminate the character of the ecclesial community and the strategy of the author, Elliott draws on social-scientific studies of religious sects, particularly the typology developed by Bryan Wilson, and categorizes the Church depicted in 1 Peter as a ‘conversionist sect’.11 This is a sect which regards the world as an evil and hostile place, but which at the same time considers itself to have a missionary task, to save individuals from this wicked world through conversion into the sect. Elliott’s stress, therefore, is on the distinction between the Church and the world. In direct opposition to Balch, he argues that: nothing in 1 Peter, including its discussion of household duties, indicates an interest in promoting social assimilation. It was precisely a temptation to assimilate so as to avoid further suffering that the letter intended to counteract … [T]he letter affirms the distinctive communal identity and seeks to strengthen the solidarity of the Christian brotherhood so that it might resist external pressure urging cultural conformity and thereby make effective witness to the distinctive features of its communal life, its allegiance and its hope of salvation.12

The contrast with Balch’s conclusions is clear, and leads to an almost diametrically opposing assessment of the Church’s relationship with the world. Where Balch sees assimilation and conformity, Elliott sees distinctiveness and resistance.13 These contrasting assessments find resonance in many other – albeit very different – readings of 1 Peter, some of which expose what they see as the letter’s dangerously conformist and unliberating ethic, which keeps slaves and wives in their place, even in suffering,14 others of which see in the letter a positive (and in some respects radical) model for the Church’s distinctive existence in society.15 There have also been various attempts to progress beyond the contrasting alternatives of Balch and Elliott.16 Charles Talbert, for example, suggests that the aims of ‘reinforcing the social cohesion of the Christian groups or … encouraging social adaptability’ should 11 Elliott, Home, 73–84, 101–50. 12 John H. Elliott, ‘1 Peter, its Situation and Strategy: A Discussion with David Balch’, in Talbert (ed.), Perspectives on First Peter, 61–78 (72–73, 78). 13 For an excellent early review essay on Balch and Elliott’s work, see Antoinette C. Wire, ‘Review Essay on Elliott, Home for the Homeless, and Balch, Let Wives Be Submissive’, RelSRev 10 (1984), 209–16. 14 Corley, ‘1 Peter’; Bird, Abuse. 15 Miroslav Volf, ‘Soft Difference: Reflections on the Relation Between Church and Culture in 1 Peter’, Ex Auditu 10 (1994), 15–30; Larry Miller, ‘La protestation sociale dans la première lettre de Pierre’, Social Compass 46 (1999), 521–43; Harink, 1 & 2 Peter. 16 For a valuable overview of relevant scholarship, see Bechtler, Following, 10–18, 112– 18. See also Dubis, ‘Research on 1 Peter’, 212–14.

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not be seen as an either-or, but rather as a both-and.17 The author of 1 Peter was concerned to realize both goals, each of which is necessary for the survival of a human group. Talbert uses a basic form of the church-sect typology to contrast the church-like pattern of ‘traditional pagan religion in antiquity’ with the sect-like pattern of Christianity according to 1 Peter. However, he argues that 1 Peter, unlike most sects, does not promote a ‘reserved’ or even ‘critical’ relation to ‘the state’ and to established social conventions, but rather advocates ‘support for the state’ and ‘a positive attitude toward participation in the social conventions and the national culture’.18 This brief proposal does not, as we shall see, do sufficient justice to the subtle but clear stance of resistance which the author of 1 Peter promotes, nor – to focus on a broader methodological point – sufficiently highlight the specifically imperial dimensions of the context in which 1 Peter seeks to negotiate the Church’s survival in the world. From the perspective of a rhetorical analysis of 1 Peter, Lauri Thurén sees the Balch–Elliott debate as having ‘demonstrated’ that the author ‘seems to be simultaneously encouraging the addressees to cultural assimilation and to separation’.19 Thurén’s solution to the tension between these two facets of the author’s instruction is to suggest that he ‘is addressing different types of audience simultaneously’.20 At least from a rhetorical analysis, there seem to be ‘two different types of implied audience’, one of which is ‘passive’ – assimilating too much, in order to avoid suffering – the other of which is ‘active’, exhibiting ‘too low a linkage to the society’.21 This ‘solution’ not only fails to give a coherent account of the letter’s strategy but also depends on the implausible idea that different audiences could and would be specifically addressed and challenged by the bits of the letter that related to the author’s perception of their needs.22 Another notable and interesting attempt to move beyond the Balch– Elliott alternatives is presented by Miroslav Volf, who argues that 1 Peter – and specifically its household code – offers ‘an example of differentiated acceptance and rejection of the surrounding culture’.23 According to Volf, ‘[t]hough 1 Peter does not envisage changing social structures, Christians nevertheless have a mission in the world’ and are seen by the author of the letter as having a missionary responsibility to live out their ‘distance’ from society, in a way which exhibits what Volf calls ‘soft difference’.24 Again, missing from Volf’s essay is adequate attention to the specifically imperial 17 Talbert, ‘Once Again’, 146. 18 Talbert, ‘Once Again’, 147. 19 Lauri Thurén, The Rhetorical Strategy of 1 Peter: With Special Regard to Ambiguous Expressions (Åbo: Åbo Academy Press, 1990), 106. 20 Thurén, Rhetorical Strategy, 110. 21 Thurén, Rhetorical Strategy, 112. 22 Cf. the equally implausible analysis of the different groups addressed in Romans 14– 15 in Paul S. Minear, The Obedience of Faith: The Purposes of Paul in the Epistle to the Romans (SBT 2.19; London: SCM, 1971). 23 Volf, ‘Soft Difference’, 22. 24 Volf, ‘Soft Difference’, 24.

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context which 1 Peter addresses and hence to the particular kinds of strategies by which vulnerable social groups might negotiate their existence under the ruling powers. Other writers have developed alternative social-scientific approaches. Larry Miller, for example, sees the Christians addressed by 1 Peter as what sociologists have labelled a ‘voluntary utopian group’, whose detachment from the wider society’s socio-religious practices and commitment to Christ constitutes a form of social protest. The author of 1 Peter calls for both a non-resistant (and non-violent) reaction to outsiders and also a resistance to pressure to conform to society’s demands.25 Stephen Bechtler uses Victor Turner’s theory of liminality to show how ‘1 Peter offers its readers a “liminal” self-identity, that is, an identity that is neither assimilationist nor sectarian, neither firmly ensconced within the larger society nor entirely removed from it’.26 These approaches are in many ways suggestive, particular insofar as they grasp the combination of conformity and resistance urged by 1 Peter, but again do not adequately connect the analysis of social conditions with the imperial context which fundamentally shapes the early Christians’ existence. Returning to the fundamental positions staked out in the Balch–Elliott debate, what is important here is to draw attention to those points which indicate the potential and the need for a methodology that can perhaps more successfully take us beyond their oppositional conclusions about 1 Peter. First, while disagreements do not necessarily indicate that a new and different methodology is required – they may simply indicate that one protagonist is correct, the other mistaken! – the contrasting assessments of the letter that emerge from the use of different social-scientific perspectives may lead us to question whether an alternative approach might not be better able to account for the character and nuance of the letter’s content. Elliott, for example, acknowledges that ‘[a]t some points [in 1 Peter] Christian and secular valuations of behavior converge’, while ‘[a]t other key points … a distinctive Christian perspective and rationale is evident and a clear distinction of allegiance and ethos is stressed’.27 He sees both these aspects of relationship to the world – ‘boundary maintenance’ and ‘system linkage (contacts and interdependency …)’ – as part of the difficult balance that any minority group, not least a conversionist sect, must negotiate, and suggests that Balch has paid attention to ‘only one of the two horns of this dilemma’.28 But just as Balch may be criticized for attending only, or primarily, to the tendency towards conformity, or assimilation, in 1 Peter, so Elliott may be thought to have overemphasized the other tendency, namely the attempt ‘to reinforce a sense of distinctive Christian identity and solidarity’.29 The issue –

25 Miller, ‘Protestation’. 26 Bechtler, Following, 112; see 109–78. 27 Elliott, ‘Situation and Strategy’, 66. 28 Elliott, ‘Situation and Strategy’, 69. 29 Elliott, Home, 106.

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one which, as Elliott notes, has dogged scholarship on 1 Peter for some time30 – is what kind of interpretative perspective will best enable us to do justice to these apparently diverse facets of the letter. Second, while the huge range of conceivably applicable social-scientific resources means that a wide variety of potentially incompatible readings is always possible,31 we may ask whether the resources chosen by Balch and Elliott, and by subsequent authors, are the most appropriate for the task, given the particular context of 1 Peter’s production. While Balch valuably highlights the extent to which 1 Peter seeks to enable the Church’s peaceful existence in society, we may question, as Torrey Seland has recently done, whether the model of assimilation/acculturation is appropriate to describe the Christians’ negotiation of their place in society. These converts – mostly gentiles, it seems, from the internal evidence of the letter (1.14, 18; 2.10; 4.2-4; see §4.4.2) – have previously been well accustomed to the way of life of their wider society, a way of life from which they now are urged to distance themselves (1.14; 4.24). These are not, then, people for whom the wider culture is alien and strange, but people whose conversion to Christianity has created an alienation, the consequences of which need to be worked out. As Seland suggests, it might therefore be more appropriate to consider the process of acculturation into the Christian way of life, since this is the novum to which the readers of 1 Peter are adapting.32 The typology of sectarian groups, to which Elliott appeals, on the other hand, may certainly offer a valuable perspective with which to grasp something of the sense of tension and separation which new religious movements perceive in relation to their ‘parent’ religious tradition and/or their wider society – the ‘world’. The sect-model may, however, also skew our perception of the evidence, leading us to over-emphasize the sense of distinctiveness and separation, as Philip Harland has argued.33 The examples from which the secttypology is constructed, moreover, are drawn from a wide range of historical and geographical contexts; Bryan Wilson’s initial study was of three sects in modern Britain.34 While this gives a broad base for a generic model, we may question whether it adequately includes the most significant factors shaping the Church–world relationship in 1 Peter. When Elliott suggests that ‘it is necessary to look no further than the sectarian composition of the communities addressed [in 1 Peter] to account for the conflict that characterizes their situation’, or that ‘1 Peter … represents a response to those problems with 30 Elliott, Home, 107–108. 31 Indeed, due to the extent to which the reader is intimately implicated in the construction of meaning, there will always be a diversity of readings of any text, often reflecting the theological or political interests of the reader, as the history of interpretation and contemporary scholarship frequently shows. 32 Seland, Strangers, 147–89, esp. 168–87. 33 Harland, Associations, 177–95; Harland, Dynamics, 25–26, 63–65. 34 Bryan R. Wilson, Sects and Society: A Sociological Study of Three Religious Groups in Britain (London: Heinemann, 1961).

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which conversionist sects in general must struggle’,35 we may wonder whether this does not overlook, or at least underemphasize, the central fact about the particular world in which the addressees lived and which most fundamentally determines their difficult relationship with it: the fact of empire. Indeed, what is most obviously missing from both Balch’s and Elliott’s social-scientific perspectives – and from most other attempts to move beyond the Balch–Elliott debate – is explicit attention to the structures of (imperial) domination within which the addressees of 1 Peter must negotiate their conformity and/or their resistance to the world.36 Put positively, we might suggest that the most relevant social-scientific resources for appreciating the community–world relationship in 1 Peter are likely to be those which concern themselves specifically with contexts of imperial/colonial domination and with the ways in which subaltern groups produce and sustain their identity in such contexts. In the following section, I shall attempt to show how the work of writers in postcolonial studies offers some valuable resources with which to appreciate this crucial dynamic in the making of 1 Peter.

7.2. Resources from postcolonial studies I begin not with a specifically postcolonial approach but with a broader study of the ways in which the dominated practise various forms of resistance in the work of the political scientist James Scott. Building primarily upon his studies of peasant societies in Malaysia, but ranging much more widely too, Scott has presented a rich and compelling analysis of the various forms of ‘everyday’ resistance practised by subordinate groups and classes.37 Scott’s work, especially in Domination and the Arts of Resistance, is – like some of the comparative work just mentioned on religious sects – wide-ranging and cross-cultural, taking examples from diverse historical and geographical contexts. Where it begins to help to inform our methodology, however, is in its particular focus on relations of domination, and the varied forms of resistance practised by those who are relatively weak in such patterns of relationship. It provides a valuable perspective to shape our conceptualization of the crucial issues of resistance and power. 35 Elliott, Home, 74, 102, my emphasis; cf. also 78, 80. 36 Exceptions are Warren Carter, ‘Going All the Way? Honoring the Emperor and Sacrificing Wives and Slaves in 1 Peter 2.13–3.6’, in Amy-Jill Levine and Maria Mayo Robbins (eds), A Feminist Companion to the Catholic Epistles (London and New York: T&T Clark, 2004), 14–33; and Bird, Abuse, though for criticisms of these works, see below. 37 James C. Scott, Weapons of the Weak: Everyday Forms of Peasant Resistance (New Haven and London: Yale University Press, 1985); James C. Scott, Domination and the Arts of Resistance: Hidden Transcripts (New Haven and London: Yale University Press, 1990). For applications of Scott’s work to New Testament studies, see Richard A. Horsley (ed.), Hidden Transcripts and the Arts of Resistance: Applying the Work of James C. Scott to Jesus and Paul (Semeia Studies 48; Atlanta: SBL, 2004).

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Scott insists that we must not restrict our definition of resistance to the open and physical forms of rebellion that are comparatively rare, of generally short duration, and usually quashed by superior force. Scott’s interest is in the many and diverse ways in which subordinates express and practise their resistance to oppression, in what he calls ‘the immense political terrain that lies between quiescence and revolt’.38 One such mode of resistance is through what Scott calls hidden transcripts: modes of discourse generally kept hidden from the public stage, where the official, sanctioned transcript dominates. Such a ‘hidden’ transcript may be expressed when the oppressed meet away from the gaze of their oppressors, as in the visions of reversal and judgement, the ‘symbolic inversions’,39 expressed in African-American slave religion, visions, of course, often directly indebted to biblical language and imagery. Other modes of resistance may appear on the public stage, but in ways which (generally) avoid direct and personal confrontation: anonymous rumours and gossip, euphemisms, ambiguous gestures, ‘accidental’ acts of insubordination, and so on. Importantly, Scott’s work should warn us against seeing rebellion and resistance only in texts and communities that are blatantly and overtly opposed to the established powers in the world. More usual, but no less forms of resistance, are modes of communication and action that subtly and changeably weave resistance into what is in various other respects a discourse of conformity and obedience. Indeed, an appreciation of the variable, complex, ambiguous, even compromised, relations between resistance and complicity is a crucial methodological key, which will be further developed in our engagement with postcolonial writers below. Scott’s work also serves as a warning to avoid characterizing the ‘weak’ as powerless. Certainly there is no attempt to obscure the extent to which the dominant and powerful wield the big sticks, and are able to exercise power through a range of ideological and physical means, not least the brute force to subdue and coerce by terror. But the weak also exercise agency and power through the multifarious means by which they resist their domination, whether in hidden or overt ways, and whether through linguistic means (such as jokes, gossip, parody, etc.) or by physical acts (such as poaching, concealment, evasion, etc.).40 While Scott’s work incorporates a wide range of examples and sociohistorical contexts, their uniting feature being some form of resistance enacted or expressed by subordinates, postcolonialism deals with a yet more specific context crucial for the understanding of 1 Peter: colonialism and imperialism.41 38 Scott, Domination, 199. 39 Cf. Scott, Domination, 166–72. 40 Cf. the summary table in Scott, Domination, 198; more generally on the manifold strategies by which the dominated insinuate and practise resistance, see 136–201. 41 These two terms, as R. S. Sugirtharajah notes, are, ‘[i]n postcolonial writing … often lumped together, and tend to be used interchangeably’, though colonialism, in Edward Said’s words (quoted by Sugirtharajah), ‘almost always a consequence of imperialism’, has a more specific meaning as ‘the implanting of settlements on distant territory’; R. S. Sugirtharajah, Postcolonial Criticism and Biblical Interpretation (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2002), 24.

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Postcolonialism ‘deals with the effects of colonization on cultures and societies’,42 with its specific disciplinary focus on the impact of, and reactions to, European colonialism from the sixteenth century to the present day.43 The prefix ‘post’, it is important to note – with or without a hyphen, a matter of some debate in the field – does not indicate an interest only in the period after the ‘departure’ of the colonial power, although the ramifications of decolonization and the realities of neo-colonialism are of obvious interest to those working in this area.44 The concerns of postcolonial studies may rather be defined as ‘engaging with the textual, historical, and cultural articulations of societies disturbed by the historical reality of colonial presence’45 – a definition which rightly, if only just, leaves both colonizing and colonized societies as proper foci of postcolonial study. Although the focus of postcolonial studies is the impact of modern European colonialism, the ideas and concepts are pertinent – as long as one is equally aware of the differences46 – to the study of the Roman empire too, not least since this empire served in some respects as a model for the European vision.47 Indeed, interest in the relevance of postcolonial perspectives to biblical studies has been growing considerably in recent years.48

42 Bill Ashcroft, Gareth Griffiths, and Helen Tiffin, Post-Colonial Studies: The Key Concepts (London and New York: Routledge, 2000), 186. 43 Ashcroft, Griffiths, and Tiffin, Post-Colonial Studies, 188. 44 For a sense of the issues at stake, the following quotation is indicative: ‘Whereas some critics invoke the hyphenated form “post-colonialism” as a decisive temporal marker of the decolonising process, others fiercely query the implied chronological separation between colonialism and its aftermath – on the grounds that the postcolonial condition is inaugurated with the onset rather than the end of colonial occupation’ (Leela Gandhi, Postcolonial Theory: A Critical Introduction [Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press, 1998], 3). Cf. also Bill Ashcroft, Gareth Griffiths, and Helen Tiffin, The Empire Writes Back: Theory and Practice in Post-Colonial Literatures (2nd edn, New Accents; London and New York: Routledge, 2002 [1989]), 1–2. One might perhaps say that the ‘post’ best refers to what comes after the moment of colonization, not to what comes after the (putative) end of colonization. 45 Sugirtharajah, Postcolonial Criticism, 11. 46 For example, the essentialist (pseudo-)scientific definitions of race that were so prominent in European colonialism are not encountered in anything like the same form in the Roman empire. I am grateful to John White for this point. 47 Cf. Sugirtharajah, Postcolonial Criticism, 24. For application of post-colonial perspectives to the study of Roman imperialism see Jane Webster and Nicholas J. Cooper (eds), Roman Imperialism: Post-Colonial Perspectives (Leicester Archaeology Monographs 3, Leicester: School of Archaeological Studies, University of Leicester, 1996). 48 See, e.g., R. S. Sugirtharajah (ed.), The Postcolonial Bible (Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1998); R. S. Sugirtharajah (ed.), The Postcolonial Biblical Reader (Oxford: Blackwell, 2006); Stephen D. Moore, Empire and Apocalypse: Postcolonialism and the New Testament (Sheffield: Sheffield Phoenix Press, 2006). For application of the perspective to Josephus, see John M. G. Barclay, ‘The Empire Writes Back: Josephan Rhetoric in Flavian Rome’, in Steve Mason and James Rives (eds), Flavius Josephus and Flavian Rome (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2005), 315–32; John M. G. Barclay, Flavius Josephus: Translation and Commentary, Vol. 10, Against Apion (Leiden: Brill, 2006).

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Postcolonialism does not constitute, or present, a specific or unified theoretical package that could be ‘applied’ to a biblical text. The field is much too diffuse and varied, and essentially concerns attempts to read literature produced in colonial contexts with an eye to the impact of colonization/ imperialism and the ways in which colonized subjects resist such incursions and sustain or create cultural and social identity. A focus on resistance, and the forms it may take, is thus prominent in postcolonial studies, and, as with Scott, so too many postcolonial studies emphasize the diverse and nuanced forms that resistance and opposition may take. Anuradha Needham, for example, notes the claim of many postcolonial critics ‘that no modes of resistance, whether they acknowledge it or not, are completely free of their implication in the domination they resist’.49 Inversion, for example, a prominent strategy in literatures of resistance, ‘would not be possible without the terms and evaluations embodied in and by the dominant, which the inversion then attempts to devalue (and revalue) through a process of transvaluation’.50 Concerning another form of resistance, and quoting Simon Gikandi and Stuart Hall, Needham writes of ‘“the mutual imbrication and contamination” of dominant and subordinate, colonizer and colonized, which in turn renders each … “inextricably mixed and hybrid”’.51 Needham’s study is especially pertinent to a consideration of 1 Peter, since her concern is with the forms of resistance expressed by writers located in the metropole who are thus living in ‘diaspora’, away from their homelands in Africa or South Asia.52 This emphasis on the ambivalence and complexity of resistance and conformity is especially prominent in the work of Homi Bhabha, one of the most influential, if difficult, postcolonial writers. Bhabha’s key ‘enabling assumption’, Stephen Moore notes, ‘is that the relationship between colonizer and colonized is characterized by ambivalence … attraction and repulsion at the same time’.53 To quote Bhabha: Resistance is not necessarily an oppositional act of political intention, nor is it the simple negation or exclusion of the ‘content’ of another culture, as a difference once perceived. It is the effect of an ambivalence produced within the rules of recognition of dominating discourses as they articulate the signs of cultural difference and reimplicate them within the deferential relations of colonial power.54

49 Anuradha Dingwaney Needham, Using the Master’s Tools: Resistance and the Literature of the African and South-Asian Diasporas (Basingstoke and London: Macmillan, 2000), 10. 50 Needham, Master’s Tools, 11; on the use of inversion, see also Scott, Domination, 166–72. 51 Needham, Master’s Tools, 9. 52 Needham, Master’s Tools, 1, et passim. 53 Moore, Empire and Apocalypse, 109. 54 Homi K. Bhabha, The Location of Culture (London and New York: Routledge, 1994), 110.

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Moore puts the essential point concisely: ‘For Bhabha, resistance and complicity coexist in different measures in each and every colonial subject.’55 Also important in this regard is another concept which is prominent in Bhabha’s work: the concept of ‘hybridity’, an attempt to express the idea that the encounter of colonizer and colonized creates forms of interaction and interdependence that affect the construction of their subjectivities such that these are formed and articulated in what Bhabha calls a ‘Third Space’, an ‘in-between’. Bhabha insists that any idea of cultural ‘originality’ or ‘purity’ is untenable, because cultural identity and cultural difference are articulated precisely in ‘that Third Space of enunciation’ which is a space of ‘hybridity’: ‘we should remember that it is the “inter” – the cutting edge of translation and negotiation, the in-between … that carries the burden of the meaning of culture’.56 Language, as Bhabha’s comment already implies, is necessarily implicated in this interaction, and as such – and also as a medium of power – is a site of contest and negotiation in colonial engagements. Indigenous languages may, for example, be used and preserved as a deliberate means to sustain distance and distinctiveness, often in the face of overt efforts to insist on use of (only) the imperial language. Alternatively, the colonizer’s language may be used, but changed and subverted as the colonized express both difference and resistance.57 Consequently, some theorists have adopted the notion of ‘creolization’ – of language and of identity – another facet of this negotiation of hybrid cultural identity in the in-between space.58 Postcolonial writers, drawing, of course, on biblical images and terms, also frequently invoke the notions of diaspora and exile to denote the experience of those displaced from their homeland due to the effects of colonization and imperialism.59 Significantly, though, given the use of such terms in 1 Peter, postcolonialism is not only concerned with these terms as a literal description of those physically displaced by empire but also with what Leela Gandhi refers to as ‘the idea of cultural dislocation contained within this term [diaspora]’.60 Gandhi continues, drawing on the work of Bhabha and Frantz Fanon: 55 Moore, Empire and Apocalypse, 110. 56 Homi K. Bhabha, ‘Cultural Diversity and Cultural Differences [1988]’, in Bill Ashcroft, Gareth Griffiths, and Helen Tiffin (eds), The Post-Colonial Studies Reader (2nd edn; London and New York: Routledge, 2006), 155–57 (156–57). See further Bhabha, Location of Culture, 111–15; Ashcroft, Griffiths, and Tiffin, Post-Colonial Studies, 118–19; Gandhi, Postcolonial Theory, 129– 31. 57 See Ashcroft, Griffiths, and Tiffin, Empire, 37–50; Amitava Kumar, ‘Passport Photos’, in Ashcroft, Griffiths, and Tiffin (eds), Post-Colonial Studies Reader, 455–59, who quotes Salman Rushdie: ‘Those of us who do use English do so in spite of our ambiguity towards it, or perhaps because of that, perhaps because we can find in that linguistic struggle a reflection of other struggles taking place in the real world, struggles between cultures within ourselves and the influences at work upon our societies. To conquer English may be to complete the process of making ourselves free’ (455). 58 See the brief summary in Ashcroft, Griffiths, and Tiffin, Post-Colonial Studies, 58–59. 59 Indicative of this interest is the section of readings under the heading ‘Diaspora’ in Ashcroft, Griffiths, and Tiffin (eds), Post-Colonial Studies Reader, 425–59. 60 Gandhi, Postcolonial Theory, 131.

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In Bhabha’s characteristic interjections, colonialism is read as the perverse instigator of a new politics of ‘un-homeliness’. If colonialism violently interpellates the sanctuary and solace of ‘homely’ spaces, it also calls forth forms of resistance which can, as Fanon observes, no longer be accommodated within the familiar crevices and corners of former abodes … Not surprisingly, diasporic thought finds its apotheosis in the ambivalent, transitory, culturally contaminated and borderline figure of the exile, caught in a historical limbo between home and the world.61

These comments will already be forging connections in the minds of those familiar with 1 Peter, and particularly with Elliott’s view of 1 Peter as offering ‘a home for the homeless’. So, as we turn to the letter, it is important to emphasize that what postcolonialism offers us is not a model or a theory to be applied to the text, but rather a language, an orientation, a series of concepts attuned to the themes of life under empire. If there is a claim that unites and underpins postcolonial studies, it is that imperial domination, the act of colonization, inevitably affects, ‘disturbs’, the societies into which its control reaches, such that studies of culture, literature, identity, and so on, cannot ignore – and must take as of primary importance – the impact of the colonial/imperial relationship and the power relationships entwined in it. Postcolonialism thus invites us to read 1 Peter as a literary product of a colonial/imperial situation, with our ears especially attuned to the ways in which this letter constructs the identity of the people to whom it is addressed and offers one particular way of negotiating existence in the empire, between conformity and resistance. Scott and Bhabha in particular invite us to consider how expressions of resistance may be subtle and ambivalent, woven in complex ways into a discourse which may also be complicit and conformist, constructed in the encounter between colonizer and colonized.

7.3. Towards a postcolonial reading of 1 Peter In the space available, what follows can only be an initial sketch of what a postcolonial reading of 1 Peter might look like, and a particular kind of postcolonial reading at that. Fernando Segovia helpfully identifies three dimensions of a ‘postcolonial optic’ for biblical studies: the first is the historical setting of the texts of early Judaism and Christianity in imperial/colonial contexts; the second is the history of biblical interpretation, and the emergence of modern biblical scholarship with its connections with the realities and ideologies of European colonial expansion; the third is the context of today’s readers in the global sphere and their relation to the centre(s) of power.62 It will be clear that my preoccupation in this chapter is with the first category, namely the setting of 1 Peter in its historical imperial context (though this should not 61 Gandhi, Postcolonial Theory, 132. 62 Fernando F. Segovia, ‘Biblical Criticism and Postcolonial Studies: Toward a Postcolonial Optic’, in Sugirtharajah (ed.), Postcolonial Bible, 49–65 (56–63).

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be taken to imply that I consider other facets of postcolonial biblical study to have any less value or interest).63 Betsy Bauman-Martin, who has offered a very different (though not incompatible) kind of postcolonial reading of 1 Peter, also focuses on the context of 1 Peter’s production, though her particular interest is in the ‘ideological imperialism’ with which the author of 1 Peter takes over the cultural heritage and identity markers of Judaism.64 Elisabeth Schüssler Fiorenza, on the basis that ‘postcolonialism has a multiplicity of meanings’ (quoting Sugirtharajah), uses ‘a critical-rhetorical method and feminist systemic analysis for interpreting 1 Peter’, though this somewhat lacks focus on the particular issues specific to postcolonial studies.65 Her approach leads to a broad critique of the author’s kyriarchal strategy, with its legitimization of submission, but gives less attention to the specific aspects of the letter’s negotiation of Christian identity and existence in Roman Asia Minor. 7.3.1. ‘To the elect refugees of the diaspora … from Babylon’: the letter frame (1.1-2; 5.12-14). We begin our reading with the letter frame, which sets a context for the remainder of the text. The opening of the letter, immediately after naming its author as the apostle Peter, describes those to whom it is addressed as ἐκλεκτοῖς παρεπιδήμοις διασπορᾶς, then specifies their location in this ‘diaspora’ as the Roman provinces in northern Asia Minor. These words, as is widely recognized, reflect the influence on the letter of Jewish terms and traditions. The positive description of the readers as (God’s) elect adopts an Old Testament designation widely used in early Christian literature.66 The noun παρεπίδημος, rare outside biblical literature, denoting ‘one who is (temporarily) resident in a place as an alien’,67 or even a refugee, appropriates the language with which Abraham describes the character of his residence among the Hittites (Gen. 23.4).68 πάροικος, a rather more common term in 63 For example, studies of the ways in which colonial expansion and domination, Christian mission, and Bible translation were often enmeshed in an unholy alliance. See for example, Bhabha, Location of Culture, 102–22; Sugirtharajah, Postcolonial Criticism, 127–78; and the essays by Dora Mbuwayesango and Hephzibah Israel in Sugirtharajah (ed.), Postcolonial Reader, 259–283. 64 Bauman-Martin, ‘Speaking Jewish’. On the issue of the appropriation of Jewish identity, see below with nn. 90–91. I wonder whether Bauman-Martin’s notion of ideological imperialism broadens the category of colonial contexts too much: does any sect that claims to embody the true interpretation of the parent religion necessarily engage in such a move? 65 Elisabeth Schüssler Fiorenza, ‘The First Letter of Peter’, in Fernando F. Segovia and R. S. Sugirtharajah (eds), A Postcolonial Commentary on the New Testament Writings (The Bible and Postcolonialism, 13; London: T&T Clark, 2007), 380–403 (380). 66 Cf., e.g., Deut. 4.37; 7.6-8; Ps. 78.68; 135.4; Isa. 41.8-9; 44.1. For specific uses of ἐκλεκτοί, see, e.g., Ps. 88.4 [LXX] (note the LXX plural for Heb. singular: ‘my chosen one’); 104.6 [LXX]; 104.43 [LXX]; 105.5 [LXX]; Wis. 3.9; 4.15; Sir. 46.1. In the New Testament: Mk 13.20, 22, 27 (and par.); Rom. 8.33; Col. 3.12; 2 Tim. 2.10; Tit. 1.1; Rev. 17.14. 67 Walter Grundmann, ‘δῆμος, κτλ.’, TDNT 2.64. 68 See §4.4.1 with nn. 106 and 108 for further details.

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Greek to denote a non-citizen, whether native or foreign,69 is used in the LXX to denote a ‘resident alien’ – a foreigner who dwells somewhere without full national or civic rights, whether a resident alien living among the people of Israel, or an Israelite living in a foreign land.70 Diaspora, of course, is the technical biblical/Jewish term for the dispersion of the Jews among the gentiles,71 a term used to express the experience of being scattered, exiled, ‘led away’, or deported, variously denoted in the Hebrew texts.72 These diverse expressions, for which the LXX also uses terms (significantly for us) such as παροικία,73 were ‘appropriate’, Karl Ludwig Schmidt notes, ‘in relation to the deportations by Assyrian, Babylonian and to a lesser extent later conquerors, e.g. Pompey’.74 The scattering of Israel among the nations came to be seen, by some writers at least, as having a positive dimension: Israel’s strength and importance is demonstrated by her having people in every nation.75 But with the fall of Jerusalem in 70 ce (and further defeat in 132–35 ce), and the associated killing, enslavement, and deportations,76 the negative aspects of Israel’s experience came once again to the fore. These opening depictions of the letter’s addressees must be linked with the other part of the letter frame, the closing verses, and specifically the single but significant reference to ‘Babylon’, from where the writer sends greetings (5.13). As most commentators agree, this is almost certainly a reference to Rome, whether it is to be taken literally or symbolically, and also serves as a symbolic reference to the diasporic situation of the readers.77 With this brief characterization, Rome is thus identified with the imperial power whose actions were so prominent and paradigmatic in Israel’s history. Thus far, our observations on the language of the letter frame are largely standard and well established. What is important, though, is to notice how, with just these few words, the writer of 1 Peter evokes a whole narrative, a

69 See §4.4.1 with nn. 104 and 105 for further details. 70 Cf. Karl Ludwig Schmidt and Martin Anton Schmidt, ‘πάροικος, κτλ.’, TDNT 5.842– 48. See Exod. 2.22; 12.45; Lev. 22.10; 25.47; Deut. 23.7 [LXX 23.8]; 1 Chron. 5.10, etc. Indeed, it is the LXX use that is decisive for the meaning of these terms in 1 Peter; see Bechtler, Following, 64–83; Feldmeier, Christen als Fremde, 207–208. 71 Karl Ludwig Schmidt, ‘διασπορά’, TDNT 2.99. 72 Some have argued that diaspora is the controlling metaphor of the letter; Martin, Metaphor, 144, 273–74; Green, ‘Modernity’, 323. 73 Cf. Ezra 8.35: hlwg%h-ynb (‘sons of [the] exile’) = ὑιοὶ τῆς παροικίας; Ps. 120.5 (LXX 119.5) yt@rg (‘I live as an alien’) = ἡ παροικία μου; Hab. 3.16; Lam. 2.22. 74 Schmidt, TDNT 2.100. 75 Cf. Pss Sol. 9.2; 1 Macc. 15.16-24; Sib. Or. 3.271; Josephus, Ant. 14.115; War 2.398; 7.43; Philo, Leg. Gai. 36 §§281–84. 76 One example: Josephus (War 3.539–40) refers to the rounding up of Jewish prisoners by Vespasian, the dispatching of 6,000 to work on Nero’s project to dig a canal through the Isthmus near Corinth, and the sale of 30,400 as slaves. Even if the numbers are exaggerated, the treatment of the captives is indicative. 77 See, e.g., Brox, Petrusbrief, 41–43, 247; Elliott, 1 Peter, 131–34, 882–86. The identification is made by Eusebius, EH 2.15.2; Jerome, De vir. ill. 8.2.

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kind of alternative (or ‘hidden’) transcript,78 one forged in the fire of Jewish experience, and one that reflects the experience of the underside of empire: being deported and exiled, dislocated from one’s home.79 And by identifying Rome as Babylon, the author not only alludes to the story of Israel’s occupation and exile by that ancient empire, but also casts Rome into precisely that role, ‘the very epitome and type of an ungodly and domineering city’.80 In this way, albeit briefly and allusively, the author aligns himself and his readers with a particular narrative about the Roman empire, a particular perspective on its actions. He does not depict – nor perhaps even long for – the downfall of ‘Babylon’ in the vivid and detailed manner of the writer of Revelation, but he says enough to show that he and John share a common story about the character and achievements of this empire, a story which reflects the experience of the colonized and enslaved, not the powerful and dominant.81 And, of course, the view of the empire as godless power, scattering and displacing the people of God, stands in stark contrast to the narrative promoted by the architects of empire, for whom their divinely appointed vocation is to bring peace to warring tribes and civilization to uncultured barbarians, even if this naturally requires the exercise of terrorizing force upon those arrogant enough to resist – parcere subiectis et debellare superbos, as Virgil memorably expresses the Romans’ vocation (‘to pardon those who submit and to subdue the proud’; or, as Philip Esler paraphrases the idea: ‘Grovel and live; resist and die’).82 78 It is ‘hidden’ not in the sense that it is expressed in deliberately coded form, so as to evade official censure, but rather in that it expresses a mode of discourse presented away from the public stage, a narrative that makes sense of the world in an alternative way. It is unlikely that letters such as 1 Peter needed to express their alternative reading of the world in a coded form. For some critical remarks on the appeal to hidden transcripts to interpret Paul, see J. Albert Harrill, ‘Paul and Empire: Studying Roman Identity after the Cultural Turn’, Early Christianity 2 (2011), 281–311 (294–95, 309–10). 79 For a more extended narrative analysis of 1 Peter, see M. Eugene Boring, ‘Narrative Dynamics in First Peter: The Function of Narrative World’, in Robert L. Webb and Betsy BaumanMartin (eds), Reading 1 Peter with New Eyes: Methodological Reassessments of the Letter of First Peter (LNTS 364; London and New York: T&T Clark, 2007), 7–40; Abson Prédestin Joseph, A Narratological Reading of 1 Peter (LNTS 440; London and New York: T&T Clark, 2012). What a postcolonial reading is especially concerned to consider is how the narrative implied by the letter positions the Church vis-à-vis the empire, how it expresses forms and strategies of resistance, and how it constructs the social and cultural identity of its members, who live under Rome’s domination. 80 Karl Georg Kuhn, ‘Βαβυλών’, TDNT 1.515. 81 Indeed it is interesting and not irrelevant to note that, in his depictions of the final and decisive revelation which is near, the author of 1 Peter uses ἀποκαλυπ- words more frequently than does the author of Revelation (1 Pet. 1.5, 7, 13; 4.13; 5.1; Rev. 1.1). On this aspect of 1 Peter’s rhetoric, see Robert L. Webb, ‘Intertexture and Rhetorical Strategy in First Peter’s Apocalyptic Discourse: A Study in Sociorhetorical Interpretation’, in Webb and Bauman-Martin (eds), Reading 1 Peter with New Eyes, 72–110. 82 Virgil, Aen. 6.853; Philip F. Esler, ‘God’s Honour and Rome’s Triumph: Responses to the Fall of Jerusalem in 70 ce in Three Jewish Apocalypses’, in Philip F. Esler (ed.), Modelling Early Christianity (London and New York: Routledge, 1995), 239–58 (240). The Res Gestae Divi Augusti serve as a prominent and very public declaration of this imperial perspective,

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The recipients of 1 Peter were most likely not literally geographically displaced aliens, even if a certain number among them might conceivably have been. Most scholars have been unpersuaded by Elliott’s arguments for a literal reading of this description of their status prior to conversion, and remain more inclined to see the alienation from at-homeness in the world as something created by conversion, and thus in some sense metaphorical rather than strictly politico-geographical (see §4.4.1). However, this does not mean that the language loses its political edge, nor its connection with the real social experience of the readers; it is not merely an indication that their home is in heaven. Indeed, this seems to me a key point of Elliott’s argument, and both convincing and important.83 As we have seen, postcolonial writers are interested in diaspora and exile not only as the literal, geographical experience of many of the colonized, but also as a depiction of the cultural, social, and psychological dislocation caused by the intrusion of colonial power. Yet there is one more twist to the use of this language in 1 Peter. The author is not writing to the whole population in a certain area – to all the inhabitants of Pontus, say – giving voice to their collective experience of empire.84 Rather, he is writing to those who, by virtue of their conversion to Christianity, have now become dislocated, no longer at-home in the οἰκουμένη which is the empire. Prior to conversion these people may have been quietly, even contentedly, accommodated to the realities of empire and its local manifestations, keeping the peace and their heads down, paying their dues, financially and religiously.85 Not all the colonized, whatever those with a revolutionary consciousness might like, share or express a negative or resentful view of the empire. But commemorating Augustus’ military triumphs and establishment of ‘peace’ by bringing further peoples into subjection to the Roman people (Res gestae 26; cf. Pliny, Nat. hist. 3.20.136, for a comparable inscription from a triumphal arch). They also culminate in the recording of Augustus’ acclamation as pater patriae. The Res Gestae, primarily intended to be engraved outside Augustus’ mausoleum in Rome, were apparently inscribed in both Latin and Greek on the walls of temples of Augustus elsewhere in the empire, though it is significant that our only known examples come from Asia Minor, including the most complete and famous example from the Temple of Rome and Augustus in Ancyra – so this Roman propaganda was certainly known in the areas to which 1 Peter was addressed. 83 Indeed, Elliott seems to me to move without substantive argument from a depiction of the kind of social existence which πάροικοι and παρεπίδημοι experienced to the view that the terms denote the literal socio-political status of the addressees (cf. Home, 29, 35, esp. 37 and 47, also 129–32). However, he rightly stresses that ‘the fundamental contrast in 1 Peter is not a cosmological but a sociological one: the Christian community set apart from and in tension with its neighbours’ (42–43). We may doubt that the author of 1 Peter uses the terms to denote actual social-political status, but accept that he uses them to epitomize the social experience which derives from such a status and is analogous to that which the readers experience. 84 This does not make a postcolonial analysis inappropriate, any more than it would in the case of, say, Rastafarianism – since not all Jamaicans are Rastafarians. The point is that these religious movements are in some ways responses to, or at the very least shaped by, the experience of empire. 85 Moreover, there is evidence to suggest that Asia Minor, at least at the administrative level, was enthusiastic in its responses to Roman rule, which depended on the integration and support of local elites; see nn. 82 and 94.

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the call to conversion, a call the author reiterates and amplifies in his letter, is a call to inhabit a narrative, one drawn from the experience of the people of Israel, that puts a different spin on the establishment of empire. Now Rome is Babylon, the oppressor of God’s people, who are displaced and homeless in its realm. One might therefore say that the narrative of identity into which 1 Peter invites its readers is one which constructs a form of postcolonial awareness, which challenges positive acceptance or aquiescence and replaces it with a sense of dislocation and distance.86 The positive counterpart to the depiction of the addressees as strangers and aliens under Babylon’s rule is, of course, their designation as God’s elect, a positive identity spelt out in the remainder of the letter opening with reference to the saving activity of God the Father, the Holy Spirit, and Jesus Christ (1.2). And it is the articulation of this positive new identity that dominates the opening sections of the epistle. 7.3.2. A glorious salvation and a positive identity as God’s people (1.3–2.10) The opening thanksgiving of 1 Peter focuses on the great and glorious salvation, the inheritance, that awaits the elect people of God.87 This is an inheritance more enduring, more certain, and more glorious than any earthly treasure, and a cause of rejoicing despite the hardships of the present (1.6 – the first indication of the reality of suffering which will form a Leitmotif of the letter). This salvation stands ready at the door; it is prepared to be revealed (ἀποκαλυφθῆναι) at the end-time (ἐν καιρῷ ἐσχάτῳ) which will be soon (1.5; cf. 1.7; 4.17-19).88 The first imperative in the letter is therefore the exhortation to hope (ἐλπίσατε, 1.13); that is, to hold resolutely and joyfully to this narrative of promised salvation, a narrative which, given the readers’ present experience, is certainly counter-intuitive and counter-factual, contrary to the apparent circumstances of their lives. The writer also draws ethical consequences on this basis (1.13–2.3), urging his readers to holy living (1.15-16, quoting Lev. 19.2), which means distancing themselves from the patterns of conduct that characterized their ‘former ignorance’ (1.14, cf. 1.19). The central text in which the new status of the believers as the elect and holy people of God is made clear is 2.4-10, which forms the climax of the affirmations and the exhortations found in 1.3–2.10 and the foundation for the instruction to follow in the second major section of the letter (2.11–4.11). 86 Cf. the more theologically orientated comment of Green, ‘Modernity’, 328: ‘Peter’s Model Readers are those who embrace and embody the status of persons whose identity as pilgrims in the world grows out of their experience of the new birth, whose lives are radically marked by their membership in a community defined by their allegiance to Christ, whose lives thus stand in an ambiguous relationship to the mores and values of the world around them, and, accordingly, whose forms of existence attract opposition from their neighbours.’ 87 For a recent study of this theme in 1 Peter, see Williams, Salvation. 88 It seems to me that 1 Peter does convey a sense of imminent eschatological expectation, pace Parker, ‘Eschatology’.

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It is a passage into which a rich tapestry of biblical texts is woven (see §5.1). Verses 4-5 introduce vv. 6-10, briefly stating the themes which are drawn out in the texts and comments which follow: Jesus the elect stone and the church the elect people of God. The scriptural quotations that follow in vv. 6-10 pick up one or other of two key words, stone (λίθος), or people (λαός). More specifically, v. 4 introduces the texts and comments about Christ the stone in vv. 6-8, and v. 5 introduces and summarizes vv. 9-10. Verses 6-10 thus contain the primary sources, the scriptural texts, for the ideas which are summarized in vv. 4-5.89 In vv. 6-8 three texts (Isa. 28.16; Ps. 118.22; Isa. 8.14) are quoted and interpreted to describe Christ as the stone rejected by people but chosen and vindicated by God – a fate which is, of course, in certain respects paradigmatic for the experience of the readers. In vv. 9-10 three texts (Isa. 43.20-21; Exod. 19.6; Hos. 2.23, plus phrases drawn from Hos. 1.6, 9, 10) are woven into a declaration about the identity of the readers, ‘once no people but now God’s people’. One of the striking things about this latter declaration is the way in which it draws on the Jewish scriptures, indeed on some of the central identity designations of Israel (γένος ἐκλεκτόν, ἔθνος ἅγιον, λαὸς θεοῦ), to describe the identity of the predominantly gentile recipients of the letter (see chapter 5). This appropriation – one might say, expropriation90 – of the scriptures and identity of Israel raises a range of challenging questions (see §5.5). But its significance in this context is that it makes this particular conglomeration of titles and descriptors, this particular narrative, constitutive for the identity of the addressees of the letter. This, one might say, is the positive counterpart of their earlier designation as aliens and strangers in diaspora; as such, they are God’s γένος ἐκλεκτόν, God’s special people, destined to receive their glorious and imperishable inheritance. Just as the readers are not ‘literally’ resident aliens, temporary or permanent, so too they are not (at least in the majority of cases) ‘literally’ or ethnically Jews (see §4.4.1). But they are now, because of their conversion, to understand themselves precisely as such dislocated people, whose positive (and ethnoracial) identity (see chapter 5) is given in the stories of the Hebrew scriptures – and in the experience of a people often under the dominion of one empire or another. In this regard, Elliott is right to see the letter as undergirding and reinforcing the positive and distinctive identity of the Christian addressees.91 To what facets of this identity-defining narrative might a postcolonial reading particularly draw attention? It is not as if either the negative (dispersed aliens) or the positive (God’s chosen race) dimensions of existence as God’s people as described here straightforwardly imply a directly ‘anti-imperial’ stance. Indeed, as we shall see throughout this chapter, a postcolonial reading challenges any easy designation of the text as anti- or pro-imperial and calls 89 See Elliott, Elect, 48; Bauckham, ‘James, 1 and 2 Peter, Jude’, 310–11. 90 Cf. Elliott, Home, 38, 149, 153 n. 55: ‘through the expropriation of Judaism’s distinctive honors, the Christian community saw itself as Judaism’s superior replacement’. 91 Elliott, Home, 106–107, 148, 198, 225–26, 270, et passim.

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for a more nuanced and subtle approach to discerning forms and expressions of resistance.92 What the text does, I suggest, is to insert the readers into a particular narrative of identity which ‘places’– or rather, displaces – them in a specific position vis-à-vis the empire. As we have seen, the letter frame already positions the readers with regard to the empire in an essentially negative way: the ‘achievements’ of empire are experienced, or at least interpreted, as dislocation and dispersion. The first major section of the letter body then insists that the believers have a positive and far superior basis for hope: their election by God and the inheritance that God has promised to them. Without there being much sign of any explicit polemic against, even ‘polemical parallelism’93 with, the claims and presentations of the Roman empire, nonetheless, the letter’s depiction of Christian identity is such as to depict the impact of empire in essentially negative terms, and to insist that the basis for positive hope lies elsewhere. Insofar as Augustus was heralded – in Asia, among other places – as a saviour who brought good news, put an end to war, and whose birthday marked ‘the beginning of all things’, the letter does indeed present a counter-narrative, and one with certain elements of polemical parallelism in it.94 Yet it does this not by any direct or explicit confrontation, but rather by locating the readers within an identity-defining narrative which offers a fundamentally different perspective on their existence, one which first dislocates them from the empire and then locates their positive hopes elsewhere. But what difference does this make in practice? How are ‘God’s chosen people’ to live in the world and relate to their neighbours, and specifically to the imperial authorities? These are issues taken up in the second major part of the letter, to which we now turn. 7.3.3. Conforming and resisting (2.11–5.11) Having described in the first major section of his letter the glorious salvation to which God has called his elect and holy people the author now deals with ‘the consequences for the behavior of Christians in the structures of society’.95 It is notable that the opening two verses, 2.11-12, marked with the introductory ἀγαπητοί (cf. 4.12) and serving as a kind of headline to what follows, express 92 Bird, Abuse, for example, focuses entirely on exposing the ways in which the text reinforces oppressive relations. 93 The phrase derives from Adolf Deissmann, who suggested that Christian claims about Christ were expressed using terms also familiar from their application to the deified emperors or from the context of emperor worship, such that ‘there arises a polemical parallelism between the cult of the emperor and the cult of Christ’ (Deissmann, Light, 346). Cf. also Paul Barnett, ‘Polemical Parallelism: Some Further Reflections on the Apocalypse’, JSNT 35 (1989), 111–20; Justin J. Meggitt, ‘Taking the Emperor’s Clothes Seriously: The New Testament and the Roman Emperor’, in Christine Joynes (ed.), The Quest for Wisdom: Essays in Honour of Philip Budd (Cambridge: Orchard Academic, 2002), 143–69 (157). 94 See, e.g., the announcements made by the assembly and the governor of Asia c. 9 bce in Price, Rituals and Power, 54–55. 95 Goppelt, I Peter, 151.

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both dimensions of the Christians’ ambivalent relationship to the world. Their distinction and distance is first expressed in an emphatic repetition of their estranged identity (ὡς παροίκους καὶ παρεπιδήμους) which requires separation from ‘fleshly desires’ (σαρκικῶν ἐπιθυμιῶν) – evidently the kinds of desire that shaped their former existence and continue to characterize the lives of those among whom they live (4.2-4). But another Leitmotif of the letter is also stressed here: the need to ‘do good’, that is to live in such a way that those who currently criticize and condemn the Christians may be ‘won over’ (2.12-15; 2.20; 3.6; 3.11-17; 4.19). Although the recognition of the Christians’ goodness may not come about till the eschaton (cf. 2.12), the author’s notion of what is ‘good’ is evidently (taken to be) shared at least to some degree in common with those outside, since the hope is that good conduct will be seen as such here and now (cf. 2.15; Rom. 12.17).96 The author expresses some optimism about the possibility that Christians might, after all, gain the favour of hostile outsiders through their good conduct (cf. 2.12-15; 3.1-2; 3.13-17), a kind of optimism – the belief that convincing argument and virtuous conduct might yet persuade – we continue to encounter in the writings of apologists like Tertullian, who echoes 1 Peter in his arguments against those who condemn the Christians purely on account of their name (Apol. 2–3). Such optimistic appeals for Christian good conduct do not, then, by any means presume a context free of imperial hostility or persecution; the context for an apologia can include the court-room (1 Pet. 3.15).97 What this ‘doing good’ means is specified in the various sections of the domestic code material. Slaves are to submit to their masters, even those who are wicked, and even when they are unfairly beaten (2.18-20). Wives are likewise to submit to their husbands, whether or not those husbands are believers (3.1-6). Indeed, their decently submissive conduct – a particular example of doing good – is intended to function as a form of missionary appeal, with the aim of gaining their husbands for the faith.98 Just as Elliott is right to stress the ways in which the letter as a whole aims to strengthen the distinctive identity and group cohesion of the Christians in Asia Minor, so I think Balch is right to stress that the domestic code instruction, and more generally the practical instruction of the letter, represents a conformity to broader social expectations as part of the attempt to lessen hostility from outside.99 96 See §6.3 n. 79. For reflections on the ‘common good’ as presumed by Paul, see Horrell, Solidarity, 261–67; Victor Paul Furnish, ‘Uncommon Love and the Common Good: Christians as Citizens in the Letters of Paul’, in Dennis P. McCann and Patrick D. Miller (eds), In Search of the Common Good (London and New York: T&T Clark, 2005), 58–87. 97 See §6.3 with n. 81. 98 It should not be assumed that all, or even most, of the wives in the Christian community were in this situation, though the implication is that at least some were (see §4.4.3 with nn. 153– 54). However, the situation of a ‘mixed marriage’ would be one of particular difficulty. 99 Balch, Wives, 105, sees the code being used by ‘the author of 1 Peter to stress the importance of Christians seeking peace and harmony in their household relationships and with society’. By contrast, Elliott argues that ‘the household code … was used to promote both the internal solidarity of the sectarian movement and its external distinction from Gentile motives

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Indeed, the author’s desire that the readers conform quietly and decently to the standards of the world is also apparent in the instructions in 2.13-17, which are a particularly crucial focus for our investigation. Echoing Rom. 13.1-7, the author instructs that the addressees be subject to the emperor and his governors, whose task is to punish evil behaviour and reward that which is good (2.13-14). Moreover, they are specifically to honour the emperor (2.17). As Warren Carter has shown, in an interesting essay drawing on Scott’s work to interpret 1 Peter, this appeal for quiet conformity represents a kind of survival strategy in a particular context of hostility and persecution.100 One common and understandable response to the pressures and threats of imperial domination is simply to keep a low profile, to be quietly obedient as far as possible (cf. 1 Thess. 4.11-12). But is Carter also right to suggest that the author expects his readers to ‘go all the way’ in conforming to the demands of the empire, including participation in worship of the emperor? Their form of resistance, Carter suggests, is only an internal one: outwardly they conform in all respects to the requirements of the imperium, but inwardly, ‘in their hearts’, they revere Christ (3.15). However, there are a number of facets of 2.13-17 that suggest that the author’s strategy is more nuanced, and the negotiation between conformity and resistance different from that which Carter suggests. First, it is relevant to note that the appeal for submission to the emperor is framed as part of an appeal to submit to every human κτίσει,101 such that the emperor is one instance – but by no means a unique one – where this pattern of conduct is appropriate. Second, whatever the author exactly means by ἀνθρωπίνῃ κτίσει here, it would seem that he implicitly denies any claim that the emperor is θεῖος, ‘divine’.102 Third, he indicates that Christians are ‘free people’ (ἐλεύθεροι), or rather, are slaves (only) to God, even though he insists that this freedom does not provide a justification for acting in ways that are wicked (2.16). Fourth, and most crucially, he allows only that the emperor be honoured, not worshipped, and again only as an instance of the honouring that is due to all people: πάντας τιμήσατε, τὴν ἀδελφότητα ἀγαπᾶτε, τὸν θεὸν φοβεῖσθε, τὸν βασιλέα τιμᾶτε (‘Honour everyone. Love the family of believers. Fear God. Honour the emperor’ 2.17, NRSV).103 The structure of this compact exhortation is understood in various ways; most plausible, given the use of the aorist tense and manners’ (Elliott, Home, 231, my emphasis; cf. 115, 140, 229). On the latter view it is difficult to see why the code of conduct presented in the letter should bear such striking similarity to that which was widely promoted as socially respectable. 100 Carter, ‘Going All the Way?’ 101 Meaning here that which has been created, which may refer to human ‘institutions’ (so NRSV, ESV, etc.) or to human ‘creatures’, so Elliott, 1 Peter, 489. 102 As Elliott, 1 Peter, 489, remarks: ‘With this expression, imperial power is subtly but decisively demystified, desacralized, and relativized … In contrast to devotees of the imperial cult … Christians respect the emperor and his representatives only as human creatures, due only the deference owed to all human beings.’ 103 The meaning of φοβέομαι in this context, as with the Latin timeo, is well captured by L-N §53.58: ‘to have profound reverence and respect for deity, with the implication of awe bordering on fear – “to reverence, to worship”’.

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for the opening instruction and the present for the following three, is to see the first imperative as a summary or headline exhortation, which is then specified with respect to three particular relationships.104 How crucial this formulation is may be illustrated from the later Acts of the Scillitan Martyrs (180 ce), in which exactly the same distinction appears: ‘We have none other whom we worship105 but our Lord God who is in heaven … Honour to Caesar as Caesar, but worship only to God’ (Nos non habemus alium quem timeamus nisi domnum Deum nostrum qui est in caelis … Honorem Caesari quasi Caesari; timorem autem Deo, Act. Scil. 8–9).106 The point, of course, is that precisely this level of polite (non)conformity is sufficient to be regarded as an obstinate refusal to conform to the demands of the empire, and as such a form of resistance that carries the death penalty (cf. also Mart. Pol. 10–11; Mart. Apollonius 37).107 The occasion for its utterance is essentially the same as that with which Pliny also (much earlier in the second century) confronted those accused as Christians: the requirement to sacrifice to the emperor and/or the Roman gods (Pliny Ep. 10.96).108 Tertullian spends a significant amount of his Apology (Apol. 29–36) insisting that, while Christians do refuse ‘to offer sacrifice for the well-being of the emperor’ (Apol. 28.2; cf. 10.1), they show respect and loyalty towards him, praying for his welfare (Apol. 30.1; 33.1; etc.). Tertullian echoes 1 Peter in his remarks: ‘Of course, I will call the emperor Lord, but only in the customary meaning of the word, if I am not forced to call him Lord in place of God. So far as he is 104 See esp. Scot Snyder, ‘1 Peter 2:17: A Reconsideration’, Filologia Neotestamentaria 4 (1991), 211–16; also Martin, Metaphor, 204; Porter, Idioms, 54, cf. 227. The main alternative is to understand the structure chiastically, so esp. Ernst Bammel, ‘The Commands in I Peter II.17’, NTS 11 (1964–65), 279–81; followed, e.g., by Elliott, 1 Peter, 497, who further notes how this draws a distinction between external relations (A, A′) and internal relations (B, B′). For a more detailed analysis, related to the strategy of 1 Peter, see David G. Horrell, ‘“Honor everyone …” (1 Pet. 2.17): The Social Strategy of 1 Peter and its Significance for the Development of Christianity’, in Stephen K. Black (ed.), To Set at Liberty: Essays on Early Christianity and its Social World in Honor of John H. Elliott (Sheffield: Phoenix, forthcoming). 105 On the meaning of timeo here, see n. 103 above. 106 Latin text from Herbert Musurillo, The Acts of the Christian Martyrs: Introductions, Texts and Translations (OECT; Oxford: Clarendon, 1972), 88. Also cited in Feldmeier, Brief des Petrus, 110 n. 364, and also earlier, as part of the testimonia veterum for 1 Peter, by Bigg, St. Peter and St. Jude, 11. The appearance of the same motif in both texts raises questions about Marta Sordi’s claim that it was these late-second-century martyrs who ‘were the first to formulate reasons why their refusal had to be made’ (Sordi, Christians, 177). First Peter already sets out the distinction precisely. 107 Bird, Abuse, 82, rejects my argument regarding 1 Pet. 2.17 on the grounds that ‘there is very little evidence to suggest that people in the first century would have seen “honoring the emperor” as any different in meaning from “worshipping a god”’, yet without considering or citing any of the evidence such as presented here that indicates precisely the significance of the distinction. 108 The specific demand in Act. Scil. is to swear by the genius of the emperor (see Act. Scil. 3, 5). Cf. also Mart. Pol. 9.2; Tertullian Apol. 32.2–3; Minucius Felix, Oct. 29.5; Origen, C.Cels. 8.64–65; Apology of Phileas (see chapter 2 above, n. 117). On the religio-political nature of such demands, see §6.4 n. 110.

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concerned, I am a free man. For, I have one Lord, the omnipotent and eternal God …’ (Apol. 34.1).109 Theophilus of Antioch (c. 180 ce) makes similarly emphatic comments about emperor worship, drawing clearly and extensively on the language of 1 Pet. 2.17: ‘I will pay honour (τιμήσω) to the emperor not by worshipping (προσκυνῶν) him but by praying for him … worship must be given to God alone’ (Ad Auto. 1.11).110 Carter uses Pliny’s test (and the indication that some of those who had formerly been Christians did what was required) as evidence that (some) Christians did indeed ‘go all the way’ in honouring, even worshipping, the emperor.111 While there may of course have been some who yielded to the pressure to do this, and perhaps even thereby raised for the Church the question about what to do with apostates who later wanted to return (cf. Heb. 6.4-12; 10.24-39), the point of Pliny’s test, which Pliny knows all too well, is that it serves well to identify true Christians, since they will never curse Christ or sacrifice to the emperor and the Roman gods (see §6.4).112 And, from the Christian side, 1 Peter draws this line of resistance quite clearly. It is hard, therefore, to agree with Goppelt that the issue of ‘divine homage paid to the emperor’, which Goppelt sees arising especially in the time of Domitian, ‘lies quite clearly outside the purview of 1 Peter’.113 Given the rather precise parallels in the later Martyr-Acts, it is remarkable that scholars see this verse

109 ET from Rudolph Arbesmann, Emily Joseph Daly, and Edwin Quain (eds), Tertullian, Apologetical Works, and Minucius Felix, Octavius (The Fathers of the Church: a New Translation, 10; Washington, DC: Catholic University of America Press, 1950). Cf. also Minucius Felix, Oct. 29.4–5. 110 Text and ET from Robert M. Grant, Theophilus of Antioch, Ad Autolycum (OECT; Oxford: Clarendon, 1970), 14–15. 111 Carter, ‘Going All the Way?’, 25. 112 Nonetheless, Carter is right to raise the important question of what, practically, honouring the emperor might mean, if it does not mean participation in the imperial cult. Yet the obvious answer is praying for the emperor, an established practice whereby Jews sustained a fragile modus vivendi in the empire, and one for which Christian epistles from roughly the time of 1 Peter explicitly call (1 Tim. 2.1-3; 1 Clem. 60.4–61.2; cf. also Polycarp, Phil. 12.3). Later, Tertullian stresses that Christians pray for the emperor and for the stability of the empire, while at the same time they refuse to swear by the emperor’s genius (Apol. 30.1–32.1). He also indicates their non-participation in imperial festivals (Apol. 35.1–5). Similarly, Origen emphatically stresses that Christians (and Jews) are commanded to avoid temples, altars, and images, and refuse to pray to images, even on pain of death, citing Deut. 6.13 and Exod. 20.3-5 (C.Cels. 7.64–66). Furthermore, in response to Celsus’ argument that the Christians should perform acts of propitiation to demons (πρὸς τοὺς διάμονας), and to rulers and emperors (ἐξευμενίζεσθαι καὶ τοὺς ἐν ἀνθρώποις δυνάστας καὶ βασιλέας; 8.61–63), Origen is insistent that only the one supreme God should be worshipped and prayed to (Ἕνα οὖν τὸν ἐπὶ πᾶσι … , with the ἕνα standing emphatically at the beginning of the sentence, 8.64). But he also sees this prayer to the one God as a way of praying for the welfare of others, well aware of the duty to be subject to the governing authorities (citing Rom. 13.1-2). ET from Henry Chadwick, Origen: Contra Celsum (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1965); Greek text in Miroslav Marcovich, Origines. Contra Celsum libri VIII (Vigiliae Christianae Supplements 54; Leiden: Brill, 2001). 113 Goppelt, I Peter, 45.

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as evidence against imperial persecution. Stephen Bechtler, for example, puts it clearly: the one passage in the letter in which the emperor is explicitly mentioned – 2.13-17 – tells against imperial persecution. Here the letter enjoins fear of God and honor of the emperor in a single breath and commands subjection to the emperor as ὑπερέχων. Nor does 1 Peter elsewhere exhibit the kind of hostility to, or at least wariness of, Rome to be expected in a document dealing with imperial persecution.114

Despite the tendency of most recent scholarship on 1 Peter to regard the suffering which the letter addresses as a consequence of informal public hostility rather than imperial persecution – on which see chapter 6 above – 2.13-17 actually fits rather well into a setting where a measured but conscious resistance to imperial demands is required. Indeed, without confrontation with the imperium as part of its context, the precise wording of 1 Peter 2.17 lacks a Sitz im Leben. The particular path the author treads between conformity and resistance may also be illustrated from 4.12-19, the text where the fiery ordeals suffered by the readers are most vividly and explicitly discussed (see §6.3). The suffering is depicted as a sharing in the sufferings of Christ, suffering in his name, and thus a cause for rejoicing and blessing (vv. 13-14). The contrast is then drawn between suffering as a murderer, thief, evildoer, or ‘meddler’ and suffering ὡς Χριστιανός (vv. 15-16). In keeping with his appeal to the readers to ‘do good’, the author insists that they should be sure never to be guilty of such crimes and misdemeanours as are listed first; this would indeed be a cause for shame. But the accusation of being Χριστιανός is another matter. This label should be borne with pride, not shame, and regarded as a means to glorify God (4.16). As shown in chapter 6, the tendency in most recent English-language studies of 1 Peter has been to regard the suffering experienced by the letter’s addressees as a matter of informal, local hostility and slander rather than official Roman persecution and possible execution. Again, Elliott’s work has been influential. He argues that what we are dealing with is ‘verbal rather than physical abuse’ which took the form of ‘harassment of Christians by local opponents’.115 There is thus no sign in 1 Peter of any confrontation with Rome;116 instead the letter reflects ‘a time of toleration and peaceful coexistence’.117 I have argued above (§6.4) that the similarities between the two depicted situations are much closer than Elliott suggests, and that the context Pliny depicts – where Christians are coming to trial, and are executed on the basis solely of acknowledging the name Christian, that is, for the nomen ipsum – is indeed relevant to our 114 Bechtler, Following, 50; cf. Elliott, 1 Peter, 502: ‘this passage [2.13-17] offers strong incidental support for the conclusion that Rome played no discernible role in the hostility and sufferings encountered by the addressees’; Michaels, 1 Peter, lxiii. 115 Elliott, Home, 80–81; cf. Elliott, 1 Peter, 791–94. 116 Elliott, Home, 86; cf. 143–45; Elliott, 1 Peter, 793. 117 Elliott, Home, 101.

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understanding of the specific label Χριστιανός in 1 Peter. Moreover, posing as alternative scenarios for 1 Peter either ‘local public hostility’ or ‘official Roman persecution’ is to bifurcate the analysis with a false either-or. Public and imperial hostility combined in the accusatorial process, which remained the Romans’ preferred mode for the judicial treatment of Christians until the Decian persecution of the third century. As I have argued in chapter 6, 1 Peter not only offers an insider’s window onto such contexts, where the specific label Χριστιανός was the crux around which everything turned, but also, and significantly, marks the earliest attempt to turn this stigmatizing label into one which, for insiders at least, is a badge of honour (see §6.5). Both the context and the strategy are, needless to say, highly relevant to a postcolonial reading of the letter. In its depiction of the setting in which this label might be applied – one of suffering, and one where other labels, such as murderer and thief, might also be suggested – the letter gives us an insider’s glimpse, or an underside glimpse, of the processes by which imperial power operated to censure the new movement. The hostility from the local populace, which certainly underlay the suffering, is also significant. The Christians’ self-disassociation from established patterns of politico-religious practice – their refusal to play their part in sustaining the pax deorum on which the pax romana depended – made them unpopular, and contributed to their being viewed as antisocial criminals who hated the rest of the human race (see §6.4). In other words, just as their (new) identity as dispersed aliens dislocates them from the empire, and inculcates a kind of postcolonial identity, so the hostility they now encounter as Χριστιανοί represents the reaction, both public and official, to their self-dislocation. And in this particular instance, when it comes to this stigmatizing and criminalized label, the author of 1 Peter insists that the name be boldly accepted, a strategy which at this point draws a clear line of resistance to imperial pressure, which is orientated precisely to achieve denial of the name (so Tertullian, Apol. 2.10–20). The name Χριστιανός also rather nicely illustrates one way in which the identity of the addresses of 1 Peter is a ‘hybrid’ one, a form of identity constructed, in Bhabha’s terms, in the encounter of colonizer and colonized, in a kind of ‘in-between’ space. The name itself is clearly a Latinism, a label created by hostile outsiders, probably Romans, which – not in its etymology per se, but in the contexts in which it is used – represents a negative judgement of this group (see §6.2). First Peter represents the earliest attempt to claim the label instead as a badge of identity which can be proudly worn; indeed, worn with what we might call polemical pride. Eventually, of course, this comes to be the identifier with which Christians name themselves, a product, ironically, precisely of their bruising encounters in the public realm and with the imperial power (see §6.5).

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7.4. Conclusion: polite resistance Reading the first letter of Peter with our ears attuned to the themes to which postcolonial studies draws our attention – the impact of imperial conquest/ colonization, the ways in which subject peoples negotiate their existence and identity under empire, the pressures to conform and the possible modes of resistance – thus presents us with a new way to assess the strategy of the letter, and the particular path it steers between conformity and resistance. More generally, postcolonial studies, and their nuanced approach to the patterns of relationship between imperial centre and dominated colony, offer a way beyond what has too often been a rather crude assessment of the antiimperial radicalism of some New Testament and early Christian texts, and the regrettable accommodation to empire of others.118 It is clear that the author of 1 Peter is no John of Patmos. The letter does not present the kind of ‘hidden transcript’ – a symbolic inversion of current realities, a vision of the empire’s imminent and violent destruction – such as we find in the book of Revelation.119 On the contrary, the author of 1 Peter calls his readers to conform as far as possible to the standards of goodness expected by the powerful: honouring the emperor, submitting to masters and husbands, living such innocent lives as to negate all criticism.120 One can see why some scholars have contrasted the vengeful anger of John with the ‘sweet reasonableness’ of the author of 1 Peter, even if one does not share the value judgements which underlie the labels.121 One can also imagine – a purely imaginary scenario, let 118 In a marvellously polemical footnote, Markus Bockmuehl mentions my first book (Horrell, Social Ethos, 272–80), alongside works by Klaus Wengst and Laurence Welborn, as indicative of a perspective (on the accommodation to the ‘status quo’ in 1 Clement) represented by ‘cultured despisers who have drunk deep at the fountains of suspicion on the rive gauche’ who cannot see in such accommodation ‘anything more than the terminal bourgeois rot of the pristine gospel of egalitarian deconstruction’ (Markus N. A. Bockmuehl, Jewish Law in Gentile Churches [Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 2000], 212 n. 114). Despite the colourful language I take the point, and hope that the present chapter represents a more appropriately nuanced and sympathetic analysis. There is some truth, I continue to think, in the developmental analysis, not least in relation to the evolution of a ‘love-patriarchal’ ethos, but it must not be crudely or one-sidedly stated. Postcolonial perspectives, I hope to have shown, can help to engender more nuanced perspectives on resistance and conformity, whether or not they derive from the rive gauche. 119 To echo the terms used by Miroslav Volf, the ‘difference’ John calls for is hard, while that of 1 Peter is softer: see Volf, ‘Soft Difference’. This does not necessarily mean that the author of the book of Revelation is addressing different kinds of Christian communities, with a different social location. John’s call to ‘come out’ from the world and resist the Beast may simply represent a more polemical and demanding challenge to his readers, whom he regards as too comfortably assimilated to the world. 120 It seems to me that these aspects of 1 Peter’s teaching are too little appreciated in the theological reading of the letter – drawing heavily on John Howard Yoder’s work – presented by Harink, 1 & 2 Peter, in which the teaching on subordination is, following Yoder, seen as ‘revolutionary’. 121 The phrase is from Leslie W. Barnard, Studies in the Apostolic Fathers and their Background (Oxford: Blackwell, 1966), 18, who is actually contrasting John’s ‘hatred of the

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it be stressed – John’s angry reaction to the letter of Peter, which he might well have seen as going much too far in accommodating to the demands of the Beast. Disagreement and argument about when and how to resist, and how far, if at all, to conform, are almost inevitably part of the discourse of popular movements which experience the censure and ire of the ruling powers.122 Yet at the same time, we have seen that it would be wrong to characterize the author of 1 Peter as someone who promotes a life of conformity and acquiescence to Rome among the converts in Asia Minor. There are a number of respects in which he encourages a stance of what we might call distance and resistance. First, there is the narrative of identity, a kind of hidden and alternative transcript, into which he inserts his readers, addressing them as refugees and aliens scattered by the power of Babylon – thus echoing the narrative which underpins John’s visions too – and founding their positive identity and hope on the scriptures and the God of Israel. With this move, not explicitly anti-imperial to be sure, the author presses his readers towards a particular form of postcolonial awareness, a perspective on empire, which they are now to see not as the manifestation of good news, the embodiment of peace on earth, but as the evil power which scatters God’s people. Moreover, their own hope for a positive inheritance lies elsewhere, but will arrive soon, at the apocalyptic arrival of God’s day. Even where the author is explicitly calling his readers to patterns of conduct that represent a degree of conformity to the empire’s dominion and to established social (household) structures, here too a line at which conformity stops is clearly drawn: Caesar will be honoured, but not worshipped. And in the label Χριστιανός, a label which itself emerges from the encounter between Christians and Roman outsiders, the clash of commitments comes to a head. From a Roman perspective, the label is an indication of criminality: one may disown the label, or die. From 1 Peter’s perspective, the label is one to be borne with pride, a way to honour God, even as one shares in the sufferings of Christ. In the bearing of the name, resistance finds concrete and specific expression. And ‘Christian’ identity is forged in the space and language of this encounter. The author’s stance towards the empire, then, and the one he commends to his readers, is one in which resistance and conformity are combined in a nuanced yet clear position – and one that was clearly of some influence for the position Roman Power and … sub-Christian ideas of vengeance’ with the ‘sense of order, sobriety of temper, sweet reasonableness and forgiving spirit’ of the author of 1 Clement; but the perspective on rulers expressed in 1 Clement is seen by Barnard as an early Christian teaching found in 1 Pet. 2.13-17, Rom. 13.1-7, 1 Tim. 2.1-3, and Tit. 3.1-3, 8. Barnard follows Selwyn’s suggestion that 1 Pet. 2.13-17 is nearest to the original form of this catechetical instruction (15–16). Moreover, Barnard is explicit in judging between the two perspectives on Roman rule: ‘We cannot doubt who is nearer to the mind of Christ’ (18) – and it is evidently not John of Patmos! 122 See further Wai Lan Joyce Sun, ‘This is True Grace of God: The Shaping of Social Behavioural Instructions by Theology in 1 Peter’, PhD thesis (University of Edinburgh, 2012), who develops a perspective on 1 Peter comparable with that outlined here – she depicts 1 Peter as displaying ‘differentiated resistance’ – and also presents extended comparison with Revelation and Diognetus.

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adopted by Christians in the following centuries. In relation to other authors and contexts, others have suggested phrases that might neatly encapsulate such a combination: ‘snarling sweetly’,123 practising a ‘sly civility’,124 or, to echo the marvellous proverb cited by Scott, bowing obsequiously, at the same time farting silently.125 Yet, while the narrative of identity the author of 1 Peter expresses is in a sense non-public, a ‘hidden’ transcript articulated for the Christian communities, his resistance is not hidden or ‘silent’, but in certain contexts and on certain points comes clearly and publicly into view, and can, as the later martyrs and apologists show, be articulated in such public contexts. Perhaps an alternative phrase better captures the particular strategy this author represents: he exemplifies polite resistance.

123 John M. G. Barclay, ‘Snarling Sweetly: Josephus on Images and Idolatry’, in Stephen C. Barton (ed.), Idolatry: False Worship in the Bible, Early Judaism and Christianity (London and New York: T&T Clark, 2007), 73–87. 124 Harry O. Maier, ‘A Sly Civility: Colossians and Empire’, JSNT 27 (2005), 323–49; cf. Bhabha, Location of Culture, 93–101. 125 The reference is to an Ethiopian proverb quoted by Scott, Domination, v: ‘When the great lord passes the wise servant bows deeply and silently farts.’

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Nicomedia BI

N THY

D AN

IA

PO

NTUS

Sinope N

Amisus

G A L AT I A Ancyra

ASIA C A P PA D O C I A PISIDIA

LYDIA

0

PAMPHYLIA

150km

SYRIA Provincial boundaries c.70-110CE Annexed to Galatia c.70-112CE

Map 1: The Roman Provinces of Asia Minor (late first century ce)

overleaf Map 2: The Road Network in Asia Minor

240

Heracleia

Byzantium

BI

Nicomedia

T

N HY

IA

Prusias

Claudiopolis

Nicaea

Flaviopolis

TROAS

Iuliopolis

M YSI A

Ancyra AEOLI S

PH RY G IA

Pergamum

ASIA

G A L AT I A

LYDI A

Smyrna

Sardis

Acmonia Synnada

I ONI A

Antioch PA R O R E IU S

Ephesus

Apamea Laodicea Iconium

CARI A P IS ID I A

LYCAONIA

Isinda

PAMPHYLIA

Perge

LYCI A

IS A U R IA

Side C IL IC IA

MA RE M 0

150km

IN ED ITE RRA N

TER NUM

EAN

SEA

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Sinope AN

D

PONTUS

N

Pompeiopolis Amisus Neoclaudiopolis PAP HL AGONI A

Gangra

Trapezus PO NTUS P O L E MO N IA C US

Amaseia PONTUS G ALATI CUS

Zela

Neocaesareia

Comana

Nicopolis

Sebastopolis

A R ME N IA MIN O R

Tavium Sebasteia

C A P PA D O C I A Caesareia

Germaniceia Anazarbus Tarsus

CILICIA PEDIAS

SYRIA

TR A C H E IA

Seleuceia

Provincial boundaries c.70 -110 CE Antioch

Provincial boundaries operative before or after c.70 -110 CE

Roads designed for wheeled traffic

Cities

Roads designed for pack animals

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Index of Biblical and Other Ancient Sources Old Testament Genesis 1.11-12 137 1.21 137 1.24-25 137 6–7 74 6.1-4 74 11.6 137 12.2 138 23.4 223 23.4 (LXX) 117 35.29 (LXX) 138n. Exodus 1.9 137n., 138 2.22 224n. 5.14 137n. 12.45 224n. 19.5 140 19.5-6 140 19.6 49, 138, 139, 228 20.3-5 233n. 23.11 138 23.22 (LXX) 139 24.3-9 22 32.10 138 33.13 138 34.24 138 Leviticus 18.24 138 19.2 227 20.17-18 137 21.13-14 137 21.17 137 22.10 224n. 25.23 118n.

25.47 224n. 16.12 143

Ezra 8.35 224n.

Numbers 19 22

Esther 3.13 137n. 6.13 137n.

Deuteronomy 4.12 95, 95n. 4.13 95n. 4.37 223n. 6.13 233n. 7.6 139 7.6-7 138 7.6-8 223n. 23.7 224n. 23.8 (LXX) 224n. 28.25 (LXX) 21 29.16-18 121 30.4 (LXX) 21 Joshua 4.14 137n. 11.21 137n. 1 Samuel 27 17.10 (LXX) 178 2 Samuel 27 21.21 (LXX) 178 23.9 (LXX) 178 1 Kings 27 2 Kings 27 1 Chronicles 5.10 224n. 19.15 118

Job 28.22 95 Psalms 33 (LXX)

61, 62 63, 64, 66, 69, 71, 84n. 33.13-17 (LXX) 84 33.15 (LXX) 64 33.16-17 (LXX) 84 33.21 (LXX) 64, 67 33–34 (LXX) 56, 63, 66, 71 34 (LXX) 67, 84n. 38.13 (LXX) 117, 118n. 39.12 118n. 78.68 223n. 86.13 95 88.4 (LXX) 223n. 104.6 (LXX) 223n. 104.43 (LXX) 223n. 105.5 (LXX) 223n. 117.22 (LXX) 29, 142 118.22 142, 228 135.4 223n. 146.2 21 Proverbs 3.34 (LXX)

24

Index of Biblical and Other Ancient Sources

276

Isaiah 32 3.16–4.1 125n. 8.14 228 8.14 (LXX) 29 10.3 84 22.4 137n. 28.16 29, 228 41.8-9 223n. 42.5 137n. 42.6 138n. 43 162 43.20 49, 140, 140n. 43.20-21 228 43.21 140 44.1 223n. 46.1-10 121 49.6 21, 138n. 52.13–53.12 22, 23 53 22, 49 53.7 22

1.2 52 1.14 52 2.2 (MT) 51 2.2-9 52 2.3 (LXX) 51 3.5-8 52

Jeremiah 48n. 31.33 143 38.1 137n. 38.35 137n. 38.37 137n. 51.45 143

Apocrypha and Pseudepigrapha

Lamentations 48n. 2.22 224n. Ezekiel 12.3 116n. 34.1-31 30 37.27 143 Daniel 4.1 13 6.26 13 Hosea 142n. 1–2 140 2.23 228 Jonah

48, 48n., 50, 51, 52, 53

Habbakuk 3.16 224n. Zephaniah 2.8 (LXX)

178

Haggai 2.9 140, 140n. Malachi 3.17 140, 140n.

1 Esdras 1.4 138n. 1.32 137n., 138n. 1.34 138n. 1.49 138n. 2.5 138n. 5.9 138n. 8.10 138n. 8.13 138n. 8.64 138n. 8.66 138n. Addition to Esther 8.21 137n., 140 Judith 5.10 138n. 6.2 138n. 6.5 138n. 6.19 138n. 8.20 138n.

8.32 138n. 9.14 138n. 11.10 138n. 12.3 138n. 13.20 138n. 15.9 138n. 16.17 138, 138n. 16.24 138n. 1 Maccabees 1.41-64 121 5.2 137 12.21 137 15.16-24 224n. 2 Maccabees

49, 49n., 50, 53– 54, 137 1.27 21 5.22 137, 138n. 5.27–7.41 48 6.7-9 49 6.10 49 6.12 138n. 7.16 138n. 7.28 137 7.38 138n. 8.9 138, 138n. 12 91 12.31 138n. 12.43-44 91 14.8-9 138n. 3 Maccabees 52n., 137 3.2 138n. 6.4 138n. 6.9 138n. 6.13 138n. 8.9 138n. 7.10 138n. 4 Maccabees 18.15 64

Index of Biblical and Other Ancient Sources Wisdom 2.18–3.5 188 3.1 90n. 3.1-4 88n. 3.9 223n. 4.15 223n. 10.15 138 13–15 121 17.22 139n. 19.11 137 Sirach 46.1 223n. Bel and the Dragon 1.1-22 121 1 Enoch 6–16 74 10 74 10.13 74 2 Enoch 7.1-4 74 18.4 74 22.1 74n. 30.2-3 74n. Jubilees

139

Odes of Solomon 56, 59, 60, 62, 71 11.16-19 60 11.23-24 60 16.a-c 61 42.11-20 94 Psalms of Solomon 7.8 137n. 9.2 224n. 17.7 137n. Sibylline Oracles 94n. 1.377–79 94 1.378 94 3.271 224n. 8.310–11 94

8.310–14 94 Testament of Reuben 5.1-6 125n. New Testament Matthew 31n., 51 5.10 22 5.11 177, 178 5.11-12 22 5.16 22 5.44 16 10.22 178, 191n. 10.41-42 180, 181, 183 12.39 52 12.40 52, 95 12.41-42 52n. 13.47 141 16.18 29, 57 16.18-19 31 19.28 134n. 21.42-44 29n. 21.43 142 21.44 29n. 22.16 166 27.52 94n. 28.19 141n. Mark

10, 32, 33, 34 3.6 166 5.12-13 12 7.29 141 9.29 141 9.41 174, 180, 180n., 181, 183 10.1-45 28n. 11.17 141n. 12.10-11 29n. 12.13 166 12.39 51 13.8 141n. 13.13 178,

­277

191n. 13.20 223n. 13.22 223n. 13.27 223n. 16.4 51 Luke 32 1.51 24 1.67-79 13n. 2.31 142n. 2.32 141n. 6.22 177, 178 6.27-28 16 7.5 141n. 11.29 51 11.29-30 52 12.30 141n. 16.23 90 16.26 90 20.17-18 29n. 23.2 141n. John 1.29 23 1.36 23 1.42 29 3.17 89n. 4.23 92 5 92 5.24 92 5.24-25 92 5.25 92, 98 5.25-29 92 5.28 92 5.28-29 92 7.35 21 10.1-18 29 11.48 141 11.50-52 141, 141n. 13.31-32 182 14.20 15 15.4-11 15 17.5 92 17.10 182 17.21-26 15 18.35 141 19.36 64

278

Index of Biblical and Other Ancient Sources

20.29 95n. 21.15-17 30n. 21.15-19 31 21.16 29 Acts 11n., 30n. 4.6 141 4.25 142n. 4.27 141n., 142n. 4.36 141 5.29 187n. 5.40-41 174, 191n. 6 15 7.6 21 7.7 141n. 7.13 141 7.19 141 8.32 23 8.32-35 23 10.22 141n. 11.19-20 170 11.26 164, 165, 167, 168, 171, 172, 176, 200 11.26b 172n. 11.26-30 174 11.30 25 12.12 35 12.17 116n. 12.25 35 13.1-3 174 13.13 36 13.26 141 14.5 141n. 14.11 119n. 14.26–15.35 174 15.1-35 170 15.14 142 15.22 35 15.22-23 34, 35 15.36-40 36 15.40–18.5 34, 35 16.7 41 16.19-39 175

17.5-9 175 17.28-29 141 18.2 141, 200 18.10 142 19.23-40 175 20.17 128n. 20.28 30, 32, 128n. 21.17-28 41 24.2 141n. 24.10 141n. 24.17 141n. 25.16 189 26.4 141n. 26.17 142n. 26.23 141n., 142n. 26.24–27.2 175 26.28 164, 175, 176 28.19 141n. Romans

7, 10, 19n., 28 1.7 12 1.25 13n. 3.8 41 3.25 23n. 3.27–4.22 26 4 26n. 4.17-18 141 4.25 22 5.1 29 5.2 29 5.9 23n. 6.11 19 6.18 19 7.3 169n. 8.17 15n., 177n. 8.33 223n. 9 142n. 9.3 161, 161n. 9.25-26 142 9.32-33 29n. 9.33 28n., 29, 142n.

10.10 86n. 10.11 29n. 10.16 22 10.18 89 11.1 134n. 11.24-36 89 11.25-26 89 12 16 12–13 16 12.2 18 12.6 15 12.6-8 15 12.17 16, 230 13 17 13.1-2 233n. 13.1-4 187 13.1-7 16, 17, 17n., 18, 19, 187, 205, 231, 237n. 13.3-4 187 15.4 143 15.6 182 15.9-10 163 15.10 141n., 142n. 15.11 142n. 15.19 89 15.21 22 15.26 129n. 16.11 161n. 16.16 14 16.21 161n. 1 Corinthians

101, 131n. 1.1 12 1.3 12 1.11 126n. 1.12 39, 174 3.23 174, 201 6.15 161n. 6.20 182, 182n. 7.19 201 7.22 129n. 7.39 161n.

­279

Index of Biblical and Other Ancient Sources 9.4-14 128n. 9.5 39 9.7-10 118 10.1 50, 143 10.4 143 10.11 143 10.16 23n. 10.16-17 161n. 10.18 153 11.17-34 161n. 11.21 130n. 11.25 23n. 11.27 23n. 12.2 143 12.3 196n. 12.7 15 12.10 141 12.13 201 12.28 141 14.10 141 15.3-4 25 15.5 39 15.18 80 15.29 80, 99 15.51-52 80n. 16.15-18 128 16.20 14 2 Corinthians

7, 13n., 131n. 1.1 12, 129n. 1.2 12 1.3 13, 14n. 1.3-7 14 1.5-7 177n. 1.19 34, 35 6.14–7.1 143 6.16 143 10.7 174 11.10 , 129n. 11.23-25 22n., 175 11.26 141, 141n. 11.31 13n. 12.2 74n. 13.12 14

Galatians 7 1.1 12 1.3 12 1.14 141 2.7 31 2.9 25, 39 2.11 174 2.11-14 31 2.14 170, 200 2.14-15 141n. 2.15 161 3.8 78, 141 3.28 160, 201 5.6 201 6.7-8 118 6.15 201 Ephesians

7, 10, 12, 13n., 19, 27 1.2 12 1.3 13, 14n. 1.3-13 19 1.3-14 13, 14 2.19 21 4.8-10 92 4.9 94, 94n., 95 5.21–6.9 17, 205 6.5-9 124n. 6.11 24 6.16 24 Philippians 1.2 12 3.5 141 3.10-11 177n. Colossians 10, 27 1.2 12 1.23 89, 91 1.24 177n. 3.11 160, 201 3.12 223n. 3.18–4.1 17, 205 3.22–4.1 124n. 4.10 36 4.15 70

1 Thessalonians 80, 81, 97, 179 1.1 12, 34, 35 1.7-8 129n. 4–5 79 4.11-12 205, 231 4.13-18 78, 79, 80n. 5 16 5.15 16 5.26 14 5.27 70 2 Thessalonians 1.1 34, 35 1.2 12 3.11-12 205 1 Timothy 2.1-2

18, 187n., 205 2.1-3 233n., 237n. 2.1-4 16, 17 2.9-10 125 3.1-13 128n. 3.3 128n. 3.4-6 128 3.8 128n. 3.12 124n. 3.16 25, 85n. 4.13 70 5 125n. 5.1–6.2 18 6.1-2 124n. 6.10 128n. 2 Timothy 1.9-10 25 1.15 41 2.10 223n. 3.2 128n. 4.11 36 Titus 1.1

12, 21, 223n.

280

Index of Biblical and Other Ancient Sources

1.5-7 124n., 128n. 1.5-9 128n. 1.7 128n. 1.14 143 2.1-10 18, 205 2.2-4 127 2.14 25, 140, 143 3.1 16, 17, 17n., 18, 187n. 3.1-2 205 3.1-3 237n. Philemon 3 12 24 36 Hebrews 23, 28 2.17 143 4.2 78 4.6 78 4.9 143, 143 5.3 143 6.4-6 90, 90n. 6.4-8 207 6.4-12 233 7.5 143 7.11 143 7.18-19 154 7.27 143 8.6-13 154 8.10 143 9.7 143 9.11-15 154 9.11-27 22 9.19 143 9.25 143 9.25-28 90n. 9.27 90 10.24-39 207, 233 10.30 143 11.13 21 11.25 143 11.25-26 143 11.35-36 50 12.2 188

12.24 22 13.5 128n. 13.12 143 13.24 26n. James 1.1

25, 30n. 21, 23n., 134n. 1.2-3 23n. 1.10-11 23n. 1.21 23n. 2 26n. 2.1 174n. 2.7 174n. 2.14-24 26 4.6 10 23 4.7 24 1 Peter 1.1

12, 12n., 21, 23n., 38n., 102n., 103, 104, 117, 119n., 160, 162, 212 1.1-2 67, 223 1.2 12, 21, 22, 52, 54, 182, 227 1.2-3 160 1.3 13, 14n., 133 1.3-4 82, 83 1.3-7 14 1.3-9 13, 19, 53, 82 1.3-12 54, 160 1.3–2.10 133, 227 1.3–4.11 67, 68, 69 1.4 160 1.5 80, 225n., 227

1.5a 182 1.5-9 177 1.6 177, 227 1.6b 182 1.6-7 23n. 1.7 225n., 227 1.10-12 30 1.11 143, 188 1.12 74, 78, 182 1.13 225n., 227 1.13–2.3 227 1.14 18, 31n., 120, 122, 177, 216, 227 1.15 58 1.15-16 178, 227 1.17 21, 83, 104, 117, 160, 162, 182, 212 1.18 31n., 120, 182, 216 1.18-21 25 1.19 22, 49n., 54, 117n., 182, 227 1.21 54, 68, 69 1.20 25 1.22 58, 68, 69, 182 1.22-24 118 1.23 160 1.24 23n. 1.25 74, 78 2.1-2 23n. 2.1-10 153 2.2 117n., 160, 182 2.3 63 2.4 228 2.4-5 228

Index of Biblical and Other Ancient Sources 2.4-8 29 2.4-10 133, 227 2.5 58, 66, 117n., 160n., 228 2.6-8 142n. 2.6-10 28n., 228 2.7 142 2.8 29, 58 2.9 3, 4, 31, 49, 49n., 59, 133, 134, 135, 139, 140, 140n., 141, 142, 143, 152, 153, 154, 161, 162, 163, 206 2.9a 141 2.9-10 133, 134, 153, 154n., 228 2.10 31n., 120, 140, 142, 216 2.11 21, 117, 160, 162, 177n., 212 2.11-12 178, 229 2.11–3.12 212 2.11–4.11 133, 227 2.11–5.11 229 2.12 17, 53, 84, 128, 132, 141, 162, 163, 230 2.12-14 117n. 2.12-15 205, 230 2.13 187 2.13-14 231 2.13-17 4, 16, 17, 17n., 19,

129n., 132, 205, 231, 234, 237n. 2.14 178, 187 2.14-15 128 2.15 184 2.16 117n., 129n. 2.17 132, 160, 187, 196n., 213, 231, 233, 234 2.18 130n., 182 2.18-20 123, 163, 212, 230 2.18–3.6 205 2.18–3.7 17, 123 2.18–3.17 28n. 2.19 17 2.19-20 177 2.20 17, 128, 179, 230 2.21 30, 188, 209 2.21-25 22, 25, 54, 160 2.23 83, 188 2.24 19 2.25 117n., 118 3 16 3.1 163, 205 3.1-2 84, 124, 230 3.1-6 124, 212, 230 3.2 124, 182 3.3-4 125 3.4 182 3.5-6 127 3.6 31n., 128, 160, 205, 230 3.8-17 178 3.9 16

­281

3.9-17 205 3.10 82, 83 3.10-11 84, 128 3.10-12 63 3.11 64 3.11-17 230 3.12 84 3.13-17 230 3.14 22 3.14-17 177 3.15 66, 163, 205, 230 3.15-16 53, 84 3.16 14, 84 3.16-17 128 3.17 17 3.18 58, 59, 188 3.18-19 85 3.18-22 25, 73, 74, 77, 82, 83, 98 3.19 73, 74, 75, 75n., 85n., 93, 94, 95, 95n., 96, 97, 98n., 99 3.19-20 3, 96 3.19-22 73 3.20 74 3.20-21 75 3.21 69n. 3.22 25, 75 4 197, 210 4.1 58, 59, 177, 188 4.1-2 54 4.1-6 83, 98 4.2-3 122 4.2-4 216, 230 4.3 83, 141 4.3-4 31n., 120 4.4 82 4.5 76, 82, 83, 84, 85

282 4.6

Index of Biblical and Other Ancient Sources

3, 58, 73, 74, 75, 75n., 76, 76n., 77, 78, 78n., 79, 80, 81, 82, 83, 84, 85, 88, 89, 89n., 91, 92, 93, 93n., 94, 94n., 95, 96, 96n., 97, 98, 98n., 99, 188 4.8 58 4.10 15 4.10-11 15 4.10-12 117n. 4.11 15 4.12 80, 177, 177n., 229 4.12-19 4, 177, 234 4.12–5.11 68 4.12–5.14 67 4.13 30, 188, 209, 225n. 4.13-14 234 4.14 22, 174, 190, 191n., 208 4.15 17, 183, 188, 197, 205 4.15-16 117n., 234 4.16 4, 6, 132, 164–210, 234 4.16a 186 4.17 74, 80, 160n.

4.17-18 83 4.17-19 227 4.18 82, 83, 84 4.19 58, 66, 128, 182, 183, 205, 230 5.1 30, 60, 188, 225n. 5.1-2 128n. 5.1-5 127 5.2 30, 32 5.2-4 118 5.3 117n. 5.5 127 5.5-9 23 5.8 82, 83, 117n. 5.8-9 24 5.9 160, 186n., 188, 213 5.9-10 177 5.10 14, 15n., 54 5.12 34, 34n., 41n., 117n. 5.12-13 33, 102n. 5.12-14 223 5.13 5, 35, 160 5.14 14, 182 2 Peter

10, 11, 17n., 27, 31, 31n., 38, 46, 48, 55, 56, 57, 58, 60, 61n., 62, 63, 66, 79, 80 1.2 60 1.17-18 22 2.1 59, 142n.

2.1–3.3 38 2.4-10 75 2.12 22 2.15 59 2.22 57 3.1 38, 56 3.3 59 3.3-13 78 3.9 84 3.14 59 3.15-16 38 3.16 38, 41 1 John 2.5-6 15 2.24 15 2.27 15 4.12-16 15 2 John 30n. 3 John 30n. Jude

10, 17n., 27, 38, 46, 55, 56, 59, 60, 61, 63 5 60 6 75 12 60 Revelation

236, 236n. 1.1 225 1.3 70 1.4 13 2.13 30n. 2.26 141n. 5.9 142n. 6.9-11 90 7.9 142n. 10.11 142n. 11.9 142n. 13.7 134n., 141n., 142n.

Index of Biblical and Other Ancient Sources 14.6 134n., 141n., 142n. 17.14 223n. 17.15 142n. 18.4 143 20.5 90 20.13 90 20.14-15 90 20.40-6 90 21.3 143 22.10 141 Early Christian Texts 1 Clement

Aelius Aristides Orationes 1.50 136n. 45.1 136n. Apocalypse of Peter 31 Apology of Phileas 56, 61, 62, 63, 64, 66, 150n., 162, 232n. 2 150

5 n. 7, 19, 38 3.3 127 5.1-7 39 25 39n. 37.4–38.1 39 42.4 168 42.4-5 128n. 44.4-5 128n. 47.1-4 39 49.5 39 57.1-2 127 59.4 143n. 60.4–61.2 187n., 233n. 64 140

Augustine Epistles 163 96 164.2 96 164.4 96 164.5 96 164.6 96

2 Clement 2.3 143n. 8.3 90

Clement of Alexandria 76, 162, 162n., 163n. Adumbrationes 95, 95n., 96n. Stromateis 2 96 2.9.43.5–44.1–3 96 3.10.70.1–2 150 6.5.41.6 164n. 6.5.42 150 6.6 96 6.6.37 95n. 6.6.44.5 96

3 Corinthians

55, 59, 60, 63

1.9-15 3.29-31 52

Acts of the Scillitan Martyrs 132n. 8–9 132

Barnabas 5.7 150n. 16.5-8 154 13.1-6 143n. 19.7 18 Basil De Spiritu Sanctu 51n.

­283

6.6.45.1 95 6.6.45.4 96 6.6.45.5 96 6.6.46.3 96 6.6.46.4–5 96 6.6.47.3 96 6.6.48.3–7 96 6.13.106.4 150 6.17.159.9 150 (Pseudo-)Cyprian De Pascha computus 150 17 151 Didache 171 3.5 128n. 4.10-11 18 11–13 128n. 12.4 164n., 172 15.1 128n. Diognetus 1 150 1.1 164n. 2.6 164n. 2.10 164n. 4.6 164n. 5.1 164n. 6.1-9 90n., 164n. Eusebius 172 Historia Ecclesiastica 36 2.14.6 115n. 2.15.2 224n. 2.17.1 115n. 2.25.4–5 187n. 3.1.2 120 3.3.1 47n. 3.3.4 47n. 3.3.6 71 3.4.2 120 3.16 71 3.25.2–3 48n. 4.7.11 183n. 4.9 189n.

Index of Biblical and Other Ancient Sources

284

4.22.5–7 166n., 167n. 4.23.11 71 5.1.14 183n. 5.1.20 191 5.1.26 183n. 5.1.47 195n. 6.419–13 190n. 8.9.5 206n. 9.5.2 183n. Euthalius

57, 57n.

Gospel of Peter 31 10.41-42 93 Hermas 96 Similitude 9.16.5 93 Hippolytus 68 Apostolic Tradition 69 Ignatius 171, 206 Epistle to Diognetus 164 Epistle to the Ephesians 11.2 164n. 14.3 164n. Epistle to the Magnesians 4.1 164n., 209, 209n. 10.1 164n. 10.3 164n. Epistle to the Philadelphians 6.1 164n. Epistle to the Romans 3.1 38 3.2 164n., 209, 209n. 3.3 164n.

Epistle to the Trallians 6.1 164n. Martyrdom of Polycarp 164, 232 3.2 164n. 7.3 164n. 9.3 196 10–11 187, 232 10.1 164n., 191, 205, 205n. 12.1-2 164n. Irenaeus Adversus haereses 3.4.2 119 3.20.4 94 4.22.1 94 4.27.2 95 4.33.1 94n. 4.33.12 94n. 5.31.1 94n., 95 Demonstratio 78

94 94n., 95

Dialogue with Trypho 51n. 35.6 167n. 72.4 94 116.3 160 Melito of Sardis 48n., 49, 49n., 68, 69, 72, 187n. On Baptism Frag. 8b, 42–44 94 Peri Pascha

48, 49, 53, 56, 59, 61, 61n., 63, 66, 71 12 49n. 43 154 68 49n. Minucius Felix Octavius 29.4–5 233n. 29.5 232n.

Martyrdom of Apollonius Jerome 119 Commentary on Galatians 37 232 119n. Nativity of Mary (Protevangelium of De viris illustribus James) 55, 59, 1 120 60, 62 1.1 115n. 11.1–6 60 8.2 224n. 19.1–20.4 60 Justin Origen 1 Apology 71n. Commentary on Matthew 4.1 169 51n. 4.5 169 26 183n. Contra Celsum 46.4 169 7.64–66 233n. 68.5–10 189n. 8.61–63 233n. 8.64 233n. 2 Apology 8.64–65 232n. 12 183n.

Index of Biblical and Other Ancient Sources Tertullian Ad nationes 1.7.9 192 1.7.34 151 1.8.1 151 1.20.24 151 Ad scapulam 5 206n. Ad uxorem 2 161n. Apology 164n. 1–4 187 2 195n. 2–3 230 2.5 183n. 2.10–11 191 2.10–20 234 3.5 169 4.3–5 193n. 5.3 187n. 6.11–7.5 183n. 10.1 232 10.1–2 184n., 196 28.2 232 29–36 232 30.1 232 30.1–32.1 233n. 32.2–3 232 33.1 232 34.1 233 25.1–5 233n. De anima 89n. 7.3 95 Scorpiace 10.10 151 Theophilus Ad Autolycum 1.1 169 1.11 233 1.12 169

Jewish Texts Josephus Antiquities 2.301 137n. 10.12 137n. 12.147–53 121n. 12.154 180 14.115 224n. 14.185–267 121n. 14.290 138n. 14.450 166n. 16.160–78 121n. 18.6 138n. 18.63–64 173n. 18.64 164n. 20.195 201n. Contra Apionem 161n. 1.1–2 138n. 1.59 138n. 1.106 138n. 1.130 138n. 1.160 138n. 2.8 138n. 2.220 138n. 2.288 138n. War 1.122 137n. 1.219 166n. 1.232 138n. 1.550 137n. 1.581 138n. 2.282 138n. 2.938 224n. 3.529–40 224n. 7.46 196n. 7.50–51 196n. Letter of Aristeas 298 169n. Philo De confusione linguarum 79 117n.

­285

De migratione Abrahami 62 137n. De sacrificiis Abelis et Caini 6–7 138n. 21 125 De specialibus legibus 1.127 123n. 3.159–62 109 De virtutibus 39–40 125 206–207 160n. Legatio ad Gaium 161n. 3–4 138n. 33 121 36 224n. 117 138n. 119 138n. 137 138n. 161 138n. 201 138n. 265 138n. 279 138n. Other Greek and Roman Texts Appian Bellum civile 2.2.13 136n. 2.26.107 136n. 3.35.140 136n. 3.82 166n., 167 3.91 166n. Roman History 5.6.1 167n. Aristophanes Nomina aetatum 117n.

286

Index of Biblical and Other Ancient Sources

Aristotle 212 Politics 7.2.5 136n. Callixenus Fragments 2 117n. Cassius Dio Roman history 124n. 36.41.1 136n. Cicero Pro Flacco 28.66–89 121n. Columella Res rustica 1.8.1–1.9.9 109n. 1.8.2 109n. 1.9.7–8 109n. Diodorus Siculus 136 Bibliotheca historica 1.44 167n. 1.83.8 117n.

2.365 137n. 2.459 135n. 2.469 135n. 3.32 135n. 12.23 136n. 13.108 137n. 13.354 136n. Justinian Digest 1.4.1.1 192n. 1.18.13 190n. Lucian Alexander 25 38

164n. 164n., 166n.

De morte Peregrini 11–13 164n. 16 164n. Musonius Fragments 124n.

Dionysius of Halicarnassus 136

Onosander De imperatoris officio liber 1.1 128n.

Epictetus Discourses 1.19.19 166n.

Plato 212 Spuria p.365b 117n.

Herodotus 1.56–57 136n. 1.57 135n. 1.101 136n. 5.77 135n. 7.161 135n. 8.73 135n. Homer Iliad 2.87 135n. 2.91 135n.

Pliny

5n., 171, 183–197, 234

Epistulae 10.19 194n. 10.31 194n. 10.32 194n. 10.43 194n. 10.45 194n. 10.47 194n. 10.68 194n. 10.69 194n. 10.79.5 194n.

10.96

4, 186n., 232 10.96–97 164n., 183 10.96.1 194n. 10.96.3 184n., 190 10.96.4 186n. 10.96.7 205n. 10.96.9 120, 129, 130 10.97.2 185n., 196 10.114 194n. 10.117 190n., 194n. Natural History 3.20.126 226n. Plutarch 136 Moralia 140D 124n. 141E 125 144D 125n. 145E–146 125n. Roman lives 26.3 137n. 54 167n. Polybius Histories 4.4.1 117n. 4.4.2 117n. 5.57.2 169n. 30.2.4 167n., 169n. 32.6.4 117n. 33.15.2 117n. Polycarp Philippians 12.13 233n. Oxyrynchus Papyri 37.17-18 180

Index of Biblical and Other Ancient Sources Domitian Res Gestae Divi Augusti 225–226n. 13 187 26 226n. Nero 16.2 151, Seneca 164n., De ira 175, 3.29.1 109n. 187n., 193n., Sophocles 200– Oedipus Tyrannus 201n., 201 1383 136n. Strabo 136 13.1.55 167n.

Tacitus

170, 171, 192

Annals 15.44 152, Suetonius 170 164n., Claudius 175, 25.4 171, 187n., 171n., 188n., 175n., 193n. 200, 201n.

Histories 5.5.3 193n. Virgil 225 Aeneid 6.853 225n.

­287

­

Index of Authors Abrams, D. 162n., 200n., 207n. Achtemeier, Paul J. 5n., 19n., 25n., 30n., 34n., 35n., 46n., 73n., 75n., 78, 78n., 79, 79n., 81, 81n., 82, 82n., 85n., 87n., 88, 88n., 89n., 90, 90n., 115n., 117n., 125n., 134, 134n., 153, 153n., 177n., 179n., 180, 180n., 182n., 189n., 191n. Adams, Edward 80n., 102n. Aland, Barbara 47n. Aland, Kurt 47n. Alexeev, Anatoly 34n. Alföldy, Geza 101n., 106n., 109, 109n., 110n. Allison, Dale C. 52n. Alston, Richard 156n. Applegate, Judith K. 34 Arbesmann, Rudolph 233n. Ashcroft, Bill 219n., 221n. Assmann, Jan 27n. Atkins, Margaret 102n. Aune, David 90, 90n. Austin, W. G. 162n. Avruch, Kevin 155n. Bakhtin, Mikhail 26 Balch, David 4, 17n., 124n., 163n., 191n., 211–38 Balz, Horst 78n. Bammel, Ernst 232n. Barclay, John M. G. 107, 107n., 130n.134n., 154n., 155n., 156, 156n., 160n., 179n., 204n., 219n., 238n.

Barnard, Leslie W. 236n., 237n. Barnes, T. D. 185n., 190n., 191, 191n., 192, 192n., 193n., 194n., 195, 195n., 200n. Barnett, Albert 7, 7n., 10, 13, 14n., 17, 17n. Barnett, Paul 229n. Barrett, C. K. 92n., 176n. Barth, Fredrik 155n. Barton, Stephen C. 238n. Bassler, Jouette M. 125n. Batomsky, S. J. 106n. Batten, Alicia J. 22n., 125n., 127n. Bauckham, Richard J. 11, 29n., 31n., 38n., 40n., 43, 43n., 60n., 80, 80n., 92n., 97n. Bauer, David R. 153n. Bauman-Martin, Betsy J. 153n., 223, 223n., 225n. Baumgarten, A. I. 208n. Baur, Ferdinand Christian 43, 43n., 44, 170n. Beare, Francis W. 5n., 8, 8n., 29n., 30n., 33n., 34n., 46n., 58n., 75n., 86n., 102n., 125n., 126n., 177n., 183n., 189n., 211 Beasley-Murray, George R. 92n. Bechtler, Steven R. 115n., 116, 117n., 118n., 121n., 186n., 189n., 213n., 215, 215n., 224n., 234, 234n. Bellinger, William H. 22n. Benko, Stephen 193n., 196n. Berger, Klaus 12, 17n., 18, 18n., 28n. Bertram, Georg 138n., 139

290

Index of Authors

Best, Ernest 10, 19n., 21n., 75n., 82n., 83, 83n., 84n., 85n., 89n. Bethge, Hans-Gebhard 46n., 47n., 49n., 53, 53n., 71, 71n. Beyschlag, K. 39, 39n. Bhabha, Homi K. 220, 220n., 221, 221n., 222, 223n. Bickerman, Elias 165n., 166, 166n., 167, 167n., 168, 168n., 169n., 173, 173n., 189n. Bikerman, see Bickerman Bigg, Charles 24n., 152n., 164n., 180n., 186n., 232n. Bird, Jennifer G. 115n., 217n., 229n., 232n. Birley, Anthony R. 184n., 206n. Black, Clifton C. 10, 10n., 31n., 32n., 37, 37n., 44n. Black, Stephen K. 232n. Blakeney, E. H. 180n. Blasi, Anthony J. 198n., 211n. Bobichon, Philippe 94n. Bockmuehl, Markus 32n., 40n., 154n., 236n. Boer, W. den 184n. Boismard, M.-É. 69n., 70n., 171, 172n. Bony, Paul 10, 30n. Boobyer, G. H. 38n. Boring, M. Eugene 11, 11n., 75n., 78n., 134, 134n., 225n. Bornemann, W. 67, 67n., 68, 71, 84n. Bornkamm, Günther 19n. Botermann, Helga 115n., 164n., 167n., 168n., 169n., 171, 171n., 173, 173n., 174, 174n., 175, 175n., 176, 176n., 194n., 200n. Bovon, François 8n., 26n., 43n. Boyarin, Daniel 207n. Boys-Stones, George 156n. Bradley, Keith 109n., 123n., 124, 124n., 127n.

Bremmer, Jan N. 164n., 171n., 191n. Brett, Mark G. 118n., 158n. Brodie, Thomas 27, 27n., 28n. Brooks, Oscar S. 69n. Broughton, T. R. S. 109n., 111n., 117n., 123n. Brown, Alexandra 157n. Brown, Jeannine K. 178n., 179, 179n. Brown, Raymond E. 92n., 186n. Brown, Rupert 199n., 200, 200n. Brox, Norbert 5n, 8n., 15n., 19n., 21n., 23n., 29n., 31n., 32n., 34n., 35, 35n., 37n., 40, 40n., 42n., 43n., 73, 73n., 76n., 78n., 87n., 94, 95n., 120n., 134n., 154n., 179n., 182n., 189n., 224n. Brusten, M. 203n. Büchsell, F. 141n. Buell, Denise Kimber 4, 133n., 135n., 150n., 154, 155n., 156n., 157n., 158, 158n., 161, 162, 162n., 163 Bultmann, Rudolf 70n. Cadbury, Henry J. 165n., 166n., 167n., 170n., 173n. Calvin, John 120n., 212n. Cameron, Averil 158, 158n. Campbell, Barth L. 177n., 188n. Campbell, R. Alastair 30n., 127, 127n. Carrington, Philip 8n., 10 Carson, Don. A. 29n. Carter, Warren 217n., 231, 231n., 233, 233n. Castelli, Elizabeth A. 207n. Casurella, Anthony 1n. Catchpole, David R. 51n., 52n. Chadwick, Henry 233n. Charlesworth, James 60, 61n. Cheng, Patrick S. 208n. Chester, Andrew 10, 26n.

Index of Authors Childers, J. W. 70n. Chow, John K. 101n. Clarke, Andrew D. 101n. Cohen, Shaye J. D. 156, 156n. Collins, John J. 94n. Conrad, Joachim 58, 58n. Cook, John Granger 174n., 176n., 178n., 184n., 185n., 189n., 190n., 192n., 193n., 194n., 195n., 196n. Cooper, Nicholas J. 219n. Corley, Bruce 9n., 36n., 44n., 81n., 213n. Corley, Kathleen 10, 10n. Cornell, Stephen 157n. Cornell, Tim 156n. Coser, Lewis 202n. Cosgrove, Charles 155 Cranfield, C. E. B. 75n. Cross, Frank Leslie 46n., 68, 68n., 69, 69n. Crossan, John Dominic 93n. Crossley, James G. 170n. Dahl, Nils Alstrup 13, 13n., 14, 154n. Dalton, William J. 38n., 74n., 75, 75n., 76, 76n., 77, 77n., 78, 78n., 79, 79n., 80, 80n., 81, 81n., 82, 82n, 83, 83n., 84, 85, 85n., 86, 86n., 87, 87n., 88n., 90, 90n., 91, 92, 93, 93n., 95n., 97, 98, 99, 177n., 186n. Daly, Emily Joseph 233 Davids, Peter H. 75n., 78, 78n., 181n., 186n., 189n. Davies, W. D. 52n. De Ste Croix, Geoffrey E. M. 109n., 110n., 113n., 117n., 183n., 184n., 185n., 187n., 190, 190n., 192n., 193, 193n., 194n., 195, 195n., 196n., 201n., 206n.

­291

Deissmann, Adolf 100, 166, 166n., 229n. DeMaris, Richard 91, 91n. Dennis, Rutledge 155n. Doering, Lutz 6n., 12, 13n., 21n., 28n., 29n., 30n., 37n. Downing, Gerald F. 183n., 191, 191n., 194, 194n. Dubis, Mark 120n., 182n., 184n., 211n., 213n. Duhaime, Jean 184n., 211n. Duncan-Jones, Richard 105n., 106, 109n., 110n., 114n. Dungan, David L. 36n. Ebertz, Martin N. 203n. Edwards, Richard A. 51n. Egan, Patrick 61n. Ehrman, Bart D. 45n., 60n. Eisenstadt, S. N. 203n. Elliott, John H. 1, 1n., 3, 4, 5n., 9, 9n., 10, 11, 11n., 19n., 22n., 25n., 29n., 32n., 33, 33n., 34n., 35, 35n., 36n., 41n., 42n., 44, 44n., 46n., 49n., 67n., 69, 69n., 72n., 75n., 78, 78n., 79, 79n., 81, 81n., 82, 82n., 83, 83n., 85n., 86n., 87n., 88n., 98, 98n., 103, 103n., 104, 104n., 105, 105n., 112n., 114, 115, 115n., 116, 117, 117n., 118, 118n., 119n., 120n., 121, 121n., 122, 123, 123n., 124, 124n., 125n., 125n., 126, 126n., 128, 128n., 129, 129n., 130, 131, 131n., 133, 133n., 134, 134n., 142n., 160n., 163n., 166n., 167n., 168n., 176n., 178n., 179n., 180, 181, 181n., 182, 182n., 183, 183n., 186, 186n., 188, 188n., 189, 189n., 211–38

292

Index of Authors

Elliott, J. K. 93n. Engberg, Jakob 184n., 189n., 192n., 193n., 194n. Epp, Eldon J. 45n. Eriksen, Thomas H. 157n. Esler, Philip 1, 139n., 157n., 183n., 189–90n., 198n., 225, 225n. Ewald, H. 119n. Fagbemi, Stephen Ayodeji A. 163n. Fanon, Frantz 221 Farmer, William R. 22n, Fascher, Erich 29, 29n. Feldmeier, Reinhard 5n., 20n., 31n., 33n., 40n., 78n., 90n., 115n., 117n., 118n., 120n., 123n., 134, 134n., 162n., 179n., 224n., 232n. Fenton, Joseph Clifford 150n. Finley, Moses 105, 105n., 106, 106n. Finn, T. M. 122n. Fiorenza, Elisabeth Schüssler 10, 223, 223n. Fitzmyer, Joseph A. 186 Fornberg, Tord 38n. Foster, Ora D. 7, 7n., 12, 20n., 25n. Frankemölle, H. 78n. Frend, William H. C. 189n., 190n., 193n., 194n., 195n., 201n. Frey, Jörg 6n. Friesen, Steven J. 100n., 102n., 106n., 107, 107n., 108, 108n., 111n., 130n. Furnish, Victor Paul 230n. Gamble, Harry Y. 63n., 70n., 71n. Gandhi, Leela 219n., 221, 221n., 222n. Gemünden, Petra von 23n. Gercke, A. 170n. Gikandi, Simon 220 Gillmayr-Bucha, Susanne 27n.

Giovannini, A. 192n., 194n., 195n., 201n. Gladigow, Burkhard 27n. Gnilka, Joachim 11 Goehring, James E. 46n., 48n., 49n., 53n. Goffman, Erving 198, 198n., 200 Goldstein, Jonathan A. 50, 50n. Goppelt, Leonhard 5n., 8n., 74n., 75n., 76n., 78n., 81, 81n., 86n., 162n., 177n., 185n., 188n., 194n., 196n., 229n., 233, 233n. Goulder, Michael D. 40n. Grant, Robert M. 233n. Graziosi, Barbara 156n. Green, Joel B. 52n., 78n., 130n., 134, 135n., 162n., 224n., 227 Greene, Kevin 105, 105n., 106n. Griffiths, Gareth 219n., 221n. Grivel, Charles 27 Gross, Carl D. 127n. Grudem, Wayne A. 5n. Grundmann, Walter 117n., 223n. Grunewald, Winfried 54n., 55, 56, 56n., 57n. Gschwind, Karl 73, 73n., 74n., 76n., 77n. Gundry, Robert H. 21n., 29n. Guthrie, Donald 5n. Guttenberger, Gudrun 11, 198n., 204n. Haeling, R. von 184n. Hagner, Donald A. 39n. Haines-Eitzen, Kim 55, 55n., 61, 62, 62n., 63n. Hall, Jonathan 135n., 136, 136n., 150n., 158, 158n., 162n. Hall, Stuart George 49n., 61n., 220 Harink, Douglas 75n., 78n., 213n. Harland, Philip A. 160n., 184n., 193n., 204n., 216, 216n.

Index of Authors Harnack, Adolf von 67, 67n., 150n., 151, 152, 152n., 165n., 168n., 171n., 175n. Harrill, J. Albert 225n. Harris, J. Rendel 150n. Harrison, James R. 166n. Hartmann, Douglas 157n. Haubeck, W. 9n. Head, Peter M. 35n., 48n., 70n. Hedrick, Charles W. 50, 50n. Hegedus, Tim 164, 167n., 169n., 189n. Hemer, Colin J. 119n., 166n., 173n. Hengel, Martin 29n., 32n., 36n., 39n., 42n. Henten, Jan Willem van 50n. Herzer, Jens 6n., 9, 9n., 12, 12n., 13n., 14, 14n., 15, 15n., 16n., 18, 18n., 20, 21n., 23n., 35, 35n. Hill, David 52n., 69n. Hillert, Sven 89n. Hogg, Michael A. 162n., 200n., 207n., 208n. Hohmeier, J. 203n. Holmberg, Bengt 102n., 124n. Hollander, August den 58n. Holloway, Paul A. 6n., 33n., 178n., 179n., 188, 188n., 189n., 190, 190n., 202n., 204n. Horrell, David G. 1n., 2n., 5n., 9n., 22n., 25n., 38n., 38n., 39n., 43n., 52n., 81n., 100n., 101n., 102n., 126n., 127n., 128n., 131n., 153n., 177n., 187n., 198n., 211n., 230n., 232n., 236n. Horsley, G. H. R. 200n., 217n. Hort, F. J. A. 119n., 139, 140n., 141n., 143, 143n. Hübner, Hans 8, 8n. Hunzinger, Claus-Hunno 5n. Hurtado, Larry W. 45n., 48n., 61n., 70n. Hutchinson, John 156n., 159n.

Huther, Johannes E. 98n.

­293 86n., 88n.,

Isaac, Benjamin 158n., 159, 159n. Israel, Hepzibah 223n. Jackson, F. J. Foakes 165n., 166n., 172n. Jackson, Peter 155n. Jensen, Robin Margaret 50n., 51, 51n. Jeremias, Joachim 51n., 52n. Jobes, Karen 3, 75n., 78n., 115, 115n., 116, 116n., 119n., 121n., 127, 127n., 134, 140n., 189n. Jones, E. E. 198n., 200n., 203n. Johnson Hodge, Caroline 135n., 154, 154n., 155n. Joseph, Abson Prédestin 225n. Joynes, Christine 229n. Judge, Edwin A. 100, 100n., 120n., 166, 166n., 169n., 174n. Jülicher, Adolf 29, 29n., 67n. Junack, K. 54n., 56n., 57n. Katz, Irwin 198n., 199, 199n. Kelly, J. N. D. 30n., 47n., 69, 69n., 75n., 78, 78n., 85, 85n., 88n., 180, 181, 182 Keresztes, Paul 192n. Knoch, Otto B. 11, 11n., 30n., 39n., 41n., 78n. Kloppenborg, John S. 22n., 136n. Knipfing, John R. 190n. Knopf, Rudolf 67n., 83n., 88n., 89n. Knox, John 81n., 183n. Koester, Helmut 8, 8n. Konradt, Matthias 23n., 24n. Korpel, Marjo C. A. 58n. Körtner, U. H. J. 35n. Kraabel, A. T. 122n. Kraus, Thomas J. 45n.

294

Index of Authors

Kristeva, Julia 26 Kühl, Ernst 83n., 85, 85n., 86n., 87n., 88, 88n., 98n. Kuhn, Karl Georg 225n. Kümmel, Werner 8, 8n. Lake, Kirsopp 165n., 166n., 167n., 172n. Lamouille, A. 171n., 172n. Lampe, Peter 42n. Lapham, F. 5n., 31n., 115n. Lash, C. J. A. 70n. Lawrence, Louise J. 198n. Leaney, A. R. C. 69n. Levick, Barbara 116n. Levine, Amy-Jill 34n., 217n. Levinskaya, I. A. 122n. Liebengood, Kelly D. 1n. Lieu, Judith M. 122n., 135n., 137, 137n., 150n., 152n., 154n., 161, 161n., 164n., 169n., 191n., 201, 201n., 204n., 206n., 207n., 209n. Lifshitz, Baruch 167, 171n. Lindars, Barnabas 26n. Lindemann, Andreas 6n. Lipp, Wolfgang 203, 203n., 204, 204n., 207 Livingstone, E. A. 70n. Lomas, Kathryn 156n. Lona, Horacio E. 38n. Longenecker, Bruce 100n., 102n., 107n., 108, 108n., 111n. Lüdemann, Gerd 80n., 81n., 166n., 173, 173n., 200n. Ludlow, Morwenna 71n., 94n., 95n. Lutz, Cora E. 124n. Luz, Ulrich 42n., 52n. McCann, Dennis P. 230n. MacDonald, Dennis R. 28n. McKnight, Scot 115n., 184n. McLaren, James S. 193n. Maier, Gerhard 21n.

Maier, Harry O. 238n. Malherbe, Abraham 101 Malina, Bruce J. 188n., 198n., 203n. Marcovich, Miroslav 233n. Marcus, Joel 36n. Marohl, Matthew J. 198n. Martin, Dale B. 101n., 123n., 224n. Martin, Ralph P. 10, 26n., 54n., 55n., 56n., 61, 62 Martin, Troy, W. 177n., 232n. Marshall, I. Howard 5n., 52n., 75n., 81, 81n. Mason, Steve 219n. Massaux, Eduard 46n. Matera, Frank J. 2, 2n., 11, 11n., 44, 75n., 78n. Mathews, Mark D. 38n. Mathews, Thomas F. 51n. Mattingley, Harold B. 166n., 167n., 169n., 172n., 173, 173n., 174, 174n., 175, 175n., 176n. May, Alistair S. 198n. Mbuwayesango, Dora 223n. Meeks, Wayne A. 101, 101n., 126n., 130, 130n. Meggitt, Justin J. 100n., 101, 102, 102n., 106n., 107, 107n., 108, 110, 110n., 123n., 126n., 229n. Meltzer, Edund S. 49n. Menken, Maarten J. J. 28n., 140n. Metzner, Rainer 21n., 128n., 179n. Michaels, J. Ramsey 5n., 9n., 16n., 19n., 24n., 30n., 46n., 76, 76n., 77, 77n., 78, 78n., 79n., 82, 82n., 83n., 84n., 87n., 88n., 128n., 154n., 163n., 178n., 179, 179n., 180, 180n., 181n., 234n. Millar, Fergus 184n. Miller, Larry 213n., 215, 215n. Miller, Patrick D. 230n.

Index of Authors Minear, Paul S. 214n. Mitchell, Margaret M. 43 Mitchell, Stephen 103n., 109n., 110, 111, 111n., 112, 112n., 113, 113n., 114, 114n., 117, 117n., 119, 119n., 120n., 121n., 122n. Mitton, Leslie 8n., 10, 10n., 14n., 19n. Mödritzer, H. 203n., 206n. Molthagen, Joachim 189n., 194n., 195n. Moore, Stephen D. 219n., 220, 220n., 221n. Moule, C. F. D. 69n., 177n. Moyise, Steve 27n., 28n., 140n. Murphy, Ronald E. 186n. Murphy-O’Connor, Jerome 91n. Musurillo, Herbert 232n. Needham, Anuradha Dingwaney 220, 220n. Neill, Stephen 211n. Nicklas, Tobias 45n., 46n., 54n., 55n., 56n., 57n., 60n., 61n., 62, 62n., 63, 63n., 70n. Niebuhr, Karl-Wilhelm 13n., 23n., 90n. Niederwimmer, Kurt 171n., 172n. Nienhuis, David R. 23n., 24, 25n., 26n., 47n., 59n., 60n. Noy, David 116n. Oesch, Josef M. 58n. Osborne, Grant R. 184n. Osborne, Robin 102n., 106, 106n. Paget, Carleton 173n. Parker, David C. 45n., 70n., 80n., 227 Paulsen, Henning 151n. Penrose, Jan 155n. Peppard, Michael 70n. Perdelwitz, Richard 67, 67n., 68, 177n.

­295

Perkins, Pheme 40, 40n., 42n. Perler, Othmar 48n., 49n., 61, 61n., 94n. Peterson, Erik 165n., 166n., 167n., 168, 168n., 169, 169n., 172n., 173n. Phillips, Gary A. 27n. Pietersma, Albert 54n., 56n., 64, 64n., 66n. Piper, John 16n. Plett, Heinrich 27, 27n. Plummer, Alfred 51n. Pomeroy, Sarah B. 125n. Porter, Stanley E. 27n., 28n., 87, 87n., 232n. Powell, Mark A. 153n. Preisker, Herbert 67, 68, 68n., 69, 69n. Price, Simon F. R. 112, 112n., 187n. Pyper, Hugh 57 Quain, Edwina 233n. Quasten, J. 150n. Quinn, Jerome D. 46n. Raible, Wolfgang 27, 27n. Ramsay, Boniface 96n. Reasoner, Mark 17n. Reichert, Angelika 30n., 41n., 77n., 78n., 86, 86n., 88, 88n., 89n., 92n., 93n., 94n. Reicke, Bo 65n., 74n., 75n. Reventlow, Henning Graf 5n. Reynolds, Joyce 117n., 122n. Richard, Earl J. 11, 75n., 78n., 189n. Richards, E. Randolph 35 Richardson, Peter 141, 153, 153n., 154n. Rissi, Mathis 90, 91, 91n. Rives, James B. 190n., 219n. Robbins, Maria Mayo 34n., 217n. Robinson, J. Armitage 150n.

296

Index of Authors

Robinson, James M. 46n., 47n., 48n. Robinson, W. P. 199n., 202n. Roetzel, Calvin J. 157n. Rohrbaugh, Richard L. 101n. Ropes, James Hardy 172n. Rowe, C. Kavin 170n., 176n., 184n. Rowley, H. H. 165n., 166n. Rushdie, Salman 221n. Rutgers, L. V. 51n. Saldarini, Anthony J. 135n., 142n. Salmon, E. T. 116 Salomies, O. 168n. Sanders, L. 39, 39n. Sartre, Maurice 168n. Scheidel, Walter 102n., 106n., 107, 107n., 108, 108n. Schlosser, Jacques 5n., 59n., 78n. Schmeller, Thomas 11, 32n., 40 Schmid, Ulrich 58n. Schmidt, David Henry 31, 31n., 32n. Schmidt, Karl Ludwig 224, 224n. Schmidt, Karl Mathias 11 Schmidt, Martin Anton 224 Schnabel, Eckhard J. 110n., 116n. Schnelle, Udo 8, 8n. Schoeneich, Gustav 186n., 189n., 193n. Schrage, Wolfgang 78n., 154n. Schreiner, Thomas R. 5n., 134n. Schürer, Emil 121n., 122n. Schutter, William L. 28n., 67n. Schwarz, Eberhard 139, 139n. Schweizer, Eduard 86, 86n., 87n., 89n. Scott, James C. 217, 217n., 218, 218n., 220, 238n. Sechrest, Love L. 134n., 135n., 136, 136n., 139n., 155n., 156, 156n., 159n., 161n. Segovia, Fernando F. 9n., 222, 222n., 223n.

Seland, Torrey 34n., 115n., 118, 118n., 134n., 156n., 163n., 205n., 216, 216n. Selwyn, Edward Gordon 8, 8n., 14, 14n., 16n., 34n., 67n., 74n., 75n., 77, 77n., 78, 78, 79, 79n., 81, 81n., 82n., 85n., 87n., 92, 92n., 97, 142n., 180n., 182n., 211, 237n. Senior, Donald P. 10, 33n. Seufert, W. 7, 7n., 10, 12, 13n., 16n. Sherif, Muzafer 199, 199n. Sherwin-White, A. N. 111n., 185n., 189n., 192n. Sherwood, Yvonne 51n. Shimada, Kazuhito 9, 9n., 10, 14, 14n., 17n., 19n., 20, 24n. Simmel, Georg 202n. Slingerland, H. Dixon 174n. Smallwood, E. Mary 116n. Smelik, William 58n. Smith, Anthony D. 157n., 159n. Smith, Terence V. 10, 30n., 32n., 40n. Snyder, Graydon F. 157n. Snyder, Scot 232n. Soards, Marion L. 10, 11n. Soden, Hermann Freiherr von 57n. Söding, Thomas 34n. Sollors, Werner 157n. Sordi, Marta 168n., 171n., 183n., 190n., 192n., 194n. Spicq, Ceslas 8, 8n., 21n., 23n., 29n., 70n., 83n., 87, 87n., 89n., 123n., 137n., 165n., 166n., 167, 178n. Spitta, Friedrich 74n., 77, 77n., 78, 78n., 97 Stanley, Christopher 121, 121n. Stanton, Graham N. 142n. Stauffer, Ethelbert 10 Stegemann, Ekkehard W. 106n., 107n.

­297

Index of Authors Stegemann, Wolfgang 106n., 107n. Stewart-Sykes, Alistair 53n., 61n. Still, Todd D. 2n., 100n., 202n. Stone, John 155n., 159n. Strathman, H. 137n. Sugirtharajah, R. S. 218n., 219n., 223, 223n. Sun, Wai Lan Joyce 237n.

Tuckett, Christopher M. 52n. Turcotte, Paul-Andre 198n., 211n. Turner, Eric G. 54n., 55, 55n. Turner, John C. 162n., 202n., 207, 207n., 208, 208n. Turner, Victor 215

Tajfel, Henri 162n., 199, 199n., 202n., 207, 207n., 208, 208n. Talbert, Charles H. 177n., 212n., 213, 214n. Talbert, Richard J. A. 110n. Tannenbaum, Robert 117n., 122n. Tàrrech, Armand Puig i 53n., 115n., 163n., 205n. Taylor, Justin 164n., 165n., 167, 167n., 168, 168n., 169, 169n., 170n., 171, 171n., 172, 172n., 173, 173n. Taylor, Nicholas H. 90n., 91n., 92n. Temin, Peter 105, 105n. Tenney, Frank 109n. Teske, Roland 96n. Testuz, Michel 54n., 55, 55n., 56n., 57n., 61n. Thayer, J. H. 90n. Theissen, Gerd 23n., 100, 100n., 101, 101n., 102n., 122n., 126n., 130, 131, 131n., 187n., 206n. Thiede, Carsten Peter 116n. Thiselton, Anthony C. 91n., 126n. Thomas, G. S. R. 174n. Thompson, Michael B. 22n., 154n. Thornton, T. C. G. 69n. Thurén, Lauri 83n., 214, 214n. Tiffin, Helen 219n., 221n. Tov, Emanuel 58n. Trebilco, Paul R. 121n. Troeltsch, Ernst 131n. Trumbower, Jeffrey A. 76n., 90n., 92n., 96n., 97, 97n.

Vasunia, Phiroze 156n. Vaughan, G. M. 207n., 208n. Vielhauer, Philipp 36n. Vittinghoff, F. 194n. Vogels, Heinz-Jürgen 73n., 74n., 75n., 76n., 78n., 82n., 85n., 86n., 87n., 92, 92n. Volf, Miroslav 213n., 214, 236n. Vos, Craig S. de 183n., 189n., 193n.

Unnik, W. C. van

178n.

Wagner, Siegfried 58n. Wall, Robert W. 13n., 23n., 56, 57n., 59n., 90n. Wasserman, Tommy 45n., 46n., 54n., 55, 55n., 56n., 57n., 60n., 61n., 62, 62n., 63, 63n., 70n., 71, 71n. Webb, Robert L. 153n., 184n., 225n. Weber, Max 158, 159, 203, 203n., 207n. Webster, Jan 219n. Wehr, Lothar 13n., 14n., 15, 20, 20n., 22, 26n., 40n., 43n., 44, 44n. Welborn, Laurence 236n. Wengst, Klaus 236n. Wenham, David 21n. Wesley, John 120n. White, J. R. 91n. White, Richard C. 49n. Whitmarsh, Tim 156, 156n. Whittaker, C.R. 107n. Wicks, Jared 74n., 92n., 94n., 97n.

298

Index of Authors

Wiefel, Wolfgang 54n., 56n., 57, 57n., 58, 58n., 59, 59n., 60n., 62, 62n., 63, 63n., 64n., 72, 72n. Wilckens, Ulrich 187n. Wiles, Virginia 157n. Williams, Martin 1n., 189n., 227 Williams, Raymond 157n. Wiliams, Travis B. 111n., 119n., 121n., 128n., 177n., 178n., 179n., 181, 181n., 182n., 184n., 189n., 190n. Williamson, Hugh G. M. 29 Willis, William W. 46n., 47, 47n., 48n., 49n., 53n., 70, 70n., 72, 72n. Wilson, Bryan 213, 216, 216n.

Windisch, Hans 67, 67n., 68n. Winter, Bruce W. 125, 125n., 126n., 128n., 178n. Wire, Antoinette C. 213n. Witherington III, Ben 120n., 127n., 128n. Woan, Susan A. 28n., 67n., 84n. Worchel, S. 162n. Wrede 67n. Wright, N. T. 52n., 152n., 157n. Yoder, John Howard

236n.

Zahn, Theodor 164n., 165n., 166n., 170n., 171n., 175n. Zwierlein, Otto 40n.