Joshua Typology in the New Testament 3161519329, 9783161519321

Table of contents :
Cover
Preface
Table of Contents
Chapter 1. Introduction
A. Origins and Overview
B. Joshua Typology in Later Christian Literature
i. Jude 5
ii. Post-Apostolic Literature
Chapter 2. The Typological Interpretation of the Old Testament in Hebrews
A. Introduction
B. Authorial Intention and Reader Competence
C. The Case of Hebrews – Author and Audience
D. The Old Testament in Hebrews
E. Defining New Testament Typology
F. The Background to New Testament Typology
i. The Old Testament
ii. Intertestamental Literature
G. Conclusion
Chapter 3. Joshua as a Type of Christ in Hebrews 3 and 4
A. Introduction
B. Psalm 95 and Numbers 14 – Faithlessness and Exclusion
C. On the Threshold of the Promised Land
D. The Exceptional Faithfulness of Joshua and Caleb
E. The Nature of the Promise Borne by Joshua and Caleb
F. The Striking Coincidence of the Name of Jesus
G. Faith Superior to that of Moses
H. A Typology of Similarity and Difference
I. Theological Implications of the Joshua/Rest Typologies
J. Conclusion
Chapter 4. Hebrews 11 and the Joshua-Shaped Gap in Israel’s History
A. Introduction
B. The Place of Hebrews 11 within the Epistle
C. A Description of Faith
D. The Structure of Hebrews 11 and its Rhetorical Function
i. Overall Structure
ii. From Creation to Abraham: Those who Live by Faith are Sojourners
iii. Into Egypt: Is Moses Faithful?
iv. The First Lacuna: Joshua’s Absence from the List of Faith- Heroes
v. The Second Lacuna: The Conquest and the Wilderness Generation
Chapter 5. Passing Beyond the Veil
A. Introduction
B. The Sacred Geography of Hebrews
C. Hope that Enters within the Veil: Hebrews 6.19f
i. Preserving Ambivalence
ii. Which Veil?
D. A New and Living Way: Hebrews 10.19f
E. The Cleansing of the Heavenly Sanctuary
F. The Two Tents
G. Jesus, Pioneer and Perfecter of Faith
Chapter 6. Conclusions and Prospects
A. Review
B. Typological Readings and Supersessionism
C. Theological Prospects
Bibliography
Primary Sources and Reference Works
Secondary Literature
Index of Ancient Sources
A. Hebrew Scriptures and Septuagint
B. New Testament
C. Other Jewish Literature
D. Patristic Literature
E. Classical Literature
Index of Modern Authors
Index of Subjects

Citation preview

Wissenschaftliche Untersuchungen zum Neuen Testament · 2. Reihe Herausgeber / Editor Jörg Frey (Zürich) Mitherausgeber / Associate Editors Friedrich Avemarie (Marburg) Markus Bockmuehl (Oxford) James A. Kelhoffer (Uppsala) Hans-Josef Klauck (Chicago, IL)

328

Richard Ounsworth

Joshua Typology in the New Testament

Mohr Siebeck

Richard Ounsworth OP, born 1972; 1995 joined the Order of Preachers (Dominicans); 2005–10 Masters and Doctorate at Oxford University; since 2003 teaching Old and New Testament Studies and New Testament Greek at the Dominican Studium and Blackfriars Hall, Oxford.

Nihil obstat: Very Revd Dr Aidan Nichols O. P., S. T. M., Censor deputatus Imprimi potest: Very Revd Dr John Farrell O. P., Prior Provincial e-ISBN 978-3-16-152144-7 ISBN 978-3-16-151932-1 ISSN 0340-9570 (Wissenschaftliche Untersuchungen zum Neuen Testament, 2. Reihe) Die Deutsche Nationalbibliothek lists this publication in the Deutsche Nationalbibliographie; detailed bibliographic data are available on the Internet at http://dnb.dnb.de © 2012 by Mohr Siebeck, Tübingen, Germany. This book may not be reproduced, in whole or in part, in any form (beyond that permitted by copyright law) without the publisher’s written permission. This applies particularly to reproductions, translations, microfilms and storage and processing in electronic systems. The book was printed by Laupp & Göbel in Nehren on non-aging paper and bound by Buchbinderei Nädele in Nehren. Printed in Germany.

For my parents, with all my love

Preface This monograph is a moderately revised version of a doctoral thesis presented to the Theology Faculty of the University of Oxford in May 2010. The work of which it is the culmination was undertaken under obedience to various religious superiors, without whose support it would have been quite impossible: I should mention in particular Frs Allan White and John Farrell, successive Priors Provincial, and Fr Richard Finn, the Regent of Studies and head of house at Blackfriars Hall, Oxford. Fr Benedict Viviano spent a year at Blackfriars undertaking all my teaching responsibilities so that I could have the time to write up the thesis, and for this remarkable example of fraternal support I offer profound thanks. Fr Aidan Nichols acted as Censor of this book with his customary generosity, and I was touched by his kind words. For the period of my graduate studies I was in receipt of very generous support from the Arts and Humanities Research Council, to whom I and the entire community at Blackfriars are grateful. The initial inspiration for the central thesis of this work came about in an undergraduate tutorial on the Letter to the Hebrews with Dr John Muddiman, and I am indebted to him both for nourishing my love of New Testament studies in those earlier years and for enthusiastically undertaking to supervise my graduate studies. When he was obliged to hand me over to another supervisor on account of the burdens of university bureaucracy, I was received with equal enthusiasm under the wing of Prof. Chris Rowland. The hugely enjoyable debates between us forced me to sharpen the presentation of my work, especially of its theological import, while stirring my own enthusiasm still more. Prof. Rowland also presided with his inimitable combination of warmth, gentleness and acuity over the New Testament Graduate Seminars, where I spent many happy and rewarding hours in the stimulating company of fellow graduate students. This scholarly companionship, in the finest traditions of the University, provided a wonderful opportunity to make connections between my work and the wider world of biblical and theological scholarship. I should like to thank in particular Tom Wilson, Mary Marshall, Chris Hayes and David Lincicum for their helpful responses, stimulating suggestions and invaluable friendship.

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My thesis was examined by Prof. Frances Young and Prof. Markus Bockmuehl, and I am grateful to both for their probing questions. My debt to Markus is indeed inestimable, and it is to him more than anyone else that I owe the opportunity to publish this work. I am grateful also to Prof. Dr. Jörg Frey for accepting it for publication in this series, and to Dr. Henning Ziebritzki and the infinitely patient Dominika Zgolik at Mohr Siebeck for their help in bringing it to print. Notwithstanding the support of many colleagues, supervisors and mentors, the work of producing a monograph such as this is inevitably a somewhat lonely task. My continued sanity is owed to the many people whose love and support I have received over the last few years: to my nonDominican friends, and those who live far from the ivory tower of the academy, for their sometimes bemused but always unconditional love; to my brothers, especially at Blackfriars, for their fraternal charity, their endless patience and the sheer joy of living with them in community – it really is like oil upon the beard; my sister Louise, her husband and my friend Paul, and their beautiful and hilarious children Patrick and Katie, are an endless source of delight. But above all, I thank my parents Lin and Tony, to whom this book is dedicated. The depth of my gratitude to them is inexpressible. Oxford, 14 May 2012

Richard Joseph Ounsworth OP

Table of Contents Preface……………………………………………………………………. VII Table of Contents…………………………………………………………. IX

Chapter 1. Introduction ………………………………………………….1 A. Origins and Overview……………………………………………………1 B. Joshua Typology in Later Christian Literature………………………...10 i. Jude 5........................................................................................10 ii. Post-Apostolic Literature……………………………………….13

Chapter 2. The Typological Interpretation of the Old Testament in Hebrews ………………………………………………………………. 19 A. Introduction.…………………………………………………………….19 B. Authorial Intention and Reader Competence………………………..…20 C. The Case of Hebrews – Author and Audience…………………………26 D. The Old Testament in Hebrews……………………………………….. 28 E. Defining New Testament Typology…………………………………… 32 F. The Background to New Testament Typology…………………………40 i. The Old Testament……………………………………………… 40 ii. Intertestamental Literature……………………………………... 46 G. Conclusion……………………………………………………………... 51

Chapter 3. Joshua as a Type of Christ in Hebrews 3 and 4 ……. 55 A. Introduction……………………………………………………………. 55 B. Psalm 95 and Numbers 14 – Faithlessness and Exclusion……………. 56 C. On the Threshold of the Promised Land………………………………. 59 D. The Exceptional Faithfulness of Joshua and Caleb…………………… 62 E. The Nature of the Promise Borne by Joshua and Caleb………………. 66 F. The Striking Coincidence of the Name of Jesus………………………. 71

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G. Faith Superior to that of Moses………………………………………...74 H. A Typology of Similarity and Difference……………………………...78 I. Theological Implications of the Joshua/Rest Typologies……………… 89 J. Conclusion……………………………………………………………….95

Chapter 4. Hebrews 11 and the Joshua-Shaped Gap in Israel’s History…………………………………………………………………….98 A. Introduction……………………………………………………………..98 B. The Place of Hebrews 11 within the Epistle…………………………...99 C. A Description of Faith………………………………………………... 101 D. The Structure of Hebrews 11 and its Rhetorical Function……….......109 i. Overall Structure………………………………………………. 109 ii. From Creation to Abraham: Those who Live by Faith are Sojourners………………………………………………………... 111 iii. Into Egypt: Is Moses Faithful?............................................... 117 iv. The First Lacuna: Joshua’s Absence from the List of FaithHeroes……………………………………………………………..119 v. The Second Lacuna: The Conquest and the Wilderness Generation………………………………………………………...125

Chapter 5. Passing Beyond the Veil ………………………………. 131 A. Introduction……………………………………………………………131 B. The Sacred Geography of Hebrews…………………………………...132 C. Hope that Enters within the Veil: Hebrews 6.19f…………………….138 i. Preserving Ambivalence………………………………………………. 139 ii. Which Veil?........................................................................................142 D. A New and Living Way: Hebrews 10.19f…………………………….145 E. The Cleansing of the Heavenly Sanctuary…………………………… 152 F. The Two Tents…………………………………………………………157 G. Jesus, Pioneer and Perfecter of Faith………………………………… 165

Chapter 6. Conclusions and Prospects ……………………………. 173 A. Review…………………………………………………………………173 B. Typological Readings and Supersessionism…………………………. 176 C. Theological Prospects…………………………………………………184 Bibliography……………………………………………………………... 189

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Index of Ancient Sources………………………………………………... 203 Index of Modern Authors………………………………………………... 210 Index of Subjects………………………………………………………… 212

Chapter 1

Introduction A. Origins and Overview The suggestion I wish to offer is that a greater sense of the unity of the Letter to the Hebrews can be achieved by inferring from the Letter a typological relationship between Joshua the son of Nun and Jesus. The seeds of this idea were sown in my own mind when I read the Letter in Greek for the first time as an undergraduate, and stumbled over the meaning of 4.8: εἰ γὰρ αὐτοὺς Ἰησοῦς κατέπαυσεν, οὐκ ἂν περὶ ἄλλης ἐλάλει μετὰ ταῦτα ἡμέρας. Why this impugning of the salvific efficacy of Jesus in a discussion about the exodus? It was only when I turned to the RSV that I discovered that it was not Jesus but Joshua, the son of Nun, who had not given rest to the people of Israel. The use of Jesus’s so-familiar name to refer to another Ἰησοῦς caused a double-take and left me with the lasting impression that there might be some deeper theological significance to the fact that Jesus’s name is Joshua. At the time, I made little of this, noting only that “what Jesus has achieved is what the first Jesus – i.e. Joshua, for the names are the same in Greek and in Aramaic – could not achieve, namely … permanent entry into the heavenly resting place, the promised land” and that “the story of the wilderness wanderings is the story of act after act of disobedience forgiven by God, and brought to its culmination under the leadership of the first Joshua, an anti-type of Jesus.” This seemed to be rather more, indeed, than was made of this possible hint of a relationship between Joshua and Jesus in the various commentaries I consulted. However, my attention was drawn to the suggestion of Austin Farrer 1 that Matthew’s Gospel has not a pentateuchal but a hexateuchal structure, with the final chapters describing Christ’s entry into Jerusalem, his passion, death, resurrection and farewell to his disciples being Matthew’s “Book of Joshua”: The new Jesus comes through Jericho, indeed, but it is Jerusalem he condemns to utter overthrow, so that not one stone shall remain upon another. The fall of the city is the sign 1

In Farrer 1955; cf. Farrer 1954; I am hugely indebted to John Muddiman for this insight.

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Introduction

and the condition of the gathering of Israel into the true land of promise under the leader ship of Jesus (23.37 – 24.2, 24.15–31). 2

If Farrer is right, then Matthew implicitly presents Jesus as a new Joshua, and therefore conversely invites us to infer that the former Joshua’s life, and in particular his achievement in leading the people of God into the promised land, was a foreshadowing of the person of Jesus Christ and the salvation he wrought. Farrer appears not to have built upon his tentative suggestion, strangely making nothing of the fact that the Messiah’s human father is instructed “you shall call his name Joshua, for he shall save his people from their sins” (Matthew 1.21); and I am aware of only one work that links it to the possible hint offered by the Letter to the Hebrews 3; but the fact that these two otherwise very different NT texts both point, albeit subtly, to some sort of relationship between Jesus and Joshua is perhaps reason enough to see whether further investigation might bear fruit. It is necessary at once to emphasise the modesty of my proposal: I am not claiming to demonstrate that the author of Hebrews intended to invoke a Joshua typology, only that the Epistle invites its audience to infer one. Secondly, and relatedly, I am not insisting that Joshua typology is “the key” to unlocking the mystery of Hebrews. The Epistle has been read fruitfully for centuries without such an inference. I hope only to offer a helpful supplement to this Wirkungsgeschichte, highlighting certain aspects of the theology of Hebrews that might have been more strongly emphasised, and shedding a little more light thereby on some particular exegetical difficulties. This leads then to four specific objectives: 1. In the light of recent research and debate into the use of the Old Testament in the New, to consider what criteria might legitimise reading Hebrews in such a way; 2. To clarify what kind of typological relationship might be inferred from Hebrews between Jesus and Joshua; 3. To investigate, through detailed exegesis of particular passages, whether such an inference aids this exegesis; 4. To see whether this exegesis, being so illuminated, helps us to read Hebrews in a satisfyingly consistent way that offers valuable answers to some of the theological questions being posed to the Epistle in recent discussion. The bulk of this work will concern the third of these objectives, in chapters three to five. This exegesis will take place, however, against the 2

Farrer 1955 cited from http://www.markgoodacre.org/Q/farrer.htm accessed 9 th March 2010. 3 Ounsworth 2003

A. Origins and Overview

3

necessary backdrop of the following chapter, which begins by suggesting that “authorial intention” is not the most helpful locus of meaning with regard to the interpretation of Hebrews. One reason for this is obvious: we do not know who the author of the Epistle was, nor indeed anything about him beyond the little that can be directly inferred from the text. In recent scholarship on Hebrews the attempt to identify the author has largely been abandoned, as has the desire to date the text with any accuracy or to pinpoint a specific occasion or community problem as the background to the Epistle.4 But this does not mean that the historical-critical recognition of the gap between ourselves and the text is to be overlooked in favour of a purely “synchronic” or “reader-response” interpretation. Perhaps more than any book of the New Testament – with the probable exception of the Apocalypse – Hebrews makes the reader aware of the historical distance between himself and the text’s own time and place, that the Epistle emerges from a world of ideas and symbols far removed from our own. No text demands more help from the methods of historical criticism, and yet none is more resistant to those methods, since it is, as is often remarked, rather like Melchisedek “ἀπάτωρ, ἀμήτωρ, ἀγενεαλόγητος ” (Hebrews 7.3). There is nevertheless a criterion other than authorial intention that might provide the historical objectivity to legitimise interpretation and avoid an exegetical free-for-all, and that is the concept of a plausible first audience. The word “audience” is used deliberately, since I accept the view that the Epistle to the Hebrews is misnamed in two respects, being neither addressed to Hebrews but to Hellenists (that is, Greek-speakers, though not necessarily therefore Gentile rather than Jewish Christians) and being, at least in its origins, a sermon of some sort rather than a letter. To an extent this distinction is meaningless, inasmuch as – apart from Philemon – none of the Epistles in the NT are personal letters but rather they appear to have been intended to be read aloud to an ecclesial gathering; but the readily apparent rhetorical intent of Hebrews, as well as its selfdescription as a “word of exhortation” (13.22) should especially incline us to treat it as something to be heard rather than something to read. Moreover, the sermonic nature of Hebrews makes it more reasonable that it was first encountered against the background not so much of a community in crisis as of a set of scriptural texts; if there is an “occasion” for Hebrews it is likely to be a liturgical one rather than a now-lost historical event 5. Nevertheless, this occasion is at a distance from us, and to hear Hebrews with the ears of a plausible first audience requires historical-critical effort. Discussion of the use of the Old Testament in the New has tended to be dominated by the question of authorial intention, although more recently 4 5

See Ounsworth 2009 I deal with the specific proposal of Gelardini (2005) briefly below, p. 30.

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Introduction

the question of what the addressees of NT texts might have picked up on has come more to the fore, as I will outline briefly in the next chapter. Specifically, I suggest that our plausible audience is less likely to hear verbal cues pointing to some overarching literary structure and more likely to find itself immersed in a re-telling of the story of Israel’s Heilsgeschichte. Thus, less emphasis should be placed on identifying verbal parallels between our text and some book of the OT, leading to the suggestion that this or that particular allusion evokes, for example, a deuteronomic or an “Isaian New Exodus” context; rather, we will investigate how Hebrews offers a fresh understanding of the broad sweep of the story of the Old Testament, and of particularly significant moments in it. Such an approach to the relationship between the testaments is, I shall argue, especially conducive to typological readings, but it will be necessary to ask what sort of “typological” understanding of the relationship between Joshua and Jesus our audience may have been able to infer. Following a suggestion of Frances Young 6 I will use occurrences of the word τύπος and its cognates in the NT as a heuristic device for developing a concept of typology which, though it may not be identical to any explicit definition of typology that our audience would have known, was a way of relating to their scriptural history that would have been comprehensible to them: it describes a mode of relationship between events, persons, places and practices that they would have been ready to infer, whether or not they would have labelled it “typology”. At the heart of this working definition is the notion of divinely intended isomorphic correspondences: by God’s providence, there are formal similarities between, for example, the crossing of the Red Sea and the crossing of the Jordan, Noah’s escape from the flood and Christian baptism, or the garden of Eden and the Jerusalem temple. In many and various ways, God has stamped the character of his saving power into the life and history of his chosen people. These isomorphisms are therefore “real” rather than “verbal”. That is to say, while similarities in the wording of scripture may serve to highlight correspondences between different aspects of the story of Israel’s relationship with her God, our audience would understand that these correspondences are not created, as it were artificially, by a literary device, but only brought to light by verbal similarities. We can distinguish, then, between a “weak” or literary typology and a “strong” or ontological one. In the former, an author uses his literary skill to illustrate one thing by referring his reader (or hearer) to something else to which is it not intrinsically related. But in the latter, the relationship is real, and the literary art is there to draw attention to it; indeed, the relationship may be there even if there are no 6

See below, p. 33.

A. Origins and Overview

5

verbal parallels. The citation from Tertullian on p. 15 is a particularly clear example of this ontological relationship, but I will suggest that the concept was found already in the OT itself, and developed in later Jewish literature which, though we cannot be sure that our audience knew it, testifies to the kinds of ideas with which they may have been familiar. In particular, there are two developments in the intertestamental period of profound interest for a study of Hebrews: the first is an increasing tendency to associate typology with the temple and its cult – so, for example, in the Book of Jubilees the various annual feasts are re-enactments of particular events in salvation history. More commonly the temple is involved, however, in a vertical typology: a strong sense that the divinelyordained structure of the temple is modelled on and somehow makes present the heavenly sanctuary, or heaven conceived as a sanctuary, and the liturgy is a participation in the eternal liturgy of the heavenly court. The second, and even more important, development is an increasing intertwining of this vertical dimension with the horizontal one of historical correspondence. The intertwining of these two dimensions will prove most significant when we turn to the main part of this monograph, the exegesis of the Letter to the Hebrews. The Letter may be said to have two controlling images: that of Christ as High Priest entering the heavenly sanctuary, and that of the Christian community as the People of God on their pilgrimage to the Promised Land. At the risk of over-simplification we may say that the first, christological, image is a vertical one and the second, ecclesiological, image is a horizontal one, and each in two senses: that of the movement that is conceived, and that of the typology upon which the image depends. Christ goes “up” from earth to heaven, is exalted to take his seat at the right hand of the Father (1.3; 2.9; 6.19f; 8 and 9 passim); and this is imagined in terms of the “vertical” correspondence between the earthly and the heavenly sanctuaries. The People of God move “forward” into the eschatological Promised Land (4.1, 6; 12.1, 22), and this is pictured via the “horizontal” typological relationship of the historical entry of the Israelites into Canaan to the real “rest” of God made available in Christ. Again simplifying somewhat, we may say that the vertical image is the dominant one in the central part of the Letter – roughly speaking chapters five to ten – while the horizontal prevails in chapters 3f and 11f. A key task of the exegete wishing to present a consistent theological vision that emerges from a holistic reading of Hebrews is therefore to explore how these two dimensions interrelate, to see how the christological and the ecclesiological typologies are woven together into a soteriological tapestry. It should be emphasised at this point, and this will be made clear in much greater detail in the following chapter, that by “typologies” here I

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Introduction

mean more than a hermeneutical device. Certainly “typology” can be used to speak of a form of exegesis of the scriptures of Israel, or the use of examples from those scriptures, to illustrate the significance of the salvation that has been wrought in Christ. But my claim is that this hermeneutical practice may plausibly give rise to the inference, by those two whom such use of the OT is directed, of an ontological relationship between the two poles of the exegetical typology: if for example the crossing of the Red Sea is used to illustrate the significance of the return from exile, one might infer from this that the correspondences or isomorphisms between the two salvation-historical events are not coincidental, neither are they an arbitrary juxtaposition on the part of the interpreter, rather they reveal a profound theological truth concerning the divine character. The shape of salvation history is formed by the nature of God and his providential love for his people, and so we find the same patterns repeated again and again in that history: the ontological relationship arises from the fact that these related events are both stamped with the same character ( χαρακτὴρ) of God’s nature; and this relationship is uncovered, not created, by typological exegesis. This kind of ontological relationship between the terms of a typology is clearly more apparent in those typologies that operate on the vertical axis, and in particular the typological relationship that is established within the OT itself between the earthly and the heavenly sanctuaries. The highpriestly Christology of the central section of Hebrews may be said to depend upon the understanding that the temple in Jerusalem (or at least, the earthly sanctuary as depicted and ordained in the OT, and especially in Exodus and Leviticus) is a shadow and sketch of the heavenly sanctuary, its reality being established by the higher reality of God’s supernal dwelling-place. Thus actions within the earthly sanctuary, and for Hebrews especially the actions of the Aaronic High Priest on the Day of Atonement, mirror and are established by the realities of the heavenly sanctuary. Hebrews explicitly calls the relationship between these two sanctuaries typological (8.5) and uses throughout chapter 9 language that establishes this ontological relationship, and it is probably fair to say that there is broadly accepted to be what I am calling an ontological typology on this vertical axis in the central section of Hebrews 7. I would acknowledge that it is more contentious to infer horizontal typology of the ontological kind, both in Hebrews in particular and in the Epistle’s theological context more broadly. Horizontal typology is not so explicitly referred to, and its workings are more complex: while the ontological relationship between heavenly and earthly sanctuaries is a direct one, that between moments of 7

See especially Cody 1960, Hofius 1970a and Isaacs 1992.

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salvation history is indirect, relying upon a shared dependence upon the divine character. Put more bluntly: the temple is the way it is because it is conformed to the heavenly sanctuary; the return from exile is like the Exodus because they are both conformed to some same aspect of the divine character. One of the most important aspects of the Jewish theological context of Hebrews’ use of typology in the way I am proposing is the increasing intertwining of the horizontal and vertical dimensions. 8 This becomes especially important in Christian literature, because of its claims of eschatological realisation9: those aspects of the salvation achieved by and in Christ which are at one pole of the typologies implied are not merely another example of what God is like, but the supreme example and, I will suggest, the sources of all the others – the die, as it were, which has stamped its impression upon salvation history and upon the ongoing cultic life of God’s people hitherto. This is as much the case with the vertical as with the horizontal typologies. The isomorphism between Christ’s entry into the heavenly sanctuary and the entry of the High Priest into the Holy of Holies on Yom Kippur is ultimately the same as the isomorphism between Christ’s heavenly exaltation at the head of his people and the entry of the People of Israel into the Promised Land. Moreover the claim that I shall be making is that Hebrews invites us to understand that the reason why both Joshua’s conquest and the Day of Atonement are good illustrations of the meaning of Christ’s death-and-exaltation is that under providence both of these, along with other aspects of the relationship between God and his people to which the Epistle happens not to draw our attention, were shaped by the death-and-exaltation of Christ, though this had not yet taken place in time. From this point of view it is at least as difficult to unpick the vertical aspect as the horizontal of the kind of typological reading that I am proposing, and therefore to begin with the horizontal is not a case of beginning with the more difficult and moving to the easier, but if anything the opposite. Moreover, working in this direction helps us to solve what I consider is a key problem in Hebrews: it is clear that the Epistle proposes that upon (and by) his death Christ entered into heaven, into the presence of God, and that this is advantageous to us inasmuch as he is better able there to make intercession for us (7.25); I take it as axiomatic that this entry into heaven is something the Epistle proposes as the real significant consequence of Christ’s death. It is also clear that the paraenetic motive of 8

See below pp. 45–51. I agree entirely with Barrett (1954: 373) that “For Hebrews […] eschatology is alive and determinative, and it was this which gave the author his creative understanding of the OT.” 9

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Introduction

Hebrews is to encourage the audience on a pilgrimage to join Christ in that same heavenly presence of God. What is less clear is how Christ’s death and entry into heaven (the High Priestly Christology) is salvific for us – how it makes possible for us our own entry into heaven at the end of this pilgrimage (the People of God ecclesiology). What this boils down to is the problem of the atonement – how does Jesus’s death make a difference to me? And a very helpful aspect of Hebrews’ distinctive answer to this question is, I suggest, the historically-plausible inference of a Joshuatypology of the kind I propose. Thus the exegesis falls into three chapters: the first deals with 3.7–4.11, in which the superiority of Jesus over Moses with which Hebrews 3 begins is explored through an exegesis of Psalm 95 relating it to the events of Numbers 13f. One of the key aspects of this part of the story of Israel’s wilderness sojourn is the condemnation of all the exodus generation, including Moses himself, to die without entering the Promised Land. Only two, Joshua and Caleb, because of their exceptional faithfulness, will be permitted to enter God’s rest. Significantly, the superiority of Jesus over Moses is also couched in terms of faithfulness. This next-generation entry under the leadership of the faithful Joshua is, we are told, not the final fulfilment of God’s promise of rest, for the rest that he holds out to his people is no earthly dwelling place but a participation in his eternal Sabbath. I will attempt to show that the inference of a typological relationship between Jesus and Joshua is justified by, and simultaneously helps to clarify, the detailed exegesis of this key ecclesiological passage. Support for this inference is then adduced from a study of Hebrews 11, in which the salvation history of Israel is proposed as a model of faithful living. This faith is a matter of fixing one’s sight on the invisible and eternal realities which are revealed only via visible and temporal things; and such faith is, I will argue, not just characteristic but constitutive of God’s holy people. A careful examination of the rhetorical structure of the chapter shows that it creates two lacunæ: the crossing of the Jordan is omitted, as is the person of Joshua himself, and these two gaps occur precisely where the rhetorical structure begins to collapse. The overall effect of the chapter is to imply that salvation history came to a stop, in a certain sense, when the people were on the threshold of the Promised Land; and this is precisely the location in which 3.7–4.11 implicitly locates the audience of the Letter. Thus we may infer that it is for a more real, eternal and eschatological Joshua, now made visible at the end of the age, to complete the conquest of which the entry into Canaan was but a visible and temporary sign. If my exegesis is correct, then these two sections of Hebrews invite us to infer a Joshua-shaped christology to accompany the conquest-generation

A. Origins and Overview

9

ecclesiology; the question remains how to relate this to the more overt High Priest christology. My starting point will be three chiastically related passages that concern the veil of the sanctuary: 6.19f, 10.19f and 9.1–14. I will suggest that the crossing of the Jordan is to be co-ordinated with the passing through the curtain, which evokes not only the ritual of Yom Kippur, in which the Aaronic High Priest enters annually into the Holy of Holies, but also the original inauguration of the sanctuary by Moses, of which the Day of Atonement ritual may be seen as an annual recapitulation. Thus to pass beyond the veil connotes the inauguration of a new covenant, the eschatological covenant-relationship with God to which the Christian community is granted access via the fleshly life and death of Jesus. Once again, I hope to show that the inference of a Joshua christology provides a valuable lens through which some of the most profoundly difficult exegetical cruces of Hebrews, especially in chapter 9, can helpfully be seen. I will conclude by arguing that the first two verses of chapter 12, again arranged chiastically, provide a powerful summary of the interrelationship of the vertical and the horizontal, the christological and the ecclesiological, centring on the name Ἰησοῦς. The Epistle thus offers us a hint that the name of Jesus is a key that unlocks the mystery of salvation in Christ. The concluding chapter will summarise my exegetical proposals, clarify their implications for the reading of the Epistle as a whole and offer some prospects for theology on the basis of them. I will demonstrate that the inference of a Joshua typology from the Letter to the Hebrews not only aids in the exegesis of the Epistle, especially in regard to a number of particularly difficulty cruces, but also highlights very clearly the unique contribution of the Epistle to the theology of the atonement. This contribution has, I suggest, been blunted by an unwillingness in the post-enlightenment period to find in Hebrews something that cannot be proved to have been intended by the author, something only hinted at and not made explicit in the text. I hope to demonstrate that a willingness to discern and follow these hints leads to a plausible holistic reading that makes a valuable contribution to theology. In the following section, before embarking upon my own exposition, I will briefly show that, if there is Joshua typology in the Letter to the Hebrews, it did not disappear thereafter in the history of Christian literature. On the contrary, it became more explicit in the post-apostolic period. This might be an argument against reading it out of Hebrews: if when it is used later, it is used explicitly, then might it not be that when it is not used explicitly it is simply not there? But in some of the cases dealt with below, it is at least possible that the explicit Joshua typology seems to emerge from an engagement with Hebrews, and with precisely those passages of the Letter where I argue for an implicit Joshua typology.

10

Introduction

B. Joshua Typology in Later Christian Literature It is not my intention here to give a full account of Joshua typology in the writings that came after the Epistle to the Hebrews: such a task would require a monograph-length treatment. However, it is worthwhile first to draw attention to the existence of this typology, sometimes very explicit and at other times more subtle; secondly, towards the end of this section I will suggest briefly that at times the use of such typology contains indications that it may have been influenced by readings of Hebrews. In other words, it is possible that two Syrian writers, Aphraates and Ephrem, as well as Origen, have themselves inferred a Joshua typology from Hebrews, and indeed with particular reference to those parts of the Epistle whence I too am suggesting we might infer it. i. Jude 5 Possibly one of the earliest examples of arguable Joshua typology occurs in the Epistle of Jude, which may even pre-date Hebrews.10 Like Hebrews 3f and 1 Corinthians 10, Jude 5 offers the example of the deaths of the wilderness generation as a warning to the present generation of Christians of the possible consequences of faithlessness. The majority of commentators see ἅπαξ λαὸν ἐκ γῆς Αἰγύπτου σώσας τὸ δεύτερον τοὺς μὴ πιστεύσαντας ἀπώλεσεν as a reference specifically to the punishment imposed upon all but Caleb and Joshua in Numbers 14.26–38, which I argue below 11 is central to Hebrews’ interpretation of Ps 95 in chapters 3f. In order to argue for Joshua typology here we need, first, to accept the variant reading Ἰησοῦς for κύριος as the subject of the clause cited above. This reading is certainly well attested, occurring in Codices Alexandrinus and Vaticanus and numerous other uncials as well as the best of the versions, Vulgate, Ethiopic and Syriac. It is also cited in Origen and Jerome, among others.12 Moreover it appears to be the lectio difficilior (“difficult to the point of impossibility”, according to the UBS committee13) since it is so difficult to make sense of. This reminds us that the criterion of lectio difficilior can only be taken so far: we can only in fact accept this reading if we can find a non-impossible reading of it; but con10

The reader is directed to any modern commentary on Jude for discussion of its date and the related question of authorship: e.g. Neyrey 1993; Bauckham 1983 and cf. Bauck ham 1990. On the date of Hebrews see below pp. 26–27. 11 See pp. 56-66 12 See Metzger 1971: 725f. for a fuller list. 13 Metzger 1971:726; Metzger and Wikgren dissent from the majority opinion and prefer to read Ἰησοῦς.

B. Joshua Typology in Later Christian Literature

11

versely, as Fossum points out 14, if we wish to ascribe the reading to scribal error, we are in a stronger position if we point to what sense a scribe might have made of the reading. Those who reject this reading despite its strong attestation tend to consider the reading to have arisen out of a scribal desire to clarify who might have been meant by ὁ κύριος,15 but this only leaves us with the question why we do not anywhere see the reading ὁ θεός.16 Every variant understands Jude to ascribe the death of the Israelites in the wilderness either to Jesus Christ or to “the Lord”, and it is notable that elsewhere in Jude this word always refers to Christ. At the same time, Bauckham rightly points out17 that Jude never elsewhere refers to Christ simply as Ἰησοῦς; he takes this as evidence against this as the original reading, but it may not be if we can make sense of its distinctiveness at this point. Moreover, as Bauckham himself admits, scribal variations between reading Χριστός, κύριος and θεός abound, but scribes never elsewhere alter any of these to Ἰησοῦς. Again, the evidence points towards something distinctive in the original reading of Jude 5. Three possible solutions emerge: the reference is to the pre-existent Christ, or it is not to Jesus but to Joshua, or (in some way) both. The first of these solutions is proposed by Hanson (1965) as part of his maximalist argument for (the NT authors’ understanding of) the presence of the preexistent Christ in the OT (though in fact Hanson’s view is that the reading Ἰησοῦς is a “correct gloss”18), and more recently is defended by Neyrey, who notes that “there is an early stream of Jewish-Christian christology which saw Jesus active and operative in events described in the Old Testament”19. Fossum proposes that Jude equated the pre-existent Christ with the “Angel of the Lord” as one of a number of intermediary figures to whom the actions of God were ascribed in certain streams of post-bibical Jewish literature. Much of his evidence is rabbinic, which may be too late for relevance to Jude, but he is also able to point to 1 Enoch, which of course Jude cites (though this does not prove that the author of Jude endorsed everything therein). Fossum concludes, 14

Fossum 1987: 226 E.g. Bigg 1902 and the majority since. 16 72 P reads θεὸς Χριστός. I am attracted by Metzger’s suggestion (1971: 726) that what was intended was θεοῦ Χριστός and that the scribe made a slip of the pen. Wikgren argues (1967: 148) that the reading of P 72, “though possibly a conflate text, looks like a conscious effort to preserve and even make more explicit the logos thought, while at the same time avoiding the ambiguity of Ἰησοῦς. It may then by regarded as an indirect witness for the ‘ Ἰησοῦς’.” This strikes me as something of a stretch. 17 Bauckham 1990: 309 18 Hanson 1965: 137 19 Neyrey 1993: 62 15

12

Introduction

the reading “Jesus” in Jude 5 implies that the Son is modelled on a n intermediary figure whose basic constituent is the Angel of the Lord. If “Kyrios” was the original reading, a copyist apparently took this to indicate the Son on the ground that vv. 5 –7 describe acts which could be attributed to the Angel of the Lord, who was said to share God’s Name and could even be designated by the Tetragrammaton or its Greek equivalent “Kyrios”. Since v. 4 ends with the phrase “our only Master and Lord, Jesus Christ”, it may even be that this was a correct interpretation. 20

Some such possibility was rejected by Kellett nearly a hundred years earlier, however: “That the reference is to the ‘Angel of his Presence’ (Isa 63.9) or to the ‘Angel of God’ who went before the Israelites (Ex 14.19, etc.) seems doubtful, in spite of the common identification of that angel with (not Jesus but) the Messiah” 21, and Kellett prefers to read Ἰησοῦς not as Jesus but simply as Joshua: That Joshua did not actually lead the people out of Egypt is irrelevant in so short a summary; he repeatedly saved them on their journey from Egypt; and his second great achievement was to destroy the unbelieving Amorites. The chief objection is that tetereken (V.7) [sic] is left without its subject; but kyrios or theos can be easily supplied.22

This perhaps answers Bauckham’s insistence that “ Ἰησοῦς certainly cannot refer to the Old Testament Joshua or be prompted by a Joshua-Jesus typology, since, even if it could be said that Joshua saved the people from Egypt, he did not destroy them in the wilderness” 23, but I am not convinced that Kellett can possibly be right about τετήρηκεν; a subject can only be supplied if there is not one already explicit – not if the one that is explicit is inconvenient for one’s reading. Fahr and Gleßmer claim to have solved this difficulty as a by-product of their researches into a manuscript of the Aramaic Targum of Joshua found in the Cairo genizah.24 The “clue”25, they argue, is the expression τὸ δεύτερον, which echoes the Targum’s gloss on Joshua 5.2, which has Joshua circumcise the people “for the second time”, this time a circumcision of the heart and not just of the flesh, following their entry into the Promised Land. The Targum makes an explicit link between this event, wherein Joshua completes the work of Moses, and the (typological) parallels between Moses and Joshua in sending spies, etc. Fahr and Gleßmer argue that an understanding of Joshua as the one who completes in spirit what Moses begins in the flesh lies behind the reading of Ἰησοῦς in Jude 5, 20

Fossum 1987: 237 Kellett 1904: 381 22 Kellett 1904: 381 23 Bauckham 1990: 309 24 Fahr and Gleßmer 1991 25 “Anhaltspunkt”, p. 67 21

B. Joshua Typology in Later Christian Literature

13

and that the author makes implicit appeal to such a tradition by using the name of Ἰησοῦς which, in a happy coincidence, is that of both the first and the ultimate successor of Moses. While this suggestion has the advantage of offering an explanation for the otherwise slightly puzzling occurrence of τὸ δεύτερον,26 the evidence of a single Targum manuscript, and of course not in Greek, can hardly bear the weight that is placed upon it. Nevertheless, we do not need to claim that the author of Jude specifically knew the tradition behind this Targum in order to suggest credibly that his use of Ἰησοῦς may have been a deliberate allusion to Joshua while principally intending Jesus. I suggest that Bauckham is on the road to the right solution when he suggests that “it may be that, in view of Jude’s general usage, he has used kyrios here of Jesus, not so much because he is concerned to explain the preexistent activity of Christ, but rather because in his typological application of these OT events to the present it is the Lord Jesus who has saved his people the church and will be the Judge of apostates.” 27 I propose that Jude in fact used the name of Jesus, a striking usage that would not have occurred to a scribe simply seeking to clarify κύριος, in order to draw attention to this typology, and to Joshua’s role in the salvation-historical events to which he alludes, i.e. those related in Numbers 14f in particular, and the consequence that Joshua was the one to lead Israel into the Land. As Wikgren rightly says “the Epistle probably was written in a period when this kind of reasoning was familiar in the treatment of the Old Testament”, and he suggests that “the author [of Jude] may well have meant Joshua = Jesus = God; or Joshua and Jesus are identified through typological thought.” 28 This latter suggestion is too strong, and is not in fact how typological thought works, as I will explore in chapter 2 below. Rather, Joshua’s role as saviour of his people, and indeed also his part in bringing down condemnation upon the wilderness generation by showing up their lack of faith in contrast to his own unwavering faith, points towards the fulfilment of this foreshadowing of Christ by one who shares in Joshua’s name. I will suggest in chapter 3 that Hebrews 3f, with its use of the name of Ἰησοῦς at 4.8, develops this idea with much more depth and detail, but I propose that some such thought also lies behind an original reading of Ἰησοῦς at Jude 5. ii. Post-Apostolic Literature Certainly later Christian writers saw some significance in Jesus’s being named after the successor of Moses. In the Epistle of Barnabas 6.8–19, a 26

On this see Klijn 1984. Bauckham 1983: 148 28 Wikgren 1967: 148 27

14

Introduction

clear typological relationship is established between the promised inheritance of a land flowing with milk and honey and the new creation inherited by Christians. This relationship the author established on the basis Λέγει δὲ κύριος: Ἰδού, ποιῶ τὰ ἔσχατα ὡς τὰ πρῶτα. (6.13). Importantly, the Epistle goes on to make the name of Jesus the basis for an explicit Joshua typology: Τί λέγει πάλιν Μωϋσῆς Ἰησοῦ, υἱῷ Ναυή, ἐπιθεὶς αὐτῷ τοῦτο τὸ ὄνομα, ὄντι προφήτῃ, ἵνα μόνον ἀκούσῃ πᾶς ὁ λαός, ὅτι πάντα ὁ πατὴρ φανεροῖ περὶ τοῦ υἱοῦ Ἰησοῦ; Λέγει οὖν Μωϋσῆς Ἰησοῦ, υἱῷ Ναυή, ἐπιθεὶς αὐτῷ τοῦτο τὸ ὄνομα, ὁπότε ἔπεμψεν αὐτὸν κατάσκοπον τῆς γῆς· «Λάβε βιβλίον εἰς τὰς χεῖράς σου καὶ γράψον, ἃ λέγει κύριος, ὅτι ἐκκόψει ἐκ ῥιζῶν πάντα τὸν οἶκον τοῦ Ἀμαλὴκ ὁ υἱὸς τοῦ θεοῦ ἐπʼἐσχάτων τῶν ἡμερῶν. Ἴδε πάλιν Ἰησοῦς, 29 οὐχὶ υἱὸς ἀνθρώπου, ἀλλὰ υἱὸς τοῦ θεοῦ, τύπῳ δὲ ἐν σαρκὶ φανερωθείς.

The reference is clearly to Number 13.16 30, and the author of the Epistle sees the renaming of Hoshea to Joshua as revealing Jesus the Son of God τύπῳ, as a type. It must be admitted that Joshua is not unique in so typifying Jesus: we read also that Isaac (7.3), the scapegoat (7.7), animal sacrifices (8.1), and the bronze serpent (12.5) are types of Christ. Neither is the meaning of τύπῳ here unambiguous; and the way in which Joshua’s work typifies that of Christ is equally problematic – the nature of the correspondence between Jesus and Joshua to which the identity of names points is not clarified, though it seems to have something to do both with spying out the land (sc. of Canaan) and with wiping out the house of Amalek, which presumably is a type of some enemies of God or his Church. Nevertheless, some theologically significant relationship is invoked, and it is certain that the author understands it to be providentially arranged, and no mere chance. Justin Martyr is equally certain that the fact that Joshua’s name was newly given by Moses reveals its typological significance: Ἰησοῦν … τὸν μετὰ τοῦ Χαλὲβ κατάσκοπον εἰς τὴν Χαναὰν ἐπὶ τὴν γῆν ἀποσταλέντα, Ἰησοῦν Μωυσῆς ἐκάλεσε … συλλογίζῃ οὐκ ἀργῶς οὐδʼ ὡς ἔτυχεν ἐκείνῳ τεθεῖσθαι τοὔνομα … ἐπεὶ δὲ οὐ μόνον μετωνομάσθη αὐτοῦ τὸ ὄνομα, ἀλλὰ καὶ διάδοχος γενόμενος Μωυσέως, μόνος τῶν ἀπʼ Αἰγύπτου ἐξελθόντων ἐν ἡλικίᾳ τοιαύτῃ ὄντων εἰσήγαγεν εἰς τὴν ἁγίαν γῆν τὸν περιλειφθέντα λαόν.31

Similarly in Dialogue 132.3 the name of Jesus/Joshua is described, in view of the ability of Joshua to lead the people into the Promised Land, as a “name of power” (τῷ τῆς δυνάμεως ὀνόματι ).

29

Epistle of Barnabas 12.8–10 Although in fact Numbers proceeds to relate how the Amalekites inevitably de feated the sons of Israel: Joshua’s victory over the Amalekites is related in Exodus 17. 31 Justin Dialogue 113.1–3 30

B. Joshua Typology in Later Christian Literature

15

Writing in the next century, Tertullian too found significance in the fact that Jesus was named Joshua. Responding to a (real or hypothetical) argument that Jewish tradition did not expect a Messiah named Jesus, he emphasises in Ad Iudæos that it was because the Messiah was to be the successor of Moses that he was appropriately so named: dum Moysi successor destinaretur Auses filius Naue, transfertur certe de pristino nomine et incipit vocari Iesus. “Certe”, inquis. Hanc prius dicimus figuram futuri fuisse. Nam quia Iesus Christus secundum populum, quod sumus nos nationes in saeculi deserto commorantes ante, introducturus esset in terram repromissionis melle et lacte manantem, id est in vitae aeternae possessionem qua nihil dulcius, idque non per Moysen id est non per legis disciplinam, sed per Iesum id est per novae legis gratiam provenire habebat circumcisis nobis petrina acie id est Christi praeceptis – petra enim Christus multis modis et figuris praedicatus est –, ideo is vir qui in huius sacramenti imagines parabatur etiam nominis dominici inauguratus est figura, ut Iesus nominaretur. 32

In point of fact, Joshua was not so re-named when appointed successor to Moses but when appointed one of the ten spies in Numbers 13, as Justin notes, but the crucial point is that Tertullian sees this as a real historical event which was nevertheless a figura futuri or, a little later in the same passage, futurum sacramentum.33 Tertullian also finds something typological in Joshua’s victory over the Amalekites (Exodus 17): iam vero Moyses quid utique tunc tantum, cum Iesus adversus Amelech proeliabatur, expansis manibus orabat residens, quando in rebus tam attonitis magis utique genibus positis et manibus caedentibus pectus et facie humi volutante orationem commendare debuisset, nisi quia illic, ubi nomen domini Iesu dicebat dimicaturi quandoque adversus diabolum, crucis habitus quoque erat necessarius, per quam Iesus victoriam esset rela turus? 34

Noteworthy here is that Tertullian sees the particular circumstances of the historical situation – that Moses had his arms in the shape of a cross while Joshua fought in the valley below – as determined by the future event of Christ’s victory over the devil through the cross. The future shapes the past, and that shaping is signalled to the Christian reader of the scriptures of Israel through the identity of names. 35

32

Ad Iudaeos IX.21f IX.25 34 X.10 35 Compare the interpretation of the English bishop Joseph Hall (1574 –1656): “In vain shall Moses be upon the hill, if Joshua be not in the valley. Prayer without means is a mockery of God. Here are two shadows of one substance; the same Christ in Joshua fights against our spiritual Amalek, and in Moses spreads out his arms upon the hill; and in both conquers’ (Sermons of Bishop Hall I.1.5.114, http://www.archive.org/ 33

16

Introduction

An especially clear exposition of the correspondences between Jesus and Joshua is offered by the Syriac compositions attributed to Aphraates, the Demonstrations, “one of the most important and at the same time most enigmatic personages of fourth century Syriac Christianity” 36. Aphraates draws the parallel with the crossing of the Jordan, showing how baptism is the appropriate manner of entry into the new covenant: Every covenant was proved firm and trustworthy in its own time, and those who have been circumcised in heart are brought to life and receive a second circumcision beside the true Jordan, the waters of baptism that bring forgiveness of sins. Jesus, son of Nun, renewed the people’s circumcision with a knife of stone when he had crossed the Jordan with the Israelites. Jesus, our Saviour, renews the circumcision of the heart for the na tions who have believed in him and are washed by baptism: circumcision by the sword of his word, sharper than any two-edged sword. Jesus, son of Nun, led the people across the Jordan into the promised land. Jesus, our Saviour, has promised the land of the living to all who have crossed the true Jordan, and have believed and are circumcised in heart. Blessed, then, are those who are circumcised in heart, and have been reborn in water through the second circumcision (Dem 11.12).37

Particularly noteworthy here is the allusion to Hebrews 4.12; this verse follows immediately from the Epistle’s treatment of the wilderness wanderings and the entry into the Land – or rather, the incomplete nature of that entry – under Joshua. One wonders, then, whether Aphraates not only considered Joshua to be a type of Christ but inferred such a typology from his reading of Hebrews. That Aphraates borrowed heavily from Hebrews is shown by, for example, Dem 1.14 which strongly echoes Heb 11. A similar possibility is raised by the first of the Hymns of the Nativity by Ephrem the Syrian, Aphraates’ approximate contemporary: Caleb the spy bore the cluster on the staff, and came and longed to see the Cluster, Whose wine should comfort the world. Him did Jesus son of Nun long for, that he might conceive the force of his own surname: for if by His name he waxed so mighty, how much more would He by His Birth? This Jesus that gathered and carried, and brought with him of the fruit, was longing for the Tree of Life to taste the Fruit that quickens all.38

stream/worksrightrever03wyntgoog/worksrightrever03wyntgoog_djvu.txt accessed 10th March 2010) 36 Pope Benedict XVI, General Audience, 21 st November 2007, http://www.vatican.va /holy_father/benedict_xvi/audiences/2007/documents/hf_ben-xvi_aud_20071121_en. html accessed 9th March 2010 37 English text from the Divine Office (Vol 2) (London: Collins, New Edition 2006), given for Wednesday of Lent, Week 1. 38 Text from Christian Classics Ethereal Library, accessed 9 th March 2010: http:// www.ccel.org/ccel/schaff/npnf213.iii.v.ii.html?scrBook=Heb&scrCh=4&scrV=8#iii.v.ii– p23.1

B. Joshua Typology in Later Christian Literature

17

This time the reference is clearly to the incident in Numbers 13 in which Caleb and Joshua return with the ten other spies – who turn out to be faithless, unlike these two – with the fruit of the land of Canaan. As I will argue in chapter three., this incident and its consequences are evoked by Hebrews 3.7–4.11. It is not an obvious place in which to find Joshua typology, compared with the entry into the Promised Land and subsequent renewal of the covenant, and the fact that Ephrem alludes to something also found in Hebrews makes it plausible that his meditation was inspired by a reading of Hebrews. I am obviously not claiming here to have proved that the author of Hebrews intended to imply some sort of typological relationship between Jesus and Joshua, only that the inference of such a relationship may have sprung from a reading of the Epistle by the time of the fourth century. Let us turn finally to the writings of Origen, produced in the early part of the third century. Without entering into the debates about the background of thought of the Epistle to the Hebrews at this point, one can safely say at least that Origen is profoundly influenced by the platonicinfluenced and deeply figurative readings of the Old Testament that we find in Philo, and which show considerable affinity with Hebrews. It is not surprising that for Origen what is written about Joshua is always susceptible to an interpretation relating it directly to Christ: “verum … instituimus quae de Iesu dicuntur etiam et ad Dominum et Salvatorem nostrum referre”39. Space does not allow more than a small sample of such interpretations, but it is worth noting those places where Origen makes reference to Hebrews, and most prominent of these is one reminiscent of the citation from Aphraates above. Commenting on the circumcision of the conquest generation, Origen remarks nunc autem videamus quae sunt machaerae petrinae, quibus circumcidit Iesus filios Israel. Si oretis pro nobis ut sermo noster vivens sit et efficacior, et acutior super omnem machaeram, praestabit et nobis Dominus Iesus, ut verbum Dei quod loquimur ad vos circumcidit omen immunditiam… et sic per verbum Dei quod nunc machaera petrina dicitur, circumcidemini et vos ab Iesu et audietis, quia abstulit opprobrium Aegypti a vobis hodie.40

Like Aphraates, Origen here relates the stone knives of Joshua’s circumcision to the word of God, quoting the words of Hebrews 4.12. Since we do not have the Greek of Origen’s work here, we cannot be certain, but it appears highly likely that he made the link because of the use of the word μάχαιρα for “knife” in the LXX of Joshua 5. Origen also applies the word to his own preaching, so that the word of his preaching is, he hopes, to be 39 40

Homily on Joshua 16.2. 26.2

18

Introduction

the knife with which Jesus will circumcise the hearts of his audience. Thus Origen uses the technique that Hebrews itself uses of figuratively situating his audience in the circumstances described by the scripture he is citing. Like Tertullian, Origen considers it especially significant that Joshua is the name of the successor of Moses, the one who completes the work that Moses began (though Origen denigrates the latter far less). He introduces the theme of Joshua’s superiority over Moses at the beginning of his first Homily on Joshua, citing the same scripture as does Hebrews when it introduces Moses for the first time, Numbers 12.7 (cf. Heb 3.2; Origen Homily on Joshua 1.1). As in Hebrews, so in Origen’s homilies, it is emphasised that what Joshua did that Moses could not do was bring the people of Israel into the Promised Land, and significantly both refer to this as “rest” (Origen 5.2, cf. Heb 4.1–11).41 What we see in Origen, Aphraates and Ephrem is then something more than a post-apostolic typological reading of the name of Jesus as in the other early Christian writings we have briefly considered. In these last three at least there is allusion also to the way in which Hebrews alludes to the ability of Joshua to do what Moses could not in bringing the Israelites into the Promised Land and then at 4.12 echoes, at least, the subsequent circumcision with the use of the word μάχαιρα. It is possible, then, that these writers found in Hebrews the same Joshua typology that they saw, or that the Epistle sparked off their typological interpretation of the figure of Joshua. Put another way, it is possible that these early Christian writers have inferred Joshua typology from the Letter to the Hebrews, fruitfully reading it in that light. This gives some initial plausibility to my suggestion that such an inference might be drawn today. The argument is twofold: on the one hand, that the Epistle gives us – as it appears to have given some early Christian writers – sufficient material to infer from it a typological relationship between Joshua and Jesus; on the other, that doing so provides a hermeneutical device that enables us to express more satisfactorily the coherency of the Epistle’s theological argument.

41

One difference between Origen and the other writers I have considered is that Ori gen places much greater emphasis on re-appropriating the meanings of the words of scripture, so that what is written of Joshua becomes principally about Jesus, and if it is nonetheless true also of a historical Joshua this is of secondary importance; for the others it seems that the historical facts about Joshua, as related in scripture, are also a source of revelation about, or an aid to understanding the significance of, Jesus. The distinction, not always a clear one, between these two kinds of figural reading is discussed below, pp. 51-54.

Chapter 2

The Typological Interpretation of the Old Testament in Hebrews A. Introduction In this chapter I will argue for two pillars upon which my argument rests. The first is that a better criterion for interpretive legitimacy than authorial intention is the plausibility of inferences that might have been made by the historical audience of Hebrews; the second, that such an audience, familiar with the scriptures of Israel in their broad thrust, if not necessarily in their verbal detail, will have been ready to infer a particular kind of typological relationship between Jesus and Joshua. My use of “typological” here is distinctive and perhaps controversial, for I argue that such a relationship may have been understood to be ontological and not only literary: that is to say, that while biblical or other authors may highlight similarities or analogies between different persons, places, events and so on in the life and history of Israel, it is sometimes the case that these analogies are not created by the authors’ literary skill but are brought about under divine providence. The parallels that are uncovered by literary means are caused by the consistency of divine action in salvation history and law-giving. In particular, I shall be arguing that the plausible audience whose understanding of Hebrews we seek to share was capable of inferring that the salvation-historical figure of Joshua, son of Nun, and his soteriologically significant actions, especially in leading the People of Israel into the Promised Land, were formed by God after the pattern of salvation in Jesus Christ. The Epistle to the Hebrews is not only using Joshua as an illustrative analogy to Jesus but opening the minds of its audience to the real relationship between the two. This distinctive kind of typological interpretation is just one aspect of Hebrews’ use of the Old Testament, and the notion of a plausible audience as a helpful criterion for interpretation of a New Testament text has emerged within recent discussion of the Old Testament in the New. Therefore this chapter begins with a brief survey of this discussion, inasmuch as it points us in a helpful direction, before arguing that Hebrews’ use of the OT includes typological interpretation. I then go on to argue that the first audience of Hebrews was capable of detecting the ontological typology

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The Typological Interpretation of the Old Testament in Hebrews

outlined above, on the basis of typological hermeneutics elsewhere in the NT, and their background in the OT and later Jewish literature. There have been a great many studies of the NT’s use of the OT in recent years, 1 raising a number of methodological questions, especially with regard to how a proposed usage of the OT in a NT book – and especially in Hebrews – might be authenticated. That is to say, is authorial intention to be the factor that legitimates our interpretation, or is this too limiting? Moyise begins by making an observation that expresses the central motif of the historical-critical project since the end of the eighteenth century: “The New Testament authors lived in a very different world to ours.”2 Although this says nothing new, it does reveal two presuppositions, the first implicit in Moyise and the second explicit, that govern not only this work but also most of the previous discussions of the topic which his book surveys: first, that the task of the NT scholar, in studying the way in which the texts of the NT cite, allude to or in other ways are influenced by the Old Testament, is to understand what the writers of those texts understood themselves to be doing or intended to do; second, that the NT authors’ understanding of the OT is likely to be different from our own, or at least from that of the non-expert. This difference – indeed, not only a difference but a tension – is to be confronted boldly. Either we conclude that the approach found in the NT is no longer tenable in the light of our own, more historically aware, more critically informed, understanding of the OT, or we find that our new insights into the mental processes of the evangelists, St Paul and other NT authors can and must be determinative for our own treatment of the Old Testament, and perhaps also even of the New.

B. Authorial Intention and Reader Competence “Authorial intention” has been the definitive locus of meaning in biblical exegesis for more than two hundred years, but it is perhaps surprising that in this area of study there has been so little enthusiasm for hermeneutical approaches that allow more scope for the emergence of meaning from the interplay of texts with readers and, more particularly, with one another. The emphasis on “intertextuality” has been exceptionally fruitful with regard to the OT in the work of Michael Fishbane 3, and Hays–whose 1

For a helpful recent survey see especially Moyise 2008 and ibid. 2001, and Lincicum 2009. 2 Moyise 2001: 5 3 Fishbane 1985

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contribution to the study of the use of the OT in the NT 4 is of foundational importance–cites this with approval 5, going on to mention the more radical intertextuality espoused by French post-structuralists such as Kristeva and Barthes6, and yet he adopts a “more limited”7 method. The limitedness that he avows is the exclusive focus on the OT as the intertextual partner, so to speak, of Paul’s letters; a limit about which he is much less clear, but which does emerge as an equally important one, is that of considering only citations, allusions and echoes that might have been intended by Paul. Hays explicitly denies this at several points, and more frequently he is imprecise about the extent to which authorial intention is the goal, and/or a controlling factor, of his reading. Nevertheless ultimately Hays has not abandoned this canon of historical criticism, though of all the notable recent works in this area his comes closest to doing so. Authorial intention has remained the locus of meaning, and the study of the Old Testament in the New is the study of how NT authors use OT texts and why. For examples, Marcus’s project 8 is to show that the author of Mark is not just working with the OT text but with the traditions of interpretation with which he is familiar, pointing to interpretations of passages of Isaiah marked by “gospel” vocabulary which in the first century were being read in the context of eschatological expectation. Thus Mark appealed to what his Jewish contemporaries might have thought were Isaian themes, theological ideas that were associated with particular parts of Isaiah. Mark 1.2 is a clue that these themes will form the background of his Gospel: “Mark takes up patterns and themes from the Old Testament and uses them to make clear to his biblically literate readers various aspects of Jesus’s identity”9. This echoes Lindars’s conclusion 10 that the earliest Christians appealed to especially amenable passages of scripture; but Marcus’s approach is far more holistic, dealing as it does with the Gospel as a literary unit. Marcus therefore needs his “biblically literate readers” to be far more perceptive than Lindars needs the Gospels’ readers to be: for the latter, they need only be familiar with their own, or their own teachers’, use of a selection of OT passages in polemical apologetics, whereas “The Old Testament patterns and themes used by Mark have … suffered an

4

Hays 1989 Hays 1989: 14 6 E.g. Kristeva 1974; Barthes 1981: both cited in Hays 1989: 15 n.50 7 Hays 1989: 15 8 Marcus 1993 9 Marcus 1993: 202, my emphasis 10 Lindars 1961, especially 284–285 5

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alchemical transformation based on a logically prior belief, the good news of the arrival of the eschaton in the event of Jesus Christ.”11 A very similar proposal regarding the relationship between Isaiah and Mark is found in RE Watts’s Isaiah’s New Exodus and Mark.12 Where Watts is more helpful than Marcus is in his discussion of three closely related questions: how are we to detect, and be confident that we have detected, an OT allusion?; why have these important motifs in Mark’s Gospel been hidden from its readers for two thousand years?; and how likely is it that these allusions, the invocations of these motifs, would in fact have been picked up by the readers to whom the Gospel was first addressed? In answer to the first he proposes four criteria: 13 A. Marked linguistic parallels and conceptual congruence; B. Linguistic or conceptual distinctiveness of the OT passage from which the alleged allusion comes; C. Explanatory power of the allusion; D. Congruence with broader Markan themes

The second and third of these point to a very important area of recent debate, the consideration of the possible gaps between (a) the NT author and his contemporary audience and (b) that original audience and ourselves. The answer to Watts’s second question – why were the allusions he identifies lost for two thousand years – is the most cursory and least satisfactory: the original force of the ideological framework was lost because the Church lost some of its Jewishness. So the de-contextualisation of OT texts in this NT text at least – and by implication of at least some of the others, presumably those which are the product of and/or were addressed to Jewish communities – took place not in the NT itself but in the early stages of its Wirkungsgeschichte. Hays recognises the same difficulty and comes to much the same conclusion: “a radically divergent social and religious context engendered a major hermeneutical revision by locating Paul’s letters within a different intertextual space”14. Such an answer begs the question how it could have been that the NT writings were so quickly ripped out of their proper frames of reference, thus rendered barely comprehensible, and yet were still so highly valued that they have been preserved faithfully and interpreted fruitfully for so long. The problem is a much bigger one for Watts and Marcus than it is for Hays, since the first two are not only attempting to supplement the exegesis of NT texts, to draw out additional nuances perhaps not readily avail11

Marcus 1993: 203, my emphasis Watts 1997 13 Watts 1997: 8 14 Hays 1989: 31 12

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able to the modern reader, but, to a greater or lesser extent, to provide “the key” to a particular texts. It is one thing to say that the reading of the NT has not been as rich as it might have been through the Church’s history, and quite another to say it has really missed the point. Of course, the fact that this would be an uncomfortable conclusion for some does not rule it out, but it does make the problem considerably more acute for Watts. His solution is not impossible, but it is would need a good deal of external support; for it is not as if (most) early Christians simply stopped reading the OT, so we would need to explain and trace their increasing failure to read it in a way congenial to a full understanding of the writings of the NT. It seems slightly odd to say at once that the NT is only properly understood in a the light of a certain reading of the OT and that that necessary understanding of the OT was lost because of the NT, which is what Hays seems to imply. On the other hand, whenever and however Christians did in fact lose the “reader competence” that proposals like those of Watts and Marcus require, the suggestion that some such competence needs to be recovered, that today’s reader of the NT has something to learn from the NT’s original readership, is an important point and a refreshing change from the presupposition of “the interpretive inadequacy of our predecessors”.15 Watts’s answer to the question whether Mark’s audience could have been expected to detect the OT motifs used in the Gospel is that “Mark’s frequent, if not ubiquitous, use of OT texts and motifs, often at crucial points in his narrative, is prima facie evidence of an intentionality which strongly suggests that he assumed at least some of his audience were reasonably familiar with parts of the OT.”16 The evangelist expected his audience to detect the effect he was attempting to create; this requires their ability to spot not only particular allusions but to note their juxtapositions, to recognise them as signposts within the overall Gospel narrative, and so on. But the assertion that Mark expected his audience to have the necessary discernment, something which is really a necessary presupposition of Watts’s methodology, is not a proof that they did in fact have it. Mark may have been mistaken. Indeed, more broadly what is at fault in Watts’s book is any demonstration that the theme of “Isaian New Exodus”, so central to his argument that it is abbreviated throughout to an almost ubiquitous INE, was a theme that any reader of Isaiah other than Mark ever identified. No consideration whatsoever is given to readings of Isaiah in the first century. The question is whether (a) the elucidation of this theme was in fact current among Jews at the time Mark was writing, and we have lost the evidence for this – which is perfectly possible but unproveable – or (b) it was 15 16

Kermode 1979: 17 Watts 1997: 379

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a reading of Isaiah that emerged only in the light of a logically prior understanding of Christ, either in the Markan community or in Mark’s own mind. If the former, then we are back once again in the Lindars/Stendahl 17 camp, in which appeal is made not to the OT directly, nor to the OT in its first century Jewish exegetical context, but to OT-based apologetics to which the NT bears witness. If the latter, then we must ask ourselves whether Mark got his audience completely wrong, and if so what we are to make of that. The possibility that Paul made precisely this mistake is explored in JR Wagner’s recent study on Isaiah in Romans: “It is always possible that Paul seriously misjudged the hearer competence of his audience in Rome”18, he suggests, and he appeals to the notion of the “ideal reader”. This is a reader at what is historically speaking the highest possible level of competence, one who has studied the scriptures as Paul himself has, and is willing to re-read and study the Letter, rather than just hear it read once in a church meeting. This “ideal reader” is distinct from the concept of an “implied reader”, one that emerges from within the text as literature rather than from a historical study of the background to the text; prescinding in this way from at least one part of the historical question risks a quasisolipsistic reaction: “only I (and people who think like me) understand Paul”. The possibility of any historically-informed objective control on interpretation is in grave danger of being lost. This risk is one that Hays flirts with, but from which he ultimately draws back. One of his seven tests is “availability – was the proposed source of the echo available to the author and/or the original readers?”19 The hermeneutical event occurs in my reading of the text, but my reading always pro ceeds within a community of interpretation, whose hermeneutical conventions inform my reading. Prominent among these convictions are the conventions that a proposed inter pretation must be justified with reference to evidence provided both by the text’s rhetor ical structure and by what can be known through critical investigation about the autho r and original readers. 20

The question of the plausible effect of the text upon the original audience is a very promising one for establishing an objective basis for interpretation. Such a basis is the foundation of Stanley’s rhetorical-critical study of the Pauline letters.21 “Quotations will be studied,” he writes, “as rhetorical devices designed to influence the thoughts, feelings and actions of a first century audience, not as windows to the theology of interpretive activities 17

Stendahl 1967 Wagner 2002: 35 19 Hays 1989: 29 20 Hays 1989: 28 21 Stanley 2004 18

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of the author.”22 He has no difficulty with the suggestion that “Paul simply misjudged, or failed to consider, the level of biblical literacy in his churches”.23 He points to evidence of low levels of literacy and little access to books among all but the wealthiest in the first century, as well as the understandable ignorance of Jewish scriptures among Gentiles. He dismisses the relevance of suggestions that some scriptural allusions in Paul seem to expect readers to “get” the allusion, and some citations seem to require knowledge of the OT context, and the solution that Paul’s Gentile readers had perhaps been pre-catechised in the necessary knowledge. Paul certainly had not done this in Rome, and moreover there are numerous places where Paul cites scripture in ways that strain any sense of the original context – Stanley cites 1 Cor 14.21; 2 Cor 4.13; Rom 2.24; 9.25f; 10.5–8,18. The first three examples at least are hard to deny to Stanley, and his argument is that if Paul expected his argument to hold water in these places, it is unlikely that he would require his readers to infer the original context in others. That is, Paul would not use de-contextualised proof texts anywhere to an audience he thought willing and able to recontextualise, because he would know that they would fail. This is not a subtle argument; might not Paul use different strategies to appeal to different groups within the same audience? Stanley ought to concede this, since he goes on to insist, very helpfully, that Paul’s audience is not to be treated as a monolithic entity. Why, then, assume that Paul did so? Moreover, might there not be verbal clues in his letters that a deeper reading of the OT is to be inferred in one place than in another? Such verbal clues might indeed be more subtle allusions to the broader context – either within the OT or in the interpretive tradition – of an explicitly-cited text, allusions that would cue the audience rhetorically to look beneath the surface. It is in his suggestion that we make the distinction between different levels of audience competence that Stanley is at his most helpful, and he proposes a three-fold division: the “optimal reader”, who is almost a reallife version of the implied reader, someone as close as possible to the ideal reader; the “minimal audience”, who would simply have to accept Paul’s word for it – or refuse to do so – that such-and-such a thing was actually written in the scriptures; and the “competent” audience who would at least know the basic story, say of Abraham and the Exodus. But, noting that the four letters in which Paul explicitly cites scripture are those written to communities where Paul’s authority was under suspicion, Stanley suggests that a large part of Paul’s purpose was to impress with his knowledge of scripture and erudition, in order to boost his authority. The “optimal 22 23

Stanley 2004: 20 Stanley 2004: 3

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reader” is in fact far from optimal for Paul’s rhetorical purposes, since such a reader is least likely to be impressed with Paul’s often specious, decontextualised arguments. In some cases, where his authority is altogether lost, his use of scripture is not of the form, “I am authoritative, therefore believe this interpretation of scripture”, but “I can cite scripture, therefore accept my authority”. While in some cases Paul needs the reader to be competent enough to know the story, in others he will perhaps be better served by a minimally competent audience who are just impressed that he knows the bible.

C. The Case of Hebrews – Author and Audience The historical author of Hebrews is unknown. He 24 is anonymous within the text, and no convincing argument has been made for identifying him with any first century writer known from other sources. 25 More importantly he does not make himself prominent within the Epistle in the way that e.g. Paul does. There is no overt attempt to assert authority, to relate autobiography, or to develop a relationship of any kind with the addressees of the text.26 A study of a Pauline epistle’s use of the OT can legitimately contribute to and be informed by discussions about the theology and biography of that historical individual; this is not the case with Hebrews, and I suggest that the fruitfulness of attempting to discern authorial intention which has been amply demonstrated in respect of Paul, and to some extent with the evangelists, since the emergence of the historical-critical method, is not to be found in respect of Hebrews. The historical situation of Hebrews is similarly unknown. As with authorship, one could fill many pages with a review of the discussion of the matter, but it suffices to say that no particular analysis is sufficiently persuasive to determine my exegesis. It is clear that the author and his addressees believe that a man called Ἰησοῦς, who died and is yet exalted to the heaven from which he originated, has as a result of this death-andexaltation achieved salvation for those who believe in him. We may, then, assume the broad contours of early-Christian belief, and it is quite evident that this is assumed to be entirely consonant with the scriptures of Israel. Whether the temple in Jerusalem is not mentioned because it has ceased to 24

On the basis of the masculine participle at 11.32, and pace Harnack 1900 and more recently Hoppin 1997, as well as on the basis of intrinsic probability in the first century, I think it is reasonable to suppose that the author is a man. 25 The literature on this subject is substantial, and is well summarised in every modern commentary, so I shall not review it here. 26 With the partial exception of 13.18f

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exist, or whether the destruction of that temple is not mentioned because it has not yet taken place, is an unresolvable argument, and we can be confident only that Hebrews was written some time in the latter half of the first century, or at the very beginning of the second. The more particular circumstances of those addressed, such as the possibility that they were or had been subject to severe persecutions, are difficult to determine because the rhetorical nature of the text makes hyperbole entirely possible. The only concrete references to contemporary circumstances are found at the very end of the Epistle, 13.23f, and it is by no means impossible that 13.22ff is a later addition. For these reasons I suggest that it is futile to make either authorial intention or a detailed reconstruction of the historical circumstances of the Epistle the determining factors in our exegesis. In the light especially of the considerations raised by our discussion in section A above, it will be more satisfactory to consider instead how the Epistle might have been received by it audience than how it might have been intended by its author. The word “audience” is used deliberately because even if one does not accept Gelardini’s conclusions about the form of the Epistle 27, its use of rhetoric throughout, its self-description as a λόγος τῆς παρακλήσεως (13.22) and its pervasive citation of scripture all point towards a text directed towards hearers rather than readers. And rather than tie these hearers down to a very particular place, time and situation, we should allow our notion of this audience to emerge from the nature of the text – in other words, we are interested in the “competent audience”: open to the rhetorical effect of the Epistle, and more broadly speaking well-disposed to appreciate and appropriate for itself the message that is offered; convinced of the salvific efficacy of Jesus’s death and heavenly exaltation and of his heavenly origins; hopeful of attaining perfection and of the final consummation of the eschatological age inaugurated by Jesus; but not so firmly anchored in the faith as to be incapable of being led astray, defecting from it or faltering in it with potentially disastrous consequences. As important as anything, the Epistle demands an audience familiar with and pious towards the scriptures of Israel – almost certainly in Greek. But it need not have been – and it is historically plausible that the audience was not – so well versed in the scriptures as to capture every nuance of wording, pick up every echo and allusion, or infer the wider context of every passage. What is necessary, and plausible, is a broad familiarity with the salvation history to which these scriptures bear witness, a history that has reached its fulfilment in the person of Jesus Christ.

27

Gelardini 2005 – see below p. 30

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Whether such an audience in fact received the Epistle when it was first delivered, we cannot know, although we can be sure it was sufficiently well-received by those responsible for its preservation. Neither can we know whether the historical author was accurately informed about the nature of his audience. But this is the audience that Hebrews demands, and we may say that the task of the exegete in regard to Hebrews is to align himself with such an audience, imagining himself into the role. This imaginative task has a historical dimension that provides objectivity to our exegesis, for we are claiming to align ourselves not simply with an appropriate audience but also with a plausible audience. Throughout the remainder of this work I will be arguing for what a historically plausible firstcentury audience might reasonably have inferred when listening sympathetically to the Letter to the Hebrews.

D. The Old Testament in Hebrews Studies of the NT’s use of the OT have focused almost entirely on the Pauline Epistles and the Gospels, to the exclusion of other parts of the NT, including Hebrews. To an extent this is simply part of a broader neglect of the anonymous Epistle. There have been a few studies on the text of the OT and the extent to which Hebrews’ citations accord with the LXX, with a trend over the past twenty years or so towards (a) recognising that the Greek texts of the OT to which the author of Hebrews had access may have differed, in varying degrees, from any now-attested reading of the LXX, but (b) concluding that the author allowed himself the freedom to change the text he was citing both for stylistic and for theological reasons. 28 In fact, this conclusion was drawn in 1971 by Combrink29, who noted that twice in chapter ten Hebrews cites small sections of the OT that he has cited differently elsewhere, seemingly for reasons of his argument in chapter ten.30 Other studies have drawn parallels between Hebrews’ methods of scriptural interpretation and those of the Rabbis 31, but principally it seems with a view to rescuing the Epistle from accusations of excessive Philonic Hellenism. When it comes to studies that actually seek to identify the hermeneutical logic that underpins Hebrews’ use of the OT, there has been little 28

On both points see Leschert 1994; on the second see also Enns 1997 and Silva 1983 Combrink 1971 30 Specifically, Heb 10.8f cites Ps 40(39).6–8, previously cited (closer to the LXX) at 10.5–7; Heb 10.16f cites Jer 31.33 (LXX 38.33), previously cited at 8.10, again closer but not identical to the LXX. 31 Notably Guthrie 1997 29

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advance on the work of Hughes 32. The key to this approach is “a dialectical relationship in which the past stands to the present in both continuity and discontinuity,”33 a relationship that the Epistle establishes in various “circles of comparison” or “frames” which Hughes equates to what has more traditionally been called typology. The opening verse of the Epistle establishes explicitly that the structures to which the OT bears witness and which it establishes are “only hesitant and partial expressions of what they themselves point to in their partiality.”34 The other pole of the dialectical relationship is the historical, observable reality of Jesus – at least, as mediated through the “Jesus tradition”; the analogy of concepts in the OT and in this tradition permits, though it does not demand, the particular interpretations of scripture offered by the Epistle. Hughes also suggests that, while in the christological sections of the Epistle there is a uniformly realised eschatology, in which the OT functions as a source of typological analogies that illustrate the meaning of the one who has fulfilled them (and rendered them obsolete), when talking of the identity and situation of the audience, the types remain open to further fulfilment in an eschatological future. Thus “the Christian community … discovers a real and existential continuity between itself and the community of the old covenant.”35 This, he concludes, is why the Word speaks with present force to the audience. Hughes was writing a decade before Hays, and before most of the other studies on which this chapter has focused; words like ‘intertextuality’, ‘echo’ and ‘metanarrative’ are not features of his work. Some recent attempts to discern a structure to Hebrews have, it is true, proposed an outline based on catenae of OT expositions 36, but these are brief proposals rather than full scale studies, and in any case do not attempt to claim that Hebrews’ structure is based on an overarching metanarrative. This flags up a distinction, not always clear in recent scholarship, between claims that a certain theological reading of one or more OT texts provides the formative concepts and terminology for a book of the NT, and suggestions that there are literary links to be uncovered between the OT and the NT texts. Certainly sometimes the two claims go together and reinforce one another, as is the case for example in the work of Watts, whereas NT Wright’s work on Paul is based only on the claim to have discovered a theological substructure, and does not argue for literary relationships between Paul and the many OT books from which he (Wright, or in Wright’s view Paul) derives his theology. Verbal parallels are explicit, not allusive, and term32

Hughes 1979 Hughes 1979: 102 34 Hughes 1979: 103, emphasis original 35 Hughes 1979: 108 36 Notably Walters 1995 and France 1996 33

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inological rather than literary: he uses the same words because he is talking about the same ideas, rather than because he wishes to hint at a broader literary frame of reference. Conversely, Hays’s work centres on literary allusions, which are many and varied and do not all point towards a single nexus of theological concepts. In practice it is unlikely that the distinction between terminological and literary reference will ever be absolute: the distinction is a notional one between two similar and often inseparable techniques. Nevertheless one should be clear that not all instances of verbal parallels between OT and NT writings are examples of “intertextuality” in the literary-critical sense; some point rather to the supposed historical and/or theological truths expressed in the OT with which the NT author is working. In regard to Hebrews, it is important to begin by noting the exceptional number of explicit citations of the OT. 37 It would surely be wise to suppose that these form the basis of Hebrews’ use of scripture, before looking for a substructure based on more subtle literary allusions. 38 It is also appropriate at this point to note the proposal of Gelardini 39: it is certainly attractive to see Hebrews as a homiletic exposition of key passages of the OT, of which Psalm 95 and Jeremiah 31 seem especially important, and with a substantial number of others orbiting around them in an exegetical cloud. The implicit justification for this procedure is the unity of scripture: though comprised of many distinct scrolls, it is all the word of God which continues to have the power to address the hearer with direct and profound relevance (cf. Heb 4.12). Hebrews is unusual among NT writings in commonly and explicitly describing the OT as the words of God to Hebrews’ audience (e.g. 1.5–8; 3.7f, 13–15)40, to which Schenck adds that Hebrews seems to move easily between “pre-modernly”41 taking the OT to give the 37

Longenecker 1999: 47 identifies thirty-eight, as does NA27 Cf. Hatina 2002 39 Gelardini (2005) argues that Hebrews is specifically a homily on Exodus 31.18 – 32.35 and Jeremiah 31.31–34, which according to one reconstruction were used in the synagogue lectionary for the 9 th of Ab, the day when the first temple was destroyed, on which God decreed that the wilderness generation would not enter the Promised Land, and which began the period of ten Sabbaths that led up to Yom Kippur, a whole penitential season not unlike the Christian Lent. For more detail, see Ounsworth 2009: 86–88). This is all extremely suggestive, although sadly it cannot be proved. We can only guess whether this cycle of readings was in operation, in its tentatively reconstructed form, in the first century, and whether it was known in the place where Hebrews was first preached, if indeed the Epistle was in whole or in part a homily, let alone a synagogue homily. 40 Cf. Schenck 2009: 325 n.16 41 Schenck 2009: 324 38

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ipsissima verba of God (or of other biblical characters) and non-literal interpretations, having no difficulty then with the notion that the actual historical words uttered in the history of Israel’s relationship with God have a deeper significance that is only made visible in the light of Christ. He also observes that the texts cited – including those which originally seem to be “non-narrative” texts such as the Psalms or Proverbs – are all placed into a narrative context. That is to say, the whole of scripture is, for Hebrews, at one and the same time the direct address of God to Hebrews’ audience and the narration of a particular story, the story of God’s historical and ongoing soteriological relationship with his people. Everything in the OT, whether obviously so or not, is heilsgeschichtlich, and God is at once the protagonist and the narrator in this soteriological story. Moreover it is precisely in speaking that God is the protagonist, right from the beginning of the story when his creating word brings the world into existence (1.10–12); and even where God is not the character speaking, as for example in Ps 95 (see especially Heb 4.7), the words of the human character are still an expression of the logos of God.42 The easy shift from literal to non-literal significance is seen not only in what we might consider to be salvation-historical passages of the OT, but also in the legal ordinances uttered by God (e.g. Heb 9.8). Indeed for Hebrews it is part of Israel’s Heilsgeschichte that God ordained the arrangements of, for example, the sacrificial cult, and that this cult was undertaken as instructed; but it is also God’s intention in prescribing these arrangements to indicate the deeper significance that they have as ὑποδείγμα (8.5) of what was to be achieved in Christ. To the question, “was it the ordinations recorded in scripture or the concrete realities they ordained that foreshadowed Christ’s death and exaltation?”, it seems that in the world of Hebrews the answer must be “both”, for Hebrews presupposes that the ordinations of God are carried out perfectly – if something is described in scripture, it exists in reality. God’s speech in ordaining the cult can be read in scripture and understood as foreshadowing Christ, and the concrete result of his speech can – or at least, could in principle at some point in history – be seen and similarly has a correspondence to Christ’s saving death-and-exaltation. As Treier argues, God’s speech in the OT is always “speech-act”, and Hebrews is concerned with what God does through his speech.43 The Epistle’s use of scripture may be characterised as two-fold: first, to show how the non-literal, or better “super-literal”, meanings of particular passages of the OT refer, and always did refer, to Christ and his eschatological accomplishments, without leaving behind their historical literal meaning; and second, with paraenetic intent, to make 42 43

Schenck 2009: 326 In Treier 2009, especially pp. 338–42

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clear to the audience how in his speaking through scripture God is acting now in holding out to the audience of the Epistle both promise and warning (especially in 3.7–4.11). Treier rightly suggests that Hebrews’ use of scripture is typological, involving expectation of escalated correspondence between past and present divine action, and therefore between past and present audience situations and responsibilities… Hebrews, it seems, freely finds correspondences between past and present … that allow for pastoral application and fresh theological insight, without negating the historical particularity of the prior text. 44

What needs to be emphasised in particular, though, is an important distinction between this kind of typological use and the literary uses proposed by some of the authors we have considered in this chapter. The distinction is well summed up by Lunde’s explanation of Raymond Brown’s distinction between typology and the sensus plenior: “While Brown ties [sensus plenior] to the literal sense of the words of the text, he characterises [typology] as having to do primarily with things.”45 This is not to overlook the importance of the words, but to recognise that when scripture is cited in Hebrews, very often a point is being made not principally about the particular words used but about the events, persons or places to which those words refer. The use of the OT is therefore not a theological juggling with words but an appeal to the nature of the reality to which both the words of the OT and the words of Hebrews point. To put it another way, the implication is not, “this passage in scripture appears to be saying X but really means Y (instead or as well)”46 but “the thing X described in this passage of scripture is intended by God – by whose providence it came to pass – to correspond to the thing Y, which was similarly divinely ordained.” This is not to say that the wording of scripture is unimportant, but it is important because – again providentially – it draws attention to the ontological correspondences that exist in those things to which it refers.

E. Defining New Testament Typology It does not suffice to conclude that Hebrews uses the Old Testament typologically. We need to define more clearly what “typology” means; that is to say, what understanding of the relationship between the scriptures of 44 45

Treier 2009: 343 In Berding and Lunde 2008: 18 n.25, commenting on Brown 1955, emphasis origi -

nal 46

Whether it is “instead” or “as well” is the nub of the debate in much of the discussion of this topic, as exemplified by Berding and Lunde 2009.

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Israel and the Christian gospel that Hebrews is expressing might have been available for our audience to infer from the Epistle? We should not import a definition into the study of the New Testament from a much later period without acknowledging that we have done so. The emphasis here is important: many scholars overtly use a heuristic definition, recognising that it might not be one that might have been recognised as what “typology” meant in the first – say – three centuries of the Christian era. 47 Still less will it be a usage familiar to pre-Christian or non-Christian Jews. Such a heuristic and external definition might well be considered essential, but if we fail to recognise that that is what it is, we will read the scriptural texts with an anachronistic naivety. Since the work of Daniélou 48, there has nevertheless been a tendency to equate the distinction between typology and allegory to that between the Antiochene and Alexandrian exegetical schools, and thus to push the definition of typology back at least into the patristic era, but Frances Young has demonstrated convincingly that this is an anachronistic reading into that debate of post-enlightenment concerns with literal historicity. 49 She shows how modern distinctions between various methods of biblical interpretation are quite different distinctions from those made by the ancient writers. 50 Having insisted that “the word ‘typology’ is a modern coinage” Young goes on to propose that “it is a useful term, and may be employed as a heuristic tool…taking our cue from places where the word ‘type’ is explicitly used, we may be able justifiably to identify other examples of the procedure where the terminology is not explicit.”51 This is a helpful proposal if, while acknowledging that our definition is not one explicit within the biblical texts, or other writings of early Christians, we nevertheless wish to subject our definition to a biblical control so that it is not purely subjective. I propose, therefore, to follow the strategy suggested by Young, allowing a definition to emerge from the New Testament’s use of the τύπος word-group which has given its name to “typology”, so that we can be confident that it is a definition that would have been recognisable to the first addressees of NT texts, even if in fact it was not offered; a definition true to the hermeneutical strategies of the NT rather than those of modern 47

On this point see especially Fishbane 1985: 350f. Notably in Daniélou 1960 49 Young 1987: 166: “The problems with the traditional account lie … in the assump tion that Antiochene literalism meant something like modern historicism.” See also Trigg 2002, in which he suggests that Hanson similarly imports modern distinctions into his critique of Origen. 50 See the very helpful chart in Young 1987: 213 51 Young 1987: 193 48

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exegetes, without claiming that for the writers and first readers of the NT τύπος was a technical term in hermeneutics. Concrete uses of the word τύπος in secular Greek include a hollow mould for casting images of metal, a die for casting coins, engraved marks, a carved or moulded figure; thus by extension an exact replica or image, the shape of something, the general character of something (as in a stereotypical character in a drama), a prescribed form to be imitated, or a pattern or model capable of and intended for exact reduplication. 52 Underlying all of these meanings then is that of a sensible representation either formed by or causally forming some other thing, either an impression or a “matrix” that forms an impression, and Woollcombe notes in passing that the word may refer “either to the matrix or to the impression or to both.”53 Davidson’s extensive examination of the semantic range of τύπος concludes that this possibility of double-meaning is essential to its use in the NT: that the τύπος can be, in his terminology, a nachbildliche Vorbild and a vorbildliche Nachbild54, an impression moulded by something and capable in turn of moulding other things into the shape of the original. Within the NT, the largest set of occurrences is that in which either τύπος or a cognate is used for an example to be imitated – the clearest is Phil 3.17, in which Paul sets himself (and Timothy) forth as an example and a paradigm of reliable teaching; in 1 Thess 1.7 he tells his readers that their imitation of him makes them a τύπος for other believers. The notion is also found in 1 Peter 5.3, and in the Pastorals we find a similar idea in 1 Tim 4.12 with τύπος and in the same letter at 1.16 with u(potu/pwsij , which word is also used in 2 Tim 1.13, not of the author but of his teaching as a model and guarantee of soundness. The tradition of Christian teaching is called a τύπος in Rom 6.17. In line with the semantic range of the τύπος word-group outlined earlier, I suggest that the concept invoked by the passages where the word-group is used in the sense of “an example” is that of a formative impression. The “type” in each case is a mediating term between the original source of the image, Christ and/or the gospel, and the material which is ultimately to be stamped with that image, which is a group of people – the addressees of the epistles in these cases. I take just two examples to clarify this point: Phil 3.17 and 1 Pet 5:3. Paul makes it 52

Aristotle and Plato use the word – among others – to describe the general outline or sketch (elsewhere the same idea is denoted by σχῆμα or σκιά) of an idea or the pattern of some ideal, and in Plato’s case also the appearances of things as against the underlying reality (e.g. Plato Republic 396a, 403e; Leges 7.803e; Aristotle Politics 1341b32, 1323a10), while Epicurean philosophy uses τύπος for the impression that visible objects make on the air (e.g. Diogenes Laertius 10.49). 53 Woollcombe 1957: 61, emphasis added. Matrix is Woollcombe’s term. 54 Davidson 1981, especially pp. 129–32

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clear from the beginning of Phil 3 that in his own apostolic mission he has been conformed to Christ, not only explicitly in verses 12–14, but also implicitly by the parallelism between his description of his own biography with that of Christ in the christological hymn in chapter 2. It is with this point of his own conformity to Christ established that Paul goes on to urge the Philippians to conform themselves to him in turn, as he does much more straightforwardly in 1 Cor 11.1. 55 That the conformity of all is ultimately to Christ, and importantly that the source of that conformity is Christ’s own causative power, is then immediately emphasised again in the last two verses of the chapter which, moreover, invoke a sense of the vertical relationship between Christ and the believers. Taking our cue from Davidson’s terminology, we might say that if the type (here Paul) is the nachbildliche Vorbild and vorbildliche Nachbild, then the Urbild is Christ himself, and what gives Paul as τύπος the ability to mould the material into its own image is the heavenly status of that Urbild. Thus the use of the τύπος word-group in paraenetic passages, though usually translated “example”, is capable of connoting a good deal more; it cannot be shown to be a technical term in these passages, but it does encourage us to seek similar connotations in other passages. This is especially the case with respect to the use of τύποι and τυπικῶς in 1 Cor 10 (vv. 6, 11): both are translated by “as examples” in the NIV and the NRSV (in the latter, τυπικῶς = “as an example”), here of course examples not to be imitated. But it is at least possible that the use of these words implies something exegetical as well as paraenetic. One does not have to claim that Paul is using τύπος and τυπικῶς here as technical expressions in a considered hermeneutical strategy to recognise that he sees them as appropriate terms with which to relate events from the Old Testament to the present situation of his readers, just as he and one or more other NT writers see the τύπος word-group as appropriate for expressing the relationship they or their teaching have to their addressees and these latter, in their turn, have to other believers. It might appear that the only difference here is that the example is a historical one taken from the events related in the OT rather than one contemporary with the addressees. 56 However, the grammar is slightly puzzling if that is the case: in 1 Cor 10.6, though typically translated “warnings” or “examples for us”57, the Greek reads τύποι ἡμῶν and not 55

This demonstrates that Paul does not invariably use the τύπος word-group when speaking of himself as a mediating model. 56 This passage is of particular interest to our study because the parallel drawn be tween the addressees of 1 Corinthians and the people of Israel in the period of the wilderness wanderings is also drawn in Hebrew 3f. 57 RSV and NRSV respectively, for example.

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τύποι ἡμῖν. It is not impossible that the genitive is a genitive of reference 58, even though this clearly cannot be the case in the grammatically parallel τύπος τοῦ μέλλοντος in Rom 5.14. But when we turn to 1 Cor 10.11 we find that the events related happened τυπικῶς … ἐκείνοις (sc. the people of Israel) but (δὲ) were written πρὸς νουθεσίαν ἡμῶν. Clearly this ἡμῶν is a genitive of reference, but it is dependent upon νουθεσίαν not τυπικῶς. I doubt that the first two clauses in this verse are simply synonymous, since this would be a tautology; equally, it cannot mean that the events took place as warnings for the Israelites, since the punishment had already befallen them. Rather, Paul is saying two distinct things: first, that the events in the wilderness happened to the Israelites τυπικῶς, and secondly that they were written for our instruction. When we turn back to verse 6 we find the same thing: Paul is saying first that the events that happened were τύποι ἡμῶν and secondly that they happened so that we should not fall into the same error. There is a further difference from the other paraenetic passages: Paul does not say that the people of Israel are τύποι but that ταῦτα are, the reference surely being to the whole sequence of events related. It cannot be only the fact that the majority were overthrown in the wilderness, because Paul is making a much broader parallel between the saving events of the Exodus and the offer of salvation made through baptism into Christ. It is the whole sequence, or form, of events – the Exodus, the miraculous provision of water and food, the wilderness murmurings and the punishments that followed – that happened to the Israelites typologically, and were subsequently “inscriptured” so that the people of the new covenant might learn from the type. Two distinct, though inseparable, advantages belong to Paul’s readers: on the one hand, a knowledge of the history of the relationship between God and his people; on the other, the insight to recognise that this written Heilsgeschichte reveals the underlying patterns that shape that history, and thus the opportunity to conform themselves to the right models and not to the wrong ones. The formative patterns would be there anyway, but the fact that they are written in scripture makes it possible for us to benefit from them, and makes possible the paraenesis which is Paul’s purpose. The source of the power of the τύπος, then, to mould the history of God’s people, is not ultimately its literary quality but that supernatural power, power of heavenly origin, which Paul so strongly emphasises: the food, the drink, the rock are all πνευματικός – “and the Rock was Christ” (verse 4). That same supernatural power inheres in the saving events which conform to those of the past, particularly in the Eucharist (verse 16) which 58

Following, inter alios, Bruce 1971: 92 and Barrett 1968: 223

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is the “table of the Lord” (verse 21). Recalling that the exemplary τύποι considered earlier are mediating moulds, we see that the same mediating characteristic applies here: the formative relationship between the People of Israel and the Christian community is an ontological one, the events of salvation history being shaped according to the saving purposes of God with the eschatological community of the Church as their τέλος. We turn now to the remaining τύπος word-group occurrences in which there is overt reference to something in the Old Testament: Acts 7.43f; Romans 5.14; Hebrews 8.5; 9.24 and 1 Peter 3.21. Here the relationship between horizontal (historical) and vertical (cosmological) typologies becomes important. Two of these occurrences are certainly typological interpretations of historical events related in the OT: Romans 5.14 speaks of Adam as a τύπος τοῦ μέλλοντος and 1 Peter 3.21 is a typological interpretation of the flood. In Acts 7.43, the use of τύπους is not figurative, and so probably not relevant to our enquiry, although the reference is clearly to OT events (cf. Amos 5.26f) and the word is repeated – perhaps purely coincidentally – in the next verse, which like Hebrews 8.5 refers directly to Exodus 25.4059 in a vertical (heaven-earth) typology. In Hebrews 9.24 this same idea is taken up again, with the claim made explicitly that the purpose of the antitype has been accomplished in the present age by the once-for-all sacrificial entry of Christ into the heavenly temple. We have, then, not an interpretation of an OT event as a type of something in the present age but an interpretation of something in the present age as an “antitype” of something written about in the OT but still extant. 60 Certainly the usage in Hebrews subserves a historical, that is to say an eschatological, purpose: the contrast between the heavenly sanctuary and the earthly marks the absolute superiority of the new covenant over the old, of the once-for-all sacrifice of Christ over their anticipations which took place in the earthly temple and which Christ’s death fulfilled. But this does not mean that purely vertical typology, founded upon atemporal rather than historical relationships, is not found in the NT, because we can distinguish between the nature of the typology and its purpose. The nature of the typology is exactly the same as that implied in Acts 7.44, where the contrast is clearly between the timeless transcendence of God and the necessarily inferior nature of the earthly temple which nevertheless corresponds to the heavenly sanctuary (vv. 48ff), and there is no appeal to the eschatological fulfillment of the temple in Stephen’s speech. What makes the vertical typology in Hebrews 9 distinctive is that (a) it is directed to an eschatological purpose and (b) that it combines the vertical aspect with a 59

Cf. Exodus 26.30 and compare 1 Chron 28.11,19. Or perhaps very recently defunct, but spoken of as continuing, depend ing on when we think Hebrews was written. 60

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two-fold horizontal one embracing both time and space, Heilsgeschichte and Heilsgeographie, as it were. I deal with this passage in far more detail on pp. 157–165 below. 1 Peter 3.21 invokes a correspondence between the event of the flood, and particularly the rescue of Noah and his family through divine revelation, and the salvation offered to the Christian through baptism. Beyond this, however, the passage presents many difficulties both grammatical and theological. Crucial for our purposes is the construal of ἀντίτυπον: is the word being used in the same sense as in Heb 9.24? If so, is it functioning in the technical sense with which it is used in typological exegesis of the OT in later early-Christian writings? Certainly many commentators presume that the answer is “yes” to both questions: JND Kelly, for example, writes that “The key-term antitupos is of critical importance for both primitive and later Christian thinking. The “antitype” is what corresponds to, or is the counterpart of, the “type” (tupos).”61 He goes on to suggest that there are two distinct usages of “antitype” – the vertical, in which the antitype is the imitation of the perfect archetype, and the horizontal, in which the antitype is the fulfillment of the type, “a person, thing, practice or event in the past which imperfectly foreshadows a more perfect and richer reality (the ‘antitype’) to come.”62 Here he echoes the view of Beare, who argues that, compared with the usage in 1 Peter, in Heb 9.24 ἀντίτυπα “is used inversely, of the symbol which points to a higher reality.”63 However, surely the fact that in the one case the “type” should be more perfect than the “antitype” and in the other case only an imperfect copy suggests that this presupposition of a technical usage may be a mistake, dependent perhaps on a presupposition that vertical and horizontal typology are fundamentally different. While space does not permit to develop the argument fully here, I am inclined to follow the reading of P 72 and the first hand of Sinaiticus in this verse, both of which lack any relative pronoun. This construes well provided we read ἀντίτυπον adverbially (as ὀλίγον at 1 Pet 1.6; 5.10, and outside this Epistle e.g. ἀνθρώπινον at Rom 6.19); the textual tradition can then be explained as reflecting an increasingly technical understanding of ἀντίτυπον as a substantive, in line with what Kelly and Beare suggest was the case in the NT period, but which in fact only developed later. This does not mean that this passage is irrelevant to the development of typology in the NT. On the contrary, this occurrence from the τύπος word-group can conform more closely to what we have found elsewhere if we do not insist on the strict bipolarity between type and anti-type. In normal Greek usage, 61

Kelly 1969: 160 Kelly 1969: 160 63 Beare 1947: 148 62

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ἀντίτυπος simply means “corresponding”, perhaps bringing with it those connotations of the mediating power to shape that we found in our earlier consideration of Pauline passages. The exemplar and the mould are mutually ἀντίτυποι, and the mould and the moulded object are similarly mutually ἀντίτυποι, so that the first and the final term are in a perfect mimetic relationship. This is not to claim that this three-fold scheme is necessarily being consciously invoked here in 1 Peter, but it is consistent with it because of the underlying eschatology: baptism, as an induction of the believer into the eschatological community which is likened to the ark, is the fulfillment of what was foreshadowed by the rescue of Noah and his family in an act of new creation. Implicit in 1 Peter’s appeal to the flood, or more specifically to the ark, is the notion that the promise of a new creation, and a new humanity brought safely through the destruction of the tainted world whose time is up, a promise foreshadowed by the events related in Genesis 6–9, is truly fulfilled in the lives of the Christian community. In what is little more than an aside, 1 Peter is making the same kind of paraenetic appeal through the appropriation of scripture that we found earlier in 1 Cor 10. At the root of the usage of the τύπος word-group in all of these texts is the notion of correspondence or isomorphism: Christian baptism has in common with the Flood not only the bare fact of flowing water, but the rescue of a chosen remnant, so that there is a soteriologically significant isomorphism. As the sin of Adam had an enduring effect in human history, so the righteous obedience of Christ has a corresponding, though also intensified, effect upon humanity; the temple is of the same design as that shown to Moses and thus corresponds to it. These correspondences do not exhaust the meanings of these passages, but serve only to show their commonality. If we take all of these passages into account, our etic definition of typology will necessarily be a flexible one: Hebrews (and Acts 7) differs from the other passages in making no appeal to a historical correspondence, so historical correspondence cannot be the basis of our definition; in Romans 5 the typology is historical, but unlike 1 Peter 3 is both a negative and an intensive typology. That is to say, Christ’s obedience is the converse of Adam’s trespass, and the effect of the former is the converse of that of the latter; moreover, the effect of the former is also more powerful than that of the latter: “And the free gift is not like the effect of that one man’s sin… if, because of one man’s trespass, death reigned through that one man, much more will those who receive the abundance of grace and the free gift of righteousness reign in life through the

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one man Jesus Christ” (Rom 5.16f).64 This notion of intensification is, by contrast, not obviously implied in 1 Peter. We note also one further set of differences: in 1 Peter we have a typology of a salvation-historical event corresponding to an aspect of the Church’s life, in Romans a correspondence between two particular people and the effects of their actions, and in Hebrews an eternal or heavenly reality corresponding to a building – but also to a Jewish liturgical rite, the entrance of the High Priest into the Holy of Holies, corresponding to the death and exaltation of Christ which is indeed the ultimate salvation-historical event. What all these correspondences do have in common, however, is at least implicitly the notion that they are all determined by the divine will: it is of the nature of God’s providence that he should, as it were, stamp salvation history and the religious practices of his people with the character of his saving power, making them reflections of his heavenly glory. The correspondences are of the nature of things, revealed but not created by the way in which the Old Testament is written. However, if an understanding of typology such as we are beginning to outline is plausibly to be imputed to the first audience of Hebrews, it should be asked whether the same readings of the scriptures of Israel can be found in earlier Jewish literature – both in those scriptures themselves and in later Jewish literature.

F. The Background to New Testament Typology i. The Old Testament The most useful contributions to this area in recent decades have been those of HD Hummel in the 1960s 65 and, more recently and more comprehensively, Michael Fishbane. 66 Both recognise that typology of the kind I have begun to outline is a consistent feature of the OT. Hummel begins his consideration with the insight that a radical disjuncture between horizontal and vertical does not emerge from the OT texts: That the primary horizontal thrust of Israel’s typology need not at all necessarily and totally exclude the vertical as something “crypto-pagan” or “Platonic” seems to me

64 I reject Robinson’s (1979: 65–66) argument that Rom 5:14 is not a Christological typology, on the grounds of the contrasts between Adam’s sin and the grace of Christ that follow. 65 Hummel 1964 66 Fishbane 1985 especially pp. 350–379

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established by the consistency with which Israel’s traditions themselves think of some vertical correspondence between the heavenly and earthly spheres. 67

He draws attention in particular to the theme common in the Psalms and other apparently liturgical texts of the correspondence, which we have already considered, not only between the tabernacle/temple and heaven, but also between Israel’s liturgy and the eternal liturgy of the heavens. Citing Exodus 15 and Judges 5 – to which we could add later more explicit texts like Daniel 7 – he notes the implicit correspondences, which in Daniel at least amount to ontological analogies rather than merely verbal ones, between the cataclysmic events of Israel’s earthly history and their metahistorical counterparts, the cosmic war between good and evil played out in the heavenly court. The most frequent application of historical typology in the OT is the invocation of the exodus; indeed this becomes almost the archetypal biblical event. Creation and the flood, exile and restoration, the eschatological new covenant of Ezekiel and Jeremiah, as well as (e.g. in Wisdom) the intellectual or moral growth of the individual, are all described in terms of the deliverance of the people of Israel out of Egypt through the Red Sea. It may well be the case that the OT description of the Exodus is based, either fully or in part, on the experiences of exile and restoration, rather than vice versa, so that the typology here is as it were a reverse-horizontal one.68 Importantly, a backwards-horizontal typology of the temple cult is found in that same literature which expresses most clearly the vertical typology of the temple cult. Moreover, if Mary Douglas’s reading of Leviticus is right69, then the Priestly understanding of the cult included a threefold analogy between the geography of the temple, the anatomy of the sacrificial animal and the narrative of Exodus 19 and 24. Geographical, historical and biological, vertical and horizontal, are all incorporated in one powerful set of typological resonances centring on the temple. Hummel strongly emphasises the liturgical aspects of OT typology: “the cult was the expression par excellence not only of the vertical unity of nature, history and individual, but also of a horizontal homology of past, present and future.”70 It can be no coincidence that so much of the NT typology we have considered revolves either around the liturgy of the temple or the sacraments of the early Christian communities. 67

Hummel 1964: 39 n.4 Daube (1980) points out that in any horizontal typology there will inevitable be a retrojective aspect: the likening of the return from exile to the exodus sh apes our understanding of the latter as well as of the former, and this in turn further strengthens the identification of the two. 69 Douglas 1999 passim 70 Hummel 1964: 48 68

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Fishbane begins his sketch of OT typology with scriptural instances where there is a typological terminology; this includes the fairly common clause “just as … so” (!K … rvaK) and variants thereof, as for example Ezekiel 20.36: “As I entered into judgment with your fathers in the wilderness of the land of Egypt, so I will enter into judgment with you, says the Lord God”, creating a typical relationship between the exodus and the return from exile (cf. Is 11.16). The same terminology can be used to create biographical typologies, as for example at Joshua 3.7, making Moses a type of Joshua. This same terminology is used, which Fishbane does not note, to refer to vertical types, as in Exodus 27.8. Much typology is not flagged by such obvious terminology, and Fishbane moves on to consider the content rather than form of typologies, evolving a fourfold scheme comprising cosmological-historical, historical, spatial (i.e. geographical) and biographical correlations. Of these four kinds of typology, the second and the fourth are more common, and also more straightforward – indeed, for the most part biographical typologies can be considered a subset of the historical. Repetitions of words, phrases and whole narrative pericopes, especially in the primaeval and patriarchal narratives, serve to establish Noah as a second Adam (see above on 1 Peter 3), Jacob or David as another Abraham, relate Joshua or Elijah to Moses, and so on. In the prophetic texts we find the promises of a new David, creating a typology which is then “filled”, so to speak, by the NT portrayal of Jesus, especially in Matthew. We also find the individual biography related typologically to the history (or future) of a whole nation, as when in Jeremiah 9.3–5 the prophet takes up a number of key terms from the description of Jacob in Genesis to portray the deceitful and perverse nature of the Israel of his own day: Jacob the trickster is a type of the Israel that is named after him, which is thus given a corporate identity. Historical typologies similarly can have either a purely retrospective or a prospective nature in the OT. In the former mode, the description of one historical event serves as the model for the description of another. 71 The crossing of the Jordan is clearly modelled on the crossing of the Red Sea, for example. In the same way, it has been argued that the narratives of the return from exile in Ezra, Nehemiah and Chronicles have been shaped at least in part by the desire to portray it as a second exodus, with Ezra in particular being a new Moses. 72 This use of retrospective exodus typology is first found in chapter 15 of Exodus itself, in which the power of God in leading his people across the water is the same power that is to lead them to conquer the Canaanites. It might well be, as Hummel argues, that the 71

Such retrospective historiography is not limited to Israel, but was common in the Ancient Near East – see Fishbane 1985: 360 n.109. 72 See Koch 1974 passim.

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roots of this typological thinking lie in liturgy, if Exodus 15 is a primitive hymn of some kind. As Fishbane puts it, to the authors of these passages [W]hat “really happened” at the crossing of the Jordan, as a prelude to the conquest, was a remanifestation of divine redemptive power… Under the aegis of typological exegesis … the historiographer allows the latter-day reader to share his observation that the particular significance of certain historical actions … lies in its reiteration of certain foundational patterns.73

The prospective mode of historical typology then depends upon the same supposition, that there are these foundational patterns underlying the life and history of the people of Israel, revealed by the way in which scripture narrates Israel’s past history, showing the power of God and giving the hope of a future that reiterates them. Once again exodus and conquest form the most common motif, and not just in the exilic period: Hosea 2.15 offers Israel a new consecration to the Lord “as at the time when she came out of the land of Egypt.” An important aspect of prospective historical typology is that very often the future event involves an intensification of the type. This is closely related to the increasingly explicit notion of a “new age”, which emerges strongly in Deutero-Isaiah and then intensifies in the proto-apocalyptic writings of e.g. Zechariah. Thus Isaiah 43.16–21 is closely modelled on Exodus 15, but goes on to make a contrast with the former times: “Thus says the Lord, who makes a way in the sea, a path in the mighty waters, who brings forth chariot and horse, army and warrior… ‘Remember not the former things, nor consider the things of old…’” Occasionally this contrast is made in more detail as in Isaiah 52.12: “For you shall not go out in haste, and you shall not go in flight, for the Lord will go before you, and the God of Israel will be your rear guard.” Jeremiah 31.31–34, picked up explicitly in Hebrews 8, suggests that the covenant of Sinai (explicitly linked to the exodus) is a foreshadowing of a much greater covenant yet to come. This is closely related to the standard Rabbinic rhetorical device of qal wahomer which Paul uses to draw eschatological conclusions in, for example, Romans 5. In the OT (and Rabbinic texts 74) the argument runs thus: “if the past has been thus, how much more will the future be”, and in Paul and Hebrews we have “if the past was thus, how much more is the present.” Not all typology, even horizontal, needs to be of this intensifying kind. Josephus, for example, presents himself as a new (but not a better) Jere-

73

Fishbane 1985: 360 E.g. Pesiq. R. 48.2; Pesiq. de Rab Kahana 9.2: both argue for the general resurrec tion on the basis of particular resurrections effected by Elijah and Elisha. 74

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miah75, a second Daniel, another Mordecai and naturally a second Joseph, in each case allowing his self-presentation in turn to affect his literary descriptions of the lives of these models. Neither is this non-intensifying typology absent from the NT – witness 1 Peter’s paraenetic use of it as described above in regard to Sarah (1 Pet 3.6). Naturally, since so much of the NT is concerned with drawing out the implications of the fact that in Christ the new age has dawned, so that the past appears in the context of implicit or explicit claims of fulfillment, much horizontal typology does have this intensifying character, but it is not of the essence of typology. The OT background to eschatological uses of typology is not limited to intensifying or contrastive horizontal typology. Another of Fishbane’s categories is “typologies of a cosmological-historical nature”, and this bears more directly upon the question of the relationship between horizontal and vertical typologies. For in such examples the promised future is likened not to a past historical event but to a primordial one; the age to come will have the features not of past human history but of the apocalyptic milieu of the creation. Such, for example, is the promise of Isaiah 65.17–2576, but the idea is already present in first Isaiah (11.6–9). Isaiah 51 and Psalms 74, 78 and 89 similarly draw a link between the creative power of God manifested before the ages and the power of God to redeem Israel that will be manifested at the end, and Isaiah 11.15 portrays the deliverance of Israel from her enemies in terms of God’s smiting of the sea. This is a particularly significant passage, since it exemplifies the mediating aspect of types which we found in the NT: given the preceding section, in which the future is portrayed in terms of a return to Eden, we are justified in supposing that the smiting of the sea is a creation motif, drawing on the common Ancient Near Eastern mythology of creation as the victory of God or his agent (Baal, Marduk et. al.) over the sea deity or monster (Tiamat, Leviathan). 77 The reference to God’s ruah, his wind or spirit, brings to mind Genesis 1.2, and the dividing of the waters into seven streams cannot be equated with the dividing of the Red Sea; yet there clearly is reference to the latter event in the mention of passing over the river dry-shod. It is not a case of either creation or exodus, but of both, as is the case more explicitly in Isaiah 51.9–11. We have both the parallelism of Endzeit and Urzeit and the evocation of a salvation-historical event, and thus the mediating type, that of the exodus, is re-interpreted in terms of 75

Life 1.2ff, cf. Jewish War 5.9.4.391ff – conversely his presentation of Jeremiah in Antiquities 10 clearly involves a projection of features from Josephus’s own life. 76 It is important to note that this promises not the destruction of the created order and a new beginning, as might be envisaged for example in Stoic speculations, but a new creation which is continuous with the present order and is its consummation. 77 Cf. Gordon 1966; Day 1985

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primordial and eschatological apocalyptic event: salvation history is the stage upon which is played out the eternal drama of God’s creative and redemptive power, and once again it is this power which gives the historical type its strength to form and mould human history and draw it to its eschatological conclusion. In view of this we must agree with Fishbane that [T]he phenomenon of typological exegesis requires a modification and reconsideration of the common view that the Israelite apprehension of history is linear only and never cyclical… [T]he issue cannot be easily polarised into a juxtaposition of a “mythic ahistorical paradigm”, in which fundamental patterns recur cyclically, and a “biblical historical paradigm”, in which new and unique events unfold linearly. 78

The same intertwining of horizontal and vertical axes is found perhaps even more clearly in Fishbane’s fourth category of OT typologies, those of a spatial nature. Here, the correspondences are between places of religious significance, explicitly stated (e.g. 2 Chronicles 3.1) or implied by various literary techniques. Psalm 46, for example, probably a pre-exilic text, attributes to Jerusalem the life-giving river proper to Eden (Genesis 2.10). As with the previous category, it is in the exilic and post-exilic periods that this typology really develops, especially again in projective typologies: Isaiah 51:2 and Ezekiel 36:35 explicitly portray the land to which the people will return as a new Eden (the following chapter of Ezekiel – the raising of the dry bones – perhaps continuing the same theme with implicit reference to the creation of Adam in Eden). Similar ideas can be found in Joel 2.3 and Zechariah 14.8–11. The application of Eden and of Sinai typologies came to focus especially on Mount Sion and the temple. Ezekiel sees a heavenly vision of the new temple while “on a very high mountain” (40.2), the blueprint of which he must relate, just as Moses on Mount Sinai saw the τύπος of the tabernacle. So Ezekiel is a new Moses and his envisioned temple becomes a type of the heavenly sanctuary – the vision, and the typology, is at once a horizontal/eschatological one in which the future is cast in terms of the past, and a vertical one in which the temple is portrayed as a projection into the temporal world of the eternal heavenly realities. At the same time the new temple is infused with both Eden and Sinai associations, Eden representing the primordial pre-history in which vertical and horizontal dimensions are inevitably blurred (is the creation narrative a historical or an eternal one? – the answer must be “both”), and Sinai representing the founding moment of Israel’s history as a covenant people, but also the heavenly dwelling of the Most High. We find a transfer of Sinai images to Mount Sion in, for examples, Isaiah 2 and Psalm 68.16–18, the latter ex78

Fishbane 1985: 357

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plicitly making the claim that the Lord has somehow moved from one to the other, so that the place in which the vertical ascent to heaven itself is made is now Jerusalem. We note at the same time that the portrayal of Sinai in Exodus 24 involves retrojective temple typology – the building of an altar and pillars, performance of sacrifice and most notably the pavement of sapphire.79 Therefore in the exilic and post-exilic prophecies regarding the temple, the future for Israel is the eternally-present reality stored up in heaven, precisely the idea Paul applies to the individual Christian, with temple language, in 2 Corinthians 5 (cf. Phil 3.20). It is in eschatological writings that the purely vertical temple typology becomes interwoven with horizontal typology, both prospective and retrospective, to form a distinctive tapestry in which the eternal is depicted in the history and future of the people of God. ii. Intertestamental Literature An important feature of the intertestamental Jewish literature, foreshadowed already in the OT, is the re-narration of events described in the Hebrew Bible. Josephus’s Jewish Antiquities is the most substantial example; others include the Genesis Apocryphon, the Book of Jubilees and Pseudo-Philo’s Biblical Antiquities. Very often these works, like the Books of Chronicles before them, betray a clear ideological purpose in their selection, expansion and suppression of biblical materials, but underneath this phenomenon there is often typology at work, with the portrayal of two distinct events or characters brought closer together by literary means, in order to draw attention to the way in which God’s providence drives forward Israel’s history, shaping it repeatedly after the same salvific patterns. New texts of the Second Temple period model their descriptions of more recent events and personalities on those of the Hebrew Bible. The character of Tobit shows clear affinities with that of Job, and the story of the Book of Esther has strong literary, as well as narrative, affinities with the Joseph story in Genesis. In Joseph and Aseneth, we are told that Aseneth “had nothing similar to the virgins of the Egyptians, but she was in every respect similar to the daughters of the Hebrews; and she was tall as Sarah and handsome as Rebecca and beautiful as Rachel.”80 Thus she is typified 79

This expression in the Hebrew, ryPSh tnbl hf[mK , is notoriously difficult to translate, but it is at least significant that hf[m means a thing made, an artifice, contrasting interestingly with the “temple not made with hands” of 2 Cor 5.1; Heb 9.11 and Mark 14.58, and cf. Col 2.11. Blue floors were a standard feature of Ancient Near Eastern temples. 80 Joseph and Aseneth 1.5, translation from Charlesworth 1985

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by the wives of the patriarchs, a typology which is developed throughout the work even as she also becomes, like Ruth, a type of the penitent proselyte (thus mediating between patriarchs and proselytes). In 1 Maccabees 5:48, the words of Judas are a conflation of the three passages in the OT in which Israelites request passage from Sihon, king of the Amorites (Num 21.22, Deut 2.26–9, Judges 11.19);81 In this way the Maccabean struggle is placed in typological relationship with the conquest, and so the Maccabean regime becomes legitimated and those who adhere to it are encouraged to see themselves as heirs of the original conquerors of Canaan. The same kind of typological modelling is found not only in historical but also in prophetic documents of the period: the War Scroll models its prediction of the eschatological battle between the Sons of Light and the Sons of Darkness on various battles between Israel and her enemies in the OT, whether by the lightest of allusions or seemingly direct quotation (eg. 1QM 11.6b–7a = Num 24.17–19). In some cases, the directly-quoted passage is explicitly claimed to be “about” the situation of the sectarians: “From ancient times thou hast fore[told the hour] when the might of thy hand (would be raised) against Kittim, saying Assyria shall fall by the hand of no man, the hand of no mere man shall devour him [Isaiah 31.8].”82 This method of biblical interpretation, in which a biblical prophecy is reinterpreted in respect of a new situation not obviously envisaged by the prophet, is best exemplified among the Dead Sea Scrolls by the Pesher on Habakkuk (1QpHab). The Dead Sea Scrolls do provide alongside many other texts cumulative evidence of two things: a continued and growing tendency to look to the past in order to make sense of the present – and of the future; and alongside this a tendency to look to heaven for a source of hope and understanding. It is in terms of these two axes, seemingly at odds and yet constantly present in the same texts, that we should understand the Pesharim among the Dead Sea Scrolls: the heavenly origin of the past prophecies makes it possible that their true application should be to a contemporary situation or a still-distant future unrelated to the original prophet. Returning to the War Scroll, we find that the confidence of the sectarians in the fulfillment of the prophecies of final victory is related to the relationship of their own armies to the hosts of heaven: For thou wilt fight with them from heaven… For our Lord is holy and the King of Glory is with us together with the Holy Ones. Valiant [warriors] of the angelic host are among our numbered men, and the Hero of war is with our congregation. 83

81

See Albl 1999: 83 1QM 11.11, translation from Vermes 1997 83 1QM 11.16; 12.6f, translation from Vermes 1997 82

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Thus the confidence of the sectarians in their future vindication depends upon their vertical relationship with the heavenly realm, and their present situation corresponds to a heavenly reality. Mimetic correspondences are created in the texts between different historical situations and between those historical situations and the eternal realities which are played out in them. The identity of the community is strengthened by these interdependent horizontal and vertical correspondences. As Kugel and Greer put it, these are ways of putting the life of the community “under the ‘coverage’ of biblical time … to endow them with a biblical glow”.84 They go on to look at the relationship between apocalyptic and later wisdom writings 85, both being concerned in the Second Temple period in different ways with the re-use and re-interpretation of scripture and with biblical motifs. It is not just the profoundly sectarian, and perhaps quite unrepresentative, writings that increasingly link the vertical and horizontal dimensions: one of the most notable developments in the thought of wisdom literature, a striking difference between Proverbs and Ecclesiastes on the one hand and the Wisdom of Solomon or Sirach on the other, is the bringing together of wisdom and history. Wisdom of Solomon, for example, shows how the principle of divine wisdom which emanates from the throne of God, portrayed in terms reminiscent both of middle Platonic language and that of apocalypticism (Wisdom 7.24–30) is the guiding spirit of the history of Israel (chapters 10–19); and that history and its relationship with eternal wisdom is portrayed using a retrospective typology, casting the situation of the people of Israel in Egypt quite overtly in terms of the situation of the Jews of the Alexandrian diaspora, with an ultimately paraenetic purpose. One final area in which some significant development occurred during the Second Temple period is in liturgical typology. The Book of Jubilees throughout relates the feasts and sacrifices of the temple typologically to the events of the past, so that for example the Feast of Weeks is kept at one and the same time for the celebration (and the ensured continuation) of the harvest and in commemoration of the promises made to Noah and to Abraham: “the feast is twofold and of two natures.”86 Failure to observe the feasts properly and at the right times will at put the people of Israel out of touch with their own history and at the same time they will cease to represent to the world the eternal patterns in the cosmos established at creation 84

Kugel and Greer 1986: 47 We cannot enter here into the debate about the origins of apocalypticism – whether prophecy or wisdom provided the seed of apocalyptic ideas; we note only that there is a danger of exaggerating the separateness of these two sets of ideas even in pre -exilic times. 86 Jubilees 6.21, translation from Charlesworth 1985 85

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(see especially 6.32ff). For the keeping of the feasts is no mere temporal phenomenon: “It is an eternal decree and engraved upon heavenly tablets for all the children of Israel… And there is no limit of days because it is ordained forever.”87 Levi and his successors re-enact the eternal liturgy of the heavens (31.18) at the same time as they re-enact the events of salvation history. This is typological not only inasmuch as mimetic correspondences are explicitly drawn between the cult and historical events (or heavenly/cosmic realities) but because the cult, by so corresponding, is able – indeed essential – to create those correspondences in turn in the people of Israel. So the type once again has mediating power. Philo comes closest in the literature of this period to the purely allegorical and ahistorical. This does not mean that there is nothing typological in it, of course: Philo himself thinks it important to keep to the letter of the Law as well as its deeper hyponoia – indeed, the personal mental/spiritual growth which the OT is ultimately about is in many instances made possible precisely by attentiveness to the surface meaning of the text. Neither does he deny the facticity of the historical events that are related, including the giving of the Law to Moses on Sinai. So we might say that Philo sees the whole of scripture as a τύπος, moulded by the divinely ordained order of things and by the equally divinely ordained history of Israel, and in turn having the power to mould the insightful reader and actor-out of these laws and histories into full spiritual maturity. It must be significant, though, that this mediating notion is found in Philo especially in his consideration of the laws of the cult. The temple itself is a microcosm of the universe, with the High Priest having a distinctive character, almost a corporate personality, as he participates in the eternal cosmic worship: The whole universe must be regarded as the highest and the true holy temple of God. As sanctuary it has the heaven, the most holy part of the substance of existing things; as votive offerings it has stars; as priests it has angels… 88 [The high priest] has become commander of the sacred battle-array… The law wishes him to be allotted a better nature than that of the human sort, approaching near to the divine, bordering on both, if one must speak the truth; so that men may propitiate God through a certain mediator. 89

At the same time, the individual soul is a microcosmic temple, unified through worship with the divine Logos and so brought into perfect correspondence with the heavenly reality, through the mediation of the earthly cult, in which the High Priest is the μίμημα of the true man, the “priest” of 87

Jubilees 49.8, translation from Charlesworth 1985, my emphasis De Spec. Leg. 1.66 89 Ibid. 1.114, 116 88

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the rational soul.90 These ideas are similar in kind to those of Sirach regarding the High Priest as the embodiment of Wisdom ordering both the universe and the soul of the righteous. 91 Philo also uses a geographical typology, arguing in De Plantatione 46–50 that Exodus 15:17f, which speaks of God’s command to Moses to plant Israel, and particularly his sanctuary, on the mountain of his inheritance, means that Israel is on the site of Eden – a geographical but also a primordial-historical typology, but quickly brought to a strictly vertical dimension: Eden, as a type of Israel, properly refers to the universe as God’s sanctuary, an “outshining of sanctity… a copy of the original” (50: ἁγίων ἀπαύγασμα, μίμημα ἀρχετύπου), explicit language of vertical temple typology. The developments that took place in the late-Second Temple period follow a trajectory established in the OT itself. As the Jewish people looked more and more intently to their history to make sense of their present and to give them hope for the future, they found in that history, and manifested by the way it was inscriptured, the patterns that demonstrated God’s creative and redeeming power. This power was the ultimate source of their hope and of the meanings they were able to draw out of their history. Meanwhile the endeavour represented by wisdom literature continued to seek the same patterns in the unchanging realities of the world; but the two projects, never separate or expressly distinguished in ancient Israel, grew closer together and became almost indistinguishable, as the literature of wisdom and apocalypticism came to see Israel’s history as the canvas onto which were projected, as it were, the eternal truths emanating from God’s heavenly throne. Whether these patterns were unearthed in historical events or personages or in the rhythm of the seasons and the liturgical calendar – or increasingly in some combination of both – their heavenly source gave them the power to shape the people of Israel, their lives and their future in accordance with God’s plan. The discovery and expression or evocation of these patterns that mediate divine power always took place along the horizontal axis of history and the vertical axis between earth and heaven, but the two became increasingly intertwined. This change took place above all in two areas: liturgy and eschatology, and these areas continued to predominate in the earliest Christian literature. Daniélou points out92 that in the patristic era it is above all in works of sacramental catechesis that typology was used, and in the NT itself we note how often typology is related to baptism and/or the Eucharist – in 1 Cor 10, in 1 Pet 3, and so on. The symbolic re-enactments of cardinal moments in salvation history conform those who are now 90

De Somniis 1.215. Sirach 24 and 50; cf. Hayward 1996: 52–4 92 Daniélou 1950: 2 91

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participating in the culmination of that history to the eternal realities they make manifest. The developing theological relationship between verticalcum-horizontal typology may have been in two directions at once, with the early Christian understanding of the sacraments both encouraging and encouraged by trends in typological thinking that had already begun, especially in association with cult, in Judaism.

G. Conclusion We have seen that in the NT the use of the τύπος word-group, whether in explicit use of the OT or in paraenesis, or both, denotes a formative and mediating correspondence and very often connotes alongside that the source of the formative power of the τύπος as heaven, or the heavenly status of the Urbild, whether Christ or heaven itself. Although for the most part the type-relationships invoked by the NT in OT interpretation are diachronic, or horizontal, even here it is the vertical aspect that gives them their power. Conversely even where the type is synchronous with that which it forms, be it in the exemplary role of Paul in forming the lives of his readers or in the relationship between the tabernacle and its blueprint in Hebrews, there is an eschatological aspect that drives forward the typology. It is not necessary to emphasise historical event to justify typology and distinguish it from allegory93. What it necessary, rather, is an emphasis on divine causation or providence. Certainly, the OT presents God as being responsible for the events of salvation-historical significance, and the NT reads the OT thus; but also he is seen as ordaining the ongoing existence of institutions such as the priesthood and the monarchy, the temple and its cultic calendar and sacrifices. It is possible, nevertheless, to distinguish (etically) between typology and allegory. Young’s investigation of typology in early patristic writing – in Melito of Sardis’s Peri Pascha, in the Epistle of Barnabas and in the later (fourth century) poetry of Ephrem the Syrian 94 – reveals that typological use of the OT is part of the standard second-century method of proof from prophecy, whereby the demonstration of a typical relationship is one way of proving that scripture is fulfilled, and therefore (supposedly) both that the claims of Christianity are true and that the original foreshadowing is reliable. The writers, like Justin and his fellow apologists, presume the historical truth both of the fulfillment and of the fore93 94

Pace for example Von Rad 1963; Lampe and Woollcoombe 1957; Hanson 1983 Young 1987

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shadowing, and thus historical reality what validates typology. Its purpose is to demonstrate that the incarnation, crucifixion, the resurrection and the establishment of the Christian Church are the divinely-ordained culmination of the lives and history of the people of Israel, and its legitimacy springs from the record of that history, which is presupposed to be an accurate record. We would have to agree with Eichrodt that OT events can function as types because they are both historically factual and recorded as part of written history. 95 This means that typology is not a purely literary phenomenon, inasmuch as although it necessarily makes appeal to the written record of the OT, it does not sever the connection between that record and the reality it records. On the contrary, it appeals to it as a record, and therefore retains and relies upon the literal sense of scripture. Here we must make a further distinction, for we can discern three possible attitudes to the relationship between the reality and the record: the purely allegorical interpretation is a rejection of the reality of that which is recorded, so for example someone might say that the story of the flood and the ark is not historically true, and the only real meaning of that story is the meaning of Christian baptism. Or one might say that the story may or may not be true, but what matters is its non-literal meaning regarding baptism – the literal meaning is not denied, as in allegory, but is effaced. But authentic NT typology says that it needs to be true in order for it to have its more profound theological significance – the literal meaning is neither replaced nor effaced but extended. Here the role of the literary record is not to encode the theological meaning but to reveal to the reader (or hearer) the mimetic correspondences that exist in reality. In this respect my understanding of what the NT does is closer to Daniélou’s analysis of early Christian exegesis 96 than that of those who see typology as fundamentally a literary process – Frye97 and Fabiny98, for example. Closest to my view, however, is Erich Auerbach, 99 for whom “figura is something real and historical which announces something else that is also real and historical”100, and “figural interpretation establishes a 95

Eichrodt (1963) in fact wants to make the additional, and less compelling, argument that it is the fact that historical events are recorded as part of salvation history that legitimates their typological interpretation. This is anachronistic in discerning where typology is used in the NT. 96 Daniélou 1950; but I do not agree with his assumption that the early Church distin guished typology from allegory explicitly as I am doing. 97 Frye 1982 98 Fabiny 1992 99 See especially Auerbach 1946. 100 Auerbach 1944: 29

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connection between two events or persons”101. I would only want to insist with more clarity than does Auerbach that this “establishing” of what I have called a mimetic correspondence need not be a creative act on the part of the interpreter so much as a discovery, a discernment of what is intended (sc. by God) to be understood. It seems that this is what Auerbach means by saying that the figura “announces” something else – it contains within itself its hermeneutical relationship to that which it (pre)figures. The first citation above is, interestingly, from his study of Tertullian’s interpretation of the re-naming of Hoshea as Joshua, in which “the naming of Joshua-Jesus is a phenomenal prophecy or prefiguration of the future saviour”.102 Dawson suggests that we may adopt Auerbach’s distinction between “figural” readings such as these and “figurative” readings in which the interpretation offered is contrary to the literal meaning of the text.103 So the key aspects of the kind of typology that I am suggesting our audience was able to infer are (i) correspondences between real historical events, personalities, institutions etc. described in scripture; (ii) the discernment of these being made possible by their inscripturation, wherein the correspondences are hinted at with sufficient clarity for the spiritual reader to uncover them; (iii) the providential nature of these correspondences – by God’s power salvation-history and its narration in scripture are moulded in order to offer images of his eternal plan of salvation; and (iv) these correspondences may themselves be formative – that is, the stamping of the character of divine providence into human history creates the mould by which further correspondences are formed. But we have also seen that typology may be vertical as well as horizontal: correspondences may exist not only between one historical event (person, etc.) and another, but between the eternal reality of heaven and the human realm. Indeed, we found that in the NT there is often at least an implication that the power of the Vorbild to shape its Nachbild stems from the existence of a heavenly Urbild. So we may extend the insistence on the reality of types from the historical or horizontal to the vertical axis: vertical typology does not involve the assertion that the heavenly realm, or the Platonic world of forms, is the only “real” world of which the exemplars in this world are only shadows. Rather, it is precisely the reality of the earthly figures that demonstrate the reality and power of their heavenly creator. I have established that typological interpretation or invocation of the OT within the NT may have led our plausible first audience of Hebrews to infer an ontological relationship between different aspects of Israel’s sal101

Auerbach 1944: 29 Auerbach 1944: 29 103 Dawson 2002; see especially p. 86 102

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vation history. This relationship is based on an understanding of Israel’s God as the source of being, shaping Heilsgeschichte in accordance with his eternal plan of salvation which, for the audience of Hebrews, is at last fully revealed in the person and saving death-and-exaltation of Jesus Christ. This kind of ontological relationship manifested in history, which I am calling a typological relationship, is analogous to that which exists between the structure of the earthly sanctuary and its cult as ordained in scripture and the heavenly realities of which these are types and shadows. With this theological concept established, the following three chapters offer exegesis of key sections of Hebrews, exegesis that both supports my intuition that a typological relationship of this sort between Jesus and Joshua may be inferred from Hebrews, and uses this inference to shed light on some of the more obscure passages of the Epistle.

Chapter 3

Joshua as a Type of Christ in Hebrews 3 and 4 A. Introduction At the beginning of chapter 3 Hebrews turns from demonstrating the superiority of the Son over the angels to asserting his superiority over Moses. The bulk of Hebrews 3–4 has a paraenetic function, placing before the imagination of the audience the example of the failure of the Israelites of the Exodus generation to enter the Promised Land as a warning of the consequences of disobedience and faithlessness. Moreover, it is faithfulness that is the tertium comparationis between Moses and Jesus in the opening paragraph of chapter 3: “Now Moses was faithful over all his house as a servant… but Christ as a Son” (3.4f). My argument in this chapter will be that the brief and somewhat cryptic mention of Ἰησοῦς at 4.8, in the context of the wider analogy between the audience and the ancient Israelites that is drawn in the exegesis of Psalm 95, invites us to understand the comparison between Jesus and Moses in terms of one particular aspect of the comparison between Joshua and Moses: as Joshua was able to succeed where Moses failed, in leading the People of Israel into the earthly Promised Land of Canaan, so Jesus has succeeded where Moses failed, in granting the People of God access to the heavenly rest of which the earthly Land was but a type or shadow. In order to make this argument, I need first to show that the treatment of Psalm 95 in Hebrews 3.7–4.11 invokes in particular the events related in Numbers 14, in which Joshua and Caleb are marked out from the rest of the wilderness generation because of their faithfulness, whereby they alone will be granted access to the Promised Land, while the faithless generation are to die in the desert. The audience needs to be able to draw the inference that Joshua is superior even to Moses in this crucial qualification for entry into the Land. Secondly, however, it must be shown that the entry that Joshua did effect into Canaan is both comparable to and yet radically different from the entry of Jesus into heaven. There must, that is to say, be intimations of the kind of isomorphism between these two entries that legitimates the inference of a typological relationship of the kind I have previously outlined. If such a relationship between the acts of entry is plausible, then it is also reasonable to infer an analogous relationship

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between Joshua and Jesus as the agents of those entries. In chapter five I will show how the inference of such a relationship is integrated into the broader argument of the letter, supported by and clarifying what has gone before, and leading into what follows. If, as I have already suggested, one of the key difficulties of Hebrews is understanding how the motif of the People of God and their entry into rest relates to that of the Priesthood of Christ, then my argument will be all the stronger if it can be demonstrated that the inference of this typology helps to clarify this relationship and to open the way to a more integrated understanding of the text.

B. Psalm 95 and Numbers 14 – Faithlessness and Exclusion The first stage in my argument is to show that Hebrews’ exegesis of Psalm 95 may be perceived by our audience as relating it to the events narrated in Numbers 14. An especially carefully argued case for seeing in Hebrews 3f an appeal to the events at Kadesh-Barnea was made by O. Hofius in Katapausis: “Wir stoßen … in Hebr 3.7–4.13 auf Schritt und Tritt auf Anspielungen und Bezugnahmen, Anklänge und Vergleiche, die den Blick des bibelkundigen Lesers auf die alttestamentliche Erzählung von der Rebellion der Wüstengeneration bei Kades-Barnea lenken sollen.”1 Following a detailed analysis of the motifs associated with this passage both in the OT itself and in later Jewish literature, Hofius presents nine pieces of evidence to build up a cumulative case for Num 14 as the principal reference of these verses of Hebrews 2: a) The reference to listening to the voice of God (3.7) alludes to the failure of the people to obey the voice of God at Num 14.22; b) The reference to the hardening of heart (3.8b) evokes the hardening of the Israelites’ hearts which, though not found in Num 14 itself, is a common motif in treatments of the same events elsewhere (eg Num 32.9; Deut 1.28; LAB 15.1); c) The notion of rebellion (3.8a), though again not a verbal echo of Num 14, has its “functional equivalent” (sachliche Entsprechung) in the wording of Num 14.35, τῇ συναγωγῇ τῇ πονηρᾷ ταύτῃ τῇ ἐπισυνεσταμένῃ ἐπ᾿ ἐμε; d) “Testing” (3.8b, 9a) occurs at Num 14.22; e) The people’s witnessing of the mighty works of God (3.9b) has parallels in Num 14.11b, 22, and again in treatments elsewhere (eg Deut 1.30f; Psalm 106.21f; LAB 15.5f; cf. Psalm 78.32);

1 2

Hofius 1970a: 117–118 Hofius 1970a: 130–131

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f) The forty-year wrath of God (3.17) is paralleled in God’s sentence at Num 14.33, cf. 32.13; g) The wording of the Psalm citation at 3.10b, “they always go astray in their hearts”, corresponds to Num 14.22; h) The anger of God at 3.11a is found in Num 14.11, 23, 34, cf. Deut 1.34; LAB 15.5; i) The oath of God at 3.11a is a common motif of Kadesh-Barnea, found at Num 14.21–3, 29, 30, 32–4; 32.11, 13; Deut 1.35; LAB 15.5f; CD 3.6f. Thus far, it will be noted, the argument only amounts to a suggestion that the citation of the Greek text of the psalm has overtones of Num 14, but Hebrews also strengthens those overtones. For example, in following the LXX of the psalm by translating Meribah and Massah as “rebellion” (παραπικρασμῷ) and “testing” (πειρασμοῦ), Hebrews elides the reference of the MT Psalm to Exodus 17 and connects it instead to Numbers 14. Hofius does not stress what seems to be especially important, the introduction of the particle διό after τεσσεράκοντα ἔτη at 3.10. This certainly appears to be a novelty in Hebrews, inasmuch as there is no extant pre-existing Greek text of the Psalm with this particle, and it clearly changes the application of the forty years: in the MT and the more natural reading of the LXX, this is the period of God’s wrath, which conforms with the application of the Psalm to the events of Exodus 17; in Heb 3.10, this period is that during which the People of Israel saw God’s work in the wilderness before he swore the oath, which means that God’s wrathful response recalled in the Psalm must be at the end of the forty years, and refer not to Exodus 17 but to Numbers 14.3 Hofius does go on, though, to argue that the author’s exegetical remarks following the Psalm citation strengthen this relationship. First, at 3.12 we are warned not to imitate the heart ( καρδία ) of the wilderness generation, which is described as evil ( πονηρά) and faithless ( ἀπιστίας); this language echoes again that of Num 14.11, 27, 35. He proposes that the warning not 3

With Johnson 2006: 116; Attridge 1989: 115; Lane 1991: 83; Karrer 2002: 210; Grässer 1990–97: 1.194–5. Hofius places more emphasis on the second reference to forty years, at 3.17, which makes the forty year period that of God’s wrath, as in the more usual reading of the Psalm, and suggests (1970a: 129) that the author of Hebrews must think of two periods of forty years, one of testing and miracles, and one of wrath. This certainly seems to be the only logical conclusion that the author could have come to if pressed. Vanhoye suggests that the διό is introdued only to make the Psalm more “symmetrical” (1989: 93–94) and, implicitly, that we cannot therefore draw any conclusions as to the meaning of the forty years. This may be true as regards the intentions of the author, but is surely not the case as far as the effect on the audience is concerned. What 3.17 does show is that the author was aware of the usual reading, which if anything implies that the change of reference at 3.10 is deliberate.

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to fall away (ἀποστῆναι) from the living God echoes closely the plea issued by Joshua and Caleb at Num 14.9 (cf. Num 14.43 and LAB 15.6), with the phrase “living God” echoing God’s own words at Num 14.21, 28. We see how Hofius’s case builds up into a credible one. 4 This is strengthened by his argument that the claim that “all” heard and yet rebelled (3.16) can only be a reference to Kadesh-Barnea: Num 14 stresses several times that the whole community, or all of the sons of Israel, murmured against God (vv. 1, 2, 5, 7, 10, 22, cf 32.13), an emphasis that is not found in the descriptions of the rebellions narrated in Exodus 17 and Numbers 20. Nor does either of these claim that the rebellion took place despite the people having heard the voice of God, as we find at Num 14.22. More broadly, Hofius correctly notes that only at Kadesh-Barnea was the rebellion a case of a direct refusal to heed an invitation by God to enter the Land, and Heb 4 (especially v.6) goes on to make it clear that it was a refusal to accept such an invitation that led to the exclusion from rest with which the Psalm is understood to be concerned. 3.17 similarly reflects the language of Numbers 14, and as Hofius says with only a little exaggeration this is “von allen Exegeten anerkannt”5. Similarly it is only in Num 14 that God is described as swearing an oath that denies entry to the Promised Land to those who rebel against him, as mentioned at Heb 3.18, and again there is little doubt that this verse of biblical exposition relates Psalm 95 to Kadesh-Barnea. Hofius makes one final argument that is worth noting6, that 3.19 does not simply draw a conclusion from the preceding, but alludes in addition to the events of Num 14.39ff in which, following God’s oath, the Israelites nonetheless attempt to enter the land and find themselves indeed unable to do so. For Hofius, this is an important illustration of the irrevocability of God’s judgement on those who apostatise from him, as asserted plainly enough at 10.26f, cf.12.17. He argues that the example of the wilderness generation is not just an instance of the dangers of faithlessness, but “ein eindringliches Beispiel für die Unmöglichkeit der zweiten Buße”.7 Here Hofius begins to press his case too hard, perhaps, as also surely with regard to his suggestion 8 that the “sword” in 4.12 may be a reference

4

Lane 1991: 1.86–87 agrees, noting in particular that Heb 3.12 echoes the appeal of Joshua and Caleb at Num 14.9 5 Hofius 1970a: 136. Cf. e.g. Attridge 1989: 120; Johnson 2006: 119; Thompson 2008: 94; Ellingworth 1993: 236. 6 Cf. Strathmann 1963: 94 7 Hofius 1970a: 137 8 Hofius 1970a: 139

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to the swords of the Amalekites and the Canaanites in Num 14.43. 9 His case is a little stronger for reading πέσῃ in 4.11 not simply to mean “fall away” but as an allusion to the deaths of those who were condemned by their faithlessness to “fall” dead in the desert (Num 14.29, 32). Certainly by the time Hebrews reaches the end of its interpretation of Psalm 95 at this verse, an audience familiar with the story of Kadesh-Barnea, and still more one familiar with the wording of that story in the LXX of Num 14, have before the eyes of their minds the absolute and fatal exclusion from the Promised Land of all those – every Israelite bar two, Joshua and Caleb – who refused to believe in the offer of entry into the Land made by God when they stood at the very threshold of that Land.

C. On the Threshold of the Promised Land Having shown that, with some minor qualifications, Hofius succeeds in demonstrating that Hebrews 3f draws the attention of the Epistle’s audience to what is related in Numbers 14, I will go on to suggest that, although the effect of this section of Hebrews is clearly paraenetic, the appeal to the warning example of Kadesh-Barnea is not one taken at random. That is to say, there is more than simple exhortation going on here, for which any example of faithlessness and its consequences would have done. The specifics of these particular events are important, and support my suggestion that an appeal to the significance of the name of Ἰησοῦς may be inferred. The avowed intention of the citation of Psalm 95, with the exegesis that follows it, is indeed paraenetic: 3.7 is linked by a very strong “dio” to the exhortation in the previous verse to “hold fast” with boldness and hopeful boasting10 and thereby be the house of God (and/or perhaps of Christ), and then the Epistle makes its characteristic move of making the words of the psalm a direct address to his own audience from the Holy Spirit. This rhetorical move is especially powerful here as the Epistle is able to use the word “today”, which thrice more at 3.13, 15 and 4.7 he makes clear means the “today” of the reader. However, the continuation of the citation beyond μὴ σκληρύνητε τὰς καρδίας ὑμῶν makes it clear that the point is considerably more than a purely exhortative one. We are not merely told that God’s plea not to harden their hearts applies to us. That would have been a piece of fairly ordinary sermonising which might simply have served to point to9

Lane (1991: 1.102) agrees with Hofius here, however, as (implicitly) does Lincoln 1982: 207. 10 τὸ καύχημα τῆς ἐλπίδος, taking the genitive as descriptive, with Attridge (1989: 112)

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wards the claim in chapter 8 that the audience are the people of the new covenant and therefore ought to have hearts of flesh and not hard hearts of stone (cf. 8.10 citing Jer 31.33 [38.33 LXX]). Rather the Psalm is then picked up again after 3.12–14, and it becomes apparent that a much more specific parallel is being drawn between the particular situation addressed by that part of the psalm and the current situation of the audience. 11 This parallel is made explicit then in 4.1–2. Importantly, this is precisely the point at which the mood of the exegesis switches from one of warning about the dangers of unbelief to a more hopeful one regarding the promise that still remains. This is not to say that the aspect of threat entirely disappears – on the contrary, the reader is exhorted to fear (φοβηθῶμεν) – but this fear is not of punishment for lack of faith but is set within the context of the rest that remains, the context of promise. It becomes clear as chapter 4 begins that the significance of the address “today” of these words of the Psalm to the audience is far more than that if they lose faith they shall incur God’s wrath. There is a specific promise being held out “today”, a promise that Hebrews is urging its audience to believe and to take hold of. Here we must agree with Käsemann that the concept of promise ( ἐπαγγελία ) is central to Hebrews’ notion of the Gospel.12 Hebrews characterises its audience fundamentally as those who have been made a promise rather than as those who are in danger of apostasy, on which Hofius places too much emphasis. This becomes apparent when in 4.2 Hebrews goes on to establish more clearly the reason why the audience should consider themselves to be in a situation analogous to that of those about whom the Psalm speaks, namely that both groups are “evangelised” (εὐηγγελισμένοι ), and in the same way (καθάπερ κἀκεῖνοι). This is why the event of Kadesh-Barnea, and not any other example of the punishment of faithlessness, is the one relevant to the audience, and here again we agree with Hofius against Käsemann: the situation was not just one of wandering towards a distant goal, as perhaps was the case at Exodus 17, but of imminent access to the promised inheritance.13 “Der Vergleichspunkt liegt darin, daß beide, die Wüstengeneration wie die christliche Gemeinde, die Verheißung des Eintritts in Gottes Ruhestätte empfangen haben und umittelbar vor der Erfüllung dieser Verheißung stehen.”14 This sense of imminence is missed by the majority of commentators, even those who cite Hofius with seeming approval; they 11

Cf. Laansma 1997: 264: “The OT passages are exploited in such a manner that the present situation of the readers is seen to virtually merge with the situation of the ‘fathers’ at Kadesh.” 12 See especially Käsemann 1939: 12–13 13 Hofius 1970a: 141–142; cf. Vanhoye 1968 14 Hofius 1970a: 143

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tend to emphasise only the parallel situation of having been invited to make a response of faith, overlooking the particulars of the situation to which Hebrews draws our attention. For example, for Weiss Dies ist nicht nur eine Aussage über die Entsprechung der Situation des Volkes Israel damals und der christlichen Gemeinde heute, sondern zugleich auch eine theologische Aussage: Gottes Wort ist damals und heute ein und dasselbe Wort; zwischen dem Wort Gottes damals und heute besteht Kontinuität, wobei nunmehr ... Gottes Wort ausdrücklich als ein Wort der ‘Verheißung’ gekennzeichnet wird: Gott ist derjenige, der die Verheißung gegeben hat.15

However, the second reference to forty years at 3.17 must gives us pause, since it clearly recalls the long period of continued wandering that came after this promise was made, albeit as a result of the Israelites failure to believe it. It is by no means clear, that is to say, whether Hebrews has a truly imminent future eschatology, claiming as Hofius argues that the final Heilsvollendung is literally moments away. 16 I would suggest that concentrating on the timescale envisaged in Hebrews is mistaken. It is simply not clear whether the import of the analogy with Kadesh-Barnea is that the audience will make their analogous “entry” any day now, or forty years later, and if so, forty years later than what. What is clear is that the audience are in a geographically analogous situation – on the threshold of the Promised Land.17 While Hofius is right that the emphasis here is on the possibility of entry and the danger of refusing it rather than, as Käsemann proposes, the establishing of wandering as the Existenzform of Christian life, it is simply unreasonable to deny that there is any undertone of the necessary movement that must be undertaken in order to reach the point at which access can be gained. That is to say, if the point of the analogy between the audience and the wilderness generation is that both have been 15

Weiss 1991: 276f; cf. similarly Karrer 2002: 215 and Grässer 1990–97: 1.205. Bruce (1964: 65) suggests that the author has in mind the rabbinic reading of Psalm 95.10 found in TBSanh 98f, in which it is inferred that “God’s dealing with Israel, which began with a probationary period of forty years, would be rounded off at the end-time by a probationary period of like duration.” Cf. CD 20.14f, 4QpPs 37 and 1QM. Perhaps, he speculates, the Epistle being written just before AD70 was therefore addressed to an audience who knew that they lived nearly forty years after “Jesus had completed his ‘Exodus’ at Jerusalem”. If we could be certain on other grounds that this was indeed the timing of the Epistle then this suggestion would perhaps have considerable merit. But it is hardly enough to justify this proposed dating, and there is no suggestion elsewhere of such a drastically imminent eschatology. 17 Isaacs (1992) suggests that what Hebrews adds to the common NT theme of eschatological tension is precisely this geographical picture, in which the audience is in limine (see especially p. 59). Isaacs herself denies an explicit Joshua typology in Hebrews, though she allows the possibility of an “unconscious one” (p. 82). 16

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promised entry into something after a substantial period of time, that does not mean that the analogy must be reduced to only the imminence of access and not the journey that has been undertaken to reach that point. Hofius consistently plays down this aspect of the analogy, insisting for example that the seeming motifs of wandering/sojourning/pilgrimage in chapter 11 are only about “waiting” for something and not about travelling towards it18, and completely overlooking the application of such motifs to the audience in chapter 12 (notably vv. 1, 12f, and cf. 13.13). Thus I suggest that, at least as important as the temporal dimension of this analogy is the geographical – the notion that the ultimate goal of the audience’s journey is at last within their grasp. 19 This suggestion is perhaps strengthened by the use of the present tense εἰσερχόμεθα in 4.3. We must agree with Attridge 20, Johnson21, Lincoln22 and others that this is a properly present tense verb, implying continuous action: we who have come to belief are presently entering into rest. This does not mean to say that we have here a purely realised eschatology – that would be quite alien to the Epistle – but rather a realising eschatology23, with the emphasis here not so much on an imminent event, either on a cosmic scale or on the scale of the individual believer, as on the immediate proximity of access to God’s rest.

D. The Exceptional Faithfulness of Joshua and Caleb Before turning to the question of what this rest consists in, I wish to suggest that the invocation of the incident at Kadesh-Barnea does more than 18

Hofius 1970a: 147–50; see the following chapter of this monograph for a fuller treatment of Hebrews 11. 19 Lane combines this geographical sense with the eschatological tension of Hebrews: “the basis of the comparison between Israel at Kadesh and the Christian community addressed is the unresolved tension of standing before the promise of God in a moment conditioned by trials and peril” (1991: 90). 20 Attridge 1989: 126 21 Johnson (2006: 126) notes the variant reading with the subjunctive in A and C, but rightly also that this is very hard to construe with the connective γάρ; he also notes that the Peshitta reads “but”, which makes sense as an improvement on γάρ with the indicative, but not at all with the subjunctive. 22 Lincoln 1982: 212–213; contra DeSilva 2000: 153–154; cf. Montefiore 1964: 83 23 Cf. Barrett 1954: 372: “the ‘rest’, precisely because it is God’s, is both present and future”. Similarly, and rightly, Weiss 1991: 279 n.93: “Im Kontext der Paränese besagt das ursprüngliche Präsens jedenfalls nichts im Sinne einer ‘präsentischen’ Eschatologie über ein jetzt schon erfolgendes ‘Eingehen in die Ruhe’.”

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invite the audience to consider itself in a situation analagous to that of the People of Israel in Num 14, in immediately close proximity to that rest. It also invites them to consider Joshua and Caleb as the exceptions to the exclusion of the People from that rest as a result of their failure. I noted above that chapter 4 begins by making explicit that the fact that the audience has been evangelised just like the Israelites ( εὐηγγελισμένοι καθάπερ κἀκεῖνοι) is what makes the analogy a fitting one. Having considered the similarity in terms of the content of the message, let us turn to the bearers of it. Much is made in Num 13 and 14 of the distinction between Joshua and Caleb as bearers of a truthful report and the other ten spies who mislead the People and encourage them to lose faith in God.24 The difference between the two groups is twofold: first, that the ten spies gave an unfavourable report of the land, suggesting that it was not one that the People would wish to enter (Num 13.32) whereas Joshua and Caleb truthfully declare it to be “an exceedingly good land … a land that flows with milk and honey” (Num 14.7f) – a fulfilment, in other words, of what was promised to Moses (Exodus 3.8) and to the exodus generation (Exodus 13.5); secondly, the ten declare that the People will not be able to enter the Land (Num 13.28f, 31) while Joshua and Caleb deny this (Num 13.30), emphasising that trust in God will make them able to overcome the occupants of the Land (Num 14.8). It is emphasised that it is this faithfulness, above all, this trust in God, that means that the two honest and trusting spies alone of all that generation will enter the Land (Num 14.24; cf. Num 32.12; Deut 1.36–39). We might say that these two reflect two aspects of faithfulness – truthfulness as faithfulness to reality, and trust or the virtue of faith as faithful adherence to God’s word. Certainly the most obvious meaning of Heb 4.2 is that lack of faith in God’s promise meant that the promise did not avail the wilderness generation. It is not enough to hear the message, but it must also be believed. Nevertheless, in the context of the story of Kadesh-Barnea, the phrase εὐηγγελισμένοι καθάπερ κἀκεῖνοι also evokes the exceptional truthfulness and faithfulness of Joshua and Caleb. 25 Moreover, this exception has already been hinted at in the rhetorical questions at the end of the previous chapter. Despite the answer to the rhetorical question in 3.16, it was not “all those who left Egypt under the leadership of Moses” who were rebellious – it was all but two. This indeed is acknowledged explicitly if we do not read this verse as the first of three rhetorical questions, but as a

24

The phrase εὐηγγελισμένοι καθάπερ κἀκεῖνοι thus suggests that it is not only the exclusion of the People from the Land as narrated in Num 14, but also the commissioning of the spies and their return, narrated in the previous chapter, that is to be borne in mind. 25 With Lane 1991: 97

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statement: “for some, having heard, rebelled; but not all…”26 It is worth noting also that “some” is repeated positively in 4.6, and that 3.17 echoes the language of Num 14.29f which explicitly mentions the exclusion of the two faithful spies from the sentence of death. Even if we follow the great majority of modern scholars and read 3.16 as a question, an audience well aware that we are following the story of Kadesh-Barnea through the interpretation of Psalm 95 will be aware of these two as exceptions. Therefore we cannot agree with Moffatt in respect of the difficult textual variant of 4.2b.27 He claims that the reading συγκεκερασμένους is to be rejected because if it were accepted it would be a reference to Joshua and Caleb, but since Hebrews is not interested in these two, it cannot be, so we must prefer the less-attested reading. 28 There are two questions here: whether Moffatt is right that if we do read the accusative plural rather than the nominative singular, it must be such a reference; and whether in fact we do read this better-attested reading. In regard to the first, Attridge avoids the inference by proposing that those who have heard ( τοῖς ἀκούσασιν) are not Joshua and Caleb but us, the audience. 29 There is a 26

Ellingworth (1993: 229–230) notes that arguments for reading τινές rather than τίνες, which is the more traditional reading (almost unanimous until the 18 th Century, but now generally disregarded), are not as weak as they are often taken to be. Pace Montefiore (1964: 79) it is easier syntactically, since it is the reading τινές that makes ἀλλʼ οὐ difficult. This would make this verse “a tacit correction of Ps. 95, to take account of the faithfulness of Caleb and Joshua” (Ellingworth 1993: 230). He goes on to demolish quite convincingly the arguments usually given for the more common reading, although At tridge (1989), Weiss (1991), Karrer (2002), Johnson (2006) and Thompson (2008) do not even consider the alternative reading. 27 συγκεκερασμένους P 13 vid, 46 , A B C D* etc., Byz Lect itar vgwv, st syrh, pal copsa mss arm eth slav Theodore Augustine; συγκεκερασμένος ) l 1153 lAD itb, comp*, d vgcl syr p cop sa mss geo Theodoret mss Lucifer. There are a number of other very ill-attested variants. 28 Moffat 1924: 48; cf. Riggenbach 1922: 99; Moffat argues for reading the nomina tive singular, with the accusative plural coming about through assimilation to the preceding word (cf. Michel ad. loc.). He claims that there can be no reference to Joshua and Caleb because Hebrews’ whole hypothesis depends on everyone of the wilderness generation having been unfaithful, and therefore the two faithful spies must be sup pressed. Such a suppression would be quite a feat, but perhaps not impossible. However, the fact that the appeal to the audience of the Epistle so clearly echoes the appeal of Joshua and Caleb to their contemporaries argues against it, as of course does the explicit reference to Joshua at 4.8. I confess I cannot make sense of Moffat’s comment on 4 .8, that “our author ignores this [sc. the coincidence of names] and even uses the name Ἰησοῦς freely [i.e. for Joshua], since Ἰησοῦς is never applied by him to Christ before the incarnation” (op. cit. p. 52). 29 Cf. also Karrer 2002: 214: “Wer Num 14 zur Hand nimmt, entdeckt die Ausnahme Kalebs ... und die Unterscheidung der Generationen. Der Hebr lehnt eine solche Differ-

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suggestion, he proposes, of a lack of fellowship between those who did not obey in the wilderness and the present faithful audience, a lack of fellowship that therefore led the wilderness generation to lose the benefits of hearing the message. Though he concedes that the idea is a bold one, he proposes a parallel in Hebrews at 11.40. However, the parallel is a false one, for in 11.40 it is those who were faithful who nevertheless depend upon us to reach their own goal. But the more serious problem is that there is simply no indication here that we are dealing with anything other than the events of the wilderness era. The aorist tense of the participle ἀκούσασιν in the context of the narration of past events makes it highly improbable that there is direct reference – though there may well be secondary allusion30 – to the “hearers” of the audience’s own time, or perhaps rather to those who are called upon to hear (3.7, 15). A second important consideration is a semantic one. As Ellingworth points out, the accusative plural reading “has the advantage of implying a union of persons with persons, rather than the less natural, though not impossible, union of an object, God’s message, with a group of persons.”31 Turning this around, we may say that if we read the accusative, we are talking about a mixture, some kind of close union or solidarity, whether spiritual or moral, of persons with persons. “Those”, i.e. the faithless Israelites at Kadesh-Barnea, were not in a union or solidarity of faith with “those who heard”. This semantic consideration appears to render even more difficult the ill-attested and surely secondary alternative readings τῶν ἀκουσάντων (D* 104 2495) and τοῖς ἀκουσθεῖσιν (1912 [lat]). The semantically more natural understanding of συγκερράνυμι actually makes the accusative plural reading less attractive than the nominative singular one, which can be construed with τῇ πίστει as the object of the mixing with the λόγος τῆς ἀκοῆς, and this reading is surely the lectio facilior: the word that was heard (taking ἀκοῆς as a genitive of description, as we find in Heb at 1.3; 3.12) did not encounter faith in those who heard it. 32 enzierung ab, weil er von den Vätern nicht zu früheren Kindern, sondern unmittelbar zu den heutigen Hörern und Hörerinnen übergehen will.” 30 i.e., an implication that in hearing today the voice of God in the Psalm, the audien ce find themselves in solidarity with those who did heed the voice of God in the time of the wilderness; but again, this requires that there be such people in the minds of the audi ence, and only Caleb and Joshua fulfil the role. 31 Ellingworth 1993: 243 32 Until relatively recently, this was the preferred reading of commentators – e.g. Windisch, Moffatt, Héring, Bruce, Buchanan, Montefiore, Hughes… More recently textual critics have prevailed, and the lectio difficilior is preferred by Spicq, Attridge, Lane, Ellingworth and others, though Thompson does not even consider it and Johnson fudges the matter a little.

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That it is the easiest reading is not reason enough to reject it, and it is by no means impossible that the nominative reading was drawn into the accusative plural by proximity to ἐκείνους. On the other hand, the accusative reading is very much better attested, and this is a case where the great variety of variant readings both of this word and of ἀκούσασιν is best explained as attempts to give a smoother reading to an original reading that is slightly difficult to construe. In fact, as I have suggested, it can be construed as an oblique reference to Joshua and Caleb, but this does raise the question why these two are referred to as “having heard”. Surely the point of the exegesis of Psalm 95 is that all the Israelites heard and yet did not believe and obey? The NRSV’s translation of ἀκούσασιν as “those who listened” is, as Ellingworth puts it, “the least unsatisfactory interpretation”, and he appeals to a distinction between “mere” hearing and “the more usual meaning in biblical Greek, namely that of hearing to good effect”.33 It is nevertheless odd that Caleb and Joshua are described as hearers rather than speakers, since the likeness of the audience to the wilderness generation is that both have heard reports. But we recall that the distinction of Joshua’s and Caleb’s word to the Israelites was not only that they spoke the truth about the Land but also that they urged their contemporaries to trust in God, and particularly to trust in God’s word, his promise that he would lead them into the land. It was because they themselves had trul y heeded the voice of God, as urged by the Psalm, that they were able in their role as “evangelists” to transmit the word, as it were, through their faithful report. Faithful hearing is the condition of faithful speaking, and Joshua and Caleb are invoked as models of this faithful responsiveness to the word of God that did not, however, transmit itself successfully to the Israelites of their own generation.

E. The Nature of the Promise Borne by Joshua and Caleb It should be emphasised at this point that if, by the time we reach verse 4.2 of Hebrews, Joshua and Caleb are invoked as exceptional examples of faithfulness, then the allusion is a very slight one and obviously secondary to the principal message thus far that the promise of God requires a response of faith. However, it is significant that the mood of this section of the Epistle changes from threat to promise as the first hints emerge of the relevance of Joshua and Caleb as exceptions to the exclusion of the Israelites from the Promised Land: it is in them, and them alone of the wilderness generation, that hope of the fulfillment of the promise remains. 33

Ellingworth 1993: 243

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For in the following verse, Hebrews 4.3, we encounter the key theological statement of Hebrews’ exegesis of Psalm 95: “for we who have believed are entering the rest, just as he has said, ‘As I swore in my anger…’” As for the wilderness generation the continued validity of the promise subsisted in two of their number, so now it subsists in the present generation who are receiving its fulfillment. However, the way that this is expressed in this verse is strikingly odd. Setting aside for a moment the latter part of the verse, which presents its own difficulties (καίτοι … γενηθέντων), it is odd that Hebrews should offer as a proof of the fact that the audience is indeed entering into God’s rest the oath that God swore that “they shall never” do so. Many commentators do not see a difficulty: Attridge identifies it as a “hinge” verse, concluding the contrast between the wilderness and the present generation, “old and new recipients of the promise” and introducing the claim that the rest remains;34 but in fact this claim has already been made at 4.1, as Johnson observes.35 Like the great majority, these do not consider how the repetition of the psalm verse makes the point that is being made. At first glance, it might appear that the logic is clarified by emphasising the pronouns: “we are entering… just as God swore ‘they shall never enter’”. Though there are no pronouns in the Greek, the implicit contrast may yet be there, and is certainly there in 4.6; but there is no suggestion of a contrast in verse 3. Rather, the point seems to be the continued availability of rest – continuity rather than contrast. Is it, then, just the existence of God’s rest that is proved by the psalm verse? Perhaps so, but surely the audience must be struck by the contrast between the apparently very definitive “never” and the claim that we are, nonetheless, entering. Has God broken this oath, in order to keep his earlier oath to Abraham and his descendants (cf. 2.16; 6.13–15)? A possible answer lies in the fact that, although every translation of this citation properly gives something along the lines of “they shall never enter my rest”, the literal meaning of the Greek, following the Hebrew, is “if they will enter into my rest”. This is a common Hebrew idiom wherein ’im following a verb of promising or swearing an oath becomes an emphatic negative, with an implied formula of imprecation omitted: “(may evil fall upon me) if such-and-such happens”36. It may be, nonetheless, that the audience of Hebrews understood this idiom full well, and that we may legitimately infer the more profound implications of the literal meaning with its more positive interpretation. Indeed, this is the only way of making sense of the move to the citation from what precedes it in this verse, 34

Attridge 1989: 126 Johnson 2006: 126 36 Cf. Brown, Driver & Briggs 1975: 50 col. 1 35

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for otherwise there appears to be a patent contradiction: “we are entering… just as he swore ‘they shall never enter’”! But the literal meaning, “if they shall enter”, may also be taken to mean “would that they would enter”37, implying that God’s will that his people should enter into rest persists. Or we might even suggest that the author is aware of the still deeper implication of the Hebrew idiom, that the oath may be broken – rest may be entered, in this case – but only at the cost of the implicit curse falling upon the oath-maker.38 Let us at least allow that there is a contradiction between Hebrews’ claim that we are entering and the straightforward reading of the oath that God swore that “they shall never enter”. We may even be invited to infer that God has, by this oath in Psalm 95, placed himself in an impossible position: he has sworn two oaths, both with implicit curses (perhaps even of death) attached to the breaking of them. And these oaths are precisely opposed; is not the logic of his own faithfulness to his promises driving him to take upon himself the curse of death? Of course, the contradiction is reconciled on one level by the distinction between “they” and “we”, the distinction between those who refused to believe and those who now believe. But if the resolution were this simple, we might expect it to be made clearer that the oath applied only to the wilderness generation, and 4.6–8 tell us that this is precisely not the case: the Psalm, being written by David under the inspiration of the Holy Spirit many generations later, therefore has an effect beyond that of the historical situation to which it refers. Indeed, Hebrews broadens out the historical referent of the Psalm in two directions, not only forwards, to the period of the monarchy when the Promised Land was apparently occupied, but first backwards to the seventh day of creation, with the last clause of verse 3. This radically new idea is introduced in 4.3 with the words καίτοι τῶν ἔργων ἀπὸ καταβολῆς κόσμου γενηθέντων. Unlike the difficulty of the relationship between the first two parts of this verse, much puzzlement has been expressed over this last part, and in particular over the καίτοι. As Attridge puts it, this is “rather surprising… the precise force of the com37

Cf. Brown, Driver & Briggs 1975: 50 col. 1. We note here the argument of Scott Hahn (2004) that the meaning of διαθήκη in Heb 9.16f, as in 9.15, is ‘covenant’ and not ‘will’. He draws attention to various OT passages in which the making of a covenant involves the swearing of an oath with a maledictory aspect, with the slaughter of an animal representing the fate of the one who breaks the oath (cf. Ezek 17.13ff; also Gen 21.22, 26.26; Deut 29.9; Josh 9.15–20; 2 Kings 11.4 and Ezek 16.8; then Lev 26 and Deut 28 passim; Hahn notes the same notions in various Ancient Near Eastern texts and in the Dead Sea Scrolls, especially in the Damascus Covenant). The meaning of 9.16, then, is that the curse of death must take effect because the covenant has been transgressed (cf. Heb 2.15, 3.17, 10.28). 38

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ment is unclear.”39 The great majority read καίτοι as “although”: God denied the Israelites entry into his rest even though his works were finished from the foundation of the world. 40 The conjunction confirms the concessive force of the genitive absolute τῶν ἔργων … γενηθέντων. The nearest NT parallel to this construction would be John 4.2: καίτοιγε Ἰησοῦς αὐτὸς οὐκ ἐβάπτιζεν ἀλλ᾿ οἱ μαθηταὶ αὐτοῦ,41 but we note that this is not the same word, neither is it followed by a genitive absolute, but by a finite clause. Moreover, the logic of the thought is difficult to grasp. Either the concession is with respect to the first part of the verse: we are entering that rest, even though [God’s?] works were finished from the foundation of the world; or the second: God swore that “they shall never enter”, even though [his own?] works were finished… In neither case is the train of thought particularly clear. It is important also to note that the γάρ at the beginning of verse 4 suggests that the train of thought in this καίτοι clause continues, so that it cannot be parenthetical, as at John 4.2, and as suggested by Spicq.42 The more usual use of καίτοι is that found at Acts 14:17, and throughout secular literature of the period, with a much stronger sense of contrast: “and yet” rather than “although”.43 The difficulty with this reading is that it is hard to see how the genitive absolute following it relates to the subsequent verses, or indeed, if one wants to break the sentence before καίτοι, what would be the main clause of the new sentence. This may explain the poorly attested omission of the γάρ at the beginning of the following verse44, since the clause could then be taken as concessive with respect to what follows: “Although his works were finished from the foundation of the world, in one place it speaks about the seventh day…” It is unsatisfactory to decide that the syntax is simply erroneous, and that the genitive absolute ought to be a finite clause; but the flow of the argument demands 39

1989: p. 129 E.g. Grässer 1990–97: 1.208 n.56: “καίτοι hat konzessiven Sinn: ‘mit welcher Einräumung’, ‘trotz welchen Umstandes’?”; Buchanan 1972: 71 is alone among modern commentators (since Stuart 1828) in arguing that καίτοι means ‘namely’, which is most unlikely, although in fact many go on to interpret the passage as if it means precisely that. 41 There is also an ill-attested variant reading of καίτοιγε for καί γε with a genitive absolute at Acts 17:27. 42 1953: 82 43 Interestingly, French translations tend to take καίτοι as a stronger break – a new sentence in the Bible de Jérusalem and a new paragraph in La Nouvelle Version Segond Revisée and La Traduction Oecuménique; similarly the German Einheitsübersetzung, following Luther’s 1545 translation. 44 13 P , vgms syr p 40

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that this be taken as a radically new thought, and not a slightly incoherent concession to either earlier part of the verse. We can only conclude that the rhetorical effect is to create a fairly dramatic disjuncture in the flow of thought, thus effectively drawing attention to a strikingly new idea, the relation of the “rest” in Psalm 95 – which hitherto has appeared to have a purely geographical meaning, being a metaphor for entry into the Promised Land – to God’s rest on the seventh day of creation. We shall turn shortly to the nature of the rest that remains, but it is clear from 4.3 that its relationship to the rest that the wilderness generation failed to enter is not one of straightforward equivalence. As Attridge and Theissen point out45, this is precisely where Hofius’s analysis falls down. But there is a further clue to the relationship between these two “rests”, in 4.8: εἰ γὰρ αὐτοὺς Ἰησοῦς κατέπαυσεν, οὐκ ἂν περὶ ἄλλης ἐλάλει μετὰ ταῦτα ἡμέρας. If the “rest” of which the Psalm is speaking were simply the possession of the Land of Canaan, towards which the wilderness generation was travelling and which was promised to Abraham and his descendants, then surely Joshua did indeed give that rest to the People of Israel. This counterfactual sentence has two important implications: first, Joshua is implicitly given credit for leading the Israelites into the Promised Land. Hebrews is making a contrast between something that Joshua did achieve and the rest of which the Psalm speaks, between possession of Canaan and true rest. Therefore Joshua’s achievement, while denigrated in comparison to the entry into true rest, is nevertheless in some way comparable or analogous to it. The second important implication is that the point of the contrast is not between the wilderness generation and the subsequent generation but between the true entry into rest and the possession of Canaan. This becomes clear when we ask who are the αὐτοὺς in this verse. It cannot be the wilderness generation, because no-one would suggest that Joshua had given them rest; the point of the story is that the faithless generation all had to die off before the People of Israel could enter Canaan. But neither is there any emphasis in Hebrews on the distinction between these generations – we do not read “If Joshua had given the subsequent generation rest” or some such thing. It appears from the wider context that the αὐτοὺς are rather the people to whom the Psalm verse is ostensibly addressed, which is the generation of David – many generations, that is, after the entry into Canaan. But it also has to encompass the generation that did enter Canaan, otherwise this verse itself makes no sense. So we must conclude that the αὐτοὺς are not a particular generation but rather every generation of Israel that has enjoyed possession of the Land – we might go so far as to say that 45

Attridge 1989: 129 and 1980 passim; Theissen 1969: 129

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“they” are simply the People of Israel. It is now obvious that a much deeper point is being made than that one particular generation did not enter God’s rest because of faithlessness. Although apparently this led to a delay of a single generation, and then Joshua did lead the next generation into rest, in reality this entry was not made and has not been made by Israel, until the “today” of which the Psalm speaks. This, the audience is invited to infer, is the “today” of their own time – this we can conclude from 3.13, 15, and from the present tense of εἰσερχόμεθα at 4.3. Johnson sums up this point well: Hebrews makes the point beyond the one that some of the people who came out of Egypt did not enter the land (3.16–18): the land itself is not the real promise! If the Jesus of the past had been able to provide that, then God would not have spoken about another day, “after these”.46

F. The Striking Coincidence of the Name of Jesus Johnson appeals to the identical names of Jesus, the Son of God and highpriestly Christ “of our confession” (3.1) and Jesus the son of Nun, successor of Moses. It will be anticipated that I share in his implied view that there is something at least to made of this coincidence of names, and I move on now to summarise my reasons for thinking that it is more striking than is sometimes recognised. For commentators are greatly divided on the extent to which this identity of names is one that should strike the audience of Hebrews as significant. Johnson is clear that it has great significance: “the typological reading of the wilderness story is made even more plausible [sc. to the audience] because the name of the leader who finally led the survivors into Canaan was Joshua, which appears in the LXX as Iēsous.”47 He does not, however, develop the point, and Attridge similarly only touches upon it: “the reference to Joshua… suggests a typological comparison between one ἀρχηγός of the old covenant and that of the new. Such a typology was developed in later Christian literature, but it is not exploited here.”48 Similarly Karrer seems to find the fact that the typology occurs in later literature almost a proof of the fact that Hebrews cannot be appealing to it here! He writes: Da Josua griechisch wie Jesus geschrieben wird, erwägen einzelne Ausleger weitergehend, der Hebr spreche an unserer Stelle statt von Josua gleich von Jesus.

46

Johnson 2006: 128 Johnson 2006: 128 48 Johnson 2006: 129 47

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Religionsgeschichtlich ist das nicht unmöglich... Aber es ist weit weniger wahrscheinlich, da alle bekannten christologischen Josuatypologien jüngeren Epochen angehören. 49

Ellingworth is even more cautious: he suggests that “the author, though doubtless aware of the coincidence of names, refuses to be distracted by it, and chose a word order intended to de-emphasize Ἰησοῦς (in sharp contrast to references to Jesus in 2.9 and elsewhere).”50 At the extreme end of this view is Riggenbach, who insists that there is not only no reference to Jesus in this verse51 but no connotation or allusion to him either. Any such suggestion is “foolish confusion”.52 I would propose, however, that the identity of names is highly striking, and that a plausible first audience would be able to draw inferences that are not explicitly laid out for them. 53 In the first place, little significance should be attached to the “de-emphasized” position of Ἰησοῦς in the sentence. Certainly, if it came after κατέπαυσεν my case would be stronger, but Ellingworth himself admits that “word order in Greek is so flexible” that no argument based on it can be pressed. 54 More important is the fact that the name is mentioned at all, when it could so easily not have been. 55 Indeed, it requires a change from the noun κατάπαυσις to the cognate verb – why not “if they had entered God’s rest”? The argument has hitherto been by no means easy to follow, for Hebrews makes great demands upon its audience, and is as subtle and allusive here as anywhere; the use of Ἰησοῦς to refer not to Jesus, as would have been assumed at first hearing, but to mention Joshua would inevitable cause a double-take, a moment of mental confusion, even without any syntactical emphasis on the word. We must agree with Wray, then, when in considering 4.8 she writes, “We do the author a disservice if we assume that no mental gymnastics are 49

Karrer 2002: 217 Ellingworth 1993: 253 51 Riggenbach 1922: 105 n.77, against e.g. Hanson 1965: 61, who suggests that we read Ἰησοῦς as ‘Jesus’; Hanson appeals to the Christological readings of Joshua found in Barn. 12.8, Justin Dial. 24.2; 75.1f and Origen’s Hom. in Exodus 11.5, along with “and the rock was Christ” (1 Cor. 10.4) to suggest that the Christian even in the time of Hebrews could infer that Jesus was in some sense actually present in the wilderness, leading the Israelites on and into Canaan. 52 Riggenbach 1922: 10 n. 81; Wilson dismisses this reference to Joshua as simply countering “a possible objection” (1987: 90). 53 Cf. France 1996: 269: “the ‘coincidence’ that the name of Jesus is the same as the Greek form of that of his OT predecessor is not overtly exploited, but can hardly have escaped the writer’s attention” [my emphasis]. 54 Ellingworth 1993: 253 55 With Hagner (2002: 74), who suggests that “our author must consciously be think ing of this analogy when he goes out of his way to refer to Joshua, an otherwise unnecessary reference”. 50

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being required of the hearers when suddenly our author refers to Ἰησοῦς as having ‘failed to give them rest’.”56 I would go further, indeed, and say that mental gymnastics simply are required, in order to follow the argument at all. The use of Jesus’s name here is bound to increase the difficulty and cause further confusion. The question is whether it is credible that our audience may have been given pause to consider whether this necessarily striking coincidence has a significance that is worth pondering further. 57 Indeed we may go further and agree with Hagner that it is possible that an audience of Christians familiar with the Jewish scriptures in Greek may well already have been prepared to take the necessary leap of logic: While Joshua, the “Jesus” of the Old Testament, was unable to bring the Israelites fully into the realisation of the promises made by God, the Jesus of the New Testament did accomplish this. This analogy must have occurred to the minds of the Hellenistic Jewish Christians as they read their Septuagint. 58

FC Synge goes further, insisting that the unspoken assumption throughout Hebrews, one that was in the minds both of author and of audience, was that all of the OT is about Jesus, and therefore any character named Ἰησοῦς in the Greek OT must have sparked off considerations as to the profound relationship between that character and the ultimate Ἰησοῦς.59 Thus, for example, the name of Jesus almost always appears last in a phrase, because “the name is always more than the name of Christ; it is a biblical name carrying overtones of a scriptural testimony to Jesus as Christ.”60 Whether indeed our audience “must” – perhaps better “might well” – have already had in mind some such analogy between Jesus and Joshua, on hearing the latter mentioned at 4.8 they would certainly be justified in inferring one because of the content of Heb 3.1–6: they would recognise that 3.7–4.11, though a distinct unit of hortatory exegesis of Psalm 95, is not to be separated from what surrounds it. It is explicitly linked by the Διό at the beginning of 3.7 to what has gone before, the argument that Jesus is 56

Wray 1998: 81 As to the fact that the text does not explicitly draw out the significance in the way we find in the Epistle of Barnabas, Justin’s Dialogue or Origen’s writings, this may be taken in two ways: we might indeed point to the difference and say, as Attridge implies, that if there were any great significance to the implicit typological relationship, it would be drawn out as it is by those later authors; or we might propose that the fact that these later writers could work out the typology in more detail suggests that at some of the most astute members of our audience might at least begin to do the same. 58 Hagner 2002: 74 59 Synge 1959. He considers the principal typology in Hebrews to be one relating Jesus to Joshua son of Jehozadak, a suggestion that has received little subsequent attention. 60 Synge 1959: 20 57

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superior to Moses on the basis of his qualitatively superior faithfulness. It is because Jesus’s faithfulness is superior to that of Moses that we who are his μέτοχοι (3.1) ought also to show a faithfulness superior to that of Moses. Already, then, our astute audience is looking in what follows for an example of superior faithfulness, and my suggestion is that such an example is to be found in Joshua and Caleb – but in particular with the former, because he is mentioned explicitly. And moreover, this explicit mention is the first time we have heard the word Ἰησοῦς since we were told that Jesus is more worthy of glory than Moses because his faithfulness was superior (3.1–3).61

G. Faith Superior to that of Moses For this reason we cannot agree entirely with Wray when she separates 3.7 to 4.13 as “an extended proof/sermon illustration of faithfulness ‘from the opposite’”62 and argues that the section is not christological: “Christology is not what is on the preacher’s mind at this time”63; rather his purpose is to force a shift in his audience’s definition of “rest” and “sabbath” from the old definition which relates it to land and torah to a new definition, a new “cosmic” context. Only 3.1–6 and then 4.14 are christological, she claims, and, both logically and in terms of vocabulary, 4.14 with its οὖν does not function as a conclusion to anything other than 3.1–6. Yet elsewhere she does suggest that the purpose of this whole section is to support 4.14’s conclusion to 3.1–6 which is “a thesis statement about the faithfulness of Christ”64, and this is correct. 3.7–4.11 is not explicitly christological but it does considerably more than simply give a homiletic illustration of what is meant by our being faithful; rather it relates our faithfulness to that of Jesus. The point seems to be this: that the wilderness generation, under the leadership of Moses, had a faithful leader, and he 61

I agree with Wilson (1987: 67) that 3.1ff does not offer an argument for the superiority of Christ over Moses in the way that the previous chapters argue for his superiority over the angels: there is nothing like the same kind of proof or the same degree of assertion. Such a superiority is assumed rather than argued for. Rather the emphasis is on the superiority of Jesus’s faith as a model for the faith of the audience which should exceed that of all the ancient Israelites. Nonetheless, as I shall argue below, it is legitimate to infer that, as a model of faith that exceeds that of Moses’s generation, Jesus has significant affinites with Joshua, who led the succeeding generation and who se faithfulness in one crucial way did exceed that of Moses. 62 Wray 1998: 54 63 Wray 1998: 81 64 Wray 1998: 53

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was appointed to lead that generation into the Promised Land, the “rest” to which Ps 95 apparently refers. The present Christian generation, under the leadership of Jesus, also has a faithful leader, but his faithfulness is of a different quality (3.6a) and so naturally, as 3.7 to 4.10 goes on to explore, the rest to which he leads his followers is also of a different quality. At the same time as the different quality of this rest is explored, so the situation or status of the audience is constantly related back to the historical situation of the wilderness generation; the move is not simply one from the historical particularity of Mosaic generation to an eschatological moment that transcends history (pace Käsemann) but one that links the historical particularity of the past to the present reality. That is to say, the details of the past matter; and one of the essential details of the story of the exodus and conquest is that Moses did not lead his people all the way into the Promised Land, was in fact not faithful to the end. Now it must be admitted that it was at Meribah in the wilderness of Zin that Moses and Aaron are explicitly told (in Num 20) that they will not lead the people of Israel into the Promised Land, and not at KadeshBarnea. This chapter of Numbers, in which Joshua does not appear, seems to be a reprise of the first instance of wilderness murmurings related in Exodus 17 – certainly we learn that the events occur in the same place – and it is to this event, or perhaps pair of events, that the Hebrew text of Psalm 95 refers; whereas I have been eager to agree with Hofius and others that the Greek text of the Psalm more readily reads as relating to Numbers 14 and not to Numbers 20 or Exodus 17. We might perhaps speculate that the audience is expected to know of the Hebrew wording linking the Psalm to those other incidents and places, but this cannot be proved. However, what is clear from Numbers 20 is the reason why Moses and Aaron are not to lead the people into the Land: ὅτι οὐκ ἐπιστεύσατε. More importantly, these two stories are conflated in Deuteronomy 1.34–38: When the LORD heard your words, he was wrathful and swore: “Not one of these – not one of this evil generation – shall see the good land that I swore to give to your ancestors, except Caleb son of Jephunneh. He shall see it, and to him and to his descendants I will give the land on which he set foot, because of his complete fidelity to the Lord. ” Even with me the Lord was angry on your account, saying, “You also shall not enter there. Joshua son of Nun, your assistant, shall enter there; encourage him, for he is the one who will secure Israel’s possession of it.”

So what is more important than the verbal details that prove allusion to the events of Kadesh-Barnea rather than those at Meribah is the narrative substructure of the interpretation of Psalm 95. The way in which this exposition is framed and contextualised by 3.1–6 serves to highlight certain aspects of the story at the expense of others. This narrative runs like this: the Israelites were entrusted to Moses, a faithful servant over God’s house,

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who was to lead them into the Land that he had promised to give to them as descendants of Abraham. However, during their sojourn in the wilderness they showed themselves to be lacking faith in God. This faithlessness reached its climax when, of the twelve spies sent on ahead to scout out the Land, the people chose to believe the false report of the ten; only the two who were truthful, Joshua and Caleb, continued to believe that God would fulfil the promise to bring them into the Land. So, on the very threshold of the Land, the People through their faithlessness were excluded from the Land, with the exception of those two. Even Moses lacked faith, and so it was left to Joshua as his successor to bring the people in. The very strong implication, then, though it is never stated thus in the OT, is that Joshua’s faith in God exceeded that of Moses and this was why he was qualified to do what Moses could not, completing the journey begun with the crossing of the Red Sea. Within the context of Heb 3.1–6, with its assertion that Jesus’s faith is qualitatively superior to that of Moses, it is not too much to see great significance in the fact that his name is identical to that of the Joshua who succeeded, because of precisely this quality, where Moses failed. It should be admitted that the notion of Moses as a failure is not one that is found clearly expressed in contemporary Jewish literature, any more than in the OT itself or the intertestamental writings. We do find, however, an emphasis on Joshua as successor of Moses, and this is particularly associated with the Book of Deuteronomy, in which that succession takes place. Indeed, we may go so far as to say that in situating the audience in a quasi-geographical fashion on the threshold of the Promised Land, Hebrews casts them in a deuteronomic situation, and this is the thrust of David Allen’s recent work.65 This is particularly helpful in drawing attention to the link between this rhetorical effect in the paraenetic passages and the theme of new covenant centering on the citation of Jeremiah 31 in Hebrews 8. Each book, Hebrews and Deuteronomy, “explicates a covenant that marks the end of the Mosaic era and a consequent change in leadership to a figure named Ἰησοῦς.”66 This, and a supporting wealth of echoes and

65

Allen 2008; he acknowledges his forebears in this line of thought, of whom Dunnill (1992) is particularly worthy of mention. Dunnill notes parallels between Heb 3.10, 12 and Deut 29.18 and between Heb 4.11 and Deut 5.2, among others. He notes with Allen and others the similar rhetorical effects of Hebrews and Deuteronomy in putting the ‘readers’ in various locations or situations – the edge of the Land, at Sion, at the door of the tent, etc. 66 Allen 2008: 5

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allusions to Deuteronomy that Allen finds in Hebrews 67, provide “signposts to a Deuteronomic reading of Hebrews.”68 Importantly, he also notes that Deuteronomy itself points towards the incompleteness, transience and insufficiency of the conquest of the Land that Joshua is commissioned to lead. In particular, the Song of Moses in Deuteronomy 32, around which Allen’s allusions and echoes cluster, “anticipates a deeper sense to the goal’s achievement, typified but not fulfilled by Canaan.”69 In line with this is the ambivalence in Deuteronomy towards Joshua himself, being greater than Moses inasmuch as he completes the latter’s work, yet in many ways remaining his subordinate. This may be related to the fact, as Allen points out, that in Deuteronomy at least, Joshua is never the ultimate agent of rest – i.e. Ἰησοῦς is never the subject of καταπαύω... Hebrews’ proposition is that Joshua never “rested” Israel is entirely correct, for that task was never assigned to him; it remained a divine prerogative.70

The tension in the presentation of Joshua, subordinated to the priesthood and having a relationship to YHWH clearly inferior to, though also uniquely analogous to, that enjoyed by Moses, is part of a broader tension found in Deuteronomy between the imminent fulfillment of the covenant promises and the strongly implied inadequacy of that fufillment. As Allen puts it, Deuteronomy “opens the door”71 to the idea of a new covenant as found in Jeremiah, and is therefore a congenial OT text to which Hebrews can make implicit appeal. But, as we should expect, the clear similarity of salvation-historical situation is joined to an equally clear difference; whereas Joshua took over from Moses to lead Israel into the earthly and, implicitly, insufficient fulfillment of the promises, the new Joshua, Son not of Nun but of God, ushers in a far more radically new era with a far more radical fulfillment. It is the claim that Jesus is far more profoundl y the successor of Moses than is Joshua that then justifies a more radical reading of the relationship between Moses and Joshua; that is, it is in the light of Jesus’s having succeeded where Moses did not that our Christian audience is likely to have thought of Joshua in terms of having succeeded where Moses failed.

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Of particular importance to our purposes, he shows a convincing allusion to Deut 32.15 in Heb 3.12 and a credible echo of Deut 32.47 in Heb 4.12; he also suggests “nar rative allusions” in Heb 4.8 to Deut 1.38; 3.28; 31.7, 23. 68 Allen 2008: 5 69 Allen 2008: 144; cf. Deut 32.15–25; also 29.22–8; 31.16–18 70 Allen 2008: 108 71 Allen 2008: 124

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H. A Typology of Similarity and Difference Having argued that our audience is likely to infer this typological relationship of similarity and difference between the two men named Ἰησοῦς, I move on now to suggest how this inference illuminates the relationship between the “rest” that the People of Israel failed to enter in Numbers 14 and the “rest” that remains for the audience of the Epistle to enter. This will open the way for a consideration in the final section of this chapter of the theological significance of the typological relationship between the Promised Land and heaven that is implied, wherein I engage especially with the works of Hofius and Käsemann. At the same time as Joshua, likened to Jesus in this respect, is first mentioned by name, it is also made very clear that the rest into which the son of Nun brought the Israelites is not the real fulfillment of God’s promise. There is both similarity and difference in the relationship between the two men, and this combination of similarity and difference is analogous to the relationship between the entry into the Land of Canaan and entry into the true rest of God which was not achieved by Joshua, but which Hebrews is holding out to its audience as something they are presently engaged in. The real rest that God promises his people is not the earthly possession of the Land of Canaan but a share in his own eternal rest in heaven, and we move on now to consider the nature of this real rest as it is expressed in Hebrews; but it is important to recognise beforehand that this idea is not something new to Hebrews, or indeed new to Christianity. It is, as Käsemann and Hofius first explored in detail and as is now widely acknowledged, an idea that belongs in the religious-historical background of the Epistle. What is new in Hebrews is the claim that a single human being, and only a single one, has already attained that rest, and that it is as a result of that one man’s achievement that entry into the same rest has been made possible for others in fellowship with him. The relationship between Jesus and Joshua we are invited to infer from these chapters of Hebrews is analogous to the relationship between the entry into the Land of Canaan that Joshua achieved after the last of the faithless Israelites had died in the wilderness and the entry into true rest that is promised to the audience of Hebrews, and made achievable at last by Jesus’s own entry therein. In order to support this proposal I turn now to consider the nature of the rest that still remains according to Heb 4.1, 3, 6 and 9. I take it as axiomatic that the same rest is spoken of in each of these verses, including the last which speaks not of a κατάπαυσις but a σαββατισμός. Indeed, the function of Heb 4.1–11 is to redefine the rest into which Psalm 95 is “today” inviting us to enter in terms of the Sabbath rest of God.

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The first question, however, is whether we are to understand κατάπαυσις to denote a place of rest or a state of rest: Hofius and Käsemann are very insistent upon the former. Käsemann needs it to be a spatial motif because he wishes to demonstrate the the principal motif of Hebrews is that of Erlösungswanderschaft; since the controlling metaphor of the Epistle is one of movement, the goal of that movement must be a place. This is not the argument that he presents, but I believe it is the reason why he needs to argue for it; his positive argument is summed up very simply: “It is false to refer to the κατάπαυσις as a divine attribute, since one cannot ‘enter into’ an attribute.” Therefore “Die ‘Ruhe’ ist schlechterdings eine rein lokale Grösse, eine himmlische Ortsbezeichnung.”72 But then, as Hofius observes, Käsemann has a difficulty with the combination of the concepts of κατάπαυσις and σαββατισμός , the latter not obviously having a spatial sense. He has recourse to the concept of the speculation found in “gnostic” texts regarding the hebdomas, the seventh “aeon” that emerges from God in creation73, though he appeals also to Philo 74 and to Rabbinic writings.75 The logic of his argument, put simply, is: σαββατισμός equals Sabbath equals hebdomas, which has a spatial connotation in some texts. Hofius readily demolishes this argument, on the grounds both of the inadmissability of some of the “gnostic” evidence and of the invalidity of his logic, since it is not obvious that σαββατισμός and σάββατον are univocal. Käsemann’s argument that κατάπαυσις must be spatial because we are said to “enter” it is, moreover, highly questionable; it simply overlooks the possibility that the language here is metaphorical. 76 Certainly the language of movement in Hebrews is sometimes figurative: the question is what sort of figurative language we are dealing with, and what manner of imagery is being invoked. Hofius’s argument for a spatial reading of κατάπαυσις is worthy of more consideration. He appeals first of all to the Hebrew (MT) reading of Psalm 95, demonstrating that hxnm in the last verse of that Psalm has a local meaning,77 before going on to point to a number of other OT passages in which the same word, or variants thereof, has a local sense. The most important of these is Deut. 12.9, in which Moses tells the Israelites that 72

Käsemann 1939: 41 [my emphasis]. Käsemann 1939: 52–8 74 Specifically Quod Deus sit Immutabilis; De Abrahamo and Legum Allegoriæ 75 Notably Pirqe R El 18 76 εἰσέρχομαι is used metaphorically at, e.g., Matt 19.17; 25.21, 23; 26.41; John 4.38 – and a great many more if we think that the ‘Kingdom of God’ or ‘of Heaven’ is not literally a place. 77 Hofius 1970a: 33–41; cf. Lincoln 1982: 208; like Hofius, Lincoln goes on to note the typological associations evoked between Canaan and the Temple. 73

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“you have not yet come into the rest ( hxWnMh, LXX τὴν κατάπαυσιν ) and the possession (LXX τὴν κληρονομίαν ) that the Lord your God is giving you.”78 Hofius also notes texts where the temple is described with the same vocabulary as a place of rest: Psalm 132.8, 14; 1 Chron 6.16; 2 Chron 6.41, and cf. Num 10.33; Is 11.10; 32.18; 66.1. However, not all are convinced that this evidence is overwhelming: Attridge points to other texts (most importantly Ex 35.2) where κατάπαυσις clearly does not have a local meaning,79 and notes quite rightly that if κατάπαυσις of itself meant ‘place of rest’, the phrase τόπος τῆς καταπαύσεως in Isaiah 66.1 would be tautologous. Rather he suggests that “instances where the noun has a local sense… involve a special application of the term.”80 He also rightly questions Hofius’s insistence on a clear distinction between κατάπαυσις as “place of rest” and ἀνάπαυσις as “state of rest”. But if the former does not always and everywhere have a local meaning, that certainly does not rule out the possibility not only that it has a local meaning in Heb 3 and 4 but that it obviously has such a meaning. It is, as Attridge insists 81, a mistake to adduce one particular religious-historical background to the use of the word here and then insist on conforming Hebrews to that usage; moreover, it is precisely the point of Heb 4.1–11 to redefine, or at least to refine, the meaning of κατάπαυσις in the Psalm. However, Hofius is right that our starting point must be what the word means within the psalm citation, and clearly there, particularly given the way in which it is exposited in Heb 3, it denotes the Promised Land. So our audience has been encouraged to have in mind a picture of physical entry into a physical place. Moreover, Hofius notes 82 that the Psalm was read in the midrashim and the targums as addressed to the worshipping community entering the temple, picking up especially on the use of κατάπαυσις in 1 Kings 8.56. Thus he concludes that “Ps 95.7b ff [gehört] in den Umkreis jener alttestamentlichen Texte, in denen die beiden Vorstellungen von dem gelobten Land als der ‘Ruhestätte’ des Gottesvolkes und dem Tempel als der ‘Ruhestätte’ Jahwes miteinander verbunden sind”.83 In fact, even if we discount the evidence from the rabbis as too late

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κληρονομία and its cognates are key terms in Hebrews, relating the audience’s attainment of God’s promises to Christ’s status – cf. Heb 1.2, 14; 6.12, 17, 19; 11.8 79 Attridge 1989: 127 n. 55: also 1 Macc 15.1 and cf. Josephus AJ 17.2.4.43; cf. Theissen 1969: 128ff and Vanhoye 1971: 68 80 Attridge 1989: 127 n.55 81 Attridge 1989: 128 82 Hofius 1970a: 41–50 83 Hofius 1970a: 40

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to be of relevance to our study of Hebrews 84, the OT texts that he cites themselves support his view that Hebrews not only invokes for its audience a spatial concept of rest, but also a spatial typology that relates entry into the Promised Land with entry into the temple. “Der Einzug der Väter in das Land Kanaan ist Typos des Einzuges der gottesdienstlichen Gemeinde in das Heiligtum auf dem Zion.”85 Crucial to this argument is the emphasis in Hebrews on the fact that it is God’s rest that the Psalm speaks of, not only when citing the psalm but throughout (3.18; 4.1, 3, 10). Ellingworth notes two further pieces of evidence supporting the suggestion that a spatial typology relating the Land of Canaan and the temple is invoked in Heb 3. The first is the number of points of contact between the citation and exposition of Psalm 95 and Isaiah 66. 86 Most important of these is the reference to God’s house, which is so important in asserting both the likeness and the superiority of Jesus to Moses in 3.1–6; we note also the contrast between heaven and earth. This is important throughout Hebrews, but in particular the passage in question (3.1; 4.14) is framed by assertions of the heavenly nature of Christ and of the audience in partnership with him. Moreover the passage of Isaiah goes on to speak of a renewed Jerusalem (cf. Heb 12.22 echoing Is 66.10) and a renewed people who respect God’s ways rather than following their own desires (Is 66.3, 26 cp. Heb 3.6, 10; 4.9). 87 We may add to Ellingworth’s list the parallel between the assertion of Is 66.1 that the earth is God’s footstool (LXX ὑποπόδιον) and Heb 1.13 and 10.13. All of this is within the prophet’s declaration that no earthly house can be built that would suffice as a resting place for God, echoing the distinction we shall come to later in Hebrews between the heavenly sanctuary and the earthly temple built with human hands (8.1–2, noting also the reference to the throne of God also found in Is 66.1; 8.5; 9.11 etc.). Thus, while Psalm 95 is being cited and discussed, the audience may have in the back of their minds ideas of the temple as the “resting place” of God, yet also the necessarily inadequate, temporary and partial nature of that earthly resting place.

84

And Hofius’s reading of Joseph and Aseneth in support of this reading is very questionable. 85 Hofius 1970a: 40. In n. 268 Hofius rejects the suggestion of Baethgen (1903: 294ff) that the Psalm dates from the time of the return from the Babylonian exile and sets up a typology between entry into the Land and return from exile; but there is no reason to exclude this additional typological dimension. 86 This passage from Isaiah is also cited in Acts 7.49, and there are numerous points of contact between Hebrews and Acts 7, although as Ellingworth (1993: 220) points out the attitudes to the temple of the two texts are far from identical. 87 Ellingworth 1993: 220

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So our audience could be expected to have in mind, as they hear the citation and exposition of Psalm 95, an understanding of κατάπαυσις that is not only spatial, but is already involved in a geographical typological relationship with the temple. As we shall see later (pp. 87–89), there is already a well-established typological association between the temple and heaven as the place of God’s rest. Since Hebrews has already, in 3.1–6, called Jesus a “High Priest”, and the audience “partners” (μέτοχοι ) with him in a heavenly calling, before stating that Christ is faithful over God’s house – a phrase that again evokes the temple – by the end of Heb 3 a typological complex is already beginning to form around the idea of κατάπαυσις as referring to, or denoting, the Land of Canaan while alluding to, or connoting, that Land’s typological relationship to the temple, which in turn is typologically related to heaven as the true dwelling place of God. More specifically, entry into the Land is related to entry into the temple, and so to access to the presence of God in heaven. But this does not mean that the word κατάπαυσις has lost all its ambiguity by this point. Hofius makes too strong a claim in arguing that the word throughout this section of Hebrews simply means God’s dwelling place in heaven. Certainly it also means a state of rest in the OT, especially at Exodus 35.2, and it has not lost this connotation in Hebrews; this is especially the case since Heb 4 goes on to relate κατάπαυσις precisely to the Sabbath rest with which that verse of Exodus is concerned. As I argued above, whatever our precise construal of Heb 4.3c, it introduces dramatically an apparently new idea; but we must say rather that it re-introduces a notion associated with κατάπαυσις that seemed to have been put aside, but is now made central.88 This is strikingly new within the argument of the Epistle, but the technique used is not a novel one. Hebrews is using the midrashic method of gezara shawa, whereby the meaning of a word in one text of scripture is related to the (apparently different) meaning of the same word elsewhere in the Bible. This technique, though most commonly found in the rabbinic writings, is also found frequently in Paul and in Philo, for example89, and there is no reason to suppose it was not a commonplace. 90 88

Lane 1991: 85 states that it is “well established” that Ps 95 was used in the syna gogues for the Sabbath service in the first century (cf. Bruce 1964: 63). If this is so, then the association of entering God’s rest with celebrating the Sabbath is already at least implicit in the Psalm, but Hebrews draws out much more explicitly the eschatological nature of this association, as well as making the distinctively Christian claim that such eschatological entry into rest has now been made possible by Christ. 89 E.g. Quis rerum divinarum heres 275–83 relating ‘father’ in Gen 15.15 to the same word in Gen 12.1f. 90 One thing that is notable about its use here is that it only works in following the Greek text: κατάπαυσις in Ps 95 (LXX Ps 94) translates the Hebrew hxWnm, as we have

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If Gelardini’s proposal (see p. 30 n. 39) is substantially correct, then we have an explanation of the linkage of the three principal themes of Hebrews: the journey to the Promised Land, the Day of Atonement, and the renewal of the covenant. For our present purposes, we note also that if the reference to God’s rest in Heb 4.4 is invoking not (or not only) Gen 2.2 but Exodus 31.1791, then it brings with it a third connotation of “rest”: the “rest” that was denied to the People of Israel at Kadesh-Barnea is not only to be understood in primordial-cosmological terms, as a sharing in the eternal rest of God, but also in terms of the proleptic participation in and manifestation of that rest that is the Jewish Sabbath. The implication is that the keeping of the Sabbath is being interpreted typologically, and once again we have a type that acts as a mediating term 92: as the Sabbath is formed for God’s covenant people in the image of God’s own primordial rest, so its purpose is to mould them into a people prepared to enter into that primordial rest when the covenant is brought to its fulfilment.93

seen, while the cognate κατέπαυσεν from Gen 2.2 translates tBvYw, cognate with ‘sabbath’ and carrying all the connotations of that word. As Hebrews has allowed the Greek version of Psalm 95 to change the historical reference to the story of Num 14, so here it is allowed to imply a correspondence not found in the Hebrew text between the Promised Land as place of rest and the Sabbath as a time of rest, or rather as a participation in the eternal rest of God. Lane (1991: 1.99 argues that the quotation of Gen 2.2 emphasises that the promised rest does not refer primarily to something future but to something “which precedes and stands outside human history”; I would say rather that the empha sis is on the eschatologically-future hope as something that precedes and stands outside history. Cf. Wilson 1987: 83: “Canaan was not the true rest, it was at most but an earthly type of the true [rest], which has existed from the foundation of the world. ” Attridge is right that if a purely spatial understanding of rest were meant, these verses of chapter 4 are not easily comprehended, and “the remarks of vv.3–5 [would be] otiose, to say the least” (1980: 281). George Buchanan’s idiosyncratic reading of this section of the Epistle (1972, see especially pp. 72–74) founders precisely upon this redefinition of rest. 91 One of the problems for Gelardini’s (2005) theory is that, although the citation in Heb 4.4 is not identical to the LXX of Gen 2.2 (which may be explained by deliberate minor variation for clarification or indeed variation in translation – cf. Philo De Posteritate Caini 64) it is much closer to it than it is to Exodus 31.17. 92 See pp. 34f. 93 This is acknowledged also by Attridge 1980: 284. He suggests that “Sabbath rest” is an antitype of “rest in the Land of Canaan”, and rest in the Land of Canaan is itself “an antitype of a more original type, the state of rest which God himself entered at the com pletion of the week of creation.” Attridge parallels this explicitly with the argument of 1 Cor 10.1–13 in which ‘Paul finds that the events of the exodus acquire their eschatologi cal significance because they are in some way related to a primordial reality’ (1980: 285). Cf. Lansmaa 1997: 275: “the writer is actually presenting the heavenly κατάπαυσις

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The relationship between Sabbath as memorial of creation and God’s κατάπαυσις is made more explicit by 4.9–11, in which we learn first that the rest that remains to the People of God is a σαββατισμός, a share in the eternal rest of God, but conversely also that this σαββατισμός is indeed the final entry into the Promised Land that was closed to the Israelites so many generations before through their disobedience. This seems at first to confirm one of the more extraordinary suggestions of Hofius, that (according to Hebrews) the “rest” that the wilderness generation failed to enter was not just a type of God’s heavenly resting place, but actually was that resting place: …stand die Wüstengeneration am Tag von Kades vor den Toren dieser πατρίς, und die Stunde war da, in der sie in die von Gott geschaffene und seinem Volk zugedachte κατάπαυσις einziehen durfte. Das kann vom Verfasser des Hebräerbriefs nur so gemeint sein, daß damals nach Gottes Plan der präexistente Heilsort offenbar werden sollte .94

If Hofius is right, then there is no typological relationship in Hebrews between the entry into the Land of Canaan under Joshua and our entry under Jesus into this heavenly πατρίς. But Hofius’s logic is faulty, because he refuses to allow κατάπαυσις to have anything other than a single meaning. Thus, in the first place, he argues from 4.2 and 11 that the basis of the negative ὑποδείγμα that the wilderness generation offers is that we have received the same good tidings as they. Since we have received the promise of entering into God’s heavenly resting place, so did they. This is far too strong a reading of καθάπερ in 4.2. Hofius’s second argument is that “Nur so ist ja verständlich, weshalb der Hebräerbrief in 4,8 sagen kann, daß die Landnahme unter Josua nicht die Erfüllung der Verheissung des εἰσέρχεσθαι εἰς τὴν κατάπαυσιν αὐτοῦ war”95. Again, this imputes to Hebrews a far too literal and one-dimensional understanding of the Psalm; the understanding with which we are presented by the Epistle is not that, having failed to enter the real, heavenly resting-place of God at KadeshBarnea, the Israelites after a generation’s delay then had to make do, as it were, with entry into a merely earthly resting place. This would be a purely negative comparison between Canaan and heaven; but the comparison is in fact both a negative and a positive one: on the one hand, we certainly have this heavenly/earthly distinction in Hebrews. It it central to the vertical typology found in the central chapters of the Epistle, so we should not dismiss the likelihood that it is also invoked here. But there is clearly also a contrast between the generations: the wilderness generation failed to as the antitype of the earthly κατάπαυσις , which is in turn the antitype of a primordial archetype.” 94 Hofius 1970a: 140 95 Hofius 1970a: 218 n.872

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enter, the subsequent generation – the generation led not by Moses but by Joshua – did enter. This can only imply a positive relationship between that earthly entry and the entry into heavenly rest that is now promised to the audience. It is this combination of positive and negative, of similarity and difference, that lies at the heart of typology. It should be said, though, that the best evidence that Hofius is mistaken is that there is no hint anywhere else in the literature of the time, or indeed in any other literature, that literal entry into the heavenly resting-place of God was available at Kadesh-Barnea. The logical jump that Hofius makes is too great for our audience to have been expected to make. He is able to point, as we have seen, to a great deal of evidence that Psalm 95 was likely to be understood as being about Kadesh-Barnea96; and he also finds good evidence to suggest that the Psalm’s reference to “rest”, both in Greek and in Hebrew, was read eschatologically to point towards the final entrance into heaven of God’s chosen people, 97 and he recognises that this is a typological reading, one bound up also with the typological relationship invoked by the word κατάπαυσις between the Promised Land and the temple. But when he goes on to suggest that the Psalm was understood to mean that, as a matter of historical fact, the wilderness generation were on the verge of entering heaven itself, he asserts something for which there is no evidence, and which entirely collapses the typological understanding of the Psalm which he has been at such pains to demonstrate. A related difficulty of Hofius’s exegesis is his insistence that the word σαββατισμός in Heb 4.9 is not equivalent to κατάπαυσις elsewhere in the chapter. Rather, the former is a description of the latter.98 The reason Hofius gives for this conclusion boils down to this: κατάπαυσις is literally a place – the heavenly resting place of God – and σαββατισμός is literally an activity, namely the celebration of the Sabbath (Sabbatfeier) which involves the giving praise and worship to YHWH. Therefore the words cannot denote the same concept. This is despite the “völlige Parallelität” that he himself points out 99 between vv. 4.6a and 4.9: 4.6a ἀπολείπεται τινὰς εἰσελθεῖν εἰς αὐτήν (sc. εἰς τὴν κατάπαυσίν ) 4.9 ἀπολείπεται σαββατισμὸς τῷ λαῷ τοῦ θεοῦ

This is followed by a rather forced reading of 4.10, thus: “‘denn wer (sc. bei der Heilsvollendung) in seine (d.h. Gottes) κατάπαυσις eingegangen ist, der hat (dann) auch selbst Ruhe gefunden von seinen Werken, wie Gott

96

Hofius 1970a: 33–42 Hofius 1970a: 44–50 98 Hofius 1970a: 106 99 Hofius 1970a: 106 97

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von den seinigen.’”100 The interpolation of “dann” makes the sentence read as though resting from works is something in addition to entering into God’s rest, whereas the αὐτὸς after the καὶ shows clearly that the import of the latter is rather that, like God, the one who enters God’s rest likewise rests from his works; so in this verse, as in the parallel uses of ἀπολείπεται , it seems more likely that the plain meaning of both κατάπαυσις and σαββατισμός is indeed a state of rest. Hofius’s insistence that the former always denotes God’s heavenly resting place has led him to separate the references of these words far too sharply. Better is the explanation given by Grässer: Erstmals und einmalig in der Ganzen Heiligen Schrift wird das Heilsziel der Glaubenden in v.9 σαββατισμός genannt, während v.10f sofort wieder zum bisherigen Leitbegriff κατάπαυσις zurückkehren. Die inhaltliche Parallelität von v.9 zu v.6 läßt keinen Zweifel, daß nicht ein zweites Heilsziel neben der κατάπαυσις benannt, sondern diese präzisiert werden soll: Am eschatologischen Heilsziel angekommen, wird das Volk Gottes ruhen von seinen Werken, und zwar entsprechend der Ruhe Gottes. So jedenfalls erläutert der den v.9 begründende v.10 den σαββατισμός. Mit dieser σαββατισμός -Aussage wird der in 3.7 beginnende Midrasch zu Ps.94 auf seinen eigentlichen Höhepunkt geführt, den Hebr durch Einführung des Zitates aus Gen 2.2 LXX in v.4 geschickt vorbereitet hat. “Die Ruhe wird das endzeitliche Feiern mit Gott werden”, ja, in Analogie zum göttlichen Ruhen wird sie “als die Freiheit von unseren Werken ausgelegt”.101

For Hofius is also right that the sense of σαββατισμός is of more than a “quality-less ‘rest’”, but is characterised by celebration and joy.102 Whether or not the word is coined by the author of Hebrews 103, it is certainly otherwise unattested in the NT or LXX and therefore an unusual word that connotes more than σάββατον. It is likely that in this context it does indeed retain the meaning of the verb σαββατίζειν, to keep or celebrate the Sabbath. 104 Here Attridge agrees with Hofius, and both point to texts including Jubilees 50.9, LAB 11.8 and Philo’s De Cherubim 84–91 that portray the Sabbath not simply as a day of inactivity but as one on 100

Hofius 1970a: 107 Grässer 1990–97: 1.217 102 Hofius 1970a: 108: “Nicht in einem qualitätslosen ‘Ruhen’ hat der Sabbat sein Charakteristikum, sondern im Feiern und in der Freude.” 103 So Moffatt 1924: 53; Spicq 1953:83; Ellingworth 1993: 255; contra Attridge (1989: 131 n.103), who seems to think that the appearance of the word in Plutarch’s De Superstitione 3.166A rules this out, though it is not clear why. 104 This can have both a positive and a negative meaning – for the negative, see 2 Chron 36.21, in which it refers to the desolation of the land during the exile. However, the more likely sense, especially given the context, is the positive one we find in Ex 16.30, 2 Macc 6.6, and in particular Lev 23.32, which is about the Day of Atonement. This is not to claim that an allusion to Yom Kippur is to be picked up here, except per haps in retrospect. 101

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which abstaining from everyday work permits the dedication of the day to praise and thanksgiving to God. 105 In addition, Hofius argues that the uses of σαββατισμός in early post-apostolic writings 106 are not dependent upon its occurrence in Hebrews (though presumably not ignorant of it either) and bear witness to the same connotations of the word. In particular, in Jewish eschatological writings, the verb σαββατίζειν connotes the unending festivities in which God’s people will join on the day of salvation. That such notions may be associated with the word in Hebrews is supported by Heb 12.22f, with its evocation of the eternal festival of the heavenly Jerusalem, and we may suggest that a certain parallel is to be drawn between these two verses, beginning ἀλλὰ προσεληλύθατε…, and 4.3’s Ἐισερχόμεθα γὰρ… Moreover, Hofius is able to point to a close relationship between this sense of Sabbath celebration and both the temple and the Land as types of heaven: Deut 12.9–12 portrays the κατάπαυσις that is the Promised Land of Canaan as a place of liturgical celebration where “you shall rejoice before the Lord your God”, and the relationship between the temple and the celebration of God’s praise pervades the OT and huge quantities of intertestamental literature. He concludes therefore that So wie im Tempel zu Jerusalem der Sabbat festlich begangen wurde, so wird das hohe priesterliche Gottesvolk im Allerheiligsten des endzeitlichen Heiligtums den ewigen Sabbat feiern in nie endendem Lobpreis Gottes und in der Anbetung vor seinem Thron. 107

Once again, however, we need to distinguish between sense and reference: while it is very probable that σαββατισμός carries all these connotations of praise and celebration, of the temple and the land as the places where these may take place, and of all these things as pointers towards the eternal Sabbatfeier in heaven, it does not directly denote them in Heb 4. On the surface, it means simply Sabbath rest, and is therefore equivalent to the κατάπαυσις that still remains, and into which the audience is now entering, according to the earlier verses of the chapter. It is not even the case, as Ellingworth says, that there is a distinction between σαββατισμός and κατάπαυσις in that “they denote respectively temporal and spatial aspects of the same reality”108. Rather, Hebrews has used σαββατισμός to refer to, or denote, the same thing as κατάπαυσις , in order to make clear that the rest into which “we are entering”, in contradistinction from those who failed to enter Canaan because of their lack of faith, is nothing less than the prim105

Attridge 1989: 131, and nn. 105, 107; Hofius 1970a: 108–109 Viz. Justin Dial. 23.3; Epiphanius Panarion XXX 2.2; Martyrdom of Peter and Paul 1 and the Apostolic Constitutions II 36.2 107 Hofius 1970a: 110. See also 208 n.729. 108 Ellingworth 1993: 255 106

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ordial rest of God that is recalled by the weekly observance of the Sabbath. This is clearly the principal import of 4.3c–4, however difficult it may be precisely to construe. But the denoting of this rest by the word σαββατισμός certainly brings with it all the connotations that Hofius observes, and therefore leads to the conclusion that entry into the Land, going up to the temple to worship, and the observance of the Sabbath all ultimately point to the one reality which is now being made available to the audience. This reality is surely not exhausted by any of the language or imagery that is used to refer to it, and so it is a mistake to say that this is really about entry into heaven conceived as a place rather than the enjoyment of a state of rest which is a participation in the eternal rest of God, or vice versa.109 So our audience is invited to allow what is new to re-interpret the familiar ideas that are being invoked; and it is clear that what is new in Hebrews, over against any hypothetical religious-historical background – or perhaps better, what is distinctive to the Christianity to which Hebrews bears witness within the context of first century Judaism – is its claims about the person and historical achievements of Jesus. It is worth reminding ourselves what are the christological claims that the Epistle has already asserted before dealing with the example of the events of Kadesh-Barnea for overtly exhortative purposes: that he is the final and definitive word of God to his people (1.2), profoundly involved in the work of creation (1.3); that though by nature superior to angels he has been exalted above them on account of his suffering and death (2.9); that this exaltation, allied to his sharing in the fleshly nature of humanity, enables him to be pioneer of our liberation from sin and death (2.10, 14); that he can be understood as a high priest whose sufferings were an atoning sacrifice (2.17); and that his faithfulness over the house of God is comparable, and yet qualitatively superior, to that of Moses (3.2, 5f). All of this “background”, as well as the proposed religious-historical background – indeed, we might say, more than that religious-historical background – is surely to be in the minds of our audience when it grapples with the allusive invocation of the events of Kadesh-Barnea as an example of the dangers of faithlessness and the re109

I suggest that the difficulty with the treatments of the motif of κατάπαυσις and entry therein offered both by Käsemann and by Hofius is that, having proposed a religious-historical background to the motif, they then seek to conform the meaning of Hebrews to that background. The overt purpose of the Epistle is to develop the thinking of its audience (5.11–6.3), leading them on from what is already known to what is new. A particularly good and important example of this is that the ‘entry into rest’ that is still promised to those who inherit the promise given to the fathers is something that cannot be perfectly understood in purely physical or local terms, but is more profoundly a sharing in something eternal, or primordial. Ultimately, Käsemann is incorrect to say that “…man in eine Eigenschaft nicht ‘hineingehen’ kann” (1939: 41).

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ward of faithfulness, which is nothing less than a participation in the primordial rest of God the Creator.

I. Theological Implications of the Joshua/Rest Typologies An attentive hearing such as that which is expected of our audience creates a sort of theological alchemy, as the key christological features of “our confession” react with the highlighted features of the biblical back-story that the Epistle invokes. Three aspects of that alchemical reaction are to be noted in particular. First, Jesus has been described as a pioneer of our salvation (τὸν ἀρχηγὸν τῆς σωτηρίας αὐτῶν, 2.10), within the context of a cosmic journey from his rightful place as Son in heaven, through abasement, suffering and death to the right hand of God. He is the one who has completed a liberating journey, one that frees those whose pioneer he is from the power of death (2.14f), those who are his brethren (2.11f, 17), those who are the sons of Abraham (2.16). We must wait until later in the Epistle to be reminded explicitly that Abraham is the recipient of God’s promise of an eternal inheritance (6.13; 11.8ff), but already we have been described as “those who are to inherit salvation” (τοὺς μέλλοντας κληρονομεῖν σωτηρίαν, 1.14), and so surely we are to recall this promised inheritance and thus infer that Jesus’s liberating journey can be understood as one that brings the fulfillment of this promise to those who are his brethren, who partake with him in flesh and blood (2.14 καὶ αὐτὸς παραπλησίως μετέσχεν; cf. μέτοχοι 3.1, 14). When we ally this to the typological relationship that is set up in the OT itself and drawn out in later interpretive traditions between the Exodus and the eschatological inheritance by the People of God of heaven itself, it is not too much to infer that Jesus’s journey into heaven may be typologically related to the Exodus, may indeed be precisely that eschatological journey of which the Exodus is a type and shadow. When all of this is related to the warning-yet-encouraging example of Kadesh-Barnea, then that particular event is naturally located within the broader narrative of the Exodus journey: what could have been, and should have been, the end of that journey became instead a dead end for almost all of the wilderness generation. Even Moses himself was barred from admission to the Promised Land because of a failure of faith at the crucial moment. It was left to Joshua to lead a subsequent generation into the promised inheritance. That element of the narrative, combined with the assertion of the superiority of Jesus over Moses on the basis of faith, and with the notion of Jesus’s exaltation as the completion of a cosmic journey which fulfils the type provided by the Exodus, cannot fail to open up the

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possibility that Joshua’s leadership of the People of Israel into the Promised Land is then a type of the leadership provided to the “brethren” or “partners” of Jesus by their “pioneer”. As Joshua led the conquest generation into the Promised Land, in an earthly and temporal fulfillment of the promise to Abraham, so the new and heavenly Joshua is now leading the eschatological generation into the eternal resting place of God. The striking coincidence of names at 4.8 does indeed invite the kind of mental gymnastics required to draw this conclusion not only about what Jesus means as a fulfillment of the figure of Joshua, but also conversely about how the historical person of Joshua 110 is a type of Christ. This opens up in turn the possibility of inferring further typological links between Joshua and Jesus, links that are perhaps not even hinted at in Hebrews itself but for which the Epistle has prepared the ground – precisely such as we find in the work of Origen et. al. The inference of a typological relationship such as this is made more plausible by the second of the alchemical aspects mentioned above. This is the interplay of the motif of Jesus’s role in creation with the notion of the Promised rest as a fulfillment of the Sabbath. Hebrews 4 explicitly relates the sabbatical nature of the true eschatological rest to God’s rest on the seventh day of creation in Genesis 2.2 (possibly mediated through Exodus 31.17). One difficulty with this passage is that the claim that the “rest” of God is that which he has been enjoying since the seventh day of creation sits ill with the claim of the Psalm that God’s people have “seen” his works. As Johnson puts it, [t]his juxtaposition of authoritative texts raises questions concerning God’s intended meaning and concerning Hebrews’ entire argument. If God ceased “working” on the seventh day – if creation is not an ongoing activity of the living God – then God is otiose, not truly a living God who continues to “speak” and “act”… How can God be at rest if God continues to speak and act in the world? 111

We may simply respond that this is a paradox, that – again in the words of Johnson – “the ‘rest’ that is God’s very being (God’s glory) is not disturbed by God’s ‘working’ in the world because all that God does empirically is an outpouring of an infinitely rich life rather than an effort to redress a lack.”112 At least, any response other than to dismiss important parts of the OT as nonsense requires the assertion that there is ultimately no contradiction in the claims that God is working and that God is resting, 110

I see no reason to think that our audience would entertain the possibility that Joshua son of Nun was not a historical reality; it is precisely as such that he was a type of Christ. 111 Johnson 2006: 128, 130 112 Johnson 2006: 130; this is essentially the answer produced by Thomas Aquinas (Ad heb. 4.1.204)

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and therefore must point to the transcendence of God. Thus Thompson refers to the “transcendent rest of God”.113 In other words, a theological response is required, one that is not made explicit in the Epistle, in order to make sense of this juxtaposition. But Hebrews has already pointed towards the paradoxical nature of creation and of Jesus’s involvement in it at the very beginning of the Epistle: it is the Son “through whom [God] created the ages” and who is, as the “reflection of [God’s] glory and imprint of his being, sustaining all things by his powerful word” (1.2f). The creation is at once a once-for-all completed act in which the Son was involved at the beginning and an ongoing process sustained by the Son in his role as ἀπαύγασμα of God’s glory and χαρακτὴρ τῆς ὑποστάσεως αὐτοῦ. So the first thing that is emphasised of Jesus in Hebrews is the cosmic nature of his origin and his primordial role in creation, a role that is of necessity involved in the same paradox that is involved in the “rest” of God of which the Sabbath is a reminder and a participation. The “rest” into which we enter is, then, the eschatological participation of the People of God in the primordial rest of God, and is made possible by the People’s communion in flesh and blood (2.14) with the Son who is by nature a participant in God’s primordial rest. In other words, because the eschatological fulfilment of the Promise is a participation in something primordial, it is Jesus who is qualified to lead those whose flesh and blood he shares into that fulfilment because he himself is primordial. Here Hebrews shares in and invokes the Endzeit ist Urzeit typology common to much Jewish apocalyptic literature (see above p. 44). As we have seen, such typology becomes increasingly intertwined with a vertical dimension: the eschatological future of the earth, which is a return to the primordial origins of the cosmos, is also something that exists eternally in heaven – whether by a descent to earth of the heavenly reality or heavenly ascent of the (chosen) people into the heavenly realm. Hebrews itself invokes both such ideas, with the descent of the heavenly city implied at 11.10, 16 and of Jesus from heaven at 10.37, and conversely the implication of a heavenly ascent already achieved at 12.22 as well as the theme throughout of Christ’s heavenly exaltation. One suspects that the writers and audience of such texts, if pressed to say which it is, descent of heaven or ascent to heaven, would acknowledge that both motifs are attempts to convey an ultimately inexpressible reality. What is important for our purposes at present is to note that Jesus’s ability to bring about the fufilment of the promise in his capacity as ἀρχηγός involves both his primordial nature and his heavenly nature. On the horizontal axis, he can lead his people into the end-time because he was involved in the be113

Thompson 2008: 95

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ginnings of creation, and on the vertical axis he can lead his people into the heavenly realm because that is where he himself comes from. Now this vertical aspect is barely hinted at in what our audience has heard thus far, unlike the more overt suggestions of the horizontal aspect invoked by the linking of God’s rest with creation. Though much is made of Jesus’s heavenly origins in Heb 1 and 2, the only suggestion that heaven is our ultimate goal is at 3.1, κλήσεως ἐπουρανίου μέτοχοι. However, this vertical dimension is of the essence in the central motif of Hebrews, Jesus’s entry into the heavenly sanctuary as High Priestly messiah. This theme, and its relationship to the Joshua typology of Jesus as leader of the People into the Promised Land, will be explored in chapter five. Hebrews has already prepared the ground for it with the third and final aspect of the theological alchemy which, I propose, our audience is invited to infer, namely the link between the entry of the People of God into rest and Christ’s role as High Priest. Later in the Epistle this will be the subject of a good deal of exposition, but thus far it has been mentioned twice, at 2.17 and two verses later at 3.1. In both places, there is emphasis on the solidarity that exists between Jesus and the audience: 2.17 tells us that Jesus had to be entirely like his brethren ( ὤφειλεν κατὰ πάντα τοῖς ἀδελφοῖς ὁμοιωθῆναι) in order to be a High Priest, and 3.1 addresses the audience as ἀδελφοὶ ἅγιοι, κλήσεως ἐπουρανίου μέτοχοι.114 The audience will surely be wondering what is the meaning of calling Jesus a High Priest, but they will infer from this link between his High Priesthood and his solidarity with us that it has something to do with his role as the ἀρχηγός of our salvation, which is made possible by his sharing in our passibility. Grässer is unusual among commentators in having noted an implicit parallel between the vertical and the horizontal in this section of the Epistle, and like me he finds the relationship in his consideration of the mention of Joshua in 4.8: Wohl ist Ἰησοῦς unverdächtige griechische Schreibweise für späthebräisches (w#y… – stünde es nicht in diesem Kontext, nach dem erst Ἰησοῦς/(w#y , der Anführer des Heils und Vorläufer ins Innere hinter dem Vorhang, in die himmlische Katapausis führt. Insofern gleicht Josuas Einzug in das gelobte Land dem Eintritt des Hohenpriesters in das schattenhafte, abbildliche Allerheiligste, als dadurch auch nichts zur Vollendung gebracht wurde. Das irdische Kanaan verhält sich zum himmlischen wie der erste zum zweiten Bund, wo wir die genau parallele Argumentation finden: “Wäre nämlich jener erste ohne Mangel gewesen, würde wohl nicht für einen zweiten Platz gesucht werden”.

114 Attridge (1989: 106) is right, against e.g. Johnson (2008: 106) and Ellingworth (1993: 197–198), that in view of the content of chapter 2.1–17, the language of 3.1 is to be understood as strongly implying a participation by the “brethren” in Christ, rather than simply a sharing with each other, even if that would be the more natural reading of the verse in isolation.

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So auch die Landnahme: Wäre sie die Heilsvollendung gewesen, hätte nicht hernach von einem anderen Tag geredet werden müssen.115

This directs us towards a further element in the alchemy, namely how the role of the High Priest in relation to the temple links with the notion of God’s resting place as a heavenly sanctuary. We have already been told that the reason why it was necessary for Jesus to become a High Priest was so that he might make atonement for the sins of the people (2.17: εἰς τὸ ἱλάσκεσθαι τὰς ἁμαρτίας τοῦ λαοῦ). The question is whether this association of the High Priest with making atonement, alongside the association of κατάπαυσις with the heavenly sanctuary, makes a link in the minds of our audience with the entry of the High Priest into the Holy of Holies on the Day of Atonement, so that some typological relationship between these two entries may be inferred. In the first place, we should note that the verb ἱλάσκεσθαι employed in 2.17 is not associated with the Day of Atonement in the LXX, unlike the cognate nouns ἱλαστήριον , which is the mercy seat sprinkled with blood in that day’s rituals (Lev 16.14f) and ἱλασμός, which is a general term meaning forgiveness or mercy (e.g. Ps 129.4[LXX], Daniel 9.9 [Theodotion]) but which is also used for the Day of Atonement at Leviticus 25.9 (cf. Ezekiel 44.27). It seems unlikely that Yom Kippur is brought to mind simply by the use of a cognate verb, pace Johnson.116 However, it is not unlikely that the use of this word will, as it were, plant a seed that is then watered by the association in the following chapter of entry into rest with the heavenly sanctuary. The key question is whether in Heb 3 and 4 the word κατάπαυσις must refer, as Hofius argues, not only to the heavenly sanctuary but specifically to the Holy of Holies of that heavenly sanctuary. Hofius’s argument for this is two-fold. First, that at 6.19f Jesus is described as the forerunner who has entered εἰς τὸ ἐσώτερον τοῦ καταπετάσματος having become a High Priest after the order of Melchizedek. If Jesus has entered the Holy of Holies as forerunner, therefore the entry that we are making into rest must be an entry into the Holy of Holies, and therefore “rest” equals “Holy of Holies”.117 However, we shall see in chapter five that it is by no means clear that these two verses do say that Jesus went specifically into a heavenly Holy of Holies, rather than more 115

Grässer 1990–97: 1.214f Johnson (2006: 103) implies that the audience is to make several logical jumps. Much of the secondary literature (e.g. Attridge 1989: 96 n.192; Ellingworth 1993: 189) concerns itself principally with whether Hebrews here evinces a doctrine of propitiation, a question into which I do not intend to enter. 117 Hofius 1970a: 54: “Der gleiche Gedanke liegt vor, wenn 6.20 von dem Hohenpriester Jesus gesagt wird, er sei als ‘Vorläufer’ für uns in das himmlische Allerheiligste hineingegangen.” 116

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broadly into the heavenly sanctuary. Further, the logic implied by Hofius’s argument is not unquestionably watertight, since it depends upon a very literal reading of πρόδρομος . Hofius’s second argument is that Der Hebräerbrief teilt die auch im antiken Judentum zu belegende Auffassung, daß sich im obersten Himmel das himmlische Jerusalem mit dem Tempel befindet, der als das “Urbild” ebenso wie der als sein “Abbild” errichtete irdische Tempel (vgl. 8,5; 9,24) aus zwei Teilen besteht: aus dem Heiligen und dem Allerheiligsten. Das himmlische Aller heiligste ist der Ort des Thrones Gottes… die Stätte, an der er “ruht”.118

Hofius provides no evidence of this understanding from ancient Judaism in Katapausis, but explores the matter in much greater depth in his subsequent study, Der Vorhang vor dem Thron Gottes, which is dealt with in chapter five. It suffices for the moment to suggest that Hofius’s reading both of Hebrews and of his proposed religious-historical background is both too literal and too fixed. By the latter, I mean that Hofius’s picture of the religious-historical background is that, while there are several options for one’s understanding of the heavenly sanctuary available to the first century Jew, Hebrews has clearly opted for one, and that model alone is being followed in all its detail; by too literal, I mean that this particular model, of a heavenly sanctuary with two parts matching the two parts of the earthly sanctuary, is to be understood as a visible and tangible reality just like the Jerusalem temple. While it is true that there are fairly detailed descriptions of the heavenly sanctuary to be found for example among the Dead Sea Scrolls (e.g. 4Q405) and in later Merkabah mysticism, with even artistic representations of them found in Dura Europus 119, how concretely real this was understood to be is not at all clear, and must, one suspects, have varied as much as did the different notions of how the heavenly sanctuary might be envisaged. Again, even if one could be certain that the author of Hebrews had this particular and very concrete image in mind, he has certainly not provided sufficient clues for his audience to know that when he speaks of the κατάπαυσις τοῦ θεοῦ they are to picture a twochamber temple within an actual city, the “heavenly Jerusalem”, in heaven. Thus we cannot expect our audience to have understood clearly that the κατάπαυσις into which they were being exhorted to enter was specifically the Holy of Holies of the heavenly sanctuary. Neither by this point has an allusion been made clearly to the ritual of the Day of Atonement that also brings with it the notion of entry into the Holy of Holies. This will come soon enough. For the moment, we are dealing rather with a broader analogy of entry into the Promised Land with entry into the heavenly 118 119

Hofius 1970a: 54 Cf. Goodenough 1964: 10.42–77, noted in Attridge 1989: 222 n.80

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sanctuary. By the end of the treatment of Psalm 95, the audience can be expected to recognise that a parallel is being drawn between the entry into the Land of Canaan that was finally achieved by Joshua whose faithfulness exceeded even that of Moses and the entry into the heavenly sanctuary that has been made possibly by Jesus, who is a High Priestly figure. That he is a High Priest and thus, unlike any other priest, able to enter the Holy of Holies, has not been sufficiently emphasised for us to infer that the entry into Canaan is analogous specifically to the entrance into the Holy of Holies on Yom Kippur, still less that it is a type of the entry of the present generation into the heavenly Holy of Holies. Hofius claims that Die Anschauung von einem himmlischen Heiligtum, in dessen Allerheiligsten Gott “ruht”, und der Gedanke, daß Gottes Volk der hohepriestliche Vorrecht hat, in diese “Ruhestätte” eingehen zu dürfen, verbinden unsere Perikope zutiefst mit ihrem Kontext wie insbesondere auch mit den Ausführungen über den Hohepriester Christus, der als “Vorläufer” der Seinen bereits die Himmel durchschritten und das himmlische Aller heiligste betreten hat.120

I would say rather that the idea of a heavenly sanctuary that is God’s κατάπαυσις, and the exhortation to the audience to enter God’s κατάπαυσις – in fulfilment of the entry of the conquest generation under Joshua into the Promised Land – under the leadership of their identically named ἀρχηγός who has already completed his return journey to heaven, points towards the way in which the motif of the audience as the eschatological Israelites will be united with that of Christ as High Priest in the remainder of the Epistle. For the moment, we must wait for the intimations of the priestly ministry of the eschatological Joshua to be expounded. I will turn to the interrelationship of these themes in chapter five, having first considered the way in which Hebrews 11, picking up many of the motifs of Hebrews 3 and 4, strengthens and fills out the implied typological relationship between Canaan and heaven, alongside that between Jesus and Joshua.

J. Conclusion Thus far, we have seen that Hebrews’ exegesis of Psalm 95 emphasises the effect of the LXX version that locates God’s oath, “never shall they enter my rest”, at Kadesh-Barnea, and the events related in Numbers 13f. In particular, there is stress on the fact that the People of Israel were excluded from the Land of Canaan on the grounds of their unbelief in God’s promises. This is not an arbitrarily selected example of unfaithfulness, but 120

1970a: 54

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one that is especially pertinent to the audience of the Epistle because they stand in an analogous situation to that of the Israelites at Kadesh-Barnea, namely on the threshold of the Promised Land. The emphasis, I have suggested, is not so much on the temporal imminence of entry as on the immediate proximity of access. A further aspect of the analogous situation is that the audience, like the Israelites, have “been evangelised” in the same way, and this draws attention to the exceptional faithfulness of Joshua and Caleb. This points back to the introduction to this piece of exegesis, the beginning of Hebrews 3, in which the superiority of Jesus over Moses is couched in terms of faithfulness. Hebrews draws attention therefore to the parallel between Joshua and Jesus – both exceed Moses in terms of faithfulness, and both succeed where Moses did not in leading the People of God into the Promised Land; and yet there is difference as well as similarity, as typology requires. In the first situation, the People had the opportunity to enter the Land of Canaan; in the present situation, the People have the opportunity to enter that of which Canaan is a type, the “rest” of God which is shown by gezara shawa to be nothing less than a participation in the primordial rest of God the Creator; the weekly celebration of the Sabbath and the temple are both types of this rest, and Hofius succeeds in showing that this multi-faceted typology is already something our audience could have associated with the Psalm. What Hebrews adds to this is to point towards Joshua, both as exceptionally faithful (along with Caleb) and therefore able to complete the task of Moses and lead the people into the Land, and yet (so the Psalm is said to prove) leaving a rest still to be achieved. I suggest that our audi ence is, on the one hand, already probably ready to perceive an analogy between Joshua and Jesus, whose names are identical, and yet will be struck anew by this identity when the name Ἰησοῦς appears at 4.8, because of the structure and argument of this section of the Epistle. Because Joshua is both like and unlike Jesus, just as the Promised Land is both like and unlike the heavenly rest of which it is a type, the audience is enabled by the Epistle’s exegesis of Psalm 95 to recognise that Joshua is a type of Christ. Thus they recognise that they stand in relation to Jesus as the Israelites to Joshua, who – marked out by his faithfulness – led them in the conquest of the Land. The completion of the Exodus typifies Jesus’s completion of his journey to the right hand of the throne of God, and the Joshua typology implies that Jesus may be able also to bring us with him. This is a fulfilment also of the celebration of the Sabbath, which points both backwards to the creation of the world, in which Jesus as Son was intimately involved, and also forwards to the share that is offered in the eternal rest of God “from the foundation of the world”. Finally, there are hints, though so

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far (pace Hofius) only hints, that there is some relationship between this Sabbath-entry and the temple, whose priesthood also typifies Christ, as is hinted at in the beginning of the chapter. When the priestly nature of Christ is outlined in the central section of the Epistle, therefore, we are ready to understand it in the light of Christ’s fulfilment of the types of Joshua and the Sabbath.

Chapter 4

Hebrews 11 and the Joshua-Shaped Gap in Israel’s History A. Introduction In this chapter, I will argue that the absence of Joshua from the list of exemplars of faith in the salvation history of Israel given in Hebrews 11 is of profound significance. It invites the audience of the Epistle to infer that the entrance of the People of God into Canaan under the son of Nun was a type of the final entry of God’s people into the true Promised Land of God’s rest, and therefore that there is a typological relationship between the first Joshua and the last. Thus the role of Joshua in salvation history offers a picture of the soteriological achievement of Jesus. This section of Hebrews returns to the theme found in 3.7–4.11 of Israel as a people undertaking a journey of faith, a theme we might characterise as ecclesiological; these two sections surround the central section of the Epistle that deals with the apparently very different, and more obviously christological, topic of Christ’s High-Priesthood and the way in which his heavenly exaltation is foreshadowed by and fulfils the annual ceremonies of the Day of Atonement. In the next chapter of this thesis I will explore the way in which these two distinct motifs can be brought into a soteriological synthesis more satisfactorily by the inference of a typological relationship between Jesus and Joshua. The present chapter begins by arguing for the structural and thematic unity of Hebrews 11, while also noting the links it has with other parts of the Epistle, especially 3.7–4.11. I argue that Hebrews 11’s ostensive purpose is to give a description of the faith that is needed to complete the soteriological journey along which the audience is being urged to continue, and that a central aspect of that description of faith is that it necessarily has both vertical and horizontal dimensions, being directed towards the eschatological future and to the eternal heavenly realities. These two aspects of faith are, moreover, constitutive of the lives of the believer. I then consider in detail the content and the rhetorical structure and function of the chapter, arguing that it invites the audience to consider itself, just as does 3.7– 4.11, in relation to the Israelites of old. But whereas in the earlier section the comparison was overtly a negative one, centering on the negative

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results of a lack of faith, here the message is more obviously positive, invoking solidarity between the audience and the heroes of Israel’s faith. However, the relationship between the two sections is closer than that: just as the earlier one focuses specifically on the conclusion of the wilderness wanderings and the entry into Canaan, so does Hebrews 11, albeit in a much less obvious way. I propose that this focus in the latter case is created by two vitally important lacunæ in the narration of Israel’s faithhistory: the absence of Joshua from the list of faith-heroes, and the jump from the crossing of the Red Sea to the fall of Jericho without any mention of the wilderness years and the crossing of the Jordan. Important to the argument is that these lacunæ occur just as the rhetorical structure of the chapter breaks down, so that the very syntax of the Epistle highlights the significance of these two metalepses. Finally, I propose, as an aid to understanding the picture of salvationhistory in this section of the Epistle, the image of a folded-back triptych. The first panel is Egypt, the second the wilderness and the third the Promised Land, and the two hinges are the crossings of the Red Sea and the Jordan. However, the third panel is, as it were, folded back behind the second, for in reality the time between Joshua and Jesus has been a time of continued wilderness wandering, with the reality of the Promise hidden, visible only to the eyes of faith. Salvation has only finally been unfolded when the Joshua-shaped gap in Israel’s Heilsgeschichte is filled by the true Joshua, and thus the possibility of entering into the true Promised Land is opened up. The present chapter of this thesis and the last support one another in a cumulative argument that the audience of Hebrews might reasonably be expected to infer a typological relationship between Jesus and Joshua son of Nun along the lines outlined in chapter two. Such an inference might help the audience to understand more clearly how its own soteriological situation is related to the identity and the sacrifical death and exaltation of Jesus.

B. The Place of Hebrews 11 within the Epistle Hebrews 11 stands as a distinct unit within the text. This unity is established principally by its thematic homogeneity, as an explication of the faith that the Epistle is exhorting its audience to show by means of positive examples from Israel’s history. That Hebrews 11 is a distinct unit, and would have been recognisable as such to the audience, does not imply that it stands in isolation from the surrounding material. On the contrary, the purpose of the chapter is introduced at the end of Hebrews 10 with the

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quotation from Habakkuk (10.37f citing Hab 2.3f 1), and in verse 39 the author applies those words paraenetically to the readers. Similarly the first sentence of Hebrews 12 draws paraenetic conclusions from Hebrews 11’s survey of the history of the People of God, and in verse 2 puts forward Jesus, “the pioneer and perfecter of faith” (τὸν τῆς πίστεως ἀρχηγὸν καὶ τελειωτὴν Ἰησοῦν) as a final and supreme concluding example of the faithheroes of Israel. This leads Vaganay to suggest that the structural unit continues through to the end of 12.2 2, but two arguments support a major break before 12.1: this verse begins with τοιγαροῦν, which at the beginning of a sentence, rather than the more usual postpositive position, had the powerful rhetorical effect of a new start. This is followed by a resumption of explicit paraenesis with the cohortative subjunctive τρέχωμεν, matching the series of subjunctives in the second half of Hebrews 10. The easily perceived alternation running through the Epistle between explicit exhortation using these subjunctives and exposition, albeit for paraenetic purpose, provides the audience with a first clue for identifying distinct units. A second indicator is the actual content of the material, and at the beginning of Hebrews 12 the subject switches back to the present situation of the audience with which Hebrews 10 ended, while Hebrews 11 is clearly distinguishable from its opening words as a historical illustration of faith. Thus Linda Neeley’s discourse analysis assessment of the structure of Hebrews3 proposes the whole of Hebrews 11 as a distinct “embedded discourse” within the larger unit of 10.19 to 13.21. Finally, this thematic unity is reinforced by a formal inclusio between 11.1f and 11.39f through the repetitions of πίστις and the aorist passive of μαρτυρέω.4 It will become clear as we read through Heb 11 in more detail below that it also has a distinct rhetorical structure that marks it out as a distinct section of the Epistle. At the same time it is important to acknowledge the importance of the chapter’s connections to what immediately precedes and follows it in the Epistle. With regard to the latter, I shall argue in the next chapter that the “Joshua-shaped gap” is filled verbally by the phrase τὸν τῆς πίστεως ἀρχηγὸν καὶ τελειωτὴν Ἰησοῦν at 12.2, and indeed that the first two verses of chapter 12 demonstrate how seeing Jesus as the fulfilment of Joshua clarifies the relationship between the “pilgrim people of God”

1

The first few words of v.37 seem to be from Is 26.20; the citation from Habakkuk is not the same as the LXX but the differences are trivial – a minor change in order and οὐ χρονίσει rather than οὐ μὴ χρονίσῃ. 2 Vaganay 1940 3 Neeley 1987 4 Vanhoye 1989; cf. Vanhoye 1976

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ecclesiology and the High-Priestly christology of the Epistle.5 With regard to what precedes Hebrews 11, we should recognise that as a description of faith it answers the question raised by the citation of Habakkuk at the end of Hebrews 10: if it is faith that distinguishes between those who press on to life and those who shrink back – this confirms the implications of Hebrews 3–4 – then what is it to live by faith? Hebrews 11 relates both rhetorically and thematically to the section running from 3.7 to 4.11. Hebrews 3 and 4 contain, unlike the rest of the Epistle, a much more complex interweaving of exhortation and exposition; but this is precisely what makes the section so crucial for establishing the typological relationship between the audience and the wilderness generation. What holds 3.7 – 4.11 together is content rather than form: the juxtaposing of Psalm 95 and Numbers 13f in mutual re-interpretation. This requires the audience to pick up allusions to the events that took place in the wilderness while the Israelites were encamped at Kadesh-Barnea, events that set Joshua and Caleb apart as the only faithful members of the wilderness generation, and thus the only ones who would enter into God’s rest. It is this same content, the exposition of Israel’s history in terms of the contrast between faith and faithlessness, obedience and disobedience, that is mirrored when we turn to Hebrews 11. Having heard the warning example of the faithlessness of the wilderness generation and their consequent fate somewhat earlier, the audience will naturally enough recognise Hebrews 11 as a counter-example of faith and its consequences. They will also be seeking a clearer understanding of how Israel’s longing to enter the Promised Land relates to the unique achievement of Christ the High Priest’s entry into the heavenly sanctuary, a theme upon which the Epistle has expounded at some length after considering the events at KadeshBarnea.

C. A Description of Faith The overt task of Hebrews 11 is to clarify that “faith” by which God, speaking in the prophetic oracle of Habakkuk 2, distinguishes those righteous who shall live from those who shrink back to their own destruction (10.37–9). Commentators are, at first glance, in considerable disagreement as to whether the first verse is a formal definition of πίστις; as Grässer writes, “Gleichwohl ist es umstritten, ob eine klassische definitio fidei 5

We might also suggest that the series of datives following προσεληλύθατε in 12.22– 24 offer answers to the question still left hanging at the end of Hebrews 11, which is “where, and when, exactly are we?”

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beabsichtigt ist oder nicht.”6 Spicq is most insistent that it is not, 7 while Attridge and Ellingworth expound at some length on the verse’s conformity to definitions in Greek philosophical literature, with its initial ἔστιν and anarthrous predicates. Numerous parallels can be found with, for example, Plato and Philo8, and Attridge agrees with Michel that the objections of those commentators who are opposed to calling this verse a definition are “dogmatic rather than literary”.9 This is manifestly the case with Ellingworth, who draws attention to the same formal features as Attridge does before drawing back from calling the verse a definition “especially in the absence of any immediate reference to God or Christ”.10 On the whole, however, this apparent disagreement turns out to be a rather shallow one, since more or less all accord with Attridge’s final considered judgement that it is “not … an abstract definition of faith, but … a programmatic remark for the encomium that follows.”11 Johnson calls the verse “a justly renowned declaration on the character of faith”,12 Bruce writes that “our author now describes the faith of which he has been speaking”,13 and Lane expresses it as “a celebration of the character of faith”.14 So there is broad agreement that Hebrews is not providing a strict and precise philosophical definition of faith but a characterisation, or description, of the faith to which the author of Hebrews – or rather, the living and active word of God speaking through Habakkuk – wishes to call his audience. It is clear from the last verses of Hebrews 10 that faith is that by which those who endure, in the period before the imminent arrival of the coming one, are enabled to do so; it is the only thing that separates those who are to preserve their lives to the end from those who will be lost. These verses therefore raise the question, “What is it to live by faith? In what way does the life of one who so lives differ from that of others?”, and it quickly becomes apparent, even before the resounding rhetoric of verse 1 has had 6

Grässer 1990–97: 3.93 Spicq 1953: 336: “Nous n’avons pas ici une définition proprement dite… le motif formel de la fois n’est pas même évoqué, et ni Dieu, ni le Christ, ni aucun objét réligieux ne sont mentionnés. L’explication porte sur ce que fait la foi… non sur ce q’elle est en elle-même.” 8 Attridge 1989: 307 n.27 9 Attridge 1989: 307; Michel 1966: 372 n.1; this is clear from the citation from Spicq (n. 6 above). Similarly Weiss (1991: 559) emphasises the formal features that make it look like a definition, before going on to insist that materially it does not function as such. 10 Ellingworth 1993: 566 11 Attridge 1989: 308 12 Johnson 2006: 276 13 Bruce 1964: 277 14 Lane 1991: 2.312 7

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time to settle in the minds of the audience, that the answer is one that should not surprise us from this text which, of all the NT, makes the most thoroughgoing overt appeal to the scriptures of Israel: to live by faith is to live like the heroes of the OT. I shall return to the problem of identifying what is meant by ἐλπιζομένων ὑπόστασις πραγμάτων ἔλεγχος οὐ βλεπομένων but it is worth pausing for a moment on what has just been said: the correct place to look for illustrations of living by faith is the written record of God’s dealings with humanity. This is explicitly stated in verse 2, which attracts only the most cursory notice from commentators compared with the previous verse. It is broadly agreed that the aorist passive implies a divine agent, but less often is it asked to whom, and how, this divine testi mony is addressed. Perhaps it is obvious, but it would, for all that, be a mistake to pass over it. Hebrews is most unusual among NT writings in presenting the words of scripture as being addressed directly to the audience by God, a phenomenon prevalent in the early chapters of the Epistle (e.g. 1.1f, 7f) and most especially in chapters 3 and 4. Here is the same phenomenon again, and we may go so far as to infer that the purpose of the OT record of the lives of οἱ πρεσβύτεροι is to give us an illustration of what it is to live by faith. For ἐν ταύτῃ…ἐμαρτυρήθησαν cannot mean simply, as the NRSV has it, “by faith they received approval”, as if the faith of our fathers was what God liked about them; it must surely rather mean that their faith was what led to the biblical testimony concerning them being recorded – and not for their benefit, clearly, but for ours. A similar notion is found in 1 Corinthians 10.11 (see above, pp. 36–37); it is suggestive that there seems to be a parallel use of the same piece of biblical history with the same notion of the relationship between the history per se and the narration of that history. The audience of Hebrews, as of 1 Corinthians, would be able to grasp the implication that they are being placed by this appeal to scripture in an intimate relationship with the heroes of biblical history. 15 Hebrews suggests that these heroes, inasmuch as they are portrayed approvingly, are ipso facto examples of living-by-faith. This is a vital point, for many of the characters in this long list are not explicitly credited with faith in the OT, and even those who are sometimes receive this acclaim in respect of events other than those alluded to in Hebrews 11. Attridge and Johnson both remark, for example, upon the striking failure of Hebrews to mention Genesis 15.6 when it imputes faith to Abraham, and Attridge argues that Hebrews is engaged not in exegesis but in eisegesis, imposing 15

Cf. Hays 1989, especially pp. 97–102, although Hays emphasises the difference between 1 Corinthians and Hebrews inasmuch as the former, he argues, lacks the “phenomenon of escalation or heightening [in which t]he antitype is much greater than the type” (p. 99); but cf. Hays 2009.

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its definition of faith upon the text. In a sense, he is correct: Hebrews’ procedure is not to look for references to “faith” in the OT and find what they have in common; instead, it begins with an a priori idea of what faith is and the conviction that all those whom the OT portrays positively must have had this faith, and further that the OT must show them to live by this faith even if not calling it faith. It is examples of biblical portrayals of this pre-conceived notion of faith which Hebrews draws out of the OT. These examples need to be clarifications of what Hebrews describes by the phrase ἐλπιζομένων ὑπόστασις πραγμάτων ἔλεγχος οὐ βλεπομένων. This is the characteristic that Hebrews 11 will highlight for emulation in the implicitly paraenetic exposition of sacred history. As Ellingworth remarks, this is a case of explaining “obscura per obscuriora”,16 and he is by no means suffering from a modern difficulty: he is echoing the words of Thomas Aquinas, who claims that Hebrews “definitionem fidei complete ponit, sed obscure.”17 The first thing to note is that NA27 and UBS4 punctuate the phrase with a comma after ὑπόστασις, so that the concrete noun πραγμάτων is what is qualified as “not seen”; yet the RSV and NRSV (following the Authorised Version) and most commentaries take the noun effectively with both adjectives, thus “the assurance of things hoped for, the conviction of things not seen”. There is little if any discussion of this question,18 but I would like to suggest that this translation is importantly right in recognising that the noun at the centre of the symmetrical phrase is qualified by both adjectives, “hoped for” and “not seen”. So the NAB is mistaken in translating it “the realization of what is hoped for and evidence of things not seen”, for all that this is closer to the punctuation of NA27. Similarly misleading is the New Jerusalem translation “Only faith can guarantee the blessings that we hope for, or prove the existence of realities that are unseen,” following the Bible de Jérusalem’s “Or la foi est la garantie des biens que l’on espère, la preuve des réalités qu’on ne voit pas.” A distinction is implied, not found in the Greek text, between what is unseen and what is hoped for, whereas it is central to the metaphysics of Hebrews that the πραγμάτα , the realities which are presently unseen, yet are truly real, are the same realities in hope of which the followers of Jesus live. The unseen and the hoped-for are not two sets of things related to faith, but are identical. As Weiss rightly notes, Mit dem Nebeneinander von “Erhofftem” und “Nichtsichtbaren” in v.1a und v.1b werden dabei auch hier wieder in der für den Hebr charakteristischen Weise horizontale und 16

Ellingworth 1993: 566 Ad Heb. XI.1.552 18 Attridge remarks in a footnote (1989, 310 n.63) that “the noun can be construed with either participle”, and this is as much discussion of the syntax as I have been able to find. 17

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vertikale Dimension des Glaubens miteinander verbunden: Glaube erstreckt sich in die (eschatologische) Zukunft, hat aber doch – damit zugleich – mit den (jenseitigen!) “nicht-sichtbaren Dingen” zu tun. In diesem Sinne ist “das Erhoffte” nicht ein nur zukünftiges Gut, sondern vielmehr etwas, was jetzt schon in der himmlischen Welt für die Glaubenden gleichsam “bereitliegt”. 19

Lane argues that, since faith pertains to πραγμάτα ἐλπιζομένα , it is future human events that are in view here: the contrast implied … is not between the visible, phenomenal world of sense perception below and the invisible, heavenly world of reality above, as in Platonism, but between events already witnessed as part of the historical past and events as yet unseen because they belong to the eschatological future. 20

He is only half right: Hebrews does not invite us to make a choice between the loosely Platonic polarities above/below, invisible/visible, real/phenomenal and the future/present of Jewish eschatology, but to hold them together.21 This is a vital aspect of the kind of typology I have already discussed, and will prove equally vital when the inference of Joshua typology is used in the next chapter to shed light on the relationship between the motifs of the Pilgrim People of God and Christ the High Priest. What is more puzzling than the syntax of the phrase is the nature of the relationship between faith and these unseen, hoped for realities. Ultimately, the debate amounts to one between the subjective and the objective interpretations of ὑπόστασις ὑπόστασις and ἔλεγχος: the latter is well expressed by the Bible de Jérusalem ’s translation, that faith is a guar-

antee and a concrete proof of what cannot yet be perceived by the senses; the subjective sense in what we have in the NRSV, or even more clearly in the NIV’s “Now faith is being sure of what we hope for and certain of what we do not see”: it is a state of mind. The more recent commentaries tend very much to prefer the objective sense, principally for the reason that ἔλεγχος simply cannot have a subjective meaning of “feeling certain”, but is a piece of forensic terminology meaning “proof, solid evidence”. DeSilva expresses it well: The second half of the definition calls faith an ἔλεγχος, which the Rhetorica ad Alexandrum (1431a. 7–10) describes as an irrefutable or necessary fact. It is a datum that cannot be overturned and that establishes one’s case in the court or council chamber… proof is the establishment beyond doubt of things no-one in the jury actually saw (but upon which they must deliver a verdict) or of things that the audience in the council has 22 not yet seen (but must plan for in advance). 19

Weiss 1991: 560 Lane 1991: 2.329 21 For helpful discussions of Platonism in Hebrews cf Barrett 1954; Hurst 1984; 1990 and now Schenck 2007. 22 DeSilva 2000: 384 20

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Attridge notes that “some commentators, attempting to find a parallel with the subjective understanding of ὑπόστασις as “assurance,” find in ἔλεγχος the sense of “conviction,” but this is simply not in the attested semantic range of the term,”23 and this would appear to be a clinching argument in respect of this second half of the phrase at least. Moreover, most are rightly convinced with Attridge that if ἔλεγχος means something more objective than how someone feels, then so must ὑπόστασις,24 although the use of the latter word in the LXX does seem to allow the subjective sense of “confidence”, which is unusual in non-Jewish Greek.25 Such is the view of Johnson (2006: 277f) and Lane (1991: 2.323); by contrast Mitchell, though he argues forcefully for the objective meaning of ἔλεγχος, says of the two possible senses of ὑπόστασις that “it is not out of the question that the author may intend both senses.”26 Similarly Koester argues that ὑπόστασις ought to have both senses, as it can, because while the object of hope is something that “lies outside the believer”27 and is therefore (obviously) objective, the experience of hope is clearly something subjective. Thus he appeals to the notion of metonymy: “faith is the assurance of what is hoped for because what is hoped for produces assurance”,28 or as Attridge more helpfully explains it, “the equation of πίστις and ὑπόστασις involves metonymy, where the act or virtue of faith is described in terms of its end or goal.”29 This is one of the two senses of ὑπόστασις allowed by Aquinas: the things hoped for ultimately amount to the beatific vision, and to have faith is to acknowledge the first principles of the particular kind of knowledge of which the beatific vision consists; hence “Fides ordinatur ad res sperandas quasi quoddam inchoativum, in quo totum quasi essentialiter continetur, sicut conclusiones in principiis.”30 But this metonymic principle owes rather more to the mediaeval theologian’s appropriation of Aristotelian metaphysics than to the thought of Hebrews. However, Aquinas’s other proposed understanding of ὑπόστασις seems to be a more likely explanation of how it might be read by the audience of Hebrews: From this, that one captivates and submits his intellect to the things which are of faith, he merits that at some time he arrive at seeing that for which he hopes. For vision is the 23

Attridge 1989: 310 E.g. Weiss 1991: 561 and (implicitly) Grässer 1990–97: 3.98 25 Most convincingly at Ruth 1.12, and cf. Ps 38.8 and Ex 19.5; also arguably at Hebrews 3.14. 26 Mitchell 2007: 228 27 Koester 2001: 472 28 Koester 2001: 472 29 Attridge 1989: 310 30 Ad Heb. XI.1.557 24

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reward of faith. In another way, as it were by its own property, faith may bring it about that that which is believed to come in the future in reality is in some way already pos 31 sessed, as being present, provided that he believe in God.

Of course this is not a perfect historical-critical exposition of Hebrews, but it captures two key elements of what Hebrews is communicating. First, “faith” is in God, that is to say, both in respect of the future, that he will do as he has promised (a key theme of Hebrews 11 and cf. 6.17; 10.23, 36), and in respect of present reality, that he is its eternal creator (11.3, and Hebrews 1 passim); if we were to replace Aquinas’s “the things which are of faith” with “the promises”, we would successfully summarise what is being exhorted in Hebrews 10 and 12. As Kendall notes, the translation of the passage from Habakkuk makes it clear that “the ground of waiting patiently was God’s faithfulness. Such waiting, or enduring, then, is called faith. It was faith in God’s faithfulness.”32 Second is the notion of a present participation in the eternal realities which anticipates, in some real and objective sense, their final full possession. Attridge moves towards some such understanding when he writes that the ‘things unseen’ are not only future but also present, or rather eternal, realities… Thus the ‘things unseen’ comprise that realm of ‘true’ reality in which hopes are anchored (6.19). It is only because faith, in the footsteps of Jesus, is directed to that world that eschatological hopes can be realised. 33

But, as Barrett argues, faith is not only future directed: “faith is not merely a waiting for the fulfilment of the promise; it means through the promise a present grasp upon invisible truth.”34 What is needed, then, is a stronger sense of this “anchoring”; those who are of faith, Hebrews tells us, not only have their eyes fixed firmly upon the prize, but have some ontological connection to it, so that they are personally constituted, in part at least, by that connection. It is rather more than Johnson’s suggestion that faith “is an understanding that itself construes reality”35 – “constructs” would be a better word. To have faith – to be “of faith” as 10.39 puts it – is to have as a part or aspect of one’s being this connection to the unseen, heavenly world upon which one fixes one’s gaze. It is not accidental, but essential, to the believer. To put it another way, the description of faith with which Hebrews 11 begins tells us that what follows is an illustration of the possibilities opened up in the history 31

Ad Heb. XI.1.556. Translation from Baer (2006: 229), my emphasis, of which the original Latin is id quod creditur futurum in re, aliquo modo iam habeatur. 32 Kendall 1981: 4 33 Attridge 1989: 311. I deal with Heb 6.19 in the following chapter. 34 Barrett 1954: 380 35 Johnson 2006: 282

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of salvation for those who are essentially eschatological, and who thus provide, in the significant events in which they participate, a demonstration of the reality of the things unseen to which those events bear witness. This raises two theological difficulties. The first is that the impression given of faith thus far is rather more individualistic than that which is appropriate to the very corporate understanding of the relationship between God and humanity that Hebrews passes on from the OT, focusing on the notion of “the People of God” and “Israel” rather more than on the individual believer. How is faith constitutive of the believing community? The second is that this picture of faith is seemingly un-christological. Attridge points out that this is a marked contrast with the close association of “faith” and “Christ” in the Pauline corpus, but also that Hebrews here is more like the synoptic Gospels, 1 Peter and the Johannine literature. 36 Only at 11.26 could faith in this chapter of the Epistle even arguably have Jesus as its object, and the point throughout the exposition of biblical history appears to be that faith of the kind that is being encouraged was possible long before Christ, and with the possible exception of verse 26 there is no overt suggestion that this was an implicitly christological faith, although clearly it was an eschatological one. So how is the faith to which the audience is being called related to the unique achievement of the ex alted Christ? Mitchell’s answer is one that certainly makes sense within the Jewish background of the audience, that the argument is a version of qal wahomer: “the lesson for the readers is that if such faith were possible before the coming of Christ, how much greater are the opportunities for faith now that he has come.”37 But while it is true that Hebrews 12 begins with mention of Jesus, “pioneer and perfecter of faith”, this phrase seems to imply more than a quantitative difference, but some kind of eschatological role vis-à-vis faith – eschatological in a way that means more than an intensification of some aspects of present reality. Attridge writes somewhat defensively that “Hebrews’ understanding of faith is clearly developed within a christological framework. The faith to which the audience is here called is both made possible and exemplified by the “perfecter of faith”, at whose exaltation hopes have begun to be realised and things unseen proved.”38 This is undoubtedly correct, and we would similarly have to agree with Lane that verse 40 makes it very clear that “the perfecting of faithful men and women under the old covenant depended upon the sacrificial death of

36

Attridge 1989: 313–314 Mitchell 2007: 232 38 Attridge 1989: 314 37

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Jesus; the promised eternal inheritance that was offered to them has become attainable only by virtue of Christ’s sacrifice (cf 9.15).”39 It is, though, important that this beginning of an answer, and a cryptic one at that, is left to the end of Hebrews 11. For throughout this outlining of the examples of faith and its effects in salvation history, these two questions I have raised emerge more and more clearly and begin to demand answers; that they are raised and press more and more firmly is an important aspect of the rhetorical effect of this chapter. The audience is invited to ask: how is it different now because of Christ? How have we, as a body, been transformed and re-constituted by Christ? The ostensive purpose of Hebrews 11 is to expound the faith that has characterised the heroes of Israel’s history and guided the events of that history according to the divine purpose. It is a faith that places the believer in some sort of ontological, or constitutive, relationship with the future and with the eternal. But what has the faith of yesterday to do with today and tomorrow? To put it simply, how are these illustrative events relevant to the audience, and what do they have to do with Jesus? In the next section, seeking an answer to these questions, I shall outline the structure of Hebrews 11 and the rhetorical effect it has in situating the audience within the recapitulation of Israel’s history, echoing and also transforming the similar effect of Hebrews 3–4, and thus implying a relationship between the audience and the wilderness generation. Thereafter I shall suggest two particular effects of the rhetorical structure of the chapter, the creation of two lacunæ, which hint at an answer to the second question and then draw the answer to the two questions together in a way that anticipates Hebrews 12.

D. The Structure of Hebrews 11 and its Rhetorical Function i. Overall Structure I have already suggested that the first two verses of the chapter function as an introduction, which together outline the ostensive purpose of the whole. Verse 1 uses alliteration in π which is a common enough feature of the text, most notably at the very beginning, and this may not be a coincidence, since the subject matter of that opening verse was the Word of God addressed to the “fathers”, and here is introduced a long passage relating the lives of those fathers (here another π–word, πρεσβύτεροι rather than πατράσιν) as outlined in the Word of God. Further sonority is given by alliteration also in –στ– and as the assonance of the three –ωνs. The next 39

Lane 1991: 2.393

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verse opens with the first occurrence of πίστει , beginning an anaphoric sequence40 which, with the constant repetition of the anarthrous noun, picks up on the formal sonority of verse 1. The sequence quickly becomes established as a pattern through to verse 12, and then again from verse 17 to verse 31. Verses 3–12, linked by the anaphoric use of πίστει, cover the period from the creation of the world to the fulfilment of the promise of descendants – the people of Israel – to Abraham, the great exemplar of faith, though there is no reference to Genesis 15.6. Verses 13–16 break the pattern of anaphora, surely deliberately, with the substitution of κατὰ πίστιν for πίστει , as Hebrews offers a parenthetical clarification of the characteristic of faith to which the audience’s attention is especially being drawn, a clarification which looks forward to 12.22 with its mention of the heavenly city (this was already hinted at in verse 10 and is taken up again at the end of Hebrews at 13.14). The anaphora resumes at verse 17 and continues to verse 31, and this section covers the period from the binding of Isaac to the destruction of Jericho and the reward given to Rahab for her betrayal of that city. Verse 32 abandons the anaphora for the last time, and begins instead a veritable cascade of heroic names, deeds and travails which runs through to verse 38. In place of anaphora we have asyndeton 41 and from verse 33, which is introduced instead of πίστει with οἳ διὰ πίστεως, a very striking example of isocolon. 42 Finally, the last two verses pick up on the aorist passive of μαρτυρέω at verse 2 and then make a contrast between προβλεψαμένου and the οὐ βλεπομένων of verse 1, thus satisfyingly rounding off the unit. Perhaps the κρεῖττόν in the final verse also echoes the κρείττονος of verse 16. It is worthwhile illustrating this rhetorical structuring:

40

I.e. emphatic repetition of a word or phrase at the beginning of successive clauses. I.e. the absence of conjunctions. 42 I.e. a long string of clauses, in this case arranged paratactically, with the same num ber of syllables. On the use of rhetorical devices in this chapter see Corby 1988. 41

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1 … οὐ βλεπομένων 2 … ἐμαρτυρήθησαν 3–12 πίστει …x7: Creation, Abel, Enoch, Noah, Abraham x 2, Sarah (?) 13–16 κατὰ πίστιν … κρείττονος … 17–31 πίστει … x 11:

Abraham, Isaac, Jacob, Joseph, Moses x 4, Red Sea, Jericho, Rahab

32 καὶ τί ἔτι λέγω; 33–38 οἳ διὰ πίστεως … 39 … μαρτυρηθέντες διὰ τῆς πίστεως … 40 … κρεῖττόν τι προβλεψαμένου …

This illustration not only shows the different rhetorical forms that divide the chapter, but also a distinction between those sections (inset) which are essentially narrative, albeit with a theological spin, and those which are more overtly interpretive. ii. From Creation to Abraham: Those who Live by Faith are Sojourners The question mark above after Sarah represents the serious exegetical crux at verse 11, combining numerous textual variants with the difficulty that Sarah is apparently credited with receiving power εἰς καταβολὴν σπέρματος, which appears to have been a term applicable only to the male party in human (or animal) reproduction. The majority of modern commentators take Abraham to be the subject of the verb instead, which also makes ἀφʼ 43 ἑνός more naturally construable in the subsequent verse. Johnson, however, makes a good case for following the “overwhelming textual evidence”, including the suggestion that the expression εἰς καταβολὴν σπέρματος rather than καταβάλλειν σπέρμα reads more naturally with Sarah: “Here Abraham casts the seed, but Sarah receives the power for it to happen.”44 In the end, little depends on our decision: if Sarah is being commended, then we are clearly to understand that her conception of Isaac was a manifestation of her trusting in God to keep his promises, and if Abraham, then his trust is manifested. In point of fact, Sarah’s initial reaction of incredulous laughter in Genesis 18 is exactly the same as that of 43

E.g. Lane 1991: 2.344, who takes αὐτὴ Σάρρα στεῖρα as a “Hebraic circumstantial clause with concessive force”; cf. Attridge 1989: 324–6, who reads αὐτῇ Σάρρᾳ as a “dative of accompaniment”, rejecting στεῖρα as a scribal addition. This is a conjectural emendation, but perhaps not an unlikely one – it is proposed also by Bruce 1964: 301f, who follows Michel 1966: 262 and originally Riggenbach 1913: 356. Koester 2001: 474 takes it much the same way as Lane, with αὐτὴ Σάρρα στεῖρα as ‘parenthetical’. DeSilva 2000: 398 is agnostic, but find the subjective reading ‘awkward’. 44 Johnson 2006: 292

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Abraham in Genesis 17, and either way this would be an example of the way in which Hebrew’s narration of history attributes faith where the OT does not. There is, for example, nothing in Genesis to suggest that Abel’s sacrifice was accepted because he had faith and Cain did not, nothing that attributes faith to Enoch. They are heroes of salvation history, and therefore they must have had faith, we are to infer. Indeed this is the (perhaps rather spurious) claim made explicitly in respect of Enoch in vv 5–6: Enoch pleased God – though only in the LXX, not in the MT 45 – and therefore he must have believed in him; in particular, he must have believed in him as one who is to be approached ( προσερχόμενον) and sought (ἐκζητοῦσιν). So what is of importance is what this tells us about faith, that it concerns the unseen, the as-yet-unattained, and – perhaps lest we fail to draw the conclusion, or have forgotten the introductory verse – we are told again in the four verse interlude that follows the birth of Isaac and the consequent fulfilment of the promise to Abraham of a nation of descendants. The subject, οὗτοι πάντες, at the beginning of this parenthetical section, raises the difficulty that while formally it appears to refer back to every character hitherto mentioned, it really only makes sense of Abraham and his descendants. Enoch, in particular, is explicitly stated not to have died, and yet we are told that “these all died”. There are three possible solutions, and it may be that all three of them are correct: the most popular is to take it as a reference only to “the Patriarchs”46, since this makes the best sense of what follows, in terms of the course of the biblical narrative, and of the fact that verse 13b is apparently an amalgam of the LXX of Genesis 23.4 and 24.37. A second possibility is that the author made a mistake, at least with respect to Enoch, forgetting that he did not die at all, but otherwise intending to conform the lives even of the pre-Abrahamic biblical characters he has mentioned to the sojourning character of the Patriarchs. One cannot be certain that such an inference would have been made, but we should bear in mind at least that the strict division between the “patriarchal” history and the “primaeval” history of Genesis 1–11 is a modern one, and that while those before Abraham had not been brought into the Land of Canaan to live, nonetheless, as resident aliens, they were all away from home inasmuch as they were exiled from the Garden of Eden. It is true that, for example, Abel is not described in the OT as having uttered any confession of his status as a sojourner – indeed, he utters not a single 45

LXX has εὐηρέστησεν δὲ Ενωχ τῷ θεῷ , while the MT reads

~yhlah-ta %Anx %LhtYw, “walked with God”, but this is a fairly common pietising translation in the LXX. 46 E.g. Ad Heb. XI.4.594; Attridge 1989: 329; DeSilva 2000: 399; Bruce 1964: 303 and implicitly Johnson 2006: 292

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word before his death – but this may be an extreme example of the tendency we have already seen for Hebrews to attribute characteristics to biblical characters which are not clearly demonstrable from the OT. The same may be said, mutatis mutandis, of Enoch and Noah, and it is not so far fetched to suppose that we are to infer that all of these personalities are characterised by the desire for a heavenly country (v. 16). The third possibility, and one that makes excellent syntactical sense, is to take οὗτοι πάντες to refer to the elided subject of ἐγεννήθησαν in verse 12, the descendants of Abraham who were “as many as the stars of heaven and the innumerable grains of sand by the seashore.” The implication then would be that all the true descendants of Abraham – throughout the entirety of salvation history – are characterised by the recognition that their occupation of the Land of Canaan does not mean that they have truly received what was promised to their ancestors. Certainly this implication is consonant with what I shall infer from the change in rhetorical structure at verse 32. It will be objected that I have got ahead of myself, that so far in Hebrews’ story we have only reached the birth of Isaac, and that the confession of alien status is proper to Abraham and perhaps to his family for whom he speaks. But Hebrews has already anticipated far more generations than Isaac and Jacob, for even if the description of the number of Abraham’s descendants is always going to be hyperbolic, there is a difference between hyperbole and the purely fallacious: Exodus 1.5–7 would seem to suggest that the first time the people of Israel could possibly, even with rhetorical licence, be described by this phrase from God’s promise to Abraham in Genesis 22, was when they were in Egypt after the death of Joseph. If the audience is familiar with the biblical narrative, it might well infer a reference here not to the Patriarchs but to the wilderness generation and to the subsequent generations who had returned to Canaan after the Exodus. Furthermore, the change from πίστει to κατὰ πίστιν is surely not just for variety but, as I suggested, marks out a parenthetical section, one perhaps in which we are invited to take a step back, to see the sojourning character of Abraham even to death as summarising the faith which wins divine approval in every (biblical) generation. Thus Attridge notes that there is a possible allusion in the phrase πόρρωθεν … ἰδόντες to Moses’ failure to enter the Promised Land seeing it only from the top of the mountain (Deut 32.48f, 34.4). 47 Another important aspect of this parenthesis that switches from theologically-interpretive narration to explicit exegesis is that it links this faith 47

Attridge 1989: 329; we might add this to David Allen’s (2008) list of suggested echoes of Deuteronomy (see above pp. 76f), and suggest that the fathers in faith understood themselves to be in a ‘Deuteronomic’ existential situation, wherever in fact they were situated.

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also to the audience, in at least three and perhaps four ways: first, those who died κατὰ πίστιν are described as having made confession, ὁμολογήσαντες. This picks up the use of ὁμολογία at 3.1, 4.14 and especially 10.23, κατέχωμεν τὴν ὁμολογίαν τῆς ἐλπίδος ἀκλινῆ, πιστὸς γὰρ ὁ ἐπαγγειλάμενος, with its references also to faith, hope and promises (cf. also 13.15). Thus the heroes of faith are shown to have made the confession which is being urged upon the audience, who are therefore in turn invited to see the boldness of these heroes as a model for their own lives. Similarly, second, just as our “God is not ashamed (οὐκ ἐπαισχύνεται) to be called their God” so “Jesus is not ashamed ( οὐκ ἐπαισχύνεται) to call brothers” those of whose salvation he is the pioneer (2.10f). Implicitly, the God of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob, the God of Israel, is the God of those who are the brethren of Jesus, and so once again the audience is brought into a profound solidarity with the heroes of Israel. The third link is one that the audience could only make later and retrospectively: just as verse 16 goes on to say that “God prepared a city”, by implication a heavenly one, for those who died in faith, so we will later be told that the audience “has come … to the city of the living God, heavenly Jerusalem” (12.22). The typological relationship established between the audience and the authentic Israelites is re-asserted, strengthened but also transformed; what those who died κατὰ πίστιν hoped to see, their eschatological counterparts have now reached. In view of the subsequent verse’s “and to the assembly of the firstborn enrolled in heaven… and the spirits of the righteous made perfect”, and of the way in which this picks up the end of 11.40, we might go further and infer that the “great cloud of witnesses” (12.1) who have been cheering on the audience as they complete the race to this heavenly city have not been mere spectators, but are the Israelites of old who have been brought, along with the audience to whom they are united, to this, their final destination. Finally, it is not impossible that the language of alien, unsettled status – ξένοι καὶ παρεπίδημοι (11.13) – may have meant something more personal to the first historical audience of the Epistle. It has been argued by Elliot 48 that such terminology in 1 Peter (1.1; 2.11) is not metaphorical but reflects the technical legal status of the addressees, though Elliott maintains that the language is purely metaphorical in Hebrews (and similarly in Phil 3.20, 2 Clement 5, Herm. Sim. 1.1). 49 DeSilva, however, argues on the basis particularly of 10.32–4 that here “the author has fastened onto aspects of the ways in which the patriarchs’ “faith” was enacted that correspond most nearly to the condition of the audience… Like Abraham, the addressees left behind their homeland and status in their native city in order to follow 48 49

Elliott 1981: 33–49 Elliott 1981: 99 and cf. p. 53, 55

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God’s call and reach our for God’s promised benefactions.”50 Lane suggests that the addressees had literally been physically moved from their native land;51 DeSilva does not go quite so far, proposing instead that “they were at the very least socially removed from their native land through the open degradation they suffered at the hands of their neighbours”,52 which of course is a metaphorical use of the terms, unless – which DeSilva does not claim – they had been stripped of legal status. Perhaps we might say that there is a range of possibilities from the strictly literal of Lane to the purely metaphorical way in which most readers today would apply the language to themselves, and it is not unlikely that the first audience had become, in the eyes of their neighbours, social pariahs to some degree, outcasts for whom this sense of alienation, of not being able to feel at home in any earthly city, may have had direct and powerful resonance. The theological message is in any case clear enough, that even to the point of death (note the “not yet” at 12.4) the certain hope of a heavenly inheritance is what makes it possible to endure the discomfort of any kind of alienation and estrangement from earthly society. For Käsemann, these ways in which the sojourner status of the faithful of the OT are linked to the existential situation of the audience of the Epistle are central to his argument that the ecclesiology of Hebrews is that of a Wanderndes Gottesvolk. The present tribulations of the community addressed by Hebrews, a community characterised as moving towards a heavenly goal and alienated from earthly society, make the analogy with the wilderness generation meaningful. 53 Here we must agree with Käsemann against Hofius, for whom there is nothing in Hebrews about the Existenzform of its audience. 54 It is perfectly true that the Epistle does not address the question in such language explicitly, but this is hardly to be expected of something written before the emergence of existentialism. Hofius denies Käsemann’s view that Abrahamic faith is characterised in terms of movement towards a goal, arguing that if a life based on authentic faith were a life directed towards a particular location, even a metaphorical one, then Hebrews would tell us that the outcome of the lives of the fathers was the attainment of that goal, whereas in fact they did not attain it. The authenticity of their faith is marked not by their attainment of a goal but by

50

DeSilva 2000: 401 Lane 1991: 1.lxiv–lxvi 52 DeSilva 2000: 401, my emphasis 53 Käsemann 1939: 11: “Eine Lage [ist] gegeben, die einen Vergleich mit dem alttestamentlichen Wüstengeschlecht sinnvoll macht.” Cf. pp. 8–10 and especially n.10 54 Hofius 1970a: 145 51

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their willingness to continue to wait for it. 55 Moreover he claims that the vocabulary of the chapter, in particular ἐπιζητοῦσιν (v.14), ἐξεδέχετο (v.10) and ὀρέγονται (v.16) is not the language of pilgrimage but of a more passive waiting.56 Thus similarly the Christian community is not characterised as moving towards a heavenly goal but as waiting for the descent of the heavenly city. Put more bluntly, we do not go up, but heaven comes down. Yet here Hofius fails to distinguish between the remaining future eschatology of the Epistle, which is indeed about waiting for a heavenly descent, i.e. of Christ (e.g. 9.28; 10.37), and the realised eschatology, which is about the attainment of a goal and which is so clearly characterised in terms of movement or entrance, as we will see in the following chapter and as is already clear from our treatment of 3.7–4.11. What is most striking of all is that virtually all of the exhortation of the Epistle is similarly couched in terms of movement: 4.1: Φοβηθῶμεν οὖν μήποτε καταλειπομένης ἐπαγγελίας εἰσελθεῖν εἰς τὴν κατάπαυσιν αὐτοῦ δοκῇ τις ἐξ ὑμῶν ὑστερηκέναι 4.11: σπουδάσωμεν οὖν εἰσελθεῖν εἰς ἐκείνην τὴν κατάπαυσιν … 4.16 προσερχώμεθα οὖν μετὰ παρρησίας τῷ θρόνῳ τῆς χάριτος … 6.1 Διὸ ἀφέντες τὸν τῆς ἀρχῆς τοῦ Χριστοῦ λόγον ἐπὶ τὴν τελειότητα φερώμεθα … 10.22 προσερχώμεθα μετὰ ἀληθινῆς καρδίας ἐν πληροφορίᾳ πίστεως … 12.1: … διʼ ὑπομονῆς τρέχωμεν τὸν προκείμενον ἡμῖν ἀγῶνα … 13.13: τοίνυν ἐξερχώμεθα πρὸς αὐτὸν ἔξω τῆς παρεμβολῆς …

The message is clear: we are exhorted to press on to the attainment of that goal to which access has been made possible by Christ. It is true that Abraham and the other faith heroes of the OT did not attain this goal, but as I suggested above 11.39–12.1 imply not, as Hofius would have it, simply that they were content to wait for it to appear but rather that their own lives were directed towards it but they were unable to reach it until now. The great cloud of witnesses is cheering us on because the attainment of the end of our pilgrimage is also the long-awaited conclusion of their own. It must be admitted that Käsemann also fails to stress the distinction between the implied Existenzformen of the faith-heroes and of the audience’s generation that results from the achievement of Christ which alone has made access possible. They are not the same, for before the appearing of Christ faith was, as Hofius wants to say, characterised by waiting, whereas afterwards it is characterised by moving forwards. Yet, pace Hofius, Hebrews does characterise that waiting in terms also of movement, emphasising the unsettledness of Abraham and his descendants. We may 55

Hofius 1970a: 148: “Die Patriarchen bewährten jedoch ihren Glauben, indem sie trotz des Ausbleibens der verheißenen Heilsvollendung bis zum letzten Atemzug an der Erwartung der Gottesstadt festhielten.” 56 Hofius 1970a: 148

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say that the Existenzform of the faithful has been changed by Christ’s appearing from one of sojourning to one of pilgrimage57, the difference between the two being the attainability of the goal. This is entirely consistent with the suggestion that the faith heroes of old are types of the audience’s own generation, since typology involves both similarly and difference, and what is important is that the difference is the attainability of the goal, the opening of access thereto. We may go further and say that there is a difference indeed of generations: until the coming of Christ the faithful were members of the wilderness generation, albeit (like Joshua and Caleb) faithful members, not yet able to enter the Promised Land, but not permanently excluded by lack of faith; now the faithful are the conquest generation, able at last to cross the Jordan and take possession of what was promised.58 iii. Into Egypt: Is Moses Faithful? Verse 17 resumes the anaphora where it left off, with Isaac, the son upon whom the promise of descendants rests, under threat of death, and thereafter we move quickly through Jacob and Joseph and into Egypt; after Abraham with twelve verses it is Moses (with six, or seven if we count verse 29) whose biblical career receives the most attention in Hebrews 11 – an unsurprising distribution. But it is with Moses that a syntactical question appears in verse 23 which will become more crucially pressing a little later: for until verse 23, “faith” has always – at least apparently – been predicated of the subject of the sentence; this is so even in verse 11, however we construe it.59 It is improbable that Moses is to be understood as the 57 As WG Johnson points out (1978), pilgrimage implies not just wandering aimlessly, or through necessity, but a specific goal, and a specific kind of goal, namely a religious one. He notes that Käsemann does not use spefically the language of pilgrimage ( Pilgerfahrt etc.) but only of wandering. Compare Spicq’s use (1952: 243–6) of “le peuple de Dieu pérégrinant”. The socio-anthrologically derived model of pilgrimage that Johnson proposes contains three stages, ‘separation’, ‘transition’ and ‘incorporation’, and Johnson suggests, though does not demonstrate convincingly, that the second and third are co ordinate with the ‘already’ and ‘not-yet’ respectively of Hebrews’ eschatology. More helpful is his observation that as ἀρχηγός/πρόδρομος, Jesus is the one whose journey is re-enacted, or re-capitulated, by the Christian pilgrimage. 58 With Johnson 2006: 290: “the structure and goal of the patriarchs’ faith [is] the same as that of the Christian believers… the difference is that Christ has enabled the author’s generation to attain that goal.” 59 Verse 3 follows the pattern, ‘we’ being the subjects. In a way this is odd, because ‘we’ are not heroes of biblical history – although that is what we are invited to become. But there is no break in the pattern here because it has not yet been established, this being the first instance of the anaphora; it introduces both the rhetorical sequence and the

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possessor of faith in the first three months of his life. This is not really a difficulty, since though Moses is the grammatical subject of the passive verb it is his parents who are the agents; and their faith is of the quality we have come to expect, characterised as it is by a certain vision of what is not apparent and a confidence in respect of the future: in the first place, they did not fear the king’s edict, despite every indication that Moses’ life was doomed; this is another example of Hebrews interpreting the biblical narrative beyond what is explicitly stated, perhaps on the basis of Exodus 1.17, 21, which credit the Israelite nursemaids with fear of God. Secondly, Moses’ parents saw that the child was ἀστεῖον. The use of this word is intriguing. It is used of Moses in Exodus 2.2 LXX translating bAj, and Acts 7.20 echoes the LXX in the same way; it is used only very occasionally elsewhere in the LXX with the meaning “attractive” or “comely”60; it is used of noble conduct at 2 Macc 6.23 and negatively at Num 22.32; finally it is used of the adipose Eglon at Judges 3.17. It is perfectly likely that Hebrews is doing nothing but echo the LXX of Exodus here, but it is worth noting that the etymology of the word derives from ἄστυ (“city”), and that still in the first century it most commonly connoted not just physical beauty but urbanity, as opposed to “rustic”. Perhaps the audience could infer some overtone of a city-directed destiny for the infant Moses, perceived by his parents by the eyes of faith, just as Abraham and his descendants saw the heavenly city from afar off. On the other hand, Hebrews may be reflecting the import of the addition in Acts 7.20, ἀστεῖος τῷ θεῷ,61 suggesting that the parents were able to perceive even in their new-born son his religious virtue. In this case, it may be that we are to understand Moses already to be the one with faith, at least proleptically. In either case, two important things can be noted: first, that there is ambivalence with respect to the faithfulness of Moses, compared with all who have come before. This is itself a surprise in a first century Jewish context, in which Moses is typically seen as the faith-hero of Israel’s history, but it matches the ambivalence over Moses’s faith that we saw in Hebrews 3.1– 6, where on the one hand Moses needs to be a man of exemplary faith in order for Jesus’s superiority in that regard to be striking, and yet the passage also points towards the failure of Moses’s faith compared to that of Joshua, at which the subsequent verses hint. The second matter of importance is simply that the grammatical structure of the chapter is changed, and this anticipates two similar but far more significant syntactical deviations at the end of the Moses section to which I now turn. The first of these biblical-historical one, while inviting the audience to apply the subsequent pattern of faith to themselves. 60 Judith 11.23, and of Susanna in the additions to Daniel (Susanna 1.7) 61 See Bauer et. al. 1979: 117b

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is at verse 29, which has no explicit subject, though it is clear that it is the wilderness generation that is in mind; the second and even more striking is in the subsequent verse, which points especially clearly to a profoundly significant lacuna in the narration of the biblical narrative and the list of heroes. Though these are both more striking than the slight ambivalence with regard to Moses, it is fair to say that the cumulative effect, at least on a more detailed reading of the Epistle, is to hint that the pattern of salvation history as a record of faithful response to God’s promise of an abiding city began to break down, almost paradoxically, with the figure of Moses himself. iv. The First Lacuna: Joshua’s Absence from the List of Faith-Heroes As Eisenbaum remarks, “the absence of Joshua in chapter 11 is especially glaring.”62 This is not universally agreed, 63 for we cannot claim that the biblical character of Joshua was of such importance that to omit it is necessarily striking, in the way that it might have been if Moses or Abraham were left out, or if the narration of history had gone on to mention Saul and Solomon but not David, for example. One simple explanation might be that Joshua is simply not important enough to mention64, and we might concede this were it not for the additional fact that the well-established pattern of this section of Hebrews begins to break down just where Joshua’s name would most naturally fit. The breakdown begins subtly: verse 29 has as its implicit subject the wilderness generation, those whom Moses led out of Egypt. This is evident both from the content of the verse and the αὐτῶν at the end of the previous verse. It would appear, therefore, that this generation is being imputed with the faith of all the other heroes in the story so 62

Eisenbaum 1997: 172 Lane 1991: 2.378 notices the omission of Joshua at 11.30 but makes nothing of it: “No reference is made to Joshua, although he had been mentioned by name in 4.8 and his faith is implied in 4.2.” Similarly Kendall 1981: 171: “It is interesting that Joshua himself is not named although he was the central figure behind the event that is described”. Attridge makes no mention of the omission, nor does he appear to find any difficulty in the grammar of this section; Ellingworth (1993: 620) remarks simply that “Joshua, like Moses in v.29, fades into the background”, but this is not quite the case, since Moses had at least been mentioned previously, which Joshua has not; more importantly, v. 29 has a grammatical subject to which faith can be imputed, and v. 30 does not, though Elling worth thinks it obvious that the faith is that of the Israelites as in the previous verse, on which see below. Similarly Grässer (1991–97: 3.182) writes that “Obwohl die Mauern Jerichos das grammatische Subjekt des Verses bilden, sind als Subjekt des Glaubens natürlich die ‘Sohne Israels’ als die κυκλοῦντες zu betrachten.” 64 Presumably the reason we do not find this explanation given by scholars is that if they think it is true, they also think the omission of Joshua is not worth explaining. 63

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far, all those who have been the subject of sentences, or at least (as probably in the case of verse 23) the agents of verbs. However, the audience already knows from chapters 3 and 4 of Hebrews, with its appeal to crucial incidents in the wilderness related in the Book of Numbers, that this generation was not faithful but faithless. It must, then, be the faith of Moses that enabled them to pass through the Red Sea unscathed. Attridge writes: “How the faith of the Israelites was manifested is not made clear”, before suggesting that Hebrews may be influenced by Jewish traditions that did see “the passage through the Red Sea as result of faith”. However, he is only able to point to much later Rabbinic traditions.65 Johnson suggests that “walking into the sea was an act of ‘not knowing where they were going,’ a step as dangerous and unpredictable as Abraham’s leaving for a land he did not know.”66 Similarly DeSilva: “walking between the two walls of water was an accomplishment of trust, since the Hebrews placed their lives completely in the hand of the God who held back the waters. Their absolute dependence on God’s goodwill and favour towards them was never as clearly expressed.”67 But it is questionable whether this accurately reflects the biblical narrative: already at several points the Book of Exodus has told us that the people were obedient to the Lord and to Moses (e.g. 12.28, 50), but never that they had faith. On the contrary, immediately before the crossing of the Red Sea, at Ex 14.11f, the Israelites for the first time express lack of faith: “They said to Moses, ‘Was it because there were no graves in Egypt that you have taken us away to die in the wilderness? What have you done to us, bringing us out of Egypt? Is this not the very thing we told you in Egypt, “Let us alone and let us serve the Egyptians”? For it would have been better for us to serve the Egyptians than to die in the wilderness.’” This very clearly initiates the theme of “wilderness murmurings” which is so central to the condemnation of this generation as faithless in Hebrews 3f. Moses alone trusts in God at this point, and it is only after the crossing of the Sea, when the Israelites see the Egyptians dead upon the shore (Ex 14.30, echoed in Heb 11.29b) that they “feared the Lord and believed in [LXX ἐπίστευσαν] the Lord and in his servant Moses” (Ex 14.31). If it were simply that the OT does not explicitly ascribe faith to the Israelites at this point, we could argue that here is simply another example of Hebrews’ imputation of faith beyond what is explicit in the OT. But here Hebrews would not simply going beyond but going against the OT in a matter of crucial importance. When we add to this the extended recapitulation and interpretation of the events following the crossing of the Red Sea 65

Attridge 1989: 344, and n.94, citing Mek. 35b–36a Johnson 2006: 303 67 DeSilva 2000: 414 66

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that we find in Hebrews 3 and 4, and particularly the importance of the wilderness murmuring motif, we can assert that the audience is surely entitled at least to raise a question as to whether Heb 11.29 is really proposing that wilderness generation as yet another model of faith. This certainly would be the most natural reading of the passage if it were taken in isolation from the rest of the Epistle; as it is, we have another crumbling of the anaphoric pattern, as we did at verse 23, and this time the breakdown is more noticeable, more jarring. What is really striking, however, is the fact that the pattern is not resumed in the next sentence. It would be perfectly natural to follow the thrust of the Book of Joshua and make the eponymous leader one of the explicit heroes of faith. As Montefiore blandly remarks, “It might well be expected that Joshua would be mentioned by name after Moses, especially as his name in Greek is the same as that of Jesus.”68 As it is, the construction is awkward: it is clear enough that the only characters of whom faith is possibly being predicated are the people of Israel, but they are not the subject of the sentence even implicitly – the walls of Jericho are, and we may safely suppose that the walls are not being commended for their faith. The Israelites are only the implied agents of the passive participle κυκλωθέντα. Attridge writes that “the miraculous quality of this victory … is no doubt the ground for seeing it as a result of faith”69 and Montefiore concurs: “Their faith consisted in their belief in the efficacy of these unprecedented proceedings.”70 Ellingworth goes further, defending the REB translation “were made to fall” because it “correctly suggests a reference to the faith of the invading Israelite army”71. One could multiply examples, and Bruce is unusual in suggesting that the principal exemplar of faith in the biblical story is Joshua, noting especially that it is Joshua who receives the command of the Lord and carries it out unquestioningly. 72 Faith is not explicitly predicated of Joshua in the OT at this point, but as we have seen the same can be said of many of the other examples of faith in Hebrews 11, 68

Montefiore 1964: 205 Attridge 1989: 344 70 Montefiore 1964: 205 71 Ellingworth 1991: 115; but the point is that the implied agent of the verb is surely God – this is a theological passive – and not the Israelites. 72 Bruce 1964: 327; similarly Allen (2008: 150) suggests that “Joshua is possibly the agent of πίστις, though one wonders why, if so, this is not made more explicit by the text,” before speculating that “Joshua’s omission is probably part of Hebrews’ strategy of exploiting the association between the old covenant Ἰησοῦς and that of the new” (p. 150 n.236). He goes on to insist that “although an argument from silence, the exclusion of so prominent a figure as Ἰησοῦς in the symphony of heroic praise must be allowed to have its voice” (p. 170). 69

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and the ascription of faith to Joshua is consonant with the way his character was read in later Jewish tradition. 73 In view of these breakdowns, both logical and grammatical, in the pattern of the chapter, coinciding as they do with the point where one would naturally expect an occurrence of the name of the Messiah, it is reasonable to conclude that the omission of Joshua is indeed striking and demands more of an explanation than that Joshua is not important. One suggestion is that of Johnson: It is striking that Joshua is not even mentioned in connection with these events, in sharp contrast both to the retelling of the biblical story by Josephus, who emphasises his role throughout … and of Pseudo-Philo, who glorifies Joshua but entirely omits the incidents reported here. The author’s neglect of Joshua is consistent with his tendency to minimise 74 the land of Canaan as the true “rest” of the people.

I would suggest here that the omission of Joshua is not simply a matter of neglect, of wishing to turn attention away from Canaan with which he is associated. As I have already argued, Hebrews does not turn attention away from Canaan, but presents it as a type of the ultimate “rest” of the people in God’s own heavenly abode. Therefore our audience cannot be expected to notice the omission of Joshua but then say to themselves “Joshua does not matter because Canaan does not matter” but rather would begin by asking “Surely Joshua – Ἰησοῦς – was the one who exemplified faith in all this? Of all characters, the one who shares his name with Christ, whose faith exceeded even that of Moses when it came to leading the Israelites into the Land surely deserves mention?”. Neither is Eisenbaum’s suggested reason credible. 75 Her view is that all of those mentioned by name in Hebrews 11 are “outsiders”, especially in respect of nationhood – marginal figures of one sort or another, or portrayed as such, and that Joshua cannot be fitted into this pattern. Yet it seems especially odd that the audience should be expected to think of Moses but not Joshua as an outsider in this sense, or indeed that Jacob, 73

See especially Sirach 46; Philo De Virtutibus 1.66ff and De Mut. Nom. 1.121–3; Josephus AJ 3.49, 4.165, 5.16ff; LAB 19f. 74 Johnson 2006: 303; elsewhere (p. 291), and relatedly, Johnson suggests that Joshua is omitted to imply that he lacked faith, because “if he had faith, he would have been seeking ‘the city of God’ rather than the material land of Canaan”. This is clearly not consonant with what I suggest in chapter three is Hebrews’ reading of Joshua in Numbers in Heb 3 and 4, nor indeed with any likely contemporary reading of Joshua; much more likely is an understanding that Joshua’s clear faithfulness was a prerequisite for the conquest; if that conquest, though not the perfect and ultimate fulfilment of the promise, was a positively-valued type of entry into the rest of God, then so was Joshua’s faith capable of being seen as something positive without being perfect. 75 Eisenbaum 1997

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eponymous forefather of Israel, should not be seen as a national insider.76 Hebrews 11 characterises faithful Israelites not so much as marginalised or outsider figures, but rather as people who acknowledge their sojourner status, with their hopes fixed on a destination other than their present domicile. Sometimes this means that they will be exiles, subject to alien status, and this can be so even if they are living in the Promised Land, as Abraham and his sons did before the conquest. But the conquest is emphasised by vv. 30–31, and is in some way attributed to the faith of the people, so it cannot be that faith is intrinsically characterised by the embracing of sojourner/exile status; rather it is the yearning to end that status, the desire for the Promised Land, that characterises faith. While the Land of Canaan is only a foreshadowing of the true goal of their desire, the conquest of it is surely a positive thing, and it is attributed to faith, so it remains unexplained that the one who led that conquest should go unmentioned. Thiessen amends Eisenbaum’s suggestion, proposing that what characterises true, faithful Israel is that they are marginalised not over against Israel but from the rest of the world – they are exiles. Thus Moses for example becomes exiled from Egypt as a result of his murderous activities (Ex 2.11–15). So “marginalisation has always been a sign that one belongs to God’s people”.77 Joshua is absent because he failed to lead Israel out of exile – they remained in a state of exile even if not geographically exiled. Here I am essentially in agreement, and would only want to stress that (a) this “failure” is emphasised by the omission of Joshua, especially because it coincides with the grammatical awkwardness which must be deliberate, and (b) that this is a relative or partial failure: chapters 3–4 clearly show that the geographical possession of the Land of Canaan was not of no value, but rather was of value precisely as a type of the possession of the true rest of God. For this reason I cannot agree with Thiessen’s proposal that “‘rest’ is not necessarily distinct from the land of Canaan”.78 I suggest that in a sense the question answers itself: why is Joshua not mentioned, contrary to the audience’s expectations? In order to confound those expectations, and to make the audience realise the profound significance of the fact that the “apostle and high priest of our confession” (3.1) is called Joshua. The point of omitting Joshua must be related to his role as leader of the conquest of the Promised Land, and Hebrews 11 is principally concerned to describe faith in terms of a distinction between the temporary and visible on the one hand and the eternal and invisible on the other. Whatever precisely we understand by the vocabulary of 11.1, it is 76

Eisenbaum 2005 seems to pull back from this view somewhat, although she does not there address the omission of Joshua specifically. 77 Thiessen 2007: 362 78 Thiessen 2007: 357 n.13, emphasis original

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plain at least that the faith for which the elders were approved by God involves not only a desire for the things to come but a sure ability to distinguish these invisible realities from the visible things that others might mistake for them. This is especially emphasised in the case of Abraham who did indeed live in the “land of promise” (11.9) but as a sojourner; in the explicative interlude in verses 13–16 the point is precisely that to have faith is to live as an exile even when in the Promised Land, because the Promised Land is not truly the Promised Land. We shall see shortly that those who do live by faith in the land after the (elided) conquest are portrayed as exiles and sojourners, outcasts even in their own land. So Joshua is omitted because, while he did exceed Moses in leading the Israelites into Canaan, this was a type of something more real: the real, ultimate conquest did not take place after the forty years in the wilderness, but remained to be achieved. The coincidence that Jesus’s name is Joshua is no coincidence at all, but the clearest possible indication that the achievement of Jesus, expressed in Hebrews principally through the concept of Christ as High Priest in the once-for-all Day of Atonement, can also be understood in terms of the foreshadowing of that achievement by Joshua’s conquest of Canaan. Conversely, therefore, that earlier conquest can be understood by those who see with the eyes of faith as a sketch of the entrance into God’s rest made possibly by Christ’s achievements, and so the ἀρχηγός of the earthly conquest can be understood as a type of the ultimate Ἰησοῦς who opened up for those with the eyes of faith their passage into God’s rest. I would suggest, moreover, that the reminder at this point of Joshua’s role as both spy and sender of spies helps to shed light on the understanding the audience is being invited to evolve of its own relationship to the achievements of Christ. To anticipate my conclusions, the audience is invited to place itself in a state of eschatological tension: in one sense, it is already safely across the Jordan and in the true Promised Land, and like the spies in Joshua 2 it is to see itself as the vanguard of the great host of God’s people, scoping out the destination of their pilgrimage; but in another sense it remains still only on the verge of that Land, separated from it by the Jordan of death, the veil between earth and heaven. In this respect Christ, the new Joshua, stands in the role of the faithful spy, whose testimony is the good news which should meet with a response of faith in those who hear it. In order to approach these conclusions, we need to understand more clearly how the audience is invited to cast itself within the narrative of Israel’s history, and this depends upon the next lacuna in Hebrews 11, to which I now turn.

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v. The Second Lacuna: The Conquest and the Wilderness Generation As with the previous significant absence of Joshua, the second lacuna is revealed by a shift in the rhetorical-grammatical structure of the chapter. It is commonly suggested that the change of rhetorical technique at verse 32 from anaphora to asyndeton, followed by the isocolon at 33ff, serves either simply as a time-saving device (e.g. Bruce, Montefiore) or as a rhetorical device to imply that the author could continue for a good deal longer but does not wish to try his readers’ patience. 79 DeSilva is typical: “The example list closes … with an impressive accumulation of examples compressed and abridged so as to make a vivid and strong impression of the endless parade of those whose example could be considered in greater depth ‘if time permitted’.”80 But is there really so much of a hurry? Admittedly Hebrews describes itself as brief (13.22), and by the standards of its time perhaps it is, but elsewhere it takes its time where necessary, expanding and explaining numerous points. At the very least we can say that, whether or not the author of the Epistle really felt he was running out of time or exhausting his audience’s patience, that audience might well have inferred something by the point in the exposition of the biblical story at which this urgency suddenly appears. Certainly a “vivid and strong impression” is formed, but not, as DeSilva implies, of more of the same, as if salvation history continued in a neat straight line after the fall of Jericho. Quite the contrary. Attridge perceives more significance in the rhetorical change, proposing that there is in addition to a desire for brevity a deliberate and pointed increase in the urgency of the presentation, as the author seeks to “bring into clear focus the milieu in which faith is most urgently required”, namely the situation of the readers, “a situation of opposition and enmity from those outside the covenant community”81. In other words, Hebrews is rhetorically inviting the audience to imagine themselves sympathetically in the position of the people of Israel at a particular stage in their history, a stage that Hebrews characterises in terms reminiscent of the audience’s own historical circumstances. 82 Ellingworth suggests, by contrast, that “the writer is less interested in Israelite history after the Exodus,”83 and Lane 79

E.g. Johnson 2006: 304 DeSilva 2000: 415–416; Weiss (1991: 615) views this desire as the only reason for or significance of the change in structure. 81 Attridge 1989: 347 82 Similarly Grässer (1990–97: 3.189) suggests that “Auf die lange Liste der unerreichbar hohen, außergewöhnlich Glaubenvorsbilder folgen schließlich Beispiele von Glaubensbewährung, die jederzeit von einem selbst gefordert und eigene Wirklichkeit werden könnten.” 83 Ellingworth 1991: 115 80

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thinks that, unlike the previous verses, vv. 32–8 of Hebrews 11 are “spontaneous and unstudied.”84 They may at first glance give that impression, but an audience obedient to 13.22 will not fail to study a passage because of its brevity. Ellingworth, though his remark is too dismissive, is right in a way: Hebrews does dismiss the post-conquest period – but not as less interesting; rather as, in a crucial way, not straightforwardly continuous with salvation history thus far. Ellingworth and Attridge have both missed the key fact that unites their ideas and does justice to the careful composi tion of this part of Hebrews: in the verses that follow the chronological scheme breaks down – the six figures mentioned are not in the biblical order, and thereafter no explicit historical references are given, even if many of the examples of triumphs and travails of faith can be credibly linked to particular incidents in the biblical narrative. The effect is not only to give the impression of a vast array of characters and of historical events that might have been cited, but rather – or at least, in addition – to suggest a breakdown of history: the dissolution of the chapter’s ordered scheme implies the dissolution of an objective ordering of history. That this breakdown occurs at the moment when the conquest takes place is vital. We can agree with Attridge that the author increases the pace for the purposes of his exhortation, that he wishes to align his readers with the situation of those from the period of the judges through to the Maccabean era, to which the text seems to be alluding. We can also acknowledge with Ellingworth that the neat pattern of vv. 3–31 breaks down at the beginning of the period of the conquest. The story of the fall of Jericho and the subsequent rescue of Rahab 85 (and her kin) from the fiery destruction of the city, in fulfilment of an oath, is related in Joshua 6. It takes place after the crossing of the Jordan (Josh 2) and subsequent renewal of the 84

Lane 1991: 2.385 The reference to Rahab is a puzzle. She is clearly an example of faith, and of the kind of faith that Hebrews is emphasising (cf. Josh 2.1,9; 6.25 LXX), and moreover she is given as an example to be imitated to the audience who are to receive people in peace (12.14) just as she received the spies (11.31; see also the exhortation to hospitality at 13.20). This association with receiving spies of course also draws attention to the Joshua and Caleb’s own former career as spies, and again there is some implication he re for the role of the audience explicitly suggests that she is there principally because of her associ ation with Joshua; if the omission of the latter were indeed already striking, then this might emphasise it. It is also worth noting that in the OT Rahab comes before the fall of Jericho but in Heb 11 afterwards; this perhaps places the emphasis not on her receiving the spies but on her being saved after the fall of the city and given a share in the land (with Ellingworth 1993, 261). Thompson (2008, 243) proposes that this emphasises her outsider status – by implication, that the ‘real land’ is not a matter of ethnicity but of faith in God’s promises to Israel (similarly Attridge p. 344). My tentative suggestions here are not incompatible with the intriguing proposal of Mosser 2009. 85

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covenant by circumcision and celebration of the Passover (Josh 5) but before the conquest of the Promised Land. Renewal of the covenant has of course been mentioned in Hebrews repeatedly in Hebrews 7 to 10, and is a central theme of the Epistle as a whole, as Dunnill and Lehne demonstrate.86 The Book of Joshua’s account of the renewal is part of the MosesJoshua typology established therein, and covenant renewal is therefore strongly associated with the person of Joshua. Hebrews’ first two mentions of covenant also closely associate the notion with the name of Jesus, who is the guarantor/surety ( ἔγγυος, 7.22) and the mediator ( μεσίτης, 8.6) of a better one. When the breakdown takes place, then, the Jordan has been crossed, the covenant renewed by circumcision (like that of Abraham) and Passover (like that under Moses), and then Jericho has fallen. There is a further aspect of the rhetorical effect of Hebrews 11 and its approach to salvation history, and that is the complete excision of the period of the wilderness generation. A number of commentators make nothing of this elision: Mitchell and Johnson do not mention it, and Pfitzner simply says that “the faithless wilderness generation (3.7–4.2) is bypassed to recall the most spectacular event in the capture of Jericho.”87 Similarly Koester: “passing by the wilderness wanderings without further comment, presumably because the period was characterised by unbelief…”88, and Lane suggests “it is not surprising that in a catalogue of exemplary persons and events he passes over in silence the forty-year period during which those who had experienced the celebration of the passover, the exodus from Egypt and the miraculous crossing of the Red Sea wandered aimlessly in the wilderness. Not until the entrance into Canaan can a recital of the acts of faith be resumed.”89 But Hebrews has not passed over this period in silence! On the contrary, it has already in chapters 3 and 4 drawn attention both to the general faithlessness of that period and to the exceptional faithfulness of Joshua and Caleb. This means that Attridge’s comment that “the experience of the exodus generation in the wilderness, with all the signs and wonders that occurs there, is passed over, perhaps because it has already served as a warning example”90 will not quite do: it is not simply a warning example of the effects of faithless86

Dunnill 1992; Lehne 1990 Pfitzner 1997: 166; however, the bracketed reference shows the Pfitzner is aware of the relationship between this passage and the previous consideration of the wilderness generation’s failure to enter, and in a sense the implication is correct, that Hebrews does not need to cover that period because it has done so already in the earlier chapters – but this explanation is not sufficient, as I argue below. 88 Koester 2001: 510 89 Lane 1991: 2.378 90 Attridge 1989: 344 87

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ness, and therefore out of place or unnecessary in a chapter on faithfulness; it is also about the way in which exceptional faithfulness does qualify Joshua and Caleb for entry into rest. If that earlier passage were not part of Hebrews, perhaps even if it were not a part so clearly related to Hebrews 11 both structurally and thematically, there might be an argument for overlooking this second striking omission. As it is, we cannot fail to be puzzled by what amounts to a conflation of the crossing of the Red Sea with the crossing of the Jordan. For it is not just the period of the wilderness wanderings but also the crossing of the Jordan that is omitted, as Kendall points out: One cannot help but notice … that our writer has jumped from the crossing of the Red Sea to the fall of Jericho, passing over events that took place in the preceding forty years… We might also ask, why not deal with the actual entry into Canaan itself? Was 91 not this the event that had been looked forward to for so many, many years?

The impression given is that the Red Sea is crossed and the Egyptians drowned (v. 29) and immediately afterwards (v. 30) the walls of Jericho fall. The biblical presentation of these events from Exodus through to Joshua establishes a typological relationship between the two watercrossings, correlated to the way in which Joshua is portrayed as a second Moses, imitating his predecessor in many ways, but, at least as regards the entrance into the Promised Land, also surpassing him. The years in the wilderness, which cover, lest we forget, the bulk of Exodus, the whole of Leviticus, Numbers and Deuteronomy and therefore the giving of the Law at Sinai, the founding event of Judaism in its first century selfunderstanding,92 become then as it were the central panel of a triptych, with the two water-crossings as the two sets of hinges. Hebrews seems, in this chapter, to have removed this central panel. Once again, what is omitted is as deliberate and pointed as what is included. This lacuna is clearly identified, and partially explained, by Buchanan: The author of Hebrews … continues listing names specifically until the time of Joshua, to correspond with Jesus, the new Joshua, who would usher in a kingdom and the promised rest… The faithful were listed from the promise given to Abraham t o the entrance into 93 Canaan when the fulfillment of that promise should have been received.

But in view of what we have previously concluded, and the relationship between this passage and 3.7 – 4.11, I must add a nuance to the triptychal 91

Kendall 1981: 172 Kendall’s explanation for this lacuna includes the suggestion that the author of Hebrews agreed with the negative evaluation of the Law and its relation to faithlessness expressed in Gal 3, and therefore wishes to omit Sinai. The second half of his explanation, however, is almost exactly the same as mine (Kendall 1981: 173). 93 Buchanan 1972: 187, 199 92

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interpretation of what Hebrews has implied about salvation history. For, as with the figure of Joshua, it is certainly not that the wilderness-wandering era is so unimportant that it can be safely left out. Nor when the People of Israel crossed the Red Sea was their job as good as done. Quite the reverse: I suggest that by omitting reference to the crossing of the Jordan and to Joshua, by skipping straight from the crossing of the Red Sea to the fall of Jericho, Hebrews implicitly relocates everything in the subsequent, postconquest history of the People from the Promised Land to the wilderness. The heroes of faith from the post-Joshua period of biblical history (Hebrews 11.32–8) are those who recognise that in truth they are still in the wilderness, who live as if in exile, just as Abraham lived as a sojourner in the Promised Land. It is then not so much that the author has removed the central panel of the triptych as that he has folded the third panel back behind the central one; for those who live by faith, the conquest is the invisible promise that lies concealed beneath a present of wilderness wanderings. We should scarcely be surprised to find this implication of a hidden reality – a heavenly reality (11.16) – lying behind a temporary visible one. The ability to discern a hidden and eternal reality behind something earthly and transient is central to the description of faith Hebrews 11 offers, and it is central also to the Epistle’s analysis of the significance of the tabernacle as explicated in Hebrews 9. But the typology implied in Hebrews 11, unlike that of the Day of Atonement and the heavenly sanctuary, more clearly involves the audience not just as individual passive recipients of salvation but as active participants in salvation history. The rhetorical effect of the structuring of Hebrews 11 is to place the audience in the same period of salvation history as all of those, named and unnamed, whose faith is related in vv. 32ff; except that the audience is the end of that generation, without whom the great horde of faithful Israelites could not reach their goal (μὴ χωρὶς ἡμῶν τελειωθῶσιν, 11.40) which is co-ordinate with the reception of the promise ( οὐκ ἐκομίσαντο τὴν ἐπαγγελίαν, 11.39). The audience is the last of the wilderness generation and the first to attain to the promise, bringing with them all the rest who, whether geographically they were in the Promised Land or not, remained wanderers and sojourners upon the earth. The second and related rhetorical effect is to place the whole of that wandering generation in the period before the conquest. The Jordan has been crossed, the city of Jericho fallen, but the Promised Land remains to be taken. There is perhaps a double meaning to τί ἔτι λέγω in verse 32: this is a fairly standard phrase in Hellenistic rhetoric – the commentaries give multiple parallels – meaning something like “what more shall I say?”, but it could also mean “why am I still speaking?”, and the ahistoricisation of

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the subsequent verses implies the same thing. Why indeed go on, when there is nothing more to say? Nothing new has happened from the rescue of Rahab to the present; the needle became stuck in the record of salvation history, until the audience’s generation came to complete the movement. The implication for the audience, in other words, is very much the same as the effect we found emerging from chapters 3 and 4, that they stand on the threshold of the Promised Land, “in limine”.94 The task of conquest is theirs, and in Hebrews 12 the call to perseverance is couched for the first time in military terms (12.4: ἀντικατέστητε, ἀνταγωνιζόμενοι ). The name of the audience’s military leader is Ἰησοῦς (12.2). This second Joshua takes up the task of the first, not only as the ἀρχηγός of the people in conquest but also the perfecter (τελειωτὴς) of faith; we have already been told that the faithfully-righteous of Israel’s history – i.e. those who recognised that they were called to a heavenly homeland, “something better” than what was achieved under the first Joshua – cannot be perfected “without us” (11.40) and so it seems that the task of the readers is to share in Jesus’s completion of the task and thereby communicate his success to those who have gone before.95 Perhaps the “cloud of witnesses” surrounding the readers are neither mere curious observers at the games nor edifying examples from the past but themselves have a profound interest in the outcome of this contest. At the end of the following chapter, following a consideration of the motif of the entry of Christ the High Priest into the heavenly sanctuary, I shall turn to consider the way in which the opening sentence of Hebrews 12 demonstrates the relationship between that “vertical typology” and the “horizontal typology” of Joshua’s leadership of the conquest of Canaan.

94

Cf. Isaacs 1992: 80: “on the brink of entry into the promised land” and 120: “that future age on whose boundary they already stand”, and Allen 2008: 195–196: “The letter’s three places of divine encounter all locate the audience at a point of accessible entry, not one of aimless wandering or distant goal.” 95 It is not therefore just, as Lane suggests (1991: 2.393) that the former generations were waiting for the achievements of Christ; Christ’s μέτοχοι too have a role to play.

Chapter 5

Passing Beyond the Veil A. Introduction Hitherto I have attempted to show that the Letter to the Hebrews invites its audience to draw the inference that they stand in a typological relationship to the Israel of the wilderness wanderings, as Jesus their ἀρχηγός stands in a typological relationship to Joshua, who completed the mission of Moses by his steadfast faithfulness, leading the People of God into the Promised Land. This motif is an aspect of the Hebrews 3 and 4 and Hebrews 11, which I have shown are related to each other thematically and in which the emphasis is more on exhortation than on exposition, inasmuch as the distinction is helpful. The question remains whether, and how, these chapters and their common motif can be related to the central section of Hebrews in Chapters 5 to 10, which deals with the theme of Christ the High Priest and his sacrificial death; this section principally offers exposition rather than exhortation, and might be said to be christological rather than ecclesiological. Its typological basis is the relationship between Christ’s entry into the heavenly sanctuary and the annual entrance of the Aaronic High Priest into the Holy of Holies on the Day of Atonement (Yom Kippur); this appears to be a vertical typology, likening heaven to earth, whereas the Joshua-and-Israel typology of the sections either side is essentially horizontal, likening past to present. Therefore if a conceptual link can be drawn out between the two seemingly disparate motifs, not only might we read Hebrews in a satisfyingly holistic fashion, but also by finding the way in which the two typological axes relate to one another, we might hope to propose for contemporary theology a model for the relationship between christology and ecclesiology: an authentically biblical soteriology. What the two typologies clearly have in common is the concept of entry: Joshua led the People into the Promised Land, Jesus entered into the heavenly sanctuary. Thus I begin this chapter by considering the various spatial schemes that Hebrews offers or appears to presume, and the way in which Jesus’s soteriological career is portrayed within those schemes. Here I substantially follow Ellingworth’s proposed eight-fold model1, and argue 1

Ellingworth 1986

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that the most significant passages are the three that are not straightforwardly vertical: 6.19f; 9.1–14; and 10.19f. Not only is there a different cosmological model implied in these three passages, but they form the two ends and the centre of a discernible chiasm linking the concepts of sacrifice, priesthood, temple and covenant. Most importantly, they all concern the veil of the temple. The chapter then offers exegesis of these three sections, starting with the two end-pieces of the chiasm before considering the central one, in which the cosmology appears to be both horizontal and vertical, and the veil of the temple a boundary at once geographical, historical and apocalyptic: between two parts of the sanctuary, between the ages of the old and the new covenant, and between heaven and earth. I argue that it is helpful to allow some exegetical ambiguities to remain unresolved, rather than to insist on conforming Hebrews to a particular religious-historical background. This retained ambivalence allows us to perceive that the Yom Kippur typology is complemented by the theme of the inauguration of the sanctuary as the mark of the inauguration of a covenant, with Christ presented as inaugurating by his death a heavenly sanctuary and thus an eternal covenant. I follow this with the suggestion that the motif of the καταπέτασμα invokes principally the concept not of division but of access: it is not a barrier but an entrance; or rather, because of Christ’s sacrificial death it has become an entrance. The actual veil of the earthly temple, the veil between the two tents described in Hebrews 9, emerges as a type both of the boundary between heaven and earth and of the boundary between the old and the new covenants. In this context I also propose that the idea of a type as a manifestation of the invisible is important.

B. The Sacred Geography of Hebrews We have already seen how important Heilsgeschichte is for Hebrews, but equally important, especially because that salvation-history is the story of a journey, is what we might call the Epistle’s Heilsgeographie, its portrayal, sometimes implied and sometimes more explicit, of the spatial shape of the cosmos. This sacred geography is two dimensional, combining vertical elements of a heaven-earth polarity with horizontal aspects of sacred space, centering the religious world on the Holy of Holies within the sanctuary, and implying a strong distinction between the Promised Land and the wilderness outside it. Paul Ellingworth offers a helpful summary of the various cosmological patterns implied within Hebrews, from which three important conclusions emerge: first, that Hebrews is not consistent, does not attempt to offer a

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perfectly coherent and straightforward picture of the universe. For example, and pace Hofius2, there is ambiguity between “heaven” and “the heavens” (e.g. 9.24 compared with 4.14; 7.26) which cannot convincingly be removed, and does not need to be. Secondly, it is therefore not possible to insist that Hebrews belongs, with regard to its cosmology, to a particular religious-historical background to which all of its statements and implications should be conformed. It is helpful instead to note the apparently happy co-existence of these different pictures, and especially the combination of horizontal and vertical dimensions. This is a more fruitful approach than insisting on choosing between portraying Hebrews as fundamentally platonist, with an above/below, heavenly/earthly, eternal/temporal dualism at its heart, and seeing it as representing “soundly” Jewish apocalyptic eschatology, with any such vertical dualisms thoroughly subservient to a present-age/age-to-come dichotomy. Similarly it is a mistake to insist on choosing between emphasising continuity and emphasising discontintuity in Hebrews’ typological approach to the OT, or between realised and future eschatology. 3 Finally, we may note that these varying models tend to emerge in discussion of Christ’s life as a journey, and the isomorphism between his journey of incarnation, death and exaltation and the pilgrimage of the Christian in solidarity with him. It is very striking that where the notion of movement is absent from the implied sacred geography, so is the emphasis on the solidarity between Jesus and his brethren. Ellingworth’s study is based on passages in Hebrews which give or imply a certain geographical-cosmological picture not only of the universe but of Jesus’s place within it, and in particular where movement is implied. Since our purpose is to seek analogies between the entrance of Christ into the heavenly sanctuary and the promised entry of the audience into God’s rest, this would appear to be a sensible place to start. We begin with the five schemes that are entirely vertical, which may be outlined thus: A. Hebrews 1 and 2: The overall relationship between Jesus and the cosmos in these chapters is summed up by 2.9. Jesus, who of his nature belongs with God (1.2–3), was for a little while made lower than the 2

Hofius 1972: 55–72 Here I agree with two sound judgements of Susanne Lehne (1990), for whom ‘new covenant’ is the dominant theme. First, her analysis of the background to this theme concludes that it necessarily implies both continuity and discontinuity, leaving only the question of where the emphasis lies. Secondly, she links this to the two -dimensional nature of Hebrews’ typological approach: “The author employs both a vertical, platonizing scheme and a horizontal temporal scheme. His very genius lies in the way in which these two ways of thinking intersect in his comparative framework” (p. 97). To this we need only add that a vertical scheme is not intrinsically un-Jewish. 3

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angels, but has now taken his rightful place as king of heaven. 4 There is a similarity here to the motif of the christological hymn in Philippians 2, and in both the culmination of the downward journey is death, but this death is also the means of return to the divine realm. B. Hebrews 4.14: Jesus, at once the Son of God and the great High Priest, is said to have “passed through” the heavens. Ellingworth suggests that this notion has certain affinities with the heavenly ascents we find in apocalyptic literature such as 2 Enoch, the Ascension of Isaiah and 3 Baruch, though in his commentary he is careful to note that Hebrews does not, unlike these, give any kind of detailed account of this journey. Nevertheless he argues that the implied cosmology is the same, with the (plural) heavens as a place of transition between earth and God(’s dwelling place). Johnson and Attridge are surely right 5 that the emphasis here is not on the journey but on the destination, in contrast to the use of a similar motif in some “Gnostic” literature, for the import is to provide the audience with a sure foundation for holding fast to its confession, namely the presence with God of the one with whom they are in solidarity (4.15; cf. 3.14; 2.11–18). The implication of these verses at the end of Hebrews 4 is that the successful completion of this journey by Jesus, Son of God, a high priest superior to Moses (3.1–6), makes certain the hope that they also may complete their journey into God’s rest. Nonetheless, it is impossible to say that Jesus has completed the journey without saying that he once made it, and it is in the making of the journey, the present state of the audience (4.3), that it finds its solidarity with the one who has made it before them and for them. C. Hebrews 7.26: this is very similar to the previous pattern; the only difference is that our high priest, rather than “having passed through” (διεληλυθότα) the heavens is now “higher than” (ὑψηλότερος) them; there is no explicit concept of motion here, and the emphasis has shifted from solidarity to Christ as the means or mode of access to God (v. 25) through his intercession. Indeed, in v. 26 there is an emphasis on the one respect in which Christ is not in solidarity with us, being separated (κεχωρισμένος) from sinners (cf. 4.15). 6 There may be some significance in the fact that, when the emphasis is on the journey, there is emphasis 4

I would argue here for the reading χωρὶς θεοῦ, suggesting that it speaks of the movement of the Son away from the Father into death. 5 Attridge 1989: 139; Johnson 2006: 139–140; contra Käsemann 1939 passim. 6 With Ellingworth 1993: 394, and against Attridge (1989: 213) who reads the refer ence to sinners in the light of 12.3 and thinks that ‘sinners’ here, and therefore at 7.26, are “those who actively oppose [Christ]”. In the light of 12.4, however, as well as 4.15, it seems that Hebrews does see sin as the one force which certainly distinguishes, and perhaps also divides, the audience from Christ.

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also on the solidarity between Jesus and the audience, while when that notion of solidarity is absent, or the unique status of Jesus vis-à-vis the audience is expressed, then the journey theme is also missing. D. Hebrews 8.1f: Here once again there is no concept of motion, but rather than being above, or having passed through, the heavens, Christ is “in the heavens”.7 We have left behind, in fact for the last time, any suggestion of “the heavens” as a location between earth and God. Neither Hebrews nor the commentators make anything of this change of cosmology, and perhaps we must once more allow the ambiguity to remain unresolved. It is, after all, not the principal purpose of Hebrews to reveal the nature of the heavens, but rather to speak of Jesus’s place within it, and the echo of 1.3 makes it clear that here “the heavens” are the very dwelling place of God; but now, in 8.2, that divine realm is, as well as a throne room, also a sanctuary. The kingly is not abandoned, for we retain that language, and are reminded once again that the priesthood of Christ, like that of Melchizedek, is a kingly priesthood (7.1). 8 This notion may be said to capture the paradox at the centre of Hebrews, that Jesus the Son, who belongs by nature in the heavenly dwelling of God, has entered there on our behalf as high priest; but his priesthood, though in one sense inaugurated at his death (6.20) is in another sense eternal (7.3). We may say that here at the beginning of chapter 8, with its echoes of chapter 1, and with no concept of entry or passage, the emphasis is on the eternal nature of Christ’s priesthood – that, being an eternal priest, it is fitting that his ministry should be exercised in the eternal sanctuary; and where there is no concept of movement, and once again nothing of the solidarity between Jesus and his brethren, there is no sense of a barrier being passed through, such as we had in A and B above. E. Hebrews 9.24: Ellingworth separates this from the first part of chapter 9, which is certainly more complex. Here, at least, the cosmology and Christ’s place in it is perfectly straightforward: there is an earthly sanctuary and a “true” one, the two are in a typological relationship, and 7

There are two minor variants: 365 pc οὐράνιοις and 33 vgmss Eusebius ὑψηλοῖς. The latter is more significant since it reminds us of the echo of 1.3, to which it is almost certainly a secondary assimilation. In that verse it is the Son who is seated on high, and the Son is mentioned again at the end of chapter 7 where, as Ellingworth suggests (1993: 399) we might expect reference instead to the High Priest, which instead we have at 8.1 where we are reminded of the place of the Son. Thus the two title of Jesus, Son and High Priest, are tied together by his heavenly location/status. 8 The correlation of temple and throne room in imagery of heaven is quite usual in apocalyptic literature – cf. Rev 1.6, 5.10 in the NT, and of course Ps 110, in which Melchizedek is a model for a royal priesthood.

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it is the latter, which is heaven itself, that Christ entered. In terms of where Christ is, there is no difference between this picture and D above, but now we do have the concept of movement, and we do have the concept of solidarity (ὑπὲρ ἡμῶν, and the subsequent verses). We also have a very clear parallel drawn as we move into the next two verses: the difference between heaven qua true sanctuary and the earthly sanctuary is analogous to the difference between the eschatological sacrifice of Christ and the entry of the High Priest year by year into the sanctuary with the blood of a sacrificed animal. The complexities of this analogy are worked out in more detail in the first part of chapter 9 to which we shall shortly come, since it makes sense to work from the less complex to the more. For the moment, then, we conclude simply that the earthly sanctuary is a model of the heavenly, and that this notion depends on some kind of vertical cosmological dualism. 9 Three of Ellingworth’s schemes remain, and these are based respectively on 6.19f, 9.1–14 and 10.19f. The first and the last of these are, he suggests, horizontal rather than vertical in their orientation: in the former, Jesus is said to have entered εἰς τὸ ἐσώτερον τοῦ καταπετάσματος. Setting aside for the moment the proper translation of this, 10 we may allow that this is notionally a horizontal movement into or within either the sanctuary as a whole or the Holy of Holies. 10.19f describes the audience’s possible entry into the sanctuary (or again, perhaps the Holy of Holies), a horizontal movement. We must acknowledge immediately that these similar or identical horizontal movements are obviously figurative: the Epistle is not in fact suggesting that the audience will be making an entrance within the earthly sanctuary in Jerusalem, even should it still be extant; but the point is that the figurative image is a horizontal one whereas elsewhere the language is vertical. In the case of the middle passage, 9.1–14, there is a conflation of the two axes in a passage of considerable complexity; the two tents are juxtaposed horizontally (vv. 2f) and Christ’s motion is through the first and into the second (v.11), and yet this motion is clearly a vertical one (v.12). The relationship between these three passages providing exceptions to the straightforwardly vertical cosmological movements of Jesus is demonstrated by a discernible thematic chiasm: 11

9

See above pp. 38f on what is and is not implied by ἀντίτυπα. See below p. 143. 11 Taken from Davidson 2001: 178, itself adapted from WH Shea “Literary and Archi tectural Structures in the Sanctuary Section of Hebrews” (unpublished, non visi). 10

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A. Veil: 6.19–20 B. Priesthood: 7.1–25 C. Sacrifice: 7.26–8 D. Sanctuary: 8.1–5 E. Covenant: 8.6–13 F. Sanctuary: 9.1–10 F'. Sanctuary: 9.11–14 E'. Covenant: 9.15–22 D'. Sanctuary: 9.23–8 C'. Sacrifice: 10.1–10 B'. Priesthood: 10.11–18 A'. Veil: 10.19f

While aspects of this structure might be criticised, inasmuch as the divisions are not so clear cut in the text as is suggested, 12 it is certain that the themes of sanctuary, priesthood and sacrifice are thoroughly interwoven not only with one another but also with that of covenant – the sacrificial inauguration of the Mosaic covenant, with its sanctuary and priesthood; the sacrifical maintenance of that covenant by the same priesthood at (notionally, at least) the same sanctuary; and the replacement/renewal of that covenant, the inauguration of the new covenant promised through Jeremiah, also by sacrifice, but by one whose priesthood is prior and superior to that of Aaron, and in a sanctuary not made by human hands. Moreover, while sections D and D' both deal with the nature of this earthly sanctuary as a copy of the heavenly one, the central sections F and F' combine this motif with the analogy between Christ’s once-for-all entry into heaven and the once-a-year entry into the “second tent” of the Aaronic High Priest on the Day of Atonement. It is in this context that we have reference to τὸ δεύτερον καταπέτασμα (9.3) which lies between σκηνὴ … ἡ πρώτη … ἥτις λέγεται Ἅγια (9.2) and σκηνὴ ἡ λεγομένη Ἅγια Ἁγίων (9.3). In 9.7 this latter is clearly referred to as the second tent, and in an obvious reference to the Day of Atonement ritual, specifically the entry of the High Priest with blood for the forgiveness of sins. The reference to the curtain that has just been made inevitably draws the audiences attention to the fact that, in order to make this once-yearly entry, the Aaronic High Priest must pass through the curtain. So the two outer passages regarding the veil of the temple (6.19f; 10.19f) become coloured by Yom Kippur imagery, even if they do not of themselves imply such a motif; on the other hand the central description of the entrance of Christ the High Priest into the heavenly sanctuary is to be read within the context of those outer passages. In both of these, Jesus’s 13 12

In particular, I propose below (pp. 155f.) that E' continues until 9.24. Note that the central passage speaks of ‘Christ’ and the outer ones speak of ‘Jesus’; this is not to suggest a different reference, but there is probably some subtle difference in 13

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passing beyond the veil is a precursor of our own and a source of hope. Moreover, as I shall now move on to suggest, these two may have connotations not only of Yom Kippur but also of the sacrifical inauguration of the covenant, echoing the other themes that intervene in the chiasm. The motif, therefore, of passing through or beyond the veil is central to the sacred geography of Hebrews, and the interpersing of this sacred geography with the motif of the inauguration through Christ’s sacrifical death of the new covenant prophesied by Jeremiah (8.8–12 citing Jeremiah 31.31–4) suggests that the veil represents the boundary between the old covenant and the new. In order to explore the meaning of the veil, and of passing through it, we proceed with a detailed analysis of each of these three passages.

C. Hope that Enters within the Veil: Hebrews 6.19f In chapters 5 and 6, Hebrews suggests that in order to continue in their journey towards the rest which is promised, unlike the Israelites of the wilderness generation, the audience must make a journey of intellectual growth, of which the goal is a full understanding of the priestly nature of Christ. In making this journey, they are imitators of the inheritors of the promise to Abraham, and like him they can endure the trials of the journey only through hope – a hope that is in one sense the necessary condition for making the journey, but whose full realisation is the goal of that journey. 6.18 sums up the point: the oath and the promise, the reliable word of God that holds out the possibility of entering his rest 14 to those who are the spiritual heirs of Abraham, are the basis of the encouragement the audience need to grasp that hope. It is in this context that Hebrews first introduces the veil, and the notion that Jesus has passed beyond it in a high-priestly capacity. 15

connotation, for it is with his personal name and not his Messianic title that the Epistle alludes to the way in which the Son’s soteriological life-journey is a pattern for the audience’s own. 14 6.17 shows clearly that the ‘oath’ refers to that of Ps 95, understood in the positive sense in which it is interpreted in 4.5–10. 15 Rice 1981 (and cf. Rice 1987) notes that these two verses introduce in reverse order the themes to be treated throughout the central high-priestly section: our hope that lies beyond the veil (6.19 = 10.19–39); Jesus as forerunner who has passed beyond the veil (6.20a = 7.18 – 10.18); and Jesus the priest after the order of Melchizedek (6.20b = 7.1 – 17). This would seem to complement rather than contradict the chiasm I have adopted from Davidson.

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This section shows no significant text-critical difficulties,16 but there are grammatical and semantic problems: What do the adjectives ἀσφαλῆ, βεβαίαν, and εἰσερχομένην describe, hope or the anchor?; is hope objective (that which is hoped for) or subjective?; is the veil that before the Holy of Holies or that before the Holy Place?; and is ἐσώτερον a substantive or an improper preposition? I shall deal with the first two questions separately, though suggesting similar answers (part i), and then the second two together (part ii). i. Preserving Ambivalence On the one hand, ἀσφαλῆ τε καὶ βεβαίαν most naturally describe the anchor. Indeed, they do so as a pair fairly commonly in the literature of the period,17 and the former, unlike the latter, is a word that otherwise does not occur in Hebrews, which might imply that it has suggested itself precisely because of its common association with anchors. On the other hand, the image of an anchor entering anything, let alone a temple or a tent, seems highly improbable. Ellingworth is tempted to follow Westcott 18 and Michel19 in therefore attributing all the adjectives to the relative pronoun, which yields a perfectly comprehensible sense: “the hope laid before us that we have as an anchor of the soul, a sure and steadfast hope that enters into…”; this is more or less the sense offered by the Authorised Version. The NRSV is unusual among English translations in separating the adjectives, so that ἀσφαλῆ τε καὶ βεβαίαν go as pair with their natural partner, ἄγκυραν, while εἰσερχομένην refers back to the relative pronoun. This strategy was proposed by Moffatt 20 and Riggenbach 21 but seems an unhappy compromise that stretches the syntax excessively. Attridge insists on allowing “Hebrews’ customary bold handling of its imagery” to resist either of these “forced and artificial construals”22, and without explicitly identifying the “anchor” with Christ, insists on the objectivity and firmness of the image: because Jesus has entered the heavenly realm on our behalf, therefore the basis of our hope is a concrete historical reality. Johnson goes further: “The image, then, is that the anchor (we must picture a rope attached) is entering within the inner place of the temple (the holy of holies), as if it were a grappling hook to which the souls of believers were con16

A few witnesses have ἔχωμεν for ἔχομεν in v. 19, and D adds Χριστός after Ἰησοῦς in v. 20, but both are clearly secondary (see especially Attridge 1989: 178) 17 See Attridge 1989: 183 n.72 for a long list of examples. 18 Westcott 1889: 165 19 Michel 1966: 253 n.6 20 Moffatt 1924: 89 21 Riggenbach 1922: 175–176 22 Attridge 1989: 184 n.75

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nected.”23 This would be a bold image indeed, not least because to take it so concretely begs the question who or what are the anchor and the rope. Weiss seeks to avoid the problem by separating the kind of entering that the anchor does in v.19 from the kind of entering that Jesus is said to have done in the following verse: Das vom “Anker” ausgesagte eiserchesthai steht hier im (statischen) Sinn des “Hineinreichens” i.U. zum (dynamischen) “Hineingehen” des in v.20 von Jesus ausgesagten eiselthen. Das hier benutzte Bild sollte freilich nicht in dem Sinne überzogen werden, daß es nunmehr dieser “Anker” ist, der die Christen “nach sich zieht”.24

But this cleaving of the two uses of the same verb, albeit in different tenses, surely destroys the analogy between the once-for-all salvific achievement of Christ and the hope of the Christian which the Epistle is so obviously intending to establish. Moreover, I am not convinced that the present participle εἰσερχομένην can have a static sense. The former must surely be Jesus, given the following verse, but the rope is, we may say, left dangling. Moreover Johnson has to ignore the distinction between the present participle εἰσερχομένην in v. 19 and the aorist indicative that describes Jesus. In his picture, the participle would more reasonably describe the rope, and this would be a comprehensible image of the access to the heavenly realm provided by Christ’s entry therein, if only we knew what the “rope” was. As it is, it is very difficult to see this as an image about access. Rather, it is about the certainty of the goal of the Christian journey and the sure-footedness (cf. 12.12f) that is possible for those who keep their minds’ eyes fixed on this goal. The answer to our first question is surely that we must allow the ambiguity to remain unresolved. Ellingworth expresses it thus: “The most likely explanation, though not the clearest for a modern western reader, is that the author’s thought gradually glides from the anchor to the hope of which it is the image”,25 or we might prefer to say that the audience is permitted, indeed really obliged, to maintain the ambivalence. This ambiguity is allowed by most other English translations, 26 and, in not obscuring the distinction of tenses of εἰσέρχομαι, echoes the broader ambiguity created by the eschatological tension of the whole Epistle: Jesus has entered, our hope enters, we are entering and will enter 27; this is absolutely certain because of what Jesus has already done, and yet we may fail to grasp it at the end. 23

Johnson 2006: 173 Weiss 1991: 367 n.38 25 Ellingworth 1993: 345 26 E.g. NAB, NIV; also the Bible de Jérusalem and the Einheitsübersetzung. 27 A survey of occurrences in different tenses of προσέρχομαι and εἰσέρχομαι in Hebrews shows, pace Scholer 1991, that both verbs in the present tense deal with the audience’s present situation as on the way to, but not having yet attained, the final goal 24

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Allowing ambiguity to remain unresolved also offers the best approach to the second question, whether hope is objective or subjective. In verse 18, κρατῆσαι τῆς προκειμένης ἐλπίδος could be construed either as in epexegetical apposition to παράκλησιν ἔχωμεν28 or as the purpose of καταφυγόντες29; if the latter is meant, then the image is of those seeking some sort of sanctuary, and hope is certainly objective, but if the former, then in this verse at least it is ambiguous. Equally unclear is whether κρατῆσαι means to remain holding onto or to take hold of, although the use of the aorist rather than present infinitive perhaps tends towards the latter. If this is so, then προκειμένης might therefore have the sense of lying before us as a final goal, rather than that which is set before us as a path. This ambiguity is neatly captured by the fact that this same participle occurs twice more, at 12.1 and 12.2, and while the parallel is clearly intended between “the race that is set before us” and “the joy that was set before him”, the parallel is stronger verbally than semantically, inasmuch as in the first verse the participle describes the journey and in the second the goal thereof. Might we not therefore conclude that in 6.18 there is once again a proper ambiguity, or openness?: we are fleeing in order to grasp hold of the object of our hope, as the People of Israel fled Egpyt to seek the land promised to Abraham, and at the same time it is necessary, in order to make this journey successfully, to hold on to the source of endurance which is the hopefulness founded on knowing that Jesus’s achievement of the goal makes our own possible. Turning to verse 19 we could say that in the first, objective sense, it is indeed hope that goes beyond the veil, where we must follow it, but in the subjective sense it is hope that draws us on. Put another way, the objective side of hope emphasises realised eschatology, inasmuch as the objective reality to which it appeals is paralleled in the next verse with that which Jesus has already achieved, while the subof their journey, whether it be the Promised Land or the presence of God; neither verb applies to the audience in the aorist, but εἰσέρχομαι does appear in the aorist applied to Christ. This captures the sense that Christ’s once-for-all achievements in the past establish the possibilities that the audience is now taking up and being urged to take up: Christ is the forerunner and the pioneer, and what is a completed achievement for him is a source of hope for the audience. Scholer suggests that προσέρχομαι is always about the readers’ present situation and εἰσέρχομαι about the completed event of Christ’s death and its effects, and that Hebrews’ purpose is to oppose an over-realised eschatology; but he overlooks 4.16; 7.25; 10.1 and 10.22. His exclusive attention on προσέρχομαι and εἰσέρχομαι means also that he misses the importance of the concept of passing through (διά), which helps not only to establish the analogy between Christ’s achievement and Christian hope, but also to imply the nature of the causal link between the two. 28 Moffatt 1924: 88; Spicq 1953: 163; implicitly Ellingworth 1993: 344 29 As Attridge 1989: 183; Westcott 1889: 162; Michel 1966: 253; Johnson 2006: 175 – 176; also AV, NAB

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jective naturally emphasises the future. Ellingworth’s idea of a “glide” from one idea to the other is appealing here on the broader level, for we are moving from the exhortation in chapters 3 and 4 to stand firm, trusting in God’s promises and hoping to reach the final goal of God’s rest, to the exposition of Christ’s entry into the heavenly sanctuary where the emphasis is on what has already been achieved; we see a microcosm of that shift in these three verses, moving in one sentence from the picture of the audience “fleeing” like the Hebrews in Egypt to that of their forerunner already having entered beyond the veil. Yet the glide from the “not-yet” to the “already” is not an absolute shift, for two reasons: first, and most obvious, because the fact of Christ’s accomplishment is the source of the audience’s encouragement; but equally importantly because that achievement and the promise which is held out to the audience are fundamentally the same: Jesus is not only redeemer but forerunner, he has opened the way through the veil by passing through it himself. ii. Which Veil? The second pair of questions I raised above concern the identity of the veil through which Jesus is said to have entered. Are we to understand that he has entered the Holy of Holies of the heavenly sanctuary, or simply within the Holy Place? Hebrews 6.19 gives us our first mention of the καταπέτασμα , the others being at 9.3 and 10.20. Certainly at 9.3, the meaning is the veil between the Holy Place and the Holy of Holies, and most commentators assume that the word must have the same meaning here and at 10.20.30 The only significant doubts about this have been raised in a debate in the journal Andrews University Seminary Studies.31 Here, Rice points out that if in 9.3 Hebrews must specify that the Holy of Holies lies beyond τὸ δεύτερον καταπέτασμα , then this might be a sign that the noun alone need not mean the same veil. He argues further that the first 30 E.g. Ellingworth 1993: 347 without discussion; cf. Attridge 1989: 184: “It is clear that Hebrews is concerned with the passage through the inner veil, because of its significance in the Yom Kippur ritual.” Cf. also Michel 1966: 254 “Wenn Hebr vom ‘Vorhang’ redet…, dann meint er im Anschluß am einen erweiterten Sprachgebrauch den Vorhang vor dem Allerheiligsten”, and more recently Weiss 1991: 367 n.40 and Grässer 1990–97: 1.384: “Der Vorhang in v.19 ist demnach – wie auch in 10.20 – das δεύτερον καταπέταυμα [sic] von Hebr 9.3, also der ‘Vorhang’ vor dem Allerheiligsten des Zeltheiligtums (Ex 26.31ff), und zwar i.U. zum Vorhang vor dem ‘Heiligen’ (Ex 26.37; 36.37).” 31 Rice 1987; Gane 2000; Young 2001; Davidson 2001; Young 2002 and finally Davidson 2002. We should bear in mind when studying this debate that the journal in question is of the Seventh-Day Adventist denomination, which has its very distinctive beliefs regarding the literal existence of the heavenly sanctuary and Jesus’s entry therein.

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occurrence in chapter 6 should be read in its own context, rather than necessarily in the light of later chapters, or at least, without presuming that the context of chapter 9 is also that of 6 as far as the OT background is concerned. Moreover, the veil-terminology in the LXX of the Pentateuch is very confused: καταπέτασμα might refer to any of three veils: the inner veil (e.g. Exodus 26.31,33; 30.6; Lev 16 passim, Num 4.5); the outer veil (e.g. Exodus 26.37; 37.5; Lev 21.23; Num 3.10; 18.7) and the courtyard veil (Exodus 37.26; 39.19; Num 3.26; 4.32). Gane and Young reply to this that in 6.19 the veil does not appear in isolation but indeed in a context which should be taken seriously, namely the phrase εἰς τὸ ἐσώτερον τοῦ καταπετάσματος , which is surely an allusion to Leviticus 16.2, which deals with the Day of Atonement. This, they argue, is sufficient to determine the reference of the curtain, and even if the allusion to this specific verse were not unmistakeable, it is certainly the case that every time the phrase ἐσώτερον τοῦ καταπετάσματος appears in the LXX it unambiguously refers to the inner curtain. 32 Rice responds that what is more significant is that in Lev 16 ἐσώτερον is not functioning as the comparative adjective but an improper preposition, and that it does the same in Heb 6.19. Thus we have not “the innermost [supply ‘shrine’] behind the curtain” but simply “into that which is within the curtain”, which might refer to either the Holy of Holies or the entirety of the Holy Place. This seems to me, as far as it goes, to be a strong argument: the NRSV translation, supplying (presumably) ἅγιον is an overtranslation, and unnecessarily removes an ambiguity which, as in other matters in these verses, may be significant. Nevertheless, this would all be moot if it were obvious, as most think, that the reference is obviously to the Day of Atonement, or that the later references to it are to be inferred here also. Rice’s point is that “the contexts of Lev 16 and Heb 9 do not exist in Heb 6”33, and that the context that does exist is not that of Yom Kippur but that of the fulfillment of the Abrahamic covenant, and he concludes “katapetasma is introduced simply to locate where Jesus is ministering – the place where the hope of the covenant people is centred and from whence the covenant blessings are dispensed,”34 which in Rice’s view is the heavenly sanctuary. Young responds that this misses the parallel between the two oaths to which Hebrews refers: one in Psalm 95 which, as it were, sets the seal on the 32

Also Lev 16.12 and 15, which are also about Yom Kippur, and Ex 26.33, which commands Moses to take the ark into the Holy of Holies. Each time, Gane points out, the LXX here translates mibbēth lappāroketh, and pāroketh does seem to be a technical term for the inner veil in the MT. 33 Rice 1987: 70 34 Rice 1987: 71

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promise to Abraham and directs it towards a heavenly rather than an earthly rest, and the other in Ps 110.4: “You are a priest forever according to the order of Melchizedek.” Young is right to suggest that by referring to this at the end of chapter 6, Hebrews draws together these two oaths and the fulfilments thereof, so that the entry into the (true/heavenly) Promised Land becomes analagous to the installation of Jesus as Melchizedek-like priest. We may add to Young’s argument the fact that Hebrews’ citation of Ps 110 differs significantly from the LXX, which reads ὤμοσεν κύριος καὶ οὐ μεταμεληθήσεται σὺ εἶ ἱερεὺς εἰς τὸν αἰῶνα κατὰ τὴν τάξιν Μελχισεδεκ . Not only does Hebrews shift εἰς τὸν αἰῶνα to the end, perhaps for emphasis, but more importantly it changes ἱερεύς to ἀρχιερεύς.35 This conflates the installation of the Melchizedek with the specific connotations of the High Priest, and when set beside the language of entry within the veil this cannot fail to imply an allusion to the Day of Atonement: “The phrase ‘the innermost place from the veil’ cannot be dissociated from the contextual terms ‘high priest’ and ‘entered’; and these terms are not the language of the Abrahamic covenant.”36 I suggest that both are right: there is Day of Atonement imagery in Hebrews 6.19f, but we should note that the priestly reference is introduced in the context of Jesus’s fulfillment of Ps. 110.4, which has no intrinsic relationship to the Day of Atonement. This is linked through the notion of God’s oath to the fulfillment of the promise to/covenant with Abraham, which again has no intrinsic Day of Atonement aspect. Furthermore, in addition to the echo of Leviticus 16 there is also an echo of the same ex pression from Exodus 26.33, which commands Moses to make the initial division of the Holy Place from the Holy of Holies, designated as the part of the tent within which is the ark of the covenant and the mercy seat. This division is accomplished in Exodus 40.1–9 (cf. Lev 8.10–12; Num 7.1). This suggests that, while admitting the Day of Atonement allusion, we may need to look beyond it for the OT type of Jesus’s entry as forerunner into the Holy of Holies. Davidson points out 37 that the contrast between Melchizedek and Aaron points to Jesus’s superiority to Aaron, a superiority related to Melchizedek’s chronological priority in Hebrews 7. Now, as Melchizedek was prior and superior to Abraham, so, Davidson argues, was Moses prior and superior to Aaron; there may also be a parallel between the blessing of Abraham by Melchizedek and the consecra35

We cannot be sure, of course, that the author of Hebrews had our version of the LXX in front of him, still less that his audience would have noted such alterations; but there is no textual evidence for the reading ἀρχιερεύς, and it is not unreasonable to infer some significance from the alteration. 36 Young 2001: 171 37 Davidson 2001: 176ff

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tion of Aaron by Moses. At this consecration Moses, but not Aaron, enters the Holy of Holies to sprinkle it with blood, along with the rest of the contents of the tent; so the yearly entrance with blood by Aaron and his successors may be seen as a re-enactment of this entrance by Moses. Moreover, in the earlier reference to Jesus as High Priest at 3.1–6, Jesus is compared not to Aaron but to Moses, who is faithful in God’s house as a servant, whereas Jesus is faithful in God’s house as a son. 38 As the implied superiority of Joshua over Moses in respect of faithfulness in Hebrews 3 and 4 parallels, and is itself exceeded by, the superiority of Jesus over Moses39, so we might infer a similar parallel here: Moses is superior to Aaron as inaugurator versus re-enactor of the covenant. But this superiority is surpassed by Jesus’s superiority over Moses, because he is the inaugurator of a greater, heavenly covenant, and has entered into a greater, heavenly sanctuary. This is, at most, only hinted at in 6.19f, but the same hints emerge more strongly in chapter 10, to which I now turn.

D. A New and Living Way: Hebrews 10.19f In these verses Jesus is said to have inaugurated (ἐνεκαίνισεν) the new and living way through the curtain. This verb is used in the LXX for the dedication or rededication of the temple (1 Kgs 8.63; 2 Chron 7.5; 1 Macc 4.36), though not exclusively; more important for Davidson is the fact that cognate nouns appear in the Pentateuch only in Numbers 7, concerning the original dedication of the altar. 40 Here, Davidson echoes the conclusions of Dahl,41 for whom the concept of Jesus as forerunner in chapter 6, opening the way by virtue of having gone through it himself, is here being supplemented by the concept of a cultic inauguration: In connection with the cultic terminology here, and in light of the use of the same word in 9.18, the verb enkainizein must be understood as a cultic term: to consecrate and inaugurate and thus render valid and ratify. From the preceding verse, we should under stand verse 20 to mean that it was by his blood, and not simply by his ascent, that Christ opened (or, rather, consecrated) the entrance to the [heavenly?] sanctuary. 42 38

Davidson further suggests that the reference in 6.20 to Jesus having become a high priest points once again to the consecration of Aaron, which takes place at the inauguration of the sanctuary, but this is not so convincing. 39 See above pp. 74-77. 40 A third cognate noun, ἐγκαίνια , is the name given for the Feast of the Dedication in John 10.22; cf. Philo De Congressu 114. 41 Dahl 1951 42 Dahl 1951: 403–404; cf. more recently Weiss 1991: 522: “Das hier gebrauchte Verbum enkainizein steht in dem von kultischen Vorstellungen bestimmten Kontext zunächst (γενόμενος )

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Dahl suggests that Hebrews interprets the death of Jesus as the inauguration of a new covenant whose priests, sprinkled “clean” by the blood of Jesus, have access to the heavenly sanctuary. But if Rice is correct that the καταπέτασμα in 6.19f should be read first in its own context rather than be conformed entirely to the Day of Atonement context of chapter 9, then does not the converse apply? Does the clear allusion here to the Day of Atonement ritual laid down in Lev 16 drive out of the audience’s mind the possibility of an allusion also to the inauguration of the sanctuary and of the Aaronic priesthood? I suggest rather that, as before, we must allow the ambivalence to remain, especially if the Day of Atonement may be seen as a recapitulation or re-enactment of the inauguration of the sanctuary and priesthood of the old covenant. I shall return to this point in my consideration of Hebrews 9. In the meantime we should note that an additional theme is attached to the καταπέτασμα motif in 10.19f, one only hinted at with the use of the word πρόδρομος at 6.20, but now made explicit: Jesus’s passing through the veil makes the same entry possible for us. The same language is used of sanctuary inauguration as discussed above, and vv.21 and 23 clearly pick up the language of the beginning of chapter 3 in which the first use of the wandering-people imagery was briefly preceded by an anticipatory taste of the High Priest imagery in the comparison between Moses and Jesus. The intermingling of themes and the echoes of the beginning of chapter 3 in this part of chapter 10 are important, though, especially for what is added in the latter chapter, and it is worth highlighting these diagrammatically:

selbstverständlich seinerseits auch im kultischen Sinne der ‘Einweihung’… die Installierung der alten Kult- und Opferordnung als einer andauernden Institution, das gilt nun auch… für den ‘durch das Blut Jesu’ ‘eingeweihten’ Weg.”

D. A New and Living Way: Hebrews 10.19f

Hebrews 3:1–6 1

Ὅθεν, ἀδελφοὶ ἅγιοι, κλήσεως ἐπουρανίου μέτοχοι, κατανοήσατε τὸν ἀπόστολον καὶ ἀρχιερέα τῆς ὁμολογίας ἡμῶν Ἰησοῦν, 2 πιστὸν ὄντα τῷ ποιήσαντι αὐτὸν ὡς καὶ Μωϋσῆς ἐν [ὅλῳ] τῷ οἴκῳ αὐτοῦ. 3 πλείονος γὰρ οὗτος δόξης παρὰ Μωϋσῆν ἠξίωται, καθ᾿ ὅσον πλείονα τιμὴν ἔχει τοῦ οἴκου ὁ κατασκευάσας αὐτόν· 4 πᾶς γὰρ οἶκος κατασκευάζεται ὑπό τινος, ὁ δὲ πάντα κατασκευάσας θεός. 5 καὶ Μωϋσῆς μὲν πιστὸς ἐν ὅλῳ τῷ οἴκῳ αὐτοῦ ὡς θεράπων εἰς μαρτύριον τῶν λαληθησομένων, 6 Χριστὸς δὲ ὡς υἱὸς ἐπὶ τὸν οἶκον αὐτοῦ· οὗ οἶκός ἐσμεν ἡμεῖς, ἐάν[περ] τὴν παρρησίαν καὶ τὸ καύχημα τῆς ἐλπίδος κατάσχωμεν.

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Hebrews 10:19–23 19

Ἔχοντες οὖν, ἀδελφοί, παρρησίαν εἰς τὴν εἴσοδον τῶν ἁγίων ἐν τῷ αἵματι Ἰησοῦ, 20 ἣν ἐνεκαίνισεν ἡμῖν ὁδὸν πρόσφατον καὶ ζῶσαν διὰ τοῦ καταπετάσματος , τοῦτ᾿ ἔστιν τῆς σαρκὸς αὐτοῦ, 21 καὶ ἱερέα μέγαν ἐπὶ τὸν οἶκον τοῦ θεοῦ, 22 προσερχώμεθα μετὰ ἀληθινῆς καρδίας ἐν πληροφορίᾳ πίστεως ῥεραντισμένοι τὰς καρδίας ἀπὸ συνειδήσεως πονηρᾶς καὶ λελουσμένοι τὸ σῶμα ὕδατι καθαρῷ· 23 κατέχωμεν τὴν ὁμολογίαν τῆς ἐλπίδος ἀκλινῆ, πιστὸς γὰρ ὁ ἐπαγγειλάμενος,

We see that 10.19–23 adds to the strong parallels with 3.1–6 the reference to the “way… through the curtain” established in some way by the blood and flesh of Jesus, and the necessity of sprinkled hearts and washed bodies. I have already suggested that the designation of this way as “new” (πρόσφατον) evokes the theme of covenant inauguration. What is more profoundly puzzling is what follows, διὰ τοῦ καταπετάσματος, τοῦτ᾿ ἔστιν τῆς σαρκὸς αὐτοῦ,43 and to what extent this is synonymous with ἐν τῷ αἵματι Ἰησοῦ in the previous verse. This latter expression of itself is not especially puzzling – the ἐν must surely be instrumental, and the blood refers back to the metonymic usage for Christ’s death in the previous chapter. 9.7, 12, 25 together imply that as the blood of the sacrifices on Yom Kippur provided the High Priest with, as it were, an entrance visa to the Holy of Holies, so the “blood” which is Christ’s willing and obedient death provided him 43

C Holsten wrote in 1875 (Exegetische Untersuchung über Hebräer 10.20, [non visi] cited in Young 1973: 100) that this “ist seit alters Gegenstand unendlicher Erörterungen gewesen”, which is all the truer today.

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with access to the heavenly sanctuary.44 As (literal) blood is needed to pass through the veil in the earthly temple, so (metonymic) blood is needed to pass through the veil between heaven and earth (10.5–9); as the blood of calves and goats was needed to dedicate the first tent in the wilderness and thus ratify the first covenant, so the “blood” offered by Christ’s willing death was the offering necessary for the dedication of the second, heavenly and eternal tent and the inauguration of the second and eternal covenant (10.9–18, cf. 9.23–6). What is new in 10.19 is the notion that Christ’s blood not only allows him access to the heavenly sanctuary but allows it also to us. Christ is no longer envisaged only as being present on our behalf in heaven, but as having gained right of access for us also. It seems probable that essentially the same claim is then being made in v. 20, but in this verse the vividness of the imagery, and the ambiguity of the syntax, are such as to give rise to considerable difficulties. 45 The practice elsewhere in Hebrews is to use τοῦτʼ ἔστιν to explicate something in the same grammatical case as that which follows the phrase, as in 2.14; 7.5; 9.11; 11.16 and 13.15; when we note in addition that the phrase immediately follows καταπετάσματος, we would need a very strong reason not to take the verse to mean that Jesus’s flesh in, in some sense, the curtain. Montefiore offers three reasons: 46 first, that the function of the veil is to hide what lies beyond it, not to reveal it; second, that elsewhere in Hebrews Jesus in his flesh is a revealer rather than a concealer of God’s glory, so that it does not make sense to think of what we would wish to approach as lying in some way beyond Jesus’s flesh; and third, that since Jesus is pictured as having entered into the heavenly sanctuary in his flesh, he surely cannot have entered through it. Montefiore anticipates and rightly rejects the solution later proposed by Hofius that there is an implicit διά in front of τῆς σαρκὸς αὐτοῦ, but with a different meaning: “through the curtain, that is, by means of his body”. 47 In the first place, that would make the formally explicative τοῦτ᾿ ἔστιν 44

Cf Dunnill 1992 passim Cf Young 1973 46 Montefiore 1964: 173 47 Hofius 1972: 79–82 and Hofius 1970b: 136: “Faßt man die Worte τοῦτʼ ἔστιν τῆς σαρκὸς αὐτοῦ nicht von vornherein als Apposition zu διὰ τοῦ καταπετάσματος auf, so ist durch nichts gefordet, für διά in beiden Fällen die gleiche Bedeutung anzunehmen”; cf Young 1973: 102; more recently, and with the same explicit purpose as Hofius of avoid ing Käsemann’s “Gnostic” interpretation, appeal to brachyology is made by Weiss (1991: 525f) and Grässer (1990–97: 3.18f). But there is no second διά (except in Codex Bezae, and some other less important witnesses, surely a secondary reading), and it seems to be taking one liberty too many not only to supply a word but then to supply it with a dif ferent interpretation from that given to the one that is actually there. 45

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meaningless, offering no explanation at all; secondly, while Hebrews does sometimes shift the meaning of a preposition within the same context (e.g. ὑπὲρ at 5.1, διά at 9.11f), the preposition is always repeated, never implied.48 This is no solution, but simply an attempt to avoid the problem, even when expressed with the subtlety with which Ellingworth adopts it: “It is probably better to suppose a change from one well-attested meaning of διά to another, rather than to give a meaning to σάρξ which is either unlikely in itself, or foreign to Hebrews, or both.”49 For our purposes what is important is that Christ’s death is indeed the primary reference – his death and not only his incarnation, but on the other hand certainly the incarnation inasmuch as it is the prerequisite of that death. Here I agree with Ellingworth in rejecting of a third interpretation of σάρξ, that it represents simply Christ’s human nature. 50 As he argues, “in Hebrews, σάρξ is not used of the incarnation in isolation from Christ’s self48 This is conceded by Grässer (1990–97: 3.18): “Aber auch hier bleibt die grammatische Schwierigkeit, daß bei zwei gleichen einander folgenden Präpositionen, die aber in verschiedener Bedeutung verwandt werden, sonst immer die zweite wiederholt wird. ” He nevertheless insists that any “local” interpretation of “through his flesh” is excluded on the grounds that it would be a “gnostic” reading out of keeping with the rest of the Epis tle. Ellingworth (1993: 521) rejects the argument that a “glide” from one meaning of the preposition to another would require that the preposition be repeated, on the grounds that the counter-examples offered by Montefiore and others are not comparable; but he is not able to give a single positive comparable example in support of his own position. 49 Ellingworth 1993: 521. These “unlikely … or foreign” meanings are, first, Käsemann’s (1939: 146ff) view that σάρξ represents the fleshly materiality of man adopted by Jesus in order to destroy it in death and therefore liberate mankind from that physicality which renders impossible his access to God – like the veil; second, the idea that there may be some reference to the eucharist, common of course throughout the patristic and mediaeval eras and more recently proposed by Betz 1961, Glombitza 1967 and Swetnam 1989. It is indeed difficult to show explicit reference to the eucharist in Hebrews, and moreover the Epistle can be read as showing a thoroughgoing hostility towards all ritual; having said that, if there is any allusion, or even echo, at all of the eucharist in Hebrews, it must surely be here where “flesh” and “blood” are so closely linked to participation b y the believer in the death of Christ and its effects – and to a possible allusion to baptism. Moreover, the objection offered by Attridge (1989: 287) that “Hebrews refers not to any sacramental reenactment of the events of the passion, but to the act itse lf by which the new and living way was opened” supplemented by Ellingworth’s suggestion (1993: 250) that “the use of aorists suggests an event which is not repeated” is weak: clearly the primary reference is to the once-for-all death of Jesus; the question is whether there is some additional connotation of eucharist. 50 As Hofius 1970b, earlier Westcott 1889: 319–320. Against whom, rightly, Jeremias (1971: 131), who notes a parallelism in thought between verses 19 and 20 which strongly implies that τοῦτʼ ἔστιν τῆς σαρκὸς αὐτοῦ captures essentially the same idea as ἐν τῷ

αἵματι Ἰησοῦ.

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offering”,51 as shown at 2.14 and 5.7; it is true that elsewhere in Hebrews the word has a somewhat negative connotation of the merely fleshly over against the spiritual (9.10, 13; 12.9), a distinction not dissimilar to the regular Pauline usage, but as Attridge suggests “it is likely that Hebrews plays upon two different sets of traditional associations of the term”,52 and the important point is that where we are talking about Christ’s flesh, as here, we are talking about the incarnation as the beginning of the Son’s journey into the realm of human suffering and death. There are then necessarily two sides to this notion: it is negative inasmuch as suffering and death are obviously undesirable, and positive inasmuch as Christ’s sharing in them is the prerequisite to their being overcome. However, we should not move too quickly to dismiss the local sense of the implied διά in v. 20, as Ellingworth does. What this move amounts to is a rapid shift from the metaphor of Christ’s journey to heaven through his death to the literal meaning that the theological interpretation of that metaphor offers – that Christ’s death is the means by which we gain access to God.53 Of course this is what Hebrews proposes, the question is whether this is all that is meant in v. 20, which would probably have to be the case if it were stated that Christ passed “through his flesh”, as most interpreters seem to read it. For example, again, Ellingworth: “Attempts to understand this also as local are unconvincing: how can Jesus be said to pass “through” his own flesh?”54 But Jesus is not said to pass through his own flesh – we are. Bearing in mind that the veil has already been described as a παραβολή (9.9), this presents us with fewer difficulties; clearly we cannot press the image too far – people cannot literally pass through the flesh of another any more than they can pass through their own – but on the other hand Hebrews is not making a literal claim about the veil either. There is not literally a curtain between earth and heaven, nor between the present and the already-existing-future. The only literal curtain is that between the two tents, and we have already learned that this is a παραβολή for the boundary between earth and heaven and between old and new. We now

51

Ellingworth 1993: 520 Attridge 1898: 286 n.39 53 Cf. Attridge 1989: 287 n.44; Young (1973:104) argues that although “strictly speaking” διά must be understood uniformly, and therefore locally, “the close relationship between σάρξ and αἷμα presses on us to understand the appositional phrase instrumentally; for αἷμα is in Hebrews a means of access” (my emphasis). This suggestion appears first to have been mooted by Gardiner 1888: 142: “The real thought of the writer is precisly that which it is impossible to allow to the exact grammatical force of his expression.” 54 Ellingworth 1993: 520 52

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learn that Christ, having in his death crossed that boundary, now himself becomes the boundary. This would appear to present a significant difficulty, since it might imply that Christ is an obstruction to heavenly access, surely the very opposite of what we are invited to understand. We recall Montefiore’s first objection above, that the veil hides the second tent from sight, and provides a barrier to it, albeit only a ritual one. On the other hand, the emphasis in Hebrews is not on the veil as barrier but as boundary and as the locus of entry; it is the first tent, not the veil, that blocks one’s view of the second (9.8). But we would still have to admit that the image of the veil does appear to include an element of obstruction as well as of access. Thus FF Bruce: The veil which, from one point of view, kept God and man apart, can be thought of, from another point of view, as bringing them together; for it was one and the s ame veil which on one side was in contact with the glory of God and on the other side with the need of men… And by his death, it could be added, the “veil” of his flesh was rent asunder and the new way consecrated through it by which man may come to God. 55

Here Bruce appears to be assuming an awareness of the synoptic tradition of the tearing of the veil at the death of Christ (Mark 15.28; Matt 27.51; Luke 23.45 – all three use καταπέτασμα ). Whether this can simply be assumed is debatable, and “assuming that the veil must be torn for entrance to be possible is unwarranted.”56 On the other hand, there is a strong implication that Christ’s death has made access possible, has in some sense become the means of access; when this is taken in conjunction with the reference to the veil, and the new possibility of passing through it, and when we consider that associating Christ’s death with the veil of the temple is by no means obvious, then it seems reasonable at least to suspect some sort of relationship between Hebrews and the synoptic tradition, either of dependence in one direction or another or of mutual dependence on some earlier source. It is not, then, unreasonable to infer from 10.20 that Christ, by his death, metaphorically opened or even tore open the veil, and in doing so shifted the role of the veil from barrier to locus of entry. When we combine this shift with the recognition that both in this passage and in 6.19f the motif of passing through the veil combines with an allusion to the Day of Atonement an allusion also to the intial inauguration of the sanctuary and its priesthood as part of the inauguration of the Mosaic covenant, we see that the veil of the temple has been set up as a type of the point of access to the new and eternal covenant promised b y Jeremiah and inaugurated by Christ’s death. We shall turn shortly to see 55 56

Bruce 1964: 247 Attridge 1989: 286

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whether such a typology helps us to make sense of the last of Ellingworth’s exceptions to the vertical cosmology of Hebrews 9.1–14.

E. The Cleansing of the Heavenly Sanctuary First, however, we should consider the problem of 9.23, and the notion of the cleansing of the heavenly things with “better sacrifices”. It does appear that Hebrews envisages here some heavenly equivalent to the Day of Atonement, but I would suggest that once again this is complemented by an inauguration motif. Indeed, in this and the following three verses Hebrews does not press the Yom Kippur imagery: Christ’s appearance [is a] singular act of entry into the realm of eternity. What he does before God is not specified any more precisely. The following verses indicate that he does not conduct an ongoing heavenly liturgy since his sacrifice was a unique event. Nor does our author continue with the imagery of the Yom Kipper ritual and suggest that Christ, in the heavenly realm, sprinkles his blood, even in some metaphorical sense, as an act independent of his death on the cross. At this point the analogy between Yom Kippur and Calvary begins to break down… 57

Moreover, as Johnson notes, one might have expected “a better sacrifice” rather than “better sacrifices”, “since the argument emphasises the singularity and once-for-all-ness of Christ’s offering.”58 However, it is difficult to agree that this is “the only surprise in this statement”59. Certainly the argument in this verse takes the form of logical necessity, from the lesser to the greater,60 but Hebrews surely did not have to allow itself to be painted into the corner of saying that heaven needed to be cleansed. 61 It cannot be denied either that the idea that the heavenly sanctuary – heaven 57 Attridge 1989: 263, emphasis added. Attridge notes Westcott’s remark (1889: 275) that “appear” ( ἐμφανισθῆναι ) is an aorist rather than a present infinitive; although, as Ellingworth suggests (1993: 480), there is some indication of an ongoing ministry of Christ in heaven, principally of intercession (7.25), it is clear in these verses (and cf. 10.12 and 14) that the notion of sacrifice belongs to the once-for-all, over-and-done death of Christ which enables his entry (actually a re-entry) into heaven; the motif of sacrifice as such does not belong to any ideas about an ongoing ministry, although of co urse it has ongoing effects, which include both the ability of Christ to continue to minister as intercessor in heaven, and the possibility of access for Christians. 58 Johnson 2006: 243 59 Johnson 2006: 243 60 This need not be, as Johnson insists (2006 passim), because Hebrews is thoroughly Platonist, and it is Platonism that has forced Hebrews into this position, the argument is more akin to the qal wahomer argument of the Rabbis; or, indeed, this may be a false distinction, for the latter too may have been influenced by the former. 61 This is implicitly the position of Weiss (1991: 484).

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itself – was defiled until Christ’s entry therein is anything other than shocking to modern ears. Whether it was so to ancient ears, including those of the author, has been the question with which some have begun to deal with the problem: possibly there is reference to the fall of the devil from heaven portrayed in Isaiah 14.12–21 (cf. especially Rev 12.7–9; also Lk 10.18 and perhaps John 12.31), but if so then it is a very subtle one, unless that legend had developed in ways of which we are now unaware. There is a much clearer reference to Jesus’s death as a victory over the powers of evil at 2.14, so why be so opaque here? 62 We cannot be satisfied with Michel’s somewhat sardonic remark that “vermutlich weiss der Verfasser mehr von den ‘himmlischen Dingen’ als er äussert.”63 Even if the Epistle does not need to express it because the author thinks (rightly or wrongly) that it will be obvious what he is talking about, it is not obvious to us that in the context “cleansing”, as it applies to the earthly sanctuary, is about casting out evil power from the sanctuary: forgiving the sins of the people, certainly (so 9.22, 26, 28), but there is no suggestion that the sprinklings referred to in vv. 19–22 are any sort of an exorcism, neither in Hebrews nor anywhere else. Attridge goes to the other extreme, demythologising this verse completely: “the mythical image of the heavenly sanctuary is by this point obviously being used in a metaphorical or symbolic way… the referent of the metaphor is some aspect of the lived experience of the author and his community”,64 namely their consciences (appealing to 9.14). 65 Attridge is insistent that the motif of the heavenly sanctuary in Hebrews is a fluid one, 62

See Grässer 1990–97: 2.189f for a rather angst-ridden consideration of the various possibilities, all of which he rejects as alien to the Epistle, concluding “Man lege uns eren Verf. also nicht auf die mißglückte Analogie fest. Ihm geht es um die Heilsnotwendigkeit des Selbstopfers Christi, die er im Sühnekult des ersten Bundes bestätigt sieht. Das ist alles. Nicht die Einzelheiten des katharizesthai, das auf Erden wie im Himmel geschieht, finden sein Interesse, sondern der Effekt dieses katharismos, d.i. die Wegeröffnung ins himmlische Sanctissimum durch Aufhebung der sperrenden Sünde” [first emphasis added, second original]. 63 Michel 1966: 324 64 Attridge 1989: 262 65 Scholer (1991: 171) thinks the same thing, but with a stronger eschatological emphasis: “The blood of Christ serves to purify the suneidesis of the worshipper … It is precisely this ‘inner spiritual condition’ of the worshipper that has a direct access to heaven, i.e. this is the ‘heavenly thing’.” Even if one does not think that there is a direct comparison with Yom Kippur in 9.23, there is certainly a direct comparison between the heavenly realities and the earthly cult, its accoutrements as well as the people of the old covenant. So the direct reference of τὰ ἐπουράνια must be the heavenly counterparts to the earthly cult, rather than the souls of those destined for heaven, unless we think Hebrews is controlled by a ‘gnostic’ myth in which the people of the new covenant are of heavenly nature.

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but surely not to the extent that it can suddenly collapse in this way – not when it is appealed to so much more strongly in the following verses and the subsequent chapter. Yes, the ultimate meaning and purpose of the sacrificial cult on earth is “a matter of the heart and mind”66 – as expressed indeed in the citation from Psalm 40 in 10.7–9; we might even allow that, inasmuch as Hebrews is reflecting the kind of Platonism we also find in Philo, then “heaven itself” is sometimes a way of talking about human interiority. But, as Ellingworth says, “at the less than ‘ultimate’ level, however, the significance of the transcendent language remains unexplained.”67 Whenever language is figurative, it can only work if there is some literal meaning also. Put another way, the complex typologies of heaven and earth, priesthood, sacrifice and sanctuary may not demand to be “solved” perfectly, may indeed require a certain suspension of resolution if they are to work, but Attridge’s insistence on a completely reductionist reading just at the point where they become most awkward smacks of special pleading. We may quickly dismiss other theories for which there is no real support: Dunnill defends the theory that evil – not personal evil perhaps, but rather sin understood as an impersonal force – may have been understood to have entered even the heavenly sanctuary; indeed “the idea that God himself has to be defended against the encroaching power of evil – and by the ritual manipulation of blood – was … the unthinkable but inescapable message of the rite for the Day of Atonement.”68 Spicq suggests that this was seen by Hebrews as a future danger, for the time when sinners would enter the heavenly sanctuary, so that Christ’s offering of his blood is a sort of “immunisation”69, and Lane defends the idea that the heavenly sanctuary has been contaminated already by the fall. There is no obvious link, however, between these ideas and the use of this image in Hebrews, and they all seem a little far-fetched. Dunnill’s reading of Leviticus is intriguing, but probably not one that would have been familiar to the audience of Hebrews. Luther, and more recently Bruce and Montefiore, argue that “the heavenlies” are the People of God, but this means that τὰ ἐπουράνια means something different from what it means at 8.5, which is intrinsically unlikely, and it is difficult to see how the People of God can be neuter. We would have to fall back, as Montefiore does, on the suggestion that “our author … has not expressed himself with his usual felicity”, 70 which once again smacks of special pleading. Finally, it might be proposed that we not 66

Attridge 1989: 262 Ellingworth 1993: 477 68 Dunnill 1992: 232 69 Spicq 1953: 266–267; cf. Riggenbach 1922: 281–282 70 Montefiore 1964: 160 67

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supply καθαρίζεσθαι in the second half of the verse; we would have to read something along the lines of “So it was (or is) necessary for the sketches of the things in heaven to be purified by these sacrifices; but the heavenly things themselves have better sacrifices than these”, perhaps because they do not need purifying – so the emphasis is firmly on the discontinuity; but it is not obvious how the audience could possibly have inferred this degree of discontinuity just from the word “better”. The most we can say is that Hebrews stops short of explicitly applying καθαρίζεσθαι to heaven, in order to avoid any negative inference, while making creating a typological relationship with the positive aspect of the word. I suggest that it is precisely with this positive aspect of cleansing, or purification, that the typology here functions. Read against the background of the immediately preceding verses, the emphasis is certainly not on the driving out of evil, whether personal or impersonal, but on a process more akin to consecration than exorcism. The change of state of the earthly sanctuary, with its vessels, along with the scroll and the people themselves, was not from defilement back to normal, but from the realm of the secular to that of the sacred. Of course there is a sense in which this transformation of status involves a cleansing – the removal of an intrinsic unworthiness of association with the sacred – but this is not the same thing as the exorcistic removal of evil. What is in question is (a) whether the sacrifices in the heavenly sanctuary are being paralleled principally with the annual ritual purification of the Holy of Holies on the Day of Atonement or with the initial consecration by Moses performed at the inauguration of the covenant and (b) if the latter, how this does relate to the clear reference to the comparison between Christ and the High Priest of the old covenant in verse 25. Ultimately, the first question is a matter of whether vv. 23–4 belong more closely to one another and to the preceding verses, or to the verses following. That vv. 23 and 24 belong together conceptually is perfectly clear: the same contrast is present between earthly and heavenly sanctuary, the image and the reality. We have already seen that, at least in addition to the echo of Lev 16, there was in the first reference to the curtain also an echo of Moses’ entry into the tent to consecrate everything therein, and given the immediately preceding discussion of that same initial inaugurative consecration, the reference to Christ entering the heavenly sanctuary in v. 24 must also echo that first entry. Furthermore, the appearance of Christ before the face of God may perhaps also echo the face-to-face encounters between Moses and God at the tent of meeting (Exodus 33.11; cf. Deut. 34.10 and Num. 12.7f, which combines this motif with that of Moses being

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faithful over God’s house, cited at Heb 3.2). 71 I would suggest further that the contrast introduced with οὐδʼ in v. 25 between the once-for-all sacrifice of Christ and the annual entry of the High Priest is a distinct and new one – not new within Hebrews as a whole, of course, but within this particular section. It returns us to the contrast developed in the first fourteen verses of the chapter, but then set aside until this verse; so vv. 15–24 form a distinct section dealing principally with the contrast between the two covenants rather than the contrast between the death of Christ and the Day of Atonement. I therefore concur with Ellingworth, Hughes and Spicq that the contrast in v.23, to which I would add the following verse, is between the inauguration of the old covenant by means of the sprinkling of sacrifical blood, which involved Moses’ entry into the earthly sanctuary, and the inauguration of the new covenant by means of Christ’s sacrifice of himself. Attridge opposes this conflation of cleansing and inauguration on two grounds: first, and for him most important, because of “the important structural parallel between this pericope and 9.11–14, where there is a cleansing (v.12) of ‘conscience’.”72 However, as I have suggested, the parallel with these verses does not come until v. 25, and vv.23f are rather in parallel with v. 21. Attridge’s other objection is more problematic: that in v. 22 the cleansing that (almost always) requires blood is co-ordinated with the forgiveness of sins, which absolutely always requires αἱματεκχυσία .73 At v. 26 we read that Christ’s sacrifice had the purpose of removing sin, and when taken with v. 14 and 10.2, there is a strong case for seeing the purpose of blood as being the cleansing of the conscience from sin. Ultimately this is so, but once again Attridge has gone too quickly to the ultimate, without pausing to take seriously the middle terms. If Hebrews simply proposed that blood is necessary for atonement – for reconciliation between God and humanity – then there would be no need for the language of covenant and promise at all. We could move in chapter 9, for example, straight from v. 14 to v. 25; but instead we have the intervening language of the new covenant, redemption, and the promise of an eternal inheritance. This is not merely a way of talking about forgiveness of sins but is clearly the means of that ultimate inner reality to which Attridge refers. So the first half of v. 22 is not simply a less satisfactory way of saying the second half, but more nearly an explanation of it: not so 71

In the first two references it is ‘the Lord’ rather than ‘God’ whom Moses mee ts face-to-face, and in the first and the last the word πρόσωπον does not appear, so admittedly if there is an allusion it is to the concept rather than the specific words of the LXX. 72 Attridge 1989: 261; actually the cleansing of conscience is in v.14. 73 On this word, its meaning and background, see Thornton 1964; Behm 1964:176– 177.

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much “everything is cleansed with blood, by which I really mean that without blood there is no forgiveness”, but “everything is cleansed with blood, and that is why without it there is no forgiveness.” As the inferior old covenant, inaugurated with blood, was required in order to make possible the temporary, merely external forgiveness of sins (cf. 10.1–4), so the new covenant which the old foreshadowed, also inaugurated with blood, makes possible the permanent, perfect and internal forgiveness (10.14–18).

F. The Two Tents I have suggested that the two passages concerning the veil at 6.19f and 10.19f strongly invoke the boundary between old and new covenants, as well as the boundary between heaven and earth. They allude not only to the annual rite of Yom Kippur in which the Aaronic High Priest enters the Holy of Holies, but also the original inauguration of the earthly sanctuary by Moses – and thus the inauguration of the Mosaic covenant. Therefore the superiority of Moses over Aaron, and thereby the superiority of the new covenant in Jesus over the old Mosaic covenant, is also associated with the veil motif. The veil is established as a type of the point of access to the New Covenant promised by Jeremiah. This reading, deliberately preserving rather than collapsing some of the ambiguities the text of the Epistle raises, has also helped us to deal more satisfactorily with the particular puzzle of 9.23, and in the light of all of this we are now in a position to consider Hebrews 9.1–14. We should begin by noting that the whole discussion of the earthly sanctuary is enclosed within a contrast between the old and the new covenant, with the old one παλαιούμενον καὶ γηράσκον ἐγγὺς ἀφανισμοῦ (8.13). The earthly sanctuary, though an accurate τύπος of heaven, is but a copy and shadow of the heavenly things (8.5), and there is an implicit parallel in 8.5f between the shadowiness of this earthly sanctuary and the shadowiness of the old covenant, contrasted with the true ministry of Christ in the heavenly sanctuary “now”. Already, then, we have a two-dimensional contrast implicit, with the temporal being co-ordinated, or compared, to that between heaven and earth. At first this appears to be confirmed by the parallels between “first covenant” in 8.13; 9.1 and “first tent” in 9.2; but immediately this expectation is subverted when, by the end of the next verse we discover that “first tent” is now in contradistinction to the tent that lies behind the “second curtain”. A vertical distinction between earthly and heavenly sanctuaries in the previous chapter (the heavenly is called “the true tent” at 8.2) has been abandoned, it appears, for a horizontal one

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between Holy Place and Holy of Holies. 74 As Hebrews goes on to describe sketchily the furnishings of these two tents, the audience may be forgiven for losing sight of the earlier contrasts that were made, but they will soon be reminded of them. First we must deal with a significant textual/semantic difficulty at 9.2, 27 where NA reads ἥτις λέγεται Ἅγια. There are numerous textual variants, of which this is the best attested numerically – ) D2 I P and the Byzantine 46 uncials, all of course unaccented. 75 P A D* d e vgms read Ἅγια Ἁγίων, however; this is clearly a more problematic reading, especially in the light of the subsequent verse, and it therefore deserves some consideration as lectio difficilior76. The most probable explanation for this difficult reading would be to take the antecedent of ἥτις to be ἡ πρόθεσις τῶν ἄρτων rather than σκηνή, and seeing an allusion to Lev 24.9 77. However, this would be to ignore the structure of vv. 2–5, which clearly creates a distinction between the two tents, a distinction which is reflected in their different names. This is, moreover, what we find throughout the LXX, and in later descriptions both of the tabernacle and of the first and second temples in Jerusalem. The real difficulty here is not how Hebrews should read, but why it should be inconsistent: as Montefiore puts it, “our author consistently uses the neuter plural with the article to mean the sanctuary, that is the inner and not (as here) the outer Tent.”78 This leads Montefiore and Vanhoye 79 to insist on reading ἁγία, “a tent… which is called ‘holy’”, but again this overlooks the contrast with what follows.

74

Josephus uses the contrast between ‘first’ and ‘second’ to distinguish both between the outer and inner courts of Solomon’s temple (War 5.5.2.193,5) and to contrast the wilderness tabernacle with Solomon’s tent (Contra Apionem 2.12), but of course does not co-ordinate the distinction. This means that using the language of first and second tents to describe the sanctuary does not intrinsically require one to think of two distinct struc tures; whether 9.8 requires us to is another matter. 75 The same reading in the minuscules usually appears accented as in NA 27, though some read ἁγία (feminine singular). Vaticanus reads ΤΑ ΑΓΙΑ, probably to clarify that it is neuter plural. 76 Attridge (1989: 236–238) supports the reading on this basis, and in a long excursus attempts to make sense of this alongside the reconstructed reading of P 46 in the next verse (for ΑΓΙΑ reading ΑΝΑ), on the basis of a possible reading of the distinction between Levites (as ordinary priests) and sons of Aaron (as high priests) in the Book of Numbers. This theoretically possible reading, however, is both far fetched and otherwise unattested, as well as requiring a reconstructive reading of a single papyrus. Admittedly, this recon struction is not invented by Attridge – it was attested by Origen. 77 So Swetnam 1970 78 Montefiore 1964: 144 79 Montefiore 1964: 144; Vanhoye 1976: 144

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Hofius similarly claims a consistency in Hebrews’ usage of the language of καταπέτασμα and ἅγια, making this consistency the central part of his argument that the “veil” in Hebrews is always conceived as that which lies between the heavenly Holy Place and the heavenly Holy of Holies. 80 He points in particular to 8.5, citing Ex 25.40, and he is able to show that Jewish commentators, albeit mostly Rabbinic rather than demonstrably contemporary with or prior to Hebrews, concluded from this that heaven contained (rather than was) a sanctuary divided by a veil between Holy Place and Holy of Holies. We may acknowledge that such an understanding was available to the audience of Hebrews, and even that the reading of the Epistle may, with a little work, be conformed entirely to this view; my question is whether this is either the most obvious reading or the most fruitful. In regard to the first, in fact, Hofius is a little disingenuous: he is forced to acknowledge that using τὰ ἅγια for the Holy of Holies over against the rest of the sanctuary is “odd”81 but refers to Lev 16.3, in which the description of the rite of Yom Kippur has Aaron entering εἰς τὸ ἅγιον, and he suggests that “dieser Ausdrucksweise folgt der Hebräerbrief, nur daß er den Singular durch den Plural τὰ ἅγια ersetzt.”82 It seems to me that this is something of a big “nur” when the argument places such emphasis on consistency; if Hebrews means explicitly the Holy of Holies by τὰ ἅγια it is following a terminology found nowhere else.83 Similarly, Hofius’s desire to escape from any possibly “gnostic” overtones of the veil terminology lead him to reject any vertical dimension to its significance, in favour of a strictly salvation-historical significance. 84 Yet the comparison between Ellingworth’s fifth passage (9.24) and the first four suggests that talk of the heavenly sanctuary can simply be a way of talking about heaven; this is also strongly implied, as Ellingworth notes, 85 by the easy transition from the neuter plural τῶν ἀληθινῶν to the singular αὐτὸν τὸν οὐρανόν. That is, Hebrews does not invite us to imagine that the earthly sanctuary is based on something that is in heaven, as if one could be somewhere else in heaven that is not “the heavenly sanctuary”, but rather that the earthly sanctuary is a model of heaven seen as a sanctuary. Better 80

Hofius 1972: 55. Hofius rightly acknowledges that, from the history-of-religions point of view, there are numerous possible understandings of the heavenly sanctuary, but is insistent (1972: 49; cf. Käsemann 1939: 135) that one particular concept must be invoked by Hebrews throughout. 81 Hofius 1972: 57: Dieser merkwürdige Sprachgebrauch; generally speaking the LXX has τὸ ἅγιον τῶν ἁγίων translating ~yvdQh vdq. 82 Hofius 1972: 57 (my emphasis) 83 Hofius’s explanation (1972: 59) for the καί at 8.2, which most naturally reads as an explicative, is also somewhat forced. 84 Hofius 1972: 63 85 Ellingworth 1993: 480

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still, that heaven is the real sanctuary, and the earthly sanctuary is a shadow or copy of it, only a sanctuary inasmuch as it is a model of heaven. This is surely why in this and the following verses Hebrews does not press the image of the Day of Atonement ritual. It is not so clear, then, that Hebrews is consistent in its terminology in the way that Montefiore and Hofius claim. There are six verses in which Hebrews refers to τὰ ἅγια: 8.2; 9.8,12,25; 10.19 and 13.11. The first refers to the heavenly sanctuary, and makes no overt claim as to the existence of a heavenly Holy of Holies; 9.8 is a crucial verse to which we must return, but for the moment I would again suggest that it refers to the heavenly sanctuary, not the earthly Holy of Holies; the same is true of 9.12 and (surely) 10.19. In 9.25 and 13.11 we are certainly dealing with the earthly sanctuary, but not with a contrast between the two tents: rather, the contrast is between the earthly sanctuary as a whole and the sacrifice of Jesus which took place elsewhere. When elsewhere Hebrews is dealing with the contrast between the inner and outer tents, which is only in 9.2–10, we do not read about τὰ ἅγια, but only about the first and second tents. It may be that vv. 2–3 do not intend so much to tell us what the names of these two tents are as to clarify what he means by the two tents. That is to say, we 27 can legitimately take the easiest reading of verse 2, as preferred by NA , without worrying about an apparent lack of consistency, because Hebrews is not telling us that “the first tent” is what the Epistle has elsewhere called τὰ ἅγια and “the second tent” what it elsewhere calls τὰ ἅγια τῶν ἁγίων.86 The purpose, rather, is the reverse: “the first tent” is what is called “The Holy Place” and “the second tent” what is called “The Holy of Holies” – called not by Hebrews, but elsewhere, and notably in the OT. Hebrews is precisely not conforming its own terminology to that found elsewhere, but clarifying its different terminology, for as we have seen, and, pace Montefiore, Attridge and others, Hebrews does not use τὰ ἅγια for what is elsewhere called the Holy of Holies, over against the Holy Place, but for the sanctuary as a whole, either heavenly or earthly, juxtaposed with something else. This is true, I suggest, also of 9.8: the “sanctuary” referred to here is not the Holy Place but the heavenly sanctuary, to which access is not available when obstructed by the first tent, and that spiritual reality is illustrated by the straightforward geographical reality that the second tent, lying behind the first, cannot be seen because the first tent blocks the view. This takes seriously the meaning of πεφανερῶσθαι: as Ellingworth points out, 87 it is simply not true that access to the earthly Holy of Holies was impossible 86 Indeed, this latter expression does not occur elsewhere in Hebrews, except anarthrously in the following verse. 87 Ellingworth 1993: 438

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while the outer part of the sanctuary still existed, and the possibility, albeit limited, of such access is precisely what Hebrews has been telling us about in the previous two verses. It will not quite do to say that this is “the exception that proves the rule”,88 and that the emphasis is simply on “the rule” at this point; the emphasis is neither on the rule nor on the exception with regard to access to the earthly Holy of Holies but on the fact that the first tent is a visual obstacle. The Holy Spirit, speaking through the words of scripture, both prescribes and describes a situation in which the way in, though it exists, is not only of extremely limited availability but is, more importantly, hidden from the view of the People of God. We note that at the end of this chapter (v. 26), the perfect passive of φανερόω appears again, this time positively: Christ has appeared to take away sin “at the end of the age”, and this contrasts with the lack of appearance in τὸν καιρὸν τὸν ἐνεστηκότα in which sin is not taken away (the conscience is not perfected, v.9). There is a strong correlation between that which is made visible and real effects, a correlation that occurs when Hebrews is dealing with the question of what has already been achieved by Christ and what yet remains for the future. 89 So the invisible reality of access to the heavenly sanctuary is revealed by the visible reality of the second tent; or rather, to be more precise, the lack of access to the invisible reality of the heavenly sanctuary during the “present time” is manifested in the lack of visibility of the second tent as long as the first is still standing, because the People of God cannot access that which they cannot see. Christ’s success in attaining to the heavenly sanctuary is a visible one (2.9; 9.26), and it is evident that his achievement in showing the way is as crucial as his success in, as it were, clearing the way; his sacrificial death opens the way through the veil for those who follow him, but they have the confidence to do so (10.19) only because that way has now been made manifest. The contrast between the two tents, and in view of v. 3 therefore also part of the meaning of the veil, therefore has an eschatological import in this section of Hebrews 9. To clarify this, we must ascertain as far as possible the meaning of ἥτις παραβολὴ εἰς τὸν καιρὸν τὸν ἐνεστηκότα (9.9). The first problem is the antecedent of ἥτις, whether it is τῆς πρώτης σκηνῆς of

88

Attridge 1989: 240 Note the strong future eschatology in vv. 27f, and also the same emphasis on what is seen when the same question is dealt with at 2.8f. Hebrews is not working with a philosophy of radical disjuncture between reality and appearances. Certainly there is a distinction between them, and we have seen how in Hebrews 11 faith is described in terms of that which is not (yet) seen; but at the same time the visible realities, if looked at clearly – that is, with the eyes of faith – reveal rather than obscure the invisible realities. 89

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the previous verse90 or the whole situation just described 91. The reason for resorting to the latter, despite Hebrews’ usually precise and clear use of relative pronouns, would be that elsewhere the contrast between the two tents is correlated to that between earthly and heavenly sanctuaries, so the first tent is a symbol of the earthly sanctuary, not of the present age, and the shift between cosmological and temporal distinctions is too sudden. 92 However, the ἔτι in v. 8 means that there must be some temporal aspect to this verse, and the contrast between “first” and “second” used of the two covenants in chapter 8 influenced Hebrews’ language in juxtaposing the two tents in the first place. There is no reason why the first tent should not be a symbol of the earthly as opposed to the heavenly sanctuary in one verse, and a symbol of age of the first covenant, as opposed to that of the second, in the next. I would only want to add that this temporal distinction does not replace the cosmological but adds to it. As before, it is more helpful to allow ambivalence to remain than to collapse it by over-clarifying, and this is especially the case here, since maintaining the ambivalence allows us to keep hold of a powerful and subtle polyvalent typology. The sacred geography of the earthly sanctuary, and in particular its arrangement into two tents with a veil between them, is a παραβολή both of the vertical cosmology to which Hebrews so often appeals, a polarity between earth and heaven, and of the salvation-historical division of the ages into the ages of the two covenants. To support this proposal we must consider the meaning of τὸν καιρὸν τὸν ἐνεστηκότα.93 The problem comes specifically with the relationship of this phrase to καιροῦ διορθώσεως in v. 10. This must either be identical to “the present time” or after it; if the latter, then either the “time of reformation” has not yet come, from the point of view of the audience, or they are asked to shift position between the verses, so that in verse 9 the emphasis is on future eschatology and in verse 10 on realised eschatology. That is, from one point of view we are still in the old dispensation, of which the first tent 90

Attridge 1989: 241; Ellingworth 1993: 439; Moffatt 1924: 118; Riggenbach 1922: 252 and Young 1981: 201 91 Johnson 2006: 225; Montefiore 1964: 149; Michel 1966: 307; Bruce 1964: 195 n.60 92 Young (1981: 200), though in the end preferring the former reading, expresses his hesitation thus: “the spacial references [sc. of ‘first tent’] in vv. 2 and 6 is incontestable and a shift to a temporal idea in v. 8 would be unnecessarily harsh.” 93 Attridge (1989: 241 n.133) cites several examples of the use of this phrase to mean, as the RSV and NRSV, NIV and NJB read “the present time”, that is, the time at which the author is writing, despite attempts to retroject the time symbolised into the past (KJV), for which any arguments amount to special pleading. So the reader of Hebrews is invited to place himself in a time in which that which the first tent symbolises is still extant.

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is a symbol, and we may say that the ongoing observance of some, at least, of the precepts of the old covenant is a manifestation of the continuation of that old dispensation, yet from another point of view that has all passed away, albeit not visibly, except perhaps to the eyes of faith. This seems a very great leap of the imagination for the hearers to be expected to make in an instant, but it seems to be the only logical conclusion, and the leap of imagination required is a manifestation of the eschatological tension within the Epistle. On the one hand, it would be a mistake to underplay the extent of the future eschatology in Hebrews: here we are invited to consider the ongoing observance of the rites of the old covenant, and it is clear from chapter 10 that Hebrews is written from the perspective that these continue to be observed (10.1–3, 11; cf. 13.10) and that the time is coming when that will no longer be the case (10.25, 29f). 94 On the other hand, just as it is apparent that Hebrews does envisage a future completion, or consummation, of what Christ has achieved, one that will involve judgement upon those who have rejected him, so it is perfectly obvious that there is a great deal of realised eschatology; no-one could seriously suggest that “the present time” is simply a time of unfulfillment. I suggest that a helpful way to understand how this eschatological tension functions in Hebrews is to realise that the important point is that the old is still observed: Hebrews does not for a moment imply that it still has force, that the actual carrying out of the ritual precepts of which we read in chapter 9 is required, but it does imply that they in fact continue to occur, and moreover that they are observed in the other sense of the word: that one can watch them happen – but their continued existence could now serve to obscure the new reality of access to the heavenly sanctuary that has been made available in the present time. However, that reality is visible for those who look properly, so to speak; the audience is offered a choice between looking to the old and looking away from it – outside the camp; or, better, between looking to the old and looking through the old at that which it really signifies, hence the use of παραβολή : it is made clear that there is a deeper meaning beneath the literal sense of the OT, and in the case of 9.9 the deeper meaning of the prescriptions regarding the arrangement of the two tents is that while the outer tent/former covenant is the necessary pre-cursor to the inner tent/new covenant, the time comes when, having served its purpose, its continued existence ( ἔτι … ἐχούσης 94

Attridge (1989: 241) insists that the two times in vv. 9f are identical, because the alternative is simply to conform Hebrews to the “two ages… of apocalyptic and Rabbinic Judaism” in which therefore “the tabernacle is a symbol of the present time which is a time of unfulfillment, and … the subsequent description of the ineffective offerings portrays the current situation.” Cf. Ellingworth 1993: 441; contra Westcott 1889: 254– 255; Michel 1966: 307; Montefiore 1964: 149 and Hofius 1972: 64.

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στάσιν) serves to impede rather than facilitate participation in the new covenant. There is also a second dimension to the contrast, the cosmological or vertical dimension, and we can translate this παραβολή into that dimension also: the earthly sanctuary and its observances were a necessary precursor that pointed towards the possibility of access to the heavenly; but, now that the time has come, the continuation of those observances merely risks distracting the eye that should be looking heavenwards. This continued observance may be likened to tarrying in the first tent when the Day has come for entry into the second. The High Priest, when the time has come for his entry into the second tent, beyond the veil, lingers no longer in the first tent but makes the entry necessary for the forgiveness of sins; he must enter the first tent first, but having done so passes through. In the same way Christ the High Priest entered first into this world, but at the appointed time passed through into the heavenly world through his death, and that death, that passing through the veil, inaugurates the age to come. For Hebrews, in common with so much NT literature, the age to come has been inaugurated but its final consummation is still awaited, and this is what is meant by the “present time”. However, though the present time still lacks that final consummation, and so from a certain point of view looks the same as things looked before Christ, Hebrews goes on in the next verses to outline the difference between the present and the past: Christ has passed through the veil between the two tents, inaugurating the invisible reality that was symbolised by the visible arrangement, and in inaugurating that reality, making it visible to the eyes of faith. Thus the veil between the two tents, a visible earthly reality marking a geographical boundary, is established as a symbol – παραβολή – of two things at once. First, it typifies the boundary between heaven and earth, with heaven envisaged as the sanctuary symbolised as a whole by the earthly temple. Secondly, it typifies the boundary between the old covenant and the new, the old being transient and the new permanent, the old dealing only with the physical, visible realities, the new with the invisible and the spiritual. It is important to note, though, that the contrast between these two pairs does not mark a simple contempt for what is represented by the first tent. As the first tent is both the way into, and yet a visible barrier to, the second, so the old covenant is necessary to lead the believer into the new, and so earthly existence is the necessary precursor to the promised heavenly existence, the Rest of God. In particular, the cultic arrangements of the old covenant serve to reveal to the eyes of faith the invisible realities which God invites the faithful to enter, and the eternal plan of salvation that it typifies. It is the role of Jesus to reveal the invisible by his passing beyond the veil: we should not underestimate the importance of the fact

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that what Christ does continue to do in heaven is to appear; both 9.24 and in 9.26 Christ is said to have appeared now – νῦν ἐμφανισθῆναι, νυνὶ δὲ ἅπαξ … πεφανέρωται , and there is a conceptual echo here of 2.8b–9a: νῦν δὲ οὔπω ὁρῶμεν αὐτῷ τὰ πάντα ὑποτεταγμένα … ἠλαττωμένον βλέπομεν Ἰησοῦν. This suggests that the appearing of Jesus in the heavenly sanctuary is not just appearing before God on our behalf, but somehow also a manifestation to the world, at least to those whose faith enables them to see it, which both provides the (subjective) hope for Christians to continue their own journeys (cf. especially 12.2) and also the (objective) possibility of their reaching the goal (9.26 and 10.19f).

G. Jesus, Pioneer and Perfecter of Faith We come at last to consider how the motif of Christ’s entry into the heavenly sanctuary through the veil of the temple might relate to the ecclesiological motif of the entry of the People of God into the Promised Land. I have suggested that in Hebrews 3–4 and 11, which deal with the latter motif, the audience of the Epistle is situated rhetorically at the threshold of the true Land, the heavenly resting-place of God, in a situation analogous to that of the Israelites as they gaze over the River Jordan to the Land of Canaan. Jesus is the true and ultimate Joshua, the fulfillment of the one whose task it was to lead those Israelites in their conquest of the land. Jesus’s task is to lead the audience into the presence of God, into heaven itself. Between these two sections, Hebrews presents Christ’s entry into the heavenly sanctuary as the fulfillment of the type presented by the entry of the Aaronic High Priest into the Holy of Holies. This carries overtones not only of Yom Kippur but also of the inauguration of the original wilderness sanctuary as a metonymy for the inauguration of the Mosaic covenant. Christ by his death made it possible to pass from earth to heaven, from old covenant to new – to gain access to God; indeed, in his death he becomes the “place” of access. The question that remains is how this relates to the concept that, as the true Joshua, Christ leads the true people of Israel into the heavenly rest of the true Promised Land. What aspect of Joshua’s career is analogous to Christ the High Priest’s entry into the heavenly sanctuary? What achievement of Joshua for those he led is theologically parallel to Christ’s achievement in making himself the locus of access to the true tent that lies beyond the veil between heaven and earth? The answer that presents itself immediately is the crossing of the Jordan. This crossing can be seen as the second hinge of a salvation-historical triptych, marking the move from the place of pilgrimage to the place of rest and the fulfillment of promise and

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covenant. As well as a geographical shift, the crossing of the Jordan also represents a historical one, from the wilderness generation marked by faithlessness, doubt and disobedience to the new generation that lives in the time of fulfillment. The veil represents both a geographical and a historical distinction, and therefore passing through the veil is a παραβολή of both a cosmic translation and an eschatological fulfillment; so the crossing of the Jordan is a type both of entry into God’s (place of) rest and of the inauguration of the new and eternal covenant. The emphasis is not on the physical difficulty of crossing over, as at the Red Sea, where this difficulty was overcome by miracle; rather, the Jordan represents a symbolic or ritual boundary, and the confused narrative of the transgression of this boundary places the emphasis on the cultic nature of this crossing, even as it also establishes a typological relationship with that previous water-crossing. As I argued in the previous chapter, Hebrews 11 deliberately leaves a hole in its narrative of salvation history, inviting the audience to infer that in the deepest sense the crossing of the Jordan had not taken place, that God’s people remained trapped in their wilderness wanderings; there is also a Joshua-shaped gap in the narrative, and this points to the new and authentic Joshua foreshadowed by the son of Nun, and to that new Joshua’s fulfillment of what was foreshadowed by the seeming achievement of his predecessor. By the time, then, that the audience reaches chapter 12, it is rhetorically invited to share in that eschatological achievement of the true Joshua, making the crossing into the Rest that every preceding generation had failed to make by imitation of that man who was “faith’s pioneer and perfecter, Ἰησοῦν”, who has sat down at the right hand of God. Here at last the motifs of pilgrimage to the Promised Land and the entry of Christ into the heavenly sanctuary are brought together, and moreover in association with the other pervasive motif, that of looking (ἀφορῶντες … Ἰησοῦν, echoing βλέπομεν Ἰησοῦν at 2.9). The combination of the motifs is perfectly illustrated by the chiastic structure of Hebrews 12.1–2:95

95

Taken from Horning 1978 (this chart is found, in English, on p. 41); emphases are my own.

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Τοιγαροῦν καὶ ἡμεῖς τοσοῦτον ἔχοντες περικείμενον ἡμῖν νέφος μαρτύρων, ὄγκον ἀποθέμενοι πάντα καὶ τὴν εὐπερίστατον ἁμαρτίαν, δι᾿ ὑπομονῆς τρέχωμεν τὸν προκείμενον ἡμῖν ἀγῶνα

ἀφορῶντες εἰς τὸν τῆς πίστεως ἀρχηγὸν καὶ τελειωτὴν Ἰησοῦν, ὃς ἀντὶ τῆς προκειμένης αὐτῷ χαρᾶς ὑπέμεινεν σταυρὸν αἰσχύνης καταφρονήσας ἐν δεξιᾷ τε τοῦ θρόνου τοῦ θεοῦ κεκάθικεν.

The substructure of this sentence is “So we too, let us run, fixing our gaze upon Jesus/Joshua”, with the first half of the sentence (v. 1) exhorting the audience, now firmly situated in the context of the faith-centred history of Israel, to imitate the faith by which the heroes of that history lived lives that pointed beyond the phenomena of the history to the hidden and future realities it signifies. Those hidden realities, which are also the future hopes that constitute those who are of faith, were most perfectly typified by the conquest of the Promised Land by Joshua, the ἀρχηγός of the people in that conquest who is so conspicuous by his absence from the previous chapter. The second half of the sentence then outlines the perfect faith that Jesus the High Priest showed in his sacrificial death which fulfilled its levitical types. And the chiastic structure demonstrates the isomorphism between these two type-fulfilment schema. The entry of Christ the High Priest into the heavenly sanctuary is in one sense unique: the once-for-all return of the unique Son to his place at the right hand of the throne, higher than any angel, just as the entry of the levitical High Priest is a unique entry into the Holy of Holies; but in another sense it is not unique, not restricted to Christ, for by his entry he has granted access to all who follow him and, by keeping their eyes fixed on him, are able to imitate the path of his life. In this sense, the entry through the veil is not like the entry of the High Priest into the Holy of Holies but like the entry of the People of Israel into the Promised Land under the leadership of Joshua who opened for them the waters of the Jordan. The distinctiveness of Hebrews then lies not only in using (certain aspects of) the ceremonies of Yom Kippur as analogies for the death and exaltation of Christ, but in bringing about a creative confluence of this analogy with that of the end of the wilderness wanderings brought about by the crossing of the Jordan and entry into the Promised Land. This confluence is similar to that found in the Book of Jubilees 96, where the 96

See pp. 46–49 above.

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liturgical feasts of Israel at once represent the eternal realities of the cult of the heavenly sanctuary and the annual recapitulation of unique events in salvation history; except that in Hebrews we are invited to see both the annual liturgy and a one-time event in salvation history as, in different ways, representations of the unique heavenly event of Christ’s exaltation. Jesus’s entry into heaven was foreshadowed both by the annual entry of the High Priest into the Holy of Holies and the one-off entry at Joshua at the head of the People of Israel into the Promised Land; Jesus’s passing through death into the eternal rest of God was foreshadowed by the High Priest’s passing beyond the veil and by Joshua’s crossing of the Jordan. Further, these two events, the annual and the one-off, not only foreshadow the achievement of Christ but were constituted by it. Both, it is clear, are the testimony of the Holy Spirit to the meaning of what Jesus has done, even though they preceded it in time, because the temporal event of Christ’s death and exaltation are themselves the visible signs of an invisible and eternal reality. The Son, who had a human life and a human death, is nonetheless “the reflection (ἀπαύγασμα ) of God’s glory and the exact imprint ( χαρακτὴρ) of God’s very being” (1.3). The stamp, as it were, of the divine reality – which showed itself definitively in the outward movement of the Son into human life, weakness, suffering and death, to return in exaltation – marked out beforehand the pattern of this salvific movement in “many and various ways” (1.1) in salvation history and in the liturgical rites of those who obeyed the words of the prophets and the example of their ancestors. We are invited to infer that God spoke of this reality not only in the words of scripture but also in history, bringing into being through his providence the entry into the Promised Land and through his divine command the liturgy of Yom Kippur, in order to prepare the ground for their fulfillment in Christ. 97 This means that there may also be an ontological link implied directly between Yom Kippur and the entry into the Land under Joshua, again of the kind that we find in Jubilees,98 which sees the festal calendar as a pro97

I suggest further that the two things that Hebrews uses as παραβολαί of Jesus’s saving death-and-exaltation are ontologically dependent on that fulfillment. T he literary analogy is legitimated by and makes implicit appeal to an analogy of being. 98 Jubilees relates the Day of Atonement not to Joshua but to the Joseph story, and in particular Jacob’s mourning over Joseph when told falsely by his other sons that h is favourite son is dead (Jubilees 34.18f). As Hayward (1996: 103) remarks, “considering the importance of Yom Kippur it is extraordinary that Jubilees pays so little attention to it”: reference is made only to the goat – it is not clear whether that which is sacrificed or the scapegoat – while the central feature from the point of view of Hebrews is completely overlooked. There can be no suggestion, therefore, that there is direct dependence be tween Jubilees and Hebrews, at least with regard to specifics. It demonstrates only that,

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jection into time, as it were, of eternal realities, and at the same time sees the various feasts as commemorations of particular events within salvation history; where Hebrews is radically different is in implying that both the feasts of the (“old”) covenant and the events of salvation history point beyond themselves, not just cosmically, or upwards, towards the heavenly realities that transcend the earthly, but also and at the same time forwards to the time of fulfillment that has now come. There is, therefore, a sense of impermanence imparted to the Lord’s appointed feasts. We might say, then, that the Day of Atonement as outlined in Hebrews is portrayed as a sort of “placeholder”: as the annual re-enactment of the inauguration of the first covenant, with its sanctuary, sacrifices and priesthood, its purpose is to point both upwards, towards the heavenly realities of which it is a shadow, and forwards, towards the consummation of the present age which the whole of the first covenant was preparing for, since Moses first inaugurated it. The first covenant was established to prepare for, to point towards its own fufillment – not a replacement but a surpassing, as the reality surpasses the sign. The establishment of that first covenant required an action by Moses in a sanctuary that was a sketch of the heavenly realities, an action involving entry, a transition from one side of a veil to another, that both echoed his own ascent of Sinai and symbolised the final fulfillment of the covenant when Christ crossed the veil between this world and the heavenly/the next, entering into the heavenly sanctuary. Hebrews allows one to infer that the Yom Kippur ceremony is an annual recapitulation of that inauguration that, as it were, holds the place for the final fulfilment which is what Christ’s death achieves. Moreover, as the Day of Atonement is a placeholder in its annual reiteration, so in another way the crossing of the Jordan and entry into the Promised Land is also a placeholder, another symbol of the final fulfilment of the promises made to Abraham which were the basis for the first covenant. These two fulfilments are linked precisely by the notion of a promise or oath: the promise to Abraham that he would receive his eternal inheritance; the promise to David in Psalm 110 (109 LXX) that he would be “a priest forever, after the order of Melchizedek”, which therefore subordinates the Levitical priesthood to the royal one, and so subordinates the entry of the Levitical priest into the Holy of Holies to the royal priest’s taking his seat at the right hand of God; and the implicit promise that Hebrews draws out from Psalm 95 (94 LXX), spoken by God through that same David, that one day, “today, if you would listen to his voice”, his to an audience reading the OT with a certain apocalyptic mind-set, some sort of constitutive relationship between a one-off event in history and a repeated liturgical rite is conceivable, especially when both the one-off and the regular are seen as being means by which Israel is caused to participate, in some way, in the heavenly realities.

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people would enter the rest into which Joshua did not lead the faithless wilderness generation. This promise is continually repeated to God’s people “as long as it is called ‘today’” (Heb 3.13), through the words of scripture both in overt prophetic utterance and in the narration of the past history of those people. It is also repeated in the annual ritual of Yom Kippur, a symbolic re-enactment of the inauguration of the first covenant, a symbolic re-enactment too of the crossing of the Jordan which brought with it a renewal of that covenant, and a symbolic pre-enactment of the eschatological consummation of the new and eternal covenant. It is obvious that these two distinct typologies cannot be made to match perfectly either with one another or with the reality they signify and by which they are constituted. They rely to an extent on partial readings of the symbols: Hebrews’ reading of the Day of Atonement ritual has mention of sacrifice and the entry of the High Priest into the Holy of Holies, but nothing about the scapegoat, for example; the crossing of the Jordan into the Promised Land is implicitly associated with the renewal of the covenant and the ability of Joshua to achieve that which Moses could not, but there is no room for the key role of the ark, or for Caleb’s distinctive place in the narrative of Numbers and the Book of Joshua. What matters is the broader commonality that is implied, the isomorphism brought about by the “stamp”, the χαρακτὴρ of salvation impressed upon these things. That isomorphism lies precisely in the crossing of a barrier, the access granted by God to the otherwise inaccessible and forbidden place that lies beyond. All of this, then, though real, is symbolic. The question remains, of what is it symbolic? What is the literal reality that is acted out in these placeholding realities? The answer appears to be one both utterly predictable and yet strangely astonishing: going to heaven. What appears to be irreducible in the parabolic representations in Hebrews of the fulfilment of the promise is the concept of access, entry or admission. In particular, this is a common aspect of what remains to be achieved by – or granted to – the audience: 4.9–11; 6.19–20; 10.19–22; 12.26–28. Especially problematic for discerning a straightforward eschatology in Hebrews is the use of προσεληλύθατε in Hebrews 12.18,22 – both in the verb used and in its tense. For the first time what is predicated of the audience is not the making of a journey but its completion. No longer are we “entering” (4.3) or being invited to enter (e.g. 4.11; 10.19) or to approach (4.16; 10.22), but we have now approached. But there is an intrinsic ambivalence in the verb: there is always the possibility of a contrast between approaching and actually arriving. We have approached Zion, but have we yet climbed to its peak and entered the heavenly city99 to enjoy the festival, or are we still stand99

Barrett 1954: 375ff points out that, like the temple, the city of Jerusalem was under stood in the OT and in later Jewish literature to have a heavenly counterpart.

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ing at the foot of the mountain, just as the Israelites were forbidden to set foot on Mount Sinai (Exodus 19.12–25)? It is important to recognise that this eschatological tension reaches its climax almost at the end of Hebrews, at the point of its final rhetorical flourish. Hitherto, at least as far as the themes of entry and approach are concerned, matters have been quite clear: Jesus has entered, we are in the process of entering and approaching, but might yet fail to complete the journey. Now, as the Epistle reaches its climax, the tension is increased as the audience is taken higher up and further in. It is notable that in chapter 12 so many of the interweaving themes and motifs of Hebrews are all drawn together at this heavenly Jerusalem: in just three verses, the city (11.10,16), heaven (3.1; 6.4; 9.24 among others), angels (1 and 2 passim), judgement (4.12; 10.30), perfection (2.10; 5.9; 7.28; 12.2 and many others), Jesus the mediator (8.6; 9.15), new covenant (8 passim), and blood (9 and 10 passim). In other words, the audience’s mental journey through the thought-world of Hebrews is being brought to its conclusion, at the same point at which the typology of the wilderness generation is employed for the last time. The implication is clear: Hebrews has led us through the wilderness and has brought us into the Promised Land; the journey signposted by that of the people of Israel out of Egypt and into Canaan has now been completed by the audience qua audience, for it has been a journey of the imagination. In reality, the journey is not yet quite over. The perfect tense of προσεληλύθατε so intensifies the “already” as to place that final entry of God tantalisingly within reach. I suggest that it is this which is the deliberate, and very successful, final effect of this great rhetorical climax. Hebrews then holds out more clearly than many NT writings a future, individual, immediately post-mortem hope of entry into heaven. This is not simply a way of talking about a present privileged relationship between the believer and God in terms of “access”, though that is certainly also there as an anticipation of that final hope, but Hebrews is clear that there is a real – indeed, in a sense much more real than anything in this world – heavenly dwelling place of God, to which access has now been granted to those who choose to accept it. It lies beyond a barrier, a veil, that has been transformed for God’s people from a barrier into a point of entrance, and that boundary symbolised both by the veil of the temple and the River Jordan is death. The death of Christ, as we saw, is clearly connoted at 10.19f, so that it is his death – as the point of his return to heaven following his incarnational journey – that becomes the point of entry into heaven. This part of the Son’s journey, however, unlike the outward journey from the throne of God to the world of flesh, is one in which the believer is able to follow Jesus the forerunner: because Jesus’s death has transformed death from

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impenetrable barrier to eternal life, therefore death has now become for those who follow him the point of access to the place to which Jesus has returned,100 “the city of the living God, heavenly Jerusalem, to God the Judge of all” (12.22f), “at the right hand of the majesty on high” (1.3).

100

This is surely the message of Hebrews 2: the solidarity between Christ and his brethren reaches its perfection in Christ’s suffering and death.

Chapter 6

Conclusions and Prospects This chapter begins with a review of the argument so far, before offering some remarks about reading the OT typologically and the problem of supersessionism, a matter that has been one of particular concern with regard to Hebrews: I will suggest that the kind of typological reading that has been proposed, rather than being supersessionist, is the most plausible way of avoiding supersessionism insofar as Christianity can avoid it at all. Finally, I offer some tentative suggestions about other implications for theology that may flow from my conclusions.

A. Review The reading I have offered of just one aspect of the Letter to the Hebrews began with the mention of Joshua at 4.8, which caused a moment of puzzlement and then a suspicion that its significance may have been overlooked. We saw how a number of ancient Christian writers discerned a profound theological importance in the fact that Jesus’s name is Joshua, and moreover that in some cases at least these writers echoed Hebrews’ treatment of Moses’ failure to enter the Promised Land, and the contrast with his successor. It is at least plausible – and this is the most we can expect – that Origen, Aphraates and Ephrem the Syrian detected a typological relationship of some sort between Joshua and Jesus hinted at in a NT text which elsewhere treats some OT texts in an explicitly typological manner. In Chapter Two I argued that recent studies of the Old Testament in the New give us reason to concentrate not so much on authorial intention as on what a plausible first century audience of Hebrews might have inferred. This is especially the case with Hebrews because the Epistle gives us more material in regard to an implied audience than to its anonymous author, but it is a sensible strategem with any book of the NT if our purpose is to align our reactions with those of the people who first heard these words. We saw that Hebrews is distinctive in the extent to which it interprets the OT typologically, and that one particular form of typological interpretation is what I have called an ontological typology: a real relationship exists between

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two poles, very often a relationship that is mediated by some tertium quid, and the biblical author’s role is not to create the typological relationship but to reveal it through his writing. The ground of this typology is the constancy of God’s providential dealings with humanity, and in particular with Israel in her Heilsgeschichte, a constancy perceived and communicated by authors of both Old and New Testament authors, as well as other Jewish writers of the intertestamental period, to the extent that relationships of this kind might have been readily inferred by our plausible audience of Hebrews. Chapters Three to Five offered detailed exegesis of key passages of the Epistle, seeking first to demonstrate the plausibility of inferring a Joshua typology and second to show that so doing bears fruit, both in unpicking some of the smaller exegetical difficulties of Hebrews and, ultimately, in helping us to read the Epistle in a unified and coherent manner that helps us to understand the salvific significance of Jesus Christ. In Hebrews 3 and 4, the exegesis of Psalm 95 draws the audience’s attention to the significance of Jesus’s name, and implies a typological relationship between Jesus and Joshua akin to that between the eternal Sabbath rest of God and the Promised Land of Canaan; the audience stand in relationship to Jesus and to heaven as the Israelites in the wilderness stood to Joshua and to Canaan. One important aspect of this typology is the superiority of Jesus’s faith, and faith is also the theme of Hebrews 11. This chapter stands as a unit in the Epistle that is clearly linked thematically to Hebrews 3 and 4, and it offers a faith-based view of salvation history. The careful rhetorical structuring of the chapter invites the audience to recognise a Joshuashaped gap in this history, one that has now been filled by his namesake the Christian Messiah. Once again, the audience is placed in a typological relationship with their Israelite predecessors, but now in particular with the conquest generation, since the capture of Canaan under Joshua’s leadership foreshadowed their own entry into heaven following after Jesus. In Chapter Five I sought to demonstrate that the inference of a Joshua typology enables us to see more clearly how the passages I considered in the previous two chapters relate to the motif of Christ’s High-Priestly entry into the heavenly temple. Exegetical fruit is borne in the detailed consideration of 6.19f; 10.19f and Hebrews 9 passim, and then we see how a holistic reading of the soteriological vision of Hebrews can be found in the first two verses of Hebrews 12, which again points to the significance of the name of Jesus. We see again that the coincidence of names, the fact that the Messiah (whose life, death and exaltation has inaugurated the renewed covenant between God and his People) is named “Joshua” is no coincidence at all. Rather, in so arranging matters God has shown that the pattern of Joshua’s life, especially in succeeding where Moses failed

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through lack of faith in leading people of Israel out of the wilderness and into the Promised Land, offers an essential illustration of the significance of what his namesake has achieved for those who follow him. More than this, we are invited to recognise that the salvation to be wrought by Christ was from eternity the mould in which Joshua’s life was to be cast. The basic shape of salvation, determined by the eternal providence of the divine creator and Father, has been stamped into the history of his dealings with his chosen people “in many and various ways”, and one of the most important of these was the life of Joshua. For the crossing of the Jordan and the subsequent renewal of the Mosaic covenant and conquest of the Land of Canaan was only a shadowy image of the true fulfilment of God’s promises to Abraham and his descendants. Through the prophetic words of David in Psalm 95, God holds out the possibility of an entry into his rest which entirely surpasses the settlement of Canaan; it is nothing less than a participation in the eternal sabbath rest of God. This participation is something that the Son, who belongs by nature at the right hand of the Father in heaven, shares by right, for he is the Father’s partner in the work of creation; yet in order to make that “rest” accessible to humanity, the Son entered into the human condition and, fitting naturally into the “Joshua-shaped gap” created for him by the providential arrangement of salvation history, became the leader of God’s pilgrim people and opened up the way to heaven. Death itself, which had been the barrier that separated humanity from God, became instead, through the incarnation and death of the Son, the point of access to the presence of God, the open door to the eternal celebration of Sabbath in the heavenly sanctuary. The history of Joshua, as related in the living and active words of scripture, is certainly not the only picture of salvation in Christ that Hebrews draws to our attention. Indeed, more obviously it presents us with the image, albeit a partial one, of the annual celebration of Yom Kippur, the Day of Atonement. When the Aaronic High Priest passed through the veil into the Holy of Holies, taking with him the blood of sacrificial beasts for its cleansing, he participated in another shadowy image of what Christ would achieve. It is fair to say that for Hebrews the privileged christological image is indeed that of the eternal and ultimate High Priest – not a descendant of Aaron but, like the mysterious Melchizedek, chronologically and logically prior and eternal in his priesthood. But this image of Christ as High Priest does not on its own make clear how the remainder of humanity is to participate in the access to the heavenly sanctuary it portrays. It demands to be complemented by some other christological picture, one that more obviously relates Christ to us, his people. These people are portrayed throughout as a people on the move, now only sojourning in the

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world of the visible and the temporal, but destined for the realm of the invisible and eternal. The necessary complement is a Joshua-christology – Christ as the leader (ἀρχηγός) of the conquest generation. Moreover, we can dare to go further and suggest that the relationship between these two pictures of Christ’s saving work was already established in the time before Christ: both the annual celebration of Yom Kippur and the one-off crossing of the Jordan by Joshua and his followers are, in their essential features, isomorphic with Christ’s salvific achievement, and therefore isomorphic with each other. These essential features are, simply, that a man representing and leading God’s holy people passes through what has hitherto been an impenetrable ritual barrier into a place that has, under divinely-specified conditions, now been made accessible. In the one case, the man is Joshua, the barrier the Jordan and the place Canaan; in the other we have the High Priest, the veil and the Holy of Holies; and in the primordial and eschatological mould from which both of these images were cast, we have Jesus passing through death and into heaven. We might even infer that these two images are, as it were, mediated via another, namely the inauguration of the original tabernacle by Moses, as the cultic climax of the inauguration of the Mosaic covenant (Exodus 40, Leviticus 8, Numbers 7). There is some ambivalence in Hebrews’ references to the veil between this original inauguration and the ordinances for the Day of Atonement, and it might be that we are to understand the latter as the annual re-capitulation of the former. This rite then acts as a “place-holder” until such time as the eschatological renewal of the Mosaic covenant can take place, and the entry into Canaan shares this feature also, albeit only once rather than in yearly repetition, for it too involves the renewal of the covenant. At the very least we can say that it is essential to the pattern of salvation stamped by God into these events that covenant renewal is intrinsic to it.

B. Typological Readings and Supersessionism It is of the nature of this typological reading of salvation history in which Hebrews invites us to engage that the Mosaic covenant made in that history, renewed by Joshua, and re-capitulated and refreshed in the cult, should point in its essential features towards its own eschatological fulfilment. This raises the question of supersessionism. The concern that Hebrews is supersessionist is a serious one, as manifested by the fact that a recent volume of essays on Hebrews and theology 1 devotes a fifth of its 1

Bauckham et. al. 2009

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volume to the question. The section begins with an essay by Richard B Hays 2 in which he retracts his earlier accusation, which he admits was not carefully thought through, that Hebrews is supersessionist. He rightly now recognises that this is an anachronism, inasmuch as Hebrews does not represent a Christian polemic against Judaism, nor even, as is still sometimes suggested3, an impassioned plea to Christian ex-Jews not to fall back into Judaism, but rather an intra-Jewish debate about the nature of the covenant and the meaning of the promise, found within the OT, that the covenant will be renewed. Of course, if we begin with this model for our interpretation, which I agree with Hays is the correct one, then supersessionism is ruled out a priori. Rather than proposing a replacement covenant, which is surely what a supersessionist reading centres on, Hays now recognises that Hebrews has much in common with the “restoration eschatology” that pervaded much Jewish thought in the first century; he notes in particular the example of the Pesher on Habakkuk and the Community Rule.4 There is nothing in Hebrews, he argues, that even implicitly suggests that a new covenant, or the renewed covenant, extends its coverage to the gentiles; so by implication Hebrews is even less vulnerable to accusations of supersessionism than Paul. Rather, like the Paul of NT Wright5, Hebrews interprets Israel’s scripture to make them point beyond themselves to their own fulfilment: Hebrews reads provisionality out of the (old) covenant. When in chapter 8 Hebrews imputes “fault” to the old covenant (e.g. μεμφόμενος , 8.8), this means not that God was somehow disappointed by its failure to bring his people to perfection, so that he has now changed his mind and decided to start afresh, but rather that there was never any possibility of its creating a perfected nation, but the occurrence of texts like Jeremiah 31 in Hebrews 8 and Psalm 39 LXX in Hebrews 10 demonstrates that this ultimate inadequacy was built into the old covenant and signalled in its inscripturation precisely so that it should be clear that the covenant pointed towards its own renewal and fulfilment. 6 Hays rightly proposes that Hebrews’ reading of Jeremiah at least is far from alien to the

2

Hays 2009: 151–74 E.g. Lindars 1991: 9–14; Schenck 2003: 98–103, 107; Hooker (2009), though explicitly rejecting Lindars’s paradigm, proposes that the key concern of Hebrews’ author is that his readers may be clinging to the cult: “If his readers persist in continuing to set store by the sacrifices prescribed in the law… they will be spurning the Son of God and holding him up to contempt” (p. 197). 4 Hays 2009: 161 5 See especially Wright 1991 6 Sarskaune (2009: 182) rather neatly captures this when he says that Hebrews sees the cult of the Old Covenant as a “self-consuming artifact”. 3

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original meaning of that text,7 such meaning as could be established by historical-critical methods on the basis of the intentions of the human author. What we have in Hebrews, then, is a Jewish text interpreting the Jewish holy scriptures, as did other Jews, as pointing towards their own eschatological fulfilment, seeing in the old covenant a divinely intended obsolescence that God planted in that covenant from the beginning. Hays wants to go further, in fact, and suggest that Hebrews reads this inbuilt obsolescence only in the cultic provisions of the old covenant. The remainder of the Mosaic Torah is in no way negated.8 Indeed, he is attracted by the suggestion of Eisenbaum 9 that Hebrews may have been written “in the wake of the destruction of the Jerusalem temple and is attempting to fill a desperate theological and social void.”10 It is no more legitimate to accuse Hebrews of supersessionism for offering Christ’s death and exaltation as an entirely satisfactory replacement for the temple cult than it is to accuse e.g. Rabbi Jochanan ben Zakkai of supersessionism for proposing prayer, non-cultic torah-observance and acts of charity for the same role. “Constructing Christ as the perfect priest-cum-sacrifice is then a response to the temple’s non-existence, not an attempt to write it out of existence.”11 However, this attempt to locate Hebrews as a response to the destruction of the temple in AD 70 will not quite suffice as a defense against supersessionism. It may be that the loss of temple-cult to the audience of Hebrews (possibly only as a theoretical possibility, if they were not in fact located in or close to Jerusalem) was the occasion of the Epistle – that it led to the presentation of Christ’s death as the fulfilment of the sacrificial system and his person as the fulfilment of the levitical priesthood. But this is not the same thing as saying that for Hebrews the loss of the temple was the occasion of Christ’s atoning sacrifice becoming the fulfilment of the 7

Hays 2009: 162 Hays 2009: 161 9 Eisenbaum 2005a 10 Eisenbaum 2005a: 1; the same suggestion is proposed by Bockmuehl (2009: 367), who rightly observes that this possibility is consonant with Gelardini’s theory, see p. 30 above – though of course neither hypothesis proves the other. 11 Eisenbaum 2005a: 2; cf. Nanos 2009: 185. Nanos rightly acknowledges the possibility that the audience of Hebrews may have lost access to the temple not because of its destruction but by their own exclusion at some point before 70, but like Eisenbaum and Hays proposes that the nub of the question whether Hebrews is supersessionist or not is whether the audience is being told that it does not matter that they cannot use the temple, because of Christ, or that they ought to abandon the temple because it is obsolete – and so, implicitly, anyone who still uses it is wrong. The latter, for Nanos, is new covenant, not renewed covenant, and is supersessionist. 8

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temple cult. Quite clearly we are to understand that the temple system was always only a temporary phenomenon and that it always pointed towards its fulfilment in Christ. A claim of this nature is surely different from what is proposed by the Rabbis. Even if the loss of the temple occasioned this particularly mode of presenting the meaning of Christ, it depends upon and appeals to a belief that the person and saving work of Christ represent a hugely significant development in the story of God’s relationship with his people.12 The fact of the destruction of the temple is not part of the historical narrative to which Hebrews appeals, or upon which it depends. If it could be proved that Hebrews had been written after, perhaps indeed as a response to, this destruction, then one might make the argument that the loss of the temple is implicitly part of the narrative. But aside from the fact that this cannot be proved, though some reconstructions on this basis are plausible, we should be reluctant to conclude that Hebrews can only be properly understood in the light thereof. Rather, we should begin with the explicit claims the Epistle makes about the meaning of Jesus in Israel’s history. This understanding was certainly not occasioned by the destruction of the temple, and moreover represents in Hebrews a claim of eschatological fulfilment that is qualitatively different from (other) Jewish reponses to that destruction. There are both continuities and discontinuities between the OT and Hebrews and also between the OT and the many (other) forms of Judaism to which late Second Temple texts bear witness. There are continuities and discontinuities between the Judaism(s) of Palestine or Alexandria in, say, AD 30 and the understanding of Hebrews, but also between those Judaisms of Christ’s earthly life and the Judaism of the Mishnah and the Tosefta. However, the discontinuities we find in Hebrews are of a more radical nature, based upon unique claims about a particular person. As Hays puts it, Christ, as ἀρχηγός and perfecter of faith, is the climax of the covenant, but as such he “introduces a major plot twist: he becomes the mediator of a new covenant that not only sustains but also transforms Israel’s identity.”13 It was, of course, possible for a Jew to see the temple and its cult as something that pointed beyond itself to a higher reality without this kind of radical discontinuity: typical of such a view would be Philo, who might well have been comfortable with Hebrews’ picture of the structure of the sanctuary as a παραβολή of the relationship between earth and heaven, especially since he regards the High Priest in particular as a mediator between the two realms.14 But Hebrews is quite distinctive in aligning this dualism with a temporal one between the time of the old covenant and the 12

Cf. Hooker 2009: 210 Hays 2009: 155, emphasis original. 14 See especially De Spec. Leg. I.66f, 97, 116 13

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age of the new; the claim that a chronological shift has taken place that makes the whole arrangement of the cult not only subordinate to a higher reality but also subordinate to a newer reality is not something we can easily see as just another example of intra-Jewish exegetical debate. Moreover, while Hebrews does focus its treatment of the newness of the covenant on the cult, and very particularly on certain aspects of the Day of Atonement, this is part of a broader understanding of the relationship between salvation history and its fulfilment in Christ. Whether or not the Epistle’s treatment of the cult is chronologically subsequent to and occasioned by the loss of that cult in its concrete earthly form, it is not logically dependent upon that loss but upon this ontological-typological understanding of the whole of the old covenant, indeed the whole of salvation history. This understanding presents the person and saving-work of Christ as eternal, of heavenly origin, and determinative of the shape of salvation history and of the cult, both of which are therefore in that sense subordinate to Jesus. The audience is told that they have a particular relationship with this Jesus which is not shared by οἱ τῇ σκηνῇ λατρεύοντες (13.10), and that upon them depends the salvation – entrance into the presence of God – of all the previous generations of faithful Israelites (11.40).15 Although there is some future eschatology in Hebrews, some final consummation yet to be awaited, the status of the audience now in terms of their access to the heavenly reality is uniquely privileged precisely because of their solidarity with the one upon whom the forms of the old covenant are dependent, and whose superiority to those forms is as high as the heavens are above the earth. 16 Hays writes of ἐν παραβολῇ at 11.19 that “[t]his weighty comment gives us the necessary clue to read the whole story of Israel. It is all a vast figurative narrative whose true meaning is finally disclosed in Jesus”. He goes on to state, quite correctly, that this in no way implies that the history of salvation related by the scriptures of Israel is untrue; rather, as Frei might have put it, “that the events narrated in scripture actually happened and that they nonetheless point forward to a christological meaning beyond themselves.”17 For Frei this means that typological readings are not supersessionist: allegorical readings, placing the literal and the figurative in binary opposition, are supersessionist, he argues, because they reject the original reality of the literal meaning. Even a non-allegorical figural meaning is potentially supersessionist if it is “retrospective” – that is to say, if the literal sense of the text only gains its full meaning in the light of 15

One wonders what is the logical relationship between this claim and what we read in Romans 11. 16 Cf. Isaiah 55.8f; Ps 103(102).11 17 Hays 2009: 163, referring approvingly in n.25 to Frei 1974

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its later fulfilment. As Dawson explains, for Frei “spiritual understanding only registers what the text itself offers – it adds no material contribution of its own to the meanings rendered by the text”.18 The reader does not “read backwards”, bringing Christian clarity to bear upon a hitherto opaque text, but should rather immerse himself in the unfolding significance of the biblical narrative, placing himself in the situation of the ancient Israelite – or, better, of ancient Israel itself as its Heilsgeschichte leads organically towards its fulfilment in Christ. Thus, with regard to Canaan, for example: The point is not really that the land of Canaan was a figure of the future inheritance at the time if, and only if, “the Israelites” knew it to be such… They enjoyed the land as a figure of the eternal city, and thus it was a figure at the time. It is not a figure solely in later retrospective interpretive stance. 19

So for Frei, as for my own understanding, the actual reality of that which is seen as a figure is vital. It is not the case that figurative reading emerges as a way of dealing with texts whose literal meanings lack historical reality, or are in some other way untenable: quite the reverse. Equally important is the sense that what we find in the narration of divinely-provided salvific actuality is the emergence of patterns that manifest the unfolding of God’s plan: Figural interpretation … is a grasp of a common pattern of occurrence and meaning together, the pattern being dependent on the reality of the unitary tempo ral sequence which allows all the single narrations within it to become parts of a single narration. 20

But does the insistence on “reading forwards” really avoid supersessionism? There are two problems with this: the first is that the pretence that we are reading along with ancient Israel in the unfolding of the narrative is just that – a pretence. We could call this a legitimate act of the imagination, but we must admit that our reading along is a partial one. If we do not in fact allow our reading to be conditioned by a belief that Christ and his death, resurrection and exaltation are the fulfilment of the narrative, would we really find ourselves, at the beginning of the New Testament, expecting a Messiah of the kind that in fact emerged? Does the Old Testament taken as a whole really act as a præparatio evangelica? We should take seriously Girard’s reading of the OT, 21 in which there is a thread within the scriptures of Israel, one that led to Christ and, in the light of Christ, is seen to do so, but which is subversive of the main bulk of the text which falls prey to the (fallen) human tendency towards a fallacious, sacri18

Dawson 2002: 141 Frei 1974: 36, emphasis original 20 Frei 1974: 34 21 Girard 1987 19

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fice-based religiosity that has nothing to do with the Christ event. It is noteworthy that Girard uses the word “mimetic” to describe the cycle of violence which the OT not only testifies to but also perpetuates through its mimesis22. It is this cycle that is broken, by being shown for the lie that it is, by Christ’s entirely non-sacrificial death on the cross.23 Jesus therefore fulfils the subversive pattern by shattering the mainstream: Jesus cannot be held responsible for the apocalyptic dimension that underlies Jewish history and ultimately all of human history… The Law and the Prophets consitute a genuine announcement of the Gospel, a præfiguratio Christi… but could not show [it], unable as they were to recognize in the Old Testament a first step outside the sacrifical system… [When] Jesus appears on the scene, … [t]here is an end to cyclical history, for the very reason that its mechanisms are beginning to be uncovered. 24

We do not need to follow Girard’s theory in toto to admit that there is a sense in the NT that Christ is not only fufilling the OT but also doing something shatteringly new. We would not want to suggest, as Frei appears to, that the road from Eden to Calvary is a straight, broad path. Surely it is only retrospectively that Christ can be seen to complete the scriptures: the disciples on the road to Emmaus needed the risen Jesus to lead them through “the things about himself in all the scriptures” (Luke 24:27). Indeed, we might say that the shatteringly new thing that Christ does is precisely to open the eyes of his disciples following his resurrection. I would not wish to underplay the continuity implied by a typological reading of the OT, which acknowledges the presence of Christ in the history of Israel – “and the rock was Christ” (1 Cor. 10.4); but the human life, death and resurrection of Christ are the necessary condition of this new understanding. It is no mere chance that no-one before the disciples understood the deepest significance of what had gone before: unlike the Israelites of old “we see Jesus”. This leads to the second objection to Frei: taken as a whole the NT does not present Christ and the salvation he wrought as simply the last figure in the pattern, nor even the best, but as qualitatively superior to all that has prefigured him. Moreover, he is more than the fufilment of the (arguable) patterns of mimetic correspondence to be found in the OT: he is also their source. He is the Alpha and the Omega or, as Hebrews puts it, he is the χαρακτὴρ τῆς ὑποστάσεως [τοῦ θεοῦ] (Heb 1.3). He is not only the end point of a horizontal chain of repeated figures but the heavenly archetype with which God has stamped out the repeating pattern, and now that we have seen the stamp, as it were, we can discern that repeating pattern throughout salvation history. It is not that Christ’s saving person and deeds have been 22

Eg. Girard 1987: 41 Girard 1987: 180, 209 24 Girard 1987: 205f 23

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formed or moulded by their prefiguration in the history of Israel, but that the eternal reality of God’s saving power and mercy that Christ reveals, enacts and instantiates can now be seen to have moulded salvation history from the beginning. An authentic Christian figural reading of the OT is thus bound to claim that it understands the scriptures of Israel in a qualitatively superior way to those who do not enjoy the privileged insight granted by knowledge of Christ. In this sense, it must necessarily be supersessionist, if that is what supersessionism is, and it is disingenuous to claim otherwise. But if supersessionism is the claim that Christ replaces the Law and the Prophets as the locus of revelation, then Christian typology is not supersessionist, because it discards the reality and importance neither of the outworkings of salvation history nor of the divinely-ordained practices of the cult and sacrifice. Rather, it affirms the importance and legitimacy of both, precisely because they are modelled on Christ and because they offer the only divinelysanctioned illustrations of the meaning of Christ. No-one who rejects the Christian’s claims about Christ will accept this reading of the OT, but for the Christian it is perhaps the only way of reading it that does not reduce it to an irrelevance, at best a historical curio. Figural readings of the scriptures of Israel are for Christians not the manifestation of supersessionism, but the only alternative to it. Nonetheless, the particular typology I propose reading out of Hebrews does require a reader of the OT to recognise that Jesus of Nazareth is the Christ of God and indeed “the exact imprint of God’s very being” (1.3) in order properly to interpret those scriptures. We may make the claim that this is not a supersessionist reading but one that is authentic to the Jewish scriptures, but it would be unrealistic to expect a (non-Christian) Jew today to accept this view or perhaps indeed to find it unobjectionable. Similarly, while the great majority of Jews today do not argue that the restoration of the temple cult is an urgent necessity, agreeing thus far with the implications of Hebrews, the reasons are obviously different. For Hebrews, the value of the cult is illustrative and preparatory, and what it foreshadowed and prepared God’s people for has now been realised. Since I have argued that the cult is not exceptional in Hebrews’ understanding of the relationship of the old covenant to the new eschatological reality, it is reasonable to ask what else might be similarly considered obsolete, and one obvious answer emerging from Hebrews is the possession of the Land. Just as the sacrificial system, particularly in the key cultic moment of Yom Kippur, is a “placeholder” for the death and exaltation of Christ, so I have suggested the entry into Canaan of the people of Israel under Joshua is a “placeholder” for the final participation of God’s people in God’s own eternal rest. If the former is now redundant, except as an image to enable us to

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understand Christ’s atoning death, then so is the latter in the same way. Hebrews not only demonstrates why there is no pressing need for the restoration of the cult, but also perhaps implies that it would be wrong for believers in Christ to seek to do so since this would represent a clinging to the past, a failure to move beyond the visible to the invisible, from milk to solid food. Should we not also infer that the desire to occupy the earthly Promised Land is similarly a mark of spiritual immaturity? Bockmuehl points out quite rightly that the faith of the fathers in Hebrews 11 is identi cal in nature to that being urged upon the audience of Hebrews, and that this therefore argues against supersessionism; 25 and this faith is related to the possession of the Promised Land. But it is characterised by a recognition that the geographical Land is not that which is promised, but only a visible sign of an invisible and future reality. The completion of the conquest that truly matters is not the crossing of the Jordan by the host of Israelites under Joshua’s leadership but the traversing of death into heaven itself as followers of Jesus. And while it is true that Christian faith is identical to the faith of Abraham, Christians in the new age have the supreme advantage that “we see Jesus” (2.9; cf. 12.2). Only by following him can those with the faith of Abraham enter into God’s rest.

C. Theological Prospects I close with some very tentative suggestions about the implications for theology of my reading of Hebrews. This reading is not likely to be congenial to those who value the scriptures of Israel but reject Christian claims; but it can be defended against the charge of supersessionism because it does not devalue those scriptures but places on them the highest possible value as witnesses to the salvation now achieved by Christ. The first theological implication evolves from this defense against supersessionism: the presentation of the Christian Gospel not only can but should take place against the backdrop of the Old Testament. This is not just a claim about how Christian theology ought to read the OT: “if you are going to interpret the OT, this is the way to do it”; it is also a claim about how Christian theology ought to be done at all: “if you are going to present the Christian Gospel, then you must do so using the OT in this way.” This, moreover, is true in two respects, corresponding approximately to my horizontal and vertical dimensions. In respect of the first, salvation in Christ has to be understood as the culmination of salvation history, the 25

Bockmuehl 2009: 368f

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fulfilment of the promises made and fulfilled in various partial ways by God to the people of Israel. If the imprint of God’s saving power is to be found stamped into the history of his dealing with his chosen people in many and various ways then it is the responsibility of theologians to search these out, to find ways of reading the inscriptured history of Israel in ways that highlight their correspondences with the saving work of Christ. These readings are not allegorical, inasmuch as they do not denigrate the literal meanings of the scriptural texts, but typological because they see in those literal meanings the foreshadowing of what has taken place in Christ. Such readings are, I am suggesting, not only legitimate but necessary ways of presenting the Christian Gospel. A Christian theology which is not firmly planted in salvation history is without root, and cannot flourish. This is thus far little more than a manifesto for a biblical theology of the kind found, for example, in Dauphinais and Levering 2005. However, there remains the second, vertical dimension that is intertwined with the horizontal: as there are correspondences to our eschatological salvation – to atonement in Christ – stamped into the particular events of salvation history, so there are correspondences stamped into the ongoing life of God’s people, particularly its cultic life. This has two implications for theology. First, though Christians cannot, and perhaps should not wish to, participate in a temple-based sacrificial cult in Jerusalem, they cannot understand their salvation without entering into the imaginative world of that cult. Like the story of salvation history, the liturgical life of Israel as delineated in its scriptures is a privileged and indisposable backdrop to Christian theology, though like salvation history also a fragmentary and partial one. 26 In this I disagree with Hooker, for whom the task of the theologian and the preacher is parallel to the task of Hebrews: as Hebrews has begun from the basic presuppositions and world-view of its audience, which at that time and place understood salvation in terms of sacrifice and temple cult, and used that symbology to present the basic Christian kerygma, “we too need to re-interpret that basic summary of the gospel in the language and culture of today”27, a language and culture which does not accept the premises upon which that cult, defunct for two thousand years, was based. I am attracted rather by the suggestion of Holmes that “the atoning work of Christ is sui generis, there are necessarily no human experiences and no 26

Marshall (2009) rightly points out the polyvalent nature of sacrificial language in Hebrews, and goes on to suggest that if Hebrews is to be understood as suggesting that the sacrifical cult foreshadowed and prepared the ground for Christ’s death in many and various ways, and has lasting value precisely in having done so, then the Epistle is not vulnerable to Wedderburn’s accusation (2005) that it inadvertently subverts its own argument. 27 Hooker 2009: 212, cf. pp. 210f.; cf also Ellingworth 1993 pp. 69f

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human language commonly available that actually refers to the cross.”28 Therefore God, to prepare his people to understand the cross, revealed to them a system of thought that is “uniquely adequate to the task of explaining how [Jesus’s] death can be salvific.”29 This view needs some nuance: it is not at all clear that the portrayal of the cultic life of Israel found in her scriptures does amount to a system of thought. Indeed it is precisely one of the difficulties of claiming that “sacrifice” is the proper “model” for the atonement that nowhere in the OT do we find a clear explanation of how sacrifices function. Better, perhaps, to think of the cult as poetry than as science.30 Moreover, Israel is hardly the only ancient culture to have had a sacrificial cult. Holmes ends his essay by wondering whether we need to experience sacrificial worship in order to understand it thoroughly. Should a Christian therefore visit Nepal to witness the festival of Gadhimai? Perhaps rather it is the distinctiveness of the biblical cult against its historical background that is important, in which case historicalcritical study and meditative reading of the relevant parts of Torah are required. In any case, the theologian or the preacher who limits his illustrations to what is already familiar to his audience, rather than invite them to enter into the disturbingly alien world of Levitical laws, temple and sacrifice, may be said to hobble himself and them. A second possible implication of the importance of the vertical aspect, which I suggest more tentatively, is this: I have argued that, as far as the horizontal dimension is concerned, Hebrews locates us at the very threshold of the true Promised Land; there remains something nonetheless in the way of future eschatology, the final pushing aside of the torn veil, both in corporate/cosmic terms and in terms of the personal fate of the believer. Hebrews does not, I think, give us a clear resolution of the tensions between realised and unrealised eschatology or between personal and universal eschatologies, and these tensions remain in good Christian theology. But where there is something yet to be achieved in the future, there is still room for a “placeholder”, albeit of a different kind. If the cult of the Mosaic covenant offered, for example, in the ritual of Yom Kippur a regular recapitulation of the entry into the Land of Canaan, a recapitulation which, like that entry, was also a proleptic foreshadowing of entry into heaven itself, is there not room in the Christian life for the cultic recapitu lation of Christ’s entry into heaven which also anticipates the believer’s final entry into God’s rest and the consummation of the world – especially if we were able to discern one that is authorised, indeed mandated, in the New Testament? In other words, may not Hebrews’ distinctive drawing 28

Holmes 2009: 248 Holmes 2009: 249 30 As Holmes himself implies later in his essay. 29

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together of the vertical and horizontal dimensions of typology offer a model for a theology of the sacraments? Finally, we should consider specifically what contribution it makes to theology to formulate a “Joshua christology”. This is clearly not the only aspect of Hebrews’ christology, but it integrates well into the broader theological message of the Epistle. Its fundamental christological category is that of “Son”, an eternal figure closely identified with the Father, the God of Israel, in his creating work and power and in his exalted nature. The primordial character of the Son seems to make it inevitable that he is also the one through whom, at the end of the age, God makes his eschatological utterance, bringing at last into focus the blurred and shadowy images of his creative will uttered in the words of Israel’s scriptures. The first chapter of the Epistle surely establishes this as the background against which any further christological moves are to be seen. For, beginning in chapter two, Hebrews establishes the fundamental soteriological category, which is that of the journey. When God speaks his final word he does so by sending his Son on a revelatory and salvific sojourn into humanity: not just into the human world as a fleeting guest, but into the most profound solidarity with the human condition, a condition of flesh, blood, suffering, death and separation from God. 31 This separation is ultimately marked by human mortality, for death keeps man from all but the most tenuous access to God. The Son entered into this human condition in order to lead those who suffer from it into a new condition, a new state of being which is nothing less than participation in the eternal celebration of Sabbath which the Son enjoys by nature as sharer in the creative work of the Father. Perhaps a Joshua Christology means that we may express the Christian hope thus: the Son has completed what is for him a return journey; yet Jesus Christ is the same, yesterday and today and forever (13.8): it is not that he has changed in this journey but that he has changed things for those who can now follow him, their leader and guide. The true Promised Land of Heaven, previously barred to humanity, now lies open, for the veil has been torn, the waters of the Jordan are parted, death is no longer the uncrossable barrier between man and God but the open door. Crucially, this means that salvation in Hebrews is neither from the fleshly state nor even indeed from death itself, so much as through death; we make the same journey that Christ has made. We who have not yet resisted to the shedding of our blood need have no fear of doing so, for as we look across that final crossing-place we see Jesus, our Joshua, beckoning to us from the opposite shore. 31

I am inclined for several reasons to read χωρίς rather than χάριτι at 2.9; see especially Elliot 1972 and Garnet 1983.

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Wedderburn, A.J.M. 2004. “The ‘Letter’ to the Hebrews and its Thirteenth Chapter.” New Testament Studies 50 (3) p. 390–405. —. 2005. ‘Sawing off the Branches: Theologizing Dangerously Ad Hebraeos.” Journal of Theological Studies 56 (2) p. 393–414. Weiss, H.-F. 1991. Der Brief an die Hebräer. Meyers Kritisch-Exegetischer Kommentar über das Neue Testament. Göttingen: Vandonhoeck & Ruprecht. Westcott, B.F. 1889. The Epistle to the Hebrews. London: Macmillan. Willi-Plein, I. 2005. “Some Remarks on Hebrews from the Viewpoint of Old Testament Exegesis.” In: Gelardini, G. (ed). Hebrews: Contemporary Methods – New Insights. Leiden: Brill. Williamson, R. 1983. “The Incarnation of the Logos in Hebrews.” Expository Times 95 (1) p. 4–8. Wills, L. 1984. “The Form of the Sermon in Hellenistic Judaism and Early Christianity. ” Harvard Theological Review 77 (3–4) p. 277–299. Wilson, R.McL. 1987. Hebrews. New Century Bible Commentary. Grand Rapids MI: Wm. B. Eerdmans Publishing Co. Windisch, H. 1931. Der Hebräerbrief. 2 nd Ed. Handbuch zum Neuen Testament 14. Tübingen: Mohr. Witherington, B. 1991. “The Influence of Galatians on Hebrews.” New Testament Studies 37 (1) p. 146–52. Woollcombe, K.J. 1957. “The Biblical Origins and Patristic Development of Typology.” In: Lampe, G. W. H. & Woollcombe, K. J. Essays on Typology. London: SCM Press. Wray, J.H. 1998. Rest as a Theological Metaphor in the Epistle to the Hebrews and the Gospel of Truth: Early Christian Homiletics of Rest. SBL Dissertation Series 166. Atlanta GA: Scholars Press. Wright, N.T. 1991. The Climax of the Covenant: Christ and the Law in Pauline Theology. Edinburgh: T&T Clark. —. 1996. Jesus and the Victory of God. London: SPCK. Yeo, K.-K. 1991. “The Meaning and Usage of ‘REST’ (Katapausis and Sabbatismos) in Hebrews 3:7–4:13.” Asia Journal of Theology 5 (April) p. 2–33. Young, F.M. 1987. Biblical Exegesis and the Formation of Christian Culture. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. —. 1994. “Typology”. In: Porter, S.E., Joyce. P., and Orton, D.E. (eds). Crossing the Boundaries. Leiden: Brill. Young, N.H. 1973. “τοῦτʼ ἔστιν τῆς σαρκὸς αὐτοῦ (Hebr. x,20): Apposition, Dependent or Explicative?” New Testament Studies 20 p. 100–104. —. 1981. “The Gospel According to Hebrews 9.” New Testament Studies 27 p. 198–210. —. 2001. “Where Jesus has gone as a forerunner on our behalf (Hebrews 6.20) ” Andrews University Seminary Studies 39 p. 165–73. —. 2002. “The Day of Dedication or the Day of Atonement? The Old Testament background to Hebrews 6.19–20 revisited.” Andrews University Seminary Studies 40 p. 61–8.

Index of Ancient Sources A. Hebrew Scriptures and Septuagint Genesis 1.2 2.2 2.10 6–9 15.6 23.4 24.37

44 83, 90 45 39 103 112 112

Exodus 3.8 1.5–7 1.17, 21 2.2 2.11–15 5.17 13.5 14.11–12 14.19 14.30–31 15 17 19 19.12–25 24 25.40 26.31 26.33 26.37 27.8 30.6 31.17 31.18–32,35 33.11 35.2 37.5 37.26 39.19

63 113 118 118 123 50 63 120 12 120 41–43 15, 57–58, 60 24 171 41, 46 37, 159 143 143–144 143 42 143 83, 90 30 155 80, 82 143 143 143

40.1–9

144

Leviticus 16 16.2 16.3 16.14–15 21.23 24.9 25.9

143, 146 143 159 93 143 158 93

Numbers 3.10 3.26 4.5 4.11 4.32 4.39 7 10.33 12.7 12.7–8 13 13–14 13.16 13.28–31 13.32 14 14–15 14.7–8 14.8 14.9 14.11 14.22 14.23 14.24 14.26–38 14.27

143 143 143 59 143 58 145–146 80 18 155–156 15, 17 8, 63 14 63 63 56–66 13 63 63 58 56–57 56, 58 57 63 10 57

204

Index of Ancient Sources

14.29 14.29–30 14.32 14.33 14.34 14.35 14.43 18.7 21.22 22.32 24.17–19 32.9 32.12 32.13

59 64 59 57 57 56–7 58–59 143 47 118 47 56 63 57

Deuteronomy 1.28 1.30–31 1.34 1.34–38 1.36–39 2.26–29 5.2 12.9 12.9–12 23.48–49 29.18 32 34.4 34.10

56 56 57 75 63 47 76 79–80 87 113 76 77 113 155

Joshua 3.7 5.2

42 12

Judges 3.17 5 11.19

118 41 47

1 Kings 8.56 8.63

80 145

1 Chronicles 6.16

80

2 Chronicles 3.1 6.41 7.5 Psalms 40.6–8 46 68.16–18 74 78 78.32 89 95

45 80 145

106.21–22 110.4 129.4 132.8,14

28 45 45–46 44 44 56 44 8, 10, 30–31, 55–59, 81 56 144 93 80

Isaiah 2 11.6–9,15 4 11.10 11.16 14.12–21 31.8 32.18 43.16–21 51 51.2 51.9–11 52.12 63.19 65.17–25 66.1

45 4 80 42 153 47 80 43 44 45 44 43 12 44 80

Jeremiah 9.3–5 31.31–34 31.33

42 30, 43, 138 28, 59

Ezekiel 20.36 36.35 40.2 44.27

42 45 45 93

205

Index of Ancient Sources Daniel 7 9.9

41 93

Hosea 2.15

43

Joel 2.3

45

Amos 5.26–27 Habakkuk 2.3–4

Zechariah 14.8–11

45

Wisdom of Solomon 7.24–30 48 10–19 48 Sirach 24, 50 50

37

1 Maccabees 4.36 5.48

145 47

100

2 Maccabees 6.23

118

B. New Testament Matthew 1.21 23.37–24.2 24.15–31 27.51

2 2 2 151

Mark 1.2 14.58 15.28

21 46 151

Luke 10.18 23.45 24.27

153 151 182

John 4.2 12.31 Acts 7.20 7.43–44,48–49 7.49 14.17 Romans 2.24 5.14 5.16

69 153

118 37 81 69

25 36–37, 39 39–40

6.17 6.19 9.25–26 10.5–8,18

34 38 25 25

1 Corinthians 10 10.4 10.6,11 10.16 10.21 11.1 14.21

10 72, 182 35–6 36 37 35 25

2 Corinthians 4.13 5

25 46

Philippians 2.6–11 3.12–14 3.17 3.20

35, 134 35 34 46

Colossians 2.11

46

1 Thessalonians 1.7 34

206 1 Timothy 4.12 Hebrews 1.1. 1.2–3 1.3 1.5–8 1.10–12 2.9 2.10 2.10–11 2.11–12 2.11–18 2.14 2.14–15 2.16 2.17 3–4 3.1 3.1–3 3.1–6 3.2 3.4–5 3.5–6 3.7 3.7–8 3.7–4.11 3.7–4.13 3.8–9 3.10 3.10–11 3.12 3.13 3.13–15 3.14 3.15 3.16 3.16–18 3.17 3.17–19 4.1 4.1–2 4.1–11 4.2 4.2–3 4.3 4.4 4.6

Index of Ancient Sources

34

168 88, 91, 133–134 5, 168, 172, 182–183 30 31 5, 72, 88, 133–134, 161, 166, 184 89, 171 114 89 134 88–89, 91, 150, 153 89 67, 89 88–89, 92–3 10, 13 71, 89, 92, 114, 171 74 75–76, 81, 134 18, 88 55 88 56, 59, 65, 74 30 8, 17, 32, 74–75 74 56 76 57 57, 76 71, 170 303 89, 134 65, 71 63–4 71 57, 61, 64 58 5, 67, 116 60 78–89 63–66, 84 66–67 67–71, 87, 134, 170 83 5, 58, 64, 67, 85

4. 4.7 4.8 4.9–10 4.9–11 4.11 4.12 4.14 4.14–15 4.15 4.16 5.7 5.9 5.11–6.3 6.1 6.4 6.13–15 6.17 6.18 6.19 6.19–20 6.20 6.21 6.23 7.1 7.3 7.22 7.25 7.26 7.28 8 8.1–2 8.2 8.5 8.6 8.8 8.8–12 8.10 8.13 9 9.1–2 9.1–14 9.2 9.2–3 9.2–5 9.3 9.7

6–8 68 31, 59 1, 13, 55, 71–74, 84, 90–93 85–86 170 76, 84, 116, 170 16–18, 30, 58–59, 171 74, 114, 133 134 134 116, 170 150 171 88 116 171 67 107 138 139–144 5, 9, 93–94, 136–145, 170 135, 146 146 146 135 3, 135 127 7 133–135 171 5 81, 135 157, 160 6, 31, 37, 81, 154, 157, 159 127, 171 177 138 28, 59 157 5, 37–38 157 9, 136, 157–165 158–160 137 158 142–144 137, 147

207

Index of Ancient Sources 9.8 9.9 9.10 9.11 9.11–14 9.12 9.13 9.14 9.15 9.15–24 9.19–22 9.23 9.23–24 9.24 9.25 9.26 9.28 9.36 10.1–3 10.1–4 10.5–7 10.5–9 10.7–9 10.8–9 10.9–18 10.11 10.14–18 10.16–17 10.19 10.19–20 10.19–22 10.19–23 10.20 10.22 10.23 10.25 10.29–30 10.30 10.36 10.37 10.37–38 10.37–39 10.39 10.40 11 11.1 11.1–2 11.2

31, 151, 160–162 150, 161–165 150, 162–163 5, 46 156 147, 160 150 153 109, 171 156 153 152–157 155–156 37–38, 133, 135–136, 159, 171 147, 155–156, 160 153, 161 116, 153 165 163 157 28 148 154 28 148 163 157 28 160–161, 170 9, 136–8, 145–152, 165 170 147 142, 147–151 116, 170 107, 114 163 163 171 103 91, 116 100 101 100, 107 108–109 8 101–107, 109 100 100, 103

11.5–6 11.9 11.10 11.11 11.12 11.13 11.13–16 11.14 11.16 11.19 11.23 11.26 11.29 11.30 11.30–31 11.31 11.32 11.32–38 11.39–40 11.40 11.40–12.1 12.1 12.1–2 12.2 12.9 12.12–13 12.18 12.22 12.22–23 12.26–28 13.8 13.10 13.11 3.12–14 3.13 3.15 13.18–19 13.22 13.22–25

112 124 91, 116, 171 111–112 113 113–116 124 116 113–114, 116, 171 180 117–119 108 119–21 121–124 123 126 26, 129–130 125–130 100, 129 65, 180 114 5, 62, 116 9, 100, 141, 166–167 130, 165, 171, 184 150 62, 140 170–171 5, 81, 91, 114, 170– 171 87, 172 170 187 163, 180 160 60 59, 62, 116 59, 114 26 3, 27, 126 27

1 Peter 1.1 1.6 2.11 3.6 3.21 5.3 5.10

114 38 114 44 37–39 34 38

208 Jude 5

Index of Ancient Sources Revelation 12.7–9

10–13

153

C. Other Jewish Literature The Dead Sea Scrolls 1QM (The War Scroll) 6b–7a; 11.11; 12.6–7 47 CD (The Damascus Covenant) 3.6–7 57 4Q405 94 The Book of Jubilees 6.21,32ff 31.18 49.8 50.9

48–9 49 49 86

Joseph and Aseneth 1.5

46

Philo Judæus De Specialibus Legibus 1.66,114,116 49

De Plantatione Noë 46–50 50 De Somniis 1.215 49–50 Quis Rerum Divinarum Heres Sit 275–83 82 De Cherubim 84–91 86 Flavius Josephus Life 1.2ff Jewish War 5.9.4.391ff Jewish Antiquities 10

44 44 44

Liber Antiquitatum Biblicarum 15.1,5–6 56–57 11.8 86

D. Patristic Literature Epistle of Barnabas 6.8–19 7.3,7 8.1 12.5 12.8 Justin Martyr Dialogue with Trypho 24.2 75.1–2 113.1–3 132.3

13–14 14 14 14 72

72 72 14 14

Tertullian Adversus Judæos IX.21–22 IX.25 X.10

15 15 15

Aphraates Demonstrations 11.12 1.14

16 16

Ephrem the Syrian Hymns of the Nativity

16

209 Origen Homily on Exodus 11.5

72

Homily on Joshua 16.12 26.2

17 17

E. Classical Literature Plato Republic 396a,403e Laws 7.803e

34 34

Aristotle Politics 1323a10,1341b32

34

Diogenes Laërtius Lives of the Philosophers 10

Index of Modern Authors Allen, D. 76–7 Attridge, H.W. 62, 64, 67, 69–71, 80, 86, 102–103, 106–108, 113, 120–121, 125–127, 134, 139, 150, 153–154, 156, 160 Auerbach, E. 52–53 Barrett, C.K. 7, 62, 107, 171 Bauckham, R. 11–13 Beare, F.W. 38 Bockmuehl, M. 184 Bruce, F.F. 102, 106, 121, 125, 151, 154 Buchanan, G.W. 69, 83, 128 Combrink, H.J.B. 28 Dahl, N.A. 145–146 Daniélou, J. 33, 50, 52 Daube, D. 41 Dauphinais and Levering 185 Davidson, R.M. 34–35, 144–145 Dawson, J.D. 53, 181 DeSilva, D.A. 105, 114–115, 120, 125, Douglas, M. 41 Dunnill, J. 127, 154, Eichrodt, W. 52 Eisenbaum, P.M. 119, 122–123, 178 Ellingworth, P. 65–66, 72, 81, 87, 102, 104, 121, 125–126, 131–136, 139–140, 142, 149–150, 152, 154, 156, 159–160 Elliott, J.H. 114, Fabiny, T. 52 Fahr and Gleßmer 12 Farrer, A. 1–2 Fishbane, M. 20, 40–45 Fossum, J. 11 France, R.T. 72 Frye, N. 52 Gane, R.E. 143 Gardiner, F. 150 Gelardini, G. 27, 30, 83 Girard, R. 181–182

Grässer, E. 86, 92, 101, 149, 153 Hahn, S. 68 Hanson, A.T. 11, 72 Hays, R.B. 20– 24, 29–30, 103, 177–180 Hayward, C.T. 168–169 Hofius, O. 56–62, 70, 75, 78–88, 93–97, 115–116, 133, 148–149, 159–160 Holmes, S.R. 186 Hooker, M. 177, 185 Hughes, P.E. 29, 156 Hummel, H.D. 40–43 Isaacs M.E. 61, 130 Johnson, L.T. 62, 67, 71, 90, 93, 102–103, 106–107, 111, 120, 122, 127, 134, 139–140, 152 Johnson, W.G. 117 Karrer, M. 71 Käsemann, E. 60–61, 75, 78–79, 88, 115–117, 149 Kellett, E.E. 12 Kelly, J.N.D. 38 Koester, C.R. 106, 111, 127 Kugel and Greer 48 Lane, W.L. 58–59, 62, 82–83, 102, 105–106, 108, 111, 115, 119, 125, 127, 130, 154 Kendall, R.T. 107, 119, 128 Laansma J. 60 Lehne, S. 127, 133 Lincoln, A.T. 62, 79 Lindars, B. 21, 24, 177 Marcus, J. 21–22 Marshall, I.H. 185 Metger, B.M. 10–11 Michel, O. 102, 139, 142, 153 Mitchell, A.C. 106, 108, 127 Moffat, J. 64, 106, 139 Montefiore, H.W. 64, 121, 125, 148–149, 151, 154, 158, 160

Index of Modern Authors Nanos, M. 178 Neeley, L. 100 Pfitzner, V.C. 127 Rice, G.E. 138, 142–143, 146 Robinson, J.A.T. 40 Sarskaune, O. 177 Schenck, K. 30 Scholer, J.M. 140–141, 153 Spicq, C. 65, 69, 102, 117, 154, 156, Stanley, C.D. 24–25 Stendahl, K. 24 Synge, F.C. 73 Theissen, G. 70 Thiessen, M. 123

211

Thompson, J.W. 91, 126 Vaganay, L. 100 Vanhoye, A. 57, 158 Wagner, J.R. 24 Watts, R.E. 22–23, 29 Wedderburn, A.J.M. 185 Weiss, H.-F. 61–62, 102, 104, 125, 140, 146 Westcott, B.F. 139, 152 Wilson, R.McL. 72, 74, 83 Wray, J.H. 73–74 Wright, N.T. 29, 177 Young, F. 4, 33, 51 Young, N.H. 143–144, 150, 162

Index of Subjects Aaron 75, 137, 144–145 Abraham 89, 103, 111–117, 129, 141, 169 Angels 11–12 Archēgos 71, 89–91, 100, 124, 166–167, 179 Atonement (see Soteriology) – Day of 7, 9, 83, 93–94, 124, 129, 131–132, 137–138, 142–146, 151, 154, 157, 160, 165, 169–170 Audience, as criterion for interpretation 3, 20–26 – of Hebrews 26–28, 61–62, 64–65, 71–77, 103, 108–109, 114–117, 125, 129–130 Authorial intention 3–4, 9, 20–26 Authorship of Hebrews 26–27

Creation 68–69, 89–91, 96 Crucifixion (see Death of Jesus) Curse 67–68 Curtain (see Veil) Death 88, 115, 124, 134, 150–151, 172, 175–176, 184, 186–187 – of Jesus 1, 7–9, 26, 68 n. 38, 134 n. 4, 141 n. 27, 149 n. 49, 152–153, 167–168, 171–172, 182; cf. Flesh of Jesus Deuteronomic situation 76–77

Blood 137, 145–148, 156–157

Faith, faithfulness 55, 62–66, 74–77, 101–109, 113–116, 123–124, 145, 167, 184 Faithlessness 56–59, 63 Figural readings 52–54; cf. Typology Flesh of Jesus 148–151 Forerunner (see Prodromos)

Caleb 55, 59, 63–67, 74–76, 96, 101, 127–128 Canaan (see Promised Land) Christology 5, 74, 88 – High Priestly 7, 9, 71, 93, 135, 146, 167 – Joshua 8–9, 90, 128–130, 167, 187 Conquest 125–130, 167; cf. Promised Land Cosmology (see Geography, sacred) Covenant 68 n. 38, 77, 83, 144–145, 162–164 – new, renewed 126–127, 138, 146, 151–152, 157, 165–166, 177–180

Ecclesiology 5, 108–109 Eschatology 75, 91, 105, 133, 170–172; cf. Hope – imminent 60–62 – realised 62, 141–142, 162–164

Geography, sacred 132–138 Gezara shawa 82, 96 Gnosticism 134 Heaven 7, 78–89, 116, 186–187; cf. Geography, sacred and Sanctuary, heavenly Hermeneutics 6, 20–24, 28, 33

Index of Subjects Hexateuch 1–2 High Priest 5–9, 40, 49–50, 164–165; cf. Christology Historical criticism 3 Holy of Holies 7, 93–95, 142–142, 157–161 Holy Spirit 59, 68, 161, 168 Hope 105–106, 138–145, 165 Intertextuality 21, 29 Isaac 112–113 Isomorphisms 4–7, 39, 55, 133, 167– 171, 182–183 Jericho 123–130 Jordan, crossing of 16, 42–43, 99, 117, 124, 126, 129–130, 165–166, 171– 172, 184 Joshua, son of Nun 8, 12–18, 55–56, 59, 63–67, 70–74, 90, 94–97, 101, 118– 124, 127–128, 165–166 Kadesh–Barnea 56–62, 64, 75, 83–85, 89, 95–96, 101 Katapausis (see Rest) Melchizedek 3, 93, 144, 169 Moses 55–56, 74–77, 89, 117–124, 127, 144–145, 155–157, 169 Old Testament in the New 3–4, 20 – in Hebrews 28–32 People of God 5–7, 55–56 Pilgrimage 8, 115–117, 129 Pioneer (see Archēgos) Platonism 105, 133, 154 Prodromos 93–94, 146 Promise 60, 66–71, 107, 141, 169 Promised Land 5–7, 55–56, 68–71, 75–90, 95–97, 113, 122–130, 184

213

Readers (see Audience) Red Sea 76 Rest 5, 60, 67–72, 77–89, 96, 164, 166, 186 Rhetoric 102, 109–110, 119, 125, 129–130, 171 Sabbath 78–79, 83–89, 96 Sacrifice 31, 37, 41, 47–48, 51, 88, 99, 131–132, 136–8, 147, 152–155, 160–161, 167, 170, 175, 178–179, 182–186 ; cf. Blood; Death of Jesus Salvation history 31, 126–130, 159, 162, 185 Sanctuary, heavenly 81, 93–95, 135– 136, 148, 157–165 – cleansing of 152–157 Situation of Hebrews, historical 26–28, 114–115, 178–179 Sojourn, sojourners (see Pilgrimage) Soteriology 5, 19, 31, 39, 98–99, 131, 174, 187 Supersessionism 176–184 Tabernacle (see Tent) Targum of Joshua 12–13 Temple, Jerusalem 26–27, 81, 87, 157, 178–179 ; cf. Typology and the temple Tent 157–165 Tupos word–group 33–40, 51 – as exemplar 34–37 – in paraenesis 35–37 – in typological interpretation 37–40 Typology 4, 32–51, 55–56, 71–72, 84– 85, 176–184 – and the temple 5, 45–46, 49–50, 81– 82 – cosmological 44–46 – definition of 32–34, 53–54 – historical 41–44, 46–48, 129

214 – horizontal and vertical 5–7, 40–41, 44–51, 90–93, 130–131, 184–187 – in intertestamental literature 46–51 – in the Old Testament 40–46 – liturgical 48–50 – ontological vs literary 4–7, 19, 32, 52–54, 181 – vs. allegory 49, 51–54, 180–181

Index of Subjects Veil 9, 137–138, 142–152, 157–159, 165, 186 Wandering (see Pilgrimage) Wilderness generation 57, 61–62, 68, 84, 120–121, 125–130 Yom Kippur (see Atonement, Day of)