Religious polemics and encounters in late antiquity : boundaries, conversions, and persuasion 2021038268, 2021038269, 9789004466838, 9789004466845, 9004466835

Table of contents :
‎Contents
‎Preface
‎Notes on Contributors
‎Abraham in Justin Martyr’s Dialogue (Laato)
‎Excellent, but How? Abraham in Josephus (Koskenniemi)
‎Illusory Polemics: Clement and Irenaeus on the Gnostics (Yli-Karjanmaa)
‎Justin Martyr as a Polemicist (Back)
‎Mimus Religionis, Mimicry, and Deviance: Late Antique Polemic against Religious Others (Kahlos)
‎Tertullian on Christian Converts and Clashes with the Pagan World (Laato)
‎Worshipping a False Go(o)d: Praeparatio Evangelica 7.2–4 through the Lens of Anti-Epicurean Polemics (Toiviainen Rø)
‎Anti-Donatist Polemic and Biblical Hermeneutics: Questions of Ecclesiology in Augustine of Hippo’s De Doctrina Christiana (Grabau)
‎Talking with the Enemy: Fictitious Polemical Dialogues against the Donatists in Augustine’s Sermones ad populum (Nisula)
‎The Challenge of Shame for Philosophical Dialogue in Augustine’s Early Writings (Manninen)
‎The Grace of Merit and the Merit of Grace: Dialogical Ambiguity in Augustine’s Sermons (Irizar)
‎The Rhetoric of Appropriation and Dissociation in Evodius’ Aduersus Manichaeos: A Case Study of Anti-Manichaean Polemics (Vanspauwen)
‎Threat of Conversion in the Earliest Syriac Writings on Islam? (Seppälä)
‎Index of Subjects
‎Index of Modern Authors

Citation preview

Religious Polemics and Encounters in Late Antiquity

Studies on the Children of Abraham Series Editor Antti Laato (Åbo Akademi University, Finland)

Editorial Board Gerhard Langer – Pekka Lindqvist – Vera B. Moreen Uri Rubin – Sabine Schmidtke – Martin Tamcke David Thomas – Roberto Tottoli

volume 8

The titles published in this series are listed at brill.com/stca

Religious Polemics and Encounters in Late Antiquity Boundaries, Conversions, and Persuasion

Edited by

Timo Nisula Anni Maria Laato Pablo Irizar

leiden | boston

The Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Names: Nisula, Timo, editor. | Laato, Anni Maria, 1963- editor. | Irizar, Pablo, editor. Title: Religious polemics and encounters in late antiquity : boundaries, conversions, and persuasion / edited by Timo Nisula, Anni Maria Laato, Pablo Irizar. Description: Leiden ; Boston : Brill, 2021. | Series: Studies on the children of Abraham, 2210-4720 ; 8 | Includes bibliographical references and index. Identifiers: lccn 2021038268 (print) | lccn 2021038269 (ebook) | isbn 9789004466838 (hardback) | isbn 9789004466845 (ebook) Subjects: lcsh: Theology–History–Early church, ca. 30-600. | Abrahamic religions–History–To 1500. Classification: lcc br118 .r445 2021 (print) | lcc br118 (ebook) | ddc 201/.509–dc23 lc record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2021038268 lc ebook record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2021038269

Typeface for the Latin, Greek, and Cyrillic scripts: “Brill”. See and download: brill.com/brill‑typeface. issn 2210-4720 isbn 978-90-04-46683-8 (hardback) isbn 978-90-04-46684-5 (e-book) Copyright 2022 by Timo Nisula, Anni Maria Laato and Pablo Irizar. Published by Koninklijke Brill nv, Leiden, The Netherlands. Koninklijke Brill nv incorporates the imprints Brill, Brill Nijhoff, Brill Hotei, Brill Schöningh, Brill Fink, Brill mentis, Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, Böhlau Verlag and V&R Unipress. Koninklijke Brill nv reserves the right to protect this publication against unauthorized use. Requests for re-use and/or translations must be addressed to Koninklijke Brill nv via brill.com or copyright.com. This book is printed on acid-free paper and produced in a sustainable manner.

Contents Preface vii Notes on Contributors

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Abraham in Justin Martyr’s Dialogue 1 Antti Laato Excellent, but How? Abraham in Josephus Erkki Koskenniemi

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Illusory Polemics: Clement and Irenaeus on the Gnostics Sami Yli-Karjanmaa Justin Martyr as a Polemicist Sven-Olav Back

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Mimus Religionis, Mimicry, and Deviance: Late Antique Polemic against Religious Others 78 Maijastina Kahlos Tertullian on Christian Converts and Clashes with the Pagan World Anni Maria Laato

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Worshipping a False Go(o)d: Praeparatio Evangelica 7.2–4 through the Lens of Anti-Epicurean Polemics 116 Siiri Toiviainen Rø Anti-Donatist Polemic and Biblical Hermeneutics: Questions of Ecclesiology in Augustine of Hippo’s De Doctrina Christiana 144 Joseph Grabau Talking with the Enemy: Fictitious Polemical Dialogues against the Donatists in Augustine’s Sermones Ad Populum 164 Timo Nisula The Challenge of Shame for Philosophical Dialogue in Augustine’s Early Writings 188 Eetu Manninen

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The Grace of Merit and the Merit of Grace: Dialogical Ambiguity in Augustine’s Sermons 213 Pablo Irizar The Rhetoric of Appropriation and Dissociation in Evodius’ Aduersus Manichaeos: A Case Study of Anti-Manichaean Polemics 235 Aäron Vanspauwen Threat of Conversion in the Earliest Syriac Writings on Islam? Serafim Seppälä Index of Subjects 285 Index of Modern Authors

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Preface Religion, as the Latin word religio (re + ligare) suggests following early Christian writers like Augustine and Lactantius, binds people together; yet so doing comes at the expense of severance. Religion therefore binds by dissociation, from whence oftentimes arise polemical encounters. With these broad considerations in mind, the present volume offers a modest contribution to the ever-pressing challenges of polemical religious encounters by turning to Late Antiquity as a source of insight into the emerging negotiation of Abrahamic religious identities in Judaism, Christianity and Islam. Suffice it to turn on the news to realize that these remain as relevant today as they have been throughout history. The present collection of studies, gathered in the Studies on the Children of Abraham, is based on contributions that were presented at the international meeting “Religious Polemics and Encounters in Late Antiquity: Boundaries, Conversions and Persuasion” at Åbo Akademi University (Turku, 23–24 August 2018). The meeting brought together scholars and research groups from several countries and universities, with the aim of addressing a plethora of topics related to encounters between different religious traditions in Late Antiquity. Several though not all of these encounters unfolded between the representatives of Abrahamic traditions. For this reason, some of the contributions in this volume address the lines of development and different phases in religious debates of these traditions. How did the first Christian theologians develop their identities in relation and opposition to Judaism and in connection with a theology designed to explain the joint heritage of Abraham in these traditions? Since at the turn of the first century ce the borderlines between Judaism and Christianity were not clearly defined, Antti Laato considers the theology of Justin Martyr as a development of intra-Jewish discussions in the contribution Abraham in Justin Martyr’s Dialogue. He argues that Justin follows Paul’s (the Jewish apostle) interpretation of Abrahamic faith as per Galatians 3–4 and Romans 4. He thus proposes situating Justin Martyr’s debate within as a discussion as to whether Jesus from Nazareth should be regarded as the Messiah or the Christ. While some like the Apostle Paul look ahead to the development of Judaism with figures like Jesus, others such as Josephus turned to the past and the figure of Abraham and its role as the ancestor of the Hebrew people. Thus, how did Jewish historiography present the figure of Abraham in the first century ce? Erkki Koskenniemi addresses this question in Excellent, but how? Abraham in Josephus, where he addresses contrasting views of Abra-

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ham, either as a biblical character without much importance in Josephus, or acknowledging the classical importance accorded to Abraham. Within these contrasting views, Koskenniemi notes the eroding importance of Abraham in Josephus’ portrayal. That Josephus omits the words of the covenant between God and Abraham, for example, is evidence that Josephus is not interested in a universalistic treatment of Abraham; rather, he emphasizes the particularistic role Abraham played world history as a figure of wisdom. During the first centuries, as they searched for an authentic voice, Christian writers were involved in formulating and identifying ways of speaking. As representations of their own traditions, some perceived these voices as genuine representations, while others thought of them as disingenuous misrepresentations. A set of identity markers emerged for this purpose, one of the most important being that of a ‘Gnostic’. What did this title imply in the works of Clement of Alexandria and Irenaeus of Lyon, for example? In Illusory Polemics: Clement and Irenaeus on the Gnostics, Sami Yli-Karjanmaa argues that attributing a negative portrayal of the ‘Gnostics’ to these authors lacks foundation. A crucial source of the use of the term in ancient literature, Clement applies the term only positively and is concerned only in criticizing those who falsely adopt the name. Carefully tending to the variant uses and denotations of the term in Adversus haereses by Irenaeus, YliKarjanmaa pleads for accuracy and transparency, which reveals the term, is honorific, rather than disparaging, akin to the use “orthodox” and not a synonym of “heretic.” The nascent Christian tradition was also keen to set boundaries against the learned standards and philosophies of the time, as Justin Martyr’s example shows. This is the topic of Sven-Olav Back’s contribution, titled Justin Martyr as a Polemicist. Back shows that in the context of interactions of Greco-Roman religion, the ‘right’ or ‘sound’ employment of reason functioned as an epistemological criterion to discern truth from falsehood. Accordingly, this illustrates how early Christians drew from the Stoic philosophical heritage to construe Christian doctrine as the proper understanding of revelation as per the Old Testament. With the passing of time, Christian writers of Late Antiquity continued to developed polemical strategies and discourses oriented against the traditional Roman religions and philosophical schools. One such strategy consisted in depicting the somehow similar religious features of the other traditions as diabolic and perverse imitations of the Christian truth. In Mimus Religionis, Mimicry, and Deviance: Late Antique Polemic Against Religious Others, Maijastina Kahlos discusses how Lactantius and other early Christian writers, up to the 5th century, deploy tactics to portray traditional Greco-Roman religions

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as perversions and forgeries of true religion. Foremost is the contrast between religion (religio) and superstition (superstitio), whereby the idolatrous worship of images in the latter, stands in contrast as a simulation of sacred images in the former. Tertullian shapes Christian identity with apologetic motifs (embryonic ideas of religious freedom and polemical conceptions of Roman religion and rites) and with positive emphasis on one’s own religious tradition and rites (prayer, baptism). This is the central contention of Anni Maria Laato in her study Tertullian on Christian Converts and Clashes with the Pagan World. Laato shows Tertullian demarks Christian and non-Christian boundaries in terms of doctrine (lex credendi), praxis (lex orandi) and everyday life (lex agendi). Laato argues that these hard lines of differentiation are mainly due to Tertullian’s uncompromising commitment to the worship of the one God of Christianity. Certain writers like Eusebius of Caesarea emphasized an exemplary ancestry by adapting polemical characterizations of philosophical schools such as Epicureanism. In Eusebius’ case, this ancestry also included the ‘Hebrews’. In Worshipping a False Go(o)d: Praeparatio Evangelica 7.2–4 through the Lens of Anti-Epicurean Polemics, Siiri Toiviainen Rø reads Eusebius’ account of the emergence of idolatry from the vantage point of anti-Epicurean polemics. In so doing, she demonstrates that how Eusebius employs commonplace rhetorical strategies aimed at discrediting the views of the Epicureans while championing those of the Hebrews, thereby reordering a sense of belonging in terms of Christian/Greek learning. A section of contributions dedicated to Augustine and North Africa in the 4th and 5th century offers fruitful ground to analyze diverse trends of polemics, conversions and persuasion. These contributions show that one of the dividing boundaries was intra-Christian, as evidenced by the extensive amount of texts and debates between the ‘Donatist’ and the ‘Catholic’ representatives of Christian tradition in North Africa. One is led to inquire, whether this particular debate inspired Augustine to present a general method for debating theological controversies in his handbook of hermeneutics, de doctrina christiana. Joseph Grabau addresses this question in Anti-Donatist Polemics and Biblical Hermeneutics: Questions of Ecclesiology in Augustine of Hippo’s De Doctrina Christiana. In examining the reception of the Donatist Tyconius in Augustine’s handbook for preachers, Grabau examines the emergence of normative rhetorical strategies at the intersection of polemical discourse and praxis. Grabau shows that Augustine appeals to preaching exemplarity by demonstrating how to uphold truth in love as an effective pedagogical tool in hand with eloquence.

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Apart from being a theoretician of polemical debates, Augustine was also a preacher and a practitioner, presenting his congregations with lively and entertaining fictitious dialogues on anti-Donatist themes. In Talking with the Enemy: Fictitious Polemical Dialogues against the Donatists in Augustine’s Sermones ad Populum, Timo Nisula explores the rhetorical function of fictitious dialogue (sermocinatio) in advancing an anti-Donatist agenda. While Nisula shows these dialogues did not intend to achieve accurate depiction of opponents, but rather for the entertainment of the congregation, he also demonstrates how these carefully treated controversial issues. Augustine used sermocinationes, argues Nisula, as an instrument to train the congregation to respond and even persuade Donatist interlocutors, of the Catholic position. That Augustine was no heartless inquisitor but very capable of considering the conditions of amiable persuasion and correction both in intimate and theoretical form on the one hand, and in more public and popular form on the other hand, is shown by analyses of Augustine’s early dialogues and their approach on the emotion of shame in correcting errors. In his contribution The Challenge of Shame for Philosophical Dialogue in Augustine’s Early Writings, Eetu Manninen examines the role of shame in Augustine’s early dialogues, first as a hindrance to the acquisition of truth, and then as part of the itinerary to reach truth. Overcoming the inevitable shame of error and correction, Manninen demonstrates, is a crucial to reach truth in the early philosophical dialogues. Not all polemical religious encounters resulted in straightforward outcomes of persuasion, for the boundaries of belonging emerged dynamically from negotiations in dialogical processes, as evidenced in Augustine’s anti-Pelagian thrust in preaching on grace and merit. Pablo Irizar explores this phenomenon of dynamic identity formation in The Grace of Merit and the Merit of Grace: Dialogical Ambiguity in Augustine’s Sermons. In charting the rhetoric of the divine image (Gen 1.26) in the midst of polemics on grace and merit, Irizar shows that dialogical ambiguity best characterizes the tone of Augustine’s preaching on the interplay between grace and free will. The resulting effect is therefore not persuasion but the dynamic shaping of the ‘moral imagination’ of the congregation and consequently the sphere of human action and its relation to divine intervention as grace. The Augustinian heritage of giving intellectual and doctrinal issues a pivotal role in the anti-Manichaean debates is shown by Evodius’ De fide contra Manichaeos, a polemical work that relied on appropriating central concepts of the “other” into Catholic uses. In The Rhetoric of Appropriation and Dissociation in Evodius’ Aduersus Manichaeos: A Case Study of Anti-Manichaean Polemics, Aäron Vanspauwen studies competing claims to the denomination

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‘rightful Christian’. By employing a two-fold rhetoric of appropriation and dissociation, Vanspauwen shoes how Evodius uses Manichean themes to distance the Manicheans from their founder, Mani. Our volume ends with a survey of encounters between Abrahamic traditions on the threshold of an emerging Islam, focusing on the practical issues related on how and why Christians started to convert to Islam in the early 7th century ce. Serafim Seppälä argues in Threat of Conversion in the Earliest Syriac Writings on Islam? that early Syriac conversions to Islam are best explained not in terms of doctrinal content, but primarily due to the discriminatory burden of taxes on the Christian population under Islamic rule. Only during Abbasid times, Seppälä argues, did the need for theological apologetics arise. The rule of Islam was therefore considered an apocalyptic disaster, as for the first time, large numbers of Christians denouncing the faith outmatched the failures of persuasion by persecution of the Church in Rome and Persia. The diverse perspectives herein offered on religious controversies between different traditions testify to the rich and varying world of polemical and nonpolemical contexts of encounters and persuasion in the Late Antique world. The contexts range from peaceful, even “academic” discussion, to outright ridicule and coercion. Our hope is that the present volume thus reflects the nuanced and detailed tapestry of polemical and persuasive encounters of the early centuries. Even after nearly two millennia, the dynamics of religious encounter, the imagination of boundaries, the concern for conversion and the persuasive role of argumentation, remains ever relevant. If the past, as told by the vestiges of the historical textual tradition, reliably offers a window into the challenges, hopes, dreams and promises of a better future, how we continue to foster dialogue in the midst of polemics and religious encounters is inevitably a call to shape our times responsibly. We are our times, Augustine tenaciously reminds his congregation just as Rome was being sieged by Alaric in 410—a symbol of a failed civilization left to the mercy of violence in the absence of dialogue—, for just as we are, so are the times. In offering this collection, the fruit of much labor that brought varied views from around the world and confessions into constructive and collaborative academic reflection, a word of gratitude is due. We remain grateful to Anthony Dupont (ku Leuven), whose support and aid was crucial to facilitate the original meeting at the Åbo Akademi University and to Antti Laato (Åbo Akademi) for accepting the proceedings of this meeting as a volume in the series Studies on the Children of Abraham. We are also grateful to the Inez and Julius Polin Institute for Theological Research for the financial support in organizing the meeting in 2018.

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Our hope is that this collection inspire as much instruction and delight to the reader as they have done for the editors. Timo Nisula Anni Maria Laato Pablo Irizar

Notes on Contributors Antti Laato Antti Laato is Professor in Old Testament exegetics with Judaic studies at Åbo Akademi University, Turku Finland. Since 2006, he has been leader in the international network Study for the Reception History of the Bible. Among his recent publications, are three monographs: Who Is the Servant of the Lord? Jewish and Christian Interpretations on Isaiah 53 from Antiquity to the Middle Ages (2012); Guide to Biblical Chronology (2015); The Origin of the Israelite Zion Theology (2018). He has also edited several volumes, among them the most recent ones: Understanding Spiritual Meaning of Jerusalem in Three Abrahamic Religions (2019) and The Challenge of the Mosaic Torah in Judaism, Christianity, and Islam (2020). Erkki Koskenniemi Erkki Koskenniemi, PhD (1992), Åbo Akademi University, is Adjunct Professor in New Testament Studies at the University of Helsinki, University of Eastern Finland and Åbo Akademi University. His publications include Apollonius von Tyana in der neutestamentlichen Exegese (1994); The Old Testament Miracle Workers in Early Judaism (2015), The Exposure of Infants among Jews and Christians in Antiquity (2009) and Greek Writers and Philosophers in Philo and Josephus (2019). He is a member of the Network for the Study of the Reception History of the Bible and of the editorial board of Studies in the Reception History of the Bible. He acts as Bible Teacher at Lutheran Evangelical Association in Finland. Sami Yli-Karjanmaa Sami Yli-Karjanmaa defended his doctoral thesis on Philo of Alexandria in Åbo Akademi University (Turku, Finland) in 2013. Subsequently he has worked as a postdoctoral researcher in the åau as well as in the University of Helsinki on projects funded by the Academy of Finland and (presently) by the University of Helsinki. Sven-Olav Back Sven-Olav Back is Lecturer in Biblical Languages and Exegesis at Åbo Akademi University, Finland. Maijastina Kahlos Maijastina Kahlos is a historian and classicist (University of Helsinki, Finland). She is currently working as a university researcher in the Centre of Excellence

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‘Reason and Religious Recognition’, funded by the Academy of Finland. She is the author of Debate and Dialogue: Christian and Pagan Cultures, c. 360–430 (2007), Forbearance and Compulsion: The Rhetoric of Tolerance and Intolerance in Late Antiquity (2009), and Religious Dissent in Late Antiquity (forthcoming), and editor of The Faces of the other: Religious Rivalry and Ethnic Encounters in the Later Roman World (2012) and Emperors and the Divine—Rome and its Influence (2016). Anni Maria Laato Anni Maria Laato is adjunct professor in patristic studies at the University of Helsinki, and in dogmatics in Åbo Akademi University. Apart from her dissertation, Jews and Christians in De duobus montibus Sina et Sion, she has published articles mainly in the field of patristics. Her most recent articles include “Biblical Mothers as Images of the Church”. International Journal for the Study of the Christian Church, 2019, “Adam and Eve Rewritten in Vergil’s Words: Cento of Proba”. Adam and Eve Story in Jewish, Christian and Islamic Perspectives, Winona Lake: Eisenbrauns 2017, “Divided by the Common Ground. The Prophecy of Jacob and Esau (Gen 25:19–26) Patristic Texts up to Augustine with Respect to Modern Inter-Faith Dialogue”. Abraham’s Family. wunt 415. Tübingen, Mohr Siebeck 2018, and “Tertullian and the Deacons”. Diakonia and Deacons in the New Testament and the Early Church. wunt ii, 479. Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2018. Siiri Toiviainen Rø Siiri Toiviainen Rø obtained her PhD in Historical Theology from the University of Durham with a thesis that explored the links between pleasure, sin, and the good life in the works of Gregory of Nyssa. Since 2017, she has been working as a postdoctoral researcher at the Centre of Excellence in Reason and Religious Recognition at the University of Helsinki, where her project focuses on the receptions of anti-Epicurean polemics in early Christian literature. Joseph Grabau Joseph Grabau (s.t.l.) is PhD Researcher in the History of Church and Theology at the Catholic University of Leuven’s Faculty of Theology and Religious Studies. His doctoral dissertation, supervised by Prof. dr. Mathijs Lamberigts and Prof. dr. Anthony Dupont, reconsiders the North African reception of the Gospel of John, principally in the Tractates of Augustine of Hippo, with full attention to its exegetical, polemical, rhetorical and theological contexts.

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Timo Nisula Timo Nisula is adjunct professor in dogmatics at the Åbo Akademi University. He is the author of Augustine and the Functions of Concupiscence (2012) and has published several articles on the theology and rhetoric of Augustine’s preaching, as well as translations of Augustine’s theological works and sermons. Eetu Manninen Eetu Manninen is a PhD student at the University of Helsinki and ku Leuven. He is writing his doctoral dissertation on the relationship between the Inner and the Outer in the thought of Augustine of Hippo. Pablo Irizar Pablo Irizar is Faculty Lecturer and Kennedy Smith Chair in Catholic Studies at the School of Religious Studies of McGill University in Montreal (Canada). He serves as Director of the Newman Centre, also at McGill. He was recently awarded his PhD, which focused on the concept of the Church as the image of God in the thought of Augustine, with the highest distinction (summa cum laude) at the Faculty of Theology and Religious Studies of the ku Leuven. His doctoral research was funded by a fwo Doctoral Research Grant. He is the recipient of the 2020 Louvain Studies Theological Research Award for emerging young scholars. Aäron Vanspauwen Aäron Vanspauwen (PhD 2019) is a postdoctoral researcher at the Faculty of Theology and Religious Studies at ku Leuven (Belgium), and secretary of that faculty’s Research Unit of History of Church and Theology. The subject of his doctoral research was the anti-Manichaean treatise Aduersus Manichaeos, attributed to Evodius of Uzalis (4th–5th century). His study encompassed a historical, literary, and theological analysis of this treatise. He has previously (2018) finalized a new critical edition of Aduersus Manichaeos. His fields of interest include Early Christianity, in particular fourth- and fifth-century North Africa, Manichaean Studies, and the textual transmission of Patristic texts. Serafim Seppälä Serafim Seppälä (b. 1970), doctor of philosophy (University of Helsinki, 2002) and professor of systematic theology and patristics (University of Eastern Finland, Joensuu, 2007–). In addition to several monographs in Finnish, he has published numerous scholarly articles in English on topics related to early Syriac literature, East Syrian mysticism, Mariology, Byzantine aesthetics, Christian–Muslim encounter during the early Islamic period, and the cultural heritage of the Armenian genocide.

Abraham in Justin Martyr’s Dialogue Antti Laato

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Introduction

The aim of this article is to discuss how we should understand Justin Martyr’s expressions regarding the heritage of Abraham. This research question is related to the way how God’s promise to Abraham was understood in Jewish and early Christian texts of late antiquity. Abraham’s family history in the Book of Genesis contains two important interpretive modes which have played a significant role in early Jewish writings: universalism and particularism.1 Universalism is manifested in the many promises given to Abraham (and repeated to Isaac and Jacob) that all nations will be blessed in Abraham or in his seed (Gen 18:18; 22:18; 26:4; 28:14) whatever this means.2 Universalism indicates an inclusive aspect. Even other nations can be incorporated among the “sons of Abraham” (universalistic and inclusive mode of reasoning). Particularism, in turn, is visible in the divine election among the offspring of Abraham: Isaac, and not Ishmael, is chosen; and later Jacob is elected while Esau is not (particularistic and exclusive mode of reasoning). In the present form of the Hebrew Bible the patriarch narrative mainly emphasizes particularistic thinking. The election history within the family of Abraham was introduced so that Jacob was presented as the main figure and the true inheritor of the blessing of Abraham. Anyone who reads the patriarch story in the present form of Genesis finds that the true lineage of divine blessing is Abraham, Isaac and Jacob, as well as his descendants who moved

1 See the concepts universalism and particularism in A. Runesson, “Particularistic Judaism and Universalistic Christianity? Some Critical Remarks on Terminology and Theology,” st 54:1 (2000): 55–75. 2 The promise has been expressed with the aid of niphal (Gen 18:18; 28:14) and hitpael (Gen 22:18; 26:4) forms and there is a discussion whether the promise should be translated (1) “in the seed of Abraham all nations will be blessed” or (2) “all nations will bless themselves in the seed of Abraham”. In the Septuagint the promises have been translated in the passive i.e. according to the alternative (1), and this understanding is clearly possible for both niphal and hitpael. For this, see H.S. Nyberg, Hebreisk Grammatik (Stockholm: Almqvist & Wiksell, 1952), 223–224. On the other hand, the particularistic interpretation becomes evident in Aramaic Testament of Levi 10:12 (preserved only in the Greek version) where Gen 12:3 is interpreted in an exclusive way: “And blessing shall be pronounced by your seed upon the earth and your seed shall be entered in the book of the memorial of life for all eternity.”

© Antti Laato, 2022 | doi:10.1163/9789004466845_002

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to Egypt and whom God rescued from slavery as the Book of Exodus continues the story of Genesis. Even though the patriarch and exodus narratives have been combined in the present form of the Pentateuch3 so that the particularistic reasoning is emphasized, the later reception history of Genesis clearly shows that the universalistic and inclusive reasoning also played a role. This theological tension between universalism (all peoples will be blessed in the seed of Abraham) and particularism (only Jacob is elected among the descendants of Abraham) became the focus in Christian theological thinking in particular. In the early Jewish reception history (before the outcome of Christianity) both a particularistic mode of reasoning (e.g. in the Book of Jubilees; the Aramaic Levi document) and a universalistic mode of reasoning (e.g. in the Septuagint; Philo’s writings) were used to explain the patriarch stories.4 This indicates that both reasoning modes were apparently known to early Christian writers, and moreover they could use them as the evidence in the New Testament shows. In our research project unipar (nickname for “Universalism and Particularism in Abraham’s Family Narrative of Genesis and Its Reception in Jewish and Christian Writings”) supported by the Inez and Julius Polin Institute for Theological Research we were interested in cases where the universalisticinclusive and particularistic-exclusive modes of reasoning can be compared.5 The patriarchal stories of the Hebrew Bible were translated more or less verbatim in the Septuagint, which means that both Jews and Christians used the same version of the story, even though the Christians mainly read the Septuagint and only Jewish-Christian groups were able to consult the Hebrew Bible. Much midrashic material was developed in the Second Temple period and this Jewish material was adopted and modified in the patristic and rabbinical writings of late antiquity. Analyzing these rewriting processes and interpretive strategies in inter- and multi-disciplinary ways gives knowledge of the way biblical traditions have been used both in the formation of Christianity and rabbinical Judaism and provides a hermeneutic perspective to understand the common ground of these religions and early forms of confrontation. 3 This combination has taken place in the postexilic period according to Konrad Schmid, The Old Testament: A Literary History (Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 2012). For another view, see Erhard Blum, “Hosea 12 und die Pentateuchüberlieferungen,” in Die Erzväter in der biblischen Tradition: Festschrift für Matthias Köckert (ed. A.C. Hagedorn and H. Pfeiffer; bzaw 400; Berlin: de Gruyter, 2009), 291–321. 4 For this, see e.g. James Kugel, Traditions of the Bible: A Guide to the Bible as It Was at the Start of the Common Era (Cambridge MA.: Harvard University Press, 1998). 5 https://www.polininstitutet.fi/en/polin‑institute/.

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One of the most important “Christian” theologians who struggled with the universalistic and particularistic aspects of the Abraham-narrative was the Apostle Paul. On one hand, Paul interpreted the universalistic promise, that all nations will be blessed in the seed of Abraham, Christologically, so that all believers in Christ are the “true descendants” of Abraham (e.g. Gal 3:15– 18, 29; Rom 3–4). On the other hand, he also used a particularistic interpretive mode of election history of Abraham’s family in Galatians 4 and Romans 9– 11. In these chapters, Paul refers to the election of Isaac (over Ishmael) and Jacob (over Esau) in order to emphasize that not all who are descendants of Abraham in the carnal sense can be regarded as the true offspring of Abraham. In the patristic exegesis Paul’s theological ideas concerning Abraham’s faith and his typological or allegorical interpretation concerning Abraham, Isaac/Ishmael and Jacob/Esau were developed further. While Paul apparently still started from the fact that Jacob (i.e. Israel) is presented in the Hebrew Bible as being an ancestor for all Israelites and Jews, Church fathers often presented a straightforward “cuckoo-nest-theology”. Later patristic texts are examples of theology where Paul’s exegesis of Abraham functions like the egg of the brood parasite cuckoo. The cuckoo lays its egg (= the promise given to Abraham that all nations will be blessed) in the nest (= God’s Israel). The cuckoo’s offspring grow up and become stronger than all other youngsters in the nest (= Jews), and finally expel them from the nest (= only Isaac and Jacob will be blessed and they symbolize the Christian Church). The classical Christian substitution theology, where Jacob or Israel symbolizes the Church, functions in this way. The universal promise to Abraham was used in order to argue that the gentiles could be included among the true Israelites, and the particularistic mode of reasoning was then used to expel the Jews, the (carnal) offspring of Abraham, away from “the Israel of God” (cf., the use of this term in Gal 6:16). The focus in this article is Justin Martyr’s theology6 as it has been elaborated in his work Dialogue.7 My central research question defined at the beginning of 6 Concerning Justin’s works and life, see Leslie W. Barnard, Justin Martyr: His Life and Thought (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1967); Erwin R. Goodenough, The Theology of Justin Martyr: An Investigation into Conceptions of Early Christian Literature and its Hellenistic and Judaic Influences (Amsterdam: Philo Press, 1968; first edition 1928); Eric F. Osborn, Justin Martyr (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1973); Henry Chadwick, Early Christian Thought and the Classical Tradition: Studies in Justin, Clement, and Origen (Oxford: Clarendon, 1984); Sara Parvis and Paul Foster, eds., Justin Martyr and His Worlds (Minneapolis: Fortress, 2007). 7 See the text in: Edgar J. Goodspeed, Die ältesten Apologeten: Texte mit kurzen Einleitungen (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1984); Miroslav Marcovich, ed., Iustini Martyris

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the article is therefore related to the problem whether Justin already represents “cuckoo-nest-theology” to Trypho (= Justin’s Jewish protagonist)8 or whether he has a more nuanced theological treatment of the universalistic and particularistic aspects of the promise to Abraham.9 Earlier Jeffrey Siker has discussed this question,10 and formulates his thesis as follows:11 To anticipate my conclusions, we will see in the present chapter that Justin uses Abraham to render the Jews orphaned, without legitimate claim to Abraham as their father in any meaningful way. The Jews do not have a future, nor do they have any true past. Justin uses the very Abrahamic heritage that the Jews claim in order to show that they are not the children of Abraham; he thus leaves them abandoned and disinherited.

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Apologiae pro Christianis (Berlin, New York: Walter de Gruyter, 1994); Miroslav Marcovich and Edouardo Des Places, eds., Iustini Martyris Dialogus cum Tryphone (New York: Walter de Gruyter, 1997). Good translations can be found in the Ante-Nicene Fathers and in Thomas B. Fall, Dialogue with Trypho and with a new introduction by Thomas P. Halton (ed. Michael Slusser; Catholic University of America Press, 2003). I follow the (fairly literal) translation of the Ante-Nicene Fathers if not interpreted otherwise. There is detailed scholarly discussion in which ways Justin’s work Dialogue is based on a real conversation (scholars agree that Dialogue cannot be any protocol of a real dialogue) and in which ways Justin has reliable information about Jewish theological concepts (scholars have demonstrated that in many points Justin’s references find correspondences in the Jewish belief system even though he has presented simplifications). See William. Horbury, Jews and Christians in Contact and Controversy (London: T&T Clark International, 2006) 127–161; many articles in Oskar Skarsaune and Reidar Hvalvik, eds., Jewish Believers in Jesus: The Early Centuries (Peabody: Hendrickson, 2007) where Justin’s relation to Jewish-Christian groups as well as to Judaism are referred to; Antti Laato, “Justin Martyr Encounters Judaism,” in Encounters of the Children of Abraham from Ancient to Modern Times (ed. A. Laato and P. Lindqvist, stca 1; Leiden: Brill, 2010), 97–123. Cf., similar questions which have been presented in Susan Wendel, “Interpreting the Descendant of the Spirit: A Comparison of Justin’s Dialogue with Trypho and Luke-Acts,” in Justin Martyr and His Worlds (ed. S. Parvis and P. Foster; Minneapolis: Fortress, 2007), 95–103. Scholars have often compared Justin’s way of using the scriptures with their use in Luke and Acts, and see continuity between them. See the detailed study on this topic and literature referred within Susan Wendel, Scriptural Interpretation and Community SelfDefinition in Luke-Acts and the Writings of Justin Martyr (NovTSup 139; Leiden: Brill, 2011). Jeffrey S. Siker, Disinheriting the Jews: Abraham in Early Christian Controversy (Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox, 1991), 163–184. Siker, Disinheriting the Jews, 163. Siker refers to Eugene Mihaly, “A Rabbinic Defense of the Election of Israel: An Analysis of Sifre Deuteronomy 32:9, Pisqa 312,”huca (1964): 103–143, as did David Rokéah ( Justin Martyr and the Jews [Jewish and Christian Perspectives Series 5; Leiden: Brill, 2002], 117–127) when they rightly comment that Sifre Deuteronomy gives Jewish answer to one-sided Christian interpretation on the patriarchs.

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Susan Wendel presents another similar, even though in my view more balanced view on Justin’s theology when she compares Justin’s treatment of Jews with that in Luke-Acts:12 Unlike Justin, Luke distinguishes between the identity and heritage of Jewish and non-Jewish members of the Christ-believing community. In so doing, he recognizes the distinct status of Jewish Christ-believers in relation to their scriptures even as he excludes Jews who do not embrace the exegesis and message of Jesus. These ways of characterizing Justin’s theology in negative terms seems too straightforward to me and in this article, I try to define more accurately how the reception of Abraham in Dialogue should be considered. My aim is not to present Justin as a model for modern interreligious dialogues between Judaism and Christianity. He is clearly unsuitable in that role. Rather, I want to put Justin’s theology in its own historical context so that I emphasize the following points in my analysis: a) Justin lived in an era when Christians were persecuted,13 not in the postConstantine era when the Christian Church had political power. Therefore, Justin’s aim could not have been an oppressing theological argumentation (with political implications) against the Jews, but rather a way of finding a biblical (Old Testament) background for the self-definition of the Christian Church.14 b) Justin’s biblical argumentation was based on the New Testament models, and even some early Jewish-Christian interpretive tradition influenced his way of arguing.15 This means that Justin’s theological argumentation 12 13

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Wendel, Scriptural Interpretation and Community, 281. The problem of the persecutions of Christians and the role of Jews in them is a difficult historical problem. Patristic evidence often makes one-sided statements about these persecutions so that all Jews everywhere persecuted Christians and blasphemed them (or Jesus) in synagogues. This concerns also Justin Martyr. For this, see especially Marcel Simon, Verus Israel: A Study of the Relations between Christians and Jews in the Roman Empire ad 135–425 (London: The Littman Library of Jewish Civilization, 1996). Nevertheless, it is understandable that Justin had to encounter the Jewish “liturgical” approach against Christians by arguing that Christians are not cursed by God of Israel but that they suffered in the name of Christ, and in that way fulfilled prophetic expectations. I would like to emphasize how important it is that we read Justin’s texts without attempting to interpret them with the anti-Jewish modes of post-Constantine era. For the influence of Jewish-Christian traditions in Justin’s theology, see especially Oskar Skarsaune, The Proof from Prophecy. A Study in Justin Martyr’s Proof-text Tradition. Texttype, Provenance, Theological Profile (NovTSup 56; Leiden: Brill, 1987).

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followed certain axioms which were developed in intra-Jewish struggles and which he accepted without critical examination. c) Justin was the child of his own era, and he followed typical ancient Jewish and Christian ways of interpreting the scriptures.16 d) Finally, Justin’s way of understanding the Mosaic Law is an essential question. I have devoted a separate study to this intra-Jewish problem and this article is related to that article.17 This being the case we must be careful not to evaluate Justin’s treatise Dialogue according to modern categories and thus regard his formulations simply as tendentious supersessionalistic opinions which aimed at establishing strong anti-Jewish tendencies.18 We know those lines of development which did lead to that problematic theology within the Christian Church, but Justin cannot be blamed for that later tendency. So let Justin be responsible only for what he actually wrote!

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Historical Credo in the New Testament

Justin’s argumentation concerning Abraham cannot be understood if it is not related to the use of the so-called historical credo in the New Testament. Gerhard von Rad made the concept of the historical credo famous in Old Testament exegesis.19 The historical credo was a part of the temple liturgy (Deut 26:5–11) 16

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A good overview of different ways of interpreting biblical stories of Genesis in late antiquity can be found in Kugel, Traditions of the Bible. A good example is Justin’s typologies of the cross (Dial. 90–91, 94) which are based on three texts of the Hebrew Bible which in antiquity were regarded as difficult among Jews because of their assumed promotion of magical thinking: 1) Blood ritual in the Passover (Ex 12); 2) Moses’ prayer (Ex 17:8–15); 3) Bronze Serpent (Num 21:4–9). Justin interprets all three texts as referring typologically and symbolically to the cross. Another way of interpreting these difficult texts can be found in Mekhilta de Rabbi Ismael. For this, see Marc Hirshman, “Polemic Literary Units in Classical Midrashim and Justin Martyr’s Dialogue with Trypho,” jqr 83 (1993): 369–384; Antti Laato, “Interpreting the Hebrew Bible with Different Hermeneutical Models: A Contribution to Jewish and Christian Exegesis,” in Voces Clamantium in Deserto: Essays in Honor of Kari Syreeni (ed. S.-O. Back and M. Kankaanniemi; Studier i exegetic och judaistik utgivna av Teologiska fakulteten vid Åbo Akademi 11; Åbo: Åbo Akademi University, 2012), 163–183. I have discussed more closely Justin’s treatment of the Mosaic Torah in my article “Jewish Believers in Jesus and the Mosaic Law: The Opinion of Justin Martyr,” (stca 7; Leiden: Brill, 2020), 115–142. Concerning this, see my treatment of Justin’s theology towards Jews in Antti Laato, “Justin Martyr Encounters Judaism.” Gerhard von Rad, “Das formgeschichtliche Problem des Hexateuch,” in Gerhard von Rad, Gesammelte Studien zum Alten Testament (tb 8, Munich 1958), 9–86; idem, Theologie

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where a Jew confesses his relationship to the patriarch Jacob to whom God has actualised mighty acts in history by leading his descendants, the people of Israel, out of Egypt and giving them the land of Canaan. Similar historical credos can be found in other parts of the Old Testament, for example, in Deut 1–4; Joos 24; 1Sam 12; Neh 9; Ps 78; 105–106; 136. The aim of these texts was to remind the people of Israel that Yahweh is God who has acted in history and entered into covenantal relationship with his people. The historical credos became a central part of Old Testament theology: God has led the history of his people throughout the centuries, and still leads and will lead it in future. In the New Testament, historical credos have been used in intra-Jewish discussions to relate the decisive salvation-historical event that took place in the life, death and resurrection of Jesus Christ to older salvation-historical events recounted in the Old Testament.20 An illustrative example is Luke’s description in Acts 7 where Stephen begins his speech by referring to Abraham, Isaac and Jacob, and then continues by stating how Jews have always opposed the leader whom God has given, first Joseph, then Moses and then finally Jesus, the Messiah. In this way, Jesus is related typologically to Joseph and Moses and Stephen’s aim is to call the Jewish people to repentance. Luke gives another example in Acts 13:16–47 where Paul delivers a speech in Antioch of Pisidia. Like Stephen Paul begins his speech by referring to the patriarchs and then continues to describe the exodus of Egypt, the conquest of the Land of Canaan, refers to the judges and then comes to the history of David. David received the promise of the eternal dynasty (2Sam 7) which gives Paul the possibility to actualize the messianic promise which has been fulfilled in Jesus Christ. In this way Paul gained the opportunity to speak about the death and resurrection of Jesus Christ and how the universal message of salvation in the name of Jesus Christ must be proclaimed everywhere in the world. In his own letters, the Jewish apostle Paul uses the historical credo to illustrate how God has led his people. In Romans 9–11, Paul shows that God has always chosen a remnant which has remained loyal. Paul begins by referring to the patriarchs and argues that not all offspring of Abraham was elected, only

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des Alten Testaments. Band i: Die Theologie der geschichtlichen Überlieferungen Israels (Munich: Kaiser Verlag, 1982). It is a well-known fact that von Rad developed his salvationhistorical understanding of the Old Testament in Jena under the pressure of Nazi theology (which he apparently opposed). A good and brief introduction to this struggle in Jena is Bernard M. Levinsson, “Reading the Bible in Nazi Germany: Gerhad von Rad’s Attempt to Reclaim the Old Testament for the Church,” Int 62 (2008): 238–254. It is a well-known fact that the scholarly concept “salvation history” has been related to Luke’s works (Luke and Acts) in the New Testament. In patristic literature especially Irenaeus has been regarded as representing salvation historical theology.

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Isaac and then Jacob (Rom 9:1–13). The election of Yahweh continued in the history of Israel too, and, by using the prophetic texts from the Books of Hosea and Isaiah, Paul argues that only a remnant of the people has been loyal to God (Rom 9:14–29). Another biblical story, which illustrates the idea that only a remnant remains loyal to God, is the story of Elijah. At the time of Elijah, only 7000 Israelites remained faithful to God (Rom 11:1–10). Paul uses biblical stories typologically to illustrate that similar history will continue in the era of Jesus Christ when only a small remnant of the Jewish people will accept the apostolic message. God will punish (but not reject) disloyal Jews because of their disbelief, and during this period non-Jewish peoples will join the new Israel. Nevertheless, Paul presents an eschatological hope that in the future the Jewish people will understand the gospel of Jesus Christ and turn to their Messiah. He also warns against non-Jewish peoples behaving arrogantly towards those Jews who now temporarily live in unbelief (Rom 11:11–36). It is significant that the salvation-historical presentation of the Christian kerygma appears in Luke-Acts as well as Paul’s letters. Both New Testament corpuses were important for Justin.21 The historical credo where Jesus’ life, proclamation, death and resurrection form a new decisive salvation historical stage in the plans of God is important for Justin’s theology and put it in the continuity of the New Testament theology. In this article, my focus is not laid on continuity (which is evident) but on the way in which Justin modified that New Testament theology.

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Abraham-Promise in Justin’s Dialogue 119–120

The central passage where Justin deals with the election history relating to Abraham’s family is Dial. 119–120.22 I shall first analyze this passage and then deepen its meaning by referring to other texts in Dial. (see Chap. 4). Dial. 119 contains four Old Testament quotations Deut 32:16–23; Zech 2:11; Isa 62:11 and Isa 65:1. Justin’s aim is to show that the Jewish people have provoked God with their idols and abominations. Therefore, God will choose a new nation and (foolish) people (Deut 32:16–23) which will consist of many nations (Zech 2:11) and become holy (Isa 62:11) because God will manifest his grace to those who

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See Oskar Skarsaune, “Justin and His Bible,” in Justin Martyr and His Worlds (ed. S. Parvis and P. Foster; Minneapolis: Fortress, 2007), 53–76. According to Siker, Justin mentions Abraham 103 times. He regards Dial. 119:3–6 “the most striking passage.” See Siker, Disinheriting the Jews, 163.

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previously did not belong to his people and did not know him (Isa 65:1). This new chosen people will inherit the promise given to Abraham (Dial. 119:4–6): (4) For this is that nation which God of old promised to Abraham, when He declared that He would make him a father of many nations (patera pollōn ethnōn thēsein);23 not meaning, however, the Arabians, or Egyptians, or Idumæans, since Ishmael became the father of a mighty nation, and so did Esau; and there is now a great multitude of Ammonites. Noah, moreover, was the father of Abraham, and in fact of all men; and others were the progenitors of others. (5) What larger measure of grace, then, did Christ bestow on Abraham? This, namely, that He called him with His voice by the like calling, telling him to quit the land wherein he dwelt (ekselthein apo tēs gēs en hē ōkei).24 And He has called all of us by that voice, and we have left already the way of living in which we used to spend our days, passing our time in evil after the fashions of the other inhabitants of the earth; and along with Abraham we shall inherit the holy land, when we shall receive the inheritance for an endless eternity, being children of Abraham through the like faith (tekna tou Abraam dia tēn homoian pistin ontes).25 (6) For as ‘he believed’ the voice of God, ‘and it was imputed to him for righteousness’ (episteuse kai elogisthē autō eis dikaiosynēn),26 in like manner we having believed God’s voice spoken by the apostles of Christ, and promulgated to us by the prophets, have renounced even to death all the things of the world. Accordingly, He promises to him a nation of similar faith, God-fearing, righteous, and delighting the Father; but it is not you, ‘in whom is no faith’ [hois ouk esti pistis en autois].27 Justin’s argumentation is based on the axiom which Paul formulated in his letters to the Galatians and Romans where he argues that a true descendant of Abraham is one who has faith like the patriarch.28 Therefore, Justin argues that all nations have the possibility to inherit the promise given to Abraham when 23 24 25 26 27 28

Cf. Gen 17:5: hoti patera pollōn ethnōn tetheika se. Cf. Gen 12:1: ekselthe ek tēs gēs sou. Cf. Gal 3:7: ginōskete ara hoti hoi ek pisteōs, houtoi hyioi eisin Abraam. Cf. Gen 15:6: kai episteusen Abram tō theō kai elogisthē autō eis dikaiosynēn. Cf., Deut 32:20: hois ouk estin pistis en autois. Scholars have discussed whether Justin knew Paul’s letters or not. Justin never quotes Paul verbatim, but it seems that Justin’s argumentation is difficult to understand if we do not assume his familiarity with Paul’s writings. For this see especially Skarsaune, “Justin and His Bible,” 74–75, where he—by referring to other studies—notes that Justin no doubt “made extensive use of Paul’s letters, especially Romans and Galatians” (p. 74).

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they approach God through Jesus Christ.29 Here Justin uses a universalisticinclusive mode of reasoning. However, Justin develops the argument of Paul still further by stating that it was Jesus Christ who called Abraham (Gen 12:1). This corroborates well with Justin’s many statements in Dial. that it was Son of God who appeared to the patriarchs (see further Section 4 in this article). At the end of Dial. 119 Justin presents similar argument to Paul in Rom 11:17– 23, namely, that those Jews who do not believe (in Jesus Christ) will not be included in the holy people (or in Paul’s words “will be cut off from the olive tree”). Justin’s rhetoric argumentation here is more straightforward, however, because he emphasizes that the original promise to the patriarchs has been given to the new nation (i.e. Christianity) and not to the Jewish people. Paul’s argument in Romans, on the other hand, emphasizes expressis verbis that Jews “are Israelites, and to them belong the adoption, the glory, the covenants, the giving of the law, the worship, and the promises; to them belong the patriarchs, and from them, according to the flesh, comes the Messiah, who is over all, God blessed forever. Amen” (Rom 9:4–5). In Dial. 120 Justin elaborates his rhetorical argumentation as to why the promise given to Abraham (and repeated to Isaac, Jacob and Judah) concerns only the Church: (1) Observe, too, how the same promises are made to Isaac and to Jacob. For thus He speaks to Isaac: ‘And in your seed shall all the nations of the earth be blessed’ (kai eulogēthēsontai en tō spermati sou panta ta ethnē tēs gēs).30 And to Jacob: ‘And in you and in your seed shall all families of the earth be blessed’ (kai eulogēthēsontai en soi pasai hai fulai tēs gēs kai en tō spermati sou).31 He says that neither to Esau nor to Reuben, nor to any other; only to those of whom the Christ should arise, according to the dispensation, through the Virgin Mary. (2) But if you would consider the blessing of Judah, you would perceive what I say. For the seed is divided from Jacob, and comes down through Judah, and Phares, and Jesse, and David. And this was a symbol of the fact that some of your nation would be found children of Abraham, and found, too, in the lot of Christ; but that others, who are indeed children of Abraham, would be like the sand on the sea-shore, barren and fruitless, much in quantity, and without number indeed, but bearing no fruit whatever, and only drinking the water of the sea. And a vast multitude in your nation are convicted of being

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For this see especially Skarsaune, Proof from Prophecy, 345–346. Gen 26:4: kai eneulogēthēsontai en tō spermati sou panta ta ethnē tēs gēs. Gen 28:14: kai eneulogēthēsontai en soi pasai hai fulai tēs gēs kai en tō spermati sou.

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of this kind, imbibing doctrines of bitterness and godlessness, but spurning the word of God. (3) He speaks therefore in the passage relating to Judah: ‘A prince shall not fail from Judah, nor a ruler from his thighs, till that which is laid up for him come; and He shall be the expectation of the nations’ (ouk ekleipsei arkhōn eks Iouda kai hēgoumenos ek tōn mērōn autou, heōs an elthē hō apokeitai kai autos estai prosdokia ethnōn; Gen 49:10).32 And it is plain that this was spoken not of Judah, but of Christ. For all we out of all nations do expect not Judah, but Jesus, who led your fathers out of Egypt. For the prophecy referred even to the advent of Christ: ‘Till He come for whom this is laid up, and He shall be the expectation of nations.’ (4) Jesus came, therefore, as we have shown at length, and is expected again to appear above the clouds; whose name you profane, and labour hard to get it profaned over all the earth. It were possible for me, sirs, to contend against you about the reading which you so interpret, saying it is written, ‘Till the things laid up for Him come’ (heōs an elthē ta apokeimena); though the Seventy have not so explained it, but thus, ‘Till He comes for whom this is laid up.’ (5) But since what follows indicates that the reference is to Christ (for it is, ‘and He shall be the expectation of nations’), I do not proceed to have a mere verbal controversy with you, as I have not attempted to establish proof about Christ from the passages of Scripture which are not admitted by you which I quoted from the words of Jeremiah the prophet, and Esdras, and David; but from those which are even now admitted by you, which had your teachers comprehended, be well assured they would have deleted them, as they did those about the death of Isaiah, whom you sawed asunder with a wooden saw. And this was a mysterious type of Christ being about to cut your nation in two, and to raise those worthy of the honour to the everlasting kingdom along with the holy patriarchs and prophets; but He has said that He will send others to the condemnation of the unquenchable fire along with similar disobedient and impenitent men from all the nations. (6) ‘For they shall come,’ He said, ‘from the west and from the east, and shall sit down with Abraham, and Isaac, and Jacob in the kingdom of heaven; but the children of the kingdom shall be cast out into outer darkness’ [Mt 8:11–12] And I have mentioned these things, taking nothing whatever into consideration, except the speaking of the truth, and refusing to be coerced by 32

Justin quotes Gen 49:10–11 several times and some quotations do not follow the Septuagint version. However, here in Dial. 120.3 the quotation is practically identical to the Septuagint. Concerning the quotations of Gen 49:10–11 in Justin, see Skarsaune, Proof from Prophecy, 25–29, 140–144, 260–264.

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any one, even though I should be immediately torn in pieces by you. For I gave no thought to any of my people, that is, the Samaritans, when I had a communication in writing with Caesar, but stated that they were wrong in trusting to the magician Simon of their own nation, who, they say, is God above all power, and authority, and might. In Dial. 120 Justin uses a particularistic-exclusive mode of reasoning by arguing why Jews (carnal descendants of the patriarchs) cannot be the real target of the promise given to Abraham. Justin develops the argumentation—presented in the New Testament—in the direction that the Christian Church is the real target of the promises given to the patriarchs. He presents the lineage of four patriarchs, Abraham—Isaac—Jacob—Judah, and argues that all the promises God has given to them concern the Christian Church. According to Justin, this becomes especially clear from the promise given to Judah in Gen 49:10 (for this see Section 4). An important saying of Jesus for Justin is that which is documented in Mt 8:11–12. Justin interpreted this saying as Jesus speaking about the new Christian people who had not descended physically from the three patriarchs but who will, nevertheless, join their eschatological banquet while the carnal offspring of the patriarchs i.e. Jews will be discarded. This saying of Jesus is also used in Dial. 76:4 and 140:4 showing its importance for Justin. The central question is whether Justin indicates that this emphasis on the Christian Church excludes the salvation historical reality that patriarchal promises were given to the Jewish people—something which Paul emphasized in Romans 9–11. In order to answer this question, it is important to consider the following two points. First, the four-patriarch-lineage is presented already at the beginning of the discussion with Trypho (Dial. 11:5). Trypho demands Justin to become a Jewish proselyte who follows Mosaic instructions. Justin answers by referring to the new covenant which God has promised to establish (Isa 51:4–5 and Jer 31:31–32) and relates the four-patriarch-lineage to this discussion. This being the case the Abraham-promise is understood in Dial. so that Christians may become members in the spiritual Israel which lives in the new covenantal relationship with God. This rhetorical situation at the beginning of Dial. is important, and it is related to Justin’s way to speak about the descendants of Abraham. Second, according to Dial. 119–120, Judah received a promise of the new ruler (Gen 49:10) which would be fulfilled in Jesus Christ, the son of David. Justin argues that “the seed is divided from Jacob, and comes down through Judah, and Phares, and Jesse, and David” (Dial. 120). This division is attested in the way the descendants of Jacob will “bear fruit”, i.e. can do good works. Justin’s discus-

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sion concerning the Mosaic Law is important in this context. He presupposes that some of the Jewish people who followed Mosaic instructions will bear fruit (cf., Dial. 46–47 where Justin discusses the Mosaic Torah and Jewish-Christian groups), and therefore they will be part of the spiritual Israel. I now proceed to discuss Justin’s way to use the concept “descendants of Abraham”.

4

The Descendants of Abraham in Justin’s Dialogue

I have argued insofar that Justin’s theology in Dial. 119–120 is based on two important New Testament themes: 1) The Pauline theology in Romans and Galatians; 2) Jesus’ sayings in Mt 8:11–12. The Pauline theology gave Justin a biblical justification for interpreting the promise given to Abraham as concerning the new Christian people, and Mt 8:11–12, in turn, indicated that many members outside the Jewish people are included in the banquet of the patriarchs while, because of their disbelief, Jews themselves are excluded. The disbelief of Jews is also discussed in Paul’s Letter to the Romans 11:17–23. Justin develops his Abraham-promise-theology in the context of the confrontation of the counter-arguments presented by Trypho in the beginning of Dial. and therefore it is important to consider this rhetorical situation. In Dial. 119–120 Justin modifies the promise given to the patriarchs so that it concerns the Christian Church. The question remains whether Dial. 119– 120 represents Justin’s overall theological emphasis or whether it is rather a part of Justin’s rhetorics which aim to call Trypho and his friends to turn to Christ? Siker seems to take it for granted that Dial. 119 “gives an indication of the thorough manner in which he [= Justin] takes over the traditions about Abraham for his own purposes in his controversy with Judaism.”33 Siker has argued that Justin speaks about the descendants of Abraham in three different ways: 1) Jews are physical descendants of Abraham; 2) true spiritual descendants of Abraham are those who believe in Christ; 3) Justin also presents disclaimers of the Jewish claims to be true descendants.34 Therefore, it is important to deal with other passages from Dialogue and examine Justin’s theology concerning the concept “the descendants of Abraham.” The central question is whether we can find more nuances in Justin’s treatment of the concept.

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Siker, Disinheriting the Jews, 164. Siker, Disinheriting the Jews, 171–173.

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In Dial. 119–120 Justin emphasizes that there are two different groups among the children of Abraham and who differ from each other as far as good works are concerned. In order to “become fruitful” and be able to do good works one needs Abraham’s faith (Gen 15:6). Justin emphasizes this same theology elsewhere in Dial. The true descendants of Abraham are those who believe like Abraham and recognize mysteries (Dial. 44:1–2): For thus, so far as you are concerned, I shall be found in all respects innocent, if I strive earnestly to persuade you by bringing forward demonstrations. But if you remain hard-hearted, or weak in [forming] a resolution, on account of death, which is the lot of the Christians, and are unwilling to assent to the truth, you shall appear as the authors of your own [evils]. And you deceive yourselves while you fancy that, because you are the seed of Abraham after the flesh, therefore you shall fully inherit the good things announced to be bestowed by God through Christ. For no one, not even of them, has anything to look for, but only those who in mind are assimilated to the faith of Abraham, and who have recognized all the mysteries: for I say, that some injunctions were laid on you in reference to the worship of God and practice of righteousness; but some injunctions and acts were likewise mentioned in reference to the mystery of Christ, on account of the hardness of your people’s hearts. Like John the Baptist, Justin criticizes Jews for not trusting in their being the descendants of Abraham. Justin emphasizes, as Paul, that Jews should believe as the patriarch did. In this context, Justin also criticizes the Mosaic injunctions in which Jews put their trust. However, Justin’s view on the Mosaic Torah is not “black and white” as becomes clear from Dial. 47 where he presents different alternatives concerning who among the Jews can be saved:35 But if, Trypho, some of your race, who say they believe in this Christ, compel those Gentiles who believe in this Christ to live in all respects 35

The first detailed treatment of the problem of the Mosaic Torah was Theodore Stylianopoulos, Justin Martyr and the Mosaic Law (sblds 20; Missoula: Scholars Press, 1975). I have discussed Justin’s treatment of the Mosaic Torah more closely in my article “Jewish Believers in Jesus and the Mosaic Law: The Opinion of Justin Martyr.” In that article I argue that Justin has inherited an old Christian tradition which goes back to the New Testament period according to which the Jewish believers in Jesus had the possibility to continue to practice the Mosaic Torah. This inherited tradition looms behind Justin’s formulations which are not always consequent.

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according to the law given by Moses, or choose not to associate so intimately with them, I in like manner do not approve of them. But I believe that even those, who have been persuaded by them to observe the legal dispensation along with their confession of God in Christ, shall probably be saved. And I hold, further, that such as have confessed and known this man to be Christ, yet who have gone back from some cause to the legal dispensation, and have denied that this man is Christ, and have repented not before death, shall by no means be saved. Further, I hold that those of the seed of Abraham who live according to the law, and do not believe in this Christ before death, shall likewise not be saved, and especially those who have anathematized and do anathematize this very Christ in the synagogues, and everything by which they might obtain salvation and escape the vengeance of fire. Justin gives credit for those Jews who follow the Mosaic injunctions and who believe in Jesus Christ and confess him as being the Son of God. Such Jews will be saved, according to Justin. On the other hand, Justin emphasizes that they should not persuade other Christians to follow Mosaic laws. What seems to be important for Justin is the emphasis that the promise given to Abraham concerns those who come to believe. Therefore, he warns against any Jew putting his reliance on the seed of Abraham if he does not believe in Christ. Such a faith cannot save anyone. This shows that Justin does not cut the promises given to patriarchs off from those Jews who practice Mosaic instructions providing that they believe in Christ. In this opinion Justin seems to follow the New Testament basic attitude toward Jewish-Christian groups, and Justin’s opinion can be compared with Paul’s ideas presented in Romans 9– 11. Justin allows that Jews who believe in Jesus Christ as the Son of God and Saviour can continue to follow the Mosaic Law. In the same context, Dial. 44, Justin allows Jews to be called the seed of Abraham.36 This indicates that Justin’s main aim is not to argue that Jews can no longer inherit the promises given to Abraham. In Dial. 47 Justin clearly implies that those Jews who follow the Mosaic Torah and also believe in Jesus Christ are the children of Abraham.

36

“The children of Abraham” is presented in Dial. 44 as a disclaimer—as Siker puts it. However, the context implies that Jews who believe in Jesus and follow the Mosaic Torah must be regarded as the children of Abraham. Justin seems to follow Paul, the Jew, in his argumentation and allows—like Paul—that Jewish believers in Jesus can continue to practise the Mosaic Torah.

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In Dial. 52–54 Justin elaborates on the lineage Abraham—Isaac—Jacob— Judah and the promise given to Judah in Gen 49:10 more closely.37 Justin argues that in Gen 49:8–12 Jacob predicts the two advents of Christ (Dial. 52:1): And it was prophesied by Jacob the patriarch that there would be two advents of Christ, and that in the first He would suffer, and that after He came there would be neither prophet nor king in your nation (I proceeded), and that the nations who believed in the suffering Christ would look for His future appearance. Justin’s argument is that the offices of king, the high priest and prophet ceased just before and during the destruction of the Second Temple. This means that the promised Messiah of Gen 49:8–12 must have appeared at the end of the Second Temple period which (according to Justin) would parallel excellently with the lifetime of Jesus Christ.38 Justin understands the reference to the ass in Gen 49:8–12 as parallel to the prophecy of Zech 9:9–10 indicating Jesus’ first (humble) appearance (Dial. 53). In a similar way, Justin interprets the blood of the grapes in Gen 49:8–12 as referring to the death of Christ (Dial. 54). The second glorious appearance is also referred to in Jacob’s prophecy about Judah (Dial. 52): But after the manifestation and death of our Jesus Christ in your nation, there was and is nowhere any prophet: nay, further, you ceased to exist under your own king, your land was laid waste, and forsaken like a lodge

37 38

In Dial. 52–54 Justin’s quotation of Gen 49:8–12 follows that of the Septuagint. Skarsaune, Proof from Prophecy, 25–27. It is worth noting that Justin’s way of interpreting Gen 49:10 became a central Christian (anti-Jewish) argument for the beginning of the Messianic era from the time of Jesus onwards which corroborate with the destruction of the Temple and Jewish “royal” institution. See more closely Heinz Schreckenberg, Die christlichen Adversus-Judaeos-Texte und ihre literarisches und historisches Umfeld (1.–11. Jh.) (Europäische Hochschulschriften 172; Frankfurt am Main: Peter Lang, 1999) and Die christlichen Adversus-Judaeos-Texte (11.–13. Jh.) (Europäische Hochschulschriften 335; Frankfurt am Main: Peter Lang, 1997) with indexes; idem, Die christlichen Adversus-Judaeos-Texte und ihre literarisches und historisches Umfeld (13.–20. Jh.) (Europäische Hochschulschriften 497; Frankfurt am Main: Peter Lang, 1994). This topic was presented in the famous Barcelona disputation among others. For this, see Hyam Maccoby, Judaism on Trial: Jewish-Christian Disputations in the Middle Ages (London: The Littman Library of Jewish Civilization, 1993) and Robert Chazan, “The Barcelona ‘Disputation’ of 1263; Christian Missionizing and Jewish Response,” Speculum 52 (1977): 824–842; idem, Barcelona and Beyond: The Disputation of 1263 and Its Aftermath (Berkeley: University of California, 1992).

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in a vineyard [cf., Isa 1:7–8]; and the statement of Scripture, in the mouth of Jacob, ‘And He shall be the desire of nations’ [kai autos estai prosdokia ethnōn] meant symbolically His two advents, and that the nations would believe in Him; which facts you may now at length discern. For those out of all the nations who are pious and righteous through the faith of Christ, look for His future appearance. Justin argues that the Christians “out of all the nations” who have become “pious and righteous through the faith of Christ” will wait for the second future and glorious appearance of Jesus Christ. In this way, the promises given to the patriarchs concern the Christian Church. In Dial. 100:3 the patriarch-lineage is presented by Abraham—Isaac—Jacob—David and, in this context, emphasis is made on the virginal birth of Jesus and the promise in Isa 7:14 which was given to the House of David.39 The confrontation between Justin and Trypho begins in Dial. 10 with the latter’s statement that Christians should circumcise themselves and keep the Mosaic instructions.40 Justin answers by referring to the promises of the new covenant (Isa 51:4–5; Jer 31:31–32). In Dial. he argues that this new covenant (where circumcision is not included) corresponds to the faith which the patriarchs had. Even though circumcision was given to Abraham, his relationship to God was not based on circumcision but rather on belief as indicated in Gen 15:6. Justin 39

40

For this see further Oskar Skarsaune, “Jewish and Christian Interpretations of Messianic Texts in the Book of Isaiah as Jewish/Christian Dialogue—from Matthew to the Rabbis,” seå 77 (2012): 25–45. “This is what we are amazed at, but those things about which the multitude speak are not worthy of belief; for they are most repugnant to human nature. Moreover, I am aware that your precepts in the so-called Gospel are so wonderful and so great, that I suspect no one can keep them; for I have carefully read them. But this is what we are most at a loss about: that you, professing to be pious, and supposing yourselves better than others, are not in any particular separated from them, and do not alter your mode of living from the nations, in that you observe no festivals or Sabbaths, and do not have the rite of circumcision; and further, resting your hopes on a man that was crucified, you yet expect to obtain some good thing from God, while you do not obey His commandments. Have you not read, that that soul shall be cut off from his people who shall not have been circumcised on the eighth day? And this has been ordained for strangers and for slaves equally. But you, despising this covenant rashly, reject the consequent duties, and attempt to persuade yourselves that you know God, when, however, you perform none of those things which they do who fear God. If, therefore, you can defend yourself on these points, and make it manifest in what way you hope for anything whatsoever, even though you do not observe the law, this we would very gladly hear from you, and we shall make other similar investigations.”

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argues that what is needed is the real circumcision, i.e. the circumcision of the heart. Justin refers to Deut 10:16–17 and interprets it as referring to criticism of the Jewish carnal circumcision, and then introduces the Christian baptismal ritual (Dial. 16:2).41 Justin emphasizes several times that, according to the Old Testament, some true believers in God were uncircumcised (Dial. 27:5; 46:3– 4; 92:2–4) including, for example, Melchizedek to whom Abraham also paid tithes (Dial. 33:2; 43:1). Justin is clearly dependent on Paul’s theology when he emphasizes Abraham’s faith: Abraham was uncircumcised when he believed in God. In order to understand Justin’s treatment of circumcision in his Dialogue, it is important to emphasize this connection between circumcision and the Mosaic instructions which is put in high relief at the beginning of the dialogue between Justin and Trypho (Dial. 10). In Dial. 46–47 Justin allows that Jews can circumcise their male children but nonetheless they cannot demand that non-Jewish Christians must follow the Mosaic instructions.42 This continuity of practice of the Mosaic Torah among Jewish believers is an important aspect in Justin’s theology and, as noted already, I have discussed this topic elsewhere. An important topic for Justin is that the Son of God i.e. Christ revealed himself to Abraham and to Jacob (Dial. 75:4; 114:3; 126–127). This means that the patriarchs had a living relationship with Christ, and therefore it is no wonder that all promises given to them are also related to Jesus Christ. This theological viewpoint indicates that the promises given to the patriarch became Christocentric. This means that Jews have possibility to be true descendants of Abraham when they believe in Jesus Christ. An interesting detail in Dial. is Justin’s emphasis that the names of the patriarchs (Abraham, Sarah and Jacob) were changed. Justin argues that God wanted to reveal a typological model which contains a Christological secret. This secret concerns the name of Joshua, which was originally Oshea but was subsequently changed to Joshua/Jesus (Dial. 75:2; 106:3; 113:1; 132:2–3). According to Justin, Jews are interested in discussing why Abraham’s and Sarah’s

41

42

See the concept “circumcision of the heart” in Guido Baltes, “ ‘Circumcision of the Heart’ in Paul: From a Metaphor of Torah Obedience to a Metaphor of Torah Polemics?” in Antti Laato, ed., The Challenge of the Mosaic Torah in Judaism, Christianity, and Islam (stca 7; Leiden: Brill, 2020), 88–112. It seems to me that even here Siker’s conclusion is too straightforward (Disinheriting the Jews, 170): “Far from being a blessing, circumcision is a curse that marks the Jews out for God’s punishment.”

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names were changed but avoid clarifying the change of the name of Oshea to Jesus. According to Justin, Joshua is a typos for Jesus, indicating that the whole salvation history from the time of Abraham via Moses to Joshua refers to the coming Savior Jesus Christ (Dial. 113).

5

The Descendants of Abraham and Isa 63:15–64:12

Justin’s emphasis that the promise given to Abraham concerns the Christian Church comes into focus in the way he interprets Isa 63:15–64:12 (Dial. 25–26). Justin begins his interpretation by referring to those Jews who claim to be sons of Abraham. He claims that Isaiah predicted that they will become “desirous even in a small degree to receive the inheritance along with us.”43 Justin then quotes a long passage from Isa 63:15–64:12 according to the Septuagint:44 Return from heaven, and behold from the habitation of Your holiness and glory. Where is Your zeal and strength? Where is the multitude of Your mercy? For You have sustained us, O Lord. For You are our Father, because Abraham is ignorant of us, and Israel has not recognised us. But You, O Lord, our Father, deliver us: from the beginning Your name is upon us. O Lord, why have You made us to err from Your way? And hardened our hearts, so that we do not fear You? Return for Your servants’ sake, the tribes of Your inheritance, that we may inherit for a little Your holy mountain. We were as from the beginning, when You did not bear rule over us, and when Your name was not called upon us. If You will open the heavens, trembling shall seize the mountains before You: and they shall be melted, as wax melts before the fire; and fire shall consume the adversaries, and Your name shall be manifest among the adversaries; the nations shall be put into disorder before Your face. When You shall do glorious things, trembling shall seize the mountains before You. From the beginning we have not heard, nor have our eyes seen a God besides You: and Your works, the mercy which You shall show to those who repent. He shall meet those who do righteousness, and they shall remember Your ways. Behold, You are angry, and we were sinning. Therefore we have erred and become all unclean, and all our righteousness is as the rags of a woman set apart: and we have faded away like leaves by reason of our iniquities; thus the

43 44

Paris-manuscript has syn hymin, but it seems clear that the context demands syn hēmin. For this see Skarsaune, Proof from Prophecy, 78.

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wind will take us away. And there is none that calls upon Your name, or remembers to take hold of You; for You have turned away Your face from us, and have given us up on account of our sins. And now return, O Lord, for we are all Your people. The city of Your holiness has become desolate. Zion has become as a wilderness, Jerusalem a curse; the house, our holiness, and the glory which our fathers blessed, has been burned with fire; and all the glorious nations have fallen along with it. And in addition to these [misfortunes], O Lord, You have refrained Yourself, and are silent, and have humbled us very much. Justin interprets Abraham’s ignorance concerning the inhabitants of Jerusalem as Abraham no longer being interested in the Jews because he has found a new people, his true spiritual descendants who believe in Jesus Christ. Justin’s interpretation of the Isaianic passage must be read in its historical context. Two important aspects should be emphasized. (1) The Isaiah passage is closely related to Jerusalem, and Dial. has been written about twenty years after the war of Bar Kochba. (2) Justin allows Trypho to react strongly against his interpretation which gives him the opportunity to clarify what he really meant. After having heard the quotation which Justin uses against the Jews, Trypho reacts by asking: “What is this you say? That none of us shall inherit anything on the holy mountain of God?” Justin’s fine rhetorics become apparent in this presentation because he is able to answer Trypho by emphasizing that there are Jews who will be saved—and this same point is emphasized in Dial. 46– 47 which I have analyzed in a separate article. Justin’s answer is worth quoting because it reveals that, according to Justin, not all Jews will be excluded from the Temple Mount: I do not say so; but those who have persecuted and do persecute Christ, if they do not repent, shall not inherit anything on the holy mountain. But the Gentiles, who have believed on Him, and have repented of the sins which they have committed, they shall receive the inheritance along with the patriarchs and the prophets, and the just men who are descended from Jacob, even although they neither keep the Sabbath, nor are circumcised, nor observe the feasts. Assuredly they shall receive the holy inheritance of God. Justin presents two additional quotations from the Book of Isaiah, Isa 42:6– 7 and Isa 62:10–63:6, which speak about the coming glory of those gentiles who turn to God of Israel. Justin’s interpretation of Isa 63:15–64:12 is related to his understanding of Isa 64:9–11 which he presents elsewhere in 1 Apol. 47

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(he quotes the text according to the Septuagint). According to Justin, this text refers to the destruction of Jerusalem in 70ce, and the military struggles during the Bar Kochba war (1 Apol. 47): That the land of the Jews, then, was to be laid waste, hear what was said by the Spirit of prophecy. And the words were spoken as if from the person of the people wondering at what had happened. They are these: Sion is a wilderness, Jerusalem a desolation. The house of our sanctuary has become a curse, and the glory which our fathers blessed is burned up with fire, and all its glorious things are laid waste: and You refrain Yourself at these things, and have held Your peace, and have humbled us very sore [Isa 64:9–11]. And you are convinced that Jerusalem has been laid waste, as was predicted. And concerning its desolation, and that no one should be permitted to inhabit it, there was the following prophecy by Isaiah: Their land is desolate, their enemies consume it before them, and none of them shall dwell therein [Isa 1:7]. And that it is guarded by you lest any one dwell in it, and that death is decreed against a Jew apprehended entering it, you know very well. Justin’s way of using prophetic texts which contain references to the destruction of Jerusalem may well have been an early Jewish or Jewish-Christian tradition which was directed against the Jewish people who were punished by God in 66–70 and 132–135ce.45 Justin develops this topic and in the case of Isa 63:15–64:12 he connects this fate with his idea that the real focus of the promise given to Abraham concerns the Christian people. Therefore, 66–70 and 132– 135 ce manifested the rejection of the carnal Israel when, at the same time, the promise given to Abraham became fulfilled, and the new Christian people were formed.46 It seems to me that Dial. 25–26 is Justin’s Christian version of the Jewish proclamation of repentance directed to Jews after the two rebellions in 66–70 and 132–135 ce.

45 46

Similar treatment of the events of 66–70ce can be found in 2 Baruch and 4 Ezra, for example. In Dial. 44–45 Justin has a corresponding interpretation for Ezek 14:18, 20. The text is read so that Noah, Jacob (not Job!) and Daniel asked for sons and daughters for themselves but will not receive them. The idea is that after the appearance of Christ, Jews refer to the promise that they would get offspring in vain because from Christ onwards God will have spiritual—not carnal—children.

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Conclusions

In this article I have attempted to put Justin’s theology in its own historical context. I would like to see Justin’s theology as a development from theological discussions which took place in the Jewish-Christian confrontations where the borderlines between Judaism and Christianity were not at all clear in the first century ce and at the beginning of the second.47 In this perspective which I fully share, the New Testament writings represented mainly the intra-Jewish controversy where Jewish writers (like Paul, for example) try to offer argument for both gentile and Jewish audiences concerning how the Old Testament scriptures should be understood rightly and in the light of Christ. The intra-Jewish confrontation in the New Testament can be compared in many ways to the intra-Jewish struggles between Qumran and Jerusalem. When the Jewish members in the early Church became a clear minority, the centre of Christianity was moved from Jerusalem to other cities, and contacts with Jewish traditions were diminished, the intra-Jewish confrontation then developed into interreligious confrontation. Justin’s theology represents this gradual shift. What is a striking phenomenon in Justin’s way of treating Judaism is that he still recognizes the presence of the Jewish-Christian groups in the Church and accepts their observation of the Mosaic Torah—something which was totally rejected later.48 It is against this background that Justin’s interpretations concerning Abraham should be understood.49 Justin’s way of dealing with the promise given to Abraham mainly follows Paul’s interpretation of the Abrahamic faith in Romans 4 and Galatians 3–4. He has used Paul’s way of treating Abrahamic faith and Jesus’ saying in Mt 8:11–12, and developed more clearly a theological idea that the promise given to Abraham concerned the Christian Church from the very beginning. How-

47 48

49

For this, see especially Daniel Boyarin, Border Lines: The Partition of Judaeo-Christianity (University of Pennsylvania 2004). For this, see Ray A. Pritz, Nazarene Jewish Christianity. From the End of the New Testament Period until Its Disappearance in the Fourth Century (Jerusalem-Leiden: The Magnes Press, The Hebrew University, Brill, 1988) and instructive articles in Skarsaune and Hvalvik, Jewish Believers in Jesus. Cf., also the theology in the Letter of Barnabas, especially chapters 13–15. Concerning Barnabas, see especially Reidar Hvalvik, The Struggle for Scripture and Covenant: The Purpose of the Epistle of Barnabas and Jewish-Christian Competition in the Second Century (wunt 2/82; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1996); William Horbury, “Jewish-Christian Relations in Barnabas and Justin Martyr,” in William Horbury, Jews and Christians in Contact and Controversy (London: T&T Clark International, 2006), 127–161.

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ever, it is difficult to say that Justin represented pure supersessionistic theology (i.e. “cuckoo-nest theology”) because his interpretation does not nullify the intra-Jewish discussion still present in the New Testament. According to this intra-Jewish discussion the promise of Abraham is related to Abraham’s physical descendants, the Jews who continue to practice the Mosaic Law (as expressed by Paul, the Jew, in Rom 9:1–5). The central debate in this intra-Jewish discussion concerned whether or not Jesus from Nazareth should be regarded as Messiah/Christ. I have attempted to add some nuances in Siker’s and Wendel’s analyses. It seems to me that Justin balances two theological poles. First, he follows an early Jewish-Christian tradition that Jews were able to follow Mosaic instructions including circumcision and therefore the salvation history continues among the Jewish people through the Jewish-Christian groups. This position is reflected in Luke’s (Acts 15:21) and Paul’s theology (Rom 9:1–5) indicating that the Jewish people continues to exist and Jewish-Christians will maintain intraJewish discussions concerning Jesus Christ. Second, Justin was one important primus motor who developed a new salvation historical tendency in Christian theology that Christ revealed himself with the patriarchs and, therefore, the Abrahamic promise must concern Christ and his Church. This view was developed later in the patristic literature. It was combined with theology that the Jewish people should no longer practice the Mosaic Law because God has rejected the Sinai covenant and its followers.

Bibliography Barnard, Leslie W. Justin Martyr: His Life and Thought. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1967. Baltes, Guido “‘Circumcision of the Heart’ in Paul: From a Metaphor of Torah Obedience to a Metaphor of Torah Polemics?” Pages 88–112 in The Challenge of the Mosaic Torah in Judaism, Christianity, and Islam. Edited by A. Laato. Studies on the Children of Abraham 7. Leiden: Brill, 2020. Blum, Erhard. “Hosea 12 und die Pentateuchüberlieferungen.” Pages 291–321 in Die Erzväter in der biblischen Tradition: Festschrift für Matthias Köckert. Edited by A.C. Hagedorn and H. Pfeiffer. Beihefte zur Zeitschrift für die alttestamentliche Wissenschaft 400. Berlin: De Gruyter, 2009. Boyarin, Daniel. Border Lines: The Partition of Judaeo-Christianity. University of Pennsylvania, 2004. Chadwick, Henry. Early Christian Thought and the Classical Tradition: Studies in Justin, Clement, and Origen. Oxford: Clarendon, 1984.

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Chazan, Robert. “The Barcelona ‘Disputation’ of 1263; Christian Missionizing and Jewish Response.” Speculum 52 (1977): 824–842. Chazan, Robert. Barcelona and Beyond: The Disputation of 1263 and Its Aftermath. Berkeley: University of California, 1992. Fall, Thomas B. Dialogue with Trypho and with a new introduction by Thomas P. Halton. Edited by M. Slusser. Washington: Catholic University of America Press, 2003. Goodenough, Erwin R. The Theology of Justin Martyr: An Investigation into Conceptions of Early Christian Literature and its Hellenistic and Judaic Influences. 2nd ed. Amsterdam: Philo Press, 1968. Goodspeed, Edgar J. Die ältesten Apologeten: Texte mit kurzen Einleitungen. Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1984. Hirshman, Marc. “Polemic Literary Units in Classical Midrashim and Justin Martyr’s Dialogue with Trypho.” Jewish Quarterly Review 83 (1993): 369–384. Horbury, William. Jews and Christians in Contact and Controversy. London: T&T Clark International, 2006. Hvalvik, Reidar. The Struggle for Scripture and Covenant: The Purpose of the Epistle of Barnabas and Jewish-Christian Competition in the Second Century. Wissenschaftliche Untersuchungen zum Neuen Testament 2/82. Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1996. Kugel, James. Traditions of the Bible: A Guide to the Bible as It Was at the Start of the Common Era. Cambridge MA.: Harvard University Press 1998. Laato, Antti. “Justin Martyr Encounters Judaism” Pages 97–123 in Encounters of the Children of Abraham from Ancient to Modern Times Edited by A. Laato and P. Lindqvist. Studies on the Children of Abraham 1. Leiden: Brill, 2010. Laato, Antti. “Interpreting the Hebrew Bible with Different Hermeneutical Models: A Contribution to Jewish and Christian Exegesis.” Pages 163–183 in Voces Clamantium in Deserto: Essays in Honor of Kari Syreeni. Edited by S.-O. Back and M. Kankaanniemi. Studier i exegetik och judaistik utgivna av Teologiska fakulteten vid Åbo Akademi 11. Åbo: Åbo Akademi University, 2012. Laato, Antti. “Jewish Believers in Jesus and the Mosaic Law: The Opinion of Justin Martyr.” Studies on the Children of Abraham 8. Leiden: Brill, forthcoming. Levinsson, Bernard M. “Reading the Bible in Nazi Germany: Gerhad von Rad’s Attempt to Reclaim the Old Testament for the Church.” Interpretation 62 (2008): 238–254. Maccoby, Hyam. Judaism on Trial: Jewish-Christian Disputations in the Middle Ages. London: The Littman Library of Jewish Civilization, 1993. Marcovich, Miroslav, ed. Iustini Martyris Apologiae pro Christianis. Berlin, New York: Walter de Gruyter, 1994. Marcovich, Miroslav and Edouardo Des Places, eds. Iustini Martyris Dialogus cum Tryphone. New York: Walter de Gruyter, 1997. Mihaly, Eugene. “A Rabbinic Defense of the Election of Israel: An Analysis of Sifre Deuteronomy 32:9, Pisqa 312.” Hebrew Union College Annual 35 (1964): 103–143.

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Nyberg, Henrik S. Hebreisk Grammatik. Stockholm: Almqvist & Wiksell, 1952. Osborn, Eric F. Justin Martyr. Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1973. Parvis Sara and Paul Foster, eds. Justin Martyr and His Worlds. Minneapolis: Fortress, 2007. Pritz, Ray A. Nazarene Jewish Christianity: From the End of the New Testament Period until Its Disappearance in the Fourth Century. Jerusalem: The Magnes Press and The Hebrew University; Leiden: Brill, 1988. Rad von, Gerhard. “Das formgeschichtliche Problem des Hexateuch.” Pages 9–86 in G. von Rad, Gesammelte Studien zum Alten Testament. Theologische Bücherei: Neudrucke und Berichte aus dem 20. Jahrhundert 8. Munich, 1958. Rad von, Gerhard. Theologie des Alten Testaments. Band i: Die Theologie der geschichtlichen Überlieferungen Israels. Munich: Kaiser Verlag, 1982. Rokéah David. Justin Martyr and the Jews. Jewish and Christian Perspectives Series 5. Leiden: Brill, 2002. Runesson, Anders. “Particularistic Judaism and Universalistic Christianity? Some Critical Remarks on Terminology and Theology.” Studia Theologica 54:1 (2000): 55–75. Schmid, Konrad. The Old Testament: A Literary History. Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 2012. Schreckenberg, Heinz. Die christlichen Adversus-Judaeos-Texte und ihre literarisches und historisches Umfeld (13.–20. Jh.). Europäische Hochschulschriften 497. Frankfurt am Main: Peter Lang, 1994. Schreckenberg, Heinz. Die christlichen Adversus-Judaeos-Texte (11.–13. Jh.). Europäische Hochschulschriften 335. Frankfurt am Main: Peter Lang, 1997. Schreckenberg, Heinz. Die christlichen Adversus-Judaeos-Texte und ihre literarisches und historisches Umfeld (1.–11. Jh.). Europäische Hochschulschriften 172. Frankfurt am Main: Peter Lang, 1999. Siker, Jeffrey S. Disinheriting the Jews: Abraham in Early Christian Controversy. Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox, 1991. Simon, Marcel. Verus Israel: A Study of the Relations between Christians and Jews in the Roman Empire ad 135–425. London: The Littman Library of Jewish Civilization, 1996. Skarsaune, Oskar. The Proof from Prophecy: A Study in Justin Martyr’s Proof-text Tradition: Text-type, Provenance, Theological Profile. Novum Testamentum Supplements 56. Leiden: Brill, 1987. Skarsaune, Oskar, and Reidar Hvalvik, eds. Jewish Believers in Jesus: The Early Centuries. Peabody: Hendrickson Publishers, 2007. Skarsaune, Oskar. “Justin and His Bible.” Pages 53–76 in Justin Martyr and His Worlds Edited by S. Parvis and P. Foster. Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 2007. Skarsaune, Oskar. “Jewish and Christian Interpretations of Messianic Texts in the Book of Isaiah as Jewish/Christian Dialogue—from Matthew to the Rabbis.” Svensk exegetisk årsbok 77 (2012): 25–45.

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Stylianopoulos, Theodore. Justin Martyr and the Mosaic Law. Society of Biblical Literature Dissertation Series 20. Missoula: Scholars Press 1975. Wendel, Susan. “Interpreting the Descent of the Spirit: A Comparison of Justin’s Dialogue with Trypho and Luke-Acts.” Pages 95–103 in Justin Martyr and His Worlds. Edited by S. Parvis and P. Foster. Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 2007. Wendel, Susan. Scriptural Interpretation and Community Self-Definition in Luke-Acts and the Writings of Justin Martyr. Novum Testamentum Supplements 139. Leiden: Brill, 2011.

Excellent, but How? Abraham in Josephus Erkki Koskenniemi

1

Introduction Asinus iacentem vidit in prato lyram. Accessit et temptavit chordas ungula; Sonuere tactae. “Bella res sed mehercules Male cessit” inquit “artis quia sum nescius. Si repperisset aliquis hanc prudentior, Divinis aures oblectasset cantibus”. Sic saepe ingenia calamitate intercidunt.1 phaedrus 14

In the earliest phases of my Classical studies, I had the task of writing a brief essay entitled “Abraham in Josephus”. I still remember the enthusiasm the task caused me, when for the first time I had the opportunity to read Josephus. Had I, in the late 1970s, had around me the team that further developed the methodology of the Rewritten Bible,2 I would have been in the first wave of these important studies. Alas, the ass only touched the lyre and admired the beautiful sound. Scholars have sometimes investigated Josephus’ picture of Abraham, and the best-known contributions offer diametrically opposite results. Samuel Sandmel compared Josephus’ picture of the Patriarch with Philo’s texts and did not appreciate what he saw:

1 “An Ass espied a Lyre lying in a meadow: he approached and tried the strings with his hoof; they sounded at his touch. ‘By my faith, a pretty thing,’ said he; ‘it happens unfortunately that I am not skilled in the art. If any person of greater skill had found it, he might have charmed my ears with divine notes.’ So Genius is often wasted through Misfortune.” 2 The phrase “Rewritten Bible” was first used by Geza Vermes (1961), and scholars have afterwards tried to define it with little success. It should be clear that it is not appropriate to try to define a genre, but it is very useful to investigate how very different genres, like stories, legal texts or psalms were rewritten by different writers. On the history of the term and the method how to investigate narrative material, see Erkki Koskenniemi and Pekka Lindqvist, “Rewritten Bible, Rewritten Stories,” in Rewritten Bible Reconsidered: Proceedings of the Conference in Karkku, Finland, August 24–26 2006 (ed. A. Laato and J. van Ruiten; srb 1; Vaajakoski: Åbo Akademi and Eisenbrauns, 2008), 11–39.

© Erkki Koskenniemi, 2022 | doi:10.1163/9789004466845_003

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It is difficult, in a positive way, to state the significance of Abraham to Josephus. The truth is that Josephus does not exhibit any striking, unified, coherent conception of the Patriarch. He gives little more than a pedestrian recapitulation of Scripture, omitting some minor details, naturalizing others, and supplying some traditional embellishments, but his Abraham is written without betraying any meditation, insight, or assessment. The traditional material which Josephus preserves provides him with some details, but these details are never shaped into a body of discerning material. Josephus writes as the kind of historian who records incidents and dates, but who shows little interest in the significance of what he is writing about.3 In Sandmel’s reading, on the other hand, Abraham is not a crucial figure to Josephus, but merely one of many biblical characters. Louis H. Feldman, in his monumental work Josephus’s Interpretation of the Bible gives a contradictory opinion.4 On more than sixty pages he tries to show how Josephus had carefully planned his picture of Abraham and followed Classical ideals in particular. Although such disagreement between great scholars is always interesting, it is easy to see that Sandmel and Feldman also took different paths when investigating Josephus. Early scholars, for example, G. Hölscher in his influential pre article (1916), considered Josephus to be a Palestinian Jew without any skills in Greek language or literature,5 and Sandmel apparently followed this line. In the last decades, however, most scholars have found Josephus’ skills to be markedly better, and Feldman in particular has tried to show that Josephus had strong contacts with Greek literature and argues that he rewrote Biblical figures following Greek models. The two famous scholars thus differed on their basic view on Josephus,6 and it obviously also influenced their views when addressing Josephus’ picture of Abraham. In an earlier monograph entitled Greek Writers and Philosophers in Philo and Josephus I analysed all the passages in which Philo and Josephus quote or men3 Samuel Sandmel, Philo’s Place in Judaism: A Study of Conceptions of Abraham in Jewish Literature (2nd ed.; New York: Ktav, 1971), 75. 4 Louis H. Feldman, Josephus’s Interpretation of the Bible (Hellenistic Culture and Society 27; Berkeley / Los Angeles / London: University of California Press, 1998), 223–289. Feldman presents his views also in the notes of the translation of Antiquities 1–4, Flavius Josephus: Translation and Commentary (ed. Steve Mason) Volume 3: Judean Antiquities 1–4; Translation and Commentary by Louis H. Feldman (Leiden: Brill, 2000). 5 G. Hölscher, “Josephus,” pre 9: 1934–2000. 6 To be true, it is difficult to fully understand Feldman’s view on Josephus’ skills in Greek literature, because he strictly denies the strong presence of Greek culture in Jerusalem in his

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tion Greek writers or philosophers.7 To briefly sum up, Philo was a real champion in Greek tradition and well-educated in Alexandria’s cultivated circles. Josephus, on the contrary, shows little acquaintance with Greek writers and philosophers, and although it had long been possible to advance in Greek culture in Jerusalem, the great city also included a traditionalistic segment which did not appreciate these kind of studies, and this was the line chosen by Josephus or rather his parents during his education. For this reason, I am rather critical towards the current trend among scholars making Josephus an expert in Greek literature, and I would like to take several steps back toward the older view. Josephus understood and spoke Greek already during the Jewish War, but he never studied the Greek poets and writers in his youth. It is, however, obvious that he worked hard during the decades he spent in Rome, especially in terms of reading Greek historians. The two famous scholars also differed in how they proceeded in their investigation, although both accurately observed what Josephus writes and the parallels. Feldman has tried to define Josephus’s general intentions, largely based on his own deep knowledge of Greek literature, and collated several general features allegedly present in the Biblical figures in Josephus’ Antiquities. He subsequently finds many of these features in the passages on the heroes he investigates. The method used is a hazardous one: He first defined the features and then investigated the text.8 Sandmel, for his turn, extensively presented what Josephus adds, omits or changes when rewriting the Biblical original, and only then makes his conclusions.9 This is undoubtedly a better option method-

important article “How Much Hellenism in the Land of Israel?” ( jsj 33 [2002]: 290–313), but makes Josephus a very learned man regardless. Where is Josephus then supposed to have acquired his deep education? 7 Erkki Koskenniemi, Greek Writers and Philosophers in Philo and Josephus (Studies in Philo of Alexandria; Leiden: Brill, 2019). 8 Like some other scholars, I have treated several pictures of Biblical figures by Feldman quite critically. Mark Roncace (“Josephus’ [Real] Portraits of Deborah and Gideon: A Reading of Antiquities 5.198–232,” jsj 31 [2000]: 247–274) strongly criticized Feldman’s work on Deborah and Gideon and Christopher Begg the contributions on Elisha (“Elisha’s Great Deed. according to Josephus”, Henoch 18 [1996]: 69–110); see also Erkki Koskenniemi, The Old Testament Miracle-Workers in Early Judaism (wunt 2.206; Tübingen: Mohr, 2005), esp. 258 and 269–271. Steve Mason has a much more positive view on Feldman’s: “It would be hard to overstate the importance of Feldman’s detailed work, now reprised in two convenient volumes [1998a, 1998] [i.e. Josephus’s Interpretation of the Bible and Studies in Josephus’s Rewritten Bible], for our understanding of Josephus’ art and method”, “Introduction to the Judean Antiquities”, in Flavius Josephus: Translation and Commentary (ed. Steve Mason) Volume 3: Judean Antiquities 1–4; Translation and Commentary by Louis H. Feldman (Leiden: Brill, 2000), xvi. 9 Sandmel, Philo’s Place in Judaism, 59–76.

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ologically. The best method of all, however, would be to present the passage synoptically with the original, as Jacques van Ruiten has impressively modelled,10 and thus observe the most important additions, omissions and changes with all parallels. The long chain of stories on Abraham, however, do not allow it in this contribution and that means re-reading Josephus, simultaneously observing and evaluating the work of Sandmel and Feldman. There are, thus, several reasons to re-investigate how Josephus presents Abraham, a key figure in Scriptural as well in the early Jewish tradition. It is clear that Abraham was seen to be excellent, in Josephus and elsewhere in Jewish texts. Several Jewish writings, especially The Book of Jubilees, Liber antiquitatum Biblicarum, Apocalypse of Abraham and Testament of Abraham allow a look at the rich extra-biblical tradition on him, and we certainly only know a part of this immense flow of non-scriptural stories about him. The father of the nation was a giant, but what makes him excellent precisely in Josephus?

2

Minor Changes

The most important passage where Josephus deals with Abraham is Antiquities 1.148–256, and only a few other passages and sporadic mentions complete this picture.11 Josephus mainly retells the Biblical passages of Abraham following the stories and order of Genesis although in a few cases he does change the order. Genesis tells about Abraham’s marriage to Keturah and her sons in 25:1 after the death of Sarah and after Abraham’s servant had brought Rebecca to Isaac; Josephus, on the other hand, records the story of Keturah and her sons immediately after Sarah’s death (Ant. 1.238–241). Similarly, Josephus moved the events at Bersheba and, unlike Genesis (21:22–34), briefly tells about them before the birth of Isaac (Ant. 1.212), apparently to connect them with the rest of Abimelech stories. Thus Josephus mainly retains the order of Genesis. Josephus often retells the biblical stories by adding or omitting details, and sometimes explaining details to his readers. There is no need to present comprehensively all these minor changes here, which partly originate from the broad midrashic tradition, as they are well-presented by Sandmel. A good example of a passage showing how Josephus was able to decorate stories with new and probably traditional details is, like the binding of Isaac, the story of 10

11

See Jacques van Ruiten, “Lot versus Abraham: The Interpretation of Genesis 18:1–19:38 in Jubilees 16:1–9,” in Sodom’s Sin: Genesis 18–19 and Its Interpretations (ed. E. Noort and E. Tichgelaar; tbn 7; Leiden: Brill, 2004), 29–46, esp. 31–33. See below, esp. on the passages of Sarah and the Pharaoh and on the covenant.

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how Abraham’s servant brought Rebecca to Isaac. In Josephus, for example, it is clear from the beginning that the servant did not seek just any woman but looked precisely for Rebecca, and she emerges by rebuking her friends who refused to give water to the stranger (Ant. 1.246). It is, however, important to note that unlike, for example, the Book of Jubilees or Liber antiquitatum Biblicarum, Josephus does not add completely new stories to Abraham. Although Josephus embellishes Biblical stories with new features, here— as also in general—he follows the written Torah quite closely. Many of the details added by Josephus may have been common. Unlike in Genesis, Abraham adopts Lot (Ant. 1.154),12 and the reason why Abraham gives tithes to Melchizedek (who is clearly a human being here) is added: The man was not an inhabitant of Salem (as in lxx) but of Solyma, i.e. Hierosolyma,13 and he served God, about whom he speaks so eloquently that Abraham rewards him (Ant. 1.179–181). These additions and changes apparently remove the obstacle that Abraham was blessed by a Gentile priest and would have given tithes to him. Ishmael became king of the regions he lived in (Ant. 1.190). The three angels of Gen 18 only simulated eating, until they revealed that one of them would bring a message to Abraham and two of them would destroy Sodom (Gen 18 / Ant. 1.196–198). Using rich unbiblical details Josephus retells how Abraham was told to sacrifice Isaac (Ant. 1.223–236):14 Abraham did not inform anyone, so that no one could prevent him. When Isaac, who was 25 years old, heard what was going to happen, he rejoiced and was ready to be sacrificed and thus demonstrated that he was happy to obey both God and his father (1.227). Josephus also omits many details, although not entire stories: He tells about Abraham’s plea for Sodom, but does not retell the dialogue with God in detail (Ant. 1.199)—this is concordant with his manner throughout his works.15 He does not write that Lot was drunk during the intercourse with his daughters (Gen 19:31–38 / Ant. 1.205) as Feldman observes,16 and this omission is certainly

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14 15 16

According to Sandmel, Josephus seems to have selected the term for Greek readers (Philo’s Place in Judaism, 60; similarly Feldman, Josephus’s Interpretation of the Bible, 261). If this is true, did Josephus understand the consequences of the adoption, i.e. that Lot’s daughters were Abraham’s daughters? The identification between Salem and Jerusalem also appears in rabbinic sources, and Josephus deals with the identification in War 6.438: see Sandmel, Philo’s Place in Judaism, 64. See the detailed analysis in Sandmel, Philo’s Place in Judaism, 72–74. See below, p. 28. Feldman, Josephus’s Interpretation of the Bible, 225; 254–255. To be true, Josephus could also have honoured Lot by leaving the sexual intercourse with his two daughters untold. It is hard to see how the case would have been easier to accept had Lot not been drunk.

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not an accident. Josephus also omits the infertility of women at Abimelech’s court (1.207–212) which might be a slight correction of the original—did he realize that it would have taken time to observe this plague? He also does not tell us that the names of Abram and Sarai were changed (Gen. 17:5, 15). In general, however, Josephus retells all the scriptural passages and does not jettison any story of Abraham. In this sense he is also faithful to the original. To sum up, Josephus, unlike many Jewish writers, does not entirely discard any Biblical story of Abraham, nor does he add any totally extra-Biblical stories either, and he mainly follows the Biblical order. He has, however, omitted and added several minor details. Even so, he is much closer to the original than most early Jewish texts retelling the life of Abraham. Some changes not yet mentioned deserve closer examination.

3

Strange Errors or Strange Traditions?

Josephus writes strangely in two passages when dealing with Abraham. The sacrifice of Isaac was to happen on the mountain where King David (sic!) was later going to build the Temple: And for two days the servants accompanied him, but on the third, when the mountain was visible to him, he left in the plain those who were with him and proceeded with the child alone to the mountain, upon that King David later built the Temple. Ant. 1.226: trans. feldman

Josephus thus identifies the mountain where Isaac was bound with the Temple Mount, and he was not the only one to do so,17 but why does he claim that it was David who built the Temple? The strong role of David is sometimes emphasized: Especially 1Chron 21 recounts how David built an altar and sacrificed on the place he bought from Ornan the Jebusite, and 2 Chron 3:1 says that David had designated it to be the place of the Temple; moreover, it was David who brought the Ark of Lord to Jerusalem, but Scripture does not tell that he built it. Did Josephus know such a tradition, or does he simply make a mistake?18 17

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See Flavius Josephus: Translation and Commentary (ed. Steve Mason) Volume 3: Judean Antiquities 1–4; Translation and Commentary by Louis H. Feldman (Leiden: Brill, 2000), 88. Feldman, Judean Antiquities 1–4, 88, overlooks the problem.

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Changing Solomon to David may have been a lapsus calami. However, when in War Josephus renders his own speech to the Jerusalemites during the siege of the city he writes as follows: Nechaos, also called Pharaoh, the reigning king of Egypt, came down with a prodigious host and carried off Sarah, a princess and the mother of our race. What action, then, did her husband Abraham, our forefather, take? He had, to be sure, three hundred and eighteen officers under him, each in command of a boundless army. Or did he not rather count these as nothing, if unaided by God, and uplifting pure hands towards this spot which you have now polluted enlist the invincible Ally on his side? And was not the queen, after one night’s absence, sent back immaculate to her lord, while the Egyptian, in awe of the spot which you have stained with the blood of your countrymen and trembling at his visions of the night, fled, bestowing silver and gold upon those Hebrews beloved of God? War 5.380–381; trans. lcl

This part of the speech is hard to understand. Abraham, who has an innumerable army (unlike in Antiquities, see below), does not go to Egypt with Sarah, as in Genesis, but the Pharaoh comes to Palestine, and to be exact, to Jerusalem; moreover, the Pharaoh seems to be Neco, who ruled in the times of Josiah (2Kings 23:29). The context of the passage could not be more important to Josephus: It was his plea to the Jerusalemites to surrender and to allow Titus to take the city. It seems impossible that in this kind of situation Josephus would present something in which he conflates everything and yet proudly includes it in his work later. Is there an alternative explanation? Thackeray assumes that Josephus “here follows some strange version, doubtless derived from Jewish legend”.19 This might be true, but is it possible to resort to an unknown legend to avoid the conclusion that Josephus made a mistake? These two passages seem to be serious flaws which demonstrate that Josephus did not know the Scripture as well as we might believe. Caution is needed, however. The creative spirit of Midrash could produce various kinds of inter-

19

Henry St. John Thackeray, Josephus, The Jewish War Books v–vii (Cambridge, MA.: Harvard University Press, 2006 [1928], 120–121). Otto Michel and Otto Bauernfeind link Josephus’ passage to Jer. 46:7 and 1QAp Genar 20.14 (Flavius Josephus, De Bello Judaico. Der jüdische Krieg Griechisch und Deutsch 2.1. [Wissenschaftliche Buchgesellschaft: Darmstadt, 1963], 264), but these parallels do not seem to solve the problems.

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pretations caused by various problems the writers recognized in the Scripture, and we are not able to always follow their paths. It is, however, difficult— especially in the latter case—to see anything other than a mistake here.

4

Abraham the Wise

Scripture tells how God called Abraham and sent him to the Land of Canaan, but gives no further reasons for the departure (Gen 12). On the contrary, there is no word of God in Antiquities, but Abraham’s strong monotheistic views caused problems among the Chaldeans and forced him to leave (Ant. 1.154–157; mentioned also in Ant. 1.281). According to Gen 12:10, Abraham left for Egypt because of famine.20 Josephus includes this reason in his passage, but he also adds another reason: Abraham was going to discuss religious topics with the Egyptians, and he was ready to abandon his own views if the Egyptian wisdom prevailed. The opposite happened: Abraham taught the Egyptians astronomy and arithmetics earlier unknown to them, and so mediated Chaldean wisdom to the Egyptians, who then passed it on to the Greeks. Josephus has thus omitted God’s words instructing Abraham to leave Chaldea, but this was his manner of retelling the Scripture. Like many Jewish writers he was unwilling to put God in direct dialogue with people. What God tells Moses is often changed to Moses’ own reflections, like in Ant. 2.322–323 / Exod 13:17–18.21 The simple reason for this is the tradition avoiding anthropomorphic ideas.22 Although some texts, especially Liber antiquitatum Biblicarum, surprisingly add passages in which God does meet human beings face to face,23 God talking with them like he once did with Adam and Eve was too much for most Jewish writers. The dialogues were reduced one way or other, and Josephus’ style was to change those dialogues with God into personal reflections of his figures. This is often done in the Abraham stories too, especially in Ant. 1.199. Josephus also had another reason to offer Abraham’s own reflections as the reason for his activity. He makes Abraham—as well as Moses—an exemplary wise man. It would be easy to call Josephus’ Abraham and Moses philosophers,24 but the word may miss the target. In general, it is not easy to find a

20 21 22 23 24

On the passage in War 5.380–381 see above. See Koskenniemi, The Old Testament Miracle-Workers, 231–249. See also Feldman, Josephus’s Interpretation of the Bible, 249. See Koskenniemi, The Old Testament Miracle-Workers, 294. According to Sandmel, “the Abraham who roams about his (sc. Josephus’) pages is dressed

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clear equivalent for philosophos in the Hebrew language. Moses surpassed all humans also in wisdom, but he is often presented as a legislator rather than as a philosopher. Wisdom was, however, greatly appreciated among the Jews, and Josephus clearly makes Abraham a wise man.25 This is the reason why Abraham is presented as a thinker, who concluded that there was one God, Creator and commander of everything, and this, along with his virtue, started to irritate the Chaldeans. Here Josephus also follows a strong tradition: The Book of Jubilees 12 and Apocalypse of Abraham 1–8 tell about Abraham’s childhood and youth and how he started to question the worship of idols. He rejected the handmade idols already in his childhood, and then also in his youth so that he had to leave Mesopotamia.26 It was also clear for Philo that Abraham’s departure from Chaldea was a spiritual emigration that every wise man was to imitate in his personal life (Migr. 195). Josephus makes Moses a great rhetorician (see, for example, Ant. 2.329–333); Abraham was a learned man, too, and was eager to learn more. In Josephus, Abraham was ready to abandon his own views if they were considered to be worse than those of the Egyptians, but Abraham easily beat the old wisdom of Egypt and became their teacher. The Greeks, in turn, learned those skills later on from Egypt, and so Abraham indirectly becomes praceptor Graeciae (Ant. 1.162–165). As noted above, it was common among Jewish scholars to claim that the Torah was the source of Greek wisdom, and Josephus often emphasizes this, especially in Apion.27 Here he may have simply overlooked that he happened to make the Chaldeans and not the Jews the ultimate source of astronomical and arithmetical knowledge, and of

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in the garb of a Greek philosopher, but Josephus gives no true insight into what kind of a philosopher he is; he makes the assertion, but he follows the assertion with only pitifully weak demonstration” (Philo’s Place in Judaism, 75–76). On the tradition of Jews as philosophers and Abraham as a sophos, see Feldman, Judean Antiquities 1–4, 56; Josephus’s Interpretation of the Bible, 228–234; and Koskenniemi, Greek Writers and Philosophers, 177–178. According to Feldman, Josephus’s Interpretation of the Bible, 229, Josephus is the only figure in ancient philosophy who changed the Platonic and Stoic argument “for the existence of G-d as based upon regularity of celestial phenomena into argument based upon certain irregularities observed in these phenomena” (see also Feldman, Judean Antiquities 1–4, 57–58). First of all, I am rather reluctant to include Josephus in the number of ancient philosophers; moreover, I do not believe that he changed the Platonic argument he hardly knew of (on Josephus and Greek philosophers, see Koskenniemi, Greek Writers and Philosophers, 180–186). Sandmel notes that Philo’s Abraham scorns astronomical observation as a possible means of inferring the existence of God (Abr. 71 ff.; Sandmel, Philo’s Place in Judaism, 60). See Koskenniemi, Greek Writers and Philosophers, 177–178.

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course, Josephus omits that the Egyptians expelled Abraham after the events with Sarah (Gen 12:17–20). The topos of the wandering wise man was common in Classical antiquity, especially after the conquest of Alexander informed the Greeks of the peoples of the distant East and the legendary stories of their wisdom had become a part of the paradoxographic tradition. In this context, the later tradition attributed travels and dialogues with wise men in Egypt, Mesopotamia and even in India to the greatest philosophers. It was impossible to become a real master within one’s own bubble.28 Diogenes Laertius, referring to numerous earlier works, showed how eagerly the Greek philosophic tradition linked several ancient philosophers with Egyptian wisdom in particular. Pythagoras (8.2–3) and Plato (3.3), for example, allegedly visited Egypt, and Diogenes Laertius considered the Egyptians to be the only teachers of Thales (1.28; 43; see also 1.24). Philostratus makes Apollonius of Tyana to be a real champion visiting every community of wise men (books 2–3 and 6). Similarly, Josephus, who knew only a little about the Greek philosophic tradition,29 tried to make Abraham a superb sage who had learned wisdom overall in the world.

5

Abraham the Great

Josephus thus makes Abraham a wise man, but he also tried to attribute him a role in world history. Abraham was a great general, and when retelling the war of Chedorlaomer (Gen 14), Josephus adds much colour to the battles.30 In War 5.380, his tiny army has grown and Abraham had 318 officers all of whom led an army of innumerable men, but in Ant. the small number of 318 men and three friends (as in Gen 14:14, 24) show the quality of his soldiers (Ant. 1.178). The enemy is now Assyria, which brings Abraham to the scene of the world history.31 The sons of Keturah (Σούρης, Ἀφέρας and Ἰάφρας; Gen. 25:3–4 lxx: Ασσουριιμ, Αφερ) were mighty men, well known in the Greek world, and they gave their names to Assyria and Africa (Ant. 1.238–240; see also 2.257).32 Josephus here refers to Cleodemus the Prophet and Alexander Polyhistor.33

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Feldman, Josephus’s Interpretation of the Bible, 229–234. See Koskenniemi, Greek Writers and Philosophers, 171–186. See Feldman, Josephus’s Interpretation of the Bible, 234–237. The Assyrians also beat the offspring of the giants (cf. Gen 14:5 lxx τοὺς γίγαντας; Ant. 1.171–178). See Sandmel, Philo’s Place in Judaism, 74. On Alexander Polyhistor, see F. Montanari, “Alexander [23, Polyhistor],” dnp 1: 478–479.

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Abraham was also known to Berosus, Hecataeus, Nicolaus of Damascus and Pompeius Trogus (Ant. 1.158–160). The Nabateans, who were a strong nation in Josephus’ time,34 originated from Ishmael’s son Naphish (lxx Ναβαιωθ) (Ant. 1.215–221; cf. Gen 25:14). Josephus particularly in Antiquities was always happy if he could show that non-Jewish writers had known the Old Testament figures. In Apion he is often very critical of Greek writers, but in Antiquities every mention was welcome, even if he had to stretch the word of the witness35 or if the documents presented Jews as superstitious (Ant. 12.5–7) losers or even cowards (Ant. 8.260– 261).36 The worst scenario was that Jews had never been mentioned outside of the Scripture. Josephus thus presents Abraham as he presents many other Biblical figures, using the manner of competitive national historiography and exaggerating the original stories. Abraham was, according to Josephus, not a wandering nomad, but a great, wise and mighty man and a great general, even a ruler.

6

Abraham a Miracle-Worker?

The rich midrashic tradition attributed extra-biblical miracles to Old Testament figures, even if the Scripture provided little or no help for the new interpretation. Mostly this meant that either astrology or the world of spirits were introduced into the stories. Abraham, too, was considered a miracle worker, although this required quite a lot from interpreters. It was, however, somehow possible to make him a great astrologer, using Gen 15:5, like in Artapanus, although a part of the tradition, like the Book of Jubilees rejected this. It required less effort to find evil spirits in the stories, especially if figures like Mastema in the Book of Jubilees played a marked role. For this reason some texts took the birds in Gen 15:11 as demons and attributed the Patriarch with the skills to control them: The task was easier in completely extra-biblical additions, such as in Jub. 11.

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On Nabateans, see I. Toral-Niehoff, “Nabataioi, Nabatäer,” dnp 8: 657–658. Josephus refers to Herodotus in Ant. 10.18–20, claiming that he knew the biblical story of the saved Jerusalem (2Kings 19). Josephus had to work hard to make Herodotus speak of the biblical story, changing Pelusium to Jerusalem, correcting the key players and introducing the mice into the story. Similarly, Menander confirms 1 Kings 16 (see Ant. 8.324), but, in all fairness, all the individuals have been changed and the rainless time no longer lasts two years but one. See Koskenniemi, Greek Writers in Philo and Josephus, 201–202.

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Josephus’ Antiquities has only distant echoes of this tradition. To him, as is so often found in the broad, early Jewish tradition, the great wise man knowing everything, including magical knowledge, is not Abraham but Solomon (Ant. 8.42–45).37 Josephus does not introduce evil spirits to the stories of Abraham, but something that apparently originates from this tradition is found there. In 1QAp Genar 20.28–29, Abraham prays to God after Abimelech had taken Sarah, and sickness made Abimelech understand what he was doing. Abraham thus figures here as a man who somehow controls the sickness with his prayer. The only feature Josephus takes from this tradition is the sickness of Abimelech, but he does not give Abraham the role of a healer (Ant. 1.207– 212). Similarly, although different problems appear in Egypt when the Pharaoh took Sarah, it was the Egyptian priests and not Abraham who gave the reason for the problems (Ant. 1.162–165). In both stories, it was God and not Abraham who saved the family. Moreover, Josephus does not tell fantastic stories about what happened when God sent an angel to call Abraham to Heaven, and the Patriarch refused to follow the angel (cf. Testament of Abraham). Josephus’s Abraham is neither superhuman (and angels do not envy him like in Liber antiquitatum Biblicarum 32), nor a miracle worker, but a wise, mighty man.

7

God’s Promises and the Covenant

Genesis often tells about promises God makes to Abraham and often speaks of the covenant God made with him. Josephus retells these passages with interesting changes. In Gen 12, God calls Abraham and tells him to move to the land he promises to him (12:1–3; 12:6), but Josephus makes Abraham leave as a result of his own reflections. Gen 13:14–16 includes God’s promise, but Josephus has dropped it in Ant. 1.169–170.38 God promises offspring to Abraham in Gen 15:1–21; Josephus retells this, but omits both Abraham’s fear and the covenant itself (cf. Gen 15:18);39 theia phone says that Abraham’s offspring will suffer in Egypt for 400 years, and subsequently conquer the Land. Josephus has, however, added God’s promises to the childless man in Ant. 1.186–187. Similarly, when retelling Gen 17 and the covenant of circumcision,40 Josephus has

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The view is attested in different manners in Wis, 11Q11, l.a.b., 2 Bar., Apoc. Adam and T. Sol.; see Koskenniemi, The Old Testament Miracle-Workers, 259–264. Observed by Sandmel, Philo’s Place in Judaism, 62. Observed by Sandmel, Philo’s Place in Judaism, 65. Although Josephus, when retelling the stories of Abraham, does not claim that the Torah

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a promise that Abraham’s offspring will conquer the Land instead and he does not mention the covenant at all (cf. Gen 17:1–14 / Ant. 1.191–193).41 Moreover, in Gen 22:18 God promises that Abraham’s blessing would flow to all the nations of the world, but in Josephus, God says that his offspring would become many nations. In fact, Josephus has dropped all the passages where Genesis details the promises of God’s blessing to all nations (Gen 12:3; Gen 18:18; 22:18; 26:4; 28:14). The passages in Genesis and Josephus are numerous enough to make the reader of Josephus curious. As stated above, in general Josephus is unwilling to present God in direct dialogue with human beings, but this may not explain everything. Although Josephus retells God’s promises to Abraham, he also omits them twice, and, above all, he does not mention the covenant God made with Abraham and eschewed it no less than three times. Sandmel notes the absence of the covenant and claims that Abraham was for Josephus only one of the many Biblical characters and that he has omitted all the features known in the rabbinic exegesis.42 Although today we may doubt that Josephus in his time knew the rabbinic interpretations Sandmel quotes and dropped that, it is true that here Josephus does not speak about the covenant that includes Abraham’s offspring and excludes the rest of humankind. Abraham is a good man and greatly favoured by God, but he is not the Elect. Is this only occasional or should we seek reasons for this omission? Betsy Halpern-Amaru investigated in detail what Josephus states about the Land and the Covenant in his works, and observes that Josephus has omitted and edited much.43 He was apparently cautious with the eternal covenant and the promises about the Land because of the dangerous situation after the revolt.44 It should be also noted that when Josephus elsewhere briefly mentions Abraham, he is often πρόγονος of the Jews (War 4.531; Ant. 2.269, 318; 3.87). But what about the covenant and blessing that comes to all nations of the world? As is well-known, the Scripture strangely has two seemingly mutually exclusive lines: 1) a particular line: God is only God of Israel and the Gentiles are outside of the covenant (Joshua, Ezra), and 2) a universal line: all nations will come and serve God (Deutero-Isaiah, Zech 8, etc.). Several Jewish writers chose

41 42 43 44

predated Moses, like the book of Jubilees does ( Jub. 39.6–7), he adds the rule here that circumcision belongs to the eighth day after the birth. Observed by Sandmel, Philo’s Place in Judaism, 66. Sandmel, Philo’s Place in Judaism, 75–76. Betsy Halpern-Amaru, Rewriting the Bible: Land and Covenant in Postbiblical Jewish Literature (Valley Forge: Trinity, 1994). See Feldman, Josephus’s Interpretation of the Bible, 253.

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between these two or may have tried to combine them. But which line did Josephus prefer or did he bother to reflect on the problem at all? At any rate, he made Abraham a wise man, who understood the truth and subsequently found God’s favour for himself and his offspring. Did he generalize the Scriptural wisdom in such a way that it called his every reader, Jews as well as Gentiles, or did he only try to praise Israel’s religion and thus fail to mention the covenant?

8

How Much Hellenism Is in Abraham?

It is always useful to ask how much a Jewish writer has adapted his heroes to his Hellenistic environment. Practically no writer could avoid the influence of the Greek spirit: The writer of the Book of Jubilees, for example, had in all his anti-Hellenism swallowed a Hellenistic topos of protos heuretes and applied it to Abraham.45 The Community of Qumran should not be investigated isolated from the Greek culture.46 The Greek spirit was present everywhere. This point of view is especially important here, because Josephus wrote Antiquities after having lived for two decades in Rome, and the Roman setting of Antiquities is rightly emphasized in recent scholarship. Moreover, it is clear that he wrote his work also or even predominantly for a non-Jewish audience, and although he apparently failed to reach this broader readership—Gentile writers seldom mention him—he certainly tried to do so. So, how much did he “Hellenize” his Abraham? As presented above, Josephus certainly follows Greek models at many points. He greatly exaggerates Abraham’s role in history, as is usual in competitive historiography, and makes him a very influential man. Moreover, Josephus tries here and elsewhere to show that the real wisdom originated from Israel, and that is why he, like many writers of national histories, made Abraham a teacher of the Egyptians. Although he is not protos heuretes of astronomy and arithmetic, he is indirectly also the teacher of Greeks. These features were commonplace in Hellenistic times, when people wrote competitive histories of their own nations. It should, however, be observed that Josephus is not the worst kind of “historian”, when writing about Abraham and Israel’s history in general. He is miles away from Artapanus, and even The Book of Jubilees makes more use of protos heuretes than Josephus does here. Many features of the Patriarch were compatible with Hellenistic virtues, and Feldman does everything to 45 46

See Koskenniemi, The Old Testament Miracle-Workers, 53. See P.B. Hartog and Jutta Jokiranta, “The Dead Sea Scrolls in Their Hellenistic Context,” Dead Sea Discoveries 24 (2017): 339–355.

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collect this kind of evidence. It should, however, also be noted, that ethical standards of the Scripture were at many points compatible with, for example, Stoic views. Wisdom, courage, temperance and justice, called cardinal virtues, were appreciated in the Greek world, but they were not alien to the Scriptural ideals either. It is impossible to define what Josephus thought when retelling the biblical stories following the original, as he mainly does, although he certainly knew which features of the Biblical Abraham pleased his readers. It is crucial to observe the omissions, additions and changes, and as seen, there are plenty of these, however there are no dramatic changes. It is true that Sarah was indeed buried by public expense in Ant. 1.237, but this hardly meant very much for a Greek reader.47 Feldman may also write as follows: Like an Ascanius raised by an Aeneas, Ishmael, adds Josephus, was being trained (ἐτρέφετο) as heir (διαδοχή) to the rulership (ἡγεμονίας).48 Firstly, given that Abraham had obviously raised Ishmael as his successor, the words are all too common to establish a strong link to Vergil—a Latin writer!—, but secondly, although Feldman’s formulation may leave room for different interpretations, Josephus does not mention Ascanius or Aeneas. Moreover, although Josephus presents Abraham skilled in logic and persuasion, I do not believe that he is “a kind of Jewish Pericles (cf. Thucydides 2.65).”49 If we observe what Josephus adds, omits or changes, we realize that his Abraham is mainly the man of Genesis. The most stunning changes are not the Hellenizations, but those which have to do with God’s promises and his covenant with Israel.

9

Conclusion

Josephus promises in the preface of his Antiquities (Ant. 1.17) that he would not add or omit anything but retell everything in detail. Scholars have rightly quoted these words and stated that he does indeed add, omit and make change to the original. Josephus’ work has, however, not always been studied in the larger context. Precisely when compared to the Book of Jubilees or Liber antiquitatum Biblicarum or other works on the topic, he does not omit any story and

47 48 49

Feldman, Josephus’s Interpretation of the Bible, 225. Feldman, Josephus’s Interpretation of the Bible, 226. Feldman, Josephus’s Interpretation of the Bible, 228.

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does not add entirely new stories, and he mainly retains the order of the original. His Abraham does not wrestle with evil spirits, he is not a miracle worker, and he does not take the garment that formerly belonged to Azazel (Apocalypse of Abraham 13.14–14). In this sense, the view of Sandmel is certainly correct. Although Josephus adds and omits Midrashic details, Abraham is mainly the man of Genesis—but not in everything. As both Sandmel and Feldman note, Josephus makes Abraham a superb wise man, and this can certainly be called a Hellenization. Moreover, as usual in competitive historiography, Abraham’s skills are in general exaggerated. He is a great general; in War he commands a innumerable army, but also in Antiquities he defeats the Assyrians and his offspring gave names to the Nabateans and Africa. But what was the role Josephus attributed to Abraham? Sandmel claimed that Abraham was merely one of many Biblical characters to Josephus. It should be noted that Josephus, when briefly mentioning Abraham, mostly calls him πρόγονος of the Jews, and in this sense, he is indeed not one of the numerous characters. Sandmel’s view has, however, some justification. As noted above, Josephus does not add new stories to exalt Abraham. Moreover, it is Moses and not Abraham who is mentioned in the preface of Antiquities (1.18–26), and precisely as a legislator. Josephus renders God’s promises to Abraham, but may also drop them, and strangely, he does not mention the covenant God made with him. Josephus never uses the word διαθήκη in Ant. 1–12 and the word συνθήκη occurs only twice in the paraphrase of the Pentateuch (Ant. 1–4). This seems to mean that although Abraham was the πρόγονος, the covenant that included his own offspring and excluded other nations was omitted and Abraham’s wisdom was generalized to call to all reasonable people in the world. This issue, however, needs further investigation to be secured.

Bibliography Begg, Christopher. “Elisha’s Great Deeds according to Josephus.” Henoch 18 (1996): 69– 110. Feldman, Louis H. Josephus’s Interpretation of the Bible. Hellenistic Culture and Society 27. Berkeley / Los Angeles / London: University of California Press, 1998. Feldman, Louis H. Flavius Josephus: Translation and Commentary (edited by S. Mason) Volume 3: Judean Antiquities 1–4; Translation and Commentary by Louis H. Feldman (Leiden: Brill, 2000). Feldman, Louis H. “How Much Hellenism in the Land of Israel?” Journal for the Study of Judaism in the Persian, Hellenistic, and Roman Periods 33 (2002): 290–313.

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Halpern-Amaru, Betsy. Rewriting the Bible: Land and Covenant in Postbiblical Jewish Literature. Valley Forge: Trinity, 1994. Hartog, P.B. and Jutta Jokiranta. “The Dead Sea Scrolls in Their Hellenistic Context.” Dead Sea Discoveries 24 (2017): 339–355. Hölscher, G. “Josephus.” pre 9: 1934–2000. Koskenniemi, Erkki. The Old Testament Miracle-Workers in Early Judaism. Wissenschaftliche Untersuchungen zum Neuen Testament 2.206. Tübingen: Mohr, 2005. Koskenniemi, Erkki. Greek Writers and Philosophers in Philo and Josephus. Studies in Philo of Alexandria. Leiden: Brill, 2019. Koskenniemi, Erkki, and Pekka Lindqvist. “Rewritten Bible, Rewritten Stories,” Pages 11– 39 in Rewritten Bible Reconsidered: Proceedings of the Conference in Karkku, Finland, August 24–26 2006. Edited by A. Laato and J. van Ruiten. Studies in Rewritten Bible 1. Vaajakoski: Åbo Akademi and Eisenbrauns, 2008. Mason, Steve. “Introduction to the Judean Antiquities.” Pages xiii–xxxvi in Flavius Josephus: Translation and Commentary (ed. Steve Mason) Volume 3: Judean Antiquities 1–4; Translation and Commentary by Louis H. Feldman (Leiden: Brill, 2000). Michel, O. and Bauernfeind, O. Flavius Josephus, De Bello Judaico. Der jüdische Krieg Griechisch und Deutsch 2.1. Wissenschaftliche Buchgesellschaft: Darmstadt, 1963. Montanari, F. “Alexander (3, Polyhistor).”Der neue Pauly: Enzyklopädie der Antike 1: 478– 479. Roncace, Mark. “Josephus’ (Real) Portraits of Deborah and Gideon: A Reading of Antiquities 5.198–232.” Journal for the Study of Judaism in the Persian, Hellenistic, and Roman Periods 31 (2000): 247–274. Ruiten, Jacques van. “Lot versus Abraham: The Interpretation of Genesis 18:1–19:38 in Jubilees 16:1–9.” Pages 29–46 in Sodom’s Sin: Genesis 18–19 and Its Interpretations. Edited by E. Noort and E. Tichgelaar. tbn 7; Leiden: Brill, 2004. Sandmel, Samuel. Philo’s Place in Judaism: A Study of Conceptions of Abraham in Jewish Literature. 2nd ed. New York: Ktav, 1971. Thackeray, Henry St. John. Josephus, The Jewish War Books v–vii. Cambridge, MA.: Harvard University Press, 2006 (1928). Toral-Niehoff, I. “Nabataioi, Nabatäer.” Der neue Pauly: Enzyklopädie der Antike 8: 657– 658.

Illusory Polemics: Clement and Irenaeus on the Gnostics Sami Yli-Karjanmaa

1

Introduction

This essay is concerned with polemics on two levels. On the one hand, I discuss some of the epithets that Clement of Alexandria and Irenaeus of Lyon apply (or do not apply) to their theological opponents. On the other hand, I analyze modern constructions of these theological disputes, i.e., scholarly portraits of these early Christian authors’ criticism of other thinkers. Through this article, I wish to make a plea for enhanced terminological accuracy and transparency. I would like to emphasize two things. First, I hope it will become clear that I am not arguing for the privileging of emic terminology for reasons of principle but for practical ones. Using “gnostic”/“gnostique” etc. as an etic term is much complicated by its occurrence in ancient sources in the Greek form γνωστικός as well as some equivalents in other languages. Second, this paper focuses on Clement and Irenaeus and the lessons we can learn from their works and their reception. The only broader wish I have is that of increased sensitivity and attention to the language of the primary sources in general.

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Clement of Alexandria Il ne faut pas oublier que les grands adversaires de Clément sont les gnostiques.1

Whether aware of this exhortation or not, scholars have well complied with it. Although made already sixty years ago, it still describes much of the scholarship on “gnosticism” as far as Clement of Alexandria (c. 150–c. 215) is concerned. Not even the debate on the contents of, and the very utility of using, the concept “gnosticism” during the last decades, and the questioning of earlier postulates of scholarship that has resulted (for which see below), have been able to shake

1 Jean Daniélou, Histoire des doctrines chrétiennes avant Nicée: 2, Message évangélique et culture hellénistique aux iie et iiie siècles (Tournai: Desclée, 1961), 380.

© Sami Yli-Karjanmaa, 2022 | doi:10.1163/9789004466845_004

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the conviction that it is legitimate to speak of Clement’s “battle with the Gnostics,” his “persistently attacking Gnostics” and so on.2 Taking a closer look at Daniélou’s request reveals he has read Clement without sufficient care. He wrongly portrays Clement’s statement in Strom. 3.16.100.5—“It is for them to tell us how the newly born child could commit fornication or in what way the child who has never done anything at all has fallen under Adam’s curse”—as a response to “les gnostiques”.3 Daniélou’s interpretation of the word “them” (αὐτοῖς) seems based on the fact that Clement’s statement appears in his long discussion of the views of those who regard birth and marriage as evil (almost all of book 3 of Strom.). On this reading, the closest referent would be Cassian “and those who argue like him” in 3.14.95.2. Even if this were correct, Clement does not link Cassian with gnosis; the latter is not “yet another Gnostic.”4 Not for Clement, anyway. But the reference to Cassian occurs some 700 words earlier, whereas the immediate context provides us with a much more probable, if somewhat surprising, referent: Clement precedes his statement at Strom. 3.16.100.5 with several quotations. They are taken mostly from the Old testament, and are all along the lines of the first one, Jer 20:14:

2 Clement’s “battle” or “struggle” against the gnostics is mentioned, e.g., by John Behr, Asceticism and Anthropology in Irenaeus and Clement (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2000), 141, 143. (but cf. “the so-called Gnostics,” pp. 149, 150); Davide Dainese, “The Idea of Martyrdom in Stromateis vii: A Proposal for a Reconstruction of Clement of Alexandria’s Philosophy”, 238, and Ilaria Ramelli, “Stromateis vii and Clement’s Hints at the Theory of Apokatastasis”, 248; both in The Seventh Book of the Stromateis: Proceedings of the Colloquium on Clement of Alexandria (Olomouc, October 21–23, 2010) (ed. M. Havrda, V. Hušek, and J. Plátová; Supplements to Vigiliae Christianae 117; Leiden: Brill, 2014). His “attacks” are mentioned by, e.g., Eric Osborn, Clement of Alexandria (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2005), 25, 75; he is said to have “argued against gnostics” by Heikki Räisänen, The Rise of Christian Beliefs: The Thought World of Early Christians (Minneapolis: Fortress, 2010), 76. Several chapters in the proceedings of the Second Colloquium on Clement of Alexandria speak of his “anti-gnostic” argument or polemic, or his “gnostic adversaries”: Marco Rizzi, “The Bible in Alexandria: Clement Between Philo and Origen,” 123; Miklós Gyurkovics, “The Philosophical Problem of ‘Place’ in Clement’s Exegesis of the Prologue to the Gospel of John,” 281; Davide Dainese, “Clement’s Exegesis of 1John in the Adumbrationes,” 305, all in Clement’s Biblical Exegesis: Proceedings of the Second Colloquium on Clement of Alexandria (Olomouc, May 29–31, 2014) (ed. V. Černušková et al.; Supplements to Vigiliae Christianae 139; Leiden: Brill, 2017). Many more examples could be cited. 3 All the translations from Strom. 1–3 are Ferguson’s and from Paed. those by Wood, both in The Fathers of the Church series (The Catholic University of America Press). The translations from the rest of Str. are Wilson’s (in anf). Small modifications by this author are not mentioned. 4 As described by Piotr Ashwin-Siejkowski, Clement of Alexandria on Trial: The Evidence of “Heresy” from Photius’ Bibliotheca (Supplements to Vigiliae Christianae 101; Leiden: Brill, 2010), 123.

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“Cursed be the day on which I was born …”5 Thus “they” from whom Clement demands an explanation are the prophets Jeremiah, Ezra and Job, all named by him. A key problem is using an appellation—“gnostic”/“gnostique” etc.—that is derived from, and cannot but seem a direct equivalent for, the Greek word γνωστικός, and doing this in a manner that directly conflicts with the way Clement uses the term. The question is not of isolated, mistaken identifications of which of his opponents Clement calls gnostics. If taken at face value, the entire thesis of Clement of Alexandria’s polemics against the gnostics is simply groundless. This is so for a simple reason: Clement only uses the term γνωστικός in a positive sense.6 To understand what the concept means to him, it is best to refer to his own words. Of the 287 instances of the word γνωστικός in the Clementine corpus, 274 occur in Clement’s major work, the Stromateis.7 A succinct definition meets us at 1.13.58.2: “Anyone skilled in all aspects of wisdom is a gnostic in the full sense of the word.”8 A little more elaborate one is found in 1.10.46.1: “Our philosopher holds firmly to these three things: first, contemplation; second, fulfilling the commandments; third, the formation of people of virtue. 5 The other ones are Jer 20:18 (“Why was I born to see trouble and toil?”), 4 Ezra 5.35 (“Why did my mother’s womb not become my tomb …”) and Job 14:4–5 (“No one is pure from stain, not even if his life is only of one days duration”). 6 It thus does not hold that Clement “used the term [γνωστικός] for a person whom he considered a heretic” (Antti Marjanen, “What Is Gnosticism? From the Pastorals to Rudolph,” in Was There a Gnostic Religion? [ed. A. Marjanen; Publications of the Finnish Exegetical Society 87; Helsinki and Göttingen: Finnish Exegetical Society and Vandenhoek & Ruprecht, 2005], 13). Marjanen in practice admits this when writing that when Clement refers to “those who represent false gnosis … he always remembers to remind the readers that they simply pretend to have gnosis … or they call falsely themselves gnostics” (p. 15). Yet he later writes about Prodicus “whom Clement called a gnostic” (p. 23). But Clement speaks of “Prodicus’ school, who falsely (ψευδωνύμως) claim the name of Gnostics for themselves” (Strom. 3.4.30.1). David Brakke, The Gnostics: Myth, Ritual and Diversity in Early Christianity (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2010), 33–34, notes that Tertullian too does not call Prodicus a gnostic (Prax. 3; Scorp. 15). 7 Strom. makes up 60% of Clement’s oeuvre of some 269,700 words (which is roughly twice the volume of the New Testament). The remaining occurrences of γνωστικός are found in the Paedagogus (3), the Eclogae propheticae (8) and the fragments (2). It is worth pointing out that the brief Ecl. is almost as “gnostic” as Strom.; in both, the word appears once for approximately every 600 words. Within Strom., books 4, 6 and especially 7 have the highest numbers containing 80% of the total. In addition, Clement uses γνῶσις 436 times of which 85 % are in Strom., while the highest frequency (every 332nd word) is found in Ecl. 8 Ferguson translates, “Christian Gnostic,” but the word Χριστιανός does not appear here. It has 33 appearances in total in Clement (including three in the subheadings of Paed.) of which twelve are in Strom.

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When these come together, they make the gnostic.” Virtues are mentioned in 4.26.163.2 as well: “And the succession of the three virtues is found in the gnostic, who morally, physically, and logically occupies himself with God.” Thus, “not only are actions and thoughts, but words also, pure in the case of the gnostic” (6.12.97.2). Commenting on the “council of Gods” in Ps. 82:1 (lxx 81:1), Clement writes in 2.20.125.4: “Who are these ‘gods’? Those who have mastered pleasure, those who keep themselves aloof from passions, those who understand all their actions: the gnostics, those who are superior to the world.” In a similar vein, “the gnostic ought to rise out of the sphere of birth (γενέσεως) and of sin” (4.25.159.2). These statements help us understand that “the gnostics” are Clement’s ideal believers, not a sect or a school of thought.9 Even Moses was “gnostic” (5.11.74.4), which is why it is not entirely accurate to speak of Clement’s reserving the word “for his own ideal Christian.”10 The issues at stake are not merely terminological. We are also dealing with “gnosticism” having “been constructed largely as the heretical other” by modern scholars.11 For example, Ferguson says of such figures as Valentinus and Basilides, two of “the great Gnostic leaders,” To the mainstream body of the Church they were heretical. Clement is concerned to refute and criticize them. I have referred to them as “Gnostics” with a capital G. But Clement, somewhat confusingly, is concerned with gnosis as “Christian revelation.”12 9

10 11

12

I do not think there is enough evidence on the pre-Clementine use of the term “gnostic” to support the thesis that Clement’s use of the term “emerged from conflict among rival groups of Christians [of whom some] claimed to be Gnostics” and that he “responded by adopting the epithet ‘gnostic’ in some way for his own form of Christianity,” as Brakke (Gnostics, 34, also 49; emphasis added) suggests. Morton Smith says in his well-argued article that the term originated in “the Platonic-Pythagorean philosophic tradition” (“The History of the Term Gnostikos,” in Studies in the Cult of Yahweh, Vol. 2: New Testament, Early Christianity, and Magi [Religions in the Graeco-Roman World 130/2; Leiden: Brill, 1996], 185–186). It is worth noting that γνωστικός appears only once in Philo of Alexandria, at Opif. 154; see David T. Runia, On the Creation of the Cosmos According to Moses: Introduction, Translation, and Commentary (Philo of Alexandria Commentary Series 1; Atlanta: Society of Biblical Literature, 2001), 367. Kovacs, “Reading,” 327. Similarly, e.g., Brakke, Gnostics, 34. Karen King, What Is Gnosticism? (Cambridge: The Belknap Press of Harvard University Press, 2003), 2. She continues (p. 3) that these constructions “reflect many of the characteristics and strategies used by early Christian polemicists like Irenaeus and Tertullian to construct heresy.” I agree that there is a connection, but claim that Irenaeus has been misread much like Clement. See below. John Ferguson, “Introduction,” in Clement of Alexandria: Stromateis, Books 1–3 (The Fathers of the Church 85; Washington, DC: The Catholic University of America Press, 1991), 10–

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Leaving aside the question if there really was, at the time, a mainstream church confronting the outside gnostics or issuing declarations of excommunication, it should be noted that the “confusion” involved is caused by the insistence on calling many of those whom Clement (sometimes) criticizes (e.g., Valentinus and Basilides) “gnostics” on the basis of such characterizations of them by others. In scholarly literature, we should uphold the vital distinction between the emic terminology of our sources and the largely unsuccessful etic use of the term “gnostic” in scholarly constructions.13 In my view, since the modern word “gnostic” and its equivalents in other modern languages are so naturally associated with the Greek term γνωστικός, we should abstain from using them if they do not directly represent the latter in the ancient sources to which we are referring. Portraying the distinction—which Clement does make—between those who are gnostics and those who are falsely so called as one between orthodox and heterodox gnostics amounts to significant misrepresentation. In Clement, the accusations of someone being “a false gnostic” are quite few. The clearest example is Prodicus and his followers (Strom. 3.4.30.1, 7.7.41.1–3).14 In addition, in Strom. 4.4.17.4 Clement speaks of “falsely named” persons (οἱ ψευδώνυμοι), whose unmerited appellation he does not, however, spell out. Judging from the context where “gnostic martyrdom” (4.4.15.4) is being discussed it is prob-

13

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11. Kathleen Gibbons (The Moral Psychology of Clement of Alexandria: Mosaic Philosophy, Routledge Studies in Philosophy and Theology in Late Antiquity [New York: Routledge, 2016], 5 n. 4) informs her readers of her intention to abide by the same rule Ferguson mentions, but in practice she only seems to use the capitalized version when quoting other scholars. In her own text, she has no difficulty in sticking to the way in which Clement himself uses the term. E.g., Osborn, like Ferguson, uses of the capital G as a token of “heresy” (Clement, 1 and passim). Ashwin-Siejkowski says he uses the term “hetero-gnostics” for “Clement’s Christian adversaries” while “Clement’s position was one of ‘proto-Gnostic’ ”—a term he introduces (but does not employ) in Clement of Alexandria: A Project of Christian Perfection (London: T&T Clark, 2008), 8–9 n. 31. In practice, however, he also uses the term “Christian gnostics” for both Clement’s ideal Christians (e.g., 13, 63, 164) and his opponents (p. 10; cf. 127). He also speaks of “the Gnostic” in the genuine, Clementine sense (e.g., 11, 48, 62). By contrast, in Trial, Ashwin-Siejkowski speaks of Clement’s opponents as “the Gnostics” (e.g., 18, 52, 69) but, here too, employs the expression “the Christian Gnostics” both for Clement’s opponents (pp. 36, 84, 151) and in the Clementine sense (p. 131). These are merely examples that testify to the difficulty, common in scholarship much more generally, of achieving a consistent terminology if one also opts for using the gnostic terminology for those whom Clement did not regard as gnostics. For Prodicus, see n. 7. There is also one reference to “gnostic” as an illegitimate selfdesignation by unnamed persons in Paed. 1.6.52.2. See below, text at n. 46.

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ably “gnostic.” If this is correct, Clement’s characterization of these people as “not belonging to us, but sharing the name merely” (4.4.17.1) is, in effect, a very rare announcement by Clement that he belongs to a group that can be called gnostics. As a rule, he uses the term for the highly advanced individual.15 He nowhere explicitly claims to be a gnostic himself.16 Regardless, he is the closest example we have (in literature written in Greek) to a self-conscious gnostic.17 Another thing to note about Clement is that he is not as inclined to label people as he is to assess their ideas. As has been pointed out by several scholars, he sometimes openly utilizes certain thoughts of those whose other ideas he rejects, and on some issues he, e.g., stands closer to Valentinus than to Irenaeus.18 When he refers to Basilides and Valentinus as examples of “those who

15 16

17

18

91% of the occurrences of γνωστικός are in the singular. Pace Smith, “Gnostikos,” 188 who says “Clement himself claims to be a gnostic” without giving a reference to Clement’s works. Nevertheless, in addition to the passage in Strom. 4.4, Clement also comes close to saying he belongs to the gnostics in Strom. 7.16.95.4–96.1 where he first sets the “voice of the Lord,” (i.e., the writings) as the only proof (ἀπόδειξις) of truth, then distinguishes the believers (who have “only tasted” the writings) from the gnostics (who have “become correct expounders (γνώμονες) of the truth”)—comparing the latter to craftsmen and the former to common people—and finally stating, “thus we too, giving a complete exhibition (τελείως ἀποδεικνύντες) of the writings from the writings themselves, become persuaded by faith through proof.” This kind of implicit language raises the question of the reasons for the lack of an open self-designation as a gnostic. Was Clement being modest? Brakke does not hesitate to say Clement “uses the term ‘Gnostic’ as a positive self– designation in his own writings” (Gnostics, 33). Yet Brakke also includes him among the “[o]pponents of the Gnostics” (p. 72) and inaccurately states that Clement called “the Gnostics … heretics” (125). Clement as an example par excellence of “gnostic” selfunderstanding is ignored, e.g., by Birger Pearson, “Gnosticism as a Religion,” in Was There a Gnostic Religion? (Publications of the Finnish Exegetical Society 87; Helsinki and Göttingen: Finnish Exegetical Society and Vandenhoek & Ruprecht, 2005), 93–94, citing and agreeing here with Bentley Layton, “Prolegomena to the Study of Ancient Gnosticism,” in The Social World of the First Christians: Essays in Honor of Wayne A. Meeks (ed. L.M. White and O.L. Yarbrough; Minneapolis: Fortress, 1995), 344. Brakke, Gnostics, 10; Judith L. Kovacs, “Reading the ‘Divinely Inspired’ Paul: Clement of Alexandria in Conversation with ‘Heterodox’ Christians, Simple Believers, and Greek Philosophers,” in Clement’s Biblical Exegesis: Proceedings of the Second Colloquium on Clement of Alexandria (Olomouc, May 29–31, 2014) (ed. V. Černušková et al.; Supplements to Vigiliae Christianae 139; Leiden: Brill, 2017), 327–329. For an insightful discussion of the unjustifiably “conflict-driven” nature of research with regard to “the church” and “the gnostics,” see Ismo Dunderberg, Gnostic Morality Revisited (wunt 347; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2015), 5–10. He gives Strom. 3.7.59 as an example of how Clement could support a view of his with Valentinus’s teachings. Indeed, while discussing self-control, Clement first alludes to Gen 6:2 (at least according to Ferguson, ad loc.) and then proceeds to quote Valentinus’s letter to Agathopus, 1Cor 3:16, Matt 19:12 and Heb 9:14.

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invented the haireseis” (Strom. 7.17.106.4), we should learn from this that hairesis is not a category of absolute error.19 Instead, there is room for acceptable opinions, as well as views and practices on which Clement takes no position (e.g., Basilides’s or his followers’ views reported at Strom. 1.26.146.1, 2.6.27.2, 6.6.53). One of the paradoxes in the modern scholarship on “gnosticism” is that the epithet “gnostic” apparently never occurs as a self-designation in the sources that are usually labeled gnostic.20 When this problem is discussed, the extensive evidence offered by Clement is, as a rule, discarded without comment; it is he who implicitly becomes the gnostic “falsely so called”!21 Conversely, many of those whom “Clement explicitly denies … this honorific”22 have become what might be called the “canonical gnostics” of modern research.

19

20

21

22

“Heresy” is by no means always the right translation for αἵρεσις. Cf. the following statement in Strom. 7.15.92.3: “it is necessary … to ascertain by way of demonstration by the Scriptures themselves how the haireseis failed, and how in the truth alone and in the ancient Church is both the exactest gnosis and the truly best hairesis.” So, e.g., Michael A. Williams, “Was There a Gnostic Religion? Strategies for a Clearer Analysis,” in Was There a Gnostic Religion? (ed. A. Marjanen; Publications of the Finnish Exegetical Society 87; Helsinki and Göttingen: Finnish Exegetical Society and Vandenhoek & Ruprecht, 2005), 75. Despite this lack, the self-designation approach as a basis for defining who the gnostics were has been advocated by Layton, “Prolegomena.” However, he has to resort to testimonia. Paul Linjamaa, “The Pit and the Day from Above: SabbathSymbolism in the Gospel of Truth and the Interpretation of Knowledge,” seå 80 (2015): 199, n. 45, draws attention to the expression “the children of interior knowledge” as a possible self-designation in the Coptic Gospel of Truth 32.38–39. This is quite close to “gnostic” in sense, and in fact Irenaeus too speaks of τὰ τέκνα τῆς γνώσεως (1.7.6 in Harvey’s edition of the Greek, 1.13.7 in the Latin) when referring to the disciples of the magician Marcus (on whom see below, n. 28). Two recent examples of books that pay no attention to Clement’s gnostic self– understanding are Roelof van den Broek, Gnostic Religion in Antiquity (trans. Anthony Runia; Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2013) and April D. DeConick, Gnostic New Age: How a Countercultural Spirituality Revolutionized Religion from Antiquity to Today (New York: Columbia University Press, 2016). Van den Broek (p. 138) even calls Clement a “non-gnostic.” Soundly noted by Kovacs, “Reading,” 327 in a welcome revision of her earlier standpoint; in “Divine Pedagogy and the Gnostic Teacher According to Clement of Alexandria,” jecs 9, no. 1 (2001): 20 she still speaks of “heterodox gnostics” when referring to those whom Clement calls “barbarian sects” in Strom. 6.15.123.3. Williams, “Was There,” 76, does briefly bring Clement into the discussion of the use of the term gnostikos as an ideal.

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Irenaeus of Lyon

One may ask with some justification if Clement is not too sui generis in his emphasis on the importance of gnosis to be allowed to interfere with the scholarly endeavor to define the term “gnostic”—a task already difficult enough without him. Admittedly, Clement is rather unique in this respect, but when it comes to the characterization of those who are still too often called the “the Gnostic heretics” in modern research, the contradiction with the ancient language becomes even more severe in the case Irenaeus (c. 130–c. 202).23 The Bishop of Lyon clearly more often than Clement denies the gnosticity of the modern scholars’ “gnostics.” The standard long title of his Adversus haereses already says the essential: Refutation and Overthrow of What is Falsely Called Gnosis.24 These “heretics” are not, for Irenaeus, “gnostics” any more than their opinions are gnosis. I have chosen to take a closer look at how Irenaeus speaks of Valentinus, Simon, Basilides and Carpocrates, the references to whom make up most of those to false gnostics. It may first be noted that none of them is introduced as a representative of a group that claims to deal with gnosis (scientia);25 instead, the issue comes up when their doctrines are discussed. This fact already goes some way towards showing that Irenaeus is not engaged in labeling “heterodox” groups as gnostics. In the present context, we cannot go through all the twenty passages I have found where a word denoting “gnostic” (typically gnosticus, occasionally agnitor) appears in Adv. haer.26 We begin with what Irenaeus says of Valentinus: Let us now look at the inconsistent opinions of those heretics (for there are some two or three of them), how they do not agree in treating the

23

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25 26

The quoted expression comes from Andrew C. Itter, Esoteric Teaching in the Stromateis of Clement of Alexandria (Supplements to Vigiliae Christianae 97; Leiden: Brill, 2009), 22, 87, 128. Similarly, Gerald Bray (“Early Theologians,” in The Early Christian World [ed. Philip F. Esler, 2nd ed., The Routledge Worlds; London: Routledge, 2017], 565–586) on p. 571 speaks of Clement writing “against Gnostic heresies.” As Marjanen points out, the beginnings of the “gnostic” debate can be located in the First letter to Timothy (6:20): “Timothy, guard what has been entrusted to you. Avoid the profane chatter and contradictions of what is falsely called knowledge (τῆς ψευδωνύμου γνώσεως)” (Marjanen, “What Is,” 5). The introductory passages in Adv. haer. are 1 praef. 2, 1.23.1, 1.24.1, 1.25.1, respectively. The numbering is that of the Latin, if not otherwise indicated. I refer to 1.11.1 (twice), 1.11.3, 1.11.5, 1.13.1, 1.25.6, 1.29.1, 2 praef., 2.13.8, 2.13.10, 2.31.1 (twice), 2.35.2, 3.4.3, 3.10.3, 3.11.2, 4.6.4, 4.33.3, 4.35.1 and 5.26.2.

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same points, but alike, in things and names, set forth opinions mutually discordant. The first of them, Valentinus, who adapted the principles of the heresy called gnostic (quae dicitur gnostica haeresis; ἀπὸ τῆς λεγομένης γνωστικῆς αἱρέσεως at 1.5.1 Harvey) to the peculiar character of his own school, taught as follows. Adv. haer. 1.11.127 I call this an instance of reported designation: without taking any position of his own, Irenaeus simply reports that the “heresy” is called gnostic—by whom, that is not discussed.28 A few lines down, he says of Valentinus, “He also asserts that, along with the Demiurge, there was produced a left-hand power, in which particular he agrees with those falsely called gnostics (ψευδωνύμως γνωστικοῖς/falsi nominis gnostici), of whom to we have yet to speak.” Here we have what I call a denied designation: the epithet is unwarranted, as Irenaeus explicitly states.29 It is noteworthy that both passages, in fact, imply that although the non-gnostics and Valentinus agree on points of doctrine, the latter is not one of the former. A comparable point seems to be made here: Now, these remarks which have been made concerning the emission of intelligence are in like manner applicable in opposition to those who belong to the school of Basilides, as well as in opposition to the rest of the gnostics (gnosticos), from whom these also (the Valentinians) have adopted the ideas about emissions, and were refuted in the first book. Adv. haer. 2.3.18

I call this a case of uncontested designation, again concerning apparently the same group that had influenced Valentinus (here, the Valentinians), and now also the Basilidians.30 Later in the treatise Irenaeus drops the distinction

27 28

29 30

The translations from Adv. haer. are those by Roberts in anf. According to my observations, the only cases of a reported self-designation in Adv. haer. are those of Marcellina and her group in 1.25.6 and (less clearly) of Marcus in 1.13.1: “he has induced them to join themselves to him, as to one who is possessed of the greatest knowledge (uelut ad scientissimum; ὡς γνωστικωτάτῳ at 1.7.1 Harvey) and perfection, and who has received the highest power from the invisible and ineffable regions above.” This is ignored by, e.g., Dunderberg, who merely states that, like Tertullian, Irenaeus too distinguished between “the Gnostics” and Valentinus (Morality, 65). On this passage Brakke comments: “Here Irenaeus distinguishes the followers of Basilides from the Gnostics he discussed in Book i and whom he identified as the predecessors of the Valentinians. Although his use of the adjective ‘remaining’ or ‘rest of’ may appear to us to mean that Basilides is included in this group, Irenaeus in fact differentiates Basilides

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between Valentinus or Valentinians and his/their influences and speaks instead of “the Valentinians and the other gnostics, falsely so called (reliquos falsi nomini gnosticos)” (4.35.1; similarly 4.6.4 and 5.26.2 on Valentinus himself), in each case denying the appropriateness of the epithet. The use of the term by Irenaeus is based on the beliefs—and not on the identity or name—of a given group.31 The Valentinians are not an isolated case with respect to the three types of designation. Figure 1 shows that for Simon (and those mentioned as his disciples) too, all three occur—but now the uncontested ones form a majority. For Basilides and Carpocrates the reported kind is absent. In total, the denied designation is the most common type with nine instances followed by the uncontested (7) and reported ones (5). Figure 1 also shows these designations by book (now also including other teachers); the overall trend agrees with the reduced frequency of naming the “heretics” in books three to five. The share of denied designations increases from 33% in the books 1–2 to 57% in books 3–5 indicating that the disclaimer is not idle. A question crucial for understanding Irenaeus’s views is: how should we interpret the occurrence of the three different kinds of designation? Is Irenaeus being undecided as to whether his referents deserve the name “gnostic”? This is clearly untenable, for we cannot assume a change of mind is the explanation when Irenaeus first uses the reported (1.11.1) or the uncontested (2.31.1) designation and then the denied one, of the same people, in the same paragraph. We need some other theory. In my view, it is plausible that the different passages exhibit varying degrees of specificity. Perhaps for reasons of work economy or style Irenaeus did not want to repeat his view that his opponents were not real but falsely called gnostics every time he referred to them. Indeed, he did not need to: his view should be clear anyway:32 These were no gnostics.33 Of every one of them, he states

31

32

from the group that influenced the Valentinians” (Gnostics, 35). Apart from noting that Brakke calls “Gnostics” those whose gnosticity Irenaeus (elsewhere) denies, even if what he says of Basilides held in terms of substance, Irenaeus uses similar language to lump Basilides, and/or Valentinus, with “the rest of”, or “all” non-gnostics also in 2.31.1, 2.35.2, 4.6.4, 4.35.1 and 5.26.2 (of these, the first one features the uncontested designation the rest being of the denied type). Cf. Brakke’s remark: “Ironically, when Irenaeus and Hippolytus say that people ‘called themselves’ gnostics, this may indicate that the term functions as a secondary claim to perfection rather than as a sectarian self-designation” (49). Brakke remarks, “We can imagine that if he were a modern writer he would put ‘gnostics’ in scare quotes.” (Gnostics, 35). This is a comment on one of the designations of the denied type, and Brakke apparently means that Irenaeus could have used quotation marks instead of the expression “falsely so called.” I would apply the idea to the reported and uncontested type in particular.

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figure 1

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Irenaeus’s references to the “(false/so-called) gnostics” by type of designation in four example cases and by book of Adv. haer. The proper names refer to both the persons indicated and their followers as discussed by Irenaeus. Note: See n. 26 for the passages involved. The figures by book include each of the 19 passages (excepting 1.11.3) once. The four example cases (Valentinus, Simon, Basilides and Carpocrates) omit some of the passages (mentioning Marcellina, Saturninus, Menander and Marcion, or not clearly naming anyone) but count some of them more than once, if several “heretics” are named in them. E.g., Adv. haer. 4.6 applies the denied designation to all four example cases.

at some point that the epithet is not warranted. It is thus unfortunate that Irenaeus, even more than Clement, has become known as the champion of the battle against the gnostics: e.g., his work contains a “refutation of Gnosticism”34 33

34

I cannot explore in this paper the ancient use of the word γνωστικός beyond Clement and Irenaeus. But a cursory look at how the author of Refutation of all Heresies and Epiphanius (Panarion) use the word reveals that both still often use a disclaimer, either a reference of the epithet “gnostic” being a self-designation (e.g., Ref. 5.6.4) or by speaking of the “socalled gnostics” (Pan. 1.243.14). Whether their cases are similar to Irenaeus’s is a question beyond my scope here and has no bearing on how we should speak of Clement and Irenaeus. Eric Osborn, Irenaeus of Lyons (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2001), xiii; similarly, e.g., Räisänen, Rise, 75; Pheme Perkins, “Ireneus and the Gnostics: Rhetoric and Composition in Adversus Haereses Book One,” vc 30, no. 3 (1976): 195. Osborn’s paradoxical statement that he has “taken the account of [Irenaeus’s] Protean opponents at face value” illustrates the inversion prevailing in research (p. xiv). Similarly, Marjanen speaks of Irenaeus as refuting “heresies that he calls gnostic” (“What Is,” 10). Likewise, Geoffrey S. Smith, in effect, takes the terms “gnostic” and its logical opposite, “falsely called gnostic,” as synonyms in Irenaeus (Guilt by Association: Heresy Catalogues in Early Christianity

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and is “the principal source” describing “[gnosticism] as a Christian heresy.”35 On the one hand, this is understandable, given the way the term “gnostic(s)” is used. On the other hand, this reputation would only be warranted if the sole type of designation attested in Adv. haer. were the uncontested one. I do concede that the occurrence of that type probably contributed to the development whereby the meaning of the term “gnostic” was inverted from an honorific close to “orthodox” to practically synonymous with “heretic.”36 But as far as Irenaeus himself and his work are concerned, however, simply describing him as an archenemy of the gnostics gives a distorted overall picture of what he says about the quality of the gnosis his opponents (claim to) possess and of his opinion about their right to call themselves gnostics.37 In addition to the similarity between Irenaeus and Clement of not refuting gnostics but non-gnostics, there is an important difference in relation to the role of knowledge for the believer.38 Irenaeus gives it a much more limited niche and content than Clement. Yet he does not deny its value altogether. On the one hand, he cautions against striving for perfect knowledge. In chapter 28 of the second book of Adv. haer. he says this applies not only to knowledge of God’s mysteries but also to natural phenomena like the flow and ebb of the ocean or the waxing and waning of the moon: “On all these points we may indeed say a great deal while we search into their causes, but God alone who made them can declare the truth regarding them” (2.28.2). In spiritual matters curiosity is futile: “If, for instance, any one asks, ‘What was God doing before He made the world?’ we reply that the answer to such a question lies with God

35

36 37

38

[Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2015], e.g., 146). This does correspond to Irenaeus’s synonymic use of the different designations, but Smith’s implicit conclusion is that even the “falsely called” gnostics were gnostics for Irenaeus. Ilaria Ramelli, “Gnosis—Gnosticism,” in Encyclopedia of Ancient Christianity (ed. Angelo Di Berardino et al.; trans. Joseph T. Papa, Erik A. Koenke, and Erik E. Hewett; Downers Grove: ivp Academic, 2014), 2:140. Similarly, van den Broek, Gnostic Religion, 5. On this, see below, text at and after note 41. On this latter point, see n. 28 above. It should also be noted that in practice, Irenaeus also had commonalities with his opponents. Recently Hughes, although still contextualizing Adv. haer. in “Irenaeus’s conflict with Gnosticism” has argued that the Bishop takes over his opponents’ prosopological exegesis (“Irenaeus and the ‘Heretical’ Roots of ‘Orthodox’ Pneumatology,” paper presented at the sbl International Meeting, Helsinki, August 2018). See Kyle Hughes, Trinitarian Testimony of the Spirit: Prosopological Exegesis and the Development of Pre-Nicene Pneumatology (Supplements to Vigiliae Christianae 147; Leiden: Brill, 2018), 98–148. The two thinkers differ in that whereas Irenaeus explicitly calls, e.g., Valentinus and Basilides (or their followers) non-gnostics, Clement calls them neither gnostics nor nongnostics (in so many words; see text at n. 48 below).

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Himself,” and “it is not proper for us to aim at bringing forward foolish, rash, and blasphemous suppositions” (28.3). Another issue Irenaeus takes up is this: If anyone, therefore, says to us, “How then was the Son produced by the Father?” we reply to him, that no one knows that production, or generation, or calling, or revelation, or by whatever name one may describe His generation, which is in fact altogether indescribable, neither Valentinus, nor Marcion, nor Saturninus, nor Basilides, nor angels, nor archangels, nor principalities, nor powers, but the Father only who begat, and the Son who was begotten. Adv. haer. 2.28.6

Here we again see Irenaeus’s anti-non-gnostic logic: there are those who claim to possess knowledge that cannot be possessed; the false gnostics are those who cannot know what they (ostensibly) claim to know.39 Irenaeus’s main point is that human beings should not “form endless conjectures concerning God,” (28.7), but instead we, “as long as we are connected with the scheme of things in this world, should leave perfect knowledge (perfectam scientiam), and such questions [as have been mentioned], to God” (28.8). Irenaeus ends ch. 28 with a demand of omniscience concerning things mundane (such as the number of hairs on their head) addressed to “Valentinus, or Ptolemaeus, or Basilides” etc.; only if they could demonstrate perfect knowledge of trivialities might they be believed with regard to the “spiritual and super-celestial” things (28.9). Here the expression “those who maintain that they have searched out the deep things of God” (but, in Irenaeus’s view, have done nothing of the sort) functions like “those who are called ‘gnostics’” (but falsely): both present, for Irenaeus, a baseless claim. On the other hand, however, even though trying to attain perfect knowledge cannot be successful and only leads to false knowledge, true knowledge

39

Somewhat inconsistently, Lilla takes at face value Irenaeus’s descriptions of the Valentinians’ “claim[s] to possess a higher teaching”, but not his denial of their gnosticity, instead calling them “Christian Gnostics” (Clement of Alexandria: A Study in Christian Platonism and Gnosticism [Oxford Theological Monographs; Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1971], 150–151). But, to his credit, Lilla does not postulate any systematic antagonism between Clement and the Valentinians. He notes both similarities and (some) differences between Clement’s thought and “Gnosticism” (e.g., 161–163, 181–184, 229), and makes a distinction between them. He contrasts “the orthodox Clement” with “heretical Gnosticism” (p. 187), and describes the former as “an orthodox Christian” (p. 183), implying this was the reason Clement could not accept the idea of an inferior Demiurge—a good example of essentialist labeling where the label begins to define the thinker and not vice versa.

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is, according to Irenaeus, necessary. He writes that it is “better and more profitable to belong to the simple and unlettered class” than speculate about the demiurge, but continues by presenting a comparison between two kinds of knowledge: And for this reason Paul exclaimed, “Knowledge (γνῶσις) puffs up, but love builds up” (1Cor. 8:1): not that he meant to inveigh against a true knowledge of God (ueram de Deo scientiam), for in that case he would have accused himself; but, because he knew that some, puffed up by the pretense of knowledge (sub occasione scientiae), fall away from the love of God, and imagine that they themselves are perfect … It is therefore better, as I have said, that one should have no knowledge whatever (nihil omnino scientem) of any one reason why a single thing in creation has been made, but should believe in God, and continue in His love, than that, puffed up through knowledge (scientiam) of this kind, he should fall away from that love which is the life of man; and that he should search after no other knowledge (scientiam) except [the knowledge of] Jesus Christ the Son of God, who was crucified for us, than that by subtle questions and hairsplitting expressions he should fall into impiety. Adv. haer. 2.26.1

Paul thus could have called himself a “gnostic” in a sense that Irenaeus would have accepted: Paul had the right kind of true knowledge of Jesus that suffices for the simple believer. Irenaeus returns to the matter in the fourth book: True knowledge (agnitio uera) is the doctrine of the apostles, and the ancient constitution of the Church throughout all the world, and the distinctive manifestation of the body of Christ according to the successions of the bishops, by which they have handed down that Church which exists in every place. Adv. haer. 4.33.8

Clement could have agreed: “For the life of the gnostic, in my view, is nothing but deeds and words corresponding to the tradition of the Lord” (Strom. 7.16.104.2), although a more in-depth conversation between the thinkers about what each of them meant would have brought to surface major differences.

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Gnostics—Who Were and Who Were Not?

It is good to remember that in the ultimate sense the question of which individuals and groups were gnostic, is not a meaningful one, because one’s identity and loyalty are not parts of one’s essence. The only thing we can really discuss is how people called themselves and others, how they wanted to be called by others, and how we should call them. I have argued above that Clement and Irenaeus should not be said to have opposed gnostics. But am I not forgetting that both Clement and Irenaeus report of those who considered themselves gnostics (even if they dispute the epithet)? Am I refusing to imagine the viewpoint of their opponents? My answer comes in three parts. (1) Such a self-designation may well have existed among others besides the “Clementinians.” I am not taking any position on who had the right to use it. Yet (2) this gives us no grounds to declare Irenaeus or Clement “opponents of gnostics” when they argue against those whom they did not consider gnostics. This holds even where this was the self-designation of their interlocutors. In all cases, it is vital for researchers to explain what exactly they mean by the term and from whose viewpoint it is used. (3) A sobering step to take is to realize that, as an adjective, “gnostic” was often a highly positive term.40 It is used, e.g., by Eusebius about a century after Clement and Irenaeus as a laudatory attribute of persons: At all events he is named Enos, which is “true human being,” by a wellapplied appellation. For it is said that we ought to consider and to call no other a “true human being” than him who attains to the knowledge (γνώσεως) of God and to piety, who is at the same time verily a gnostic (τὸν ἀληθῶς γνωστικόν) and pious. Praep. ev. 7.8.541 I agree with Williams who states that the term “gnostic” as a self-designation is “a claim to a quality.”42 This quality is one that is desired, competed for, and

40

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42

But not always. Already Tertullian’s three instances of the term “gnostic” (Marjanen, “What Is,” 17) are of the uncontested sort (Scorp. 1, An. 18, Val. 39). It is worth noting that in all the cases Tertullian speaks of the gnostics and the Valentinians as separate groups. Trans. Gifford modified. See also Praep. ev. 7.8.9, 11.6.32, 13.13.1. Eusebius does also mention that, according to Irenaeus, Carpocrates was the father of the hairesis called that of the gnostics, who are explicitly distinguished from the teachings of Basilides (Hist. eccl. 4.7.9). Of Clement, he writes that he “sifts the false opinions of the heresiarchs” (Hist. eccl. 6.13.5) saying nothing of gnostics in this context. Williams, “Was There,” 76.

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denied others.43 The title “gnostic” is, in Clement and Irenaeus, much like the opposite of “heretic.”44 Williams refers to the descriptions of the Naassenes by the author of Refutation of all Heresies (formerly wrongly identified as Hippolytus of Rome) who call themselves both “gnostics” and “the only Christians” (as well as “the spiritual” etc.).45 This is very much to the point. In the words of Clement (Paed. 1.6.52.2): “It is a matter for wonder to me that some people [whom Clement does not identify] dare to call themselves perfect and gnostics (σφᾶς τελείους τινὲς τολμῶσι καλεῖν καὶ γνωστικούς), laying claim in their inflated pride to a loftier state than the Apostle.”46 Other epithets used in a way that reflects disputes around the question, “who is and who is not?” include “orthodox” and “Christian,” and also “heretic.”47 Unlike Irenaeus, Clement does not report Valentinus, Basilides or their followers as having been called “gnostics.” He does mention that the followers of Valentinus “attribute faith to us simple ones, but knowledge to themselves” (Strom. 2.3.10.2), which comes close to being a claim to “real” gnosticity on their part. Importantly, Clement never calls the Valentinians “false gnostics.” On the contrary, he sometimes distinguishes the Valentinians from such people.48 Basilides is not directly linked with gnosis by Clement, but on 43

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45 46 47

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Brakke notes this in the case of Clement, but not consistently for Irenaeus. Instead, he claims the latter in fact “granted this term of praise to Christians he considered to be mired in hopeless error” and explains this with Irenaeus’s acquaintance with “Christians [who] did use ‘Gnostic’ to identify themselves as a philosophical or religious movement; they belonged to ‘the Gnostic school of thought.’” Yet Brakke acknowledges Irenaeus insisted that the gnostics are “falsely so called” and that he “liken[ed] ‘gnostic’ to ‘perfect,’ suggesting that the term can be used also as a more generally positive adjective, as Clement did.” (Gnostics, 33–34). Cf. “In order to elevate one Christian tradition above all the others, the nascent ‘orthodoxy’ denigrated others by calling them heretical. In this process, the term ‘gnostic’ became practically synonymous with a ‘heretic’” (Antti Marjanen, “Gnosticism,” in The Oxford Handbook of Early Christian Studies [ed. S. Ashbrook Harvey and D.G. Hunter; Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2008], 208). Similarly, “Most summary definitions of Gnosticism continue to describe it as a Christian heresy” (King, What is, 191). As far as ancient texts are concerned, this conceals the important difference between, e.g., Irenaeus and Tertullian (see notes 29 and 40 and text). Williams, “Was There,” 76, referring to Refutation of All Heresies 5.11.1 and 5.9.22. Cf. Wood’s translations of γνωστικός in Paed. 1.6.31.2 and 35.1: “enlightened Gnostics” and just “enlightened”, respectively. See, e.g., Justin Martyr, Dial. 35–36; Ps.-John Chrysostom, De pseudoprophetis 59.561.49–50; Cyril of Jerusalem, Catecheses ad illuminandos 1–18, 6.12.2–4; John Malalas, Chronographia 17.11; emperor Julian, Epistulae 114.5. Strom. 3.4.29.3–30.1: “If these people [apparently the circles of Carpocrates and Nicolaus, 3.4.25.5] were speaking of spiritual unions, like Valentinus’ followers, then one might perhaps accept their assumption. But only a person who has renounced salvation could

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one occasion Clement speaks of “the gnostic Moses” who “announced that the world was only-begotten, as Basilides says, and that God is one, as does not (οὐκέτι)49 appear to Basilides” (Strom. 5.11.74.3).50 The passage is a good example of Clement’s pragmatic attitude towards those with whom sometimes agrees and sometimes disagrees. His approach to his interlocutors was not label-oriented, which is why statements like “it is quite possible that Clement’s critique in [the promised but now apparently lost] Περὶ ψυχῆς included a polemic against some Gnostic theories, including also Basilides’ doctrine of reincarnation” are suspect.51 When a theory is labeled “gnostic,” it is saddled with the undetermined and contradictory (but in any case “heretical”) load the term carries. So if the doctrine of reincarnation is gnostic—in the modern “sense” of the word—the inevitable conclusion is that Clement’s attitude could not be anything else than one of rejection. Such a conclusion would, however, have little to do with historical realities.52

5

Conclusions

Should we abandon the term “gnostic” altogether because of the difficulties in defining it and because the attempted definitions do not fit the ancient

49

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attribute to the holy spirit of prophecy a union consisting in sexual violence. Similar doctrines are expressed by Prodicus’ school, who falsely claim the name of gnostics for themselves, calling themselves natural sons of the primal god.” Wilson translates, “not yet,” whereas the basic meaning of οὐκέτι is “no more, no longer, no further.” Furthermore, Basilides was surely long dead by the time Clement wrote this, as already Justin (d. c. 165) speaks of his followers (n. 47 above). I suggest that the word serves to indicate a limit: Basilides’s understanding extends “no further.” There is dispute among modern scholars concerning whether Basilides was “a gnostic.” Cf. Layton’s emphatic “no” vs. Pearson’s unequivocal “yes” (Bentley Layton, “The Significance of Basilides in Ancient Christian Thought,”Representation 28 [1989]: 149–150; Birger Pearson, “Basilides the Gnostic,” in Companion to Second-Century Christian “Heretics,” [ed. A. Marjanen and P. Luomanen; Supplements to Vigiliae Christianae 76; Leiden: Brill, 2005], 28). In a historical sense, Layton seems to be correct, although his comment that Irenaeus “carefully distinguished Basilides’ views (1.24.3–5) from those of the Gnostics (1.29)” ignores the repeated instances of Irenaeus lumping them together (above, n. 30). Ashwin-Siejkowski, Trial, 123 n. 29. Contrary to the claims of most scholars, Clement nowhere rejects reincarnation. The matter cannot be discussed further in the present context, but my article “Clement of Alexandria’s Position on the Doctrine of Reincarnation and Some Comparisons with Philo” has been accepted for publication in Studia Patristica (Peeters: Leuven).

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sources?53 Or because it is a pejorative term used in Catholic polemics?54 My view is that we should decide case by case with the minimum requirement of being—and keeping our readers—always aware of the referent. In principle, any etic terminology that is explicitly defined, and preferably with some consensus, is feasible. However, when a term appears in the ancient sources, defining it in a way that directly conflicts with some of its emic uses is confusing. The illusory polemics postulated in research between Clement and Irenaeus on the one hand, and the “gnostics” (often without defining the term) on the other, is a case in point. Clement claims the title “gnostic” for his ideal religious person. Sometimes he also denies the legitimacy of its use by some of those with whom he disagrees. In Irenaeus, the latter phenomenon is much more common, whereas he lacks the category, “the gnostics”; his opponents do not count, because they are falsely so called. By contrast, the epithet is central, practically as a self-designation, to Clement. Irenaeus does value “true knowledge” of matters divine, but he delimits it to what he calls the doctrine of the apostles and gives it neither the esoteric character nor the salvific role we find in Clement.

Acknowledgements I thank the participants of the international meeting “Religious Polemics and Encounters in Late Antiquity: Boundaries, Conversions and Persuasion,” the anonymous reviewer and M. David Litwa for their useful, critical comments on the earlier versions of this essay.

Bibliography Primary Sources Clement of Alexandria. Stromateis: Books 1–3. Translated by John Ferguson. The Fathers of the Church 85. Washington, DC: The Catholic University of America Press, 1991. Clement of Alexandria. The Stromateis. Translated by William Wilson. In vol. 2 of The Ante-Nicene Fathers. Edited by Alexander Roberts and James Donaldson. 1885–1887. 10 vols. Repr., Peabody, MA: Hendrickson, 1994.

53 54

So Williams, “Was There,” 56. As discussed by DeConick, Gnostic New Age, 5–6. She herself does not advocate this but instead wants to see “the ancient Gnostics … as real actors in history” (p. 9).

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Clement of Alexandria. Christ the Educator. Translated by Simon P. Wood. First paperback reprint. The Fathers of the Church 23. Washington, DC: The Catholic University of America Press, 2008. Eusebius of Caesarea. Praeparatio Evangelica (Preparation for the Gospel). Translated by E.H. Gifford. Oxford: Clarendon, 1903. Eusebius of Caesarea. The Ecclesiastical History, Vol. ii. Translated by J.E.L. Oulton. Loeb Classical Library 265. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1932. Irenaeus. Sancti Irenaei episcopi Lugdunensis libri quinque adversus haereses, vol. 1. Edited by W.W. Harvey. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1857.

Secondary Literature Ashwin-Siejkowski, Piotr. Clement of Alexandria: A Project of Christian Perfection. London: T&T Clark, 2008. Ashwin-Siejkowski, Piotr. Clement of Alexandria on Trial: The Evidence of “Heresy” from Photius’ Bibliotheca. Supplements to Vigiliae Christianae 101. Leiden: Brill, 2010. Behr, John. Asceticism and Anthropology in Irenaeus and Clement. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2000. Brakke, David. The Gnostics: Myth, Ritual and Diversity in Early Christianity. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2010. Bray, Gerald. “Early Theologians.” Pages 565–586 in The Early Christian World. Edited by Philip F. Esler. Second edition. The Routledge Worlds. London: Routledge, 2017. Broek, Roelof van den. Gnostic Religion in Antiquity. Translated by Anthony Runia. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2013. Dainese, Davide. “Clement’s Exegesis of 1John in the Adumbrationes.” Pages 292–324 in Clement’s Biblical Exegesis: Proceedings of the Second Colloquium on Clement of Alexandria (Olomouc, May 29–31, 2014). Edited by V. Černušková, J.L. Kovacs, J. Plátová, and V. Hušek. Supplements to Vigiliae Christianae 139. Leiden: Brill, 2017. Daniélou, Jean. Histoire des doctrines chrétiennes avant Nicée: 2, Message évangélique et culture hellénistique aux iie et iiie siècles. Tournai: Desclée, 1961. DeConick, April D. Gnostic New Age: How a Countercultural Spirituality Revolutionized Religion from Antiquity to Today. New York: Columbia University Press, 2016. Dunderberg, Ismo. Gnostic Morality Revisited. Wissenschaftliche Untersuchungen zum Neuen Testament 347. Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2015. Ferguson, John. “Introduction.” Pages 3–19 in Clement of Alexandria: Stromateis, Books 1–3. The Fathers of the Church 85. Washington, DC: The Catholic University of America Press, 1991. Gibbons, Kathleen. The Moral Psychology of Clement of Alexandria: Mosaic Philosophy. Routledge Studies in Philosophy and Theology in Late Antiquity. New York: Routledge, 2016. Havrda, Matyáš, Vít Hušek, and Jana Plátová, eds. The Seventh Book of the Stromateis:

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Proceedings of the Colloquium on Clement of Alexandria (Olomouc, October 21–23, 2010). Supplements to Vigiliae Christianae 117. Leiden: Brill, 2014. Itter, Andrew C. Esoteric Teaching in the Stromateis of Clement of Alexandria. Supplements to Vigiliae Christianae 97. Leiden: Brill, 2009. King, Karen. What Is Gnosticism? Cambridge: The Belknap Press of Harvard University Press, 2003. Kovacs, Judith L. “Divine Pedagogy and the Gnostic Teacher According to Clement of Alexandria.” Journal of Early Christian Studies 9, no. 1 (2001): 3–25. Kovacs, Judith L. “Reading the ‘Divinely Inspired’ Paul: Clement of Alexandria in Conversation with ‘Heterodox’ Christians, Simple Believers, and Greek Philosophers.” Pages 325–343 in Clement’s Biblical Exegesis: Proceedings of the Second Colloquium on Clement of Alexandria (Olomouc, May 29–31, 2014). Edited by V. Černušková, J.L. Kovacs, J. Plátová, and V. Hušek. Supplements to Vigiliae Christianae 139. Leiden: Brill, 2017. Layton, Bentley. “Prolegomena to the Study of Ancient Gnosticism.” Pages 334–350 in The Social World of the First Christians: Essays in Honor of Wayne A. Meeks. Edited by L.M. White and O.L. Yarbrough. Minneapolis: Fortress, 1995. Layton, Bentley. “The Significance of Basilides in Ancient Christian Thought.”Representation 28 (1989): 135–151. Lilla, Salvatore R.C. Clement of Alexandria: A Study in Christian Platonism and Gnosticism. Oxford Theological Monographs. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1971. Linjamaa, Paul. “The Pit and the Day from Above: Sabbath-Symbolism in the Gospel of Truth and the Interpretation of Knowledge.” Svensk Exegetisk Årsbok 80 (2015): 187–206. Marjanen, Antti. “Gnosticism.” Pages 203–220 in The Oxford Handbook of Early Christian Studies. Edited by S. Ashbrook Harvey and D.G. Hunter. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2008. Marjanen, Antti. “What Is Gnosticism? From the Pastorals to Rudolph.” Pages 1–53 in Was There a Gnostic Religion? Edited by A. Marjanen. Publications of the Finnish Exegetical Society 87. Helsinki and Göttingen: Finnish Exegetical Society and Vandenhoek & Ruprecht, 2005. Osborn, Eric. Clement of Alexandria. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2005. Osborn, Eric. Irenaeus of Lyons. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2001. Pearson, Birger. “Basilides the Gnostic.” Pages 1–31 in Companion to Second-Century Christian “Heretics.” Edited by Antti Marjanen and Petri Luomanen. Supplements to Vigiliae Christianae 76. Leiden: Brill, 2005. Pearson, Birger. “Gnosticism as a Religion.” Pages 81–101 in Was There a Gnostic Religion? Edited by A. Marjanen. Publications of the Finnish Exegetical Society 87. Helsinki and Göttingen: Finnish Exegetical Society and Vandenhoek & Ruprecht, 2005. Perkins, Pheme. “Ireneus and the Gnostics: Rhetoric and Composition in Adversus

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Haereses Book One.” Vigiliae Christianae 30, no. 3 (1976): 193–200. Räisänen, Heikki. The Rise of Christian Beliefs: The Thought World of Early Christians. Minneapolis: Fortress, 2010. Ramelli, Ilaria. “Gnosis—Gnosticism.” Pages 2:139–147 in Encyclopedia of Ancient Christianity. Edited by Angelo Di Berardino, Thomas C. Oden, Joel C. Elowsky, and James Hoover, translated by Joseph T. Papa, Erik A. Koenke, and Erik E. Hewett. Downers Grove: ivp Academic, 2014. Runia, David T. On the Creation of the Cosmos According to Moses: Introduction, Translation, and Commentary. Philo of Alexandria Commentary Series 1. Atlanta: Society of Biblical Literature, 2001. Smith, Geoffrey S. Guilt by Association: Heresy Catalogues in Early Christianity. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2015. Smith, Morton. “The History of the Term Gnostikos.” Pages 183–193 in Studies in the Cult of Yahweh, Vol. 2: New Testament, Early Christianity, and Magic. Edited by Shaye J.D. Cohen. Religions in the Graeco-Roman World, 130/2. Leiden: Brill, 1996. Williams, Michael A. “Was There a Gnostic Religion? Strategies for a Clearer Analysis.” Pages 55–79 in Was There a Gnostic Religion? Edited by Antti Marjanen. Publications of the Finnish Exegetical Society 87. Helsinki & Göttingen: Finnish Exegetical Society & Vandenhoek & Ruprecht, 2005.

Justin Martyr as a Polemicist Sven-Olav Back

1

Introduction

Justin Martyr presents himself as a philosopher defending Christians against unjust treatment by the state, slander by spiteful antagonists, and criticism by intellectuals. Justin, however, is not only an apologist. He is also a propagandist for the beliefs, morals, and worship of the Christians; there is a clear protreptic element in all of his extant writings.1 Polemics provide an important aspect of protreptics. Desiring to persuade people to accept one’s message, one may wish to distance oneself from other doctrines.2 Hence, it is not surprising that Justin Martyr is also involved in polemics: against Greco-Roman religion and philosophical schools, against Judaism, and Christian heretics. His view is that “orthodox” Christianity is true and all other sorts of worship or philosophy are wrong—if not completely, then at least partly or mostly. “According to sound judgment (κρίσις σώφρων) our teachings are … superior to all human philosophy” (2 Apol. 15.3).3 The criteria for establishing truth and falsehood in religion and philosophy include “sound judgment”. Justin may also refer to “sound” (1 Apol. 2.1: ὁ σώφρων λόγος; cf. 2 Apol. 6.9) or “right reason” (2 Apol. 9.4: ὁ ὀρθὸς λόγος; cf. 2.2; 6.7) as a

1 Michele Pellegrino, Studi su l’antica apologetica (Rome: Storia e letteratura, 1947), 13–35; Charles Munier, Justin Martyr: Apologie pour les chrétiens. Introduction, traduction et commentaire (Paris: Cerf, 2006), 28–29; especially regarding 1 Apol., see Anthony J. Guerra, “The Conversion of Marcus Aurelius and Justin Martyr: the Purpose, Genre and Content of the First Apology,” SecCent 9 (1992): 171–187. 2 Stefan Heid, “Iustinus martyr i,” rac 19:801–847, here 818: “Zur Werbung für das eigene Lehrsystem gehört eine möglichst wirkungsvolle Abgrenzung gegenüber anderen Lehrsystemen.” 3 When not otherwise indicated, quotations in English from the Apologies follow Denis Minns and Paul Parvis, eds., Justin, Philosopher and Martyr: Apologies (oect; Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2009), quotations from the Dialogue follow St. Justin Martyr, Dialogue with Trypho (trans. T.B. Falls, rev. and with a new introd. by T.P. Halton, ed. M. Slusser; Selections from the Fathers of the Church, vol. 3; Washington, D.C.: Catholic University of America, 2003).— When quoting from the Greek, I follow the editions of Miroslav Marcovich, except for the order and numbering of chapters in 2 Apol. 3–8, where I follow the order of Codex Parisinus Graecus 450; thus also, e.g., Alfred W.F. Blunt, ed., The Apologies of Justin Martyr (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1911).

© Sven-Olav Back, 2022 | doi:10.1163/9789004466845_005

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criterion. Or he may refer to “true reason” (1 Apol. 3.1; 43.6: ὁ ἀληθὴς λόγος; cf. 5.3) or simply “reason” (1 Apol. 2.1 etc.). Terms such as σώφρων λόγος and ὀρθὸς λόγος are characteristic of Stoicism, where they refer to a reason which is undisturbed by affects and hence “sound” or “standing straight”. Such a σώφρων or ὀρθὸς λόγος can function as a trustworthy guide in matters of knowledge and ethics.4 We may however assume that Justin has filled the old term with new meaning when he remarks, e.g., “right reason’s (ὁ ὀρθὸς λόγος) contribution is to demonstrate (ἀποδείκνυσιν) that not all opinions nor all beliefs are noble, but that some are wicked and some good” (2 Apol. 9.4). In this paper we will, for the most part, bypass Justin’s critique of Judaism, and instead look at his polemical interaction with philosophers and heretics; also, but to a lesser degree, his polemics with regard to pagan religion will be touched upon.

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Reason as a Polemical Tool

In order to understand Justin’s use of reason as a polemical tool, it is helpful to first turn to his portrait of Socrates. According to Justin, Socrates was the excellent philosopher, a man of “true reason” (λόγος ἀληθής, 1 Apol. 5.3).5 He showed men how to use their reason in the appropriate way. He deserves no criticism, but only praise. “Justin’s assessment [sc. of Socrates] is constantly and unconditionally favourable.”6

4 Max Pohlenz, Die Stoa: Geschichte einer geistigen Bewegung (5th ed.; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1978), 60–62, 141–153. 5 On Socrates as an exemplum in Greco-Roman and early Christian authors, see Klaus Döring, Exemplum Socratis: Studien zur Sokratesnachwirkung in der kynisch-stoischen Popularphilosophie der frühen Kaiserzeit und im frühen Christentum (Hermes Einzelschriften 42; Wiesbaden: Franz Steiner, 1979). On Justin’s view of Socrates, see Ernst Benz, “Christus und Sokrates in der alten Kirche,”znw 43 (1950–1951): 199–209 (unfortunately, there are several mistakes in Benz’s translations of Justin’s texts); Döring, Exemplum Socratis, 148–153; Oskar Skarsaune, “Judaism and Hellenism in Justin Martyr, Elucidated From His Portrait of Socrates”, in Geschichte— Tradition—Reflexion: Festschrift für Martin Hengel zum 70. Geburtstag. Volume 3: Frühes Christentum (ed. H. Cancik, H. Lichtenberger and P. Schäfer; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1996), 585– 611; Michel Fédou, “La figure de Socrate selon Justin,” in Les apologistes chrétiens et la culture grecque (ed. B. Pouderon and J. Doré; Théologie historique 105; Paris: Beauchesne, 1998), 51– 66. 6 Michele Pellegrino, Gli apologeti greci del ii secolo: saggio sui rapporti fra il Christianesimo primitivo e la cultura classica (Rome: Anonima veritas, 1947), 65.

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Socrates’ most valuable contribution as a philosopher was his unmasking of the demons. Applying “true reason” to the case of the Greek gods, he saw through the illusion and realized that the gods were nothing but wicked demons.7 Consequently, he made a heroic effort to reveal the truth to his compatriots, to “draw people away from the demons” (1 Apol. 5.3), to encourage them to “shun wicked demons” (2 Apol. 10.6). On a deeper level, Justin explains, this was not just Socrates going about his rational work, but the Logos using Socrates as an instrument: “these things [sc. the truth about the gods being wicked demons] were brought to light … among the Greeks by Logos through Socrates” (1 Apol. 5.4).8 Socrates was not only involved in the “negative” task of revealing the true character of the gods. There was also a “positive” element in his efforts, viz. he urged his compatriots “to knowledge, through rational enquiry, of the God who was unknown to them” (πρὸς θεοῦ δὲ τοῦ ἀγνώστου αὐτοῖς διὰ λόγου ζητήσεως ἐπίγνωσιν προὐτρέπετο, 2 Apol. 10.6); this should be the goal for human beings, even if it is not easy to attain, as the Justinian Socrates pointed out (ibid.). In Justin’s view, then, Socrates was the ideal philosopher, endowed with λόγος ἀληθής and using it in an admirable way. However, his intellectual equipment was not in principle unique. For all human beings “have come into existence as rational (λογικοί) and with power of perception (θεωρητικοί)” (1 Apol. 28.3). The reason for this is the fact that God created mankind through his Logos: the Logos was a mediator of creation (Schöpfungsmittler) (1 Apol. 64.5; 2 Apol. 5.3), which means that mankind was “marked” by Logos in the sense that human beings partake of the Logos by their being endowed with reason. Another way to put this is to describe the Logos as a “sower” who sowed his “seed” of truth into the logos of human beings. (Justin uses the term Logos spermatikos to describe the Logos in this capacity.) The Logos himself is the whole truth, but all human beings can, in principle, grasp some truths, viz. about God and morals (1 Apol. 46.2; 2 Apol. 7.1–3; 10.1–3, 8; 13.3–6; cf. below).9 Not all human

7 On Justin’s demonology, see Skarsaune, “Judaism and Hellenism”, 591–594; Annette Yoshiko Reed, “The Trickery of the Fallen Angels and the Demonic Mimesis of the Divine: Aetiology, Demonology, and Polemics in the Writings of Justin Martyr,” jecs 12 (2004): 141–171. 8 This is how I understand the Greek text in 1 Apol. 5.4. Others supporting this interpretation include Pellegrino, Gli apologeti greci, 83; Döring, Exemplum Socratis, 149; Skarsaune, “Åpenbaring utenfor åpenbaringen? Antikk religion, gresk filosofi og kristen tro ifølge Justin Martyr,” in idem, Og ordet ble kjød: studier i oldkirkens teologi (Oslo: Luther, 2001), 137–159, here 142. According to another interpretation, Justin says: “these things were brought to light … among the Greeks by reason, through the words of Socrates”; thus e.g. Minns and Parvis, Justin, Philosopher and Martyr, 91. 9 Cf. Ragnar Holte, “Logos Spermatikos: Christianity and Ancient Philosophy according to St.

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beings, however, make the correct use of their logos, their reason, and those who do can only get as far as Socrates.10 Socrates and other philosophers were able to work with the aid of God-given reason, based on their participation in the Logos (cf. 2 Apol. 10.2). However, this work could not go on undisturbed. For the demons, who are enemies of the Logos, take action when they see people following him, both in their ordinary lives and in their philosophical work. Consequently, they interfered to have Socrates executed (1 Apol. 5.3); they inspired those who lived “without Logos” to kill those who lived “with Logos” (1 Apol. 46.4), and, Justin remarks, they still keep doing or aiming to do this (1 Apol. 5.1, 3; 57.1; 2 Apol. 1.1–2; 7.2–3). In addition to these counter-attacks, the demons are also—as was the case in ancient times—continuously trying to lead people astray, partly by tricking them into believing that they themselves are real gods which should be worshiped, partly by teaching them to lead immoral lives; cf., e.g., Justin’s sarcastic comment in 1 Apol. 21.4: indecent mythological stories were written down for the advantage and encouragement of those being instructed, εἰς διαφορὰν καὶ προτροπὴν τῶν ἐκπαιδευομένων. Just as the demons hate the Logos, they are also enemies of reason. It is interesting to note how often Justin associates them with the “irrational”. So, for example, in 1–2 Apol., Justin boldly claims that the addressees deal with the Christians ἀλόγῳ πάθει καὶ μάστιγι δαιμόνων φαύλων ἐξελαυνόμενοι, “with senseless passion, and driven under the whip of wicked demons” (1 Apol. 5.1; cf. 2.3); governors who persecute the Christians at the command of demons act with “unreasonableness” (2 Apol. 1.1–2; cf. 2.15); those who live “irrationally” are bound to fall prey to various demands on the part of demons (1 Apol. 12.5; 57.1), and “irrational” people easily become “fodder for godless doctrines and demons” (1 Apol. 58.2). Against the background indicated above, we can understand how reason can function as a polemical tool for Justin. (a) To begin with, it is clear that he is bound to reject and even condemn philosophers who condone “idolatry” and accept or promote the cult of “demons”. The attitude of Socrates is the right one; it deserves to be emulated.11

10 11

Justin’s Apologies,” st 12 (1958): 109–168; Nestor Pycke, “Connaissance rationelle et connaissance de grace chez Saint Justin,” etl 37 (1961), 52–85, here 55–65; Jan Hendrik Waszink, “Bemerkungen zu Justins Lehre vom Logos Spermatikos,” in Mullus: Festschrift Theodor Klausner (jac Ergänzungsband 1; Münster: Aschendorffsche Verlagsbuchhandlung, 1964), 380–390; Skarsaune, “Åpenbaring,” 144–150. Holte, “Logos Spermatikos,” 161. Note that Justin never mentions Socrates’s instruction regarding a sacrifice to Asclepius

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The alternative means getting along with the demons. However, this criticism, which would seem to follow from Justin’s principles, is not made explicit. Justin refrains from directly attacking the main addressee of the First Apology, Antoninus Pius, and does not mention his care about religious observances in general nor his devotion to the “Great Mother” in particular.12 Implicitly, though, Justin’s position is clear. (b) According to Justin, heretics such as Simon Magus, Menander and Marcion have been sent by the demons to “lead human beings away from the God who made them and from his first-begotten Christ” (1 Apol 58.3). They are thus the opposite of Socrates, who was the instrument of the Logos and vigorously tried to lead human beings away from the false gods, i.e., the demons. Justin claims that Simon and Menander themselves claimed to be gods (1 Apol. 26.1– 4); at least Simon was also regarded as such (1 Apol. 26.2–3; 56.2); both had a considerable following (1 Apol. 26.1–4; 56.1–2). While Marcion does not claim to be a god, he has been (and still is) teaching the absurd doctrine that there is another god, greater than the Creator (1 Apol. 26.5: 58.1), and similarly he proclaims “another son” (1 Apol. 58.1). These doctrines are demonical and irrational distortions of the truth: Many, believing in him [sc. Marcion] as if he alone knew the truth, laugh at us, though they have no demonstration for the things they say (ἀπόδειξιν μηδεμίαν περὶ ὧν λέγουσιν ἔχοντες), but, being irrational, they are snatched away, like lambs by a wolf, and become fodder for godless doctrines and demons. 1 Apol. 58.2

Justin also insinuates that the heretics may be guilty of the grossly immoral acts that Christians in general are often being suspected of: “[W]hether they also do those infamous deeds that are invented about us … we do not know” (1 Apol. 26.7).13

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(Plato, Phaed. 118A). Later Christian writers criticize Socrates for a lack of consistency; on this, see Fédou, “La figure de Socrate,” 63–65. See further Michael Fiedrowicz, Apologie im frühen Christentum: die Kontroverse um den christlichen Wahrheitsanspruch in den ersten Jahrhunderten (Paderborn: Ferdinand Schöning, 2000), 295–296. Cf. Michael Grant, The Antonines: The Roman Empire in Transition (London: Routledge, 1996), 15–16; Cornelius Motschmann, Die Religionspolitik Marc Aurels (Hermes Einzelschriften 88; Stuttgart: Steiner, 2002), 42–45. For observations on Justin’s attempt, in the First Apology, to “attack and undermine” Marcion and other self-identified Christians who do not regard the Creator as the supreme God (i.e., “demiurgical Christians”), see Matthijs den Dulk, Between Jews and Heretics:

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(c) Justin connects both of the above-mentioned groups (philosophers who condone idolatry, and heretics) with demons, either implicitly or explicitly. He does not throw this accusation at the Cynic Crescens, even if he regards him as obviously ἄλογος (2 Apol. 8); it is possible to be irrational without being under the influence of demons. In his dismissive remarks about Crescens, Justin partly follows conventional polemical portrayals of Cynics.14 According to Justin, Crescens attacked the Christians and publicly accused them of being godless and irreligious (2 Apol. 8.2). Justin confronted him publicly and claims he defeated him in a debate. Either, Justin argues, Crescens was acquainted with the doctrines of Christ, or he was not. If he did not know the doctrines and still attacked the Christians, he is worse than common ignorant people, who often refrain from speaking in matters they do not know anything about. Alternatively, Crescens knew about the Christian doctrines. In this case, he either spoke against them without understanding, or else understood but was afraid of being suspected of being a Christian himself. “This would show him to be vanquished by vulgar and irrational opinion and fear” (ἰδιωτικῆς καὶ ἀλόγου δόξης καὶ φόβου ἐλάττων, 2 Apol. 8.3). Crescens, in fact, is a fine example of a non-philosopher (2 Apol. 8.1–2) who has no regard for true Socratic principles but refuses to honour the saying of Socrates, “a man is in no way to be honoured in preference to the truth” (2 Apol. 8.6; cf. Plato, Resp. x.595C).15 (d) Whereas Justin shows no appreciation for the aforementioned groups and individuals, he is more nuanced in his assessment of Plato, Stoics and others (2 Apol. 7.1: poets; 10.2: philosophers and lawgivers; 13.2: poets and prosewriters). These have arrived at certain moral and philosophical truths because they profited from the “seed” sown by the Logos spermatikos: We know that the followers of Stoic opinions were decent at any rate with regard to their ethical doctrine, as were the poets too in some respects. … For the seed of reason has been implanted in the whole human race. 2 Apol. 7.1

14

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Refiguring Justin Martyr’s Dialogue with Trypho (Routledge Studies in the Early Christian World; London: Routledge, 2018), 13–23. Regarding the Dialogue, den Dulk argues that this work as a whole can be understood as an argument against “demiurgical” types of Christianity. Abraham J. Malherbe, “Justin and Crescens”, in idem, Light from the Gentiles: Hellenistic Philosophy and Early Christianity: Collected Essays, 1959–2012, vol. 2 (ed. C.R. Holladay et al.; NovTSup 150; Leiden: Brill, 2014), 883–894, here 888. Cf. Justin’s dismissal of Peripatetics (Dial. 2.3) and Epicureans (2 Apol. 6.3; 12.5; 15.3). Cf. 1 Apol. 2 for Justin’s insisting on the real philosopher’s respect for truth.

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Whatever philosophers and lawgivers have at any time uttered well or found was achieved by them with hardship, as they were working, by invention and contemplation, according to a participation in the Logos. But since they did not know all that has to do with the Logos who is Christ, they also frequently contradicted themselves. 2 Apol. 10.2–316 I confess not that the teachings of Plato are alien to those of Christ, but that they are not in all ways the same as them, just as neither are those of the others, Stoics, and poets, and prose-writers. For what each of them proclaimed was good, when he saw from a part of the divine spermatic logos what was connatural to it. But when they contradict themselves in their principal teachings they are shown not to have secure understanding and infallible knowledge. 2 Apol. 13.2–3

The Stoics, then, are “decent” (κόσμιοι) in their ethical doctrine (2 Apol. 7.1; cf. 2 Apol. 6.8), and Plato’s teachings are not totally alien to those of Christ (2 Apol. 13.2). However, because Plato and the Stoics only had access to the “seed” of the Logos, and not to the Logos as a whole, they were also guilty of mistakes. Internal inconsistencies in the doctrinal systems make this clear to the critical observer.17 According to Justin, the Stoic doctrine of fate (εἱμαρμένη)18 is contrary to “right reason” (λόγος ὁ ὀρθός) and has the consequence of blurring the distinction between virtue and vice—a consequence which is flatly rejected by “true reason” (ὁ ἀληθὴς λόγος). Instead, the reasonable approach is to affirm human free will (2 Apol. 6.6–7; 1 Apol. 43.2–8).19 These reasonable points are confirmed 16 17

18 19

The translation of v. 2, while partly following Minns and Parvis, Justin, Philosopher and Martyr (p. 309), has been adapted to Marcovich’s edition. Justin often remarks that philosophers speak “contradictory” things: 1 Apol. 4.8; 7.3; 26.6; 2 Apol. 10.3; 13.3; cf. Dial. 2.1; 35.6. In the texts quoted above it is a question of selfcontradiction rather than a contradiction between different philosophical schools. The argument from contradiction (in different variants) was common; cf. Fiedrowicz, Apologie, 292–293. Munier thinks Justin’s use of it is “banal” ( Justin Martyr, 326, in a comment on 2 Apol. 10.3). Pohlenz, Die Stoa, 101–106. For a closer look at Justin’s criticism of Stoic fatalism (especially in 2 Apol. 6.3–9 and 1 Apol. 42.1–44.11), see Paolo Merlo, Liberi per vivere secondo il Logos: Principi e criteri dell’agire morale in San Giustino filosofo e martire (Rome: Libreria Ateneo Salesiano, 1995), 30–63. Andresen points out that Justin agrees with Middle Platonism in his polemical statements; Carl Andresen, “Justin und der mittlere Platonismus,” znw 44 (1952/53): 157–195,

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by the teachings of Moses and Isaiah, and in addition by Plato, who learned from Moses (1 Apol. 44.1–11).20 As far as Plato is concerned, the philosophical dispute between the old man and Justin-as-a-Platonist, related in the introductory part of the Dialogue (Dial. 3.1–6.2), showed considerable weaknesses in fundamental Platonic doctrines. Plato’s doctrine of the soul, as defended by young Justin, could not withstand the criticism of the old man (Dial. 4.1–6.2). This concerns the doctrine of the “affinity” (συγγένεια) of the soul with God (4.2–4a), the doctrine of the transmigration of souls (4.4b–5.1a), and the doctrine of the immortality of the soul (5.1b–6.2). While this section of the Dialogue contains some obscurities, and while there seems to be no agreement among interpreters regarding the precise origins of the old man’s arguments, the main point in this context is that the old man demonstrated the presence of absurdity and inconsistency in the Platonic doctrine of the soul and did so purely with the help of reason. At least this is how Justin prefers to present the matter.21 At the end of the discussion on the soul, when Plato and Pythagoras have been disproved, the question arises, “If these philosophers … do not know the truth, what teacher or method shall one follow?” (Dial. 7.1a). At this point Justin could have made the old man refer to Christ, the incarnated Logos. Instead, the old man introduces the Old Testament prophets.

3

The Prophetical Writings as a Polemical Tool

The old man’s answer commences thus: A long time ago … long before the time of those so-called philosophers, there lived blessed men who were just and loved by God, men who spoke through the inspiration of the Holy Spirit and predicted events that would take place in the future, which events are now taking place. We call these men the prophets. They alone knew the truth and communicated it to

20

21

here 183–187. Similarly Leslie W. Barnard, Justin Martyr: His Life and Thought (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1967), 115–117. Cf. Merlo, Liberi, 57–63. As I remarked above, Justin explains the “decent” elements in Stoic ethical doctrine by referring to the “seed” of the Logos; for this reason, he sees no further need to explain how a decent ethical doctrine can co-exist with a flawed “physical” one. Cf. Niels Hyldahl, Philosophie und Christentum: eine Interpretation der Einleitung zum Dialog Justins (ATDan 9; Copenhagen: Munksgaard, 1966), 190–227; Jacobus C.M. van Winden, An Early Christian Philosopher: Justin Martyr’s Dialogue with Trypho, Chapters One to Nine (Philosophia patrum, vol. 1; Leiden: Brill, 1971), 69–110.

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men, whom they neither deferred to nor feared. With no desire for personal glory, they reiterated only what they heard and saw when inspired by a holy spirit. Their writings are still extant, and whoever reads them with the proper faith will profit greatly in his knowledge of the origin and end of things, and of any other matter that a philosopher should know. Dial. 7.1–2

Regarding the contents of the prophetical writings, the old man in the immediate context adds that the prophets “exalted God, the Father and Creator of all things, and made known Christ, his Son, who was sent by him” (Dial. 7.3). In the following parts of the Dialogue, Justin will further discuss their message regarding Christ,22 and in the First Apology he summarizes the theme of the prophetical writings by referring to prophesies about “our Lord Jesus Christ” (1 Apol. 31.7). Regarding the trustworthiness of the prophets, the old man not only underlines that they spoke “through the inspiration of the Holy Spirit”. He adds that they are worthy of belief since they performed certain miracles and since their predictions have come true (Dial. 7.2–3). Hence, one can trust and believe them, even if they gave “no proof at that time of their statements” (Dial. 7.2). At the end of his eulogy of the prophets, the old man underlines that nobody can understand the prophetical writings and the truths that they contain without illumination from above, “unless he has been enlightened by God and his Christ” (Dial. 7.3). This is a point that Justin stresses time and again (cf., e.g., 1 Apol. 60.11; Dial. 55.3; 58.1; 78.10–11; 92.1; 100.2; 119.1).23 The antiquity of the prophets, mentioned by the old man, is highly important for Justin. The prophets are more ancient than all the Greek philosophers, including Pythagoras and Plato. Earlier in the Dialogue, Justin has brought in the idea of a primordial philosophy, which “was sent down to men” (Dial. 2.1). This philosophy “is most precious in the sight of God, to whom it alone leads us and to whom it unites us, and in truth they who have applied themselves to philosophy are holy men” (ibid.). Now, by quoting the old man, Justin makes it clear that those “holy men” were in fact the Old Testament prophets and that their

22

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Giuseppe Visonà, S. Giustino, Dialogo con Trifone: introduzione, tradizione e note (Milano: Paoline, 1988), 45: “[I]l dialogo tra Giustino e l’anziano traccia la distinzione tra rivelazione e ragione e sancisce l’insufficienza della [seconda] a giungere alla verità; il dialogo tra Giustino e Trifone si svolge all’interno del secondo livello, tra coloro che sanno e accettano dov’è la verità, cioè nella parola di Dio trasmessa dalla Scrittura.” Pycke, “Connaissance rationelle,” 66–79.

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writings contain the primordial philosophy.24 In the case of the prophets, the greatest antiquity and the possession of truth are combined: they lived “long before” all “so-called philosophers”, and “they alone knew the truth” (Dial. 7.1). As a polemical tool, the statement that the prophets are more ancient than “those so-called philosophers” (Dial. 7.1) is important. This is the πρεσβύτερον κρεῖττον-argument which was used already by Jewish apologists from the second century b.c. onwards.25 Justin was the first Christian apologist to make use of it;26 before him, the author of the Preaching of Peter as well as Aristides of Athens were content to emphasize the newness of Christianity.27 (a) In the First Apology Justin time and again uses the πρεσβύτερον κρεῖττονargument. First, he uses it against Greek philosophers, claiming that (i) Moses and other Old Testament prophets are more ancient than all other writers, including the Greek philosophers (1 Apol. 23.1; 31.8); that (ii) Plato and other philosophers have borrowed some of their teachings from Moses (1 Apol. 44.8–10; 59.1); and (iii) that Plato sometimes partly misunderstood what he read in Moses (1 Apol. 60.1–7).28 All this, according to Justin, is to show the superiority of the prophets in comparison with Plato and other philosophers. Of course, Justin’s argument is not in favour of Judaism, but of Christianity. For the message of the prophets concern “our Lord Jesus Christ, proclaimed ahead of time as drawing near” etc. (1 Apol. 31.7).29 (b) Justin uses the πρεσβύτερον κρεῖττον-argument against Greco-Roman religion as well: some classical myths are dependent on the Old Testament, which was read but poorly understood by the demons (1 Apol. 54); nevertheless, their intentions were evil, whereas Plato was well-meaning. (c) Justin also seems to hit heretics with the same argument: look, poor Simon Magus did not appear until the time of the Emperor Claudius (1 Apol. 26.2)! He was later followed by Menander (1 Apol. 26.4), and “someone called Marcion” appeared only quite recently (1 Apol. 26.5). This is to be compared with Moses, who prophesied 5000 years ago (1 Apol. 31.8– 32.1), and the Logos, who is πρωτότοκος τοῦ θεοῦ (1 Apol. 46.2). 24 25

26 27 28 29

van Winden, An Early Christian Philosopher, 111–112. Peter Pilhofer, presbyteron kreitton: der Altersbeweis der jüdischen und christlichen Apologeten und seine Vorgeschichte (wunt 2.39; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1990). Cf. Fiedrowicz, Apologie, 208–226. Pilhofer, presbyteron kreitton, 294. Pilhofer, presbyteron kreitton, 227–234. Pilhofer, presbyteron kreitton, 235–244. On the interrelationship between the Altersbeweis and the Weissagungsbeweis, see Pilhofer, presbyteron kreitton, 252, 295; Fiedrowicz, Apologie, 214.

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(d) In the Dialogue with Trypho, Justin attacks both Greek philosophers and Christian—or, in Justin’s view, pseudo-Christian—heretics with a special version of the πρεσβύτερον κρεῖττον-argument. The philosophers, he maintains, were initially in contact with the primordial philosophy (cf. Dial. 2.1, cf. above), but they were never really able to grasp it. The different philosophical schools have, rather, always been part of a deteriorating movement, ever distancing itself from the true philosophy sent down from above and represented by the Old Testament prophets (Dial. 2.1–2; 7.1).30 In a similar way, the heretics do not represent true Christian doctrine, but degenerated versions thereof (Dial. 35.6).31

4

Conclusion

Holte argued long ago that Justin, in his use of the originally Stoic term σώφρων λόγος (or ὀρθὸς λόγος) did not leave the significance of the term untouched, but filled it with a new content: “σώφρων λόγος is in actual fact nothing but reason enlightened by the Christian doctrines.”32 And these doctrines are to be found in the Old Testament revelation, rightly understood. For a Stoic, the term may refer to an ideal, but for the Christians it is an actual reality.33 He [sc. Justin] can therefore critically examine the philosophical doctrines and according to the norm σώφρων, ὀρθὸς λόγος, choose and reject. “When the right reason appears, it proves that not all opinions nor all doctrines are good, but that some are evil and others good” [2 Apol. 9.4]. … A term taken from philosophy is thus used for Christian purposes and turned against philosophy. And behind this σώφρων λόγος stands Christ himself.34 Based on the observations above, I find myself in full agreement with these remarks by Holte.

30 31

32 33 34

van Winden, An Early Christian Philosopher, 42–45, 111–112. van Winden, An Early Christian Philosopher, 43; den Dulk, Between Jews and Heretics, 108– 109. As den Dulk observes (pp. 106–108), Justin points out that Jesus had predicted the rise of heresies (Dial. 35.2–3); hence the existence of heretics among his declared followers is no embarrassing problem, but, on the contrary, a validation of his message. Holte, “Logos Spermatikos”, 161. Holte, “Logos Spermatikos”, 162. Ibid.

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Bibliography Editions, Translations, and Commentaries Blunt, Alfred W.F., ed., The Apologies of Justin Martyr. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1911. Marcovich, Miroslav, ed., Iustini Martyris Apologiae pro Christianis. Patristische Texte und Studien 38. Berlin: de Gruyter, 1994. Marcovich, Miroslav, ed., Iustini Martyris Dialogus Cum Tryphone. Patristische Texte und Studien 47. Berlin: de Gruyter, 1997. Minns Denis and Paul Parvis. Justin, Philosopher and Martyr: Apologies. Edited with an Introduction, Translation, and Commentary on the Text. Oxford Early Christian Texts. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2009. Munier, Charles. Justin Martyr: Apologie pour les chrétiens. Introduction, traduction et commentaire. Paris: Cerf, 2006. Slusser, Michael, ed. St. Justin Martyr, Dialogue with Trypho. Translated by T.B. Falls, revised and with a new introduction by T.P. Halton. Selections from the Fathers of the Church 3. Washington, D.C.: Catholic University of America, 2003. Visonà, Giuseppe. S. Giustino, Dialogo con Trifone: introduzione, tradizione e note. Letture cristiane del primo millennio 5. Milano: Paoline, 1988.

Literature Andresen, Carl. “Justin und der mittlere Platonismus.” Zeitschrift für die neutestamentliche Wissenschaft und die Kunde der älteren Kirche 44 (1952/53): 157–195. Barnard, Leslie W. Justin Martyr: His Life and Thought. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1967. Benz, Ernst. “Christus und Sokrates in der alten Kirche.” Zeitschrift für die neutestamentliche Wissenschaft und die Kunde der älteren Kirche 43 (1950–1951): 199–209. Dulk, Matthijs den. Between Jews and Heretics: Refiguring Justin Martyr’s Dialogue with Trypho. Routledge Studies in the Early Christian World. London: Routledge, 2018. Döring, Klaus. Exemplum Socratis: Studien zur Sokratesnachwirkung in der kynischstoischen Popularphilosophie der frühen Kaiserzeit und im frühen Christentum. Hermes Einzelschriften 42. Wiesbaden: Franz Steiner, 1979. Fédou, Michel. “La figure de Socrate selon Justin.” Pages 51–66 in Les apologistes chrétiens et la culture grecque. Edited by B. Pouderon and J. Doré. Théologie historique 105. Paris: Beauchesne, 1998. Fiedrowicz, Michael. Apologie im frühen Christentum: die Kontroverse um den christlichen Wahrheitsanspruch in den ersten Jahrhunderten. Paderborn: Ferdinand Schöning, 2000. Grant, Michael. The Antonines: The Roman Empire in Transition. London: Routledge, 1996.

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Guerra, Anthony J. “The Conversion of Marcus Aurelius and Justin Martyr: the Purpose, Genre and Content of the First Apology.” Second Century 9 (1992): 171–187. Heid, Stefan. “Iustinus martyr i.” Reallexikon für Antike und Christentum 19:801–847. Holte, Ragnar. “Logos Spermatikos: Christianity and Ancient Philosophy according to St. Justin’s Apologies.” Studia Theologica 12 (1958): 109–168. Hyldahl, Niels. Philosophie und Christentum: eine Interpretation der Einleitung zum Dialog Justins. Acta Theologica Danica 9. Copenhagen: Munksgaard, 1966. Malherbe, Abraham J. “Justin and Crescens.” Pages 883–894 in idem, Light from the Gentiles: Hellenistic Philosophy and Early Christianity. Collected Essays, 1959–2012. Volume 2. Edited by C.R. Holladay et al. Novum Testamentum Supplements 150. Leiden: Brill, 2014. Merlo, Paolo. Liberi per vivere secondo il Logos: Principi e criteri dell’agire morale in San Giustino filosofo e martire. Rome: Libreria Ateneo Salesiano, 1995. Motschmann, Cornelius. Die Religionspolitik Marc Aurels. Hermes Einzelschriften 88. Stuttgart: Steiner, 2002. Pellegrino, Michele. Gli apologeti greci del ii secolo: saggio sui rapporti fra il Christianesimo primitivo e la cultura classica. Rome: Anonima veritas, 1947. Pellegrino, Michele. Studi su l’antica apologetica. Rome: Storia e letteratura, 1947. Pilhofer, Peter. presbyteron kreitton: der Altersbeweis der jüdischen und christlichen Apologeten und seine Vorgeschichte. Wissenschaftliche Untersuchungen zum Neuen Testament 2.39; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1990. Pohlenz, Max. Die Stoa: Geschichte einer geistigen Bewegung. 5th ed. Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1978. Pycke, Nestor. “Connaissance rationelle et connaissance de grace chez Saint Justin.” Ephemerides theologicae lovanienses 37 (1961): 52–85. Reed, Annette Yoshiko. “The Trickery of the Fallen Angels and the Demonic Mimesis of the Divine: Aetiology, Demonology, and Polemics in the Writings of Justin Martyr.” Journal of Early Christian Studies 12 (2004): 141–171. Skarsaune, Oskar. “Judaism and Hellenism in Justin Martyr, Elucidated From His Portrait of Socrates.” Pages 585–611 in Geschichte—Tradition—Reflexion: Festschrift für Martin Hengel zum 70. Geburtstag. Volume 3: Frühes Christentum. Edited by H. Cancik, H. Lichtenberger, and P. Schäfer; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1996. Skarsaune, Oskar. “Åpenbaring utenfor åpenbaringen? Antikk religion, gresk filosofi og kristen tro ifølge Justin Martyr.” Pages 137–159 in idem, Og ordet ble kjød: studier i oldkirkens teologi. Oslo: Luther, 2001. Waszink, Jan Hendrik. “Bemerkungen zu Justins Lehre vom Logos Spermatikos.” Pages 380–390 in Mullus: Festschrift Theodor Klausner. Jahrbuch für Antike und Christentum, Ergänzungsband 1. Münster: Aschendorffsche Verlagsbuchhandlung, 1964. Winden, Jacobus C.M. van. An Early Christian Philosopher: Justin Martyr’s Dialogue with Trypho, Chapters One to Nine. Philosophia patrum 1. Leiden: Brill, 1971.

Mimus Religionis, Mimicry, and Deviance: Late Antique Polemic against Religious Others Maijastina Kahlos

1

Introduction That is why there can be no religio anywhere there is an image: that is indubitable. If religio issues from things divine, and if there is nothing divine except in things celestial, then images have no religio in them because nothing celestial can exist in something made of earth. … Anything copied must be false; nothing can ever be called true which fakes the truth by dye and imitation.1

This is how the Christian apologist Lactantius criticizes the Graeco-Roman religious tradition in his Divine Institutes in the early fourth century. He argues that Graeco-Roman cults cannot be a real religio because there can be no religio wherever cult images are involved. Religio consists of divine things and there is nothing divine except in heavenly things. Thus, Lactantius asserts, cult images are without religio because there can be nothing heavenly in images made from earth. He adds that “if all imitation is absolutely not serious, but a sort of comic game, then there is no religio in images but only a pantomime of religio.”2 Lactantius’ words are the starting point for my article in which I discuss late antique Christian writers’ polemic against what they regarded as incorrect religious belief and practice—first, against Graeco-Roman religions (‘paganism’) and second, deviant Christian sects (‘heresies’). I look at especially these Chris-

1 Lact. Inst. 2.18.2–3: Quare no est dubium quin religio nulla sit ubicumque simulacrum est. Nam si religio ex divinis rebus est, divini autem nihil est nisi in rebus caelestibus, carent ergo religione simulacra, quia nihil potest esse caeleste in ea re quae fit ex terra. … Quid quid enim simulatur, id falsum sit necesse est, nec potest umquam veri nomen accipere quod veritatem fuco et imitatione mentitur. Trans. Anthony Bowen and Peter Garnsey, Lactantius, Divine Institutes (Liverpool: Liverpool University Press, 2003), 166, modified. I have deliberately left the term religio untranslated because in the following discussion, I will analyse the term religio. I follow the translation of Lactantius’ Institutiones divinae by Bowes and Garnsey throughout this article. My warm thanks to the organizers of the “Religious Polemics and Encounters in Late Antiquity” and the participants for their valuable comments. 2 Lact. Inst. 2.18.3: Si autem omnis imitatio non res potissimum seria, sed quasi ludus ac iocus est, non religio in simulacris, sed mimus religionis. Trans. Bowen and Garnsey, 166, modified.

© Maijastina Kahlos, 2022 | doi:10.1163/9789004466845_006

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tian writers’ argumentation because they discussed Graeco-Roman religions as a distortion or imitation of the real religio—or as Lactantius expressed it, mimus religionis. The authentic religio for these Christian writers was Christianity. In their criticism, Christian writers often applied the Roman concept of superstitio. Consequently, in their argumentation, they not only introduced new dimensions to the distinction between religio and superstitio, but also echoed some of the traditional Roman conventions that characterized superstitio as the perversion, forgery, or caricature of the proper religio. First, I briefly introduce some aspects of the Roman concepts of religio and superstitio and then discuss how Christian writers use the terms. I provide a short discussion on Tertullian’s views, but the main focus is on Lactantius’ argumentation. I also analyse Augustine’s ideas on ‘pagan’ distortions and widen the discussion on two fourth- and fifth-century writers—Epiphanius of Salamis and Quodvultdeus—who in their polemic against ‘heresies’ use the metaphor of concubines to condemn ‘heresies’ as fake substitutes of genuine religion.

2

Religio and Superstitio in the Roman Tradition

Roman writers, most prominently Cicero in his De natura deorum, connected religio with the public performance of cults and the worship of the gods of the state. The Roman elite mistrusted private religious practice, often referring to it as superstitio. Cicero reflects the contemporary ideals of the Roman religious system in his ideal constitution in the ideal state: Let no one have gods of their own, neither new ones nor from abroad, unless introduced to Rome publicly; let their private worship be for those Gods whose cult they have duly received from their fathers.3

3 Cic. Leg. 2.19: Separatim nemo habessit deos neve novos neve advenas nisi publice adscitos; privatim colunto quos rite a patribus cultos acceperint. Trans. Beard, Mary, John North, and Simon Price, Religions of Rome ii: A Sourcebook (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1998), 353. Cf. Festus (p. 366, 2–5 Lindsay), who defined religiosi as “those who have a taste for carrying out or omitting ritual in accordance with the custom of the state and are not involved in superstitions” (Religiosi dicunt, qui faciendarum praetermittendarumque rerum divinarum secundum morem civitatis dilectum habent, nec se superstitionibus inplicant). In literary sources and inscriptions, emperors and individual senators were represented as performing the religio in public contexts (e.g., Emperor Antoninus Pius in ils 341 = cil vi 1001: ob insignem erga caerimonias publicas curam ac religionem; an ideal senator in Quintilian, Inst. 12.2.21).

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In the boundary making between these concepts, religio and superstitio, it was the distinction between the public and private that was thought to matter, not the distinction between true and false, or true gods and false gods,4 though of course the distinction between the public and private was by no means clear.5 It was crucial not which deities a person worshipped, but how one built one’s relationship with them.6 Religio was fear of the gods but in a commendable and appropriate measure. Compared to its respectable counterpart, superstitio was excessiveness both in behaviour and emotion: exaggeration in performance of rituals and in awe of the gods. According to Cicero, the term religiosus referred to the commendable side of devotion, while superstitiosus described the blameworthy area. Religiosus practised a virtue, superstitiosus its opposite, a vice.7 Cicero regarded superstitio as religio used for base ends.8 For Seneca, 4 Whereas religio referred to the public cults of the community, the word superstitio alluded to private devotions. The word superstitio gradually became derogatory. The term superstitio was still used from time to time as a neutral terminus technicus in legal texts during the Empire. In these cases, superstitio was used of personal and private religious devotions without negative connotations, e.g., in a rescript of Antoninus Pius, it was decreed that one should take an oath according to one’s personal superstitio (Dig. 12.2.5.1: quod propria superstitione iuratum est). Maurice Sachot, “Religio—superstitio,” rhr 208: 372–378; Salvatore Calderone, “Superstitio,” anrw i.1: 384; Dieter Harmening, Superstitio: Überlieferungsund Theoriegeschichtliche Untersuchungen zur kirchlich-theologischen Aberglaubensliteratur des Mittelalters (Berlin: Erich Schmidt Verlag, 1979), 14–32; John Scheid, “Religion et superstition à l’époque de Tacite: Quelques reflexions,” in Religion, supersticion y magia en el mundo romano (Cadiz: Universidad de Cadiz, 1985), 26; Denise Grodzynski, “Superstitio,”rea 76: 44– 48; for a discussion, see Maijastina Kahlos, Debate and Dialogue: Christian and Pagan Cultures, c. 380–430 (Aldershot: Ashgate, 2007), 95–112. 5 See Clifford Ando and Jörg Rüpke, “Introduction: Religion and law in classical and Christian Rome,” in Religion and Law in Classical and Christian Rome (ed. C. Ando and J. Rüpke; Stuttgart: Steiner, 2006), 9. 6 Cicero (Nat. d. 2.28.71) maintained that not only philosophers but also even the ancestors of the Romans had been able to distinguish between the two: Non enim philosophi solum, verum maiores nostri superstitionem a religione separaverunt. According to Cicero (Nat. d. 1.42.117), religio was respectful worship of the gods in a pious cult (cultu pio) while superstitio was an inane fear of the gods (timor inanis deorum): superstitionem tollunt, in qua inest timor inanis deorum, sed etiam religionem, quae deorum cultu pio continetur. This cultus was chaste and holy, filled with pietas and it was carried out with candid and unpolluted mind and speech (Cic. Nat. d. 2.28.71–72): Cultus autem deorum est optumus idemque castissimus atque sanctissimus plenissimusque pietatis, ut eos semper pura integra incorrupta et mente et voce veneremur. 7 E.g., Cic. Nat. d. 2.28.72: Ita factum est in superstitioso et religioso alterum vitii nomen alterum laudis; also Inv. 2.165. A superstitiosus person spent all his days in praying and making sacrifices: Cic. Nat. d. 2.28.71–72. 8 Cic. Clu. 68.194. The word superstitio was linked to all irrational, improper and perverted

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for example, superstitio was a perversion of religio, a vice that constituted a hyperbole or perverted appendix inside the same religious tradition and was therefore not an antithesis of religion.9 Superstitio was thought to be a distortion and deviation of religio. Varro distinguished a religiosus person from a superstitiosus one on the grounds of their different fear: whereas a superstitiosus individual feared (timeri) the gods as if they were enemies, a religiosus one revered (vereri) them as if they were parents.10

3

Tertullian on Vera Religio

In their apologetical writing of the second and third centuries, Christian writers built a new hierarchy in which Christianity was presented as vera religio and all other cults, including the Roman civic cults, were lumped into the category of falsa religio or superstitio.11 Minucius Felix’s Octavius is an illustrative example of this Christian retorsio of the terms religio and superstitio: the fictive interlocutor Caecilius accuses Christians of old-womanish superstition, anilis superstitio, which threatens all religio. However, in his reply, the Christian Octavius uses the same terms but reverses the dichotomy. Christianity is now vera religio, Roman tradition superstitio and impietas.12

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credulity as well as unauthorized divination, magic and astrology: Cic. Nat. d. 2.28.70; 3.39.92; Cic. Div. 2.129; Colum. Agr. 1.8.6; Plin. Nat. 30.2.7; Tac. Hist. 3.78.2; Tac. Ann. 1.28; Apul. Socr. 3.122. E.g., Judaism and Christianity were regarded as superstitiones under the early Empire. Sen. clem. 2.5.1; furthermore, religio worships the gods, whereas superstitio violates them: Religio deos colit, superstitio violat; see also Sen. ep. 123.16: Superstitio error insanus est: amandos timet, quos colit violat. Quid enim interest utrum deos neges an infames? Denise Grodzynski, “Superstitio,”Revue des études anciennes 76 (1974), 41; Dale B. Martin, Inventing Superstition: From the Hippocratics to the Christians (Cambridge MA: Harvard University Press, 2004), 128; Maijastina Kahlos, “Religio,” rac 28: 992–1014. Varro (ant. rer. div. fr. 47 Cardauns = apud Aug. ciu. 6.9): A superstitioso dicat [scil. Varro] timeri deos, a religioso autem tantum vereri ut parentes, non ut hostes timeri. A few legal texts refer to disproportionate awe of the divine: Dig. 48.19.30: Si quis aliquid fecerit, quo leves hominum animi superstitione numinis terrentur, divus Marcus huiusmodi homines in insulam relegari rescripsit; Dig. 28.7.8: Alii perquam timidi metu divini numinis usque ad superstitionem. Sachot 365–366, 376–377; Gerard O’Daly, “Augustine’s Critique of Varro on Roman Religion,” in Religion and Superstition in Latin Literature (ed. A.H. Sommerstein; Nottingham Classical Literature Studies 3; Bari: Levante, 1994), 65–75; Gerard O’Daly, Augustine’s City of God: A Reader’s Guide (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1999), 106–107. E.g., Tert. Marc. 1.9.2; Scorp. 10.6: superstitio Romana, superstitio gentilium; Min. Oct. 24.10; Firm. Mat. Err. prof. rel. 2.1; 6.1; 12.1; 12.7; 13.3; 17.4; 18.1; 20.1; Arnob. Nat. 1.29.2; 1.25.4. Min. Oct. 13.5: Ne aut anilis inducatur superstitio aut omnis religio destruatur; 38.7: Cohibea-

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In Apologeticum, Tertullian introduced an innovation in his reinterpretation of the word religio. Tertullian invested the term religio with an entirely new content, transferring the substance and connotations usually associated with a philosophical school to religio. Thus, he represented Christianity as a philosophy. Tertullian was by no means the first writer to do so; as is well known, Justin and Aristides of Athens had already introduced Christianity as a philosophy and subsequently, Tertullian followed this trend.13 In his defence of Christians, Tertullian stated that Christians worshipped the only true god and the worshippers of Roman gods adhered to the false gods. Tertullian inverts the charge of irreligiosity against the worshippers of Roman gods: since there were no other (true) gods but the one true god, there was no Roman religio to be offended. Instead, the charge should be applied to Roman pagans themselves, because in esteeming falsehood they neglected and even attacked the true religio of the true God (veram religionem veri dei).14 Thus, to abridge and perhaps simplify: for the ‘pagan’ Romans, religio was first and foremost an attitude and system of rituals and cults, and for Christian Romans it became primarily a system of ideas and doctrine. The difference was set on how and whom to worship. Nonetheless, Christian writers also echoed some of the conventions of the Roman tradition that characterized superstitio as the perversion, forgery or caricature of religio. Christian writers depicted pagan cults and practices as superstitio, a distortion of the true religio. Tertullian acknowledged that there were similarities between pagan and Christian rituals but explained them away, stating that it was out of truth that falsehood was constructed and out of religio that superstitio was compacted. The devil imitated as the competing emulator (aemulator) of divine things.15 The idea

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tur superstitio, impietas expietur, vera religio reservetur. See also Min. Oct. 1.5 in which Caecilius switches his superstitious vanities to vera religio: Superstitiosis vanitatibus etiamnunc inhaerentem disputatione gravissima ad veram religionem reformavit. Tert. Apol. 1.1. Sachot 379, 384–388; Cecilia Ames, “Roman Religion in the Vision of Tertullian,” in A Companion to Roman Religion (ed. by J. Rüpke; Malden MA: Blackwell, 2007), 457–471. Tert. Apol. 24.1–2: Omnis ista confessio illorum qua se deos negant esse quaque non alium deum respondent praeter unum, cui nos mancipamur, satis idonea est ad depellendum crimen laesae maxime Romanae religionis. Si enim non sunt dei pro certo, nec religio pro certo est: si religio non est, quia nec dei pro certo, nec nos pro certo rei sumus laesae religionis. At e contrario in vos exprobratio resultavit, qui mendacium colentes veram religionem veri dei non modo neglegendo, quin insuper expugnando, in verum committitis crimen verae inreligiositatis. Cf. Tert. Apol. 13.1; Nat. 1.10.20. Tert. Jejun. 16.7: Admitto testimonialem comparationem. Hinc divinam constabit, quam diabolus divinorum aemulator imitatur. Ex veritate mendacium struitur, ex religione superstitio compingitur.

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of falsification was subsequently frequently used by other Christian apologetic writers.16

4

Lactantius on Religio and Mimus Religionis

But let us now return to Lactantius. He delineated religio as the cult of truth whereas superstitio was the cult of falsehood, or, religio belongs to the domain of truth, superstitio to falsehood.17 His discussion on religio is a refutation of Cicero’s discussion in De natura deorum. Lactantius asserts against Cicero’s distinction between religio and superstitio that “if both superstitio and religio are being practised in the worship of the same gods, then there is little or no difference between them.”18 Lactantius’ definition regards gods other than the Christian god as fallacious and thus differs from the Roman tradition that did not as such regard any gods as false. As mentioned earlier, Roman writers rather disapproved of superstitio as excessive fear or extremities of cult, paying attention to how the gods were approached and how cults were performed, not who was worshipped.19 Now, interestingly, as in Tertullian’s argumentation, the idea of the distortion of religio also appears in Lactantius’ discussion (in addition to Lactantius’ distinction between true and false deities). As mentioned in the quotation at the beginning of my article, in Lactantius’ view, there could be no religio wherever a cult image of a deity was involved. Pagan cults with images were a mere mimus religionis.20 This very much resembles the Roman notion of superstitio as the distorted appendix or fag end of the proper religio. Lactantius’ delineations are part of his argumentation against Graeco– Roman religiosity in general in his Divine Institutes. He attacks, for example, the anthropomorphism, anthropopathy, and immorality of the gods. His aim is to articulate a clear difference between ‘pagan’ and Christian conceptions of divinity and to downplay any possible similarities in these notions.21

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E.g., Firmicus Maternus in the mid-fourth century presented pagan rituals as falsifications of the true Christian practices: Firm. Mat. Err. prof. rel. 18–27. Lact. Inst. 4.28.11: Religio veri cultus est, superstitio falsi. Lact. Inst. 4.28.6: si in isdem diis colendis et superstitio et religio versatur, exigua vel potius nulla distantia est. Trans. Bowen and Garnsey, 276. Lactantius’ discussion on religio is a refutation of Cicero’s discussion in De natura deorum 2.3.8. Cf. Tert. Apol. 24.2: veram religionem veri dei and Aug. uera. rel. 2.2: verus cultus veri dei. Lact. Inst. 2.18.2–3. E.g., Lact. Inst. 1.8–9.

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Likewise, Lactantius attacks the multitude of gods, constructing and polarizing a clear dissimilarity between monotheistic Christianity and polytheistic ‘paganism’,22 and composes a narrative of the development of religions. In this sense, he works as a historian of religions as he tries to comprehend the origins of what in his eyes, is false religio or superstitio, or error.23 In Lactantius’ account the original religion of humankind is monotheism—a golden age of humankind before the corruption caused by the worship of the many false gods.24 Another thread in Lactantius’ analysis of, or rather, attack against the religiones of gods is the emptiness of idols.25 His mockery of the inefficiency of idols is very much in line with earlier Christian apologetic.26 He ridicules, for example, people who worship either mortal things or things made by mortals that may be broken, burnt, or devastated.27 Lactantius sums up his attack against sacred images (imagines sacrae) with the notion that they are earth. It is illicit (nefas) for an upright animal, that is, a human, to bend itself to adore the earth.28 The earth is beneath us humans to be trodden, and we humans have an elevated position so that we should not turn our heavenly face (hunc caelestem vultum) downward to earth but instead upwards towards heaven

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In Book 1, Lactantius dedicates a considerable part of the discussion to the contraposition of the plurality of gods with the singleness of the true deity of Christianity. This contrast was a recurring theme in Christian apologetic, e.g., Theoph. Autol. 2.38; Tert. Idol. 1.5; Aug. ciu. 8.12 and passim. For Lactantius’ views of the development of religions, see J.-C. Fredouille, “Lactance historien des religions,” in Lactance et son temps (ed. J. Fontaine and M. Perrin; Paris: Beauchesne, 1978), 237–249; and Oliver Nicholson, “Civitas Quae Adhuc Sustentat Omnia: Lactantius and the City of Rome,” in The Limits of Ancient Christianity: Essays on Late Antique Thought and Culture in Honor of R.A. Markus (ed. W.E. Klingshirn and M. Vessey; Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press, 1999), 7–25. Lact. Inst. 5.6.13. Cf. Eusebius of Caesarea (Praep. ev. 1.9) on monotheism as the original and authentic cult that polytheism corrupted but that Christianity will restore. In Inst. 2.17.6, Lactantius sums up his polemic against the errors of the religiones of gods (religiones deorum), first, with Euhemeristic arguments, second, with the emptiness of idols, and third, with the doctrine of demons: Docui religiones deorum triplici modo vanas esse. Greek apologists (e.g., Justin, Theophilus, and Aristides) and Tertullian had ridiculed idols as empty, lifeless, human-made, and material objects. E.g., Lact. Inst. 2.4; 2.14. For a discussion on Lactantius’ views on Roman religious tradition, see Maijastina Kahlos, “Ritus ad solos digitos pertinens (Lact. inst. 5.19.29): A Caricature of Roman civic religion in Lactantius’ Institutiones divinae,” in Jews, Christians and Pagans in Antiquity—Critique and Apologetic (ed. D. Brakke, A. Jacobsen, and J. Ulrich; Frankfurt: Peter Lang, 2009), 283–302. Lact. Inst. 2.17.8–9: Altero, quod ipsae imagines sacrae, quibus homines inanissimi servient,

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and adore “the single name of our only Maker and Parent”.29 From this argumentation Lactantius proceeds to the passage quoted at the beginning of this article. Graeco-Roman religions cannot be a real religio as there can be no religio wherever cult images are involved. They are fake and a distortion. As mentioned above, for Lactantius, humans because of their erect position had to direct their faces towards heaven—where, it is implied, the only God dwells. Thus, anything from the earth—such as cult images—are without religio. Images are only imitation (imitatio), and are, moreover, a mere game and a joke (ludus ac iocus). Pagan cults with images (simulacra) were mimus religionis, a mere mimicry of religio.30 The connotations that the words imitatio, ludus, iocus, and mimus raised in the minds of Lactantius’ readers must have been multiple. The first and foremost inferences were probably connected to contemporary theatrical spectacles with their nuances of masks and mimic theatre. There were various attitudes towards the theatre and other spectacles in Roman society. Roman elite writers such as Seneca and Christian writers such as Tertullian intensely criticized the uselessness and shamefulness of the theatre.31 Another association that Lactantius’ learned readers probably made was with the Platonic concept of mimesis. In the Platonic line of thinking, imitation, namely imitation of the transcendent reality of Platonic ideas, was always something suspicious, distorted, and even depraved.32 Some Christian readers may also have connected

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omni sensu careant, quoniam terra sint. Quis autem non intellegat nefas esse rectum animal curvari ut adoret terram? Lact. Inst. 2.17.8–9. Lact. Inst. 2.18.3: Si autem omnis imitatio non res potissimum seria, sed quasi ludus ac iocus est, non religio in simulacris, sed mimus religionis. Magnus Wistrand, “Change and Continuity: Some Observations on Tertullian’s De spectaculis and Pagan Views on Entertainment,” in Tongues and Texts Unlimited: Studies in Honour of Tore Janson on the Occasion of his Sixtieth Anniversary (ed. H. Aili and P. af Trampe; Stockholm: Institutionen för klassiska språk, 2000), 289–307; Werner Weisman, Kirche und Schauspiele: Die Schauspiele im Urteil der Kirchenväter unter besondere Berücksichtigung von Augustin (Würzburg: Augustinus-Verlag, 1972), 72–76, 103–104, 141. Lactantius (Inst. 1.20) also mocked the shamefulness of theatrical spectacles connected with Roman festivals. Plat. Rep. 3.395d; 10.596a–597c. For a discussion on the Platonic concept of mimesis, see, e.g., Monique Canto-Sperber and Luc Brisson, “Zur sozialen Gliederung der Polis (Buch ii 372d–iv 427c),” in Platon: Politeia (ed. O. Höffe; Berlin: Akademie Verlag, 1997), 103–105; Stephen Halliwell, “The Republic’s Two Critiques of Poetry (Book ii 376c–iii 398b, Book x 595a–608b),” in Platon: Politeia (ed. O. Höffe; Berlin: Akademie Verlag, 1997), 321– 325.

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Lactantius’ discussion with earlier apologetic writers, who often argued that ‘pagans’ with their gods and rituals only imitated in a distorted way the authentic rituals and the true deity of Christians.33

5

Augustine on Religio and Its Distortions

In The City of God (4.30), Augustine discusses religio and its relationship with superstitio, arguing against Cicero, with substantial quotations from his De natura deorum.34 For Augustine, all the beliefs and practices of ‘pagan’ Romans are the same superstitio. The Christian God, he proclaims, has overthrown these superstitiones, not only in religious hearts (in cordibus religiosis), but also in superstitious temples (in aedibus superstitiosis).35 Augustine continues his argumentation against the Roman religio in the later books of The City of God, making an analysis of Numa Pompilius, the mythical king of Rome and the founder of the traditional Roman religio. He represents Numa Pompilius as practising magic and dealing with demons. Augustine contrasts the noxious superstitio (that is, the traditional Roman religio) that worships demons and the vera religio (that is, Augustine’s Christianity) that unmasks and overcomes demons.36 According to Augustine, the religio founded by Numa Pompilius was based on “the mocking illusions of demons” (ludificationes daemonum) “from whom he had heard what rites he should

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E.g., Justin (1. Apol. 62–64) gives a long discussion on the distortion of ‘pagan’ gods and practices. In Cicero’s De natura deorum, Balbus the Stoic, one of Cicero’s interlocutors, distinguished between those things that constituted religio and those things that belonged to superstitio. According to Augustine, Balbus praised the religio of his Roman ancestors, disentangling it from superstitio because he feared the established customs of his community. Augustine wants to show that Balbus’ attempt was incompatible: Balbus himself denounced the erection of cult images as superstitio, and yet his ancestors were worshippers of cult images and he regarded their institutions as venerable religio. Aug. ciu. 4.30: Quis non intellegat eum conari, dum consuetudinem civitatis timet, religionem laudare maiorum eamque a superstitione velle seiungere, sed quo modo id possit non invenire? … Haec utique cum tamquam superstitiosa culpantur, inplicat ista culpa maiores talium simulacrorum institutores atque cultores; inplicat et ipsum, qui, quantolibet eloquio se in libertatem nitatur evolvere, necesse habebat ista venerari. Cf. Lact. Inst. 1.17, who also debates with Cicero. Aug. ciu. 7.35: qui autem cum malignis daemonibus non vult habere societatem, non superstitionem, qua coluntur, noxiam pertimescat, sed veram religionem, qua produntur et vincuntur, agnoscat.

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establish and observe”.37 Again, we perceive here the aspect of play, mockery, and mimicry in Augustine’s use of the word ludificatio. In De diversis quaestionibus octoginta tribus, Augustine defines the difference between true and false piety as a difference in intentions and aims. This is also connected to the distinction of the proper religio from twisted practices and distorted beliefs. True piety is practised in public for the common good, whereas personal interests and private reasons characterize distorted piety, or superstitio.38 Augustine explains, furthermore, the difference between true and false miracles—in the Biblical examplee, true miracles were performed by God’s men, Moses and Aaron, and false ones by Pharaoh’s magicians. For Augustine, the fundamental difference lies in public and private goals as well as the different origin of authorization (diverso fine et diverso iure). Magicians perform miracles for their own good, seeking their own glory, as a private agreement with demons, while God’s men act for the benefit of their community as a public service, seeking only God’s glory, not their own.39

6

Epiphanius and Quodvultdeus on Concubines

Finally, we proceed to the ways in which Christian writers depicted ‘heresies’, that is, those forms of Christianity that differed from their own. ‘Heresies’ were characterized as superstitiones as well as various forms of distortion and perversion. Just to take a few examples from the legislation of Christian emperors: the correct version of Christian faith was depicted as religio simplex and simplex confessio—and sharply contrasted with the distorted opinions of heretics, which were pravae voluntates or prava opinio.40 Heresies are also labelled a perversa superstitio and portentuosa superstitio.41

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Aug. ciu. 7.35. E.g., Aug. doctr. chr. 2.23.36: … quae non sunt divinitus ad dilectionem Dei et proximi tamquam publice constituta, sed per privatas appetitiones rerum temporalium corda dissipant miserorum. Aug. diu. qu. 73.79.1–4. This Christian interpretation that highlights the difference in the public and the private continues the traditional Roman way of distinguishing the official religious life of the res publica and the unofficial private side of religious behaviour, which was seen as something condemnable and even treacherous. See R.A. Markus, Signs and Meanings: World and Text in Ancient Christianity (Liverpool: Liverpool University Press, 1996), 131–135, 138–139, 146. Cod. Theod. 16.5.41 in 407. Cod. Theod. 26.5.5 and Cod. Theod. 16.5.66pr.

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A few fourth- and fifth-century writers such as Epiphanius of Salamis and Quodvultdeus use the metaphor of concubines to describe what they regard as false religion. The true religion is depicted as the lawful wife. This imagery comes from the Song of Songs and it had been used by many previous Christian writers, Cyprian of Carthage among them, to conceptualize the authors’ views of the correct, the false, and the unity of Christians.42 The metaphor also gains more strength from the Roman legal tradition of different forms of living as couples: on the one side, the lawful marriage (matrimonium) with legal heirs and the strong status of the legally married Roman woman, and on the other, the concubinate (concubinatus) where the status of both the woman and the heirs was more vague.43 Of similar strength was the metaphor of the children born of the lawful wife and of the slave woman—the Biblical story of the children born of Sarah and Hagar to Abraham—which was amply used to construe a difference between Christians and Jews as those with lawful status and those without it.44 In his Panarion, Epiphanius lists the eighty heresies, classifying them according to the form of error that each heresy (according to him) originates from. In his gigantic list, he parallels most of the heresies with snakes, lizards, or other poisonous reptiles and beasts, against whose bites he then offers an antidote, the true doctrine. Some of the heresies are less poisonous, but with others the venom is fatal to the human soul.45 In addition to this bestial imagery, Epiphanius compares heresies to the eighty concubines (pallakides) mentioned in the Song of Songs (6:8–9): “There are sixty queens and eighty concubines, and maidens without number. My dove, my perfect one, is the only one, the dar-

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Cypr. Unit. eccl. 1.4: Quam unam ecclesiam etiam in Cantico canticorum Spiritus sanctus ex persona Domini designat et dicit: ‘Una est columba mea, perfecta mea, una est matri suae, electa genitrici suae’ (Cant. 6:9). Cyprianus, De lapsis and de ecclesiae catholicae unitate, ed. M. Bévenot (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1971), 62–64. For late Roman concubinate, see Kyle Harper, Slavery in the Late Roman World, ad 275–425 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2011), 314–320. For the Apostle Paul in Gal 4:22–23, see, e.g., Jennifer A. Glancy, Slavery in Early Christianity (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2002), 35–36. E.g., Epiphanius (Pan. 1.36.6.7) compares Heracleonites to a lizard whose poison in food or drink causes immediate death. For Epiphanius’ world of heresy, see Andrew S. Jacobs, Epiphanius of Cyprus: A Cultural Biography of Late Antiquity (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2016); Young Richard Kim, “Reading the Panarion as Collective Biography: The Heresiarch as Unholy Man,” vc 64:4 (2010), 382–413; and Young Richard Kim, Epiphanius of Cyprus: Imagining an Orthodox World (Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press, 2015).

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ling of her mother, flawless to her that bore her.”46 Epiphanius ends his work by explaining the significace of the eighty concubines: I am struck with wonder at the words of the sacred scripture [Cant 6:8– 9], “There are threescore queens and fourscore concubines, and maidens without number; one is my dove, my perfect one,” too see how after speaking of the eighty concubines to begin with and naming Barbarism, Scythianism, Judaism, Samaritanism [and the rest], which are not lawful wives and have no dowry from the king and no guarantee that their children can inherit—all I shall have left is the demonstration of the truth, the one and only dove herself, whom the bridegroom praises.47 In his demonstration of the lawful wife, the true doctrine (the De fide part), Epiphanius stresses that concubines are not recognized as full wives, even though they have carnal relations with their male partners. They do not have a dowry and they lack “the honour, title, security, marriage portion, wedding gifts, dowered status and legitimacy of the free wife.”48 The concubines have received the name, but only the name (of Christianity), and their children have received gifts, namely a few texts from the Holy Scriptures, but they are not legitimate heirs. The only lawfully wedded wife is the church represented by Epiphanius, the ‘holy catholic church’ (hagia katholike ekklesia), the true Christianity.49 The concubine or handmaid appears in Epiphanius’ discussions on individual heresies, for example, in his condemnation of a sect he calls Collyridians: “Do not obey this worthless woman. Every sect is a worthless woman, but this sect is more so ….”50 Another writer to compare heresies to concubines is Quodvultdeus (d. 453), the bishop of Carthage, who describes his own (‘catholic’) church as the legit-

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Epiphanius counts in different categories of heresies and other errors: Pan. de fide 9.1: “These, then, are ⟨the⟩ eighty concubines, so numbered in scripture. And the individuals listed by generation are those queens, that is, men and patriarchs. But the young girls without number consist of the further philosophies all over the world and the ways of life, one praiseworthy and one not, of each individual.” In Pan. de fide 9.2, Epiphanius eloquently condemns the diversity of opinions: “For who can count the variety of this world?” (tou kosmou toutou ten diaforan). Trans. Frank Williams, The Panarion of Epiphanius of Salamis: Books ii and iii, De Fide (2nd ed.; Leiden: Brill, 2013), 663. Epiph. Pan. 80.10.2–3. Trans. Williams, Panarion of Epiphanius, 653–654. Epiph. Pan. de fide 6.4; also 3.2 citing the Song of Songs again. Trans. Williams, Panarion of Epiphanius, 660. Epiph. Pan. de fide 6.7–8; 8.4. Epiph. Pan. 79. 8.3. Trans. Williams, Panarion of Epiphanius, 644.

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imate bride of Christ and the ‘Arians’ only as the concubine. The true bride has the matrimonial contract and “possesses everything that she received from her husband as a dowry.” But it was said that while the true church for a time would suffer insult from the ‘Arian’ heresy, like the wife from the concubine, in the end only the children of the legitimate wife will be freeborn and heirs, and the sons of the servant girl will be expelled. Quodvultdeus’ ‘catholic’ teaching represents the whole world, while the heresy condemns the ‘Arians’ to a corner.51

7

Concluding Remarks

With these examples I have wished to show Christian writers’ various ways of dealing with the religious other, whether other religious traditions (such as Graeco-Roman traditions) or religious others who within the Christian tradition differed from the writer’s stance. These examples indicate the others’ religion as something that reminds one of one’s own but does this in a distorted, falsified, and perverted manner. In the Roman discussions (Cicero, Seneca), superstitio is something that is performed in a wrong way, is exaggerated or otherwise overwhelmed as well as private. Tertullian introduces the idea of truth and falsehood and Lactantius develops the notion even further. Christian apologists nevertheless frequently portray the religious traditions of others as the falsification of demons who deliberately imitate the true religion, that is, Christianity. For Lactantius, the Roman religious tradition is a mere mimicry of the true religion. Augustine continues the idea of falsification by demons, for example, in his account of Numa Pompilius. ‘Heresies’ are likewise labelled as distortions of the true Christianity, they are not the true spouses but only concubines. We could add many other ways of denigrating the religious traditions of others that were used in late antique polemic. There is, for instance, the image of poison mixed with honey: a victim of the snares of ‘pagan’ philosophers, heretics, and other deceitful people could not distinguish falsehood as it was decorated with a few truthful things. What combines these portrayals is the idea of mimicry. According to Homi Bhabha, mimicry is a mimetic construction that is “almost the same, but not quite” as well as “almost totally different, but not quite.”52 In the case of the 51 52

Quodv. symb. 3.13.2–5; 3.9.9. Trans. Thomas M. Finn, Quodvultdeus of Carthage: The Creedal Homilies: Conversion in Fifth-century North Africa (New York: Newman Press, 2004). Homi K. Bhabha, The Location of Culture (London: Routledge, 1994; repr. 2000), 89–90.

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ancient writers, when labelling the religious traditions of others there is the idea of an improper imitation that imitates the ‘true’ and ‘authentic’ (one’s own tradition) but ultimately distorts it, so that it remains as superstitio, hairesis, ludificatio daemonum, a diabolical imitation, a concubine, and so forth. The religious tradition of others is not given any value of its own, but it is projected and undermined in relation to one’s own religious views.

Modern bibliography Ames, Cecilia. “Roman Religion in the Vision of Tertullian.” Pages 457–471 in A Companion to Roman Religion. Edited by J. Rüpke. Malden MA: Blackwell, 2007. Ando, Clifford and Jörg Rüpke. “Introduction: Religion and law in classical and Christian Rome.” Pages 7–13 in Religion and Law in Classical and Christian Rome. Edited by C. Ando and J. Rüpke. Stuttgart: Steiner, 2006. Beard, Mary, John North, and Simon Price. Religions of Rome ii: A Sourcebook. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1998. Bévenot, Maurice. Cyprianus, De lapsis and de ecclesiae catholicae unitate, ed. Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1971. Bhabha, Homi K. The Location of Culture. Routledge: London, 2000 (1994). Bowen, Anthony, and Peter Garnsey. Lactantius, Divine Institutes. Liverpool: Liverpool University Press, 2003. Calderone, Salvatore. “Superstitio.” anrw i.1: 377–396. Edited by H. Temporini, and W. Haase. Berlin: de Gruyter, 1972. Canto-Sperber, Monique and Luc Brisson. “Zur sozialen Gliederung der Polis (Buch ii 372d–iv 427c).” Pages 95–117 in Platon: Politeia. Edited by O. Höffe. Berlin: Akademie Verlag, 1997. Finn, Thomas M., (trans.). Quodvultdeus of Carthage: The Creedal Homilies: Conversion in Fifth-century North Africa. New York: Newman Press, 2004. Fredouille, J.-C., “Lactance historien des religions.” Pages 237–249 in Lactance et son temps. Edited by J. Fontaine and M. Perrin. Paris: Beauchesne, 1978. Glancy, Jennifer A. Slavery in Early Christianity. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2002. Grodzynski, Denise. “Superstitio.” Revue des études anciennes 76 (1974): 36–60. Halliwell, Stephen. “The Republic’s Two Critiques of Poetry (Book ii 376c–iii 398b, Book x 595a–608b).” Pages 313–332 in Platon: Politeia. Edited by O. Höffe. Berlin: Akademie Verlag, 1997.

For heresy as mimicry, see J. Rebecca Lyman, “Hellenism and Heresy,” jecs 11:2 (2003): 219.

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Harmening, Dieter. Superstitio: Überlieferungs- und Theoriegeschichtliche Untersuchungen zur kirchlich-theologischen Aberglaubensliteratur des Mittelalters. Berlin: Erich Schmidt Verlag, 1979. Harper, Kyle. Slavery in the Late Roman World, ad 275–425. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2011. Jacobs, Andrew S. Epiphanius of Cyprus: A Cultural Biography of Late Antiquity. Berkeley: University of California Press, 2016. Kahlos, Maijastina. Debate and Dialogue: Christian and Pagan Cultures, c. 380–430. Aldershot: Ashgate, 2007. Kahlos, Maijastina. “Ritus ad solos digitos pertinens (Lact. inst. 5.19.29): A Caricature of Roman civic religion in Lactantius’ Institutiones divinae.” Pages 283–302 in Jews, Christians and Pagans in Antiquity—Critique and Apologetic. Edited by D. Brakke, A. Jacobsen, and J. Ulrich. Frankfurt: Peter Lang, 2009. Kahlos, Maijastina. “Religio.” Pages 992–1014 in vol. 28 of Reallexikon für Antike und Christentum. Stuttgart: Hiersemann, 2018. Kim, Young Richard. “Reading the Panarion as Collective Biography: The Heresiarch as Unholy Man.” Vigiliae Christianae 64:4 (2010): 382–413. Kim, Young Richard. Epiphanius of Cyprus: Imagining an Orthodox World. Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press, 2015. Lyman, J. Rebecca. “Hellenism and Heresy.” Journal of Early Christian Studies 11:2 (2003): 209–222. Markus, R.A. Signs and Meanings: World and Text in Ancient Christianity. Liverpool: Liverpool University Press, 1996. Martin, D.B. Inventing Superstition: From the Hippocratics to the Christians. Cambridge MA: Harvard University Press, 2004. Nicholson, Oliver. “Civitas Quae Adhuc Sustentat Omnia: Lactantius and the City of Rome.” Pages 7–25 in The Limits of Ancient Christianity: Essays on Late Antique Thought and Culture in Honor of R. A. Markus. Edited by W.E. Klingshirn and M. Vessey. Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press, 1999. O’Daly, Gerard. “Augustine’s Critique of Varro on Roman Religion.” Pages 65–75 in Religion and Superstition in Latin Literature. Edited by A.H. Sommerstein. Nottingham Classical Literature Studies 3. Bari: Levante, 1994. O’Daly, Gerard. Augustine’s City of God: A Reader’s Guide. Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1999. Sachot, Maurice. “Religio—superstitio.” Revue de l’histoire des religions 208 (1991): 355– 394. Scheid, John. “Religion et superstition à l’époque de Tacite: Quelques reflexions.” Pages 19–34 in Religion, supersticion y magia en el mundo romano. Cadiz: Universidad de Cadiz, 1985. Weisman, Werner. Kirche und Schauspiele. Die Schauspiele im Urteil der Kirchenväter unter besondere Berücksichtigung von Augustin. Würzburg: Augustinus-Verlag, 1972.

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Williams, Frank, (trans.). The Panarion of Epiphanius of Salamis: Books ii and iii, De Fide. 2nd rev. ed. Leiden: Brill, 2013. Wistrand, Magnus. “Change and Continuity: Some Observations on Tertullian’s De spectaculis and Pagan Views on Entertainment.” Pages 289–307 in Tongues and Texts Unlimited: Studies in Honour of Tore Janson on the Occasion of His Sixtieth Anniversary. Edited by H. Aili and P. af Trampe. Stockholm: Institutionen för klassiska språk, 2000.

Tertullian on Christian Converts and Clashes with the Pagan World Anni Maria Laato

1

Introduction

In this article, I shall focus on Tertullian’s teaching on encounters between Christian converts and the Roman pagan world, and offer only brief comment on his encounters with Jews and those whom he sees as heretics.1 By studying four topics central for Tertullian, I intend to clarify the underlying pattern of thought for his position: why was it so important for him to mark—in an unusually definite and clear way—the boundaries between Christians and others? I focus on the arguments he himself used and take concrete examples from his teaching on: (1) freedom of faith, (2) how Christians should relate to Roman religious practices, (3) the essence and practices of prayer and (4) initiation and baptism. In discussing these topics, there are three aspects to relate to: doctrine, religious practices2 and everyday life-styles. How these three aspects interplay with each other will also be addressed.

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Preliminary Remarks

Tertullian lived in a time when Christians were a minority in the Roman Empire and when the Christians were sporadically persecuted by the state, though their community was growing with new converts. Tertullian himself had most probably converted to Christianity as an adult.3 He never directly writes about his own conversion and the reasons for it, but it can be assumed that the same things he later recommended to others were those which had drawn him to

1 Despite its problems, I use the word ‘pagans’ for non-Christian and non-Jewish people. 2 Andrew McGowan (Ancient Christian Worship: Early Church Practices in Social, Historical, and Theological Perspective [Grand Rapids, Michigan: Baker Academic 2014], 4–8) points out that the word ‘worship’ which could be used instead for ‘religious practice’, has many differing meanings, as were its counterparts in Latin (cultus, servitus, latreia) already in Augustine’s times. 3 This has been derived from passages such as Apol. 18.4; 50.51; Scap. 5.5; Paen. 1.1; Res. 59.1.

© Anni Maria Laato, 2022 | doi:10.1163/9789004466845_007

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Christianity. It is clear that he had become convinced of the Christian message (he later emerged as an expert on Scripture and Christian doctrine). The radical ethos of some Christians and the courage of the martyrs were equally important for him. He often emphasizes that becoming a Christian implies a real change in a person’s life: life after baptism cannot be the same as it was before. For Tertullian, conversion to Christianity implied a change of community and identity. In Apologeticum he states that the Christians voluntarily left the Roman world they had known very well, and consequently became strangers in this world (Apol. 1). “We are from among you. Christians are made, not born”, he famously summarizes later in the same work (Apol. 18.4).4 Despite his emphasis on the differences between Christians and the pagan world, and the radical change of life for those who converted to Christianity, in many aspects Tertullian was, however, not that different from his non-Christian contemporaries. He did not withdraw himself completely from society, nor did he advise others to do so. For example, he constantly used the philosophies he criticized, and sometimes pointed out similarities between Christians and others and refers to matters that are known to his audience from the history, literature and every-day life of the Romans. When reading Tertullian, it must also be kept in mind that he was an educated rhetorician who aimed at persuading his audience; he therefore used different kinds of language and arguments when writing to different people.5 Some of his treatises were written to educated non-Christians (Apologeticum, Ad nationes, Ad Scapulam); in these texts, he seldom quotes Scripture but mainly argues on the basis of natural law and logic. In Apologeticum, for instance, he does not quote Scripture at all. Other texts were written either as an instruction for catechumens or fellow Christians (e.g. De spectaculis, De oratione, De patientia and De paenitentia) or against what he calls heresies or heretical teachers (e.g. Adversus Marcionem, Adversus Praxean, De praescriptione haereticorum).6 In these texts Scripture was naturally a good basis for his

4 See Andrew Louth, “Fiunt, non nascuntur Christiani: Conversion, Community, and Christian Identity in Late Antiquity” in Being Christian in Late Antiquity: A Festschrift for Gillian Clark (ed. C. Harrison et al.; Oxford: Oxford University Press 2014), 109–110. 5 See Tom O’Malley, Tertullian and the Bible: Language—Imagery—Exegesis (Nijmegen: Dekker and Von de Vegh, 1967), 173–174; Eric Osborn, Tertullian: First Theologian of the West (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1997), 256; Geoffrey D. Dunn, “Rhetorical Structure in Tertullian’s ad Scapulam,” vc 56 (2002): 47–55, 47; G.D. Dunn, Tertullian (London and New York: Routledge, 2004), 12.25–29; Tobias Georges, Tertullian ‘Apologeticum’ (Freiburg, Basel, Wien: Herder, 2011), 35–38. 6 Timothy Barnes, Tertullian—A Historical and Literary Study (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1971), 119–120.

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arguments because it was both known to the addressees and authoritative to them.7 Because Tertullian so clearly takes the situation and the intended audience into consideration, we cannot simply look at how he argues in one given passage without taking into consideration the context of the whole treatise, and in fact, his other texts on the subject in question too.8 Tertullian wrote in different positions in the Catholic Church. He was most probably a lay Christian with the authority to teach catechumens and fellow Christians,9 but not all his writings reflect a particularly pastoral attitude.10 His first texts can be dated between the years 196–206, when he was an active member of the local Church.11 From the year 207 onwards, the charismatic and rigoristic New Prophecy movement (later called Montanism) increasingly influenced him, and his criticism towards the Catholic Church, especially its bishops, grew. According to a growing scholarly consensus, Tertullian did not, however, leave the Catholic Church when he joined the New Prophecy movement,12 but rather continued to participate in its liturgical worship even during the later periods of his life.13 In two of his last works, De ieiunio and De pudicitia, written around 210–212, he strongly criticized some of the practices of the psychici, unspiritual, as he calls (some) members of the main Church,14 but nowhere does he indicate that he left the Catholic Church.15

7 8 9

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Dunn, “Rhetoric and Tertullian’s De virginibus velandis,” vc 59 (2005)), 12. Dunn, Tertullian, 8–9. Barnes (Tertullian, 11) has convincingly argued that the claim of Jerome (Vir. ill. 53) that Tertullian was a presbyter, lacks credibility. For Tertullian’s view on clergy and laity, see Anni Maria Laato, “Tertullian and the Deacons,” in Deacons and Diakonia in Early Christianity: The First Two Centuries (ed. Bart Koet et al.; wunt 2. Reihe; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2018), 245–254. Exh. cast. 7.3. For pastoral attitude among Church Fathers see Aidan Kavanagh, On Liturgical Theology: The Hale Memorial Lectures of Seabury-Western Theological Seminary (Collegeville: The Liturgical Press, 1992), 18. In chronology I follow Barnes, Tertullian. See Douglas Powell, “Tertullianists and Cataphrygians”, vc 29 (1975): 33–54; David Rankin, Tertullian and the Church, 27–29; Dunn, Tertullian, 6–7; William Tabbernee, “Initiation/ Baptism in the Montanist Movement” in Ablution, Initiation, and Baptism: Late Antiquity, Early Judaism, and Early Christianity ii, (ed. D. Hellholm et al.; Berlin & Boston: DeGruyter, 2011), 924.927. Osborn, Tertullian: First Theologian of the West, 176; Georges, Tertullian ‘Apologeticum’, 19– 20. It has been suggested that New Prophecy movement had its meetings after the regular services, see Powell, “Tertullianists and Cataphrygians”. Rankin, Tertullian and the Church, 48–49. Rankin, Tertullian and the Church, 28.

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When it comes to matters of doctrine, Tertullian remained orthodox throughout his life.16 An important concept for him was regula fidei or regula veritatis, a summary of the Christian faith.17 Four different versions of a regula can be found in his texts. He clearly did not feel himself bound to one particular formula, but rather adhered to the substance of the rule of faith, which according to him was immobilis et irreformabilis, i.e. it cannot be altered or transformed.18 Regula, thus, is a broader concept for him than written formulae; and was primarily an oral summary of the Christian faith, given by God to Christ, and by Christ to his apostles.19 It was a rule, a guiding principle, in the light of which everything must be evaluated: to know regula was to know everything one needed to; anything in conflict with regula was heresy.20 Tertullian is one of the main sources when it comes to early African liturgy and religious practices.21 Unfortunately, no detailed descriptions of services, rites or liturgical texts such as prayers in his time are preserved from North Africa; information must be collected from scattered pieces. Moreover, because he felt free to evaluate and criticize existing practices and to express his own ideas, it is not always clear whether he was describing established customs or something special that was of interest to him there and then, or indeed whether his views were common in North Africa at that time or merely his personal opinion.22

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Barnes, Tertullian, 142; Rankin, Tertullian and the Church, 43; Osborn, Tertullian: First Theologian of the West, 176–177; Dunn, Tertullian, 9. In Tertullian’s texts, there are four versions of a written regula and several allusions to such: Praecsr. 13 and 36, Virg. 1 and Prax. 2; John N.D. Kelly, Early Christian Creeds (3rd. ed. London: Continuum, 1972), 83; Bengt Hägglund, Sanningens regel, regula veritatis: trosregeln och den kristna traditionens struktur (Skellefteå: Artos, 2003), 20–21. Virg. 1. Apol. 47.10; Praescr. 13; 14; 20; 32; 37. Praescr. 14. It has been discussed whether in the early Church it was meant that the regula was the rule by which everything must be measured, or if the rule in fact was the truth (veritas). Hägglund, Sanningens regel, 10.20. The relation between written regulae, baptismal questions, and fixed creeds is still being discussed. Written regulae can be seen as liturgically crystallized symbols, and on the other hand, baptismal questions are an expression of the regula in the wider sense. Praescr. 20.8; 36.3–5; Kelly, Early Christian Creeds. 87; Reinhart Staats, “Das Taufbekenntnis in der frühen Kirche” in Ablution, Initiation, and Baptism: Late Antiquity, Early Judaism, and Early Christianity ii, (ed. D. Hellholm et al.; Berlin & Boston: DeGruyter, 2011), 1553–1583, esp. 1556. Barnes, Tertullian, 275–276; Paul F. Bradshaw, The Search for the Origins of Christian Worship: Sources and Methods for the Study of Early Liturgy (London: Society for Promoting Christian Knowledge, 2002), 101. Bradshaw, The Search, 101.

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Freedom of Religion and Religious Coercion

When seeking an underlying pattern for Tertullian’s strict attitude towards the Roman religion and its practices, it is good to start with what he stated about the nature of religious devotion. Tertullian was one of the first and most outstanding advocates for religious freedom in Early Christianity.23 His arguments for freedom of religion and against any religious coercion stressed the logical integrity between the contents of faith and lived religion. Freedom belonged, in his mind, to the core of religion; forced worship was not true worship at all (Apol. 21; 24; 28). This freedom belonged not only to a nation or a group of people, but even to individuals. His claim for freedom of religion, however, seems to collide with his own harsh criticism of traditional Roman religion, the Jews and those he called heretics, and therefore his approach has sometimes been explained as mere rhetoric with the sole intent of gaining space for his own community.24 The complex question about ambiguity in Tertullian’s approach cannot be discussed fully in this article, but I highlight some aspects. In Apologeticum, written for Roman rulers, Tertullian claims that coerced confession or denial of faith is worthless, because people can subsequently return to their previous views.25 It was therefore unjust to compel a person to sacrifice, “for even in other acts of religious service a willing mind is required”.26 Belief and religious praxis were logically bound with each other.27 Also in Ad Scapulam, a text dedicated to a Roman proconsul, he stresses the unity of religious belief and action.28 Tertullian’s claim in both these works can thus be summarized: true devotion cannot be forced—otherwise it is not true devotion at all. The integrity of a person was of fundamental importance to him and, therefore, belief, religious practices and life had to line up. Religion had to 23

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Guy Stroumsa, “Tertullian on idolatry and the limits of tolerance”, in Tolerance and Intolerance in Early Judaism and Christianity (ed. G.N. Stanton, and G.G. Stroumsa; Cambridge: Cambridge University Press 1998), 173. See Stroumsa, “Tertullian on idolatry”, 173. Apol. 2.17. Apol. 28.1; 24.5f.; 27.2. Apol. 21.27–28. Scap. 2.1–2: “It is a fundamental human right, a privilege of nature, that every man should worship according to his own convictions: one man’s religion neither harms nor helps another man. It is assuredly no part of religion to compel religion-to which free-will and not force should lead us-the sacrificial victims even being required of a willing mind. You will render no real service to your gods by compelling us to sacrifice. For they can have no desire of offerings from the unwilling, unless they are animated by a spirit of contention, which is a thing altogether undivine”.

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stem from free choice. When writing both the above quoted texts to the Roman authorities, he backed up his claim with natural law and logic and never quoted Scripture. Tertullian lived in antiquity, and therefore we cannot expect theories of freedom of religion in a modern sense from him.29 Rather, his argumentation for freedom of religion is based on his belief that in a person’s and a community’s life, contents of faith, devotional practices, and ways of living, must per definitionem be in concord with each other. Forced devotion is not devotion at all. A claim for freedom of choice was for him, therefore, not only a rhetorical device for gaining safety for Christians, but also the expression of a principle he held. This principle was not in contradiction with what he wrote about concerning other religious groups, as his writings against the Jews or against Marcion were not intended to force the Jews or the Marcionites to participate in Catholic worship against their beliefs (which would of course have been impossible), but rather, to persuade them to the Christian truth and, more importantly, to warn and instruct his own fellow Christians.30

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How Christians Should Relate to Roman Religious Practices

The ideal of consequence when it comes to faith, religious practices and life, also guides Tertullian’s thoughts when he argues against influences from the traditional Roman cult in the devotional and every-day life of a Christian. For him, the identity of a Christian permitted no grey zones; no participation in pagan cult in any form was allowed.31 In baptism, a Christian denounced the devil and idolatry (Spect. 4; Idol. 6) and this was to be realized in every aspect of life.

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J.A. North, “Religious Tolerance in Republican Rome”, in Roman Religion (ed. C. Ando, Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press, 2003), 199–200; Georges, Tertullian ‘Apologeticum’, 410–411. It can be noted that one of the reasons for the early Adversus Iudaeos literature—to which Tertullian’s Adversus Iudaeos belongs—was the fact that some Christian believers participated in Jewish worship and festivals without any problem, i.e. the relation between contents of doctrine and practical forms of devotion was not completely clear for them. See Anni Maria Laato, Jews and Christians in De duobus montibus Sina et Sion: An Approach to Early Latin Adversus Iudaeos Literature (Åbo: Åbo Akademi University Press, 1998), 16; Daniel Boyarin, Border Lines: The Partition of Judaeo-Christianity (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press 2004). With some moderation, see below.

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How to live as a Christian in a pagan environment was a real problem in Tertullian’s time since Roman religion was present in many ways in the every-day life of his audience. He therefore undertook to give instructions to Christians and formulated arguments for his views. In De spectaculis, written for recent converts, he meets the counter-arguments of some Christians who saw no harm in participating in public entertainment. They had confronted him by saying that the Scripture did not contain prohibitions such as “you shall not enter circus or theatre, you shall not look on combat or show”. Tertullian answered them with an allusion to Ps 1:1: a Christian must not enter the assembly of the impious, and with a more general principle: “these things are not consistent with true religion and true obedience to the true God” (Spect. 1.1). In his argumentation as to whether certain practices are allowed or not for Christians, he is sometimes content with the silence of Scripture: one cannot say anything decisive about a certain practice if the Scripture does not (Carn. Chr. 6.10), but most often he tries to argue using biblical principles or from a standpoint of Christian tradition (Herm. 20.5; 22.5; Cor. 2.4; Mon. 4.4). In his texts, Tertullian gives plenty of examples of practices that can threaten the integrity of a Christian, including participation in pagan festivals (Apol. 35.4), public shows (Spect. 1.1), the theatre (Spect. 10 and 23), and sport events (Spect. 11 and 18–19). Further activities where a Christian would have to be in contact with deities or heathen cults include astrology (Idol. 9), the teaching of literature (Idol. 10) and gladiator training (Idol. 11). There are, however, two exceptions to Tertullian’s strict view. He states that schoolchildren are to be encouraged to study despite the fact that their curriculum includes heathen mythology (Idol. 10),32 and that Christians are also allowed to participate in family feasts provided they do not perform the offerings themselves—thus he makes a distinction between active and passive participation (Idol. 16). Despite his fundamental outlook on the difference between the world and the Church, Tertullian did not want Christians to completely withdraw from society.33 but rather guided his listeners to participate in spectacula Christiana, that is, a Christian life, instead of participating in heathen shows (Spect. 29.3).34 32

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The curriculum in the education of children remained a topic for Christian parents for a long time. See Anni Maria Laato, “Adam and Eve Rewritten in Vergil’s Words: Cento of Proba,” in Adam and Eve Story in Jewish, Christian, and Islamic Perspectives (ed. A. Laato and L. Valve; srb 8; Winona Lake, Indiana: Eisenbrauns, 2017), 88–89. Georg Schöllgen, “Die Teilnahme der Christen am städtischen Leben in vorkonstantinischer Zeit: Tertullians Zeugnis für Karthago,” in Christentum und antike Gesellschaft (ed. J. Martin, and Barbara Quint; Darmstadt: Wissenschaftliche Buchgesellschaft, 1990), esp. 332–334, 353–354. Augustine later used this expression for Christian liturgy, en. Ps. 80, 23.

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De spectaculis and De idololatria belong to Tertullian’s early texts, written for other Catholic Christians. Tertullian’s instructions seem to be in line with the view of the Carthaginian Church and the Church in Rome.35 His critical notions indicate, however, that not all Christians in his congregation followed such instructions. Later, during his New Prophecy period, Tertullian returned to the same topic: namely, what activities a Christian could participate in. In De corona, he discusses, on the basis of a recent event, principles on how to deal with practices where there is no explicit Scriptural prohibition or command, but where a long ecclesial tradition exists nonetheless.36 Tertullian tells that a certain soldier had refused a military crown, and consequently was condemned by the Roman authorities. This event stirred discussion among the local Christians about whether a Christian could wear a crown or not (Cor. 1). Tertullian starts his argumentation by presenting the soldier in question as an example for everybody: this is what a Christian does. Then he delivers several arguments for refusing a crown. The first is that Christians usually do refuse a crown. He is not happy with merely that argument, however, but finds reasons for this common practice (Cor. 2). His next step is to say that even if no passage in the Scripture prohibits the wearing of a military crown, the lack of a direct prohibition is not one and the same as allowing such a practice (Cor. 2–3). Tertullian moves on in his argumentation and asks whether a tradition has authority if it does not have any written basis in the Scripture, and shows that the life of the Church is full of such traditions. As examples, he presents practices in connection with baptism and the Eucharist.37 Many of these are supported by tradition, faith, and reason, but have no Scriptural basis, and so Tertullian concludes that “you can vindicate the keeping of even unwritten tradition established by custom; the proper witness for tradition when demonstrated by long-continued observance” (Cor. 4). In addition to tradition, he argues on the basis of the natural law, which according to him confirms what he already has said (Cor. 5–6). Eventually, Tertullian reaches his main point on the unavoidable connection between receiving and wearing a crown, and idolatry (Cor. 7–15). Wearing a military crown is in fact active participation in idolatry, and therefore, a Christian cannot have any part in it. De corona is regarded as more compromising in its tone than the earlier De idololatria because in this treatise Tertullian does not deny a Christian the pos35 36 37

Schöllgen, “Die Teilnahme,” 325, 327, 334–348. Barnes, Tertullian, 132–133. One of his examples is making oblations for the dead on the anniversary day. This expression is studied by Eoin de Bhaldraithe, “Oblationes pro defunctis, pro nataliciis annua die facimus. What did Tertullian mean?” StPatr 20 (1987): 346–351.

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sibility of remaining in the army provided situations that would compromise his faith are avoided. This apparent inconsistency has been explained by the changing realities in the army between the dates of the composition of these two texts.38 In De corona, Tertullian does not focus on whether military service is acceptable for Christians.39 Instead, the main point in this treatise is that idolatry in any form is incompatible with the Christian faith. Tertullian demonstrates that every kind of public entertainment and many other activities are connected with the worship of deities, and therefore with idolatry. For him latreia, worship, means not only prayer or sacrifice, but is a broader concept. Many aspects of life can indeed express affirmation or negation about the nature of a divinity.40 For Tertullian idolatry is the principal crime, a root for all bad deeds, as he says in De idololatria 1, an idea he backs up with both Old and the New Testament passages.41 Therefore, for a Christian, the boundaries between latreia and idololatreia must be clear. When writing to other Christians about traditional Roman religion and its religious practices Tertullian argues using Scripture and with Christian doctrine based on Scripture. According to him, in cases where Scripture does not explicitly say anything, long-standing Christian tradition, preferably coming from the apostles, is to be followed. Natural law and common sense are used as additional arguments. When discussing non-Christian religions Tertullian stresses that there must be concordance between belief, worship and everyday life.

5

The Essence and Practices of Prayer

People who converted to Christianity had to learn new ways to pray, too. In De oratione, Tertullian discusses both the content and practices of prayer. The text is probably based on lectures held in Carthage around the years 198–200. It is directed to the catechumens, as can be seen from the form of address, benedicti, and from the fact that between the skilfully formulated beginning and the end, rather simple questions are dealt with.

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Willy Rordorf, “Tertullians Beurteilung des Soldatenstandes,” vc 23 (1969), 117; Rankin (Tertullian and the Church, 19) formulates: “Tertullian was passionate and generally uncompromising, but no fool. He could display, when appropriate, a certain pragmatism.” cf. Idol. 19 where Tertullian categorically denies the possibility that Christians could serve in the army. Rordorf, “Tertullians Beurteilung,” 117. See Stroumsa, “Tertullian on idolatry,” 178. Idol. 4; 9; 24.

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As usual in antiquity, the first lines of this work give the key to understanding the whole text. Tertullian opens his work with the following words: dei spiritus et dei sermo et dei ratio, sermo rationis et ratio sermonis et spiritus utriusque42 Iesus Christus, dominus noster, novis discipulis novi testamenti novam orationis formam determinavit. Our Lord Jesus Christ, who is the spirit of God and the word of God and the reason of God, the word of the reason and the reason of the word and the spirit of both, has prescribed a new form of prayer for the new disciples of the new covenant. Tertullian begins his teaching on prayer by meditating on the person of Christ in the light of John 1: the Lord’s Prayer comes from no less than God’s logos, and thus reflects the essence of the logos.43 The word spiritus here is best explained in the light of the closure of the tractate where Tertullian returns to the topic and quotes John 4:24 “God is spirit” (Or. 28). Tertullian explains that because Christ is God’s spirit and God’s speech and God’s reason, the prayer he taught also contains all these elements: the spirit whereby the prayer can have such power, the speech by which it is expressed, and the reason.44 Thus the contents and the expression of the Lord’s Prayer are inseparable from each other and reflect the essence of Jesus Christ, the pre-existent Son of God. The last word of the sentence, determinavit, is characteristic for Tertullian’s theology: his image of an ideal worshipper is a soldier who obeys the commands of his imperator, as stated at the end of the treatise (Or. 29). The stressing of the word ‘new’

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Patrologia Latina has utriusque, but the manuscripts have utrumque (Patrologia Latina. Edited by J.-P. Migne vol. 1, Paris, 1844). Diercks in his edition has chosen utrumque and translates “in either case spirit”. See G.F. Diercks, Tertullianus De Oratione: Critische uitgave met prolegomena, vertaling en philo-logisch-exegetisch-liturgische commentaar (Bussum: Brand, 1947). Tertullian regularly uses sermo as a translation for the Greek logos. In a later work he explains that logos can be translated into Latin both as sermo and as ratio, and logos is the one who is with God before the creation, and through whom all is created (Prax. 5). In Prax. 2 he translates logos as sermo in a regula: God’s pre-existent sermo was born as a human being through Mary. Both words, sermo and ratio, for their part, have multiple meanings: sermo can be translated as ‘word’ or ‘speech’, ratio as ‘reason’, ‘meaning’ or ‘ruling principle’. These different meanings are for Tertullian not mutually exclusive, but complementary. The text is uncertain: Patrologia Latina has qua docetur (“whereby it is taught”) and Diercks edition (Tertullianus De Oratione), has quo reconciliat (“why it produces reconciliation”).

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in this passage is directed primarily against the Jews: according to Tertullian, what prevailed in the times of the Old Testament is either altered (demutatum) like circumcision, or completed (suppletum) like the rest of the Law, or fulfilled (impletum) like the prophecies, or is brought to its perfection (perfectum) like the faith itself (or. 1). The claim of newness is, however, also directed against Roman religions. For Tertullian, the Lord’s Prayer fulfils the two tasks of prayer, worship and supplication, and more than this, it sums up the whole content of Christ’s teaching, and thus it is an abridgement, breviarium, of the entire Gospel (Or. 1). In his explanations to the individual petitions, he seeks to demonstrate this: every petition is connected to commands of the Lord in Scripture and reveals something about the Christian faith (Or. 2–10). His fundamental idea—that both the contents and the form of prayer reflects the person of Jesus Christ and his teaching—is also the guiding principle when Tertullian subsequently turns to investigate many of the prayer practices adhered to by Carthaginian Christians and evaluates them accordingly (Or. 13–27). Some of these practices were followed by individuals, others by the assembled community. It was apparently customary in Carthage to wash one’s hands before prayer (Or. 13). Tertullian reports that some Christians followed this rule with “superstitious carefulness”, so that they washed their hands even when coming from a bath. Having researched this custom, Tertullian found that it was done to commemorate the surrender of the Lord by Pilate and concluded that this custom should be avoided for two reasons: Christians should not identify themselves with Pilate, and the spiritual cleanliness was what was necessary, rather than the outward cleanliness—Christians have already been washed in Christ. Contrary to this, he presents the Jews who wash themselves daily but “are never clean because they inherit the sins of their fathers” (Or. 14). Another “empty observance” belonging to superstition was the custom of removing coats when praying (Or. 15). This custom, according to him, was not based on a command of the Lord, but rather came from the pagans. Tertullian offers a nice biblical example to counter this practice: “God had no trouble hearing the three saints in the Babylonian king’s furnace praying in their trousers and turbans” (Or. 15). Some Carthaginian Christians had used Hermas as a model—he sat down on his bed after prayer (Or. 16)—to support the custom of sitting down after prayer.45 Tertullian rejects this argument by saying that Hermas had merely been stating what he did, rather than giving a model of discipline. Otherwise, a

45

Herm. Vis. 5.1.

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Christian could not have prayed anywhere where there was no bed available— a chair or a bench would not have sufficed! Furthermore, he states it was a custom of pagans. Christians were to stand under the eye of the living God in order to show their reverence, just as angels do.46 Some had also developed a habit of praying loudly with their hands elevated loftily; Tertullian rejects these on the grounds of the biblical ideal of humility: God sees and hears the heart (Or. 17). Prayer with the lifting up of the hands in the orans position was the normal custom in the early Church, inherited from the Jews, but came to be interpreted as a remembrance of the crucifixion of the Lord (Or. 14).47 Tertullian also discusses some recent customs in Carthage. Some Christians who were fasting did not offer each other a kiss of peace after prayer (Or. 18). Criticizing this custom, Tertullian says that fasting should be secret (the new custom revealed who was fasting), and further, that no other occasion was more appropriate for a kiss of peace. Women’s dress and the veiling of the virgins in a liturgical assembly are also discussed extensively (Or. 20–22) as there had been confusion around this practice.48 Here Tertullian writes against an old custom in his Church.49 The custom of kneeling was also discussed: some abstained from kneeling on the Sabbath (Or. 23).50 Tertullian thinks that in matters such as this, one practice should not be taken as an offence to others. Thus, he does not hesitate to criticize local customs but rather evaluates them in the light of the doctrine and common sense. 46

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According to Bradshaw, both customs—standing and kneeling—were used on ordinary days in the early Church. Tertullian gives important information about kneeling becoming connected with penitence, and that during his time morning prayer already had a penitential character. Bradshaw, Daily Prayer in the Early Church: A Study of the Origin and Early Development of the Divine Office (London: Society for Promoting Christian Knowledge, 1981), 64–65. Bradshaw, Daily Prayer, 65. This position is often seen in the catacomb art. See Robin Jensen, Understanding Early Christian Art (London and New York: Routledge, 2000), 35– 37. I follow here Dunn, “Rhetoric and Tertullian’s De virginibus velandis,” vc 59 (2005): 1–30. De virginibus velandis is written against individuals who defended the non-usage of the veil with custom. Therefore, Tertullian contrasts custom with truth: Sed Dominus noster Christus veritatem se, non consuetudinem, cognovinavit (Virg. 1.1). He says that even custom is on his side, namely the biblical custom, and custom in other North-African Churches. Tertullian’s opponents had also used Scripture, so he too begins his argumentation with Scriptural arguments. He then argues with the natural law, and thirdly, with arguments from Church discipline. In his consistit defensio nostrae opinionis secundum scripturam, secundum naturam, secundum disciplinam. Scriptura legem condit, natura contestatur, disciplina exigit. Virg. 16.1. The Sabbath was not regarded as equal to Sunday, but the Jewish custom of not fasting on the Sabbath had continued in North Africa. Bradshaw, Daily Prayer, 68.

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When instructing Christians, Tertullian gives detailed instruction for the prayer-times. He explains that in the New Testament Christians are prescribed “to pray at every time and every place” (Eph 6:18; 1 Thess 5:17; 1 Tim 2:8), but what does this advice mean? “Every place”, according to Tertullian, simply means every place where it is possible (Or. 24). The expression “every time” is discussed more thoroughly (Or. 24–26). Tertullian states that there is no biblical precept of praying at certain times, but there are examples of apostles observing prayer at the third, sixth and ninth hours (Acts 2:15; 10:9; 3:1–7), and it is good to establish certain times for prayer “as it were by law” (quasi lege).51 He points out that Daniel observed this in accordance with Israel’s duty (Dan 6:10), and Christians should also do so. Thrice daily regular prayers remind one of the Holy Trinity. Additionally, he instructs that one should pray in the morning and in the evening, before one eats and before one bathes, since spiritual refreshment takes priority over the flesh. Before meals, the sign of the cross should also be made. He also mentions the custom, observed by “more diligent prayers”, of including “Alleluia and this type of psalm, with the endings to which those who are present may respond” (Or. 27) in their prayers. He also witnesses the widening custom of reading psalms at regular times of prayer.52 As Osborn has stated, Tertullian’s treatise on prayer reflects the central themes of his theology, and summarized his attitude as follows: “his Christian soldier finds thought-provoking paradox and perfection everywhere.”53 The examples above show that Tertullian’s doctrinal views are decisive in how he evaluates customs observed in the Carthaginian Church. Distance is taken from customs which, according to him, originate from the pagan world.

6

Initiation and Baptism

The fourth topic, initiation and baptism, opens yet another view to this study.54 As noted in the introduction, baptism meant, for Tertullian, a radical change in 51

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Tertullian witnesses that in Africa at least five times of prayer—morning, the third, sixth, ninth hour, and evening (a prayer at night is mentioned in Or. 29 and Ux. 2) were already being observed by the end of the second century, that is, earlier than in the East. Bradshaw, Daily Prayer, 50. Bradshaw, Daily Prayer, 64. Osborn, Tertullian: First Theologian of the West (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1997), 150. In this article, I am not going to discuss Tertullian’s criticism of infant baptism, because this much debated topic is not central for understanding his views on encountering the pagan world.

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a person’s life. Baptism was, for him, the beginning of a new life in a new community. Its contents can be summarized in one person, Christ as ikhthys, fish, with whom the little fishes, pisciculi, must stay in the salvific baptismal water (Bapt. 1.3). It is “the sacrament of our Christian water, which washes away the sins of our old blindness and frees us for eternal life” (Bapt 1.1). The period before baptism, the catechumenate, was a time for deep learning of the contents of Christian faith, but also of learning how a Christian should live in a non-Christian environment (Bapt. 1). It was a time for repeated prayers, fasts, bending of the knee, night vigils and confessing of sins (Bapt. 20). Tertullian describes and explains many liturgical customs in connection to baptism, many of which express the change from old to new. The baptismal rite expresses what Christians believed that God accomplishes in it.55 In the following I shall give some examples of this. The main source for Tertullian’s view on baptism is De baptismo, in which he presents his theology on baptism as well as many North African liturgical practices.56 He wrote this treatise to catechumens in Carthage to defend baptism against those who intended to reject it, as well as to explain its meaning, and to give his audience a deeper understanding of the baptismal liturgy.57 He refers to rules to be observed in giving and receiving baptism, (Bapt. 17.1), but does not give a complete description of the baptismal rite itself, nor does he explain all the customs.58 Tertullian was the first theologian to witness the (later very common) custom of seeing Easter as the preferred time for baptism, even if Pentecost was for 55

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Jeremy Driscoll, “Uncovering the Dynamic lex orandi—lex credendi in the Baptismal Theology of Irenaeus,” Pro Ecclesia 12, no. 2 (2003): 213–214 stresses the close connection between lex credendi and lex orandi in early Christianity: those who formulated the doctrines were the same people who administered the sacraments. The baptismal rites in Tertullian’s times varied in different parts of the Christian world. Fundamental elements were common, but the forms differed. K.W. Noakes, “Initiation from New Testament Times until St Cyprian”, in The Study of Liturgy (ed. C. Jones et al.; London: Society for Promoting Christian Knowledge), 90–94; Bradshaw, Daily Prayer, 169. Barnes, Tertullian, 55.118–119. Tertullian’s baptismal liturgy is often compared with Trad. Ap. 15–21. In recent scholarship, both the authorship and the unity of this text have been put in question; however, it can be said to reflect for the most part early third century practices in the West. Despite many similarities, there are some differences between the baptismal rites described by Tertullian and Trad. Ap. Øyvind Norderval, “Simplicity and Power—Tertullian’s De Baptismo,” in Ablution, Initiation, and Baptism: Late Antiquity, Early Judaism, and Early Christianity ii (ed. D. Hellholm et al.; Berlin and Boston: DeGruyter, 2011), 960; Anders Ekenberg, “Initiation in the Apostolic Tradition,” in Ablution, Initiation, and Baptism: Late Antiquity, Early Judaism, and Early Christianity ii (ed. D. Hellholm et al. Berlin and Boston: DeGruyter, 2011), esp. 1011, 1019, 1025.

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him fine, too (Bapt. 19).59 He upheld the appropriateness of these days because of their significance in the Lord’s life and because they were the great Christian festivals.60 The procedure of initiation and baptism in Tertullian’s North Africa can be reconstructed as follows:61 Catechumenate (Bapt. 20), the blessing of water,62 invoking the Holy Spirit to sanctify it (Bapt. 3–5), the threefold renunciation of the devil (Cor. 3.2; Spect. 4), the threefold interrogation and baptism by means of the threefold immersion or submersion (Prax. 26, Cor. 3.2), the anointing with oil (Bapt. 7.1; Res. 8.3), the imposition of the bishop’s hands and prayer for the Holy Spirit (Bapt. 8.3), signing with the cross (Res. 8), prayer (Bapt. 20.5) and finally, the drinking of milk and honey followed by the Eucharist (Cor. 3). Each stage expresses change in the life of the person who is being baptized. Some of the rites are mentioned already in the New Testament, while others are later developments. In De corona, Tertullian takes some baptismal practices as examples of practices that are not written in Scripture, but which are, nonetheless, maintained on the grounds of tradition alone (Cor. 3). Such are the denunciation of the devil, his pomp and angels, uttered just before entering the water;63 the threefold immersion; making “a somewhat ampler pledge than the Lord has appointed”; the tasting of milk and honey after the Baptism; and refraining from the daily bath for a week after baptism (Cor. 3).64 The expression “somewhat ampler pledge” refers to the baptismal questions. There is no declarative symbol in the liturgy of De baptismo; instead, a threefold interrogation was used.65 These baptismal questions have a Trinitarian structure, and are, with regard to both form and content, closely related to regula

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There is no possibility to say whether this was already an established custom in his church. Other early witnesses are Hippolytus, Comm. in Dan. 13.15; Ambrose, Exp. Luc. 4.76; possibly also Trad. ap. 20.5–21.1; for the last one, see Ekenberg “Initiation in the Apostolic Tradition,” 1028. Bradshaw suggests that this choice of time in fact has other theological reasons: the biblical model for baptism was at this time primarily no longer the baptism of Christ but rather his passage from death to resurrection. Easter symbolises thus the beginning of a new life in baptism. Bradshaw, Daily Prayer, 159; Noakes “Initiation,” 91; Edward Yarnold, “Initiation—The Fourth and Fifth Centuries,” in The Study of Liturgy (ed. C. Jones et al., London: Society for Promoting Christian Knowledge, 1980), 95–110, esp. 95. Noakes “Initiation”, 91–92. Tertullian is the first witness of this. McGowan, Ancient Christian Worship, 152. The Renunciation formula ‘the devil and his following and his angels’ is also witnessed in Spect. 4. All these excluding the last one are also attested in Trad. ap. 21.9; 21.12–18; 23.2. Kelly, Early Christian Creeds, 44–49.83; Spect. 4; Cor. 3; Prax. 26. A similar practice is also attested by Trad. ap. and was prevalent in the beginning of the third century.

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fidei; it seems probable that Trinitarian regulae were developed in connection with baptismal questions and the pre-baptismal catechesis.66 Baptismal questions, because they became a part of liturgy, subsequently became more or less fixed in wording and outline, and thus became well-known and influential.67 Tertullian’s Trinitarian doctrine was formed in the living tradition of Christian baptismal liturgy. The threefold questions and threefold immersion expressed belief in the Triune God, and directed the understanding of what was happening in its celebration.68 Tertullian explains that the laying on of hands invoking and inviting the Holy Spirit came from the Old Testament times, where Jacob blessed his grandsons. During this rite, the Holy Spirit descends upon the baptized—this is drawn from Gen 1 and the baptism of the Lord (Bapt. 8).69 Signing the body with the cross was done to fortify the spirit, Tertullian explains in Res. 8.70 According to both Tertullian (Bapt. 7–8; Res. 8) and Cyprian (Ep. 70.2; 73.9; 74.5), anointing was performed after baptism, and together with the imposition of hands, was connected to receiving the Holy Spirit.71 This was a practice derived from the Old Testament where priests were anointed, Aaron being the first (Bapt. 7). Tertullian explains that anointing is something carnal, but its result is, nonetheless, spiritual (Res. 8). Tertullian comments on the fact that several symbolic acts were practised both in the Catholic Church as well as in other communities. Anointing and the tasting of milk and honey are examples of this. From Tertullian’s time, there is actually more evidence of anointing in connection with baptism in

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Staats, “Das Taufbekenntnis,” 1558. Kelly, Early Christian Creeds, 83, 96; Staats, “Das Taufbekenntnis,” 1157–1558. Driscoll, Uncovering the Dynamic, 216. See Prax. 26: ‘After his resurrection he promises in a pledge to his disciples that he will send them the promise of his Father; and lastly, he commands them to baptize into the Father and the Son and the Holy Ghost, not into a unipersonal God. And indeed, it is not once only but three times that we are immersed into the Three Persons, at each several mention of their names’. Kelly (Early Christian Doctrines [rev. ed.; San Francisco: Harper & Row, 1978], 209) states that throughout his life Tertullian was unclear about the exact time of descending of the Spirit onto the baptized, but one can say that the Holy Spirit gives cleansing and remission of sins throughout this rite; laying on hands is especially said to give the gift of the Spirit (Bapt. 3–4, 6 and 8, Res. 8). Bradshaw (Daily Prayer, 158) is critical on the interpretation according to which this means a distinct ritual act. For the discussion of baptismal anointing, see Ekenberg, “Initiation in the Apostolic Tradition,” 1021–1022. Bradshaw (Daily Prayer, 227) suggests that post-baptismal anointing spread to the East from the West with the pilgrims under the time of doctrinal debates about the Holy Spirit.

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the heterodox communities than in the orthodox ones, e.g. Marcionite (Marc. 1.14; 1.28; 3.22).72 Tertullian notes that signing the forehead with the cross was also a custom performed by Catholics as well as Marcionites.73 The tasting of milk and honey after baptism or in the context of the post-baptismal Eucharist are also witnessed by Traditio Apostolica (23.2), possibly by Tertullian’s contemporary and co-Carthaginian text Passio Perpetuae et Felicitatis (4) as well as the Odes of Solomon (4.10),74 but the same praxis was also followed among the Marcionites—Tertullian says that this demonstrated that the Marcionites needed the Creator God no matter what they said (Marc. 1.14).75 Because baptism was administered in the Marcionite church much in the same way as in the Catholic Church, Tertullian felt the need to comment on this. He does not criticize their liturgical praxis, but rather their theological consistency: without belief in the resurrection of the body and the continuity between the Creator God and the God of the New Testament, the Marcionite baptism is meaningless.76 In sum, for Tertullian becoming baptized meant giving up the old life and beginning a new life. Baptism in Tertullian’s time was administered with plenty of symbolic actions, many of which conveyed the change in the life of the one being baptized. Tertullian does not criticize any of these rites, but tries to explain their origins and meaning. He declares that many of them have come down through tradition, even though there was no command for them in Scrip72

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Lampe suggested influence from Gnostics to Catholics, but Noakes argues against him that anointing is a custom derived from both the Old Testament (e.g. 1 Sam 16:13) and Roman bath praxis. Noakes “Initiation,” 90; G.W.H. Lampe, The Seal of the Spirit: A Study in the Doctrine of Baptism and Confirmation in the New Testament and the Fathers (London: Society for Promoting Christian Knowledge, 1969), 120–128. Marc. 3.22; McGowan, Ancient Christian Worship, 154. Signaculum was not only used in baptism, but was an act of prayer, used by Christians in all circumstances, Cor. 3. Passio Perpetuae et Felicitatis 4 mentions liquid cheese and its sweet taste. Tabbernee “Initiation/Baptism in the Montanist Movement,” 933; McGowan, Ancient Christian Worship, 160–162. Bradshaw (Daily Prayer, 157) mentions that this custom was also known in Egypt and Ethiopia. Milk and honey are polyvalent symbols: they can refer to the coming to the Promised Land (Ex 33:3) food for new-born Christians (Isa 7:14–15, 1Pet 2:2) as well as the Body of Christ in the Eucharist. Hans-Ulrich Weidemann, “Taufe und Taufeucharistie. Die postbaptismale Mahlgemeinschaft in Quellen des 2. und 3. Jahrhunderts,” in Ablution, Initiation, and Baptism: Late Antiquity, Early Judaism, and Early Christianity ii (ed. D. Hellholm et al., Berlin and Boston: DeGruyter), 1518–1520; “… honey and milk where withal he gives them the nourishment of children,” Marc. 1.14. Marc. 1.28.2; Eve-Marie Becker, “Taufe bei Marcion—eine Spurensuche,” in Ablution, Initiation, and Baptism: Late Antiquity, Early Judaism, and Early Christianity ii (ed. D. Hellholm et al. Berlin and Boston: DeGruyter), esp. 882–883.

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ture. These rites illustrate different aspects of the theology of baptism. As they were repeated in a Church’s life and witnessed again and again by the faithful, they highlighted what was important in the Christian theology of baptism. Most notably, the three baptismal questions and the threefold immersion in the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit expressed the Trinitarian character of the Christian faith. The liturgical actions Tertullian describes express the washing away of sins, receiving the Holy Spirit and beginning a new life—all of which are emphases which concur in Tertullian’s theology on the whole. Stressing the differences to pagan water rituals and heretic baptism was also important for Tertullian.

7

Conclusions

This article has discussed some examples of real clashes between the Christian faith and pagan Roman world in Tertullian’s texts. For him, becoming a Christian meant leaving one’s former community behind. At the same time, Tertullian preserved much of the culture he had grown up with and did not withdraw himself from society. In encounters both with pagans and with newly converted Christians, Tertullian made use of his knowledge of Roman mythology, literature and religious practices as well as his skills in philosophy and rhetoric. The clash with pagan culture and religions primarily grew from his conviction that everything in a Christian’s life—both religious practices and everyday life—must reflect the contents of the faith. He had no wish to make it easier for someone to convert to Christianity by accepting or using pagan rituals, as has been claimed the Church did to some degree after Constantine;77 instead, he wanted to make the differences clear.78 The historical situation and Tertullian’s temperament partly explain why his advice to new Christians was so clear-cut. However, the fundamental idea behind Tertullian’s numerous detailed rules on how to live as a Christian in a non-Christian environment was theological. It was the question of whom one worships. For him, idolatry was the main problem of humankind (Idol. 1). It was the root for all crimes and sins. This conviction was, therefore, formative for his theology. Tertullian offered detailed instruction on doctrine, religious practices and everyday life-style to newly converted Christians. The doctrinal content of 77 78

See Bradshaw, Daily Prayer, 229; Louth, “Fiunt, non nascuntur,” 110. Bradshaw (Daily Prayer, 213) has pointed out that in earlier scholarship it was usual to play down pagan influences on Christian practices.

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belief, summarized in the regula fidei, was—for him—the basis in light of which everything in the life of a Christian or a church should be evaluated. Regula—which he states has come from God and Christ to the apostles—is transmitted to following generations through the apostolic succession in the living liturgical and catechetical tradition of the Church. The same emphasis on the divine origin of Christian instruction is also visible in Tertullian’s teaching on the Lord’s Prayer.79 In De oratione, he makes it clear that the authority and the origin for both the content and the form of the Lord’s Prayer is the Lord Jesus Christ, the pre-existent Son of God. Being God’s spirit, reason and speech, Christ has determined a new form of prayer that reflects his own essence: both the power and the words and the meaning of the Lord’s Prayer are dependent on him. Concerning other liturgical and devotional practices, Tertullian regards it as important to investigate the reasons and origins for them. He is well-aware that in many cases there were similar kinds of rituals in the traditional Roman religions and what he calls heretic communities (e.g. water rituals, prayer customs). If he could justify practices on the basis of Scripture, he usually did so. In other cases, he evaluated the practices from the point of view of the doctrine and tradition: he kept and encouraged those which were in accordance with the Scriptural faith and Christian tradition, while rejecting those which originated from pagan religions or reflected superstition. As a skilled rhetorician, he used different kinds of reasons to support his view. Scriptural arguments were, therefore, often reinforced with philosophical arguments, natura, disciplina, traditio. How Christians ought to live and behave was always important for Tertullian, and it became a more central theme in his later writings. When he grew closer to the New Prophecy movement, his attitude towards certain liturgical practices, e.g. rules for fasting, possibility for a second repentance, and the Christian life-style became stricter,80 but on matters of doctrine he did not essentially change his views. It was typical for Tertullian throughout his career to see Christian life as striving for victory, where one must always give one’s best (Cor. 11, Ux. 1.3). He did not hesitate to exhort Christians to change their ways in accordance with the Christian faith. Characteristic too for Tertullian was to notice possible contradictions and to try to address the situation.

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cf. Praescr. 21; 37.1; 13.6; Apol. 47.10. See Hägglund, Sanningens regel, 22. Influenced by New Prophecy movement, Tertullian thinks that the Paraclete teaches new things which have to do with the way of life (Mon. 2). Barnes, Tertullian, 135; Rankin, Tertullian and the Church, 42.

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Bibliography de Bhaldraithe, Eoin. “Oblationes pro defunctis, pro nataliciis annua die facimus. What did Tertullian mean?” Studia Patristica 20 (1989): 346–351. Barnes, Timothy. Tertullian—A Historical and Literary Study. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1971. Boyarin, Daniel. Border Lines: The Partition of Judaeo-Christianity. Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2004. Becker, Eve-Marie. “Taufe bei Marcion—eine Spurensuche.” Pages 871–894 in Ablution, Initiation, and Baptism. Late Antiquity, Early Judaism, and Early Christianity ii. Edited by D. Hellholm et al. Berlin: DeGruyter, 2011. Bradshaw, Paul F. Daily Prayer in the Early Church: A Study of the Origin and Early Development of the Divine Office. London: Society for Promoting Christian Knowledge, 1981. Bradshaw, Paul F. The Search for the Origins of Christian Worship. Sources and Methods for the Study of Early Liturgy. London: Society for Promoting Christian Knowledge, 2002. Diercks, G.F. Tertullianus De Oratione. Critische uitgave met prolegomena, vertaling en philologisch-exegetisch-liturgische commentaar. Bussum: Brand, 1947. Driscoll, Jeremy, “Uncovering the Dynamic lex orandi—lex credendi in the Baptismal Theology of Irenaeus.” Pro Ecclesia 12:2 (2003): 213–225. Dunn, Geoffrey D. “Rhetorical Structure in Tertullian’s ad Scapulam.” Vigiliae Christianae 56 (2002): 47–55. Dunn, Geoffrey D. Tertullian. London and New York: Routledge, 2004. Dunn, Geoffrey D. “Rhetoric and Tertullian’s De virginibus velandis.” Vigiliae Christianae 59 (2005): 1–30. Ekenberg, Anders, “Initiation in the Apostolic Tradition.” Pages 1011–1050 in Ablution, Initiation, and Baptism. Late Antiquity, Early Judaism, and Early Christianity ii. Edited by D. Hellholm et al. Berlin: DeGruyter, 2011. Georges, Tobias. Tertullian ‘Apologeticum’. Freiburg: Herder, 2011. Harrison, Carol, Caroline Humfress, and Isabella Sandwell, eds. Being Christian in Late Antiquity: A Festschrift for Gillian Clark. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2014. Hägglund, Bengt. Sanningens regel, regula veritatis: trosregeln och den kristna traditionens struktur. Skellefteå: Artos, 2003. Jensen, Robin. Understanding Early Christian Art. London and New York: Routledge, 2000. Kavanagh, Aidan. On Liturgical Theology. The Hale Memorial Lectures of SeaburyWestern Theological Seminary. Collegeville: The Liturgical Press, 1992. Kelly, John N.D. Early Christian Creeds. Rev. ed. London: Continuum, 1972. Kelly, John N.D. Early Christian Doctrines. Rev. ed. San Francisco: Harper & Row, 1978.

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Laato, Anni Maria. Jews and Christians in De duobus montibus Sina et Sion. An Approach to Early Latin Adversus Iudaeos Literature. Åbo: Åbo Akademi University Press, 1998. Laato, Anni Maria. “Tertullian, Adversus Iudaeos Literature, and the ‘Killing of the Prophets’-Argument.” Studia Patristica 94 (2017): 1–9. Laato, Anni Maria. “Adam and Eve Rewritten in Vergil’s Words: Cento of Proba.” Pages 85–117 in Adam and Eve Story in Jewish, Christian, and Islamic Perspectives. Edited by A. Laato and L. Valve. srb 8. Winona Lake, Indiana: Eisenbrauns, 2017. Laato, Anni Maria. “Tertullian and the Deacons.” Pages 245–254 in Deacons and Diakonia in Early Christianity. The First Two Centuries. Edited by B.J. Koet et al. Wissenschaftliche Untersuchungen zum Neuen Testament 2. Reihe. Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2018. Lampe, G.W.H. The Seal of the Spirit: A Study in the Doctrine of Baptism and Confirmation in the New Testament and the Fathers. London: Society for Promoting Christian Knowledge, 1969. Louth, Andrew. “Fiunt, non nascuntur Christiani: Conversion, Community, and Christian Identity in Late Antiquity.” Pages 109–119 in Being Christian in Late Antiquity: A Festschrift for Gillian Clark Edited by C. Harrison et al. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2014. McGowan, Andrew. Ancient Christian Worship: Early Church Practices in Social, Historical, and Theological Perspective. Grand Rapids: Baker Academic, 2014. McGowan, Andrew. “Rethinking Agape and Eucharist in Early North African Christianity.” Studia Liturgica 34 (2004): 165–176. Noakes, K.W. “Initiation from New Testament Times until St Cyprian.” Pages 80–94 in The Study of Liturgy. Edited by C. Jones et al. London: Society for Promoting Christian Knowledge, 1980. Norderval, Øyvind. “Simplicity and Power—Tertullian’s De Baptismo” Pages 948–972 in Ablution, Initiation, and Baptism. Late Antiquity, Early Judaism, and Early Christianity ii. Edited by D. Hellholm et al. Berlin: DeGruyter, 2011. North, J.A. “Religious Tolerance in Republican Rome.” Pages 199–219 in Roman Religion. Edited by C. Ando. Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press, 2003. O’Malley, Tom. Tertullian and the Bible: Language—Imagery—Exegesis. Latinitas Christianorum Primaeva 21. Nijmegen: Dekker and Von de Vegh, 1967. Osborn, Eric. Tertullian: First Theologian of the West. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1997. Powell, Douglas. “Tertullianists and Cataphrygians.” Vigiliae Christianae 29 (1975): 33– 54. Rankin, David. Tertullian and the Church. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1995. Rordorf, Willy, “Tertullians Beurteilung des Soldatenstandes.” Vigiliae Christianae 23 (1969): 105–141. Schöllgen, Georg. “Die Teilnahme der Christen am städtischen Leben in vorkonstan-

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tinischer Zeit. Tertullians Zeugnis für Karthago.” Pages 319–357 in Christentum und antike Gesellschaft. Edited by J. Martin and B. Quint. Darmstadt: Wissenschaftliche Buchgesellscahft, 1990. Staats, Reinhart. “Das Taufbekenntnis in der frühen Kirche.” Pages 1553–1583 in Ablution, Initiation, and Baptism. Late Antiquity, Early Judaism, and Early Christianity ii. Edited by D. Hellholm et al. Berlin: DeGruyter, 2011. Stroumsa, Guy. “Tertullian on idolatry and the limits of tolerance.” Pages 173–184 in Tolerance and Intolerance in Early Judaism and Christianity. Edited by G.N. Stanton and G.G. Stroumsa. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1998. Tabbernee, William. “Initiation/Baptism in the Montanist Movement.” Pages 917–945 in Ablution, Initiation, and Baptism. Late Antiquity, Early Judaism, and Early Christianity ii. Edited by D. Hellholm et al. Berlin: DeGruyter, 2011. Weidemann, Hans-Ulrich, “Taufe und Taufeucharistie: Die postbaptismale Mahlgemeinschaft in Quellen des 2. und 3. Jahrhunderts.” Pages 1484–1530 in Ablution, Initiation, and Baptism. Late Antiquity, Early Judaism, and Early Christianity ii. Edited by D. Hellholm et al. Berlin: DeGruyter, 2011. Yarnold, E.J. “Initiation—The Fourth and Fifth Centuries.” Pages 95–110 in The Study of Liturgy. Edited by C. Jones et al. London: Society for Promoting Christian Knowledge, 1980.

Worshipping a False Go(o)d: Praeparatio Evangelica 7.2–4 through the Lens of Anti-Epicurean Polemics Siiri Toiviainen Rø

1

Introduction

Hedonism, philosophically defined as the pursuit of pleasure as the final good, was famously a heated issue in Greco-Roman literature. The notion of pleasure as the good was raised and, usually, rejected already before Epicurus (341–270 bce). However, the philosopher of the Garden and his vocal opponents brought the debate on hedonism to the forefront of ancient ethics. Idealizing a quiet life with simple pleasures but quickly becoming synonymous with unbridled pleasure seeking, Epicurus is undoubtedly one of the most controversial figures of ancient philosophy. Numerous authors attacked not only the allegedly mistaken notion of pleasure as the final good, but also the Epicurean reliance on sense perception and sensory impressions as the criterion of truth, the notion of a mortal soul, an atomistic conception of the universe, and the rejection of providence which, according to the mainstream of ancient thought, ordered the universe rationally and was associated with divine involvement.1 Perhaps the most famous instance of early Christian anti-Epicurean polemics is provided by Origen’s Contra Celsum, in which the Alexandrian goes to great lengths to frame his opponent as an Epicurean.2 In Contra Celsum, Celsus’s presumed Epicureanism manifests itself chiefly as a denial of providence, which is associated with further claims of pleasure seeking and an erroneous conception of the soul.3 1 For some of the most famous ancient examples, see Velleius’ speech on Epicurean theology and Cotta’s refutation in Cicero, Nat. d. 1.18–124; Seneca, Vit. beat. 7–17; and Plutarch’s three anti-Epicurean works Adv. Col., Lat. viv., and Suav. viv. 2 Scholars disagree about whether Origen actually misidentified Celsus as an Epicurean or simply employed a polemical strategy to sharpen the difference between Celsus’s and his own view of providence. Compare, for example, Christoph Markschies, “Epikureismus bei Origenes und in der origenistischen Tradition,” in Epikureismus in der späten Republik und der Kaiserzeit: Akten der 2. Tagung der Karl-und-Gertrud-Abel-Stiftung vom 30. September–3. Oktober 1998 in Würzburg (ed. M. Erler; Stuttgart: Franz Steiner, 2000), 202; Silke-Petra Bergjan, “Celsus the Epicurean? The Interpretation of an Argument in Origen, Contra Celsum,” htr 94:2 (2001): 193, 202. 3 See especially Origen, Cels. 3.75.

© Siiri Toiviainen Rø, 2022 | doi:10.1163/9789004466845_008

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In this article, my aim is to explore one specific text which, in my view, can be profitably approached as an early Christian reception and adaptation of antiEpicurean polemics: Book 7 of Eusebius of Caesarea’s Praeparatio evangelica. Previously, scholars of Epicureanism have considered Eusebius an author of interest mainly as a collector of anti-Epicurean writings by other Jewish and Christian authors, especially Dionysius of Alexandria, the Christian bishop and Origen’s pupil whose anti-Epicurean work De natura is partially excerpted in Book 14 of Praeparatio evangelica.4 Though Eusebius mentions Epicurus elsewhere in his monumental work, Book 7 contains only one passing reference: Epicurus and his atomism are listed with other philosophers who hold a materialist conception of the first principles (Praep. ev. 7.12.1). I will suggest, however, that Eusebius’s account of the invention of idolatry among the nations (Praep. ev. 7.2) and the counter-narrative of the piety of the Hebrews (Praep. ev. 7.3– 4) can be read through the lens of anti-Epicurean polemics and offers insight into the “afterlife” of anti-Epicureanism in early Christian sources. This is not to say that anti-Epicureanism accounts for all details in Eusebius’s juxtaposition between the pious Hebrews and the depraved polytheists to whom the Greeks allegedly owe their religious practices; rather, it offers a broad interpretive frame that links the main themes of Book 7 together. My aim is to show that the tradition of anti-Epicurean polemics fuses ideas of hedonism, materialism, irrationality, and fragmentation, combined with connotations of religious, sexual, and ethnic deviance. Thus, it provides a powerful arsenal of argumentative and rhetorical weapons for Eusebius who presents all other nations as the antithesis of the pious monotheistic Hebrews in order to drive a wedge between Christians and their Greek ancestry.

2

Epicureanism, Anti-Epicureanism, and Their Receptions

Before turning to our source, it is necessary to say a few words about what I conceptualize as “anti-Epicurean polemics.” First, we should make a distinction between explicit or implicit attacks on Epicurus and his school, and explicit or implicit attempts to label one’s opponent—of whatever persuasion or allegiance—as an Epicurean in order to discredit his authority and integrity.

4 See Killian Josef Fleischer, Dionysios von Alexandria, De natura (περὶ φύσεως): Übersetzung, Kommentar und Würdigung (Philosophie hellénistique et romaine 5; Turnhout: Brepols, 2016); Markschies, “Epikureismus bei Origenes,” 205–211. Markschies proceeds to note that the “exciting question” of Eusebius’s own engagement with Epicurean texts and themes must be left unaddressed in this investigation of Epicureanism in the Origenist tradition (Ibid., 212).

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These two categories are not completely separate. In order to be able to identify examples of the second kind, we must of course have some idea of what sort of arguments are typical in the first. In this article, I proceed from the premise that when some of the most famous charges against the Epicureans—pleasure as the highest good, reliance on sense perception, rejection of providence, and a denial of the immortality and immateriality of the soul—occur in the same text, we can call the text “anti-Epicurean” despite the fact that Epicurus and his followers are completely absent from the text and are not its intended target. We should note, furthermore, that Praeparatio evangelica also contains polemics of the first kind in which Epicurus and his school are the apparent target of the attack. The most notable instance occurs in Book 14, where Eusebius presents lengthy citations of anti-Epicurean texts, first from the Peripatetic philosopher Aristocles (14.21) and then from Dionysius of Alexandria (14.23– 27). While it is impossible to ascertain whether Eusebius’s intention was to present the juxtaposition between the idolatrous polytheists and the virtuous Hebrews in the framework of anti-Epicurean polemics, we can at least presume that the presence of the explicit anti-Epicurean texts, some of which bear a close resemblance to the discussion in Book 7, could have eased the opening up of such an interpretive horizon. In what follows, I will tease out the anti-Epicurean aspects of Praep. ev. 7.2–4 by reading the text alongside ancient texts that contain more explicit antiEpicurean elements. My aim is not to establish strict genealogies, but rather to suggest that these ancient writers participated in a shared discourse. Nonetheless, I will focus on parallels that appear particularly close and authors and works that were known to Eusebius, some of which are even cited in Praeparatio itself. By limiting my focus chiefly to anti-Epicurean discourse, I seek to navigate past the question of whether Eusebius correctly understood Epicureanism as a philosophy. This question has captured the attention of most scholars working on early Christian and Jewish receptions of Epicureanism, often with rather disappointed reactions at the seeming misunderstandings of the central Epicurean tenets.5 While this perspective can illuminate the cul5 See especially Ilaria Ramelli, “The Rejection of the Epicurean Ideal of Pleasure in Late Antique Sources: Not Only Misunderstandings,” Mirabilia 18 (2014): 6–21, where the author makes sweeping judgments about the quality of her sources, setting “Platonising stereotypes,” “gross misunderstandings,” and “crass hedonism” against “felicitous exceptions” where the Christian authors demonstrate a more nuanced understanding of Epicurean philosophy. More nuanced evaluations of the Epicurean elements in early Jewish and Christian works include Carlos Lévy, “Philon d’Alexandrie et l’épicurisme,” in Epikureismus in der späten Republik und der Kaiserzeit: Akten der 2. Tagung der Karl-und-Gertrud-Abel-Stiftung vom 30. September–3. Oktober 1998 in Würzburg (ed. M. Erler; Stuttgart: Franz Steiner, 2000), 122–136;

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tural and educational background of the Jewish and Christian authors, it often operates on a rather static juxtaposition between knowledge and misunderstanding, and pays limited attention to the polemical use of Epicureanism as a literary construct. In this article, then, I view both “Epicureanism” and “anti-Epicureanism” as open-ended and malleable constructs that are deployed for polemical purposes. My approach is inspired by a recent collection of articles entitled Dynamic Reading: Studies in the Reception of Epicureanism edited by Brooke Holmes and W.H. Shearin. The aim of this collection is to draw on recent developments within reception studies particularly in the field of literary criticism. Thus, the contributors seek to offer a more fluid and, as the title alludes, dynamic picture both of Epicureanism and its receptions.6 One of the main aims of the collection is to turn “scholarly concerns from an emphasis on epistemology (what we can know about a given work and its meaning) to an emphasis on affect and dynamic response (how a given idea, philosophical system, or text provokes us to think, imagine, and even feel in new ways).”7 Rather than defining Epicureanism as a fixed set of propositions which later figures either reproduce or fail to understand, the authors approach it as a dynamic “text”, which is “capable of producing patterns of response—patterns that are nevertheless diversified by the temperaments (individual, cultural, historical) of those who encounter it—and that comes to incorporate those responses into itself.”8 In this way, it becomes possible to talk about “anti-/Epicureanism” also in contexts where Epicurus is not explicitly invoked or where the historical author seems to have “misread” or “misreceived” some of the central tenets of Epicurean philosophy. Following Holmes and Shearin, such receptions can be integrated with “Epicureanism” by approaching the latter as a system that also includes its own “capacity to generate competing reactions, reactions that nevertheless cluster into patterns across diverse historical, intellectual, and cultural contexts.” In other words, these receptions can be seen as actualized potential present within the “text” of the philosophical system.9 Thus, the focus

6

7 8 9

Fleischer, Dionysios von Alexandria, De natura (περὶ φύσεως); Markschies, “Epikureismus bei Origenes.” Brooke Holmes and W.H. Shearin, “Introduction: Swerves, Events, and Unexpected Effects,” in Dynamic Reading: Studies in the Reception of Epicureanism (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2016), 8–20. Holmes and Shearin, “Introduction,” 5–6. Holmes and Shearin, “Introduction,” 4. Holmes and Shearin, “Introduction,” 24.

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shifts from the author’s presumed original intention to the creative and transformative potential of the “text” itself.

3

Praeparatio Evangelica 7 and Its Scholarly Interpretations

Eusebius’s Praeparatio evangelica 7 has received relatively little scholarly attention, apart from being treated indirectly as a storehouse of lost ancient works, such as Origen’s Commentarius in Genesim and Philo’s De providentia. Nonetheless, Guy Schrœder’s extensive introduction to Book 7 in the Sources Chrétiennes series briefly comments on the possible anti-Epicurean links of Praep. ev. 7.2, which suggests that it can be worthwhile to explore the book further from this perspective.10 For the purposes of the present enquiry, it is also important to note Charlotte Köckert’s analysis of possible anti-Epicurean argumentation in a passage from Origen’s Commentarius in Genesim, which Eusebius cites in Praep. ev. 7.20.11 I will return to both of these studies as I come to the relevant passages. Studies on Praep. ev. 7 as Eusebius’s own literary creation have usually focused on ethnic or religious categories and the supposed lineage between Christians and the “Hebrews” of old.12 Perhaps the most substantial study can be found in Aaron Johnson’s Ethnicity and Argument in Eusebius’s Praeparatio evangelica, in which the whole apology is analysed as an ethnic discourse that serves the aims of early Christian identity building.13 Johnson notes that Eusebius intended Praeparatio as an introduction to the Christian faith for recent converts who were expected to leave their old religious and ethnic allegiances behind and embrace a new identity. Its sister work Demonstratio evangelica provided a more advanced discussion of the Christian doctrine.14 In his

10 11 12

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Guy Schrœder, “Introduction,” in Eusèbe de Césarée, La préparation évangelique: Livre vii (ed. G. Schrœder and É. des Places; sc 215; Paris: Cerf, 1975), 31–33. Charlotte Köckert, “The Use of Anti-Epicurean Polemics in Origen (Fr. In. Gen. Comm. [= Eusebius, P. e. vii.20] and De princ. ii.1.4),” StPatr 41 (2006): 181–185. See, for example, Jörg Ulrich, Euseb von Caesarea und die Juden: Studien zur Rolle der Juden in der Theologie des Eusebius von Caesarea (Patristische Texte und Studien 49; Berlin: De Gruyter, 1999), 57–73; Aryeh Kofsky, Eusebius of Caesarea Against Paganism (Leiden: Brill, 2000), 102–106, 133–135. Aaron Johnson, Ethnicity and Argument in Eusebius’s Praeparatio evangelica (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2006). On the historical context and general aims of Praep. ev., see especially pp. 11–17. On the scholarly disregard for Praep. ev. as a testament to Eusebius’s own creative input, see pp. 13–14. Johnson, Ethnicity and Argument, 14–15.

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monograph, Johnson argues for a more nuanced reading of the Praeparatio as ethnic polemic, instead of simplified religious interpretations in which the Jews or Hebrews simply stand for “monotheists” and the Greeks for “polytheists.”15 Johnson approaches the work as two “master narratives”, one of “Greek descent” and the other of “Hebrew descent.” The first account suggests that the Greeks derived their theology, values, and way of life from the Phoenicians and the Egyptians. Only Plato represents true wisdom due to his supposed travels in the East, which brought him into contact with the Hebrew tradition. In short, Eusebius’s aim is to present the Greeks as unoriginal and plagiarizing latecomers whose best thinkers owe their ideas to Hebrew influence.16 The narrative of Hebrew descent, on the other hand, tells the story of the exemplary Hebrews, who alone among the ancient nations worshipped the true God but later descended into “Jews” during their sojourn in Egypt. Eusebius attributes this degeneration to the “Egyptianizing” influence due to which the originally pious Hebrews took on the Egyptian character and customs.17 Moses, then, was given the task to call his people back to the virtuous life of the Hebrew ancestors, but did not fully succeed. However, the original Hebrew wisdom and character were preserved in the Mosaic law and would occasionally reappear in pious individuals, among whom Eusebius also counts the later Jewish writers Philo of Alexandria and Josephus.18 Book 7, the focus of this paper, tells the story of the original Hebrew piety and later decline. I will focus mainly on the juxtaposition between the idolatrous nations and the pious Hebrews, but will also allude to passages that occur later in the book. By reading the text through the lens of anti-Epicurean polemics, I am not seeking to challenge Johnson’s main thesis about Praeparatio evangelica but rather to supplement it with a further perspective. In fact, if we consider some of the general characteristics of anti-Epicurean polemics in ancient literature, we shall see that ethnic argumentation is one of the salient features of this genre. While the Epicureans were frequently accused of holding mistaken and impious notions of religion and gods, such suggestions of religious deviance often came with ethnic implications. As Pamela Gordon observes, “[a]mong Roman detractors Epicureanism was too Greek, and among Greeks it was not Greek enough.”19 To substantiate her view, Gordon cites Dio Chrysos-

15 16 17 18 19

Johnson, Ethnicity and Argument, 17. Johnson, Ethnicity and Argument, 20. See Eusebius, Praep. ev. 7.8.37, cited also in Johnson, Ethnicity and Argument, 20–21. Johnson, Ethnicity and Argument, 20–21. Pamela Gordon, “Epicureanism Writ Large: Diogenes of Oenoanda,” in The Oxford Hand-

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tom’s Olympic Discourse, which depicts the implicit Epicureans as worshippers of the daemon of Pleasure in an Asiatic manner that calls to mind the mystery cults of Isis and Cybele.20 The passage bears a striking resemblance to Eusebius’s depiction of the idolatrous polytheists in Praep. ev. 7. I will return to this parallel later on. For now, it should give a preliminary idea of the way in which anti-Epicurean polemics, religion, and ethnicity are intertwined in ancient literature, and thus suggests that an anti-Epicurean reading of Praep. ev. 7 can support Johnson’s argument of the Praeparatio as ethnic discourse.

4

Anti-Epicurean Polemics at the Service of Ethnic and Religious Boundary Making in Philo and the Book of Wisdom

In Eusebius’s ethnic polemic, the downfall of the Hebrews and many of the erroneous beliefs of the Greeks are attributed to Egyptian influence. This link may hint at some literary precursors that served as an example for the antiEpicurean elements of Praeparatio 7: The Egyptians are strongly associated with pleasure seeking and, more specifically, Epicureanism in key writings originating from the realm of Hellenistic Judaism that would have been known to Eusebius. A loose thematic similarity links Eusebius to Philo of Alexandria who creates juxtapositions between the implicit or explicit Epicureanism of the Egyptians and the exemplary piety of the Israelites.21 Though there are few explicit parallels between Eusebius’s discussion and Philo’s “Epicurean” Egyptians, Philo may have provided an implicit reference point for ethnically tinged anti-Epicureanism as a polemical strategy. A more comprehensive parallel can be found from the Book of Wisdom whose writer conveys anti-Epicurean undertones as he seeks to construct a boundary between the pious Jews and their opponents. In Wisdom 2, the author rebukes the “godless” (ἀσεβεῖς) who, somewhat like the Epicureans, consider human life an ephemeral product of mere chance: when the spark of reason is extinguished, body and spirit dissolve and the memory of the deceased is soon forgotten. For the godless, this denial of immortality and hidden transcendent meaning serves as an impetus to enjoy the material goods of the present

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book of the Second Sophistic (ed. D.S. Richter and W.A. Johnson; Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2017), 539. Gordon, “Epicureanism Writ Large,” 539–540. See Graziano Ranocchia, “Moses against the Egyptian: The Anti-Epicurean Polemic in Philo,” in Philo of Alexandria and Post-Aristotelian Philosophy (ed. F. Alesse; Leiden: Brill, 2008), 75–102.

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moment and leads to the persecution of the righteous person who stands in the way of pleasure seeking. While scholars have largely rejected André DupontSommer’s suggestion that the “godless” of the Book of Wisdom might be adherents of Epicurean philosophy, the absence of actual Epicureans does not rule out that the author employs elements of anti-Epicurean discourse against his own opponents of whatever persuasion—much like, in my view, Eusebius does in Praep. ev. 7.22 Crucially, the Book of Wisdom also includes an account of the origin of idolatry (Wisdom 12–14). The topic of pleasure, which underpins Eusebius’s comparable account, is less central in this part of the book, but otherwise the failure to recognize the Creator in his creation is described in rather similar terms as in Praep. ev. 7: Captivated by the superficial beauty of nature and images, idolaters worship created beings as the ultimate reality and form a mistaken conception of God. This, in turn, leads to depraved religious rites and moral disarray. The author particularly targets the religious practices of the Egyptians, the enemies of Israel, who eventually bring on themselves numerous divine punishments delivered through the very animals they worship. The fact that Eusebius cites Wisdom 14:12 briefly as part of his own polemic against idolatry suggests that he may have more broadly modeled his account on this biblical precedent.23

5

Polytheism and Idolatry as Hedonism in Praep. ev. 7

Let us now turn to Eusebius’s own words. In Book 7 of Praeparatio evangelica, Eusebius presents an account of the history of humankind, seeking to demonstrate that the Hebrews were the only people whose God-given wisdom protected them from the moral and intellectual shortcomings of the rest of humanity. Commenting on the state of the other nations, he notes: All the rest of humankind (οἱ … λοιποὶ πάντες ἄνθρωποι), from the very first establishment of social life and for all subsequent time, persisted in attending to bodily sense only (μόνῃ τῇ τῶν σωμάτων προσανασχόντες αἰσθήσει), because they had formed no clear conception concerning the soul within them, and believed that nothing more than what was seen

22

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André Dupont-Sommer, “Les ‘impies’ du Livre de la Sagesse ne sont-ils pas des Épicuriens?” rhr 111 (1935): 9–109; cf. David Winston, The Wisdom of Solomon (Anchor Bible 43; New York: Doubleday, 1979), 114; John J. Collins, Jewish Wisdom in the Hellenistic Age (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 1997), 193–195. See Praep. ev. 7.2.3–4 cited in the next section.

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had any real subsistence; they therefore referred beauty and utility and the sole good to bodily pleasure (τὸ καλὸν καὶ συμφέρον καὶ μόνον ἀγαθὸν τῇ τῶν σωμάτων ἀνέθηκαν ἡδονῇ). And as they thought that this alone was to be earnestly desired, as being the only good (τὸ μόνον οὖσαν ἀγαθόν) and agreeable and pleasant thing, and sufficient for the enjoyment of a happy life (πρὸς ἀπόλαυσίν τε εὐδαίμονος βίου αὐτάρκη), they believed it to be the greatest of gods, and have deified (τεθειάκασιν) it; even life itself they did not desire, if there was to be no participation in bodily pleasure (μετέχοι τῆς τῶν σωμάτων ἡδονῆς), and they cherished life not for the sake of mere living but for living in pleasure (διὰ δὲ τὸ ἡδέως ζῆν), and prayed that this as the only good (μόνον ἀγαθόν) might be granted to their children. eusebius, Praep. ev. 7.2.1–2 [gifford24] In Eusebius’s account, the moral and intellectual failure of the “rest of humankind” boils down to a mistaken identification of pleasure as the good, that is, hedonism. Eusebius links the notion of pleasure as the good to a lacking conception of the human soul. While he does not spell out what this means, his subsequent contrasting account of the piety of the Hebrews reveals that he alludes to a failure to grasp that the human soul is ultimately an immortal, immaterial, and rational entity whose final goal lies in the likeness of the immaterial and rational God.25 The link between who humans truly are and what they ought to pursue as their final telos is a standard feature of ancient ethics.26 It is also frequently evoked in anti-Epicurean contexts, such as Origen’s Contra Celsum.27 Due to the inadequate conception of the soul, the other nations

24 25 26

27

All translations of Praep. ev. are taken from Gifford’s translation. See bibliography for complete details. See Praep. ev. 7.4; 7.10; 7.17–18. A classic example of the link between anthropology and the final goal of the human life can be found in Nicomachean Ethics where Aristotle defines complete happiness as the perfect activity of the highest part of human being, that is, contemplation. Since humans are fundamentally rational beings, their final telos lies in the unimpeded functioning of reason (Aristotle, Eth. nic. 10 [1177b]). Epicurus, on the other hand, called pleasure good on the basis that humans had a “natural affinity” (διὰ τὸ φύσιν ἔχειν οἰκείαν) to it (Epicurus, Men. 129). In her analysis of passages from Plotinus and Origen, Angela Longo shows that the two authors presume a link between the notion that the soul is mortal and the pursuit of pleasure as the telos. See Angela Longo, “The Mention of Epicurus in Plotinus’ tr. 33 (Enn. ii 9) in the Context of the Polemics between Pagans and Christians in the Second to Third Centuries ad: Parallels between Celsus, Epicurus and Origen,” in Plotinus and Epicurus: Matter, Perception, Pleasure (ed. A. Longo and D.P. Taormina; Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2016), 66–67.

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fail to perceive the immaterial realm which lies beyond sensible appearances, and regard the material world available to the bodily senses as the final level of reality. As a consequence, they seek fulfillment only in the perceptible realm, imagining that which gratifies the senses—pleasure—to be the only good and as such a sufficient provider of a “happy life” (εὐδαίμονος βίου). Here the discussion of pleasure as the good is explicitly cast in the framework of ancient eudaimonistic ethics, which enquires what one good suffices for the happy life. Eusebius does not merely argue that the other nations mistakenly regarded pleasure as the good. He makes a further claim: when pleasure was turned into the highest good, it also became the highest god and the primary object of worship. This argument is a negative reversal of the positive claim—embraced by virtually all philosophical schools—that the final good is equated with or located in God and, moreover, its pursuit entails a gradual attainment of the likeness of God.28 In ancient polemics, Epicureans were, at times, accused of deifying pleasure in addition to pursuing it as the good. One early Christian precedent can be found in Clement of Alexandria’s Stromateis, where the author seeks to limit Paul’s warning about the detrimental effects of philosophy (Col. 2:8) only to certain philosophical schools. Paul, contends Clement, does not refer to all philosophy but specifically to Epicureanism “which abolishes providence (πρόνοιαν ἀναιροῦσαν) and deifies pleasure (ἡδονὴν ἐκθειάζουσαν), and whatever other philosophy honours the elements (τὰ στοιχεῖα ἐκτετίμηκεν), but places not over them the efficient cause (ποιητικὴν αἰτίαν), nor apprehends the Creator (δημιουργόν)” (Clement of Alexandria, Strom. 1.11.50.6–51.1 [Wilson]). Here, Epicureanism is further associated with a denial of providence, a rejection of an efficient cause behind the origin of the universe, and a failure to apprehend the Creator through creation. These interlinked issues belong among the most common Christian complaints about Epicureanism, and we shall see that Eusebius evokes them in his account of the Hebrews whose piety stands in stark contrast to pagan error. But first, in Praep. ev. 7.2, Eusebius envisions how pleasure was deified: Some humans simply contended that the sun, moon, and stars were “the sources of supply for the life of the flesh”, that is, the cause of the material universe and as such providers of sustenance (Eusebius, Praep. ev. 7.2.2). Others, however, were coarser in their mistake, deifying the elements and “the other component parts of the world by which their bodies were nourished and fattened, and made the 28

The notion of telos as the “likeness of God” was particularly prominent in Platonism, especially its later forms. See Plato, Theaet. 176b, and John M. Dillon, The Middle Platonists, 80 b.c. to a.d. 220 (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1977), 44. For a further example, see Aristotle on gods and contemplation in Eth. nic. 10 (1178b).

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life of the flesh and its pleasure their pursuit (ibid.).” And yet others, even more blatantly, “deified their own passions, and pleasure their mistress, saying that love, and desire, and lust ruled the very gods themselves (ibid.).” To this list, Eusebius adds divinized rulers who in their lifetime had provided pleasures for their subjects, spirit worshippers who derived pleasures from their rituals, and adherents of atheism (ἄθεον) who denounced the divinization of pleasure and denied the existence of gods altogether (ibid.). It is possible that here Eusebius has in mind the Epicurean school, which was often accused of atheism both in Christian and non-Christian polemics due to its supposed moral laxity and insistence that the gods did not interfere in human affairs.29 However, an equally applicable comment follows as Eusebius ends his list with the condemnation of those “yet more shameless (ἀναιδέστεροι) than all these” who “declared the philosophic and thrice-blessed life (τὸν φιλόσοφον καὶ τρισευδαίμονα βίον) to be no other than the life of pleasure (οὐδ’ ἄλλον εἶναι ἢ τὸν ἡδύν), having defined pleasure as the consummation of all good (τέλος τῶν ἀγαθῶν τὴν ἡδονὴν ὁρισάμενοι)” (Eusebius, Praep. ev. 7.2.2). This group is clearly distinct from the “atheists”, yet one which defines pleasure as the highest good and the telos of the philosophical life. Is Eusebius alluding to two different philosophical schools and, if so, which one would be the Epicureans? Schrœder links the claim about atheism to the Epicureans and then considers whether the ἀναιδέστεροι might be a different philosophical group, possibly Aristippus and the Cyrenaics. However, he rejects this suggestion in favor of the Epicureans because of the limited influence of the Cyrenaic school. The latter was no longer an actual threat in the fourth century and thus, in Schrœder’s view, would not have incited such furor in Eusebius.30 Schrœder’s attempt at reconstructing a plausible historical context solely in terms of philosophical schools shows that he does not explore anti-Epicureanism and, more generally, anti-hedonism as broader polemical strategies. In my view, however, it seems likely that, much like the author of the Book of Wisdom, Eusebius draws on the common stock of complaints associated with Epicureanism but deploys them against a motley crew of opponents to envision various forms of depravity that characterize pagan beliefs. From a somewhat more theoretical definition of hedonism, Eusebius moves on to a crude description of the pleasure-seeking nations. Now, distinctions fade into the background as all nations are found to be worshippers of the same depraved goddess: 29 30

For polemical examples of Epicureans as atheists, see Cicero, Nat. d. 1.123; Plutarch, Adv. Col. 1119d–f; Clement of Alexandria, Strom. 1.1.1.2.; 6.8.67.2.4; Aelian, Frag. 10.20. Schrœder, “Introduction,” 32–33.

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And so in this way the whole race of mankind having become enslaved to the goddess, or rather the foul and licentious daemon (μᾶλλον δὲ αἰσχρῷ καὶ ἀκολάστῳ δαίμονι), pleasure, as to a harsh and most cruel mistress, was involved in all kinds of miseries. “For,” as the holy Apostle says, “their women changed the natural use into that which is against nature: and likewise also the men, leaving the natural use of the woman, burned in their lust one toward another, men with men working unseemliness, and receiving in themselves that recompense of their error which was due (Rom. 1:26–27).” In this way both Greeks and barbarians, wise and simple, falling to the ground and on their belly, worshipped pleasure as a goddess (ὡς θεῷ τῇ ἡδονῇ προσεκύνησαν); they cast themselves down on their faces like reptiles; they believed in her as an irresistible and inexorable deity, and were content. In songs also and hymns, and in the festivals of gods, and in their public spectacles, they were initiated in the orgies and celebrated the unseemly rites of none other than foul and licentious pleasure (μόνης τῆς αἰσχρᾶς καὶ ἀκολάστου ἡδονῆς τὰ ὄργια καὶ τὰς ἀσέμνους τελετὰς μυούμενοί τε καὶ τελοῦντες); so that this, above all, has been rightly abolished among us. “For the devising of idols was the beginning of fornication (Wisdom 14:12).” eusebius, Praep. ev. 7.2.3–4

The initiation to orgies and rites celebrated in the name of Pleasure calls to mind ancient goddess cults, which Eusebius has explicitly criticized in the earlier books of Praeparatio evangelica.31 In fact, Jeramy Townsley has suggested that early Christian writers in general interpreted Rom 1:26–27, which Eusebius cites above, as a reference to the deviant sexual practices of the goddess cults and especially of the corybantes or galli, the priests of Cybele.32 The link to goddess cults becomes even more evident if we read Eusebius’s remarks alongside a passage from Dio Chrysostom, a Greek rhetorician and philosopher from the 1st and early 2nd century. Strikingly, this parallel also suggests an anti-Epicurean link. In Discourse 12, known as the Olympic Discourse, Dio considers the reasons behind humanity’s belief in God, and also makes mention of a group that fails to recognize God at all:

31 32

See, especially, Eusebius, Praep. ev. 2.2–4. Jeramy Townsley, “Queer Sects in Patristic Commentaries on Romans 1:26–27: Goddess Cults, Free Will, and ‘Sex Contrary to Nature’?” jaar 81:1 (2013): 1–24.

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… these men, then, despise all things divine (ὑπερφρονοῦσι τὰ θεῖα), and having set up the image of one single female divinity, depraved and monstrous (μίαν ἱδρυσάμενοι δαίμονα πονηρὰν καὶ ἄλυπον), representing a kind of wantonness or self-indulgent ease and unrestrained lewdness, to which they gave the name of Pleasure (ἡδονὴν ἐπονομάζοντες)—an effeminate god in very truth (γυναικείαν τῷ ὄντι θεόν)—her they prefer in honour and worship with softly tinkling cymbal-like instruments (κυμβάλοις τισίν), or with pipes (αὐλοῖς) played under cover of darkness—a form of entertainment which nobody would grudge such men if their cleverness went only as far as singing, and they did not attempt to take our gods from us and send them into banishment (μὴ τοὺς θεοὺς ἡμῶν ἀφῃροῦντο καὶ ἀπῴκιζον), driving them out of their own state and kingdom, clean out of this ordered universe to alien regions, even as unfortunate human beings are banished to sundry uninhabited isles; and all this universe above us they assert is without purpose or intelligence or master (ἀγνώμονα καὶ ἄφρονα καὶ ἀδέσποτα), has no ruler or even steward or overseer, but wanders at random and is swept aimlessly along, no master being there to take thought for it now, and no creator having made it in the first place (μηδενὸς μήτε νῦν προνοοῦντος μήτε πρότερον ἐργασαμένου τὸ πᾶν), or even doing as the boys do with their hoops, which they set in motion of their own accord, and then let them roll along of themselves. dio chrysostom, Oration 12.36–37 [cohoon, lcl]

Like Eusebius, Dio describes an effeminate and depraved goddess, Pleasure, whom the devotees worship in strange and suspicious rites. Here the link to the oriental goddess cults—or at least their stereotypical representations—is stronger, as Dio mentions “cymbal-like instruments” and “pipes”, which were typically associated with Cybele and the rites carried out by her self-castrated priests.33 At the same time, the passage also seems to be directed at Epicureans, not only because of the allusion to pleasure but also because it accuses the people in question of having “banished” the gods and asserted that the universe is “without purpose or intelligence or master” and wanders around 33

See, for example, Ovid, Fasti 4.214 where Cybele and her priests are associated with cymbals (cymbala), drums (tympana), and the flute (tibia). In Praep. ev. 2.2.41–43, Eusebius cites Diodorus Siculus who mentions Cybele as the inventor of the panpipe (σῦριγξ) and later, having lost her mind, beating a drum (τυμπανίζουσαν). In Praep. ev. 2.3.18, Eusebius presents an excerpt from Clement of Alexandria’s Protrepticus (2.15.3) in which the worshippers of Cybele and Attis are said to have had a symbol of initiation which included the ludicrous phrase “I ate out of the drum (ἐκ τυμπάνου ἔφαγον), and drank out of the cymbal (ἐκ κυμβάλου ἔπιον) …”

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randomly and aimlessly. We have already encountered this double charge— divinization of pleasure and rejection of providence—in Clement’s Stromateis explicitly directed at the Epicureans. In Ethnicity and Argument, Johnson notes the similarity between Dio and Eusebius.34 He suggests that Dio’s attack is targeted “primarily against Epicureans or initiates of certain mystery religions.”35 These two groups, however, were not always distinct in ancient literature. Epicurus and his followers were frequently associated with the galli, the self-castrated, cymbal-playing priests of Cybele. This caricature played on ideas of sexual and religious deviance and accompanying notions of foreignness and effeminacy which threatened traditional masculine ideals. Such characteristics were associated with both the Epicureans and the galli separately and thus compounded by their convergence.36 It seems to me, then, that Eusebius exploits these known connotations by weaving together elements of hedonism and actual or presumed practices of the goddess cults. Since he is interested in labeling all nations as pleasure-seeking goddess worshippers, his account includes few details that would explicitly associate them with any one particular cult, such as the cult of Cybele and its infamous priests. Both Epicureanism and the goddess cults served as counter-images with which the elites of the Roman Empire defined their own identities, yet both had come to enjoy a great popularity. Thus, Eusebius’s account may suggest polemically that his opponents had, in fact, failed to protect their boundaries from those from whom they had sought to distinguish themselves.37 To conclude the depiction of the “theology of the other nations” all of whom worship pleasure in their own reprehensible ways, Eusebius evokes a standard ancient trope on the multiplicity of pleasure: pleasure, he argues, is at once a single principle but takes on countless forms “like a hydra of many necks and 34 35 36

37

Johnson, Ethnicity and Argument, 98. Johnson, Ethnicity and Argument, 98. Emphasis mine. On the association between the Epicureans and the galli, see e.g. Diogenes Laertius, Lives 4.43 and Seneca, De vita beata 13.3, both cited in Pamela Gordon, The Invention and Gendering of Epicurus (Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press, 2012), 160–162. See also Gordon, “Epicureanism Writ Large,” 549–550. A development along these lines is suggested by Latham in the context of the cult of Magna Mater in Rome: “Across the fourth century, while a notional distinction between the Roman and the foreign remained, a functional difference seems to have disappeared—a supposed failure on the part of the late ancient Roman elite to police properly the boundaries of romanitas on which Christian authors pounced.” In Jacob Latham, “‘Fabulous Clap-Trap’: Roman Masculinity, the Cult of Magna Mater, and Literary Constructions of the galli at Rome from the Late Republic to Late Antiquity,” jr 92:1 (2012): 118.

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many heads” (Eusebius, Praep. ev. 7.2.5). Despite the common topic, Johnson hypothesizes that the specific metaphor of pleasure as a many-headed hydra may be unique to Eusebius.38 However, it does, in fact, have a close precedent in De somniis where Philo discusses the notion of the highest good and the related problem of the value of external goods, both key topics of ancient ethics (Philo of Alexandria, De somniis 2.8–16). Philo juxtaposes against each other the “unmixed” good which is limited to “that which is most excellent” and consists only of the “morally beautiful,” located in the “reasoning faculty, the noblest part in us”, and the “mixed” good that “extend[s] to many objects” and pertains to soul, body, and external things. While the view according to which bodily and external goods play a role in the good life is typically associated with the Peripatetic school, the way in which Philo expounds on it makes it more akin to hedonism than to the Aristotelian ideal of eudaimonia.39 Philo regards it as a product of a “softer and luxurious way of life” and a fruit of upbringing in the “effeminate habits of the women’s quarter” (Philo of Alexandria, De somniis 2.9 [Colson & Whitaker, lcl]), highlighting the link between effeminacy and a lack of self-control. This mixed notion of good is manifested by the character of Joseph. His antithesis is Isaac who stands for the Mosaic, unmixed, austere, and masculine commitment to the exclusively rational good, which is attained through quasi-athletic training during which food is consumed for strength, not for pleasure. Drawn to outward things and a multitude of distractions while trying to cultivate the virtues in the soul, Joseph finds himself in a state of inner warfare with different goals competing for his attention and pulling him apart. Philo draws a general lesson from this, explaining how in all human beings pleasures of the body (αἱ σώματος ἡδοναί) arise and seek to deluge the rational mind: Such is the cycle of unceasing warfare ever revolving round the manysided soul (τὴν πολύτροπον ψυχήν); for, when one foe has been laid low, another yet mightier is sure to spring up, after the fashion of the manyheaded Hydra (ὕδρας τῆς πολυκεφάλου τὸν τρόπον); for we are told that on it another head grew to take the place of that which had been cut off; and this is a figurative way of teaching how hard it is to vanquish undying vice so varied in its form (πολύμορφον), so varied in its offspring (πολύγονον). philo of alexandria, De somniis 2.14 [colson & whitaker, lcl]

38 39

Johnson, Ethnicity and Argument, 99. See Aristotle, Eth. nic. 1 (1099a–b). The Epicurean view of pleasure as the greatest good and the Peripatetic division of the good into that of the soul, that of the body, and external things appear side by side in Philo’s De fuga et inventione 147–148, where Moses attacks both. See also Ranocchia, “Moses against the Egyptian,” 88–90.

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Carlos Lévy has suggested that, for Philo, Epicureanism has the paradoxical characteristic of offering one system that covers all forms of dispersion and fragmentation: the division of divinity into multiple gods, the atomic division of the world into minuscule particles, and the division of the individual into the multiplicity of pleasures. Thus, argues Lévy, Epicureanism is not only a philosophical doctrine among others but an expression of all that is condemned by monotheism, providing its negative of sorts.40 While in the passage from De somniis the allusion is not directly to Epicureanism, the fragmented nature of pleasure is juxtaposed with the rational, Mosaic commitment to monotheism in much the same way. It is perhaps precisely this notion of pleasure being at once one and manifold that makes it attractive to Eusebius as he attempts to account for the origins of polytheism and idolatry. It enables him to highlight the varied and fragmented nature of idolatry, which stands in stark opposition to the unity of monotheism, and simultaneously to label all other nations as pleasure seekers in one sweeping claim. The anti-Epicurean gist also explains why Eusebius rather abruptly drops the topic of the goddess cult altogether and proceeds to discuss the piety of the Hebrews, who are defined by their correct understanding of the human soul and their affirmation of providence. This shift is held together by two central anti-Epicurean issues: the notion of pleasure as the good and the debate on providence. We have already seen Dio make a similar move by continuing his attack on goddess Pleasure with a rebuttal of the implicit Epicureans who banish the gods from the universe and introduce a non-teleological world view. In Praep. ev. 7, the topic of providence is prominently featured in the subsequent chapters in which Eusebius constructs the Hebrews as a counter-image of the hedonistic and effeminate polytheists.

6

Hebrew Piety and the Affirmation of Providence

The attack against the pleasure-worshipping polytheists is followed by an account of the Hebrews before their decline into “Judaism.” I will focus here on chapters 7.3 and 7.4, in which Eusebius presents the main features of his counter-narrative before introducing individual exemplary figures and citations from other ancient works to support his story of Hebrew piety. I will highlight two key characteristics that set the Hebrews apart from the impious

40

Lévy, “Philo d’Alexandrie et l’épicurisme,” 136.

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polytheists: first, their correct understanding of the human soul and the place of humanity in the universe, and, second, their affirmation of the providential care of God apparent in creation. In ancient literature, the double denial of providence and of the creative input of a god or gods in the coming-to-be of the universe is one of the most controversial views associated with Epicureanism. To name but a few examples, it is voiced by the Epicurean character Velleius in Cicero’s De natura deorum at the beginning of his long speech about Epicurean theology (Cicero, Nat. d. 1.18), and evoked in Clement’s description of the Epicureans who abolish providence and fail to place an efficient cause above the elements or recognize their Creator (Clement of Alexandria, Strom. 1.11.50.6–51.1). However, the links between anti-Epicurean polemics and Eusebius’s depiction of the Hebrews are not limited to a mere thematic similarity; the specific way in which Eusebius illustrates the reasoning of the Hebrews also has parallels in anti-Epicurean writings—even within sources contained in Praeparatio evangelica itself. The account of the Hebrew way of life is presented as a direct opposite (ἐναντίαν) to the intellectual and moral shortcomings of the Greeks and the Barbarians (Eusebius, Praep. ev. 7.3.1). The Hebrews, says Eusebius, stand out from the other nations because they “devoted their thought to rational speculation” (λογικῇ θεωρίᾳ) and applied themselves “piously” (εὐσεβῶς) to the study of the nature of the universe. As a result, they came to understand that the physical elements (τὰ τῶν σωμάτων στοιχεῖα) which make up the universe—earth, water, air, and fire—and the celestial bodies are not gods but merely works of God. They also discovered that the nature of the bodily substance (τὴν φύσιν τῆς σωματικῆς οὐσίας) is both irrational and lifeless, always tending to change and dissolution. The Hebrews then argued that a wisely-ordered universe could not have a spontaneous (αὐτόματον) cause, nor could anything lifeless and irrational be the creative principle of living and rational creatures (Eusebius, Praep. ev. 7.3.2). Thus, they came to affirm the existence of a creative rational principle that gives order to the cosmos and embraced the notion of providence. While the Hebrews’ denial of the ‘bodily substance’ as the creative principle of all that exists would have been at odds with all materialist philosophies,41 the adjective αὐτόματον certainly calls to mind accounts of the non-teleological character of Epicurean cosmology. To grasp the meaning of the word in Greek philosophy, we can turn to Physics where Aristotle explains that αὐτόματον

41

Indeed, Eusebius lists several material explanations of the first principles at the beginning of Praep. ev. 7.12, which is the only place in Book 7 where Epicurus is mentioned explicitly.

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refers to the movement of irrational or inanimate things which happens without any aim or intention (Aristotle, Phys. 2.4 [197b]). In Metaphysics, Aristotle describes natural generation ἀπὸ ταὐτομάτου, which means that matter itself initiates the process of generation without any extrinsic cause (Aristotle, Met. 7.9 [1034b]).42 Both of these aspects, the lack of teleology and of an external cause, can be heard in the ancient polemics against the Epicureans who argue that the universe has come about spontaneously. One such remark, explicitly linked to the person of Epicurus, can be found in Praeparatio evangelica itself: in Book 13 Eusebius provides a brief excerpt from Clement of Alexandria to support the popular Christian argument concerning the plagiarism of the Greeks: And, besides, that prophetic expression, “The earth was invisible and without order (Gen. 1:2),” has given them suggestions of a material essence (ὑλικῆς οὐσίας). In fact, the interposition of “chance” (αὐτομάτου) occurred to Epicurus from having misunderstood the language of the following passage: “Vanity of vanities, all is vanity (Eccl. 1:2).” eusebius, Praep. ev. 13.13.4, citing clement of alexandria, Strom. 5.14.90.2

If we return to Book 7, we see that the word αὐτόματός is repeated as Eusebius goes on to present the Hebrew case for the existence of providence: But since a building could never be spontaneously (αὐτόματός) composed of timber and stones, nor yet a garment be completed without a weaver, nor cities and states without laws and an order of government, nor a ship without a pilot, nor the smallest instrument of art exist except through an artificer, nor a ship ever gain a sheltering harbour without a good pilot, therefore neither can the nature of the universal elements (ἡ τῶν καθόλου στοιχείων ἄρα φύσις), lifeless and irrational as it is, ever by its own law (καθ’ ἑαυτήν) apart from the supreme wisdom of God attain to reason and life. With these thoughts then and such as these the fathers of the Hebrew religion, with purified mind and clear-sighted eyes of the soul, learned from the grandeur and beauty of His creatures to worship God the Creator of all. eusebius, Praep. ev. 7.3.3

Here, Eusebius makes use of the metaphor of God as a craftsman, which occurs frequently in ancient discussions on providence. However, Eusebius’s rhetoric

42

See also Köckert, “The Use of Anti-Epicurean Polemics in Origen,” 183–184.

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not only links the passage to the general topic of providence but also specifically to polemical writings against Epicureanism. An obvious anti-Epicurean parallel to Eusebius’s words is included in Praeparatio evangelica itself, specifically in Book 14 where Eusebius cites Dionysius of Alexandria’s De natura in which the latter attacks the atomism of Democritus and Epicurus and defends the existence of providence: How are we to bear with them when they assert that the wise and therefore beautiful works of creation (τὰ σοφὰ καὶ διὰ τοῦτο καλὰ δημιουργήματα) are accidental coincidences (τυχηρὰ … συμπτώματα)? Works, of which each as it came into being by itself, and likewise all of them taken together, were seen to be good by Him who commanded them to be made. For the Scripture says, “And God saw all things that He had made, and behold, they were very good.” Nay, they will not even be taught by the small and familiar examples lying at their feet, from which they might learn that no useful and beneficial work is made without a special purpose (ἀνεπιτηδεύτως), or by mere accident (συμβατικῶς), but is perfected by handiwork for its proper service: but when it begins to fall off and become useless and unserviceable, then it is dissolved and dispersed in an indefinite and casual way (διαλυόμενον ἀορίστως καὶ ὡς ἂν τύχῃ διασκίδναται), inasmuch as the wisdom by whose care it was constructed no longer manages nor directs it. For a cloak is not woven by the warp being arranged without a weaver, or the woof intertwined of its own accord (αὐτομάτως); but if it be worn out, the tattered rags are cast away. A house too or a city is built up not by receiving some stones self-deposited at the foundations, and others jumping up to the higher courses, but the builder brings the well-fitted stones and lays them in their place: but when the building is overthrown, however it may occur, each stone falls down and is lost. Also while a ship is being built, the keel does not lay itself, and the mast set itself up amidships, and each of the other timbers of itself take any chance position; nor do the so-called hundred pieces of the wagon fit themselves together each in any vacant place it finds: but the carpenter in either case brings them together fitly. eusebius, Praep. ev. 14.24

Like Eusebius, Dionysius illustrates the intentional agency of divine providence with examples from everyday life: a cloak cannot come into existence without its weaver, nor a house and a city without a builder, nor a ship and a wagon without a carpenter. Although the list is not fully identical to Eusebius’s examples

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in Praep. ev. 7, the two authors name many of the same items and the analogy is used for the same purpose. Furthermore, both make use of the adjective αὐτόματός, to which Dionysius above adds the word τυχηρός as he questions the view that the world could have come into existence “by chance” or “coincidence.” Since the passage from Dionysius is included in the same work as Eusebius’s depiction of the ancient Hebrews and their piety, it seems plausible that Eusebius would have been well aware of the anti-Epicurean undertones of the argument. While Dionysius attributes atomism to a handful of other philosophers too, his polemic continues as a direct attack on Epicurus and his school. Eusebius himself also emphasizes the anti-Epicurean character of Dionysius’s work, noting at the end that the arguments have been chosen from “a large number framed against Epicurus by Dionysius, the bishop, our contemporary” (Eusebius, Praep. ev. 14.27.13.1–2). Hardly impressed by the ingenuity of Dionysius’s concrete examples cited in Praep. ev. 14.24, Christoph Markschies has suggested that the bishop’s attempt at an argument cannot be compared to the usual level of Roman anti-atomist argumentation; instead, Dionysius offers “merely a rhetorically embellished Judaeo-Christian creation theology.”43 However, although Dionysius’s set of examples hardly constitutes a fine-tuned philosophical argument against Epicurean atomism and the rejection of providence, it is not merely a biblicallyoriented Judaeo-Christian innovation. Instead, it arises from a broader Alexandrian anti-Epicurean tradition. Writing in the 1st century ce, Aelius Theon, an Alexandrian sophist and the compiler of the earliest preserved collection of progymnasmata, preliminary exercises used in the study of rhetoric, presents a noticeably similar set of examples as part of his exercise on thesis: [T]he world would not have come into existence in the first place if there were no providence; for just as no house can come into being without a builder from the self-moved concurrence (ἐξ αὐτομάτου συνδραμόντων) of the stones and bricks, nor a boat without a shipbuilder, ⟨nor a cloak without a weaver,⟩44 nor in general any things, insignificant or valued, without the artisan for each, so it is laughable to say that the world, the fairest and 43

44

“[L]ediglich eine rhetorisch aufgeputzte jüdisch-christliche Schöpfungstheologie” (Markschies, “Epikureismus bei Origenes,” 208). In fact, a somewhat similar set of “providential” examples occurs in Josephus’ Antiquitates, this time in an explicitly anti-Epicurean context (Josephus, Ant. 10.277–280). Kennedy adds these words from Michel Patillon’s edition, which incorporates Armenian manuscript material. See George A. Kennedy, “The Exercises of Aelius Theon,” in Progymnasmata: Greek Textbooks on Prose Composition and Rhetoric (Writings from the GrecoRoman World 10; Atlanta: sbl, 2003), 60, n. 184.

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most honored of all things that exist, has come to be without some finest and most divine craftsman and is the result of self-movement (ἐκ ταυτομάτου). aelius theon, Progymnasmata 12.127 [kennedy]45 Above, Aelius Theon does not mention the Epicureans. However, the premise of the whole exercise—a thesis in favor of providence—is distinctly antiEpicurean, as is the allusion to the opinion of the opponents according to whom all that exists has come about as a result of self-movement (ἐκ ταυτομάτου) and, later in the text, by “chance” (ὡς ἔτυχεν) (Aelius Theon, Progymnasmata 12.127.20).46 Theon labels the question of providential care as a “theoretical” thesis, distinct from practical theses (e.g. whether one ought to marry) and as such more suited to philosophers (Aelius Theon, Progymnasmata 12.121). Yet, its inclusion in a textbook intended for teachers of rhetoric shows that the question of providence was a familiar topic recognized beyond the more rigorous education provided by the philosophical schools. Furthermore, it suggests the Alexandrian school tradition as one possible context in which Christians such as Dionysius may also have come to learn some of the basic arguments and rhetorical features used in the debate. We can also sense some of the provocativeness of Eusebius’s assertion that only the Hebrews had grasped the existence of divine providence if we consider how widely the providential care of a god or gods was, in fact, accepted in antiquity: in Theon’s hyperbolic words, “all mankind, both Greeks and barbarians, have a belief about the gods caring (προνοοῦσιν) for us” (Aelius Theon, Progymnasmata 12.126.9–11 [Kennedy]). The topic of providence remains prominent throughout Praep. ev. 7 as a distinguishing feature of the Hebrew religion. In fact, the craftsman analogy reappears at the end of Book 7, where Eusebius cites Origen’s lost Commentary on Genesis, even though its anti-Epicurean implications are less explicit in this context (Eusebius, Praep. ev. 7.20.1). However, Charlotte Köckert has argued that this excerpt should also be understood in light of the anti-Epicurean 45

46

I have used the numbering from Spengel’s edition, which is the standard reference text and forms the foundation of Kennedy’s translation. Kennedy, however, has amended the numbering of the exercises according to James R. Butts’ PhD thesis, so that the exercise on thesis is no. 11 in his translation. See Kennedy, introduction to “The Exercises of Aelius Theon,” 3. Additionally, the other arguments in the text seem to be directed at well-known Epicurean views. Theon, for example, refutes the notion that the gods would be burdened by their providential activity and must, by implication, lead an idle existence (cf. Cicero, Nat. d. 1.51–53), and contends that virtue and morality become unsustainable if providence is rejected.

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polemics of the Hellenistic period and the early Roman Empire.47 The passage is particularly interesting for the present study since it appears in close proximity to Eusebius’s account of the Hebrew belief in providence and shows an earlier Christian author making use of anti-Epicurean arguments in a polemic that is not directed at Epicureans. As Köckert shows, Origen begins from a widely shared anti-Epicurean argument—that providence exists—which is also accepted by his opponents. He then seeks to show that they implicitly deny this widely held view by contending that matter is eternal and not a result of God’s creative work.48 In Origen’s view, those who deny God’s ability to create matter from nothing also come to undermine God’s central predicates as Creator, Father, Benefactor, and Good Being, and deny his providential care (Eusebius, Praep. ev. 7.20.3–4). Origen argues that if matter were ungenerated and, implicitly, harbored its own principal cause, God’s creative and providential acts would not be able to do or accomplish anything different than what would come into existence spontaneously (τοῦ αὐτομάτου) (Eusebius, Praep. ev. 7.20.6–7).49 However, Origen not only makes use of the metaphor of God as craftsman but also explores its limits: God, he says, cannot be directly compared to ordinary craftsmen who need pre-existing matter in order to perform their art, but is the sole supplier of all matter both for his own creative work and for the arts of earthly artisans (Eusebius, Praep. ev. 7.20.9). These examples show how Origen creatively appropriates arguments from anti-Epicurean polemics to suit his own polemical purposes. Let us now return to Praep. ev. 7.4. Here, Eusebius recounts how, after becoming aware of the Creator through the beauty and grandeur of his creation, the Hebrews also came to understand their own God-given constitution and, consequently, their place in the universe. In contrast to the material and sensual inclinations of the other nations, the Hebrews discovered that the body was a mere envelope of the soul and thus focused their efforts on the “inner man” located in the soul, the most precious part of humanity (Praep. ev. 7.4.1). They realized that humans alone had been created in the likeness of God in order to seek rational knowledge and rule over the other beings on the earth (Praep. ev. 7.4.2).50 Although these are common views in both Judaism and Christianity,

47 48 49 50

Köckert, “The Use of Anti-Epicurean Polemics in Origen,” 181–182. Köckert, “The Use of Anti-Epicurean Polemics in Origen,” 182. Köckert, “The Use of Anti-Epicurean Polemics in Origen,” 183–184. Here, Eusebius employs an originally Aristotelian but later more widely shared distinction, in which beings are first classified as either inanimate or living, and then the second class is further divided into plants, which simply have a nutritive life force, irrational ani-

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they are also frequently raised in the more specific context of the providence debate. In fact, the way Eusebius highlights the unique position of humanity and the role of God as the giver of all things resembles Origen’s attack on Celsus in Contra Celsum 4:74–76. In these chapters, Origen defends the existence of providence and argues that all things were created for the sake of humanity as part of God’s providential care. The opposite view, that they were a product of chance and available equally to all beings, is associated with Celsus’s “Epicurean leanings” (Origen, Cels. 4.75.2). Based on other works such as Cicero’s De natura deorum, it seems that the Epicureans did indeed criticize not only the existence of providence but, in the same context, the idea that the universe was created for the sake of humanity (Cicero, Nat. d. 1.23). It is possible that echoes of this debate are also present in Praeparatio evangelica as the Hebrews discover their unique position in the universe and God as the giver of all things. Although in Praep. ev. 7.4 Eusebius mainly highlights the rationality and immateriality of the human soul as the image of God, the immortality of the soul—another key topic of anti-Epicurean polemics—is also later treated in Praep. ev. 7.17. Despite limiting my analysis chiefly to the opening chapters, I will briefly address this passage because it is here that we see how some of the anti-Epicurean elements discussed above are linked back to the alleged beliefs of the Phoenicians and the Egyptians. Eusebius claims that these two peoples believe in a “spontaneous (αὐτόματον) generation of all living beings upon the earth including even man … one and the same nature springing forth in the like fortuitous manner (συντυχικῶς) from the earth” (Eusebius, Praep. ev. 7.17.1). With this, he juxtaposes the “preferred” view of the Hebrews who consider a part of humans better than all animals, “divine and immortal, being neither carnal nor corporeal by nature … made in the image and likeness of God.” This nature, says Eusebius, is not a product of chance and spontaneous growth (οὐ τύχης οὐδ’ αὐτομάτου φύσεως), but brought into existence by the “universal Cause (τοῦ τῶν ὅλων αἰτίου) Himself” (Eusebius, Praep. ev. 7.17.2–3). The passage ties together the immortality and immateriality of the soul and the rejection of spontaneous generation, showing with remarkable clarity how key concepts of anti-Epicurean argumentation are deployed against non-Epicurean opponents. While we cannot ascertain Eusebius’s intentions, it seems plausible that he knowingly attaches to his opponents some of the most infamous philosophical opinions concerning the origins of the universe and humankind.

mals who share in sensation, and finally humans who share all the attributes of the lower classes and who alone are endowed with reason.

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In Praep. ev. 7.4, Eusebius closes his introduction to the exemplarity of the Hebrews with the popular philosophical view that the correct understanding of the human soul leads to the pursuit of the correct, rational telos. He recounts how the Hebrews’ self-understanding led to a changed evaluation of pleasure: having realized their own godlike rationality, the Hebrews chose to “honour the body and the pleasures of the body no higher than the other creatures upon earth” and let themselves be ruled by the soul’s rational faculty, seeking the likeness of God (Eusebius, Praep. ev. 7.4.3). Furthermore, having acknowledged God, the giver of all good things, as the only good (ἀγαθόν) and recognized their complete dependence on God, they “declared that the knowledge of Him, and His friendship, were the consummation of all happiness (τέλος ἁπάσης εύδαιμονίας)” (Eusebius, Praep. ev. 7.4.4). Here, Eusebius returns to the eudaimonistic topic of the happy life, with which he opened his account of the idolatrous nations. Mirroring pleasure, the divinized false good of the other nations, the true good is also anchored in the being of God. This time, however, the deity is both identified correctly and worshipped properly. The Hebrews, says Eusebius, dedicated their whole being to God alone and “to nothing else among things visible (τῶν ὁρωμένον)” (Eusebius, Praep. ev. 7.4.5). In other words, by being able to rely on their rational minds they used the beauty of the material world merely as a stepping stone towards their final telos in the likeness of God. After highlighting the status of the Hebrews as God’s chosen people, Eusebius concludes with a rhetorical question: “Do you not think then that we have with reason preferred these to the Greeks, and accepted the histories of godly men among the Hebrews rather than the gods of Phoenicia and Egypt, and the blasphemous absurdities about those gods?” (Eusebius, Praep. ev. 7.4.7) This remark sums up the aim of the preceding juxtaposition in which, as I have argued, the anti-Epicurean polemic is employed, on the one hand, to create distance from the Greeks who supposedly derive their philosophy and theology from the Phoenicians and the Egyptians, and, on the other, to highlight the virtuousness of the Hebrews as the true and desirable ancestors of the Christian people.

7

Conclusion

In ancient literature, Epicurus and the presumed doctrines of his school functioned as instantly recognizable loci of depravity that could at once suggest a number of intellectual and moral shortcomings, hint at ethnic, religious, and sexual deviance, and thus project back the author’s own ideals. Even an indirect reference to Epicureanism could conjure up some of these connotations.

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In this article, I have sought to demonstrate how one early Christian author, Eusebius of Caesarea, makes use of central anti-Epicurean arguments and images to label Egyptians and Phoenicians as religiously, morally, and intellectually corrupt nations. By framing his opponents as pleasure worshippers who seek fulfillment only from the visible world and deny the existence of providence, Eusebius seeks to convince his audience that these competing groups make a poor role model for Christians. By means of his polemic against the Egyptians and the Phoenicians, Eusebius indirectly attacks the Greeks who supposedly owed their religious views and practices to the more ancient nations. He suggests that Christians should derive their ancestry from the virtuous Hebrews who, in his account, stand as the exact opposite of the pleasureseeking impious nations and, implicitly, affirm the opinions that the mainstream of ancient philosophers and educated elites considered sound. Thus, his attack destabilizes and reorders notions of biological and intellectual belonging in the circle of newly converted Christians to whom he directs his Praeparatio. Although Eusebius does not, at any point, accuse his opponents of Epicureanism, the parallel texts analyzed in this article demonstrate that his rhetoric, arguments, and terminology closely resemble passages from explicit antiEpicurean polemics. We can assume that if the new Christian converts were able to follow the philosophical texts excerpted throughout Praeparatio evangelica, they would also have been sensitive to the implicit anti-Epicurean arguments and stereotypes which Eusebius used to construct his account of the true Christian ancestry.

Bibliography Ancient Works Aelius Theon. Progymnasmata. In vol. 2 of Rhetores Graeci. Edited by L. Spengel. Leipzig: Teubner, 1854. Aelius Theon The Exercises of Aelius Theon. Translated by George A. Kennedy. In Progymnasmata: Greek Textbooks of Prose Composition and Rhetoric. wgrw 10. Atlanta: Society of Biblical Literature, 2003. Aristotle. Metaphysics. Vol. 1: Books 1–9. Translated by Hugh Tredennick. lcl. Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1933. Aristotle. Nicomachean Ethics. Translated by H. Rackham. lcl. Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1926. Aristotle. Physics. Vol. 1: Books 1–4. lcl. Translated by P.H. Wicksteed and F.M. Cornford. lcl. Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1957.

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Cicero. On the Nature of the Gods. Academics. Translated by H. Rackham. lcl. Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1933. Clement of Alexandria. Stromata. In vols. 2 (3rd ed.) and 3 (2nd ed.) of Clemens Alexandrinus. Edited by L. Früchtel, O. Stählin, and U. Treu. gcs 52, 17. Berlin: Akademie Verlag, 1960, 1970. Clement of Alexandria. The Stromata. Translated by William Wilson. In vol. 2 of AnteNicene Fathers. Edited by Alexander Roberts, James Donaldson and A. Cleveland Coxe. Buffalo: Christian Literature Publishing Co., 1885. Dio Chrysostom. Discourses 12–30. Translated by J.W. Cohoon. lcl. Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1939. Epicurus. Epistula ad Menoeceum. Edited by G. Arrighetti. In Epicuro: Opere (2nd ed.). Turin: Einaudi, 1973. Eusebius of Caesarea. Praeparatio evangelica. In Vol. 8 of Eusebius Werke. Edited by K. Mras. gcs 43.1–2. Berlin: Akademie Verlag, 1954, 1956. Eusebius of Caesarea. Evangelicae praeparationis libri xv (The Preparation for the Gospel). Edited and translated by E.H. Gifford. 5 vols. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1903. Eusebius of Caesarea. Eusèbe de Césarée, La Préparation évangelique: Livre vii. Translated by Guy Schrœder. sc 215. Paris: Cerf, 1975. Josephus. Jewish Antiquities. Vol. 4: Books 9–11. Translated by Ralph Marcus. lcl. Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1937. Origen. Origène, Contre Celse. Edited by M. Borret. 4 vols. sc 132, 136, 147, 150. Paris: Cerf, 1967–1969. Ovid. Fasti. Translated by James G. Frazer. Revised by G.P. Goold. lcl. Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1931. Philo. On Flight and Finding. On the Change of Names. On Dreams. Translated by F.H. Colson and G.H. Whitaker. lcl. Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1934. Plutarch. Moralia. Translated by Frank Cole Babbitt et al. 17 vols. lcl. Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1927–2004. Seneca. Moral Essays. Translated by John W. Basore. 3 vols. lcl. Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1928–1935.

Modern Works Bergjan, Silke-Petra. “Celsus the Epicurean? The Interpretation of an Argument in Origen, Contra Celsum.” Harvard Theological Review 94: 2 (2001): 179–204. Collins, John J. Jewish Wisdom in the Hellenistic Age. Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 1997. Dillon, John M. The Middle Platonists, 80 b.c. to a.d. 220. Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1977.

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Dupont-Sommer, André. “Les ‘impies’ du Livre de la Sagesse ne sont-ils pas des Épicuriens?” Revue de l’histoire des religions 111 (1935): 9–109. Fleischer, Killian Josef. Dionysios von Alexandria, De natura (περὶ φύσεως): Übersetzung, Kommentar und Würdigung. Philosophie hellénistique et romaine 5. Turnhout: Brepols, 2016. Gordon, Pamela. “Epicureanism Writ Large: Diogenes of Oenoanda.” Pages 539–551 in The Oxford Handbook of the Second Sophistic. Edited by D.S. Richter and W.A. Johnson. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2017. Gordon, Pamela. The Invention and Gendering of Epicurus. Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press, 2012. Holmes, Brooke, and W.H. Shearin. “Introduction: Swerves, Events, and Unexpected Effects.” Pages 8–20 in Dynamic Reading: Studies in the Reception of Epicureanism. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2016. Johnson, Aaron. Ethnicity and Argument in Eusebius’s Praeparatio evangelica. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2006. Kennedy, George A. “The Exercises of Aelius Theon.” Pages 1–72 in Progymnasmata: Greek Textbooks on Prose Composition and Rhetoric, Writings from the Greco-Roman World 10. Atlanta: Society of Biblical Literature, 2003. Kofsky, Aryeh. Eusebius of Caesarea Against Paganism. Leiden: Brill, 2000. Köckert, Charlotte. “The Use of Anti-Epicurean Polemics in Origen (Fr. In. Gen. Comm. (= Eusebius, P. e. vii.20) and De princ. ii.1.4).” Studia Patristica 41 (2006): 181–185. Latham, Jacob. “‘Fabulous Clap-Trap’: Roman Masculinity, the Cult of Magna Mater, and Literary Constructions of the galli at Rome from the Late Republic to Late Antiquity.” Journal of Religion 92:1 (2012): 84–122. Lévy, Carlos. “Philon d’Alexandrie et l’épicurisme.” Pages 122–136 in Epikureismus in der späten Republik und der Kaiserzeit: Akten der 2. Tagung der Karl-und-Gertrud-AbelStiftung vom 30. September–3. Oktober 1998 in Würzburg. Edited by M. Erler. Stuttgart: Franz Steiner, 2000. Longo, Angela. “The Mention of Epicurus in Plotinus’ tr. 33 (Enn. ii 9) in the Context of the Polemics between Pagans and Christians in the Second to Third Centuries ad: Parallels between Celsus, Epicurus and Origen.” Pages 51–68 in Plotinus and Epicurus: Matter, Perception, Pleasure. Edited by A. Longo and D.P. Taormina. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2016. Markschies, Christoph. “Epikureismus bei Origenes und in der origenistischen Tradition.” Pages 191–217 in Epikureismus in der späten Republik und der Kaiserzeit: Akten der 2. Tagung der Karl-und-Gertrud-Abel-Stiftung vom 30. September–3. Oktober 1998 in Würzburg. Edited by M. Erler. Stuttgart: Franz Steiner, 2000. Ramelli, Ilaria. “The Rejection of the Epicurean Ideal of Pleasure in Late Antique Sources: Not Only Misunderstandings.” Mirabilia 18 (2014): 6–21. Ranocchia, Graziano. “Moses against the Egyptian: The Anti-Epicurean Polemic in

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Philo.” Pages 75–102 in Philo of Alexandria and Post-Aristotelian Philosophy. Edited by F. Alesse. Leiden: Brill, 2008. Schrœder, Guy. “Introduction.” Pages 7–138 in Eusèbe de Césarée, La préparation évangelique: Livre vii. Edited by G. Schrœder and É. des Places. SC 215. Paris: Cerf, 1975. Townsley, Jeramy. “Queer Sects in Patristic Commentaries on Romans 1:26–27: Goddess Cults, Free Will, and ‘Sex Contrary to Nature’?” Journal of the American Academy of Religion 81:1 (2013): 1–24. Ulrich, Jörg. Euseb von Caesarea und die Juden: Studien zur Rolle der Juden in der Theologie des Eusebius von Caesarea. Patristische Texte und Studien 49. Berlin: De Gruyter, 1999. Winston, David. The Wisdom of Solomon. Anchor Bible 43. New York: Doubleday, 1979.

Anti-Donatist Polemic and Biblical Hermeneutics: Questions of Ecclesiology in Augustine of Hippo’s De Doctrina Christiana Joseph Grabau

1

Introduction

In his work on biblical interpretation, De doctrina christiana (doctr. chr.), Augustine of Hippo adapts classical rhetorical theory to the task of reading and preaching the Bible.1 Yet, in his sermons and shorter homilies, Augustine himself does much more than preach the Gospel or interpret the Bible. He was also an orator, in virtue of being a preacher and pastor. As such, Augustine wrote many works against his polemical opponents, yet at times he also takes up key positions against his opponents in his homilies and sermons. In this chapter, I would like to explore concisely the question: how does Augustine instruct readers of his masterwork on interpretation, doctr. chr., to incorporate such polemical elements in their preaching and polemical exegesis? Most important, as the preacher’s chief concern during liturgical sermons is to form his audience in the key principles of the faith, is clarification of doctrine—especially that which has fallen into misunderstanding. One such area is that of the Trinity, yet principles of Christology, too, stands out as necessary preacher’s doctrinal correction. For the moment, however, my focus will be on the principal opponent of Augustine’s early career as bishop of Hippo, the Donatists.

1 Of the vast bibliography, which owes much to the current generation of scholars, note in particular Duane Arnold and Pamela Bright, eds., De Doctrina Christiana: A Classic of Western Culture (Notre Dame: University of Notre Dame Press, 1995). There are at least three modern critical editions and many translations; however, the Corpus Christianorum volume published in Brepols in 1968 by Josef Martin has since been superseded: first by R. Green (Oxford, 1996) and more recently by Manlio Simonetti (Rome, 2000). Many contemporary translations in English exist; here I consult that of Green and E. Hill, wsa i/11 (Hyde Park, 1996), and more frequently I quote from the former. Readers who desire a detailed, initial bibliography on the work of Augustine, and its status in relation to classical rhetorical theory, may consult, e.g. the entry of James J. O’Donnell, “De Doctrina Christiana,” in Augustine through the Ages, (ed. A. Fitzgerald; Grand Rapids: William B. Eerdmans Publishing Co., 1999), 278–280, as well as the introductions of Green and Simonetti.

© Joseph Grabau, 2022 | doi:10.1163/9789004466845_009

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Background and Context: Rhetoric, Anti-Donatist Polemics and Biblical Exegesis

When Augustine started doctr. chr., in c. 396 a.d., he was preparing—perhaps in small part unknowingly—to enter the high tide of his polemics with the Donatist schism. As such, his teaching on baptism and doctrine of sacramental efficacy led to related issues concerning ecclesial membership. For example, Augustine is continuously aware of the nature of sin within the Church and relative purity in the human ministers. As representatives of Christ performed the rituals of baptism and Eucharist, ministers remained humans in need of grace.2 These topics received due consideration in the following years (400–406 a.d.), in the central works of Augustine’s anti-Donatist corpus: On Baptism (bapt.), Against the Letter of Parmenian (c. ep. Parm.), and Against the Letters of Petilianus (c. litt. Pet.). Later, in the final months of 406 a.d. and first half of 407 a.d., Augustine undertook his Tractates on John (Io. eu. tr.). In the course of these tractates, or homilies, Augustine took great care to argue against the Donatist conception of baptism, the role of Christ in the conferral of the sacraments, and the nature and extent of the Church in the world—all basic concerns relating to salvation. Yet most importantly, Augustine’s stated primary task in the Tractates was to preach, rather extensively, on the Gospel of John, beginning from the Prologue (Jn 1:1–18), and continuing in a systematic, methodical and exhaustive way. Filled with insights, and communicated in a masterful blend, as I argue, of the so-called sermo humilis of post-classical, late antique Latin, and a profound grasp of Christian faith and scriptural imagination, Augustine’s Tractates are prime evidence for his habit of teaching while preaching, or arguing doctrine while instructing the faithful.3 My present concern is to question the earlier

2 As Pamela Bright, The Book of Rules of Tyconius: Its Purpose and Inner Logic (Notre Dame, IN: University of Notre Dame, 1988) frequently points out, a guiding concern in the lib. reg. was how to understand the presence of good and evil within the body of Christ—the mysterium iniquitatis of 2Thess 2:3–4; cf. Maureen Tilley, The Bible in Christian North Africa: The Donatist World (Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 1997), 116. 3 The premier analysis of the rhetorical content of Io. eu. tr. is that of George Doyle, “St. Augustine’s Tractates on the Gospel of John Compared with the Rhetorical theory of De Doctrina Christiana” (Ph.D. diss., Chapel Hill, 1975), who demonstrates the varied rhetorical registers of Augustine’s Latin, convincingly, although without reference to the concept or practice of the sermo humilis—on which, see, principally, Erich Auerbach, “Sermo Humilis,” Romanische Forschungen 64, Bd. 3/4 (1952): 304–364; and cf. the English version of Auerbach’s piece, Ralph Manheim, trans., in Literary Language and Its Public in Late Latin Antiquity and in the Middle Ages (New York: Pantheon, 1965), 25–66. To my knowledge, discussion of this precise

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work on interpretation, asking whether Augustine offers any programmatic notions of when and how and why a preacher may become a polemicist. Similarly stated, when does the use of rhetoric turn from the main goal of communicating an interpreted meaning of the biblical text, to framing and overturning an opponent? Scholarship on Donatism has taken on heightened interest in the past thirty years and continues to develop in valuable and innovative ways. The relation of Augustine to Donatism, further, attracts the interest of scholars. In the field of Augustine’s developing ecclesiology, which draws upon the competing views of Donatist ecclesiology, significant research and rigorous comparison of texts promises to open new avenues of research. The results promise a more complete grasp of Augustine’s total vision for Scriptural exegesis, the proper way to combat schism and heresy, and how to promote the critical doctrines of the faith. The list, in fact, is perhaps equal parts theology and catechism. For by arguing against his North African opponents, Augustine was simultaneously—especially in his sermons and tractates and other popular exhortations—instructing the faithful in the positive doctrines of Christian and Catholic faith. Having dealt with the Manichaeans previously, Augustine was now an accomplished debater in favor of “orthodox” Christianity. His simultaneous polemicizing and teaching occurs also in the area of African ecclesiology, which principally concerns the nature of the Church, the requisite purity of Church leaders, and the line of succession for episcopal ordination. For the moment, I will not attempt to sketch the broader contours of a proper Augustinian ecclesiology, but rather restrict myself to the points of contact in its emergence during Augustine’s encounter with the pars Donati, the “Donatist party”. In particular, I would like to ask the methodological question of Augustine, concerning his teaching on how a teacher of the Catholic and Christian faith is to set about conducting a polemical dialogue with apparently heretical and especially schismatic Christians (or “dissidents”, to use B. Shaw’s term).4 Augustine frequently makes use of Scripture in a kind of polemical exegesis, interpreting verses such as Song of Songs 4:12, on the “sealed garden, and enclosed fountain” in a way favorable to the Catholic (and what becomes, also, Roman)

register of Latin use in Augustine’s Io. eu. tr. remains limited; yet cf. Anthony Dupont, Gratia in Augustine’s Sermones ad populum during the Pelagian Controversy: Do Different Contexts Furnish Different Insights? (Leiden: Brill, 2013), 15–17, especially notes 42 and 43 for further bibliography on the issue. 4 Brent Shaw, Sacred violence (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2011), passim.

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position. Other verses are frequent, and indeed entire passages of the Bible gave rise to a dominant mode of anti-Donatist exegesis, with prime evidence being perhaps the first sixteen tractates on John, as well as the related Psalm enarrationes and Easter homilies on 1John. Implied within these texts is a vision of the Church. For example, when Augustine interprets John 4:23–24, on “those who worship in spirit and in truth”, he does so in a way that does not allow for the separation of universal and the particular truth. As a result, he implicitly argues against a position the Church holds exclusive and privileged access to the truth in all its forms. Christ is at the center of Augustine’s conception, in the Tractates especially, of the Church. Recent scholars have argued for the essential role of the Holy Spirit, likewise, both in Augustine’s earlier ecclesiology even before ordination in ca. 391 and his later understandings. Still, an aspiring polemicist does not have any programmatic manual of how one might engage in such polemical exegesis when countering any form of heresy (or schism). In other words, Augustine is quite didactic when it comes to his discussion of rhetorical devices and their value when approaching the Scripture for the sake of interpretation and instruction. In terms of polemical exegesis and the practice of arguing theology, however, the best guide is the treatises of Augustine’s corpus. As expressions of his own practice, Augustine’s sermons and letters further address specific forms of dialogue, discourse, and distinction. In bringing this discussion to light, therefore, what I would like to consider is how Augustine’s handbook of biblical interpretation, De doctrina Christiana, conceives of the Church—especially in reference to the questions and realities of Donatism. Does Augustine propose implicit models for how the strategizing polemicist might appropriate the keys for interpreting Scripture, specifically in an anti-heretical or other form of corrective instruction? My contention is that, yes, in fact he does. However, one must look carefully into the structure and content of the text in question, holding it up both in view of Augustine’s other writings of the period and his social and political context. In an important sense, Augustine’s view of the Church is always somehow polemical. In addition, his conception of ecclesial identity was always rooted in relation to his own Catholic audience, which he frequently admonishes and reprimands. In approaching doctr. chr. in light of its implied ecclesiology and suggestions for anti-Donatist interpretation of Scripture, this study aims to detect a multi-factor hermeneutic, which brings together important, mutually supporting strands of Augustine’s thought. The scholarship of numerous scholars on the “one Christ” or the “whole Christ” in the Psalm commentary of Augustine, as well as his popular sermons and related works, stands behind this

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approach.5 Yet so, too, does the scholarship on the work of doctr. chr. of Augustine itself, especially the scholars who have sought to understand the relationship between Tyconius, the former Donatist exegete and biblical scholar, and Augustine. My question, as I hope the preceding paragraphs have made evident, is simply whether the mentions of Tyconius and his antecedent “Book of Rules” (Liber regularum), or of Donatism, schism and heresy, might occur in any didactic formula, which one may regard as Augustine’s implied polemical ecclesiology, or polemical strategies of ecclesiological exegesis.6 To do so in this brief treatment, I would like to identify a series of limited observations, based upon my current reading of the text. First, concerning the preface to the work, where Augustine introduces the rules of interpretation as a concept and procedural tool for Scriptural analysis and subsequent teaching, and then responds to several anticipated objections, on whether such a prospect in fact invalidates God’s grace as the necessary method for any truly faithful interpretation of the Bible. This point engages with a dominant strand of anti-Donatist polemics, on the significance of the human minister who mediates grace in the sacraments, with the prime example being that of baptism. The entire concept of doctr. chr. rests upon an explicit recognition of the synthesis between innate human powers, as well as the formation offered by culture, language, tradition and society, and the working of God’s divine grace. This nuanced balance is to be held up with Augustine’s discussion of human ministry in the anti-Donatist corpus, including the Tractates on John.7 5 See, further, Michael C. McCarthy, “An Ecclesiology of Groaning: Augustine, the Psalms, and the Making of Church,” in The Harp of Prophecy: Early Christian Interpretation of the Psalms (ed. B.E. Daley and P.R. Kolbet; Notre Dame: University of Notre Dame Press, 2015), 227–256; Giuseppe Carrabetta, Agostino d’Ippona: la Chiesa mistero e presenza del Cristo totale (Assisi: Cittadella, 2015); David Meconi, The One Christ: St. Augustine’s Theology of Deification (Washington, D.C.: Catholic University of America Press, 2013); Kimberly Baker, “Augustine’s Doctrine of the Totus Christus: Reflecting on the Church as Sacrament of Unity,”Horizons 37, no. 1 (2010): 7–24; and Tarcisius J. Van Bavel and Bernhard Bruning, “Die Einheit des Totus Christus bei Augustinus,” in Scientia Augustiniana: Studien über Augustinus, den Augustinismus und den Augustinerorden (ed. C.P. Mayer and W. Eckermann; Würzburg: Augustinus-Verlag 1975), 43–75. 6 Here, see Johannes van Oort, Jerusalem and Babylon: A Study of Augustine’s City of God and the Sources of his Doctrine of the Two Cities (Leiden: Brill, 2015), especially “Sources of Augustine’s Doctrine of the Two Cities,” op. cit., 199–359, who considers the link between Donatist eschatology in the form of Tyconius as a possible antecedent for Augustine’s later positions in ciu. Tilley, Bible in Christian North Africa, 116–124 and especially Bright, The Book of Rules of Tyconius, 8–13 and 41–49 examine Tyconian eschatology in its own right, rather than leap to direct comparison with Augustine. 7 M.-F. Berrouard, Homélies sur l’Évangile de Saint Jean: Tractatus in Iohannis evangelium i–xvi

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Second, I would like to point out how schism, heresy and ecclesiology each plays a role in Augustine’s manner of articulating the rules, in which he moves beyond those of Tyconius. Third, I would like to pick up on an essential passage in the fourth book of doctr. chr., which Augustine wrote later in his career, after the decisive imperial edicts and the Conference of Carthage in 411, which again denied the legal claims of the Donatist bishops. In the passage to be examined, Augustine highlights the importance of narrative in countering schism, and although he passes over this insight with relative brevity, it was a well-tried tactic in his repertoire of anti-Donatist strategies, as evidenced especially in his letters on the questions of Donatism. There, Augustine takes frequent recourse to the history of the schism in North Africa, indicating both the origin in ca. 311, and the most significant figures on each side from that time until that of his writing. This strategy, together with a balanced view of human ministry and divine grace cooperating (1), and the points recognized to be of value in the ecclesial teaching and biblical hermeneutic of Tyconius (2), forms an additional method for any polemicist. However, it should be held in check, to a certain degree, by the counterpressure of Christian humility, especially in terms of restrained speech, or sermo humilis, which Augustine discusses elsewhere throughout book 4, and frequently employs himself in his sermons and other treatises. In short, following the limited yet real value of human ministry evidenced in the preface, any polemicist should avail him- or herself of the grace of God, seeking to restore and uplift his or her opponents, rather than to disgrace and shame them. This ethical attitude toward oneself, the believing community and those estranged from Christ and his Church, in fact governs all of Augustine’s teaching on exegesis and any implied polemics in doctr. chr. In short, I find that both in his actual teaching about how the preacher may appeal to classical rhetoric in crafting his sermons, and in his reticence to mention any decisive and categorical concept of an anti-Donatist (polemical) hermeneutic, Augustine exemplifies the ideal of Christian humility, as a form of modesty and restraint. No doubt his opponents would complain to the contrary when under the force of his argumentation against Pelagian and Donatist ‘errors’. In presenting a modus operandi for approaching the text, both to learn

(ba 71; Paris: Études Augustiniennes, 1969) acknowledges doctr. chr. at times in his comments on Io. eu. tr. 1–16, yet does not link the two texts formally as I would like to do. In his introduction, op. cit., 10 and n. 3, he writes concerning the tractates, “La forme est improvisée; le prédicateur ne se préoccupe pas d’appliquer ces règles de la rhétorique, qu’ il a si longtemps enseignées, il n’a d’autre but que d’instruire, de convaincre et de toucher.”

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and for the sake of instructing others, polemic does not appear to receive any due regard. Instead, polemical concerns appear only implicitly and embedded within his ecclesiological and interpretative assumptions. Thus, one can find two elements of explicit anti-Donatism in Augustine of Hippo’s doctr. chr.: 1) the remarks made about Tyconius in Book 3, calling him a heretic, and correcting one of his so-called rules, or ‘keys’ for interpreting Scripture; and 2) the preference for narrative when countering certain forms of polemical adversaries, found in Book 4.8 Both of these rely upon an implicit, or realized anti-Donatist ecclesiology—rather than explicit or fully imposed; yet this fact does not preclude or address the question of any super-structure of ecclesiology directly. What positive elements of teaching on the Church may be found? Are these, too, also implied or are they stated throughout? One must read doctr. chr. contextually with other works of Augustine touching on or direct about ecclesiology, particularly those conceived during the same period as the composition of doctr. chr., first in the mid- to late-390s and then again with finishing touches in the mid-420s. Among these is, most prominently, the Confessions, which links the Church to God’s plan of salvation, including the witness of the Scriptures. Biblical texts which draw Augustine’s attention most include the Psalms (which assists his concept of the praying Church—for which, see Cameron, Baker, and Meconi on the Psalms), as well as the letters of Paul and the Gospels, where the teaching on the “Church” per se may be conflated with that of the “kingdom”.9 Other principal works include the major anti-Donatist works composed shortly after doctr. chr. and roughly contemporaneous with the completion of the Confessions, including bapt., c. ep. Parm., and c. litt. Pet. Augustine draws much from the book of rules by Tyconius in constructing his theology of the one Christ, head and body, which is also nuanced in light of his anti-Donatist polemic, especially in the enarrationes in Psalmos (en. Ps.) and Io. eu. tr.10 Finally, as much as Augustine’s ecclesiology is to be

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For these two passages, see doctr. chr. 3.42-end and 4.6, in Sant’ Agostino: L’instruzione cristiana (ed. M. Simonetti; Rome, 2000), 222–226 and 258–260. How do the two relate, one may ask: i.e., the Church and the Kingdom? Does Paul not favour the former, and the Gospels the latter? The editors of the New American Bible: Revised Edition (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2011) note that the word ecclesia occurs only twice in the Gospels, the principal being that of the commissioning of Peter as the bearer of the keys to the kingdom (Mt 16:18). Michael Cameron calls into question the extent of Augustine’s dependence upon Tyconius in this regard. See his Christ meets me everywhere: Augustine’s early figurative exegesis (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2012), 328, n. 16. Pointing to the work of MarieJosèphe Rondeau, the totus Christus idea appears as early as Gn. c. Man. in the late 380s, notwithstanding its clear biblical antecedent and parallels (e.g. 1 Cor 12). See also Mau-

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linked with his Trinitarian theology, as one recent scholar has argued, it should also be pointed out that the final book of the doctr. chr. was written roughly in the same period as the work De Trinitate, on the Trinity.11 At this point, I wish to raise the following questions: a) what is the disputed rule? b) what does Augustine say about Tyconius being a heretic? c) what elements of ecclesiology are found in the discussion of the rules of Tyconius? Also, how do the rules frame the entire work as a whole? On my present view, the rules or ‘precepts’ do inform the entire work, yet they do not encompass Augustine’s motives, which are after all the understanding of Scripture and the advancement of the Church of Christ as a school of charity and unity, where human beings grow into their full capacity of participation in ecclesial communion. Setting aside the elements of ecclesiology nested within Augustine’s discussion of Tyconius, I also aim to ask: what then does he say in Book 4 about the use of narrative in countering schism? Also, how does he follow out this programmatic distinction in his own polemical works, such as the corpus of anti-Donatist letters, or the relevant popular sermons and Tractates on John? My analysis of the text begins with a discussion of the presumed context and appeal to ecclesial or episcopal authority. Here I have in mind, especially, Augustine’s status and effort as a North African bishop, as well as his intended audience of preachers in training and the broader backdrop of Nicene Christianity and the role of conciliar definitions and the rule of faith in defining catholicity and validating biblical interpretation. In this section, I will look primarily to the beginning and end of doctr. chr., as well as relevant high points such as Augustine’s canonical list and its justification. Next, I aim to address points of contact for Augustine with the Book of Rules of Tyconius, especially in view of ecclesiology and anti-Donatist polemic. Here, the role of restraint becomes most evident, as Augustine limits his assessment of Donatism, and in this way prioritizes positive exegesis over habitually finding occasion to launch polemical modes of interpretation. The appearance of Tyconius in Book 3 allows Augustine to address the nature of the Church from a more theological point of view, which he then confirms though essential biblical texts. Finally, I will suggest a further extension of these insights, incorporat-

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ing the letters of Augustine in particular, where he makes particularly effective use of narrative-based polemics or a more argumentative style.

3

Ecclesial Authority and the Implied Context of Exegesis

By my use of ecclesial authority as a concept, I have in mind both the bishop’s secular and social influence.12 Each of these elements serves to validate, as well as to provoke and even where necessary to limit and guide biblical interpretation. Moreover, as a complete paradigm received by Augustine and developed both in his own writings and in those of other contemporary church leaders, these conjoined realities of ecclesial practice and teaching bias are necessarily, prejudicially and inherently contributing elements to anti-heretical or anti-schismatic polemic. Since, for Augustine, the truth of Christian teaching forms a synthetic whole, revealed to humankind through history, liturgy, and the sacraments, not to mention the person of Christ and the written testimony of God’s word, the interpretation of Scripture likewise falls within the area of competence for the Church. As Augustine’s De doctrina Christiana also demonstrates, exegesis is a key task assigned to the episcopal office, and as a function of the teaching Church, any moment of interpretation offers the possibility for a polemical aside or turn of phrase. For Augustine, such asides often form the key strands of his thought and argumentation, a characteristic I find frequently occurs in his polemic against the pars Donati, the Donatist party. Yet whatever apparent digression Augustine may begin to launch, in his practice and equally in his programmatic ideals as found in De doctrina, the truths of the Catholic (Christian) faith including the activity of the Holy Spirit continue to animate and inspire his exegesis, whether polemical by degrees, or more positive social, textual, linguistic, pastoral and doctrinal commentary. As several scholars have suggested in varying ways, doctrine and heresy are generally defined in relation to one another.13 12

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On the concept of ecclesial and especially episcopal authority, see the excellent contribution of Michael McCarthy, “‘We Are Your Books’: Augustine, the Bible and the Practice of Authority,” jaar 75, no. 2 (2007): 324–352, where the author presents such a practice of actual authority as quite limited in many contexts. I find, however, to the contrary that Augustine in fact does invoke his own allegiance to episcopal orthodoxy in his total approach to biblical interpretation in doctr. chr., which rests largely upon the essential, canonical assumptions that point toward creedal orthodoxy and, by extension, a high degree of interpretative normativity. Although many interpretations are possible, none may conflict with the regula ueritatis. Lewis Ayres, “Augustine on the Rule of Faith: Rhetoric, Christology, and the Foundation of

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Prosper Grech makes the excellent, if obvious, point that for the Christian preacher addressed by Augustine, he or she should know the Scriptures, by which he means univocally those which are established as canonical.14 In short, Grech seems to argue that Augustine’s notion of canonical recognition relies upon apostolic authority, which is essentially linked to a text’s antiquity, as well as its link with the tradition of use during public liturgy. Also, in what is a kind of quintessential argument from catholicity, the number of churches that accept a book as canonical Scripture further supports its authenticity and value. This link between community and interpretation, especially where the community envisioned is as far-reaching as the ‘global’ church, creates a kind of hermeneutical circle that may appear impassable and self-referring. As the early chapters of doctr. chr. demonstrate, not to mention Augustine’s broader conception of operative grace and human nature, identification with the conciliar norms does not exhaust the degree or intensity of the interpreter.15 Augustine mentions schism by name only once, near the end of the final book. At this point in the argument, he recommends that some preachers do no harm in lifting the sermons and wise words of others and offering these to the people as spiritual food. Such individuals have likely been assigned to perform their task, and happen to be reasonably good speakers, but not very clever or original, Augustine writes. In this way, Augustine opines, at least there will be unity of intent and unity of doctrine, with the faithful taught by one master, and without the harm of schism.16 In the brief preface to his work, Augustine indicates that there are certain rules (praecepta), which aid in interpreting the Scriptures. The goal of learn-

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Christian Thinking,” AugStud 36, no. 1 (2005): 33–49, at 37: where the author writes that, for Augustine, rule of faith “is to be perceived in the plainer passages of scripture and in the authority of the Church (ecclesiae auctoritate) …” See also, Henry Chadwick, Augustine of Hippo: A Life (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2009). See Teaching Christianity (De Doctrina Christiana) (wsa i/11, ed. J. Rotelle, o.s.a.; Hyde Park, 1996), 92; cf. doctr. chr. 2.12. Grech also makes the several interesting claims: for example, his insistence that any proper study of Augustine’s exegesis should examine exegetical works such as sermons and the theological treatises, rather than the rules for interpretation. Grech states, “What saved [Augustine] from the errors into which his adversaries constantly fell is his constant appeal to the rule of faith …,” though I would prefer to use greater caution in such a formulation. Hill, wsa i/11, notes the echo in Augustine’s text to the wording of 1 Cor 1:10, on “schism”: “I urge you, brothers, in the name of our Lord Jesus Christ, that all of you agree in what you say, and that there be no divisions among you, but that you be united in the same mind and in the same purpose” (NABre). Here, the Greek and Latin texts of the verse bear interest.

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ing such rules is ultimately that students may profit not only from reading the works of others, “who have laid open the secrets of the sacred writings”, but also come to a deeper understanding for oneself. At this stage, Augustine does not mention any personal influences directly, and certainly not Tyconius by name; however, retrospectively, the parallel choice of terms is both striking for its resemblance, and its slight shift, away from regula.17 At the front of Augustine’s attention in advancing the concept of precepts (or ‘rules’) is responding to possible objections to his endeavor. These primarily concern grace and human effort, the ability to interpret with God’s direct intervention, and without human talents or special skills. Although false or incorrect interpretations are not directly mentioned, the presumed context gives rise to a need for the rules Augustine has in mind. Here, one additional anti-Donatist element resting on the surface of the text is Augustine’s recognition that those who claim to rely upon grace solely were themselves taught by human teachers. This apparent tension presents a clear parallel to the question of baptism and ordination in the Donatist controversy. Augustine prefers to make use of human learning as much as possible, and in due course. As an example, he reminds readers of the Apostle Paul, who was converted after a direct encounter with the living God, and yet went to a human minister to receive the sacrament(s).18

4

Tyconius and the Liber Regularum

While Tyconius preferred the term regula, which Augustine uses when describing the rule of faith, the rule of truth, and the rules of Tyconius, Augustine himself introduces his own principles of biblical interpretation with the term praecepta.19 Perhaps the two terms are nearly equivalent, however, as the pref-

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The terms are exceptionally close in meaning, and may be indistinguishable, apart from the link of one to Tyconius, leaving the other for Augustine to claim. See here Charles Kannengiesser, “Quintilian, Tyconius and Augustine,” Illinois Classical Studies 19 (1994): 239–252. Cf. Acts 9:3. A possible counter-argument could dwell on the value of human minister, in part against Augustine’s own emphasis on the nature of the sacrament as performed and achieved by and through Christ, and with the limited yet valuable role of the human priest. See also the closing words of Augustine’s preface to doctr. chr., where the interaction between human learning and divine grace appears to shape the central current of thoughts that follow through the work as a whole. Perhaps the two terms are nearly equivalent, however, as the preface seems to say in doctr. chr. 1.1–5. Green translates doctr. chr. 1.8 as “standard of truth” and points to Plotinus, Enn.

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ace seems to say in doctr. chr. 1.1–5. One scholar suggests that the rules are to be valued, yet not more than needed. For the interpreter must make use of these rules, and then rise above them. In this way, Augustine implies a similarity with public speaking, in that an effective rhetor likewise must adopt and implement principles of public speaking and even language itself.20 In speaking of Tyconius directly for the first time only nearing the end of the text in its final form, Augustine writes, “although a Donatist himself wrote against the Donatists with irresistible power—and thereby stands convicted of having a split personality since he was unwilling to make a clean break with them …” He continues: “Consideration of these rules, as expounded by him, is quite helpful in penetrating the obscure parts of the divine writings.”21 Thus, Augustine acknowledges their use, as is quite evident also from the context and the eminence he ascribes to the author by referencing the book so carefully. Augustine goes on to qualify this validation, by remarking: “Of course not everything that is written in a way that makes it difficult to understand can be clarified by these rules.” The rules are, thus, not exhaustive, though they may be of some use in difficult to understand passages of the Bible. Augustine makes a related point of the fact that Tyconius claims “all closed doors will swing open” (clausa quaeque patefient et obscure dilucidabuntur), including “secret passages of the whole law”, uniuersae legis recessus—not only a part of the law, and not only some doors. Speaking more correctly would have protected Tyconius from a degree of error, in Augustine’s opinion; since in that way, the author “would have been telling the truth without raising false hopes in his readers and disciples by attributing to his careful and useful work more than the facts warranted.” (doctr. chr. 43, trans. Green). Augustine points this shortcoming and oversight out for readers, so that “students would actually read the book itself—it is very helpful for understanding the scriptures—but not expect from it more than it has to offer.” Thus, despite the minor correction, Augustine continues to commend the work for the studiosi. He maintains his caution, for two reasons: “It must certainly be read with caution, not only because of certain things which, being human, he gets wrong,

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1.3–5, where the parallel concept is simply that of logic, which enables one to know the truth. At doctr. chr. 1.21, Augustine speaks of the rule of love, regula dilectionis, has been “divinely ordained” (diuinitus constituta est). Later, the text appears to distinguish yet link the two; cf. doctr. chr. 2.14. See Hill, Teaching Christianity, 21. Here, Augustine refers to the Bible, not precisely as Scripture, but as the “divine writings”, lit. the “divine eloquence”. This qualifies the understanding of revelation given above, when referring to the Bible as “divine scriptures” or diuinarum scripturarum.

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but especially because of the things which he says as a Donatist heretic.”22 Both elements are of note, but especially the first, in that it echoes the note of humility balanced with a sense of human capacity for ministry and mediation, sounded both in the very first and near to the last paragraphs of the entire work.23 Regula prima. The rule which bears most directly upon questions of ecclesial identity, and the nature of the Church as such, is principally the first, about which Augustine happens to say the very least. “Sometimes we know that a single being, consisting of a head and a body, that is, Christ and his Church, is being presented to us …”24 In many ways, this rule, which grows out of a Donatist author and a context of correcting Donatist hermeneutics, in fact bridges Augustine from his earliest ecclesiology to his harmonization of Paul and Tyconius in the doctrine of the whole Christ. Regula secunda: Concerning the second rule, Augustine disagrees with the wording of Tyconius, who speaks of “the Lord’s twofold body”, de domini corpore bipertito. Augustine prefers instead, “On the Lord’s true and mixed body” or “true and apparent body” …. “Because false Christians should not be said to be with God even at the present time, let alone for eternity, although they appear to be within his church.” As a resolution, Augustine offers a renaming of the second rule as “on the mixed church”: de permixta ecclesia instead. In interpreting Song 1:4, which he says implicitly refers to a distinction between Ishmael, identified by the tents of Kedar, and his heirs and those of Abraham, denoted by the curtains of Solomon, Augustine suggest that both are described as “dark and pretty”, “because of the temporal unity of the good and bad fish inside the single net [cf. Matt 13:47–49].” In this respect, notwithstanding the leap one might take in the comparison between Ishmael and the African dissidents as somehow equally representing the bad fish, the language employed, just as the argumentation and the image used, all convey an implicit yet resounding implication of Donatism as such. This observation is all the more the case in light of the rule given as a whole, on the mixed Church, which is again a phrase frequently referred to in anti-Donatist polemic elsewhere.

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caute sane legendus est non solum propter quaedam, in quibus ut homo errauit, sed maxime propter illa quae sicut Donatista haereticus loquitur, doctr. chr. 3.43. Scholars dispute Augustine’s reading of the sixth rule, on recapitulation, which may indicate that he also drew from the commentary on Revelation of Tyconius, since the account is not in agreement with that of the Liber regularum; see Martine Dulaey, “La Sixième Règle de Tyconius et son résumé dans le De Doctrina Christiana,” REAug (1989): 83–103. in qua scientes aliquando capitis et corporis, id est Christi et ecclesiae, unam personam nobis intimari, doctr. chr. 3.44.

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The second biblical example is perhaps more compelling, as Augustine then refers to Is 42:16–17, where the first verse speaks of God leading “the blind along a way unknown to them, and they will tread paths unknown to them; and I shall make darkness into light for them and crooked ways into straight ones …” The second verse, however, seems to speak of “the other part, the bad part mixed in” with the good part: mox de alia parte, quae mala permixta est, dicit25 Here, the verse instead speaks of those who have turned back: ipsi autem conuersi sunt retro. Yet this group is separate, according to Augustine: quamuis alii iam significentur his uerbis. The verse goes on to read, specifying the latter group as those “who trust in idols; who say to molten images, ‘you are our gods’” (NABre). In other words, Augustine’s appropriation of a New Testament passage, found in the Gospel passage above on the good and bad fish caught in one net, for both an eschatology and a doctrine of the Church as presently an ecclesia permixta finds ground also in the words of the prophet Isaiah.26 Regula tertia. The third rule provides Augustine an opportunity to distance himself from Tyconius on a detailed point, which is more telling of circumstance than the latter’s capacity as an exegete. Because he was not in contact with what became the Pelagian heresy, and according to Augustine at least had no opponent, Tyconius refers to “the promises and the law”. Due to his frequent engagement in corrective instruction with Pelagians, Augustine claims, he prefers to identify an alternative title of either: “on the spirit and the letter” (de spiritu et littera) or “on grace and commandment”. Augustine writes, “In his discussion of this Tyconius worked on it effectively, but not exhaustively. For when discussing faith and works he said that works were given to us by God according to the merit of our faith, but that faith itself came from within us without coming to us from God ….” Of himself, Augustine writes that his exposure to the Pelagian heresy most of all gave him valuable experience in countering heresy, which is here implied to be a skill also for the exegete and interpreter of Scripture. The experience, Augustine says, “… made me more alert and careful, with the result that I noticed in the holy scripture something that had escaped Tyconius, who was less attentive and less on his guard because he had no opponent …”27 25 26 27

doctr. chr. 3.45. Note, the Gospel passage in fact speaks of the kingdom of heaven, and not the Church per se (cf. Matt 13:47). doctr. chr. 3.45, trans. Green.

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Reg. quarta: The fourth rule turns to speak of genus and species, and here Augustine finds occasion to refer to baptism in a discussion of prophetic anticipation of realities of the Church found in the words of the Hebrew prophets. In particular, Augustine says of Ezekiel 36:23–29, where God speaks of cleansing his people and placing in them a new heart, “that this is a prophecy about the New Testament … will be unambiguously clear to anyone who has the insight to see that here is a promise of the baptism of regeneration [Titus 3:5], which we now see duly given to all peoples”.28 Augustine also finds an echo of the same passage from Ezekiel in the words of the Apostle Paul, when he speaks of the Corinthians as “our letter, written not with ink but with the spirit of the living God, not on tablets of stone but on the fleshly tablets of the heart” [2 Cor 3:2– 3]. Thus, Augustine concludes, spiritual Israel is not limited to one nation, but rather becomes a concern of all races “promised to the fathers in their seed, which is Christ” [Gal 3:16]. What distinguishes spiritual Israel, Augustine clarifies, is the “novelty of grace” demonstrated by a certain mentality, not by either nationality or ethnic identity and genetic ancestry. Here, Augustine presents a stylistic word play, that will perhaps make the point more memorable: hic ergo Israhel spiritalis ab illo Israhele carnali, qui est unius gentis, nouitate gratiae, non nobilitate patriae, et mente, non gente distinguitur.29 In continuing to meditate on the passage from Ezekiel 36, and the promises of God to provide a home for his people, Augustine refers then to the words of Ephesians, a phrase of key significance for North African ecclesiology: “we should understand this not carnally, of the fleshly Israel, but spiritually, of the spiritual Israel. It is the church ‘without blemish or wrinkle’ [Eph 5:27], assembled from all peoples and destined to reign with Christ …”30 What is more, Augustine identifies the ancestral covenant with the patriarchs of Israel as referring, ultimately, not to the nations of humankind, but instead to the Church: “… it is the church itself that should be understood as having been given to the fathers at the time when it was promised by God’s sure and immutable will …” In a final reference to 2Tim 1:9–10, Augustine first intimates his view of the relationship between the Old and New Testaments, how one prefigures the other. Thus, the grace spoken of in the words of the Apostle, “now made plain 28 29 30

doctr. chr. 3.46, trans. Green. doctr. chr. 3.49, trans. Green. doctr. chr. 3.49; trans. Green.

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by our savior’s coming” was incompletely foreshadowed before, and only with the advent of Christ has it become clear. Yet, Augustine allows, the fullness of clarity may only occur in future days, with the coming of “a new heaven and a new earth” [Rev 21:1]. Though he does not place tremendous emphasis on the point in the present context, as Augustine’s encounter with Donatism will testify and as indicated even in his remarks above on the “mixed Church” of the second rule, in the present age, the Church is not yet fully “without blemish or wrinkle” (sine macula et ruga), referencing Eph 5:27. Read carefully, the text supports such a qualification, however, since this purified Church “is … assembled from all peoples and destined to reign with Christ, which is itself the land of the blessed, ‘the land of the living’ [Ps 27:13]”.31 Thus, although the topic of genus and species in the fourth rule was the initial starting point, Augustine’s discussion moves decidedly in the direction of concerns key to the core issues of Donatism and North African ecclesiology, including baptism as spiritual renewal, and the anticipated, final purification of the Church. Read in the light of the second rule, in particular, these insights provide essential elements to a doctrine of the Church, especially in relation to eschatology and a theology of time and revelation, all of which pertain to interpreting the message and meaning of salvation in Scripture rightly. This overall impression, as much as it pertains to the questions of Donatism, remains a positive teaching, and Augustine does not imply that either the substance of his teaching or the method of exegesis he employs should be repeated in a strictly polemical context. Such permission, however, may be entirely unnecessary, as even a modest polemicist could capably make use of these rules in conjunction, and as a model for a kind of Augustinian, sacramental-ecclesiological exegesis. Reg. quinta: The fifth rule discusses numbers as measurements of time (de temporibus), and the most important connection with a positive ecclesiology is an aside, where Augustine further specifies his view of the Church in relation to time and God’s plan of salvation. Many numbers found in the Bible are on the face just ordinary numbers, such as seven, ten and twelve; yet “as a rule such numbers are made to stand for a complete period of time”. Thus, “the seventy years of Jeremiah [Jer 25:11, 29:10] may be understood spiritually as the whole of the time during which the Church is among foreigners—or by themselves …”32 These seventy years of Jeremiah are a period of sojourn at best, and at worst a kind of exile that would easily indicate a kind of spiritual alienation, during which the exiled people of Israel are set to live under the king of Babylon.

31 32

doctr. chr. 3.49, trans. Green. doctr. chr. 3.51, trans. Green.

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Regula septima. In concluding his discussion, Augustine speculates on the nature of metaphorical dictation, and thus on the rhetorical elements of his remarks, less than on their accidental substance in relation to doctrinal content. Moreover, Augustine makes no additional qualification or reference whatsoever to Tyconius, the author of the rules; and certainly not to the pars Donati. Here, Augustine shows his prevailing interest is to address his primary audience of aspiring exegetes and interpreters of the Bible, the human accounts of God’s dealings with humankind. To these students, Augustine’s final advice is to learn the forms of expression found in Scripture, and even to memorize examples of its use of language; yet, above all, to “pray for understanding”.33 This advice is not a concession to individual weakness or lack of aptitude, but rather a recognition of human frailty and dependence upon grace for knowledge of the Scriptures and of salvation.

5

Conclusion: On Exemplarity and Augustine as Model (Teacher, Polemicist & Exegete)

In this study, I have set out to examine the following two questions: 1) Does Augustine teach, in doctr. chr. in particular, how one must combat heresy or schism? 2) Does he teach, precisely, how one must combat Donatism, per se? Both of these questions implicitly include how the polemicist may also function as an exegete, and thus how to interpret and call upon biblical texts when writing, speaking or preaching against certain forms of faith. I suggest that Augustine falls in line with the classical ideal of exemplarity as a form of instruction, which he identifies in doctr. chr. (Books 3–4), when speaking of how students are to learn to speak well. There are rules to be learned, both for speaking and for interpreting the Bible, but these can seem artificial when extracted from the teaching authority and master of a particular subject. So much is even more the case when the mastery is somehow universal, approaching wisdom, or of the Word of God and the truth communicated through it. Likewise, in the case of refuting heresy and schism, even if there were programmatic rules to be discerned from the example of Augustine, or implicitly detected within his effort at creating a biblical, ecclesial, Christological, theological hermeneutics of the divine speech (divina eloquentia).34 The principles

33 34

doctr. chr. 3.56, Simonetti, 248–250. See, for example, Paul Blowers, Angela Christman, and David Hunter, eds., In domino eloquio—In Lordly Eloquence: Essays on Patristic Exegesis in Honor of Robert L. Wilken

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matter, but so too does the speaker and his or her way of life, manner of speaking, personality and all other manner of nuances. Further points can be made only briefly. First, Augustine does promote even from the opening lines a hermeneutic of charity, and of grace and the Incarnation (thus, Christ-centered), rather than any hermeneutic of self-interest. This latter option is essentially the critique of a Donatist interpreter, in my eyes, much as Augustine offers in Io. eu. tr. 1–16. Second, Augustine seems to uphold a kind of provisional status of Scripture: it is useful primarily for forming others, as a vehicle of divine grace, and the charity of Christian imitation of Christ; for all prophecy will pass away, according to the Apostle (1 Cor 13:8). In effect, both church and Scripture are likewise provisional in a particular light. This status is rejected, in large part, by Donatist eschatology, presented here implicitly and elsewhere at greater length openly. Augustine’s exegesis is both Christocentric and ecclesial, and thus an impetus for sound biblical theology. In that way, he was only a polemicist by circumstance. Teaching polemics was thus a concession he was, apparently, not willing to make. For his readers seeking advice in responding to social or ecclesial crisis, the guiding principles of caritas and unitas—not to mention the prevailing current of grace—remain the best guidance Augustine offers in De doctrina christiana.

Acknowledgements I am grateful to the hosts and organisers of the conference on “Rhetoric, Polemics and Exegesis” at the Åbo Akademi University in Turku, Finland, and the editors of this volume for the opportunity of presenting my research. Also, to my own supervisors at ku Leuven, and to our funding agencies, I am more than grateful for the kindness and enduring support.

(Grand Rapids: William B. Eerdmans Publishing Co., 2001), and cf. Io. eu. tr. 1.1, where Augustine calls upon the Apostle Paul’s self-concept as a humble, human minister in order to launch his anti-Donatist, polemical exegesis of the Gospel of John.

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Bibliography Primary Sant’ Agostino. L’instruzione cristiana. Edited by M. Simonetti. Rome, 2000. Saint Augustine. Teaching Christianity (De Doctrina Christiana). Works of Saint Augustine i/11. Edited by John Rotelle, O.S.A. Hyde Park: New City Press, 1996. Saint Augustine. On Christian Teaching. Edited by R. Green. Oxford World’s Classics. Oxford, 1997–1999. Tyconius. The Book of Rules. Translated by William Babcock. Texts and Translations 31. Atlanta, 1989.

Secondary Arnold, Duane, and Pamela Bright, eds. De Doctrina Christiana: A Classic of Western Culture. Notre Dame: University of Notre Dame Press, 1995. Auerbach, Erich. “Sermo Humilis.”Romanische Forschungen 64, Bd. 3/4 (1952): 304–364. Ayres, Lewis. “Augustine on the Rule of Faith: Rhetoric, Christology, and the Foundation of Christian Thinking.” Augustinian Studies 36, no. 1 (2005): 33–49. Baker, Kimberly. “Augustine’s Doctrine of the Totus Christus: Reflecting on the Church as Sacrament of Unity.” Horizons 37, no. 1 (2010): 7–24. Bass, Alden. “Ecclesiological Controversies.” Pages 145–152 in Augustine in Context. Edited by T. Toom. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2017. van Bavel, Tarcisius J., and Bernhard Bruning. “Die Einheit des Totus Christus bei Augustinus.” Pages 43–75 in Studien über Augustinus, den Augustinismus und den Augustinerorden. Edited by C.P. Mayer and W. Eckermann. Würzburg: AugustinusVerlag, 1975. Berrouard, Marie-François. Homélies sur l’Évangile de Saint Jean: Tractatus in Iohannis evangelium i–xvi. Bibliothèque Augustinienne 71. Paris: Études Augustiniennes, 1969. Blowers, Paul, Angela Christman, and David Hunter, eds. In domino eloquio—In Lordly Eloquence: Essays on Patristic Exegesis in Honor of Robert L. Wilken. Grand Rapids: William B. Eerdmans Publishing Co., 2001. Bright, Pamela. The Book of Rules of Tyconius: Its Purpose and Inner Logic. Notre Dame: University of Notre Dame, 1994. Cameron, Michael. Christ Meets Me Everywhere: Augustine’s Early Figurative Exegesis. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2012. Carrabetta, Giuseppe. Agostino d’Ippona: la Chiesa mistero e presenza del Cristo totale. Assisi: Cittadella, 2015. Chadwick, Henry. Augustine of Hippo: A Life. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2009. Doyle, George. “St. Augustine’s Tractates on the Gospel of John Compared with the Rhetorical theory of De Doctrina Christiana.” Ph.D. diss., Chapel Hill, 1975.

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Dulaey, Martine. “La Sixième Règle de Tyconius et son résumé dans le De Doctrina Christiana.” Revue d’Etudes Augustiniennes et Patristique 35 (1989): 83–103. Dupont, Anthony. Gratia in Augustine’s Sermones ad populum during the Pelagian Controversy: Do Different Contexts Furnish Different Insights? Leiden: Brill, 2013. Kannengiesser, Charles. “Quintilian, Tyconius and Augustine.” Illinois Classical Studies 19 (1994): 239–252. McCarthy, Michael. “‘We Are Your Books’: Augustine, the Bible and the Practice of Authority.” Journal of the American Academy of Religion 75, no. 2 (2007): 324–352. McCarthy, Michael. “An Ecclesiology of Groaning: Augustine, the Psalms, and the Making of Church.” Pages 227–256 in The Harp of Prophecy: Early Christian Interpretation of the Psalms. Edited by B.E. Daley and P.R. Kolbet. Notre Dame: University of Notre Dame Press, 2015. Meconi, David. The One Christ: St. Augustine’s Theology of Deification. Washington, D.C.: Catholic University of America Press, 2013. O’Donnell, James J. “De Doctrina Christiana.” Pages 278–280 in Augustine through the Ages. Edited by Allan D. Fitzgerald. Grand Rapids: William B. Eerdmans Publishing Co., 1999. Oort, Johannes van. Jerusalem and Babylon: A Study of Augustine’s City of God and the Sources of his Doctrine of the Two Cities. Leiden: Brill, 2015. Ployd, Adam. Augustine, the Trinity, and the Church: A Reading of the Anti-Donatist Sermons. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2015. Shaw, Brent. Sacred Violence: African Christians and Sectarian Hatred in the Age of Augustine. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2011. Tilley, Maureen. The Bible in Christian North Africa: The Donatist World. Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 1997. Tilley, Maureen. “Understanding Augustine Misunderstanding Tyconius.” Studia Patristica 27 (1993): 405–408. Vercruysse, Jean-Marc. “Tyconius’ Hermeneutics.” Pages 20–48 in Patristic Theories of Biblical Interpretation: the Latin Fathers. Edited by T. Toom. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2016.

Talking with the Enemy: Fictitious Polemical Dialogues against the Donatists in Augustine’s Sermones ad populum Timo Nisula

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Introduction: Fictitious Dialogues in Augustine’s Sermons

The conversational features of Augustine’s sermons are familiar to everyone having even a casual acquaintance with them: every now and then, Augustine introduces a brief chat, as it were, or sermocinatio, with a diverse set of fictitious or absent personalities.1 The preacher seems thus to converse not only

1 For brief observations or more extensive analyses of the use of these fictitious dialogues, or sermocinationes, in Augustine’s preaching in general, or in specific sermons, see M. Inviolata Barry, St. Augustine, the Orator: A Study of the Rhetorical Qualities of St. Augustine’s Sermones ad populum (Washington D.C.: Catholic University of America, 1924), 134–138 on prosopopoeia, 145–149 on dialektikon; José Oroz Reta, La retorica en los sermones de San Agustin (Madrid: Libreria Editorial Augustinus, 1968), 182–186; Alejandro Olivar, La predicación cristiana antigua (Barcelona: Herder, 1991), 366, 607; Christine Mohrmann, “Saint Augustin prédicateur,” in Études sur le latin des chrétiens, Vol. 1 (Roma: Edizioni di storia e letteratura, 1958), 400–401; Otto Zwierlein, “Der Fall Roms im Spiegel der Kirchenväter,” zpe 32 (1978): 77; Carl Springer, “The prosopopoeia of Church as Mother in Augustine’s Psalmus contra Partem Donati,” AugStud 18 (1987): 52–65; Christoph Schäublin, “Zum paganen Umfeld der christlichen Predigt,” in Predigt in der Alten Kirche (ed. E. Mühlenberg and J. van Oort; Kampen: Kok Pharos, 1994), 47–48; Thomas F. Martin, “Vox Pauli: Augustine and the Claims to Speak for Paul: An Exploration of Rhetoric at the Service of Exegesis,” jecs 8:2 (2000): 237–272; Lutz Mechlinsky, Der modus proferendi in Augustins sermones ad populum (Paderborn: Ferdinand Schöningh, 2004), 80, 153–154, 209–210, 231, 248–252; William Harmless, “The Voice and the Word: Augustine’s Catechumenate in Light of the Dolbeau Sermons,” AugStud 35:1 (2004): 36–37; Daniel Nodes, “The Organization of Augustine’s Psalmus contra Partem Donati,” vc 63 (2009) 396–397; Robert Dodaro, “Augustine’s Use of Parallel Dialogues in His Preaching on Nonviolence,” in Ministerium Sermonis: Philological, Historical and Theological Studies on Augustine’s Sermones ad Populum (ed. G. Partoens, A. Dupont, and M. Lamberigts; Turnhout: Brepols, 2010), 327–344; Michael Cameron, Christ Meets Me Everywhere: Augustine’s Early Figurative Exegesis (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2012), 179–185; William Harmless, “A Love Supreme: Augustine’s ‘Jazz’ of Theology,” AugStud 43:1/2 (2012): 172; Gert Partoens, “Augustine on Predestination, Immortal Babies, and Sinning Foetuses: A Rhetorical Analysis of Sermon 165,” AugStud 45:1 (2013): 40–41; Timo Nisula, “You Are Adam: The Rhetorical Presence of Adam in Augustine’s Sermons and in His Audience,” in Adam and Eve Story in Jewish, Christian and Islamic Perspectives (ed. A. Laato and L. Valve; Åbo Akademi University and Eisenbrauns, 2017), 119–159; Augustine M. Reisenauer, “Christ Examining, Excommunicating,

© Timo Nisula, 2022 | doi:10.1163/9789004466845_010

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with his own audience or congregation, but also with many other characters independent of the boundaries of time and place. Sometimes, the first impression when reading the more extensive pieces of sermocinationes from the Latin editions may even be outright confusing: Who is speaking here? What are all these competing voices? Can one make sense of all the diverse claims, interjections and objections—and how?2 In all likelihood many of the answers to these questions were rather more evident to the members of Augustine’s audience; i.e. those who saw and heard their preacher taking up all the different roles and most probably modifying his voice, tone and style to accommodate the diverse characters and give voice to those participating in his performance.3 The sermons are thus populated with a host of characters and voices (uoces). Every now and then an anonymous fictitious interlocutor (aliquis dicit, inquit/ inquis), interrupts, asks, opposes, criticises, wonders, and questions the preacher’s teaching. The voice appears as direct speech (oratio recta) and is in the first person.4 In addition to such anonymous and generic voices, Augustine also debates and converses with other, more specific, characters as well. Most prominent are, of course, the figures from the grand narrative of God, the Bible. Augustine is perfectly able to talk with ease with Adam, Paul (or simply, the Apostle), John, James, and of course with Christ, the medicus humilis, and God himself.5 These voices often appear as concluding, authoritative voices that seem to fade out the preacher’s own voice, and presumably also end the questioning and the doubts of the congregation. “Listen to me—or rather, listen to God through me: ‘Sing to the Lord a new song’ (Ps 149:1).”6

2

3 4

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and Exorcising the Antichrist in Augustine’s Homilies on the First Epistle of John,” in Praedicatio Patrum: Studies on Preaching in Late Antique North Africa (ed. G. Partoens, A. Dupont, and S. Boodts; Turnhout: Brepols, 2017), 343–345. For discerning between voices as an exegetical instrument, see Hubertus Drobner, PersonExegese und Christologie bei Augustinus: Zur Herkunft der Formel una persona (Leiden: Brill, 1986), 19–27; and Cameron, Christ Meets Me Everywhere, 171–172. Martin, “Vox Pauli,” 256; Partoens, “Sinning Foetuses,” 40. But see Luca Grillo, “A Double Sermocinatio and a Resolved Dilemma in Cicero’s Pro Plancio,” cq 64:1 (2014): 221, and his reference to Quint. Inst. 9, 2, 37, in which oratio obliqua is also used and mentioned. See here Martin, “Vox Pauli,”passim, for the use of Paul in Augustine’s sermons. See also Reisenauer, “Christ Examining,” 343–345, for impersonation in the ep. Io. tr. Cf. Chrysostom’s similar practice of interviewing Biblical authors, according to David Rylaarsdam, John Chrysostom on Divine Pedagogy: The Coherence of his Theology and Preaching (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2014), 265–266. s. 34, 6 (ccl 41, 426).

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In addition to Biblical characters, the voices used often may also represent Augustine’s theological opponents, and the sermocinationes are then used for interrogating, debating and even ridiculing opponents.7 In polemical contexts, Augustine’s sermocinationes thus provide an opportunity to observe how he constructs and portrays his opponents to his audience; what kind of arguments are hidden in these entertaining acts of rhetoric; and how the preacher images himself and his own voice during these dialogues. The fictitious voices and persons were, of course, part and parcel of the Late Antique rhetorician’s training. Both ancient and modern handbooks of rhetoric may be consulted for examples of and distinctions between these devices, which I will, for the sake of brevity and simplicity, label as (fictitious) voices.8 In the rhetorical taxonomy, the device of using fictitious persons and their voices was known as prosopopoeia, or personarum ficta inductio, or ethopoeia; and addressing and talking to and with them could be referred to as dialogoi, or sermocinationes; or, in a sudden “turn of address”, apostrophe (in the modern scholarship the variety of terms is similarly rich: impersonation, fictitious dialogue, dialektikon, speech-in-character, role-play etc.). In his sermons, when needed, Augustine most simply refers to them as uoces or uerba of So-and-So. According to the rhetorical theories of the time, sermocinationes were most valuable in judicial contexts, and Quintilian points out that in in order to seem plausible and convincing when presenting the voices of one’s opponents it would be wise to compose such fictitious lines in such a way as to represent the opponent’s ideas and personalities with accuracy.9 It remains doubtful, however, as to whether Augustine ever desired his audience to find the theological positions of his opponents to sound convincing, but at least he knew very well how to play the instruments of ridicule and caricature in giving voice to e.g. his Donatist and Pelagian counterparts by means of dialektikon and interrogatio of his opponents.10 7

8 9

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There is a wide variety of other kind of voices appearing in the sermons as well: talking animals (s. 26, 15), dead poets defending their ambiguous statements (s. 105), irritating parents (s. 65A, 4–11), nagging spouses (s. 159A [= Dolbeau 13], 6–9, 13), even the valuables in one’s home can be taken to testify against the listener with their words, or to tempt one to love them more than God (s. 65A4, “what does gold say to me? ‘Love me’ […] hush the voice (uox) of gold and silver”). See Heinrich Lausberg, Handbook of Literary Rhetoric: a Foundation for Literary Studies (Leiden: Brill, 1998), 366–371, for the terms sermocinatio and fictio personae. For Quintilian’s advice, see inst. 9, 2, 30 and Justin King, Speech-in Character, Diatribe, and Romans 3:1–9 (Leiden: Brill, 2018), 26–36. For sermocinationes in Cicero’s use, see the recent analysis of Grillo, “A Double sermocinatio,” 214–225. Partoens, “Sinning foetuses,” 40: “As he commonly does when applying this technique, Augustine makes his fictive opponent get caught in his own absurdities.”

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The rhetorical advantages of these sermocinationes were, of course, evident. As already stated, in all likelihood a dialogue between two or more different voices was “staged” or dramatized, so that the speaker changed his voice according to which person was speaking. This naturally helped the audience to distinguish between the different voices.11 Sometimes, however, Augustine had to remind his audience which voice was actually being heard from the pulpit, as in s. 65, 3, where the preacher takes over the voice of a “brave martyr” ( fortissimus martyr) but subsequently marks the end of the voice uttering “ecce, uerba martyris dico”, before continuing with his “own” words on bodily fears. Evidently, the dramatic and theatrical quality of sermocinationes offered some entertaining relief, especially if the sermon was a long one.12 S. 198auct (= s. Dolbeau 26) contains several brief and more extensive voiced discussions, undoubtedly because the preacher was keen to hold the attention of his audience during this very long sermon.13 This fits in well enough with the traditional idea of sermocinatio bringing “wonderful variation” (Quint. inst. 9, 2, 29 mire namque cum uariant orationem tum excitant) to the speech. Variation and colourfulness are also mentioned by several modern scholars (perhaps influenced by Quintilian) as the reason why Augustine used the device.14 While obviously true, such an evaluation may also ignore the deeper reasons why the preacher found speaking in voices a meaningful medium in conversing with his congregation. Certainly, personifications and dialogues between personalities were likely to be remembered better by the audience afterwards. Rather than merely baldly stating the propositions he wished to teach to his Christians, Augustine wanted his listeners to learn to join in the investigation concerning the true meaning of the text; to find the right interpretation and application of the divine exhortation in question; to solve seemingly contradictory statements into a constructive harmony; to refute and reply to competing and opposing interpretations from other Christian readers and teachers; and finally, to identify

11 12 13 14

Martin, “Vox Pauli,” 256. No doubt the audience was pleased with Augustine’s entertaining sketches in s. 61 (pl 38, 409–414), which ends: audistis, laudastis: deo gratias. Capturing and holding the audience attention is also mentioned by Mechlinsky (Modus proferendi, 153–154) as the reason for Augustine’s use of dialektikon in s. 240. Barry, “Rhetorical Qualities,” 134–138; Mohrmann, “Augustine prédicateur,” 391–402; Mechlinsky, Modus proferendi, 80, 259. Variation in general was valued by many of the 4th century Christian preachers, again in accord with their rhetorical training. See, e.g. Thomas Graumann, “St. Ambrose on the Art of Preaching,” in Vescovi e pastori in epoca teodosiana: in occasione del xvi centenario della consecrazione episcopale di S. Agostino, 396–1996 (Roma: Institutum Patristicum Augustinianum, 1997), 592.

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and voice one’s own inner thoughts, doubts and temptations that were perhaps sceptical to or in contradiction with the bishop’s teachings about the Christian faith and life. The prosopopoeia and sermocinatio were very suitable tools for such tasks. Voicing questions, temptations, and doubts in the first person and then answering them using a Biblical and/or divine voice was an efficient way of instilling the Christian way into the hearts and minds of the audience. Thus, sermocinationes and their dramatic voices contributed to the preacher’s mission of presenting the Christian truths as understandable for the congregation and assisting the hearers in internalizing the moral teachings of their bishop in their minds, in the same way as visual and colourful images were, for example, used.15 The living voices both of the fictitious persons expressing their hidden attitudes and of the Biblical characters thus served a deeper theological intent in Augustine’s mind. For him, the sermon was not just an informative lecture on knotty academic problems, nor was it even a mere intellectual performance of how twisted biblical dilemmas of seemingly contradictory passages should be solved, although admittedly this was often Augustine’s starting point in expounding his ground text. Rather, the words of the preacher were sacramental signs, outward and limited by nature, to be sure, but nonetheless something that could and should be used to lead the congregation into a deepened understanding of the Wisdom of the Lord, and thus to embrace His voice and presence in the Church. The varying, sometimes contradictory, voices invite and challenge the hearers to interact with and live in the world of the Word, in which the voice of the Lord (either in his own person or mediated through his apostles and prophets) almost always faces and replies to the smaller and distorted voices of the human beings in the sermons. Therefore, when Augustine the rhetor uses prosopopoeia, apostrophe and fictitious dialogue to represent the voice of the Church, or Christ, or God, either with literal quotations (for lack of a better word, as Augustine’s biblical quotations are rarely represented as “quotations” in the modern sense; rather, they are the uiua uox of the God speaking in the voice[s] of the preacher) from the biblical passages, or by means of his own—sometimes very free— paraphrasing, the present and direct speech used deeply underlines Augustine’s basic theological conviction of what the sermon preached by the bishop 15

For images and their functions in the sermons, see Carol Harrison, The Art of Listening in the Early Church (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2013), 63–83. See also Rylaarsdam’s useful analysis of visualisations in Chrysostom’s sermons (Chrysostom on Divine Pedagogy, 228–287).

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is: it is comparable to the external words and elements of the Bible and the sacraments and, moreover, it is meant to lead the audience towards understanding and enjoying God and his love, there and now; to enter the new Christian world.16 Despite being an acknowledged feature of Augustine’s modus proferendi in the homiletic material, the preacher’s ways of using sermocinationes have received only fragmentary and occasional attention in recent scholarship. In specialised contexts, a number of separate analyses of individual sermons, together with observations on their sermocinationes, have been published during the last two decades.17 There are, however, no systematic and comprehensive studies of this intriguing and exciting phenomenon, which is deserving of more attention and investigation both for its rhetorical and theological impact. Such studies could, for instance, confirm an initial impression concerning Augustine’s sermons, namely, that the sermocinationes represent more than a “merely” rhetorical device of embellishment and ornament for the amusement of their listeners, or even for holding their dwindling attention. Over and above than that, the sermocinationes should be seen as an essential part of Augustine’s rhetorical theology in which the Christian becomes an interlocutor with and a hearer of the polyphonic orchestra of divine revelation and its multifaceted host of persons and voices. Furthermore, it is clear that the uses and aims of Augustine’s sermocinationes were diverse. Thus, while the form of the fictitious dialogues may seem to be more or less unified, it is their function in each sermon and its context that sets them apart to represent at least the four following categories: 1) Therapeutic dialogues on varying temptations and “evil thoughts” (malae cogitationes).18 2) Dialogues aimed at the conversion of the hearer; catechetical dialogues.19

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For the theology of speaking about God and sermo, see Philip Burton, Language in the Confessions of Augustine (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2007) 7–34; see also Carol Harrison, The Art of Listening, 133–168, and Cameron, Christ Meets Me Everywhere, 243–244. These analyses include e.g.: Partoens, “Sinning foetuses,” 29–48; Mechlinsky, Modus proferendi, 80, 153–154, 209–210, 231, 248–252; Dodaro, “Parallel Dialogues,” 327–344; Martin, “Vox Pauli,” 237–272. For the preacher’s activity as a therapist in general, see Paul Kolbet, Augustine and the Cure of Souls: Revising a Classical Idea (Notre Dame: Notre Dame University Press, 2010), and id., “Rhetoric, Redemption, and the Practices of the Self: A Neglected Mode of Augustine’s Thinking,” in Praedicatio Patrum: Studies on Preaching in Late Antique North Africa (ed. G. Partoens, A. Dupont, and S. Boodts; Turnhout: Brepols, 2017). See Harmless, “Voice and the Word,” 36.

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Hostile and polemical dialogues on controversial doctrinal issues; comical caricatures or simplified representations of the speaker’s opponents and their ideas or Biblical interpretations.20 4) Exegetical dialogues; interrogations of Biblical authors in order to tease out the meaning of difficult or contradictory statements of one or more Biblical verses.21 Evidently, these categories are flexible and some overlap does appear: a sermocinatio can, for instance, be read as a polemical debate with a fictitious pagan who is sceptical of the tenets of Christian doctrine, but also as an argument for conversion and used to refute the listener’s intellectual obstacles and to persuade him or her to enter the Christian church.

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Voices from the Donatist Church: Fictitious Dialogues on Particularism, Church, Baptism and Christian Love

The third group of sermocinationes in my classification above consists of a large number of occasions on which Augustine gives voice to his various theological opponents. These opponents include Jews, the Manichaeans, the Arians, the Pelagians, and the Donatists, but also traditional philosophical schools, such as the Stoics and the Epicureans. In many of these polemical sermocinationes against any given heretics, the following pattern emerges: Augustine first invites the voice and fictitious person of the heretic to say what he has to say; the preacher then questions him, and sometimes ridicules the positions that he finds unorthodox and false. Eventually, however, the answers to Augustine’s theological opponent are given by a directly divine or another scriptural voice, e.g. the voice of the Apostle Paul, Christ or God himself. It is as if the preacher stood down and by handing the microphone to Christ, the real and true Teacher of the Christian congregation, made his own role and voice vanish.22

20 21 22

See Mechlinsky, Modus proferendi, 250; Partoens, “Sinning foetuses,” 40. See Martin, “Vox Pauli,” 269–271; Reisenauer, “Christ Examining,” 343–345. See Kolbet, Cure of Souls, 174, on Augustine’s insistence that he is not the one teaching the congregation or addressing their hearts and intellect. In a polemical context, s. 135 provides an example of this pattern. Augustine composes a sermocinatio on Jn 9:14 (“I have come to do the works of him who sent me”), and an imaginary Arian and Augustine take different stands on what this means for Christology. The bishop subsequently turns to Christ and begs the voice of Christ to put an end to the argument. Of course, this is exactly what happens, finita est quaestio. s. 135, 2–3 (pl 38, 746–747).

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It also seems safe to assume that in the polemical sermocinationes, Augustine’s aim lies in something other than in giving fair treatment to his opponents or formulating balanced paraphrases of their views.23 Rather, the opponents’ views are presented in very simple forms, sometimes approaching a caricature.24 They thus serve the purpose of giving Augustine’s audience a way of recognizing and identifying particular key words, concepts, Biblical verses and images used by the opponents in their own teaching, which are then attached to Augustine’s own explanations and teachings. Briefly put, the constructions of various theological opponents in Augustine’s sermons represent first and foremost the bishop’s own, deliberately distorted or heuristic image of his opponents that he himself wishes to paint and sell to his audience. In this article, I will focus on Augustine’s fictitious dialogues with the Donatists and the imaginary voices of his Donatist opponents. Anthony Dupont has listed forty-three sermons that contain an anti-Donatist intent.25 According to Dupont, the Donatists are explicitly named 45 times in these sermons.26 Augustine uses the device of fictitious dialogue or presents the first person Donatist voice in more than half of these sermons (i.e. in 23 sermons), sometimes arranging rather extensive pieces of dialogue and conversation between the voices of his theological opponents, himself and the Biblical voices.27 The sheer number of times Augustine resorts to using this device

23

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26 27

See G. Partoens, “Sinning foetuses,” 47–48. See also Gert Partoens, “Prédication, orthodoxie et liturgie: Les sermons d’Augustin prononcés à Carthage en septembre-octobre 417,” in Prédication et liturgie (ed. N. Bériou and F. Morenzoni, Turnhout: Brepols), 23–51; Anthony Dupont, Gratia in Augustine’s Sermones ad Populum during the Pelagian Controversy: Do Different Contexts Furnish Different Insights? (Leiden: Brill, 2012), 627–628. For strategies to ridicule his Donatist opponents in another genre, see Rafał Toczko, “The Ways of Ridiculing the Opponent in Augustine’s Letters: The case of the Donatists,” zac 22:1 (2018): 91–109. Anthony Dupont, Preacher of Grace: A Critical Reappraisal of Augustine’s Doctrine of Grace in his Sermones ad Populum on Liturgical Feasts and During the Donatist Controversy (Leiden: Brill, 2014), 160: ss. 3, 4, 10, 33, 37, 45–47, 88, 90, 129, 137, 138, 147A, 159B, 162A, 164, 182, 183, 197, 198, 202, 223, 252, 266, 269, 271, 275, 292, 293A, 295, 313E, 327, 340A, 357–359, 359B, 360, 360A, 360C, 400. ibid., 126 n. 144. These sermons include s. 46, 14–15, a dialogue with a lost Donatist sheep who does not want to be sought; s. 47, 18 voices of a potential pagan convert to Christian faith and the Donatist separatists’ voice giving him an unconvincing reply; s. 88 structured around the images of crying (clamare) and voices; in the final sections of the sermon Augustine gives voice to his Donatist opponents, and their exegesis concerning segregation, in order to “shut them up” (§22). Cf., however, s. 360C, 5 (= s. Dolbeau 27) where Augustine insists and demands that the Donatist answer him and eat the healthy bread of unity, even if under compulsion; s. 137, 12 voices from the Donatist party; s. 162A two examples of how

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shows its suitability for polemical functions. In the following sections, I will provide an analysis of a small selection of these sermons and the voices and dialogues they contain. 2.1 Pride and Particularism (s. 129) Sermon 129 on John 5, 39–47 begins with an anti-Judaistic observation. Augustine briefly examines a selection of verses from the Gospels and Paul’s Epistles that condemn pride and justification by one’s own works. The preacher, however, soon leaves the anti-Judaistic debates aside. According to Augustine, it is fruitless to argue with the Jews, for “they are outside, they don’t want to hear what the [Lord] said.”28 Augustine therefore shifts his focus onto what appears to be the actual subject of the sermon: the Donatists and their alleged pride and self-justification as the foundation of their ecclesiology. Augustine does not mention the Donatists by name, and even though he speaks of the pride and self-aggrandizement of the Antichrist in the baptismal theology of his opponents, he nevertheless considers individual Donatists as “brothers and sisters, with whom we can deal” ( fratres nostros cum quibus agimus). Relying on the Tyconian hermeneutical

28

the voices of the Donatists are contrasted to the one voice of God/Christ (§ 7, § 9). References to the hearing and trial of Crispinus at the proconsul’s seat: Augustine debates here with the voice of Crispinus; s. 164 has several representations of Donatist voices, and the voice-overs are used from the start to the end during the entire sermon; s. 181 is an interesting case of polemical dialogue against a Pelagian who claims to be just, arguing in ways that are reminiscent of the Donatists (for this sermon, see the commentary and analysis of Mechlinsky, Modus proferendi, 218–253); s. 183 is an interrogation of heretical voices conducted in order to reveal that all heretics deny that Christ has come in the flesh, including Donatists and Pelagians—the interrogation takes form of several fictitious dialogues; s. 265, 6 voices claiming for the presence of Christ’s Church in particular places (against Donatists) and Christ’s voice in reply to them; s. 266 contains brief examples of dialogues against the Donatist view of the Holy Spirit and the laying of hands (on the day of Pentecost); s. 313E, 4 is a brief representation of extremist Donatism on the issue of suicide as martyrdom—containing violent and cruel language, not attempting to represent the opponent as someone deserving debate; s. 340A, 11 a dialogue with a Donatist on bad bishops and a reply given in Christ’s voice; s. 359, 8 a dialogue with a slow convert from Donatism to the Catholic side; s. 359B, 17–22 a discussion on true martyrdom with Donatist voices; s. 360 a brief, and curious discourse of an ex-Donatist convert, given in the first person (see Alden Bass, “Dissident Preaching in Africa: Inherently Violent?” in Praedicatio Patrum: Studies on Preaching in Late Antique North Africa [ed. G. Partoens, A. Dupont, and S. Boodts; Turnhout: Brepols, 2017], 404); s. 360C, 5 (Dolbeau 27), a dialogue between the preacher of Unity and a Donatist who is rather reluctant to answer to anything the preacher says; and finally, s. 400 including entertaining pieces of dialogue on anti-Donatist issues, but not with a Donatist per se. s. 129, 3.

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model of the two voices of the head and the body of Christ in the Old and the New Testament, Augustine provides his audience with a set of Biblical verses that emphasise his universalist image of the Church. This array of Bible documentation is preceded with a prosopopoeia of the Mother Church. mother church: My brothers and sisters, scattered children, broken branches, why do you misrepresent me? Why don’t you recognise me? […] Because you do not examine the scriptures, which bear witness to me.29 Thus, the voice of the Church, which the preacher imitates and constructs in his sermon (uoce ecclesiae loquor), addresses the Donatists and provides them with evidence of the presence of the rightful Church already in the Scripture (s. 129, 5–6). Still using the voice of the Church, the preacher turns to criticize the Donatist notion of justification and sanctification. Augustine does this by using the prosopopoeia of Mother Church once again, in this instance composing a fictitious dialogue between two characters: one a mixture of the Antichrist and a Donatist group identity, the other an individual baptised Christian coming from the Eastern parts of the Church.30 the donatist voice: I am the one justifies. eastern christian: (gives the answer) I came to Christ, not on my feet, but I came in my heart. Where I heard the gospel, that’s where I believed, where I was baptized; because I believed in Christ, believed in God. the donatist voice: You’re not pure (he says). eastern christian: Why not? the donatist voice: Because I wasn’t there. eastern christian: Tell me why I wasn’t purified, a person who was baptized in Jerusalem, who was baptized (let us say) among the Ephesians, whose peace you reject […] So what now? What are you telling me? I’m not pure? I was baptized there, and I’m not pure?

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s. 129, 4 (pl 38, 722) o fratres, filii dispersi, oues errantes, rami praecisi, quid mihi calumniamini? quid me non agnoscitis? […] quia non scrutamini scripturas, quae testimonium perhibent de me. In this article, I am adopting Thomas Martin’s (“Vox Pauli,” passim) typographical solution in order to illustrate the dramatic style of the dialogues and assigning the lines of the dialogue to the partners of conversation. The English translations are from wsa iii/1–11 (trans. Edmund Hill).

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the donatist voice: Certainly you are not. eastern christian: Why not? the donatist voice: Because I wasn’t there. eastern christian: But the one who is everywhere was there. The one who is everywhere was there, the one in whose name I have come to believe. You come from goodness knows where, or rather you don’t come, but you want me to come to you; you’re stuck here, and you tell me, ‘You weren’t properly baptized, because I wasn’t there.’ […]31 The sermocinatio is typical in several respects. The fictitious opponent’s theological views are reduced to a comical and repetitious jingle, a single and morally dubious phrase (quia ego ibi non fui), repeated in opposition to the astonished questions of the baptised Christian. In this sermocinatio, the Donatist voice thus provides the preacher with a tool to ridicule the Donatist notions of purity and sacrament to the extreme: the universal salvific sacrament of the Catholic Church is opposed to a local and particular African Donatist, who, in his words, must be present for the sacrament to be valid. The Eastern Christian makes some subtly disparaging word choices in order to underline the ridiculous nature of the particularity of the Donatists (nescio unde ueniens, hic positus). By repeating the word ego, Augustine also depicts the Donatist voice as confirming his previous observation of the schismatic movement as representing pride and self-aggrandizement. The audience thus perceives Augustine and his imaginary friend from Jerusalem or Ephesus as representing the case of Christ and his universal Church, whereas the Donatist sounds like a conceited salesman offering some local and shabby forgeries. At the end of this sermocinatio, Augustine turns to his listeners and urges them to choose between the two voices: either “our voice” or “theirs”.32 The preacher sums up his own voice by means of two biblical verses, while the voice

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s. 129, 7 (pl 38, 723–724) quid aliud facit qui dicit: ego iustifico? respondetur ei: ego ad Christum ueni, non pedibus, sed corde ueni: ubi euangelium audiui, ibi credidi, ibi baptizatus sum: quia in Christum credidi, in deum credidi. et ille: non es mundus. quare? quia non ibi fui. dic quare non sum mundatus, homo qui baptizatus sum in Ierusalem, homo qui baptizatus sum, uerbi gratia, apud Ephesios, ad quos datam epistolam legis, et quorum pacem spernis? […] quid ergo? quid mihi dicis? mundus non sum? ibi baptizatus, mundus non sum? etiam non es. quare? quia ego ibi non fui. sed qui ubique est, ibi fuit. qui ubique est, ibi fuit, in cuius nomen credidi. tu nescio unde ueniens, imo non ueniens, sed uolens ut ego ad te ueniam, hic positus dicis mihi: non es recte baptizatus, quia ego ibi non fui. s. 129, 8 (pl 38, 724) intellegite ergo, fratres mei, uocem nostram et illorum, et uidete quid eligatis.

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of the other part is bluntly rendered as “unless we are good, you’ve had it” (nisi boni fuerimus, peristis) with no Biblical documentation. 2.2 The Church of the South (s. 138 and s. 147A) In the previous sermon, Augustine used the personification of Mother Church and her voice to address his audience. The prosopopoeia of the Church is also used elsewhere in Augustine’s anti-Donatist sermons to counter the Donatist voices of the identity and location of the Church, Christ’s bride.33 In sermons 138 and 147A, Augustine refers to the Donatist interpretation of Sg 1:7 (“Tell me where you graze your flock, where you lie down in the noon day” [in meridie]).34 These words are uttered by the Bride of Christ, or the Church, and in s. 138, 7 Augustine introduces her words as the words of his Catholic congregation and as the voice of unity (unitas dicit). The Bride’s question is addressed to the Bridegroom, who is asked to state what kind of people the Bride should avoid in order that she would not stumble over treacherous Christians “like a veiled woman” (sicut operta). The voice of Christ naturally replies by warning them against “going out” on the tracks of division and of abandoning the unity of the Catholic Church (s. 138, 8). Only after having made his congregation listen to both the Bride and the Bridegroom, does Augustine give voice to the Donatist interpretation of where to search for the Church. Compared to the previously analysed sermon, in which the Donatist voice was used more like a caricature and an entertaining straw man, Augustine seems to give a much more detailed form to the Donatist “perverse sense” of the verse, and subsequently offers a reconstruction of the words of the Bride as opposing the Donatists herself. Thus, in s. 138, 9, the Donatist voice, mediated by Augustine, teaches: donatist voice: So when the Church askes the Lord where he grazes his flock, where he lies down, he answers “In the noon day”, or south (in

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See Springer, “The prosopopoeia of Church as Mother,” 52–65, who studies the device in a rather different genre from the sermons. Springer demonstrates Augustine’s use and knowledge of a traditional rhetorical tool but does not mention its use in the most obvious context in Augustine’s oeuvre, ie. the sermons. See Anthony Dupont and Matteo Dalvit, “From a Martyrological ‘Tabernacula Pastorum’ towards a Geographical ‘In Meridie’: Augustine’s Representation and Refutation of the Donatist Exegesis of Sg. 1, 6–7,” rhe 109: 1–2 (2014): 5–34. See also Jesse A. Hoover, The Donatist Church in an Apocalyptic Age (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2018), 156–159. For the Song of Songs in anti-Donatist polemics in general, see Michael Cameron, “Augustine’s Use of the Song of Songs against the Donatists,” in Augustine: Biblical Exegete Collectanea Augustiniana (Ed. F. Van Fleteren and J.C. Schnaubelt; New York: Peter Lang, 2001), 99–127.

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meridie) so that it’s as if the questioner’s voice goes, “Tell me, you whom my soul has loved, where you graze your flock, where you lie down”, and the answerer’s voice says, “In the noon day”, that is in Africa.35 The sermon then proceeds as an exegetical exercise in how to discern whose voice is speaking to the Lord and his flock, and from where it originates, admitting for argument’s sake that if Christ himself assigns his flock to Africa, then it follows, according to Augustine, that the Bride has to be careful in identifying which of the African flocks is the real flock of Christ and which flocks are those of Donatists, Maximianists and Rogatists. Once again, Augustine formulates his interpretation as a prosopopoeia of the Bride, whose voice appeals to the congregation to give her an answer on how to avoid the separatists and how to find her Bridegroom in meridie: “I beg you, tell me if I can look for my own shepherd there, in order not to stumble into the quagmire of rebaptism.”36 Elsewhere, in s. 147A, 3, the two African churches are pictured as being even more sharply opposed to each other: the voice of the Bride has to choose between them, the flock of Christ and the party of Donatus (pars Donati). The personified Bride speaks to Augustine’s audience as addressing the Bridegroom and criticizing the Donatists of being blind and arrogant people who are not able to perceive and identify the true Catholic Church of Africa.37 2.3 Talking about Baptism (s. 260A and s. 292) In sermons s. 260A and s. 292, Augustine discusses the subject of baptism in a polemical context against the Donatist views on the power and validity of the sacrament and on the alleged effects of the baptising minister on the sacrament.38 On both occasions, the preacher uses the device of fictitious opponents. In the first sermon, Augustine launches a brief and imbalanced discussion on the virtue of the sacrament outside and inside the Catholic church by using a powerful metaphor of a military tattoo and a deserter, whereas the other sermon offers a more substantial dialogue based on the Donatist interpretation of Jesus’ parable on the good and the bad tree (Matt 7:17).

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36 37 38

s. 138, 9 (pl 38, 768) interrogans ergo, inquiunt, ecclesia dominum ubi pascat, ubi cubet; respondet ille, in meridie [Ct 1,6]: ut quasi uox interrogantis sit, annuntia mihi, quem dilexit anima mea, ubi pascas, ubi cubes [Ct 1,6]; et uox quasi respondentis, in meridie [Ct 1,6], hoc est, in Africa. s. 138, 10 (pl 38, 769). s. 147A, 3 (ma 1, 53). For a summary of Augustine’s anti-Donatist sacramental theology in the sermons, see Dupont, Preacher of Grace, 173–178.

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S. 260A was delivered on the octave after Easter, and the bishop addresses the newly baptised members of his congregation admonishing them to lead a new life worthy of the honour of the sacrament. In doing this, he first claims regretfully that being a baptised Christian does not always lead to living as a baptised Christian. Augustine then presents his audience with an image from the military life: a Roman soldier is marked by an indelible sign that identifies him as belonging to the troops of the emperor. If the soldier deserts his camp and his troops, however, the sign does not justify his way of life nor does it shield him from punishment if and when he is found to be a deserter. In the same way, the schismatics and heretics may have been baptised with a perfectly valid sign of the sacrament without having the power and blessing of it.39 A brief fictitious exchange follows: the donatists: What is there for you to give us (they say) if we already have baptism? augustine: (to the audience) What sacrilegious nonsense to assume that the Church of Christ, which they don’t have, is nothing, so that they consider they receive nothing if they join her communion! […] the donatist: What am I going to get (he says) if I already have baptism? augustine: You’re going to get the Church, which you haven’t got; you’re going to get unity, which you haven’t got; you’re going to get peace, which you haven’t got.40 The Donatist voice repeats the question “what do you give us?” several times prior to and during the brief exchange of words, and that is indeed all the fictitious Donatist has to say here: once again, the opponent’s simplified jingle is inculcated in the ears of the preacher’s ears by force of repetition. Addition-

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The metaphor appears in several sermons, e.g. in Io. eu. tr. 6, 15; en. Ps. 39, 1; s. 293auct, 16; s. Caes. eccl. 2. Augustine deploys the device of fictitious dialogue in connection with the metaphor also in Io. eu. tr. 6, 15. For a useful study on the metaphor, see Bradley M. Peper, “On the Mark: Augustine’s Baptismal Analogy of the Nota Militaris,” AugStud 38:2 (2007): 353–363. See also Phillip Cary, Outward Signs: The Powerlessness of External Things in Augustine’s Thought (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2008), 200–201, 214. s. 260A, 3 (ma 1, 37) quid nobis, inquiunt, dabitis, si iam baptismum habemus? o sacrilegam uanitatem, ita nihil putare esse Christi ecclesiam, quam non habent, ut nihil se accipere arbitrentur, si eius communioni socientur. dicat eis Amos propheta: uae eis qui nihil faciunt Sion! [Am 6,1 lxx] quid accepturus sum, inquit, si iam baptismum habeo? accepturus es ecclesiam, quam non habes; accepturus es unitatem, quam non habes: accepturus es pacem, quam non habes.

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ally, the preacher’s own answer has no real argumentative force, for an actual Donatist would immediately have questioned Augustine’s assertion of “getting the Church”. The lines are there to preach to the preacher’s own choir. Once more, Augustine wishes to talk to his opponents through a Biblical amplifier, and walks the Donatist “deserter” in front of his emperor, Christ, who addresses Augustine’s opponent with the words of the Gospel and apostle Paul (Luke 11:23 and Eph 4:2–3). augustine: Fight, deserter, against your emperor when he says: christ: Whoever does not gather with me scatters. augustine: Fight against his apostle, or rather here too against the one who was speaking through him and saying: paul: Bearing with one another in love, studying eagerly to keep the unity of the Spirit in the bond of peace.41 The divine and Biblical voices affirm to Augustine’s audience that it is in the Catholic Church that one finds authentic works and the fruit of the Holy Spirit: forbearance, love, unity and peace (sustinentia, dilectio, unitas, pax). The deserters, ie. the Donatists, will never find these in their own community even if they use the legitimate outward sign of Christian baptism. In s. 292, on St. John the Baptist’s day, soon after commencing his sermon Augustine’s thoughts are led towards anti-Donatist tracks. The relationship between John and Christ, and the fact that the former baptised the latter, reminds Augustine of contemporary issues concerning baptism and “the voices” of those who are “without humility, lifted up in pride, ‘I’m the one who baptizes, I’m the one who baptizes’”.42 After teaching his congregation about the humility of divine justice in Christ, Augustine engages into an extensive sequence of fictitious dialogues with anonymous Donatist voices (§ 5–§ 8). The first section of the dialogues concerns Jesus’ parable of the good and the bad tree, which, according to Augustine, the Donatists present as an argument for their teaching on baptism and the holiness viz. impiety of the baptiser (§6). The parable appears several times in c. litt. Pet. as quoted by Augustine’s Donatist opponent, Petilian, in connection with baptism, so the sacramental reading of the parable is not an anti-Donatist straw man.43 Augustine finds fault with the phrase “ego baptizo” as it seems to reveal a suspicious tendency in 41 42 43

s. 260A, 3 (ma 1, 37). s. 292, 2 (pl 38, 1320) uoces carentes humilitate, elatae superbia, ego baptizo, ego baptizo. See Dupont, Preacher of Grace, 177, for this sermon. See e.g. c. litt. Pet. 1, 9; Pet. c. litt. Pet. 3, 64 (csel 52, 217).

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the Donatist theology to rely on human works in justification (§ 6). Augustine asserts to his congregation that this is actually what happens when the Donatist sacramental theology combines the declaration ego baptizo and the reading of Jesus’ parable as meaning the holiness of the baptiser.44 Consequently, in the sermon, Augustine depicts the Donatist ministers as actually teaching their followers to be justified by the priests and not by Christ (Augustine repeatedly uses the phrase iustifico te, iustificaris a me in order to create the image of a Donatist ritual of baptism ritual in which such words would be used).45 The preacher then attempts to associate the declaration of the baptiser (ego baptizo, with its alleged Donatist innuendos of self-justification) to another phrase which even Augustine’s fictitious Donatist opponent finds hard to swallow. The following dialogue ensues: augustine: Now listen for a moment, if you’ve got any sense; just a few words for you, and clear enough, if I’m not mistaken. So it’s you that justify, is it, you that make people just? In that case, I say, let the one you justify believe in you. Tell him, have the audacity to say, “Believe in me” (crede in me), since you don’t hesitate to say, “You are justified by me.” (to the audience) He’s worried, he dithers, he makes excuses! the donatist minister: After all (he says) what’s the need for me to tell him, “Believe in me”? What I tell him is “Believe in Christ.” augustine: You hesitated, you had your doubts; you were prepared to come down a bit to our level. You admitted to something, which may be the making of you yet. […] Now listen not to me, but to yourself. I mean, you certainly haven’t got the audacity to say, “Believe in me.” the donatist minister: God forbid (he says). augustine: And yet you do have the audacity to say, “I justify you.” Listen and learn, because the reason you haven’t got the audacity to say, “Believe in me,” is the reason you oughtn’t to have the audacity to say, “I justify you.”46 44 45 46

s. 292, 6 (pl 38, 1323–1324). See also Cresc. 3, 12 (csel 52, 420). s. 292, 6 (pl 38, 1324) paululum, si sapienter admittis, audi; pauca uerba sunt, et nisi fallor, lucida sunt. tu ergo iustificas, tu iustum facis? ergo, inquit, credat in te quem iustificas. dic, aude dicere, crede in me; qui non dubitas dicere, iustificaris a me. turbatur, fluctuat, excusat. quid enim opus est, inquit, ut dicam illi, crede in me? crede in Christum, dico. haesitasti, dubitasti: aliquantum ad nos dignatus es descendere. confessus es aliquid, unde saneris. dixisti aliquid rectum, unde praua tua cetera corrigantur. audi iam non me, sed te. certe enim non audes dicere, crede in me. absit, inquit. et tamen audes dicere, iustifico te. audi, et disce,

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After this exchange of words, Augustine leads his opponent into an inescapable dilemma by introducing the voice of the apostle Paul who claims it necessary that to be justified by someone logically means that one also has to believe in the one who justifies (cf. Rom 4:5). As Augustine has led his audience into believing that the Donatists use the words iustifico te/iustificaris a me in their baptismal rites, he is thus able to embarrass his opponent; either the Donatist has to give up his alleged notion of being the subject of justification of the baptised Christian, or he has to admit that those baptised in the Donatist rite also have to believe in the baptising minister, and not in Christ. Even at this point the preacher is not yet satisfied. Augustine wishes to deconstruct the Donatist reading of Jesus’ parable still further and so he stages yet another elaborate dialogue with a generic Donatist minister. Once again, Augustine’s goal is to show how the views of his opponent on the sins and holiness of the baptising minister lead to absurd consequences. Augustine depicts a (Donatist) priest who is a secret adulterer although no-one knows of his sins. The bishop then forces his fictitious opponent to admit that when such a priest, as a bad tree, baptises another person, he or she will be born as a good tree. Augustine knows that the Donatist will not correct his reading of Jesus’ parable at this juncture, for the Donatist will suggest that in such cases, the baptised is born directly and immediately “from God” without mediated effects from the baptiser. An entertaining dialogue follows, culminating in an astonishing conclusion: augustine: So […] is he born of God? the donatist: Yes, of God. augustine: Why this one in particular from God? the donatist: Because good fruit cannot be born of a bad tree. A chaste baptizer is a good tree, he isn’t a sham; a genuinely chaste man has baptized, good fruit comes from a good tree. augustine: But look, this person too is good fruit; what sort of tree was he born from? Say from a bad one, if you dare. the donatist: I dare not (he says). augustine: So he too is from a good one? the donatist: Yes, from a good one. augustine: From what good one? the donatist: From God. quia unde non audes dicere, crede in me; inde debes non audere dicere, iustifico te. Note that Hill’s translation (wsa iii/8, 142) corrects the text of pl in clarifying the subject of one of the lines of the dialogue (inquam pro inquit).

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augustine: What about that other person? the donatist: From a chaste man. augustine: Just concentrate a little; let’s understand what we are saying. This one, baptized by a chaste man, is born good fruit from a good tree, that is from a good man. That one, baptized by a secret adulterer, from a bad tree is born as—what sort of fruit? the donatist: Good. augustine: It can’t happen like that. If the fruit is good, then change the tree. You admit that this is good fruit, and that that’s a bad man, because he’s a secret adulterer; change the tree to suit this fruit. the donatist: I’ve changed it (you say) that’s why I said from God. augustine: Now compare these two newborn persons. That one was baptized by a manifestly chaste man, this one was baptized by a secret adulterer; that one was born of a man, this one of God. So he was luckier to be born of a secret adulterer, than that other one who was just born of manifestly chaste man.47 Augustine’s audience has undoubtedly followed this piece of showmanship attentively; the original Latin is much faster and more concise in its wording, creating a comical ping-pong effect during the actual delivery. Obviously, the listeners were able to anticipate the final blow, which is given as the patently absurd idea that it would be a greater benefit to have a secret sinner as one’s minister than a decent and virtuous one.48 Immediately after the dialogue, the preacher hands the microphone to John the Baptist and gives voice to John’s words on his own status as a mere servant of Christ. Augustine frequently repeats the verb audire, exhorting both his

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s. 292, 7 (pl 38, 1325–1326) ergo redi ad istum: ex deo natus est? ex deo. quare iste ex deo? quia fructus bonus de arbore mala nasci non potuit. castus baptizator arbor bona est, non est fictus; uere castus baptizauit, fructus bonus de arbore bona. ecce et iste fructus bonus, de qua arbore natus est? dic de mala, si audes. non audeo, inquit. ergo et ipse de bona? de bona. de qua bona? ex deo. ille quid? ex homine casto. paululum intende: intellegamus quod dicimus. iste ab homine casto baptizatus, ex arbore bona, id est, ex homine bono, natus est fructus bonus. ille ab adultero occulto baptizatus, ex arbore mala natus est fructus, quid? bonus. non potest fieri. si bonus est fructus: ergo arborem muta. fructum istum bonum confiteris, illum hominem malum, quia occultus adulter est: arborem muta huic fructui. mutaui, inquis: ideo dixi, ex deo. iam compara istos duos natos: illum baptizauit castus manifestus; hunc baptizauit adulter occultus: ille ex homine, iste ex deo natus est. felicius ergo natus est ex adultero occulto, quam ille ex casto manifesto. The argument on which the dialogue is built is not restricted to an oral context as Augustine also uses it in c. litt. Pet. 1, 9.

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fictitious interlocutor and his congregation to take a passive stance in front of Christ, to abandon all attempts of self-glorification and self-justification and to learn humility both from John the Baptist and from Christ himself. During the sermon, Augustine frequently emphasised the egocentric notion of the Donatist sacramental theology, and ends by walking his opponent, as it were, towards learning and listening. “‘To my listening you will give exultation and joy’ (Ps 51:10). What’s the meaning of ‘to my listening’? Listening to him, not wishing to be listened to instead of him.”49 2.4 How to Talk with an Enemy (s. 357)? In s. 357, Augustine gives pastoral advice on the issue of encountering aggressive Donatists and how to persuade them to see the light of Catholic unity and peace. This sermon was delivered just a few weeks prior to the Conference of Carthage in 411; its use of fictional voices from both sides illustrates the tension in both the Donatist and Caecilianist camps of the day. At the beginning of the sermon Augustine invites his congregation to lay themselves down in chaste embraces with the Lady Peace and to allow her be their mistress and lover (dilecta et amica). The preacher structures a major part of his sermon on a metaphor of peace and unity being like a shining light in the eye, and soon enough the beautiful personification of Lady Peace addresses and entices the listeners to enjoy her and her light: “Love me, and immediately you have me. Bring along with you as many as you can to love me; I will remain chaste and undefiled. Bring along as many as you can; let them discover me, hold me, enjoy me. […]”50 After these alluring invitations to love, the preacher turns his gaze towards his opponents and the “pitiful voices of the bleary-eyed” (uox miseranda lipporum) who resist the light of love and peace and unity. The preacher subsequently makes his audience listen to the slightly comical complaints of the Donatists who cry their eyes out in anticipation of light and unity in the same way normal people become afraid of future calamities (dissension, fires, wild beasts).51 How does the bishop exhort his congregation to meet the verbal aggressions of the Donatists? In this sermon, the answer is perhaps rather surprising, and it is given in the form of fictitious dialogue, this time not with a Donatist oppo-

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s. 292, 8 (pl 38, 1327). For another sermon discussing John the Baptist and Donatist sacramental theology, see s. 293A together with the longer Dolbeau edition of the same sermon (s. 293A auct = s. Dolbeau 3). In the previous version, medieval editors seem to have cut off many of the dialogical elements that are preserved in the latter and longer version. s. 357, 3 (pl 39, 1583). s. 357, 3 (pl 39, 1583).

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nent, but with an angry Catholic, from Augustine’s own flock, who wishes to defend his or her bishop by giving some quid-pro-quo to the Donatists. augustine: None of you, please, should engage in a dispute with them, none of you wish even to defend your faith by hot argument, in case a spark should be struck by a dispute […] Sure, you get some abuse; put up with it, pretend you didn’t hear it, ignore it […] catholic christian: But I won’t put up with it (he says) because he’s speaking ill of the Church. augustine: This is what the Church is asking you, to put up with his speaking ill of the Church. catholic christian: He’s slandering (he says) my bishop. He’s making gross accusations against my bishop, and am I to keep quiet? augustine: Let him make accusations, and yes, keep quiet; not by way of consent, but of forbearance […] Are you a lover of peace? Be still, there in your heart with your beloved. catholic christian: And what am I to do? augustine: There’s plenty you can do!52 From this point on the bishop advises his listeners to pray for their Donatist abusers, to be careful about the company in which they say something as well as in whose presence they keep quiet, and moreover he reminds them when meeting quarrelsome Donatists to reply to them with patience. Augustine even recommends certain words of responses to his listeners, inviting them to call the haters and enemies as their brothers ( frater meus es). Again, this phrase is repeated several times like a jingle that will stay in the ears of the audience.53 Augustine ties this exhortation to the Biblical voice of Isaiah (Is 66, 5 lxx “Say, ‘You are our brothers’, to those that hate you and that detest you.”) Again, the preacher stresses not giving answers in his “own” voice but in God’s: “Say, say without a qualm, say in God’s words, not mine […]”.54

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s. 357, 4 (pl 39, 1584) nemo suscipiat cum aliquo litem, nemo uelit nunc uel ipsam suam fidem altercando defendere, ne de lite scintilla nascatur […] prorsus conuicium audis, tolera, dissimula, praeteri […] sed non fero, inquit, quia blasphemat ecclesiam. hoc te rogat ecclesia, ut feras, quia blasphematur ecclesia. detrahit, inquit, episcopo meo; crimen dicit in episcopum meum, et taceo? crimen dicat, et tace; non agnoscendo, sed ferendo. […] amator pacis es? sit tibi in corde bene cum dilecta tua. et quid agam? habes quod agas. s. 357, 4 (pl 39, 1584–1585). s. 357, 4 (pl 39, 1585) dic, dic securus, uerba dei dicis et non mea.

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Finally, both the Catholic and the Donatist Christian should take heed of their common form of prayer by which they acknowledge and recognise themselves as brothers, that is, the words of the Lord’s Prayer. Once more, the words and voice of Christ, firmly on the lips of those who pray, offers the final answer to the congregation.55

3

Conclusions

The above analysis of Augustine’s anti-Donatist fictitious dialogues yields the following conclusions: 1) The anti-Donatist sermocinationes do not represent an objective, or “fair”, treatment of the opponent’s views. This can be already seen in how Augustine constructs the dialogues: the lines of interlocutors are quick and brief, especially those of the opponents. Moreover, the fictitious opponent often dumbly repeats a single sentence, making him sound stubborn and simple when confronted with Augustine’s own, more elaborate argumentation. 2) Some dialogues are cleverly composed to entertain the audience by building anticipation, so that the imaginary interlocutor is gradually taken into an inescapable dilemma where he must concede his case and is forced to admit that the preacher is right in the matter. It is easy to imagine that such sermocinationes met with an approving audience once the “final blow” is struck or the comical absurdity of the opponent is finally revealed both to himself and to the audience. As we have seen, Augustine does not avoid using dirty tricks in composing these dialogical traps; on the contrary, he may, for instance, dupe his audience into thinking that the opponent actually says something that originally was merely the preacher’s own speculation. 3) The sermocinationes always seem to be tied, in some way or other, to the Biblical voices of Christ, the apostles and the prophets. The Biblical voices offer authoritative solutions on divisive theological issues, silencing not only the opponent but, in Augustine’s view, also the preacher himself (“Do not listen to me but to God”). The living voice of the Bible thus makes the person of the preacher invisible, replacing him with a divine authority. 55

s. 357, 4 (pl 39, 1585) rogo te, frater, agnosce quod mecum dicis, et damna quod contra me facis. aduerte uerba exeuntia de ore tuo. audi, non me, sed te. uide cui dicimus, pater noster qui es in caelis [Mt 6,9]. […] simul habemus apud patrem unam uocem: quare non simul habemus unam pacem?

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Despite the fact that Augustine’s anti-Donatist sermocinationes cannot perhaps be considered as fair dialogue, they nonetheless represent the bishop in a more or less serious attempt to identify the issues and topics on which the opponents challenge Augustine’s theological beliefs; in the case of the anti-Donatist sermons, these include the self-identification of the Church in North Africa, crucial issues of sacramental theology, and complex and often opposing readings of Biblical texts (e.g. on the Church as the Bride, and on Jesus’ parables on the good and bad trees). The main function of the anti-Donatist sermocinationes is, therefore, to school Augustine’s own listeners and strengthen their convictions in such issues that the preacher anticipates they will be challenged by the Donatist side. On occasion, the outcome of sermocinationes can even appear to be rather irenic, as in the case of s. 357.

Bibliography Barry, M. Inviolata. St. Augustine, the Orator: A Study of the Rhetorical Qualities of St. Augustine’s Sermones ad populum. Washington D.C.: Catholic University of America, 1924. Bass, Alden. “Dissident Preaching in Africa: Inherently Violent?” Pages 397–414 in Praedicatio Patrum: Studies on Preaching in Late Antique North Africa. Edited by G. Partoens, A. Dupont and S. Boodts. Turnhout: Brepols, 2017. Burton, Philip. Language in the Confessions of Augustine. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2007. Cameron, Michael. “Augustine’s Use of the Song of Songs against the Donatists.” Pages 99–127 in Augustine: Biblical Exegete Collectanea Augustiniana. Edited by F. Van Fleteren and J.C. Schnaubelt. New York: Peter Lang, 2001. Cameron, Michael. Christ Meets Me Everywhere: Augustine’s Early Figurative Exegesis. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2012. Cary, Phillip. Outward Signs: The Powerlessness of External Things in Augustine’s Thought. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2008. Dodaro, Robert. “Augustine’s Use of Parallel Dialogues in His Preaching on Nonviolence.” Pages 327–344 in Ministerium Sermonis: Philological, Historical and Theological Studies on Augustine’s Sermones ad Populum. Edited by G. Partoens, A. Dupont, and M. Lamberigts. Turnhout: Brepols, 2010. Drobner, Hubertus. Person-Exegese und Christologie bei Augustinus: Zur Herkunft der Formel una persona. Leiden: Brill, 1986. Dupont, Anthony. Gratia in Augustine’s Sermones ad Populum during the Pelagian Controversy: Do Different Contexts Furnish Different Insights? Leiden: Brill, 2012.

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Dupont, Anthony. Preacher of Grace: A Critical Reappraisal of Augustine’s Doctrine of Grace in his Sermones ad Populum on Liturgical Feasts and During the Donatist Controversy. Leiden: Brill, 2014. Dupont, Anthony, and Dalvit, Matteo. “From a Martyrological ‘Tabernacula Pastorum’ towards a Geographical ‘In Meridie’: Augustine’s Representation and Refutation of the Donatist Exegesis of Sg. 1, 6–7.” Revue d’Histoire Ecclésiastique 109: 1–2 (2014): 5–34. Graumann, Thomas. “St. Ambrose on the Art of Preaching.” Pages 587–600 in Vescovi e pastori in epoca teodosiana: in occasione del xvi centenario della consecrazione episcopale di S. Agostino, 396–1996. Roma: Institutum Patristicum Augustinianum, 1997. Grillo, Luca. “A Double Sermocinatio and a Resolved Dilemma in Cicero’s Pro Plancio.” Classical Quarterly 64:1 (2014): 214–225. Harmless, William. “The Voice and the Word: Augustine’s Catechumenate in Light of the Dolbeau Sermons.” Augustinian Studies 35:1 (2004): 17–42. Harmless, William. “A Love Supreme: Augustine’s ‘Jazz’ of Theology.” Augustinian Studies 43:1/2 (2012): 149–177. Harrison, Carol. The Art of Listening in the Early Church. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2013. Hoover, Jesse A. The Donatist Church in an Apocalyptic Age. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2018. King, Justin. Speech-in Character, Diatribe, and Romans 3:1–9. Leiden: Brill, 2018. Kolbet, Paul. Augustine and the Cure of Souls: Revising a Classical Idea. Notre Dame: Notre Dame University Press, 2010. Kolbet, Paul. “Rhetoric, Redemption, and the Practices of the Self: A Neglected Mode of Augustine’s Thinking.” Pages 351–377 in Praedicatio Patrum: Studies on Preaching in Late Antique North Africa. Edited by G. Partoens, A. Dupont, and S. Boodts; Turnhout: Brepols, 2017. Lausberg, Heinrich. Handbook of Literary Rhetoric: A Foundation for Literary Studies. Leiden: Brill, 1998. Martin, Thomas F. “Vox Pauli: Augustine and the Claims to Speak for Paul: An Exploration of Rhetoric at the Service of Exegesis.” Journal of Early Christian Studies 8:2 (2000): 237–272. Mechlinsky, Lutz. Der modus proferendi in Augustins sermones ad populum. Paderborn: Ferdinand Schöningh, 2004. Mohrmann, Christine. “Saint Augustin prédicateur.” Pages 391–402 in Vol. 1 of Études sur le latin des chrétiens. Roma: Edizioni di storia e letteratura, 1958. Nisula, Timo. “You Are Adam: The Rhetorical Presence of Adam in Augustine’s Sermons and in His Audience.” Pages 119–159 in Adam and Eve Story in Jewish, Christian and Islamic Perspectives. Edited by A. Laato and L. Valve. Åbo: Åbo Akademi University and Eisenbrauns, 2017.

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Nodes, Daniel. “The Organization of Augustine’s Psalmus contra Partem Donati.” Vigiliae Christianae 63 (2009) 390–408. Olivar, Alejandro. La predicación cristiana antigua. Barcelona: Herder, 1991. Partoens, Gert. “Augustine on Predestination, Immortal Babies, and Sinning Foetuses: A Rhetorical Analysis of Sermon 165.” Augustinian Studies 45:1 (2013): 29–48. Partoens, Gert. “Prédication, orthodoxie et liturgie: Les sermons d’ Augustin prononcés à Carthage en septembre-octobre 417.” Pages 23–51 in Prédication et liturgie. Edited by N. Bériou and F. Morenzoni. Turnhout: Brepols, 2008. Peper, Bradley M. “On the Mark: Augustine’s Baptismal Analogy of the Nota Militaris.” Augustinian Studies 38:2 (2007): 353–363. Reisenauer, Augustine M. “Christ Examining, Excommunicating, and Exorcising the Antichrist in Augustine’s Homilies on the First Epistle of John.” Pages 315–349 in Praedicatio Patrum: Studies on Preaching in Late Antique North Africa. Edited by G. Partoens, A. Dupont, and S. Boodts. Turnhout: Brepols, 2017. Oroz Reta, José. La retorica en los sermones de San Agustin. Madrid: Libreria Editorial Augustinus, 1968. Rylaarsdam, David. John Chrysostom on Divine Pedagogy: The Coherence of his Theology and Preaching. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2014. Schäublin, Christoph. “Zum paganen Umfeld der christlichen Predigt.” Pages 25–49 in Predigt in der Alten Kirche. Edited by E. Mühlenberg and J. van Oort. Kampen: Kok Pharos, 1994. Springer, Carl. “The prosopopoeia of Church as Mother in Augustine’s Psalmus contra Partem Donati.” Augustinian Studies 18 (1987): 52–65. Toczko, Rafał. “The Ways of Ridiculing the Opponent in Augustine’s Letters: The case of the Donatists.” Zeitschrift für Antikes Christentum 22:1 (2018): 91–109. Zwierlein, Otto. “Der Fall Roms im Spiegel der Kirchenväter.” Zeitschrift für Papyrologie und Epigraphik 32 (1978): 45–80.

The Challenge of Shame for Philosophical Dialogue in Augustine’s Early Writings Eetu Manninen

1

Introduction

In the development of Augustine’s theology, bitter controversies with his opponents, such as the Pelagians and the Donatists, played an important part. These debates gave the bishop of Hippo the motivation and occasion to develop his thought concerning topics including grace, original sin and predestination. Debating with his opponents thus contributed to development of the Augustinian doctrines that are arguably his most distinctive legacy for Christianity in the Latin West. By contrast, Augustine’s earlier developments seem to occur in a very different context. His early innovations do not arise from theological or philosophical controversies but from non-polemical philosophical conversations between him and his friends and relatives. These conversations are depicted by Augustine himself in his early dialogues, which are modelled after the philosophical dialogues of Plato and Cicero. Augustine’s dialogues comprise eight separate works, of which four were written before his baptism in 387 and four after it. The dialogues written before Augustine’s baptism during his philosophical otium in Cassiciacum in 386 are De beata uita, Contra Academicos, De ordine, and Soliloquia. After his baptism he wrote four more dialogues in Italy and North Africa, De quantitate animae in Rome in 387, De musica in Italy and North Africa between 387 and 391, De libero arbitrio between 388 and 395 and De magistro in 389 in North Africa. Almost all these dialogues feature Augustine and his friend or friends discussing some philosophical topic. The only exceptions are Soliloquia in which Augustine’s dialogue partner is Reason and De musica, in which the dialogue is simply between Master and Disciple.1 Augustine’s dialogues portray several characters who make a mistake in a philosophical disputation and have to receive correction from their dialogue

1 Therese Fuhrer, “Conversationalist and Consultant: Augustine in dialogue,” in Companion to Augustine (ed. M. Vessey; Chichester: Wiley-Blackwell, 2012), 270–271; Giovanni Catapano, “The Epistemological Background of Augustine’s Dialogues,” in Der Dialog in der Antike: Formen und Funktionen einer literarischen Gattung zwischen Philosophie, Wissensvermittlung und dramatischer Inszenierung (ed. S. Föllinger and G.M. Müller; Berlin/Boston: De Gruyter, 2013), 107–109.

© Eetu Manninen, 2022 | doi:10.1163/9789004466845_011

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partners. In the dialogues the embarrassing nature of these situations is taken into consideration in many such instances, which gives us occasion to examine Augustine’s early conception of shame and his understanding of its role in a philosophical dialogue. The feeling of shame has received relatively little attention in Augustinian scholarship, and the research that addresses the topic focuses primarily on the thought of Augustine the bishop as it appears in works such as De ciuitate Dei (413–427), De nuptiis et concupiscentia (419–421) and Confessiones (397–401). Consequently, there is an obvious need for more research on the topic of shame in Augustine’s earliest writings.2 The present article studies the role of shame in Augustine’s early dialogues. I will examine how the feeling of shame is encountered in the embarrassing situations where one of the dialogue participants makes a mistake and has to admit it. I will also compare Augustine’s early conception of shame to his later theories, which can shed new light on the long-term development of Augustine’s view on the matter. Shame is for Augustine a hindrance to one’s wholehearted engagement in the search for truth, since the natural feeling of embarrassment in the face of a mistake may prompt one to cling to his error rather than admit it and leave it behind. In the dialogues Augustine presents these awkward situations in a way that encourages the reader to see philosophical dialogue as a common endeavour in the search for truth rather than as a competition, which required him to make a distinctly Augustinian revaluation of the Roman concepts of shame and honour. My hypothesis in this study is that Augustine either used authentic embarrassing situations or created them himself to encourage his readers to search for truth even if this would require admitting one’s error and receiving correction from others. Therefore, Augustine’s concern for shame

2 Previously the topic of shame in Augustine’s works has been studied by Michael Müller, Die Lehre des hl. Augustinus von der Paradiesehe (Regensburg: Pustet, 1954); François-Joseph Thonnard, Augustin d’Hippone, Premières polémiques contre Julien: De nuptiis et concupiscentia, Contra duas epistolas Pelagianorum (ba 23; Paris: Institut d’ Études Augustiniennes, 1974); Donald Capps, “The Scourge of Shame and the Silencing of Adeodatus,” in The Hunger of the Heart: Reflections on the Confessions of Augustine (ed. D. Capps and J.E. Dittes; West Lafayette: Society for Scientific Study, 1990); Donald Capps, “Augustine as Narcissist: Of Grandiosity and Shame,” in The Hunger of the Heart: Reflections on the Confessions of Augustine (ed. D. Capps and J.E. Dittes; West Lafayette: Society for Scientific Study, 1990); Tianye Wu, “Shame in the Context of Sin: Augustine on the Feeling of Shame in De Civitate Dei,”Recherches de Théologie et Philosophie médiévales 74 (2007): 1–31; Stephanie. N. Arel, Affect Theory, Shame, and Christian Formation (Cham: Springer, 2016); Paul R. Kolbet, “Rhetoric, Redemption, and the Practices of the Self: A Neglected Mode of Augustine’s Thinking,” in Praedicatio Patrum: Studies on Preaching in Late Antique North Africa (ed. G. Partoens, A. Dupont and S. Boodts; Turnhout: Brepols, 2017).

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is an important aspect of his method of guiding his students and readers to the “harbour of philosophy” (beata u. 1,1) in his early dialogues.

2

Invitation to Philosophy and the Challenge of Shame

Augustine’s dialogues range from conversations between several participants with a prologue and set in a certain time and space to simple dialogues between two participants without any mention of the surroundings. The former ones are called scenic and the latter non-scenic dialogues. Augustine’s scenic dialogues are all Cassiciacum dialogues: De beata uita, Contra Academicos and De ordine. The difference between the two groups concerns not only the number of participants or the indications of place and date, but also the dynamic of the dialogues themselves. In the non-scenic dialogues there is a notable teacherstudent relationship between the interlocutors, whereas in the scenic dialogues the speakers are more independent of each other. Augustine takes the role of the teacher in almost all of his dialogues, including the scenic ones, with the two exceptions of Soliloquia, where the teacher is Reason and De musica, where the teacher is simply called the teacher.3 The question as to what extent these dialogues have their basis in actual conversations between Augustine and his friends is disputed among scholars, but most who defend their historicity agree that Augustine at least gave the dialogues his personal touch, and those who question their historicity recognize the authenticity of the setting.4 Some details, such as Licentius’ chanting of the Psalms in the privy and occasional blunders by Augustine’s pupils are seen by some scholars as reminiscences of real events.5 Other dialogues, such as De quantitate animae and De libero arbitrio, are also probably based on actual dialogues, as Augustine’s later correspondence with Evodius, who is his interlocuter in these dialogues, indicates (Epp. 158–164, 169).6 In Confessiones (9,6,14) Augustine claims that the dialogue De magistro is based on actual con-

3 Catapano, “The Epistemological Background of Augustine’s Dialogues,” 108–109. 4 Joanne McWilliam, “Cassiciacum Dialogues,” in Augustine through the Ages: An Encyclopedia (ed. A.D. Fitzgerald; Grand Rapids/Cambridge: Eerdmans, 1999), 136. 5 Gerard J.P. O’Daly, “Cassiciacum,” in Augustinus-Lexikon, Vol. 1 (Aaron–Conuersio) (ed. C.P. Mayer; Basel: Schwabe, 1986–1994), 778. 6 Ronald J. Teske, “Animae quantitate, De,” in Augustine through the Ages: An Encyclopedia (ed. A.D. Fitzgerald; Grand Rapids/Cambridge: Eerdmans, 1999), 23; Ronald J. Teske, “Libero arbitrio, De,” in Augustine through the Ages: An Encyclopedia (ed. A.D. Fitzgerald; Grand Rapids/Cambridge: Eerdmans, 1999), 494.

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versations with his son Adeodatus, who died at the age of 16. Nevertheless, the dialogue is carefully edited and constructed by Augustine.7 As mentioned above, the character of Augustine plays the role of the teacher in almost all the dialogues. With the exception of Soliloquia, none of the dialogues shows Augustine discussing with anyone who is as old as him or who would otherwise be his intellectual equal.8 The scenic dialogues show many examples of informal and scholarly learning situations which are probably intended to illustrate “the functions of authority and leniency, praise and blame, and error and truth in the learning process,” but the Cassiciacum dialogues are not merely for pedagogical purposes but are more importantly exhortations toward the pursuit of wisdom.9 Together with Augustine’s students and dialogue partners in the non-scenic dialogues, the reader is invited and stimulated to take part in their search and to practise philosophy. This is clear in the prologue of Contra Academicos, which is devoted to Augustine’s former patron Romanianus, whose son Licentius was one of Augustine’s students in Cassiciacum: Our Licentius enthusiastically shares this way of life with me. He has so wholeheartedly turned toward philosophy and away from the seductive pleasures of youth that I confidently dare to propose him as a model for his father to imitate. No age has any reason to complain that it is excluded from the breasts of philosophy! Though I’m well acquainted with your thirst for philosophy, I wanted to send along a foretaste to incite you to cling to it and suckle the more eagerly. I implore you that I do not hope in vain, and that this will be most agreeable and, I might say, an enticement to you.10

7 8

9 10

Douglas Kries, “Magistro, De,” in Augustine through the Ages: An Encyclopedia (ed. A.D. Fitzgerald; Grand Rapids/Cambridge: Eerdmans, 1999), 519–520. Ernest L. Fortin, “Augustine’s De Quantitate Animae or the Spiritual Dimensions of Human Existence,” in “De moribus ecclesiae catholicae et de moribus Manichaeorum,” “De quantitate animae” di Agostino d’Ippona, Lectio Augustini: Settimana Agostiniana Pavese 7 (ed. J. Kevin Coyle et al.; Palermo: Edizioni “Augustinus”, 1991), 143. O’Daly, “Cassiciacum,” 775–776. Acad. 1, 1, 4 (ccsl 29, 5) in hac mecum studiosissime uiuit noster Licentius; ad eam totus a iuuenalibus inlecebris uoluptatibusque conuersus est ita, ut eum non temere patri audeam imitandum proponere. philosophia est enim, a cuius uberibus se nulla aetas queretur excludi. ad quam auidius retinendam et hauriendam quo te incitarem, quamuis tuam sitim bene nouerim, gustum tamen mittere uolui. quod tibi suauissimum et, ut ita dicam, inductorium fore peto, ne frustra sperauerim. Trans. P. King in Augustine: Against the Academicians and The Teacher (Indianapolis/Cambridge: Hackett, 1995).

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As “enticements” to the practice of philosophy and introductions to the specific philosophical topics they address, Augustine’s dialogues do not set the bar too high, but portray characters who are novices in philosophy and occasionally make mistakes in logic. In this way, a reader unaccustomed to philosophy can relate to the characters in the dialogues and, in a way, partake in their learning process. They also instruct the reader in how to deal with the feeling of embarrassment when his or her argument goes wrong in a philosophical dialogue and he or she has to admit it to his or her dialogue partner. In the Roman world, which provides the broad cultural context for Augustine’s dialogues, shame (pudor) was seen primarily as a negative emotion and was experienced as a form of fear and discomfort. Shame was for Romans the discomfort that arises from discrediting attention. However, it was not perceived as the opposite of creditable attention, i.e. honour; the two were rather experienced as complementary. Those with a “shameless” attitude could not receive much honour whereas those who valued honour most highly experienced shame most intensely.11 Following Robert A. Kaster, pudor can be defined as follows: “After all, pudor is first and foremost about perceptions—about seeing my self being seen as devalued”. Kaster also presents a sharp description of the distinctive content of the emotion: “the belief that I am being seen (or risk being seen) in terms that discredit me, that lower the value ascribed to me as a person (existimatio)—and the psychophysical response that the cognition evokes, experienced as a kind of displeasure. […] If my dispositional pudor and the thoughts to which it gives rise do not restrain me sufficiently, I am liable to lay myself open to the occurrent emotion, which responds to the self’s disfigurement with (typically) a blush and some expressive use of the body, a posture or movement that signals a breaking off of contact with others: silence, downcast eyes, an averted glance, a turning away, or an actual withdrawal”.12 As we will see, this Roman concept of pudor provides the context for Augustine’s early understanding of shame. However, both in his early and “mature”13 thought he also considered the feeling of shame in a way that was significantly affected by his early endeavour to know God and the soul (sol. 1,2,7) and eventually his faith in the humble Christ who prayed forgiveness for his enemies.

11 12 13

Robert A. Kaster, Emotion, Restraint, and Community in Ancient Rome (Oxford/New York: Oxford University Press, 2005), 28–29. Kaster, Emotion, 32–33. By using the word “mature” of the thought of Augustine the bishop as it appears in works such as De ciuitate Dei, I do not wish to imply that his later thought is somehow better in comparison with his early thought. Rather, I am using this common term in Augustinian scholarship merely to differentiate between the different phases of Augustine’s thought.

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Shame in Augustine’s Dialogues

As a retired rhetor Augustine knew how unpleasant a blunder in a dispute can be: in the tradition of rhetoric in which he had been educated, disputing was an important part of training and a successful career depended on the ability to win arguments.14 The feeling of shame is mentioned on several occasions in Augustine’s dialogues. It is felt by Licentius in De ordine,15 by Augustine in Soliloquia,16 by Adeodatus in De magistro,17 by the Disciple in De musica18 and several times by Evodius in De quantitate animae19 and De libero arbitrio.20 They all express this feeling with the simple phrase “me pudet” (or pudet me). Additionally, there is also two instances where Licentius blushes (erubuit),21 which can quite safely be considered a universal indication of embarrassment. The feeling of shame is explicitly addressed only in sol. 2,7,13–14, an. quant. 27,52 in cases of verbal expressions of the emotion (me pudet) and in ord. 1,10,29 in the case of blushing, but these few passages show us that in his earliest works Augustine already had a coherent concept of shame, which was of significance for his dialogical method of practicing philosophy. The topic is most directly addressed by Reason in Soliloquia: Augustine: I don’t know what to say, and I’m ashamed of my recent agreement. Reason: It’s ridiculous to be ashamed. Think of the very reason we have chosen this type of conversation. I want them to be called “Soliloquies” because we are talking with ourselves alone. The title is new and perhaps a rather harsh, but suitable enough, I think, for the situation it wishes to highlight. There is no better way of seeking the truth than the question and answer method. It is, however, hard to find anyone who would not be ashamed to be beaten in an argument. The almost inevitable result is that a babble of dissent caused by wilful obstinacy will destroy a topic which up to this has been carefully canvassed in the discussion. People are cut to the quick, and even if they generally conceal their feelings, on occasion, 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21

Gerald Watson, Saint Augustine: Soliloquies and Immortality of the Soul (Warminster: Aris & Phillips, 1990), 189. ord. 1,8,23. sol. 2,7,13–14. mag. 3,6. mus. 3,3,6. an. quant. 10,16, 12,21, 26,51. lib. arb. 2,18,49. Acad. 3,4,7; ord. 1,8,29.

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too, they show them openly. It was for that reason that the most peaceful and most profitable procedure was for me to question and answer myself, and so with God’s help to search for what is true. So if you have committed yourself too quickly anywhere there is no reason for you to be afraid of retreating and setting yourself free: there’s no way out here otherwise.22 Augustine wrote Soliloquia as his own inner dialogue with Reason, as the title of the work implies. In this dialogue the character of Augustine makes a mistake in reasoning and confesses his embarrassment to Reason. Reason answers that it is ridiculous to be ashamed in such an inner dialogue, since there is no external dialogue partner involved in the dialogue. Thus, inner dialogue allows the character of Augustine to make mistakes in his thinking.23 In this way Reason and Augustine are trying to solve a dilemma: how to retain the benefits of the dialogical question–answer method without having to confront the feeling of shame and the challenges it poses to the search for truth. Because practically all people are embarrassed when it becomes evident to others that they have been wrong or made a mistake in reasoning, the unavoidable feeling of shame will almost inevitably make a disputant reluctant to admit his error and correct it.24 This passage reveals some essential aspects of Augustine’s early conception of shame. First, the feeling of shame seems to be an emotion, which can arise reasonably only when there are other people to witness one’s shameful situation. As we have seen, Reason dismisses Augustine’s embarrassment that results from a mistake in an inner dialogue as ridiculous. Thus, according to Augustine’s early concept of shame, it would apparently be unreasonable to

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sol. 2, 7, 13–14 (csel 89, 63) A. non habeo, quod dicam, et pudet me tam temerariae consensionis meae superioris. R. ridiculum est, si te pudet, quasi non ob idipsum elegerimus huiusmodi sermocinationes; quae, quoniam cum solis nobis loquimur, soliloquia uocari atque inscribi uolo, nouo quidem et fortasse duro nomine, sed ad rem demonstrandam satis idoneo. cum enim neque melius quaeri ueritas possit quam interrogando et respondendo et uix quisquam inueniatur, quem non pudeat conuinci disputantem, eoque paene semper eueniat, ut rem bene inductam ad discutiendum inconditus peruicaciae clamor explodat, etiam cum laceratione animarum plerumque dissimulata, interdum et aperta, pacatissime, ut opinor, et commodissime placuit a meipso interrogatum mihique respondentem deo adiuuante uerum quaerere. quare nihil est quod uereare, sicubi temere te inligasti, redire atque resoluere; aliter hinc enim euadi non potest. Trans. G. Watson. Fuhrer, “Conversationalist and Consultant,” 274; Brian Stock, Augustine’s Inner Dialogue: The Philosophical Soliloquy in Late Antiquity (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2010), 63–64. See Stock, Augustine’s Inner Dialogue, 86–90.

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be ashamed in a situation where a person has made a mistake in his or her thinking and realizes this mistake before anybody else knows about it. Second, shame is clearly a negative feeling, which hampers the viability of the dialogical question-answer method as a way of seeking the truth. As we have seen, Augustine presents a philosophical soliloquy as a solution to this problem of shame, but he also tried to address the problem in other ways in his early dialogues. This brings us to the second of our important early passages on shame, which is found in De quantitate animae 26, 51–27, 52: Evodius: Proceed rather to the remaining points, for, although I will do everything possible to increase my vigilance (for I am indeed ashamed of blundering so often in my judgement), yet I will never allow my embarrassment to overwhelm me and prevent me from correcting a blunder, especially if you lend me a helping hand. Stubbornness is surely not a treasure because consistency is a jewel. Augustine: May that bright jewel be yours as soon as possible: your pithy saying pleases me very much.25 As mentioned above, Evodius expresses his embarrassment on several occasions in Augustine’s dialogues. In dialogues between Augustine and Evodius, especially in De quantitate animae but also in De libero arbitrio, there is a clear teacher–student relationship between the interlocutors, Augustine being the teacher and Evodius the student.26 It has been suggested that, with his all faults, the character of Evodius is important for the structure of De quantitate animae: it is Evodius’ inability to follow Augustine’s reasoning that makes it necessary for him to explain his argument as simply and thoroughly as possible, which also makes it possible for a reader who is not trained in philosophy to understand it.27 Thus, the character of Evodius keeps the discussion on a level that is

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an. quant. 26, 51–27,52 (csel 89, 197) E. perge potius ad cetera. quamuis enim addam uigilantiae meae quicquid—possum nam et me pudet de sententia cadere totiens—, numquam tamen deterrear pudori huic reniti et lapsum meum te praesertim manum dante corrigere. neque enim est ideo suscipienda pertinacia, quia optanda constantia. A. proueniat tibi plane ista constantia, quam citissime potest; ita mihi placitam sententiam protulisti. Trans. John J. McMahon in The Fathers of the Church, Vol. 4 (ed. H. Dressler et al.; Washington, D.C.: The Catholic University of America Press, 1947). Karl-Heinrich Lütcke, “Animae quantitate (De –),” in Augustinus-Lexikon, Vol. 1 (Aaron– Conuersio) (ed. C.P. Mayer et al.; Basel: Schwabe, 1986–1994), 353–354. Fortin, “Augustine’s De Quantitate Animae,” 143–145: “Nothing that he [Evodius] says or that is said about him reveals a man of exceptionally high intellectual achievement or promise. […] His desire for the truth is ardent and sincere, but this does not make him

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suitable for a work that is meant as an introduction or enticement to philosophy, like Augustine’s earlier dialogues. Evodius’ shortcomings in De quantitate animae can also be considered relevant to our present discussion about the role of shame in Augustine’s dialogues. As we have seen, Evodius expresses his embarrassment more than once. His final me pudet in an. quant. 26,51 also contains the affirmation: “yet I will never allow my embarrassment to overwhelm me and prevent me from correcting a blunder, especially if you lend me a helping hand. Stubbornness is surely not a treasure because consistency is a jewel”, which receives a positive reaction from Augustine. In the dialogue Evodius manages to avoid precisely those negative effects of shame that Reason is worried about in Soliloquia 2,7,14. Regardless of the feeling of shame, Evodius resists the temptation to commit himself to the “babble of dissent caused by wilful obstinacy”, admits his error and accepts the correction of his dialogue partner in order to proceed in his search for truth. Taking the clear pedagogical purposes of Augustine’s dialogues into account, one can plausibly conclude that Evodius’ assurance is probably intended as an example and an exhortation to the reader: never allow your embarrassment to overwhelm you and prevent you from correcting a mistake. Therefore, Augustine proposes the humility to take on the feeling of shame as his second solution to the problem described in sol. 2,7,14. The third passage that is relevant to our present investigation, namely De ordine 1,10,29, occurs in connection with Licentius’ blushing. In the dialogue Trygetius gets corrected by Augustine when he says that only the Father, not the Son, is properly called God: Now, when Trygetius, moved by reverence for God, was unwilling that his words be recorded, then Licentius—after the fashion of boys, or rather after the fashion of men, and alas! of nearly all men—was insisting that they remain recorded, as though the question were being debated among us for the sole purpose of winning glory. While I was rebuking his propenany less impetuous, argumentative, and impatient with Augustine’s probing analyses and picayune questions—interrogatiuncula, as he calls them disparagingly (29,57). His knowledge of logic is deficient and he is as yet unacquainted with natural philosophy. […] As the dialogue is about to end, he [Augustine] again reminds Evodius that before he can arrive at the clarity that he seeks he has a lot to learn: multa alia … tibi desunt (32,68). All of this would tend to make of Evodius a typical rather than an ideal addressee of Augustine’s discourses. The chances of his getting to the bottom of things are virtually nil. […] One can only conclude that on a superficial level the De Quantitate Animae does not try to teach more than what a man of undeniable good will but less than outstanding intellectual merit or preparation can suitably absorb”.

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sity rather harshly, he blushed, and I noticed that Trygetius was grinning and gleeful at his abashment.28 Augustine rebukes this boyish rivalry in a speech in which he warns his students about the love of praise, “enfeebling jealousy and empty boasting”, and is worried that after this “burning desire for vainglory” is gone, they will be less eager for the pursuit of learning.29 In Augustine’s tutelage in Cassiciacum Licentius and Trygetius are explicitly instructed to dispute in order to find the truth and not for the sake of a verbal victory. To ensure this, in Contra Academicos Augustine orders his students always to return to the points, which need reconsideration: People who are stirred into debating to give a childish display of their cleverness rather than by any desire to discover the truth typically don’t allow this request [to return to points that have been conceded carelessly]. Yet I not only grant it (especially since you still need to be nurtured and instructed), I also want to take it as a rule that you must return to those points needing discussion that have been conceded incautiously.30 Augustine’s way of seeing rivalry in a philosophical dialogue as a hindrance to finding the truth is closely related to the problem of shame discussed above: the desire to win a debate goes hand in hand with the fear of shame that results from a defeat in a verbal dispute, which makes his students unwilling to examine difficult issues where they have possibly drawn rash conclusions. Therefore,

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ord. 1, 10, 29 (csel 63, 140–141) at ille religione commotus cum etiam uerba sua scripta esse nollet, urguebat Licentius, ut manerent, puerorum scilicet more uel potius hominum—pro nefas!—paene omnium, quasi uero gloriandi causa inter nos illud ageretur. cuius motum animi cum obiurgarem grauioribus uerbis, erubuit. qua eius perturbatione animaduerti ridentem laetantemque Trygetium […]. Trans. R.P. Russell in The Fathers of the Church, Vol. 5 (ed. L. Schopp et al.; New York: cima Publishing, 1948). ord. 1, 10, 30 (csel 63, 142) ita uos, quamuis nihil umquam, ut opinor, tale feceritis, tamen et in philosophiam et in eam uitam, quam me tandem occupasse laetor, aemulationis tabificae atque inanis iactantiae ultimam sed nocentiorem ceteris omnibus pestem introducere ac proseminare conamini et fortasse, quia uos ab ista uanitate morboque deterreo, pigriores eritis ad studia doctrinae et ab ardore uentosae famae repercussi in torporem inertiae congelabitis. In my summary of Augustine’s speech, I have used R.P. Russell’s translation. Acad. 1, 3, 8 (ccsl 29, 7) hic ego: illi hoc non solent concedere, inquam, quos ad disputandum non inueniendi ueri cupiditas sed ingenii iactantia puerilis inpellit. itaque apud me, praesertim cum adhuc nutriendi educandique sitis, non solum conceditur sed etiam in praeceptis habeatis uolo ad ea uos discutienda redire oportere, quae concesseritis incautius. Trans. P. King.

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in order to overcome the shame of being defeated in an argument, as we have seen Evodius do successfully, Augustine’s students must learn to love the pursuit of truth more than the pleasure derived from verbal victory.31 It is noteworthy that, in his negative assessment of the effects of rivalry in dialogue, Augustine differs sharply from the tradition of ancient question-andanswer literature, in which some writers considered the dynamics of victory and defeat in disputations as a pedagogical advantage: on the one hand, winning an argument brings pleasure, which everyone has at least some kind of appetite for; on the other hand, losing motivates one to improve his or her skills in the art of disputation.32 It has been plausibly suggested that instead of using this method in philosophical training of his students, Augustine drew on the classical psychagogic tradition and adapted his teaching to the state of his students’ sensitive souls: instead of stating his philosophical conclusions all at once, he chose to lead his students to understand them by affective ascent through a process of gradual therapy.33 The methods of spiritual exercise Augustine employs in his dialogues include Socratic interrogation and the Neoplatonic purificatory exercise of mental ascent, by which he tries to help his students and readers to ascend from the material world towards what is eternal and unchangeable.34 What is characteristic of Augustine’s early thought about shame is that, as in the case of Roman pudor, the feeling of shame appears as a primarily negative phenomenon. For him it is connected with wounded feelings, which prompt humans to proudly commit themselves to wilful obstinacy and to care less about finding the truth than propping up their egos. As we have seen, Augustine addresses the problem of shame directly only few times in his early thought, but he clearly had a consistent way of thinking about the psychological aspects of this emption tried to overcome the challenges posed by it in different ways. The next step in our present discussion concerning the functions of shame in

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Paul R. Kolbet, Augustine and the Cure of Souls: Revising a Classical Idea (Notre Dame: University of Notre Dame Press, 2010), 94: “For students (such as Licentius and Trygetius) to be able to benefit from guidance and enter the safe port of philosophy, the shame of being defeated in argument would have to lose its power over them. This could only happen if they came to love the honest pursuit of truth more than the exhilaration derived from verbal victory.” Katerina Oikonomopoulou, “Ancient Question-and-Answer Literature and its Role in the Tradition of Dialogue” in Der Dialog in der Antike: Formen und Funktionen einer literarischen Gattung zwischen Philosophie, Wissensvermittlung und dramatischer Inszenierung (ed. S. Föllinger and G.M. Müller; Berlin/Boston: Walter de Gruyter GmbH, 2013), 44. Kolbet, Augustine and the Cure of Souls, 94–96. Stock, Augustine’s Inner Dialogue, 25.

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Augustine’s early dialogues is to consider the distinctive features in Augustine’s early notion of shame in comparison to his later writings. In this way we will be in a better position to understand the special features of Augustine’s early dialogues and his early thought on shame.

4

Shame in the Context of Concupiscence

In its most theoretical form, Augustine’s “mature” concept of shame is situated in the complex interplay between the will and the emotions, which I will outline briefly. In De ciuitate Dei Augustine gives emotion (perturbatio) in general a Ciceronian definition “motion of the mind contrary to reason.”35 The Augustinian theory of emotions has a close connection to Augustine’s theory of the will, since according to Augustine, emotions are definite manifestations of the will.36 Augustine discusses the interplay between the will, emotions and shame the fourteenth book of De ciuitate Dei, in which he writes: The important factor here is the quality of a person’s will. If it is perverse, these emotions will be perverse; but, if it is right, they will be not only blameless but even praiseworthy. The will is involved in all of them; or, rather, they are all nothing more than modes of willing.37 According to Augustine, then, emotions are directed by the will and are nothing but its expressions: if someone feels joy, the emotion is a manifestation of his or her volition of consent to the things he or she wishes, whereas sadness is his or her volition of aversion to the things he or she does not wish (ciu. 14,6). In Paradise, different kinds of passions did not arise against the commands of the

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ciu. 8, 17 (ccsl 47, 234) perturbatio est enim, quae Graece πάθος dicitur; unde illa uoluit uocare animo passiua, quia uerbum de uerbo πάθος passio diceretur motus animi contra rationem. cur ergo sunt ista in animis daemonum, quae in pecoribus non sunt? quoniam si quid in pecore simile apparet, non est perturbatio, quia non est contra rationem, qua pecora carent. Trans. W. Babcock in The City of God (De Civitate Dei) i–x (wsa i/6; ed. B. Ramsey; New York: New City Press, 2012). Gerard J.P. O’Daly, “Affectus (passio, perturbatio),” in Augustinus-Lexikon, Vol. 1 (Aaron– Conuersio) (ed. C.P. Mayer; Basel: Schwabe, 1986–1994), 167–168. ciu. 14,6 (ccsl 48, 421) interest autem qualis sit uoluntas hominis; quia si peruersa est, peruersos habebit hos motus; si autem recta est, non solum inculpabiles, uerum etiam laudabiles erunt. uoluntas est quippe in omnibus; immo omnes nihil aliud quam uoluntates sunt. Trans. W. Babcock in The City of God (De Civitate Dei) xi–xxii (wsa i/7; ed. B. Ramsey; New York: New City Press, 2013).

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rational will, but in the present fallen condition, humans have to control these emotions, which can be difficult in some situations (ciu. 14, 10).38 According to Augustine, the reason for this is concupiscence, which is a vice of the flesh that is implanted in human nature by God as a punishment for the rebellion of the first humans. In Augustine’s thought, this sinful disposition covers the whole range of human temptation to sin, but it is particularly manifested in sexual desire.39 The later Augustinian theory of shame is placed in this context of original sin and concupiscence.40 What is perhaps the most notable difference between Augustine’s early and mature notions of shame is his concept of sexual shame, which is an important aspect of his theory of shame in his later writings but is completely absent in his early dialogues. According to Augustine, the feeling of shame is connected above all to sexual desire and acts. He asks, why we do not try to conceal what we do out of anger or other emotions as eagerly as we seek to hide all our sexual activities. According to Augustine, the reason for this is that “in the case of the other members of the body, it is not the emotions themselves that set them in motion. It is rather the will that sets them in motion, when it gives its consent to the emotions, for the will has complete control over the use of these other members. No one who speaks a word in anger, or even hits out at another, could possibly do so if his tongue or his hand were not in some way set in motion by the will’s command”.41 As he points out, in Latin, the male genital organ is called “the shameful member” (membra pudenda), which highlights the special connection between shame and sexuality. However, this was not the case before the fall, since shame did not exist in Paradise, as it is written in the Bible (Gen. 2:25). According to Augustine, genital organs are perceived as shameful after the fall because of concupiscence, which God gave Adam and Eve as a punishment for their sin. In the fallen human existence, lust (libido, concupiscentia) can affect “the shameful member” regardless of and even against the decision of the will, which explains why we are more ashamed by sexual desire than other powerful emotions such as anger. As we have seen, Augustine consid38 39 40 41

See Wu, “Shame in the Context of Sin,” 24. Gerald Bonner, “Concupiscentia,” in Augustinus-Lexikon, Vol. 1 (Aaron–Conuersio) (ed. C.P. Mayer; Basel: Schwabe, 1986–1994), 1116–1117. Wu, “Shame in the Context of Sin,” 3. ciu. 14,19 (ccsl 48, 442) quod autem irae opera aliarumque affectionum in quibusque dictis atque factis non sic abscondit uerecundia, ut opera libidinis, quae fiunt genitalibus membris, quid causae est, nisi quia in ceteris membra corporis non ipsae affectiones, sed, cum eis consenserit, uoluntas mouet, quae in usu eorum omnino dominatur? nam quisquis uerbum emittit iratus uel etiam quemquam percutit, non posset hoc facere, nisi lingua et manus iubente quodam modo uoluntate mouerentur. Trans. W. Babcock.

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ered emotions to be manifestations of the will, but according to him, lust differs from other emotions in its ability to bypass the will. It is this uncontrolled sexual desire that makes the genital organs and sexuality particularly shameful.42 Thus, Augustine’s notion of sexual shame is connected to the punitive side of concupiscence: concupiscence and the uncontrollability of sexual desire is a fitting punishment and a sign of the disobedient will of the first humans.43 Although the uncontrollability of sexual desire is most clearly manifested in the case of involuntary movements of the male genital organ, according to Augustine sexuality was also a cause of shame for women. The problematic relation of will, passions and shame is discussed by Augustine from the female perspective at the beginning of De ciuitate Dei in the context of his defence of Christianity against pagan criticism after the sack of Rome by the Visigoths in 410. In his apology he considers the delicate issue of Christian virgins who were raped by the invaders during the sack. Augustine defends the purity of these Christian women, which many considered as defiled: according to him, the chastity of the soul cannot be taken away against the will even though the body is sexually assaulted. This is so despite the fact that Augustine thought that at least some degree of carnal pleasure is an integral part of all sexual acts: In the first place, then, let it be stated and established that virtue, by which we live rightly, governs the members of the body from its seat in the mind and that the body becomes holy through its use by a holy will; and, so long as the will remains steadfast and unshaken, nothing that anyone else does with the body or to the body—and that cannot be avoided by the person who suffers it without some sin on his own part—brings any blame to the one who undergoes it. Not only acts inflicting pain, however, but also acts gratifying lust can be perpetrated on the body of another; and when something like that happens—even when it does not shatter the chastity to which the supremely constant mind holds fast—it still brings on a sense

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Richard Sorabji, Emotion and Peace of Mind: From Stoic Agitation to Christian Temptation (Oxford/New York: Oxford University Press, 2002), 380–382; Wu, “Shame in the Context of Sin,” 16–18. Timo Nisula, Augustine and the Functions of Concupiscence (Leiden/Boston: Brill, 2012), 114–115. It has also been suggested that rather than originating together with concupiscence, shame is essentially a positive force that already existed in Paradise. According to this interpretation, “Augustine locates shame as central to the self, always existing, but emerging with negative force when the prelapsarian bond with God breaks in the Edenic narrative” and that “it is not that shame did not exist before the Fall, but after the connection with God is severed, Adam and Eve know they have shame because they experience it bodily.” Arel, Affect Theory, Shame, and Christian Formation, 70–72.

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of shame, for fear that people might think that an act which could not have occurred, perhaps, without some pleasure of the flesh must also have taken place with the consent of the mind.44 Augustine compares these ill-fated Christian women favourably with Lucretia, a legendary Roman heroine of chastity, who committed suicide after her rape. Lucretia was an influential exemplum uirtutis in ancient Roman culture, and possibly many people thought that the raped Christian women should have followed her example and committed suicide as an expression of their chastity.45 Augustine does not consider Lucretia’s solution exemplary, since as a Christian bishop he thought that suicide in any circumstance is a grave sin. Instead he counters the traditional Roman way of thinking and presents Lucretia’s suicide as weakness arising from shame (pudoris infirmitas) rather than love of chastity (pudicitiae caritas). Besides that, Augustine also thinks that Lucretia was “excessively eager for praise” (laudis auida nimium) and acted out her solution to save her public image. In the case of raped Christian women, shame can be seen as a positive emotion that manifests the right condition of the mind and its self-evaluation against the involuntary disturbances of carnal concupiscence and the unjust judgement of other people.46 Despite the prominence of the theme of sexuality in Augustine’s mature theory of shame, Augustine the bishop knew well that in everyday life shame is not exclusively or even primarily related to sex. In his sermons Augustine talks about ordinary shame that is felt by the members of his congregation in such ordinary cases as being falsely accused of something. According to Augustine, shame in these situations is not caused by the false charge itself but by the accused person’s fear that such a thing could be believed of him or her. Augustine attributes this kind of shame to the weakness of our minds (en. Ps. 68.2.4).47 If a false accusation causes us to be ashamed, it naturally also happens when a person has actually committed an obvious and public sin: in this kind of sit-

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ciu. 1, 16 (ccsl 47, 18) sit igitur in primis positum atque firmatum uirtutem, qua recte uiuitur, ab animi sede membris corporis imperare sanctumque corpus usu fieri sanctae uoluntatis, qua inconcussa ac stabili permanente, quidquid alius de corpore uel in corpore fecerit, quod sine peccato proprio non ualeat euitari, praeter culpam esse patientis. sed quia non solum quod ad dolorem, uerum etiam quod ad libidinem pertinet, in corpore alieno perpetrari potest: quidquid tale factum fuerit, etsi retentam constantissimo animo pudicitiam non excutit, tamen pudorem incutit, ne credatur factum cum mentis etiam uoluntate, quod fieri fortasse sine carnis aliqua uoluptate non potuit. Trans. W. Babcock. Wu, “Shame in the Context of Sin,” 6. Wu, “Shame in the Context of Sin,” 9–13. Kolbet, “Rhetoric, Redemption, and the Practices of the Self,” 360.

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uation the ashamed person tries to conceal his deeds from others (ciu. 14,19). When a person is ashamed, he or she becomes displeasing to him- or herself. That is why Augustine thinks that shame can be a salutary thing for a proud person: And I dare say that it is beneficial for the proud, who had already fallen by being pleased with themselves, to fall into some open and obvious sin which might lead them to be displeased with themselves. Peter, after all, was better off in being displeased with himself when he wept than he was in being pleased with himself when he was overconfident. And the holy Psalm says, Fill their faces with shame, so that they may seek your name, O Lord (Ps. 83:16)—that is, so that those who were pleased with themselves when they were seeking their own name might be pleased with you when they seek your name.48 Thus, there is good shame and bad shame, the former leading to humility and repentance and the latter to pride.49 According to Augustine, a good example of bad shame is his theological opponent Julian of Eclanum. In his polemical work against Julian, Contra Iulianum (422), Augustine mentions fear of God and shame before men as means to overcome the evil of his heretical obstinacy (c. Iul. 1,3,5) and insinuates in several passages that Julian must have recognized his theological errors but is too ashamed to publicly abandon them. According to Augustine’s diagnosis, his opponent’s shame is bad shame, which prevents him from admitting his errors and converting. However, with the help of Christ and salutary shame, even the most obstinate heretic, as Augustine perceived Julian, can be converted: However great the obstinacy of mind by which you are carried away, Julian, however great the stubbornness with which you oppose us in defending the Pelagian error, you are surrounded by so much factual evidence given by blessed Ambrose, you are so refuted by the clarity of his statements, that surely, if no reason, reflection, religious consideration,

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ciu. 14, 13 (ccsl 48, 436) et audeo dicere superbis esse utile cadere in aliquod apertum manifestumque peccatum, unde sibi displiceant, qui iam sibi placendo ceciderant. salubrius enim Petrus sibi displicuit, quando fleuit, quam sibi placuit, quando praesumpsit. hoc dicit et sacer Psalmus: imple facies eorum ignominia, et quaerent nomen tuum, domine [Ps. 82:17], id est, ut tu eis placeas quaerentibus nomen tuum, qui sibi placuerant quaerendo suum. Trans. W. Babcock. See Arel, Affect Theory, Shame, and Christian Formation, 80–81.

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piety, humanity, or regard for truth you may have recalls you from your stubborn purpose, you show how powerful a thing it is in human evils to have reached a point where you do not wish to stay, yet from which you are ashamed to retreat. For I believe that this is how you might feel when you read this. Oh, if the peace of Christ might only conquer in your heart and a good repentance carry off the prize of an evil shame!50 Good shame is not only healing for great sinners and heretics, but according to Augustine accepting this positive kind of shame is the answer to the problem of shame in everyday human encounters as well. In the common African mentality of Augustine’s day, shame and revenge went hand in hand: revenge (or suicide in the case of women) were commonly accepted means of restoring one’s reputation after public humiliation.51 Augustine suggests a different solution: remembering Christ, who prayed the Father to forgive his murderers (s. 63). According to Augustine, Christ gave the cross to Christians as a sign of humility (signum humilitatis) (en. Ps. 141, 9) and the seat of shame (sedes pudoris) on their foreheads (en. Ps. 30,2,3,7), which is ridiculed by the pagans. As Paul. R. Kolbet has pointed out, Augustine presents this healing and salutary shame as a solution to the problem of shame.52

5

Augustine’s Theory of Shame and the Dialogues

Having conducted the preceding overview of Augustine’s early and “mature” concepts of shame, we are now in a position to compare the two in order to

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c. Iul. 2, 5, 14 (pl 44, 684) quantalibet feraris animi obstinatione, Iuliane, quantalibet aduersus nos peruicacia pro Pelagiano errore consistas; tanta per beatum Ambrosium circumuallaris rerum euidentia, tanta uerborum eius manifestatione contunderis, ut profecto, si nulla te ratio, cogitatio, consideratio religionis, pietatis, humanitatis, atque in te ipso aduertendae ueritatis a pertinaci intentione reuocauerit, ostendas quantum in malis humanis ualeat, eo quemquam fuisse progressum, ubi manere non libeat, unde redire iam pudeat. sic enim credo te affici, cum ista legeris. sed o si pax Christi in tuo corde uincat, et bona paenitentia de mala uerecundia palmam ferat! Trans. M.A. Schumacher in The Fathers of the Church, Vol. 35 (ed. H. Dressler et al.; Washington, D.C.: The Catholic University of America Press, 1957). Kolbet, “Rhetoric, Redemption, and the Practices of the Self,” 358–363. ibid. 366–370. As Kolbet puts it, “What becomes evident here is a most surprising resolution to the classical problem of shame’s redemption. It is what Augustine freely calls ‘healing shame.’ He explains, ‘for none of us can live without being shamed, unless we have first been shamed and then risen to a new life.’ In this way, God’s grace creates the possibility of ‘salutary shame’ (confusionem salubrem), a shame that heals rather than diminishes.” ibid. 369–370.

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comprehend the distinctive features of his early thought concerning shame. As I have already mentioned, the most notable difference between Augustine’s early writings on shame and his later theory is that the connection of shame to sexuality is completely absent in his early dialogues. This is noteworthy, since the interplay between the will, concupiscence and shame is an important factor in Augustine’s later theory of shame and its origins. Another important difference is that, in Augustine’s early thought, shame is, in traditional Roman fashion, a primarily negative emotion: at first glance, Augustine’s mature differentiation between good shame and bad shame, which is connected to his thought concerning Christian humility and the humility of Jesus Christ himself, seems to be completely absent. As we have seen, shame in Augustine’s early dialogues is to a great degree classical Roman pudor, which has to do with the way one perceives oneself as being seen by others. As we have seen earlier, Reason thinks Augustine’s shame in their inner dialogue is absurd and tells him that they chose to practice the question-answer method in a soliloquy precisely to rule out the feeling of shame (sol. 2,7,13–14). This implies that the presence of other people is necessary for a reasonable arousal of the feeling of shame. Due to the context of philosophical disputation, which can be very competitive, shame in Augustine’s dialogues is clearly not an emotion that encourages humility and leads a sinner to repentance, but rather a disturbance of the soul that increases the risk of refusing to admit and correct an error. In this respect, Augustine’s later notion of shame has deeper and more Christian overtones. Shame can also be felt alone, for example as the soul’s response to involuntary sexual desire. Augustine also presents Christ as an example of humility and as a solution to the problem of shame. The second positive aspect of shame that is absent from the dialogues is shame as an expression of one’s positive self-evaluation against the concupiscence and judgement of others. In the dialogues self-assessment is related to shame only in a negative way. The weakness arising from shame works together with eagerness for praise to hamper person’s uncompromising search of truth. Here the will to give a childish display of cleverness rather than to discover the truth has the same root as Lucretia’s suicide, namely excessive eagerness for praise and public esteem. However, despite the notable differences between Augustine’s early and mature thought that I have pointed out, it is also possible that there is more continuity in his thought than it seems at first glance. One feature that may hint in that direction is Augustine’s unreasonable shame in Soliloquia. Here one can only conjecture, since it is always possible that the misplaced confession of shame by Augustine’s character in this dialogue is merely a literary device

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which Augustine used to present his views about shame. However, if that is not the case, could it be that when an intellectual folly has been committed, shame is a spontaneous reaction of our positive self-assessment, reacting in the same way as in sexual desire and unjust judgement of others? Is it our soul’s thirst for truth that says we should be better than this? This would be plausible in the light of Augustine’s thought concerning error. Augustine sees error as something that is always bad, but not always sinful. This is because humans have such a strong natural desire for the truth that nobody wants to err. According to Augustine this natural desire to avoid error in all humans is clearly manifested in the fact that although many people want to deceive others, they themselves do not want to be deceived (conf. 10,23,33; ench. 5,17).53 Our desire for the truth and our aversion of error causes us to be reluctant to admit an error even when we actually are in error: It must be because people love truth in such a way that those who love something else wish to regard what they love as truth and, since they would not want to be deceived, are unwilling to be convinced that they are wrong. They are thus led into hatred of truth for the sake of that very thing which they love under the guise of truth. They love truth when it enlightens them, but hate it when it accuses them.54 Although Augustine clearly has opponents of Christianity in mind in this passage, I think that what he writes about being “accused by truth” has a certain similarity to the shame-reactions in his dialogues. As we have seen, it is unpleasant to admit one’s mistake, and this is precisely what makes the feeling of shame dangerous for search for the truth. However, there is a difference between the unpleasant feeling of being revealed and accused by truth itself that is described in Confessiones and the feeling of shame in the dialogues, since as Reason tells Augustine, it is ridiculous to be ashamed without an audience. As we have seen, in Augustine’s early dialogues erring is shameful primarily for social reasons, but why was Augustine ashamed in his philosophical soliloquy?

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Gerard J.P. O’Daly, “Error, falsitas,” in Augustinus-Lexikon, Vol. 2 (Cor–Fides) (ed. C.P. Mayer; Basel: Schwabe, 1996–2002), 1096. conf. 10, 23, 34 (ccsl 27, 173) cur autem ueritas parit odium et inimicus eis factus est homo tuus uerum praedicans, cum ametur beata uita, quae non est nisi gaudium de ueritate, nisi quia sic amatur ueritas, ut, quicumque aliud amant, hoc quod amant uelint esse ueritatem, et quia falli nollent, nolunt conuinci, quod falsi sint? itaque propter eam rem oderunt ueritatem, quam pro ueritate amant. amant eam lucentem, oderunt eam redarguentem. Trans. M. Boulding (The Confessions, wsa i/1, ed. J.E. Rotelle; New York: New City Press, 1997).

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Perhaps Augustine’s private shame in Soliloquia can be seen as an instance of a situation, where one’s error becomes revealed by truth to oneself. Being revealed by truth is explicitly connected with shame in the eighth book of Confessiones. In a passage that precedes Augustine’s famous conversion scene, Augustine’s friend Ponticianus tells him about his colleague, who was impressed by the example of Saint Anthony and converted to Christianity: “His admiration and enthusiasm were aroused, and as he read he began to mull over the possibility of appropriating the same kind of life for himself, by renouncing his secular career to serve you alone. (He belonged to the ranks of so-called administrative officers.) Then quite suddenly he was filled with a love of holiness and a realistic sense of shame and disgust with himself.”55 Hearing this story made Augustine to be “overwhelmed with shame” and to perceive himself as stripped naked before himself (conf. 8,7,18).56 Augustine describes his affections as follows: Ponticianus went on with his story; but, Lord, even while he spoke you were wrenching me back toward myself, and pulling me round from that standpoint behind my back which I had taken to avoid looking at myself. You set me down before my face forcing me to mark how despicable I was, how misshapen and begrimed, filthy and festering. I saw and shuddered. If I tried to turn my gaze away, he went on relentlessly telling his tale, and you set me before myself once more, thrusting me into my sight that I might perceive my sin and hate it.57 This strong emotional experience sets Augustine on a process that finally leads into his conversion. Thus, in Confessiones shame is portrayed as a positive thing that functions as an important catalyst that leads to Augustine’s conversion: “it challenged him to take the positive step which he had long contemplated, but

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conf. 8, 6, 15 (ccsl 27, 122) quam legere coepit unus eorum et mirari et accendi et inter legendum meditari arripere talem uitam et relicta militia saeculari seruire tibi. erant autem ex eis, quos dicunt agentes in rebus. tum subito repletus amore sancto et sobrio pudore iratus sibi coniecit oculos in amicum et ait illi […]. Trans. M. Boulding. Capps, “The Scourge of Shame and the Silencing of Adeodatus,” 81. conf. 8, 7, 16 (ccsl 27, 123–124) narrabat haec Ponticianus. tu autem, domine, inter uerba eius retorquebas me ad me ipsum, auferens me a dorso meo, ubi me posueram, dum nollem me attendere, et constituebas me ante faciem meam, ut uiderem, quam turpis essem, quam distortus et sordidus, maculosus et ulcerosus. et uidebam et horrebam, et quo a me fugerem non erat. et si conabar auertere a me aspectum, narrabat ille quod narrabat, et tu me rursus opponebas mihi et impingebas me in oculos meos, ut inuenirem iniquitatem meam et odissem. Trans. M. Boulding.

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was always afraid to make”.58 Here the feeling of shame is treated less systematically than in Augustine’s later writings, but it already has a more complex outlook than in the early dialogues, since the phenomenon of a “private shame” aroused by being confronted by truth itself with no social aspect involved is explicitly described. The fact that in Soliloquia Augustine is confronted by reason in a context that include no external witnesses makes it possible that in this early dialogue Augustine already anticipated something of the depth and complexity of his later theory of shame but did not know how to fit the notion of private shame into his early thought concerning shame that was still to a large extent influenced by the classical Roman concept of pudor. The final question in our comparative section is whether there is an essential difference between Augustine’s early and mature solution to the problem of shame. As we have seen, the solution of Augustine the bishop is to remember the example of Christ and to transform destructive shame into a healing and salutary shame. In the dialogues we see Augustine presenting us with two different solutions: (1) taking the advantages of the question-answer method and avoiding the challenges posed by shame in philosophical soliloquy and (2) virtuously resisting the weakness arising from shame and returning and correcting one’s error in order to find the truth. As we have seen, there is no differentiation between good and bad shame in Augustine’s early dialogues, but I think we can nevertheless see something similar in Christian salutary shame and the courage to overcome shame, of which Augustine gives the character of Evodius as an example. In neither of the cases is immunity to shame or shamelessness (inpudens) the answer, since according to Augustine, that would be sinful pride.59 Although Augustine’s later solution is more explicitly and more distinctly Christian, we can see his earlier ideal of searching for the truth in spite of public shame in the light of his early project to know God and the soul and in continuity with his later thought as a bishop.

6

Conclusions

As we have seen, Augustine’s early notion of shame is rooted in the Roman concept of pudor in many important aspects. First, shame is presented in Augustine’s early dialogues exclusively as a negative emotion. Second, shame is pri-

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Capps, “The Scourge of Shame and the Silencing of Adeodatus,” 82–83. Kolbet, “Rhetoric, Redemption, and the Practices of the Self,” 370.

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marily, or even solely, about one’s perception of and belief in his or her esteem in the eyes of other people. Finally, although Augustine sees shame as a problem for reaching a desirable goal of philosophical dialogue, namely finding the truth together, for him total immunity to the feeling is not a solution but rather a sign of pride. However, there are also some distinctly Augustinian features in his early dialogues as well. The first such aspect is his way of devaluing the esteem and honour resulting from a verbal victory in a dispute and exhorting his students and readers to humble themselves, admit their mistakes, correct their error and then to proceed towards the truth through an honest and diligent search. In the larger context of Augustine’s theory of shame, the inability to admit one’s error and instead to stick to it is weakness that results from shame, which is worse than the shame of being publicly wrong. Here we can see Augustine’s unfavourable portrayal of the Roman heroine Lucretia and his opponent Julian of Eclanum as good examples of the problem of shame, that Reason was so worried about in Soliloquia: the shame that is motivated by desire for public esteem can make one cling obstinately to error or even drive one to suicide. There is notable development in Augustine’s theory of shame. Perhaps the most notable difference between his early and later thought is that Augustine goes on to discuss the feeling of shame in a more theoretical manner in the light of concupiscence and sexuality. In Augustine’s later thought it is possible to be ashamed even when one is not guilty of any kind of sin or when a (sexual) desire or act is not witnessed by anyone. This thought seems to be foreign both to the classical Roman concept of pudor and to Augustine’s early concept of shame and can therefore be seen as a clear sign of the development of his thought in this regard. In his later works we also see a distinctly Christian motivation for Augustine’s novel perception of shame: the example of Jesus Christ and his call to follow him in his humility. On the basis of our analysis of Augustine’s early dialogues, his early exhortation to take on the feeling of shame in order to find the truth is in continuity with this later thought concerning the salutary shame of Christ. Finally, what is the role of shame in Augustine’s early dialogues and how has his perception of this difficult emotion affected his way of seeing the value and purpose of philosophical disputation and argumentation? On the basis of our analysis shame seems to be connected with Augustine’s project of learning to know God and the soul and his concurrent endeavour to help his students and readers to reach this goal as well. A person who is on his way to truth by practicing philosophy must renounce the will to gain public esteem by winning arguments and never let shame to prevent him or her from correcting an error. This requires a new perception of the genre of philosophical disputation, which Augustine tries to emphasize to his students: dialogue is not a

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matter of competition and winning honour but of searching for the truth at all costs. Therefore, by addressing the problem of shame and giving an example of how to act in an embarrassing situation in a philosophical dialogue, Augustine intends to inspire and encourage a philosophically inexperienced reader to proceed to the harbour of philosophy in spite of occasional waves of shame. The solution is not to proceed shamelessly but to transform shame into the humility to learn.

Acknowledgements I want to express my gratitude to the Finnish Cultural Foundation for funding my work.

Translations Babcock, William. The City of God (De Civitate Dei) i–x. The Works of Saint Augustine: A Translation for the 21st Century, Vol. i/6. Edited by Boniface Ramsey. New York: New City Press, 2012. Babcock, William. The City of God (De Civitate Dei) xi–xxii. The Works of Saint Augustine: A Translation for the 21st Century, Vol. i/7. Edited by Boniface Ramsey. New York: New City Press, 2013. Boulding, Maria. The Confessions. The Works of Saint Augustine: A Translation for the 21st Century, Vol. i/1. Edited by John. E. Rotelle. New York: New City Press, 1997. King, Peter. Augustine: Against the Academicians and The Teacher. Indianapolis: Hackett, 1995. McMahon, John. J. “St. Augustine, The Magnitude of the Soul.” Pages 51–149 in The Fathers of the Church: A New Translation, Vol. 4. Edited by H. Dressler et al. Washington, D.C.: The Catholic University of America Press, 1947. Russell, Robert P. “St. Augustine, Divine Providence and the Problem of Evil.” Pages 229– 332 in The Fathers of the Church: A New Translation, Vol. 5. Edited by L. Schopp et al. New York: cima Publishers, 1948. Schumacher, Matthew A. Saint Augustine, Against Julian. The Fathers of the Church: A New Translation, Vol. 35. Edited by H. Dressler et al. Washington, D.C.: The Catholic University of America Press, 1957. Watson, Gerald. Saint Augustine: Soliloquies and Immortality of the Soul. Warminster: Aris & Phillips, 1990.

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Bibliography Arel, Stephanie N. Affect Theory, Shame, and Christian Formation. Cham: Springer, 2016. Bonner, Gerald. “Concupiscentia.” Pages 1113–1122 in Augustinus-Lexikon, Vol. 1 (Aaron– Conuersio). Edited by C.P. Mayer. Basel: Schwabe, 1986–1994. Capps, Donald. “The Scourge of Shame and the Silencing of Adeodatus.” Pages 69–94 in The Hunger of the Heart: Reflections on the Confessions of Augustine. Edited by D. Capps and J.E. Dittes. West Lafayette: Society for Scientific Study, 1990. Catapano, Giovanni. “The Epistemological Background of Augustine’s Dialogues”. Pages 107–122 in Der Dialog in der Antike: Formen und Funktionen einer literarischen Gattung zwischen Philosophie, Wissensvermittlung und dramatischer Inszenierung. Edited by S. Föllinger and G.M. Müller. Berlin/Boston: De Gruyter, 2013. Fortin, Ernest L. “Augustine’s De Quantitate Animae or the Spiritual Dimensions of Human Existence.” Pages 134–169 in “De moribus ecclesiae catholicae et de moribus Manichaeorum”, “De quantitate animae” di Agostino d’Ippona, Lectio Augustini: Settimana Agostiniana Pavese 7. Edited by J.K. Coyle et al. Palermo: Edizioni “Augustinus”, 1991. Fuhrer, Therese. “Conversationalist and Consultant: Augustine in Dialogue.” Pages 270– 283 in Companion to Augustine. Edited by M. Vessey. Chichester: Wiley-Blackwell, 2012. Kaster, Robert A. Emotion, Restraint, and Community in Ancient Rome, Oxford/New York: Oxford University Press, 2005. Kolbet, Paul R., Augustine and the Cure of Souls: Revising a Classical Idea. Notre Dame: University of Notre Dame Press, 2010. Kolbet, Paul R. “Rhetoric, Redemption, and the Practices of the Self: A Neglected Mode of Augustine’s Thinking.” Pages 351–378 in Praedicatio Patrum: Studies on Preaching in Late Antique North Africa. Edited by G. Partoens, A. Dupont and S. Boodts. Turnhout: Brepols, 2017. Kries, Douglas. “Magistro, De.” Pages 519–520 in Augustine through the Ages: An Encyclopedia. Edited by A.D. Fitzgerald. Grand Rapids/Cambridge: Eerdmans, 1999. Lütcke, Karl-Heinrich. “Animae quantitate (De –).” Pages 350–356 in AugustinusLexikon, Vol. 1 (Aaron–Conuersio). Edited by C.P. Mayer. Basel: Schwabe, 1986–1994. McWilliam, Joanne. “Cassiciacum Dialogues”. Pages 135–143 in Augustine through the Ages: An Encyclopedia. Edited by A.D. Fitzgerald. Grand Rapids/Cambridge: Eerdmans, 1999. Nisula, Timo. Augustine and the Functions of Concupiscence. Leiden/Boston: Brill, 2012. O’Daly, Gerard J.P. “Affectus (passio, perturbatio).” Pages 166–180 in Augustinus-Lexikon, Vol. 1 (Aaron–Conuersio). Edited C.P. Mayer. Basel: Schwabe, 1986–1994. O’Daly, Gerard J.P. “Cassiciacum.” Pages 771–781 in Augustinus-Lexikon, Vol. 1 (Aaron– Conuersio). Edited by C.P. Mayer. Basel: Schwabe, 1986–1994.

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The Grace of Merit and the Merit of Grace: Dialogical Ambiguity in Augustine’s Sermons Pablo Irizar

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Introduction

Exhortation is a rhetorical aspect inherent to preaching. Indeed, as an exhortative exercise, preaching inspires certain behaviors meritorious of reward, while it discourages other kinds of behaviors by the outlook of punishment.1 Exhortation considered mainly as aiming to persuade or dissuade an audience through rhetorical2 means assumes that the listener has the will and, perhaps more

1 Important scholarship on rhetoric in Augustine’s thought in general includes, Ernest L. Fortin, “Augustine and the Problem of Christian Rhetoric,” AugStud 5 (1974): 85–100; Sarah Spence, Rhetorics of Reason and Desire: Vergil, Augustine, and Troubadours (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1988). Specifically on rhetoric in Augustine’s preaching see, Peter T. Sanlon, Augustine’s Theology of Preaching (Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 2014). For a recent overview of approaches to the study of rhetoric and its relation to “pagan” culture, see Adam Ployd “Non poena sed causa: Augustine’s Anti-Donatist Rhetoric of Martyrdom,” AugStud 49:1 (2018): 25– 44, particularly footnote 11, 28. 2 Most of the literature on rhetoric in Augustine’s sermones focuses on charting the underlying theoretical principles which Augustine lays down in doctr. chr., as exhibited in Augustine’s preaching. The aim of this paper is to understand Augustine’s preaching in terms of the effect they have on the construction of social identity formation. Hence, Augustine’s rhetoric is identified as a case of constitutive rhetoric. For literature on rhetoric specifically in the sermones cf. Goulven Madec, “Les sermons Dolbeau,” REAug 38 (1992): 389–391; Charles Sears Baldwin, “St. Augustine on Preaching,” in The Rhetoric of St. Augustine of Hippo: De Doctrine Christiana & the Search for a Distinctly Christian Rhetoric (ed. R.L. Enos and R. Thompson et al.; Waco: Baylor University Press, 2008), 187–203; Hubertus R. Drobner, “The Chronology of St. Augustine’s Sermones ad populum,” AugStud 31:2 (2000): 211–218; ibid., “The Chronology of St. Augustine’s Sermones ad populum ii: Sermons 5–8,” AugStud 34:1 (2003): 49–66; ibid., “The Chronology of St. Augustine’s Sermones ad populum iii: On Christmas Day,” AugStud 35:1 (2004): 43–53; Mary Inviolata Barry, St. Augustine, the Orator: A Study of the Rhetorical Qualities of St. Augustine’s Sermones ad Populum. (Vol. 6 of Patristic Studies; Washington, D.C.: Catholic University of America, 1924); Calvin L. Troup, Temporality, Eternity, and Wisdom: The Rhetoric of Augustine’s Confessions (Columbia: University of South Carolina Press, 1999); Christine Mason Sutherland, “Love as Rhetorical Principle: The Relationship Between Content and Style in the Rhetoric of St. Augustine,” in Grace, Politics and Desire: Essays on Augustine (ed. H.A. Meynell; Calgary: University of Calgary Press, 1990), 139–154; John A. Sypert, “Redeeming Rhetoric: Augustine’s Use of Rhetoric in His Preaching Ministry,” Eleutheria 4/1 (2015): 18–34; John F. Wall, “A Study of the Rhetoric of the Early Sermons of St. Augustine”

© Pablo Irizar, 2022 | doi:10.1163/9789004466845_012

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importantly, the capacity to choose good over evil, to persevere with zeal in good habits, and to rectify vices with resolve. These considerations about the foundational function of preaching beg the question, is an example (exemplum) sufficient to undertake the labour of the imitatio Christi? The incarnation, Augustine preaches, offers a model of virtue to obtain grace and imitate good action (not necessarily in that order), but is mimesis sufficient to obtain virtue? Is virtue a prerequisite for grace or vice-versa? Where do the boundaries between the merit of grace and the grace of merit meet, if at all? While Augustine wrestled with these questions in a number of works, the pastoral dimension of the sermons provides a different tone, but also an alternative framework of analysis. Indeed, within the preaching/listening dialectic the borders of the intimately related themes of grace and freedom are constantly negotiated and ultimately prove fluid. What is the consequence of such fluidity on the social imagination? The consequence, this paper argues, is that preaching defines the sphere and conditions in which moral action is possible. Autonomous moral agency is empowered to the extent that merit is emphasized whereas, conversely, it is constrained to the extent that weight falls on dependence upon grace. Furthermore, since fluidity of the sphere in which moral agency is possible is an element of the social imaginary, it is argued that the interplay between grace and freedom is constitutive of social identity in the sermons. The presence of these themes in the sermons have received close attention in recent years.3 Since imitatio is closely related to imago, forma and exemplum

(Ph.D. Diss., Indiana University, 2012); Éric Rebillard, “Sermones,” in Augustine Through the Ages: An Encyclopedia (ed. A.D. Fitzgerald et al.; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1999), 773–792.; Christine Mohrmann, “Saint Augustine and the ‘Eloquentia,’” in Études sur le Latin des Chrétiens, Vol. 1 of Le Latin des Chrétiens, 2nd ed (Rome: Edizioni di Storia e Letteratura, 1961), 351–370; John D. Schaeffer, “The Dialectic of Orality and Literacy: The Case of Book 4 of Augustine’s De Doctrina Christiana,” in The Rhetoric of St. Augustine of Hippo: De Doctrine Christiana & the Search for a Distinctly Christian Rhetoric (ed R.L. Enos and R. Thompson et al.; Waco: Baylor University Press, 2008), 289–307; Coleen Hoffman Gowans, “The identity of the true believer in the sermons of Augustine of Hippo: A dimension of his Christian anthropology” (Ph.D. diss., Fordham University, 1996); Joseph Anthony Mazzeo, “St. Augustine’s Rhetoric of Silence,” jhi 23: 2 (1962): 175–219. 3 For instance, most recently, Anthony Dupont, A Critical Reappraisal of Augustine’s Doctrine of Grace in his Sermones ad Populum on Liturgical Feasts and during the Donatist Controversy, Brill’s Series in Church History (Leiden: Brill, 2014); also Anthony Dupont, Gratia in Augustine’s Sermones ad Populum during the Pelagian Controversy: Do Different Contexts Furnish Different Insights?, Brill’s Series in Church History (Leiden: Brill, 2012); and more generally on sermons and Patristics Preaching see Anthony Dupont, Shari Boodts, Gert Partoens and Johan Leemans, eds., Preaching in the Patristic Era: Sermons, Preachers, and Audiences in the Latin West (Leiden: Brill, 2018).

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throughout the Augustinian corpus,4 this paper aims to contribute to this line of research by charting the grace/merit dynamic as it unfolds in Augustine’s sermons and at evaluating how such dynamic results in the construction of social identity. Furthermore, the role of rhetoric of the image in the construction of individual identity and formulations of religious creed is well charted in Augustine scholarship.5 In contrast to his predecessors, Augustine’s rhetoric of the image is unified across generic contexts (partly thanks the employment of a Plotinian ontology of image).6 In the sermons, Augustine’s rhetoric of the image falls within the often-overlapping thematic categories: biblical, polemical, epistemological,7 prophetical,8 Trinitarian9 or within a number of other topics.10 Augustine’s rhetoric of the image dates to the moment when Augustine began preaching c. 391 and continues consistently until the end of his life. Like all of his preaching, therefore, the rhetoric of the image covers nearly four decades of Augustine’s thought. This paper charts Augustine’s rhetoric of the image as it emerges based on specific biblical passages where the term image is employed. The relevant biblical passages, i.e., the passages where rhetoric of the image is discussed in the sermons, are Rom 1:21–23 (§ 2), Mark 12:16/Luke 20:24 (§3), 1Cor 15:49/2Cor 3:18 (§4), Ps 38:7 (§5), 1 Cor 11:7 (§ 6), Rom 8:29 (§ 7) and Gen 1:26 (§8). Isolated studies of Augustine’s treatment of each of these passages in the sermons shall function as case-studies into the grace/merit dialectic. The guiding question of the analysis is, what is the interplay between grace and merit in Augustine’s rhetoric of the image when dealing with Biblical passages in the sermons? It is revealed that in Augustine’s rhetoric of the 4 5 6

7

8 9 10

For a study of forma and imago see Jean-Michel Fontanier, La Beauté selon saint Augustin (Rennes: Presses Universitaires de Rennes, 2008). For instance, see Matthew Drever, Image, Imagination and the Formation of the Augustinian Soul (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2013). This was the conclusion of the author’s doctoral dissertation’s first chapter which looks at the use of imago (and related terms such as forma) in Augustine’s Latin predecessors, namely Marius Victorinus, Ambrose, Ambrosiaster and Hilary of Poitiers. The use of imago in these authors is only formal and not substantial. Dated sermons dealing with epistemology of rhetoric of the image are: en. Ps. 11.2 (392); en. Ps. 37.11, en. Ps. 145.4 (395); en. Ps. 36.2.20 (403); ep. Io. tr. 4.9 (406/7); Io. eu. tr. 98.4, Io. eu. tr. 111.2, Io. eu. tr. 23.11 (406–421); en. Ps. 130.2, en. Ps. 146.13, en. Ps. 129.1, Io. eu. tr. 102.4 (412); en. Ps. 113.1.3, en. Ps. 139.15 (414). Undated sermons dealing with epistemology in image rhetoric are: s. 116.1, s. 117.2, s. 117.11–117.12, s. 117.13, s. 117.14, s. 348.3, s. Dolbeau 21.5, s. Dolbeau 21.6 and s. Dolbeau 21.18. en. Ps. 7.1, en. Ps. 9.12, en. Ps. 50.22, en. Ps. 64.1, en. Ps. 131.11, en. Ps. 147.5, en. Ps. 61.9, en. Ps. 86.2, en. Ps. 119.7, en. Ps. 125.3, en. Ps. 140.15, Io. eu. tr. 3.19 and Io. eu. tr. 15.8. Io. eu. tr. 19.1, Io. eu. tr. 76.5, s. 117.11–12. Importantly, these can be compared in terms of content to s. 1.5, 9.9, s. 52.17, s. 117.11–12, s. Denis 20.8. en. Ps. 32.2.2.28, en. Ps. 113.1.7, en. Ps. 119.4, Io. eu. tr. 12.11 and Io. eu. tr. 15.10.

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image, the lines between grace and freedom are often blurred in Augustine’s preaching, resulting in rhetorical ambiguity. The conclusion (§ 9) briefly states the import that rhetorical ambiguity in Augustine’s preaching on grace and free will has from vantage point of social identity and constitutive rhetoric.11

2

‘Worship of Images’: The Grace of (De)merit and Sin in Rom 1:21–2312

All sermons with reference to Rom 1:21–23, with the exception of s. 141 which is undated, namely s. 8, s. 53, s. 198 augm., s. 241 and s. 360B, were preached either in the course of the first decade of the 400s or within five years of 410. The concentration of these sermons in the first decade of the 400s is significant because it offers a window into Augustine’s rhetoric of the image in relation to grace and merit in the eve or early into the Pelagian controversy. In these sermons, the content of Rom 1:21–23, namely Paul’s warning against the worship of false gods, largely shapes Augustine’s preaching on the pericope in question.13 Augustine reads this Pauline passage as a warning against idolatry and the worship of false gods. Throughout the various contexts in which this warning is explored, such as the Decalogue, the vision of God and resurrection, the underlying dogmatic content remains consistent, i.e., the failure of God’s people to render God’s due unto God. Augustine insists, following Paul to the letter, that deliverance to immorality is the punishment for idolatry. Recognizing grace merits the knowledge of God (wisdom) while failure to recognize the grace of merit results in idolatry and ultimately in sin. As the discussion that follows illustrates, Augustine’s emphasis on the need to recognize grace heightens as his preaching nears the Pelagian controversy.

11

12

13

The concept of “constuitive rhetoric” is mainly drawn from Maurice Charland “Constitutive Rhetoric: The Case of the Peuple Québécois,” The Quarterly Journal of Speech 73:2 (1987): 133. The Vulgate is as follows: “quia cum cognovissent Deum non sicut Deum glorificaverunt aut gratias egerunt sed evanuerunt in cogitationibus suis et obscuratum est insipiens cor eorum/dicentes enim se esse sapientes stulti facti sunt/et mutaverunt gloriam incorruptibilis Dei in similitudinem imaginis corruptibilis hominis et volucrum et quadrupedum et serpentium.” Other sermons where Rom 1:21–23 is treated include en. Ps. 80.14 (c. 403), en. Ps. 72.26 (411– 413) and en. Ps. 105.19 (414–416). In these, as in other genres where Augustine uses Rom 1:23, the exegesis of the periscope is not restricted to questions of idolatry. However, the discussion of idolatry in terms of grace and merit is characteristic only of Augustine’s use of Rom 1:23 in the sermons.

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Sermo 24114 was preached on Easter week of 405–410 in Hippo on the resurrection apparition on the Emmaus road (cf. Luke 24:13–35). Augustine praises the possibility of coming to know God by means of human works and through wisdom. However, the failure to express gratitude to God for this, resulted in their being lost in the obscurity of their thought. The paradigmatic example of this is the disciples who, were unable to recognize the resurrected Christ in their midst. Idolatry and immorality as the consequence of ingratitude is juxtaposed with the knowledge of Christ as the merit of human labour: merit and punishment are preached while grace remains absent.15 Interestingly, in a number of sermons written in the first decade of the 400s the apparent absence of grace in s. 241 is complimented by Augustine’s emphasis on the role of Christ in procuring wisdom and avoiding pride, and therefore idolatry and immorality.16 Hence, at the turn of the 400s Augustine’s preaching gravitates primarily towards the mediatory role of Christ in procuring grace, in spite of s. 241 which is an exception rather than a representative of Augustine’s preaching during this period. Sermo 8, preached in Carthage either in 411 or before 415, deals with the Decalogue of the commandments (cf. Exod 20:2–27) which Augustine compares to the ten plagues of Egypt. The first commandment of the Decalogue prohibits the worship of false gods. The ‘corruptible images’ of Rom 1:21–23 enable Augustine to discuss the consequences of transgressing the first commandment. Pride leads to the downfall of those who deem themselves wise: the impious exchange the worship of the one, true, unchanging God, for corruptible images.17 The emphasis on the ability to avoid idolatry and the inevitability of meriting punishment should the commandment be transgressed is straight-

14 15

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17

s. 241.3. In a similar exhortation as in s. 241, Augustine warns on the dangers of the pride of human wisdom in s. 141. This sermon is not dated, but it’s on Jn 14:6 (pl 38, 776–778), the passage where Jesus proclaims himself as ‘the way, the truth and the life’. Though initially they managed to know something about God, the reason reason why the philosophers went astray in their search for the true God, is that they did not hold on to Christ as ‘the way’. Whether s. 241 was written closer to 410 or earlier at the turn of 400, its treatment of idolatry remains consistent with s. 198 and s. 360B, both written c. 404. In s. 198 augm. (s. Dolbeau 27), preached on 11th of January of 404 in Carthage, Christ is the mediator, against pagans. Similarly, in s. 360B, preached during the winter of 403/404 in Boseth, Augustine calls upon Pagans to conversion. Belonging to the same time period is: s. 198 augm. (s. Dolbeau 26.17/8). Preached in Carthage against the Pagans on Christ as mediator on the 11th of January of 404. The text is a careful analysis of the nature of imitation, the misleading of false images, and the punishment thereof. s. 8.4.

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forward. In other words, s. 8 illustrates merit of the will in the absence of grace or rather an emphasis on human ability to avoid sin when deterred by the outlook of punishment. In s. 53,18 dated 21 January 413 or briefly after 415, Augustine preached in Carthage on the beatitudes (cf. Matt 5:3–12). In this sermon Augustine prompts the listeners to practice the beatitudes as a way to achieve the vision of God: purity of heart is a precondition for the vision of God, and purity of heart is achieved through the beatitudes. The exhortation presumes a moral itinerary of purification of the heart, or more specifically a purification of the mind. The vision of God is reached from faith acting through charity accompanied by hope. A ‘pure’ faith avoids unworthy and material images of God. Finally, these actions prompted by faith find union in the cross of Christ and, with perseverance, they lead to happiness and the contemplation of God. In the desire to see God, Augustine warns against corporeal/material images of God. The worship of false gods in this sermon is not a mere precept, but rather dictates the very conditions which make the vision of God possible. The grace of merit is the vision of God, already possible in this life.19 The survey reveals a shift of emphasis on recognition of the grace of merit in the early 400s to an emphasis on the merit of grace through human actions from 410 leading up to 415 in the preaching of Rom 1:21–23. The beginning of the Pelagian controversy is perhaps the most significant single factor accounting for this shift. The grace of merit coincides roughly, within five years, with the infamous passages from Confessions (conf. 10.29) c. 397, which sparked the Pelagian controversy a decade later. As such, the heightened preaching on grace is consistent. However, the emphasis on merit in s. 241 on the eve of the Pelagian controversy drifts from the preaching tone of the time and remains all the more puzzling given Augustine’s emphasis on grace when preaching on Rom 1:21–23 already a decade earlier (i.e., even before the Pelagian controversy). Preaching against idolatry is therefore accompanied by ambiguity concerning the interplay of grace and merit in trying to avoid false worship.

18 19

s. 53.7. Interestingly, as discussed in ‘Transforming the Earthly Image’, Augustine preaches on the vision of God at approximately the same time using 1 Cor 15:49, but believes that the vision of God is only possible, at least fully, after death.

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‘Transforming the Image’: The Merit of Renewal and Moral Transformation in 1Cor 15:49 /2Cor 3:1820

In his preaching, as throughout his corpus, Augustine often capitalizes on the ‘image of the earthly man’ (imago homo terrenis)/ ‘image of the heavenly man’ (imago homo caelestis) motif (cf. 1Cor 15:49). This couplet enables Augustine to provide a Biblical framework to chart the normative process of moral transformation, from the ‘earthly image’ to the ‘heavenly image’. In the sermons, namely s. 216, s. 59 and s. 362, the passage is briefly treated, with important nuances, in order to exhort moral transformation. The passage appears briefly in the early 390s and then again, a few times in the decade that follows.21 Augustine pairs 1 Cor 15:49 with 2Cor 3:18 in s. 216 and s. 362, but not in s. 160. These sermons shed light on the interaction between grace and human merit in the process of moral transformation. Augustine preached s. 216 in Hippo, roughly between 390–391, to the competentes, who were a class of catechumenates having completed a sufficient amount of religious training and who would be received into baptism shortly thereafter. The dating is significant as it provides preaching representative of Augustine’s early priestly ministry as noted by his own admission.22 The central aim of the sermon is to instruct the competentes on the seven dispositions necessary to receive baptism. The first disposition consists in rejecting the pleasures of the world. This is possible, Augustine notes, provided the hearer depends not on individual strength, but on the merciful help of God. The result of rejecting the world explained within a moral framework for becoming what one is not yet and what one ought to become. When God manifests himself, those who rejected the world will resemble him such that what one must become will also be made manifest. This vision will be consistent with what creation (cf. Gen 1:26) was meant to be from the beginning. Augustine exhorts to put on the new man (cf. Col 3:9–10) which implies giving up the flesh and its ‘earthly image’ and putting on the image of Christ, ‘the heavenly 20

21

22

In the Vulgate, 2Cor 3:18, which Augustine often conflates with 1 Cor 15:48, reads as follows: “Nos vero omnes, revelata facie gloriam Domini speculantes, in eamdem imaginem transformamur a claritate in claritatem, tamquam a Domini Spiritu.” Beyond the sermons of interest to the present discussion, Augustine makes reference to 1Cor 15:49/2Cor 3:18 consistently throughout the first and second phases of the Pelagian controversy up until 418 when the passage is no longer used in preaching. The presence is as follow: en. Ps. 8.10, en. Ps. 9.4 (392); en. Ps. 72.26 (411–413); en. Ps. 35.12, en. Ps. 59.2, en. Ps. 73.2, en. Ps. 79.14, en. Ps. 136.18 (412); en. Ps. 59.2 (413), en. Ps. 111.1 (414), en. Ps. 70.1.2 (414–415) and en. Ps. 118.5.2 (418). cf. s. 216.1.

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image’. Augustine emphasizes human dependence on grace as a help which as such also empowers and encourages human action. The reward of transformation, achieved through the joint efforts of merit and grace, is the vision of God, which manifests who we ought to be: (like) the ‘heavenly man’. Within the context of baptismal preparation, the struggle for moral perfection continues after baptism. It is an exhortation to wear the image which is not to be taken for granted. The ‘heavenly image’ is obtained by the fruit of human labour under guidance of divine grace. Approximately a decade after preaching s. 216, Augustine would once again preach to the catechumenates with reference to 1 Cor 14:49 in s. 59. In s. 59.5, preached between 410–415 to a few weeks before Easter in Hippo, Augustine interprets the three-fold sense of the third petition in the Lord’s prayer (cf. Matt 6:9–13): “your will be done/on earth as it is in heaven” (Matt 6:10).23 First, Augustine explains, through this petition the believer asks for God’s help to follow the divine precepts by means of charity. Second, in the petition ‘heaven’ represents the soul, ‘earth’ represents the body, and the tension between the two exemplifies the struggle which keeps the believer from accomplishing God’s will. In a third sense, ‘heaven’ can also represent the faithful who are clothed (induere) with the image of the ‘heavenly man’ who is Christ. In contrast, the unfaithful wear (portare) the image of the ‘earthly man’. Here Augustine contraposes the image of the ‘heavenly/earthly man’, taken from 1 Cor 15:49, with Matt 6:10 to explain ‘heaven’ as symbolizing the faithful who accomplish God’s will. By accomplishing the will of God, humans wear the image of the ‘heavenly man’ but are not the ‘heavenly man’ who is Christ (cf. Augustine’s interpretation of Gen 1:26 in light of Col 1:15). As in s. 216, the ‘men’ motif from 1 Cor 15:49 provides a Biblical framework to preach the believer’s moral itinerary which is to be modelled after Christ. However, early in the ‘first phase’ of the Pelagian controversy in which s. 59 was preached, Augustine drops his earlier optimism in human/divine cooperation, a characteristic which was present a decade earlier in s. 216. By the early 410s, preaching on merit is eclipsed by the believer’s complete reliance on grace as the fruit of petition for the accomplishment of meritorious moral actions such that merit becomes absorbed by the exhortation to petition for God’s grace. During the same period, Augustine preached on the resurrection of the dead in s. 362, likely during the winter of 410–411. S. 36224 is the only time in the sermons where Augustine identifies the image of the celestial man in 1 Cor 15:49

23 24

The Vulgate reads: “fiat voluntas tua sicut in caelo et in terra”. s. 362.31.

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with the image transformed upon the beatific vision in the resurrection in 2 Cor 3:18. Compared to s. 216 and s. 59, the use of 2Cor 3:18 in s. 362 offers two new perspective on Augustine’s preaching of moral transformation in 1 Cor 15:49. First, the transformation is the work of the Holy Spirit. As in s. 216, the reward of love is the manifestation of Christ, and as in s. 59, seeing Christ, as he truly is, conforming the believer to God. In s. 362, thanks to the allusion to 2 Cor 3:18, this process of transformation is described as an action of the Holy Spirit. The exhortative emphasis in s. 362, as in s. 216, is on the believer’s dependence on God. Second, full transformation is reserved to the afterlife. While both s. 362 and s. 59 note the importance of transformation in this life, the full transformation comes to focus as an integral aspect of resurrection after death in s. 362. Consistent with s. 216, in s. 362 grace, as the work of the Holy Spirit this time, overshadows merit.25 Sermo 160,26 dated either 397 or 412/16, either as early as s. 216 or in the period of s. 362 and s. 59, employs 2Cor 3:18 independently of 1 Cor 15:49. This is different from s. 216 and s. 362, both of which were preached a decade apart and yet keep the two Pauline texts together. In other words, s. 160 provides excellent sample to understand how preaching on 2Cor 3:18 is shaped in the absence of 1 Cor 15:49. The most salient point of contraposition is the emphasis of image as a sign, which conceals yet partially reveals, and the ongoing exhortation to not attribute the image’s transformation to personal strength, but rather to acknowledge it as God’s work. This suggests 2Cor 3:18 is a key text on the topic of grace in the sermons when treating image, as it is consistently a proof text for grace across contexts and periods. Indeed, the grace element introduced by 2 Cor 3.18 seems to automatically color the merit dimension of 1 Cor 15:48: it shifts from the grace of merit to the merit of grace. Overall, in the discussion of moral transformation, the change of emphasis in Augustine’s preaching on human/divine cooperation in the early 390s to the sole emphasis on grace, indeed to the exclusion of human merit, in the early 410s, is probably due to the dawning of the ‘first phase’ of the Pelagian contro25

26

Interestingly, the emphasis on grace in the process of moral transformation during life in s. 216 (390/91) and in s. 362 (410/411), prior and during the Pelagian controversy, goes in hand with the focus on complete transformation upon the beatific vision. Conversely, in an interesting case where grace is not emphasized, when teaching the Catecumenates during the Pelagian controversy in s. 59 (410/15), the personal effort of the faithful in the present life is emphasized and hints of a fuller transformation in the afterlife is absent. The transformation into the image of the celestial man need not be contradictory, but rather incorporates different accents in different genres even within the same period: divine grace is emphasized over human efforts. s. 160.6.

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versy. This is achieved through the pairing of 1Cor 15:49 with 2 Cor 3:18 where the Spirit, that is God, figures as the agent of moral transformation.

4

‘Repaying the Divine Image’: Merit as the Currency of Grace in Mark 12:1627/Luke 20:2428

The term imago appears in two versions of a New Testament story reported in Mark 12:16 and Luke 20:24. Augustine preaches on this passage no fewer than ten times across contexts and liturgical feasts.29 In this story Jesus is asked whether or not taxes should be paid to Caesar. After bringing attention to the image of the emperor engraved on coins Jesus replies with the infamous phrase, “give unto Caesar what is Caesar’s, and unto God what is God’s.”30 The text is quite similar in both Gospel accounts, converging particularly in the significant pairing of the term ‘image’ (imaginem) and the term ‘inscription’ or ‘engraving’ (inscriptionem). Augustine draws an analogy between the image of the emperor on the coin to explain the image of God in human beings. The rhetorical effect produces a moral exhortation to give unto God the divine image which God gives to human beings at the time of creation as narrated in Gen 1:26. Thus, Augustine reads Mark 12:16/Luke 20:24 and Gen 1:26 in light of each other.31 The image’s debt owed to God is usually demanded in the sermons on the basis of individual moral merit alone, allowing little room for the need of grace. Besides its moral-exhortative function, the passage also offers Augustine a fruitful pedagogical tool as well as a framework to account for degrees of moral merit. For example, in an undated sermon (s. 9) Augustine uses the idea of an image imprinted on money to efficiently illustrate the difference between Christ the image of God and the image of God imprinted on human beings which is much like the image of Caesar imprinted on coins. Augustine astutely capitalizes on the image/inscription distinction to this end: Christ is

27 28 29

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31

The complete New Testament where the so-called tax-collectors present Jesus with a conundrum concerning his ‘alliance’ reads, in Mark’s version in Mark 12:13–17. The same incident supra (cf. footnote above). Beyond the sermones, references to Mark 12:16/Luke 20:24 in Augustine’s preaching include: en. Ps. 4.8 (392); en. Ps. 94.2 (393–394); en. Ps. 63.11, en. Ps. 57.3 (392); en. Ps. 57.11 (395); en. Ps. 115.8 (414) and Io. eu. tr. 41.2 (406–421). Interestingly, the passage is often interpreted as the basis for the separation of Church and state or at least as implying that there should be no conflict between Christianity and politics. Cf. s. 72 augm., s. 107/A, s. 113A, s. 160, s. 335/D and s. 308/A.

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the image (imaginem) and human beings have the inscription (inscriptionem) of the divine image, who is Christ. The illustration culminates a detailed discussion on imitation and kinds of resemblance.32 This discussion allows Augustine to frame, as he often does, the equality/difference discussion according to proNicene requirements when speaking about the Trinity. More important for the present discussion, however, the Plotinian framework of resemblance offers (implicitly) a moral framework to allow for degrees of moral merit. Hence, the more the inscription on the coin resembles the exemplum which is the image of Christ, the ‘better’ the original image of God is returned to God. The extent to which the debt is repaid is a direct function and therefore measure of moral merit the individual requires and obtains. To explain degrees of resemblance, Augustine employs the paradigmatic example of the difference between source and image in a mirror as compared to the image-relation between father and son. The image of the Father is found by nature in a son, whereas in a mirror an image, while remaining legitimately a kind of image and therefore resemblance, falls short of being an image of nature. This important variation enables Augustine to call both human beings and Christ the image of God while emphasizing the important ‘region of dissimilarity’ (regio dissimilitudo) between them such that the Son is closer to the Father, by nature, than human beings are to the Son, who only aim to imitate the image. The anti-Arian rhetoric aside, the distinction allows Augustine to speak of dissimilitudo or the region of unlikeness in terms of moral fault and of degrees of moral fault as being reflected in humanity’s divine image. Being created and bearing the image is not the same. A final interesting point illustrated in s. 9 in terms of ressemblance and of becoming the image God intends humans to be, is Augustine’s treatment of God’s love. Augustine uses challenging language when he writes, “God hates you as you are but loves you as you should be.” The rhetorical aim of this shocking phrase is to inspire the hearer to come to realize the moral repugnancy implied by the “region of dissimilitude”. By coming to hate yourself as you are, God then loves you as he wants you to be. Throughout, the emphasis is thoroughly merit-oriented. Summarily, s. 9 illustrates a robust theoretical framework of analysis, consistent with other earlier writings regarding epistemology (387–391), while remaining pedagogical and exhortative. The pedagogical concerns of the ser-

32

The four paradigmatic examples which Augustine employs to explain the Plotinian idea of resemblance (and other related concepts such as equality, similarity, difference, truth and falsehood).

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mon are intertwined with moral merit which is the currency for repaying the debt inherently owed to God who imprints the divine countenance on human beings.33

5

‘The Wandering Image’: The Grace of Merit, the Merit of Grace and Grace as Merit in Ps 38.7

The key line regarding rhetoric of the image in Ps 38:734 reads: “Surely a man goes about as a shadow! (in imaginem ambulat homo)/Surely for nothing they are in turmoil;/man heaps up wealth and does not know who will gather!”35 This Psalm contrasts the fleetingness of human life with man’s desire to find security in ephemeral things. The hope expressed by the Psalmist, on the contrary, is rooted in the Lord. Augustine’s preaching on this passage offers a window into his thought on grace and merit. The views on how these relate oscillate greatly. At times the stress is on merit, at others the stress is on grace. Yet other times Augustine seems to preach that grace is a kind of merit. Augustine uses Ps 38:7 in s. 38, s. 60, s. 145, s. 390, s. 38, s. 335/C and s. 90. A sample of these sermons is treated mainly thematically in what follows, while identifying relevant chronological implications. This serves as an important case-study to chart the process whereby Augustine oscillates between the grace of merit, the merit of grace and ultimately the blurring of the lines between grace and merit by identifying grace with merit. In s. 3836 Augustine exhorts the congregation to remain patient and to persevere in the midst of whatever suffering is ‘given’ to them. Evil and good are mixed on earth, hence Augustine prescribes resignation to whatever is ‘given’: just as people earn their money with pain, so too they should accept the pains of humiliation. What avarice is to the labourer who seeks monetary gain, wisdom is to the patience that endures suffering. Not unlike the greedy person, the wise person too collects rewards during difficult days, for good days. “Wake up, be courageous!” Augustine insists. The wise person is like an ant who stores the summer harvest for harsh winter days such as the inevitable anguish of death. Life’s fleetingness (in imaginem) inspires an attitude of resignation towards troubles beyond one’s control and motivates rooting oneself in God instead.

33 34 35 36

s. 9.9. s. Lambot 2. The translation is taken from the English Standard Version (esv), which is marked as Ps 39:6–7. s. 38.6.

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Both attitudes appeal to the human capacity for action and are framed in terms of merit-based reward, while accepting the inevitability of pain in spite of merit because good and evil are mixed in this world (Sed vide quo fine, qua mercede). The reward/price of wisdom need not necessarily be grace. Wisdom may be the grace itself, but it does not have to be. Regardless, in s. 38 wisdom is the reward of perseverance, i.e., of merit. Augustine wrote s. 60.237 possibly on the 14th/22nd of May of 397. In s. 60, the image of Ps 38:7 (in imagine ambulat homo) is conflated with the image of Gen 1:26 (ad imaginem dei). This enables Augustine to frame the analysis of (im)moral behavior in terms of the effects of sin on the divine image. Humans were made in the divine image, but the divine image was blurred because of sin. The sermon is concerned with explaining why there is such tumult and uncertainty in the world. Given the state of affairs, the response is to hold on to wisdom and to give alms as a way to pay for one’s sins and as a concrete response to God’s love. The reward of almsgiving is the forgiveness of sins which in turn polishes the divine image. Augustine delivered s. 14538 likely the 14th/22nd of May of 397 in Carthage (or possibly 415). In other words, s. 60 and s. 145 were possibly delivered around the same date. Whereas the focus in s. 60 is giving (of alms), in s. 145 the emphasis is placed on asking (hence the possible date 415). Asking is a condition for receiving, a theme absent in the above-discussed sermons, where doing, rather than asking, is the condition for receiving. Hence, s. 145 marks a possible shift of focus, from merit to grace. The authenticity of s. 39039 has been called into question. In this sermon Augustine preaches on almsgiving (like in s. 60 and s. 145). In s. 390, the audience is exhorted to gather the strength, which is a gift (dono) from the Lord, in order to perform the work of charity which is almsgiving. The sermon, if authentic, gives an excellent window into a case where Augustine emphasizes the joint labour of individual merit (gathering forces) and grace (the divine gift) in the performance of laudable moral actions. Furthermore, Augustine recommends combining the practice of almsgiving together with the practice of fasting as a means of ‘gathering’ a reward in heaven. Good works, which require human and divine elements combined, merit a reward. The reward is connected to the gift: what is given is not lost but transformed into heavenly ‘savings’ which will later be reclaimed in heaven (cf. Matt 6:20–21) because he who gives, receives (cf. Luke 6:38). The merit of reward is measured by what is 37 38 39

s. 60.2. s. 145.5. s. 390.2.

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given, and one gives in to the extent that one receives. The lines of grace and merit are thus blurred so that grace becomes merit while merit becomes grace. The sample of sermons offered show the discussion of grace and merit is characteristic of Augustine’s use of Ps 38:7 when preaching. In s. 38, there is a reward to human merit, namely wisdom. A similar tone is adopted in s. 60.2, where the forgiveness of sins, more explicitly a case of grace than is the case in s. 38, is an outcome of human merit through almsgiving. In both cases, the state of affairs must be embraced and working towards a reward is prescribed. Finally, in s. 390 Augustine’s preaching emphasizes the joint action of grace and merit resulting in a paradox which creates rhetorical ambiguity: grace is a result of merit and merit is a result of grace. Such rhetorical ambiguity is persuasively conductive to action.

6

‘The Divine Image and Social Relations’: Hierarchy as the Condition for Moral Action in 1Cor 11.7

Augustine preached s. 26240 on the Feast of the Ascension, on the 4th of May of 411 in Hippo.41 None of the twelve sermons on the Ascension were delivered at the same time, thus making comparison based on the occasion difficult. However, Augustine treats 1Cor 11:7 in other important writings such as Confessions and De Trinitate. Hence, preaching of 1Cor 11:7 can be compared to the use of the Pauline text elsewhere. Generally, the topic of the Ascension focuses on the promise of Christ’s return in glory and the revelation of his divinity. In s. 262 the glory of Christ’s bodily Ascension is identified with the Church (possibly against the Manicheans who denied the true body of Christ). Augustine uses the Pauline expression in 1Cor 11:7 to establish a parallel between the relationship of man and woman and that of Christ and the Church. Just as woman is the glory of the man, the Church is the glory of Christ (Si mulier gloria viri Ecclesia gloria Christi). The central characteristic of the virgin and holy Church is that it is spread throughout the world (this is Augustine’s totus Christus doctrine). Although this interpretation is dramatically different from the passage’s interpretation in places like De Trinitate or similar in other cases as in Confessions, this is a rare case where the interpretation of 1 Cor 11:7, following the Pauline argument in the text, Augustine draws an analogy between Christ/ Church and man/woman. When transposed with other texts, Christ gives to

40 41

s. 262.5. Another reference to the passage is found in s. Lambot 16.

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the Church what man gives to woman such that joint action is a condition for achieving moral goodness. The ‘good’ of creation, in Confessions, consists in relational collaboration as the basis for the possibility of efficient action. A certain relational social order and gender complementary is therefore the basis and condition for moral action in Augustine’s preaching of 1 Cor 11:7.

7

‘The Predestined Image’: The Grace of Predestination and Moral Action in Rom 8:29

Rom 8:29 was a pericope commonly employed by Augustine in the course of the Pelagian controversy, especially in the ‘second-phase’ against Julian, as it provides the biblical basis for the term ‘predestination’ which is foundational to key Augustinian terms relating to grace and freedom such as massa damnata. In contrast to its anti-Pelagian drive, the pericope in question is scarcely addressed in the sermons, where it appears only four times, mainly during the ‘first’ and ‘second’ period of the Pelagian controversy, against Pelagius and Julian of Aeclenum respectively, but possibly as early as 406, in the eve of the sack of Rome by Alaric and the Goths. The texts are: Io. eu. tr. 105.7–105.8 and Io. eu. tr. 45.12 (406–421); en. Ps. 83.1 (414–415) and en. Ps. 118.8.1 (418). The dating distribution is significant because it provides a dispersed sampling central to the question of grace and free will in the sermons in terms of rhetoric of the image. Furthermore, these may provide understanding as to why the scarce references to Rom 8:29 in the sermons contrast with its heavier presence elsewhere. In en. Ps. 83.1 (414–415),42 Augustine uses the Psalm’s wine press imagery to compare the Christian who enters into the service of Christ and the Church to the grape that is pressed to produce wine. The grape represents the carefree Christian who enjoys freedom and a kind of earthly bliss prior to entering Christian service. Upon entering Christian service, the grape is pressed in the wine press which represents the passion which the Christian undergoes: the Christian is joined to the passion of Christ. Augustine identifies this painful pressing process with the predestined conformation to the image of the Son in Rom 8:29. Suffering is a condition which helps determine the predestined. A few years later, also in the commentary of the Psalms, mainly in en. Ps. 118.8.143 (418), Augustine interprets the Psalmist’s expression, “law’s delight”.

42 43

en. Ps. 83.1. en. Ps. 118.8.1.

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The true motherland of those who fulfill the law, i.e., those who love God and neighbour, is heaven. These are foreigners to the earth. The unfaithful, however, have their motherland on earth. To draw the distinction between the two motherlands, the heavenly and the earthly, Augustine draws from Rom 8.29. The faithful are predestined to be conformed to the image of the Son whereas the unfaithful are not, such that predestined conformation is framed in terms of moral perfection. The parallel suggests the ability to follow the law is a consequence of being predestined to do so and not a result of merit or of a good will. The theological concerns of Io. eu. tr. 105.7–105.844 are clearly more theoretical than they are pastoral. In this text, the idea of predestination taken from Rom 8:29 is extended to Christ. Augustine delves around what it means for Christ to be predestined. That Christ be also in a sense predestined is important for Augustine in order to underscore Christ’s humanity. Augustine then takes pains to show in what sense Christ is simultaneously unlike any human precisely because he is divine. The import concerning grace and merit is quite limited in this first exegesis. However, Io. eu. tr. 45, 1245 (406–421) provides more insight. Augustine introduces Rom 8.29 in the exegesis of Jn 10.1–10 concerning the sheep that enters through the ‘narrow door’. The sheep can be recognized by the following characteristics: they listen to God, they are predestined, and they persevere till the end. With these conditions, they may enter a first door on earth, which is the Church where sanctification takes place in order to later enter the second door which is the door of heaven. This last passage is significant because in it the rhetoric of image conformation as predestination gradually gains levels of complexity. On the one hand, Augustine becomes keen on offering the conditions for identifying predestination as he did in en. Ps. 83.1 above. However, Augustine frames these conditions such that identifying a sheep is not synonymous with identifying someone who is predestined. Besides being predestined the sheep also listens and perseveres. This suggests listening and perseverance (a concern which echoes the ‘third phase’ of the so-called Pelagian controversy) are not necessarily matters of either predestination or merit. Rather, in the face of uncertainty concerning who is predestined or not, there is an implicit exhortation to adopt the attitude captured well by the proverb, “do as if everything depends on you, and to hope as if everything depends on God”. In other words, Augustine prescribes a new attitude and therefore an alternative mode of action rather than sim-

44 45

Io. eu. tr. 105.7. Io. eu. tr. 45.12.

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ply describe the characteristics of being predestined (suffering). This may be because such attitude has the effect of promoting and indeed empowering action.

8

‘Humanity in God’s Image’: The Grace of Merit and the Merit of Grace in Gen 1:26

By far, Augustine’s rhetoric of the image occurs mostly in the sermons when preaching on Gen 1:26. The treatment of Gen 1:26 in the sermons is intertwined within a number of at times identifiably overlapping periods in Augustine’s life. These can be roughly set as follows: the period from Augustine’s priestly ordination to his episcopal ordination (391–395), the polemical periods including the Donatist controversy (403–412), the Pelagian controversy (412–421). Periodization is never a neat exercise, therefore ‘transition periods’ are also at times identified between major sections, as these allow to detect ‘early’ and ‘later’ treatments of Gen 1:26 not only across periods but also within specific periods. It is important to note that though Augustine only began preaching after his ordination, he had already began reflecting on Gen 1:26, a theme that would occupy much reflection throughout his writings, as early as 387. Furthermore, there are a number of sermons containing Gen 1:26 which either remain undated or which are difficult to date with precision. While these undated sermons are not used as the basis for any chronological conclusions they are incorporated into the discussion based on their thematic import. Given the scope of the present discussion, this section is restricted to a small sample of Augustine’s preaching on Gen 1:26 during the Pelagian controversy, where Augustine discusses rest and sanctification in relation to grace and merit. In s. 270,46 preached around 416, Augustine emphasises human action leading to sanctification in the rest of the Spirit. In an attempt to explain why the Holy Spirit had to come after fifty days, Augustine identifies the Holy Spirit with the number seven which he brings into conversation with the seven days of creation in Genesis. Man is created to the image of God on the sixth day, followed by rest on the seventh: it is not until the seventh day that God sanctifies creation. Even in the creation of man in God’s image on the sixth day, Augustine notes, God does not speak of sanctification but only of goodness (cf. ‘he saw that it was very good’). Only on the seventh, when God does not create but rest, does God finally sanctify through the Spirit. This does not mean that God

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s. 270.5.

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requires rest. Rather, addressing the listener this time, Augustine writes: “if you also want to rest, you must accomplish perfectly good works.”47 Rest is tranquility of the heart which follows from a good conscience. On the seventh day, reserved to the Holy Spirit, there is sanctification in rest. In s. 270, Augustine exhorts good actions as a prelude sanctification in rest. Merit is the prelude to the grace of sanctification. Augustine preached s. 12548 on John 5:2–5, in 416–417, during the same period as s. 270. In this sermon Augustine comments on the biblical passage where Jesus heals a man who was ill for 38 years. To explain why this is acceptable Augustine offers a parallel between the days of creation and the Ages of the World. The ‘present day’ is the sixth day, after the coming of the Messiah. On the sixth day, man was created in God’s image such that it comes with the imperative to establish the image now. God formed, now it is our task to be reformed. The rest that follows is for the holy ones (who have presumably reached the reformation). The sixth age is also characterized by the fact that nothing new is introduced: there is only succession and transformation. God’s rest signifies that he did not add anything to what was done in the beginning; rather, God’s ongoing action signifies his ongoing governance. Compared to s. 270, in s. 125 Augustine emphasizes more the act of conversion than the process of sanctification. Furthermore, in s. 125 Augustine does not considers merit a prelude of sanctification as he does in s. 270, but rather frames the task of reformation in terms of the condition in which conversion is possible. S. 125 provides a growingly complex grace/merit dynamic. Notwithstanding the role of human effort and merit in the process of conversion remains identifiable. In the years that follow (417/418) there is a condensed number of sermons where Gen 1.26 is preached. Two of them are discussed in what follows: s. 26 and s. 43. In these, the role of grace completely eclipses merit: salvation depends now solely on grace and cannot be obtained by merit. S. 26 was preached around 417/18. This sermon emphasizes the need of grace for salvation mainly through a reading of Ps 95:4, particularly of the expression qui fecit nos in light of the expression ipse fecit nos, et non ipsi nos in Ps 99:2. On a first reading, qui fecit nos refers to human beings who are created above all creatures because they are in the image and likeness of God. Such is the first condition and the first creation. This also teaches that God creates the first man, from whence all come. Augustine then moves on to flesh out a deeper sense of the text. He makes two points. First, concerning grace and the source of evil: adding et non

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s. 270.5: Requiescere vis et tu? Fac primo opera bona valde. s. 125.4.

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ipsi nos allows to avoid in advance the pride of those who think can be saved on their own. If we have free will, the proud person says, why can’t we use free will in order to become just? Augustine explains: man was created good but through libera voluntate he became bad. And if having been made good humans were able to become bad, how can human beings, who are bad after the fall become good? In short, man becomes evil through free will the locus of which is the image of God in the first creation, and good through grace, which is God’s work. The second point concerns grace in relation to nature and merit runs as follows. Nature (common to all) and grace (not common to all) should not be confounded. Nature can be called grace insofar as it is freely given. Furthermore, grace is contrasted to merit. Only what is possessed can be a merit (promerire). Being is not possessed before it is given, therefore it is purely grace. The image of the creator is the grace that is obtained as grace. Augustine links this creation with predestination in Rom 9.17. Election is the creation before the world was created. s. 26 therefore marks a stark shift towards emphasizing grace. In the same period of 417/18, Augustine preached s. 43. This sermon discusses the characteristically Augustinian paradox of faith, ‘believe in order to understand: crede ut intellegas’ (cf. s. 43.4). Faith is believing in what is not seen. The sight of things expected is the merit of faith (cf. Heb 9:1). Augustine warns against attributing faith to oneself. Faith is great and is possessed only by those who receive it. What is received must be accompanied by gratitude and acknowledgement. The consequence of ingratitude is loss of faith. Humans have an obligation towards God to whom all is owed, specially the divine image (cf. Gen 1:26) which sets humans apart from beasts. The superiority of the mind requires that humans develop it yet not only is the image of God as gift, it also requires God to reform it after it is deformed by human will. To summarize, in this sermon even the desire to know comes from God and gratitude is framed such that humans are responsible for their fault and dependant on God for reform. Again, as in s. 26 and s. 43, grace eclipses merit. Overall, the rhetoric of the image in the treatment of Gen 1:26 shifts from conceiving merit as the basis of grace in 416 to a strong emphasis on grace the year after.

9

Conclusion: Rhetoric of the Image, Ambiguity and Social Identity

The interaction of grace and free will in Augustine’s rhetoric of the image in the sermons functions to address the audience such that the address challenges the audience to negotiate the limits of its self-understanding in new creative ways.

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Furthermore, the rhetoric of the image in the sermons functions to constitute social identity by blurring, at times extending or diminishing, and even erasing, the margins where grace engages the merit of human freedom and vice-versa. The lack of a clear separation or causal articulation between grace and freedom results in ambiguity. As a rhetorical device, ambiguity allows Augustine to focus on the conditions for the possibility of merited action in conjunction with human will, rather than to prescribe indifference due to determinism on the one hand, or outright naïve confidence in the untinged goodness of human nature on the other. A progressive oscillation inevitably results, thus constantly creating, expanding and re-imagining the limits of grace, merit and freedom in the audience’s social imaginary. Ambiguity creates imagined oscillation between the grace of merit and the merit of grace. Such ambiguity paradoxically allows for a greater field of action than is otherwise possible in more calculative (later Scholastic) formulations of the interplay between grace, human freedom and merit.

Acknowledgements Research for this paper (delivered at the Conference ‘Religious Polemics and Encounters in Late Antiquity’ Turku, 23–24 August 2018) has been made possible thanks to the generous funding of the Research Foundation Flanders—fwo Doctoral Fellowship (2016–2020). For this, the author is deeply grateful.

Bibliography Anthony Dupont, Shari Boodts, Gert Partoens and Johan Leemans, eds. Preaching in the Patristic Era: Sermons, Preachers, and Audiences in the Latin West. Leiden: Brill, 2018. Baldwin, C.S. “St. Augustine on Preaching.” Pages 187–203 in The Rhetoric of St. Augustine of Hippo: De Doctrine Christiana & the Search for a Distinctly Christian Rhetoric. Edited by R.L. Enos and R. Thompson et al. Waco: Baylor University Press, 2008. Barry, Inviolata. St. Augustine, the Orator: A Study of the Rhetorical Qualities of St. Augustine’s Sermones ad Populum. Vol. 6 of Patristic Studies. Washington, D.C.: Catholic University of America, 1924. Charland, Maurice. “Constitutive Rhetoric: The Case of the Peuple Québécois.” The Quarterly Journal of Speech, 73:2 (1987): 133–150. Drever, Matthew. Image, Imagination and the Fromation of the Augustinian Soul. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2013.

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Dupont, Anthony. A Critical Reappraisal of Augustine’s Doctrine of Grace in his Sermones ad Populum on Liturgical Feasts and during the Donatist Controversy. Leiden: Brill, 2014. Dupont, Anthony. Gratia in Augustine’s Sermones ad Populum during the Pelagian Controversy: Do Different Contexts Furnish Different Insights? Leiden: Brill, 2012. Fontanier, Jean-Michel. La Beauté selon saint Augustin. Rennes: Presses Universitaires de Rennes, 2008. Fortin, Ernest. “Augustine and the Problem of Christian Rhetoric.” Augustinian Studies 5 (1974): 85–100. Goulven, Malec. “Les sermons Dolbeau.” Revue des Etudes Augustiniennes 38 (1992): 389–391. Gowans, Coleen H. “The identity of the true believer in the sermons of Augustine of Hippo: A dimension of his Christian anthropology.” Ph.D. diss., Fordham University, 1996. Mazzeo, J.A. “St. Augustine’s Rhetoric of Silence.” Journal of the History of Ideas 23:2 (April–June 1962): 175–196. Mohrmann, Christine. “Saint Augustine and the ‘Eloquentia.’” Pages 351–370 in Études sur le Latin des Chrétiens, Vol. 1 of Le Latin des Chrétiens, 2nd ed. Rome: Edizioni di Storia e Letteratura, 1961. Ployd, Adam. “Non poena sed causa: Augustine’s Anti-Donatist Rhetoric of Martyrdom.” Augustinian Studies 49:1 (2018): 25–44. Hubertus, Drobner R. “The Chronology of St. Augustine’s Sermones ad populum.” Augustinian Studies 31:2 (2000): 211–218. Hubertus, Drobner R. “The Chronology of St. Augustine’s Sermones ad populum ii: Sermons 5–8.” Augustinian Studies 34:1 (2003): 49–66. Hubertus, Drobner R. “The Chronology of St. Augustine’s Sermones ad populum iii: On Christmas Day.” Augustinian Studies 35:1 (2004): 43–53. Rebillard, Eric. “Sermones.” Pages 773–792 in Augustine Through the Ages: An Encyclopedia. Edited by A.D. Fitzgerald et al. Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1999. Sanlon, Peter T. Augustine’s Theology of Preaching. Fortress Press, Minneapolis, 2014. Schaeffer, John D. “The Dialectic of Orality and Literacy: The Case of Book 4 of Augustine’s De Doctrina Christiana.” Pages 289–307 in The Rhetoric of St. Augustine of Hippo: De Doctrine Christiana & the Search for a Distinctly Christian Rhetoric. Edited by R.L. Enos, R. Thompson et al. Waco: Baylor University Press, 2008. Spence, Sarah. Rhetorics of Reason and Desire: Vergil, Augustine, and Troubadours. Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1988. Sutherland, Christine M. “Love as Rhetorical Principle: The Relationship Between Content and Style in the Rhetoric of St. Augustine.” Pages 139–154 in Grace, Politics and Desire: Essays on Augustine. Edited by H.A. Meynell. Calgary: University of Calgary Press, 1990.

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The Rhetoric of Appropriation and Dissociation in Evodius’ Aduersus Manichaeos: A Case Study of Anti-Manichaean Polemics Aäron Vanspauwen

1

Introduction

The present contribution centres on an anti-Manichaean treatise attributed to Evodius of Uzalis, who was a friend of Augustine of Hippo.1 The treatise is known under the title De fide contra Manichaeos, although the title Aduersus Manichaeos would be more historically appropriate.2 Evodius was ordained bishop of the North African colonia Uzalis (present-day El Alia, Tunisia) at the end of the fourth century, and wrote the treatise, presumably, around 420–425.3 The aim of the treatise Aduersus Manichaeos is to refute the Manichaeans and their claim to a Christian identity on biblical-doctrinal grounds

1 This paper presents an adapted version of my lecture for the international meeting “Religious Polemics and Encounters in Late Antiquity.” Its contents coincide with sections from the fourth chapter of my doctoral dissertation (now published) In Defence of Faith, Against the Manichaeans: Critical Edition and Historical, Literary and Theological Study of the Treatise Aduersus Manichaeos, Attributed to Evodius of Uzalis (Turnhout: Brepols, 2020). The fourth chapter of this dissertation studies the content and language of Aduersus Manichaeos. For references to the text of Aduersus Manichaeos, I will make use of the following edition: Aäron Vanspauwen, “The anti-Manichaean Treatise De fide contra Manichaeos, Attributed to Evodius of Uzalis: Critical Edition and Translation,” Sacris Erudiri 57 (2018): 7–116. The numerical references in this paper indicate the chapter and line numbers of this edition. English translations of Aduersus Manichaeos are mine, and can be found in the same article. A previous edition of Aduersus Manichaeos can be found in Josephus Zycha, Sancti Aureli Augustini contra Felicem, de natura boni, epistula Secundini, contra Secundinum, accedunt Euodii de fide contra Manichaeos et commonitorium Augustini quod fertur (csel 25/2; Prague: Tempsky, 1892), 951–975. 2 On this topic, see François Decret, “Le traité d’Evodius contre les Manichéens: Un compendium à l’usage du parfait controversiste,” Augustinianum 31 (1991): 387–409; Aäron Vanspauwen, “Contra Domini uel Apostoli auctoritatem: La autoridad de Pablo en el tratado Polémico ‘De fide contra Manichaeos’ de Evodio de Uzala,” Augustinus 61 (2016), 397–398. 3 See Vanspauwen, In Defence of Faith, 94–95. This hypothesis presumes that Evodius wrote the treatise after consultation of Augustine’s Contra aduersarium legis et prophetarum (419–420), and before Evodius wrote his Epistula ad Valentinum (425–426). On this letter, see Yves-Marie Duval, “Note sur la lettre d’Evodius à l’abbé Valentin d’ Hadrumète (cpl 389),” REAug 49 (2003): 123–130.

© Aä r on Vanspauwen, 2022 | doi:10.1163/9789004466845_013

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and, as such, Evodius attempts to convert the addressed Manichaeans to Catholic Christianity. This paper will address the theme of “religious polemics and encounters” in four regards. First, it deals with polemical relations between Manichaeans and mainstream Christians in North Africa. The author of Aduersus Manichaeos, Evodius, addresses the Manichaeans in an appeal to conversion. Second, his rhetorical language frames his opponents, the “other,” in a multifaceted manner. While many of the descriptions of his opponents (or addressees) are rather slanderous, some of these characterisations also serve the overarching argumentative purpose of the treatise. Third, this paper considers the degrees and variations of this polemical encounter, specifically addressing the following question: Is Evodius’ appeal towards the Manichaeans only effective as an argumentative tool, or does his treatise constitute a genuine invitation to Catholic Christianity? Fourth, and finally, these aforementioned topics are integrated in the specific focus of this paper on the polemical/rhetorical strategies of the treatise Aduersus Manichaeos.

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Preliminary Discussions

2.1 The Manichaean-Catholic Debate In Roman North Africa, different religious movements claimed a Christian identity. The Manichaeans considered themselves Christians, and the Catholic polemicists also addressed the Manichaeans as Christians.4 In contrast to the mainstream (or non-Gnostic) Christian churches, such as the Donatists, Catholics, and Arians, the Manichaeans adhered to a dualistic view of reality. The cosmos consists of two natures or kingdoms: The kingdom of light and the kingdom of darkness. God rules over the kingdom of light, whereas the kingdom of darkness is subject to the prince of darkness. In Manichaean cosmology, all elements of the kingdom of light are of equal substance; or, to phrase it differently, the entire kingdom of light consists of emanations of God, the pure light. The dualism of good and evil served to explain the existence and origin

4 See Johannes van Oort, “Manichaean Christians in Augustine’s Life and Works,” Church History and Religious Culture 90 (2010), 507–509; Adu. Man. 39, 19–22 Tandem uigilate et blasphemiis conquiescite atque omnium sanctarum canonicarum Scripturarum, si Christiani esse cogitatis, auctoritatem recipite et quae non intelligitis accusare nolite, sed potius eorum intellectum desiderate: “At last, be vigilant, cease your blasphemous teachings, and if you think you are Christians, accept the authority of all holy and canonical Books. Stop blaming what you do not understand, but rather desire the understanding of those passages”.

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of evil, and guided Manichaean ethics. The present experience of evil results from the cosmic conflict between light and darkness. The Manichaean doctrine can, therefore, be described as a doctrine of two natures (light-darkness) and three times (beginning-middle-end, or protology, present, and eschatology).5 The two primordial elements of light and darkness were strictly separated at the beginning and will be separated again at the end of times. In the present age (the second or middle period), however, the two elements have become intermingled. A human person reflects, on a microcosmic level, the macrocosmic conflict between light and darkness. Because darkness signifies death and lust, Manichaeans radically adhered to the principle of nonviolence, to the extent that the Manichaean Elect would not harm fruit or vegetables. In general, the Manichaeans strongly condemned sexual concupiscence and the begetting of children.6 Non-Manichaean or non-Gnostic Christianity, on the other hand, held that there could be only one principal cause behind reality: God. God is the cause and creator of all reality. Nothing can be on the same ontological level as God and, thereferore, evil cannot be a nature inherent to, or preceding, creation. Catholic polemicists, in their disputes with the Manichaeans, propounded that evil was not a constitutive element of reality, but rather, in some sense, something which resulted from the imperfection of created existence. Augustine and Evodius, for instance, argue that evil and sin are moral rather than ontological realities. 2.1.1 Evil Is Not a Nature In general, Evodius was strongly influenced by Augustine’s criticism of the Manichaeans. Augustine found that the Manichaean dualism was not a real dualism, that is, a dualism between two equivalent elements. On the contrary, he claims, darkness does not exist in and of itself, but is merely the absence of light. Where there is light, there cannot be darkness. Darkness only appears to exist where there is no light. Augustine criticises the Manichaeans’ materialistic conceptualisation of God arising from their materialistic images of the two kingdoms.7 He accuses the Manichaean conceptualisation of God of being

5 See, for example, Iain Gardner and Samuel Lieu, Manichaean Texts from the Roman Empire (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2004), 11; Jean-Daniel Dubois, “Le manichéisme: À la lumière des documents nouveaux,” in Contre Fauste le manichéen: Livres i–xii (ed. M. Dulaey; ba 18/A; Paris: Institut d’Études Augustiniennes, 2018), 53–56. 6 On Manichaean ethics, see, for example Michel Tardieu, Le manichéisme (Que sais-je? 1940; Paris: puf, 1981), 79–89; Gardner and Lieu, Manichaean Texts, 21–25. 7 Aug. c. ep. fund. 21 (csel 25/1, 218) Quid erat ergo iuxta illud latus terrae, quam inlustrem ac

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“corporeal” (carnalis).8 This judgement of Augustine is probably correct. The Manichaean dualism is not a dualism that distinguishes precisely between a spiritual good and a corporeal evil, because light is also defined in quantifiable and spatial terms and has corporeal characteristics.9 In response to Manichaean dualism, Augustine formulated his views on creation which place God at the centre of creation. Since Augustine could not accept that God created us from pre-existent matter, he formulated the doctrine of creation de nihilo (from nothing). Creation is created by God (ex Deo), yet draws its substance from nothing (de nihilo). Because God created us from nothing, there is no source of stability and identity for human existence other than God. Human nature at its very core, thus, is relational and connected to God.10 In other words, the created human nature is good because it is caused by, or created by, a good God, yet nonetheless imperfect because it draws its substance from nothing. Augustine makes use of the Manichaean image of light and darkness in his refutation of their dualistic views. Darkness is not the opposite of light, but the absence of light. Because darkness is present where there is no light, darkness is also part of God’s orderly creation.11 Making use of another metaphor, Augustine explains how silence does not exist as the opposite of sound, but is found only in the absence of sound. These images illustrate Augustine’s conception of evil not as a substance which is the opposite of good, as the Manichaeans

8

9 10 11

sanctam uocas? terra, inquit, tenebrarum. quid? de ista terra saltem concedis, quod corporea erat. necesse est te hoc dicere, quandoquidem omnia corpora inde adseris originem ducere. quid ergo? quaeso, quamuis tardi, quamuis carnales homines, ne hoc quidem aliquando animaduertitis, quod lateribus sibi iungi utraque ista terra non posset, nisi esset utraque corpore?: “But what, then, was next to the side of the land that you call bright and holy? Mani says that it was the ‘land of darkness.’ What is that? You at least concede that that land is bodily. You must say this since you say that all bodies derive their origin from it. What follows then? Though you are slow, though you are carnal human beings, I ask, ‘Do you not at last see that these two lands could not touch each other by their sides if both were not bodily?’” (trans. R. Teske, The Manichaean Debate [wsa i/19; New York: New City Press, 2006], 248–249). Aug. c. ep. fund. 23 (csel 25/1, 220) ecce, ego tecum derideo carnales homines, qui nondum possunt spiritalia cogitare humana forma deum existimantes; Aug. c. Sec. 20 (csel 25/2, 938) carnalis uestra cogitatio. See the introduction of Gardner and Lieu, Manichaean Texts, esp. 11 and 22–23. See Matthew Drever, “Redeeming Creation: Creatio ex nihilo and the Imago Dei in Augustine,” International Journal of Systematic Theology 15 (2013), 141. Aug. nat. bon. 16 (csel 25/2, 861) nam et deus certa loca et tempora non inluminando tenebras fecit tam decenter quam dies: “For, by not giving light to certain places and times, God also made darkness just as appropriately as daylight” (trans. Teske, The Manichaean Debate, 328–329).

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believed, but rather as a privation or diminishment of good. This is the socalled doctrine of priuatio boni. Evil, understood as a privation of good, is thus part of God’s orderly creation, though not created as such by God.12 In other anti-Manichaean texts, Augustine says that “natural evil” does not exist as a substance, and argues that when we speak of “natural evil,” two forms of evil are being described: Sin (peccatum) and the punishment of sin (poena).13 Humans sin by using their free will; God, as a righteous judge, punishes sin. God created the world as orderly, and by punishing sin, he restores order in creation. Evodius generally follows Augustine’s argumentation against the Manichaeans. Like Augustine, he maintains that evil cannot be a substance, and thus does not believe that Manichaean dualism is a real dualism.14 Natural evil does not exist. Similarly to what Augustine stated, evil only exists in the form of sin and punishment: But even if we say some people are naturally evil, we say so because of the origin of the ancient sin, in which, at present, our mortality is born. And so, everything that is called evil in humans, is sin and punishment. A sin is committed through the rational soul, which possesses a free judgment of will, and the punishment is inflicted on behalf of God’s justice, which by no means acts unjustly.15

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Aug. nat. bon. 16 (csel 25/2, 861) si enim nos continendo uocem decenter interponimus in loquendo silentium: quanto magis ille quarundam rerum priuationes decenter facit sicut rerum omnium perfectus artifex?: “After all, if by holding back our voice we fittingly inject a silence in our speaking, how much more did he as the perfect artisan of all things fittingly produce privations of certain things?”; (trans. Teske, The Manichaean Debate, 329); Augustine already formulated his doctrine of evil as the privation of good in his earliest anti-Manichaean texts mor. See Aug. mor. Man. 4, 6 (csel 90, 92) Ita et malum ostenditur quomodo dicatur, non enim secundum essentiam, sed secundum priuationem uerissime dicitur: “In that way we are shown how evil is spoken of, for it is most truly spoken of not as an essence but as a privation” (trans. Teske, The Manichaean Debate, 71). Aug. c. Fort. 15 (csel 25/1, 91) et hoc est solum, quod dicitur malum, uoluntarium nostrum peccatum. est et aliud genus mali, quod est poena peccati: “And this is the only thing that we are at present calling evil: our voluntary sin. But there is another kind of evil, which is the punishment of sin”; (trans. Teske, The Manichaean Debate, 150); Aug. c. Adim. 26 (csel 25/1, 184) dupliciter enim appellatur malum: unum quod homo facit, alterum quod patitur; quod facit, peccatum est; quod patitur, poena: “For we speak of two kinds of evil: one that human beings do, another that they suffer. The evil that they do is sin; the evil that they suffer is punishment” (trans. Teske, The Manichaean Debate, 219). Adu. Man. 9, 2–3 malum enim non potest esse natura nec substantia nec uita; “for evil can be neither a nature nor a substance nor a life”. Adu. Man. 9, 4–8 Sed et si aliquos naturaliter dicimus malos, propter originem ueteris peccatis dicimus, in quo iam nostra mortalitas nascitur. Totum itaque quod uocatur malum in

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2.1.2 Dualism as an Argumentative Premise Although Evodius agrees with Augustine that evil cannot be a nature, he nevertheless often refutes the Manichaean dualism as if it is a true dualism. Evodius does not reject Manichaean dualism a priori. Instead, he first accepts, as an argumentative premise, the possibility of a dualistic reality. He subsequently explores the implications of this dualism before refuting it outright.16 For example, when he discusses the primordial distinction between God and the Manichaean prince of darkness, he claims that these two cannot be true opposites since they both share the same attributes in the Manichaean system, such as an eternal existence.17 In a later section, he also explores whether or not Manichaean dualism can offer a satisfactory response to the question of human accountability for sin.18 Thus, when refuting Manichaean dualism, Evodius takes the dualism seriously, even if he does not agree with the premise that there actually are two natures. It is possible he thought that, by first presenting dualism as a theoretical possibility, he could later reject Manichaean dualism more convincingly. The author first searches for a common ground between the Manichaeans and the Catholics before refuting the Manichaean position. This means of argumentation also becomes clear in his use of biblical passages, particularly in his recourse to the testimony of the apostle Paul.19

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hominibus, peccatum est et poena. Peccatum fit ab anima rationali, cui liberum uoluntatis arbitrium est, en poena infligitur iustitia Dei, quae nihil facit iniuste. Such an argumentative procedure was common in Late Antiquity. See, for example, the discussion of immanent critique in Augustine’s De ciuitate dei in Gerald P. Boersma, “Augustine’s Immanent Critique of Stoicism,” sjt 70 (2017): 184–197. Adu. Man. 3, 5–8 Et si contrarium est bonum malo, ex aliqua ergo parte discordabit bonum a malo; ex multa uero coniunctum et concordans erit et non iam erit merum malum habendo tanta communia bona cum Deo: “And if good is contrary to evil, in some regard it will be in disagreement with evil. However, for the most part it is in accordance and in agreement with it. And evil will not be pure evil, because it has so many good attributes in common with God”. Adu. Man. 43, 7–10 Necesse est ergo ut aut pars lucis peccet aut pars tenebrarum. Sed si pars lucis peccat, Deus peccat, quod nefas est dicere. Si autem pars tenebrarum peccat, ipsa uocatur ad regnum per eum qui dixit: Non ueni uocare iustos, sed peccatores, quia non est opus sanis medicus, sed male habentibus: “It is thus necessary that either the part of light sins, or the part of darkness. But, if the part of light sins, God sins, which is a wicked thing to say! If, then, the part of darkness sins, this part will be summoned to the kingdom by him who said: I have come not to call the righteous but sinners, for those who are well have no need of a physician, but those who are sick do” (Matt 9:13–12 [sic]). See on this topic also Vanspauwen, “Contra Domini uel Apostoli auctoritatem.”

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2.2 Addressees of the Treatise In one of his discussions on Adu. Man., the scholar François Decret noted that the argumentation of the treatise would probably not have convinced many Manichaeans.20 As a compendium of anti-Manichaean argumentation, it was perhaps written, in the first place, to a favourable audience of fellow Catholic Christians. Indeed, on several occasions, Evodius seems to address a Christian audience and refers to the Manichaeans as a third party.21 Nevertheless, in most cases, verbs in the second person plural (the second person singular is rare) refer unambiguously to the Manichaeans. At least formally, the Manichaeans are the addressees in the treatise. It is very telling that, in contrast to Augustine before him and Quodvultdeus after him, Evodius never addresses his adversaries as “heretics.” The treatise’s ultimate goal is to convince the addressees to convert to the Catholic Church, and this invitation seems sincere. When the author refers to Manichaeans in the third person, he often uses the pronoun iste. This pronoun can have a negative connotation, possibly in ista impietate Manichaei (“that [vile] impiety of Mani”).22 However, in the first place this demonstrative pronoun functions as situating individuals or objects as near to the second person or the addressees. When the author uses the pronoun iste to refer to the Manichaeans in the third person, this usage of the pronoun could, thus, be interpreted in two ways. Firstly, Evodius could simply be speaking to a Catholic audience. By referring to the Manichaeans as isti, he pictures the Manichaeans as present near his Christian audience (“the Manichaeans whom I am talking about in this conversation with you”), while perhaps not eschewing the pronoun for its (secondary) pejorative connotations (“those malicious Manichaeans”). Secondly, and alternatively, he indeed

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François Decret, “Exégèse et polémique chez Evodius d’ Uzalis,” in L’Esegesi dei padri latini: dalle origini a Gregorio Magno (Studia Ephemeridis Augustinianum 68, vol. 1: Parte Generale—Oriente, Africa; Rome: Institutum Patristicum Augustinianum, 2000), 383– 389. See, for example, Adu. Man. 31, 8–9 et tamen quis ferat tam incredibiles blasphemias quas isti de ipsa passione Domini proferre non dubitant?: “And still, who could bear this incredible blasphemy which they do not hesitate to profess concerning the Lord’s Passion?”. See also the discussion on the genre of “protreptic” (polemical text, directed against adversaries) and “paraenetic” (encouragement to fellow believers) in Annemaré Kotzé, “Protreptic, Paraenetic and Augustine’s Confessions,” in ‘In Search of Truth:’ Augustine, Manichaeism and other Gnosticism (ed. J.A. van den Berg et al.; Nag Hammadi and Manichaean Studies 74; Leiden and Boston: Brill, 2011), 3–23. Kotzé rightly argues that one should not see too sharp a distinction between the protreptic and paraenetic approaches, in that one work can be intended to be read by ‘insiders’ and ‘outsiders’ alike. The paper presented here focusses on the protreptic aspects of Aduersus Manichaeos. Adu. Man. 42, 1.

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intends to address an audience of Manichaeans, and his use of iste is an intentional attempt to divide the Manichaeans into two parties, distinguishing between those addressees who are receptive to his message, and those who would remain believers of Mani’s teachings. One example might illustrate these alternative interpretations: Quis tam caecus est, ut ista credat, rogo uos?23 In this quotation, Evodius directly addresses his audience in the second person plural (uos), and underlines the urgency of his message by using the lively phrase rogo uos (which, in itself, contains a rare use of the first person). If he is addressing a Catholic audience here, he obviously expects his audience to express its dissatisfaction with the concerning Manichaean doctrine. The demonstrative pronoun ista refers to the Manichaean teachings, and has the connotation of “these teachings I present to you.” The pronoun may also have carried a negative undertone in this case. Alternatively, if addressing the Manichaeans, his statement is an appeal to conversion carried out in an affected rhetorical tone. In his phrasing, he created distance between the addressed Manichaeans, whom he wants to convert to Catholic Christianity, and the Manichaean myth. These teachings are characterised as being present near the second person (ista: “what those among you believe”) and, thus, the author exhorts the Manichaeans to reject Mani’s teachings. In both cases, whoever continued to believe the Manichaean myth is then described as caecus (“blind”).

3

The Rhetoric of Appropriation and Dissociation

Evodius, through his refutation of Manichaeism (or the Manichaean interpretations of the Christian tradition), attempts to convert his addressed Manichaeans to the Catholic Church. The envisaged conversion pertains exclusively to matters of intellect and doctrine. He asks his addressees to pursue truth as taught by the Catholic Church. In order to achieve this purpose, Evodius makes use of the argumentative strategies of appropriation and dissociation. By “appropriation,” I mean that Evodius makes use of the Manichaean distinction between light and darkness in order to demonstrate that his views correspond to light and those of Manichaeism correspond to darkness. The term “dissociation” refers to the distinction Evodius makes between his addressed Manichaeans and Mani, the founder of the Manichaean myth. By creating a gap

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Adu. Man. 17, 15–16: “Who is blind to such an extent that he would believe those words, I ask you?”

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between Mani and the Manichaeans, he attempts to win over his addressees. As will be demonstrated in what follows, Evodius characterizes Mani as a misleading teacher, and thereby concludes that the Manichaeans are being misguided. At the same time, Evodius establishes that the Manichaeans could still achieve salvation. If they are of good will, they should accept Evodius’ invitation and convert to Catholic Christianity. 3.1 The Language of Light and Darkness The images of light and darkness play a fundamental role in Manichaean cosmogony and ethics. As stated above, the Manichaeans distinguished between two kingdoms: the kingdom of light and the kingdom of darkness. In Adu. Man., a wide array of terms is used to speak of light, darkness, and associated concepts. For the concept of light, these terms are accendo (“to light”), (prae)clarus (“bright, shining”), declaro (“to reveal”), ignis (“fire”), igneus (“fiery”), lucidus (“full of light, clear”), lumen (“light”), lux (“light”), radius (“ray [of the sun]”), reuelo (“to reveal”), and sol (“the sun”). Terms associated with darkness are caecitas (“blindness”), caecus (“blind”), excaeco (“to blind”), nebula (“cloud”), nox (“night”), tenebrae (“darkness”), uelum (“veil”). Some of these terms have their origins in Manichaean sources. Indeed, the citations of Manichaean texts in Adu. Man. contain many references to light and darkness. Evidently, light is always portrayed as good, and darkness as evil, or as a danger which must be overcome. The Manichaean texts employ the adjectives clarus (twice as the superlative clarissima, in conjunction with nauis24), praeclarus (describing a Manichaean deity25), and lucidus (once in conjunction with natura, describing the original good origin of the soul;26 three times in conjunction with naues;27 once in conjunction with uirginum;28 Evodius’ reference to the lucidum tectorium also seems to reflect an

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Adu. Man. 14, 6 in clarissima hac naui; Adu. Man. 16, 3–4 ex ista magna et clarissima naui. Cf. Mani’s Thesaurus (ed. M. Stein, Manichaica latina 4: Manichaei Thesaurus; Papyrologica Coloniensia 27/4; Paderborn: Schöningh, 2016), 38, l. 4–5; 42, l. 30. Adu. Man. 11, 6–7 nisi aliquod eximium ac praeclarum et uirtute potens opponat. Cf. Mani’s Epistula fundamenti (ed. M. Stein, Manichaica latina 2: Manichaei epistula fundamenti; Papyrologica Coloniensia 27/2; Paderborn: Schöningh, 2002), 28, l. 3. Adu. Man. 5, 16 a priore lucida sua natura. Cf. Mani’s Epistula fundamenti (ed. Stein, Manichaica latina 2), 36, l. 1. Adu. Man. 14, 2–3 tunc beatus ille pater, qui lucidas naues habet; Adu. Man. 15, 3 plenae sunt lucidae naues; Adu. Man. 15, 11: ascendunt ad lucidas naues. Cf. Mani’s Thesaurus (ed. Stein, Manichaica latina 4), 38, l. 1; 40, l. 18; 40, l. 26. Adu. Man. 14, 10 uirginum lucidarum forma. Cf. Mani’s Thesaurus (ed. Stein, Manichaica latina 4), 40, l. 9.

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authentic Manichaean doctrine29). The terms lumen30 and especially lux31 are widely attested in the Manichaean citations as well. The sun and the moon play an important role in Manichaean cosmology, as these two celestial bodies are seen as sources of light. The phases of the moon reflect the presence of light particles—souls—in the moon. With regard to the sun, Evodius merely states that the Manichaeans “bend their knee to it,”32 though its importance in Manichaean doctrine is well documented in Manichaean texts.33 The opposite concept, that of darkness (tenebrae), also frequently occurs in Manichaean texts, albeit to a lesser extent than the terms regarding light.34 Manichaean texts describe darkness in hostile terms. Darkness is the opposite of light, and caused the present cosmic conflict. The terminology of fire also occurs in the Manichaean texts. Perhaps somewhat surprisingly (as it could be seen as a source of light), fire is described exclusively in negative terms and as pertaining to the kingdom of darkness,35 perhaps due to its destructive properties. Similarly, when Evodius rephrases the Manichaean myth, he uses the 29

30 31

32 33

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Adu. Man. 49, 33–34 ad lucidum illum tectorium. Augustine also refers to this term in his public debate with Felix, who did not object to this image. Augustine, c. Fel. 2, 7 (csel 25/2, 835) facturum eum dicitis uelut tectorium genti tenebrarum. In his entry on the Manichaeans in De haeresibus, Augustine uses a similar expression. Augustine, haer. 46, 19 (ccl 46 263–358, 319) Cui globo affirmant accessurum semper et adhaesurum quasi coopertorium atque tectorium. Adu. Man. 5, 17 lumini sancto. Cf. Mani’s Epistula fundamenti (ed. Stein, Manichaica latina 2), 36, l. 2. Adu. Man. 5, 24 libertate sanctae lucis alienarentur; Adu. Man. 7, 1–2 lucis autem subsiciuam partem; Adu. Man. 11, 4–5 lucis uero beatissimae pater; Adu. Man. 11, 8 quies lucis incolis pararetur. These citations are all from Mani’s Epistula fundamenti. See Stein, Manichaica latina 2, 38, l. 8–9; 40, l. 1; 28, l. 1; 28, l. 4. Adu. Man. 24, 10 solem istum, cui genu flectunt. In a long citation from Mani’s Thesaurus, found both in Adu. Man. (14, 2–16, 15) and in Augustine’s nat. bon. (csel 25/2, 881–884), the term lucidae naues is used. Stein, in his commentary on this fragment, notes that the lucidae naues refer to the sun and the moon. The sun is also called clarissima nauis in the same citation. The light in these celestial bodies reflects the presence of light-particles or souls contained within them. The phases of the moon represent the function of the moon in Manichaean salvation. The moon collects souls which become free from their ties with evil matter (waxing of the moon) and delivers the souls to their befitting positions in heaven (waning of the moon). See Stein, Manichaica latina 4, 38–43 and 107–138. Evodius himself does not identify the lucidae naues with the sun and the moon. Adu. Man. 5, 27 relictae in eodem tenebrarum globo; Adu. Man. 11, 5–6 labem magnam ac uastitatem, quae ex tenebris surgeret; Adu. Man. 11, 7–8 quo superet simul ac destruat stirpem tenebrarum; Adu. Man. 13, 4–5 hodie enim diuina quam commemorat substantia subiacet genti tenebrarum ut lutum figulo. Adu. Man. 5, 18 igneo spiritui obsecutae sunt; Adu. Man. 16, 5 quaeque ignem habeant naturam. Another fragment of Mani’s Ep. fund. describes fire as an element of darkness. See

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verb accendo in conjunction with concupiscentia and libido,36 which affirms the Manichaeans’ notional link between fire and sinfulness. The first chapter of Adu. Man., the introduction of the anti-Manichaean treatise, is a confession of faith. There, Evodius describes God in terms with which Manichaeans could agree. The testimony of 1Tim 6:16, in particular, is aptly chosen, considering its occurrence in several Latin Manichaean confessions of faith.37 In the opening chapter of Adu. Man., God is associated with light on two occasions: Once in the Pauline citation of 1 Tim, and once in a very clear description: “He is the true light.”38 By making use of the central image of light, Evodius wants to convey the message that Catholic Christians teach the truth about God and the light. Before the author introduces the first Manichaean doctrine, he already establishes that light and its associated terms (God, revelation, truth, life) pertain to the Catholic Church and not to Manichaeism. Evodius’ selection of attributes is aptly adjusted to the polemical intent of Adu. Man. He makes use of terminology which also features in the Manichaean confessions of faith, and not only describes God as all-powerful but also as good.39 He reinforces this notion immediately following the confessional introduction to the treatise.

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Stein, Manichaica latina 2, 26 rursum regio ignea et corruptibilis cum suis ducibus et nationibus. Adu. Man. 17, 9–10 et spurcissimam concupiscentiam confudit, inuicem accendant; Adu. Man. 47, 14 daemonum libidinem accenderet. Namely in Aug. c. Fort. 3 (csel 25/1, 85) [Fortunatus dixit:] Et nostra professio ipsa est, quod incorruptibilis sit deus, quod lucidus, quod inadibilis, intenibilis, inpassibilis, aeternam lucem et propriam habitet: “[Fortunatus said:] And this is our profession: God is incorruptible, bright, unable to be approached, unable to be held, unable to suffer; he dwells in an eternal light of his own”; (trans. Teske, The Manichaean Debate, 146); and Aug. c. Faust. 20, 2 (csel 25/1, 536) [Faustus dixit:] Igitur nos patris quidem dei omnipotentis et Christi filii eius et spiritus sancti unum idemque sub triplici appellatione colimus numen; sed patrem quidem ipsum lucem incolere credimus summam ac principalem, quam Paulus alias inaccessibilem uocat: “[Faustus said:] We worship, then, the divinity of God the almighty Father and of Christ his Son and of the Holy Spirit, one and the same God under their three names. But we believe that the Father himself inhabits the highest and principal light, which Paul elsewhere calls inaccessible” (trans. R. Teske, Answer to Faustus, a Manichaean [wsa i/20; New York: New City Press, 2007], 262) [emphasis mine]. Adu. Man. 1, 3 ipse lumen uerum. Compare such a description, for example, with Augustine’s argumentation against the Manichaean Fortunatus. In the debate between Augustine and Fortunatus, it appears that Augustine primarily defines God as powerful, whereas Fortunatus emphasizes God’s goodness, prescience, and wisdom. See Jason David BeDuhn, “Did Augustine Win His Debate with Fortunatus?” in ‘In Search of Truth:’ Augustine, Manichaeism and other Gnosticism (ed. J.A. van den Berg et al.; Nag Hammadi and Manichaean Studies 74; Leiden and Boston: Brill, 2011), 463–479, 472.

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The actual refutation of the Manichaeans begins with the words huic Manichaeum aduersarium esse dicit: “In opposition to Him, Mani posits an adversary.”40 In his phrasing, Evodius creates a sharp contrast between huic—God, as we correctly believe, the true light—on the one hand, and Manichaeus— Mani and his false teachings—on the other hand. The implication that the Manichaean teachings on light are false and blasphemous is repeated throughout Adu. Man. The author uses the phrase de lumine lumen (or lux de lumine) in two passages, to ridicule the Manichaeans’ views on God and light.41 Elsewhere, he criticises the dualistic anthropology of the Manichaeans. If man consists of light and darkness, either the light sins, which would mean that God sins (a notion that is entirely blasphemous),42 or alternatively, darkness sins. The second possibility could have two consequences. If only darkness (our body) sins, then our souls are free from guilt.43 Alternatively, if only darkness sins, Christ will save the race of darkness.44 Needless to say, Evodius considers both alternatives impious, and he subsequently introduces the correct Catholic view on anthropology and sin with the words: “But what does the truth claim?” (Sed quid ueritas clamat?).45 Evodius subtly corrects the Manichaean conception of fire. Like the Manichaeans, he underlines the destructive force of fire. He cites biblical passages that link the concept of fire to hell and destruction.46 However, he makes clear that fire does not entail blind destruction, but rather functions as a just punishment for sinners. When Manichaeans criticise Deuteronomy’s description of God as a “consuming fire” (ignis edax; Deut 4:24), Evodius counters

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Adu. Man. 2, 1. Adu. Man. 12, 8; Adu. Man. 43, 11. Adu. Man. 43, 7–8 Sed si pars lucis peccat, deus peccat, quod nefas est dicere: “But, if the part of light sins, God sins, which is a wicked thing to say!” Adu. Man. 43, 1–2 Si … et non peccat nisi gens tenebrarum, restat, ut ab omni peccato pars lucis immunis inueniatur: “… and if no one sins except the race of darkness, the result is that the part of light will be found void of any sin”. Adu. Man. 43,8–10 Si autem pars tenebrarum peccat, ipsa uocatur ad regnum per eum, qui dixit: non ueni uocare iustos sed peccatores, quia non est opus sanis medicus, sed male habentibus: “If, then, the part of darkness sins, this part will be summoned to the kingdom by him who said: I have come not to call the righteous but sinners, for those who are well have no need of a physician, but those who are sick do” [Matt 9:13–12]. Adu. Man. 44, 8. Adu. Man. 7, 4–6 cum ipsum dominum nostrum Iesum Christum nolitis intellegere dicentem ignem praeparatum esse peccatoribus et diabolo et angelis eius [Matt 25:41]; Adu. Man. 37, 24–25 nam quod ait: qui dixerit fratri suo fatue, reus erit gehennae ignis [Matt 5:22]; Adu. Man. 37, 4 et ignis edax [Deut 4:24]; Adu. Man. 37, 14 et ignem ueni mittere in mundum [Luke 12:49].

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this criticism by saying that Jesus, too, threatened with fire (ignem ueni mittere in mundum; Luke 12:49). This latter example makes it clear that fire is not an utterly negative force, as the Manichaeans believe, and that fire, although destructive, nonetheless has a purpose within God’s providential order. Neither the Manichaeans nor Evodius interpret fire as a source of light. As mentioned earlier, Evodius is mostly concerned with the refutation of the Manichaeans on a doctrinal level. Thus, knowledge is a central topic in Adu. Man. Evodius uses the language of light, or perhaps more specifically, of clarifying (declaro, innotesco, manifesto), to describe the revelatory character of knowledge. He understands knowledge as revelatory, with both a passive component (knowledge is revealed, and one needs to be receptive to revealed knowledge) and an active component (one is required to have a right mindset or to seek out the truth actively). For example, in Adu. Man. 39, the author defends the unity of the Old Testament and the New Testament, and cites several Old Testament miracles, which anticipated those of the New Testament. These examples become known to people (innotescunt: passive component) who are industrious and piously seek for them (diligentibus et pie quaerentibus: active component).47 The verb manifesto is used in a similar way in the opening chapter of Adu. Man.: The correct teachings reveal themselves (manifestatur: passive component) to those who are humble (humilibus: active component) and piously seek them (pie quaerentibus: active component).48 If Evodius describes knowledge and teachings in terms of revelation and openness, he similarly accuses the Manichaeans of blindness (caecitas) and bad intent (malitia).49 The terminology of darkness—in particular, the repeated accusation that the Manichaeans are blind—situates the Manichaeans within, or close to, the realm of darkness.50 The Manichaeans would surely have been sensitive to such a metaphor.

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Adu. Man. 39, 4–5 et alia multa quae diligentibus et pie quaerentibus ad aedificandam fidem innotescunt. Adu. Man. 1, 7–8 sicut in utroque testamento humilibus et pie quaerentibus manifestatur. The association of Manichaeism and blindness occurs 11 times in total in Adu. Man. The accusation of malitia occurs twice: Adu. Man. 38, 14–15 Multum apparet inperitia uestra uel potius malitia; Adu. Man. 39, 11–12 Numquid et hoc poterit dicere malitia uestra …? See in particular Adu. Man. 21, 3–4 O utinam uidere possint quod facile uiderent, nisi per nebulas contentionis excaecarentur: “Oh, if only you could see—what you would easily see, were you not blinded by the thick clouds of strife”.

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3.2 Mani and the Manichaeans 3.2.1 Mani’s Distinct Role in Adu. Man. Evodius makes a distinction between Mani, on the one hand, and the Manichaeans, on the other hand. The same word Manichaeus can refer to Mani (singular) or to the Manichaeans (plural). The use of Manichaeus in the singular to refer to “a (hypothetical or stereotypical) Manichaean” cannot be found in Adu. Man.51 The name Manichaeus occurs 34 times in the treatise: 27 times in the singular and 7 times in plural. With the addition of references to the Manichaeans in the second person plural (the addressees of the treatise) and the third person plural, Evodius more frequently describes the Manichaeans than Mani himself. Evodius describes Mani as blasphemous, erring, lying, bold, and disgraceful.52 Most of these characteristics also apply to the Manichaeans. However, Mani does fulfil a more particular role as the author of the Manichaean texts. The contents of these texts are ascribed specifically to Mani himself,53 and the same is the case for some of the Manichaean doctrines addressed in the treatise.54 When summarizing the Manichaean myth, the author often employs phrases such as “Mani’s god,” whereas the phrase “your (plural) god” only occurs once.55 The distinction between Mani and the Manichaeans has pragmatic argumentative consequences since it allows the author to characterize the Manichaeans differently to how he describes Mani.

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Compare, for example, with Quodvultdeus’ sermon Adu. v haer. There, the term Manichaeus likely refers to “a Manichaean,” and not to Mani. This use of Manichaeus would be analogous to his use of Arianus or Sabellianus instead of Arius or Sabellius. See Quodvultdeus, Adu. v haer. 6 (ccsl 60, 279) Vellem adhuc persequi Manichaeum, sed infestum patior Arianum. His characterization of the Manichaeans corresponds to Latin anti-Manichaean literature in general and to Augustine’s anti-Manichaean language in particular. In anti-Manichaean polemical language, the Manichaeans are most frequently refuted as immoral. See Ilona Opelt, Die Polemik in der christlichen lateinischen Literatur von Tertullian bis Augustin (Bibliothek der klassischen Altertumswissenchaften, N. F., 2. Reihe, 63; Heidelberg: Winter, 1980), 143–146. See, for example, Adu. Man. 14, 1–2 Qualis interea turpitudo, quam in eodem Thesauro suo inter cetera turpia in septimo libro scribit sic dicens: “Meanwhile, he writes of such a disgrace in the seventh book of that same Treasure among other disgraceful things when he says the following”. See, for example, Adu. Man. 24, 3–4 qui se mira superbia assumptum a gemino suo, hoc est, a Spiritu sancto esse gloriatur: “He, in an astonishing display of pride, boasted he was adopted by his twin (this is, the Holy Spirit)”. Adu. Man. 31, 3 Nam deus uester, o Manichaei.

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3.2.2 The Manichaeans Evodius makes use of a wide range of negative terms to depict the Manichaeans. Similarly to their founder, they err, they are blasphemous, vain, bold, miserable, mad, sinful, and contentious. The author further fleshes out some of these characteristics. One important trait of the Manichaeans is their boldness. Much more than Mani himself, the Manichaeans actively criticize Catholic doctrines. They “bark” (latrant) against Catholic teachings,56 and are more eager to accuse passages of (Old Testament) scripture rather than understand them.57 This trait is accentuated by their ignorance. The most frequently levelled accusation against the Manichaeans is their blindness. As was described above, this blindness signifies a lack of insight or knowledge. Because the Manichaeans do not know better, and refuse to know better, they are inclined to criticize the Christian teachings which the author describes as common sense.58 On one occasion, Evodius explicitly reflects on a cause of the Manichaeans’ blindness: “Oh, if only they could see what they would easily see, were they not blinded by the thick clouds of strife.”59 The Manichaeans’ blindness results from their bad intentions. The centrality of the trait of blindness underlines Evodius’ concern with the refutation of Manichaeism on a doctrinal level. Blindness entails that one is not receptive to self-revelatory truth. In some instances, Evodius shows openness and genuine concern towards the Manichaeans. In this regard, the central metaphor of blindness can have an additional implication for the argumentation of Adu. Man. Blindness is a (medical) condition. In some sense, the Manichaeans are victims of this condition. They are not able to notice their own blindness.60 Here the distinction between Mani and the Manichaeans becomes very pertinent. Mani is the founder of the false religion. Mani is the author of the scandalous Manichaean myth. The Manichaeans are being deceived by Mani.61 The Manichaeans are blind when they believe Mani.62 By focussing on a doctrinal refutation of Manichaeism,

56 57 58

59 60 61 62

Adu. Man. 9, 8–9 Aduersus haec solita caecitate Manichaei latrant. Adu. Man. 38, 3 ut temere accusetis quod non intelligitis. See Adu. Man. 32, 2–3 omnis sana fides Christum pro nobis passum confitetur: “Every sound faith confesses that Christ suffered for us”; Adu. Man. 44, 8 Sed quid ueritas clamat?: “Yet, what does the truth say?”. Adu. Man. 21, 3–4 O utinam uidere possint quod facile uiderent, nisi per nebulas contentionis excaecarentur. Adu. Man. 9, 11 et non uident caecitatem suam: “and they do not see their own blindness”. Adu. Man. 42, 1 Vos ergo homines, qui ista impietate Manichaei estis decepti, fugite: “Therefore, you, people who are deceived by Mani’s notorious impiety, run”. Adu. Man. 17, 14–16 Deus magne, subueni animis ista turpia credentibus, ista nefanda sectantibus. Quis haec non exhorreat, rogo uos? Quis tam caecus est, ut ista credat, rogo uos?:

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Evodius invites the Manichaeans to reject Mani’s teachings. Elsewhere the author cites Jn 9:39: “I came so that those who do not see may see, and those who do see may become blind.”63 Although the author does not make this connection himself, it is possible to associate the Manichaeans’ blindness with the qui non uident in the Johannine citation. Evodius repeats the invitation to the Manichaeans to become true Christians in the last chapters of his treatise. The possibility that Manichaeans could have good intentions serves the argumentative purpose of the treatise. He does consider the Manichaeans’ blindness and impiety to be sinful, and established that everyone was personally responsible for their own sins.64 By making an appeal to the Manichaeans’ conscience, however, he forces his addressees to confess their position openly. The author has already sufficiently argued that if they choose to believe Mani’s myth they would remain irrational, sinful, evil, and subject to punishment by God. If, on the other hand, the Manichaeans were to respond correctly to the appeal to their conscience, they would acknowledge their sinfulness as a first step towards liberation. A clear example is the opening sentence of the treatise’s penultimate chapter: “If, however, the things we say are true, look back then, see the kind of death you have won for yourselves.”65 The author situates the correct Christian teachings among the first person plural (quae dicimus): “what we [true Christians] believe.” The Manichaeans’ present unbelief, on the other hand, is very expressively described as “death.” The terms respicite and uidete, both signify “seeing”, are in stark contrast to the Manichaeans’ earlier condition of blindness. Once the Manichaeans realise their current views are wrong, they should renounce Mani’s error66 and convert to Catholic Christian-

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“Great God, aid these souls, which believe such disgraceful teaching, which pursue these illicit doctrines. Who would not tremble before these words, I ask you? Who is blind to such an extent that he would believe those words, I ask you?” Cited in Adu. Man. 37, 14–15 ueni ut qui non uident uideant, et qui uident caeci fiant. Although Evodius does not refer to any other biblical passage on blindness, the term very frequently returns in the Gospels, for example in Mk 8:18: “Do you have eyes, and fail to see?” [trans. nrsv]. Adu. Man. 10, 4–7 Sed quid uerum est nisi et dominum dare praecepta et animas liberae esse uoluntatis et malum naturam non esse, sed esse auersionem a dei praeceptis, et esse iustum iudicium dei quo damnet peccantes?: “But what else is true, except that and the Lord gives precepts, and the souls possess a free will? And is it not true that evil is not a nature, but rather a turning aside from God’s precepts, and that it is through His righteous judgement that God punishes sinners?” Adu. Man. 48, 1–2 Si autem uera sunt, quae dicimus, tandem respicite, tandem uidete, in qua estis morte constituti. Adu. Man. 49, 8 hoc dicite Manichaeo et renuntiate eius errori.

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ity. In order to reinforce his message, the author attempts to dissociate the Manichaeans from Mani. 3.3 Creating a Distance between Mani and the Manichaeans Evodius deliberately creates a distinction between Mani and the Manichaeans. Often, the author singles out Mani in his polemical discourse. When he does so, he characterises Mani as the errant teacher of the Manichaeans.67 He uses the distinction between Mani and the Manichaeans as an argumentative tool in order to persuade the Manichaeans. This actively allows him to identify the fault of the Manichaeans as something that, to an extent, can be situated outside the Manichaeans themselves. The fault lies primarily with the myth and doctrines of Mani. Surely, the Manichaeans are expected to reject their Manichaean identity. Evodius makes this very clear in the penultimate chapter of Adu. Man.: “Confess this, and you will be Manichaeans no more.”68 Throughout the treatise, Evodius attempts to pull the Manichaeans closer to him and further away from Mani. In the aforementioned example (hoc confitemini et non iam eritis Manichaei), he used the demonstrative pronoun hoc to illustrate how the correct teachings—which the Manichaeans should confess—are situated close to the party of the speaker. The Manichaeans only need to accept Catholic doctrine—continuously described as truth, common sense, or healthy belief—in order to cease being Manichaeans. The placement of the essential term Manichaei at the end of the sentence serves to reinforce his appeal. Furthermore, the very next sentence starts with Manichaeus (singular),69 which creates a sharp contrast between the Manichaeans, summoned to become Catholic Christians, and Mani, the false teacher. Particularly near the end of his treatise, Evodius makes use of the rhetorical procedure of creating distance between Mani and the Manichaeans. Chapter 46 begins with an exhortation towards the Manichaeans, who are addressed directly.70 The author then presents two alternatives. Chapter 46 first depicts the one true God, “which the Catholic faith preaches.”71 It should be noted here that the author connects the concept of catholica to fides (“faith, belief”),

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E.g. Adu. Man. 17, 1–2 Quis non rideat uel potius doleat et detestetur istum hominem tam horrenda et exsecrabilia de diuina substantia dicentem?: “Who would not laugh at someone, or rather feel sorrow and hate towards that man who says such horrible and accursed things about the divine substance?”. Adu. Man. 48, 15–16 hoc confitemini et non iam eritis Manichaei. Adu. Man. 49, 1 Manichaeus enim duas dicit esse naturas. Adu. Man. 46, 1 Iudicate tandem aut eligite, Manichaei, quem sequi uultis. Adu. Man. 46, 16 quem praedicat catholica fides.

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and not, in the first place, to the catholica ecclesia.72 Afterwards, and in contrast to the Catholic views, chapter 47 offers a description of “the god Mani preaches.”73 Here, too, the author creates a contrast between Manichaeus and the addressees, the Manichaeans. He specifically makes an appeal to their conscience.74 The Manichaeans have the moral and intellectual capacity to realise Mani’s falsehood and to react accordingly. The closing words of Adu. Man. aptly summarize Evodius’ general attitude towards the Manichaeans. These closing words have strong rhetorical qualities: Let go of such grave and horrible blasphemy. Do not let such iniquity reach your ears any longer. Stop getting involved in such a deadly occupation. Flee from Mani, and aim your utmost longing to the safe teachings of the Catholic truth.75 These phrases are preceded by a fictitious soliloquy. Evodius asks the Manichaeans, in the form of a soliloquy, to consider the consequences of the Manichaean myth. From his point of view, Mani’s god cannot offer solace or salvation to the Manichaeans, for he is not able to overcome evil. The Manichaean system cannot guarantee the prevention of a new invasion of evil. This prompts the author to finish the soliloquy abruptly and come to his final exhortation. These final sentences are well-structured. His conclusion contains four sentences, the verbs of which are all in a volitive mood. The first sentence contains a subjunctive in the third person (absit). The following two sentences contain the imperatives nolite (second person plural). The repetition of the imperative emphasizes the urgency of Evodius’ commands. The last sentence also contains two imperatives in the second person plural, namely fugite and conuolate. Formally, a distinction can thus be made between the volitive expressions in the third person (absit) and in the second person (nolite, nolite, fugite, conuolate). There is also a clear effect of crescendo in this passage. The first phrase (absit) contains no reference to the second person, as the author merely describes the 72

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This term only occurs in the preceding chapter 45, and even there the Ecclesia catholica is primarily described in the terminology of teaching and truth. See Adu. Man. 45, 4–5 ad sinum matris Ecclesiae catholicae, quae sola ueritatem docet: “to the lap of the mother, which is the Catholic Church. She alone teaches the truth”. Adu. Man. 47, 14–15 quem praedicat Manichaeus. Adu. Man. 47, 15 aut certe, si potest, neget conscientia uestra: “But certainly, if it is possible, may your conscience oppose to this”. Adu. Man. 49, 36–39 Absit tam grauis et tam abominanda blasphemia. Nolite istam iniquitatem ad aures uestras admittere. Nolite tali negotio mortifero uos implicare. Fugite Manichaeum et ad ueritatis catholicae ubera toto desiderio conuolate.

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Manichaean myth as a “grave and horrible blasphemy.” In the second series of commands, the author repeats the verb nolite, and the addressees gradually become more involved. In the first command, the Manichaean teachings are qualified as iniquity, and situated near the second person by means of the demonstrative pronoun istam (perhaps with a negative connotation, such as: “there can be no doubt that these blasphemous teachings circulate among you, Manichaeans”). The iniquity, which Evodius mentions, pertains to an attribute of the Manichaeans, namely, their ears (ad aures uestras). In the second command, the “iniquity” has become a “deadly occupation.” This threat does not concern an attribute of the Manichaeans, but rather the core identity of his addressees. The change of terminology from admittere ad aures uestras (“to allow something to reach your ears”) to uos implicare (“to involve yourself”) is significant. The final two commands are included in one sentence. The first of these is the shortest command of the series, but perhaps the most rhetorically evocative: fugite Manichaeum. The form reflects the content. In the syntactical construction, the Manichaeans (second person plural) have already liberated themselves from Mani (third person singular). The very concise phrasing of the penultimate command results in a greater emphasis on the final, more elaborate, commandment. The imperative conuolate is the final word of the treatise. This final command is distinct from all previous four volitive constructions on two levels. The preceding four verbs were all placed at the beginning of their respective sentences. The position of conuolate at the end of the sentence creates an effect of chiasmus. Additionly, the four earlier commandments were all formulated negatively, as a prohibition ( fugite also expresses what not to do), whereas conuolate is the only positive command. The author realizes a final, rhetorically-effective contrast by setting Mani (Manichaeum) against the truth of the Catholic Church. The metaphor of ubera evokes the image of a nurturing mother, and probably alludes to Paul’s metaphor of milk in his First Epistle to the Corinthians, as well.76 The commands Evodius gives to the Manichaeans cover only the initial steps of the Manichaeans’ hoped-for conversion. First they need to realize their error and distance themselves from Mani. Afterwards, they can be introduced to the baby food of the Catholic truth.

76

1Cor 3:2: “I fed you with milk, not solid food, for you were not ready for solid food”; trans. nrsv.

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Conclusion

Aduersus Manichaeos is an important testimony on the confrontation between Catholic and Manichaean Christians. It represents the views of the leader of one of the two religious communities involved in polemical debates. At the beginning of the third decade of the fifth century, Evodius wrote a treatise in which he wanted to convert the Manichaeans to Catholic Christianity. In several instances, Evodius presents his opponents’ arguments in the form of a dialogue situated in the historical past.77 While one should not overlook the possibility that these sections could be fictitious dialogues, it may be true that Evodius could have already discussed some of the addressed topics prior to this in oral disputes with Manichaeans in Uzalis. Evodius attempts to persuade his Manichaean audience by making use of the argumentative techniques of appropriation and dissociation or distancing. Thus, he chose a specific approach in his persuasion of the Manichaeans. He attempted to convince them almost exclusively through logical and biblicalhermeneutical arguments. He interacted with Manichaean terminology and appropriated one of the Manichaeans’ central images, that of light, in his defence of Catholic Christianity. Light is a universal metaphor for good, and Evodius wants to monopolize this term by situating the true knowledge of light within the Catholic party. In doing this, he establishes the notion that whatever the Manichaeans believe about light—a fundamental element in their cosmology—is probably not true. In contrast, Evodius subtly, mostly by means of the metaphor of blindness, characterizes the Manichaeans, the religious “other,” in terms pertaining to darkness. The accusation of blindness is significant on multiple levels. First, as was previously mentioned, this accusation situates the Manichaeans in the realm of darkness, in stark contrast to their claim to “light.” Second, the accusation refers to the theme of knowledge. The author wants to achieve conversion of the Manichaeans on an intellectual and confessional level. Because knowledge is revelatory and reveals itself to whomsoever is receptive to it, the Manichaeans are accused of having wrong intentions, and are implored to be more open towards the author’s Catholic position. Should the Manichaeans strive for illumination, they are encouraged to abandon Mani’s false teachings. Third, blindness is a condition from which the Manichaeans suffer, and the author wants to cure the Manichaeans of this.

77

Adu. Man. 18, 5; 19, 1; 19, 3; 20, 1; 20, 3.

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Evodius attempts to realise this cure, the conversion to Catholicism, by dissociating the Manichaeans and Mani. He describes Mani as a false teacher. He states that the Manichaeans are being deceived by Mani and employs rhetorical strategies to create a distance between Mani and the Manichaeans. Overall, the author is not concerned with the Manichaean church, with Manichaean ritual practices, or with the practical moral life of Manichaeans. The treatise is almost exclusively focussed on doctrine and scriptural hermeneutics. The envisaged conversion consists of a basic rejection of Manichaean teaching and an openness towards the Catholic teaching. In other words, Evodius could seem to invite the Manichaeans to the Catholic catechumenate. Because of its doctrinal focus, the treatise can also be seen as a pragmatic compendium of anti-Manichaean argumentation, which could have helped prepare Christian communities in North Africa and in Medieval Europe against the Manichaeans or, more broadly, against dualistic interpretations of Christianity. In some cases, the author seems to address a Catholic audience. However, the second person plural is mostly used to address Manichaeans directly. At the very least, the direct appeal towards the Manichaeans functions as a rhetorical strategy, and one which could certainly convince a favourable audience.

Bibliography Bauer, Johannes B. Sancti Aureli Augustini opera: De moribus ecclesiae catholicae et de moribus Manichaeorum. csel 90. Vienna: Hölder-Pichler-Tempsky, 1992. BeDuhn, Jason David. “Did Augustine Win His Debate with Fortunatus?” Pages 463–479 in ‘In Search of Truth:’ Augustine, Manichaeism and other Gnosticism. Edited by J.A. van den Berg et al. Nag Hammadi and Manichaean Studies 74. Leiden and Boston: Brill, 2011. Boersma, Gerald P. “Augustine’s Immanent Critique of Stoicism.” Scottish Journal of Theology 70 (2017): 184–197. Braun, René. Opera Quodvultdeo Carthaginiensi episcopo tributa. ccsl 60. Turnhout: Brepols, 1976. Decret, François. “Le traité d’Evodius contre les Manichéens: un compendium à l’ usage du parfait controversiste.” Augustinianum 31 (1991): 387–409. Decret, François. “Exégèse et polémique chez Evodius d’ Uzalis.” Pages 383–389 in L’Esegesi dei padri latini: dalle origini a Gregorio Magno. Studia Ephemeridis Augustinianum 68, vol. 1: Parte Generale—Oriente, Africa. Rome: Institutum Patristicum Augustinianum, 2000. Drever, Matthew. “Redeeming Creation: Creatio ex nihilo and the Imago Dei in Augustine.” International Journal of Systematic Theology 15 (2013): 135–153.

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Dubois, Jean-Daniel. “Le manichéisme: À la lumière des documents nouveaux.” Pages 42–84 in Contre Fauste le manichéen: Livres i–xii. Edited by Martine Dulaey. Bibliothèque Augustinienne 18/A. Paris: Institut d’études augustiniennes, 2018. Duval, Yves-Marie. “Note sur la lettre d’Evodius à l’ abbé Valentin d’ Hadrumète (cpl 389).” Revue des Études Augustiniennes 49 (2003): 123–130. Gardner, Iain and Samuel Lieu. Manichaean Texts from the Roman Empire. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2004. Kotzé, Annemaré. “Protreptic, Paraenetic and Augustine’s Confessions.” Pages 3–23 in ‘In Search of Truth:’ Augustine, Manichaeism and other Gnosticism. Edited by J.A. van den Berg et al. Nag Hammadi and Manichaean Studies 74. Leiden and Boston: Brill, 2011. Oort, Johannes van. “Manichaean Christians in Augustine’s Life and Works.” Church History and Religious Culture 90 (2010): 505–546. Opelt, Ilona. Die Polemik in der christlichen lateinischen Literatur von Tertullian bis Augustin. Bibliothek der klassischen Altertumswissenchaften, N. F., 2. Reihe 63. Heidelberg: Winter, 1980. Stein, Markus. Manichaica latina 2: Manichaei epistula fundamenti. Papyrologica Coloniensia 27/2. Paderborn: Schöningh, 2002. Stein, Markus. Manichaica latina 4: Manichaei Thesaurus. Papyrologica Coloniensia 27/4. Paderborn: Schöningh, 2016. Tardieu, Michel. Le manichéisme. Que sais-je? 1940. Paris: puf, 1981. Teske, Roland. The Manichaean Debate. Works of Saint Augustine i/19. New York: New City Press, 2006. Teske, Roland. Answer to Faustus, a Manichaean. Works of Saint Augustine i/20. New York: New City Press, 2007. Vander Plaetse, Roel and Clemens Beukers. “De haeresibus.” Pages 263–358 in De fide rerum inuisibilium, enchiridion ad Laurentium de fide et spe et caritate, de catechizandis rudibus, sermo ad catechumenos de symbolo, sermo de disciplina christiana, de utilitate ieiunii, sermo de excidio urbis Romae, de haeresibus. Edited by M.P.J. van den Hout et al. ccsl 46. Turnhout: Brepols, 1969. Vanspauwen, Aäron. “Contra Domini uel Apostoli auctoritatem: la autoridad de Pablo en el tratado polémico ‘De fide contra Manichæos’ de Evodio de Uzala.” Augustinus 61 (2016): 395–411. Vanspauwen, Aäron. “The anti-Manichaean Treatise De fide contra Manichaeos, Attributed to Evodius of Uzalis: Critical Edition and Translation.” Sacris Erudiri 57 (2018): 7–116. Vanspauwen, Aäron. In Defence of Faith, Against the Manichaeans: Critical Edition and Historical, Literary and Theological Study of the Treatise Aduersus Manichaeos, Attributed to Evodius of Uzalis. Instrumenta Patristica et Mediaevalia 79. Turnhout: Brepols, 2020.

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Zycha, Josephus, ed. S. Aureli Augustini de utilitate credendi, de duabus animabus, contra Fortunatum, contra Adimantum, contra epistulam fundamenti, contra Faustum. csel 25/1. Prague: Temspky, 1891. Zycha, Josephus, ed. Sancti Aureli Augustini contra Felicem, de natura boni, epistula Secundini, contra Secundinum, accedunt Euodii de fide contra Manichaeos et commonitorium Augustini quod fertur. csel 25/2. Prague: Temspky, 1892.

Threat of Conversion in the Earliest Syriac Writings on Islam? Serafim Seppälä

1

Introduction

Conversion to Islam is a phenomenon that changed the Middle East and world history permanently, yet it has remained rather insufficiently studied and weakly understood.1 Theoretical contents of the polemical encounter between Christians and Muslims are rather thoroughly studied, but the practical applications and implications of the encounter have been left in silence, which in turn reduces the phenomenon into a mere literary conflict of theological narratives. The primary problem in studying the conversions is that the subject is geographically and chronologically vast and sociologically complex, but the preserved information is sporadic, scattered and often biased in a way or another. Moreover, most of the academic writing on the subject has traditionally been based on Islamic sources alone,2 which is problematic for three reasons. Firstly, the traditional Islamic history writing reveals only the winner’s perspective to the history:3 phenomena such as use of force, coercion or harassment against non-Muslims are downplayed almost completely, and consequently, they are absent from the studies based on these sources as well. Secondly, the Islamic sources are late. For example, Shahban’s study of early conversion to Islam was based on classical sources such as al-Ṭabarī (d. 923) and even Ibn Khaldun (d. 1406), yet with no critical approach to their narratives. Thirdly, the early Islamic chronicles relate the developments in big cities and leave out of consideration the fact that rural areas4 remained Christian (or Zoroastrian) 1 In the words of Lapidus, “The history of conversion to Islam, in Egypt or elsewhere, remains a surprisingly obscure subject on which Arabic sources almost never comment.” Ira M. Lapidus, “The conversion of Egypt to Islam,”Israel Oriental Studies 2 (1972): 248–262. An early classic of the subject is Thomas Walker Arnold, The Preaching of Islam (Lahore, 1913; various reprints). 2 e.g. N. Shaban, “Conversion to Early Islam,” in Conversion to Islam (ed. N. Levtzion; New York and London: Holmes and Meier Publishers, 1979), 24–29. 3 e.g. al-Ṭabarī, i, pp. 2641, 2655–2662. 4 See Richard Bulliet, “Conversion to Islam and the Emergence of a Muslim Society in Iran,” in Conversion to Islam (ed. N. Levtzion; New York and London: Holmes and Meier Publishers 1979), 32–33.

© Serafim Seppä l ä , 2022 | doi:10.1163/9789004466845_014

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much longer. Consequently, the views on conversion to Islam almost inevitably end up in being more or less biased, sporadic or one-sided. In the last two decades, however, a lot of literature on the Syriac and other Christian material has appeared, but this has mostly remained a kind of separate exercise, and the findings are not fully integrated to the works on the history of Islam.5 This article is a modest attempt to review the Syriac sources of the seventh century in order to outline the perspective of Christians to the matter during the first decades of Islamic rule. The focus is in the situation in the early Islamic rule, in the era of first caliphs and Umayyads. I discuss the Syriac sources from circa first one hundred years of the Islamic rule in the Middle East, paying special attention to matters related to conversion, aiming to approach the perspective of Christians to the process. Was there a threat of conversions in the air?

2

The Syriac Material and Its Value as Witness

The early Syriac writings on the early Muslims and Islam are an important phenomenon for their very existence. For comparison, there are very few outsiders’ comments available on the first one hundred years of Christianity, but the Syriac sources dealing with the first six-seven decades of Islam are plentiful, in addition to the contemporaneous Christian material in Greek, Coptic and Armenian. In fact, there are hardly any authentic Islamic texts preserved from that period, given that the Islamic literature developed mainly from the eight century onwards. However, the Syriac material has been used rather sparingly in putting together the history of early Islam and Islamic empire; the modern scholars of Islam have resorted to the late Arabic sources instead, either keeping to the lines of Islamic historiography or at times, producing radical reconstructions.6 When the Syriac sources are consulted, they have oftentimes been used 5 In addition to the works consulted, one may mention Milka Levy-Rubin, Non-Muslims in the Early Islamic Empire: From Surrender to Coexistence (Cambridge Studies in Islamic Civilization; Cambridge: Cambridge University Press 2011, reprint 2018); Christian C. Sahner, Christian Martyrs under Islam: Religious Violence and the Making of the Muslim World (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2018); Antoine Borrut and Fred M. Donner, eds., Christians and Others in the Umayyad State (Late Antique and Medieval Islamic Near East 1, Chicago: Oriental Institute of the University of Chicago, 2016). 6 The most famous reconstruction is Michael Cook and Patricia Crone’s Hagarism: The Making of the Islamic World (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1977), which unfortunately went too far in its revisionist remodelling of the early history of Islam when presenting it as

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sporadically if they happen to support the Islamic narrative.7 Therefore, it has been typical among the Orientalists to make use of the Syriac sources mainly to find pieces of evidence for—in lack of a better term—a “tolerant view” on the early Muslim rule, and the few positive remarks available have been employed accordingly, even against the original context. Moreover, the Syriac or Christian sources have oftentimes been treated as one bulk,8 even though there is considerable variation between the sources of given periods during the first and second centuries ah (as I hope to show below). Evidently, this variation reflects changes in the position and practical circumstances of the Christians. However, to assess the phenomenon of conversion through the earliest Syriac sources is a tricky exercise, given that there are very few instances that explicitly deal with conversion to Islam in this period. Nevertheless, it seems that the question is implicitly present in several texts. Due to the early dating, all Christians were not yet fully aware of all the principles of Islam in questions related to conversion. Whether the Muslims themselves were, is another question, given the later dating of actual texts on the dhimmah. In this regard, the traditional Islamic view on the history of early Islam seems realistic: when the Islamic law was written down circa two centuries after the Qur’anic texts, it did not appear from emptiness but was based on principles that were largely in use already in the mid-seventh century, and in many cases, even in Muhammad’s last years. The earliest Syriac sources can be divided into three groups. Firstly, the earliest references from the era of the first generation (from the beginning of Islamic rule in 637) concentrate on the outer difficulties brought by the Muslim invaders. In this phase, it seems to have been rather irrelevant for Christians whether the Arab invaders represented a new religion or not—indeed, whether they had a religion or not. From this irrelevance, however, one cannot conclude that it was irrelevant also for the Muslims.9 Secondly, the sources from the end

a Jewish messianic movement—basically a misunderstanding of Christian sources based on ultra-literal reading. 7 The claim applies especially to major works on the history of Islam; in the Syriac studies, the situation is almost the opposite. 8 For instance, Simonsohn, one of the leading scholars on the field at the moment, bundles Išoyahb (c. 650) and Pseudo-Methodius (690’s) together, though they represent different epochs and different circumstances. Uriel Simonsohn, “Conversion, Exemption, and Manipulation: Social Benefits and Conversion to Islam in Late Antiquity and the Middle Ages,” in Religious Exemption in Pre-Modern Eurasia, c. 300–1300ce (ed. W. Pohl and A. Gingrich; Medieval worlds no. 6; Wien: Austrian Academy of Sciences Press, 2017), 200–201. 9 This anomaly has been surprisingly common conclusion for the scholars who have read

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of seventh century and the beginning of the eight concentrate more on inner difficulties: social and theological challenges of Islam as a social and theological system. The third group of early texts is a peculiar application of the same difficulties: apocalyptic literature that re-emerged in the end of the seventh century, after the genre had almost been forgotten in Christendom.

3

The Earliest Syriac References to Muslims (637–660)

The very first references to Muslims and Islam in Syriac literature are brief depictions of conquests. Their value is in their almost incredibly early dating. The earliest one (bl Add. 14461) is a short fragmentary text that dates back to year 637. Another very early source is the Chronicle of Thomas the Presbyter (ctb) that covers the history from Adam to the Muslim conquests in 640.10 Both texts briefly relate how thousands of Christians were killed by the attacking Arabs (ṭayyāyē).11 ctb adds that also Jews and Samaritans were massacred, as well as “a big number of monks”.

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the Christian sources. Since the Christian sources called Muslims “New Jews” and described Islamic theology as “Jewish”, some have taken this literally and concluded that Islam was a form of Judaism. For instance, Reinink declares that “there does not seem to be much support” in the Christian sources for the view that Islam was “a religious system which could clearly be distinguished from both Judaism and Christianity.” Gerrit J. Reinink, “The Beginnings of Syriac Apologetic Literature in Response to Islam,” OrCh 77 (1993): 165–166. The fact that Christians described Islam, Muslims and their beliefs in Jewish terms does not mean more than that there was a lack of new terminology—and interest—for the new (little known and certainly undeveloped) religion. It does, however, indicate that there was certain theological primitiveness that the Christians polemically labelled “Jewish”. This is exactly what had happened with Arians, Eunomians and all other low Christology movements. Moreover, even if the use of such terms meant that Christians considered them as Jews in the literal sense, this would not at all imply that Muslims did likewise. On the contrary, it seems evident that there were very clear boundaries between the religious groups, and thus between the religions themselves, from the very beginning, even though the beliefs and practices of Islam were still in the process of development. For the identity construction of Arabs, see Peter Webb, Imagining the Arabs (Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press, 2016). The text is preserved in an eighth century manuscript, which also speaks for its antiquity. The edition by E.W. Brooks and translation by J.B. Chabot in Chronicon miscellaneum ad annum domini 724 pertinens (csco 3–4: 77–154 [63–119]). Partial edition and translation in Anecdota Syriaca, 1.2–22 [103–121] (corresponding to pp. 129–154 in Brooks’ edition). The traditional word for Arabs in Syriac. It literally means “wanderers,” referring to their nomadic character. As a curious co-incidence, it also refers to those who have lost their

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It is characteristic for the earliest Syriac texts that no religious significance is attached to the events. The lack, however, must not be over-interpreted, due to the concise and laconic character of the accounts. In particular, one cannot use these brief pieces to argue that the motives of attackers were not in any way religious (as some have attempted). What we can say is that there is nothing unusual or unexpected in the lack of interest for the religious motives of the other. In the Christian history writing, the religion of the other was of little significance. Therefore, the “lack of religious interpretation” in the texts does not imply that the other was not religiously motivated; it simply means that the events were not explicitly mentioned to be punishments for Christians because of their sins, which was the traditional religious interpretation for collective catastrophes. Moreover, it is also clear that the authors did not consider the possibility that they were witnessing a turning point in history, but took the conquest merely as random attacks of Arabs. (From this, again, one cannot conclude that the Arabs were thinking likewise.) Nothing more could in fact be expected from the writers: the big processes of history seldom unfold themselves during the events but only in later reflection. The texts are not totally without religious significance, however. In spite of their scantiness, both do mention Muhammad by name. These are in fact the oldest texts in which Muhammad’s name appears, apart from the Quran. This shows that at the period when Muhammad was no longer present and Christians did not yet know about Islam, the Christians did know that the Arab armies operated in Muhammad’s name, motivated by his teaching and heritage. This was confirmed and portrayed with more details in the Armenian history of Sebeos a couple of decades later.12 Basing his narration partly on the reports of freed war-prisoners, Sebeos constructed a speech of Muhammad that served to outline the motivations and aims of the early Muslim warriors: With an oath God promised this land to Abraham and his seed for ever. And he brought about as he promised during that time while he loved Israel. But now you are the sons of Abraham, and God is accomplishing his promise to Abraham and his seed for you. Love sincerely only the God

12

way, which made it somewhat pejorative term for Muslims. There was also an ancient Arab tribe called al-Ṭayyi. Sebeos describes the conquests and their motives in the chapter 42 of his Armenian History, enumerating certain things that were forbidden by “Mahmet”. These match with prohibitions that are known from the Quran: eating carrion (Quran 5:3), drinking wine (2:219, 5:90), speaking falsely (39:3, 16:116, 33:24) and fornication (17:32, 24:2).

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of Abraham, and go and seize your land which God gave to your father Abraham. No one will be able to resist you in battle, because God is with you.13 The biblical allusions and the wordings are of course Sebeos’ own Christian formulations, even though Muhammad and early Muslims must have known the “promised land” motif by their contacts with Jews.14 In a wider sense, however, Sebeos’ account is a credible reflection of the attitudes of early Muslim warriors: they believed to have God on their side in attacks, and the factual events (i.e. almost unprecedented success) confirmed this belief.15 The emphasis on Muhammad and his message as the driving force behind the expansion in the earliest Syriac texts and in Sebeos seems to be against those modern scholars who have tried to view the conquests as rather ordinary warfare and looting, with no religious character or motivation. In a somewhat similar manner, The Chronicle of Khuzistan (c. 660) alludes to “sons of Ismael,” the leader of whom was Muhammad, who took over Persia and then attacked Syria and destroyed the army of (Eastern) Rome.16 Moreover, the chronicle mentions two bishops who on two different occasions functioned as mediators in peace talks; the first one was killed by Persians, the second one by Arabs. The Chronicle also relates how all the priests, deacons and students of theology were massacred in the Church of Shustra during the conquest.17 Such details are relevant for revealing the perspective of Christians to events that in the later Islamic historiography were typically presented as liberation and dissemination of peace. Moreover, the so-called Maronite Chronicle (664)18 contains rather precise information for 658–664, although some details may imply dating problems. 13 14 15

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Sebeos, Armenian History (trans. R.W. Thomson; Liverpool: Liverpool University Press, 1999), 96. For discussion, see Uri Rubin, “Between Arabia and the Holy Land: A Mecca-Jerusalem Axis of Sanctity,” Jerusalem Studies in Arabic and Islam 34 (2008): 357–358. According to one interpretation, the victory against Byzantines was unexpected and served to create a more universalistic demands and aims in Muslim leadership (Shahban, “Conversion,” 27). While the victory must have been important for the spirit of the Muslim community, it is clear that they would not have attacked to Byzantine areas in such a determined way in the first place, had they not believed in the possibility of victory. Chronicle of Khuzistan (Chronicon anonymum, csco 1–2: 30–31). In later times, references to Muhammad in such contexts may have become a literary manoeuvre, but in the earliest phase the Christian authors used it without knowing much about him, probably considering him as a mere curiosity. Chronicle of Khuzistan (csco 1–2: 36–37). The text consists of the folios 2–14 of the British Library Syriac manuscript Add. 17

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The most interesting instance is from the year 659 (970ag): the Syrian Orthodox bishops had to collect annually a huge sum of 20’000 dinars so that Muᶜawiya would “not loose his hand on them”.19 The chronicle explains this as resulting from the fact that the Syrian Orthodox had lost a theological debate to the Maronites. The claim is interesting, both by its emphasis and its obvious implausibility. It is one concrete proof for the assumption that during the first generation of Islamic rule, the theologians were more interested in the intraChristian encounter and confrontation than in the Arabs and their dominion, not to mention their religious ideas.20 The actual 20’000 dinars is an example of the cases that represent rather inconsequential business for the ruling class, but a form of legalised robbery for the subjugated ones. The most interesting early source for our topic, however, is the collection of 106 letters by Išoᶜyahb iii (d. 659),21 a monastic leader who became a bishop and finally, Catholicos of the East Syrian Church. His interests were in intraChristian matters: Muslims appear in a cursory way, and their religion is not of much interest to him. The letters in which Muslims are mentioned, however, date back to 649–659 (letters 14 and 15) and even late 630’s (letter 48)—in other words, to the times of the first Islamic generation when umma was still led by the companions of Muhammad. Here we have also the earliest Syriac term for Muslims, for “hagarites” (mhaggrāyē)22 is now used to refer not only to Arabs in general but to a religious group. The usage implies that there was a lack of term in Syriac; the literal equivalent mašlem(a) was impractical, for it already had a variety of meanings23 in Syriac.

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20 21 22

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216. Translation in Michael Philip Penn, When Christians First Met Muslims: A Sourcebook of the Earliest Writings on Islam (Oakland: University of California Press, 2015), 57–61. Maronite Chronicle, 69–74. Translation of this section in Robert G. Hoyland, Seeing Islam as Others Saw It: a Survey and Evaluation of Christian, Jewish and Zoroastrian Writings on Early Islam (Princeton: Darwin Press, 1997), 135. I skip here the fragment of Daniel of Qenneshre, for it seems to have been reworked in an unknown date. Išoᶜyahb iii, Liber epistularum (ed. and trans. R. Duval, csco 11–12). It is widely believed that the use is borrowed to Syriac from Arabic. Due to an etymological co-incidence, however, the word had different associations for Muslims and Christians. When the Syriac-speakers used the term mhaggrāyē of Muslims, for Arabic-speaking Muslims it sounded like a Syriac version of the Arabic muhājirūn, a labellation of the first Muslims, both verbs being derivatives of the same Semitic root hgr. For Christians, however, it was also a reference to the sons of Hagar who were not included in God’s blessing granted to Abraham and Isaac (cf. Greek Αγαρηνοί). Correspondingly, the Syriac verb ahgar meant “to become Hagar(ite)”, but for Muslims it could be associated with hijra. The word mašlem would be an active participle of the verb ašlem (grammatically corresponding to Arabic ’aslama), to bring to completion, to achieve, to give up, to surrender,

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The earliest letter (48) includes an interesting remark reflecting an optimist belief that the “hagarian Arabs” might be pursued to support the faith of the East Syrian Church, the doctrine of which emphasizes the difference between divinity and humanity. For the Muslim Arabs (ṭayyāyē mhaggrē) do not aid those who say that God, Lord of all, suffered and died. And if by chance they do help them for whatever reason, you can inform the Muslims (mhaggrē) and persuade them of this matter as it should be, if you care about it at all. So perform all things wisely, my brothers; give unto Caesar what is Caesar’s, and to God what is God’s.24 The most relevant case is in the letter 14, for it shows that a number of Christians had converted into Islam because of the 50 % tax demanded from nonMuslims, literally “half of their possessions”.25 It is in this context that Išoᶜyahb presents his famous remark on Muslims who “act well towards us”, “praise our faith, honour the priests and saints of our Lord, and give aid to the churches and monasteries”. Few scholars, however, have paid attention to the fact that Išoᶜyahb’s actual target and real subject in the letter was not Islamic ethos but the unfortunate bishop to whom he was addressing in order to admonish and blame him for his exceptional26 failure in upbringing Christians who would understand the value of their faith. In reproaching the bishop, Išoᶜyahb rhetorically praises the Muslims for not being enemies of Christianity, but it is essential to realise that point of comparison implied was the previous history of the Church, which included the persecutions of Rome and Persia. The cheap renunciation of Christianity in favour of Islam was highlighted to show the unfortunate bishop’s failure. Thus, the chief function of the remark is to point out that the discrimination and taxation of the Islamic rule is in fact much easier to bear than the previous persecutions of Christians, which had led to deaths but not to remarkable apostasy. Here it is good to recall that martyrdom was almost an immediate memory for the East Syrian Church that had gone

24 25

26

to deliver, to hand over, to betray, to hand down; it has sometimes been used also in the sense ‘to become Muslim’, which appears to be a semantic loan from Arabic. Išoʿyahb, Ep. 48b (97). Išoʿyahb, Ep. 14c (251). In an early stage (Najran), those who did not convert had to pay the jizya in the umma, while every convert had to pay only the zakāt (ṣadaqa). The practice of paying jizya became the cornerstone of the dhimma-legislation, even though the term has had more or less diverging meanings in different phases of history. “You alone of all the people of the earth have rejected all these things.” Išoʿyahb, Ep. 14c (251).

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through brutal persecutions in Persia during the previous century. This partly explains why the argumentation in such an urgent practical matter was so idealistic and charismatic. Išoᶜyahb even claimed that if the bishop had asked for prayers, there could have happened miracles for the glory of God and the catastrophe of apostasy would not had taken place. As for the Arabs (ṭayyāyē), to whom God has at this time given rule (šulṭānā) over the world, you know well how they act towards us. Not only do they not oppose Christianity, but they praise our faith (haymenūtān), honour the priests (kāhnē) and saints of our Lord, and give aid to the churches and monasteries. Why then do your myrrh-anointed ones (mrwnāyē) reject (šeḇaqū, ‘have left’) their faith on a pretext of theirs (because of them)? And this when the anointed ones themselves admit that the Arabs have not compelled them to abandon their faith, but only asked them to give up half of their possessions in order to keep their faith. Yet they forsook their faith, which is forever, and retained the half of their wealth, which is for a short time.27 One may wonder whether “half” is to be taken literally, for it is the only such reference from this period. The context is rhetorical indeed, but the dramatic blame directed for the bishop would in fact favour making a reference to as small sum as possible, for a considerable exaggeration would weaken his argument. However, even if the “half” is approximately what had been demanded in this particular case, it does not necessarily imply that this was the policy everywhere. Išoᶜyahb’s rather sarcastic remark has oftentimes been taken out of its context and used as an evident proof of Muslims’ exemplary and admirable attitude towards Christians, but this is actually not what Išoᶜyahb was aiming to convey in his letter.28 Nevertheless, the remark does show that Muslims could show reverence for Churches and monasteries, which is not surprising in the situation when a small ruling minority was aiming to win the confidence of the ruled majority. This, however, was not the whole picture, nor the main intention

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Išoʿyahb, Ep. 14c (251). Translation of Hoyland, Seeing Islam, 181, slightly modified. The “myrrh-anointed ones” seems to be a contextually and etymologically logical translation for mrwnāyē. Logic of the setting becomes clear if set it into today’s circumstances. If, say, the Republican Party in US demanded an additional “religion tax” of 50 % from all Jews, and the Rabbi of Boston commented, “Well, they in all friendliness demand not more than half of our possessions,” would his rhetoric be a proof for the tolerance of Republicans?

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of Išoᶜyahb whose implicit point of comparison was the previous persecutions and massacres of Christians, which was at the heart of Christian ethos. In any case, the letter unquestionably proves that in some areas remarkable conversions into Islam had started already in the mid-seventh century, very soon after the conquests, and the main reason for embracing Islam was the religiously discriminating taxation. One may suppose that since the Christians supposed the Islamic rule and its effects to be temporal, perhaps some of them thought to make a formal conversion for immediate gains, and later to return to Christianity, but the latter option never realised.

4

Conversions of Muslims to Christianity?

One (somewhat theoretical) problem is whether there ever was granted any possibility of conversion from Islam into another religions. This in turn has direct effects on the nature of conversions into Islam: if it is a one-way phenomenon, as witnessed by the later history as we know it, the conversions are much more dramatic and, from the Christian point of view, more disastrous. Given that apostasy was not tolerated in any of the traditional schools of Islamic law, one must pay special attention to the Syriac sources when estimating whether the same policy applied already during the first century of Islamic rule when Sharia was not yet codified. Were there really no conversions to Christianity from Islam in the seventh century? Methodologically, this is virtually an impossible question: if the sources are extremely sporadic, how to prove that something did not happen? However, an answer, to begin with, may perhaps be construed from the most unlikely source: hagiographical miracle tales. The mid seventh century East Syrian Life of Rabban Hormizd contains a multitude of incredible miracle stories.29 Hormizd, a monastic saint, is credited with various healings in which he acts in an apostle-like fashion. The miraculous healings in his Life include also healings of Muslims—but conversions of Muslims are not reported. The only exception is the case of Arab governor of Mosul, who with his companions wants to be baptised after Rabban Hormizd had arisen his son from the dead. The main intention of this story, however, is to present the Jacobites’ baptism as invalid and to show the Christ-like and apostolic character of Hormizd; the religion of the Arabs is not even mentioned. The

29

Hormizd, xi–xii, pp. 65–71 [fols. 52b–57b], trans. 97–106. Discussion in Hoyland, Seeing Islam, 190–192.

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story is not of much value as such, but it is telling that miraculous healings were considered much more credible a motif than conversion of Muslims. In hagiography, miracles had to be exceptionally incredible to be excluded! However, the picture needs to be completed with other sources.

5

Syriac Sources from 660s to 690s

Little by little, the Islamic rule stabilised, but the Christians still expected it to collapse. The view was based on the religious paradigm: it was inconceivable that God would permit a “false faith to prevail over all the extremities of the earth”, as Anastasius of Sinai estimated in the late seventh century.30 He believed that persecutions and afflictions would be transitory, and ultimately, Christians shall “reign over all.”31 In his time, Christians were still the overwhelming majority in the Middle East. It is from this period that we have the earliest references to Islam in the canonical literature. Since this genre concentrates on the procedures and discipline of the Church, Muslims or Islam are expected to appear only when they create noteworthy problems for the clergy or the Church order. Remarkably, the narrative type is chiefly legal by character and aims to employ exact expressions, in contrast to the other genres of Syriac literature that are more rhetoric or poetic in nature. The earliest references to Islam and Muslims in the canonical literature are from the East Syrian canons in 676,32 in which two important topics come up: legal procedures in general and marriages in particular. In the sixth canon, it is stated that legal processes between Christians should take place inside the Church supervised by persons named by bishop and approved by the community, and the Christians should not go outside the Church in order to be

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Πλὴν οὺδε ἔμελλε συγχωρεῖν ὁ Θεὸς πεπλανημένην πίστιν κατακυρειεύειν ἐπὶ πάντα τὰ πέρατα τῆς γῆς. Anastasius of Sinai, Disputatio (pg 89: 1224B). Cf. Questions to Antiochus no. 42 (pg 28: 624C–D). ὅτι κᾶν διωκώμεθα οἱ Χριστιανοὶ, ἀλλ’ ἡμεῖς πάντων βασιλεύομεν. Anastasius of Sinai, Dialogue against the Jews (pg 89: 1224D). (The same section appears in Dialogue of Papiscus and Philo x, 61–62.) The sentence has been taken as an eschatological prophecy on the forthcoming Christian rule, but it should perhaps rather be taken in a mystical sense: even though Christians are persecuted, they do reign over all (in some spiritual way, since they represent the divine truth). Synodicon orientale ou recuieil de synodes Nestoriens (Paris: Imprimerie nationale, 1902), 227–245.

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judged by pagans or unbelievers.33 The problem was that Christians had no Christian courts or (religious) judges corresponding to the ones that Jews and Muslims had. The remark also hints at efficiency of Islamic legal system at an early stage. In the fourteenth canon, Christian women are forbidden to mingle (etḥalaṭ) with non-Christians (ḥanpē, i.e. Muslims) that are alien for the “fear of God”, a Syriac term for the Christian religion. The only argument stated is that in marrying (Muslims), the Christian women get used to customs alien to Christianity and will have a “weak will”. The latter expression is somewhat unexpected; it might imply that the Christians had married well-to-do Muslims and were getting used to luxurious living. Freidenreich speaks in this connection about “sexual intercourse”34 although marriage is clearly meant—sexual relations outside marriage, and especially before the marriage, were forbidden in both religions, and certainly not common in any case. The short remark is relevant also for what it does not say. Firstly, there is no reference to Christian men marrying Muslims: such an option never existed. Secondly, there is no sentence defined, since the act punishes itself: the heaviest punishment the Church could consider or commit was exclusion from the Holy Communion (the criterion of being a Christian). It seems that in most cases those who married Muslims left the Church by themselves at the same time. Canon 14 states that the one who marries a non-believer, i.e. Muslim, is “far from the Church and all Christian honour.” Rather similar statements can be found from Athanasios of Balad who served three and half years as patriarch of Antioch (683–687). Only one of his letters has survived (683), but in no less than nine manuscripts, the two oldest of which are from the eighth century, which shows that it had considerable authority and influence.35 Athanasios states that the Christians should not eat of the sacrifices of the Muslims (mhaggrāyē). The view is based on Acts,36 the use of which seems to imply two things: the patriarch saw the Islamic slaughter, perhaps especially the one connected with feasts, as comparable with pagan sacrifice, and the Islamic God as comparable with the gods of polytheistic cults rather than with the Biblical one.

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Synodicon orientale, 219–220 (French translation in 484–485). David M. Freidenreich, “Muslims in canon law, 650–1000,” in Christian Muslim Relations: A Bibliographical History (ed. D. Thomas and B. Roggema; Leiden: Brill, 2009), 1:92–93. For translation, see Penn, When Christians, 75. There are two editions: Francois Nau (1909) and Rifaat Ebied (2013). Acts 15:20, 15:29, 21:25.

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For an evil report has come to the hearing of our lowliness that some accursed Christians—that is, greedy men, who are slaves to the belly— at meals heedlessly and senselessly mingle together with the pagans (ḥanpē). Also, wretched women in some manner or another unlawfully and inappropriately marry37 pagan men. Sometimes all of them eat without distinction from their sacrifices.38 Oddly, Penn suggests that these words were given against polytheistic pagans,39 which is an incongruous claim for two reasons. Firstly, the context in the letter seems rather to deal with intermingling with Muslims, just like the other similar sources of the same period. Secondly, there is no evident reason to suppose that the polytheistic feasts and marriages had suddenly turned into a problem for Christians in Syria—a most Christian area—at the end of seventh century. The simplest solution is the most likely one in this case. Perhaps Penn (a brilliant scholar!) on this occasion simply followed the contemporary tendency to downplay conflicts and negative attitudes between Muslims and Christians in history. One should rather ask why was it that common partying with Muslims became a more serious concern for the Church than partying with polytheists had ever been. The most evident reason is precisely our topic, the threat of conversion.40 Conversion to Islam was a matter of social behaviour rather than of cultic or doctrinal beliefs, as Bulliet and Simonsohn have observed.41 (This, however, does not imply that cultic or doctrinal beliefs were of no importance for those who did not convert.) Gates to Islam were open, and even though the numbers were not yet significant, they were nevertheless unprecedented. In the history of Christianity, conversions to other religions had been extremely rare, virtually non-existent after the persecutions. After half a century of Muslim rule, it was becoming clear for Christians that the traffic was one way only.

37 38 39

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The root zwg is used here. Athanasius of Balad, Letter, 128–129. Trans. Penn, When Christians, 83. Penn, When Christians, 80. Originally, the letter probably had no title. However, already in the oldest manuscripts (eighth century) the text is provided with the title referring to the sacrifices of “Hagarenes who now rule”. Penn blames the “changing meaning of ḥanpē” for the obscurity, but one could also say that ḥanpē continued to refer to those who are non-Christian idolaters, and it was the practical content of this group that changed. It is implausible that the first copyists misunderstood the very topic of the letter completely. When Christians married pagans, in general these adopted Christianity, especially in Byzantium. Bulliet, “Conversion to Islam,” 34–36; Simonsohn, “Conversion, Exemption, and Manipulation,” 199.

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The interpretation is supported by the second acute topic in the same letter: can the women who have married Muslims (ḥanpē) receive communion or not? This shows that the actual problem was not celebrations and meals as such but marriages, which obviously were an effective means of conversion. Even if the woman remained Christian, the crucial problem was the religion of the children, which in turn dictated the fate of the future generations. Athanasios urged to do all things possible so that the children of such marriages would be baptized, but history proved this hope to be futile. As for the wives, Athanasios would grant communion to them; in other words, they could remain Christians. However, the very existence of such a question, not to mention negative answers given by some, shows how challenging the situation was, and how strict the religious boundaries between the communities were.42 The ultimate concern was not so much the religious convictions and affiliations of Muslims’ Christian wives, but the fate of descendants, which was the most crucial aspect also from the Islamic point of view. (For both religions, what we call “religious identity”43 was communal, not individualistic.) In this regard, it seems that the letter of Athanasios approximately corresponds to the circumstances as they are known from the era of established Islamic law. His hope of baptisms, however, is an archaic feature that reveals a sense of history in process: it was still possible to hope for that to occur. Nevertheless, this does not imply that baptisms took place in such cases; the remark merely shows that the bishop could not believe they would never happen again. That Athanasios was dealing with Muslims is supported also by the fact that very similar problems are present also in the letters of Jacob of Edessa (d. 708) from the same period, probably a few years later. His responsa letters became so popular that they de facto turned into canonical literature.44 Conversion from Islam to Christianity was forbidden in Islam, but the same process was problematic from the Christian point of view as well, in the case of renegades.

42

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No-one considered Muslims as Jews, even if their theological understanding was said to be on the same level. Remarkably, in the canonical literature of Eastern Churches, Jews and Muslims are treated as separate groups, and the traditional canonical wordings applied to Jews are not used for Muslims. See Freidenreich, “Muslims in canon law, 650–1000,” 97. It is good to recall that there was no concept of “identity” in late antiquity, neither in Greek nor in Syriac. The manuscript tradition of the letters is rather complicated, for they occur in collections of varying number of letters. For Jacob of Edessa’s canonical thought, see Herman Teule’s “Jacob of Edessa and the Canon Law” and Konrad D. Jenner’s “The Canons of Jacob of Edessa in the Perspective of Christian Identity of His Day,” both in Jacob of Edessa and the Syriac Culture of His Day (ed. B. ter Haar Romeny; Leiden: Brill, 2008).

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In the Christian Orient, the option of return to the Church after apostasy was still, for many, just as difficult as it had been in the early Church (e.g. the lapsi controversy in Carthage). In Jacob’s letter, this problem arises in the context of the question about ex-Christian who has converted and “become Muslim and pagan” (haggar w-aḥnef )45 and who then, at the end of her life, wanted to have communion (i.e. to be Christian again). Jacob gave a positive answer: the priest, if there is no bishop nearby, may give the Holy Communion and take care of the burial.46 The reference to burial makes it explicit that there was no way to give communion to anyone who remained a Muslim: to participate again means to become a Christian again, and for that reason, the person was to be buried accordingly. Here the interests seem to have matched, for the early Islamic law did not allow Islamic burial for renegades. In the case of person who is not about to die, however, the penitent was to be treated according to the traditional procedure of the Church, with a period of concrete repentance. The seriousness of the case is shown in the fact that Jacob advises the priest to bring each case to the bishop who defines what kind of penance the penitent can bear.47 Here we have discussion for preparation to the impossible: conversion from Islam, but only in the case of ex-Christians, and we do not know anything about the practical realisation of these canonical advices. This does not imply that the procedure was acceptable for Muslims, but on the other hand, in areas with very few Muslims the Islamic law could remain a dead letter. As seen above, the possibility of remaining a Christian after marrying a Muslim was considered problematic by many Christians. (For Muslims, Christian wives were most acceptable.) Jacob faced the problem in a series of questions that reveal a curious setting: the Muslim husband was defending his wife’s right to remain a Christian against the priest, even by threatening him: Concerning a Christian woman who willingly marries a Hagarene (mhaggrāyā), [I want to learn] if priests should give her the Eucharist and if one knows of a canon concerning this? [I want to learn]: if her husband were threatening to kill a priest if he should not give her the Eucharist, should [the priest] temporarily consent because [otherwise the husband] would seek his death? Or would it be a sin for him to consent? Or, because

45

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In Synodicon, Vööbus translated “Muslim or pagan” but the literal translation functions well and seems to be what is intended: Muslims are a kind of “pagans” since they do not worship or confess the Christian God. Jacob of Edessa, Replies to Addai, §116 in Synodicon, 261. Jacob of Edessa, Replies to Addai, §116 in Synodicon, 261. Penn, When Christians, 167.

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her husband is compassionate toward Christians, is it better to give her the Eucharist and she not become a Hagarene?48 Jacob states that the last question is the answer in itself: it is better to give communion, so that the woman would not completely renounce her faith by accepting Islam. This would be the right thing to do, even if it was forbidden, but in fact it was not forbidden in any way, Jacob argues.49 The logic implies that for Jacob, the canonical rulings did not necessarily represent the ultimate form of goodness. Rebaptizing was also out of question.50 Overall, Jacob’s rulings “demonstrate how early apostasy became a serious issue,” as Hoyland observed.51 Jacob was aware of the fact that the times had changed. Many canonical principles had originated in the era when the Christians were living in prosperity, and it probably did not occur to anyone that one day an outsider might punish priests for obeying a canon. (It is good to bear in mind that in pre-Islamic times, the West Syrians were as a rule living in Christian societies, unlike the East Syrian Christians.) In the seventh century, the situation had changed. For Jacob, the ultimate explanation for the change was the traditional one: Christians had been left under the power of Muslims “because of our sins.”52 Islamic rule was still seen to be a punishment from God, and therefore transitory.

6

Muslims in History: Yoḥannan bar Penkaye

To this point, all sources have given rather sporadic remarks on the Islamic rule and its effects. Probably the earliest preserved text with a coherent overall view on Islam and its place in history comes from the year 687. The author, Yoḥannan bar Penkaye was an East Syrian monk in Northern Iraq, and he was among the first to admit that the Arabic rule was not only a random disaster but a part of the larger scheme of God’s plan.53 He underlines that the advent of Muslims 48 49 50

51 52 53

Jacob of Edessa, “Letter to Addai”, §75. Trans. Penn, When Christians, 164. This particular text is preserved in Harvard Syr. 93, fols. 26b–27a (cf. Mingana 8 and Cambridge 2023). Jacob of Edessa, “Letter to Addai”, §75. Penn, When Christians, 164–165. Jacob of Edessa, “Letter B to John the Stylite”, §13. Some discussion in Robert G. Hoyland, “Jacob and Early Islamic Edessa,” in Jacob of Edessa and the Syriac Culture of His Day (ed. B. ter Haar Romeny; Leiden: Brill, 2008), 18. Hoyland, “Jacob and Early Islamic Edessa,” 18. Jacob of Edessa, Scholia, 27/42, translated in Hoyland, Seeing Islam, 167. For discussion on Yuhannan bar Penkaye and his views on Islam, see Sebastian Brock, “Syriac Views of Emergent Islam,” in Studies on the First Century of Islamic Society (ed.

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was not an ordinary event but “due to divine working”.54 They were prepared by God to fulfil their role in history. But what kind of role it was? The most interesting part of Bar Penkaye’s work is his estimations of the Arabs and Muslims and their rule, behaviour and values. With the help of his descriptions, we may get a sense of how the Christians of Iraq experienced the early Muslim regime. Firstly, Arabs as conquerors were, according to Bar Penkaye, rude, cruel, and hard-minded. They “knew no persuasion”, “had neither covenant or pact” and could not be persuaded by flattery or supplication for mercy, nor could they be “appeased by anything that was offered to them”. They took comfort in needless bloodshed, their desire was to take captives and exile people, and “their food was wrath and anger”.55 It is good to realise, however, that exaggerative tones and certain black-and-whiteness were part of Bar Penkaye’s rhetorics—and he did not save Christians from harsh critique either56—but certainly his descriptions give some sense of how the Christians sensed the Arab conquerors. To say the least, his rhetorical choice of colour implies that the actual colour was closer to black than to white. One may also note that Sophronios of Jerusalem had given similar descriptions already in the late spring/early summer of 634, referring to practical events during the conquests: Saracens, on account of our sins, have now risen up against us unexpectedly (ἀδοκήτως) and ravage all with cruel and feral design (ὠμῷ καὶ θηριώδει φρονήματι), with impious (δυσσεβεῖ) and godless audacity (ἀθέῳ τολμήματι).57

54 55 56

57

G.H.A. Juynboll; Papers on Islamic History 5; Carbondale/Edwardsville: Southern Illinois University Press, 1982), 16–18 and Reinink, “Beginnings,” 167–168. Bar Penkaye, xv, 141. Bar Penkaye, xv, 145. Translation in Penn, When Christians, 91. Christianity had remained the same, Bar Penkaye believed, but the people had changed: “If someone of old were resurrected and saw us, bewilderment would seize him and he would say, This is not the Christianity that I left in my time.” (Bar Penkaye xv, 148; trans. Penn, When Christians, 93.) It was for this reason that hardships faced by the Christians were only right. Bishops no longer preached, admonished or comforted but gave commands and acted like earthly leaders, focusing on power and pleasing the earthly rulers; humility had disappeared, bishops rode horses and had servants; priests and deacons no longer served Christ but their own bellies, and the earthly rulers considered God to be a participant in their crimes, Bar Penkaye rhetoricises. The latter remark is an obvious reference to the Islamic rule. Sophronios, Ep. synodica (pg 87/3: 3197D).

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Secondly, we may differentiate how Bar Penkaye describes Arabs as rulers. The overall view is again bitter. The two most pressing things in the early Muslim rule seem to have been taxation and captivity.58 They “enslaved all peoples to hard slavery and led their sons and daughters into bitter servitude”.59 “Every year their raiders went to far-off countries and islands and brought captives from every people under heaven. But from everyone they only demanded tribute.”60 It is known that captivity easily led to conversions, because typically it was a shortcut to freedom or at least to better status.61 In addition, Bar Penkaye highlights the death penalty based on the tradition of Muhammad,62 which continued to puzzle Christians. Interestingly, Bar Penkaye interprets the Muslim conquests as a divine vengeance on peoples “for their insult of God the Word and the innocently shed blood of Christ’s martyrs”.63 The remark exemplifies how eastern the perspective of East Syrian Christians was. For him, “western churches” indicated Armenians, Copts and Syrian Orthodox; evidently, Europe was for him no more than some alien forests in the ends of the earth. Therefore, it was natural for him that he saw the Arab conquest of Persia as God’s revenge on the Persians who for three centuries had persecuted (East Syrian) Christians, and fought Armenians for the same reason. However, Bar Penkaye did also use some white colour in painting his image on the Arab rule. He states that during the reign of Muʿāwiya (d. 680) there prevailed “peace throughout the world whose like we had never heard or seen”.64 In addition, Bar Penkaye states that the Muslims allowed everyone “to remain in whatever faith he wished”—as a rule, there were no forced conversions. In this context, however, he tells that “not a few Christians” had joined them, and the taxation and outer prestige seem to be the main reason, although this is not explicitly confirmed. Finally, he concluded that Arabs deserve a punishment for their actions. This is why God let their kingdom split into two.65 Like other Syriac writers of the time, Bar Penkaye believed that the civil war (the second fitna) would ultimately lead into collapse of the Islamic empire. 58 59 60 61 62 63 64 65

This is also the general conclusion in Simonsohn, “Conversion, Exemption, and Manipulation,” 197. Bar Penkaye, xv, 145. Trans. Penn, When Christians, 91. Bar Penkaye, xv, 147. Trans. Penn, When Christians, 92. For a detailed discussion, see Simonsohn, “Conversion, Exemption, and Manipulation,” 203–206. Bar Penkaye, xv, 146–147. Trans. Penn, When Christians, 92. Bar Penkaye, xv, 145. Trans. Penn, When Christians, 91. Bar Penkaye, xv, 147. Trans. Penn, When Christians, 92. Here Bar Penkaye has in his mind Mk 3:24–26 and Matt 12:25–26.

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So much of the Muslims and their rule. Islam as a theological question, however, received somewhat different approach. Bar Penkaye is one of the first writers to discuss Islam as a religion. His main points are three, and it is interesting to observe what particular characteristics had caught the attention of Christians. Firstly, he notes the archaic belief in one God, more or less resembling the ancient Jewish type of belief—a non-surprising point to begin with. Secondly, he mentions that those who put the Quran and Islam together had a teacher who taught them monotheism and to give respect to Christians. Neither aspect seems negative, even if the latter is a polite way of rejecting the idea of divine inspiration behind the Quran. Thirdly, the tradition of Muhammad set a death penalty for transgressors, and Muslims actively gave effect to it.66 In other words, the Islamic religion was seen to be theologically primitive, which was not only a negative feature, and severe in its policies. Death sentences based on religious authority of a prophet were a striking feature in Christian eyes. Overall, Bar Penkaye’s view on Muslim rule is rather apocalyptic: they function as instruments of wrath of God. In spite of such emphases, scholars have more often picked up from his text his “remarkably positive” remark on Muhammad.67 Namely, he called Muhammad “guide” (mhaddyānā) and “instructor” (tarᶜā) that led them to worship of the One God, “in accordance with the ancient law”. The latter expression may refer either to Torah or perhaps to a kind of natural theology. In either case, the implication is that Muhammad returned to the understanding of God that prevailed in earliest biblical times. This judgment is a two-edged sword, for it does praise the Islamic approach as a step forwards from the archaic polytheism, but it also does indicate that the Islamic understanding of God and religion is hopelessly outdated and primitive in its naïve version of monotheism, tribalism and earthliness. These issues were discussed in length by Theodore Abu Qurrah and other Christian apologists in the Abbasid era.

7

The Syriac Apocalyptic Literature and the Threat of Conversion

Soon after Bar Penkaye, apocalypticism became the main vehicle to interpret the Muslim invasion and the Islamic rule. When the civil war ( fitna) of Muslims began, the Christians supposed that the era of Islamic rule was approaching its

66 67

Bar Penkaye, xv, 146. Trans. Penn, When Christians, 92. e.g. Reinink, “Beginnings,” 167.

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end. This contributed to the rise of apocalyptic literature that viewed Islam as the cause of final temptations and persecutions before the very end. Here it suffices to briefly point out a few points related to conversion from these complex works. The most famous apocalypse, Pseudo-Methodius, describes how the “Sons of Ishmael” capture “the merchants’ commerce, the farmers’ work, the wealthy’s inheritance, the holy ones’ gifts of gold, silver, bronze, and iron, clothing, all their glorious vessels, adornment, food, confections, and everything desirable and luxurious”. Moreover, their attitude is depicted in negative terms, to put it mildly: They will become so arrogant in their rage and boasting that they will demand tribute from the dead lying in the dust. They will take the polltax from the orphans, widows, and holy men. They will not have mercy for the poor and will not aid the afflicted. They will strike the elderly and oppress the weary of spirit. They will have neither pity on the sick nor mercy for the weak. Rather, they will laugh at the wise, mock the lawgivers, and deride the knowledgeable. A veil of silence will be spread over all men.68 It is essential to understand, however, that it was not the seizing of possessions, which made the Islamic conquests apocalyptic, for robberies and despotic rulers had existed at all times. Rather, it was the fact that the spreading of Islam caused an unprecedented apostasy: “a few of the many who are Christians will remain (Christians).” And what is worse, this took place relatively easily, compared to the Roman and Persian persecutions, without physical force: Many who were Sons of the Church will deny the Christians’ true faith, the holy cross, and the glorious mysteries. Without compulsion, lashing, or blows, they will deny Christ and make themselves the equivalent of the unbelievers (kāfūrē).69 The apocalyptic interpretation of the Islamic rule, however, was not a completely novel invention. In fact, already in one of the first Greek descriptions of Muslims, likely written in 635, Sophronios of Jerusalem in his homily on epiphany (Jan 6) explained the Muslim invasion as “the abomination of desolation clearly foretold to us by the prophets”: 68 69

Ps. Methodius, xi (29). Trans. Penn, When Christians, 120. Ps. Methodius, xii (33). Trans. Penn, When Christians, 122.

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[T]he worst of all the terrible things that are happening to us. That is why the vengeful and God-hating Saracens, the abomination of desolation clearly foretold to us by the prophets, overrun the places which are not allowed to them, plunder cities, devastate fields, burn down villages, set on fire the holy churches, overturn the sacred monasteries […]70 For Sophronius, this was just one rhetoric device among many, but to judge from later literature of the Christian Orient, he happened to hit the point with his remark.

8

The Abbasid Turn

Overall, it seems clear that the first generation of Arab/Muslim warriors and leaders were more interested in conquering, ruling and gaining possessions than converting others. Moreover, to become Muslim also meant to become Arab, even as concretely as to become a mawla of a given tribe. Yet precisely for this reason, there was obvious interest in finding converts who could became allies; this applied to whole (Arab) tribes or communities rather than individuals. This policy did succeed,71 but its impact to the mainly Christian population of the Middle East was limited and conversions were probably rare. It is noteworthy that such de facto forced conversions were not considered doubtful or inferior to other kind of conversions. The change in politics came about with the Abbasid dynasty who came to power in 750, and resolutely encouraged and welcomed conversion. This took place often indirectly, by granting higher offices and positions, in addition to light taxation. Moreover, the actual conversion seems to have been very easy and simple,72 compared with the catechumenate (and certain ethi-

70 71

72

Sophronius, Bapt. 166–167. The dating is 637 at the latest. One such case occurred in Takrit, 637/638. According to the version of Sayf, as paraphrased by Robinson: “After a forty-day siege, the Arab tribesmen had a change of heart, and they chose to co-operate with the besieging Muslims and to convert to Islam.” Chase F. Robinson, Empire and Elites after the Muslim Conquest: The Transformation of Northern Mesopotamia (Cambridge Studies in Islamic Civilization; Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2000), 26. “There is no doubt that the outward demands of conversion to Islam were easy.” Shaban, “Conversion to Early Islam,” 26. Cf. the discussion on the conversions in the slightly later Chronicle of Zuqnin in Penn, Envisioning Islam, 78. To define “conversion” to Islam, Gibb differentiated between three kind of conversions: total, formal and enforced (and maintained by threat). Shaban (“Conversion to Early Islam,” 25) noted that Gibb’s classifi-

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cal demands) of Christianity, which made the option tempting and in practical terms reasonable. The Abbasid policy was, in the words of Sidney Griffith, to summon the subject population to Islam, and to promise full political participation to converted Christians, Jews and Magians. The result of the policy was the rapid spread of Islam among non-Arab subjects of the empire.73 In spite of the “rapid spread”, however, it took centuries before the population balance shifted in favour of Islam. Bulliet estimated that in Iran the number of Muslims was extremely tiny and insignificant still in 680, and reached 50 % in the middle of the ninth century only;74 in the Christian areas, the development was much slower. “Egypt remained solidly Coptic”,75 and in Iraq not even all the Christian Arab tribes converted. In Syria, the Arab tribes converted in order to ally with Muslims, but the population remained predominantly Christian for centuries, especially so in the countryside. According to general estimations, the number of Muslims surpassed that of the Christians in the ninth century in Iraq, around thirteenth century in Syria, though some parts were predominantly Christian until seventeenth century, and in Lebanon, the Christian majority persisted until 1970’s. A literary consequence of the change of politics was the immediate appearance of Christian Arabic apologetic literature in 750’s, in the very beginning of Abbasid rule. For orientalist scholarship, the era has often been seen as romantic encounter of religions and a parade of tolerance; Christians of that time viewed the developments in apocalyptic terms. The Christian sources of the Abbasid era give a detailed and thorough view on the theological aspects of

73

74 75

cation is “too neat to correspond to historical facts”, especially in pre-Abbasid times when conversion was related to military alliance; even a group whose conversion was somewhat forged could become totally committed. Also from the Christian point of view, the difference between the two was irrelevant: formal conversions in any case made people non-Christians, and their descendants would be Muslims in more total sense. The third category could make a difference in the case that the converts managed to return to their former faith, applying to the fact that the conversion had been involuntary and therefore invalid. Hamilton A.R. Gibb, Studies on the Civilization of Islam (London: Routledge & Kegan, 1962), 5. Sidney H. Griffith, “Comparative Religion in the Apologetics of the First Christian Arabic Theologians,” Proceedings of the pmr Conference 4 (Villanova University: Augustinian Historical Institute, 1979), 63. Bulliet, “Conversion to Islam,” 30–31. Shaban, “Conversion to Early Islam,” 28. See also Little, “Coptic Conversion to Islam under the Baḥrī Mamlūks, 692–755/1293–1354.”

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the process, in addition to the views and clues on the motives of conversion in practice. Moreover, there is also some archaeological evidence76 for the fact that many churches were deserted during the Abbasid era.

9

Conclusive Remarks

After having paid attention to the earliest sources, it is also essential to underline the fact that as a whole, the sources of mid seventh century give relatively little attention to the Muslims and even less to Islam. This strengthens the view that the first decades of Muslim rule were, for Christians, merely a series of military and political events that had no essential impact on the religious life in parishes and monastic communities. This, however, does not indicate that Muslims were not concerned about and motivated by their religion in their own circles—Christians just did not find it interesting or relevant in their literary endeavours. During the first decades, when the Islamic rule spread rapidly, “conversion was not an issue”, as Shahban remarked on the basis of classical Islamic historiography. Nothing else could in fact be expected in the situation when the efforts and energy was devoted to warfare; even the administration had to be left in the hands of former officials, whether Byzantine or Persian.77 On the basis of Christian sources, there is no need to question this basic view. This means that Islam came to the Middle East first of all as a political system; for the insiders (i.e. Muslims), however, it was a religion, too. Insiders’ and outsiders’ perspectives have oftentimes been confused in the scholarship in its yearn for objectivity, and obviously, the very division into political and religious is not an Islamic emphasis. The Christian approach to Muslims and Islam was mostly negative, or at best neutral, but one may note that in the early sources this was not because of the contents of Islamic belief but because of what Muslims and their rule did to Christians. However, perhaps one could also say, “what Islam did to Christians”, given that most of the problems encountered by Christians and the Church were caused by the principles degreed in Quran and tradition of the prophet. Needless to say, these all are positive factors in the Islamic sources. When the Muslim rule was established and the society started to adapt the Islamic system, conversions started to take place. The survived Syriac Christian 76

77

Robert Schick, The Christian Communities of Palestine from Byzantine to Islamic Rule: An Historical and Archaeological Study (Studies in Late Antiquity and Early Islam 2, Princeton: The Darwin Press, 1995), 119. Shaban, “Conversion to Early Islam,” 28.

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sources, numerous as they are, offer only random glimpses to the complex reality. Yet it is possible to draw some conclusive remarks. Firstly, the first known cases are rather early and imply that a noteworthy number of conversions took place even in the pre-Umayyad era in some places. The main—perhaps even the only—motive seems to have been to avoid the discriminating taxation. Here it is of course relevant to ask whether the Christian sources show the true picture or whether they portray only those features that were not disadvantageous for the Christian cause. In fact, it is realistic to suppose that had there been theological and spiritual reasons for conversion, Christian sources would still have mentioned the earthly motives only. This, however, is unlikely for another reason. Namely, the theological and spiritual arguments would have been discussed thoroughly in a variety of sources, had they been the issue. It is in fact the lack of theological anti-Islamic polemics that shows the motives of conversion to have been thoroughly practical, social and financial in the first phase. It was only in Abbasid times that a need for theological apologies appeared. Had there been a noteworthy amount of conversion for the belief in the Quranic revelation, theological authors would certainly have reacted heavily. Even if the early cases of conversion were somewhat random, they were nevertheless unprecedented. This is the reason why the Islamic rule was perceived and interpreted as an apocalyptic disaster in the end of the seventh century: Rome or Persia had not been able to conquer the Church by persecution, but for the first time in history, big numbers of Christians were denouncing their faith. This process intensified in latter half of the eighth century, but a century earlier, it was already on its way.

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Little, Donald P. “Coptic Conversion to Islam under the Baḥrī Mamlūks, 692–755/1293– 1354.” Bulletin of the School of Oriental and African Studies, University of London, Vol. 39, No. 3 (1976): 552–569. Palmer, Andrew. The Seventh Century in West-Syrian Chronicles. Liverpool: Liverpool University Press, 1993. Penn, Michael Philip. Envisioning Islam: Syriac Christians and the Early Muslim World. Divinations: Rereading Late Ancient Religion. Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2017. Penn, Michael Philip. When Christians First Met Muslims: A Sourcebook of the Earliest Writings on Islam. Oakland: University of California Press, 2015. Reinink, Gerrit J. “The Beginnings of Syriac Apologetic Literature in Response to Islam.” Oriens Christianus 77 (1993): 165–187. Robinson, Chase F. Empire and Elites after the Muslim Conquest: The Transformation of Northern Mesopotamia. Cambridge Studies in Islamic Civilization. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2000. Rubin, Uri. “Between Arabia and the Holy Land: A Mecca-Jerusalem Axis of Sanctity.” Jerusalem Studies in Arabic and Islam 34 (2008): 345–362. Sahner, Christian C. Christian Martyrs under Islam: Religious Violence and the Making of the Muslim World. Princeton & Oxford: Princeton University Press, 2018. Schick, Robert. The Christian Communities of Palestine from Byzantine to Islamic Rule. An Historical and Archaeological Study. Studies in Late Antiquity and Early Islam 2. Princeton: The Darwin Press, 1995. Shaban, N. “Conversion to Early Islam.” Pages 24–29 in Conversion to Islam. Edited by N. Levtzion. New York and London: Holmes and Meier Publishers, 1979. Simonsohn, Uriel. “Conversion, apostasy, and penance: the shifting identities of Muslim converts in the early Islamic period.” Pages 197–218 in Conversion in Late Antiquity: Christianity, Islam, and Beyond. Edited by A. Papaconstantinou. London and New York: Routledge, 2015. Simonsohn, Uriel. “Conversion, Exemption, and Manipulation: Social Benefits and Conversion to Islam in Late Antiquity and the Middle Ages.” Pages 196–216 in Religious Exemption in Pre-Modern Eurasia, c. 300–1300ce. Edited by W. Pohl and A. Gingrich. Medieval worlds no. 6 (2017). ter Haar Romeny, Bas, ed. Jacob of Edessa and the Syriac Culture of His Day. Leiden: Brill, 2008. Teule, Herman. “Jacob of Edessa and the Canon Law,” Pages 83–100 in Jacob of Edessa and the Syriac Culture of His Day. Edited by B. ter Haar Romeny. Leiden: Brill, 2008. Webb, Peter. Imagining the Arabs. Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press, 2016.

Index of Subjects Abraham vii–vii, xi, 1–23, 27–28, 30–42, 88, 156, 262–263, 264n22 Agency 134, 214 Ambrose of Milan 108, 167, 203, 215 Apologetics xi, 279 Apologist 65, 74, 78, 84, 90, 276 Appropriation 157, 235, 242, 254 Aristides of Athens 74, 82, 84 Aristocles 118 Augustine of Hippo vii–xi, 79, 86–87, 90, 94, 100n34, 144–161, 164–185, 188–210, 213–232, 235–255 Baptism ix, 18, 94, 95, 97, 99, 101, 106–111, 145, 148, 154, 157–159, 170, 172, 176–180, 188, 219, 220, 267, 271 Basilides 47–60 Belief 4, 8, 13, 17, 53, 66, 73, 78, 86, 87, 98– 99, 102, 109–110, 112, 122, 126–127, 136–138, 185, 192, 209, 250–251, 261, 263, 265, 270, 276, 280–281 Boundaries viii–xi, 94, 102, 129, 165, 214, 261, 271 Catechumenate 95–96, 102, 107–108, 219– 220, 255, 278 Carpocrates 51, 53–54, 58–59 Cicero 79–80, 83, 86, 90, 116n1, 126n29, 132, 136n36, 138, 165n4, 166n9, 188, 199 Clement of Alexandria viii, 44–61, 125, 126n29, 128n23, 129, 132–133 Coercion xi, 11, 98, 258 Conversion ix, xi, 169, 230, 236, 242, 253– 255 Conversion to Christianity 94–95, 170, 207, 267–268 Conversion to Islam 258–281 Covenant viii, 7, 10, 12, 17, 23, 30n11, 38–42, 103, 158, 274 Cyprian of Carthage 88, 107n56, 109 Dialogical strategies x, 116n2, 112, 149, 255 Dionysius of Alexandria 117–118, 134 Dissociation vii, xi, 235, 242, 254 Donatism ix–x, 144–161, 164–185, 188, 229, 236

Early Islam 258–281 Ecclesiology 144, 146–151, 158–159, 172 Eloquence ix–xi, 10, 12–13, 20, 35, 95, 98–99, 111–112, 117, 127, 133, 135–136, 139–140, 144–149, 155n21, 159, 160–161, 166– 167, 169, 193, 213, 215–216, 222–224, 226–229, 231–232, 235–236, 242–255, 265–266, 268, 274, 278 Epicurus, Epicureans 116–119, 124n26 and 27, 129, 132n41, 133–135, 139 Epiphanius of Salamis 54n33, 79, 87–89 Epistemology 119, 215n7, 223 Eucharist 101, 108, 110, 145, 272–273 Eusebius of Caesarea ix, 58, 84n24, 117–118, 120–140 Evodius x–xi, 190, 193, 195–196, 198, 208, 236–255 Exemplar ix, 121, 131, 160 Fictitious dialogue x, 164–184, 254 Freedom of religion see religious freedom Gnostics 45–61, 110n72, 236–237, 241 The good 116, 124–125, 130n39, 131 Grace x, 8–9, 145, 148–149, 153–154, 157–161, 188, 124–232 Greco-Roman religion viii, 78–79, 85, 104, 112 Hellenism 40–42 Heresy 47n11, 48n13, 50n19, 52, 55, 75n31, 78–79, 87–90, 95, 97, 146–149, 152, 157, 160–161 Heretic viii, 46n6, 47, 49, 51, 53–55, 59–60, 65–66, 69–70, 74–75, 87, 90, 94–95, 98, 111–112, 146–147, 150–152, 156, 170, 172n27, 177, 203–204, 241 Hermeneutics ix, 144–161, 255 Historical credo 6–8 Identity viii, ix–x, 5, 53, 58, 95, 99, 120, 147, 156, 158, 173, 175, 213n2, 214–216, 231– 232, 236, 238, 251, 253, 261n9, 271 Idolatry ix, 68, 70, 99, 101–102, 111, 117, 123, 131, 216–218 See also worship

286 Initiation 94, 106, 108, 127, 128n33 Intra-Jewish discussion vii, 7, 23 Irenaeus of Lyon viii, 7n20, 44–61 Isaac 1, 3, 7–8, 10–12, 16–17, 30–32, 130, 264n22 Islam xi, 258–281 Jacob 1–3, 7–8, 10–12, 16–18, 20, 21n46, 109 Jacob of Edessa 271–273 Jerusalem 20–22, 28n6, 29, 31n13, 32–33, 37n35, 173–174 Jews 2–23, 35, 37, 39–40, 42, 88, 94, 98–99, 104–105, 121–122, 170, 172, 261, 263, 269, 271n42, 279 Judaism vii, 2, 4n8, 5, 13, 22, 65–66, 74, 89, 122, 131, 137, 261n9 Jewish-Christian confrontations 22 Josephus vii–viii, 27–42, 121 Justin Martyr vii, 1–23, 60n49, 65–75, 82, 86n33 Lactantius vii, 78–79, 83–86, 90 Learning ix, 107, 154, 182, 191–192, 197, 209 Logos 67–74, 103 Magic 6n16, 12, 38, 81n8, 86–87 Mainstream Christianity 47–48, 236 Mani 238n7, 243, 246, 248–253, 255 Manichaeans x–xi, 146, 170, 226, 235–255 Marcion 54, 56, 69, 74, 99, 110 Merit x, 157, 213–232 Messiah 8, 10, 16, 23, 230 Mimicry 78, 85, 87, 90 Mimus 78–79, 83, 85 Montanism 96 Moral x, 65, 67, 70, 83, 123–124, 126, 132, 139– 140, 168, 174, 214, 216–228, 237, 252, 255 Mosaic Law 6, 13, 15, 23, 121 Muhammad 260, 262–264, 275–276 Muslim rule 260, 270, 275–276, 280 New Prophecy 96, 101, 112 Noah 9, 21n46 Numa Pompilius 86, 90 Origen 116–117, 119–120, 124, 136–138 Orthodox viii, 48, 55, 56n39, 59, 65, 97, 110, 146, 152n12, 264, 275

index of subjects Pagan ix, 66, 82–83, 85, 94–95, 99–100, 106, 111–112, 125–126, 170, 171n27, 201, 269– 270 Particularism viii, 1–4, 12, 170, 172 Paul vii, 3, 7–10, 12, 57, 88n44, 150, 156, 165, 178, 180, 216 Penance 272 Peripatetic 70n14, 118 Persecution xi, 5n13, 123, 265–268, 270, 277, 281 Persuasion ix–x, 41, 117, 123, 254, 274 Philosophy 35n26, 65, 73–75, 82, 111, 116, 118–119, 123, 125, 132, 139, 190–193, 195– 196, 198n31, 209–210 Philosophers 29, 34–36, 46, 65–68, 70–75, 80n6, 90, 116–118, 127, 135–136, 140, 217n15 Plato 35n26, 36, 70–74, 85, 121, 125n28, 129, 198 Pleasure 47, 116, 118, 122–131, 139–140, 191– 192, 198, 201–202, 219 Prayer ix, 6n16, 38, 94, 97, 102–108, 112, 184, 220, 266 Prophet 5n13, 8–9, 11, 16, 20–21, 36, 46, 72– 75, 133, 157–158, 168, 184, 215, 276–278, 280 Quodvultdeus 79, 87–90, 241, 242n51 Quran 262, 276, 280–281 Rabbinic Judaism 2, 31n13, 39 Regula fidei 97, 112 Religio vii, 78–87 Religious freedom ix, 98–99 Religious other viii, 78, 90 Rewritten Bible 27 Rhetorics see eloquence Schism 145–149, 151–153, 160–161, 174, 177 Seneca 80, 85, 90, 116n1, 129n36 Sermocinatio x, 164–185 Shame x, 126, 149, 189–210 Simon Magus 69, 74 Sophronios of Jerusalem 274, 277 Stoicism viii, 35n26, 41, 66, 70–71, 72n20, 75, 86n34, 170 Supersessionistic theology 6, 23 Superstitio ix, 37, 79–91 Syriac theology 258–281

287

index of subjects Taxation 265, 267, 275, 278, 281 Temple 6, 16, 20, 32, 86 Terminology 44, 48, 61, 140, 244–245, 247, 252n72, 253–254, 261n9 Tertullian ix, 46n6, 47n11, 52n29, 58n40, 59n44, 79, 81–83, 84n26, 85, 90, 94–112 Tyconius ix, 148–151, 154–160 Universalism 1–2

Valentinians 52–53, 58n40, 59 Vergil 41, 100n32 Worship ix, 10, 14, 35, 65, 68, 79–80, 81n9, 82–84, 86, 94n2, 96, 98–99, 102–104, 111, 117, 121–123, 125–129, 131, 133, 139–140, 147, 216–218, 245n37, 272n45, 276

Index of Modern Authors Ames, Cecilia 82, 91 Ando, Clifford 80, 97 Andresen, Carl 71, 76, 80 Arel, Stephanie N. 189, 211 Arnold, Duane 144, 162 Arnold, Thomas W. 258, 283 Ashwin-Siejkowski, Piotr 45, 62 Auerbach, Erich 145, 162 Ayres, Lewis 152, 162 Back, Sven-Olav vii, viii, xiii, 5, 8, 13, 65 Babcock, William 162, 199, 200, 202, 203, 210 Baker, Kimberly 148, 162 Baldwin, Charles S. 213, 232 Baltes, Guido 18, 23 Barnard, Leslie W. 3, 23, 72, 76 Barnes, Timothy 95, 113 Barry, Inviolata M. 164, 185, 213, 232 Bass, Alden 172, 162, 185 Bauer, Johannes 255 Beard, Mary 79, 91 Becker, Eve-Marie 110 BeDuhn, Jason David 245, 255 Begg, Christopher 29, 42 Behr, John 45, 62 Benz, Ernst 66, 76 Bergjan, Silke-Petra 116, 141 Berrouard, Marie-François 148, 162 Bévenot, Maurice 88, 91 Bhabha, Homi K. 97 Blowers, Paul 160, 162 Blum, Erhard 2, 23 Boersma, Gerald P. 240, 244 Borrut, Antoine 259, 283 Boulding, Maria 206, 207, 210 Bowen, Anthony 78, 83, 91 Boyarin, Daniel 22, 23, 99, 113 Bradshaw, Paul F. 97, 105, 106, 107, 108, 109, 110, 111, 113 Brakke, David 47, 49, 52, 53, 59, 62, 84, 92 Braun, René 255 Bray, Gerald 51, 62 Bright, Pamela 145, 148, 162 Brock, Sebastian 273, 283 Broek, Roelof van den 50, 62

Bulliet, Richard 258, 270, 279, 283 Burton, Philip 169, 185 Calderone, Salvatore 80, 91 Cameron, Michael 150, 162, 164, 165, 169, 175, 185 Canto-Sperber, Monique 85, 91 Capps, Donald 189, 207, 208, 211 Carrabetta, Giuseppe 148, 162 Cary, Phillip 177, 185 Chadwick, Henry 3, 23, 153, 162 Charland, Maurice 216, 232 Chazan, Robert 16, 24 Collins, John J. 123, 141 Dainese, Davide 45, 62 Daniélou, Jean 45, 46, 62 de Bhaldraithe, Eoin 101, 113 DeConick, April D. 50, 61, 62 Decret, François 235, 241, 255 Diercks, G.F. 103 Dillon, John M. 125, 141 Dodaro, Robert 164, 169, 185 Donner, Fred M. 259, 283 Döring, Klaus 66, 67, 76 Drever, Matthew 215, 232, 238, 255 Driscoll, Jeremy 107, 109, 113 Drobner, Hubertus 165, 185, 213, 233 Dubois, Jean-Daniel 237, 256 Dulaey, Martine 156, 163, 237, 256 Dulk, Matthijs den 69, 76 Dunderberg, Ismo 49, 52, 62 Dunn, Geoffrey D. 95, 113 Dupont, Anthony xi, xiv, 146, 163, 164, 165, 169, 171, 172, 175, 176, 178, 185, 186, 187, 189, 211, 214, 232, 233 Dupont-Sommer, André 123, 142 Duval, Yves-Marie 236, 256 Ekenberg, Anders 107, 108, 109, 113 Fall, Thomas B. 4, 24 Fédou, Michel 66, 69, 76 Feldman, Louis H. 28, 29, 32, 42, 43 Ferguson, John 45, 46, 47, 48, 49, 61, 62 Fiedrowicz, Michael 69, 71, 74, 76

289

index of modern authors Finn, Thomas M. 90 Fleischer, Killian J. 117, 142 Fontanier, Jean-Michel 215, 233 Fortin, Ernest L. 191, 195, 211, 213, 233 Fredouille, J.-C. 84, 91 Freidenreich, David M. 269, 271, 283 Fuhrer, Therese 188, 194, 211 Gardner, Iain 237, 238, 256 Georges, Tobias 95, 96, 99, 113 Gibb, Hamilton A.R. 279, 283 Gibbons, Kathleen 48, 62 Glancy, Jennifer A. 88, 91 Goodenough, Erwin R. 3, 24 Goodspeed, Edgar J. 3, 24 Gordon, Pamela 121, 122, 129, 142 Goulven, Madec 214, 233 Gowans, Coleen H. 214, 233 Grabau, Joseph v, ix, xiv, 144, 145 Grant, Michael 69, 76, 124 Graumann, Thomas 167, 186 Griffith, Sidney H. 279, 282, 283 Grillo, Luca 165, 166, 186 Guerra, Anthony J. 65, 77 Hägglund, Bengt 97, 112, 113 Halliwell, Stephen 85, 91 Halpern-Amaru, Betsy 39, 43 Harmening, Dieter 80, 92 Harmless, William 164, 169, 186 Harper, Kyle 88, 92 Harrison, Carol 95, 113, 114, 168, 169, 186, 282 Hartog, P.B. 40, 43 Havrda, Matyáš 45, 62 Heid, Stefan 65, 77 Hirshman, Marc 6, 24 Holmes, Brooke 119, 142 Hölscher, G. 28, 43 Hoover, Jesse A. 175, 186 Horbury, William 4, 22, 24 Hoyland, Robert G. 264, 266, 267, 273, 283 Hvalvik, Reidar 4, 22, 24, 25 Hyldahl, Niels 72, 77 Irizar, Pablo vi, x, xii, xv, 213 Itter, Andrew C. 3, 63 Jacobs, Andrew S. 92 Jenner, Konrad D. 2, 25, 271, 283

Jensen, Robin 105, 113 Johnson, Aaron 120, 142 Kahlos, Maijastina v, xiii, 78, 80, 81, 84, 92 Kannengiesser, Charles 154, 163 Kaster, Robert 192, 211 Kavanagh, Aidan 96, 113 Kelly, John N.D. 97, 108, 109, 113 Kennedy, George A. 135 Kim, Young Richard 88, 92 King, Justin 166 King, Karen 47, 63 King, Peter 210 Köckert, Charlotte 3, 120, 133, 136, 137, 142 Kofsky, Aryeh 120, 142 Kolbet, Paul R. 148, 163, 169, 170, 186, 189, 202, 204, 208, 211 Koskenniemi, Erkki v, vii, viii, xiii, 27, 29, 34, 35, 36, 37, 38, 40, 43 Kotzé, Annemaré 241, 256 Kovacs, Judith L. 47, 49, 50, 62, 63 Kries, Douglas 191, 211 Kugel, James 2, 6, 24 Laato, Anni Maria v, ix, xii, xiv, 94, 96, 99, 100, 114 Laato, Antti v, vii, xi, xiii, 1, 4, 6, 18, 24 Lampe, G.W.H. 110, 114 Lapidus, Ira M. 258, 283 Latham, Jacob 129, 142 Lausberg, Heinrich 166, 186 Layton, Bentley 49, 50, 60, 63 Levinsson, Bernard M. 7, 24 Lévy, Carlos 118, 131, 142 Levy-Rubin, Milka 259, 283 Lilla, Salvatore R.C. 56, 63 Linjamaa, Paul 50, 63 Little, Donald P. 284 Longo, Angela 124, 142 Louth, Andrew 95, 111, 114 Lütcke, Karl-Heinrich 195, 211 Lyman, J. Rebecca 91, 92 Maccoby, Hyam 16, 24 Malherbe, Abraham J. 70, 77 Manninen, Eetu v, x, xv, 188 Marcovich, Miroslav 3, 4, 24, 65, 76 Marjanen, Antti 46, 50, 51, 54, 58, 59, 60, 63, 64

290 Markschies, Christoph 116, 117, 119, 135, 142 Markus, R.A. 84, 87, 92 Martin, D.B. 94 Martin, Thomas F. 164, 186 Mason, Steve 28, 29, 32, 42, 43 Mazzeo, Joseph A. 214, 233 McCarthy, Michael C. 148, 152, 163 McGowan, Andrew 94, 108, 110, 114 McMahon, John J. 195, 210 McWilliam, Joanne 190, 211 Mechlinsky, Lutz 164, 167, 169, 170, 172, 186 Meconi, David 148, 150, 163 Merlo, Paolo 71, 72, 77 Michel, Otto 33, 43 Mihaly, Eugene 4, 24 Mohrmann, Christine 164, 167, 186, 214, 233 Montanari, F. 36, 43 Motschmann, Cornelius 69, 77 N. Levtzion 258, 283, 284 Nicholson, Oliver 84, 92 Nisula, Timo 164, 186, 201, 211 Noakes, K.W. 107, 108, 110, 114 Nodes, Daniel 164, 167 Norderval, Øyvind 107, 114 North, J.A. 114 Nyberg, Henrik S. 1, 25 O’Daly, Gerard 81, 92, 190, 191, 199, 206, 211, 212 O’Donnell, James J. 144, 163 O’Malley, Tom 95, 114 Oikonomopoulou, Katerina 198, 212 Olivar, Alejandro 164, 187 Oort, Johannes van 148, 163, 164, 187, 236, 256 Opelt, Ilona 248, 256 Oroz Reta, José 164, 187 Osborn, Eric F. 3, 25, 45, 48, 54, 63, 95, 96, 97, 106, 114 Palmer, Andrew 284 Partoens, Gert 164, 165, 166, 169, 170, 171, 172, 185, 186, 187, 189, 211, 214, 232 Pearson, Birger 49, 60, 63 Pellegrino, Michele 65, 66, 67, 77 Penn, Michael Philip 264, 269, 270, 272, 273, 274, 275, 276, 277, 278, 282, 284 Peper, Bradley M. 177, 187

index of modern authors Perkins, Pheme 54, 63 Ployd, Adam 151, 163, 233 Pohlenz, Max 66, 71, 77 Powell, Douglas 96, 114 Pritz, Ray A. 22, 25 Pycke, Nestor 68, 73, 77 Rad von, Gerhard 6, 25 Räisänen, Heikki 45, 54, 64 Ramelli, Ilaria 64, 118, 142 Rankin, David 96, 97, 102, 112, 114 Ranocchia, Graziano 122, 130, 142 Rebillard, Éric 214, 233 Reed, Annette Y. 67, 77 Reinink, Gerrit J. 261, 284 Reisenauer, Augustine M. 164, 165, 170, 187 Robinson, Chase F. 278, 284 Rokéah David 4, 25 Roncace, Mark 29, 43 Rordorf, Willy 102, 114 Rubin, Uri 263, 284 Ruiten, Jacques van 27, 30, 43 Runesson, Anders 1, 25 Runia, David T. 47, 60, 62, 64 Russell, Robert P. 197, 210 Rylaarsdam, David 165, 168, 187 Sahner, Christian C. 259, 284 Sandmel, Samuel 27, 28, 29, 30, 31, 34, 35, 36, 38, 39, 42, 43 Sanlon, Peter T. 213, 233 Schäublin, Christoph 164, 187 Scheid, John 80, 92 Schick, Robert 280, 284 Schmid, Konrad 2, 25 Schöllgen, Georg 100, 101, 114 Schreckenberg, Heinz 16, 25 Schrœder, Guy 120, 126, 141, 143 Schumacher, Matthew A. 204, 210 Seppälä, Serafim vi, xv, 258 Shaban, N. 258, 278, 279, 280, 284 Shaw, Brent 146, 163 Siker, Jeffrey S. 4, 8, 13, 23, 25 Simon, Marcel 5, 25 Simonsohn, Uriel 260, 270, 275, 285 Skarsaune, Oskar 4, 5, 8, 9, 10, 11, 16, 17, 19, 22, 25, 66, 67, 68, 77 Smith, Geoffrey S. 54, 64 Smith, Morton 47, 64

291

index of modern authors Sorabji, Richard 201, 212 Spence, Sarah 213, 233 Springer, Carl 164, 175, 187 Staats, Reinhart 97, 109, 115 Stein, Markus 256 Stock, Brian 194, 198, 212 Stroumsa, Guy 98, 102, 115 Stylianopoulos, Theodore 14, 26 Sutherland, Christine M. 213, 233 Sypert, John A. 234 Tabbernee, William 96, 110, 115 Tardieu, Michel 237, 256 Teske, Roland J. 190, 212, 238, 239, 245, 256 Teule, Herman 271, 284 Thackeray, Henry St. John 33, 43 Tilley, Maureen 145, 148, 151, 163 Toczko, Rafał 171, 187 Toiviainen Rø, Siiri v, ix, xiv, 116 Toral-Niehoff, I. 37, 43 Townsley, Jeramy 127, 143 Troup, Calvin L. 214, 234 Ulrich, Jörg 84, 92, 120, 143

van Bavel, Tarcisius J. 148, 162 Vander Plaetse, Roel 256 Vanspauwen, Aäron vi, x, xi, xv, 235, 240, 256 Vercruysse, Jean-Marc 151, 163 Wall, John F. 213, 234 Waszink, Jan Hendrik 68, 77 Watson, Gerald 193, 194, 210 Webb, Peter 264, 284 Weidemann, Hans-Ulrich 110, 115 Weisman, Werner 85, 92 Wendel, Susan 4, 5, 23, 26 Williams, Frank 89, 93 Williams, Michael A. 50, 58, 59, 61 Winden, Jacobus C.M. van 72, 74, 75, 77 Winston, David 123, 143 Wistrand, Magnus 85, 93 Wu, Tianye 189, 212 Yarnold, Edward J. 108 Yli-Karjanmaa, Sami v, viii, xiii, 44 Zwierlein, Otto 164, 187 Zycha, Josephus 235, 257