The Catholic Epistles: Critical Readings 9780567695710, 9780567695727, 9780567695703

Table of contents :
Cover
Half Title
Series
Title
Copyright
Contents
Permission Acknowledgments
Acknowledgments
Abbreviations
Part 1 The Catholic Epistles as a Collection
Introduction (Darian R. Lockett)
The Wait is Worth it: The Catholic Epistles and the Formation of the New Testament
Further Readings
Part 2 Historical-Critical and Theological Studies in the Catholic Epistles
Introduction (Darian R. Lockett)
a. Compositional, Exegetical, Textual-Critical, and Background Studies
The Fiction of James and Its Sitz im Leben (Dale C. Allison Jr.)
The Epistle of James in Light of Early Jewish Diaspora Letters (Karl-Wilhelm Niebuhr)
Messianic Jewish Identity in James (Richard J. Bauckham)
The Themes of 1 Peter: Insights from the Earliest Manuscripts (the Crosby-Schøyen Codex Ms 193 and the Bodmer Miscellaneous Cod
Aliens and Strangers? The Socio-economic Location of the Addresses of 1 Peter (David G. Horrell)
The Form and Background of the Polemic in 2 Peter (Jerome H. Neyrey)
The Relationship to the Fourth Gospel Shared by the Author of 1 John and by His Opponents (Raymond E. Brown)
The Historicization of the Theology of John in the First Letter of John (Theo K. Heckel)
What Was from the Beginning: Scripture and Tradition in the Johannine Epistles1 (Judith M. Lieu)
“If Anyone Comes …” (Judith M. Lieu)
Jude’s Citation of 1 Enoch (Jeremy Hultin)
Jude’s Exegesis (Richard J. Bauckham)
b. Theological and Interpretive Issues
The Epistle of James as Anti-Pauline Polemic: The Aporias of the Epistle (Martin Hengel)
The Letter of James as a Document of Paulinism? (Margaret M. Mitchell)
Narrating the Gospel in 1 and 2 Peter (Joel B. Green)
“Authority to Become Children of God”: A Study of 1 John (Judith M. Lieu)
Cosmology in the Petrine Literature and Jude ( John Dennis)
Jude’s Christology
Further Readings
Part 3 Methodological Approaches
Introduction (Darian R. Lockett)
An Assessment of the Rhetoric and Rhetorical Analysis of the Letter of James (Duane F. Watson)
“Unstained by the World”: Purity and Pollution as an Indicator of Cultural Interaction in the Letter of James (Darian R. Locke
1 Peter 4.16: Shame, Emotion, and Christian Self-Perception* (Katherine M. Hockey)
Women on the Edge: New Perspectives on Women in the Petrine Haustafel (Betsy J. Bauman-Martin)
Disgraced Yet Graced: The Gospel according to 1 Peter in the Key of Honor and Shame (John H. Elliott)
Between Conformity and Resistance: Beyond the Balch–Elliott Debate Towards a Postcolonial Reading of First Peter* (David
Polemic and Persuasion: Typological and Rhetorical Perspectives on the Letter of Jude (J. Daryl Charles)
Further Readings
Part 4 Reception History of the Catholic Epistles
Introduction (Darian R. Lockett)
The Product of a Petrine Circle? Challenging an Emerging Consensus (David G. Horrell)
Acceptance into the Canon
Searching for Evidence: The History of Reception of the Epistles of Jude and 2 Peter
Further Readings
Index of authors
Index of References

Citation preview

i

THE CATHOLIC EPISTLES

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Other titles in the series: THE SON OF MAN PROBLEM: CRITICAL READINGS THE LETTER TO THE HEBREWS: CRITICAL READINGS THE HEBREW BIBLE AND HISTORY: CRITICAL READINGS THE BIBLE, GENDER, AND SEXUALITY: CRITICAL READINGS

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THE CATHOLIC EPISTLES CRITICAL READINGS

Edited by Darian R. Lockett

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T&T CLARK Bloomsbury Publishing Plc 50 Bedford Square, London, WC1B 3DP, UK 1385 Broadway, New York, NY 10018, USA 29 Earlsfort Terrace, Dublin 2, Ireland BLOOMSBURY, T&T CLARK and the T&T Clark logo are trademarks of Bloomsbury Publishing Plc First published in Great Britain 2021 This edition published in 2023 Copyright © Darian R. Lockett and Contributors, 2021 Darian R. Lockett has asserted his right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988, to be identified as Editor of this work. For legal purposes the Acknowledgments on p. xi constitute an extension of this copyright page. Cover design: Charlotte James All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or any information storage or retrieval system, without prior permission in writing from the publishers. Bloomsbury Publishing Plc does not have any control over, or responsibility for, any third-party websites referred to or in this book. All internet addresses given in this book were correct at the time of going to press. The author and publisher regret any inconvenience caused if addresses have changed or sites have ceased to exist, but can accept no responsibility for any such changes. A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library. Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Names: Lockett, Darian R., editor. Title: The Catholic epistles : critical readings / edited by Darian R. Lockett. Description: London ; New York : T&T Clark, 2021. | Series: T&T Clark critical readings in biblical studies | Includes bibliographical references and index. | Summary: “Designed as a reference volume for researchers and graduate students focusing on the catholic Epistles, this work brings together the best scholarship concentrating upon the Letters of James, Peter, John, and Jude in one convenient volume”– Provided by publisher. Identifiers: LCCN 2020044933 (print) | LCCN 2020044934 (ebook) | ISBN 9780567695710 (hb) | ISBN 9780567695703 (epdf) | ISBN 9780567695697 (epub) Subjects: LCSH: Bible. Catholic Epistles–Criticism, interpretation, etc. Classification: LCC BS2777 .C383 2021 (print) | LCC BS2777 (ebook) | DDC 227/.906--dc23 LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2020044933 LC ebook record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2020044934 ISBN: HB: 978-0-5676-9571-0 PB: 978-0-5676-9907-7 ePDF: 978-0-5676-9570-3 ePUB: 978-0-5676-9569-7 Typeset by Newgen KnowledgeWorks Pvt. Ltd., Chennai, India

To find out more about our authors and books visit www.bloomsbury.com and sign up for our newsletters.

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CONTENTS

Permission Acknowledgments ix Acknowledgments xi List of Abbreviations xiii

Part 1 The Catholic Epistles as a Collection

1

Introduction Darian R. Lockett

3

The Wait Is Worth It: The Catholic Epistles and the Formation of the New Testament Wolfgang Grünstäudl

9

Further Readings

25

Part 2 Historical-Critical and Theological Studies in the Catholic Epistles

29

Introduction Darian R. Lockett

31

A. Compositional, Exegetical, Textual-Critical, and Background Studies39 The Fiction of James and Its Sitz im Leben Dale C. Allison Jr.

39

The Epistle of James in Light of Early Jewish Diaspora Letters Karl-Wilhelm Niebuhr

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Messianic Jewish Identity in James Richard J. Bauckham

85

The Themes of 1 Peter: Insights from the Earliest Manuscripts (the Crosby-Schøyen Codex Ms 193 and the Bodmer Miscellaneous Codex Containing P72) David G. Horrell

99

Aliens and Strangers? The Socio-Economic Location of the Addresses of 1 Peter David G. Horrell

117

The Form and Background of the Polemic in 2 Peter Jerome H. Neyrey

145

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Contents

The Relationship to the Fourth Gospel Shared by the Author of 1 John and by His Opponents Raymond E. Brown

165

The Historicization of the Theology of John in the First Letter of John Theo K. Heckel

175

What Was from the Beginning: Scripture and Tradition in the Johannine Epistles Judith M. Lieu

191

“If Anyone Comes …” Judith M. Lieu

205

Jude’s Citation of 1 Enoch Jeremy Hultin

227

Jude’s Exegesis Richard J. Bauckham

239

B.  Theological and Interpretive Issues275 The Epistle of James as Anti-Pauline Polemic: The Aporias of the Epistle Martin Hengel

275

The Letter of James as a Document of Paulinism? Margaret M. Mitchell

305

Narrating the Gospel in 1 and 2 Peter Joel B. Green

325

“Authority to Become Children of God”: A Study of 1 John Judith M. Lieu

339

Cosmology in the Petrine Literature and Jude John Dennis

351

Jude’s Christology Richard J. Bauckham

369

Further Readings 391

Part 3 Methodological Approaches

409

Introduction Darian R. Lockett

411

An Assessment of the Rhetoric and Rhetorical Analysis of the Letter of James Duane F. Watson

415

“Unstained by the World”: Purity and Pollution as an Indicator of Cultural Interaction in the Letter of James Darian R. Lockett

vi

433

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Contents

1 Peter 4.16: Shame, Emotion, and Christian Self-Perception Katherine M. Hockey

455

Women on the Edge: New Perspectives on Women in the Petrine Haustafel Betsy J. Bauman-Martin

465

Disgraced yet Graced: The Gospel according to 1 Peter in the Key of Honor and Shame John H. Elliott

487

Between Conformity and Resistance: Beyond the Balch–Elliott Debate towards a Postcolonial Reading of First Peter David G. Horrell

507

Polemic and Persuasion: Typological and Rhetorical Perspectives on the Letter of Jude J. Daryl Charles

531

Further Readings 555

Part 4 Reception History of the Catholic Epistles

559

Introduction 561 Darian R. Lockett The Product of a Petrine Circle? Challenging an Emerging Consensus David G. Horrell

563

Acceptance into the Canon Judith M. Lieu

595

Searching for Evidence: The History of Reception of the Epistles of Jude and 2 Peter 613 Wolfgang Grünstäudl and Tobias Nicklas Further Readings 625 Index of Authors Index of References

627 631

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PERMISSION ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Wolfgang Grünstäudl, “Was lange währt …:  Die Katholischen Briefe und die Formung des neutestamentlichen Kanons,” Early Christianity 7 (2016):  71–94. Reprinted by permission of the copyright holder, Early Christianity, published by Mohr Siebeck. Email:  wener@ mohrsiebeck.com. Dale C. Allison, “The Fiction of James and Its Sitz im Leben,” Revue Biblique 108 (2001): 529– 70. Reprinted by permission of the copyright holder, Revue Biblique, published by Peeters. Email: [email protected]. Karl-Wilhelm Niebuhr, “Der Jakobusbrief im Licht Frühjüdischer Diasporabriefe,” NTS 44 (1998): 420–43. Reprinted by permission of the copyright holder, New Testament Studies, published by Cambridge University Press. Theo K. Heckel, “Die Historisierung der johanneischen Theologie im Ersten Johannesbrief,” NTS 50 (2004):  425–33. Reprinted by permission of the copyright holder, New Testament Studies, published by Cambridge University Press. David G.  Horrell, “The Themes of 1 Peter:  Insights from the Earliest Manuscripts (the Crosby-Schøyen Codex Ms 193 and the Bodmer Miscellaneous Codex Containing P72,” NTS 55 (2009): 502–22. Reprinted by permission of the copyright holder, New Testament Studies, published by Cambridge University Press. Jerome H. Neyrey, “The Form and Background of the Polemic in 2 Peter,” JBL 99 (1980): 407– 31. Reprinted by permission of the copyright holders, Journal of Biblical Literature, published by the Society of Biblical Literature Press. Raymond E.  Brown, “The Relationship to the Fourth Gospel Shared by the Author of 1 John and by His Opponents,” in Text and Interpretation:  Studies in the New Testament Presented to Matthew Black (ed. R. McLean Wilson and Ernest Best; Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1979), 57–68. Reprinted by permission of the copyright holders, Cambridge University Press. Judith M. Lieu, “What Was from the Beginning: Scripture and Tradition in the Johannine Epistles,” NTS 39 (1993):  458–77. Reprinted by permission of the copyright holder, New Testament Studies, published by Cambridge University Press. Martin Hengel, “Der Jakobusbrief als antipaulinische Polemik,” in Paulus und Jakobus: Kleine Schriften III (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2002), 511–48. Originally published in Tradition and Interpretation in the New Testament (ed. G. G. Hawthorne and O. Betz; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1987), 248–78. Reprinted by permission of the publisher (Eerdmans); all rights reserved. https://www.eerdmans.com/Forms/RequestPermissions.aspx. Joel B. Green, “Narrating the Gospel in 1 and 2 Peter,” Interpretation 60 (2006): 262–77. Reprinted by permission of the copyright holders, Interpretation, published by SAGE Journals. Judith M.  Lieu, “ ‘Authority to Become Children of God’:  A Study of 1 John,” NovT 23 (1981):  210–28. Reprinted by permission of the copyright holder, Novum Testamentum, published by Brill.

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Betsy J. Bauman-Martin, “Women on the Edge: New Perspectives on Women in the Petrine Haustafel,” JBL 123 (2004): 253–79. Reprinted by permission of the copyright holders, Journal of Biblical Literature, published by the Society of Biblical Literature Press. John H. Elliott, “Disgraced Yet Graced: The Gospel according to 1 Peter in the Key of Honor and Shame,” BTB 25 (1995): 166–78. Reprinted by permission of the copyright holders, Biblical Theology Bulletin, published by SAGE Journals. Wolfgang Grünstäudl and Tobias Nicklas, “Searching for Evidence: The History of Reception of the Epistles of Jude and 2 Peter,” in Reading 1–2 Peter and Jude: A Resource for Students (ed. Eric F. Mason and Troy M. Martin; Atlanta: SBL, 2014), 215–28. Reprinted by permission of the copyright holders, Society of Biblical Literature Press.

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ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Encouraging and facilitating the study of the Catholic Epistles has been a central focus of mine. It is hoped that this volume will make these critical studies more widely available to scholars and students of these too often overlooked texts. I would like to thank Dominic Mattos for inviting me to edit this volume for the T&T Clark Critical Readings in Biblical Studies series. I am very glad that one of the first volumes of this series has been devoted to the Catholic Epistles. Though all of the chapters included in this volume have been previously published, four appear here for the first time in English, namely, the chapters by Wolfgang Grünstäudl, Karl-Wilhelm Niebuhr, Theo Heckel, and Martin Hengel. I  am grateful to Dr.  Amy Obrist, my former colleague at Biola University, for lending her skill and helping produce these translations. Though we worked together on the translations, she accomplished the lion’s share. The time-consuming task of tracking down permissions was made much easier with the help of Sarah Blake, assistant editor at T&T Clark. And finally, I would like to thank Evan Lockett for his help in compiling the list of abbreviations. Darian R. Lockett

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ABBREVIATIONS

AB ABD ACNT AGAJU AJBI AnBib ANF ANRW

ANTC ANTF APOT BBET BBR BDAG

BDF/BDR

BECNT BEThL/BETL Bib BibInt BIS BNTC BTB BThSt/BTS BWANT/BWA(N)T BZ BZAW

Anchor Bible Anchor Bible Dictionary. Edited by David Noel Freedman. 6 vols. New York: Doubleday, 1992 Augsburg Commentaries on the New Testament Arbeiten zur Geschichte des antiken Judentums und des Urchristentums Annual of the Japanese Biblical Institute Analetica Biblica Ante-Nicene Fathers Aufstieg und Niedergang der römischen Welt:  Geschichte und Kultur Roms im Spiegel der neueren Forschung. Part  2, Principat. Edited by Hildegard Temporini and Wolfgang Haase. Berlin:  de Gruyter, 1972– Abingdon New Testament Commentaries Arbeiten zur neutestamentlichen Textforschung The Apocrypha and Pseudepigrapha of the Old Testament. Edited by Robert H. Charles. 2 vols. Oxford: Clarendon, 1913 Beiträge zur biblischen Exegese und Theologie Bulletin for Biblical Research Danker, Fredrick W., Walter Bauer, William F. Arndt, and F. Wilbur Gingrich. Greek-English Lexicon of the New Testament and Other Early Christian Literature. 3rd ed. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2000 (Danker-Bauer-Arndt-Gingrich) Blass, Friedrich, Albert Debrunner, and Robert W.  Funk. A Greek Grammar of the New Testament and Other Early Christian Literature. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1961 Baker Exegetical Commentary on the New Testament Bibliotheca Ephemeridum Biblica Biblical Interpretation Biblical Interpretation Series Black’s New Testament Commentaries Biblical Theology Bulletin Bible et terre sainte Beiträge zur Wissenschaft vom Alten (und Neuen) Testament Biblische Zeitschrift Beihefte zur Zeitschrift für die alttestamentliche Wissenschaft

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BZNW CBNTS CBQ CBQMS CCSL/CChr.SL CNT ConBNT CSCO CSEL CTJ CurBR/CBR CurBS/CRBS CurTM DJD EBib EBR

Beihefte zur Zeitschrift für die neutestamentliche Wissenschaft Coniectanea Biblica New Testament Series Catholic Biblical Quarterly Catholic Biblical Quarterly Monograph Series Corpus Christianorum: Series Latina Commentaire du Nouveau Testament Coniectanea Biblica: Old Testament Series Corpus Scriptorum Christianorum Orientalium Corpus Scriptorum Ecclesiasticorum Latinorum Calvin Theological Journal Currents in Biblical Research Currents in Research: Biblical Studies Currents in Theology and Mission Discoveries in the Judean Desert Études Bibliques Encyclopedia of the Bible and Its Reception. Edited by Hans-Josef Klauck et al. Berlin: de Gruyter, 2009– EdF Erträge der Forschung EDNT Exegetical Dictionary of the New Testament. Edited by Horst Balz and Gerhard Schneider. ET. 3 vols. Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1990–3 EKK/EKKNT Evangelisch-katholischer Kommentar Neue Testament ET English translation ETL Ephemerides Theologicae Lovanienses ETR Etudes théologiques et religieuses ExpT/ExpTim Expository Times FRLANT Forschungen zur Religion und Literature des Alten und Neuen Testaments GBS Guides to Biblical Scholarship GCS Die griechischen christlichen Schriftsteller der ersten [drei] Jahrhunderte GNT Grundrisse zum Neuen Testament GRBS Greek, Roman, and Byzantine Stuides HBS History of Biblical Studies HNT Handbuch zum Neuen Testament HNTC Harper’s New Testament Commentaries HTBib Histoire du texte biblique HThR/HTR Harvard Theological Review HTKNT/HThKNT Herders Theologischer Kommentar zum Neuen Testament HUCA Hebrew Union College Annual HUT Hermeneutische Untersuchungen zur Theologie ICC International Critical Commentary IKZ Internationale kirchliche Zeitschrift Int Interpretation JAAR Journal of the American Academy of Religion JBL Journal of Biblical Literature xiv

xv

Abbreviations

JEH JETS JFSR JRS JSHRZ JSNT JSNTSup/JSNTSS JSOT JSOTSup/JSOTSS JSP JSS JTS/JThS Kairós KEK

Journal of Ecclesiastical History Journal of the Evangelical Theological Society Journal of Feminist Studies in Religion Journal of Roman Studies Jüdische Schriften aus hellenistisch-römischer Zeit Journal for the Study of the New Testament Journal for the Study of the New Testament Supplement Series Journal for the Study of the Old Testament Journal for the Study of the Old Testament Supplement Series Journal for the Study of the Pseudepigrapha Journal of Semitic Studies Journal of Theological Studies Kairós Kritisch-exegetischer Kommentar über das Neue Testament (Meyer-Kommentar) KStTh Kohlhammer-Studienbücher Theologie LAB Pseudo-Philo, Liber Antiquitatum Biblicarum LB/LingBibl Linguistica Biblica LCL Loeb Classical Library LD Lectio Divina LEC Library of Early Christianity LNTS Library of New Testament Studies LSJ Liddell, Henry George, Robert Scott, and Henry Stuart Jones. A Greek-English Lexicon. 9th ed. with revised supplement. Oxford: Clarendon, 1996 LW Living Word LXX Septuagint (Greek OT) MNTC Moffatt New Testament Commentary MPL Migne, J.-P. Patrologia Latina. Paris: Garnier Fratres, 1844–55 MT Masoretic Text MThSt Marburger Theologische Studien NA27 Novum Testamentum Graece. 27th ed. Edited by Barbara Aland, Kurt Aland, Johannes Karavidopoulos, Carlo M.  Martini, and Bruce M. Metzger. Stuttgart: Deutsche Bibelgesellschaft, 1993 28 NA Novum Testamentum Graece. 28th ed. Edited by Barbara Aland, Kurt Aland, Johannes Karavidopoulos, Carlo M.  Martini, and Bruce M. Metzger. Stuttgart: Deutsche Bibelgesellschaft, 2012 NABPR National Association of Baptist Professors of Religion NCB New Century Bible NCBC New Century Bible Commentary NHC Nag Hammadi Codices NICNT New International Commentary on the New Testament NIGTC New International Greek Testament Commentary NovT/NT Novum Testamentum NovTSup Supplements to Novum Testamentum xv

xvi

xii

NPNF2 NRSV NTA NTD NTOA NTS NTT OCD ÖTBK OTP PapFl/PF PC PG PL PNTC PRSt PTS RAC RB RBS/RBSt RivBib RivistB RSR RSV RQ SB

SB SBL SBLSCS SBLDS SBLITT/SBLit SBLMS SBLRBS SBLSBS SBLSS SBS SBT SPB xvi

Nicene and Post-Nicene Fathers, Series 2 New Revised Standard Version New Testament Abstracts Das Neue Testament Deutsch Novum Testamentum et Orbis Antiquus Lausanne, 1996– New Testament Studies New Testament Theology Oxford Classical Dictionary. 4th ed. Edited by Simon Hornblower and Antony Spawforth. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2012 Ökumenische Tascenbuch-Kommentar zum Neuen Testament Old Testament Pseudepigrapha. Edited by James H. Charlesworth. 2 vols. New York: Doubleday, 1983, 1985 Papyrologica Florentina Proclamation Commentaries Patrologia Graeca [= Patrologiae Cursus Completus:  Series Graeca]. Edited by Jacques-Paul Migne. 162 vols. Paris, 1857–86 Patrologia Latina [= Patrologiae Cursus Completus: Series Latina]. Edited by Jacques-Paul Migne. 217 vols. Paris, 1844–64 Pelican New Testament Commentaries Perspectives in Religious Studies Patristische Texte und Studien Reallexikon für Antike und Christentum. Edited by Theodor Klauser et al. Stuttgart: Hiersemann, 1950– Revue Biblique Resources for Biblical Study Rivista biblica italiana Rivista biblica Recherches de science religieuse Revised Standard Version Revue de Qumran Sammelbuch grieschischer Urkunden aus Aegpten. Edited by Friedrich Preisigke et  al. 1–21  vols. Wiesbaden:  Harrassowitz, 1915–2002 Sources bibliques Society of Biblical Literature SBL Septuagint and Cognate Studies Society of Biblical Literature Dissertation Series Society of Biblical Literature Texts and Translations Society of Biblical Literature Monograph Series Society of Biblical Literature Resources for Biblical study Society of Biblical Literature Sources for Biblical Study Society of Biblical Literature Semeia Studies Stuttgarter Bibelstudien Studies in Biblical Theology Studia Postbiblica

xvi

Abbreviations

SC SHAW SJLA SJT SNTS SNTSMS SNTU:A/SNTU A

Sources chrétiennes. Paris: Cerf, 1943– Sitzungen der heidelberger Akademie der Wissenschaften Studies in Judaism in Late Antiquity Scottish Journal of Theology Studiorum Novi Testamenti Societas Society for New Testament Studies Monograph Series Studien zum Neuen Testament und seiner Umwelt:  Serie A: Aufsätze SNTW Studies of the New Testament and Its World SP Sacra Pagina SPCK Society for Promoting Christian Knowledge ST Studia Theologica SUNT Studien zur Umwelt des Neue Testaments SVF Stoicorum Veterum Fragmenta. Hans Friedrich August Von Arnim. 4 vols. Leipzig: Teubne, 1903–24 SVTP Studia in Veteri Testamenti Pseudepigrapha TAPA Transactions of the American Philological Association TCGNT Bruce Manning Metzger, A Textual Commentary on the Greek New Testament: A Companion Volume to the United Bible Societies’ Greek New Testament (Fourth Revised Edition). 2nd ed. Stuttgart: Deutsche Bibelgesellschaft/United Bible Society, 2012 TDNT Theological Dictionary of the New Testament. Edited by G.  Kittel and G.  Friedrich. Translated by G.  W. Bromiley. 10  vols. Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1964–76 TGl/ThGl Theologie und Glaube THKNT/ThHK/THNT Theologischer Handkommentar zum Neuen Testament ThSt/Theol. Stud. Theologische Studiën TLZ/ThLZ Theologische Literaturzeitung TNTC Tyndale New Testament Commentaries TRev/ThR/ThRev Theologische Revue TSAJ Texte und Studien zum antiken Judentum TU Texte und Untersuchungen TUGAL Texte und Untersuchungen zur Geschichte der Altchristlichen Literatur TZ Theologische Zeitschrift UTB Uni-Taschenbücher VC/VigChr Vigiliae Christianae VTSup Supplements to Vetus Testamentum WBC Word Biblical Commentary WUNT/WUNT II Wissenschaftliche Untersuchungen zum Neuen Testament WW Word and World ZNW Zeitschrift für die neutestamentliche Wissenschaft und die Kunde der alteren Kirche ZRG Zeitschrift für Religions- und Geistesgeschichte ZTK/ZThK Zeitschrift für Theologie und Kirche xvii

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ZWT Zeitschrift für wissenschaftliche Theologie   General Abbreviations § section BCE Before the Common Era ca. circa CE Common Era cf. compare ed(s). editor(s); edited by; edition e.g. for example i.e. that is rev. revised s.v. under the word trans. translator vol(s). volume(s)

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PART 1 THE CATHOLIC EPISTLES AS A COLLECTION

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INTRODUCTION

Darian R. Lockett

This volume focuses on the Catholic Epistles: James, 1–2 Peter, 1–3 John, and Jude. Though originating from different authors addressing widely varying audiences, these letters were traditionally grouped together in early manuscript collections of New Testament texts. While 1 Peter, 1 John, and Jude were known and used independently from an early period, all seven of these letters entered the New Testament canon as a group. Eusebius of Caesarea was the first to refer explicitly to these seven letters as “the Epistles called Catholic” (Hist. eccl. 2.23.25). Using this designation, Eusebius was dependent upon earlier tradition, yet it is unclear when exactly these seven letters were first viewed as a collection and when they received the title “Catholic Epistles.” Roughly contemporaneous with Eusebius, the great fourth- and fifth-century codices, Sinaiticus, Vaticanus, and Alexandrines, list these seven letters in the same order as they are found in most New Testaments today. This collection of seven disparate works from multiple authors eventually became a standard part of the New Testament canon, traditionally grouping two of Jesus’s apostles (Peter and John) with two of Jesus’s brothers (James and Jude)—the typical order bracketing Peter and John between the bookends of James and Jude. Though patristic citation and manuscript evidence demonstrate the early circulation of 1 Peter, 1 John, and Jude, the history of reception in the commentary literature suggests that these letters were considered a collection from early time. Eusebius notes that in his Hypotyposeis, Clement of Alexandria “has given concise explanations of all the canonical Scriptures not passing over even the disputed writings, I  mean the Epistle of Jude and the remaining Catholic Epistles” (Hist. Eccl. 6.14.1). In the ninth century, Photius seems to have had firsthand knowledge of Clement’s work saying that it contained notes on, among other biblical texts, “the divine Paul’s epistles, and the Catholic epistles.”1 The fragments that remain from Clement’s Hypotyposeis (preserved in Cassiodorus’s Adumbrationes in Epistolas Canonicas) contain comments on 1 Peter, 1–2 John, and Jude. It is possible that Clement’s commentary originally included James, but this is highly contested.2 Whether or not James was originally included, it is suggestive that letters from Peter, John, and Jude were commented on together and perhaps called Catholic Epistles. We find fragments of commentary on all the Catholic

Bibliotheca Photii Patriarchae cod. 109, PG 103.384. James Hardy Ropes notes that “Clement of Alexandria probably included comments on James in his Hypotyposes” (The Epistle of James [Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1916], 110), yet he admits some doubt in his comments (92). Though Dale C. Allison notes that Clement “may have known James” (The Epistle of James [London: Bloomsbury, 2013], 15), he concludes that there is “no sure trace of James in literature from the first or first half of the second century” (20). David R.  Nienhuis is more confident that Clement did not know James (Not by Paul Alone:  The Formation of the Catholic Epistle Collection and the Christian Canon [Waco, TX: Baylor University Press, 2007], 48–50). 1 2

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Epistles (except 2 Peter) in Pseudo-Didymus (Didymus the Blind, 313–398) in the form of catena and fragments on the Catholic Epistles from John Chrysostom and Cyril of Alexandria.3 The tradition of commenting on the Catholic Epistles together continued in the Middle Ages with Bede’s Commentary on the Seven Catholic Epistles (679), Walafrid Strabo’s Glossa Ordinaria (ca. 842, partially dependent on Bede), the commentaries of Isho’Dad of Merv (ca. 850, Syriac), and Pseudo-Oecumenius (tenth century, Greek).4 Though one begins to see commentary on individual texts from the Catholic Epistles, the tradition of commenting on them as a collection called “Catholic Epistles” largely continued through the Reformation period with commentaries by Luther, Calvin, and Grotius (Adnotationes in Actus Apostolorum et in Epistolas Catholicas) among others.5 With the rise of historical criticism in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries, critical scholarship slowly dissolved the traditional boundaries standing between collection units of the New Testament for the purpose of examining each individual text in its unique, historical context of composition. The turn to interpreting New Testament texts in isolation from one another, focusing on their unique point of composition, affected the Catholic Epistles in a more fundamental way than other collection units of the New Testament. Whereas the critical engagement of Paul does lead to a reevaluation of the traditional Pauline Corpus— differentiating between authentic and pseudepigraphal Pauline texts—the historical-critical approach generally continued to accept that there was an authentic collection of Pauline Epistles. The Gospels, likewise, continued to be interpreted with reference to each other—this, in part, was due to the literary relationship between Matthew, Mark, and Luke and the shared focus on Jesus’s life and death characteristic of all four Gospels. Yet, when applied to the Catholic Epistles, the critical approach raised fundamental questions regarding the very notion of their status as a collection. When focusing on the particular historical and social circumstances of composition for each of the individual Catholic Epistles, the common connections between these letters were viewed as superficial and perhaps anachronistic. Lacking a common author or related subject matter, the Catholic Epistles were generally no longer viewed as a significant collection like the Gospels or the Pauline Corpus.

John Chrysostom, Fragmenta in Epistolas Catholicas (PG 64.1059–1062); Cyril of Alexandria, Fragmenta in Epistolas Catholicas (PF 74.1022–1023). Many of these fragments are contained in the Catena of Andreas (Catenae Graecorum Partum in Novum Testamentum, vol. 8: In Epistolas Catholicas et Apocalypsin [Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1844]). 4 Strabo’s Glossa ordinaria, columns 679–88 in PL 114; Margaret D. Gibson, The Commentaries of Isho’Dad of Merv, vol. 4 (Cambridge Library Collection—Religion; Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2011); Pseudo-Oecumenius, Commentarii in epistolas catholicas, columns 509–78 in PG 119. 5 It must be noted that though entitled “The Catholic Epistles,” Calvin’s sequence of commentary begins with 1 Peter then 1 John, James, 2 Peter, and finally Jude (he omits 2 and 3 John). In his preface to the English translation, John Owen (1788–1867) speculates regarding the different arrangement:  3

The reason for the arrangement here adopted was probably this, that the First Epistle of Peter, and the First of John, had, from the beginning, been universally acknowledged as genuine, while the Epistle of James, the Second of Peter, and that of Jude, had not form the first been universally received. The Second and the Third Epistle of John were evidently not deemed by Calvin as “catholic”; and for this reason, as it seems, he omitted them. (John Calvin, Commentaries on the Catholic Epistles [trans. John Owen; Edinburgh: Calvin Translation Society, 1855], v) Likewise, Luther’s The Catholic Epistles (trans. M. H. Bertram; Luther’s Works 30; St. Louis: Concordia, 1967) contains sermons and lectures on 1 Peter, 2 Peter, Jude, and 1 John (in that order).

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The critical approach to the Catholic Epistles has had two general results. First, the primary point of connection between the letters shifted from a canonical association to a shared genre.6 The common feature shared by the Catholic Epistles is that they are all letters addressed to general or nonspecific audiences. This somewhat modern consensus position is that “Catholic Epistles” and “General Letters” are interchangeable labels because “catholic” and “general” both refer to a specific type of letter—a letter written to a general audience. However, this is somewhat misleading. Jude, for example, seems to address a very specific situation, such that Richard Bauckham argues it is not a general letter at all.7 Likewise, though written to a group of affiliated churches, 1 John also addresses a very specific set of circumstances affecting a specific community. Furthermore, 2 and 3 John clearly are not general letters as they are addressed to “the chosen Lady” (2 John 1) and “Gaius” (3 John 1). So, if “catholic” is merely a genre distinction, then Jude and the Letters of John would not be included in the Catholic Epistles, and perhaps one might argue that Hebrews (or perhaps even Ephesians) should be included. This has led to uncertainty regarding where and in what grouping these letters belong in the New Testament generally. It is not uncommon for these seven letters to be described as the “non-Pauline” epistles or to be lumped together as “Concluding Letters,”8 “Other New Testament Writings,”9 or merely “The End of the New Testament.”10 These letters are variously counted as nine (Hebrews through Revelation),11 six (Hebrews through Revelation without the Letters of John),12 or, perhaps most often, they are numbered as the eight texts of Hebrews through Jude. Second, with the shift to genre as the primary point of connection between the Catholic Epistles, and the accompanying uncertainty it brings, the traditional seven-letter collection is broken into smaller units. The critical approach is quick to observe the distinct authorial voice of 1–3 John and its degree of similarity with the language of the Gospel of John. From a critical perspective the Letters of John are studied within the context of Johannine literature (the

This perspective appears to have precedent in the Reformation era because the translator’s preface to Calvin’s commentary on the Catholic Epistles registers the question regarding what exactly “catholic” refers to:  6

Some have thought that they have been thus called, because they contain catholic truths; but other Epistles might, for this reason, be also called catholic. Others have supposed that catholic is synonymous with canonical; but in this case also there is no more reason for applying the word to these Epistles than to any other Epistles. But the more probable opinion is, that they were called Catholic, or General, because they were not written to any particular Church, but to Jewish or to Gentile Christians generally. (Calvin, Commentaries on the Catholic Epistles, v–vi) Similarly, there is doubt whether Jude is a general letter. Richard Bauckham argues that “we should not see it as a ‘catholic letter’ addressed to all Christians, but as a work written with a specific, localized audience in mind” (Jude, 2 Peter [WBC 50; Waco, TX: Word, 1983], 3). Stephan J. Joubert (“Persuasion in the Letter of Jude,” JSNT 58 [1995]: 75–87, 78) notes that the “author’s vivid portrayal of a group of false teachers and his concern for the spiritual wellbeing of his readers point to his first-hand acquaintance with a special, localized audience.” 8 S. L. Davies, A Contemporary Introduction (San Francisco, CA: Harper & Row, 1988). 9 Craig L. Blomberg, From Pentecost to Patmos:  An Introduction to Acts through Revelation (Nashville, TN:  B&H Academic, 2006). 10 So, Terry L. Wilder, J. Daryl Charles, and Kendell Easley, Faithful to the End: An Introduction to Hebrews through Revelation (Nashville, TN: B&H Academic, 2007). 11 Frank Thielman, Theology of the New Testament (Grand Rapids, MI: Zondervan, 2005). 12 F. Young, “The Non-Pauline Epistles,” in The Cambridge Companion to Biblical Interpretation, ed. John Barton (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1998), 290–304. 7

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Gospel of John, the Letters of John, and, sometimes, Revelation) or perhaps on their own.13 Originally, a consequence of the critical distinction of 1–3 John from the Catholic Epistles was the appearance of commentaries focusing only on James, Peter, and Jude. The precedent for this is set sometime in the late Reformation and continues into the modern period. In fact, a long-running section at the Society of Biblical Literature is entitled “Letters of James, Peter, and Jude,” which testifies to the ongoing influence of this critical distinction. Similarly, under critical assessment, the traditional association of 1 and 2 Peter is doubted based on significant differences in vocabulary, style, and, most importantly, use of the Old Testament. The most likely historical reconstruction leads critical scholars to hold the literary connections between 2 Peter and Jude in higher regard than those—some would say artificial—connections between 1 and 2 Peter. Again, a consequence of this critical judgment is that virtually all modern critical commentaries include 2 Peter and Jude in the same volume offering detailed analysis of the literary and historical connections between the two texts, while at the same time it has become quite rare to find critical commentaries that both include 1 and 2 Peter together and provide argument for their authorial connection.14 The critical approach to the Catholic Epistles has focused scholarly attention on examining each text in its individual, historical-cultural context of composition. Therefore, critical scholarship tends to focus on either James, 1 Peter, the Letters of John, or 2 Peter and Jude— each its own somewhat independent field of study. As a result, critical scholarship has not focused much attention on the letters as a collection. Often the canonical grouping of the seven Catholic Epistles is understood as a later, reception-historical issue that is anachronistic with regard to the historical interpretation of these texts. Within the past thirty years critical scholarship has taken up an ever-widening range of methodologies in the study of New Testament texts (see Part 3 of this book). In addition to the traditional historical-critical concerns focused on author, audience, and context of composition, these approaches take up social-scientific, rhetorical, narrative analysis, postcolonial, and feminist methods to gain new insights from the texts of the New Testament. Though these new methods have been applied to other New Testament texts, they have only more recently been applied to the Catholic Epistles. An interesting development in the critical study of these texts has appeared even more recently and is still in its infancy. To some degree coming full circle, a newer approach in interpreting these seven letters is to consider them as a canonical collection—taking their collection and arrangement as intentional and of hermeneutical significance. Starting with the work of Robert Wall (“A Unifying Theology of the Catholic Epistles”; see Further Readings) there has been a growing interest in interpreting and commenting on the Catholic Epistles as Charles Hill has even made the argument that there was an original Johannine collection attested in the manuscript tradition (The Johannine Corpus in the Early Church [Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2006]). Michael Kruger argues against this conclusion (“The Date and Content of P.  Antinoopolis 12 (0232),” NTS 25 [2012]:  254–71); likewise, Stanley E. Porter’s caution regarding Hill’s thesis: “There is little transmissional or manuscript evidence to indicate a usual gathering of the Johannine writings as a subcorpus—even in the major codexes, which did not keep John’s Gospel, the three Johannine Epistles, and the book of Revelation together” (How We Got the New Testament [Grand Rapids, MI: Baker, 2013], 121). 14 Though the similarities between Jude and 2 Peter have been observed from the earliest times, the critical assessment of their literary association over against the connection between 1 Peter and 2 Peter can be traced back as early as Johann Salomo Semler’s critical commentary on 2 Peter and Jude (Paraphrasis in epistolam II: Petri et epistolam Judae [Halle, 1784]). 13

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a collection. In a published revision of his doctoral dissertation, David Nienhuis rehearses one of the fullest accounts of historical development of the Catholic Epistles and from it speculates that James was written as an intentional pseudepigrapha functioning as an introduction to the canonical collection.15 Jacques Schlosser and Enrico Norelli have also offered helpful accounts of how and for what reasons the Catholic Epistles came into the New Testament canon as a collection.16 In addition to the joint study provided by Wall and Nienhuis,17 now Roelof Klaas Alkema and Darian Lockett have argued that the Catholic Epistles can, and in some cases should, be once again understood as an intentional collection.18 Karl-Wilhelm Niebuhr has argued that Acts provides a kind of reading guide, introducing the main apostolic characters responsible for the New Testament letters.19 These published works have now been taken up in the work of several doctoral students writing in various ways on the subject of the Catholic Epistles as a collection.20

Summary of the Reading Included in This Section (1) Wolfgang Grünstäudl is among the growing group of scholars considering the significance of the Catholic Epistles as a collection. In his chapter “The Wait Is Worth It: The Catholic Epistles and the Formation of the New Testament,” he argues that the canonical formation of the Catholic Epistles is significant for the history of the entire New Testament canon, yet understands the timing of the collection to be evidenced later in the development of the canon. Grünstäudl notes that the first witness to the existence of a group of seven so-called Catholic Epistles was Eusebius of Caesarea at the beginning of the fourth century. And though the Catholic Epistles are somewhat an “odd mixture,” the grouping is not completely artificial. Taking into account intertextual relationships as well as data from reception history and the study of early Christian manuscripts, Grünstäudl describes possible motifs behind the development and canonization of this collection. The specific connections he considers include: the fact that a “presbyter”

David R. Nienhuis, Not by Paul Alone:  The Formation of the Catholic Epistle Collection and the Christian Canon (Waco, TX: Baylor University Press, 2007). 16 Jacques Schlosser, “Le corpus des Épîtres catholiques,” in The Catholic Epistles and the Tradition, ed. J. Schlosser (BETL 176; Leuven: Leuven University Press, 2004), 3–41; Enrico Norelli, “Sulle origini della raccolta delle Lettere Cattoliche,” RB 4 (2011): 453–521. 17 David R. Nienhuis and Robert W. Wall, Reading the Epistles of James, Peter, John, and Jude as Scripture: The Shaping and Shape of a Canonical Collection (Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 2013). 18 Roelof Klaas Alkema, The Pillars and the Cornerstone: Jesus Tradition Parallels in the Catholic Epistles (Delft: Eburon, 2018); Darian R. Lockett, Letters from the Pillar Apostles:  The Formation of the Catholic Epistles as a Canonical Collection (Eugene, OR: Pickwick, 2017). 19 Karl-Wilhelm Niebuhr, “Exegese im kanonischen Zusammenhang: Überlegungen zur theologischen Relevanz der Gestalt des neutestamentlichen Kanons,” in The Biblical Canons, ed. J.-M. Auwers and H. J. de Jonge (Leuven: Leuven University Press), 557–84. 20 Emerging scholars arguing for various perspectives on the theme of the Catholic Epistles as a collection include: Sean Christensen (“The Relationship between the Epistles of James and 1 Peter: A Traditio-Historical Study Based on Their Common Use of Scripture,” unpublished doctoral dissertation, Trinity Evangelical Divinity School, Deerfield, Illinois, 2018); Kelsie Rodenbiker (who is working on a thesis considering the Catholic Epistles collection, canonicity, and the use of scriptural exempla); Jason Bryan-Brown (Australian Catholic University); and Ben Casteneda (University of St Andrews). 15

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authored 2 and 3 John and the historical and literary connection between the two brothers of Jesus—James and Jude. Grünstäudl then goes on to study whether or not James was the model for 1 Peter. Here he examines several of the lexical and thematic connections between the two texts.21 A final intertextual relationship examined by Grünstäudl is the reception of 1 Peter and Jude in 2 Peter. His chapter concludes with a discussion of the key connections among the Catholic Epistles created by such intertextual features: key points in reception history, manuscripts, and arrival in the canon (why these seven constitute the Catholic Epistles, their commonalities with Acts, and stability and variation in manuscript placement).

It should be noted that in recent scholarship some have revived the argument that James and 1 Peter are in a literary dependent relationship: see Darian R. Lockett, “The Use of Leviticus 19 in James and 1 Peter: A Neglected Parallel,” CBQ 82 (2020): 456–72. 21

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THE WAIT IS WORTH IT: THE CATHOLIC EPISTLES AND THE FORMATION OF THE NEW TESTAMENT

Wolfgang Grünstäudl

Within his broad account of the latter part of the life of James, the Brother of the Lord, Eusebius of Caesarea mentions briefly that ἡ πρώτη τῶν ὀνομαζομένων καθολικῶν ἐπιστολῶν should be attributed to this James. He adds that the Epistle of Jude is one of τῶν ἑπτὰ λεγομένων καθολικῶν [sc. ἐπιστολῶν] (Hist. eccl. 2.23.24–25) and offers some observations regarding the epistle’s authenticity and reception. In these statements the seven Catholic Letters, a constituent component of the New Testament, appear for the first time as a clearly delineated group of writings.1 This strikingly late appearance of the Catholic Epistles2 on the stage of Christian literature raises two questions in regard to the history of the New Testament canon. First, it is necessary to examine how these seven texts, which are very different with regard to characteristics and origin, came to be understood as a unified group under one stable overarching term. Second, the question arises as to whether interrelations can be observed between the process of the formation of the Catholic Epistles and the development of the New Testament canon as a whole.3 Because the historical evidence is for the most part extremely fragmentary, revealing only glimpses of the developments under examination, any attempt to answer these two questions can only point to more or less plausible reconstructions.4

Translated from the original German by Amy Obrist and Darian R. Lockett: Wolfgang Grünstäudl, “Was Lange wart …: Die Katholischen Briefe und die Formung des neutestamentlichen Kanons,” Early Christianity 7 (2016): 71–94. 1 Although Eusebius does not say explicitly which five texts belong to this group along with the Epistles of James and Jude, it can be concluded based on his discussion in Hist. eccl. 3.25.1–3 that he is referring to the two Epistles of Peter as well as the three Epistles of John. 2 This term is, in the strict sense, anachronistic for the formation period of the letter collection under examination here, but it is used in the following for the sake of convenience. The notation “Catholic Epistles” will be used here to distinguish these from other texts, such as the Epistle of Barnabas or Acts 15:23–29, which in this period were considered separately as a “catholic epistle” (cf. Section 2.1). 3 The history of the Catholic Epistles itself makes it clear that we are not dealing with an early edition of the New Testament such as D. Trobisch assumes in Die Endredaktion des Neuen Testaments. Eine Untersuchung zur Entstehung der christlichen Bibel, NTOA 31 (Freiburg, Schweiz, 1996) (English translation: The First Edition of the New Testament [Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2000]). Cf. David R. Nienhuis, Not by Paul Alone: The Formation of the Catholic Epistle Collection and the Christian Canon (Waco, TX: Baylor University Press, 2007), 86. 4 Important contemporary early attempts include above all C.-B. Amphoux, “Hypothèses sur l’originedes Épîtres Catholiques,” in J. P. Bouhaut (ed.), La lecture liturgique des Épîtres Catholiques dans l’Église ancienne, HTBib 1 (Lausanne, 1996), 308–32; J. Schlosser, “Le corpus des Épîtres Catholiques,” in (ed.), The Catholic Epistles and the Tradition, BEThL 176 (Leuven, 2004), 3–41; Nienhuis, Paul; P. H. Davids, “The Catholic Epistles as a Canonical Janus: A New Testament Glimpse into Old and New Testament Canon Formation,” BBR 19 (2009): 403–16; E. Norelli, “Sulle origini della raccolta delle Lettere Cattoliche,” RivBib 59 (2011): 453–52; and K.-W. Niebuhr, “Epistles, Catholic,” EBR 7 (2013): 1086–92.

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1.  Initial Connections Different from, for example, the Letters of Ignatius or the writings of the Corpus Paulinum, the Catholic Epistles are not connected by one single implied author,5 and even with regard to literary form, language, connection to tradition, and theological themes there are conspicuous differences. Nonetheless, there exist several lines of connection between the later Catholic Epistles, which are probably not insignificant for the epistles’ shared canon-historical career. These lines of connection appear not only in the perspective of reception history but also link some of the single letters to others.6 1.1  One Presbyter and Two Epistles Perhaps the most prominent connection is the one between 2 and 3 John because in this case formal, thematic, and rhetorical connections converge. Both of these two short letters display “all the attributes of a private letter from antiquity,”7 which made them convenient textbook examples for introduction into New Testament epistolary literature8 and generated detailed examinations of their epistolographic parallels—even at the level of their stichometry.9 In terms of the content, interest in περιπατεῖν ἐν ἀληθείᾳ (2 John 4, 3 John 3–4) stands in the foreground, whereby ἀλήθεια and ἀγάπη are key terms through which the theological concern of the epistles is articulated, both in the dissociation of those “who do not remain in Christ’s teaching” (2 John 9) and in the conflict with Diotrephes (3 John 9–10). Despite the numerous formal, linguistic, and theological parallels between 2 and 3 John (partly creating connections to 1 John, too), it is a matter of debate whether the πρεσβύτρος in 2 John 1 should be identified with that of 3 John 1 and whether 3 John 9 is a back reference to 2 John (written to a house church). Similarly, discussion continues on the exact place of 2 John and 3 John within the chronology of the Johannine literature and on the possibility to extrapolate developments in early Christian theology and social structure from these two epistles.10 1.2  James and Jude as Brothers The lines of connection between the Epistles of James and Jude are arranged somewhat differently. In this regard, it is above all the author’s description in Jude 1 (Ἰούδας Ἰησοῦ Χριστοῦ

Depending on whether one considers Hebrews on the basis of Heb. 13:22-25 to be a Pauline pseudepigraphon, one might accordingly make an exception of Hebrews; see, for example, C. Rothschild, Hebrews as Pseudepigraphon: The History and Significance of the Pauline Attribution of Hebrews, WUNT 235 (Tübingen, 2009). 6 This section is neither intended to address explicitly the connections among the Catholic Epistles that were observed by early Christian and patristic reception (see Section 2) nor serve as a so-called canonical reading that studies the texts in the light of their common presence today within a (certain) New Testament canon. 7 U. Schnelle, Einleitung in das Neue Testament, UTB 1830 (Göttingen, 62007), 480. 8 The same in H.-J. Klauck, Die antike Briefliteratur und das Neue Testament: Ein Lehr- und Arbeitsbuch, UTB 2022 (Paderborn, 1998), 41–52. 9 Cf., most recently, F. G. Lang, “Disposition und Zeilenzahl im 2. und 3. Johannesbrief: Zugleich eine Einführung in antike Stichometrie,” BZ 59 (2015): 54–78. 10 One only need compare the different reconstructions in Schnelle, Einleitung, 475f., and J. Kügler, “Der erste Johannesbrief,” in M. Ebner and S. Schreiber (eds.), Einleitung in das Neue Testament, KStTh 6 (Stuttgart, 22013), 536–48, here 540–2. 5

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δοῦλος, ἀδελφὸς δὲ Ἰακώβου) that is most striking, “because in all of early Christianity, only one pair of brothers is known with these names,”11 and the designation Ἰησοῦ Χριστοῦ δοῦλος is also used for James in Jas 1:1. If one understands this as a deliberate reference to the Epistle of James, there are far-reaching implications for the understanding of the fictional author of Jude,12 even the possibility of viewing Ἰούδας “as a second James, an equally authoritative figure from the beginning.”13 If one follows Jörg Frey in considering the general address, the absence of a formal epistolary conclusion, the focus on paraenesis, the use of examples from the history of salvation (at times being a history of judgment), and the rootedness in Jewish interpretive tradition as further similarities between James and Jude,14 the impression of a deliberate connection of Jude to “the tradition represented by James”15 is all the more stronger, even if one remains skeptical of the numerous lexical connections observed by Daryl Charles.16 However, one must understand that the naming of James in Jude 1 primarily points to James as a person and not necessarily to a text written by him, that both texts also bear formal and theological differences, and that the named parallels are often not too specific, all of which can cast doubt on the idea of a conscious reference to the Epistle of James in Jude 1.17 Regardless of how one evaluates these noteworthy points of contact between James and Jude, to identify the fictional author(s) and the historical situatedness of both writings, these connections offer plausible starting points for reading and receiving both texts together. 1.3  James as a Prototype of Peter? The points of contact between James and 1 Peter are different yet again, as here we find neither an identical author’s name (as in 2–3 John) nor a kin relationship between the fictional authors (as in James and Jude). From a formal perspective as well, the differences between 1 Peter, which was drafted throughout as a letter, and James, which has far fewer epistolary elements interspersed in it, are striking. Nonetheless, the parallels in motifs as well as phrases are “in several places so close and stand out in their expression so significantly from related statements that it is not possible to explain them sufficiently by a general reference to the vast sea of paraenetic traditions.”18 Matthias Konradt views such points of contact—such as between J. Frey, “Der Judasbrief zwischen Judentum und Hellenismus,” in W. Kraus and K.-W. Niebuhr (eds.), Frühjudentum und Neues Testament im Horizont Biblischer Theologie:  Mit einem Anhang zum Corpus Judaeo–Hellenisticum Novi Testamenti, WUNT 162 (Tübingen, 2003), 180–210, here 204. 12 See here J. Frey, “Autorfiktion und Gegnerbild im Judasbrief und im Zweiten Petrusbrief,” in J. Herzer and M. Janssen, in collaboration with M. Engelmann (ed.), Pseudepigraphie und Verfasserfiktion in frühchristlichen Briefen, WUNT 246 (Tübingen, 2009), 683–732. 13 A. Vögtle, Der Judasbrief: Der zweite Petrusbrief, EKK 22 (Zürich, 1994), 17. See now J. Frey, Der Brief des Judas und der zweite Brief des Petrus, ThHK 15/2 (Leipzig, 2015), 20. 14 See Frey, “Judasbrief,” 205. 15 Ibid., 210. 16 See J. D. Charles, Literary Strategy in the Epistle of Jude (Scranton, 1993). 17 For more details, see C. Bemmerl and W. Grünstäudl, “Wahlverwandtschaften: Notizen zum Verhältnis von Judasund Jakobusbrief,” SNTU:A 38 (2013): 5–22. 18 M. Konradt, “ ‘Jakobus, der Gerechte’:  Erwägungen zur Verfasserfiktion des Jakobusbriefes,” in Frey et  al., Pseudepigraphie und Verfasserfiktion, 575–97, here 586. This position is developed at length in M. Konradt, “Der Jakobusbrief als Brief des Jakobus:  Erwägungen zum historischen Kontext des Jakobusbriefes im Licht der traditionsgeschichtlichen Beziehungen zum 1 Petr und zum Hintergrund der Autorfiktion,” in P. von Gemünden, M. Konradt, and G. Theißen (eds.), Der Jakobusbrief: Beiträge zur Rehabilitation der “strohernen Epistel,” Beiträge zum Verstehen der Bibel 3 (Münster, 2003), 16–53, especially 19–30. 11

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Jas 1:18, 21 and 1 Pet. 1:22–2:2—as participation in “one and the same strand of tradition.”19 Since, however, the “close congruities”20 appear concentrated at the beginning and end of the two texts, and are also encountered almost continuously in James and 1 Peter in the same sequential order,21 a literary relationship between the two texts must at least be considered. Scholars who consider such a relationship differ on the question of priority: In the context of a late dating of James (around the middle of the second century), David Nienhuis22 sees 1 Peter as the earlier text, while Maria Armida Nicolaci comes to the conclusion that it is “easier to think of a dependency of 1 Peter upon James.”23 1.4  Explicit and Implicit References in the Testament of Peter In a certain sense, the reception of 1 Peter and Jude by 2 Peter combines all the possibilities for creating connections among the later Catholic Epistles discussed so far. In 2 Pet. 3:1 there is an explicit back reference to a first letter of Peter, whereby in all likelihood no other text is meant than 1 Peter itself. Having said that, specific linguistic and theological borrowings from 1 Peter are scarcely found in 2 Peter, particularly not—as one would expect in a well-thoughtout pseudoepigraphon—in the development of the image of Peter,24 which leans more heavily on the Apocalypse of Peter, a text that is not even mentioned in 2 Peter.25 This odd distance from 1 Peter attracted attention already in antiquity26 and stands in contrast to the intensive use of Jude in the polemic of 2 Peter, although Jude does not receive any explicit mention. Adding to this picture, specifically the reference to Paul’s letters in 2 Pet. 3:15-16, it is apparent that 2 Peter, to an astonishing extent, refers to “diverse” parts of the epistolary literature that later became part of the New Testament. In doing so 2 Peter forms, alongside other “points of contact with tradition,”27 an intertextual hinge between Jude and 1 Peter. Konradt, “ ‘Jakobus, der Gerechte,’ ” 586. He writes that this thread of the tradition is “plainly distinguishable from the pauline–deuteropauline field of the tradition, yet connected with it at the roots” (ibid.). 20 Ibid., 587. 21 Rightly emphasized by Nienhuis, Paul, 225 (only the citation from Prov. 10:12 in Jas 5:20/1 Pet. 4:8 is not located in the same place in the order of the listed parallels). 22 See especially Nienhuis, Paul, 225f. In Nienhuis, in the case of a literary connection (discussed in ibid., 163–231), the priority of 1 Peter is already presupposed, because he arrives at a dating of James after 1 Peter for other reasons (see ibid., 159–61). W. Popkes considers with hesitation the possibility that James is dependent on (1 Peter), even if 1 Peter is clearly the “more Christian” of the two texts (“Traditionen und Traditionsbrüche im Jakobusbrief,” in Schlosser, Catholic Epistles, 143–70, here 160). 23 M. Nicolaci, “Giacomo e Prima Petri: Possibili rapporti letterari?” in D. Candido and C. Raspa (eds.), Quasi vitis (Sir 24,23). Miscellanea in memoria di Antonino Minissale (Catania, 2012), 111–57, here 157. Nicolaci sees in 1 Peter, to some extent, a stronger Christological or ecclesiological accentuation of the material it shares with James (see ibid., 134, 147f.) but in James a better contextualization of the common references to the writings of Israel (Is. 40:6-8; Prov. 3:34; 10:12) (ibid., 140: “sempre il contesto di Gc sembra più originale e adeguato” [Always, the context of James seems more original and adequate]). 24 Thus, 2 Pet. 1:1 already uses a different form of the name than 1 Pet. 1:1. 25 See W. Grünstäudl, Petrus Alexandrinus: Studien zum historischen und theologischen Ort des zweiten Petrusbriefes, WUNT 2/353 (Tübingen, 2013), 97–144. 26 Hieronymus (Vir. ill. 1) notes that 2 Peter is doubted a plerisque (by most) and is indeed propter stili cum priore [sc. epistulae] dissonantiam (stylistically different from the first [letter]). 27 See T. K. Heckel, “Die Traditionsverknüpfungen des Zweiten Petrusbriefes und die Anfänge einer neutestamentlichen biblischen Theologie,” in R. Gebauer and M. Meiser (eds.), Die bleibende Gegenwart des Evangeliums: FS Otto Merk, MThSt 76 (Marburg, 2003), 189–204. The interactions of 2 Peter with its pre-texts are outlined at length in M. Ruf, Die heiligen Propheten, eure Apostel und ich: Metatextuelle Studien zum zweiten Petrusbrief, WUNT 2/300 (Tübingen, 2011). On the significance of the Apocalypse of Peter for the theology of 2 Peter, see W. Grünstäudl, “Petrus, das 19

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1.5 Summary The existence of all seven Catholic Epistles can be presumed at the latest in the second half of the second century, even if Origen is the earliest certain witness to 2 Peter28 and possibly also to James.29 However, unlike Paul’s letters, no collection of these seven texts can be assumed for this time period. Even so, as shown, between the individual letters that arose out of quite different contexts of origin an array of intertextual points of contact can be found. These points of contact are in some cases very probably (2 John → 3 John, 1 Peter/Jude → 2 Peter), in other cases at least possibly (James → Jude, James ↔ 1 Pet), the result of authorial intention.

2.  Created Connections Because these seven texts, which have only a loose relationship due to their contexts of origin, eventually appear as a family designated by the same name, one must search for possible processes of convergence and increasing linkage of these texts in the course of their reception.30 Connected to this are the numerous methodological problems of a reception history of texts that later became part of the New Testament. Above all, a coincidental parallel, especially one that can be explained more broadly through tradition-historical overlapping, is often barely distinguishable from an intended reference on the part of the early Christian author. In some cases, moreover, literary dependence is probable, but the direction of reception is not clear from the outset.31 For example, Marlies Gielen recently attempted to question the consensus (since Eusebius, Hist. eccl. 4.14.9) that 1 Peter was used in Polycarp’s Letter to the Philippians. Conversely, Gielen argues that Pol. Phil. was probably used in 1 Peter.32 Gielen rightly draws attention to the fact that there is an absence of unambiguous information for making such a judgment (like citation formula or an uncontested dating for at least one of these writings). Therefore, the subsequent assignment to two different text collections—New Testament and the Apostolic Fathers respectively33—cannot function as a criterion for assessing the numerous parallels in semantics and motif between 1 Peter and Polycarp. Even if one does not agree with Gielen’s Feuer und die Interpretation der Schrift: Beobachtungen zum Motiv des Weltenbrandes im zweiten Petrusbrief,” in L. Neubert and M. Tilly (eds.), Der eine Gott und die Völker in eschatologischer Perspektive: Studien zur Inklusion und Exklusion im biblischen Monotheismus, BThSt 137 (Neukirchen-Vluyn, 2013), 183–208. 28 See Grünstäudl, Petrus, 87f. 29 Thus, with emphasis, Nienhuis (Paul, 55–60), and also, for example, Broer, in connection with H.-U. Weidemann (Einleitung in das Neue Testament [Würzburg, 32006], 615; “the oldest undisputed testimony to James we find only with Origen”). It is possible, though, that Irenaeus (Haer. 4.16.2; see Jas 2:23) should be given more weight (many thanks to Christian Bemmerl for this observation)—even if the recognizable reception of James begins, in any case, surprisingly late in view of the later significance of the text. 30 An example of this, the (very different) use of 1 Peter and Jude in 2 Peter, was already given earlier (see Section 1.4). 31 For this problem, see Grünstäudl, Petrus, 219–26 (the example of Justin, Dial. 82.1 and 2 Pet. 2:1). 32 See M. Gielen, “Der Polykarpbrief und der 1 Petrusbrief:  Versuch einer Neubestimmung ihres literarischen Verhältnisses,” in W. Eisele, C. Schäfer, and H.-U. Weidemann (eds.), Aneignung durch Transformation: Beiträge zur Analyse von Überlieferungsprozessen im frühen Christentum: FS Michael Theobald, HBS 74 (Freiburg 2013), 416–44. 33 Like the New Testament, the group of writings known as “Apostolic Fathers” is secondary to their texts, whose number also varies according to the edition. See also W. Pratscher, “Das Corpus der Apostolischen Väter,” in Die Apostolischen Väter: Eine Einleitung, UTB 3272 (Göttingen, 2009), 11–16.

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concrete results, this remains an important contribution to research in the reception history of texts that later became part of the New Testament.34 2.1  Key Points of Reception History Even with all due caution, it is sufficiently clear that at least from Irenaeus of Lyon onward a succession of early Christian authors explicitly used both 1 Peter and 1 John. In doing so they bear witness to a connection between various letters of the Catholic Epistles, as such a connection existed in substance arguably in the writings of Papias of Hierapolis (according to the judgment of Eusebius, Hist. eccl. 3.39.17, 1 John/1 Peter) and Polycarp of Smyrna (1 John35/1 Peter), as well as in 2 Peter (1 Peter/Jude).36 Even though Irenaeus’s reference to 1 Peter by the introductory words Petrus ait in epistula sua (Haer. 4.9.2) does not prove ignorance of 2 Peter, it does conform well to the absence of allusions to 2 Peter elsewhere in Irenaeus’s writings. No trace of 3 John can be found in Irenaeus either, whereas it is certain that 2 John was known to him. Here the details of reception are interesting: 2 John 10–11 is introduced in Haer. 1.16.3 explicitly as an expression of John the disciple of the Lord, while in Haer. 3.16.5–8, 2 John 7–8 is placed in the midst of quotations from 1 John and is thus obviously being attributed to the same letter.37 In the West, also in the third century, the same picture can be seen in Tertullian38 and Cyprian of Carthage, where in each case there is no reference to 3 John.39 In the Muratorian Fragment,40 “1 Jn 1:1f. is used in defense of the Fourth Gospel which suggests that it was the more secure of the two.”41 The absence of 1 Peter in the Muratorian Fragment is all the more striking, and therefore stimulated some imaginative conjectures. Given that the clearly intentional grouping of Jude and two Epistles of John (cf. lines 68–71) creates a certain repetition in reference to

In my opinion, the adaptation process of Polycarp, which Enrico Norelli (“Au sujet de la première réception de 1 Pierre:  Trois exemples,” in Schlosser, Catholic Epistles, 327–66, here 335–51; not taken into account by Gielen) described in great detail based on the priority of 1 Peter, is still the much more plausible interpretation of the evidence. 35 See M. W. Holmes, “Polycarp’s Letter to the Philippians,” in A. Gregory and C. Tuckett (eds.), The Reception of the New Testament in the Apostolic Fathers, The New Testament and the Apostolic Fathers (Oxford, 2007), 187–227, here 223–5 (also the possible reception of 2 John 7 in Polycarp 7.1). 36 A helpful tabular overview can be found in Nienhuis, Paul, 96f. (however, in the example, the color assignment of the categories “Uses/Accepts” and “Rejects” is reversed). 37 From this, however, one should not conclude, like J. M. Lieu (The Second and Third Epistles of John: History and Background, Studies of the New Testament and Its World [Edinburgh, 1986], 19), that Irenaeus might have known 1 John and 2 John “possibly as a single letter”; similarly, Nienhuis, Paul, 35 (“they may have been received as a single text”). A conflation on the part of Irenaeus is at least as likely; see on this point in detail W. Grünstäudl, “Geistliches Evangelium und Katholische Briefe: Johanneische Intertextualität im Spiegel frühchristlicher Rezeption,” in J. Frey and U. Poplutz (eds.), Erzählung und Briefe im johanneischen Kreis: Überlieferungs- und gattungsgeschichtliche Studien zum Corpus Iohanneum, WUNT II/420 (Tübingen, 2016), 109–28. 38 See M. A. Frisius, Tertullian’s Use of the Pastoral Epistles, Hebrews, James, 1 and 2 Peter, and Jude, SBLit 143 (New York, 2011). It is noteworthy that Tertullian, in Cult. fem. 1.3, can use Jude, which he attributes to the “apostle” Jude, to defend the Book of Enoch. 39 See Lieu, Epistles, 8f. 40 On the controversial classification of the historical context of this text (probably in the West at the end of the second century), see J. Verheyden, “The Canon Muratori: A Matter of Debate,” in J.-M. Auwers and H. J. de Jonge (eds.), The Biblical Canons, BEThL 163 (Leuven, 2003), 487–556. 41 See Lieu, Epistles, 7f. 34

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Johannine texts, even the fragmentary character of the text does not easily explain the absence of 1 Peter.42 Clement of Alexandria likewise makes use of both 1 Peter and 1 John, and also Jude—with significant high regard (Paed. 3.43–45; Strom. 3.11.2; 6.65.4). Alongside these texts and 2 John one can find a short commentary in the Adumbrationes in epistulas canonicas—preserved in Latin and likely attributable to the Hypotyposeis, the greater part of which has been lost.43 Clement is also the first ecumenical author who uses the expression ἐπιστολὴ καθολική in connection with a text attributable to the first Christian generation, namely, to describe the letter found in Acts 15:23-29 (Strom. 4.97.3).44 In Origen’s case this term then also applies to 1 Peter and 1 John, and in one place to the Epistle of Barnabas (Cels. 1.63, occasioned by a citation from Barn. 5.9).45 Moreover, Origen is the first author who is verifiably familiar with all of the Catholic Epistles, even though the manner of their usage is extremely diverse46 and their sevenfold unity is not yet in sight.47 2.2 Manuscripts This growing association of seven originally unconnected texts in the course of their reception history leading up to Clement’s commentary (on 1 Peter, 1–2 John and Jude) and the demonstrable knowledge of all of the Catholic Epistles (though not under this collective name) in Origen is not mirrored in the manuscript tradition before the great uncials of the fourth century. This may be, in part, due to the lack of extensive manuscript findings. From the Greek textual witnesses for the Catholic Epistles that exist from this period, only a single manuscript offers text of more than one letter.48 This manuscript, P72, contains a complete reproduction of both Petrine Epistles and Jude in a single codex collection from the late third or early fourth century, which is puzzling in its conception and origin.49 In light of the fact See Grünstäudl, Petrus, 85–7. From the relevant notes in Eusebius, Hist. eccl. 6.14.1, and Photius, Cod. 109, it cannot be concluded that Clement in Hypertyposeis has actually commented on all the Catholic Epistles. See Nienhuis, Paul, 48–50; and Grünstäudl, Petrus, 237f. For a different view, see Norelli, “Raccolta,” 484. 44 See Norelli, “Raccolta,” 458, also 456–8, to which Eusebius, Hist. eccl. 5.18, mentioned a “catholic letter” of the Montanist Themison and the “catholic letters” of Dionysius of Corinth (Hist. eccl. 4.23.1). 45 It is not true, however, that “Clemente chiama cattolica la lettera di Barnaba” (Clement calls the Epistle of Barnabas catholic) (Norelli, “Raccolta,” 464; emphasis mine). In his Comm. Rom. 5.1, which is preserved only in Latin, Jude is also called epistula catholica (see Comm. Matt. 10.17). 46 For his reception of James, see Nienhuis, Paul, 55–60; for his reception of 2 Peter (for which, in part, the translation technique of Rufinus of Aquileia must be taken into account), see Grünstäudl, Petrus, 52–74. 47 See Norelli, “Raccolta,” 459–64, where he includes further evidence. 48 See J. K. Elliott (“The Early Text of the Catholic Epistles,” in C. E. Hill and M. J. Kruger [eds.], The Early Text of the New Testament [Oxford, 2012], 204–24), who discusses a total of eight papyri (P9, P20, P23, P72, P78, P81, P100, and P125) and one majuscule (0206) (tabular overview: ibid., 211). The Coptic Crosby-Schøyen codex, presumably originating in the third century and containing 1 Peter, seems to presuppose the existence/validity of only one of the letters of Peter (see H.-G. Bethge, “Der Text des ersten Petrusbriefes im Crosby-Schøyen Codex [Ms. 193 SchøyenCollection],” ZNW 84 [1993]: 255–67, here 260), while the Michigan Papyrus 3520 ascribed to the early fourth century places 2 Peter and 1 John together with Kohelet (see H.-M. Schenke, in collaboration with R. Kasser, Papyrus Michigan 3520 und 6868[a]‌. Ecclesiastes, Erster Johannesbrief und Zweiter Petrusbrief in fayumischem Dialekt, TU 151 [Berlin, 2003]). 49 For an introduction into the fascinating details of this manuscript, see T. Nicklas and T. Wasserman, “Theologische Linien im Codex Bodmer Miscellani?” in T. Nicklas and T. J. Kraus (eds.), New Testament Manuscripts: Their Texts and Their World, Texts and Editions for New Testament Study 2 (Leiden, 2006), 161–88. 42 43

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that the two Petrine Epistles have different reception histories, it is especially noteworthy that these (and only these) two texts in P72 are furnished with brief marginal summaries of the content of the letters based on keywords. Whatever role these notations (absent in Jude) have played and at whatever stage of development of the codex they found their way into the text, they attest—albeit within an extremely individual context—to an equal treatment of the two Petrine Epistles.

3.  Reception into the Canon With the interconnections between the Catholic Epistles in mind, some of which already appear in its origins (see Section 1) and which become more distinct or gain a different form in the course of their reception history (see Section 2),50 the difficult question now arises as to the concrete “how” of the “arrival”51 of this group of texts into the scope of the New Testament canon.52 If Eusebius connects the reference to the Catholic Epistles with questions of the canon and at the same time lets it be known that the Catholic Epistles collection had not been there for a very long time (Hist. eccl. 2.23.24–25; 3.25.1–3),53 then one might consider that the synthesis of seven early Christian texts into the Catholic Epistles collection must be understood as a process in the wake of the overall shaping of the New Testament canon. In other words, the Catholic Epistles might be seen as a “collection” that was put together (among other reasons) with their “possible” inclusion in a “canon” already in mind.54 3.1  Why These Seven? Though this is already speculation, what the sources make clear is that at the beginning of the fourth century church authors perceived the seven Catholic Epistles as a “distinct” group of early Christian texts. The designation ἐπιστολὴ καθαλική was no longer used as a way to classify individual texts in a certain manner,55 as it was by Origen; rather, it was used for individual

An interesting detail of the evidence is that neither in the manuscript tradition nor in the use of Christian authors before the joint discussion by Eusebius (Hist. eccl. 2.23.24 f.) is there proof of a close connection of the Epistles of James and Jude (making use of, e.g., Jude 1 and Jas 1:1; see Section 1.2). 51 Nienhuis, Paul, 68. 52 On this terminology, see C. Markschies, “Haupteinleitung,” in C. Markschies and J. Schröter (eds.), Antike christliche Apokryphen in deutscher Übersetzung, Bd. 1:  Evangelien und Verwandtes. Teilband 1 (Tübingen, 2012), 1–180, here 11–17. 53 See Nienhuis, Paul, 68f., 86. According to Norelli, “èchiaro che l’unità del gruppo delle cattoliche gli sta poco a cuore, è per lui un dato ricevuto, che considera autorevole ma meno interessante della valutazione dei singoli testi” (It is clear that the unity of the group of Catholic [epistles] is close to his heart, for him it is a given, which he considers authoritative but less interesting than the evaluation of individual texts) (“Raccolta,” 510). For terminology and classification(s) in Eusebius, see the comprehensive and detailed coverage in Norelli’s work (472–88). 54 In the sense of the distinction of J. Schröter, “Die Apostelgeschichte und die Entstehung des neutestamentlichen Kanons: Beobachtungen zur Kanonisierung der Apostelgeschichte und ihrer Bedeutung als kanonischer Schrift,” in Auwers and de Jonge, Biblical Canons, 395–429, here 398. 55 Thus, correctly, as Norelli says: “l’attribuzione di questo titolo riguarda, per lui [sc. Origenes], solo lettere singole” (The attribution of this kind regards, for him [sc. Origin], only single letters) (“Raccolta,” 460). Therefore, one should, unlike Nienhuis (Paul, 69), speak of “Origen’s [Catholic Epistles] collection.” 50

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texts as part of the collective Catholic Epistles.56 Whether this already implies a transmission history of the Catholic Epistles in the strict sense of an autonomous collection manifested in its compilation into its own manuscript,57 whether they were circulating only as individual texts or perhaps in various combinations, or whether they were transmitted as a group and then (continually) transcribed and passed along with Acts—all this is unknown to us.58 Apart from its methodological problems, the attempt of Andrew Carriker to identify the writings that Eusebius actually possessed (using the bibliographic information in Hist. eccl. 3.2559) can achieve only plausible (but not certain) results and does not take into account the possibility of the Catholic Epistles already forming a collection.60 However, a fascinating connection between the Catholic Epistles and the library of Eusebius can be found in a colophon,61 which is part of the so-called Euthalian Apparatus in the miniscule Vat. reg. 179 (181 Gregory and Aland, eleventh century) and is placed there at the end of the Catholic Epistles (f. 71r): ἀντεβληθή δὲ τῶν πράξεων καὶ καθολικῶν Eπιστολῶν τὸ βιβλίον πρὸς τὰ Eκριβῆ Eντίγραφα τῆς Eν Καισαρείᾳ βιβλιοθήκης Εὐσεβίου τοῦ Παμφίλου (The Book of Acts (of the Apostles) and the Catholic Epistles was corrected on the basis of the exact transcript in the library of Eusebius Pamphili.) Because of the mobility of colophons and the erratic history of the entire Euthalian Apparatus,62 the only information that one can gain from it is that “at some time, some codex” Cyril of Jerusalem provides an exception; he is able to describe Acts 15:23-29 as a ἐπιστολὴ καθολική (catech. 4.28) just as Clement of Alexandria before him (see Section 1.1). 57 With caution, Norelli speculates that “proprio l’esistenza concreta . . . della serie delle sette Lettere Cattoliche, in un ordine dato, nei manoscritti” (precisely the concrete existence . . . of the series of the seven Catholic Epistles, in a given order, in the manuscripts”) (“Raccolta,” 488) significantly influenced the statement of Eusebius regarding the Catholic Epistles. 58 If Eusebius already assumes the existence of a group of writings called “Catholic Epistles,” as his statements indicate, but his great model Origen gave no indication of such knowledge (see Section 2.1), then this points to a first-time compilation of the Catholic Epistles sometime in the second half of the third century—even if only on the level of terminology and not in the form of corresponding manuscripts. In this sense, for example, see H. Y. Gamble, “The New Testament Canon: Recent Research and the Status Quaestionis,” in M. McDonald and J. E. Sanders (eds.), The Canon Debate: On the Origins and Formation of the Bible (Peabody, MA: 2002), 267–94, here 288; Nienhuis, Paul, 86; and Norelli, “Raccolta,” 510. Schlosser assumes that behind the uncials of the fourth and fifth centuries there is a “un archétype probablement bien plus ancient” (an archetype probably much older) (“Corpus,” 17) (for criticism of this, see Norelli, “Raccolta,” 508f.), which would also have consequences for the history of the Catholic Epistles, but remains vague in this respect. Also, in the multistage sketch by Amphoux (Hypothèses, 329f.), which cannot be discussed extensively here (see Norelli, “Raccolta,” 511–13), the Catholic Epistles find their (final) form around ad 280. 59 A. Carriker, The Library of Eusebius of Caesarea, SVigChr 67 (Leiden, 2003), 232. 60 See ibid., 232f. 61 Text follows R. Devreesse, Introduction à l’étude des manuscrits grecs (Paris, 1954), 168. See also Carriker, Library, 232 n.179. This colophon has been made largely obscured by crossing out on the manuscript photographs provided in the virtual manuscript room of the Institute for New Testament Research (http://ntvmr.uni–muenster.de, accessed February 2, 2016). 62 See now the comprehensive work by V. Blomkvist, Euthalian Traditions: Texts, Translation and Commentary, TU 170 (Berlin, 2012). Although the aforementioned colophon (9) is cited in light of the historically significant edition of Zacagni, it was not discussed as far as I can see. Also, L. C. Willard, A Critical Study of the Euthalian Apparatus, ANTF 41 (Berlin, 2009) notes in the section “Colophon” (83–99), which is dedicated to the famous colophon under Titus (according to Codex Coislinianus [Hp, 015 Gregory and Aland, 6. Jh.]), that the colophon named here in miniscule 181 is a parallel without further commentary. 56

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(τὸ βιβλίον) containing Acts and the Catholic Epistles was corrected on the basis of a copy in the library at Caesarea.63 This cannot attest to the presence of such a codex in this library “at the time” of Eusebius (or even before), because this library could be described as “the [library] of Eusebius (and of Pamphilus)”64 even at a much later date. All conjectures must remain speculative as to why these and only these seven texts ultimately came to constitute the Catholic Epistles. Nevertheless, five possible motives can be reasonably assumed to have played a role and should at least be named and briefly discussed here. 1. First, the Catholic Epistles are connected by the circumstance that they, as their description by Eusebius shows, can all be considered as belonging to the literary genre of “epistle.” Independently of whether the individual texts justify this genre designation based on the circumstances of their composition—that is, whether they were intended as epistolary communication—such a judgment (unlike in the case of Didache or Shepherd of Hermas) can be reached based on the distinct epistolary elements of the seven texts.65 In the case of 1 John, where neither a prescript nor a proper epistolary conclusion occurs, from Irenaeus onward we nonetheless witness a designation as “epistle” (as in the case of 1 Peter). 2. Also, other early Christian texts, such as 1 Clement or the Letters of Ignatius, were regarded as “epistles.” In some cases, they originated as such, in other cases they “became” epistles in the course of their reception. In contrast to such texts, due to their pseudepigraphic design, the Catholic Epistles can be considered apostolic insofar as they present themselves as being written by an apostle (1–2 Peter, with qualification 1 John)66 or by authoritative individuals of the first Christian generation (James, Jude, 2–3 John). The Epistle of Barnabas also fulfills these criteria, although here, in contrast to the Catholic Epistles, the fictional author manifests a markedly stronger linkage to Paul (see point 5). 3. Clearly, at least two Catholic Epistles received an early reception as authoritative texts—1 Peter and 1 John. At the beginning of its reception history, Jude was likewise treated with high regard wherever it appeared. The possibility at least suggests itself that 2 Peter as well as 2 and 3 John profited from a kind of adhesive effect following from the acceptance of 1 Peter and 1 John. Evidence for this hypothesis could consist in the layout of 2 Peter in P72 (cf. Section 2.2) and the references to several (i.e., more than one) of John’s letters in Irenaeus and the Muratorian Fragment.

See M. Frenschkowski (“Studien zur Geschichte der Bibliothek von Cäsarea,” in Kraus and Nicklas, New Testament Manuscripts, 53–104, here 88), who quotes the colophon (with και παμφιλου instead of του παμφιλου) as having been taken from Codex Coislinianus with the preface “To read under the Epistle of Jude”—this is probably a mistake, since Codex Coislinianus contains only the text of Paul’s letters; see also Devreesse, Introduction, 168. 64 See Frenschkowski, Studien, 89. 65 The comment by Schlosser is too general: “Le caractère épistolaire des lettres catholiques . . . paraît assez artificiel” (The epistolary character of the Catholic Epistles . . . seems rather artificial) (“Corpus,” 20). 66 To what extent 1 John should be approached as a pseudepigraphon remains to be discussed. In any case, the similarities of 1 Jn 1:1-2 and Jn 1:1-14 make it possible (again, from the perspective of reception in antiquity!) to connect 1 John with the Gospel of John, which is understood to be apostolic. Cf., for example, the Muratorian Fragment (see Section 2.1). 63

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4. The attractiveness of the number seven should not be underestimated, as the comments in the Muratorian Fragment clearly show that the number seven could be used in ancient Christianity as an authoritative validation of early Christian literature. This is evident in the Muratorian Fragment’s combination of the number of Pauline Epistles (to seven churches) and the number of circular letters in the Revelation of John (cf. lines 56–9).67 5. Finally, the numerous intertextual connections should be taken into consideration that appear if the Catholic Epistles are placed alongside the two other New Testament corpora—the Four Gospels and the Corpus Paulinum—both of which acquired form and authority considerably earlier.68 The figures of Peter and John create a strong axis to the gospels and the beginnings of Christianity in the ministry of Jesus, while the triad of James, Peter, and John reappears prominently in Gal. 2:9.69 The book of Acts, which also emphasizes James’s important role as an authority in the post-Easter period, can be seen from this perspective as a congenial supplement to the Catholic Epistles given the broad scope Acts gives to the ministry of Peter and Paul.70 In addition to the fact “that in both cases we are dealing with writings that only enter into the history of the collection of authoritative corpora after the gospels and the Pauline Epistles,”71 this is another reason for the compilation of Acts and the Catholic Epistles in the manuscript tradition. 3.2  Joint Career with the Acts of the Apostles This last point, the combination of Acts and the Catholic Epistles in significant parts of the manuscript tradition, deserves deeper treatment in connection with a remark made by David C. Parker. Summarizing his analysis of the Greek manuscript evidence for the Catholic Epistles, Parker writes, The evidence overall suggests a lack of fixed practice before the seventh century at the earliest. On the other hand, the order of the seven Catholic letters is very uniform, especially among Greek manuscripts. The stage at which the eight writings were first counted together is, so far as the manuscripts attest, the fourth century. The fact that both 01 and 03, the two great Bible codices, treat them as a unity (manifest by the fact that they disagree as to the order of the larger blocks), is our earliest example.72

A. Merkt, “1 Peter in Patristic Literature,” in E. F. Mason and T. W. Martin (eds.), Reading 1–2 Peter and Jude: A Resource for Students, RBSt 77 (Atlanta, 2014), 167–79, here 167. According to Klauck, the sum total of the Catholic Epistles does not add up “coincidentally to the number seven” (Briefliteratur, 261). There is no evidence that the group of seven “developed slowly . . . from an authoritative collection of three letters (Jas, 1 Pet, 1 Jn),” as Markschies (“Haupteinleitung,” 70)  holds, because James was far from having a status comparable to 1 Peter and 1 John, and the reception of just these three Catholic Epistles in parts of Syrian Christianity of a later time cannot be projected backward into the formative period of the group of writings. 68 Compare to this also the reflections on the “canonical function” of the Catholic Epistles in Nienhuis, Paul, 87–90. 69 See the still instructive D. Lührmann, “Gal 2,9 und die katholischen Briefe,” ZNW 72 (1981): 65–87. 70 In this sense, Schröter says:  “The Catholic Epistles, of which for a long time only 1 Peter and 1 John enjoyed undisputed recognition, could, on the contrary, be recorded as belonging to the canon by a book in which James, Peter, and John were mentioned” (“Apostelgeschichte,” 414). 71 Ibid., 413. 72 D. C. Parker, An Introduction to the New Testament Manuscripts and Their Texts (Cambridge, 2008), 285–6. 67

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Three elements of this evaluation are important: first, we can only speak of a stable practice of uniting the Catholic Epistles and Acts in a single common manuscript starting in the seventh century at the earliest73 (Apostolos or Praxapostolos),74 that is, not until a time when the New Testament canon had already adopted its basic shape. Second is the fact that the group of Catholic Epistles exhibits a generally stable internal ordering within the Greek textual tradition (viz., James, 1–2 Peter, 1–3 John, Jude).75 Third is the judgment that already in the fourth century, more precisely in the layout of the New Testament books in Sinaiticus and Vaticanus, there is an understanding of Acts and the Catholic Epistles as a unity. While the first two points are evident precisely on the basis of the data presented by Parker, the third is in need of clarification. First, one must pay attention to the fact that from a purely statistical perspective there are six possibilities of arranging Acts, Corpus Paulinum, and the Catholic Epistles between the Four Gospels and the Revelation of John, of which not fewer than four place Acts and the Catholic Epistles directly next to each other.76 Two of these four variants

According to the helpful orientation by K. Aland and B. Aland (Der Text des Neuen Testaments: Einführung in die wissenschaftlichen Ausgaben und in Theorie wie Praxis der modernen Textkritik [Stuttgart, 21989], 91), a total of 662 manuscripts with Acts and Catholic Epistles can be found, of which a “conspicuously large group” (ibid.), that is, 273 manuscripts, also includes only the Pauline Epistles, while only 87 offer exclusively Acts and the Catholic Epistles. The statement “407 complete manuscripts and 46 fragments containing only this group of documents [i.e., Acts and Catholic Epistles]” (Schröter, “Apostelgeschichte,” 412 note 73; see also Parker, Introduction, 283 [“662 manuscripts of these books, of which . . . 46 consisted of partial copies numbering fewer than ten folios, and 407 consisted of Acts and the Catholic letters”], as well as Schlosser, “Corpus,” 17) is a consequence of the somewhat misleading diagram in Aland and Aland (Text, 92): In this diagram the sum of 662 manuscripts, which witness to Acts and the Catholic Epistles (“Apostolos” = a), is subdivided into three groups. First, those which also include the Gospels and Pauline Epistles (eap, 150 manuscripts); second, those which also include the Gospels, Pauline Epistles, and Revelation (eapr, 59 manuscripts); third, as a “remainder” all the other manuscripts that contain Acts and the Catholic Epistles (with the compilations ea, ear, ar, apr, ap as well as only a!). For this third category only, the diagram provides information with respect to the state of tradition of the manuscripts (407 complete/46 fragmentary), which is, of course, something completely different from information about the contents of these manuscripts. The table compiled by Trobisch (Endredaktion, 41), in which, however, the group eap is not listed, is much clearer. 74 For the terminology, see Parker (Introduction, 281), who uses the term “Praxapostolos” for manuscripts with the compilation of Acts, Catholic Epistles, and the Pauline Epistles and notes, “It would be helpful to have a term which unequivocally described these eight texts [viz., Acts and the Catholic Epistles] together.” As a designation for these eight texts Aland and Aland use the term “Apostolos” with the siglum “a” (ibid., 92.117 n.1). Trobisch concludes: “A clear indication that Acts and the Catholic Epistles belong together can be taken by users of this edition [viz., Novum Testamentum Graece] from the fact that there was only one notation, a, assigned to it” (Endredaktion, 42). This statement on the practice of textual criticism is correct as long as it is not used to infer historical plausibility before the fourth century. Since the siglum “a” places together texts with completely different transmission histories—which Aland and Aland (Text, 59) are also aware of—it is questioned from the perspective of textual criticism. Thus, see J. K. Elliott (“The Greek Manuscript Heritage of the Book of Acts,” in New Testament Textual Criticism: The Application of Thoroughgoing Principles, NTS 137 [Leiden, 2010], 117–32, here 130), which succinctly records: “The conventional division of MSS. into eapr is not helpful . . . The division eapcr would be more useful.” Also important here is D. D. Schmidt, “The Greek New Testament as a Codex,” in McDonald and Sanders, Canon Debate, 467–84, also 479–84, which offers a list in tabular form of all “complete” New Testament uncials and minuscules, including the ordering of the corpora. 75 Norelli, “Raccolta,” 508: “È dunque chiaro che dal IV secolo, nella tradizione manoscritta del Nuovo Testamento, la collezione delle sette Lettere Cattoliche è costituita e ha un ordine stabile” (It is therefore clear that from the fourth century, in the New Testament manuscript tradition, the collection of the seven Catholic Epistles is constituted and has a stable order). See also T. Zahn, Geschichte des Neutestamentlichen Kanons, Bd. 2/1 (Erlangen, 1890), 375–80. 76 Namely:  Acts—Catholic Epistles—Corpus Paulinum; Catholic Epistles—Acts—Corpus Paulinum; Corpus Paulinum—Acts—Catholic Epistles; Corpus Paulinum—Catholic Epistles—Acts. 73

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are found in the two uncial manuscripts of the fourth century, which, in light of the small extent of the manuscript evidence, does not speak to a significantly remarkable distribution. In connection with this one should not adopt Parker’s argument that the “coinciding” sequence of Acts—Catholic Epistles in Sinaiticus and Vaticanus alongside a “different” sequence of the New Testament “corpora”—is evidence “that both 01 and 03 … treat them as a unity.”77 This is because two levels that must be separated—the reconstruction of redactional strategies behind the respective manuscript and the comparison of the manuscripts with each other—are mixed together here. If one inquires further into the first of these two levels, an interesting detail of the layout in Sinaiticus stands out in particular. Virtually all the texts in this codex begin with a new column such that at the end of the preceding text (sometimes after a generously placed subscriptio) a large column section remains empty. In four places of the New Testament in Codex Sinaiticus it is obvious that the empty space between texts is larger than a column. The first gap is marked by a change of quire rather than merely blank space: Luke ends in Q(uire) 78/P(age) 7v (in the fourth column),78 while John begins at Q 79/P 1r (first column). The last completely blank page of Q 78 was cut out of the codex, whereby a small remainder is still recognizable near the gutter. The next gap occurs at the end of the Gospel of John where the entire space between Q 80/P 6r (first column) and the beginning of Romans—thus a total of five pages—remained blank, wherein additionally the two last pages of the quire have been cut out.79 Finally, a change of position also separates the Epistle of Barnabas, which ends at Q 91/P 2v (third column), from the Shepherd of Hermas, which starts at Q 92/P 1r (first column). Here no pages were removed; thus Q 91 was already in its original form a bifolio, and the gap between Barnabas and the Shepherd of Hermas, as a result, occupies one empty column alone.80 These apparently deliberate changes of quire have special weight if one notes that in the Old Testament writings preserved in the codex similar changes are utilized to demarcate the text sections of Isaiah to Malachi and Psalms to Job.81 In the New Testament, the changes of quire emphasize the Gospel of John in particular, while the block of Romans through Barnabas (including Corpus Paulinum, Acts, Catholic Epistles, Revelation, Barnabas) seems at first glance to be “a largely amorphous mass.”82 Nevertheless, one writing within this block is set off again by space that is left empty: Acts.83 It is apparent at first by the fact that after the end of Philemon on Q 85/P 6r Parker, Introduction, 286. The best way to get a quick overview of the structure of the material remains the “Table of Concordance,” in H. J. Milne and T. C. Skeat, Scribes and Correctors of the Codex Sinaiticus: With Plates and Figures (London, 1938), 94–112, the numbering system that is used in the following discussion (in the excellent digital edition on the website http:// codexsinaiticus.org the numbering is, however, one off, i.e., Q 79 in place of 78 here). For an introduction on this, see S. McKendrick et al. (eds.), Codex Sinaiticus: New Perspectives on the Ancient Biblical Manuscript (London, 2015). 79 In paging through the Codex, this second gap was more conspicuous than the first due to its blank page Q 80/B 6v, while the first one is “only” marked by a change of quire and one excised page. 80 See D. Batovici, “The Less Expected Books in Codex Sinaiticus and Alexandrinus: Codicological and Paleographical Considerations,” in C. Ruzzier and X. Hermand (eds.), Comment le livre s’est fait livre: Le frabrication des manuscrits bibliques (IVe–XVe siécle). Bilan, résultats, perspectives du recherché, Bibliologia 40 (Turnhout, 2015), 39–50. 81 D. C. Parker, Codex Sinaiticus: Geschichte der ältesten Bibel der Welt (Stuttgart, 2012), 80. 82 Ibid., 81. 83 D. Jongkind (“One Codex, Three Scribes, and Many Books: Struggles with Space in Codex Sinaiticus,” in Kraus and Nicklas, New Testament Manuscripts, 121–35, here 132) mentions—in addition to his discussion of the change of quire between Barnabas and the Shepherd of Hermas (130–4)—only the change of quire between Job and Matthew, and 77 78

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(second column), both the rest of that page and Q 85/P 6v are left blank; thus, Acts only begins after two empty columns and one empty page on Q 85/P 7r (first column). A change of quire does not take place here; within the actual form of the codex this break is roughly as distinctive as those between the Gospel of John and Romans.84 At the end of Acts (Q 88/P 1r [third column]), once again an entire column is left empty, so that James begins on Q 88/P 1v (first column) and the gap between Acts and James thus encompasses the scope of one entire column—as that between Barnabas and the Shepherd of Hermas. If the position of Acts in Sinaiticus as marked by empty spaces is noteworthy, then the Catholic Epistles are thereby visually set off from Acts in a way that militates against the impression of a firmly entrenched unity.85 If the examination of the text divisions in Sinaiticus cannot directly support the thesis that the two great uncial manuscripts of the fourth century treated Acts and the Catholic Epistles as a unity, then Codex Alexandrinus, which should probably be assigned to the fifth century, contains a very clear indication of such a grouping.86 After Jude (f. 84v) one not only finds the expected colophon ΙΟΥΔΑ ΕΠΙΣΤΟΛΗ, but also the addition of ΠΡΑΞΕΙΣ ΤΩΝ ΑΓΙΩΝ ΑΠΟΣΤΟΛΩΝ ΚΑΙ ΚΑΘΟΛΙΚΑΙ, which is in fact a clear indication that the editors of this codex wanted Acts and the Catholic Epistles to be understood as a unity.87 3.3  Stability and Variation The combination of Acts and the Catholic Epistles that is made explicit in the colophon of Codex Alexandrinus, which is not yet recognized in either Eusebius (compare Hist. eccl. 3.25.1–7) or Codex Sinaiticus (which might constitute the beginning of the history of the great uncials88), is a constituent part of the larger order of the New Testament corpora “which is the

between John and Romans, and the gap between Philemon and Acts. G. M. Hahnemann (The Muratorian Fragment and the Development of the Canon, OTM [Oxford, 1992], 67) calls attention to the gap between Acts and James. 84 Moreover, one half of Q 85/P 6 has been cut out. 85 It should also be noted that the visual distance between Acts and the Pauline Corpus is greater than that between Acts and the writings following it (Catholic Epistles, Revelation, Barnabas). An insertion of James on Q 88/B 2r would give the appearance of a more even arrangement. 86 It should also be pointed out that Codex Bezae Cantabrigiensis (05 Gregory and Aland), also from the fifth century, places Acts after 3 John and may not have contained all the Catholic Epistles (see Parker, Introduction, 283–5). If Codex Bezae is categorized by the editors of the Novum Testamentum Graece (see, e.g., Aland and Aland, Text, 118)  as containing “a,” this again shows that this category should be used with great caution for canon-historical reconstructions (see notes 73 and 74). The fifth great uncial of the fourth and fifth centuries, Codex Ephraemi Syri rescriptus (04 Gregory and Aland), does not permit a reconstruction of the original sequence of New Testament texts due to its codicological biography (see Trobisch, Endredaktion, 39 n.79). The note in question in Schlosser (“Corpus,” 16 n.56) appears to confuse Codex Bezae and Codex Ephraemi. 87 See Trobisch, Endredaktion, 52, fig. 4. The individual colophons of the individual writings are retained (also under Acts, f. 76r). Important for the question discussed here is also the codicological analysis of P. Andrist, “La structure du Codex Vaticanus, Alexandrinus et Sinaiticus: Questions ouvertes sur le canon, la fabrication et de la circulation de ces bibles,” in Ruzzier and Hermand, Comment le livre s’est fait livre, 11–37, especially 36. I warmly thank Dan Batovici (Leuven) for making this text available to me. 88 See, for example, T. C. Skeat, “The Codex Sinaiticus, the Codex Vaticanus and Constantine,” JThS 50 (1999): 583–625. For this question, see also, with a different emphasis, the instructive comments in P. Andrist (ed.), Le manuscrit B de la Bible (Vaticanus graecus 1209): Introduction au fac–similié. Actes du Colloque de Genève (June 11, 2001). Contributions supplémentaires, HTBib 7 (Lausanne, 2009).

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prevailing order of the fourth century Greek tradition as in following times.”89 This ordering is as follows: Gospels—Acts—Catholic Epistles—Corpus Paulinum—(Revelation of John). This canonical placement of the Catholic Epistles “together” with Acts and “between” the Gospels and the Pauline Epistles doubtless possesses its own theological logic, which is also reflected in the statements of Cyril of Jerusalem (catech. 4.36), Athanasius of Alexandria (Ep. Fest. 39), and Epiphanius of Salamis (Pan. 76).90 This logic, however, does not lead to an inseparable “amalgamation” of Acts and the Catholic Epistles—something made clear by “the still later ordering of Acts following the Catholic Epistles, and even after Revelation,” as well as by “the ultimately prevailing sequence of Gospels—Acts—Pauline Epistles—Catholic Epistles—Revelation.”91 Therefore, it is not the “only possible” theological logic according to which the writings of the New Testament can be determined and ordered. The fourth-century voices of Gregory of Nazianzus (carm. 1.12), Amphilochus of Iconium (Iambi ad Seleucum), the Apostolic Constitutions (Const Ap 8.47),92 along with the debate led in the Adamantius Dialogues over the Marcionite Canon,93 and the vote of the Doctrina Addai94 all betray different theological concepts when arranging the New Testament texts. Such voices of difference do not vanish even in the canon history of later times.95 Finally, the arrival of the Catholic Epistles into the New Testament canon, tangible especially in the Greek Christianity of the fourth century, does not (to this day) end the debates about their theological relevance.

4. Summary “The history of the Catholic Epistles holds significance for larger conceptions of the history of the canon.”96 It therefore contributes, in its own way, to writing a history of the New Testament canon as a “daunting task.”97 The observations made here can be summarized in five points.

Zahn, Geschichte, 382. Emphasized in Nienhuis (Paul, 77–9), although the different contexts and intentions of these views must be weighed even more heavily. The texts can be found in Zahn, Geschichte, 177–80, 210–12, 226. 91 Schröter, “Apostelgeschichte,” 413. How this arrangement made its way via the Vulgate into modern print editions is reconstructed in detail in Schmidt, “Codex,” 473–9. If one looks at the sequence of references to later New Testament writings in Irenaeus (Haer. 3.9–11) and Tertullian (Praescr. 22 and Marc. 5) along these lines, precursors to this order can already be found there and in the Muratorian Fragment (see Zahn, Geschichte, 381 n.2; Schröter, “Apostelgeschichte,” 401–13 n.77). 92 These three texts are located in Zahn, Geschichte, 180–93, 216–19. 93 See K. Tsutsui, Die Auseinandersetzung mit den Markioniten im Adamantios-Dialog: Ein Kommentar zu den Büchern I–II, PTS 55 (Berlin, 2004). If Adamant. 58.1 also inserts the sentence ἕκαστος ᾧ ἥττηται, τούτῳ καὶ δεδούλωται (see 2 Pet. 2:19) as ὁ ἔξωθεν λόγος, so that no statement about the canonicity of 2 Peter is intended, but it is presumably also cited as a freestanding saying of the Lord following Hippolytus, Comm. Dan. 3.22.4; Ps.-Clem. Recogn. 5.12.4 and also likewise 2 Pet. 2:19. Cf. on this W. Grünstäudl, “ ‘On Slavery’: A Possible Herrenwort in 2 Petr 2,19,” NT 57 (2015): 57–71. 94 Doctrina Addai 88 prohibits the reading of other “New Testament” writings outside of the Gospel (i.e., the Diatessaron), the Pauline Epistles, and Acts. 95 It may suffice to point to the lasting differences in the order of the New Testament writings in the Latin West (see Nienhuis, Paul; and Norelli, “Raccolta,” 491–7) and the contentious placement of the Catholic Epistles in Syriac Christianity (e.g., only James, 1 Peter, and 1 John are found in the Peshitta); see now A. Merkt, 1. Petrus. Teilband 1, NTP 21/1 (Göttingen, 2015), 23–5 (Lit.). 96 Gamble, “Canon,” 288. 97 Ibid., 294. 89 90

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First, it should be noted that the “odd mixture”98 of the Catholic Epistles is not completely artificial, but rather rests upon various connections among the individual texts, which are already given with their original contexts. Second, it can be observed from the reception history of the second and third centuries how the Catholic Epistles are increasingly utilized alongside one another by Christian writers of varying tradition-historical backgrounds (especially 1 Peter and 1 John); however, such “clustering” is neither described in the sense of straightforward development nor is it clearly reflected in the Greek manuscript tradition (with the exception of P72). In addition, the late reception of 2 Peter and James, both “real enigmas,”99 is conspicuous, whereby the latter is not explicitly connected with Jude in those places where it occurs before Eusebius. Third, various motifs (genre, apostolicity, reception, the number seven, intertextual connections) can be identified that may be of significance to the compilation of the Epistle of James, the two Epistles of Peter, three Epistles of John, and the Epistle of Jude that ensued under the designation of Catholic Epistles in the course of the second half of the third century. Fourth, at the level of theological reflection from the fourth century on, as well as at the level of the manuscript tradition starting with Codex Alexandrinus, the connection between Acts and the Catholic Epistles is clearly attested as an essential element for the Greek tradition. Nevertheless, fifth, much remains in a state of flux in the sphere of the Catholic Epistles even after the fourth century. On the whole their placement within the New Testament continues to vary, they are sometimes not considered a part of it or at times only selectively, and finally their theological relevance remains an object of discussion.

Elliott, “Text,” 206. Nienhuis, Paul, 89.

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FURTHER READINGS (1) Christian-Bernard Amphoux and Jean-Paul Bouhot (eds.), La lecture liturgiques des Épîtres catholiques dans l’Église ancienne (Historie du Texte Biblique 1; Lausanne: Éditions du Zèbre, 1996). This volume presents eight main papers on the liturgical reading of the Catholic Epistles in the early church as seen from the lectionaries of various church traditions, both Greek and Latin. Especially Amphoux on the Greek lectionaries has some bearing on the canonical formation of the collection within the New Testament. (2) Darian R. Lockett, Letters from the Pillar Apostles: The Formation of the Catholic Epistles as a Canonical Collection (Eugene, OR: Pickwick, 2017). This book is an examination of the formation of the Catholic Epistles as a canonical collection specifically exploring attestation of these texts by patristic authors and in early canon lists, manuscript, and paratextual evidence. The study uniquely argues for the hermeneutical significance of reading the seven letters as a coherent collection. (3) David R. Nienhuis, Not by Paul Alone: The Formation of the Catholic Epistle Collection and the Christian Canon (Waco, TX: Baylor University Press, 2007). In this helpful work based on his 2004 dissertation directed by Francis Watson, David Nienhuis offers one of the most comprehensive discussions of the formation of the Catholic Epistles as a collection. Nienhuis argues that James was composed with the nascent collection of the Catholic Epistles in view. James thus is a late pseudepigrapha that was intentionally composed to draw the Catholic Epistle collection together vis-à-vis the Pauline Corpus. Nienhuis argues that James, and the Catholic Epistles as a whole, was shaped according to a particular logic of apostolic authority (i.e., “not by Paul alone”) in order to perform a particular function in the larger Christian canon (the correction of Paulinist misreadings of the whole apostolic message). (4) David R. Nienhuis and Robert W. Wall, Reading the Epistles of James, Peter, John, and Jude as Scripture: The Shaping and Shape of a Canonical Collection (Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 2013). Nienhuis and Wall argue that the Epistles of James, Peter, John, and Jude should not be read as a random grouping of “general” letters, but rather as the Catholic Epistles. They contend that this collection emerged as communities used and benefited from these texts as Scripture. Specifically, Nienhuis and Wall examine the shaping of a canonical collection and the shape of the canonical collection, respectively. The first part covers the formation of the collection and how, by putting the works into a collection, this second letter collection of the New Testament balances the Pauline collection (similar to Nienhuis’s earlier work, Not by Paul Alone). Then they present their expositions of each of the seven Catholic Epistles with an exploration of the identity of the canonical author, comments on key issues surrounding the literary

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composition of the letter, and an overview of its canonization. The second part contains seven short commentaries, one on each of the seven Catholic Epistles, all of which are structured by theological topics flowing from the rule of faith. (5) Jacques Schlosser, “Le corpus des Épîtres catholiques,” in The Catholic Epistles and the Tradition (ed. J. Schlosser; BETL 176; Leuven: Leuven University Press, 2004), 3–41. Schlosser examines the Catholic Epistles from two points of view. First, he considers how the collection formed historically as a literary group. Assessing the arguments of D. Trobisch and C.-B. Amphoux, Schlosser turns to the manuscript evidence and early attestation of these texts from the end of the second to the end of the fourth century. The data suggest, though with numerous variations in specific arrangement, a strong tendency toward the grouping of the seven Catholic long before the turn from fourth to fifth century. Second, his investigation focuses directly on the letters themselves, noting the emphasis on faith and truth. Here Schlosser attempts to show that the Catholic Epistles share characteristics that suggest a certain unity of their content. Though certainly lacking the consistency found in the Pauline collection, he finds that the Catholic Epistles should not be reduced to a hybrid or simple chance amalgamation. (6) Enrico Norelli, “Sulle origini della raccolta delle Lettere Cattoliche,” Rivista biblica 4 (2011): 453–521. Norelli offers a full discussion of the origin of the collection of the Catholic Epistles. He notes how the term “catholic” was used in the first Christian generations and then traces the attestation of the “Catholic Epistles” up to the fourth century. Norelli finds that a collection of seven Catholic Epistles was first attested by Eusebius and that it was probably assembled and recognized as authoritative in the last decades of the third century. The article concludes with arguments against D. Trobisch’s thesis of a second-century “edition” of the NT containing the Catholic Epistles, a review of the evidence supporting the later dating for the collection’s formation, a discussion of C.-B. Amphoux’s placement of the collection in ad 280, and reflections on the notion of the theology of the Catholic Epistles. (7) Robert W. Wall, “A Unifying Theology of the Catholic Epistles: A Canonical Approach,” in The Catholic Epistles and Apostolic Tradition: A New Perspective on James to Jude (ed. K.-W. Niebuhr and R. W. Wall; Waco, TX: Baylor University Press, 2009), 13–40. In this groundbreaking and influential essay, Robert Wall offers an outline of a unifying theology of the Catholic Epistles. Key for Wall is the placement and function of the Epistle of James as a “frontispiece” in the final form of the Catholic Epistles. In general, he notes that a frontispiece functions as an intentional introduction to a collection of literary artifacts. James’s rhetorical role in the collection is to set the stage, as it were, for a reading of the Catholic Epistles by setting out particular themes that, in both language and concept, become a “rubric” for identifying a unifying theology of the Catholic Epistles. (8) Karl-Wilhelm Niebuhr and Robert W.  Wall (eds.), The Catholic Epistles and Apostolic Tradition: A New Perspective on James to Jude (Waco, TX: Baylor University Press, 2009).

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This is the result of the SNTS seminar on the Catholic Epistles. The volume includes several essays on James, Peter, John, and Jude by internationally known scholars. Generally, the essays focus on appreciating each of the Catholic Epistles on their own terms and from within their own contexts. A few of the essays consider how some or all of the Catholic Epistles function as a collection. (9) Roelof Klaas Alkema, The Pillars and the Cornerstone:  Jesus Tradition Parallels in the Catholic Epistles (Delft: Eburon, 2018). Understanding the Catholic Epistles as an early intentional collection, this study investigates the parallels with the Jesus tradition present in the Catholic Epistles. Specifically, Alkema investigates the particular historical and theological relationship such parallels suggest. (10) Peter H. Davids, A Biblical Theology of James, Peter, and Jude (Biblical Theology of the New Testament; Grand Rapids, MI: Zondervan, 2014). Building on his previous detailed commentaries, Davids focuses on the biblical-theological meaning of the text, examining each work as a theological unit. Here he offers a primarily theological reading of James, 1–2 Peter, and Jude, informed by social-rhetorical understandings of the texts with regard to what they meant in their original cultural settings. Davids offers an introduction on common themes and issues in the four letters (Greco-Roman background, theology, Christology, view of the source of sin, eschatology, implied authorship, pseudonymity, ecclesiological stance). He considers each text, including (1)  a survey of recent scholarship and the state of research, (2) introductory issues, (3) thematic commentary according to the narrative flow of the text, (4) important individual themes, and (5) the relationship between the particular writing and the rest of the New Testament and the Bible.

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PART 2 HISTORICAL-CRITICAL AND THEOLOGICAL STUDIES IN THE CATHOLIC EPISTLES

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INTRODUCTION

Darian R. Lockett

As noted earlier, the critical approach to the Catholic Epistles has focused scholarly attention on examining each text in its individual, historical-cultural context of composition. Therefore, critical scholarship tends to focus on either James, 1 Peter, the Johannine Epistles, or 2 Peter and Jude—each its own somewhat independent field of study. Attending to the historical and cultural contexts in which these texts were written, historical-criticism has interpreted the letters of James, Peter, John, and Jude with a typical set of revolving concerns. These concerns usually focus discussion and speculation on the historical author and audience of these letters along with the particular social-historical context that called them forth. However, because so little concrete historical evidence exists regarding these letters, conclusions to such historical questions are somewhat indeterminate and often are affected by the presuppositions with which the scholar begins. As a consequence, historical-critical examinations of these letters can and often do draw significantly different conclusions regarding authorship, date, and social-historical context of composition. Two specific factors make comprehensive organization and structure of Part  2 difficult. First, as noted in the previous paragraph, critical scholarship tends to focus on either James, 1 Peter, the Johannine Epistles, or 2 Peter and Jude as relatively independent fields of study. As in much of critical analysis of New Testament texts, scholarship has generally focused on the specific issues of authorship, audience, and date of composition. Almost any recent commentary on these letters will demonstrate how central these historical issues have been in the modern critical analysis of these letters. Yet, beyond these common critical issues, each of the texts in the Catholic Epistles has its own individual critical issues—the study of which tends to isolate them one from another. For example, discussions of James often revolve around issues of genre (To what degree are Jewish wisdom and Hellenistic rhetorical traditions imbedded in James? or How do we understand the intersection of wisdom and eschatology in the letter?), structure (Does James have a specific structure, and if so, what is it?), and theology (Dibelius famously stated that James has no theology). To these enduring issues one could add the relationship between faith and works, or that between word, law, and wisdom. Study of James, and particularly the relationship between faith and words, presses the historical question of how the thought of James and Paul were related in the early Christian movement. Interpretive issues particular to 1 Peter include:  the ethnic and religious identity of the audience (Jewish, Gentile, or both), the nature and degree of persecution or suffering experienced by the audience (empire-wide or localized), and the author’s use of and allusion to Old Testament texts. Rather than conflict with Paul (vis-à-vis James), scholars regularly examine the degree to which Peter was either influenced by Paul’s theology or how Peter’s theology develops independently of Paul, while at the same time sharing such clear themes. Finally, with regard to the household code in 1 Peter 2 and 3, several interpretive questions

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arise regarding the social-cultural stance of the author—namely, whether or not the author advocated a stance of cultural resistance, conformity, or something in between. Scholarly concerns regarding the Johannine Epistles focus on determining the relationship between 1 John (at times independent from 2 and 3 John) and the Gospel of John. The similarity in structure (at least the use of a distinct prologue), vocabulary, and key concepts seems to suggest a strong relationship between the two texts (if not a common author). There are tantalizingly few details from which to reconstruct a clear historical situation behind 1 John (not to mention a complex historical reconstruction incorporating all three letters). Much contemporary scholarship has been focused on the polemic of 1 John, a reconstruction of the community or communities envisioned in the letters, and identifying the identity of the opponents (or secessionists). The most strikingly specific issue that draws Jude and 2 Peter together is the kind and degree of literary dependence between the two letters. In which direction is the dependence, and how has the borrower taken up and recontextualized the message of the material borrowed? This issue quickly leads to the historical question of the opponents’ identity in both letters (Are they the same, or completely different?). With respect to 2 Peter, the issue of authorship and date of composition continues to be very contentious territory (with no new evidence to consider, these two issues have created a kind of self-perpetuating echo chamber of rehashed arguments). Often both letters come under close examination regarding their structure (or lack thereof) and polemical rhetoric. Jude in particular is singled out for its disproportional amount of negative rhetoric and judgment announced against its enemies for such a short letter. Furthermore, Jude is often fertile soil for questions regarding the use of noncanonical sources (particularly 1 Enoch). The consequence of focusing on the unique historical-cultural setting of each of these letters has created semi-independent clusters of scholarly research. The character of the following chapters demonstrates that, even with regard to the typical historical-critical questions (author and audience), the scholarly discussion of each of these texts constitutes distance areas of research. The second factor that makes comprehensive organization and structure of Part 2 difficult is the variety of scholarly presuppositional starting points. As noted earlier, as a result of so little concrete historical evidence undergirding the study of these letters, scholars tend to situate the evidence we do have within a particular framework of interpretation. Not only does focusing on each letter’s unique circumstances of composition result in a vast array of distinctive or textspecific questions and interests, the commitments and presuppositions with which scholars approach these issues constitute an added layer of complexity. Again, this is something on display in the chapters included in this section. With respect to the traditional historical-critical questions of author, audience, and context of origin, it would be helpful to turn to the major commentaries in English, German, and French. As a rule, I have not mentioned any of the major commentaries in the Further Readings sections; however, especially in this section, one would need to consult them in order to gain full appreciation of the state of scholarship. Because the historical-critical approach focuses on each letter’s unique circumstances of origin, this results in a disparate set of historical and theological questions. Thus, the chapters in this section will not follow any particularly clear set of historical-critical or theological research rubrics, other than the chapters being slotted into one of two general categories: compositional, exegetical, textual-critical, background on 32

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one hand and theological and interpretive on the other. For the sake of clarity, the Further Readings in this part is divided into sections on James, 1 Peter, 2 Peter, 1–3 John, and Jude.

Summaries of the Readings Included in This Section a. Compositional, Exegetical, Textual-Critical, and Background Studies (1) In his thoughtful chapter titled “The Fiction of James and Its Sitz im Leben,” Dale Allison points out that older commentators understood James to be addressed to the Jews of the diaspora, whether Christian or not. Allison argues for the once common view that the letter addresses itself to non-Christian Jews as well as Christians (see 1:1) and demonstrates that James is a pseudepigraphon. He states that James’s purported audience—all the Jews of the diaspora—is as fictional as the author. In this way, Allison sees the letter as representing a group that was still seeking to keep relationship between Jewish Christians and the emerging rabbinic authorities. Here Jesus’s followers are not apostates from Judaism but rather are faithful members of the synagogue who live according to the Jewish moral tradition, are faithful to the Torah, and oppose those who want to divide faith from works. (2) Karl-Wilhelm Niebuhr interprets the Epistle of James from a text-pragmatic perspective as an apostolic diaspora letter in this now influential chapter titled “The Epistle of James in Light of Early Jewish Diaspora Letters.” The intention, linguistic composition, and essential themes correspond to the tradition of early Jewish diaspora letters, and the tradition of early Jewish diaspora letters in Greek language point to the letter’s function as a medium of the unity of God’s people under the historical circumstances of early Judaism. Based on the comparison with central connections among the themes of the early Jewish diaspora letters (understanding of God, statements about the people of God, expectations for the future, understanding of Torah), it appears that the letter of James seeks to strengthen the identity of its addressees as members of the people of God who believe in Christ, using linguistic means and related traditions associated with Jewish diaspora letters. (3) Richard Bauckham has contributed several essays that shed significant light on the interpretation of James, especially in light of the early Jesus movement.1 Many of these insights are filled out in his insightful monograph James: Wisdom of James, Disciple of Jesus the Sage.2 In his chapter “Messianic Jewish Identity in James,” Bauckham focuses on the continuity between Jewish and Christian identity. He specifically challenges claims that James is exclusively “Christian” or “Jewish” in order to show that James envisions his

Richard Bauckham, “James and the Jerusalem Church,” in The Book of Acts in Its Palestinian Setting, ed. R. Bauckham (Grand Rapids, MI:  Eerdmans, 1995), 415–80; Bauckham, “James and the Gentiles (Acts 15.13–21),” in History, Literature and Society in the Book of Acts, ed. B. Witherington III (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1996), 154– 84; Bauckham, “James and Jesus,” in The Brother of Jesus, ed. B. Chilton and J. Neusner (Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox, 2001), 100–37; Bauckham, “The Wisdom of James and the Wisdom of Jesus,” in The Catholic Epistles and the Tradition, ed. J. Schlosser (BETL 176; Leuven: Leuven University Press, 2004), 75–92. 2 Richard Bauckham, James: Wisdom of James, Disciple of Jesus the Sage (London: Routledge, 1999). 1

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community as fully integrated within both traditions. This study takes place alongside of Bauckham’s many insightful contributions to the interpretation of James. (4) Recent developments in textual criticism have encouraged New Testament scholars to regard the various New Testament manuscripts not merely as sources of variant readings to enable a reconstruction of the original text but as evidence of their own intrinsic importance regarding the material evidence for early Christianity. In his chapter “The Themes of 1 Peter: Insights from the Earliest Manuscripts (the Crosby-Schøyen Codex Ms 193 and the Bodmer Miscellaneous Codex containing P72),” David Horrell examines what the two earliest manuscripts of 1 Peter indicate about the status of this writing along with its key themes. Horrell argues that 1 Peter is a text focused on the Easter themes of the suffering, martyrdom, and vindication of Christ. This central set of themes focusing on the experiences of Christ are in turn related to the suffering and hope of Christ’s followers in a hostile world. These two manuscripts also call for some reconsideration of older scholarship, now widely rejected, which saw 1 Peter as a baptismal homily or paschal liturgy. (5) In his chapter “Aliens and Strangers? The Socio-Economic Location of the Addresses of 1 Peter,” David Horrell explores what might be gleaned from 1 Peter with regard to the socio-economic position of the early Christians who received this letter. Horrell’s work sets the evidence from 1 Peter within the context of the scales of economy within the Roman Empire generally, and early Christian communities in Asia Minor particularly. His work challenges notions that 1 Peter’s addressees originate from remote rural areas where urbanization was not evident. (6) In Jerome Neyrey’s oft-cited chapter “The Form and Background of the Polemic in 2 Peter,” he examines the form and background of the polemic rhetoric found in 2 Peter. Neyrey’s study notes the letter’s lack of Christological focus, the presence and features of Graeco-Roman polemics against providence, and its relation to comparable Jewish polemics against theodicy. Because of this denial of divine providence, Neyrey suggests a strong analogy between the opponents in 2 Peter and the Epicurean philosophy. Yet, later writing in his commentary on Jude and 2 Peter, Neyrey states: “It is the hypothesis of this commentary that the opponents were either Epicureans, who rejected traditional theodicy, or ‘scoffers’ (Apikoros), who espoused a similar deviant theology.”3 (7) Raymond Brown’s chapter “The Relationship to the Fourth Gospel Shared by the Author of 1 John and by His Opponents” is a seminal examination of the relationship between 1 John and the Fourth Gospel, which was subsequently developed further in his Anchor Bible commentary on the Johannine Epistles. Acknowledging the disputed nature of whether or not 1 John and the Fourth Gospel share the same theological outlook, or whether one writing is intended to correct or complement the other, in this chapter Brown views the relationship through the lens of the opponents of 1 John and those envisioned in the Fourth Gospel. (8) Theo Heckel argues that 1 John plays a central role in reconstructing the historical situation behind the Johannine tradition in his chapter “The Historicization of the Theology of John in the First Letter of John.” Heckel provides exegesis of 1 Jn 1:1-4 Jerome H. Neyrey, 2 Peter, Jude (AB 37; New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 1994), 122.

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that demonstrates that 1 John anchors the Johannine tradition in past history and presupposes a reader who knows John 1–20. Like the prologue (1 Jn 1:1-4), the remainder of the letter also connects its Christology expressly to the earthly Jesus and even anchors its pneumatology historically. All three of John’s letters correspond to this historicizing program where the Johannine tradition comes to a conclusion after John’s first letter in the conclusion of the Gospel (viz., in John 21). (9) One of the only studies carefully considering the use of the Old Testament made in the Johannine Epistles is Judith Lieu’s “What Was from the Beginning: Scripture and Tradition in the Johannine Epistles.” Lieu’s study explores three key themes and passages in 1 John. She shows that the letter is not just “Jewish” but reflects a tradition of biblical interpretation and application: sin, confession, and forgiveness (1 Jn 1:9– 2:2); Cain, sin, and righteousness (3:7-12); and darkness, blindness, and stumbling (2:11). She compares 1 John’s use of the Old Testament with that of the Dead Sea Scrolls: “Scripture is used but it is often used in an allusive and in an anthological way. It is not surprising that the same is true of 1 John.” Lieu then seeks to “show that the letter is not just ‘Jewish’ but reflects a tradition of Biblical interpretation and application” p. 193. The Fourth Gospel and 1 John are heirs to the interpretation of certain OT passages; we see behind them the struggle between interpretation and present experience. (10) Chapter 4 of Judith Lieu’s classic study The Second and Third Epistles of John “If Anyone Comes …” (reproduced here) carefully attempts to reconstruct the historical context of the two letters.4 Situating her analysis of 2 and 3 John within the larger context of travel in general and itinerate teaching and hospitality specifically within the early Christian movement, Lieu examines how these letters respond to such itineracy. She observes that the response found in these letters reflects the theological tendencies of the Johannine tradition. (11) Considering the early and high evaluation of 1 Enoch in Christian tradition (Jude in particular) and its lower estimation within early Rabbinic discussion, Jeremy Hultin notes how Augustine and Jerome were influential in relating 1 Enoch among the “pseudepigraphical” books (“Jude’s Citation of 1 Enoch: From Tertullian to Jacob of Edessa”). This is all the more interesting in light of Jude’s authoritative use of 1 Enoch, which, according to Hultin, created a kind of gateway from canon to extra-canonical texts. (12) Both in his groundbreaking commentary Jude, 2 Peter and expanded in his later study Jude and the Relatives of Jesus in the Early Church, Richard Bauckham argues that especially Jude 5–19 is structured as a pesher-like exposition.5 Chapter 4 of Jude and the Relatives of Jesus, “Jude’s Exegesis,” is reproduced here. Following the insights of E. E. Ellis, Bauckham demonstrates how Jude pairs “text” with interpretation where the “text” can be considered implicit in Jude 5–7 and 11 (where the “text” is actually the implied scriptural material behind the six types) or explicit of the prophecies of Enoch (Jude 14–15) and the apostles (Jude 17–18, though the allusion here is to no known Judith Lieu, The Second and Third Epistles of John (Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1986). Richard Bauckham, Jude, 2 Peter (Word Biblical Commentary; Waco, TX:  Word, 1983); Bauckham, Jude and the Relatives of Jesus in the Early Church (Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1990). 4 5

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text but to Jude’s version of a verbal prophecy). In two of the interpretation sections a secondary “text” is introduced to further clarify or illustrate the author’s interpretation of the original “text” or prophetic type. The secondary texts consist of either a citation, in verse 11 the text is most likely taken from the Testament of Moses, or a group of allusions as in verses 12–13. This structure, first pointed out by Ellis, is slightly modified in Bauckham’s work by folding the references to the secondary texts in verses 9 and 12–13 into the interpretation of the main “text” under comment. The use of secondary texts, through explicit quotation or allusion, to further aid interpretation of a primary text is a strategy that can be seen in Qumran exegesis as well. b. Theological and Interpretive Issues (13) Among many other “aporias” in James, Martin Hengel, in his influential chapter “The Epistle of James as Anti-Pauline Polemic,” considers the question of whether or not the author of James was intentionally attacking either Paul directly or a perverted form of Paul’s teaching. Hengel argues that the author of James is directly confronting Paul both theologically and personally—his lifestyle, mission, and means of support. Clearly James does not address the teaching of Paul directly, and the letter does not deal with Paul’s arguments in Galatians or Romans in any kind of systematic—or, for that matter, effective—way. Rather, Hengel argues that it is more likely that James constructed his attack against Paul from reports he received regarding Paul’s teaching and activity. Evidence for such misunderstanding might be found, for example, in Rom. 3:8, where Paul complains of being misrepresented. Hengel’s argument that James attacked Paul personally is especially unpersuasive; however, his chapter and its demonstration of tremendous learning and scholarship on James must be taken seriously and considered by students of the letter. (14) Margaret Mitchell’s chapter “The Letter of James as a Document of Paulinism?” interacts with the issue of the relationship between James and Paul. She notes that the majority of scholars have understood the relationship between James and Paul on a rough spectrum ranging from hostility and polemic on one end to ignorance or indifference to each other’s views on the other. However, Mitchell offers a unique perspective on this issue arguing that “James knows some collection of Paul’s letters, and writes from within Paulinism (rather than in opposition to Paul), creating a compromise document which has as one of its purposes reconciling ‘Paul with Paul’ and ‘Paul with the pillars.’ ” She contends that James demonstrates knowledge of both Galatians and Romans such that the Letter of James originates from within a literary culture generated by Paul. (15) Narrative theology emphasizes the overall aim and recounting of God’s ways revealed in Scripture and ongoing in history. Joel B. Green’s chapter “Narrating the Gospel in 1 and 2 Peter” explores 1 and 2 Peter from this perspective and accentuates the theological role of these short letters in shaping the identity of God’s people. Green argues for a narrative-theological approach to 1 and 2 Peter as the best way to appreciate how a coherent theological vision or narrative can shape the way readers make (theological) sense of the world around them. Whereas reading the two letters independently leads 36

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to a somewhat limited Christology, reading them together as a coherent narrative, readers come to appreciate a distinctive Petrine Christology that emphasizes the revelation of Jesus’s eschatological glory at the Transfiguration and his second coming (2 Peter) alongside the atoning nature of Christ’s suffering, death, and resurrection (1 Peter). (16) Situating her study within the accepted practice of interpreting 1 John within the context of conflict between orthodoxy and heresy, Judith Lieu’s 1981 study “ ‘Authority to Become Children of God’: A Study of 1 John” argues for subordinating this concern in light of the letter’s focus on assuring its audience in their struggle with those aspects of the community’s theology that could develop in a way that leads to schism. Therefore, any polemic directed against these past community members is subordinated to what Lieu sees as a primarily inward concern. Thus, to understand 1 John it is not necessary to reconstruct the docetics or gnostics as the centerpiece of the letter’s rhetoric; rather the trouble is closer to home. (17) John Dennis’s chapter “Cosmology in the Petrine Literature and Jude” examines passages in the Petrine literature and Jude that employ explicit cosmological concepts. Not considering the cosmos as an end in itself, Dennis finds that Peter and Jude use such language and concepts for specifically theological purposes, to say something about God and particularly his saving work in Christ. Therefore, the cosmology of these letters forms the framework upon which to communicate a kind of Heilsgeschichte. (18) Though discussions of Christology in the New Testament seldom (if ever) focus on Jude, Richard Bauckham has made the argument that this short letter provides very important evidence for understanding the early development of Christology (“Jude’s Christology” in Bauckham’s Jude and the Relatives of Jesus in the Early Church). He argues that the central theme of Jude’s Christology is that Jesus is the eschatological agent of God’s salvation and judgment. He observes how the Christological titles in the letter suggest that the author has assimilated Jesus to God without thereby identifying him with God. Bauckham concludes with reference to Jesus the “lordship of God is his lordship, and God is known now and in the future only with reference to Jesus. The roots of all later thinking about Jesus’ divinity lie in this original Jewish Christian understanding of Jesus as the one through whom all God’s eschatological action occurs and therefore as the one to whom Christians address their acknowledgement of the divine lordship” (p. 387).

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A. COMPOSITIONAL, EXEGETICAL, TEXTUALCRITICAL, AND BACKGROUND STUDIES THE FICTION OF JAMES AND ITS SITZ IM LEBEN

Dale C. Allison Jr.

I. Introduction In a recent study of James’s theology, Andrew Chester has written that the epistle’s opening line (“James, slave of God and of the Lord Jesus Christ, to the twelve tribes that are in the diaspora:  Greeting,” 1:1) “most naturally suggests that the letter was written to JewishChristians outside Palestine . . .”1 That line, however, says nothing at all about the Christian identity of its recipients, whether Jewish or not. So how can the verse “most naturally” suggest such? The phrase, “the twelve tribes that are in the diaspora,” in and of itself most naturally suggests only one thing, namely, Jews living in the dispersion. Nonetheless, at the present time scholarship on James seriously entertains only two interpretations of “the twelve tribes that are in the diaspora”: the expression refers either to Jewish Christians (the minority view now) or to the church universal.2 These are the two choices we are offered when reading the standard

I should like to thank the Pew Evangelical Scholars Program for supporting the research for this project. 1 Andrew Chester, “The Theology of James,” in Andrew Chester and Ralph P. Martin, The Theology of the Letters of James, Peter, and Jude (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1994), pp. 11–12. He continues: “But strong arguments have been put forward to take it to refer to Jewish-Christians within Palestine, or Jewish and Gentile communities (or even the whole church) outside Palestine.” 2 Proponents of the former include: Hippolytus, The Apocalypse 7:4–8; see “Fragmente aus dem arabischen Kommentar zur Apokalypse,” in Hippolyt’s Kleinere Exegetische und Homiletische Schriften (GCS Hippolytus 1/2; ed. Achelis), p. 231; Dionysisu bar Salibi, Cath. ep. (CSCO 60, Scriptores Syri 101(20]; ed. I. Sedlacek), p. 89; Ps.-Euthalius the Deacon, Septem Epistolarum Catholicarum (PG 85), p. 676B; Catenae Graecorum Patrum in Novum Testamentum, Tomus VIII. In Epistolas Catholicas Apocalypsin (ed. J. A. Cramer; Oxford: E Typographeo Academico, 1844), p. l; John Calvin, “The Epistle of James,” in A Harmony of the Gospels Matthew, Mark and Luke, Volume and the Epistles of James and Jude (ed. David W. Torrance and T. F. Torrance; Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 1972), p. 261; David Pareus, Operum theologicorum exegeticorum (Frankfurt:  Jonae Rosae, 1647), 2.541; Johann Georg Pritius, Introduction in lectionem Novi Testamenti (Leipzig: Jo. Frider, 1737), p. 73; John Gill, An Exposition of the New Testament, vol. 6 of Commentary on the Old and New Testaments (London:  William Hill, 1852), pp.  778–79; J.  G. Rosenmüller, Scholia in Novum Testamentum (Nürnberg:  Felsecker, 1808), vol. 5, pp.  320, 322. More recent scholars holding this opinion include Joseph Chaine, L’Epitre de Saint Jacques (EB; Paris: J. Gabalda, 1927), pp. lxxxiv–lxxxv; Peter H. Davids, The Epistle of James (NIGTC; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1982), pp. 63–64; Franz Mussner, Der Jakobusbrief (HTKNT 13; Freiburg/ Basel/Vienna: Herder, 1967), p. 11; and Johannes Schneider, Die Kirchenbriefe (NTD 10; Gottingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1961), p. 5. Proponents of the latter include: Martin Dibelius, James (Hermeneia; Philadelphia: Fortress, 1976), p.  67; Hubert Frankemölle, Der Brief des Jakobus (OTK 17; Giitersloh/Wiirzhurg:  Giitersloher Verlaghaus/ Echter, 1994), vol. 1, pp. 54–57, 125–27; Martin Klein, “Ein vollkommenes Werk”: Vollkommenheit, Gesetz und Gericht als theologische Themen des Jakobusbriefes (BWANT 139; Stuttgart/Berlin/Cologne: W. Kohlhammer, 1995), pp. 185– 90; and James H. Ropes, A Critical and Exegetical Commentary on the Epistle of St. James (ICC; Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1916), pp. 118–27. Ferdinand Hahn and Peter Müller, “Der Jakohushrief,” ThR 63 (1998) 65, write: “Übereinstimmend

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commentary of Martin Dibelius,3 and they are the only two options offered in Raymond E.  Brown’s introduction to the New Testament.4 Most contemporary discussions of James completely ignore or dismiss in a sentence the possibility that Jas 1:1 should be taken at face value and, so interpreted, be used as a guide for exegesis.5 But this was not always the case. Indeed, a review of older literature reveals that many commentators have taken 1:1 to mean exactly what it says. Already Bede (ca. 673–735) in his commentary on James assumes that the epistle was written not only to Christians scattered abroad but also to those of the circumcision who were “continuing in separation from the faith” and even “eager to persecute and trouble” that faith “among believers, in so far as they were able.”6 James, according to Bede, not only encourages the righteous not to succumb to temptation and reproves sinners so that they might avoid damnation but also advises unbelievers to repent “for killing the savior and for other wicked deeds.”7 These words are a clear reference to 5:1–6, and in his commentary on that passage Bede writes that here James addresses the rich who conspired to kill the Lord Jesus and who remain without faith: “Because he is writing to the twelve tribes that are in the diaspora he thus . . . urges those who had not yet believed to be converted to faith in the Lord . . .”8 So Bede thinks that 1:1 includes Jews outside the church and he interprets at least one portion of James accordingly. A second literal reading of Jas 1:1 is evidently presupposed in a work falsely attributed to Epiphanius, of uncertain date.9 In this we read, regarding James, that he ταῖς δώδεκα φυλαῖς τῆς διασπορᾶς ἐκὴρυξε τὸ εὐαγγέλιον τοῦ Χριστοῦ. The borrowing from Jas 1:1 is manifest. So too is the fact that, in this context, “the twelve tribes” can be neither the church universal nor Jewish Christians. We are left, then, with two possibilities. One is that the sentence in Ps.-Epiphanius is an interpretation of the purpose of the Epistle of James, in which case the writing is thought of as being an instrument for evangelizing Jews of the diaspora. The other possibility is that Ps.-Epiphanius’s remark is not about our Epistle but about the ministry of James the apostle: the apostle evangelized the “the twelve tribes of the diaspora.” Such an idea, however, would seem to be nothing other than an inference from Jas 1:1, understood literally. For the traditions about James, canonical and otherwise, portray a ruler in Jerusalem, not a missionary to the diaspora.10 There is, then, apparent agreement with Bede’s exegesis.11 wird in der neueren Exegese die Auffassung vertreten, daß für den Verfasser diese zwölf Stämme das in der ganzen Mittelmeerwelt verbreitete neue Gotteesvolk waren (vgl. Gal 6,15f.; Phil 3,3; 1 Petr 2,9-11).” 3 James, p. 66. Cf. Luke Timothy Johnson, The Letter of James (AB 37A; New York: Doubleday, 1995), pp. 170–71. 4 Raymond E. Brown, An Introduction to the New Testament (New York: Doubleday, 1997), pp. 742–43. 5 E.g. Matthias Konradt, Christliche Existenz nach dem Jakobusbrief: Eine Studie zu seiner soteriologischen und ethischen Konzeption (SUNT 22; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1998), p. 64, n. 169, says without elaboration that James cannot be addressed to Jews in general because it “durchgehend binnenkirchliche Problemstellungen thematisiert.” Cf. the curt dismissal in Willi Marxsen, Introduction to the New Testament (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1968), p. 228. 6 Bede, In Epistolas Septem Catholicas (CCSL 121; ed. David Hurst), p. 183: “qui etiam fidei exsortes durabant quin et ipsam in credentibus quantum ualuere persequi ac perturbare studebant.” 7 Ibid.: “incredulos ammonet ut paenitentiam de nece saluatoris ceterisque quibus implicabantur sceleribus gerant ante quam eos ultio caelestis uel inuisibiliter uel etiam uisibiliter inruens percellat.” 8 Ibid., p. 218: “et quia duodecim tribubus quae sunt in dispersione scribit . . . ut eos etiam qui necdum crediderant ad fidem dominicam . . .” 9 See Thedorus Schermann, ed., Prophetarum vitae fabulosae indices apostolorum discipulorumque Domini Dorotheo, Epiphanio, Hippolyto aliisque vindicate (Leipzig: B. G. Teubneri, 1907), p. 109. 10 Wilhelm Pratscher, Der Herrenbruder Jakobus und die Jakobustradition (FRLANT 139; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1987). 11 Ps.-Andrew of Crete, Βίος καὶ Μαρτύριον τοῦ ἁγίου Ἰακώβου τοῦ ἀποστόλου καὶ ἀδελφοῦ τοῦ Κυρίου 4 (ed. Noret), p. 44, says James wrote ταῖς φυλαῖς τοῦ Ἰσραήλ, which also seems to presuppose a literal interpretation, but I cannot

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The Fiction of James

My next example of a prosaic interpretation of 1:1 is from the influential seventeenthcentury commentary of Hugo Grotius (1583–1645). He argues that the opening line envisages a mixed audience: James has in mind Jews who believe in Jesus as well as Jews who do not.12 Grotius further contends that 5:1–6, with its stinging rebuke of the rich who have “murdered the righteous one,” must be addressed not to Christians but to Jews outside the church.13 He also makes this argument with regard to ­chapter 4: the admonitions regarding conflicts, disputes, and murder are to be understood against the background of Jewish political and social unrest.14 As with Bede, then, parts of James are understood in the light of a prosaic interpretation of Jas 1:1. That is, our letter addresses itself to a mixed audience. After Grotius, and in large measure under his influence, the idea that James does not confine itself to Christian readers became quite popular, especially among English expositors. It appears, for instance, in the works of John Trapp (1601–69), Thomas Manton (1620–1677), Christopher Ness (1621–1705), Daniel Whitby (1638–1726), Matthew Henry (1662–1714), Edward Wells (1667–1727), Thomas Pyle (1674–1756), John Guyse (1680–1761), Johann Christoph Wolf (1683–1739), Nathaniel Lardner (1684–1768), Philip Doddridge (1702– 1751), James Macknight (1721–1800), Joseph Priestly (1733–1804), J. G. Herder (1744–1803), Thomas Scott (1747–1821), Adam Clarke (1762–1832), John Leonard Hug (1765–1846), Karl August Credner (1797–1857), Karl Gottfried Wilhelm Theile (1799–1854), Frederick Denison Maurice (1805–1872), Christopher Wordsworth (1807–85), Edwin T. Winkler (1823–1883), and Francis Tilney Bassett.15 see that this anywhere affects the exegesis. Cf. Isho’dad of Merv, “The Epistle of James,” in The Commentaries of Isho’dad of Merv, vol. 3: Luke and John in Syriac (ed. Margaret Dunlop Gibson), p. 49 (f. 230b): James wrote not to the church in every place but to the twelve tribes scattered among the nations. Isho’dad’s extant exegesis, however, also seems unaffected by this interpretation of 1.1. 12 Operum Theologicorum Tomi II. Volumen II. contiens Annotationes in Epistolas & Apocalypsin (Amsterdam: Joannis Blaeu, 1679), p. 1073. 13 Ibid., 1089: “Divites Iudaeos alloquitur, quibus Christiani erant permixti.” 14 Ibid., 1086. In support he cites Josephus, Ant. 20. 15 John Trapp, A Commentary or Exposition upon all the Books of the New Testament (2nd ed.; reprinted: London: Richard D.  Dickinson, 1877), vol. 5, p.  693; Thomas Manton, Practical Exposition on the Epistle of James (London:  Henry G. Bohn, 1845), pp. xxiii, 179 (he compares Matthew’s Sermon on the Mount, where Jesus addresses the disciples but the crowd overhears); Christopher Ness, History and Mystery of the New Testament (London: Thomas Snowden, 1696), p. 501; Daniel Whitby, A Paraphrase and Commentary on the New Testament (5th ed.; London: A. Bettesworth et  al., 1727), vol. 2, p.  578; Matthew Henery, Commentary on the Whole Bible (Old Tappan, New Jersey:  Fleming H. Revell, n.d.), vol. 6, pp. 967, 994; Edward Wells, An Help for the More Easy and Clear Understanding of the Holy Scriptures, being the Epistles of St. James, St. Peter, St. John, and St. Jude (Oxford: James Knapton, 1715), p. 1 (James seeks to establish orthodox Jewish Christians in their faith and to stop unbelieving Jews and Judaizing Christians from persecuting believers; it is first for believing Jews, then secondly to other Jews); Thomas Pyle, A Paraphrase on the Acts of the Holy Apostles, and upon all the Epistles of the New Testament (London: G. G. & J. Robinson, 1795), vol. 2, pp. 292–93; John Guyse, A Practical Exposition of the Epistle to the Galatians, and from thence Forward to the End of the Revelation (2nd ed.; London: Edward Dilly, 1761), vol. 3, pp. 561–62; Johann Christof Wolf, Curae philologicae et criticae in SS. apostolorum Jacobi Petri Judae et Johannis Epistolas hujusque Apocal (Hamburg: Jo. Christophori Kisneri, 1735), pp. 8–9; Nathaniel Lardner, A Supplement to the First Book of the Second Part of the Credibility of the Gospel History (London: J. Noon et al., 1734), vol. 3, pp. 94–99; Philip Doddridge, The Family Expositor: Or, a Paraphrase and Version of the New Testament (Charlestown, MA: S. Etheridge, 1808), vol. 6, pp. 135–36; James Macknight, A New Translation, from the Original Greek, of all the Apostolical Epistles (Philadelphia: Thomas Wardle, 1841), p. 584; Joseph Priestly, Notes on all the Books of Scripture (Northumberland: Andrew Kenney, 1803), vol. 4, p. 502; J. G. Herder, “Briefe zweener Bruder Jesu in unserm Kanon,” in Herders Siimmtliche Werke (ed. Bernhard Suphan; Berlin: Weidmannsche Buchhandlung, 1884), vol. 7, p. 501 (“Juden und Christen sind ihm noch nicht abgetheilet”); Thomas Scott, The Holy Bible containing the Old and New Testaments (new ed.; London: L. B. Seeley and Sons, 1828) vol. 6 ad 1.1 and 5.1; Adam Clarke, The Holy Bible, New Testament, vol. 2, I. Corinthians to Revelation (London: Thomas Tegg and Son, 1836),

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When one examines these authors, one finds four arguments used repeatedly: (1) Jas 1:1 plainly says that it is written to the Jews in the diaspora. Nothing is said about the readers’ (as opposed to the author’s) belief in Jesus, nor is there any hint that “the twelve tribes in the diaspora” should be given metaphorical meaning. Bassett commented: “The whole question, To whom is this Epistle written? is settled for us without any inquiry being necessary, in the fewest words, ‘To the twelve tribes.’ It is really painful, as being utterly obstructive to the discovery of truth, after reading this address with which the letter is inscribed, to find critics, like postmen who are ill-skilled in deciphering handwriting, conveying the letter to every house except that of the person whose name is specified on the envelope.”16 (2) James contains neither Christian salutation nor Christian benediction—something a bit unusual in an ancient Christian epistle,17 but consistent with an attempt to address nonChristian readers. (3) Chapters 4 and 5—and sometimes, it is said, ­chapter 3—make better sense if they address Jews outside the church. For in these places James’s readers are, among other things, murderers (4:2; 5:6) and friends of the world who need to submit to God (4:4–7). They are rich oppressors of the poor, and they should fear the judgment, when their flesh will be eaten like fire (5:1–5). Jonathan Edwards wrote: “in the fifth chapter of his epistle, he [James] seems to speak to the unbelieving Jews, who persecuted the Christians, v. 6.”18 (4) 2:1–7 calls the meeting (place) of the addressees a “synagogue,” and nowhere else in the New Testament does “synagogue” mean anything other than a Jewish assembly or place of gathering. Should we then not surmise that the readers of James were attending a Jewish synagogue? These observations are, individually, provocative, and taken together they have considerable weight. They are also rather obvious, so it is no wonder that a few voices in the twentieth century have indeed taken them into account and come to the same conclusion about the audience of James as Bede and Grotius.19 But these recent expositors pay no attention to 1826; Johann Leonard Hug, An Introduction to the Writings of the New Testament (London: C. & J. Rivington, 1827), vol. 2, pp. 552-44; Karl August Credner, Einleitung in das Neue Testament (Halle: Buchhandlung des Waisenhauses, 1836), p.  594; Karl Gottfried Wilhelm Theile, Commentarius in Epistolam Jacobi (Leipzig:  Baumgartner, 1833), pp. 48–51; Frederick Denison Maurice, The Unity of the New Testament (London: Macmillan, 1884), vol. 1 pp. 287– 90; Christopher Wordsworth, The New Testament of our Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ, in the Original Greek, with Introductions and Notes: The General Epistles, Book of Revelation, and Indexes (London: Rivingtons, 1864), p. 13 (on p. 4 he affirms that “St. James was writing an Epistle, not only for the use of Christians, but of Jews; and of Jews who at that time were exasperated against Christianity”; he compares the speech of Stephen in Acts 7, which does not name Jesus until the very end); Edwin T.  Winkler, Commentary on the Epistle of James (Philadelphia:  American Baptist Publication Society, 1888), p. 7; Francis Tinley Bassett, The Catholic Epistle of St. James (London: Samuel Bagster and Sons, 1876), pp. xxxvii–xlv (Bassett wrote in the last half of the nineteenth century but I have been unable to discover his precise dates). Heinrich Heisen, Novae Hypotheses interpretandae felicius Epistolae Jacobi (Bremen: Rump, 1739), also apparently belongs on this list, but I have been unable to see his work. 16 Bassett, Catholic Epistle, p. xxxvii. 17 Note, however, Acts 15:23. 18 Jonathan Edwards, An Humble Inquiry Part II 8 (The Works of Jonathan Edwards, vol. 12, ed. Harry S. Stout; New Haven/London: Yale University Press, 1994), p. 238. 19 Henry William Fulford, The General Epistle of St. James (London: Methuen, 1901), p. 19 (James is to all Jews, but especially to Christian Jews); Joseph B. Mayor, The Epistle of James (3rd ed.; London: Macmillan & Co., 1910), pp. cxliii and 31 (but on p. cxcvii he says that James is “to believers by a believer,” and this is the position generally presupposed

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the older discussions: we seem to have different readers coming independently to the same conclusion. Moreover, the scholars cited in n. 19 all belong to the first half of the twentieth century. During the last fifty years very few have been like minded, and their position no longer garners serious attention.20 With the exception of James B. Adamson,21 the view that James addresses outsiders has been relegated to the margins of the discussion,22 to the point where it is now more often than not no longer even mentioned as an option. It is my purpose herein, however, to urge that in this instance recent scholarship has gone astray. The older arguments put forward for the straightforward interpretation of 1:1 remain compelling, and it is the purpose of the remainder of this essay to uphold them, to add to them, and to outline the implications for understanding James.

II. The Interpretation of 1:1 As already observed, until recently a large number of expositors thought of James as addressed to Jews (including Christian Jews) of the diaspora. One understands why, and why the equation of “the twelve tribes in the diaspora” with the church universal appears to be a relatively modern notion. As Lardner wrote: “No expression can be more general, than the twelve tribes. There is not any limitation, restraining it to Christians, or believers in Jesus. Nor does he wish them grace or peace from Jesus Christ . . . He takes upon himself the character of a Christian, and, perhaps, of an Apostle. But he does not so characterize those, to whom he writes.”23 In in his exegesis); J. H. Moulton, “Synoptic Studies. II. The Epistle of James and the Sayings of Jesus,” Expositor series 7/4 (1907) 45–55; Maurice Jones, The New Testament in the Twentieth Century (London: Macmillan, 1914), p. 321 (“The non-Christian tone of the Epistle” may be due “partly to the fact that the Epistle was meant to influence unconverted as well as converted Jews”; but the comment seems a sort of afterthought); A. H. McNeile, New Testament Teaching in the Light of St Paul’s (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1923), pp. 87–110; idem, An Introduction to the Study of the New Testament (2nd ed. revised by S. C. S. Williams; Oxford: Clarendon, 1953), pp. 201–208 (McNeile asserts that the people depicted in 1.9–11, 21; 2.1–3, 15; 3.13–16; and 5.7 do not sound like any other Christians we know of from the early decades); Gerald H. Rendall, The Epistle of St James and Judaic Christianity (Cambridge: Cambridge University, 1927), pp. 29–30, 89; A. T. Cadoux, The Thought of St. James (London: James Clarke, 1944), pp. 10–18, 85; Adolf Schlatter, Der Brief des Jakobus (Stuttgart: Calwer, 1956), pp. 91–97. 20 Already some in the nineteenth century failed to take it seriously; thus W. M.  L. de Wette, An Historico-Critical Introduction to the Canonical Books of the New Testament (Boston: Crosby, Nicholas and Co., 1858), p. 330, by-passes all argument and just declares it an “absurdity.” 21 James B. Adams, James:  The Man and his Message (Grand Rapids:  Eerdmans, 1989), p.  12. Adamson argues that ­chapters 1–3 are for Jewish Christians, 4:1–5:6 for Jews outside the church (p. 58). 22 The only recent proponents I have found are these: G. R. Beasley-Murray, The General Epistles: James, 1 Peter, Jude, 2 Peter (London/New York/Nashville: Lutterworth/Abingdon, 1965), pp. 12–18 (Beasley-Murray cites Schlatter and Cadoux as among “the few” who have observed that several passages in James are for individuals “who acknowledge God but who are yet strangers” to Christianity; he then cites 5.1–6; 4; 1.19–20, 26–27; 2.10–12; and 3.13–18 as examples of “the possibility that James addresses himself to non-Christians as well as Christian Jews”); Pedrito U. Maynard-Reid, Poverty and Wealth in James (Maryknoll: Orbis, 1987), pp. 10–11, 65; Robert Lee Williams, “Piety of Poverty in James,” Wesleyan Theological Journal 22/2 (1987) 39–41 (arguing that our letter was written by James of Jerusalem, who had friendly relations with non-Christian Jews); John McDade, “The Epistle of James for Jews and Christians,” Month 254/ second new series, 26/1 (1993) 115–20; Robert Murray, “Jews, Hebrews and Christians: Some Needed Distinctions,” NovT 24 (1993) 204 (James is “addressed, as it says, to diaspora Jews, its Christian content being somewhat concealed; those who were attracted would be ‘followed up’ locally”). 23 Lardner, Supplement, vol. 3, p.  95. In the past, this idea, that James’s audience includes non-Christian Jews, was thought consistent with James’s commission as a minister of the circumcision (Gal 2:9) and with the use of the word διασππορά (“diaspora”) in connection with the scattering (διεσπάρησαν) of the Jerusalem church in Acts 8:1. See e.g.

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the modem period, however, another interpretation of “the twelve tribes in the diaspora” has become increasingly popular. Many critical commentaries now identify the twelve tribes with Christians, Jew and Gentile, abroad in the world: the church universal is here the new Israel. They regularly appeal to six considerations—all of which are rather feeble. (1) Because the twelve tribes did not exist when James was written, one may infer that the first verse should not be taken at face value. This, however, confuses our knowledge that the twelve tribes did not then exist in any coherent form with what people in the first century (mistakenly) thought. The belief that all the tribes of Israel still existed, albeit most of them might be hidden in exile, was widespread, and many hoped for their literal return to the land.24 E. P. Sanders can in fact call this hope common.25 (2) By the first century CE the tribes were a symbol of the elect, or the people of God, and some Christians applied that symbol, or language pertaining to it, to themselves.26 Should Jas 1:1 not be construed accordingly? The problem with returning an affirmative answer is that those texts which speak of the church as though it were Israel do not annul the fact that many Christians still believed in the continued existence of the lost tribes and their eschatological return.27 In other words, the twelve tribes remained a reality, not an extinct entity that must necessarily have been nothing but a symbol. So the meaning of Jas 1:1 remains open. (3) James is not a missionary document, so we cannot take Jas l:1 at face value. Surely a Christian writing to non-Christian Jews would have evangelized them.28 But whence comes the knowledge that a Christian wishing or purporting to communicate with non­ Christian Jews could have had only one goal, namely, to proselytize them? Is nothing else thinkable? Can we simply presuppose that the only reason a Christian could have had for Jean Leclerc, Epistolae sanctorum Apostolorum et Apocalypsis S. Joannis (Frankfurt: Thomas Fritsch, 1714), p. 499, and Manton, James, p. 1. But Gill, Exposition, pp. 778–79, thought of diaspora Jews converted by Christian missionaries. 24 Pertinent texts include Deut 30:4 LXX; Isa 11:11–13; 27:12–13; 43:5–6; 49:6; Ezekiel 37; 47–48; Hos 11:11; Zech 2:6 LXX; Zech 8:7; 10:10; Ecclus 36:11; 48:10; Bar 4:37; 5:5; Ps. Sol. 11:2–3; lQM 2:1–3; 4QPseudo-Daneila ar frag. 24; 4QNarrataive G; 11QTemple 57:5–6; 1 En. 57:1; Josephus, Ant. 11:133; 4 Ezra 13:32–50; 2 Bar. 78:1–7; Sib. Or. 2:170–73; T. Jos. 19:3–8 (Arm.); m. Sanh. 10.3. The Epistle of Aristeas recounts that the LXX was translated in the post-exilic period by seventy-two men, six from each tribe of Israel (47–51). 25 E. P. Sanders, Judaism: Practice and Belief: 63 BCE–66 CE (London/Philadelphia: SCM/Trinity Press Intl., 1992), pp. 290–91. On p. 294 he writes: “The general hope for the restoration of the people of Israel is the most ubiquitous hope of all. The twelve tribes are sometimes explicitly mentioned and often indirectly referred to (e.g. by the name ‘Jacob’), but sometimes the hope is stated more vaguely: the children of Israel will be gathered from throughout the world. In such instances we cannot be sure that the lost ten tribes were explicitly in mind, though it seems likely enough; in any case the reassembly of the people of Israel was generally expected.” 26 John 11:51–52; Gal 3:29; 6:16 (?); 1 Pet 1:1, 17; 2:11. Also pertinent are the use of πάροικος, παροικία, and παροικεῖν in still other texts (e.g. 1 Clement inscription; 2 Clem. 5:1, 5; Polycarp, Epistle inscription; Martyrdom of Polycarp inscription; Diogenes, Ep. 5:5) and 5 Ezra’s reinterpretation of the expectation of the eschatological gathering of diaspora Jews as fulfilled in the church (Theodore A. Bergren, “The ‘People Coming from the East,’ ” JBL 108 [1989] 675–83). Already Philo could use “diaspora” with metaphorical sense: Praem et poen. 115 (cf. Cherub. 120). 27 “The twelve tribes” remain the twelve tribes of Israel in Matt 19:28 par. Luke 22:30; Acts 26:7; Rev 21:12; 1 Clem. 31:4; 43:2; 55:6 v.l.; Justin, Dial. 68:6; Ep. Apost. 30; Prot. Jas. 1:1, 3. See further A. S. Geyser, “Some Salient New Testament Passages on the Restoration of the Twelve Tribes of Israel,” in L’Apocalypse johnnique et l’Apocalyptique dans le Nouveau Testament (ed. J. Lambrecht; BETL 53; Gembloux/Leuven: J. Duculot/Leuven University Press, 1980), pp. 305–10. 28 So Willibald Beyschlag, Der Brief des Jacobus (6th ed.; MeyerK; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1897), p. 10; David Erdman, Der Brief des Jakobus (Berlin:  Wiegandt & Grieben, 1881), p.  40; John. Ed. Huther, Critical and Exegetical Handbook to the General Epistles of James, Peter, John, and Jude (New York: Funk & Wagnells, 1887), p. 10.

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addressing outsiders would be to convert them at once? This seems a rather constricted view of the possibilities. Do we really know, furthermore, that early followers of Jesus at all times and places were like Paul and sought the conversion of Jews to Christian doctrine? Perhaps the old generalization that Judaism is concerned more with practice than doctrine whereas Christianity is much more dogmatic in its orientation has unduly colored our perception of the early Jesus movement. Maybe some of the first Jewish Christians were after all closer to the Jewish stereotype than to the Christian one. Maybe some Christian Jews were able to attend synagogue and not make nuisances of themselves. However that may be, can we really not imagine any situation in which a Christian, even one full of evangelistic zeal, might wish to do something other than proselytize? Why could one not in theory, for instance, interpret James as a document designed partly to show Christians to be faithful members of the synagogue? And were there no situations in which it might have been wise to stress similarities rather than differences? One recalls in this connection that at least the author of Luke-Acts could present one character giving a long speech in which christology is minimal (Stephen in Acts 7) and another character expressing his Christian faith in purely Jewish terms (Paul in Acts 23.6: “I am a Pharisee, a son of Pharisees. I am on trial concerning the hope of the resurrection of the dead”). Also pertinent are those pseudepigrapha in which a Christian author seeks to speak as much as possible as a preChristian Jew—for example 4 Ezra 1–2, 15–16, the Lives of the Prophets according to Codex Marchalianus, and the Testament of Jacob. (4) 1 Peter opens with an address to Christians, most of whom appear to have been Gentiles, under the guise of the exiled.29 This supplies a close parallel to the proposed figurative interpretation of Jas 1:1. There is some force in this assertion, but only some, for 1 Pet 1:1 is hardly the only relevant parallel. Other ancient letters purport to address themselves to literal Jewish exiles.30 So does James belong with these last or with 1 Peter? 1 Pet 1:1 only raises a possibility: it decides nothing. Even 1 Pet 1:1, moreover, mentions geographical areas, so here “the diaspora” is still a literal dispersion, not a pure symbol. (5) “Literally the twelve tribes was a synonym for Israel as a whole, which could by no means be described as in the Dispersion.”31 In other words, our author could not have addressed the twelve tribes in the diaspora (as on a literal reading) because not all Jews lived outside of Palestine.32 The reply to this was made by Schlatter, who, in contending

Paul J. Achtemeier, 1 Peter: A Commentary on First Peter (Hermeneia; Minneapolis: Fortress, 1996), p. 82. But for a different view see W. C. Van Unnik, Sparsa Collecta, Part Three: Patristica, Gnostica, Liturgica (NovTSup 31; Leiden: E. J. Brill, 1983), pp. 95–105. He observes that not even the allegorist Origen applied the word “diaspora” to the church, not even when alluding to 1 Pet 1:1 (Comm. in Gen in PG 12.92A). For Origen, as for Eusebius, H.E. 3.4.2 (SC 31, ed. Bardy, p. 100), 1 Peter was written to Jews in the diaspora. 30 See Jer 29:l; Ep. Jer. 6:1; 2 Macc 1:1, 10; 2 Bar. 78:1; 4 Bar. 6:19; t. Sanh. 2:6. Discussion in Irene Taatz, Frühjüdische Briefe:  Die paulinischen Briefe im Rahmen der offiziellen religiösen Briefe des Frühjudentums (NTOA 16; Freiburg, Switzerland/Gottingen:  Universitätsverlag/Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1991). For the importance of this tradition for understanding James see Karl-Wilhelm Niebuhr, “Der Jakobusbrief im Licht frühjüdischer Diasporabrief,” NTS 44 (1998) 420–43, and Manabu Tsuji, Glaube zwischen Vollkommenheit und Verweltlichung (WUNT 2/93; Tübingen: Mohr­Sieheck, 1997), pp. 5–49. 31 James Moffatt, The General Epistles James, Peter, and Judas (MNTC; New  York/London:  Harper and Brothers, n.d.), p. 7. 32 Theodor Zahn, Introduction to the New Testament (Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1909). vol. 1. pp. 73–83, made much of this. 29

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that our text could address non-Christian Jews in the diaspora, cited as a parallel t. Sanh 2:6, where Gamaliel writes to “our brothers, sons of the Babylonian diaspora and sons of the Median diaspora and sons of all the other Israelite diasporas.”33 Here the universal, “our brothers,” is immediately qualified by “sons of the Babylonian diaspora, etc.” Often in Greek as well as other languages a second term will narrow or limit a preceding (as in 1 Cor 1:2, where Paul writes to “the church of God that is in Corinth”). Against Ropes,34 then, our verse can be construed as if it read ταῖς ἀπὸ τῶν δώδεκα φυλῶν διασπαρεῖσιν, that is, “those persons from the twelve tribes who are residing in the dispersion.”35 Beyond this, Jews could speak of “Israel,” without qualification, as scattered among the nations;36 and Josephus, Ant. 11:133, refers to “two tribes in Asia and Europe subject to the Romans, while until now there have been ten tribes beyond the Euphrates.” Here clearly there are twelve tribes scattered abroad. 2 Bar. 78:4 probably reflects a common sentiment: “Are we not all, the twelve tribes, bound by one captivity?” Not all Judeans returned from the Babylonian exile, and others from the south lived in Egypt and elsewhere. Which is to say: all the tribes were thought to be represented in the dispersion. This would no doubt have seemed all the more true after the destruction of Jerusalem in 70 CE—in the period when many presume James was written—for then the temple was no longer the center of the Jewish world, and thousands of Judeans had been sent to the mines or to Rome for Titus’s triumph. (6) John David Michaelis, in his influential critique of the theory that James presents itself as addressed partly to non-Christian Jews, appealed to 2:1: ἀδελφοί μου, μὴ ἐν προσωπολημψίας ἔχετε τὴν πίστιν τοῦ κυρὶου ἡμῶν Ἰησοῦ Χριστοῦ τῆς δόξης.37 Does this not assume that the readers are Christians? But one cannot rest much on this. For there are, as quite a few scholars have argued, very strong reasons for suspecting “(our) Lord Jesus Christ” in 2:1 to be an interpolation.38 Even the rather conservative Joseph B. Mayor conceded that, despite the unanimity of the textual tradition, a “strong case” can be made

‫ולאחנא בני גלותא דבבל ובני גלותא דימדי ושאר כל גלוותא דישראל‬. See Schlatter, Jakobus, p. 93. Ropes, James, p. 124. 35 So the prothesis of the Catenae (ed. Cramer), p. 1. It adds, however: καὶ πιστεύσασιν εἰς τὸν κύριον ἡμῶν Ἰησοῦν Χριστόν. 36 b. Pesah. 87h: God “did not exile Israel among the nations except in order that proselytes might join them . . . The Holy One . . . showed righteousness to Israel by scattering them among the nations.” Cf. already Jub. 1:12–18: God will hand the descendants of those at Sinai “over to the power of the nations to be captive, and for plunder, and to be devoured. And I [God] shall remove them from the midst of the land, and I shall scatter them among the nations . . . And afterward they will turn to me from among the nations with all their heart and with all their soul and with all their might. And I shall gather them from the midst of the nations . . .” 37 Michaelis, Introduction to the New Testament (2nd ed.; London: F. & C. Bivington, 1802), vol. 4, pp. 292–95. 38 See Friedrich Spitta, Zur Geschichte und Litterature des Urchristentums. Zweiter Band: Der Brief des Jakobus; Studien zum Hirten des Hermas (Göttingen:  Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1896), 4–7. It is not usually appreciated that his argument in this matter is not weakened by rejection of his dubious thesis that James is a lightly Christianized edition of a purely Jewish work. Others who emend 2:1 include M.-E. Boismard, “Une liturgie baptismale dans la Prima Petri II—son influence sur l’épître de Jacques,” RB 54 (1957) 176; Fulford, “James ii.l,” p. 469; J. Halévy, “Lettre d’un rabbin de Palestine égarée dans l’évangile,” RevSém 22 (1914), pp. 197–201; L. Massibeau, “L’Épître de Jacques est-elle l’oeuvre d’un chrétien?,” RHR 32 (1895) 249–50; McNeile, Introduction, p. 206, n. l; Arnold Meyer, Das Rätsel des Jacobusbriefes (BZNW 10; Gießen: Alfred Töpelmann, 1930), pp. 118–21; Moulton, “Synoptic Studies II,” p. 47; and Hans Windisch and Herbert Preisker, Die Katholischen Briefe (3rd ed.; HNT 15; Tübingen: Mohr-Siebeck, 1951), pp. 13–14 (either “our Jesus Christ” or “of glory” is an interpolation). 33 34

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“for an interpolation in chap. ii. l.”39 He was right. (a) “The whole phrase is syntactically extremely awkward, being a string of genitives of which the last, tēs doxēs, reads like an appendage without any clear connection with what precedes it.”40 Should we expect this from a writer who, apart from a number of spontaneous Semitisms, writes “rather supple and idiomatic Greek in most parts”?41 (b) Although τῆς δόξης “has been variously interpreted as having an objective, a subjective, or a qualitative force, and been connected in turn by different commentators with every substantive in the sentence,”42 none of the proposed interpretations has proven persuasive.43 (c) The grammatical difficulties vanish

James, p. cxciii. Sophie Laws, A Commentary on the Epistle of James (San Francisco: Harper & Row, 1980), p. 94. 41 Albert Wifstrand, “Stylistic Problems in the Epistles of James and Peter,” ST 1 (1947) 176. 42 Mayor, James, p. 79. 43 Here are the possibilities:  (i) δόξης goes with προσωπολημψίαις:  “partiality arising from opinion.” Erasmus translated: ne cum respectu personarum habeatis fidem Domini nostri Jesu Christi ex opinione (although he offered a different exegesis in his paraphrase of James; see the Collected Works of Erasmus, vol. 44, New Testament Scholarship, ed. Robert D. Sider, trans. and annotated by John J. Bateman [Toronto/Buffalo/London: University of Toronto, 1993], p. 147). Calvin followed Erasmus: “James,” p. 277. But the words are too far apart, and δόξα never means “opinion” in the New Testament. No contemporary commentator, as far as I have been able to determine, opts for this reading. (ii) δόξης goes with πίστιν: “faith in the glory of our Lord Jesus Christ” (so 614 630 2495 al sy samss bo; this is the view of Christoph Burchard, “Zu einigen christologischen Stellen des Jakobushriefes,” in Anfänge der Christologie: Festschrift für Ferdinand Halm zum 65. Geburtstag [ed. Cilliers Breitenbach and Hennig Paulsen; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1991], p. 357, and earlier Zahn, Introduction, vol. l, p. 151; elsewhere, however, Burchard opts for solution (iii): “Gemeinde in der strohemen Epistel: Mutmaßungen über Jakobus,” in Kirche: Für Günther Bomkamm zum 75. Geburtstag [ed. Dieter Lürhann and Georg Strecker; Tübingen: Mohr­Siebeck, 1980], p. 322, n. 52) or “Christ-given faith in the glory (we shall receive)” or “glorious faith in Christ” (so Bo Reicke, The Epistles of James, Peter, and Jude [AB 37; Garden City: Doubleday, 1964], p. 26). According to Ropes, James, p. 188, “The last two of these are forced, and the first involves too strange an order of words to be acceptable . . .” Dibelius, James, p. 127, is more expansive: “There is no intention in v l to define more specifically the Christian faith—such as in the expression ‘gospel of the glory of Christ’ (εὐαγγέλιον τῆς δόξης τοῦ Χριστοῦ) in 2 Cor 4:4, where this is preceded by the term ‘light’ (φωτισμός)—but rather to stress quite simply that faith in Christ is not consistent with favoritism. Consequently, it is advisable to connect ‘faith’ (πίστις) directly with ‘our Lord Jesus Christ’ (τοῦ κυρίου ἡμῶν Ἰησοῦ Χριστοῦ), and this is also the most obvious way of construing the words.” (iii) The KJV translates:  “the faith of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Lord of glory.” This requires that one gratuitously add τοῦ κυπίου to the final clause or assume hyperbaton (“the faith of Jesus Christ, our Lord of glory”). See William Bowyer, Conjectures on the New Testament (London: W. Bowyer and J. Nichols, 1772), p. 314. Henry Alford, The Greek Testament (Chicago: Moody Press, 1958), vol. 4, p. 290, who favored this construction, yet called it “somewhat harsh and unusual.” Cf. J. Brinktrine, “Zu Jak 2.1,” Bib 35 (1954) 40–42, positing an Aramaism. (iv) “Glory” is in apposition to “Jesus Christ.” That is, Jesus Christ is here “the Glory,” the Shekinah. The suggestion was evidently first made by Bengel, Grwmon, ad loc. It has been seconded by, among others, F. J. A. Hort, The Epistle of St. James (London: Macmillan, 1909), pp. 47–48; Mayor, James, pp. 79–82; and Laws, James, pp. 94–95. But where else in Christian literature of the same period is Jesus called, without further ado, “the Glory”? (v) One can insert a comma after ἡμῶν: “our Lord, Jesus Christ of glory.” This breaks up what naturally goes together, namely, “our Lord Jesus Christ.” (vi) The NRSV has, “our glorious Lord Jesus Christ.” This makes δόξης a qualitative genitive (cf. Jas 1:25 [ἀκροατὴς ἐπιλησμονῆς] and 2:4 [κριταὶ διαλογισμῶν πονηρῶν]) and a probable Semitism. This is today the most common conjecture. So e.g. J. Cantinat, Les epitres de s. Jacques de s. Jude (SBih; Paris: J. Gabalda, 1973), pp. 120–21, and Martin, James, p. 60. One of its recent proponents, Chester, “The Theology of James,” p. 44, however, can do no more than call it “not impossible”—hardly a recommendation. Where is the parallel to an attribute being added at the end of ὁ κύριος ἡμῶν Ἰησοῦς Χριστός? Mayor, James, p. 80, remarked: “It is very improbable that such a genitive would be appended to a phrase which is already complete in itself; and we may safely say that no one would have thought of such a construction for this passage if the other suggested interpretations had not involved equal or even greater harshness.” (vii) R. St. John Perry, A Discussion of the General Epistle of James (London: C. J. Clay and Sons, 1903), pp. 24, 36–39, rendered the words, “our Lord Jesus Christ, our glory.” This suggestion has found no followers. 39 40

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if one removes ἡμῶν Ἰησοῦ Χριστοῦ. (d) We know that scribes added “Jesus,” “Christ,” and “Jesus Christ” elsewhere to their manuscripts.44 Moreover, there are places in the New Testament—2 Cor 6.14–7.1 comes to mind—where one finds overwhelming evidence of an interpolation notwithstanding the unanimity of the textual tradition. (e) Once ἡμῶν Ἰησοῦ Χριστοῦ is subtracted, the result is a title, “Lord of glory,” that is attested in both Jewish and Christian sources.45 (f) There is a whole series of parallels between James 1–2 and 1 Peter 1–2; and where, in the common sequence, one expects a Jamesian parallel to 1 Pet 1:1–2, the reference is to God, not Jesus Christ.46 (g) The interpolation would have been natural for a Christian scribe familiar with both the traditional phrase, “our Lord Jesus Christ,”47 and 1 Cor 2.8, where “the Lord of glory” is Jesus. Even if one disagrees that the argument for deleting ἠμῶν Ἰησοῦ Χριστοῦ from 2.1 is compelling, James is quite capable of abruptly moving from one segment of his readership to another,48 so we can hardly neglect the possibility that some part of his letter addressed to Jews in the diaspora in general may speak equally to Christians in particular. One might also speculate that our author simply failed to carry the fiction of his first line through consistently.49 (There is also perhaps a more subtle possibility. Maybe 2:1 [unemended], when read in the light of 1:1, makes the assumption that many or even most Jews in the diaspora were Christian. It is suggestive that Hippolytus used Jas 1:1 [wrongly attributed to Jude!] to prove how many Christian converts there were in the diaspora,50 and further that some ecclesiastical commentators, with their perfect faith in the Scriptures, have indeed taken Jas 1:1 to imply that the Jewish diaspora converted to Christianity.51 If a saying in Q could anticipate the

(viii) J. B. Adamson, The Epistle of James (NICNT; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1976), pp. 102–104, emends the text by moving “our” to the end of the sentence and in this way ends up with the same result as Perry. 44 “Jesus” has been added, for example, to mss. of Col 1.2, “Christ” to mss. of Matt 16.21, and “Jesus Christ” to mss. of Jas 5.14. 45 1 En. 22.14; 25.3; 27.3, 5; 36.4; 40.3; 63.2; 83.8; 1 Cor 2.8; Barn. 21.9; Apoc. Elijah 1.3; Asc. Isa. 9.32 v.l. 46 See further Spitta, Jakobus, pp. 6–7. 47 One of the most common phrases in early Christian literature. 48 See esp. 5.6–7. Cf. Credner, Einleitung, 595: “Der lnhalt des Briefes selbst führt uns bald gläubige bald ungläubige Juden . . .” One should note, however, that the verses which presuppose a Christian readership are very few. Huther, General, Epistles, p. 10, cites 1:18; 2:1, 7; 5:7; and James’s recurrent use of “brothers.” Cf. Woldemar Gottlob Schmid, Der Lehrgehalt des Jacobus-Briefes (Leipzig:  J. C.  Hinrichs, 1869), p.  45; David Erdmann, Der Brief des Jakobus (Berlin: Wiegandt & Grieben, 1881), p. 40; Paton J. Gloag, Introduction to the Catholic Epistles (Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1887), pp. 45–46; and Wilhelm Michaelis, Einleitung in das Neue Testament (3rd ed.; Bern: Berchtold Haller, 1961), p. 277. Jewish sources are, however, full of the use of “brothers” as a designation for co-religionists (Exod 2:11; 4:18; Deut 15:3; Judg 14:3; Neh 5:1, 8; Isa 66:20; Jud 7:30; 2 Mace 1:1; y. Sanh. 11:2; Sipre Deut. § 112; etc.) and Christian writings also know this common usage (e.g. Matt 5:22–24; Acts 2:29; 3:17; 7:23; 13:26; Rom 9:3; Heb 7:5; Didascalia 5.14.23 [ed. Funk, p. 280]: “It is on account of the disobedience of your brothers that you are to fast. For even though they hate you, yet we ought to call them ‘brothers’ ”); cf. Schlatter, Jakobus, pp. 96–97. Further, even passages such 1:18 and 5:7–9, which have always had Christian content for ecclesiastical commentators, strangely remain only implicitly Christian. Anyone familiar with the commentaries knows that for these and other verses some have offered interpretations in purely Jewish terms, or noted the peculiar circumstance that they could have been understood in two different ways, one way by a Christian, another by a non-Christian Jew. See section IV. 49 On James as a pseudepigraphon with a fictional author and fictional audience see further below. 50 Hippolytus, The Apocalypse 7.4–8 (ed. Achelis), p. 231. 51 E.g. John Gill, An Exposition of the New Testament (London: William Hill, 1854), vol. 6, p. 779. More recently Otto Bardenhewer, Der Brief des Heiligen Jakobus (Freiburg im Breisgau: Herder, 1928), p. 12, asked concerning 1:1, “Wird damit nicht vorausgesetzt, daß die außerpalästinensischen Juden sich schon insegesamt zum Christentum bekannt haben oder doch in Bälde bekennen werden?” He goes on, however, to return a negative answer.

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diaspora sharing in salvation,52 if the author of Luke-Acts could recount that “myriads” [μυριάδες] of law-observant Jews believed in Jesus [Acts 21:10],53 if the Ps.-Clementine Recognitions could claim that James persuaded “all the people [in Jerusalem] and the high priest that they should hasten straightway to receive baptism” [1:69], and if Hegesippus could hand on a story in which the Jerusalem authorities—“many” of whom, he assures us, believed Jesus to be Messiah—ask James to address the crowds that are coming to the passover feast,54 then surely the author of James could have promulgated the fiction that a large number of diaspora Jews were Christians and that James was an authority for them. Ten [or nine and a half] of the tribes were widely believed to exist in some far-away place no one quite knew about,55 so their Christian identity or openness to Christian claims could hardly be refuted. We must remember that what is plausible to the modern historian is no sure guide to what an ancient author must have intended to say. So it becomes germane that there was a tradition of Palestinian authorities writing to Jews in the diaspora56 and that James presents itself as another example of this sort of letter.57 In other words, Jas 1:1 presupposes that James has the ear of the Jewish diaspora.) Surely the onus is on those who have argued against a prosaic reading of 1:1; and since, as we have seen, their arguments are far from demonstrative, we are encouraged to reconsider the view that Jas 1:1 is designed in the first place to make one think of the literal twelve tribes of Israel and so of Jews in general, not Christians in particular. Unlike 1 Pet 1:2, Jas 1:1 contains no hint that it is to be given figurative sense or applied to the churches, nor does any other part of the letter, from which all allegorical interpretation is absent, contain such a hint. One understands why Mayor commented: “I cannot think . . . that the bare phrase ταῖς δώδεκα φυλαῖς ταῖς ἐν τῇ διασπορᾷ is susceptible of a . . . figurative meaning, any more than the phrase used by the Pharisees in John vii. 35 ‘Will he go εἰς τὴν διασπορὰν τῶν Ἐλλήνων.’ ”58 Why, if “the twelve tribes” is in effect allegorical, does the author then go on to add “in the diaspora,” a phrase that conjures up the historical fate of the Jewish people?59 To this one may add that nothing in James suggests a Gentile audience whereas, as has long been observed, much suggests a Jewish one. Jas 2:21 calls Abraham “our father” without any hint that the expression is being used in a transferred sense. The meeting place or gathering of the readers is a “synagogue” (2:2).60 In 2:19 the audience’s faith is embodied in the Shema’ (“You believe that God is one,” cf. Deut 6:4). The writer can call God “the Lord σαβαώθ” without

See Dale C. Allison, Jr., The Jesus Tradition in Q (Valley Forge, PA: Trinity Press International, 1997), pp. 176–91, on Matt 8:11–12 = Lk 13:28–29. 53 On Luke’s exaggerations regarding mass conversions of Jews see Jacob Jervell, Luke and the People of God: A New Look at Luke-Acts (Minneapolis: Augsburg, 1972), pp. 44–49. 54 Hegesippus in Eusebius, H.E. 2.23.4-18 (CS 31; ed. Bardy, pp. 85–89). 55 See Josephus, Ant. 11:133. Additional evidence is collected in M. R. James, The Lost Apocrypha of the Old Testament (London: SPCK, 1920), pp. 103–106. 56 See Jer 29:1; Ep. Jer. 6:1; 2 Macc 1:1, 10; 2 Bar. 78:  l; 4 Bar. 6:19; t. Sanh. 2.6; and the discussion in Irene Taatz, Frühjüdische Briefe: Die paulinischen Briefe im Rahmen der offiziellen religiösen Briefe des Frühjudentums (NTOA 16; Freiburg, Switzerland/Göttingen: Universitätsverlag/Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1991). 57 See Niebuhr, “Jakobusbrief im Licht frühjüdischer Diasporabrief,” and Manabu Tsuji, Glaube zwischen Vollkommenheit und Verweltlichung (WUNT 2/93; Tübingen: Mohr-Siebeck, 1997), pp. 5–49. 58 Mayor, James, p. 31. 59 Cf. Adamson, James, p. 49. 60 On this see section III. 52

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explanation (5:4). And all the moral exemplars are drawn from Jewish tradition—Abraham, Rahah, the prophets, Joh, Elijah.61 Gentiles are nowhere referred to. Clearly some aspects of James are consistent with A. T. Cadoux’s conclusion regarding Jas 1.1: “Christians to-day believe that the Church has inherited the privileges of Israel, but if they found a circular letter beginning, ‘My dear fellow Jews,’ they would unhesitatingly conclude that it was written by a Jew to Jews; nor is there less reason for taking the address of this Epistle to mean what it says; while that it was originally taken to mean so would account for its early neglect by the growing Gentile Church, and possibly for its place next to the Epistle to the Hebrews.”62 We cannot, however, be satisfied with this conclusion without considering the rest of James. Does the epistle as a whole support the proposed reading of 1:1?

III.  The Implied Audience of 1:9–10, 20–21; 2:1–7; 4:1–10; and 4:13–5:6 Much of James becomes problematic if one fails to see that non-Christians are within the purview of the epistle. Let me offer in evidence five passages that together cover 32 of James’s 108 verses, or almost one-third of the book: (1) 1:9–10 makes this contrast: “Let the brother (ἀδελφός) who is lowly boast in being raised up, and the rich in being brought low, because the rich will disappear like a flower in the field.” Many commentators understandably insist that the rich belong to the community because v. 10 depends upon v. 9 for its verb (“glory”), so naturally ὁ πλούσιος (“the rich”) also draws to itself the ὁ ἀδελφὸς (“the brother”) of v. 10. Visually: 9 Let the brother who is lowly glory in his exaltation 10 but (let the brother) who is rich (glory) in his humiliation On this interpretation, which simply draws out an obvious grammatical point, the second imperative, although paradoxical or ironic, is nonetheless real, and well-to-do Christians are being exhorted to heroic humility: they are to rejoice that their wealth will disappear.63 Yet others have insisted that the rich cannot be Christians.64 They observe the following: (a) In 2:6–7 and 5:1, where “the rich” (οἱ πλούσιοι) turn up again,65 they oppress the faithful, blaspheme, and are headed for misery, so there they can hardly be followers of Jesus.66 (b)  “Brother” is omitted from v.  10. (c)  In v.  11 the rich clearly have no hope, for our text does not condemn riches but the rich individual. (d)  The ταπείνωσις of the rich seems to be equivalent not to humility but to the passing away of the flowers. (e) Jas 1:10–11 clearly depends upon Isaiah 40, and in 2 Baruch and the targum the withering of the grass in Isaiah See further Schlatter, Jakobus, pp. 95–96. Cadoux, The Thought of St. James, p. 11. 63 Cf. Davids, James, p. 77, and Franz Schnider, Der Jakobusbrief (RNT; Regensburg: Friedrich Pustet, 1986), pp. 35–36. 64 E.g. Dionysius bar Salibi, Epistulas Catholicas (ed. Sedlacek), pp. 89–90; Huther, General Epistles, pp. 44–46; Klein, “Ein vollkommenes Werk,” pp.  97–98; Martin, James, pp.  25–26; George M.  Stulac, “Who are ‘the rich’ in James?,” Presbyterion 16 (1990) 89–102. 65 In the latter they are again addressed directly. 66 See section III. 61 62

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40 becomes a picture of the fate of the wicked.67 (f) In Dibelius’s words, in the “literature of the poor” in Judaism, “the fate of the rich man is spoken of without any sentimentality.”68 There are, then, sound reasons for thinking both that those spoken of in 1:10–11 are “brothers” and that they are not Christians. On the usual readings of James this just does not make sense. But on the proposal defended herein, that James addresses itself to non-Christian Jews as well as Christians, there is no difficulty at all: in James, as sometimes elsewhere in early Christian literature, “brother” does not mean Christian brother but rather Jewish co­religionist. Such a proposal allows equal justice to be done to the seemingly conflicting indicators. For if the “brother” of 1:9 is a term for Jews and so includes non-Christians, then the parallelism with 1:10 can stand: the structural dependence of v. 9 upon v. 10 holds, and yet the rich are outside the Christian fold. For the entity that embraces both poor and rich is not the church but the synagogue. (2) In 1:20–21 James exhorts his readers to rid themselves of all sordidness and rank growth of wickedness and to “welcome with meekness the implanted word that has the power to save your souls.” W. E. Oesterley believed that “the words before us leave the impression that those to whom they were addressed could not yet be called Christians; πᾶσαν ῥυπαρίαν καὶ περισσείαν κακίας, which they are enjoined to put off, implies a state far removed from even a moderate Christian ideal;69 and the ‘rooted word,’ which is able to save their souls, has evidently not been received yet.”70 When one adds that James here distances himself from his readers by forsaking the first person plural (“us,” ἡμᾶς) of v.  18 and replacing it with the second person plural (“your,” ὑμῶν), and further that he does not say that the word has in fact saved them but that it is able (δυνάμενον) to do so, so that salvation is not a present reality but a future possibility,71 one is inclined to agree with Oesterley—and with Adam Clarke, who in his old commentary took 1:19 to address Jews outside the church.72 (3) In 2:1–7 James speaks against favoritism by asking, “For if a person with gold rings and in fine clothes comes into your συναγωγήν, and if a poor person in dirty clothes also comes in, and if you take notice of the one wearing the fine clothes and say, ‘Have a seat here, please,’ while to the one who is poor you say, ‘Stand there,’ or ‘Sit at my feet,’ have you not made distinctions among yourselves and become judges with evil thoughts?” Commentators debate whether “synagogue” here refers to a gathering or to a structure.73 No less controversial is the identity Robert Davidson, “The Imagery of Isaiah 40.6–8 in Tradition and Interpretation,” in The Quest for Context and Meaning (ed. Craig A. Evans and Shemaryahu Talmon; BIS 28; Leiden/New York/Cologne: Brill, 1997), pp. 37–55. 68 James, p. 85. Cf. Luke 16:19–31. 69 This is all the more true if 1:21 contains an allusion to the initiatory rite of circumcision; see Grotius, Operum Theologicorum Tomi II. Volumen II, p. 1076; Leclerc, Epistolae, pp. 505–506; William Joseph Dalton, Christ’s Proclamation to the Spirits: A Study of I Peter 3:18 4:6 (2nd ed.; AnBib 23; Rome: Pontifical Biblical Institute, 1989), p. 205. 70 W. E. Oesterley, “The General Epistle of James,” in The Expositor’s Greek Testament (ed. W. Robertson Nicoll; New York: Hodder and Stoughton, 1910), vol. 5, p. 432. 71 Cf. R. J. Knowling, The Epistle of St. James (London: Methuen & Co., 1904), p. 30: “It is remarkable that this language is addressed to those who had been already described as begotten by the word of truth, so that salvation is regarded by the writer as in a sense still in the future . . .” My own judgment is that this is reason for understanding the “word” of v. 18 to be the Torah, but that issue must be left for another day. 72 Commentary, vol. 6, p. 1831. 73 It is probably a structure. εἰσέρχομαι + συναγωγή elsewhere refers to entering a synagogue building: Mk 1:21; 3:1; Lk 4:16; 6:6; Acts 14:1; 18:19; 19:8. And when in 5:14 James wants to refer to the congregation itself he uses ἐκκλησία. On this last expression see section VI. 67

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of the rich people being discussed. Four solutions are common: (a) They are Christians.74 This makes sense of the ἐν ἑαυτοῖς (“among yourselves”) of v. 4, but it fits ill with the fact that in v. 7 the rich blaspheme “the good name that was called over you.” (b) They do not belong to the community but are visitors, perhaps attending out of curiosity.75 This is why they do not know where to sit.76 One can cite in this connection 1 Cor 14:23–25, where unbelievers are in attendance at a Christian meeting, and the proposal makes sense of vv. 6–7, where the rich blaspheme and oppress the righteous: surely these are not Christian folk, not even bad Christian folk (cf. 5:6). On the other hand, in the later adaptation of Jas 2:1–7 in Didascalia Apostolorum 12, the rich and poor belong to the local congregation or to another congregation, that is, they are co-religionists. Moreover, how likely is it that individuals behaving with the hostility indicated by vv. 6–7 would be visiting a Christian church and given seats of honor? (c) Those with rings and fine clothes who enter the community gathering are believers, but they are not to be identified with the rich who blaspheme and oppress James’s audience in vv. 6–7.77 This harmonizes the conflicting evidence but is even more problematic than the other options. For it is precisely vv. 2–4 that introduce the poor, who are then considered in vv. 5–6: the verses belong together. Furthermore, the impact of vv. 6–7 is reduced if the rich described there are not those honored in vv. 2–3. Above all, v. 6a is left without explanation or antecedent if it does not explicate vv. 2–4.78 BDF §§ 139, 263 even uses the τόν before πτωξόν (v. 6)  to illustrate anaphoric sense: “that beggar” refers to v. 2. (d) Their identity is irrelevant, a matter of exegetical indifference.79 This solution seems to have arisen largely because of the failure to make sense of the text on the presupposition that “synagogue” refers to a Christian assembly. The difficulties vanish, however, once we think not of a Christian church but instead of a Jewish synagogue with Christian participants.80 This gives “synagogue” the sense it has most often in early Christian literature, including the New Testament.81 So those who dishonor the poor, drag people into court, and blaspheme are not Christians. They are rather, as Mayor and a few others have seen, non-Christian Jews.82 Certainly nothing hints that the rich are pagans or do not worship the same God as the poor or those being addressed:  “the whole

So e.g. Timothy B. Cargal, Restoring the Diaspora: Discursive Structure and Purpose in the Epistle of James (SBLDS 144; Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1993), p. 106, and Schnider, Jakobusbrief, pp. 58, 62. 75 E.g. Burchard, “Gemeinde in der strohernen Epistel,” p. 323, and Cantinat, Jacques, pp. 130–31. 76 But the poor individual is likewise shown seating and yet belongs to the group God has elected (v. 6). Further, the little speeches in 2:18 and 4:13 are statements of attitude, so it seems that we must understand the comparable speeches of v. 3 as stylized ways of saying that the congregation has seats of greater and lesser honor, not necessarily that the people do not know where to sit. 77 So e.g. R. B. Ward, “Partiality in the Assembly,” HTR 62 (1969) 96–97 (making much of the appearance of πλούδσιος in v. 6 but not v. 2). 78 Contrast the unconvincing argument of Dibelius, James, p. 138. 79 See esp. Dibelius, ibid., pp. 131–32, who is followed by Mussner, Jakobusbrief, p. 117. 80 Others who think a Jewish synagogue is in view include Clarke, Commentary, vol. 6, p. 837; Maynard-Reid, Poverty, p.  55; W.  Sanday, Inspiration:  Eight Lectures on the Early History and Origin of the Doctrine of Biblical Inspiration (London: Longmans, Green, and Co., 1903), p. 346; and Johannes Weiss, Earliest Christianity: A History of the Period AD 30–150 (New York: Harper & Row, 1959), vol. 2, p. 668. 81 Moreover, whereas people both stood and sat in Jewish synagogues, in which there were seats of honor (see e.g. Matt 6:5 and t. Meg. 3:12, 14), one wonders, given the teaching of Matt 23:6; Mark 12:39; Luke 11:43; 14:7–11; 20:46; and Jas 2:1–7, whether many first-century Christian gatherings had comparable seats of honor in them. (The earliest evidence for seats of honor in a Christian assembly appears to be Hermas, Vis. 3.9.7.) 82 Mayor, James, p. 88: these people “profess to know God, but by their works deny him. . . . On the whole I think the general sense of the passage suits better with the idea that the blasphemers are unbelieving Jews . . . .” 74

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tone of the passage seems to imply a less complete departure from the dominant religion of the community than would have been the case in Rome or any heathen city. If the whole surrounding population were heathen, the argument would have to be differently turned.”83 It seems to follow that James’s readers attend religious services that are not exclusively Christian, which is probably what the use of “synagogue” implies in the first place. (4) In 4:1–10 James demands that readers submit themselves to God, resist the devil, cleanse their hands, purify their minds, mourn and weep, and humble themselves. These readers are called “adulterers” (4:4) and “sinners” (4:8). They are full of covetousness (4:2) and are friends of the world and enemies of God (4:4). They are even guilty of murder (4:2). In calling them to repent, James appeals to their knowledge of Scripture and to the spirit that God has given to all human beings84—not to the gift of the Holy Spirit or to specifically Christian convictions. Can these people really be believers in Jesus?85 Where again is the contemporary parallel to Christians being described and rebuked in this fervently prophetic fashion? One can try to tone all this down by, for example, positing that an original φθονεῖτε (“you are jealous”) was accidentally replaced by φονεύετε (“you murder”),86 or by giving “you murder” metaphorical content,87 or by relegating 4:2 to the realm of the purely hypothetical88—all of which comes up against 5:7 (“you have killed the righteous man”), and all of which is needless if, with so many of the older commentators, one thinks of 4:1–10 and other parts of James as including outsiders within its purview. (5) In 4:13–5:6, James upbraids the rich who are about to suffer eschatological misery: “Your gold and silver have rusted, and their rust will be evidence against you, and it will eat your flesh like fire. You have laid up treasure for the last days. Listen! The wages of the laborers who mowed your fields, which you kept back by fraud, cry out, and the cries of the harvesters have reached the ears of the Lord of hosts. You have lived on the earth in luxury and in pleasure; you have fattened your hearts in a day of slaughter. You have condemned and murdered the righteous one, who does not resist you” (5:3–6). Jonathan Edwards, like Bede, Grotius, and so many others, thought that these words address unbelieving Jews who are persecuting Christians. Mayor asked, “Is it possible to suppose that the rich oppressors described in v. 1–6 can belong to the Church?”89 How likely is it that the rich who have murdered the righteous and are without eschatological hope are nonetheless within the Christian community? Where is the parallel to this sort of uncompromising rebuke of believers in the earliest Christian literature? Are not James’s denunciations naturally taken as addressed to outsiders? The standard retort to these questions is that Jas 4:13–5:6 or 5:1–6 is an apostrophe, that it is, in George Benson’s words, “a figurative address to persons that he did not expect would read his epistle.”90 One understands the point. A feigned turning from one’s audience to address So Ropes, James, p. 197, citing Phil 2:15ff.; Eph 4:17–19; Col 3:7; 1 Cor 6:1–9. For this interpretation of πνεῦμα see n. 101. 85 Schlatter, Jakobus, pp. 92–93, thinks that this question hangs over all of 3:1–5:6. 86 So Dibelius, James, pp. 217–18, accepting the conjectural emendation of Erasmus. 87 Cf. Davids, James, p. 159. 88 Cf. Law, James, pp. 171–72. 89 Mayor, James, p. cxliii. 90 George Benson, A Paraphrase and Notes on the Seven (Commonly Called) Catholic Epistles (London: J. Waugh, 1749), p. 14. Cf. William Donn, A Commentary on the Books of the Old and New Testament (London: L. Davis, 1770) ad 5.lff.; Dibelius, James, p. 231; François Vouga, Le Épître de Saint Jacques (CNT 2/13a; Geneve: Labor et Fides, 1984), p. 127. 83 84

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an absent person or group is a common rhetorical move. The Hebrew Bible prophets supply numerous examples. And yet James contains other exhortations seemingly aimed at outsiders, and sometimes these are seamlessly woven into exhortations clearly directed to faithful readers (e.g. 1.9–11, 21). When one adds this fact to another fact, namely, that James claims to be written to “the twelve tribes in the diaspora” without further qualification, what can be the justification for the positing of recurrent apostrophes? Does this not beg the question? In rejecting the theory that James presents itself as addressed partly to non-Christians Jews, Michaelis also raised the possibility that 5:1–6 is an apostrophe.91 But he was not very comfortable with this, for “this figure is not very suitable to the epistolary style,” even if “the Epistle of St. James has in many other places terms of expression, which are more useful in poetry than in letter-writing.”92 So Michaelis also suggested that 5:1–6 may be directed towards Christians. The argument to the contrary, he asserted, “rests entirely on the supposition, that none of the primitive Christians could have deserved this censure, and that they were all in a state of perfect regeneration, a supposition, which is absolutely inconsistent with the description, which St. Paul has given of the Corinthians in his two Epistles to them.”93 This, however, is nothing more than a groundless caricature of the position he is opposing: no one has ever claimed all primitive Christians were “in a state of perfect regeneration.” Equally without force was his conjecture that “You have condemned (κατεδικάσατε) and murdered (ἐφονευσατε) the righteous one” (5:16) refers to nothing more than theft.94 Michaelis went on to confess that 1:1, from which any restriction of the audience to Christians is missing, is against his position, as is the use of “synagogue” in 2:2.95 And when he was finished with his rebuttal, he lamely added at the very end: “At the same time I believe, as St. James was highly respected by the Jews in general, that it was his wish and intention, that unbelieving Jews also should read it, and he converted, and that this wish and intention had some influence on the choice of his materials.”96 This gives back much of what Michaelis tried to take away and shows that, despite himself, he could not altogether avoid opposing that the implicit audience of James included non-Christians.

IV.  Fictional Author, Fictional Audience Up to this point I  have upheld the once common view that James addresses itself to nonChristian Jews as well as Christians. But in one particular I  wish to distance myself from the older exegetes, who almost invariably thought of our author as the brother of Jesus and surmised that he wished, through his epistle, to influence Jews outside of Jerusalem. With much contemporary scholarship I am satisfied that James is a pseudepigraphon.97 From this point of view, the older commentators were taken in by the fiction of James’s opening lines. Although they rightly, in my judgment, understood the sense of 1:1—James of Jerusalem is writing to Introduction, vol. 2, pp. 292–95. Ibid., p. 294. 93 Ibid., p. 293. 94 Ibid., p. 294 (“to take away from another what he has”). 95 Ibid., p. 295. 96 Introduction, p. 295. 97 On James as a pseudepigraphon see Hahn and Müller, “Jakobusbrief,” pp. 59–64. 91 92

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the Jewish diaspora—they wrongly identified the pseudepigraphical claim with the historical circumstances and reception of the writing (just as so many have done with Ephesians, 2 Peter, and other pseudepigrapha). It is as though commentators on the apocryphal correspondence between Seneca and Paul were to interpret that correspondence in the context of the careers of the philosopher and the apostle rather than in the context of the Christian apologetics of the third century. The pseudepigraphical character of James matters so much because often “the twelve tribes in the diaspora” have been said to be a symbol of Jewish Christianity or the church in general. But the fictional addressees of other pseudepigrapha are no more metaphors than the fictional authors. Why should James be the exception? A pseudepigraphon typically has not only a fictional author but also a fictional audience. The real audience is, so to speak, addressed indirectly; it is expected to overhear what on the surface is addressed to others. In the present case, James the brother of Jesus did not actually send a letter to all Jews of the diaspora, nor did someone do this in his name. Nor is there any more reason to think that the Jewish diaspora somehow got copies of our epistle than there is to imagine that Titus received a copy of the third Pastoral Epistle. Although James presents itself as a letter from a Jerusalem authority to Jews in the diaspora, this is a fiction, and one can hardly promote some other interpretation by remarking upon this fiction’s historical implausibility. This was the mistake of Ropes when he claimed, in his case against a literal reading of 1:1, that “no time after the crucifixion is known to us when a Christian teacher could expect a respectful hearing for a didactic tract from both converted and unconverted Jews in the dispersion at large, or would have felt such responsibility for the general moral instruction of all diaspora Jews alike as this writer shows. The promptness of the separation of Christians and Jews in the diaspora is illustrated by all the mission narratives of Acts.”98 These words fail to distinguish between the literary claim and the historical reality (whether Ropes got that right or not). Like 2 Baruch 78–87, the purported readers of James may be the lost tribes in the diaspora, but the real audience must be someone else.99 If Jas 1:1 is a pseudepigraphical fiction, one can scarcely deny its plain meaning on the ground that it is implausible. That would not be much different than emending or reinterpreting 1 En. 1:1–2 (which ascribes the following book to Enoch) on the ground that 1 Enoch looks Hellenistic rather than antedeluvian. Recognition of the pseudepigraphical character of James means that even if we agree with Bede, Grotius, and so many others regarding the sense of Jas 1:1, we cannot simply resurrect their exegesis, for they took the claims of James at face value. For us the way ahead will rather lie in showing how a particular pseudepigraphical fiction runs throughout the letter and then in understanding why our author chose the fiction that he did.100 I have already begun to do the former. It remains to do indicate how one might begin to do the latter. For that task it will be useful to consider a remarkable feature of James as a whole.

James, p. 127. Klein, “Ein vollkommenes Werk,” p. 188, says that perhaps the historical James could have addressed all the Jewish people, but this was not a possibility for anyone at a later date. Again this confuses the fiction of 1:1—the epistle is written for all diaspora Jews—with the actual historical circumstances of the letter, whatever they may have been. 100 Cf. Tsuji, Glaube, pp. 47–48. 98 99

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V.  The Silences of James Within its canonical context James is a book of strange silences. Jesus’ crucifixion is neither mentioned nor so much as alluded to. Nor is anything said about his resurrection or exaltation. The deeds of Jesus, so important for the synoptic evangelists and John, also fail to put in an appearance, and one searches in vain for any remark upon Jesus’ character or his status as a moral model—a striking omission given the appeals to other moral models. The tradition of his words is alluded to, perhaps often, but the author never says, in so many words, This comes from Jesus. The borrowing goes unacknowledged. James likewise has nothing explicit to say about baptism, about the Lord’s Supper, about the Holy Spirit,101 or about the fulfillment of prophecy. Martin Luther could accordingly speculate that James was written by a Jew who did not know much about Christianity.102 Others have made related judgments. Adolf Harnack observed that “der Verf[asser] sich dort nicht auf Jesus Christus hezieht, wo man es erwartet.”103 E. M. Sidebottom could speak of “the impression of an almost pre-crucifixion discipleship.”104 And W. G. Kümmel could refer to “the lack of any distinctive Christian message in James.”105 Here indeed is a puzzle.106 The quiescence of explicit Christian themes throughout James is a problem only on the assumption that a follower of Jesus produced the book. But is that certain? All our difficulties would vanish if we could believe that James was originally not a Christian but a Jewish composition. At the end of the nineteenth century, L. Massebieau and Friedrich Spitta argued just this, as did Arnold Meyer, in modified form, three decades later.107 They were not altogether bereft of justification. “Jesus Christ” is named only twice in the letter. The first time is in 1:1, where James calls himself the “servant of God and of the Lord Jesus Christ.” But opening lines, like titles, are things easily added. Adolf Harnack urged that the letter’s opening words were attached in the latter part of the second century.108 S. R. Llewelyn has more recently defended

The one mention of πνεῦμα (4:5) “is probably not the Divine Spirit in the Christian sense, but rather is to be equated more with the ‘heart.’ ” So Dibelius, James, p. 224. 102 Martin Luther, Table Talk (Luther’s Works, vol. 54, ed. Theorde G.  Tappert and Helmut T.  Lehmann; Philadelphia: Fortress, 1967), p. 424 (no. 5443): “Some Jew wrote it who probably learned about Christian people but never encountered any. . . . He wrote not a word about the suffering and resurrection of Christ, although this is what all the apostles preached about.” 103 Adolf Harnack, Geschichte der altchristlichen Literatur bis Eusebius, Teil II: Chronologie, Band 1: Die Chronologie der Literatur bis lrenäus nebst einleitenden Untersuchungen (2nd ed.; Leipzig: J. C. Hinrichs, 1958), p. 490, n. 2. 104 E. M. Sidebottom, James, Jude and 2 Peter (The Century Bible; London/Edinburgh: Thomas Nelson, 1967), p. 14. 105 Werner Georg Kümmel, Introduction to the New Testament (rev. ed.; Nashville and New York: Abingdon, 1975), p.  416. Cf. Rudolf Bultmann, Theology of the New Testament, 2  vols. (New  York:  Charles Scribner’s Sons, 1951, 1955) 2.143: “That which is specifically Christian is surprisingly thin.” 106 The failure of James to name Jesus much, especially at the beginning and end, or to refer to his life and work have long drawn remark; see e.g. Lucas Osiander, Sacrorum Bibliorum (Tübingen: Georgium Gruppenhachium, 1592) 3.719, and W. Wall, Brief Critical Notes, Especially on the Various Readings of the New Testament Books (London: William Innys, 1730), p. 344. Some have explained this by referring to Acts 5.40, where the apostles are commanded not to speak in the name of Jesus. According to Clarke, I. Corinthians to Revelation, p. 1824, “The style and manner [of James] are more that of a Jewish prophet than a Christian apostle. It scarcely touches on any subject purely Christian . . . It may be considered a sort of connecting link between Judaism and Christianity. . . .” 107 Massebieau, “Jacques”; Spitta, Geschichte, part 2, vol. l, pp. 485–91; Meyer, Das Rätsel des Jacobusbriefes (BZNW 10; Gießen: Alfred Töpelmann, 1930). 108 Harnack, Geschichte, part 2, vol. 1, pp. 488–90. 101

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the same conclusion.109 The only other mention of “Jesus Christ” is in 2:1, where, as we have seen, it is under suspicion of being an interpolation. Recent scholarship, however, has not adopted the thesis that James is akin to those Jewish texts, such as Sibylline Oracle 3 and 4 Baruch, that suffered the occasional Christian interpolation. For even if one decides (as I  have) to excise ἡμῶν Ἰησοῦ Χριστοῦ from 2:1, there is insufficient reason to remove Ἰησοῦ Χριστοῦ from 1:1110 or to regard the entire verse as secondary.111 No less importantly, our book appears in the Christian canon, and it borrows too heavily from traditions we know to have been specifically Christian for us to think it nonChristian in origin. The teaching on oaths in 5:12, for instance, clearly reproduces the very same tradition that lies behind Matt 5:34–37, a tradition that presumably goes back to Jesus and which in any event was handed down through Christian channels. Chapter 2, moreover, is almost certainly polemic directed at Paul or people influenced by Paul,112 and the parallels with 1 Peter113 and the Shepherd of Hermas114 speak for themselves: James looks like a Christian document. If it is unwise to explain James’s silences by assigning the epistle a non-Christian origin, then what about postulating a type of Christianity akin to what some have glimpsed behind Q, or what Hans Dieter Betz sees behind the Sermon on the Mount, namely, a Christianity that did not have at its center Jesus’s death and resurrection or the sacraments of baptism and the Lord’s Supper?115 Maybe our perplexity over James’s content is occasioned only by a failure to reckon seriously with the diversity of early Christianity. Certainly some scholars have suggested that the dearth of developed Christian theology in James is simply evidence for its primitive character.116

S. R. Llewelyn, “The Prescript of James,” NovT 39 (1997) 385–93. Here there is no grammatical difficulty. 111 My reasons can only be outlined here. (a) The content of our epistle corresponds with Christian tradition about James, which depicts him as a man who suffered, lived a life of prayer, chose poverty, and upheld the law. Hegesippus, in Eusebius, H.E. 2.23.11 (SC 31, ed. Bardy, p. 86), even associates his death with “all the tribes” (πᾶσαι αἱ φυλαῖ). See further Martin, James, xlv–xlvi, on connections between the Epistle of James and the Pseudo-Clementine literature. (b) The catchword connection between vv. 1 and 2 harmonizes with the writer’s procedure in chapter l. (c) There are, as has long been noted, intriguing links between the letter issued by James in Acts 15 and our epistle; see Mayor, James, pp. iii–iv. These hardly prove common authorship, but they may indicate that the author of James wished his letter to resemble the presumably well-known circular. (d) Jas 5:5 accuses the readers of killing “the just one” (ἐφονεύσατε τὸν δίκαιον), which could allude to the martyrdom of “James the Just”; see Heinrich Greeven’s note in Dibelius, James, p. 58, n. 58. (e) Those of us who believe that 1 Peter depends upon James will take 1 Pet 1:1 to be a very early witness to James in its present form. 112 Martin Hengel, “Der Jakobusbrief als anti-paulinische Polemik,” in Tradition and Interpretation in the New Testament (ed. G. F. Hawthorne and O. BETZ; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1987), pp. 248–78. But for another view see Massebieau, Geschichte, vol. 2, pp. 258–66, and Todd C. Penner, The Epistle of James and Eschatology: Re-reading an Ancient Christian Letter (JSNTSS 121; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1996), pp. 47–74. 113 On these see Dibelius, James, pp. 30–31, 74–77, 225–28. 114 See Dibelius, ibid., pp. 31–32. 115 See Burton Mack, The Lost Gospel: The Book of Q and Christian Origins (San Francisco: Harper, 1993); Hans Dieter Betz, The Sermon on the Mount (Hermeneia; Minneapolis: Fortress, 1995). 116 For a survey of older opinion see James Moffatt, An Introduction to the Literature of the New Testament (New  York:  Charles Scribner’s Sons, 1911), pp. 468–72. The claim appears more recently in L. E. Elliott-Binns, Galilean Christianity (SBT 16; London: SCM, 1956), pp. 46–52; John A. T. Robinson, Redating the New Testament (London/Philadelphia: SCM/Westminster, 1976), pp. 120–25, 137; and Sidebottom, James, Jude and 2 Peter, pp. 13–14. 109 110

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There are, however, difficulties with this approach. To begin with, the traditions taken up into Paul’s epistles, traditions that developed during the earliest Christian period to which we have access, are full of christological assertions and emphases; and in them Jesus’ death, resurrection, and exaltation are fundamental. Now do we, apart from some very conjectural reconstructions of a few hypothetical communities—reconstructions and communities for which there is very little hard evidence117—really know of any other sort of primitive Christianity, one without such christological assertions and emphases or focus upon Jesus’ passion and vindication?118 Furthermore, the modem consensus holds in any case that James was produced near the end of the first Christian century, and does this not make less plausible the idea of a community whose theology is accurately mirrored in the silences of James? What other Christian group from that time would be comparable? Also problematic for the position under review is Jas 1:2–4, which opens our epistle with a complex justification:  one should rejoice because trials lead to steadfastness, and steadfastness in turn fosters maturity and completeness. The sequence is:  imperative—justification of imperative—justification of justification. That is, one should rejoice because falling into trial leads to steadfastness which in turn leads to maturity. The progression has a very close parallel in Rom 5:3–5, which opens with Paul boasting about suffering: suffering → steadfastness → character → hope. The parallel is all the closer when one observes the shared vocabulary: Romans: ὑπομονή—κατεργάζεται—δοκιμή James: ὑπομονὴ—κατεργάζεται—δοκίμιον Given that James, at least here, shows no knowledge of Romans or vice versa,119 it is natural to posit a common source or tradition.120 This is consistent with James’s observation that he is reminding his readers of what they already know, not imparting new information (1:4, γινώσκοντες, “knowing”). All this matters for our purposes because whereas Jas 1:2–4 says nothing characteristically Christian, it is otherwise with the parallel in Rom 5:3–5. The latter is introduced by a christological confession (“We have peace with God through our Lord Jesus Christ, through whom we have obtained access to this grace in which we stand; and we boast in our hope [ἐλπίδι] of sharing the glory [δόξης] of God,” 5:1–2) and ends by referring to possession of the

According to Windisch and Preiske, Katholischen Briefe, p. 36, James represents a Jewish Christianity for which the person and history of Jesus did not yet have soteriological meaning. 117 For the issues with Q see Allison, Jesus Tradition in Q, pp. 43–46. For the problems with Betz’s theory see Allison, ibid., pp. 67–79; Charles E. Carlston, “Betz on the Sermon on the Mount: A Critique,” CBQ 50 (1988) 47–57; and Graham N. Manton, A Gospel for a New People of God: Studies in Matthew (Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1992), pp. 307–25. 118 Helpful here is Arland J. Hultgren, The Rise of Normative Christianity (Minneapolis: Fortress, 1994). 119 Against the thesis of Albert E. Barnett, Paul becomes a Literary Influence (Chicago: University of Chicago, 1941), p.  187, that James here depends upon Romans, see Gerd Lüdemann, Opposition to Paul in Jewish Christianity (Minneapolis: Fortress, 1989), pp. 140–41. 120 One should also note the striking parallel in 1 Pet 1:6–7: “In this you rejoice, though now for a little while you may have to suffer various trials (ποικίλοις πειρασμοῖς), so that the genuineness of your faith (τὸ δοκίμιον ὑμῶν τῆς πίστεως), more precious than gold which though perishable is tested by fire, may redound to praise and glory and honor at the revelation of Jesus Christ.” If 1 Peter does not depend upon James—so Paul J. Achtemeier, J Peter (Hermeneia; Minneapolis: Fortress, 1996), p. 20—this would only reinforce my argument. But I am among those who believe that 1 Peter knew and used James.

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Holy Spirit (“God’s love has been poured into our hearts through the Holy Spirit that has been given to us”). In James, by contrast, there is no christological element and no Holy Spirit. Earlier writers sometimes took this sort of discrepancy to point to the primitive nature of James. Their argument was, in the words of G. H. Rendall, that James either presents us with an “inchoate” theology or a “blanched” theology; that is, either his tradition is here more primitive than that of Paul, or James “deliberately cancelled all references to the Christian hope and belief in which they lay embedded . . .”121 Rendall thought the second option incredible. But he did not explain his incredulity, and maybe we should be asking why James, despite Rendall, might have wished to “blanch” the tradition. We are further encouraged to speculate along these lines when we consider that, although James contains terminology drawn from Christian baptismal liturgy,122 there is no mention of baptism itself.123 Nor do we ever run across any of the standard christological formulas associated with that rite. It follows that James does not represent a group of Christians unfamiliar with baptism; rather, he is a writer who, notwithstanding his incorporation of baptismal terminology, neglects, for whatever reason, to mention the ritual itself. We come then to a third possible explanation of James’s silence, one more plausible than the first two. It is that James’s omissions are to be explained in terms of genre or immediate purpose: the document is moral exhortation, not theology. Unless one is dealing with a systematic presentation of foundational beliefs, one need not be surprised by certain silences. Did all the contributors to Proverbs consider Moses and the exodus from Egypt, which go unremarked in the collection, to be unimportant? Did the author of Hebrews have no interest in the miracles of Jesus, about which he says nothing? Did the Christian author of the Sentences of Sextus disbelieve in the resurrection of Jesus, which he fails to allude to in a rather long collection of sayings? Surely in each instance it was the specific and limited goals of the writers that explain the absence of convictions that were probably of some gravity to them. We are not puzzled that the great Pauline themes are absent from Philemon: the occasion of the writing accounts for that well enough. And even in Romans Paul fails to pass on the fundamental traditions in 1 Corinthians 11 (the Lord’s Supper) and 15 (the testimony to Jesus’ resurrection appearances). Maybe then we should not be surprised that James, which is a book of moral exhortation with wisdom affinities, has little to say about the saving events of Jesus’ life and their mediation through the sacraments.124 As W. K. Lowther Clarke wrote, James “was at liberty to choose his own subject and treat it in his own way.”125 And yet one does not feel confident leaving things at that. We still have no good answer as to why, in sections where there are parallels to other early Christian documents, those other documents sometimes have christological assertions whereas James does not. Does genre G. H. Rendall, The Epistle of St James and Judaic Christianity (Cambridge:  Cambridge University Press, 1927), pp. 108–109. 122 Wiard Popkes, Adressaten, Situation und Form des Jakobusbriefes (SBS 125/126; Stuttgart: Katholisches Bibelwerk, 1986), pp. 146–56, offers a balanced review. 123 Cf. G. Braumann, “Der theologische Hintergrund des Jakobusbriefes,” TZ 18 (1962) 408: “Mögen die angeführten Stellen auch nicht direkt auf die Taufe zurückzuführen sein, ja mag sich Jakobus nicht einmal der Beziehung zur Taufverkündigung bewußt sein, so bildet sie doch den Hintergrund, gleichsam die unbewußt Voraussetzung der Gedanken.” 124 Cf. Leonard Goppelt, Theology of the New Testament (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1982), vol. 2, p. 201, and Douglas J. Moo, James (TNTC 16; Leicester/Grand Rapids: Inter-Varsity/Eerdmans, 1985), pp. 40–41. 125 W. K. Lowther Clarke, Concise Bible Commentary (London: SPCK, 1952), p. 915. 121

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really explain why James can mention the forgiveness of sins (5:15) and yet say nothing about Jesus’ atoning death? And does it clarify why, when James cites models of behavior, he refers to Abraham (2:21–23), Rahab (2:25), the prophets (5:10), Job (5:11), and Elijah (5:17–18) but not to Jesus? Does it help us understand why, even if one regards the “Jesus Christ” of 2:1 as original, our book names “Jesus” and “Christ” less often than any other Christian writing of the New Testament period except the diminutive 3 John? Even the twenty-five verses of Philemon, the thirteen verses of 2 John, and the twenty-five verses of Jude beat James on this score.126 Where else in early Christianity do we have an epistle whose christological elements are so quiescent that some have subtracted but four or five words and then declared the result to be a non-Christian document? It certainly does not suffice to say that James is paraenesis, for the paraenetical sections of other early Christian writings are full of christological affirmations. Even the laconic Q contains more christology than James, so much so that according to one critic the teaching of Jesus in our epistle looks like it has been “taken out of its dogmatic setting.”127 But again, why? Why is James’s christology at best so consistently indirect and implicit?128 I shall now argue that the answers to these questions are closely related to the import of 1:1 and to the implied audience, which includes non-Christian Jews.

VI.  The Theories of James H. Moulton and A. H. McNeile In a nearly forgotten article, James H.  Moulton observed that after the author of James— Moulton believed he was “the brother of the Lord”—declares himself to be a servant of Jesus Christ, “he drops all overt reference to Christian faith, and only names the Master in a verse [2:1] where the forced order of the words raises an extremely strong presumption of a gloss.”129 The explanation for this, so Moulton argued, is that the letter is addressed by a Christian to Jews. “The ‘Twelve Tribes of the Dispersion,’ of course, most naturally suggest such a destination. The ‘synagogue’ of ii. 2 will then be Jewish, and the rich men who are so sternly denounced will be more easily found than if we have to seek them in a Christian community of any date prior to the age of Constantine.”130 But why “the absence of specifically Christian doctrine”?131 Moulton suggested it was part of a missionary strategy. Most Jews “would be deaf to all argument which even named the Crucified, and he who would reach them must try another way. Could there be a better than to write as a Jew132 to Jews, threading the pearls of Christ’s own teaching on a string of miscellaneous exhortation, all tending to shame them out of a blind unbelief rooted in party spirit (ἐριθεία)? Jews who would read this Epistle could often without great difficulty be led on to read such a book as our First Gospel, in which they would learn with surprise that many of the sayings they had accepted as heavenly wisdom, when purporting to come from a

“Jesus”: Philemon: 6; 2 John: 2; Jude: 7. “Christ”: Philemon: 8; 2 John: 3; Jude: 6. J. Alexander Findlay, The Way, the Truth and the Life (London: Hodder & Stoughton, 1940), p. 158. 128 Frans Mussner, “ ‘Direkte’ und ‘indirekte’ Christologie im Jakobusbrief,” Catholica 24 (1970) 111–17. 129 “The Epistle of James,” p. 45. 130 Ibid., p. 46. 131 Ibid., p. 48. 132 Moulton regarded the “Jesus Christ” of 1.1, like that of 2.1, as an interpolation. 126 127

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pious and orthodox Jew, were really due to Him whom all orthodox Jews had agreed never to hear.”133 In making this proposal, Moulton cited a parallel from nineteenth century India. A Christian missionary published a tract consisting of nothing but material from the Mahābhārata, material that the missionary found congruent with Christian belief. The purpose was to make Hindus more open to the appeal of the Christian message. “The Epistle of James was a composition of this class, a Christian’s appeal to non-Christians, which veils Christian terms and names in order to insinuate Christian truth into prejudiced minds.”134 It is unnecessary to go so far afield in seeking for parallels to Moulton’s understanding of James. Origen in one place tells us that, when in conversation with prejudiced pagans, he would hide his Christianity as long as possible. That is, he would propound Christian teaching but not speak of “Christ” or “Christians” until he had his listener’s respect and attention: only then would he declare his affiliation and the source of his wisdom.135 One also thinks in this connection of the Sentences of Sextus. This collection of sayings is clearly Christian, but as Jerome observed, “there is no mention of the prophets, the patriarchs, the apostles, or Christ.”136 Here again we see the attempt of a Christian to communicate by consciously putting aside explicit Christian assertions. In this case, however, the purpose is probably less for missionary ends than for apologetical ends. According to Henry Chadwick, Sextus sought “to bring the moral wisdom of the Greek sages under the wing of the church to whom all truth belongs. With adjustments here and there the language of Stoic or Pythagorean wisdom could pass in Christian circles. Pythagoras saepe noster might be his motto. His kindred spirit is Clement of Alexandria. The purpose was probably apologetic . . . Christianity brings to actuality what is potentially already there. Anima naturaliter Christiana: it is this conviction that underlies the work of Sextus.”137 We need not doubt, then, that Christians might in some circumstances refuse to wear their Christianity on their sleeves.138 But Moulton’s theory, while it may set us on the right path, is not without difficulties. He argues that James originally styled himself a servant of God, not of Jesus Christ. Yet there is no real reason to subtract “Jesus Christ” from 1:1. Further, Moulton assumed that our letter was written by James of Jerusalem, who “of all the Christians of the first century, who are known to us . . . is the only one who had in any sense the ear of the Jews.”139 Current scholarship, however, tends to the conclusion that James is a pseudepigraphon written near the end of the first century or the beginning of the second. Lastly, one is uncomfortable holding that James was written for non-Christian Jews alone. The title, after all, does nothing to exclude from the recipients Jewish Christians of the diaspora. Beyond that, so much of James “The Epistle of James,” p. 47. A similar suggestion may already be found in Herder, “Briefe zweener Bruder Jesu in unserm Kanon,” p. 502: James did not name Jesus even when he had him in mind because the writer wanted to speak as a Jew to Jews, not as a sectarian. 134 Ibid., pp. 49–50. 135 Origen, Hom. Jer. 20.5 (SC 238; ed. Nautin, p. 274). 136 Jerome, Ep. 133:3 (CSEL 56; ed. Hilberg, p. 247). 137 The Sentences of Sextus:  A Contribution to the History of Early Christian Ethics (ed. Henry Chadwick; Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1959), pp. 160–61. 138 One may also compare those pseudepigrapha in which a Christian author seeks to speak as much as possible as a pre-Christian Jew—e.g. 4 Ezra 1–2, 15–16, the Lives of the Prophets according to Codex Marchalianus, and the Testament of Jacob. 139 “The Epistle of James,” p. 46. 133

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makes sense as practical advice for believers in Jesus that surely we do wrong to think the letter envisages only outsiders. An attempt to remedy the deficiencies in Moulton’s thesis was made by A.  H. McNeile, whose work on James has apparently been altogether neglected.140 McNeile agreed that James’s Christianity is intentionally quiescent and that our letter addresses itself to Jews.141 But against Moulton he held—rightly in my judgment—(1) that “Jesus Christ” is an interpolation only in 2:1, not 1:1; (2) that James is a pseudepigraphon; and (3) that our epistle addresses both Jews and Christians.142 Why then the silences? “There is little doubt that the writer is himself a Christian, but in his desire to reach the widest possible public he studiously selects language acceptable to Jew and Christian alike.”143 To that public he wanted “to prove nothing doctrinal, and to ‘proselytize’ no one, but to shew that the highest standard of ethics for Jew and for Christian could be one and the same.”144 In building his case McNeile observed how often James is ambiguous, that is, how many times a Christian could take something one way, a non-Christian Jew another. Thus a Christian might take “the word of truth” in 1:18 to be the gospel while a non-Christian Jew could equate it with God’s creative word.145 “The perfect law of liberty” could be construed as either the moral ideal of Christianity or as the Mosaic law. The blaspheming of “the noble name that was called upon you” could refer to the name of Jesus and baptism, but “Jews could understand it as an echo of a familiar thought expressed several times in the Old Testament, that Yahweh’s name was ‘called upon’ men as the Owner and Protector of His people; e.g. Amos ix. 12 . . . ‘all the nations upon whom My name was called’; 2 Chr. vii. 14; Is. lxiii. 19; Jer. xiv. 9, xv. 16; Dan. ix. 19.146 “The elders of the ecclesia” (5:14) sounds Christian (cf. Acts 20:17), but ἐκκλησία and πρεσβύτερος were long established terms in Judaism, whose villages and synagogues had “elders,”147 so in James ὁ πρεσβύτεροι τῆς ἐκκλησίας could “mean for Jews the elders of the Jewish religious community.”148 The “coming” (παρουσία) of “the Lord” (κυρίου, 5.8) “is either Jewish or Christian according to the meaning given to ‘the Lord’; and ‘the Judge standeth before the doors’ (v. 9) is similarly ambiguous.”149 Christians might apply the word “synagogue” (2:2) to their own gatherings, Jews to theirs. And so it goes. This is an interesting phenomenon that has not received the attention it deserves150— although it should be familiar to anyone who has worked through the commentaries on

McNeile, Introduction, pp.  201–208; idem, New Testament Teaching, pp.  87–110. Moulton is mentioned in the former (p. 206) but not the latter. 141 Ibid., p. 89: the people depicted in 1:9–11, 21; 2:1–3, 15; 3:13–16; and 5:7 do not sound like any other Christians we know of from the early decades. 142 Like Moulton and McNeile, so also Beasley-Murray, Cadoux, Rendall, and Schlatter (as in n. 19) urge that James’s doctrinal reserve can be explained in terms of his audience. As Cadoux, Thought of St. James, p. 85, put it, James’s desire to entice Jews to consider Jesus “would lead him to avoid those affirmations that would rouse objection before a position had been reached at which they could be fairly considered.” 143 Ibid., p. 90. 144 Ibid., p. 95. 145 Or, I would add, the Torah. 146 New Testament Teaching, p. 92. He also cites Num 6:27 (“And they shall put my name upon the children of Israel”) and Ps. Sol. 9:9 (“You put your name upon us, Lord”). 147 Günther Bornkamm, TDNT 6 (1968) 660–61. 148 Ibid., pp. 92–93. For Jewish “elders” see Acts 4:5, 8, 23; 6:12; etc. James does not mention “deacons” or “bishops.” 149 Ibid., p. 93. Cf. T. Jud. 22:2; T. Abr. A 13:4; 2 Bar. 30:l; 2 En. 32:l. 150 Schlatter’s commentary does, however, take note; see e.g. Jakobus, p.138. Cf. also Maurice, Unity, vol. I, pp. 285–86. 140

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the appropriate passages. James contains sentences that, because there is nothing explicitly Christian about them, and because they easily lend themselves to a purely Jewish interpretation, would have been perfectly intelligible and acceptable to a non-Christian Jew. Granted this, however, one wants to ask McNeile just why any Christian might have wanted to “to prove nothing doctrinal, and to ‘proselytize’ no one, but to shew that the highest standard of ethics for Jew and for Christian could be one and the same.” Can we find a plausible setting for such an objective?

VII. The Sitz im Leben of James The Christianity behind James was probably a near relative of the Christianity reflected in Matthew, for the two writings share much. The contemporary consensus places both documents near the end of the first century.151 Both books clearly represent some form of Jewish Christianity.152 Both should probably be placed in Syria, perhaps Antioch.153 Both say positive things about the. Mosaic Torah and regard it as still in force.154 Both contain material that can be read as anti-Pauline.155 Both oppose oaths.156 Finally, James shows a special interest in the Jesus tradition, and some of his allusions to that tradition, as others have observed, show interesting links especially with special Matthean tradition.157 But James differs from Matthew in this, that whereas the Gospel displays a marked opposition between Christianity and the Judaism represented by the scribes and Pharisees, there is no such opposition in James. The former defines itself over against an official Judaism; the epistle does not. One may divine in this difference the key to James’s Sitz im Leben. Matthew is best understood as reflecting the tensions between certain Jewish Christians and the emerging

See the standard introductions and commentaries. The conclusions of this essay might, however, encourage one to posit a slightly earlier date for James. 152 For James see David L. Bartlett, “The Epistle of James as a Jewish Christian Document,” in Society of Biblical Literature 1979 Seminar Papers, ed. Paul J. Achtemeier (Missoula: Scholars Press, 1979), vol. 2, pp. 173–86, and H. J. Schoeps, Die Theologie und Geschichte des Judenchristentums (Tübingen: Mohr-Siebeck, 1949), pp. 343–49 (James was written by a Jewish Christian but not an Ebionite), and for Matthew W. D. Davies and Dale C. Allison, Jr., A Critical and Exegetical Commentary on the Gospel according to Saint Matthew (ICC; Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1988, 1991, 1997), vol. 3, pp. 721– 27 (Matthew is somehow connected with the Nazoraeans known to us from the church Fathers). A link between James and Jewish Christianity was already perceived by Herder, “Briefe zweener Brüder Jesu in unserm Kanon,” pp. 510–27. 153 For Matthew see Davies and Allison, Matthew, vol. 1, pp. 138–47. As for James, most commentators recognize that the “early” and “latter” rain of 5:7 best fits Syria or Palestine. For a setting specifically in Antioch (the city most often conjectured for Matthew’s Sitz im Leben) see the strong arguments of A. F. Zimmermann, Die urchristlichen Lehrer (WUNT 2/12; Tübingen: Mohr-Siebeck, 1984), pp. 194–96. 154 For Matthew see Anthony J. Saldarini, Matthew’s Christian-Jewish Community (Chicago/London:  University of Chicago Press, 1994), pp. 124–64. Most commentators assume that in James only the moral portions of the law remain valid; but for this there is insufficient justification. 155 For James see Hengel, “Jakobusbrief als anti-paulinische Polemik.” For Matthew see David C. Sim, The Gospel of Matthew and Christian Judaism: The History and Social Setting of the Matthean Community (SNTW; Edinburgh: T&Ts Clark, 1998). 156 Matt 5:34–37; Jas 5:12. 157 The materials are gathered in Patrick J. Hartin, James and the Q Sayings of Jesus (JSNTSS 47; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1991), and M. Shepherd, “The Epistle of James and the Gospel of Matthew,” JBL 75 (1956) 40–51, although the conclusions of neither can be accepted without qualification. Given the many links between Matthew and the Didache, it interests that there are also links between the Didache and James: Martin, James, pp. lxxiv–lxxvi. 151

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post-70 rabbinic authorities and whatever synagogues they may have had influence over.158 James, on the other hand, likely emerged from a group that, in its place and time, whether that time was before or after Matthew, was still seeking to keep relations irenic.159 It was yet within the synagogue (2:2) and so still trying to get along as best as possible with those who did not believe Jesus to be the Messiah. In such a context the epistle of James makes good sense. The emphasis upon convictions rooted in the common religiosity of the wisdom literature, the omission of potentially divisive Christian affirmations, and the passages that can be read one way by a Christian and another way by a non-Christian would make for good will on the part of the latter and also provide edification for the former. Maurice Hogan has written that “James’ grounding of his moral exhortations in theological rather than Christological principles provides a genuine bridge between Christians and Jews who share a belief in the One God, Creator, Lawgiver and Judge.”160 This is a contemporary theological judgment, but I suggest it harmonizes with the original intention of our letter. James communicates, among other things, that Jesus’ followers are not apostates from Judaism but rather faithful members of the synagogue who live according to the Jewish moral tradition, are faithful to Torah, and oppose those who want—as no doubt was rumored of Paul and his disciples—to divide faith from works. 4QMMT, Qumran’s so-called Halakhic Letter, supplies a parallel to my reading of James. This document differs from the other Dead Sea Scrolls in so far as it seemingly addresses outsiders:  “also we have written to you some of the precepts of the Torah which we think are good for you and for your people, for [we saw] in you intellect and knowledge of the Torah. Reflect on all these matters and seek from him so that he may support your counsel and keep far from you the evil scheming and the counsel of Belial, so that at the end of time, you may rejoice in finding that some of our words are true. And it shall be reckoned to you as in justice when you do what is upright and good before him, for your good and that of Israel.”161 Although presumably the named addressees were real, not fictional—unfortunately we only have fragments—this diminishes only slightly the analogy with James. For 4QMMT was intended to be read outside the community as well as within, and despite its concluding emphasis upon eschatology, “it makes no attempt to argue from the experience of the sect that prophecy is being fulfilled, since the recipient of the letter could not be expected to accept such an argument. Instead, 4QMMT is framed in terms that might in principle be persuasive to any Jew, appealing primarily to the Law of Moses.”162 In other words, the Qumran scroll, which appears to have been written at a time when the community was still hopeful of reconciliation with an established opposition (probably the Jerusalem establishment),163 speaks in a language W. D. Davies, The Setting of the Sermon on the Mount (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1964). For the possibility of this sort of Jewish Christianity and its connection with James see Étienne Nodet and Justin Taylor, The Origins of Christianity: An Exploration (Collegeville, MN: Liturgical Press, 1998), esp. pp. 205–349. 160 Maurice Hogan, “The Law in the Epistle of James,” SNTU A 22 (1997) 91. 161 4Q398 frag. 2 col. 2 2-8; cf. 4Q399 frag. 1 col. 1; the translation is from Florentino García Martinez, The Dead Sea Scrolls Translated: The Qumran Texts in English (Leiden/New York/Cologne: Brill, 1994), p. 84. 162 John J. Collins, “The Expectation of the End in the Dead Sea Scrolls,” in Eschatology, Messianism, and the Dead Sea Scrolls (ed. Craig A. Evans and Peter W. Flint; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1997), p. 81. 163 According to E. Qimron and J. Strugnell, Discoveries in the Judean Desert:  Qumran Cave Four (DJD 10; Oxford: Clarendon, 1994), p. 121, 4QMMT was written by the Qumran sectarians “to an individual leader and his people Israel, with an exhortation to follow their own lead in certain points of Zadokite praxis.” They go on to speak of the relations between the sectarians and the other group as “relatively eirenic.” 158 159

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understandable to all learned Jews, even though its purpose is to describe sectarian laws. The analogy with James is obvious. Despite the parallel, we must not overlook that James is often polemical. The attacks in ­chapters  4 and 5 are in fact vicious. But they are not assaults upon the synagogue as such. From James’s viewpoint, this last has at least three sorts of members. There are the Christians, there are the rich oppressors, and there are those belonging to neither group, whose sympathy James seeks to gain or preserve. He wants them to recognize in the opposition to Christians the unjust oppression of the poor so fervently condemned by the Hebrew prophets. James rails, in the hope that others will see things as he does. In other words, our epistle seeks not to proselytize but to promote tolerance, to gain sympathy for Christians in a context where there is perhaps growing antipathy—the sort of antipathy that at some point led to the birkat ha-minim—but not yet formal expulsion.164 This is why James’s polemic is not against false teaching but against “arrogance . . . anger, and the criticizing and insulting of others in the community, directly or otherwise.”165 The sort of Christianity I  envisage behind James may be related to one of the groups Johannine scholarship has detected behind John’s Gospel. J.  Louis Martyn has argued that John attests to the existence of Jews who attended synagogue and believed in Jesus but did not proselytize.166 His case has convinced many, including Raymond Brown, for whom the so-called “Cyrpto-Christians” had “little taste for polemics against the synagogue”; they rather sought to “work from within to bring .  .  . offended synagogue leaders back to a tolerance toward Christians that had previously existed.”167 One is tempted to extend the parallel even further. For if one is prepared to follow those who find in Nicodemus a representative of such people,168 then they had among their number authorities in Jerusalem, and Christian tradition locates James in Jerusalem. Should we then associate or identify the (presumably Palestinian) community behind James with the Jewish Crypto-Christians criticized by John?169

VIII.  Final Remarks Recent work on ancient Judaism and Christianity has shown that the two entities were not always as clearly distinct as traditionally presupposed.170 My suggestions regarding James On the birkat ha-minim, which probably presupposes a situation in which Jewish Christians want to remain in the synagogue, see especially W. Horbury, “The Benediction of the Minim and the Jewish Christian Controversy,” JTS 33 (1982) 19–61. 165 Chester, “Theology of James,” p. 29. 166 J. LouisMartyn, History and Theology in the Fourth Gospel (rev. ed.; Nashville: Abingdon, 1978). 167 See e.g. Raymond E. Brown, The Community of the Beloved Disciple (New York: Paulist, 1979), pp. 71–73. 168 See David Rensberger, Johannine Faith and Liberating Community (Philadelphia: Westminster, 1988), pp. 37–61. 169 For Michael Goulder, “Nicodemus,” SJT 44 (1991) 153–68, Nicodemus is “a representative of Jewish Christianity, that is, the Jerusalem Christianity led by James and Peter ” 170 The evidence is surveyed in James D.  G. Dunn, “Two Covenants or One? The Interdependence of Jewish and Christian Identity,” in Geschichte—Tradition—Reflexion:  Festschrift für Martin Hengel zum 70. Geburtstag, vol. 3, Frühes Christentum (ed. H. Cancik, H. Lichtenberger, and P. Schäfer; Tübingen: J. C. B. Mohr [Paul Siebeck], 1996), pp. 97–122. According to Eric M. Meyers, “Response,” in American Bible Society Symposium Papers on the Bible in the Twenty-first Century (ed. Howard Clark Kee; Philadelphia: Trinity Press Intl., 1993), p. 114, “the inability of scholars to identify definitively any Christian burials prior to the fourth century in Syro-Palestine suggests strongly that Christian self-definition and beliefs were more closely aligned with Judaism than is normally believed.” 164

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accord with such work. I have argued that the apparent import of 1.1, the sections of the letter that seem to address outsiders, and James’s peculiar silences are all facets of the same fact: James does not speak to an exclusively Christian audience. If the likely interpolation in 2.1 (ἡμῶν Ἰησοῦ Χριστοῦ) is removed, only one reference to Jesus Christ remains. This is in 1.1, where the author calls himself “a slave of God and of the Lord Jesus Christ.” While the person writing in James’s name makes clear his status as a Christian, he does not clearly identify his readers as such (which may explain why, against common Christian custom, there is no “our” with “Jesus Christ” in 1:1). This coheres with the supposition that his writing is in part a sort of apology. It has a two-fold audience—those who share the author’s Christian convictions and those who do not.171 And it has a two-fold purpose—edification for the former and clarification for the latter. On this view of the letter we can understand why it is so Janus faced, why it seems so Christian and yet is so resolutely mute on peculiarly Christian themes, and why it contains so many passages that could be taken one way by a Christian and another way by a non-Christian Jew. James reflects a first-century Christian group still battling for its place within the Jewish community, a Christian group that wishes to remain faithful members of the synagogue, to be, as Jerome later said of the Nazoraeans, both Jew and Christian.172

Of course whether any who did not share the author’s Christian convictions ever chose to pay our writing any heed is unknown. 172 Jerome, Ep. 112:13 (CSEL 55; ed. Hilberg, p. 382). 171

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THE EPISTLE OF JAMES IN LIGHT OF EARLY JEWISH DIASPORA LETTERS

Karl-Wilhelm Niebuhr

More than thirty-five years ago, Samuel Sandmel warned New Testament exegesis of “parallelomania,” the piling up of supposed parallels between the New Testament and early Jewish or rabbinic literature without consideration being given to their literary and historical context.1 Whoever today considers themselves obligated to the concerns of the Corpus Hellenisticum Novi Testamenti2 should take this warning especially seriously, because the source materials to be taken into account in this matter have since then multiplied further; above all, the possibility of access to them has rapidly improved through exegetical and technological advances in recent decades. Even if the tracking down and collection of early Jewish texts significant for the understanding of the New Testament cannot at all be considered a closed matter, now it seems even more difficult to master the enormous material and adequately place it in relation to New Testament texts. This raises, above all, the question of the selection criteria. This question has repeatedly been addressed by the original investigators and promoters of the Corpus Hellenisticum, with emphasis shifting away from the “purely linguistic” (grammatical, lexical, stylistic) parallels to larger contextual issues.3 In my assessment, we can capture this tendency today by taking into account insights from text linguistic research as we examine the reception processes in which New Testament texts “function,” and ask about the extent to which early Jewish texts can illuminate these functions. This type of pragmatic approach was what Gerhard Delling had in mind when he posed the “question of the impact of the gospel on those people to whom it was first proclaimed,”4 and characterized the concern of the Corpus Hellenisticum in the following manner:

Translated from the original German by Amy Obrist and Darian R. Lockett: Karl-Wilhelm Niebuhr, “Der Jakobusbrief im Licht Frühjüdischer Diasporabriefe,” NTS 44 (1998): 420–43. Short Main Paper, presented at the 52nd General Meeting of the SNTS, August 5, 1997, in Birmingham. 1 Samuel Sandmel, “Parallelomania,” JBL 81 (1962): 1–13. 2 On the history and objective of the overall project, see P. W. van der Horst, “Corpus Hellenisticum,” ABD 1 (1992):  1157–61; A. J. Malherbe, “Hellenistic Moralists and the New Testament,” ANRW 2.26.2 (1992):  267–333, here 271–8. The ultimate word regarding his foundational approach was articulated by W. C. van Unnik in “Corpus Hellenisticum Novi Testamenti,” JBL 83 (1964): 17–33; G. Delling, “On the Corpus Hellenisticum Novi Testamenti,” ZNW 54 (1963): 1–15. Preliminary conceptual reflections on the renewal of the Judeo-hellenistic aspect of the project are currently being undertaken. 3 Delling, “Corpus,” 8–11; van der Horst, “Corpus,” 1159–60. Similarly, E. von Dobschütz, “Zum Corpus Hellenisticum,” ZNW 24 (1925): 43–51. 4 “SPERANDA FVTVRA. Jüdische Grabinschriften Italiens über das Geschick nach dem Tod,” TLZ 76 (1951): 521–6, here 521 (ibid., Studien zum Neuen Testament und zum hellenistischen Judentum. Ges. Aufs. 1950–68 [ed. F. Hahn, T. Holtz, and N. Walter; Berlin, 1970], 39–44, here 39).

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Early Christianity proclaimed its message into this world (that is, Hellenistic and in particular Hellenistic-Jewish) and not in a foreign language but in the Greek “tongue” . . ., and even in this world of synagogues and temples, of Roman lords and Syrian slaves, it formed its concrete existence, in which its message, its faith, came alive in a very tangible way. For this reason, we are collecting whatever can help us better understand early Christianity and the NT in this pagan- and Judeo-Hellenistic world, in the Corpus Hellenisticum.5

1.  The Epistle of James as Apostolic Diaspora Letter With regard to the Epistle of James, the methodological questions raised for the Corpus Hellenisticum by this text-pragmatic approach can be discussed as an example. The orientation of the letter toward the diaspora and its Greek linguistic form point specifically to the context of early Christian life, which the Corpus Hellenisticum seeks to illuminate. In what follows, we will concentrate on the intention of the work, which can be established from the literary form of its writing independently of the historical identification of its author. Beginning with the association of the author and addressees with the biblical people of God in the prescript, we attempt to define with greater precision the relationship of biblical and early Jewish traditions to the Christian faith, which unites them both. Through the opening of the text, the Epistle of James can be recognized as a letter.6 The author of the letter introduces himself as a person known by name and anchors his claim to authority in his relationship with God and Jesus Christ (Ἰάκωβος θεοῦ καὶ κυρίου Ἰησοῦ Χριστοῦ δοῦλος). With this he emerges as a leading personality of the Jesus movement and advocate of its confession of Christ. He calls the addressees by a metaphorical collective designation (ταῖς δώδεκα φυλαῖς ταῖς ἐν τῇ διασπορᾷ). Their localization in the diaspora, along with their presumed awareness of James as an authority in the early Christian community, implies that the Epistle of James’s place of origin is to be understood by its recipients as Jerusalem. That they also belong to the Jesus movement follows implicitly from the author’s justifiable claim to authority and is made overt by the salutation “my brothers” (v. 2), which is repeated multiple times in the further course of the text (1:16, 19; 2:1, 5, 14; 3:1, 10, 12; 4:11; 5:7, 9, 10, 12, 19). As a “slave of God,” who in addition to this carries the name of a biblical patriarch, the author places himself in the line of prominent members of the people of God, such as Moses, David,

Delling, “Corpus,” 14–15. On the contribution of Delling to this project, see my essay “Der Neutestamentler Gerhard Delling (1905–86) als Erforscher des Frühjundentums,” in Reformation und Neuzeit. 300 Jahre Theologie in Halle, ed. U. Schnelle (Berlin, New York, 1994), 73–85 (esp. 76–81). The works and essays of G. Delling on early Judaism, which are not contained in the volume named in note 5, in a collection titled: G. Delling, Studien zum Frühjudentum 1971–87. Gesammelte Aufsätze II (ed. C. Breytenbach and K.-W. Niebuhr; Göttingen, 2000). 6 Between the preparation of this presentation and its printing, the following work by M. Tsuji was published: Glaube zwischen Vollkommenheit und Verweltlichung. Eine Untersuchung zur literarischen Gestalt und zur inhaltlichen Kohärenz des Jakobusbriefes (WUNT 2.93; Tübingen, 1997). Tsuji establishes exhaustively the thesis, represented even in this chapter, that the Letter of James should be interpreted in a text-pragmatic perspective as a letter to the diaspora and can build upon a corresponding early Jewish tradition (12–27). He factors in, beyond the early Jewish letters adduced here, additional early Christian diaspora letters (28–37 to Acts 15:23-29, 1 Peter, Jude, 2 Peter, Revelation, 1 Clement, Polycarp, Martyrdom of Polycarp), but in his interpretation of the content of the Epistle of James hardly returns to the early Jewish letters. 5

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or the prophets. The addressees also belong to the biblical people of God as “twelve tribes in the diaspora”—corresponding to the twelve sons of the relevant patriarch—and notably participate in this people’s God-directed history, which also defines their present situation. These designations direct readers’ expectations to the letter’s claim to articulate early Jewish, biblical faith in the realm of the proclamation of Christ.7 Through the expression ταῖς δώδεκα φυλαῖς ταῖς ἐν τῇ διασπορᾷ the circle of addressee congregations is limited in a relatively precise way. This is true independently of whether one views the designation of sender and addressee as fictional. In any case, this is neither a letter to a specified group of localizable geographically based congregations (as in Galatians or in 1 Peter) nor a writing “to all Christians”;8 rather it is to those who consider themselves as members of the Jesus movement as belonging to the biblical people of God. The terms “Jewish Christian” and “Gentile Christian” suggest, in contrast to this, clear contours and dividing lines between the two groups, which in my opinion are not demonstrable with regard to the presumed addressees of the Epistle of James. While the designation “Christian” obviously represents an anachronism for the situation addressed in the Epistle of James, the use of the metaphor “twelve tribes,” apart from belonging to the people of the twelve tribes, is not, as far as I know, attested in New Testament times! This is even shown in the relevant new Testament passages (see Acts 7:8; 26:7; Rev. 7:4-8; 21:12).9 This sets the course for ascertaining the intention of the letter. Adhering to a carefully planned rhetorical structure in its composition, the letter’s central themes and concerns are initially introduced in the prologue and then each is respectively explained and also reinforced textpragmatically once more in the epilogue as the circumstances require.10 The author therefore intends to inform the addressees through instruction and encouragement to persevere in faith in the face of hardships and doubts (1:2-4, 12), to strengthen them with reference to God, the giver of all good things (1:5-8, 16-18), and to correct their self-assessment and their everyday behavior through argumentation and illustration (1:9-11, 13-15, 16). The letter’s objective in all this is to strengthen the identity of the addressees, which is rooted in faith in God and Jesus Christ and proves itself in perfect conduct.11

Similar to Tsuji, Glaube, 22–5. Thus, for example, W. Wuellner, “Der Jakobusbrief im Licht der Rhetorik und Textrgmatik,” LingBibl 43 (1978): 5–66, 23: “the whole church urbi et orbi.” 9 Tsuji argues in contradiction to this or at least can be misunderstood regarding the addressees: “not a single time are the Christians explicitly depicted as the twelve tribes” (Glaube, 22–3); “in all of Christianity” (47–8). 10 The understanding of the Epistle of James as coherent, in contrast to long-standing judgment of its disjointedness, has been asserted in more recent examinations and articulated convincingly in the commentary by H. Frankemölle, Der Brief des Jakobus (ÖTK 17; Gütersloh, Würzburg, 1994). See also E. Baasland, “Der Jakobusbrief als neutestamentliche Weisheitsschrift,” ST 36 (1982):  119–39; similarly, “Literarische Form, Thematik und geschichtliche Einordnung des Jakobusbriefes,” ANRW 2.25.5 (1988):  3646–84; T. B. Cargal, Restoring the Diaspora:  Discursive Structure and Purpose in the Epistle of James (SBLDS 144; Atlanta, 1993); P. H. Davids, “The Epistle of James in Modern Discussion,” ANRW 2.25.5 (1988):  3621–45; H. Frankemölle, “Das semantische Netz des Jakobusbriefes. Zur Einheit eines neutestamentlichen Briefes,” BZ 34 (1990): 161–97; M. Klein, “Ein vollkommenes Werk.” Vollkommenheit, Gesetz und Gericht als theologische Themen des Jakobusbriefes (BWANT 139; Stuttgart, 1995), 33–41; T. C. Penner, The Epistle of James and Eschatology: Re-reading an Ancient Christian Letter (JSNTSS 121; Sheffield, 1996), 121–213; Tsuji, Glaube, 51–99; Wuellner, “Jakobusbrief,” 5–66. 11 In opposition to this, and not very convincing, is the attempt of W.  Bindemann, “Weisheit versus Weisheit–Der Jakobusbrief als innerkirchlicher Diskurs,” ZNW 86 (1995): 189–217, to construct from text-internal and text-external indices (e.g., 1 Cor. 11:17-34; Rom. 2:1-11) a “profile of devoteness influenced by wisdom” (“Frömmigkeitsprofil 7 8

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Owing to its opening, the Epistle of James “functions” as an “apostolic diaspora letter,” even though not all possible reader expectations for a letter are fulfilled in the following text (e.g., formal epistolary conclusion, biographical information, messages, and greetings).12 Among his addressees, the writer can evidently count on the plausibility and understanding of his claim to authority with regard to its linguistic composition. To put it another way: that a writing with the objective of strengthening the faith identity of God’s people in the diaspora would take the form of a Greek letter from Jerusalem (cf. the formal Greek prescript) is consistent with the picture of the author created by the expectations of his addressees.

2.  The Greek Language, and the Letter as Means of Unity of the People of God As the basis of such plausibility, we can refer to a tradition of Greek diaspora letters with religiously based claims to authority that show up in various works of early Jewish literature.13 We will initially concentrate on the literary genre and the linguistic formation of these texts and then compare the relationships of several of their statements with those of the Epistle of James. In doing so we will try to place their central concerns in relationship with each other. The Epistle of Jeremiah survives in the LXX in connection with the cycle of writings around Jeremiah and Baruch and assumes this narrative context.14 According to its heading, it shows up as a letter of Jeremiah from Jerusalem to those led away to Babylon, which is the topic in Jeremiah 29 (36 LXX).15 In terms of content, however, the following text hardly relates and in fact is in direct contradiction to what is recorded in the letter in the book of Jeremiah. Its central concern is warning the addressees in view of the immanent exile to Babylon (different

weisheitlicher Prägung,” 199), with the “opponents” (192), assuming that the author was having an argument with one with such a perspective. 12 That the letter’s form is not questioned on account of the absence of a formal conclusion is also emphasized by Tsuji (Glaube, 13–14). Also, as mentioned earlier, F. O. Francis, “The Form and Function of the Opening and Closing Paragraphs of James and 1 John,” ZNW 61 (1970): 110–26. 13 The early Jewish letters were examined systematically for the first time in a 1989 dissertation from Halle: I. Taatz, Frühjüdische Briefe. Die paulinischen Briefe im Rahmen der offiziellen religiösen Briefe des Frühjudentums (NTOA 16; Freiburg, Göttingen, 1991). See also the survey by P. S. Alexander, “Epistolary Literature,” in Jewish Writings of the Second Temple Period: Apocrypha, Pseudepigrapha, Qumran Sectarian Writings, Philo, Josephus (ed. M. E. Stone; CRI 2.2; Assen, Philadelphia, 1984), 579–96. 14 On questions of time and place of origin, see G. W.  E. Nickelsburg, Jewish Literature between the Bible and the Mishnah: A Historical and Literary Introduction (London, 1981), 35–42; C. A. Moore, Daniel, Esther and Jeremiah: The Additions (AB 44; Garden City, 1977), 317–32; A. H. J. Gunneweg, Der Brief Jeremias (JSHRZ 3/2; Gütersloh, 1975), 185–6; E. Schürer, The History of the Jewish People in the Age of Jesus Christ (175 B.C.–A.D. 135) (ed. G. Vermes, F. Millar, and M. Goodman; Edinburgh, 1973–87), 3/2 (1987), 743–5; Taatz, Briefe, 57–8. Gunneweg finds evidence for a Hebrew original, yet at the same time attests to “the really good Greek” of the Epistle (Brief, 185). The first is also underscored by Moore, although he comes out in extreme opposition to the last (Daniel, 323, 326–7). On the evaluation of the language itself, W. Naumann sets the standard in Untersuchungen über den apokryphen Jeremiasbrief (BZAW 25; Berlin, 1913), 31–47 (“Wisdom takes the first place and 2 to 4 Maccabees second through fourth, then follows epistula Ieremiae” [31]; Greek in translation, which “linguistically outclasses the average level of the Septuagint” [45]). The Qumran fragment 7Q02 (DJD 3.142 probably = Ep. Jer. 43–4) provides evidence that the Greek version was known in the motherland in the first century bc. Were 2 Macc. 2:1-2 to have reference to our text, its dating to the first century bc would be certain. 15 Ιερ 36:1: καὶ οὖτοι οἱ λόγοι τῆς βίβλου, οὓς ἀπέστειλεν Ιερεμιας ἐξ Ιερουσαλημ πρὸς τοὺς πρεσβυτέρους τῆς ἀποικίας καὶ πρὸς ἰερεῖς καὶ πρὸς τοὺς ψευδοπροφήτας ἐπιστολὴν εἰς Βαβθλῶνα τῇ Eποικίᾳ καὶ πρὸς Eπαντα τὸν λαόν.

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from Jeremiah 29!) to recognize the illegitimacy of their gods and not to fear them (see vv. 14, 22, 28, 39, 44, 51, 64, 68). Based on its heading (ἀντίγραφον ἐπιστολῆς) the following text is offered as a letter, which thus steers the reception orientation of the readers in a certain direction. The author is called only by his name (ἧς ἀπέστειλεν Ιερεμιας), which is presumably known among the text recipients. In contrast, the situation of the audience is provided in greater detail (πρὸς τοὺς ἀχθησομένους αἰχμαλώτους εἰς Βαβυλῶνα ὑπὸ τοῦ βασιλέως τῶν Βαβυλωνίων; see vv. 1-5). Through the formulation in the future tense, the text’s recipients are offered a way of identifying with the letter’s addressees. The author’s claim to authority and his intentions in writing are also articulated already in the heading: In writing this letter, the author is fulfilling a commission to preach given to him by God (ἀναγγεῖλαι αὐτοῖς καθότι ἐπετάγη αὐτῷ ὑπὸ τοῦ θεοῦ).16 By including this the heading satisfies text-pragmatically the function of a letter prescript. The text is able to appear to its recipients as a diaspora letter from Jerusalem, even if further specific markers of the epistolary genre are absent (e.g., personal messages, greetings, postscript).17 At the beginning of 2 Maccabees,18 even before the prologue of the epitomator of the writing of Jason from Cyrene, who introduces the historical narrative, two letters from Jerusalem to the Jews in Egypt are recorded (1:1-10a; 1:10b–2:18). In the first of these there is a citation from yet a third (1:7-8).19 Each of the two completely reproduced writings contain a formal letter prescript. None of the three letters contain a postscript.20 “The Jews in Jerusalem and Judea” (οἱ ἐν Ιεροσολύμοις Ιουδαῖοι καὶ οἱ ἐν τῇ χώρᾳ τῆς Ιουδαίας, respectively, οἱ ἐν Ιεροσολύμοις καὶ οἱ ἐν τῇ Ιουδαίᾳ) appear as sender in both prescripts. In the second the sender appears together with the senate and one Judas who is not identified further (καὶ ἡ γερουσία καὶ Ιούδας), and who is obviously presumed to be known as the addressee. These are named collectively “the Jews from Egypt” in both letters (τοῖς κατ᾽Αἴγυπτον Ιουδαίοις, respectively, τοῖς ἐν Αἰγύπτῳ Ιουδαίοις). Preceding these in the second letter is yet another individual from among them who is called by name and, according to his function and heritage, is more precisely designated as teacher of the king Ptolemaeus from the priestly order (Ἀριστοβούλῳ διδασκάλῳ Πτολεμαίου τοῦ βασιλέως, ὄντι δε ἀπὸ τοῦ τῶν χριστῶν ἱρέων γένους). In the first letter, the senders depict themselves as well as their addressees as “brothers.”21 Both prescripts end with a formal greeting (χαίρειν . . . εἰρήνην ἀγαθήν, respectively, χαίρειν και ὑγιαίνειν). It is also reflected here that in v. 2 and v. 6 the first-person singular is apparently to be understood as God speaking. The text is constructed in stanzas. Each stanza leads into a kind of refrain, which plainly shows the addressees the futility of idol worship, each time in a new linguistic variation. These stanzas, which consist almost exclusively of statements contradicting idol worship, are framed with a pledge of God’s nearness to those who pray to him at the beginning (vv. 5-6), and a wisdom aphorism at the end (v. 72). 18 On the questions of time and place of origin, see J. Goldstein, II Maccabees (AB 41A; Garden City, 1983), 1–134; C. Habicht, 2. Makkabäerbuch (JSHRZ 1/3; Gütersloh, 1976), 167–98; K.-D. Schunck, “Makkabäer/Makkabäerbücher,” TRE 21 (1991): 736–45; R. Doran, “The Jewish Hellenistic Historians before Josephus,” ANRW 2.20.1 (1987): 274–94; Schürer, History, 3/1 (1986): 531–7; Nickelsburg, Literature, 118–21, 154, 159. On the conditions of origin especially with a view to the language, see below. 19 On the introductory letters, see Taatz, Briefe, 18–45; Goldstein, II Maccabees, 24–6; Habicht, 2. Makkabäerbuch, 199– 202; Doran, “Historians,” 274–6; M. Hengel, Judentum und Hellenismus. Studien zu ihrer Begegnung unter besonderer Berücksichtigung Palästinas bis zur Mitte des 2. Jh.s v. Chr. (WUNT 10; Tübingen, 3 Aufl. 1988), 186–7. 20 1:10a only gives a date for the first. 21 Τοῖς ἀδελφοῖς . . . οἱ ἀδελφοί (1:1). The addressees come first here, probably as a text-pragmatic signal in the final form of the book. 16 17

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Ιn addition to the evidence in the prescript, the claim to authority and concerns of the letters emerge out of the content in the letter body (address as brothers, official indication of office, peace greeting). All three refer to the celebration of the feast day in the Jerusalem temple in light of the liberation of the Jewish community in that place from great affliction. The Jews in Egypt are supposed to be informed of the celebration (see 1:8, 9, 11, 18; 2:16-18). At least the second letter of introduction (see 1:18; 2:16) serves to introduce this feast day to the diaspora in Egypt. Beyond this, all three letters emphasize God’s help to his people, to whom the author and his addressees collectively belong.22 The acknowledgment of God’s loyalty with respect to his afflicted people finds expression in the narrated passages.23 In this way the letters attain relevance far beyond the circle of addressees named in their prescripts. Thus, the text’s recipients are pulled into the circle of addressees of the diaspora letter from Jerusalem.24 At the end of the Syrian Apocalypse of Baruch25 there is an Epistle of Baruch to the “nine and a half tribes on this side of the river” (78–86).26 Two consecutive headings depict the following text expressly as a letter, while the latter itself starts out with the phrase “thus speaks Baruch” (see 78:5: “the sayings of this letter”). This inconsistency in the opening of the text arises out of the connection with the foregoing apocalypse (see especially, 77:12-19).27 In any case the essential elements of a letter prescript can be recognized: the letter author is Baruch, the son of Neriah. His authority as receiver of a revelation28 and his present place of residence in the Jewish motherland29 emerge from the narrative context and are thus familiar to the text’s recipients. In both headings, the “nine and a half tribes” appear as addressees, and in the latter they are localized to “beyond the river”; in the opening of the letter they are depicted as “brothers,” who have been led away captive. The blessing, “mercy and peace be with you!,” corresponds to the salutation of a letter prescript. The letter ends with the exhortation to read

Especially in the prayers, see 1:2-6 (intercession of the sender for the addressees with reference to the covenant faithfulness of God); 1:8; 1:11-12 (thanksgiving); 1:17 (eulogy); see also 1:24-29; 2:7-8 (prophecy); 2:17-18 (letter conclusion). 23 In the first introductory letter through the citation with the report on the battles in Jerusalem (1:7-8), in the second, ancillary to reports about the immediately preceding events (1:11-16) through the temple narratives that reach back even further (1:19–2:12, see C. Wolff, Jeremia im Frühjudentum und Urchristentum [TU 118; Berlin, 1976], 20–6). 24 In this text-pragmatic respect there is apparently no essential difference between “writing to the congregation” and the “prophetically authorized writing” (for a comparison with regard to this difference, see Taatz, Briefe, 105–6). 25 On the questions of time and place of origin, see P. Bogaert, Apocalypse de Baruch:  Introduction, traduction du syriaque et commentaire (2 Bde., SC 144/5; Paris, 1969), 1:33–459; A. F. J. Klijn, “Recent Developments in the Study of the Syriac Apocalypse of Baruch,” JSP 4 (1989): 3–17; Klijn, “2 (Syriac Apocalypse of) Baruch,” OTP 1 (London, 1983), 615–20; Klijn, Die syrische Baruch-Apocalypse (JSHRZ 5/2; Gütersloh, 1976), 107–22 (hereafter cited in the following); Nickelsburg, Literature, 281–7, 305–8; Schürer, History, 3/2 (1987): 750–6; on dating, origin, and the relationship to ParJer, J. Herzer, Die Paralipomena Jeremiae. Studien zu Tradition und Redaktion einer Haggada des frühen Judentums (TSAJ 43; Tübingen, 1994), 33–5, 72–7. 26 On the original affiliation of the Epistle to the Apocalypse and to its, to some extent, independent transmission, see Taatz, Briefe, 59; Bogaert, Apocalypse, 1:60–1, 67–81. 27 Taatz, Briefe, 61–3. The text-critical problem of the heading is documented by Bogaert, Apocalypse, 1:68–73 (see 2:141–2). 28 See especially 76:1-5; in the letter itself 81:4, 84:7. 29 Probably the destroyed Jerusalem (see 35:1, 87:1), though before this Hebron was named as the most likely location (47:1); yet subsequently, “the place, where the word was spoken to me” was mentioned there, which, however, refers again to the mountain mentioned in 76:3, namely, Zion (see 13:1; 20:5; 21:2), and the place where the people gathered in ­chapter 77 is evidently the Kidron Valley as in 5:5; 31:2. 22

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it aloud in the congregation of the recipients, above all on the fast days,30 and with a reminder as well as with the concluding greeting (86:1-3). In the letter introduction, Baruch calls his addressees “my brothers” (78:3).31 He points them to the love of God the creator for his people and positions himself together with them in the fellowship of “the 12 tribes,” which descend from “one father” and are at present “bound together in one fellowship” (78:3-4).32 In the face of the present misery, he wants to offer them comfort, insight into the righteousness of God in his judgment on Israel, and hope for the future gathering of the dispersed people of God (78:5-7).33 On the basis of such an opening, with its comprehensive yet indeterminate address, its orientation to the future fate of the people of God, and as the word of one who has received revelation, the letter of Baruch is especially suited to “function” as a diaspora letter with claim to religious authority. The identification of the text’s recipients with those receiving the letter is particularly obvious here. Last, a letter of Baruch from Jerusalem to the Babylonian diaspora is also reproduced in the Paralipomena Jeremiae34 (6:17-23).35 In the context, the story is told of how an angel of the Lord commissions Baruch to write a letter to Jeremiah and dictates its contents to him, saying he should commission Jeremiah to announce the immanent return to the Israelites and to exhort them to prepare themselves by dissociating themselves from Babylon (6:11-15).36 As part of a perfectly structured prescript to the letter, Baruch introduces himself as a slave of God (ὁ δοῦλος τοῦ θεοῦ), names Jeremiah as the letter’s recipient and the latter’s present place of residence as Babylon (ὁ ἐν τῇ αἰχμαλωσίᾳ τῆς Βαβυλῶνος), and greets him (χαῖρε καὶ ἀγαλλιῶ). Before Baruch brings up the request he made of the angel, he reminds Jeremiah of God’s compassion and covenant faithfulness to his people in light of the present calamity taking place in Jerusalem (6:18). He imparts to Jeremiah the words the angel has spoken to him as “words spoken by the Lord, the God of Israel, who has led us out of the land of Egypt.”37 The Israelites in Babylon—and with them the text recipients!—thus hear “the voice of the Lord” out of the mouth of Jeremiah the servant of God and conveyed by the letter of Baruch.38 In the texts discussed thus far we have come up against an early Jewish tradition according to which religiously authorized letters from Jerusalem to the diaspora serve to strengthen This recalls the function of the introductory letters as ways to organize the community in 2 Macc. 1–2, so that from this point, no text-pragmatic division can be attempted between “community-writing” and “prophetically authorized writing” (see n. 25). 31 The brotherly address is woven through the entire letter; see also 79:1; 80:1, 82:1. 32 In view of the immanent death of Baruch after 78:5 the letter can also be seen as having the quality of a will (see ­chapters 44–6). 33 See also 77:12: “But do this for us, after all, your people: write also to our brothers in Babel: a letter of guidance and a writing of hope, so that you will empower them before you go!” 34 On the questions of time and place of origin, see Herzer, Paralipomena; J. Riaud, Les Paralipomènes du Prophète Jérémie (Angers, 1994); also, S. E. Robinson, “4 Baruch,” OTP 2 (London, 1983):  413–17; Nickelsburg, Literature, 313–18; Schürer, History 3/1 (1986): 292–4; Wolff, Jeremia, 45–52; following the critical edition of J. R. Harris, The Rest of the Words of Baruch: A Christian Apocalypse of the Year 136 A.D. The Text Revised with an Introduction (London, 1889), 47–64. 35 On the literary correlation between the narrative structure and the letter see Taatz, Briefe, 78–81; Herzer, Paralipomena, 116–19. 36 The wording and content of the letter written by Baruch certainly do not deviate significantly from the dictate of the angel. 37 6:20: οὗτοι οὖν εἰσὶν οἱ λόγοι οὓς εἶπε κύριος θεὸς Ἰσραὴλ ὁ ἐξαγαγὼν ἡμᾶς ἐκ γῆν Αἰγύπτου. 38 6:22: ἐὰν οὖν ἀκούσητε τῆς φωνῆς μου, λέγει κύριος, ἐκ στόματος Ἱερεμίου τοῦ παιδός μου. 30

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the identity and unity of the people of God as they face various disasters. The authors of the letters are legitimized by divine commission. The addressees are in each case named in blanket fashion so that the text recipients can identify with them. The form of the letter articulates the experience of distance from Jerusalem. The Epistle of James fits seamlessly into this tradition by virtue of its genre markers, as has been shown earlier. These provide a context for understanding in which the letter could be received by its addressees. All of the letters discussed thus far—as the Epistle of James—are accessible to us only in Greek text forms (or in the case of the Syriac Baruch, in a form dependent on the Greek). The text recipients are thus Jews in the Greek-speaking diaspora. This is no coincidence of textual transmission! On the contrary, the diaspora letters that have been transmitted in the Greek language represent a fundamental reality of the Jewish diaspora in Hellenistic-Roman times, of which the state of textual tradition accessible to us today is evidence. In considerable parts of early Judaism, such letters could “hit their mark” only in Greek language forms, which function to strengthen Jewish identity in a non-Jewish environment and thus serve the unity of the people of God in the motherland and in the diaspora. This fundamental reality also shapes crucial features of the content, authorial intention, and linguistic form of the Epistle of James. This fundamental reality connects the diaspora letters with broad parts of the early Jewish literature overall. The thing that is decisive here is admittedly not the place of composition of a given work, which in any case can often not be determined specifically. Naturally writings written in and for the diaspora were also able to take the connection between Jerusalem and the diaspora as their theme. A classic example of this is the Letter of Aristeas. But it was precisely this author who raised the issue of expressing and transmitting the fundamental Jewish heritage in Greek language! The circumstances of the origin of 2 Maccabees are instructive in this context. Jason of Cyrene, as a Jew from the North-African diaspora, undoubtedly composed his work in Greek, but possibly even in Jerusalem and in close chronological and geographical proximity to the events he depicted.39 Here he could also presumably have recourse to the depiction of Jewish history of Eupolemus, which spanned “from Adam up to the fifth year of Demetrius’ reign,” that is, probably up to 158 bc (F 5).40 Eupolemus, as his father before him, belonged to politically active circles of the Jewish motherland (see 2 Macc. 4:11; 1 Macc. 8:17-18). His command of Greek is documented not only through whatever remains of his historical work has been preserved, but also through his diplomatic assignment to Rome commissioned by Judas Maccabeus. Where and for whom the epitomator redacted Jason’s work, and how the introductory letters found their way to their current position, is disputed.41 It is clear, however, that the procedures required in this process point to active historical and literary relations between the motherland and the diaspora in the second and first centuries bc and that the final form of the work transmitted, including the introductory letters placed at the beginning, was intended for recipients in the diaspora. So Hengel, Judentum, 176–83; Habicht, 2. Makkabäerbuch, 175; in contrast Schunck, Makkabäer, 740:  Northern Africa shortly after 155 bc; Goldstein, II Maccabbes, 71–83: 86 bc (as a reaction to 1 Macc.). 40 Habicht, 2. Makkabäerbuch, 177–8. Schunck (Makkabäer, 739) and Goldstein (II Maccabbes, 28–54) assume further sources. For Eupolemos, see N.  Walter, Fragmente jüdisch-hellenistischer Historiker (JSHRZ 1/2; Gütersloh, 1976), 93–8; Doran, “Historians,” 263–70. 41 See, Habicht, 2. Makkabäerbuch, 175–6; Schunck, Makkabäer, 740; Goldstein, II Maccabbes, 24–6, 83, 122; Hengel, Judentum, 186–7. 39

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The numerous further supporting documents from early Jewish literature attesting to literary communication between the motherland and the Greek-speaking diaspora can only be mentioned summarily. Examples include the translation activity in Jerusalem (the first introductory letter, Sir Prol., Est. Colophon, LXX42), the production of Greek literature (Eupolemus, Par. Jer.,43 Vit. Proph.44), and the dissemination of Greek texts (e.g., the fragment of Ep. Jer. in 7Q02!) in the motherland, the procurement of books in Jerusalem for the diaspora (see 2 Macc. 2:13-15), the portrayal of themes from the eastern diaspora in Greek works (Tobit,45 Judith, Est, Par. Jer.), and so forth.46 The linguistic transformation from Hebrew or in some cases Aramaic into Greek is therefore not only a literary historical problem, but also a virtually unavoidable phenomenon of early Jewish history and religion. Greek becomes a medium of unity for the people of God that makes possible the passing on of their traditions and the exchange of their current experiences across all regions and linguistic borders. This background should be kept in mind in considering the question of authorship of the Epistle of James. To me it seems an open question.47 The possibility that a certain writing of the one known as the Lord’s brother could have been translated for the congregations in the diaspora remains, in my opinion, by all means plausible.

3.  The People of God in Time of Trials If, in the intention of strengthening the identity of the addressees as members of the people of God, we identify a genre marker that connects the Epistle of James with the early Jewish diaspora from Jerusalem, then it immediately suggests itself also to profile individual statements in James in comparison with the affected early Jewish texts. We will concentrate here on three topics: the understanding of God, the reference to the people of God, and the expectations for the future. In the effort not to pile up parallels to the Epistle of James out of context, but rather to understand his intention in the work against the background of early Jewish evidence, we have to acknowledge the individual statements of the early Jewish letters each in their literary context. This obviously goes for the Epistle of James as well.

For the LXX-Psalter, see J. Schaper, Eschatology in the Greek Psalter (WUNT 2.76; Tübingen, 1995), 34–45 (45: “Palestinian origin . . . in the second half of the second century bc”). 43 Herzer, Paralipomena, 191: “arose between 125 and 132 after Christ in Palestine.” 44 On the origin from out of the motherland, see A. M. Schwemer, Studien zu den frühjüdischen Prophetenlegenden. Vitae Prophetarum. Einleitung, Übersetzung und Kommentar (TSAJ 49/50; Tübingen, 1995/6), 1.65–9. 45 M. Rabenau (Studien zum Buch Tobit [BZAW 220; Berlin, New York, 1994], 175–90) reconstructs a multiple-level process of origination in the motherland and considers it completely thinkable that “the Greek translation of the book subsequently . . . was undertaken in Palestine” (190). 46 Foundational for this remains Hengel, Judentum, especially 108–14, 152–95, 202–10, developed further by M. Hengel in connection with C. Markschies, The “Hellenization” of Judaea in the First Century after Christ (London, Philadelphia, 1989), especially, 7–29, 63–81. 47 On recent discussion, see Frankemölle, Brief, 45–54; R. P. Martin, James (WBC 48; Waco, 1988), lxi–lxxvii; Penner, Epistle, 33–74, 26–78; Tsuji, Glaube, 38–46; R.  J. Bauckham, “Pseudo-Apostolic Letters,” JBL 107 (1988):  469–94; M. Hengel, “Der Jakobusbrief als antipaulinische Polemik,” in Tradition and Interpretation in the New Testament. FS E. E. Ellis (ed. G. F. Hawthorne and O. Betz; Grand Rapids, Tübingen, 1987), 248–78; W. Popkes, Adressaten, Situation und Form des Jakobusbriefes (SBS 125/6; Stuttgart, 1986), 184–8; W.  Pratscher, Der Herrenbruder Jakobus und die Jakobustradition (FRLANT 139; Göttingen, 1987), 209–13; Davids, “Epistle,” 3622–7, 3639–40. 42

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3.1  The God of Israel The decisive context of all the texts to be discussed here is the presumed diaspora situation of the letters’ addressees. In the Epistle of James, it is, as in the early Jewish letters, a place of testing of faith (1:2: ὅταν πειρασμοῖς περιπέσητε ποικίλοις).48 The assurance of joy (v. 1) and call to faithful prayer (vv. 5-6) are informed by this situation, which is shaped by affliction. In the first introductory letter of 2 Maccabees, there is a prayer wish immediately following the prescript that encourages the letter addressees “in the hour of need” with words of God’s blessing, strengthening of the heart, reconciliation, and peace (1:2-5). Baruch writes his letter to the “nine and a half tribes,” “so that you find comfort in the face of the miseries that have afflicted you” (syr. Bar. 78:5).49 The same goes for the Epistle of Baruch to Jeremiah: “Be glad and rejoice, for God will not allow us to leave this life aggrieved on account of the devastated and defiled city” (Par. Jer. 6:17). According to Jas 1:5-8, such affliction is realized in a lack of wisdom and in the danger of doubt (see 1:13). In the Epistle of Jeremiah, the call to pray to God the Lord alone speaks against the threat through the multitude of idol-worshippers in Babylon; this is followed by the assurance of the presence of the angel of God (Ep. Jer. 5–6). The prayer wish in the first introductory letter asks that God “would give all of you a heart that would honor him . . ., would hear your requests, reconcile himself to all of you (ἐπακούσαι ὑμῶν τῶν δεήσεων καὶ καταλλαγείη ὑμῖν) and would not leave you” (2 Macc. 1:3-5).50 Baruch challenges the “nine and a half tribes”: “and ask constantly and pray earnestly from all of your heart that the Almighty would look after you” (syr. Bar. 84:10). Using himself as an example, he shows how God hears the prayers of the needy: “I was mourning Zion, and I implored mercy from the Most High . . . but the Mighty One did according to the fullness of his mercy, the Most High according to the magnitude of his compassion, and revealed a word to me” (81:2, 4). The knowledge that “every good gift51 and each perfect present is from above and comes down from the Father of Lights” (Jas 1:17) can be obtained in afflictions and is articulated in prayer. In the letter Jeremiah articulates the judgment that the gods of the Babylonians are incapable “of doing good to the people” (εὖ ποιεῖν ἀνθρώποις), which is implicitly an acknowledgment of God, Israel’s benefactor (Ep. Jer. 63).52 This corresponds to the wish of the sender in the first introductory letter that God might “do good” (ἀγαθοποιήσαι) to the Jews in Egypt “and remember his covenant with Abraham” (2 Macc. 1:2). In the letter of Baruch, it is promised to those who are now suffering that they will “receive everything from the Almighty” (syr. Bar. 84:6).53 Confession of the merciful God also takes its particular profile from the assumed diaspora context. In Jas 5:7-11, it is connected with the admonishment to perseverance (ὑπομονή)

The direct connection to the letter prescript is underscored through the chiasm ἐν τῇ διασπορᾷ—χαίρειν—πᾶσαν χαράν—πειρασμοῖς ποικίλοις. 49 See 80:7: “For truly I know that the inhabitants of Zion were a comfort to you. As long as you knew that they were happy, this was more important than the affliction you endured being separated from them.” Now, however, as Baruch in 80:1-6 must report, this comfort, too, has been turned into tribulation (see 81:1-3, 82:1-2). 50 See 1:8: καὶ ἐδεήθημεν τοῦ κυρίου καὶ εἰσηκούσθημεν. 51 According to Jas 1:5, God is ὁ διδούς. 52 The Letter of Jeremiah offers a kind of “negative teaching about God” in that it in a long series denies the pagan gods exactly those attributes that distinguish the God of Israel. 53 See 77:7: “faithful is he, doing good to you and not evil.” 48

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that the letter’s introductory warning takes up once more in 1:2-4 and unfolds with reference to biblical examples. From Job the addressees can learn how God demonstrates his loving kindness to those who persevere in affliction (πολύσπλαγχνός ἐστιν ὁ κύριος καὶ οἰκτίρμων; 5:11). In the early Jewish letters, this affliction is connected explicitly with the diaspora setting. Thus, in the second introductory letter the “hope in God” is expressed “that he would soon take pity on us (ἐλεήσει) and lead us once more back together from all over the world, to the holy place” (2 Macc. 2:18). In the letter of Baruch, where the misery of the destruction of Jerusalem and the dispersal of Israel is expressed in particularly drastic terms, the mercy and compassion of God are still mentioned repeatedly (syr. Bar. 81:2, 4; 84:10-11; 85:8; see 77:7). Baruch also proclaims in the Paralipomena Jeremiae that “the Lord has compassion over our tears” (ἐσπλαγχνίσθη ὁ κύριος) and has remembered his covenant with Israel (6:18). The certainty that God turns toward the weak and afflicted (Jas 1:9; 2:5; 5:4) but puts the strong, the proud, and the rich in their places (1:10-11; 4:6; 4:13–5:6) is something that the believers in the diaspora have to demonstrate in light of the dominance of the hostile political and religious powers. In the Letter of Jeremiah this feature is again brought up negatively, when he says that the gold, silver, and wooden gods “cannot save anyone from death or rescue the weak from the strong,” “cannot restore sight to the blind; they cannot rescue one who is in distress,” “they cannot take pity on a widow or do good to an orphan” (Ep. Jer. 35–37).54 They are equally ill-prepared to oppose hostile rulers and powers.55 Israel’s God, on the other hand, can be called upon for help like one calls on the priests in the temple, whose prayer is reproduced in the second introductory letter: “look on those who are rejected and despised, and let the Gentiles know that you are our God” (2 Macc. 1:27). But to the Gentiles who rule with violence and commit outrages due to their overconfidence, God’s judgment will be in effect (1:28; see 1:17). The statements in the Epistle of James about the oneness of God (Jas 2:19; 4:12) and his universal power as creator and ruler of the world (1:17-18; 3:9) are directed, text-pragmatically speaking, toward the context of the threat the pagan world the addressees inhabit poses to the fundamental confession of Israel. In Jeremiah’s letter this is articulated vividly. While these gods “cannot show signs in the heavens for the nations, or shine like the sun or give light like the moon” (Ep. Jer. 66), the sun, moon, and stars as well as lightning, wind, clouds, and also fire all obey God and bring about what he instructs throughout the entire world (ἐφ᾽ὅλην τὴν οἰκουμένην) (59–61).56 According to syr. Bar. 82:2 it is God the creator who will avenge himself upon Israel’s enemies, as he abandons them to their own vanity and mortality. The profession of the one God forms the inclusio of the whole letter. At the beginning the reference to God the creator, who has loved Israel from time immemorial, underscores the unity of the people of God consisting of the twelve tribes, which are bound up together in one captivity and all come from one father (Abraham) (78:3-4). At the conclusion the profession of the one God is universalized in view

See 53:  οὐδὲ μὴ ῥύσωνται ἀδικούμενον ἀδύνατοι ὄντες, in contrast to the pagan sacrifices 27:  οὔτε πτωχῷ οὔτε ἀδθυνάτῳ μεταδιδόασιν. 55 55: βασιλεῖ δὲ καὶ πολεμίοις οὐ μὴ ἀντιστῶσιν; 65: βασιλεῦσιν οὐ μὴ καταπάσωνται. 56 The only positive statement about God in the entire letter! The description of God as πατὴρ τῶν φώτων in Jas 1:17, therefore, is probably to be interpreted as a reference to the creator and the universal Lord of all things. 54

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of the eschaton: “Therefore, there is one Law by One, one world and an end for all those who exist” (85:14).57 From this perspective the challenge in Jas 4:4-5, 7 to separate oneself from this world, and in particular the devil, to draw near to God, to sanctify one’s hands and heart make clear sense. In Jeremiah’s letter, the sarcastic polemic against the gods has no other objective than that of safeguarding the addressees from “becoming like the foreigners” (μὴ καὶ ὑμεῖς ἀφομοιωθέντες τοῖς ἀλλοφύλοις ἀφομοιωθῆτε), by worshipping the gods as the “multitude” out of fear (Ep. Jer. 4). In exactly the same way, Jeremiah instructed those who had been exiled to Babylon already in the second introductory letter “not to forget the commandments of the Lord, or to be led astray in their thoughts on seeing the gold and silver statues and their adornment” (2 Macc. 2:2). “Setting themselves apart from Babylon” (ἀφορίζεσθαι) also is the only concrete demand of the Baruch letter in the Paralipomena Jeremiae. It is a prerequisite for the return of the Israelites to Jerusalem (Par. Jer. 6:13-14). 3.2  The People of God Such statements, which in the early Jewish diaspora letters are in part tied to the hope of return from exile, at the same time serve text-pragmatically to preserve the identity of the people of God in the diaspora. Further references to distinguishing characteristics of Israel’s identity reinforce this intention. On a number of occasions we find references to God’s covenant with Israel and the patriarchs (2 Macc. 1:2, 25; syr. Bar. 84:8; Par. Jer. 6:18), to Moses and the Exodus (2 Macc. 2:8, 10-11; syr. Bar. 84:2-5; Par. Jer. 6:20), to the election of Israel and to her history (syr. Bar. 78:3, 7 [see 77:5]; 2 Macc. 1:25), to Zion (syr. Bar. 80:7), to the land, the kingdom, the priesthood, and the temple (2 Macc. 2:17).58 The fact that God has chosen his people, loves them, and remains true to them even in the diaspora is a common foundational conviction of the authors and addressees of the letters. This alone makes prayer to him possible and gives hope for future salvation. Explicit references to the distinguishing characteristics of Israel’s identity are by and large absent in the Epistle of James. Nevertheless, it should not be overlooked that all its statements are made under the sign of the prescript, in which author and addressees are introduced as members of the biblical people of God. From this point forward, many phrases take on clearer contours in light of the Jewish diaspora. Thus verses 1:12 and 2:5 are talking about those who love God (τοῖς ἀγαπῶσιν αὐτόν). It is to them that the “crown of life,” that is, the kingdom, is promised as an inheritance (ἐπηγγείλατο). The latter reference also contains an explicit statement about their election (ὁ θεὸς ἐξελέξατο τοὺς πτωχοὺς τῷ κόσμῳ). Based on their context, those statements that make obvious the Christian profession of the author and addressees, who are of pivotal importance to the purpose of the Epistle of James, at the same time refer to the biblical people of God. The one who “gave birth to us through the word of truth” is “the father of lights,” the creator and benefactor of Israel (1:17-18). If the believers forget the criteria of their election by God, so that they dishonor the poor, the

Also the priestly prayer in the second introductory letter contains a series of God-attributes that contain a confessional function in the context of the diaspora (2 Macc. 1:24-5: ὁ πάντων κτίστης, . . . ὁ μόνος βασιλεὺς . . ., ὁ μόνος χορηγός, ὁ μόνος δίκαιος καὶ παντοκράτωρ). 58 A similar listing of benefits of Israel’s election in syr. Bar. 84:8; cf. also Rom. 9:4-5. 57

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good name of the one who is proclaimed over them will be slandered (2:5-7). Confession of Christ and belief in the God of Israel form, in both places, a unity just as indissoluble as in the prescript! Finally, the biblical ὑποδείγματα should also be noted.59 They serve to reinforce and illustrate key concerns of the letter: perfect faith (Abraham60 and Rahab, 2:21-26), perseverance in affliction (Job,61 5:7-11), the power of prayer (Elijah, 5:17-18). They also have less of a “salvation-historical” sense than parenetic.62 This corresponds entirely to the evidence in the early Jewish diaspora letters. Even in the second introductory letter, the detailed narratives about the temple, Nehemiah, Jeremiah, Moses, and Solomon do not stand in direct correlation to the present situation of the diaspora, but rather take on, above all else, the function of making the biblical tradition contemporary to the text’s recipients in order to reinforce in this manner their consciousness of their identity (2 Macc, 1:18–2:12). In the Epistle of Baruch, the reference to Moses and the twelve tribes in the desert is like a “paradigm for a sermon” intended to make the contemporary situation of the addressees clear (syr. Bar. 84:2-5, see 85:1-5; 77:23-25). Explicit quotations from the Bible as in Jas 2:8, 11, 23; 4:5-6 are not found in any of the early Jewish letters (see, however, the unverifiable reference to “the writing” in 2 Macc. 2:4, according to which Jeremiah, by following a divine χρηματισμός, hid on the mount Nebo the tent, the ark of the covenant, and the altar for burnt offerings). According to 2 Macc. 2:13-15, writings and commentaries on Nehemiah (ἀναγραφαὶ καὶ ὑπομνηματισμοὶ κατὰ τὸν Νεεμιαν) along with “books about the kings and the prophets, and the writings of David, and letters of kings about votive offerings,” which can be made available to the Egyptian Jews as necessary, were collected in a library established by Nehemiah in Jerusalem. 3.3  Expectations for the Future Israel’s diaspora fate comes up for discussion more explicitly in the early Jewish letters than in the Epistle of James. Israel’s sin is exposed again and again as the cause of the dispersal,63 and hope is directed at the future gathering of those who have been dispersed.64 To be sure, this outlook is completely absent from the first introductory letter, and in the second it seems to be confined to those passages that least adhere to the epistolary genre.65 The paraenesis in Baruch’s letter basically assumes an ongoing future under diaspora conditions until the eschatological judgment.66 In the Epistle of James, too, the addressees are certainly told that their present affliction was not caused by God, but rather by their own desire and sin(s) (1:13-15, see 4:1-3),

P. H. Davids, “Tradition and Citation in the Epistle of James,” in Scripture, Tradition and Interpretation:  FS E.  F. Harrison (ed. W. W. Gasque and W. S. LaSor; Grand Rapids, 1978), 113–26. 60 M. L Soards, “The Early Christian Interpretation of Abraham and the Place of James within that Context,” IBS 9 (1987): 18–26. 61 T. Hainthaler, “Von der Ausdauer Ijobs habt ihr gehört” (Jak 5,11). Zur Bedeutung des Buches Ijob im Nuen Testament (EHS.T 337; Frankfurt a.M. u.a., 1988), 298–338. 62 R. Bauckham, “James, 1 and 2 Peter, Jude,” in It Is Written. Scripture Citing Scripture: FS B. Linders (ed. D. A. Carson and H. G. M. Williamson; Cambridge, 1988), 303–17, here 306–9. 63 Ep. Jer. 1; syr. Bar. 78:5-6; 79:2-3; 84:2-5 (see 77:4, 8-10). Par. Jer. 6:21; see also 2 Macc. 1:7; 2:7. 64 Ep. Jer. 2; 2 Macc. 1:27, 29; 2:7-8, 18; syr. Bar. 78:7; 85:4 (see 77:6). See also Par. Jer. 6:13-14, 22. 65 1:27, 29 (prayer); 2:7–8 (the prophet Jeremiah); 2:18. 66 See below regarding the Torah paraenesis in syr. Bar. 78:6-7; 84:1-11; 85:3, 10-15. 59

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and the salvation that is promised to those who hold fast to their faith implies here as well that their present affliction will one day be ended by God (see 1:12; 2:5; 3:18). In the Epistle of James, divine judgment applies to those who through their behavior threaten the identity of the people of God. According to 1:6-8, it is the doubters who “are not accepted by the Lord.” According to 2:12-13, “judgment without mercy” threatens those who do not practice mercy. According to 3:1, teachers who do not do justice to their responsibility to the word will “receive a stricter judgment.” According to 4:1-2, God’s judgment is announced to those who on account of their desires stir up contention and argument, along with the friends of the world, the proud, and those who take it upon themselves to slander or even to judge a brother, whereby the high are brought low and the low are made higher (vv. 6, 9-10). But above all, God’s judgment threatens the rich, who think they can live by their own power and do not depend on the creator, who squander their wealth at the expense of the poor and bring the righteous to ruin (4:13–5:6; see 1:10-11; 2:1-7). In prophetic language, they will see the reversal of all circumstances “in the last days,” “on the day of slaughter” (5:3, 5). Those who persevere, on the other hand, will encounter the compassionate and kind-hearted God at the closely approaching parousia of the Lord (5:11).67 In the early Jewish diaspora letters, comparable judgments are pronounced with varying degrees of severity. In Jeremiah’s letter, explicit proclamations of judgment are completely absent. At least, the power of God to judge the sinner comes up for discussion by means of negation through declarations about the powerlessness of the idols (Ep. Jer. 12, 33, 63).68 In connection with the Epistle of Baruch to Jeremiah, this judgment is directed exclusively at the Israelites: those who do not separate themselves from Babylon will not “enter into (εἰσέρχεσθαι) the city (Jerusalem)” and also will not be gathered up again from among the Babylonians (6:14; see 6:22).69 In the introductory letters, in contrast, God’s judgment is directed only at Israel’s enemies (2 Macc. 1:11-12, 17, 27-28, implicitly in 1:8), while the Israelites in Jerusalem and Judea, as well as those in the diaspora, appear as addressees of the divine rescue operation (1:8, 11-12, 25, 27; 2:8, 17-18).70 The perspectives on the final judgment are the most detailed in the Epistle of Baruch. Similar to the Epistle of James, he announces “that the end the Most High has prepared is near to us, that his mercy is coming, and that the execution of his judgment is not far off ” (syr. Bar. 82:2).71 At the end of the world, “all things will come under judgment” (83:7), that is, both the Israelites, whose deeds and thoughts will be examined (83:2-3; see 85:9), and also the nations, whose wealth and power, pride and pomp, joy and beauty will at that time be transformed into their opposites (82:2-9, 83:9-23). Revealingly, syr. Bar. applies here the same motifs of 5:7-8, see 5:9. Also, the angel of God, who “is seeking” the souls of the Israelites (v. 6) might be understood as implicit reference to God’s judgment, although an interpretation of the nearness of God to the exiles is preferable (so also Gunneweg, Brief, 187). 69 That is, that Babylon has not fallen under this judgment of God! 70 For 2:17-18 (ὁ δὲ θεὸς ὁ σώσας τὸν πάντα λαὸν αὐτοῦ . . . καθὼς ἐπηγγείλατο διὰ τοῦ νόμου), cf. Rom. 11:26. 71 For example, 85:10: “the coming of the times is very near and has passed by. And the pitcher is near the well, and the ship to the harbor, and the journey to the city, and life to its end” (for the motifs “journey” and “life’s end,” see also Jas 4:13-15); 81:4: “the Most High . . . made known to me the mysteries of the times, and showed me the coming of the periods”; 83:1: “For the Most High will surely hasten his times, and he will certainly cause his periods to arrive”; 83:6-7: “For the ends of the times and the periods will surely pass away . . . The end of the world will then show the great power of our Ruler since. Everything will come to judgment”; 83:23: “But the end of everything will come to light.” 67 68

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biblical prophecy that are held against the rich and haughty in the Epistle of James: “Now we are seeing the abundance of wealth among the peoples who conduct [their affairs] impiously; nevertheless, they are like a vapor” (82:3).72 “We ponder the loveliness of their beauty, yet they in the meantime are living in impurity—like grass that becomes parched, they will wither” (82:7).73 Admittedly, with the Israelites, the Most High is still patient so that they can prepare themselves appropriately and thus not have to incur either the punishment of temporal exile or eschatological torment at the end (83:8; see 78:6; 85:8-9, 11-13). They are not to allow themselves to be impressed by the present superiority of the nations, but rather “(quietly) wait, because that which was promised to us will come” (83:4). They are urged to “learn and to preserve the commandments of the (Al)mighty,” and the “requirements of his judgment,” and to “receive from the Mighty One everything that has been deposited and laid up for you” (84:1, 6). In the face of the multitude of their sins they are challenged to ask the Almighty for forgiveness and a merciful judgment (84:10-11). But then when the end comes, there will be no repentance and no intercession for them, “nor supplicating for offenses, nor prayers of the fathers, nor intercessions of the prophets, nor help of the righteous . . . Then he will make alive those whom he has found, and he will purge them from sins, and at the same time he will destroy those who are polluted with sins” (85:12, 15).

4.  Torah Paraenesis for the Diaspora In the discussion of judgment statements in the Epistle of Baruch the traditional area of early Jewish faith was not considered, in that the understanding of God and the identity of the people of God and their expectations for the future are intertwined with one another: the Torah as the expression of the will of God for his people Israel. In the Epistle of James74 this will of God is not only present implicitly, in particular in the eschatologically motivated exhortation to arrive at perfection when faced with afflictions and doubts through perseverance in faith (1:2-4).75 It is also revealed through explicit references to the Torah and its individual commandments (1:25; 2:8-12; 4:11-12). Here it is revealed that for the author confession of Christ and doing God’s will are two sides of the same coin.76 The explicit references to the Torah stand in direct semantic relationship to the statements for which confession of Christ is a prerequisite. The “perfect law of liberty” (1:25) belongs to the “good and perfect gifts” of the creator (1:17). The believers encounter these gifts of God in the Christ event as “the word of truth” that makes them a kind of “first fruit of his creation” (1:18). To those who receive “the implanted word of God,” salvation is promised (1:21). The faithful have to conform to this gift as “doers of the word” (1:22-25).77

See Jas 4:14. See Jas 1:10-11. 74 To reveal the understanding of Torah in the Epistle of James in light of Early Jewish diaspora letters requires its own examination, the contours of which can only be hinted at here. 75 See especially the expression ἔργον τέλειον in 1:4. 76 This is true not only in the passage on the topic of “faith and works” (2:14-26). 77 See for this, Frankemölle, Brief, 344–57. 72 73

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The exhortatory passage of the letter, which leads to concrete Torah paraenesis in 2:8-13, also begins with a reference to faith in Christ (2:1). As in this passage, so also in 4:11 the admonition to the doing of the law is made concrete through kinds of behavior that point to the tradition of early Jewish Torah paraenesis.78 In both places the line of thought is carried through to a statement of judgment for which thorough obedience to Torah is God’s criterion of judgment.79 A look at the function and content of Torah paraenesis in the early Jewish diaspora letters results in a wide variety of perspectives. Thus, the Letter of Jeremiah contains no explicit allusion to the Torah at all. In its place stands the solitary and decisive demand to the letter’s addressees not to become “like strangers” through fear of the idols or even through worship of them (Ep. Jer. 4–5). Of course, this corresponds functionally to the demand of the first commandment of the Decalogue, and the paraenetic schema of sin, punishment by exile, and return (1–2) can be understood as an allusion to God’s will, rooted in the Torah. But that is not made explicit. And even in the Epistle of Baruch to Jeremiah we find alongside the demand of dissociation from Babylon only a comprehensive admonition following the general scheme of sin, exile, return (Par. Jer. 6:21-22).80 In the first introductory letter, in contrast, there is a comprehensive admonition to Torah obedience immediately in the introductory prayer request (2 Macc. 1:3-4). Admittedly thereafter the talk is exclusively about the sacrificial cult in Jerusalem (1:8 in the citation from the previous letter) and about the Feast of Booths, the actual concern of the letter (1:9). The second introductory letter is likewise occupied at first only with the temple and its feasts. Within one of the narratives Jeremiah is talked about, who “at the handing over of the law commissioned those in exile to not forget the commandments of the Lord,” which immediately is depicted concretely through “seeing the gold and silver statues and their adornment” (2:2; see Ep. Jer.!). Only at the very end do we find a comprehensive reference to the Torah, and that as a saying of promise (καθὼς ἐπηγγείλατο διὰ τοῦ νόμου) in which the salvation of the people, the gift of inheritance (of the land), the kingdom, the priesthood, and the “sanctification” (a reference to the cult of atonement) are promised (2:17-18).81 The exhortation to Torah obedience in the Epistle of Baruch is of pivotal significance.82 The Torah belongs to the benefits of Israel’s being elected by God, and it marks Israel’s identity as the people of God before the nations and in the world.83 In the schema of sin, exile, and return, the law forms the standard by which the sin of Israel can be shown (84:2-5; see 77:4-10). Faithfulness with regard to the Torah is a prerequisite for the restoration of Israel and to stand at the judgment (84:6). Therefore, Baruch warns the letter addressees in the diaspora to learn the commandments of the Almighty (84:1), to keep his commandments in mind (84:7-8), See also in 2:8-13 the love commandment, the topic of προσωπολημψία, and the quotation from Decalogue; in 4:11 the topic of καταλαλεῖν in the context of “sins of the tongue”; cf. the “social commandments” in 2:15-16. On related topics in Early Jewish Torah paraenesis, see my work Gesetz und Paränese. Katechismusartige Weisungsreihen in der frühjüdischen Literatur (WUNT 2.28; Tübingen, 1987). 79 See 2:12-13, 4:12. 80 See 6:21: ὅτι οὐκ ἐφυλάξατε τὰ δικαιώματά μου. 81 See Exod. 19:5-6; see also n. 59. 82 C. Münchow, Ethik und Eschatologie. Ein Beitrag zum Verständnis der frühjüdischen Apokalyptik mit einem Ausblick auf das Neue Testament (Berlin, 1981), 96–111 (on James: 172–4). 83 Syr. Bar. 84:8. The Torah here is mentioned alongside Zion, land, covenant, ancestors/fathers, festivals, and sabbaths; see also 77:3: “For to you and your fathers the Lord gave the Law before all peoples.” 78

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and to pass the tradition of the law along to their children, as they have been given the same from their fathers (84:9). Because in the present all visible distinguishing marks of Israel (land, Zion) have been lost and the righteous ones and the prophets who formerly made intercession for sinners have passed away, all that remains for them now are “the Almighty and his law” (85:1-3).84 However, concrete commandments or instructions for behavior are not connected with this comprehensive Torah paraenesis in the Epistle of Baruch. Sabbath and festivals are like the rest of the lost benefits of Israel’s election, now an object “of remembrance” (84:8) without mention of any concrete directives. As to how the Torah is to be fulfilled in the ongoing experience of diaspora, there are no concrete stipulations either in the text or in institutions responsible for its interpretation, which can be considered authoritative. For this reason, the authors of the diaspora letters have the task, the divine commission, of strengthening the identity of the people of God living in the diaspora. They fulfill this commission by articulating the will of God for their situation and with their recipients in mind. The form and content of the Torah paraenesis is determined by the needs and situation of the addressees in the diaspora. This is also true of the Epistle of James. The observations pulled together here on early Jewish literature in view of the Epistle of James do not replace the interpretation of its statements any more than it is the task of the Corpus Hellenisticum to interpret the New Testament texts.85 The intention is only to serve their interpretation by illuminating the space in which the author and addressees of this New Testament writing were at home, to help make the linguistic means to understand them accessible, and to help visualize the realm of tradition in which their faith was articulated.

See 77:15-16: The Law and wisdom remain as “Shepherds and lamps and fountains” for Israel, which is confronted with the darkness of the destruction of Jerusalem and the loss of the land. 85 So also Delling, “Corpus,” 10:  “However, an interpretation of the New Testament text through the editors of the Corpus is not what we have in mind.” 84

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MESSIANIC JEWISH IDENTITY IN JAMES

Richard J. Bauckham

Jewish, Christian, or Both? Probably the majority of recent scholars writing on James suppose that the letter addresses communities of Jewish Christians, meaning Jews who remained identifiably Jewish, in particular by continuing to observe the Torah as a whole. It is an open question what term we can most appropriately use for such people. The multivolume history of Jewish Christianity, edited by Skarsaune and Hvalvik, has opted for the term ‘Jewish believers in Jesus’.1 In my title for this essay I have implied the term ‘messianic Jews’, which has the advantage of indicating that they were no less Jewish for being believers in Jesus. That was undoubtedly how they thought of themselves. Whatever term we use, it is essential to avoid envisaging them in the way Jerome in the fourth century famously did when he complained that Jewish Christians wanted to be both Jews and Christians, and therefore they were truly neither. In the New Testament period neither Jewish nor Gentile Christians thought that Jews ceased to be Jewish or even became less Jewish by believing in Jesus the Messiah. However, not everyone agrees that the addressees are messianic Jews. There are two other views that seem exactly opposite to each other: one that the document is a simply Jewish text that has been Christianized by the addition merely of two references to Jesus Christ, the other that it is not particularly Jewish at all but addressed to Christians in general. Two observations about James have led to these views: (1) It is alleged that there is nothing specifically Christian in James apart from the identification of its author as ‘James, servant of God and of the Lord Jesus the Messiah’ in the prescript and the reference to ‘our glorious Lord Jesus the Messiah’ in 2.1. (2) On the other hand, it is claimed that there is nothing peculiarly Jewish about James – nothing that cannot be understood as un-problematically applicable to Gentile Christians. There are, for example, no references to circumcision or food laws or Sabbath, the aspects of Torah observance that are controversial in Paul’s letters. This observation, of course, accords with the fact that in the Christian tradition, from as early as we have evidence down to the present, Gentile Christians have read and applied James to themselves, usually without noticing any difficulties in doing so. Even James’s discussion of faith and works, with its apparent contradiction of Paul, raises the question of the soteriological significance of the kind of good works that Gentile Christians are un-controversially expected to perform, not of the aspects of Torah that feature in Paul’s polemics against Torah observance by Gentile Christians.

See Oskar Skarsaune and Reidar Hvalvik, eds., Jewish Believers in Jesus: The Early Centuries (Peabody: Hendrickson, 2007). 1

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The view that James is a barely Christianized version of an originally purely Jewish text is rarely defended today. The consideration that has probably weighed most against it is the close relationship between James and the traditions of the sayings of Jesus.2 It is partly for this reason that, for example, Scot McKnight in his recent commentary describes James as ‘comprehensively Christian’,3 while also claiming that the kind of community James addresses was ‘ethno-religiously inseparable from the Jewish community’.4 In other words, if the teaching of James is deeply and comprehensively indebted to the teaching of Jesus, then James must be addressing readers or hearers who identified as followers of Jesus. This would not make them any less Jewish than Jesus himself, but it may also explain the fact that, historically, James has been appropriated for Gentile Christian instruction, just as the teaching of Jesus in the Gospels was from an early stage of the early Christian movement. However, one might still press the question of distinctively Christian features in this way. In the first place, why are even the clearest echoes of the sayings of Jesus not explicitly cited as sayings of Jesus and thereby given the weight of the authority of Jesus that early Christians attributed to his teaching? Secondly, does James allude to post-Easter belief in Jesus as risen and exalted Messiah and Lord (apart from the two explicit references to the Lord Jesus the Messiah in 1.1 and 2.1)? With this introduction, I will now turn to the most recent commentary on James, the new International Critical Commentary on James by Dale Allison, published in 2013.5 A good way to address the question of the identity of James and his readers at this point in the history of scholarship is to respond to the most original general aspect of Allison’s work on James. He wholeheartedly endorses the first of the two observations mentioned above: that there is nothing specifically Christian in James. But he offers a largely novel explanation of this.6 He sees the author as a Christian, writing in the early second century, who deliberately attributes his work to the famous Jewish Christian leader James of Jerusalem. But, says Allison, [a]‌lthough writing in the name of James of Jerusalem and so openly speaking for Christians, our author does not clearly identify his readers as such. Hence the pseudepigraphal address [to the twelve tribes in the dispersion (1.1)]: he evidently still hopes for an audience with non-Christian Jews. James is thus a sort of apology.7 It addresses both non-Christian Jews and Christian Jews and is intended as ‘edification’ for the non-Christians and ‘clarification’ for the Christians.8 According to Allison, James ‘emerged from a Christ-oriented Judaism, from a group that still attended synagogue and wished to maintain irenic relations with’ those Jews who did not agree with them that Jesus was the Messiah.9 It ‘represents Christian Jews who did not define themselves over against Judaism’.10 The purpose of the letter was to maintain good relations by On the nature of this relationship, see Richard Bauckham, James: Wisdom of James, Disciple of Jesus the Sage, New Testament Readings (London: Routledge, 1999), 74–93. 3 Scot McKnight, The Letter of James, NICNT (Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 2011), 26. 4 McKnight, James, 67. 5 Dale C. Allison, A Critical and Exegetical Commentary on the Epistle of James, ICC (London: Bloomsbury, 2013). 6 For a partial precedent, see the quote from A. H. McNeile in Allison, James, 43. 7 Allison, James, 48. 8 Allison, James, 48. 9 Allison, James, 43. 10 Allison, James, 43. 2

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persuading ‘sympathetic readers that the differences between James’s version of Judaism and other forms was not so great’.11 The teaching of James, therefore, is presented as something that requires no specifically Christian presuppositions for its readers to find it an acceptable and indeed an admirable collection of Jewish moral advice. This, argues Allison, is why James is so Janus-faced, why it seems so Christian yet is so resolutely mute on peculiarly Christian themes, and why it contains so many passages that could be taken one way by a Christian and another by a non-Christian. James reflects a Christian group still battling for its place within the Jewish community, a group that wishes . . . to be . . . both Jew and Christian. It is ‘someone’s collection of what he wants Jews to know about Christians’.12 In the rest of this essay I argue, against Allison, that there are significant overtly Christian features in James and that its addressees are exclusively messianic Jews, not a community including both Christian and non-Christian Jews.13

The Prescript Since Allison’s interpretation of the prescript to James is important to his case, I begin with an examination of the description of the addressees as ‘the twelve tribes in the dispersion’ (1.1). The prescript describes an epistolary situation: James, presumed to be resident in Jerusalem where all early Christian literature puts him, writes to ‘the twelve tribes’ of Israel living outside the land of Israel, in the Diaspora, which must be presumed to include both the eastern and the western areas of the Diaspora. This epistolary situation is plausible in the sense that it places the letter of James in a known tradition of Jewish letters written from authorities in Jerusalem to the Diaspora. There are both genuine and fictional examples of such letters.14 Recent commentators on James have differed as to whether they think James is genuine or fictional, authentic or pseudepigraphal, but there is general agreement (which Allison shares) that James is, like such letters, presented in its prescript as an encyclical from James of Jerusalem to the exiles of Israel throughout the Diaspora. The address to the twelve tribes is easily intelligible in the sense that this was the traditional way of designating all Israel, but has also been regarded as problematic because of the widespread view that the ten northern tribes (or nine and a half, as they were sometimes counted), deported by the Assyrians in the eighth century bce, were by the first century ce ‘lost’. They are supposed to have been unknown to Jews of this period, and so the author of the letter of James cannot have seriously expected his letter to reach any members of those tribes. So James’ reference to the twelve tribes must be purely conventional or ideal. Whether authentic or not, the letter was not expected actually to reach members of the ten tribes, though the reference to all twelve tribes may well evoke the expectation of the

Allison, James, 44. Allison, James, 48. 13 For some other criticisms of Allison’s proposal, see James Carleton Paget’s review in Early Christianity 5 (2014): 393– 416 (here 405–7). 14 See Bauckham, James, 13–21. 11 12

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coming restoration of all twelve tribes, returning from the Diaspora. This expectation was certainly still alive in this period and appears in the sayings of Jesus (Mt. 19.28; Lk. 22.29–30), so that there is no problem in supposing that an early Christian author such as James would have shared it. However, the eschatological hope for the tribes should not distract us from the fact that the prescript of James, even if it evokes this hope, informs us primarily that the letter is addressed to all twelve tribes. I have argued at length elsewhere that the northern tribes were not yet, in the first century CE, regarded as ‘lost’.15 On the contrary, they were still living in the lands to which they were originally exiled, that is, northern Mesopotamia (Adiabene) and Media. There were well-known Jewish Diaspora communities in these areas, and it is easier to suppose that they consisted predominantly of descendants of the northern tribes than that Jews from the Babylonian Diaspora of the southern tribes coincidentally settled there after the exiles of the northern tribes had lost any trace of their Israelite identity. In rabbinic literature a letter attributed to Gamaliel the Elder, a contemporary of James, is an encyclical addressed to ‘our brothers, belonging to the exile of Babylonia and belonging to the exile of Media and belonging to the exile of Greece, and the rest of all the exiles of Israel’ (y. Sanh. 1.2 [18d]; cf. t. Sanh. 2.6; b. Sanh. 11a). Here, Babylonia represents the exiles of the southern tribes; Media, the exiles of the northern tribes; and Greece, the western Diaspora. James’s more economical address to ‘the twelve tribes’ indicates the same sort of encyclical addressed to the whole Diaspora. If the address is authentic, we need only suppose that a few copies were sent out from Jerusalem to some specific communities, with the hope that the letter would thereby reach other Diaspora communities, circulating in uncontrollable ways as ancient literature did. Whether it actually reached Adiabene or Media is impossible to know and beside the point. Scholars have taken three main views as to who ‘the twelve tribes in the Diaspora’ actually are: (1) A view that used to be more common than it is now is that they stand for all Christian believers, Gentile as well as Jewish. The Christian church is being portrayed as the new Israel. This view can appeal to the rather similar address of 1 Peter ‘to the exiles of the dispersion in Pontus, Galatia, Cappadocia, Asia and Bithynia’ (1.1). Though some have argued that 1 Peter is addressed to Jewish Christians in these areas,16 it is clear from the letter that the addressees are at least predominantly Gentiles.17 Among the New Testament writings, 1 Peter is unusual in the way it takes over Old Testament terminology for Israel and appropriates it for Gentile Christians. The language of exile and Diaspora in the prescript is part of a wider, figurative use of such language throughout the letter,18 which includes the symbolic designation of the place of writing as Babylon (5.13). James, on the other hand, has no such further use of the image of Diaspora beyond its prescript. Another notable difference is that 1 Peter’s appropriation of Israel language does not include ‘the twelve tribes’. This is understandable because this designation seems inherently unsuitable for application to Gentile or predominantly Gentile churches. There is, however, one instance of such an application of twelve tribe language in Richard Bauckham, ‘Tobit as a Parable for the Exiles of Northern Israel’, in Studies in the Book of Tobit:  A Multidisciplinary Approach, ed. Mark Bredin, LSTS 55 (London: T&T Clark, 2006), 140–64; reprinted in The Jewish World around the New Testament, WUNT 233 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2008), 433–59. 16 See, most recently, Ben Witherington, III, Letters and Homilies for Hellenized Christians, vol. 2: A Socio-Rhetorical Commentary on 1–2 Peter (Nottingham: Apollos, 2007), 22–37. 17 Cf. 1.14, 18; 2.9–10; 4.3–4. 18 Cf. 1.17; 2.11–12; 5.13. 15

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early Christian literature – in a rather enigmatic passage in the Shepherd of Hermas, to which I shall shortly return. That James is addressed to Gentile as well as Jewish Christians has recently been argued in a completely fresh way by Joel Marcus, in an article responding to Dale Allison’s view.19 Marcus argues that the author actually considered Gentile Christians to be descendants of the ‘lost’ ten tribes. The idea is that descendants of these tribes were thought to have lost their identity in the midst of the Gentile nations but were being revealed, as it were, to be Israelites by their conversion to Christianity, through which the prophetic promises of the restoration and reunification of all the tribes were being fulfilled. However, none of the first- and secondcentury texts in which Marcus claims to trace this notion actually state it. It has to be inferred. Moreover, the theory is in my view vitiated by the assumption embodied in Marcus’s frequent use of the term ‘lost tribes’. (2) Dale Allison in his commentary takes the view that ‘the twelve tribes’ refers to both Christian Jews and non-Christian Jews. He takes the prescript to be fictional, arguing that it was not really written from James in Jerusalem to Jews throughout the world. But this fictional address represents the author’s intention that his letter be read in mixed communities of Christian and non-Christian Jews. The most obvious objection to this view is the reference in 2.1 to the readers’ ‘faith in our glorious Lord Jesus Christ’(τὴν πίστιν τοῦ κυρίου ἡμῶν Ίησοῦ Χριστοῦ τῆς δόξης, literally ‘faith in our Lord Jesus Christ of glory’). Allison argues that, since the phrase is grammatically awkward and ambiguous, the text must be corrupt. The original text ‘faith in the Lord of glory’ has been interpolated in order to turn it into a reference to Jesus Christ. But there is no manuscript support for such a correction of the text, and grammatical awkwardness is not a sufficient ground for correcting the text. This is not the only instance of grammatical awkwardness in James. In any case, as we shall see, there are other reasons for supposing that all of James’s addressees are Christians. (3) The view that I  share with other recent commentators such as Johnson,20 Hartin21 and McKnight22 is that James addresses Jewish Christian communities. The fact that the phrase ‘the twelve tribes in the dispersion’ does not make this limitation to Christian Jews explicit I explained in my book on James in this way: The reason the addressees are not distinguished as Christians is that early Jewish Christians thought of themselves, not as a specific sect distinguished from other Jews but as the nucleus of the messianic renewal of the people of Israel which was underway and would come to include all Israel. In a sense they were the twelve tribes, not in an exclusive sense so as to deny other Jews this title, but with a kind of representative inclusiveness. What James addresses in practice to those Jews who already confess the Messiah Jesus, he addresses in principle to all Israel.23

Joel Marcus, ‘ “The Twelve Tribes in the Diaspora” (James 1.1)’, NTS 60 (2014): 433–47. Luke Timothy Johnson, The Letter of James, AB 37A (New York: Doubleday, 1995), 169–72. 21 Patrick J. Hartin, James, SP 14 (Collegeville: Liturgical Press, 2003), 50–1. 22 McKnight, James, 65–8. 23 Bauckham, James, 16. 19 20

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The Twelve Tribes in Hermas As I have noted, there is just one occurrence of the phrase ‘twelve tribes’ in early Christian literature where the term is used to designate the whole Christian church. This is Hermas, Similitude 9.17.1, of which Allison says merely that it is ‘idiosyncratic’.24 Indeed it is, but explaining the idiosyncrasy will be profitable. The text is part of the interpretation of one of Hermas’ ‘similitudes’, which are long symbolic or allegorical visions. For our present purposes we need to know only that in the vision he saw twelve mountains, each described as having various different features. So he asks the angel who is interpreting the vision for him: ‘Now then, sir, explain to me about the mountains. Why is their appearance different from one another, and so diverse?’ ‘Listen’, he said, ‘These twelve mountains are twelve tribes (δώδεκα φυλαί) that inhabit the whole world. To them, therefore, the Son of God was proclaimed by the apostles’.2 ‘But explain to me, sir, why the mountains are so diverse, and different from one another in appearance’. ‘Listen’, he said. ‘These twelve tribes that inhabit the whole world are twelve nations (δώδεκα ἔθνη), and they are diverse in thought and mind. So just as you observed that the mountains are diverse, so also there are diversities of mind and thought among the nations.’ (Herm. Sim. 9.17.1-2a)25 The mountains in fact turn out to represent different sorts of Christian believers, rather like the various soils in the interpretation of the parable of the sower in the Gospels (which may have inspired Hermas at this point). For example, the second mountain represents hypocrites and teachers of evil for whom it is not too late to repent, whereas the first mountain represents apostates and blasphemers for whom repentance is not available. Other mountains represent believers with different sorts of failings or different sorts of virtues. The mountains, then, are not actually nations in any intelligible sense at all, but, as he says here, ‘diversities of mind and thought’. So why does Hermas not say directly that the twelve mountains represent people of diverse mind and thought? Why does he first identify them as twelve tribes that inhabit the whole world, then as twelve nations? This seems a quite unnecessarily tortuous way to get to what the mountains really represent. I suggest it is because Hermas is interpreting the prescript of the letter of James, the address to the twelve tribes in the Diaspora. By taking the tribes to be nations dispersed over the whole world he understands James to be addressing all believers everywhere. But since there are not actually twelve nations in the world and no one supposed there were, he has to take a further step and suppose these nations to be, not ethnic groups, but categories of Christian believer. That Hermas is here interpreting James coheres with other striking examples of contact between Hermas and James, which have often been understood to mean that Hermas knew James, though the resemblances have not been adequate to convince everyone of this.26 Allison remains undecided on the issue, after, I think correctly, explaining some of the points of contact

Allison, James, 131. Translation from Michael Holmes, ed., The Apostolic Fathers, 3rd edn (Grand Rapids, MI: Baker Academic, 2008), 655. 26 Allison, James, 20–3. 24 25

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by common dependence on the (no longer extant) book of Eldad and Modad.27 I propose that what Hermas says about the twelve tribes should tip the balance in favour of his knowledge of James. He seems to be the first, to our knowledge, who understood James to be a truly catholic letter, addressed to all Christians throughout the world. But it is notable how difficult he finds it to read the prescript of James in this way. The twelve tribes have to be twelve nations who are not actually nations at all. Hermas illustrates how unnatural, as an address to all believers, James’s address to the twelve tribes really is. I said that Hermas seems to be the first, to our knowledge, who understood James to be a truly catholic letter, addressed to all Christians. But I  wonder if the author of 1 Peter actually preceded him in this, when he addressed his letter to ‘to the exiles of the dispersion in Pontus, Galatia, Cappadocia, Asia and Bithynia’? This could be seen as an adaptation of James’s prescript for a Gentile Christian audience, in which the problem posed by ‘the twelve tribes’ in James is avoided by substituting ‘exiles’, a term that could be applied figuratively to Jewish and Gentile Christians alike. Perhaps 1 Peter and Hermas represent a Roman church tradition of reading James as a letter to all Christians. This would explain both the resemblance, with variation, of 1 Peter’s address and that of James, and also the strange (‘idiosyncratic’ as Allison says) occurrence and interpretation of the phrase ‘twelve tribes’ in Hermas.

Two Passages That Presuppose Christian Addressees I shall now focus on two passages in James that, in my view, make it clear that the communities addressed by the letter are Christian groups, not mixed communities of Christian and non-Christian Jews. (1) James 2.1–7. Our interest is primarily in last two verses of this passage, but we need to recall the context constructed by vv. 1–5. James postulates a situation in which the people he addresses as ‘beloved brothers and sisters’ treat a rich person who enters their synagogue with honour, while disrespecting a poor person. This is reprehensible because it is contrary to God’s choice of the poor. We should notice that there are three groups of people distinguished: (1) those James addresses, (2) the rich and (3) the poor. James assumes that, as was generally the case in ancient society, most of the people in this community are neither rich nor poor. The ‘poor’ (πτωχοί) are the destitute, those with no reliable means of support, and the rich are the very small elite of powerful people who control society. James addresses the majority, the ordinary people, for whom both the rich and the poor are other people. This does not mean that there are not poor people in the community, but James is here concerned with how the community as a whole treats the poor. (Whether there are rich members of the community is debated, but need not detain us now.) The key point is that the readers James addresses in the second person plural are not the poor or, certainly, not only the poor. So 2.6b–7 does not refer to the oppression of the poor by the rich, but to the oppression by the rich of the whole

Allison, James, 617–22; Richard Bauckham, ‘ “The Spirit of God in Us Loathes Envy”:  James 4.5’, in The Holy Spirit and Christian Origins: Essays in Honor of James D. G. Dunn, ed. Graham N. Stanton, Bruce W. Longenecker and Stephen C. Barton (Grand Rapids, MI:  Eerdmans, 2004), 270–81; Richard Bauckham, ‘Eldad and Modad’, in Old Testament Pseudepigrapha:  More Noncanonical Scriptures, vol. 1, ed. Richard Bauckham, James R. Davila and Alexander Panayotov (Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 2013), 249–50. 27

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community James addresses. We should not, therefore, be envisaging the typical ways in which rich people oppressed poor people, such as James does mention later in 5.4–6, but rather the persecution of the community by wealthy and powerful people. According to v. 7, they ‘blaspheme (βλασφημοῦσιν) the excellent name that was invoked over you’ (NRSV). The verb βλασφημέω invariably refers to speech. It means ‘to speak in a disrespectful way that demeans, denigrates, maligns’ (BDAG). Allison takes it to mean that rich Jews are bringing God’s name into disrepute by their actions against the poor.28 For this sense he mistakenly appeals to the quotation of Isaiah 52.5 (LXX) in Romans 2.23–24, where Paul says: You that boast in the law, do you dishonour God by breaking the law? For, as it is written, ‘The name of God is blasphemed among the Gentiles because of you’.29 Paul means that when Jews break the law they bring God’s name into disrepute among the Gentiles. But it is not the Jews who blaspheme the name. They dishonour (ἀτιμάζεις) God by their behaviour, but it is the Gentiles who blaspheme his name; that is, they speak disparagingly of the God of Israel. In James the rich are not causing the name to be blasphemed by outsiders; they themselves are blaspheming it. Evidently they are using it in a disparaging way. James says that they ‘blaspheme the good name (το καλὸν ὂνομα) that was invoked over you (το ἐπικληθὲν ἐφ’ ὑμᾶς)’. This idiom (the name is ‘called over’ someone or something) is unique in the New Testament apart from the quotation of Amos 9.12 in (as it happens) James’s speech in Acts 15.17. (Some have seen this as evidence that both the speech and the letter are authentic, but I would not attach such significance to the coincidence.) However, the idiom is not uncommon in the Hebrew Bible and in later Jewish literature, denoting ownership, especially God’s ownership of the ark, the Temple, the city of Jerusalem and, most often, the people of Israel.30 In all such cases the name is the Hebrew divine name, the Tetragrammaton, but it does not necessarily follow, as Allison maintains, that the ‘good name’ of James 2.7 is also the Tetragrammaton, rather than, as most commentators have supposed, the name Jesus.31 In early Christianity, seemingly from an early stage, there was a remarkable fluidity between these two names. An example that is somewhat parallel to this case is the expression ‘to call on the name of the Lord’. This common biblical expression evidently came into regular Christian usage (Acts 9.14, 21; 22.16; Rom. 10.13; 1 Cor. 1.2; 2 Tim. 2.22), perhaps especially because of its use in Joel 2.32 (quoted in Acts 2.21; Rom. 10.13). The ‘Lord’ (κύριος), representing the name YHWH, was taken in this Christian usage to be Jesus, as in many other Christian citations of Old Testament texts and phrases.32 Does the New Testament usage mean that Christians called on Jesus using the term ‘Lord’ or that they used the name ‘Jesus’? In some instances, at least,

Allison, James, 400–1. In n. 216 Allison states that, in Mt. 9.3 = Mk 2.7 = Lk. 5.17, ‘scribes accuse Jesus of blaspheming because of his action’. In fact, it is what Jesus says that they call blasphemy. 29 There are allusions to Isa. 52.5 also in 1 Tim. 6.1; 2 Pet. 2.2; 2 Clem. 13.4. 30 With reference to Israel, Deut. 28.10; 2 Chron. 7.14; Isa. 43.7; 63.19; Jer. 14.9; Dan. 9.19; Bar. 2.15; 2 Macc. 8.15; Pss. Sol. 9.9; Bib. Ant. 28.4; 49.7; 4 Ezra 4.25; 10.22; 11Q14 1 II.15; Lev. Rab. 2.8; cf. 2 Bar. 21.21. 31 Allison, James, 400–1. 32 See Richard Bauckham, Jesus and the God of Israel: God Crucified and Other Studies on the New Testament’s Christology of Divine Identity (Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 2008), 186–91, 219–21. 28

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the latter is certainly the case (Acts 9.14, 21; 22.16). So it is quite possible that in James 2.7 ‘the good name that is invoked over you’ echoes the usage of the Hebrew Bible but refers to the name Jesus. Since commentators have also frequently understood the expression in James to refer to baptism, it is relevant that ‘to call on the name of the Lord’ was used of baptism (Acts 22.16; cf. 2.21; Rom. 10.13), though not exclusively (Acts 9.14, 21; 1 Cor. 1.2).33 It has been argued that the aorist ἐπικληθὲν favours a reference to baptism, and while this is not in itself a conclusive argument, it is notable that in the Septuagint the perfect tense is almost always used in this phrase.34 So does James mean that a Jewish community, made up of both Christian Jews and others, is being persecuted by powerful people who were maligning the name of the God of Israel? While this is not impossible, our evidence does not suggest that such a situation was a common occurrence.35 More plausibly, James refers to the persecution of messianic Jews on account of their confession of Jesus as Messiah and Lord. In other words, James’s addressees are exclusively messianic Jews. (2) James 5.14. In this verse James refers to ‘elders of the assembly (ἐκκλησἰας)’, undoubtedly referring to the leaders of a local community. But is this a Christian community, for which the word ἐκκλησἰα is used quite widely in the New Testament writings, or a Jewish community that might contain both messianic and other Jews? Allison argues that ἐκκλησἰα ‘need not signify a Christian congregation or assembly, but could refer to or include a Jewish congregation or assembly’.36 Similarly, David Nienhuis asserts that the word ‘is in no way uniquely Christian, for it is used throughout the LXX to refer to the congregation of Yahweh’.37 But neither scholar is being sufficiently precise about the usage of ἐκκλησἰα. It is true that the word is used very frequently in the Septuagint to translate ‫( ﬥקּﬣ‬73 times). But in the many cases where it refers to an assembly of Israelites or Jews, the overwhelming majority refers either to the whole people of Israel assembled in the wilderness after the exodus or to a large gathering of people from across the nation assembled in Jerusalem for festivals or other special occasions. This is also the meaning in later Second Temple Jewish literature.38 In this sense there can be only one ἐκκλησἰα of Israel. Of the use of this word to refer to an

In Hermas, Sim. 8.6.2–4, the phrase ‘the name of the Lord that was invoked over them’ (τὸ ὄνομα του κυρίου το ἐπικληθὲν ἐπ’ αὐτοῖς) is associated with ‘the seal’ that believers have received from the Lord. This is probably a reference to baptism, and the passage, which refers also to profaning and blaspheming the name of the Lord, is probably another case of dependence on James by Hermas. 34 Deut. 28.10; 2 Chron. 7.14; Isa. 43.7; Jer. 14.9; Dan. 9.10; Bar. 2.15; 2 Macc. 8.15. The aorist occurs in Isa. 63.19, where the reference is to a situation in the past that came to an end and in Bar. 2.15. In Dan. 9.19, LXX has the aorist, but Theodotion has the perfect tense. 35 In my view, James is portraying a typical situation, that might be true of many communities to which the letter would come, rather than one specific community in an atypical situation. 36 Allison, James, 758. 37 David R. Nienhuis, Not by Paul Alone:  The Formation of the Catholic Epistle Collection and the Christian Canon (Waco, TX: Baylor University Press, 2007), 155. 38 Pss. Sol. 10.6 (note the singular, by contrast with the plural συναγωγαἰ in 10.7); Bib. Ant. 11.8 (where Latin ecclesia no doubt translates Greek ἐκκλησἰα); Philo (23 times, all with reference to Israel at the exodus or in the wilderness); Josephus. Paul Trebilco, Self-designations and Group Identity in the New Testament (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2012), 168, says that on one occasion only (Virt. 108)  Philo uses ἐκκλησἰα to refer to a local congregation, but Trebilco is mistaken on this point. Philo’s reference there, as usually elsewhere, is to the assembly of Israel as envisaged in the Torah (Deut. 23). Josephus, Life 268, uses ἐκκλησἰα to refer to an ad hoc assembly of armed men from throughout Galilee. 33

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assembly of a local Jewish community, I know of only six or seven examples.39 One is in LXX Proverbs (5.14); the other five or six are in the Greek version of Ben Sira.40 The latter would seem, in the light of all the other evidence, to be the idiosyncratic usage of one translator (probably based on general Greek, not Jewish usage).41 It does not provide a sound basis on which to infer a more general Jewish usage. Moreover, in nearly all these cases ἐκκλησἰα refers to the people as actually gathered together in an assembly, which is the most natural meaning of the word. It is not used for the community as such.42 In the few cases where a local community is in view (Prov. 5.14; Sirach), the reference is clearly to the actual gathering of people. By contrast, the word ἐκκλησἰα was used in early Christianity from an early stage.43 In Christian usage it commonly referred to a local community of Christians and could refer to the community as such – the people who gathered rather than necessarily as gathered. In both these respects the use in James 5.14 corresponds to Christian usage and would surely have sounded to non-Christian Jews a strange and unfamiliar way of referring to their own community. Indeed, the later we date James (Allison and Nienhuis both favour a late date), the more likely it would be that they would recognize in ἐκκλησἰα, as used here, a distinctively Christian usage, distinguished from their own use of συναγωγή for a local Jewish community. James also uses the word συναγωγή in 2.2: ‘if a person with gold rings and in fine clothes comes into your assembly (εἰς συναγωγὴν ὑμῶν)’. The NRSV is right to translate συναγωγήν as ‘assembly’ here because the reference is to the gathering of people, not to the building, even if they do meet in a building. It is possible that James, addressing messianic Jews, means by ‘your assembly’ the assembly in which they and other Jews all gather, but, since he assumes his readers have the authority to tell people where to sit, it is more likely that a purely messianic Jewish congregation is in view. If so, James 2.2 is the only use of συναγωγή for a Christian assembly in the New Testament,44 but it is so used by Ignatius (Pol. 4.2) and Hermas (Mand. 11.9, 13, 14), as well as in some later Christian writers.45 So it is not correct that James’s usage (as Patrick Hartin claims) ‘[w]‌ithout doubt . . . indicates James’s closeness to the earliest stages of Christianity, when a full separation from its Jewish roots had not occurred’.46 In view of the usage in Ignatius and Hermas, as well as in James, it would seem likely that, although συναγωγή was not the common designation for a Christian assembly, it did have a continuous history of such use from the beginning of the Christian movement and through to the second century. That this usage was only occasional, by comparison with the much more frequent use of ἐκκλησἰα, is understandable because it was much less distinctively Christian.

In LXX Pss. 25.12 (26.12); 67.27 (68.26), ἐκκλησιαί is used to render the plural of ‫מקהﬥ‬. Though the precise meaning of the Hebrew is obscure, the plural probably indicates not several assemblies, but the single large assembly of Israel in the temple (cf. NRSV: ‘the great congregation’). The plural in the Greek version merely reproduces the plural in Hebrew and is not indicative of any wider usage in Greek. 40 Sir. 15.5; 21.17; 23.24; 34.11 (31.11); 38.33; 39.10 (?). In Sir. 33.19 (30.27) the reference is probably to the assembly of all Israel, which is also the case in 44.15; 50.15, 20. Job 30.28 seems to refer to a local community, but not a Jewish one (cf. T. Job 32.8, probably based on Job 30.28). Allison, James, 758n. 90, also refers to 3 Bar. 13.4, but this is undoubtedly Christian redaction. 41 See Trebilco, Self-designations, 168, for the influence of general Greek usage on Josephus. 42 This latter meaning may be emerging in Deut. 23.1–8 and passages dependent on it (Neh. 13.2; Lam. 1.10; Philo). 43 Trebilco, Self-designations, ­chapter 5. 44 But cf. ἐπισυναγωγή in Heb. 10.25. 45 Allison, James, 385n. 87. 46 Hartin, James, 118. 39

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It is not quite true to say that James uses συναγωγή and ἐκκλησἰα inter- changeably.47 He uses συναγωγή to refer to the actual gathering of people (which is also how Ignatius and Hermas use it), but ἐκκλησἰα for the community as such, not necessarily as gathered, which is an attested usage in other New Testament writers.

Jesus as Lord in James Further evidence of the explicitly Christian character of James can be found in the references to Jesus as Lord. It has often been said that James speaks of Jesus the Messiah only twice, in the prescript and in 2.1. Undoubtedly, the words ‘Jesus’ and ‘Christ (Messiah)’ appear only in those two cases, but it is worth noting that the two references are strategically placed, the first at the beginning of the letter, the second at the transition from the introduction to the main body of the letter.48 This latter position may well explain the unusually fulsome expression ‘our Lord Jesus Messiah of glory’ or ‘our glorious Lord Jesus Messiah’, which, if it echoes the divine title ‘Lord of glory’,49 alludes to Jesus’ exercise of sovereign authority from the divine throne. Allison, as we have noted, postulates a scribal interpolation in this verse. This suggestion is not only speculative; it will also, as we shall see, prove unnecessary in the light of other references to Jesus elsewhere in James. I have already argued that the phrase ‘the good name that was invoked over you’ (2.7) refers to the name Jesus. We now need to consider the use of the title ‘Lord’ in cases additional to 1.1 and 2.1 (1.7; 3.9; 4.10, 15; 5.4, 7, 8, 10, 11 [twice], 14, 15), since several of these have been often understood to refer to Jesus. Allison’s case is not that they do not, but that they are ambiguous, open to interpretation either as referring to God or as referring to Jesus. He argues that if the author were not, as he thinks, deliberately avoiding explicit reference to Jesus, he would have used an unambiguous expression such as ‘the Lord Jesus Christ’ (as in 1.1), or ‘our Lord Jesus Christ’.50 So we need to ask about these texts not only whether the reference is to Jesus but also whether it is unusual or surprising that the author uses merely the title ‘the Lord’ rather than a fuller and more explicitly Christological form. The word κύριος occurs fourteen times in James. Seven of these are unambiguously or nearly unambiguously references to God, not Jesus (1.7; 3.9; 4.10; 5.4, 10, 11 [twice]). Two, as we have seen, at least if we accept the extant text of 2.1, refer explicitly to Jesus (1.1; 2.1). Four more, I shall argue, a Christian reader would almost inevitably understand as referring to Jesus (5.7–8, 14, 15). In James 5.7–8, the phrase ‘the coming of the Lord’ (ή παρουσία του κυρίου) is used twice. The word παρουσία was, of course, in quite common early Christian usage with reference to the future coming of Jesus, evidenced in Matthew, Paul, 2 Peter and 1 John. The evidence indicates a broad spread of usage across different branches of the early Christian traditions. Conversely, it was not used of the coming of God, though 2 Peter 3.12 does use it to refer to

Trebilco, Self-designations, 203. For the structure of James, see Bauckham, James, 61–73. 49 1 Enoch 22; 14; 25.3; 27.3, 5; 40.3; 63.2; cf. 1 Cor. 2.8. ‘King of glory’ describes God in Ps. 24.7–10; 1QM 12.8; 19.1; 4Q427 7.1.13; 4Q510 1.1. 50 Allison, James, 763. 47 48

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the coming of the day of God. It is true, as Allison points out, that the Old Testament speaks of the future coming of God (using verbs, not the noun parousia),51 but in early Christianity these texts were regularly applied to the coming of the Lord Jesus.52 The κύριος of the Greek texts, representing the Tetragrammaton, was understood as the Lord Jesus. An early Christian would have no reason to think of the coming of God in these verses of James and every reason to think of the coming of the Lord Jesus. This passage about the parousia continues into v. 9, where we find the image of the judge standing at the doors or gates (ὁ κριτής πρὸ των θυρῶν ἕστηκεν). There is no non-Christian Jewish parallel to this image, but it occurs in Mark 13.29, with reference to the coming of Jesus: ‘he is near, at the gates (ἐπὶ θύραις)’. For early Christian readers or hearers, there would be no ambiguity in this passage as to the identity of the Lord and the Judge. Two further occurrences of κύριος that early Christian readers would surely take to refer to Jesus are in 5.14–15. This passage reflects the same kind of Christology as Acts 3–4, where Peter heals the lame man in the name of Jesus (3.6: ἐν τῷ ὀνόματι ‘Iησοῦ Χριστοῦ του Ναϛωραίου; cf. 3.16; 4.10) and takes this as evidence that Jesus, risen from the dead, is alive and powerful (Acts 3.6, 16; 4.9–12). There too it is Jesus who is invoked and who heals the man. Conversely, Allison can cite no evidence of Jewish healing ‘in the name of the Lord (God)’. However, Allison is not alone in supposing that in 5.10–11, in a passage intervening between these two passages where I have argued that the κύριος is Jesus, James uses the word κύριος of God and indeed the phrase ‘in the name of the Lord’ with reference to God. I agree with this understanding of κύριος in vv. 10–11. But would it not be very confusing if James were to be referring to God as κύριος three times in these verses (10–11), but to Jesus as κύριος in the adjacent verses before and after (7–8, 14–15)? Would it not be especially confusing if the same phrase, ‘in the name of the Lord’, were to refer to God in v. 10 and to Jesus in v. 14? In response to this, I suggest, first, that we must take full account of the genre of James as an anthology of wisdom on a variety of subjects. It consists of discrete sections on various topics and is designed to be read as discrete sections, not as though there were some kind of continuity of topic or argument linking every section to the next.53 While vv. 10–11 of James 5 should be read in continuity with the preceding vv. 7–9 (the whole passage relates to the parousia), there is a sharp break between 5.7–11 and 5.12, which constitutes a brief independent section on the topic of oaths.54 Then 5.13–19 forms a discrete section on the topic of prayer, including the discussion of healing in the name of the Lord. We should not expect the author to have written these passages as though what is said in v. 10 should affect the interpretation of v. 14. Each belongs in the context of its own discrete section. Second, it is important to note that the phrase ‘in the name of the Lord’ is actually not exactly the same in the Greek of vv. 10 and 14. In v. 14 the phrase has the article before κυρίου, whereas in v. 10 it does not. This variation is not an isolated phenomenon in James, but belongs to a pattern of usage, as we can see if we consider all eight instances in James of a noun followed by the genitive κυρίου, with or without the article: Allison, James, 698, cites four texts from the Old Testament Pseudepigrapha as evidence that pre-Christian Jews may have used the word παρουσία for the eschatological coming of God, but they do not constitute good evidence. 52 Thus: Isa. 40.10 in Rev. 22.12; 1 Clem. 34.3; Barn. 21.3; Isa. 59.20–21 in Rom. 11.26–27; Isa. 66.15–18 in 2 Thess. 1.7– 8, 12; 2 Clem. 17.4–5; Zech. 14.5b in 1 Thess. 3.13; 2 Thess. 1.7; 4.14; Did. 16.7; Asc. Isa. 4.14; 1 Enoch 1.9 in Jude 14–15. 53 Bauckham, James, 61–9. 54 This is also Allison’s view: James, 727, 46. 51

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θεοῦ καὶ κυρίου ‘Ιησοῦ Χριστοῦ δοῦλος (1.1) τὴν πίστιν τοῦ κυρίου Eμῶν ’Ιησοῦ Χριστοῦ της δόξης (2.1) τὰ Eτα Κυρίου Σαβαὼθ (5.4, from Isa. 5.9 LXX) της παρουσίας του κυρίου (5.7) ή παρουσία του κυρίου (5.8) ἐν τῷ ὀνόματι κυρίου (5.10) το τέλος κυρίου (5.11) ἐν τῷ ὀνόματι τοῦ κυρίου (5.14) According to the so-called canon of Apollonius, in phrases that combine two nouns in a genitival relationship, either both nouns should have the article or both nouns should be anarthrous. This rule is obeyed by James in all of these cases where, I have argued, the κυρίου is Jesus (1.1; 2.1; 5.7; 5.8; 5.14). But in the three cases where the κυρίου is God (5.4; 5.10; 5.11), the rule is broken. Here the first noun in each case is arthrous, but κυρίου lacks the article. In these instances James is following the practice of the Septuagint, where, when the word κύριος is used as a substitute for the divine name, κύριος is treated as a name, to which the canon of Apollonius does not apply.55 Thus, in 5.10, the phrase ἐν τῷ ὀνόματι κυρίου follows the practice of the Septuagint, where κυρίου substitutes for the Tetragrammaton, but in 5.14, where the name is that of the Lord Jesus, ἐν τῷ ὀνόματι τοῦ κυρίου is what one would otherwise expect. In one case, speaking of the biblical prophets, James echoes the phrase as it is in the Septuagint, but in the other, speaking of the Christian practice of healing in the name of Jesus, he echoes specifically Christian language. We have established that six of the fourteen occurrences of κύριος in James refer to Jesus (1.1; 2.1; 5.7, 8, 14, 15), while seven clearly refer to God (1.7; 3.9; 4.10; 5.4, 10, 11 [twice]). This leaves just one case where it is genuinely difficult to discern whether God or Jesus is intended: ‘if the Lord wishes’ (Έὰν ὁ κύριος θελήση, 4.15). Paul uses exactly this phrase in 1 Corinthians 4.9 and a similar one in 1 Corinthians 16.7. Since elsewhere Paul never uses κύριος for God, except in biblical quotations, it is highly probable that in these verses he refers to the Lord Jesus. But the phrase was in widespread use. Most other parallels, in New Testament and pagan usage, have θεός rather than κύριος,56 but the Greek version of Sirach 39.6 has, ‘If the great Lord is willing’ (ἐὰν ὁ κύριος ὁ μέγας θελήση). In this one instance we cannot claim that James’s usage is unambiguous. Christians would have taken the κύριος of 5.7, 8, 14, 15, as well as of 1.1; 2.1, to be Jesus. But would these references have been sufficiently ambiguous for non-Christian Jews, members of a Jewish community that also included messianic Jews, to have taken the κύριος of 5.7, 8, 14, 15 to be God, not Jesus, as Allison argues? In the case of 5.7–8, it seems unlikely that they would not have recognized the highly characteristic language with which messianic Jews spoke of the imminent coming of Jesus in glory. In the case of 5.14–15, the word ἐκκλησἰα in v. 14 would already, for non-Christian Jewish readers or hearers, have established a specifically Christian

See Carl Judson Davis, The Name and the Way of the Lord:  Old Testament Themes, New Testament Christology, JSNTSup 129 (Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1996), 92–4. 56 References in Allison, James, 659n. 111. 55

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context, as we have argued above. If James had been concerned to avoid overtly Christian language in this section, he would surely have avoided this word.

Conclusion The letter of James is an encyclical addressed to messianic Jewish communities wherever they may be in the Diaspora. It identifies them as unquestionably Jewish (members of ‘the twelve tribes’) belonging to communities distinguished by their faith in ‘our Lord Jesus the Messiah’. The specifically Christian features of the letter have sometimes been underestimated, most recently by Dale Allison. Not only are there allusions to the sayings of Jesus, but Jesus is also clearly identified as the exalted Lord, presently active in healing the sick, and expected as the coming judge. The communities are envisaged as having their own leadership and assemblies. The letter is silent as to their relationships with other Jews, which doubtless varied from place to place. Gentile Christians are also beyond the horizon of this document’s concern.

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THE THEMES OF 1 PETER: INSIGHTS FROM THE EARLIEST MANUSCRIPTS (THE CROSBYSCHØYEN CODEX MS 193 AND THE BODMER MISCELLANEOUS CODEX CONTAINING P 72 )*

David G. Horrell

1. Introduction Recent developments in textual criticism have significantly broadened the range of insights to be gained from study of the NT manuscripts. While the effort to weigh competing readings and thus establish the earliest form of the text remain crucial, recent studies have shown how the manuscripts (and their variant readings) are themselves valuable embodiments of reception and interpretation, crucial witnesses to early Christianity’s visual and material culture.1 My interest in this paper is in what are, as things currently stand, very likely the two earliest manuscripts of 1 Peter. Not only does their antiquity make them significant, so also does the character and content of the manuscripts themselves. I am not here concerned with the variant readings of 1 Peter which these two manuscripts present but with the ways in which, as collections of literature, they offer insights into the early interpretation of 1 Peter, the literary connections made with it and what early transmitters of the text of 1 Peter took to be its key themes. The two manuscripts are the Crosby-Schøyen Codex ms 193 (hereafter C-S), in Sahidic Coptic, and the Bodmer Miscellaneous Codex (hereafter BMC),2 in Greek. The Coptic manuscript, as a recently published translational version, has received very little attention in treatments of the text of 1 Peter.3 The Bodmer Codex, published in parts between 1958 and

*I would like to dedicate this essay, first presented as a paper in the month of his retirement after thirty-six years at the University of Exeter, to my colleague Dr Alastair Logan, and to thank him publicly for his warm collegiality (and fruitful discussions of the topic of this paper!). I would also like to thank the following for their very helpful comments and suggestions:  Peter Williams, Peter Head, Stuart Macwilliam, Morwenna Ludlow and Lutz Doering. Research for this essay has also been supported by a Small Research Grant from the British Academy, and library facilities in Cambridge and Heidelberg, for which I would also like to express my sincere thanks. 1 See, e.g., D. C. Parker, The Living Text of the Gospels (Cambridge: Cambridge University, 1997); B. D. Ehrman, The Orthodox Corruption of Scripture: The Effect of Early Christological Controversies on the Text of the New Testament (New York and Oxford: Oxford University, 1993); L. W. Hurtado, The Earliest Christian Artifacts: Manuscripts and Christian Origins (Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 2006). 2 For this title for the codex, cf. T. Wasserman, ‘Papyrus 72 and the Bodmer Miscellaneous Codex’, NTS 51 (2005) 137–54. 3 For the publication of the MS, see J. E. Goehring, ed., The Crosby-Schøyen Codex Ms 193 in the Schøyen Collection (CSCO 521; Leuven: Peeters, 1990). Some of the most significant readings of the text of 1 Peter have been presented by a member of the team which edited the codex: H.-G. Bethge, ‘Der Text des ersten Petrusbriefes im Crosby-SchøyenCodex (Ms. 193 Schøyen Collection)’, ZNW 84 (1993) 255–67.

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1964, is much better known, at least sofar as its NT items are concerned: it includes 1 Peter, 2 Peter and Jude, known together as P72. However, while the variant readings of P72 have been carefully assessed,4 the significance of the manuscript context in which these NT texts appear has less frequently been considered.5 Both codices, it should be noted, ‘derive from the same early Christian library’,6 a library of the Pachomian monastic Order, ‘discovered late in 1952 in Upper Egypt near Dishnā’.7 However, the codices almost certainly date from before the foundation of the Order itself, as does ‘much of the material of the highest quality in the collection’.8 Moreover, their texts of 1 Peter ‘appear to be quite unrelated’.9 The Greek Vorlage on which C-S depends was evidently quite distinct from – and perhaps considerably older than – that presented in P72 (see below on dating).10 The shared geographical provenance of these two codices means that we should be wary of taking them as two entirely unrelated witnesses to the ways in which early Christians collected and interpreted their writings. Nonetheless, the two codices do give us two distinct glimpses into the early reception of 1 Peter. I shall consider each in turn, before drawing some comparative and broader conclusions; I begin with C-S.

2. Crosby-Schøyen Codex Ms 193 C-S comprises a codex which originally had 136 pages, though these were not numbered sequentially throughout. Each page measures approximately 15 × 15  cm.11 The date of C-S cannot be precisely determined, and opinions range from late second to early fifth century,12 but William Willis, the editor and translator of its text of 1 Peter, concludes ‘that it may be dated with some confidence to the middle of the III century’.13 The Greek Vorlage from which the Coptic translation was made – at a stage prior to the production of C-S itself – must have been older still, quite probably older than the text of P72.14 And whatever its precise date, C-S is undoubtedly an important witness to the early history of the letter.

See, e.g., É. Massaux, ‘Le Texte de la Ia Petri du Papyrus Bodmer VIII (P72)’, ETL 39 (1963) 616–71. There have been some studies with this latter focus, most recently Wasserman, ‘Papyrus 72’ and T. Nicklas and T. Wasserman, ‘Theologische Linien im Codex Bodmer Miscellani?’, New Testament Manuscripts: Their Texts and Their World (ed. T. J. Kraus and T. Nicklas; Leiden: Brill, 2006) 161–88. These have, however, come mostly from those whose primary interest and expertise is in the text-historical/text-critical areas. 6 W. H. Willis, ‘The Letter of Peter (1 Peter)’, Crosby-Schøyen Codex, 135–215 (137). 7 J. M. Robinson, ‘The Manuscript’s History and Codicology’, Crosby-Schøyen Codex (ed. Goehring) xvii–xlvii (xxvii, cf. also xxxv). 8 J. M. Robinson, ‘The Pachomian Monastic Library at the Chester Beatty Library and the Bibliothèque Bodmer’, Manuscripts of the Middle East 5 (1990–1) 26–40 (27). 9 Willis, ‘Letter of Peter’, 137. 10 ‘The Crosby-Schøyen text agrees with only one of the 29 unique significant readings of P72’ (Willis, ‘Letter of Peter’, 137). 11 See Robinson, ‘The Manuscript’s History’, xvii–xlvii, xliii–lxiv. 12 See Robinson, ‘The Manuscript’s History’, xxxiii. K.  Aland and B.  Aland, Der Text des Neuen Testaments (Stuttgart: Deutsche Bibelgesellschaft, 2nd ed. 1989) 210, suggest ‘wahrscheinlich wohl um 400’, though with their giving arguments for this date. 13 Willis, ‘Letter of Peter’, 137, citing support from C.  H. Roberts for an early dating in n.4; Bethge, ‘Crosby-Schøyen-Codex’, 258–9. 14 Willis, ‘Letter of Peter’, 138, notes that since C-S is evidently a ‘copy of a copy’, not itself a direct translation from the Greek, ‘the original translation on which it is based must be pushed back to ad 200, perhaps even earlier’. 4 5

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It is interesting first to note the inscriptio with which 1 Peter begins in C-S (repeated as the subscript): tepistolh mpetros = ἡ ἐπιστολὴ (τοῦ) Πέτρου. The author of this text, then, and probably the author of the Greek Vorlage too, seems likely to have known – or at least, to have accepted – only this one letter of Peter.15 Moreover, in C-S, 1 Peter does not form part of a collection of NT texts, but a more diverse collection. The texts in their order in the codex, with the likely original pagination, are as follows:16 Melito of Sardis, On the Passover

1–45

2 Maccabees 5.27–7.41

46–66

1 Peter

1–33

Jonah

1–1717

Unidentified Text

[pagination missing]

Despite the discontinuous pagination, it is evidently all the work of one scribe,18 though it seems likely that the very fragmentary final homily was added at a later stage (but still by the same scribe).19 The collection of texts evidently makes no distinction between ‘canonical’ texts and others. Melito’s Περὶ Πάσχα – of which only §§47–105 are preserved in C-S, the opening sections being lost – focuses on the story of the Passover lamb as a prefiguration of the redemptive sufferings of Christ. Also notable in combination with the Passover lamb motif is the use of the Isaianic suffering servant material, particularly its sheep/lamb imagery (quoted explicitly in §64; see also, e.g., §§4, 8, 44, 71). The deliverance purchased for the members of the Church – ‘from slavery to freedom, from death to life, from tyranny to everlasting kingdom’ (§§67–68 [C-S]20) – gives them a new identity which is described in terms drawn again from OT texts in Exodus (19.6) and Isaiah (43.20): ‘he made us a new priesthood and a chosen people and an eternal kingdom’ (§68 [C-S]).21 This is also a striking and precise parallel to 1 Pet 2.9. Indeed, there are a number of close parallels between 1 Peter and Melito, at the level both of terminology and theme, and of more exact literary parallels, close enough to allow the Willis, ‘Letter of Peter’, 146; Bethge, ‘Crosby-Schøyen-Codex’, 260. Eusebius clearly knows of both letters attributed to Peter, but refers to ‘the letter of Peter’, which should be accepted (τὴν Πέτρου κυρωτέον ἐπιστολήν), contrasted with the second letter of Peter (Πέτρου δευτέρα ἐπιστολή) which is among the disputed books (HE 3.25.2–3). I am grateful to Peter Head for alerting me to this point. 16 There may possibly have been a brief opening tractate, but since the opening pages of the codex are missing, it is impossible to know what, if anything, might have filled these opening pages. The extant pagination for Melito (which begins only at p. 17, the previous pages being mostly lost), suggests a separately paginated six-page section at the beginning of the codex. See Robinson, ‘The Manuscript’s History’, xlvi; J. E. Goehring and W. H. Willis, ‘On the Passover by Melito of Sardis’, Crosby-Schøyen Codex (ed. Goehring) 1–79 (4). 17 However, the text of Jonah begins, prior to p. 1, on the same page (p. 33) as the ending of 1 Peter (see plate 8 in Goehring, ed., Crosby-Schøyen Codex). 18 See J. E. Goehring, ‘The Manuscript’s Language and Orthography’, Crosby-Schøyen Codex (ed. Goehring) xlix–lxii. 19 J. E. Goehring, ‘Unidentified Text’, Crosby-Schøyen Codex (ed. Goehring) 261–75 (263). 20 ET from Goehring and Willis, ‘On the Passover’, 43. 21 These words are missing from the text of Melito in the Bodmer Papyrus, on which see below, and fall within a lacuna in the Latin text. See O. Perler, Méliton de Sardes: sur la Pâque, et Fragments (SC 123; Paris: Cerf, 1966) 98, 173. There is therefore some uncertainty about their originality, but they are, significantly, present within the C-S text. 15

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possibility of, if not prove, literary dependency.22 More generally, 1 Peter and Melito’s Peri Pascha represent a common interpretation of the death of Christ in terms drawn both from the Exodus Passover account and Isaiah 53. This, John Elliott suggests, points at least to a shared oral tradition of interpretation (and possibly to Melito’s knowledge of 1 Peter).23 The second text is an extract from 2 Maccabees, the ‘martyrology section’ of the book.24 Its title in C-S is ‘The Martyrs of the Jews Who Lived Under Antiochus the King’, abbreviated in the subscript to ‘The Jewish Martyrs’.25 According to the editors, ‘though on the whole it seems to parallel Septuagint 2 Maccabees closely, it often gives a paraphrase or digest, or chooses a different word’.26 This section of 2 Maccabees describes the persecution of Jews which followed the king’s demand that they join in the offerings and celebrations associated with his birthday, actions which are taken to represent the acceptance of Greek customs (6.7–9). First two women are publicly paraded and killed for having circumcised their sons (6.10). Then we hear about the hideous deaths of Eleazar, and of seven brothers and their mother, who refused to eat pork and thus defile themselves. The text was especially important, Jonathan Goldstein notes, since it contained ‘the earliest surviving examples of elaborate stories of monotheists suffering martyrdom’ and as such provided ‘the direct source for the patterns that thereafter prevailed in Jewish and Christian literature’.27 After 1 Peter, the fourth text to be found in C-S is a complete text of Jonah, entitled ‘Jonah the Prophet’. The text again closely follows the Septuagint, with some variations, mostly due ‘to the simple preferences of the translator’.28 According to Charles Hedrick, editor and translator of the C-S text of Jonah, ‘[t]‌he relatively numerous remains of the Coptic text of Jonah suggest that it played a significant role in the liturgical life of early Coptic Christianity particularly in Upper Egypt’.29 The story of Jonah was also ‘an overwhelmingly favorite subject’ in early Christian art, appearing ‘more than seventy times … [i]n the pre-Constantinian era’, often with several episodes from the narrative depicted.30 The earliest such example is in the third-century Callistus Catacomb in Rome.31 The images of Jonah in early Christian art help to indicate one major reason for the story’s popularity: its perceived relevance as a type of the Easter story, a sign of resurrection, notably in the ‘three days and three nights’ (2.1) Jonah spends inside the fish.32 This christological

Along with Melito 68//1 Pet 2.9, Melito 12//1 Pet 1.19 is also an especially precise parallel, where the shared terminology might well reflect the influence of 1 Peter on Melito. See J. H. Elliott, 1 Peter (AB 37B; New York: Doubleday, 2000) 145–6. 23 Elliott, 1 Peter, 145, who details further parallels. 24 See E. S. Meltzer and H.-G. Bethge, ‘The Jewish Martyrs (2 Maccabees 5:27–7:41)’, Crosby-Schøyen Codex (ed. Goehring) 81–133 (83), who note that the other known Coptic ms of 2 Maccabees includes virtually the identical section (5.27–7.21, possibly running to 7.41 in its original complete form). 25 Meltzer and Bethge, ‘The Jewish Martyrs’, 83. 26 Meltzer and Bethge, ‘The Jewish Martyrs’, 84. 27 J. A. Goldstein, II Maccabees: A New Translation with Introduction and Commentary (AB 41A; New York: Doubleday, 1983) 282. 28 C. W. Hedrick, ‘Jonah the Prophet (Jonah)’, Crosby-Schøyen Codex (ed. Goehring) 217–59 (220). 29 Hedrick, ‘Jonah the Prophet’, 219. 30 R. M. Jensen, Understanding Early Christian Art (London and New York: Routledge, 2000) 69, 172. 31 For a colour picture, see L. V. Rutgers, Subterranean Rome: In Search of the Roots of Christianity in the Catacombs of the Eternal City (Leuven: Peeters, 2000) 93. 32 See Jensen, Early Christian Art, 171–4. Cf. Justin Dial. 107; Origen Comm in Matt 12.3; Basil De Spiritu Sanc. 14.32. 22

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parallel is strengthened further by the implication that Jonah has, in this three-day period, indeed gone to the realm of the dead (Jonah 2.2 MT: ‫ ;שאול‬2.3 LXX: ᾅδης; C-S: EM_N_TE). It was thus also appropriate as a symbol of the resurrection hope for the deceased whose place of repose it marked, as they awaited the final day of resurrection. The typological significance of the Jonah story seems to have been picked up very early in the Christian tradition. A  saying recorded in both Matthew and Luke makes reference to ‘the sign of Jonah’ (τὸ σημεῖον Ἰωνᾶ:  Matt 12.39; 16.4; Luke 11.29). Matthew’s version  – which describes Jonah, like the inscriptio in C-S, as Jonah ‘the prophet’ (12.39) – most clearly indicates that the sign refers to the Easter events, since it contains the crucial comparison, ‘just as Jonah was three days and three nights in the belly of the sea-monster, so will the Son of Man be three days and three nights in the heart of the earth’ (v. 40). As such, the sign of Jonah can equally well be applied to the general Christian hope for resurrection, as in 3 Cor 3.29–31 (a text, incidentally, which appears in the second of our codices; see below). There are perhaps other reasons too why the text of Jonah may have appealed to readers who also treasured 1 Peter: it is a story about a righteous man (1.14) called to missionary witness in a world of wickedness and vice (1.2). Indeed, one possible interpretation of ‘the sign of Jonah’ as presented and interpreted in Luke 11.29–30 is of Jonah, like Jesus, as a preacher of repentance.33 Because of Jonah’s witness to the Lord, the sailors – who nobly seek to avoid causing the death of a righteous man (1.14) – are converted to worshipping God (1.16), as are the inhabitants of Nineveh (3.5–8), much to Jonah’s chagrin. Jonah’s prayer to God in the midst of his affliction (2.2–9) is especially apposite for those who are suffering affliction, even to death, but who look to God as the source of their salvation. These are central themes in 1 Peter too:  the missionary witness of God’s people in a hostile world and their related afflictions, and their hope for vindication and salvation (cf. 1.3–9; 2.12; 3.15–16). The final text included in the codex is fragmentary and as yet unidentified. Differences in presentation (one column of text per page, compared with two throughout the rest of the codex; no apparent title or subscript) suggest that it ‘represents a secondary addition to an original collection of four tractates’, though it is ‘written in the same scribal hand’.34 Too little of the text is extant to analyse its content in any detail. It ‘exhorts its hearers to prayer, action and watchfulness’,35 drawing on biblical images and allusions to do so (e.g., references to the good shepherd [125, 7];36 to virgins and their lamps [126, 2–4]; to Noah and Joseph [126, 6, 12]). The rhetorical style has been seen as reminiscent of Melito, though this is insufficient basis to conclude that he was the author.37 The style seems to suggest that the text takes the form of a homily, though some other form of exhortation or catechesis is also possible.38

An older view discussed and rejected by Jeremias, ‘Ἰωνᾶς’, TDNT 3.409. J. B. Green, The Gospel of Luke (NICNT; Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 1997) 464, nonetheless sees this still as one of two possibilities that make good sense in the narrative. 34 Goehring, ‘Unidentified Text’, 263. 35 Goehring, ‘Unidentified Text’, 264. 36 The text is cited according to the codex page number then line number(s), following the convention in Goehring, ‘Unidentified Text’. 37 See Goehring, ‘Unidentified Text’, 263 with n. 2, 264 with n. 5; A. Stewart-Sykes, The Lamb’s High Feast: Melito, Peri Pascha and the Quartodeciman Paschal Liturgy at Sardis (VTSup 42; Leiden: Brill, 1998) 180. 38 Goehring, ‘Unidentified Text’, 264. 33

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It is evident that C-S has a clear thematic coherence, focused around the Easter themes of suffering and vindication.39 Hans-Gebhard Bethge summarizes the themes concisely as ‘Leiden, Passion, Ostern’.40 More fully, we might say that the collection focuses on the paschal suffering of Christ (esp. in Melito), and the suffering (and martyrdom) of God’s people (esp. in 2 Maccabees), and more generally, the existence and mission of Christians in a hostile gentile world (cf. Jonah, also a key Easter parable). It is striking how well these themes also reflect those central to 1 Peter. Indeed, given the way in which 1 Peter contains and connects all the above themes, we might well argue that it is perhaps the central text in terms of the thematic coherence of the codex. 1 Peter, like Melito’s Peri Pascha, which it may have influenced, draws on both Exodus Passover and Isaianic suffering servant material to depict the suffering and sacrifice of Christ (1.2, 19; 2.21–25). 1 Peter is clearly addressed to Christians who are suffering due to the hostility of the world around them, suffering not only informal slander and opprobrium but also, on occasion, trials and executions for confessing the name ‘Christian’.41 And Christ’s path of suffering is presented as an example, a way of discipleship (2.21), which leads to glory and salvation (1.3–12, 21; 4.1–2; 5.10). C-S clearly shows that early readers indeed took these to be the central themes of 1 Peter, linking it with other texts that depicted the paschal sufferings of Christ and the suffering of God’s people.

3.  The Bodmer Miscellaneous Codex The Bodmer Miscellaneous Codex is more complex to assess. For a start, it has not been preserved in its assembled form, and was published in a number of separate volumes in the Papyrus Bodmer series.42 The codex contains the work of several scribes and was formed by the amalgamation of a number of previously distinct writings.43 The order and contents of the codex thus remain somewhat open to debate.44 Nonetheless, we can be highly confident that these texts were collected together to form one codex, originally containing around 190 pages in total.45 The papyrus sheets measure around 28 cm × 15.5 cm, giving a page size of 14 × 15.5 cm,46 similar to that of C-S. Willis, ‘Letter of Peter’, 137. Bethge, ‘Crosby-Schøyen-Codex’, 257. 41 A good deal of recent scholarship has concluded that 1 Peter reflects mostly informal opprobrium and public hostility, not trials and possible executions, but I think that both scenarios, connected through the accusatorial process, are likely in view. See D. G. Horrell, ‘The Label Χριστιανός: 1 Pet 4.16 and the Formation of Christian Identity’, JBL 126 (2007) 361–81. 42 Papyrus Bodmer V, VII, VIII, IX, X, XI, XII, XIII, XX (Cologne-Geneva: Bibliotheca Bodmeriana, 1958–64). A new edition of the Apology of Phileas has since been published: A. Pietersma, The Acts of Phileas Bishop of Thmuis (Including Fragments of the Greek Psalter): P. Chester Beatty XV (with a New Edition of P. Bodmer XX, and Halkin’s Latin Acta) (Cahiers d’orientalisme 7; Geneva: Victor Chevalier, 1984). 43 See M. Testuz, Papyrus Bodmer VII–IX (Cologne-Geneva: Bibliotheca Bodmeriana, 1959) 9, who suggests that the texts must have existed ‘en plusiers brochures séparées, qu’on a réunies en un seul livre’. 44 Cf. Testuz, Papyrus Bodmer VII–IX, 9; V. Martin, Papyrus Bodmer XX (Cologne-Geneva: Bibliotheca Bodmeriana, 1964) 9; E. G. Turner, The Typology of the Early Codex (Pennsylvania: University of Pennsylvania, 1977) 80; Wasserman, ‘Papyrus 72’, 140–5; Nicklas and Wasserman, ‘Theologische Linien’, 161–7. 45 For the estimate of ca. 190 pages, see W. Grunewald and K. Junack, Das Neue Testament auf Papyrus. I: Die katholischen Briefe (ANTF 6; Berlin and New York: de Gruyter, 1986) 17. Testuz, Papyrus Bodmer VII–IX, 8–9, estimated ca. 180 pages, prior to the reconstruction of the Apology of Phileas. My own count from the various Bodmer Papyrus volumes brings a total of around 190pages, of which 183 are extant. 46 Martin, Papyrus Bodmer XX, 7; Testuz, Papyrus Bodmer VII–IX, 9. 39 40

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Connections in the pagination or evident in the preserved manuscripts enable some of the links between texts in the collection to be confirmed beyond doubt. There were clearly a number of scribes involved, and the most recent work by Tommy Wasserman presents a strong case for identifying five distinct hands.47 But the codicological connections indicate three distinct sections, two of them connected by a common scribe.48 The contents of the codex in the order proposed by Michel Testuz, editor of the majority of the relevant Papyrus Bodmer volumes, are as follows; I have also indicated the three sections of the codex as numbered by Winfried Grunewald (and later Wasserman), and the likely scribal hands.49 I Nativity of Mary (=Protevangelium of James) [scribe A] I Apocryphal Correspondence of Paul with the Corinthians (3 Corinthians) [scribe B] I Odes of Solomon 11 [scribe B] I The Epistle of Jude [scribe B] I Melito of Sardis, On the Passover [scribe A or E] I Fragment of a liturgical hymn [scribe A or E] II Apology of Phileas [scribe C] II Psalms 33–34 LXX [scribe D] III 1 and 2 Peter [scribe B] The creation of the codex in its final form, Grunewald suggests, was occasioned by the martyrdom of Phileas (in 304–307 ce):50 this was the impetus to construct a collection with the Apology of Phileas (and Pss 33–34, undoubtedly part of the same text as the Apology) as its core.51 The earlier collections (I and III), dating probably from the third century,52 may have been supplemented and drawn together into a new codex in the early fourth century.53 This means, of course, that the text of 1 Peter as preserved in this codex has a number of contexts, at different stages of the growth of the collection.54 The first stage is its grouping with 2 Peter in a distinct manuscript (section III). In contrast to C-S, we here find the letter entitled πετρου ἐπιστολη α᾽ and linked with a second letter attributed to the same apostle, a link suggested already by the explicit reference to a previous letter in 2 Pet 3.1. This manuscript, then, provides an early example of the kind of ‘Petrine witness’ which Robert Wall suggests is the canonical function of 2 Peter, when placed alongside 1 Peter.55 The combination of 1 and 2 Peter provides a fuller depiction of emerging orthodoxy, and a clear opposition to ‘false’ teachers (a dominant concern in 2 Peter), presented under the name of the apostle who represented the ‘rock’ on which the church was built (Matt 16.18).

Wasserman, ‘Papyrus 72’, 148–54. See Testuz, Papyrus Bodmer VII–IX, 9. 49 See Testuz, Papyrus Bodmer VII–IX, 8–9; Grunewald and Junack, Die katholischen Briefe, 19; Wasserman, ‘Papyrus 72’, 142–6; Nicklas and Wasserman, ‘Theologische Linien’, 162, 165–6, though Nicklas and Wasserman suggest that the order of texts in the codex may have been different from that proposed by Testuz, with the Apology of Phileas (and Pss 33–34) at the beginning or the end of the collection. 50 On the possible date range for the martyrdom, see Martin, Papyrus Bodmer XX, 10; Pietersma, Acts of Phileas, 14. 51 Grunewald and Junack, Die katholischen Briefe, 23–4. 52 For the third-century dating, see, e.g., Testuz, Papyrus Bodmer VII–IX, 9, and Papyrus Bodmer V, 10. 53 Cf. W. Wiefel, ‘Kanongeschichtliche Erwägungen Zu Papyrus Bodmer VII/VIII (P72)’, Archiv für Papyrusforschung 22 (1973) 289–303. 54 Cf. esp. Wiefel, ‘Kanongeschichtliche Erwägungen’. 55 R. W. Wall, ‘The Canonical Function of 1 Peter’, BibInt 9 (2001) 64–81. 47 48

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Indeed, this interpretation of the significance of the grouping of 1 and 2 Peter can be strengthened when we consider the marginal headings, or thematic summaries, that occur through 1 and 2 Peter but nowhere else in the BMC.56 This feature of the Petrine texts of the BMC, Wolfgang Wiefel suggests, is an indication of the particular value placed upon these writings, compared with others in the collection.57 It is indeed striking that it is only in these two letters that these marginal notes appear. This may be explicable, however, on the grounds that this particular tract, containing only 1 and 2 Peter, was first produced separately, before being incorporated into the larger codex. What seems more persuasive is Wiefel’s suggestion that these headings offer ‘Hinweise, die ein Stück Hermeneutik sichtbar werden lassen’.58 In other words, these marginal summaries indicate for us, as for the early readers of the codex, something of what were taken to be the main topics of the two letters. They are as follows (preserving the spellings in BMC): 1 Peter 1.15 περι αγειοσυνη 1.22 περι αγνια 2.5 περι ϊερατευμα αγιον 2.9 περι γενος εγλεκτον βασιλιον ϊερατευμα εθνος αγιον λαον περιποησιν 3.18 περι θανατου εν σαρκι και ζωοποιου και ακεκλεισμενοις59 4.1 περι χρυ παθος εν σαρκι 4.6 περι σαρκος 4.8 περι αγαπη 4.19 περι θυ κτειστη 2 Peter 2.1 περι ψεδοδιδασκαλοι 2.15 περι τεκνα καταρα 3.3 περι εμπεκται 3.14 περι ειρηνη As Wiefel points out, these summary phrases together give a clear indication of the priorities of Christian life in the world: holiness and purity, the holy priesthood and chosen people of God, belief in the sufferings of Christ in the flesh and in the creator God, separation from false teachers and scoffers, love and peace. In short, Wiefel claims, ‘das Bild eines durchschnittlichen großkirchlichen Christentums tritt uns aus diesen Überschriften entgegen’.60 This rather exaggerates the extent to which the headings themselves constitute a mini-summary of the key aspects of orthodox early Christianity, especially given their rather poor Greek, except insofar

These are presented in their marginal location in the text of P72 edited by Testuz, and are listed and discussed by Wiefel, ‘Kanongeschichtliche Erwägungen’, 301; Grunewald and Junack, Die katholischen Briefe, 21; Nicklas and Wasserman, ‘Theologische Linien’, 183–4. 57 Wiefel, ‘Kanongeschichtliche Erwägungen’, 301. 58 Wiefel, ‘Kanongeschichtliche Erwägungen’, 301. 59 F. W. Beare, The First Epistle of Peter (Oxford: Blackwell, 3rd ed. 1970 [1947]) 4, suggests that this ‘is probably an error for κατακεκλησμενοις which is read by C and a few minuscules, and is widely represented in the Old Latin’ (and also the Syriac Peshitta and Ethiopic versions). Indeed, P72’s marginal note may thus be a very early witness to the presence of this word in the textual tradition. Given the (Coptic) scribe’s relatively poor Greek, it is unlikely he introduced this word without some influence or precedent. 60 Wiefel, ‘Kanongeschichtliche Erwägungen’, 302. 56

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as 1 and 2 Peter together themselves constitute such an orthodox Bild. But whatever their combined doctrinal force, the summary notes certainly reflect an interpretative reading of the text which, by identifying and summarizing topics, influences subsequent readings. More specifically, for 1 Peter in particular, it is interesting to note that by far the two longest marginal notes relate to the declaration of the identity of the new people of God (2.9)  – a verse, we recall, closely paralleled in Melito – and the death and new life of Christ, in the context of his enigmatic proclamation to the imprisoned spirits (3.18; cf. also the heading to also 4.1 on this theme). This focus of attention in the thematic summaries gives a further indication of what was seen as the theological centre of the epistle. The tract containing 1 and 2 Peter was combined with another collection of texts (section I of the codex), some written by the same scribe, containing the Nativity of Mary, 3 Corinthians, the 11th Ode of Solomon, the letter of Jude, Melito’s Peri Pascha and a liturgical hymn. It is interesting to note, first, the linking of 1–2 Peter with Jude, a hint as to the early stages in the clustering of ‘catholic epistles’,61 and second, that here we find these subsequently canonized writings grouped with other early Christian literature, with no evident distinctions of status or value.62 It is difficult, however, to see any close thematic connections to explain the bringing together of this collection of texts, though this is an issue to which we shall shortly return. The inclusion of Jude might well be explained either on the grounds of the status of its author63 or because of the evident similarity of its material with that of 2 Peter (there is a large amount of closely shared material suggesting clear literary dependence). But it is hard to see any reason, in terms of closely shared theme or common outlook, for linking these three texts with the Nativity of Mary, 3 Corinthians and the 11th Ode of Solomon. It may be that a concern for mainstream orthodoxy, and defence against so-called heresies, was a prominent motivation. Jude, like 2 Peter, is dominated by a polemical denunciation of false teachers. The Nativity of Mary (ProtJas), the opening tract in section I, is clearly concerned to stress the purity and virginity of Mary, and the virginal conception of Jesus, drawing especially on Luke’s nativity story (ProtJas 11.1–6; 19.1–20.4), thus among other things, countering any low or adoptionist Christology. It is interesting to note that three unique readings in P72 also indicate a concern to stress the deity of Christ, perhaps again with an antiadoptionist motivation: in Jude 5, instead of κυριος (where some MSS, including Alexandrinus and Vaticanus, have ’Ιησους), P72 has θεος Χριστος; in 1 Pet 1.5, ‘the sufferings of Christ’ are, in P72 (and in miniscule 1735), τα του θεου παθηματα; and in 2 Pet 1.2, the omission of και leads to the reading ἐν ἐπιγνωσει θεου ’Ιησου του κυριου ημων.64 In the apocryphal correspondence of Paul with the Corinthians, Paul is called upon in order to oppose false teachers, who deny, among other things, God’s omnipotence, creation of the world, the real humanity of Christ

Cf. Wiefel, ‘Kanongeschichtliche Erwägungen’, 293–6. Cf. Wiefel, ‘Kanongeschichtliche Erwägungen’, 297–8. 63 On Jude’s significance in the leadership of early Jewish Christianity, see R. J. Bauckham, Jude and the Relatives of Jesus (Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1990). This significance may have been particularly important in the context of a Catholic Epistle collection, the purpose of which was, at least in part, to counterbalance the influence of the Pauline Epistle collection: see D. R. Nienhuis, Not by Paul Alone: The Formation of the Catholic Epistle Collection and the Christian Canon (Waco, TX: Baylor University, 2007). 64 See Wasserman, ‘Papyrus 72’, 152–3. More generally, on this issue, see Ehrman, Orthodox Corruption of Scripture. 61 62

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and the resurrection from the dead (3 Cor 1.9–15). The eleventh Ode is perhaps the most difficult to connect thematically,65 though James Charlesworth has recently suggested that it may have been found valuable in further stressing a belief in resurrection and future life, with its depiction and promise of paradise (OdeSol 11.16–19, 23–24). Charlesworth also notes a link between Jude’s polemic against false teachers who are like fruitless trees (Jude 12) and the positive depiction of the blossoming fruitful trees ‘in the land of eternal life’ (OdeSol 16.a–c, unique to the PBod text).66 One thing that is striking about the contents of sections I  and III of the codex is the appearance of Melito’s Peri Pascha alongside 1 Peter, as in C-S. The fragment of a hymn that immediately follows the Peri Pascha is too brief to say very much about. It is clearly some kind of liturgical hymn, its call to praise and response suggesting the possibility of antiphonal performance.67 Since it immediately follows the Peri Pascha, it has been suggested that it may have been used as part of the paschal liturgy, perhaps ‘chanté après le baptême et avant l’agape-eucharistie’.68 Othmar Perler considers it likely that Melito is the author of the hymn. Even if this remains unprovable, a close and early connection between the Peri Pascha and the hymn seems highly likely.69 Certainly, the appearance of 1 Peter and the Peri Pascha, as in C-S, suggests that the paschal/Easter theme was again a prominent reason for the selection and collection of these texts. A number of proposals have been made regarding the theological motivation or thematic focus that led to the creation of the entire codex which, in its final form, now also included the Apology of Phileas and Greek Psalms 33–34 (section II). Victor Martin, editor and translator of the Apology of Phileas in the Papyrus Bodmer series, proposed that the texts were united by their character as ‘theological literature’, developing and defending aspects of orthodox Christian doctrine.70 However, as Kim Haines-Eitzen points out, ‘Martin’s explanation . . . has the disadvantage of being so general that one wonders what early Christian literature would not fit in the category of “theological literature”, or what third and fourth century Christian writings are not concerned in some way with the questions of doctrine – particularly in the form of controversies over “orthodoxy” and “heresy” ’.71 Moreover, so far as 1 Peter is concerned, we might note that it is hardly concerned with any explicit rebuke of ‘heretics’, unlike Jude and 2 Peter. Nonetheless, as we have already seen, Martin’s suggestion has some merit, at least so far as the combined force of sections I and III of the codex are concerned. Haines-Eitzen’s own proposal is that ‘the most pervasive theme in the texts gathered into this codex is that of the body’, a proposal cautiously affirmed to a degree by Wasserman.72 However, this proposal also fails convincingly to capture a unifying theme. In the first place, to be even plausibly considered, the motif of the ‘body’ must be understood in immensely broad A point made emphatically by Nicklas and Wasserman, ‘Theologische Linien’, 175. J. H. Charlesworth, ‘Bodmer Papyrus and Ode of Solomon 11:  What Function of Functions Did the Collection Serve?’, Paper presented at the SBL Annual Meeting, Boston MA, November 2008. 67 So Testuz, Papyrus Bodmer X–XII, 73. 68 Perler, Méliton, 129. 69 See O. Perler, Ein Hymnus zur Ostervigil von Meliton? (Papyrus Bodmer XII) (Freiburg: Universitätsverlag Freiburg Schweiz, 1960). Cf. Perler, Méliton, 128–9. 70 Martin, Papyrus Bodmer XX, 9–10. 71 K. Haines-Eitzen, Guardians of Letters:  Literacy, Power, and the Transmitters of Early Christian Literature (Oxford: Oxford University, 2000) 103. 72 Haines-Eitzen, Guardians of Letters, 103; Wasserman, ‘Papyrus 72’, 147. 65 66

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and diverse ways – Haines-Eitzen notes, for example, the Nativity’s insistence that Jesus was born in the flesh, the spiritualized notion of the flesh in the 11th Ode of Solomon, the polemic against those who defile the flesh in 2 Peter and the theme of persecution and martyrdom in the Apology and the two Psalms.73 Thus, like Martin’s category of ‘theological literature’, the motif of the body becomes too diffuse to capture any supposedly clear common thread. The theme of the body (σῶμα) as such is, after all, hardly apparent in these texts, not least 1 Peter (from which the word is absent). Wasserman assesses these earlier proposals, and adds the possibility of some ‘liturgical connection between some of the writings’74  – a connection he unfortunately leaves unspecified – and also ‘several characteristics typical of incipient orthodoxy . . . especially in the area of Christology’ (cf. above).75 However, Nicklas and Wasserman are cautious about the possibility of identifying any specific theme which might explain the formation of the whole collection.76 In their view, the BMC may occupy ‘eine Mittelstellung zwischen Codices, deren Texte ganz offensichtlich unter einem die Einzeltexte recht eng verknüpfenden leitenden Thema verzahnt sind, und solchen, bei denen keinerlei innerer Zusammenhang erkennbar ist . . . Das Manuskript bleibt rätselhaft’.77 The earlier proposals by Wolfgang Wiefel, however, are also worth our attention. Wiefel distinguishes the two phases of the codex’s development and attempts to provide a Sitz im Leben for each.78 The texts collected in the first phase, during the third century (sections I and III above), constituted a ‘Privatanthologie’79 for personal use, characterized by a ‘deutlich antihäretischer Tendenz’.80 In the second phase, during the early fourth century, when section II was added, the codex was likely used for private reading at festival times, particularly at Easter.81 The change evident in this second phase may thus be summarized, ‘daß die ursprünglich mit antihäretischer Zielsetzung angelegte Anthologie zur erbaulichen Vorlesung an Festtagen bestimmt wird’.82 Certain aspects of Wiefel’s proposals seem somewhat unconvincing. The suggestion that the codex was intended for personal/private use, on the basis of its relatively small size, is not necessarily to be accepted.83 There is some merit, as we have seen, in seeing the collection as a presentation of emerging orthodoxy – to which 1 Peter makes a clear contribution – with defence against heretics and false teachers also a prominent concern (here 2 Peter is more pertinent). But unlike Jude, 2 Peter, and 3 Corinthians, 1 Peter is plainly unpolemical, and has no explicit concern to combat false teaching. The proposed shift to a Paschal focus with the Haines-Eitzen, Guardians of Letters, 103–4. Wasserman, ‘Papyrus 72’, 154; cf. 146. 75 Wasserman, ‘Papyrus 72’, 147; cf. 154. 76 Wasserman, ‘Papyrus 72’, 154; Nicklas and Wasserman, ‘Theologische Linien’, 185–8. 77 Nicklas and Wasserman, ‘Theologische Linien’, 185, 188. 78 Wiefel, ‘Kanongeschichtliche Erwägungen’, 290–3. Cf. Nicklas and Wasserman, ‘Theologische Linien’, 166, who describe Wiefel’s proposal as ‘[e]‌inen sehr komplexen Vorschlag’. 79 Wiefel, ‘Kanongeschichtliche Erwägungen’, 297. 80 Wiefel, ‘Kanongeschichtliche Erwägungen’, 299. 81 Wiefel, ‘Kanongeschichtliche Erwägungen’, 299–300. 82 Wiefel, ‘Kanongeschichtliche Erwägungen’, 300. 83 The dominant context for reading/hearing  – not least given the low rates of literacy  – would have been the congregational meetings. Moreover, the miniatures made specifically for private use were often much small than either BMC or C-S: see H. Y. Gamble, Books and Readers in the Early Church: A History of Early Christian Texts (New Haven and London: Yale University, 1995), 332n. 101. 73 74

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addition of section II is also less than convincing, since it seems hardly related to the content of the texts added at this point, particularly the Apology of Phileas.84 It is rather Melito’s Peri Pascha and 1 Peter that are central here. While this means that Wiefel’s attempt to identify distinct motives and uses at different stages in the codex’s history is unconvincing, his linking of the contents with an Easter theme and the Paschal celebrations remains of interest. 1 Peter is crucial here. Indeed, Wiefel goes on to note that, if we add 1 Peter to Melito’s Peri Pascha, ‘so entfällt die Hälfte des Bestandes (85 von 167 erhaltenen Blättern) auf Texte mit Osterbezug’.85 While Nicklas and Wasserman see the inclusion of Psalms 33–34 (LXX) along with 1–2 Peter as most likely a coincidence,86 Wiefel explains the inclusion of Psalms 33–34 on the basis of a link between Psalm 33 and 1 Peter. Noting that the Psalm is cited twice in 1 Peter – in 2.3 and 3.10–12, the latter being ‘das längste AT-Zitat im 1. Petr. überhaupt’ – Wiefel raises the question whether 1 Peter was understood as a homily on Psalm 33.87 Indeed, beyond the important citations (and possible echoes) of Psalm 33 in 1 Peter, there are also close thematic resonances between these two Psalms and 1 Peter. Both Psalms depict the cry of the righteous Davidide to God, for deliverance from those who persecute him and cause him suffering. As such they contain christologically relevant motifs, and were evidently taken to be of messianic significance by early Christians (cf. the quotation of Ps 33.21 [LXX] in John 19.36). They are also particularly relevant to the situation of people suffering rejection and persecution in a hostile world (cf. 4 Macc 18.15). 1 Peter explicitly describes the suffering Christ as a model for Christian discipleship, just as these Psalms depict the righteous sufferer in the line of David, who endures suffering confident of God’s just vindication. These two Psalms offer an excellent OT source to connect two themes central to 1 Peter the suffering and vindication of Christ, and the suffering and vindication of God’s righteous people. Furthermore, Psalm 33 (LXX) contains another theme of great importance to 1 Peter, that of ‘doing good’ (Ps 33.15 [LXX], quoted in 1 Pet 3.11). There is also more to say about the significance of the Apology of Phileas, quite possibly the key to the formation of the codex in its final form. It is interesting to note that in the other extant Greek manuscript of this text, Papyrus Chester Beatty XV, which dates from roughly the same time as (this part of) BMC (i.e. early to midfourth century), Phileas is also bound together with a collection of Greek Psalms.88 Even more important for our consideration here is the content and character of the Apology of Phileas (elsewhere called the Acts of Phileas). It is a martyrdom account which details the repeated questioning of Phileas by the prefect Culcianus. Culcianus repeatedly urges Phileas to sacrifice to the gods – and on one occasion to swear an oath, probably to the genius of the emperors89 – while Phileas gives a range of reasons for his firm and repeated refusal. Although the death of Phileas is not narrated in the BMC version (contrast the Chester Beatty Papyrus and the

Cf. Nicklas and Wasserman, ‘Theologische Linien’, 167, who note that Wiefel’s theory leaves unclear what role the Apology has in the collection. 85 Wiefel, ‘Kanongeschichtliche Erwägungen’, 300. On the total number of pages in the codex, see above n. 45. 86 Cf. Nicklas and Wasserman, ‘Theologische Linien’, 170; I think this underestimates the likelihood that literary and thematic connections were perceived, on which see below. 87 Wiefel, ‘Kanongeschichtliche Erwägungen’, 299. He does not, however, refer to W.  Bornemann’s much earlier proposal to this effect, on which see below. 88 See Pietersma, Acts of Phileas, 11. 89 See BCM col. 7, lines 7–12 (from Pietersma’s new edition). In P. Chester Beatty XV, the oath is explicitly ‘by the genius of the emperors’ (τὴν τύχην τῶν βασιλέ[ω]ν, Pietersma, Acts of Phileas, 42). 84

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Latin version),90 it is clear that attempts by the whole court to persuade him will not change his resolute refusal to comply with the prefect’s request. A comparison with C-S is striking: there, along with Melito and 1 Peter, we had 2 Macc 5–7, an account of the Jewish martyrs; here, along with Melito and 1 Peter, we have an account of the trial of a recent Christian martyr. The thematic resonances which cluster in BMC, and specifically around 1 Peter, are, then, closer than has been recognized. Wiefel, we recall, noted that when the pages of Melito and 1 Peter were added together, half of the BMC comprised texts with an Easter connection. However, if we now add Psalms 33–34, texts which clearly focus on the theme of the suffering and hope for vindication of the Davidic righteous one, and the Apology of Phileas, a Christian martyrology, then over a hundred pages of the codex (101 of the 183 that are extant) contain texts relating to the themes of the paschal suffering of Christ, and the related suffering of his people in a hostile world. The parallel with the focal themes of C-S is close indeed. There are also some specific points of connection with 1 Peter. Just as Phileas is here presented as an apologia (the opening phrase is: απολογεια [sic] φιλεου επισκοπου θμουεως), so the addressees of 1 Peter are instructed ‘always to be ready to offer an ἀπολογία to anyone who demands an account (λόγος) from you’ (3.15).91 And as with martyr-acts elsewhere, so the Apology of Phileas epitomizes the kind of ‘polite resistance’ (as I have elsewhere termed it)92 that 1 Peter calls for in its instruction that the emperor should be honoured, but God (alone) should be worshipped (1.17). The refusal to sacrifice (and to swear) is the central focus in Phileas. We cannot claim, then, that a single theme or theological motif unites every one of the diverse texts collected in BMC. Nonetheless, there are a number of aspects of the codex’s content that are significant for understanding the way early editors/readers understood the themes and content of 1 Peter. First, linked with 2 Peter, and then with the other texts in section I of the codex, 1 (and 2) Peter provides a body of Petrine teaching which is valuable and instructive for an emerging Christian orthodoxy, not least in its battles against what is perceived as false teaching and heresy. Second, there is the prominent focus on Easter themes central to Christian faith and discipleship. As in C-S, there is the striking collocation of 1 Peter and Melito’s Peri Pascha. This would seem to indicate that early editors, like modern scholars, recognized the thematic (and textual?) resonances connecting the two works, and their common focus on the themes of Christ’s suffering, death and vindication. The linking of 1 Peter with Psalms 33–34 not only highlights still further the paschal theme, but also connects this christological motif with the suffering of God’s people in a hostile world, their following of the one who suffered for them

See Pietersma, Acts of Phileas, 18–20. The possibly legal nuances of this language in 1 Peter have long been noted, though recent commentators have tended to suggest that the context implied here is everyday rather than judicial (e.g. Elliott, 1 Peter, 627–8; N. Brox, Der erste Petrusbrief [EKKNT 21; Zürich/Braunschwieg: Benziger; Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukirchener, 3rd ed. 1989], 159–60; O. Knoch, Der erste und zweite Petrusbrief. Der Judasbrief [RNT; Regensburg: Friedrich Pustet, 1990], 97; K. H. Jobes, 1 Peter [BECNT; Grand Rapids, MI: Baker Academic, 2005], 230). 92 D. G. Horrell, ‘Between Conformity and Resistance:  Beyond the Balch–Elliott Debate Towards a Postcolonial Reading of 1 Peter’, Reading 1 Peter with New Eyes: Methodological Reassessments of the Letter of First Peter (ed. R. L. Webb and B. Bauman-Martin; LNTS 364; London and New York: T&T Clark, 2007), 111–43. 90 91

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and their hope of salvation and vindication. Given the clear use of Psalm 33 in 1 Peter, there is also an intertextual as well as a thematic relationship. The inclusion of the Apology of Phileas, perhaps the key to the making of the final collection, indicates, as in C-S, the thematic link between the suffering of Christ and the suffering of God’s faithful people. In short, while the clear thematic coherence that characterizes C-S is less evident in BMC, there is still a good deal to suggest a similar focus linking a number of texts with themes central to 1 Peter.

4.  The Significance of C-S and BMC for the Interpretation of 1 Peter It remains to consider the significance of these early codices for the interpretation of 1 Peter, particularly in relation to a history of research in which proposals concerning a baptismal, homiletical, liturgical or paschal origin for 1 Peter, after a period of popularity, have in more recent decades come to be decisively rejected.93 First to propose that 1 Peter contained a baptismal homily (in 1.3–4.11) was Richard Perdelwitz.94 This view of the letter was also developed (independently) by W. Bornemann, who argued that 1 Pet 1.3–5.11 (the letter frame being added later), ‘ursprünglich eine Taufrede war, und zwar im Anschluß an Psalm 34 [LXX 33] um das Jahr 90 von Silvanus in einer Stadt Kleinasiens gehalten’.95 Much of Bornemann’s article was devoted to an attempt to demonstrate a large number of allusions to this Psalm in the text of 1 Peter. The view of 1 Peter’s origin as a baptismal homily became popular, and not only in German scholarship.96 Herbert Preisker developed a liturgical analysis of the letter as a literary record of a baptismal service, an analysis which was enthusiastically endorsed by F. L. Cross.97 Cross agrees with Perdelwitz, Bornemann, Preisker and others that 1 Peter is, in large part at least, a baptismal homily,98 but goes beyond this theory in proposing that the baptismal context is specifically that of the Paschal Baptismal Eucharist. Some subsequent work presented similar analyses,99 but criticisms were also expressed.100 The ingenious but speculative proposals of Preisker and Cross came increasingly to be seen as unconvincing – ‘impressive in their breath-taking ingenuity’, as J. N. D. Kelly puts it101 – and as obscuring rather than highlighting the central concerns and themes of the letter. Recent scholarship has almost unanimously come to reject the liturgical and homiletical theories of earlier scholarship, together with their proposals for literary partition and a baptismal connection. In his recent and magisterial commentary, John Elliott concludes his review of scholarship on the genre and integrity of the letter thus: ‘1 Peter from the outset was conceived, See Elliott, 1 Peter, 7–12 for a concise but thorough treatment of this history of research. R. Perdelwitz, Die Mysterienreligion und das Problem des 1. Petrusbriefes (Giessen: Alfred Töpelmann, 1911) 19, 22. 95 W. Bornemann, ‘Der erste Petrusbrief – eine Taufrede des Silvanus?’ ZNW 19 (1920) 143–65 (146). 96 See Elliott, 1 Peter, 8, for a list. 97 H. Priesker, ‘Anhang zum ersten Petrusbrief ’, in H. Windisch, Die katholischen Briefe (HNT 15; Tübingen: Mohr, 3rd ed. 1951) 152–62 (157). F. L. Cross, 1 Peter: A Paschal Liturgy (London: Mowbray, 1954). 98 Cross, 1 Peter, 28–35. 99 E.g. M.-E. Boismard, Quatre hymnes baptismales dans la première épître de Pierre (LD 30; Paris: Cerf, 1961). 100 Notably C. F. D. Moule, ‘The Nature and Purpose of 1 Peter’, NTS 3 (1956–7) 1–11; T. C. G. Thornton, ‘I Peter, a Paschal Liturgy?’, JTS 12 (1961) 14–26; D. Hill, ‘On Suffering and Baptism in I Peter’, NovT 18 (1976) 181–9. 101 J. N. D. Kelly, A Commentary on the Epistles of Peter and Jude (BNTC; London: A. & C. Black, 1969) 18, cited in Elliott, 1 Peter, 10. 93 94

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composed, and dispatched as an integral, genuine letter. This conclusion represents the position of the vast majority of recent research on 1 Peter’.102 There is perhaps some irony in the fact that those who proposed a paschal or baptismal setting for 1 Peter, or noted specifically its connections with Melito or with Psalm 34 (LXX 33), wrote before the discovery of the manuscripts in which these texts were collected together with 1 Peter, while the rejection of their proposals became established precisely in the period shortly after the publication of the Bodmer Miscellaneous Codex.103 Or, to raise the issue in a different way, while recent commentators on 1 Peter have paid little attention to the significance of the manuscript contexts in which the earliest copies of 1 Peter have been found, those whose attention is primarily focused on these manuscripts sometimes echo earlier views of 1 Peter, in a way which can sound dated to those familiar with recent scholarship on the letter. Thus, Willis opens his introduction to the C-S text of 1 Peter with the following words: ‘In an early mixed codex the selection of the texts for which was the theme of the Pasch, it is not surprising to find 1 Peter, long recognized as a baptismal homily appropriate to the Easter season.’104 How far, then, should these earliest manuscripts of 1 Peter cause us to revise our views of the letter, and perhaps reassess the proposals from an earlier phase of Petrine scholarship? (1) We should not, I think, reject the strong consensus of recent scholarship that 1 Peter is a genuine letter, and a literary unity. Nonetheless, there is perhaps a somewhat more blurry line between epistolary and liturgical origin than the recent consensus suggests. For a start, as a letter which has long been seen as ‘une Épître de la Tradition’, incorporating a wide range of early Christian traditions and materials, 1 Peter may well include material that has been formed and shaped in liturgical contexts, even if the precise identification of such materials is not possible with any confidence.105 Moreover, the immediate reception of a letter is in a liturgical context, in the sense that it is read (and intended to be read) to a congregational gathering. From the earliest times the dominant Christian context for the reading of scriptural texts and other letters and communications was the ecclesial meeting (cf. 1 Thess 5.27; Col 4.16; 1 Tim 4.13; Rev 1.3).106 And it was not only texts from the Jewish scriptures and the (later canonized) NT texts that continued to be read in early Christian worship; other letters and valued writings were also included (cf., e.g., Eusebius HE 3.3.6; 3.16; 4.23.11). Martyr-acts too were read in the context of Christian meetings, perhaps from as early as the second century.107

Elliott, 1 Peter, 11. Cf. also K. M. Schmidt, Mahnung und Erinnerung im Maskenspiel. Epistolographie, Rhetorik und Narrativik der pseudepigraphen Petrusbriefe (HBS 38; Freiburg/Basel/Vienna: Herder, 2003) 157; R. Feldmeier, The First Letter of Peter: A Commentary on the Greek Text (Waco, TX: Baylor University, 2008) 28–32. Feldmeier sees ‘no reason to doubt the unity of 1 Peter’ (30) but leaves more open the question as to whether it was originally sent as a letter or only clothed in this form (32). 103 C-S, of course, has only been relatively recently published. 104 Willis, ‘Letter of Peter’, 137. Cf. Nicklas and Wasserman, ‘Theologische Linien’, 183, writing on the contents of BMC:  ‘Eines der entscheidenden Themen des 1.Petrusbriefes ist die Taufe’. It should be noted, though, that Willis continues the comments cited above as follows: ‘But whatever may be one’s view of the text as a baptismal sermon or liturgy, its inclusion in the Crosby-Schøyen codex confirms at least that the scribe or organizer of the codex considered the epistle Paschal in character’ (137). 105 C. Spicq, Les Épîtres de Saint Pierre (SB; Paris: Gabalda, 1966) 15. See further D. G. Horrell, ‘The Product of a Petrine Circle? A Reassessment of the Origin and Character of 1 Peter’, JSNT 86 (2002) 29–60. 106 See further Gamble, Books and Readers, 205–8, 211–18; L. W. Hurtado, ‘The New Testament in the Second Century: Text, Collections and Canon’, Transmission and Reception: New Testament Text-Critical and Exegetical Studies (ed. J. W. Childers and D. C. Parker; Piscataway, NJ: Gorgias, 2006) 3–27 (11–14). 107 Gamble, Books and Readers, 218. 102

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It is unlikely that 1 Peter originated as a baptismal homily on Psalm 33, as Bornemann argued, but the Psalm, the use of which may have been known from the context of congregational worship, has clearly enough influenced the author of the letter, even if not to the extent that Bornemann argued.108 The BMC suggests that this intertextual and/or thematic link between 1 Peter and Psalms 33–34 was soon recognized by readers of the epistle. It is impossible to be certain how the particular codices we have considered here were used, whether liturgically – specifically at Easter, or throughout the year? – or, say, for catechetical instruction. Bethge, for example, regards C-S as ‘ein liturgisches Buch für die Osterzeit’.109 Wasserman notes ‘a liturgical connection between the 11th Ode, Melito’s Homily, the hymnal fragment and 1 Peter’ in BMC. He is uncertain whether ‘the Bodmer codex was actually used in church services’ but nonetheless sees the liturgical connections as likely explained ‘by the fact that these texts were transmitted in a liturgical context’.110 The appearance of two psalms in the collection would also support a liturgical use. C-S, with its clear and well-spaced text, and its tight thematic focus, perhaps more strongly implies a liturgical use, while the less polished presentation of the BMC text, and its wider range of topics and material, might possibly suggest a use in teaching and instruction, whether in congregational or private settings. But even if we do assume some kind of liturgical/congregational use, this is, of course, quite different from the view which sees in the text of 1 Peter the record of a (baptismal/ eucharistic/paschal) liturgy. Finding 1 Peter in early liturgical use does not imply that the document originated as a liturgical order, later set within an epistolary frame. It is important to distinguish between the search for the origins of 1 Peter and the early interpretation and use of the letter. Early twentieth-century scholarship on 1 Peter rightly and astutely recognized in 1 Peter paschal themes, and connections with Melito and Psalm 33. Where it went wrong was in seeing these themes and connections as indications of the origins of the letter, in homily or liturgy, the addition of an epistolary frame turning these materials into the form of a letter. (2) Perhaps the main way in which these manuscripts of 1 Peter make a contribution to our understanding of the letter is in indicating what early interpreters took to be its central themes and theological focus. The two earliest copies of 1 Peter, C-S in particular, indicate that some of the earliest interpreters of the letter found it full of paschal themes, seeing connections with Melito and (in BMC) the Psalms. They also found it a text resonant with the themes of persecution and martyrdom, and the suffering of God’s people in the world, a suffering that imitates that of Christ. This thematic focus is less consistently evident in BMC, but is nonetheless prominent, as we have seen above. In identifying such themes as central to the letter, these codices – products and reflections of a somewhat later time and context – do not, of course, allow us to assume that these were also in the mind of the author of 1 Peter. But they do provide a view, an interpretation of the letter, which can, not entirely unlike exegetical works and commentaries (also reflections of later times and contexts), point us to the theological centre of the letter and to its dominant themes and concerns – whether or not these were consciously intended by its author. In identifying as the central themes of 1 Peter the suffering and vindication of Christ, and the related suffering

See S. Woan, ‘The Psalms in 1 Peter’, The Psalms in the New Testament (ed. S. Moyise and M. J. J. Menken; London & New York: T&T Clark, 2004) 213–29. 109 Bethge, ‘Crosby-Schøyen-Codex’, 257. 110 Wasserman, ‘Papyrus 72’, 146. 108

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and hope of his faithful people in a hostile world, the producers of these early codices concur with modern commentators.111 This in itself illustrates how these early manuscripts constitute a valuable and fascinating part of the history of interpretation of 1 Peter, an illuminating pointer to the dominant themes of the letter.

E.g., Elliott characterizes 1 Peter as follows: ‘First Peter is, in a sense, an Easter letter. The basis for the hope it celebrates, and the impetus for the creation of the distinctive community it describes, are grounded in God’s resurrection of Jesus Christ from the dead and the regeneration of those who confess him as Lord . . . It is most appropriate, therefore, that it is 1 Peter to which the church listens in its liturgical celebration of the Sundays of the Easter season’ (J. H. Elliott, Conflict, Community, and Honor: 1 Peter in Social-Scientific Perspective [Eugene, OR: Cascade, 2007], 2–3. 111

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ALIENS AND STRANGERS? THE SOCIOECONOMIC LOCATION OF THE ADDRESSES OF 1 PETER

David G. Horrell

1. Introduction Recent years have seen a lively discussion of the socio-economic level of the earliest Christians. A so-called ‘old consensus’ that they came from among the poor, usually attributed to Adolf Deissmann (not entirely accurately),1 was replaced in the 1970s and 1980s with a so-called ‘new consensus’ that they represented a cross-section of urban society, and included some individuals of relatively high wealth and status.2 The initial impetus for this ‘new consensus’ was provided by Edwin Judge, who in 1960 suggested that, in contrast to Deissmann’s view, ‘[f]‌ar from being a socially depressed group .  .  . if the Corinthians are at all typical, the Christians were dominated by a socially pretentious section of the population of the big cities’.3 The main foundations, however, were laid in Gerd Theissen’s essay on social stratification in the Corinthian community, first published in 1974.4 Theissen’s basic thesis is that ‘the Corinthian congregation is marked by internal stratification. The majority of the members, who come from the lower classes (aus den unteren Schichten), stand in contrast to a few influential members who come from the upper classes (aus der Oberschicht)’.5 The individuals named in 1 Corinthians, Theissen argued, seem mostly to have been people of some wealth

Note the comments of Steven J. Friesen, ‘Poverty in Pauline Studies: Beyond the So-Called New Consensus’, JSNT 26 (2004), 323–61 (325); Gerd Theissen, ‘The Social Structure of Pauline Communities: Some Critical Remarks on J. J. Meggitt, Paul, Poverty and Survival’, JSNT 84 (2001), 65–84 (66), who questions whether there was either an ‘old’ or a ‘new’ consensus. 2 For an overview of the discussion to the mid-1990s, see Horrell, Social Ethos, 91–101; for more recent discussion, see Bruce W. Longenecker, ‘Socio-Economic Profiling of the First Urban Christians’, in Todd D. Still and David G. Horrell (eds), After the First Urban Christians:  The Social-Scientific Study of Pauline Christianity Twenty-Five Years Later (London and New York: T&T Clark, 2009), 36–59. 3 Edwin A. Judge, The Social Pattern of Early Christian Groups in the First Century: Some Prologomena to the Study of the New Testament Ideas of Social Obligation (London: Tyndale, 1960), 60. 4 Gerd Theissen, ‘Soziale Schichtung in der korinthischen Gemeinde: Ein Beitrag zur Soziologie des hellenistischen Urchristentums’, ZNW 65 (1974), 232–72; repr. in Gerd Theissen, Studien zur Soziologie des Urchristentums (WUNT 19; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1979 [3rd edn, 1988]); ET in Gerd Theissen, The Social Setting of Pauline Christianity: Essays on Corinth (Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1982). 5 Theissen, Social Setting, 69; German from Theissen, Studien, 231. The use of ‘class’ to translate the German Schicht (more properly, ‘stratum’) is problematic and raises various methodological issues; see further Geza Alföldy, Die römische Gesellschaft:  Augsewählte Beiträge (Wiesbaden:  Franz Steiner, 1986), 72–78; Richard L.  Rohrbaugh, ‘Methodological Considerations in the Debate over the Social Class Status of Early Christians’, JAAR 52 (1984), 512– 46; Dale B. Martin, ‘Ancient Slavery, Class, and Early Christianity’, Fides et Historia 23 (1991), 105–13. Any use of the term ‘middle class’ is particularly contentious for the ancient world. 1

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and social position.6 Report of an ‘emerging consensus’ was first announced, and supported, by Abraham Malherbe, in his Social Aspects of Early Christianity, published in 1977.7 A further significant contribution to the establishment of this consensus was a chapter on the social level of the Pauline Christians in Wayne Meeks’ classic and wide-ranging treatment of the first urban Christians.8 Building on Theissen’s detailed analysis, Meeks agreed that ‘[t]he “emerging consensus” that Malherbe reports seems to be valid: a Pauline congregation generally reflected a fair cross-section of urban society’.9 This consensus then provided the basis for a wide range of further studies, many of which placed a good deal of weight on the conviction that there were wealthy, elite, ruling-class members among the early Pauline congregations, which have been the main focus for study.10 The relatively uncontroversial development of the ‘new consensus’ perspective was brought to an end in 1998 with the publication of Justin Meggitt’s Paul, Poverty and Survival.11 This book constitutes a frontal assault on the new consensus, attacking the reading of the evidence on which its reconstruction is based and insisting that Paul and the earliest Christians shared in the absolute material poverty that was the lot of 99 per cent of the Roman empire’s inhabitants. Meggitt’s book has generated considerable debate, including some vigorous defence of a ‘new consensus’ position. One of the more telling criticisms has been that Meggitt operates with a somewhat crude binary model, which effectively divides the inhabitants of the Roman empire into two groups: the elite rich, and the 99 per cent poor.12 An influential attempt to develop a Theissen, Social Setting, 95. Theissen bases his conclusions on assessment in relation to four criteria deemed to indicate high social status: holding offices, having houses, assisting the congregation, and travelling (see 73–94). 7 Abraham J. Malherbe, Social Aspects of Early Christianity (2nd edn; Philadelphia: Fortress Press, 1983 [1977]), 31. 8 Wayne A. Meeks, The First Urban Christians: The Social World of the Apostle Paul (New Haven and London: Yale University Press, 1983), 51–73, repr. in David G. Horrell (ed.), Social-Scientific Approaches to New Testament Interpretation (Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1999), 195–232. 9 Meeks, First Urban Christians, 73. 10 E.g. John K. Chow, Patronage and Power: A Study of Social Networks in Corinth (JSNTSup 75; Sheffield: JSOT Press, 1992); Andrew D. Clarke, Secular and Christian Leadership in Corinth: A Socio-Historical and Exegetical Study of 1 Corinthians 1–6 (AGAJU 18; Leiden: Brill, 1993). My own earlier study broadly followed the ‘new consensus’ picture, but was more cautious about the socio-economic level of the members: ‘we can hardly state with confidence that the most socially prominent members of the Corinthian congregation belong to the “elite”, the “ruling class”, of Corinth . . . Nevertheless, there do seem to be at least some members of the ἐκκλησία who are relatively well-to-do, who are heads of households which include slaves, the owners of accommodation of some size, and people with some wealth at their disposal’ (Horrell, Social Ethos, 98). I would now be still more cautious, especially regarding wealth and housing (cf. David G. Horrell, ‘Domestic Space and Christian Meetings at Corinth: Imagining New Contexts and the Buildings East of the Theatre’, NTS 50 [2004], 349–69), but would affirm the conclusion that the churches included a range of people from urban society (cf. Horrell, Social Ethos, 100–101). I have also questioned the cogency of the label ‘Pauline community’, though some such shorthand terms are hard to avoid; see Horrell, ‘Pauline Churches’. 11 Justin J. Meggitt, Paul, Poverty and Survival (SNTW; Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1998). 12 See Dale B. Martin, ‘Review Essay:  Justin J Meggitt, Paul, Poverty and Survival’, JSNT 84 (2001), 51–64 (54–57); Theissen, ‘Critical Remarks’, 70–75; Friesen, ‘Poverty’, 339; Bengt Holmberg, ‘The Methods of Historical Reconstruction in the Scholarly “Recovery” of Corinthian Christianity’, in Edward Adams and David G. Horrell (eds), Christianity at Corinth: The Quest for the Pauline Church (Louisville and London: Westminster John Knox, 2004), 255–71 (261– 66); Bruce W. Longenecker, ‘Exposing the Economic Middle: A Revised Economy Scale for the Study of Early urban Christianity’, JSNT 31 (2009), 243–78. Note the criticisms raised of a binary model in the work of ancient historians by Walter Scheidel, ‘Stratification, Deprivation and Quality of Life’, in Margaret Atkins and Robin Osborne (eds), Poverty in the Roman World (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2006), 40–59 (40–45). It should be noted, however, that Meggitt does at some points note the significance of differentiations among ‘the poor’ (e.g. p. 5); furthermore, his strategy of stressing the material poverty of the mass of the empire’s population is understandable as an attempt to confront the frequent presumption in ‘new consensus’ writing that some members of the churches were wealthy, elite, upper class, etc. 6

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more sophisticated and detailed model which avoids this criticism has been made by Steven Friesen, who outlines a ‘poverty scale’ for Roman urban society with seven categories ranging from the super-wealthy imperial elites (PS1) to those below subsistence level (PS7).13 It is important to note, though, that Friesen concurs with Meggitt’s central arguments: that there is little if any evidence to place any of the Pauline Christians into the category of the wealthy elite (PS1-3), and that the vast majority of the empire’s inhabitants, and of the early Christians, were poor, living around or not much above subsistence level.14 It is unsurprising that the discussion of the socio-economic level of the earliest Christians has focused heavily on the Pauline letters. Though even here the evidence is scanty, there are at least snippets of prosopographical and other information to consider within a literary deposit of some size. first Peter, on the other hand, in this as in other respects, stands relatively neglected. This too is unsurprising: it is one relatively short letter, the authorship and date of which are open to discussion and which provides no significant prosopographical data, at least concerning the addressees of the letter.15 Moreover, it is open to question how much the author actually knew about the communities addressed in the letter, not least given the huge geographical area envisaged (1 Pet. 1.1; see map 1, p. 239). If the author were based in Asia Minor, as some suggest, then his knowledge of Christian congregations in the region would probably be closer than if he were in Rome, but in either case we should not expect much local detail.16 Yet, in a sense, the letter’s broad and generalizing address adds to the historical value of 1 Peter, since it reveals what the author presumes as a plausible depiction of early Christian communities across Asia Minor, and a depiction that must match the realities reasonably well if the letter is to be an effective communication (if there were no οἰκέται among the addressees, the letter’s exhortations miss their mark on this score, and so on .  .  .). first Peter deserves more careful attention than it has generally received, and constitutes precious early evidence concerning the spread of Christianity in Asia Minor. John Elliott describes it as ‘one of the most socially significant writings of the early church’.17 Indeed, the main exception to this general neglect is Elliott’s groundbreaking and influential study, A Home for the Homeless, the first social-scientific study of the letter, which attempts, Friesen, ‘Poverty’. Friesen, ‘Poverty’, 348. 15 There is, of course, mention of Peter, Silvanus, and Mark (1.1; 5.12–13), but even if these references allow any socioeconomic deductions to be drawn, and are not part of what Francis W. Beare calls ‘the apparatus of pseudonymity’, they tell us nothing about the Christians to whom the letter was sent (Beare, First Epistle of Peter, 48). The συνεκλεκτή in 5.13 is usually taken, rightly in my view, as a reference to the Christian community; see §1.6 n. 147. 16 On the letter’s place of origin, see Introduction above, p. 5. 17 Elliott, Home, xxxii. It is curious that 1 Peter does not receive more attention in Stephen Mitchell’s massive and magisterial treatment of Anatolia, on which I am dependent for much of the broader information about Asia Minor below. Discussing the origins of Christianity in Anatolia, Mitchell focuses on Paul’s mission and letter to the Galatians, while later describing the testimony of Pliny’s famous letter (Ep. 10.96) as ‘a unique and unparalleled claim that Christianity had established a major hold on northern Asia Minor by the early second century’ (Stephen Mitchell, Anatolia:  Land, Men, and Gods in Asia Minor, Volume II:  The Rise of the Church [Oxford:  Clarendon,  1993], 37; see 37–38). Mitchell’s only substantive comment on 1 Peter is to note that, insofar as there was an early Christian mission in the areas north of the extent of Paul’s activity, ‘the evangelist was surely Peter, who addressed the Jews of Pontus, Galatia, Cappadocia, Asia, and Bithynia in his first epistle’ (Mitchell, Anatolia II, 3). As we shall see below, this understanding of the ethnic-religious identity of the addressees has a long and venerable history, but is unlikely to be correct, and has been rejected by the majority of modern commentators. Of course, 1 Peter gives little precise or detailed information concerning the spread and establishment of Christianity in these provinces, but it is nonetheless a source of some significance. 13 14

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among other things, to provide a ‘social profile’ of the addressees of the letter. The starting point for Elliott’s analysis of the letter is an argument for the correlation and central importance of two key terms: πάροικος and οἶκος (τοῦ θεοῦ). These terms, Elliott proposes, ‘are not merely linguistic but also sociological and theological correlates’.18 They therefore invite consideration as to the ways in which they ‘provide clues to the social condition of the addressees as well as to the socioreligious response offered by the document itself ’.19 After examining the meaning and use of πάροικος and related terms in both secular and biblical texts, Elliott concludes that it refers to those ‘being or living as a resident alien in a foreign environment or away from home’.20 More specifically, the term πάροικος denotes the ‘resident alien’ while παρεπίδημος refers to the ‘transient stranger’.21 Furthermore, in 1 Peter, Elliott argues that the description of the addressees as πάροικοι and παρεπίδημοι (see 1.1, 17; 2.11) refers to their ‘actual political and social condition’.22 This description thus gives us a concrete indication as to their social situation: they are ‘resident aliens and transient strangers’ who ‘shared the same vulnerable condition of the many thousands of Jewish and other ethnic πάροικοι of Asia Minor and throughout the Roman empire’.23 Indeed, in summarizing the findings of his opening chapter, Elliott makes clear how fundamentally his conclusions as to the significance of the designation πάροικοι και παρεπίδημοι shape his reflections on the social profile of the addressees: In 1 Peter the terms paroikia, paroikoi and parepidēmoi identify the addressees as a combination of displaced persons who are currently aliens permanently residing in (paroikia, paroikoi) or strangers temporarily visiting or passing through (parepidēmoi) the four provinces of Asia Minor named in the salutation (1:1). These terms . . . indicate not only the geographical dislocation of the recipients but also the political, legal, social and religious limitations and estrangement which such displacement entails. As paroikoi they may well have been numbered among the rural population and villagers who had been relocated to city territories and assigned inferior status to the citizenry. And as both paroikoi and parepidēmoi they may have been included among the numerous immigrant artisans, craftsmen, traders, merchants residing permanently in or temporarily traveling through the villages, towns and cities of the eastern provinces.24 Elliott’s next chapter expands many of these observations in offering a ‘social profile’ of the addressees of 1 Peter. For Elliott, the ‘limited’ urbanization of much of Asia Minor combined with the ‘internal evidence’ of 1 Peter ‘suggest that the letter is directed to a predominantly

Elliott, Home, 23. Elliott, Home, 24. 20 Elliott, Home, 35. 21 Elliott, Home, 34. 22 Elliott, Home, 35. This is somewhat qualified on p. 42, where Elliott notes that ‘[t]‌here is neither need nor reason to postulate mutually exclusive literal/figurative options here . . . these words in 1 Peter are used to describe religious as well as social circumstances’. Cf. also Elliott, 1 Peter, 482: ‘The experience of many as actual strangers and resident aliens provided an existential basis for the depiction of all believers as strangers and resident aliens in a metaphorical sense.’ 23 Elliott, Home, 37; cf. 129. 24 Elliott, Home, 48. 18 19

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rural audience’.25 The Christian communities in view contained a mix of Jews and non-Jews, though mostly the latter.26 And the conclusion that the addressees were πάροικοι forms the basis for a series of suggestions about their likely legal, economic, and social status: excluded from civic rights; mostly (though not exclusively) in rural areas and involved in agriculture; generally ‘from the working proletariat of the urban and rural areas’ and in ‘an inferior economic position’.27 These are the main contours of contemporary scholarship with which this present study must engage. In the examination of the socio-economic status of the addressees of Peter that follows, the findings will be related to the current ‘new consensus’ debate focused on the Pauline evidence, as sketched above. More specifically, Elliott’s proposals concerning the recipients of the letter will provide a set of hypotheses to test.

2.  The Socio-Economic Structure of the Roman Empire Before considering the specific evidence from the letter itself, it is important to provide a broader sketch of the Roman economy and of the developments in Asia Minor in the period with which we are concerned. Moses Finley’s The Ancient Economy, first published in 1973, remains a landmark study, particularly important for presenting a so-called ‘primitivist’ view of the Roman economy:  primarily dependent on agriculture, with landownership as the main form of wealth28 and cities as essentially centres of consumption, dependent on the produce and wealth generated from the land.29 There were certainly various kinds of trading activity and small-scale industries producing goods of various kinds in cities, but these remained mostly minor and rudimentary.30 The empire itself made significant demands in terms of taxation, both in cash but also, and importantly, in kind, with much agricultural produce needed to supply grain to Rome and also to support military presence and activity. As a more recent author summarizes the situation: ‘the overriding aim of farming was to extract profits in order to finance the social and political status of wealthy Romans’.31 Subsequent studies have challenged and revised aspects of Finley’s depiction: for example, Peter Temin argues that a ‘market economy’ was more developed and significant than Finley perceived,32 and Kevin Greene argues that the archaeological evidence shows that technological Elliott, Home, 62–63. Note, however, that this conclusion is both reiterated and qualified in what follows:  most πάροικοι were located in rural areas (68), and this is where most of the addressees were likely to be located (69), but ‘the letter is intended for Christians in the cities also’ (69) and the reference to οἰκέται (2.18–20) suggests an urban location (69). Nonetheless, in his more recent commentary, Elliott reiterates the likely ‘rural location of the letter’s addressees’ which ‘marks 1 Peter as a notable exception to the generalization that early Christianity everywhere constituted an “urban phenomenon” ’ (Elliott, 1 Peter, 90). 26 Elliott, Home, 65–67; also 45–46 with 55–56 nn. 76–77. 27 See Elliott, Home, 67–70, with quotations from p. 70. 28 Moses I. Finley, The Ancient Economy (2nd edn; London: Penguin, 1985 [1973]), 188. 29 Finley, Ancient Economy, 123–49, 191–96. 30 Cf. also Richard Duncan-Jones, The Economy of the Roman Empire:  Quantitative Studies (2nd edn; Cambridge: Cambridge university Press, 1982 [1974]), 1–2. 31 Kevin Greene, ‘Technological Innovation and Economic Progress in the Ancient world: M. I. Finley Re-Considered’, Economic History Review 53 (2000), 29–59 (42). 32 Peter Temin, ‘A Market Economy in the Early Roman Empire’, JRS 91 (2001), 169–81. 25

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improvements (often related to farming and food processing) were much more important than Finley suggested, and that there was greater ‘economic dynamism’ than Finley allowed.33 Recent ‘regional fieldwork studies’, Greene notes, suggest ‘that the productivity of Greek and Roman farming was able to support a far higher population than had ever been imagined, and that supposedly “sparsely occupied” areas . . . were actually more densely populated both before and after their Roman conquests than hitherto thought’.34 Nonetheless many other authors have reaffirmed the essential outlines of Finley’s primitivist portrait.35 Richard Duncan-Jones comments that ‘[t]‌he Roman economy remained a primitive system which would today qualify the Roman Empire for recognition as a “developing” country. Almost everywhere a large part of the population was engaged in agriculture at a relatively low level, while industry depended on a backward technology and was rarely organized in large units.’36 Robin Osborne, writing in 2006, characterizes the Roman economy as an ‘underdeveloped’, preindustrial economy based fundamentally on agriculture and with a largely rural population. Life expectancy was very low – estimates suggest around twenty to thirty at birth – and there was widespread malnutrition and periodic famine.37 In terms of the overall socio-economic structure of the empire’s population, there is widespread agreement that wealth and power were heavily concentrated in relatively few hands, with the richest elites comprising in total only around 1–2 per cent of the population.38 The concentration of wealth in few hands in a pre-industrial agriculturally based economy implies the corollary that the majority of the empire’s population did not live comfortably; as Meggitt and Friesen have stressed, ‘the overwhelming majority of the population under Roman imperialism lived near the subsistence level’.39 Nonetheless, there is good reason to try to press beyond the binary model  – a few very rich, an undifferentiated mass of the poor – found in both ancient (elite) depictions and some

Greene, ‘Technological Innovation’, 32. Greene, ‘Technological Innovation’, 51. 35 Note Greene’s assessment: ‘His overall framework has remained intact: gross disparities in wealth, the importance of political power and social status, and the limitations of financial systems, are not in dispute. However, most commentators are more positive about the level and nature of economic activity that took place within this framework (‘Technological Innovation’, 52). On the primitivist/anti-primitivist debate, see also Meggitt, Paul, 41–73, who supports Finley’s ‘primitivist’ picture. 36 Duncan-Jones, Economy, 1; see further 1–2. 37 For all these points, see Robin Osborne, ‘Roman Poverty in Context’, in Atkins and Osborne (eds), Poverty in the Roman World, 1–20 (4). See further Geza Alföldy, The Social History of Rome (London and Sydney: Croom Helm, 1985), 94–156; Ekkehard W. Stegemann and Wolfgang Stegemann, The Jesus Movement: A Social History of its First Century (Edinburgh:  T&T Clark, 1999), 7–95. On life expectancy, see Richard Duncan-Jones, Structure and Scale in the Roman Economy (Cambridge:  Cambridge University Press, 1990), 93–104. His conclusion is as follows:  ‘An uncontroversial working assumption about Roman life-expectancy at birth places it within a range between 20 and 30 years. Big nutritional differences, apart from anything else, almost certainly meant major class-variants in survival rates. An upper-class figure for life-expectation at birth of over 30 years, and what may be a servile figure below 20, suggest possible elements in the range of variation’ (103–104). 38 See Alföldy, Social History, 147; Scheidel, ‘Stratification’, 42 with n. 6; Stegemann and Stegemann, Jesus Movement, 77, who suggest between and 1 and 5 per cent for the upper stratum as a whole. For more detailed calculations, leading to the conclusion that ‘the richest elites made up only about 1.23 per cent of the empire’s inhabitants’, see Friesen, ‘Poverty’, 360–61. On the extreme inequalities of wealth, see S.  J. Batomsky, ‘Rich and Poor:  The Great Divide in Ancient Rome and Victorian England’, Greece and Rome 37 (1990), 37–43; Duncan-Jones, Economy, 3–5. 39 Friesen, ‘Poverty’, 343; Meggitt, Paul, passim; Stegemann and Stegemann, Jesus Movement, 88–93. 33 34

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modern scholarship.40 There is insufficient evidence to allow precise, robust conclusions to be drawn about the percentage of people living at various levels of socio-economic status, but, as Friesen has shown, estimates can be attempted. The chart from his article of 2004 is as follows:41 PS1

Imperial elites

0.04%

PS2

Regional elites

1.00%

PS3

Municipal elites

1.76%

PS4

Moderate surplus

7%?

PS5

Stable near subsistence

22%?

PS6

At subsistence

40%

PS7

Below subsistence

28%

It is notable that the figures are most speculative in categories 4 and 5, as Friesen indicates with question marks.42 This is unfortunate, since, as John Barclay remarks, it is precisely here that the distinctions are crucial: how much is ‘moderate surplus’ and how many of the population (and, more specifically, of the early Christians) might have lived at this level?43 More recent work has attempted to add further detail and refinement to the picture, particularly in terms of these crucial middle groups. In an essay from 2006, Walter Scheidel specifically addresses this issue, arguing for a sizeable ‘middling group’ comprising 20–25 per cent of Roman society. Scheidel argues that: the concentration of a large percentage of all assets in the top 3 to 5 per cent of the population . . . is in no way incompatible with the existence of a substantial middling group of ownerproducers . . . I conclude that there is sufficient evidence in support of the notion of an economic continuum from a narrow elite to a steadily broadening middling group as we move down the resource ladder . . . It is perfectly possible to reconcile the dominance of a disproportionately affluent elite with the presence of a substantial ‘middle’.44 Drawing on Scheidel’s work, Bruce Longenecker argued in an article from 2009 that the percentages in Friesen’s scale – which Longenecker prefers to call an ‘economy scale’ (ES) – should be revised, with the ‘middling’ category of moderate surplus (PS/ES4) increased significantly to include around 17 per cent of the population, and PS/ES5, 6, and 7 adjusted to 25, 30, and 25 per cent respectively.45 It is important to note that this still leaves 80 per cent of For this argument against a binary model, see Scheidel, ‘Stratification’, 40–45; Longenecker, ‘Economic Middle’. Among the examples Longenecker cites (247) are Tacitus’ contrasts between those who are ‘virtuous and associated with great houses’ and ‘the dirty plebs’ (plebs sordida, Hist. 1.4) or between ‘citizens of repute’ and ‘the rabble’ (Ann. 3.36), though in neither of these instances does Tacitus simply give a binary view of Roman society. 41 Friesen, ‘Poverty’, 347. 42 See Friesen, ‘Poverty’, 343–45. But the figures in all categories below PS3 are necessarily based on very limited evidence. As Longenecker, ‘Economic Middle’, 252–53, points out, Friesen’s figures for PS6 and PS7 are derived from a 1993 study by C. R. Whittaker of the poor in the city of Rome, with comparisons with cities in pre-industrial Europe, but Friesen takes the top end of Whittaker’s percentages for PS6 (30–40 per cent) and PS7 (24–28 per cent); see Friesen, ‘Poverty’, 345 n. 69, for his reasons for doing this. 43 John M. G. Barclay, ‘Poverty in Pauline Studies: A Response to Steven Friesen’, JSNT 26 (2004), 363–66 (365). 44 Scheidel, ‘Stratification’, 54. 45 Longenecker, ‘Economic Middle’, 262–64. 40

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the population living near subsistence level, so the picture of a large majority living in poverty remains. However, since their earlier essays, Scheidel and Friesen have collaborated to present a detailed, quantitative study that attempts to estimate the size of the Roman economy (in terms of GDP) and to model the likely patterns of income distribution. They conclude that elite groups, comprising around 1.5 per cent of the population, controlled 15–25 per cent of total income, while ‘middling’ groups – those with a real income of between 2.4 and 10 times above bare subsistence – comprised around 6–12 per cent, and controlled 15–25 per cent of total income. Among the large majority without such levels of income, 55–60 per cent may have lived at or around subsistence level, with a further 10–22 per cent hovering below the level of subsistence.46 ‘Middling’ groups may have been more common in urban than in rural areas, but overall ‘ “middling” incomes must necessarily have remained the exception while subsistence was the norm’.47 In his most recent work, from 2010, Longenecker accepts the broad outlines of Scheidel and Friesen’s calculations, while proposing a figure for ‘middling’ (ES4) groups at the upper end of their estimates (around 12 per cent) and suggesting that this figure in urban areas might have been more like 15 per cent. Consequently, his revised figures for ES4–7 are 15, 27, 30, and 25 per cent respectively, differing only little from the scale set out in his 2009 article.48 Friesen’s poverty scale, like Meggitt’s work before, is explicitly and deliberately focused on the urban context most relevant to studies of the Pauline Christians. Similarly, Longenecker states that his focus is on ‘Greco-Roman urbanism’, though he occasionally discusses the wider picture.49 Scheidel and Friesen’s recent work, however, as well as the influential analyses of Geza Alföldy and others, are not specifically focused on cities alone, but rather on the population as a whole. Since around 85–90 per cent of the population was rural, and with many city dwellers also directly engaged in agriculture, it is important that any overall sketch of the population take rural conditions into full account.50 Much agricultural land was owned by imperial elites and wealthy landowners, distantly absent or resident in local cities;51 rural peasants were therefore often working land owned by others, which meant, of course, that taxes and rents (often in kind) would have to be paid from the produce of their plot.52 Slaves with various levels of responsibility, from steward-managers (οἰκονόμοι, etc.) to more menial and lower-status positions, were often used on rural estates.53 Walter Scheidel and Steven J. Friesen, ‘The Size of the Economy and the Distribution of Income in the Roman Empire’, JRS 99 (2009), 61–91, esp. 82–85. 47 Scheidel and Friesen, ‘Economy’, 90. 48 Bruce W. Longenecker, Remember the Poor: Paul, Poverty, and the Greco-Roman World (Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 2010), 44–53. 49 Longenecker, ‘Economic Middle’, 244; Longenecker, Remember the Poor, 50–53. 50 For these broad figures, and more precise estimates specifically related to Anatolia, see Stephen Mitchell, Anatolia: Land, Men, and Gods in Asia Minor, Volume I: The Celts and the Impact of Roman Rule (Oxford: Clarendon, 1993), 244. Cf. also Alföldy, Social History, 97–99. Cities were generally small, most between 5,000 and 15,000, with few over 25,000; see Duncan-Jones, Economy, 259–87; Mitchell, Anatolia I, 244. 51 Mitchell, Anatolia I, 253. 52 For one depiction of the oppression that could be brought upon those who owed such taxes, see Philo, Spec. Leg. 3.159–62. The rural economy was less monetized than the urban; see Mitchell, Anatolia I, 245, 255–56. 53 See Keith Bradley, Slavery and Society at Rome (Cambridge:  Cambridge University Press, 1994), 55–61, 71–72, and the lengthy description in Columella, Res rustica 1.8.1–1.9.9. Columella gives a clear indication of the strong distinction (in his mind, at least) between rural slaves, hardened to labour, who should be kept away from the towns, and those ‘lazy and sleepy-headed class of servants’ (1.8.2) accustomed to life in the city (cf. also Seneca, De ira 3.29.1). He also discusses the formation of squads or gangs of ten to work (and be guarded) most efficiently 46

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

(1.9.7–8). It is, however, debated how far the widespread use of slaves on rural estates was characteristic throughout the empire (see Bradley, Slavery, 61). For Asia Minor, Broughton concludes, on the basis of the inscriptional evidence, that ‘[t]‌here is little evidence for the existence of agricultural slavery in Asia Minor in the Roman period. the use of slaves on the land was largely for household purposes or for management, and that the labor for by far the greater part of agricultural production was performed by free proprietors on small holdings or by free tenants on rented lands’ (T. R. S. Broughton, ‘Roman Asia Minor’, in Tenney Frank (ed.), An Economic Survey of Ancient Rome [Vol. IV; Baltimore: Johns Hopkins Press, 1938], 499–916 [690–91]). Serfdom, Broughton notes (692, 839), was in evidence; see further Geoffrey E. M. De Ste Croix, The Class Struggle in the Ancient Greek World from the Archaic Age to the Arab Conquests (London: Duckworth, 1981), 135–36, 147–62. It is open to question, though, how far the extent of slave use in agriculture would be evident in the inscriptional record; see Bradley, Slavery, 61; more generally on the importance of slavery and serfdom in agricultural production, though focused mostly on an earlier period, see De Ste Croix, Class Struggle, 505–509. See also Mitchell, Anatolia I, 160, 164, for some references to slaves in various administrative and managerial roles on large rural estates (and nn. 141–42 below, on οἰκέται). 54 Alföldy, Social History, 142–46; cf. 134 on the relatively better situation of the urban lower strata. 55 Mitchell, Anatolia I, 255. 56 Mitchell, Anatolia I, 169. Cf. also De Ste Croix, Class Struggle, 13–14. 57 Cf. Meggitt, Paul, 54 n. 65, 73 n. 186, and the general description of urban poverty on 53–73. Duncan-Jones, Structure and Scale, 104, comments on ‘the heavy mortality in large urban centres of the Mediterranean in the pre-modern period’, often due to infectious disease, for which seasonal peaks are visible. 58 ‘Economy scale’, or ‘economic scale’, seems a more apposite designation for a scale that includes the extremes of wealth as well as poverty, notwithstanding the importance of Friesen’s deliberate bringing of poverty to the centre of attention.

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1 Peter’s composition. This is a more specific socio-economic context within which to read and understand the letter.

3.  Roman Imperialism and the Development of Asia Minor Roman involvement in Asia Minor – the crucial datum for our period – began in the early second century bce during the reign of Antiochus III.59 More direct governance and control began in 133 bce, when the Attalid kingdom centred around Pergamum was bequeathed to Rome, leading to the creation of the province of Asia.60 Already in this period the Roman elite benefited from the right to collect Asian taxes and from opportunities to acquire land.61 In 74 bce Nicomedes III bequeathed Bithynia to Rome, which, following the pattern for Asia, also became a Roman province.62 The next significant development was the creation of the new province of Pontus in the north-east, following Pompey’s defeat of Mithradates. Pontus was then joined to Bithynia under arrangements made under Pompey in 63 bce.63 Roman involvement in central Asia Minor, the main area of the Galatian or Celtic tribes, culminated in the annexation of the possessions of Amyntas, a Galatian ruler murdered in around 25 ce, and the consequent creation of the province of Galatia.64 This ‘conversion of Amyntas’ kingdom into a province’, Mitchell notes, ‘provided a model for the annexation of a large part of the rest of Anatolia over the following century’.65 As various rulers died, so their territories were added to the province.66 One of the things this indicates  – something unavoidably obscured by simple maps of provincial boundaries – is the dynamic process of annexation and provincial expansion, a process difficult to reconstruct from the available sources, which led to frequently changing boundaries. Indeed, between 70 and 112 ce, the likely period of 1 Peter’s composition, Cappadocia was part of the massive province of Galatia (which also incorporated Paphlagonia, Pontus Galaticus, Pontus Polemoniacus, and Armenia Minor during this time).67 As Mitchell points out, ‘Roman rule brought immense changes to newly annexed areas, but the instruments of these changes were not, for the most part, the governors, but the new social, economic and political conditions entailed by annexation to the empire.’68 Various aspects of these changing conditions warrant brief consideration.69 For a brief overview of the development of Roman involvement in Asia Minor, see Richard J. A. Talbert, Atlas of Classical History (London and New  York:  Routledge, 1985), 159. For detailed discussion, see Broughton, ‘Roman Asia Minor’, 505–98; Mitchell, Anatolia I; A. N. Sherwin-white, Roman Foreign Policy in the East 168 B.C. to A.D. 1 (London: Duckworth, 1984). 60 Broughton, ‘Roman Asia Minor’, 526; Mitchell, Anatolia I, 29; Elliott, 1 Peter, 88. 61 Mitchell, Anatolia I, 29–30. 62 Broughton, ‘Roman Asia Minor’, 526. 63 Mitchell, Anatolia I, 31; Broughton, ‘Roman Asia Minor’, 527–33. 64 Mitchell, Anatolia I, 38–40, 61–63. 65 Mitchell, Anatolia I, 63. 66 See Mitchell, Anatolia I, 63, for details. 67 See Mitchell, Anatolia I, 63, and his detailed discussion of provincial boundaries in Asia Minor 25 BC–AD 235 (Mitchell, Anatolia II, 151–57); also Broughton, ‘Roman Asia Minor’, 597–98. Cf. also Eckhard J.  Schnabel, Early Christian Mission, Vol. 2: Paul and the Early Church (Downers Grove, IL and Leicester: IVP & Apollos, 2004), 1617 (fig. 31), though the legend for Schnabel’s two maps of Asia Minor needs to be reversed (cf. fig. 18 p. 1604). 68 Mitchell, Anatolia I, 69; cf. 241. 69 See now the thorough study in Travis B.  Williams, ‘Contextualizing Conflict:  A Socio-Historical Investigation into the Persecutions of 1 Peter in Their Anatolian Setting’, PhD thesis (University of Exeter, 2011), 57–122 (now 59

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One of the most significant changes is the urbanization that accompanied Roman imperial domination. By deliberate policy and acts of foundation, new cities were established across the provinces of Asia Minor. Mitchell provides a detailed study of the course of such urban establishments, noting that the creation of ‘a patchwork of cities and their territories, each adjacent to its neighbours . . . constitutes the single most remarkable difference between central Anatolia before it came under Roman rule, and the Asian provinces of the high empire’.70 Indeed, after surveying the relevant evidence, Mitchell concludes that ‘by the end of the JulioClaudian period most of Pontus, Paphlagonia, north Galatia, Galatian Phrygia, Lycaonia, and Pisidia was divided up between contiguous city territories; only Cappadocia was left outside this pattern of settlement, and remained largely without cities’.71 Moreover, in the period of the Roman empire, the inscriptional evidence shows ‘unequivocally that the plateau was densely populated’.72 This change makes clear how important it is to distinguish pre-Roman and Roman Asia Minor, and (without denying that the coastal areas of the province of Asia were more densely populated and heavily urbanized than the interior plateau)73 should lead us to be cautious about regarding 1 Peter as necessarily addressed to predominantly rural areas, a point to which we shall return.74 This urban development, Roman style, entailed the construction of public buildings, and in particular imperial sanctuaries and temples devoted to the imperial cult. The three Roman cities substantially excavated in central Asia Minor – Ancyra, Pessinus, and Pisidian Antioch – all have as a ‘central feature . . . a temple dedicated to the imperial cult, built in the time of Augustus or Tiberius’.75 These temples were central and integral to a wider ‘transformation of civic space, whereby imperial buildings literally took over and dominated the urban landscape, thus symbolizing unequivocally the central position that the emperor occupied in city life’.76 The work of Simon Price, Mitchell, and others, has shown how important and prominent was the imperial cult to civic life in the provinces of Asia Minor.77 Another major impact of Roman rule was the development of Asia Minor’s network of roads.78 Facilitating movements of military personnel and supplies, particularly to the Euphrates frontier, was the main reason for this undertaking, but the massive development of the network also, of course, made communications, trade, and travel much easier. The scale of the work should be emphasized: the main highways were, on average, around eight metres

forthcoming in NovTSup). Williams offers an economic scale, based on the work of Friesen and Longenecker, but focuses specifically on urban centres in Anatolia (109). 70 Mitchell, Anatolia I, 80. 71 Mitchell, Anatolia I, 98 72 Mitchell, Anatolia I, 148. 73 Cf. Mitchell, Anatolia I, 80. 74 Cf. Elliott, 1 Peter, 90: ‘The predominantly rural feature of the provinces other than Asia.’ Jobes, 1 Peter, 22, describes the area to which 1 Peter was addressed as ‘a remote and undeveloped region’, ‘a vast geographical area with small cities few and far between’. 75 Mitchell, Anatolia I, 100. 76 Mitchell, Anatolia I, 107. 77 Simon R. F. Price, Rituals and Power: The Roman Imperial Cult in Asia Minor (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1984); Mitchell, Anatolia I, 100–17. One significant disagreement is that, whereas Price sees the cult as essentially an urban phenomenon, Mitchell argues that its impact and influence also spread through the rural regions; Mitchell, Anatolia I, 102 with n. 18. 78 Mitchell, Anatolia I, 124–36. The map presented on pp. 240–41 draws, with the author’s permission, on several of the maps in Mitchell’s book.

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wide and covered around 9,000 kilometres.79 The cost of paying for such an enterprise, which would have been so great as to bankrupt the state and would thus also have been impossible for local communities to bear, leads Mitchell to conclude that the task must have entailed a system of unpaid labour forced upon citizens and slaves, often by the military.80 Indeed, military presence – a regular feature of life throughout the region – brought many demands to the communities of Asia Minor. Soldiers were regularly stationed on the roads, protecting routes, collecting fines, and no doubt taking opportunity to make various demands, legitimate and illegitimate, of the local communities,81 which had a duty ‘to feed, clothe, house, and even to provide armour and equipment for the armies’.82 These obligations, Mitchell notes, ‘were a distinct economic burden’.83 Indeed, much of the agricultural produce, especially grain, paid as tax in kind, was probably used to supply the needs of the military.84 As already noted above for the empire generally, so too for Asia Minor agriculture formed the centre of the economy. One of the changes in the Roman period is that – not least due to Roman tax demands forcing people to sell or mortgage their land – ‘much . . . of the rural territory of central Anatolia was parcelled out into large estates owned by local city gentry, [and] wealthy aristocrats from further afield’, often of Roman or Italian origin. Rural villages formed part of such estates.85 Many country dwellers were thus ‘effectively serfs, tied to the land with obligations to provide the landowner with labour and produce’.86 The foundations of the rural economy were grain and wool, though vines were also cultivated in some parts.87 Salt was an important product of the province of Galatia88 and quarrying was also a significant economic activity, notably the marble quarrying which was undertaken in the upper Tembris valley west of Ancyra.89 Despite the highly developed road network, due to the high costs of land transport, most trade in the region was probably local, often involving transporting goods and produce from the country into local city markets.90 But there is also evidence for the long-distance transport of goods, not only of items such as marble, but also grain and other produce – much of which, Mitchell argues, would have been taken as a tax contribution in kind and used for military provisions.91 Overall, the detailed picture of Asia Minor’s development presented by Mitchell makes clear the impact of Roman rule and the associated economic and population expansion. The establishment of cities (with contiguous territories) and a major road network are key

Mitchell, Anatolia I, 125–26. Mitchell, Anatolia I, 126–27. 81 See Mitchell, Anatolia I, 118–24, 141. 82 Mitchell, Anatolia I, 134. 83 Mitchell, Anatolia I, 134. 84 Mitchell, Anatolia I, 245–53. 85 See Mitchell, Anatolia I, 148–58, with quotation on 149. Mitchell includes a third category of landowner here – the Roman emperor himself – though it was only in the second century that emperors began to acquire land in this area (see 156). 86 Mitchell, Anatolia I, 176. On serfdom in the ancient Greek and Roman worlds, see De Ste Croix, Class Struggle, 135–36, 147–62. 87 Mitchell, Anatolia I, 144–47. 88 Mitchell, Anatolia I, 147. 89 Mitchell, Anatolia I, 159, 242. 90 Mitchell, Anatolia I, 242, 247. On the relative costs of transport by land and by sea, see Finley, Ancient Economy, 126; Duncan-Jones, Economy, 366–69. 91 Mitchell, Anatolia I, 245–53, esp. 249–50. 79 80

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infrastructural developments, with the wealth of the elite conspicuously displayed in public buildings, imperial temples, baths, and so on. The concentration of wealth and land ownership in relatively few hands fits with the broader outlines of the economic scale outlined above. Indeed, despite the developments of the imperial period, one should not assume that there was any widespread improvement in the economic position of the majority of the population. On the contrary, the demands for taxes and rents, plus the related responsibilities for sustaining the military presence in the region, would have weighed heavily upon the poor, many of whom laboured as peasants on land owned by others. Moreover, while an economic scale such as outlined above presents a profile of economic strata, its picture is inevitably static, thus leaving aside the issue of vulnerability to fluctuations in food availability due to various factors. The poor, needless to say, were most vulnerable to the effects of famine.

4.  The Addressees of 1 Peter 4.1  Aliens and Strangers? With the contours of recent debate in mind, and the broader context of Roman Asia Minor to inform our investigation, we turn to consider the data in 1 Peter. It is important, first, to assess the implications of the depiction of the addressees as πάροικοι και παρεπίδημοι, since this is central to Elliott’s description of their socio-economic status. Elliott, we recall, took these terms to indicate that the letter’s addressees were ‘resident aliens and transient strangers’, identities which had further implications in terms of their inferior social, economic, and political-legal status. It is only fair to note that few have been convinced by this argument.92 More recently, Karen Jobes has presented a new variation of this proposal for a literal interpretation of the addressees’ identity as πάροικοι καὶ παρεπίδημοι.93 Noting the lack of evidence for evangelization of northern Asia Minor, Jobes suggests that ‘the Christians to whom Peter writes had become Christians elsewhere, had some association with Peter prior to his writing to them, and now found themselves foreigners and resident aliens scattered throughout Asia Minor’.94 One possibility is that the first converts in Asia Minor had been Pentecost pilgrims who heard Peter’s preaching in Jerusalem (Acts 2.9–11).95 More likely, according to Jobes, is that they were among those (probably Jews) converted during a visit of Peter to Rome in the 40s, then deported from Rome and made part of the extensive colonization See, e.g., Reinhard Feldmeier, Die Christen als Fremde: Die Metapher der Fremde in der antiken Welt, im Urchristentum und im 1.  Petrusbrief (WUNT 64; Tübingen:  Mohr Siebeck, 1992), esp. 203–10; Steven R. Bechtler, Following in His Steps:  Suffering, Community, and Christology in 1 Peter (SBLD 162; Atlanta, GA:  Scholars, 1998), 70–82; Achtemeier, 1 Peter, 174–75; Seland, Strangers, 39–78. Those who have followed a similar view to Elliott’s include Armand Puig i Tàrrech, ‘Le Milieu de la Première Épître de Pierre’, Revista Catalona de Teologia 5 (1980), 95–129 (101–16); Scot McKnight, 1 Peter (NIV Application Commentary; Grand Rapids, MI: Zondervan, 1996), 24–26, 47–52; Scot McKnight, ‘Aliens and Exiles: Social Location and Christian Vocation’, WW 24 (2004), 378–86 (381–83); Jobes, 1 Peter, 24–41 (on which see below). Jennifer G. Bird, Abuse, Power and Fearful Obedience: Reconsidering 1 Peter’s Commands to Wives (LNTS 442; London and New York: T&T Clark, 2011) asserts that ‘there can be no doubt that some aspect of their social-political status is forefront [sic] on the author’s mind in relation to these communities’ (63), and translates the terms as ‘immigrants and refugees’, despite subsequently noting that the label paroikos could be used of ‘peasants in the outer-lying areas’ (65). 93 Jobes, 1 Peter, 24–41. 94 Jobes, 1 Peter, 26. 95 Jobes, 1 Peter, 27–28. 92

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of Asia Minor under Claudius.96 This intriguing theory is, however, subject to many of the same objections brought against Elliott’s proposal, which Jobes does not adequately address,97 and suffers from major additional difficulties: (1) the uncertainty about any visit of Peter to Rome in the 40s98 and the associated implication of a very early date for 1 Peter;99 (2)  the lack of any positive evidence to associate Jews expelled from Rome with colonists arriving in Asia Minor in this period (the evidence for the foundation of the Jewish communities of Asia Minor indicates that they were well established from the first century BCE, and began earlier still);100 (3) most crucially, a misunderstanding of the character and development of Roman colonies in Asia Minor. Early on, these were indeed true colonies, involving the settlement of Roman veterans and others from Rome,101 but increasingly, especially in Claudius’ time, involving the creation of titular colonies, that is the giving of a colonial title to an existing city as an honour.102 According to the list compiled by E. T. Salmon, only three colonies were actually founded in Asia Minor during the reign of Claudius.103

Jobes, 1 Peter, 28–41. A somewhat comparable idea is suggested by Lapham, Peter, 131, 136, who sees the addressees as literally ‘temporary sojourners’, Christians who had migrated from Babylonia and eastern Syria in the wake of the (Jewish) unrest there under Trajan (early second century ce). 97 It is certainly not the case that ‘[t]‌he primary objection to Elliott’s specific social reconstruction has been that the relationships between the social and economic classes in first-century Asia Minor are too complex, and the terms that refer to them are understood too imprecisely, to validate Elliott’s hypothesis’ (Jobes, 1 Peter, 31). See below for the much more specific and decisive objections, which equally affect Jobes’ theory. 98 Patristic tradition does record such a visit in the time of Claudius, e.g. in Eusebius HE 2.14.6; 2.17.1; Jerome, De vir. ill. 1.1, but the tradition may or may not have any firm historical foundation. Helga Botermann, Das Judenedikt des Kaisers Claudius: Römischer Staat und Christiani im 1 Jahrhundert (Hermes Einzelschriften 71; Stuttgart: franz Steiner, 1996), 136–40, develops the idea that Peter visited Rome in the early 40s, as a theory that would explain the unrest among the Jews that led to Claudius’ edict. However, she acknowledges that this can be no more than a vague possibility, given the lack of clear evidence. Acts 12.17 gives no direct indication as to the ‘other place’ to which Peter went, though Carsten Peter Thiede, ‘Babylon, der andere Ort: Anmerkungen zu 1 Petr 5,13 und Apg 12,17’, Bib 67 (1986), 532–38, argues that an allusion to Ezek. 12.3 indicates Babylon/Rome. After a lengthy discussion Schnabel, Mission, 2.721–27, concludes cautiously that the evidence does not permit us to draw any confident conclusions about the geographical movements of Peter after his departure from Jerusalem in c. 41 ce. 99 On the date of 1 Peter, see Introduction, n. 6. Jobes’ theory would not absolutely require a particular date for 1 Peter, but if it addresses the situation of colonists sent from Rome in the 40s ce, then a date close to that time is clearly implied. As Jobes comments, implicitly acknowledging that even the early 60s would be quite far beyond this specific context: ‘Even if Peter wrote in the 60s, the colonization of Roman Christians still provides a motivation for the letter to these remote regions’ (Jobes, 1 Peter, 39). 100 As far as I am aware, there is no direct connection between expulsions of Jews from the city of Rome and Roman colonization. On the general topic of expulsions from Rome, see David Noy, Foreigners at Rome: Citizens and Strangers (London: Duckworth, 2002), 37–47, with 41–43 on expulsions of Jews; and on the Jews in Rome under the JulioClaudians, E. Mary Smallwood, The Jews under Roman Rule: From Pompey to Diocletian (SJLA 20; Leiden: Brill, 1976), 201–19. On the Jewish communities in Asia Minor, see below with nn. 131–34. It is not by any means impossible that some Jews expelled from Rome in the 40s made their way to Asia Minor, where they would have found established Jewish communities. But we have no evidence for this, still less that Jews converted to Christianity in Rome were among such refugees and were later addressed in 1 Peter, and Jobes’ theory simply builds speculation upon silence. 101 Colonies functioned mainly to establish communities with strategic importance and loyalty to Rome, and usually entailed the settlement of army veterans and urban poor from Rome. For an overview, see E. T. Salmon, Roman Colonization under the Republic (London: Thames & Hudson, 1969), 13–28. In a study of the Augustan colonies of southern Asia Minor, Barbara Levick concludes that ‘[t]‌he overwhelming majority of the colonists . . . were born in Italy or at least in the west’ (Barbara Levick, Roman Colonies in Southern Asia Minor [Oxford: Clarendon, 1967], 60, cf. 66). She suggests that ‘romanization’ was at least part of the purpose of such colonies, in these areas (184–92). 102 See Salmon, Roman Colonization, esp. ch. 10. Jobes’ appeal to the work of Noy, Foreigners at Rome, and Salmon, Roman Colonization, to support her specific proposals, thus seems, so far as I can see, misplaced. 103 Salmon, Roman Colonization, 160. 96

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One problem with Elliott’s argument, which applies equally to Jobes’ theory, has been highlighted by Stephen Bechtler, namely that in extra-biblical Greek the term πάροικος is used to denote a non-citizen, whether native or non-native, rather than a resident alien as such.104 As Mitchell notes, the rural population of Anatolia were often described as πάροικοι, περίοικοι, κάτοικοι, κωμέται, or simply as the λαός.105 As such, the description of the addressees as πάροικοι might still allow a significant deduction to be made about their social, political, and economic status. Yet there are also telling difficulties with Elliott’s argument for taking this description in a literal, socio-political sense. The recipients of the letter are initially addressed, as a group, as παρεπίδημοι (1.1), while in 1.17 they are said to live out a παροικία, and in 2.11 are exhorted ὡς παροίκους καὶ παρεπιδήμους. The noun παρεπίδημος is rare in Greek literature, and occurs only twice in the LXX (Gen. 23.4; Ps. 38.13).106 Its pairing with πάροικος in 2.11 suggests that the words function in 1 Peter as a hendiadys, both equally appropriate to describe the addressees, which implies that the author is using the terms to convey something about the character of their experience rather than their literal socio-political status (in which case someone would be either a πάροικος or a παρεπίδημος).107 More crucially still, the use of παρεπίδημος, and the phrase pairing πάροικος with παρεπίδημος, indicates the decisive influence of the LXX on the author’s language. Specifically, 2.11 appropriates the language with which Abraham voices the nature of his residence among the Hittites (Gen. 23.4). There Abraham describes himself as a ‘a stranger and an alien’ (‫גר־ותוׁשב‬, πάροικος καὶ παρεπίδημος).108 Further texts in the LXX, echoing this self-description, already indicate a kind of broadening or spiritualizing of the term, beyond a strictly literal or socio-political designation.109 Perhaps the clearest example is in 1 Chron. 29.15: πάροικοί ἐσμεν ἐναντίον σου (i.e. Yhwh), clearly spiritualizing, to some extent, since the verse ends: ὡς σκιὰ αἱ ἡμέραι ἡμῶν ἐπὶ γῆς καὶ οὐκ ἔστιν ὑπομονή (‘our days on the

Bechtler, Following, 71–73. Cf. also Elliott, 1 Peter, 477–78, where the evidence cited indicates that the term πάροικοι stands in distinction to citizens. Elliott recognizes that the term can thus include natives of the locality, such as tenant farmers, but arguably does not take this sufficiently into account. 105 Mitchell, Anatolia I, 176; see 176–78; Broughton, ‘Roman Asia Minor’, 629–40. Cf. De Ste Croix, Class Struggle, 160, on περίοικοι in Greek texts as those without political rights. 106 See esp. Feldmeier, Christen als Fremde, 8–12, who notes: ‘Der . . . Begriff παρεπίδημος begegnet sowohl im biblischjüdischen wie im paganen Schriftum ausgesprochen selten’ (8, italics original). Cf. also Bechtler, Following, 80; Walter Grundmann, ‘δῆμος, κτλ.’, TDNT 2.64; for occasional references in the papyri, see MM, 493. In literature prior to the time of 1 Peter see, e.g., Polybius, Hist. 32.6.4, who refers to the Greek παρεπίδημοι in Rome; Callixenus Frag. 2. The sense, and the close connection with ξένος – noted by Feldmeier, Christen als Fremde, 10 – is clearly conveyed in a comment from the grammarian Aristophanes, Nomina aetatum p.279.3:  Ξένος· ὁ ἐξ ἑτέρας πόλεως παρεπίδημος. Uses of the verbal form παρεπιδημέω are somewhat more common, e.g. in Polybius, Hist. 4.4.1, etc.; Diodorus Siculus, Bib. hist. 1.83.8, etc. The abstract noun παρεπιδημία, ‘residence in a foreign city’ (LSJ, 1337), is occasionally found, as, e.g., metaphorically in Plato, Spuria, p.365.b: παρεπιδημία τίς ἐστιν ὁ βίος; and in Polybius, Hist. 4.4.2; 33.15.2, etc. 107 The use of ὡς might also suggest that the author is giving a metaphorical depiction of their identity, given some such uses of ὡς elsewhere in the letter (1.19; 2.2, 5, 25; 5.8); cf. Achtemeier, 1 Peter, 173 n. 14. However, not all uses of ὡς are of this kind (cf. 2.12–14, 16; 4.1012, 15–16; 5.3, 12), so the point cannot bear any weight. 108 Cited also by Philo, Conf. 79. On the Hebrew coupling see further Joyce Reynolds and Robert Tannenbaum, Jews and God-Fearers at Aphrodisias: Greek Inscriptions with Commentary (Cambridge Philological Society Supplementary Series 12; Cambridge: Cambridge Philological Society, 1987), 48, 58–59. 109 Pace Elliott, Home, 27–29. See further Feldmeier, Christen als Fremde, 39–54, 207–208; Reinhard Feldmeier, ‘The “Nation” of Strangers: Social Contempt and its Theological Interpretations in Ancient Judaism and Early Christianity’, in Mark G. Brett (ed.), Ethnicity and the Bible (Leiden: Brill, 1996), 240–70 (244–47), on ‘self-description as strangers before God’ in the post-exilic situation. 104

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earth are like a shadow, and there is no abiding’ [ESV]).110 This does not deny that the terms, at least in 1 Peter, are used to depict a sense of social alienation, or estrangement from the world due to the hostility of the wider society, which seems to me a key point in Elliott’s argument.111 It does, however, strongly suggest that the terms as used in 1 Peter do not reflect their use as socio-political designations in Graeco-Roman society but rather their use in Jewish tradition to express the alienation and estrangement of God’s people from the world.112 Indeed, Torrey Seland has shown how these terms are used specifically to denote proselytes.113 ‘This does not mean’, he insists, ‘that the author considered the readers to have been former proselytes but that, in his perception of the social world of his Christian recipients, their social situation had become similar to that of Jewish proselytes.’114 As such, pace Elliott, the terms describe not the addressees’ socio-legal status prior to conversion, but their socio-spiritual status consequent on their conversion. Unfortunately, therefore, this designation of the addressees can tell us nothing about their concrete socio-economic status. If the addressees are not literally πάροικοι, then one major reason to identify them as (mostly) rural dwellers also disappears (see above with n. 105). Other reasons adduced by Elliott – the limited urbanization of much of Asia Minor and the rural metaphors used in the letter (Elliott lists 1.22–24, 2.25, and 5.2–4)115 – are also questionable. Bechtler has rightly pointed out that the supposedly rural metaphors could just as well be used by urban authors for urbanized audiences (cf. 1 Cor. 9.7–10; Gal. 6.7–8), and has noted that many of the images in the letter are not especially rural.116 And as we have seen, one of the most obvious impacts of Roman rule was the establishment of a network of urban centres, linked by a comprehensive network of roads. While, as elsewhere, the majority of the population remained rural, the character of Asia Minor in the first two centuries ce cannot itself substantially support the hypothesis that 1 Peter was primarily addressed to rural areas. Indeed, there are some reasons to suggest the opposite, beyond the general observation that early Christianity seemed initially to spread through the empire as a primarily urban phenomenon.117 Since the letter addresses itself to Christians spread across a vast geographical area, it seems likely, a priori, that what was envisaged was a distribution (using the road and pathway network) linking urban settlements.118 More significantly, the facility in Greek one can expect among

Cf. also Lev. 25.23 (πάροικοι . . . ἐναντίον μου); Ps. 39.12 [38.13 LXX] (πάροικος ἐγώ εἰμι παρά σοὶ και παρεπίδημος). Cf. Elliott, Home, 42–43:  ‘the fundamental contrast in 1 Peter is not a cosmological but a sociological one:  the Christian community set apart from and in tension with its social neighbours’; Elliott, 1 Peter, 481: ‘a condition of social, not cosmological, estrangement’. 112 See the central arguments of Feldmeier, Christen als Fremde; Feldmeier, ‘ “Nation” of Strangers’. 113 Torrey Seland, ‘πάροικος καὶ παρεπίδημος: Proselyte Characterizations in 1 Peter?’, BBR 11 (2001), 239–68; repr. in Seland, Strangers, 39–78. 114 Seland, Strangers, 61. 115 Elliott, Home, 63. 116 Bechtler, Following, 67. 117 For more detailed arguments along these lines, see Williams, ‘Contextualizing Conflict’, 62–68. 118 The suggestion that the sequence of provinces/areas named in the letter opening (1.1) reflects the likely route of the letter carrier, beginning at a port in Pontus, was first made by H. Ewald, Sieben Sendschreiben des Neuen Bundes (Göttingen:  Dieterichsche Buchhandlung, 1870), 2–3, and developed (with the idea of Silvanus as bearer) by F.  J. A. Hort, The First Epistle of St. Peter I.1—II.17: The Greek Text with Introductory Lecture, Commentary, and Additional Notes (London:  Macmillan, 1898 [repr. Eugene, OR:  Wipf & Stock,  2005]), 168–84, and further refined by Colin J. Hemer, ‘The Address of 1 Peter’, ExpTim 89 (1978), 239–43, who argues for Amisus rather than Sinope as the starting point for the route. for a map suggesting a possible route for Silvanus, see Elliott, 1 Peter, 93. 110 111

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the population is higher in the towns than in the countryside. Knowledge of the Greek language was widespread in the country as well as the cities,119 but the epigraphic evidence shows that the Greek used in the cities was the ‘orthodox regular language of high culture’, while the Greek of the countryside was much more variegated, ‘deformed’ grammatically and orthographically.120 It is also in the rural areas that indigenous languages persisted most strongly. Mitchell notes, for example, ‘that Celtic remained widely spoken in Galatia, especially no doubt in the country districts, until late Antiquity’, an observation supported by a comment of Jerome.121 From further afield, but still of relevance, is Irenaeus’ comment on those ‘barbarians’ who cannot read the language of the scriptures, but nonetheless assent to the apostolic rule of faith (Adv. haer. 3.4.2). Questions remain about the precise quality of the Greek of 1 Peter,122 but it is clearly a literary text which demands a good level of facility in the language in order to understand it. This does not by any means prove that it was written with urban congregations in mind, but it does make this scenario somewhat more likely than that the addressees were mostly in rural areas. Pliny makes a relevant comment when he remarks that Christianity has spread through ‘not only the towns, but villages and rural districts too’ (Ep. 10.96.9: Neque civitates tantum, sed vicos etiam atque agros .  .  .). While this reveals that Christianity, by the time of Pliny’s letter, was indeed evident in the countryside as well as the cities, the wording also implies that Christianity was initially and most naturally an urban phenomenon that had by this time – the early second century – begun to spread even to the rural areas.123 4.2  Ethnic-Religious Identity It is also pertinent to enquire whether the addressees were likely to have been Jews or gentiles. The opening verse of the epistle addresses its readers in thoroughly Jewish terms, as ‘the elect strangers of the Diaspora’ (1.1; cf. Jas 1.1). Moreover, 1 Peter is a letter particularly saturated with quotations and allusions to the Jewish scriptures (cf. §5.1). From the time of the early Church onwards, interpreters have therefore taken 1 Peter as a letter addressed to Jews (e.g. Eusebius, HE 3.1.2; 3.4.2, Jerome, De vir. ill. 1). Later, Calvin and Wesley are among those who

Jobes’ comment that ‘Greek or Latin was spoken only by administrative officials’ (Jobes, 1 Peter, 20; cf. 22)  is certainly inaccurate. 120 See Mitchell, Anatolia I, 174–75, who notes that ‘the Greek language was widely if unevenly adopted in the countryside of Anatolia’ and that ‘a majority of the inhabitants of Asia Minor were, in some measure, bilingual in Greek and an indigenous language’. 121 Mitchell, Anatolia I, 50; see further 50–51, 172–75. Jerome comments, in the Preface to Book 2 of his Commentary on Galatians:  ‘while the Galatians, in common with the whole East, speak Greek, their own language is almost identical with that of the Treviri’ (that is, the translator notes, ‘the people who lived between the Moselle and the forest of Ardennes in and about the modern Treves’; NPNF II.6, 497 n. 4). Cf. also Acts 14.11, where Paul and Barnabas are acclaimed by crowds in Lystra Λυκαονιστί, ‘in the Lycaonian language’. 122 See, e.g., Jobes’ use of comparative analysis to demonstrate that the Greek of 1 Peter may well reflect the work of someone for whom Greek was not their first language; Jobes, 1 Peter, 6–8, 325–38. 123 Cf. Judge, Social Pattern, 61: ‘Pliny accepted the fact that Christians represented a broad cross-section of society, from Roman citizens downwards, but reserved his surprise, apart from their numbers, in which he is an alarmist, for the ominous fact that the new religion was infecting not merely the cities, but the countryside. Until then however we may safely regard Christianity as a socially well backed movement of the great Hellenistic cities.’ Judge’s view of Christianity as a movement dominated by the well-to-do of the cities is open to serious question, but his point about the primarily urban focus of early Christianity seems better founded. 119

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make a similar assumption,124 one still represented, albeit as a minority position, in recent scholarship.125 However, the trend in recent scholarship has been to argue that the letter is addressed to (mostly) gentile converts, given the ways in which it depicts their former lifestyle.126 Particularly significant are references to their ‘former ignorance’ (1.14), to being ransomed from ‘futile ways’ (1.18), once ‘not a people . . . now God’s people’ (2.10), and especially to their having spent time enough living like the gentiles do (4.3–4). The author depicts this as a wicked and debauched lifestyle, and comments that their neighbours are surprised that they no longer join in. While it is perhaps not impossible that the author depicted Jewish converts in these ways,127 it seems highly unlikely, and much more likely to refer to people who have converted from a gentile way of life, which Jews not infrequently criticized as idolatrous and immoral (e.g. Deut. 29.16–18; Isa. 46.1–10; Wis. 13–15; 1 Macc. 1.41–64; Bel. 1.1–22). The letter, then, seems to envisage, or imply, an audience of predominantly gentile converts.128 Determining the actual composition of the communities to which 1 Peter was sent is naturally more difficult and inevitably somewhat speculative. While the verses cited immediately above seem to imply a gentile audience, Elliott also finds reasons to suggest that there were at least some Jews among the readership; he comments that ‘the use of and appeal to the Jewish Scriptures’, and to significant events, venerated figures, and ‘honorific predicates of the ancient people of God .  .  . suggest readers of Jewish origin or with previous Jewish background, for whom such tradition would have most meaning and weight’.129 Yet this latter evidence is far from direct, and the question of how well an audience understood the scriptural quotations and allusions in an early Christian letter is a rather open one, as Christopher Stanley has suggested.130 There were significant numbers of Jews in Asia Minor, with communities established since at least the third century bce, perhaps earlier.131 Philo states that there were great numbers of Jews in every city of Asia (Leg. Gai. 33  §245).132 Indeed, ‘[f]‌rom the first century B.C.,

John Calvin, Calvin’s Commentaries: The Epistle of Paul the Apostle to the Hebrews and the First and Second Epistles of St. Peter (Edinburgh and London: Oliver & Boyd, 1963 [1551]), 230, insists that the word ‘dispersion’ ‘can apply only to the Jews’; John Wesley, Explanatory Notes upon the New Testament (London: Epworth, 1976 [1754]), sees the recipients as Jewish Christians (‘the Christians, chiefly those of Jewish extraction’). 125 Mitchell, Anatolia II, 3, apparently regards the letter as addressed to Jews. Lapham, Peter, 119–20, supports the ‘traditional’ view, though he sees the addressees as Jewish Christians. See also Ben Witherington III, Letters and Homilies for Hellenized Christians. Vol. 2:  A Socio-Rhetorical Commentary on 1–2 Peter (Downers Grove, IL: InterVarsity, 2007), 25–36. 126 See, e.g., Mark Dubis, ‘Research on 1 Peter: A Survey of Scholarly Literature Since 1985’, CBR 4 (2006), 199–239 (204–205); Reinhard Feldmeier, Der erste Brief des Petrus (THNT 15/1; Leipzig: Evangelische Verlagsanstalt, 2005), 29; Brox, Petrusbrief, 25; Elliott, Home, 45–46. 127 So Jobes, 1 Peter, 23–24. 128 Bechtler, Following, 61–64; Williams, ‘Contextualizing Conflict’, 85–89. 129 Elliott, Home, 55–56 n. 77; further Elliott, 1 Peter, 95–96. 130 Christopher Stanley, Arguing with Scripture:  The Rhetoric of Quotations on the Letters of Paul (London and New York: Continuum, 2004). 131 See Josephus, Ant. 12.147–53 on the sending of Jews by Antiochus III from Babylon to central Anatolia; Emil Schürer, The History of the Jewish People in the Age of Jesus Christ (175 b.c.–a.d. 135) (rev. edn Geza Vermes, Fergus Millar, Matthew Black, and Martin Goodman; vol. 3.1; Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1986), 17; Mitchell, Anatolia II, 32. For possibly earlier presence, including settlement in Sardis, see Schürer, History, 17, 20–21. 132 Cf. Mitchell, Anatolia II, 33: ‘By the mid-first century BC there were impressive concentrations of Jews in several Phrygian cities’. 124

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substantial testimony exists of a considerable Jewish diaspora in Asia Minor’.133 Evidence is strongest for Jewish communities in the cities, but there is also evidence for some rural groups.134 It is entirely possible, then, that among the converts to Christianity addressed by the author of 1 Peter were some Jews. Also entirely plausible is that some of the converts were previously among the Jewish sympathizers referred to – it would seem – as σεβoμένοι τὸν θεόν, φοβούμενοι τὸν θεόν, or θεοσεβής.135 As such they would have had some prior knowledge of Judaism and its scriptures, without having become full proselytes, and would therefore have been better placed to understand the letter than those without such knowledge. It remains open to question, though, how far such sympathizers – who had already demonstrated their attraction to the Jewish ethic and way of life  – could be described as having lived in ignorance, following their passions (1.14), or as having indulged these passions as the gentiles do (4.2–3). These depictions, as we have already noted, seem to indicate converts who have turned away from what Christians and Jews often depicted as the excess and immorality of the gentile way of life. whether they might refer to Jews and godfearers, as well as to other gentile converts, depends in part on how far this is a polemical and rhetorical depiction of the contrast between their pre and post-conversion lives rather than any kind of empirically accurate description. It is difficult, then, to adduce solid evidence for firm conclusions as to the likely ethnicreligious composition of the communities addressed in 1 Peter. Indeed, the difficulty is compounded by the likelihood that, on the ground, the categories of Jew, Christian, and gentile (itself a generalizing label that lumps non-Jews into one category) were far less clearcut or demarcated than scholarly discussion often implies.136 The most plausible conclusion, nonetheless, is the view that currently stands as the scholarly consensus: that the Christian groups to which 1 Peter was addressed were largely, but by no means exclusively, comprised of former gentiles who had converted to this new way of life.

Schürer, History, 18. The most important literary evidence is from Josephus, Ant. 14.185–267; 16.160–78; Cicero, pro Flacco 28.66–69, but substantial archaeological and inscriptional evidence fills out the picture. For a survey of this evidence see Schürer, History, 17–38; Mitchell, Anatolia II, 31–37; and for a study of the Jewish communities of Asia Minor, Paul R.  Trebilco, Jewish Communities in Asia Minor (SNTSMS 69; Cambridge:  Cambridge University Press, 1991). 134 Mitchell, Anatolia II, 35–36. 135 For a cautious discussion, see Schürer, History, 165–69, concluding that ‘these expressions in Greek could be used to refer to a category of gentiles who were in some definite way attached to Jewish synagogues’ (168) and whose observance of Jewish law would probably have included sabbath observance and dietary laws, though not circumcision, which was required for full conversion (169). See also Mitchell, Anatolia II, 8 n. 59; 31–32; Reynolds and Tannenbaum, Jews and God Fearers. On the importance of the godfearers for the early Christian (Pauline) mission, see Theissen, Social Setting, 102–104. The scepticism of A. T. Kraabel seems unwarranted; see A. T. Kraabel, ‘The Disappearance of the “God-fearers” ’, Numen 28 (1981), 113–26; A. T. Kraabel, ‘Greeks, Jews and Lutherans in the Middle Half of Acts’, HTR 79 (1986), 147–57; and discussion in T. M. Finn, ‘The God-fearers Reconsidered’, CBQ 47 (1985), 75–84; I. A. Levinskaya, ‘The Inscription from Aphrodisias and the Problem of God-fearers’, TynBul 41 (1990), 312–18. 136 Mitchell, Anatolia II, 35, notes evidence for close fraternization between Jews and Christians, and later efforts to prevent this. Cf. further Judith M.  Lieu, ‘ “The Parting of the Ways”:  Theological Construct or Historical Reality?’, JSNT 56 (1994), 101–19, repr. in Judith M.  Lieu, Neither Jew Nor Greek? Constructing Early Christianity (SNTW; Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 2002), 11–29. 133

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

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for them.145 But, as Keith Bradley points out, ‘slaves were especially vulnerable in times of crisis’; Dio, for example, refers to an occasion in 6 ce when, due to a severe famine in Rome, gladiators and the slaves that were for sale ‘were banished to a distance of one hundred miles’.146 Moreover, Bradley notes, ‘[e]‌ven when food was not in short supply it was axiomatic that slaves should eat the poorest and cheapest food in the household’.147 All this implies that, despite the inevitable risk of over-generalizing, we should place the οἰκέται in ES6, that is, ‘at subsistence level’, with the possibility that some might slip into ES7, especially during times when food was particularly scarce.148 It is difficult to know what significance to draw from the fact that slave-owners are not directly addressed in the household code. Elliott takes this to ‘suggest that pagan masters are assumed’,149 such that there is no corresponding group of owners/masters within the churches addressed.150 This is, however, a precarious assumption, given the other New Testament texts where reciprocal teaching is also lacking, but where the existence of household heads among the believers is explicitly indicated.151 Indeed, as we shall see below, there are some indications of the presence of male heads of household among the addressees of the letter. The instruction to wives (3.1–6) supports the view that, in at least some instances, Christian slaves, and certainly Christian wives, were in households where the paterfamilias was not a Christian (3.2). Given the general view that it was the duty of household members to follow the religion(s) of the head of the household, it is unsurprising if these Christians found themselves in situations of particular difficulty, where suffering for their faith might well occur.152 It is understandable in such a context that the author’s advice to wives is to make their new faith appealing through their pure and quiet demeanour rather than through speaking about it aloud (ᾄνευ λόγου; 3.1–2). Nonetheless, despite the arguments of some commentators, the author does not imply that marriage to a non-believer was by any means the norm for wives in the churches.153 Nor, we might suggest, was it necessarily the norm for Christian slaves. The instruction to ‘be subject to your own husbands’, etc. applies equally to those with believing husbands, as the example of Sarah and Abraham suggests.154 Bradley, Slavery, 92. Dio, Rom. hist. 55.26.1; Bradley, Slavery, 100. 147 Bradley, Slavery, 101; cf. Tertullian, Apol. 14.1; Musonius, Frag. 18B (for text and ET see Cora E. Lutz, ‘Musonius Rufus: “The Roman Socrates” ’, Yale Classical Studies 10 [1947], 3–147 [118–19]). 148 Illustrating the difficulties of the terminology here, Holmberg, ‘Historical Reconstruction’, 262, comments: ‘People who live below the minimum existence for more than a month are only found in graves.’ Periodic fluctuations lead to malnutrition, which can of course be chronic, for people struggling at the margins of survival. 149 Elliott, 1 Peter, 516. 150 Elliott, 1 Peter, 95. 151 See esp. the instruction to slaves in 1 Tim. 6.1–2 and Tit. 2.9–10, where it is clear that the leaders of the churches are heads of household (1 Tim. 3.1–12; Tit. 1.5–7). First Timothy 3.12 indicates that these households included more than just wife and children. Other New Testament texts containing household codes do, of course, offer reciprocal instruction to slaves and masters (Col. 3.22–4.1; Eph. 6.5–9). 152 See Plutarch Mor. 140d; Balch, Wives; Elliott, 1 Peter, 557–58. 153 Beare, First Epistle of Peter, 153, commenting on εἴ τινες κτλ., asserts:  ‘There is no suggestion that these are exceptional cases; the implication of the whole passage, on the contrary, is that the women whom he is addressing are nearly all married to pagan husbands.’ Elliott, 1 Peter, 557, more correctly interprets the force of the phrase: ‘The conditional formulation “even if ” (kai ei) indicates that the author allows for the fact that “some” (tines) of the husbands mentioned in v 1b may be nonbelievers.’ 154 Pace Achtemeier, 1 Peter, 210: ‘what is clear is that the conduct of wives with non-Christian husbands is the chief concern of the author here.’ This emphasis enables Achtemeier to make the implausible and apologetic claim that this passage (vv. 1–6) says ‘nothing . . . about the general status of women within the Christian community, or within 145 146

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The instruction to wives concerning their proper adornment (κόσμος) – not the external adornment of braided hair, gold, and clothing, but the inner adornment of a gentle and quiet spirit (3.3–4) – picks up a topos common in Jewish, Greek, and Roman moral exhortation. Plutarch expresses the point in a very similar way: ‘ “Adornment” (κόσμος), said Crates, “is what adorns”; and what adorns a woman is what makes her better ordered (κοσμιωτέραν) – not gold, nor emerald nor scarlet, but whatever gives an impression of dignity (σεμνότης), discipline (εὐταξία), and modesty (αἰδώς)’ (Mor. 141E).155 In early Christian literature there is an especially close parallel in 1 Tim. 2.9–10, and, as Elliott notes, the Church Fathers show considerable interest in this text in 1 Peter, taking it to establish ‘an authoritative prohibition of external adornment for Christian women’.156 Bruce Winter has drawn attention to the emergence of so-called ‘new women’ from the first century bce onwards – women who, at least in the eyes of their critics, adorned themselves elaborately and were sexually promiscuous – and has argued that this is a relevant background for understanding the instructions to women and wives in the Pauline communities (especially the Pastoral Epistles).157 If a similar background is in view in 1 Peter, then this author too may be reacting against the (potential) influence of these new values on the wives of the Christian communities. winter sees the phenomenon of the ‘new woman’ as one originating in upperclass Roman circles, but notes that the influence of these new values filtered down through society.158 For Elliott, this echo of ‘conventional sentiments concerning appropriate attire . . . reveals little or nothing about the actual social status of the wives addressed’.159 Others, however, take a different view. Francis W. Beare comments on v. 3: It is implied that the Christian communities included among their members women of wealth and position. Slave girls and women of the poor might indeed try to make themselves attractive by putting up their hair in braids and by giving some attention to their dress, but they would hardly need the warning against flaunting gold jewellry. Even the ἐμπλοκῆς τριχῶν – ‘the braiding of hair’ – suggests the services of the hairdresser, Christian marriage’ (208), but that v. 7 indicates the ‘equality between men and women inherent within the Christian community’ (219), an ‘equality. enjoined as a Christian duty’ (209). 155 Text and ET from Sarah B. Pomeroy (ed.), Plutarch’s Advice to the Bride and Groom and A Consolation to his Wife. English Translations, Commentary, Interpretive Essays, and Bibliography [New York, Oxford: Oxford university Press, 1999]), also cited in Elliott, 1 Peter, 563. Cf. also Mor. 144d, 145E–146. For comparable statements from a Pythagorean community, see Elliott, 1 Peter, 563–64 with n. 174. For critique of women’s finery in the Jewish tradition, see Isa. 3.16–4.1; T. Reub. 5.1–6; Philo, Sac. 21; Virt. 39–40. See further Alicia J. Batten, ‘Neither Gold nor Braided Hair (1 Timothy 2.9; 1 Peter 3.3): Adornment, Gender and Honour in Antiquity’, NTS 55 (2009), 484–501. 156 Elliott, 1 Peter 565, with nn. 175–76. One of the most prominent and extended examples is Tertullian, De cultu fem. 157 Bruce W. Winter, Roman Wives, Roman Widows:  The Appearance of New Women and the Pauline Communities (Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 2003). Winter claims that the existence of these ‘new women’ was previously ‘unknown to Pauline scholars’ (xii), but he misses the work of Jouette M. Bassler, ‘The Widows’ Tale: A fresh Look at 1 Tim. 5:3–16’, JBL 103 (1984), 23–41, which he does not cite, even in his chapter on 1 Tim. 5 (123–40). 158 Winter, Roman Wives, 8.  Winter supports the ‘new consensus’ view, which ‘means that the possibility of some Christian women belonging to, or being influenced by, the upper-class values of the “new” woman cannot be discounted a priori’. However, Winter stresses that the new consensus ‘does not argue that all [such Christians] were from the upper social registers, or even the middle class, which is an inaccurate classification of first-century society’. The influence of the ‘new woman’ phenomenon ‘filtered down from the Senatorial ranks to women in the wider Roman society’ (8). 159 Elliott, 1 Peter, 564.

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and the ἐνδύσεως ἱματίων  – literally ‘the putting on of garments’  – clearly implies sumptuousness, and perhaps even such elaborate dressing as would require the help of maids.160 Beare is probably guilty of reading too much from the text here, just as interpreters influenced later by the so-called ‘new consensus’ have often taken restricted hints in the texts to imply considerable wealth and social position and have rightly been criticized for this.161 Nonetheless, just because the pattern of instruction is an established topos does not mean we should entirely dismiss its socio-economic relevance. The wives addressed by the author of 1 Peter are instructed not to adorn themselves in this ostentatious way (ὧν ἔστω οὐχ . . .) and are given positive role models of submission and obedience from the Jewish scriptural tradition, the most relevant source of authoritative guidance for the author (3.5–6). A  more cautious conclusion, then, is that of Jobes, who comments that ‘at least some’ of those addressed ‘actually have enough wealth to make this instruction meaningful’.162 There is precious little information, of course, to enable us to define what ‘enough wealth’ might mean here, and where these wives might be placed on the economic scale. On the one hand, warning against such external adornment by no means requires that the level of wealth is that of the highest social groups (ES1–3), of whose presence there is no hint in the letter. On the other hand, it does suggest that these are people living above bare subsistence (ES5–7), with some surplus resources at least at times.163 That would suggest the ‘middling’ groups of ES4, if not higher. The instruction to Christian husbands (3.7)  – whether their wives are assumed to be Christian or not164  – yields no relevant information on their likely socio-economic status, though we can assume that this is the same as (and certainly not lower than) their wives, so, for some at least, probably ES4. There may be a little more information, though still only minimal data, in the later reference to πρεσβύτεροι (5.1–5). Commentators have long debated what exactly this term denotes, and whether it refers primarily to age or to a position of leadership. Alastair Campbell has persuasively argued that, at this early period of Christian history, the term refers not to an ecclesiastical office as such, nor simply to age, but rather to a position of seniority, denoting those who are leaders of the early Christian communities by virtue of their Beare, First Epistle of Peter, 155. E.g. because Gaius is host to the whole church at Corinth, he ‘is evidently a man of some wealth’ (Meeks, First Urban Christians, 57); Phoebe functions as a ‘protector or patroness of many Christians’ and so ‘is an independent woman. who has some wealth’ (60). Cf. also Theissen, Social Setting, 69–119. A striking example is found in Anthony Thiselton’s recent comments on Chloe: on the basis solely of the reference to οἱ Χλόης (1 Cor. 1.11) and the view that ‘in its first-century Roman period the city [of Corinth] hummed with wealth’ she is seen as a ‘businesswoman’ who has likely sent her ‘middle managers to Corinth’ to conduct her business on her behalf (Anthony C. Thiselton, First Corinthians: A Shorter Exegetical and Pastoral Commentary [Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 2006], 6–7); cf. Thiselton, Corinthians, 121, where she is termed a ‘wealthy Asian woman’. For the most extended and penetrating critique of such deductions, see Meggitt, Paul. In relation to Gaius and the issue of housing, see also Horrell, ‘Domestic Space’. 162 Jobes, 1 Peter, 204; cf. also Batten, ‘Neither Gold’, 497; Witherington, 1–2 Peter, 35. Jobes also refers here to the addressees as being ‘among the “foreigners and resident aliens” ’ of Asia Minor, but for critique of her view on this description of the letter’s recipients, see above. 163 Domestic slaves could sometimes be elaborately dressed by their owners, including jewellery, though this was a means to display the wealth and status of their owners, who would be even more sumptuously dressed, and was not something over which slaves had any control. See Bradley, Slavery, 87–88. 164 While the majority of commentators assume a Christian wife, arguments to the contrary have been presented by Carl D. Gross, ‘Are the wives of 1 Peter 3.7 Christians?’, JSNT 35 (1989), 89–96. Cf. Jobes, 1 Peter, 207–208, who makes the point that this instruction may include the situation of a husband with an unbelieving wife. 160 161

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social position as heads of households.165 This helps to explain, on the one hand, why the term has some associations which seem primarily to do with age (cf. 5.5; also 1 Clem. 3.3; 57.1–2; Tit. 2.2–4), and, on the other hand, why the terms πρεσβύτερος and ἐπίσκοπος (here ἐπισκοπέω)166 are interchangeable.167 There is evidently also some connection with seniority in the faith (cf. 1 Cor. 16.15–18; 1 Tim. 3.4–6), hence the corresponding instruction here to νεώτεροι, a term Elliott persuasively argues to refer to ‘the most recent converts of the community’.168 The πρεσβύτεροι addressed in 1 Peter, then, may well include some of the masters and husbands whose slaves and wives are also members of the community. These male heads of household have a responsibility as leaders of the churches, and are instructed in this role.169 What one can reasonably deduce from this about their socio-economic level, however, is rather little. Nothing requires or implies that such senior figures, even if they be heads of households, have wealth or high social status.170 Similarly, while the vocabulary of ‘doing good’ (cf. 2.12, 14–15; 3.16–17; 4.19; etc.) could be used to describe the euergetism of wealthy benefactors, it is by no means restricted to such deeds, as 2.20 (and probably 3.6) clearly shows, together with the scriptural texts whose language is quoted in 3.10–11. Thus these references cannot be taken to indicate anything about the socio-economic standing of the addressees – and particularly the male householders – of the letter.171 If some of their households include οἰκέται, as we may plausibly assume, then they would not appear to be among the most destitute, and, of course, have a social status higher than that of the slaves they own, even if they own only one or two.172

Campbell, Elders, with summary on 236–51; followed, for example, by Elliott, 1 Peter, 813–15; Jobes, 1 Peter, 302–303. For some critical remarks on aspects of Campbell’s thesis as they relate to the somewhat earlier period of the genuine Pauline epistles, see David G. Horrell, ‘Leadership Patterns and the Development of Ideology in Early Christianity’, in David G. Horrell (ed.), Social-Scientific Approaches to New Testament Interpretation (Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1999), 309–37 (315–20), and in relation to 1 Clement, Horrell, Social Ethos, 247–48. 166 ἐπισκοποῦντες should probably be accepted here, though it is omitted in ‫*א‬, B, 323, and some citations and versions. It is supported by P72, 2‫א‬, A, Ψ, 33, 69, 1739, and many other miniscules, the Latin versions, and became the established Byzantine reading. For discussion, see Metzger, TCGNT, 625; Michaels, 1 Peter, 276 n. b. 167 Cf. 1 Clem. 42.4–5; 44.4–5; Tit. 1.5–7. Notably parallel to the use of πρεσβύτερος, ποιμαίνω, and ἐπισκοπέω in 1 Pet. 5.1-2 is Acts 20.17, 28, where the same three roots are used to describe the position and calling of the Ephesian church leaders. 168 Elliott, 1 Peter, 840; see 836–40 for the weighing of various scholarly proposals. 169 Cf. Horrell, ‘Leadership Patterns’, 330. Such a pattern of instruction is especially clear in the Pastoral Epistles, where the ἐπίσκοποι, πρεσβύτεροι, and διάκονοι, as leaders of the churches, have responsibilities for respectable citizenship and good household management (1 Tim. 3.1–13; Tit. 1.5–9). 170 Among the instructions given to them is a warning to fulfil their responsibilities μηδὲ αἰσχροκερδῶς ᾀλλὰ προθύμως (5.2). Although this adverb appears only here in the New Testament and LXX, related words and similar warnings are found elsewhere, notably in the Pastorals’ instructions to church leaders (see 1 Tim. 3.3, 8; 6.10; 2 Tim 3.2; Tit. 1.7, 11; also Heb. 13.5; Did. 3.5; 15.1, etc.). when listing the qualities required of a military general, Onosander mentions that he should be frugal and not given to avarice (De imp. off. 1.1). Indeed, as Elliott, 1 Peter, 829, notes, it was ‘conventional opinion that the gaining (kerdainō) of wealth for oneself was highly shameful (aischros)’. It is therefore unsurprising that early Christian leaders were warned against such greed, especially given the established obligation of congregations to provide support for leaders (e.g. 1 Cor. 9.4–14; Did. 11–13). But I do not think the warning in itself says anything significant about the socio-economic level of the πρεσβύτεροι here. 171 Pace Bruce W. Winter, Seek the Welfare of the City: Christians as Benefactors and Citizens (First-Century Christians in the Graeco-Roman World; Grand Rapids, MI:  Eerdmans, 1994), 25–40, esp.  26, 33, 37, 39; also Witherington, 1–2 Peter, 35. for an extended consideration and critique of this interpretation of ‘doing good’ in 1 Peter, see Travis B. Williams, Good Works in 1 Peter: A Sociological and Theological Response to Early Christian Suffering (WUNT 2; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, forthcoming). 172 It is also reasonable, therefore, to note that the addressees include both free persons and slaves (Elliott, 1 Peter, 95). Whether it is right to take 2.13–17 as ‘specific instruction’ for ‘free persons’, as Elliott does, on the basis of 2.16 165

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Again, we might very tentatively point to ES4–5 as a plausible but by no means necessary location for such people. The specific data, it is clear, are very limited.

5. Conclusions The first conclusion to be drawn from this survey is a negative one. The description of the addressees as πάροικοι and παρεπίδημοι cannot serve as an indication of their socio-economic status. Elliott’s social profile of the addressees – as mostly rural, at the lower end of the economic and social scale  – based largely as it is on his conclusions regarding what it meant to be a πάροιος or a παρεπίδημος, does not bear critical scrutiny. This is an unfortunate conclusion, since Elliott’s ground-breaking work offered the promise of a more detailed socio-economic profile than is otherwise possible. But the foundations cannot support the edifice. Without the hypothesis about the socio-economic location of πάροικοι and παρεπίδημοι, there is much less that can be said about the profile of the letter’s recipients. Nonetheless, some tentative conclusions are still possible. There is little to support the view that the addressees are mostly country dwellers. Indeed, the hints in the letter, and the broader evidence, suggest the opposite. Instead of 1 Peter being ‘a notable exception’ to the generally urban focus of earliest Christianity,173 it seems unexceptional insofar as the most likely setting for its addressees is households in urban centres, as we find in the Pauline letters. We should beware of too confident a conclusion here, however, not least due to our ignorance of so much about the location and spread of earliest Christianity.174 While urban centres emerge most prominently and obviously as the focus of early Christian activity, we can hardly rule out significant Christian presence in villages and the countryside, as Pliny indicates in 111–12 ce (Ep. 10.96.9). In terms of their ethnic-religious mix, again, much like the evidence from the Pauline letters, the indications from 1 Peter are that the converts to Christianity are largely gentile (perhaps including former godfearers) but also include some Jews. In terms of socio-economic status, the churches addressed in 1 Peter contained both domestic slaves, relatively low in social status, and probably living around subsistence level, and free persons, some of whom may have been male householders and masters whose seniority and socio-economic status gave them a position of authority within the community. The women of the communities included at least some with sufficient resources to make elaborate dressing a possibility, suggesting a ‘middling’ status somewhat above subsistence level both for them and their husbands. While there is clearly insufficient evidence to produce a detailed social profile of the members of these churches, there are at least enough hints to suggest that the addressees of 1 Peter included members from the middle to bottom categories of the economic scale, ES4–6/7. Allowing for some alarmist exaggeration on Pliny’s part, this is broadly congruent with Pliny’s depiction of the Christians of Pontus: ‘a great many individuals, of every age and

(ὡς ἐλεύθεροι), is more open to question, since the depiction of the addressees as ‘free’ here might express a theological conviction more than a sociological description, as in 1 Cor. 7.22. 173 Elliott, 1 Peter, 90. 174 Paul, for example, refers on a number of occasions to various provinces, leaving open the precise location and spread of Christians within those areas; e.g. Rom. 15.26; 2 Cor. 1.1; 11.10; 1 Thess. 1.7–8.

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class, both men and women’ (Multi enim omnis aetatis, omnis ordinis, utriusque sexus etiam . . . [Ep. 10.96.9]). This is also a conclusion congruent with Friesen’s analysis of the Christians mentioned in Paul’s letters, adding some limited support to that picture of early Christianity’s social composition and, importantly, implying that the addressees of 1 Peter were not distinctive or different in socio-economic location from those we encounter in the Pauline letters, pace Elliott. In some respects, though, this is also not too far from a kind of severely chastened ‘new consensus’ picture.175 Absent, importantly, are the tenuous deductions that take indications of some surplus resources to imply elite status or considerable wealth. In their place is the insistence that the majority of the empire’s inhabitants lived at or around subsistence level, and that such economic realities must be taken into account.176 That changes the picture quite considerably from that presented by Theissen, Meeks, and others, where the impression is given that many of the named individuals mentioned in the Pauline correspondence were ‘wealthy’ or ‘upper class’ (see above n.  161). But  – with those important amendments  – to conclude that the early Christian communities encompassed a ‘fair cross-section of urban society’, as Meeks put it, seems a not unreasonable conclusion to draw from an analysis of the limited evidence in 1 Peter.177 Finally, it remains to consider whether this conclusion has consequences for our understanding and interpretation of 1 Peter. Only a few tentative remarks can be offered here. First, without by any means wishing to amalgamate 1 Peter, once again, into the group of later Pauline epistles, the indications concerning its circle of addressees coheres with other aspects of its content to suggest some points of similarity with the Pauline letters and related communities. Elliott’s depiction of 1 Peter as a distinctive product ‘of a Petrine tradition transmitted by Petrine tradents of a Petrine circle’,178 and addressed, distinctively, to a predominantly rural audience, does not seem to match either the content or envisaged recipients of the letter, notwithstanding the value of his efforts to liberate 1 Peter from its ‘Pauline bondage’.179 Second, while we must be wary of assuming any deterministic link between social context and theological ideas, such that the latter become merely a reflection of the former, it is entirely reasonable to think that the composition of the early Christian communities had some impact on the kind of teaching that emerged from and was addressed to such communities. Several aspects of the character of 1 Peter’s content may perhaps be highlighted in this regard. One is the insertion of the addressees into a (Jewish) narrative of identity that dislocates them from the empire and invites them into a self-understanding based on the experience of dispersion and alienation. If this was not, pace Elliott, the social experience of the addressees prior to conversion, but rather the consequence of that conversion, then we may understand the letter Cf. Barclay, ‘Response’, 365, who comments on Friesen’s proposals: ‘To place a few, as Friesen tentatively does, among the 7% in PS 4 is to make a claim for substantial wealth stratification in the Pauline churches – much as claimed by Theissen and Meeks, though with different vocabulary.’ 176 In commenting that the ‘extreme top and bottom of the Greco-Roman social scale are missing from the picture’, Meeks remarks: ‘There may well have been members of the Pauline communities who lived at the subsistence level, but we hear nothing of them’ (Meeks, First Urban Christians, 73). But if the conclusions embodied in the Poverty/ Economy Scale are even broadly correct, then it is highly likely that many of the groups or individuals mentioned – those who go hungry in 1 Cor. 11.21, the οἰκέται of 1 Pet. 2.18, etc. – are in precisely this position. 177 Meeks, First Urban Christians, 73. Cf. also Joel B. Green, ‘Modernity, History and the Theological Interpretation of the Bible’, SJT 54 (2001), 308–29 (325). 178 Elliott, ‘Rehabilitation’, 248. 179 Cf. Elliott, ‘Rehabilitation’, 248; Elliott, 1 Peter, 40. 175

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to be reinforcing and deepening that sense of social dislocation for a group of people many of whom may previously have been thoroughly integrated into the fabric of urban social life. A second aspect concerns what we may term, following Gerd Theissen, the ‘love-patriarchal’ character of the ethical instruction in the letter.180 According to Theissen, this ethos, which he saw developing in the Pauline and especially post-Pauline letters, served as a means to integrate and sustain the socially diverse early Christian communities.181 Similarly, if 1 Peter is addressed to communities containing a ‘fair cross-section’ of urban society, from slaves to householders, then its patterns of community-ethics may reflect the need to hold such a diverse congregation together. A third and final aspect concerns what I have termed the ‘polite resistance’ that characterizes the author’s stance towards the wider world, and specifically the empire. While underscoring the need to worship only God (2.17) and to own the name Christian boldly, whatever the cost (4.16), the author of 1 Peter urges the recipients of the letter to honour the emperor (2.13–17), and to do what all will recognize and commend as good (2.12, etc.). This may perhaps, at least in part, reflect the socio-economic location – and socioeconomic diversity – of the addressees, for whom a nuanced and subtle form of accommodated resistance might seem more realistic, not least as a survival strategy, than a more radical and visible stance, such as is promoted in the book of Revelation (see §7.4). Given the minimal data on which any socio-economic profile of the addressees of 1 Peter must be based, it would be foolish to construct on that basis a bold theory concerning the impact of this profile on the content of the letter. Nevertheless, when various facets of the letter’s character, content, and situation seem together to build a coherent picture, we may cautiously hope that social analysis and theological interpretation can be mutually informative, and further develop our understanding of this fascinating text and its place in early Christian history.

Theissen coined the term ‘love-patriarchalism’ (Liebespatriarchalismus), drawing on the work of Ernst Troeltsch, and describes it as follows: ‘This love-patriarchalism takes social differences for granted but ameliorates them through an obligation of respect and love, an obligation imposed on those who are socially stronger. from the weaker are required subordination, fidelity, and esteem’ (Theissen, Social Setting, 107). 181 See Theissen, Social Setting, 107–10, 138–40, 163–64. I  have previously criticized the suggestion that this term adequately captures the ethos of the early Pauline letters (specifically 1–2 Corinthians), but found it appropriate to designate the character of later letters, such as 1 Clement and the Pastorals; see Horrell, Social Ethos. 180

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THE FORM AND BACKGROUND OF THE POLEMIC IN 2 PETER

Jerome H. Neyrey

In 1952 Ernst Käsemann brought fresh attention to an obscure NT writing when he published his important study of 2 Peter.1 He attempted to set the letter in its proper historical context (“early catholicism”)2 and to evaluate it critically (as a poor and tiresome apology for eschatology). This criticism centered on the lack of christological focus:  there was no respect for the eschatological breakthrough of the cross and resurrection;3 the corresponding emphasis of the letter’s eschatology was anthropocentric, viz., the doctrine of retribution.4 Hence, ethics degenerated into an evaluation of deeds which bring reward or punishment. Käsemann concluded that the individual arguments in the letter were disconnected and in considerable tension with other parts of the letter; there was no unity to the apology; rather its haphazard assembly betrays embarrassment.5 It is my contention that many of Käsemann’s criticisms are misplaced because his analysis did not attempt to understand 2 Peter in its proper historical context. By presenting fresh comparative materials, I hope to provide a new basis for a reassessment of the argument of 2 Peter.

I.  Graeco-Roman Polemics against Providence As early as Grotius and Wettstein, attention was called to certain parallels between 2 Peter and Plutarch’s De Sera Numinis Vindicta.6 Study of the formal argument of De Sera has rarely been Ernst Käsemann, “An Apologia for Primitive Christian Eschatology,” Essays on New Testament Themes (London: SCM, 1964) 169–95. 2 For a discussion of the appropriateness of this term in regard to 2 Peter, see Tord Fornberg, An Early Church in a Pluralistic Society (Uppsala: GWK Gleerup, 1977) 3–6; see Daniel J. Harrington, “Ernst Käsemann on the Church in the New Testament,” HeyJ 12 (1971) 246–57, 367–78. 3 Käsemann, “An Apology,” 178, 183. 4 Käsemann, “An Apology,” 181–84. 5 Käsemann, “An Apology,” 194–95. 6 Jacob Wettstein (Novum Testamentum Graecum [12  vols.; Graz:  Akademische Druck und Verlagsanstalt, 1962] 2.711 and Hugo Grotius (Annotationes in Novum Testamentum [Groningen: W. Zuidema, 1830] 8.140; Wyttenbach’s commentary (Animadversiones in Plutarchi Opera Moralia [Leipzig:  Teubner,  1821]), while citing every possible classical parallel to De Sera, omitted all biblical references. Wettstein’s and Grotius’ observations influenced subsequent commentators such as J. B. Mayor, The Epistle of St. Jude and the Second Epistle of St. Peter (London: Macmillan, 1907) 156; Hans Windisch, Die Katholischen Briefe (3rd ed.; Tübingen: Mohr, 1951) 102; and Ceslas Spicq, Les Epîtres de Saint Pierre (Paris: Gabalda, 1966) 251. With the emergence of the Corpus Hellenisticum project, new efforts were made to investigate the relationship of 2 Peter and De Sera. H. Almqvist (Plutarch und das Neue Testament [Uppsala: Einar Munkgaard, 1946] cited Plutarch parallels only to 2 Peter 1:13; 2:22 and 3:8, curiously omitting the “delay of divine punishment” in 3:9. H. D. Betz (Plutarch’s Theological Writings and Early Christian Literature [Leiden: Brill, 1975] took 2 Peter 3:9 and many other passages in 2 Peter into consideration (see index on p. 349). The methodology of Betz’s work, however, leaves much to be desired, because he merely suggests verbal or ideational similarities without situating these 1

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made,7 and seldom has it been viewed in comparison with the argument in 2 Peter. Its fictive occasion is an Epicurean polemic against divine providence: the tractate opens with Plutarch’s interlocutors recapitulating the most telling arguments whereby Epicurus “pelted providence” (548C) and “destroys belief in providence” (549B). But the precise target of the Epicurean polemic is a rejection of providence understood as theodicy: God does not judge, reward or punish. Why this? The objective of Epicurus’ system was “pleasure,” more accurately described as “absence of trouble” (ἀταραξία)8 which applies equally to God and to mankind. If God is to be free from trouble, he cannot be provident, for this would continually entail him in endless concerns. Such is the purpose of Epicurus’ 1st Sovran Maxim: The blessed and eternal being has no trouble himself and brings no trouble upon any other being; hence he is exempt from movements of anger and kindness.9 The Epicurean arsenal against providence consisted of four basic arguments. (1) Cosmology. The world was made of the chance occurrence of passing atoms and not by a rational or divine power.10 In Epicurus’ own work a multiplicity of causes accounts for the cosmos and so a provident God is excluded.11 In Philo’s De Providentia, the uselessness or harmfulness of certain creatures is cited as an argument against providence in the cosmos.12 (2) Freedom. A  second argument against providence comes from the allegation that it destroys freedom and moral self-determination. Precisely to avoid determinism (Fate/providence), Epicurus invented the doctrine of the swerve of atoms,13 without which “we would have no freedom whatsoever.”14 (3) Unfulfilled Prophecy. Since the cosmos comes about by chance, there can be in the context of an argument and without attempting to correlate them with other arguments. A.-M. Malingrey at the Plutarch Congress (“Les délais de la justice divine chez Plutarch et dans la littérature judeo-chretienne,” Acts de VIIIe Congres [Paris: Association Guillaume Budé, 1969] 542–50) called for a more thorough reevaluation of Plutarch’s De Sera vis-à-vis Christian writings, precisely with attention to the larger framework of issues and arguments presented. She did not, however, so much as mention 2 Peter as a possible comparison to De Sera. 7 See Georges Meautis, De Delais de la Justice Divine par Plutarque (Lausanne:  Les Amités Greco-Suisse, 1935) 1–16, 57–74. 8 In his letter to Menoeceus (Diogenes Laertius, X. 128–32), Epicurus defined pleasure as “freedom from pain and fear” and as “the absence of pain in the body and trouble in the soul.” The Tetrapharmakon epitomizes the absence of trouble as the Epicurean idea: “God is not to be feared; Death is not frightful. The good is easy to obtain; evil is easy to tolerate.” On the Tetrapharmakon, see F. Sbordone, Philodemi Adversus Sophistas (Naples:  Loffredo, 1947) 87; W. Schmidt, “Epikur,” RAC 5.744; A. J. Festugière, Epicurus and His Gods (Oxford: Blackwell, 1955) 44 n. 30; and H. Fischel, Rabbinic Literature and Graeco-Roman Philosophy (Leiden: Brill, 1973) 33. 9 Diogenes Laertius, X. 139; Cicero, N.D. l. 85 and Lucretius, R.N., I. 44–49 and II. 651. For citations of this position in Plutarch’s other words, see l101B, l l02E, 1103D, 1125F; also Hermann Usener, Epicurea (Stuttgart:  Teubner, 1966)  242–44. God’s ἀταραξία is also cited as the basis for Epicurean arguments against oracles because the deity would be demeaning himself to become incarnate in so many objects or to act as a ventriloquist with his prophets: see Plutarch, Defectu 418E; Pythiae 398A–B, 414E, Non Posse 1117A; Cicero N.D., II. 162 and Div. I. 87 and II. 40–41, 51. 10 Norman De Witt, Epicurus and His Philosophy (Minneapolis:  University of Minnesota, 1954) 155–70; Cyril Bailey, The Greek Atomists and Epicurus (Oxford: Clarendon, 1928) 359–67; and Friedrich Solmsen, “Epicurus and Cosmological Heresies,” A/P 72 (1951) 1–23. 11 See Diogenes Laertius, X. 93–114; cf. Lucian, JTr. 45. 12 Philo, Prov. II. 43; see J.  B. Aucher, Philonis Judaei Sermones Tres Hactenus Inediti (Venice:  Typis Coenobii PP. Armenorum, 1822) 100. 13 Cicero, N.D., I. 69 (see A. S. Pease, Marci Tulli Ciceronis De Natura Deorum [2 vols.; Cambridge: Harvard University, 1955] 1.370); Cicero, Fat., IX. 18–19, 22–23, 46–47; Fin., I. 19; Diogenes Laertius, X. 61; Lucretius, R.N., II. 216–93; and Cyril Bailey, The Greek Atomists and Epicurus, 318–23, 433–37. 14 Cicero, Fat., IX. 23; see Diogenes Laertius, X. 133.

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no divination or foretelling.15 Alternately Epicureans argued from unfulfilled prophecy against foreknowledge (providence) of the affairs of the world.16 (4)  Injustice. It was observed that justice is delayed; the good do not prosper while the wicked do not get their just deserts.17 God, therefore, does not reward or punish. The first polemical argument in De Sera is based on a complex form of the injustice argument. Two basic points are made against providence by calling attention to (1) the embarrassing delay of divine justice in punishing the wicked (548D–556E) and (2)  the unjust punishment of the wrong persons (556E–557E). Plutarch’s interlocutors begin the discussion by repeating Epicurus’ arguments against providence. First Patrocleas notes that “the delay and procrastination of the Deity in punishing the wicked appears to me the most telling argument by far” (548D) and Olympicus emphasizes the same point: But there is another absurdity .  .  . involved in all this procrastination and delay of the Deity: that his slowness destroys belief in providence (549B). Thus the major argument against providence is based on injustice and is framed in terms of the delay of the deity to punish. The Epicurean polemic against theodicy entails several other items. Since “absence of trouble” is mankind’s aim as well, humans should be free from doctrines which are anxiety producing. Clearly the concept of a requiting deity is anxiety producing, as are the myths of afterlife where post-mortem retribution eventually catches up with evildoers.18 Hence, to be totally free from trouble, mankind must reject theodicy/providence as well as belief in afterlife and post-mortem retribution. These three items are the central controverted points of the argument in De Sera. It is axiomatic of Epicurus’ system that death is the final end of mankind and that it is not to be feared. Hence we find freedom from fear as the motive for his 2nd Sovran Maxim:

In Plutarch’s Defectu, we read: “He (the ruler of Cilicia) kept about him certain Epicureans who, because of their admirable nature studies, have an admirable contempt, as they themselves aver, for all such things as oracles” (434D). The “nature studies” mentioned refer to the Epicurean cosmological view that the world was created by chance, which doctrine effectively excludes reason or God as the cause of the world. For other Epicurean polemics against oracles, see Plutarch’s Pythiae (396E–F, 397C, 398B, 414E, 418E), Non Posse 1100D–E, Adv. Colotem 1116E. 16 See Diogenes Laertius, X. 135; Cicero, N.D., II. 162; Lucian, Alex. 17, 25, 38, 43–46, 61. 17 See Philo, Prov. II. I; the Armenian version by J. B. Aucher contains a much fuller presentation of this same argument (see pp. 46–47). For parallels to this, see Lucian, JConf. 16; JTr. 46–49; Cicero, N.D., III. 79–85, 88 with comments by P. H. De Lacy, “Lucretius and the History of Epicureanism,” TAPA 79 (1948) 18; Origen, Celsum 1. 10; Seneca, Prov. I.6. Henry Chadwick (Origen:  Contra Celsum [Cambridge:  Cambridge University, 1953] 13 n.  l) cited a text from Sextus Empiricus to this point: “When anyone argues that providence exists from the order of the heavenly bodies, we oppose him with the argument that frequently the good suffer evil while the wicked prosper, and by this reasoning we conclude that providence does not exist” (P.H., I. 32). In Lactantius, Div. Inst. Ill. 17, the Epicurean starting point and chief argument against providence is the perception of injustice. 18 On Epicurean attitudes to underworld myths, see Cicero, Tusc., I.v.9–vi.10 and IV.xvi.35; Seneca, Ep., XXIV. 18 and Usener, Epicurea, 228. In R.N., III. 978–1023, Lucretius argued that the traditional stories of post-mortem punishments should be interpreted as referring to the punishments of wrong-doers in this life and not in the underworld; see R. Heinze, T. Lucretius Carus De Rerum Natura Buch III (Leipzig: Teubner, 1897) 184; and Franz Cumont, “Lucrece et le Symbolisme Pythagoricien des Enfers,” RP n.s. 44 (1920) 229–40. 15

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Death is nothing to us; for the body, when it has been resolved into its elements, has no feeling; and that which has no feeling is nothing to us.19 Epicurus’ rejection of afterlife is evidently functioning in the debate in De Sera. In one place the statement is made: If nothing exists for the soul when life is done, and death is the bourne of all reward and punishment, it is rather in its dealings with those offenders who meet an early punishment and death that one would call the Divinity lax and negligent (555D). Plutarch himself does not believe that death is the end of the soul; on the contrary, he vigorously defends survival after death (560 B,F) and post-mortem retribution (561A). The negative remarks above would seem then to be an ironic parody of the Epicurean doctrine about the finality of death, arguing from the injustice of prompt punishment against providence. Plutarch would gladly appeal to the traditional doctrine of afterlife and post-mortem retribution precisely as the ultimate answer to the delay of divine judgment, but this is resisted by his Epicurean interlocutors: “You appear to rest your case on a very considerable assumption: the survival of the soul” (560B). Plutarch, nevertheless, clearly sees a logical nexus between theodicy, afterlife and post-mortem retribution, when he says: It is one and the same argument that established both the providence of God and the survival of the human soul, and it is impossible to upset the one contention and let the other stand . . . (560F). The Epicureans, we know, have firmly contested providence and afterlife; nevertheless Plutarch continues: . . . but if the soul survives, we must expect that its due in honour and in punishment is awarded after death rather than before (560F). This is precisely what the Epicureans will not accept. Plutarch later told a story about Thespesius (563B–569A) in an attempt to introduce the fact of afterlife and post-mortem retribution into the discussion, and so to allow for the ultimate solution to the problem of delayed judgment. He acknowledged the predictable Epicurean reaction to this material when he anticipated their objection: “I fear that you would take it for a myth” (561B). We noted earlier that all talk of afterlife and post­mortem retribution was branded by the Epicureans as a “myth” (see note 18). In summary, the formal Epicurean polemic against providence in De Sera rests on the argument of injustice, which argument is expressed primarily in the complaint that justice Diogenes Laertius, X.  139 (see X.  63, 133). The Epicurean attitude to death is found extensively in classical literature:  Usener, Epicurea, 226–28; Lucretius, R.N. III. 830ff; Lucian, JConf. 7; Quintilian V.xiv.12; Cicero, Fin., II.xxxi.100; see Traudel Stork, Nil lgitur Mors Est ad Nos, Der Schlussteil des dritten Lukrezbuchs und sein Vermächtnis zur Konsolations Literatur (Bonn: Rudolf Habelt, 1970); and Barbara P. Wallach, Lucretius and the Diatribe Against the Fear of Death, De Rerum Natura Ill 830–1094 (Mnemosyne 40, Leiden: Brill, 1976). 19

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is delayed. Both for theological and moral reasons the doctrine of providence is offensive to Epicureans. God must be freed from trouble (i.e., providence); and, the wise man, who strives for freedom from trouble (ἀταραξία), must reject all that destroys his troubleless state. The foremost enemy is a judging deity, but intimately linked with this is the doctrine of afterlife and post-mortem retribution. The formal argument of injustice therefore functions in a coherent philosophy which rejects the triad of judgment, afterlife, and post-mortem retribution. To paraphrase Plutarch, it is one and the same argument which rejects providential judgment, afterlife and retribution. This polemic, however, is found in eclectic writers such as Lucian and Celsus,20 and so it cannot be considered as exclusively Epicurean; rather, it represents a common polemic against theodicy in the ancient world.

II.  Comparable Jewish Polemics against Theodicy We find in Jewish traditions considerable evidence of the same formal polemic. The clearest example comes from a midrashic expansion in the Palestinian targums of Gen 4:8.21 Before slaying his brother, Cain held a formal debate with Abel in which he rejected the idea of divine judgment because of injustice in the world. The MT of Genesis is mute as to why Cain’s offering was rejected and Abel’s accepted; and the midrash sees precisely this as evidence of injustice in the world: Cain answered and said to Abel, I know that the world was [not] created by love, that it is not governed according to the fruit of good deeds and that there is favor in judgment. Therefore your offering was accepted with delight, but my offering was not accepted from me with delight.22

Fragments of these arguments are found scattered in the writings of numerous Graeco-Roman authors; but the strictly Epicurean character of them has been the subject of debate. For example, Ivo Bruns (“Lucian und Oenomaus,” Rheinisches Museum 44 [1889] 374–96) maintained that the protagonist, Damis, in Lucian’s JTr. is not a pure Epicurean, an opinion supported by Rudolf Helm, Lucian und Menipp (Hildesheim: George Olms, 1967) 141–45; Marcel Caster (Lucien et la Pensée Religieuse de son Temps [Paris:  Société d’Edition “Les Belles Lettres,” 1947] 149, 151) pointed out that the same Epicurean arguments are found also among Cynics and Sceptics. Likewise, it is debated whether Celsus should be considered a true Epicurean, although Origin labeled him as such (Celsum 1.8, 10, etc.) Theodor Keim (Celsus’ Wahres Wort [Zürich: Orell and Fussli, 1873] 275–93) argued that Origen’s Celsus was none other than Lucian’s Celsus, the Epicurean to whom Alexander is addressed. Henry Chadwick (Origen: Contra Celsum, xxiv–xxvi) rejected both of Keim’s assertions about Celsus. There are no grounds whatsoever for considering Seneca’s Lucilius as an Epicurean in De Providentia; in asking the question “why do the good suffer?” he merely served as a foil to Seneca. In Cicero’s De Natura Deorum the sceptic Cotta delivered the polemic against the Stoic doctrine of providence, not the Epicurean Velleius (III. 95). 21 The Cain-Abel exchange is found in the following targums: Tgs. Pseudo-Jonathan, Yerušalmi II, Neofiti I, and the Tosefta to the targums. On this passage, see A. Marmorstein, “Einige vorläufige Bemerkungen zu den neuentdeckten Fragmenten des jerusalemischen (palästinensischen) Targums,” ZAW 49 (1931) 231–42; P. Grelot, “Les Targums du Pentateuch-Etude comparative d’après Genese, IV. 3–16,” Semetica 9 (1959) 59–88; R. le Déaut, “Tradition targumiques dans le Corpus Paulinien,” Biblica 42 (1961) 30–36; Sheldon Isenberg, “An Anti-Sadducee Polemic in the Palestinian Targum Tradition,” HTR 63 (1970) 433–44; G. Vermes, “The Targumic Versions of Gen 4:3–16,” Post-Biblical Jewish Studies (Leiden: Brill, 1975) 92–126; and Henry Fischel, Rabbinic Literature and Graeco-Roman Philosophy (Leiden: Brill, 1973) 35–50. 22 The translation is that of G. Vermes, “The Targumic Versions of Gen 4:3–16,” 96–99. 20

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Then Cain expanded the polemic to reject not only divine judgment, but also afterlife and post-mortem retribution. The lack of justice in this world argues that it will also be lacking in the next world—if there is another world. Cain answered and said to Abel: There is no Judgment, there is no Judge, there is no other world, there is no gift of good reward for the just and punishment for the wicked. Two related arguments are thus presented which closely resemble the polemic in De Sera. First, because of injustice it is argued that there is no divine judgment at all. And this rejection of judgment entails a corresponding denial of afterlife as a locus for post-mortem retribution. This midrash has been dated to the first century by Isenberg23 on the basis of its text type. The commentators, however, are divided as to whether it reflects a Greek (Epicurean) or Jewish (Sadducean) provenance.24 Henry Fischel argued persuasively for the Epicurean background of Cain’s remarks,25 and my recovery of the formal polemic of the Epicureans in De Sera provides further evidence in support of Fischel’s position, for Cain’s polemic is both based on the injustice argument and contains the same triad (no judgment, no afterlife, no post-mortem retribution). But the issue is not entirely settled because the same formal argument is likewise attributed to the Sadducees by Josephus. In both of his major works, Josephus described the important Jewish sects in terms that would be intelligible to his Graeco-Roman audience.26 We must be aware of his proPharisaic bias and the mode of describing Jewish sects as Greek Philosophies27 which color his representation. Nevertheless his summary presentation of the Sadducees’ views provides still another Jewish example of the formal polemic against providence/theodicy which we have been investigating. Josephus attributes the following positions to the Sadducees. (l) They do away with Fate altogether. (2) They remove God not only from the commission but even from the sight of evil. (3) They maintain radical free will (self-determination). (4) They deny the persistence of the soul after death. (5) They reject penalties and rewards in the underworld.28

Isenberg, “An Anti-Sadducee Polemic,” 438–40; see Vermes, “The Targumic Versions of Gen 4:3–16,” 114 and le Deaut, “Tradition targumique,” 72. 24 See Isenberg, “An Anti-Sadducee Polemic,” 442–43. 25 Fischel, Rabbinic Literature and Graeco-Roman Philosophy, 35–50. 26 On the tradition of describing Jewish sects as philosophies, see Richard Walzer, Galen on Jews and Christians (London: Oxford University, 1949) 13–14, 45–47, and Martin Hengel, Judaism and Hellenism (2 vols.: Philadelphia: Fortress Press, 1974) 1.255–61. 27 On this tendency, see G. F. Moore, “Fate and Free Will in the Jewish Philosophies According to Josephus,” HTR 22 (1929) 371–89; Morton Smith, “The Description of the Essenes in Josephus and the Philosophumena,” HUCA 29 (1958) 273–313; L. Wachter, “Die unterschiedlische Haltung der Pharisäer, Sadduzäer and Essener zur Heimarmene nach dem Bericht des Josephus,” ZRG 21 (1969) 97–114; G. Baumbach, “Das Sadduzäerverständnis bei Josephus Flavius und in Neuen Testament,” Kairos 13 (1971) 17–37; E. Earle Ellis, “Jesus, the Sadducees, and Qumran,” NTS 10 (1963–64) 274–79; Hans Rasp, “Flavius Josephus und die jüdischen Religionsparteien,” ZNW 23 (1924) 24–47. 28 Josephus, Bel. II. 164–65; the same summary is found also in Ant. XIII. 297 and XVIII. 16. 23

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The Sadducees are credited with the same polemical triad found in De Sera and the targums of Gen 4:8. Doing away with Fate (εἰμαρμένη = providence), they deny afterlife (persistence of the soul)29 and post-mortem retribution. Absent here is the linkage of this triad with a formal attack on providential judgment, especially based on the argument of injustice. The insistence on “radical free will” suggests that the triad functions apropos of a trouble-less, selfdetermining freedom, similar to Epicurean ἀταραξία. The polemical triad appears to function once again as a coherent argument in a unified system of thought. With this evidence in mind, we turn to 2 Peter to see what bearing such a formal argument might have on our understanding of the opponent’s polemical views in that letter. It is not our aim to identify 2 Peter’s opponents as Epicureans or Sadducees even if these analogies to the argument there prove to be cogent. The sources do not allow us to hear the whole debate; we have only 2 Peter’s hostile reports of his opponents’ positions. Our reconstruction is necessarily tentative because the letter cites the opponents only twice (3:3–4,9) while the remainder of their polemic must be extracted from the author’s reaction. Basically we have the author’s perception of the opponents’ positions, which means that all we may be able to sketch is their polemic as perceived. Nevertheless, even this would be worthwhile. It is the function of the Greek and Jewish background materials to suggest the shape of a formal, coherent polemic with which to compare the argument of 2 Peter’s opponents, whether genuine or imputed.

III.  Delayed Parousia and Denied Judgment In 2 Peter 3:9 the opponents introduce disturbing language; βραδύνει κύριος τῆς ἐπαγγελίας. Their comment is intended as a slur, for the author notes that “slowness” has a specific connotation for the opponents (ὥς τινες βραδύτητα ἡγοῦνται), a connotation which he rejects. The “promise” in question is the parousia (see ποῦ ἔστιν ἡ ἐπαγγελία τῆς παρουσίας, v. 4) and the parousia means a complex eschatological scenario which includes cosmic destruction (3:4) and especially judgment. In De Sera the Epicureans introduced the disturbing fact of the delay of divine judgment:  βραδυτής καὶ μέλλησις (548C), ῥάδυμον (548D), διατριβαὶ καὶ μέλλησις, βραδυτής (549B). The fact of delay functions for them as the prime argument against providential judgment. This comparison of De Sera and 2 Peter indicates that in both the opponents introduce the disturbing language (βραδύνει) which functions as an argument against judgment. Thus 3:9a should be understood as a rejection of the traditional doctrine of the coming judgment at the parousia.30 Support for this interpretation comes from other statements in the letter. For example, in 2:3b an abrupt and emphatic statement is made: “their judgment is not idle; their destruction is not napping.” This statement both interrupts the flow of the author’s slandering of the opponents in ­chapter 2 and it introduces a lengthy, coherent argument precisely in defense of The denial of the resurrection in Jewish literature is found in m. Ber. 9.6; b. Sahn. 90a, 91a, 91b; b. Roš. Haš. 17a; b. Sabb. 152b; Sifre Numbers 112 on Num 15: 31; i. Sanh. XII. 4–5. 30 For entirely different reasons, other commentators have pointed to this conclusion; J. B. Mayor (The Epistle of St. Jude and the Second Epistle of St. Peter, 156) suggested that the author rejects the implication that the Lord is powerless, careless or indifferent; C. Bigg (A Critical and Exegetical Commentary on the Epistles of St. Peter and St. Jude [Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1902] 296) noted that βραδύνει implies divine impotence; and Ceslas Spicq (Les Epîtres de Saint Pierre, 251) cited as a parallel to this text 3 Apoc Bar. 21:26 apropos of divine impotence. 29

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God’s judgment. Why is it here in the letter? To what is it responding? In content it resembles 3:9 where the opponents harp on the fact of delayed (idle, napping) judgment. Is 2:3b, then, a denial of a denial? Is the author already rejecting the opponents’ slur on delayed judgment (“judgment is idle; destruction naps”)?31 It is clear that in 2:4–9 an elaborate argument refutes the denial of divine judgment; in the summary statement in v. 9, the point of the three biblical examples was explicitly stated as a defense of theodicy: “God knows how to rescue the godly and to keep the wicked in punishment unto a day of judgment.” 2:4–9, then, seems to function as an apology to a denial of judgment, a denial, I suggest, which is expressed in 2:3b. Why is this material here in the letter? Why is it so abruptly mentioned? The author had earlier charged the opponents with “denying the Lord” (2:1). According to Jewish traditions, this denial should not be taken as a formal but rather as a practical atheism which rejects God as judge. For example, in the Psalms we find that denials of God are linked with denials of divine retribution and punishment. The central problem posed in Ps 9 LXX is the embarrassing absence of divine judgment of sinners, whom the Psalmist records as saying: οὐκ ἐκζητήσει οὐκ ἔστιν ὁ θεός ἐνώπιον αὐτοῦ32 This Psalm, moreover, is noteworthy for the numerous denials of divine punishment by the sinner-fool: οὐκ ἐκζητήσει (v. 25) οὐ μὴ σαλευθῶ (v. 27) ἐπιλέλησται ὁ θεός (v. 32)

In the OT, implicit in the phrase “God slumbers” is a disbelief in his existence (see 1 Kgs 18:27). The notice of divine slumber or idleness was a typical polemical attack on providence, attacking not only tardy judgment, but divine creation of the world as well. The Epicurean antagonist of providence in Cicero (N. D., I. 21–22) asked: “Why did these deities suddenly awake into activity as world-builders after countless ages of slumber (dormierint) . . . why did your Providence remain idle (cessaverit) all through that extent of time of which you speak?” Oenomaus of Gadara chided the god’s lack of concern for justice in the world with the comment: “I pass over the fact that you gods are indignant at the death of Androgeus at Athens, but sleep on (καθεύδειν) while so many die in all places at all times” (Prep. Evan., V. 209d). And Celsus ridiculed the tardiness of God’s sending Jesus to save the world by comparing Him to a slumbering god who just awakened: “If God, like Juppiter in the comedy, should on awakening from a lengthened slumber, desire to rescue the human race from evil, why did He send his spirit . . . Now the comic poet, to cause laughter in the theatre, wrote that Juppiter, after awakening, dispatched Mercury to the Athenians” (Celsum, VI. 78; cf. IV.7). 32 The full text of Ps 9:25 is: 31

παρώξυνεν τὸν κύριον ὁ αμαρτωλός: κατὰ τὸ πλῆθος τῆς ὀργῆς αὐτοῦ οὐκ ἐκζητήσει οὐκ ἔστιν ὁ θεός ἐνώπιον αὐτοῦ. The RSV translates it to mean that the sinner does not seek God, but the Vulgate understands ἐκτητήσει to refer to God’s punishment and not to the sinner: “Ait impius in superbia mentis ‘Non vindicabit! Non est Deus!’ ” On analogy with Ps 9:25 LXX, I am interpreting v. 34 as “God will not require,” for that other text reads: ἕνεκεν τίνος παρώξυνεν ὁ ἀσεβὴς τὸν θεόν; εἶπεν γὰρ ἐν καρδἰᾳ αὐτοῦ Οὐκ ἐκζητήσει.

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ἀπέστρεψεν τὸ πρόσωπον αὐτοῦ τοῦ μὴ βλέπειν εἰς τέλος (v. 32) οὐκ ἐκζητήσει (v. 34). Important for our current investigation is the manifest link between a rejection of divine retribution and a denial of God.33 Ps 13:1 LXX likewise begins with a denial of God (οὐκ ἔστιν θεός) and, while there is no formal denial of retribution recorded, the Psalm goes on to complain that the fool who denied God then committed abominably corrupt deeds (vv. 2–5). Twice at the end of the catalogue of these misdeeds the Psalmist remarks that among the evildoers there was no fear of God: οὐκ ἔστιν φόβος θεοῦ ἀμέναντι τῶν ὀφθαλμῶν αὐτῶν (v. 3) . . . οὗ οὐκ ἦν φόβος (v. 5). Thus lack of fear in effect means a rejection of judgment. A third way that practical atheism is expressed is the boast of divine ignorance of human sinfulness. Thus, in Ps 72 LXX, the catalogue of the sinner’s deeds in vv. 4–12 climaxes with the boast: καὶ εἶπαν, πῶς ἔγνω θεός; καὶ εἰ ἔστιν γνῶσις ἐν τῷ ὑψίστῳ; (v. 11). The reason, then, for the proliferation of sins is attributed to a denial of divine retribution. While it is expressed under the rubric of divine ignorance or of heavenly unconcern over human sinfulness, the statement that “God does not see”34 implies the same disregard of moral accountability as the statements that “he will not requite.” Such, therefore, is the nature of practical atheism: when the sinner-fool boasts that he fears nothing, that he will not be punished, or that God does not concern himself with human sinfulness, then he is effectively behaving as a practical atheist by equivalently denying that God is his judge. Thus in Jer 5:12 we find: They have denied the Lord and they have said: “He is not, nor will evil come upon us. Sword and famine we shall not see.”35 The midrash on this Psalm (Midr. Psalms, 10.6) sums up the meaning of v. 25, linking the rejection of God as Judge with the rejection of his judgment: “There is no judgment and there is no Judge. The Holy One, blessed be He, has gone away and sits in heaven.” The sententia “There is no Judgment, there is no Judge” is found extensively in Jewish literature; see ARNa 32; Yalkut Schimeoni II, Pesiq. Rab Kah. 51:5; Gen. R. XXVI. 6; Eccl. R. XI. 9; a variation of it (“There is no recompense, there is no resurrection”) is also found in early sources: j. Hag. II. l (cf. Isenberg, 443); Gen. R. LXIII. 11 and Ruth R. VI. 4; see Henry Fischel, Rabbinic Literature and Graeco-Roman Philosophy, 35–50. 34 There are numerous references in the OT to God’s ignorance and unconcern for mankind’s sins: Pss LXX 9:32; 63:6; 72:11; 93:7,9; Job 22:13 and 35:13; Isa 29:15; Ezek 8:12; 9:9 and Sir 16:15–16. Most of these statements have a certain formal similarity about them: (1) the evil doer is presented as speaking; (2) he either asks the question “what does God know?” or states declaratively that “God does not see”; (3) the statement of divine ignorance functions for the sinner as a surety for the crimes committed in that it implies that God will not punish him for his misdeeds. For a refutation of the charge that “God does not see,” see Wis. 1:8. 35 The use of this text is somewhat problematic because the LXX reads: 33

ἐψεύσαντο τῷ κυρίῳ ἑαυτῶν

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Denial of the Lord (2:1) is best explained as denial of his judgment. Hence, the outburst in 2:3b–9 that judgment is not idle or napping is a reaction to a perceived rejection of judgment in the statement “they deny the Lord.” Thus, in 3:9a, 2:3b and 2:1 we find the author repeatedly indicating his perception of the opponents as attacking the tradition of divine judgment. Apropos of the opponents’ denial of judgment we should reexamine their “promise of freedom” in 2:19. But what is needed is the proper context for understanding this claim of freedom. In the Epicurean system, the ideal of ἀταραξία explicitly proclaimed freedom as its goal:  freedom from fear, superstition, death, and retribution.36 In an example of the connection between ἀταραξία and freedom, Lucian pointed out in his Alexander the beneficial consequences of Epicurean freedom: That scoundrel had no idea what blessings that book Κυρίαι Δόξαι creates for its readers and what peace, tranquillity (ἀταραξία) and freedom (ἐγευθερία) it engenders in them, liberating them as it does from terrors and apparitions and portents, from vain hopes and extravagant cravings.37 The Κυρίαι Δόξαι, as we have seen, free God from the trouble of rewarding and punishing (#1) and liberate mankind from fear of death and post-mortem retribution (#2). Because and in proportion as one is free from a theodicy of divine retribution one can be free from fear and superstition. This is clearly illustrated in Cicero’s De Natura Deorum, where it is stated that Epicurean freedom from superstition is based on the very Κυρίαι Δόξαι which rejects divine judgment in the world.38 Thus in one stream, Epicurean freedom should be understood as doctrinally motivated, appearing as a necessary corollary of anti-judgment, anti-afterlife doctrines. In more orthodox circles, Epicurean freedom is tantamount to anti­nomianism. Lactantius sensed just this connection between immorality and judgmentless theology when in response to Epicurus, he intimated the direction which moral practice would go once freedom from judgment was accepted: If any chieftain of pirates or leader of robbers were exhorting his men to acts of violence, what other language could he employ than to say the same things which Epicurus says: that the gods take no notice; that they are not affected with anger or kind feeling; καὶ εἶπαν οὐκ ἔστιν ταῦτα καὶ μάχαιραν καὶ λιμὸν οὐκ ὀψόμεθα which is not a straightforward translation of the Hebrew text. The versions of Aquila (οὐκ αὐτός) and Symmachus (μὴ οὐχὶ αὐτός ἔστιν;) are closer to the Hebrew, a trend reflected in the Vulgate: negaverunt Dominum [Deum), et dixerunt non est ipse neque veniet super nos malum, gladium et famen non videbimus. Diogenes Laertius, X. 133–34. Lucian, Alex. 47; cf. Celsus᾽ position of free will in Origen’s Celsum IV. 3, 66, 67, 70. 38 In Cicero (N.D., I. 114–17) Cotta pointed out the close connection between the Epicurean god of perfect beatitude and man’s consequent “freedom from superstition” (see N.D., I. 45 and II. 71–72 and Pease, De Natura Deorum, I. 303; and Div. II. 148–49 and the commentary of Pease, De Divinatione, 579–81). 36 37

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that the punishment of a future state is not to be dreaded, because souls die after death and that there is no future state of punishment.39 This suggests that opponents of Epicurus were wont to understand claims of freedom as denials of judgment. Josephus reported that the Sadducees likewise were said to maintain free will. His synopsis of their thought suggests the proper context for appreciating the importance of individual items:  the espousal of freedom was perceived both as the Sadducees’ claim to radical self­ determination as well as their freedom from Fate, afterlife, and retribution. Josephus’ report suggests a logical nexus in which freedom for self-happiness entailed freedom from extrinsic limits on that happiness, such as divine judgment, afterlife and post-mortem retribution. In a comparable way we must not presuppose that “they promise freedom” (2:19) is simply evidence of the opponents’ libertine or gnostic credo.40 Doubtlessly 2 Peter calls his opponents “lawless men” (ἄθεσμοι, 2:7, 3:17, ἀνομοι, 2:8) and states that their followers “turn from the holy law given them” (2:21), and that they “despise dominion” (2:10). The trappings of gnosticism or Pauline realized eschatology, however, are absent from 2 Peter. Rather, the appropriate context for understanding this “promise of freedom” would seem to entail denial of the Lord (2:1) and denial of his judgment (3:9). In this context let us take a fresh look at the opponent’s promise of freedom. The phrase is first of all an ironic parody of the opponents’ scoffing at the Christians about their unfulfilled “promise of the parousia” (3:3,9); the author reminds them that their promise, too, is unfulfilled. They are as mistaken about divine judgment as they accuse the community of being. Secondly, 2:19 functions in relation to 2:17–18 as crime and punishment. A “pit of darkness” is kept for wandering waves; “for (γὰρ) they promise freedom.” This implies that far from being free from judgment, they are bringing upon themselves the very retribution they deny (cf. Jer 5:12 above). Thirdly, they are slandered by the author as “Slaves of φθορά”; φθορά could mean in this letter both moral corruption (1:3; 2:20–22) and judgmental destruction (2:12);41 both meanings are intimately related. According to the author this world is corrupt and will be replaced by one in which justice reigns (3:13); one must accordingly flee from this world. But the opponents do not consider this world as corrupt or passing away (cf. πάντα διαμένει 3:4), nor do they expect to face judgment at its conclusion (3:9; 2:1). Like the Epicureans and Sadducees, their happiness rests with their own radical self-determination here and now. This is perceived by the author not as freedom but as slavery to immorality which must lead to destruction. Like the beasts in 2:12, they will be destroyed, not because they are mortal, but because of their errors42 (ἐν οἷς ἀγνοοῦσιν βλασφημοῦντες), chief of which is their Lactantius, Div. Inst. III. 17. There have been two trends in interpreting this verse: (1) “freedom” could be a libertinistic credo (Mayor, 398–400; Windisch, 98–99) or a gnostic doctrine (J. N. D. Kelly, A Commentary on the Epistles of Peter and Jude [London: Adam and Charles Black, 1969] 251; Käsemann, “An Apology,” 171, 191) or (2) “freedom” could mean “freedom from the Law,” as was proclaimed in Paul’s Corinthian church (R. Knopf, Die Briefe Petri und Judas [Gottingen: Vandenhoeck and Ruprecht, 1912] 304 and J. Chaine, Les Epitres Catholique [Paris: Gabalda, 1939] 77). 41 The interpretation of φθορά in 2:19 has been a crux interpretum in commentaries on 2 Peter; see Mayor, 88 and 177; Windisch, 95–97; Karl Schelkle, Die Petrusbriefe, Der Judasbrief (Freiburg: Herder, 1961) 189, 211–12 and Günther Harder “φθορά,” TDNT 9. 94–96, 101. 42 See Patrick Skehan, “A Note on 2 Peter 2:13,” Biblica 41 (1960) 69–71; Windisch (p. 95) explains φθορά in 2:12 as “Endgericht.” 39 40

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claim to freedom from judgment and destruction. If freedom for the opponents is placed in a meaningful context, it should be interpreted as implying an acceptance of this world as the only world (no afterlife) and a corresponding rejection of the parousia which ends this world and brings judgment in the world to come. Intellectual positions such as freedom are not held in a vacuum but belong to a coherent thought structure.

IV.  Afterlife and Retribution In 3:3–4 the author again records the slanders of the opponents, perhaps even citing their own words (see λέγοντες). They harp on the unfulfilled prophecy of the parousia (v. 4a), resting their argument on the fact that as God has not destroyed the world in recorded history (v. 4b), there is no evidence that He will end it at the parousia. Epicurean polemics against providence provide a useful context for understanding the argument in 3:3–4. First, it is typical of the Epicureans to argue against providence from unfulfilled prophecy (see note 16). Secondly, although Epicureans were never said to hold the immortality of the cosmos,43 they repeatedly stated that past failure of providential action in the world argues for its absence in the future. Formally, 3:3–4 is similar in function to Epicurean arguments against providence. What is the focus of the objection? Is it concerned with prophecy per se, cosmic dissolution, the parousia, or what?44 The opponents stress the fact of unfulfilled prophecy (3:4, 9), but this should be perceived in relation to their denial of judgment both here and hereafter. According to LXX usage, scoffing questions introduced by ποῦ (3:4) call attention to the failure of divine action. Thus, on the occasion of a military defeat or failure of justice, when the question “where (ποῦ) is your God?” was asked, a doubt was expressed about divine action in the world.45 The question in 3:4 (“where is the promise of the parousia?”) is properly a doubt about divine action in the world. The author’s response in 3:5–7 contains several relevant points. First he defends the prophetic word of God apropos of cosmic judgment: the word of God proved once before in creation (τῷ τοῦ θεοῦ λόγῳ, 3:5) and will be active again (τῷ αὐτῷ λόγῷ, 3:7a). Secondly, God has judged the world once before by water (3:6; see Noah’s generation in 2:5) even as He will judge it by fire in the future (3:7; see Lot’s generation in 2:6). The author, therefore, interprets the opponents’ slanders in 3:3–4 as another attack on divine judgment and responds accordingly. What are the views of the opponents concerning afterlife and postmortem retribution? We have no explicit statements in the letter in which they formally denied afterlife and post-mortem

Epicureans, of course, did not maintain the indestructability of the world (Diogenes Laertius, X. 73; Lucretius, R.N. II, 1105–74; V. 91–109, 235–415); see C. Bailey, Titi Lucreti Cari De Rerum Natura Libri Sex [Oxford: Clarendon, 1947] 2.  974–83 and 3.  1354–79). As we have noted, one of Epicurus’ major arguments against providence was a cosmological one. 44 The parousia tradition focused on the coming of Christ to judge (Mark 13:26), but his arrival would be preceded by dissolution of the cosmos (Mark 13:24–25) and accompanied by resurrection of the dead to judgment (John 5:29), and followed by the creation of a new heaven and a new earth (Rev 21:1). In short, the parousia tradition included the familiar elements of judgment, afterlife, and retribution. 45 45 Deut 32:37; Judg 6:13; 2 Kgs 18:34; 19:13; Job 35:10; Pss 42:3, 10; 79:10; 115:2; Isa 36:19; 37:13; Jer 2:6, 8; Hos 13:10, 14; Joel 2:17; Mic 7:10; Mal 2:17; Luke 8:25; 1 Cor 1:20; 15:55. 43

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retribution, but it is surely implied in 3:4 that if this world will not end (πάντα διαμένει) and if there is no divine judgment, then the parousia tradition of coming judgment and post-mortem rewards and punishments cannot be true. Implied, then, in 3:3–4 is a disbelief in any other world than this one—no afterlife, no other world. Again our author’s apology affords us a window on how he perceived the opponent’s positions regarding afterlife. He repeatedly notes that death is not the final end of the sinner, for God “keeps” the wicked for a future judgment. For example, the angels “are kept (πηρουμένους) unto judgment” (2:4); God knows how “to keep (τηρεῖν) the wicked in punishment unto a day of judgment” (2:9); and, for the wandering waves a “pit of darkness is kept” (τετήρηται, 2:17). There is judgment after death. The wicked are judged after death; likewise, the righteous will be rewarded after death (3:13; see 1:11). The earth and all on it will be scrutinized after the fiery dissolution of the cosmos (3:10).46 The author is not simply restating the traditional context of the parousia; the apologetic insistence on afterlife and post-mortem retribution seems to be in response to the implied denial of the same by his opponents. In summary, (1)  we have numerous statements both from and about the opponents which credit them with denying divine judgment (3:9a; 2:1,3b). (2) In form and function the slander in 3:9 resembles Epicurean arguments against providence. (3)  Implied in the opponents’ position is a corresponding denial of divine judgment, afterlife, and postmortem retribution. Although this triad is not explicitly spelled out in their polemic, it is quite formally defended in the apologetic responses to the opponents and so can be said to represent at least the author’s perception of their position. (4) Both in Greek and Jewish heterodox traditions, just such a triad was formally linked with the anti­providence argument of delayed judgment/injustice and constitutes the intelligible context for understanding the implications of the polemic about the slowness of judgment. This seems to be the case also with 2 Peter’s opponents.

V.  The Apology for Judgment There is clear evidence of a general apologetic argument which responded point-for-point to the polemic which we studied above. The clearest example is the response attributed to Abel in the targumic expansions of Gen 4:8. Cain had denied divine judgment on the basis of injustice in the world, to which Abel responded: Abel answered and said to Cain, The world was created by love and is governed according to the fruit of good deeds (there is no favor in judgment).

Frank Olivier (“Une correction au texte du Nouveau Testament: II Pierre 3,10,” Essai dans le Domaine du Monde Graeco-Roman Antique et dans celui de Nouveau Testament [Geneva: Librairie Droz, 1963] 129–52) suggested that instead of εὑρεθήσεται we read ἐκπυρωθήσεται; while ingenious, there is no textual evidence for this conjecture. For a better point of view see Frederick Danker, “II Peter 3:10 and Psalm of Solomon 17:10,” ZNW 53 (1962) 82–86. For a discussion of εὑρίσκω in the context of moral scrutiny, see Danker, p. 84, and H. Preisker, “εὑρίσκω,” TDNT 2. 769. 46

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And then, to Cain’s rejection of the triad of theodicy, afterlife and post-mortem retribution, Abel spoke in defense: Abel answered and said to Cain, There is Judgment, there is a Judge, there is another world, there is the gift of good reward for the just and punishment for the wicked.47 What makes Abel’s response seem like a plausible apology is the appearance of the same cluster of arguments in Josephus’ description of the Pharisees. Even when we grant Josephus’ comparison of the Pharisees with the Stoics, the position he attributes to them is nevertheless coherent and cogent. According to Josephus’ summaries, the main doctrines of the Pharisees were: (1) There is God and Fate. (2) Although all is subject to Fate, this does not deprive the human will of its freedom. (3) The soul is immortal. (4) There are post-mortem rewards and punishments.48 In three places where Josephus discusses the views of the Pharisees, he described their system only in terms of these topics. The description, moreover, is always presented in contrast with the Sadducees’ rejection of the same items. It would seem that, like Abel, the Pharisees represent to Josephus an orthodox apology to the atheistic or heterodox views (cf. Cain and the Sadducees). Thus, in Jewish religious traditions, we find evidence of a formal apologetic tradition defending a coherent system of eschatological doctrines. Plutarch’s apologetic response in De Sera contains the same formal apology. In reaction to Epicurean denials, Plutarch mounts a defense first of judgment (548B–556E) and then of afterlife and post-mortem retribution (560E–568). He claims that his apology has an inherent coherence: It is one and the same argument that establishes both the providence of God and the survival of the human soul . . . but if the soul survives, we must expect that its due in honor and punishment is awarded after death (560F). Thus we have evidence of a formal apologetic response which defends the traditional eschatological doctrines. Our analysis thus far has indicated the presence of the same apology in 2 Peter. He defends divine judgment (3:9; 2:3b–9; 3:7, 9–13), afterlife/another world (3:7, 10–13), and post-mortem retribution (2:4, 9, 17; 3:7 10). Within the context of this formal apology, moreover, there are important individual arguments in the sources we have been studying which can further illuminate the apologetic responses of 2 Peter.

Again, G. Vermes, “The Targumic Versions of Gen 4:3–16,” 96–99. Josephus, Bel. II. 163–64; Ant. XIII. 172, 297; XVIII. 12–15.

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VI.  The Background of the Apology in 3:9b In 2 Peter 3:9, the response to the slander of God’s delay consists of a positive reinterpretation of that fact as a gift of time for repentance, which gift is based on God’s benevolent nature. The same apology can be found in Jewish sources where the delay of judgment is based on divine kindness which postpones judgment. As early as the Wisdom of Solomon we find traces of an argument which attests God’s extraordinary goodness to sinners by delaying their chastisement and granting them time for repentance. To explain why God tolerated the depraved Canaanites, the text states: “judging them little by little, thou gave them a chance to repent” (12:10).49 In defense of God’s greater indulgence of the Gentiles than the Israelites, it again states: “thou did punish with great care . . . granting them time and opportunity to give up their wickedness” (12:20). Philo benevolently reinterpreted Deut 32:34–35 to indicate that God delayed His chastisement, giving a gift of time to allow sinners to repent: Not even against those who sin will God proceed at once, but gives time for repentance (δίδωσι χρόνον εἰς μετάνοιαν) and setting on his feet again him who had slipped (L.A. III. 106).50 Likewise in the targums of Gen 6:3; 7:4 and 10, it is repeatedly noted that God granted a delay of judgment for the people’s repentance. Whereas Gen 6:3 reads “their days will be 120 years,” the targums interpreted that to say: “Behold, I will give them a prolongment of a hundred and twenty years, that they may work repentance and not perish.”51 The motive for the delay of punishment is divine kindness. For example, in Philo’s apology for the delay of divine chastisement, he cites as the motive for the gift of time God’s “virtue and lovingkindness”: God, the Father of reasonable intelligence . . . takes thought for those who live a misspent life, thereby giving them time for reformation and also keeping within the bounds of His merciful nature, which has for its attendant virtue and lovingkindness (φιλανθρωπία) well fitted to keep watch as sentry around God’s world (Prov. II. 6). This same motivation is also found in Philo’s remarks on the restraint of punishment apropos of Deut 32:34–35 (L.A. III. 105–106) and Gen 7:4 and 10 (Q. Gen. II. 13).

Likewise in Wis 11:23, the purpose of God’s “overlooking the sins of men” is εἰς μετάνοιαν. In the NT and LXX, Deut 32:34–35 reads as a curse (cf. ὅταν σφαλῇ ὁ ποὺς αὐτῶν); but in this passage from Philo, the gift of time is granted so that even if a sinner stumbled God would still give him time to recover (καὶ ἐτὴν τοῦ σφάλματος ἰάσιν τε καὶ ἐπανόρφωσιν); see Prov. II.6. 51 Tg. Pseudo-Jonathan Gen 6:3; for other material on the delay of punishment for repentance’s sake, see Jack P. Lewis, A Study of the Interpretation of Noah and the Flood in Jewish Literature (Leiden:  Brill, 1968) 130 n.  8. In Philo’s interpretation of Gen 6:3, he recorded the same midrash on that passage as did the targum; he explained the hidden meaning of 120 years relative to “the number of years which a benevolent benefactor prolonged, allowing repentance for sins” (Q. Gen. I. 91). The targums of Gen 7:4 and 10 also record that after the ark was built, there was an interval of seven days before the flood: “For behold I give them a length of time, seven days; if they repent, it will be forgiven them, and if they do not repent, in seven more days’ time I will cause rain to fall” (Tg. Yerusalmi II Gen 7:4); see Tanhuma, Noah 8 and Tanhuma B, Noah 13; Mekilta, Shirata 5. 49 50

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In 2 Peter 3:9, the delay of punishment and the gift of time for repentance rest on the author’s view of God as long-suffering (μακροθυμεῖ, see μακροθυμίαν 3:15). Besides the analogy to this argument in Philo, divine long-suffering has an extensive and sacred history in Jewish traditions, based as it was on the revelation to Moses in Ex 34:6–7. In the Hebrew text “slow to anger” is curiously plural in form (‫ )ארך אפים‬which anomaly attracted scribal attention and issued in the explanation that ‫ ארך אפים‬meant “long-suffering toward the righteous and longsuffering also toward the wicked.”52 The targums of Ex 34:6–7, moreover, dilate on the text to underscore the mercy of God to debtors, rebels and sinners of all sorts. In the LXX, when Ex 34:6 and other texts which repeat this formula were being translated, the consistent translation for ‫ ארך אפים‬was μακρόθυμος.53 Did the midrash on God’s “long-suffering toward the wicked” accompany the Greek term μακρόθυμος as it did the plural Hebrew phrase ‫ ? ארך אפים‬There are suggestions that it did, which should increase our respect for the potential weight which μακροθυμεῖ might have in 2 Peter 3:9. In Rom 2:4, Paul criticized the person who despised God’s long-suffering (μακροθυμία) because he was ignoring the purpose of this kindness (εἰς μετάνοιάν σε ἄγει). Since God is impartial and all are equally guilty before Him (Rom 2:6–11), God’s μακροθυμία is clearly “long-suffering toward the wicked.” Likewise in 1 Peter 3:20, “the long-suffering of God waited in the days of Noah while the ark was being built,” which μακροθυμία was not just for Noah and family but was extended to all the people—“long-suffering toward the wicked.” As regards the Greek background to this apology, we noted in our analysis of De Sera that the most disturbing of Epicurus’ arguments against providence was the delay of divine punishment, to which Plutarch responded with five arguments. Conceding the fact of delayed punishment, he reinterpreted it by excluding its negative connotations and by explaining how such a delay was actually prohibitive of providence by allowing time for benevolent action. For example, delay (1) removes anger from punishment (550D–551C), (2) allows time for reform and change (551C–552D), (3) permits subsequent good to appear (552D–553D), and (4) sets up a truly appropriate punishment (553D–F). In a fifth argument, Plutarch maintained that there was in fact no delay of punishment because of the constant consciousness of guilt and fear (553F–556E).54 Plutarch’s second apologetic response rejected the petty understanding of punishment as a talio55 and argued that God’s delay transcended quid pro quo punishment by granting time for change and reformation (πρὸς μετάνοιαν ἐνδίδωσι καὶ χρόνον).56 Unlike the argument in

b.‘Eub. 22a; similarly in b. B.Qam. 50b; Sanh. 111a; Yoma 69b; cf p. Ta#an II. 65b and Midr. Psalms 103:11. See Num 14:18; Neh 9:17; Pss 85:15; 103:14; Joel 2:13; Nahum 1:3 and Wis 15:1. 54 This last argument is surely ironic; Epicurus himself had claimed that there was no need for a post-mortem retribution of crimes, for a sinner brought upon himself a troubled life which was its own punishment. The 35th Sovran Maxim states this: “It is impossible for the man who secretly violates any article of the social contract to feel confident that he will remain undiscovered . . . for right on to the end of his life he is never sure he will riot be detected” (Diogenes Laertius, X. 151). 55 In popular understanding, punishment is simply considered as a quid pro quo retribution, that is, vengeance. Thus Patrocleas made the case in De Sera (548E) that immediate chastisement is “the greatest comfort to the injured”; he approved, moreover, of Bion’s lament that “l do not fear that you will fail to get your deserts, but that I shall not live to see it” (548F: see Seneca, De Ira II.  xxxii.l). Plutarch’s rejection of chastisement as talio resembles a similar condemnation of ultio and talio in Seneca’s De Ira (II. xxxii.1–2). 56 Plutarch, De Sera (551D); cf. δίδωσι μεταβάβλλεσθαι χρόνον (551E) and Wettstein, 2. 711. 52 53

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550D–551C where time lapse was related to the soothing of the passion of anger,57 Plutarch repeatedly noted that there is a delay which is a gift of time whose purpose is a reformation of human beings.58 As was the case with Philo, the motive for the delay of punishment in the first two arguments in De Sera was based on Plutarch’s understanding of God. The Deity, who is good and noble,59 does not himself strike in anger; and by delaying punishment, he gives mankind an example of divine gentleness and magnanimity (πραότης καὶ μεγαλοψυχία)60 so that we too may delay and not punish in anger. The Deity, moreover, is not like a “dog barking at the heels of an offender,” but acts as a physician with benevolence in giving the sick soul time for change and repentance (551D–E). Thus in Plutarch’s apology to Epicurus and in Philo’s response to Alexander, delay of punishment flows from the author’s appreciation of God’s provident nature. As regards the form of the apology, there are notable similarities between the way Plutarch’s apology in De Sera operates and the structure of the apology in 2 Peter 3:9. In 2 Peter the apology to the opponents’ charge that God is tardy (βραδύνει) is the author’s explanation that God’s long-suffering allows all mankind time to be saved (εἰς μετάνοιαν χωρῆσαι). As in De Sera, the form of the argument is a reinterpretation of the opponents’ fact (οὐ βραδύνει κύριος ὥς τινες βραδύτητα ἡγοῦνται), which reinterpretation excludes the pejorative aspect of God’s dealings with mankind (μὴ βουλόμενος τινας ἀπολέσθαι) and stresses the benevolent meanings of the fact of delay (πάντας εἰς μετάνοιαν χωρῆσαι). In summary, as regards the background of the apologetic argument in 2 Peter 3:9b, it is often stated in Jewish and Greek sources that divine punishment is delayed for purposes of repentance; the motive for this lies in the perception of a benevolent deity. Plutarch’s De Sera and Philo’s De Providentia provide important analogies precisely because of their formal similarities with the argument in 2 Peter 3:9b; and the context of their remarks on delayed punishment are clearly an apologetic response to eschatological heterodoxy. The formal content of the apology in each case is: (1) a slanderous charge of delayed punishment is made; (2) the apologist reinterprets the disturbing fact; (3) by noting that the purpose of the delay is repentance; (4) the basis for which is the deity’s benevolence. As regards its background and formal structure, 2 Peter 3:9b resembles the typical apology for orthodox eschatology.

VII.  The Background for the Apology in 2:4–9 We noted that in 2:4–9 the author emphatically defends God’s judgment. There is a stylized debate in Sirach 16:6–23 LXX which may illuminate the argument in 2 Peter 2:4–9. The formal setting of the passage in Sirach is a debate over whether God judges and requites. In the

In De Sera (550F) Plutarch suggested that we imitate God’s “mildness and delay (μέλλεσιν) with Time as our counseller,” which appeal for “delay” is more fully explained in Ps Plutarch’s treatise De Cohibenda Ira (459E): “for both the passage of time (χρόνον) gives a pause (διατριβή) to passion and a delay which dissolves it.” This advice is based on a long-standing tradition that “time puts an end to anger” (Aristotle, Rhet. I. 138b). The same advice is given by Seneca in De Ira: “Maximum remedium irae mora est” (II. xxix. 1) and “maximum remedium irae dilatio est” (III. xii.4) and “dandum semper est tempus” (II. xxii. 3). 58 See πρὸς μετάνοιαν (551D); μεταβάλλεσθαι, μεταβολαί τὸ μεταβάλλον (551E). 59 Plutarch, De Sera, 550E. 60 Plutarch, De Sera, 551C; see Cicero, Off. l. 88–89. 57

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polemical part (16:17–23), a sinner argues that he is hidden from God and so his wickedness goes undetected and unpunished: “I shall be hidden from the Lord and who from on high will remember me? Among so many people I shall not be known” (16:17). By way of refutation, the apology (vv. 6–16) presents a list of biblical figures who did not escape divine judgment, which list clearly argues for future punishment on the basis of past examples. At the head of the list, an analogy is established in 16:6 indicating that past judgments by God are grounds for his future action. Secondly, the list of persons who were judged by God seems relevant; for, like 2 Peter, it contains the giants of Gen 6:4 and Sodom. The vocabulary of the passage likewise employs the same language and grammatical structure as 2 Peter 2:4–5. 2 Peter 2:4–5

Sirach 16:7–9

v. 4 ὁ θεός ἀγγέλων ἁμαρτησάντων οὐκ ἐφείσατο v. 5. ἀρχαίου κόσμου οὐκ ἐφείσατο

v. 7 οὐκ ἐξιλάσατο περὶ τῶν ἀρχαίων γιγάντων v. 8 οὐκ ἐφείσατο περὶ τῆς παροικίας Λωτ v. 9 οὐκ ἠλέησεν ἔθνος ἀπωλείας

The expression οὐκ ἐφείσατο, moreover, has an extensive history in the LXX as a description of God’s judgment of the world.61 Thirdly, the passage contains a general theological statement affirming the author’s position on divine judgment which is the presupposition of his apologetic response. After a list of people who were “not spared” by God, he states: For mercy and wrath are with the Lord; he is mighty to forgive and he pours out wrath. As great as his mercy, so great is his reproof (vv. 11–12). The basis for this dual action of God is fully explained as well: “He judges a man according to his deeds” (16:12b, 14b). Both in its language and its defense of divine judgment, Sirach 16:6–23 reflects the same kind of apologetic tradition which is found in 2 Peter 2:4–9.

VIII.  The Background of the Apology in 3:5–7 The apology in 3:5–7 presupposes the biblical examples of watery and fiery judgment in 2:4–9; but it goes beyond these examples, adding a special generalized note: “heaven and earth are treasured up for fire, kept for a day of judgment and destruction” (v. 7). As regards the background of the divine treasuries of judgment, Philo again offers us useful material. In Leges Allegoriae he speaks of God’s treasuries in heaven, treasuries of good things as well as evil. Combining two passages from Deuteronomy, he indicates that God has two opposite treasuries; for, Deut 28:12 tells us to pray that God “open his good treasury, the In the LXX, φείδομαι is used both of God’s rescue of the righteous (Gen 19:16; 20:6; 22:12; Deut 33:3; Neh 13:22; Ps 18:13; Wis 11:26; 12:8; Joel 2:17–18; Jer 17:17) and his condemnation of the wicked (οὐκ ἐφείσατο: 1 Kgs 15:3; Job 20:13; Ps 77:50; Jonah 4:11; Zech 11:6; Jer 13:14; 21:7; Lam 2:17). 61

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heavens” and dispense rain and fertility (III. 104)  and Deut 32:34–35 proves that God has treasuries of evil as well: For there are with God treasuries as of good things so also as of evil things. As he saith in the Great Song, “Are not these laid up in store with me, sealed up in my treasuries in the day of vengeance, when their foot shall have slipped ” (Deut 32:34–35). You see that there are treasuries of evil things (III. 105).62 Now Philo was himself following the LXX reading of Deut 32:  34–35, which had already changed the MT of v. 35 (“vengeance is mine and recompense”) to “I will recompense on the day of vengeance.” What is particularly noteworthy is the refined eschatological sense of the changes which point to a “day of vengeance” and a “day of destruction.”63 But the recompense of God is not immediately evident, since it is stored for a future time. Philo picks up just this very point, that the treasuries of judgment are now sealed. This implies that judgment is not taking place now, which raises the spectre of divine impotence. But Philo is quick to underscore the true meaning of this delay of divine judgment: God is slow to inflict evil . . . he gives time for repentance (L.A. III. 105–106). The reason for this is clearly theological: God’s love of giving gifts and granting favors. The form of the argument in Philo may then be summarized: (1) there are treasuries of judgment for sinners according to the word of God; (2) but the treasuries are now sealed; (3) because God gives sinners time to repent; (4) but at a future day he will open both treasuries. This same formal argument is found in 2 Peter which likewise claims that ac­cording to God’s word (τῷ αὐτῷ λόγῳ, 3:7) the heavens and earth are treasured for judgment. Evidently the treasuries of judgment are sealed (3:9), but this is so because God is giving sinners time for repentance (εἰς ματάνοιαν 3:9b). He will surely open those treasuries at the future day of judgment (3:7).

IX.  The Background of the Apology in 3:8 When the question of the delay of the parousia prophecy is finally addressed, the author cited Ps 90:4 in such a way as to appeal to a sense of time which is both foreign to human reckoning of time and incalculable as a specific answer to the question of “when?” Since 2 Peter 3:8 is a paraphrase of Ps 90:4, we will examine the use of that Psalm in Jewish traditions to see in what contexts it was employed. The verse “one day is as a thousand years” occurs equally in discussions relating to creation and Adam’s sin as well as in remarks about the coming of the messiah and eschatological affairs. The function of the statement varies considerably, for it was used both to define the length of one of the days of creation,64 and to explain why Adam lived for almost a thousand years after his sin, although God’s word to him was quite explicit: “in the day that you eat of it

This passage also includes an important reference to God’s slowness to punish, his gift of time for repentance; see Gen. R. LI. 3. 63 Tg. Onqelos Deut 32:35; Tg. Yerušalmi II, ad loc., speaks of a “day of judgment” in connection with “the cup of punishment sealed up in my treasuries.” 64 Gen. R. VIII.2; b. Roš. Haš. 31a; Lev. R. XIX. 1; Song of Songs R. V. 11; Num. R. V.4; Midr., Psalms 25.8 and Barnabas 15:4. 62

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you shall die” (Gen 2:17).65 The delay of divine judgment to Adam is then explained via Ps 90:4, for with God one “day” is as a thousand years. The thousand-year day of Adam, moreover, was occasionally explained as a sign of God’s mercy: “Remember, O Lord, Thy compassions and thy mercies, for they have been from of old” (Ps 25:6). R. Joshua b. Nehmiah interpreted it: [show Thy mercies) wherewith Thou didst treat Adam, for thus saidst Thou to him: “For in the day that thou eatest thereof thou shalt surely die” (Gen 2:17) and hadst Thou not given him one day of Thine, which is a thousand years.66 The text of 2 Peter first cites Ps 90:4 and then remarks that God delays judgment to give time for repentance because He is merciful. Although R. Joshua’s remarks were not strictly apologetic in function, they do situate Ps 90:4 within the context of the delay of divine judgment and mercy which are also found in 2 Peter 3:8–9. As regards the conclusion of the world, “one day is as a thousand years” occurs both in discussions of the length of the messiah’s day,67 and in explanations of the length of the world.68 In one text, the thousand-year day is described as a day of vengeance according to Isa 63:7.69 This investigation of the apology of 2 Peter suggests several correctives to Käsemann’s critique. The arguments there are not disconnected and embarrassingly assembled; for, as the examples of Plutarch, Abel and the Pharisees show, it is one and the same argument which establishes providence, afterlife, and post-mortem retribution. The presumed lack of christological focus does not stem from the ineptitude of an “early catholic” writer; the criticism is misplaced since the polemic confronting 2 Peter was a specific attack on theodicy, not christology: the issue was divine judgment in general, not Christ’s in particular. Hence it would be inappropriate to find a Pauline eschatology presented, for that is not what is called for in the debate in 2 Peter. The issue is theological. The focus of the doctrine of retribution is hardly anthropocentric, for both polemic and apology are concerned with retribution as a proper act of God. When we investigate the debate in 2 Peter in terms of its proper historical context, the criticisms of Käsemann are shown to be misplaced.

Jubilees 4:29–30; Gen. R. XIX. 8; Num. R. V.4 and XXIII. 13; see Irenaeus, Adv. Haer. V. xxiii.2 and xxviii.3. Gen. R. XXII.l; see Sirach 18:10. 67 Midr. Psalms 90.17; Yalkut Shimeoni to Ps 72; b. Sanh. 99a. 68 Barnabas 15.4; Irenaeus, Adv. Haer. V. xxiii; 2 Enoch 33:1–2 and APOT 2. 451, ad loc. 69 Pesiq. R. l.7. There is a third line of development for Ps 90:4 in Christian writers of the second century who subscribed to a form of chiliasm, a millennial view of world history (see Jean Danielou, “La Typologie millenariste de la Semaine dans la Christianisme primitif,” VC 2 [1948] 1–16; and M. Rist, “Millennium,” IDB 381–82). In such cases the text functioned precisely as the hermeneutical key to determine exactly where in history one stood: the six days of creation correspond to six thousand years, and the seventh day to the millennial interregnum of Christ, the one-thousand year Sabbath before the general judgment (see Rev 20:4). The strange form of the citation in 2 Peter 3:8 argues against such a background and function for our text. There are no chiliastic trappings, no cosmic wars, no triumphs, no reign of martyrs, no interregnum of Christ already or imminently present. 2 Peter is hardly suggesting that he lives in the interregnum nor does he claim to use Ps 90:4 as the key for establishing the calendar for its advent. 65 66

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THE RELATIONSHIP TO THE FOURTH GOSPEL SHARED BY THE AUTHOR OF 1 JOHN AND BY HIS OPPONENTS

Raymond E. Brown

The relation of the First Epistle of John to the Gospel of John remains a disputed subject among scholars. Obvious similarities of vocabulary, grammar, and thought suggest that the two works came from the same milieu, whether we call it community, school or circle. What is not clear is whether the Epistle and Gospel share the same theological outlook (even if one work is more developed than the other) or the one writing is meant to correct or modify the other. The solution to that problem might be facilitated if scholars could agree on whether the same author wrote both works; but that is also a matter of dispute, both as regards style and content. As for dating, only a minority gives priority to the Epistle. Comparison has been made more complicated by complex theories of the authorship of the Fourth Gospel, e.g. any theory which supposes both an evangelist (who may have revised his own first edition) and a redactor. The Epistle might be later than the work of the evangelist but before or contemporary with the work of the redactor. Indeed, the author of the Epistle might be the redactor rather than the evangelist. Theorizing can reach Byzantine complexity if one follows Bultmann in positing a source, an author, and a redactor for the Epistle as well. What seems clear is that the adversaries of the Epistle are not the same as the adversaries of the Gospel (namely, the followers of John the Baptist, ‘the Jews’, and Jews who believed in Jesus but did not confess him publicly). The Epistle rails against Christians who, though they claim to know God (ii.4), acknowledge neither ‘Jesus Christ come in the flesh’ (iv.2) nor the sinfulness of their own lives (i.10). To correct them the author reiterates the commandment of God: ‘We are to believe in the name of His Son, Jesus Christ, and we are to love one another just as God gave us the command’ (iii.23). Although these opponents have certain features known to us from second-century Christian debates, no one has satisfactorily identified them with the systems of Cerinthus, the Docetists, or the Gnostics, as criticized by the early church fathers.1 In the introduction to the Anchor Bible commentary on the Epistles of John, at which I am now at work, I shall have to wrestle with these disputed questions, whether or not I come up with new or decisive answers. Here I wish to test one tentative hypothesis, advancing all the arguments I have already uncovered favoring it, but knowing that there are further arguments to be discovered, as well as objections against it. My hypothesis is this: Both the adversaries in 1 John and the author knew the Johannine proclamation of Christianity and professed to accept it. Notice that I have been cautious in speaking of ‘the Johannine proclamation of Christianity’, for I am not committing myself as to whether the final form of the Fourth Gospel had made R. Schnackenburg, Die Johannesbriefe, HThK 13, 3rd edition (Freiburg, 1965), pp. 20–2, points out correctly that the ideas of some of the opponents of Ignatius of Antioch resemble the ideas of the opponents of 1 John. 1

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its appearance. I am saying that, whether or not they had read the written Gospel, both the author and his opponents knew Johannine thought and expression as it has come to us in that Gospel. Thus, the adversaries were no outsiders but the offspring of Johannine thought itself,2 and virtually every distinctive position they held had some basis in the Gospel of John. The author of the Epistle could not simply deny the echoes of the Johannine proclamation which furnished his adversaries with their slogans, for that proclamation was truth for him (and his community) as well. Rather he had to argue that the adversaries’ interpretation of the proclamation was false and not taught from the beginning. His slogan in correcting his opponents is stated immediately after the prologue:  ‘This is the Gospel that we have heard from Jesus Christ’ (i.5),3 a slogan implying that any other interpretation is a dangerous novelty. Stressing again the inchoative character of this essay, I shall divide my treatment topically rather than proceeding verse by verse. I  recognize a double difficulty in reconstructing the views of the opponents. First, we must view them mirror-wise through the polemic affirmations of the author of the Epistle, as he refutes the claims that ‘someone’ might make. Second, we are not certain that his every affirmation was polemically oriented; at times he may simply have been affirming Christian faith without any reference to the views of his opponents. While I stress uncertainty about the views of the opponents, I propose a question that is valid nonetheless: If they did hold views that are contradictory to the affirmations of the author of 1 John, could they have reached such views from reading or hearing the message known to us from the Gospel of John?

I. Christology In the years 1975 through 1977 three reconstructions of Johannine community history, based on an analysis of the Gospel, were offered by the late Georg Richter, by J. Louis Martyn, and by me.4 These analyses differed on several points, but all agree that the Johannine community originated among Jews who believed that Jesus had fulfilled Jewish expectations (whether of the Messiah or of the prophet-like­Moses). Only in a second stage of community life was there developed that remarkably high Christological evaluation of Jesus known to us from the Fourth

Malformed offspring from the viewpoint of the author of 1 John. Theoretically one might argue that the opponents were the true representatives of Johannine thought and that the author of 1 John is bringing into the community an alien corrective (somewhat in the sense of Bultmann’s Ecclesiastical Redactor). The canonization of the Epistle means that the author of the Epistle was thought to speak for Christian faith; it does not make clear whether his true teaching results from correcting dangerous tendencies attested in the Fourth Gospel, or from preserving the correct implications of the Gospel from distortion. 3 The designation εὐαγγέλιον never occurs in John or in the Epistles; but I suggest that ἀγγελία (1 John i.5; iii.11) deserves the translation ‘Gospel’ and was the Johannine word for the message of and about Jesus handed down from the beginning. What is not clear is whether this ἀγγελία had already been written down as the Fourth Gospel. 4 G. Richter, ‘Präsentische und futurische Eschatologie im 4.  Evangelium’, in Gegenwart und kommendes Reich: Schulergabe Anton Vogtle zum 65. Geburtstag, edited by P. Fiedler and D. Zeller (Stuttgart, 1975), pp. 117–52; see English summary by A. J. Mattill, Theol. Stud. 38 (1977), pp. 294–315. J. L. Martyn, ‘Glimpses into the History of the Johannine Community’, a lecture given at Louvain in 1975 and published in L’ Evangile de Jean: Sources, redaction, theologie, edited by M. de Jonge, BETL 44 (Gembloux, 1977), pp. 149–75. (This will be republished in a collection of Johannine essays by Martyn (1978).) R. E. Brown, ‘Johannine Ecclesiology – The Community’s Origins’, Interpretation 31 (1977), pp. 379–93. 2

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Gospel.5 The traditional title ‘Son of God’ was understood to mean that Jesus was a pre-existent divine figure (John i.1) who could speak of his own existence before creation (xvii.5) and who had come down from heaven into a world in which he was a stranger, rejected by his own (i.2).6 Here below he acted according to what he had seen beforehand with the Father (v.19); indeed he and the heavenly Father were one (x.30), so that whoever saw him saw the Father (xiv.9), and the designation ‘God’ could be applied to him (i.1; xx.28). This Christology seems to have been higher than that of most of the other Christian communities attested in the NT books.7 Such a Christology provoked bitter reaction among many Jews who had never accepted Jesus but had hitherto tolerated Christians, for it appeared to infringe upon monotheism. In the Fourth Gospel the struggles of Jesus with ‘the Jews’ are not only very sharp but also have their own tone: they are concerned primarily not with Jesus’ violation of the Law but with his divine claims. ‘Not only was he breaking the Sabbath; worse still, he was speaking of God as his own Father, thus making himself God’s equal’ (v.18). The presence in the Christian spectrum of a community making claims such as those found in the Fourth Gospel led to expulsions from the synagogue on christological grounds (ix.22);8 and this expulsion tended to increase the sense of estrangement of the Johannine Christians, in imitation of their master, the stranger from above. If he was the light that had come into the world in judgment upon the darkness (iii.19), they were sons of light surrounded by darkness. If he did not belong to this world, neither did they (xvii.14). Indeed, they were alienated even from other Christians, e.g. from Jews who believed in Jesus but not in his divinity (viii.31–59).9 Finally, I  suggest, the estrangement led to a division within the Johannine community itself, as some Johannine Christians pressed the implications of the Christology to an even ‘higher’ plane. Let me illustrate how this may have happened by interpreting the information in the Fourth Gospel in a way that suggests that Jesus’ humanity had no real importance. (Of course, I am not suggesting that this is the correct interpretation of the Gospel, but only one way in which it could have been read or heard by a segment of the Johannine community.) The Johannine Jesus proclaimed, ‘I do not belong to the world’ (xvii.14). True, in the hymn that became the prologue of the Gospel, we hear that ‘the Word became flesh and made his dwelling among us’ (i.14ab), but that took place only that we might see his glory (i.14c), a glory Richter and I would agree that this development was catalyzed by the entrance into the community of another group of Christians, whose identity I find revealed in John iv.1–42 – a mixed group consisting of Jewish Christians who held anti-Temple views and of their Samaritan converts. 6 See W. Meeks, ‘The Man from Heaven in Johannine Sectarianism’, JBL 91 (1972), pp. 44–72. 7 Mark identifies Jesus as the Son of God at his baptism; Matthew and Luke identify him as the Son of God at his conception, since he was conceived without human father by the power of God’s Spirit; but no Synoptic Gospel proposes pre-existence. It is not clear that Phil. ii.7 refers to pre-existence. 1 Cor. viii.6 speaks of ‘Jesus Christ, through whom are all things’, and Col. i.15 designates Jesus as ‘the first-born of all creation’; but neither text makes it clear that Jesus was not created. After all, divine wisdom, ‘the fashioner of all things’ (Wis. vii.22) could say: ‘The Lord created me at the beginning of His work’ (Prov. viii.22). In the NT only John i.1–3 makes it clear that before creation the Word was. 8 This is well treated in the important work of J. L. Martyn, History and Theology in the Fourth Gospel (New York, 1968), which will soon be republished in a new edition by Abingdon. 9 In an article published in JBL 97 (1978), pp.  5–22, entitled, ‘ “Other Sheep Not of This Fold”  – The Johannine Perspective on Christian Diversity in the Late First Century’, I have suggested that John vii.5 (‘Not even his brothers believed in him’) reflects a Johannine judgment on Jewish Christians in churches claiming James the brother of the Lord as founding father or patron. Alongside Christology, sacramental issues may have been at the root of the dispute between the Johannine community and such Jewish Christians, e.g. John vi.60–6 which describes disciples who had followed Jesus from the synagogue (vi.59) only to break away over the Eucharist. 5

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that shone transparently through his career in the world (ii.11), so that even his opponents understood that he was acting like God (v.18; x.33). In Johannine tradition the earthly Jesus knew all things, so that it was not out of necessity that he asked even the simplest information (vi.5–6), nor could he have made a mistake in the choice of Judas.10 He could not pray to God seeking a change in the divine will (xi.42; xii.27), precisely because he and the Father were one (x.30). Nor could he be a victim in his passion since he totally controlled his own destiny (x.17–18).11 Even in the trial before Pilate, the powerful representative of Rome was powerless before Jesus and actually afraid of him as Son of God (xix.8, 11). The salvific import of such a Christology is illustrated in xvii.3:  ‘Eternal life consists in this: that they know you, the one true God, and Jesus Christ, the one whom you sent.’ As the glorious Word passing among men but not subject to human frailty, Jesus has brought eternal life; and one needs to know that in order to receive eternal life. But eternal life may be seen as dependent simply on the presence of the Word in the world, not on his death. The human career of Jesus may be seen merely as the occasion of God’s communicating life rather than as an integral redemptive element. The important factor may be: ‘They knew in truth that I came forth from you, and they believed that you sent me’ (xvii.8). The Johannine Jesus does not lay down his life to take away sin but to protect his sheep (x.11, 15); and he takes his life up again and returns to his Father to prepare a place to which he may take his own (xiv.3), leaving the world behind (xvii.24). True, the Gospel begins with a proclamation of Jesus as ‘the Lamb of God who takes away the world’s sin’ (i.29), but that need not be understood as accomplished by a redemptive death. The next verses describe the Lamb of God as the pre-existent one who needs to be recognized; and it is well known that scholars are divided on whether ‘Lamb of God’ refers to the paschal lamb whose blood was shed or to some heavenly, apocalyptic figure. Turning to the adversaries in 1 John, I am suggesting that they may have interpreted the common Johannine Gospel tradition (ἀγγελία) much in the manner described above. Theirs was a Christology so high that it really ‘annulled’ the humanity of Jesus.12 They believed in the eternal Word and they believed that through this Word they knew God (1 John ii.4:  ‘I know Him’); but for them human existence was only a stage in the career of the Word and no intrinsic component. I do not think they were advanced Docetists. For them, the flesh in ‘the Word became flesh’ was real but unimportant: not the flesh but the glory of Jesus was the lifegiving factor. I do not think they were followers of Cerinthus for whom the divine principle came upon the man Jesus at the baptism and left just before the crucifixion. There is little in the Johannine tradition to support such a view. Rather for the adversaries of 1 John the death was simply part of the return of the Word to God who had spoken that Word; it was important because it showed that the Word could not remain in the world any more than his followers are destined to remain in the world. Other Christians might regard the death as the lowest point in the career of the servant (Phil. ii.8), or as the moment when Jesus learned obedience through suffering (Heb. v.8), or as the moment of total abandonment and dependence upon God (Mk. xv.34). But the adversaries of 1 John could argue that this was not the picture of the death of From the first mention of Judas (vi.70–1), Jesus has chosen him knowing that he would betray. R. E. Brown, ‘The Passion According to John’, Worship 49 (1975), pp. 126–34. For a strong emphasis on the element of glory in Johannine Christology, see E. Käsemann, The Testament of Jesus (Philadelphia, 1968). 12 With Schnackenburg, Bultmann, and others, I am tempted to regard the correct reading of 1 John iv.3 as πᾶν πνεῦμα ὃ λύει τὸν Ἰησοῦν to be translated: ‘Everyone who annuls [negates the importance of] Jesus reflects a spirit which does not belong to God.’ 10 11

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Jesus in the Johannine tradition. In that tradition the death was an ascension and a pentecost in which Jesus, totally in control, did not give up the Spirit but handed it over to his followers (xiii.1; xix.30). How does the author of 1 John refute such adversaries? He cannot attack the tradition which for him as well as his opponents constitutes ‘Gospel’. (Nor seemingly can he appeal to the Synoptic tradition for a corrective; either it is not known to the community or it does not have the same authority as the Johannine tradition.) He cannot deny pre-existence, for example, but he can shift the stress to the career of the Word-made-flesh. A comparison of the prologue of the Epistle with the prologue of the Gospel is instructive: terms like ἀρχή, λόγος, and ζωή appear also in the prologue of the Epistle but with the emphasis shifted toward the earthly ministry of Jesus. The ἀρχή is now the beginning of that ministry,13 for ‘what was from the beginning’ is parallel to ‘what we have heard, what we have seen with our own eyes, what we looked at, and what we felt with our own hands’ (1 John i.1). Indeed, that set of ‘we have’ clauses makes an interesting contrast to the ‘we have seen his glory’ of John i.14 – the author of the Epistle is refuting an over-emphasis on the glory by an emphasis on the observable and tangible character of the ministry. The Gospel prologue proclaimed the pre-existence of a Word in whom there was life; the Epistle prologue moves on quickly to the human manifestation of that life: ‘We proclaim to you this eternal life such as it was in the Father’s presence and has been revealed to us’ (1 John i.2). The λόγος is now ‘the word of life of which we are speaking’ (i.1). By making himself part of the ‘we’ and ‘us’ which are so prominent in the Epistle prologue, the author makes his emphasis on the tangible career of Jesus part of the common testimony in the Johannine community, and nothing personal. ‘What we have seen and heard we proclaim in turn to you, so that you may be joined in communion with us’ (i.3). He has anticipated and blocked the charge of his opponents: ‘That is your personal interpretation of the Gospel. Another significant shift from the Gospel to the Epistle concerns πιστεύειν and ὁμολογεῖν. The ninety-eight uses of πιστεύειν in the Gospel yield an average of about five times a chapter, contrasted with an average of two times a chapter in the Epistle (total: nine times; πίστις once). On the other hand, while ὁμολογεῖν appears only three times in the whole Gospel, it is used six times in the Epistle. Like the author of the Epistle the opponents can say they believe that Jesus Christ is the one sent by God (John xvii.3), but the author wants to test them by demanding public acknowledgment or confession that Jesus Christ has come in the flesh (1 John iv.2; 2 John 7). As Bonnard14 has pointed out, when the author demands a confession that ‘Jesus is the Son of God’ (1 John iv.15; cf. v.13), he is not placing stress on the identity of Jesus but on the identity of God’s Son: that Son is really Jesus and none other. The opponents have no difficulty with the general idea of God’s Son; but since they do not think that God’s Son was affected or changed by his mortal career, they see no special significance in the fact that God’s Son was Jesus who lived a specific kind of life and died a specific death. The author is striking out against such an attitude in iv.10: ‘In this, then, does love consist: not that we have loved God The use of ἀρχή in 1 John i.1 should be studied in the light of ii.7, 24 and iii.11 where it refers not to a pre-creation beginning but to the beginning of the ministry of Jesus as handed down in the tradition. (Although some would argue for a reference to incarnation in i.1, the rest of the Epistle’s prologue stresses the public part of Jesus’ career.) That the Genesis background of the term is neither denied nor forgotten is clear from iii.8, but that is not the author’s main interest. 14 I am indebted here to the excellent article of P. Bonnard, ‘La première épître de Jean est-elle johannique?’, in L’Évangile de Jean (cited in note 4), pp. 301–5. 13

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but that He loved us and sent His Son as an expiation for our sins.’ The kind of death that Jesus died, the author insists, is significant and salvific; and he uses the blood of Jesus as a symbol for that: ‘The blood of Jesus, His Son, cleanses us from all sin.’ If the graphic detail that blood and water flowed from Jesus’ body on the cross was a well­known part of the Johannine tradition,15 the opponents of 1 John may not have understood such a scene in terms of the salvific death of Jesus. For them it may have been a sign that Jesus’ death was not the decisive moment; that Jesus gave life to his community was symbolized on the cross both before and after his death (John xix.25–7, 34). But 1 John v.7 stresses that the shedding of blood was salvific: ‘Jesus Christ – he is the one who came by water and blood, not in water only, but in water and in blood.’ Most commentators agree that the author is referring symbolically to the perimeters of the ministry of Jesus, his baptism and his death.16 Without those perimeters one does not truly believe that Jesus is the Son of God (v.5). Only the Jesus Christ who came by water and blood is ‘the true God and eternal life’ (v.21).

II. Ethics I have never agreed with Bultmann that the Johannine Jesus is a revealer without a revelation.17 Nevertheless, the very fact that Bultmann can make such a claim indicates the extent to which the christological question dominates the Johannine proclamation. The Fourth Gospel is relatively deficient on other topics when compared with the Synoptic tradition. Matthew can gather the ethical demands of Jesus into the Sermon on the Mount – the eschatological law code of the Messiah – but no such collection is found in John. The opponents of the Epistle may have had their ethical outlook shaped by the lack of specific directions in the Johannine tradition. Presumably in their theology the earthly life of the Christian would have had no more pertinence to salvation than had the earthly life of Jesus; neither they nor he belonged to this world. Their claim s to spiritual attainment were not of an ethical nature but stemmed from a relationship to God based on acceptance of Jesus as God’s Word: they knew God (1 John ii.4); they remained or abode in Him (ii.6); they were in light (ii.9). Once again the author is handicapped in refuting his opponents. After all the Johannine Jesus speaks of knowing God (xiv.7; xvii.3, 25–6), of remaining or being in Him (xvii.21–2), and of being in light (iii.21; viii.12; xii.35–6). Thus the author must challenge such claims on the basis of an ethical criterion: it is possible to know God and remain in Him and be in the light, but only if one lives righteously. Yet how can he justify such a criterion when there is no body of ethical maxims in the Johannine tradition as it is known to us from the Gospel?18 Many attribute the passage to a redactor, but that does not mean that the tradition is necessarily late. In xxi.18, 22 the redactor reports ancient sayings from the Johannine tradition which are now so obscure that he has to interpret them. 16 If the Fourth Gospel might be interpreted in a way that would put little emphasis on physical death, so also it could be interpreted (by the opponents of the Epistle) so as to discount the baptism of Jesus. It is the only Gospel that does not describe the baptism, and i.33 interprets the baptism as a revelation about God’s pre-existent Son. 17 R. Bultmann, Theology of the New Testament, 11 (New York, 1955), p. 66: ‘The Reveler of God reveals nothing but that he is a revealer.’ See also pp. 62–3, and my critique in ‘The Kerygma of the Gospel according to John’, Interpretation 21 (1967), pp. 387–400, esp. 392ff. 18 The failure once again to call upon the Synoptic tradition suggests very strongly that such material was simply not ‘Gospel’ (ἀγγελία) for the Johannine community. This reinforces the view that dominated in Johannine research from the 1940s to the 1970s that the Gospel of John was written in independence of the Synoptics, and is an argument 15

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He adopts two procedures to attain his goal. Firstly, he calls upon the general example of Jesus’ earthly life as a model for the life of the Christians, an argument that is in harmony with the difference between his Christology and that of his opponents. The author of 1 John calls upon the members of the community to walk just as Christ walked (ii.6), to make themselves pure just as Christ is pure (iii.3), to act justly and be just (δίκαιος) just as Christ is just (iii.7). This ‘just as’ (καθώς) ethic may place emphasis on the model of Jesus’ career; but it is vague in details, precisely because the Johannine Gospel tradition of that career does not offer the specifics for comparison.19 And so, secondly, the author calls upon the principal ethical maxim known to us from the Johannine tradition – indeed, virtually the only ethical maxim – the commandment to love one another (John xiii.34–5; xv.12–13, 17). The author of 1 John makes this a very important theme in his battle against his opponents (ii.9–11; iii.10–24; iv.7–v.4), and he stresses that love of brethren constitutes an old commandment which his readers have had from the beginning (ii.7). This reflects his contention that his opponents are neglecting an established aspect of the community tradition stemming from the earthly Jesus. In iii.11 he says: ‘For this is the Gospel [ἀγγελία] that you heard from the beginning: we should love one another’; and in iv.9–10 the death of Christ as an expiation for our sins is invoked as an example for this brotherly love (see also iii.16 and compare John iii.16). If I am right that, in appealing especially to love of brethren as a criterion, the author is calling upon the limited Johannine ethical tradition to correct his opponents, is this not proof that the opponents were not interested in that tradition as we know it in the Fourth Gospel? If they hated their brethren as the author charges (ii.11; iii.10, 12; iv.20), they were going against the specific commands of the Johannine Jesus mentioned above. But did the opponents say that they hated their brethren? Or was their attitude exactly the same as that of the author of the Epistle, namely, one of intense dislike for those who in his judgment had distorted the Christian tradition, on the grounds that such pseudo-Christians were no longer children of God (or brethren) but children of the devil (iii.7–12)? Here we touch upon the great anomaly of the First Epistle. No more eloquent voice is raised in the NT for love within the Christian brotherhood and sisterhood, but that same voice is extremely bitter in condemning opponents who had been members of his community and were so no longer (1 John ii.19). They are demonic, Antichrists, false prophets, and serve as the embodiment of eschatological lawlessness or iniquity (ἀνομία:  ii.18, 22; iv.1–6; iii.4–5). Although the members of the community are exhorted to love one another, the way they should treat dissenters is illustrated by 2 John 10–11: ‘If anyone comes to you who does not bring this teaching [Jesus Christ as coming in the flesh – verse 7], do not receive him into your house – do not even greet him, for whoever greets him shares the evil he does.’ I suspect that the opponents of 1 John had exactly the same attitude toward the author and his followers,

against the thesis gaining ground among Synoptic specialists (e.g. Norman Perrin, Frans Neirynck) that John drew heavily upon the Synoptic Gospels. 19 The vague comparisons that he does make can be approximated in the Fourth Gospel: (1) ‘As Christ walked.’ The verb περιπατεῖν occurs in John more than in any other Gospel and with a special ethical sense. Since 1 John, in urging the readers to walk just as Christ walked, is warning them against the opponents who ‘walk in the dark’, compare John viii.12; xi.9–10; xii.35. (2) ‘Makes himself pure even as Christ is pure.’ The closest parallel is John xvii.19: ‘It is for them [those given him by God] that I consecrate myself in order that they too may be consecrated in truth.’ (3) ‘The person who acts justly is truly just, even as Christ is just.’ Cf. John v.30: ‘My judgment is just.’

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even though they too may have cited Jesus’ command to love one another.20 They could do this in good conscience because in the judgment of each party the others were no longer ‘brethren’, but had gone out into the world as false prophets. In other words, we are once again seeing the development of tendencies present in the Johannine proclamation of Christianity. Just as Johannine Christology known to us in the Fourth Gospel could become heady when worked out to the ‘nth’ degree, so also dualistic tendencies present in that proclamation could become dangerous when transplanted into inner-Christian debate. The Matthean Jesus says, ‘Love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you’ (Matt. v.44), but there is no such maxim in the Johannine tradition. The command to love is not in terms of love of neighbor (as in Matt. xix.19) but in terms of loving one another (John xiii.34–5; xv.12, 17); and John xv.13–15 allows that to be interpreted in terms of those who are disciples of Christ and obey his commandments. The attitude of the Johannine Jesus who did not pray for the world (xvii.9) is easily translated in the Epistle into a refusal to pray for Christians whose sin is deadly (1 John v.16). Indeed, when we compare the Gospel and First Epistle, we see that the dualistic language (love/hate; light/darkness; truth/falsehood; from above/from below; of God/of the devil), once employed by Jesus in his attack on the world or on ‘the Jews’, has been shifted over to an attack on Christians with whom the author disagrees. (And if I am right, it is probably also being used by his opponents in their attack on him.) Already the Gospel dualism had its dangers, for it nourished Christians of later centuries in their false contention that only those who believe in Jesus can be saved. As used in the Epistle, the dualism has served to fuel Christians who feel justified in hating other Christians for the love of God.21 Let me illustrate this terminological shift. In the Gospel Jesus assures his followers that they do not walk in darkness (viii.12; xii.46), for ‘darkness’ is the realm of those who do not accept Jesus (i.5; iii.1921; xii.35). But in the Epistle those who do not meet the author’s moral standard, even though they claim to be followers of Christ, are said to walk in darkness (1 John ii.9–11). In the Gospel the Paraclete proves the world wrong about justice (John xvi.8, 10). In the Epistle the opponents claim to be just (1 John iii.7); but the author offers a criterion to prove who is really just (iii.7–8; ii.29), with the clear implication that his opponents do not meet that criterion. In a bitter passage of Gospel dialogue, Jesus attacks Jews who believe in him inadequately by telling them that they belong to the devil, their father, who is a murderer and liar (John viii.44). In the Epistle, at the very moment when the author is speaking about the need for love, he uses this same terminology for his opponents (1 John iii.10–15; also ii.22). The Gospel (xii.39–40) applies Isa. vi.10 to ‘the Jews’ – God has blinded their eyes – but the Epistle (ii.11) applies it to the opponents who hate the Johannine brethren: ‘The darkness has blinded their eyes.’ Certainly the ethical battle in the Epistle is fought with the same terminological weapons as employed in the Gospel.

We are not certain that Diotrephes, the opponent of 3 John 9, was a false teacher of the type attacked in 1 John. Nevertheless, his way of opposing the author of 3 John is interesting: he refuses to receive those whom that author calls ‘brethren’ and expels from the church their supporters. This is the same treatment that the author of 1 John ii.19 and of 2 John 10–11 thinks of for his opponents. 21 It is true that the author never says he hates his opponents, although his equation of them with the children of the devil certainly points in that direction. And undoubtedly he would say that if they left their evil ways and came back to the true community of Christ, he would love them. But would not the opponents say the same of him? I should stress too that extreme hostility toward erroneous teachers is not peculiar in the NT to the Johannine writings (Titus i.16 is quite close to 1 John ii.4; see also Acts xx.29–30). 20

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I have tested the patience of the editors by stretching to the limit the space allotment for articles in this Festschrift in honor of a scholar whose work I  greatly admire. A  fuller treatment22 would require a detailed discussion of eschatology and pneumatology. By way of anticipation I remark that the adversaries may have latched on to Johannine-realized eschatology, according to which they had already been judged favorably and given the gift of eternal life; and they may have used this eschatology to support the thesis that ethical behavior makes no real difference. The failure of the author to crush his opponents by authority (such as the appeal to the teaching bishops in the Pastorals: 1 Tim. i.3; Titus i.9) may reflect a situation bound by the Johannine tradition (known to his opponents) wherein the Spirit/Paraclete is the teacher and the Spirit is possessed by each follower of Jesus. The most he can do is to seek a criterion for discerning the Spirit of God (1 John iv.1–6). This preliminary investigation suggests that there is much to recommend an identification of the opponents of 1 John as a radical group of Johannine Christians who had developed certain tendencies of the Johannine tradition to an extreme. As a whole, Johannine Christians are often portrayed as more radical than many other first-century Christians. That some of them would reject their own extremists teaches us something about diversity and its limits in Christianity.

I shall have the opportunity to do this in the Shaffer Lectures at Yale University in February 1978. I hope to combine the works mentioned in notes 4 and 9 with the Shaffer Lectures to produce a history of the Johannine community stretching through the pre-Gospel, Gospel, and Epistle stages, entitled The Community of the Beloved Disciple (1979). 22

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THE HISTORICIZATION OF THE THEOLOGY OF JOHN IN THE FIRST LETTER OF JOHN

Theo K. Heckel

1.  State of the Question Gotthold Ephraim Lessing published a small writing in 1777 under the title “Das Testament Johannis.” 1 This writing of Lessing ends with a short narrative about the Evangelist, which was preserved for us by the church father Hieronymus. In English translation the story goes like this: The blessed Evangelist John, because he remained in Ephesus into old age and, supported by the hands of his disciples, could hardly be brought to church and also could no longer speak many words cohesively, took care in the individual collections to say nothing other than this: “Children, love one another!” Finally, the disciples and brothers who were present were weary because they always heard the same thing, and they said:  “Master, why do you always say this?” [But] he answered with a wise saying worthy of John: “Because it is a commandment of the Lord and it is enough if this is all that happens.”2 Lessing tells this legend not without sympathy. It contains for him the essential message of the Johannine tradition. If one surveys the newer research on the Johannine literature,3 one is inclined, with Lessing, to place the simple message “love one another” as the last word over all the conflicting theses  Translated from the original German by Amy Obrist and Darian R. Lockett: Theo K. Heckel, “Die Historisierung der johanneischen Theologie im Ersten Johannesbrief,” NTS 50 (2004): 425–43. 1 Gotthold Ephraim Lessing, “Das Testament Johannis,” in Werke und Briefe (publ. by W. Barner et al.; vol. 8 publ. by A.  Schilson; Frankfurt:  Deutscher Klassiker, 1989), 447–54 (text), 1002–7 (commentary). The writing was first published anonymously in 1777. In it, Lessing allows two dialogue partners, “He” and “I,” to reason together about the Gospel of John. 2 Hieronymus, in Gal. 3.7 (to Gal 6:10; MPL 26.433), cited by Lessing, “Testament,” 454, identical even to the orthography also in the appendix to the Synopsis of Aland (there with the specification MPIL 26.462): “Beatus Joannes evangelista cum Ephesi moraretur usque ad ultimam senectutem et vix inter discipulorum manus ad ecclesiam deferretur nec posset in plura vocem verba contexere, nihil aliud per singulas solebat proferre collectas, nisi hoc:  Filioli, diligite alterutrum. Tandem discipuli et fratres qui aderant, taedio affecti, quod eadem semper audirent, dixerunt: Magister, quare semper hoc loqueris? Qui respondit dignam Joanne sententiam:  Quia praeceptum Domini est, et si solum fiat, sufficit”; in German, according to Lessing, “Testament,” 1006–7; according to Martin Hengel, Die johanneische Frage: Ein Lösungsversuch. Mit einem Beitrag zur Apokalypse von Jörg Frey (WUNT 67; Tübingen: Mohr, 1993), 117, the scene “formed on the basis of the First Epistle of John.” 3 Newer literary surveys on the Gospel of John:  Stephen S. Smalley “The Johannine Literature:  A Sample of Recent Studies in English,” Theology 103 (2000):  13–28; Konrad Haldimann and Hans Weder, “Aus der Literatur zum Johannesevangelium 1985–1994,” ThR 67 (2002):  328–48, 425–56. Klaus Scholtissek produced numerous studies: “Johannine Studies: A Survey on Recent Research with Special Regard to German Contributions,” CR.BS 6

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and attempts at Johannine literature. On the other hand, I want to take from this legend the question of which central line of development runs through and completes the Johannine Corpus. In order to sketch a line of development, the source texts must be considered in their historical sequence. In doing this, we can first of all exclude the Apocalypse of John, which already lies linguistically so far from the other writings of John that it does not belong in the central line of development.4 Both of John’s small letters, 2 and 3 John, clearly belong linguistically to the same circle, but their relationship does not speak to the presumed central development.5 That leaves us with only the traditional Gospel of John and 1 John. But in the Gospel alone two literary layers can be distinguished. At least the conclusion of the Gospel cannot come from the same author as the rest, for it assumes the death of the author and authenticates his witness contained in Jn 21:23 and 24. For the great majority of researchers, John 21 is thus to be regarded as an addition in which a “we-group” looks back at the life of the Beloved Disciple. This means that John 21 is not the testament of John, but rather a document from John’s executors. Even so the executors show that they have appropriated the language of John. The special characteristics of Johannine language also still appear in the supplementary chapters in sufficiently dense concentration.6 Thus, we are left with Jn 1:1–20:317 and 1 John. For these writings the introductory questions are anything but certain. Similarities in the religious environment of early Judaism can be noted for some individual traits, but convincing lines of development and literary dependence cannot be achieved for the Johannine Corpus.8 The geographical location cannot be determined with any greater certainty either.9 (1998): 227–59; “Neue Wege in der Johannesauslegung: Ein Forschungsbericht 1–2,” ThGl 89 (1999): 263–95; ThGl 91 (2001): 109–33; “Johannes auslegen 1–3,” SNTU 24 (1999): 35–84; SNTU 25 (2000): 98–140; SNTU 27 (2002): 117–53; “Eine Renaissance des Evangeliums nach Johannes:  Aktuelle Perspektiven der exegetischen Forschung,” ThRev 97 (2001): 267–88. 4 Eugen Ruckstuhl, Die literarische Einheit des Johannesevangeliums (Freiburg/Schweiz 1951, NA:  NTOA 5; Göttingen:  Vandenhoeck, 1988); Eugen Ruckstuhl and Peter Dschulnigg, Stilkritik und Verfasserfrage im Johannesevangelium (NTOA 17; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck, 1991); approvingly, Hengel, Frage, 238–48, especially, 241, n. 120; Jörg Frey, “Die ‘theologia crucifixi’ des Johannesevangeliums,” in Kreuzestheologie im Neuen Testament (ed. V. A. Dettwiler and J. Zumstein; WUNT 151; Tübingen: Mohr, 2002), 169–237, on p. 185 he in fact considers John 21 to be a later addition by someone else. On the language of the Revelation, see Frey, in Hengel, Frage, 326–429. 5 Second and Third John are construed as the oldest writings of the Johannine Corpus by Georg Strecker, “Die Anfänge der johanneischen Schule,” NTS 32 (1986):  31–47, there 41; Georg Strecker, Die Johannesbriefe (KEK 14; Göttingen:  Vandenhoeck, 1989), 27–8; Georg Strecker, Literaturgeschichte des Neuen Testaments (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck, 1992), 216–18; Udo Schnelle, Einleitung in das Neue Testament (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck, 2001), 455; Hengel, Frage, 123, 156. The following construe Second and Third John as the latest writings of the Johannine Corpus, for example, Hans-Josef Klauck, Der zweite und dritte Johannesbrief (EKK 23/2; Zürich: Benziger/NeukirchenVluyn: Neukirchener, 1992), 23 (with reservation; Klauck supposes the same author as the one behind 1–3 John); Jean Zumstein, “Zur Geschichte des johanneischen Christentums,” ThLZ 122 (1997): 417–28, there 417–18, 420. 6 Ruckstuhl and Dschulnigg, Stilkritik, 215–19; Hengel, Frage, 245; therefore, consider “Selbst-Redaktion.” 7 So, for example: Udo Schnelle, Das Evangelium nach Johannes (ThHK 4; Leipzig: EVA, 1998); Frey, “theologia,” 185; cf. Ulrich Wilckens, Das Evangelium nach Johannes (NTD 4; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck, 1998), 6, 320. 8 Even for the least thematically related pieces of writing to the gospels, dependence cannot be proved for certain. The cautious survey of the research on the question of the literary relationship of the Gospel of John to the Synoptics ends with a non liquet:  D. Moody Smith, John among the Gospels:  The Relationship in Twentieth-Century Research (Minneapolis, MN: Fortress, 1992), 193; similarly, Haldimann and Weder, “Literatur,” 452–5. 9 With regards to church tradition, many researchers think about Ephesus; however this is in no way established; more recently others have vehemently championed Egypt, above all Joachim Kügler, “Der andere

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This situation requires a cautious entrance into the research of the Johannine Corpus. The path to an exposition of John cannot lead from resolved introductory questions to the explanation of the text, but must be the other way around, starting from the traditional texts and their world.10 I am of the opinion that there is a text excerpt that allows the transmitted texts of the Johannine Corpus to be understood in their objective development right up to their conclusion. This text is the prologue of 1 John, which I will consider in detail.

2.  The Theological Program in the Prologue of 1 John The first four verses of 1 John are generally called the “prologue”; they introduce a piece of writing that we know as the First Letter of John, which admittedly evades any ascription of genre.11 The sections of the letter are small and the prescript and conclusion missing. On the other hand, 1 John is not a timeless message,12 for the writing apparently has a concrete occasion that can be found behind the implied inner-congregational division. First John is a case of its own; it must be explained on its own terms. This is also true of the first four verses— the prologue. The Structure of the Prologue 1a Ὃ ἦν ἀπ᾽ἀρχῆς, 1b ὃ ἀκηκόαμεν, 1c ὃ ἐωράκαμεν τοῖς ὀφθαλμοῖς ἡμῶν, 1d ὃ ἐθεασάμεθα 1e καὶ αἱ χεῖρες ἡμῶν ἐψηλάφησαν περὶ τοῦ λόγου τῆς ζωῆς— 2a καὶ ἡ ζωὴ ἐφανερώθη, 2b καὶ ἑωράκαμεν 2c καὶ μαρτυροῦμεν 2d καὶ ἀπαγγέλομεν ὑμῖν τὴν ζωὴν τὴν αἰώνιον König:  Religionsgeschichtliche Anmerkungen zum Jesusbild des Johannesevangeliums,” ZNW 88 (1997):  223–41; Marco Frenschkowski, “τὰ βαία τῶν φοινίκων (Joh 12,13) und andere Indizien für einen ägyptischen Ursprung des Johannesevangeliums,” ZNW 91 (2000): 212–29. 10 The conclusions of Haldimann and Weder are similar (“Literatur,” 348): “The person or group of people who are considered to be the ‘author’ of the gospel can hardly say anything beyond the statements about the ‘Johannine milieu’ because of the internal and external circumstantial evidence.” 11 See, for example, Raymond E. Brown, The Epistles of John (AB 30; New York: Doubleday, 1982), 86–92; Hans-Josef Klauck, Der erste Johannesbrief (EKK 23/1; Zürich: Benziger/Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukirchener, 1991), 29–32; HansJosef Klauck, Die Johannesbriefe (EdF 276; Darmstadt: Wiss. Buchgesellschaft, 1991), 68–74. Newer literature on the genre of 1 John are referenced by: Hansjörg Schmid, Gegner im 1. Johannesbrief? Zu Konstruktion und Selbstreferenz im johanneischen Sinnsystem (BWANT 159; Stuttgart: Kohlhammer, 2002), 42–6; Terry Griffith, Keep Yourselves from Idols: A New Look at 1 John (JSNTSup 233; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic, 2002), 6–9. 12 The designation of 1 John as a treatise is probably just as much of a makeshift solution as the comparison with Hebrews, which invites comparison with 1 John above all because it, too, largely defies generic categorization; cf. HansJosef Klauck, Die antike Briefliteratur und das Neue Testament: Ein Lehr- und Arbeitsbuch (Paderborn u.a.: Schöningh, 1998), 257–9.

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2e ἥτις ἦν πρὸς τὸν πατέρα 2f καὶ ἐφανερώθη ἡμῖν— 3a ὃ ἑωράκαμεν 3b καὶ ἀκηκόαμεν, 3c ἀπαγγέλλομεν καὶ ὑμῖν, 3d ἵνα καὶ ὑμεῖς κοινωνίαν ἔχητε μεθ᾽ἡμῶν. 3e καὶ ἡ κοινωνία δὲ ἡ ἡμετέρα μετὰ τοῦ πατρὸς 3f καὶ μετὰ τοῦ υἱοῦ αὐτοῦ Ἰησοῦ Χριστοῦ. 4a καὶ ταῦτα γράφομεν ἡμεῖς, 4b ἵνα ἡ χαρὰ ἡμῶν ᾗ πεπληρωμένη. The prologue of 1 John is divided into four sections. The first three sections are framed by a Christological statement. I accentuated these framing verses in boldface; thus, 1a and 1e frame 1b–1d; 2a and 2f frame 2b–2e; and in the third verse the paired sentence components 3ab and 3ef frame the section 3cd. These Christological frames create the four sections that I have indicated by spacing. The sections correspond exactly to the number of verses, so the division into verses in the prologue can be considered successful. The prologue with its four verses clarifies the communicative situation. Verse 1 authorizes the implied author, v. 2 makes the declaration that begins the subject of discussion, v. 3 makes the writing at hand concrete, and v. 4 ultimately places the declaration in an eschatological context. The prologue begins with a complex sentence that has received little praise for its style.13 If one strips the first long sentence from its interlinked structure, the somewhat opaque sentence cycle contains a simple message. The prologue fills, indeed overfills, the sentence: “what was from the beginning, we proclaim to you, so that you too will have fellowship with us.” The First Section: 1 John 1:1 1a What was from the beginning, 1b what we have heard, 1c what we have seen with our eyes, 1d what we beheld, 1e and our hands have touched concerning the word of life In the first section, the intermediary who transcends historical time comes at the beginning, and in 1e, it is taken up again with the words λόγος τῆς ζωῆς at the end.14 The first section, with

Rudolf Bultmann, Die drei Johannesbriefe (KEK 14; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck, 1967) 13: “The construction comes apart at the seams”; Brown, Epistles, 152:  “The initial four verses of I  John have a good claim to being the most complicated Greek in the Johannine corpus.” 14 The circumlocution through περί with the genitive registers that it is only with the theological reflection that the idea of having touched the Word of Life is established. 13

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its lines framed in this manner, is about a historical encounter, an actual seeing,15 the content of which is hinted at more than named with the anaphoric “ὅ”: the “we-group” has experienced something. What the “we-group” heard and saw with their own eyes and touched (1b–1e) was not, as 1e finally then names it, something, but rather concerns the “Logos of Life.” From this end it becomes clear that the “we-group” is speaking of their contact with the Christ who appeared in the world, which indeed took place in the past but still affects the present. The Second Section: 1 John 1:2 2a and the life was revealed 2b and we have seen it 2c and we testify to it 2d and we proclaim to you the eternal life 2e that was with the Father, 2f and was revealed to us The second section uses the Christ who was revealed in the world for the framing. Parts of verses 2a and 2f repeat verbatim the keyword ἐφανερώθη that represents the Christ. These framing verses of the second section depict the appearance of the Christ in good Johannine language only as “the life” and in doing so take up the further identification of the Logos from the end of the first section (1e). The parts of the verse framed in this way (2b–2e) initially seem to repeat only the authorization of the “we-group” (2b), but with the transition to the language of testimony (μαρτυροῦμεν) and to the durative tense of the Greek present in 2c, the second section shifts to an overarching and lasting proclamation of the “we-group.” The “we-group” makes this proclamation concrete and, because of this, turns to the letter addressees—thus the second section names the addressees for the first time in its middle section 2d (2d: “ὑμῖν”). The second section also shows a Christological ballast; the content of the proclamation is found in the preexistent union of the revealed Christ with the Father (2e; ἦν, imperfect). In this way, the proclamation to the addressees places the second section in the already ongoing history of (the) proclamation by the “we-group.” The Third Section: 1 John 1:3 3a what we have seen 3b and have heard 3c we also proclaim to you, 3d so that you may also have fellowship with us That the idea here is not “seeing” in a figurative sense, that a spiritual seeing across time is possible, is underscored by the aggregation of verbs of sense perception together with the possessive pronoun before the eyes, which would not make sense if the seeing were to be taken in a spiritual sense. So, for the most part, for example, Brown, Epistles, 163; against this, for example, Eduard Norden, Agnostos Theos (Leipzig/Berlin: Teubner, 1913), 17, n. 1 (notes CorpHerm 1 [Poimandres] V 2). The fluctuating position in Bultmann, Johannesbriefe, 15–17, ultimately ends with a spiritual seeing. 15

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3e and indeed our fellowship with the Father 3f and with his son Jesus Christ The third section also understands how to take over the core content of the previous section to use it in framing. Both the content of the first section—the authorization of the “we-group”— and the overarching mandate that is the focus of the second section appear again in the third section. The framing becomes more comprehensive in the process. It now includes the phrases of 3ab, with two finite verbs, and phrases of 3ef, which name two areas of fellowship. First, I  will consider this framing. Both Greek perfectives in 3a and b (ἑωράκαμεν and ἀκηκόαμεν) repeat verbs from v. 1. The Greek perfective connects two temporal references, specifically a past action that continues into the present. The first section emphasized the former event using the perfect tense, and accordingly it switches from perfect to aorist. At the same time the first section was concerned with the object of those actions, something that was somewhat vaguely introduced—that “what” from 1a–1d, which was only named more specifically in 1e as “the Logos of life.” The verbs repeated in the third section from v.  1 (ἑωράκαμεν and ἀκηκόαμεν) now aim at the resultative aspect of the Greek perfective, and with it the present effect on the subject, namely, the “we-group.” Accordingly, the object is left out in 3b. This slight shift of emphasis from the historical commission to current authorization takes up 3ef in a nominal sentence that states a fact (rather than progress in time). So much for the framing of the third section. Now to the similarly framed middle section in 3cd. The change to the present tense with the concrete statement of purpose in 3d underscores the shift away from the past authorization to the present commission.16 The writing focuses on κοινωνία, which is supposed to connect the addressees and the sender. To be more precise, the addressees are supposed to be drawn into κοινωνία that already binds together the sender—the Father—and the Son. The third section also strives for Christological clarification, which concerns the keyword κοινωνία. That which is worthy of being called κοινωνία must be in keeping with the κοινωνία that binds together the Father, the Son, and the “we-group” (3ef).17 The Fourth Section: 1 John 1:4 4a and we are writing these things 4b so that our joy may be complete. The short fourth verse offers, as it were, only the frame and in doing so stays true to the sequence insofar as it addresses the content of the previous third section, formulating a desire—“that our That the commission of the “we-group” applies to the addressees is implied by the καὶ in 3c (“we announce also to you”); the majority text and multiple translation omit it, perhaps to harmonize it with 2d. With Theodor Zahn, Einleitung in das Neue Testament (vol. 2; Leipzig: Deichert, 1907), 577, see 584, n. 2; for a different view, see Klauck, Der erste Johannesbrief, 69: he only wants to see the time gap bridged. 17 1 John 3:4 parallels 3e ff., and might also underscore the second connection to “our koinonia” rather than emphasizing the union between the Father and the Son. The formulation in section 3 explicitly skips over the possibility of explaining here the union between the Father and the Son as an archetype for all further unions: cf. Judith M. Lieu, The Theology of the Johannine Epistles (NT Theology; Cambridge: Cambridge University, 1991), 78; this was already hinted at in 2e. John 13:20 could provide an approach to these statements; cf. Klaus Scholtissek, In ihm sein und bleiben: Die Sprache der Immanenz in den johanneischen Schriften (HBS 21; Freiburg: Herder, 2000), 229–30, 346, 348. 16

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joy may be complete”—in eschatological perspective. The eschatological desire emphasizes the meaning that the writing has for the “we-group.”18 With this sequence, the communicative situation is introduced in four sections. The “we-group” to which the author belongs, and the addressees, who are spoken to in secondperson plural, stand face-to-face. As a matter of fact, later in the letter the author frequently chooses the second-person singular,19 speaking as an individual from an important group addressing the audience. Who is writing here? The one writing this letter gets no name or title such as “Presbyteros” as in both small letters. First John is an anonymous writing, and it is only in the heading that there is attribution of authorship in the small letters. This heading assumes the collection of the letters and is without a doubt not original. I do not want to pose any unfruitful conjectures with regard to the actual author of the letter and so speak carefully about the writer who can be extrapolated from the writing, that is to say, the implied author. The Authority Claimed by the Author of the Letter The implied author includes himself in the “we-group,” the authority of which he shares. The authority of this “we-group” is derived from its special relationship to the earthly Jesus. The prologue points this out clearly. It indicates a clear authority differential between the “we-group,” which includes the sender, and the addressees. The clear division between the “we-group” and the addressees demands a sharp line of differentiation. The prologue here stands in contrast to the relationship to the earthly Jesus, which is the only thing that the “we-group” considers certain. Were we to suppose there to be even only a few individuals among the addressees who could say of themselves, “we have seen the earthly Jesus with our own eyes,” the juxtaposition of the “we-group” and the addressees would be futile. Even this presupposition requires that the letter be clearly set apart from the realm of the earthly Jesus, not only with regard to time, but also space. The Gospel of John is on the whole certainly the less reliable source for a reconstruction of the earthly Jesus over and against the Synoptics. However, for a few details, the Gospel of John may have a claim to preserving more reliable traditions than the Synoptics, for example, in the dating of the day of Jesus’s death, and perhaps also in the baptizing activity of Jesus.20 Some individual traditions show good knowledge of the topography of Palestine, for example, in the

On the textual tradition of 1:4: The preferred reading interprets 1:4 as [using] the first-person plural twice, thus: “and we write this, so that our joy would be complete.” Another reading adapts the verse to the otherwise well-known letter greeting. The more difficult, and therefore older, interpretation with the first person implies the special mission of the sender, which is fulfilled by the writing and so is filled with eschatological joy, a thought that 2 John formulates in v. 12 for [a]‌personal encounter. Cf. Strecker, Johannesbriefe, 72: “literally in 2 John 12, on which our position quite possibly depends in a direct, literary sense.” The implied author of 1 John attributes this joy to his writing and in doing so indirectly claims a special authority to do so. 19 1 John 2:1, 7, 8, 12-14, 21, 26; 5:13, 16; cf. Brown, Epistles, 158. With the exception of 5:16, these verses are about writing. First John 2:4 is rhetorical and thus rightly passed over by Brown, Epistles, 158; and Griffith, Keep Yourselves, 114, n. 20. 20 Cf. Jürgen Becker, Das Evangelium nach Johannes (vol. 2; ÖTBK 4.1/2; Gütersloh:  Mohn/Würzburg:  Echter, 1985/1984), 1.152; Ingo Broer, Einleitung in das Neue Testament, vol. 1 (Die neue Echter Bibel, Erg. Bd 2/1; Würzburg: Echter, 1998), 210–11. 18

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description of the pool system at Bethesda (Jn 5:1-9) and others.21 These significant details prove that the Johannine school draws on very old traditions from Palestine. The first letter presumes addressees who do indeed know of the old traditions, but they themselves cannot verify them. It belongs thus to a different, later time and probably also to another place. It is natural here given church tradition to think of Ephesus.22 The drifting of the tradition does not require one to assume that the entire Johannine school had moved from Palestine to Ephesus, but it does require that at least individual carriers of the tradition were known in foreign locations.23 This Johannine carrier of the tradition would have had parallels in some individuals who clearly appear in western Asia Minor, although their roots are obviously in Palestine. The Johannine disciples clearly belong to these, whose existence in Ephesus is attested by the Book of Acts (12:1-7), and probably Philipp, the so-called Evangelist, and others.24 Here in western Asia Minor, the author of the letter can assess and exclude the possibilities of personal connection to the earthly Jesus among his addressees. He is acting on the authority of the carriers of the tradition, who must be credited with at least a connection to Palestine. This is how his introduction of himself and his authorization function in the prologue. The distance in time and space between the addressees and the Johannine school of Palestine is the one external framework condition for the prologue of the first letter. For the historical classification of the letter a further observation is significant, which arises out of the question of particular texts that the letter’s author presumed were known to his addressees. The Prologue of the Letter and the Prologue of the Gospel The Gospel and the letter concur and begin in the same manner, which Dionysius of Alexandria established already in the third century.25 No one today argues over this similarity, but only over literary dependence and timeline. Martin Hengel, “Das Johannesevangelium als Quelle für die Geschichte des antiken Judentums,” in Judaica, Hellenistica et Christiana: Kl. Schr. 2 (WUNT 109; Tübingen: Mohr, 1999), 293–334. 22 Sjef van Tilborg, Reading John in Ephesus (NTSup 83; Leiden: Brill, 1996), scoured the Ephesian inscriptions to make the origin from Ephesus defensible. 23 The external reason for the trip to the West might have been the first Jewish war. Theories about the move of the school are developed, for example, by Ludger Schenke, Die Urgemeinde:  Geschichte und theologische Entwicklung (Stuttgart: Kohlhammer, 1990), 194. A move on the part of the Apostle John is speculated by Charles Kingsley Barrett, Das Evangelium nach Johannes (KEK Sonderbd; Göttingen:  Vandenhoeck, 1990), 148. The presbyters as noted by Irenaeus confirm such a move; also Theo K.  Heckel, Vom Evangelium des Markus zum viergestaltigen Evangelium (WUNT 120; Tübingen: Mohr, 1999), 235. Zahn (Introduction, 577) comes to the conclusion of the move only from the καὶ in 3c. He refers here also to Philipp: provided Philipp of Bethesda (Jn 12:21; cf. 1:43) or the evangelist Philipp (Acts 6:5; 8:5-40; 21:8) was the same as Philipp of Eusebius (H.E. 3.39.8–10; 3.31.3), the latter would have also migrated to Asia Minor, to Hieropolis. 24 Justin’s Jewish conversation partner might also have undertaken a similar migration, of which Justin reports in his “Dialogus” in the middle of the second century. Justin, Dial. 8, also Heckel, Evangelium, 311, 323; both examples show merely initially similar movement, which neither confirms nor rules out an internal solidarity perhaps between the baptizing disciples and the Johannine School or the friends of Jesus (Just., Dial. 8.1). 25 Eusebius, H.E. 7.25.18: σuνᾴδουσι μὲν γὰρ ἀλλήλοις τὸ εὐαγγέλιον καὶ ἡ ἐπιστολή, ὁμοίως τε ἄρχονται. Quotations from both writings follow, which highlight the agreement in topic and word choice transmitted in Eusebius, H.E. 7.25.19–21. 21

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With older predecessors,26 in more recent times, a number of researchers insist that the letter preceded the Gospel.27 I  believe however that the prologue of the letter cannot be understood without the already familiar prologue of the Gospel, that the prologue thus assumes a readership that already knows the Gospel.28 Because the Gospel introduces the terms “Logos” and “Life” as titles for Jesus Christ, the prologue to the letter already assumes this introduction. Already the letter’s use of the neuter relative pronoun would only have been comprehensible to the addressees who were thinking of the beginning of the prologue to the Gospel of John, already familiar to them, as soon as they heard the words “ἦν ἀπ᾽ἀρχῆς” (ἐν ἀρχῇ ἦν ὁ λόγος),29 and from there they would have suspected that somehow Jesus Christ was what was being talked about, initially with the neuter relative pronoun, then already distinctly with the λόγος τῆς ζωῆς, and finally with ζωή. Without this advance information, the prologue would probably have remained obscure to the letter, especially considering that the neuter pronoun in fact apparently names the primary content, but handles it in a grammatically awkward manner with the masculine Logos and the Greek feminine designation for life, ζωή.30 That the prologue of the letter is written to addressees who should be familiar with the beginning of the Gospel is thus largely opinio communis. Schnelle objects to this, saying that the term “arche” is not predetermined in the letter by the prologue of the Gospel.31 As a matter of fact the first letter understands this term differently than the Gospel. To this extent Schnelle is right. But with this change the letter would have been able to consciously deviate from the guidelines of the Gospel, thus ultimately rendering it dependent anyway. The addressees of the letter are supposed to think of the prologue of the Gospel, and it is only with this precondition that the special theme of 1 John is introduced. The small change from ἐν ἀρχῇ to ἀπ᾽ἀρχῆς in the letter’s prologue contains, even in the first verse, a substantial shift in the content’s meaning. In the prologue of the Gospel, the Logos interminably represents the mediator of creation, the life- and light-giver whose earthly period—whose becoming flesh— the rest of the Gospel will unfold.

For example, H.  H. Wendt; for further information, for example, see Klauck, Der erste Johannesbrief, 43–7, see 58, n. 17. 27 Kenneth Grayston, The Johannine Epistles (NCBC: Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans/London: Marshall, Morgan and Scott, 1984), 12–14; Udo Schnelle, Antidoketische Christologie im Johannesevangelium: Eine Untersuchung zur Stellung des 4.  Evangeliums in der johanneischen Schule (FRLANT 144; Göttingen:  Vandenhoeck, 1987), 65–7; Schnelle, Einleitung, 451–2, 468–70. Strecker either considers a parallel emergence of the letter and the Gospel (see Strecker, Johannesbriefe, 26–7, 51–3, 56, 292, n. 3) or supposes 1 John goes before the Gospel of John (Strecker, “Anfänge,” 43, n. 50); Strecker, Literaturgeschichte, 219; Wendy E. Sproston (“Witnesses to What Was ἀπ᾽ἀρχῆς: 1 John’s Contribution to our Knowledge of Tradition in the Fourth Gospel,” JSNT 48 [1992]:  43–65, especially 63–5) wants to construe only the traditions of the school as the connective pieces between John and 1 John. This work can indeed show (e.g., 50) that 1 John does not only refer to John, but that it cannot disprove the dependence of 1 John on John; Griffith starts with the assumption that the two writings are not dependent on one another and refuses to argue explicitly against the priority of 1 John (Keep Yourselves, 5–6, 162, 209–12). 28 Similarly, for the most part, François Vouga, Die Johannesbriefe (HNT 15/3; Tübingen: Mohr, 1990), 11–13; Klauck, Der erste Johannesbrief, 47; Scholtissek, Sein, 340–1. 29 The difference in content between the prepositions should not be overstated; Brown, Epistles, 155, refers to Jn 15:27; 16:4. For Jn 1:1, see Jörg Frey, Die johanneische Eschatologie II: Das johanneische Zeitverständnis (WUNT 110; Tübingen: Mohr, 1998), 155–60. 30 BDR § 138.1; indeed, no longer so severely, but otherwise frequently in the Johannine Corpus: Jn 3:6; 4:22; 6:37, 39; 17:2, 7, 24; 1 Jn 5:4; Klauck, Der erste Johannesbrief, 58; Brown, Epistles, 154. 31 Schnelle, Christologie, 66. 26

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The prologue of the letter seems initially to take on the exact terminology from the prologue of the Gospel, which transcends historical time when(ever) it begins with the imperfect ἦν ἀπ᾽ἀρχῆς, then speaks of λόγος and of ζωή. Still at least the “touching with the hands” makes it clear that the prologue of the letter is about the earthly Jesus. The starting point for the addressees is thus the arche-term of the Gospel’s prologue. The letter recalls of the prologue of the Gospel and then proceeds from this point in the same direction as the Gospel. The letter presupposes the content of the term as represented in the Gospel; it encompasses the Gospel with the goal of highlighting the actual humanity, or, as it states, “having come in the flesh”: Jesus Christ ἐν σαρκὶ ἐληλυθότα (1 Jn 4:2). In addition, the letter not only refers to the beginning of the Gospel, but also to its ending. The Prologue of the Letter and the Thomas Pericope Not only does the prologue of the letter draw on the beginning of the Gospel, but it also assumes the last original narrative unit of the Gospel, the story of Thomas (Jn 20:24-29).32 The letter prologue recalls the story of Thomas with the keywords ἑωράκαμεν and χείρ borrowed verbatim from it, along with the substantive allusion by means of the keyword “touch” (ψηλαφάω).33 Here, too, the inclusion of the Gospel material in the letter reveals a change in emphasis that presupposes the path from the Gospel to the letter. The story of Thomas concludes the original Gospel and duplicates the preceding appearance narrative. Thomas, the story reads somewhat disconnectedly, was not present at the first appearance and cannot believe the reports of his fellow disciples. He sets conditions to which the risen one responds. The narrative targets the exchange of words between Jesus and Thomas and ends with a macarism (20:28-29):34 καὶ μὴ γίνου ἄπιστος ἀλλὰ πιστός. ἀπεκρίθη Θωμᾶς καὶ εἶπεν αὐτῷ· ὁ κύριός μου καὶ ὁ θεός μου. λέγει αὐτῷ ὁ Ἰησοῦς· ὅτι ἑώρακάς με πεπίστευκας· μακάριοι οἱ μὴ ἰδότες καὶ πιστεύσαντες. In his confession “my Lord and my God” Thomas uses the predicate “θεός” for Jesus Christ just as the prologue does. Even on account of this inclusion the pericope could trace back to the author of the entire composition John 1–20, that is, to the evangelist.35 Exegetes who come to this conclusion in the Gospel of John presume different, even contradictory, strata because the story of Thomas assumes and reduplicates the preceding appearance story.36 First John 4:14-16 might also refer to Jn 20:24-29, cf. Klauck, The First Letter of John, 258. Judith M.  Lieu, “What Was from the Beginning:  Scripture and Tradition in the Johannine Epistles,” NTS 39 (1993): 458–77; it considers, on account of multiple allusions to Isaiah in 1 John, that the vocabulary from the LXX translation of Isa. 59:10 shows up in 1 Jn 1:3 (474–5). The keyword in any case in Lk. 24:39, and Ignatius, Sm. 3.2 belongs to the keywords with which the touching of the risen one is highlighted through the witnesses to the resurrection. 34 John 20:29 is to be understood as a statement, not a question, in opposition to Nestle-Aland 27, with, for example, Schnelle, Evangelium, 307, n. 52. 35 This inclusion marginalizes Michael Theobald, Die Fleischwerdung des Logos:  Studien zum Verhältnis des Johannesprologs zum Corpus des Evangeliums und zu 1 Joh (NTA NF 20; Münster:  Aschendorff, 1988), 302. The inclusion speaks against his supposition that the prologue of John is a later addition to the Gospel. Theobald does not consider the relationship between 1 Jn:1-4 to Jn 20:24-29. 36 Schnelle, Evangelium, 308; and Wilckens, Evangelium, 317–18, read the perspective of 1 John into the Thomas pericope. 32 33

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Through the repetition of the appearance narrative the reader is reminded that the word of the risen one creates faith, something the word of the disciples cannot. It is not the personal passing on of the tradition through the disciples, but the word and seeing of the risen one that convinces Thomas. This progression of Thomas’s story is to be understood as thoroughly critical with regards to the tradent. The added word of blessing addresses the readership of the Gospel directly: Blessed are they who do not see and yet believe. With this macarism the pericope of Thomas focuses on the word as the means of tradition that suffices to generate faith. The aim of the macarism is to move the written Gospel into the role of a word of power that the risen one spoke to Thomas: “Do not be disbelieving, but believing.” The word of the risen one has the same effect on Thomas as it does in the Gospel. Faith depends on the encounter in the word, such that where this encounter happens faith will result.37 The prologue of the letter goes in a different direction with its play on the idea of “touching.” The letter’s prologue emphasizes the special role of the first witnesses vis-à-vis the later readership. It allows us to read the story of Thomas differently. For the prologue, the central focus of the story is that there were people like Thomas who saw Jesus, while later readers of the Gospel “only” hear about him. This explanation of Thomas’s story is indeed possible, but this interpretation probably does not get to the point of the pericope. For in order to highlight the special role of the first witnesses, the evangelist should not have reduplicated the first appearance narrative. The first appearance narrative in which the disciples receive the Spirit would have sufficed to emphasize the historical starting point. The story of Thomas would not repeat this, though admittedly the appended macarism would have been a hard teaching as it would require the readers to reach their own confidence, which the risen one made possible for Thomas. The reassessment of the macarism from an encouragement to a demand should demonstrate the inadequacy of this interpretation. This does not suggest that the letter rejects the word as a means of transmission, but rather it is a matter of authorizing the transmission path of this word. In 1 John, it is thus a matter of binding the word historically. The risen one no longer speaks directly, but rather delegates it to his first witnesses to pass his word on.38 Now I extend the perspective of the prologue to the whole of 1 John. The broader letter reveals the historicizing tendency of the prologue.

The original concluding verse Jn 20:31 puts it in these words: ταῦτα δὲ γέγραπται ἵνα πιστεύ[σ]ητε ὅτι Ἰησοῦς ἐσστιν ὁ χριστὸς ὁ υἱὸς τοῦ θεοῦ, καὶ ἵνα πιστεύοντες ζωὴν ἔχητε ἐν τῷ ὀνόματι αὐτοῦ. 38 The Epistula Apostolorum, an apocryphal writing preserved by Coptics and Ethiopians, already proves the connection between the prologue and the narrative of Thomas in the middle of the second century. The Ep Ap generalizes the Thomas pericope to all the apostles and thus takes up the perspective of 1 Jn 1:1, which is cited word for word. Ep Ap 12. (23) (Ethiopian): “But we only touch him”; (Coptic): “But we have touched him”; trans. C. Detlef, publ. by Wilhelm Schneemelcher and G. Müller, Neutestamentliche Apokryphen in deutscher Übersetzung. 1. Bd.: Evangelien (Tübingen: Mohr, 51987), 211. References to 1 Jn 1:1 also in 1. (12): “As we heard (it), preserved, and wrote down for the entire world”; 2.  (13):  “and we heard him and touched [him], after he was resurrected from the dead.” Ep Ap certainly refers to the revelation of the risen Christ; cf. Titus Nagel, Die Rezeption des Johannesevangeliums im 2. Jahrhundert (ABG 2; Leipzig: EVA, 2000), 123–56, especially, 123, 155–6; in addition, Theo K. Heckel, “Neuere Arbeiten zum Neutestamentlichen Kanon (I),” ThR 68 (2003): 286–312, especially 300–2. The Ep Ap use as the letter prologue the resurrection narrative of the Gospel of John in order to emphasize the special authority of the first witnesses. The interpretation of the Thomas pericope by the author of the letter proves to be influential here. 37

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3.  The Historicizing Interpretation of the Gospel Tradition in 1 John The historicizing tendency also leads, with other topics, to the fact that the letter has different emphases than the Gospel of John.39 I will show this for Christology and pneumatology. The Historicizing of Christology in 1 John In the Gospel one can indeed find the category of the earthly Jesus, but it is not emphasized.40 For the Gospel it is about the complete and exclusive representation of God in Jesus. It is not until the letter that this representation is explicitly accentuated as a historical event in the past.41 The letter might turn, with this emphasis on the humanity of Jesus, against the apostate former members of its own fellowship. The “I am” sayings can illustrate this. These words, for example, “I am the bread of life” (6:35) or “I am the light of the world” (8:12), are specific to the Gospel.42 These “I am” sayings resist temporal ascription to the earthly Jesus. For example, with the saying “I am the light of the world” the speaker claims a worldencompassing soteriological function. It is certainly undisputed that in some manner Jesus Christ is to be thought of as the subject of this and other “I am” sayings. However, these “I am” sayings hardly allow themselves to be unambiguously attributed to the earthly Jesus; they are in their natural disposition personally Christological, but outside of time. The argument over the genuine humanity of Jesus cannot be decided with the “I am” sayings. These sayings belong without a doubt to ancient Johannine tradition. That they are found only in the Gospel, and not in the letter, speaks in favor of the Gospel being older than the letter. After such a dispute, which is at the core of 1 John, the sayings would have to be historically grounded. These “I am” sayings are open to a timeless, even Gnostic, interpretation, and this is shown by the “hostile takeover” of these sayings in the later writings of Gnostic provenance.43 If the Gospel were to be placed after 1 John, this break in the line would be astonishing. The letter, on the other hand, underscores the earthly, human existence of Jesus. This new placement of emphasis in the letter can be illustrated well with the Thomas narrative. In this story the risen one has scars; the story of Thomas thus assumes that the risen one remains permanently marked by what happened on the cross, and thus he is not a God striding upon the earth, as Käsemann puts it, almost polemically.44

The tendency of 1 John toward preservation of a tradition has been suggested above all by: Otto A. Piper, “I John and the Didache of the Primitive Church,” JBL 66 (1947): 437–51; Hans Conzelmann, “’Was von Anfang an war,” Neutestamentliche Studien, FS Rudolf Bultmann (ed. V. W. Eltester; BZNW 21; Berlin: Töpelmann, 1954), 194–201. 40 John 1:14 appeals to the incarnation of Jesus, yet the Gospel of John underscores above all the soteriological sufficiency and exclusivity of the person of Jesus, to which belongs the earthly phase of life of Jesus. 41 The reference from 1 Jn 5:6-8 to Jn 19:34 shows a tendency to connect soteriological statements to the earthly Jesus (for the literary reference: Klauck, Der erste Johannesbrief, 296–7); the verses point to baptism (“water”) and crucifixion (“blood”) as healing events historically transmitted by the earthly Jesus. 42 Martin Karrer summarizes the state of research in Jesus Christus im Neuen Testament (GNT 11; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck, 1998), 240–3. 43 Naassene report by Hippolit, Ref. V.8.20f.; Clemens Al., Excerpta Theodoto 26.2–3; 61.1; cf., Nagel, Rezeption, 356, 486; Hartwig Thyen, “Ich-Bin-Worte,” RAC 17 (1996): 147–213, especially, 198–205. 44 Ernst Käsemann, Jesus’ Last Testament According to Johannes 17 (Tübingen: Mohr, 1967), 22 (note 6 points to F. C. Baur; G. P. Wetter; E. Hirsch), 117, 129, 132. 39

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Accordingly, Schnelle also understands the Thomas pericope anti-docetically.45 However the question of an apparent body is clearly not a matter of debate for the evangelist. To this point, in the Thomas pericope the risen one goes through closed doors (20:26). The evangelist is not yet sensitive to this issue, unlike the letter writer, who elevates the statements about Jesus’s humanity to the level of confession (1 Jn 4:2; see earlier). In this way the theology of the letter leads to Jn 1:14a, “the Word became flesh,” being made into a key of the Gospel, while the Gospel read by itself in no way elevates this sentence to being a key sentence.46 The Historicization of Pneumatology in 1 John I will add one more example that shows the efforts of 1 John to avoid timeless sources of authority. This can be seen particularly in the realm of pneumatology. In its pneumatology, the letter connects to historicized Christology. First John 5:6 names three witnesses: “water,” “blood,” and “spirit.” According to their types of action, these witnesses can be divided into different epochs. Water and blood are witnesses from the life of Jesus (aorist participle: ὁ ἐλθὼν δι᾽ ὕδατος καὶ αἵματος); the witness of the Spirit confirms the presence of the church (present:  τὸ πνεῦμά ἐστιν τὸ μαρτυροῦν), the witnesses from the life of Jesus.47 The biography of the earthly Jesus provides the historical parameters of the Spirit.48 It is not only in the prologue that the letter endeavors to normalize the direct working of the Spirit by means of the tradition of the opening. After all, even in the Gospel the Spirit does not blow where it will. The special Johannine term for the working of the Spirit—paraclete—is at least tied to the risen one whom he represents, though admittedly this standard is beyond verification at present. The paraclete of the Gospel does not tolerate verifiable limitations on its teachings. The way the letter introduces the paraclete is characteristic. First Jn 2:1 speaks of the paraclete using the following words: “My little children, I am writing these things to you so that you may not sin; but if anyone sins, we have an advocate with the Father, Jesus Christ, the righteous one.”49 In the letter the paraclete represents not a figure who is at work on earth, but one who is at work as an advocate in heaven. A parenthesis identifies him with the risen one. To this extent the letter contains the tradition-historically older version of the form of the paraclete.50 Yet this observation hardly proves an older age for the latter than for the Gospel. Rather, the letter is Schnelle, Evangelium, 308–9. Thus Overbeck, and recently Becker, already Evangelium, 1:76–80 (76: “nowhere does E [the Evangelist, T. H.] draw upon the Incarnation”), on the opposite side, for example, Rudolf Bultmann, Theologie des Neuen Testaments (ed. V. O. Merk; Tübingen: Mohr, 91984), 392: “The theme of the entire Gospel of John is the sentence ὁ λόγος σὰρξ ἐγένετο (John 1:14).” 47 Cf. to 1 John 5:6; Griffith, Keep Yourselves, 153–66, 189–90. He recommends (153–4), along with Lieu, Theology, 76–7, that we understand the negation in this verse (οὐκ ἐν τῷ ὕδατι μόνον ἀλλ᾽ ἐν τῷ ὕδατι καὶ ἐν τῷ αἵματι) as unpolemical intensification. According to him (159–60), the keywords “water” and “blood” refer to Jesus’s baptism and his death and so encompass Jesus’s biography. 48 Cf. Klauck, Der erste Johannesbrief, 299: “corresponds exactly to the . . . tradition principle in 1:1–4”; Griffith, Keep Yourselves, 160: “The point of speaking of the ‘coming’ of Jesus is . . . to refer to the ministry of Jesus as a historical phenomenon.” 49 Τεκνία μου, ταῦτα γράφω ὑμῖν ἵνα μὴ ἁμάτητε. καὶ ἐάν τις ἁμάρτῃ, παράκλητον ἔχομεν πρὸς τὸν πατέρα Ἰησοῦν Χριστὸν δίκαιον. 50 See also Klauck, Die Johannesbriefe, 107. 45 46

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much more likely to undermine an authorization of a prophetic saying, which supposedly was made known by the paraclete. In the letter the paraclete cannot authorize any sort of special teachings that supposedly go back to the paraclete, because he is at work in heaven and not through prophecies on earth. The earthly task of the paraclete does not remain unallocated in the letter. The addressees are directed to the Spirit, who is given to the “we-group”: “the Spirit, whom he has given to us” (3:24ff.; 4:13-14). The letter points with the keyword χρῖσμα, literally “anointing,” to refer to the working of the Spirit in the presence of the believers (1 Jn 2:20, 27). In contrast to the paraclete in the Gospel, this expression “anointing”—associated with doctrine and even the tradition of teaching—might also metonymically refer to a rite that confirms this tradition individually. The chrisma is passed on in a this-worldly manner, while the paraclete cannot be grasped so concretely; he breaks through the cause and effect relationships of this world51 while remaining true to his own—he himself teaches, but is not himself a subject of instruction.52 Udo Schnelle pointed out this paraclete figure in the letter in order to use it to prove the letter to be older than the Gospel.53 But even with consideration of this Johannine motif, it is easier to trace the development from the Gospel to the letter. We have seen that the letter should be traced back to John 1–20 based on its prologue and its overall orientation. The letter tries to interpret the tradition of the Gospel of John along the line of an inner-Johannine dispute. Furthermore, he emphasizes the real humanity of Jesus and the this-worldly transmission of the relevant tradition. Yet 1 John does not claim to speak the last word. The goal of the genesis of the Johannine Corpus is a matter of some consequence: what is the direction of its development?

4.  The Johannine Corpus as Testimony of an Eyewitness The letter refers to the Gospel of John and wrestles with its interpretation. It begins to collect the ancient traditions together, whereby it expresses this programmatically: “Let what you have heard from the beginning remain in you. If what you have heard from the beginning remains in you, then you will also remain in the Son and in the Father” (2:24). The work of the author may have laid the groundwork for the Johannine Corpus. The tradition of the ancient witnesses— including the apostle’s disciple, the elder (presbyteros)—now deserves to be preserved.54 The first letter thus generates the program that leads to the collection of the Johannine tradition. After such a program, the added chapter of the “we-group” might have become operative. If the interpretations in the letter were still intra-Johannine, the added chapter assumes an encounter of the Johannine tradition with other Christian traditions. And John 21 stylizes itself

John 14:17: τὸ πνεῦμα τῆς ἀληθείας, ὃ ὁ κόσμος οὐ δύναται λαβεῖν. The fact that the chrisma emphasizes the objective content of the Christian tradition as opposed to unbounded spiritual experience had already been emphasized in C. H. Dodd, The Johannine Epistles (MNTC; London: Hodder and Stoughton, 1946), 63–4; cf. Klauck, Der erste Johannesbrief, 157–8. 53 Schnelle, Einleitung, 469; also Strecker, Literaturgeschichte, 218. 54 On the title “Presbyter” for a student of an apostle, see Heckel, Evangelium, 233–8. The writer of 2 and 3 John would hardly have deemed his letters as worthy of preserving; he prefers to make his impact not with pen and ink (2 John 12; 3 John 13), but orally. 51 52

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as the last word on the figure of the Beloved Disciple already introduced in the Gospel. It is not the testimony of a paraclete that is at work again and again, but rather the past witness of the founder of the school that secures the added chapter. Thus, the added chapter concludes the historical program of the first letter and at the same time concludes the Johannine tradition. The Beloved Disciple has become text; he remains in the testimony of the of the Gospel as the epistolary chapter says.55 It is striking that 1 John relies on the authority of the Beloved Disciple as little as the Presbyter of the small letters.56 The first letter does not authorize with this individual, but from a collective. In my assessment, this can be explained only if there was no statement from both authorities and also the addressees of the letter knew that no such statement existed. How should one imagine this? The Johannine legend cited at the outset might have conveyed something about the historical situation correctly: the disciples of the Presbyter are waiting for a clarifying word from their master and are disappointed. The Presbyter does not work through the difficulties any further. A disciple of the Presbyter—in the cited legend a “disciple of John”—now begins to introduce the tradition of the opening as a clarifying measure. To this end, he unfolds in his letter, 1 John, a historicizing program. According to this program, the disciples of John preserve the legacy of the Presbyter—his testimony—in writings.

John 21:24: Οὗτός ἐστιν ὁ μαθητὴς ὁ μαρτυρῶν περί τούτων καὶ ὁ γράψας ταῦτα, καὶ οἴδαμεν ὅτι ἀληθὴς αὐτοῦ ἡ μαρτυρία ἐστίν. The figure of the Beloved Disciple might trace back to the venerated founders of the community. The designation “the disciple, whom Jesus loved” is probably not a self-description; the student of this disciple probably coined this designation for his venerated teacher, the Presbyter of John. 56 The author of the first letter may have known the Presbyter of the small letter: see note 18. 55

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WHAT WAS FROM THE BEGINNING: SCRIPTURE AND TRADITION IN THE JOHANNINE EPISTLES 1

Judith M. Lieu

‘That which was from the beginning; which we have seen with our eyes, which we have looked at and our hands have touched, concerning the word of life’ (1 John 1.1). However that claim to ear-, eye- and touch-witness is to be understood, there can be no dispute that for 1 John a claim to ‘that which was from the beginning’ is a linch-pin in the argument and in the theology of the letter. Yet the question of the use of Scripture in 1 John points further – to the relation between New Testament and Old, theologically and historically, but also to the origins and development of Johannine Christianity. Both the problem and these comments are readily illustrated. In a recent survey of the range and variety of approaches to discerning the use and reuse of the OT in itself, in other Jewish literature and within the NT, D. A. Carson dedicates a 20-page-long chapter to ‘John and the Johannine Epistles’;2 of this one third of a page is given to the Epistles. The first sentence of these few paragraphs bears quoting: ‘The most striking feature relevant to our subject in these epistles is the absence not only of OT quotations but even of many unambiguous allusions to the OT’ (256). C. H. Dodd’s assessment illustrates the problem further – ‘there is no other NT writing in which the Jewish colouring is so little significant as in the Johannine Epistles’3 – especially when set in contrast to J. A. T. Robinson’s conclusion that the Johannine Epistles were directed to a hellenistic Jewish destination since in some respects they ‘seem even more Jewish than the Gospel’.4 Between Dodd in 1946 and Robinson in 1960 of course came the discovery and publication of the Dead Sea Scrolls revealing an undeniably Jewish community living on Palestinian soil yet using language and ideas which once would have been called ‘hellenistic’. Their impact on study of the Epistle is well evinced by J. C. O’Neill’s argument that behind 1 John stands a series of pre-Christian, Jewish sectarian admonitions which has been expanded and adapted by a Christian editor.5 He reconstructs the Jewish substratum both on structural grounds and also by demonstrating the affinity of the fundamental thought patterns with Jewish sectarian thought represented by the QL and the Testaments of the XII Patriarchs. Even though his thesis has failed to win acceptance, the parallels cited clearly demonstrate the Jewishness of l John.

An earlier draft of this paper was given at the Seminar on ‘The Use of the OT in the NT’ at Hawarden in 1989, and in a fuller form at the Institut für Urchristentum in Tübingen in May 1990 during a year spent at the Evangelisches Seminar, Tübingen, as an Alexander von Humboldt research Stipendiat. I  am particularly grateful to Professors O. Betz, M. Hengel and P. Stuhlmacher for their comments and suggestions. 2 D. A. Carson in It is Written: Scripture Citing Scripture (Fs B. Lindars, ed. D. A. Carson and H. G. M. Williamson; Cambridge: CUP, 1988) 245–64. 3 C. H. Dodd, The Johannine Epistles (London: Hodder & Stoughton, 1947) lii. 4 J. A.  T. Robinson, ‘The Destination and Purpose of the Johannine Epistles’, Twelve New Testament Studies (London: SCM, 1962) 126–38 (reprinted from NTS 7 [1960–1] 56–65), 138. 5 J. C. O’Neill, The Puzzle of 1 John (London: SPCK, 1966). 1

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Yet the problem is not simply the result of the impact of the DSS on NT study giving new insights into the hellenistic possibilities of Judaism. Already before the turn of the century A.  Clemen asserted that the absence of the OT shows that the Johannine Epistles belong to a time when the church had become estranged from its Jewish-Christian heritage, while only twelve years later E. v. Dobschütz, introducing the theory that 1 John is built round a source document, argued for the semitic cast of that source.6 E. Büchsel took this further in showing from the Pirke Aboth that both supposed source and homiletic expansion have Jewish parallels.7 Nevertheless a recent commentary can still describe the reference to Cain in 3.12 as ‘the only conceivable reference back to the OT (der einzige denkbare Rückgriff auf das Alte Testament)’.8 The Jewishness of 1 John and the use of Scripture in 1 John, as well as the relation between those two issues, Jewishness and Scripture, are fundamental to 1 John itself. Recent commentators have seen this presumed absence of the Old Testament as a dilemma to be solved. Carson himself suggests that the Epistles were provoked by disputes concerning the correct interpretation of the Fourth Gospel and not concerning the church’s relation to the OT, thus prompting many allusions to that Gospel rather than to the OT – he does not comment on the Jewishness of 1 John. R.  E. Brown takes a similar line but, acknowledging 1 John’s Jewishness, decides that this is part of the letter’s appeal to ‘that which was from the beginning’; the beginnings of Johannine Christianity did lie in Jewish Christianity but these echoes of the origins of the tradition history should not be read into the final situation of the Epistles.9 Although he, like Carson, does see 1 John as essentially a dispute about the Johannine tradition found in the Fourth Gospel, he at least acknowledges that a problem is raised by the Epistle’s failure anywhere to explicitly quote John; he suggests that because the Gospel is under dispute the author of 1 John avoids quoting it, appealing instead to the traditions to which all parties involved look back. We thus have the ironical situation where the OT is supposedly not quoted because it is not under dispute, while the Gospel is not quoted because it is! J. L. Houlden followed by S. S. Smalley take a fresh line introducing the important question of the reasons for which Scripture is used in the NT: 1 John is engaged in polemic against other Christians and for this a pattern of argument based on the OT had not yet been developed. Smalley also proposes that since paganism was the main inspiration behind the deviations with which 1 John grapples, an appeal to the OT would have been inappropriate.10 Yet that no OT based polemic should have been developed for use against other Christians seems inherently unlikely, especially since the Qumran community as well as other intertestamental literature reveals the· rich ‘Biblical’ possibilities for internal polemic. And if (as seems unlikely) paganism did provide a major factor in the problems behind 1 John, the Scriptures would have provided as effective weaponry as anything else. However, the apparent contradiction between Jewishness and lack of Old Testament reference is surely more a failure of our perspective than of the text’s own internal consistency. A. Clemen, Der Gebrauch des Alten Testamentes in den neutestamentlichen Schiften (Gütersloh:  Bertelsmann, 1895) 158; E. v. Dobschütz, ‘Johanneische Studien’, ZNW 8 (1907) 1–8. 7 F. Büchsel, ‘Zu den Johannesbriefen’, ZNW 28 (1929) 235–41. 8 G. Strecker, Die Johannesbriefe (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1989) 179. 9 R. E. Brown, The Johannine Epistles (New York: Doubleday, 1982) 45, 97. 10 J. L. Houdlen, The Johannine Epistles (London:  Blacks, 1973) 97; S.  S. Smalley, 1,2,3 John (Waco, Texas:  Word, 1984) 183–4. 6

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Undoubtedly, the use of quotation to point to its fulfilment is one of the most distinctive characteristics of Christian use of the OT; assessed by this measure 1 John does contain no italicised quotations in the Nestle-Aland text just as it nowhere uses fulfilment formulae with πληρόω, τελειόω or γράφω – the last is used only with reference to the letter itself. Yet if the quotation-fulfilment technique is in many ways peculiarly Christian it is not the only way of using the OT. Within the QL there are, for example, in the Community Rule (1QS) only 3 explicit quotations and in the War Scroll (1QM) only 5 (although some 30 in the Damascus Document), but no-one would deny that these writings are thoroughly Jewish and thoroughly soaked in the OT.11 Scripture is used but it is often used in an allusive and in an anthological way. It is not surprising that the same is true of 1 John. Exploring three key themes and passages of 1 John will show that the letter is not just ‘Jewish’ but reflects a tradition of Biblical interpretation and application.

1.  Sin, Confession and Forgiveness: 1 John 1.9–2.2 If we confess our sins, he is faithful and just, so as to forgive us the sins and cleanse us from all unrighteousness. If we say we have not sinned, we make him a liar and his word is not in us. My children, I write this so that you may not sin. And if anyone does sin, we have a παράκλητος with the Father, Jesus Christ the righteous, and he is the ἱλασμός for our sins, and not only for ours but also for the whole world. In this paragraph forgiveness is rooted in the character of God, but this certainty offers no grounds for making light of sin. At the same time forgiveness rests in Jesus Christ who is both παράκλητος – variously translated as ‘advocate’ (RSV) or as ‘one to plead our cause’ (NEB) – and also ἱλασμός – ‘expiation’ (RSV), or ‘the remedy for the defilement of our sins’ (an ugly translation by the NEB), or ‘a sacrifice to atone for our sins’ (REB).12 The varieties of translation point to the uncertainty as to the image 1 John is offering his readers, and its background, as well as how the two, παράκλητος and ἱλασμός, fit together. Leaving the text we shall explore instead the (or an) OT witness to the nature of God and to God’s capacity for forgiveness. The key text here is Exod 34.6 where God passes before Moses on Mt Sinai and proclaims ‘the name of the LORD’: ‘The Lord, the Lord, a God merciful (‫)רחום‬ and gracious, slow to anger, and abounding in steadfast love and faithfulness (‫;רב־חסד ואמת‬ πολυέλεος καὶ ἀληθινὸς LXX), keeping steadfast love (‫ ;חסד‬δικαιοσύνη LXX) for thousands, forgiving lawlessness and unrighteousness and sin (ἀφαιρῶν ἀνομίας καὶ ἀδικίας καὶ ἁματρίας LXX) but who will by no means cleanse the guilty.’ Both in terms of the vocabulary used and form, critically this acclamation is widely recognised as highly distinctive, so that through these features a history of this confession can be traced through Scripture and Israel’s understanding of God.13 For our present purposes the problem of the date of this confession J. Fitzmyer, ‘The Use of Explicit Old Testament Quotations in Qumran Literature and in the New Testament’, NTS 7 (1960–1) 297–333. 12 RSV: Revised Standard Version, 1946; NEB: New English Bible, 1961; REB: Revised English Bible, 1989. Translations into French or German reflect a similar variety of interpretations. 13 ‘Merciful and gracious’ (sometimes reversed) comes only in passages related to this formula and in Pss 111.4; 112.4; Neh 9.31; 2 Chron 30.9; ‘slow to anger’ used of God is restricted to this tradition; it is used of people in Prov 14.29; 11

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and its inclusion in the Exodus 34 narrative can be ignored since it is the tradition it inspires or initiates which is significant. This tradition continues in Num 14.18–19 when God considers giving up on the faithless people who would rather return to Egypt than face the dangers of occupation, and Moses recalls God to the essence of God’s own self-description in these terms, and in that strength appeals to God for pardon (√‫)סלח‬. In various forms the confession also forms a basis for the prophets’ message: for Nahum it establishes that this Lord ‘will not clear the guilty’ (1.3), while for Joel (2.13) the call to repent is grounded in the nature of God so known, who can therefore be expected to ‘repent of the (threatened) evil’.14 By contrast, it was because Jonah knew God to be as described by Joel that he fled from his mission to Nineveh (4.2).15 This formula and understanding of God belongs equally to the praise and prayer to God in the Psalms (86.15; 103.8; in 145.8 God’s concern so grounded extends beyond God’s people to ‘all he has made’); here too it joins naturally with the reliance on God as one who is ‘good and pardoning (√‫)סלח‬, abounding in steadfast love’ (86.5; compare 103.3).16 Yet another ‘actualisation’ of the confession or address to God appears in Neh 9.17 where Ezra prays to God as the people remake their covenant; here, looking back to Israel’s stubbornness reaching back even into the wilderness period, God’s readiness to pardon comes to the very forefront, ‘thou art a God ready to pardon (the unusual plural form ‫)סליחות‬, gracious and merciful . . .’. This development alerts us to the last echo of the tradition within the OT in Daniel 9.9, again in a prayer of penitence on behalf of a sinful people who now find themselves suffering the distress and punishment they have brought upon themselves: ‘To the Lord our God belong mercy and pardon’ – the same word just noted in Nehemiah. This term otherwise comes in the OT only in Ps 130.4 (in the sing.), ‘But there is pardon with thee.’ In different settings the tradition is used to declare God’s faithfulness, and, with developing clarity, to appeal to God’s readiness to forgive in the face of the people’s unfaithfulness.17 The path does not end there and stretches into the praise and the debate of the following period. In the Hymns of Qumran the language of the formula has become a standard description of God, but what is most notable is that God’s readiness to forgive seems to be becoming an integral part of it: 1QH 6.8–9, ‘Thou wilt purify and cleanse them of their sin for all their deeds are in thy truth and in thy great loving kindness thou wilt judge them and in the multitude of thy mercies and in the abundance of thy pardon teaching them according to thy word.’ The noun first noted in Neh 9.17 (‫)סליחות‬, which comes only three times in the OT, appears at least ten times in the Hymn scroll as well as elsewhere in the Scrolls, each time in association with steadfast love (‫ )חסר‬or merciful (‫)רחום‬.18 The influence of the Exod 34.6

15.18; 16.32. The same restriction is true of ‘abounding in steadfast love’ although a similar formula with a personal preposition is used in Isa 6.3; Ps 5.8; 69.14; 100.7; Lam 3.32; Neh 13.22 where the LXX uses a different translation. See R. C. Dentan, ‘The Literary Affinities of Exod xxxiv. 6f.’, VT 13 (1963) 34–51; K. Sakenfeld, The Meaning of Hesed in the Hebrew Bible. A New Inquiry (Missoula: Scholars, 1978) 112–29. 14 ‘The evil’ is almost certainly intended eschatologically. 15 See E. Bickermann , Four Strange Books of the Bible (New York: Schocken, 1967) 41. 16 In Psalm 86.5 the characteristic (see n. 13) phrase ‘abounding in steadfast love’ anticipates the later use of the whole formula in v. 15. 17 See Sakenfeld, Meaning of Hesed, 128–9 for the importance of forgiveness in the understanding of hesed in this confession. 18 Outside the Hymns in 1QS 2.15; CD 2.4; 4Q400 1.18; 4Q491 4. See also J. J. Stamm, slh, ThHAT 2.150–60, who notes that the verb is less common than the noun in Qumran sources.

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tradition is clear although what we have is not explicit quotation but a developing relationship to the tradition, perhaps liturgically mediated. For debate we can turn to Sirach who calls on those who fear the Lord to look back on previous generations and see that none who put their trust in the Lord were abandoned, ‘for the Lord is merciful and gracious and forgives sins’ (2.11); but later he warns against taking God’s readiness to pardon too lightly (we are coming close to 1 John again): ‘Do not say, “I sinned yet nothing happened to me”; it is only that the Lord is slow to anger. Do not be so confident of pardon19 that you sin again and again. Do not say “His mercy is so great, he will pardon my sins however many”. To him belong both mercy and wrath’ (5.5).20 In a new context Asenath looks back with regret on her pagan past and puts all her hope in what she has heard: ‘But I have heard many saying that the God of the Hebrews is a true God and a living God and a God who is gracious and merciful, slow to anger and abounding in steadfast love, and fair, and does not reckon the sin of a person nor convict someone’s lawlessness’ (Jos and Asen 11.10). It seems probable that behind that unexpected ‘fair’ (ἐπιεικής) stands the tradition of God’s readiness to pardon, since the LXX uses the. same word in Ps 85.5 to render the Hebrew ‘pardoning’.21 Manasseh too in the apocryphal prayer of repentance with which he is credited relies on God as a Lord who is slow to anger, full of compassion,22 abounding in steadfast love and repenting over the evils of humankind (v. 7).23 This tradition, with all its rich possibilities, plays a surprisingly limited role in the New Testament. However, viewed from its development within the Biblical tradition it becomes clear that it has left its mark on the passage of 1 John with which we started. At the centre of course is the acknowledgement of God’s character as the foundation of forgiveness. It is the latter which does not come in the superficially closer Deut 32.4, ‘θεὸς πιστός καὶ οὐκ ἔστιν ἀδικία, δίκαιος καὶ ὅσιος κύριος’, although this verse may have helped influence the language used. Yet the similarity with the Exod 34 tradition does extend beyond fundamental idea to vocabulary. The juxtaposition of sins and unrighteousness and of the verbs to forgive and to cleanse (‘to forgive us our sins and cleanse us from all unrighteousness’) also comes in Exod 34.6–7 and similar terms are particularly important in the Qumran passages.24 In 1 John too we find, as in Sirach, a caution against the misuse of the tradition along with the demand to be serious about sin and the warning that forgiveness in no excuse to continue to sin. Most important, the tradition can throw light on the much debated description of Jesus as ‘hilasmos’. We have already traced ‘readiness to pardon’ as an increasingly important element of God’s character as the tradition develops in and beyond the OT. While the LXX offers no consistent translation of the Hebrew root ‫סלח‬,‘ ἱλασμός’ is the only translation used for the

The Hebrew is ѕеӏіḥаһ which the LXX translates by ἐξιλασμός, seen by A Di Lella, The Hebrew Text of Sirach (London, Hague, Paris: Mouton & Co., 1966) 113 as evidence of the secondary character of the Greek. 20 This final phrase is repeated in 16.11 where it is followed by: ‘he is rich in forgiveness (Heb: forgiving and pardoning) and pours out wrath’; cf. 18.12. 21 Ps 85.5 is explicitly echoed in Ps.Sol 5.12; that God is ἐπιεικής and slow to anger comes in Jos and Asen 12.14–15; Aristeas 188.3. 22 Εὔσπλαγχος; cf. James 5.11. 23 This strange phrase immediately recalls Joel 2.13; Jonah 4.2, and may go back to a mistranslation of a similar Hebrew which perhaps spoke of God’s sorrow over evil. 24 So 1QH 7.30; 11.9. Although ‘forgive’ is translated in Exod 34 by ἀφαιρῶ the same Hebrew verb can also be translated by ἀφίημι (so probably Sir 2.11) as in 1 John 1.9. 19

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key term ‫ סליחות‬namely at Dan 9.9 (Theodotion),25 at Ps 130.4,26 and also, although poorly attested, at Neh 9.17 where however the major MSS do not translate the term.27 Sirach uses the related ἐξιλασμός, a translation not otherwise used for the root by the LXX.28 The Greek rendering of the root in the Psalms is less constant; we have already noted the use of ἐπιεικής at Ps 86.5, although Aquila and Theodotion read ἱλαστής, while εὐιλατεύων is read at Ps 103.3 (Theodotion: ἱλατεύων). Since the LXX does not use ἱλασμός more regularly for any other Hebrew term, and there is also no other more frequent Greek rendering of the Hebrew root, the connection between ‘ἱλασμός’ and ‘pardon’ (‫ )סלח‬seems to be dominant.29 ‫ סלח‬is predicated only of God in the Hebrew scriptures and so it is at once startling and natural that Jesus should himself be identified with God’s pardon: for 1 John forgiveness is rooted in the character of God and is embodied in Jesus even while remaining God’s own readiness to forgive. Set against this tradition background, the day of atonement and the sacrificial cult do not provide the primary framework for interpreting Jesus the ίλασμός as the means of forgiveness in 1 John despite the use of the term at Lev 25.9.30 It may be possible that the author combines a number of images, including sacrificial ideas in the earlier reference to the blood of Jesus at 1.7, but his most significant heritage is a liturgical and literary tradition celebrating and re-applying the confession of God made known in Exod 34 – just as forgiveness or pardon belongs to God alone, Jesus now is that forgiveness actualised. A further image is Jesus as paraclete, and it remains uncertain how firmly the two are linked together. Comparison might be made with Moses, Ezra and Daniel who, in the passages discussed above, claimed God’s forgiveness for the people; Jesus would be the one who both intercedes for and embodies that forgiveness. Yet the tradition we have explored does bring together God’s pardon with God’s comfort, for which the Hebrew ‫( נחם‬Piel) is most commonly rendered by the LXX παρακαλῶ: so Psalm 86 closes ‘because Thou O Lord has helped me and comforted me.’ This too continues in the· Qumran hymns: ‘gladden the soul of Thy servant with thy truth, and cleanse me in thy righteousness, for I wait upon thy goodness and hope in thy mercy and by thy pardon thou shalt relieve my contrition and in my affliction thou shalt comfort me’ (1QH 11.31; cf. 1QH 9.13). Whether or not the verbal form παράκλητος can itself mean ‘the comforter’,31 the traditional association of the language may have attracted it here. Οἱ οἰκτιρμοὶ καὶ οἱ ἱλασμοὶ. In fact the link with Ps 130 was noted some time ago by A. Hanson, Studies on the Pastoral Epistles (London: SPCK, 1968) 91–5 where he suggested that the Psalm was interpreted by the early church as referring to baptism and that 1 John 1.7–2.5 was written with it in mind. He drew attention particularly to the theme of confession in the two passages; to the use of ἱλασμός which in 1 John is ‘with (πρός) the Father’ and in the Psalm is ‘with (παρά) God’, and to the final promise of the Psalm that God would redeem Israel ‘from all her lawless acts’ (ἀπὸ πασῶν τῶν ἀνομίων αὐτοῦ). These contacts are important but probably not enough to establish that Ps 130 is alone or even chiefly in mind; rather that it belongs to a chain of passages which use a common vocabulary and meet a common concern and so provide the background to our passage. 27 According to the edition of Brooke and MacLean ‘b’ reads ιλασμω αφιεις while αφιεις αμαρτιας, probably by assimilation to Exod 34.6, is also attested. 28   Ἐξιλάσκεσθαι, ἐξλασμός are used for slh only at Sirach 5.5; 16.11 (where the Hebrew survives for comparison). See above n. 19. 29 Ἰλασμός is also used by the LXX at Lev 25.9 an d Num 5.8 for kippurim, at 1 Chron 28.20 (no MT), Ezek 44.27 (hata’th); 2 Macc 3.35; and at Amos 8.14 (’ashmah). 30 See n. 29. The question should not be confused with that regarding ἱλαστήριον (Rom 3.25) which is never used for the slh root in the LXX. 31 ’See C. K. Barrett, ‘The Holy Spirit in the Fourth Gospel’, JTS 1 (1950)1–15; O. Betz, Der Paraklet (Leiden: Brill, 1963) 157–8. 25 26

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There is of course one notable exception to the limited influence of Exod 34.6 in the NT. The prologue of the Fourth Gospel takes up the story of Exod 33–4 with the revelation of God by God fulfilled in 1.14, ‘and we beheld his glory – full of grace and truth’. The Greek there (πλήρης χάριτος καὶ ἀληθείς), although not the language of the LXX, is a natural translation of the Hebrew ‫‘ רב־חסר ואמת‬abounding in steadfast love and truth’, in Exod 34.6.32 We find then that the first Epistle and the Gospel both reflect exegesis of the same passage but do so in totally different ways, sharing none of the same vocabulary or fundamental concerns.33 This should not surprise us; it seems increasingly evident that the Johannine writings, while not denying the creative individuality behind them, were the result of a long period of what we might call school activity. That this activity should include exegesis and interpretation, and the blending of that study into new settings is only to be expected. In 1 John that blending is thorough, but its contribution is nonetheless real, and it is for this technique that we should look elsewhere.

2.  Cain, Sin and Righteousness: 1 John 3.7ff. In contrast to the indirectness of the first example, the reference. to Cain in 1 John 3.12 is indisputably OT in origin even if mediated through a tradition of exegesis and interpretation: ‘This is the proclamation which you have heard from the beginning, that we are to love one another. Not like Cain (who) was of the evil one and murdered his brother. And why did he murder him? Because his deeds were evil and those of his brother righteous.’ Once again the OT and its interpretation may be taken as a starting point, although in this case the ground is extensive and has been covered elsewhere, particularly by N. A. Dahl.34 The narrative in Gen 4 gives no final answer to 1 John’s question, ‘why did Cain murder his brother?’, pointing back only to God’s, apparently unaccountable, preference for Abel’s offering over Cain’s and so, perhaps intentionally, leaving the question waiting to be asked (and answered). The most simple answer is that given by both Philo (Quaest. in Gen 1.59) and Josephus (Ant 1.2.1  §53) who label Cain as evil (πονηρός) and Abel as concerned for righteousness or as δίκαιος. The targums offer rather more help; taking advantage of a lacuna in the text or perhaps following an older form of it, Cain invites Abel out into the field and there a debate follows over theodicy. While Cain’s position in the different targumic traditions varies, perhaps reflecting current disputes on the subject, the underlying theme is clear: Abel defends the compatibility of divine mercy with divine justice – mercy is not caprice as it may become when loosed from justice, and as Cain perceives it – and the exercise of both in the creation and governance of the world, and, in some accounts, the future judgement according to deeds (i.e. by justice).

See A. T. Hanson, The New Testament Interpretation of Scripture (London: SPCK, 1980) 97–109. In the LXX the ‘’emeth’ (truth) of Ex 34.6 is not translated by ἀληθεία as in John but by ἀληθινός. This is repeated in the other passages which take up Exod 34.6 and even added in Num 14.18 and Ps 103.8 (Alex) where it is lacking in the Hebrew. For both John and 1 John knowledge of God as ἀληθινός lies at the heart of Christian experience (John 17.3; 1 John 5.20). In the Greek OT this epithet used of God is restricted to the Exod 34.6 tradition and to some later passages which use it against the unreality of idols (3 Macc 2.11; 6.18; 1 Esd 8.89; 2 Chr 15.3 and Isa 65.16). However, while the Gospel may look back only to Exod 34.6 here, 1 John has combined it with this second OT tradition. 34 N. A. Dahl, ‘Der Erstgeborene Satans und der Vater des Teufels’, Apophortea (Fs E. Haenchen; BZNW 30; Berlin: de Gruyter, 1964)  70–84; M.  McNamara, The New Testament and the Palestinian Targum to the Pentateuch (AB 27A; Rome: Biblical Inst., 1978) 156–60, 299. 32 33

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Abel’s offering was accepted because his deeds were good and not out of divine favouritism. In that debate we hear current concerns about that very issue, love and justice applied to God.35 To answer the further question how, within the sequence of God’s creation of humankind in Genesis, Cain came both to do evil and, most important, to conceive of evil in murdering his brother, PsJonathan reveals that Cain was not the child of Adam, the man created by God, but of ‘the evil one’: ‘And Adam was aware that Eve his wife had conceived from Sammael the angel, and she became pregnant and bare Cain.’36 Gnostic literature knows the same tradition – ‘And he (i.e. Cain) was begotten in adultery for he was the child of the serpent. So he became a murderer just like his father and he killed his brother’ (EvPhil 61.6–10).37 God’s response to Cain’s earlier resentment at the rejection of his offering, translated in the RSV ‘If you do well will you not be accepted? And if you do not do well, sin is crouching at the door; its desire is for you but you must master it’, offered further challenges for interpretation.38 First, ‘will you not be accepted’ becomes a promise of forgiveness, based either on good works or (in TgOnk) on Cain’s repentance; secondly, the Palestinian targum tradition introduces into the crouching sin the concept of the ‘evil inclination’ or the tendency to do wrong over which Cain (like all people) has control so that he is after all responsible for whether he chooses to do right or sin.39 Similarly, at Gen 4.13 the Biblical tradition has Cain affirm that his sin is too great to bear, while the Palestinian targumic tradition picks up the second possible meaning of ‘to bear’ sin, i.e. to forgive it, and adds that God however does have the power to forgive: ‘My guilt is too great to bear, but Thou art able to loose and forgive.’ Finally, in God’s accusation ‘the voice of the blood(s) of your brother is crying out to me from the earth’ (v. 10), the use of the plural, in actual fact common with reference to slain blood, gains a greater significance: the voice is the voice of the blood of the righteous who were to rise from Abel. Cain is responsible not only for the death of Abel but also for that of his posterity who would have been righteous.40 Before returning to 1 John we may follow this line of righteous posterity in a new direction. Seth, born to Eve after the banishment of Cain (Gen 4.25), is, unlike either Cain or Abel, explicitly said by Gen 5.3 to be in the image and likeness of Adam as Adam was of God. While modern scholarship refers to the different literary traditions (P after J), the ancient commentators saw a richer meaning. Moreover, in the Biblical account Eve greets Seth’s birth with the words ‘God has appointed for me another child (lit. ‘seed’) instead of Abel, for Cain slew him’ (4.25); here the word seed in both the Hebrew (‫ )זרﬠ‬and the LXX (σπέρμα) could carry a plural sense of ‘offspring’. This enabled Seth in later Jewish and in gnostic tradition

See A. Chester, Divine Revelation and Divine Titles in the Pentateuchal Targumim (Tübingen: Mohr, 1986) 365; for the different problems reflected by the Targumic traditions, J. Bassler, ‘Cain and Abel in the Palestinian Targums’, JSJ 17 (1986) 56–64. 36 See also the same Targum on Gen 5.3: Eve had born Cain who was not from him (i.e. Adam); also Pirke R. Eliezer, ‘Sammael riding on the serpent came to her and she conceived’; so Cain was not of Adam’s seed (21; 22). 37 There is of course a problem of dating these traditions, especially as this one only appears in Targum PsJonathan. They may, however, lie behind 2 Cor 11.2–3 and 4 Macc 18.9; cf. A. Goldberg, ‘Kain: Sohn des Menschen oder Sohn der Schlange?’, Judaica 25 (1969) 203–21. 38 See further G.  Vermes, ‘The Targumic Versions of Genesis 4:3–16’, Post Biblical Jewish Studies (Leiden:  Brill, 1975) 92–126. 39 Sifre Deut 45 makes similar use of Gen 4.7 with reference both to forgiveness and to control over the ‘evil inclination’. 40 The interpretation is missing from Ps.Jon. Onkelos does not say ‘righteous’ but speaks of the ‘seed’. This interpretation is reflected already in m.Sanh. 4.5. 35

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to become both a ‘type’ and the progenitor of a line, as too did Cain. For Philo Seth is ‘a seed of human virtue’ from whom is traced a line including Noah the ‘righteous’, Shem, Abraham and Moses (De Post 172–4). Yet Eve’s words in Gen 4.25 also invite comparison with – and may consciously echo41 – God’s judgement on the serpent in Gen 3.15: ‘I will appoint enmity between you and the woman, and between your seed and her seed.’ The text itself then ‘invited’ a continuing contrast and hostility between the seed of Cain or of the devil, and the seed stemming from God’s creation of Adam which continues through Seth. Later Jewish and gnostic sources adopt this contrast,42 and, where the conflict predicted in Gen 3.15 was understood in a ‘messianic sense’, Seth acquired yet higher status as the bearer of the Messianic seed, even founding his own race of the elect in some Gnostic traditions.43 While this is not to suggest that 1 John is an early witness to Sethian gnosticism, the letter does already betray a familiarity with some of these traditions. Cain’s murder of his brother ‘because his deeds were evil and those of his brother righteous’ (3.12) uses the same adjectives (πονηρός, δίκαιος) as do Josephus and Philo, while the emphasis on deeds may echo the Targumic tradition of the brothers’ dispute over the relevance of deeds in God’s governance of the world.44 Yet the presence of Cain extends beyond 1 John 3.1 2 to cast its shadow over both language and thought of the whole chapter. This is a chapter which is, at least in the first half, markedly dualistic; it moves from the initial assurance ‘that we are children of God’ (v. 1) to an absolute contrast (found in this chapter alone) between those who are the children of God and those who are the children of the devil: ‘In this way are manifested the children of God and the children of the devil. Everyone who does not do righteousness is not of God, and the one who does not love his brother’ (10).45 It is a division defined by doing righteousness or being righteous (7),46 but also by being ready to or failing to love one’s brother. Cain was of course the prime example of the latter and on that basis 1 John can go on to say (v. 15), ‘Everyone who hates his brother is a murderer.’47 This may not be so very different from 1 Clement 4 where the story of Cain and Abel leads to the conclusion ‘So you see, brethren, that jealousy and envy bring about fratricide’ (1 Clem 4.1–7),48 but 1 John goes beyond that tradition in labelling such J. Skinner, Genesis (ICC; Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1910) 126 argues a cross-reference is intentional. Cf. already Josephus Ant 1.2.2–3 (§65–9); Pirke R. Eliezer 21–2. 43 See A. F. J. Klijn, Seth in Jewish, Christian and Gnostic Literature (Leiden: Brill, 1977); S. O. Fraade, Enosh and His Generation (SBLMS 30. Chico: Scholars, 1984); B. Pearson, ‘The Figure of Seth in Gnostic Literature’, The Rediscovery of Gnosticism (ed. B. Layton; SHR 41; Leiden: Brill, 1980–1) 2.472–504. 44 However it goes too far to say 1 John is particularly close to the Targumic tradition here as does M. McNamara, New Testament and Palestinian Targum, 159. 45 Elsewhere the opposite of ‘being of God’ is ‘not being of God’ or ‘being of the world’ rather than ‘being of the devil’ (v. 8). Yet the Cain exegesis is unlikely to have created the language of ‘children of God’ which 1 John does use elsewhere. Perhaps it was this language and the image of being begotten of God already present in Johannine tradition which have attracted the exegesis, for Gen 4 starts with Eve’s response to the birth of Cain, ‘With the help of the Lord I have acquired a man’ – the verse which provoked all the speculation about his parentage and encouraged some later gnostics to claim that Cain stemmed from ‘a higher power’. 46 This means that the NT tradition of Abel as righteous, also found in Heb 11.4; Matt 23.35, is an original part of the Abel tradition and not borrowed from Isa 53. In this section the righteousness of Abel is anticipated in v. 7 by the description of Jesus as ‘righteous’ and as a model for those who like Abel do righteousness. 47 The word ‘murderer’ is an NT hapax coming only in 1 John and the related John 8, but Philo too calls Cain an ἀδελφοκτόνος – brother murderer (De Cherub 15). 48 See K. Beyschlag, Clemens Romanus und der Frühkatholizismus (Tübingen: Mohr, 1966) 48–52; also TBenj 7.5 which uses the story as an example of envy and of hatred of brother. The story of the two brothers may here in 1 John prompt the author to address his readers as ‘brethren’ (3.13) and not as children as he does elsewhere. For the moment in this verse the Cain/Abel pattern speaks not of relations within the community but of the righteous Abel-community faced 41 42

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behaviour as a mark of a diabolic origin. The dualist pattern means that to say Cain was of the evil one is not merely metaphor or rhetoric, indicating only that his deeds were thoroughly evil; in the words of the EvPhil, he was the child of the serpent, and, for 1 John, those who follow him are children of the devil. The theological problems such a reading could generate are obvious, although 1 John talks only of those who are born of God and never of some as born of the devil nor of their nature or being separately from their behaviour. The startling, almost gnostic, affirmation (9), ‘Everyone who has been born of God does not commit sin, because his seed remains in him, and is not able to sin because of having been born of God’ has provoked a wealth of different interpretations. Yet within the tradition just explored it is clear that the ‘seed’ refers not (as usually suggested) to the word of God, or even to the Holy Spirit which protects the believer from sin; instead it recalls the theme within the Genesis narratives just explored of the seed of the woman and the ‘other seed’ which Eve acknowledges in the birth of Seth. This means that for 1 John the believer, like Seth, either carries the ‘seed’ of God’s promise or is the ‘seed’, in contrast to those who like Cain are the children of the devil.49 In another context this could become the ‘gnostic’ picture of different categories of people whose spiritual future is determined by their spiritual origins. It is only in the setting of the letter that it becomes instead a source of assurance for a community shaken by schism and a source of exhortation to live out ‘in deed and truth’ the divine begetting that is theirs. However, rather than pursuing this further we may turn to the Fourth Gospel where the same tradition has left its mark in a very different way. ‘Mark’ recalls R. Mellinkof, The Mark of Cain,50 which traces through subsequent history the effect of the application of the Cain narrative to the Jews. In John 8.44 Jesus says to the Jews, ‘You are of the father the devil and you want to do the desires of your father. He was a murderer from the beginning and did not stand in the truth, because there is no truth in him. When he speaks falsehood he speaks out of his own, because he is a liar and its father (? as is his father).’ The Greek behind ‘You are of the father the devil’ is clumsy, implying some confusion or modification of the t ext. Probably correctly, patristic sources soon saw a reference to Cain who was the archetypal (‘from the beginning’) murderer – ἀνθρωποκτόνος, only here and 1 John 3.15 in the NT – who could claim the devil as father. The same tradition may lie behind the Jews’ claim in v. 41 ‘We were not born of adultery, we have one father, God.’ The charge that they do the ‘desires’ (ἐπιθυμίαι) of their father (8.44) perhaps echoes the ‘evil inclination’ which Cain is to control in the Targumic interpretation of Gen 4.7.51 Indeed if ‘desire’ is a further element of the exegesis of the Cain narrative, it has also left another trace in 1 John 2.16: ‘for everything which is in the world, the desire of the flesh, the desire of the eyes and the pride of life are not of the father’. The parallel with John points to a new question. Here we have not simply a different exegesis and application of a single text, but a fundamentally different orientation – in 1 John against the failure to love and rather more in encouragement of the community as those who are ‘of God’, in John against the Jews.

by the murderous Cain-hatred of the world. This is not the main concern of the chapter but it may be a more original application of the exegesis. 49 Only P. Perkins, The Johannine Epistles (Dublin: Veritas, 1980) 45 comes close to recognising this. 50 Berkeley: University of California, 1981. 51 On ἐπιθυμία as reflecting the Jewish yetzer hara ͑ ̸evil inclination see ThDNT III 170.

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3.  Darkness, Blindness and Stumbling: 1 John 2.11 The one who hates his brother is in the darkness and walks in the darkness and does not know where he goes, because the darkness blinded his eyes. Blindness is a natural metaphor for the failure to see what should be seen; it is also a well developed Biblical one.52 The most obvious Biblical text is Isa 6.9–10 where Isaiah is told ‘to make the heart of this people fat, their ears heavy and their eyes shut, lest they see with their eyes, and hear with their ears, and understand with their heart, and turn and be healed’. Not surprisingly the text caused problems for later readers  – the LXX avoids the divine command to futility by rendering ‘the heart of this people is fattened/dulled’ and ends not with intransigence but with the hope, ‘and I shall heal them’, an interpretation followed by Matthew and Luke in quoting this verse (Matt 13.14–15; Luke 28.26–7). Yet difficult texts are often the most fruitful ones, providing inspiration for later writers to interpret new situations, to use the text to understand the present, or to re-present the text to offer alternative possibilities for the future. Thus Isaiah’s language provoked a continuing tradition of reapplication even outside the Isaianic tradition (e.g. Jer 5.21; Deut 29.4).53 Yet it was within the school of Isaiah itself that the richest exploration and reworking of the tradition took place: ‘Stupefy yourselves and be in a stupor, blind yourselves and be blind! . . . For the Lord has poured out upon you a spirit of deep sleep, and has closed your eyes, the prophets’ (Isa 29.10); even in exile in Babylon, ‘Who is as blind as my servant, or as deaf as my messenger whom I send? . . . He sees many things, but does not observe them; his ears are open but he does not hear’ (Isa 42.19–20); ‘Bring forth the people who are blind, but have eyes, deaf, yet have ears!’ (43.8).54 Yet the prophet proclaims that there can also be hope for blind eyes and deaf ears, hope that God will reverse the judgement spoken through the prophet: ‘I have given you as a covenant to the people, as a light to the nations, to open the eyes that are blind’ (42.6–7) or ‘In that day the deaf shall hear the words of a book, and out of their gloom and darkness the eyes of the blind shall see’ (Isa 29.18). The language may be either metaphorical, as here, or literal as in 35.5 which plays such an important role in the NT: ‘Then shall the eyes of the blind be opened, and the ears of the deaf unstopped; then shall the lame man leap like a hart, and the tongue of the dumb sing for joy.’ Two uses of the tradition demand particular note for comparison with 1 John: first, still from within the Isaiah tradition, the people who have been promised redemption, sight and hearing, and who feel themselves cheated of that hope because their sins are ever before them, lament ‘We look for light, and behold darkness, and for brightness, but we walk in gloom. We grope for the wall like the blind, we grope like those who have no eyes; we stumble at noon as in the twilight’ (59.9–1 0). Secondly, as I have argued elsewhere, the Dead Sea Scrolls show how these words could be re-used to speak not of the past but to the present: ‘To the spirit of

For the tradition of interpretation of the Isaiah text see C.  A. Evans, To See and Not Perceive:  Isaiah 6.9–10 in Early Jewish and Christian Interpretation (JSOT.S 64; Sheffield: JSNT, 1989). On what follows see further J. M. Lieu, ‘Blindness in the Johannine Tradition’, NTS 34 (1988) 83–95. 53 See W. Zimmerli, Ezekiel 1 (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1979) 269–70. 54 On the tradition in Isaiah, see R. E. Clements, Isaiah 1–3 9 (London: Marshall, Morgan & Scott, 1980) 260. 52

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injustice belong greed – a blaspheming tongue, blind eyes, a deaf ear, a stiff neck, a stubborn heart causing man to walk in all the ways of darkness’ (1QS 4.11).55 Against this background 1 John’s dependence on the tradition becomes clear. In 2.11 the final assertion ‘the darkness has blinded his eyes’ offers the clearest allusion to Isa 6.10.56 Yet here it is neither God who has blinded their eyes (as in the Hebrew text), nor an unexplained process as in the LXX, but the darkness – perhaps a superficially easier answer but one that raises its own problems, for what is darkness and whence is its source? This is not so far from Cor 4.4 where the Gospel is veiled for those who are perishing, ‘among whom the God of this age has blinded the minds of the unbelieving’ – possibly another echo of the Isaiah tradition;57 that such dualism is not foreign to Jewish thought can be seen from TJudah 18.6: ‘For being a slave of two passions contrary to the commandments of God he cannot obey God because they have blinded his soul and he walks in the day as in the night’ (cf. 19.4, ‘the prince of deceit has blinded me’).58 It is in the Fourth Gospel that the source of the formula in the Isaiah tradition becomes clear; there the dramatic healing of a man blind from birth is made not only a miracle but a sign of belief and unbelief, judgement and salvation: ‘For judgement I came into the world, that those who do not see may see, and that those who see may become blind’ (John 9.31). These words echo those of Isa 6.9; the quotation is finished in ­chapter 12 as Jesus turns from his public ministry to his disciples and his passion. He has been almost without exception met with unbelief, for ‘they could not believe, as Isaiah again says, “he has blinded their eyes, and hardened their heart, lest they see with their eyes and understand with their heart, and turn, and I shall heal them” ’ (12.40 quoting Isa 6.10). John is not afraid of the apparent determinism that he, God or Jesus, has blinded their eyes, which 1 John avoids by the ascription of responsibility to darkness: the darkness has blinded their eyes. But the common form and particularly the word used to translate ‘blind’, which is not that of the LXX and other quotations of the passage, betray that both Gospel and Epistle reflect the exegesis of the same verse of Isaiah. Yet the developing tradition of Isa 6.10 has a wider influence on 1 John; the lament of Isa 59.9–10 quoted above is of those who, like the one who does not love a brother in 1 John 2.9–10, walk in the gloom or darkness,59 and who stumble as they go.60 More curiously, they grope like those who have no eyes; the verb ‘to grope’ (‫ )גשׁשׁ‬is found only here in the MT, and in the LXX is translated by ψηλαφάω. This of course is the startling verb in the prologue of 1 John: ‘That which was from the beginning, which we have heard, which we have seen with our eyes, which we have looked at and our hands have touched’ – not the light touch of a stroke but

‘Stiffness of neck’ comes from Exod 32.9 etc.; for ‘heaviness of heart’ 1QS uses the language of the J tradition regarding Pharaoh’s obstinacy (Exod 7.14; 8.11, 28; 9.7, 34; 10.l; also in 1 Sam 6.6 where Israel is compared to Pharaoh). This is probably because of the unusualness of the metaphor in Isa 6, ‘fatness’. 56 See Lieu, ‘Blindness’, 90–2; the Greek verb τυφλόω is not used in the LXX of Isa 6.10 but John 12.40 demonstrates its use within the Johannine school. 57 Evans, To See, 83–4. 58 Lieu, ‘Blindness’, 87–8. 59 Heb. ’apheloth translated here in the LXX by ἀωρία but by σκοτός at 58.10; the more common word for darkness, hoshek, is used in the first part of the verse. 60 Heb. kshl, here translated by πίπτω but elsewhere by the σκάνδαλον root. The image of walking in darkness is of course a common one in the OT (e.g. Job 29.3; Isa 9.2 and the prohibition against putting a block in the way of the blind in Lev 19.14). 55

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the groping, feeling with the hands.61 Yet here it is not the blind who touch but those who do see with their eyes, and who go on to declare – ‘and the life was manifested and we have seen and bear witness and proclaim to you’. Here too it is the Isaiah tradition which is at work: ‘Having eyes they are as blind (τυφλοί), having ears deaf. Let all the nations collect together and their rulers assemble. Who will proclaim (ἀναγγελεῖ) these things? Who will proclaim to you that which was from the beginning (τὰ ἐξ ἀρχῆς)? Let them bring out their witnesses (μάρτυρας) . . . You are my witnesses . . . in order that you may know and believe (γνῶτε καὶ πιστευσῆτε) and understand that I am’ (Isa 43.8–10).62 This final goal is of course the goal of both the Johannine letter (5.13) and Gospel (20.31) although differently expressed and interpreted. This brings us back to what was from the beginning, and suggests a way forward to drawing together the threads and finding the patterns in the tapestry which makes up 1 John. To say that the OT has played no part in the weave of that tapestry is clearly wrong. Once we are content to look not just for quotations but for allusions and for the reworking of Scriptural interpretation and study we begin to see their recurring presence within the pattern. This is not just the Jewishness of an early tradition which in reality has been left long behind and serves only as a rallying point which may unite a community grown apart. Scripture, or rather a tradition of interpreting Scripture, is part of the thought world which constructs the letter. Since these patterns of interpretation have frequent parallels in contemporary Jewish exegesis there can be no tension between the letter’s Jewishness and its use of Scripture: the latter is part of the former. Yet there is little sense that the letter is soaked in Scripture in the way that the Dead Sea Scrolls are or that its use of Scripture betrays an acknowledgement of authority. By contrast, the Pastorals, which also contain far more allusions than quotations and whose use of Scripture also seems to be pre-digested,63 do seem to know what they are doing and explicitly acknowledge the value of Scripture (2 Tim 3.16). This is hardly true of 1 John which is not interested in fulfilment, replacement or inheritance, except the inheritance of what they have heard ‘from the beginning – and this bears no certain relation either to the Old Testament or necessarily to the Fourth Gospel in its final written form. The use of Scripture does not belong to the rhetoric of the letter – to its conscious literary construction. It is an open question whether the author assumes readers will note the Scriptural allusions and whether the argument would be less effective if they failed to do so. Although in the Targums Cain and Abel dispute over theodicy it is unlikely that the author intends any connection with the epistle’s opponents and their views. What is true of its use of Scripture is true more generally of the ‘Jewishness’ of 1 John – it is not evocative or ‘identity-creating’ in the way of 1QS or 1QH despite all the parallels drawn. In the end this problem remains partly unsolved; much of the Jewish exegesis cited in relation to Cain has its closest parallels not in Christian but in gnostic sources where there is a similar problem about ‘Jewishness’ – it is not that 1 John is gnostic so much as that it is not always clear what ‘Jewishness’ means and by whom or where it would be recognised. This relationship with contemporary Jewish exegesis is of course something 1 John shares with the Fourth Gospel, although the latter’s use of Scripture is much richer and deeper.

The LXX uses it for a different Hebrew root to describe the blind Isaac’s groping to feel Jacob who for the sake of a blessing has become suddenly hairy. 62 John 15.27 is another ‘exegesis’ of this passage. 63 See A. T. Hanson, The Pastoral Epistles (London & Grand Rapids: MMS/Eerdmans, 1982) 139–41. 61

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Inevitably this raises the question of the relationship with the Fourth Gospel for 1 John’s ‘failure’ to use the OT is so often contrasted with its ‘master’. All three of the examples explored above interpret passages of the OT also used in the Gospel. Indeed it is unlikely that we would recognise the use of Isa 6.10 in 1 John 2.11 were it not for the full quotation in John 12. This common resource points to the activity of the Johannine school about which so much has been written. That histories of that school can be written may be doubted, but that the study, exegesis and interpretation of Scripture played a central part in their life is certain. In different ways the depth at which Scripture lies within the text points to the intensity and richness of the study of Scripture in the light of present experience. Yet in each case the exegesis is developed differently. For the Gospel Exod 34.6 provides the background of the revelation of the glory of God in Jesus ‘full of grace and truth’; in focussing on this Scripture for the question of divine revelation the Johannine prologue joins other writings (including Sirach) and also includes other elements such as Wisdom traditions of which there is no trace in the Epistle. For 1 John the Scripture points to the nature of God and God’s readiness to forgive, while the reference is mediated through other passages and perhaps also through liturgical usage reflecting on that theme. As for Isa 6.10, the Gospel uses the passage as it considers the unbelief with which Jesus was met and links that reflection with the miracle of healing the blind man in ­chapter 9. We may see how the Scripture has been used to reflect both on Jewish hostility but also on the mystery of unbelief itself wherever it is encountered. In 1 John there are closer links with ‘hellenistic’ Judaism and a dualistic framework which points to external forces as the agent of blinding, perhaps prompted by the greater mystery of division within the company of those who believe, and by the need to encourage those left that they do indeed see. The most complex pattern of relationship comes with regard to the Cain text. In John 8.41–7 it is ostensibly the Jews who are the object of attack, and scholars debate whether some alleviation of the theological problem of NT antisemitism is found if we explain this as a consequence not of the hostility between Jesus and his contemporaries but of that between the Johannine community and the local synagogue which persecuted them, or even, in the light of the reference earlier in the chapter to the Jews who had put their faith in Jesus (8.31), Jewish Christians who would not openly confess Jesus as Son of God and so cut themselves off from their compatriots. 1 John’s attention is again directed more to the dilemmas of the life of the community and so has avoided censure for the long inheritance of the Gospel’s words. All this means that the Gospel and First Epistle are both heirs to the interpretation of certain passages of Scripture; we see behind them the struggle between interpretation and present experience – interpretation shaping the understanding of experience, experience seeking for new possibilities of interpretation. That may not be so bad a way of seeing the whole of the NT’s relation with Scripture, or indeed the continuing task of relating Scripture to Scripture and to experience.

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Judith M. Lieu

The Early Church Background Whatever the differences between 2 and 3 John, besides their epistolary form and certain idioms they share both their indebtedness to the Johannine tradition and also the assumption of Christian preachers journeying from community to community and provoking the question of the appropriate response. We meet here an important phenomenon in the development of the early church and one which is widely documented and which has received much attention in recent years. There has been a tendency to dub this wandering ministry ‘charismatic’, setting it in contrast to the institutional local ministry, but even if we recognise this as misleading, owing as much to modern debates about the structure of the church as to the evidence of the sources themselves, it remains true that this is an area of considerable historical importance for the life of the early church.1 The New Testament and early Christian literature reflects the very high degree of mobility among Christians whether in service of the Gospel or for more secular or commercial reasons. No doubt the consequent exchange of ideas and traditions was important both in encouraging a sense of unity and in creating unity through common participation in a growing collection of traditions of diverse origin. Thus we may think of the travelling both by members of the various communities and by his opponents implied by Paul’s letters, of Ignatius’s enforced route through the churches of Asia Minor and Greece and of the ambassadors sent to greet him or those whose mission to the church at Antioch is of such importance to him.2 The inns of the day were unreliable and those who could would rely on a network of acquaintances and patronage for hospitality; eschewing the Cynic practice of begging, the Christians established their own network and hospitality became a fundamental Christian virtue.3 Amidst this more general movement we find, as in the first or second century Didache, travelling ‘apostles’, prophets or teachers who particularly merit hospitality. There such a prophet is to be received ‘as the Lord’ (Didache 11.4), language which recalls the Gospel injunctions of Jesus that in receiving others Jesus himself is received (Jn 13.20; Lk 10.16; Mk.9.37f.); indeed Matthew’s promise that he who receives a prophet will receive a prophet’s Among earlier studies that of A.  v. Harnack, Lehre der zwölf Apostel, TU 2.1, 2, Leipzig 1886, stands out; among recent work that of G. Theissen (see below nn. 6, 10, 18) has been very influential. For the ideological motives behind Harnack’s approach see A. Zimmermann, Die urchristlichen Lehrer, Tübingen 1984, 36ff. 2 1 Cor 1.11; Phil 2.25; 4.18; Col 4.12; Rom 16.1 etc.; Ignatius, Eph 1.3; 21.1; Trail 12.1; Philad 10–11. Acts also takes for granted lengthy travels by Paul and others. 3 R. Hock, The Social Context of Paul’s Ministry, Philadelphia 1980, 27–31 who emphasises the wide social cross-section involved in such travelling and hospitality against the view that it was the prerogative of the rich, propounded by E. Judge, The Conversion of Rome, Sydney 1980, 7. On begging see Epictetus, Discourses III.22.10 (ed. W. Oldfather, London and Cambridge, Mass. 1966, 132–4). On hospitality see Heb 13.2; 1 Pet 4.9; Hermas, Mand VIII.10; Sim IX.27.2. 1

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reward (Mt 10.40–42), peculiar to this Gospel, may reflect a similar situation in his church to the Didache’s travelling prophets.4 The Didache implies that such visitors would not merely be welcomed but would be treated with honour, exercising considerable influence and probably providing a significant form of leadership within the community – ‘for they are your high-priests’.5 No doubt this influence would have been the consequence both of their charismatic gifts and also of the importance of the teaching they brought for the growth of the community (Didache 11.2,7). More recent study has related the early Christian tradition of ascetism to these ‘wandering charismatics’ as those who would have obeyed and preserved the more radical demands of the Gospel, homelessness and the loss of family, possessions and protection (Mt 5.38f.; 6.25–32; 8.2off.; 10.23; Mk 10.29); on this basis too they would have commanded the respect of the settled communities who supported them.6 The identity of these figures has been much discussed. In analysing the Didache, A.  v. Harnack related its ‘apostles, prophets and teachers’ to a wider body of references to these and similar configurations of gifts or offices and argued that they constituted a class who held the highest position in the early church; they exercised their ministry in the church as a whole as opposed to those officials appointed by the local church and, by wandering from place to place, were a source of the unity of the early church. Their ‘appointment’ was by God (Eph 4.11) through spiritual or teaching gifts and with them are to be associated the Catholic Epistles. However, as we shall see in 3 John, the future lay with the organisation of the local church.7 Harnack’s thesis has enjoyed very great popularity so that the model of early Christianity as including both the local church with its own theological and authority structures and itinerant prophets or teachers with their own theology and lifestyle, exercising a non-institutional authority within the whole church, is widely accepted and reproduced in a number of forms.8 So too is the assumption of a conflict between the two forms of authority, for which limited support is given by Didache 15.2 where the church is enjoined to appoint bishops and deacons and ‘not to despise them for they are your honoured men together with the prophets and teachers’. In fact much of the evidence Harnack used for the importance of this class within the whole church fails to establish his point; most notably 1 Cor 12.28 shows that prophets, teachers and bearers of other charismatic gifts were to be found in the local community and that a simple identification of asceticism, charismatic gifts and itinerancy is unwarranted.9 The Didache remains the most specific evidence for these figures and while undoubtedly there were wandering prophets in the life of the early church, comprehensive theories of their role See E. Schweizer, ‘Law Observance and Charisma in Matthew’, NTS 16 (1969–70) 213–30; idem, ‘The Matthaean Church’, NTS 20 (1974) 215; idem, The Good News according to Matthew, London 1976, 176f. However, it may be debated whether the Matthaean prophets are itinerant or local, a debate which has also entered the discussion of the Didache; see ed. W. Rordorf and A. Tuilier, La Doctrine des Douze Apôtres (Didachè), SC 248, Paris 1948, 51–63. 5 Didache 13.3. G. Kretschmar, ‘Ein Beitrag zur Frage nach dem Ursprung frühchristlicher Askese’, ZThK 61 (1964) 27–67, 42 sees this pattern behind Revelation. 6 G. Theissen, The First Followers of Jesus, London 1978, 8–16; Kretschmar, ‘frühchristlicher Askese’. 7 Harnack, Lehre der zwölf Apostel II, 93–107; on the triumph of the local community see idem, dritten Johannesbrief, 27. 8 Kretschmar, ‘frühchristlicher Askese’; idem, ‘Christliches Passa im 2 Jahrhundert’, RSR 60 (1972) 287–323; A. Kragerud, Der Lieblingsjünger, 84–93; Bornkamm, ‘πρέσβυς’, 671, 676–7. 9 See H. Greeven, ‘Propheten, Lehrer, Vorsteher bei Paulus’, ZNW 44 (1952–3) 1–43; J. Reiling, Hermas and Christian Prophecy, NT.S 37, Leiden 1973, 7–11; Zimmermann, urchristlichen Lehrer, 50f. 4

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are hazardous. So too it is difficult to move from the Sitz im Leben of the radical sayings of the Synoptics to identifying a continuation of the tradition elsewhere.10 Undoubtedly there was a wide variety of practice; the brethren of 3 John are missionaries, a subject not mentioned in the Didache, while Paul himself combined the functions of teaching within the community and of missionary work, claiming a personal and controversial authority. Ignatius occupied the local church office of bishop and yet assumed the right to give advice and to be heard in other churches, as no doubt did the delegates sent to Antioch.11 Although there are further references to wandering ‘prophets’ commanding respect and honour  – particularly in sources associated with Palestinian or Syrian Christianity12  – it is notable that much of that evidence is negative, warning against the inevitable misuse provoked by the support and respect given to these itinerants. Lucian’s story of Proteus Peregrinus in the second century is a tale of a charlatan quickly perceiving the benefits of such a lifestyle and achieving a position of leadership among the Christians, whose support of him and whose gullibility Lucian readily satirises.13 It is hardly surprising that Christian sources do not expand on comparable examples, although Origin’s contra Celsum hints at some such problems.14 We cannot therefore know how accurate Lucian’s account might be,15 but when the Didache states that a true prophet will not request money, overstay his welcome, or refuse to work (11.3–5; 12.2–5), the implication is that there were spongers around. A more serious problem was the inevitable result of the interchange of traditions and interpretations of the Christian message which this mobility fostered, namely the problems of conflicting interpretations and of teaching found to be unacceptable. Paul himself had to deal with visitors to the churches he founded propounding different views, and he pronounces an anathema against anyone who preaches an alien Gospel (Gal 1.9). The commendation of the church of Ephesus for its detection and rejection of false apostles (Rev 2.2) reflects a similar problem, while Ignatius warns explicitly against those bringing evil doctrine (Eph 7.1; Smyrn 4.1; 7.2) and implies that such had visited the church at Ephesus but had not won a hearing (Eph 9.1).16 Inevitably this raised the question of legitimation and necessitated the testing of itinerant preachers. Although letters of recommendation were used by some Christians when travelling (Rom 16.If.), they may not have always seemed appropriate or adequate for those who claimed a God-given authority to teach and they are not mentioned in the Didache. One form of selflegitimation which was to prove unreliable was the possession of charismatic gifts such as is claimed by Paul’s opponents in 2 Cor 12.12 and still commands respect in the Didache, ‘Do

As does G. Theissen, ‘ “Wir haben alles verlassen” (Mc.X.28). Nachfolge und Soziale Entwurzelung in der jüdischpalästinischen Gesellschaft des 1 Jahrhunderts n. Chr.’, NT 19 (1977) 161–96. 11 K. Lake, ‘Der Strijd tusschen het oudste Christendom en de Bedriegers’, Th T 42 (1908) 395–411 distinguishes between apostles as missionaries to non-believers and prophets as acting within the church, but the evidence is not as precise as this. 12 See Kretschmar, ‘frühchristlicher Askese’; Theissen, ‘ “Wir haben alles verlassen” ’; G. Stanton, ‘5 Ezra and Matthaean Christianity in the Second Century’, J ThS NS 28 (1977) 67–83; Rordorf and Tuilier, Didachè, 62–3. 13 Lucian, Peregrinus 11–13 (ed. A. Harmon, London and Cambridge, Mass. 1936, 12–14). 14 Origen, C. Celsum III.9; VII.9–11 (SC 136, 30; 150, 34–40). 15 G. Bagnani, ‘Peregrinus Proteus and the Christians’, Historia 4 (1955) 107–12 fully accepts the historicity of Peregrinus and dates his Christian period to AD 120–40; this perhaps is overconfident; see H. D. Betz, ‘Lucian von Samosata und das Christentum’, NT 3 (1959) 226–37. 16 See Lake, ‘Der Strijd’. The anathema of Gal 1.9 is more likely to be spiritual condemnation than ecclesiastical censure. 10

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not test or examine any prophet who is speaking in a spirit.’17 More enduring were tests of behaviour or doctrine. The passage just quoted continues, ‘But not everyone who speaks in a spirit is a prophet, unless he has the behaviour of the Lord. . . . Every prophet who teaches the truth, if he does not do what he teaches, is a false prophet’, and prolonged stays or the request for money are also seen as evidence of a false prophet (11.8–10, cf.11.5–6). It is easy to imagine that here, as in Paul’s reaction to his opponents, different forms of legitimation could come into conflict.18 The doctrinal test is also given in the Didache in words we have already cited in relation to 2 Jn 10–11, that one who comes and teaches the things already mentioned is to be received, but the purveyor of an alien and destructive doctrine is to be ignored (Didache 11.1–2). Correct teaching would, as here, be defined by the church imposing the test and in the absence of fixed creeds to which to appeal there must have been an ongoing need to express the norm and considerable variation in the definitions received.19 Christianity in Asia Minor in particular must have taken a number of forms if the Pauline Epistles, Revelation, the Johannine literature and Ignatius are all witnesses to the area, both in what they teach and in what they oppose. A simple and clear division between orthodoxy and heresy would be anachronistic; there was a wide range of interpretations and a number of what in retrospect might be called fringe or heterodox groups. The process of definition and drawing boundaries did not take place overnight or without dispute.20 The need to test visitors put the onus on the local community, and would focus on the offer or denial of hospitality which would betoken either approval and support or rejection. Like hospitality, the testing of visitors is the responsibility of the whole community (Rev 2.2; Ignatius, Eph 9.1f.; Didache 11), an extension of it being the task of the whole community to exercise discipline over its members (2 Thess 3.6,11; 1 Cor 5.1). In the Pastoral Epistles we find the not unexpected development which makes hospitality the particular duty of bishops and widows (1 Tim 3.2; 5.10) and dealing with false teachers the prerogative of the bishop or leader of the community (Tit 1.9,13). Presumably, however, it would have been the heads of households who would have been in a particular position to offer hospitality and this would have given them considerable influence whether or not they held recognised positions of leadership in the community. The role of households within the life and development of the early church was undoubtedly of central importance although much can only be inferred by implication from the sources.21 The letters of Paul and of Ignatius imply the possibility of addressing, and therefore presumably

Didache 11.7. Testing of spirits or of false prophets is also implied, in a different context, by Mt 7.19; 1 Thess 5.21; cf. Hermas, Mand XI. 18 See G. Theissen, ‘Legitimation and Subsistence: An Essay on the Sociology of Early Christian Missionaries’, in The Social Setting of Pauline Christianity, Edinburgh 1982, 27–67 who distinguishes between the charismatic legitimation claimed by the itinerants of Palestinian origin and the functional legitimation claimed by Paul as organiser of a community; while Theissen’s reconstruction rests on a particular understanding of the role of conflict, it seems clear that in Corinth different criteria for legitimation did come into conflict. 19 Thus both 2 Jn 10 and Didache 11.1 speak of the teaching already defined; Clem. Recog. IV.34.5–35.5 has a similar, probably anti-Pauline, injunction in terms of James’s teaching. 20 If we were to set the Johannine literature in Syria, the same diversity would be found; on the slow process of drawing boundaries see Ehrhardt, ‘Christianity before the Apostles’ Creed’, 103–8. 21 See F. V. Filson, ‘The Significance of the Early House Churches’, JBL 58 (1939) 105–12; Stuhlmacher, Philemon, 70–75 with brief bibliography. 17

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the meeting of, all Christians in any one place – in Romans 16.23 Gaius is described as the host of ‘the whole church’. However, Paul’s missionary strategy was to start with households (1 Cor 1.16; cf.Acts 16.15,34 etc.), and no doubt the same was true of other bearers of the Christian message. Where a whole household had been ‘converted’ they would virtually constitute a community in themselves, while household relationships and loyalties inevitably continued to loom large.22 As such they would have allowed a degree of diversity within the church and could even become a focus for division. One of the points at issue between Paul and the church at Corinth had been whether an Apostle should require financial support (1 Cor 9.18; 2 Cor 11.7f.; 12.13) and this may imply that the ‘apostles’ he opposes had claimed and found such support in some households which would then become the centres of parties within the community.23 The letters of Ignatius imply the existence of fringe groups on the edge of what Ignatius recognised as the church, with some holding eucharists without the bishop, while from Nag Hammadi we know of a gnostic élite continuing within a church whose ecclesiastical structures they rejected; all this would have been made possible and even encouraged by the pattern of meeting in homes.24 Although it would be natural to assume that the leaders in the church would be householders  – and the Pastorals may support such an assumption (1 Tim 3.4)  – this was probably not always the pattern nor would every householder have held a structured role of authority. The tensions to which this could also lead are easy to envisage. It is against this background that warnings against love of prestige and preeminence become significant. This is a recurring theme in a number of contexts, and reflects the fact that the problem of authority in the early church was more than the question of different types of legally instituted leadership. A number of factors may lead to the exercise and recognition of power or influence and often rationalisation or theological interpretation of that power develop subsequent to its use, if they appear at all.25 Already in this discussion we have met the power exercised by the early prophets and teachers based on charismatic gifts, lifestyle, teaching or calling, that of the householder which would reflect his social standing, and that of the leadership defined by appointment or ‘ordination’; we may add that proper to those older in years or in the faith.26 The tensions which might arise between these have already been implied by Didache 15.2. Moreover, problems will arise when the development and acquisition of power are not accompanied by a developing theological understanding of authority. Some would see such a situation behind Mt 23.6–10 with its condemnation of those who desire chief seats or titles of honour, ostensibly the scribes and Pharisees but perhaps with the leadership of

G. Delling, ‘Zur Taufe von “Häusern” im Urchristentum’, NT 7 (1965) 285–311, 305–7; see above n. 21. So Theissen, ‘Legitimation and Subsistence’, 55–6. 24 Note the call to unity in Ignatius’s letters and see C. K. Barrett, ‘Jews and Judaisers in the Epistles of Ignatius’, in Jews, Greeks and Christians, ed. R. Hamerton-Kelly and R. Scroggs, Leiden 1976, 220–44, esp. 234–5; W. Schoedel, ‘Theological Norms and Social Perspectives in Ignatius of Antioch’, in Jewish and Christian Self-Definition, ed. Sanders, I, 30–56; for a comparable situation in the Nag Hammadi literature see Interpretation of Knowledge (N.H. XI.1) and K. Koschorke, Die Polemik der Gnostiker gegen das kirchliche Christentum, Leiden 1978. 25 See B. Holmberg, Paul and Power, Lund 1978. 26 See 1 Clement for tensions over the proper respect due to those of seniority and for hospitality as a ‘weapon’ in this context; for a discussion see H. Chadwick, ‘Justification by Faith and Hospitality’, Studia Patristica IV, TU 79, Berlin 1961, 281–5. 22 23

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Matthew’s own church in mind.27 Among Gnostic sects it appears that hierarchical structures could be associated with the demiurge, to be rejected by those with full spiritual knowledge, so that to be called bishop or deacon is a sign of subjection to the demiurge.28 On the other hand, love of chief place can also be condemned in those who capitalise on the influence given them by their charismatic gifts (Hermas, Mand XI.12).29 The danger of false pride is one which may befall any in authority (Ignatius, Smyrn 6.1, ‘Let not office exalt anyone’; Hermas, Vis III.9.7) and the desire to be a teacher may reflect an unmerited pursuit of prestige (Hermas, Sim IX.22.1–3). While such reserve about positions of authority may often have been justified, it may equally often reflect fundamental tensions in the development of authority structures. It is against this background that we must set both 2 and 3 John. Here too we have the problem of travelling teachers – missionaries in 3 John. In 2 John they are to be tested by the tradition of the community, and those who fail are not to be shown hospitality, ‘received into the house’, whether that be a private home or the meeting place of the church. In 3 John both Gaius and Diotrephes are in a position to offer or refuse hospitality. Diotrephes has refused it and the implications of this are not lost on the Elder – for by what standards have they failed the test? Tensions over power and influence are inescapably present; Diotrephes appears to act with the support of the majority of his congregation and in giving it the name ‘church’ the Elder apparently acknowledges that Diotrephes was more than host to a group of the main church meeting in his home. The Elder too expects to wield influence although on a different, less tangible basis from that of Diotrephes. We are observing a war of words with little appeal to uncontested grounds for authority, and all this fits well into the struggles for power and influence that might arise from the situation we have sketched out and need not reflect conflict between different patterns of recognised ministry. However, in this case these struggles were probably the ultimate outcome of tendencies within the Johannine tradition and can only be understood in the light of the Johannine understanding of authority and of true membership of the community.

The Johannine Background If 2 and 3 John share certain fundamental issues with a wide spectrum of the early church, the nature of their particular response must reflect the theological tendencies of the Johannine tradition from which they stem. The issues which have been highlighted both by our exegesis and by our survey of hospitality and wandering teachers in the early church are those of the structure of the church and authority within it, openness to outsiders, whether other forms of Christianity or ‘the world’, and the definition of the boundaries of the elect community and of what might be taught within it.

See A. Ehrhardt, ‘Christianity before the Apostles’ Creed’, 90, n. 53; R. Brown and J. Meier, Antioch and Rome, London 1983, 70; H. Frankemölle, ‘Amtskritik im Matthaus-Evangelium?’, Bib 54 (1973) 247–62. 28 In Apocalypse of Peter (N.H. VII.3) 79.22f. there is a polemic against those who let themselves be called bishops or deacons; see E. Pagels, ‘ “The Demiurge and His Archons” – A Gnostic View of Bishops and Presbyters?’, HThR 69 (1976) 301–24. 29 Reiling, Hermas, 51 doubts whether ‘πρωτοκαθεδρία’ here refers to an official position of leadership. For selfrecommendation by false prophets see Origen, C. Celsum VII.9 (see n. 14). 27

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(a) Church and Authority The Johannine understanding of the church is a topic which has provoked much study with little final consensus, for the Gospel is notoriously susceptible to diametrically opposed interpretations and there has been found in it both a strong ecclesiastical structure and yet also a ‘free spirituality’ with a ‘horror of all hierarchical organisation’.30 In part this is because, in the words of R. Schnackenburg, ‘the Church did not constitute the dominant theme of the gospel, even though it was one of its constant perspectives’31 – although it is precisely in the meaning of the word ‘Church’ here that the problem lies. The Gospel and First Epistle lack much of the terminology which from the rest of the New Testament we might see as the technical language of the church, and yet it is obvious that their primary interest and goal are the life and experience of the community for whom they were written; it is the relationship between these two aspects of the Gospel which fires the debate. There is general agreement that Jesus’s disciples play a dual role; they are his original closest followers who were with him during his ministry (14.9; 17.12) and as such have a unique role (15.27). However, the term which is most frequently used is ‘disciple’ (μαθητής), a term which is fluid and can extend from these close companions through to his adherents, some of whom fall away or show limited faith (6.60ff.; cf. 19.38). At its most fundamental level to be truly a disciple is simply to continue in Jesus’s word (8.31). Thus the Farewell Discourses are addressed to his ‘disciples’ (13.5,22; 16.17,29); some of them are specifically named (Simon Peter, Thomas, Philip), and yet, in contrast to the Synoptic Last Supper accounts, the time and place are only loosely defined, and it would appear that what is said is equally addressed to all future believers who are marked as ‘disciples’ by their mutual love in faithfulness to Jesus’s commands and by their ‘bearing fruit’ (13.35; 14.21; 15.8,14). It is easy to believe that these chapters arise from and are understood as words addressed to all ‘who believe’ (17.20), who are ‘disciples’, and who are also commanded to love and promised the spirit (14.16) as well as persecution (16.2).32 In a similar way the role of eyewitness by the original disciples is crucial (15.27; 19.35) and yet it would seem that the Johannine church did continue to use eyewitness language of itself (1.14).33 It is in accord with this that the ‘Twelve’ as we meet them in the Synoptic Gospels play a very muted role in John – they are not listed nor sent out in pairs34 – and inasmuch as continuity with the later church lies in being ‘disciples’ there can be no suggestion that the ‘Twelve’ have a particular or authoritative function to be inherited by a further particular group or ministry within the community. Within this general paradigmatic role of the disciples in John two figures are more clearly portrayed – Simon Peter and the Beloved Disciple, who would seem to be set in contrast to each other. As so often noted, while Peter denies that he is a disciple (18.17,25ff.), it is the

See D. Moody Smith, ‘Johannine Christianity: Some Reflections on its Character and Delineation’, NTS 21 (1975) 222–48. R. Schnackenburg, The Gospel according to St John (New  York 1982) III, 204; the quotations come from Campenhausen, Ecclesiastical Authority, 136. 31 Schnackenburg, Gospel, 217. 32 The sense that the Farewell Discourses are directed to all (Johannine) believers has led many to see behind them ‘sermons’ from the Johannine church; see B. Lindars, The Gospel of John, London 1972, 465–9. 33 See Hoskyns, Fourth Gospel, 86–95 and below, p. 144. 34 The ‘Twelve’ as such are only mentioned in Jn 6.67,70f.; 20.24. 30

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Beloved Disciple who remains by the cross and is entrusted with the care of Mary (19.26f.); it is he whom Peter must request to ascertain from Jesus the identity of the betrayer, for he is lying ‘in the bosom’ of Jesus (13.23) even as Jesus is ‘in the bosom’ of the Father (1.18). It is the Beloved Disciple who outruns Peter to the tomb on Easter morning and believes (20.3–8), and some would argue that it is he who can bring Peter into the courtyard of the High Priest’s residence during Jesus’s trial (18.15f.).35 In John 21 Peter is indeed given pastoral care of the flock and his martyr’s death is foretold (21.15–19), but the Beloved Disciple, who had been the first to recognise the risen Lord (21.7), has a different calling which is not for Peter to question (21.20–22), even if Jesus wills that ‘he remain until I come’. It is with this disciple that there is associated the witness of the Fourth Gospel itself (21.24). The significance of this contrast has been much explored as the key to the Gospel. What here has been spoken of as contrast many have seen as conflict, and if the Beloved Disciple is unlikely to be purely a historical figure but must have some representative role, then so must Peter. The growing, albeit posthumous, importance of Peter towards the end of the first century is well known and so, for some, he must represent the developing ecclesiastical leadership of the church over against which is set a different sort of ministry represented by the Beloved Disciple. For others Peter stands for a group within the church or even the ‘main-line’ church separated from which is the (Johannine) community in the Beloved Disciple.36 However, while the contrast between the two figures is undoubtedly there, we can hardly speak of explicit rivalry or conflict. Against seeing here a conflict of ministries we must note that the Beloved Disciple is no more the recipient of the Spirit or of any other gift or task than are all the disciples, including Peter, and that it is only in the possibly redactional ch. 21 that Peter is recognised as leader;37 against a conflict of church groups, even if the Beloved Disciple does represent Johannine Christianity, he makes no confession of faith which sets him above Peter and the others.38 The Beloved Disciple first appears for certain in the Farewell Discourses (13.23 – ‘one of his disciples . . ., whom Jesus loved’) and while this may have historical grounds it is surely significant that it is in these chapters supremely that we are led to think not only of the first disciples but also of later believers. Supremely what is said about him is that he is the ‘disciple’ whom Jesus ‘loved’; his importance is his relationship with Jesus and this remains true wherever he appears.39 That in some sense he is an ideal of that faith and dependence on Jesus which gives a unity with Jesus and his purposes not even shown by Peter seems inescapable.40 If accurately representing the original intention of the Gospel, 21.24f. also imply that his testimony, the Johannine testimony as enshrined in the Gospel, is as valid, necessary and

This seems unlikely as it is hard to account for the failure to identify him; see also below n. 39. See Kragerud, Der Lieblingsjünger; G.  F. Snyder, ‘John 13:16 and the Anti- Petrinism of the Johannine Tradition’, Biblical Research 16 (1971) 5–15; T. Lorenzen, Der Lieblingsjünger im Johannesevangelium, Stuttgart 1971; Kragerud discusses previous interpretations before presenting his own. R.  Brown, The Community of the Beloved Disciple, New York and London 1979, 82–8. 37 It is a crucial part of Kragerud’s thesis that Jn 21 is integral to the Gospel (Der Lieblingsjünger, 15–19). 38 See F. Mussner, The Historical Jesus in the Gospel of John, Freiberg and London 1967, 56f. Brown, Community, 85 has to interpret Thomas’s confession in 20.28 as that which the author hopes the non-Johannine ‘Apostolic’ Christians will make. 39 Thus it is unlikely that the Beloved Disciple stands behind the anonymous disciples of 1.35–40 or 18.15f. 40 Kragerud, Der Lieblingsjünger, 50 argues that the Beloved Disciple cannot represent an ideal because this would not give Peter a contrasting role and because he shares the ignorance of the other disciples at 13.28 and 20.9; however, these points do not really disqualify the interpretation suggested here. 35 36

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permanent as the pastoral ministry undoubtedly exercised and represented by Peter. Through the Beloved Disciple the Gospel would seem to be making its own claims, giving them at least equal rank to the very different claims that must have been assumed for Peter. The limited role of the Beloved Disciple hardly gives us leave to see behind these claims different church groups in conflict; it may be that we should think of different understandings of faithfulness to Jesus, of what is the test of discipleship and of membership of the church, a question which would involve attitudes to ministry and authority. If this be so then Peter’s pastoral calling is acknowledged but it is given no priority over that supreme calling of being a ‘disciple’. Theories which see the Beloved Disciple as representing a pattern of ministry have frequently joined hands with those which emphasise the role of the Holy Spirit, the Paraclete, in the Fourth Gospel. Here, chiefly in the Farewell Discourses again, the Spirit is given the tasks of convicting the world of sin, righteousness and judgement, of leading the disciples into all truth, of proclaiming the things to come and of reminding them of Jesus’s words (14.26; 15.26; 16.8–11,13), but supremely of being ‘another’ Paraclete, of continuing the work of Jesus within the Church (14.16; 16.14). This, it is argued, points to the importance of the Spirit, and hence of prophecy, in the Johannine church; if the Gospel reflects no interest in the sort of ecclesiastical leadership which might be represented by Peter, then the form of ministry it does defend is surely a prophetic or charismatic ministry.41 In support of this, the exodus of ‘false prophets’ in 1 Jn 4.1f. has been seen as the result of the unrestrained charismatic activity of these prophets, while Revelation, probably in some sense Johannine, points to the importance of the prophetic witness.42 Some have sought more precisely to identify this prophetic ministry, the ministry supposedly more particularly represented by the Beloved Disciple, with that of the wandering prophets and ascetics whom we have already met.43 In this case we should think of the Johannine literature as reflecting the self-awareness of this particular group or pattern of Christian living as opposed to the picture of a narrower, ‘prophetic’ leadership (the Johannine ‘school’) within a wider Johannine ‘community’.44 On the surface this is a very neat theory: Johannine Christianity finds its Sitz im Leben in circles of, or led by, prophets or wandering charismatics; as one such the Elder defends that pattern of ministry against the developing institutionalised leadership of the wider church in 3 John, and a similar battle is fought in John 21.45 Unfortunately the theory does not stand up to closer scrutiny. We have already seen that to see the Beloved Disciple as representing a pattern of ministry in conflict gives too much interpretative priority to ch. 21 and ignores his role in the wider theology of the Gospel. That the Paraclete has the tasks of revelation, teaching and witness cannot without other support justify identifying here the self-consciousness of (itinerant) charismatics; this support is not forthcoming for the Elder of 2 and 3 John makes

So G. Johnston, The Spirit-Paraclete in the Gospel of John, SNTSMS 12, Cambridge 1970. See Moody Smith, ‘Johannine Christianity’, 232–3, 243–4; Kretschmar, ‘frühchristlicher Askese’, 43f. 43 See above pp. 205–7; this position is particularly represented by Kragerud. 44 Thus Johnston, Spirit-Paraclete and M.  Boring, ‘The Influence of Christian Prophecy on the Johannine Portrayal of the Paraclete and Jesus’, NTS 25 (1978–9) 113–23 speak of the Johannine church as led by prophetic figures while Kragerud speaks of the Johannine circle as one of the wandering charismatics; the terminology of ‘school’ and ‘community’ and the relation between them is often confused in discussions of the Johannine background, see Brown, Community, 101–2. 45 See Kragerud, Der Lieblingsjünger, 104–12; Jn 21 is also related to 3 John by H. Thyen, ‘Entwicklungen’, 296ff. 41 42

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no claim to spiritual authority,46 while the Gospel lacks those traditions which in the Synoptics have been seen as reflecting the experience of the wandering prophets.47 The language of ‘false prophets’ in 1 Jn 4.1 owes more to traditional depictions of eschatological opponents than to their real character, while generally the functions of the Spirit in the Gospel and 1 John have more to do with teaching than with prophecy.48 The promise of the Spirit to all disciples in the Gospel and the absence of any suggestion of diversity of gifts of the Spirit speaks against the picture of a particular prophetic ministry within the community; so too in 1 Jn 2.27 all believers possess an ‘anointing’ and so have no need of a teacher.49 In this sense there is truth in the position which sees Johannine ‘authority’ as that experienced by each individual who in his own right is a disciple, is called to the appropriate pattern of trust, faithfulness and being loved (Jn 14.21) which is that of the Beloved Disciple, possesses the Spirit, and is related to Jesus without mediation of ministry or sacraments. Yet, although we can speak of the individualism of Johannine theology, this is not a free spirituality which has no loyalty but the individual’s awareness of the Spirit’s movement, nor a charismatic enthusiasm which rejects the shackles or tradition and institution; as we shall see, in John possession of the Spirit goes hand in hand with faithfulness to the words or commands of Jesus, while the theme of discipleship is tightly linked to that of eyewitness just as in 1 John the insight each believer possesses goes hand in hand with a strong emphasis on what was ‘from the beginning’.50 Thus, if there were authority structures in Johannine Christianity – and how can there have been none? – we would expect them to be related to that line of witness which authenticates the tradition. Yet even here the evidence is ambiguous as the author of 1 John well illustrates. Only when explaining why he is writing does the author use the first person singular ‘I’ (2.1,7,8,12–14,21,26; 5.13); otherwise the letter is characterised by its use of ‘we’, linking the author with his readers or with other believers.51 The only apparent exception to this comes in the opening verses, ‘That which was from the beginning, that which we have heard .  .  . concerning the word of life . . . that which we have seen and heard we proclaim also to you, that you may have fellowship with us’ (1.1–4). Here the vivid language of physical witness and the contrast between ‘we’ and ‘you’ invite talk of the authority of witnesses, and if not of eyewitnesses then of a group who felt themselves to be the heirs of that first witness to the physical life and death and resurrection of Jesus, a group with whose authority the writer speaks.52 And yet the language of this passage is notoriously indirect, with its neuter ‘that which was from the beginning, which we have heard’, and the loosely attached ‘concerning the word of life’, language which seems more likely to refer to the Gospel message than to See further below, pp. 219–20 and contrast Campenhausen, Ecclesiastical Authority, 122 cited at n. 81. See above p. 205 and n. 6; Theissen, First Followers, 24–30 argues that the Synoptic Son of Man Christology, with its dialectic of suffering and glory, reflected and interpreted for the wandering prophets their own experience of rejection and homelessness; John’s use of the Son of Man traditions is very different although it too may reflect the experiences of the community, see W. Meeks, ‘The Man from Heaven in Johannine Sectarianism’, JBL 91 (1972) 44–72. 48 See D. Hill, New Testament Prophecy, London 1979, 146–52. 49 Whatever the meaning of the ‘anointing’ the connection with teaching is important. W. Bousset, Kyrios Christos, 220f. argues that John is no longer familiar with pneumatic enthusiasm and sees the Spirit as ‘the Spirit of the sacrament, the Spirit of the office and of the confession’, but this is equally unjustified. 50 Note also the tight cohesiveness implied by Meeks, ‘Man from Heaven’. 51 For a full discussion see Harnack, ‘Das “Wir” ’. E.g. 1 Jn 1.6–10; 2.2–3 etc. 52 See Schnackenburg, Johannesbriefe, 52 – 8; Brown, Epistles, 158–61. 46 47

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the incarnate life of Jesus. More significantly, later in the Epistle similar language can be used apparently of all believers; in I Jn 4.12–16 it is said that if we love one another, God abides in us and his love is made complete in us, something witnessed to by the gift of the Spirit to us; ‘and we have seen and bear witness that the Father sent his Son as Saviour of the world. Whoever confesses that Jesus is the Son of God, God abides in him and he in God. And we have known and believed the love which God has for us’. The same ‘we’ must be those who love, who experience divine indwelling, who have seen and bear witness, who have known and believed the love God has for them.53 The language of witness can be used of the whole community, rooted in their experience of God’s love and gifts, although presumably only possible because some did physically see and believe. In the same way, although the author addresses his readers as ‘children’ (2.1 etc.), i.e. in the language of teacher to pupils, he must acknowledge that they have no need of a teacher (2.27). With whatever authority the writer may speak, it allows him to say little that cannot equally be said of or for his readers, who have the authority given by belief and life within the community; indeed, given the probable stress on the Gospel message or tradition of the community as that which was ‘from the beginning’ in the opening verses of the letter, it is likely that the authority with which the writer speaks as ‘we’ in those verses is ultimately the authority of that tradition and community life.54 Clearly there were influential figures in Johannine history who could claim to be particularly part of the witness tradition – the ‘we’ of Jn 21.24 who published the Gospel and the original witness whose testimony is enshrined in the Gospel – but there is no clear hint that that influence was theologically articulated or institutionalised. Alongside it firmly stands the independence and experience of the whole community with its supreme embodiment of the witness in the Gospel or the tradition of the community. The tension between these two poles may well hold the key to the Johannine understanding of authority and perhaps to 2 and 3 John. (b) The Limits of the Community The strong community sense of the Johannine church of which we have here begun to become aware is a commonplace in modern scholarship; it is marked by a clear awareness of the boundaries of the community, of the difference between being ‘in’ or ‘out’, and by a growing alienation from those outside. All this has been described from a variety of perspectives which we may for the moment leave for later discussion.55 For our purposes here it is enough to illustrate this from the thought of the Gospel and First Epistle and to consider the implications for the sort of situation envisaged by 2 and 3 John. The exclusivism of Johannine thought is signalled by the sharp contrast between light and darkness, between believing and not believing (Jn 3.16–21), between God and the world (15.18f.), a contrast which is marked by hate and judgement and which would serve to separate believers from all others with no possibility of compromise. Along with this is the strong doctrine of election (6.44) which might seem to leave little room for struggle or progress,

So Harnack, ‘Das “Wir” ’. See K. Weiss, ‘Orthodoxie und Heterodoxie im 1 Johannesbrief ’, ZNW 58 (1967) 247–55, 249–50. 55 This picture of the Johannine community has been well drawn by Meeks, ‘Man from Heaven’, but not all share his picture of a totally isolated community: see ch. 5, n. 42. 53 54

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or for welcoming new insights from outsiders. The entire initiative is God’s, and those who are chosen are sharply divorced from those who are not and from the world (17.9,14f.). The other side of this alienation from those outside is the binding together of the community by the command to love one another, as opposed to the Synoptic love of neighbour; this would both encourage a church in a hostile environment which needed to reinforce its self-identity and also make it hesitant towards unknown or unaccredited visitors. The realised eschatology of the Gospel, eternal life as a present possession, and the ‘egalitarian’ individualism which we have already noted, belong to the same pattern of thought. These characteristics are even more sharply present in 1 John; there the awareness of election finds expression in statements of assurance such as ‘We know that we are of God and the whole world lies under the evil one’ (5.19). The world is the source of hatred and is to be avoided (2.15–17; 3.13); apparently it is not the place for mission, and the success of the ‘antichrists’ there is an indication of their true character (4.1,5). They belong to the world and no appeal is made to them nor even any prayer for them.56 Those who are within are secure in being ‘of God’ and in the fullness of their knowledge (2.20f.,27); and yet there is a sense that the world may be invading the community and language which in the Gospel defines unbelief (‘to have sin’ Jn 9.41; 15.22,24) is now used of those within the community who, in spite of their claims to the contrary, are not true members of the elect (1 Jn 1.8).57 The community is bound together not only by the command to mutual love but equally by faithfulness to the tradition of the community. Undoubtedly this could become a caricature and in the Gospel presents only one side of a theology which can also stress the responsibility of the individual for his or her response and retain at least some universalistic-sounding sentiments. Yet it is these characteristics which have earned Johannine Christianity the description as a sect, a description which, notwithstanding the problems of precise definition in using that term, has proved useful in exploring the thought of Gospel and Epistles.58 In this context analyses of sectarian development may help us reflect on what we have found in 2 and 3 John, as, for example, an account of a more modern ‘sect’: ‘The sect had acquired a sense of sacredness about its own values which was derived more from the sense of separateness and community-identity than from the actual intrinsic manifestation of sacredness of life and practice. The growing convergence of the ideals of separation and sanctity  – a sect already in the heavenly state  – was evident.’59 John, in the address to the community as ‘the elect lady’, already witnesses to the concentration on the heavenly state rather than the historical form of the church. Furthermore, while the expulsion of those who contravene standards of faith, behaviour or organisation is often the natural consequence of the exclusive demand for commitment characteristic of a sect, it is significant that the church to which the above sect belonged had already practised the sanctions of refusal

Note the contrast with Ignatius in his letter to the church of Smyrna. This is part of a wider shift in the Epistle towards a focusing on the community; note the caution there against assuming that the Epistle follows the Gospel – our language here of ‘shift’ may need modifying. 58 Brown, Community, 14–7, 88–91 uses the term with caution because he believes that the Johannine community was still open to other ‘Apostolic’ Christians; Meeks, ‘Man from Heaven’, 70f. uses the term to explore the Johannine community’s inner dynamic. See also R. Scroggs, ‘The Sociological Interpretation of the New Testament: the Present State of Research’, NTS 26 (1980) 164–79. 59 B. R. Wilson, ‘The Exclusive Brethren:  A Case Study in the Evolution of a Sectarian Ideology’, in Patterns of Sectarianism, London 1967, 287–337, 301 describing a group (the ‘New Lumpists’) within the Exclusive Brethren in the 1870s. 56 57

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of fellowship not only against those who held false views but also against other communities who, while themselves sound, had remained in fellowship with the former.60 Before we too quickly move on to draw conclusions for 2 and 3 John, there is one further factor which emerges from the problem of ‘the world outside’ in 1 John. As we have seen, ‘the world’ is beginning to invade the community; the ‘false prophets’ are of the world (4.5) and yet presumably this would not have been made manifest if they had not actually left the community (2.19). ‘Not all are of us’! This is why the spirits must be tested (4.1) lest there are still some ‘of the world’ within the community. This hints at a mood of suspicion and internal distrust which we do not meet in the Gospel, even with its plea for unity in ch. 17. While the relationship between the authorship and also between the destination of the three Epistles may remain uncertain, we can probably only understand 2 and 3 John if we bear in mind the effect of such a mood of suspicion against the background of the Johannine attitudes to authority and to the community which we have explored.

The Outcome in 2 and 3 John The route we have taken would seem to lead naturally to our destination in 2 John. In our exegesis of that letter we have already had cause to speak of an appeal to loyalty to the community’s origins (vv. 5–6), of a concentration on the teaching which characterises true or false claimants to Christian (Johannine) status (v. 7), and of tradition as that which defines both true and false Christian living. The strong sense of the election of the community belongs to the same trend, and in this context the denial of hospitality to those with an alien and false interpretation of the Christian message, which we have seen to be the primary function of the letter, appears as the inevitable consequence of the development Johannine thought has taken. Characterised as the irredeemable opponents of God, there is no hint of the licence of the Didache which allowed them to prove themselves before being judged and gave initial respect to charismatic gifts. So too, the description of the false teachers is a caricature and belongs to no single identifiable heresy. The tenor and structure of the letter imply that the sanctions of v. 10f. are in practice directed against any visitor who does not belong to the recognised Johannine tradition; it is the Johannine tradition which is the truth. Is this then the rejection of any non-Johannine form of Christianity and perhaps of any attempt by others to bring the various communities together as the church in one place, united to churches elsewhere through travelling teachers and delegates? Inevitably this question leads to the issue of such teachers in the early church and more particularly to the situation of 3 John. To a substantial degree 2 John makes good sense in terms of the pattern of Johannine theology witnessed to by the Gospel and First Epistle. 3 John presents many more problems, although, perversely, it is its ordinariness of language, in contrast to the idiosyncratic vocabulary and Ibid., 299, ‘It was wrong to remain in fellowship with those who held false views, and further, it was wrong not to excommunicate even those who remained in fellowship with those who held wrong views, even though the former were themselves doctrinally sound’ (referring to communities not individuals). There are of course enormous difficulties in comparing a New Testament writing with a group whose sense of ‘orthodoxy ‘ presupposes the whole development of the emphasis on testable right belief within the Christian church; the parallel is drawn here only as a heuristic device. 60

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thought of the rest of the Johannine corpus, which constitutes a major part of the enigma. Perhaps, then, it is not surprising that in the history of interpretation of the minor Johannine Epistles during the last one hundred years 2 John has received little attention, being seen as an echo of 1 John. Debate has centred on 3 John, and primarily on the relative positions of Diotrephes and the Elder, and on the precise nature of the point at issue between them. While a detailed study of the debate would not be appropriate here,61 a brief resumé of the major lines of approach will be useful in exploring the factors to be considered and the pitfalls which beset any attempt at reconstruction. The dominant approach has been to see the conflict as a matter of church authority. Most frequently, the Elder, whether or not identified with the Apostle John or one of Papias’s Elders, has been seen as exercising a wide sphere of authority, while Diotrephes belongs to the local community and is fighting for some form of autonomy. The least specific solution merely ascribes to Diotrephes an excess of personal ambition.62 Attempts at clearer definition have made Diotrephes if not a monarchical bishop then at least an embryonic one, so that 3 John reflects the assertion of independence by the local community and office against an earlier, wider form of authority, although it is in defining this latter that views begin to diverge. The interpretation according to which the Elder, especially when identified with the Apostle John, could be described as an Over-bishop’ now has little currency, for the historical evidence for and parallels to such a position are lacking.63 Now those who argue for a wider authority are more generally agreed in seeing it not as of an ‘institutional’ kind so much as ‘patriarchal’. For some this is the type of authority which would naturally be attached to an apostle or member of the primitive community,64 but most see more than this. Again it is the writings of A. v. Harnack which have most influenced the debate. In his study of 3 John he identified the author with Papias’s ‘presbyter John’, as one who had patriarchal authority over the whole of Asia Minor and who was superintendent of a missionary organisation whose members regularly reported to him.65 The conflict could be seen as that between such a provincial organisation and the local community now growing in independence, or, from another angle, as an example of the tension between the church as a creation of a ‘missionary or apostle, whose work it remained’ and its status as an independent local community.66 The influence of the picture drawn from the Didache is seen when the Elder is said to represent ‘the patriarchal-universal and enthusiastic organisation’.67 Appeal, if not specifically to the Elder John, at least to Papias’s elders has been repeatedly made, and particularly to their role as representatives of the apostolic tradition.68 Many

It is well summarised by Haenchen, ‘Neue Literatur’, 267–82. Westcott, Epistles, lvi. 63 This was suggested by J. E. Belser, Die Briefe des Heiligen Johannes, Freiburg im Breisgau 1906; see also Chapman, ‘Historical Setting’ – John had been asked by Paul to take control of Asia. For a discussion of the evidence for the provincial organisation of the early church see A. v. Harnack, The Expansion of Christianity in the First Three Centuries, London 1904–5, II, 64–94. 64 So in the 1st edition, R. Schnackenburg, Die Johannesbriefe; Westcott, loc. cit. 65 dritten Johannesbrief. 66 Ibid., 21, ‘es ist der Kampf der alien patriarchalischen und provinzialen Missionsorganisation gegen die sich konsolidierende Einzelgemeinde, die zum Zweck ihrer Konsolidierung und strengen Abschliessung nach aussen den monarchischen Episkopat und ihre Mitte hervortreibt’; the second perspective comes from Expansion II, 94. 67 dritten Johannesbrief, 26. 68 Bultmann, Epistles, 95; Dodd, Epistles, 155; Houlden, Epistles, 4f. 61 62

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scholars, however, have preferred to develop the link with the argument for a class of wandering preachers in the early church; thus the Elder is to be seen as a prophet or teacher of the early period and his conflict with Diotrephes as that between the itinerant ministry and the local community.69 As we have seen, this non-institutional or ‘spiritual’ authority has been found reflected elsewhere in the Johannine literature as the dominant or only form of authority recognised in that tradition. Several scholars combine this with an appeal to Papias’s Elders as disciples of the apostles and guarantors of tradition – which implies a modification of the ‘prophet-teacher’ model – or simply as representatives of such itinerant charismatics.70 In all these approaches the issue is of a wider, personal authority in opposition to a local one, whether that be institutional – Diotrephes as a monarchical bishop – or merely based on ambition.71 Even attempts to escape this framework seem unable to succeed. Thus E. Haenchen saw both the Elder and Diotrephes as leading Elders (praeses presbyterii) of neighbouring communities, but still appealed to ‘presbyter’ as a bearer of tradition in Irenaeus and Papias to explain the author’s reference to himself as ‘The Elder’.72 K.  Donfried, while rejecting Papias’s evidence as too obscure, also interprets the Elder as holding an ecclesiastical office as ‘monarchical elder’ but reverts to Harnack’s idea of a regional missionary organisation – he is ‘the most important presbyter in a regional network of churches; and further . . . he directed and controlled the missionary activity in this region’.73 With greater sensitivity to the fact that 3 John survived in the company of 2 and later 1 John, there has been more of a tendency recently to interpret the title ‘the Elder’ as of one who saw himself as the guarantor of Johannine tradition with the right to address and visit other churches of the ‘Johannine’ communion; Diotrephes and his church may be desiring greater independence, either in defence against competing claims to represent the ‘mother’ church after the schism implied by 1 John, or in (over-)zealous response to an injunction such as that of 2 John, if not 2 John itself.74 The derivative role of 2 and 3 John within the Johannine tradition makes it difficult to identify the Elder with the Apostle John, even if the latter could be confidently associated directly with any part of that tradition; the enormity of Diotrephes’s action, apparently with substantial support, and the hesitancy of the Elder’s response also speak against the author being someone of such stature.75 We have already seen that appeal to Papias’s Elders founders on our real lack of knowledge about them and their role, and certainly that what we do know

Goguel, L’Église Primitive, 136–7; Kretschmar, ‘frühchristlicher Askese’, 43 f.; Kragerud, Lieblingsjünger, 104f. Bornkamm, ‘πρέσβυς’, 671f. who argues that the wildness of the traditions reported by the ‘Elders’ might lead to the discrediting of the appeal to apostolic tradition and hence also to the discrediting of the Elder of 2 and 3 John; E.  Gaugler, ‘Die Bedeutung der Kirche in den johanneischen Shriften’, IKZ 15 (1925) 27–42, 37; Campenhausen, Ecclesiastical Authority, 121–3. Harnack was less explicit:  he associates the Catholic Epistles with his ‘apostles’ (Expansion I, 428) and also identifies the missionary brethren of 3 John with them (ibid., 436), but the Elder was not one of the brethren (dritten Johannesbrief, 19); nonetheless, 3 John is an example of the conflict between local management of the church and the ‘apostles’ (Expansion, II, 95). 71 Houlden, Epistles, 8, 153 sees him as a bishop or monarchical elder; Brooke, Epistles, lxxxix sees him as a man of great personal ambition, the type against whom the episcopate was introduced as a safeguard. 72 ‘Neue Literatur’, 288–9. 73 ‘Ecclesiastical Authority’, 328. 74 Grayston, Epistles, 160f; Brown, Epistles, 738. 75 So Käsemann, ‘Ketzer und Zeuge’, 295, 301 against the identification of the author with one of Papias’s Elders. The question partly depends on one’s, or the author’s, view of the meaning of being an Apostle. 69 70

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offers no grounds at all for attributing to them an ‘itinerant’, ‘patriarchal’ or ‘charismatic’ ministry. Indeed, the idea of a ‘patriarchal’ authority is hard to establish from other sources or from the Epistles themselves. The author of Revelation’s relationship with the seven churches cannot be cited as a parallel, because he speaks not on his own authority but as the bearer of God’s word to these communities.76 Moreover, it is reading more into the exchange of greetings and promises of visits in 2 and 3 John than these epistolary conventionalities merit, to base on them a picture of the Elder with a pastoral authority over a large area. It is true that in 2 John he writes to a sister community of the one from which he speaks, but the self-conscious structure of that letter makes it hazardous to base any reconstruction of his historical position on it, while in 3 John itself the reference to the brethren, whom may only have been two in number, can hardly establish the author as the head of a missionary organisation.77 Equally insubstantial is the appeal to the ‘wandering prophets’, especially if they are not to be found in or behind the Fourth Gospel. There is certainly no evidence from 2 and 3 John themselves that the Elder appealed to the Spirit or to the ‘living authority endowed by “the truth” ’ and that he might thus be called ‘a prophet or teacher of the early type’.78 Inasmuch as even Harnack found our only ‘certain proof of a conflict between the two forms of ministry in 3 John, the assumption of a local non-charismatic and a wandering charismatic ministry coming into conflict should not be so easily made as it so often is.79 It seems probable that the contrast between institutionalised ecclesiastical authority and the freer guidance of the Spirit is a modern one as anachronistic and over-rigid when applied to the early church as is the ‘orthodoxy v. heresy’ model. Too many of these reconstructions have failed to relate the conflict behind 3 John to the rest of the Johannine tradition. That has in part been recognised by those who have either seen the problem in the light of the situation following the ‘schism’ of 1 John, or who have sought to discover the conflict over patterns of ministry as already reflected in the Gospel. The attempt to bring 3 John even closer to the other Epistles and to see the conflict as a doctrinal one stumbles on the objection that an author who could dictate the harsh injunction of 2 Jn 10, would hardly pass over the heresy of Diotrephes, if such there was, in silence. This objection can be made not only against those who have seen Diotrephes as a heretic,80 but equally against Käsemann’s inversion of that thesis. His argument was that it is the Elder who was the heretic in the church’s and in Diotrephes’s eyes and who had been excommunicated by his opponent for the ‘gnostic’ views such as are contained in his Gospel (John).81 If, as we shall argue, we deny that the Elder was the author also of the Fourth Gospel, we can hardly ascribe to him the The parallel is drawn by Donfried, ‘Ecclesiastical Authority’, 331–2. Contrast Campenhausen, Ecclesiastical Authority, 122, ‘His followers are known to one another, and enjoy mutual fellowship. Whole congregations look to him as their spiritual father, or have members who enjoy his especial confidence, and who give hospitality to travelling brethren and evangelists.’ 78 Campenhausen, Ecclesiastical Authority, 123; see also Käsemann, ‘Ketzer und Zeuge’, 311, ‘Er will nichts anderes sein als der Zeuge des Christus praesens.’ 79 Harnack, Expansion II, 94f. See also above p. 205. 80 H. H Wendt, ‘Zum zweiten und dritten Johannesbriefe’; W. Bauer, Orthodoxy and Heresy in Earliest Christianity, Philadelphia 1971, 91–3. 81 ‘Ketzer und Zeuge’; J. Heise, BLEIBEN: Menein in den johanneischen Schriften, Tübingen 1967, 164f. accepts the thesis in modified form. While rejecting Käsemann’s thesis as it stands Bultmann and Houlden accept that doctrinal issues may be involved; see also Strecker, ‘Die Anfänge’, 38. 76 77

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appeal to the Spirit and to the witness to and encounter with the ‘Christus praesens’ which for Käsemann characterises Johannine theology (and therefore that of the Elder) in contrast to the appeal to the continuity of the church and office made by Early Catholicism and Diotrephes.82 More fundamentally, the author of 2 John would surely have never recognised the justness of his own excommunication but would have branded its perpetrator as, if not the antichrist, then at least one to be avoided at all costs. Yet the recognition that Diotrephes’s treatment of the brethren and their supporters parallels that advocated in 2 John against teachers of suspect doctrines is a valid one and a fundamental contribution to the debate. This insight must surely be retained and, assuming 3 John is not totally de novo, included in any attempt to relate the letter both to the Johannine tradition of which it is in some way a part and to those conflicts in the early church of which we do have ample evidence. At first sight 3 John appears something of an anomaly in its apparent divergence from Johannine ways of language and thought. There is less explicit theologising and such as there is seems to follow a different direction from the thought of 2 John. The Elder commends the travelling brethren without any demonstration of the acceptability of their doctrine, surely a necessary measure in the light of 2 John. His support of missionary work (3 Jn 8) is far more positive than the thought of 1 John generally and hence involves the use of language more typical of the Pauline corpus than the Johannine. His condemnation of Diotrephes has equally little theological grounding, a phenomenon which, as we have just seen, can not be ascribed to his own heretical status. Reflecting all this is the number of non-Johannine elements in the Epistle, particularly striking when we contrast the parasitical relationship between the Elder’s other letter, 2 John, and the First Epistle. On the other hand, 3 John does make sense when it is seen as bringing together the two trajectories studied earlier, that of wandering teachers and the structure of the early church and that of the development of Johannine thought. The former implies that we are in the sphere not of defined forms of institutional authority but of power and influence which have not been adequately theologically or institutionally interpreted. That such a problem should arise within the Johannine tradition is readily understandable, with its lack of articulation about authority and the possible tensions between structured ministry and the importance of the Johannine witness. In that setting rival candidates for power, different forms of influence, as well as the claims of a structured ministry could easily be examined and found wanting in Johannine terms and be understood purely non-theologically as a wrong desire for first place; Jn 13.12–17 in particular might reflect such a judgement or act as a presupposition for one.83 Defence of existing or growing power or influence would be more difficult than its condemnation, and yet it is inevitable that power or influence there would be within the Johannine tradition. As we have seen, there were the influential figures of the Johannine tradition, but in particular the experience of schism we find reflected in 1 John could stimulate the emergence of those who could give guidance or support, while the practical justification of their existence would not so easily be matched by a theological justification in Johannine thought. Alternatively, the acceptance of differing patterns of discipleship and authority which may lie behind the figures

Although later recognising that the Presbyter was not the author of the Gospel, Käsemann felt his central thesis could be retained. 83 H. Thyen, ‘Johannes 13 und die “kirchliche Redaction” des vierten Evangeliums’, in Tradition und Glaube, ed. G. Jeremias et al., Gottingen 1971, 343–56, 354–5 associates Jn 13.20 with the Diotrephes incident. 82

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of Peter and the Beloved Disciple in the Gospel might easily be upset by developments on either side and decline into suspicion and antipathy. Such precision, however, may be neither possible nor necessary. It is precisely the importance of our initial discussion of the early church background that it highlights the wide variety of contexts in which influence would actually be exercised and the consequent tensions between them as well as the problems of theological rationalisation.84 This means that the ambiguity of the relative positions of the Elder and Diotrephes lies at the heart not simply of our problem of interpretation, but of the original problem itself. His use of Johannine language (and possibly of 1 John) suggests that the Elder did claim to represent the Johannine tradition, although despite that claim it cannot be simply assumed that he did in fact stand in direct line with the most influential figures of the Johannine tradition going back to the original witnesses. The preservation of 2 and 3 John probably indicates that his claim was eventually accepted as valid. His use of the epithet ‘Elder’, significant to his first readers although no longer so to us, and his address to the members of more than one congregation as (his) children also imply an assumption of authority and influence. It is an authority which he sees as rejected by Diotrephes’s actions, although he can neither defend it nor ascribe to that rejection any theological significance. The importance of this is made clear when we contrast him, in different ways, with both Paul and Ignatius. For Paul rejection of himself means rejection of his proclamation of Christ and of his calling to be an Apostle, carrying a theological meaning far exceeding any personal affront (2 Cor 10–13).85 For Ignatius there can be no membership of the church and no salvation without submission to the bishop (Trail 2; Magn 3.6–7; Eph 5). The author of 2 and 3 John has no such theological understanding of his rebuff, nor of the recognition he demands. He sees the opposition to him as the act of a tyrant and hopes to have opportunity to make his point and to reassert his position, but how he can do this remains unclear, perhaps to himself as well as to us. Even the more distinctively Johannine 2 John gains its authority not from the claim of the author to stand in line with the original eyewitnesses (cf. 1 Jn 1.1ff.) but through the use of a Pauline-type greeting. Diotrephes’s position is equally obscure, largely because we cannot hear his voice. The Elder’s concern is only with how Diotrephes’s behaviour affects himself, namely the exclusion of the brethren and the rejection of his own patronage of them. With the influence which, as we have seen, such teachers may have expected to exercise in any community they visited, it would not be surprising that they should become either victims or weapons in a struggle for power. More specifically, in a Johannine context their exclusion could also reflect the self- assurance of a church which felt in no need of anyone to teach them (1 Jn 2.27) as well as the repulsion of any external influence from a tightly cohesive community. The severity of Diotrephes’s action and his insults against the Elder together with the parallel in 2 Jn 1of. do suggest that this is more than simple dislike of outside influence, and that it is given a doctrinal rationale. However, the absence of any reference to doctrinal norms either in defence of the Elder or of the brethren, or in condemnation of Diotrephes suggests that the Elder is not aware of any serious theological dispute between himself and Diotrephes.

Malherbe, ‘Inhospitality’, 110 also argues that it is a matter of power rather than authority although he does not recognise the theological dimension of the conflict within a Johannine context. 85 Thus Campenhausen, Ecclesiastical Authority, 123 is wrong when he compares the Elder’s reaction with that of Paul. 84

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It would seem, therefore, that it is Diotrephes who is making theological judgements, the significance of which the Elder fails to understand. If Diotrephes condemns him and the brethren on doctrinal grounds, these are not so well defined and acknowledged for the Elder to see them as leading to his exclusion; for him this remains tyranny and an insult. We may find a not dissimilar situation behind Smyrn 5.2 where Ignatius dismisses the praise of those whose doctrine he found unacceptable – no doubt his spurned admirers did not see the doctrinal debate as so fundamentally divisive as did Ignatius.86 Furthermore, in the case of 3 John, even if doctrinal norms are being sought and developed, at present the situation is still dominated by insult and argument.87 In the absence of mutually recognised standards, conflict must appear personal, just as in the absence of a mutually recognised theological understanding of authority, the holding of power or influence must appear as secular ambition and tyranny. This leads us to the clue to the ambiguity of 3 John and the situation behind it, and therefore also to the importance of the letter for Johannine history. The limits of our knowledge reflect the limits of the author’s interests. Only to a marginal extent does the Elder see the struggle in theological terms; far more it is for him a matter of parties or sides. On the one side we have the Elder, the brethren, Demetrius and even some members of Diotrephes’s community; on the other stands Diotrephes, presumably with his own supporters although these receive no explicit mention. In practical terms the division between the parties is expressed by acceptance of the brethren on the one hand and by continuing membership of the church headed by Diotrephes on the other. Theologically, it is expressed by the Elder in the language of Johannine tradition as a matter of loyalty to the truth and of seeing or being ‘of God’, and in the language of the wider church as a matter of doing good or doing evil, of acting worthily of God and of being testified to. All this is language which gains its force not so much from its theological vitality as from its place in tradition; it is – and this is particularly true of the Johannine terms – ‘party’ language. Quite possibly Diotrephes saw things in a similar way and both doctrine and forms of organisation may have been seen from this same ‘party’ perspective. Yet if this is so, it is only a practical development and example of the tendency to exclusivism and introversion which we have traced as an element in Johannine thought throughout and as a particular point where 1 John speaks more sharply than the Gospel. It would not be surprising that this pattern of thought should lead to the exclusion of anyone not totally committed to the elect body together with an inability to enter into dialogue or theological exploration. In 3 John party lines are hardening even more clearly than in 1 John and we are no longer aware of theological factors as having primary importance in the drawing of those lines; rather it is elements of organisation, power and personalities which are the most visible factors. Thus the language which in the previous paragraph we have described as the theological expression of the division between the parties no longer has the real theological grounding and force of its earlier use. Instead it has become an expression of approval or calumny; ‘truth’ has become a slogan for what the author sees as genuinely Johannine and the exhortation to imitate good in 3 Jn 11 is not the theological platitude it may appear to be, but an appeal to Gaius to join the right side. The sense of belonging to a well-defined and elect group has swallowed up the dialectical structure of Johannine thought witnessed to by the Gospel – a claim we shall See Schoedel, ‘Theological Norms’, 35f. Ehrhardt, ‘Christianity before the Apostles’ Creed’, 92f. sees a combination of personal bitterness and the desire for right doctrine as lying behind 3 John. 86 87

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explore yet more fully in the next chapter; here in these Epistles dialogue is no longer a means of reaching the truth, instead – as so clearly also in 2 Jn 10f. – possessing or being of the truth rules out the need or possibility of dialogue. Theologically 3 John does make good sense within the Johannine trajectory; historically it remains ambiguous and it may not be possible to be any more precise than we have been so far in this discussion. The following factors need to be brought into consideration. It is improbable that Johannine Christianity was the only or even the main representative of Christianity in the area. We should affirm that, even if we sit lightly to the traditional setting of the Gospel in Ephesus, firstly because it is difficult to find any convincing location where Johannine Christianity could be totally geographically isolated from other Christian groups, and secondly because 2 and 3 John do imply some links with the Pauline tradition while the question of links between the Gospel and Synoptic-type traditions remains an area of debate.88 If, as seems probable, there is a complex history behind the Johannine tradition, this no doubt involved not only changes of geographical situation but also changing relationships with other Christian groups.89 A self-identity which includes a strong sense of isolation, such as recent studies have rightly identified in the Gospel of John,90 need not imply geographical isolation, nor perhaps exclude the Johannine community from having existed as a fringe group, a separate household community (or series of separate ones), to some extent sharing the life of the main church but with its main loyalties being to its own religious experience and tradition. The letters of Ignatius imply that there was in the church at large a movement towards monarchical episcopacy and towards more precise definition of membership of the church and of doctrinal formulation. However, the sense that at times Ignatius is hard-pressed to plead his cause suggests that not all saw it as he did, and it would be a long time before standards of membership and of organisation were so clearly demarcated as we might at first assume. However, if in Ignatius submission to the bishop could be seen as equally as valid a sign of belonging to the church as is true doctrine (Smyrn 8), the existing tendencies to introversion and self-sufficiency within the Johannine tradition would have pulled in the opposite direction. This could lead us to construct a picture by which Diotrephes is the representative of the dominant church group, sharing some of the views we find in Ignatius, no longer content with the independence of the Johannine fringe group and perhaps questioning its doctrines.91 The more rigid drawing of boundaries, itself a reflection of a tendency towards fixing norms and towards standardisation in the first to second century,92 has led to the expulsion of ‘Christians’ whom the Johannine group at least supported and sponsored, while, even apart from the doctrinal question, the authority assumed by the Elder cannot be accommodated. Demetrius and Gaius may also have groups of Christians meeting in their houses and the crucial question is how they will align themselves.

Egypt might be the only setting where we could argue for a geographically isolated Johannine group but this is only because of our general ignorance about Christianity there. See also Moody Smith, ‘Johannine Christianity’, 226–30, 237. 89 This much can be stated without following any particular reconstruction of Johannine history. 90 E.g. Meeks, ‘Man from Heaven’. 91 So G. Richter, ‘Zum gemeindebildenden Element in den johanneischen Schriften’, in Studien zum Johannesevangelium, ed. J. Hainz, Regensburg 1977, 383–414, 412f. 92 See J. M. Robinson and H. Koescer, Trajectories through Early Christianity, Philadelphia 1971, 15; also the three volumes of Jewish and Christian Self-definition, ed. E. P. Sanders et al. 88

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An alternative reconstruction would be to suggest that Diotrephes and the Elder represent a split within Johannine Christianity, whether or not related to the schism of 1 John. Both hold positions of influence not directly justified by the Gospel but both claim to be Johannine. Neither accepts the other’s assumption of power nor the particular way it is being exercised. Diotrephes may, possibly with reason, have found the Elder doctrinally suspect in Johannine terms (because of the latter’s non-Johannine links?), and he may represent the continuation of the independence and antipathy to mission of 1 John. It is a hole-in-the-corner affair, far removed from the momentous conflicts described in earlier interpretations of 3 John, and significant to us only because of the theological dimension already explored. Ultimately any attempt at a confident reconstruction must founder on those silences of the letter whose significance we have already suggested and on our ignorance about the constitution and self-identity of the first Christian groups. How far distinctive theological formulations represent distinctive groups, or how far apparently inconsistent attempts at formulating the Christian faith could be found side by side within one community, possibly through the medium of house churches, will remain something of an enigma. To see the conflict as one within Johannine Christianity may explain the ‘peculiarities’ of 3 John – its distinctive, non-Johannine vocabulary, its firmer links with secular conventions and language and the signs of its independent history within the growth of the canon. 3 John would express how the Elder wrote naturally, thus betraying that Johannine language had become something of a code to be adopted as appropriate but not constituting the author’s habitual way of thinking; when he must defend his ‘Johannine’ status and claim the Johannine mantel he does so in 2 John by adopting and adapting the forms of 1 John, not without indications that this is not an entirely natural guise. It is the need to write for the community in the idiosyncratic language which will be recognised as their own which has created 2 John.93 Small wonder then that 3 John might not be preserved on the same terms as its ‘sister’ Epistle. Its significance may have been as the ‘foundation document’ of the community  – perhaps of Gaius’s  – and as a reminder of the origins and calling of that community, but primarily for internal use.94 2 John is a directive for behaviour to be used or appealed to as the situation it envisages arose. Although heavily dependent on 1 John, its function was to give directions on wandering teachers who do not follow the Johannine norm as conceived by the Elder; 1 John had not covered this because it did not think of the community as taking the initiative, it was the ‘false prophets’ who had ‘gone out from us’ (1 Jn 2.19). It is possible that it was the experience of rejection behind 3 John which led to a reinforcement of boundaries against all comers and acted as a catalyst for the intensification of the refusal of dialogue. To some degree the Elder is turning the tables against Diotrephes in using 1 John to this purpose – particularly if Diotrephes claimed to stand within that same tradition. For the same reason 2 John might eventually have been appended to 1 John in an attempt to bring its circulation beyond the original community and in recognition that 1 John, now being more widely read, was its god-parent.

This is probably preferable to seeing 2 John as pseudonymous without any obvious purpose or explanation of this particular pseudonym; Heise, BLEIBEN, 164ff. argues for pseudonymity as does Bultmann, Epistles, 107–8; see also Schunack, Briefe, 108–9. 94 So Brown, Epistles, 732. 93

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Yet 2 John also joins hands with that tendency which may itself have led to the exclusion of the ‘brethren’, namely the growth of the idea of a received body of tradition to be preserved against innovation, and the more rigid definition of the boundaries of the church (cf. 1 Tim 1.10; 2 Tim 4.3; Tit 1.9; 2.1; Jude 3; 1 Clement 7.2).95 From this we might expect the further isolation of Johannine Christianity and perhaps too the reduction of numbers caused by the divisions which had split the community. Perhaps to all this we may attribute the apparently restricted circulation of the Gospel in its early history.96 However, that, despite this, not only the Gospel but also these two remnants of past conflicts together with 1 John found a way to acceptance by the wider church within its canon of Scripture remains one of those enigmatic ironies which must continue to stretch the imagination of both historian and theologian.

See E. Schweizer, Church Order, §6. Cf. W. Loewenich, Das Johannes-Verständnis im zweiten Jahrhundert, BZNW 13, Giessen 1932; J. N. Sanders, The Fourth Gospel in the Early Church, Cambridge, 1943. 95 96

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JUDE’S CITATION OF 1 ENOCH

Jeremy Hultin

The Epistle of Jude’s use of 1 Enoch presented a peculiar challenge for ancient Christians as they sought to determine the extent and nature of their sacred writings. Jude’s citation of 1 Enoch was appealed to in support of the value of Enochic literature (and, by extension, in defense of reading other “non-canonical” writings), but it was also cited as a reason to reject the Epistle of Jude. By examining how ancient Christians responded to Jude’s use of 1 Enoch, we have an opportunity to observe what sorts of issues they felt were at stake as they debated the authority of various ancient texts. We will see that they were alternately concerned with authenticity (which writings are really from Enoch?), with content (are the teachings contained in Enochic writings consistent with Christian belief?), and with Jewish opinions about the extent of the canon.1 Jude 14–15 quotes the words of 1En 1:9 as a prophecy from the antediluvian man who was “seventh from Adam.” That such a claim could be understood literally in the ancient world is nicely demonstrated by Tertullian, who concerns himself with such concrete problems as how Enoch’s teachings could have survived the flood. Such serious and literal commitment to Enochic authorship left no easy solution for those Christians who wanted to grant authority to the “Apostle”2 Jude’s epistle but not to the extant writings attributed to Enoch. For such Christians, Jude’s citation of Enoch presented a problem far more acute than did the passing references in other NT texts to pagan “prophets” (Titus 1:12), “poets” (Acts 17:28), or proverbs (1 Cor 15:33),3 for 1 Enoch is explicitly cited as prophecy,4 and the content,

It should be said at the outset that Jude’s use of a “non-canonical” text seems to have drawn rather less comment among the fathers than modern scholars might have expected. Although he slightly undervalues the evidence, Schelkle notes mit Recht: “Die alte Exegese befasst sich mit Jud. 14 kaum. Da und dort wird der Vers lediglich kurz paraphrasiert,” in K. H. Schelkle, “Der Judasbrief bei den Kirchenvätern,” in Abraham Unser Vater: Juden und Christen im Gespräch über die Bibel (ed. O. Betz, M. Hengel, and P. Schmidt; Leiden: Brill, 1963), pp. 405–16, here p. 415. 2 Among patristic authors, Jude is more often referred to as an “apostle” than as “brother of James” or “brother of the Lord.” But by any of these appellations, he is designated as an authoritative figure. 3 This is likely the status of the line from Menander which Paul cites here. As the notion of a closed canon ultimately took shape, some Christians were bothered not only by biblical citations of extracanonical works, but even by biblical passages that presupposed knowledge of events recorded outside the canon. For instance, Origen, commenting on Mt 27:11, alludes to interpreters who rejected 2 Timothy because of its reference to Jannes and Jambres (2 Tim 3:8; Comm. ser. Matt. 117; 250.7–9). Similarly, when commenting on Mt 13:57, Origen suggests that some may not believe that Isaiah was sawn apart because the story was found in an apocryphal book (Comm. Matt. 10.18). For further references and discussion, see W. A. Adler, “The Pseudepigrapha in the Early Church,” in The Canon Debate (ed. L. M. McDonald and J. A. Sanders; Peabody, Mass.: Hendrickson, 2002), pp. 211–28. 4 Jude’s use of the Assumption of Moses will not be considered in this paper, but it does raise a similar set of questions. Perhaps because Jude merely made reference to an episode described by the Assumption of Moses—and did not cite the Assumption as a textual authority—this reference drew less attention in antiquity. That said, merely referring to characters or events described in “non-canonical” books could be troubling to some Christians, as Origen’s comments about Jannes and Jambres and the death of Isaiah make clear (see previous footnote). Jude’s reference to the dispute between the archangel Michael and the devil (Jude 9) was recognized in antiquity as coming from the Assumption of 1

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language, imagery, and eschatology of the entire epistle of Jude are clearly indebted to 1 Enoch.5 The influence of 1 Enoch on Jude can be briefly summarized: (1) Jude cites 1En 1:9 to demonstrate that it had been prophesied that “the Lord” (here understood as Christ) would come to judge the ungodly. The quotation is introduced as a prophecy in precisely the language Matthew uses to cite Isaiah (Mt 15:7).6 This is, in fact, the only formal citation in the Letter of Jude.7 Furthermore, Enoch is identified in no casual way, as though Jude were merely citing a convenient passage;

Moses, and Didymus reports that his use of this work led to objections against Jude (Epistolam Beati Judae apostoli enarratio [PG 39.1815]). In fact, Clement of Alexandria used Jude 9 to defend the authority of the Assumption of Moses in much the same way that Tertullian and others used Jude to support 1 Enoch. Quoting Jude 9, Clement writes hic confirmat assumptionem Moysi, “this confirms the Assumption of Moses” (Adumbrationes in Ep. Jud. 9 [GCS 17, pg. 207]). (As Adler has noted, Clement’s expression may mean simply that Jude “corroborates [the account in] the Assumption of Moses” or even that Jude “confirms” that “Moses was assumed [into heaven]” (Adler, “Pseudepigrapha,” p. 217 n. 31). On the complex issue of Jude’s source here, see R. J. Bauckham, Jude and the Relatives of Jesus in the Early Church (Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1990), pp. 235–80. It would be interesting to know how Athanasius reconciled his acceptance of Jude and his virulent rejection of the Assumption of Moses. 5 Whether or not Jude would have considered Enochic writings “canonical” has often been debated among modern commentators. Probably it is anachronistic even to pose the question in this language. Charlesworth has proposed that “If Jude had anything like a closed canon, it might have included 1 Enoch. . . . But it is improbable that Jude had a closed canon; perhaps he had an open canon with inspired writings like Enoch, on the fringes” in The Old Testament Pseudepigrapha and the New Testament (SNTSMS 54; Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1985), p. 74. Bauckham argues that Jude may in fact have known of a “closed” canon, and yet, on the model of 4 Ezra 14, he may have recognized other books as genuinely inspired and perhaps even more important than the publicly recognized canon (Jude and the Relatives, pp. 229–30). Cf. the comments of Bo Reicke: “It is clear that Jude regarded this writing [1 Enoch] as inspired. In fact, due to its presumed antiquity, First Enoch is placed on an even higher level than the Old Testament prophets,” in The Epistles of James, Peter, and Jude (AB 37; Garden City, N.Y.: Doubleday, 1964), p. 209, emphasis added. On the status of holy books and the question of a “canon” in ancient Judaism, cf. the judicious essays of J. J. Collins, “Before the Canon: Scriptures in Second Temple Judaism,” in Old Testament Interpretation: Past Present and Future: Essays in Honor of Gene M. Tucker (ed. J. L. Mays, D. L. Petersen and K. H. Richards; Nashville: Abingdon, 1995), pp. 225–41, and J. C. Reeves, “Scriptural Authority in Early Judaism,” in Living Traditions of the Bible: Scripture in Jewish, Christian, and Muslim Practice (ed. J. E. Bowley; St. Louis: Chalice Press, 1999), pp. 63–84. 6 That Jude has not used an expression such as “it is written” can hardly be taken as evidence that he does not value Enoch as an authoritative writing, pace, e.g., D. J. Moo, The NIV Application Commentary: 2 Peter and Jude (Grand Rapids: Zondervan, 1996), pp. 272–4. Modern commentators have also attempted to minimize Jude’s apparently high appraisal of 1 Enoch by arguing that he has cited something that was valued by his opponents. Cf. J. D. Charles, “Jude’s Use of Pseudepigraphical Source-Material as Part of a Literary Strategy,” NTS 37 (1991):  130–45, here pp.  133–4; Charles, “ ‘Those’ and ‘These’: The Use of the Old Testament in the Epistle of Jude,” JSNT 38 (1990): 109–24 (especially p. 112 and p. 119 n. 4); Charles, Literary Strategy in the Epistle of Jude (Scranton: University of Scranton Press, 1993), pp. 132–60; R. Beckwith, The Old Testament Canon of the New Testament Church (London: SPCK, 1985), p. 402; E. M. B. Green, 2 Peter Reconsidered (London: Tyndale, 1961), p. 32; W M. Dunnett, “The Hermeneutics of Jude and 2 Peter:  The Use of Ancient Jewish Traditions,” JETS 31 (1988):  287–92. For older efforts to distance Jude from 1 Enoch, see T. Zahn, Introduction to the New Testament (trans. J. M. Trout, et al.; 3 vols.; 3rd ed.; New York: Scribner’s, 1909), 2:287. 7 A. Vögtle, Der Judasbrief/Der 2. Petrusbrief (EKK; Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukirchener, 1994), p. 71. The text of Jude’s citation has been the subject of several detailed studies. In addition to the commentaries, cf. M. Black, “The Maranatha Invocation and Jude 14, 15 (I Enoch I:9),” in Christ and the Spirit in the New Testament (ed. B. Lindars and S. S. Smalley; Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1973), pp. 189–96; C. D. Osburn, “The Christological Use of 1 Enoch i.9 in Jude 14, 15,” NTS 23 (1976–1977): 334–41; R. J. Bauckham, “A Note on a Problem in the Greek Version of I Enoch i.9,” JTS 32 (1981): 136–8; B. Dehandschutter, “Pseudo-Cyprian, Jude and Enoch: Some notes on 1 Enoch 1:9,” in Tradition and Re-interpretation in Jewish and Early Christian Literature (ed. J. W van Henten, et al.; FS J. C. H. Lebram; StPB 36; Leiden: Brill, 1986), pp. 114–20; E. Mazich, “ ‘The Lord Will Come with His Holy Myriads’: An Investigation of the Linguistic Source of the Citation of 1 Enoch 1,9 in Jude 14b-15,” ZNW 94 (2003): 276–81.

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rather, Enoch is designated as “the seventh from Adam,” and thus given a special place as an antediluvian figure who spoke at a symbolic8 point in the created order, a man who lived before the flood, amidst the immoral generation that, for Jude, corresponds to his own.9 (2) Jude 6 makes reference to the fall of the angels as a paradigmatic sin. Such a reference need not depend directly on 1 Enoch, for Gen 6:1–4 was itself widely interpreted as referring to the Fall of the Watchers (see below); but 1En 6–16 was the earliest and most influential version of this mythic event,10 and Jude’s description evinces enough terminological similarities to 1 Enoch that we may safely presume that this was his source. (3) In Jude 12–13 the opponents are depicted as “waterless clouds, fruitless trees, wild waves, wandering stars”—images apparently drawn from 1En 2:1–5:4 and 1En 80:2–8.11 Other allusions to Enochic language and motifs have been detected in Jude,12 but the current examples are sufficient to demonstrate that “1 Enoch 1–5 and related passages in the Enoch literature lie at the foundation of Jude’s exegetical work.”13

The Status of 1 Enoch among Jews and Christians There is widespread scholarly agreement that Enochic writings were held in very high regard by many segments of ancient Judaism and Christianity. The authoritative character of Enochic writings in pre-Rabbinic Judaism can be seen in their literary influence, for instance on

So Wolfgang Schrage notes that Jude mentions Enoch’s position as “seventh” to emphasize the “uralten und mysteriösen Charakter der Weissagung,” in ‘Der Judasbrief ’, in Die ‘Katholischen Briefe:  Die Briefe des Jakobus, Petrus, Johannes und Judas (ed. H. Balz and W. Schrage; NTD 10; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck and Ruprecht, 1973), p. 228. Even naming Enoch “the seventh” gives another clue that Jude relied on the writings of Enoch, for although Gen 5:1–24 and 1 Chr 1:1–3 provide genealogical information sufficient for a reader to know that Enoch was “seventh,” Enoch is explicitly named “seventh from Adam” in 1En 60:8 (and “seventh” at 1En 93:3; cf. Jub 7:39). On the significance of the “seventh” position, cf Schelkle, “Judasbrief,” p.  163; J.  M. Sasson, “A Genealogical ‘Convention’ in Biblical Chronology,” ZAW 90 (1978): 171–85. On the widespread motif of discovering wisdom from primeval texts (often inscribed on stones or pillars), cf. M. Hengel, Judaism and Hellenism: Studies in their Encounter in Palestine During the Early Hellenistic Period (trans. J. Bowden; 2 vols.; 2nd ed.; Philadelphia: Fortress, 1974), 1.241–2. 9 A further indication of Jude’s high estimation of 1 Enoch is the fact that the content of what Jude quotes—the impending divine judgment against the impious—is abundantly attested in the HB (cf. Deut 33:2; Jer 25:31; Zech 14:5; Isa 66:15–16; Dan 7:10, 25–26). J. C. VanderKam demonstrated in detail that Enoch’s theophany (1En 1:3b–7, 9) is thoroughly biblical in its motifs and even its vocabulary, in “The Theophany of Enoch I 3b–7, 9,” VT 23 (1973): 129– 50. If there were nothing especially authoritative for Jude about Enoch, these biblical references could have availed. Cf. A. Schlatter, Die Kirche Jerusalems vom Jahre 70–130 (Gutersloh: C. Bertelsmann, 1896), p. 82. 10 It is worth noting that when Origen responds to Celsus’s reference to the myth of the Watchers, Origen addresses the status of 1 Enoch in the church. In other words, he virtually presupposes that 1 Enoch was the source of this myth. 11 C. D. Osburn, “1 Enoch 80:2 (67:5–7) and Jude 12–13,” CBQ 47 (1985): 296–303; Bauckham, Jude and the Relatives, pp. 190–201. 12 F. H. Chase actually proposed Enochic parallels for 15 of Jude’s 25 verses, in “Jude, Epistle of,” A Dictionary of the Bible (ed. J. Hastings with J. A. Selbie; 5 vols.; New York: Scribners, 1902), 2:801–2. 13 Bauckham, Jude and the Relatives, p. 226; cf. p. 140: “Arguably 1 Enoch 1–5 was Jude’s most fundamental source in constructing the exegetical section of his letter . . .” Osburn likewise calls 1 Enoch “a point d’appui for Jude’s epistle” (“Christological Use,” p. 340). Cf. the list of passages cited by Zahn, Introduction, 2:288. 8

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Jubilees and on the Testaments of the Twelve Patriarchs.14 Copies of Enoch have been found in multiple caves at Qumran,15 and other texts from Qumran make use of Enochic literature or themes.16 In short, the Qumran library exhibits a “proliferation of Enochic and quasi-Enochic material.”17 Finally, it should be noted that if 1 Enoch was indeed translated into Greek by Jews (rather than by Christians),18 we have evidence of a readership among Greek-speaking Jews. The influence of the Enochic Book of the Watchers can also be seen in the fact that the Fall of the Watchers was the dominant Jewish interpretation of Gen 6:1–4 from the second century bce until the middle of the second century ce.19 It should be noted that, despite the prevalence of this interpretation for hundreds of years, in the second century ce there was a “widespread reaction in Judaism against the interpretation of bene Elohim as angels.”20 Rabbinic texts strongly reject an angelic interpretation of Gen 6:1–4, but they were also clearly aware of such an interpretation. R. Simeon b. Yohai cursed anyone who thought the bene Elohim were actually “sons of God”: in his view, the expression meant “sons of judges.”21 The targumim, in fact, reflect Simeon’s opinion, for they translate “sons of God” as “sons of the nobles” or “sons of the judges.”22 And although the LXX probably originally had “sons of God” at Gen 6:2 (altered in some manuscripts to “angels of God”23), this was later rendered by Symmachus as “sons of the powerful” and by Aquila as “sons of the gods.”24 Thus these second-century Greek translations were quite similar to the targumim; and it is the translations of Symmachus

L. VanBeek, “1 Enoch among Jews and Christians: A Fringe Connection?” in Christian-Jewish Relations Through the Centuries (ed. S. E. Porter and B. W R. Pearson; JSNTSup 192; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic, 2000), pp. 93–115, here pp. 98–99. 15 See J. T. Milik, ed., The Books of Enoch:  Aramaic Fragments of Qumran Cave 4 (Oxford:  Clarendon, 1967); G. W.  E. Nickelsburg, 1 Enoch 1:  A Commentary on the Book of 1 Enoch, Chapters  1–36, 81–108 (Hermeneia; Minneapolis: Fortress, 2001), pp. 76–78; and P. W. Flint, “The Greek Fragments of Enoch from Qumran Cave 7,” in Enoch and Qumran Origins: New Light on a Forgotten Connection (ed. G. Boccaccini; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2005), pp. 224–33. 16 VanBeek, “1 Enoch” pp. 96–97; A. Y Reed, Fallen Angels and the History of Judaism and Christianity: The Reception of Enochic Literature (New York: Cambridge University Press, 2006), pp. 95–101. One famous example is the Genesis Apocryphon, on whose use of 1 Enoch, see Nickelsburg, 1 Enoch, p. 76. 17 Nickelsburg, 1 Enoch, p. 77. 18 So E. W. Larson, The Translation of Enoch: From Aramaic into Greek (JSJSup 53; Leiden: Brill, 1997), who proposes the translation took place between 150 and 50 bce. Cf. the similar findings of J. Barr, “Aramaic-Greek Notes on the Book of Enoch,” JSS 24 (1979): 179–92. M. Black tentatively suggested the translation was made by Christians; M. Black with J. C. VanderKam and O. Neugebauer, The Book of Enoch or 1 Enoch:  A New English Edition (SVTP 7; Leiden: Brill, 1985), p. 4. But if 7Q4, 8, 11–13 are fragmentary manuscripts of Enoch (as argued by Flint), then there exists concrete evidence of pre-Christian Greek editions of Enoch. 19 So P. S. Alexander, “Targumim and Early Exegesis of ‘Sons of God’,” JJS 23 (1972): 60–71, here p. 61, who summarizes emphatically: “In fact, all our surviving sources, though differing, of course, in detail, are unanimous on this point.” A  possible exception might be detected in Sir 16:7, where the Hebrew “princes of old” could represent a nonmythological interpretation of the account from Genesis. If Sirach meant to demythologize the account, his grandson and translator undid his efforts, for he rendered the phrase “the ancient giants.” 20 Alexander, “Targumim,” p. 62. 21 Gen. Rab. 26.5. Further evidence of a second-century date for the Jewish rejection of the “sons of God” interpretation can be found in Justin Martyr’s Dial. 79, where Trypho says that Christian expositions that claim that “angels sinned and apostatized from God” are “mere contrivances” and “blasphemies” (Alexander, “Targumim,” p. 62). 22 Alexander, “Targumim”; G. G Stroumsa, Another Seed: Studies in Gnostic Mythology (NHS 24; Leiden: E. J. Brill, 1984), pp. 129–30; Targum Pseudo-Jonathan evinces knowledge of some elements of the Enochic tradition, naming the Nephilim of Gen 6:1–4 Shemihazai and Azael. 23 Alexander, “Targumim,” p. 63; Stroumsa, Another Seed, pp. 126–7. 24 By which Aquila meant either “sons of the idols” or “sons of the judges” (Alexander, “Targumim,” pp. 64–65). 14

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and Aquila that are cited by Christians, such as Cyril and Augustine, to defend their own euhemeristic interpretations of Gen 6:1–4.25 Just as the Fall of the Watchers myth was rejected by the Rabbis, Enoch himself was demoted in rabbinic writings,26 and there is a striking absence of references to Enochic literature.27 But this represents a marked change from the high status of Enochic writings prior to the second century ce. If we turn to Christian literature, we find a consistently high opinion of Enochic literature, especially at the end of the first and throughout the second century.28 First Clement 20 (ca. 96 ce) seems to depend on 1En 2–5. The Apocalypse of Peter (early second century ce) is clearly dependent on 1 Enoch, including the Book of Parables.29 More strikingly, the Epistle of Barnabas (late first or early second century ce) cites Enoch in the same way it cites other biblical authorities, using the expression “it is written” (Barn 4:330; 16:6) and “as scripture says” (16:5).31 In the later second century, both Athenagoras and Irenaeus treat the Fall of the Watchers as something taught by the “prophets,” thus apparently including 1 Enoch among the biblical prophets. Athenagoras, in his Embassy for the Christians written ce 176–180, refers to the angels’ “yielding to fleshly desires” and begetting “the so-called giants” (Leg. 24; cf. 1En 15:3), claiming that he is reporting only what “the prophets have declared.”32 Similarly, Irenaeus reads Gen 6 in light of 1 Enoch,33 and he states that the Fall of the Watchers is something taught by the Holy Spirit through the prophets.34 Irenaeus also says that Enoch was sent by God to Augustine, Civ. 15.23; Cyril is discussed in L. R. Wickham, “The Sons of God and the Daughters of Men: Genesis VI 2 in Early Christian Exegesis,” in Language and Meaning: Studies in Hebrew Language and Biblical Exegesis (ed. J. Barr; OtSt 19; Leiden: Brill, 1974), pp. 135–47, here pp. 146–7; cf. Reed, Fallen Angels, pp. 217–8. 26 Reed, Fallen Angels, p. 139, notes that both Gen. Rab. 25.1 and Tg. Onq. Gen 5:24 claim Enoch died a normal death. On the other hand, Targum Pseudo-Jonathan does have Enoch taken to heaven, and in fact identifies him as “Metatron, the great scribe”! For the exiguous evidence of rabbinic familiarity with 1 Enoch, cf. Nickelsburg, 1 Enoch, p. 81. On the possibility that the author of Pirqe de Rabbi Eliezer knew 1 Enoch, cf. A. Urowitz-Freudenstein, “Pseudepigraphic Support of Pseudepigraphical Sources:  The Case of Pirqe de Rabbi Eliezer” in Tracing the Threads:  Studies in the Vitality of the Jewish Pseudepigrapha (ed. J. C. Reeves. SBLEJL 6; Atlanta: Scholars, 1994), pp. 35–53. 27 The reason for this silence is not clear. Reed (Fallen Angels, p. 141) notes that m. Hag. 2.1 prohibited speculation about “what is above, what is below, what is before, what is after”; cf. Nickelsburg, 1 Enoch, p. 82. J. J. Collins notes that the calendrical teaching of 1 Enoch would have been unacceptable to the rabbis (“Before the Canon,” p. 239). 28 The early Christian reception of Enochic writings is surveyed by H. L. Lawlor, “Early Citations from the Book of Enoch,” Journal of Philology 25 (1897):  164–225; R. H. Charles, The Apocrypha and Pseudepigrapha of the Old Testament (Oxford:  Clarendon, 1913), 2.180–4; J. C. VanderKam, “1 Enoch, Enochic Motifs, and Enoch in Early Christian Literature,” in The Jewish Apocalyptic Heritage in Early Christianity (ed. J. C. VanderKam and W. Adler; Minneapolis: Fortress, 1996), pp. 33–101; VanBeek, “1 Enoch”; and Nickelsburg, 1 Enoch, pp. 82–108. 29 Lawlor, “Early Citations,” pp. 172–6; Nickelsburg, 1 Enoch, p. 87. 30 Here Enoch is cited alongside references to Daniel, Exodus, and Isaiah. 31 VanderKam, “1 Enoch,” pp. 37–40. Identifying the exact source for Barnabas’ references remains a problem. Lawlor notes that the citation at Barn 4:3 is “not even a free quotation of anything in our Book” (“Citations,” p. 172). The references in Barn 16 appear to be a summary of 1En 89:45–77 and 91:13 (so VanderKam, who surveys the various proposals (“1 Enoch,” pp. 37–40). It is worth noting that Barnabas is itself found among the books of the NT in Codex Sinaiticus and is cited as “scripture” by Clement of Alexandria and Origen. Thus it is interesting that for Tertullian, Priscillian, Jerome, and Augustine, it was Jude’s use of Enoch, not Barnabas’s, that presented itself as an issue, suggesting that, despite the greater length (and some might say the greater theological sophistication) of Barnabas, Jude had apparently become the more authoritative source. 32 Cf. VanderKam, “1 Enoch,” pp. 41–42; Lawlor, “Early Citations,” p. 177. 33 Discussed by VanderKam, “1 Enoch,” pp. 42–43. 34 Adv. Haer. 1.2. In his account, Irenaeus uses the same verb for “transgressing” (παραβαίνω) as does 1En 106:13–14; cf. Adv. Haer. 4.16.2; 4.36.4. Cf. Lawlor, “Early Citations,” pp. 195–7; VanderKam, “1 Enoch,” pp. 42–43. 25

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announce judgment to the fallen angels (Adv. Haer. 4.27.2); he refers to Azazel in connection with magical arts and astrology (Adv. Haer. 1.15.6); and he shows knowledge of the details of 1 Enoch in Demonstration of the Apostolic Preaching (Epid. 18).35 Clement of Alexandria’s high estimation of Enoch is evident from the fact that he included it in his Excerpts from the Prophets. In commenting on Daniel, Clement says that Daniel “agrees with Enoch, who has said, ‘I saw all matter’ ” (Ecl. 2.1).36 Clement also uses a reference to 1En 7:1–8:3 to clarify passages from the Psalms (Ecl. 53.4).37 In his Adumbrationes in epistolas canonicas, Clement cites Jude 14 and states, “By these words he validates the prophecy” (his verbis prophetam comprobat; Stählin, ed., Clemens Alexandrinus 3:208). At the end of the second century, Tertullian makes significant use of Enoch and addresses for the first time Christian doubts about its authenticity.38 Tertullian himself harbored no doubts whatsoever about Enoch’s authority. In his Apology he says that the Fall of the Watchers was something taught in “our sacred books” (apud litteras sanctas; Apol. 22). In On Idolatry he refers to Enoch “prophesying” (praedicens; 4.2) that the fallen angels would draw people to idolatry, and he proceeds to quote a version of 1En 99:6–7 as Enoch’s threat to idolators (Idol. 4.3).39 Later in the same work he claims that the Holy Spirit was speaking through Enoch, the “oldest prophet” (Idol. 15.6).40 Tertullian’s most extensive comments about Enoch come in Cult. fem. 1.3.41 Having discussed the angelic origin of cosmetics, Tertullian acknowledges two reasons that some might not accept Enoch as an authority on these matters: First, “because it is not admitted into the Jewish canon (quia nec in armarium Iudaicum admittitur)”; second, because “having been published before the deluge, it could not have safely survived that world-wide calamity” (ANF 4:15). Tertullian addresses both objections. As for surviving the flood, Tertullian notes that Noah could have remembered (and later recorded) the teachings of his great-grandfather; or, alternatively, Noah could have rewritten them “under the spirit’s inspiration (potuit . . . in spiritu rursus reformare)” just as Ezra was inspired to rewrite the Bible after it had been destroyed during the exile. As for the fact that Enoch was not a part of the Jewish canon, Tertullian claims that the Jews probably rejected Enoch—just as they had other scriptures—because Enoch spoke of Christ. Tertullian finds it plainly absurd that Christians should follow the Jewish decision about what prophetic books to read, for if Enoch spoke of Christ, then his writing pertain “to us,” and all writings suitable for edification are divinely

VanderKam, “1 Enoch,” pp. 42–43. Cf. 1En 19:3, and the discussion in Lawlor, “Early Citations,” p. 182 and VanderKam, “1 Enoch,” pp. 44–45. 37 The details of the citation are discussed by VanderKam, “1 Enoch,” pp. 45–46. Clement makes creative use of the Fall of the Watchers in his discussion of Greek philosophy (Strom. 5.1.10); see R. J. Bauckham, “The Fall of the Angels as the Source of Philosophy in Hermias and Clement of Alexandria,” VC 39 (1985): 313–30. 38 The only earlier evidence that might betray some unease with 1 Enoch might be 2 Peter, which retains the content of Jude 6 (the Fall of the Watchers), but omits the explicit reference to Enoch. Schelkle goes so far as to speak here of one book “demythologizing” another (Petrusbriefe, Judasbrief, p. 221). But given Enoch’s popularity in the second century, it is rather unlikely that concerns with the boundary of the canon motivated the author of 2 Peter to omit any reference to Enoch. 39 The details of these references are treated by VanderKam, “1 Enoch,” pp. 48–50. 40 Idol. 15.6: “Therefore the Holy Spirit, foreseeing this from the beginning, predicted through the intermediary of the oldest prophet, Enoch, that even entrances were to become objects of superstition.” Further citations of Enoch have been detected in Res. 32; cf. VanderKam, “1 Enoch,” pp. 53–54. 41 In addition to the passage to be discussed presently, cf. Cult. fem. 2.10: the angels provoked the anger of God “as Enoch says.” 35 36

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inspired (Cult. fem. 3.3; cf. 2 Tim 3:16). Last of all Tertullian notes that “Enoch possesses a testimony in the Apostle Jude” (Enoch apud Iudam apostolum testimonium possidet). Following Tertullian in Carthage, Cyprian also attributes the art of cosmetics to “sinning and apostate angels” (Hab. virg. 14). It is possible that Cyprian may simply be following Tertullian; his independent knowledge of 1 Enoch cannot be demonstrated conclusively.42 The treatise Against Novatian, falsely ascribed to Cyprian, quotes 1En 1:8–9 as scripture (sicut scriptum est; 16.5); since the citation includes a phrase not found in Jude 14–15, this likely represents an independent use of 1 Enoch.43 If Tertullian gives us our first evidence that some Christians had misgivings about the status of 1 Enoch, Origen’s various references suggest growing doubts about Enochic literature. Based on Origen’s five references to Enochic writings, it appears that he “considers them to be the authentic products of the patriarch and cites them as Scripture; however, he also indicates that others in the church do not hold this opinion.”44 So for instance, in De Principiis, Origen calls Enoch a “prophet,” and he refers to 1 Enoch when adducing scriptural evidence for a theological point.45 But later, in his Commentary on John, he expresses some reservation. In explaining the etymology of “Jordan” he appeals to 1En 6:6, but adds a caveat: “as it is written in the Book of Enoch, if it is right to take that book as holy” (εἵ τω φίλον παραδέχεσθαι ὡζ ἅγιον τὸ βιβλίου [Comm. Jo. 6.217]). Similarly, in his Homilies on Numbers, Origen praises Enoch’s “many secrets and mysteries” but adds that “since these booklets do not appear to have authority among the Jews, for the moment we should postpone appealing to those matters that are there mentioned as an example.”46 Whereas Tertullian brushed aside Jewish opinion, Origen cites it as reason to delay referring to Enochic texts. Finally, in his Contra Celsum, Origen responds to Celsus’s claim that the Incarnation was not unique even by Christian standards, since the angels had previously come, only to be “cast under the earth in chains” (Cels. 5.52). Origen replies that Celsus “has misunderstood what is written in the book of Enoch,” and adds that “the books titled ‘Enoch’ are not generally held to be divine by the churches” (Cels. 5.54).47 Several scholars have noted that there is a discernable trajectory to Origen’s references to Enoch.48 In his earliest work, he cited Enoch alongside scripture; later he noted that there were some reservations among Jews; and ultimately, when on the defensive about the Fall of the Watchers, he claimed that the acceptance of Enoch was a minority Christian position.49

Lawlor adduces reasons to believe that Cyprian drew directly from a Greek version of Enoch (“Early Citations,” pp. 179, 213); Nickelsburg (1 Enoch, p. 89) is less certain. 43 Nickelsburg, 1 Enoch, p. 90. Dehandschutter believes that the quotation may be taken from Jude (“Pseudo-Cyprian, Jude and Enoch,” p. 120 n. 36). 44 Nickelsburg, 1 Enoch, p. 90. 45 Princ. 4.4.8, citing 1En 21:1 and 1En 19:3. There is mention made of Enoch in Princ. 1.3.3, and it is possible that here Origen refers to Enoch as among the “holy writings” (scripturis sanctis). See VanderKam, “1 Enoch,” p. 55. 46 sed quia libelli ipsi non videntur apud Hebraeos in auctoritate haberi interim nunc ea quae ibi nominantur, ad exemplum vocare differamus (Hom. Num. 28; PG 12:802). 47 It is worth noting that Enoch must have been well enough known among Christians for Celsus to cite this as a Christian belief. 48 Lawlor, “Early Citations,” pp. 203–4; VanderKam, “1 Enoch,” pp. 54–59; Reed, Fallen Angels, p. 204. 49 Before jumping ahead to Athanasius and Augustine, we might note in passing that in the late third century, Anatolius of Alexandria, bishop of Laodicea, cited “the Book of Enoch” concerning the calendar (Paschal Canon 5; Nickelsburg, 1 Enoch, p. 92). For other evidence of later use of Enoch in Egypt, see B. A. Pearson, “Enoch in Egypt,” in For a Later Generation: The Transformation of Tradition in Israel, Early Judaism, and Early Christianity (ed. Randal A. Argall, et al.; Harrisburg, Pa.: Trinity, 2000), pp. 216–31. 42

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Whereas Tertullian and Origen mention Christians who have doubts about 1 Enoch, we have extant from the fourth century the emphatic rejection of Enoch by leaders such as Athanasius, Augustine, and Jerome.50 In arguing that apocryphal texts were the invention of the Melitians, Athanasius singled out the Book of Enoch, denying the possibility that it could have been composed by Enoch because “no Scripture existed before Moses.”51 Although we do not know whether or how Athanasius rationalized his acceptance of Jude, which was in his NT canon, and his rejection of Enoch, we know that he did have to address this sort of question, for he says that heretics seized upon 1 Cor 2:9, which they claimed was a citation of the Ascension of Isaiah, to defend their use of apocryphal writings. In Athanasius’ view, the heretics had themselves inserted Paul’s words from 1 Corinthians into their own apocryphal creation to give it an air of legitimacy. That line of argumentation would have been much more difficult in the case of Jude 14–15, since Jude names Enoch as his source. Like Athanasius, Augustine recommended Enoch be rejected; but he attempted to address the problem presented by Jude’s citation:  “We cannot deny that Enoch, the seventh from Adam, left some divine writings, for that is asserted by the Apostle Jude in his canonical epistle. But it is not without reason that these writings have no place in that canon of Scripture which was preserved in the temple of the Hebrew people . . . for their antiquity brought them under suspicion, and it was impossible to ascertain whether these were his genuine writings” (Civ. 15.23). Augustine elsewhere acknowledges Enoch as an ancient prophet—“Doesn’t the canonical epistle of the apostle Jude declare that he prophesied?” (Civ. 18.37–38)52—but he notes that there is no reliable way to have his authentic writings; he cites as an analogy the fact that the book of Kings mentions books that were no longer extant (Civ. 18.38). The writings of the prophets before Abraham “could not be held as authoritative either among the Jews or among us” because “their extreme antiquity” made them liable to tampering (Civ. 18.38). At the heart of the problem for Augustine was the fact that “it is uncertain whether [such writings] are genuine” (Civ. 18.38). Augustine upheld Jude’s testimony—Enoch must have prophesied— but urged that the Enochic literature, which Jews had not canonized, was to be rejected.53 We have now seen that Jude’s citation of Enoch allowed Tertullian to defend Enoch, and it forced Augustine to give an explanation for his own rejection of Enoch. What Tertullian and Augustine have in common is their acceptance of Jude as an authority. But others apparently argued that rather than accepting Enoch, the church should reject Jude because it cited Enoch. Other explicit rejection of Enoch can be adduced from this time. The Apostolic Constitutions (6.16) include warnings against the “apocrypha” written in the names of biblical figures including Enoch; such books are “ruinous and inimical to the truth” (Kaὶ ἐυ τοῖς παλαιοῖζ δέ τιυεζ συυέγραψαυ βιβλία ἀπόκρυφα Μωσέως, καὶ ‘Ευοχ, καὶ Άδὰμ,’ Ησαΐου τε καὶ Δαυὶδ, καὶ ‘ Ηλία, καὶ τωυ τριῶυ πατιαρχῶυ, φθοροποιὰ, και τῆς ἀληθείας ἐχθρά). 51 Cf. the discussion in D. Brakke, “Canon Formation and Social Conflict in Fourth-Century Egypt:  Athanasius of Alexandria’s Thirty-Ninth Festal Letter,” HTR 87 (1994): 395–419, here pp. 412–3. 52 For modern versions of Augustine’s argument—that Enoch did prophesy, that Jude quoted genuinely this prophecy which had been passed along, and that this genuine prophecy was later incorporated into the apocryphal book 1 Enoch—cf. the literature cited by Schelkle, “Judasbrief,” p. 164 n. 1. 53 Bede would seem to mimic Augustine’s arguments. He states categorically that Enoch is considered apocryphal— not because a patriarch’s words should be disdained, but because the book is simply pseudonymous. He also notes that it contains the implausible myth of the Watchers. Bede is also aware that Jude was rejected for having quoted an apocryphal book. But in his view, Jude took a quotation from an apocryphal book, and the quotation was “transparent to true light and bright truth” (PL 93: 129A; P R. Jones, The Epistle of Jude as Expounded by the Fathers—Clement of Alexandria, Didymus of Alexandria, the Scholia of Cramer’s Catena, Pseudo- Oecumenius, and Bede [TSR 89; Lewiston: Edwin Mellen, 2001], pp. 120–1). 50

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So Jerome reports: “Jude the brother of James left a short epistle that is reckoned among the seven catholic epistles. Because he therein quotes from the apocryphal book of Enoch, it is rejected by many. Nevertheless, through age and use, it has gained authority and is reckoned among the Holy Scriptures” (Vir ill. 4). For his part, Jerome did not want Christians to read Enoch. He disliked apocryphal books, and he rejected the myth of the Watchers as something recorded in “some apocryphal book” (legimus in quodam libro apocrypho [Brev. Ps. 132.3; PL 26:1293]). As for Jude’s citation of Enoch, Jerome argues that it belongs in the category of Paul’s occasional citations of Greek poets: it says nothing about the value of the work in which it was found. But Jerome is aware that some claimed that the entire book of Enoch should be received among the Church’s scriptures because “the Apostle Jude” had given it testimony.54

Jude’s Citation of Enoch as an Argument for Reading the Apocrypha For Athanasius, Jerome, and Augustine, apocryphal writings were to be avoided because they were thought to be the spurious (or adulterated) works of heretics.55 But the very process of delimiting a canon of sacred texts that were to be used to the exclusion of the apocrypha actually created a new opportunity for those Christians who defended the continued use of the apocrypha.56 Those who wanted to use apocryphal works could and did continue to appeal to Jude’s citation of Enoch, a citation made all the more rhetorically potent as the status of the canonical books was elevated. For instance, Priscillian, bishop of Avila (executed ca. 386), was able to mount a vigorous defense of the use of apocryphal books precisely because there were canonical books such as Jude that cited them.57 Priscillian asks a straightforward question: “Did the apostles of Jesus Christ . . . read from outside the canon?”58 Although he cites multiple canonical references to non-canonical books or episodes, Priscillian’s “star witness”59 is, in fact, Jude, whom he calls “the twin of the Lord.”60 In short, Priscillian claims, the canonical In his Commentary on Titus (PL 26.608C), Jerome states: Qui autem putant totum librum debere sequi eum qui libri parte usus sit, videntur mihi et apocryphum Enochi, de quo Apostolus Judas in Epistola sua testimonium posuit, inter ecclesiae scripturas recipere. As Lawlor notes, Jerome “plainly regards this argument as a reductio ad absurdum” (“Early Citations,” p. 220 n. 2). Jerome’s view has a modern advocate in Beckwith, Old Testament Canon, pp. 403–5. 55 On early Christian treatment of “apocryphal” and pseudepigraphical texts, cf. Robert A. Kraft, “The Pseudepigrapha in Christianity,” in Reeves, Tracing the Threads, pp.  55–86; Adler, “Pseudepigrapha.” On Athanasius, in particular, cf. Brakke, “Canon Formation,” pp. 412–3. The notion that apocryphal texts were the work of heretics goes back to the time of Hegesippus (Eusebius, Hist. eccl. 4.22.9) and Irenaeus (Adv. Haer. 1.12.1), although such an idea did not originally necessitate rejecting Enoch, which, as was noted above, Irenaeus seems to have valued. 56 Adler, “Pseudepigrapha,” p. 228. Men such as Origen and Priscillian of Avila freely granted that heretics may have forged some texts and tampered with others, but noted that this merely necessitated care on the part of the Christian interpreter. For Origen’s reservations about Jewish and heretical invention and adulteration of texts, cf. Adler, “Pseudepigrapha,” pp. 218–9, 221 n. 52. Origen cites as his hermeneutical principle the words of the Apostle Paul, “Test all things, and hold to that which is good” (1 Thess 5:21; Comm. ser. Matt. 28 (on Mt 23:37)). 57 V. Burrus, “Canonical References to Extra-Canonical ‘Texts’:  Priscillian’s Defense of the Apocrypha,” SBLSP 29 (1990): 60–67; A. S. Jacobs, “The Disorder of Books: Priscillian’s Canonical Defense of Apocrypha,” HTR 93 (2000): 135– 59; Henry Chadwick, Priscillian of Avila: The Occult and the Charismatic in the Early Church (Oxford: Clarendon, 1976), pp. 24–25, 77–85. 58 Priscillian, Lib. fid. 44.10–12:  Videamus ergo, si apostoli Christi Iesu magistri nostrae conversationis et vitae extra canonem nil legerunt. (I cite the text and translation from Jacobs, “Disorder.”) 59 To borrow the wording of Jacobs. 60 Lib. fid. 44.12–19: Ait luda apostolus clamans ille didymus domini . . . 54

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scriptures and the apocrypha stand or fall together: either scripture lied when it cited them, or the apocrypha contain some truth (Lib. fid. 49.29–50.5). Priscillian in fact turns the tables on his “orthodox” opponents by claiming that it is not those who use the apocrypha but rather their opponents who fail to honor the testimony of scripture: “If it is . . . believed among the apostles, that he [Enoch] is a prophet,” then why is it not an outrage and falsehood when “a prophet who preaches God is condemned?” (Lib. fid. 45.9-13).61 This is a simple argument, but it is rather difficult to counter, and it was to have a long life. In the seventh century, Jacob of Edessa wrote to a presbyter and stylite named John, for John had heard that there was no writing (or scripture) before Moses. Jacob attributes this claim to Athanasius and his effort to suppress apocryphal books. Jacob says that in making such a claim, Athanasius wrongly condemned Enoch, since Enoch was cited by Jude (Jacob of Edessa, Epistle 13.2).62 The argument is still heard a millennium and a half later. In recent years, James Charlesworth has asked, in a manner reminiscent of Priscillian: “How can Christians discard as insignificant, or apocryphal, a document that is . . . quoted as prophecy by an author who has been canonized?”63 Also in recent years, Cory Anderson, from a Mormon perspective, has studied Jude’s use of 1 Enoch to raise questions about Joseph Smith’s knowledge of 1 Enoch in Smith’s Book of Moses.64 And it would be parochial to discuss 1 Enoch as though it were a foregone conclusion that Enoch had once for all been excluded from scripture by Christians, for in the Ethiopian Orthodox Church, 1 Enoch is canonical,65 having been translated with other scriptures in the fourth century.66

Observations I would like to make a couple of observations about the intertwined fates of Jude and 1 Enoch. Concerning the increasing skepticism Christians seem to have held toward 1 Enoch, Annette Yoshiko Reed has pointed out that from Tertullian to Origen to Jerome one can chart The irony here is that Priscillian may not even have known any book of Enoch; so Lawlor, “Early Citations,” pp. 222–3. W. Wright, “Two Epistles of Mar Jacob, Bishop of Edessa,” Journal of Sacred Literature and Biblical Record, n.s. 10 (1867): 430–60, here p. 430. In the ninth century, George Syncellus defended his own use of Enoch and Jubilees by citing passages such as 1 Cor 2:9, which was believed to quote an apocryphal work. George Syncellus did not, however, mention Jude. “And this is from the First Book of Enoch concerning the Watchers, even if it is necessary that especially the more unsophisticated should not heed apocrypha wholeheartedly, insofar as they contain some strange material, out of line with ecclesiastical teaching, and have been adulterated by Jews and heretics. Nevertheless blessed Paul occasionally used some passages from apocrypha, as when he says . . . [citations of 1 Cor 2:9; Gal 6.15; Eph 5.14; etc. follow],” quoted in W. Adler and P. Tuffin, The Chronography of George Synkellos: A Byzantine Chronicle of Universal History from the Creation (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2002), p. 36. That George Syncellus later cites 2 Pet 2:4–7 rather than Jude 14 to prove that the NT authors knew 1 Enoch suggests that he was unaware of Jude. On the use of 1 Enoch by Christian chronographers, see W Adler, “Berossus, Manetho, and ‘1 Enoch’ in the World Chronicle of Panodorus,” HTR 76 (1983):  419–42; and W. Adler, “Jacob of Edessa and the Jewish Pseudepigrapha in Syriac Chronography,” in Reeves, Tracing the Threads, pp. 143–71, here pp. 145–6. 63 Charlesworth, Pseudepigrapha, p. 74. 64 C. D. Anderson, “Jude’s Use of the Pseudepigraphal Book of 1 Enoch,” Dialogue: A Journal of Mormon Thought 36 (2003): 47–64. 65 R. W Cowley, “The Biblical Canon of the Ethiopian Orthodox Church Today,” Ost 23 (1974): 318–23. 66 M. A. Knibb, “Christian Adoption and Transmission of Jewish Pseudepigrapha:  The Case of 1 Enoch,” JSJ 32 (2001): 396–415, here p. 413; on the reception of Enoch in Ethiopia, see Nickelsburg, 1 Enoch, pp. 104–8. 61 62

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a changing estimate of the Jewish “canon.” “Whatever the attitudes towards ‘the book(s) of Enoch’ in the writings of earlier Christians, their absence from the Jewish canon now [in the fourth century] suffices to shed doubt on their value for use within the church.”67 Whereas men such as Justin Martyr and Tertullian accused the Jews of adulterating scripture to obscure Christological prophecies, Origen was inclined to take the Jewish form of biblical text (witness his textual work in the Hexapla) and the Jewish extent of the canon very seriously, and he was correspondingly more cautious about 1 Enoch, despite the fact that he personally believed it to be authentic and valuable. It even appears that Origen’s reservations about Enoch increased after he moved from Alexandria to Caesarea and became more aware of the Jewish canon.68 When we come to Jerome, the champion of hebraica veritas, Jude’s citation of Enoch would seem to count against Jude rather than in favor of Enoch.69 The Jewish opinion seems increasingly weighty in the eyes of Christians.70 It would thus seem that the “ways” were perhaps not quite as “parted” as we sometimes imagine. It has been argued that Enoch fell out of favor because of the myth of the Watchers.71 Such an assessment is not fully correct, for the Fall of the Watchers was still widely accepted until the end of the third century,72 well after our first evidence for doubts about 1 Enoch. In fact, in the third century, only Julius Africanus mentions that the “sons of God” in Gen 6 may refer to the sons of Seth—and even he is open to the possibility that the passage refers to fallen angels.73 It is only in the fourth century that we find Didymus and Alexander of Lycopolis proposing allegorical interpretations of Gen 6:1–4, and only with Chrysostom, Jerome, Augustine, Theodoret, Philaster, and Cyril of Alexandria do we find a clear position in favor of the view that “sons of God” meant righteous humans.74 In conclusion: when fourth- and fifth-century Christian leaders insisted ever more strongly on the distinction between canonical and apocryphal texts, they included in the former category the little Epistle of Jude. Somewhat ironically, the very invention of the canon served to amplify the significance and force of Jude’s citation of 1 Enoch. It is striking, in this regard, Reed, Fallen Angels, p. 205. Reed, Fallen Angels, p. 204. 69 Even Augustine, who was no great champion of hebraica veritas, was unwilling to doubt the basic rightness of the books the Jews kept at the Temple. 70 When R.  Heiligenthal comments that 1 Enoch was rejected by Christians because of its Jewish origin, he would seem to have the situation precisely backwards:  “Der 1Hen selbst wurde offenbar sowohl von Juden wegen seiner Messianologie als auch von Christen wegen seiner jüdischen Herkunft abgelehnt,” in Zwischen Henoch und Paulus: Studien zum theologiegeschichtlichen Ort des Judasbriefes (TANZ 6; Tübingen: Francke, 1992), p. 63 n. 4. 71 So VanBeek: “After the second century CE . . . 1 Enoch was condemned due to its position on the carnal lust of heavenly beings. The main reason for the decline of the use of 1 Enoch is its explicit terms about the actions of the angels in Gen. 6.1–4” (“1 Enoch,” p. 111). 72 The interpretation of Gen 6:1–4 as the fall of the Watchers was dominant throughout the second and third centuries, having representatives in Papias, Justin Martyr, Tatian, Irenaeus, Athenagoras, Clement of Alexandria, Bardaisan, Tertullian, Heracleon, Hegemonius, Epiphanius, Commodian, Cyprian, the Pseudo-Clementine Homilies, and Lactantius (who may have known 1 Enoch). Specific references can be found in Bauckham, “Fall of the Angels,” p. 327 n. 17. 73 Julius Africanus, Chronography (apud Syncellus); for text and discussion, see Stroumsa, Another Seed, pp.  126–7 and VanderKam, “1 Enoch,” pp. 80–81. The Pseudo-Clementine Recognitions 1.29 also interprets Gen 6:1–4 as a story about “righteous men.” 74 Bauckham, “Fall of the Angels,” p. 316; L. R. Wickham, “Sons of God.” Klijn notes that Syriac Christians arguing for a Sethian interpretation betray a knowledge of the rabbinic “sons of judges” interpretation (cited by Reed, Fallen Angels, p. 223). 67 68

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that Barnabas’s citations of 1 Enoch are nowhere mentioned in defense of 1 Enoch (or in defense of Jude). Thus it appears that the very creation of a “closed” canon created a sort of “wormhole” that connected the canon itself to those apocryphal texts that a strictly delimited list of sacred books was meant to keep out.

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JUDE’S EXEGESIS

Richard J. Bauckham

Though it has been rarely recognized, Jude’s letter contains a peculiarly elaborate and interesting example of formal exegesis of Scripture in the style of the Qumran pesharim. Study of this aspect of Jude will illuminate both the letter itself and the tradition of early Christian exegesis to which it belongs.

I.  The Structure of Jude’s Commentary Before analysing the commentary section itself (vv 4–19), we must first ascertain its role within the letter as a whole, whose structure can be analysed as follows: Analysis of the Letter 1–2 3–4 3 4

Address and Greeting Occasion and Theme A. The Appeal to Contend for the Faith B. The Background to the Appeal: the False Teachers, their Character and Judgment (forming Introductory Statement of Theme for B1) 5–23 Body of the Letter 5–19 B1. The Background: A Commentary on Four Prophecies of the Doom of the Ungodly 20–23 A1. The Appeal 24–25 Concluding Doxology. In form Jude is a letter, with a formal letter structure, as this analysis shows, but containing (in vv 4–19) a section of formal scriptural exegesis. In the structure of the whole letter it is especially important to notice that the initial statement of theme of the letter (vv 3–4) contains two parts (here labelled A and B) which correspond, in reverse order – a chiastic arrangement – to the two parts of the body of the letter (labelled B1 and A1). The main purpose of the letter is the appeal ‘to contend for the faith’ which is announced in v 3 and spelled out in verses 20–23.1 But verse 4 explains that this appeal is necessary because the readers are in danger of being misled by false teachers. The claim in verse 4 that these teachers are people whose ungodly behaviour has already been condemned by God is then substantiated by the exegetical section2 (vv 5–19) which argues that these are the ungodly people of the last days to whom the scriptural types See, in more detail, Bauckham (1983A) 4, 29, III. In other works (e.g. Bauckham [1983], [1988E]), I have used the term ‘midrash’, but this has developed such potential for misunderstanding, being used both very strictly (of the rabbinic midrashim only) and very loosely (of any kind of Jewish scriptural interpretation, even where there is no explicit quotation of or reference to Scripture), that it seems best avoided. So I use the English terms ‘exegesis’ and ‘commentary’. 1 2

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and prophecies of judgment refer. Thus we should not be misled by the length and central position of the discussion of the false teachers (vv 4–19) into considering it the main object of the letter. This section establishes the danger in which the readers are placed by the influence of the false teachers and so performs an essential role as background to the appeal, but the real climax of the letter is only reached in the exhortations of verses 20–23. In verses 4–19 Jude establishes the need for his readers to ‘contend for the faith’, but only in verses 20–23 does he explain what ‘contending for the faith’ involves. Thus his negative polemic against the false teachers is subordinate to the positive Christian teaching of verses 20–23, which is what ‘contending for the faith’ consists in. This analysis shows that B and B1 form together a section which crosses the main divisions of the letter: B (v 4) forms an introductory statement of theme for the commentary in verses 5–19. The commentary provides the exegetical argument to support the claim made in verse 4: that the false teachers are people whose ungodly behaviour has already been condemned and whose judgment has long ago been prophesied. Thus, the exegetical section (vv 5–19) is not, as it has so often seemed to modem readers, mere undisciplined denunciation, but a very carefully composed piece of scriptural commentary which argues for the statement made in verse 4. Though strange to modem readers, the argument is one whose hermeneutical presuppositions and exegetical methods were widely accepted in contemporary Judaism and can be paralleled especially from the Qumran pesharim. Its aim is to demonstrate the danger posed by the false teachers to the readers by showing how their practice and advocacy of libertine behaviour corresponds to the character of those ungodly people whose appearance in the last days and whose judgment at the imminent parousia has been prophesied. The structure of the exegetical section (B + B1) itself is as follows:3 Analysis of the Commentary Section 4 5–7 8–10 9 11 12–13 12–13 14–15 16 17–18 19

Introductory statement of theme ‘ Text’ 1: Three Old Testament types + interpretation including secondary ‘text’ Ia: Michael and the devil ‘ Text’ 2: Three more Old Testament types + interpretation including secondary allusions (Ezek 34:2; Prov 25:14; Isa 57:20; 1 Enoch 80:6) ‘ Text’ 3: A very ancient prophecy (1 Enoch 1:9) + interpretation ‘Text’ 4: A very modem prophecy (a prophecy of the apostles) + interpretation.

The basic structure is of four main ‘texts,’ each followed by a section of commentary identifying the false teachers as those to whom the ‘text’ refers. The four main ‘texts’ are grouped in two pairs. However, the term ‘texts’ (with inverted commas) has to be used because, although they function as texts in the commentary, they are not all actual scriptural quotations: in fact, none of them is an actual quotation from our canonical Old Testament. This may seem to throw initial doubt on the plausibility of classifying this passage as a piece This is a modified version of the analysis offered by Ellis (1978) 221–226.

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of scriptural exegesis, but the structure of text and commentary is in every other respect too clear for the anomalous character of the actual ‘texts’ to outweigh it. We must accept that Jude intended to write a piece of exegetical argument, but chose to use ‘texts’ which are not strictly speaking scriptural quotations. The first pair, ‘texts’ 1 and 2, are summaries of Scripture.4 ‘Text’ 1 refers to three groups of people: Israel in the wilderness (Num 14), the Watchers or fallen angels (1 Enoch 6–19), and the cities of the Plain (Gen 19). ‘Text’ 2 refers to three individuals: Cain (Gen 4:8), Balaam (Num 22; 31:16; cf. Deut 23:5; Neh 13:2) and Korah (Num 16). Both the groups and the individuals were well-known scriptural examples of judgment, who here function as types. So in these ‘texts’ we have not verbal prophecies but historical types, to which Jude refers in summary form rather than by quoting Scripture. In verses 5–6, however, there are some more or less precise verbal allusions to the actual texts of Scripture: v 5 μὴ πισεύσαντας: cf. Num 14:11 (cf. Deut 1:32; 9:23; Ps 106:24); v 6 ἀπολιπὸντας τὸ ἴδιον οἰκητήριον: cf. 1 Enoch 12:4; 15:3, 7; εἰς κρίσιν μεγάλης ἡμέρας: 1 Enoch 10:12 (text as in 4QEnb 1:4:11); δεσμοῖς ἀϊδίοις ὑπὸ ζόφον τετήρηκεν: cf. 1 Enoch 10:4–6; τετήρηκεν: perhaps cf. 2 Enoch 7:2; 18:4–6. It should also be noticed that the references to Cain, Balaam and Korah are not merely to the Old Testament texts as such, but to the haggadic traditions about these figures which had grown up around the Old Testament texts.5 It is possible that these two ‘texts’ (vv 5–7 and vii) were already known to Jude in something like the form in which he quotes them. There is good evidence that verses 5–7 are an adaptation of a traditional schema of well-known examples of divine judgment: other examples of the schema (Sir 16:7–10; CD 2:17–3:12; 3 Macc 2:4–7; TNapht 3:4–5; m. Sanh. 10:3; 2 Pet 2:4–8) offer close parallels, both material and stylistic, to Jude 5–7.6 Moreover, the introduction to verse 5 (‘Now I should like to remind you, though you have been informed of all things once and for all’) indicates that the material in verses 5–7 was part of the paraenetic tradition which had been communicated to these churches when they were founded.7 So it may be that Jude’s ‘text’ is here an already traditional summary of scriptural material, though it is likely that Jude himself is responsible for the actual wording and for the precise allusions to 1 Enoch. As for ‘text’ 2 (v 11), it is in the form of a prophetic woe-oracle, which might indicate that Jude already knew it in that form, as the oracle of a Christian prophet, though of course it is entirely possible that Jude composed it in that form himself.8 The possibility that verse 11 already existed as a prophetic oracle could explain the formal difference between ‘texts’ 1 and 2. In any case, ‘texts’ 1 and 2 can function as scriptural texts because they summarize material in Scripture and traditional interpretation of Scripture. ‘Texts’ 1 and 2 are already a pair, being each a set of three types, and ‘texts’ 3 and 4 form a second pair, this time of verbal prophecies of the false teachers, one very ancient and one very modem. Enoch’s was no doubt (ostensibly) the oldest prophecy available to Jude. Writing during the lifetime of the apostles, he looks back in verses 17–18 not, as commonly thought, Wright (1967) 108, considers this an acceptable way of citing the text of a midrash, and compares 1 Cor 10:1–5; Heb 7:1–3. 5 See Bauckham (1983A) 79–84. 6 Details in Bauckham (1983A) 46–47. 7 Bauckham (1983A) 48–49. 8 Bauckham (1983A) 77–78; cf. Ellis (1978) 224. 4

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to the time of the apostles as such, but simply to the time when apostles founded the churches to which he is writing,9 so that the prophecy of the apostles is a very modem one. The effect therefore of pairing these two particular prophecies is to demonstrate that the false teachers and their judgment have been prophesied from the very earliest times, before the Flood, up to the most recent times, at the actual inauguration of the last days. Both prophecies are actual quotations, but the difference between the introductory formulae in each case (vv 14a, I7–18a) indicates the difference between quotations from a written and an oral source. Of course, the quotation from the apostles may well be simply Jude’s own summary of the kind of thing that was part of the common apocalyptic teaching of the apostles. The written source is 1 Enoch, a work with which (or with parts of which) Jude shows himself to be very familiar. Despite the anomalous nature of Jude’s texts, the exegetical structure of ‘text’ followed by interpretation is plain, because the transition from ‘text’ to interpretation is in each case clearly marked in two ways.10 (1) It is marked by a change of tense, from verbs in the past or future in the ‘texts’ to present tenses in the interpretation. ‘Text’ 1 is in the past tense, referring to the types in past history; ‘texts’ 2 and 3 are both in prophetic past tenses (i.e. aorists which, in imitation of the Semitic ‘prophetic perfect,’ in fact refer to the future); while ‘text’ 4 has a real future tense. Thus the types and prophecies are in the past and the future; the interpretations in each case use present tenses, referring to the fulfilment of the types and prophecies in the present, in the form of Jude’s opponents. (2)  The transition from ‘text’ to interpretation is also marked by phrases with οὗτοι used in a formulaic way at the beginning of each section of interpretation. These phrases, which will be discussed in more detail in section III below, resemble exegetical formulae used in other texts to introduce an interpretation. They serve to identify the false teachers as the people to whom the prophecies refer, and so make the transition from the prophecy to its application to the false teachers. The interpretation in each case describes the false teachers in a way which conforms to the prophecy. (3) A further indicator of the division of the passage into ‘texts’ and commentary is found only in the cases of ‘texts’ 3 and 4, which, as we have already noticed, have introductory formulae (vv 14a, 17–18a), marking them off from the interpretation of the preceding text. ‘Text’ 2 does not have such a formula, but is sufficiently clearly marked out by its form as a prophetic woe-oracle. As well as the four main ‘texts,’ there is a secondary ‘text’ (1a), which is introduced in verse 9 to help the interpretation of ‘text’ 1. This kind of use of a secondary text in the course of the interpretation of another text is a phenomenon which can be paralleled in the Qumran pesharim,11 with which as we shall see Jude’s exegesis has considerable affinity. In this case the ‘text’ is a summary, with considerable close verbal allusion, of an apocryphal account of the death of Moses. Jude’s source in verse 9 is probably the lost ending of the Testament of Moses. That reconstruction will show that Jude 9 is quite close to being a quotation (the following are verbal allusions to the source: Μιχαὴλ ὁ ἀρχάγγελος . . . τῷ διαβόλῳ διακρινόμενος διελέγετο περὶ τοῦ Μωϋσέως σώματος . . . βλασφημίας . . .Ἐπιτιμήσαι σοι Κύριος). Again this ‘text’ is marked off by a change of tense and by οὗτοι at the beginning of verse 10. But what marks out verse 9 as a secondary ‘text,’ rather than a ‘text’ in its own right alongside the other four, is the fact that verse 10 also continues the interpretation of ‘text’ 1 begun in verse 8. Moreover, Bauckham (1983A) 103–104. First pointed out by Ellis (1978) 225. 11 Horgan (1979) 95; Brooke (1985) 130–133, 145–147, 304–305. 9

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verse 9 is not, like the other ‘texts,’ a type or prophecy of the false teachers, but an example with which they are contrasted. It should therefore be seen as part of the commentary on ‘text’ 1. The Qumran pesharim not only attest this practice of introducing a secondary text, more or less formally quoted, in the course of an interpretation; they also, to the same effect, incorporate implicit allusions to other texts in the interpretation of a given text.12 Jude adopts the latter practice in verses 12–13, where a series of scriptural allusions are worked into the commentary on ‘text’ 2. The rather intricate composition of this commentary on ‘text’ 2 will be explained in the next section.

II.  Exegesis of Jude’s Exegesis Before analysing the formal characteristics of Jude’s exegesis, it is necessary to see it in practice. In this section, therefore, we shall examine, comparatively briefly, ‘texts’ 1 and 2 and their respective interpretations (vv 5–13), in order to appreciate how the structure and the sometimes highly compressed and allusive content of these sections serve Jude’s purpose of demonstrating exegetically the danger his opponents constitute for the church. 1.  ‘Text’ 1 and Its Interpretation ‘Texts’ 1 and 2 refer to the opponents as guilty of flagrant disobedience to divine commandments (text 1) and furthermore as false prophets who corrupt others (text 2). The two sets of types are carefully selected to make these two rather different points. ‘Text’ 1 cites three classic examples of sin which incurred divine judgment:  the whole generation of unbelieving Israel exterminated in the wilderness (Num 14), the angels who left their heavenly position of authority in order to mate with women (Gen 6:1–4, as interpreted in the Enochic book of Watchers), and the Sodomites (although Jude refers to the cities of the Plain, the sin he specifies was that only of the Sodomites according to Gen 19:4–11). The sin for which the last of these three groups is condemned is not here homosexual rape, but the attempt at sexual relations with angels (as τὸν ὅμοιον τρόπον τούτοις as well as σαρκὸς ἑτέρας in v 7 make clear).13 In each case the form of judgment is definitive and memorable: the utter destruction of the wilderness generation, the chaining of the fallen angels in the darkness of the underworld, and the eternal fire which makes the cities of the Plain an enduring witness to the fact of divine judgment. This last reference is explained by the fact that in antiquity the smoking, Horgan (1979) 95; Brooke (1985) 130. Cf. Wolthius (1987) 28–29. For comparison of the two cases  – the angels desiring sexual relations with women, the Sodomites desiring sexual relations with angels – cf. TNapht 3:4–5. Klijn (1984) claims that, because the sexual transgression of the angels is not explicitly mentioned by Jude, the point of comparison is rather that ‘both abandoned a particular position’ (p. 243). He therefore denies any implication that Jude’s opponents were sexual libertines. He is followed by Sellin (1986) 216–217, who also denies that ‘defile the flesh’ (Jude 8) has a sexual reference. But against both, the only natural sense of v 7 (ἐκπορνεύσασαι καὶ ἀπελθοῦσαι ὀπίσω σαρκὸς ἐτέρας) with reference to the Sodomites is sexual and therefore the beginning of v 7 must imply also the sexual element in the angels’ sin. It is true, however, that in both cases the stress is not on the sexual transgression as such, but on the violation of the natural order which it involved. From vv 6–7, therefore, it would not necessarily follow that Jude’s opponents were guilty specifically of sexual immorality. But parallels to the expression ‘to defile the flesh’ (σάρκα μιαίνουσιν) in v 8 leave no doubt that it refers to sexual immorality (Bauckham [1983A] 56). 12 13

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sulphurous waste south of the Dead Sea was believed to be the aftermath of the destruction of Sodom and Gomorrah, and so regarded as visible evidence of the reality of divine judgment.14 In using these three examples, Jude follows a standard pattern of Jewish paraenetic tradition, which listed anything from two to seven prime examples of judgment from the Old Testament (cf. Sir 16:7–10; CD 2:17–3:12; 3 Macc 2:4–7; TNapht 3:4–5; m. Sanh. 10:3; 2 Pet 2:4–8).15 But he has used this pattern in a distinctive way. Not only has he selected the three examples which best suit his purpose, but he has treated them not merely as examples, but as eschatological types. That is, in his eyes they are events which prefigure the final judgment of the wicked at the parousia. The three different forms of judgment specified contribute to a typology of the final condemnation of the wicked, which is most commonly described by the three images of destruction, darkness and fire. The three sins which incur judgment are also appropriate to the typological function Jude gives them. In the first case, highlighted by being placed first, out of chronological order, the point is that the Lord’s own people, who had experienced salvation, were not immune from judgment when they repudiated his lordship. The second case is also one of apostasy, but equally strikingly both it and the third are cases of outrageous transgression of the moral order of creation. No more flagrant flouting of the created order of things could be imagined than the desire for sexual union between human beings and angels (cf. 1 Enoch 15:3–10). The interpretation (vv 8–10) of these three types aims to show how Jude’s opponents identify themselves as the sinners of the last days to whom these types prophetically point. Jude’s opponents sin ‘in the same way’ (v 8) as the types, and therefore they will incur the judgment at the parousia which the judgments of the past prefigure. Three sins of the opponents are specified in verse 8: they ‘defile the flesh,’ i.e. indulge in sexual immorality (like the angels and the Sodomites), they ‘reject the authority of the Lord’ (like Israel in the wilderness), and they ‘slander the glorious ones,’ i.e. treat angels insultingly (like the Sodomites). The last of the three charges is further expounded in verse 9 (with the help of the secondary ‘text’ la) and verse 10a. Finally, verse 10b makes clear that, because the opponents correspond to the types in sin, they will correspond to them in judgment. 2.  ‘ Text’ 2 and Its Interpretation If ‘text’ 1 and its interpretation show the opponents to be apostates who flagrantly flout the moral order, ‘text’ 2 and its interpretation show their guilt to be even greater in that they are false teachers who lead others into sin. This comes especially into focus when it is realized that the images of the three Old Testament figures of verse 11 are refracted through haggadic tradition. According to such tradition, Cain was not only the first murderer, but the great corrupter of humanity, who enticed others into sin (Josephus, Ant. 1:61; Philo, Post. 38–39).16 Balaam is here not the rather ambiguous figure of the Old Testament so much as the villainous false prophet of Jewish tradition, who could not resist Balak’s offer of reward. Although he failed to curse Israel, he eventually made up for the failure by giving the advice which enticed Israel into apostasy. Ironically, he met his end when he returned to collect his reward.17 So

Wis 10:7; Josephus, BJ 4:483; Philo, Mos. 2:56; Abr. 141. Details in Bauckham (1983A) 46–47. 16 For other sources and detail, see Bauckham (1983A) 79–81. 17 For sources and detail, see Bauckham (1983A) 81–83; Wolthius (1987) 33–36. 14 15

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Balaam’s ‘error’ (πλάνη) should be taken in an active sense (as in Matt 27:64; 2 Thess 2:11), referring not just to his going astray himself, but to his leading others astray. Finally, Korah was the classic example of the antinomian heretic. He complained that the law of the fringes (Num 15:37–41) was an intolerable law, and led a rebellion against the authority of God’s law as represented by Moses (LAB 16:1; Tg. Ps-Jon. Num 16:1–2). His sin was to teach others his antinomian opinions.18 His spectacular fate, when the earth opened to swallow him up, was frequently cited as a prime example of judgment (Num 16:10; Ps 106:17; Sir 45:19; Josephus, BJ 5:566; LAB 57:2; 1 Clem 4:12; 51:4; Prot Jas 9:2; cf. also 1 Enoch 90:18; 99:2): Jude’s climactic ἀπώλοντο refers to it as the type of the judgment which hangs over his opponents. It was probably because Korah’s fate provided the most striking example of judgment that Jude placed him last, out of chronological order. The interpretation (vv 12–13) aims to show that the false teachers conform to these types by being false teachers who lead others into sin, but in doing so it rapidly moves into a series of secondary allusions to further scriptural texts. The first of the series of six metaphors used in these verses to characterize the false teachers is not a scriptural allusion. It portrays them as dangerous reefs (σπιλάδες) on which the readers may be shipwrecked.19 The point is that the opponents deliver their prophetic oracles at the church’s fellowship meals (oἱ ἐv ταῖς ἀγάπαις ὑμῶν . . . συνευωχούμενοι ἀφόβως: ‘who feast with you at your fellowship meals, without reverence’), and so expose the church to the dangerous influence of their teaching. The second metaphor (ἑαυτοὺς ποιμαίνοντες: literally, ‘shepherding themselves’) portrays them as people who claim to be shepherds, i.e. Christian leaders, but who, instead of tending the flock, care only for themselves. In suggesting that they are really only interested in making a good living out of their role in the church, this part of the interpretation takes up especially the reference to Balaam in the ‘text’ (v 11), which characterizes Balaam specifically as the prophet who hired out his services for reward. But it is also a scriptural allusion itself  – to Ezekiel’s prophecy of the false shepherds of Israel (34:2 RSV: ‘shepherds of Israel who have been feeding yourselves! Should not shepherds feed the sheep?’; cf. also 38:4).20 The allusion will be meant to suggest the whole of Ezekiel’s condemnation of the shepherds who, instead of looking after the flock, exploit it for their own benefit. The four metaphors from nature which follow in verses 12b–13 constitute a highly skilful composition.21 All four characterize the opponents as false teachers. In the cases of the clouds which fail to give rain and the trees which fail to produce fruit, the point is that a benefit is promised and expected, but fails to materialize. The false teachers make great claims for their teaching, but in reality it provides no benefit for the church. In fact, it is positively harmful, corrupting people, like the sea which throws up its filth on the shore. The opponents are like stars which go astray from their divinely ordained courses, as the planets did in the old astrological myths, misleading those who look to them for guidance. The traditional judgment of such stars is to be extinguished in the eternal darkness of the underworld. Thus the judgment

For other sources and detail, see Bauckham (1983A) 83–84. For this and other interpretations of σπιλάδες, see Bauckham (1983A) 85–86. 20 See Bauckham (1983A) 87. The allusion to Ezek 34:2 is closer to the Hebrew than to the LXX. It is also possible that Jude connected Ezekiel’s prophecy about the shepherds with the allegory of the shepherds who rule Israel and are to be judged at the last judgment in 1 Enoch 89:59–90:25 (cf. especially Ezek 34:5b–8 with 1 Enoch 89:65–66, 68; 90:2–4, 11; Ezek 34:5a, 6 with 1 Enoch 89:75; Ezek 34:3, 10 with 1 Enoch 89:74). 21 On these verses see Osburn (1985); Bauckham (1983A) 87–91 (but I  have now very considerably developed my earlier analysis of this passage). 18 19

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of the opponents, incorporated already in the second image, of the fruitless trees uprooted, is climactically portrayed in the fourth, so that (as with ‘text’ 1 and its interpretation) this passage of interpretation ends on the same note as the ‘text’ it interprets (v 11). The last of the metaphors in the passage of interpretation is also linked back to the ‘text’ it is interpreting by means of the wordplay πλανηται/πλάνη (vv 13, 11). The four images relate to the four regions of the universe: clouds in the air, trees on the earth, waves in the sea, stars in the heavens. Thus they represent, with an example from each part of the universe, nature failing to follow the laws laid down for her by God in creation. Once this pattern is recognized, two passages from the Enoch literature can be seen to lie behind it. Immediately following the passage which Jude quotes in verses 14–15 (1 Enoch 1:9) is a passage (1 Enoch 2:1–5:4) which portrays nature as law-abiding, keeping to the created order laid down for her by God, by contrast with the wicked, lawless people who transgress the moral order.22 The examples given in this passage of lawabiding nature include the opposites of Jude’s four examples of lawless nature: clouds which give rain (1 Enoch 2:3),23 trees which bear fruit (5:1), seas which keep to their tasks (5:3), and stars which do not change their courses (2:1). The special significance of this passage of 1 Enoch for Jude lies in the way it is connected with the key text in his commentary: 1 Enoch 1:9. The close connection is indicated by the fact that the last words of that verse (as Jude quotes them: ‘to convict all the ungodly of all the ungodly deeds which they have committed in their ungodliness, and of all the hard things which ungodly sinners have spoken against him’ [Jude 15]; but note that the Aramaic fragment in 4QEnc 1:1:17 has ‘great and hard things’) are echoed in 1 Enoch 5:4 (‘you have spoken great and hard words with your unclean mouth against his majesty’), forming an inclusio. As Hartman has shown, the intervening passage (1 Enoch 2:1– 5:4) is the indictment of God against the wicked, by which he will ‘convict’ or ‘denounce’ them (1:9) at his eschatological coming to judgment.24 Hartman places it within a biblical and post-biblical rib-pattern, in which God’s charges against the wicked are presented in the presence of heaven and earth.25 In one tradition the call to heaven and earth to witness against the wicked (Deut 30:19; 32:1; LAB 19:4; 2 Bar 19:1; 84:2) is interpreted as referring to the way God’s natural creation keeps to the laws he has given it, thus highlighting by contrast the guilt of the wicked who stray from God’s laws (Jer 5:22–23; 1 Enoch 101:6–7; TNapht 3:2–5; 1Q34bis 2:1–4; LAE 29:12; Sifre Deut 306; implicitly 1 Clem 20:1–21:126). 1 Enoch 2:1–5:4 sets out a sequence of works of God observing the order he has laid down for them in all three regions of the universe – heavens, earth, waters.27 (The clouds and the rain belong here to the description of the works of the earth.) The same threefold reference occurs in other closely related texts (TNapht 3:4; Sifre Deut 306; cf. 1 Enoch 101:6–8): it corresponds to the most common form of division of the world into regions. Jude has a similar pattern, but follows a less usual division of the world into four regions: air, earth, sea, heavens. However, Jude does not contrast the wicked with law-abiding nature. Instead, he uses examples of lawless nature as metaphors for the wicked. It is unlikely that he will have been inspired to do this

The relevance of this passage of 1 Enoch was first noted by Spitta (1885) 396. Osburn (1985) 297, appears to discount it in favour of 1 Enoch 80:2–8. I agree that the latter is Jude’s more immediate source, but that he read it in connection with 1 Enoch 2:1–5:4 seems to me very probable. 23 For this verse, cf. the fragmentary Aramaic in 4QEna 1:2:4 (Milik [1976] 146–147). 24 Hartman (1979) 26. 25 Hartman (1979) 49–95. 26 Milik (1976) 148, considers this passage to be closely related to 1 Enoch 2:1–5:4. 27 See the analysis of the structure of the passage in Hartman (1979) 17. 22

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simply by 1 Enoch 2:1–5:4. But consideration of that passage seems to have led him to another part of the Enoch literature. The description of the regular courses and times of the heavenly bodies in 1 Enoch 2:1 is a summary statement of what Enoch is shown in enormous detail in the ‘Astronomical Book’ (1 Enoch 72–82). Following his conducted tour of the secrets of the heavens, Enoch is then told by his guide Uriel that these regularities will fail in the last days, ‘the days of the sinners’ (80:2), when nature will go astray into lawlessness, resulting in some of the familiar apocalyptic features of the last days (80:2–8). The passage has links, which Jude will have observed, with 1 Enoch 2:1–5:4.28 In particular, the phrase ‘at its proper time,’ used in 2:1 to emphasize how the heavenly bodies observe their God-given laws, is repeatedly used in 80:2–6 to show how, when the heavenly bodies go astray in the last days nothing will happen at the proper time: the seasons will not occur when they should (80:2), crops and fruits will be late (80:3), the moon (80:4) and the stars (80:6) will not appear at their proper times. The result is that sinners will be misled (80:7), and will be judged: ‘punishment will come upon them to destroy them all’ (80:8)29 – recalling the universal judgment of the wicked in 1:9. The examples of the lawlessness of nature given in 1 Enoch 80:2–7 include three of Jude’s four metaphors, in the same order as in Jude 12–13:  rain withheld from the earth (80:2), fruits of the trees withheld (80:3), and, as the climax of the passage, the stars straying from their proper times and orbits, leading sinners on earth astray (80:6–7). Jude’s reference to the wandering stars (v 13: ἀστέρες πλανῆται) seems to be an actual allusion to 1 Enoch 80:6 (‘many heads of the stars in command will go astray’30), and alerts us to the fact that two of his other three images from nature also correspond to 1 Enoch 80. Jude seems to have associated the two passages from 1 Enoch (2:1–5:4; 80:2–8). Just as lawabiding nature (1 Enoch 2:1–5:4) provides a contrast to the sinners of the last days, so lawless nature (1 Enoch 80:2–7) can provide an image of the wicked who go astray from their created order in the last days. Jude was not the first to associate these two passages of 1 Enoch. It seems to have been done within the Enoch literature itself, in 1 Enoch 101: (101:1) Contemplate, therefore, children of men, the works of the Most High, and fear to do evil before him. (101:2) If he closes the windows of heaven, and withholds the rain and the dew from descending on the earth because of you, what then will you do? (101:3) And if he sends his anger upon you because of all your deeds, will you not be the ones who plead with him? (But) because you uttered with your mouths proud and harsh words against his majesty, you will have no peace.31

(2:1) Consider all his works and the works (of creation) in heaven . . .32 (80:2) . . . And the rain will be withheld, and heaven will retain (it).33

(5:4) . . . But you have transgressed, and have spoken proud and hard words with your unclean mouth against his majesty. You hard of heart! You will not have peace.34

Milik (1976) 148, considers 1 Enoch 2:1–5:4 to be dependent on the Astronomical Book of Enoch and in particular points to the close relationship between 1 Enoch 3 and 4QEnastrd 1:1, which appears to belong to a part of the Astronomical Book not represented in the Ethiopic version (Milik [1976] 269–270; cf. Black [1985] 418–419). 29 Translation from Knibb (1978) 186. 30 Translation from Knibb (1978) 186; but on the translation of this verse, see Black (1985) 253. 31 Translation from Black (1985) 26, from the Aramaic in 4QEnc 1:1:18 (Milik [1976] 185–186). 32 Translation from Knibb (1978) 185. 33 Translation from Knibb (1978) 65. Cf. also 100:11 with 2:3; 80:2. 34 Translation from Black (1985) 95. 28

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1 Enoch 80 does not include reference to the sea. But we should notice a close parallel to 1 Enoch 80 in the Divine Institutes of Lactantius, written at the beginning of the fourth century ad, but drawing on older apocalyptic sources: Div. Inst. 7:16

1 Enoch 80

  The air will be poisoned and be corrupt and pestilential, at one time from unseasonable rains or unusual dryness, at another from excessive cold or hot spells. (2) .  .  . And the rain will be withheld, and heaven will retain (it).   The earth will not give her fruit to men. Neither grain nor tree nor vine will bear; but rather, after they have given the greatest hope in the blossom, they will cheat at harvest.

(3) And in those times the fruits of the earth will be late and will not grow at their proper time, and the fruits of the trees will be withheld at their proper time.

  Springs and rivers will dry up, so that they will not provide a drink; waters will be changed to blood and bitterness.   Because of this animals will desert the earth, as will birds the air and the fishes the sea.   Wondrous portents in heaven, as well as comets’ tails, eclipses of the sun, the moon’s colour, and falling stars will confuse the minds of men with the greatest fear. These things will not happen in the usual way, but unknown and unseen stars will suddenly shine forth. The sun will be perpetually darkened so that one can scarcely distinguish between night and day. The moon will fail, and not just for three hours; constantly covered with blood, it will complete unusual orbits so that men will not be able to know either the courses of the stars or the calculation of times. Summer will come in winter or vice versa. Then the year will be shortened, the month diminished, the day compressed to a brief moment . . .35

(4) And the moon will change its customary practice, and will not appear at its proper time. (5) But in those days it will appear in heaven, and come . . . on top of a large chariot in the west, and shine with more than normal brightness. (6) And many heads of the stars in command will go astray, and these will change their courses and their activities, and will not appear at the times which have been prescribed for them. (7) And the entire law of the stars will be closed to sinners, and the thoughts of those who dwell upon the earth will go astray over them . . . (2) But in the days of the sinners the years will become shorter, and their seed will be late on their land and on their fields, and all things on the earth will change, and will not appear at their proper time . . .36

Lactantius, of course, does not reproduce his sources slavishly. If we knew only these two passages in Lactantius and 1 Enoch, we should suppose Lactantius to be simply dependent on 1 Enoch 80, as we know it, and the differences to result from his creative rewriting of his source.37 However, the coincidence between Lactantius and Jude is striking. Not only does Lactantius have a reference to disorder in the seas (waters), though it is not very close to Jude’s

Translation from McGinn (1980) 60–61. Translation from Knibb (1978) 185–186. 37 Lactantius is here much closer to 1 Enoch 80 than to SibOr 8:178–181, 214–215. Thus, although it is true that in book 7 Lactantius is frequently dependent on the Sibylline Oracles (Ogilvie [1978] 31) and immediately after the passage quoted in the text explicitly quotes SibOr 8:239, it is nevertheless easier to assume that in the passage quoted he is directly dependent on Enoch, than to posit a Sibylline text as intermediary, as Milik (1976) 21, does. 35 36

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reference to the sea. More significantly, Lactantius has the four regions of creation in the same order as Jude: air, earth, sea and heavens. That Jude and Lactantius knew a longer text of 1 Enoch 80 than ours38 seems a plausible hypothesis, especially as we know from the Qumran Aramaic fragments of the Astronomical Book of Enoch that our Ethiopic version of that book (in which alone ­chapter 80 is extant) has been in general very considerably abbreviated.39 So Jude’s sequence of images is modelled on 1 Enoch 80, carefully selected to represent the four regions of creation. But if 1 Enoch 80 provides the structure of Jude’s four metaphors from nature, it does not provide the detail of each image. Jude, it seems, was not content simply to model his four images on 1 Enoch 80, because he required a scriptural source for each image precisely as a characterization of the false teachers. So we must look more closely at each of the four images. In relation to the first image, 1 Enoch 80:2 (cf. 100:11; 101:2) indicates only the absence of rain, not Jude’s specific image of clouds which fail to provide rain. The latter is essential to his purpose, because it portrays the opponents as false teachers who promise a benefit they cannot in fact provide. For this specific image Jude has turned to Proverbs 25:14 (RSV: ‘Like clouds and wind without rain is a man who boasts of a gift he does not have’40 – literally, ‘boasts in gifts of deception’). Jude’s words (νεφέλαι ἄνυδριοι ὑπὸ ἀνέμων παραφερόμεναι: ‘clouds blown along by the wind without giving rain’) are simply a good translation of the opening (italicized) words of Proverbs 25:14. Perhaps in rendering ‫( רוח‬which could have been translated ‘Spirit’) by ὑπὸ ἀνέμων παραφερόμεναι (literally, ‘carried away by the winds’) Jude intended a sarcastic reference to the opponents’ claim to be moved by the prophetic Spirit. The verb can be used of being led astray by false teaching (Heb 13:9: ‘do not be led away [παραφέρεσθε] by diverse and strange teachings’; cf. also Eph 4:14: ‘carried about with every wind [περιφερόμενοι παντὶ ἀνέμῳ] of doctrine’). In the case of Jude’s second image, 1 Enoch 80:3 (‘the fruits of the trees will be withheld at their proper time’) itself provided the basic metaphor Jude needed: trees which fail to provide fruit at the time when it would be expected41 (δένδρα φθινοπωρινὰ ἄκαρπα, ‘autumnal trees bearing no fruit’), but he has taken advantage of the potentiality of this image to express also the judgment awaiting the false teachers (δίς ἀποθανόντα ἐκριζωθέντα, ‘dead twice over, uprooted’). In this extension of the metaphor, it is hard to give ‘twice dead’ a precise botanical meaning:  the phrase has probably been influenced by the notion of ‘the second death’ (Rev 2:11; 20:6, 14; 21:8). But the image of the uprooting of a tree as a metaphor of the judgment of the wicked was traditional (Deut 29:28; Ps 52:5; Prov 2:22; Zeph 2:4; Wis 4:4; Matt 15:13): Jude may not be dependent on a specific source for it. But he may have had in mind the parable of the fig tree, which failed to bear fruit. Although in the Lukan version of this parable the tree’s threatened fate is to be cut down (Luke 13:7, 9), in the probably independent version in the Apocalypse of Peter (E2) the tree is to be uprooted.42

1 Enoch 80 (or 80:2–8) has often been thought an interpolation into the Astronomical Book: Charles (1893) 187– 188; Black (1985) 252; Neugebauer in Black (1985) 411. Its terminology and ideas, however, contain clear links with other material in the Astronomical Book. Milik (1976) 11–14 regards it as an integral part of the Astronomical Book. 39 Milik (1976) 7–8, 19; Black (1985) 10. 40 This sense is completely obscured in the LXX. Jude, as usual, follows the Hebrew. 41 Lactantius (quoted above) makes explicit the idea of disappointed expectation. 42 See Bauckham (1985). 38

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Jude’s third image (κύματα ἄγρια θαλάσσης ἐπαφρίζοντα τὰς ἑαυτῶν αἰσχύνας: ‘wild waves of the sea casting up the foam of their abominations’) is based on Isaiah 57:20 (RSV: ‘the wicked are like the tossing sea; for it cannot rest, and its waters toss up mire and dirt’;43 cf. allusions to this verse in 1QH 2:12–13; 8:15). But the allusion to Isaiah 57:20 is more than a choice of an appropriate image. This text, following a reference to the peace which God promises the righteous (Isa 57:19), describes the wicked for whom there is no peace (57:21)· It can therefore be linked by the exegetical technique of catchwords (gĕzērȃ šāwȃ) with Jude’s key passage 1 Enoch 1–5: 1 Enoch

Isaiah 57 (RSV)

(1:8) But with the righteous he will make peace . . . and he will make peace with them. (1:9) . . . he will destroy all the wicked and convict all flesh of all the works of their wickedness which they have wickedly committed, and of all the great and hard words which wicked sinners have spoken against him. (5:4) . . . have spoken great and hard words with your unclean mouth against his majesty. You hard of heart! You will have no peace.44

(19) Peace, peace, to the far and to the near, says the Lord; and I will heal him. (20) But the wicked are like the tossing sea; for it cannot rest, and its waters toss up mire and dirt.

(21) There is no peace, says my God, for the wicked.

These catchword links establish, for the kind of Jewish exegesis Jude practises, that the wicked of whom Isaiah 57:20 speaks are precisely those who are condemned in 1 Enoch 2:1–5:4 for their failure to follow God’s laws, by contrast with lawabiding nature, and are therefore to be judged at the parousia (1 Enoch 1:9).45 (It is worth noticing, also, that the phrase ‘no peace’, from Isaiah 57:21, frequently in 1 Enoch describes the final fate of the wicked [5:4, 5; 94:6; 98:16; 99:13; 102:3; 103:8] or of the Watchers [12:5, 6; 13:1; 16:4; 4QEnGiantsa 13], whom 1 Enoch, like Jude, regards as prototypical of all the wicked.) The fourth image (ἀστέρες πλανῆται, ‘wandering stars’) is already in 1 Enoch 80:6–7 peculiarly appropriate as an image of the false teachers: stars which stray from their courses and in so doing lead people astray. But as with the second image, Jude was not content with the metaphor as he found in it in 1 Enoch 80: he extended it into an image of judgment. He has probably done so by linking 1 Enoch 80:6 with other passages in the Enoch literature which portray the fallen Watchers as stars which have gone astray and are punished by being chained in the underworld (see p. 251).

Since the last clause does not appear in the LXX, Jude is, as usual, dependent on the Hebrew text. My translation. 45 Osburn (1985) 298, objects that in Isa 57:20 ‘the imagery of the violent sea . . . has to do with tumult rather than licentiousness.’ But this misses the point that Jude is not here concerned with the false teachers’ licentiousness as such, but with their corrupting influence on others. There is no reason why he should not have read the last clause of Isa 57:20 in this sense. Wis 14:1, however, is not a true parallel: see Bauckham (1983A) 88–89. Osburn (1985) 299, 302, further suggests 1 Enoch 67:5–7 as a source for Jude’s image of the waves, but this is unlikely, and is not supported by Osburn’s claim that Jude, from 1 Enoch 80, ‘had only to turn back his Enochic scroll a few turns to ­chapter 67’ (p. 299). Chapter 80 belongs to the Astronomical Book (1 Enoch 72–82), while ­chapter 67 belongs to the Parables (1 Enoch 37–71), which is extant only in the Ethiopic version. We cannot assume these two distinct Enochic works both occurred, in the same order as in the Ethiopic version, in Jude’s ‘Enochic scroll’. 43 44

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These connexions establish a link again with the comparison of the false teachers with the Watchers in Jude 6, and the link is reinforced by the verbal connexion between the two verses (v 13: ὁ ζόφος . . . τετήρηται; v 6: ὑπὸ ζόφον τετήρηκεν). Thus the four metaphors from nature reveal themselves to be the result of some highly studied and elaborate exegetical work. We should finally note that, although they are primarily interpretation of ‘text’ 2 (v 11), they are also, as we have seen, Jude’s version of the indictment of the wicked in 1 Enoch 2:1–5:4, on the basis of which they will be judged at the Lord’s coming to judgment (1 Enoch 1:9). The link with ‘text’ 3 (1 Enoch 1:9) which follows is therefore even more precise than we might otherwise have supposed:  ‘it was also about these people that Enoch the seventh from Adam prophesied, saying . . .’ (v 14a). Accordingly, the quotation itself is abbreviated in such a way as to emphasize the element of legal conviction of the wicked of the last days: where the original text probably read, ‘and to destroy all the ungodly and to convict all flesh’ (cf. the Greek and Ethiopic versions), Jude has simply, ‘and to convict all the ungodly’ (καὶ ἐλέγξαι πάντας τοὺς ἀσεβεῖς). 1 Enoch 80:6 And many of the heads of the stars in command will go astray, and these change their courses and their activities, and will not appear at the times which have been prescribed for them.46

1 Enoch 18:15–16 And the stars which roll over the fire, these are the ones which transgressed the command of the Lord from the beginning of their rising because they did not come out at their proper times. (16) And he was angry with them and bound them . . .47

1 Enoch 88:1 . . . he took hold of that first star which had fallen from heaven, and bound it by its hands and its feet, and threw it into an abyss; and that abyss was narrow, and deep, and horrible, and dark.48

III.  Exegetical Formulae Although section II has dealt with only two of Jude’s four main ‘texts’, it will have demonstrated that the exegetical section of Jude’s letter is much more complex than the casual modem reader is likely to imagine. If we look for analogies to Jude’s exegesis in contemporary Judaism, the best analogies are provided by the Qumran pesharim. Though the comparison cannot be pressed in every detail, it is an illuminating one, especially if we think of Jude’s commentary as comparable with the ‘thematic pesharim’ (4QFlor, 11QMelch, 4Q176, 4Q177, 4Q182, 4Q183), which are commentaries on a collection of texts on a common theme, rather than with the ‘continuous pesharim’, which comment on every verse in order of a biblical book or lengthy

Translation from Knibb (1978) 198. Note also the account of the final judgment of the stars (i.e. the Watchers) in 1 Enoch 90:24, where the shepherds are judged and punished with them (90:25). However, in this passage the abyss is fire, not darkness. In general, Enoch distinguishes the temporary prison of the fallen angels, a place of subterranean darkness, from their final judgment in the abyss of fire. Jude 13 describes their final judgment in terms darkness rather than fire, but in so doing keeps more appropriately to his image of wandering stars: it is a more appropriate punishment for stars to be extinguished in eternal darkness than to be plunged into eternal fire. 47 Translation from Knibb (1978) 186. 48 Translation from Knibb (1978) 106. 46

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section of a book.49 In order to pursue the comparison with Qumran exegesis in particular, as well as with other examples of Jewish and early Christian exegesis, we shall consider in turn Jude’s exegetical formulae, his exegetical principles and techniques, and his hermeneutical presuppositions.50 The most important exegetical formulae used by Jude are those which introduce each section of interpretation. As we have noted already, each section of interpretation is introduced by a phrase with οὗτοι: v 8 v 10 v 12 v 16 v 19

ὁμοίως μέντοι καὶ οὗτοι . . . οὗτοι δὲ . . . οὗτοί εἰσιν οἱ . . . οὗτοί εἰσιν . . . οὗτοί εἰσιν οἱ

The last three instances in particular have often51 been compared to the standard formula (‘This is . . .,’ ‘These are . . .’) used in the interpretation of apocalyptic dreams and visions (Zech 1:10,19,21; 4:14; Rev 7:14; 11:4; 14:4; 1 Enoch 18:14, 15; 21:6; 22:4 [4QEne 1:22]; 46:3; 64:2; 4 Ezra 10:44; 12:10, 30, 32; 13:26, 40; 3 Bar 2:7; 3:5; 6:3, 16; 12:3; 2 Enoch 7:3; 18:3; and frequently in other apocalypses). The formula refers to something or people seen in the vision (‘this’, ‘these’) and interprets it/them. Frequently, it is used by the interpreting angel or by God in response to the seer’s request for an explanation of what he sees. Thus, for example, Zechariah asks, ‘What are these two olive trees . . .?’ (meaning, ‘What do they symbolize?’), and eventually gets the explanation, ‘These (‫ )אלה‬are the two anointed ones who stand by the Lord of the whole earth’ (Zech 4:11, 14). Himmelfarb, who has studied these formulae especially in the apocalyptic tours of hell, has called them ‘demonstrative explanations’.52 It is worth noting that the fullest of the formulae in Jude (οὗτοί εἰσιν oἱ + participle: ‘these are the ones who . . .’) has precise verbal parallels in the apocalypses (1 Enoch 8:15 Greek; Rev 17:14). But the same formula is also sometimes used in the Qumran pesharim to introduce the interpretation of a text: e.g. 4QpIsab 2:6–7: ‘these (‫[ )אלה‬the people to whom the text refers] are the scoffers who are in Jerusalem’ 4QpIsab 2:10: ‘this (‫[ )היא‬to which the text refers] is the congregation of scoffers, who are in Jerusalem’ 4QFlor 1:17: ‘they (‫[ )המה‬the people to whom the text refers] are the sons of Zadok and the men of their council who...’ (See also 4QpIsaa 3:7, 9, 10, 12; 4QFlor 1:2, 3, 11, 12.) This formula is not as common in the pesharim as the more usual formulae including the word pesher (‫)פשר‬53 but it is perhaps

The terms were first used by Carmignac (1969–71) 360–361; cf. also Horgan (1979) 3. For the importance of a distinction between hermeneutical presuppositions and exegetical techniques, see Brooke (1985) 283. 51 E.g. Krodel (1977) 97. 52 Himmelfarb (1983) 45–67. 53 Cf. Horgan (1979) 239–242, for the various formulae including ‫פשר‬. 49 50

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significant that it is used rather frequently in the ‘thematic pesher’ 4QFlorilegium, which resembles Jude’s commentary more than do the ‘continuous pesharim’. There are also cases where the formula with ‘pesher’ and the formula with the personal or demonstrative pronoun are used together (IQpHab 10:3; 4QpNah 2:2; 4:1; 4QpPsa [4Q171] 2:5; 3:12; 4:1, 23; CD 4:14). The parallels between the formulae as used in apocalyptic visions and those used in Qumran exegesis are probably not accidental, but result from a common background in the interpretation of dreams and oracles in the ancient Near East.54 The pesharim treat Scripture as an oracle requiring inspired interpretation, just as the symbolic visions of the apocalyptic seers needed authoritative explanation. The fact that a background in the interpretation of dreams and oracles is plausible both for the ‘demonstrative explanations’, which are our particular concern here, and for the ‘pesher’ formulae, to which much more attention has been given in study of the Qumran literature, shows that both types of formula belong to the same tradition of exegetical terminology, as is clear also from the occasional use of both types of formula together. That Jude uses only the demonstrative explanations and not the ‘pesher’ formulae may be accidental. In any case, despite his familiarity with apocalyptic literature such as the Enoch literature, the fact that he is writing commentary rather than vision virtually requires that his use of the οῦτοι formulae must derive from a tradition of scriptural commentary similar to that of the Qumran sect. In the demonstrative explanations, as they are used both in apocalyptic literature and in Qumran exegesis, the demonstrative pronoun refers to that which is to be interpreted, a figure in the vision which is being explained or a term in the text which is being interpreted. In the two instances where Jude uses the fullest formula (οῦτοί εἰσιν oἱ + participle: vv 12, 19) he conforms to this usage. In verse 12 οῦτοί refers to the people mentioned in the woe-oracle of verse 11; in verse 19 οῦτοι are the scoffers of whom the apostles prophesied (v 18). But Jude’s use of the formula is flexible, and in the other cases οῦτοι does not refer to that which is to be interpreted, but to those people to whom the interpretation applies, the contemporary fulfilment of the text (vv 8, 10, 16): it means ‘these people we are talking about, the people who are infiltrating your churches’. In these cases the formula is used to introduce a statement about the false teachers which demonstrates that they are the fulfilment of the type or the prophecy, but it does not state the identification directly in the way that the more usual use of the formula does. Perhaps this variation results from Jude’s desire, not simply to assert that these types and prophecies refer to the false teachers, but to show that the false teachers’ behaviour corresponds to them. There are two interesting parallels to Jude’s use of οῦτοι formulae elsewhere in the New Testament:55 Gal 4:24: αὗται γάρ εἰσιν δύο διαθῆκαι . . .: ‘These women [Hagar and Sarah] are two covenants . . . 2 Tim 3:8: ὃν τρόπον δὲ Ἰαννῆς καὶ Ἰαμβρῆς . . . οὕτως καὶ οὗτοι . . .: ‘Just as Jannes and Jambres . . ., so also these people . . .

Cf. Finkel (1963–64); Patte (1975) 301–302; Horgan (1979) 252–259; Himmelfarb (1983) 58–59. Note also οῦτοι εἰσιν (Mark 4:15, 16, 18; Luke 8:14, 15) and οὑτόζ έστιν (Matt 13:19, 20, 22, 23) in the interpretation of the parable of the Sower. But they should probably be related to the formulae as used in the interpretation of apocalyptic visions, rather than as used in scriptural exegesis. Ellis (1978) 160–161, offers some less strict New Testament parallels. 54 55

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Galatians 4:24 conforms to the Qumran usage: αῡται refers to the two women in the scriptural story, who are then interpreted (decoded, as it were) as allegorically representing two covenants. 2 Timothy 3:8 rather strikingly resembles Jude 8 (δμοίως μέντοι καὶ οῡτοι . . .: ‘but in the same way also these people . . .’). In both cases the comparison is typological, between Old Testament figures, as known through haggadic tradition, and false teachers in the church. In both cases also οῡτοί refers not to the types, but to the antitypes. This suggests that Jude’s usage is in both respects not idiosyncratic but traditional. That the material about false teachers in 2 Timothy is indebted to an exegetical tradition similar to that which is much more explicit in Jude can be inferred also from 2 Timothy 2:19. The quotation there from Numbers 16:5 (‘The Lord knows those who are his’: cf. Num 16:5 LXX) serves to identify faithful Christians, who are not swayed by the false teachers, with those who did not join the revolt of Korah.56 Implicitly, Korah is treated as a type of the false teachers, as Jude treats him in Jude 11. But the exegetical work lies entirely behind the text, whereas in Jude it is explicit. Jude gives us formal exegesis in full, 2 Timothy only fragments from an exegetical tradition (cf. also Rev 2:19 with Jude 11). In addition to the οῦτοι formulae for introducing interpretation, Jude uses one formula for the formal citation of a text, in verse 14: Ἐπροφήτευσεν δὲ καὶ τούτοις ἕβδομος ἀπὸ Ἀδάμ Ἑνὼχ λέγων . . .: ‘It was also about these that Enoch, the seventh from Adam, prophesied, saying . . .’ This use of the demonstrative pronoun in an introductory formula can be quite closely paralleled from the pesharim:57 4QFlor 1:16: ‘and they (‫ )והמה‬are those concerning whom (‫ )עליהמה‬it is written in the book of Ezekiel the prophet . . .’ 11QMelch 2:9–10: ‘as it has been written concerning him/it (‫ )עליו‬in the Songs of David, who said . . .’ 11QMelch 2:10: ‘and concerning him/it (‫)ועליו‬, he [God or David?] said . . .’ 4QpIsab 2:7: ‘they (‫ )המ‬are the ones who . . .’ CD 1:13: ‘this was the time concerning which it was written . . .’ If this kind of formula is not very common, it is because it suits a circumstance which is not very common in the pesharim: where the contemporary reality to which the text is understood to refer has already been mentioned and the text is introduced as referring to it. The Qumran examples show that Jude’s rather odd use of the dative τούτοις represents ‫( על‬which is regularly used in Qumran exegetical formulae to indicate what the text refers to). Other New Testament parallels to this type of introductory formula are Acts 2:16: τοῦτό ἐστιν τὸ εἰρημένον διὰ τοῦ προφήτου Ἰωήλ . . .: ‘this is what was spoken by the prophet Joel . . .’

Cf. Hanson (1968) 35. Cf. Fitzmyer (1971) 9–10.

56 57

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Matt 11:10 || Luke 7:27:  οὗτός ἐστιν περὶ οὗ γέγραπται .  .  .:  ‘this is he of whom it is written . . .’

IV.  Exegetical Techniques Among the formal exegetical techniques which Jude uses the most important is the abundant use of catchword connections, which in fact perform several distinct functions.58 In the first place they are used to link one ‘text’ with another (roughly what the rabbis called gězērâ šāwâ):59 ‘texts’ 1 and 2:  ἀπωλ- (vv 5,11) ‘texts’ 3 and 4:  ἀσεβ- (vv 15, 18) ‘texts’ 1, 1a, 3:  κύριος, κρίσιν (vv 5–6, 9, 14–15). ‘text’ 2 and the secondary allusion in the interpretation: πλάνῃ (v 11), πλανῆται (v 13). As well as these evident examples of gězērâ šāwâ, there are others, of which we have noticed some in section II, which are hidden from view. In other words, the links are between parts of the text not explicitly quoted. They functioned to bring the texts together in Jude’s mind but have not been made explicit in the commentary. (There are parallels to this kind of implicit gězērâ šāwâ in the Qumran commentaries.) Thus we noted, in section II, how Isaiah 57:20 (to which Jude 13 alludes) is linked to 1 Enoch 1:9 (Jude 14–15) by catchword connexions between Isaiah 57:19 and 1 Enoch 1:8 and between Isaiah 57:21 and 1 Enoch 5:4. Some other examples will be suggested in section V below. Secondly, catchword connections are used to link a ‘text’ and the interpretation of that ‘text’. Horgan’s account of the exegetical techniques used in the Qumran pesharim calls this the ‘use of the same roots as in the lemma, appearing in the same or different grammatical forms’,60 and considers it ‘the most frequent technique of interpretation found in the pesharim’.61 The examples in Jude’s commentary are: ‘text’ 1: σαρκός (v 7), κύριος (v 5) interpretation: σάρκα, κυριότητα (v 8) ‘text’ 1a: βλασφημίας, κύριος (v 9) interpretation: βλασφημοῦσιν (vv 8, 10), κυριότητα (v 8) ‘text’ 2: πλάνη (v 11) interpretation: πλανῆται (v 13) ‘text’ 3: λάλησαν (v 15) interpretation λαλεῖ (v 16)

Briefly noticed by Ellis (1978) 225. For the use of catchwords in other New Testament examples of scriptural commentary, see Ellis (1978) 155–159. 59 For gězērâ šāwâ in the Qumran texts, see Slomovic (1969–71) 5–10; Brooke (1985) 166, 320; and for gězērâ šāwâ in Philo, see Brooke (1985) 22–24. 60 Horgan (1979) 245. 61 Horgan (1979) 245 n. 66. 58

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Thirdly, catchwords can link a ‘text’ and the interpretation not of that ‘text’ but of another ‘text’,62 thus helping (along with gězērâ šāwâ) to bind the whole commentary together as a commentary on a series of closely related texts: ‘text’ 1: ζόφον τετήρηκεν (v 6), αἰωνίου (v 7) interpretation of ‘text’ 2: ζόφος . . . αἰῶνα τετήρηται (v 13) ‘text’ 2: πορεύθησαν (v 11) interpretation of ‘text’ 3: πορευόμενοι (v 16) ‘text’ 4: κατὰ τὰς Eαυτών Eπιθυμίας πορευόμενοι (v 18) interpretation of ‘text’ 3: κατὰ τὰς Eπιθυμίας αὐτῶν πορευόμενοι (v 16). All three of these techniques can be paralleled in the Qumran pesharim, though they are by no means unique to Qumran.63 The final use of catchword connections in Jude – to link the opening statement of theme for the commentary (v 4)  to the ‘texts’  – is not paralleled at Qumran, because we have no opening statement of theme for a ‘thematic pesher’ from Qumran. (We have, of course, the beginning of neither 4QFlorilegium nor 11QMelchizedek: it is quite possible that they began with an opening statement of theme like Jude’s.) The links are as follows: κρίμα ἀσεβ- κύριον

(v 4):  κρίσιν in ‘texts’ 1, 1a, 3 (vv 6, 9, 15) (v 4):  4 times in ‘text’ 3 (v 15), once in text 4 (v 18) (v 4):  κύριος in ‘texts’ 1, 1a, 3 (vv 5, 9, 14).

These links show that verse 4 is intended to be an anticipatory, summarizing interpretation of all four main ‘texts’, stating, as it were, the thesis of the commentary before it is demonstrated by exegesis of the texts.64 The especially clear catchword connections between this introductory statement and ‘text’ 3 reinforce the impression, which is in any case given by πάλαι in verse 4 (‘who were long ago designated for this condemnation’), that the prophecy of Enoch is actually the key text in Jude’s commentary. It is the key text because of its clear statement of the judgment which is coming on the ungodly (emphasized by its fourfold repetition of words from the ἀσεβ- root) at the Lord’s parousia. Verse 4 picks up its two main points – the condemnation of the ungodly – and makes ἀσεβεῖς Jude’s definitive characterization of what is damnable in the opponents. One of the catchword connections which has been listed above could be considered an example of a technique which Horgan classifies separately, while noting that it is closely related to the use of catchwords: the use of word-play.65 This is the link between πλάνῃ (v 11) and πλανῆται (v 13). We noted in section II how the former is used actively, to refer to Balaam’s leading others astray. The latter, in the standard phrase ἀστέρες πλανῆται, refers to the planets as wandering stars, but the association with πλάνῃ in verse 11 can give it the added nuance that

For this technique in the pesharim, see Horgan (1979) 245–246 n. 70. The exegetical techniques of the Qumran pesharim are not peculiar to them: Brooke (1985) 43, 283–287. 64 Jude 4 has sometimes been thought to be based on I  Enoch 48:10, but against this see Osburn (1985) 301–302. Osburn himself (pp. 300–303) argues that Jude 4 alludes to 1 Enoch 67:10, but I think this unlikely. Clear evidence that Jude knew the Parables of Enoch (1 Enoch 37–71) is lacking. 65 Horgan (1979) 245 n. 67. 62 63

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wandering stars lead astray those who look to them for guidance – a thought which in fact is present in the source of Jude’s allusion to the wandering stars (1 Enoch 80:6–7). Another exegetical technique listed by Horgan is the use, in the interpretation, of synonyms for words in the lemma.66 This rather obvious technique is used in Jude’s interpretation of ‘text’ 1 (v 5: ἀπώλεσεν; v 10 φθείρονται), and probably in the interpretations of ‘texts’ 3 and 4. Finally, the quotation of the text in a form modified to suit or embody the interpretation of it which is proposed is an exegetical technique found both in the New Testament67 and in the Qumran literature.68 Only one of Jude’s ‘texts’ is a formal quotation from an extant source (vv 14–15). Since Jude is not following the extant (Akhmim) Greek text of 1 Enoch 1:9, but, most probably, translating from the Aramaic69 or, perhaps, following a different Greek version,70 and since the Aramaic of this verse of 1 Enoch is extant only in a very fragmentary form (4QEnc 1:1:15–17), it is not easy to tell precisely how far Jude has modified the text he knew. But two modifications seem very probable:  (1) In other versions of 1 Enoch 1:9 the subject is not explicit, but is God according to 1:4. κύριος has therefore probably been supplied by Jude, by analogy with other theophany texts which were applied to the parousia in early Christianity and which have verbal links with 1 Enoch 1:9 (Deut 33:2; Ps 68:17; Isa 40:10; 66:15; Zech 14:5; cf. 1 Enoch 91:7). It is therefore an exegetical modification of the text by reference to other analogous texts.71 It is also a christological interpretation, which makes clear Jude’s understanding of 1 Enoch 1:9 as referring to the parousia of Jesus Christ.72 (2) The words καὶ ἐλέγξαι πάντας τοῦς ἀσεβεῖς (‘and to convict all the ungodly’) are an abbreviation of the text evidenced by the other versions, in which there are two verbs (‘to destroy all the ungodly and to convict all flesh’). By his abbreviation Jude has omitted the idea of the destruction of the ungodly, which one might have expected him to retain (cf. vv 5, 10), but he has also omitted ‘all flesh’. This omission has the effect of applying the text exclusively to the ἀσεβεῖς, whom Jude identifies as the false teachers, and of focussing attention on their legal condemnation. As we have seen in section II.2, the latter is appropriate in view of the fact that the preceding verses (12–13) form a kind of version of the indictment of the wicked in 1 Enoch 2:1–5:4. Jude shows no evidence of some of the more artificial exegetical techniques to be found occasionally in the pesharim, such as the rearrangement of the letters in a word in the lemma to form another word (the rabbinic technique of hillûf) or interpretation through the division of a word into two parts (the rabbinic nôtārîqôn), but such techniques would be much more difficult to use in Greek than in Hebrew and so we should probably not expect them. In any case, the brevity of Jude’s exegetical section scarcely allows scope for the use of all available exegetical techniques.

Horgan (1979) 245. Ellis (1957) 139–147; (1978) 152, 177–180; Dunn (1977) 92–93. 68 Cf. Brooke (1985) 111–112. In the pesharim, this is most often achieved by selection of variant readings: Horgan (1979) 245 n. 69; Ellis (1978) 175–176; Brooke (1985) 288–289. 69 Bauckham (1983A) 94–96. 70 Dehandshutter (1986) 120. 71 Cf. Wilcox (1988) 200–201, for the comparable case of Matt 21:5. 72 Black (1973) 195; Osburn (1976–77) 337; contra Dehandshutter (1986) 118–119. 66 67

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V.  Jude’s Exegetical Links This section offers a somewhat speculative reconstruction of Jude’s exegetical procedure. We have already noticed that 1 Enoch 1:9 (Jude 14–15) is the key text for Jude’s commentary. We have also noticed how some of his texts are linked together by implicit gězērâ šawâ. It seems possible that the whole of Jude’s exegetical work has 1 Enoch 1–5 as its base, and all other texts to which he alludes can be seen to be reached by association with 1 Enoch 1–5. Possible relationships can be summarized by the following diagrams: 1 Enoch 1–5 1:5:Watchers → 1 Enoch 6–10 → traditional schema of examples of judgment (Watchers, Sodom, wilderness generation: cf. TNapht 3:4–5; CD 2:17–3:12 etc)73 1:9: ‘hard things’ 5:4: ‘hard hearted’    → Ps 95:8 ↓ Ps 95:10–11→ Num 14   → v 5 Ps 106: 24–25 1:4: Sinai 1:9: ‘he comes → Deut 33:2 with 10,000s of     ↓ holy ones’      Deut 34→ →     apocryphal   (burial of     account of  → v 9   Moses)       burial of  Moses 2:1 → → → →   1 Enoch 80:1 ↓ 1 Enoch →    Balaam (goes 80:6–7 (stars astray and leads go astray astray: Num.R.20:9) and lead (Jude 13: astray) πλάνῃ) (Jude 11: ↓ ἀστέρες traditional πλανῆται) schema of 3 sinners who → v 11

For the traditional schema, see Bauckham (1983A) 46–47.

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→ vv 5–7

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led others astray (cf. t. Sota 4:9)

1:9: ‘hard things’ 54: ‘hardhearted’→ Ps 95:8→ → →   Exod 17:3 ‘murmuring’ ↓ Num 16:11 → vii (Korah   (Korah) murmuring) 1:9: ‘to destroy   Jer 25:31: ‘he is all the wicked →  entering  into and to convict   judgment with all flesh’       all flesh, and the wicked he will put to the sword’ ↓ Jer 25:34–37 → Ezek 34:1–10 (judgment of  (judgment of the shepherds)  the shepherds) ↓ Ezek 34:2 → → v 12 (ἑαυτοὺς ποιμαίνοντες) 2: 1→ → → → → Enoch 80:2 ↓ 2:3 (clouds & → 1 Enoch 80:2→Prov 25:14 →→ v 12 rain)        (rain withheld)       (νεφέλαι ἄνυδροι etc) 2:1→ → → → → Enoch 80:2 ↓ 5:1: ‘trees . . . → 1 Enoch 80:3 →?parable of bear fruit’    (‘fruit of the   barren figtree     v 12 trees will be                  (δένδρα withheld at  →→→→→→→→→  etc) their proper time’) 1:8: ‘peace’ →→ → → → → → → → Isa 57:19 ↓ 2:1→ → → → →    1 Enoch  80:1       ↓ ↓             ↓ 5:3:‘seas’→ → →  ?reference to  sea        ↓ 259

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in Jude’s       → Isa 57:20→ → →v 13 version of 1            ↑     (κύματα Enoch 80?             ↑            etc) ↑ 5:4:‘no peace’   →     →   →     →     →     → Isa 57:21 2:1 → → → → → 1 Enoch 80:1 ↓ 1 Enoch 80:6 → → → → → → →       V13 (ἀστέρες ↓ πλανῆται) 1 Enoch 18:15–16 ↓ 1 Enoch 88:1  →              v 13 (ὁ ζοφος τοῦ σκότους) 1:9→ → → → → → → → → → → → → → → → →      vv  14–15 1:9: ‘hard things’ 5:4: ‘hardhearted’ → Ps 95:8 → → → Exod 17:3 → → ↓        ‘murmuring’    v  16 ↓        at Massah/          (γογγυσταὶ ↓     Meribah            μεμψίPs 95:10–11→  Num 14:2, 27,             μοιροι) 29, 36 Ps 106:24–25 → (murmuring at Kadesh) 1:9: ‘hard things’ ↓ 5:4: ‘great and →→→→→→→→  Dan 7:8, 20 →   v 16 (τὸ hard words             (‘a mouth          στόμα with your              speaking great       αὐτῶν unclean mouth’                things’)         λαλεῖ ὑπέρογκα) 1:9: repeated   → → → → → →   prophecy of → v 18 ἀσεβ-                    the apostles     (ἀσεβειῶν) There are also some scriptural allusions outside the exegetical section of Jude (vv 4–19) which could be similarly linked to 1 Enoch 1–5: 1 Enoch 1–5    Jude 1:8; 5:5–6→→→→→→→→→→→→→→→→ v 21 mercy                       (ἔλεος) 260

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1:4: Sinai 1:9: ‘he comes → Deut 33:2 with 10,000s of        ↓ holy ones’     Deut 34→ →  apocryphal (burial of      account  of Moses)      burial of Moses   → v 23 (Jude 9:     (διακρινομένους διακρινόμενος) ↓ Zech 3:2 (‘The Lord rebuke you’) ↓ Zech 3:2 (‘a brand plucked from the   →  v 22 fire’) ↓ Zech 3:3–4     → v 23b74 (‘filthy garments’) Some of these chains of connections seem somewhat contrived, and it is unlikely that they all represent Jude’s exegetical work accurately. However, they do show that Jude could have reached many of his scriptural allusions by study of 1 Enoch 1–5.

VI. Hermeneutical Presuppositions Jude’s exegesis shares one dominant hermeneutical presupposition with the Jewish apocalyptists, the Qumran community and the early church. This is the assumption that the Old Testament Scriptures are especially relevant to the last days, the period in which God’s purpose in history is reaching its climax, when the final deliverance of his faithful people from evil and the final judgment of the wicked will take place. Those who read the Old Testament on this assumption also believed that they themselves were living in the last days, so that the Old Testament referred, in a wide variety of ways, to their own religious community, its history and characteristics, and also to their enemies, to the coming salvation and vindication of the former and also to the imminent judgment of the latter. They themselves were living through the process of eschatological salvation and judgment to which all the Scriptures pointed forward, and they looked to the Scriptures for the understanding of this process in which they were involved and for hope and warnings relating to the completion of the process in the future. Jude’s sense of living in the last days before the imminent parousia of Jesus Christ is clear throughout his letter (cf. v 21), but emerges especially in the exegetical section (vv

For the allusions in vv 22–23, see Bauckham (1983A) 114–117.

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4–19), whose purpose is to show that his opponents, by their immorality and their teaching of immorality, identify themselves as the wicked of the last days, whose judgment is coming at the parousia. This is a warning to Jude’s readers, not to be taken in by their teaching, lest they incur the same imminent danger, but to be those who can expect mercy and salvation rather than judgment at the parousia (vv 21, 24). A number of explicit statements of this hermeneutical presupposition can be found in other New Testament writers (Rom 15:4; 1 Cor 10:11; 1 Pet 1:10–12): Jude simply takes it for granted. It leads him to treat scripture in two related, though broadly distinguishable ways: as eschatological prophecy and as eschatological typology. The former (for the explicit articulation of which, see 1QpHab 7:1–8; 1 Pet 1:10–12) is characteristic of the Qumran pesharim. It reads the inspired words of the prophets as predictive of the last days of history in which the interpreter is living, and so takes them to refer to people and events well known to the interpreter and his community. Thus Jude takes the very obviously eschatological prophecy of 1 Enoch 1:9 to refer to the imminent coming of Christ to judge the wicked, and those whose ungodliness is so stressed in that prophecy to be (or at least to include) his opponents, should they persevere in the ungodly behaviour they so deliberately flaunt and propagate (vv 14–16). He is taking seriously Enoch’s own claim (1:2) to speak not for his own but for a remote generation:  the last generation of world history, which the first generation of Christians believed themselves to be. Prophets from the antediluvian times of Enoch to members of the last generation itself, the apostles (vv 17–18), spoke of those who would reject the grace of God and trouble the people of God in the period immediately before the end of history. So Jude can also take Isaiah 57:20 to refer to the same wicked people of the last days of whom Enoch prophesied. This interpretation of Isaiah was made, in fact, by the authors of the Enoch literature themselves (1 Enoch 5:4; 101:3, alluding to Isa 57:21). Although the comment on Isaiah 57:20 is not extant in the fragmentary Isaiah pesher from Qumran cave 4, we can be fairly sure that the Qumran community would have applied this text to their enemies, as Jude did. Indeed, allusions to Isaiah 57:20 in the Thanksgiving Hymns do apply it to the hymnist’s enemies (1QH 2:12–13; 8:15). Eschatological typology differs from eschatological prophecy in its concern with persons and events of the biblical narratives, rather than with verbal prophecies. Essentially, it takes the events of divine salvation and judgment in the biblical history, such as the Flood or the Exodus, to be prototypical of the final events of divine salvation and judgment at the end of history, which will correspond to, but also surpass God’s earlier acts in history. It is not strictly accurate to say that it interprets events rather than texts, since it is a form of scriptural exegesis and interprets the written record of events in the texts of Scripture (cf. 1 Cor 10:11). It assumes that not simply the events, but also the way in which they have been recorded in inspired Scripture is instructive and of prophetic-typological significance (cf., e.g., Heb 7:1–3). For this reason the distinction between eschatological typology and eschatological prophecy is not absolute. But whereas the latter takes prophetic oracles to be predictive of the last days, the former takes biblical narrative as prefiguring the people and events of the last days. Eschatological typology is not characteristic of the Qumran pesharim, which are commentaries on prophetic oracles. Its prominence in Jude (vv 5–7, 11) is the most important formal difference between Jude and the pesharim. But it is found elsewhere in the Qumran literature. The War Scroll (IQM), for example, works with an implicit Exodus typology, in which the company of the sons of light corresponds to the camp of the Israelites in the wilderness, ready to conquer the promised land. Eschatological typology is especially characteristic of Jewish 262

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apocalyptic.75 For example, the Apocalypse of Abraham (30:2–8) predicts ten eschatological plagues by which the Gentile enemies of the people of God will be judged, plainly modelled on the plagues of Egypt. The Enoch literature treats the Flood as prototypical of the eschatological judgment (note especially 1 Enoch 93:4), and when Jude treats the Watchers, the instigators of the evil which led to God’s judgment in the Flood, as types of the wicked of the last days, he is following a typology implicit in the Enoch literature itself. Later Christian use of typology came to be orientated to the past, i.e. it was largely concerned with the way Old Testament people and events prefigured Jesus and his history in the past. Much New Testament typology is also concerned with the events of the history of Jesus, but it would be a mistake to see it as orientated to the past. Rather, the events of Jesus’ history were seen as the decisive beginning of the process of final salvation, which was under way and still to be completed at the parousia of Jesus. Exodus typology, for example, which is frequent in the New Testament, is applied to the (recent) past (the history of Jesus), to the present and to the (near) future (the parousia). As compared with Jewish apocalyptic, this is a shift of emphasis, but it did not prevent a very similar application of eschatological typology to the present and the immediate future. Because of Jude’s very limited purpose, we cannot expect to see the full range of early Christian eschatological typology in his letter. He is looking only for types of the wicked of the last days and their judgment, and finds these in already classic cases: the faithless wilderness generation, the Watchers, the cities of the Plain, Cain, Balaam and Korah. His exegesis at this point belongs to a wider tradition in early Christianity (following Jewish precedent) of taking such figures as types of Christian apostates and false teachers (Luke 17:26–32; 2 Tim 2:19; 3:8; 1 John 3:12; Rev 2:14, 20). But, as it happens, his first type (v 5)  incorporates a wider reference: to the Exodus from Egypt as a type of the salvation which Christians have already experienced through the saving act of God in Christ. Thus despite Jude’s lack of reference, otherwise, to the saving work of Christ – which in such a short letter with a specific purpose should not be thought surprising – he certainly presupposes it. In sections III, IV and VI we have seen that Jude’s exegesis – in its formulae, techniques and presuppositions  – resembles, often in strikingly detailed ways, the Qumran pesharim. Especially in the areas of formulae and techniques, this may be partly because the Qumran pesharim are almost the only extant examples of formal exegesis (lemma and commentary) from the Palestinian Judaism of New Testament times. It need not indicate that Jude or the Christian circles to which he belonged had specific links with the Qumran community; only that he practised a learned exegetical method which was common to the exegetes of the Qumran community and probably many other Jewish exegetes. Like the authors of the pesharim, he was skilled in the exegetical methods of his time and place. He also shared with them a hermeneutical presupposition that was common to apocalyptic Judaism (as also to early Christianity, a special variety of apocalyptic Judaism). In the case of his eschatological typology, his hermeneutical presupposition has more in common with apocalyptic works (including works such as 1 Enoch which were popular at Qumran) than with the pesharim, but the formulae and techniques he uses to expound it are again better paralleled in the pesharim, because the apocalypses do not provide us with formal exegesis of the kind Jude is practising. Cf. Patte (1975) 159–164: but it is unfortunate that he uses Jubilees (not an apocalypse, though it has affinities with apocalyptic literature) as his example. 75

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Parallels with other early Christian literature which we have noted from time to time have shown that Jude’s formulae and techniques became part of a Christian exegetical tradition to which other New Testament writers are also indebted, but also that the parallels are rather fragmentary and occasional. Although there are other passages of formal exegesis in the New Testament, Jude’s is probably the most elaborate and complex early Christian example of commentary in the style of the Qumran pesharim. In the next section, however, we shall examine, for the sake of comparison, one rather close parallel, in structure and technique, to Jude’s scriptural commentary.

VII.  For Comparison: I Peter 2:4–1076 1 Peter 2:4–10 is a carefully composed section of scriptural exegesis which resembles the ‘thematic pesharim’ of Qumran, much as Jude 4–19 does, though less extensively. The structure and meaning of this passage have been fully discussed by Elliott,77 whose arguments seem to me largely to carry conviction, despite the criticisms of them by Best.78 But if we compare the passage with Jude 4–19, the exact status of the introductory verses 4–5 in relation to the rest of the passage (a point in debate between Elliott and Best) can be clarified. These verses play a role analogous to that of Jude 4. In other words, verses 4–5 briefly state the theme which is then both supported and expanded by the Old Testament citations and their interpretation in verses 6–10. The introductory statement of the theme in verses 4–5 has been carefully composed to introduce verses 6–10, and so (like Jude 4) it already echoes the texts to be quoted and provides a basic framework for their interpretation. It divides into two parts, so that verse 4, on Christ the ‘living stone’, introduces the three texts and their interpretation in verses 6–8, while verse 5, on the readers as ‘living stones’, introduces the three texts in verses 9–10. The link between Christ and believers, established in verses 4–5, is also the link between the two parts of the commentary: verses 6–8 and verses 9–10. Thus the structure of the passage 2:4–10 is: 4–5 Introductory statement of theme 4   A. Jesus the elect stone 5   B. The church the elect people of God 6–10 Commentary 6a   Introductory formula 6–8  A1. The elect stone 6b + 7a      Text 1 (Isa 28:16) + interpretation 7b + 7c      Interpretation + Text 2 (Ps 118:22) 8a + 8b      Text 3 (Isa 8:14) + interpretation 9–10  B1. The elect people

Most of this section first appeared in Bauckham (1988E) 310–312. Elliott (1966). 78 Best (1969); cf. Elliott (1982) 240–241; also the independent study of the use of the Old Testament in this passage by Danker (1967). 76 77

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9.      Text 4 (Isa 43:20–21) + Text 5 (Exod 19:5–6) conflated, with expansion of text 4 10.      Text 6 (Hos 2:23) paraphrased (cf. Hos 1:6, 9; 2:1). As in Jude 4–19, catchwords are used to link the texts together (gězērâ šāwâ), to link the introductory statement to the texts, and to link the interpretations to the texts. Thus, for example, in A (v 4) λίθον is the catchword which links together all three texts in A1 (vv 6b, 7c, 8a), ἐκλεκτόν and ἔντιμον pick up the same words in text 1 (v 6b), and ἀποδεδοκιμασμένον picks up ἀπεδοκίμασαν in text 2 (v 7c). In the interpretation of text 1 (v 7a), τιμή and πιστεύουσιν echo ἔντιμον and πιστεύων in the text (v 6b). The words ἅγιον and ἱεράτευμα, the latter highly distinctive, link B (v 5) to B1, while the three texts in B1 are linked together by the catchword λαός.79 This is true in spite of the fact that the word occurs only once in verse 9, because λαὸς εἰς περιποίησιν in verse 9 represents both λαόν μου ὃν περιεποιησάμην in Isaiah 43:21 LXX and λαός περιούσιος in Exodus 19:5 LXX. (In Malachi 3:17 LXX the phrase εἰς περιποίησιν translates sĕgullâ, which is translated λαὸς περιούσιος in Exod 19:5 LXX.) It was this coincidence between Isaiah 43:20–21 and Exodus 19:5 which suggested and made possible the conflation of these two texts in verse 9. This last point already indicates another pesher-type feature of the commentary: selection and adaptation of the text form to suit the interpretation. A striking example is the way in which ἐκλεκτόν is both the first adjectival description of the stone in A1 (v 6b) and the first adjectival description of the people in B1 (v 9). This has been achieved by the omission of πολυτελῆ from the quotation of Isaiah 28:16 in verse 6b, and by placing the phrase γένος ἐκλεκτόν from Isaiah 43:20 before the epithets from Exodus 19:6 in verse 9. This gives the idea of election the prominence which the introductory statement in verse 4 has already given it, and serves to link together the elect stone (Christ) in A1 and the elect people in B1. Hence the form in which the texts are quoted is governed by the intention of the whole commentary: to show how the election of Christ leads to the election of those who believe in him as the holy people of God. The use of τίθημι in verse 6b, where Isaiah 28:16 LXX has ἐμβαλῶ, is probably an example of the selection of a text form. This form of the text was also known to Paul (Rom 9:33) and to the author of Barnabas 6:2–3, who in the manner of the pesharim in fact makes use of both text forms.80 τίθημι is a natural word to use for laying a foundation, and so was probably simply a variant translation, not originally designed for any special interpretative purpose. But the author of 1 Peter has selected it for his purpose, because it can also mean ‘appoint’, and so again stresses the theme of election at the outset of his series of texts. The use of the same verb in this sense at the end of verse 8 (ἐτέθησαν) forms an inclusio with τίθημι in verse 6, and so marks the theme of election as the overarching theme of section A1. The same theme is played up in B1 by the interpretative expansion of Isaiah 43:21 in verse 9b (καλέσαντος). The association and christological interpretation of ‘stone’ testimonia was already traditional in Christianity (cf. Luke 20:17–18; Rom 9:33; Barn 6:2–4),81 following Jewish precedent.82 The association of Hosea 2:23 with the ‘stone’ texts may also have been traditional (Rom 9:25–26, Contra Elliott (1966) 138–141. Harris (1916) 31; cf. Kraft (1960) 344–345. 81 Cf. Lindars (1961) 169–186. 82 Black (1971) 11–14. 79 80

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33). But the exegetical skill of our author appears in the way he builds on the tradition in order to create an exegetical passage specifically designed for its context in 1 Peter. The passage 2:6–10 provides the scriptural grounding both for the previous part of the letter, in which the election of Christ (1:20) and the election of Christian believers (1:1–2) to be the holy people of God (1:15–16) are key themes, and also for the succeeding part of the letter, in which the relation of believers to unbelievers is the major topic. The priestly service, in both word and conduct, of a holy people, to the glory of God and as a witness to the world (2:5, 9), is the scriptural concept which undergirds all the paraenesis from 2:11 onwards. Thus 2:4–10 plays a key foundational and transitional role in the whole letter, for which its carefully studied composition is designed. 1 Peter 2:4–10 lacks the exegetical formulae which Jude uses, and is on a rather smaller scale than Jude’s commentary, but in other respects forms a fairly close parallel to the structure and exegetical method of Jude 4–19. The parallel is particularly interesting in view of the fact that the circle of Christian leaders in Rome from which 1 Peter derives were in close touch with Palestinian Jewish Christianity. They included not only Peter himself (if the letter was written before his death), but also Silvanus and Mark (1 Pet 5:12–13), who had been members of the Jerusalem church.83 By the same channels as the early Christian tradition of pesher-type exegesis moved from Palestine (Jude) to Rome (1 Peter), the letter of Jude itself must have travelled to Rome, where it was available to another Roman church leader of a somewhat later date: the author of 2 Peter.84

VIII.  Jude’s Use of Apocryphal Literature Since the third century, readers of Jude have been puzzled or offended by his quotation from a non-canonical work (vv 14–15). This citation of 1 Enoch 1:9 is certainly not merely illustrative or ad hominem,85 like the quotations from pagan literature in Acts 17:28; Titus 1:12. The introductory formula (v 14a) indicates that Jude regarded this text as inspired prophecy, while the description of Enoch as ‘the seventh from Adam’ (cf. 1 Enoch 60:8; 93:3; Jub 7:39) is intended to indicate not only Enoch’s antiquity, but also his special authority by virtue of his position in the seventh generation of world history. It alludes to that very special role as prophet and visionary which the Enoch literature accords to Enoch, as the one to whom all manner of divine secrets were revealed for the benefit of succeeding generations of the elect and especially of the last generation, which in its proximity to the end of history and its living amidst the final outburst of evil in history corresponds typologically to Enoch’s own position immediately before the Flood and amidst the evil unleashed by the apostasy of the Watchers. It seems that Jude took the attribution of 1 Enoch 1:9 to Enoch seriously, and deliberately parallels this prophecy from the seventh generation of world history with the prophecy of the

For the origin of 1 Peter in a ‘Petrine circle’ in Rome, which was influenced by Palestinian traditions, see Elliott (1980). Elliott thinks of 1 Peter deriving from this group after Peter’s death. For reasons given in Bauckham (1988D), I consider 1 Peter to have been written before Peter’s death and sent out with his authorization, even if other members of the Petrine circle were responsible for its composition. 84 For the origin of 2 Peter in Rome in the late first century, see Bauckham (1983A) 157–161. 85 As suggested by Beckwith (1985) 401–402. 83

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apostles who belong to the last generation of world history (as we have seen in section I above, vv 14–15 and vv 17–18 form a pair of quotations). Although it is true that 1 Enoch 1:9, like the whole theophany passage in which it occurs (1:3b–9), is very closely based on Old Testament texts describing the theophany of the divine Warrior (with 1:9, cf. Deut 33:2; Jer 25:31; Zech 14:5; Isa 66:15–16; Dan7:10, 25–26)86 and Jude may have found it a convenient and striking summary of such texts, he seems to value it as more than that, as an authoritative prophecy in its own right. Moreover, we have seen that this particular quotation from Enoch, which is in fact the only formal citation of a written text which Jude gives in his commentary, occupies the key position in the commentary, being especially linked to the statement of theme for the commentary (v 4) and focussing especially clearly the message of all the ‘texts’. We have also seen that it is far from being Jude’s only use of 1 Enoch. As well as the clear allusions to 1 Enoch in v 6, other passages of 1 Enoch underlie vv 12b–13. There seems good reason to suppose that 1 Enoch 1–5 and related passages in the Enoch literature lie at the foundation of Jude’s exegetical work. At least it must be said that the Enoch literature is as important to Jude in this commentary as canonical Scripture is, and when we remember that another apocryphal work, probably the Testament of Moses, provides a secondary ‘text’ in v 9, we are bound to ask what status the so-called pseudepigraphal literature (non-canonical Jewish works attributed to Old Testament figures) in general and the Enoch literature in particular had for Jude and his circle. Were the book(s) of Enoch and the Moses apocryphon Jude knew actually part of his canon of Scripture? A comparison in the first place with the Qumran literature and secondly with other early Christian writers will put Jude’s usage in perspective. From the surviving copies and fragments of apocryphal literature from Qumran, it is clear that the Qumran community read and valued a wide variety of apocryphal or pseudepigraphal works, including the Enoch literature. On the other hand, it is a notable fact that not only are the community’s commentaries on Scripture, the pesharim, commentaries only on books which belong to the canon of the Hebrew Bible, but also formal citations of Scripture in these and other works of the community are confined to the books of the canon. There seem to be only two instances where apocryphal works are treated in the same way as canonical Scripture.87 One is 4QTestimonia (4Q175), a fragment of a catena of scriptural texts, without commentary. Here quotations from Deuteronomy and Numbers are followed by a quotation from the apocryphal Psalms of Joshua.88 Another fragmentary work, known as 4Q Ages of Creation (4Q180),89 appears to be a commentary (pesher) on an apocryphal work about the divinely ordained periods of world history. It uses the same exegetical formulae (including the word ‫ )פשר‬as the pesharim use in their interpretation of Scripture. These may be exceptions which prove the rule, but they provide at least distant parallels to Jude’s use of apocryphal literature in a commentary resembling the thematic pesharim of Qumran. The evidence of early Christian literature (including not only the New Testament, but also other early Christian works from the first century of Christian history) is not unlike that of

See Hartman (1966) 114–117; VanderKam (1973); Hartman (1979) 22–26. The allusion to the Testament of Levi in CD 4:15–19 need not imply a status for it equivalent to canonical Scripture. 88 But Beckwith (1985) 74–75, suggests that it is the quotation from canonical Joshua contained in the quotation from the apocryphal Psalms of Joshua which is being placed alongside the Pentateuchal quotations. 89 It may be the ‘Book of the Divisions of the Times into their Jubilees and Weeks’ to which CD 16:2–4 refers. 86 87

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Qumran. Of course, noncanonical Jewish literature influenced most early Christian writers, helping to form their religious outlook and influencing the way they read and interpreted Scripture. All kinds of parallels prove this in general, though it is often more difficult to be sure of the influence of any specific book on any specific Christian writer. We should also remember that most of the Jewish apocryphal and pseudepigraphal literature has been preserved only by Christians: it must have been read and valued by some Christians at least in the period when Christianity was still closely related to Jewish religious culture. However, if we look for signs that such literature was treated in the same way as canonical Scripture, they are few. Even clear and deliberate allusions to such literature are not frequent, though they can certainly be found. Formal citations of these works, as authorities that can be cited in the way that Scripture is cited, are rare. Of the hundreds of formal quotations from Scripture to be found in early Christian literature, the overwhelming majority are from books which belong to the Hebrew canon. However, there are some that are not.90 In some cases, because early Christian quotations from Scripture can take rather eccentric forms (variant textforms, merged quotations of more than one Old Testament text, abbreviated, summarized, paraphrased and modified texts)91 it is not always easy to be sure whether a quotation is intended to be an Old Testament quotation or derives from an apocryphal work which is no longer extant (debated cases in the New Testament are 1 Cor 2:9; 15:45; Jas 4:5; cf. also 1 Clem 29:3; 50:4; Barn 11:9–10). But it seems likely that some of these doubtful cases belong with others which are rather clearly from unknown apocryphal sources (1 Clem 23:3 2 Clem 11:2; 1 Clem 46:2; Barn 12:1). There are some identifiable quotations from known apocryphal works (Barn 16:5, 6 seem to be from 1 Enoch 89:56–58, 66–67; 91:13, rather loosely quoted as is characteristic of Barnabas’ quotations). Of course, it is possible that occasionally a writer might remember a quotation from a non-canonical source and mistakenly think it to be scriptural, but, to put the matter beyond doubt, there are some cases where a named apocryphal work is cited alongside or in the same way as canonical Scripture (Barn 16:6; Hermas, Vis. 2:3:4; AscIsa 4:21). There are enough cases where a non-canonical work is quoted with a formula normally indicating scriptural authority (γραφή: Jas 4:5?; Barn 16:5; 1 Clem 23:3; 46:2; γέγραπται: 1 Cor 2:9; Barn 4:3; 16:6; Hermas, Vis. 2:3:4; other formulae in Barn 12:1; 2 Clem 11:2) to make the way Jude refers to Enoch not unique in the broad context of early Christianity. Still such cases, though rather more common than the exceptions to the rule at Qumran, are marginal to the general pattern of scriptural citation in early Christianity. Thus what needs explaining is why noncanonical works were not normally, but might occasionally be quoted as inspired and authoritative religious literature. This is not well explained by the argument of some recent scholars that in the New Testament period Judaism did not yet have a canon of Scripture in the sense of a closed collection of authoritative literature92 – or that the only closed canon was the Torah, while all other Scripture constituted an undefined body of literature in which the writers of the pseudepigrapha intended their works to be included.93 The most convincing interpretation of the evidence indicates on the contrary that the three divisions of the Hebrew canon – the Torah, the Prophets and the Writings – were

Rather underestimated by Beckwith (1985) 396–397. Ellis (1957) 33–36. 92 E.g. Sundberg (1964). 93 Barton (1986) 13–95. 90 91

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by the first century ad already a defined body of literature, generally recognized by Jews as their authoritative Scriptures,94 even if one or two of the books of the Writings (Esther, the Song of Songs) were still open to some debate.95 The phenomena of scriptural quotation at Qumran and in early Christianity, which we have just noticed, support this view. If the canon really were still open – so that many Jews regarded many books which were later excluded from the canon as belonging to the same category as those which were later included in the canon – then we should expect much more quotation from such works than we find. One of the pieces of evidence which has been held to support the open canon96 is 4 Ezra 14: in fact it does not, but is nevertheless an illuminating passage. The chapter recounts the legend of Ezra’s restoration of the Scriptures, which had all been burned (14:21). Under divine inspiration, he writes ninety-four books (14:44), twenty-four of which are to be made public for all to read, but seventy to be given only to the wise (14:45–46). The seventy books are evidently apocalyptic works such as 4 Ezra itself, which in circles such as his own were regarded as even more valuable than the twenty-four (14:47) but were not generally treated as Scripture in Jewish religion (they were not, for example, read in synagogue). Quite clearly the twenty-four books are a defined collection recognized by all Jews: they are the books of the Hebrew canon, commonly reckoned as twenty-four.97 The number seventy probably indicates that the other books, though in theological principle a defined collection (God knows which they are), were in practice an undefined, open collection (probably no one could have listed all seventy). But the author does not add them to the twenty-four to make a single collection; he places them alongside the twenty-four as another collection. Thus he shows both that there was (when he wrote, c. 100 ad) a closed canon, which alone was recognized by all Jews, and that it was possible for Jews to regard other works as also inspired, even, in this case, as more valuable than the books of the canon. In the New Testament period we should probably envisage a situation in which the books of the Hebrew canon were regarded as virtually a closed collection, which was generally regarded as authoritative Scripture by Jews. Even if it might still be debated whether Esther or the Song of Songs ought really to be included in the Writings, nobody argued that Jubilees or 1 Enoch or the Apocryphon of Ezekiel should be included in the Prophets or the Writings. The collection was virtually closed. This did not prevent anyone recognizing other books as also inspired, but the status of such other, noncanonical books was not agreed. Some circles valued some of them, more or less highly. Some, like the writer of 4 Ezra, might even value some of them above the generally recognized canon; others, like the Qumran community, it seems, gave them a subordinate status. But the situation in regard to such noncanonical works – both as to which of them were regarded as inspired at all and as to how highly they were valued – was entirely fluid. So it was not normally possible to quote them as authoritative in the way that the generally recognized canon of Scripture could be quoted. But any of them might occasionally

Beckwith (1985) provides the fullest presentation of the evidence. Five books (Ezekiel, Proverbs, Ecclesiastes, Song of Songs, Esther) were still the subject of some debate among the rabbis. But probably, as Beckwith (1985) 274–323, argues, these disputes (including those attributed to the academy of Jamnia at the end of the first century ad) should be seen as concerned not with books not yet included in the canon, but with books already generally accepted as canonical. The question is not whether for the first time they should be included, but whether after all they should be excluded. 96 Barton (1986) 64–65. 97 Beckwith (1985) 240. The alternative numeration of twenty-two was also current. 94 95

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be quoted as an inspired writing by a writer who recognized it as such and found something in it especially opposite to his theme, or who knew that within the limited circle for which he was writing it was generally valued. This hypothesis sufficiently explains the occasional citation of non-canonical Jewish writings by Christian authors. Jude’s use of Enoch remains striking by comparison with the Qumran pesharim, but we should remember that his commentary includes a ‘text’ which, by Qumran standards, is even more anomalous:  the prophecy of the apostles (vv 17–18). That his quotation from Enoch is paired with this apostolic prophecy itself shows that there is no need to suppose that Jude included Enoch in the canon of Jewish Scriptures. Like all early Christians, for whom the tradition of the sayings of Jesus, the oracles of Christian prophets and the teaching of apostles were all inspired authorities, Jude would not in any case have limited inspiration to the Hebrew canon. There is no difficulty in supposing that he and presumably his circle valued the Enoch literature highly alongside the canon of Law, Prophets and Writings. Precisely what kind of authority it had by comparison with the canon we cannot tell; nor need he have done. That Jewish apocalyptic works should have been popular among Palestinian Jewish Christians is not surprising. Those who believed themselves to live in the last generation before the end of history and looked for the imminent coming of Jesus Christ as eschatological Saviour and Judge would readily turn to such works and relate them to the Old Testament texts which they interpreted messianically and eschatologically. The Jewish apocalypses of Palestinian origin (including those of post-Christian date, such as 4 Ezra, 2 Baruch and the Apocalypse of Abraham) which the Christian church preserved were probably valued by Palestinian Jewish Christians in the first place and thence passed to other parts of the church. The opening section of 1 Enoch, from which Jude draws his key text, connects so closely with Old Testament texts early Christians interpreted with reference to the parousia and would itself have so obviously, in their eyes, described the parousia, that we can easily see why the circles in which Jude moved should have been attracted to the work. So far as we can plot the use of I Enoch in early Christianity it was not widely used at first. We must be cautious about attributing to it the influence of the general world of ideas which it shares with other literature or the occurrence of traditions which it uses but may not have had a monopoly in. Clear traces of the influence of the book itself are rare in the New Testament. 1 Corinthians 11:10 is probably better explained than by reference to the story of the fall of the Watchers.98 1 Peter 3:19–20 may refer to the Watchers,99 but if it locates their prison in the heavens it is closer to 2 Enoch 7 than to 1 Enoch. The relationship of parts of Luke’s Gospel material to 1 Enoch 92–105, which has been claimed, seems dubious.100 The influence of the Parables of Enoch on the Son of man sayings in the Gospels is now generally discounted,101 though some still think their influence on Matthew 25:31–33 plausible.102 Resemblances between Revelation and 1 Enoch are readily explicable by common apocalyptic traditions. It is noteworthy that the reference to Enoch in Hebrews 11:5 relies solely on Genesis 5:22–24

Fitzmyer (1971) 187–204. Dalton (1965); but see the recent argument against this view and for an alternative view in Grudem (1988) 203–239. 100 Aalen (1966–67); Nickelsburg (1979). 101 Cf. Rowland (1982) 264–266. 102 Catchpole (1979) 378–383. 98 99

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(LXX), with no hint of the rich extracanonical developments of the story of Enoch. The author of 2 Peter 2:4 may show knowledge of 1 Enoch independently of Jude 6, his source.103 If so, he reflects a growing influence of the work at the end of the first century, if 1 Clement (whose ­chapter 20 is probably dependent on 1 Enoch 2–5)104 and Barnabas (certainly dependent on the Dream-Visions of Enoch in 16:5–6 and on some other Enochic prophecy in 4:3) are correctly dated at the end of the first century.105 In any case, in the second century 1 Enoch became a very popular book in the Christian churches.106 This pattern may reflect the fact that 1 Enoch, though popular in some Jewish circles in Palestine, was not widely known in the western diaspora where most of the Christians addressed in the New Testament documents lived. Its use would have spread, not immediately from diaspora Jews to Christians outside Palestine, but slowly from Palestinian Jewish Christians to the rest of the church. This would be even more plausible if the translation of 1 Enoch into Greek occurred only towards the end of the first century.107 This can be only an hypothesis. But in any case, especially since it is likely that Jude knew 1 Enoch (or the parts of it that he knew) in Aramaic, his use of the Enoch literature seems likely to reflect its popularity in some circles of apocalyptic Jewish Christianity in Palestine during the New Testament period, before it became popular in the church at large from the end of the first century onwards.

IX. Conclusion The letter of Jude contains probably the most elaborate passage of formal exegesis in the manner of the Qumran pesharim to be found in the New Testament. There are many less elaborate examples in other New Testament works, and fragments of the results of such exegetical work can be detected frequently. Such exegesis must have flourished especially in the early Palestinian church, where Jewish Christian leaders, in order to justify, to explain and to develop their faith in Jesus the Messiah, studied and expounded the Scriptures with the exegetical techniques available to them in their religious culture. Such exegetical work and the skilled exegetes who produced it will have played a major part in the early development of Christian theology. Evidently Jude the Lord’s brother was one such skilled exegete.

References Aalen, S., ‘St Luke’s Gospel and the Last Chapters of I Enoch’, NTS 13 (1966–67) 1–3. Adler, W., ‘Enoch in Early Christian Literature’, in SBL 1978 Seminar Papers, vol. I, ed. P. J. Achtemeier (Missoula, Montana: Scholars Press, 1978) 271–275. Barton, J., Oracles of God: Perceptions of Ancient Prophecy in Israel after the Exile, London: Darton, Longman & Todd, 1986. Bauckham, R. J., ‘A Note on a Problem in the Greek Version of I Enoch i.9’, JTS 32 (1981) 136–138.

Bauckham (1983) 249. Cf. n. 26 above. 105 For this date for Barnabas, see Richardson and Shukster (1983). 106 Lawlor (1897); Charles (1912) lxxxi–xcv; Ruwet (1948) 242–243; Denis (1970) 20–24; Adler (1978); Schultz (1978). 107 For this suggestion, see Bauckham (1981) 138. 103 104

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The Catholic Epistles ________, Jude, 2 Peter, WBC 50, Waco, Texas, 1983. (1983A) ________, Pseudo-Apostolic Letters’, JBL 107 (1988) 469–494. (1988D) _________, ‘James, 1 and 2 Peter, Jude’, in It is Written: Scripture Citing Scripture: Essays in Honour of Barnabas Lindars SSF, ed. D. A. Carson and H.G. M. Williamson (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1988) 303–317. (1988E) _________, ‘The Two Fig Tree in the Apocalypse of Peter’, JBL 104 (1985) 269–287. Beckwith, R. T., The Old Testament Canon of the New Testament Church and its Background in Early Judaism, London: SPCK, 1985. Best, E., ‘I Peter II 4–10 – a Reconsideration’, NovT 11 (1969) 270–293. Black, M., ‘The Christological Use of the Old Testament in the New Testament’, NTS 18 (1971–72) 1–14. ________, ‘The Maranatha Invocation and Jude 14, 15 (I Enoch 1:9)’, in Christ and Spirit in the New Testament: in honour of C. F. D. Moule, ed. B. Lindars and S. S. Smalley, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1973. ________, The Book of Enoch or I Enoch: A New English Edition, SVTP 7, Leiden: Brill, 1985. Brook, G. J., Exegesis at Qumran: 4QFlorilegium in its Jewish Context, JSOTSS 29, Sheffield: JSOT Press, 1985. Carmignac, J., ‘Le document de Qumran sur Melkisédeq’, RQ 7 (1969–71) 343–378. Catchpole, D. R., ‘The Poor On Earth and the Son of Man in Heaven: A Re-appraisal of Matthew XXV.31–46’, Bulletin of the John Rylands Library 61 (1979) 355–397. Charles, R. H., The Book of Enoch, Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1893. ________, The Book of Enoch, Oxford: Clarendon Press, 21912. Dalton, W. J., Christ’s Proclamation to the Spirits: A study of I Peter 3:18–4:16, AnBib 23, Rome: Pontifical Biblical Institute, 1965. Danker, F. W., ‘I Peter I24–217 – A Consolatory Pericope’, ZNW 58 (1967) 93–102. Dehandschutter, B., ‘Pseudo-Cyprian, Jude and Enoch: Some Notes on I Enoch 1:9’, in Tradition and Re-Interpretation in Jewish and Early Christian Literature: Essays in Hounour of Jürgen C. H. Lebram, ed. J. W. van Henten, H. J. de Jonge, P. T. van Rooden, J. W. Wesselius, SPB 36, Leiden: Brill, 1986. Denis, A. M., Fragmenta Pseudepigraphorum quae supersunt Graeca, in Pseudepigrapha Veteris Testamenti Graece, vol. 3, ed. A. M. Denis and M. de Jonge (Leiden: Brill, 1970) 45–246. Dunn J. D. G., Unity and Diversity in the New Testament: An Inquiry into the Character of Earliest Christianity, London: SCM Press, 1977. Elliott, J. H., The Elect and the Holy: An exegetical examination of I Peter 2:4-10 and the phrase βασίλειν ἱεράτευμα, NovTSup 12, Leiden: Brill, 1966. _________, ‘Peter, Silvanus and Mark in I Peter and Acts: Sociological-Exegetical Perspectives on a Petrine Group in Rome’, in W. Haubach and M. Bachmann ed., Wort in der Zeit: Neutestamentliche Studien (K. H. Rengstorf Festschrift; Leiden: Brill, 1980) 250–267. ________, A home for the Homeless: A Sociological Exegesis of 1 Peter, Its Situation and Strategy, London: SCM Press, 1982. Ellis, E. E., Paul’s Use of the Old Testament, Edinburgh: Oliver & Boyd, 1957. ________, Prophecy and Hermeneutic in Early Christianity, WUNT 18, Tübingen: Mohr (Siebeck), 1978. Finkel, A., ‘The Pesher of Dreams and Scriptures’, RQ 4 (1963–64) 357–370. Fitzmyer, J. A., ‘The use of explicit Old Testament quotations in Qumran literature and in the New Testament’, in Essays on the Semitic Background of the New Testament (London: G. Chapman, 1971) 3–58. Grudem, W., The First epistle of Peter, TNTC, Leicester: InterVarsity Press, 1988. Hanson, A. T., Studies in the Pastoral Epistles, London: SPCK, 1968. Harris, R., Testimonies, Part I, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1916. Hartman, L., Prophecy Interpreted: The Formation of Some Jewish apocalyptic texts and of the eschatological discourse Mark 13 par., ConBNT1, Uppsala: Almqvist & Wiksells, 1966. ______, Asking for a Meaning: A Study of 1 Enoch 1–5, ConBNT12, Lund: Gleerup, 1979. Himmelfarb, M., Tours of Hell: An Apocalyptic Form in Jewish and Christian Literature, Philadelphia: University of Philadelphia Press, 1983. 272

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Jude’s Exegesis Horgan, M. P., Pesharim: Qumran Interpretations of Biblical Books, CBQMS 8, Washington, DC: Catholic Biblical Association of America, 1979. Klijn, A. F. J., 'Jude 5 to 7,' in The New Testament Age: Essays in Honour of Bo Reicke, ed. W. C. Wenrich, vol. I (Macon, Georgia: Mercer University Press, 1984) 237–244. Knibb, M. A., The Ethiopic Book of Enoch, vol. 2, Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1978. Kraft, R. A., ‘Barnabas’ Isaiah Text and the “Testimony Book” Hypothesis’, JBL 79 (1960) 336–350. Krodel, G., ‘The Letter of Jude’, in R. H. Fuller, G. S. Sloyan, G. Krodel, F. W. Danker and E. S. Fiorenza, Hebrews, James, 1 and 2 Peter, Jude, Revelation, PC (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1977) 92–98. Lawlor, H., J., ‘Early Citations from the Book of Enoch’, Journal of Philology 25 (1897) 164–225. Lindars, B., New Testament Apologetic: The Doctrinal Significance of the Old Testament Quotations, London: SCM Press, 1961. McGinn, B., Apocalyptic Spirituality: Treatises and Letters of Lactantius, Adso of Montier-en-Der, Joachim of Fiore, the Franciscan Spirituals, Savonarola, Classics of Western Spirituality, London: SPCK, 1980. Milik, J. T., The Books of Enoch: Aramaic Fragments of Qumrân Cave 4, Oxford: Clarendon, 1976. Nickelsburg, G. W. E., ‘Riches, the Rich, and God’s Judgment in I Enoch 92–105 and the Gospel according to Luke’, NTS 25 (1979) 324–344. Ogilvie, R. M., The Library of Lactantius, Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1978. Osburn, C. D., ‘The Christological Use of I Enoch i.9 in Jude 14, 15’, NTS 23 (1976–77) 334–341. ________, ‘I Enoch 80:2-8 (67:5-7) and Jude 12–13’, CBQ 47 (1985) 296–303. Patte, D., Early Jewish Hermeneutic in Palestine, SBLDS 22 Missoula, Montana: Scholars Press, 1975. Richardson, P. and Shukster, M. B., ‘Barnabas, Nerva, and the Yavnean Rabbis’, JTS 34 (1983) 31–55. Rowland, C., The Open Heaven: A Study of Apocalyptic in Judaism and Early Christianity, London: SPCK, 1982. Ruwet, J., ‘Clément d’Alexandrie: Canon des Écritures et Apocryphes’, Bib 29 (1948) 77–99, 240–268, 391–408. Schultz, D. R., ‘The Origin of Sin in Irenaeus and Jewish Pseudepigraphal Literature’, VC 32 (1978) 161–190. Sellin, G., ‘Die Häretiker des Judasbriefes’, ZNW 77 (1986) 206–225. Slomovic, E., ‘Toward an Understanding of the Exegesis in the Dead Sea Scrolls’, RQ 7 (1969-71) 3–15. Spitta, F., Der Zweite Brief des Petrus und der Brief des Judas, Halle a. S.: Buchhandlung des Waisenhauses, 1885. Sundberg, A. C., The Old Testament of the Early Church, HTS 20, Cambridge, Massachusetts: Harvard University Press/London: Oxford University Press, 1964. VanderKam, J. C., ‘The Theophany of Enoch I 3b-7, 9’, VT 23 (1973) 129–150. Wilcox, M., ‘Text form’, in It is Written: Scripture Citing Scripture: Essays in Honour of Barnabas Lindars SSF, ed. D. A. Carson and H. G. M. Williamson (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1988) 193–204. Wolthius, T., ‘Jude and Jewish Traditions’, CTJ 22 (1987) 21–41. Wright, A. G., The Literary Genre of Midrash, New York: Alba House, 1967, reprinted from CBQ 28 (1966) 105–138, 417–457.

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B. THEOLOGICAL AND INTERPRETIVE ISSUES THE EPISTLE OF JAMES AS ANTI-PAULINE POLEMIC: THE APORIAS OF THE EPISTLE

Martin Hengel

The Epistle of James introduces its readers to deep-reaching aporias that have to this day never been satisfactorily solved. In this regard, hardly anything has changed in around 150 years of critical exegetical history.1 Translated from the original German by Amy Obrist and Darian R.  Lockett, with the help of Dr.  Markus Zehnder: Martin Hengel, “Der Jakobusbrief als antipaulinische Polmik,” in Paulus und Jakobus: Kleine Schriften III (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2002), 511–48, originally published in Tradition and Interpretation in the New Testament (ed. G. G. Hawthorneand O. Betz; Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 1987), 248–78. This chapter grew out of a seminar on the Letter of James that I held along with my colleague Dr. Baasland, who at the time was professor of New Testament in Oslo, yet now is the bishop of Trondheim. I thank him greatly even though he may not have agreed with some of the more radical statements of my thesis. The study is based on seminars held at Trinity-College Dublin and at the theological faculties in Durham, Leeds, and Glasgow. The chapter took its current form as a lecture for the New Testament Society in Tübingen. In the following, I cite the standard commentaries with only the author, title, edition, and page number; for the other abbreviations, I have used S. Schwertner, the theological encyclopedia abbreviations from the 1976 edition. I thank my former assistant PD Dr. Mrs. Anna-Maria Schwemmer for proofing the complicated manuscripts and reviewing some quotations and valuable references. The overall study was read and supplemented in order to be included in the present volume. 1 The aporia traces back as far as the early church, where Origen—who called the author “apostle” a number of times—and Dionysius of Alexandria first unambiguously cite the letter as “scripture.” Clement of Alexandria may have commented on it in his “Hypotyposes”; however, we have no clear citation from James in his preserved work— in contrast to Jude, which is dependent on James. James is used in the Syrian Didascalia at the beginning of the third century ad(?): c. 5 (CSCO 407, 51, von A. Vööbus) is readily overlooked, whereas 1:2 is cited as “scripture” along with the unambiguous allusions c. 1 Beg. = 2:8 (CSCO 407, 9); c. 12 Conclusion = 2:2f. (CSCO 408, 134); c. 20 = 2:19 (CSCO 408, 182). The Papyri P20 (third century) and P23 (end of the third century) should also be noted; see W. Grunwald and K. Junack, “Das NT auf Papyrus,” I, ANTZ 6 (1986), 11–14.35ff. The Old Latin translation should also not be dated too late according to the opinion of the top expert W. Thiele; see VL 26,1, Epistulae Catholicae, 58.66, and the epistolary message of 14.8.1986: “in my view the Old Latin from James is just as early as is attested for 1 Pet, that is to say, since 1 Pet is attested in Cyprian, I  place James also around 200, because Cyprian’s text already shows some development. Most scholars indeed place James later (in my view wrongly).” The “canonical” legitimacy of James, on the other hand, is established only slowly and extended into the fourth century; see J. B. Mayor, LXVI–LXXIV: Th. Zahn, Geschichte des neutestamentlichen Kanons, I/1, 321ff.; M. Dibelius (1984, 74ff.). See also the newest commentary by Christian Burchard, HNT 15/I (Tübingen 2000), 20–6, on the text, and 26–30, on the “post-history”: “Provisionally James remains in the dark until AD 200” (27). The relatively late—unambiguously— attestation is, however, no argument for a later origin. The relatively early Letter of Diognetus (at the end of the second century) is completely unattested in the ancient church and is only preserved in one manuscript, which burned in the 1870 bombardment of Strasburg. The aporia of its origin and canonical legitimacy erupted again in the Reformation period due to the discovery of the Pauline gospel and has been in effect from the first critical commentary in the previous century until today; see W. M. L. de Wette, Lehrbuch der historisch kritischen Einleitung in die kanonischen Bücher des Neuen Testaments (1826), 306; F. K. Kern, “Der Charakter und Ursprung des Briefs Jakobi,” TZTh (1835), 2.H., 1–132 (65ff.), already assumed an unknown second-century author, but then, however, flat-out changed his opinion in his commentary Der Brief Jakobi untersucht und erklärt (1838), which is still worth reading, and argues

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First of all, it is the only New Testament epistle to assume the form of a letter to all Christians (outside of the Holy Land). This is the only interpretation of the addressees as “the twelve tribes in the diaspora” that makes sense to me,2 a fact that makes it an “encyclical” to all Christians living dispersed among the “peoples” and who are predominantly “Gentile Christians.” It is the first, indeed the only, early Christian Epistle that appears with this unheard-of claim expressis verbis that it wants all to hear. On the other hand, it remains unclear why this “epistle” was written in such a loose form and with its—at least outwardly—rather vaguely appearing, generally “paraenetic” content (in part seeming almost trivial in character).3 The statements about the occasion of the epistle in the commentaries are correspondingly vague. All comparable early Christian “epistles,” whether real or fictive (the genuine Pauline Epistles, Ephesians, the Pastorals, Hebrews, Jude, 1 John, 1–2 Peter, and also Ignatius, Polycarp, 1–2 Clement, Barnabas, and Diognetus—the question of authenticity and of their possibly nonepistolary original form does not play a role here), have a clearer Christian-theological subject matter and a more neatly arranged train of thought. Even if the epistolary character of James is denied and the letter is seen as a sermon or a poorly Christianized Jewish wisdom teaching,4

the case for James as the Brother of the Lord. He anticipated crucial points of contention in the discussion even up to today. De Wette, too, leaned later in his commentary more to the probability of authenticity; see Kurzgefasstes exegetisches Handbuch zum Neuen Testament, III/1 (1865), ed. E. Brückner, 193; cf. here the guarded judgment in the sixth edition of his textbook, ed. H. Messner and G. Lüdemann (1860), 373: “It must nevertheless be recognized that the Epistle contrasts favorably against the products of post-apostolic literature, and should not (in agreement with Schwegler) be discounted too deeply.” Similarly, in A. Ritschl, Die Entstehung der altkatholischen Kirche, see the difference between the first edition (1850), 150f., and the second edition (1857), 109f., and in G. V. Lechler, Das apostolische und nachapostolische Zeitalter…, Preisschrift von der Teylerschen Theologischen Gesellschaft (Haarlem, 1851), and the final, third edition (1885), 244ff. On all of this, see Mayor, CLXXVII. The list of retractions could be continued. On the controversial opinions on authorship and dating since the turn of the century, see the overview in P. H. Davids (1982), 4. Similarly, the question of the anti-Pauline polemic is assessed disparately; see A. Lindemann, “Paulus im ältesten Christentum,” BHTh 58 (1979), 240ff. See here also the discussion in the commentary of Christian Burchard with a wealth of citations: “It probably does not help that James is a pseudoepigraphic . . . Epistle”; the unknown author “was a notable Christian theologian .  .  . with good (Jewish)-Hellenistic education .  .  . and presumably high authority” (5). I am glad to agree with him; however, the nice commentary by Burchard cannot answer precisely the basic question, “why should the letter of James the Lord’s brother have been written?” The same is true of the “addressees” and “time and place” (6f.). 2 The limitation of the audience to Jewish Christians, a view that has prevailed since the early church and has been championed by Th. Zahn, Wohlenberg, and today in a moderated form by Mussner and Davids (on 1:1), narrows the circle of addressees too much (see F. Mussner, Der Jabusbrief, 2nd ed. [Freiburg im Breisgau, 1967]). Not to mention that the conjecture of Jewish addressees is far-fetched. The “twelve tribes” are the Christians as the true Israel; “in the diaspora,” on the other hand, does not speak of the addressees as strangers on the earth and heavenly citizens (it is really saying very little about the heavenly world) but should be understood as the “dispersion among the peoples” outside of the Holy Land. The author does not use the motif of earthly alienation so common in early Christian letter prescripts (on this, see M.  Hengel, “Die Evangelienüberschriften,” SHA.PH [1984], H.3, 46, n.  109). 1 Peter 1:1, independent of James, introduces this motif anew and combines it with the geographically more specific term “diaspora.” Among the apostolic fathers the term διασπορά is completely absent; yet in Justin, dial. 117.2.4.5, and also 113.3 and 121.4 the Jewish diaspora is meant. 3 The critical judgment of Luther is also related to the letter’s form: “und wirfft so unordig eyns yns ander” (WA.DB [=Weimar edition of Luther’s Works. The German Bible] 7, 386); “to this there is neither ordo nor methodus” (WA.TR [=Weimar edition of Luther’s Works. table talk] 5, 157). Cf. also de Wette’s admission, Handbuch III/I, 103: “This point of view and objective of the letter is only presumptive, for it is written without a plan.” 4 See the impressive analysis (despite its wrong conclusions) by A. Meyer, “Das Rätsel des Jacobusbriefs,” BZNW 10 (1930), as well as the older studies by L. Massebieau, “L’epitre de Jacques est-elle l’oevre d’un chretien?,” RHR XVI.32 (1985), 249–83; and F. Spitta, Der Brief des Jakobus untersucht (1896). See also A. Jülicher and E. Fascher, Einleitung in

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the aporia is not solved but only postponed. For apart from the question about the meaning of such a sermon, or presumed Jewish literary archetype, the reason why this presumptuous form was given remains unexplained. What does our universal “encyclical,” with its challenging prescript, want to achieve? What is its cause (or the cause of its form), and what is its objective? And finally: who is actually behind it as sender and author, respectively, and which recipients or readers does it address? All these basic questions are still unresolved, and for this very reason we find it so difficult to understand this curious work and its no-nonsense theological approach. Furthermore, German scholarship to this day is still dominated by the superb, yet now seventy-year-old, commentary by Martin Dibelius. He not only assumed a date of composition between 80 and 130 (the only somewhat certain reference point is Jude, which presupposes James in its prescript),5 in my view too late and in any case essentially undeterminable, but furthermore was of the opinion that a mediocre compiler without theological expertise6 has written an anthology of individual paraenetic sayings along with some larger compositions stuck in between them, or better:  he composed it from traditional material, for “the entire document is lacking conceptual cohesion.”7 The result of this is above all that the question, cui bono, regarding the meaning and purpose of the entire event of composition could not be answered by Dibelius. Even the new keyword “paraenesis” does not solve the riddle of the letter. For according to Dibelius, the motive of choosing8 from the wealth of paraenetic das Neue Testament (1931), 211f.; H. Thyen, “Der Stil der jüdisch-hellenistischen Homilie,” FRLANT 65 (1955), 14ff.; R. Bultmann, Theologie des Neuen Testaments (1984), 515. 5 Dibelius, 67 (1.A.1921); older authors: 33, n. 1. See also the list in Davids, 4: most scholars today see in James a later pseudepigraphon. Dibelius, 52: “The prescript of Jude seems to assume James.” Cf. Meyer, 82–5. Here the considerable content difference also suggests a chronological distance. Jude is fighting against an early “gnosticizing” (?) heresy with libertine inclinations at the turn of the first to second century; see the commentary by E. Fuchs and P. Reymond, La deuxième épître de Saint Pierre. L’épître de Saint Jude (1980), 143, and in addition the research report of R. Heiligenthal, ThR 51 (1986), 117–29. Jude is used again by 2 Peter between around 120 and 130, which for its part influenced the Apocalypse of Peter that likely emerged at the time of Bar-Kochba; see F. Spitte, “Die Petrusapokalypse und der zweite Petrusbrief,” ZNW 12 (1911), 237–42. Cf. also the collocation of texts in A. v. Harnack, Bruchstücke des Evangeliums und der Apokalypse des Petrus (1893), 87f., which admittedly—and wrongly—tries to change the order. The early attested Apocalypse of Peter (Clement of Alexandria, Canon Muratori) should probably be dated during or soon after the Bar-Kochba uprising 132–135; see to this point c. 2 of the Ethiopian version/edition and Christian Maurer in Hennecke and Schneemelcher, NTA 2, 469. A dating of James before 80/90 also results from the fact that in my view 1 Peter and 1 Clement are dependent on it and his Jesus tradition is older than the one in the Gospel of Matthew. 6 Dibelius, 19:  “One does well not to overestimate the share of the author in the formation of thought. With this recognition, the authorial question naturally loses some of its significance.” The parallels to its, in my view mistaken, judgment of the synoptic authors as “collectors, tradents, and redactors” (Die Formgeschichte der Evangelien [1933], 2) is evident. Dibelius loves the word “harmless” in this connection (see 40, n. 4): “τέλειος becomes harmless and is not at all used in a gnostic manner”; “Law” is not used polemically, “but harmlessly, without definition” (42); “the great harmlessness of this pseudonymity” (34). The letter reveals “absolutely no particular ‘theology’ ” (41 compared with 36; only “its basic convictions are . . . of unified character”). See, in contrast, new analyses that show that what we have here is a “wisdom writing” with wisdom “theology” composed with reflection and artfulness: E. Baasland, StTh 36 (1982), 119–39; U. Luck, ZThK 81 (1984), 1–30; Christian Burchard (above n. 1), among others, compares the negative judgment of Schleiermacher. 7 Dibelius, 14 compared with 21: “for long stretches conceptual connection is completely missing.” Nevertheless, he offers the qualification, “here James should not be denied any sort of unified character.” Is it possible that James possesses perhaps a different understanding of “unity of thought process,” which seems too simple and linear over and against ours? Perhaps the “aimlessness” and the “repetition of the same motifs in different places” is intentional? 8 On the eclecticism of James, see Dibelius, 19f. “Any great erudition” (42) on the author’s part is denied. Still, aside from knowledge of the Bible (the canon of which was not yet strictly limited) a good familiarity with wisdom literature must be presumed (JesSir, T.XII etc.). Admittedly the author did not—like a man of letters from antiquity (or a modern

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possibilities and rich traditional material is in no way satisfactorily explained. In order to “be a ταμιεῖον, a treasure trove”—as Dibelius would like to describe the intention of James9—the topics covered are too limited or are too artificial and too far-fetched, the numerous polemics too uncompromising, and the stylistic-rhetorical effort too great. There is also hardly anything to be felt here10 of the “bureaucratized” church of the Pastoral Epistles and of the Apostolic Fathers, with whom Dibelius would like to juxtapose James since it is there that one appreciates such “treasure troves.” One only has to compare his rigid polemic against the rich with the moderate admonitions of the Apocalypse of Hermas, which was far more esteemed in the second and third centuries than James. Despite linguistic echoes, the latter is separated from James by its uncompromising harshness.11 Also the reception history of this letter in the early church from the second century shows that this “treasure trove” was not opened all too often, in contrast to other paraenetic texts—if nothing else on account of its harshness and onesidedness. The much later, and so completely different, Shepherd of Hermas was—initially— granted much greater success.12 The preferred “paraenetic” texts used by Dibelius—The Sermon on the Mount, Q, the Shepherd of Hermas Mandates, 1 Peter, the Pastoral Epistles, the Admonitions (or Letter) of Enoch, the Testament of the Twelve Patriarchs, Wisdom of Solomon, Ben Sira, or even some writings attributed to Isocrates, such as ad Demonicum and ad Nicoclem—either show a clearer, more concentrated subject matter, a better arrangement, a more unambiguous relationship to professor)—create “collections of anthologies” (42); for this his memory was too good and his own creative drive too strong. 9 Dibelius, 23 compared with 42: “James [is] thus not a thinker, prophet, or spiritual leader, but a pedagogue, one of many, who takes and shares from the common possessions.” Thus, he is misjudged and belittled. The letter is not completely lacking a distinctive image. Harnack and now also Burchard (n. 1) have seen this more clearly; see n. 20. 10 The hypothesis that stands behind Dibelius’s interpretation of the progressive secularization and gentrification of the congregations (cf. ibid., 62–6 and 69–73) is not convincing; it is too simple. The danger of “secularization”—as the controversy in Corinth shows—was greatest in the newly founded missionary congregations of Paul, and there were richer Christians and social conflicts precisely in those places (see below pp. 290–93). The catchphrase “convention ethics” (ibid., 71) applies throughout early Christianity; the opposition between the “higher ups of Paul’s faith” and the “everyday people” with their narrow-mindedness and fear of the world that James represents (73) point back to prejudices in Protestantism starting from the nineteenth century. It is interesting that the new kantian A. Ritschl (in Die Entstehung der altkatholischen Kirche) arrives at a very much positive evaluation. 11 See here C. A. Osiek, “Rich and Poor in the Shepherd of Hermas,” diss., Washington, DC (1983). Hermas, a freedman from the middle class, is descended from a completely different milieu than the author of James (socio-ethically he sets up the compromise of Clement of Alexandria); see R. Staats, TRE 16 (1986), 100–8 (103, 105). See also M. Hengel, Eigentum und Reichtum in der frühen Kirche (1973), 54ff. and 63ff. 12 On the reception history of Hermas, see Staats (106f.), and now N. Brox, Der Hirt des Hermas, KAV 7, Göttingen (1991), 46f., and his striking assortment of points of contact, which in my view very probably indicates a literary connection. The author of Hermas was familiar with James and influenced by him, yet of course did not cite him. It is rare that he “cites” anything at all. Cf. also the judgments of Goppelt and Mussner, cited by Brox. The ethic of Hermas over and against James is “deradicalized,” that is to say, its “moralizing tendency is increased” (47, n. 9; cf. also n. 27 in this chapter). Witnessing to the popularity of Hermas are also the numerous early papyri from the second half of the second century on; see C. H. Roberts, Manuscript, Society and Belief in Early Christian Egypt, SchL (1977, 1979), 14.21f., 42.59. It was “outside the Bible the most widely-read book” (63). To be sure, James was used even before 1 Peter, 1 Clement, and Hermas, but then also surface again clearly in the Syrian Didascalia and in Origen (see n. 1). It is strange that James, the Brother of the Lord, still appears in Luke, whereas in the other gospels the brothers of Jesus appear in a negative context. The apostolic fathers, apologists, and Acts of the Apostles are completely silent about James, and only Hegesippus around 180 and Clement of Alexandria report on him again in greater detail. It was Nag Hammadi, along with the Gospel of Thomas Log 12, the Apocryphon of James, both of the Apocalypses of James, who brought to light the Ebionite transmission and indeed in an exaggerated form that contradicts the simple dignity of our epistle’s reception. This also points to an early emergence of the letter. For traditions of James, see M. Hengel,

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context, or perhaps we are dealing with actual “collections of sayings” made up of individual sayings analogous to Pseudo-Phocylides, Pseudo-Menander, Sextus, Publilius Syrus, Dicta Catonis, and so on. But this “letter” with its challenging prescript, which is immediately connected with the actual text through its clever alliteration, χαίρειν–χαρᾶν, certainly is not intended as a mere “gnomologion.” More recent expositors (Mussner, Davids, Baasland, Wuellner)13 discovered in this, moreover, a kind of literary creative will, which could sometimes be called subtle and that works with a variety of stylistic devices. The literary skill of the author contradicts the postulate of a completely loose, mostly random, aimless compilation of traditional paraenetic sayingsmaterial, since he combines the traditional Jewish form of wisdom sayings, in particular the didactic poem, with a rhetorical-literary art that is unique in early Christianity.14 These insights are not new, but they were buried for a considerable time. According to Christian G. Wilke in his New Testament Rhetoric, “the epistle has the characteristics of good Greek and oratorical diction. In particular this presentation testifies to the agility of the imagination and liveliness of mind.”15 J. B. Mayor, who was also an important classical philologist, points out that the short sentences of the epistle are “better formed and more rhythmical than are to be found elsewhere in the N.T.”16 The rhetorical effort and wisdom form taken together give the epistle an almost “poetic” character. A. Schlatter, who in his 1932 commentary emphasized the wisdom-poetic form of writing by printing the Greek text in stanzas and lines, observed, “The style that formed the artistry of James is that of the Psalms and of the lyric poetry of sayings that give parallel sentences similar length.”17 On the other hand, one must, admittedly, see that the strict grammatical parallelism is only partially carried out and that often typical Greek stylistic devices are used. Already at the beginning of this century, H.  J. Cladder, on account of the arrangement of lines and scribal points in the old majuscules, carried out a very similar classification as Schlatter and pointed out the rhythm that was clearly noticeable in the recitation of the text.18 All this could indicate that a Greek-educated, Palestinian Jew, familiar with both the Old Testament Jewish wisdom literature and the basic concepts of rhetoric, was the one writing. “Jakobus der Herrenbruder—der erste ‘Papst’?,” in Glaube und Eschatologie. Festschrift für W.  G. Kümmel zum 80. Geburtstag (1985), 71–104. 13 On Baasland, see n. 7. Cf. also W. H. Wuellner, Der Jacobusbrief im Licht der Rhetorik und Textpragmatik, KingBibl H.43 (1978), 5–66: “The arrangement of the arguments revealed that the opinio communis of the exegetes regarding the absent train of thought rests upon false assumptions” (65). 14 Dibelius saw this discrepancy but gave it too little consideration: “James contains to a large extent collective ancient tradition, and yet its eloquence makes a relatively unified impression.” 15 Christian G. Wilke, Die neutestamentliche Rhetorik. Ein Seitenstück zur Grammatik des neutestamentlichen Sprachidioms (1843), 484:  “The most evident are the signs of liveliness that his lecture contains .  .  . he provides descriptions that touch on the poetic” (485). 16 Mayor, CCLVI. See the exhaustive presentation of the stylistic characteristics (CCVI–CCLIX): “I should be inclined to rate the Greek of this Epistle as approaching more nearly to the standard of classical purity than that of any book in the N.T. with the exception perhaps of the Epistle to the Hebrews” (CCXLIV). Dibelius, 53–7; A. Schlatter, Der Brief des Jakobus, 2nd ed. (Stuttgart, 1956), 77–84; Mussner, 26–33. A. Wifstrand, Stylistic Problems in the Epistle of James and Peter, StTh 1 (1948), 170–82, underscores the connection with the sophisticated literary Koine of the Greek-speaking synagogues: “the principal origin is the edifying language of the hellenized synagogue” (181); at the same time, he admonishes against the use of the term “diatribe” as a catchphrase. 17 Schlatter, 84f. Already Ritschl (116) speaks of “James’ reliance on the didactic poetry of the Old Testament.” 18 H. J. Cladder, Der formale Aufbau des Jakobusbriefes, ZThK 28 (1904), 295–333 (312f.); see here already an attempt at classification: Die Anlage des Jakobusbriefes, 37–56.

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Unlike his student Dibelius, A. von Harnack clearly felt this “paradox” of the text:  Ultimately paradoxes are also the means of expression, the language and the clothing of the individual sections. Individual words appear to be a faithful reproduction of Jesus’s sayings, and this is probably the case . . ., other words seem to be conceived of in Hebrew, in the spirit of the ancient prophets . . ., still others can be compared with the strength, correctness, and elegance of expression of well-crafted Greek rhetoric . . . others are the product of a theological polemicist. Yet in all of this—and this is the height of the paradox—we cannot fail to recognize that there is a certain unity of both moral sentiment and of language, which, in spite of the incoherence, gives the whole an inner unity similar to certain Old Testament prophetic books. We lack the means/resources to explain these observations with certainty.19 These phrases, written about twenty-four years before Dibelius, reveal not only the keen insight of a brilliant historian, but also that the attempted interpretation in the commentary of his student is too narrow. He sees only one side and ignores the other. The peculiar wisdom-poetical, and at the same time rhetorically sophisticated, form of the letter prohibits us from imposing the same structural laws onto the work as we would on a philosophical or theological treatise written in prose; it is also no sermon in the style of 2 Clement or Hebrews. Even the striking accumulation of imperative sentences—“out of 108 verses, 54 are formed as imperatives”20—makes it difficult to describe the overarching connections. The nearly complete absence of periods at the ends of sentences, the genitive absolute, the accusativus cum infinitive, and the optative, the very limited use of particles, and the preference for asyndeton should not necessarily be considered shortcomings of style in the Greek,21 but rather are connected with the “authoritarian,” imperatival structure of the epistle. Nevertheless, the overarching themes do become relatively visible, namely, through pervasive keywords and metaphors that emerge again and again, and which with every appearance like to show variation and thus indicate a progression in thought. These keywords could be compared with the colorful threads of a carpet that briefly become visible, then disappear again, only to emerge again later, and whose overall effect still evokes a relatively unified impression even with all the variation. These internal connections cannot be denied their argumentative force.22

A. v. Harnack, Die Chronologie der altchristlichen Literature bis Eusebius (1987), I/1, 487f. (emphasis in the original); cited in Cladder (43), who admittedly assigns a question mark to the “theological polemicist.” In my view, here lies the key for explanation of the paradox. As Harnack nevertheless ascribes James to an anonymous author, explains the prescript as a late addition, and places “fundamental persecutions of Christians and Christian denunciations” (486) at around 120 or later based on a false interpretation of 2:6f, he comes to a false judgment regarding the place of the letter’s origin (see below pp. 299–301). James distinguishes himself fundamentally from “Hermas, Clement, Justin, II. Clement” by the absence of Christology and ecclesiology and by his complete independence from the synoptic gospels; he is much closer to the sayings tradition and the Jewish wisdom tradition. Cf. the similar judgment regarding the character of the author and his works in Mayor (CCXLIX and CCLIX): “Still in its rough abruptness, in the pregnant brevity of its phrases, in its austerity of its demand upon the reader, in concentrated irony and scorn, the Epistle stands alone among the Epistles of the New Testament.” 20 See Mussner (33) in connection with Eicholz. 21 On this point, see Th. Zahn, Einleitung in das Neue Testament I (1906), 83; Schlatter (84). 22 Dibelius’s near-complete denial of all objective and argumentative connections based on his “preliminary ruling” would have to be refuted through exegesis of individual passages. Christian Burchard, “Zu Jakobus 2,” 14–26, ZNW 71 (1980), 27–45, thus attempts—against the prevailing exegesis, which follows the “Martin Dibelius ban on 19

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The author expended considerable effort precisely on the form of his work. Therefore, can one assume that the content of the entire letter is more or less random and that it consists of relatively trivial inner coherence? The dilemma of Dibelius’s significant, and at the same time revolutionary, commentary lies not least in the fact that with the help of the keyword “paraenesis” the letter becomes barely meaningful—indeed a superfluous “smorgasbord”—and the motives for the letter’s genesis largely disappear into the darkness. Moreover, the meaning of the letter’s unique, thoroughly artistic form is not adequately explained by the “compilation” of keywords or “paraenesis.” The dilemma is reinforced in that the “letter” not only has to have emerged before Jude (and 2 Peter, see n. 103), but it also must have influenced the Shepherd of Hermas,23 1 Clement,24 and 1 Peter.25 Evidently James was known in Rome between 90 and 120, that is to say, it was on the relatively comprehensive bookshelf of the Roman church.26 Moreover, the Jesus tradition assimilated in the letter presupposes an earlier stage of transmission than, for example, in Matthew, which in my view should be set later27 and which theologically is most closely related to James. Also, the problems of the second century are not yet evident: the defense against gnostic heresy, the consolidation of hierarchy, the church constitution and organization, and context”—quite rightly, “to read [this text] in context” (27f.); cf. also ibid., 267, n. 2, on the “line of reasoning” in the diatribe, which can often be discovered behind “what is succinct or not articulated.” Cf. R. Heiligenthal, Werke als Zeichen, WUNT II/9 (1983), 27f., on the same text. 23 On Hermas, see n. 13 for N. Brox, Th. Zahn, 97 (older literature); for instructions regarding the operating principles of Hermas, see C.  Taylor, “The Didache Compared with the Shepherd of Hermas,” JP 18 (1890), 297–325; and specifically on James, see ibid., 320ff. Spitta judges more guardedly (382–91); in explicit opposition are Meyer (60–8); Mayor (LXXIVff.); and Mussner (37f.). Dibelius also emphasizes that the content of the closely related paraenesis of the mandates counts on “more advanced conditions than those for which James is writing.” Nevertheless, he denies further conclusions about literary dependence—in my view wrongly. Because Hermas does not cite, aside from the obscure Eldad and Modad citation (Vis 2, 3, 4=7.4), but instead “melts together” all the texts that it incorporates, no major citations can be expected. Still, the numerous echoes and points of contact cannot be ascribed only to a common tradition. Less satisfying is the examination by O. J. F. Seitz, “Relationship of the Shepherd of Hermas to the Epistle of James,” JBL 63 (1944), 131–40, which limits itself to δίψυχος, used two times by James, and assumes a common source, from which 2 Clement is also supposed to have been created. The use of δίψυχος language comes from the synagogue; see the related διπρόσωπος T. Dan 4:7 and repeatedly in T. Asser. Even Seitz must acknowledge the obviously close connections between Jas 1:8; 4:8 with its context and Hermas, mand. 9. 24 Spitta, 230–6; Mayor, LXXf.; Meyer, 68–72; Mussner, 35f.; guardedly, Dibelius, 51f. Cf., however, the qualification in Dibelius (67)! 25 Here the connection is particularly striking; see Spitta (183–202) for an exhaustive table of parallels. Here it is significant that they to a good extent follow the same order in both letters. See also even in Jas 1:1, 2, 3, 10f., 18, 21 and 1 Pet. 1:1, 6, 7, 24; 2:1, and so on. That cannot be explained away exclusively through common paraenetic tradition; see Dibelius, 48f. The term “literary borrowing” would have to be clarified here; of course, 1 Peter did not write out James in full, but rather probably read and later “digested” it. A reversed relationship of dependence is impossible; 1 Peter much more strongly “Christianized” the Jacobian tradition. Cf. also Meyer, 72–82; Schlatter, 67–73; in Mussner (34f.) the comparison is implemented quite superficially. The πειρασμοί ποικίλοι 1:2 = 1:6, which form a unity with the following verse, are, for example, left out. See also J.  J. Wettstein, Ἡ ΚΑΙΝΗ ΔΙΑΘΗΚΗ. Novum Testamentum Graecum, vol. 2, Amsterdam, 1752 (n. 70). 26 Meyer, 59f. This efficacy breaks down in the West, by contrast the letter from Clement or to be precise the Syrian Didascalia and Origen appeared in the East. Cf. Jülicher and Fascher, 212: “The use by 1. Pt and 1 Clem make the year 95 seem like a good guess.” He also gives consideration to Rome as the place of composition. On the “Roman bookshelf,” see M. Hengel, The Four Gospels and the One Gospel of Jesus Christ, London (2000), 118–24, 136–40. 27 Ritschl already emphasizes that James “among all New Testament writings contains the closest echoes to the speeches of Jesus” (109); cf. Spitta, 155–83; Schlatter, 19–29. The gospels are not yet assumed here; see Meyer, 85f. Mussner gives a nice overview (47–52): the letter points back over the pre-gospel Jesus tradition to Jesus’s ethical preaching. See also Davids, 47ff. and W. D. Davies, The Setting of the Sermon on the Mount (1964), 401–5. On the relatively late recognition of Mt in southern Syria, see Hengel, Gospels, 186–205.

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the persecution by the Roman authorities.28 Furthermore, Christology as well as soteriology are completely underdeveloped—points on which the letter can be compared with the Q source, that is, the common tradition of Luke and Matthew against Mark, which is likewise of Palestinian origin. All this speaks for a relatively early composition, and not at all to a late one.29 Where and how should this puzzling text be classified? It fits into the second century as poorly as Luke-Acts. If one considers the letter to be authentic, however, that is, as a writing of James the Brother of the Lord to all Christians outside of Palestine, it hardly relieves the aporia. Certainly, some objections against an earlier origin for James can be refuted today with less effort than in the past. In this manner one might completely reconcile the good Greek and rhetorical form with James as author based on our improved knowledge of the spread of “Greek education” in Jewish Palestine. Alternately, James could have enlisted the services of a secretary in Jerusalem who had been educated in rhetoric. Indeed, even the possibility that he could have acquired the rudiments of a Greek education in the longtime capital of Galilee, Sepphoris, which is located six to seven kilometers from Nazareth, should not be ruled out. The Galilean Justus of Tiberias is far superior in his Greek style even to the Josephus of Jerusalem, writing just about a generation later.30 The bilingualism of Jerusalem is revealed by the circumstance that more than a third of the inscriptions from there from the time of the second temple are in Greek; in the large burial place in the Galilean Beth Shearim it is two-thirds. Numerous Greek documents have been found in the desert of Judah from the time of the Bar-Kochba uprising, among them two Greek letters from public officials of Bar-Kochba; one of them mentions Bar-Kochba and the other gives arrangements for the floral arrangements at the Festival of Tabernacles. Like James, they have the typical Greek prescript [Ἀ]ννανος Ἰωναθῇ τῷ ἀδελφῷ χαίρειν. The second letter seems to imply that the writer could more easily write in Greek than in Hebrew.31 One of The conjecture of an anti-gnostic tendency (thus in H. Schammberger, Die Einheitlichkeit des Jakobusbrief im antignostischen Kampf, Gotha [1936] and in H. J. Schoeps, Theologie und Geschichte des Urchristentums [1949], 343–50) is hardly championed any more today. Schoeps however brings several good observations on the Jewish Christian milieu of the letter, which is not yet “ebionitic”; 2:7 pertains to the Jewish hierarchs and not the Roman authorities (see n. 92). On the dating of “Gnosis.” 29 See in contrast to this the defense of the currently prevailing late date in K.  Aland, “Der Herrenbruder Jakobus und der Jakobusbrief,” ThI.Z 69 (1944), 97–104  =  Neutestamentliche Entwürfe, 233–45, in opposition to G.  Kittel, “Der geschichtliche Ort des Jakobusbriefes,” ZNW 41 (1942), 71–105. In his answer (“Der Jakobusbrief und die Apostolischen Väter,” ZNW 43 [1950/51], 54–112) G. Kittel, in my view, has convincingly shown that in core beliefs, eschatology, and usage of the Jesus tradition James cannot be simply harmonized with the Apostolic Fathers. Only the Didache has a similar number of appeals to the Lord’s sayings, and unambiguously assumes Mt in doing so. Kittel’s misguided approach to a date before 48 (ZNW 41 [1942], 99f.) and the Jewish Christian addressees are misleading (ibid., 103f.). The historical location should be sought between Kittel and Aland. 30 On Sepphoris, see E. Schürer, G. Vermes, and F. Millar, The History of the Jewish People in the Age of Jesus Christ, 2 (1891), 173: After its reconstruction by Antipas it had a mixed population and stood in 66 on the side of the Romans. Until its establishment by Tiberius around 26, it was a Galilean capital and residence. On Justus, see Jos., vita 40.336. On the Greek language in Jewish Palestine, see ibid., 2, 52–80; cf. also M. Hengel, “Zwischen Jesus und Paulus,” ZThK 72 (1975), 151–206 (173f.); Hengel, Judaica et Hellenistica, Kleine Shcriften I, WUNT 90 (1996), 1–90 (27f.32.64– 66.70); and J.  N. Sevenster, Do You Know Greek (1968). Further literature in J.  A. T.  Robinson, Redating the New Testament (1976), 133, n. 46. 31 Schürer, among others, 2, 79.29, n. 118; see also SB 8,9843/44. On the letter prescript, compare the letter Acts 15:23 according to Luke also written from Jerusalem. The greeting formula should therefore no longer be adduced as an argument against authenticity; the same goes for the usage of the LXX, thus, for example, K. Aland, 236, in opposition to G. Kittel. In English-language discourse it may be advisable for the German author or the translator to utilize the Revised Standard Version for citations. For James here, consideration of Christian addressees only familiar with the LXX would be decisive. It is written in the “Greek” way with the customary prescript, with the biblical text familiar to 28

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the newer studies of James and Paul, which consider James to be a later pseudonym, concedes that “in fact, the Greek language of James is the weakest argument against his authenticity.”32 In earlier times it was considered one of the strongest. Nevertheless, times change, and the arguments against authenticity are becoming fewer. Yet even with the assumption of authenticity, the question remains:  Why does James write—to Christians in diaspora—this kind of very minimally specific, generally conceived letter with apparently unconnected, individual admonitions, and which, in part, even come off as downright unsophisticated? This is especially true if one does not consider any anti-Pauline polemics in 2:14-26, since the letter was written before the “Apostolic Council.”33 Taken this way, the letter becomes largely incomprehensible; it would have as little meaningful reason for its writing in this account as in Dibelius. This aporia is valid even if a stronger theological context is discovered in the writing, or even if it is seen as some sort of original “sermon” of James. For what kind of congregation could such a “speech”—with such artistry—have been held, and why did its writer consider it so important that he communicated it as an “encyclical” to all Christians in the “diaspora”? If the letter was circulated after the martyrdom of James in the year 62 by one of his followers,34 the question must be posed: did this follower not have something more significant to communicate from the mouth of his master, the Brother of Jesus in the flesh, than this curious “mélange”? Why does he not consider his martyrdom, leaving this to Josephus and the later, somewhat muddled, legend of Hegesippus?35 Should we see in 5:6, with the complaint against the rich murderer, “the righteous” evidence of his martyrdom and in 5:16b an allusion to James “the righteous” as the charismatic intercessor? Hardly.

the recipients, and in good style, so that the letter is positively received and not rejected on account of its “barbaric” form. Revealingly, the pseudonymous Letter of Jude, although it presupposed James, reverts to the customary Christian prescript. The unfamiliar, “non-Christian,” profane prescript speaks against a late date. The Jewish Christian author uses the common Greek form in his circular letter. He is evidently not acquainted with the Pauline Christian epistolary prescript. He is familiar with the Pauline views not (yet) through the latter’s letters, but from oral information. 32 Lindemann, 241, n. 57. An impressive, relatively new argument for bilingualism in good Jewish families at the time of James is provided by the burial place of three generations of a Jewish family between ad 10 and 70 from Jericho (!); see R. Hachlili, “The Goliath Family in Jericho,” BASOR 235 (1979), 31–70; cf. especially 32ff. 46, 60f. Of thirty-two inscriptions on fourteen ossuaries, seventeen are in Greek and fifteen in Jewish square script. The names of the family are nonetheless all Jewish up to the main figure Theodotos, who also has the Hebrew last name Nathanael and is qualified as ἀπελεύθερος βασιλίσσης Ἀγριππίνης, that is, the wife of Claudius (50–4) and the mother of Nero; cf. here Acts 6:9, the synagogues of the “libertinoi” in Jerusalem, and Hengel, “Zwischen Jesus und Paulus,” 182ff. His release probably has to have been in the years 50–54. “The inscriptions in general testify the usage of Greek by the Jews of the Second Temple period and inscriptions 3 and 14 may indicate that Greek was more common than Aramaic at this time.” The “Hellenism” in early Christianity has its roots in Jerusalem itself, if not also in Galilee. 33 See the list of authors representing such an early estimation of date between 40 and 50 in Davids, 4; it spans from Knowling and Zahn to Mayor and up to Guthrie and J.  A. T.  Robinson (118–39), on his exhaustive and original argumentation (there 138f. for even more authors). Davids (21f.) offers good reasons for this early dating but then decides in favor of a later dating nonetheless (55–65 or 75–85). 34 Cf. Davids:  The material originates with the Brother of the Lord; the redaction was completed with help from others or after the death of James through a Jewish Christian. Cf. already in F. Schleiermacher, Einleitung in das Neue Testament, publ. by G.  Wolde, Sämtliche Werke part  1. On theology, vol. 8, 1845, 428f.:  “If we think to ourselves, that someone wrote our letter in the name of the Palestinian apostle James and put together recollections from his discourses—not in the most favorable manner and in a language that was unfamiliar to him—everything can thus be explained in a way that is supported by the oldest patristic assumptions.” For Schleiermacher, James is a “concoction.” 35 Ant. 20.200–203; Eusebius, Eccl. hist. 2, 23, 4–18; also Hengel, “Jakobus der Herrenbruder,” 73ff.

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If the text is conceived of by James himself as a circular letter in the first place, its occasion becomes even more opaque. It might still be possible to say that the author represents in some general way a Christianity of action as opposed to an idle pseudo-faith, poverty as opposed to eo ipso wanton affluence. But then why does he turn to such far-fetched examples as the plans of the traveling merchant (4:13-16), the rhetorically elaborate dangers of the unbridled tongue, the exploitatively rich landowner, and finally even the admonition to anointing of the sick and prayer by elders that promises healing, if one confesses one’s sins? Does not all of this taken together sound in part like quite a stretch as a call to action? Was this the paraenesis that the “twelve tribes” in the diaspora, whether they were Jews or Gentiles, needed?36

The Solution to the Problem What follows is an attempt to solve this aporia through a hypothesis. Since our discipline, with its relatively narrow base of sources, has always been—more than it wants to admit—a “science of conjecture,” and in recent years has become even more so, in my view a “conjecture” is what should be developed, yet not a completely ungrounded one. My hypothesis (it is not possible to speak of anything more than a hypothetical attempt at a solution) goes in the following direction: The letter could possibly still have originated with James the Just, the brother of Jesus (or a secretary under his commission) and could have been composed as a circular letter to predominantly Gentile Christian congregations located outside of Jewish Palestine sometime after the imprisonment of Paul or his conveyance as a defendant to Rome between 58 and 62. It should be remembered that former “God-fearers” and sympathizers were considered “Gentile Christians.” Initially it is necessary to throw out the frequently voiced argument that James was a “ritualist” or a “nomist” and that there was nothing in the letter to refute it. Jewish ritual law was no longer a decisive issue of salvation for these congregations—even in James’s view (see Gal. 2:6ff and Acts 15).37 Had James advocated for circumcision as a prerequisite for salvation after the “Apostolic Council,” Paul could never have involved him in the statement of 1 Cor. 15:11 and would have certainly not traveled to Jerusalem to deliver the collection. Thus, the separation was not complete after all. In Gal. 2:11f., with the incident in Antioch around 52 ce, no longer is the issue between Paul and Peter a question of the necessity of observing the ritual law for salvation—Peter had long since been freed from this question—but of the table fellowship between Jewish and Gentile Christians, the συνεσθίειν at the Lord’s Supper. In the scholarship it is almost completely ignored that James, along with other Jewish Christians, was executed in 62 ce as a

Cf., for instance, the criticism of Schleiermacher (427): “There is much in it which has an externally whimsical type without an inner content and actual power.” On 5:1-6 and 3:1ff. the rhetorical “verboseness” is criticized two times. “The idea is that the letter is a later product and an actual concoction, that is, without its being an act at the same time, and without its author having had a certain audience in mind.” Certainly, Schleiermacher also objected to the harsh polemic of the letter. On his negative judgment over the language, see n. 35. He does James injustice through his strong, aesthetically determined criticism (see above on pp. 279–80, the completely differing appraisal by Ritschl and A. v. Harnack), yet he sees one problem of the letter in full incisiveness. 37 The question of the law appears in newer criticism as a main concern. See as early as Jülicher and Fascher (205f.); see his response ZNW 43 (1950/51), 56–58; W. G. Kümmel, Einleitung in das Neue Testament (1980), 364 under 2; Ph. Vielhauer, Geschicht der urchristlichen Literature (1975), 579. 36

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lawbreaker (ὡς παρανομησάντων).38 Even following the so-called Apostolic Decree the issue is not the question of salvation, but rather a compromise for the sake of the practice of a common meal. The position of the later Ebionites was not that of James's. Moreover, a letter that intends to address a broad audience can also ignore points of conflict if these do not have any central, defining significance for salvation. For James, as for the Christian, the “royal law” was instrumental to the love command (2:8, compare 1:25)—in this he refers back to a foundational doctrine of his brother along with all of early Christianity.39 The author did not have to refer to ritual law; this would have only taken away from the impact of the letter. Around 60, this question was hardly a pressing one any longer among the congregations of Asia Minor, Greece, and Rome; 1 and 2 Corinthians, Romans, and Mark—written around 69/70 in Rome—demonstrate this. In terms of content, however, the letter contains anti-Pauline polemic in its crucial sections. Admittedly, as is often the case in polemic from antiquity, this appears in an indirect form and without naming the opponent. Paul’s personal conduct as well as his theological views are criticized, and indeed that is the peculiarity of the letter. This is done in a “paraenetic,” apparently generally relevant manner that still allows the letter to be readable, understandable, and, up to a point, “uplifting” for the congregations, who were not directly affected by the dispute with Paul or at least were not informed about it. At the same time the letter was written in such a way that those who knew Paul very probably must have known to whom this letter was primarily directed and why it was written. Based on this hypothesis, I almost want to call the letter a masterpiece of early Christian polemics. The sharpness in the polemic of the letter has always attracted the attention of exegetes, but on account of its alleged “generality” (and the consequent vagueness) its true intention was not understood. One could compare the anti–Pauline rhetoric with Galatians and 2 Corinthians 10–13, where Paul also does not name his opponents. However, in contrast to the apostle to the Gentiles, James does not fight openly, but rather in a consciously indirect manner using generally formulated admonitions and can only be recognized as a critic of Paul by those affected by the dispute. The polemic of Paul in Galatians against the Judaizers and in 2 Corinthians against the Palestinian-born messengers of the Petrine mission (?) is opposed within the New Testament canon by an outwardly concealed example of anti-Pauline rhetoric. That the Ebionites, who were pushed out of the church in the second century, polemicized against Paul in the sharpest way possible is evidenced later by Irenaeus (Adv. haer. 1, 26, 2), traditions behind the pseudo-Clementines, and reports in Epiphanius.40 In comparison to, and different from these later, massive defamations, in

Jos., Ant. 20, 200. Only in A. T. Cadoux, The Thought of St. James (1944), 100, did I find a corresponding reference. This new “conception” of the law is not originally an achievement of 1/2 Clement, Hermas, Barnabas, and Justin, but rather is also found in Mark and Matthew and is completely typical for broad spheres of early Christianity, apart from the “Judaizers,” among whom, according to Gal. 2:6ff., James is precisely not to be reckoned. In my view they could be connected with the Hellenists. Then James would take on an association that was also prevalent in non-Pauline Gentile Christianity; see Hengel, “Zwischen Jesus und Paulus,” 195. In James it takes on broad-brush, rough contours. Nevertheless, he is not yet speaking of καινὸς νόμος (Barn. 2:6), the καινὴ ἐντολή (Jn 13:34), or the καινὸς νομοθέτης (Justin, dial. 14.3; 18.3). The νόμος τέλειος τῆς ἐλευθερίας is objectively best illustrated through a text such as Lk. 10:25-37! 40 See on this point Lindemann, 102–9; G. Lüdemann, “Paulus der Heidenapostel II. Antipaulinismus im frühen Christentum,” FRLANT 130 (1983), 228–60; Hengel, “Jakobus der Herrenbruder,” 76f. 38 39

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James we have an artful, more subtle polemic that attempts to argue, at least to some extent, theologically.41 1. In scholarship the anti-Pauline tendency of 2:14-26 is widely recognized. It should no longer be denied that the conflict or contradiction between “faith and works” with regard to salvation is a fundamental Pauline problem that cannot be demonstrated before Paul, either in Judaism or with regards to Jesus, or in earliest Christianity. The Pauline thesis of justification of the ungodly by faith without the works of the law is placed in opposition to the need for the cooperation of works in addition to faith, indeed of the precedence of works upon the attainment of salvation by James.42 At the latest in 1:22 this perspective becomes visible, really even in 1:2f., where the litmus test of faith in the midst of trials leads to ἔργον τέλειον.43 In contrast to their relationship in Significantly, again and again, moral objections arise against this speculation of a direct polemic against Paul: see Jülicher and Fascher, 207f.; “Had by contrast James the Just written at around 60 or 64, then the enemy could not be a degeneration of Paulinism, but rather only Paul himself, and the polemic against him, which does not constitute the mitigating circumstance of a changed religious situation, would be simply outrageous in its untruthfulness; for James would have then concealed what was the main issue for him, the perpetuation of the Law of Moses.” This is precisely the thing I am disputing: For the Gentile Christians this has no salvation-relevant meaning even according to the opinion of James. Apart from that, the scathing polemic in Paul’s letters is hardly “more moral” than James’s indirect polemic. See also Th. Zahn, Einleitung in das Neue Testament I, 1, 89: The speculation of an anti-Pauline polemic could only be maintained if one asserts at the same time that James misunderstood Paul’s teaching in an almost unbelievable way or is distorting it in a malicious manner and moreover contradicting it with cowardly deceitfulness. Yet this is controverted by the impression received by any discerning reader of the intellectual and moral character of the author from his writing. It was revealing that in the discussion of our New Testament Society this impulse played an important role. We should beware of seeing perfecti and “saints” in the men of the earliest Christianity. For them and for us all Rom. 4:5 rings true. What a refreshing reality is then the image of the disciples in Mark! It comes right out of life, for behind it there is a student of Peter. One should not overlook the places even in the “harmonizing” Luke such as Acts 6:1f.; 11:2; 15:1f.; 7:39 (παροξυσμός: a harsh word); 21:20b-21. 42 On the more recent discussion around this controversial text in James, see the interesting presentation by Lindemann (240–52): “The author of James wanted to insult and contradict Pauline theology, and indeed using its own devices. Therefore, he chose the pseudonym of James in order to be able to lead a counter-authority out into the field” (249). But why did he then suppress the—peculiar—dignity of this counter-authority in such an incomprehensible way? Why does he not call him the “brother of Jesus”? The speculation (244) is also interesting: The “still effective strength of the Pauline teaching on justification, which did not allow the representatives an explicit anti-Paulinism .  .  . to speak openly against Paul, but . . . forced them in the guise of the “classic” Pauline opponent James . . . to pick up certain doctrines abstractly and theoretically, of course, and it was clear to the initiate what this teaching was about” (emphasis M. H.’s). In my view James is attacking Paul concretely and practically, though admittedly in the form of a generalized wisdom-traditional. And why should this assault not originate with a contemporary? Cf. ibid., 250: “The author of James understood Paul completely. Precisely for this reason he protests against the Pauline theology.” I would add: even without knowing the letters, on the basis of oral reports over the preaching of Paul together with its effects, as evidenced in Corinth and visible in Rom. 3:8. Cf. also ibid., 251, n. 123, in rejecting the thesis by Kümmel and Vielhauer on the “factual distance” from the letters of Paul: “Of course there was an anti-Pauline theology also and especially in the lifetime of Paul (with which no early dating of James is to be claimed); the objection against Paul is in no way a reference point for a dating.” How true! In opposition, Christian Burchard (109–33) denies any quarrel with Paul: “in any case James does not negate [in 2:24] a single sentence of Paul’s.” The two of them “do not mean the same thing with πίστις, ἔργα and δικαιοῦσθαι” (131). See however the objection of F. Avemarie, “Die Werke des Gesetzes im Spiegel des Jakobusbriefes,” ZThK 98 (2001), 282–309, which in my view convincingly shows that we are dealing with an acute anti-Pauline polemic. 43 S. R.  Heiligenthal, Werke als Zeichen, 27ff. Cf. 1:2f.; 2:22b! Admittedly James devalues—something H.  refuses to accept—faith here: if (faith) must “be completed” (2:22b) through works, then this points to an “incomplete state” that is only made perfect through accessory works; see the meaning cited by von Heiligenthal of τελειόω in W. Bauer, WBNT, 1602. The meaning rejected by H., seen in Christian Burchard, ZNW 71 (1980), 42, is valid: “V. 22 is not intended to posit in the Abraham story a living . . . synthesis of faith and works . . . as necessary for salvation, but 41

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Paul: word (viz., Sermon/Gospel)—faith—salvation (see Rom. 10:9ff.17; 1:16f; Gal. 3:1ff.), for James the fundamental relationship is word (royal law of freedom, viz., the love command)— deed of love—salvation in the final judgment. To some extent, one finds in Paul a linguistic formula similar to the one in Rom. 2:5-12—admittedly within the universal announcement of Rom. 1:18–3:2044—which sets up the saving revelation of God’s righteousness in Jesus’s atoning death. What Paul rejects as distinctly human possibility seems, in an almost naïve way, in James to be a prerequisite of salvation. The pious one himself can steadfastly (1:25: καὶ παραμείνας) fulfill the “perfect law of freedom” (1:25), the “royal law” of Lev. 19:18 (2:8). In the final judgment his own works of mercy rescue him (2:13). This means, however, that on the basis of the entire preceding complex of argumentation (1:18–2:13), the subsequent negotiation of 2:14-26 on the deficiency of mere “faith without works” has an inner consistency, even necessity, and represents the polemical climax of the controversy. James 2:24 here is formulated as forthrightly anti-Pauline: “You see that a person is justified by works and not by faith alone.”45 James’s concept of faith is essentially that of Judaism, where faith can be understood as work or virtue; in this understanding he is very close to that of Hebrews. This does not align him with the “Early Catholicism” of the apostolic fathers, but rather he is still attached to his Jewish roots. In this sense A. Lindemann’s observation is valid: “The πίστις-understanding of James is already anti-Pauline as such.”46 To be sure, James is dealing with the living Paul and is not engaged in a literary dispute with Romans or Galatians, and even less with a “gnosticizing”

rather to downplay faith.” Burchard all the same calls into question an anti-Pauline posture in James in contrast to Lindemann: cf. ibid., 44. See here also his commentary. 44 There is an entire series of linguistic echoes between James and Paul, especially on Romans: cf., for example, Jas 1:3f. and Rom. 5:3-5; Jas 2:1 and Rom. 2:11; Jas 1:22; 4:11 and Rom. 2:13. Th. Zahn (Einleitung in das Neue Testament I, 1, 91–5) believed that “Paul [already] at the time of the writing of Romans had passages in James in mind” (91); cf. also Spitta, 209–25; Meyer, 86–108, which tries to explain the points of contact from the “common origin of James and Paul from Hellenistic Judaism” (107). That James was familiar with Pauline wording from the discourses and communications of third parties is obvious, and it cannot be ruled out that he had been informed of the content of the letter to the Romans, which was probably written in the winter of 56/57 in Corinth, ca. four to six months before the Jerusalem journey. What he did not understand and rejected is the dialectic of Paul’s thinking. Yet where in the early church was Paul really understood and accepted without qualification? Even someone like Marcion ultimately thoroughly misunderstood him. 45 It should no longer be seen as controversial that Jas 2:24 opposes a Pauline “combat sentence” such as Rom. 3:28. In it, James, as a matter of fact, implied μόνον in Rom. 3:28; correspondingly, Luther’s “translation” is also legitimate: “that a person is justified / on the work of the law / through faith alone.” On this point, see A. v. Harnack, “Geschichte der Lehre von der Seligkeit allein durch den Glauben in der alten Kirche,” ZThK 1 (1891), 87–178 (97). In Jas 2:24 and 2:20-23, “the sharpest opposition to Paulinism is articulated.” To James it depends decisively on the συνήργει (2:22), which Paul had to definitively reject. The argument that no distinction is made between the “law” in James, which concentrates on the love command, and the “works of the law” in Paul, which primarily refer to the ritual law, completely misses the point. For Paul, even the (double) love command falls under the proposition from Rom. 4:15: “for the law induces wrath” (cf. Rom. 8:7f.). The natural person fails at it, indeed cannot even recognize its depth. Salvation in James, by contrast, is tied to conditions that people can perform, precisely “works.” That the “fruit of the Spirit” is the work of God alone is also not stated right here; instead we see there the “fruit of righteousness” held up as the wage τοῖς ποιοῦσιν εἰρήνην. In opposition to Paul, James has an “optimistic,” “naive” anthropology. It is the “synergism” from the wisdom and Pharisaic traditions that continues to influence here. See on this point, M. Hengel, Judentum und Hellenismus, WUNT 10 (1988), 254ff.; cf. Jos., bell. 2,163f. and G.  Maier, Mensch und freier Wille, WUNT 12 (1971); in addition, W.  Boussett and H.  Gressmann, Die Religion des Judentums im spät-hellenistischen Zeitalter (1926), 403. G. F. Moore (Judaism [1927], 2, 453–9) compares Sir. 15:14 with Jas 1:13-15. 46 Lindemann, 249, n. 111. Cf. also D. Lührmann, “Πίστις im Judentum,” ZNW 64 (1973), 19–38; Lührmann, Glaube im frühen Christentum (1976), 78ff. and especially in the concluding sentence about James (84). On faith in Judaism

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“pre-Marcionism.” There is as of yet still no trace of “gnostic” opponents as they emerge from the beginning of the second century. This, too, speaks in favor of an early date of composition. But 2:14-26 is by no means the only text in James that levels criticism against Pauline statements and conduct. In my view there are considerably more such passages. Thus, it is possible even in the polemic beginning at 1:13ff., which contains older wisdom parallels (Sir. 15:11-20; see n.  46), to hear an anti-Pauline note. While James rejects every notion that God tests humans, ascribes all temptation to the human’s own sinful desire, and subsequently professes that only good and perfect gifts come from God and that in him “there is no shadow due to change” (1:17), Paul was able to assert that God hardened Pharaoh (Rom. 9:17f), that he creates “objects of wrath that are made for destruction,” even that he gave Israel a “sluggish spirit” (Rom. 11:8; following Isa. 29:10, see Deut. 29:3). That God influences “willing and working” in believers (Phil. 2:13) is completely and utterly un-Jamesian. With James the corresponding Jewish Old Testament tradition applies: ἐγγίσατε τῷ θεῷ καὶ ἐγγιεῖ ὑμῖν (4:8). Admittedly, one cannot presuppose in James an in-depth study of the Pauline letters; he argues—as stated earlier—on the basis of oral knowledge of Pauline theology, which for the most part is strange and suspicious to him. There is a barrier of understanding between these two great, and apparently extremely different, figures of early Christianity. Indeed, if one reads how such a careful theologian such as R. Bultmann constantly lamented that he was misunderstood by his critics, one can scarcely expect fewer misunderstandings by the opponents of such a profoundly passionate thinker as Paul. Already in Romans, written in the winter of 56/57, he defends himself desperately against vicious misinterpretations, and even a Pauline disciple like Luke only agrees in part with his master.47 If, however, in James the focal point of Pauline theology is attacked in such a direct way, one might suspect yet other attempts at criticism of Paul. As a predominantly paraenetical–practical and not “dogmatic” letter—the critique of Paul in James could be directed at the personal conduct of the apostle and against the dangers that arise in connection with it, because the leading Gentile missionary, as a passionate, multifaceted personality, certainly offered a broad target. Of course, we are informed about the conflicts between Jerusalem and Paul only through relatively few references in Paul’s letters and some hints in Acts. There is a lot that is still not possible to deduce from all of this, especially not in detail. In addition, we have the statements of Paul about his plans and deeds, which prove him to be an aggressive polemicist and active missionary with some degree of self-confidence. But perhaps this may explain a few of the more difficult passages in James better than has been possible up to this point. 2. In the earliest Christianity of the first century, merchants played hardly any role in cities and provinces with regard to overarching business interests and in the pursuit of extensive and long-range business travel. The wealthy shipowner Marcion of Sinope points to a new epoch in church history that begins with the Antonines. In one well-known text by Cicero, de officiis and James, see the detailed presentation in Meyer (123–41). The twice mentioned “dead faith” (2:17, 26) is a polemical oxymoron that is used against the Pauline ἐκ πίστεως μόνον. Judaism was however still unfamiliar with the antithesis faith-works (as opposed to Meyer’s view). 47 Cf. Rom. 3:5-8; 6:1; 7:7; 9:1ff., 14; 15:30ff. In Luke, on the one hand, Lk 18:9-14; Acts 13:38f.; 20:24, 28, cf. 15:9, and, on the other hand, Acts 10:2ff.35; 17:30f.; 24:14-16; 26:20. See also M. Hengel, “Der Jude Paulus und sein Volk. Zu einem Actakommentar,” ThR 66 (2001), 1–31. In 1 Clement, which is familiar with several letters of Paul, see the opposition between wording that sounds like Paul, such as 32:4, cf. 8:5; 50:2 and 5:7, and by contrast 30:3 or 33:1, 7. Such a dichotomy as we see in 1 Clement cannot—yet—be found in James. He is on this item “unambiguously” anti-Pauline.

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1:151, “commercial trade . . ., if wholesale and on a large scale, importing large quantities from all parts of the world and distributing to many without misrepresentation” carries authority; at the same time, small-scale trade is viewed as contemptible. These small commercial traders and merchants, who peddle in part wares they made themselves in the tabernae, could have, however, been more often part of the urban Christian communities of the earliest time, while we hardly hear anything from traveling Christian merchants.48 The paraenetic sense of the polemic of Jas 4:13-16 in terms of “Christian commercial traders” and their profitable business travel to distant cities with longer stays appears pretty doubtful against this background. This is because a phenomenon is being addressed here that has barely any real significance to congregations in the late first century. But the letter addresses all Christians and not a few scattered branches close to the Gentile elite.49 What would such a polemic be doing in an “ecumenical circular letter”? There were really better illustrations to warn of the danger of “secularization” (1:27; 4:4). By contrast, it is in Paul (and his missionary associates like Priscilla and Aquila, although missionary and economic activity seem to have been associated with the latter in a special way) that we first find a planned, long-ranging, “global” travel strategy encompassing a metropolis and provinces that involves month—and even years—long stays in individual large cities and has the goal of “winning” Gentiles and Jews in an unprecedented manner. Paul knows how to get an advantage over all missionary rivals with this strategy that encompasses entire provinces. His self-confidence is thus, on that score, matchless in early Christianity. In later times, by contrast, we hear nothing more of comparable plans and strategies. This is why Paul, according to Luke’s narrative, is a “world missionary” who travels from city to city, province to province, plans far in advance, and at the same time is led by God. In this he is very close to his honored master. Is it possible that the plan in Jas 4:13, which is so odd and does not fit into any pattern of Christian paraenesis—σήμερον ἢ αὔριον πορευσόμεθα εἰς τήνδε τὴν πόλιν καὶ ποιήσομεν ἐκεῖ ἐνιαυτὸν καὶ ἐμπορευσόμεθα καὶ κερδήσομεν—points roughly in this same “entrepreneurial” direction? The whole thing sounds like mission imagery. We find numerous parallels to analogous travel plans with details about these sojourns in the depiction of the Pauline mission in Acts, and also in Paul himself.50 The verb κερδαινειν comes up four times Dibelius (279) sees the problem, saying that “there is a fear for Christians of a danger associated with business plans and intentions.” “The matter is stated vividly, but by no means in a specialized manner.” The unusual thing in this polemic comes from the absence of parallels. Hermas, sim 6.3.5=63.5, on the ἀκαταστατοῦντες ταῖς βουλαῖς, who undertake all kinds of things, but, because of their evil deeds accomplish nothing and blame the Lord, is worded in a much more general way and goes in another direction. Hermas speaks in this from his own bitter experience (see vis. 1.3.1f.=3.1), for he came into business difficulties as a freedman and (construction) entrepreneur. H. J. “Drexhage, Wirtschaft und Handel in den frühchristlichen Gemeinden,” RQ 76 (1981), 1–72, starts his chapter “Christians and Commerce” (40ff.) with the purple cloth dealer Lydia, who deals in obvious luxury goods for the rich and skips right over to Marcion. Although Pliny speaks about ad 112, ep. 10.96.9—probably exaggerating somewhat, he must, after all, emphasize the danger of the situation in order to place his conduct in the correct light, that multi . . . omnis ordinis were at risk, but that does not say anything about the spread of Christian traders. On the social role of trade in the early imperial period, see J. H. d’Arms, Commerce and Social Standing in Ancient Rome (1981); ibid., 23ff., on the wellknown Cicero text. 49 Dibelius (274) sees in this a “special case of worldly sentiment” tied to 4:1, whereby the section “is held in the style of prophetic appeal.” “The prophet calls out his words among the crowd without regard for whether his appeals reach the ear of the accused.” One should under no circumstances draw conclusions about the readership here. In contrast to the widespread warning in v. 14 that one does not know what the morning will bring, Dibelius cannot present any parallel to the concrete description of v. 13. 50 On Acts, see 15:36-40; 16:6-12; 18:21-23; 18:21; 20:1; and 19:1 for Western texts; 20:22: δεδεμένος ἐγὼ τῷ πνεύματι πορεύομαι εἰς Ἰερουσαλήμ; 19:21: δεῖ με καὶ Ῥώμην ἰδεῖν, and in addition 23:11 and 28:14. Luke places great value in 48

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in 1 Cor. 9:19-22 in the sense of the missionary “winning” of people. Paul’s whole existence is geared to it. One could refer further to 1 Pet. 3:1, the winning over of an unbelieving spouse, and Matt. 18:15, the winning (back) of the wayward brother.51 C.  Spicq observes regarding this: “κερδαίνειν has become a religious term, even apostolic and missionary.”52 Also, the verb ἐμπορεύεσθαι can take on a religious–missionary aspect in polemical contexts. Second Peter 2:3 polemicizes against false teachers: “and in their greed they will exploit [ἐμπορεύσονται] you with deceptive words.” K. H. Schelkle writes on this passage, “Paul, too, has had to hear this accusation, and he vehemently defends himself against it”; he is referring here to 1 Thess. 2:5; 2 Cor. 7:2 and 8:20.53 The Didache later names the Christian traveler who lets others support him and is not willing to work a χριστέμπορος and adds that one should guard oneself against such travelers.54 Paul’s own language shows just how close it is to use the polemical metaphor of “doing business” in missionary work and the travel plans connected with it:  “For we are not trading in the word of God like many do.” The reproach of “καπηλεύειν with spiritual goods”55 was exceedingly common as the parallels in Wettstein and later commentators—and now especially the exhaustive examination by S.  J. Hafemann—show.56 While καπηλεύειν here more likely means the retail trade that Cicero calls “filthy,” the verb ἐμπορεύεσθαι in the context of Jas 4:13 suggests a—missionary—“doing business” on a grand scale. Paul and his missionary associates could well be charged with this.57 In other words, the travel plans spanning large geographical and temporal spaces that Paul himself outlines in his letters not least in connection with his combined Jerusalem, Rome, and Spain project (see Rom. 15:14ff.; 2 Cor. 10:13ff.) are suspiciously close to the intention that James ascribes to his plan-forging, big city–traveling “merchants.” For Paul

not depicting Paul’s travel plans as his own conclusions. On the length of time, cf. as early as Acts 11:25; 14:28; 16:610; 20:3: ποιήσας τε μῆνας τρεῖς: 18:11; 19:10; 20:31. On Paul himself, see Rom. 1:11-15; 15:19, 24: ὡς ἂν πορεύομαι εἰς τὴν Σπανίαν; 15:25: νυνὶ δὲ πορεύομαι εἰς Ἰερουσαλήμ; 1 Cor. 4:18-21; 11:34; 15:10: περισσότερον αὐτῶν πάντων ἐκοπίασα; 16:4-8; 2 Cor. 1:15-17, where he defends himself against the reproach of frivolous “fleshly” journey planning; 2:3; 13:1.10; Phil. 1:25; 2:24; Philemon 22. In the pastoral letters this planning is also conferred onto the missionary associates: 1 Tim. 1:3; 2 Tim. 4:9-13, 20f.; Tit. 1:5; 3:12. It also belonged later in a softened form to the picture of Paul; cf. 1 Clem. 5:6f. The later Acts of the Apostles took the acts of Paul, with Paul as a restless traveler as a model, and transferred it onto other apostles. 51 Cf. 1 Pet. 3:1; Mt. 18:15. This “missionary” use of language disappears among the apostolic fathers and apologists; cf. also Justin, apol. 1.44.13, here however in a somewhat different sense. This verb is no longer listed in G. W. H. Lampe, A Patristic Greek Lexicon. 52 C. Spicq, “Notes de Lexicographie néo-testamentaire,” OBO 22, 1 (1978), 342. Also the parable in Mt. 25:19-23 where κερδαίνειν is used four times for successful banking business, could be interpreted on the basis of Matthew in the sense of the missionary commitment; see Mt. 28:19f.: “In the context of the Gospel of Matthew, the parable says: In the faithful administration of the entrusted teaching, which . . . is handed down in the word and work of love, that they may receive and win over others to salvation, the time shall be fulfilled until the coming of the Son of Man” (W. Grundmann, Das Evangelium nach Matthäus [1968], 523). 53 K. H. Schelke, Die Petrusbriefe. Der Judasbrief, HThK XIII, 2 (1964), 205. Cf. also Tit. 1:11: διδάσκοντες ἃ μὴ δεῖ αἰσχροῦ χάριν; and 1 Pet. 5:2. 54 Did. 12,5; see also M. Hengel, Die Arbeit im frühen Christentum, ThB 17 (1986), 174–212 (203). 55 H. Lietzmann, An die Korinther 1/2. With supplementary notes (pp.  165–214) by W.  G. Kümmel, HNT 9 (Tübingen: Mohr, 1949). 56 S. J. Hafemann, Suffering and the Spirit, WUNT II/19 (1986), 106ff. Plato makes this accusation particularly to the Sophists. 57 Ibid., 112. Plato distinguishes the shopkeepers (κάπηλος/καπηλεύειν) from the merchants on a bigger scale (ἔμπορος/ἐμπορεύεσθαι). The distinction is admittedly erased as early as the fourth century; see though W. Bauer, WBNT, 509, on ἔμπορος.

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it is necessary to speak of a large-scale missionary strategy prepared with a view to the individual places of impact over an extended time period, and which had to be connected with economic considerations as well. Thus his friends Prisca and Aquila, who are likely themselves successful business people with various subsidiaries, prepare for his work in Ephesus and then also in Rome,58 which is to say that Paul depended on the help of his wellto-do friends for his strategy, among other things to procure the relatively high rent for the “school of Tyrannus” in Ephesus (Acts 19:9), for ship passage with several participants or for the apartment in Rome (Acts 28:30). Already in Caesar’s time, the lowest apartment rents in Rome amounted to two thousand sesterces per year. The daily wage for a simple manual laborer fluctuated between around two and four sesterces (equal to half to one drachma),59 and such a laborer also had to reckon with lengthy periods of unemployment. According to Juvenal one could acquire a small country estate outside the city for the annual rent of an apartment in Rome.60 The meager wage of a σκηνόποιος was certainly not sufficient for this.61 The word προπέμπειν used repeatedly by Paul has, according to W. Bauer, not only the meaning “guide,” but also more concretely “to equip for (continuation of) a journey with food, money, by the appointment of companions, procurement of travel opportunities, etc., to get someone on their way, to send someone along.”62 Without this type of help the mission activity of Paul would have been impossible—even if he himself did not demand any support from the newly founded congregations. If it was given without being requested he was glad to accept it, as the epistle to the Philippians shows. It can hardly be doubted that such successful missionary planning and activity on the part of Paul strengthened his awareness of mission, and that references he makes to having worked more successfully than all the other apostles, that is, that he is superior to all of these as a missionary, could have been misconstrued and judged to be self-glorification. The references to his apostolic deeds and intentions can be found in nearly all his letters.63 That Paul could be forthrightly criticized for such καυχᾶσθαι in view of his missionary success and travel plans is shown by 2 Cor. 10:8, 13-15. The sharp rebuke against self-praise in Jas 4:16—ῦν δὲ καυχᾶσθε ἐν ταῖς ἀλαζονείαις ὑμῶν πᾶσα καύχησις τοιαύτη πονηρά ἐστιν—is directed at this: in my view Rome/Corinth: Acts 18:2; Corinth/Ephesus: 18:18, 26; 1 Cor. 16:19; Ephesus/Rome: Rom. 16:3 and secondarily 2 Tim. 4:19. See here W.-H Ollrog, “Paulus und seine Mitarbeiter,” WMANT 50 (1979), 24–7; and Index (ibid., 273 s.v.): “[they] provided . . . to his missionary activity a certain material foundation.” On the acceptance of support, see ibid., 117, n. 41. On the early travel activity of Paul in Arabia and Syria, see M. Hengel and A. M. Schwemer, Paulus zwischen Damaskus und Antiochen, WUNT 108 (1998), 174–94, 237–46, 394–403. 59 See Sueton, Caes. 38.2. On the daily wage, see R. Duncan-Jones. The Economy of the Roman Empire (1974), 54; see also for the situation of the wage laborers in antiquity, G. E. M. de St. Croix, The Class Struggle in the Ancient Greek World (1981), 179–204; specific to Rome, see D. Nörr, “Zur sozialen und rechtlichen Bewertung der freien Arbeit in der sozialen Welt,” ZSRG.R 82 (1965), 67–105; J. Crook, Law and Life in Rome (1967), 180, 195–200, 221ff. Also, on this issue, see M. Hengel, “Die Arbeit im frühen Christentum,” ThBeitr 17 (1986), 174–212. 60 Juvenal, Satirae 3.223. See also J. Carcopino, Rom. Leben und Kultur in der Kaiserzeit (21979), 74f., 377, see n. 41. 61 On the occupation of Paul, see R. F. Hock, “Paul’s Tentmaking and the Problem of His Social Class,” JBL 97 (1978), 555–64; Hock, The Social Context of Paul’s Ministry:  Tentmaking and Apostleship (1980); Hengel and Schwemer, Paulus, 185f. 62 W. Bauer, WBNT, 1406f.; προπέμπειν: Rom. 15:24, the Romans to Spain; 1 Cor. 16:6 and 2 Cor. 1:16, the Corinthians to Judea; Acts 15:3, the Antiochians to Judea; cf. Tit. 3:13; 3 John 6; Polycarp 1:1. See also A.  J. Malherbe, “The Inhospitality of Diotrephes,” in God’s Christ and His People:  Studies in Honour of N.  A. Dahl (1977), 222–32 (230, n. 11); following him W. A. Meeks, The First Urban Christians (1983), 66. 63 See 1 Cor. 15:10; 2 Cor. 10:4ff., 12-18; 11:5, 21-33; 12:1-5; see also Rom. 1:1; 1 Cor. 9:1f.; 4:15; even the catalogue of hardships and the forced “speech of fools” in 2 Corinthians 11 could be construed as especially refined 58

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not so much against early Christian merchants traveling from city to city—there were still hardly any of these—as against missionaries who planned things in a large-scale manner and boasted of their success, that is, exactly like Paul. He had been the first to implement this way of doing missions, and it also for all intents and purposes stopped with him.64 Also, the following, in a peculiar manner, is also most easily explained against this background; it is worded in a general way: εἰδότι οὖν καλὸν ποιεῖν καὶ μὴ ποιοῦντι, ἁμαρτία αὐτῷ ἐστιν, which is indicated by οὖν as an inference from the preceding polemic, but which makes little sense in the paraenetic context.65 As such one might sooner expect a concrete social admonition similar to the one in 1:27 or 2:15f. God’s will is not to forge plans or make profits, but to help the poor. For it is difficult to understand that the “Christian” merchant with his travel and plans for profit might know what is inherently good and consciously neglect to do it. One might ask whether Paul, on account of or given his ambitious mission plans for the Gentiles has, in the eyes of the leaders in Jerusalem, omitted some “good” that he should have done. Is this about the refusal to acknowledge the “Apostolic Decree,” which restored the unity between Jewish and Gentile Christians? Admittedly, the question of Jewish and Gentile Christians plays no role at all in the letter, and one instead gets the impression that the author would have been quite conscious of this iron, which had been hot in former times, but had already cooled down in the period around 60. Even in a later pseudepigraphon ascribed to James, one could have actually expected this issue to have been addressed, since Luke’s Acts, the pseudo-Clementines, and Ephesians all treat this point very well. Even later, people still knew about it.66 Or is it that Paul, in spite of his apologetic-sounding afterthought to the report from the Apostolic council, ὃ καὶ ἐσπούδασα αὐτὸ τοῦτο ποιῆσαι (Gal. 2:10), did not attend to the offerings for the poor and the saints in Jerusalem beyond his own missionary or else not in the way those in Jerusalem expected? It is striking that Paul speaks only late and at first only marginally of the collection. He mentions the collection for the first time in 1 Cor. 16:1, presumably in autumn or winter of 55 or 56, and says that he had applied it to the congregations in Galatia. Achaia is later, there the collection goes back “to the previous year” (2 Cor. 8:19; 9:2), that is, somewhere in the spring or summer of 55. The request of the Corinthians (1 Cor. 16:1) shows that they are still downright clueless. Macedonia follows even later. Paul seems to have allowed a good amount of time for the establishment of the collection during his long stay in Ephesus. The “Council,” however, already took place around the years 48/49. We hear nothing more of the collection in Galatia; here it is notable that Galatians itself “self-glorification” by his opponents. It was one accusation against another here. See also Phil. 2:16; 1 Thess. 2:19; Rom. 1:9-17, especially 15:14-23. 64 See here M. Hengel, “The Origins of the Christian Mission,” NTS 18 (1971), 15–38 (17ff.) = Between Jesus and Paul (1983), 48–64 (49ff.). On the other hand, what a specific, local impression is made by the mission of the Hellenist Philip of Samaria on the coastal plain of Palestine; see M. Hengel, “Der Historiker Lukas und die Geographie Palästinas in der Apostelgeschichte,” ZDPV 99 (1983), 147–83 (164ff.) = Between Jesus and Paul, 96ff. (110ff.). 65 M. Dibelius, 275: “It is hard to say what reasons prompted the author here to insert the word.” The saying is “isolated between two related texts.” 66 On the other hand, the problem within the Pauline congregations does not seem to be any more controversial a question as to the identification of the letters. Most likely there may still have been tensions in Rome (Rom. 11:13-24). Apart from the tension between the strong and the weak, in the epistles of Paul we hear nothing more of the disputes between the two groups in the addressed congregations themselves. The Judaizers in Galatia came from the outside. Perhaps for this time between 55 and the destruction of Jerusalem the forcefulness of the question of the law in the missionary congregations is itself overestimated. Even in the Gospel of Mark, which emerged in 69/70, the question is no longer of central significance.

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does not address the implementation of the collection. Paul only alludes to the fact that he made every effort to “remember the poor” (Gal. 2:10). Paul also remains silent regarding Asia; it is only in Macedonia and Achaia that the collection is suddenly and energetically pursued, and Paul knows that there will be problems with the delivery of the collection in Jerusalem. We can only express conjectures here. Luke knows about the collection, but is silent on the topic in the place where he should mention it (21:15ff), and in retrospect briefly refers to the collection before Felix in Paul’s defense against the indictment of the rhetorician Tertullus: “after some years I came to bring alms to my nation” (24:17). Does Luke know that is has been rejected? Perhaps because Paul or those from Jerusalem or both insisted on conditions that were unattainable? Because Paul did know the good he was supposed to do, but did not do it in the way he should have done? The strange admonition of James could point in this direction. Also, the conditio Iacobaea, ἐὰν ὁ κύριος θελήσῃ καὶ ζήσομεν καὶ ποιήσομεν τοῦτο ἢ ἐκεῖνο (“if the Lord wills, then we will live and do this or that”), fits well into the context of missionary planning and its unknown variables; Paul himself could have used the preamble, “as the Lord wills.”67 Evidently his opponents had accused Paul of following his own individual desires with regard to his travel planning, but also accused him of fear and other human motives. He appeals, in contrast, to the will of God. This conflict is visible in Luke as well. In Acts 18:21 Luke places this formula into Paul’s mouth at his departure from the Jews in Ephesus, who are still of a friendly mind toward him around the end of the “second journey”: “I will return to you, if God wills,” which is then also fulfilled. In contrast, upon his departure from the elders of Ephesus in Miletus (20:22-25), Luke has Paul communicate in the form of a vaticinium a completely different prognosis in a minor key, namely, that the Holy Spirit is compelling him to travel to Jerusalem, although he knows that imprisonment and suffering await him there and that he will as a result not see the congregation in Ephesus again. However, in Rom. 15:14-32, written shortly before this in the winter of 56/57 in Corinth, we still hear the bright major tone of mission strategy, although Paul is aware of the risk of death threatening him in Jerusalem and he can no longer be sure that his offering will be accepted. Should Luke, with his increasing vaticinia, have defended the apostle at a time when the obvious breakdown of Paul’s worldwide plans and his imprisonment beginning in Jerusalem were understood in some Jewish Christian circles as punishment for his indecent boasting? Although Luke, as Acts 19:21 shows, knew very well the further plans of the apostle that lead to Rome, he found it important to emphasize repeatedly that Paul had traveled to Jerusalem in the firm certainty of his imprisonment.68 Luke continues to make great efforts to depict Paul’s journey The translation follows H. Windisch, Die katholischen Briefe (31951), 28; on the founding, see Dibelius, 278. On Paul, see identically 1 Cor, 4:19, cf. 16:7; Rom. 1:10; 15:32 specifically in view of his travel plans. The references to the epistles of Paul show the role this motif plays in the early Christian discussion and how sensitive an issue this was. This has to do with more than just a figure of speech. On Gentile parallels, cf. Dibelius, 278. Cf. also A. Deissmann, Licht vom Osten (1923), 175, n. 10. Windisch cites Min. Felix, Oct. 18, 10f., where the “si deus dederit [the] consensus omnium [as] vulgi naturalis sermo” is described. 68 Acts 20:38; 21:4; 21:11ff.; see as early as Rom. 15:31 in Corinth: Paul seems to have been warned that his life was under threat in Jerusalem. Still completely different, in contrast, is the situation in 1 Cor. 16:6: Perhaps he weighed the possibility near the end of his stay in Ephesus to continue first from Corinth to Rome, but then gave up this idea; cf. Rom. 1:13. This constant, “global” planning and weighing of pros and cons might seem presumptuous to a teacher who consciously held firm to the stabilitas loci in Jerusalem, the center of the world (see Hes. 38:5; 5:5; Jub. 8:19; Enoch 16:1; Sib. 5, 250; Jos., bell 3:52; bSanh 37a). 67

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to Rome and his frank missionary preaching as a prisoner as God’s will. One could also see it very differently: Does not that judgment in Jas 4:14 that says, ἀτμὶς γάρ ἐστε ἡ πρὸς ὀλιγον φαινομένη, ἔπειτα καὶ ἀφανιζομένη apply to Paul, who was conveyed to Rome as a prisoner to await Caesar’s sentence and whose arrogant missionary plans that reached all the way to Spain were apparently shattered? Does not that judgment apply to him, the greatest Christian “schemer”? Is not he who is threatened with the death sentence questioned with the ζήσομεν and also the ποιήσομεν? Luke would like to demonstrate precisely the opposite in the final sentence of Acts: διδάσκων . . . μετὰ πάσης παρρησίας ἀκωλύτως.69 The puzzle of Jas 4:13-16 thus can best be understood in my opinion as a paraenetic unicum in the early Christian literature if we realize that it alludes to the sudden failure of the apostle’s missionary plans due to his imprisonment and his subsequent lengthy prison term with the threat of capital punishment. The letter would have then emerged in the later years of the two rivals, during the Pauline imprisonment in Caesarea or perhaps even earlier in Rome (i.e., between 58 and 62). In the first place, Wettstein had correctly classified it with historical astuteness: “Scripsit [scil.: Jakobus] autem post Pauli Epistolam ad Romanos et ad Galatas, quibus in speciem contra dicere videtur [do not believe, of course, that the author really knows the letters]; et ante Primam Petri [for us today a pseudepigraphon from the time of Domitian], in quam multa ex Jacobo translata leguntur.”70 It is possible that Paul and James died martyrs’ deaths in the same year, 62 ce, each in his own way as a “lawbreaker” (see n. 39). The other possibility would be that Paul perhaps still did travel to Spain and was executed only at around the same time as Peter during the Neronian persecution (1 Clement 5). James would then in any case have the goal of pointing out to the predominantly Gentile missionary congregations of the Greek-speaking diaspora, who had become rattled by the capital trial against their hero and founder, the dangers of an—indeed misunderstood—Pauline theology that in the opinion of the opponents of Paul could lead to a libertine lawlessness and to a faith without works—and at the same time to unmask certain questionable features in the conduct of the respected teacher. 3. The reference at the beginning of the letter to “various trials” (1:2ff.), which constitutes a means of testing genuine (deed-)faith, in which, unlike for Paul, Abraham, justified by his works (2:21ff), represents the first and greatest paradigm. With respect to these trials the congregations, shaken by the fate of their founder, are to rejoice in the test God has rightly imposed and learn, following the (not undeserved) imprisonment of their teacher, that steadfastness alone leads to the “perfect work” God requires (1:2ff.). The “wisdom”71 necessary for this, which in James takes the place of the Pauline πνεῦμα, must of course be requested (1:5ff.) The prerequisite for this is a (prayer) faith that is still Acts 28:31. Acts was in my view composed at a time when Paul was still remembered in the congregations, that is, hardly much later than ad 80; the gospel originated several years earlier. The relatively positive, or hopeful, assessment of the Roman authorities suggests this too. Trials against Christians with convictions nominis causa only come later under the rule of Domitian: 1 Pet. 4:15. Jas 2:6f. does not yet take this for granted (see n. 92). 70 Novum Testamentum Graecum II, 1752 (rpt Graz 1962), 659. On the late estimation of James during the lifetime of the Brother of the Lord, see the table in Davids, 4. Cf. roughly P. Feine and J. Behm, Einleitung in das NT (1950), 244f.: “around 65[!]‌. . ., not long before the death of James”; R. St. J. Parry, A Discussion of the General Epistles of St. James (1903); R.V.G. Tasker, The General Epistle of James, TNTC (1957; rpt 1969), 33: “The most probable date of the Epistle would seem to be circa A.D. 60” (italics original). 71 1:5 compared with 3:13, and on this 3:15-17: ἡ ἂνωθεν σοφία. In Jas 2:5 and the “difficult” citation in 4:5 the πνεῦμα, according to Gen. 2:7, is the breath of God breathing life into humans; see E. Schweizer, ThWNT VI (1959), 445. Even this peculiar use of language is one of the many indicators in favor of an early origin. In the apostolic fathers this relationship 69

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oriented very much toward the ancient Jesus tradition, which is certainly beyond all doubt.72 This peaceable, friendly, obedient, and affectionate wisdom from above has nothing in common with that demonic-earthly wisdom from below (3:13-18) that wakens the evil lusts (4:1f.) and through envy, jealousy, or selfish ambition (3:14ff.) only engenders (4:1f.) disorder (ἀκαταστασία) and conflict (πόλεμοι καὶ μάχαι), as we know them all too well from the Pauline congregations through the apostle’s letters.73 The one enlightened and made wise by godly wisdom (3:13f.) demonstrates the possession of this gift, obtained only through prayer from an undivided heart (1:17), by virtue of its peaceable transformation and the fruit of righteousness that results from it (3:18). Could the author of the letter merely have missed this gift in the pugnacious apostle to the Gentiles and his supporters, so that the state of his congregations reflects on the founder (4:1f.)? 4. Directly after the unambiguously anti-Pauline remarks about faith and works, yet just before the confrontation with the contentious and opinionated (3:13ff.), one finds a highly rhetorical warning about and, as it were, an introduction to the danger posed to the teacher through the misuse and the power of the tongue (3:1-12). First comes the warning against the ambition to become a teacher (3:1a). Was Paul, according to his own judgment, not imperiled by this kind of ambition;74 indeed had he not, in the judgment of his opponents, pushed his way into the commission of an apostolic teacher? Did his apostolate—despite Gal. 2:9—not remain controversial? At the beginning (Jas 3:1) a warning about the eschatological judgment of God is given. We encounter the judgment motif in the letter, similar to the Gospel of Matthew, relatively often (2:13; 3:1; 4:11f.; 5:9, 12). The teacher who cannot keep his tongue in check and can do great harm with it, as also the one who defames, disgraces, or even curses, his brother (3:1 and 4:11ff., see 3:9) must answer for himself in front of the godly judge (3:5ff.). Here one can point to the many excesses of Pauline polemic, in which the apostle—of course, “for the sake of the truth of the gospel” (Gal. 2:5.14)—lets himself get carried away through his passion to the sharpest invective against his adversaries. Paul certainly could be even sharper in oral argumentation than in his letters where he withheld the names of his opponents.75 In this context, one would have to ask how well the τίνες ἀπὸ Ἰακώβου—whose appearance in Antioch caused the incident between Peter, Barnabus, and the Jewish Christians on the one

was completely displaced. It does correspond, however, to Jewish usage, roughly the Sap. Sal. 7:22ff.27; cf. also the prayer of Solomon for wisdom (9:1ff.) and in the introduction (1:4ff.). It is likewise reminiscent of the wisdom in the synoptic tradition: Mk 6:2 = Mt. 13:54; Lk. 21:15 compare the logion tradition Lk. 7:35 = Mt. 11:19; Lk. 11:31 = Mt. 12:42. 72 On the prayer, see Mt. 7:11; good gifts, Lk. 11:13 (Holy Spirit). See on this point, M. Hengel and A. M. Schwemer, Der messianische Anspruch Jesu und die Anfänge der Christologie, WUNT 138 (2000), 75. 73 Cf. 2 Cor. 7:5: ἒξωθεν μάχαι. The—later—pastoral epistles suggest that theological discussions (with false teachers) are responsible. Second Tim. 2:23, cf. Tit. 3:9; James does not speak directly to this. James: ζῆλος καὶ ἐριθεία (3:14, 16; on the latter, see W. Bauer, WBNT, 612)—Paul: 1 Cor. 3:3; 2 Cor. 12:20; Gal. 5:20; 1 Cor. 1:10f.: σχίσματα, ἔριδες, cf. 11:18; Gal. 5:15; Phil. 1:17. It is obvious that the Pauline preaching, in connection with the passionate personality of the apostle, could also cause open gaps and lead to tensions. In 1 Clement 3–5, ζῆλος καὶ φθόνος (5:5; 6:4: ζῆλος καὶ ἔρις) appear as Jewish-Hellenistic topoi, but then refer to very concrete events in the church at Corinth (and to the martyrdom of Peter and Paul). The motif of dispute permeates almost the entire letter in many ways—but in a paraenetic form with a very practical objective: the reinstatement of the old Presbyters (47:6; 54:2; 57:1). 74 See 2 Cor. 12:7; Gal. 1:14; 1 Cor. 4:16; 11:1; cf. 1 Cor. 9:15 (!) among others. On the office of apostle, see 1 Cor. 9 and 15:8f. 75 See Phil. 3:2, 18f.; Gal. 2:4; 3:1; 5:12; 2 Cor. 11:5, 13ff., 20. Cf. also Acts 15:39; 13:10f.; 1 Cor. 5:3f.; 4:21; 2 Cor. 10:2; 12:21; 13:2.

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hand, and Paul on the other—described the appearance of the Apostle to the Gentiles when they returned to Jerusalem. The κατὰ πρόσωπον αὐτῷ ἀντέστην, ὅτι κατεγνωσμένος (2:11), which is certainly necessary “for the sake of the truth of the gospel” (2:14), would clearly have been associated with personally offensive attacks, by virtue of Paul’s emotion, that would be hard to justify in view of the first antithesis (Mt. 5:21f.). Matthew’s Jesus after all does not say that in a battle over the truth of faith his statement is no longer valid. We do not know how the representatives of the opposite side received the invectives such as Gal. 5:12, which bordered on the obscene: Was not an answer such as Jas 1:20 close to this—with Pauline language that sounds alienating—ὀργὴ γάρ ἀνδρὸς δικαιοσύνην θεοῦ οὐκ ἐργάζεται? The resentments were accordingly sustained, and they continue to have a painful effect in the larger letters of the apostle, most notably in 1 and 2 Corinthians. The compromise of the “Apostolic Decree,” which solved the dispute, was apparently accepted by James, Peter, and the Antiochians without, perhaps indeed against, Paul after he set out on his so-called Third Missionary Journey around 52/53, whereby Paul never recognized this compromise, among other things. In Corinth and Rome, he allowed this set of problems to be replaced by the question of the “strong” and “weak.” History never gave the other side the chance to preserve its impression of Paul. The few later and completely distorted traces that have been preserved for us in the pseudo-Clementines and the brief reference of Epiphanius to the Ebionitic polemic Ἀναβαθμοὶ Ἰακώβου (see n. 13) can perhaps only be supplemented now by the very much older, and in our view more original, witness of James. In addition to the warning regarding transgression with the tongue, the prohibition against swearing shows up in 5:12, again in connection with a warning of judgment; its form is closely related to the wording of Mt. 5:34-37, yet is more primitive. In no other early Christian work of the first and second centuries do we find so many oath-like declarations (and curses) as in Paul’s letters.76 He defends himself against charges of unfulfilled promises to travel or visit using, for example, the invocation of God as a witness (Rom. 1:9; 2 Cor. 1:23). Evidently, with his passionate character, such words flowed relatively easily out of the apostle’s pen. The drastic scene in Acts 23:3 can give the needed perspective. After all, perhaps Luke knew the apostle better than we generally assume, and, out of respect for him, Luke’s image of Paul is idealized, but then as passages like Acts 9:1; 13:9-11; 15:36-39; 16:37-39; or 17:16 show, the “other side” of the apostle emerges again and again. In order to eliminate the offense, it has sometimes been suggested in the scholarship that Paul may not have been familiar with the Sermon on the Mount.77 But here only the human interest of the apostle emerges, which he himself describes in 2 Cor. 11:29 with the concise sentence: τίς σκανδαλίζεται καὶ οὐκ ἐγω πυροῦμαι. The statement in 4:11f. is also strange, which warns against slander and judgment of a brother, and justifies this by saying that whoever does this “slanders and judges the law. If however you judge the law, you are not a doer of the law, but (its) judge.” With this he positions himself against God, who “is the (true) lawgiver and judge” and who alone “has power to save and to destroy.” Surely Paul was reproached in Jewish Christian circles not only for his sharp

See 1 Thess. 5:27: ἐνορκίζω ὑμᾶς τὸν κύριον. One should not attenuate this “entreaty” prematurely as “urgent request,” thus Dibelius, 1 and 2 Thess, HNT, 32. The question remains, however, why Paul is so quick to use oath wording. See 2 Cor. 1:23: ἐγὼ δὲ μάρτυρα τὸν θεὸν ἐπικαλοῦμαι; cf. Rom. 1:9; Phil. 1:8; 1 Thess. 2:5, 10, and also 1 Sam. 12:6. Cf. also Rom. 9:1; 2 Cor. 11:31; Gal. 1:20; curse wording: 1 Cor. 16:22; Gal. 1:8; Rom. 3:8; cf. in contrast 12:14 and Jas 3:9f. 77 E. Käsemann, An die Römer, HNT, 15. 76

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polemic, but also for his criticism of the law, which appears blatantly obvious in texts such as Rom. 4:15; 5:20; Gal. 4:13, 21; 1 Cor. 15:56; 2 Cor. 5:6, among others. Paul must also ward off the misunderstanding that law and sin are identical (Rom. 7:7-14). In James, criticism of a brother and criticism of the law are connected in a moralizing way and directed to God as lawgiver and judge. Could it be that Jas 4:11f. forms an indirect rejection of Paul’s overly sharp polemic and his criticism of the law? One should not criticize the law, but instead modestly and simply do God’s will. 5. It stands to reason that—in the uncertain and troubled situation after the arrest of Paul—the orphaned Gentile Christian congregations could well have used the concluding admonition to patience in the expectation of the coming parousia of the Lord (5:7ff.), along with the warning against grumbling and reference to the “patience of Job.” In view of the coming judge (5:9) who is “standing at the door,”78 there is no more justification for ongoing disputes and accusations. The letter could have actually ended here. However, one further oddity follows aside from the completely unexpected, but in view of Paul understandable reference to the prohibition against swearing (see earlier):  What is the meaning of this unique, completely unprovoked reference to the right behavior of the patient at the end?79 He is supposed to call the elders of the church—a monarchical bishop is apparently still unknown; this speaks against a late date and could point to a Palestinian milieu (see n. 85)—so that they pray over him and anoint him with oil in the name of the Lord so he will be healed (5:13-16). For the prayer that arises from genuine faith and is not affected by doubt (1:6f.; 4:2)—here again we are dealing with an inclusio—and in particular the “prayer of the righteous” has great effect (5:16). Admittedly, the sinner has to confess his sins in this context. Sickness, authoritative prayer, anointing with oil, and confession of sins and healing are directly connected; v. 15b presupposes in this the confession of sins, even if it is first mentioned in the generalizing summary in v. 16. One could at first glance point to James as a charismatic intercessor and Tzadik, as he is later depicted to us by Hegesippus and Epiphanius according to the later Ebionitic legends.80 But maybe we should also remember that, while early Christianity tells us hardly anything about difficult or incurable illnesses among Christians,81 it is only from the very personal testimony of Paul

Cf. Mk 13:29  =  Mt. 24:33; Phil. 4:5. We have here and in Jas 5:8 a clear reference to the vibrant eschatological expectation of the epistle, with the judgment motif woven into the fabric of the letter like a red thread; see 1:10f., 15; 2:12f., 24; 3:1; 4:12; 5:5, 8. 79 5:12 connects to 5:10f. and forms a kind of transition to the pericope about the sick, prayer, and confession of sins. At the same time, 5:13a points back to 1:2f. Here one could naturally think of the imprisoned apostle. Strangely similar and yet also in contrast to this is Acts 16:25: here, Luke conflates κακοπαθεῖν and εὐθυμεῖν into one. The prisoners pray and sing at the same time. 80 Cf. Hengel, “Jakobus der Herrenbruder,” 78 (see p. x). Anointing the sick with oil is a Jewish, and as the case may be a Jewish Christian, practice; see Paul Billerbeck and Hermann L. Strask, Kommentar zum Neuen Testament aus Talmud und Midrasch: Book III: Die Briefe des NT und die Offenbarung Johannis (München: Beck, 1926), 3, 51; and Windisch, 33. Mk 6:13 likely points back to a practice of the earliest Palestinian congregation. 81 Whenever a concrete illness of an individual Christian is reported, it is as a rule cured; cf. Acts 9:32-35. The other possibility consists in sickness and physical injury as punishment and a means of divine judgment; cf. Acts 13:11; Rev. 2:22f.; 1 Cor. 5:5; 11:30f.: pragmatically Hermas, vis. 3:9, 3 = 17:3; sim 6:3.4 = 63,4. The story of the daughter of Peter in the Coptic Acts of Peter forms an exception; see Hennecke and Schneemelcher, NTA 2, 188f.: she was lame on one side, in order to protect herself and others from sins. Cf. further the general admonition in 1 Thess. 5:14: ἀντέχεσθε τῶν ἀσθενῶν; in addition the prayer 1 Clem. 59.4; Mt. 25:36, 43. On all this, see A. v. Harnack, Mission und Ausbreitung des Christentums (41924), 129ff., 137ff., 151ff. Such a distinct promise of salvation is however not given elsewhere; see n. 83. 78

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alone that we know he suffered from a severe illness not known to us by any further details, “the stake [or thorn] in the flesh,” “the angel of satan that beats me with his fists” imposed by the Lord himself, “so that I  will not be presumptuous”(!). Despite praying three times, this certainly oppressive affliction is not taken from him. He must continue to bear it according to the will of the Lord. This illness was known to the congregations.82 Did it not have to be interpreted—especially by Jewish Christian opponents—in the traditional Jewish sense as God’s punishment (see 1 Cor. 11:30)? Is this advice to the sick person, who is supposed to call “the elders of the church” so that they can heal him with prayer and the anointing of oil after he (it may be assumed based on the following sentence) has confessed his sins, pure coincidence or as the case may be widespread Christian practice83 that is just not reported to us otherwise? It is strange that this “prescription” is presented with such certainty. Here, the old faith of Jesus in prayer continues to have an effect.84 Or is James instructing Gentile Christian congregations regarding how a “hopelessly sick person” (like Paul), if he only wanted, could have been freed from his demonic illness, if only he had trusted in prayer along with exorcism and anointing by the elders (or even the prayer of the “righteous”: 5:16?) and confessed his sins? Certainly, this good practice, which the author presupposes as salutary for his own community, is to apply in all the churches. But what sense does this detailed and somewhat circumstantial piece of advice make after he has basically concluded the paraenesis of the letter with the appeal to the coming judge? Perhaps it should be pointed out in this connection that the (originally Jewish) office of elder probably came out of Jerusalem85 and at least was first attested in the Book of Acts, while the genuine letters of Paul were still not known. For this reason it is completely wrong to invoke the mention of the elders as a sign of a later time. Both Paul and Luke show that the early church in Jerusalem under the leadership of James boasted firmly “institutionalized” forms. In my view the office of elder, like the somewhat later monarchic episcopacy, traveled from east to west.86 See 2 Cor. 12:6-10; cf. Gal. 4:13-15; 6:17. See also H. Windisch, 2 Kor, 382–93; U. Heckel, “Der Dorn im Fleisch. Die Krankheit des Paulus in 2 Kor 12:7 und Gal 4:13f.,” ZNW 84 (1993), 117–38. 83 As far as I can see, this text is unique. Judaism is familiar with the prayer of Zaddiq or the learned (healer?) for the sick; cf. Windisch, 33. Cf. Meyer, 164f. According to Koh. R. 1:8, R. Jehoschua heals his nephew, who had been “bedevilled” by the Jewish Christians in Capernaum, with oil; cf. Billerbeck, 1, 529. The connection between healing of the sick and forgiveness of sins goes back to the actions of Jesus; cf. Mk 2:5ff.; cf. also PsClem., ep.Clem. as Jac. 15:5 (GCS 42:18 ed. Rehm), where admittedly the sickness is merely a metaphor for the sin from which one must be freed through confession. Polycarp, Phil. 6:1 speaks in his catalogue of duties of the Presbyter visiting the sick; cf. similarly in Justin, ap. 1.67,6, the relationship to Mt. 25, 35, 38, 43f. is obvious. In Jas 5:14 we are dealing with much more than mere benevolence. 84 Cf. Jas 1:6. It is strange that the closest parallels to this entire complex—belief in prayer, forgiveness of sins, and healing—are found with Jesus. James points back to the ministry of Jesus: cf. Mk 9:23f., 29; 5:34; 10:52; 11:22f.; 2:5-12; 6:5. On the confession of sins, cf. also Mk 1:5. 85 Cf. here G.  Bornkamm, Art. Πρεσβύτερος, ThWB VI (1959), 664 on Jas 5:14:  The presbyters appear here as the “only office” in a hellenistic Jewish Christianity that can no longer be localized (cf. here also 2:2 εἰς συναγωγὴν ὑμῶν): “Although these Presbyters are like a kind of synagogue executive board, the obvious assumption that they as such are qualified to offer healing prayer has no parallel in Judaism; rather, it assumes the early Christian experience of charisms.” As far as I can see, there are no unambiguous parallels to this in Christianity either. In my view, this mandate represents the specific situation of the presbyters in Jerusalem, who were able to see themselves as disciples of the (twelve) apostles, and for whom the gift of healing was inherent according to the missionary tradition (Mk 6:7, 13; healing by anointing with oil). Even this archaic line of thought speaks against a late dating. 86 Cf. Acts 11:30; 15:2ff.: The formulaic οἱ ἀπόστολοι καὶ πρεσβύτεροι in c. 15 is striking; without “apostle” in 21:18. Also in Gal. 2:1-10, the Jerusalem congregation gives the impression with its three “pillars” that the “institutionalization” 82

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6. The conclusion of the letter is conciliatory. The one who has wandered from the truth should return. Whoever does this rescues his life from the dead and “will cover a multitude of sins.”87 From the perspective of early Christianity, it was Christ who redeemed human sin (Jn 1:29; 1 Jn 2:2f.; 1 Cor. 15:3, etc.). James does not have anything to say about this. Significantly, Christ is only mentioned twice: in the prescript and in 2:1. There the “faith of our Lord Jesus Christ, [the Lord] of glory” is related to the expectation of the coming Lord and judge in his heavenly glory (2:1). For him, it is good deeds that have a saving effect and neutralize one’s own and others’ transgressions (5:20 and 2:13, 16). Even here with the concluding admonition in 5:19f., which is supposed to sound peaceable after all of the threats of judgment and hard polemic, the question can be asked once more: Is it clearly for each and every person? Or does some specific situation stand behind it, a paradigm that the Gentile Christian congregations should take to heart? A “sinner” whose “way of error” should be admonished and whose salvation should be attempted? Is it even about the one who refers to the word alone by faith; who expects salvation from the gospel and not from the law; who proclaims that God alone justifies through faith without works of the law, and dares to name Abraham as a witness; who considers himself a very great teacher, yet cannot hold his tongue in check in the midst of boundless polemic; who thinks himself wise but in whom there is too little to observe of that inoffensive, heavenly wisdom; who on the contrary causes controversy and conflict in the churches; and who judges others far too eagerly? Who boasts about worldwide missionary trips and successes and again and again makes far-reaching plans, but who has now miserably failed in his boasts and is a prisoner facing execution, and is moreover sick—but will not let himself be helped by the elders of the mother church of all Christians? 7. Even the harsh polemic against the “rich” can be classified here splendidly without any compromises. Paul was always dependent on the help and sacrifice of relatively wealthy Christians in his “worldwide” missionary strategy and church planting. Only with their help could “house churches” be founded, lecture halls and apartments rented (Acts 28:30), costs of expensive ship travel paid, letters carried, and attacks from strangers defended. In the letters of Paul and even more in Acts, written by the “poor theologian” Luke, we have numerous examples of wealthy Christians and their help.88 Active missions cost a lot of money, even if one is particularly advanced here. See also Hengel, “Jakobus der Herrenbruder,” 92ff.102ff. = 570ff.580ff. On James as the supposed first bishop of Jerusalem. 87 See Jas 5:20:  ὁ ἐπιστρέψας ἁμαρτωλὸν ἐκ πλάνης ὁδοῦ αὐτοῦ σώσει ψυχὴν αὐτοῦ θανάτου καὶ καλύψει πλῆθος ἁμαρτιῶν. Behind this there is a popular citation that corresponds to the Masoretic text of Prov. 10:12: we ‘al kol pešã‘îm tekassäh ’ahabä. We find it, in contrast to James, unaltered in 1 Pet. 4:8; 1 Clem. 49:5; 2 Clem. 16:4. In the Didascalia 2:3 it appears as a saying of the Lord; see A. Resch, Agrapha (21967), 310f. In James it is used as an Old Testament saying in an idiosyncratic manner. 88 See Rom. 16:1f. The messenger Phoebe; 16:4: the sponsorship efforts of Prisca and Aquila; 16:22f.: the self-confident letter writer Tertius, the host Gaius, and the Aedil Erastus in Corinth; 1 Cor. 1:11:  the people of Chloe; 16:1518: Stephanas and his house; Phil 2:25ff.: 4:15ff.: the support by the congregation in Philippi; 4:22: members of the familia Caesaris, cf. also 2 Cor. 12:13ff.: Phlm. 1ff., 18f. In Luke the ambivalence between the positive emphasis of poverty and of renunciation of property and the constant mention of aristocratic Christians is striking. The work, which itself is dedicated to a member of the upper class, embodies the opposition between—moderated—Palestinian poor-piety and the high esteem of aristocratic Christians, who see to the needs of the congregation. The problem is found already in the “Peter mission”: Acts 9:36ff., 43; 10:1ff., but much more in Paul: [Acts] 13:12; 16:14.27-34; 17:4f.34; 18:7f.: 19:31: Paul places φίλοι under “Asiarchs,” that is, the members of the provincial district. On the social status of the Pauline mission congregations, see A. Mahlers, Social Aspects of Early Christianity (1977); Meeks, 51–66, and on the house churches, see H. J. Klauck, Hausgemeinde und Hauskirche im frühen Christentum (1981), 21–68.

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renounces any claim for one’s own personal upkeep to be given by the churches. Furthermore, money still had to be collected for “the poor” in Jerusalem.89 As the organizer of a missionary movement that had the goal of reaching across the entire Roman Empire, Paul could not afford social-revolutionary experiments or a fundamental aversion to those who were economically better off.90 James is relentless precisely on this point. His hatred for the rich shows no trace of willingness to compromise. Already this one thing distinguishes him from Luke, the pastoral epistles, or the Shepherd of Hermas. The rich appear to be excluded from salvation, even if they are Christians. A rich person cannot really be a Christian.91 This is consistent with the situation of the church of the poor in Jerusalem and Judea, who from the beginning are oppressed and (to some extent bloodily) persecuted by the Sadducean elite consisting of the high-priestly aristocracy and the large landowners who controlled the Sanhedrin. Accordingly, the κριτήρια (Jas 2:6) are not the Roman but rather the Jewish courts controlled by representatives of the Sadducean nobility.92 Jesus himself was already delivered to his death through these courts.93 Especially during the ten years before the outbreak of the Jewish war, Josephus testifies to the most difficult social tensions in Judea.94 The Christians here were on the side of the poor and oppressed; they themselves belonged to these groups. They had become “the poor” in an economic sense as a result of the failed “communal property” that had no planned production95 (a result of the Jesus-centered enthusiasm shaped by the earliest expectations

Paul takes as a starting point the material poverty of the Jerusalem congregation (2 Cor. 8:14): “for in the current time (compare Rom 3:26; 11:5) your abundance can be used for the shortcoming in Jerusalem”; for if “the poor among the saints in Jerusalem . . . have given the Gentiles a share of their spiritual goods, then these are also obligated, to serve them with their material goods” (Rom. 15:26f.; cf. 2 Cor. 9:12). The advice of 1 Cor. 16:2 assumes that most of the Christians in Corinth had a relatively regular income. 90 In his genuine letters the “social criticism” so highly valued today is completely withdrawn. In 1 Cor. 1:26 the threefold οὐ πολλοί should be noted; Paul does not say “none.” 91 See Jas 1:9f. The imperative in 1:10 that the rich person should boast of his humbleness is meant ironically: he is a nothing, which will fade away (1:11f.). With regard to the rich, there is no question of penance and good works. Correspondingly, the upper-class person 2:2ff. in the Christian gathering is out of place; they only tempt Christians to προσωπολημψία. The poor believer is in contrast chosen by God (2:5); the rich are persecutors (2:6f.). For them, who are unjust eo ipso (5:4), there remains only the lament over the coming judgment (5:1ff.). 92 Acts 4–7; 12; 1 Thess. 2:14f. Jos., ant 20:200; cf. also Mk 13:9 = Mt. 10:17: The Palestinian συνέδρια were occupied by representatives of the upper classes; this is especially true of the Sadducean Sanhedrin, which Hannas II called together in the year 62 to condemn James and other Jewish Christians to death. Cf. Hengel, “Jakobus der Herrenbruder,” 73f. The “good name” is not the designation Χριστιανοί (Acts 11:26; 1 Pet. 4:16), but rather the name of Christ, in which Christians are baptized (cf. 1:18). It is called out over the one being baptized, and in contrast slandered by Jewish opponents; see on this Mt. 12:32; Jn 8:48; Mk 15:29 = Mt. 27:39; Lk. 22:65; Acts 13:45; 18:6; 26:11 = Justin, apol. 1:31,6; Rev. 2:9. 93 If, like Aland, 243, one sees Jas 5:5 as primarily relating to Jesus following the ancient church interpretation (see here Theophylaktos, MPG 125, 1184), this historical connection becomes even more clear. The ones who brought Jesus, the δίκαιος, to his death on the day of preparation before the Passover (Jn 18:28; 19:14) are also the same people who oppress and persecute the congregation of the “poor” in the subsequent time period (2:6). On δίκαιος as an ancient Christological title, see Acts 3:14; 7:52; 22:14; cf. Sap. 2:10, 12, 18; Jes [Isaiah?] 3:10. In James it could be either Jesus or the martyrs who are meant. The eschatological reference in 5:1-11 is not thereby suspended. 94 Jos. ant. 20, 180f., 199f., 205ff.; see also the complaint of Abba Schaul over the conduct of the leading high-priestly families, tMen 13:21 (Zuckerman 533) = Pes.57a; in addition J. Jeremiahs, Jerusalem zur Zeit Jesu (31962), 220ff.; see also 258ff.263f. The worsening social tensions were also one of the causes that, after/starting with the death of Agrippa I in ad 44, gradually led to the Jewish war; see M. Hengel, Die Zeloten (21976), 359f.368f.394f. See in addition especially Jos., bell. 2,427. On the whole (issue), see R. P. Martin, “The Life Setting of the Epistle of James in the Light of Jewish History,” in Biblical and Near Eastern Studies: Essays in Honour of William Sanford LaSor, ed. G. A. Tuttle (1978), 97–103. 95 In addition, Hengel, Eigentum und Reichtum in der frühen Kirche, 39ff. 89

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of Christ’s imminent return, which Paul also had to contend with in Thessalonica96), and through the famines under Claudius and probably the suppression and boycotts among their own people. The new, thriving Gentile Christian congregations seemed “rich” (and arrogant) in comparison to them, all the more because they were in a position and even obligated to support the poor in Jerusalem from whom they had obtained—as Paul himself emphasizes— “spiritual goods” (Rom. 15:27). The ones depicted as “strong” in Corinth, who probably came from a predominantly wealthier strata, would not only have looked down with contempt on the provincial “weak” in Corinth, but also on the “legitimate” Jewish Christians in Jerusalem. In Rome, too, similar arrogance reigned.97 It is probable that in the Gentile Christian missionary congregations—according to the conception of the Jerusalem Christian ’äbjonîm and its leaders—one distinguished visitor to the congregation with a golden signet ring and magnificent robe would be given a place of honor. For one could hope for the influence and support of such people, which could include: political–legal protection, as, for example, Luke depicts in connection with the uproar over the silversmith Demetrius in Ephesus, a spacious assembly place, help with affairs of the congregation, effective support of the poor, and much else. What an inestimable help this meant, for instance, in one of the big cities of antiquity, such as Antioch, Ephesus, Corinth, and above all Rome (where abominable tenement blocks were abundant and detached houses rare), if a rich house owner made his villa or domus available to the congregation! Such an act often created the possibility of lasting community formation.98 The earliest “offices” of elders, bishops, and deacons in the Pauline congregations, the charismata of ἀντιλήμψεις and κυβερνήσεις, do not so much refer to spiritual as organizational and economic “wealth.”99 Their significance and the talents connected with them have been notoriously undervalued in Germany (the land of the church tax) until the most recent times. It is understandable why the poor Jewish Christians in Jerusalem and Judea, who after the persecution by Agrippa I became increasingly degraded and oppressed economically, would have feared and looked down on the socially more auspicious situation in the Gentile Christian congregations on whose help they were partially dependent—because entirely related to (the latter’s) contempt for the law and a works-free faith, the danger of worldliness threatened. This would explain the harsh repudiation of wealth in James. True and pure “religion” (θρησκεία)—a peculiar, formal word100—consists in the social provision on behalf of “widows and orphans in their affliction” See 1 Thess. 4:10ff.; cf. 2 Thess. 3:10ff. In addition, see Hengel, “Die Arbeit im frühen Christentum,” 195ff. See 1 Cor. 4:8; 8:1; 10:23f.; Rom. 11:18f.; 15:1f. 98 The formula εἰς συναγωγὴν ὑμῶν, where very early a distinction was made between ἐκκλησία and συναγωγή, is in ancient Christian usage still unusual; see W. Schrage, Art. συναγωγή, ThWNT VII, 836. In the New Testament it appears only here as a designation for a Christian gathering or its gathering place. The patristic evidence presented by Schrage, which touches upon Jas 2:2 only in part, is not exactly abundant. Behind the formula lies common Jewish language usage. Ἐκκλησία appears only at the end of the letter in 5:14. 99 Although in 1 Cor. 12:28 the gifts of “help” and of “guidance” or “administration” are listed in sixth and seventh places, it is striking that with respect to the Corinthians’ fascination with revelation, glossolalia, wisdom, and knowledge such prosaic gifts would be named at all. It might be worth considering whether Paul adds the whole unusual σὺν ἐπισκόποις καὶ δικόνοις in the Philippians prescript 1:1, which means “overseers” and economic “managers” because he was actively supported by the Philippians in many ways. The κοπιῶντες and προϊστάμενοι in 1 Thess. 5:12 (cf. 1 Cor. 16:16; Rom. 12:8; 16:6, 12) were however as a rule the kind of congregation members who (1) had time for the congregation, because they were not bound by the need to earn their daily bread, and (2) who—as was far more widespread in ancient congregations than today—were able to commit their assets to common use. 100 It is found in the New Testament in a negative sense only in Col. 2:18 (cf. 23) and in the “official” conversation between Paul and Agrippa II (Acts 26:5) for the Jewish divine service. The Vulgate translates it in all four instances 96 97

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and in the radical turning away from the world (1:27). Even here one could speculate again about a distancing from the great missionary, who in spite of his high religious claim εἴ τις δοκεῖ θρησκὸς εἶναι (compare the topic from 3:1ff.) could not control his tongue (1:26), that is to say, was inclined to acrimonious polemic and idealized his own missionary service as “priestly service” (Rom. 15:16: λειτουργός, ἱερουργεῖν). Having just arrived with a sizeable number of Gentile Christian companions (2 Cor. 8:20),101 Paul appeared as a quasi-representative of these “rich,” “worldly” congregations spoiled by—or at least threatened by—good living. Poverty and wealth are, after all, relative terms. This would be all the more understandable if one can assume that the allegations against Paul of generating libertine conditions and disregarding God’s command had penetrated not only to Rome (Rom. 3:8; 6:1) but also to Jerusalem. In summary: James is according to this hypothesis no late, poor product of happenstance. It was designed with deliberation and composed with rhetorical craft. The thought world behind it is that of Jewish wisdom, combined with prophetic pathos and tightly interwoven with the Jesus tradition as it comes to us in the sayings-tradition we encounter in Luke, Matthew, and Mark. The author stands so close to his biological brother that he does not need to constantly appeal to him or even to quote him. The complete absence of references to “dominical sayings” is in my view similarly a sign of an early origin and of the prophetic authority of the writer. His letter is as his word and at the same time “the Word of the Lord.”102 He speaks as the authority appointed by him, that is, as δοῦλος θεοῦ καὶ κυρίου Ἰησοῦ Χριστοῦ eo ipso in his name, whereby δοῦλος here should be understood entirely in the sense of the Hebrew ’äbäd.103 The author does not need to point out that he is the Lord’s Brother. One is almost tempted to speak of a “representative.” In such power of authority he turns to the Christians in the Greek-speaking diaspora. Theologically one can see from the letter the problematic ethic that a reduced, “oversimplified” Jesus tradition produces, especially if one wants to play it off against the Pauline doctrine of justification. The early church saw Providentia Dei in Paul, not in James’s ἀπόστολος. One can well understand the reluctance of the church to canonize James in the third and even fourth centuries.104 Certainly the letter may be read as a corrective to a theology

with “religio.” The Palestinian son of a priest and Hellenist, Josephus, in contrast especially likes to use the word. James 1:27 taken by itself could articulate a distance with respect to the cult, as we find in Matthew around 9:13 and 12:7. Among the apostolic fathers the term is found only in the Roman Clement, 1 Clem. 45:7; 62:1 (lat.: “cultus”), and Justin avoids it entirely. It does not surface again until Melito and Tatian. This usage also originates from the Hellenistic synagogue. 101 Cf. 1 Cor. 16:3f.; 2 Cor. 1:6; 8:19ff. and the list in Acts 20:4f., which is still incomplete (see 21:29); also, Luke should be considered here. The travel costs of the group alone were considerable. The Jerusalemites may have astonished these strangers from the “diaspora” like poor Christians from the Third World would astonish rich Christian jet-setters from Europe or North America. 102 Hengel, “Jakobus der Herrenbruder,” 85–8, on the function of James as “revelation–mediator” in the Ebionitic tradition. See further Hengel, Gospels, 61ff., 128ff. 103 In a later pseudepigraphon his dignity as Brother of the Lord would have hardly been absent. The pseudepigraphic letters of Paul and Peter (1/2 Timothy; Titus; ad Laodic., Text in J. B. Lightfoot, St. Paul’s Epistle to the Colossians and Philemon [1875], 359) have the title of apostle. The fact that it is absent in the epistula of Peter to James (Ps. Clem, Hom. GCS 42, p. 1) is understandable: in the sycophantic address Πέτρος Ἰακώβῳ τῷ κυρίῳ καὶ ἐπισκόπῳ τῆς ἁγίας ἐκκλησίας there is no room left for the title of apostle for the writer. Jude copies James’s prescript and explicates his own name through a ἀδελφὸς δὲ Ἰακώβου; similarly, Ps. Titus included in his letter about abstinence in the subscriptio the explanation ‘Titus, the student of Paul’; see Hennecke and Schneemelcher, NTA 2, 109. 104 It is hardly an argument against a relatively early dating. It is understandable that the letter met with little response in the Gentile Christian congregations despite all its stylistic efforts. This is because of its heavy Christological deficit, its harsh tone, and the conspicuous anti-Pauline digs. For the Pauline congregations it was too hurtful; for the others, not

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of “cheap grace,” but it is even more evident in James how much the three particulars—solus Christus, sola gratia, and sola fide—must be at the center of the Christian faith, if the gospel is to remain the gospel. The singularity of the letter comes from its twofold character. It speaks—in a masterful way—on two planes and presumes two groups of recipients: 1. It seems to be a loose admonition in the convention of wisdom rhetoric with various, at least in part, traditional topics, which emerge in the letter and then disappear like threads in a carpet that nevertheless maintain a certain internal interrelationship. It intends to speak to all Christians, but appears puzzling due to its choice of motifs and arrangement of material, because the actual intention of the letter remains unclear and to this day resists exegetical classification. 2. Nonetheless the letter contains a targeted anti-Pauline polemic that is dressed in wisdom– paraenetic garb, which accounts for Paul’s personal conduct, his missionary practice, and the dangerous tendencies of his theology. The author assumes that the congregations who know Paul or were even founded by him will very likely understand this polemic and can even be warned by it. Under the presuppositions of this hypothesis it might, after all, be possible to better understand this idiosyncratic writing with a view to its historical location and content and to classify it historically and theologically.

concrete enough and too general. In Rome, anyway, the letter was still known up to the time of Hermas. The secondary letter of Jude, which was more useful in the anti-gnostic struggle, caught up to James. One might consider how completely the epistula ad Diognetum, which went back to the second century, was overlooked in the ancient church despite its theological content, so that even today the question can still be asked if we might not be dealing with a skillful forgery (which I do not believe: see n. 1). The Shepherd of Hermas, in contrast—despite its late origin—quickly found broad dissemination. It is understandable that the upper-class Clement of Alexandria, even if he expounded James in his Hypotyposes, stood at a distance from the letter, while the ascetic Origen appreciated it.

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THE LETTER OF JAMES AS A DOCUMENT OF PAULINISM?

Margaret M. Mitchell

1.  Thesis and Context At this moment – and in this collection of essays – I find myself paddling upstream. I seek to reopen precisely the question that many are relegating to the margins these days  – the relationship between James and Paul. There has for a couple of decades been a rising tide of opinion that James be read ‘on its own terms’ or ‘on its own merits’ apart from the refracted light of the Pauline sun, which appears unfairly to diminish James and his contribution to Christian theology.1 This appeal, cast as a bid for simple justice on James’ behalf, undoubtedly has keen rhetorical force.2 As a modern, text-immanent or canon-critical reading strategy, it can certainly be granted, even commended. But as a move in historical research it merely begs the question by assuming, rather than proving, that there was no intersection between Paul and his letters and the author of James. In other words, in historical research, ‘to read James on his own terms’ must include grappling with Paul if Paul was one of those terms.3 Yet although I find myself waving to my contemporaries as they canoe down the opposite side of the river, I spy ancient exegetes like Augustine headed the same direction as I (if paddling different kinds of water craft!). The great North African certainly did not wish to read James apart from Paul, or Paul apart from James, but understood James as playing the essential role of steering the reading of Paul’s letters in the right direction: locus iste hujus Epistolae [Jas 2.14-26] eumdem sensum Pauli apostoli, quomodo sit intelligendus, exponit.4 The intent of the present paper is to Recent reviewers speak of this movement as James’ ‘rehabilitation’ (Luke Timothy Johnson, ‘Review of Luke Leuk Cheung, The Genre, Composition and Hermeneutics of the Epistle of James’, CBQ 66 [2004], pp.  641–43; Matthias Konradt, ‘Review of Patrick Hartin, A Spirituality of Perfection:  Faith and Action in the Letter of James’; David Hutchinson Edgar, Has God Not Chosen the Poor? The Social Setting of the Epistle of James; and Matt A.  JacksonMcCabe, ‘Logos and Law in the Letter of James: The Law of Nature, the Law of Moses and the Law of Freedom’, JBL 122 [2003], pp. 182–89). See also Luke Timothy Johnson, The Letter of James (AB, 37A; New York: Doubleday, 1995), p. 114 on how ‘breaking the Pauline fixation’ will ‘liberate James to be read . . . in terms of its own voice rather than in terms of its supposed muting of Paul’s voice’. 2 The rhetorical power of this appeal was well testified to in the SBL session, when my friend William Brosend’s stirring exhortation to read James outside of Paul’s shadow was greeted by a spontaneous and loud ‘Amen!’ from one of the members of the audience. 3 The problem may be illustrated in this statement by Brosend:  ‘what happens when one reads the letters of James and Jude on their own merits and not in light of any real or imagined relationship to the letters of Paul and Peter?’ (William F. Brosend II, James and Jude [NCBC; Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2004], p. 3). But surely if that relationship is real, the historian cannot simply ignore it! 4 The full context of the passage reads as follows: De eo quod apostolus Jacobus dicit [quotes 2.20]. Quoniam Paulus apostolus praedicans justifican hominem per fidem sine operibus, non bene intellectus est ab eis qui sic accepterunt dictum, ut putarent, cum semel in Christum credidissent, etiamsi male operarentur, et facinorose flagitioseque viverent, salvos se esse posse per fidem: locus iste hujus Epistolae [Jas 2.14-26] eumdem sensum Pauli apostoli, quomodo sit intelligendus, exponit (‘On that which the apostle James said [2.20]. Seeing that the apostle Paul, in preaching that a man is justified 1

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ask whether that ancient view of the invaluable function of James – as providing a corrective to a reading of Paul deemed problematic – might not correspond to its original purpose.5 In modern scholarship, broadly speaking, seven different logical options for the literaryhistorical relationship between James and Paul are on the table:6 1. James and Paul were completely independent (any alleged overlaps are mere coincidence).7 2. James and Paul both reflect ‘Hellenistic Judaism’ or ‘first generation Jewish [Christianity]’ (without direct connection to one another).8 3. Paul knew the Epistle of James and wrote against it in his letter(s), especially Galatians (and/or Romans).9 4. James did not know Paul’s letters but had heard something (accurate) about Paul.10

by faith without works, is not rightly understood by those who received this statement such that they supposed they could be saved by faith when once they had believed in Christ, even if they were wickedly engaged and lived in a criminal and disgraceful manner, this very passage [2.14-26] of [the apostle James’] letter [Jas 2.14-26] explains in what way the precise meaning of the apostle Paul is to be understood’) (Augustine, Div. quaest. LXXXIII 76 [PL vol. 40, cols. 37–38]). 5 The essay by Robert W. Wall, ‘A Unifying Theology of the Catholic Epistles: A Canonical Approach’, in The Catholic Epistles and the Tradition (ed. J. Schlosser; BETL, 176; Leuven: Peeters Press, 2004), pp. 43–71 (I regret not having seen this before the SBL session) sees so well the unifying role of James in its ‘eventual canonization’ at the head of the Catholic Epistles which balance Paul (as known in Praxapostolos form), but eschews consideration that it was composed for this very reason (‘Without proposing a theory of the book’s composition as a pseudepigraphy .  .  .’ [p. 48]). The placement of the Catholic Epistles (with James at their head) between Acts and the Pauline Epistles in the Byzantine manuscript tradition does indeed enshrine this canonical function (Bruce M. Metzger, The Canon of the New Testament: Its Origin, Development, and Significance [Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1987], pp. 295–96). A striking illustration of my proposal is Gregory-Aland ms 1780 (ca. 1200; Duke University Kenneth Clark Manuscript #1), which has James (alone) between Acts and Romans, and hence having readers come to Paul directly through James. But can we really imagine that the Letter of James was just waiting in the wings for centuries until this serendipitous hermeneutical fit be noticed? 6 Compare the list of five positions on literary dependency laid out by Andrew Chester (Andrew Chester and Ralph P. Martin, The Theology of the Letters of James, Peter, and Jude [New Testament Theology; Cambridge:  Cambridge University Press, 1994], p. 47) and the accent on the question of whether the author understood or misunderstood Paul in the list of three positions outlined in Andreas Lindemann, Paulus im alten Christentum: Das Bild des Apostels und die Rezeption der paulinischen Theologie in der frühchristlichen Literatur bis Marcion (BHT, 58; Tübingen: J. C. B. Mohr [Paul Siebeck], 1979), p. 243. 7 I do not know of anyone who has argued this recently, but I include it here as a logical possibility. 8 Richard J. Bauckham, James:  Wisdom of James, Disciple of Jesus the Sage (New Testament Readings; London and New York: Routledge, 1999), pp. 127–31: (‘the best explanation is that both are dependent on a Jewish tradition of discussion of Abraham’ (p. 130); ‘[this] accounts for the parallels and differences between them more satisfactorily than postulating a direct relationship between them’ (p. 131)); Johnson, James, p. 120: (‘Rather than place Paul and James in direct conversation or polemical conflict, the best way to account for the combination of similarity and difference in their language is to view them both as first generation Jewish Christians deeply affected by Greco-Roman moral traditions yet fundamentally defined by an allegiance to the symbols and story of Torah’. There is, however, a problem with this view, because if the Letter of James was written by the historical brother of the Lord, he and Paul did meet face to face (according to Gal. 1.19), so ‘direct conversation’ must be allowed in some fashion. This appears to be acknowledged in Luke Timothy Johnson, Brother of Jesus Friend of God: Studies in the Letter of James (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2004): ‘Although James is influenced by Hellenism, Judaism, Jesus, Paul, and the early Christian movement . . .’ (p. 31, emphasis added). If so, then is not Paul one of James’ terms? 9 Joseph B. Mayor, The Epistle of St. James (London: Macmillan, 3rd edn, 1913), p. xcii: ‘while St. James has no reference to St. Paul, St. Paul on the contrary writes with constant reference to St. James’. 10 James B. Adamson, James: The Man and His Message (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1989), p. 225: ‘the connection need not be direct but due rather to oral reminiscences behind the written passages’.

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5. James did not know Paul’s letters but had heard something (inaccurate) about Paul.11 6. James depends on the Pauline letters (especially Galatians, perhaps Romans) and writes against them because he understands how radical Paul’s teaching on justification was and wishes to combat it.12 7. James depends on the Pauline letters (especially Galatians, perhaps Romans) and writes against them, but ‘misunderstands’ Paul’s true teaching on justification and wishes to combat it.13 I am myself convinced (along with the proponents of options 6 and 7) that the resemblances between Jas 2.14-26 and Gal. 2.16–3.29 (and Romans 3–4)14 defy coincidence and point to a literary relationship – that is, that the author of the Letter of James knew one or (likely, because of Jas 1.3-4 and Rom. 5.3-5) both of these Pauline letters.15 Yet despite this fundamental agreement, there are I think two major flaws in options 6 and 7. Those who have argued for or allowed some direct literary connection between James and the letters and/or person of Paul have misconstrued the question when they ask if James was ‘anti-Pauline’, or whether James had ‘correctly or incorrectly understood’ Paul.16 This way of formulating the question assumes that the construct ‘Paul’ (as operative for ‘James’) is unambiguously clear, uniform, and self-evident to the critic. In particular, it must assume that the ‘Paul’ James had contact with was mainly concerned with the issue echoed in Jas 2.21-26, and that ‘Paul’ was himself consistent on the issue of ‘faith’ and ‘works’ and clearly saw the two as ‘opposed’. Such a line of thought seems to assume the ‘true Paul’ is to be found in Gal. 2.16, read as a sentence apart from the full argument of that letter, including Gal. 5.13–6.10 James Hardy Ropes, The Epistle of St. James (ICC; Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1916), p. 35: ‘[James’] language is probably capable of explanation on the assumption that he had not read [Paul’s epistles], and his entire failure to suggest that Paul’s formula could be dissociated from its misuse shows at least that he had paid surprisingly little attention to Romans and Galatians.’ Also Sophie Laws, The Epistle of James (HNTC; San Francisco:  Harper & Row, 1980), pp 15–18; Franz Mussner, Der Jakobusbrief (HTKNT, 13; Freiburg: Herder, 1964), pp. 14–21. 12 Martin Henge, ‘Jakobusbrief als antipaulinischen Polemik’, in Tradition and Interpretation in the New Testament (ed. G. F. Hawthorne and O. Betz; Grand Rapids:  Eerdmans, 1987), pp. 248–78; Lindemann, Paulus im āltesten Christentum, pp. 250–52. However, Lindemann belongs also in category 5, since he is on the whole extremely cautious about direct literary dependence on Paul’s letters, finding it more probable only in the case of Jas 2.21-24 and Romans 3–4, though even there he thinks an oral knowledge of a Pauline sentence as a kind of slogan (‘einen gewissen ParoleCharakter’) is feasible (see p. 247). 13 Famously Martin Dibelius, James: A Commentary on the Epistle of James (ed. H. Koester; rev. Heinrich Greeven; trans. Michael A. Williams; Hermeneia; Philadelphia Fortress, 1975), p. 180: ‘But the criticism which James offers does not go against the experience of Paul at all, since the depth of Paul’s experience was closed to James. And not only to him. The full titanic power of the Pauline slogan, “apart from works, faith” has hardly ever in the course of Christian history been grasped by the masses.’ See also Gerd Luedemann, Opposition to Paul in Jewish Christianity (trans. Μ. Eugene Boring; Minneapolis: Fortress, 1989), pp. 140–49, 146: ‘James caricatures the key sentences from Galatians and Romans.’ 14 The parallel phrasing of Gal. 2.16 and Rom. 3.28 makes it impossible to decide between Galatians and Romans as an influence (I regard knowledge of Romans likely because of Rom. 5.4-5 and Jas 1.3-4), and we should not try. The reason I focus on Galatians as the Pauline influence is that it, unlike Romans, names James the brother of the Lord (1.19; 2.9), and, as I shall show below, its angry invective against the Jerusalem pillars made it a problematic text for early interpreters. But I do not think there is a dichotomy to be drawn (Galatians or Romans, but rather both are in view). 15 I shall present the arguments for direct dependency on Galatians and 1 Corinthians below. 16 Dibelius, James, pp. 179–80: ‘But also he could be thinking of people who advocate the genuine ideas of Paul, and whom Jas misunderstands. Yet the existence of such true disciples of Paul is very doubtful. In fact, it was Paul’s fate to be misunderstood within the church.’ 11

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(or especially perhaps 5.6:  πίστις δι’ ἀγάπης ἐνεργουμένη).17 Secondly, such an approach arbitrarily or artificially isolates Galatians (and/or Romans) among the Pauline letters in the quest to form a single letter-to-letter comparison between Paul and James. Consequently, the intense focus on Jas 2.14-26 when asking about James’ relationship to Paul has obscured the equally strong evidence that the author of James also knew at least one other Pauline letter – 1 Corinthians (as I shall show below). This also stands to reason, for there is no evidence in ancient Christianity of individual letters, such as Galatians, circulating beyond their recipient communities in published form outside of some collection of the corpus Paulinum. The logical consequence of this deserves more attention: if this author knew some collection (four letters, or letters to seven churches), then he – like all readers of the Pauline corpus – was already faced with multiple ‘Pauls’ and a complicated and tensive Pauline legacy he sought to steer in a particular direction. Taking this into account, I would like to propose an eighth option for consideration: 8. The author of the Letter of James knows some collection of Paul’s letters, and writes from within Paulinism (rather than in opposition to Paul), creating a compromise document which has as one of its purposes reconciling ‘Paul with Paul’ and ‘Paul with the pillars’.18 In my view, the author’s dependence on Paul’s letters shows that he largely approves of them and presumes they are authoritative, but draws upon them in such a way as to tip the interpretation of them (as a canonical collection and on-going source of theological teaching) away from polarization (around faith and works, the proper role of the law, rich versus poor, or Paul versus the Jerusalem ‘pillars’) and toward concord. In doing so the author wishes to confront a legacy of the earliest collection19 that juxtaposed Galatians and 1 Corinthians in close proximity, revealing tensions or potential contradictions within Paul (esp. Gal. 2.13 and 1 Cor. 9.20-23 on ὑπόκρισις, and Gal. 2.16 and 1 Cor. 13.2 on πίστις), and between Paul and the Jerusalem leaders and his relationship to their authority (Gal. 2.11-14; cf. 1 Cor. 3.22; 15.1-11). As such, this document written in the name of James is of a piece with other late-first- and early-second-century documents of Paulinism, such as 1 Clement, the pseudepigraphical Paulines, 1 Peter, Acts, and the Letter of Polycarp, which, adopting the epistolary form themselves, interpret Paul toward the centre and away from extremes, and attempt to show that the church had a concordant apostolic foundation, rather than an isolated maverick Pauline cornerstone.20 Like 1 Peter (with which many see a direct literary relationship) and Acts 15, the Letter of James could be seen as a conscious attempt to include all parties at the notorious ‘Antioch incident’ as actually (despite Gal. 2.10-14) on the same page, all tilting toward a reasonable middle.

See, e.g.: ‘The two things which are opposed are not faith and works (as with Paul) but a living faith and a dead faith’ (Ropes, James, p. 207). But does Paul always oppose faith and works, as this statement assumes? 18 I would like to stress that the present essay deals only with the Pauline influences on James. I need not and do not deny that James also had other literary influences, including Jesus sayings in some form. 19 In whichever form: no posited early corpus Paulinum does not contain both Galatians and 1 Corinthians (see n. 24 below for literature). 20 Cf. also the pseudepigraphic Eph. 2.21. 17

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2.  Methodological Approach My proposal, which seeks to set James within the history of Paulinism, is based on a network of sensibilities that all cohere under the umbrella of reception history. In the oral version of this paper I remarked off the cuff, ‘what is methodology anyway, but who you’ve been hanging out with?’ While admittedly an insufficiently rigorous statement of method, that remark does point to some truths about how I  have come to the present position, even as the principle that one’s autobiography and reading partners affect one’s interpretive work is probably one that would fit other interpreters as well (without assuming that these considerations constitute a sufficient explanation in any of our cases). My thinking about James has been heavily influenced by the convergence of four channels of my research, each of which has supported one plank of the current argument: early study of 1 Corinthians and its wide-spread and early dissemination;21 investigation of the history of Pauline interpretation in the early church, especially much time spent with John Chrysostom, an eastern devotée of Paul for whom ‘justification by faith’ was never viewed as incompatible with ‘works’;22 exploration of the key role of Paul as the inaugurator of an early Christian literary culture in the first century, and the pervasive influence of his letters in fashioning a movement that conspicuously employed textual means;23 and increasing awareness of the importance of the corpus Paulinum as interpretive context for any Pauline utterance already in antiquity.24 At the same time as I have focused in my scholarship on the history of Pauline interpretation in the early church I have been a creature of my own age, much influenced by the work of such scholars as Krister Stendahl and E. P. Sanders on breaking down the ‘Augustinian–Lutheran’ paradigm of reading Paul that so acutely formed many earlier proponents of the unequivocal view that James was ‘anti-Pauline’,25 and by such authors as Dennis MacDonald on the Pastoral Epistles, and

Margaret Μ. Mitchell, Paul and the Rhetoric of Reconciliation:  An Exegetical Investigation of the Language and Composition of 1 Corinthians (HUT, 28; Tübingen: J. C. B. Mohr [Paul Siebeck], 1991; Louisville: Westminster John Knox, 1993). 22 Margaret Μ. Mitchell, The Heavenly Trumpet:  John Chrysostom and the Art of Pauline Interpretation (HUT, 40; Tübingen: Mohr/Siebeck, 2000; Louisville: Westminster John Knox, 2002). 23 Margaret Μ. Mitchell, ‘The Emergence of the Written Record’, in The Cambridge History of Christianity, vol. 1 Origins to Constantine (ed. Margaret Μ. Mitchell and Frances Μ. Young; Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2006), pp. 103–24. It bears emphasizing here that arguing for the centrality of Paul in the history and development of the Christian literary culture that was to develop is not the same as maintaining that in his historical context of the early decades of the movement Paul was the most significant figure. See Johnson, Brother of Jesus, p. 10: ‘A first impulse for those who have not, as good historians, been seduced by the importance accorded Paul in the canon of the New Testament into thinking that Paul’s historical importance must have been equally central to the early Christian movement . . .’. As a historian I think James the brother of the Lord must have been a major figure, but that does not mean I am sure we have any literary texts from him (in fact I think we do not). 24 Here I  have learned much from the important work of Harry Y. Gamble, ‘The Pauline Corpus and the Early Christian Book’, in Paul and the Legacies of Paul (ed. W. Babcock; Dallas: Southern Methodist University Press, 1990), pp. 265–80; Harry Y. Gamble, Books and Readers in the Early Church (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1995), pp. 58–66; and David Trobisch (though I am less sure of the latter’s hypothesis that Paul himself crafted the first fourletter collection) (see Paul’s Letter Collection: Tracing the Origins [Minneapolis: Fortress, 1994]; idem, Die Entstehung der Paulusbriefsammlung. Studien zu den Anfängen christlicher Publizistik [NTOA, 10; Göttingen:  Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1989]). 25 E. P. Sanders, Paul and Palestinian Judaism (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1977); Krister Stendahl, ‘The Apostle Paul and the Introspective Conscience of the West’, in Paul Among Jews and Gentiles and Other Essays (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1976), pp. 78–96. The literature on the ‘new perspective’ on Paul is now legion. 21

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Christopher Mount on Acts,26 whose studies have helped me to see ‘Paulinism’ in a broader perspective that calls into question the simplistic formulation of the ‘anti-Paulinism’ of James. Out of this nexus of concerns and influences on my interpretive perspective, I have come to think it worth asking if we should turn the ‘anti-Pauline’ thesis on its head, and ask if James might not be seen as a document of Paulinism. I see now that a few others have looked also in this direction, in whole or in part,27 so perhaps I am on less of a lonely path than first I thought when giving this paper at the November 2005 Annual SBL meeting. Yet the configuration of the present argument, which emphasizes the role of 1 Corinthians and draws upon patristic interpretation of Paul to highlight interpretive problems created by the corpus Paulinum, may represent a unique constellation of arguments, so I offer it in that spirit, aware that it moves into well-developed territory. It should be said up front that all who investigate these problems deal with much the same data; I offer this proposal as yet another configuration of the pieces of the puzzle, one that to my eyes makes good sense of the evidence.

3.  The Arguments and Evidence My argument is built on four propositions that constitute the essential building blocks for my suggestion that we reconsider the ‘Paulinism’ of James.28 a.  The Epistle of James Breathes the Same Air as Pauline Christianity, and This ‘Air’ Constitutes a Pauline Literary Culture A key reason to doubt that James can simply be called ‘anti-Pauline’ is that the epistle holds so much in common with Paul’s letters. On this point I find staunch allies in the recent proponents Dennis R. MacDonald, The Legend and the Apostle: The Battle for Paul in Story and Canon (Philadelphia: Westminster, 1983); Christopher N. Mount, Pauline Christianity:  Luke Acts and the Legacy of Paul (NovTSup, 104; Leiden:  E. J. Brill, 2002). 27 In earlier scholarship see, e.g., Heinrich Julius Holtzmann, Lehrbuch der neutestamentlichen Theologie (2 vols.; Freiburg im Breisgau and Leipzig: J. C. B. Mohr [Paul Siebeck], 1897): ‘Es besteht sogar die Möglichkeit, dass Jak, der sich sonst so vielfach an paulin. Formeln anschliesst, mit seiner Polemik nur den Pls gegen Pls (unter einer Voraussetzung wie die II Pt 3.16 vorliegende) vertheidigen wollte, was dann freilich in überaus unvorsichtiger und missverständlicher Weise bewerkstelligt worden wäre’ (vol. 2, p. 337). More recently, closest to my general proposal for ‘concentrating on James’ reception of Paul’ is the lively essay by Kari Syreeni which I unfortunately only read after the SBL session in 2005: ‘James and the Pauline Legacy: Power Play in Corinth?’ in Fair Play: Diversity and Conflicts in Early Christianity (Festschrift Heikki Räisänen; ed. Ismo Dunderberg, Christopher Tuckett and Kari Syreeni; NovTSup, 103; Leiden: E. J. Brill, 2002), pp. 397–437. Despite many trenchant observations, however, Syreeni’s reconstruction still relies too much on a presumed Jewish Christian/Gentile Christian dichotomy, and its concomitant assertion of ‘anti-Paulinism’, which I am seeking to call into question here (I am also not convinced that we can tell it was addressed to Corinth!). For the purposes of the present argument I am focusing, as has the history of interpretation I am seeking to engage, upon James alone in relation to Paulinism, but I have been aware as I proceeded that the literary connections between James and 1 Peter beg to be considered as well. In that connection I was delighted to learn at our SBL session of the dissertation (Aberdeen, 2005) by David Nienhuis, Not By Paul Alone: The Formation of the Catholic Epistle Collection and the Christian Canon (Waco, TX: Baylor University Press, forthcoming), which makes a similar reading of James as I  do (seeing James as part of ‘Paulinism’), but places it, as I  agree is necessary, within a larger argument about the formation of the corpus of the Catholic Epistles. I look forward to seeing his argument and am happy to direct readers to it. 28 Each of these four points enters a vast terrain on which there is a plethora of scholarship. In the confines of this essay I have had to focus on how I read the primary sources, rather than the history of scholarship on each point. 26

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of option 2 – Richard Bauckham and Luke Timothy Johnson – who have argued that James, taken to be the historical ‘James, the brother of the Lord’, though he wrote independently of Paul, was actually much closer to Paul than the exegetical traditions have appreciated. ‘Of all the writings in the New Testament’, Johnson writes, ‘James has the most profound kinship with the letters of Paul.’29 I agree! But not for the same reason. Both authors emphasize the theological similarities between James and Paul in service of a reconstruction of a harmonious early Christianity,30 as against the famous F. C. Baur and the Tübingen School’s theory of deep conflict at the heart of early Christianity between Paul and his opponents (James and Peter). Rather prophetically (in light of the present essay), Mark Goodacre, in his review of Bauckham’s James, remarked (though I think tongue-in-cheek): ‘Indeed Bauckham is so good at smoothing over the differences between Paul, James and other streams of early Christianity that one begins to think that Bauckham would be capable of proving that Paul himself could have written this epistle.’31 To this quip I ask in turn: if not Paul, how about a Paulinist? Is there not a nagging problem with the concordant pictures Bauckham and Johnson have produced: does the Letter of James – like Acts (esp. ch. 15), which they also hold as a largely reliable historical source – testify to a unity between the historical Paul and the historical James, or to an agreement within the literary traditions of Gentile Christianity, that is, within Paulinism? Indeed, even before we get to specifics of the theological compatibility between Paul and James on soteriology, Christology or eschatology, the most obvious similarity between the two that we should not take for granted is the fact that James’ literary rhetorical world presumes that the letter form is the medium through which Christ-believers engage in theological and pastoral reasoning. In my view this especially shows indebtedness to Paul, the first Christian letter writer who set the movement on a literary path. Paul’s letters were the first Christian literature, were widely circulated in some collected form beginning within a decade or two of his death, and became the basis for new epistolary compositions in his name (the deutero-Paulines and Pastorals). The early composition and circulation of the Pauline letters is the most secure and best attested fact about early Christian literature.32 Consequently, their influence on ‘James’ (as on so many other later first- century compositions) is inherently more likely, and on an evidentiary basis far more secure than the poorly attested (if vividly envisioned) genre of ‘Disapora’ letters from Jerusalem,33 thought to have been a direct influence on the historical James the brother of the Johnson, Brother of Jesus, p. 20; see also Johnson, The Letter of James, p. 112 (‘on the basis both of Acts and Galatians, the Jerusalem church is seen as in fundamental agreement with Paul, and James is seen as fundamentally an ally of Paul’); Bauckham, James, pp. 135–40 (‘James and Paul on Common Ground’). 30 Hence Johnson, Brother of Jesus, p. 12, speaks of ‘the thick texture of language that James and Paul each share as part of the developing Christian argot’. 31 Mark Goodacre, ‘Review of Richard Bauckham, James’, Reviews in Religion and Theology 7 (2000), pp. 52–54. 32 In the case of James, in contrast, we are faced with a strikingly different literary history: no early attestation (rather remarkable for an alleged circular letter!), and no epigoni or pseudepigraphical authors taking up and continuing the literary line of letters thus launched. Jamesian pseudepigrapha are largely apocalyptic works (the Apocryphon of James, 1 and 2 Apocalypse of James known from the Nag Hammadi corpus, and the charming legendary narrative, the Protevangelium of James). 33 In the discussion following my paper this issue came up immediately, with reference to the work of Richard Bauckham, who has appealed to a ‘tradition of letters from Jerusalem to the Diaspora’ (James, pp.  19–20), and Karl-Wilhelm Niebuhr (who was present at the session), who has taken James on this basis to be an ‘apostolischer Diasporabrief (‘Der Jakobusbrief im Licht frühjüdischer Diasporabriefe’, NTS 44 [1998], pp. 420–43 [421]). But the case is not strong, for several reasons. First, for the distinctive genre they both appeal to the data base of Jewish letters assembled earlier by Irene Taatz, Frühjüdische Briefe: die paulinischen Briefe im Rahmen der offiziellen religiösen Briefe des Frühjudentums 29

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Lord who saw himself as naturally the heir of the various authoritative Jerusalem letter writers of the past. But the letter nowhere mentions Jerusalem, nor does it claim to emanate from a ‘mother church’. Rather, the authorial voice of the Letter of James is very reminiscent of Paul,34 with his use of the same vocatives to construct a relationship with readers as recipients, which easily translates across generations by its open-ended and hermeneutically reusable ὑμεῖς and ἀδελφοί μου ἀγαπητοί. There are also favoured locutions, like μὴ πλανᾶσθε (Jas 1.16; 1 Cor. 15.33), and use of question-and-answer style.35 As with Paul’s letters, that from ‘James’ houses a combination of argument and exhortation composed by means of a fresh combination of appeals to scripture (LXX), experience and common sense intermingled (both echoing words elsewhere attributed to Jesus of Nazareth but rarely or not at all citing him as the responsible for those words). James, as with the Paulines, deftly employs theological shorthand expressions that require expansion from the existing knowledge base of the readers.36 A key instance is the cryptic formula they hold in common, ὁ κύριος τῆς δόξης (Jas 2.1, with ἡμῶν Ἰησοῦς Χριστός intervening; 1 Cor. 2.8).37 Others include his self-designation as δοῦλος κυρίου ᾽Ιησοῦ Χριστοῦ (Jas 1.1;38 Rom. 1.1; Phil. 1.1; cf. Gal. 1.10), the locution παρουσία τοῦ κυρίου (Jas 5.7; 1 Thess. (NTOA, 16; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1991). But Taatz had connected this literature, not with James, but with Paul’s letters, which she considers ‘die ältesten uns erreichbaren schriftlichen Quellen des Urchristentums’ and remarks on ‘die Bedeutung des Apostels für die Entstehung der frühchristlichen Briefliteratur’ (p. 7; on this page she leaves the relationship between James and Paul’s letters an open question, however). Second, the similarities among these ‘parallels’ (2 Maccabees 1–2, The Letter of Jeremiah, Syriac Baruch 78–86, Paraleipomena Jeremiou 6–7, a few references to letters in rabbinic hterature and the Elephantini papyri) and between them and James, in terms of form, structure, content, types of argumentation or length are not nearly as impressive as those between the Letter of James and the Pauline epistles. Third, there are problems with the attempt to establish a uniform category from even these few examples. For instance, Bauckham concludes that James fits the subcategory of diasporan ‘letters of more general advice and paraenesis’, of which no authentic example exists, and the pseudepigraphal ones to which he appeals are either not to the Diaspora (The Letter of Jeremiah addresses Jews in Jerusalem before they are exiled, according to its narrative framing – it has no epistolary forms), or could not chronologically constitute a literary precedent for the historical James on their dating (2 Baruch 78–86 is post-70 ce). That leaves only one letter in the category: James. Lastly, even if we were to grant the existence of this genre, there is no exegetical basis in the text of James for the claims that ‘it communicates to the Diaspora the teaching of the revered head of the mother church in Jerusalem’ (Bauckham, James, p. 20, emphasis added, to highlight these three terms which do not appear anywhere in the Letter of James). Likewise, Niebuhr’s claim that this letter is an ‘apostolischer Diasporabrief ’ founders on the fact that the author of this letter nowhere claims to be an apostle or to write with such authority (hence it clearly depends on a Pauline reading of the Letter of James!). And the theological themes to which Niebuhr appeals – unity of the people in relationship to the one god and future expectation – are surely to be found in the Pauline letters, so they do not well serve as the basis for a generic distinction that justifies the claim of independence for the Letter of James from Pauline literary traditions. 34 With a major exception:  the complete lack of reference to the sender’s own religious experience as a basis for authority. As commentators have long noted, a strong argument against historical genuineness of authorship is the fact that the epistolary James draws not at all on his special relationship with his brother, either before or after his death (as Paul must do). 35 Johnson, Letter of James, pp. 59–64, accounts for the similarity in diction generally by appeal to the shared diatribe style and common role of the two authors as ‘moral teachers’, but one certainly could not place Epictetus, for instance, or even Ben Sirach, in their company and find the same level of correspondence in both style, terminology and thematic concerns. 36 Fuller discussion of this phenomenon in Margaret M. Mitchell, ‘Rhetorical Shorthand in Pauline Argumentation: The Functions of “The Gospel” in the Corinthian Correspondence’, in Gospel in Paul: Studies on Corinthians, Galatians and Romans (Festschrift Richard N. Longenecker; ed. L. A. Jervis and P. Richardson; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1994), pp. 63–88. 37 Which is not found elsewhere in the NT (there is, as is well known, much dispute about how the genitive construes), but see ὁ κύριος τῆς δόξης in another Paulinist document, Barn. 21.9. 38 In compound also with θεοῦ, a self-designation, as commentators have observed, that is odd for ‘James the brother of the Lord’, if he is the presumed author.

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2.19; 3.13; 5.23; 1 Cor. 15.23),39 ὄνομα as an apparent reference to baptism in the name of Jesus (Jas 2.7; 1 Cor. 6.11),40 ἐκκλησία (Jas 5.14; ubiquitously in Paul’s letters from 1 Thess. 1.1 forward), and a constellation of shorthand terms like πίστις τοῦ κυρίου Ἰησοῦ Χριστοῦ, ἔργα and δικαιοσύνη, which serve to redefine the apparently self-evident denotation ‘νόμος’, either in whole or part (as well as the use of the love command Lev. 19.18).41 The focal point here is not just the content of these terms and whether the author of James uses them entirely the same way as does Paul,42 but the literary-theological poetics of shorthand locutions that readers schooled in the Pauline epistolary (including modern scholars!) are used to filling out from a presumed stock of shared assumptions. The social-historical world constructed in James is also quite similar to that in Paul’s letters, with the ‘present’ set within the template of apocalyptic eschatology, and unspecified (and hence hermeneutically reusable) ‘afflictions’ or ‘trials’, occasioning from the author’s exhortations to the requisite virtues of wakefulness, strengthened heart43 and patience. Both engage in discussion of Jewish law and its importance, but strangely for a first-century Jewish context do not mention Sabbath or temple cult.44 Concern is expressed for ‘holiness/sanctification’, but it is metaphorical, not connected with cleansing rituals (Jas 1.27; 4.8; 1 Thess. 3.13, etc.). The local situation involves a congregational context (ἐκκλησία) with gatherings including rich and poor (Jas 2.1-7; 1 Cor. 11.17-22), and stereotypical community problems of backbiting, judging, bickering and factions diagnosed as a failure of sectarian boundaries against ‘the wisdom of this world’ (1 Cor. 1.20; 3.19; Gal. 5.15-21; Jas 3.15-16). The theological/religious world of the Letter of James also bears much in common with the Pauline letters: monotheism is proclaimed and uncontested (Jas 2.19; 1 Cor. 8.6; cf. Gal. 2.20); ‘God’ is understood without argument to be the one God of the Scriptures (γραφαί) of Israel, who stands in mythological opposition to the σατανᾶς or διάβολος, with active belief in demons (Jas 2.19; 1 Cor. 10.20-21) and exhortations to petitionary prayer as effective. God is seen as judge (hence concern for ἁμαρτία) but also merciful; humans are enjoined not to engage in judgment here and now, with a strikingly similar rhetorical barb (σὺ δὲ τίς εἶ ὁ κρίνων τὸν πλησίον; [Jas 4.12]; σὺ τίς εἶ ὁ κρίνων ἀλλότριον οἰκέτην; [Rom. 14.4]). The forms and paradoxes of paraenesis are shared as well:  the recipients, addressed as ‘you’, alternately singular and plural, are admonished and encouraged not just

It should be noted that Paul’s major shorthand term, εὐαγγέλιον, is, however, not found in James. That author prefers Paul’s shorthand for that shorthand, λόγος (e.g., 1 Thess. 1.6; Gal. 6.6; the referents of λόγος in Jas 1.21-23 are widely disputed, perhaps precisely because it is shorthand), or λόγος ἀληθείας (Jas 1.18; cf. 2 Cor. 6.7; Eph. 1.13; Col. 1.5). 40 Compare also other actions done ἐν τῷ ὀνόματι τοῦ κυρίου in Jas 5.10 and 14 and Rom. 15.9; 1 Cor. 5.4; Col. 3.17 (this is a Septuagintalism, however). 41 Parallels are too numerous to cite, but a comparison of James 1–2 with Romans 2–3 and Galatians 2–6 makes this quite clear. 42 Like William Brosend, I much enjoyed Sharon Dowd’s neat phrase that ‘James is using Paul’s vocabulary, but not his dictionary’ (‘Faith that Works: James 2.14–26’, RevExp 97 [2000], pp. 195–205 [202]). But it is problematic to assume that Paul’s dictionary only included one gloss for each term! BDAG has three entries for πίστις and more than ten subcategories within them, and sprinkles Pauline usages liberally among them (and the pseudepigraphal Paulines follow suit). 43 στηρίξατε τὰς καρδίας ὑμῶν (Jas 5.8); εἰς τὸ στηρίξαι ὑμῶν τὰς καρδίας (1 Thess. 3.13). 44 The absence of reference to circumcision in James points also to its Paulinist background; as in the deutero-Paulines and Acts, the actual dispute over circumcision of Gentile converts stands in the past, now resolved. 39

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to be hearers (ἀκροαταί) of the law, but doers (ποιηταί) (Jas 1.22-23; Rom. 2.13), even as the ethical impulse to do the good is theoretically already said to be within them (Jas 1.21; Gal. 5.18). Those who do not fulfil the law are called παραβάται (Gal. 2.18; Rom. 2.25, 27; Jas 2.11; 2.9).45 Above all, both the author of the Letter of James and Paul and his followers presume that theological advance and change should come from literary texts (letters) and discussion about their meaning;46 texts beget other texts, which massage and reinterpret the meaning of key statements, words and concepts. The words of Scripture (LXX) are knitted into the arguments, but are not the main focus of exposition (as in a homily, for instance), which seems to be refining Christian traditions against misunderstanding. It is especially in this respect that we can see how much the textual programme of James bears affinities with documents of later Paulinism (ca. 70 to 120 ce). They share the following elements (in common distinction from the genuine Paulines):47 a. Pseudepigraphy as a customary vehicle for authoritative teaching for the present grounded in the Christian past, including as senders or recipients figures named in Paul’s letters (Paul, Peter, James, Timothy, Titus, Barnabas, [Clement?]).48 b. Invocation of Paul by name, allusion or textual echo as authoritative teacher.49 c. Free incorporation of other materials, both traditional and original, with ‘Pauline’ teaching.50 d. Lack of reference to real disputes over circumcision. e. Lack or diminished mention of Paul’s characteristic theme of the cross/crucifixion.51 f. De-emphasis on the Christological title ‘Son of God’.52 g. Insistence on traditional forms of ethical behaviour (εὐσέβεια in Pastorals; care of the poor and orphans and widows in James). h. Emphasis on church offices (ἐπίσκοποι, πρεσβύτεροι) and on the concordant running of the ο῏ ικος.53

The only places the term is used in the NT (with the exception of the unique D text logion inserted at Lk. 6.4). See Gamble on ‘the intense literary activity that characterized the Pauline theological tradition in the late first century’ (Books and Readers in the Early Church, p. 198). 47 I am assuming here the seven Pauline homologoumena. 48 The almost total lack of attempt at verisimilitude in James corresponding to a named figure and context (outside of the prescript in 1.1) is closest to the latter two documents, and the Pauline pseudepigraphon Ephesians. 49 Interestingly, this parallels the way Paul invoked Jesus! 50 Because other pseudo-Paulines do this so liberally, it is not a decisive counter-argument to my proposal that not everything in the Letter of James is paralleled in the Pauline epistles (as is indeed the case). Drawing on the other Pauline pseudepigrapha as our model (perhaps with one exception, 2 Thessalonians, which so closely fits 1 Thessalonians), that is precisely what we should expect. The new letters do not just restate the past, but they address the present through interpretation of the prior texts and assimilation of new material to them. 51 This is the case with the Pastorals, not the deutero-Paulines (Eph. 2.16; perhaps Col. 1.20; 2.14). 52 Two exceptions in the deutero-Paulines are Col. 1.13 and Eph. 4.13 53 James does not have a full household code, but it does assume the role of elders in the church (oἱ πρεσβύτεροι τῆς ἐκκλησίας in 5.14), something the genuine Paulines do not, but the Pastorals do (1 Tim. 5.17, 19; 4.14; Tit. 1.5) 45 46

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i. An attempt to insist upon the ‘right interpretation’ of Paul, both by re-presenting his authority in one particular manner, and by a two-pronged rhetorical strategy that can also be found in Paul’s genuine letters: first, a rhetoric characterized by invective, excoriation, even cursing of the opposition for having misunderstood the ‘real’ Paul and the traditions he has left behind (e.g., 2 Thess. 2.1-15; 1 Tim. 1.18-20; 4.1-7; 6.20-21; 2 Tim. 1.13-18; 2.14-21; 3.1-9), and second, an irenic appeal to ‘the ties that bind’ and to a unified ecclesial vision with collegial apostolic roots that extend to the very beginning (Ephesians [esp. 2.14–3.19]; Acts). This involves both placing Paul harmoniously in the company of the other apostles (Eph. 2.20; cf. 3.8!) and fashioning Peter and James in a Pauline mode.54 b.  The Letter of James Not Only Shows Knowledge of Galatians and/or Romans, but Also 1 Corinthians, and Hence the Author Knew the Pauline Letters as Interpretively Shaped by Some Form of the Pauline Letter Collection The pseudepigraphical Letter of James, ‘slave of God and the Lord Jesus Christ’, is also ‘on the Pauline page’. As stated above, I regard the arguments for the author of James’ knowledge of Galatians, on the basis of Jas 2.14-26, to be convincing. In brief, they are: a) ‘The thesis ἐκ πίστεως μόνον which James contradicts is nowhere met with in the whole literature of Judaism and of the earliest Christianity except only in Paul.’55 b) The implicit dichotomy of πίστις and ἔργα in relation to their effectiveness for δικαιοῦσθαι is a uniquely Pauline formulation. c) The use of δικαιοῦσθαι and σώζεσθαι as synonyms is characteristic of Pauline soteriological shorthand. d) The same exemplum of Abraham, and same strategy found in history of Paul’s own letters of picking different episodes from the Abraham cycle in Genesis 11–25 to make one’s point. e) The same Scripture quotation, Gen. 15.6, used to pick out the same key terms. f) Not only the same vocabulary, but even the same parallel antithetical structure:56 ἵνα δικαιωθῶμεν ἐκ πίστεως Χριστοῦ καὶ οὐκ ἐξ ἔργων νόμου, ὃτι ἐξ ἔργων νόμου οὐ δικαιωθήσεται πᾶσα σάρξ. (Gal. 2.16) ἐξ ἔργων δικαιοῦται ἄνθρωπος καὶ οὐκ ἐκ πίστεως μόνον. (Jas 2.24)

With, inter alia, Ernst Haenchen, The Acts of the Apostles: A Commentary (Hermeneia; Philadelphia: Westminster, 1971), p. 469: ‘1. Peter’s speech is a Lucan composition without value as a historical source; 2. James’s scriptural proof cannot possibly derive from him, for it presupposes Hellenistic Gentile Christian interpretation of LXX . . . the whole scene of [Acts] 15.4-18 is an integral essay on the part of Luke to depict and at the same time justify the ultimate acceptance of the Gentile mission without circumcision.’ 55 Joachim Jeremias, ‘Paul and James’, ExpTim 66 (1955), pp. 368–71 (368). 56 This is less so for Rom. 3.28, which is materially but not formally similar:  λογιζόμεθα γὰρ δικαιοῦσθαι πίστει ἄνθρωπον χωρὶς ἔργων νόμου. 54

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But the author of James also had 1 Corinthians in his corpus Paulinum,57 and drew plentifully on it in composing his letter.58 The most clear evidence of literary dependence is some characteristic patterns of diction in 1 Corinthians found also found in James. Note the following phrases, which keep the same word order in each instance, but differ solely with the adjective (a variation made by Paul himself, as you can see): Εἴ τις δοκεῖ θρησκὸς εἶναι. (Jas 1.26) εἴ τις δοκεῖ σοφὸς εἶναι. (1 Cor. 3.18) Εἰ δέ τις δοκεῖ φιλόνεικος εἶναι. (1 Cor. 11.16) Εἴ τις δοκεῖ προφήτης εἶναι ἢ πνευματικός. (1 Cor. 14.37) These four citations the only instances of this syntactical construction in the NT, are in these two letters, James and 1 Corinthians. The same is true of another pair of identical sentences: Τί τὸ ὄφελος; (Jas 2.14) τί τὸ ὄφελος; (Jas 2.16) τί μοι τὸ ὄφελος; (1 Cor. 15.32)59 A last, most telling example is: Μὴ πλανᾶσθε. (Jas 1.16) Μὴ πλανᾶσθε. (1 Cor. 6.9) Μὴ πλανᾶσθε. (1 Cor. 15.33) Μὴ πλανᾶσθε. (Gal. 6.6) This might seem to be conventional exhortatory vocabulary that could be shared by a host of authors in the ancient world (Christian and nonChristian).60 However, Paul is actually the first attested user of the phrase in Greek literature and, apart from a single instance in Epictetus (Diss. 4.6.23), the phrase is found only in Christian texts.61 What is most telling is that in usage

I am not the first to argue this. See Edgar J. Goodspeed, Introduction to the New Testament (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1937), pp. 291–92:  ‘He shows use of Romans, 1 Corinthians, and Galatians and probably used Ephesians and Philippians. He knows Hebrews, too’; Birger A. Pearson, The Pneumatikos-Psychikos Terminology in 1 Corinthians. A Study in the Theology of the Corinthian Opponents and its Relation to Gnosticism (SBLDS, 12; Missoula, MT: Society of Biblical Literature, 1973), p. 14: Syreeni, ‘James and the Pauline Legacy’, p. 400. Even earlier Mayor, St. James, pp. xci–xcix, catalogued a host of resemblances between James and 1 Corinthians as part of his argument for reverse influence (‘while St. James has no reference to St Paul, St. Paul on the contrary writes with constant reference to St James’ [p. xcii]). Differently, see Luedemann, Opposition to Paul, p. 145: ‘there are no other passages [besides Rom. 4.2-3; 3.28; Gal. 2.16] from the Pauline letters reflected in James’. But what form of the corpus could possibly have mediated this patchwork knowledge of the letters? 58 This would explain the preponderance of reference to 1 Corinthians in Bauckham’s argument for the commonalities between James and Paul (James, pp. 136–40). 59 Observed by Syreeni, ‘James and the Pauline Legacy’, p. 403 (with n. 24). 60 Without further evidence one would have to admit this for the parallel ἀλλ’ ἐρεῖ τις in Jas 2.18, as in 1 Cor. 15.35, for instance. 61 The one exception being, strictly speaking, the emperor Julian’s quotation of 1 Cor. 6.9 in contra Galilaeos 209! 57

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the imperatival phrase is entirely linked to Paul. Virtually all Christian authors who use it down through late antiquity are quoting one of these Pauline sentences, with two exceptions – Ignatius, who is clearly imitating Paul,62 and James. I take this as strong evidence that James is alluding to Paul (by quotation or imitation) here, as well. This is confirmed also by the fact that he even follows it up with the Pauline: ἀδελφοί μου ἀγαπητοί.63 Dependence on 1 Corinthians is also strikingly clear from places where a concatenation of phrases and content from a section or sections of 1 Corinthians are reprised in James. δόκιμος γενόμενος λήμψεται τὸν στέφανον τῆς ζωῆς ὃν ἐπηγγείλατο τoῖς ἀγαπῶσιν αὐτόν. (Jas 1.12) πᾶς δὲ ὁ ἀγωνιζόμενος πάντα ἐγκρατεύεται, ἐκεῖνοι μὲν οὖν ἵνα φθαρτὸν στέφανον λάβωσιν, ἡμεῖς δὲ ἄφθαρτον . . . ἀλλὰ ὑπωπιάζω μου τὸ σῶμα καὶ δουλαγωγῶ, μή πως ἄλλοις κηρύξας αὐτὸς ἀδόκιμος γένωμαι. (1 Cor. 9.25-27) cf. earlier: ἃ ἡτοίμασεν ὁ θεὸς τoῖς ἀγαπῶσιν αὐτόν. Here the James sentence grabs the full gist of Paul’s argument in 1 Cor. 9.25-27, undoes the litotes of a favoured Pauline term64 (from μὴ . . . ἀδόκιμος to δόκιμος) and compresses the athletic imagery into terse formulation, combining it also with the notion of apocalyptic divine gifts found in the enigmatic 1 Cor. 2.9. This method of use – by contextual recasting and recombination – of 1 Corinthians can also be found in the following: οὐχ ὁ θεὸς ἐξελέξατο τοὺς πτωχοὺς τῷ κόσμῳ πλουσίους ἐν πίστει καὶ κληρονόμους τῆς βασιλείας ἧς ἐπηγγείλατο τoῖς ἀγαπῶσιν αὐτόν; (Jas 2.5) ἀλλὰ τὰ μωρὰ τοῦ κόσμου ἐξελέξατο ὁ θεὸς ἵνα καταισχύνῃ τοὺς σοφούς, καὶ τὰ ἀσθενῆ τoῦ κόσμου ἐξελέξατο ὁ θεὸς ἵνα καταισχύνῃ τὰ ἰσχυρά, καὶ τὰ ἀγενῆ τοῦ κόσμου καὶ τὰ ἐξουθενημένα ἐξελέξατο ὁ θεός, τὰ μὴ ὄντα, ἵνα τὰ ὄντα καταργήσῃ. (1 Cor. 1.27-28) ἢ οὐκ οἴδατε ὅτι ἄδικοι θεοῦ βασιλείαν οὐ κληρονομήσουσιν; μὴ πλανᾶσθε. (1 Cor. 6.9) ἃ ἡτοίμασεν ὁ θεὸς τoῖς ἀγαπῶσιν αὐτόν. (1 Cor. 2.9) A final example of this combinatory hermeneutic throws into relief a major element in how the author of James understood 1 Corinthians: οὐκ ἔστιν αὕτη ἡ σοφία ἄνωθεν κατερχομένη, ἀλλὰ ἐπίγειος, ψυχική, δαιμονιώδης. ὅπου γὰρ ζῆλος καὶ ἐριθεία, ἐκεῖ ἀκαταστασία καὶ πᾶν φαῦλον πρᾶγμα. (1 Jas. 3.15-16): 

Ignatius quotes 1 Cor. 6.9, beginning with Μὴ πλανᾶσθε in Eph. 16.1 and Phld. 3.3, so it seems quite clear that (as often) he is imitating Paul when he writes, Μὴ πλανᾶσθε ταῖς ἑτεροδοξίαις μηδὲ μυθεύμασιν τοῖς παλαιοῖς ἀνωφελέσιν οὖσιν in Magn. 8.1. 63 1 Cor. 15.58 ἀδελφοί μου ἀγαπητοί (note exact same word order); also Phil. 4.1. Paul of course can use either ἀδελφοί or ἀγαπητοί alone, also (Rom. 12.19; 1 Cor. 10.14). 64 Both terms are found only in Pauline and pseudo-Pauline texts elsewhere in the NT. 62

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ψυχικὸς δὲ ἄνθρωπος οὐ δέχεται τὰ τoῦ πνεύματος τοῦ θεοῦ, μωρία γὰρ αὐτῷ ἐστιν, καὶ οὐ δύναται γνῶναι . . . ἔτι γὰρ σαρκικοί ἐστε. ὅπου γὰρ ἐν ὑμῖν ζῆλος καὶ ἔρις, οὐχὶ σαρκικοί ἐστε καὶ κατὰ ἄνθρωπον περιπατεῖτε; (1 Cor. 2.14–3.3) οὐ γάρ ἐστιν ἀκαταστασίας ὁ θεὸς ἀλλὰ εἰρήνης. (1 Cor. 14.3) In particular, the author who adopts the name ‘James’ found the unity topoi and terminology Paul had used in 1 Corinthians65 particularly congenial to his purposes. Shared lexical terms used to refer to factionalism, which in several cases significantly are found mostly or exclusively in 1 Corinthians66 and James in the NT, include: a. ἀκαταστασία/ἀκατάστατος (1 Cor. 14.33; Jas 1.8; 3.16).67 b. ζῆλος conjoined with ἔρις/ἐριθεία (1 Cor. 3.3; Jas 3.14, 16).68 c. ζηλοῦσθαι (1 Cor. 13.4; cf. 12.31; 14.1, 39; Jas 4.2). d. ψυχικός (1 Cor. 2.14; 15.44, 46; Jas 3.15).69 e. μέλος (1 Cor. 6.15; 12.12,14, 18, 19, 20, 22, 25, 26, 27; Jas 3.5, 6; 4.1). f. (κατα)καυχᾶσθαι (1 Cor. 1.29, 31; 3.21; 4.7; 13.3; Jas 1.9; 2.13; 3.14; 4.16).70 g. κενή, -ός (1 Cor. 15.14 – of πίστις; Jas 2.20 of a man with idle πίστις). This understanding of 1 Corinthians as an argument for concord in the εκκλησία which draws upon popular Greek political topoi extends also to the author of the Letter of James’ appropriation of some of those topoi – tellingly, in their Christianized Pauline form – in his letter: a. Body and members, used both for individuals and the corporate entity, one member or other singled out for its role in relation to the health of the whole (1 Cor. 6.15-20; 12.1213; Jas 3.5-6; 4.1). b. Factional strife as wisdom of ‘this world’, contrasted with spiritual wisdom, an unbridgeable dichotomy between which the hearer must choose allegiance (1 Cor. 1.18– 4.21; Jas 3.13–4.12). c. Chiding for bad boasts (1 Cor. 5.6; Jas 4.16, etc.). d. Remedy of keeping your eye on the eschatological prize (9.24-27; Jas 1.12; 3.1; 5.1-8). e. Diagnosis that judging in the present leads to strife, and needs to be tempered by orientation to the threat of eschatological judgment to come (1 Cor. 4.1-5; Jas 4.11-12).

Arguments for this reading may be found in Mitchell, Paul and the Rhetoric of Reconciliation. In a few cases also in another Pauline letter (see notes 68 and 70). 67 With one exception (Lk. 21.9), these terms are found in the NT only in James and Paul (also 2 Cor. 6.5; 12.20). 68 Paul likes the pair, and also sets ἔρις and ἐριθεία in play together; see also 2 Cor. 12.20; Gal. 5.20. 69 This word is only found here and in Jude 19 in the NT. Pearson (Pneumatikos-Psychikos Terminology, p. 14) posited James’ dependence on 1 Corinthians for the term (discussion in Mitchell, Paul and the Rhetoric of Reconciliation, p. 212, n. 137). 70 As is very well known, the language of boasting is a special predilection of Paul, who includes 56 instances collectively of the four cognate terms καυχᾶσθαι/κατακαυχᾶσθαι/ καύχημα/καύχησις in the seven genuine letters. The only other NT writers to use it are the deutero-Pauline authors in Eph. 2.9; 2 Thess. 1.4; Heb. 3.6 and the author of James (fully five instances, employing three different cognate terms). 65 66

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This body of evidence – patterns of diction, verbal linkages,71 topoi and contextualized usage of the argument of 1 Corinthians – seems to me very strong evidence that the author of James knew 1 Corinthians,72 as well as Galatians. c. If the Author of the Letter of James Knew a Collection of Paul’s Letters Including At Least 1 Corinthians and Galatians73 and Incorporated Elements of Both in His Letter, He May Have Been Addressing Some of the Tensions between the Two Letters That Later Pauline Interpreters Sensed So Acutely Galatians and 1 Corinthians represent in some ways quite different, even conflicting Pauline voices, the former an adamant argument for the sole truth of his gospel in the face of other missionaries urging compulsory adherence to ‘the law’, and the latter an active plea for conciliation in the face of divisiveness, regarded as a ‘worldly’ and ‘fleshly’ pursuit not befitting the ἐκκλησία. It is here that fourth-century Pauline commentators help us to see that the earliest collection of the corpus Paulinum, even as it served to render ‘occasional’ and audiencespecific writings available to a universalizing audience, would have revealed ways in which Paul was inconsistent and in various respects left a problematic legacy. It is clear that Galatians in particular was a problem, both for its combative tone and the evidence it gave of conflict between Paul and James and Cephas/Peter. John Chrysostom, for instance, found Paul’s words to Peter at Antioch so problematic that he devoted a special homily to them, and he addressed the problem of Pauline θυμός from the outset of his continuous commentary on Galatians.74 The following excerpts from the occasional homily on Gal. 2.11-14 reveal the difficulty John saw in reading Galatians and 1 Corinthians side by side: So then, does it not disturb each person who hears this, that Paul stood up against Peter, that the pillars of the church are colliding and striking against one another [Ἆρα oὖν οὐ θορυβεῖ ἕκαστον τῶν ἀκουόντων τοῦτο, ὅτι Παῦλος ἀντέστη τῷ Πέτρῳ, ὅτι oἱ στῦλοι τῆς ’Εκκλησίας συγκρούονται καὶ ἀλλήλοις προσπίπτουσι]? .  .  . Perhaps you praised Paul for his outspokenness, because he did not fear the station of the person in question, because for the sake of the gospel he did not blush before those present. But even if this is a praise of Paul, it redounds to our shame. Why, if Paul acted rightly? Because then Peter did badly, if Paul was not acting rightly. What gain then is it to me when either one of the yoked pair is hamstrung [Tί oὖν ἐμοὶ τὸ ὄφελος, ὅταν τῆς ξυνωρίδος θάτερος ἵππος χωλεύῃ]? . . .

To these we should also add the only uses of the term κριτήριον in the NT, in reference to court cases dividing the church community (1 Cor. 6.2, 4; Jas 2.6). 72 I would posit that this case is as strong as or stronger than that Johnson (who denies the use of Pauline letters by the author of James) seeks to make for the use of James by the author of 1 Clement (Johnson, Brother of Jesus, pp. 52–56, 91–96). 73 There are good reasons to think that the author had a collection that contained also at least Romans, but I cannot go into that here. For the purposes of this argument it is enough to say that the tensions between Galatians and 1 Corinthians in the corpus are most striking, even as Romans may have acted (I think it did act) as a buffer between the two, and may have been an influence on this author (as on others in the history of Pauline interpretation) in seeking a middle path. 74 Πολλοῦ τὸ προοίμιον γέμει θυμoῦ καὶ μεγάλου φρονήματος (John Chrysostom, comm. in Gal. 1.1 [PG vol. 61, col. 611]). 71

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Did you praise Paul? Hear now how what is said is a cause of accusation against Paul, if we do not hunt down the hidden sense in the words. What do you say, Paul? Did you rebuke Peter ‘when you saw that he did not act rightly toward the truth of the gospel’? Well done. Then for what reason did you do it ‘to his face’? For what reason ‘before them all’? Was it not necessary to make the reproof without a witness present? Why is it that you set the trial in public and caused many to be witnesses of the accusation? Further, who would not say that you are doing this from enmity and envy and contentiousness? Were not you the one who said, ‘I have been to the weak as weak’ (1 Cor. 9.22) [καὶ τίς οὐκ ἂν εἴποι, ὅτι ἐξ ἀπεχθείας τοῦτο ποιεῖς, καὶ φθόνου, καὶ φιλονεικίας; οὐ σὺ ἦσθα ὁ λέγων,’ Εγενόμην τoῖς ἀσθενέσιν ὡς ἀσθενής;] What does it mean ‘to the weak as weak’? ‘Accommodating and wrapping up their wounds’, he says, ‘and not allowing them to fall into shamelessness’. Then, if you were so full of care and philanthropy for the disciples, were you a misanthrope concerning your fellow apostle? . . . And what could be more fervent than Paul, who day by day died for the sake of Christ (1 Cor. 15.31)? But now our homily is not about courage (for what does that have to do with the case at hand?), but whether Paul was in a state of enmity toward the apostle, or whether this fight was a matter of some vainglory or contentiousness [ἀλλ’ εἰ ἀπεχθῶς πρὸς τὸν ἀπόστολον διέκειτο, ἢ εἰ κενοδοξίας τινὸς καὶ φιλονεικίας ἦν αὕτη ἡ μάχη]. But not even this can one say. No way! For Paul was not only the slave of Peter, the highest of those saints, but even of all the apostles collectively, and though he outstripped all of them in his labours, yet nevertheless he used to consider himself to be least: ‘For,’ he said, Ί am the least of the apostles, who am not worthy to be called an apostle’ (1 Cor. 15.9). And not only of the apostles, but even of all the saints collectively. For ‘to me’, he said, ‘the least of all the saints, this grace was given’ (Eph. 3.8).75 A second example, from Pelagius, brings us immediately to the theme of faith and works and the direct juxtaposition of 1 Corinthians and Romans: Some people abuse this passage [Rom. 3.28 = Gal. 2.16] to annihilate works of justice, affirming that faith alone is able to suffice [for one baptized], although the same apostle said in another place, ‘And if I have all faith, so that I even move mountains, but I do not have love, I receive no benefit’ [1 Cor. 13.2] . . . But if these statements [i.e., Rom. 3.28 and 1 Cor. 13.2 (and Rom. 13.10)] appear to be contradictory to the sense of the former, ‘apart from what works [of the law]’ is the apostle believed to have said a human being is justified by faith? Surely [the works] of circumcision and sabbath and others like those, but not works of justice, about which blessed James said, ‘faith without works is dead’ [Jas 2.26].76

John Chrysostom, In faciem ei restiti, selections from paragraphs 3 and 7 (PG vol. 51, cols. 372–74, 378), my translation. 76 Abutuntur quídam hoc loco [Rom 3.28 = Gal. 2.16] ad destructionem operum iustitiae, solam fidem [baptizato] posse sufficere adfirmantes, cum idem alibi dicat apostolus: ‘et si habuero omnem fidem, ita ut montes transferam, caritatem autem non habeam, nihil mihi prodest’ [1 Cor. 13.2] . . . quod si haec eorum sensui uidentur esse contraria, sine quibus operibus [legis] apostolus iustificari hominem per fidem dixisse credendus est? scilicet circumcisionis uel sabbati et ceterorum huius[ce]modi, non absque iustitiae operibus, de quibus beatus Iacobus dicit: fides sine operibus mortua est’ [Jas 2.26] (Pelagius, expositio in Romanos 3.28), 34 (text Alexander Souter, Pelagius’ Expositions of Thirteen Epistles 75

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In Pelagius’ view, ‘the blessed James’ serves as a mediating force between Paul and himself, that is, between the Paul of Galatians/Romans and that of 1 Corinthians, particularly on the issue of faith. For him 1 Cor. 13.2 is no less ‘Pauline’ in its depiction of faith than Rom. 3.28/Gal. 2.16. Pelagius, like Augustine (with whom he is in agreement on this point!), was a faithful reader of Paul, seeking to interpret the epistolary apostle toward the issues of his day. Was he reading James against the grain, or replicating the very purpose this Letter of James sought to enact? Were these late-fourth-century writers (to whom we can add Augustine, with whom this essay began) the first to notice these tensions inside the corpus Paulinum, and attempt to mediate them textually? The answer to that question is clearly no, and it leads me to my final proposition. d. James Is No More ‘Anti-Pauline’ Than Other Early Authors Whose Pauline Pedigree Is Impeccable, and Utterly Unquestioned Calling the Letter of James ‘anti-Pauline’ assumes that in the eyes of its author Paul and his followers were opponents who stood outside of his orbit. But many of the earliest Paulinists – the writer of 1 Clement, Ignatius of Antioch, Polycarp of Smyrna, the author of Acts – were, like that author, seeking to reconcile the epistolary Paul with himself and with the ‘pillars’ he contentiously (and, for later interpreters, rather embarrassingly) named in Gal. 2.6-9, 11-14. The author of the Letter of James was neither the first nor the last Paulinist to use Paul’s political rhetoric of concord in 1 Corinthians to soften more extreme interpretations of the apostle and his theological legacy.77 James is in many ways closest in this regard to 1 Clement78 – a document which overtly acknowledges the author’s knowledge of 1 Corinthians (47.1-3).79 1 Clement can also be seen to temper the potentially divisive effects of Galatians by recourse to Paul’s own rhetoric of reconciliation of 1 Corinthians. In the process we see the same combinatory hermeneutic observed in ‘James’ use of 1 Corinthians, and in so doing observe how Paul’s statements about δικαιοσύνη in Gal. 2.16 are softened along lines very similar to what we see in Jas 2.14-26. Here I can give just a few illustrations. The author opens the letter with concern, in Paul’s own terms, with the newest generation of Corinthian factionalists:  ’Εκ τούτου ζῆλος καὶ φθόνος, και ἔρις καὶ στάσις, διωγμὸς καὶ ακαταστασία, πόλεμος καὶ αἰχμαλωσία (1 Clem. 3.2). In ch. 5 the author seeks to link Peter and Paul together as pillars (rather than reserving the term for the Jerusalem leaders, as Paul had in Gal. 2.9), and as victims commonly of poisonous rivalry at the hands of others (rather than opposing one another ‘face to face’ [Gal. 2.11]): Διὰ ζῆλον καὶ φθόνον οἱ μέγιστοι καὶ δικαιότατοι στῦλοι ἐδιώχθησαν καὶ ἕως θανάτου ἤθλησαν (1 Clem. 5.2). Paul for this author is

of St. Paul [2 vols.; Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1926], my translation). I thank Prof. Mark Reasoner for drawing my attention to this passage in connection to the present argument. 77 I would include the author of Ephesians here, as well. 78 Luedemann, Opposition to Paul, pp. 147–48 rather astoundingly seeks to call 1 Clement and James ‘documents of an un-Pauline Christianity’. But the basis for this distinction is his own unique categories which govern his judgments (‘one must make a distinction between what the author attempted and what he really presents’ [p. 288, n. 42]). 79 But not the Letter of James! Johnson (Brother of Jesus, pp. 91–96) argues that the author of 1 Clement knew the Letter of James, but it is just as possible, if not more likely, that the author of James knew 1 Clement (unfortunately I do not have enough time to pursue the crucial δίψυχος question here!), and learned some of his conciliatory hermeneutic from it

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associated with δικαιοσύνη, but not in opposition to faith (κήρυξ γενόμενος ἔν τε τῇ ἀνατολῇ καὶ ἐν τῇ δύσει, τὸ γενναῖον τῆς πίστεως αὐτοῦ κλέος ἔλαβεν, δικαιοσύνην διδάξας ὅλον τὸν κόσμον, καὶ ἐπὶ τὸ τέρμα τῆς δύσεως ἐλθὼν καὶ μαρτυρήσας ἐπὶ τῶν ἡγουμένων, οὕτως ἀπηλλάγη τοῦ κόσμου καὶ εἰς τὸν ἅγιον τόπον ἀνελήμφθη ὑπομονῆς γενόμενος μέγιστος ὑπογραμμός [5.6-7]). Similarly, the Pauline exemplum of Abraham, together with the Scriptural tag of Gen. 15.6, is moderated from a ‘faith only’ stance by reference to his famous acts:  Ἐπίστευσεν δὲ ᾽Αβραὰμ τῷ θεῷ, καὶ ἐλογίσθη αὐτῷ εἰς δικαιοσύνην. Διὰ πίστιν καὶ φιλοξενίαν ἐδόθη αὐτῷ υἱὸς ἐν γήρα, καὶ δι’ ὑπακοῆς προσήνεγκεν αὐτὸν θυσίαν τῷ θεῷ πρὸς ἓν τῶν ὀρέων ὧν ἔδειξεν αὐτῷ (1 Clem. 10.6-7). The same is true of Rahab, of course:  Διὰ πίστιν καὶ φιλοξενίαν ἐσώθη ῾Ραὰβ ἡ πόρνη. [12.1]), who is a complementary exemplum with Abraham also in James 2.  This is consistent with the summary comment about the patriarch in 1 Clem. 31.2: Τίνος χάριν ηὐλογήθη ὁ πατὴρ ἡμῶν Ἀβραάμ, οὐχὶ δικαιοσύνην καὶ ἀλήθειαν διὰ πίστεως ποιήσας. The combinatory Pauline hermeneutic we have discussed in James is (as is widely recognized) easily evident in passage of 1 Clement such as: Μὴ καυχάσθω ὁ σοφὸς ἐν τῇ σοφίᾳ αὐτοῦ μηδὲ ὁ ἰσχυρὸς ἐν τῇ ἰσχύï αὐτοῦ μηδὲ ὁ πλούσιος ἐν τῷ πλούτῳ αὐτοῦ, ἀλλ’ ὁ καυχώμενος ἐν κυρίῳ καυχάσθω, τοῦ ἐκζητεῖν αὐτὸν καὶ ποιεῖν κρίμα καὶ δικαιοσύνην (13.1), or Κολληθῶμεν οὖν ἐκείνοις, oἷς ἡ χάρις ἀπὸ τοῦ θεοῦ δέδοται· ἐνδυσώμεθα τὴν ὁμόνοιαν ταπεινοφρονοῦντες, ἐγκρατευόμενοι, ἀπὸ παντός ψιθυρισμοῦ καί καταλαλιᾶς πόρρω ἑαυτοὺς ποιoῦντες, ἔργοις δικαιούμενοι καὶ μὴ λόγοις (30.3). The softening of Gal. 2.16 – by employment of unity topoi in or inspired by 1 Corinthians  – in a passage like 1 Clement 32–34 is unmistakable. Like the writer of the Pastoral Epistles,80 the author of 1 Clement affirms Paul’s emphasis on the signal role of faith in justification (οὐ δι’ ἑαυτῶν δικαιούμεθα οὐδὲ διὰ τῆς ἡμετέρας σοφίας ἢ συνέσεως ἢ εὐσεβείας ἢ ἔργων ὧν κατειργασάμεθα ἐν ὁσιότητι καρδίας, ἀλλὰ διὰ τῆς πίστεως, δι’ ἧς πάντας τοὺς ἀπ’ αἰῶνος ὁ παντοκράτωρ θεὸς ἐδικαίωσεν [32.4]), even as he issues in the next breath the exhortation: ‘let us work the work of justification with our whole heart!’ (ἐξ ὅλης τῆς ἰσχύος ἡμῶν ἐργασώμεθα ἔργον δικαιοσύνης).81 The same is true for the Letter of Polycarp to the Philippians, which is also explicit in referring to Paul’s letters as authoritative and citing them both selectively and interpretively. Polycarp repeats the Eph. 2.8 recasting of the antithesis Gal. 2.16:  in 1.3, ὅτι χάριτί ἐστε σεσωσμένοι, οὐκ ἐξ ἔργων, but then can posit that resurrection is conditional upon deeds (ὁ δὲ ἐγείρας αὐτὸν ἐκ νεκρῶν καὶ ἡμᾶς ἐγερεῖ, ἐὰν ποιῶμεν αὐτοῦ τὸ θέλημα καὶ πορευώμεθα ἐν ταῖς ἐντολαῖς αὐτoῦ καὶ ἀγαπῶμεν, ἃ ἠγάπησεν [2.2]). Praising Paul’s letters, and even emulating his use of the triad of faith, hope and love, Polycarp, who names the topic of his own letter as δικαιοσύνη (Ταῦτα, ἀδελφοί, οὐκ ἐμαυτῷ ἐπιτρέψας γράφω ὑμῖν περὶ τῆς δικαιοσύνης [3.1]), urges attendance on neighbour-love (as did Paul in Gal. 5.14), and says that the person who remains in those three things ‘has fulfilled the commandment of justification’ (πεπλήρωκεν ἐντολὴν δικαιοσύνης’ [3.3]).

E.g., 1 Tim. 2.10; 3.1; 5.10, 25; 6.18; 2 Tim. 2.21; 3.17; 4.14; cf. 1.9!; Tit. 1.16; 2.7, 14; 3.1, 5,8, 14. ἀλλὰ σπεύσωμεν μετὰ ἐκτενείας καὶ προθυμίας πᾶν ἔργον ἀγαθὸν ἐπιτελεῖν (1 Clem. 33.1); Ἴδωμεν, ὅτι ἐν ἔργοις ἀγαθοῖς πάντες ἐκοσμήθησαν oἱ δίκαιοι, καὶ αὐτὸς δὲ ὁ κύριος ἔργοις ἀγαθoῖς ἑαυτὸν κoσμήσας ἐχάρη (1 Clem. 33.7). 80 81

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If the Letter of James shares this harmonizing Paulinist hermeneutic, then why has the ‘antiPauline’ charge even been levelled? Luther’s disparagement of the epistle (‘we should throw the epistle of James out of this school!’)82 has of course played an enormous role in the history of research since early modernity, but also the prosopopoeia with τις in Jas 2.14, 16, 18 has temptingly been applied to Paul (rather than another Pauline reader, as in the Pastorals). But ironically one can regard that τις as itself a Pauline inheritance, for the apostle himself used that rhetorical question form (τις) to raise and dismiss a possible false interpretation of his words by one of his own readers in 1 Cor. 15.35.

4. Conclusion I have argued that scholars cannot merely sidestep the question of the relationship of the Letter of James to Paul, as recent voices have sought to, but would do well to reorient the question in two ways from the older approaches: (1) away from overly rigid assumptions about what is truly Paul or misunderstood Paul, and (2) toward investigation of James’ Paulinism in relation to the history of the corpus Paulinum and its earliest interpreters. If it can be shown that the author of the Letter of James knew, not just Galatians and/or Romans, but also 1 Corinthians, then we should take seriously the impact of the hermeneutical tensions inherent in even the early forms of the collection of Paul’s letters on this act of Pauline interpretation. Seen in this way the author of James, like the author of 1 Clement and Polycarp, saw the rhetoric of reconciliation in Paul’s 1 Corinthians to be a resource for resolving the tensions caused by its proximity to Galatians, which we know from later interpretation to have left a problematic Pauline legacy. At first glance this might sound like a return to the older Baur theory of ‘early catholicism’ reconciling Gentile and Jewish Christianity, but it is not, for the reconciliation I posit here is entirely within Gentile Christianity, that is, within the Paulinist literary traditions. The historical James, ‘the brother of the Lord’, may well have represented something we might choose to call and recover as ‘Jewish Christianity’, but his own authentic voice has not been preserved, probably because he was not an author (and why should he have been?). So why a letter from ‘James a slave of God and the Lord Jesus Christ’ to address pastoral questions among later Gentile Christians, and resolve tensions evident within the corpus Paulinum? The answer can reasonably be found in the scandal that results from the authority ascribed to Galatians in the earliest collection of the Pauline epistles in the late first century: like 1 Peter (with which many see a direct literary relationship), the Letter of James is a conscious attempt to include all parties at the notorious ‘Antioch incident’ as actually (despite Gal. 2.10-14) on the same page (cf. Acts 15). The authorial prescript uses a Pauline self-designation (cf. Rom. 1.1; Phil. 1.1; Gal. 1.10; Tit. 1.1; cf. Jude 1) to introduce a Pauline ‘tool’ (the epistle as vehicle of teaching) in which the named author, James, has no definable self-characterization thereafter, but presents a theological formulation that reconciles Paul with Paul and, implicitly, Paul with the ‘pillars’. It is significant in this respect that our two focal texts, Galatians and 1 Corinthians, are the only Pauline letters that mention ‘James’ (1 Cor. 15.7; cf. 9.5; Gal. 1.19; 2.9, 12). ‘Epistolam Iacobi eiciemus ex hoc schola, dem sie soll nichts. Nullam syllabam habet de Christo’ (Martin Luther, ‘Tischreden’ no. 5443 [1542], vol. 5, p. 157). I cite this impassioned injunction from Luther because it is less wellknown than the famous ‘epistle of straw’ epithet. 82

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NARRATING THE GOSPEL IN 1 AND 2 PETER

Joel B. Green

Recent interest in theological interpretation of the Bible brings to the surface a number of important and not a few difficult questions.1 For persons trained in biblical studies as this has been practiced in the last two centuries, these would include: ● ●

● ● ● ●

What is the role of history and historical criticism? What is the status and role of the Old Testament in the two-testament canonical Scriptures? What is the relationship between exegesis and Christian formation? What is the relationship between exegesis and doctrine? What is the nature of the unity of Scripture? What is the role of the canon in theological interpretation?2

Does theological interpretation extract theological claims or principles from the Bible? Does it organize the theological witness of each biblical book, understood discretely on its own terms? Does it draw up the plans for a theological superstructure towering above a biblical foundation? In this essay, I want to reflect on these issues in relationship to two books, 1 and 2 Peter. First, I will note briefly how two recent NT theologians have approached the task. I will then propose an alternative approach, one congruent with narrative-theological concerns, and then, secondly, suggest what a narrative-theological reading of 2 Peter would look like before delving more fully into 1 Peter. It is in the interplay of these two reformulations of the story of God and God’s people that we can begin to reflect on the significance of reading 1 and 2 Peter side by side. Depending on the nature of one’s theological training, 1 and 2 Peter will seem either an obvious or a strange combination of books to consider. To those uninitiated into formal theological studies, it will seem obvious that 1 and 2 Peter are closely related and ought to be read serially, as one might read 1 and 2 Samuel or 1 and 2 Corinthians. After all, both carry the name of Peter, a “pillar” of the early church (Gal 2:9), and the second letter presents itself as a follow-up to the first (2 Pet 3:1). Why not examine these two letters side by side in order to ascertain a “Petrine” gospel? To the theologically trained, on the other hand, the interesting relationship is not between 1 and 2 Peter, but between 2 Peter and Jude. Critical readers will discern in parallels like Jude 17–18 // 2 Pet 3:1–3 evidence of 2 Peter’s dependence on Jude, prompting the conclusion that 2

For the revival of interest in theological interpretation, see, e.g., Kevin J. Vanhoozer, ed., Dictionary for Theological Interpretation of the Bible (Grand Rapids: Baker Academic, 2005). 2 On these issues, see Joel B. Green and Max Turner, eds., Between Two Horizons: Spanning New Testament Studies and Systematic Theology (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2000). 1

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Peter ought to be read as “2 Jude.” Moreover, stylistically, the two letters are sufficiently distinct so that it is hard to imagine that they share a single author. And, whereas 1 Peter calls itself a “brief letter” (5:12) and actually takes the form of a letter, 2 Peter refers to itself as a letter (3:1) but looks more like “testamentary literature,” a literary form that allows an honored figure to speak across time and space, even from the grave.3 In “critical studies,” then, the proximity of 1 and 2 Peter and their attribution to a common author are of no interpretive consequence. From yet a third perspective, however, given their canonical titles and shared attribution to the apostle Peter, 2 Peter invites theological reflection in relation to 1 Peter. According to this reading, the distinctions between these two books do not detract from but rather enhance our appreciation of their fecundity as a coordinated “Petrine” witness within the biblical canon.4

The Theologies of 1 and 2 Peter In as many years, two major NT theologies have recently appeared in English, and these provide a helpful point of entry. The first is by Howard Marshall, whose approach is wellrepresented in the volume’s subtitle: Many Witnesses, One Gospel.5 Marshall wants to avoid two procedural problems: the indiscriminate use of the NT materials as if they all represented the same perspective; and an anachronistic theological framework into which all NT theologies might be squeezed. Hence, the first task of NT theology is to collect the various theologies that come to expression in these books, taking seriously their diversity while at the same time remaining open to the possibility of an underlying unity. As with other NT books, then, when Marshall turns to examine 1 and 2 Peter, he treats them separately. He engages first in a sectionby-section analysis of the teaching of each, understood within their respective socio-historical contexts; he discusses major theological themes his work has surfaced; finally he identifies the core ideas of NT theology. Elsewhere, Marshall urges that propositions are what Paul has to offer us by way of theology;6 given the analogously epistolary nature of the contribution of 1 and 2 Peter to NT thought as well as the overall ideational shape of NT theology for Marshall, I presume that he would say the same of Peter. The second theology of the NT, released in 2005, is by Frank Thielman.7 In spite of its subtitle—A Canonical and Synthetic Approach—Thielman’s approach has very little to say about the OT, nor does it account for the canonical shaping of the NT documents. Interestingly, 1 and 2 Peter are not treated as they appear in the NT, side by side. Canonical sequence and 2 Peter’s reference to itself as the “second letter” (3:1) notwithstanding, Thielman treats the General Epistles in this order: James, Jude, 2 Peter, 1 John, 2 John, 3 John, 1 Peter, Hebrews. Thielman

On these and related matters of introduction, see Paul J. Achtemeier, et  al., Introducing the New Testament:  Its Literature and Theology (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2001), 513–34. 4 So Robert W. Wall, “The Canonical Function of 2 Peter,” BibInt 9 (2001): 64–81. 5 I. Howard Marshall, New Testament Theology: Many Witnesses, One Gospel (Downers Grove: InterVarsity, 2004). See already Marshall’s essays, “New Testament Theology” (1979); and “Jesus, Paul and John” (1985), now available in Jesus the Saviour: Studies in New Testament Theology (Downers Grove: InterVarsity, 1990), 15–34, 35–56. 6 I. Howard Marshall, “The Stories of Predecessors and Inheritors in Galatians and Romans,” in Narrative Dynamics in Paul: A Critical Assessment (ed. Bruce W. Longenecker; Louisville: Westminster John Knox, 2002), 204–14. 7 Frank Thielman, Theology of the New Testament: A Canonical and Synthetic Approach (Grand Rapids: Zondervan, 2005). 3

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explores the teaching of each book within the historical horizons addressed by the writing before inquiring into the possibility of unity within each of three parts of the NT:  Gospels and Acts, Paul, and the non-Pauline letters with Revelation; he then turns to the question of overall synthesis. What holds the NT together, theologically, he concludes, are five issues: the significance of Jesus; faith as a response to Jesus; the outpouring of God’s Spirit; the church as God’s people; and the consummation of all things. The OT provides linguistic and conceptual categories for shaping how to talk about those issues, but otherwise contributes little. As with Marshall, emphasis falls above all on the articulation of the message of each book within its historical horizons, with a premium placed on ideas. This kind of approach is not without merit. For example, were we to prepare our notes on the “theology of 2 Peter” along these lines, we would find important things to say about christology—including reflection on the apparent identification of Jesus as God in 1:1, as well as the letter’s overall concern with the identity of Jesus as Savior (1:11; 2:20; 3:18). Consonant with this christological focus, we would find in the author’s allusion to the scene of Jesus’ transfiguration (1:16–18) a seemingly unimpeachable confirmation of Jesus’ exalted status, just as we would find Jesus’ role as Savior worked out in terms of redemption (2:1) and above all with reference to the coming of the End. All in all, these are important affirmations regarding Jesus, however sparsely 2 Peter might develop them. It can scarcely escape our notice, though, that these christological statements dwell in the realm of abstract theological claims. True enough, the approaches sketched by Marshall and Thielman press the importance of showing the significance of these affirmations within the historical situation being addressed in 2 Peter. Nevertheless, in the end, when it comes to either the synthetic task or the contemporary theological task, what we have before us are christological propositions in search of a context. If the christology of 2 Peter (and, by extension, the theology of the NT) is to become something more than an issue to be parsed or a statement to be affirmed, then somehow, apparently, these theological principles will require re-contextualization; that is, they must be transformed in order to speak to our own times and places. In spite of its hoary pedigree, this approach too often stops short, its frames abandoned on the cutting room floor. This is not surprising. First, it has an effect that is the exact opposite of what it intended. Rather than bringing the message of the NT more fully to bear on the life and mission of the church, it tends instead to segregate that message from the contemporary church. To a large degree, this is because it perpetuates the erroneous claim that these NT materials are written to folks back then and not to the church now. The task of theological interpretation cannot bypass the theological claim that the church is one—one across time and space. The church out of which 1 Peter was written, the church to which 1 Peter was first addressed, the church that received 1 Peter as canon, the church that has engaged in interpretation of 1 Peter, and the church that today turns to it as Scripture—these are all the same church. Second, it places the need for transformation in the wrong place. This is because it assumes that what is needed is our moving into the world of the New Testament, tracking and capturing its message, then carrying it back into our worlds for transformation into contemporary idiom. But it is we who need transformation, not the Word of God. The essential division between the biblical world and our own is not historical but theological, having to do with our capacity to read ourselves into Scripture’s theological vision and so to enter into its world that we are transformed for faithful life in our world. 327

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What I am urging is a narrative-theological approach to our craft. More to the point, I am urging that this approach actually helps us to grasp better how a text like 2 Peter engages in the theological task and how to be grasped by it—and, indeed, that this is the sort of approach that characterizes the theological work of the books of 1 and 2 Peter themselves.

Narrative Theology—in an Epistle? Narrative theology refers to a constellation of approaches to the theological task typically joined by their antipathy toward forms of theology concerned with the systematic organization of propositions and grounded in ahistorical principles, and their attempt to discern an overall aim and ongoing plot in the ways of God as these are revealed in Scripture and continue to express themselves in history. A primary impetus for narrative theology comes from Scripture itself. This is true, first, in that the bulk of Scripture comes to us in the form of narratives. Second, we find in biblical texts the deliberate work of forming God’s people by shaping their story. Israel’s first “credo” took the form of a narrative: “A wandering Aramean was my father . . .” (Deut 26:5–10). The speeches in Acts interpretively render the history of Israel so as to identify the advent of Jesus as its culmination (e.g., Acts 7:2–53; 13:16–41). John’s Revelation portrays the whole of history from creation to new creation so as to transform the theological imagination of its readers. Third, the particular narratives related in the biblical books, together with the non-narrative portions of Scripture, participate in a more extensive, overarching narrative, or metanarrative. This is the story of God’s purpose coming to fruition in the whole of God’s history with us, from the creation of the world and humanity’s falling away from God, through God’s repeated attempts to restore his people culminating in the coming of Jesus of Nazareth, and reaching its full crescendo in the final revelation of Christ and the new creation. In an important sense, the Bible is nothing less than the record of the actualization (and ongoing promise) of this purpose of God in the history of the cosmos. It will be obvious already that narrative theology does not assume that all forms of discourse are narratological. The books before us, 1 and 2 Peter, are self-evidently epistolary; they do not tell a story. Nevertheless, even these books participate in a narrative—or, better, they manipulate the grand story of God’s engagement with the world and his people for theological purposes. The importance of our coming to terms with the theological work of narrativeshaping is underscored by the recognition that narrative is central to identity formation. Recent work in neurobiology emphasizes the peculiarly human capacity for and drive toward making storied sense of our world and lives. Memory formation is narratively determined, so we naturally explain our behaviors through the historical narratives by which we collaborate to create a sense of ourselves as persons and as a people. Patients who have experienced selected lesions to the brain demonstrate the inability to see what they cannot believe to be true,8 just as those of us with unaffected brains operate normally with a strong hermeneutical bias on the basis of prior beliefs, so that we actually perceive stimuli when none are physically presented.9

E.g., V. S. Ramachandran, A Brief Tour of Human Consciousness:  From Imposter Poodles to Purple Numbers (New York: Pi, 2004), ch. 2. 9 See Aaron R. Seitz, et  al.,” Seeing What Is Not There Shows the Costs of Perceptual Learning,” Proceedings of the National Academy of Sciences 102, no. 25 (21 June 2005):  9080–85. The importance of “belief ” has only begun to 8

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The narratives we tell and embody thus regulate how we construe the world. Because lifeevents do not come with self-contained and immediately obvious interpretations, we make sense by means of imaginative structures that we implicitly take to be true, normal, and good.10 From this perspective, attending to narrative theology, even in our engagement with epistolary texts, is attending to the power of theology to shape a people’s way of making sense of what they experience day by day. From this perspective, narrative is not the absence of referentiality, but rather the admission that persons and events in the world receive their significance by means of their being located in particular narratives. From this perspective, “ideas” are not ruled out of court, but gather meaning within a particular narrative by which imaginative structures are (trans)formed. In this context, narrative representation is identity formation through theological intervention.

The Narrative of 2 Peter What would a narrative approach to the theology of 2 Peter look like? How does 2 Peter represent the grand story of God, from creation to new creation? “Peter,” as I shall refer to the author of 2 Peter, presents a straightforward, linear narrative: (1) Israel’s Past → (2) Christ Event → (3) Present → (4) Eschatological Judgment Note that a narrative-theological emphasis does not disregard cognition or truth. Second Peter is obviously interested in knowledge, an interest that is documented in the range of terms “Peter” deploys: epignōsis (“knowledge, recognition”—1:2, 3, 8; 2:20), gnōsis (“knowledge”—1:5, 6; 3:18), epiginōsko (“to know, to recognize”—2:21 [2x]), and ginōsko (“to know”—1:20; 3:3). This is not knowledge of principles and systems but rather the formal aspects of our faith that cannot be segregated from but actually find their meaning within the narrative content and context of God’s revelation to us. To put it differently, this knowledge is tacit and embodied. Truth has meaning in relation to the ongoing story. In “Peter’s” reckoning, (1)  Israel’s past provides exemplars of divine judgment and rescue. (2)  The Christ-event is less the turning point of history and more the guarantee of Christ’s ability to do what is promised. “Peter’s” reflection on Christ’s divinity (1:1) and divine power (1:3) ensures that Christ is able to give his people all that is needed for faithful life in the present. Reflection on the transfiguration (1:16–18) verifies Christ’s glory, and “Peter’s” barest mention of Jesus’ death (in the language of “purchase,” 2:1) serves as a critical reminder that his audience has been liberated from one form of slavery in order to exercise their freedom from the world (2:20) and in faithful living. It is precisely at the conjunction of (1)  and (2)  that 2 Pet 3:1–2 should attract our interest: “This is now, beloved, the second letter I am writing to you; in them I am trying to arouse your sincere intention by reminding you that you should remember the words spoken in the past by the holy prophets, and the commandment of the Lord and Savior spoken through your apostles.” “Peter” thus positions 2 Peter as a sequel to 1 Peter, but, more critically, urges

be studied empirically—cf., e.g., Daniel L. Schacter and Elaine Scarry, eds., Memory, Brain, and Belief (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 2000). 10 Cf. Mark Johnson, Moral Imagination: Implications of Cognitive Science for Ethics (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1993), ch. 8.

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that these two books share a common purpose: “in them I am trying to. . . .” The agenda “Peter” lays out for these two letters has to do with putting into play the words of the prophets and the commandment of the Lord, mediated through the prophets. Israel’s past (1) and the advent of Christ (2) are set side by side, with a view to how eschatological judgment (4) ought to impinge on present faith and life (3). With these words, “Peter” prompts a theological hermeneutic— that is, a mode of understanding that takes seriously how theological commitments order our reading of Scripture. Developed more fully in 1 Pet 1:10–12, this hermeneutic is one that finds Christ and the Scriptures of Israel as mutually informing.11 This is because they say the same thing, albeit in different theological idioms; how could they not, since the prophets of old spoke as inspired by the Spirit of Christ (1 Pet 1:11)? The importance of Israel’s Scriptures is not worked out in terms of promise and fulfillment, then, but as simultaneity of substance and address. This means that “Peter” finds an essential unity in the outworking of God’s purpose, from the prophets to Christ to the apostles and, thus to the community of Christ’s followers. In this context, “remembrance” ([1]‌and [2]) is concerned with a present life (3) marked by creative fidelity: “fidelity” in the sense that the words of the prophets and commandment of the Lord set the parameters of faithful performance; “creative” in the sense that life is too particular and unruly to be carefully scripted, but Christians can nonetheless be persons shaped by this script, and who allow their lives to be set within its plot lines. Present existence (3) is cast within the eschatological horizon of impending judgment (4). Irrespective of the message of the false teachers, judgment will take place. In this way, “Peter” employs what we might recognize as a literary device known as “backshadowing,” which posits that the pattern of history is revealed, the nature of the end is known, and the present can be evaluated accordingly.12 This means that “Peter” interprets the present in light of his convictions regarding the future. In short, although the narrative “Peter” shapes is a linear one, it emphasizes Israel’s past and God’s promised future in order to shape perspective on the present, and it formulates the Christ event as the ground for Christian life and godliness. Of the four nodes in “Peter’s” narrative, two are especially underdeveloped:  Israel’s past and the advent of Christ. One receives special attention:  eschatological judgment, with the End construed above all in terms of the transformation of creation. From different angles and with varying degrees of intensity, these three shed light on the fourth: the present. Situating 2 Peter theologically in relation to 1 Peter, we might not be surprised to learn that, as 1 Peter sculpts the grand story, two nodes of the narrative receive copious attention: Israel’s past and the advent of Christ. On the one hand, the difference between these two letters, read from this narrative-theological perspective, can be explained by the differences in present existence to which each is addressed: 2 Peter toward false teaching with its concomitant immorality; 1 Peter toward the enigmatic marginal status of believers in the world. On the other hand, 2 Peter is able to do little more than drop hints about the relationship of the church to Israel’s past and point in the general direction of the significance of Christ’s advent because it presumes a reading of 1 Peter, where these hermeneutical compass points are prominent. The connection of 2 Pet 3:1–2 to 1 Pet 1:10–12 was noted already by G. H. Boobyer, who saw 2 Pet 3:1–2 as the starting point for comprehending how the two letters should be related (“The Indebtedness of 2 Peter to 1 Peter,” in New Testament Essays: Studies in Memory of Thomas Walter Manson 1893–1958 [ed. A. J.B. Higgins; Manchester: Manchester University Press, 1959], 34–53). 12 I have borrowed this concept from Gary Saul Morson, Narrative and Freedom: The Shadows of Time (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1994), 234–64; Morson, however, takes a dim view of this “foreshadowing after the fact.” 11

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The Narrative of 1 Peter The narrative of 1 Peter comes into focus especially in 1 Pet 1:13–21, where the apostle’s instruction is set within and determined by a temporal map. Events (or conditions) that figure centrally in the scheme by which Peter (as I shall call the author of 1 Peter) orders the lives of his audience are plotted along this time line: Primordial

Time of

Revelation of

Time

Ignorance/

Jesus at the

Emptiness

End of Ages

Liberation

Time of

Revelation

Alien Life

of Jesus Christ

▶

(1) Primordial Time (1:20). Using traditional christological formulations,13 Peter inscribes the sacrificial death of Jesus into the timeless plan of God. In doing so, Peter underscores and expands on what is already known to his audience (v. 18: “knowing that”). Building on the undeveloped but assumed premise of Christ’s preexistence, Peter urges that God’s own agenda stands behind Jesus’ redemptive work, so that the sacrificial death of Jesus provides insight into the very nature of God. The purpose of Peter’s affirmation is given at the close of 1:20: the selection of Christ before the foundation of the world and his revelation at the end of the ages was “because of you.” That is, Peter assures his audience that the plan of God finds its goal in the community of the faithful and in this way confirms the location of his audience, whose lives are marginal in the world at large, but nonetheless at the heart of God’s will. Not unlike the work of Hellenistic historians and consistent with ancient Jewish voices, Peter urges that beneath the surface of daily life events, divine guidance is at work. Additionally, given the premium placed on what is old in the world of 1 Peter (“The old is better”),14 Peter’s affirmation puts in the strongest possible terms the significance of the way of life he has set before his audience. Far from being subject to dismissal as newfangled, it is grounded in unparalleled antiquity. Because Peter otherwise counsels his audience to put aside their former desires and inherited way of life (1:14, 18), it was imperative that he provide a suitable substitute, with suitability measured in terms of agedness. (2) Time of Ignorance/Emptiness (1:14, 18; cf. 2:11; 4:2–3). In the NT, ignorance characterizes those, Gentile or Jew, who do not know the God revealed in Jesus Christ (i.e. “the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ,” 1:3; see Acts 3:17; 17:30) and, therefore, whose knowledge of God can only be distorted. Ignorance is less the state of lacking information, and more the profound failure to grasp the character and purpose of God. Misconceiving the nature of God and life before God, they were blinded to what God was doing. Consequently, the resolution of ignorance is never simply the amassing of data, but a realignment with God’s ancient purpose, a theological transformation.

Sharon Clark Pearson identifies 1:18–21 as “a composite of formulary materials” (The Christological and Rhetorical Properties of 1 Peter [SBEC 45; Lewiston: Edwin Mellen, 2001], 97–111). 14 This motif is developed with reference to Greek, Roman, Hellenistic-Jewish, and early Christian literature in Peter Pilhofer, Presbyteron Kreitton:  Der Altersbeweis der judischen und christlichen Apologeten und seine Vorfseschichte (WUNT 2:39; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1990). 13

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Peter’s invective continues. In the Greco-Roman world, desire (epithymia) appears in moral discourse with such generally negative connotations as insatiable cravings or lust.15 A generic vice almost universally condemned, desire marked the former time of ignorance. In the present text, desires rooted in ignorance belong to the past, and so should no longer shape or form Peter’s audience; in its place, imitation of God’s holiness is expected. Paul similarly wrote, “Do not be conformed to this world, but be transformed by the renewing of your minds” (Rom 12:2). Condemnatory rhetoric is also used of the former life of Peter’s audience in 1:18, where their inherited way of life is dismissed as empty or futile. In Peter’s world, this is a stunning conclusion. Roman culture valued what was handed down from generation to generation, but Peter assigns those customs to the category of idolatry. It is difficult to exaggerate the seriousness of Peter’s claim. According to pervasive sentiment, to break from one’s ancestral religion was to invite disaster in the form of recriminations from the gods thus scorned. Accordingly, those who set aside ancestral traditions invited contempt for undermining the fabric of society by engaging in nonconformist behavior. It is no wonder, then, that the liberation that comes through the death of Christ results in a time of dwelling in a strange land, a time of alien status (v. 17). (3) The End of the Ages (1:20). In locating the end of the ages subsequent to what Peter describes as the time of ignorance, I am breaking from a strict chronological ordering. The advent of Jesus, which is for Peter the end of the ages, predated the pagan lives of his audience. Nevertheless, their awareness of Jesus, advent at the end of the ages has interrupted their former lives. Existentially, then, if not in a strictly chronological sense, this ordering of events and conditions is appropriate. For Peter, the advent of Jesus Christ constitutes the midpoint in a history that spans the period from creation to the final revelation of Jesus Christ; as such, no telling of the narrative of God’s election and redemption is true that does not pass through and take its meaning from the death and resurrection of Jesus. The notion of the end of the ages is a commonplace in Jewish apocalyptic texts of the Second Temple period, even if those interpretations of the End might differ markedly. Two motifs from that literature are highlighted in the opening verses of 1 Peter:  the anticipated resurrection of the dead (marking the restoration of Israel); and an expected time of affliction or woe (marking the onset of the messianic age). Early in 1 Peter, the resurrection of the dead comes into play in 1:3, 21, and suffering is the lot of both Jesus (1:2, 11, 19) and God’s people, Peter’s audience (1:6, 7, 17). The revelation of Jesus of which Peter writes in 1:20 thus refers to the advent of Jesus, and especially his passion and resurrection, by which the End has been inaugurated. This portrait is only enhanced with reference to God’s honoring Jesus by raising him from the dead and giving him glory in 1:21. What is more, reading Peter against the backdrop of contemporary Jewish apocalyptic thought, we learn that the suffering of believers is nothing less than a participation in the Messiah’s own suffering, by which God actualizes his salvific purpose. The sufferings of Jesus and his followers together constitute the birth pangs through which the new age emerges. This interpretation of suffering in relation to the end of the ages is not unique to Peter. It was known from earliest Christian times and is found in the Gospels of Matthew and Mark, in Paul, and in Revelation.16

E.g., Plato Phaedr. 83b; Epictetus Diatr. 2.16.45; 2.18.8–9; Wis 4:12; 4 Macc 1:22; Rom 1:24; Jas 1:14–15. See Dale C. Allison, The End of the Ages Has Come: An Early Interpretation of the Passion and Resurrection of Jesus (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1985). Allison does not involve 1 Peter in his study, however. 15 16

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(4) Liberation (1:18–19). For Peter’s audience, liberation lies in the past, driving home once again that God has already acted decisively in their lives:  to give them new birth (1:3); to evangelize them (1:12); and to liberate or redeem them. Liberation is grounded in the work of Christ, and Peter conflates three images as he articulates the atonement theology of this text: (a) “liberation” or “ransom,” (b) “lamb,” and (c) the combination of “blood” and “[a lamb] without blemish or defect.” (a) The importance of liberation derives in the OT from God’s liberating (or ransoming) Israel from enslavement in Egypt (e.g., Exod 6:6; 15:13; Deut 7:8; Isa 43:1). However, ransom in this sense is effected without concern for payment (cf. Isa 52:3!), whereas Peter observes that the liberation of believers comes with a price: not “such perishable things like gold or silver,” but “the precious blood of Christ.” This opens the door to possible influence from practices associated with human affairs—recovering a person or property through the payment of a “ransom”—in the LXX (e.g., Lev 25:25, 48–49) and in the Roman world (e.g., of prisoners of war). (b) The image of the lamb takes us more specifically into the tradition of the Passover sacrifice (Exod 12)—so central to Israel’s history and identity—and its appropriation within early Christianity (e.g., John 1:29, 36; 1 Cor 5:7). Celebrated annually, Passover both memorialized and reappropriated God’s election and great act of deliverance for generations of God’s people. (c) The reference to blood and the phrase “without blemish or defect” recall Israel’s economy of sacrifice and attribute atoning significance to Jesus’ death. As in texts associated with Paul (Rom 3:25; 5:9; Eph 1:7; 2:13; Col 1:20), blood must be understood symbolically (since the mode of Jesus’ execution was not particularly bloody) as shorthand for “purification offering” (e.g., Lev 4:1–6:7; 6:24–7:10; see Lev 16), the focus of which is on cleansing the effects of sin. In this system, the life of an unblemished animal substitutes for blemished human life, and restores right relations with God. The author’s qualification of Christ’s blood as “precious” marks a profound, if easily overlooked, theological move. Reckoned by human criteria, Jesus’ death on a cross (2:24) was anything but honorable, so mention of his passion could easily evoke valuations of humiliation and scorn. In a manner consistent with his emphasis on God’s choice of Jesus (1:20), and the subsequent declaration of Jesus as rejected among humans but chosen and honored before God (2:4, 6), Peter declares that Jesus’ death, however ignominious in the Roman world, actually bears divine approval. The imagery Peter borrows from Israel’s economy of sacrifice thus portrays the honorable death of Jesus as effective in wiping away sin and its effects. Interestingly, in 1 Pet 1:18–19, sin and its consequences per se are not the focus of redemption; “the emptiness of your inherited way of life” is. This suggests the potency of the desires of that former life, a suggestion that gains leverage in Peter’s admonition against allowing oneself to be shaped or formed by them. Liberation belongs to the larger semantic domain of salvation understood in terms of war,17 encouraging our recognition that an inherited way of life and its desires could present themselves as forces against which God has undertaken battle. See Joel B. Green, Salvation (Understanding Biblical Themes; St. Louis: Chalice, 2003), 63–92.

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Drawing deeply from the well of Israel’s life and moving effortlessly among Israel’s images of reconciliation and rescue, Peter forges an atonement theology the focus of which is liberation from slavery, not to Egypt, but to an inherited way of life that is empty and characterized by insatiable cravings and idolatry. (5) Time of Alien Life (1:17). Peter uses the term chronos, “a period of time during which some activity occurs,” twice in this section, in both instances with reference to the time during which believers live (1:17, 20). They refer to the present differently, however. In 1:17, Peter writes of “the time of your dwelling in a strange land,” while in 1:20 he writes of “the end of the times (or ages).” The juxtaposition of these two descriptions is parabolic of the deeper reality to which his audience must attend. This is that the last days inaugurated by the death and resurrection of Jesus can only be a time of living as strangers and never really at home for those who have been born anew. Apart from this verse, the noun paroikia, “temporary dwelling among strangers,” occurs in the NT only once, in Luke’s description of Israel’s “stay in the land of Egypt” (Acts 13:17). The parallel between the two is apt, especially when it is recognized that paroikia functions within Second Temple Judaism already as a metaphor for exilic life (e.g., 3 Macc 7:19). Recall the closely related phrase “strangers in the world of the diaspora” (1:1), which likewise speaks to a socioreligious situation as marginal folk, subject to day-to-day, cancerous slander and bedevilment. With three imperatives, Peter sketches the shape of expected conduct in this temporal and social context: “to set their hope” (v. 13), “to become holy” (v. 15), and “to live in reverent fear” (v. 17). Together, these constitute a response of resistance centered on an alternative structuring of time and a formative narrative that rejects ancestral and contemporary conventions for behavior and allegiance to a competing god/God and embodied in characteristic practices. And this is made possible by a liberation that reverberates with echoes of the story of Israel’s exodus from Egypt, that prototypical expression of Yahweh the warrior. (6) Revelation of Jesus Christ (1:13). Peter actually begins his exhortation in 1:13–21 with the end of the story: “the [end-time] revelation of Jesus Christ.” This serves two immediate purposes. First, it continues his interest in the eschatological horizons of life for those who have been born anew (1:3, 4, 7, 11), thus providing a reminder that vindication is the certain successor to the suffering of the faithful. Second, as in 2 Peter, so here Peter engages in “backshadowing” which posits that the pattern of history is revealed, the nature of the end is known, and the present can be evaluated accordingly. This means that Peter can interpret the present in light of his convictions regarding the future and can direct his audience to live their lives in ways determined by that future, in hope (1:13, 21). What agenda is served by this concern with the times, this attention to the emplotment of God’s story? First, recalling that Peter’s audience is primarily Gentile, and so unskilled in rehearsing the story of God’s dealings with Israel, Peter works to introduce and to induct them further into a particular way of construing their history that is deeply rooted in the eternal plan of God and that takes seriously the formation and nurture of God’s people, Israel, through Passover, exodus, and the pattern of reconciliation through sacrifice. As cognitive scientist Mark Turner has observed, “narrative imagining is our fundamental form of predicting” and our “fundamental cognitive instrument for explanation.”18 For Peter, the only true categories

Mark Turner, The Literary Mind: The Origins of Thought and Language (New York: Oxford University Press, 1996), 20.

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for making sense of daily existence are determined by a particular narrative, the scriptural story. Second, remembering that we tell stories not only to make sense of the world, but also to form identity and community, we see that in selecting these particular events and in ordering them in this particular way, Peter is set on constructing the identity of the communities to which he has addressed himself. Although we would never confuse Peter’s letter with a narrative text, his concern with marking the times suggests an agenda like that of those who use narrative to represent history. In this way, he orients his audience toward the future consummation of God’s plan at the same time that he grounds their identity in a divine strategy that predates creation itself. He is already working to collapse the self-evident historical distinctiveness between Israel of old and these communities of Jesus-followers in the service of a theological unity that conjoins old and new. On account of the initiative of God manifest in the passion and resurrection of Jesus, these communities stem from the same roots. They are one. The result is a strong sense of continuity with the past, a secure place within the arc of God’s gracious purpose and a firm basis for projecting oneself into a future made certain in Jesus’ resurrection from the dead. Third, this concern with future and past has present significance. Peter’s attention to the times carefully articulates the nature of present-day existence—not as an anomaly in God’s story nor a challenge to God’s faithfulness, but as an opportunity for identification with Christ and for putting into play the human vocation to imitate the holiness of God. More could be said regarding Peter’s theological narrative, of course, since I have artificially constrained my inquiry by focusing on a single text, 1 Pet 1:13–21. For example, had I simply moved back a few verses (1:10–12), I would have been able to explore more fully the texture of Peter’s scriptural hermeneutic and thus say more about Peter’s perspective on Israel. Had I pushed back a bit further, into 1:3–9, I would have been able to develop more thoroughly the degree to which Peter’s “gospel” is centered on God. Hopefully, however, this is enough to show how integral to 1 Peter is this theological concern with the mapping of time, a centerpiece of a narrative-theological approach.19

Conclusion Theologically, we are pressured to read 1 and 2 Peter together, in spite of historical differences calibrated in terms of tradition history, authorship, genre, and style. This compulsion comes above all from their shared attribution to the apostle Peter and the interpretively significant remark in 2 Pet 3:1: “This is now, beloved, the second letter I am writing to you. . . .” From a narrative-theological perspective, we have already begun to see how, when read together, these historical differences actually enrich our theological reflection. The christology of 1 Peter fills in the blanks, as it were, for 2 Peter. Similarly, in comparison with 2 Peter, 1 Peter provides a far more robust and theologically engaging interaction with the story of Israel as the story of God’s people, including Peter’s Christian audience. This paves the way for us to locate the exemplars of Israel’s past that are brought into focus in 2 Peter within the larger mural of Israel’s life as this is painted in 1 Peter.

See further, Joel B. Green, 1 Peter (Two Horizons Commentary; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2007).

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At one point, 1 and 2 Peter overwhelmingly share a common emphasis, narratively speaking. Both have a well-developed eschatological horizon, even though this horizon is developed in distinctive ways. Both assure their audience of the certainty of the End, and of final judgment. Both draw attention in this way to the fact that the present is not all there is, but points to and serves a future reality that mitigates the present’s claims to ultimacy. Both engage in backshadowing, insisting that our sure knowledge of a certain future leads us to see that the future casts its shadow backward on present life, calling for conduct congruent with the way things really are, and in the End will be shown to be. For 1 Peter, however, eschatology is cast in the role of servant to hope, providing motivation for courageous steadfastness in the face of opposition. For 2 Peter, eschatology serves as the flashing light of warning (3:17!), underscoring the certainty that present life has enduring consequences. Both insist that the End will reveal what is really valued by God and what ought to be valued in the present by God’s people. And both shape a narrative theology within which those values—those dispositions, those ways of thinking and acting—are second nature. Between them, 1 and 2 Peter, we encounter the eschatologically determined pastoral task of afflicting the comfortable (2 Peter) and comforting the afflicted (1 Peter). When examined from this perspective, 1 and 2 Peter emerge as opportunities to shape our imagination and conception of the world, supported by one of the most potent weapons in the formation and reformation of identity: narrative. Narrative does not imply a dismissal of reality as it really is, but insists that reality is subject to numerous representations; narrative does not declare that facts are constituted by their narration, but that there are multiple ways of construing facts.20 To illustrate this with reference to 2 Peter, clearly one way to read the world as it is would be to deny any claim of ultimate justice. Do we not see all around us evidence that the immorality of others leads to their apparent happiness and to our exploitation, but not to their punishment? For “Peter,” however, such a reading is possible only for the nearsighted and blind (1:9), those lacking true understanding (2:12). Such immoral people seem free, but are actually slaves to corruption (2:19). If they would open their eyes to the whole of God’s story, then they would recognize the certainty of divine judgment—and order their lives accordingly. To illustrate this with reference to 1 Peter, execution on a cross, according to the dominant narrative of Roman antiquity, was an ignominy, and the Christian experience of ostracism and insult was likewise shameful and debilitating. Following the adage that the best defense of the marginal and powerless is narrative, 1 Peter spins a different narrative, not by creating new facts, but by according privilege to some facts over others and by ordering them in a particular way. Peter writes the story of his Christian audience into the story of Christ, itself already understood within the plot line of Israel’s story and, indeed, within the story of God’s purpose from creation to new creation. As a result, “the stone that the builders rejected has become the very head of the comer” (1 Pet 2:7). In other words, given the inversion of categories of valuation within Peter’s narrative (e.g., 2:4–10, 21–25), it really was possible to declare victory (before God) in the face of apparent defeat (before humans), for this was a central means by which to maintain courageous steadfastness in the face of adversity and to undermine the Roman ethos of power and status. See James Phelan, Narrative as Rhetoric: Technique, Audiences, Ethics, Ideology (Columbus: Ohio State University Press, 1996), 1–23. 20

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Narrating the creation of the world of Narnia, including the talking beasts that would inhabit it, C. S. Lewis observed, “For what you see and hear depends a good deal on where you are standing: it also depends on what sort of person you are.”21 Lacking true perspective, Uncle Andrew heard only roaring when Asian sang the melody of genesis, only snarling when Asian voiced the words of first commissioning. When it comes to the work of observation and meaning-making, we see what we allow ourselves to see and find the categories of evidence for which we had gone looking. This raises the stakes on the question about which narrative we indwell, about what patterns of thought structure our beliefs and comportment in the world. And this underscores all the more the importance of the world­forming aims of the narrativetheological work of 1 and 2 Peter.

C. S. Lewis, The Magician’s Nephew (New York: Macmillan, 1970), 125.

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“AUTHORITY TO BECOME CHILDREN OF GOD”: A STUDY OF 1 JOHN

Judith M. Lieu

It has become accepted practice to interpret 1 John within a framework of the conflict between orthodoxy and heresy. A discussion of the views of the heretics or false teachers occupies a substantial part of the introduction to most commentaries on the Johannine Epistles and opposition to them is seen as the unifying theme of a writing which otherwise appears disjointed and discursive. The picture is usually drawn of christological error and moral indifference if not libertinism and the epithet ‘gnosticism’ frequently appears.1 Within this framework even the less explicitly polemical statements of the Epistle are interpreted in terms of the conflict against gnosticism and 1 John is accorded a precision and consistency which would not otherwise be apparent. Granted that this framework of interpretation has the compelling advantage of allowing, at least superficially, a consistent exegesis of the whole letter, the question must be asked how far it is valid and true to the thought and function of 1 John. A number of factors suggest that this is a question which requires reconsideration. A general consideration is that the ‘orthodoxy v.  heresy’ model is a tool which calls for considerable caution in its application to the New Testament period. The terms imply rigid categories whereas in the New Testament we probably only find the search for means of definition rather than their achievement, while as objective criteria used by the scholar to label the parties concerned they lead to an over-simplification of the situation and a tendency to see black and white contrasts where in fact boundaries cannot be so sharply drawn. This we shall see to be the case in 1 John where the Johannine tradition is the common heritage of all concerned. More specifically, the interpretation of 1 John from its opening verses in the light of its opposition to false teachers gives insufficient weight to the fact that there is no direct reference to the antichrists or schismatics in the early part of the letter or in connection with the moral debate. They are only introduced half way through in relation to the christological question (ii 18 ff.), and it is therefore the christological statements which must bear the full weight of any attempt to define the heresy. The clue to its nature is usually found in the confession of the spirit of God ‘Jesus Christ having come in the flesh’ (iv 2) and in the statement that ‘this is he who came through water and blood, Jesus Christ, not by the water only but by the water and by the blood’ (v 6). In detail, explanations of these verses vary considerably but the general direction of interpretation is Most commentaries include such a discussion; see for example A. E. Brooke, A Critical and Exegetical Commentary on the Johannine Epistles (Edinburgh, 1912), p. xxxviii–lii; R. Schnackenburg, Die Johannesbriefe (6th edition. Freiburg, 1979), p.  15–23. For a classic description of them as libertine gnostics see W. Lütgert, Amt und Geist im Kampf (Gütersloh, 1911), p. 1–49. 1

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that we have reflected here a form of docetism, a word which itself is used in a variety of ways, possibly a refusal to accept the unity between or the identity of the divine aeon Christ and the human Jesus. The name of Cerinthus, the reputed opponent of the Apostle John and his Gospel (Irenaeus, Adv. Haer. III. iii. 4), is often cited, particularly his doctrine that the divine Christ descended on Jesus at his baptism but left before the suffering of the crucifixion.2 The reliability of our reports of Cerinthus’s views may be questioned3 but this is not fundamentally damaging to the basic interpretation of the heresy of 1 John. A  far more serious charge is that this approach relies too heavily on information about second century gnosticism  – information which may in any case have been too rigidly defined and categorized – for interpreting the earlier situation of 1 John. The ambiguities of the statements of the Epistle are glossed over in the attempt to define the ‘heretics’ and their christology in terms of other heretical views known to us from the early Church. The desire to be able to label the opponents in precise terms probably accounts for the common tendency to identify docetism and Cerinthianism without adequate definition of either. The failure of the Epistle to polemize more explicitly against the components and corollaries of a gnostic or docetic christology and against other aspects of a gnostic system is not given serious consideration. This failure is highlighted if we compare the more ambiguous statements of 1 John with the explicitly anti-gnostic polemic of other writers, for example the pseudonymous 3 Corinthians: ‘They say that no use should be made of the prophets, that God is not almighty, that there is no resurrection of the flesh and that the creation of men is not God’s (act), and also that the Lord did not come m flesh and was not born of Mary and that the world is not of God but of the angels.’4 Recent study has to some extent recognized the imprecise nature of the language of 1 John and has displayed greater caution in interpreting the views of the Epistle’s opponents.5 However, this has been done without any serious questioning of the approach which sees 1 John as a fundamentally polemical writing. It is the task of this paper to explore an alternative way forward to the understanding of the thought of the Epistle and to argue that its primary interest is directed within the community to confirm its members in their assurance and to struggle with those aspects of its theology which some could – and indeed did – develop in a way which led to the schism reflected in ii 18. The task of polemizing against these past members of the community is subordinated to this primary inward concern.

Irenaeus, Adv. Haer. I.xxvi.I. A.  E. Brooke (see n.  1)  sees the teaching as docetic and at least very similar to that of Cerinthus; R. Bultmann, Die drei Johannesbrieje (Göttingen, 1969), p. 44, n. 1 suggests either Cerinthianism or docetism; C. Gore, The Epistles of St. John (London, 1920), p. 108–16 sees Cerinthus as the opponent but denies that this heresy or that opposed by 1 John could be called docetism while R. Schnackenburg (see n. 1) denies any reference to Cerinthus and uses the term ‘docetism’ with caution. 3 See A. F. J. Klijn and G. J. Reinink, Patristic Evidence for Jewish Christian Sects (Leiden, 1973), p. 3–19. 4 3 Corinthians I 11. 9–15 See ed. M. Testuz, Papyrus Bodmer X–XII (Cologny-Genève, 1959), p. 32. 5 See K. Weiss, ‘Orthodoxie und Heterodoxie im 1. Johannesbriefe’, Z.N.W. 58 (1967), p. 247–55, idem, ‘Die “Gnosis” im Hmtergrund und im Spiegel der Johannesbriefe’, in ed. K. W. Troger, Gnosis und Neues Testament (Berlin, 1973), p.  341–56, also the discussion by R.  Schnackenburg already cited. In the article ‘Gnosis’, Sacramentum Mundi II (New York & Freiburg, 1968), p. 379 R. Haardt is far more critical of attempts to define the heresy of 1 John and to identify it with Cerinthianism. 2

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I.  ‘We write to you so that –’ The author’s own statements of his purpose in writing should give some indication of the function of 1 John. The Epistle opens with an emphatic declaration that its goal is fellowship – firstly between the author and his readers, and, through this, participation in fellowship ‘with the Father and with his Son, Jesus Christ’ (i 3) with its corollary, the full experience of Christian joy, an eschatological gift made present (i 4). This tells us little about the situation which provoked the letter. A frequent theme in letter writing of the period, fellowship is the obvious goal of any non­business letter;6 in a Christian letter, particularly within the Johannine tradition, this fellowship will naturally be extended to include a relationship with God (Jn. xvii 21–3). The author’s summary of his message is more significant:  ‘That which was from the beginning, which we have heard, which we have seen with our eyes, which we have looked at and our hands have touched . . . we proclaim to you’ (1 Jn. i 1–3). Although at first reading this seems to imply eyewitness experience of the ministry of Jesus, that 1 John was written by an eyewitness can be seriously questioned.7 However, once it is acknowledged that a later generation may have felt able to use eyewitness language through their historical link or unity in faith with the original eyewitnesses it is difficult to know how limitations on its use could be, or were, made.8 Some restriction in who could use this language is implied by the distinction between ‘we’ and ‘you’, and it may be that the readers, although already Christians and members of the Johannine tradition, did not use eyewitness language of themselves.9 Although there are parallels to the use of eyewitness language by a later generation,10 the passage is best compared with the similar emphasis on seeing and witness in the Fourth Gospel, notably Jn. i 14.11 Of more importance for this discussion is the function of this language. Certainly more than mere physical sight and experience is intended; although it is dependent on the original historical encounter with the man Jesus, the sight of faith is necessary to know that what one has seen and heard is ‘that which was from the beginning’. Yet, despite this, the emphatic repetition of the verbs of seeing and hearing and the crude reality of ‘our hands have touched’12 may still seem to support the common argument that here there is an antidocetic polemic anticipating the later references to the christological error of the antichrists. It is in view of this that the indirectness of the author’s language comes as a surprise  – ‘that’ which we have seen and heard is neuter, not masculine, and is only in some way, made ambiguous by the grammar of the sentence, ‘concerning the word of life’. ‘Word’, at first apparently an echo of the Logos of the prologue of the Gospel, is more likely to refer to the

See K. Thraede, Grundzüge griechisch-römischer Brieftopik (Zetemata 48. Munich, 1970). See R. Bultmann, Johannesbriefe, p. 15 f. and now also R. Schnackenburg, Johannesbriefe, p. 41 and 52–8. 8 R. Schnackenburg discusses the problem in detail (p.  52–8) and refers the ‘we’ to a circle of genuine ‘apostolic’ eyewitnesses suggesting that the author, himself a disciple of the Apostle John, may have felt himself included in that circle through this relationship. He thus retains a fairly literal interpretation of the eyewitness language while extending its use beyond the historical eyewitnesses but it may be questioned how successful he is in this. 9 Although in iv 14 the context seems to refer ‘We have seen and bear witness that the Father sent the Son as saviour of the world’ to the author and readers. 10 E.g. Irenaeus, Adv. Haer. V.i.1; Tacitus, Agric. 45. See the full discussion by R. Schnackenburg cited in n. 8. 11 There is a good discussion of this in E. C. Hoskyns, The Fourth Gospel, ed. F. N. Davey (London, 1940), p. 86–95. 12 Although this recalls Lk. xxiv 39 and Jn. xx 27, the resurrection of Jesus and its reality are not in mind here. 6 7

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Christian message than to the eternal Word of God.13 While the Gospel’s ‘the Word became flesh’, even if not intentionally antidocetic, could be so used, 1 John’s reference to ‘the life was manifested’ could be as congenial to docetics as to their opponents. The passage has less force as an antidocetic polemic than at first sight. The root of this ambiguity is that the author’s interest lies primarily in the assurance of faith for his readers. The eternal life which was with the Father was manifested to us (i 2). While in the Gospel it is the Logos who was ‘with God’, the use here instead of ‘eternal life’ and, perhaps, ‘Father’ draws attention to the personal appropriation of this revelation by the believer. Accordingly the author’s goal is the fulfilment of divine joy and fellowship in those he addresses. The certainty of the original experience of faith rooted in the historical event is there but its polemical potential is not developed. This impression that polemics are subordinate to the author’s main interest in his readers and the assurance they have is confirmed by the other references to his purpose in writing – that they should not sin but have the assurance of forgiveness if they fail, because of the reality of their Christian experience and because, although some may try to deceive them, their ‘anointing’ makes them independent of others’ teaching (ii 1, 12–4, 21, 26 f.). The Gospel’s avowed purpose is that ‘you may believe that Jesus is the Christ, the Son of God, and that believing, you may have life in his name’ (Jn. xx 31). The Epistle parallels this, ‘I have written this to you that you may know that you have eternal life, you who believe in the name of the Son of God’ (1 Jn. v 13). The contrast between ‘you may believe’ and ‘you may know that you have eternal life’ underlines the theme of assurance in 1 John and suggests it was an issue at stake. The further definition ‘you who believe in the name of the Son of God’ may imply a dispute over the Son but not the christological heresy of scholarly reconstruction whose proponents did believe in the Son of God – they merely denied his full identification with the man Jesus.

II.  The Christological Statements This christological question brings us back to the antichrists. For the author their defection is of eschatological significance fulfilling the traditional prophecy of a final manifestation of wickedness in opposition to God – a concept not found in John but apparently well known to the community of 1 John and needing no further explanation (ii 18 ff.; iv 1 ff.). The description of the men as false prophets (iv 1)  does not prove that they were charismatics or claimed superior spiritual gifts; it is part of the eschatological tradition that this ultimate revelation of evil would be centred round false prophets who would deceive many (cf. ii 26; iv 6) through the use of signs and wonders,14 and the language of the tradition may have influenced the description of the historical reality. However, no further use is made of the eschatological interpretation of the schism and no consequences are developed except possibly the refusal to pray for the ‘sin unto death’, probably apostasy (v 16–7). Moreover, those who had left the

See C. H. Dodd, The Johannine Epistles (London, 1946), p. 1–5. Note the reference to his (God’s) word in us in 1 Jn. i 10. 14 Mt. xxiv 11; Mk. xiii 22; Rev. xix 20; 2 Thess. ii 8–12; Didache xvi 4; Apoc. Petri ii. 13

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community are not explicitly mentioned outside the two passages referring to the antichrists – the letter itself does not directly ascribe them the importance they have for modern students of 1 John. The two passages directly referring to the schismatics (ii 18–27; iv 1–6) show that even here the author’s primary concern is not with a heresy to be exposed and refuted but with spiritual discernment and reassurance. Reassurance because their departure only made plain what had always been true, that these men never had been genuine members of the elect (ii 19) (hence they merit no pastoral concern); the community, on the other hand, is secure – because of their ‘anointing’ they know all and need only abide (ii 20 f., 27),15 born of God they have conquered the defectors who have aligned themselves with the world (iv 4 f.). The clearly defined antithesis between the two orders, of God and of the world, confirms that whatever division or dissension the community has experienced, to it belongs the assurance of victory (iv 6). Within this context of assurance comes the exhortation to test the spirits (iv 1). Although this echoes both the verification of claims to prophetic inspiration (1 Cor. xiv 29; 1 Thess. v 21) and the assessment of travelling teachers (Didache xi), neither of these is intended here; unlike 2 John, 1 John does not concentrate on the false prophets as potential visitors to the community to be unceremoniously turned away (2 Jn. 10 f.). Testing is not simply because agents of the antichrist may come seeking to lead astray, but because the very grounds and experience of assurance may be deceptive. The argument commences at the end of ch. iii where the spirit is first mentioned. He who believes in the Son of God, Jesus Christ, and fulfils the commandment of love (iii 23)  can be sure of God’s indwelling, the evidence of which is the experience of the spirit given by God (iii 24; cf. iv 13).16 Whatever the nature of that experience  – and nothing suggests it was ‘charismatic’  – it is not an automatic guarantee. The spirits must be tested:  just as true confession leads to possession of the spirit from God (iii 23–4), so possession of that spirit must be marked by true confession (iv 2 f.). The emphasis is on the community or individual testing the reality and grounds of its or his own Christian assurance.17 Clearly the ‘eschatological’ experience of schism made this testing the more urgent, but even if they provided the inspiration of his thought the author has no interest in refuting the christological statements of his opponents or in setting out the basis and content of a valid christology. We shall see that he is more interested in the soteriological necessity of a right understanding of Jesus than in the grounds on which it rests or the doctrinal pattern into which it fits. As we have seen, the most common interpretation of the author’s opponents is that they professed a docetic or gnostic christology, an interpretation largely based on the fuller christological statements of iv 2 and v 6. We have already suggested that the imprecision of

The ‘anointing’ may refer to the teaching, the Gospel or the Holy Spirit. In any case the context indicates that the idea of teaching is the main thought. If the Spirit is intended, the failure to say so specifically is interesting; the doctrine of the Spirit in 1 John is far removed from that of the Gospel. See 1 Jn. iv 1–6 and the discussion in the next two paragraphs. 16 In iii 23 and iv 13 ‘spirit’ should be written with a small ‘s’; hence in iv 1 f. there are many spirits to be tested and iv 6 can refer to the spirit of error as well as the spirit of truth. 1 John never speaks of the Holy Spirit. 17 This is emphasized by P. Minear, ‘The Idea of Incarnation in 1 John’, Interpretation 24 (1970), p. 291–302, in an article which raises some very interesting points, and by E. Malatesta, Interiority and Covenant (Rome, 1978), p. 282. 15

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the language should make us hesitate to endorse so firm a conclusion. In iv 2 the grammatical construction ‘every spirit which confesses Jesus Christ having come in the flesh’ (. . . Ἰησοῦν Χριστὸν ἐν σαρκὶ ἐληλυθότα), in using a participle rather than an accusative and infinitive clause, means that its primary force is not a statement that Jesus Christ came in the flesh as would be expected against Docetism.18 The emphasis is instead a confession of Jesus who is the Christ and who came in the flesh.19 Moreover, coming or appearing in the flesh could be interpreted docetically and used within a gnostic christology,20 and hence would be less effective as a polemic against such than the Gospel’s ‘the Word became flesh’. While we cannot expect of 1 John the precision of later christological polemics, a specific heresy would surely have evoked a more specific rebuttal.21 Furthermore, the author’s concern is, as elsewhere, more with the right confession and the assurance of those who share it than with that stemming from the antichrist which is only said to be a failure to confess Jesus.22 Because the author does not specify the tenets of his opponents in order to denounce them the background of the confession and denial must largely remain obscure. Moreover, the unusual construction after ‘confesses’ in verse 2 and the use of ‘Jesus’ without a predicate in verse 3, both without parallel in the Epistle, mean we cannot use this passage as the norm by which to interpret the other more simple christological statements of 1 John. That the author’s primary concern is not with heresy should also be concluded from the equally obscure ‘This is he who came through water and blood, Jesus Christ, not by the water only but by the water and by the blood’ (v 6). The context here is not explicitly polemical although it may be implied that some only accepted a coming by the water. That this refers to the Cerinthian doctrine that the divine Christ descended on Jesus at his baptism but left without experiencing his death is rendered unlikely by the author’s acceptance of the coming by water – he would not have seen the baptism as the beginning of Jesus’s time as Son of God. As yet no other convincing parallel in heretical thought has been found.23 The aorist ‘came’ suggests a reference to the incarnation, and the more precise meaning may be illumined by some related passages. There may be an echo of the difficult Jn. xix 34 f., the emission of blood and water from the pierced side of Jesus, especially as both passages

An accusative and infinitive is read by B here (ἐληλυθέναι) and is found in the similar passage in Polycarp, Philippians vii 1. 19 It is possible to see the whole clause as the compound direct object of ‘confesses’, ‘Jesus’ as the direct object and ‘Christ having come in the flesh’ as the predicate or ‘Jesus Christ’ as the direct object and ‘having come in the flesh’ as the predicate. Unlike verbs of seeing and perceiving ‘ὁμολογεῖν’ is not followed by a participle representing a main verb in an indirect clause. Commentators differ as to which of the alternatives is intended. 20 Eg. Gospel of Truth 31.5–6; Gospel of Thomas 28; Treatise on Resurrection (N.H.C. 1.4) 44.13–7; Clement of Alexandria, Extr. Theod. 85.2 (if this is to be ascribed to Theodotus). See also A. v. Harnack, A History of Dogma (E.T. New York, 1958), I, p. 189–99. 21 See above p. 211–2; even Ignatius, who does not name the heretics he opposes, itemizes the essential points of faith which they deny (Smyrn. Ii–iii; v; Trall. ix). 22 The alternative reading ‘annuls’ or ‘dissolves Jesus’ (λύει), which has strong support, probably means ‘makes of no significance’ and does not refer to a Cerinthian distinction between Jesus and the Christ; see R.  Schnackenburg, Johannesbriefe, p.  222. O.  A. Piper, ‘1 John and the Didache of the Primitive Church’, J.B.L. 66 (1947), p.  437–51 suggests translating ‘deprives of power’. 23 G. Richter, ‘Blut und Wasser aus der durchbohrten Seite Jesu (Jn. 19, 34b)’, in idem, Studien zum Johannesevangelium, ed. J. Hainz (Regensburg, 1977), p. 120–42, cites Mandaean sources where the redeemer only has a body of water to argue that the statement stresses both the divine and the human begetting of Jesus. 18

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occur in a context of witness. Closer to hand, in v 8 the water and blood which, with the spirit, bear the witness of God concerning his Son are usually taken to refer to baptism and the eucharist,24 although there is no indication of a change of meaning from verse 6 where this would not make good sense. In his antidocetic polemic Ignatius links the reality of Jesus and his experiences with the sacraments (Smyrn. vii) but the very different attitude to the sacraments in the Johannine literature makes us hesitate to see a parallel argument here. Since ‘blood’ is used in i 7 of Jesus Christ’s atoning death the role of Jesus in salvation may be in question;25 the acknowledgement of Jesus as Son is the main theme of this passage (v 6, 9–12) and is also emphasized elsewhere in the context of his saving work.26 However, whatever alternative views about Jesus may lie behind the passage, the author’s primary intention is not their refutation so much as the complete Christian confidence of him who makes the right confession. He it is who, according to the introduction to the passage, conquers the world (v 4 f.) and, according to its conclusion, accepts and has within himself God’s testimony concerning his Son (v 10), not as an objective statement about the past but as the gift and experience of eternal life (v 11–2). Thus, although 1 John understands faith more in terms of statements about Jesus than as the Gospel’s faith in Jesus, an understanding often interpreted as a polemical interest in ‘orthodox Christology’, the primary function of Christology is soteriological and hence the assurance given to the believer.27 This can also be seen in the other references to Jesus, which in the light of 1 John’s supposedly antidocetic interest are surprisingly meagre. Ignatius, for whom antidocetic motives are important, stresses the main moments of Jesus’s life.28 In 1 John by contrast there is no reference to the birth or the resurrection of Jesus and even his death is only mentioned in terms of its significance for the believer. The purpose of the Son of God’s mission was the forgiveness of sins (iii 5 f., iv 10, 14), a forgiveness which is experienced by the believer in the present (i 7; ii 1, 12; cf. v 18). Therefore through him comes eternal life for the believer (iv 9; v 11 f.). He also acts as an example for the believer in holiness of life. In this type of statement the pronoun ‘ἐκεῖνος’ is regularly used which may indicate a common origin, perhaps catechetical, in the tradition of the community (iii 3, 7, 16; ii 6; cf. iv 17). The frequent use of the present tense in these contexts underlines the present significance of Jesus. Beyond this the role of Jesus appears to be equivocal, but this certainly does not mean that he is of peripheral importance. Jesus is the Christ, the Son of God, and belief in him as such is the essential precondition of any relationship with God, of possession of the Father (ii 23), of divine indwelling (iii 23 f.; iv 15) or begetting (v 1), and hence of victory over the world (iv 4; v 5) and the assurance of eternal life (v 10–3). Denial of this is tantamount to denial of the Father (ii 22 f.) and of his testimony about his Son (v 10). Not only a genuine Christian experience

See R. Bultmann, Johannesbriefe, p. 83 f. where 7–8 are ascribed to a redactor because of the different meaning of blood and water; there may also be a sacramental reference in Jn. xix 34, see C. K. Barrett, The Gospel according to St. John (2nd edition. London, 1978), p. 83, 556–7 for a discussion of the verse. 25 See further C. Clemen, ‘Beitrage zum geschichtlichen Verstandnis der Johannesbriefe’, Z.N.W. 6 (1905), p. 271–81, who suggests that the heretics accepted that Jesus ordained baptism but denied his death for our sins. 26 See below, p. 220. 27 This becomes clear in v 9–12 where the testimony born to Jesus as the Son is a living reality in the heart of the believer. See the note by R. Schnackenburg, Johannesbriefe, Excurs II, p. 167–71, especially § 5. 28 Ignatius, Eph. vii 2; xviii 2; Magn. xi; Trail. ix; Smyrn. i–v. 24

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and confidence but even a valid belief in and knowledge of God himself are impossible without confession of Jesus as his Son. Significantly, the title ‘Son of God’ is particularly used when Jesus’s saving role is described (i 7; iii 8) stressing that it is as Son that he is the means by which God himself gives salvation to those who believe (iv 9; v 11). This stress on the necessity of the Son in a relationship with God is particularly important because for 1 John the believer’s relationship is primarily with God. Although 1 John does acknowledge the believer’s relationship with the Son (i 3; ii 12, 24, 27 f.; iii 6), the dominant characteristic of the believer’s religious experience is its theocentricity. Christians are born of God and are ‘of God’ (iii 10; iv 4, 6; v 1, 4, 18); already they are children of God and can expect much more, to be like him (iii 2,10). They have fellowship with God, know God,29 abide in God and he in them (i 3; ii 5 f., 24; iv 7 f., 12 ff.; v 20). Within this framework Jesus’s role as revealer is barely visible – the solution to the problem that no man has seen God is not Jesus’s revelation of him (Jn. i 18) but God’s indwelling if we love one another (1 Jn. iv 12); forgiveness can be ascribed to God’s faithfulness (i 9) as well as to Jesus (i 7; ii 2) and even the commandments are frequently said to be God’s.30 1 John implies a situation where Jesus might not be assigned a central mediating role and where one could claim a direct relationship with and knowledge of God. The author himself predominantly uses such language and when he stresses that such a claim is only valid on condition of faith in Jesus as the Christ or Son of God he is modifying a tendency in a theology he accepts rather than polemizing against one to be totally rejected. Although some clearly had in the author’s eyes rejected belief in the Son and his mission, refutation of them is subordinate to his main interest in the community and its own tradition of theology. A correlative of this inward interest is his concern about the assurance to be given to believers as expressed through his use of christology, ‘God has given to us eternal life and this life is in his Son’ (v 11).

III.  The Moral Debate The author devotes considerable attention to the conformity of moral practice with claims to spiritual attainment. Repeatedly he stresses that the claim to have fellowship with or to know God or to walk in the light is totally invalid unless accompanied by upright living. Much of his argument is in the form of antithetical statements: ‘If we say we have fellowship with him and walk in darkness we lie – if we walk in the light as he is in the light we have fellowship with each other – if we say we have no sin we deceive ourselves – if we confess our sins –’ (i 6–9). More direct statements declare that everyone who sins has not seen or known him (iii 6), that he who does not love remains in death and has not known God (iii 19; iv 8) and that such lack of love is shown by the refusal to meet the needs of a brother in want (iii 17). The author never directly relates this debate to the antichrists or to specific members or past members of the community. To see these antithetical statements as directed against the gnostic opponents of the Epistle who claimed to belong to the light and to know God yet who R. Schnackenburg, Johannesbriefe, p. 95–101 distinguishes Christian ‘knowledge of God’ from heretical Gnosis but it is questionable whether this is the difference between the author of 1 John and the views he opposes. 30 Eg. iii 23; frequently the use of ‘αὐτός’ leaves it uncertain whether God or Jesus is intended. 29

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displayed complete indifference to moral living, fails to do justice to the complexity of the thought of 1 John. Instead we must take the first person plural, ‘if we say’, with full seriousness and not as a form of the impersonal. The claims which the author discusses are claims which could be and were made by the author and the community themselves and it is by tendencies in his own thought that he has been led to work out the practical corollaries of these claims. Various observations support this conclusion: a) The structure of the debate does not suggest that it is primarily directed against outside opponents. These antithetical conditional clauses occur alongside the striking formulations of Christian assurance which also use the first person plural, ‘We know that we are in him, have known him –’ (ii 3, 5; iii 24; v 2).31 This assurance rests on practical grounds which can be tested (ii 3) and thus the antithetical clauses contain the reflection which seeks to distinguish between what is acceptable and what is not if the assurance is to be justified.32 It is ourselves, not others, whom we may deceive (i 8) if we do not carry out this reflection. Thus these antitheses, like those of the Gospel (e.g. Jn. xii 44 f.),33 can act as exhortation and warning. They show the paths open to the community as well as the consequences; the way the community must take is obvious-characteristically, the author persuades his readers without dictating to them (cf. ii 27).   So, for example, ii 4 f., ‘He who says I have known him and does not keep his commandments is a liar – whoever keeps his word, in him the love of God is truly perfected’, does not refer to immoral gnostics but supports verse 3 which says that by keeping his commandments we can be sure we have known him. In iv 7–8 the antithesis that he who loves is born of God while he who does not love has not known God, does not refer to two existing groups the community and the heretics, but supports the fundamental exhortation ‘let us love one another’. If the schismatic’s views are reflected here they are not the author’s most immediate concern. b) The claims made are not those of a schismatic group claiming ‘gnostic superiority’ but those the author and his readers could and did make.34 They are characteristic of Johannine thought and, with one exception to be discussed below, no criticism is made of them. The true believer can indeed claim fellowship with God (i 6, cf. i 3), he does know God (ii 4; iv 8, cf. ii 3), can claim to be in the light (ii 9, cf. i 7) and can rightly say he loves God (iv 20, cf. v 2).   The validity of these assertions is fully affirmed, what is in question is how far they are to be defined in ethical terms. Since, however, the claims are those made by the readers of the Epistle, the debate about conformity of ethical practice must be a living issue for the community itself. They do indeed know God and can assert this with full justification, but the external evidence of this experience must be sought in their lives (ii 6).

In i 1 f. there is a ‘we’ of tradition, a different use from the first person plural here. See further K. Weiss, ‘Orthodoxie und Heterodoxie’ (see n. 5). 33 See R. Bultmann, Theology of the New Testament (E.T. London, 1952, 55), II, p. 21 f. 34 See J. L. Bogart, Orthodox and Heretical Perfectionism in the Johannine Community as evident in the first Epistle of John (Montana, 1977). 31 32

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c) The issue would be all the more urgent because of the element of perfectionism in the thought of 1 John. The believer has been born of God and is a child of God, a status which could appear to be irreversible and lead to a mechanistic understanding of salvation. There is a tone of certainty which runs through the whole letter (e.g. ii 12–4, 20, 27 f.; iii 9) and which, as we shall see, has its roots in the Gospel where the believer is not of this world (Jn. xv 19) and to some extent already possesses the life of the age to come. 1 John has intensified the perfectionism implied by the Johannine theology of election and at times expresses it in unconditional language which could easily give rise to the problem he has to combat. d) The only claim to receive outright condemnation is the claim not to have sinned or to have no sin (i 8, 10). Yet the author makes on behalf of believers a very similar claim, ‘Everyone who remains in him does not sin; everyone who sins has not seen him or known him – everyone who is born of God does not do sin because his seed remains in him; he cannot sin because he has been born of God’ (iii 6–9). The apparent contradiction between these two passages is not merely to be ascribed to grammar, context or background; neither is the author of 1 John likely to have been consciously articulating the theological tension in the believer’s existence, simul justus, simul peccator.35 Rather, it belongs to his own style and probably to the thought of the community to state things absolutely, ‘We know that everyone born of God does not sin, but he who was born of God keeps him and the evil one does not touch him’ (v 18). He knows too that the absolute does not always apply – someone may still see his brother committing sin (v 16) – but his theology does not give him scope to modify the absolute. The modern theologian may rightly comment ‘The fact that he has been begotten of God excludes the possibility of his committing sin as an expression of his true character, though actual sins may, and do, occur, in so far as he fails from weakness to realize his true character,’36 but for our author this casuistry is not possible; either one is or is not a child of God, one is or is not born of God, and if not of God, then of the devil (iii 10). The assurance of the inherent possession of sinlessness which he attacks is the child of his own thought or at least of the school of thought which he represents. Significantly he cannot counter it by a new theological development but only by setting alongside the assurance of the sinless potential of the child of God, the recognition of the reality of sin in experience and the promise that ‘if anyone does sin, we have a Paraclete with the Father, Jesus Christ the righteous’ (ii 1). Thus the moral debate of the letter is fundamentally a debate with the potential consequences of its own theological background; it is an attempt to determine the grounds on which the basic theological assertions of the certainty of election could be maintained. Even though some had left the community, and their departure may well have been related to these moral issues, the dangers of the perfectionism of the community’s theology remained ever present. This is why the author’s debate had first of all to be directed within the community, to demonstrate the meaning of its assurance, how its validity was to be ascertained and hence also to be reaffirmed.

E. Käsemann, ‘Ketzer und Zeuge’, Z.Th.K. 48 (1951), p. 292–311, p. 308. A. E. Brooke, The Johannine Epistles, p. 89.

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IV.  1 John and the Johannine Tradition In 1 John, therefore, we see the author confronted by the consequences of his own tradition of thought and seeking to show the invalidity of those consequences while upholding the theology which gave birth to them. Orthodoxy and heresy are not two clearly demarcated entities but we can see the search to differentiate between them within the framework of a tradition which in one sense never fitted entirely comfortably into either camp.37 It remains true that although 1 John’s primary purpose was not polemical the schism within the community was the immediate occasion of the letter and the origins of that schism are to be seen in those elements in the thought of the community of 1 John which necessitated both the christological and the moral debate. It is when we trace the roots of these elements to the Fourth Gospel that we can understand better the problem and the achievement of 1 John. In John attention is focussed on the decisive nature of the call to faith and the response to that call (Jn. iii 18). As often observed, there is an element of determinism – the source even of the response itself is God (vi 44) – but this does not absolve man from being accountable for his response. In the Gospel both determinism and accountability are centred on the sending of the Son of God and only have meaning in the light of that eschatological event (xii 35–41). In 1 John the focus of attention has changed; the decision is past but the consequences are present and eternal for through that decision the believer is shown to be a child of God (cf. Jn. i 12–3). We have suggested that this resulted in the questioning of the role of Jesus Christ in the believer’s experience and in salvation. This may seem surprising in comparison with John where Jesus plays a central role not only because of the Gospel format but because he alone is the one who can reveal God and make a relation­ship possible (Jn. i 18; xiv 6–9); the believer’s relationship is firstly with Jesus (vi 56; xiv 20; xv 4–7; xvii 23) and only through Jesus with God (xvii 21). However, we have noted a shift of emphasis in 1 John towards a stress on the believer’s relationship with God as born of God and with it an ambiguity as to the role of Jesus.38 It would have been easy for some to have gone a step further and to have so devalued Jesus in their understanding of salvation as to force the author to react in the way we have seen by stressing the essential role of the Son and the necessity of belief in him. However, the fact that we can see in his theology those elements which gave rise to the problem indicates that his attempts at safeguard have not transformed his thought. The author confirms the necessity of faith in Jesus lest some found it difficult to relate that faith to their religious experience which was expressed in God-centred terms. At the same time he confirms that the community, in that faith which he assumes they hold, have the assurance that they are indeed true children of God and possessors of knowledge and eternal life. Reinstating Jesus into the scheme does not detract from the community assurance of election. It is us whom God loves and who are the real object of his sending of his Son (iv 9–10), it is us to whom he has given eternal life, the life which is in his Son (v 11 f.). The believer’s certainty of election is also the underlying theme of the moral debate. In this case election leads to perfectionism. Already there is this tendency in the Gospel in that the

The Gospel appears to have been used by Gnostics before it was generally accepted by the Church; attempts to ascribe to the writing of the Gospel the support of other Apostles, for example in the Muratorian Canon, reflect the difficulties some found in the individuality of the Fourth Gospel. 38 See above pp. 345–6. 37

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believer is born from above and is not of this world (Jn. iii 3, 7; xvii 14–6). Believers already possess the life of the new aeon (iii 36; v 24; xiv 27; xv 11)  and, inasmuch as the new age belongs by definition to the sinless child of God, a degree of spiritual and moral perfectionism is implied. The increased emphasis in 1 John on the believer as born of God and a child of God would encourage the understanding of this election as unconditional and irreversible­how can the child of God, in his possession of an ‘anointing’ or God’s seed (1 Jn. ii 20, 27; iii g), have other than an indelible character? If, as recent studies suggest,39 the thought of the Gospel implies that the Johannine community existed in a self-imposed isolation from other forms of Christianity, with a highly developed sense of its own separateness from the world and of its own election there would be a strong impulse to this sort of thought. Especially in the absence of any clear ethical teaching in the Gospel, a sense of sanctity and assurance could be provided by belonging to the elect community rather than by practical living. It is because these tendencies are potential elements within the author’s own theology that the protagonists in the moral debate are more shadowy than in the christological conflict. The argument is delicately poised for it is an internal one; perhaps even regardless of whether some had developed the tendencies to perfectionism too far, the author’s goal is to maintain the certainty of election and the necessary practical consequences in a balance which will demonstrate their interrelatedness and let neither jeopardize the other. Ultimately the balance he achieves is a precarious one. The only practical expression of election is to keep ‘his commands’, namely to love God and one’s brother (iii 23; v 2), who, as in the Fourth Gospel, must be one’s fellow-believer (so v 1–2). The world is avoided (ii 15–7) and love is restricted within the community thus preserving the strong, exclusive communitysense. No concern is shown for the schismatics now proven to have never been members of the elect – and, ironically, perhaps included in the condemnation of those who fail to love their brethren.40 In sharp contrast to the Gospel where the declaration of the election of the disciples and subsequent believers includes mission (Jn. xvii 18; cf. xx 21), there is no sense of being sent; in 1 John love does not run the risk of reaching out beyond the boundaries of security. In the last resort the practical working out of the consequences of election remains subordinate to the reaffirmation of that election, ‘We know that we are of God and the whole world lies in the power of the evil one’ (v 19). To understand 1 John we must not go in pursuit of docetics or gnostics as the villains of the piece; they are closer to home, the stepbrothers or, to change the image, the distorted reflections of the author himself and it is to him we must look to understand his letter. Then only can we ask more searching questions of the Epistle and, most important, how far he has understood the message of the Gospel: ‘The glory which you have given me, I have given them, that they may be one, even as we are one’.

See W. A. Meeks, ‘The Manfrom Heaven in Johannine Sectarianism’, J.B.L. 91 (1972), p. 44–72; M. de Jonge, ‘Jewish Expectations about the Messiah according to the Fourth Gospel’, N.T.S. 19 (1972/3), p. 246–70. 40 A point well made by R. E. Brown, ‘The relationship to the Fourth Gospel shared by the author of 1 John and by his opponents’, in ed. E. Best and R. Mcl Wilson, Text and Interpretation for M. Black (Cambridge, 1979), p. 57–68; the opponents also may have only loved those whom they saw as belonging to the truth! 39

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COSMOLOGY IN THE PETRINE LITERATURE AND JUDE John Dennis

This chapter will examine passages in the Petrine literature and Jude that employ explicit cosmological concepts and terminology. Cosmology is used here to describe the way in which our literature speaks about the structure of the cosmos, or universe, as a meaningful place.1 But our authors are not concerned with cosmology as an end in itself or for mere speculative purposes. Rather, cosmology is dealt with for the express purpose of theology, that is, in order to say something about God and particularly God’s salvific work in Christ. Cosmology is the canvas, so to speak, of Heilsgeschichte (salvation history). The primary goal, then, of this contribution will be to investigate how cosmology serves the authors’ theological and ethical purposes. Some of the passages dealt with are notoriously difficult and we do not pretend to settle all the debated issues. Nevertheless, it is hoped that this study will provide a clear, though introductory, account of the function of cosmology in the Petrine literature and Jude.

1 Peter 1.  The Setting of 1 Peter The life-situation of the recipients of 1 Peter is one of persecution and suffering. Thus, Peter wrote to console ‘those caught up in such adverse circumstances’ and to provide ‘perspective on Christian life that will enable the community to survive persecutions with its faith intact’.2 One of the ways the author accomplishes this strategy is to relate his readers’ lives to the redemptive story beginning with God as creator (4.19) and his redemptive activity from before creation (1.20) to the consummation (1.5). Therefore the author is not interested by ‘explaining metaphysics, history, or cosmology to them, but by addressing them from within this world, confirming the new world they received at their new birth, and by deepening and widening their perception of the new reality in which they live’.3 Thus, cosmology is a means to an end for Peter, the end being his readers’ faithful obedience to the Gospel even in the context of suffering and persecution.

See R. A. Oden, ‘Cosmogony, Cosmology’, in ABD 1:1162. P. J. Achtemeier, 1 Peter: A Commentary on First Peter (Hermeneia; Minneapolis: Fortress, 1996), p. 65. See also A. Schlatter, Petrus und Paulus nach dem Ersten Petrusbrief (Stuttgart: Calwer, 1937), p. 13. 3 M. E. Boring, 1 Peter (ANTC; Nashville: Abingdon Press, 1999), p. 184. 1 2

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2.  1 Pet. 1.20: The Foundation of the Cosmos and the Last Times The larger context of 1 Pet. 1.20, namely, vv. 13–25, continues the apostle’s paraenesis to these beleaguered Christians. He encourages them to ‘fix your hope completely’ on the future grace promised to them at Christ’s parousia (v. 13) and to be themselves holy in all their behaviour, according to God’s holiness as their pattern (v. 15), rather than being conformed to their former desires in their ignorance as non-believers (v. 14). 1 Pet. 1.17 communicates essentially the same idea: the readers are to ‘conduct yourselves in fear (or reverence) during the time of your pilgrimage’. The section comprising vv. 18–21 serves as the ground for the main clause of v.  17 (‘conduct yourselves .  .  .’). Thus, because these Christians have firm confidence that their redemption (λυτρόω) was secured ‘by means of the valuable blood (τιμίω αἵματι)’ of Christ (v. 19), they should conduct themselves in reverent fear toward God in the context of their present pilgrimage in a hostile world (v. 17). Verses 20 and 21 then spell out further aspects of the preceding verses:  following upon the mention of Christ’s blood in v.  19, v.  20 further describes Christ as the one who was ‘foreknown before the foundation of the world’. Our primary focus here concerns the meaning and function of the obvious cosmological term κόσμoς in the phrase πρὸ καταβoλῆς κόσμoυ (‘from the foundation of the world’) in v. 20. The term κόσμoς (world, universe),4 used 7 times in our literature,5 takes on the following three basic meanings in the NT: (1) ‘the sum total of everything here and now’,6 that is, the created universe; (2) the abode of humanity, or the inhabited world; and (3) the realm of sin and alienation from the Creator.7 In 1–2 Peter and Jude, all three of these senses are found. But, it must be kept in mind that significant overlap in meaning is inevitable. Although 1 Pet. 4.7 does not employ the term κόσμoς, it nevertheless uses the virtually synonymous term πάντα in the phrase πάντων δὲ τὸ τὲλoς ἤγγικεν (‘the end of all things has come near’). The idea here is that the end, or final, transformation of the created world (meaning 1) (or πάντα) is imminent.8 An overlap of meanings 1 and 2 is evident in 2 Pet. 3.5-6 where the ‘heavens and earth’ (v. 5)  seem to be equated with the ‘world’:  God ‘formed’ the heavens and earth (v. 5; cf. Genesis 1) and destroyed ‘the world at that time’ (v. 6; cf. Genesis 6–7). God is both the creator and judge of the world in its totality and all living beings in its sphere. 2 Pet. 2.5, a related text to 2 Pet. 3.5-6 in that both concern universal judgement9 by means of the flood (cf. Genesis 6–7), declares that God ‘did not spare the ancient world (ἀρχαίoυ κόσμoυ) . . . when he brought a flood upon the ungodly world’ (κόσμω ἀσεβῶν). Bauckham states that cosmos here ‘means primarily inhabitants of the world’,10 although in light of the universal nature of the flood, this verse may well refer to some kind of ‘cosmic

See E. Adams’ Constructing the World: A Study of Paul’s Cosmological Language (Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 2000), pp. 41–81, for an excellent study of the term κόσμoς in Greek, Jewish and Pauline literature. 5 Pet. 1.20; 3.3 (here meaning ‘adornment’); 5:9; 2 Pet. 1.4; 2.5, 20; 3.6. 6 BDAG, p. 561. 7 See further BDAG, p. 561; H. Balz, ‘κόσμoς’, EDNT 2:311; H. Sasse, ‘κόσμoς’, TDNT 3:885–9. 8 See also Jn 1.3 where it is said that ‘all things came into being through him’ (πάντα δι’ αὐτoῦ ἐγένετo) and Acts 7.4950 where the adjective πάντα refers to ‘all things’ created by God including ‘heaven and earth’. 9 R. Bauckham, Jude, 2 Peter (WBC 50; Waco: Word, 1983), p. 250. 10 Ibid. Meaning (2) (cosmos as the inhabited world) is clearly found in 1 Pet. 5.9: ‘your brethren who are in the world’. BDAG, p. 561, categorizes 1 Pet. 5.9 under the definition ‘world as the habitation of humanity’. 4

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catastrophe’.11 In addition, 2 Pet. 2.5, along with such references as 2 Pet. 3.10 where the ‘heavens and earth’ are analogous to the present ‘world’ as the totality of the created universe (meaning number 1 above), suggests that the ‘author of 2 Peter seems to have thought of three successive worlds:  the ancient world before the flood, present world and the new world to come (3.13) after judgement’.12 What is crucial to point out concerning these passages is that they ultimately point to the eschatological restoration of all things: 1 Pet. 4.7 implies it in the overall context of 1 Peter13 and the arguments of 2 Pet. 2.5 and 3.6 peak at the promise of the ‘new heavens and new earth’, or the cosmos of the new age, in 3.13. The phrases ‘corruption that is in the world because of sinful desire’14 (της ἐν τῲ κόσμω ἐν επίθυμίᾳ φθoρᾶς) in 2 Pet. 1.4 and ‘the defilements of the world’ (τὰ μιάσματα τοῦ κόσμoυ) in 2 Pet. 2.20 suggest that ‘world’ in these instances should be categorized mainly under meaning (3): the world is the place or sphere characterized by sinful desire (επίθυμία),15 defilement and the corruption, decay and transitoriness of this age (signified by the term φθoρά, 1.4).16 But again a message of eschatological hope is present in these passages. Believers have ‘escaped’ (ἀποφεύγω) the ‘corruption’ (φθορά) and ‘defilements’ (μίασμα) of and in this world (1.4; 2.20). Because of God’s ‘magnificent promises’ (1.4) and ‘in accordance’ with them, believers in this present world ‘wait for new heavens and a new earth’ (3.13), or, the ‘eschatological gift of αφθορσία (“imperishability”, 1 Pet. 1.4, 18, 23)’.17 Returning to 1 Pet. 1.20, the term ‘world’ falls under meaning (1) and refers to the created cosmos. The term is used in 1.20 in a prepositional phrase (‘before the foundation of the world’) that employs the noun καταβολή (‘foundation’) and the preposition πρό (‘before’) and as such refers to a time ‘before’ or ‘prior to’ the creation of all things (cf. Gen. 1.1).18 Our prepositional phrase is used only two other times in the NT: Eph. 1.4 speaks of God’s election of his people in Christ ‘before the foundation of the world’ and Jn 17.24 speaks of the eternal love of the Father for the Son ‘before the foundation of the world’. In 1 Pet. 1.20 Christ is described with a parallel pair of participial phrases: (a) προεγνωσμέυου        (a) who was foreknown πρὸ καταβολῆς κόσμου         before the foundation of the world (b) φανέρωθεντος         (b) who has appeared ἐπ’ έσχάτου τῶν χρόυων      at the end of times

J. N. D. Kelly, A Commentary on the Epistles of Peter and of Jude (BNTC; London: A & C Black, 1969), p. 332; and particularly E. Adams, The Stars will Fall From Heaven: Cosmic Catastrophe in the New Testament and its World (LNTS 347; London: T&T Clark, 2007), pp. 214–16. 12 Bauckham, Jude, 2 Peter, p. 250. 13 See Achtemeier, 1 Peter, p. 294. 14 The translation here is Bauckham’s from his Jude, 2 Peter, p. 182. 15 Bauckham’s translation of ἐπίθυμία in 2 Pet. 1.4 as ‘sinful desire’ is wholly justified. The term’s basic sense is ‘desire for something forbidden or simply inordinate, craving, lust’ (BDAG, p. 372). In our literature it is used in the follow ways: 1 Pet. 1.14; 2.11 (lusts of the flesh); 4.2 (human desires and will of God contrasted); 4.3; here; 2 Pet. 2.10; 2.18 (desires of the flesh); 3.3; Jude 16, 18 (ungodly lusts). 16 Bauckham, Jude, 2 Peter, p. 182; Balz, ‘κόσμος’, EDNT 2:311. 17 Similarly, Bauckham, Jude, 2 Peter, p. 182. 18 The phrase, according to Balz, ‘κόσμος’, EDNT 2:311, means: the ‘Cosmos has a beginning that has been established by God’. 11

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The person of Christ, and by implication the redemption through him,19 is related to eternity past and the end of the age in which believers now live. God ‘foreknew’ or ‘destined’ (προγινώσκω) Christ before the creation of the world.20 These Christians’ redeemer and his redemption therefore have nothing to do with the corruption and defilements of this world (1.4; 2.20) but rather stand outside its sphere. As B. Reicke21 has pointed out, 1.20a corresponds in essence to the teaching of 1.4: God reserved and secured believers’ inheritance in heaven for them and in 1.20 God has ‘destined’ Christ and his redemption ‘for your sake’ before creation. God not only foreknew or destined Christ before creation, he also caused him to be revealed ‘at the end of times’, that is, at the ‘the beginning of the end of time’22 in which believers now live. Since all of these occurrences (1.20a-b) happened precisely for the sake of God’s people (‘for your sake’, v. 20), they have the effect of ‘focusing the whole sweep of history on the readers, and sets them, exiles and aliens that they are, at centre stage in the drama of salvation’.23 In addition, because these Christians ‘know’ these things concerning their redeemer and redemption (vv. 18–21), they can, with confidence, ‘conduct themselves in fear during their pilgrimage’ (v. 17) in these ‘last times’.

3.  1 Pet. 3.18–22 This extremely difficult passage is full of exegetical minefields which we shall not be able to discuss in detail in this chapter.24 We will limit the focus25 primarily on the references to the ‘cosmic powers’26 in v. 19 (‘the spirits in prison’) and in v. 22 (‘angels and authorities and powers’), all of which relate to the Jewish apocalyptic ‘cosmic myth’.27 It is probably best to take the ‘for’ (ὅτι) that begins v. 18 as providing the ‘theological basis’ for the entire preceding section (3.12-17),28 a section that encourages believers to continue their ‘good behaviour in Christ’ (v. 16) even as they are being persecuted for it. In this way, these Christians can live lives that bear witness to their hope in Christ (v. 15). Christ’s unique death (‘once for all’, ἅπαξ) is presented ‘as the objective ground and cause of salvation’29 which provides these Christians with confidence in their suffering that Christ’s death and resurrection The two participles προεγνωσμένου and φανερωθέντος clearly describe Χριστοῦ and not God’s ‘plan’ of redemption. But given that the redemption secured with Christ’s blood (v. 19) and the fact that Christ ‘has appeared at the end of times for your sake’ (v. 20) suggest that Christ, along with the redemption he came to bring his people, was also ‘foreknown before the foundation of the world’. 20 Achtemeier’s translation of προεγνωσμένου πρὸ καταβολῆς κόσμου captures well the intended sense: ‘whose destiny was set before creation’. 21 Reicke, The Epistles of James, Peter and Jude (AB; Garden City, NY: Doubleday, 1980), p. 86. 22 L. Goppelt, A Commentary on I Peter (trans. J. E. Alsup; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1993), p. 118. 23 Achtemeier, 1 Peter, p. 132. 24 On the extensive history of interpretation of vv. 18–22, see particularly B. Reicke, The Disobedient Spirits and Christian Baptism: A Study of 1 Peter iii.21 and Its Context (Copenhagen: Munksgaard, 1946), pp. 7–51; and W. J. Dalton, Christ’s Proclamation to the Spirits: A Study of 1 Peter 3:18-4:6 (Rome: Pontificio Istituto Biblico, 1989), pp. 15–41. 25 In light of space restrictions exegetical conclusions will be mentioned for which I  can provide (at best) limited support. 26 Designated as such by Goppelt, I Peter, p. 248. 27 Ibid., p. 257. 28 So Achtemeier, 1 Peter, p. 243; L. Thurén, Argument and Theology in 1 Peter: The Origin of Christian Paraenesis (JSNT 114; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1999), p. 158; Kelly, Commentary, p. 146; Dalton, Proclamation, p. 158. 29 Dalton, Proclamation, p. 122. 19

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accomplished their reconciliation to God (it brought them ‘to God’, v. 18) and victory over every opposing power.30 We must keep in mind that this is the overall point of 3.18-22. Christ’s once for all suffering for sins in v. 18a is further described in v. 18b as Christ ‘having been put to death in the flesh, but made alive in the spirit’ (NASB). These phrases refer to Christ’s death on the cross and his vindication by resurrection respectively. The μέν-δέ construction that correlates these participles suggests that the emphasis is placed on the second element,31 so that Christ’s resurrection is the emphasis. The following two grammatical/syntactical questions that bear directly on the meaning of vv. 19–20 are: what is the sense of the dative case of the two nouns σαρκί/πνεύματι (v. 18) and what does ἐν ᾧ (v. 19) refer to and mean? The two nouns in the dative case (NASB translation: ‘in the flesh’/‘in the spirit’) have been understood in a number of ways, but probably the only real options are to construe them as either datives of reference/respect (‘with reference to the flesh’),32 sphere (‘in the sphere of the S/spirit’)33 or as instrumental datives (‘by the Spirit’).34 If the clause ζῳοποιηθεὶς πνεύματι is a reference to Christ’s resurrection by the agency of the Spirit then this suggests that ἐν ᾧ (v. 19), whose antecedent is the immediately preceding πνεύματι, should likewise be understood instrumentally35 and with the following sense:  ‘by whom [the Spirit] he went and proclaimed to the spirits in prison’.36 In the end, as Michaels observes, there is not a great deal of difference in terms of the overall sense, since ‘the words ἐν ᾧ καί serve to link ζῳοποιηθείς closely to the πορευθεὶς ἐκήρυξεν that follows, making Christ’s proclamation to the spirits a direct outcome of his resurrection from the dead’.37 Where did Christ ‘go’, what did he ‘proclaim’, and to whom did he proclaim? These are the important questions that pertain to vv. 19–20. One of the dominant interpretations38 through the centuries has been to argue that Christ proclaimed the gospel to the departed spirits (i.e., ‘the spirits in prison’, v.  19), that is, the unbelieving contemporaries of Noah, who were preserved in a place of punishment after their death.39 The reference in 1 Pet. 4.6 to the gospel being preached to ‘the dead’ is often used to support this interpretation.40 However, the interpretation that is far more likely argues that the ‘spirits’ of 1 Pet. 3.19 are the fallen angels identified with story of Gen. 6.1-4 in Jewish

Achtemeier, 1 Peter, p. 251. See D. Blass and R. W. Funk, A Greek Grammar of the New Testament and Other Early Christian Literature (Chicago/ London: University of Chicago Press, 2000), §447; BDAG, p. 629; Dalton, Proclamation, p. 137. 32 J. R. Michaels, 1 Peter (Waco: Word, 1988), p. 205. 33 Kelly, Commentary, p. 151. 34 Achtemeier, 1 Peter, p. 250; J. S. Feinberg, ‘1 Peter 3:18–20, Ancient Mythology, and the Intermediate State’, WTJ 48 (1986), 303–36 (335); R. T. France, ‘Exegesis in Practice:  Two Examples’, in I. H. Marshall, ed., New Testament Interpretation: Essays on Principles and Methods (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1977), p. 267. 35 Reicke, Disobedient Spirits, pp. 103–15 and Michaels, 1 Peter, p. 205. 36 Achtemeier, 1 Peter, pp. 252–3. Similarly, Goppelt, I Peter, p. 254, n. 28. 37 Michaels, 1 Peter, pp. 205–6. 38 See the excellent summary of the history of research on 1 Pet. 3.19-20 in Feinberg, ‘1 Peter 3:18-20’, pp. 309–12. 39 So F. W. Beare, The First Epistle of Peter: The Greek Text with Introduction and Notes (Oxford: Blackwell, 1970), p. 172; and Goppelt, I Peter, p. 259. The main thrust of this view was also held by Augustine. 40 We will not specifically deal with 1 Pet. 4.6. But, suffice it to say that 4.6 uses the term ‘dead’ not ‘spirits’ (3.19) and the verb ‘preach the gospel’ (εὐαγγελίζω), not the general term ‘proclaim’ (κηρύσσω). 1 Pet. 4.6 concerns the Christians who have died, not the ‘spirits’ of the unbelieving dead. See Achtemeier, 1 Peter, pp. 286–91 and France, ‘Exegesis’, p. 269. 30 31

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(particularly 1 Enoch 6–16) and Christian tradition (2 Pet. 2.4-5 and Jude 5–7).41 The full story appears in 1 Enoch 6–16,42 a second-century bce Jewish apocalyptic text. It is important to note that in most instances of this expanded Jewish saga about fallen angels/spirits, the flood story (following Gen. 6.1-6) features as an integral part, just as it does in 1 Pet. 3.19-20. Following the full account in 1 Enoch 6–36, the story can be summarized as follows. (1) The angelic ‘Watchers’ left their God-given proper abode as ‘spiritual beings’, that is, heaven (1 En. 15.4-7) and they rebelled against their proper function as heavenly beings (1 Enoch 2–5) in order to mate with human women. As a result, the Watchers beget ‘giants’ and engender all manner of corrupt, sinful, and forbidden acts among human beings. The offspring of the union of the Watchers and the women are identified with ‘evil spirits upon the earth’ (1 En. 15.8-12). (2) The Watchers are punished by being put away in a holding place until their eternal punishment on the final judgement day (cf. 1 En. 10.6-12). This ‘holding place’ is variously described as a ‘hole in the desert’ (1 En. 10.4-6), ‘underneath the rocks of the earth’ or ‘inside the earth’ (10.12; cf. Jub. 5.6; 14.5), ‘in chains’ in the seventh heaven (2 Enoch 7), or as a ‘prison house of the angels’ (1 En. 18.21) where the earth and heavens come together, ‘the ultimate end of heaven and earth’ (1 En. 18.11-16). Apart from the clear parallels between the story of the Watchers in these Jewish texts and 1 Peter 3, it is also striking to note that the Noah and the flood story is almost always associated with this strange story of the Watchers,43 just as the Noah and the flood story is associated with the ‘spirits in prison’ in 1 Pet. 3.19-20. It is therefore most likely that this apocalyptic saga stands behind 1 Pet. 3.19-20 (as it explicitly does in Jude 5–7 and 2 Pet. 2.4-5). With this conclusion in mind, where is the ‘prison’ (φυλακή) in which the ‘spirits’ are located and where did the risen Christ ‘go’ (πoρεύoμαι) in order to proclaim a message to them? There is good evidence that the participle πορευθείς (‘went’), found in the statement that Christ ‘went and proclaimed’ (v. 19), refers to his ascension,44 just as it does in v. 22: ‘He is at the right hand of God, after having gone (πορευθείς) into heaven . . .’ The verb πορεύομαι is, after all, the verb that normally describes Christ’s ascension (or his ‘going’) to heaven in the NT.45 Where he went, or where the prison was located in Peter’s mind, is not at all clear. Following on from interpreting πορεύομαι (‘Christ went’) as Christ’s ascension, Dalton argues that the prison was somewhere in the heavens, as it is in 2 En. 7.1-3.46 Christ then proclaimed to these disobedient angelic spirits in the context of his ascension. This may well be the case. But in light of the various locations of the prison in the apocalyptic texts noted above, the ‘place’ ultimately eludes us. Nevertheless, that there was such a prison for evil spirits47 ‘is assumed in the NT and Jewish tradition’.48

This is now the dominant interpretation. E.g., Achtemeier, 1 Peter, p.  256; N. Brox, Der erste Petrusbrief (Zurich:  Benziger, 2nd edn, 1979), p.  172; Michaels, 1 Peter, pp.  207–9; France, ‘Exegesis’, pp.  264–81; Kelly, Commentary, pp. 153–4. 42 The story is also referred to in the mid-second-century bce book of Jubilees 5, Josephus’ J.W. I.73-74 and the late firstcentury ce 2 Baruch 56. All translations for the pseudepigraphical literature here and below are from Charlesworth’s Old Testament Pseudepigrapha (2 vols.; New York: Doubleday, 1983, 1985). 43 For example, in Josephus, J.W. I.73-74 we find a clear association between the stories of the Watchers, the ‘sons of God’ of Genesis 6, and Noah and the flood. See also T. Naph. 3.4-5. 44 Achtemeier, 1 Peter, p. 258; Michaels, 1 Peter, p. 209; Dalton, Proclamation, pp. 159–60. 45 Acts 1.10, 11; Jn 14.2, 3; 16.28. Note the very similar wording in Acts 1.11 (πορευόμενον εἰς τὸν οὐρανόν) as in 1 Pet. 3.22 (πορευθεὶς εἰς οὐρανόν). 46 Dalton, Proclamation, pp. 177–84. 47 In Rev. 18.2 and 20.7 Satan and demons are held in a ‘prison’ (φυλακή). 48 Achtemeier, 1 Peter, p. 256. 41

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What did Christ ‘proclaim’ (κηρύσσω) to the spirits, salvation or condemnation? The verb κηρύσσω can be used of preaching the gospel,49 but in every such case, the object of the verb is the noun ‘gospel’ (εὐαγγέλιου). In 1 Pet. 3.19 the verb is used without an explicit object and thus the ‘message’ of the proclamation is not specifically stated. That the message of the proclamation is negative is suggested by the following evidence: (1) as Dalton points out,50 2 Pet. 2.5 describes Noah as a ‘preacher’ (κῆρυξ) and his proclamation is a warning of coming judgement. (2) Assuming that the background to 1 Pet. 3.19-20 is the story of the Watchers found in Jewish apocalyptic texts (particularly 1 Enoch), there is a remarkable parallel between Enoch’s mission to proclaim judgement to the Watchers in 1 Enoch 12–14 and Christ’s mission to proclaim to the spirits in 1 Pet. 3.19.51 Enoch is told to ‘go and make known to the Watchers of heaven . . .’ that ‘they have defiled themselves’ and ‘neither will there be peace unto them nor the forgiveness of sin’ (1 En. 12.4-5). Later, Enoch ‘reprimands’ the Watchers (13.10; 14.3), also called their ‘chastisement’ (14.1). D. A. DeSilva is probably correct to argue that Enoch ‘becomes a type for Christ, just as Noah (saved through water) becomes a type for believers (saved through the waters of baptism)’.52 The interpretation argued above supports the view that Christ’s ‘going’ (πορεύομαι) is a reference to his ascension after his resurrection (‘made alive by the Spirit, v.  18)  and his proclaiming (κηρύσσω) to the spirits in prison refers to Christ who, ‘on his way to the right hand of power (3.22), announces to the imprisoned angelic powers his victory and hence their defeat’.53 This interpretation is virtually made certain on the basis of v. 22: ‘Who is at the right hand of God having gone into heaven after angels and authorities and powers were made subjected to him’. By the use of this three-fold list (ἀγγέλων, ἐξoυσιῶν, δυνάμεων), Peter has referred to a range of spiritual beings/powers54 who have been subordinated to the risen and exalted Christ. Thus, 3.22 reiterates and expands what is found in 3.19. Jesus’ triumph over the powers of evil would encourage believers to remain faithful despite their suffering by the hostile forces in their environment. ‘Christ’s victory over the evil forces behind such hostilities also ensures their [Christians’] own final victory over them’.55 They can now, in the midst of their present difficulties, ‘resist him [the devil]’ (5.9) because of Christ’s decisive victory over the devil and all evil forces.

Jude and 2 Peter Jude and 2 Peter are polemical letters in that their authors seek to deal with the negative influences of itinerate false teachers (Jude 4; 2 Pet. 2.1), also called ‘scoffers’ (Jude 18; 2 Pet. 3.3), who were encouraging ideas and lifestyles that are contrary to the faith once for all given (cf. Jude 3). Although their teachings are different, the two sets of false teachers share a basic

E.g., Mk 1.14; Gal. 2.2; 1 Thess. 2.9. Dalton, Proclamation, pp. 156–7. 51 France, ‘Exegesis’, p. 270. 52 DeSilva, An Introduction to the New Testament: Contexts, Methods & Ministry Formation (Downers Grove: Intervarsity Press, 2004), p. 854. 53 Achtemeier, 1 Peter, p. 260. 54 For similar references to these spiritual beings, see 1 Cor. 15.24; Eph. 1.21; Col. 1.16. 55 Achtemeier, 1 Peter, p. 261. 49 50

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similarity:  they commend and engage in immoral behavior of various kinds (Jude 4, 7–8; 2 Pet. 2.2, 18). In addition, these teachers are not presented as outsiders to their respective communities, for they have found their way into the most intimate part of the community’s life: the ‘fellowship meal’ (Jude 12; 2 Pet. 2.13). Our authors have to address their respective situations head-on. Our consideration of the function of cosmological language and ideas in these two letters will be limited to the sections in which this language is concentrated, namely, Jude 6–8/2 Pet. 2.4-10 and 2 Pet. 3.4-13. The specific issues that will be focused upon are:  2 Peter’s use of the term ταρταρόω (‘to cast into hell’) (2 Pet. 2.4), the angels kept in the chains of ‘nether darkness’56 (ζόφoς) (Jude 6; 2 Pet. 2.4), the ‘slandering’ (βλασφημέω) of the ‘glorious ones’ (δόξας) (Jude 8; 2 Pet. 2.10b), and issue of cosmic conflagration (2 Pet. 3.4-13). 1.  Tartarus, the Nether Darkness and the Angels: Jude 6 and 2 Pet. 2.4 In dealing with their respective false teachers, both authors make use of examples from the OT and Jewish tradition to show that God will punish the ungodly. On such tradition is the story of the Watchers (evil angels) which clearly stands behind Jude 6 and 2 Pet. 2.4 to various degrees. One can immediately see the parallels between these verses and the story of the Watchers in 1 Enoch (see above). The key elements in Jude, 2 Peter and 1 Enoch are: angels rebelled and were punished by being chained in a place of darkness until the final day of judgement. Jude’s version is closer to the Watchers’ story, noticeable in his statement that the angels ‘did not keep their own domain, but abandoned their proper abode’ (Jude 6; cf. 1 En. 15.4-7), which in 1 En. 15.7 is ‘heaven’.57 In Peter’s appropriation of the story of Watchers (2 Pet. 2.4) he adds a reference to ‘Tartarus’: God did not spare the angels ‘but “cast them into Tartarus” (ταρταρόω)’. In Greek mythology Tartarus, often associated with Hades,58 was thought to be a subterranean abyss59 where the disobedient (whether gods or human beings) were punished.60 Tartarus is particularly associated with the defeat of the Titans and their punishment of being chained in the abysmal depths of the earth or Tartarus.61 Mythical Tartarus was widely known by Hellenistic Jewish writers and was associated with the ‘giants’ of Genesis 6 and the angelic Watchers. For example, some of the Jewish translators of the Septuagint make reference to Tartarus in association with

This is Bauckham’s translation of ζόφoς from his 2 Peter, Jude volume. 1 Pet. 3.22 may imply that the ‘angels, authorities and powers’ are in the heavens. 58 E.g., Plato, Gorgias 522E-523B; Homer, Iliad 8.10. 59 Tartarus figures in Greek cosmogony and cosmology. In the Theogony, Hesiod gives an account of the origins of the cosmos and particularly ‘how in the first place the gods and earth were born’ (Theogony 104). Everything originates from a ‘chasm’ (χάoς), a ‘gap’ or an ‘opening’ from which the earth emerged. ‘Murky Tartarus’ (Τάρταρα ἠερόεντα) is located ‘in the depths’ of the earth (Theogony 116) or ‘under the earth’ (Theogony 718). Homer locates ‘murky Tartarus’ ‘far, far away, where is the deepest gulf beneath the earth . . . as far beneath Hades as heaven is above the earth’ (Iliad 8.10–14). Cf. Plato, Phaedo 111E-112A (Tartarus is a ‘chasm’ in the ‘lowest abyss beneath the earth’). 60 In Gorgias 523B, Plato refers to the myth as follows: ‘Now in the time of Cronos there was a law concerning mankind, and it holds to this day amongst the gods, that every man who has passed a just and holy life departs after his decease to the Isle of the Blest . . . but whoever has lived unjustly and impiously goes to the dungeon of requital and penance which, you know, they call Tartarus’. See also Homer, Iliad 8.5–15; Hesiod, Theogony 617; Virgil, Aeneid 4.528–552. On Tartarus in Greek literature in general, see especially ‘Tartaros’, in H. Canick and H. Schneider (eds), Der neue Pauly Enzyklopädie der Antike (Vol. 12/1; Stuttgart/Weimar: J. B. Metzler, 2002). 61 The Titan myth was widely known in Greek and Latin literature and particularly in the poets. E.g., Hesiod, Theogony 639–711; 811; Virgil, Aeneid 578–580. 56 57

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the tradition of the giants and Watchers. lxx Ezek. 32.27 refers to the Watchers or giants (γίγας) of Genesis 6 who ‘went down to “Hades” ’ (ᾅδης) and Jdt. 16.6 explicitly refers to the ‘Titans’ and the ‘giants’.62 Josephus knows about Tartarus as a place where disobedient gods are ‘chained’ (δέω) ‘under the earth’ (Ag. Ap. 2.240). What is particularly important for our purposes is what Josephus does in Ant. 1.73-75. On analogy with 2 Pet. 2.4-5, Josephus conflates the story of Genesis 6 and the Watchers with the story of Noah and the Flood and draws a comparison between the evil deeds of the Watchers and the deeds of the Titans: ‘in fact the deeds of that tradition ascribed to them [the Watchers] resemble the audacious exploits told by the Greeks of the giants’ (Ant. 1.73).63 Another Hellenistic Jew, Philo of Alexandria, also knows Tartarus and uses the myth to contextualize his view of divine judgement for his Graeco-Roman audience. He writes, ‘And the proselyte who . . . has come over to God of his own accord . . . has received as a most appropriate reward a firm and sure habitation in heaven . . . But the man of noble descent, who has adulterated the coinage of his noble birth, will be dragged down to the lowest depths, being hurled down to Tartarus and profound darkness . . .’ (Rewards, 151).64 Therefore, in light of the fact that the concept of Tartarus was well known and employed by Hellenistic Jews and early Christianity,65 it seems best to conclude that 2 Peter’s use of the verb ταρταρόω (‘cast into Tartarus’) in 2.4 is another example of contextualizing the Jewish-Christian concept of divine punishment in the language and thought of Peter’s largely Gentile audience.66 In both 2 Pet. 2.4 and Jude 6 the sinful angels are assigned to (2 Peter: ‘committed them to fetters of ’; Jude: ‘kept in eternal chains in’) the ‘nether darkness’ (ζόφoς) where they await the final judgement. As mentioned above, this binding of the angels echoes the judgement of the ‘Watchers’ in 1 Enoch.67 The term ζόφος comes from Greek literature68 and refers to the mythological notion of the underworld or nether regions.69 The term thus refers to the same subterranean region known as Tartarus. This is particularly clear in Hesiod’s Theogony where it is said that the Titans are chained under the earth in ‘murky Tartarus’ (τάρταρα ἠερόεντα)70 and ‘under murky gloom’ (ὑπὸ ζόφῳ ἡερόεντι).71 In the same context ‘murky Tartarus’ is clearly synonymous with the ‘gloomy chasm’ (χάεoς ζoφερoῖo), the place where the Titans are assigned (Theogony 807–814). I would therefore suggest that although 2 Peter makes explicit reference to the two terms that refer to the mythical subterranean abyss, ζόφoς and Tartarus (2.4), Jude likewise refers to the same reality but by means of only one of the terms, ζόφoς. In See also LXX Job 40.20 (Tartarus is a ‘deep’ place); 41.24 (‘Tartarus of the abyss’ as a place for prisoners); LXX Prov. 30.16 (the ‘abyss’ and Tartarus). 63 See the second-century ce Christian work known as Sib. Or. 2:229-240 in which those who have been locked in ‘Hades’, namely, the ‘ancient phantoms, Titans and the Giants and such as the Flood destroyed’ will be led to the final judgement seat of God and Christ. 64 See also Sib. Or. 4.185 where we find another Hellenistic Jewish author associating the place of the final punishment of sinners as being under the earth, Tartarus, and Gehenna. 65 A. Vögtle, Der Judasbrief/Der 2. Petrusbrief (Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukirchener Verlag, 1994), p. 190. 66 Similarly Kelly, Commentary, p.  331; D.  J. Moo, 2 Peter, Jude (The NIV Application Commentary; Grand Rapids: Zondervan, 1996), p. 103. 67 Cf. 1 En. 13.1; 10.4-6; 14.5; 54.3-5; 56.1-4; 88.1; see also Jub. 5.6 and 2 Bar. 56.13. 68 The term is found five times in the New Testament: 2 Pet. 2.4, 17; Jude 6, 13; and Heb. 12.18. 69 Cf. Homer, Odyssey 11.54–7; 20.356; Iliad 15.191; 21.56. Cf. BDAG, p. 429. Cf. Bauckham, Jude, 2 Peter, p. 53. 70 Theogony 721; 736; 807. 71 Theogony 729. See also Theogony 650 where ‘under the murky gloom’ (ὑπὸ ζόφoυ ἠερόεντoς) is clearly describing the same reality as ‘murky Tartarus’. 62

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so doing, both authors describe the Jewish concept of the abysmal ‘darkness’ or ‘prison’ (cf. 1 Enoch 10; 1 Pet. 3.19) in which the evil angels are bound by means of the terms ζόφoς. The key verses in 1 Enoch 10 read as follows: The Lord said to Raphael, ‘Bind Azaz’el hand and foot (and) throw him into darkness!’ And he made a hole in the desert which was in Duda’el and cast him there; he threw on top of him rugged and sharp rocks. And he covered his face that he may not see light; and in order that he may be sent into the fire on the great day of judgement (vv. 4–6). This temporary holding place should probably be equated with Hades, the place of the dead,72 rather than Gehenna since Hades was directly associated with Tartarus in Jewish and early Christian tradition (LXX Ezek. 32.27; Philo, Rewards, 151; Sib. Or. 2.229–240). Gehenna on the other hand appears to stand for the final place of eternal fiery judgement,73 that is, the ‘place’ where evil creatures congregate after the final judgement. In light of these connections, the reality described by ζόφoς and Tartarus may be equated with the ‘abyss’ and ‘prison’ in which the devil is ‘thrown’ and ‘bound’ until the final fiery destruction in Rev. 20.1-10.74 Moo’s conclusion is therefore warranted: ‘Tartarus [and I would add ζόφoς] . . . appears not so much to represent a place of final or endless punishment (as our “hell” often does), but the limitation on sphere of influence that God imposed on the angels who fell’.75 2.  Slandering the Glorious Ones: Jude 8 and 2 Pet. 2.10b In both 2 Peter and Jude the false teachers are accused of ‘insulting/slandering (βλασφήμεω)76 the glorious ones’ (2 Pet. 2.10b; Jude 8). Most interpreters agree that the term δόξας (‘glorious ones’) refer to angels, but in Jude they are good angels and in 2 Peter they are evil.77 In Jude, the two ‘examples’ (δεῖγμα, v. 7) in v. 6 and v. 7 (the angelic Watchers and Sodom and Gomorrah) are enlisted to show that such sins will be eschatologically punished by God. The sins of immorality of these two groups are equated: the Sodomites ‘indulged in immorality’ (ἐκπορνεύω) ‘in the same way as’ (τὸν ὅμοιον τρόπον) the angels in v. 6. Jude is clearly referring to the incident in Gen. 19.1-11 and thus Bauckham’s assessment is accurate: ‘As the angels fell because of their lust for women, so the Sodomites desired sexual relations with angels’.78 Bauckham is also correct to see in Jude’s references to the Watchers and Sodom a similar tradition as is found in T. Naph. 3. In this chapter the sins of Sodom and the Watchers are described as not conforming to the divinely established order of the cosmos: ‘Sun, moon, and stars do not alter their order; thus you should not alter the Law of God by the disorder of your actions’ (T. Naph. 3.2). In other words, the behaviour of God’s people should reflect and conform to God’s ordered (that

Cf. Mt. 11.23; Acts 2.27, 31; Rev. 1.18; 6.8; 20.13, 14. See BDAG, p. 19. BDAG, pp. 190–1; J. Jeremias, ‘ᾅδης’, TDNT 1:148. 74 Similarly J. Jeremias, ‘ἄβυσσoς’, TDNT 1:9-10. 75 Moo, 2 Peter, Jude, p. 103. 76 The verb βλασφημέω can mean ‘to revile, defame, slander, speak disrespectfully of ’ someone. See BDAG, p. 178. 77 So Bauckham, Jude, 2 Peter, p. 261; Vögtle, Judasbrief, p. 50; Moo, 2 Peter, Jude, p. 122; Kelly, Commentary, p. 337. 78 Bauckham, Jude, 2 Peter, p. 54. ‘Going after strange flesh’ (ἀπελθοῦσαι ὀπίσω σαρκὸς ἑτέρας), in this context and the context of Gen. 19.1-22, must refer to the ‘flesh of angels’. See also Kelly, Commentary, p. 259. 72 73

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is, obedient) cosmic structure. This is precisely the conception of the ‘sin’ of the Watchers in Jude 6, for they ‘did not keep their own domain, but abandoned their proper abode’ (Jude 6). ‘Abandoning of the proper abode’, whether by an angel or human, is a sinful action at least in part because it constitutes rebellion against God’s cosmic order of things (as in 1 Enoch 2–5). In 1 Enoch 2, as in T. Naph. 3, the cosmic elements (the sky, luminaries of heaven, the earth, the seasons, trees, the sun, clouds, rain, etc.) function ‘according to their [divinely] appointed order’ (1 En. 2.1) and as such these cosmic elements are the work of God which ‘obey him [God]’ and do ‘not change; but everything functions in the way in which God has ordered it’ (1 En. 5.2). ‘Yet in the same manner these dreamers defile the flesh’ (Jude 8), that is, they behave as the sinful angels and the Sodomites did when they ‘went after strange flesh’ (Jude 7) and as a result rebelled ‘against the divinely established order of things’. ‘In doing so they were motivated, like the Watchers and the Sodomites, by sexual lust, and, like the Sodomites, insulted the angels (v. 8)’.79 The actual nature of the ‘reviling/insulting’ of the angels is unclear. Bauckham may be correct to ground the insults in their antinomian ‘rejection of the authority of the Lord’80 (v. 8) and his laws, particularly in light of the fact that the angels were viewed as the guardians of the Mosaic Law (cf. Gal. 3.19) and the created order, an ‘office from which the Watchers apostatized, v. 6’.81 In 2 Pet. 2.10a-b the false teachers are similarly described as those who ‘indulge the flesh (cf. Jude 8: ‘defile the flesh’), ‘flout the authority of the Lord’ (Jude 8: ‘reject the authority of the Lord’) and ‘slander/insult the glorious ones’ (Jude 8:  ‘slander/insult the glorious ones’). But for 2 Peter the focus is a bit different. The description of the false teachers follows upon the main point that Peter makes in the examples he employs in 2.4-8, namely, that the Lord ‘knows how to rescue the godly’ and ‘to keep the unrighteous under punishment for the day of judgement’ (2.9). 2 Pet. 2.10 functions to spell out further the kinds of sins that will be eschatologically punished. Unlike Jude, the statement about ‘slandering the glorious ones’ in 2 Pet. 2.10b is further explained in v. 11. Although there has been much debate about the precise meaning of v. 11, the following view is supported by most interpreters. The false teachers who dare to slander the ‘glorious ones’, or rebellious angels, in v. 10b are compared to the ‘angels who, although they are greater in strength and power [than the glorious ones, v. 10b], do not use insults when pronouncing judgement on them [the glorious ones, v. 10b] from the Lord’ (v. 11).82 The false teachers’ lack of fear (they ‘are not afraid’, v. 10b) and their presumptuous overstepping of their God-given boundaries, evidenced by their contempt for and lack of respect for angelic powers, will incur the same eschatological destruction as will the evil angels (v. 12). Even though they deny it, the point here is to show that the false teachers’ eschatological judgement ‘is not idle, and their destruction is not asleep’ (2.2).83

Bauckham, Jude, 2 Peter, p. 58. The phrase κυριότητα ἀθετοῦσιν in Jude 8 means ‘they reject the authority of the Lord’. See Bauckham, Jude, 2 Peter, pp. 56–7 and Vögtle, Judasbrief, pp. 49–50. 81 Bauckham, Jude, 2 Peter, p. 58. 82 So Bauckham, Jude, 2 Peter, p. 261; Vögtle, Judasbrief, pp. 199–201; Kelly, Commentary, p. 337; Moo, 2 Peter, Jude, pp. 121–2; S. J. Kraftchick, Jude, 2 Peter (Nashville: Abingdon, 2002), p. 136. 83 Vögtle, Judasbrief, p. 203. 79 80

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3.  Cosmic Destruction and Renewal: 3.4-13 a. ‘All Things Continue as They Were from the Beginning of Creation’ (2 Pet.3.4b). The primary false teaching of Peter’s opponents, or the ‘scoffers’ (3.3), is revealed in 3.4a-b: ‘Where is the promise of His coming? For since the fathers fell asleep, all things continue as they were from the beginning of creation’. In vv. 5–10, Peter embarks on his direct refutation of the false teachers’ assertion in v.  4. But what do the false teachers assert or deny in v.  4? This verse is comprised of a main proposition in the form of a rhetorical question in v.  4a and one that provides the argumentation for it in some way in v. 4b. The two propositions can be paraphrased as follows: the promise of Christ’s parousia is empty, that is, it has failed to occur (v. 4a) because (γάρ), since the fathers died,84 all things (πάντα) continue unabated, that is, nothing in existence has been altered or interfered with since the origin of the cosmos. But how does this constitute an argument for their denial of the parousia in v. 4a? The standard view of v. 4b states that it constitutes a rejection of the possibility of divine intervention in history and therefore, by definition, the promise of the future parousia and divine judgement is ruled out.85 Bauckham, following J.  Neyrey,86 is representative when he notes that the closest parallel to the opponents’ ‘rationalistic skepticism about divine intervention in the world’ appears to be the Epicurean denial of providence.87 E. Adams has recently argued that the scoffers’ cosmological assertion in v.  4b does not resemble Epicurean thought. For example, ‘the scoffers affirm the created nature of the universe (κτίσις); Epicureans, of course, totally repudiated the notion of the divine creation of the cosmos’. In addition, the scoffers seem to assert the continuance of all things since the beginning of creation, whereas the Epicurean view taught the opposite: ‘the cosmos and all the cosmoi are inherently destructible’.88 Thus, the statement in 3.4 ‘is best taken as affirmation of cosmic indestructibility’, reflecting not Epicureanism but ‘the Platonic/Aristotelian doctrine of cosmic indestructibility’.89 Nevertheless, both the traditional interpretation of v. 4b and the one set forth recently by Adams recognize that the author’s opponents reject the expectation of Christ’s eschatological advent, or his second coming (v. 4a). The upshot of their basic denial of the parousia excludes the eschatological judgement which is part and parcel of the parousia. Thus, ‘they are free to conduct their lives (cf. 3) according to their own passions’.90 b. Counter-Argument Against the Opponents (2 Pet. 3.5-7). Consistent with the main thrust of 2.9-12, 3.5-7 stress that the ungodly (ἀσεβής) will face eschatological ‘judgement and destruction’

Adams argues that ‘the fathers’ most likely refers to the OT fathers since the scoffers of 2 Peter seem to be denouncing the OT prophetic promises of God’s eschatological parousia (pp. 204–6). He is probably correct. See also Moo, 2 Peter, Jude, p. 167. 85 Bauckham, Jude, 2 Peter, pp. 293–5; Vögtle, Judasbrief, p. 221; Kraftchick, Jude, 2 Peter, pp. 152–3; M. Green, The Second Epistle General of Peter and the General Epistle of Jude (Leicester: Intervarsity Press, 1987), pp. 138–9. 86 Neyrey, ‘The Form and Background of the Polemic in 2 Peter’, JBL 99 (1980), 407–31. 87 Bauckham, Jude, 2 Peter, p. 294. 88 Adams, The Stars Will Fall From Heaven, p. 207. There may be another problem with the majority view. As mentioned above, the false teachers of 2 Peter seem to be regarded (or at least regard themselves) as in some sense ‘Christian’. In light of this, Moo has suggested that, if the opponents denied divine providence and intervention in the world, ‘it is difficult to understand how they could make any claim to be Christian, for they would have to deny the incarnation and resurrection of Christ as well as his Parousia’ (2 Peter, Jude, p. 168). 89 Adams, Stars Will Fall From Heaven, p. 208. 90 Kelly, Commentary, p. 357. 84

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(κρίσεως καὶ ἀπωλεία, v. 7; cf. 2.2), despite the fact that the opponents ignore or overlook key facts about creation and the Flood (vv. 5–6).91 The cosmological language in vv. 5–7 serves the purpose of highlighting that the God who by his word (λόγω) created the cosmos (‘heavens and earth’, v. 5)92 is the one who by water (ὕδατι) destroyed the cosmos of Noah’s day, including the world’s ungodly inhabitants (v. 6). Furthermore, it is by means of this same God’s creative ‘word’ (λόγῳ) that he has determined that the present ‘heavens and earth’ (i.e., the cosmos) ‘are being reserved (τεθησαυρισμένoι) for fire’ and ‘kept’ (τηρούμενοι) until the final judgement (v. 7), all of which again zeros in on the ungodly (ἀσεβής).93 Therefore, contrary to the false teachers’ assertion in v. 4, ‘the observable stability of the world is . . . no guarantee of its continued stability in the future;’94 the cosmos and the ungodly are certainly ‘being kept for final judgement and destruction’ (v. 7). The central issues related to vv. 5–7 are: (1) what do the two prepositional phrases ἐξ ὕδατoς καὶ δι’ ὕδατoς (‘out of water and by means of water’) refer to (v. 5)? (2) What is the background to the notions of the cosmic destruction by water (v. 6) and (3) eschatological judgement by means of cosmic conflagration (vv. 7, 10, 12). 1. 2 Pet. 3.5: Word, Water and Creation. The notion of the cosmos as having been created by means of God’s ‘word’ clearly draws upon the OT (Gen. 1.3-30; Ps. 33.6, 9; 148.5; cf. Sir. 39.17) and Christian (Heb. 11.3) tradition. This is not debated. The first prepositional phrase, ἐξ ὕδατoς (the cosmos was created ‘out of water’), is probably likewise grounded in the Genesis creation narrative (Gen. 1.2-7), which in turn echoes the general Ancient Near East view95 that the cosmos emerged out of the watery chaos or primaeval ocean (Gen. 1.6; cf. Gen. 1.2-9; Ps. 33.7; 136.6; Prov. 8.27-29; Sir. 39.17).96 As Moo puts it, the phrase ἐξ ὕδατoς suggests that ‘Peter is again thinking of the story of creation in Genesis 1, where water plays a significant role’.97 The second prepositional phrase in 2 Pet. 3.5 (δι’ ὕδατoς) is not as easily accounted for. What could it mean for the cosmos to have been created δι’ ὕδατoς? Most interpreters still want to see this second phrase against the backdrop of the Genesis creation account and as such it is taken instrumentally by Bauckham (‘by means of water’) to suggest that ‘water was, in a loose sense, the instrument of creation, since it was by separating and gathering the waters that God created the world’.98 This is reasonably evident in Gen. 1.7 where God ‘made the firmament and separated the waters which were below the firmament from the waters which were above the firmament’. Thus, God’s act of ‘separating the waters’ brought order to the chaos of Gen. 1.2 as well as the formation of ‘heaven’ (v. 8) and the ‘earth’ (vv. 9–10). Adams, Stars Will Fall From Heaven, p. 210, is probably correct in arguing that it is not the fact of the world’s creation as such that the opponents ignore or overlook, but rather the Flood and ‘the character of that event as the reversal of creation’. 92 ‘Heavens and earth’ in vv. 5, 7 refer to the cosmos in its entirety. This is demanded by the term κόσμος in v. 6 which clearly refers to the same reality as ‘heavens and earth’ in vv. 5, 7. So Adams, Stars Will Fall From Heaven, pp. 213–14. 93 That this final judgement and cosmic conflagration have as their focus the punishment of the ungodly and not just the destruction of the cosmos may be indicated by the fact that the other occurrences of the notion ‘kept (τηρέω) for final judgement/destruction’ have as their subjects disobedient beings (angels, 2.4; the unrighteous, 2.9; the opponents, 2.17; and the ungodly, 3.7), and all employ the term τηρέω. 94 Bauckham, Jude, 2 Peter, p. 302. 95 By ‘echoes’ I am not suggesting that Genesis simply takes over Ancient Near Eastern cosmogony. Rather, Genesis seem to be opposing Ancient Near Eastern cosmogony and theology by arguing that Israel’s God is the true and only creator of the cosmos and thus he is wholly other than the cosmos. 96 See Bauckham, Jude, 2 Peter, p. 297; and Vögtle, Judasbrief, pp. 225–6. 97 Moo, 2 Peter, Jude, p. 170. 98 Bauckham, Jude, 2 Peter, p. 297; cf. Kelly, Commentary, pp. 358–9. 91

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E. Adams challenges the standard interpretation of both phrases, which he believes amounts to ‘a strained attempt to make the language fit Genesis 1’.99 He argues that the double phrase ἐξ ὕδατος καὶ δι’ ὕδατος (2 Pet. 3.5) ‘makes best sense against the background of Stoic cosmogony: water was the immediate substance out of which the cosmos was made’.100 Adams shows that according to the Stoic view, the cosmos originated from primal fire, which changed into air and then condensed into water. The ‘watery mass’ then changed again into the four terrestrial elements which combined to make the earth and life-forms on it. The cosmos then ends in fiery destruction, only to repeat the endless cycle of renewal and destruction.101 The cycle begins and ends with fire, but, ‘the change to water is properly the beginning of our world’.102 This is illustrated well in Plutarch’s Stoic. rep. 1053a and Diogenes Laertius 7.142. Plutarch states: ‘The transformation of fire is like this: by way of air it turns into water; and from this, as earth is precipitated . . . the stars and the sun are kindled from the sea’ (Stoic. rep. 1053a). Diogenes describes the process as follows: ‘The world . . . comes into being when its substance has first been converted from fire. and then the coarser part of the moisture has condensed as earth’ (7.142). Adams may be right in arguing that the concept of world formation ‘by means of water’ (δι᾽ ὕδατος) in 2 Pet. 3.5 reflects Stoic cosmogony. The author certainly referred to other Greek concepts, such as Tartarus and ζόφος (2.4), in order to communicate JewishChristian content. And, as Adams emphasizes, in 2 Pet. 3.5 the was not solely dependent on Stoicism; rather, he has combined the creation account of Geauthornesis with Stoic cosmology. However, I cannot go as far as Adams in suggesting that ‘if the author . . . is alluding to the Stoic view of world-formation, he is implying that the water pre-cosmic state of Gen. 1.2 was preceded by a more primal state of things – a state of pure fire’.103 I see no evidence in 2 Peter 3 for this conclusion. 2. 2 Pet. 3.6: The Deluge as Cosmic Destruction of the Ancient World. The cosmos was created by God’s word ‘through water and by water’ (v. 5). But (δέ) ‘the cosmos at that time’ (ὁ τότε κόσμος), that is, the antediluvian world, was destroyed by the same word of God and water104 of creation (v. 6).105 This cosmic destruction via the Flood prepares for the eschatological destruction via fire in vv. 7, 10, 12. But, according to Adams, this understanding of the Flood as a cosmic destruction goes beyond the Genesis narrative, a narrative that portrays the destruction as global rather than cosmic (cf. Genesis 6–8). Again he thinks that Stoic cosmology, or better, the ‘Roman Stoic notion of a cosmic deluge’, is the closest parallel to 3.6.106 Adams challenges Bauckham’s argument that 2 Peter’s understanding of the Flood as a cosmic judgement ‘is not so alien to the Genesis narrative’ or to later Jewish reflections on that narrative. Bauckham points to the account of the Flood in Gen. 7.11, where ‘the waters of chaos, confined at the creation above the firmament, poured through the windows of the firmament107 to inundate Adams, Stars Will Fall From Heaven, p. 212. Ibid. 101 Ibid., p. 115. 102 Ibid., p. 213, n. 56. 103 Ibid., p. 213. 104 That v. 6 refers not to a local destruction (via the Flood) but rather a cosmic destruction is clear. See Bauckham, Jude, 2 Peter, p. 299; Adams, Stars Will Fall From Heaven, p. 214. 105 The prepositional phrase δι’ ὧν (‘through which’) is best understood as referring to ‘water’ and ‘the word of God’ in v. 5. See Bauckham, Jude, 2 Peter, p. 298; Kelly, Commentary, pp. 359–60. 106 Adams, Stars Will Fall From Heaven, p. 62. 107 Gen. 7.11 has ‘the flood gates of heaven’ (‫ארבת‬/oὐρανός). 99

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the earth’. Enoch’s vision of the Flood in 1 En. 83.3-5 extends the ideas of Gen. 7.11 into cosmic destruction.108 Here, heaven falls down upon the earth, the earth is ‘swallowed up into the great abyss’, and the things of the earth are ‘thrown down into the abyss . . . the earth is being destroyed’ (1 En. 83.4-5). Adams counters by pointing out that the Enoch passage says nothing about ‘opening of the windows of heaven or the bursting out of the foundation of the deep’ (cf. Gen. 7.11). ‘The picture is really about that of the final world-ending catastrophe which the author has imposed on the flood’.109 But what Adams overlooks with regard to Enoch’s reflection on Gen. 7.11 is that the mention of ‘the great abyss’ (1 En. 83.4) comes from Gen. 7.11 (cf. 8.2) where we do find ‘the fountains of the great abyss’ bursting open and flooding the earth. The ‘abyss’ (‫תהום‬/ἀβυσσoς), although later associated with the depth of the earth, was originally associated with the primeval ocean and ‘the original flood’ in ancient Israel’s cosmogony.110 Thus, the abyss is almost always mentioned with a reference to water(s) or the sea(s) and associated with them,111 harkening back to its use in Gen. 1.2. In fact, the abyss is itself comprised of water. Prov. 8.28 speaks of ‘springs of the abyss’112 and Isa. 51.10 mentions ‘the waters of the great abyss’. In Ezek. 31.15 the abyss has ‘many waters’ (Heb.) or ‘fullness of waters’ (LXX). And in Isa. 63.13 the crossing of the waters of the Red Sea is described with the phrase, God ‘who led them through the abyss’ (διὰ τῆς ἀβύσσoυ). Here, as in 1 Enoch 83, the concept ‘abyss’ is used alone to refer to the great waters. This can be done because the concept was so associated with the primaeval waters of creation. In a section where Enoch is interpreting the Flood, a reference to the earth being ‘swallowed up into the great abyss’ (cf. Gen. 7.11) could only mean ‘swallowed up by the waters of the great abyss’. Therefore, final destruction is not just ‘superimposed on’113 the Flood story in 1 Enoch 83; rather, the author is interpreting the Flood eschatologically and as a prediction of final cosmic destruction. This shows well that a Jewish author before 2 Peter could interpret the Flood as an event of future judgement by cosmic destruction.114 2 Peter could have done so as well. 3. 2 Pet. 3.7, 12-13: Cosmic Conflagration. The cosmos that God created (v. 5) was long ago destroyed by water because of human rebellion and sin (v. 6), and this shows that God can and will destroy ‘the present heavens and earth’ (i.e., the present cosmos) again, but this time by fire. The aim of the destruction is eschatological judgement and destruction of ‘ungodly people’ (v. 7). The cosmic conflagration broached in v. 7 prepares for the description of the ‘coming’ Day of the Lord in vv. 10, 12 as a ‘day’ that will bring about the fiery destruction of the ‘heavens’ and the ‘elements’ (στοιχεῖα), that is, the whole created universe.115 This ‘coming day’ (3.4, 10, 12) will bring the destruction of the cosmos and the ungodly (v. 7). The destruction will give way, in biblical fashion, to the new creation (‘new heavens and earth’; cf. Isa. 65.17; 66.22)116 (v. 13). Bauckham, Jude, 2 Peter, p. 299. Adams, Stars Will Fall From Heaven, p. 214. 110 Jeremias, TDNT 1:9; BDAG, 2. 111 E.g. Gen. 7.11; 8.2; Job 28.14; Ps. 77.16; 106.9; 135.6; 148.7; Prov. 3.19. 112 LXX Prov. 8.28 has ‘springs under the earth’. 113 Adams, Stars Will Fall From Heaven, p. 62. 114 In 1QH 11.19-20, 31-33, the earth’s destruction comes by way of a flood of fire which corresponds to the Genesis Flood. 115 Adams, Stars Will Fall From Heaven, p. 223. 116 Cf. Jub. 1.29; Rom. 8.21; 2 Cor. 5.17; Rev. 21.1. 108 109

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The question at this point is, what is the origin of the idea of total cosmic conflagration in vv. 7, 10, 12? Bauckham117 and Vögtle locate the origin in Jewish apocalyptic and thus the cosmic conflagration found in Stoicism ‘has however hardly considerably influenced his [author] use of the world-fire notion’.118 They point to OT and Jewish texts that picture God’s judgement as a consuming fire.119 Here again Adams proposes that Stoicism provides a more immediate background to 2 Peter’s cosmic conflagration. He maintains that even in Jewish texts where cosmic catastrophe is envisioned as a conflagration none envisages total cosmic conflagration,120 as 2 Pet. 3.12-13 does. The real parallel then is between 2 Peter 3 and Stoic doctrine of ekpurōsis (conflagration). As Vögtle has argued, the author of 2 Peter surely could have known the Stoic ekpurōsis idea121 and there is no reason to preclude the possibility that he could have used it. But, do the vast differences between the world views of 2 Peter and Roman Stoicism (differences that Adams’ recognizes) speak against such a direct borrowing? Vögtle argues that the Stoic idea of the cyclical annihilation of the world by fire and the resurgence of exactly the same world122 sets it apart from the cosmic conflagration envisioned by 2 Peter, a conflagration that is unique (it does not repeat or ‘cycle’) and results in final judgement and vindication.123 Adams has pointed out, though, that the Stoic view of cosmic destruction and renewal was viewed as a kind of katharsis, a refreshing by the creator god.124 Nevertheless, the Stoic doctrine of ‘everlasting recurrence’ also includes the idea that ‘every man and woman are born again in the next world-cycle and repeat their lives exactly’,125 and as such seems difficult to reconcile with 2 Peter’s view (consistent with Jewish and Christian eschatology) that cosmic destruction is a final judgement which brings about the final renewal of the cosmos ‘in which’ (ἐν oἷς) righteousness dwells (δικαιοσύνη κατοικεῖ) (v. 13). Thus, the renewed and final cosmos, ‘the new heavens and earth’ (v. 13), will be a new world in which the godly who have been vindicated on the ‘Day of the Lord’ (v. 12) will do righteousness, that is, the will of God.126 Nevertheless, these differences with Stoic thought do not rule out the possibility that the writer employed aspects of Stoic cosmology in order to better connect with his largely Hellenistic-Christian readers, just as he used the concept ‘Tartarus’ to contextualize JewishChristian content in 2.4. However, I  would still maintain with Bauckham and particularly Vögtle that although 2 Peter’s cosmic conflagration is quite unique in its formulation, the OT and Jewish traditions127 provide the rudimentary elements that could have been ‘pulled together’ to construct 2 Peter’s final judgement as a cosmic-fiery destruction.128 Bauckham, Jude, 2 Peter, p. 300. ‘. . . hat seine Wahl der Weltbrandvorstellung aber kaum beträchtlich beeinflußt’ (Vögtle, Judasbrief, p. 228). 119 E.g. Deut. 33.22; Ps. 97.3; Isa. 30.30; 66.15-16; Ezek. 38.22; Amos 7.4; Zeph. 1.18; Mal.4.1 (lxx 3.19); 1QH 11.19–36; Sib. Or. 3.80–90; Ant.1.70; Life of Adam and Eve 49–50; PseudoSophocles, Fragment 2. 120 Adams, Stars Will Fall From Heaven, p. 97. 121 Vögtle, Judasbrief, p. 228. 122 Cf. Adams, Stars Will Fall From Heaven, pp. 118–20. 123 Vögtle, Judasbrief, p. 228. 124 Adams, Stars Will Fall From Heaven, p. 121. 125 Ibid. 126 Bauckham, Jude, 2 Peter, p. 326. 127 See particularly 1QH 11.34-35; God’s fiery judgement has cosmic effects and incorporates aspects of the Flood tradition, as does 2 Peter. See also the late first-century Jewish text known as the Life of Adam and Eve, which reveals the punishment upon the race of Adam and Eve as a ‘judgement, first by water and then by fire; by these two the Lord will judge the whole human race’ (cf. Pseudo-Sophocles, Frag. 2; and the Christian Apoc. Elijah 5 and Asc. Isa. 4). 128 Vögtle, Judasbrief, p. 227. 117 118

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In the end, the primary point of 2 Peter is clear: the denial of the parousia is by definition a denial of eschatological judgement for present behaviour. 2 Peter insists that God has and will again destroy the ungodly and the cosmos along with them. The destruction is total; no one can possibly escape. Second Peter draws primarily upon his Jewish and Christian traditions in his polemic against the false teachers. I cannot rule out the possibility that the author also, particularly in 3.7, alluded to some aspects of Stoic cosmology in order to communicate with his Hellenistic readers. But the core of his ideas are Jewish-Christian. That the focus is God’s coming for judgement for the wicked and not cosmological speculation as such seems clear. God is not slow about his ‘promise’ (3.9), that is, the ‘promise of his coming’ (3.4). Therefore, he wants ‘you’ to repent and escape his wrath (3.9). In v. 11, the cosmic destruction provides the ultimate motivation for the readers to be ‘holy and godly’ (3.9). In v. 10 the judgement aspect of the ‘day of the Lord’ will surely result in the destruction of the cosmos, but the aim appears to be the revealing or exposing (εὑρεθήσεται) of human ‘works’ or ‘deeds’ (ἔργα) done on the earth. ‘The point . . . is that the eschatological dissolution will expose all the deeds of human beings to divine scrutiny’.129 The readers ‘wait for’ the parousia and the ‘Day of the Lord’ (3.12), because for them the ‘promise of his coming’ will mean a ‘new heavens and earth’ (3.13), but for the false teachers it will mean being engulfed in the cosmic ‘burning’ (3.12). It should be quite clear then that cosmogony and cosmology, here in 2 Peter as well as 1 Peter and Jude, serve the main concerns of theology and ethical formation and transformation.

Adams, Stars Will Fall From Heaven, p. 228.

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JUDE’S CHRISTOLOGY

Richard J. Bauckham

To claim that the short letter of Jude provides very important evidence for the understanding of early christological development may risk sounding like exaggeration. But recent study of New Testament Christology has increasingly recognized that the crucial formative steps in christological development were taken within early Palestinian Jewish Christianity. Unfortunately, direct evidence of the christological beliefs and expressions of these Palestinian churches is very sparse. ‘Would that we had some clear Semitic or Greek Palestinian texts used or composed by Jewish Christian Hellenists or Hebrews,’1 sighs Joseph Fitzmyer in the course of his attempt to investigate the origins of the christological title ‘Lord.’ The contention of this book is that the letter of Jude is just such a text – a Greek Palestinian text by a Jewish Christian ‘Hebrew’ (i.e. Aramaic speaker), indeed by one of the leaders of early Palestinian Jewish Christianity. It could even date from within the first two decades of Christianity, the period in which Martin Hengel claims ‘more happened in christology .  .  . than in the whole subsequent seven hundred years of church history.’2 From such a source even a little christological evidence is of immense value. In this chapter we shall argue that the Christology of Jude’s letter is in fact entirely consistent with what we can reasonably conclude from other indications about the Christology of early Jewish Christianity in Palestine. Though its evidence is not especially surprising, it is firsthand evidence of what have otherwise been only uncertain and highly debated inferences.

I.  The Christological Titles Even apart from the letter of Jude, the reliable evidence we have about the relatives of Jesus already tells us a remarkable amount, if not about their Christology, at least about the christological titles which were used in their circle. Four christological titles were certainly used: (I) ‘Messiah’ seems to have been the universal Christian designation of Jesus from the earliest period of the church.3 Only if it goes back to the earliest Palestinian church can the fact that all the New Testament writers call Jesus Χριστός be explained. Moreover, in Jewish writings this designation is found most often in connection with the hope for the Davidic Messiah (e.g. PssSol 17:32; 18:5, 7; 4 Ezra 12:32). Since we know that the relatives of Jesus were well-known for their claim to Davidic ancestry (Eusebius, HE 3:20:1–2; 3:32:3), we may assume that they used the title Messiah to designate Jesus the royal Messiah of the house of David. (2) The brothers of Jesus were known in Palestinian Christian circles as ‘the brothers of the

Fitzmyer (1979) 123. Hengel (1983) 39–40. 3 Cf. Hengel (1983) 45. 1 2

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Lord’ (oἱ ἀδελφοὶ τοῦ κυρίου: 1 Cor 9:5; Gal 1:19; Hegesippus ap. Eusebius, HE 2:23:4; 3:20:1). So Jesus himself must have been known in their circle as ‘the Lord’ (Aramaic mārể and Greek ὁ κύριος). (3) Most probably Jesus was known not only as ‘the Lord,’ but also as ‘our Lord.’ The Aramaic invocation preserved in Greek transliteration as μαραναθα (1 Cor 16:22; Did 10:6) should most probably be read as māranā’ ’āthā’, ‘Our Lord, come!’4 This invocation must have been current in the circles in which Jesus’ relatives moved. (4) The relatives of Jesus were also known in Palestinian Christian circles as oἱ δεσπόσυνοι (Julius Africanus, ap. Eusebius, HE 1:7:14). It follows that Jesus himself must have been called ὁ δεσπότης. All four of these christological titles  – and only these four  – occur in the letter of Jude. This is not especially remarkable in the case of the first three, but in the case of the last  – δεσπότης  – it is striking. If δεσπότης is used as a title for Christ (rather than for God5) in Jude 4, then this usage seems to be unique in extant early Christian literature before the late second century, with the sole exception of 2 Peter 2:1, which is dependent on Jude 4. But the term δεσπόσυνοι for the relatives of Jesus is only explicable if ὁ δεσπότης was commonly used to refer to Jesus in Palestinian Jewish Christianity. Jude’s use of this term is therefore an impressive, but neglected indication of his letter’s origin in those Palestinian Christian circles in which the δεσπόσυνοι were leaders. The significance of the term will be discussed below in section III, but it is worth remarking at once on its implication for the language of Christology in the circle of the relatives of Jesus. The use of δεσπότης and δεσπόσυνοι, since in this use with reference to Jesus they are distinctive precisely as Greek words, shows that the Palestinian Christian circles in which the relatives of Jesus were leaders had its own Greek christological terminology. Therefore these circles must have been bilingual, not simply in the sense that they could speak Greek as well as Aramaic, but in the sense that they actually did use Greek as well as Aramaic for religious purposes (such as, presumably, missionary preaching to Greekspeaking Jews). This confirms the best interpretation of Acts 6:1, which takes the ‘Hebrews’ to be bilingual Jews who spoke Aramaic as well as Greek and the ‘Hellenists’ to be Jews of diaspora origin who spoke only Greek,6 but goes beyond it in stressing the actual religious use of Greek by the former. It follows that interpretations of early Christology which make much of the linguistic transition from Aramaic to Greek must be suspect. Not only was this transition made already in Jerusalem among the ‘Hellenists,’ as Hengel has stressed.7 It was made in Palestinian Christianity as such, probably from the very beginning: there was never a Christian community which used only an Aramaic christological terminology without also developing a Greek christological terminology. We shall have to be appropriately cautious therefore about claiming that a particular christological development must derive from the Greek-speaking churches and cannot go back to the original Aramaic-speaking Christianity. There will have been much interchange and continuity between Aramaic-speaking (i.e. bilingual) and Greekspeaking Christians in the crucial period of christological development.8 The latter (including Paul) will have taken over much from the former. But this is not to say that there was no distinction at all, as the term δεσπότης again shows. Whereas κύριος as a christological title

Fitzmyer (1981B) 226–228. For its christological reference, see section III below. 6 Hengel (1983) 8–11. 7 See especially Hengel (1983) 1–29. 8 So also Hengel (1983) 40. 4 5

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was used in the Greek of native Palestinian (‘Aramaic-speaking’) Jewish Christians and of others, δεσπότης as a christological title was evidently confined to the former. Thus the example of δεσπότης shows us that in the christological titles of Jude’s letter we are dealing not merely with translations of the Aramaic terms used in the circle of the brothers of Jesus, but with the Greek christological terminology which had developed within that bilingual circle. The distribution of titles is as follows. The designation (perhaps better than ‘title’) Χριστός (never ὁ Χριστός) occurs six times, always following Ἰησοῦς. Only in two of these cases does Ἰησοῦς Χριστός stand alone (both in v 1). In three cases Ἰησοῦς Χριστός is combined with κύριος ἡμών: v 17: τοῦ κυρίου ἡμῶν Ἰησοῦ Χριστοῦ v 21: τοῦ κυρίου ἡμῶν Ἰησοῦ Χριστοῦ v 25: Ἰησοῦ Χριστοῦ τοῦ κυρίου ἡμών. Finally, Ἰησοῦς Χριστός occurs in v 4 in the full formula: τὀν μόνον δεσπότην καὶ κυρίον ἡμῶν Ἰησοῦν Χριστόν. These (vv 4, 17, 21, 25) are also the only four occurrences of κύριος ἡμῶν. The absolute κύριος is used certainly once of Christ (v 14) in the quotation from Enoch. Its use in v 9 is probably of God, rather than of Christ. That it is the correct reading in the textually uncertain v 5 and there refers to God rather than to Christ will be argued in section IV below. Thus Jude shows a striking preference for the ‘double name’ Ἰησοῦς Χριστός (never Ἰησοῦς or Χριστός alone) and for the community-related title κύριος ἡμῶν, rather than for the absolute (ὁ) κύριος, which he uses christologically only when conforming to scriptural usage (v 14: see section II below). The sheer frequency of Χριστός (six times in twenty-five verses) is noteworthy. Among other New Testament authors, this frequency (relative to length) is matched and sometimes surpassed only by Paul.9 Perhaps this is an indication that Paul’s christological terminology is closer than that of most New Testament authors to the Palestinian Christianity which Jude represents. We should not suppose that the use of Ἰησούς Χριστός as a ‘double name’ (with Χριστός virtually as a cognomen) arose in Gentile Christianity in which the meaning of Χριστός was not understood.10 A sharp distinction between Χριστός as a title applied to Jesus and Χριστός as a name for Jesus cannot be drawn, because as soon as Jesus was regularly called Yešūa‘ mešīḥā the phrase would approximate to a double name serving to identify the Jesus in question. From the beginning Christians would have needed a way of distinguishing Jesus from others who bore this very common name, and Yešūa‘ mešīḥā or Ἰησοῦς Χριστὁς would soon have been preferred to ‘Jesus of Nazareth’ (Acts 2:22; 10:38 etc), precisely because it distinguished Jesus in the way which was theologically decisive for the early Christians. In such a development the meaning of ‘Messiah’ (the agent of God’s eschatological salvation and judgment) would certainly not have been forgotten (and there is no reason to suppose that in the New Testament period Χριστός ever became, for Christians, a mere name without meaning). The use of the double name Ἰησοῦς Χριστὁς does not indicate that the eschatological significance of Jesus

See the statistics in Hengel (1983) 65, who does not mention Jude. Against this, see Hengel’s essay on Χριστός in Paul: Hengel (1983) 65–77·

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has been lost in some allegedly hellenistic development of Christology, but rather that it is assumed. The double name can be used because Jesus’ identity with the Messiah is taken for granted: the Jesus in question is Jesus the Messiah and for Christians there is no question of any Messiah except Jesus. The further development which enables Χριστός alone to be used as a name appears in Paul11 but not yet in Jude. It would seem to be possible only as Christian linguistic usage developed for Christian purposes alone, independently of conversation and debate with non-Christian Jews, and is therefore perhaps unlikely in Palestine. It is noteworthy that Jude uses the simple Ἰησοῦς Χριστός twice in his letter-opening (v 1), but once he moves into the subject-matter of his letter he refers to Christ exclusively by phrases including κύριος, the fullest of these being the first (v 4). This stress on the lordship of Christ is coherent with the theme of his letter. His opponents are people who claim to be above the moral law, free from its demands. In Jude’s view they are therefore, by their disregard of the moral requirements of Christian obedience, disowning Christ as Lord (v 4) and rejecting κυριότης (v 8) – the moral authority of God, whose lordship is exercised by Christ. The understanding of Christ as κύριος – exercising the eschatological lordship of God – is orientated to the imminent parousia, when his lordship will be exercised in judgment on the wicked (vv 14–15) and in mercy to those who live in obedience to the Gospel (v 21). There is much to suggest, as has often been pointed out, that the christological title Lord (mārê’ and κύριος) in early Palestinian Christianity was especially associated with the parousia.12 This is suggested by the invocation ‘Maranatha’ (‘Our Lord, come!’) and will be further discussed in section II below. But if the title was especially orientated to the parousia, when Christ’s lordship would be manifested in universal judgment, to call him Lord was not to refer exclusively to the parousia.13 ‘Maranatha’ itself shows this, for it shows that the coming Lord can be already addressed as Lord in the present. Moreover, he is addressed as ‘our Lord.’ In other words, he has already gathered a community who now acknowledge him as their Lord, while awaiting his coming to complete their salvation. It is doubtful whether there was ever a Christology in which the lordship of Christ did not evoke his constitution of the Christian community, through his ministry, death and outpouring of the Spirit, and his present status as Lord, through his resurrection and exaltation by God, as well as his future coming as eschatological Saviour and Judge. His past work of salvation and present status in heaven do not detract from the early community’s strong orientation to the parousia. They are the necessary presuppositions of the prayer, ‘Our Lord, come!’ Jude’s use of κύριος ἡμῶν is entirely consistent with these implications of ‘Maranatha.’ The one who is coming in judgment at the parousia is already ‘our Lord.’14 Just as God made Israel his own people at the Exodus (v 5), so Christ has already made the church his people through a second Exodus (Jude has no occasion to specify the nature of the saving event, which would be well-known to his readers). And so just as those who had been saved by God from Egypt but repudiated his lordship in the wilderness were judged by him (v 5), so those who have confessed Christ as Lord but refuse to accept his lordship in practice will be judged by him at the parousia (v 14). But, because he is ‘our Lord,’ those who seek to live according to the Gospel

Already three times in 1 Thessalonians (2:7; 3:2; 4:16), quite frequently in other letters. E.g. Fitzmyer (1979) 128–130. 13 Cf. Marshall (1976) 101–104. 14 Cf. Collins (1984C) 267–268, on Paul’s use of ‘our Lord Jesus Christ’ in 1 Thessalonians. 11 12

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in expectation of his coming, can expect mercy from him (v 21). Thus, while the orientation is to the future coming of Christ as Lord, his saving act in the past is presupposed and his present lordship over the church is stressed. The expression ‘the apostles of our Lord Jesus Christ’ (v 19)15 presumably stresses their authority as missionaries of the Gospel sent out by the exalted and coming Lord. This preliminary indication of Jude’s understanding of Christ’s lordship will be further developed in the following sections.

II.  Jude 14 Jude’s quotation from 1 Enoch 1:9 reads: ‘Behold, the Lord came with his ten thousands of holy ones, to execute judgment on all, and to convict all the ungodly of all the ungodly deeds which they had committed in their ungodliness, and of all the hard things which ungodly sinners had spoken against him’ (vv 14–15). We have already seen that Jude has modified the quotation in more than one respect. For our present purpose the significant modification is the specification of the subject as κύριος. In the extant versions of 1 Enoch 1:9 (and therefore most probably in the text Jude read) the subject is unstated, but must be taken from 1:3–4 to be ‘the great holy One,’ ‘the eternal God.’ Jude’s addition of κύριος is certainly a christological interpretation of the text. He understands the eschatological coming of God to judgment to be the parousia of the Lord Jesus. We must examine further the precise significance of this christological interpretation. In the first place, we should observe that 1 Enoch 1:3b–7, 9, which describes an eschatological judgment theophany, is a kind of anthology of phrases and themes from Old Testament ‘day of the Lord’ theophany passages.16 (1 Enoch 1:8 is integral to the passage, describing the salvation of the righteous which accompanies the judgment of the wicked, but it is not based on Old Testament ‘day of the Lord’ texts.) Those to which the allusions are clearest are Deuteronomy 33:2; Isaiah 40:4, 10; Jeremiah 25:31; Micah 1:3–4; Habakkuk 3:3–9. 1 Enoch 1:3b–9 is evidence of the way in which such passages were associated and interpreted in pre-Christian apocalyptic Judaism as referring to the eschatological coming of God to judgment. (Further evidence of this is provided by Testament of Moses 10:3–7.) The same passages, or many of them, were similarly used in early Christianity, but were consistently understood to refer to the coming of the Lord Jesus. Jude’s addition of κύριος cannot come from the context of 1 Enoch 1:9 but it could be regarded as an interpretation of 1 Enoch 1:9 by reference to analogous texts, as can be seen by comparing some of those which either lie behind 1 Enoch 1:3b–9 or are closely related to it:17

The argument in Kramer (1966) 59–63, that Paul was the first to link ‘Christ’ with ‘apostle’ in the phrase ‘apostle of Christ’ is entirely speculative. The Gospel tradition provides sufficient evidence that the apostles were already before Paul regarded as apostles of Christ, and so there is no reason why Jude, independently of Paul, should not have called them such. 16 Hartman (1966) 114–117; VanderKam (1973); Hartman (1979) 22–26. 17 Translations from RSV. 15

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Deuteronomy 33:2:

Isaiah 40:10:

Isaiah 66:15–16:

Micah 1:3–4:

Zechariah 14:5b:

The lord came from Sinai, and dawned from Seir upon us; he shone forth from Mount Paran, he came from18 the ten thousands of   holy ones, with flaming fire at his right hand. Behold, the Lord god comes with might, and his arm rules for him; behold, his reward is with him, and his recompense before him. For behold, the lord will come in fire, and his chariots like the stormwind, to render his anger in fury, and his rebuke with flames of fire. For by fire the lord will execute judgment, and by his sword, upon all flesh; and those slain by the lord shall be many. For behold, the lord is coming forth out of his place, and will come down and tread upon the high places of the earth. And the mountains will melt under him and the valleys will be cleft, like wax before the fire, like waters poured down a steep place. Then the lord your God will come, and all the holy ones with him.19

All these texts refer to the coming of Yahweh. (In Deuteronomy 33:2 modern readers usually take the coming to be in the past, but the writer of 1 Enoch probably read it as prophecy20 and took the verbs in the perfect tense to be prophetic perfects.21 At the beginning of 1:9, modelled on Deuteronomy 33:2, he probably used an Aramaic prophetic perfect, which Jude has rendered literally as ἧλθεν.) It looks as though Jude’s κύριος, added to the text of 1 Enoch 1:9 by analogy with these other texts, represents the tetragrammaton. This is confirmed by other early Christian use of such texts:

See VanderKam (1973) 148–149, for the reconstruction by Cross and Freedman of an original text reading ‘with him were the myriads of holy ones,’ and for the understanding of the text in this sense in the Targums. The author of 1 Enoch 1:9 must have read it in this way. 19 The RSV here corrects the MT according to the versions. MT has: ‘Then the lord my God will come, and all the holy ones with you.’ 20 The Testament of Moses interprets Deut 31–33 as Moses’ prophecy of the future history of Israel: see Harrington (1973). TMos 10:8 echoes Deut 33:29, and probably 10:3 (the eschatological theophany) is meant to correspond to Deut 33:2. See also Betz (1967) 90–91, who sees a Sinai typology in the dependence of 1 Enoch 1:9 on Deut 33:2. 21 So Black (1973) 194. The prophetic perfect is rare in Aramaic (Black [1973] 196). but is perhaps easier to accept if regarded as modelled on Deut 33:2. 18

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(a) Zechariah 14:5b (LXX: καὶ ἥξει κύριος θεός μου, καὶ πάντες οἱ ἅγιοι μετ᾽ αὐτοῦ). The best evidence here is 1 Thessalonians 3:13: ‘at the coming of our Lord Jesus with all his holy ones.’ The phrase was most probably already a traditional one which Paul took up.22 The κύριος which represents the tetragrammaton in our texts of the Septuagint is interpreted, in spite of its clear reference to God, as του κυρίου ἡμῶν Ἰησοῦ. In 2 Thessalonians 1:7 (τοῦ κυρίου Ἰησοῦ . . . μετ᾽ ἀγγέλων δυνάμεως αὐτοῦ) the basis in Zechariah 14:5b is not quite so obvious, but is very likely23 (in the context of a passage where, as we shall see, other Old Testament theophany passages are echoed). Again (if 2 Thessalonians is authentic)24 the formulation is probably pre-Pauline. Whereas in 1 Thessalonians 3:13 it is unclear whether ‘holy ones’ means angels (as originally in Zech 14:5b) or Christians (as usually in Paul), in 2 Thessalonians 1:7 it is interpreted explicitly as angels. But an interpretation of ‘holy ones’ in Zechariah 14:5b as Christians probably lies behind 1 Thessalonians 4:1425 and is certainly attested in Didache 16:7, where Zechariah 14:5b is explicitly quoted with reference to the Christian dead. The Septuagint text is there adapted, by the omission of θεός μου, to the interpretation of it as referring to the parousia of the κύριος Jesus. The early and widespread Christian use of Zechariah 14:5b with reference to the parousia is further shown by the fact that it very probably lies behind other early Christian texts which speak of the coming of Christ with angels (Matt 16:27: μετὰ τῶν ἀγγέλων αὐτοῦ; Matt 25:31:  πάντες οἱ ἄγγελοι μετ᾽ αὐτοῦ; Mark 8:38:  μετὰ τῶν ἀγγέλων τῶν ἁγίων; Luke 9:26: καὶ τῶν ἁγίων ἀγγέλων; ApPet EI: ‘with all my holy angels’) or with Christians (Rev 19:14 where it seems, from 17:14, that the armies of heaven are composed of the Christian martyrs), though in none of these is he called κύριος. Ascension of Isaiah 4:14, which does use κύριος and clearly echoes Zechariah 14:5b, combines the two traditions of interpretation: ‘the Lord will come with his angels and with the hosts of his holy ones’ (from v 16 it is clear that the latter are the Christian dead).26 (b) Isaiah 66:15–16 (LXX: κύριος . . . ἀποδοῦναι . . . ἐκδίκησιν . . . ἐν φλογὶ πυρός) is clearly echoed in 2 Thessalonians 1:7–8 (τοῦ κυρίου Ἰησοῦ . . . ἐν πυρὶ φλογός, διδόντος ἐκδίκησιν). It also looks as though Isaiah 66:5 (LXX:  ἵνα τὸ ὄνομα κυρίου δοξασθῇ) is echoed in 2 Thessalonians 1:12 (ὅπως ἐνδοξασθῇ τὸ ὄνομα τοῦ κυρίου ἡμῶ Ἰησοῦ), again involving an interpretation of the κύριος which in the Old Testament text represents the tetragrammaton as the Lord Jesus.27 Kreitzer in his study of these Pauline passages calls the phenomenon a ‘referential shift of “Lord” from God to Christ.’28 Later evidence of the application of the same passage of Isaiah to the parousia of Jesus is found in the use of Isaiah 66:18 in 2 Clement 17:4–5. (c) The phrase which recurs in Isaiah 2:10, 19, 21 (LXX: ἀπὸ προσώπου τοῦ φόβου κυρίου, καὶ ἀπὸ τῆς δόξης τῆς ἰσχύος αὐτοῦ), referring to the reaction of people to the theophany of Yahweh on the day of Yahweh, is taken over in 2 Thessalonians 1:9, modified only by the omission of φόβου, to refer to the relation of the wicked to the Lord Jesus at his parousia.29

Best (1972) 153. Kreitzer (1987) 118–119, is more doubtful. 24 For the authenticity of 2 Thessalonians, see Best (1972) 50–58; Marshall (1982); Kreitzer (1987) 181–182. 25 Kreitzer (1987) 118. 26 For the two traditions of Christian interpretation of Zech 14:5b, see Bauckham (1981) 137–138. 27 Kreitzer (1987) 119–120. 28 Kreitzer (1987) 113. 29 Kreitzer (1987) 121–122. 22 23

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(d) Joel 2:28–32: Although ‘the Lord’ in the conclusion to this explicitly ‘day of the Lord’ passage is understood in Acts 2:39 as ‘the Lord our God’ (alluding to Joel 2:32b), verse 32a is quoted in Romans 10:13 as the scriptural basis for the Christian confession of Jesus as Lord. It is probably also the source of the pre-Pauline description of Christians as those who ‘call on the name of our Lord Jesus Christ’ (1 Cor 1:2; cf. Acts 9:14, 21; 22:16; 2 Tim 2:22; Hermas, Sim. 9:14:3).30 (e) Isaiah 40:10 (LXX: ἰδοὺ κύριος . . . ἔρχεται . . . ὁ μισθὸς αὐτοῦ μετ᾽ αὐτοῦ) is echoed in Revelation 22:12 (ἰδοὺ ἔρχομαι .  .  . ὁ μισθός μου μετ᾽ ἐμοῦ), in which the κύριος of Isaiah becomes the ‘I’ of Jesus, who at 22:20 is called Lord in a translation of the ‘Maranatha’ acclamation. For the application of Isaiah 40:10 to the parousia, see also 1 Clement 34:3; Barnabas 21:3. (f) Isaiah 45:23 does not belong to the same genre of theophany texts, but it was similarly interpreted in early Christianity with reference to the parousia of Jesus. Although in Romans 14:11 it is quoted with reference to God, its use in the pre-Pauline hymn in Philippians 2:10–11 makes very explicit reference to the confession of Jesus as Lord. (g) We should also note that the Old Testament phrase ‘the day of the Lord’ is used of the parousia, with ‘the Lord’ understood as Jesus (1 Thess 5:2; 2 Thess 2:2; 2 Pet 3:10), expanded as ‘the day of the Lord Jesus Christ’ (1 Cor 5:5: but the text is uncertain) or ‘the day of our Lord Jesus’ (1 Cor 1:8; 2 Cor 1:14), and modified to ‘the day of Christ Jesus’ (Phil 1:6) or ‘the day of Christ’ (Phil 1:10; 2:16).31 These are the clear examples of Old Testament theophany texts applied to the parousia of the Lord Jesus. There are other possible, but less clear examples.32 About the phenomenon of the application of these texts to Jesus, two important observations need to be made. In the first place, it is certainly not the case that Greek-speaking Christians have taken Old Testament texts about a κύριος to refer to Jesus without realizing that κύριος in these texts refers to God. That the ‘referential shift of “Lord” from God to Christ’ (Kreitzer) was conscious and deliberate can be seen especially in the case of Zechariah 14:5b (LXX: κύριος θεός μου), which is the most widely used of these texts. Secondly, these examples should not be seen as part of an indiscriminate application to Jesus of any texts in the Greek Old Testament which use κύριος of God. In the vast majority of quotations and allusions to the Old Testament in the New Testament, κύριος is taken to be God,33 even though in Christian usage the word κύριος designated Jesus much more frequently than God. Beside the theophany texts applied to the parousia, there are some other examples34 of the ‘referential shift of “Lord” from God to Christ’ in New Testament quotations from and allusions to the Old Testament (e.g. Matt 3:3; Mark 1:3; Luke 3:4; John 1:23 [Isa 40:3]; 1 Cor 1:31; 2 Cor 10:17 [Jer 9:24]; 1 Cor 2:16 [Isa 40:13]; Heb 1:10 [Ps 102:25]; 1 Cor 10:22 [Deut 32:21]: 1 Pet 2:3 [Ps 34:8]; 1 Pet 3:15 [Isa 8:13]), but they are occasional rather than consistent. It looks as though the practice began very deliberately with a quite specific class of Old Testament passages – ‘day of the Lord’ theophany texts which were

Cerfaux (1954A) 181. Kreitzer (1987) 112–113. 32 E.g. Matt 13:41 (?Zeph 1:3): see France (1971) 156–157; 1 Thess 4:16 (?Mic 1:3): see Glasson (1947) 168–169; 2 Thess 1:10 (?Isa 24:23): see Glasson (1947) 168. See also the list (compiled from Glasson) in Kreitzer (1987) 101–102. 33 So, for Paul, Cerfaux (1954A) 174–177. 34 The clear examples in Paul are listed and discussed in Cerfaux (1954A) 182–185. 30 31

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interpreted of the parousia of Jesus – and later spread to some other passages. Why the practice began in this way will need discussion below, but it must have begun early. The examples given above (a–g) come from a number of different strands of early Christian tradition, which points to an early origin for the practice, and in particular the examples from Paul’s earliest letters and from the Gospel tradition suggest, in combination, that the practice goes back to the Palestinian church. There is therefore no difficulty in supposing that in Jude 14 we have an example of the practice from the early Palestinian church. Not only Jude 14, but also Jude 21 (‘wait for the mercy of our Lord Jesus Christ’) probably reflects the ‘referential shift of “Lord” from God to Christ’ in Old Testament passages applied to the parousia. It is unlikely to be an allusion to any specific text, but reflects the frequent use of ‘wait’ in prophetic texts which were interpreted eschatologically (Isa 30:18; 49:23; 51:5; 60:9; 64:4; Dan 12:12; Mic 7:7; Hab 2:3; Zeph 3:8)35 and the traditional use of the term ‘mercy’ for the eschatological hope of the righteous (Isa 64:3 LXX; 2 Macc 2:7; PssSol 7:10; 8:27–28; 10:4, 7; 14:9; 17:45; 2 Bar 78:7; 82:2; 4 Ezra 14:34; Matt 5:7). In most of these texts, however, it is the eschatological coming of God which is awaited, and God’s mercy which the righteous will then receive. Jude can urge his readers to ‘wait for the mercy of our Lord Jesus Christ’ (cf. 2 Tim 1:18) because of his christological interpretation of God’s coming to judgment. In fact, he may well have in mind the same passage of 1 Enoch as he quotes, with christological interpretation, in verses 14–15, for in 1 Enoch 1:8 the corollary of God’s destructive judgment on the wicked is his eschatological mercy to the elect (cf. 5:5; 27:4). However, there are two difficulties about the way we have so far traced the christological interpretation of Old Testament theophany texts to the early Palestinian church. In the first place, we have assumed that early Christians found κύριος as the substitute for the tetragrammaton in their Greek Bibles and so were easily able to shift its reference from God to Christ in quotations and allusions in Greek. Most of our manuscripts of the Septuagint do regularly use κύριος where the Hebrew text has the tetragrammaton, and this has generally been assumed to be the Jewish usage with which early Christians who read the Bible in Greek were familiar. Since New Testament (and other early Christian) quotations of and allusions to the Old Testament regularly use κύριος in place of the tetragrammaton this was a natural assumption. But it has been questioned on the grounds that the manuscripts of the Septuagint in question are all Christian, whereas the few fragments we have of Jewish copies of Greek versions of the Old Testament (including the Septuagint) do not use κύριος in this way.36 They either reproduce the tetragrammaton in Hebrew letters (‫ )יהוה‬or in a kind of Greek equivalent of the Hebrew letters (ΠΙΠΙ), or they give a kind of Greek transliteration (ΙΑΩ). However, this does not in itself settle the matter, since even if it shows that κύριος was not normally written in place of the tetragrammaton in Jewish Greek versions of the Old Testament, it does not tell us what Jews pronounced when they came to the tetragrammaton in reading the Greek text aloud (and most reading in the ancient world was reading aloud). There is good evidence that by the New Testament period, the tetragrammaton was already considered too sacred to

Hence also ‘waiting’ frequently expresses the eschatological expectation in early Christian literature: προσδέχεσθαι (as in Jude 21):  Mark 15:43; Luke 2:25, 38; 12:36; 23:51; Acts 24:15; Titus 2:13; 2 Clem 11:2; προσδοκᾶσθαι:  Matt 11:3; Luke 7:19–20; 2 Pet 3:12–14; 1 Clem 23:5; Ign. Pol. 3:2; ἐκδέχεσθαι:  Heb 11:10; Barn 10:11; 2 Clem 12:1; ἀπεκδέχεσθαι: Rom 8:23; 1 Cor 1:7; Gal 5:5; Phil 3:20; Heb 9:28; ἀναμένειν: Thess 1:10; 2 Clem 11:5. 36 See Conzelmann’s summary of the evidence, quoted in Fitzmyer (1979) 120. 35

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pronounce and Palestinian Jews reading the Hebrew text of the Bible were already substituting ’adōnāy or some other alternative to the tetragrammaton.37 Origen in the third century testifies that Greek-speaking Jews then used κύριος for this purpose,38 and there is no reason why the consistent practice of the New Testament in its quotations from the Old Testament should not be regarded as good evidence that this use of κύριος was already common among Greekspeaking Jews in the first century.39 It is inconceivable that this New Testament evidence could represent a distinctly Christian practice, especially since κύριος in most cases refers to God, whereas in Christian usage outside Old Testament quotations κύριος usually referred not to God but to Jesus. Moreover, there is some Jewish evidence, not only for the use of κύριος for God (frequently in the Wisdom of Solomon, for example), but also specifically for the use of κύριος as a substitute for the tetragrammaton.40 This was apparently not the universal practice, since Josephus regularly uses δεσπότης as a substitute for the tetragrammaton and scarcely uses κύριος for God at all.41 But that it was a quite common practice is plausible.42 The second difficulty concerns the possible background in Christian Aramaic to this Christian practice in Greek. If Jude’s letter derives from the bilingual Palestinian Christian circles in which the relatives of Jesus were leaders, it is hard to believe that the kind of christological application of theophany texts which it attests in verse 14 took place only in Greek. The ‘referential shift of “Lord” from God to Christ’ could take place in Greek if κύριος was already used as a substitute for the tetragrammaton and was also a christological title. But was it also possible in Aramaic? If theophany texts such as Zechariah 14:5b and 1 Enoch 1:9 were already applied to the parousia of Jesus in Aramaic-speaking (bilingual) Christian circles, how was this done linguistically? This specific question cannot be entirely divorced from the much discussed issue of the relation between the invocation of Jesus as ‘our Lord’ in Aramaic (attested in ‘Maranatha’) and the Greek christological title κύριος. But it is peculiarly hampered by our lack of any clear evidence of what terms Aramaic-speaking Jews of the first century used as substitutes for the tetragrammaton.43 Aramaic-speaking Christians undoubtedly called Jesus māranā’ (‘our Lord’). Too much has frequently been made of the difference between this suffixal form (‘our Lord’) and the absolute usage of (ὁ) κύριος (‘the Lord’) in Greek.44 The suffixal forms mārî (‘my lord’) and māranā’ (‘our lord’) are Semitic idiom. Through the range of the word’s use for respected persons, rulers and God, the suffixal forms are much more common than the absolute usage of mārê’ or māryā’.45 In Greek, however, although the possessive κύριος ἡμῶν can be used (for rulers, for example46),

The Qumran evidence is summarized in Fitzmyer (1979) 126–127; cf. Schulz (1962) 133. Origen, In Ps. 2:2, quoted in Schulz (1962) 132. 39 Cf. Fitzmyer (1979) 121. 40 Fitzmyer (1979) 121–122; Moule (1977) 40–41; Schulz (1962) 131–132 (on Philo). There is almost certainly more evidence to be found through careful study of the Jewish apocryphal and pseudepigraphal literature written in Greek (not translated into Greek, where the translation may be Christian). Some of the occurrences of κύριος in the Wisdom of Solomon, for example, surely represent the tetragrammaton. 41 Cf. Fitzmyer (1979) 121–122. 42 Fitzmyer (1981B) 222, speaks rather cautiously of ‘an incipient custom among both Semitic- and Greek-speaking Jews of Palestine to call Yahweh ’ādōη, mārê’, or kyrios’; cf. Fitzmyer (1979) 126. 43 Cf. Fitzmyer (1981B) 223; but also Vermes (1976) 112 (on 1 QGenApoc 21:2–3). 44 This is true even of Fitzmyer’s work: see (1981B) 220, 223. 45 Dalman (1902) 324–326; Cerfaux (1954A) 34, 47; Vermes (1976) 120–121. 46 Examples in Dalman (1902) 330; Cerfaux (1954A) 13, cf. 25. 37 38

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the absolute use is much more common. In view of this difference of usage between the two languages, (ὁ) κύριος could easily be used to translate mārî or māranā’. Thus, even if Aramaicspeaking Christians always called Jesus māranā’ and never mārê’ or māryā’, the predominantly absolute usage of (ὁ) κύριος by Greek-speaking Christians need not be attributed to a quite different development, but could be completely continuous with the Aramaic practice. It used to be alleged that Palestinian Jews would never have used the unmodified ‘Lord’ or ‘the Lord’ of God: in Hebrew or Aramaic God would always be ‘my Lord,’ ‘our Lord,’ ‘Lord of the ages,’ ‘Lord of the kings of the earth’ or similar.47 But again, even if this were true, it need not make the transition from Aramaic to Greek problematic. Just as the absolute κύριος, used as a Greek substitute for the tetragrammaton, could be regarded as equivalent to the special suffixal form ‘adōnāy, used as a Hebrew substitute for the tetragrammaton, so it could have been regarded as equivalent to mart or māranā’ if either was used as an Aramaic substitute for the tetragrammaton. In fact, new Aramaic evidence from Qumran provides clear evidence of the absolute usage or mārê’/māryā’ for God,48 though in extant Aramaic literature of the relevant period it remains less common than the suffixal forms and genitival phrases. That some form of mārê’ could have been treated as a substitute for the tetragrammaton is likely. It is the only Aramaic word which would be equivalent to ᾽adōnāy in Hebrew or to κύριος or δεσπότης (as in Josephus) in Greek. Moreover, the evidence shows ‘that “Lord” as a designation of God enjoyed universal familiarity among Jews’49 of the period. In modified and unmodified forms, mārê’ is used in the Genesis Apocryphon and the Qumran fragments of Enoch. That Jude uses κύριος rather than κύριος ἡμῶν in verse 14 might indicate that the Aramaic equivalent to which he was used in such a context was the absolute use of mārê’, but on the other hand it may indicate no more than that he was familiar with the Greek use of κύριος rather than κύριος ἡμῶν as a substitute for the tetragrammaton. Whereas when he is not formally quoting Scripture he prefers the literal Greek translation of his usual māranā’ (vv 17, 21, 25), in this case he follows the form he knew was used in Greek versions of Scripture. Thus we cannot tell which form of mārê’ underlies or would be the equivalent for κύριος in Jude 14. But it is worth considering the possibility that here and in other theophany texts applied to the parousia Aramaic-speaking Christians were familiar with the use of māranā’ (‘our Lord’) as the substitute for the tetragrammaton50 whose reference they shifted to Jesus. It is noteworthy that in several of the other New Testament examples, given above, of christological interpretation of ‘day of the Lord’ texts, ‘our Lord’ is used (1 Thess 3:13; 2 Thess 1:12; 1 Cor 1:2; cf. 1 Cor 1:8; 2 Cor 1:14). This would bring the prayer ‘Maranatha’ (‘our Lord, come!’) even closer to these Old Testament texts than would otherwise be the case. The prayer would be a direct echo of prophecies (such as Zech 14:5b; Isa 40:10; 66:15) which announced that ‘our Lord will come.’ Matthew Black proposed that ‘Maranatha’ derived specifically from 1 Enoch 1:9 as quoted by Jude,51 but this would require that Jude’s addition of κύριος to this text was not his own ad hoc interpretation but followed a version of the text in Aramaic current among Palestinian Jewish Christians. It would be better to

E.g. Bultmann (1952) 51. Fitzmyer (1979) 124–125; (1981B) 222. 49 Vermes (1976) 120. 50 1 Enoch 89:31 (where the Ethiopic has ‘our Lord,’ but the fragmentary Aramaic text in 4QEnc 4:1–2 does not preserve the word) could perhaps be an example of this use (cf. Deut 5:24–26). 51 Black (1973) 194–196. 47 48

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connect the invocation with the other texts, which already state the divine subject of the coming explicitly and whose early Christian use is also more widely attested. In any case, ‘Maranatha’ should be quite closely connected with the christological interpretation of the prophecies of the eschatological coming of God. In early Christian literature κύριος ἡμῶν is quite often found in connection with the parousia (1 Thess 2:19; 3:13; 5:9, 23; 2 Thess 1:8, 12; 2:1, 14; 1 Cor 1:7, 8; 2 Cor 1:14; 2 Pet 1:16; Did 16:1; cf. Matt 24:42).52 This may reflect the impact of stereotyped phrases translated literally from the Aramaic. More generally, in early Christian literature (New Testament and Apostolic Fathers) outside the Pauline corpus ‘our Lord’ is rather infrequent, while both within and outside the Pauline corpus a majority of its occurrences are in stereotyped phrases.53 Although the phenomena of usage cannot be completely fitted into any pattern, it may be that the influence of the Aramaic māranā’ on the original Greek forms of standard Christian expressions accounts for many of its occurrences,54 whereas the general trend of independent Greek usage was away from κύριος ἡμῶν in favour of the absolute κύριος. If Jude 14 can be taken, along with other indications, as evidence that the ‘referential shift of “Lord” from God to Christ’ in the interpretation of eschatological theophany texts with reference to the parousia occurred within the earliest bilingual Christian churches of Palestine, it remains to consider the significance of this. Of course, mārê’, mārî and māranā’ were not as such divine titles. They had a wide range of application: to religious teachers, to secular rulers, to God. When the first Jewish Christians called Jesus ‘Lord,’ it was probably with reference to his messiahship. God had anointed Jesus as the eschatological ruler and judge.55 Psalm 110:1 may well have played an important part in the origin of ‘Lord’ as a christological title. In no sense did it identify Jesus the Messiah with God (in Ps 110:1 the distinction is clear between ’adōnāy – Yahweh – and ’adōnî – the one who is David’s lord, the Messiah). But it did indicate that Jesus exercised God’s royal and judicial authority. As God’s anointed representative he was to carry out the divine function of eschatological judgment and salvation. Therefore it was natural to transfer to him the Old Testament prophecies of God’s eschatological coming in judgment, and at this point his title ‘Lord’ – indicating his royal and judicial authority as God’s anointed one – coalesced with God’s name ‘Lord’ (the substitute for the tetragrammaton), which indicated God’s royal and judicial authority. As the one who exercises God’s authority at the last day, the divine name in prophecies of the last day can refer to him. This was not a general identification of Jesus with God, but a functional identification of him with God in his eschatological coming to judge and to save. Nevertheless, its christological consequences were to be far-reaching.

Matt 24:42 has ὁ κύριος ὑμῶν, but, addressed by Jesus to the disciples, this implies they would speak of ὁ κύριος ἡμῶν. Cf. also Luke 12:36: τὸν κύριον ἑαυτῶν. 53 E.g. διὰ Ἰησοῦ Χριστοῦ τοῦ κυρίου ἡμῶν or διὰ τοῦ κυρίου ἡμῶν Ἰησοῦ Χριστοῦ (Rom 5:1. 11. 21; 7:25; 15:30; 1 Cor 15:57; 1 Thess 5:9; 1 Clem inscr, 20:11; 44:1; 50:7); ἐν Χριστῷ Ἰησοῦ τῳ κυρίῳ ἡμῶν (Rom 6:23; 8:39; 1 Cor 15:31; Eph 3:11; cf. Polyc. Phil. 1:1); ὁ θεὸς καὶ πατὴρ τοῦ κυρίου ἡμῶν Ἰησοῦ Χριστοῦ (2 Cor 1:3; Eph 1:3; I Pet 1:3; Polyc. Phil. 12:2; cf. Eph 1:17; Col 1:3); ἡ χάρις τοῦ κυρίου ἡμῶν Ἰησοῦ Χριστοῦ (Rom 16:20; Gal 6:18; I Thess 5:28; 2 Thess 3:18; 1 Clem 65:2); τὸ ὄνομα τοῦ κυρίου ἡμῶν Ἰησοῦ (Χριστοῦ) (1 Cor 1:2; Eph 5:20; 2 Thess 1:12; 3:6); ἡ παρουσία τοῦ κυρίου ἡμών Ἰησοῦ Χριστοῦ (1 Thess 3:13; 5:23; 2 Thess 2:1; 2 Pet 1:16; cf. 1 Thess 2:19). 54 So Cerfaux (1954B) 350; Manns (1977) 37–38. The argument of Kramer (1966) 220, against this, depends on his own highly questionable reconstruction of the development of christological terms, criticized by Hengel (1983) 36–38. 55 Cerfaux (1954A) 35–63; (1954B) 348–349. 52

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Jewish messianic expectation could also attribute the divine functions of eschatological judgment and salvation to the Messiah (4 Ezra 12:31–33; 13:26, 37–38; 2 Bar 40:1; 72:2; 1 Enoch 45:3; 46; 55:4; 69:27–29),56 while 11Q Melchizekek is notable for its application to Melchizedek of Old Testament passages about ‘God’ (‫אלהים‬,‫ )אל‬as the judge and bringer of salvation (Pss 82:1; 7:7–8; Isa 52:7), apparently taking the word to mean ‘judge’ rather than as a reference to God. Kreitzer speaks of ‘a great deal of functional overlap between an intermediary agent and God himself ’ in Jewish apocalyptic texts about the eschatological judgment.57 We might also recall the Jewish traditions about a principal angel who bears the divine name (Yahoel in the Apocalypse of Abraham;58 Metratron as ‘the lesser yhwh’ in 3 Enoch). But precisely the direct application of the eschatological theophany passages to a messianic figure seems not to be exactly paralleled in Jewish apocalyptic.59 It is very important for the development of Christology that early Christian expectation of the parousia owed less to Old Testament messianic texts than to the direct use of Old Testament texts about the coming of God. The rationale for such use we can see in the pre-Pauline Jewish Christian hymn in Philippians 2:6–11: in exalting Jesus to be his eschatological plenipotentiary God has bestowed on him his own name, the tetragrammaton (‘the name which is above every name’), and in consequence Jesus receives the homage due from all creation to God. But he does so as the representative of God the Father, in God’s name, and so ‘to the glory of God the Father.’ We can glimpse here also the consequence for the Christian religious attitude to Jesus. Since the figure in question is no mere figure of speculation, like Melchizedek or a still unidentified Messiah, but Jesus of Nazareth, a known human figure, now absent in heaven but present to the experience of his followers in the Spirit, a figure who could be addressed (‘Our Lord, come!’), his divine function inevitably made him the object of divine worship.60 Implicitly, in religious practice, he was already assimilated to God, and the way to his conceptual inclusion in the being of God was open.

III.  Jude 4 Jude’s first reference to the lordship of Christ (apart from the implied reference in calling himself Ἰησοῦ Χριστοῦ δοῦλος in v 1) is the emphatic phrase τὸν μόνον δεσπότην καὶ κύριον ἡμῶν Ἰησοῦν Χριστὸν in verse 4. Some commentators61 have taken the phrase to refer to God and Jesus (‘the only Master and our Lord Jesus Christ’), but it should probably be read as a reference entirely to Jesus (‘our only Master and Lord Jesus Christ’).62 The absence of the article before κύριον would in similar cases tend to imply that both epithets apply to one person, but absence of the article before κύριος is so common that the point probably cannot be pressed

This may be one (not the only) reason why, as Hultgård (1985) 50–52, observes, intertestamental Jewish works do not often describe an eschatological theophany of God, as 1 Enoch 1:3 b–9 does. 57 Kreitzer (1987) 90. 58 On Yahoel see Hurtado (1988) 79–80. 59 Cf. the contrast drawn, rather too sharply, by Glasson (1947) 171, and the criticism of his view by Kreitzer (1987) 101–102. 60 Cf. Hurtado (1988) 93–124; Bauckham (1992). 61 E.g. Mayor (1907) 26–27; Kelly (1969) 252; Grundmann (1974) 30–31. 62 Spitta (1885) 313–314; Chaine (1939) 298; Osburn (1985) 300–302. 56

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here. On the other hand, the fact that δεσπότης is sometimes in early Christian literature used of God but hardly ever of Christ (see below) cannot be decisive against its reference to Christ here, since at any rate the first reader of Jude whose understanding of the phrase is known to us took δεσπότης to refer to Christ (2 Pet 2:1), while the fact that the relatives of Jesus were known in Palestinian Jewish Christian circles as οἱ δεσπόσυνοι (Julius Africanus, ap. Eusebius, HE 1:7:14) shows that δεσπότης was used of Christ in precisely the circles from which Jude’s letter comes. Finally, since δεσπότης and κύριος are virtually synonymous, it would seem very odd to combine a reference to ‘the only Master’ with one to another ‘Lord.’ Although on a theological level the lordship of Christ would not contradict the sole lordship of God, such a blatant contradiction on the linguistic surface seems unlikely. We may therefore take it that τὸν μόνον δεσπότην καί κύριον ἡμῶν Ἰησοῦν Χριστόν is a deliberately full reference to the lordship of Jesus Christ, strategically placed in the statement of theme (v 4) for the exegetical section of Jude’s letter (vv 5–19), which is concerned with the coming judgment by Jesus the Lord on those who reject his lordship. He is called ‘our only Master and Lord,’ not because Jude’s opponents are teaching some theological error (pagan or Gnostic) which infringes monotheism or the sole mediation of Christ, but because they are libertines, who deny Jesus Christ by deliberately ignoring his moral demands in practice and teach others to do so. To indulge in such behaviour is in fact to serve other masters, including their own misguided self-interest (cf. Matt 6:24; Rom 6:12–23; Gal 4:3, 8–9; 2 Pet 2:19). By thus subjecting themselves to other masters, they are disowning Christ, the only Master of Christians.63 The word δεσπότης, however, requires further attention. Though its use in Greek64 is in many ways similar to that of κύριος, it has a rather narrower range. It normally refers either to the Master of a household, with absolute rights over his family and slaves, or to a ruler, whose unlimited power over a people is conceived by analogy with the Master of a household. Democratically minded Greeks and Romans therefore disliked the term, as suggesting the ruler’s right to the service of his subjects as of slaves, and so degrading for free men. So, although it was popular in the East for oriental monarchs, it was declined by the emperors Augustus and Tiberius, but taken up enthusiastically by Domitian and commonly used of later Roman Emperors.65 Jews had a rather different objection to the term, on occasion at least and especially when combined with suggestions of the divinity of the ruler: that the only δεσπότης they could serve was God.66 Jewish use of δεσπότης for God is not easily differentiated from the use of κύριος.67 If we allow the Septuagint’s use of κύριος as the substitute for the tetragrammaton as Jewish, then κύριος is much more frequently used of God in the Septuagint than δεσπότης is, but Josephus uses δεσπότης for God to the almost complete exclusion of κύριος, while Philo uses both frequently. It is significant that it occasionally occurs in the Septuagint in combination with κύριος, translating phrases which combine ’ādōn or ’adōnāy with the tetragrammaton (Gen 15:2, 8; Isa 1:24; 3:1; 10:33; Jer 1:6; 4:10; 14:13),68 while in the other Greek translations of the

Bauckham (1983A) 40. See Rengstorf (1964) 44–45. 65 Mastin (1973) 354–355. 66 Cerfaux (1954A) 27–31. 67 Rengstorf (1964) 47, probably exaggerates the distinction. 68 Rengstorf (1964) 46. 63 64

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Old Testament it is used more frequently to render ’ādōn or ’adōnāy and occasionally for the tetragrammaton.69 While in some cases δεσπότης seems to have a stronger association with God’s omnipotent sovereignty over the created world, on the whole it seems that δεσπότης and κύριος equally express the dominant Jewish perception of God as Lord in New Testament times. Early Christianity took over the Jewish usage to some extent, especially in prayer and liturgical formulae, and extant Christian literature up to the mid-second century uses δεσπότης almost exclusively of God the Father and sometimes, as in Jewish usage, with a stress on the Creator’s sovereignty over his creation (Luke 2:29; Acts 4:14; Rev 6:10; 1 Clem 7:5; 8:2; 9:4; 11:1; 20: 8, 11; 24:1, 5; 33:1, 2; 36:2, 4; 40:1, 4; 48:1; 52:1, 55:6; 56:16; 59:4; 60:3; 61:1–2; 64; Did 10:3; Barn 1:7; 4:3; Hermas, Vis. 2:2:4–5; 3:3:5; Sim. 1:9; Diogn 8:7 [cf. 3:2]; Justin, 1 Apol. 12:9; 61:10; Melito, Peri Pascha 76–77; Irenaeus, Haer. 2:26:1). Of δεσπότης referring to Christ, Jude 4 and 2 Peter 2:1, which is dependent on Jude 4, are the only extant examples before the second half of the second century (Melito, Peri Pascha 96–97; Mart. Justin [Rec. B] 5:6; Clem. Alex., Strom. 4:7). But, as we have already noted, Palestinian Jewish Christianity would seem, from the evidence of the term δεσπόσυνοι, to have been peculiar in this respect. Jude’s use of δεσπότης for Christ, though exceptional by comparison with other extant Christian literature of the first century of the church, probably reflects a usage current in the circles in which the relatives of Jesus were leaders. What significance did δεσπότης have when applied to Jesus? One possibility is that it evoked the image of the church as a household and Jesus as the Master of his household slaves.70 This is how 2 Peter 2:1 uses it, in taking over the word from Jude and combining it with a common image of Christian salvation as redemption by Christ (‘the Master who bought them’  – i.e. purchased them as slaves). The term οἰκοδεσπότης (which, with the increasing political use of δεσπότης, had come to be used as equivalent to δεσπότης in the domestic sense) is used of Jesus in this way in figurative sayings and parables in Matt 10:25; 13:27; Luke 13:25; Ign. Eph. 6:1 (cf. also 2 Tim 2:21; GTruth 25:30–31). In parallels and other Gospel parables and sayings about a master and his servants which were interpreted christologically the Gospels use κύριος (cf. Mark 13:35: ὁ κύριος τῆς οἰκίας) in the same sense, but it would have been quite possible for a version of the Gospel tradition to have used δεσπότης as the correlative to δούλοι in sayings and parables of this kind. In fact, one early manuscript (P75) has δεσπότης in Luke 13:25; while Sibylline Oracle 2:180 describes the master in the parable of the Watching Servants (Luke 12:37) as ὁ δεσπόζων, and Epiphanius, Pan. 69:44:1, in a reference to the same parable which may reflect an independent tradition of it, has δεσπότης.71 Furthermore, Hermas, in his two parables of the Vineyard and the Tower (Sim. 5; 9), which are to some extent modelled on Gospel parables, uses δεσπότης (Sim. 5:2:2, 5, 8, 9, 10, 11; 5:4:1; 5:5:3; 9:5:7; 9:7:6; 9:9:4), interchangeably with κύριος (5:5:2; 9:5:2; 9:7:1; 9:10:4), for the master or owner, who in one case represents God, in the other Christ. (Note also the parabolic sayings in Hermas, Mand. 5:1:5; Sim. 9:26:4, where δεσπότης, meaning ‘owner,’ in the saying is interpreted as κύριος in the explanation.) The parousia parables about servants expecting (or not) their returning master (Matt 24:45–51; 25:14–30; Mark 13:34–36; Luke 12:35–38, 42–48; cf. Luke 13:25) as well as sayings which understand the mission of Jesus’ disciples as that of servants sent by their Rengstorf (1964) 46 and n. 18. I opted for this view in Bauckham (1983A) 39. 71 Cf. Bauckham (1983C) 130–132. 69 70

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master (Matt 10:24–25; John 13:16; 15:20; Ign. Eph. 6:1) would have been particularly relevant to the early Jewish Christian church’s understanding of Christ’s lordship. Of course, the image of Christians as slaves of their master Jesus is one way in which Paul uses the christological title κύριος (e.g. Rom 12:11; Eph 6:9), even though the title also has more exalted connotations. However, although the image of Jesus as the Master of his household slaves may well have been a secondary nuance of δεσπότης in Jude’s circle, just as it was of κύριος for Paul, it is rather unlikely to have been the primary meaning either in common usage or in Jude 4. The term δεσπόσυνοι for the relatives of Jesus is easier to understand if δεσπότης described Jesus as the messianic Ruler and δεσπόσυνοι therefore attributed to his relatives the dignity of a royal family. The close association of δεσπότης and κύριος in Jude 4 probably indicates not two distinct images, but one image, which the use of two terms reinforces. The most appropriate translation would be: ‘our only Sovereign and Lord Jesus Christ.’ The two terms are probably alternative Greek renderings of the single Aramaic expression māranā’. (In bilingual inscriptions from Palmyra, māran is translated as δεσπότης when it refers to the Roman emperor, but as κύριος when it refers to the local Palmyrene ruler.72) If we remember the interchangeability of δεσπότης and κύριος in Jewish use for God, the fact that either could represent the tetragrammaton, and the occasional use of both together with reference to God (cf. also Josephus, Ant. 20:90; TAbr [Rec.A] 4:6; 9:6), it becomes likely that the double expression δεσπότην καὶ κύριον ἡμῶν has the same kind of divine overtone as κύριος in verse 14: Jesus’ lordship is the eschatological lordship of God. This is virtually necessitated by μόνον, which in a Jewish religious context could not fail to suggest the special Jewish insistence on the unique lordship of God. The closest parallels to Jude’s phrase are in Josephus, when he reports the views of Jews who refused to submit to Roman rule on the grounds that God was their ‘only Ruler and Sovereign’ (Ant. 18:23: μόνον ἡγεμόνα καὶ δεσπότην; cf. BJ 7:323, 410). These parallels do not show that the issue in Jude 4 is political: there is no other indication that Jude’s opponents were obeying Caesar rather than Christ. They do show that the phrase in Jude 4 evokes the exclusive lordship of God. A Jewish monotheist could use such a phrase only because he understood Christ’s lordship to be God’s. It is not that Christ is identical with God the Father, still less that his lordship is in competition with or replaces that of God the Father, but that the lordship he exercises is the exclusive lordship of the one God (cf. Phil 2:10–11).

IV.  Jude 5 For the question of the relevance of verse 5 to Jude’s Christology, the first, inescapable problem is that of the text. Besides other textual variations, the subject of the verse varies widely in the manuscripts. The majority of manuscripts have κύριος or ὁ κύριος (including ‫ א‬C⃰ K L Ψ), but there is important evidence for Ίησοῦς (including A B lat cop(sa)bo eth Jerome Cyril), while a few manuscripts have θεός or ὁ θεός, and P72 has θεὀς Χριστός.73 It should be noted initially that to some extent this textual situation is not unusual, since there are many places, especially in the Pauline corpus, where the text varies between two of the three words κύριος, θεός and Χριστός,

Cerfaux (1954A) 18, 53. A full apparatus criticus is given by Osburn (1981) 108.

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and in some cases between all three (e.g. 1 Cor 10:9; 2 Cor 11:17; Eph 5:17; Col 3:16; cf. Rom 15:32). There may be a variety of reasons for such variation: misreadings of the abbreviations for these words, attraction of more familiar phrases, attempts to resolve the ambiguity of κύριος (God or Christ?), and influence of patristic christological doctrinal debates. What is exceptional in Jude 5 is the reading Ἰησοῦς, which there seems to be no evidence of scribes deliberately substituting for κύριος or θεός elsewhere. We should expect a scribe who wished to make Christ the subject of the verse to use Χριστός. This observation, together with the principle of preferring the more difficult reading and the strength of the early evidence, may seem initially to make a strong case for the originality of the reading Ίησοΰς.74 The problem, in that case, of accounting for the other readings is solved by Osburn, who regards them as third-century doctrinal alterations by Monarchians who rejected the personal pre-existence of Christ (he accounts for the reading κύριος in 1 Cor 10:9 in the same way).75 However, although no conclusion on this issue is likely to be very secure, the following reasons favour the reading κύριος against Ἰησοῡς. (I) Jude never otherwise calls Christ simply Ίησοῦς, and it would seem odd for him to do so at this point. Whether he is speaking, in verses 5–7, of God or of the pre-existent Christ, his point is to stress the divine authority to judge apostates (cf. vv 4, 8). The context seems to require κύριος or a phrase including κύριος. The uncharacteristic use of the simple personal name Ἰησοῦς seems unlikely. (2) Ἰησοῦς certainly cannot refer to the Old Testament Joshua76 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 (v 5). Moreover, the subject of verse 5 is also, as the subject of verse 6, the one who has kept the fallen angels in chains, while the close connection with verse 7 virtually necessitates the implication that he also destroyed Sodom and Gomorrah. (3) That Jude should have attributed the action of verses 5–7 to the pre-existent Christ certainly cannot be ruled out, but the use of the name Jesus for the pre-existent Christ would be unparalleled in early Christian literature (2 Cor 8:9 and Phil 2:5 have the incarnation directly in view).77 (4) The other readings can be explained as attempts to resolve the ambiguity of an original κύριος (perhaps P72 combines two such attempts). This does not explain why Ἰησοῦς appears (rather than Χριστός), but this can be explained by means of the Joshua-Jesus typology which became popular in the second century (Barn 12:8; Justin, Dial. 24:2; 75:1–2; 113; 131–132; Clem. Alex., Paed. 1:60:3; Tertullian, Adv. Marc. 3:16:3–4). Probably owing to this typology, Justin can speak (to Try pho) of ‘Jesus who also led your fathers out of Egypt’ (Dial. 120:3). The point is that a scribe could be attracted to this typology by the beginning of Jude’s statement (ὅτι . . . λαὸν ἐκ γῆς Αἰγυπτου σώσας) and not notice, as an author would, the pitfalls it would encounter as the statement continues. (Alternatively, one might simply suppose a misreading of the abbreviation ΚC as IC.) If the reading κύριος is preferred, we still need to ask whether Jude intended it to refer to God or to Christ. We have argued that κύριος in verse 14 is the divine title applied to Christ. The same could be true in verse 5: Jude could have chosen the term κύριος because it is used of God in the scriptural accounts he is summarizing in verses 5–7, but have intended it to refer to

So Bruce (1968) 35–36; Osburn (1981). Osburn (1981) 114–115. 76 Cf. Jerome, In Jovin. 1:21; Kellett (1903–4); Wikgren (1967) 148–149. 77 Against Hanson (1965) 165–167, whose other examples are much more doubtful. 74 75

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the pre-existent Christ exercising the divine lordship. The strongest case for this interpretation has been made recently by Jarl Fossum, who prefers the reading Ἰησοῦς, but argues that even if κύριος was the original reading, Ἰησοῦς may have been a correct interpretation of κύριος.78 He suggests that throughout verses 5–7 Jude ‘is adapting certain Jewish traditions about a divinely delegated intermediary,’79 i.e. the angel of the Lord or principal angel, who bore the divine name and acted as God’s deputy. He assembles the evidence for attributing to such a figure the deliverance and destruction of Israel (v 5), the punishment of the fallen angels (v 6) and the destruction of Sodom and Gomorrah (v 7). This evidence certainly shows that it is far from impossible that Jude could have drawn on contemporary Jewish ideas in order to see Jesus as the principal agent of God’s action not only in the last days but also in Israel’s history. Some Jewish ideas about a principal angel are not too far from Jude’s understanding of Christ as κύριος in verse 14. However, there are difficulties in Fossum’s case:  (1) The weakest part of his evidence concerns verse 6, where for his evidence of Jewish traditions he can appeal only to the texts of 1 Enoch on which Jude is directly and closely dependent in this verse.80 There the chaining of the Watchers is carried out, on the command of ‘the Lord,’ by Raphael (10:4–6) and Michael (10:11–12). Here there is not one, but two principal angels, and it is not obvious how Jude’s κύριος (if we prefer that reading) could apply to Christ as a substitute for one or both of these angels, rather than to God. In appealing to 1 Enoch 10, as also to the later Jewish tradition which identifies the angel of the Lord at the Exodus with Michael,81 Fossum neglects Jude 9, where Jude speaks of the archangel Michael without identifying him with or replacing him by Christ. From the background to the story in Jude 9 it is clear that Michael there plays the role precisely of the principal angel, the angel of the Lord (cf. Zech 3:1–2). It looks as though Jude was familiar with the concept of the principal angel, but refrained from interpreting the idea christologically. (2) Verses 5–7 are closely dependent on a traditional schema which listed examples of divine judgment.82 None of the other extant forms of this schema (Sir 16:7–10; CD 2:17–3:12; 3 Macc 2:4–7; TNapht 3:4–5; m. Sanh. 10:3; 2 Pet 2:4–8) refer to an intermediary agent of God. This does not preclude Jude’s interpreting the schema with reference to other traditions which did, but makes it less likely. Since we have already seen (section II) that Jude is close to traditions of christological exegesis which appear also in Paul, it is relevant to ask whether 1 Corinthians 10:1–22 could provide a parallel to Jude 5–7. The parallel will lie not so much in Paul’s identification of the rock in the wilderness wanderings with Christ (10:4) as in his two subsequent references to ‘the Lord’ in phrases which echo the wilderness narratives (10:9: μηδὲ ἐκπειράζωμεν τὸν κύριον [v. ll. Χριστόν; θεόν], καθώς τινες αὐτῶν ἐπείρασαν; cf. LXX Pss 77:18; 94:9; Exod 17:2, 7; and 10:22: παραζηλοῦμεν τὸν κύριον: cf. LXX Deut 32:21). Whether Paul’s identification of the rock with Christ is meant to indicate a ‘real presence’ of Christ in the wilderness in the Old Testament period83 or means that, in a typological exegesis of the Exodus narratives as

Fossum (1985) 237; similarly Hanson (1965) 137; cf. Bigg (1901) 328. Fossum (1985) 227. 80 Fossum (1985) 232. 81 Fossum (1985) 236. 82 Bauckham (1983A) 46–47. 83 So Hanson (1965) 10–25. 78 79

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prefiguring the events of eschatological salvation through Christ, the rock represents Christ,84 is disputed. The latter is more probable, but in any case it would not follow from the former that in verses 9 and 22 Paul must be identifying ‘the Lord’ in the wilderness narratives of the Old Testament as Christ. Verse 5 shows that at any rate Paul is not carrying through a consistent identification of this kind. It is probably true that the κύριος of verses 9 and 22 is Christ (since κύριος in v 21 must be Christ), but it is noteworthy that Paul refrains from saying specifically in either verse that Israel ‘tested’ or ‘provoked to jealousy’ the same κύριος as his readers are in danger of testing or provoking to jealousy. Thus his application of terms from Old Testament texts to Christ in these verses is best understood as typological.85 Israel tempted and provoked the Lord God, but the corresponding behaviour by Paul’s readers would be a tempting and provoking of the Lord Jesus, because the lordship of God is now exercised by him. A rather similar understanding of Jude 5–7 seems the most plausible. The κύριος of verse 5 who judged Israel, the Watchers and the cities of the Plain is God, as is the κύριος of verse 9, to whose authority as judge Michael submitted the moral question raised by the devil about Moses. But the parallel to κύριος in verse 14 is intended, because the judgments of verses 5–7 are types of the judgment which Jude’s opponents are in danger of incurring at the parousia. Jesus is κύριος in verse 14 because at the parousia he will be exercising God’s authority to judge. The divine role and authority indicated by the title κύριος in verses 5, 9 and 14 are the same, but only in verse 14 does Jesus assume that role and exercise that authority. Similarly, the ‘lordship’ (κυριότητα) which the opponents reject (v 8) is the divine lordship (vv 5, 9) exercised now by Christ (v 14). The catchword connexions between κύριον, κύριος and κυριότητα (vv 4, 5, 8, 9, 14, 17) bind together the whole of Jude’s exegetical section as concerned with the divine authority now in the last days (v 18) – exercised by Jesus Christ. The variation of subject between God and Jesus is possible for Jude precisely because of his κύριος – Christology: the same divine authority is at stake throughout.

V. Conclusion The central theme of Jude’s Christology, as it becomes apparent in this short letter, is that Jesus is the eschatological agent of God’s salvation and judgment. He is the Messiah (vv 1, 2, 4, 17, 21, 25), i.e. the one who has been anointed by God as his viceroy. But as God’s Messiah it is God’s authority to save and to judge which he exercises. Therefore God’s title κύριος (vv 5, 9) – or better, God’s own divine name represented in Greek as κύριος – is his (v 14). This assimilates Jesus to God without simply identifying him with God. Certainly he acts as God towards the church and the world. The lordship of God is his lordship, and God is known now and in the future only with reference to Jesus. The roots of all later thinking about Jesus’ divinity lie in this original Jewish Christian understanding of Jesus as the one through whom all God’s eschatological action occurs and therefore as the one to whom Christians address their acknowledgement of the divine lordship.

Dunn (1980) 183–184; cf. his bold conclusion on p. 158: ‘There is no evidence that any NT writer thought of Jesus as actively present in Israel’s past, either as the angel of the Lord, or as “the Lord” himself.’ 85 Cf. Cerfaux (1954A) 182–183. 84

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As far as Jesus’ relation to Christians is concerned, he is preeminently ‘our Lord’ (vv 4, 17, 21, 25) – where the ‘our’ is Semitic idiom, but an idiom expressing the fact that Lord is a relational term: someone is only Lord because he is Lord over a community. Jesus’ lordship over the church is constituted by his eschatological saving action – the new Exodus, creating the eschatological Israel. This deliverance he has already accomplished (cf. v 5) but it has still to reach its goal at the imminent parousia (vv 21, 25). Christians are those who are ‘kept for Jesus Christ’ (v 1), i.e. kept safe by God until they are claimed by Jesus at his coming as those who belong to him. Because he is ‘our Lord,’ his faithful people can expect mercy at his coming to judgment (v 21), but for those who, having experienced his salvation, reject his lordship there can only be condemnation (vv 14–15). We cannot expect that so short a letter, written in response to a specific need (vv 3–4), will give us a complete picture of the Christology current in the circles in which Jude was a leader. In particular, the salvation Christ has already accomplished for his people is presupposed but no more than hinted at in the typological form of verse 5. Behind this hint must lie a developed understanding of the cross and resurrection of Jesus. But insofar as an argument from silence can be allowed any weight, it is noteworthy that, in a letter so orientated to the role of Christ as judge at the imminent parousia, the term ‘Son of man’ goes unmentioned. This would seem to support the contention that there was never, as such, a ‘Son-of-man Christology,’ such as has so often been postulated for the early Palestinian church, but that the term ‘Son of man’ was confined to the tradition of the sayings of Jesus.86

References Bauckham, R. J., ‘A Note on a Problem in the Greek Version of I Enoch i.9’, JTS 32 (1981) 136–138. ________, Jude, 2 Peter, WBC 50, Waco, Texas, 1983. (1983A) ________, ‘Synoptic Parousia Parables Again’, NTS 29 (1983) 129–134. (1983C) ________, ‘Jesus Christ, Worship of ’, in The Anchor Bible Dictionary, ed. D. N. Freedman, New York: Doubleday, 1992. _________, ‘The Two Fig Tree in the Apocalypse of Peter’, JBL 104 (1985) 269–287. Best, E., A Commentary on the First and Second Epistles to the Thessalonians, BNTC, London: A. & C. Black, 1972. Betz, O., ‘The Eschatological Interpretation of the Sinai-Tradition in Qumran and in the New Testament’, RQ 6 (1967) 89–107. Bigg, C., A Critical and Exegetical Commentary on the Epistles of St. Peter and St. Jude, ICC 41, Edinburgh: T. & T. Clark, 1901. Black, M., ‘The Maranatha Invocation and Jude 14, 15 (I Enoch 1:9)’, in Christ and Spirit in the New Testament: in honour of C. F. D. Moule, ed. B. Lindars and S. S. Smalley, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1973. Bruce, F. F., This is That: the New Testament Development of Some Old Testament Themes, Exeter: Paternoster, 1968. Bultmann, R., Theology of the New Testament, tr. K. Grobel, vol. I, London: SCM Press, 1952. Cerfaux, L., Receuil Lucien Cerfaux: Études d’Exégèse et d’Histoire Religieuse, vol. I BETL 6, Gembloux: J. Duculot, 1954. (1954A) _______, Le Christ dans la théolgie de saint Paul, Paris: Cerf, 21954. (1954B)

Cf. Lindars (1983).

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Jude’s Christology Chaine, J., Les épîtres catholiques: La seconde épître de Saint Pierre, les épîtres de Saint Jean, l’ épître de Saint Jude, EBib 27, Paris: Gabalda, 21939. Collins, R. F., Studies on the First Letter to the Thessalonians, BETL 66, Leuven: Leuven University Press, 1984. (1984C) Dalman, G., The Words of Jesus considered in the light of post-biblical Jewish writings and the Aramaic language, tr. D. M. Kay, Edinburgh: T. & T. Clark, 1902. Dunn, J. D. G., Christology in the Making: A New Testament Inquiry into the Origins of the Doctrine of the Incarnation, London: SCM Press, 1980. Fitzmyer, J. A., ‘The Semitic Background of the New Testament Kyrios-Title’, in A Wandering Aramaean: Collected Aramaic Essays, SBLMS 25 (Missoula, Montana: Scholars Press, 1979) 115–142. _______, ‘The Virginal Conception of Jesus in the New Testament’, in To Advance the Gospel: New Testament Studies (New York: Crossroad, 1981) 41–78 (1981B) Fossum, J., The Name of God and the Angel of the Lord: Samaritan and Jewish Concepts of Intermediation and the Origin of Gnosticism, WUNT 36, Tübingen: Mohr (Siebeck), 1985. France, R. T., Jesus and the Old Testament: His application of Old Testament passages to himself and his mission, London: Tyndale Press, 1971. Glasson, T. F., The Second Advent: The Origin of the New Testament Doctrine, London: Epworth Press, 21947. Grundmann, W., Der Brief des Judas und der zweite brief des Petrus, THKNT 15, Berlin: Evangelisched Verlagsanstalt, 1974. Hanson, A. T., Jesus Christ in the Old Testament, London: SPCK, 1965. Harrington, D. J., ‘Interpreting Israel’s History: The Testament of Moses as a Rewriting of Deuteronomy 32–34’, in Studies on the Testament of Moses, SBLSCS 4, ed. G. W. E. Nickelsburg (Cambridge, Massachusetts: SBL, 1973) 59–68. Hartman, L., Prophecy Interpreted: The Formation of Some Jewish apocalyptic texts and of the eschatological discourse Mark 13 par., ConBNT 1, Uppsala: Almqvist & Wiksells, 1966. ______, Asking for a Meaning: A Study of 1 Enoch 1–5, ConBNT 12, Lund: Gleerup, 1979. Hengel, M., Between Jesus and Paul: Studies in the Earliest History of Christianity, tr. J. Bowen, London: SCM Press, 1983. Hultgård, A., ‘Théophanie et presence divine dans judaïsme antique: Quelque remarques à partìr des textes “intertestamentaires” ’, in La Littérature Interestamentaire: Colloque de Strasbourg (17–19 Octobre 1983), Bibliothèque des Centres d’Études Supérieures Spécialisés (Paris: Presses Universitaires de Frances, 1985) 43–55. Hurtado, L. W., One God, One Lord: Early Christian devotion and ancient Jewish monotheism, Philadelphia: Fortress, 1988. Kellett, E. E., ‘Note on Jude 5’, ExpT 15 (1903–4) 381. Kelly, J. N. D., A Commentary on the Epistles of Peter and of Jude, BNTC, London: A. & C. Blck, 1969. Kramer, W., Christ, Lord, Son of God, tr. B. Hardy, SBT 50, London: SCM Press, 1966. Kreitzer, L. J., Jesus and God in Paul’s Eschatology, JSNTSS 19, Sheffield: JSOT Press, 1987. Lindars, B., Jesus Son of Man: A Fresh Examination of the Son of Man Sayings in the Gospels in the Light of Recent Research, London: SPCK, 1983. Manns, F., Essais sur le Judéo-Christianisme, Studium Biblicum Franciscanum Analecta 12, Jerusalem: Franciscan Printing Press, 1977. Marshall, I. H., The origins of New Testament Christology, Downers Grove, Illinois: InterVarsity Press, 1976. _______, ‘Pauline Theology in the Thessalonian Correspondence’, in Paul and Paulinism: Essays in honour of C. K. Barrett, ed. M. D. Hooker and S. G. Wilson (London: SPCK, 1982) 173–183. Mastin, B. A., ‘The Imperial Cult and the Ascription of the Title θεός to Jesus (John XX.28’, in Studia Evangelica 6, ed. E. A. Livingstone, TU 112 (Berlin: Akademie-Verlag, 1973) 352–365. Mayor, J. B., The Epistle of St. Jude and the Second Epistle of St. Peter, London: Macmillan, 1907. Moule, C. F. D., The Origin of Christology, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1977. Osburn, C. D., ‘The Text of Jude 5’, Bib 62 (1981) 107–115. _______, ‘I Enoch 80:2-8 (67:5-7) and Jude 12–13’, CBQ 47 (1985) 296–303. 389

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368 Rengstorf, K. H., ‘δεσπότης, οἰκοδεσπότης, οἰκοδεσποτέω’, in Theological Dictionary of the New Testament, ed. G. Kittel and G. W. Bromiley, vol. 2 (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1964) 44–49. Schulz, S., ‘Maranatha und Kyrios Jesus’, ZNW 53 (1962) 125–144. Spitta, F., Der Zweite Brief des Petrus und der Brief des Judas, Halle a. S.: Buchhandlung des Waisenhauses, 1885. VanderKam, J. C., ‘The Theophany of Enoch I 3b-7, 9’, VT 23 (1973) 129–150. Vermes, G., Jesus the Jew: A Historian’s Reading of the Gospels, London: Fontana/Collins, 21976. Wikgren, A. ‘Some Problems in Jude 5’, in Studies in the History and Text of the New Testament in Honor of K. W. Clark, B. L. Daniels and M. J. Suggs eds. (Salt Lake City: University of Utah Press, 1967) 147–152.

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(1) Bruce Chilton and Craig A. Evans (eds.), James the Just and Christian Origins (NovTSup 98; Leiden: Brill, 1999). This volume is the partial result of a four-year seminar on the historical figure of James sponsored by Bard College. The essays are divided into two general sections: papers on background and contextual issues and papers addressing James and Jewish Christianity. Among these helpful essays are Scot McKnight’s contribution considering the early “parting within the way” between Jews and Christians—Jesus and James on Israel and purity and Richard Bauckham’s essay that focuses on the particular offense for which James was put to death. (2) Bruce Chilton and Jacob Neusner (eds.), The Brother of Jesus: James the Just and His Mission (Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox, 2001). This is a sequel volume to James the Just and Christian Origins and was part of the same four-year seminar that produced the first volume. Geared somewhat toward a more general audience, this volume contains essays focusing on James the person, his message (examining the literary record), his mission, and his relationship with Jesus, Paul, and Peter. (3) John Painter, Just James:  The Brother of Jesus in History and Tradition (Minneapolis, MN: Fortress, 1999). One of the more extensive works considering the important role of James in the development of the early church. Rather than seeing James, the Lord’s brother, as James “the less,” Painter argue that it is necessary to recognize him as a towering figure in the earliest church. He considers the New Testament evidence for James and then discusses the images of James in the early church (especially the tradition of Eusebius). Painter also considers the tradition of James as successor to Jesus and keeper of secret tradition (Nag Hammadi library); and as bishop of bishops and bulwark of truth (the Apocrypha and later Christian evidence). Finally, he treats James and Jewish Christianity. A  second expanded edition was published in 2004 (Columbia: University of South Carolina Press). This edition is largely unchanged from the first, except for an expanded preface, a prologue that discusses the debate revolving around the James ossuary, and two new chapters on “Jacob son of Joseph brother of Jesus” and “Jacob brother of the Lord.” Painter concludes that James’s leadership of the Jerusalem church is best understood in the context of the emerging patriarchate, which was hereditary and based on the outstanding wisdom, judgment, and exemplary life of the patriarch. (4) Dale C. Allison, “A Liturgical Tradition behind the Ending of James,” JSNT 34 (2011): 3–18. Noting that the themes of healing and turning back the wayward were traditionally associated in texts like Ezekiel 32 and 33 as well as later Jewish and Christian prayer traditions dependent

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upon Ezekiel, Allison argues that this same tradition accounts for the connection between prayer, healing, and anointing (5:13-18) and turning back the wayward (5:19-20) in the seemingly unorganized ending of James 5.  Allison then draws attention to the significant parallels between James 5:10-20 and especially Ezekiel c­ hapters 33–35 and concludes that such “should not be put down to coincidence.” The final verses of the letter of James also reflect the language of those chapters of Ezekiel and are probably influenced by a very primitive church order. (5) Alicia Batten, “God in the Letter of James: Patron or Benefactor?” NTS 50 (2004): 257–72. Alicia Batten has been among the first to interpret James within the context of Roman patronage and benefaction. She notes that in the first century, patronage and benefaction were not universally identified with each other and that this distinction has implications for how one interprets James’s description of God. Batten argues that James’s criticism of the rich (in ­chapter 2) and the letter’s use of friendship language (in ­chapter 4) suggest that James is deliberately contrasting patronage, along with the system of status that it upheld, with the relationship to God and the conduct such an alliance would promote. She concludes that James’s image of God conforms to the notion of an ideal benefactor and friend to a community of the faithful rather than to a patron who forms alliances with individuals and potentially exploits differences of power. (6) Matt Jackson-McCabe, “The Messiah Jesus in the Mythic World of James,” JBL 122 (2003): 701–30. Jackson-McCabe argues that James contains a coherent mythic overarching system. However, the soteriology of this mythic system lacks any focus on Jesus’s death, the work of the Holy Spirit, or rebirth. Rather, Jackson-McCabe suggests that James’s Jesus is more like the “messiahs” found in Jewish literature of the period rather than the Christ figure of Pauline or Johannine literature. Rather than establishing a “new creation” or offering “rebirth” by his death and resurrection, the messianic figure of Jesus in the mythical world of James works to bring about a violent purge of “the wicked” while at the same time bringing restoration of Israel’s twelve-tribe kingdom. (7) John S. Kloppenborg, “Diaspora Discourse: The Construction of Ethos in James,” NTS 53 (2007): 242–70. John Kloppenborg is currently writing a commentary on James that will replace Martin Dibelius’s hugely influential Hermeneia commentary. In this article, Kloppenborg argues that the fictional address to Judeans could account for the fact that the letter fails to register Christian beliefs and practices. He argues that the author intentionally suppressed such overtly Christian content because the goal was to produce a document seeking common ground. In this way Kloppenborg argues that James addresses insider and outsider audiences at the same time, namely, that James is “bifocal.” Furthermore, Kloppenborg argues that addressing diaspora Judeans (fictively) actually reveals more about the rhetorical strategy of the letter than the actual historical audience. Therefore, the letter offers examples from Israel’s history for emulation, especially Abraham, along with subtle allusions to the Jesus tradition in order to respond to the real audiences’ situation in the diaspora with its constant threats of assimilation.

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(8) Donald J. Verseput, “Reworking the Puzzle of Faith and Deeds in James 2.14–26,” NTS 43 (1997): 97–115. The topic of faith and works in James is well-known territory with somewhat historically polarized positions. In this helpful essay, Donald Verseput raises this issue once again, arguing for understanding the relationship in a broader context than only James 2. Verseput first notes the significance of Jas 1:26-27, and then moves on to the relationship between faith and works in 2:14-26. He argues that in the desire for consistency of behavior, James appears to revive the critique of the Old Testament prophets against abusing the cultic. This critique specifically calls out traditional piety without righteousness as vain and ineffectual; it is piety not recognized before God the Father (1:27). On the other hand, Verseput argues that the letter highlights deeds of obedience to God’s will as constituting pure and undefiled religion of which God approves. In all this, James was not seeking to downgrade the importance of faith but rather stressing on faith as the distinguishing feature of the community. (9) Fred O. Francis, “The Form and Function of the Opening and Closing Paragraphs of James and 1 John,” ZNW 61 (1970): 110–26. Francis’s study of the form and structure of the opening and closing sections of James and 1 John has become a standard examination to consider in discussions of the overall structure of James. His study has influenced others in their understanding of the structure of James 1 in particular.1 Francis argues that both contain a double opening statement introducing the letter’s central theme. The strength of Francis’s work lies in the fact that he demonstrates such a double opening was a common literary form in the context of ancient Hellenistic epistolary conventions. Less convincing is his argument for the letter’s chiastic structure of themes. (10) J. A. Kirk, “The Meaning of Wisdom in James,” NTS 16 (1969): 24–38. Though somewhat dated, Kirk’s essay considering the connection between James’s use of wisdom and the concept of the Holy Spirit is still a starting place for the topic. Kirk examines the term or idea of wisdom that appears in James and then traces the same through the New Testament, and finally pre-Christian antecedents. Because every good and perfect gift comes down from the Father of lights (1:17) and wisdom from above (3:17) is what those lacking wisdom should ask for (1:5), Kirk relates the role of wisdom in James with the role of the Holy Spirit. Further, he compares the product of wisdom from above (Jas 3:17) with the fruit of the Spirit in Gal. 5:22-23. (11) Richard J.  Bauckham, James:  Wisdom of James, Disciple of Jesus the Sage (New  York: Routledge, 1999). In this substantial work, Richard Bauckham offers an extended analysis of the wisdom forms in James. In the prologue he introduces the reader to a dialogue carried on throughout the book between the Danish philosopher Søren Kierkegaard and the Epistle of James. Bauckham juxtaposes Kierkegaard’s appropriation of the text of James with the lack of appropriation exhibited by many modern biblical interpreters immured in an historical-critical framework. See Peter Davids, James (NIGTC; Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 1982).

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The book itself may be outlined in two sections: chapters one and two consider some of the epistle’s traditional historical-critical issues and chapters three and four engage with the wider canonical and theological context of James. Chapter three addresses the epistle’s relationship with the Pauline corpus and the Old Testament, and chapter four considers the issue of the theological application of James to contemporary context. Particularly intriguing is the thesis forwarded here that James, as the Lord’s brother, reexpresses the wisdom teaching of Jesus. Understood in this way, James shifts closer to the center of the New Testament proclamation regarding the nature and character of Jesus Christ. The book offers one of the clearest and most helpful attempts at identifying an overall structure for James accounting for both the larger conceptual units and the actual word connections between them. Key in Bauckham’s structuring of the epistle is James’s use of aphorisms, which encapsulate his teaching in compact, memorable form, in strategic locations within the text. (12) Luke L.  Cheung, The Genre, Composition, and Hermeneutics of the Epistle of James (Paternoster Biblical Monographs; Eugene, OR: Wipf & Stock, 2007). The revised version of a doctoral dissertation directed by R. Bauckham at the University of St. Andrews, Cheung’s volume seeks to show that the use of a particular literary genre, the structuring of the entire work, and the emphasis on the importance of interpreting and applying the Law as understood through the Jesus tradition all contribute to the central pastoral concern of the author of James. From the outset of his investigation, he asserts that James must be read on its own terms. With such critical focus, this study takes its place among a number of recent works that endeavor to treat James on its own terms (see Bauckham, James: Wisdom of James, Disciple of Jesus the Sage; Johnson, Brother of Jesus, Friend of God). A tremendous strength of this work is Cheung’s thorough investigation of the Jewish literary background of James, from which he argues new and creative connections in light of these textual relationships. Cheung’s conclusion that James is a wisdom instruction which adapts the teaching of Jesus making it relevant to his readers is apt. In addition, his discussion of the call to perfection in James and its relationship to Torah and wisdom from above is valuable and clear. Furthermore, his original argument that the dual love command functions as a hermeneutical key for James’s (as Jesus’s) understanding of Torah not only focuses the letter’s seemingly random exhortations, but also elucidates its specifically Jewish Christian character. The only weakness of the study is his section on compositional structure where he places too much emphasis upon the function of 2:8-13; 3:13-18; 4:11-12 as connecting passages forwarding the themes of Shema and Law of liberty. Such claims always run the risk of imposing rather than identifying structure within the text. (13) Pedrito U. Maynard-Reid, Poverty and Wealth in James (Maryknoll, NY: Orbis, 1987). Maynard-Reid’s work opens with a discussion of the social stratification in the first century and then proceeds to an investigation of “poor and rich” in Jewish and Christian literature. With this background in place, he focuses on particular texts in the letter of James: the great reversal (1:9-11), favoritism and the poor (2:1-13), the merchant class and the poor (4:13-17), and the rich agriculturalists and the poor (5:1-6). Maynard-Reid concludes with a call to care for the poor and oppressed and stresses the ending of James where the author calls the readers to endure for “the judge is at the door.”

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(14) William R.  Baker, Personal Speech-Ethics in the Epistle of James (WUNT 2.68; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1995). The ethical use of one’s speech is one of the central themes of wholeness in James, and, though a central theme, it is rare to find a monograph-length work devoted to speech in James. In this revision of his doctoral thesis completed at the University of Aberdeen, Baker offers an enormous amount of information on the Greco-Roman background of speech-ethics. His work demonstrate that personal speech-ethics was a major concern both in the letter and in the ancient Mediterranean world. Baker’s work unfolds in five parts: the rudiments of speech ethics, the evil of the tongue, speech in interhuman relationships, speech in human-divine relationships, and the relationship of speech to truth. Throughout each of these sections Baker provides an analysis of background texts (Near East, Old Testament, Apocrypha, and Pseudepigrapha, Qumran, for example) and exegesis of the relevant texts in James. (15) Luke Timothy Johnson, Brother of Jesus, Friend of God:  Studies in the Letter of James (Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 2004). In this collection of essays, Johnson has compiled the fruit of nearly two decades of research and reflection upon the Letter of James. Several of the chapters consist either of essays previously published or older studies appearing in print for the first time, while the prologue and epilogue appear as new essays written specifically for this text. These studies on canonical reception, interpretation, and social world, use of the sayings of Jesus, gender, intertextuality, and various specific texts were the basis for and complement Johnson’s significant 1995 commentary on James in the Anchor Bible series. These essays represent some of the original impetus against Dibelius’s dominating voice on virtually every interpretive issue in James. Though some essays here are dated, they remain helpful, if not crucial, pieces of scholarship that consist in the now ground swell of new research considering James on its own terms. For those already familiar with Johnson’s essays this text will only be of interest with respect to the opening and concluding essays, the latter of which, because of its serious engagement with the theological issues of the letter, is worth the price of the book. (16) Darian R. Lockett, Purity and Worldview in the Epistle of James (LNTS 366; London: T&T Clark, 2008). Based on his doctoral dissertation submitted to the University of St Andrews, Lockett argues against restricting the meaning of purity language in the letter of James (see especially Jas 1:26-27; 3:6, 17; 4:8) to the individual moral sphere, and contends that purity language both articulates and constructs the worldview of the letter. Purity language, therefore, supplies the vantage point through which Lockett reads the entire letter. Lockett concludes that as a “line” purity is a boundary marker indicating the point of no return between James’s audience and the wider Greco-Roman culture. (17) Todd C. Penner, The Epistle of James and Eschatology: Re-reading an Ancient Christian Letter (JSNTSup 121; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic, 1996). Because of the strong thematic parallels between James and Jewish wisdom teaching, the eschatology of the letter has remained a background issue. Yet, in this volume, Todd Penner reevaluates this situation. Through an analysis of the framing structure of the epistle, Penner 395

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emphasizes the predominant role that eschatology should play in interpreting the entire text. Beyond offering a helpful discussion of James’s historical setting, the strength of Penner’s work is his fresh interpretation of the role that eschatological and prophetic dimensions of the text play in the structuring and message of the letter. Penner concludes that the epistle of James may represent the heart and soul of Jesus’s ministry as a reformist prophet within Judaism.

1 Peter (1) Markus Bockmuehl, The Remembered Peter in Ancient Reception and Modern Debate (WUNT 262; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2010). This volume collects an innovative series of Bockmuehl’s studies focusing on the reception of Simon Peter in second-century Christian memory. Because of the lack of abundant historical detail regarding the life of the historical Peter, Bockmuehl approaches these studies from the perspective of what can be known about Peter via his subsequent reception in Christian sources from Rome and Syria. The strategy is to work “back-to-front” as it were, beginning with the living memory of Peter recovered from the second century, and then move back in time attempting to discern what of that memory is historically plausible. (2) Helen K. Bond and Larry W. Hurtado (eds.), Peter in Early Christianity (Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 2015). This volume originated as a series of papers given at a conference on Peter organized by Edinburgh University’s Centre for the Study of Christian Origins in 2013. Focusing on the portrayal of Peter in the New Testament and in early Christian tradition, several essays engage directly with the work of Markus Bockmuehl (see earlier). After an opening chapter considering the state of Petrine scholarship (specifically considering the work of Cullmann, Hengel, and Bockmuehl) by Larry Hurtado, the volume can be divided into sections focusing on the historical Peter, the figure of Peter in the New Testament, and finally Peter as depicted in later Christian traditions. (3) Fred Lapham, Peter: The Myth, the Man, and the Writings: A Study of Early Petrine Text and Tradition (JSNTSup 239; London: Sheffield Academic, 2003). Lapham’s published version of his doctoral thesis surveys all the Petrine material (both canonical and apocryphal) with the goal of compiling a distinct Petrine theology. With an openness to both text and tradition, Lapham examines the Gospel of Peter, Acts of Peter, Acts of Peter and the Twelve Apostles, the Pseudo-Clementines, 1 Peter, 2 Peter, Epistle of Peter to Philip, Apocalypse of Peter, and the Coptic Apocalypse of Peter. Sifting through these texts, he concludes that the fact of God making himself known to those whom he chooses is fundamental to Petrine theology. (4) Gene L. Green, Vox Petri: A Theology of Peter (Eugene, OR: Cascade, 2019). In dialogue with Lapham, Green offers a comprehensive treatment of Petrine theology. Yet Green’s strategy is to discern the testimony of Peter as surfaced in the canonical writings of the

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Gospel of Mark, Acts of the Apostles, and 1 Peter. This is the most comprehensive synthesis of Petrine theology focusing on the canonical New Testament texts. (5) David L. Balch, Let Wives Be Submissive: The Domestic Code in 1 Peter (SBLMS 26; Atlanta, GA: Scholars, 1981). Elliott’s social-scientific analysis of 1 Peter (Home for the Homeless, see Part  3 below) leads him to read the language of “strangers and aliens” and “house of God” as sociopolitical terms describing the literal social status of the readers before their conversion to Christ. For Elliott, the communicative strategy of 1 Peter then is to create internal group cohesion and identity while resisting external cultural pressure to conform. Balch, on the other hand, devotes much of his research to the household or domestic code in 1 Peter 2:11–3:12. The material in this section of 1 Peter closely resembles traditional teaching regarding the management and organization of the ancient household (and city) going back to Plato and Aristotle. Balch in particular has shown how the domestic code in 1 Peter picks up this traditional Greco-Roman material. Specifically, both Aristotle (Pol. 1–2) and 1 Peter take up the basic elements that make up the household:  both treat owner and slave, husband and wife, then father and children relationships within the house. First Peter takes up slaves without reference to masters in 2:1820; wives and husbands (inverting Aristotle’s order) in 3:1-7; and finally elders and young men (Peter’s variation on father and children) in 5:1-5. It is important to note that Plato and Aristotle understood a direct connection between the management and organization of the house (oikonomia) and the management and organization of the city (politeia). Balch contends that the motivation for 1 Peter to use these traditions was to defend the readers from Roman suspicion. The presence of such culturally indebted material, for Balch, indicates the author of 1 Peter was urging the readers to conform with Roman customs and values in order to avoid unnecessary persecution. Thus, the domestic code served an apologetic purpose. A question that David Horrell takes up (see Part 3 of this volume) is whether 1 Peter strikes a posture of resistance (Elliott) or conformity (Balch) to the surrounding culture or if 1 Peter perhaps suggests a middle path. (6) William J. Dalton, Christ’s Proclamation to the Spirits: A Study of 1 Peter 3:18–4:6 (AnBib 23; Rome: Pontifical Biblical Institute, 1965). A seminal work considering the context and interpretation of 1 Peter 3:18–4:6. Dalton argues that the proclamation to spirits in prison refers to the ascension of Jesus and his announcement of victory over the powers (cf. 3:22). In a second edition of the work (published in 1989), Dalton changes his mind on some secondary elements, including the baptismal meaning of 1 Pet. 4:1b and the nature of the “proclamation” in 3:19. He has also added a new chapter on the authorship of 1 Peter in the light of NT pseudepigraphy and the place of the church at Rome in the early Christian movement. (7) Paul J.  Achtemeier, “Suffering Servant and Suffering Christ in 1 Peter,” in The Future of Christology: Essays in Honor of Leander E. Keck (ed. Abraham J. Malherbe and Wayne A. Meeks; Minneapolis, MN: Fortress, 1993), 176–88.

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Included among eighteen articles honoring Leander Keck, Achtemeier’s essay considers the Christology of 1 Peter as articulated in the language of the Suffering Servant material in 1 Peter 2. (8) David L.  Balch, “Early Christian Criticism of Patriarchal Authority:  1 Peter 2:11–3:12,” Union Seminary Quarterly Review 39 (1984): 161–73. Developing on his 1981 work Let Wives Be Submissive, Balch once again focuses on the household code in 1 Peter. He argues that in the household code the author of 1 Peter criticized traditional Roman culture as unjust for slaves and was too restrictive for wives who had become Christians. According to Balch, both twentieth-century egalitarian democrats and Christians who confess Jesus as Lord are closer to Jesus’s way of relating to others if they support equal rights for women. (9) David L. Balch, “Hellenization/Acculturation in 1 Peter,” in Perspectives on First Peter (ed. Charles H. Talbert; National Association of Baptist Professors of Religion Special Studies Series 9; Macon: Mercer University Press, 1986), 79–101. Again, in line with his 1981 volume Let Wives Be Submissive, Balch uses this essay to highlight the degree of acculturation expected of the audience of 1 Peter by the author. (10) G. H. Boobyer, “The Indebtedness of 2 Peter to 1 Peter,” in New Testament Essays: Studies in Memory of Thomas Walter Manson, 1893–1958 (ed. A. J. B. Higgins; Manchester: Manchester University Press, 1959), 34–53. Boobyer offers one of the most thorough arguments that the author of 2 Peter used and expanded upon material in 1 Peter. Though offering somewhat compelling evidence that the author of 2 Peter did refer to 1 Peter in particular passages, several scholars (even those who would rather lean in the direction of more literary connection between 1 and 2 Peter) have not found Boobyer’s arguments convincing. (11) D. Hill, “On Suffering and Baptism in 1 Peter,” NovT 18 (1976): 181–9. At one time it was popular among scholars to argue that 1 Peter was a composite text, stitched together from an Easter baptismal liturgy that addressed the suffering of the audience in light of the suffering of Christ. However, understanding 1 Peter as a baptismal liturgy has been dismissed by most recent commentators. Hill thinks there is a more straightforward way to account for suffering in 1 Peter. Rather than understanding the connection between baptism and suffering by means of liturgy (Preisker, Cross), or through an appeal to a theological understanding of Baptism (Moule), Hill argues that “a Christian’s suffering and his baptism are linked because, in accepting baptism, he is affirming willingness to share in the known experience of baptized persons who are commonly, if not constantly, treated with suspicion and hostility” (185). Therefore, baptism is incidental to the larger theme of 1 Peter, which is the conduct of Christians undergoing persecution. (12) Travis B.  Williams, Persecution in 1 Peter:  Differentiating and Contextualizing Early Christian Suffering (Leiden: Brill, 2012).

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The slightly revised version of his doctoral dissertation directed by David Horrell, Williams offers a sociohistorical investigation of the nature of suffering in 1 Peter. The main contribution of the work is demonstrating the inadequacy of the modern consensus that suffering in 1 Peter was an “unofficial” persecution consisting of discrimination and verbal abuse of the Christian audience. By situating the letter against the backdrop of conflict management in first-century Asia Minor, Williams challenges this consensus. After dealing with introductory matters and with social conflict in social-psychological perspective, it develops a “social profile” of the addressees of 1 Peter with reference to its geographical setting and to the ethnic composition and socioeconomic status(es) of the addressees. Williams concludes that 1 Peter is the only source that explicitly refers to the (effectively) criminalized legal status of Christians between the Neronian persecution of ad 64 and the first acknowledged evidence of it in the correspondence between Pliny and Trajan (ad 111–112). (13) Travis B.  Williams, Good Works in 1 Peter:  Negotiating Social Conflict and Christian Identity in the Greco-Roman World (WUNT 337; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2014). Following from his first monograph considering suffering in 1 Peter, Williams shifts his focus to a sociological examination of good works in 1 Peter. He argues that the admonition to good works in 1 Peter is an appropriate sociological response to the conflict in which the readers were involved. The volume sets the discussion of good works in the broader context of good works in the Hellenistic world, in ancient Judaism, and in the New Testament. With this background, Williams argues that good works function as a kind of (assimilated) resistance in 1 Peter. He concludes that rather than urging his readers to “do good” as a means to lessen social conflict and accommodate Greco-Roman society, 1 Peter constructs a distinctive Christian identity to challenge a hostile world surrounding the letter’s audience. (14) Reinhard Feldmeier, Die Christen als Fremde:  die Metapher der Fremde in der antiken Welt, im Urchristentum und im 1. Petrusbrief (WUNT 64; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1992). In a slightly revised version of his Habilitationsschrift at Tübingen, Feldmeier explores the origin and meaning of the terms “exiles” and “sojourners” as metaphorical self-designations. First, Feldmeier lays out the background of the terms and their association in biblical, Jewish, and pagan literature. Then, he specifically examines the term “sojourner” as a metaphor for human existence in the New Testament and in relation to 1 Peter. The study then focuses on how the Christian community understood itself in relation to the world according to 1 Peter. Feldmeier’s work develops on the important work of John H.  Elliott titled A Home for the Homeless (1981). (15) William L.  Schutter, Hermeneutic and Composition in 1 Peter (WUNT 2.30; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1989). Schutter’s work has been foundational in the study of how the structure, themes, and theology of 1 Peter were influenced by the author’s use of the Old Testament. His work, guided by the direction of Barnabas Lindars at Cambridge, significantly clarifies the hermeneutical methods and techniques reflected in 1 Peter’s use of the Old Testament. First, Schutter argues for the letter’s setting as a pseudepigraphic encyclical written from Rome in Domitian’s time. The audience of the letter, according to Schutter, was mostly Gentile, lower-class individuals

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scattered among the cities west of the Taurus. The lasting contribution of Schutter’s work has been its work on the letter’s genre, design, source-materials, compositional methods, and the nature and extent of dependence on the Old Testament. Generally, he argues that 1 Peter’s use of the Old Testament has exercised especially formative influence, and specifically he concludes that 1 Pet 1:13–2:10 can be described as a homiletic midrash and that other elements of Jewish biblical interpretation can be found in various parts of the letter. Schutter’s work continues to be a foundational study for any work on 1 Peter and the Old Testament.

2 Peter (1) J. Daryl Charles, Virtue amidst Vice: The Catalogue of Virtues in 2 Peter 1 (JSNTSup 150; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic, 1997). Along with his earlier work on Jude (Literary Strategy in the Epistle of Jude, 1993), Charles here offers a comprehensive examination of the catalogue of Hellenistic virtues in 1 Peter 1. He argues that 2 Peter offers a window into the moral world and philosophical discourse of GrecoRoman paganism. For Charles, this is a world where moral relativism and moral skepticism, consummating in denial of moral accountability, are on display. It is in this context that 2 Peter’s rhetoric communicates a particularly Christian moral instruction while borrowing contemporary Hellenistic moral language and categories. As in his earlier work on Jude (Literary Strategy), Charles examines the literary strategy in 2 Peter to present a catalogue of virtues (2 Pet 1:5-7) that are intelligible within a Greco-Roman context, but which are specifically set within a Christian theological worldview. (2) Michael J. Gilmour, The Significance of Parallels between 2 Peter and Other Early Christian Literature (Academia Biblica; Atlanta, GA: Society of Biblical Literature, 2002). After establishing 2 Peter as a suitable test case to consider the use of parallels for locating texts generally, Glimour evaluates various attempts by scholars to locate 2 Peter historically. His work, originally a doctoral dissertation submitted to McGill University, asks whether later Christian literature knew 2 Peter and to what degree the author of 2 Peter knew canonical texts of the New Testament. The value of his work is that his study moves beyond merely cataloguing possible parallels between 2 Peter and other texts and offers discussion of the significance of such parallels for evaluating 2 Peter itself. Gilmour concludes that the textual and linguistic similarities 2 Peter shares with other New Testament texts pushes back against negative conclusions on 2 Peter which tent to relegate it to the fringes of the New Testament. (3) Robert W. Wall, “The Canonical Function of 2 Peter,” Biblical Interpretation 9 (2001): 64–81. Wall argues that 2 Peter is a “canon-conscious” composition that draws together the Catholic Epistles as a whole. Specifically, Wall’s study argues the thesis that the canonical function of 2 Peter is to stand alongside 2 Peter as a complement to 1 Peter’s theological message. Reading 2 Peter alongside 1 Peter reinforces Peter’s authoritative testimony to God’s revelation in Jesus. Wall strenuously argues against the current devaluation of 2 Peter for biblical theology, yet he does not reinstate the text’s value by questioning the historical (authorship, early catholic) or literary (testamental) basis for this neglect, but rather by demonstrating its canonical 400

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relationship with 1 Peter. Wall’s approach here is also demonstrated in Nienhuis (Not by Paul Alone, 2007) and Nienhuis and Wall (Reading, 2013; both in Further Readings in Part 1 of this volume). (4) Terrance Callan, “The Christology of the Second Letter of Peter,” Bib 85 (2001): 253–63. Taking a different strategic approach to revaluing 2 Peter’s theological contribution, Callan considers the Christology of the letter. He notes that 2 Peter refers to Jesus as God and consistently portrays him as divine, yet at the same time the author of the letter clearly distinguishes God and Jesus. Jesus is God in the sense that he was revealed to be Son of God at his transfiguration, but even in this passage the distinction between the Father and the Son is clearly depicted. Callan shows that the background for this Christology derives from the double use of the term “god” in Judaism and early Christianity to designate both the one God revealed in the Hebrew Scriptures and those who belong to the category of the “divine.” (5) Terrance Callan, “The Style of the Second Letter of Peter,” Bib 84 (2003): 202–24. Building on previous works (such as Duane Watson’s Invention, Arrangement, and Style: Rhetorical Criticism of Jude and 2 Peter, 1988), Callan’s article offers a description and analysis of the style of 2 Peter. He argues that the vocabulary and syntax of 2 Peter display the kinds of ornamentation recommended by Cicero, Quintilian, and others. Callan contends that the quantity and quality of this stylistic ornamentation indicate that 2 Peter is written in the grand style and in contrast many of the negative assessments of 2 Peter’s style fail to assess the letter by the standards that would have been familiar to its author and readers. Callan’s study demonstrates that the author of 2 Peter was adept in the rhetoric of his time and used such rhetoric to appeal to the emotions of his audience. (6) Jerome H. Neyrey, “The Apologetic Use of the Transfiguration in 2 Peter 1:16–21,” CBQ 42 (1980): 504–19. In this important article, Neyrey investigates the framework of the argument in 2 Pet 1:16-21 with respect to how the “transfiguration” is understood and how it functions in the apology of the author. The main contribution of Neyrey’s study is making sense of 1:16-21 within the context of the whole argument of the letter rather than interpreting the verses piecemeal. (7) Charles H. Talbert, “II Peter and the Delay of the Parousia,” VC 20 (1966): 137–45. Talbert’s influential article investigates the delay of the Parousia expressed in 2 Peter. Talbert first considers the structure of 2 Peter focusing on the catchwords shaping the letter’s structure and their relationship to the farewell speech form. He concludes that 2 Peter aims to serve as a defense against heresy. His study importantly concludes that the delay of the Parousia is not a major crisis leading to a denial of early Christian eschatology. Talbert denies that 2 Peter can be used as evidence for a major crisis in the life and thought of the early church. (8) Thomas J. Kraus, Sprache, Stil und historischer Ort des zweiten Petrusbriefes (WUNT 136; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2001). This is the published version of Kraus’s doctoral dissertation submitted to the Catholic theological faculty at the University of Regensburg. Kraus investigates the Greek language

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and syntax of 2 Peter in the context of religious and secular documents from the classical and postclassical periods. His analysis of the syntax of 2 Peter, with particular attention to the Greek linking words, the pronouns, and the syntax of the verbs, is extremely helpful. He concludes that from the perspectives of language and style, 2 Peter is a special text within the New Testament, and that it probably originated in the early second century within the context of the collection, circulation, reception, and misuse of the Pauline corpus. (9) James M. Starr, Sharers in Divine Nature: 2 Peter 1:4 in Its Hellenistic Context (CBNTS 33; Stockholm: Almqvist & Wiksell, 2000). James Starr considers one of the most difficult passages in 2 Peter in this published version of his doctoral dissertation submitted to Lund University. His work specifically takes up an investigation of the meaning of the phrase “that you might become sharers in divine nature” in 2 Pet. 1:4. It first considers the phrase in the light of comparable notions about sharing in divine nature that were current in the first century. After considering the methodological problem of parallels, Starr analyzes 2 Pet. 1:1-11 and examines parallels from the Old Testament, Josephus, Philo, Plutarch, Stoic writers, Pauline Christianity, and non-Pauline Christianity. He concludes that while 2 Pet. 1:4 alludes to a widely held nexus of ideas and that Middle Platonic thought exerts some influence on the text, a more direct and tangible affinity exists with Paul’s letters. In a subsequent publication, Starr along with others considers the connection of such language to the notion of deification.2

1–3 John (1) Peter Rhea Jones, “A Presiding Metaphor of First John: μένειν ἐν,” PRSt 37 (2010): 179–94. In this helpful article, Peter Rhea Jones considers the pervasive metaphor μένειν ἐν (“abiding in”), which functions in a way to unify 1 John. Jones shows how the phrase functions to unify the letter and distinguishes between insiders and outsiders of the community. He notes how the phrase also reveals a profound spiritual experience and unveils a characteristic manner of theological thinking (especially regarding reciprocity) for the author. (2) Judith M. Lieu, “Us or You? Persuasion and Identity in 1 John,” JBL 127 (2008): 805–19. One of Lieu’s many important contributions to understanding 1 John, this article pursues a rhetorical reading of 1 John examining the relationship between the different grammatical persons and specifically between the personal pronouns. After noting that the letter is articulated in terms of “we” and “you,” Lieu considers three key passages where the interplay between these pronouns emerges, namely, 1 Jn 1:1-4; 2:18-26; and 4:1-6. She argues that the strategy of the letter can be seen as a linguistic, and therefore a rhetorical, relocation of “you” from the position of opposition in the prologue to the inclusiveness of its final chapters. Rather than 1 John’s success depending upon the authority of its author to persuade, Lieu argues the

James Starr, “Does 2 Peter 1:4 Speak of Deification?” in Partakers of the Divine Nature: The History and Development of Deification in the Christian Traditions (ed. Michael J. Christensen and Jeffery A. Wittung; Grand Rapids, MI: Baker, 2008), 81–94. 2

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letter’s success rests with the impulse inherent in the desire to become part of the “we,” an impulse that is both retrospective (1:1-4) and prospective (4:13-16). (3) Wendy E.  S. North, “Witnesses to what was ἀπ᾽ἀρχῆς:  1 John’s Contribution to Our Knowledge of Tradition in the Fourth Gospel,” JSNT 48 (1992): 43–65. In this interesting article, which takes up a similar thesis as Theo Heckel’s “The Historicization of the Theology of John in the First Letter of John,” Wendy North argues that 1 John can serve as a kind of control that might help fill out an understanding of the tradition that has gone into the Fourth Gospel. It is especially in the compositional methods of 1 John that the connections can be seen. For example, North argues that the points of correspondence include:  (1) the presence of the Johannine “we” in conjunction with eyewitness language (e.g. Jn 1:14/1 Jn 1:1), and (2) certain statements that correspond with the content of what 1 John has appealed to as original tradition (e.g. Jn 1:29/1 Jn 3:5 with 2:2). In contrast to Heckel, North concludes that 1 John and the Fourth Gospel constitute independent productions that relate to one another by virtue of their mutual reliance on a body of tradition that was known to both authors. (4) David Rensberger, “Conflict and Community in the Johannine Letters,” Int 60 (2006): 278–91. Rensberger’s article focuses on how the conflicts within the communities to which John writes function as a controlling theme. He considers 1–3 John together and examines genre, structure, authorship, date, and relationship to the Fourth Gospel all while fixing on the significance of conflict woven through all the letters. (5) Hansjörg Schmid, “How to Read the First Epistle of John Non-polemically,” Bib 85 (2004): 24–41. Coming to different conclusions from Rensberger, Schmid argues for a nonpolemical reading of 1 John. His article opens with a survey of polemical and nonpolemical readings of 1 John and then suggests that intertextual connections between 1 John and the Fourth Gospel lead to a “Johannine system.” In this light, Schmid argues that 1 John is not a polemical text in its whole but only in minor parts (1 Jn 2:18-27; 4:1-6) and that a nonpolemical reading demonstrates how the opponents’ motif is related to the main ethical theme of 1 John, which is to strengthen and reassure the readers with respect to their Christological confession. (6) H. C. Swadling, “Sin and Sinlessness in 1 John,” SJT 35 (1982): 205–11. Swadling takes up a perplexing issue in 1 John—that of the letter’s teaching on sin and sinlessness—and compares the author’s instructions in the first chapter of the letter (that though Christians ought not to sin, they continue to do so; cf. 1:8) and the somewhat contradictory statements in chapter three that insist that the one born of the Father no longer sins (3:6, 9). Stressing the letter’s polemical rhetorical purpose, Swadling’s interesting solution is to argue that here, in 3:6 and 9, John has taken up the language of his opponents and has done so in order to refute them. (7) Judith M. Lieu, The Theology of the Johannine Epistles (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1991).

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A very helpful contribution to Cambridge’s New Testament Theology series, Lieu’s short text introduces the Johannine letters in their historical setting and background and then considers the theology of the letters. A very helpful introduction and orientation to the major themes and issues in the Johannine Epistles. (8) Judith M.  Lieu, The Second and Third Epistles of John:  History and Background (Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1986). Based on Lieu’s doctoral dissertation, this offers one of the fullest studies considering the historical context of 2 and 3 John along with their acceptance into the New Testament canon. In addition to examining their central content, Lieu discusses the journey both letters took on their way to canonization and reflects on their reception as well. (9) Gerard S. Sloyan, Walking in the Truth: Perseverers and Deserters: The First, Second, and Third Letters of John (New Testament in Context; Valley Forge, PA: Trinity, 1995). Sloyan, the author of What Are They Saying About John (1991), provides an examination especially of 2 and 3 John in the context of the Johannine letters. He focuses on these two letters and how they speak to leaving or living within the truth. Sloyan’s work is a significant contribution to our understanding of these two brief letters. (10) R.  Alan Culpepper, and Paul N.  Anderson (eds.), Communities in Dispute:  Current Scholarship on the Johannine Epistles (Atlanta, GA: SBL, 2014). This volume, edited by Culpepper and Anderson, provides a series of essays that consider both the “communities” behind the Johannine Epistles and the current “community” of Johannine scholars who study these texts. The essays provide a helpful orientation to the disputes in and around the Johannine communities in the first and second centuries. The chapters are organized around three central themes: the relationship between the Fourth Gospel and the Johannine Epistles, the church/community in the Johannine Epistles, and finally, the theology and ethics of the letters. The collection demonstrates how the modern scholarly conversation of the Johannine Epistles has been influenced by the work of Raymond Brown (though interestingly none of the essays take on one of Brown’s central concerns, viz., the secessionists).

Jude (1) E.  E. Ellis, “Prophecy and Hermeneutic in Jude,” in Prophecy and Hermeneutic in Early Christianity (WUNT 18; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1978), 221–36. The seventeen articles contained in Ellis’s volume focus on the role of pneumatics in the missionary enterprise of the early church and in the formation of the Christian theology of the Old Testament. This specific essay broke new ground at the time of its writing and has remained influential on Jude scholars such as Richard Bauckham. One of Ellis’s central contributions in the essay is to detail the similarities between Jude and the Habakkuk pesher from Qumran. This material indicates that one should view especially Jude 5–19 as a kind of midrash on various Old Testament texts.

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(2) J. Daryl Charles, “ ‘Those’ and ‘These’: The Use of the Old Testament in the Epistle of Jude,” JSNT 38 (1990): 109–24. Charles’s study examines the hermeneutical approach to the Old Testament found in Jude. Expanding on the work of Ellis and Bauckham, Charles focuses on the author’s application of typological exegesis through which familiar models of ungodliness associated with Israel’s past have been linked to his present. Furthermore, focusing on the use of “those” and “these” helps Charles outline the distinctive insider and outsider groups envisioned in the rhetoric of the letter. (3) Stephan J. Joubert, “Persuasion in the Letter of Jude,” JSNT 58 (1995): 75–87. After methodological remarks on the functions of persuasive discourse, Joubert considers the social context of Jude along with the letter’s global textual strategy. Via the examination of the text’s linguistic strategy of persuasion, Joubert, in part, concludes that Jude was composed for a specific audience and situation—contrary to some who view the text as a “general” letter. (4) Peter H. Davids, “Are the Others Too Other? The Issue of ‘Others’ in Jude and 2 Peter,” in Reading 1–2 Peter and Jude:  A Resource for Students (ed. E.  F. Mason and T.  W. Martin; Resources for Biblical Study 77; Atlanta, GA: Society of Biblical Literature, 2014), 201–13. In this important essay, Davids highlights the importance of understanding the nature of the opponents in Jude and 2 Peter. After considering the diversity found in early churches (especially as seen in Paul’s letters and Acts), Davids reflects on the similarities and differences of the “Others” in Jude and 2 Peter specifically. The communities of Jude and 2 Peter faced internal conflicts but of different sorts. The “Others” in Jude may be Hellenistic outsiders who reject the authority of the Torah that is valued by the “Beloved” in Jude’s community, but their redemption is possible. In 2 Peter, however, the problem concerns community insiders who become “Others” because of their false teaching, and they have moved beyond the point of restoration. (5) Jörg Frey, “The Epistle of Jude between Judaism and Hellenism,” in The Catholic Epistles and Apostolic Tradition (ed. K.-W. Niebuhr and R. W. Wall; Waco, TX: Baylor University Press, 2009), 309–30. The combination of Jude receiving only marginal attention in modern critical scholarship and the general paucity of information regarding the historical context of Jude constitute the starting place for Frey’s essay. There are only a few hints that enable interpreters to specify the historical and theological location of the author and to render more precisely the profile of the letter’s adversaries. Frey considers why the author of the letter composed his text under the name of a figure of rather marginal relevance. He demonstrates how the text bears both Jewish and Hellenistic elements, the examination of which illuminates the historical and theological context of the letter. (6) Carroll D.  Osburn, “The Christological Use of 1 Enoch I.9 in Jude 14, 15,” NTS 23 (1976–77): 334–41. A central issue in Jude has been the letter’s use of Enochic traditions. In this seminal article, Osburn considers the various areas in Jude that show dependence upon 1 Enoch, but then 405

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focuses on the specifically Christological use of 1 Enoch 1:9 in Jude 14–15. Osburn finds it significant that in the text citation the author of Jude changes the reference from “God” to “the Lord” thus signaling that the author viewed Jesus as the eschatological figure noted in the 1 Enoch passage. (7) Robert L.  Webb, “The Eschatology of the Epistle of Jude and Its Rhetorical and Social Functions,” BBR 6 (1996): 139–51. Webb argues that Jude’s eschatology is oriented around the two issues of eschatological salvation and eschatological judgment. Webb’s analysis of these two themes in Jude highlights how the letter’s eschatology functions in two ways:  it has a rhetorical function, attempting to convince the readers to pronounce the intruders guilty of ungodliness, and it has a social function with the aim to separate the original community from the intruders. (8) S. J. Joseph, ‘ “Seventh from Adam” (Jude 1:14–15): Re-examining Enochic Traditions and the Christology of Jude,” JTS 64 (2013): 463–71. Building on previous studies, Joseph investigates the Christological implications of Jude’s citation of the Enoch tradition in verses 14–15. This analysis suggests that Jude was written prior to ad 70 and opposed Pauline-influenced teachers. He concludes that the letter of Jude is evidence of 1 Enoch’s authoritative status in early Jewish Christianity. Furthermore, Joseph’s work suggests that 1 Enoch illuminates the Christological background of Jude, rooting it in Jewish messianic and apocalyptic ideas developed within the Enoch tradition (especially the “eschatological Adam”). (9) Richard J. Bauckham, Jude and the Relatives of Jesus in the Early Church (Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1990). Bauckham focuses on recovering the role of Jude and James, among others, in the early church (and the messianic and eschatological traditions associated with them). His work sheds light on the significance of the brothers and other relatives of Jesus in Palestinian-Jewish Christianity. Several chapters build on Bauckham’s seminal commentary on Jude filling out discussions of Jude’s exegesis (see “Jude’s Exegesis” in this volume), Jude and Testament of Moses, Jude’s Christology (see “Jude’s Christology” in this volume), and the Lukan genealogy of Jesus. He concludes that both in Jerusalem and in Galilee, until the Bar Kokhba revolt, the family of Jesus included the most influential and respected leaders of Jewish Christianity, at first along with the Twelve, later more exclusively. (10) Daryl J. Charles, Literary Strategy in the Epistle of Jude (Scranton: University of Scranton Press, 1993). Charles’s study breaks ground by offering a detailed analysis of the figures of speech and rhetorical structures found in Jude’s letter. Further, he argues that Jude’s chief concern was to strengthen and exhort the faithful by graphically depicting the fate of the ungodly. Such literary-rhetorical elements of Jude’s polemic are explored through literary form, the letter’s place in first-century Palestine (including early Christianity), its use of the Old Testament (motifs, typological exegesis), and its use of extrabiblical (Jewish and pagan) source material.

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(11) Charles Landon, A Text-Critical Study of the Epistle of Jude (JSNTSup 135; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic, 1996). A revised version of his doctoral dissertation, Landon’s study of Jude’s text has been the starting point for the text-critical work on the letter. Landon examines the textual variation throughout the letter of Jude and argues that the Greek text should be reconstructed with much greater reliance on internal evidence than is apparent in modern editions such as the Greek New Testament (4th ed., 1993). He discusses the textual variants in the Greek manuscripts of Jude and concludes that since no single manuscript or group of manuscripts has a special claim to superiority, there is need for an eclectic approach that gives particular attention to style. (12) Tommy Wasserman, The Epistle of Jude:  Its Text and Transmission (CBNTS 43; Stockholm: Almqvist & Wiksell, 2006). Building on and now surpassing Landon’s work, Wasserman has provided a comprehensive text-critical analysis of Jude that will be the starting point for all research in this area moving forward. Prepared as a doctoral dissertation, Wasserman’s volume surveys research on the Catholic Epistles and Jude in particular, specifically examining the early papyri of Jude (P72 and P78), and the literary relationship between 2 Peter and Jude. Here Wasserman has listed the majority of the manuscripts relevant to Jude and from them attempts a reconstruction of the initial text of Jude. This is accompanied by a textual commentary that cites the most significant evidence and accounts for the text-critical decisions. Wasserman contends that Jude has literary priority over 2 Peter and that scribal harmonization between the parallel accounts occurs relatively infrequently.

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PART 3 METHODOLOGICAL APPROACHES

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INTRODUCTION

Darian R. Lockett

Initially shaped by Spinoza’s emphasis on the historical and objective analysis of Scripture, the historical-critical method has been the dominant paradigm guiding biblical interpretation in the modern era. This is especially true of the second half of the nineteenth and first half of the twentieth centuries, where the historical-critical method dominated the work of scholars and commentators. Yet, in the second half of the twentieth century, the hegemonic stronghold of historical criticism was increasingly called into question.1 These questions have come in the form of growing skepticism regarding the ability of historical-criticism to rightly interpret texts that contain and communicate theological claims. They have arisen especially within the so-called theological interpretation of Scripture movement.2 Historical-criticism has also been called into question from a different perspective, one that sees the limited and partial field of vision from which such an exclusive framework suffers. Rather than supplant historical-criticism, this perspective sees the need to supplement the approach with a variety of other analytic and synthetic tools, which has given rise to a number of cross-disciplinary methodologies. Whereas the second half of the twentieth century witnessed a wide range of new integrative approaches applied to the study of the Gospels and Pauline literature, only in the past several decades have these newer approaches been applied to the Catholic Epistles. As already noted, some of these new approaches are nested within the traditional focus of historical criticism. Complementing the historical-critical method are a variety of concerns originating from within the social sciences along with an appreciation of the role Graeco-Roman rhetoric played in composing ancient texts. Other methods frame themselves in the role of a competitor to the entrenched historical-critical method. For example, arising from the concerns of postmodernity, feminist and postcolonial criticism all approach the New Testament starting with questions surrounding the reader’s location rather than the questions of historical author and audience. For some scholars, these new methods constitute the missing key to unlocking these ancient texts. Reading these voices, one would think a correct understanding of the New Testament See the very helpful work by Roy A. Harrisville and Walter Sundberg, The Bible in Modern Culture: Baruch Spinoza to Brevard Childs (2nd edition; Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 2002). For a somewhat different account of the origins of biblical studies as an independent discipline, see Michael C. Legaspi, The Death of Scripture and the Rise of Biblical Studies (Oxford:  Oxford University Press, 2010). Finally, Harrisville has more recently offered a circumspect view of the value (necessity) of the historical-critical method, though perhaps needing to be freed from its arrogance. Roy A. Harrisville, Pandora’s Box Opened: An Examination and Defense of Historical-Critical Method and Its Master Practitioners (Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 2014). 2 See Stephen E. Fowl, The Theological Interpretation of Scripture (Eugene, OR:  Cascade, 2009); Daniel J. Treier, Introducing Theological Interpretation of Scripture: Recovering a Christian Practice (Grand Rapids, MI: Baker, 2008); and Joel B. Green, Practicing Theological Interpretation: Engaging Biblical Texts for Faith and Formation (Grand Rapids, MI: Baker, 2011). 1

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radically depends on one particular emerging methodology. Another group of scholars remain unmoved in their commitment to the traditional historical-critical approach and consider these emerging methodologies as passing scholarly fads. Here we will approach these methods as offering helpful new insights into the Catholic Epistles while at the same time resisting the urge to focus in or insist on one method to the exclusion of others. Each of these methods, to various degrees, makes an undeniable contribution.

Summaries of the Readings Included in This Section (1) Duane Watson is one of the pioneers in the field of rhetorical studies of the New Testament, especially in applying the method to James, 2 Peter, and Jude. In his essay “An Assessment of the Rhetoric and Rhetorical Analysis of the Letter of James,” Watson offers an overview of the helpful insights generated in James via rhetorical investigation. He argues that James is not only one of the more rhetorically sophisticated texts in the New Testament but also an excellent example of blending the “rhetorizing” of Jewish wisdom and Graeco-Roman rhetorical practices. (2) Considering the function and significance of purity language in James, Darian Lockett argues that such language is used to construct and maintain a “world” in the letter. His essay “ ‘Unstained by the World’: Purity and Pollution as an Indicator of Cultural Interaction in the Letter of James” is a distillation of his monograph-length work on the same subject (Purity and Worldview in James). Interacting with John H. Elliott’s “The Epistle of James in Rhetorical and Social Scientific Perspective: Holiness-Wholeness and Patterns of Replication,” Lockett argues that purity and impurity create a kind of symbolic map upon which God and the world are cast as incompatible agents demanding complete loyalty. However, contra Elliott, Lockett argues that purity and perfection are not identical concepts—rather they are overlapping yet distinct concerns. He concludes that despite this, purity and perfection are independent categories. (3) In Katherine Hockey’s essay “1 Peter 4.16: Shame, Emotion, and Christian SelfPerception,” she discusses how the author of 1 Peter frames his audience’s identity. Hockey utilizes recent studies on emotion specifically to examine 1 Pet. 4:16 and its command “not to be ashamed.” By not being ashamed, Hockey argues, the audience of 1 Peter can live out their new identity as Christians. (4) Betsy Bauman-Martin has been a leading voice in interpreting the New Testament with sensitivity toward male patriarchy. In her essay “Women on the Edge: New Perspectives on Women in the Petrine Haustafel,” she reexamines the form and content of the Haustafel in 1 Pet. 2:18–3:11 and the social circumstances of the first-century Christian communities receiving the letter. Bauman-Martin argues that the exhortations to the women in 1 Peter did not expressly encourage assimilation to the prevailing cultural norms of Graeco-Roman households, but rather addressed specific situations of persecution. From this investigation she suggests that the letter may have encouraged forms of antipatriarchal activity in which the women were already participating, and potentially offered a means of resistance to the suffering that was already occurring. Bauman-Martin helpfully observes that the situation the women of the letter faced, 412

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situations of marginalization and persecution, are so different from situations of domestic abuse today that inflexible modern interpretations of the text (either feminist or fundamentalist) should not be imposed on the ancient women. (5) John H. Elliott has been an innovator in the merging of traditional historical-critical exegesis and the social sciences in biblical interpretation. He is a leading and founding member of the Context Group, a group of scholars dedicated to biblical interpretation in the context of its social and cultural environment. Elliott has been a key figure especially in articulating the group’s methodology (see Elliott, What Is Social-Scientific Criticism of the Bible?). In his seminal work Home for the Homeless: A Sociological Exegesis of 1 Peter (see Further Readings), he applied these insights to the Catholic Epistles. Elliott’s essay “Disgraced Yet Graced: The Gospel According to 1 Peter in the Key of Honor and Shame” specifically examines the role of the honor/shame dialectic in 1 Peter. Honor and shame constituted pivotal values of ancient Mediterranean societies, including the biblical communities. After summarizing the relevant research on this phenomenon by both anthropologists and exegetes, Elliott focuses attention on the honor/shame vocabulary of 1 Peter and its broader semantic field. The thesis is advanced that the author of this letter perceived and interpreted this conflict between the Christians of Asia Minor and their detractors as one over honor denied and honor claimed, and in so doing also transposed the issue of honor and shame, grace and disgrace, into a theological key. (6) Taking the debate between John H. Elliott and David Balch regarding the relationship between the audience of 1 Peter and the surrounding culture—either conformity or resistance—as his point of departure, David Horrell elegantly navigates a via media that acknowledges the strengths of both views while offering a sensible way forward. In his essay “Between Conformity and Resistance: Beyond the Balch–Elliott Debate towards a Postcolonial Reading of First Peter,” Horrell offers a postcolonial reading that demonstrates how the author of 1 Peter invites his readers into an identity-defining narrative, an alternative script, that relocates them as aliens from empire but at home in the new Christian family. Though much of the discussion has been polarized between the two opposing perspectives of Elliott and Balch, some have noted that there is material in 1 Peter that points to continuity between Christian values and those of the surrounding culture, while other portions of the letter point up differences between the world and the distinctively Christian group. With respect to the household code in 2:11–3:12, there are enough overlapping concerns between traditional Graeco-Roman household values and the values upheld by 1 Peter that such good conduct, though distinct in particular ways, would translate positively in the surrounding pagan culture. Horrell’s conclusion is that good conduct is made up of actions which are recognized as such by society, including giving honor to the emperor, submitting to masters and husbands. This results in a location somewhere between conformity and resistance— something Horrell labels “polite resistance.” (7) In his essay “Polemic and Persuasion: Typological and Rhetorical Perspectives on the Letter of Jude,” Daryl Charles uses a rhetorical analysis of Jude to demonstrate how the letter takes up both Jewish and Graeco-Roman categories of rhetoric. The Jewish strategies of prophetic midrash and typology are richly woven together with classical Graeco-Roman rhetorical features creating a brief but powerful piece of communication. 413

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AN ASSESSMENT OF THE RHETORIC AND RHETORICAL ANALYSIS OF THE LETTER OF JAMES

Duane F. Watson

Interpreters of the Epistle of James have frequently remarked that it lacks literary and thematic structure. Martin Dibelius boldly asserted of James that, ‘the entire document lacks continuity in thought. There is not only a lack of continuity in thought between individual sayings and other smaller units, but also between larger treatises.’1 This lack of continuity is usually attributed to the predominant role of paraenesis in the epistle; the paraenesis being understood as exhortation arranged like pearls on a string with no intended order.2 This understanding was concretized and popularized by Dibelius in his commentary on James that has wielded enormous influence to this day.3 Dibelius claimed that James shared important characteristics with paraenesis:  ‘pervasive eclecticism’ and ‘lack of continuity’.4 Stanley Stowers is correct to state that, ‘James consists of a series of seemingly disjointed hortatory topoi without any apparent unifying model or models.’5 There is rhetorical structure, but a unifying rhetorical model has not been found. However, there is an emerging consensus that James has considerable rhetorical structure originating within the Jewish and Graeco-Roman rhetorical traditions. Wilhelm Wuellner’s investigation of the rhetoric of the Epistle of James published in 1978 was a major impetus to the modem study of the rhetoric of this epistle.6 Current rhetorical analysis of James has discovered much about its invention, arrangement, style and overall rhetorical strategy. This discovery began primarily as a description of the rhetoric, but now includes an effort to determine the function of the rhetoric as well. As rhetorical criticism of James matures, so does our grasp of its rhetorical and historical contexts, as well as its social, cultural and ideological textures.

Martin Dibelius, James: Commentary on the Epistle of James (ed. H. Koester; rev. H. Greeven; trans. Μ. Williams; Hermeneia; Philadelphia: Fortress, 1976), p. 1. 2 Stanley K. Stowers, Letter Writing in Greek Antiquity (LEC, 5; Philadelphia: Westminster, 1986), p. 97. For assessment of the structure of the Epistle of James, see Peter H. Davids, The Epistle of James:  A Commentary on the Greek Text (NIGTC; Grand Rapids:  Eerdmans, 1982), pp. 22–28; Luke Timothy Johnson, The Letter of James (AB, 37A; New York: Doubleday, 1995), pp. 11–16; Ralph P. Martin, James (WBC, 48; Waco, TX: Word, 1988), pp. xcviii–civ; Ernst Baasland, ‘Literarische Form, Thematik und geschichtliche Einordnung des Jakobusbriefes’, ANRW 2.25.5, pp. 3646–84 (3648–61). 3 Dibelius, James, pp. 5–7. 4 Dibelius, James, p. 5. 5 Stowers, Letter Writing, p. 97. 6 Wilhelm Wuellner, ‘Der Jakobusbrief im Licht der Rhetorik und Textpragmatik’, LB 43 (1978), pp. 5–66. 1

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It is the objective of this essay to assess the rhetorical criticism of the Epistle of James to date. This essay will identify current issues in the rhetorical criticism of this epistle.7 The rhetorical criticism of James is part of several current issues in the broader work of rhetorical criticism of the NT. Such issues include the appropriate role of ancient and modem rhetoric in rhetorical analysis of the NT, the rhetorical role of paraenesis and features of the diatribe in a literary work, the role of rhetoric in epistolary theory and ancient letters, the extent of the rhetorical training of the biblical authors, new developments in intertextuality and sociorhetorical criticism and the classification of NT letters within ancient rhetorical traditions. To the current study I would like to add my own proposal which I think takes many of these issues into consideration.

1.  The Selection of Ancient Rhetoric or Modern Rhetoric or Both as a Basis for Rhetorical Analysis Rhetorical critics analysing James have the choice of using Graeco-Roman rhetoric, modem rhetoric or a combination of the two. They are also at liberty to be interdisciplinary and combine rhetorical criticism with other disciplines, such as social-scientific studies. Using Graeco-Roman rhetoric places James in its oral and written culture and analyses it by the conventions of invention, arrangement and style of its day. Using modem rhetoric places the letter within a broader understanding of rhetoric conceptualized in contemporary terms. This conceptualization contains the improvements in rhetorical study that have occurred since the Graeco-Roman era. To date a large proportion of rhetorical criticism of James has used Graeco-Roman rhetorical convention that was basic to education, utilized in speeches and epistles and systematized in rhetorical handbooks. Such criticism has particularly relied on the methodology of George Kennedy that utilizes Graeco-Roman rhetoric.8 Many interpreters legitimately find rhetorical criticism of the NT using Graeco-Roman rhetoric to be limited.9 They argue that modern rhetoric addresses theoretical, practical and philosophical problems posed by speech that Graeco-Roman rhetorical theory does not address. Modern rhetoric is the reconceptualization of Graeco-Roman rhetoric, such as the New Rhetoric and much more.10 Modem rhetoric is often used in combination with other related methodologies to create unique interdisciplinary studies. Using Graeco-Roman and modem rhetoric to analyse James has proven very fruitful.

For a discussion of the rhetorical criticism of the Epistle of James and the Catholic Epistles as a whole, see Duane F. Watson, ‘Rhetorical Criticism of Hebrews and the Catholic Epistles Since 1978’, CRBS 5 (1997), pp. 175–207. 8 George A. Kennedy, New Testament Interpretation through Rhetorical Criticism (Chapel Hill:  University of North Carolina Press, 1984). 9 For this critique and its assessment, see Duane F. Watson and A. J. Hauser, Rhetorical Criticism of the Bible:  A Comprehensive Bibliography with Notes on History and Method (BIS, 4; Leiden: E. J. Brill, 1994), pp. 109–12; Duane F. Watson, ‘Rhetorical Criticism of the Pauline Epistles Since 1975’, CRBS 3 (1995), pp. 219–48 (220–22). 10 Chaïm Perelman and Lucie Olbrechts-Tyteca, The New Rhetoric: A Treatise on Argumentation (trans. J. Wilkinson and P. Weaver; Notre Dame: University of Notre Dame Press, 1969). 7

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a.  The Role of Graeco-Roman Rhetoric J. H.  Ropes gave this assessment of the relation of James to Graeco-Roman rhetoric:  ‘As in the diatribes, there is a general controlling motive in the discussion, but no firm and logically disposed structure giving a strict unity to the whole and no trace of the conventional arrangement recommended by the elegant rhetoricians.’11 However, recent rhetorical criticism of the Epistle of James using Graeco-Roman rhetoric seriously challenges the latter part of this assessment. There are ‘traces of conventional arrangement recommended by the elegant rhetoricians’ found in this epistle as we will now demonstrate. Using Kennedy’s method of rhetorical criticism, Van der Westhuizen analyses Jas 2.14-26.12 He classifies this section as deliberative rhetoric because it seeks to persuade the audience to take action (add faith to works), its main argumentation is based on examples (that of Abraham and Rahab) and it emphasizes the advantage of taking the course of action prescribed by the author (salvation and justification).13 He identifies the basis or stasis of the argument as fact because this section seeks to answer the question: ‘What kind of faith is real’? (However, as he defines it, this question concerns the nature of something which is indicative of the stasis of quality.) Van der Westhuizen discusses the invention, arrangement and style of this pericope in depth. The pericope employs logos, ethos and pathos  – the three proofs of invention. Particularly noteworthy are external proofs from Scripture (2.21, 25) and internal or artistic proofs. The latter include inductive and deductive proofs. Inductive proofs are from examples drawn from everyday life (2.15-16), Jewish tradition (2.21-25) and nature (2.26). Deductive proof is from an enthymeme (2.26).14 He suggests that the pericope is a form of synkrisis that compares faith without works to faith with works. Van der Westhuizen describes the arrangement of 2.14-26 as proem (v. 14), proposition (vv. 14, 17), possible narratio (vv. 15-16), proof (vv. 1825) and epilogue (v. 26).15 He demonstrates that the pericope employs a host of stylistic techniques common to Jewish tradition and GraecoRoman literature of the period. These include metonymy, hyperbaton, inclusio, epanadiplosis, duadiplosis, erotesis, irony, homoeoteleuton, personification, antimetathesis, apostrophe, parallelism, paronomasia, polysyndeton, euphemism, prosopographia, simile and epexegesis. He emphasizes that the style of this section clarifies and amplifies the argumentation and helps the author address the rhetorical situation.16 This study clearly demonstrates that GraecoRoman rhetorical elements of invention, arrangement and style are found in James. While a fine analysis, especially of style, Van der Westhuizen’s study too rigidly applies Kennedy’s method and the conventions of Graeco-Roman rhetoric to James. In accord with Graeco-Roman rhetorical invention, we do not expect to find the elements of rhetorical arrangement for an entire speech in miniature in a single section. However, certain portions of

James H. Ropes, A Critical and Exegetical Commentary on the Epistle of St. James (ICC; Edinburgh:  T&T Clark, 1916), p. 14. 12 J. D. N. Van der Westhuizen, ‘Stylistic Techniques and Their Functions in James 2.14–26’, Neot 25 (1991), pp. 89–107. 13 Van der Westhuizen, ‘Stylistic Techniques’, pp. 91–92. 14 Van der Westhuizen, ‘Stylistic Techniques’, pp. 92–94. 15 Van der Westhuizen, ‘Stylistic Techniques’, pp. 94–95. 16 Van der Westhuizen, ‘Stylistic Techniques’, pp. 95–105. 11

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a speech may have analogous outlines and functions because arrangement is about beginning, middle and closing in the overall speech and in smaller sections. In two articles I argue that all of James 2.1–3.12 is deliberative rhetoric aimed at advising the audience to take certain courses of action and dissuade it from others.17 James 2 seeks to dissuade the audience from showing partiality and claiming to have faith when the absence of works shows otherwise. James 3.1-12 seeks to dissuade the audience from aspiring to the teaching office without considering the uncontrollable and destructive nature of the tongue. Dibelius noted that ‘Jas 2.1–3.12, the core of the writing, is composed of three expositions, each having characteristics of a treatise.’18 He argued that this section was the expansion of paraenetic sayings in diatribe form. My discussion refines his observations in light of GraecoRoman rhetorical convention. The argumentation and topoi in these sections of James are typical of deliberative rhetoric. Argumentation is based on example and comparison of example. The topoi used concern what is advantageous, honourable and necessary  – and their opposites. In 2.1-26, the reception of the rich man and the poor man by the church is an example of partiality (2.1-13), while Abraham and Rahab are examples of faith accompanied by works (2.14-16). James 3.1-12 uses the comparison of the bits–horses and rudders–ships with the tongue–body (vv. 3-5) and the tamed animals with the untamable tongue (vv. 7-8), as well as the comparison of the spring, fig tree and grapevines with the duplicity of the tongue (vv. 11-12). In ch. 2, to show partiality is dishonourable (vv. 6-7) and to be a transgressor of the whole law (vv. 9-10). To quit being partial and supplement faith with works is to do well (vv. 8. 19), profit (vv. 14, 16) and experience mercy rather than judgment (v. 13). In 3.1-11 it is not advantageous and expedient that many become teachers because of the dual nature of the tongue. The stasis or basis of the argument in all of 2.1–3.11 is quality. In 2.1-26 the argument is concerned with the nature of partiality and faith and in 3.1-11 it is concerned with the nature of the tongue as it relates to teaching.19 These three sections in James 2.1–3.12 use the Graeco-Roman pattern of elaboration for themes and complete arguments: 2.1-13; 2.14-26; and 3.1-12.20 The elaboration of themes is outlined in the Rhetorica ad Herennium (4.43.56–44.58) and the elaboration of the complete argument is outlined in the Rhetorica ad Alexandrum (1.1422a.25-27), Rhetorica ad Herennium (2.18.28–2.29.46; 3.9.16), Hermogenes ‘Elaboration of Arguments’,21 and Hermogenes Progymnasmata in the discussion of the elaboration exercise for the chreia.22 Duane F. Watson, ‘James 2 in Light of Greco-Roman Schemes of Argumentation’, NTS 39 (1993), pp. 94–121; Duane F. Watson, ‘The Rhetoric of James 3.1–12 and a Classical Pattern of Argumentation’, NovT 35 (1993), pp. 48–64. 18 Dibelius, James, p. 1. 19 Watson, ‘James 2’, pp. 100–102; Watson, ‘James 3.1-12’, pp. 53–54. 20 For discussion of this pattern of amplification of themes and complete arguments, see Burton L. Mack, Anecdotes and Arguments:  The Chreia in Antiquity and Early Christianity (Occasional Papers of the Institute for Antiquity and Christianity, 10; Claremont:  Claremont Graduate School, 1987), pp. 15–28; Burton L. Mack, Rhetoric and the New Testament (GBS; Minneapolis: Fortress, 1990), pp. 41–47; Burton L. Mack and Vernon K. Robbins, Patterns of Persuasion in the Gospels (Sonoma, CA: Polebridge, 1989), pp. 31–67. 21 H. Rabe (ed.), Hermogenis Opera (Rhetores Graeci, 6; Leipzig: Teubner, 1913), pp. 148–50. 22 Rabe, Hermogenis Opera, pp.  1–27. English translation by C. S. Baldwin, Medieval Rhetoric and Poetic (to 1400) (Gloucester, MA: Peter Smith, 1959), pp. 23–38; Burton L. Mack and Edward N. O’Neil, ‘The Chreia Discussion of Hermogenes of Tarsus’, in The Chreia in Ancient Rhetoric, vol. 1 The Progymnasmata (ed. R. F. Hock and E. N. O’Neil; SBLTT, 27; Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1986), pp. 153–71; George A. Kennedy, Progyrrmasmata: Greek Textbooks of Prose Composition and Rhetoric (Writings from the Greco-Roman World, 10; Atlanta: Scholars Press, 2003), pp 73–88. 17

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In these three sections of James, the author advises his audience that partiality is inconsistent with faith (2.1-13), faith without works does not profit (2.14-26) and not many should become teachers (3.1-12). The pattern used to elaborate each of these propositions into complete arguments is: propositio (proposition), ratio (reason for the propositio), confirmatio (proof of the ratio by comparison, example and amplification), exornatio (embellishment of the confirmatio) and complexio (conclusion drawing the argument together). Paraenetic and diatribal features are incorporated into this pattern of argumentation as major components of the amplification of the argument. This pattern can be broadly outlined as follows for 2.113: propositio (v. 1), ratio (vv. 2-4), confirmatio (vv. 5-7), exornatio (vv. 8-11) and complexio (vv. 12-13); for 2.14-26: propositio (v. 14), ratio (vv. 15-16), confirmatio (vv. 17-19), exornatio (vv. 20-25) and complexio (v. 26); and for 3.1-12: propositio (v. la), ratio (v. 1b), confirmatio (v. 2), exornatio (vv. 3-10a) and complexio (vv. 10b-12).23 Turning to studies of the rhetoric of the entire Epistle of James, one early study is that of E.  Baasland.24 He classifies James as deliberative rhetoric. It is a protreptic, wisdom speech in letter form. He gives the outline of exordium (1.2-18) with a transitus (1.16-18), propositio (1.19-27), confirmatio (2.1–3.12), confutatio (3.13–5.6) and peroratio (5.7-20). The numerous figures of style clarify and amplify the argumentation. In his later commentary he modified his rhetorical outline of James as exordium (1.2-15), propositio (1.16-22) with amplification (1.23-27), argumentatio (2.1–3.12), second propositio (3.13-18) with amplification (4.1-6), argumentatio (4.7–5.6) and peroratio (5.7-20).25 In his article, Thurén challenges Dibelius’ assessment that James does not address an actual situation or develop themes because it is loosely fitting ethical instruction of paraenesis not aimed at any particular situation.26 He points out that since Dibelius it has been shown that paraenesis can be addressed to an actual situation in a rhetorically effective manner. The literary Koine Greek of the author and the careful use of language, especially figures of speech in service of the argument, indicate that the author intends to persuade a particular audience. The author paid careful attention to the structure of the epistle as well as to its style – even if the structure is somewhat obscure to us.27 Thurén proposes to understand the nature of the epistle less through its contents per se and more from trying to understand its persuasive goal. He classifies the epistle as epideictic rhetoric because it reinforces values to which the audience already adheres. He classifies the stasis of the epistle as quality because the credibility of the issues at hand (e.g. joy in trial) is the question. He analyses the rhetoric of the entire epistle according to Graeco-Roman categories, paying particular attention to the functional or pragmatic level. The exordium (1.1-18) introduces the two central themes of perseverance in trials in the practical areas of wisdom/speech and money/action. The propositio (1.19-27) is to accept and live by the word. The argumentatio (2.1–5.6) develops the two themes of the exordium in three parts: 2.1-26 on money/action, 3.1–4.12 on wisdom/speech and 4.13–5.6

For a more detailed outline, see Watson, ‘James 2’, p. 118 and idem, ‘James 3.1-12’, p. 64. Baasland, ‘Literarische Form’, pp. 3649–61. 25 E. Baasland, Jakobsbrevet (KNT, 16; Uppsala: EFS, 1992), pp. 177–78. 26 Lauri Thurén, ‘Risky Rhetoric in James?’, NovT 37 (1995), pp. 262–84. 27 Thurén, ‘Risky Rhetoric’, pp. 262–65. 23 24

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supplying a climax dealing with both themes focusing on the rich man. The peroratio (5.720) consists of recapitulatio or reiteration of themes (perseverance, speech) and conquestio or final exhortation (5.12-20).28 Thurén explains the obscurity of the structure and message on the surface level of the epistle as the use of insinuatio or subtlety in rhetorical approach to avoid being too obvious to a rhetorically sophisticated audience.29 However, it is more likely that the Epistle of James does not conform in its overall structure to Graeco-Roman standards of arrangement. James is less complex structurally than Thurén suggests, except for the use of the Graeco-Roman pattern of elaboration for themes and the complete argument in 2.1–3.12. To date, the use of Graeco-Roman rhetoric to analyse James has discovered many GraecoRoman elements of invention, arrangement and style. Matters of style in James are not subject to much debate because stylistic matters are well defined in antiquity and readily detectable in the text. However, how to describe the invention, and the arrangement of the letter that facilitates that invention, has eluded consensus from a standard rhetorical analysis. b.  The Role of Modem Rhetoric and Interdisciplinary Studies W. Wuellner analyses James using the New Rhetoric and semiotic and communications theory.30 He argues that James is a pragmatic and his goal is not teaching, but recruiting. He outlines James as epistolary prescript (1.1), exordium (1.2-4), narratio (1.5-11), propositio (1.12), argumentatio in five units (1.13–5.6) and peroratio (5.7-20) consisting of a recapitulatio (5.7-8) and a peroratio proper (5.9-20). This role of style in the Epistle of James is emphasized in the dissertation by Geiger.31 He provides an exhaustive study of the stylistic figures of James as reconfigured in more modem terms:  resemblance (comparison, representation and implication), change (substitution, alliteration and transposition), amplification (repetition, expansion and description) and condensation (omission and discontinuation). He examines how these figures function in the argumentation. In a confused conclusion he states that the author was ‘intentionally and skillfully’ using figures of speech that were impressive to his readers and communicate ideas appropriate to the subject, but this usage does not imply that his goal was ‘artful rhetoric’.32 Studies published since this 1981 dissertation are much less reluctant to see artful rhetoric in James or any other NT book – and rightfully so. Building upon the rhetorical outline of Wuellner, Elliott uses both rhetorical and socialscientific studies to discover a thematic cohesion in the Epistle of James.33 The introduction (1.1-12) contains an epistolary address and salutation (1.1-2), a statement of the main theme  – the wholeness of both the individual and the community and the relationship of both to God (and by implication the opposite of division and fragmentation and alienation

Thurén, ‘Risky Rhetoric’, pp. 268–81. Thurén, ‘Risky Rhetoric’, pp. 282–84. 30 Wuellner, ‘Jakobusbrief ’. 31 L. Geiger, ‘Figures of Speech in the Epistle of James: A Rhetorical and Exegetical Analysis’ (unpublished doctoral dissertation; Southwestern Baptist Theological Seminary, 1981). 32 Geiger, ‘Figures of Speech’, p. 203. 33 John H. Elliott, ‘The Epistle of James in Rhetorical and Social Scientific Perspective:  Holiness-Wholeness and Patterns of Replication’, BTB 23 (1993), pp. 71–81. 28 29

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from God) (1.3-4) – and related contrasts (1.5-12). The main body of the epistle consists of exhortation in seven subsections contrasting negative indictments of division with positive recommendations for integrity and wholeness (1.13–5.12). Throughout the argumentation of the main body of the epistle, the author develops the main theme of division and wholeness with a series of contrasts including: doubt and vacillation versus trust and faith; separation versus integration of hearing and doing; faith and action; partiality versus impartiality; duplicity versus sincerity; uncontrolled versus controlled speech; war and discord versus harmony and peace; friendship with society and the devil versus friendship with God; arrogant boasting versus humility; instability versus steadfastness; and pollution versus purity. The conclusion reiterates the themes of the introduction (5.13-20). The epistle encourages the recipients to work to restore holiness and wholeness in the community rather than division and the devilish on the correlated personal, social and cosmic levels. It encourages the community to re-establish the distinctive Christian ethos of a holy community over against the unholy society at large. Using the work of the anthropologist Mary Douglas, Elliott demonstrates that, in socialscientific perspective, societies use purity/pollution schemes as a classification system to define order and reinforce codes of belonging and behaviour. Underlying these schemes is a desire to maintain the wholeness of the individual, society and both of these in relation to the design of the cosmos. These schemes played a role in Second Temple Judaism and early Christianity. The author of James addresses the issue of division and wholeness on the three interrelated levels of the personal, the social and the cosmological. The cosmological dimension in which God’s holy purposes appear validates the exhortation to form a society informed by divine wisdom on the personal and communal levels, rather than a society informed by devilish wisdom. Elliott identifies key topoi in James and places them within an argumentative strategy built on contrasts derived from the personal, communal and cosmological dimensions. While not strictly rhetorical, this study demonstrates the value of interdisciplinary study in which rhetorical elements (e.g., topoi and strategy) and their purpose are conceptualized from another discipline.

2.  The Rhetorical Role of Paraenesis and the Diatribe Two other features of James that are central to a discussion of its rhetoric are paraenesis and the diatribe. The former provides topoi and the content of moral exhortation and the latter provides a rhetorical mode of argumentation. a.  The Role of Paraenesis Paraenesis is moral exhortation that is generally accepted as true by an audience and is not subject to refutation. It seeks to motivate the audience to a certain course of action acceptable to a community, often by proffering examples of those persons exhibiting the virtues being espoused and by calling the audience to similar honourable action. As previously mentioned, interpreters often assume that James lacks structure and is perhaps even chaotic. The paraenetic content of the epistle is often identified as the culprit for this lack of structure. Dibelius was very influential in popularizing this understanding. He identified 421

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James as belonging to the paraenesis genre.34 As paraenesis, James is a ‘stringing together of admonitions of general ethical content’.35 James is not assumed to have careful structure or to reveal a particular social situation. It presents traditional moral exhortation without a rhetorical plan. Exhortation does not give insight into the social and historical situation underlying the text. Dibelius says of James: ‘The author nowhere states that he is writing to the readers because he has heard this or that about them. The author’s excitement about the elaboration of pressing dangers are never so great as to allow us to view those concerns as the actual occasion for his “letter”.’36 Dibelius was correct that James contains paraenesis. As Malherbe has described it, paraenesis has the following characteristics: (1) it is unoriginal and traditional, (2) it can be applied to many life situations, (3) it is addressed to those familiar with the paraenesis and only need to be reminded of it and exhorted to act according to its wisdom; and (4) it uses examples of those who embody the virtues and call others to emulate them.37 James has these features. The author uses traditional material drawn from the words of Jesus, the OT, Jewish wisdom (see the section on intertextuality below). The exhortation of James is widely applicable to daily life which is why it retains its popularity to this day. James exhorts his audience concerning matters they already know. The topics of hearing–forgetting and knowing–doing are central to James, especially in 1.19-27 and 4.13-17. James holds up others for emulation including Abraham and Rahab for hospitality (2.1426), the Hebrew prophets and Job for patience under affliction (5.7-11) and Elijah for the power of the prayer of a righteous man (5.13-20).38 While Dibelius may have been correct in associating James with paraenesis, he was wrong to assume that the presence of paraenesis means that James lacks rhetorical structure or strategy. Paraenesis often assumed an important role in structuring rhetorically sophisticated texts, including letters. Pseudo-Libanius even has a letter style designated ἐπιστολή or ‘paraenetic letter’.39 He describes this letter style this way: ‘The paraenetic style is that in which we exhort someone by urging him to pursue something or to avoid something. Paraenesis is divided into two parts, encouragement and dissuasion.’40 By nature, persuasion and dissuasion require rhetorical structure and style and it would be no less the case when paraenesis is incorporated into a persuasive strategy. Far from contributing to a lack of structure, paraenesis is part of a structured, sophisticated use of rhetoric in the Epistle of James.41 A good example is 3.1-12 where moral exhortation pertaining to the tongue is used within the development of the argument that not all should become teachers. Paraenetic elements are used as components of the argument’s propositio (e.g., not many should become teachers, v. la), ratio (e.g., because teachers will be judged with Dibelius, James, pp. 2–11. For a refinement of paraenesis as a genre, see J. G. Gammie, ‘Paraenetic Literature: Toward the Morphology of a Secondary Genre’, in Paraenesis: Act and Form (ed. L. G. Perdue and J. G. Gammie; Semeia, 50; Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1990), pp. 41–77. 35 Dibelius, James, p. 3. 36 Dibelius, James, p. 2. 37 Abraham J. Malherbe, ‘Hellenistic Moralists and the New Testament’, ANRW 2.26.1, pp. 267–333 (278–93). 38 Leo G. Perdue, ‘Paraenesis and the Epistle of James’, ZNW 72 (1981), pp. 241–56 (242–46). 39 Pseudo-Libanius, ‘Epistolary Types’, in Ancient Epistolary Theorists (ed. A. J Malherbe; SBLSBS, 19; Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1988), pp. 66–81 (68–69). 40 Pseudo-Libanius, ‘Epistolary Types’, p. 69. 41 For an extensive discussion of James as wisdom and paraenesis, see Luke L. Cheung, The Genre, Composition and Hermeneutics of the Epistle of James (Paternoster Biblical and Theological Monographs; Carlisle: Paternoster, 2003). 34

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greater strictness, v. lb) and confirmatio (e.g., blessings and cursing should not come from the same mouth, v. 10).42 However, even with the central role of paraenesis in the rhetorical strategy of James, the epistle does not exhibit the formal features of paraenetic works. For example, James does not contain traditional exhortation to character that upholds a model for imitation, with maxims on specific attitudes and behaviours arranged antithetically that define that character.43 The paraenesis in the Epistle of James is not a dominant, organizing feature, but is subsumed to the needs of broader argumentation and rhetorical strategy. While Dibelius was correct to associate James with paraenesis, he was wrong to assume that the presence of paraenesis – with its general nature applicable to many situations – meant that James does not give us insight into the situation that it is addressing. Dibelius was discussing individual exhortations in paraenetic texts and not paraenetic texts themselves. With its use in rhetorical strategies, paraenesis can be indicative of social and historical backgrounds. The author’s choice of using a paraenetic letter indicates the nature of the relationship between the two. The paraenetic letter is used in contexts in which there is a positive relationship between the author and the audience. The relationship can take a form analogous to the parent and child or to friendship. The author is also generally the moral superior of the audience, someone older and wiser. This positive relationship is assumed as the author feels free to give advice to the audience, expecting a positive response.44 Rhetoricians were always concerned to use and mould material that would be pertinent and useful in addressing their audiences. This would be no less applicable to paraenesis.45 Even though paraenesis is general and applicable to a wide variety of situations, the selection of paraenesis for argumentation is guided by the needs of the audience. ‘Even when the material is almost purely traditional, the author has selected and edited it with a particular situation in mind.’46 Thus we can assume that the topics of the paraenesis in James relate to the situation at hand, even if only in an analogous way. As part of a larger rhetorical strategy, paraenesis is indicative of the values a community already holds and issues that are a present concern of the author and the community addressed. Paraenesis gives us insight into the community and its situation at the time of the writing. The community of James was likely struggling with partiality, faith without works and problems with teachers – to name a few issues – because the paraenesis chosen by the author pertains to these issues. b.  The Role of the Diatribe David E. Aune defines a diatribe as ‘a modern literary term describing an informal rhetorical mode of argumentation principally characterized by a lively dialogical style including the use of imaginary discussion partners (often abruptly addressed), to whom are attributed hypothetical objections and false conclusions’.47 Interpreters have noticed that several Watson, ‘James 3.1–12’, pp. 54–64. Malherbe, ‘Hellenistic Moralists’, pp. 278–93; Johnson, James, pp. 18–20. 44 Stowers, Letter Writing, pp. 94–96. 45 Johnson, James, pp. 18–19. 46 Stowers, Letter Writing, p. 95. 47 David E. Aune, The Westminster Dictionary of New Testament and Early Christian Literature and Rhetoric (Louisville: Westminster John Knox, 2003), p. 127. 42 43

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characteristics of the diatribe are characteristic of the rhetorical argumentation of James, especially elements in the more structured middle section of 2.1–3.12 and 4.13–5.6.48 The following elements of the diatribe are also found in James:49 introducing an imaginary interlocutor in the third person as ‘someone will say’ (2.18); a turn from speaking to the audience to introduce a dialogue with imaginary interlocutors in the second person, simulating direct address (2.1-–23; 4.13; 5.1); objections and false conclusions from the imaginary interlocutor (2.18a, 19); a series of rhetorical questions in rapid succession (2.4, 5, 6, 7, 14, 16,20; 3.11,12); a series of questions and answers to the interlocutor (2.20-23; 3.11-12a; 4.14), some of which are designed to force him or her to reject their content (3.11-12; cf. 2.20); censure of the audience for its behaviour (2.2-6, 8-13, 14-17, 18-20); illustration of vices (2.2-4, 15-16); censorious rhetorical questions which characterize the interlocutor’s vice, including a harsh term of address like ‘fool’ (2.20, ὦ ἄνθρωπε κεγέ); maxims and quotations of poets and philosophers (2.8, 10, 11, 23); examples (2.1-7; 21-26; 3.3-5); comparisons (2.26; 3.3-5a, 5b-6, 11-12; 4.14; 5.2-3); antitheses (2.2-4, 8-9, 15-16; 21-23, 25; 3.2-5a, 9; 4.14); irony and sarcasm (2.18-20); personification (2.13, 17, 26; 3.5-6, 8; 5.3-4); special moral and philosophical topics like word versus deed (2.1-26); and stock formulas like τί ὄφελος (2.14, 16), δεῖζόν μοι (2.18), θέλεις δὲ γνῶναι (2.20), βλέπεις (2.22), ορᾶτε (2.24), διὸ λέγει with a quotation (4.6), ιδου (3.4, 5; 5.4) and ἄγε (4.13, 5.1).50 When utilized in literary works, the elements of the diatribe were used freely to meet the needs of the rhetorical situation being addressed. James demonstrates how adaptable features of the diatribe are to rhetorical argumentative schemes. The author has conscripted prominent features of the diatribe to serve within the pattern for the elaboration of a theme or entire argument, particularly to amplify the argument (2.1–3.12),51 as well as rebuke the assumptions of his opposition (4.13–5.6). Elements of the diatribe are used to present paraenesis in effective ways. For example, in 2.5 a rhetorical question is used to present a saying of Jesus on the nature of the poor. In 2.21 and 2.26 the examples of Abraham and Rahab that are to be emulated are presented by rhetorical questions. Personification of judgment and faith is used in paraenesis in 2.13 and 2.17.

Ropes, James, pp. 10–18; Dibelius, James, pp. 1–2, 38, 124–25; H. Songer, ‘The Literary Character of the Book of James’, RevExp 66 (1969), pp.  379–89 (385); Stanley K.  Stowers, ‘The Diatribe’, in Greco-Roman Literature and the New Testament (ed. D.  E. Aune; SBLSBS, 21; Atlanta:  Scholars, 1988), pp.  71–83 (82); D.  E. Aune, The New Testament in Its Literary Environment (LEC, 8; Philadelphia:  Westminster, 1987), pp.  200, 202; Baasland, ‘Literarische Form’, pp.  3649–54; Watson, ‘James 2’, pp.  118–20. Cf. the assessment that diatribe plays a very limited role in James: A. Wifstrand, ‘Stylistic Problems in the Epistles of James and Paul’, ST 1 (1947), pp. 170–82 (177–78); James B. Adamson, James: The Man and His Message (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1989), pp. 103–104; Davids, James, pp. 12, 23. 49 Rudolf Bultmann, Der Stil der paulinischen Predigt und die kynisch-stoische Diatribe (FRLANT, 13; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1910), pp. 10–64; Paul Wendland, Die hellenistische-römische Kultur in ihren Beziehungen zu Judentum und Christentum (HNT, 1: Tübingen: J. C. B. Mohr [Paul Siebeck], 2nd edn, 1912); H. Thyen, Der Stil der jüdischhellenistischen Homilie (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1955), pp. 40–63; Stanley K. Stowers, The Diatribe and Paul’s Letter to the Romans (SBLDS, 57; Chico, CA:  Scholars Press, 1981), pp.  79–174; Stanley K. Stowers, ‘The Diatribe’, pp. 74–76; Aune, The New Testament in Its Literary Environment, pp. 200–202; Klaus Berger, ‘Hellenistische Gattungen in Neuen Testament’, ANRW 2.25.2, pp. 1031–432, 1831–85 (1124–32). 50 Watson, ‘James 2’, pp. 118–20. Ropes, James, p. 13. 51 Watson, ‘James 2’, pp. 102–16. The role of the diatribe in rhetorical amplification is discussed by George L. Kustas, Diatribe in Ancient Rhetorical Theory (Center for Hermeneutical Studies in Hellenistic and Modem Culture; Protocol Series of the Colloquies of the Center, 22; Berkeley: Center for Hermeneutical Studies, 1976), pp. 6–15. 48

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3.  The Relationship between Epistolary and Rhetorical Theory There has been considerable debate about the relationship between rhetoric and the epistle in antiquity and in the NT. Should we expect to find rhetorical invention, arrangement and style in epistles?52 Today there is greater acknowledgement of rhetoric’s role in NT epistles. We have reevaluated Adolf Deissmann’s false distinction between literary epistles (rhetorical) and non-literary, documentary letters (non-rhetorical). He classified the NT as letters falling into the latter category.53 In a brief discussion of James he says: ‘the Epistle of James is nevertheless a product of popular literature’.54 However, the former category of literary epistles is more appropriate to the letters of the NT. They fit Aune’s definition of a literary letter: ‘Literary letters are those which were preserved and transmitted through literary channels and were valued either as epistolary models, as examples of literary artistry, or as vignettes into earlier lives and manners.’55 The letter type, form and rhetorical features of James clearly indicate considerable rhetorical skill and justify its classification as a literary letter. Regarding type, as noted above, James is a paraenetic letter with the rhetorical purpose to persuade and dissuade its audience to adopt a course of action and emulate the behaviour of others held up as examples. Wachob argues that James conforms to the encyclical form of the literary epistle used for administrative and religious purposes and more specifically, a Jewish encyclical letter. The epistle’s use of maxims and exhortation move it into the domain of public address (Demetrius, Eloc. 231b-232), like letter essays and philosophical letters in which rhetoric abounds.56 Regarding form, Francis’s formal analysis of the opening of Hellenistic letters with introduction and repetition of topics developed later indicates that James is a literary epistle.57 He notes that the opening of James and 1 John are similar to Hellenistic public and private epistles, both those having and not having situational immediacy. In these epistles, the opening states and restates topics developed later in the epistle and provides some structure for it. This is true of James and 1 John. The introduction of these epistles state and restate topics that are developed in the remainder of the epistle.58 James 1.1-27 is composed of two sections that repeat three key topics in the same order: 1.2-11 and 1.12-27. These topics are testing/steadfastness (1.2-4, 12-15), wisdom-words/reproaching (1.5-8, 19-21) and rich-poor/doers (1.9-11, 22-25). These topics provide structure to the letter, for the topics are developed in reversed order in the body of the letter (2.1–5.12).59 The closing of James (5.13-21) recapitulates the topics of strife (v. 9) and steadfastness (vv. 10-11).60

For an overview of this debate, see Watson and Hauser, Rhetorical Criticism of the Bible, pp.  120–24; Watson, ‘Rhetorical Criticism of the Pauline Epistles Since 1975’, pp. 222–24. 53 Adolf Deissmann, Light From the Ancient East (trans. L. Strachan; London: Hodder & Stoughton, 1927), pp. 233–45. 54 Deissmann, Light from the Ancient East, p. 243. 55 Aune, The New Testament in Its Literary Environment, p. 165. 56 Wesley H. Wachob, The Voice of Jesus in the Social Rhetoric of James (SNTSMS, 106, Cambridge and New York: Cambridge University Press, 2000), pp. 6–8. 57 Peter H. Davids, ‘The Epistle of James in Modem Discussion’, in ANRW 2.25.5: pp. 3621–45 (3627–28). 58 Fred O. Francis, ‘The Form and Function of the Opening and Closing Paragraphs of James and 1 John’, ZNW 61 (1970), pp. 110–26. 59 Francis, ‘Form and Function’, pp. 118–21. 60 Francis, ‘Form and Function’, pp. 124–26. 52

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Regarding rhetorical features, James as a literary epistle is confirmed by its rhetoric. By the first century bce, rhetorical education had incorporated instruction on letters and had exerted a strong influence on epistolary composition among the educated.61 There is virtually no debate that Jewish and Graeco-Roman rhetoric play a role in the epistle. The role of rhetoric is not assumed to be merely stylistic, but involved at the level of argumentation and overall strategy. James is highly rhetorical and intended to be heard by the audience addressed.

4.  The Rhetorical Training of the Author In the Hellenistic world, rhetoric was central to secondary education and public oratory. The rhetorical sophistication of many of the epistles of the NT, especially those of Paul, has led several scholars to assert that these authors are doing more than just imitating written and spoken communication witnessed in public life where rhetorical practice abounded. They are utilizing a studied application of rhetorical conventions that may stem from rhetorical training. For example, Aune can state of Hebrews: ‘The author obviously enjoyed the benefits of a Hellenistic rhetorical education through the tertiary level.’62 The correspondence between the exordium and the peroratio of James leads Thurén to claim that the author of James is a ‘conscious orator’.63 I  have tried to demonstrate that the author of James used the GraecoRoman pattern of elaboration for themes and complete arguments as taught in secondary school within the progymnasmata or rhetorical exercises.64 This use is perhaps the strongest indication that the author of James had received rhetorical education. More specifically, the mix of rhetorical forms in James  – a mix including Jewish and Graeco-Roman forms  – may indicate that the author received rhetorical training within a Jewish context with strong Hellenistic influence. For example, paraenesis in 1.1-27 is given an argumentative format that introduces and develops topics, but does not quite break out of the mode of wisdom of successive introduction of topics to become a structured exordium. Then the author turns around and develops three complete arguments in 2.1–3.12 like a GraecoRoman trained orator.

5. Intertextuality Intertextuality is an emerging discipline that is a natural companion of rhetorical analysis. Intertextuality is the identification of oral and written sources from outside the text that a text has used, how these sources have been moulded by the text and how these sources currently function in the rhetorical strategy of the new work in which they have been incorporated. Intertextuality examines the power or ethos that a new text draws from these other authoritative sources which it has alluded to, referenced or quoted.

Aune, The New Testament in Its Literary Environment, p. 160. Aune, The New Testament in Its Literary Environment, p. 212. 63 Thurén, ‘Risky Rhetoric’, p. 275. 64 Watson, ‘James 2’ and ‘James 3.1–12’; followed with modification and elaboration by Wachob, The Voice of Jesus, pp. 59–113. 61 62

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James utilizes the OT and the Jesus tradition as two sources, incorporating them mainly through allusion rather than quotation. James explicitly quotes the OT three times, referring to the OT as a γραθή (‘writing’):  2.8 (Lev. 19.18); 2.23 (Gen. 15.6); and 4.5-6 (Prov. 3.34). These are found in contexts of controversy and give additional authority to the arguments.65 There are also other allusions to the Scriptures spread throughout the epistle and these near quotations seem to be drawn from the Septuagint and used in more combative sections.66 These sources are used in the new context of James to meet the demands of the rhetorical situation the community is facing. Wachob has provided an intertextual study of Jas 2.1–3.12 that many have defined as the heart of the epistle.67 James also utilizes the Jesus tradition as known from the Sermon on the Mount (Matthew 5–7) and the Sermon on the Plain (Lk. 6.17-49). More specifically, James draws from a pre-Matthaean version of the Sermon on the Mount moulded from a version of Q different from the version of Q used by Luke in composing the Sermon on the Plain. This usage of the Jesus tradition is completely by allusion. The author never quotes the Jesus tradition directly. This allows the author to speak with the authoritative words of Jesus throughout the epistle, adding ethos or authority to his argumentation. More specifically, Wachob argues that Jas 2.5 is central to the epistle: ‘Listen, my beloved brothers and sisters. Has not God chosen the poor in the world to be rich in faith and to be heirs of the kingdom that he has promised to those who love him?’ (NRSV). James 2.5 addresses the social issue of conflict between the rich and poor which is a central issue in the community (1.9-11; 2.1-13, 15-16; 4.13–5.6). This emphasis is indicative of the large problem of the social disparity in the Mediterranean world at this time, with so few controlling so much of the wealth. James 2.5 is akin to the words of Jesus found in Mt. 5.3 (Lk. 6.20; Gos. Thom. 54; Polycarp, Phil. 2.3). This usage of the Jesus tradition allows James to work within a subculture of Judaism which the Sermon on the Mount represents as well as being countercultural on the matter of rich and poor as far as the dominant society is concerned. In 2.5 and the surrounding argumentation of 2.1-13, the intertextual connections between what James says and the Jesus tradition allows him to speak with the authority of Jesus to persuade the audience to love and to deny partiality. In a later and more specific essay, Wachob explores the intertexture of apocalyptic discourse in James.68 He examines topics at home in apocalyptic literature and found in James as well, including trials of faith, justice, the parousia of the Lord, judgment, the rich and poor and the kingdom of God. These topics are central to the deliberative rhetorical strategy of the epistle which is trying to persuade an audience to take a particular course of action. By emphasizing that the Torah is fulfilled in the love command according to the teaching of Jesus, James is countercultural within Judaism. It is a Christian version of Jewish culture. From this countercultural perspective, James uses apocalyptic topics to support his argument and appeal to his community to live as Jesus lived. The eschaton should influence present behaviour. The John Painter, ‘The Power of Words: Rhetoric in James and Paul’, in The Missions of James, Peter and Paul: Tensions in Early Christianity (ed. B. Chilton and C. A. Evans; NovTSup, 115; Leiden: E. J. Brill, 2005), pp. 236–73 (254). 66 Wiard Popkes, ‘James and Scripture: An Exercise in Intertextuality’, NTS 45 (1999), pp. 213–29. 67 Wachob, The Voice of Jesus, pp. 114–53. See Painter, ‘The Power of Words’, pp. 253–60, 268–73 which relies heavily upon Wachob’s work. 68 Wesley H. Wachob, ‘The Apocalyptic Intertexture of the Epistle of James’, in The Intertexture of Apocalyptic Discourse (ed. D. F. Watson; SBLSS, 14; Atlanta: Scholars Press, 2002), pp. 165–85. 65

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community should live as Christ did in light of the future consummation. In relation to the larger Graeco-Roman world, apocalyptic intertexture provides a countercultural stance.

6.  Socio-Rhetorical Analysis A recent development in the study of James is socio-rhetorical criticism as developed by Vernon K.  Robbins. This interpretive analytic creates dialogue between general rhetorical analysis and interrelated disciplines like social-scientific and intertextual studies – to name a few.69 This is an interdisciplinary analysis that investigates the inner texture, intertexture, social and cultural texture and ideological texture of texts. An important study using socio-rhetorical analysis on the Epistle of James is the aforementioned study of Wachob, a student of Robbins.70 He examines the rhetorical scheme in 2.1-13 and its appropriation of a saying of Jesus in 2.5 to address the social issue of the conflict between the rich and poor. Wachob argues that 2.113 is deliberative rhetoric that is subcultural within Jewish society and countercultural within Graeco-Roman society. In his study of inner texture he discovers the use of the elaboration of a theme or argument of the progymnasmata in 2.1-13: theme (2.1), argument from comparison (2.2-4), argument from example with its opposite and social example (2.5-7), argument from judgment based on written law (2.8–11) and conclusion (2.12–13).71 His study of intertexture shows that 2.5 is a performance of the Jesus saying in Mt. 5.3 (Q). The social and cultural texture of 2.1–13 indicates that 2.5 establishes that God’s kingdom belongs to the poor and determines the identity and behaviour of the community. The ideological texture of 2.5 brings the beliefs and values of the community to bear in order to persuade it that partiality is incompatible with the Christian faith. It establishes a particular community self-understanding (the pious poor of Jewish piety) and boundaries of acceptable behaviour (giving to those in need). This brief summary by no means does justice to the importance of Wachob’s study, but does illustrate that when we discuss the rhetoric of James, it is no longer in isolation, but in dialogue with a host of other disciplines. The result is a fuller understanding of the dynamics between author and audience, the rhetorical strategy and its components and the social, cultural and ideological features of the text that are intrinsic to the rhetorical composition, force and reception of any text

7.  The Placement within Ancient Rhetorical Traditions Another issue is the placement of James within ancient rhetorical traditions. Does it belong within the Jewish or Graeco-Roman rhetorical tradition? Does this question contain a false

Vernon K. Robbins, Exploring the Texture of Texts:  A Guide to Socio-Rhetorical Interpretation (Valley Forge, PA: Trinity Press International, 1996); idem, The Tapestry of Early Christian Discourse: Rhetoric, Society and Ideology (London and New York: Routledge, 1996). 70 Wachob, The Voice of Jesus. Also see Wesley H. Wachob, ‘The Epistle of James and the Book of Psalms: A SocioRhetorical Perspective of Intertexture, Culture and Ideology in Religious Discourse’, in Fabrics of Discourse (Festschrift Vernon K. Robbins; ed. D. B. Gowler, L. G. Bloomquist and D. F. Watson; Harrisburg: Trinity Press International, 2003), pp. 264–80. 71 Cf. Watson, ‘James 2’; Watson, ‘James 3.1–12’. 69

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distinction since Graeco-Roman rhetoric had influenced Jewish rhetoric by the first century of the Common Era? Many Graeco-Roman rhetorical conventions had been incorporated in some form by Jewish rhetorical practice and education during the Hellenistic period. Also, many Jewish and Graeco-Roman rhetorical conventions were shaped independently by the needs of a predominantly oral culture. Most people were illiterate and rhetorical forms developed to facilitate hearing and memorization. This included the multitude of figures of speech and thought and repetitive structural forms. James has elements of Jewish and Graeco-Roman rhetoric. The introduction of topics in its introduction (1.2-21) and reiteration in its conclusion (5.14-18) as noted above, is common in oral cultures to help the audience follow and remember what is being said. Comparison of examples for moral imitation is common to both cultures. The wisdom in 1.2-27 and 3.13–5.20 is characteristic of Jewish rhetorical tradition. The use of a pattern of elaboration for themes and complete arguments in 2.13.12 is Graeco-Roman in origin and is a full development of what 1.2-27 and 3.13–5.20 anticipate that the author is capable of. Overall James does not conform to Graeco-Roman rhetorical convention in its structure and strategy. No scheme of exordium, narratio, probatio and peroratio has been found. However, 1.2-27 introduces topoi like an exordium and 5.14-18 reiterates topoi like a peroratio. These questions of the place of James within ancient rhetorical traditions cannot be fully answered until further research rectifies the lack of a broad-based study of Jewish rhetoric in the Hellenistic period. A thorough study needs to be made of what is distinctly Jewish rhetoric, what elements of Jewish rhetoric are influenced or borrowed from Graeco-Roman rhetoric and what elements are shared with Graeco-Roman rhetoric by virtue of the needs of an oral society.

8.  The Rhetoric of James: A Proposal We have reviewed the current literature and thought on the rhetoric of James. We recognize that James is highly rhetorical and many of its rhetorical features have been studied with benefit. However, its overall rhetorical strategy escapes our grasp. Or is the strategy so obvious that we are overlooking it? I think this is the case. In comparison with works in the Jewish wisdom tradition to which James is akin, we see that much of the wisdom in James is shared with this tradition. However, the presentation of wisdom is quite different. When we look at Jewish wisdom like Proverbs and the later Sirach from the early second century bce in Jerusalem, wisdom is presented as authoritative statements or aphorisms from a wisdom teacher. The wisdom teacher is authoritative and so is the wisdom he is imparting. There is also the assumption that the community will listen and wants to implement this wisdom in its life. There is no need to prove anything. Wisdom is presented without logical proof or topical development. Absent are such logical connectives as ‘for’ and ‘because’ that help form enthymemes. Absent too are elaborate examples of those persons that exhibit the vices being railed or virtues being rallied. One notable difference important for our discussion is that, whereas Proverbs is a string of short wisdom sayings or aphorisms, Sirach is composed of units of wisdom that are 10 to 23 lines long and develop the topic at hand more fully.

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The Wisdom of Solomon from the first century bce contains the longer units that develop the wisdom topics in a fashion akin to the earlier Sirach. However, the presentation of wisdom has logical connectives of ‘for’ and ‘because’. The Wisdom of Solomon explains the facets of the wisdom topics and the importance of following them. It attempts to persuade the community addressed to follow wisdom. The opening provides a good example:  ‘Love righteousness, you rulers of the earth, think of the Lord in goodness and seek him with sincerity of heart; because he is found by those who do not put him to the test and manifests himself to those who do not distrust him’ (1.1-2 NRSV, italics mine). The wisdom in James is also presented in the longer units like those in Sirach and the Wisdom of Solomon. James also has logical proof derived from the development of topics and arguments that rely upon enthymemes, examples and comparison of examples which is characteristic of the Wisdom of Solomon. James is the product of a Jewish context in which Hellenistic rhetoric had influenced the wisdom tradition and the construction and arrangement of argumentation – just like the Wisdom of Solomon that is suspected to originate in the Jewish community in Alexandria. The author of James uses logical proof to present wisdom. It is not that his community does not hold him or his wisdom as authoritative, but their desire to live by this wisdom is questionable and the very reason he is writing. The wisdom in James comes with logical development because there is a need to persuade the audience of the merits of adhering to the wisdom being presented. Examples of this kind of reasoning are found in James from the start. Consider trials as joy because the testing of faith produces endurance and in turn let the endurance have full effect so that you may be mature (1.2-4). Ask in faith for the doubter can expect nothing (1.5-8). And so forth. This logical development of arguments is very much influenced by Graeco-Roman rhetoric as seen in our discussion above, especially on Jas 2.1–3.12. This early Christian author constructs a text with introduction of topics, followed by the development and reiteration of those topics in Hellenistic fashion. However, reliance on the Jewish wisdom tradition guides the arrangement. The author goes from topic to topic in the fashion of the wisdom tradition much like the Wisdom of Solomon does. Although he develops wisdom topics in Graeco-Roman argumentative fashion, he does not move further to organize the epistle with explicit elements of arrangement that spell out topics, to develop them and then to reiterate them in the explicit way that Graeco-Roman rhetoric typically does. I think that this dynamic is the key to understanding the structure and the rhetoric of James. It is a Jewish-Christian wisdom work influenced by Hellenistic rhetoric, but is arranged overall in the topic-to-topic fashion of Jewish wisdom texts. The Wisdom of Solomon provides a similar work for comparison of topical development and arrangement in sequential topics from a Hellenized Jewish context. My proposal is partially supported by Cheung. He makes a careful study of the close relationship between paraenesis and wisdom which are two genres playing a role in James. Subcategories of paraenesis are moral exhortation (Hellenistic paraenesis) and instructions (wisdom paraenesis). These subcategories overlap, but are distinguishable by origin. Moral exhortation looks to Greece and instruction looks to Egypt. Cheung writes:  ‘On stylistic grounds, it seems that James modeled itself more on wisdom instruction such as Ben Sira than on Hellenistic paraenesis. In terms of source of influence, there is no doubt that Jewish wisdom instructions (often modeled after Egyptian instructions) have a dominant influence of James.’72 Cheung, The Genre, Composition and Hermeneutics, 40.

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Cheung is correct to point out the dominance of wisdom instruction in James, but the better model for James would be the Wisdom of Solomon, not Ben Sira. The Hellenistic rhetorical influence in James is akin to that found in the Wisdom of Solomon which allows wisdom instruction to be freely moulded rhetorically to meet the needs of the audience.

9. Conclusion We have made a radical turn in James studies by abandoning the assumptions of Dibelius that James lacks structure because it is paraenesis and Deissmann that James is a non-literary letter. There is a strong movement to find, not only individual arguments from logos, ethos and pathos, but larger patterns of argumentation and rhetorical strategies in James. There is a greater awareness of the interrelationship between literary forms and genres and their rhetorical features. There is also a movement from the identification and description of rhetorical elements in James to an attempt to explain how James functions for the author and the community addressed. From the study of the rhetoric of James conducted so far, we can dismiss the assessment of Dibelius that James lacks discernible structure. Clearly there is rhetorical structure in the epistle. This includes portions that develop topics and complete arguments (2.1–3.12) and the overall development of topics. This development of topics and arguments exhibits a careful use of paraenesis, elements of the diatribe and stylistic figures for moral exhortation. However, overall James does not conform to Graeco-Roman standards of invention and arrangement. Attempts to outline the epistle from exordium to peroratio are unconvincing. The mix of Jewish, Graeco-Roman and early Christian rhetorical traditions is partly responsible. The epistle has a rhetorical strategy, even though there is disagreement about how to describe this elusive strategy. Rhetorical analysis, using both ancient and modem rhetoric and related interdisciplinary studies show that topical development is a major concern of the epistle. However, the topical development is structured more like wisdom literature with topic following topic than it is GraecoRoman oratory with a central thesis, list of topics that will develop the thesis, development of topics and reiteration of topics. Rhetorical analysis assists us in unveiling the cultural, social and ideological background of the author and audience of James. The rhetoric employed gives us insight into the assumptions and values of the author and his community. The assumptions and values underlying the stated and unstated premises of argumentation are assumed by the author to be shared by the community. Community assumptions and values undergird the praise and denunciation, honour and shame language in the text. With these values and assumptions the author establishes and reorders boundaries for community behaviour. The use of traditional wisdom topics in James indicates a community steeped in the wisdom tradition of Judaism and the shared values undergirding that wisdom, but the reconfiguring of that tradition enables the author to realign the shared values according to a more Christian emphasis. The rhetorical strategy of a text also helps discover the perception of the author and community in relation to culture, whether as members of the dominant culture, a subculture, a counterculture, etc. Focusing on the function of rhetoric opens NT texts to their Mediterranean

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culture in new ways.73 The rhetorical strategy of James informs us how an early Christian leader used rhetoric to help the community with self-definition and the inculcation of its distinctive values using a mix of rhetoric that defies clean classification and structure. The author comes from a Jewish background influenced by Hellenistic rhetoric. To address his audience he uses the epistolary genre and a mix of rhetorical elements to produce this early attempt at a Christian rhetoric. If James is dated to the 50s ce as I believe it should be, then we see an early Christian leader trying to give voice to the gospel with lots of tools at hand, but no conventional blueprint as to how to proceed.

Good examples include Elliott, ‘The Epistle of James in Rhetoric and Social Scientific Perspective’ and Wachob, The Voice of Jesus discussed above. 73

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“UNSTAINED BY THE WORLD”: PURITY AND POLLUTION AS AN INDICATOR OF CULTURAL INTERACTION IN THE LETTER OF JAMES

Darian R. Lockett

Maps, like texts, consist of a set of symbols ‘governed by a set of conventions that aim to communicate a certain sense of place. Fully to understand a map requires one to be able to use it in the way it was intended, and this means in turn being conversant with its conventions.’1 Like a map, the Letter of James marks out a particular ideological territory its readers should inhabit. In order to read the lines of this map the reader of James must become conversant with the text’s particular conventions, or rules for line drawing. The function of purity language, as a type of line drawing, has not been explored as it relates to the Letter of James. This state of affairs might be justified because, in the assessment of Scot McKnight, purity is not a central or controlling theme of the letter.2 In this case the relative silence on the part of scholars concerning purity language in James may be justifiable. Yet, if purity does not mark the cartographic lines of ideology in James, why does the author use terms of purity and pollution to map out particular areas within his composition? The author describes ‘piety’ (1.27), ‘the world’ (1.27), improper use of the tongue (3.6), ‘wisdom’ (3.17), and return to God/resistance of the devil (4.7-8) in terms of purity and pollution. It will not do to claim that purity is not a major category in the Letter of James merely because it does not appear to take up the concerns modern scholarship assumes such language is usually associated with, namely table fellowship, clean and unclean foods, and issues of the temple. Rather, in order to read the map of James competently, one must view the function of such language as a means to understand the perception of reality embedded in the text itself. I propose that the language of purity serves as a helpful vantage point from which to correctly view James’ cartographic depiction of reality – the social and ideological concerns of the text. To date the lines of purity language have not been systematically drawn together, nor have they been appreciated as part of James’ overall geographical presentation. In the main commentators have been satisfied to point out that: (1) James does not make any reference to specific Jewish practices of ritual purity and therefore (2) purity language in James must

Kevin Vanhoozer, The Drama of Doctrine:  A Canonical-Linguistic Approach to Christian Theology (Louisville: Westminster John Knox, 2005), p. 296. 2 McKnight concludes:  ‘I do not see “purity” as a central theme of the letter. Though we might be able to extract features of his view of purity and do so in a seemingly coherent manner, we should not at the same time think that purity was a central category of James’ (‘A Parting Within the Way: Jesus and James on Israel and Purity’, in James the Just and Christian Origins [ed. B. Chilton and C. A. Evans; NovTSup, 98; Leiden: E. J. Brill, 1999], pp. 83–129 [117 n. 84]). 1

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metaphorically refer to moral behaviour usually of the individual (the moral behaviour of the community is not entirely, but often, overlooked).3 Only two short studies directly address purity in James with one concluding that purity is not an important category4 and the other conflating James’ use of purity with the notion of perfection.5 It is insufficient to assume that purity language in James is merely ‘metaphorical’ without properly arguing for such a position. And even if it is metaphorical, such language should be understood as an integral part of the author’s construction and perception of reality – a distinct means of charting social and theological territory. Clearly one has not accounted for the ideological significance and function of the language by labelling purity/pollution language as a metaphor for morality. Therefore I propose that purity language is an important concept for James and that it is distinct, yet related to the epistle’s major theme of perfection. In this essay purity and pollution are viewed as a worldview forming language that maps out key boundaries for James’ readers. Though purity language is not the only, nor the primary, cartographic symbol used to chart James’ worldview, it is a neglected component of this text. Concentrating on these particular lines in James allows for a new perspective on the ideological and social realities of the text – especially how the text envisions its audience(s) should position themselves with respect to their surrounding culture.

Most commentators understand purity in James as a metaphor of individual or corporate morality:  Joseph B. Mayor, The Epistle of St. James (London:  Macmillan, 3rd edn, 1913), p.  146; James H. Ropes, A Critical and Exegetical Commentary on the Epistle of St. James (Edinburgh:  T&T Clark, 1916), pp. 170, 183, 249; Martin Dibelius, James:  A Commentary on the Epistle of James (ed. H.  Koester; rev. Heinrich Greeven; trans. Michael A.  Williams; Hermeneia; Philadelphia:  Fortress, 1976), pp.  121–22; James B. Adamson, The Epistle of James (NICNT; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1976), pp. 85, 154, 174–75; Bo Reicke, The Epistles of James, Peter, and Jude (AB, 37; Garden City, NY: Doubleday, 1978), p. 25; Sophie Laws, The Epistle of James (BNTC; London: A&C Black, 1980), pp. 81, 163, 183–84; Peter H. Davids, The Epistle of James: A Commentary on the Greek Text (NIGTC; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1982), pp. 102–103; Ralph P. Martin, James (WBC, 48; Waco, TX: Word, 1988), pp. 52, 153; James B. Adamson, James: The Man and His Message (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1989), pp. 73–75, 382, 442; Luke Timothy Johnson, The Letter of James (AB, 37A; New York: Doubleday, 1995); Robert W. Wall, Community of the Wise: The Letter of James (Valley Forge, PA: Trinity Press International, 1997), pp. 14–15, 101, 105–106; Douglas J. Moo, The Letter of James (PNTC; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2000); Patrick J. Hartin, James (SP, 14; Collegeville, MN:  Liturgical Press, 2003), p.  74; William F. Brosend II, James and Jude (NCBC; Cambridge:  Cambridge University Press, 2004), pp. 54–55, 97–99. Several recent monographs hint at the importance of purity language yet do not offer a full discussion of its function: Patrick J. Hartin, A Spirituality of Perfection: Faith in Action in the Letter of James (Collegeville, MN: Liturgical Press, 1999), p. 68; Richard J. Bauckham, James: Wisdom of James, Disciple of Jesus the Sage (New Testament Readings; London:  Routledge, 1999), pp. 146–47, 165, 180; Luke L. Cheung, The Genre, Composition and Hermeneutics of James (Paternoster Biblical and Theological Monographs; Carlisle:  Paternoster, 2003), p.  177. Several works fail to mention purity language at all. Peter H. Davids, ‘The Epistle of James in Modem Discussion’, ANRW 2.25.5, pp. 3621–45; Andrew Chester and Ralph P. Martin, The Theology of the Letters of James, Peter, and Jude (New Testament Theology; Cambridge:  Cambridge University Press, 1994); and in a more recent summary of research on James, Todd C.  Penner (‘The Epistle of James in Current Research’, CRBS 7 [1999], pp. 257–308) only mentions purity as it pertains to John H. Elliott’s 1993 article on the subject (pp. 294–95). 4 McKnight quoted above in note 2. 5 John H. Elliott, ‘The Epistle of James in Rhetorical and Social Scientific Perspective: Holiness-Wholeness and Patterns of Replication’, BTB 23 (1993), pp. 71–81. 3

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1.  Methodology: Purity/Pollution and Ideology Mary Douglas pioneered the study of purity and pollution in biblical texts with her 1966 work Purity and Danger.6 Though some of her initial ideas have come under critique7 (she has amended some of her initial ideas),8 four of her conclusions have stood the test of time. First, Douglas’s work fundamentally challenged the notion that pollution-based systems along with notions of defilement are ‘primitive’, and thereby separating purity and impurity from supposedly ‘higher’ pieties which rely upon moral notions such as sin.9 A second lasting contribution is the recognition that any given culture’s conception of defilement or impurity is systemic in nature. For Douglas, ‘where there is dirt, there is a system’, and consequently, ‘this idea of dirt takes us straight into the field of symbolism and promises a link-up with more obviously symbolic systems of purity’.10 Famously, she states that ‘dirt’ should be understood as ‘matter out of place’.11 The idea of dirt implies a structure of idea. For us dirt is a kind of compendium category for all events which blur, smudge, contradict, or otherwise confuse accepted classifications. The underlying feeling is that a system of values which is habitually expressed in a given arrangement of things has been violated.12 The key insight here is that when a text uses the terminology of purity, labelling something dirty or impure, this is evidence of an underlying system of classification at work ordering the author’s perception of the world. Following from this observation is the recognition that impurity is a structure, ‘whose individual components are not to be analysed as if they were freestanding’.13 Thus, the idea is not to rely upon a mere descriptive comparison of the different impurities or defilements but to examine the entire system of impurity  – the sum total of entities they pollute, and the ways in which pollution can be communicated.14 Beyond mere

Mary Douglas, Purity and Danger:  An Analysis of the Concepts of Pollution and Taboo (1966; repr., London: Routledge, 1991). 7 Jonathan Klawans (Impurity and Sin in Ancient Judaism [Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2000]) notes: ‘One error made in Purity and Danger is the assumption that Israelites considered all that exudes from the body to be ritually defiling (see p. 121). In reality . . . the biblical purity system problematizes only certain bodily substances’ (p. 24). For other critiques of Douglas see Howard Eilberg-Schwartz, The Savage in Judaism:  An Anthropology of Israelite Religion and Ancient Judaism (Indianapolis: Indiana University Press, 1990), pp. 177–79, 189–90, and 218–19; and Jacob Milgrom, Leviticus 1–16 (AB, 3; New York: Doubleday, 1991), pp. 704–42, 720–21. 8 See especially Mary Douglas, In the Wilderness: The Doctrine of Defilement in the Book of Numbers (Sheffield: JSOT Press, 1993). 9 See Klawans, Impurity and Sin, p. 8. This is one of the primary concerns of Eilberg-Schwartz’s The Savage in Judaism. 10 Douglas, Purity and Danger, p. 36 (emphasis added). 11 Douglas, Purity and Danger, pp.  29–40, especially 35. But not all have been convinced of this definition of ‘dirt’. Milgrom (Leviticus 1–16, p.  729), for example, argues that ancient Israelites did not view all misplaced objects as sources of impurity. However, Klawans (Impurity and Sin, p. 165 n. 30) helpfully insists that Douglas’s notion has been pushed too far by the opposition: ‘Her definition, I believe, was never meant to be reversible, not all matter out of place is to be understood as defiling! Douglas’s point, as I understand it, is simply that impure things fall outside the category patterns of the system in question.’ 12 Douglas, Purity and Danger, p. 51. 13 Klawans, Impurity and Sin, p. 8. 14 Klawans, Impurity and Sin, p. 8. 6

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historical description, Douglas seeks to understand the function and meaning of the entire system. Third, having established the systemic nature of impurity, Douglas posits that such impurity systems should be understood symbolically. The reason why particular animals, ritual practices or acts are impure can only be understood when seen as functioning within a system of symbols. For Douglas, ‘the body is a model which can stand for any bounded system. Its boundaries can represent any boundaries which are threatened or precarious’.15 Thus boundaries of the individual body marked by the rules of purity correspond to boundaries within and between societies. In her fieldwork, Douglas identifies four kinds of precarious boundaries that threaten a society’s ordered system and which evoke purity rhetoric as a response: (1) danger pressing on the external boundaries, (2)  danger from transgressing the internal lines of the system, (3) danger in the margins of the lines and (4) danger from internal contradiction.16 Finally, Douglas connects the symbolic interpretation of the impurity system to social function. That is to say, purity beliefs affect or shape human behaviour and social interaction. Crucially there are two levels at which the symbolic system of ritual purity may work for Douglas – instrumental and expressive. At the instrumental level the system of impurity maintains a unified experience within society. Specifically, normed moral values and defined social roles are upheld along with the broader structures of society. Colleen Conway helpfully observes that this is the level at which the historian views the function of ancient impurity systems.17 At the expressive level the impurity system carries a ‘symbolic load’ serving as analogies for expressing a particular view of social order or a ‘worldview’. Douglas states: For I  believe that ideas about separating, purifying, demarcating and punishing transgressions have as their main function to impose system on an inherently untidy experience. It is only by exaggerating the difference between within and without, above and below, male and female, with and against, that a semblance of order is created.18 Thus purity language functions not only to maintain order but it also creates order in a previously undefined situation. Fundamentally the language of purity and pollution separates one sphere from another. It is boundary language distinguishing differences and encircling similarities. Purity language, in this way, functions like the lines of a map upon which the core values of an ancient society are charted. Yet these lines of purity, as all such boundaries in antiquity, are perhaps more like frontiers, not representing ‘fixed lines so much as zones of influence or areas of control’.19 The metaphor of map-making is apt because maps, as purity lines, are interpretative frameworks – ‘every map reflects specific perspectives and serves specific purposes’.20 Though Douglas, Purity and Danger, p. 115. Douglas, Purity and Danger, p. 122. 17 Colleen M. Conway, ‘Toward a Well-formed Subject: the Function of Purity Language in the Serek ha-Yahad’, JSP 21 (2000), pp. 103–20 (107). 18 Douglas, Purity and Danger, p. 4. 19 Judith Lieu, Christian Identity in the Jewish and Graeco-Roman World (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2004), p. 98. 20 Vanhoozer, Drama of Doctrine, p. 296. 15 16

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aiming for geographical accuracy, maps are subjective in that they reflect the map maker’s interests. As mapped lines, the terms of purity and pollution encircle specific areas upon this map distinguishing different regions or frontiers marking off areas of ‘safety’ and ‘danger’, or indicating danger pressing on the external boundaries of a particular ideology. Purity language then becomes an important way to order or ‘label’ objects, places, actions, individuals and ideologies. The language of purity bounds a particular ‘world’ in a text. Readers of such texts are encouraged to equate the textually constructed ‘world’ with objective reality.21 The ‘world’ as used here is similar to Clifford Geertz’s description of ‘worldview’: The picture . . . of the way things in sheer actuality are, [a culture’s] most comprehensive ideas of order. In religious belief and practice a group’s ethos is rendered intellectually reasonable by being shown to represent a way of life ideally adapted to the actual state of affairs the world view describes, while the world view is rendered emotionally convincing by being presented as an image of an actual state of affairs peculiarly well-arranged to accommodate such a way of life.22 Thus purity and pollution must be understood as significant labels functioning as building blocks of a textually created worldview, even a particular identity with respect to broader culture.23 The lines of a ‘worldview map’ are drawn in terms of purity and impurity, and through the analysis of purity language in a text one may discover some of the primary boundaries between ‘safe’ and ‘dangerous’ ideological territory. This is especially interesting in the case of James because McKnight insists:  ‘I do not see “purity” as a central theme of the letter. Though we might be able to extract features of his view of purity and do so in a seemingly coherent manner, we should not at the same time think that purity was a central category of James.’24 I contend, however, that not only is purity an important category to James, it is an indication of the text’s worldview and cultural stance. The goal of the following section is to identify the uses of purity language in James and ask whether there is a consistent concern articulated by such language. From this exegesis I demonstrate that ‘the world’ is consistently labelled impure which in turn indicates James’ understanding of purity as separation from or resistance to the ‘worldview’ of ‘the world’. Furthermore, because the emphasis upon separation raises the question of how purity relates to other themes in James, I will argue that, despite claims to the contrary, purity and the key theme of perfection are related yet distinct concepts in the text.

Peter L. Berger, The Sacred Canopy:  Elements of A  Sociological Theory of Religion (1967; repr. New  York:  Anchor Books, 1990), p. 9; see also pp. 22–28. 22 Clifford Geertz, The Interpretation of Cultures (New York: Basic Books, 1973), pp. 89–90. 23 See Conway, ‘Toward a Well-Formed Subject’, pp. 103–20. Conway specifically takes up Douglas’s idea of purity and pollution to show the rhetorical function of purity/pollution in creating a ‘worldview’ that readers of the Community Rule should accept. 24 McKnight, ‘A Parting Within the Way’, p. 117 n. 84. 21

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2.  Exegesis of Purity Language in James a.  James 1.26-27 The function of 1.2-27 is to introduce the controlling contrasts and associations woven throughout the main body of the letter (chs 2–5). Significantly, vv. 26-27 are placed at the end of this introductory prologue to draw the section to a close. Aptly placed then, this aphorism has been carefully crafted and given priority as a concluding distillation of James’ wisdom. Therefore the thematic importance of these two verses within the framework of James cannot be over-emphasized. Here true piety is defined first in negative (‘worthless’) then positive terms (‘pure and unblemished’). Key to understanding the passage is the term ‘piety’ (θρησκεία) which only occurs four times each in the LXX and the NT. θρησκεία appears twice in the Wisdom of Solomon (14.18, 27) where it refers to idol worship (cf. 11.15; 14.17) and twice in 4 Maccabees where Antiochus refers to the ‘piety’ of the Jews (5.7, 13). There are two occurrences of the term in the NT outside of James. In Col. 2.18 it is used to describe the ‘worship of angels’ or ‘worshipping of angels’ (θρησκείᾳ τῶν ἀγγέλων) and Luke attributes the use of the term to Paul with reference to Jewish worship of God (Acts 26.5).25 Thus the term can be used positively and negatively depending upon the context.26 The NT passages may be divided between both negative and positive uses of the term and Schmidt asserts that one must emphasize that ‘the bad sense is not intrinsically necessary’.27 The objective genitive following the term is what gives it either a positive or negative meaning. It is a more plastic term that can be used to describe either the negative or positive aspects of devotion to a deity. Thus the emphasis is not on ‘piety’ but its description as ‘worthless’ or ‘pure and undefiled’. ‘Worthless’ piety is linked in 1.26 to speech ethics: ‘If any one thinks he is pious (θρησκός), and does not bridle his tongue but deceives his heart, this man’s piety (θρησκεία) is worthless.’ Thus, for the author, uncontrolled speech and self-deception are related to improper or defiled piety. Piety that fails to result in the control of the tongue is deemed ‘worthless’ (μάταιος). θρησκεία is here used in an ironic sense for those who fail to ‘bridle’ the tongue (χαλιναγωγῶν), or are deceitful, and demonstrate they do not possess real piety at all. The one who is faultless in speech, bridling his tongue (not being deceitful), is later described by James as a ‘perfect person’ (τέλειος ἀνήρ) who is able to keep the entire body in check (3.2). Uncontrolled, deceitful speech, which the speaker begins to believe, disrupts group cohesion and is deemed ‘worthless’ piety rather than ‘pure and undefiled’. The author declares that this individual is not aligned with the correct construal of the ‘world’, his piety is ‘worthless’. That this kind of piety is ‘worthless’ is significant. The term μάταιος is used in the LXX to describe idols and idol worship (Jer. 2.5; 10.3). Jeremiah’s point is that rendering service to idols, things fundamentally not God, is worthless or not ‘pure and undefiled’ piety at all. Here the line is drawn between the one in v. 26 who ‘thinks he is pious’ and really is not at all because his ‘piety’ is worthless, and ‘pure and undefiled piety’ in v. 27. The one deceitful and The term appears in later Christian literature comparing Jewish and Christian worship: ‘We have written enough to you, brothers, about the things which pertain to our piety (θρησκεία)’ (1 Clem. 62.1). 26 For example, Philo, Spec. 1.315; Det. 21; Wis. 11.15; 14.17, 18, 27; and Col. 2.18 which describes an attack on worship of angels as the wrong worship. 27 K. L. Schmidt, ‘θρησκεία, κτλ.’, TDNT vol. 3, p. 157. 25

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undisciplined in speech is implicitly on the impure side of a line marking what is and is not ‘real’ piety. This individual is in danger because his ‘worthless’ piety is likened unto the idolatry of worshipping stones as the ‘world’ does. This is tantamount to the idolatrous alliance with the world (1.27; 4.4) that James refers to later. Identifying the alliance between ‘worthless piety’ and the ‘staining’ influence of the world reinforces the implicit impurity of this so-called ‘piety’ in 1.26. One who thinks himself to be pious in this wrong sense ‘deceives his own heart’. In v. 27, the author conveys the heart of his concern for writing as ‘piety that is pure and undefiled before God, the Father’. Here the line is clearly drawn between true or ‘pure and undefiled’ piety and ‘worthless’ piety or, by implication, impure piety in 1.26. Both in the LXX and the NT, καθαρός refers to ritual purity28 and to moral purity.29 Hauck notes that in Diaspora Judaism there is a trend toward ‘spiritualizing’ the older concept of ritual purity in favour of the ethical and spiritual connotations thus highlighting its metaphorical use.30 This ‘metaphorical’ use is evident in Josephus where there is an emphasis upon the purity of the soul and conscience (B.J. 6.48), a concern also present in Philo (Deus 132; Ebr. 143; Plant. 64). Likewise, the term ‘undefiled’ (ἀμίαντος) is used in the LXX with reference to the ritually undefiled temple31 and to moral purity.32 The related term μιαίνω is frequently used in the LXX for rendering someone or something ritually impure33 but can also refer to moral aspects of purity as well.34 Yet, in the present context using the terms ‘pure’ and ‘undefiled’ to describe piety specifically sets out a contrast (or draws a line) between this kind of ‘piety’ and the ‘worthless’ piety in 1.26. It is important to note that what James calls ‘pure and undefiled’ piety is qualified as such ‘before God and the Father’ (παρὰ τῷ θεῷ καὶ πατρί). Here παρα in this context suggests a sphere, ‘in the sight/judgment of God’,35 indicating the ultimate standard by which all aspects of piety should be assessed and will, in the end, be judged. Thus piety here is ‘pure and undefiled’ ‘with reference to God’s scale of measurement’.36 The author insists that it is God’s perspective that functions as the key indicator separating worthless piety from ‘pure and undefiled piety’. Opposed to this pure piety in the sight of God is the staining influence of the world. The prepositional phrase παρὰ τῷ θεῷ (‘in the sight of God’) along with the similar phrase in verse 27, ἀπὸ τοῦ κόσμου (‘from the world’), ‘clearly suggest an opposition between God and the world’.37 This rhetoric effectively demonstrates that the author does not wish to cast the two types of piety as equal and opposite, but rather he refers to God as the only one who approves pure piety effectively demonstrating that there is only one way to construe the ordered ‘world’. Acceptable piety in the sight of God first includes looking after orphans and widows in their affliction (1.27) and secondly, keeping oneself ‘unstained’ (ἄσπιλον) from ‘the world’ (τοῦ See, Lev. 7.19; 10.10; 13.17, etc.; Mt. 23.26, 35; Heb. 10.22. See, Ps. 51.10; Hab. 1.13; Prov. 12.27; Job 8.6; 33.9; Tob. 3.14; T. Ben. 8.2; Mt. 5.8; 1 Pet. 1.22; 1 Tim. 1.5; 3.9; 2 Tim. 2.22. 30 Friedrich Hauck and Rudolf Meyer, ‘καθαρός, κτλ.’, TDNT vol. 3, p. 417. 31 2 Macc. 14.36; 15.34. 32 Wis. 3.13; 4.2; 8.20; Heb. 7.26; 13.4; 1 Pet. 1.4. 33 Lev. 5.3; 11.24; 13.3; Deut. 21.23. 34 Gen. 34.5, 13, 27; Lev. 18.24-28; LXX Ps. 105.39. 35 As in Rom. 2.13; 1 Cor. 3.19; 7.24; 1 Pet. 2.20. 36 Johnson, James, p. 212. 37 Wesley H. Wachob, The Voice of Jesus in the Social Rhetoric of James (SNTSMS, 106; Cambridge:  Cambridge University Press, 2000), p. 83. 28 29

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κόσμου). James’ audience is to keep ἄσπιλος with respect to ‘the world’, that is, to maintain a particular purity boundary between themselves and ‘the world’. The term ἄσπιλος is not found in the LXX and only appears four times in the NT. Two of these NT occurrences pair the term with ἄμωμος ‘unblemished’ (1 Pet. 1.19, with reference to Christ as an ‘unblemished’ lamb; 2 Pet. 3.14),38 while in 1 Tim. 6.14 ἄσπιλος appears with τηρέω: ‘I charge you to keep the commandment unstained and free from reproach until the appearing of our Lord Jesus Christ.’ In order to correctly determine the context of ἄσπιλος one must first understand what James means by ‘world’. In challenging his readers with the incongruity of believing in Jesus Christ and practising favouritism, James rhetorically asks in 2.5:  ‘Has God not chosen the poor in the world (τῷ κόσμῳ) to be rich in faith?’ The phrase τῷ κόσμῳ should be read as a dative of advantage39 and thus ‘poor in the eyes of the world’. The syntactical construction here emphasizes that it is from the perspective or valuation of the world that these people are counted poor or low in social and economic status. Rather than humanity in general, ‘the world’ is the system of order contrary to the heavenly order, ‘a measure distinguishable from God’s’.40 In 3.6 James identifies the tongue as a ‘world of wickedness’ (ὁ κόσμος τῆς ἀδικίας), or taken adjectivally, ‘a wicked world’ which ‘stains (σπιλοῦσα) the whole body’. Though the issues of translation and interpretation in this passage are complex, James understands κόσμος with the nuance of the sinful world-system41 that ‘stains’ the body. Finally, in 4.4 James uses κόσμος twice in conjunction with friendship. ‘You adulteresses, do you not know that friendship with the world (τοῦ κόσμου) is hostility toward God? Therefore whoever wishes to be a friend of the world (τοῦ κόσμου) makes himself an enemy of God.’ The notion of friendship (φιλία) in the Graeco-Roman world meant above all to share, that is, to have the same mindset, the same outlook, the same view of reality.42 To be a friend of the world is to live in harmony with the values and logic of the world in the context of Jas 4.1-10, namely envy, rivalry, competition and murder. Friendship language is the language of alliance or coalition and here in 4.4 those allying themselves with ‘the world’ are labelled ‘adulteresses’, or those unfaithful to covenant relationship. These references to ‘the world’ in James refer to something more than the material world or humanity in general, but rather the entire cultural value system or world order which is hostile toward what James frames as the divine value system. Thus, the context in which to place the meaning of ἄσπιλος in 1.27 is precisely its relationship to ‘the world’ as a system of values. For Peter Berger and Thomas Luckmann the highest level of legitimation for a society is the ‘symbolic universe’.43 This symbolic universe is the ‘all-embracing frame of reference’ within which all human experience can be conceived as taking place.44 Symbolic universes serve as ‘sheltering canopies over the institutional order In Jude 24, several manuscripts read ασπιλους either beside αμωμους or earlier in the verse (see P72, codd. 945, 1243,1505) and thus may add weight to understanding the two terms as commonly being used together. 39 Or dativus commode. Many understand the dative in this way: Luke Timothy Johnson, Brother of Jesus, Friend of God: Studies in the Letter of James (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2004), p. 212; Ropes, St. James, pp. 193–94; Dibelius, James, p. 138; Davids, James, pp. 111–12; Martin, James, pp. 64–65; Moo, James, p. 107; pace Laws, James, p. 103, who takes it as a dative of respect. 40 Johnson, Brother of Jesus, p. 212. 41 There is evidence of the pre-Christian use of ‘world’ with this nuance, see 1 En. 48.7; 108.8; T. Jos. 4.6. 42 See Johnson, James, pp. 243–44. 43 Peter L. Berger and Thomas Luckmann, The Social Construction of Reality: A Treatise in the Sociology of Knowledge (Harmondsworth:  Penguin, 1967), pp. 110–46. Berger (Sacred Canopy, p.  25) refers to the act of religious ‘worldbuilding’ as constructing a sacred cosmos: ‘Religion is the human enterprise by which a sacred cosmos is established.’ 44 Berger and Luckmann, Social Construction of Reality, p. 114. 38

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as well as over individual biographies’ and ‘set the limits of what is relevant in terms of social interaction’.45 Berger and Luckmann’s concept of symbolic universes corresponds to Geertz’s notion of ‘world views’ mentioned above. Edward Adams has helpfully demonstrated how Paul’s use of κόσμoς functions as ‘world-building’ language.46 He argues from ancient Greek sources that the term κόσμος bears a ‘natural relation between the social order and the cosmic order . . . The conviction that the order of the universe is analogous to the civic order runs through Presocratic philosophy from Anaximander onward.’47 For James, κόσμος bears a similar function – the term refers to a cultural system which organizes language and behaviour. James actually presents two different worldviews. One worldview he refers to as ὁ κόσμος, namely the system of valuation and organization of language and behaviour which has the ability to ‘stain’, and another worldview which the readers are to embrace as ‘pure and undefiled’ in the sight of God. Readers are to keep themselves ‘unstained’ from the contagious pollutant of ὁ κόσμος, ‘from a society regulated by the polluted values of [ὁ κόσμος]’.48 It is the worldview of the world, an alien scale of measurement from that of God’s, which radiates a polluting influence upon James’ audience. b.  James 3.6 The section consisting of 3.1-12 begins with an address to the ‘brothers’ warning them of the improper use of the tongue, with special reference to those aspiring to be teachers (3.1).49 After illustrating the disproportionate influence of the tongue upon the body with the common Graeco-Roman metaphors of the horse’s bit and ship’s rudder (3.3-4), James declares the tongue an ‘unrighteous world’ set among our members, ‘staining the whole body’ (ἡ σπιλοῦσα ὅλον τὸ σῶμα). It is important to note that the last phrase ‘the whole body’ appears in both vv. 2 and 6 and reinforces the primary contrast in this passage between the one who ‘does not stumble in what he says’ and the one stained or defiled by the tongue.50 On the one hand, according to 3.2, one who controls the tongue, the one who ‘does not stumble in what he says’, also controls the whole body, and thus is a ‘perfect man’ (τέλειος ἀνὴρ). On the other hand, the one unable to control both tongue and, by extension, the whole body has been affected by the staining power of the tongue. Furthermore, the text indicates that the author expects his audience to be familiar with this contrast, due to the fact that he uses the phrase ‘for you know’ in 3.1.51 Interestingly the defiling tongue is described as a ‘world of iniquity’ or an ‘unrighteous world’.

Berger and Luckmann, Social Construction of Reality, p. 120. Edward Adams, Constructing the World:  A Study in Paul’s Cosmological Language (SNTW; Edinburgh:  T&T Clark, 2000). 47 Adams, Constructing the World, p. 69. 48 Elliott, ‘Holiness-Wholeness’, p. 73. 49 The unity of this passage has often been recognized. See Martin, James, p. 103; Duane F. Watson, ‘Rhetoric of James 3.1-12 and a Classical Pattern of Argumentation’, NovT 35 (1993), pp. 48–64 (52); William R. Baker, Personal SpeechEthics in the Epistle of James (WUNT, 2.68; Tübingen: J.C B. Mohr [Paul Siebeck], 1995), ch. 4; Johnson, James, pp. 253; Bauckham, James, pp 63–69; Moo, James, pp. 146–48; pace Dibelius, James, pp. 181–82. 50 Duane Watson notes the importance of the repeated phrase ὅλον τὸ σῶμα, and notes that this is an indication that rhetorically the author is returning to the main or strongest point under consideration. See Watson, ‘Rhetoric of James 3.1-12’, p. 60. 51 Davids, James, p. 137; followed by Baker, Personal Speech-Ethics, p. 123. 45 46

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Note again the connection between κόσμος, the ‘world’, and pollution, which is mediated here through the tongue. The phrase ‘unrighteous world’ (ὁ κόσμος τῆς ἀδικίας) describes the tongue, the agent of pollution. Though the understanding of this phrase has been one of the more intensely debated complexities of this passage, a slim consensus has begun to form. Mayor seems to have had the best feel for the phrase saying: ‘In our microcosm, the tongue represents or constitutes the unrighteous world.’52 With Mayor most take τῆς ἀδικίας as an attributive genitive and thus render the phrase, ‘unrighteous world’ as does the RSV. As noted above, every occurrence of ὁ κόσμος in James carries the negative connotation of an evil and unrighteous system in opposition to God. Therefore, just as ὁ κόσμος is the agent of contamination the readers are warned to avoid (1.27), so too the tongue is likened to the ‘unrighteous world’ that is able to pollute ‘the whole body’ (3.6).53 In both 1.26-27 and 3.6 the polluting effects of the world stain the entire body by means of the unchecked tongue. c.  James 3.13-17 James 3.13-17 not only contrasts two types of wisdom with respect to their origin, namely ‘from above’ versus ‘earthly, unspiritual, demonic’, but also with respect to their consequent external behaviours, ‘pure’ versus ‘jealousy and selfish ambition’. The characteristics of ‘wisdom from above’ and ‘earthly, unspiritual, demonic’ wisdom are given as a response to the rhetorical question posed in 3.13: ‘Who is wise and understanding among you? By his good life let him show his works in the meekness of wisdom (ἐν πραΰτητι σοϕίας).’ As Dibelius observed, first one demonstrates his wisdom by a good life and second the wise individual proves his wisdom in ‘meekness’ (πραΰτητι, cf. 1.21). Though implicit, the contrast between two kinds of wisdom draws readers to choose between them. He affirms that if the group has ‘bitter jealousy’ and ‘selfish ambition’ in their hearts then they do not have wisdom that comes down from above (3.14).54 ‘Jealousy’ and ‘selfish ambition’ or ‘rivalry’ indicate that individuals within the audience are seeking higher-status positions within the group and thus creating internal dissension and disorder. This so-called wisdom which animates such self-seeking is ‘earthly’ (ἐπίγειος), ‘unspiritual’ (ψυχική), and ‘demonic’ (δαιμονώδης), each adjective indicating an ever decreasing reality55 and thus further alienation from God. The first term, ‘earthly’, is not attested in the LXX and in the NT it is often used

Mayor, St. James, p.  115; cf. Ropes, St. James, p.  233; Laws, James, p.  91; Johnson, James, p.  259; Cheung, Genre, Composition and Hermeneutics, p. 203. Here the genitive is a substitute for the adjective as elsewhere in James (see 2.4, κριταὶ διαλογισμῶν πονηρῶν – ‘judges with evil motives’; see 1 En. 48.7; Mk 16.14; Lk. 16.9). 53 With reference to the dangerous force standing behind the tongue (and the world) as a staining influence, many have taken the reference to ἡ γέεννα in 3.6 as referring to the devil or the forces of evil (see Moo, James, p. 126; Baker, Personal Speech-Ethics, p. 128). However, the recent study by Bauckham (‘The Tongue Set on Fire by Hell [James 3.6]’, in Fate of the Dead: Studies on the Jewish and Christian Apocalypses [NovTSup, 93; Leiden: E. J Beill, 1998], pp. 119–31) has convincingly argued that Gehenna refers not to the force behind the world or tongue, but rather to the place of just punishment for the one who errs with the tongue. Thus, as the tongue is a fire, so one sinning with the tongue will be punished by fire. 54 Hartin notes how James is unique in beginning with the list of ‘vices’ as opposed to a list of ‘virtues’ (A Spirituality of Perfection, p. 72 n. 34). However, it does not seem that these are proper lists of virtues and vices; rather in 3.15, we are offered the animating principle behind that which is not ‘wisdom’ at all. 55 Ropes, St. James, p. 248. 52

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for what is characteristic of the earth as opposed to the heavenly.56 With this implicit contrast in mind, ‘earthly’ denotes not only what is inferior to the heavenly, but also that which is in opposition to the heavenly. Acknowledging that James consistently uses ὁ κόσμος to denote the sinful, polluting system of values that stands in opposition to God, the term ‘earthly’ certainly reinforces and parallels the notion of κόσμος. The second adjective, ψυχική is used in the NT to oppose something that is πνευματικός, ‘of the spirit’.57 The final adjective, δαιμονώδης, does not appear in the LXX and only here in the NT. Several commentators note that the suffix -δης suggests the term means ‘demon-like’, that is, performing deeds similar to demons,58 which ultimately demonstrates that this wisdom originates not from God but from the devil. The next verse carries through on the logic of this so-called ‘wisdom’, for James states that:  ‘where jealousy and selfish ambition exist, there will be disorder (ἀκαταστασία) and every vile (ϕαῦλον) practice’ (3.16).59 This ‘earthly’ wisdom traffics in jealousy and ambition, the external qualities indicative of one motivated by self-interest viewing others as rivals because they possess what one lacks.60 James has already noted that the ‘double-minded’ man is ἀκατάστατος (‘unstable’; 1.8) in all his ways, which is thematically and lexically similar to the idea here that ‘earthly’ wisdom produces social ‘disorder’ (ἀκαταστασία) by means of jealousy and ambition. The term ἀκαταστασία in classical Greek has the nuance of political disorder, anarchy or confusion that come from a variety of disruptions of the state.61 In sharp contrast to the wisdom characterized as ‘earthly, unspiritual and demonic’ and issuing in social disorder, is the ‘wisdom coming down from above’ (3.17). The origin of this wisdom is highlighted as coming down from God and thus the only real wisdom. The δέ in 3.17 signals a contrast with what has come before. The rhetoric betrays the author’s view that ‘earthly’ wisdom is really only such by name, and that the wisdom coming down from above, that is from God (see Jas 1.5, 17), is the only real wisdom by which one may demonstrate he is ‘wise and understanding’ (3.13). Rather than ‘earthly’, this wisdom is from God and, as wisdom from God, it is ‘pure’ (ἁγνή). Like ‘pure and undefiled piety’ (1.26-27), wisdom is pure with respect to its origin from God and thus is ‘real’ wisdom over against ‘earthly’ wisdom. It is significant that wisdom is labelled ‘pure’. Whereas the author uses τέλειος with emphasis elsewhere (1.2-4; 3.2), here wisdom is not ‘perfect’ but ‘pure’. The syntax of the phrase singles out the quality of purity from the other characteristics of wisdom in 3.17. This wisdom ‘is first pure’ (πρῶτον μὲν ἁγνή ἐστιν), which the NTV renders ‘is first of all pure’. The use of μέν without δέ appears in Luke for emphasis (3.18; 8.5; 22.22; 23.56), and in Paul as an anacolouthon (Rom. 1.8; 3.2). Here the πρῶτον μέν emphasizes that ‘pure’ is the first, or head, quality of the succeeding list, as Moo notes: ‘the seven qualities that follow in the list are specific dimensions of this overall purity’.62 So here, ἁγνή denotes that ‘wisdom from above’ is free from moral pollution and, therefore, entails total sincerity or devotion. This is very much

Jn 3.12; 1 Cor. 15.40; 2 Cor. 5.1; Phil. 2.10. E.g., of an ‘unspiritual’ person, 1 Cor. 2.14; 15.46; Jude 19. 58 Hort, St. James, p. 84; Laws, James, pp. 161, 163; Davids, James, p. 153; Martin, James, p. 132. 59 In 3.14 James identifies the characteristic of ‘earthly wisdom’ as ‘bitter jealousy’ (ζῆλου πικρὸν). Note that the similar phrase ῥίζα πικρίαϛ (‘root of bitterness’) in Heb. 12.15 has the potential to ‘defile’ (μιανθῶσιν). 60 The term ζῆλοϛ is negatively defined by Aristotle (Rhet. 1387B-1388A) as the sorrow one feels because someone else possesses what one wants. 61 See Dionysius of Halicarnassus, Ant. Rom. 6.31.1; Lk. 21.9, ‘insurrection’; 1 Cor. 14.33. 62 Moo, James, p. 175. 56 57

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like the central notion of wholehearted, undivided commitment to God conveyed by the idea of τέλειος introduced in 1.2-4.63 Hartin suggests: This pure wisdom is such that it has come down from above (3.17) as opposed to the wisdom from the earth, which is ‘demonic’ (3.15). This provides the backdrop to the search for wholeness and purity:  it comes from having access to God, from being in a wholehearted relationship with God. When one is separated from this source of wholeness and holiness one is divided, like a wave of the sea that is tossed about in the wind (1.6).64 However, though communicating similar concepts, it is crucial to note that the author did not describe wisdom from above as τέλειος. I will return to this distinction below. ‘Wisdom from above’ is a key component in building the worldview associated with God and it animates the social behaviours of the distinctively pure groups associated with it. This wisdom is first pure, that is ‘wisdom from above’ is aligned with God and thus produces the qualities and characteristics deemed ‘safe’ and appropriate by the author. By contrast wisdom that is not from God is labelled ‘earthly’, again indicating that which is inferior or polluted is associated with the worldview of ὁ κόσμος. d.  James 4.8 Though the two sections may stand on their own, 3.13-18 and 4.1-10 have been linked together through lexical and thematic connections.65 Johnson has noted that 3.13–4.10 progresses by means of rhetorical questions (3.13, 4.1 [2x], 4.4, 4.5 [2x]), the first two formulated by ἐν ὑμῖν. 3.13 inquires regarding the ‘wise and understanding among you’ and 4.1 asks about the source of conflict ‘among you’.66 These rhetorical questions raise the fundamental issue of wisdom’s connection with behaviour. Those among the community who are truly ‘wise’, animated by ‘wisdom from above’, will demonstrate such by their good life-style in ‘meekness of wisdom’, yet the rhetoric of the letter clearly demonstrates that readers are not acting according to such wisdom. Marked by the second ἐν ὑμῖν (4.1), the rhetorical question sharply raises the issue that the community members have not lived in keeping with ‘wisdom from above’ because there is strife and battles raging ‘among them’. The connected passages serve as an indictment against incorrect wisdom/perception (3.15-16) and action (4.1-4), both which are associated with ‘the world’ (3.15, wisdom is ‘earthly’ [ἐπίγειος]; 4.4, ‘friendship with the world [τοῦ κόσμου]’). The indictment of desire and passion as the cause of social disorder in 4.1 comes to a climax in v. 4: ‘Adulteresses! Do you not know that friendship with the world is enmity with God? Therefore whoever wishes to be a friend of the world becomes an enemy of God.’ The label ‘adulteresses’ (μοιχαλίδες) symbolically refers to the covenant relationship between God as Both Cheung (Genre, Composition and Hermeneutics, p. 143) and Hartin (Spirituality of Perfection, p. 73) make this connection independently of one another. 64 Hartin, James, p. 74. 65 The thematic and lexical connections are most convincingly argued by Johnson (Brother of Jesus, pp. 182–201; James, pp. 268–69, 286–89). See also Cheung, Genre, Composition and Hermeneutics, pp. 76–79; and Moo, James, pp. 167–68, who draws together 3.12–4.6. 66 Johnson, Brother of Jesus, p. 188. 63

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a groom and Israel as his bride found in the Torah.67 Edgar notes that the ‘metaphor depicts God’s people as disobedient to God’s order, expressed in the covenant relationship . . . They dishonor God through their unfaithful behaviour.’68 This address is followed by the climactic indictment of the letter, stated first as a rhetorical question then as a direct statement. The use of οὐκ οἴδατε (‘do you not know’) indicates the author assumes the readers refuse to act upon the shared knowledge that ‘friendship’ with the world is incompatible with relationship with God.69 As noted above, the use of ‘friendship’ in the first century was much more restrictive and had deeper connotations than today. One of the most common uses of friendship in ancient literature applied to alliances, cooperation or non-aggression treaties among peoples.70 The alliance between friends referred to the fact that friends shared similar vision and values. Euripides referred to a friend as ‘one soul with mine’ (καὶ ψυχὴν μίαν)71 and Cicero considered a friend as a ‘second self ’ referring to the friendship between Laelius and Scipio: ‘we shared the one element indispensable to friendship, a complete agreement in aims, ambitions, and attitudes’.72 He goes on to say: ‘Now friendship is just this and nothing else: complete sympathy in all matters of importance.’73 Though overstating the case, M. Heath asserts that friendship in Greece ‘is not, at root, a subjective bond of affection and emotional warmth, but the entirely objective bond of reciprocal obligation; one’s philos is the man one is obligated to help, and on whom one can (or ought to be able to) rely for help when oneself is in need.’74 Furthermore, this ancient concept of friendship included a particular kind of social relationship within the pervasive social structure of honour and shame. Alicia Batten comments: ‘Closely related to other political uses of friendship is the relationship between patrons and clients, often defined as friendship.’75 The indictment of alliance with the world in 4.4 is completed by a quotation from Prov. 3.34. The citation from Prov. 3.34 (‘God opposes the proud [ὑπερηϕάνοις], but gives grace to the humble [ταπεινοῖς]’) does not merely add ornamentation to the passage but serves as the founding principle which the author builds his call to repentance upon76 and constitutes the subject of an extended midrashic interpretation in verses 4.7–5.6. In the verses following the quotation of Prov. 3.34, James, in reverse order, first expounds the second half of the quotation in 4.7-10, and then considers the first phrase of the citation in 4.11–5.6. Alonso Schökel argued this position specifically asserting that the thematic refrain of ‘humble yourselves’

Johnson, James, p. 278. David Hutchinson Edgar, Has God Not Chosen the Poor? The Social Setting of the Epistle of James (JSNTSup, 206; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 2001), p. 103. 69 This shared base of knowledge is assumed elsewhere in the letter (‘knowing [γινώσκοντες] that the testing of your faith produces endurance’, 1.3; ‘let not many become teachers, my brethren, knowing [εἰδότες] that as such we will incur a stricter judgment’, 3.1; ‘you should know [γινωσκέτω]’, 5.20). 70 See Homer, Il. 3.93, 256; 4.17; 26.282; Virgil, Aen. 11.321; Demosthenes, On the Navy Boards 5; On the Embassy 62; Letters 3.27; Josephus, C.Ap. 1.109; 2.83b. See also, Alicia Batten, ‘Unworldly Friendship: The “Epistle of Straw” Reconsidered’ (unpublished doctoral dissertation, University of St. Michael’s College, 2000). 71 Euripides, Orest. 1046. 72 Cicero, Amic. 21.80; 4.15 (see Aristotle, Eth. Nic. 9.4.5, 9.1, 9.10). 73 Cicero, Amic. 6.20. 74 M. Heath, The Poetics of Greek Tragedy (Stanford: Stanford University Press, 1987), pp. 73–74, as quoted in David Konstan, Friendship in the Classical World (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1997), p. 2. 75 Batten, ‘Unworldly Friendship’, p. 27. 76 Davids, James, p. 165; Martin, James, p. 152; Bauckham, James, pp. 152–55; Moo, James, p. 192; contra Laws, James, pp. 180–81. 67 68

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(ταπειώθετε) in 4.10 recalls the ‘lowly’ (ταπεινoῖς) in 4.6 and thus frames James’ exposition on the second half of the citation:  ‘God gives grace to the lowly’.77 This lexical link ties the following commands to the promise of God’s grace in the text citation in 4.6. Furthermore, the first half of the citation, ‘God resists the proud’, is considered in 4.11–5.6. This is signalled by the connection between 4.6 and 5.6 in the repetition of the rare verb ἀντιτάσσω in both verses.78 Whether or not 4.11–5.6 should be viewed as commentary on the first half of the Prov. 3.34 citation, the lexical connection between ταπεινoῖς/ταπεινώθετε (4.6/4.10) and the related theme of humble submission and repentance clearly draws the citation to the following verses (4.7-10). These second person plural imperatives mark off and state the topic of the section, namely submitting to God in repentance. God’s ‘grace’ is given to the ‘humble’ (4.6); therefore, the readers must ‘submit’ to God (4.7), a notion that is expanded in the rest of the passage (4.7-10). The first steps in submitting to God are to ‘resist the devil’ (4.7b) and ‘draw near to God’ (4.8a). They are to ‘resist the devil’, because, if the community does, James says, ‘he will flee from you’. If the associations hold throughout this section, ‘the devil’ (διαβόλω) is certainly connected to ‘earthly, unspiritual, demonic’ (δαιμονιώδης) wisdom (3.16) that produces ‘disorder’ which manifests itself in the community through conflicts and disputes (4.1), and is ultimately associated with alliance with ὁ κόσμος (4.4).79 Johnson comments:  ‘The devil personifies the negative side of James’ cosmic dualism, the force that influences the kosmos resistant to God’s kingdom.’80 True enough, but what Johnson fails to note is the apt designation of ὁ κόσμος as polluted, ultimately by means of the devil himself. If strife and dissension are the devil’s work, then, in the author’s worldview, it would make reasonable sense to highlight ‘purity’ rather than ‘perfection’. The devil is much more a pollutant than an ‘imperfection’ in this instance. Thus, drawing near to God necessarily entails resisting the devil and the consequent wisdom and alliances associated with him. Significantly the author describes drawing near to God and resisting the devil in terms of purification. The verb ἐγγίζω is often used in the LXX to refer to the priest ‘drawing near’ to God in cultic worship.81 And this image is reinforced by the parallel command: ‘Cleanse your hands, you sinners, and purify your hearts, you doubleminded’ (4.8b). The parallelism may be shown in this way: καθαρίσατε χεῖρας, ἁμαρτωλοί, καὶ ἁγνίσατε καρδίας, δίψυχου.

Luis Alonso Schökel, ‘James 5.2 and 4.6’, Bib 54 (1973), pp. 73–76. Read in light of this lexical connection the subjectless phrase in 5.6 ‘he does not resist you’ (οὐκ ἀντιτάσσεται ὑμῖν), which could either be a statement or a question, may be read in light of the text citation in 4.6. Therefore the subject of the verb in 4.6 may be supplied in 5.6 and rendered as a question rounding off James’ exposition of God’s judgment against the proud. Thus 5.6 would read ‘does he [God] not resist you?’ 79 Failing to resist the devil is associated with being ‘double-minded’. ‘Those who are two-faced are not of God, but they are enslaved to their evil desires, so that they might be pleasing to Beliar and to persons like themselves’ (T. Ash. 3.2). 80 Johnson, James, pp. 283–84. 81 See Exod. 19.21, where the people could not ‘draw near’ to God but in 19.22 the priests could; Lev. 21.21, 23; Deut. 16.16; Isa. 29.13; 58.2; Ezek. 40.46; and in the NT once with this sense in Heb. 7.19: Davids, James, p. 166; Martin, James, p. 153; Johnson, James, p. 284. Moo argues that the cultic metaphor is not in view because later in the same verse God ‘will draw near (ἐγγιεῖ)’ to humans, an idea which disrupts the cultic image (James, p. 195); however the following image of cleansing and purifying again calls attention to the cultic image. 77 78

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The verb ‘cleanse’ (καθαρίζω) is used for priestly removal of defilement in Lev. 16.19-20 and specifically with reference to ‘sins’ in Lev. 16.30 and Sir. 23.10 (also Heb. 9.14, 22, 23; 1 Jn 1.7, 9; 2 Cor. 7.1). Likewise ἁγνίζω is associated with cultic purity (Exod. 19.10; Num. 8.21; 19.12; 31.23). The command is to ‘cleanse your hands’ and ‘purify your hearts’. The reference to both parts of the body is reminiscent of Ps. 24.4 (LXX 23.4) where the one who may ascend the hill of the Lord and stand in his holy place is ‘he who has clean hands and a pure heart’ (ἀθῷος χερσὶν καὶ καθαρὸς τῇ καρδίᾳ). In Jas 4.8 ‘hands’ and ‘heart’ refer to both external behaviour and internal attitude and should not be conflated into a single command to ‘purify yourselves’.82 There was concern for maintaining purity of the hand in the Second Temple period as both the Gospels (Mt. 15.2; Mk 7.2-5) and later rabbinic (m. Yad. 1.1–4.8) discussion indicate. Often the hands could represent one’s actions in general. For example, the phrase ‘from your hand’ in Gen. 4.11 refers to Cain’s immorality; God stretches out his hand to strike Egypt in Exod. 3.20; and in Deut. 2.7 literally ‘in the work of your hands’ is translated ‘in all your undertakings’ in the NRSV. Similarly, the heart is often referred to as the seat of the affections (Gen. 6.5; Deut. 8.2) and the ‘pure heart’ represents a right relationship with God (Ps. 50.10, 12 LXX). In this way James is addressing both the inward disposition (‘purify your hearts’) and the outward moral and social concern (‘cleanse your hands’). Thus part of resisting ‘the devil’ and drawing ‘near to God’, is cleansing/purification. The first line, ‘cleanse your hands’, makes reference to ritual practice but applies it to the social and moral context. The cultic requirements for approaching Israel’s God which were fiercely debated among Jews in the Second Temple period are now figuratively applied to moral and ideological purification required of the one approaching God in spirit.83 The ‘sinners’, those treasonous to God’s covenant and the people of God, are to ‘cleanse’ themselves. The author’s rhetoric implicitly labels the actions (hands) of these ‘sinners’ as impure (associated with both the devil and ὁ κόσμος), and thus in danger. The second line, ‘purify your hearts’, interestingly may refer to the unmixed quality of the heart’s devotion in worship. The stains of the world and the devil affect the readers internally and therefore they must be purified. The logic of the entire passage suggests that the means by which one ‘repents’ or turns from the inappropriate alliance (‘friendship’) with the world is to ‘cleanse’ the hands and ‘purify’ the heart. Again purity, here in the action of cleansing and purification, is set alongside an inappropriate relationship with the world. e. Observations The composition uses purity language eight times and makes one clear allusion to the purity concept of ‘mixed kinds’.84 Though purity references are not numerous (nine references in 108 verses) they appear in key passages of the text. First, there is a compelling cluster of purity terms in the important concluding and transitional aphorism in 1.26-27. Here the author distils the primary wisdom contained in the themes of the prologue by offering an aphorism regarding

Contra Davids, James, pp. 166–67. Bauckham, James, p. 146. 84 ‘Filthiness’, 2.21; ‘pure and undefiled’ and ‘unstained’, in 1.27; ‘stains’, 3.6; ‘pure’, 3.17; ‘cleanse’ and ‘purify’, 4.8. The allusion to ‘mixed kinds’, arguably a category of purity (see Darian Lockett, Purity and Worldview in the Epistle of James [LNTS; London: T&T Clark, 2008], ch. 2), is found in 3.11-12. 82 83

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‘pure and undefiled’ piety; piety in which one must keep ‘unstained’ from ὁ κόσμος. Second, in the pivotal section regarding two kinds of wisdom and their consequent behaviours, the first and most important characteristic of ‘wisdom from above’ is that it is ‘pure’ (3.17). It is important to note that the author chose not to use ‘perfect’ (τέλειος) to describe this wisdom. Because this is a favourite term for the author elsewhere, his choice of words here is all the more significant. Finally, in arguably the sharpest call to repentance in the letter, the author chooses to characterize such repentance as cleansing and purification from alliance with ὁ κόσμος and the devil (4.1-10). The exegesis above suggests that James outlines two competing worldviews or culturally constructed systems which order language and behaviour. The author equates one worldview with ὁ θεός (1.27; 2.5; 4.4) and the other he equates with ὁ κόσμος (1.27; 2.5; 3.6; 4.4 [2x]), or ἐπίγειος (‘earthly’; 3.14-17). Each time James uses ὁ κόσμος it is antithetically contrasted with ὁ θεός as a counter system of order. And in these very contexts, where two systems of order are set in opposition, purity language is frequently used.85 For example, in 1.27 ‘pure and undefiled piety’ is such in ‘the sight of God’ (as opposed to the world) and maintaining such piety entails keeping oneself ‘unstained from the world’.86 Though there is no reference to ὁ θεός, in 3.6 the tongue is an ‘unrighteous world’ able to ‘stain the whole body’. Here the staining influence of the tongue is associated with the unrighteous κόσμος. Wisdom appears in one of two forms; it is either ‘earthly’ (thus associated with ὁ κόσμος) and ‘demonic’ (3.15) creating disorder and instability (3.16), or it comes from God (‘wisdom from above’ [3.17] is, by association, the perfect gift ‘from above’ [1.17] freely given by God when asked in faith [1.5]) and produces peaceableness and mercy (3.17). The ‘wisdom from above’ is ‘first of all pure’ (3.17) in contrast to ‘earthly’ wisdom which creates ‘disorder’ (3.16). ‘Sinners’ and the ‘double-minded’ are told to ‘cleanse your hands’ and ‘purify your hearts’ in order to ‘draw near to God’ (4.8). And in context, this purification is from the staining alliance with ὁ κόσμος (4.4). The composition is not addressed to ‘the world’ but to James’ specific readers, and as such the readers are challenged with regard to particular cultural values of ὁ κόσμος. Bauckham recognizes that the reversal of status in James explicitly challenges contemporary GraecoRoman values: Since material goods and social status were connected with honour (e.g. Aristotle, Rhet. 2.5.7), the poor were generally treated with contempt in the ancient world . . . Patronage (of inferiors by superiors in the social scale) was a pervasive part of the social system, a relationship which forged links of mutual benefit up and down the social hierarchy, benefiting most people except the really poor. Thus the special attention shown to the rich man, as a potential patron of the community, and the contemptuous attitude shown to the poor person, in James’ hypothetical example (2.2-4), are the attitudes to rich and poor which could be expected of ordinary people in the normal social mores of the time. James’ accusation that they are dishonouring or shaming the poor (2.6) reverses the evaluations of the dominant social values.87

The only instance of ὁ κόσμος appearing without reference to purity/impurity in the larger context is 2.5. See Hartin’s comments regarding 1.27: “he is using the imagery and language of purity in order to capture the essential understanding of separation between those who belong to God and those who belong to the world’ (James, p. 109). 87 Bauckham, James, p. 189. See also, Chester and Martin, Theology, pp. 33–34; contra Johnson, Brother of Jesus, p. 232. 85 86

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In this respect, the readers are condemned as lawbreakers when they show preferential treatment toward the rich at the expense of the poor (2.2-9). James’ rhetoric challenges this notion of status (1.9-11; 4.10) indicating the inversion of social stratification associated with the values of ὁ κόσμος. James elevates the poor and lowly along with the attitude of meekness despite their lack of social status and economic power. What Bauckham does not point out is that the sharp contrast between the values of the surrounding culture and James’ readers is mapped by the ‘worldview language’ of purity and pollution. Purity language rhetorically marks the ‘danger’ associated with crossing the line between the two worldviews, or put another way, the danger of not maintaining a distinct boundary between the readers, who are to associate with God, and ὁ κόσμος, the values of the surrounding culture. The composition consistently uses the notion of purity to mark the boundary between two different worldviews: the worldview associated with God and worldview of ὁ κόσμος. As a means of labelling these different worldviews the language of purity is taken up with the rhetorical intent to legitimate one view of reality over against another, which has the effect of bringing the readers to a decision as to which worldview they will adhere to. The concern is to maintain a pure community (with respect to their internal constitution and external boundaries) in the midst of a dominant, contaminating culture. The cartographic line drawn by purity is integral to James’ concern to challenge the counter-cultural community to adhere to God’s measure of reality by strengthening the boundary between them and the values of the ambient culture which are infiltrating their thinking and behaviour and thus is a call to separate from the polluting ‘world’ (ὁ κόσμος). However, this observation alone is not enough to situate the purity language in James. It remains to be demonstrated how the concern for purity, or separation from ὁ κόσμος, is related to another, perhaps the, major theme of the text.

3.  Purity as Integral to Perfection I noted above that purity is neither the only nor the primary lens through which to view James’ worldview. A  growing group of scholars have identified perfection as a key theme running through James.88 There are several terms that denote the idea of perfection/wholeness in the Epistle of James. Most important of these is the τέλ- word group. The foremost term denoting perfection or wholeness that appears in the epistle is the adjective τέλειος (‘perfect’) which appears five times in the text (1.4a, b; 1.17; 1.25; 3.2).89 It is suggestive that in the short 108 verses of James this adjective occurs 5 times out of the total 19 in the rest of the NT. The term is used 3 times in both Matthew and 1 Corinthians, books more than twice the size of James, which again illustrates the significance of the frequent use of the term in such a relatively short

Most recently and comprehensively Cheung identifies ‘perfection’ as the major theme of James (Genre, Composition and Hermeneutics); see also, Martin Klein, ‘Ein vollkommenes Werk’:  Vollkommenheit, Gesetz und Gericht als theologische Themen des Jakobusbriefes (BWANT, 7/19; Stuttgart:  Kohlhammer, 1995); Moo, James, p.  46; Hartin, Spirituality of Perfection; Bauckham, James, pp. 177–85; Martin, James, pp. lxxix–lxxxii; Josef Zmijewski, ‘Christliche “Vollkommenheit”:  Erwägungen zur Theologie des Jakobusbriefes’, SNTU 5 (1980), pp.  50–78; Elliott, ‘HolinessWholeness’; Laws, James, pp. 28–32. 89 The term appears a total of 19 times in the NT: 5 time in James, 5 times in the undisputed Pauline epistles (Rom. 12.2; 1 Cor. 2.6, 13.10, 14.20; Phil. 3.15), the term also appears in Mt. 5.48 (2x); 19.21; Eph. 4.13; Col. 1.28; 4.12; Heb. 5.14; 9.11; 1 Jn 4.18. 88

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work. Strategically, τέλειος appears with other key terms in James: ἔργον (1.4; 2.22), πίστις (2.22), and νόμος (1.25; 2.8; cf. 2.10 ὅλον τὸν νόμον).90 In addition to the adjective τέλειος, the text contains 2 τέλ-related verbs: τελέω (‘complete’, or ‘fulfill’; 2.8) and τελειόω (‘accomplish’, or ‘carry out’; 2.22), both of which are common verbs appearing several times in the NT. The concentration of τέλ-related words in James is suggestive of the concept’s importance to the theme of the letter. In addition to the concentration of the τέλ-based word group, James contains other terms that denote the idea of completeness or wholeness. In the important opening passage of 1.2-4, the author of James not only uses τέλειος twice but he also uses the synonym ὁλόκληρος (‘whole’ or ‘intact’) which conveys the idea of being complete or meeting every expectation. This term is paired with the participial phrase ‘lacking nothing’ (ἐν μηδενὶ λειπόμενοι),91 and both concepts relating wholeness or completeness in every respect are applied directly to the individual (as τέλειος in 3.2). The entire complex of terms which convey wholeness or perfection stand in opposition to terms relating imperfection or lack of wholeness. The epistle expresses this antithesis with the adjectives δίψυχος (‘double-minded’; 1.8; 4.8) and ἀκατάστατος (‘unstable’, or ‘restless’; 1.8; 3.8; cf. 3.16 where the substantive ἀκαταστοσία is used). John Elliott understands that the purity/pollution language replicates the wholeness/ dividedness, or τέλειος language in James, a notion largely followed by Hartin. Elliott asserts:  ‘concepts of pollution and purity .  .  . are used to summarize the exhortations regarding incompleteness and integrity, division and wholeness’, and furthermore: ‘concepts of pollution and purity, division and wholeness, may be merged in an effort to address the issues of distinctive Christian identity, responsibility, social cohesion, and social boundaries’.92 Yet, predicated upon the exegesis above, should one conclude that the perfection language in James, like the purity language, is calling for separation from ὁ κόσμος? Are, as Elliott’s thesis claims, wholeness/perfection replicated by purity/pollution or are these related yet distinct concepts? I contend that Elliott is correct in identifying the important relationship between perfection and purity; however, I contend that one cannot understand the ‘call to perfection’, as Cheung has called it, without a proper understanding of James’ concern for purity. Elliott’s claim that purity language replicates the perfection blunts our understanding instead of sharpening it. Rather than conflating these concepts, as Elliott does, perfection and purity are distinct, yet dynamically related conditions. The primary concern for purity in James focuses upon the audience’s relationship with the surrounding culture (ὁ κόσμος) and their internal coherence. Interaction (1.27) and alliance (4.4, 8)  with ὁ κόσμος is deemed a source of defilement for James’ readers. The overall notion of perfection in James is that of resolute devotion to God, the opposite of ‘double-mindedness’. The contrast between τέλειος and δίψυχος refers to the relationship between James’ readers and God; they either may be wholehearted, single-minded in devotion, or irresolute, double-minded in their relationship with God.93 Perfection, as it See also the connection of τέλειος with σοϕία in the section 1.2-5, 17. Zmijewski (‘Christliche Wollkommenheit’, p. 52) adds ὅλος to the list of key words denoting perfection/wholeness. 92 Elliott, ‘Holiness-Wholeness’, p. 74. 93 Bauckham notes:  ‘The overarching theme of James is “perfection” or “wholeness” (1.4). Wholeness requires wholehearted and single-minded devotion to God, and its opposite is that half-heartedness in devotion to God and that divided loyalty, vacillating between God and the world, which James calls double-mindedness (1.8; 4.8)’ (James, p. 146). 90 91

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were, renders the readers wholly unto God and thus makes them holy. On the other hand, double-mindedness is an indication of lack of devotion, the consequence (not condition) of maintaining an alliance with the world. Note that the composition uses the notion of δίψυχος not ‘impurity’ in direct contrast with perfection. Thus, it is only when James’ readers maintain a degree of separation from ὁ κόσμος (thus achieving purity) that they are able to begin to achieve perfection. It is only when readers ‘cleanse’ their hands and ‘purify’ their hearts that they are able to start down the road to perfection (4.8). Where the readers align themselves with the world, in James’ view, there can only be imperfection (= ‘double-mindedness’) and ultimately eschatological ‘death’ (1.15; 5.20). Whereas separating from ὁ κόσμος, by means of ‘pure’ wisdom, leads to perfection and wholeness (1.4) and ultimately eschatological ‘life’ (1.12). There is no indication in the text that one can ally with ὁ κόσμος and expect to be τέλειος. Yet one must do more than separate from ὁ κόσμος to be τέλειος. Thus purity is the necessary, yet not sufficient, condition for achieving perfection. Where it is true that to be wholeheartedly devoted to God entails that one is separated from ‘the world’, the converse, that separation from the world necessarily entails that one is wholehearted in devotion to God, is not true. Mere separation from the surrounding culture without respect to one’s devotion to God is hardly James’ concern. It is only as separation from ὁ κόσμος serves the objective of wholehearted devotion to God (perfection), that James’ antagonism toward the world is understood. Here, unlike Elliott, I claim that perfection is not replicated by the notions of purity and pollution, which rather are related yet separable concepts working together in the text. Rather than wholeness (perfection) language being ‘replicated’ in purity/pollution, the evidence indicates that purity in James’ understanding is a necessary condition for perfection. Closer to the point are Bauckham’s comments regarding the relationship between perfection and purity. The use of purity ‘belongs to this aspect of wholeness as exclusion: purity must be preserved by removing and keeping untainted by anything that would defile’.94 Bauckham also adds a decisive comment regarding the particular function of purity language: But it is important to notice that [purity] does not seem to be used to draw a sociological boundary around the community, distinguishing insiders from outsiders in order to reinforce the community’s sense of self-identity. Self-identity, as we shall see, is secured with reference to God as the focus and integrating point of the community’s wholeness, rather than by a negative delineating of themselves over against others. As a counter-cultural community, the church is distinctive, but is not at pains to secure this distinctiveness in social separateness.95 The specific issue of how purity functions to encircle James’ readers and thereby gives them a particular identity, namely what James means by purity as separation from ὁ κόσμος, is an issue I cannot take up fully here. However, I will say that though purity in James does envisage a boundary which strengthens (or calls forth) a ‘countercultural’ stance toward the reader’s ambient culture, it is not at all clear that this is indicative of a sectarian line of

Bauckham, James, p. 180. Bauckham, James, p. 180.

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separation.96 Furthermore, elsewhere I  have argued that James’ call to create or maintain boundaries does not entail that the identity of James’ readers is secured by delineating themselves over against enemies or ‘outsiders’.97 Based upon the exegesis above it is clear that James’ call to separation (the call to ‘purity’) is distinct from, yet integrally related to, the call to perfection in the text. It is insufficient to view their relationship in terms of replication because a significant segment of James’ worldview is obscured from view  – if purity merely replicates perfection the call to separate from the values and worldview of ὁ κόσμος is eclipsed.

4. Conclusion James employs the line-drawing language of purity/pollution to map out a proper construal of reality – labeling the values associated with ὁ κόσμος as impure or ‘dangerous’. Where the worldview associated with God is labeled ‘pure and undefiled’, the worldview of ὁ κόσμος is the source of pollution (‘stain’, 1.27; 3.6). The call to cleanse and purify (4.8) is a call to create or maintain a boundary between James’ readers and surrounding culture. The community’s proximity to ὁ κόσμος has been seen to directly impact their ability to attain perfection, or wholehearted devotion to God. Thus one cannot understand the concern for perfection in James without a proper understanding of purity. While the purity concern in James specifically calls forth some kind of separation from ὁ κόσμος, the purity language alone does not indicate the kind or degree of separation. Does the call to cleanse oneself from ὁ κόσμος demand sectarian separation or partial separation? And what specifically are readers to separate from when they refuse alliance with ὁ κόσμος? These follow-on questions must be considered in order to complete James’ purity geography. Though there is hardly space to take up these questions here, I  have argued elsewhere that James’ purity lines do not chart a defensive community blindly separating itself from the rest of the world. The overall stance toward the surrounding culture need not, as others have argued, be indicative of sectarian separation. I  have observed that where James highlights particular points of separation from the world (significantly mapped by purity language), there are indications of broader cultural accommodation. Taking up the specific alien values of patron–client relationships and the misuse of the tongue are the only two cultural values clearly plotted as ‘dangerous’ upon James’ map. Thus James ought not be read as promoting sectarian separation from the world but only the specific separation from particular alien values embodied in the ambient culture.98 It is telling that James’ readers need such a strong note of warning to renounce alliance with the world and maintain (or create) a sense of boundary between themselves and the values, attitudes and actions derived from the world. Failing to take note of purity and pollution as line-drawing language – or ‘worldview’ language – results in a distorted vision of the contours

Contra Wall, Community of the Wise, pp.  14–15; Elliott, ‘Holiness-Wholeness’; and Ben Witherington, Jesus the Sage: The Pilgrimage of Wisdom (Minneapolis: Fortress, 1994), p. 246. 97 Lockett, Purity and Worldview, ch. 5. 98 Lockett, Purity and Worldview. 96

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of James’ overall map of reality. Thus the analysis of the purity language in James provides a helpful vantage point on the text’s cultural stance. James’ theo-centric map draws human behaviour in terms of ‘perfect’ relationship to God, which, as a consequence, calls for separation from ὁ κόσμος – namely, to strengthen the too loosely defined lines marking off the values and actions which are ‘pure and undefiled before God’ from those originating from a polluting ‘friendship with the world’.

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1 PETER 4.16: SHAME, EMOTION, AND CHRISTIAN SELF-PERCEPTION *

Katherine M. Hockey

Emotions are one of the ways that we, as humans, navigate our world and make sense of our place within it. Therefore, if we want to understand more about early Christian self-understanding, we must take account of early Christian emotion. Due to a modern focus on rational thought, emotions have frequently been sidelined in biblical studies, being viewed as irrational and bodily, and therefore of little use for investigating the content of biblical discourse. However, over the last three decades psychologists and philosophers have persuasively argued that emotions are cognitive and evaluative, thus not irrational or arbitrary. As Stephen Barton correctly recognizes, This implies that study of early Christian emotions offers a window on the ethos, ethics, and identity of Christianity in a crucial formative period in a way that supplements traditional approaches.1 Shame, an emotion that focuses on the self, is a particularly useful emotion for investigating early Christian identity. John Elliott and Barth Campbell have previously identified the importance of honour and shame in 1 Peter.2 However, by tending to emphasize the honour ascribed to the audience, neither adequately reveals the importance of shame language. For example, in 4.16 where the author says, ‘but if you suffer as a Christian, do not be ashamed’, Campbell reads the shame terminology in the positive as a bestowal of honour: [B]‌ut if they unjustly suffer for Christ, such suffering is honourable and the sufferer ought not to count it shame, but as an honor.3 Honour terms are important for affirming, theologically and rhetorically, the positive identity of the audience. However, to read μὴ αἰσχυνέσθω (do not feel ashamed) as, in effect, ‘honoured’ fails to appreciate what the shame language in particular is doing.4 This essay will demonstrate that it is, in fact, the shame language in 4.16 that is most useful for shaping the believers’ understanding of their Christian identity.5

This research was funded by AHRC, UK. S. C. Barton, ‘Eschatology and the Emotions in Early Christianity’, JBL 130 (2011): 578. 2 J. H. Elliott, ‘Disgraced Yet Graced:  The Gospel according to 1 Peter in the Key of Honor and Shame’, BTB 25 (1995): 166–78; B. L. Campbell, Honor, Shame, and the Rhetoric of 1 Peter, SBLDS 160 (Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1998). 3 Campbell, Honor, 212. 4 Elliott demonstrates more awareness of the role of shame in an honour-shame culture. 5 Since the 1980s there has been much scholarship on honour and shame as a socio-cultural phenomenon in the ancient world, notably influenced by Bruce J. Malina’s The New Testament World: Insights from Cultural Anthropology. I will not enter this discussion here. I am interested in shame as an emotion and its function within the discourse of *

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Before addressing shame specifically, it is necessary to lay some theoretical foundations: (1) what I  mean by ‘emotion’ and (2)  what aspects of emotion can be examined in an ancient text. For our purposes, ‘emotion’ refers to a ‘class of affective processes’. Thus, ‘an emotion’ is one type of that class.6 Contrary to popular usage, ‘emotion’ does not mean a ‘feeling’, but categorizes a mental and physiological process.7 As Moors details, an emotion includes: (a) a cognitive component; (b) a feeling component, referring to emotional experience; (c)  a motivational component, consisting of action tendencies or states of action readiness (e.g. tendencies to flee or fight); (d) a somatic component, consisting of central and peripheral physiological responses; (e) a motor component, consisting of expressive behaviour (e.g. fight and flight and facial and vocal expressions). These components correspond to functions such as:  (a) stimulus evaluation or appraisal; (b)  monitoring (which may serve the further function of control or regulation); (c)  preparation and support of action; and (d) action.8 However, due to working with an ancient text, certain components are inaccessible. We cannot ascertain the physical experience of the audience nor observe its bodily expressions. Consequently, our discussion will be constrained to stimulus (object), appraisal (evaluation) and action tendency. Furthermore, we are not dealing with the audience’s actual emotion, but its idealized emotion as concretized by the author. As noted above, I  take a cognitive view of emotion, understanding an emotion to be an evaluative judgement (or appraisal) about the salience of an intentional object for one’s attainment of goals.9 At a basic level this includes ascribing a value (good or bad) to the object and assessing whether the object is beneficial or detrimental to one’s flourishing. Subsequently, each emotion can be differentiated by its judgement and resulting action tendency.10 Therefore, reflexively, through appreciating which emotion is being employed, we can understand how the object is being evaluated and the implications of this for the audience’s behaviour. Furthermore, anthropologists, such as Catherine Lutz, have shown that emotions, because of their intertwining with values and goals, are not universal, but are culturally constructed.11 This the letter. I hope that, in keeping the argument clear of this secondary discussion, the function of the emotion can stand prominently in view. 6 K. Mulligan and K. R. Scherer, ‘Toward a Working Definition of Emotion’, Emotion Review 4 (2012): 345. 7 See Mulligan and Scherer, ‘Working Definition’, 345, 353–5. 8 A. Moors, ‘Theories of Emotion Causation:  A Review’, Cognition and Emotion 23 (2009):  626; cf. Mulligan and Scherer, ‘Working Definition’, 346, 352; R. S. Lazarus, ‘Progress on a Cognitive-Motivational-Relational Theory of Emotion’, American Psychologist 46 (1991): 822. 9 Intentional’ because it is the object as it is viewed by the person experiencing the emotion; M. C. Nussbaum, Upheavals of Thought: The Intelligence of Emotions (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2001), 27. 10 In this understanding of emotion, I  follow psychologists such as Richard Lazarus and Nico Frijda along with philosophical cognitivists such as Martha Nussbaum and Robert Solomon. See R. S. Lazarus et al., ‘Towards a Cognitive Theory of Emotion’, in Feelings and Emotions: The Loyola Symposium, ed. Magda Arnold (New York: Academic Press, 1970), 207–32; N. H. Frijda et al., ‘Relations Among Emotion, Appraisal, and Emotional Action Readiness’, Journal of Personality and Social Psychology 57 (1989): 212–28; R. C. Solomon, The Passions: Emotions and the Meaning of Life (Indianapolis: Hackett Publishing Company, 1993). See also A. Moors et al., ‘Appraisal Theories of Emotion: State of the Art and Future Development’, Emotion Review 5 (2013): 119–24. 11 See C. A. Lutz, Unnatural Emotions: Everyday Sentiments on a Micronesian Atoll & their Challenge to Western Theory (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1988). Lutz acknowledges that she is building of the work of Jean Briggs, Robert Levy and Michelle Z. Rosaldo.

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Table 1 Stoic primary emotions Πάθος Ευπάθεια

Object

Present

Future

Perceived Good Perceived Bad Well-reasoned Good Well-reasoned Bad

ἡδονή (Pleasure) λύπη (Distress) χαρά (Joy)

ἐπιθυμία (Desire) φόβος (Fear) βούλησις (Will) εὐλάβεια (Caution)

cultural construction influences both the naming and categorizing of emotion and the social negotiation of emotion through which ‘emotion rules’ are established. Such emotion rules tell the person how she should position herself in relation to objects and infer the appropriate action to take on account of this.12 Consequently, if emotions are culturally-constructed, we cannot assume that we automatically have the same understanding of each emotion as the ancients. Therefore, to be historically and culturally sensitive in our investigation of 1 Peter 4.16 we must first locate shame within the emotional repertoire of the time. This will require two things: (1) defining shame (αἰσχύνη) and (2) identifying the scenarios in which shame was typically thought to be appropriate.

Locating Shame The Stoics provide the most thorough examination of emotion in the ancient world. Therefore, because they are the most comprehensive and because by the 1st century ce Stoicism was a highly influential philosophical school particularly with regard to ethics (under which emotions fall), we will utilize Stoic sources to help determine the shape of shame.13 Aristotle, though 4th century bce, will also be of use, because he provides a detailed treatment of shame in On Rhetoric and because his ideas appear to have been referenced by later schools. From these sources we will tease out the basic components of shame to inform our analysis of 1 Peter.14 According to the Stoics, there were four primary negative emotions  – the passions (πάθη):  ἡδονή, ἐπιθυμία, λύπη and φόβος  – and three counterpart good emotions  – the εὐπαθεῖαι: χαρά, βούλησις and εὐλάβεια. They were related as shown in Table 1. Other emotions were grouped under these primary emotion categories. Shame (αἰσχύνη) was listed under φόβος as a kind of fear. Shame is defined as follows:

See O. Riis and L. Woodhead, A Sociology of Religious Emotion (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2010) for more on the social construction and implications of an ‘emotional regime’. 13 See F. H. Sandbach, The Stoics, 2nd edn (Bristol:  Bristol Press, 1989), 16; A. A.  Long, ‘The Socratic Legacy’, in The Cambridge History of Hellenistic Philosophy, ed. Keimpe Algra, et al. (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2005), 617. 14 Of course, this requires being aware of Stoicism’s particular perspective on emotions generally. In using Stoic sources for ascertaining a definition of shame, we will seek to separate out the Stoic nuancing from the basic definition, so as not to import specifically Stoic perspectives onto our reading of 1 Peter. 12

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Αἰσχύνη δὲ φόβος ἀδοξίας. Shame is fear of ill repute / dishonour (Andronicus, [Pass.] 3 = SVF 3.409).15 Thus, we must also detail fear: φόβος δὲ ἄλογος ἔκκλισις· ἤ φυγὴ ἀπὸ προσδοκωμένου δεινοῦ. Fear is an irrational shrinking [aversion], or avoidance of an expected danger (Andronicus, [Pass.] 1 = SVF 3.391 [trans. Long and Sedley]; cf. Cicero, Tusc. 4.7.14–15). We can outline three things from this definition of fear: (1) fear is future- orientated; (2) it judges the object as bad or harmful and therefore as detrimental to one’s goals; and (3) its action tendency is avoidance. Two of these three elements can be applied to shame: shame expects harm, specifically dishonour, and therefore evaluates dishonour negatively as detrimental to the person;16 further, as a kind of fear, shame encourages avoidance of harm. However, the temporal aspect of shame is harder to discern as Aristotle evidences: ἔστω δὴ αἰσχύνη λύπη τις ἢ ταραχὴ περὶ τὰ εἰς ἀδοξίαν φαινόμενα φέρειν τω ˜ν κακω ˜ ν, ἢ παρόντων ἢ γεγονότων ἢ μελλόντων, Let shame [aiskhynē] be [defined as] a sort of pain and agitation concerning the class of evils, whether present or past or future, that seem to bring a person into disrespect (Rhet. 2.6, 1383b12–14, trans. Kennedy).17 Aristotle’s definition also reveals that shame is concerned with certain evils (τῶν κακῶν). These ‘evils’ are ‘misdeeds’, specifically vice-ridden actions (Rhet. 2.6; 1383b).18 Aristotle goes on to list behaviour that would be so categorized, including one’s own actions or the wrongful actions of one’s associates (see Rhet. 2.6; 1383b15–18; 1384a9–15; 1385a37–39; cf. Seneca Ep. 95.9).19 Therefore, it is clear that wrong actions are what bring someone into disrepute and are productive of shame.20 If Aristotle is correct, then shame highlights a person’s behaviour and associations, categorizing them as negative. If we follow this reasoning, shame must be deeply cultural, for how can one assess what behaviour is deviant and therefore worthy of shame without having some standard to evaluate it by? The cultural group in which one lives – and, more importantly, to which one subscribes – provides the framework for such categorization. From the above we can also identify that the object of shame is the self. Thus, shame provides an evaluation of the emotion bearer herself. Modern theorist Gabriele Taylor has termed shame an emotion of self-assessment. As Taylor comments:

Cf. Diogenes Laertius 7.112 = SVF 3.407 and Stobaeus 2.92 = SVF 3.408. This is typical of an honour-shame culture in which honour is the highest commodity. Cf. Cicero Tusc. 2.24.58-9; Elliott, ‘Disgraced’, 168–9. 17 Aristotle uses both αισχύνη and αἰδώς to refer to types of shame. In Eth. nic. 4.9, 1128b10–12 he defines αἰδώς as φόβος τις ἀδοξίας. Thus, for Aristotle, like the Stoics, shame can exhibit qualities of fear. 18 See J. H. Freese’s translation (Loeb Classical Library 193). 19 For Aristotle, the wrongful actions are due to faults of character such as cowardice, injustice and licentiousness. Cf. Epictetus, Diatr. 3.26.1. 20 Cf. D. Konstan, The emotions of the Ancient Greeks: Studies in Aristotle and Classical Literature (Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 2006), 100–1; Nemesius De Natura Hominis 20 (SVF 3.416) who links shame with shameful deeds. For Epictetus, one can be ashamed on account of both thinking (ἐνθυμούμενος) and doing (ποιῶν) (Diatr. 2.8.14). 15 16

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[I]‌n experiencing one of these emotions [pride, humiliation, shame and guilt] the person concerned believes of herself that she has deviated from some norm and that in doing so she has altered her standing in the world. The self is the ‘object’ of these emotions, and what is believed amounts to an assessment of that self.21 Yet, even though the self is the object, the other is also very important. This is because, with shame, the self is assessed from the socio-cultural perspective of the other.22 Hence, shame requires an audience, for, as Taylor puts it, ‘feeling shame is connected with the thought that eyes are upon one.’23 Aristotle had recognized this, commenting: They are also more ashamed of things that are done before their eyes and in broad daylight; whence the proverb, ‘The eyes are the abode of shame’. That is why they feel more ashamed before those who are likely to be always with them or who keep watch upon them, because in both cases they are under the eyes of others. (Rhet. 2.6, 1384a33– 1384b1, [Freese, LCL]) How one is seen is crucial. It is not enough for there to be a ‘seeing’ audience; there has to be a ‘judging’ one.24 Only through seeing oneself from the other’s critical viewpoint can the person recognize her behaviour as outside expected norms and therefore shameful.25 Since one views the self by the standards of the other, shame also gives a person a sense of her place in the world, thus shaping identity. In an honour-shame culture it is not easy to distinguish between self-esteem and public esteem. If honour is the primary way to know one’s value, then loss of honour inevitably means loss of self-value and identity.26 Of course, one has to value the audience for shame to occur. Aristotle recognizes this when he comments that one only feels ashamed before those one esteems and therefore whose opinion one cares about (Rhet. 2.6, 1384a21–25 cf. 2.6, 1384b23–26; Eth. eud.3.7.3, 1233b26–29; cf. also Epictetus, Diatr. 3.9.7).27 The other here is the ‘honour-group’ to which one subscribes and by whose norms one judges oneself.28 Therefore, an occurrence of shame allows us to see, reflexively, which ‘honour-group’ the person is valuing and subsequently the standards to which the self is subscribed and those by which it is judged. This leads to the final aspect of shame. For shame to occur, one has to accept the judgement on the self from the viewpoint of the other.29 This means seeing oneself as deviant and devalued. Therefore, shame does not just make a judgement about one’s actions; it judges the self. With this understanding of shame, we can turn to the significance of shame language in 1 Peter.

G. Taylor, Pride, Shame, and Guilt: Emotions of Self Assessment (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1985), 1. Cf. Taylor, Pride, 54. 23 Taylor, Pride, 53; cf. Konstan, Emotions, 103. 24 Taylor, Pride, 60, 64–5. 25 Taylor, Pride, 58; cf. Epictetus, Diatr. 4.1.18; Seneca, Ep. 94.44. 26 Taylor, Pride, 55; see also Elliott, ‘Disgraced’, 168. 27 Cf. Elliott, ‘Disgraced’, 168. The individual may care about the other’s judgement purely for the sake of status, or she may desire to appear honourable because she needs the esteem of the other to secure necessary goods (Rhet. 2.6, 1384b27–31). In either of these scenarios, the other is given power. 28 Taylor, Pride, 55. 29 Taylor, Pride, 56–7. 21 22

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Shaping Self-Assessment In 1 Peter 4.14–16 the author says: If you are reproached for the name of Christ (εἰ ὀνειδίζεσθε ἐν ὀνόματι Χριστοῦ), you are blessed because the spirit of glory and of God rests on you. But do not let anyone among you suffer as a murderer, thief, wrongdoer, or as a meddler; but if as a Christian (ὡς Χριστιανός), do not be ashamed (μὴ αἰσχυνέσθω), but glorify God in this name.30 Earlier, in 2.6, the author uses Isaiah 28.16 to declare that whoever believes in Christ will not be put to shame. Here, in 4.16, he addresses the audience’s own subjective emotional stance.31 The use of αἰσχύνω in the passive can mean to be dishonoured, but often means to feel ashamed.32 We have established that shame is occasioned by behaviour that is judged to be a transgression of group norms. In 4.16 feeling ashamed is explicitly linked to suffering as a Christian (ὡς Χριστιανός).33 Thus, it is evident that the ‘misdeed’ the author is encouraging his hearers not to be ashamed of is their association with Christ. That it is their allegiance to Christ, rather than their suffering, that is potentially shameful is indicated in 4.14 where the audience is reproached ἐν ὀνόματι Χριστοῦ (‘on account of Christ’).34 Moreover, suffering as a Christian is contrasted with suffering as a murderer (φονεύς), thief (κλέπτης), wrongdoer (κακοποιός) and meddler (ἀλλοτριεπίσκοπος). It is notable that these terms attribute an identity to the person.35 It does not say on account of murder, theft, or doing evil. The focus is identity demonstrated in behaviour. The identity terms used could even be said to be identity labels usually ascribed by others. So, thus far, we can conclude, rather simply, that the author is exhorting the believers not to be ashamed of their Christian identity.36 But, given our understanding of shame, what more can we learn from this? Why might the author deem this emotional exhortation necessary? At this point, it is worth noting that the author’s presentation is in the negative: he is highlighting See P. J. Achtemeier, 1 Peter: A Commentary on First Peter, Hermeneia (Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 1996), 303; J. H. Elliott, 1 Peter: A New Translation with Commentary, AB 37B (New York: Doubleday, 2000), 796; D. G. Horrell, ‘The Label Χριστιανός (1 Pet. 4.16): Suffering, Conflict, and the Making of Christian Identity’, in Becoming Christian: Essays on 1 Peter and the Making of Christian Identity, LNTS 394 (London:  T&T Clark, 2013), 179–81 for why, due to manuscript evidence and context, ὀνόματι is to be preferred over μέρει (NA28). Contra J. R. Michaels, 1 Peter, WBC 49 (Nashville: Thomas Nelson, 1988), 269–70. 31 Cf. Mk. 8.38; Phil. 1.20; 2 Tim. 1.12; Michaels, 1 Peter, 269; Elliott, 1 Peter, 794–5; contra Achtemeier who thinks that αἰσχύνω refers to denying one’s faith rather than a subjective feeling; see also N. Brox, Der Erste Petrusbrief, EKKNT 21 (Zürich: Benziger Verlag, 1979), 221–2. Achtemeier misses the connection that it is the subjective feeling of shame that leads towards the actions of denial (see discussion below); Achtemeier, 1 Peter, 314. 32 See ‘αἰσχύνω’ in BDAG (30), which lists 1 Peter 4.16 under ‘to have a sense of shame, be ashamed’; cf. LSJ (43) which lists the passive as ‘to be ashamed, feel shame’ and ‘more commonly, to be ashamed at a thing’. 33 This verse provides one of the oldest references to the term ‘Christian’ (cf. Acts 11.26; 26.28). According to Feldmeier, it provides the earliest reference to the ‘stigmatization and criminalization .  .  . connected to this designation’; R. Feldmeier, The First Letter of Peter: A Commentary on the Greek Text, trans. Peter H. Davids (Waco, TX: Baylor University Press, 2008), 227; cf. Brox, Petrusbrief, 221. See Horrell, ‘Χριστιανός’, 165–76 for the origins of the term. 34 Cf. Mt. 10.22; Lk. 6.22; Michaels, 1 Peter, 264. See Elliott, 1 Peter, 780–1 who argues that ἐν ὀνόματι Χριστοῦ means ‘because you belong to, are affiliated with, Christ’. Horrell’s comments on the etymology of Χριστιανός suggest that the designation specifically indicates dependence on or allegiance to Christ; Horrell, ‘Χριστιανός’, 165–6. 35 Achtemeier, 1 Peter, 309. 36 However, Horrell has shown that this is not such a simple point after all, for 1 Peter 4.16 ‘represents the earliest witness to the crucial process whereby the term [Χριστιανός] was transformed from a hostile label applied by outsiders to a self-designation borne with honour’; Horrell, ‘Χριστιανός’, 165. 30

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shame’s judgement and declaring it void. Consequently, we can detail what shame would assert and understand that the author is emphasizing the opposite. Firstly, the object of shame is the self. Thus, through highlighting this emotion, the author is pinpointing the believers’ self-perception. Their understanding of the self is likely being shaped by their experience of reproach and persecution.37 So, through tying shame to suffering as a Christian and subsequently refuting the appropriateness of shame, the author is asking the believers to re-evaluate the situation and subsequently their own identity. Secondly, shame categorizes the believers’ behaviour as a deviation from accepted norms.38 Thus, by denying shame, the author is stating that being associated with Christ is appropriate, not miscreant behaviour. To be ashamed of their Christian identity would be to agree that their allegiance to Christ is deviant and that reproach is fitting. The author categorically refutes this. Furthermore, by removing shame, the author also nullifies the harm that shame would fear, whether this is the harm of dishonour or the loss of goods that dishonour might bring. From the author’s perspective, there is no true negative outcome of being associated with Christ. In fact, Christ is the only route to the good (e.g. salvation, inheritance, divine protection; 1.3– 5, 7–9). Here we can recall 2.4–7 in which Christ is presented as chosen and honoured by God. The believers set themselves apart from non-believers and show their agreement with God’s judgements by recognizing the value of Christ. As they do so, they partake in Christ’s honour and life. Thus, in severing the link between shame and being a Christian, the author is re-affirming the value of Christ for the believer. Lastly, we know that shame requires a critical other. The mention of reproach (4.14) and suffering (4.13, 15) implies that this section is concerned with the relationship between the believers and their hostile neighbours. Furthermore, Horrell has shown that Χριστιανός is the negative label applied to believers by outsiders as a form of stigma, and Elliott notes that ὀνειδίϛω is ‘the standard term for abuse and public shaming’.39 Therefore, the most plausible judging eyes in this context are those of surrounding society.40 Consequently, it is this society’s critical assessments that are being scrutinized by the use of shame language. Moreover, because the others’ evaluations are based on the norms and values of their culture, by denying shame the author is refusing to allow this cultural framework to provide the standard for the believers’ behaviour and identity. The result is that the negative opinion of the hostile other is devalued and the supporting norms are torn down.41 In negating shame, the author counters the hostile other’s viewpoint and assessment. In fact, he declares the exact opposite: suffering on account of Christ reveals that they are blessed and that the spirit of glory and of God rests upon them.42 So, what are the consequences of our three outlined observations? To this we can now turn. For more on the types of persecution that the Christians could have experienced, see T. B. Williams, Persecution in 1 Peter: Differentiating and Contextualizing Early Christian Suffering, NovTSup 145 (Leiden: Brill, 2012). 38 If Horrell is right that Χριστιανός was used as a form of stigma, then the label itself discredits the person ‘in terms of the wider society’s values and assumptions’; Horrell, ‘Χριστιανός’, 198. 39 Horrell, ‘Χριστιανός’, 167–9; Elliott, 1 Peter, 775, 778–9; see also Michaels, 1 Peter, 268; Achtemeier, 1 Peter, 313. 40 At other points in the letter the judging eyes are God’s (1.17; 2.6; 3.16; 4.17). 41 Cf. Elliott, 1 Peter, 795. Thus, there is more taking place here than simply breaking with the social principle of syncretism; see L. Goppelt, A Commentary on I  Peter, ed. Ferdinand Hahn, trans. John E. Alsup (Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 1993), 328. 42 For Holloway this is a clear example of an ‘emotion-focussed’ coping strategy, where the author seeks ‘to regulate the internal psychological effects of stigma and stigma-related outcomes.’ One way of doing this is restructuring one’s self-concept; P. A. Holloway, Coping with Prejudice:  1 Peter in Social- Psychological Perspective, WUNT 244 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2009), 122, 226. 37

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Implications for the Believer The implications can be split into three categories: sociological, ethical and therapeutic. Sociological The most important sociological consequence is the change in the relative importance of the critical other. The believers were part of their surrounding society and would have understood their identity in relation to it. Furthermore, they would have shared the view of reality and adopted the standards of the socio-cultural group into which they had been socialized. However, the Christ-event has given them a new view of reality and brought a new framework of norms centred on God (1.3–5, 14–21). Through denying shame the believers are asked to see the world, including their behaviour and their status, no longer through the critical eyes of the hostile other. Consequently, the importance of the hostile other’s opinion is denied. Instead, negating shame suggests another viewpoint provides truth. For the author, this is God’s perspective (cf. 2.4–10). Subsequently, God’s critical eyes usurp the assessments of the other.43 This displacement of the human other in favour of God also affects the believers’ sense of group belonging and identity. The believers now have a new ‘honour-group’ – God and his people (2.10) – whose judgements are significant.44 The revaluing of the hostile others’ opinions is seeking to affect the believers’ desire to be associated with them. If the outsiders’ judgements and their supporting norms are misguided, and subsequently their behaviour deviant (2.7–8; 3.16), why would one want to be accepted by this group? Rather, the denial of shame suggests that the author is encouraging an emotional detachment from surrounding society.45 For, where the other is devalued, the emotional response to the other is altered because her significance for one’s flourishing has been reduced. Here, negating shame asks the believers not to care so strongly about the opinion of the hostile other and therefore indicates that their relationship with the other is less important to the believers’ flourishing than their allegiance to Christ. Over time this will likely reduce the strength of bonds between the believer and their society and will bolster new in-group bonds.46 Thus, it is precisely because of their desire to associate with God through Christ that the believers stand alienated from their previous socio-cultural groups.47 As Horrell comments, An ironic and surely unintended consequence . . . of the outsiders’ hostile labelling of believers as Χριστιανοί is that it confirms and increases the salience of this aspect of the insiders’ shared social identity, increases the extent to which this facet of their identity

God’s judgement becomes more explicit in 4.17–19 that immediately follows. See 3.8; 4.7–11; 5.5 45 Such disidentification is typical of those coping with prejudice; see Holloway, Coping, 126–7. 46 Awareness of their communal identity is ‘an essential element in their coping with the abuse of outsiders and presenting a collective front of resistance’; Elliott, 1 Peter, 444. 47 See Feldmeier, Peter, 132. The polarization of believer and non-believer in 2.4–10 (Brox, Petrusbrief, 95; J. Schlosser, La Première Épître de Pierre, CBNT 21 (Paris:  Les Éditions du Cerf, 2011), 126)  is likely to produce social and eventually emotional detachment. 43 44

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defines their commonality and sense of belonging together, increases, indeed, their sense that this badge is the one they must own or deny in the face of hostility.48 What the above treatment of shame has added to Horrell’s insights is a recognition that in 4.16 there is a shift in the evaluating/valued audience. Those who have applied the term Χριστιανός as a means of censure are no longer the objects of concern. Instead, through addressing the emotion of shame, the author asks the audience to internalize a reality in which allegiance to Christ is of most value. Moreover, denying shame removes the other’s power to harm. If dishonour is an evil in itself, and can lead to other negative consequences, then to care about the evaluation of others and to seek to be honoured in their eyes gives the others power. If one looks to humans for the good (e.g. honour), then shame and reproach are problematic for one’s attainment of goals. Because of this, shame easily becomes a means of social control.49 However, if one’s allegiance to Christ is most important, then reproach from external others becomes insignificant, and one is psychologically distanced from their social control. In the end, the only judgement that matters is God’s, because he is the one who has ultimate control over the good and is the only one who can really bestow lasting honour.50 Thus, the shame language asks the believer to value objects within their world differently and reveals how their new worldview is restructuring their relationships. Ethical If, by denying shame, the author is asking the audience to value objects in their world differently and to live by new norms and goals, then there will be ethical consequences. If the believers value the opinion of the external other and allow themselves to feel ashamed, then shame will shape their behaviour. This is because shame’s action tendency drives a person towards avoidance of dishonour.51 Elliott acknowledges this, commenting that public shaming was ‘designed to demean and discredit the believers in the court of public opinion with the ultimate aim of forcing their conformity to prevailing norms and values.’52 Such an emotional stance is likely to encourage cultural assimilation, even defection from the faith.53 However, by nullifying such shame, the author is also eliminating shame’s action tendency and associated behaviour. Through his emotional rhetoric he is able to guard against the disintegration of Christian ethical norms that external social pressure might bring. Addressing shame, an emotion that focuses on the believers’ behaviour, is particularly useful for achieving this ethical end.

Horrell, ‘Χριστιανός’, 202. Elliott, ‘Disgraced’, 173. 50 Cf. Elliott, 1 Peter, 782. 51 Achtemeier sees desire for avoidance intimated in this passage, but links avoidance with the pain of suffering rather than the specific harm of dishonour; Achtemeier, 1 Peter, 314. 52 Elliott, ‘Disgraced’, 170. 53 Cf. H. Windisch, Die katholischen Briefe, 2nd rev. edn, HNT 15 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1930), 78; K. H. Schelkle, Die Petrusbriefe: Der Judasbrief, 3rd edn, HTKNT 13 Fasz. 2 (Freiburg: Herder, 1970), 125; Schlosser, Pierre, 263. 48 49

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Therapeutic For someone to feel ashamed they have to accept the critical observer’s judgement. Thus, to deny shame is to tell the audience not to accept this self-assessment. They are not to see themselves as disobedient and deviant, or as shameful and devalued.54 Horrell has argued, using Lipp’s work on stigmatization, that the bold wearing of the label ‘Christian’ could be a type of self-stigmatization that ‘stands as a challenge to the wider society to change its negative judgement towards the stigma’.55 This may be a secondary social outcome. However, the bold wearing of the label ‘Christian’ can only occur if the believers’ own assessment of their Christian identity is correctly formed. It is the emotional refusal of shame that establishes an inner challenge to the pressure of societal norms.56 Thus, the shame language focuses on the believers’ own assessment and seeks to effect within them a new self-perception that is based on God’s perspective on account of Christ, not the views of society. The believers are not to accept the miscreant label, but are to see themselves as obedient children (1.14) who are blessed (4.14). By refusing shame, the author exhorts his hearers to have a positive, godly self-assessment of their identity and behaviour. This is surely likely to have a secondary effect of raising self-esteem and giving the believers confidence that they are living correctly.

Conclusion Therefore, to interpret αἰσχυνέσθω in 4.16 as effectively an exhortation ‘to be honoured’ is to miss the depth of what is being communicated by the author. Shame, as an emotion of selfassessment that is keenly aware of the other, is uniquely placed to be of use in shaping the self-perception and social understanding of the letter’s audience. The result of the negation of shame is that the believers’ perspective is oriented towards what the author presents as God’s view of reality, and the norms, judgements and power of the hostile other is revalued. Instead, Christ is given worth, and allegiance to him is promoted as the path to flourishing. This influences the believers’ goals, which, in turn, impacts their behaviour. Consequently, their new Christian identity and ethic are affirmed, and defection from the faith or a tendency towards acculturation are resisted.57 By accessing his hearers’ emotions the author is working at a deep level. He does not ask his audience to accept a fact, but instead wants them to be internally shaped by a new reality. Emotionally aligning themselves with this new worldview should result in a new assessment of the situation and the self, so that shame is no longer fitting, but, instead, confidence in their Christian identity is fostered. Ultimately, this aims to strengthen the believers to face the opposition that their Christianity identity brings.

Cf. Elliott, 1 Peter, 795. Horrell, ‘Χριστιανός’, 206. 56 Here, I am not claiming that all shame is removed from the Christian’s emotional repertoire, only shame in this context. The believers, like non-believers, still have the potential to be (a)shamed before God (2.6–8; 3.15). 57 For those aware of the classic Balch-Elliott debate, it is clear that my reading of 1 Peter 4.16 supports Elliott over Balch. See D. L. Balch, ‘Hellenization/Acculturation in 1 Peter’, in Perspectives on First Peter, ed. Charles H. Talbert, NABPR Special Studies Series 9 (Macon: Mercer University Press, 1986), 79–101; J. H. Elliott, ‘1 Peter, Its Situation and Strategy: A Discussion with David Balch’, in Perspectives on First Peter, ed. Charles H. Talbert, NABPR Special Studies Series 9 (Macon: Mercer University Press, 1986), 61–78. 54 55

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WOMEN ON THE EDGE: NEW PERSPECTIVES ON WOMEN IN THE PETRINE HAUSTAFEL

Betsy J. Bauman-Martin

In October 1998 an article appeared in the Los Angeles Times detailing the difficulty that some mainstream churches have when dealing with domestic abuse. In the article, Nancy NasonClark of the University of New Brunswick noted that although domestic violence occurs no more often in religious families than in nonreligious families, “religious families may be more vulnerable in confronting the problem because of biblical beliefs about the honor of suffering and sacrifice, the premium placed on family unity, the dominant role of men in many religious traditions and the creed of transformation and forgiveness that could let perpetrators off the hook too easily.”1 In one story, a woman told her pastor that her husband woke her up at two in the morning and started beating her with a metal tricycle. She was advised to “go back, be a kinder wife; then you will win him to Christ because that’s what the Bible says.”2 That pastor clearly was referring to 1 Pet 3:1–2, where the author explains to Christian wives that their unbelieving husbands “may be won over without a word by their wives’ conduct when they see the purity and reverence of your lives.”3 But although the advice in 1 Peter seemed to fit the situation perfectly, the pastor’s use of that text was a misappropriation of NT ideas because the network of discourses that prompted the original advice is no longer in place.4 In addition, the women addressed in the Petrine Haustafel deserve closer analysis; because the exhortations have received so much attention, the women themselves have rarely been discussed. As women negotiating problematic familial and social boundaries, they offer a valuable example of an ancient hermeneutic of resistance.

I 1 Peter is already an embattled book, having endured many rounds of exegetical and hermeneutical debate. Controversies have centered on the unity of the letter, the genuineness Teresa Watanabe, “Domestic Violence a Thorny Issue for Churches,” Los Angeles Times Saturday, October 10, 1998: B1, 9. According to a recent study by James and Phyllis Alsdurf, religious men and women are sometimes less likely to confront the problem because many religions, including Christianity, discourage marital dissolution, often choose to depend on God rather than other people, and are advised by religious leaders to “preserve the family” and “pray for the batterer” (Battered into Submission: The Tragedy of Wife Abuse in the Christian Home [Downers Grove, IL: InterVarsity Press, 1989], 32). 2 Watanabe, “Domestic Violence,” B1. 3 All translations are from The HarperCollins Study Bible, New Revised Standard Version (New York: HarperCollins,  1993). 4 By “misappropriation” I have in mind the attempt to use the text absolutely rather than hermeneutically, without any regard for the original context of the construction of meaning. Sharyn Dowd uses this term in the same way in her comments on 1 Peter (see “1 Peter,” in The Women’s Bible Commentary [ed. Carol A. Newsom and Sharon H. Ringe; Louisville: Westminster John Knox, 1998], 463). 1

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of its epistolary form, the status and ethnicity of its addressees, its relationship to Pauline letters, and the character of its parenesis.5 But scholars have long agreed that the theme of the epistle is suffering: the word πάσχω and its derivatives occur more times in 1 Peter than in any other biblical book. The author, who is most likely not the apostle Peter, writes to prevent the loss of faith and unity in Christian communities that were facing harassment by neighbors and family members. 6 But only in the past two decades have feminist scholars begun to confront the Petrine material that has implications for the study of the lives of early Christian women.7 Nearly all of the scholars commenting on 1 Peter and its exhortations to women interpret those exhortations as negative in their original context and as having an overwhelmingly negative influence on the lives of Christian (and non-Christian) women in the centuries up to our own time. The incident in the article just quoted is an adequate demonstration that the text of 1 Peter can wreak havoc in the lives of modern women when wielded by modern ministers. There have been two largely harmful results of such scholarship, however. One has been to leave the women of the text behind—labeled as victims of the early Christian appropriation of Aristotelian social theory; and the other has been to miss completely the positive example of resistance and negotiation these women provide. Indeed, the actual household code in 1 Peter and the social circumstances visible behind it suggest that those specific Christian women were making interpretive choices and accessing avenues of identity that have not been considered by other exegetes, partly because those avenues no longer function in our culture.8 Although most of the letter focuses on the causes, meaning, and proper response to suffering, the author’s summary of how to behave while suffering is centered in the Haustafel, or household code, found in 1 Pet 2:18–3:11. It is within that pericope that the exhortations to Christian women are located. Certainly it is a significant piece of Christian parenesis, but the Petrine Haustafel has quite often been lost in studies of the Christian Haustafeln as a group, as such codes appear in Col 3:18–4:1 and Eph 5:21–6:9 and in extracanonical Christian writings Troy Martin ably reviews the extensive and confusing previous literature regarding the epistle (Metaphor and Composition in 1 Peter [SBLDS 131; Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1992], 3–39). 6 This is the major thesis of John H. Elliott in A Home for the Homeless: A Sociological Exegesis of 1 Peter, Its Situation and Strategy (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1981). I am deeply indebted to Elliott’s work and closely follow his argument that 1 Peter writes to encourage the cohesion of the Christian community and its distinction from the “other” nonChristian world. More recently his extremely thorough commentary on 1 Peter in the Anchor Bible series offers a good summary of the issues involved in the interpretive struggle over the Petrine household code (1 Peter: A New Translation with Introduction and Commentary [AB 37B; New York: Doubleday, 2000]). 7 Elisabeth Schüssler Fiorenza, In Memory of Her:  A Feminist Theological Reconstruction of Christian Origins (New York: Crossroad, 1983), 260–65; Kathleen Corley, “1 Peter,” in Searching the Scriptures, volume 2, A Feminist Commentary (ed. Elisabeth Schüssler Fiorenza; New  York:  Crossroad, 1993), 349–60; Deborah F. Sawyer, Women and Religion in the First Christian Centuries (London:  Routledge, 1996); Ross Shepard Kraemer, Her Share of the Blessings:  Women’s Religions among Pagans, Jews, and Christians in the Greco-Roman World (New  York:  Oxford University Press, 1992); Elizabeth A. Clark, Women and Religion:  The Original Sourcebook of Women in Christian Thought (San Francisco: Harper San Francisco, 1996). 8 It is true that many conservative Christian women writers also make the point that the biblical texts offer more positive behavioral models and choices for modern women than feminists will allow; see, e.g., Faith Martin, Call Me Blessed: The Emerging Christian Woman (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1988); and Elizabeth Elliott, Let Me Be a Woman (Carol Stream, IL: Tyndale, 1982). I instead argue that 1 Peter offered interpretive choices for the original readers, but not for the readers of today; my loyalty is less to an exalted view of the text itself than to the broadening of perspectives with which we understand women of the past. The model that the text offers for women now is dangerously appealing; it imparts a glimpse of strong women who chose to suffer for their faith, but whose example should not be emulated by modern women, who have a wider variety of more constructive options and no supportive ideological framework with which to interpret the experience of suffering. 5

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such as Polycarp’s Philippians. Previous studies of the Haustafeln have focused on the origin of their form, and the earliest modern interpretation was that the NT codes were a derivation of Stoic duty lists, which the Christians had lightly Christianized.9 Others have since argued for the Christian, rabbinic, or Hellenistic Jewish origins of the Haustafel form. All of these previous studies conclude that the meaning of the content of the Haustafeln is based on the origin of the form, and nearly all conclude that the NT writers used the codes to encourage stability within Christian households10 In 1981 David Balch broke new ground with his book on the Petrine Haustafel, arguing that the Haustafel form in general, and the Petrine code in specific, was derived from an Aristotelian topos of “household management” (οἰκονομία), which urged that the patriarchal household order must be maintained for purposes of state order.11 Balch’s assumption that the Petrine Haustafel preserved an attenuated form of the Aristotelian topos depends partly on the use of the phrase ἀγαθοποιοῦντας φιμοῦν τὴν τῶν ἀφρόνων ἀνθρώπων ἀγνωσίαν in 2:15, which he interprets to mean doing what those in the Greco-Roman community think is good rather than an internal Christian definition of goodness.12 He also followed earlier scholars by emphasizing the connection between origins and function; he thus attributed to the author of 1 Peter an apologetic effort to preserve social and civic unity by encouraging assimilation to Greek and Roman family and social ideals. Other scholars have joined in, and Balch’s argument has become the standard explanation for the origin of the form of the Petrine Haustafel.13 This consensus is important because recent feminist interpretations of 1 Peter have used Balch’s thesis too simplistically to argue that the exhortations to women and slaves in the Petrine Haustafel were purposefully included to encourage them to behave in ways that were acceptable to Greco-Roman patriarchs (particularly silent submission), in order to prevent household conflict and resulting local persecution. For feminist critics, Balch’s theory supports their own opinion that all of the household codes (in Colossians, Ephesians, 1 Timothy, Titus, and 1 Peter) represent the pervasive conservative backlash among the first-century male Christian leadership.14 While Elisabeth Schüssler Fiorenza recognized that the strategy Balch

Martin Dibelius (An die Kolosser, an die Epheser, an Philemon [Tübingen:  Mohr-Siebeck, 1913) originated the hypothesis of Stoic origin, which was further developed by his student Carl Weidinger (Die Haustafeln:  Ein Stück urchristlicher Paraenese [Hamburg: Heinrich Bauer, 1928]). 10 Ernst Lohmeyer, Die Briefe an die Kolosser und an Philemon (Göttingen:  Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1930; repr., 1961); James Crouch, The Origin and Intention of the Colossian Haustafel (FRLANT 109; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1972). 11 David Balch, “Let Wives Be Submissive”: The Domestic Code in 1 Peter (SBLMS 26; Chico, CA: Scholars Press, 1981). The Aristotelian topos is most notable in the Politics i.1253b. 1–14. 12 While in 2:15 it appears that the author of 1 Peter implies that the “Gentiles” will be able to recognize some behaviors of the Christians as “good,” he consistently asserts in the remainder of the passage that the Christians will suffer for “doing good.” 13 Balch did not continue the other troublesome tendency of earlier scholars, which was the habit of studying the Petrine Haustafel under the rubric of the Haustafeln in the Pauline tradition (“Let Wives Be Submissive,” 67, 266). However, in spite of Balch’s own discretion on this point, scholars who use his thesis to make claims about a late-firstcentury conservative movement in the churches cite 1 Peter alongside the Pauline Haustafeln as evidence for that change, as if the Haustafeln all have the same context, emphasis, and function. Rarely are distinctions made between the Pauline and Petrine form or content, and conclusions about the Colossian form, which is considered the earliest Christian Haustafel, are incautiously assumed for the Petrine code as well. Scholars’ determination to interpret the Petrine exhortations in light of the Pauline exhortations, in spite of the Petrine author’s obvious attempts to modify the form and content, have caused a distorted accentuation of one possible reading of the text. 14 Sawyer, Women and Religion, 111–13. 9

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hypothesized would have been ineffective in actually rescuing the reputations of disruptive Christians or calming divided Greco-Roman households, she agreed that the encouragement of assimilation was indeed the point of the Petrine Haustafel and that the “patriarchal pattern of submission” sought to “lessen the tension between the Christian community and the pagan patriarchal household.”15 Since then various feminist scholars have focused on the use of the text in modern situations. Kathleen Corley argues that “the Petrine admonition that both slaves and women should endure even unjust or terrifying situations still serves as a scriptural justification for violence against women in the present” and that “the glorification of suffering, like that found in 1 Peter, is seen to glorify all suffering and in fact holds up the victim as a model for women.”16 Corley uses Balch almost exclusively to understand the context of the exhortations, and thus sees the suffering as “a means of social assimilation.”17 Similarly, Beverly Mayne Kienzle and Nancy Nienhuis, in a recent article in the Journal of Feminist Studies in Religion, affirm: thus the early [Christian] community was encouraged to adopt a “kyriarchal politics of submission” to lessen its own suffering and enhance its chances of survival. This theology of suffering explicitly claims that the reward for forbearance in the face of persecution and abuse will be compensation from God—if not in this life, then in heaven.18 The Petrine Haustafel is perceived by these feminists as a “kyriarchal text,”19 one that uses the theology of suffering to keep women in their place, both in the ancient period and today. Feminists consistently argue that there is nothing usable in the Haustafel suffering model, no liberating example, and that it is therefore useless and, from a feminist perspective, dangerous.20 Therefore, Schüssler Fiorenza writes, we have an ethical responsibility NOT to interpret the text in any way that might seem to legitimate the suffering of women.21 These feminists have rightly pointed out the problematic nature of this text and its vastly destructive influence on the behavior and self-understanding of Christian women; but they

Schüssler Fiorenza, In Memory of Her, 253–62. Corley, “1 Peter,” 351, 354. Elizabeth A. Clark notes the damaging persistence of the Haustafel ideas in the writings of the church fathers, in Women in the Early Church (Lewiston, NY: Edwin Mellen, 1984). 17 Corley, “1 Peter,” 350–51, 355. 18 Beverly Mayne Kienzle and Nancy Nienhuis, “Battered Women and the Construction of Sanctity,” JFSR 17, no. 1 (2001): 38. 19 Schüssler Fiorenza defines “kyriarchal” as “the rule of the master or the lord .  .  . the interlocking structures of domination” controlled by “elite propertied men” (But She Said:  Feminist Practices of Biblical Interpretation [Boston: Beacon, 1992], 8, 117). I disagree with her basic assumption that the Petrine Haustafel is kyriarchal. The other Haustafeln are kyriarchal; they are concerned with the submission of women in the household. But the Petrine Haustafel deals with more complex arrangements of power and situations of persecution. In fact, the only reference to κύριοι is in 1 Pet 2:20, and it calls them twisted. The power structures governing the lives of the Petrine women included the κύριος, but also the new Christian community as well as the pagan community. I argue that the author did not encourage the women to submit in order to encourage harmony in the household. He encouraged the women to disobey the κύριος and then submit to the subsequent persecution, because he believed that Jesus disobeyed the κύριος and then submitted to the subsequent persecution. 20 Elliott takes Schüssler Fiorenza and others to task for what he deems an “ahistorical” interpretation and insists that the ancient texts must be interpreted in their own contexts rather than ours. He writes, ‘We cannot restore the biblical past, so it is pointless to adore the biblical past. It is likewise pointless to deplore the past as incongruent with the values and vision of the present” (1 Peter, 599). 21 Personal communication, July 20, 2001. 15 16

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have failed to distinguish between the patriarchal (mis)interpretation of the letter over the years and the possibilities of interpretation it may have offered for the original readers. A reexamination of the form and content of the Petrine Haustafel and the social circumstances of the first­century Christian communities demonstrates that exhortations to the women in 1 Peter did not expressly encourage assimilation but addressed specific situations of persecution, may have encouraged forms of antipatriarchal activity in which the women were already participating, and potentially offered a means of resistance to the suffering that was already occurring. Finally, I  will argue that the Petrine women’s situation of marginalization and persecution was so different from situations of domestic abuse today that inflexible modern interpretations of the text (either feminist or fundamentalist) should not be imposed on the ancient women.22 They must be allowed their own possible ancient hermeneutic.

II The Petrine domestic code is likely a modified version of the code in Colossians, which is the oldest Christian Haustafel.23 The Colossian Haustafel is clear, brief, and symmetrical. It consists of three pairs of reciprocal exhortations; in each pair the exhortations articulate the correct attitude or action that should be taken toward the opposite member of the pair. Each pair consists of an inferior group and a superior group, each representing a certain social status (αἱ γυναῖκες, οἱ δοῦλοι, etc.). Each exhortation begins with an address to the inferior group, I would like to offer in this article a constructive critique of what I  believe to be “fundamentalist feminism”— feminism that argues that the goals of women must be the same across time and culture. Mary McClintock Fulkerson has argued, for example, that feminist theology, which protested the perception that male experience was universal experience, sometimes falls into the trap of creating a universal woman (see Fulkerson, Changing the Subject: Women’s Discourses and Feminist Theology [Philadelphia: Fortress, 1994], 63). This issue was first raised in the 1980s by African American women such as Katie Cannon and Emilie Townes and has since been seconded by women scholars of other classes, races, and cultures, for example, Ada María Isasi-Díaz. Buddhist feminist scholar Rita Gross writes that feminism partakes of “the deeply entrenched tendency in Western thinking to tum differences into a hierarchy” (Feminism & Religion: An Introduction [Boston: Beacon, 1996], 50). Hindu and Muslim women still do not articulate the Western feminist vision (ibid., 58). Ancient women are another group of women whose voices are too easily manipulated by feminist scholars. Because these women cannot speak for themselves, scholars can put any meaning into their mouths, turning them into ciphers for our own political purposes (even though those political purposes are often quite admirable). What I do here is try to suggest possible ancient meanings of the text in order better to understand those real ancient women. 23 The Colossian code “brings us as near as possible to the beginning of the Christian Haustafel tradition” (Crouch, Origin and Intention, 32). This is generally agreed to by Dibelius, Weidinger, David Schroeder, Karl Heinrich Rengstorf, Lohmeyer, Leonhard Goppelt, and others. See also Hans Conzelmann and A. Lindemann, Interpreting the New Testament: An Introduction to the Principles and Methods of New Testament Exegesis (trans. Siegfried S. Schatzmann; Peabody, MA: Hendrickson, 1988), 61. This idea of an early Christian Haustafel tradition, of which the NT Haustafeln are merely later variations, arises from the basic similarities among all the NT Haustafeln, the remarkable resemblance between the Haustafeln in Colossians and Ephesians, and syntactical, grammatical, and stylistic differences between the Colossian/Ephesian example and codes in 1 Peter, Timothy, and Titus, which are also different from one another. Scholars disagree whether the early Christian tradition was the source only for the Colossian form, on which all the other NT codes are dependent, or if all the codes are separately dependent on the early form. As noted earlier in n. 13, Balch is one of the only dissenters here: he argues that the NT codes, Petrine code included, were borrowed separately and independently from Hellenistic sources and are not dependent on each other in any way (“Let Wives Be Submissive,” 67, 266). Space does not permit a full analysis of this subject here, but the Petrine Haustafel varies so significantly from both Christian and Greco-Roman antecedents that the salient point remains the author’s alteration of the code to the circumstances of his audience. 22

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who are urged to obey or be submissive to the superior group. The exhortations to the inferior group are always reciprocated in the Colossian Haustafel; the dominant group in each pair is addressed immediately following the address to the inferior group. Each address is followed by a command, often accompanied by an object.24 The exhortation is then amplified by another phrase or more, and a causal clause provides the rationale for such behavior.25 A close comparison of these Haustafel characteristics with Aristotelian, Stoic, rabbinic, and Hellenistic Jewish antecedents suggests that the particular form of the Haustafel cannot be traced to one specific source, but that the Christian writers were influenced by a wide variety of literary traditions. In all of the comparisons, the similarities between the Greco-Roman texts and the Haustafeln are superficial and outweighed by their differences. The Stoics, including Cicero, Seneca, Musonius Rufus, Epictetus, and Hierocles, and the early Christians were interested in similar social relationships, and both listed the duties of the groups who were taking part in those relationships. But the similarities end there. There are no substantial similarities between the vocabulary, style, and/or grammar of the Stoic lists and the Haustafel form. For example, the Stoic term καθήκοντα never appears in the NT codes, and the Stoic diatribe is not appropriated by the NT writers. Important Haustafel terms, such as ὑποτάσσεσθαι, are not found in any Stoic text.26 The basic Haustafel sentence structure— (a) address, (b) instruction, (c) connecting word, (d) rationale—is not even approximated in Stoic lists. The imperative mood, widely used in the Haustafeln, is found only in Epictetus (Discourses 3.21–25 and Ench. 30). Likewise, the Stoic codes were lists of duties for the perfection of the individual, rather than a formula for community harmony based on religious belief. The reciprocity of the NT exhortations is not present in the Stoic duty lists. While the Haustafeln speak directly to women as spiritually responsible, the Stoics never addressed women directly.27 Likewise, while the Christian writers spoke directly to slaves as equals in the eyes of God, the Stoic paradigm was inapt for dealing with slaves, because Stoicism dealt with the typical individual in his relationships and slaves were never viewed as typical. Even Epictetus, a former slave, never

Either in the imperative mood (ὑποτάσσεσθε) or expressed by an infinitive or participle. Usually introduced by γάρ, ὅτι, or εἰδότες ὅτι. Although these characteristics are somewhat readily apparent, David Verner has summed them up nicely in The Household of God: The Social World of the Pastoral Epistles (SBLDS 71; Chico, CA: Scholars Press, 1983), 87. Verner adds characteristics that are not part of the Colossian Haustafel because he wants to take all of the NT Haustafeln into account as contributing to the Haustafel form, when in fact it is possible that the Colossian Haustafel was paradigmatic and all of the others are variations. Based on these characteristics, I posited, in my dissertation, my own model of the Haustafel form as consisting of the following literary, linguistic, and conceptual elements: (1) a focusing on a series of groups and their responsibilities associated with a household; (2) the grouping of those addressed into pairs of dominant and subordinate counterparts; (3) intergroup reciprocity, or the implied moral responsibility of both the dominant and subordinate groups to each other; (4) direct address, in which the author of the exhortation uses the vocative and second person forms; (5) a particular sentence structure consisting of address, instruction, expansion, and rationale; (6) a consistent vocabulary; and (7) clearly stated motivations, both overall and for specific ethical actions, with the motivational emphasis placed on the subordinate groups (see Betsy J. Bauman-Martin, “Intertextuality and the Haustafel in I Peter” [Ph.D. diss. University of California at Irvine, 1997], 58–60). 26 Ὑποτάσσω is used thirty-one times in the LXX, but to designate submission to God, never to describe family relationships. Epictetus uses the verb to describe the submission of a man to moral law, never to another human being. Ὑποτάσσω was used to describe (the indicative, not imperative) the relationship of wives to husbands in only two other Hellenistic texts: Ps-Call. 1.22.19-20 and Plutarch Conj. praec. 142E. 27 Crouch observes that only Epictetus (Diatr. 2.14.9) and Seneca/Hecaton (Ben. 2.18) believe that a woman is capable of performing duties (Origin and Intention, 110). 24 25

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addressed them in duty lists.28 Slaves are mentioned only in the context of determining the behavior of the master, who is the person whose conduct the Stoics sought to influence. 29 The theory of Aristotelian sources for the Haustafeln has three points in its favor: the οἰκονομία topos includes the three crucial pairs of relationships (husbands–wives, masters–slaves, parents– children); it stresses authority and subordination within those relationships; and it emphasizes the importance of harmonious household relationships for the state.30 Further, like the Stoic duty schema, it was a popular theme at the time when the NT writers were advising Christian communities. The classical treatises, however, differ from the Haustafeln in many of the same ways in which the Stoic lists do. They do not predict the precise and highly developed syntactical and grammatical form of the Haustafeln. Aristotle’s discourses are rarely exhortative and address only the male authority figure.31 The concern for financial issues, which Aristotle included as an integral part of household management, is entirely missing from the Haustafeln. The Aristotelian vocabulary differs from that in the Haustafeln, even when referring to the same subjects.32 The third hypothesized source of the Haustafel form is Judaism, in the Hellenistic Jewish writings of Philo, Josephus, and Pseudo-Phocylides and/or possible early rabbinic sources. The emphasis on the socially “inferior” group in the Haustafeln—women, slaves, and children are always addressed first and more thoroughly—is paralleled only in Judaism, both Hellenistic and nascent rabbinic.33 The codes of Hellenistic Judaism present the closest correlate to the Haustafeln because of the reciprocity of the instructions they contain, and there is evidence in rabbinic literature for reciprocity in dealing with the duties of members of the family.34 Crouch, Origin and Intention, 116–17. Nor did other former slaves. See Susan Treggiari, Roman Freedmen during the Late Republic (New York: Oxford University Press, 1969), 241–43. 29 Seneca wrote that it is possible that a slave can perform a “benefit” within a household, but he is certainly not confident that a slave and master hold mutual responsibilities in maintaining the harmony of the household or that slaves have moral ability (Ben. 2.18ff.). 30 The classical authors I examined were Plato, Aristotle, the Peripatetics, Philodemus, and Areius Didymus (BaumanMartin, “Intertextuality,” 75–82); but Balch further argued that Stoics (Cicero and Ariston), Hellenistic Jews (Philo and Josephus), and the Neo-Pythagoreans (Bryson and Callicatidas) adopted this classical topos. More importantly, he maintained that the topos was popularly known during the period of early Christianity, as indicated by the fact that Dio Chrysostom wrote a treatise with the title Concerning Household Management (“Let Wives Be Submissive,” 51–58). 31 The tendency of other scholars to accept Balch’s thesis without question is most evident in the statement by Troy Martin:  “Balch convincingly argued that the Haustafel schema originated from the topos, ‘concerning Household Management.’ He cited Aristotle’s Politics 1.129.37–39 where three reciprocal relationships are discussed” (Metaphor and Composition, 127, my emphasis). Aristotle’s references to women, children, and slaves are not reciprocal in any way. 32 For example, when Aristotle discusses husbands and wives, he uses the terms πόσις and ἀλοχήος, while in every instance the Haustafeln use ἀνήρ and γυνή. The classical philosophers use the term ἄρχεσθαι to indicate the submission required of inferior household members, while the Haustafeln authors consistently use the verbs ὑποτάσσεσθε for wives, ὑπακούειν for children, and both for slaves. Aristotle used the passive form ἄρχεσθαι to indicate that slaves and so on were to be ruled, whereas the Haustafeln used the middle form ὑποτάσσεσθε to indicate that a personal choice regarding obedience was required on the part of the subordinate. 33 Such first-century rabbinic sources are hypothetical, of course. The connection with the Haustafel was first suggested by Ernst Lohmeyer (An die Kolosser, 152–59). These three groups had neither the rights nor the responsibilities of the adult, free, male members of the community, and they are nearly always mentioned together in rabbinic texts as “women, slaves, and minors.” See, e.g., m. Ber. 3:3; 7:2; m. Sukkah 2:8; and m. Naz. 9:1. Lohmeyer concluded that there must have been a Jewish code that listed the specific duties of these groups and that the Christian Haustafel form was an adaptation of this code. 34 Although the vast majority of rules in the Mishnaic literature concern the duties of men, some are reciprocal and some focus on the duties of the groups considered “inferior.” T. Qidd. 1:7, for example, discusses the reciprocal duties 28

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But there is no existing rabbinic code that includes all of the Haustafel elements. In the Mishnah, women, slaves, and children were exempted from responsibility rather than positively exhorted, and they were discussed in terms of cultic situations rather than household relationships. The sentence structure of the Haustafel is not present, nor is the direct address. The importance of the rabbinic tradition lay in furnishing an interest in the behavior of inferior groups.35 Hellenistic Jewish codes, however, parallel the Haustafeln in important ways. For example, the order in which the relationships are discussed in Philo—husbands–wives, parents– children, masters–slaves—corresponds exactly to the order of the presentations in the Colossian Haustafel. Philo was also the first extant writer to limit a single code to these three specific pairs; and although not in direct address, some of the Hellenistic Jewish codes were in the form of exhortations.36 This review demonstrates that no known ethical text exists outside of the NT that contains all of the characteristics of the earliest Haustafel and that we can say with certainty was the model that the Christians followed in creating their household codes. Instead, the NT household codes seem to be independent variations of a distinct Christian parenetic discourse that focused on correct behavior within the Christian household. The attitude behind that Christian tradition was derived in the main from Hellenistic Judaism, which had already been exposed to and absorbed the topos of οἰκονομία from classical philosophy via Stoicism, combining it with traditional Jewish material and attitudes. So Balch’s thesis that the Petrine use of the οἰκονομία topos indicates a specifically Aristotelian purpose is not supported by a thorough comparison with Greco-Roman household codes. This conclusion problematizes the argument that the Petrine Haustafel is an obvious example of the use of patriarchal classical ideas to keep women in line. In addition, Balch’s claim that the of father and son; m. Pe’ah discusses the reciprocal duties of householders and gleaners; m. Ketubbot discusses the reciprocal obligations of husbands and wives; in fact, m. Našim is full of instructions for wives, slaves, and children. M. Yebam. 7:1–2; 10:7–9; m. Ketub. 2:5; m. Ned. 10:1–8; and m. Sotah 4:3–4 are just a few of the dozens of examples. In most of these cases, the introductory phrase is the same for the “inferior” group as it is for the men: “If a man . . .” or “If a woman . . .” or “If a girl . . .,” and so on. 35 Crouch argues convincingly against the similarity of the Mishnaic groups and the Haustafel groups (Origin and Intention, 105), and Judith Romney Wegner has shown that these three groups are prevented from ritual participation not because of household conflict but because their sexuality is owned by men and must be confined to the domestic sphere (Chattel or Person: The Status of Women in the Mishnah [New York: Oxford University Press, 1988]). The point can still be made, however, that the rabbis were interested in these three groups and talked more directly about their obligations than the Greek philosophers. Additionally, rather than having a Stoic origin, the term ἀναστροφή in 1 Pet 1:15; 2:12; 3:2; and 3:16 is more likely derived from the Holiness Code in Lev 19:2. J. Ramsey Michaels argues that this linking of ἀναστροφή with holiness is the “most striking feature of Peter’s interpretation of the biblical text” (1 Peter [WBC 49; Waco: Word Books, 1988], li, 59). There is an attempt in 1 Peter to identify the readers with the Jewish priesthood that is very non-Greek (e.g., 2:9); see E. G. Selwyn, The First Epistle of Peter (2nd ed.; London: Macmillan, 1947), 459–60. 36 Philo wrote, “Wives must be in servitude to their husbands, a servitude not imposed by violent ill-treatment but promoting obedience in all things” (Hypoth. 7.3 [Thackeray, LCL]). Josephus makes a similar statement in C. Ap. 2.201: “Let [the woman] accordingly be submissive, not for her humiliation, but that she may be directed; for the authority has been given by God to the man” (Thackeray, LCL). Another idea that Christians appear to have borrowed directly from Judaism regarding slavery is that Christians were slaves of God or Christ—an idea not found in Greco­ Roman philosophers. Balch objects to Philo as the source of the Haustafel form because “1 Peter does not verbally reproduce sentences from Philo” (“Let Wives Be Submissive,” 120). But neither does 1 Peter verbally reproduce sentences from Aristotle, the Neo-Pythagoreans, the Stoics, or the Peripatetics. Vocabulary and syntax are only two of several more important characteristics that need to be compared.

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Haustafel form was adopted by the author for apologetic purposes—to defend the Christian communities against accusations of improper household relationships—is incompatible with the overall theme in 1 Peter of a Christian peculiarity and distinctiveness. III Rather than adhering to a fixed, Aristotelian set of instructions, the author demonstrates a greater willingness than the other Christian authors to manipulate the model. The Petrine code is significantly different from the Colossian code, and the changes were probably in response to the needs of the audience.37 There are eight major ways in which the Petrine Haustafel deviates from the previous pattern, but three are especially salient for the argument presented here: (1) the exhortations are directed in part to members of the Petrine community who are involved in relationships with non-Christians; (2) the author omits or modifies addresses to important household groups; and (3)  the author uses a rare grammatical form to address wives and slaves.38 All three of these unusual characteristics have implications for the interpretation of the suffering of women in this context. The most important unique feature of the Petrine Haustafel is its context of confrontation between Christians and non-Christians, what J.  H. Elliott refers to as the conflict between “sect and society.”39 No other NT epistle deals so directly with families that were ruptured by Christianity.40 While the other NT Haustafeln address the relationships between Christian husbands and wives and masters and slaves, in his code the Petrine author speaks primarily to believers about their relationships with the nonbelieving members of their households and the antagonism that had arisen because of their Christian beliefs and activities.41 These conflicts See also J. Paul Sampley, “And the Two Shall Become One Flesh”: A Study of Traditions in Ephesians 5:21–33 (SNTSMS 16; Cambridge:  Cambridge University Press, 1971), 23. Dibelius admitted that alterations in a parenetic model indicate different social situations and exigencies (cited by Crouch, Origin and Intention, 120–21). We thus cannot make the same assumptions about the Petrine code that are often made about the Colossian and Ephesian codes, as do some writers. Sawyer, for example, not only reiterates Balch’s thesis that the codes “bear a striking similarity to the philosophical ideas of Aristotle,” but she groups together the codes in Colossians, Ephesians, and 1 Peter (Women and Religion, 110). Elliott correctly notes that when the Haustafeln are grouped together, “the specific situation, structure and needs of the Petrine audience are either ignored completely or they are inaccurately surmised” (Home for the Homeless, 210). 38 The full list of variations is as follows:  The Petrine Haustafel includes an exhortation to everyone to obey the governing authorities. It omits the entire set of children–fathers exhortations. It omits the master portion of the set of slaves–masters exhortations. It uses the imperatival participle instead of the direct imperative in the exhortations to wives and slaves. It uses ὑποτάσσειν for slaves as well as wives. The sequence in 1 Peter (from outside/civil authorities inward to inside/marriage) is the reverse of Colossians (from inside/marriage outward to slaves). The code in 1 Peter is more closely integrated with the epistolary content, especially the issue of persecution. The Petrine Haustafel addresses wives and slaves, respectively, who are in relationships with unbelieving husbands and masters. The focus thus shifts somewhat to Christian–non-Christian relationships, even though these are still household relationships. 39 Elliott argues that the author’s emphasis on conflict is actually a tool to enhance the cohesion of the Christian group itself, in opposition to Schüssler Fiorenza, who, like Balch, argues that “Christians [in 1 Peter] are not enemies of the Roman political order, but they support it” (In Memory of Her, 266). 40 It is an issue in 1 Cor 7, but there it is limited to one portion of one chapter and it is not discussed in the context of harassment or persecution. Margaret Y. MacDonald deals directly and sensitively with the Petrine situation (Early Christian Women and Pagan Opinion: The Power of the Hysterical Woman [Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1996]). 41 This interpretation is supported by the identification in 2:11 of the readers as πάροικοι καὶ παρεπιδήμοι (aliens and strangers), the indication that they were known by their neighbors as “Christians,” and the proliferation of references 37

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were the specific social circumstances that created situations of persecution in these households and occasioned the second change in the Haustafel form mentioned above—specifically, the omission of an address to Christian masters, the omission of addresses to parents and children, and the lengthening of the address to wives and slaves. It has been suggested that the author of 1 Peter did not address Christian masters because of the Christian community’s poverty; there simply may not have been a substantial class of Christian men wealthy enough to own slaves.42 In addition, the need to address them would not have been as urgent because they would not have been persecuted within their own households. The effect of the adjustment to the code is significant in that the slaves, rather than masters, become paradigmatic of the Christian household of faith.43 The author of 1 Peter omitted the exhortations to children and parents because (1) children were less likely to convert to Christianity on their own, and children would follow their parents if the parents became Christian; and (2) he was not concerned about the harmony of the actual physical households but was more interested in the endurance and continuing faith of the persecuted Christians, the household of God.44 These household circumstances also explain why the code is centered on slaves and women; when the paterfamilias converted, the entire household was obligated to convert as well, but when a wife or a slave converted alone, the order of the household was compromised.45 Indeed, many women converted over the objection of their families, creating for themselves polarized social situations. And because their conversions were in opposition to familial and cultic power, Christianity posed one of the strongest threats to the Roman family structure.46 in the epistle to the negative attitudes of the Christians’ neighbors. Elliott lists ignorance (2:15), curiosity (3:15), suspicion of wrongdoing (2:12; 4:14–16), hostility (3:13–14, 16; 4:4), and slander (2:12; 3:16; 4:14; 3:3). The response on the part of the Christians was correlative: sorrow (2:19), fear (3:14), suffering (2:19, 20; 3:14, 17; 4:1, 15, 19; 5:9, 10) (Home for the Homeless, 79–80). 42 Elliott, Home for the Homeless, 70. 43 Elliott, 1 Peter, 514. This is in contrast to the attitude in Acts (particularly the account of Lydia and the prison guard) that masters and patresfamilias were more privileged members of the Christian communities. Paul’s attitude toward slavery is more imprecise, as Jennifer Glancy details in “Obstacles to Slaves’ Participation in the Corinthian Church,” JBL 117 (1998): 481–501. 44 Much of Balch’s argument rests on his interpretation of 3:8, which reads, Τὸ δὲ τέλος πάντες ὁμόφρονες, συμπαθεῖς, φιλάδελφοι, εὔσπλαχνοι, ταπεινόφρονες, which is translated in the NRSV as “Finally, all of you, have unity of spirit, sympathy, love for one another . . .” Balch argues that ὁμόφρονες is the author’s push for Greco-Roman–style harmony in the actual physical households. But since in this verse the author addresses “all of you” he appears to ask that all the Christians have unity of spirit among themselves; πάντες cannot refer to all the members of an unequally yoked household because the author cannot address the non-Christians. Moreover, in the next verse he assumes that their enemies/neighbors will not be of the same spirit when he urges the Christians not to “repay evil for evil or abuse for abuse.” So also Elliott, Home for the Homeless, 128, passim. The author’s designation of the community as the οἶκος of God in 2:5 and 4:17 strengthens this idea that the physical household was not his focus. 45 Children would rarely have converted against their father’s wishes; and if they had perchance converted, the blame for their conversion would have been placed on the mother or the slave/tutor. 46 John North, “The Development of Religious Pluralism,” in The Jews among Pagans and Christians in the Roman Empire (ed. Judith Lieu, John North, and Tessa Rajak; New York: Routledge, 1992), 185–86. Ross Kraemer points out that many of the women mentioned in the NT epistles are not specifically defined as daughters, wives, mothers, or even sisters of men, and the absence of filiation for both men and women is significant. This is partly because “many persons who joined the Christian movement did so over the objections of their families, both natal and marital, leaving them effectively fatherless, if not motherless as well” (Her Share of the Blessings, 136–37). W. C. van Unnik pointed out that conversion to Christianity was viewed by Gentiles as a shameful act of disloyalty (“The Critique of Paganism in I Peter 1:18,” in Neotestamentica et Semitica: Studies in Honour of Matthew Black [ed. E. E. Ellis and M. Wilcox; London: T & T Clark, 1969], 129–42).

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Corley argues that this situation was much like the situation engendered by a Roman wife’s worship of Isis or Dionysus. She quotes Balch: “In response to such charges, these religious groups defended themselves by claiming that their households were indeed in order, their wives, children and slaves properly submissive to their husbands, parents and masters.”47 The analogy fails, however, because what was so dramatic about a conversion to Christianity, and not applicable to the worship of Isis or Dionysus, was that the Christian woman would no longer participate in the crucial familial cults.48 In Roman texts a wife’s atheism was seen as a cause of barrenness and/or disaster in business, household, or politics. No amount of submission in other aspects of family life would heal that rupture.49 So the situation in which a wife converted to Christianity was potentially more intense, disruptive, and chronic. Likewise, slaves who deserted the religion of their masters took an extremely radical step. The willingness of slaves to give up their own religions for those of their masters was taken for granted.50 Slaves who converted to Christianity or another religion were no longer trusted with children (Minucius Felix, Oct. 8.4; Origen, Cels. 3.55). If they refused to worship the family gods, they were vulnerable to extreme punishment.51 Christian slaves could expect to partake of the κοινωνία along with the free members, which would have indicated their free status in the Christian community and would have created a great deal of anxiety for the non-Christian masters in the community.52 The omission of an address to masters, the shortening of the address to Christian husbands, and the lengthening of the addresses to slaves and women were changes that the author of 1 Peter made to the Haustafel to fit his specific purpose of writing to Christians suffering in non-Christian homes and living in what were really situations of persecution. Because of the patriarchal household structure and because of their nonconforming actions, the slaves and women were participating in two very different systems of authority and were thus forced to negotiate a boundary fraught with conflict. That negotiation meant making decisions about Corley, “1 Peter,” 351. This is also Schüssler Fiorenza’s point in In Memory of Her, 263–65. David Orr summarizes the obligations entailed in the family cults: women were responsible for the decoration of the hearth, the shrine of Vesta, during religious festivals; Vesta’s fire was tended by the materfamilias or her daughters; the household Lares were worshiped by the entire family on holidays; a bride was required to present a coin to the Lares of her new husband’s home; and a wife would have been expected to participate in the worship of the household Genius on the birthday of the paterfamilias (“Roman Domestic Religion: The Evidence of the Household Shrines,” ANRW 2.16:1557–91, esp. 1559, 1560, 1561, 1567 n. 59, 1571). Macrinus writes that a woman assumed her role as materfamilias and presided over the rituals of the household the day after her wedding (Sat. 1.15.22). John M. Barclay notes that the Lares were so associated with the Genius of the paterfamilias that they were intimately linked with his honor and prosperity and that of the household as a whole (“The Family as the Bearer of Religion in Judaism and Early Christianity” in Constructing Early Christian Families:  Family as Social Reality and Metaphor [ed. Halvor Moxnes; New York: Routledge, 1997], 67). So also G. E. M. de Ste. Croix, “Why Were the Early Christians Persecuted?” in Studies in Ancient Society (ed. Moses I. Finley; New York: Routledge, 1974), 210–49. Plutarch asserted that without his wife’s assistance a flamen dialis was incapable of discharging his religious duties (Quaest. Rom. 50). Tertullian would later write of the same problem: What pagan husband “will willingly bear her being taken from his side by nocturnal convocations . . .? Who will, without some suspicion of his own, dismiss her to attend that Lord’s Supper which they defame?” (Ux. 2.4). 49 The worship of the same gods was considered the basis of social harmony; see Plutarch, Conj. praec. 19; Dio Chrysostom, Orat. 38.22; 41.10; Xenophon, Mem. 4:4.16; Cicero, Amic. 23; Offic. 1.54–55; Aristotle, Pol. I.1252a–55b. So the conversion of the wives was completely at odds with the Aristotelian ideal. 50 Franz Bömer, Untersuchungen über die Religion der Sldaven in Griechenland und Rom, Vierter Teil, Epilegomena (Mainz: Akademie der Wissenschaften und der Literatur; Wiesbaden: Franz Steiner, 1963), 247–59. 51 Ibid., 265. Cicero (Leg. 2.7.19–27) expected slaves to preserve the ancient religious rites, as did Cato (Agr. 5). 52 Corley, “1 Peter,” 356. 47 48

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which practices to include in their Christian way of life and how they should be included.53 Their position on the margins meant that the women were making brave choices about personal participation and experiencing the preponderance of the suffering in the community; thus they needed the most encouragement.54 The exhortations are the author’s response to the perceived threat to the stability of the Christian community caused by the Christian women’s suffering as a result of these family conflicts. The third anomaly of the Petrine Haustafel is its situation in the context of the author’s extensive identification of his audience as “Israel.” Immediately preceding the Haustafel, the author referred to the Christians as “a chosen race, a royal priesthood, a holy nation, God’s own people” (2:9). He clearly meant to convey to his readers, including women and slaves, that they were distinct and were chosen to be separate and superior, not to assimilate.55 These three major changes by the author of 1 Peter are his response to social and community circumstances that differ from those surrounding the other NT household codes. He does not speak to Christian households; he addresses socially inferior groups that are suffering in nonChristian homes because of their Christian beliefs and actions. He considers them distinct and elect and encourages them to continue behaving in nonassimilating ways. The exhortations themselves should be understood in this context of nonconformity rather than in a context of assimilation, as others have tried to argue.

IV One key to the interpretation of the exhortations lies in the combined discourses of boundarycrossing and persecution that lie behind the text: the radical disobedience of the slaves and wives, the resulting persecution/suffering at the hands of the κύριοι of their households, the slaves’ and women’s subsequent response to the suffering/persecution, and their reinterpretation of the suffering/persecution.56 An analysis of the exhortations to the slaves and wives will demonstrate that the author’s advice arises out of this sort of complex interaction of motives, actions, and reactions.

Kathryn Tanner argues that Christian identity is a task rather than a possession and that much of it is formed at the boundary between Christian and non-Christian cultures (Theories of Culture: A New Agenda for Theology [Guides to Theological Inquiry; Minneapolis: Augsburg, 1997], 124–25). 54 “The dangerous and deteriorating situation called for:  (1) a reassertion of the Christian converts’ distinctive communal identity; (2)  a reinforcement of their internal group cohesion; and (3)  a plausible interpretation of the compatibility of their experience and their expectations, of their social condition and their divine vocation” (Elliott, Home for the Homeless, 224). Barclay points out the tension within early Christianity between the challenge that conversions posed to families, on the one hand, and the locus of early Christian communities within households, on the other (“Family as the Bearer of Religion,” 72). That tension was no doubt productive; it is likely that the domestic conflict produced by Christianity contributed to the creation of a fictive, spiritual household emphasized in 1 Peter (Elliott, Home for the Homeless, 219–33). 55 This claim may be supported by the author’s reliance on the imperatival participle; see Appendix, below. This is not the only refutation of the argument for assimilation. The author’s appeal to identify with Jewishness; the epistle’s address to Christians rather than non-Christians, as an apology would be; his insistence that the persecution would continue and intensify, not abate; his use of slaves and women as positive representatives of the Christian community; and the lack of a consistent representation of Greco-Roman ideals all argue against the idea that the author was encouraging assimilation. 56 As pointed out above, the act of conversion itself was a step of radical disobedience. 53

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The slaves are the first household group that the author addresses (2:18–25) and he says to them, in part: Slaves, accept the authority of your masters with all deference, not only those who are kind and gentle but also those who are harsh. For it is a credit to you if, being aware of God, you endure pain while suffering unjustly. If you endure when you are beaten for doing wrong, what credit is that? But if you endure when you do right and suffer for it, you have God’s approval. For to this you have been called, because Christ also suffered for you, leaving you an example, so that you could follow in his steps.57 The slaves addressed in this passage were for the most part household slaves, as is indicated by the urban nature of most of the areas to which the letter was sent and the author’s use of οἰκέται rather than δούλοι.58 The slaves would have been both male and female, but for the purposes of this article, I will concentrate on female slaves.59 It is common knowledge among ancient historians that slaves in the Greco-Roman world were extremely vulnerable, especially physically. A slave’s body was available to her master in four major ways: for labor, corporal punishment, torture, and sexual service.60 The first three might have been difficult and degrading but would not necessarily have come into conflict with her belief system. But the fourth responsibility, a slave’s obligation to have sex with her master, her master’s friends, or other slaves was inherently problematic for a Christian slave. Jennifer Glancy’s recent work regarding slaves in the Corinthian church highlights the conflict that would have arisen between Christian slaves’ desire to maintain sexual purity and their sexual obligations to their masters.61 Glancy points out the subtle contradiction in Paul’s responses to the Corinthian church regarding marriage and the situation of Christian slaves. Paul makes it clear that legitimate sexual expression is limited to marriage and that the integrity of a Christian’s body is crucial to the integrity of the Christian body as a whole. Using Paul’s logic, a slave’s sexual relationship with her master would be considered πορνεία.62 Glancy concludes that “the sexual obligations incumbent on many slaves would

The NRSV translators use the traditional interpretation of the imperatival participles as imperatives, rather than translating them more accurately as participles. 58 1 Peter is addressed to the Christians in Pontus, Galatia, Cappadocia, Asia, and Bithynia, all well-populated with cities, with the possible exception of Galatia. It is uncertain whether by “Galatia” 1 Peter refers to northern Galatia, southern Galatia, or all of the area made into a province by Augustus. See Stephen Mitchell, Anatolia: Land, Men, and Gods in Asia Minor (2 vols.; Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1993). The other provinces were dotted with cities that had been visited by Paul. 59 Male slaves would also have been subject to abuse; but in the Haustafeln the free women are also advised to remain submissive, and it is women today who are the individuals most likely to be “ministered to” with this passage. For these reasons, and because of the feminist focus on the women in the passage, I have chosen to limit the discussion to women. The term οἰκέται usually included all household slaves, including women (Sophocles, Trach. 908) and was also used of women specifically (Aristophanes, Vespae 766). These sources were suggested to me by Shari Nakata of University of California, Irvine. 60 Moses Finley includes the last three in Ancient Slavery and Modern Ideology (London:  Chatto & Windus, 1980), 94–96. Household slaves were more vulnerable to sexual abuse because of their proximity to their owners. 61 Glancy reemphasizes what Scott Bartchy had already noticed:  that the sexual nature of some master–slave relationships is not mentioned specifically in any NT text (“Slavery, Greco­Roman,” ABD 6:65–73) and that modern scholars have failed to look at the sex lives of Christian slaves (Glancy, “Obstacles to Slaves,” 482). 62 Glancy, “Obstacles to Slaves,” 496, 499. 57

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have presented sometimes insuperable barriers to their participation in churches of the Pauline circle.”63 Because in 4:1–6 the Petrine author urges the Christians to stay away from the licentious practices of the non-Christians, we may assume that he held views similar to those of Paul. But his address to the slaves indicates that he considered them to be integral members of the Christian communities in Asia Minor. This means one of three things:  (1) the slaves were not faced with sexual demands; (2) the author does not care that the slaves are participating in un­Christian sexual activity; or (3) some slaves were refusing to submit sexually. The third option seems to be the most likely because it makes the most sense in light of the author’s discussion of suffering. It is likely that at times the slaves were being severely punished for refusing or resisting sex upon request.64 Does that mean, therefore, that the author urged them to submit to or accept authority (which would have meant sexually) to avoid the suffering and to appear “good” to the outside world, as Corley and others assert?65 That is hardly plausible, considering that his statement immediately preceding the Haustafel is to urge them “to abstain from the desires of the flesh” (2:11).66 So what does “accept authority” (ὑποτάσσεσθε) mean in this context? First, that the slaves are to endure unjust treatment. The author defines this as suffering for behaving correctly (do right and suffer for it), which would include resisting sexual service. The word that the author uses most often for correct behavior (the behavior that will cause the suffering, not prevent it) is ἀγαθοποιέω. Clearly, ὑποτάσσεσθε here does not mean that they are to submit sexually or to stop their Christian activities so that the suffering would cease; the author insists consistently that the suffering will continue because of their ἀγαθοποιοῦντας (doing good).67 “Accepting authority” here would then mean that the slaves will not retaliate when punished for their Christian actions.68 The author does not ask them to end the conflict-causing activities, but only to behave submissively when confronted and punished for their nonconformity.69

Ibid., 501. There is no evidence that they successfully prevented the sexual advances, but resisting in any form would have been disobedience. 65 Corley, “1 Peter,” 353. In truth, anyone who supports the assimilationist view would have to argue that this is exactly what the author had in mind. Schüssler Fiorenza writes that according to 1 Peter the slaves and wives “should seek to reduce suffering and tensions as much as possible by a lifestyle that is totally conformed to the customs and ethos of the pagan household and state” (In Memory of Her, 261). Her argument must be that the author of 1 Peter supported the kind of sexual service being demanded of Christian slaves by their masters. 66 This exhortation before the Haustafel should not be construed as implying that the slaves who are addressed specifically in the Haustafel somehow “desired” the sexual relationships they had with their masters. The exhortation regarding σαρκικῶν ἐπιθυμιῶν is clearly meant as a general suggestion for the entire Christian community, not the slaves specifically. The author’s exhortations to holiness (1:13; 2:9), discussions about the negative behaviors of the Gentiles (4:3–4), and his assumption that the slaves are moral beings (2:18–21) indicate that he would not condone a slave’s sexual service. 67 1 Peter 1:6–7; 2:4–8, 12, 18–20; 3:1–2, 9, 14, 15, 17; 4:1–2, 12–19; 5:8–10. Schüssler Fiorenza instead argues that ἀγαθοποιοῦντας should be interpreted as “being a good citizen” because “ ‘what is good’ is agreed upon by Christians as well as pagans” (In Memory of Her, 261). 68 The punishment for a slave resisting sexual service could include physical abuse or the threat of being sold (Glancy, “Obstacles to Slaves,”487, citing K. R. Bradley, “ ‘The Regular, Daily Traffic in Slaves’: Roman History and Contemporary History,” CJ 87 [1992]: 125–38). 69 Thomas P. Osborne, “Guide Lines for Christian Suffering: A Source-Critical and Theological Study of 1 Peter 2:2125,” Bib 64 (1983): 381–408; Michaels, 1 Peter, 136–37. 63 64

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The author clarifies what their behavior should be in 2:21–25, in a “midrash” on Isaiah 53:4–12. The focus of that passage is the ‘ebed Yhwh, or “slave of Yahweh,” more commonly translated as Suffering Servant, who was increasingly identified with Jesus by Christians in the late first century, if not earlier.70 The author demonstrates many points of contact between Christ’s experience and what he expects the slaves to imitate:  First, Jesus was innocent of wrongdoing, as are the slaves in this situation. They may have disobeyed the master by attending a Christian meeting or resisting sex, but they are truly behaving correctly. The point is that the most innocent and holy behavior will cause conflict and disharmony in relationships with non-Christians, not ameliorate suffering or increase harmony with non-Christians. Jesus’ own moral actions led to his own death.71 Second, in spite of his innocence, Jesus was subject to abuse, and so are the slaves. The abuse was probably physical and verbal and may have included beating, rape, disabling, cursing, whipping, ridicule, and imprisonment. The author seems to focus on the verbal abuse and the speech patterns of the Christians as well. Submission may thus indicate speaking with the respect due to those socially in authority during conflicts over Christian activities. Third, Jesus did not retaliate. This is the key to the interpretation of all of the author’s exhortations regarding behavior: the critical choice between doing evil and doing good always centers on the believer’s moral stance during and after the experience of suffering. The author is encouraging the slaves not to seek abuse but to continue to behave in a nonretaliatory way regardless of the consequences. He emphasizes Jesus’ experience as one of a slave, in that he was “despised and rejected by others,” characteristics that fit well with the kind of social degradation inherent in slavery, with which no free woman or man would identify.72 The Haustafel exalts these slaves by making a direct identification between them and Christ; the female slaves are Christomorphic.73 Glancy remarks: 1 Peter does not identify servile subordination with the will of God nor of Christ. Rather, 1 Peter links the bodily violations to which the slaves were subject with the bodily violations of Jesus in his passion and death. The author of 1 Peter invites slaves to contemplate the wounds of Jesus in order to give them strength to endure their own wounds.74

Martin, Metaphor and Composition, 151. Scholars debate how well defined the idea of the Suffering Servant was in first-century Judaism and how formative it was for the Christian idea of the Messiah. J. Jeremias (“pais theou,” TDNT 5:677–717) has been the most influential; see also Donald Juel, Messianic Exegesis: Christological Interpretation of the Old Testament in Early Christianity (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1988). 71 Osborne points out that this understanding of the apparent contradiction between actions and results demonstrates an evolution in the Jewish concept of suffering—a new tradition represented by the Suffering Servant hymn, which presented the positive consequences of suffering inflicted upon the righteous (“Guide Lines,” 394 n. 49). 72 In submitting to crucifixion, Jesus died a slave’s death, rejecting society’s ideas of shame. The implications for the perception of slavery are weighty. The lowest in the hierarchy are, by identification with Jesus, the most worthy. See David A.  DeSilva, Despising Shame:  Honor Discourse and Community Maintenance in the Epistle to the Hebrews (SBLDS 152; Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1995). 73 Elliott comments on this passage: “Singling out slaves as examples for all the believers demonstrates the new status and respect which such lowly persons might anticipate in the new Christian community . . . [T]‌heir vulnerability is a sign of the social vulnerability of all suffering Christians and of the solidarity of the suffering brotherhood [sic] with its suffering Lord” (Home for the Homeless, 207). 74 Glancy, Slavery in Early Christianity (New York: Oxford University Press, 2002), 149. 70

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Like slaves, wives were a focal point of the Petrine Haustafel because they were an exaggerated example of every Christian’s life in the non-Christian world:  they were subject to misunderstanding, abuse, and injustice—problems that were heightened because of their lesser legal status. The author connects their experience with that of the slaves with his use of ὁμοίως before his remarks to the wives in 3:1–6. He says to them: Wives, in the same way, accept the authority of your husbands, so that, even if some of them do not obey the word, they may be won over without a word by their wives’ conduct, when they see the purity and reverence of your lives. . . . Thus Sarah obeyed Abraham and called him lord. You have become her daughters as long as you do what is good and never let fears alarm you. (3:1–2, 6) Much of this passage and the following words to the Christian husbands are steeped in misogynist preconceptions about women:  that they are weaker, that their appearance is somehow provocative, that they should be silent, and so on. The author of 1 Peter, like the other post-Pauline Christian writers, understood that full redemption would take place not now, not here, but in the imminent eschaton.75 He strains under the tension of women taking action in the church communities. Unlike the author of Colossians or Ephesians or the Pastorals, however, this author faces head-on the idea that many women in the communities he addresses are taking risks and operating at the margins of the worlds of belief and nonbelief. He must acknowledge their status and courage, because they, not their husbands, represent much of the Christian community addressed in this text. We can conclude from the author’s remark “even if some of them do not obey the word” that many of the women being addressed are married to non­Christians. Thus, the exhortation to the wives to submit is similar to the exhortation to the slaves; it encourages them to accept their husbands’ authority during the persecution that they face as a result of their disobedience. Their independent conversions, attendance at Christian meetings, and neglect of their cultic duties all constituted a crossing of boundaries that subverted the authority of the paterfamilias and forced them to negotiate between two communities in conflict. It is that subversion that the author encourages when he tells the wives to “do what is good” (ἀγαθοποιοῦσαι) even if the consequences are frightening (3:11). The boundary-crossing activities of the Christian wives and slaves may have been even more significant because they may have engaged in public activities more than is often assumed. Margaret MacDonald writes: Recent anthropological thought criticizes the assumption that norms which identify women with the household limit the role of women exclusively to the private sphere. In this light, it is useful to see the woman married to the unbeliever as being a mediator between realms. On the one hand, she ventures into the public sphere, moving and manoevering to secure Christian membership; yet she also returns to her private home, intent on transforming the house.76

Rosemary Radford Ruether, Women and Redemption:  A Theological History (Minneapolis:  Augsburg Fortress, 1998), 3. 76 MacDonald, Early Christian Women, 203. 75

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MacDonald argues that what seemed on the surface to be simply a “Christian appropriation of dominant patterns of hierarchy” is actually more complicated.77 The exhortations confine the Petrine women to their homes, yet paradoxically also push them outside of the home. Straddling the border, these women made conscious and courageous choices about the relationship between beliefs and actions and identity formation.78

V Other scholars have argued, rightly, that suffering is a problematic, even dangerous model for women and that suffering is positive only when it is a vehicle for social change.79 The ideal of submitting to suffering simply for the promise of an eschatological vindication or even recognition within the Christian community perpetuates a cycle of victimization that modern women have worked hard to break.80 But there are substantial reasons to counter that such a critique does not apply completely to this particular text; rather, the actions of the Petrine women have more to do with marginal resistance than with suffering for its own sake. First, the suffering Petrine women were contributing to a kind of familial disobedience that many women would later follow, even though the overthrow of the patriarchal system was never attempted.81 This is supported by the text’s emphasis on the “rightness” of the disobedience of the women and slaves. As demonstrated above, it was the subversive disobedience of the women, in their conversions and Christian activities, that prompted the persecutions by their κύριοι. That kind of disobedience, later celebrated in feminist heroines such as Thecla and Perpetua, is quietly discernible, and approbated, in the Petrine Haustafel. Second, the suffering may have been interpreted by the Petrine women as empowering, because they identified themselves as persecuted Christians and they participated in a discourse that understood suffering in persecution positively. Judith Perkins has shown convincingly that Christianity altered accepted ways of thinking about the self by constituting its members as a community of sufferers because of persecution.82 Christian writings of the late first and early second centuries nearly unanimously assert that to be a Christian is to suffer.83 Suffering Ibid., 202. Feminist scholars sometimes make a somewhat arbitrary distinction between ancient women who left their families for Christ’s sake as radical (Thecla is the most popular example) and those who remained with their families as less so. The distinction is important: a woman who rejected the traditional morality of home was significant, but the actions of a Christian woman in a non-Christian home could be just as subversive. 79 Schüssler Fiorenza, In Memory of Her, 317. 80 One feminist fear is realized when a passage such as this is interpreted as a positive example for women’s behavior. The greatest danger is that women will find strength from this passage to continue to endure abuse. My point in this article is to argue that the circumstances surrounding the abuse and suffering in the Petrine text differ so radically from ours that the text cannot be used as a behavioral blueprint. 81 Sawyer, Women and Religion, 201–4. Glancy notes that slaves resisted in a number of ways: running away, stealing, being insolent, and openly rebelling. She also acknowledges that these options would likely result in further abuse (Slavery, 149–50). 82 Judith Perkins, The Suffering Self: Pain and Narrative Representation in the Early Christian Era (New York: Routledge, 1995), 8–14. 83 E.g., Barn. 6.9 and 7.11; Iren. Haer. 2.22; Pol. Phil. 9.1; and Clem. Alex. Strom. 1 are a few examples. Perkins demonstrates that this attitude is documented outside of Christian writings as early as 111 ce in the letters of Pliny to Trajan, and that by the middle of the century Galen could write of the Christian contempt for suffering and death (Perkins, Suffering Self, 18–19). 77 78

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and martyrdom were esteemed and emulated and “within the Christian thought-world [these behaviors] were not only normal but normative.”84 Perkins demonstrates that, in the Christian context, suffering at the hands of nonChristians helped to invert social categories and enabled Christians to resist normative GrecoRoman categories of value. The second-century account of the martyrdom of the slave woman Blandina specifically makes the point that, in spite of her social status as weak and insignificant, she became powerful and exalted because of her ability to endure suffering.85 The endurance of pain, specifically by society’s most powerless members, was consistently represented by Christian writers as an empowering reversal of social constrictions and definitions. The Petrine women, then, participating in both Christian and pagan cultures, may have appropriated a suffering identity as one way to negotiate between conflicting paradigms. Furthermore, Christian sources of the second century insist that the endurance of persecution attracted converts. Tertullian wrote: ‘We multiply whenever we are mown down by you; the blood of Christians is seed” (Apol. 50), and Justin asserted that “the more we are persecuted, the more do others in ever increasing numbers embrace the faith and become worshipers of God through the name of Jesus” (Dial. 110). Regardless of the accuracy of this claim, it appears to have been believed by Christians and deepens the meaning of the reassurance to the Christian wives in 1 Pet 3:1 that their unbelieving husbands “may be won over without a word by their wives’ conduct.” The Roman method of establishing dominance through force was thus resisted by Christian endurance of that force:  the body, pain, injury, and even death were signifiers that were reappropriated by some Christian women to mean power rather than defeat and assimilation. Weakness and humiliation on one side of the cultural boundary were reinterpreted as strength and honor on the other. This reconstruction by Christian leaders of the meaning of suffering in situations of persecution very likely informed the self-understanding of the author of 1 Peter and the women in the communities he addressed. But those first-century discourses are not our discourses. Today in most of the EuropeanAmerican sphere of influence there is no valuation of slavery or servanthood, no positive model by which to understand that experience. Communitywide persecution of Christians such as the women of 1 Peter faced is rare; the abuse of Christian women comes more often at the hands of their Christian husbands.86 Although many contemporary Christian women Perkins, Suffering Self, 33. This valorization of suffering continued into the medieval period, in which women took on the suffering of Christ and gained community esteem. Ellen M. Ross’s The Grief of God: Images of the Suffering Jesus in Late Medieval England (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1997) offers insightful parallels. She writes: “In and through their suffering in solidarity with Christ, medieval holy women become identified with him so closely that they become brokers of the spiritual power that inheres in Jesus himself. Through their suffering, holy women become like Jesus” (pp. 12–13). She adds that although the valorization of suffering may seem “bizarre and unhealthy to many of us now . . . the study of history is not always about seeking comfortable life-models…We may be intrigued and challenged by the power and integrity of this medieval world in which suffering manifested divine presence” (pp. 134–38). 85 Perkins, Suffering Self, 1, 13. 86 Even in the communities where Christians are persecuted, they are so informed and influenced by the discourses of religious freedom, bodily integrity, human rights, and this-worldly liberation, that the valorization of suffering is rarely taken seriously. Sharyn Dowd writes that 1 Peter was written at a time when the victims of abuse had no options (“1 Peter,” 463). Carolyn Osiek and David Balch argue that slaves were “in the vulnerable position of having no recourse when abused. Their conformity to the suffering Christ, therefore, is meant to be comfort and encouragement in suffering that they are powerless to avoid, not a legitimation of the oppression of slavery” (Families in the New Testament World: Households and House Churches [Family, Religion, and Culture; Louisville: Westminster John Knox, 1997], cited in Glancy, Slavery, 149). 84

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must make choices at the boundaries of belief and secular culture, the boundary today entails much less personal danger. Thus, the Petrine author’s exhortation to the women and slaves to “accept authority” in the face of conflict should not be used to edify modern victims of abuse.87 Most feminist exegetes of 1 Peter are correct that it is not a liberating text. Patriarchal attitudes are maintained, and women are perceived in stereotypical ways. Women are seemingly encouraged to suffer, and no one offers a this­worldly solution to sexism and abuse. But there are small, subversive openings we can infer from the text: the women operated bravely on the margins, negotiating between their commitment to the Christian community and their non­ Christian families and masters; the Petrine text encouraged them to practice passive, nonviolent disobedience, which included a rejection of some of their socially demanded household roles; and the silence that was encouraged in their households was not necessarily reduplicated in the Christian community, of which they are held up as Christomorphic representatives because of their disobedience and suffering in a situation of persecution. Moreover, the context of the Christian reinterpretation/renaming of suffering as valuable would have given the women opportunities to exert more power over their situations and selfidentities. By rejecting the major premise of their κύριοι that force and intimidation should change their behavior and beliefs, the women of 1 Peter could make at least one part of their lives their own. We do not know how many women took this advice, but as early as 111 ce, some twenty years after the composition of 1 Peter, we have evidence from the correspondence between Pliny and Trajan that Christian women and men in the same geographical area were willingly enduring suffering and death. The advice to the Petrine women should be left to the first century; the women are an example of courage in a situation that no longer exists. The instructions are an example of confusion and compromise in the face of serious persecution and gender trouble. They both reinforce and undermine the ancient system of patriarchy and domination. Furthermore, this passage should encourage us to remember that the meanings of suffering can be created only personally and contextually. The goals of relief and the means of resistance have to be determined by the sufferer, who is the one who authentically interprets the constellations of power. Theologies of suffering can offer only general guidelines for understanding suffering and should allow for the greatest diversity in interpretation and reaction. To use the Petrine exhortations as a universal behavioral standard, as some priests and pastors do, or to condemn the text as universally destructive because it has been used destructively in the past, as some feminists do, is to ignore a positive example of the courage of ancient women and to indulge in the timeless, absolutist hermeneutic most scholars reject. It is encouraging that some churches are finally catching on and leaving the Petrine advice behind. One pastor in the Los Angeles Times article concluded, “A church needs to be relevant to the people we’re ministering to,” referring to their newly established program to combat domestic violence and support abused women.88 It may be necessary that the brave, suffering women of 1 Peter be forgotten. But with a cautious historically situated interpretation of the

Clancy’s statement regarding the application of this text to slavery can apply to women in general: “For slaveholders in any historical epoch to cite this text to foster the submission of their slaves is therefore egregious, since the author implies that the slaveholders’ treatment of their slaves is unjust and will ultimately be judged harshly by God” (Slavery, 150). 88 Watanabe, “Domestic Violence,” B9. 87

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Petrine Haustafel, we should be able to give them the recognition they deserve while preserving the safety and sanity of their modern counterparts.

Appendix The Imperatival Participle in 1 Peter Eight of the participles in the Petrine Haustafel are imperatival, in that the author used the participial grammatical form in the place of a finite imperative. The author uses them elsewhere also (examples from the Haustafel are in bold): 1:13a, b, 14, 18, 22; 2:1, 4, 12, 18, 3:1, 6c, d, 7a, b, 9a, b, 16; 4:8, 10, and 5:9. Although present in other NT Haustafeln, imperatival participles are more concentrated in the Petrine code, and they are not found in classical or Hellenistic Greek literature. The Greek participle is normally accompanied by a finite verb which the participle complements. Participles thus function either adjectivally or adverbially in relation to the finite verb. But an imperatival participle is neither connected to any imperative form, nor is it an ellipse of the periphrastic construction. It stands independently in the place of the main verb and is obviously to be understood as a command. Imperatival participles should not be confused with “exhortative participles,” which also have the sense of a command but which draw that sense from the finite verb by which they are governed. Nigel Turner suggests that the imperatival participle is “comparatively most frequent” in 1 Peter (Grammatical Insights into the New Testament [Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1965], 166). But just as there is no consensus regarding which participles in 1 Peter are imperatival (see Lauri Thurén, The Rhetorical Strategy of I  Peter:  With Special Regard to Ambiguous Expressions (Åbo:  Åbo Academy Press,  1990], 4–11, for an overview of different scholars’ positions), so it is with participles in other NT epistles. Imperatival participles appear in Col 3:16, Eph 5:21, and possibly in Heb 13:5 and Rom 12:9–19. It is not unanimously accepted that any of these NT participles should be interpreted imperativally, although those who support the imperatival use are in the majority. These include David Daube, The New Testament and Rabbinic Judaism (London:  Althone, 1956), 90–105; Thurén, Rhetorical Strategy, passim (with qualifications); Max Zerwick, Biblical Greek: Illustrated by Examples (Scripta Pontificii lnstituti Biblica; Rome: n.p., 1963); C. F. D. Moule, An Idiom Book of New Testament Greek (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1971), 179–80; Turner, Grammatical Insights, 165; John H.  Elliott, The Elect and the Holy:  An Exegetical Examination of I  Peter 2:4–10 and the Phrase “Basileion Hierateuma” (NovTSup 12; Leiden: Brill, 1966), 16–17; James H. Moulton, A Grammar of New Testament Greek (Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1906), 180–83; H. G. Meecham, “The Use of the Participle for the Imperative,” ExpTim 58 (1947): 207–8; William L. Schutter, Hermeneutic and Composition in I  Peter (WUNT 2/30; Tübingen:  Mohr-Siebeck, 1989), 61; Ernest Best, 1 Peter (NCB; London: Marshall, Morgan & Scott, 1971), 30; Leonhard Goppelt, A Commentary on I Peter (trans. John E. Alsup; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1993), passim; Ernst Lohse, “Paraenesis and Kerygma in I  Peter” (trans. J.  Steely), in Perspectives on 1 Peter (NABPR Special Studies 9; Macon, GA: Mercer University Press, 1986), 43; Crouch, Origen and Intention, 24; Balch, “Let Wives Be Submissive,” 37, with reservations; and Michaels, 1 Peter, passim. In 1947 NT scholar David Daube argued that the NT imperatival participles were Christian versions of the Hebrew imperatival participle construction found in the Mishnah. The 484

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imperatival participles in Hebrew are used to express what is customary and agreed upon, as distinct from what is authoritative and absolute. They never occur in a specific demand on a specific occasion. The participles are present in those instructions which deal with customary behavior and are usually translated with the sense of “one does such and such, and one does not do such and such.” Daube argued that the Mishnaic participles arose out of the Jewish experience of loss of revelation following the completion of the OT canon. They thus reflect the secondary nature of nonbiblical rules. Daube added that they were expressed this way also because they were addressed to an elite, elect group that already knew the proper behavior. Thus, they implied advice rather than command, and they appealed to the positive self-identification of a community that considered itself superior, even though oppressed. See David Daube, “Appended Note,” in Selwyn, First Epistle of Peter, 467; and New Testament and Rabbinic Judaism, 94. An example Daube lists is from Mo‘ed Qatan, in which the sages say, “On the new moons, Hanukkah, and Purim [women] wail and clap their hands. On none of them do they sing a dirge” (3:9). In the original all of the instructions are in the participle, and a literal translation would be, “On the new moons, Hanukkah, and Purim [women] are wailing and clapping their hands. On none of them are they singing a dirge.” Daube’s other examples include m. Šeb. 1:3; m. Sanh. 8:7; m. Demai 2:3; m. Bik. 1:4; and m. Ta‘an. 4:6 (Rabbinic Judaism, 90–96). The instructions are not forceful or prescriptive, but descriptive of the normal activities of members of the group. The Petrine author’s use of the imperatival participle would seem to indicate the same dynamic: a group leader speaking to those who already understood the rules, reminding them of the customary behavior. The significance of the imperatival participles in 1 Peter, if Daube’s theory is correct, would be form­critical:  a linguistic form arising out of social circumstances—here the preservation of sectarian identity, consistent with Elliott’s analysis. More recently, Lauri Thurén has suggested that the imperatival participles are part of the Petrine author’s rhetorical strategy of using “ambiguous expressions” to address two conflicting attitudes in his audience: to assimilate to Greco-Roman culture and to emphasize internal cohesion (Rhetorical Strategy).

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DISGRACED YET GRACED: THE GOSPEL ACCORDING TO 1 PETER IN THE KEY OF HONOR AND SHAME

John H. Elliott

A poignant and exquisitely moving moment of United States history was recounted in a recent issue of Christian Century (Oct. 26, 1994, pp. 982–83). Writing on missing elements in just war theory, the author, Michael J. Schuck (1994: 982–83) began with an account of the surrender of the Confederate army to the Union forces on April 12, 1865, at the Appomattox courthouse and the role that honor played on that solemn occasion. Commander Joshua L. Chamberlain, Schuck recalls, had been selected by General Grant for the daunting task of formally receiving the surrendering army. Only days before, the two armies had been at each other’s throats. The potential humiliation was almost intolerable for the Confederates, and the opportunity for venting pent­up rage and ridicule was almost irresistible for the union. At nine o’clock in the morning on April 12, on a hilltop overlooking the Appomattox courthouse, the Confederate soldiers began falling in for their march to surrender. The troops moved forward without band or drum; they were exhausted, dirty, wounded. At their head was Major General John B. Gordon, astride his horse with head bowed. The significance of the occasion impressed Chamberlain. He had already decided to mark the moment by saluting his former enemies. Shuck continues the story by quoting from the recent study of Alice Trulock, In the Hands of Providence: Joshua L. Chamberlain and the American Civil War (1992): As Gordon reached the right of the Federal column where Chamberlain and his officers waited, a bugle sounded. Immediately, the whole Union line snapped to attention, and the slapping noise of hands on shifting rifles echoed in the stillness as regiment after regiment in succession down the Union line came to the old manual of arms position of ‘salute’ and then back to ‘order arms’ and ‘parade rest.’ .  .  . When Gordon heard the sounds of the drill, he instantly recognized their significance and wheeled to face Chamberlain. As he did, his spurs touched the sides of his horse, causing it to rear, and as his horse’s head then came down in a bow, the gallant John H. Elliott, Dr. Theol. (Westfälische Wilhelms-Universität), an Associate Editor of BTB, author of “Stages of the Jesus Movement: From Faction to Sect,” in P. F. Esler, ed., Modelling Early Christianity (London: Routledge, 1995), What Is Social-Scientific Criticism? (Minneapolis, MN: Fortress Press, 1993), and Home for the Homeless; A SocialScientific Criticism of 1 Peter, Its Situation and Strategy, 2nd ed. (Minneapolis, MN: Fortress Press, 1990), is Professor of Theology and Religious Studies at the University of San Francisco, San Francisco, CA 94117-1080.

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young general dropped his sword point to his boot toe in a graceful salute to the man whom he would call ‘one of the knightliest soldiers of the Federal army.’ Turning to his men, the Confederate leader gave an order, which was repeated through the ranks, and the large Confederate banner dipped. The men of the vanquished army then answered with the same salute given them as they marched by, ‘honor answering honor,’ as Chamberlain described it. Chamberlain, Shuck continues, later explained his salute order as one for which I  sought no authority nor asked forgiveness.  .  .  . Before us in proud humiliation .  .  . stood the embodiment of manhood Men whom neither toils and sufferings, nor the fact of death, nor disaster, nor hopelessness could bend from their resolve; standing before us now thin, worn, famished, but erect, and with eyes looking level into ours, waking memories that bound us together as no other bond. “Such,” Shuck concludes, “is the spirit of honorable surrender.” This generous and noble sense of honor seems to have waned considerably in the last century and a half. But the scene at Appomattox reflects a code of honor and shame with an enormously long pedigree, going back as far as the first centuries of our era and beyond. Since the pioneering work of Julian Pitt-Rivers (1954, 1968, 1977)  and Jean Peristiany (1965) and their collaborative effort (1965), specialists in the anthropology of the CircumMediterranean, female as well as male scholars of varying nationalities, have noted the manner in which a set of pivotal values of honor and shame in this culture basin are related to and expressive of key aspects of the social system. These include the system’s structure and stratification, gender differentiation, masculine embodiment of honor and machismo, feminine embodiment of shame and chastity, gender division of labor and space into male and female domains, honor codes underlying social dispute and conflict, and the labeling and stigmatization mechanisms employed in contentions between ingroups and outgroups (Campbell 1964; Bourdieu 1966; Pitt-Rivers 1965; 1968; Schneider 1971; Herzfeld 1980; Blok 1981; Abu-Lughod 1987; Delaney 1987; Creighton 1990). The 1987 study edited by David Gilmore, Honor and Shame and the Unity of the Mediterranean offers a useful summary of the discussion thus far, and the still more recent work of Peristiany and Pitt-Rivers, Honor and Grace in Anthropology (1992) contains insightful essays exploring the association of honor and shame and the realm of the sacred, the link between honor and grace, from the past to the present. Classical scholars likewise have long noted the central importance of honor and shame in everyday life and social interaction from the world of Homer to the Tragedians to the Greek and Roman moralists to Late Antiquity and beyond (Adkins 1960; Dodds 1967: 28–63; Redfield 1975; Friedrich 1977; Knoche 1983; Lloyd-Jones 1987; Cairns 1993; Williams 1993; Steward 1994). In the exegetical domain, it is Bruce Malina who has been primarily responsible for introducing a current generation of scriptural students to the manner in which these pivotal values of honor and shame shaped and informed the perceptions, behavioral patterns, and teaching of the biblical communities and their literature. His initial essay in New Testament World: Insights from Cultural Anthropology (1981:25–50) has spawned a raft of exegetical studies exploring evidence of the honor-shame code and its ramifications in a variety of First and Second Testament texts 488

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(Marshall 1983; Dewey 1985; White 1986; May 1987; Malina and Neyrey in Neyrey 1991:25–65; Moxnes 1988a, 1988b, 1993, 1994; Gowler 1991; Pilch 1991a, 1991b; Stansell 1992; Malina and Rohrbaugh 1992; Plevnik 1993; Desilva 1994). For earlier studies see DeVries 1962; Harrelson 1962; Klopfenstein 1972; Daube 1973, 1982; Kee 1974; Vorster 1979. These studies also make it clear that honor and shame not only reckoned in relations among human beings but served the conceptualization of the divine-human relationship as well. Not only are worthy or despicable persons described as honorable or shameful, but God as well is envisioned as the Honorable One par excellence (expressed especially in the numerous biblical doxologies) and the ultimate dispenser of honor and shame (e.g., Ps 4:2; 8:5; 71:21; 112 [111]:9; 119 [118]:31, 46, 116; Isa 28:16; Sir 10:19–20). Those who seek to shame the righteous will themselves be put to shame by God (Ps 6:10; 31:1, 17 [30:2, 18]; 34:5 [33:6]; 35 [34]:4, 26; 37 [36]:18–19; 40 [39]:14–15; 57:3 [56:4]; 70:2–3 [69:3–4]; 71:24; 83:16–17 [82:17–18]; 109 [108]:28–29; 119 [118]:78; 129 [128]:5; 132 [131]:18, etc.). God puts to shame not only the ungodly (Ps 53:5 [52:6]), but also a faithless people (Ps 44 [43]:13–16; 89:45 [88:46]). For the lexicographical analysis of honor/shame terms and concepts in the Second Testament, the lexicon of Louw and Nida (1988, esp. the entries on “Status” [87] and “Shame, Disgrace, Humiliation” [21.189–25.202]) affords a useful point of departure; on the shame word field see also Vorster 1979.

Honor and Shame in the Biblical World While numerous biblical writings illustrate how sentiments of honor and shame operate simultaneously at both social and theological or ideological levels of discourse, there are few in which the issue and language of honor and shame are as prominent and pervasive as the letter of 1 Peter. As the data in the Appendix illustrate, this writing, prompted by a bitter conflict involving its addressees and their hostile local neighbors, is unusually rich in honor-shame and related terminology. My aim in what follows is to examine this language and what it reveals about the nature of the conflict and the weapons by which it was waged. What we shall see is that the author of this letter perceived and interpreted this conflict between the Christians of Asia Minor and their detractors as one over honor and shame, grace and disgrace, and in so doing also transposed the issue of honor and shame into a theological key. Before turning to 1 Peter, however, let us first review some basic aspects of honor and shame in the biblical world. The particular subcultures of the Circum-Mediterranean basin ancient and modern are distinguishable in numerous regards (geographical location, history, language, etc.), including the ways in which the general concepts of honor and shame are concretized, as the anthropologist Michael Herzfeld (1980) has stressed and as historians are also inclined to note. There are, however, at least four features that they all share as elements of the conceptual framework of honor and shame. First, as “shame cultures,” they differ from industrialized “guilt cultures” in that their members are group-oriented and governed in their attitudes and actions primarily by the opinion and appraisals of significant others. In contrast to “guilt cultures” with their developed sense of individualism, an internalized conscience, and an interest in introspection, in “shame cultures” what “other people will say” serves as the chief sanction of conduct. This means that honor and shame, as all other virtues, are primarily assessed by the court of public opinion and in accord 489

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with prevailing stereotypes of persons and groups, their natures, characters, and propensities. Thus Plato observed: “He who has a feeling of reverence and shame about the commission of any action fears and is afraid of an ill reputation” (Euthyphro 12B). On Hellenic (and Hellenistic) shame culture as contrasted to guilt cultures and the other-directedness of the former see Gouldner 1969: 78–90; Malina 1993: 63–89; Neyrey 1993: 3–7, 17–20; for the theory that shame and guilt are present and complementary in all cultures see Augsburger 1986: 114–43. Second, in these honor and shame cultures, social relations are viewed as essentially conflictual in nature, with life itself constituting one challenge or conflict after another. This crucial feature of Hellenic (and Hellenistic) culture and its bearing on contests over honor and shame is admirably described by the sociologist Alvin W. Gouldner, whose brilliant study, The Hellenic World: A Sociological Analysis (1969), deserves closer attention from biblical scholars than previously accorded. On the Greek “contest system” and the quest for honor see Gouldner 1969: 41–132; cf. also Arthur Adkins 1960. From wars on the battlefield to athletic contests to challenges in the market place, honor was one of the prized commodities over which persons contended and fought. This ongoing struggle over honor, moreover, was “a zero-sum contest” (Gilmore 1987: 90), so that one person’s gain meant another’s loss. Persons achieve honor not only by acts of bravery and beneficence, but also by successfully challenging others and calling their honor into question. Ignoring this challenge and failing to publicly defend one’s honor and reputation results in shame. Third, in such cultures where the division of labor and related spheres of life is determined along gender lines, males are seen to embody the honor of the family and females, the family’s shame. While the women are viewed as the weaker gender, biologically, intellectually, and morally, they are also “paradoxically powerful because of their potential for collective disgrace” (Gilmore 1987: 90), thus leading to their seclusion, restriction to the realm of the household, and protection by vigilant related males. In these three aspects present Mediterranean societies differ little from their ancient forebears, as a host of anthropological studies have made clear. One representative work is the now classic study of John Kennedy Campbell, Honour, Family, and Patronage (1964). Studying the workings of the honor code in a Greek mountain community, Campbell notes the same conception of daily life as conflict that Gouldner documented for the ancient Greeks. He also calls attention to a fourth feature of honor, shame, and conflict: namely, the role that kinship systems play in distinguishing the actors on the stage of conflict, who then interact in terms of the honor code. ‘Kinsmen’ and ‘strangers’ represent opposed but complementary categories of persons . . . the community from the viewpoint of each individual is divided into kinsmen and non-kinsmen, ‘own people’ and ‘strangers.’ The division is unequivocal; kinsmen inspire loyalty and obligation, strangers distrust and moral indifference [1964: 148].

Culturally Contextual Meanings These four features, which characterized the preoccupation with honor and shame in the world of the biblical communities—orientation to the group and the appraisal of others, the perceived conflictual nature of social relations, the male embodiment of honor balanced by the 490

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female embodiment of shame, and the contestants differentiated as kinsmen vs. strangers— complemented and reinforced each other. Conflict was outer-directed and carried on by males against others (non-kin, strangers) in terms of the ideals of honor and shame. One looked to others, not the self, for affirmations of honor and accusations of shame, and honor and shame were chief values over which persons and groups, kinsmen and strangers, competed and fought. But what do these values of honor (timê, philotomia, doxa, etc.) and shame (aischynê, aischynô, kataischynô etc.) themselves signify, and what other concepts do they embrace? Honor and shame, on the whole, are expressions of the social standing of a group and its members and paramount indicators of their credit rating. “Honor” is a claim to worth (on the part of an individual, family, or group) accompanied by the public acknowledgment of, and respect for, that worth (Prov 3:4; 20:3; 21:21; Demosthenes, Or. 2.15; 3.24; Josephus, Vita 274, 422–29). Honor was a matter of one’s fama, one’s reputation, social standing, and status rating in the eyes of others. “Honor,” Aristotle comments (Rhet. 1.5; 1316A), “is the token of a man’s being famous for doing good.” It was the function of epideictic rhetoric in particular to celebrate such honor. As synonyms for honor, Pollux (5.158) lists kleos, doxa, phêmê, onoma, euphêmia, polyphêmia, lamprotês, eudoxia, eudokimêsis, zêlos, eukleia, and mnêmê. As a further equivalent of timê Plutarch (Mem. 3.12.4) also mentions charis. Latin equivalents include honor, gloria, fama, dignitas, claritas, etc.; cf. Vermeulen 1981. Such honor can be rooted and symbolized in one’s distinguished lineage, bloodline, and good name (Sirach 41:12–13), one’s wealth and generosity (Gen 31:1; 45:13; Prov 14:31; Philo, Op. 79; Leg. All. 2.107; Ep. Arist. 227), one’s power (Ps 63:2; 96:7; Dan 2:37; 5:18), and one’s moral virtue (aretê). Preoccupation with honor, philotimia, was everyday, first order business. “Wealth, fame, official posts, honors, and everything of that sort,” Philo comments (Abr. 264), are the concerns “with which the majority of mankind is busy.” The striving for honor, according to Plutarch (Hiero 7.3), separates humans from animals and brings them close to divinity. And as Dio Chrysostom puts it, linking honor and the sacred: “What is more sacred than honor?” (Orat. 31.37). Small wonder that of the myriad inscriptions surviving from antiquity, so many are records of public recognition, praise, and honors bestowed! (Danker 1982, passim). Indeed, according to Isocrates (5.134), the memory of one’s honor and one’s name was a guarantee of immortality. “Shame,” the correlate of honor, is, in a positive sense, concern about one’s honor rating, possession of a “sense of shame.” “Shame” in a negative sense results when the honor, character, or good name of a person or group is successfully challenged through insult, disparagement, reviling, or other form of attack or when a person fails to protect and extend the reputation of one’s group through appropriate personal behavior. In the “agonistic,” conflict-ridden culture of ancient society, this credit rating was under constant scrutiny and challenge. Defending, maintaining, and enhancing personal or group honor, on the one hand, and avoiding being publicly degraded, demeaned, disgraced, insulted, scorned, and humiliated (i.e., “shamed”), on the other, were universal and persistent preoccupations of the ancient Mediterraneans in their informal interactions. The operative word here is informal, implying a conflict over custom rather than law, as Plutarch (Orat. 76.4) makes clear: “For the laws inflict punishment upon men’s bodies, but when a custom (ethos) is violated, the consequent penalty has always been shame (aischynê). Being disgraced and shamed by failing to maintain, defend, and enhance one’s honor had dire consequences for oneself, one’s family, and others with whom one was associated. To be 491

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“shameless” is to lack this sensibility and thus to be beyond the moral pale altogether, as in the case of gross deviants and strangers. Where, as in the biblical world, society was a network of kinship and ethnic groups, “kinsmen” and “strangers” often represented opposed but complementary categories of persons. Kinsmen, as Campbell noted, “inspire loyalty and obligation, strangers distrust and moral indifference” (1964:  148). Within the category of kinsmen, moreover, “the only stable solidary group is the family” and “the mutual opposition of family groups is expressed through the concept of honour with its connotations of exclusiveness” (1964: 148). This demarcation between kinsmen and strangers and the household as the basis of honor is especially noteworthy because it is present in the scenario of 1 Peter as well. Concern about honor (generally embodied in males and the family “name”) and shame (generally embodied in females and the blood) affected all aspects of behavior and social interaction and was given expression in a wide range of vocabulary and topics. The idiom of honor and shame and the polarities of honor/dishonor, grace/disgrace, respect/disrespect, repute/disrepute, worthiness/unworthiness, prestige and exaltation/baseness and degradation provided a basic way of conceptualizing and expressing matters of status, roles, behavior, social differentiation, social control, and social appraisal. In Jewish and Christian circles, the books of Proverbs and Sirach, illustrative of conventional wisdom, abound with instruction concerning honorable and shameful behavior, particularly in regard to familial conduct (see, e.g., Prov 9:13; 10:5; 13:5; 18:3; 25:10; Sir 13:7–14; 41:14–42:14). Transcribed into a theological or ideological key, the cultural script of honor and shame likewise provided an idiom for distinguishing kin from strangers, the honorable House of Israel from the shameful or shameless Gentiles, as well as an idiom for describing God and praising God’s honor, glory, mercy, and mighty acts (1 Chron 16:29; Ps 29:2; 144–50; Matt 15:31; Luke 1:46–55, 68–79; 7:16; Rev 4:9, 11; 5:13; 7:12). Indeed, “the highest form of honor,” the letter of Aristeas (234) observes, “is honoring God . . . with purity of heart and of devout disposition, as everything is ordained by God and ordered according to his will.” Shaming too is ultimately God’s prerogative, especially the shaming of the disobedient and godless (Ps 132:18; Isa 28:16; Jer 23:40; Hos 4:7; Nah 3:5; Rom 9:33; 10:11; 1 Cor 1:27; cf. 2 Cor 7:14; 9:4). With this sketch of the honor-shame script in mind, we turn now to 1 Peter.

The Case of 1 Peter In a document such as 1 Peter, which addresses a confrontation over matters of social order, alleged misconduct, and all manner of public insult resulting in suffering, it is hardly surprising that so much of its content is expressed in the idiom or key of honor and shame, those pivotal values of ancient Mediterranean culture. In the Appendix are listed the explicit occurrences of the terms honor and shame, which often appear as contrasts in the same context, as well as further terms belonging to the semantic field of each. The prominence of explicit honor and shame vocabulary in 1 Peter, coupled with the abundance of synonymous honor and shame language, illustrates how the author envisions the struggle between the Christians of Asia Minor and their hostile neighbors as one over honor denied and honor claimed. As the author describes the scene, the addressees had been the targets of various kinds of verbal abuse directed against them by their Anatolian neighbors. They had been slandered (katalalein) as persons supposedly engaged in wrongdoing (2:12; 3:  16), insulted (loidoria, 492

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3:9b), disparaged (epêreazein), and maligned (blasphêmein) for dissociating from Gentiles and their dissolute conduct (4:4). It was this ongoing process of abuse that resulted in the undeserved suffering with which this letter is so concerned (1:6; 2:19–20; 3:14, 17; 4:1, 15, 19; 5:10). The Greek terms denoting this abuse are those typically employed to describe the process of verbal attack, ridicule, and public shaming (see, for instance, Plutarch’s treatise, How to Profit by One’s Enemies (De Capienda ex inimicis utilitate, Mor. 86B–92F) and Josephus’ recounting of pagan attacks on the Jews (Against Apion). In the case of 1 Peter, the reproach and maligning leveled against the believers by nonbelieving outsiders appears prompted not only by ignorance (2:15), but also by suspicions of deviant behavior. Judging from the areas of conduct covered in the letter, this could have involved their supposedly not demonstrating proper respect for order and authority in civil and domestic realms (2:13–3:7; 5:l–5a), not maintaining harmony and tranquillity in marriage (3:1–7), and possibly engaging in murder, theft, wrongdoing, and meddling in others’ affairs (4:15). Allegations of this kind were typically leveled by natives against strangers in their midst, and the Christians as “strangers and resident aliens” (1:1, 17; 2:11) would have been no exception to such charges. Differences in customs and traditions, behavioral codes, forms of worship, and the God or gods worshipped, coupled with a stance of aloofness, invariably generated suspicions of deviant, immoral behavior, disrespect of the gods, and endangerment of the well-being of the community. As the offspring of the House of Israel, which itself was often regarded and treated by its neighbors as strangers and aliens, the messianic sect eventually was also subjected to the same defamation to which the Judeans fell victim:  accusations of “superstition,” “atheism,” sexual immorality, strange practices (e.g., Sabbath observance, abstention from blood), and social aloofness, an action expressly encouraged in 1 Pet (1:14–19; 2:11; 4:2–4) and indicated as the immediate cause of Gentile surprise and resentment (4:4). Thus in the case of 1 Peter, outsider ignorance of the alien Christians had led to suspicion, and suspicion to slander, reviling, maligning, and reproach of the Christianoi, “Christ sycophants,” as kakopoioi (2:12; 4:15), persons engaged in wrongdoing and modes of behavior at variance with local ancestral traditions and the mos maiorum. The nature and weapons of the attack on the Christians is a classic example of public shaming designed to demean and discredit the believers in the court of public opinion with the ultimate aim of forcing their conformity to prevailing norms and values. The social dynamics of honoring and shaming have been studied by Pierre Bourdieu (1966) and others and have been described as a process of challenge and riposte involving four steps: (1) a claim to honor, (2) a challenge to this claim, (3) a riposte to the challenge, and (4) a public appraisal by the onlookers (Malina 1993: 34–37; Malina & Neyrey in Neyrey 1991: 29–32, 36–38, 49–51). In the Second Testament, such exchanges are especially evident in most of the conflict stories of the Gospels, for example (Malina &Neyrey 1988: 2–67). 1 Peter leaves it unclear how and to what extent its addressees may already have responded to their detractors. This may be the case because the patent aim of the letter is to propose a specific course of action. Few avenues of redress of grievance were open to this minority community. Conformity to Gentile norms would result in nothing less than the disappearance of the movement altogether. This was undoubtedly clear to the author, who repeatedly reminds the addressees of their distinctive holy identity (1:2, 14–19, 22; 2:5, 9; 4:10; 3:2) and forcefully urges them to resist (5:8–9) and stand fast (5:12) against pressures to conform. Sociologists who have studied 493

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procedures taken across cultures to deal with grievances, conflicts, and disputes have identified seven main options:  namely, adjudication, arbitration, mediation, negotiation, coercion, avoidance, and finally what is called “lumping it” (Nader & Todd 1978: 9). Of these options all but the last two were unavailable to the messianic sect. At this early stage of its development it lacked the numerical size, social standing, and influential patrons necessary for defending itself in a court of law. So their options were reduced to either avoidance or simply “lumping it.” Avoidance according to social theorists “entails withdrawing from a situation or curtailing or terminating a relationship by leaving” or breaking off the social relationship between antagonists (Nader & Todd 1978: 9). Now, while the petrine author indeed urged that the addressees separate both from Gentile modes of behavior and from the Gentiles themselves (4:2– 4), he of course was not advocating a geographical withdrawal from society as was undertaken, for example, by the Qumran community. His proposal was rather to dissociate but to stay engaged and in fact, where possible, to even attempt to win detractors to the faith (2:12; 3:2). The Christians thus were left with only one feasible option, and that was to “lump it.” “Lumping it,” as defined by social theorists, “refers to the failure of an aggrieved party to press his claim or complaint.” The grievance, conflict, or dispute is left unresolved “because one of the parties chooses to ignore the issue in dispute, usually basing his decision on feelings of relative powerlessness or on the social, economic, or psychological costs involved in seeking a solution,” and the relationship is continued (Nader & Todd 1979:9). This does not mean, however, that the issue is ignored among the aggrieved themselves. In the case of 1 Peter this is clearly not the case. The author tackles the problem of suffering head on and when stuck with lemons makes lemonade—in several significant ways, all of which involve recasting a predicament of shame and social disgrace into one of honor and grace.

The Petrine Strategy First, the addressees are warned not to engage in the usual spitting match of riposte and retaliation. They are not to return “injury for injury” or “insult for insult” (3:9; see also the proscription of slander in 2:1), just as Jesus when insulted did not retaliate (2:23, echoing Isa 53:7 and details of the passion narrative [Mark 14:61/Matt 26:63; Mark 15:5/Matt 27:12–14; Luke 23:9; John 19:9]). Rather they are urged to bless their insulters (3:9c) and to disprove their slanderers with honorable arid irreproachable modes of behavior within and beyond the community (2:12), for actions speak louder than words (3:1–2). The advice is akin to that of Plutarch in his discourse on How to Profit by One’s Enemies (De Capienda ex inimicis utilitate; Mor. 86B–92F). He quotes Diogenes’ statement:  “ ‘How shall I defend myself against my enemy?’ ‘By proving yourself good and honourable’ (autos kalos k’agathos genomenos)” (Profit 4; Mor. 88B) and then goes on to observe: If you wish to distress the man who hates you, do not insult loidorei him as lewd, effeminate, licentious, vulgar, or illiberal, but be a man yourself, show self-control, be truthful, and treat with kindness and justice those who have to deal with you [Profit 4; Mor. 88C] . . . There may be, then, so much that is profitable and useful in insulting (loidorein) one’s enemy; but no less profit lies in the alternative of being insulted oneself (loidoreisthai) and ill spoken of by one’s enemies . . . men have need of true friends or else of ardent enemies; 494

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for the first by admonition, and the second by insulting (loidorountes), turn them from error (hamartanontas)” [Profit 6; Mor. 89B] . . . But it is more imperative that the man who is ill spoken of by an enemy should rid himself of the attribute in question . . . and if anybody mentions things that are not really attributes of ours, we should nevertheless seek to learn the cause which has given rise to such slanderous assertions (hê blasphêmia), and we must exercise vigilance, for fear that we unwittingly commit some error either approximating or resembling the one mentioned [Profit 6; Mor. 89D–E]. The petrine author in similar vein, in a key statement (2:11–12) introducing the exhortation that follows, charges his addressees “as resident aliens and visiting strangers to abstain from the deadly cravings that wage war against life” and to “maintain honorable conduct among the Gentiles so that when they slander you as those who do what is wrong, from observing your good deeds they may glorify God on the day of visitation.” This honorable conduct is then spelled out in further detail in the remainder of the letter. The addressees are to behave honorably in both the civil (2:13–17) and domestic (2:18-3:7) realms, showing respect for order and authority and honoring all persons, including the emperor (2:17). The situation and conduct of slaves, like that of Christian wives, has paradigmatic significance for the entire community (Elliott 1990: 205–08). In the case of the former, their subordination, and enduring of suffering for doing what is right without retaliation is motivated not only by reverence for God and awareness of the favor (charis, kleos) God confers (2:18–20), but also christologically by the model of Jesus Christ, who himself suffered innocently and honorably (2:21–25). Informing this depiction of Christ is the fourth servant song of Isaiah (52:13–53:12) portraying a suffering servant of God insulted, mocked, and publicly shamed but ultimately vindicated (Elliott 1985). Christian wives (3:1–6) embodying the vulnerability of honor and the family’s sensitivity toward shame are likewise urged to show respect for social order by subordinating themselves to their husbands and adorning themselves with the interior virtues of modesty and a “gentle and quiet spirit” (3:4; cf. 3:16, of all the believers), a demeanor that is not only consistent with society’s expectations but is also “precious in God’s sight” (3:2–4). Christian husbands, in turn, are to honor (aponemontes timan) their wives, not simply because of their weakness but primarily because together they are “co-heirs of the grace of life” (3:7). And all the faithful are directed not to return evil for evil or insult for insult but on the contrary to bless so that they may also inherit a blessing (3:9). The remainder of the letter addresses the issue of suffering resulting from reproach in more detail but along similar lines. In 3:13–17, believers who, despite their upright conduct (3:14) are slandered and disparaged (3:16) nevertheless are said to be “honored” by God (makarioi, 3:14) and are again directed to see in the suffering and resurrected Christ not only an exemplar but also an enabler of their own vindication (3:18–22; 4:1). Though maligned by Gentile unbelievers for separating from them and their dissolute conduct and though judged in the flesh by these Gentiles, the addressees, both the deceased and those still living, will nevertheless be vindicated by God and will live in the spirit (4:4–6). 4:12–19 continues this line of thought. Though they are reproached and caused to suffer by being labeled with the contemptuous name Christian (4:14a, 16a), this is no cause for shame but paradoxically a means for glorifying God (4:16bc). Already honored by God (makarioi, 4:146; cf. 3:146), they should honor God with this name and entrust their lives to their faithful Creator while persevering in doing what is right (4:19; cf. 5:7). The exhortation of 495

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elders (shepherds, 5:1–5) contains one final honor and shame contrast in its proscription of leadership for “shameful gain” (aischrokerdôs, 5:2) and its promise of an honorable “crown of glory” at the appearance of the Chief Shepherd (5:4). And the letter concludes with a final assurance of the glory and honor that awaits those who persevere (5:10).

Honor and Shame in a Theological Key This recipe for responding to insult and slander is similar in one point to that of Plutarch: namely, countering abuse with irreproachable and honorable conduct. But there the similarity ends. For the petrine strategy is undergirded with an impressive array of distinctively Christian arguments and warrants. First, the essential criterion of honorable conduct is not simply public opinion but the “will of God” (2:15; 3:17; 4:2, 19) and reverence for God (2:17, 18; 3:2, 16; cf. also 2:14 [“because of the Lord”]; 3:4 [“in God’s sight”] and “mindfulness of God” [syneidêsis, 2:19; 3:16, 21]). Those who revere and obey God have no cause to fear harm or intimidation (3:5, 13). Second, it is Christ who is held up as the paramount exemplar and enabler of such honorable conduct (2:21–25; 3:18–22; 4:1). Shaming and suffering should come as no surprise to those who in faith are one with the shamed and suffering Christ (4:12–16). Third, the author is concerned with the winsome effect of honorable conduct. In the case of wives (3:1–2) as well as the community as a whole (2:12), it could and should lead not simply to silencing detractors but actually winning them to the faith and leading them from shaming Christians to glorifying and honoring God. Fourth, suffering itself is cast in a positive, honorable light. The addressees are urged to regard suffering as a divine test of the probity of their faith and commitment (1:6–7; 4:12). As conventional wisdom knows, moreover, innocent suffering in the flesh is a physical experience that disciplines the body and aids in ceasing from sinning (4:1). More important, in suffering innocently for doing what is right, believers are one with their innocent suffering Lord, and his vindication and honoring by God will be theirs as well (2:4, 21–25; 3:18–22; 4:1, 13; cf. also 1:6–8, 11; 5:1, 10). In this same vein the author exclaims, “How honored [makarioi] you are if you should suffer for doing what is right” (3:14; cf. Hanson 1989). And again, “how honored [makarioi] you are, if you are reproached in the name of Christ, because the spirit of glory and of God rests upon you” (4:14). Reproach by outsiders and suffering for bearing the label of “Christian” is not a reason for feeling shamed, but, to the contrary, is a means for glorifying, that is, honoring God (4:16). On this point Gouldner’s (1969:82) observation is particularly relevant: In a society having a shame culture .  .  . a man may feel ashamed even if he has not actually done something wrong but simply if this is the common opinion concerning his deeds, or concerning what has been done to him or done to (or by) someone with whom he is closely associated. The name christianos, originally a label employed by outsiders to ridicule a follower of the crucified Christ as “Christ-lackeys” (Elliott 1990:73–74, 95–96), in a grand and ironic reversal of status becomes a badge of honor for followers of the exalted Christ (3:18, 22). Those who 496

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bear this badge of honor, whether deceased or alive, though they are maligned and judged in the flesh according to human standards, will live in the spirit according to God’s standard (4:6). This theme of divine reversal was sounded earlier in connection with Christ (2:4; 3:18, 22; cf. also its implication in the combination of “sufferings and glory” [1:11; 5:1]) and recurs again in connection with the believers in 5:56–7): “God opposes the proud but gives grace to the humble. Allow yourselves, therefore, to be humbled under the powerful hand of God so that at a propitious time he may exalt you.” For unbelievers, on the other hand, this divine reversal can result in their eternal shame. Those who call to account the believers (3:15) whom they slander and seek to shame (3:16) will themselves be called to account by God (4:5). Those who are won to the faith by the irreproachable conduct of the believers will join them in glorifying, and receiving honor from, God (2:12; 3:2). But those who persist in their abuse and disparagement of the believers will be shamed, disgraced, and condemned by God at the final judgment (3:16; cf. 2:76–8; 4:17–18). In his perceptive study of the response of subordinate groups to the dominant culture, James Scott (1990:166–82) refers to this strategy as one of “symbolic inversion” and presents numerous examples of such “world-upside-down” fantasies and images of reversal in the traditions of subordinated classes. (In its discussion of both the conditions of and responses [covert as well as overt] to domination, Scott’s study offers a useful model for analyzing the situation of early Christianity in general. William Herzog makes imaginative use of a predecessor to this work, Scott’s Weapons of the Weak:  Everyday Forms of Peasant Resistance [1985] in his admirable study, Parables as Subversive Speech [1994]). As a more demonstrative gesture, whose encouragement in 1 Peter can only be surmised, Scott cites the well­known Ethiopian proverb: “When the great lord passes, the wise peasant bows deeply and silently farts” (1990: v). Finally but most important, the author has set the stage for this exhortation to an honorable way of life and honorable endurance of suffering by assuring the beleaguered readers in the opening section of the letter (1:1–2:10) of the several related ways in which they have already been honored by God, the ultimate conferer and arbiter of honor and shame. As recipients of God’s grace and favor they have been called, elected, and sanctified as God’s endtime covenant people and incorporated into the household of God (Elliott 1966:16–49, 129–218; 1982; 1990: 165–266). As children of God’s family they too are honored with God’s grace/favor, sanctification, rebirth, inheritance, praise, salvation, redemption, life, goodness, blessing, imperishable crown, exaltation, protection, and glory-all images of honor conferred by God (1:2–3, 3–12, 18–19; 2:3, 4–10, 19–20, 24-24; 3:7, 9, 10–12, 14; 4:13, 14, 16; 5:4, 5–6, 7, 10, 13). On Paul making a similar point about God as the “ultimate significant other” deciding on honor and shame (Rom 2–4, 9–11; see Moxnes 1988: 68, 70, 71).

Elevation to Theological Sphere The pivotal passage with which this opening section of the letter ends, 2:4–10, involves a particularly graphic example of honor and shame transposed into a theological key and lays the basis for their theological appropriation in the remainder of the letter. Adapting Isa 28:16 (cited in 2:6) both christologically and ecclesiologically, the author declares God to be the 497

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ultimate conferer of honor and shame and one’s relation to Jesus Christ to be the ultimate determinant of honor and shame. As Christ is the “living stone,” elect (eklekton) and honored (entimon) by God (2:4), so those who believe in him have themselves become “living stones” (2:5), an elect (genos eklekton) and holy people (ethnos hagion) identified by the honorific predicates of the covenant people of God (Exod 19:5–6; Isa 43:20–21). “To you who believe,” says the author, “belongs this honor” (2:7a). The paramount locus of honor in society, the family (oikos), becomes here the honor basis of the community as the household of God (oikos pneumatikos, oikos tau theou, 2:5; 4:17); see Elliott 1966: 149–59; 1991: 165–266. The collective task of its members is to declare publicly the praises and honor (aretai) of the One Who has called them from darkness to light (2:9). Shame, on the other hand (2:6c), awaits those who have rejected and dishonored Jesus Christ (2:4c, 7b). Because of their rejection of Christ and their disbelieving of the word (2:8), they themselves will be rejected and put to shame by God (2:6, citing Isa 28:16; cf. also 3:16; 4:5). Thus at the outset of the letter, the shaming and suffering that believers experience is set within the conceptual frame of the honor and shame that God confers on the basis of one’s relation to Jesus Christ. It is this divinely conferred honor and membership in the family of God that establishes the basis for the exhortation to an honorable and holy way of life that follows. The letter’s conclusion (5:10–11) completes this conceptual framework by assuring the believers one last time of the glory, grace, and honor to which they have been called despite their suffering, with the postscript (5:12–14) recalling the grace (5:12; cf. 1:10, 13; 3:7; 4:10; 5:5, 10)  and election (5:13; cf. 1:1–2; 2:4–10) by which God has honored the addressees as well as the senders of the letter. So honored by God, the addressees are thus fully equipped to ignore the futile shaming strategies of their adversaries, resist pressures urging conformity and assimilation (symbolized as the “lion seeking to devour you,” 5:8–9), and to stand fast in the true grace of God (5:12). For this magnificent outpouring of grace and honor, the author repeatedly stresses throughout the letter, God is to be honored, praised, and glorified (1:3; 2:5, 9, 12; 4:11, 16; 5:11). Indeed, a Christian’s entire life, the author notes, is to be lived to the honor and glory of God—a petrine idea admirably captured in the mottos of the Order of St. Benedict, “Let God be glorified in all things,” and of the Society of Jesus, “to the greater glory of God” (2:12; 4:11). From the commencement to the close of this letter, it is thus evident that issues of honor and shame play a central role in defining both the social struggle of the believers and their hostile neighbors and the role that God plays in human lives as the final source and arbiter of honor and shame, grace and disgrace.

Conclusion In the bitter struggle between the Anatolian Christians and their local neighbors portrayed in 1 Peter, the chief weapon of attack employed by the latter was a barrage of verbal abuse designed to shame, defame, demean, and discredit the believers as social and moral deviants endangering the common good. A strategy of public shaming was employed as a means of social control with the aim of pressuring the minority community to conform to conventional values and standards of conduct. This unrelenting abuse resulted in undeserved suffering on 498

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the part of the believers and if unchecked could have led to their demoralization, despair, or even defection. The response to this situation that the letter’s author recommends is not the conventional one of returning insult for insult but rather engagement in honorable conduct, which could have three possible consequences: the silencing of ignorant detractors, winning them to the Christian cause, or, if the slander continued, the exposure of the slanderers to the judgment of God, who would put the shamers to shame. To move the beleaguered believers to this course of action, the author reminds them of the dignity and honor they already enjoy as a result of their baptismal incorporation into the household of God and their solidarity with their shamed but divinely honored Lord Jesus Christ. This honor from God is to be manifested in an honorable way of life in society. To be reproached in the name of Christ (4:14) and to suffer as a Christian, a Christ-lackey, is no cause for shame but to the contrary an opportunity for glorifying and honoring God (4:16). Their honorable conduct, like that of Christ, will ultimately be vindicated by God, the final arbiter of honor and shame. In the Jewish and Christian transposition of honor and shame into a theological key, honor ultimately is ascribed not by blood and birth, as convention would dictate; nor is it achieved by any heroic act of valor and andreia, that is, manliness or courage. It is rather conferred through an act of divine grace, through the favor of a God who removes the mighty from their seats and exalts those of low degree, a divine patron who liberates slaves and raises them to the status of sons and daughters, who covenants with a lowly house of Jacob and exalts it to the status of God’s very own special possession, his elect and holy people, and who incorporates disgraced strangers and aliens into a graced family of God. On the one hand, 1 Peter illustrates how much of the struggle between early Christianity and its social environment was a battle over social standing and social rating, honor disputed and honor paradoxically claimed. On the other hand, the letter also illustrates how honor and shame provided the idiom for conceptualizing the relationship of the social and the sacred, the experiencing of the countervailing grace or honor conferred by God in the face of social disgrace and shame. In Christian communities at odds with their environments and pressured to conform and assimilate, honor and shame are theologically redefined and reckoned according to a calculus of divine reversal preeminently expressed in God’s honoring of the shamed Messiah and those who share both his innocent suffering and his glorious vindication.

Appendix Honor and Shame Terminology and Their Related Semantic Fields in 1 Peter 1. Terms of the “honor” family: timê (“honor,” 1:7 with epainos [“praise”; cf. 2:14]; and doxa [“glory”]; 2:7—all regarding believers; 3:7, husbands honor wives) timaô (“show honor, respect,” 2:17 [to emperor and to all persons]) entimos (“honored, precious,” 2:4, 6, with eklektos and modifying Jesus Christ) polytimoteros (“very honorable, precious,” 1:7 modifying faith/loyalty) 499

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2. Terms of the “shame” family: kataischynomai (“be put to shame” [by God], 2:6; 3:16 [of nonbelievers and opponents]) aischynomai (“feel shamed,” 4:16 [by the name Christian]; opp. “glorify God”; cf. 2:12, “slandered/glorify God”) aischrokerdôs (“greedy for shameful gain,” 5:2 [not to characterize Christian leaders]) 3. Synonyms for “honor, to honor, to be honored,” honorable virtues and related images (honor semantic field): confer or receive grace, favor, credit (charis, 1:2, 10, 13; 2:19, 20; 3:7; 4:10; 5:5, 12; cf. charisma, 4:10; kleos, 2:20) confer or receive glory, glorify (doxa, doxazô, 1:7, 11, 21, 24; 4:11, 13, 14; 5:1, 4, 10; 1:18; 2:12; 4:11, 16) have and display power (dynamis, 1:5; 3:22; kratos, 4:11; 5:11; cf. krateia, 5:6), strength (ischys, 4:11) be father (patêr, 1:2, 3, 17; cf. anagennaô, 1:3, 23; creator/founder (ktistês, 4:19; cf. ktisis, 2:13); judge (krino, krima, 1:17; 4:5, 6, 17) be superior to other authorities (hypotagenton autoi aggelon kai exousiôn kai dynameôn, 3:22) show mercy, clemency (eleos, eleeô, 1:3; 2:10) render impartial judgment (aprosôpolêmptôs, 1:17) execute praiseworthy deeds (aretai, 2:9) praise (epainos, 1:7; 2:14) bless, confer blessing, be blessed (eulogeô, eulogia, 3:9; eulogêtos, 1:3; makarios, 3:14; 4:14) raise (egeiro, 1:21); exalt (hypsoô, 5:6) make alive, confer life, be alive (zôopoieô, zôê, zaô, 1:3, 23; 2:4, 5, 24; 3:7, 10, 18; 4:5, 6) be called by God (kaleô, 1:15; 2:9, 21; 3:6, 9; 5:10) be a cornerstone (akrogôniaios, 2:6; “head of corner,” 2:7) be ascribed honorific predicates (2:4, 5, 9, 10)  be in light (phôs, 2:9) be at right hand (dexios, place of honor, 3:22) receive an inheritance, inherit a blessing (klêronomeô, klêronomia, 1:4; 3:9; cf. “co-heirs” [synklêronomoi] of the grace of life, 3:7) receive a crown (stephanos, 5:4) lead an honorable and attractive way of life (anastrophe kale, 2:12; cf. 1:15, 17, 18; 3:1, 2, 16) show respect for authority, order and social status (hypotassô, 2:13, 18; 3:1, 5, 22; 5:5; as citizens 2:13–17; as slaves 2:18–20; as wives 3:1–6; as husbands 3:7; as elders 5:1–4 and younger persons 5:5a, who behave honorably in accord with their ascribed statuses and roles) show God awe and reverence (phobeô, phobos, 1:17; 2:17, 18; 3:2, 6, 14, 15) be obedient (hypakouô, hypakoê, 1:2, 14, 22; 3:6) obey God’s will (thelêma, 2:15; 3:17; 4:2, 19; cf. syneidêsis theou, 2:19; 3:16, 21; kata theon, 5:2) abstain from selfish desires (epithymia, 1:14; 2:11; 4:2–3)

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not sinning (hamartanô, hamartia, 2:20, 22, 24; 3:18; 4:1, 8) avoiding evil (kakopoieô, kakia, kakos 2:12, 14; 3:9, 10–12, 17; 4:15) and vices (2:1, 12; 4:2–4) doing good (agathopoieô, agathopoiia, agathopoios, agathos, 2:14, 15, 20; 3:6, 10, 11, 13, 16, 17, 21; 4:19; kala erga, 2:12; cf. 1:17) be just, righteous (dikaios, dikaiosyne, 2:24; 3:12, 14, 18; 4:18) be holy, pure, blameless (hagios, hagiasmos, amômos, aspilos, katharos, 1:2, 12, 15, 16, 19, 22; 2:5, 9; 3:2, 5) show familial loyalty (philadelphia, philadelphos, 1:22; 3:8; cf. agapaô, agapê, 1:8, 22; 2:17; 4:8; 5:14); maintain loyalty (pistis, pisteuô, pistos, 1:5, 7, 8, 9, 21; 2:6, 7; 4:19; 5:9, 12) be silent (3:1), gentle (praus, 3:4; prautês, 3:16), and quiet (hêsychios, 3:4). be humble (tapeinos, tapeinophrosynê, tapeinophrôn, 3:8; 5:5) be like-minded (homophrones), compassionate (sympatheis), tender-hearted (eusplangchnoi), thereby maintaining group solidarity not seeking retribution, 3:9 or defense of honor, 3:9 because honor is conferred by God be alert (nêpho, 1:13; 4:7; 5:8) exercise sound judgment (sôphroneô, 4:7) be hospitable (philoxenos, 4:9) serve one another (diakoneô, 4:10–11) bear suffering (paschô, pathêma, lypê), courageously and steadfastly (1:6; 2:19–20, 21–23; 3:14–18; 4: l, 13–19; 5:10; hypopherô, hypomenô, 2:19, 20) prize one’s name (onomos=christianos, 4:14, 16) emulate honorable exemplars (Jesus Christ, 2:21–24; 3:13–4:6; 4:12–16; Sarah, matriarchs, 3:5–6; Noah and family, 3:20) 4. Synonyms for “shame, to shame, to be shamed” and shameless behavior (shame semantic field). A.  Outsiders shaming the believers and Christ slander, defame another’s honor and good name (katalaleô, 2:12; 3:16; cf. katalalia, 2:1, proscribed for Christians) insult, revile (loidoreô, 2:23; loidoria, 3:9; cf. antiloidoreô, 2:23, not by Christ) disparage (epêreazô, 3:16) malign (blasphêmeô, 4:4) reproach (oneidizô, 4:14) cf. also harm, abuse (kakoô, 3:13) B.  Forms of shameful behavior do what is wrong (kakopoieô, kakia, kakos, 2:12, 14; 3:9, 10–12, 17; 4:15) be unjust (adikos, 3:18) and deal unjustly (adikôs, 2:19) sin, violate social and religious norms (hamartanô, 2:20; hamartia, 2:22, 24; 3:18; 4:1, 8; harmatolos, 4:18) be impious (asebês, 4:18) and engage in lawless acts (athemitos, 4:4) be driven by selfish craving (epithymia, l: 14; 2:11; 4:2, 3)  engage in various vices and dissolute behavior (2:1; 4:2–4) 501

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be ignorant (agnoia, 1:14; agnôsia, 2:15), and act without good sense (aphronôn, 2:15) be offended at someone honorable (proskoptô, skandalon, 2:8) be caused to fall, scandalized, 2:8; cf. crucified Christ as source of scandal, 1 Cor. 1:23) be in darkness (skotos, 2:9) be crucified (a means of extreme public shaming—xylon [tree = cross, 2:24; cf. Heb 12:2; shaming treatment, Mark 10:33–34; 15:16–32 par.) be proud and arrogant (hyperêphanos, 5:5; cf. 5:3) For Second Testament fields of honor and shame see Louw & Nida (1988). Honor: 87.4– 87.18; Shame: 25.189–202; 53.60; 60.12; 88.127, 149–51. See also the list assembled by Malina and Neyrey (1991: 46).

Works Cited Abu-Lughod, Lila 1987  Veiled Sentiments: Honor and Poetry in a Bedouin Society. Berkeley, CA: University of California Press. Adkins, Arthur 1960  Merit and Responsibility: A Study in Greek Values. Oxford, UK: Clarendon Press. Augsburger, David W. 1986  “Inner Controls, Outer Controls, Balanced Controls: A Theology of Grace.” Pp. 111–43 in Pastoral Counseling across Cultures. Philadelphia, PA: Westminster Press. Blok, Anton 1981  “Rams and Billy-goats: A Key to the Mediterranean Code of Honour.” Man 16: 427–40. Bourdieu, Pierre 1966  “The Sentiment of Honour in Kaybele Society.” Pp. 191–242 in Honour and Shame: The Values of Mediterranean Society, edited by J. G. Peristiany. Chicago, IL: University of Chicago Press. Cairns, Douglas L. 1993  Aidôs: The Psychology and Ethics of Honour and Shame in Ancient Greek Literature. Oxford, UK: Clarendon Press. Campbell, John K. 1964  Honour, Family, and Patronage: A Study of Institutions and Moral Values in a Greek Mountain Community. Oxford, UK: Oxford University Press. Creighton, Millie R. 1990  “Revisiting Shame and Guilt Cultures: A Forty­Year Pilgrimage.” Ethos 18: 279–307. Colwell, E. C. 1939  “Popular Reactions against Christianity in the Roman Empire.” Pp. 53–71 in Environmental Factors in Christian History. Shirley Jackson Case FS, edited by J. T. McNeill et al. Chicago, IL: University of Chicago Press; reprinted New York: Kennikat Press, 1970. Danker, Frederick W. 1982  Benefactor: Epigraphic Study of a Graeco-Roman and New Testament Semantic Field. St. Louis, MO: Clayton Publishing House. Daube, David 1982  “Shame Culture in Luke.” Pp. 355–72 in Paul and Paulinism. C. K. Barrett FS. Ed. M. Hooker and S. Wilson. London, UK. 502

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Disgraced yet Graced 1973 “Disgrace.” The New Testament and Rabbinic Judaism. New York, NY: Arno Press. Delaney, Carol 1987  “Seeds of Honor, Fields of Shame.” Pp. 35–48 in Honor and Shame and the Unity of the Mediterranean, edited by David Gilmore. Special Publication 22.Washington, DC: American Anthropological Association. DeSilva, David A. 1994  “Despising Shame: A Cultural-Anthropological Investigation of the Epistle to the Hebrews.” Journal of Biblical Literature 113/3: 439–61. DeVries, S. J. 1962 “Shame.” Interpreter’s Dictionary of the Bible 4: 305–06. Dewey, A. J. 1985  “A Matter of Honor: A Socio-Historical Analysis of 2 Corinthians 10.” Harvard Theological Review 78: 209–17. Dodds, Eric R. 1967  The Greeks and the Irrational. Berkeley, CA: University of California Press. Elliott, John H. 1990  A Home for the Homeless: A Social-Scientific Criticism of Peter, Its Situation and Strategy. Minneapolis, MN: Fortress Press. 1985  “Backward and Forward ‘In His Steps’: Following Jesus from Rome to Raymond and Beyond. The Tradition, Redaction, and Reception of 1 Peter 2:18–25.” Pp. 184–209 in Discipleship in the New Testament, edited by Fernando F. Segovia. Philadelphia, PA: Fortress Press. 1982  “Salutation and Exhortation to Christian Behavior on the Basis of God’s Blessings (1:1–2:10).” Review and Expositor 79/3: 415–25. 1966  The Elect and the Holy: An Exegetical Examination of 1 Peter 2:4–10 and the Phrase basileion hierateuma. Novi Testamenti Supplementum 12. Leiden, The Netherlands: Brill. Fischer, N. R. E. 1979  Hybris: A Study in the Values of Honour and Shame in Ancient Greece. London, UK: Aris & Phillips. Friedrich, Paul 1977  “Sanity and the Myth of Honor: The Problem of Achilles.” Ethos: The Journal of Psychological Anthropology 5/3: 281–305. 1973  “Defilement and Honor in the Iliad.” Journal of Indo-European Studies 1: 119–26. Gilmore, David, ed. 1987  Honor and Shame and the Unity of the Mediterranean. Special Publication 22. Washington, DC: American Anthropological Association. Gouldner, Alvin W 1969  The Hellenic World: A Sociological Analysis. [Part I of Enter Plato: Classical Greece and the Origins of Social Theory, New York: Basic Books, 1965]. New York, NY: Harper & Row. Gowler, David B. 1991  Host, Guest, Enemy, and Friend: Portraits of the Pharisees in Luke and Acts. New York, NY: Peter Lang. Hanson, K. C. 1989  “ ‘Makarisms’ and ‘Reproaches’: A Social Analysis.” An unpublished paper presented at the 1989 annual meeting of the Society of Biblical Literature. Harrelson, Walter 1962 “Honor.” Interpreter’s Dictionary of the Bible 2: 639–40. 503

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486 Herzfeld, Michael 1980  “Honor and Shame: Problems in the Comparative Analysis of Moral Systems.” Man 15: 339–51. Herzog, William R. 1994  Parables as Subversive Speech: Jesus as Pedagogue of the Oppressed. Louisville, KY: Westminster/ John Knox Press. Kee, Howard Clark 1974  “The Linguistic Background of ‘Shame’ in the New Testament.” Pp. 133–48 in On Language, Culture, and Religion, edited by M. Black and W. A. Smalley. The Netherlands: The Hague. Klopfenstein, M. 1972  Scham und Schande nach dem Alten Testament. Abhandlungen zur Theologie des Alten und Neuen Testaments 62. Zurich, Switzerland: Theologischer Verlag. Knoche, U. 1983  “Der römische Ruhmesgedanke.” Pp. 420–45 in Römische Wertbegriffe, edited by H. Opperman. Darmstadt, Germany: Wissenschaftliche Buchgesellschaft. Krodel, Gerhard 1971  “Persecution and Toleration of Christianity until Hadrian.” Pp. 255–67 in The Catacombs and the Colosseum: The Roman Empire as the Setting of Primitive Christianity, edited by S. Benko and J. J. O’Rourke. Valley Forge, PA: Judson Press. Lloyd-Jones, H. 1987  “Ehre und Schande in der griechischen Kultur.” Antike und Abendland 33/1: 1–28. Lauw, Johannes P., and Eugene A. Nida, eds. 1988  Greek-English Lexicon of the New Testament Based on Semantic Domains. 2 vols. New York, NY: United Bible Societies. Malina, Bruce J. 1981  “Honor and Shame: Pivotal Values of the First­Century Mediterranean World.” Pp. 25–50 in The New Testament World: Insights from Cultural Anthropology. Atlanta, GA: John Knox Press; revised ed., 1993, pp. 28–62. Malina, Bruce J., and Jerome H. Neyrey 1991  “Honor and Shame in Luke-Acts: Pivotal Values of the Mediterranean World.” Pp. 25–65 in The Social World of Luke-Acts: Models for Interpretation, edited by Jerome H. Neyrey. Peabody, MA: Hendrickson Publishers. Malina, Bruce J., and Richard L. Rohrbaugh 1992  Social-Science Commentary on the Synoptic Gospels. Minneapolis, MN: Fortress Press. Marshall, Peter 1983  “A Metaphor of Social Shame: THRIAMBEUEIN in 2 Cor. 2:14.” Novum Testamentum 25: 302–17. May, David M. 1987  “Mark 3:20–35 from the Perspective of Shame/Honor.” Biblical Theology Bulletin 17: 83–87. Moule, C. F. D. 1956  “The Nature and Purpose of 1 Peter.” New Testament Studies 3: 1–11. Moxnes, Halvor 1994  “The Quest for Honor and the Unity of the Community in Romans 12 and in the Orations of Dio Chrysostom.” In Paul and Hellenism, edited by T. Enberg-Pedersen. Minneapolis, MN: Fortress Press. 1993  “BTB Readers Guide: Honor and Shame.” Biblical Theology Bulletin 23: 167–76.

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Disgraced yet Graced 1988a  “Honour and Righteousness in Romans.” Journal for the Study of the New Testament 32: 61–78. 1988b  “Honor, Shame, and the Outside World in Paul’s Letter to the Romans.” Pp. 207–18 in The Social World of Formative Christianity and Judaism. Howard Clark FS, edited by Jacob Neusner, Peder Borgen, Ernest S. Frerichs, and Richard Horsley. Philadelphia, PA: Fortress Press. Nader, Laura, and Harry F. Todd, Jr., eds. 1978  The Disputing Process—Law in Ten Societies. New York, NY: Columbia University Press. Neyrey, Jerome H. 1993  2 Peter, Jude. Anchor Bible 37C. New York, NY: Doubleday. (Pp. 3–7 on honor/shame; pp. 17–20 on group-orientation.) Peristiany, Jean G., ed. 1966  Honour and Shame: The Values of Mediterranean Society. Chicago, IL: University of Chicago Press. Peristiany, Jean G., and Julian Pitt-Rivers, eds. 1992  Honor and Grace in Anthropology. Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press. Pilch, John J.  1991a  Introducing the Cultural Context of the Old Testament. Hear the Word, 1. New York, NY: Paulist Press. 1991b  Introducing the Cultural Context of the New Testament. Hear the Word, 2. New York, NY: Paulist Press. Pitt-Rivers, Julian A.  1977  The Fate of Shechem or the Politics of Sex: Essays in the Anthropology of the Mediterranean. New York, NY: Cambridge University Press. 1968 “Honor.” Encyclopedia of the Social Sciences 6: 503–11. 1954  The People of the Sierra. London, UK: Weidenfeld & Nicholson. 2nd ed., Chicago, IL: University of Chicago Press, 1971. Plevnik, J. 1993  “Honor/Shame.” Pp. 95–104 in Biblical Social Values and Their Meaning: A Handbook, edited by J. J. Pilch and B. J. Malina. Peabody, MA: Hendrickson Publishers. Redfield, R. M. 1975  Nature and Culture in the Iliad: The Tragedy of Hector. Chicago, IL: University of Chicago Press. Scott, James C. 1990  Domination and the Arts of Resistance: Hidden Transcripts. New Haven, CT: Yale University Press. 1985  Weapons of the Weak: Everyday Forms of Peasant Resistance. New Haven, CT: Yale University Press. Schuck, Michael J. 1994  “When the Shooting Stops: Missing Elements in Just War Theory.” Christian Century 111/30 (October 26, 1994): 982–84. Schneider, Jane 1971  “Of Vigilance and Virgins: Honor, Shame, and Access to Resources in Mediterranean Societies.” Ethnology 9: 1–24. Stansell, Gary 1992  “Honor and Shame in the David Narratives.” Pp. 94–114 in Was ist der Mensch? Beitriige zur Anthropologie des Alten Testaments. H. W. Wolff FS, edited by Frank Crilsemann, Christof Hardmeier, and Rainer Kessler. Munich, Germany: Kaiser.

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486 Vermeulen, A. J. 1981  “Gloria.” Reallexikon fur Antike und Christentum 11: 196–225. Vorster, W. S. 1979  Aischynomai en stamverwante woorde in die Nuwe Testament. Pretoria, South Africa: Universiteit van Suid-Afrika. White, Leland J. 1986  “Grid and Group in Matthew’s Community: The Righteousness/Honor Code in the Sermon on the Mount.” Pp. 61–90 in Social-Scientific Criticism of the New Testament and Its Social World, edited by John H. Elliott. Semeia 35. Decatur, GA: Scholars Press. Williams, Bernard 1992  Shame and Necessity. Berkeley, CA: University of California Press.

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BETWEEN CONFORMITY AND RESISTANCE: BEYOND THE BALCH–ELLIOTT DEBATE TOWARDS A POSTCOLONIAL READING OF FIRST PETER*

David G. Horrell

1.  The Balch–Elliott Debate and the Reasons for a New Methodology First Peter remains, and is likely always to remain  – for all sorts of theological and historical reasons – a relatively neglected corner of the NT canon, despite the best efforts of primopetrophiles to rehabilitate it.1 it would hardly leap to mind as an obvious storm centre of debate and discussion in modern scholarship. Stephen Neill, with perhaps a touch of hyperbole, did in fact describe this short letter as precisely that in his 1964 survey of the history of NT interpretation, referring specifically to the starkly contrasting views of 1 Peter in two (then) recently published commentaries, those of Edward Gordon Selwyn and Francis Wright Beare.2 But a more obvious and prominent ‘storm centre’ in the interpretation of 1 Peter came a few decades later, in the early 1980s, when the letter was the focus of an important debate between David Balch and John Elliott, a debate generated by the contrasting conclusions of their two contemporaneously published monographs.3 The Balch–Elliott debate was and remains

I would like to thank the participants in the SBL 1 Peter consultation, and especially John Elliott, who chaired our session, for generous and thoughtful comments on my earlier draft. It was an honour to present this essay in Elliott’s company, twenty-five years after the publication of the two monographs (his and David Balch’s) that sparked the debate from which my essay (and others too) takes its initial orientation. The research and writing for this essay were supported by a small Research Grant from the British Academy for which I here express my sincere thanks. I would also like to thank Jonathan Morgan for assistance with creating a bibliographical database, John White for giving me an initial orientation to the literature on postcolonialism, and Stephen Moore for valuable comments on a draft. 1 Here, of course, I allude to the work of John Elliott, a prominent primopetrophile (Elliott’s term), who has done most to rehabilitate this ‘exegetical step-child’; cf. John H. Elliott, ‘The Rehabilitation of an Exegetical Step-Child: 1 Peter in Recent Research’, JBL 95 (1976), pp. 243–54. Elliott’s most influential and substantial contributions to research on 1 Peter are: The Elect and the Holy: An Exegetical Examination of 1 Peter 2.4-10 and the Phrase Basileion Hierateuma (NovTSup, 12; Leiden: E. J. Brill, 1966); A Home for the Homeless: A Sociological Exegesis of 1 Peter, Its Situation and Strategy (Philadelphia: Fortress; London: SCM, 1981 2nd edn, 1990); 1 Peter: A New Translation with Introduction and Commentary (AB, 37B; New York: Doubleday, 2000). 2 Stephen Neill, The Interpretation of the New Testament 1861–1961 (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1964), p. 343: ‘In a very real sense, the little Epistle called 1 Peter is the storm-centre of New Testament studies’. For Neill, it might be noted, the divergent results in these two commentaries raise serious questions:  ‘Now if two scholars can arrive at such widely divergent results, both on the basis of theoretically scientific methods of study, something must have gone seriously wrong somewhere’ (p.  344). The two commentaries are:  Francis W. Beare, The First Epistle of Peter (Oxford: Blackwell, 3rd edn, 1970, [1947]); Edward Gordon Selwyn, The First Epistle of St. Peter (Grand Rapids: Baker, 2nd edn, 1952, [1946]). 3 David L. Balch, Let Wives Be Submissive: The Domestic Code in 1 Peter (SBLDS, 26; Chico, CA: Scholars Press, 1981); Elliott, Home. In a recent review of research on 1 Peter, Mark Dubis comments that ‘one of the principal debates *

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significant not only for the interpretation of 1 Peter but also for the use of social-scientific resources in NT studies, an approach that was then still relatively new but developing rapidly. The focus for Balch’s work, a published version of his doctoral thesis originally presented in 1974, was the domestic code in 1 Peter (1 Pet 2.11–3.12). In tracing the origins of this code to the Greek ‘household management’ (οἰκονομία) tradition stemming especially from Plato and Aristotle,4 Balch made an important and lasting contribution to the understanding of the NT Haustafeln generally. In terms of the function of the code in 1 Peter, Balch saw this as connected with the tensions evident between Christians and their wider society. Such tensions would have been especially prominent in households where some individual members, slaves or wives for example (cf. 1 Pet 2.18-20; 3.1-6), had converted to Christianity without the head of the household, or the household as a whole, having done so. In such instances, Christians came in for criticism not only for following a strange and novel eastern cult but also for ‘corrupting and reversing Roman social and household customs’,5 and failing to conform to the social expectation that household members would follow the patterns of religious observance of the head of the household.6 In the domestic code, then, the author of 1 Peter is seen by Balch as urging such Christians to lessen criticism of their social deviance by conforming as closely as possible to accepted Hellenistic social norms, without compromising their commitment to Christ. The code thus has an apologetic purpose, to demonstrate that Christians follow a respectable form of ‘constitution’.7 In his later essay responding to Elliott’s work, Balch draws on social-scientific studies of how minority groups variously adapt to a wider society and culture to illuminate the strategy of assimilation or acculturation he sees in 1 Peter.8 In short, the purpose of 1 Peter, and specifically its domestic code, was to lessen the hostility and antagonism suffered by Christians by urging them to demonstrate their conformity to conventional social expectations. The church, in other words, was to accommodate to the world, in order to reduce the tension between them. Elliott’s ground-breaking work of what he then called ‘sociological exegesis’ (since relabelled ‘social-scientific criticism’) took a different approach to 1 Peter. In seeking to understand the situation of the addressees, Elliott focused on the terms πάροικοι and παρεπίδημοι (cf. 1 Pet 1.1; 1.17; 2.11), arguing – against an established tendency to read these terms as metaphors indicating that the Christians’ true home was in heaven  – that these labels described their socio-political status. The first readers of 1 Peter are depicted in the letter, Elliott concludes, as ‘strangers and aliens, some of whom are residing permanently and others of whom are living temporarily in the five regions or four provinces of Asia Minor’.9 For these estranged and dislocated people, the church offered a ‘home’, a place of belonging in which these ‘strangers’ found a positive and valued identity as God’s own people. The strategy of 1 Peter, then, was related to the study of 1 Peter has been that between Elliott and Balch’ (Mark Dubis, ‘Research on 1 Peter: A Survey of Scholarly Literature Since 1985’, CBR 4 [2006], pp. 199–239 [212]). 4 Balch, Wives, pp. 23–62. 5 Balch, Wives, p. 119. 6 Plutarch, for example, emphatically makes the point that the wife should know and worship only the gods that her husband recognizes, and should avoid all strange religions and alien superstitions (Mor. 140D). See further Balch, Wives, 65–80. 7 Balch, Wives, pp. 81–121. 8 David L. Balch, ‘Hellenization/Acculturation in 1 Peter’, in Perspectives on First Peter (ed. Charles H. Talbert; NABPR Special Studies Series, 9; Macon, GA: Mercer University Press, 1986), pp. 79–101 (86–96). 9 Elliott, Home, p. 47.

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to foster internal cohesion among the community of believers, the ‘brotherhood’ (ἀδελϕότης, 2.17; 5.9), to build a distinctive communal identity and resist external pressures to conform. In order to grasp and illuminate the character of the ecclesial community and the strategy of the author, Elliott draws on social-scientific studies of religious sects, particularly the typology developed by Bryan Wilson, and categorizes the church depicted in 1 Peter as a ‘conversionist sect’10 This is a sect which regards the world as an evil and hostile place, but which at the same time considers itself to have a missionary task, to save individuals from this wicked world through conversion into the sect. Elliott’s stress, therefore, is on the distinction between the church and the world. In direct opposition to Balch, he argues that: . . . nothing in 1 Peter, including its discussion of household duties, indicates an interest in promoting social assimilation. It was precisely a temptation to assimilate so as to avoid further suffering that the letter intended to counteract . . . The letter affirms the distinctive communal identity and seeks to strengthen the solidarity of the Christian brotherhood so that it might resist external pressure urging cultural conformity and thereby make effective witness to the distinctive features of its communal life, its allegiance and its hope of salvation.11 The contrast with Balch’s conclusions is clear, and leads to an almost diametrically opposing assessment of the church’s relationship with the world. Where Balch sees assimilation and conformity, Elliott sees distinctiveness and resistance12 Time and space do not allow an assessment of the specific points of disagreement, nor, indeed, of the agreements and overlaps13 Neither can I review the various attempts to progress beyond the contrasting alternatives of Balch and Elliott.14 What is important here is to draw attention to those points which indicate the potential and the need for a methodology that can take us beyond the Balch–Elliott debate and their opposing conclusions about 1 Peter. First, while disagreements do not necessarily indicate that a new and different methodology is required – they may simply indicate that one protagonist is correct, the other mistaken! – the contrasting assessments of the letter that emerge from the use of different social-scientific Elliott, Home, pp. 73–84, 101–50. John H. Elliott, ‘1 Peter, Its Situation and Strategy:  A Discussion with David Balch’, in Perspectives on First Peter (ed. Charles H. Talbert; NABPR Special Studies Series, 9; Macon, GA:  Mercer University Press, 1986), pp. 61–78 (72–73, 78). 12 These contrasting assessments find resonance in many other – albeit very different – readings of 1 Peter, some of which expose what they see as the letter’s dangerously conformist and unliberating ethic, which keeps slaves and wives in their place, even in suffering; e.g., Kathleen E. Corley, ‘1 Peter’, in A Feminist Commentary, vol. 2 of Searching the Scriptures (ed. Elisabeth Schüssler Fiorenza; London: SCM, 1995), pp. 349–60. Others see in the letter a more positive model for the church’s distinctive existence in society; e.g., Miroslav Volf, ‘Soft Difference: Reflections on the Relation Between Church and Culture in 1 Peter’, Ex Auditu 10 (1994), pp. 15–30; and Larry Miller, ‘La Protestation Sociale dans la Premiere Lettre de Pierre’, Social Compass 46 (1999), pp. 521–43. 13 An excellent early review essay on Balch and Elliott’s work is Antoinette C. Wire, ‘Review Essay on Elliott, Home for the Homeless, and Balch, Let Wives Be Submissive’, RSR 10 (1984), pp. 209–16. 14 For a valuable overview of relevant scholarship, see Stephen R. Bechtler, Following in His Steps: Suffering, Community, and Christology in 1 Peter (SBLDS, 162; Atlanta, GA: Scholars, 1998), pp. 10–18, 112–18. See also Dubis, ‘Research on 1 Peter’, pp. 212–14. Bechtler’s own proposal is to use Victor Turner’s theory of liminality to show how ‘Christian life for 1 Peter is a liminal existence’ (p. 118). This is a suggestive approach in various respects, but it fails to connect the liminality sufficiently with the imperial context which fundamentally (so the present argument) shapes the conditions in which the church’s existence is played out. 10 11

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perspectives may lead us to question whether an alternative approach might not be better able to account for the character and nuance of the letter’s content. Elliott, for example, acknowledges that ‘at some points [in 1 Peter] Christian and secular valuations of behavior converge’, while ‘at other key points . . . a distinctive Christian perspective and rationale is evident and a clear distinction of allegiance and ethos is stressed’.15 He sees both these aspects of relationship to the world – ‘boundary maintenance’ and ‘system linkage (contacts and interdependency)’ – as part of the difficult balance that any minority group, not least a conversionist sect, must negotiate, and suggests that Balch has paid attention to ‘only one of the two horns of this dilemma’.16 But just as Balch may be criticized for attending only, or primarily, to the tendency towards conformity, or assimilation, in 1 Peter, so Elliott may be thought to have overemphasized the other tendency, namely the attempt ‘to reinforce a sense of distinctive Christian identity and solidarity’.17 The issue – one which, as Elliott notes, has dogged scholarship on 1 Peter for some time18  – is what kind of interpretative perspective will best enable us to do justice to these apparently diverse facets of the letter. Second, while the huge range of potentially applicable social-scientific resources means that a wide variety of potentially incompatible readings is always possible,19 we may ask whether the resources chosen by Balch and Elliott are the most appropriate for the task, given the particular context of 1 Peter’s production. While Balch valuably highlights the extent to which 1 Peter seeks to enable the church’s peaceful existence in society, we may question, as Torrey Seland has recently done, whether the model of assimilation/acculturation is appropriate to describe the Christians’ negotiation of their place in society. These converts – mostly Gentiles, it seems, from the internal evidence of the letter (1.14, 18; 2.10; 4.2-4)20 – have previously been well accustomed to the way of life of their wider society, a way of life from which they now are urged to distance themselves (1.14; 4.2-4). These are not, then, people for whom the wider culture is alien and strange, but people whose conversion to Christianity has created an alienation, the consequences of which need to be worked out. As Seland suggests, it might therefore be more appropriate to consider the process of acculturation into the Christian way of life, since this is the novum to which the readers of 1 Peter are adapting.21

Elliott, ‘1 Peter, Its Situation and Strategy’, p. 66. Elliott, ‘1 Peter, Its Situation and Strategy’, p. 69. 17 Elliott, Home, p. 106. 18 Elliott, Home, pp. 107–108. 19 Indeed, due to the extent to which the reader is always intimately implicated in the construction of meaning, there will always be a diversity of readings of any text, often reflecting the personal, theological or political interests of the reader, as the history of interpretation and of contemporary scholarship often shows. 20 Cf., e.g., Reinhard Feldmeier, Der erste Brief des Petrus (THKNT, 15.1; Leipzig: Evangelische Verlagsanstalt, 2005), p. 29 who concludes: ‘dass die Gemeinde vorweigend – nicht notwendig ausschließlich – aus Heidenchristen besteht’ (‘that the community consisted mainly, not necessarily exclusively, of Gentile Christians’). Elliott, Home, pp. 45–46, pp. 55–56, nn. 76–77: states that Gentiles were likely in the majority, but suggests that the letter also indicates some Jews among its readership. It must be noted, though, that the evidence for this is less direct, hinging mainly upon the use of the Jewish scriptures in the letter, which, Elliott argues, suggests, ‘readers of Jewish origin or with previous Jewish background, for whom such tradition would have the most meaning and weight’ (p. 56 n. 77). But the question of how well an audience understood the scriptural quotations and allusions in an early Christian letter is a rather open one, as Christopher Stanley has recently suggested: Christopher Stanley, Arguing With Scripture: The Rhetoric of Quotations in the Letters of Paul (London and New York: Continuum, 2004). 21 Torrey Seland, Strangers in the Night: Philonic Perspectives on Christian Identity in 1 Peter (Biblical Interpretation Series, 76; Leiden: E. J. Brill, 2005), pp. 147–89, esp. 168–87. 15 16

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The typology of sectarian groups, to which Elliott appeals, on the other hand, may certainly offer a valuable perspective with which to grasp something of the sense of tension and separation which new religious movements perceive in relation to their ‘parent’ religious tradition and/ or their wider society – the ‘world’. The examples from which the sect-typology is constructed, however, are drawn from a wide range of historical and geographical contexts – Bryan Wilson’s initial study was of three sects in modern Britain22 – and while this gives a broad base for a generic model, we may question whether it adequately includes the most significant factors shaping the church–world relationship in 1 Peter. When Elliott suggests that ‘it is necessary to look no further than the sectarian composition of the communities addressed [in 1 Peter] to account for the conflict that characterizes their situation’, or that ‘1 Peter . . . represents a response to those problems with which conversionist sects in general must struggle’,23 we may wonder whether this does not overlook, or at least underemphasize, the central fact about the particular world in which the addressees lived and which most fundamentally determines their difficult relationship with it: the fact of empire. Indeed, what is most obviously missing from both these social-scientific approaches – and from most other attempts to move beyond the Balch–Elliott debate – is explicit attention to the structures of (imperial) domination within which the addressees of 1 Peter must negotiate their conformity and/or their resistance to the world. Put positively, we might suggest that the most relevant social-scientific resources for appreciating the community–world relationship in 1 Peter are likely to be those which concern themselves specifically with contexts of imperial/ colonial domination and with the ways in which subaltern groups produce and sustain their identity in such contexts. In the following section, I shall attempt to show how the work of writers in postcolonial studies offers some valuable resources with which to appreciate this crucial dynamic in the making of 1 Peter.

2.  Resources from Postcolonial Studies I begin not with a specifically postcolonial approach but with a broader study of the ways in which the dominated practise various forms of resistance, in the work of the political scientist James Scott. Building primarily upon his studies of peasant societies in Malaysia, but ranging much more widely as well, Scott has presented a rich and compelling analysis of the various forms of ‘everyday’ resistance practised by subordinate groups and classes.24 Scott’s work, especially in Domination and the Arts of Resistance, is – like some of the comparative work we have just mentioned on religious sects – wide-ranging and cross-cultural, taking examples from diverse historical and geographical contexts. Where it begins to help to inform our methodology, however, is in its particular focus on relations of domination, and the varied forms of resistance practised by those who are relatively weak in such patterns of relationship. Bryan R. Wilson, Sects and Society: A Sociological Study of Three Religious Groups in Britain (London: Heinemann,  1961). Elliott, Home, pp. 74, 102, my emphasis; cf. pp. 78, 80. 24 James C. Scott, Weapons of the Weak: Everyday Forms of Peasant Resistance (New Haven and London: Yale University Press, 1985); and James C. Scott, Domination and the Arts of Resistance:  Hidden Transcripts (New Haven and London: Yale University Press, 1990). For recent applications of Scott’s work to NT studies, see Richard A. Horsley (ed.), Hidden Transcripts and the Arts of Resistance: Applying the Work of James C. Scott to Jesus and Paul (SemeiaSt, 48, Atlanta: SBL, 2004). 22 23

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It provides a valuable perspective to shape our conceptualization of the crucial issues of resistance and power. Scott insists that we must not restrict our definition of resistance to the open and physical forms of rebellion that are comparatively rare, of generally short duration, and usually quashed by superior force. Scott’s interest is in the many and diverse ways in which subordinates express and practise their resistance to oppression, in what he calls ‘the immense political terrain that lies between quiescence and revolt’.25 One such mode of resistance is through what Scott calls hidden transcripts: modes of discourse generally kept hidden from the public stage, where the official, sanctioned transcript dominates. Such a ‘hidden’ transcript may be expressed when the oppressed meet away from the gaze of their oppressors, as in the visions of reversal and judgment, the ‘symbolic inversions’,26 expressed in African American slave religion, visions, of course, often directly indebted to biblical language and imagery. Other modes of resistance may appear on the public stage, but in ways which (generally) avoid direct and personal confrontation: anonymous rumours and gossip, euphemisms, ambiguous gestures, ‘accidental’ acts of insubordination and so on. Importantly, Scott’s work should warn us against seeing rebellion and resistance only in texts and communities that are blatantly and overtly opposed to the established powers in the world. More usual, but no less forms of resistance, are modes of communication and action that subtly and changeably weave resistance into what is in various other respects a discourse of conformity and obedience. Indeed, an appreciation of the variable, complex, ambiguous, even compromised, relations between resistance and complicity is a crucial methodological key, which will be further developed in our engagement with postcolonial writers below. Scott’s work also serves as a warning to avoid characterizing the ‘weak’ as powerless. Certainly there is no attempt to obscure the extent to which the dominant and powerful wield the big sticks, and are able to exercise power through a range of ideological and physical means, not least the brute force to subdue and coerce by terror. But the weak also exercise agency and power through the multifarious means by which they resist their domination, whether in hidden or overt ways, and whether through linguistic means (such as jokes, gossip, parody, etc.) or by physical acts (such as poaching, concealment, evasion, etc.).27 While Scott’s work incorporates a wide range of examples and socio-historical contexts, their uniting feature being some form of resistance enacted or expressed by subordinates, postcolonialism deals with a yet more specific context crucial for the understanding of 1 Peter:  colonialism and imperialism.28 Postcolonialism ‘deals with the effects of colonization on cultures and societies’,29 with its specific disciplinary focus on the impact of, and reactions to, European colonialism from the sixteenth century to the present day.30 The prefix ‘post’, it is important to note – with or without a hyphen, a matter of some debate in the field – does Scott, Domination, p. 199. Cf. Scott, Domination, pp. 166–72. 27 Cf. the summary table in Scott, Domination, p. 198; more generally on the manifold strategies by which the dominated insinuate and practice resistance, see pp. 136–201. 28 These two terms, as R. S. Sugirtharajah notes, are, ‘in postcolonial writing . . . often lumped together, and tend to be used interchangeably’, though colonialism, in Edward Said’s words (quoted by Sugirtharajah), ‘almost always a consequence of imperialism’, has a more specific meaning as ‘the implanting of settlements on distant territory’; R. S. Sugirtharajah, Postcolonial Criticism and Biblical Interpretation (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2002), p. 24. 29 Bill Ashcroft, Gareth Griffiths and Helen Tiffin, Post-Colonial Studies:  The Key Concepts (London and New York: Routledge, 2000), p. 186. 30 Ashcroft, Griffiths and Tiffin, Post-Colonial Studies, p. 188. 25 26

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not indicate an interest only in the period after the ‘departure’ of the colonial power, although the ramifications of decolonization and the realities of neo-colonialism are of obvious interest to those working in this area.31 The concerns of postcolonial studies may rather be defined as ‘engaging with the textual, historical and cultural articulations of societies disturbed by the historical reality of colonial presence’32 – a definition which rightly, if only just, leaves both colonizing and colonized societies as proper foci of postcolonial study. Although the focus of postcolonial studies is the impact of modern European colonialism, the ideas and concepts are pertinent – as long as one is equally aware of the differences33 – to the study of the Roman Empire too, not least since this empire served in some respects as a model for the European vision.34 Indeed, interest in the relevance of postcolonial perspectives to biblical studies has been growing considerably in recent years.35 Postcolonialism does not constitute, or present, a specific or unified theoretical package that could be ‘applied’ to a biblical text. The field is much too diffuse and varied, and essentially concerns attempts to read literature produced in colonial contexts with an eye to the impact of colonization/imperialism and the ways in which colonized subjects resist such incursions and sustain or create cultural and social identity. A focus on resistance, and the forms it may take, is thus prominent in postcolonial studies, and, as with Scott, so too, many postcolonial studies emphasize the diverse and nuanced forms that resistance and opposition may take. Anuradha Needham, for example, notes the claim of many critics ‘that no modes of resistance, whether they acknowledge it or not, are completely free of their implication in the domination they resist’.36 Inversion, for example, a prominent strategy in literatures of resistance, ‘would not be possible without the terms and evaluations embodied in and by the dominant, which the inversion then attempts to devalue (and revalue) through a process of transvaluation’.37 Concerning another form of resistance, and quoting Simon Gikandi and Stuart Hall, Needham writes of ‘ “the mutual imbrication and contamination” of dominant and subordinate, colonizer For a sense of the issues at stake, the following quotation is indicative: ‘Whereas some critics invoke the hyphenated form “post-colonialism” as a decisive temporal marker of the decolonising process, others fiercely query the implied chronological separation between colonialism and its aftermath  – on the grounds that the postcolonial condition is inaugurated with the onset rather than the end of colonial occupation’ (Leela Gandhi, Postcolonial Theory:  A Critical Introduction [Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press, 1998], p. 3). Cf. also Bill Ashcroft, Gareth Griffiths and Helen Tiffin, The Empire Writes Back:  Theory and Practice in Post-Colonial Literatures (New Accents; London and New York: Routledge, 2nd edn, 2002), pp. 1–2. One might perhaps say that the ‘post’ best refers to what comes after the moment of colonization, not to what comes after the (putative) end of colonization. 32 Sugirtharajah, Postcolonial Criticism, p. 11. 33 For example, the essentialist definitions of race that were so prominent in European colonialism are not encountered in anything like the same form in the Roman Empire. I am grateful to John White for this point. 34 Cf. Sugirtharajah, Postcolonial Criticism, p. 24. For application of postcolonial perspectives to the study of Roman imperialism see Jane Webster and Nicholas J. Cooper (eds), Roman Imperialism: Post-Colonial Perspectives (Leicester Archaeology Monographs, 3; Leicester: School of Archaeological Studies, University of Leicester, 1996). 35 See, e.g., R. S. Sugirtharajah (ed.), The Postcolonial Bible (Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1998); R. S. Sugirtharajah (ed.), The Postcolonial Biblical Reader (Oxford: Blackwell, 2006); and Stephen D. Moore and Fernando F. Segovia (eds), Postcolonial Biblical Criticism: Interdisciplinary Intersections (London and New York: T&T Clark, 2005). For application of the perspective to Josephus, see John M. G. Barclay, ‘The Empire Writes Back: Josephan Rhetoric in Flavian Rome’, in Flavius Josephus and Flavian Rome (ed. Jonathan Edmondson, Steve Mason and James Rives; Oxford:  Oxford University Press, 2005), pp. 315–32; John M. G. Barclay, Against Apion, vol. 10 of Flavius Josephus: Translation and Commentary (Leiden: E. J. Brill, 2006). 36 Anuradha Dingwaney Needham, Using the Master’s Tools: Resistance and the Literature of the African and SouthAsian Diasporas (Basingstoke and London: Macmillan, 2000), p. 10. 37 Needham, Master’s Tools, p. 11; on the use of inversion, see also Scott, Domination, pp. 166–72. 31

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and colonized, which in turn renders each . . . “inextricably mixed and hybrid” ’.38 Needham’s study is especially pertinent to a consideration of 1 Peter, since her concern is with the forms of resistance expressed by writers located in the metropole who are thus living in ‘diaspora’, away from their homelands in Africa or South Asia.39 This emphasis on the ambivalence and complexity of resistance and conformity is especially prominent in the work of Homi Bhabha, one of the most influential, if difficult, postcolonial writers. Bhabha’s key ‘enabling assumption’, Stephen Moore notes, ‘is that the relationship between colonizer and colonized is characterized by ambivalence . . . attraction and repulsion at the same time’.40 To quote Bhabha: Resistance is not necessarily an oppositional act of political intention, nor is it the simple negation or exclusion of the ‘content’ of another culture, as a difference once perceived. It is the effect of an ambivalence produced within the rules of recognition of dominating discourses as they articulate the signs of cultural difference and reimplicate them within the deferential relations of colonial power.41 Moore puts the essential point concisely: ‘For Bhabha, resistance and complicity coexist in different measures in each and every colonial subject’.42 Also important in this regard is another concept which is prominent in Bhabha’s work: the concept of ‘hybridity’, an attempt to express the idea that the encounter of colonizer and colonized creates forms of interaction and interdependence that affect the construction of their subjectivities such that these are formed and articulated in what Bhabha calls a ‘Third Space’, an ‘in-between’. Bhabha insists that any idea of cultural ‘originality’ or ‘purity’ is untenable, because cultural identity and cultural difference are articulated precisely in ‘that Third Space of enunciation’ which is a space of ‘hybridity’:  ‘we should remember that it is the “inter”  – the cutting edge of translation and negotiation, the in-between .  .  . that carries the burden of the meaning of culture’.43 Language, as Bhabha’s comment already implies, is necessarily implicated in this interaction, and as such – and also as a medium of power – is a site of contest and negotiation in colonial engagements. Indigenous languages may, for example, be used and preserved as a deliberate means to sustain distance and distinctiveness, often in the face of overt efforts to insist on the use of (only) the imperial language. Alternatively, the colonizer’s language may be used, but changed and subverted as the colonized express both difference and resistance.44 Consequently, some theorists have adopted the notion of ‘creolization’ – of Needham, Master’s Tools, p. 9. Needham, Master’s Tools, p. 1 et passim. 40 Stephen D. Moore, Empire and Apocalypse:  Postcolonialism and the New Testament (Sheffield:  Sheffield Phoenix Press, 2006), p. 109. 41 Homi K. Bhabha, The Location of Culture (London and New York: Routledge, 1994), p. 110. 42 Moore, Empire and Apocalypse, p. 110. 43 Homi K. Bhabha, ‘Cultural Diversity and Cultural Differences [1988]’, in The Post-Colonial Studies Reader (ed. Bill Ashcroft, Gareth Griffiths and Helen Tiffin; London and New York: Routledge, 2nd edn, 2006), pp. 155–57 (156–57). See further Bhabha, Location of Culture, pp. 111–15; Ashcroft, Griffiths and Tiffin, Post-Colonial Studies, pp. 118–19; Gandhi, Postcolonial Theory, pp. 129–31. 44 See Ashcroft, Griffiths and Tiffin, Empire, pp. 37–50; Amitava Kumar, ‘Passport Photos’, in The Post-Colonial Studies Reader (ed. Bill Ashcroft, Gareth Griffiths and Helen Tiffin; London and New  York:  Routledge, 2nd edn, 2006), pp. 455–59, who quotes Salman Rushdie (on p. 455): ‘Those of us who do use English do so in spite of our ambiguity 38 39

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language and of identity – another facet of this negotiation of hybrid cultural identity in the in-between space.45 Postcolonial writers, drawing, of course, on biblical images and terms, also frequently invoke the notions of diaspora and exile to denote the experience of those displaced from their homeland due to the effects of colonization and imperialism.46 Significantly, though, given the use of such terms in 1 Peter, postcolonialism is not only concerned with these terms as a literal description of those physically displaced by empire but also with what Leela Gandhi refers to as ‘the idea of cultural dislocation contained within this term [diaspora]’.47 Gandhi continues, drawing on the work of Bhabha and Frantz Fanon: In Bhabha’s characteristic interjections, colonialism is read as the perverse instigator of a new politics of ‘un-homeliness’. If colonialism violently interpellates the sanctuary and solace of ‘homely’ spaces, it also calls forth forms of resistance which can, as Fanon observes, no longer be accommodated within the familiar crevices and corners of former abodes . . . Not surprisingly, diasporic thought finds its apotheosis in the ambivalent, transitory, culturally contaminated and borderline figure of the exile, caught in a historical limbo between home and the world.48 These comments will already be forging connections in the minds of those familiar with 1 Peter, and particularly with Elliott’s view of 1 Peter as offering ‘a home for the homeless’. So, as we turn to the letter, it is important to emphasize that what postcolonialism offers us is not a model or a theory to be applied to the text, but rather a language, an orientation, a series of concepts attuned to the themes of life under empire. If there is a claim that unites and underpins postcolonial studies it is that imperial domination, the act of colonization, inevitably affects, ‘disturbs’, the societies into which its control reaches, such that studies of culture, literature, identity and so on, cannot ignore – and must take as of primary importance – the impact of the colonial/imperial relationship and the power relationships entwined in it. Postcolonialism thus invites us to read 1 Peter as a literary product of a colonial/imperial situation, with our ears especially attuned to the ways in which this letter constructs the identity of the people to whom it is addressed and offers one particular way of negotiating existence in the empire, between conformity and resistance. Scott and Bhabha in particular invite us to consider how expressions of resistance may be subtle and ambivalent, woven in complex ways into a discourse which may also be complicit and conformist, constructed in the encounter between colonizer and colonized.

towards it, or perhaps because of that, perhaps because we can find in that linguistic struggle a reflection of other struggles taking place in the real world, struggles between cultures within ourselves and the influences at work upon our societies. To conquer English may be to complete the process of making ourselves free.’ 45 See the brief summary in Ashcroft, Griffiths and Tiffin, Post-Colonial Studies, pp. 58–59. 46 Indicative of this interest is the section of readings under the heading ‘Diaspora’ in Bill Ashcroft, Gareth Griffiths and Helen Tiffin (eds), The Post-Colonial Studies Reader (London and New York: Routledge, 2nd edn, 2006), pp. 425–59. 47 Gandhi, Postcolonial Theory, p. 131. 48 Gandhi, Postcolonial Theory, p. 132.

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3.  Towards a Postcolonial Reading of First Peter In the space available, what follows can only be an initial sketch of what a postcolonial reading of 1 Peter might look like, and a particular kind of postcolonial reading at that. Fernando Segovia helpfully identifies three dimensions of a ‘postcolonial optic’ for biblical studies: the first is the historical setting of the texts of early Judaism and Christianity in imperial/colonial contexts; the second is the history of biblical interpretation, and the emergence of modern biblical scholarship with its connections with the realities and ideologies of European colonial expansion; the third is the context of today’s readers in the global sphere and their relation to the centre(s) of power.49 It will be clear that my preoccupation in this essay is with the first category, namely the setting of 1 Peter in its historical imperial context (though this should not be taken to imply that I consider other facets of postcolonial biblical study to have any less value or interest).50 Betsy Bauman-Martin, though in some respects a very different kind of postcolonial reading of 1 Peter, also focuses on the context of 1 Peter’s production, though Bauman-Martin’s particular interest is in the ‘ideological imperialism’ with which the author of 1 Peter takes over the cultural heritage and identity-markers of Judaism.51 a.  ‘To the Elect Refugees of the Diaspora . . . from Babylon’: The Letter-Frame (1 Peter 1.1-2; 5.12-14) We begin our reading with the letter-frame, which sets a context for the remainder of the text. The opening of the letter, immediately after naming its author as the apostle Peter, describes those to whom it is addressed as ἐκλετοὶ παρεπίδημοι διασπορãς, then specifies their location in this ‘diaspora’ as the Roman provinces in northern Asia Minor. These terms, as is widely recognized, reflect the influence on the letter of Jewish terms and traditions. The positive description of the readers as (God’s) elect adopts an OT designation widely used in early Christian literature.52 The noun παεπίδημος, rare outside biblical literature,53 denoting ‘one who is (temporarily) resident in a place as an alien’,54 or even a refugee, appropriates the Fernando F. Segovia, ‘Biblical Criticism and Postcolonial Studies: Toward a Postcolonial Optic’, in The Postcolonial Bible (ed. R. S. Sugirtharajah; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1998), pp. 49–65 (56–63). 50 For example, studies of the ways in which colonial expansion and domination, Christian mission and Bible translation were often enmeshed in an unholy alliance. See for example, Bhabha, Location of Culture, pp. 102–22; Sugirtharajah, Postcolonial Criticism, pp. 127–78; and the essays by Dora Mbuwayesango and Hephzibah Israel in Sugirtharajah (ed.), Postcolonial Reader, pp. 259–83. 51 It seems to me that our essays are broadly complementary rather than contradictory. Bauman-Martin writes in her essay in this volume that ‘it seems undeniable that the author of 1 Peter did engage in one form of critique of empire and its relationships . . . But that resistance was based largely on the appropriation of Judaism, an appropriation that constituted an imperialist move’ (p. 149). My essay focuses on the subject of the first sentence – 1 Peter’s stance towards the Roma Empire – while Bauman-Martin’s focuses on the second: the extent to which the author draws his materials from Judaism and the implications of this. Cf. further below, with nn. 76–78. My question, though, would be whether Bauman-Martin’s notion of ideological imperialism broadens the category of colonial contexts too much: does any sect that claims to embody the true interpretation of the parent religion necessarily engage in such a move? 52 Cf. e.g., Deut. 4.37; 7.6-8; Pss. 78.68; 135.4; Isa. 41.8-9; 44.1. For specific uses of ἐκλετοί, see e.g., Pss. 88.4 [LXX] (note the LXX plural for MT singular: ‘my chosen one’); 104.6 [LXX]; 104.43 [LXX]; 105.5 [LXX]; Wis. 3.9; 4.15; Sir. 46.1. In the NT: Mk 13.20, 22, 27 (and par.); Rom. 8.33; Col 3.12; 2 Tim. 2.10; Tit. 1.1; Rev. 17.14. 53 Bechtler, Following, p. 80. 54 Walter Grundmann, ‘δῆμος, κτλ.’, TDNT vol. 2, pp.  63–65 (64). Cf. Polybius 32.6.4, who refers to the Greek παρεπίδημοι in Rome. 49

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language with which Abraham voices the nature of his residence among the Hittites (Gen. 23.4). There Abraham describes himself as a ‘a stranger and an alien’ (‫ותוׁשב‬-‫ּגר‬, πάροικος καὶ παρεπίδημος), thus linking together both of the terms used in 1 Peter to describe the alien or estranged existence of the addresses (2.11, cf. 1.17). The πάροικος, a rather more common term in Greek to denote a non-citizen, whether native or foreign,55 is used in the LXX to denote a ‘resident alien’ – a foreigner who dwells somewhere without full national or civic rights, whether a resident alien living among the people of Israel, or an Israelite living in a foreign land.56 Diaspora, of course, is the technical biblical/Jewish term for the dispersion of the Jews among the Gentiles,57 a term used to express the experience of being scattered, exiled, ‘led away’ or deported, variously denoted in the Hebrew texts. These diverse expressions, for which the LXX also uses terms (significantly for us) such as παροκία,58 were ‘appropriate’, Karl Ludwig Schmidt notes, ‘in relation to the deportations by Assyrian, Babylonian and to a lesser extent later conquerors, e.g. Pompey’.59 The scattering of Israel among the nations came to be seen, by some writers at least, as having a positive dimension: Israel’s strength and importance is demonstrated by the presence of her people in every nation.60 But with the fall of Jerusalem in 70 ce (and further defeat in 132–35 ce), and the associated killing, enslavement and deportations,61 the negative aspects of Israel’s experience came once again to the fore. These opening depictions of the letter’s addressees must be linked with the other part of the letter frame, the closing verses, and specifically the single but significant reference to ‘Babylon’, from where the writer sends greetings (5.13). As most commentators agree, this is almost certainly a reference to Rome, even if it also serves as a symbolic reference to the diasporic situation of the readers. With this brief characterization, Rome is thus identified with the imperial power whose actions were so prominent and paradigmatic in Israel’s history. Thus far, our observations on the language of the letter-frame are largely standard and well established. What is important, though, is to notice how, with just these few words, the writer of 1 Peter evokes a whole narrative, a kind of hidden transcript, one forged in the fire of Jewish experience, and one that reflects the experience of the underside of empire: being deported and exiled, dislocated from one’s home.62 And by identifying Rome as Babylon, the author not only alludes to the story of Israel’s occupation and exile by that ancient empire, Bechtler, Following, pp. 71–73. Cf. Karl Ludwig Schmidt and Martin Anton Schmidt, ‘πάροικος κτλ.’, TDNT vol. 5, pp. 841–53 (842–48). See Exod. 2.22; 12.45; Lev. 22.10; 25.47; Deut. 23.7 [LXX 23.8]; 1 Chron. 5.10, etc. Indeed, it is the LXX use that is decisive for the meaning of these terms in 1 Peter; see Bechtler, Following, pp. 64–83; Reinhard Feldmeier, Die Christen als Fremde: die Metapher der Fremde in der antiken Welt, im Urchristentum und im 1. Petrusbrief (WUNT, 64; Tübingen: J. C. B. Mohr [Paul Siebeck], 1992), pp. 207–208. 57 Karl Ludwig Schmidt, ‘διασπορά’, TDNT vol. 2, pp. 98–104 (99). 58 Cf. Ezra 8.35: ‫‘( בני־הּגולה‬sons of [the] exile’) = υἱοὶ τῆς παροικίας Ps. 120.5(LXX 119.5) ‫‘( גרּתי‬I live as a stranger’) = ἡ παροικία μου; Hab. 3.16; Lam. 2.22. 59 Schmidt, ‘διασπορά’, p.100. 60 Cf. Pss. Sol. 9.2; 1 Macc. 15.16-24; Sib. Or. 3.271; Josephus Ant. 14.115; War 2.398; 7.43; Philo Leg. Gai. 36 (281–284). 61 One example: Josephus (War 3.539-40) refers to the rounding up of Jewish prisoners by Vespasian, the dispatching of 6,000 to work on Nero’s project to dig a canal through the Isthmus near Corinth, and the sale of 30,400 as slaves. Even if the numbers are exaggerated, the treatment of the captives is indicative. 62 References here to the narrative evoked by the author of 1 Peter indicate that my reading is compatible with, and could be further expanded using, the narrative analysis of the letter offered by Eugene Boring elsewhere in this volume. What a postcolonial reading is especially concerned to consider is how the narrative implied by the letter positions the church vis-à-vis the empire, how it expresses forms and strategies of resistance, and how it constructs the social and cultural identity of its members, who live under Rome’s domination, etc. 55 56

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but also casts Rome into precisely that role, ‘the very epitome and type of an ungodly and domineering city’.63 In this way, albeit briefly and allusively, the author aligns himself and his readers with a particular narrative about the Roman Empire: a particular perspective on its actions. He does not depict – nor perhaps even long for – the downfall of ‘Babylon’ in the vivid and detailed manner of the writer of Revelation, but he says enough to show that he and John share a common story about the character and achievements of this empire, a story which reflects the experience of the colonized and enslaved, not the powerful and dominant.64 And, of course, the view of the empire as godless power, scattering and displacing the people of God, stands in stark contrast to the narrative promoted by the architects of empire, for whom their divinely appointed vocation is to bring peace to warring tribes and civilization to uncultured barbarians, even if this naturally requires the exercise of terrorizing force upon those arrogant enough to resist  – parcere subiectis et debellare superbos, as Virgil memorably expresses the Romans’ vocation (‘to pardon those who submit and to subdue the proud’; or, as Philip Esler paraphrases the idea: ‘Grovel and live; resist and die’).65 The recipients of 1 Peter were probably not literally geographically displaced aliens, even if a certain number among them might have been. Most scholars have been unpersuaded by Elliott’s arguments for a literal reading of this description of their status prior to conversion, and remain more inclined to see the alienation from at-homeness in the world as something created by conversion, and thus in some sense metaphorical rather than strictly politicogeographical.66 However, this does not mean that the language loses its political edge, nor its connection with the real social experience of the readers; it is not merely an indication that their home is in heaven. Indeed, this seems to me a crucial point in Elliott’s argument, and both Karl Georg Kuhn, ‘Bαβυλών’, TDNT vol. 1, pp. 514–17 (515). Indeed it is interesting and not irrelevant to note that, in his depictions of the final and decisive revelation which is near, the author of 1 Peter uses a)ἀποκαλυπ- words more frequently than does the author of Revelation (1 Pet. 1.5, 7, 13; 4.13; 5.1; Rev. 1.1). This aspect of 1 Peter’s rhetoric is explored by Robert L. Webb in his essay in this volume. 65 Virgil, Aen. 6.853; Philip F. Esler, ‘God’s Honour and Rome’s Triumph: Responses to the Fall of Jerusalem in 70 CE in Three Jewish Apocalypses’, in, Modelling Early Christianity (ed. Philip F. Esler; London and New York: Routledge, 1995), pp. 239–58 (240). The Res Gestae Divi Augusti serve as a prominent and very public declaration of this imperial perspective, commemorating Augustus’s military triumphs and establishment of ‘peace’ by bringing further peoples into subjection to the Roman people (Res Gestae 26). They also culminate in the recording of Augustus’s acclamation as pater patriae. The Res Gestae, primarily intended to be engraved outside Augustus’s mausoleum in Rome, were apparently inscribed in both Latin and Greek on the walls of temples of Augustus elsewhere in the empire, though it is significant that our only known examples come from Asia Minor, including the most complete and famous example from the Temple of Rome and Augustus in Ancyra – so this Roman propaganda was certainly known in the areas to which 1 Peter was addressed. 66 See, e.g. Feldmeier, Die Christen als Fremde; Bechtler, Following, pp. 70–82; Paul J. Achtemeier, 1 Peter (Hermeneia; Minneapolis: Fortress, 1996), pp. 174–75; Seland, Strangers, pp. 39–78. Indeed, some of the OT texts, noted above (n. 56) as the decisive context for the meaning of the terms in 1 Peter, already indicate a kind of broadening or spiritualizing of the term: Abraham describes himself as πάροικος καὶ παρεπίδημος . . . μεθ’ ὑμῶν, referring to the Hittites (Gen. 23.4), a phrase echoed in other texts where, however, the description of the people as aliens and strangers pertains to their relationship to Yahweh: Lev. 25.23 (πάροικοι . . . ἐναντίον μου); 1 Chron. 29.15 (πάροικοί ἐσμεν ἐναντίον σου); Ps. 39.12 [38.13 LXX] (πάροικος ἐγώ εἰμι παρὰ σοὶ καὶ παρεπίδημος). Here, it seems to me, the terms have already broadened beyond a statement of strictly literal, socio-political identity (1 Chron. 29.15 clearly spiritualizing, to some extent, since the verse ends: ὡς σκιὰ αἱ ἡμέραι ἡμῶυ ἐπὶ γῆς καὶ οὐκ ἔστιν ὑπομενη (‘our days on the earth are like a shadow, and there is no abiding [ESV]’). But this does not deny that the terms continue to convey something of the formative social experience of the people of Israel, which seems to me a key point in Elliott’s argument. The fact that the readers of 1 Peter can be addressed as πάροικοι καὶ παρεπίδημοι – in a phrase which suggests a hendiadys – indicates the crucial influence of the LXX phrasing and also implies that the author is conveying the character of their experience rather than their socio-political status (in which case someone would be either a πάροικος or a παρεπίδημος). 63 64

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convincing and important. As we have seen, postcolonial writers are interested in diaspora and exile not only as the literal, geographical experience of many of the colonized, but also as a depiction of the cultural, social and psychological dislocation caused by the intrusion of colonial power. Yet there is one more twist to the use of this language in 1 Peter. The author is not writing to an ethnic group or people – to all the inhabitants of Pontus, say – giving voice to their collective experience of empire.67 Rather, he is writing to those who, by virtue of their conversion to Christianity, have now become dislocated, no longer at-home in the οἰκουμένη (‘inhabited world’) which is the empire. Prior to conversion these people may have been quietly, even contentedly, accommodated to the realities of empire and its local manifestations, keeping the peace and their heads down, paying their dues, financially and religiously.68 Not all the colonized, whatever those with a revolutionary consciousness might like, share or express a negative or resentful view of the empire. But the call to conversion, a call the author reiterates and amplifies in his letter, is a call to inhabit a narrative, one drawn from the experience of the people of Israel, that puts a different spin on the establishment of empire. Now Rome is Babylon, the oppressor of God’s people, who are displaced and homeless in its realm. One might therefore say that the narrative of identity into which 1 Peter invites its readers is one which constructs a form of postcolonial awareness, which challenges positive acceptance or acquiescence and replaces it with a sense of dislocation and distance. The positive counterpart to the depiction of the addressees as strangers and aliens under Babylon’s rule, is, of course, their designation as God’s elect, a positive identity spelt out in the remainder of the letter-opening with reference to the saving activity of God the Father, the Spirit, and Jesus Christ (1.2). And it is the articulation of this positive new identity that dominates the opening sections of the epistle. b.  A Glorious Salvation and a Positive Identity as God’s People (1 Peter 1.3–2.10) The opening thanksgiving of 1 Peter focuses on the great and glorious salvation, the inheritance that awaits the elect people of God. This is an inheritance more enduring, more certain, and more glorious than any earthly treasure, and a cause of rejoicing despite the hardships of the present (1.6 – the first indication of the reality of suffering which will form a leitmotif of the letter). This salvation stands ready at the door; it is prepared to be revealed (ἀποκαλυϕθῆναι) at the end-time (ἐν καιρῷ ἐσχάτῳ) which will be soon (1.5; cf. 1.7; 4.17-19).69 The first imperative in the letter is therefore the exhortation to hope (ἐλπίσατε, 1.13); that is, to hold resolutely and joyfully to this narrative of promised salvation, a narrative which, given the readers’ present experience, is certainly counter-intuitive and counter-factual, contrary to the apparent circumstances of their lives. The writer also draws ethical consequences from this

This does not make a postcolonial analysis inappropriate, any more than it would in the case of, say, Rastafarianism – since not all Jamaicans are Rastafarians. The point is that these religious movements are in some ways responses to, or at the very least shaped by, the experience of empire. 68 The primary responsibility of any governor was to ensure that his province remained peaceful (pacata atque quieta); see G. E. M. de Ste Croix, ‘Why Were the Early Christians Persecuted?’ Past and Present 26 (1963), pp. 6–38 (16). Moreover, there is evidence to suggest that Asia Minor, at least at the administrative level, was enthusiastic in its responses to Roman rule; see nn. 65 and 82. 69 It seems to me that 1 Peter does convey a sense of imminent eschatological expectation, pace David C. Parker, ‘The Eschatology of 1 Peter’, BTB 24 (1994), pp. 27–32. 67

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basis (1.13–2.3), urging his readers to holy living (1.15-16, quoting Lev. 19.2), which means distancing themselves from the patterns of conduct that characterized their ‘former ignorance’ (1.14, cf. v. 19). The central text in which the new status of the believers as the elect and holy people of God is made clear is 2.4-10, which forms the climax of the affirmations and the exhortations found in 1.3–2.10 and the foundation for the instruction which is to follow in the second major section of the letter (2.11–4.11). ‘Here’ in 2.4-10, Elliott writes, ‘the fundamental indicative for the entire epistle has been spoken’.70 As Elliott and Richard Bauckham71 have made clear, this passage constitutes a rich example of a kind of midrashic exegesis, with a number of biblical texts woven into the fabric of a carefully structured text. Verses 4-5 introduce vv. 6-10, briefly stating the themes which are drawn out in the texts and comments which follow: Jesus the elect stone and the church the elect people of God. The scriptural quotations that follow in vv. 6-10 pick up one or other of two key words, stone (λίθος), or people (λαός). More specifically, v. 4 introduces the texts and comments about Christ the stone in vv. 6-8, and v. 5 introduces and summarizes vv. 9-10. Verses 6-10 thus contain the primary sources, the scriptural texts, for the ideas which are summarized in vv. 4-5.72 In vv. 6-8 three texts (Isa. 28.16; Ps. 118.22; Isa. 8.14) are quoted and interpreted to describe Christ as the stone rejected by people but chosen and vindicated by God – a fate which is, of course, in certain respects paradigmatic for the experience of the readers. In vv. 9-10 three texts (Isa. 43.20-21; Exod. 19.6; Hos. 2.23, plus phrases drawn from Hos. 1.6, 9, 10) are woven into a declaration about the identity of the readers, ‘once no people but now God’s people’. One of the striking things about this latter declaration is the way in which it draws on the Jewish Scriptures, indeed on some of the central identity designations of Israel (γένος ἐκλεκτόν, ἔθνος ἅγιον, λαὸς θεοῦ), to describe the identity of the predominantly Gentile recipients of the letter.73 As Peter Richardson notes, the ‘transpositions’ of Jewish attributes and titles to the church ‘reach a climax within the New Testament in [1 Peter] 2.1-10’, a text which represents ‘a conscious attempt . . . to appropriate the Ehrentitel Israels for the new people of God’.74 Indeed, for Paul Achtemeier ‘Israel as a totality has become for this letter the controlling metaphor in terms of which its theology is expressed’. Achtemeier, continues: ‘In 1 Peter the language and hence the reality of Israel pass without remainder into the language and hence the reality of the new people of God. The constitutive nature of this language is most evident in 1 Pet. 2.9-10’.75 Elliott, Elect, p. 217. Richard J. Bauckham, ‘James, 1 and 2 Peter, Jude’, in It is Written: Scripture Citing Scripture (Festschrift Barnabas Lindars; ed. D. A. Carson and Hugh G. M. Williamson; Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1988), pp. 303–17. 72 See Elliott, Elect, p. 48; Bauckham, ‘James, 1 and 2 Peter, Jude’, pp. 310–11. 73 Peter Richardson notes that v. 9 is the only application to Christians of γένοϚ in the NT (Peter Richardson, Israel in the Apostolic Church [SNTSMS, 10; Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1969], p. 172 n. 8), though it is common as a term to describe the people of Israel in the Jewish scriptures (e.g., LXX Exod. 1.9; Josh. 4.14; Dan. 1.6, etc.) and becomes common later, notably in the description of Christians as a ‘third race’, alongside Jews and Gentiles. The phrase ἔυοϚ ἅγιου is not often found as such in the LXX (but see Exod. 19.6; 23.22 [LXX]; Wis. 17.2), but the theme of Israel’s call to be holy is common, especially in the book of Leviticus (Lev. 11.44-45; 19.2; 20.7, 26, etc.; cf. 1 Pet. 1.16). Similarly, the phrase λαὸς θεοῦ is not itself a precisely established label, but the description of the people as the λαὸς is very common, and they are often specifically denoted as ‘your people’, or ‘my people’, where God is the one to whom they belong (e.g. Exod. 33.16; 2 Sam. 7.23; 1 Kgs 8.43; Isa. 64.8, etc.) 74 Richardson, Israel, pp. 172–73. 75 Achtemeier, 1 Peter, p.  69. Similar points are made in Paul J.  Achtemeier, ‘The Christology of 1 Peter:  Some Reflections’, in Who Do You Say That I Am? (Festschrift Jack Dean Kingsbury; ed. Mark A. Powell and David R. Bauer; Louisville: Westminster John Knox, 1999), pp. 140–54. 70 71

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This appropriation – one might say, expropriation76 – of the Scriptures and identity of Israel raises its own challenging historical, theological and ethical questions. Notably, the author of 1 Peter gives no explicit indication that these texts and titles also belong to the ethnos Israel; ‘there is no hint of interest in Israel in 1 Peter’.77 But its significance in this context is that it makes this particular conglomeration of titles and descriptors, this particular narrative, constitutive for the identity of the addressees of the letter. This, one might say, is the positive counterpart of their earlier designation as aliens and strangers in diaspora; as such, they are God’s γένος ἐκλεκτόν, God’s special people, destined to receive their glorious and imperishable inheritance. Just as the readers are not ‘literally’ resident aliens, temporary or permanent, so too they are not (at least in the majority of cases)78 ‘literally’ or ethnically Jews. But they are now, because of their conversion, to understand themselves precisely as such dislocated people, whose positive identity is given in the stories of the Hebrew Scriptures – and in the experience of a people often under the dominion of one empire or another. In this regard, Elliott is right to see the letter as undergirding and reinforcing the positive and distinctive identity of the Christian addressees.79 To what facets of this identity-defining narrative might a postcolonial reading particularly draw attention? It is not as if either the negative (dispersed aliens) or the positive (God’s chosen race) dimensions of existence as God’s people as described here straightforwardly imply a directly ‘anti-imperial’ stance. Indeed, as we shall see throughout this essay, a postcolonial reading challenges any easy designation of the text as anti- or pro-imperial and calls for a more nuanced and subtle approach to discerning forms and expressions of resistance. What the text does, I suggest, is to insert the readers into a particular narrative of identity which ‘places’ – or rather, displaces – them in a specific position vis-à-vis the empire. As we have seen, the letter-frame already positions the readers with regard to the empire in an essentially negative way: the ‘achievements’ of empire are experienced, or at least interpreted, as dislocation and dispersion. The first major section of the letter-body then insists that the believers have a positive and far superior basis for hope: their election by God and the inheritance that God

Cf. Elliott, Home, pp. 38, 149, 153 n. 55 (‘through the expropriation of Judaism’s distinctive honors, the Christian community saw itself as Judaism’s superior replacement’). 77 Richardson, Israel, p. 173. He continues: ‘the new people of God is mainly Gentile in origin, with no observable awareness of a present link with God’s other people . . . The Church has taken over the inheritance . . . of Israel.’ But ‘no consideration is given to the position of a Judaism without its Ehrentitel. The question is left hanging’ (pp. 173–75). Regarding ‘the absence of any mention of historical Israel within the letter’, Achtemeier similarly notes: ‘Nowhere is there any hint of the source from which the language of the controlling metaphor has been drawn’. However, he then goes on to assert that ‘this is evidently not an instance of anti-Semitism . . . The reason is simply that for the author of 1 Peter, Israel has become the controlling metaphor for the new people of God, and as such its rhetoric has passed without remainder into that of the Christian community’ (Achtemeier, 1 Peter, p. 72). But this skates too quickly over the issues: what does this ‘without remainder’ mean, and what are the implications for the continuing status of Israel as God’s people? One might read the silence of 1 Peter critically here, as Bauman-Martin does. Without wanting to be uncritical of the implications of 1 Peter’s strategy here, I would also want to note that the silence of the letter about the status of Israel does at least leave some (contemporary theological) room for the view that Israel’s existence must be affirmed alongside the church’s. This is, at least, better than explicit declarations that Israel has been replaced by the church, or that her covenant is now obsolete (cf. Heb. 7.18-19; 8.6-13; 9.11-15; Barn. 16.5-8; Melito, Peri Pascha, 43). 78 Cf. n.  20 above, on the question of the Gentile or Jewish identity of the addressees. Just as with the designation παάροικοι/παρεπίδημοι, so here too it is possible that some of the addressees were literally Jews. But the letter addresses its whole readership as παρεπίδημοι and as God’s γένος ἐκλεκτόν, so for most of them at least, this is an identity-designation that does not match their ‘literal’ or ethnic status in the world 79 Elliott, Home, pp. 106–107, 148, 198, 225–26, 270, et passim. 76

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has promised to them. Without there being much sign of any explicit polemic against, even ‘polemical parallelism’80 with, the claims and presentations of the Roman Empire, nonetheless, the letter’s depiction of Christian identity is such as to depict the impact of empire in essentially negative terms, and to insist that the basis for positive hope lies elsewhere. Insofar as Augustus was heralded  – in Asia, among other places  – as a savior who brought good news, put an end to war, and whose birthday marked ‘the beginning of all things’, the letter does indeed present a counter-narrative, and one with certain elements of polemical parallelism in it.81 Yet it does this not by any direct or explicit confrontation, but rather by locating the readers within an identity-defining narrative which offers a fundamentally different perspective on their existence, one which first dislocates them from the empire and then locates their positive hopes elsewhere. But what difference does this make in practise? How are ‘God’s chosen people’ to live in the world and relate to their neighbours, and specifically to the imperial authorities? These are issues taken up in the second major part of the letter, to which we now turn. c.  Conforming and Resisting (1 Peter 2.11–5.11) Having described in the first major section of his letter the glorious salvation to which God has called his elect and holy people the author now deals with ‘the consequences for the behavior of Christians in the structures of society’.82 It is notable that the opening two verses, 2.11-12, marked with the introductory ἀγαπητοί (cf. 4.12) and serving as a kind of headline to what follows, express both dimensions of the Christians’ ambivalent relationship to the world. Their distinction and distance is first expressed in an emphatic repetition of their estranged identity (ὡς παροίκους καὶ παρεπιδήμους) which requires separation from ‘fleshly desires’ (σαρκικῶν ἐπιθυμιῶν)  – evidently the kinds of desires that shaped their former existence and continue to characterize the lives of those among whom they live (4.2-4). But another leitmotif of the letter is also stressed here:  the need to ‘do good’, that is, to live in such a way that those who currently criticize and condemn the Christians may be ‘won over’ (2.1215; 2.20; 3.6; 3.11-17; 4.19). Although the recognition of the Christians’ goodness may not come about till the eschaton (cf. 2.12) the author’s notion of what is ‘good’ is evidently (taken to be) shared in common with those outside, since the hope is that good conduct will be seen as such here and now (cf. 2.15; Rom. 12.17).83 The author is clearly  – if, in the end, The phrase derives from Adolf Deissmann, who suggested that Christian claims about Christ were expressed using terms also familiar from their application to the deified emperors or from the context of emperor worship, such that ‘there arises a polemical parallelism between the cult of the emperor and the cult of Christ’ (G. Adolf Deissmann, Light from the Ancient East [London:  Hodder and Stoughton,  1910], p.  346). Cf. also Paul Barnett, ‘Polemical Parallelism: Some Further Reflections on the Apocalypse’, JSNT 35 (1989), pp. 111–20; Justin J. Meggitt, ‘Taking the Emperor’s Clothes Seriously:  The New Testament and the Roman Emperor’, in The Quest for Wisdom (Festschrift Philip Budd; ed. Christine Joynes; Cambridge: Orchard Academic, 2002), pp. 143–69 (157). 81 See, e.g., the announcements made by the assembly and the governor of Asia c. 9 bce in Simon R. F. Price, Rituals and Power: The Roman Imperial Cult in Asia Minor (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1984, repr., 1994), pp. 54–55. 82 Leonhard Goppelt, A Commentary on I Peter (ed. and trans. J. E. Alsup; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1993), p. 151. 83 For further and comparable reflections on the ‘common good’ as presumed by Paul, see David G. Horrell, Solidarity and Difference: A Contemporary Reading of Paul’s Ethics (London and New York: T&T Clark, 2005), pp. 261–67; and Victor P. Furnish, ‘Uncommon Love and the Common Good:  Christians as Citizens in the Letters of Paul’, in In Search of the Common Good (ed. Dennis P. McCann and Patrick D. Miller; London and New York: T&T Clark, 2005), pp. 58–87. 80

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unrealistically  – optimistic about the possibility that Christians might, after all, gain the favour of hostile outsiders through their good conduct (cf. 2.14-15; 3.1-2, 13-17). Yet it is a kind of optimism that we continue to encounter in the writings of apologists like Tertullian, who echoes 1 Peter in his arguments against those who condemn the Christians purely on account of their name (Apol. 2–3). What this ‘doing good’ means is specified in the various sections of the domestic code material. Slaves are to submit to their masters, even those who are wicked, and even when they are unfairly beaten (2.18-20). Wives are likewise to submit to their husbands, whether or not those husbands are believers (3.1-6). Indeed, their decently submissive conduct – a particular example of doing good  – is intended to function as a form of missionary appeal, with the aim of gaining their husbands for the faith.84 Just as Elliott is right to stress the ways in which the letter as a whole aims to strengthen the distinctive identity and group-cohesion of the Christians in Asia Minor, so I think Balch is right to stress that the domestic code, and more generally the practical instruction of the letter, represents a conformity to broader social expectations as part of the attempt to lessen hostility from outside.85 Indeed, the author’s desire that the readers conform quietly and decently to the standards of the world is also apparent in the instructions in 2.13-17, which are a particularly crucial focus for our investigation. Echoing Rom. 13.1-7, the author instructs that the addressees be subject to the emperor and his governors, whose task is to punish evil behaviour and reward that which is good (2.13-14). Moreover, they are specifically to honour the emperor (2.17). As Warren Carter has recently shown, in an interesting essay drawing on Scott’s work to interpret 1 Peter, this appeal for quiet conformity represents a kind of survival strategy in a particular context of hostility and persecution.86 One common and understandable response to the pressures and threats of imperial domination is simply to keep a low profile, to be quietly obedient as far as possible (cf. 1 Thess. 4.11-12). But is Carter also right to suggest that the author expects his readers to ‘go all the way’ in conforming to the demands of the empire, including participation in worship of the emperor? Their form of resistance, Carter suggests, is only an internal one: outwardly they conform in all respects to the requirements of the imperium, but inwardly, ‘in their hearts’, they revere Christ (3.15). However, there are a number of facets of 2.13-17 that suggest that the author’s strategy is more nuanced, and the negotiation between conformity and resistance different from that which Carter suggests. First, it is relevant to note that the appeal for submission to the emperor

It should not be assumed that all, or even most, of the wives in the Christian community were in this situation. The expression καὶ εἴ τιυες (‘even if some’) certainly implies that some wives were in this situation (cf. 1 Cor. 7.12-16). But the instruction given to husbands in 3.7, along with the choice of Sarah as example (Abraham hardly being a model of an unbelieving husband), shows that the admonition to wives is addressed to all Christian wives, whether their husbands are Christian or not. However, the situation of a ‘mixed marriage’ would be one of particular difficulty. 85 Balch sees the code as used by ‘the author of 1 Peter to stress the importance of Christians seeking peace and harmony in their household relationships and with society’ (Balch, Wives, p. 105). By contrast, Elliott argues that ‘the household code . . . was used to promote both the internal solidarity of the sectarian movement and its external distinction from Gentile motives and manners’ (Elliott, Home, p.  231, my emphasis; cf. pp.  115, 140, 229). On the latter view it is difficult to see why the code of conduct presented in the letter should bear such striking similarity to that which was widely promoted as socially respectable. 86 Warren Carter, ‘Going All the Way? Honoring the Emperor and Sacrificing Wives and Slaves in 1 Peter 2.13–3.6’, in A Feminist Companion to the Catholic Epistles (ed. Amy-Jill Levine and Maria Mayo Robbins; London & New York: T&T Clark, 2004), pp. 14–33. 84

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is framed as part of an appeal to submit to every human κτίσει,87 such that the emperor is one instance – but by no means a unique one – where this pattern of conduct is appropriate. Second, whatever the author exactly means by ἀνθρωπίνη κτίσις here, it would seem that he implicitly denies any claim that the emperor is θει˜οϚ, ‘divine’.88 Third, he indicates that Christians are ‘free people’ (ἐλεύθεροι), or rather, are slaves (only) to God, even though he insists that this freedom does not provide a justification for acting in ways that are wicked (2.16). Fourth, and most crucially, he allows only that the emperor be honoured, not worshipped, and again only as an instance of the honouring that is due to all people: πάντας τιμήσατε, τὴν ἀδελϕότητα ἀγαπᾶτε, τὸν θεὸν ϕοβεῖσθε, τὸν βασιλέα τιμᾶτε (‘Honour everyone. Love the family of believers. Fear God. Honour the emperor.’ 2.17, NRSV).89 How crucial this distinction is may be illustrated from the later Acts of the Scillitan Martyrs (180 ce), in which exactly the same distinction appears:  Nos non habemus alium quem timeamus nisi domnum Deum nostrum qui est in caelis . . . Honorem Caesari quasi Caesari; timorem autem Deo (‘We have none other whom we worship90 but our Lord God who is in heaven . . . Honour to Caesar as Caesar, but worship only to God’; Act. Scil. 8–9).91 The point, of course, is that precisely this level of polite (non)conformity is sufficient to be regarded as an obstinate refusal to conform to the demands of the empire, and as such a form of resistance that carries the death penalty (cf. also Mart. Pol 10–11). The occasion for its utterance is essentially the same as that with which Pliny also (much earlier in the second century) confronted those accused as Christians: the requirement to worship the emperor and/or the Roman gods (Pliny, Ep. 10.96).92 Carter uses Pliny’s test (and the indication that some of those who had formerly Meaning here that which has been created, which may refer to human ‘institutions’ (so NRSV, ESV, etc.) or to human ‘creatures’ (so Elliott, 1 Peter, 489). 88 ‘With this expression, imperial power is subtly but decisively demystified, desacralized, and relativized . . . In contrast to devotees of the imperial cult . . . Christians respect the emperor and his representatives only as human creatures, due only the deference owed to all human beings’ (Elliott, 1 Peter, 489). 89 The meaning of φοβέοµαι in this context, as with the Latin timeo, is well captured by Louw-Nida; p. 54: ‘to have profound reverence and respect for deity, with the implication of awe bordering on fear – “to reverence, to worship” ’. The first imperative in 2.17, πάντας τιµήσατε, is the only one of the four in the aorist tense, suggesting perhaps that it forms the headline statement to which the following three present imperatives relate, though this interpretation is not without difficulties. Alternatively, one might see the verse as having a chiastic construction. See the brief discussion of the various possibilities in Karen H. Jobes, 1 Peter (BECNT; Grand Rapids: Baker Academic, 2005), p. 177. 90 On the meaning of timeo here, see the previous note. 91 Latin text from Herbert Musurillo, The Acts of the Christian Martyrs:  Introductions, Texts and Translations (Oxford: Clarendon, 1972), p. 88. Also cited in Feldmeier, Brief des Petrus, p. 110 n. 364, and also earlier, as part of the testimonia veterum for 1 Peter, by Charles Bigg, A Critical and Exegetical Commentary on the Epistles of St. Peter and St. Jude (ICC; Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1910), p. 11. The appearance of the same motif in both texts raises questions about Marta Sordi’s claim that it was these late-second-century martyrs who ‘were the first to formulate reasons why their refusal had to be made’ (Marta Sordi, The Christians and the Roman Empire [London: Routledge, 1994], p. 177). 1 Peter already sets out the distinction precisely. 92 The specific demand in Act. Scil. is to swear by the genius of the emperor (see Act. Scil. 3, 5). Cf. also Tertullian, Apol. 32; 35; Origen, Cels. 8.65. A  number of ancient historians stress that the most prominent requirement demanded of Christians facing trial is not that they worship the emperor but rather the Roman gods. See Ste Croix, ‘The Early Christians’, p.  10; Fergus Millar, ‘The Imperial Cult and the Persecutions’, in Le culte des souverains dans l’empire romain (ed. W. den Boer; Entretiens Hardt, 19; Geneva:  Foundation Hardt, 1973), pp. 145–65; Anthony R.  Birley, ‘Die “freiwilligen” Märtyrer. Zum Problem der Selbst-Auslieferer’, in Rom und das himmlische Jerusalem. Die frühen Christen zwischen Anpassung und Ablehnung (ed. R. Von Haeling; Darmstadt:  Wissenschaftliche Buchgesellschaft, 2000), pp. 97–123 (103, 121–23, where he sets out the evidence in brief). It should not be ignored, nonetheless, that some of the records cited by Birley do mention a requirement to worship the emperor along with the gods (as in Pliny, Ep. 10.96). Moreover, the stress on worshipping the gods does not mean that the point was entirely religious and not political, as is sometimes suggested:  the two are inextricably bound up, since the preservation of the pax romana 87

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been Christians did what was required) as evidence that (some) Christians did indeed ‘go all the way’ in honouring, even worshipping, the emperor.93 While there may of course have been some who yielded to the pressure to do this, and perhaps even thereby raised for the church the question about what to do with apostates who later wanted to return (cf. Heb. 6.4-12; 10.2439), the point of Pliny’s test, which Pliny knows all too well, is that it serves well to identify true Christians, since they will never curse Christ or sacrifice to the emperor and the Roman gods.94 And, from the Christian side, 1 Peter draws this line of resistance quite clearly. Given the rather precise parallels in the later Martyr-Acts, etc., it is remarkable that scholars see this verse as evidence against imperial persecution. Stephen Bechtler, for example, puts it clearly: The one passage in the letter in which the emperor is explicitly mentioned – 2.13-17 – tells against imperial persecution. Here the letter enjoins fear of God and honor of the emperor in a single breath and commands subjection to the emperor as ὑπερέχων. Nor does 1 Peter elsewhere exhibit the kind of hostility to, or at least wariness of, Rome to be expected in a document dealing with imperial persecution.95 Despite the tendency of most recent scholarship on 1 Peter to regard the suffering which the letter addresses as a consequence of informal public hostility rather than imperial persecution – a tendency I shall comment on below – 2.13-17 actually fits rather well into a setting where a measured but conscious resistance to imperial demands is required. Indeed, without confrontation with the imperium as part of its context, the precise wording of 1 Peter 2.17 lacks a Sitz im Leben. The particular path the author treads between conformity and resistance may also be illustrated from 4.12-19, the text where the fiery ordeals suffered by the readers are most vividly and explicitly discussed. The suffering is depicted as a sharing in the sufferings of Christ, suffering in his name, and thus a cause for rejoicing and blessing (vv. 13-14). The contrast is then drawn between suffering as a murderer, thief, evildoer or ‘meddler’ and suffering ὡς χριστιανός (vv. 15-16). In keeping with his appeal to the readers to ‘do good’ the author insists depended on maintaining the pax deorum. The Christians’ refusal to honour the gods meant that they could well be blamed for calamities such as the fire of Rome or any other disasters that overtook their cities. 93 Carter, ‘Going All the Way?’, p. 25. 94 Nonetheless, Carter is right to raise the important question of what, practically, honouring the emperor might mean, if it does not mean participation in the imperial cult. One obvious possibility is that of praying for the emperor, an established practice whereby Jews sustained a fragile modus vivendi in the empire, and one for which Christian epistles from roughly the time of 1 Peter explicitly call (1 Tim. 2.1-3; 1 Clem 60.4–61.2). Later, Tertullian stresses the need for Christians to pray for the emperor and for the stability of the empire, while at the same time they refuse to swear by the emperor’s genius (Apol. 31–32). Similarly, Origen emphatically stresses that Christians (and Jews) are commanded to avoid temples, altars and images, and refuse to pray to images, even on pain of death, citing Deut. 6.13 and Exod. 20.3-5 (Cels. 7.64-66). Furthermore, in response to Celsus’s argument that the Christians should perform acts of propitiation to demons and to rulers and emperors (8.61-63), Origen is insistent that only the one supreme God should be worshipped and prayed to (8.64). But he also sees this prayer to the one God as a way of praying for the welfare of others, well aware of the duty to be subject to the governing authorities (citing Rom. 13.1-2). Origen nonetheless makes clear that Christians do not swear by the genius of the emperor, just as they do not swear by any other supposed god, even to the point of death (8.64-65). 95 Bechtler, Following, p. 50; cf. Elliott, 1 Peter, p. 502 (‘this passage [2.13-17] offers strong incidental support for the conclusion that Rome played no discernible role in the hostility and sufferings encountered by the addressees’; cf. also p. 793 (n. 100), though note his comments on 2.13 (above n. 89); J. Ramsey Michaels, 1 Peter (WBC, 49; Waco, TX: Word Books, 1988), p. lxiii.

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that they should be sure never to be guilty of such crimes and misdemeanours as are listed first;96 this would indeed be a cause for shame. But the accusation of being Χριστιανός is another matter. This label should be borne with pride, not shame, and regarded as a means to glorify God (4.16). As mentioned above, the tendency in most recent English-language studies of 1 Peter has been to regard the suffering experienced by the letter’s addressees as a matter of informal, local hostility and slander rather than official Roman persecution and possible execution.97 Again, Elliott’s work has been influential. He argues that what we are dealing with is ‘verbal rather than physical abuse’ which took the form of ‘harassment of Christians by local opponents’.98 There is thus no sign in 1 Peter of any confrontation with Rome;99 instead the letter reflects ‘a time of toleration and peaceful coexistence’.100 For these reasons, Elliott sees ‘no substantive resemblance’ between the situation depicted in Pliny’s letters and that portrayed in 1 Peter’.101 I  have argued elsewhere that the similarities between the two depicted situations are much closer than Elliott suggests, and that the context Pliny depicts – where Christians are coming to trial, and are executed on the basis solely of acknowledging the name Christian, that is, for the nomen ipsum – is indeed relevant to our understanding of the specific label Xριστιανός in 1 Peter.102 Moreover, posing as alternative scenarios for 1 Peter either ‘local public hostility’ or ‘official Roman persecution’ is to bifurcate the analysis with a false either-or. For the procedure Pliny attests, and is instructed by Trajan to continue (Pliny, Ep. 10.97), is one in which accusations against Christians arise from the local populace and thus indicate precisely

The label κακοποιός can refer to illegal activity (cf. esp. 2.14), but may be taken here in a general, inclusive sense, including both illegal and non-illegal forms of wrongdoing (cf. 2.12; 3.17). Cf. Jeannine K. Brown, ‘Just a Busybody? A  Look at the Greco-Roman Topos of Meddling for Defining allotriepiskopos in 1 Peter 4.15’, JBL 125 (2006), pp. 549–68 (560–61). For indications as to how and why κακοποιός could connote criminality here (cf. esp. 2.14), see Paul A.  Holloway, ‘Coping with Prejudice:  Thoughts on 1 Peter in Social Psychological Perspective’ (unpublished paper given at SBL Annual Meeting, Washington, DC, 18–21 November 2006). I am very grateful to Dr Holloway for sending me a copy of his paper. As is often noted, the hapax ἀλλοτριεπίσκοπος is the most difficult term to interpret here. In her very recent treatment, Brown supports the understanding of the term as a reference to ‘meddling’ in others’ affairs, but shows that such activity was by no means regarded as a merely trivial matter. Rather, as a form of behaviour which was seen to involve moving outside one’s assigned and proper sphere of activity, it was seen as something with potentially serious and politically subversive implications. She links the instruction of 4.15 with the positive instruction to slaves and wives to fulfil their allotted roles in the household: ‘The prohibition of movement outside one’s assigned sphere of activity in 4.15 (ἀλλοτριεπίσκοπος) finds its antidote in the commended submission within the household in 2.11–3.12’; (Brown, ‘Just a Busybody?’, p. 565). 97 For an overview of scholarship and comments to this effect, see Bechtler, Following, pp. 19, 49–52, 93–94, though Bechtler notes the possibility of this hostility including ‘physical persecution’ and uncertainty among scholars as to the extent to which it was ‘formally initiated or sanctioned by local officials’ (p. 19). Bechtler does not see a direct correlation with the situation described by Pliny, ‘in which being a Christian was itself a crime’ (p.  93). Cf. also Achtemeier, 1 Peter, p. 314. More recently, Dubis sums up ‘the current consensus that the persecution in 1 Peter is local, sporadic and unofficial, stemming from the antagonism and discrimination of the general populace’ (Dubis, ‘Research on 1 Peter’, p. 203). Feldmeier, by contrast, is more inclined to see the hostility as including the kind of judicial Roman procedures described by Pliny (Feldmeier, Brief des Petrus, pp. 2–9). 98 Elliott, Home, pp. 80–81; cf. Elliott, 1 Peter, pp. 791–94. 99 Elliott, Home, p. 86; cf. pp. 143–45; Elliott, 1 Peter, p. 793: ‘Nor does he present any critique of Rome anywhere in the letter, an omission difficult to imagine if Roman officials were indeed executing innocent Christians as criminals’. 100 Elliott, Home, p. 101. 101 Elliott, 1 Peter, p. 792. 102 David G. Horrell, ‘The Label Χριστανός:  1 Pet 4.16 and the Formation of Christian Identity’, JBL, 126 (2007), pp. 341–61 96

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the kind of public hostility that Elliott is right to detect as a background to 1 Peter.103 However, as Acts indicates too (16.19-24; 18.12-17), this public hostility could lead to Christians being brought before the magistrates. Moreover, at least after Nero’s persecution of the Christiani in Rome, the very name ‘Christian’ was sufficient in such contexts to indict a person of a form of criminality worthy of death, dependent, of course, on the disposition of particular governors and the perceived threat to the peace of their province.104 Public and imperial hostility combined in the accusatorial process, which remained the Romans’ preferred mode for the judicial treatment of Christians until the Decian persecution of the third century. 1 Peter not only offers an insider’s window onto such contexts, where the specific label Xριστιανός was the crux around which everything turned, but also, and significantly, marks the earliest attempt to turn this stigmatizing label into one which, for insiders at least, is a badge of honour.105 Both the context and the strategy are, needless to say, highly relevant to a postcolonial reading of the letter. In its depiction of the setting in which this label might be applied – one of suffering, and one where other labels, such as murderer and thief, might also be suggested – the letter gives us an insider’s glimpse, or an underside glimpse, of the processes by which imperial power operated to censure the new movement. The hostility from the local populace, which certainly underlay the suffering, is also significant. The Christians’ selfdisassociation from established patterns of politico-religious practice – their refusal to play their part in sustaining the pax deorum on which the pax romana depended – could well have made them unpopular, and led to their being viewed as antisocial criminals who hated the rest of the human race (Tacitus, Ann. 15.44; cf. Suetonius, Nero 16.2; Pliny, Ep. 10.96.8).106 In other words, just as their (new) identity as dispersed aliens dislocates them from the empire, and inculcates a kind of postcolonial identity, so the hostility they now encounter as Xριστιανοί represents the reaction, both public and official, to their self-dislocation. And in this particular instance, when it comes to this stigmatizing and criminalized label, the author of 1 Peter insists that the name be boldly accepted, a strategy which at this point draws a clear line of resistance to imperial pressure. The name Xριστιανός also rather nicely illustrates one way in which the identity of the addresses of 1 Peter is a ‘hybrid’ one, a form of identity constructed, in Bhabha’s terms, in Indeed, a later rescript of Hadrian to the koinon of Asia reaffirms the policy that Christians must be tried only through the accusatorial procedure (cognitio). The importance of this policy for the Christians – it is, at least, better than an inquisitorial approach or wholesale persecution – may well be the reason why they preserved this rescript of Hadrian, so argues Elias J. Bickerman, ‘Trajan, Hadrian and the Christians’, Rivista di Filologia e di Instruzione Classica 96 (1968), pp. 290–315. 104 This is the conclusion of a good number of ancient historians:  see e.g., Ste Croix, ‘The Early Christians’, p.  8; A. Giovannini, ‘L’interdit contre les chrétiens: raison d’état ou mesure de police?’ Cahiers du Centre Glotz (Paris) 7 (1996), pp. 103–34; William H. C. Frend, ‘Martyrdom and Political Oppression’, in The Early Christian World (ed. Philip F. Esler; London and New York: Routledge, 2000), pp. 815–39 (821, 835) (‘a religion deemed since the Neronian persecution to be illegal’); Sordi, Christians and the Roman Empire, p. 63; Helga Botermann, Das Judenedikt des Kaisers Claudius: Römischer Staat und Christiani im 1 Jahrhundert (Stuttgart: Franz Steiner, 1996), pp. 156–57, 187; Joachim Molthagen, ‘Die Lage der Christen im Römischen Reich nach dem 1. Petrusbrief: Zum Problem Einer Domitianischen Verfolgung’, Historia 44 (1995), pp. 422–58. 105 See Horrell, ‘Xριστιανός’; David G. Horrell, ‘Leiden als Diskriminerung und Martyrium: (Selbst-)Stigmatisierung und Soziale Identität am Beispiel des ersten Petrusbriefes’, in Erkennen und Erleben:  Beiträge zur psychologischen Erforschung der urchristlichen Religion (ed. Gerd Theissen and Petra von Gemünden; Gütersloh:  Gütersloher Verlagshaus, 2007), pp. 119–32. 106 For this depiction of the reasons why the early Christians were persecuted, see Ste Croix, ‘The Early Christians’, pp. 24–31. 103

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the encounter of colonizer and colonized, in a kind of ‘in-between’ space. The name itself is clearly a latinism, a label created by hostile outsiders, probably Romans, which – not in its etymology per se, but in the contexts in which it is used – represents a negative judgment of this group. 1 Peter represents the earliest attempt on the part of those so labelled to claim the label instead as a badge of identity which can be proudly worn, indeed, worn with what we might call polemical pride. Eventually, of course, this comes to be the identifier with which Christians name themselves, a product, ironically, precisely of their bruising encounters in the public realm and with the imperial power.107

4.  Conclusion: Polite Resistance Reading 1 Peter with our ears attuned to the themes to which postcolonial studies draws our attention  – the impact of imperialism/colonization, the ways in which subject peoples negotiate their existence and identity under empire, the pressures to conform and the possible modes of resistance – thus presents us with a new way to assess the strategy of the letter, and the particular path it steers between conformity and resistance. More generally, postcolonial studies, and their nuanced approach to the patterns of relationship between imperial centre and dominated colony, offer a way beyond what has too often been a rather crude assessment of the anti-imperial radicalism of some NT texts, and the regrettable accommodation to empire of others. It is clear that the author of 1 Peter is no John of Patmos. The letter does not present the kind of ‘hidden transcript’ – a symbolic inversion of current realities, a vision of the empire’s imminent and violent destruction – such as we find in the book of Revelation. On the contrary, the author of 1 Peter calls his readers to conform as far as possible to the standards of goodness expected by the powerful: honouring the emperor, submitting to masters and husbands, living such innocent lives as to negate all criticism. One can see why some scholars have contrasted the vengeful anger of John with the ‘sweet reasonableness’ of the author of 1 Peter, even if one does not share the value-judgments which underlie the labels.108 One can also imagine – a purely imaginary scenario, let it be stressed  – John’s angry reaction to the letter of Peter, which he might well have seen as going much too far in accommodating to the demands of the Beast. Disagreement and argument about when and how to resist, and how far, if at all, to conform, are almost inevitably part of the discourse of popular movements which experience the censure and ire of the ruling powers. Yet at the same time, we have seen that it would be wrong to characterize the author of 1 Peter as someone who promotes a life of conformity and acquiescence to Rome among the

For further development of these ideas from a social-psychological perspective, see Horrell, ‘Xριστιανός’. The phrase is from Leslie W. Barnard, Studies in the Apostolic Fathers and their Background (Oxford:  Blackwell, 1966), p. 18, who is actually contrasting John’s ‘hatred of the Roman Power and . . . sub-Christian ideas of vengeance’ with the ‘sense of order, sobriety of temper, sweet reasonableness and forgiving spirit’ of the author of 1 Clement; but the perspective on rulers expressed in 1 Clement is seen by Barnard as an early Christian teaching found in 1 Pet. 2.13-17; Rom. 13.1-7; 1 Tim. 2.1-3; and Tit. 3.1-3, 8. Barnard follows Selwyn’s suggestion that 1 Pet. 2.13-17 is nearest to the original form of this catechetical instruction (pp. 15–16). Moreover, Barnard is explicit in judging between the two perspectives on Roman rule: ‘We cannot doubt who is nearer to the mind of Christ’ (p. 18) – and it is evidently not John of Patmos! 107 108

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converts in Asia Minor. There are a number of respects in which he encourages a stance of what we might call distance and resistance. Firstly, there is the narrative of identity, a kind of hidden and alternative transcript, into which he inserts his readers, addressing them as refugees and aliens scattered by the power of Babylon – thus echoing the narrative which underpins John’s visions too – and founding their positive identity and hope on the Scriptures and the God of Israel. With this move, not explicitly anti-imperial to be sure, the author presses his readers towards a particular form of postcolonial awareness, a perspective on empire, which they are now to see not as the manifestation of good news, the embodiment of peace on earth, but as the evil power which scatters God’s people. Moreover, their own hope for a positive inheritance lies elsewhere, but will arrive soon, at the apocalyptic arrival of God’s day. Even where the author is explicitly calling his readers to patterns of conduct that represent a degree of conformity to the empire’s dominion and to established social (household) structures, here too a line at which conformity stops is clearly drawn: Caesar will be honoured, but not worshipped. And in the label Xριστιανός, a label which itself emerges from the encounter between Christians and Roman outsiders, the clash of commitments comes to a head. From a Roman perspective the label is an indication of criminality: one may disown the label, or die. From 1 Peter’s perspective, the label is one to be borne with pride, a way to honour God, even as one shares in the sufferings of Christ. In the bearing of the name, resistance finds concrete and specific expression. And ‘Christian’ identity is forged in the space and language of this encounter. The author’s stance towards the empire, then, and the one he commends to his readers, is one in which, we might say, he ‘snarls sweetly’,109 or practices a ‘sly civility’,110 or, to echo the marvellous proverb cited by Scott, bows obsequiously, at the same time farting silently.111 Yet the author’s resistance is not merely hidden or ‘silent’, but in certain contexts and on certain points comes clearly and publicly into view. Perhaps an alternative phrase better captures the particular strategy this author represents: he exemplifies polite resistance.

John M. G. Barclay, ‘Snarling Sweetly: Josephus on Idolatry’, in Idolatry in the Bible, Early Judaism and Christianity (ed. Stephen C. Barton; London and New York: T&T Clark, forthcoming). 110 Bhabha, Location of Culture, pp. 93–101. 111 The reference is to an Ethiopian proverb quoted by Scott, Domination, p. v: ‘When the great lord passes the wise servant bows deeply and silently farts’. 109

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POLEMIC AND PERSUASION: TYPOLOGICAL AND RHETORICAL PERSPECTIVES ON THE LETTER OF JUDE

J. Daryl Charles

I.  Introductory Thoughts on Interpreting Jude Since the publication in 1975 of Douglas J. Rowston’s now famous essay that appeared in New Testament Studies, virtually every treatment of the Epistle of Jude – whether in the form of commentary or journal article – has begun with the caveat that Jude is ‘the most neglected book in the NT’.1 As of 2007, statistical studies might challenge Jude’s lock on this position; at any rate, we can happily say today that neglect is decidedly less the case than when Rowston made the claim three decades ago. One might argue, in relative terms, that Jude and 2 Peter together still constitute the Rodney Dangerfield of the NT  – they never seem to get much respect – even when this perception, at least in our day, may be changing. Not a few have offered their own account as to the reasons for this longstanding neglect. My own view, not universally shared, is that from the standpoint of 2 Peter and Jude, the lingering effects of a mindset that presupposes a ‘canon within the canon’ surely die hard. While both epistles had difficulty in achieving broader canonical status in the early church, the reasons for this were related to the circulation of pseudepigraphal works in some quarters. Since Luther, however, 2 Peter and Jude have languished in the backwater of biblical interpretation for many reasons, not the least of which is the belief that neither of these letters, in bald contrast, say, to the Pauline epistles, is sufficiently christocentric or theologically robust.2 Fortunately, however, some students of the NT have had second thoughts. The lens through which I  wish to examine Jude in this essay might be described as bi(even tri-) focal insofar as it is not indebted solely to one particular interpretative approach or methodology. Rather, it wishes to appreciate in the unfolding argument of Jude a conscious employment of several strategies and techniques. One aspect of the interpretative lens that has been central to most commentaries since the late 1970s is to observe in Jude a mirroring Douglas J. Rowston, ‘The Most Neglected Book in the New Testament’, NTS 21 (1975): 554–63 (554). In approaching Jude (and 2 Peter), one is assisted in the hermeneutical task by resisting the effects of several longstanding though interrelated assumptions. One is the presumption by highly influential interpreters of previous generations who argued persuasively that there is a canon of more authoritative documents within the canon, that some of the documents of the NT thus tend to have an inferior quality, and that these ‘inferior’ works are products of a ‘later’ church. While ‘early Catholicism’ so-called does not exhaust all of these assumptions, for several generations of scholarship it has created a fertile soil in which guiding assumptions about the NT text have been nourished. Not inaccurately, Richard J. Bauckham (‘The Letter of Jude: An Account of Research’, ANRW 2.25.5, pp. 3791–826 [3804]) has described the ‘early Catholic’ rubric as a ‘reading between the lines’. A further assumption, whose trajectory runs in quite a different direction theologically, is that because Scripture is authoritative for the Christian community, its form, genre, literary quality and texture are relatively unimportant. 1 2

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of contemporary Jewish hermeneutical method. The writer is observed to employ typological treatment of OT and wider Jewish tradition-material in a midrashic form for the purposes of stereotyping and condemning his opponents. A second interpretative element entails a broader rhetorical analysis of the epistle. As remarkably fruitful investigations have demonstrated over the last two decades, probing the letter’s rhetorical dimensions permits us to explore conscious or unconscious reliance on persuasive techniques by the author that reveal a quite calculated polemical strategy at work. In Jude, the wider aim of this strategy would appear to be the creation of distance between the faithful and Jude’s opponents, whatever their identity may be. It is possible to adduce yet a third element in Jude’s hermeneutic, namely to focus on Jude’s use of contrast between ‘saint and sinner’, between the godly and the godless, as it laces its way throughout the epistle.3 For the purposes of this essay, however, we shall view antithesis or contrast as a subset of Jude’s midrashic typological strategy, though a pervasive one indeed. My own interest in Jude interpretation arises not only from its relative neglect4 but the combination of the letter’s economy, use of Jewish tradition-material and sheer rhetorical force. In my view, few NT documents can rival Jude on the latter score. That such impassioned polemic and intense argumentation can be packed into a scant 25 verses of text is remarkable, and the more one places the text of Jude under the microscope, the more astonishing the compactness and flair of Jude’s argumentation become. Origen’s observation that Jude is ‘a short epistle, yet filled with flowing words of heavenly grace’5 is at once true and vastly understated. Greatly enhancing the exegetical task are several significant interpretative developments in the study of Jude over the last three decades. Briefly noted at the outset, they are noteworthy and deserve comment because of the manner in which they have opened up enormously fruitful investigation. One of these developments is the understanding of the epistle’s core as a form of prophetic denunciation or woe-cry that midrashically utilizes typology in a mode not unlike contemporary Jewish pesher exegesis of the period. Prophetic oracles of the past find their correlation and ‘fulfilment’ in circumstances of the present. This resultant symbiosis between type and antitype serves Jude’s strategy of stereotyping his opponents, persuading his readers to disassociate from them and admonishing the faithful toward holiness and moral purity. My own commentary on Jude adopts this interpretative line of reasoning. Surely, in our attempts to chart the directions that the study of Jude has taken, it is quite easy to over-generalize. Nonetheless, several markers can be identified. Three decades ago, Earle Ellis’ application of the notion of midrash to Jude interpretation constituted a helpful impetus to think about the epistle in fresh ways.6 This ‘midrashic’ approach to the letter, which identifies the use of prophetic types as central to the author’s rhetorical strategy and is structured in a format of source and commentary, source and commentary, and so on, was extended in Richard Bauckham’s masterful 1983 commentary. All who traffic in Jude are indebted to the insights that Ellis’ and Bauckham’s work have provided.

So Earl J. Richard, Reading 1 Peter, Jude, and 2 Peter:  A Literary and Theological Commentary (Reading the New Testament; Macon, GA: Smyth & Helwys, 2000), p. 253. See also J. Daryl Charles, Literary Strategy in the Epistle of Jude (Scranton: University of Scranton Press; London and Toronto: Associated University Presses, 1993), pp. 92–94. 4 Whether that neglect can be thought ‘benign’, as John H. Elliott and R. A. Martin (James, 1–2 Peter, Jude [ACNT; Minneapolis: Augsburg, 1982], p. 161) write, is worthy of healthy debate. 5 Origen, Comm. Matt. 17. 30 (PG 13. 1571). 6 E. Earle Ellis, ‘Prophecy and Hermeneutic in Jude’, in Prophecy and Hermeneutic in Early Christianity (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1978), pp. 220–36. 3

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Roughly concurrent with this development was the work of George A.  Kennedy which sought to bridge the renewal of classical rhetorical criticism with the study of the NT.7 Duane F. Watson’s subsequent rhetorical analysis of the letters of the NT developed this line of thinking in far greater detail. Watson’s rhetorical analysis of 2 Peter and Jude presented a much richer texture to these epistolary texts than heretofore had been acknowledged; this recognition alone is an important impetus in helping to rescue both epistles from the hermeneutical hinterlands. Following these developments, in the 1990s there appeared a spate of commentaries and several monographs on Jude – a phenomenon that would have been unthinkable barely a few years earlier.8 Clearly, it seemed in the last decade as if fresh interest in Jude was causing the fact of Jude’s neglect to recede. Where precisely these hermeneutical trajectories – and others that are being employed – will lead is too early to tell. To be sure, no landslide movement by biblical scholarship in the direction of Jude – or the General Epistles, for that matter – is to be expected; such would be asking too much. In the first decade of the twenty-first century we can say, however, with a certain satisfaction that Jude is far less neglected. This is partly due, in my opinion, to the insights gained from the aforementioned two principal interpretative perspectives: understanding Jude as prophetic typological midrash and appreciating a calculated rhetorical strategy at work in the letter.9 These two strains of interpretation, however, should not be viewed apart from one another; rather, their confluence yields a polemical force that is both remarkably economic and persuasive. It is this confluence that informs the present essay.

2.  Prophetic Typology and Polemic in Jude For the first-century Jew it was entirely natural to see the past episodes in Israel’s history as a shadow of the future. And characteristically, apostolic preaching reflects the underlying premise that the OT points beyond itself. Typology, then, is integral to the question of the use of the OT by NT authors. It is the distinctive method of interpretation of NT writers and probably constituted a key in the church’s hermeneutic from the beginning.10 Thereby the writer presents a deeper sense of application – at times christological or heilsgeschichtlich and at times

E.g., George A. Kennedy, Classical Rhetoric and Its Christian and Secular Tradition from Ancient to Modern Times (Chapel Hill, NC: University of North Carolina Press, 1980) and George A. Kennedy, New Testament Interpretation through Rhetorical Criticism (Chapel Hill, NC: University of North Carolina Press, 1984). 8 Prior to the 1990s, excluding commentaries, one is hard-pressed to identify a single monograph on Jude over the last 100 years. An electronic search using the Firestone Library at Princeton University indicates that, prior to 1993, the next most recent monograph (non-commentary) devoted exclusively to Jude had appeared in 1823, published posthumously by a Thomas Tomkinson, whose life spanned the years 1631 to 1710: Thomas Tomkinson, A Practical Discourse, upon the Epistle by Jude (Deal, England: May & Gander, 1823). 9 This is by no means to suggest that other interpretative approaches are not valid or that they are not to be welcomed. Very much the contrary. It is only to underscore the importance of recent methodological developments that have been enormously helpful because of their holistic nature. As an example of how multiple interpretative perspectives aid our understanding of Jude, see Stephan J. Joubert, ‘Language, Ideology and the Social Context of the Letter of Jude’, Neot 24 (1990): 335–49. 10 Although allegory appears alongside typology in the early church’s interpretation of the Scriptures, it appears infrequently in the NT. To the allegorist, biblical history represents a vast reservoir of oracles, riddles or parables that are to be ‘solved’ by way of a deeper spiritual meaning. Typology, by contrast, retains its meaning because of historical correspondence. It is worth noting that when Paul utilizes allegory, it is rooted in history. 7

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moral or hortatory – to the present. The effects of the use of typology are further strengthened through the broadly ‘midrashic’ exegetical method appropriated by Jude. Although scholarship has generally distinguished rabbinic from sectarian exegesis, an underlying principle of both approaches is the conviction that all knowledge necessary for a proper interpretation of the past, present and future is contained within the Hebrew Scriptures.11 The task of the interpreter, therefore, is to employ various hermeneutical devices in order to expose these enduring truths in the text – what one scholar has aptly termed ‘invisible midrashim’.12 Properly understood, typology presupposes a purpose in history that is wrought from age to age and bears out a spiritual or ethical correspondence and historical connection between people, events or things.13 As such, typology requires a historical, factual correspondence between type and anti-type, a distinction between type and symbol (the latter being a token that expresses general truth), as well as a distinction between type and allegory.14 And because typology is rooted in a very Jewish–Christian understanding of salvation history, there is in Christian typological exegesis an inherent link between typology and eschatology – a link that is very prominent in the Epistle of Jude.15 Of the five substantives in the NT used to signify ‘figure’, ‘pattern’ or ‘example’,16 three  – δεῖγμα, ὑπόδειγμα and τύπος – are applicable to the Epistle of Jude in describing the writer’s use of the OT. Jude 7 is the lone NT occurrence of δεῖγμα (‘example’), where the term has a patently moral connotation. One can interpret the reference here to Sodom and Gomorrah either as a ‘sample’ of divine retribution and punishment or, possibly though less probably, an instance of a particular kind of punishment pending.17 Significantly, Israel in the wilderness (cf. Jude 5) serves as an ‘example’ of unbelief in Heb. 4.11, constituting a warning to the readers, who are exhorted to learn by instruction and imitation. Not insignificantly, the cognate παράδειγμα is used of Sodom and Gomorrah in 3 Macc. 2.5, where contrast is at work.18 The most frequently occurring term in NT paradigm terminology is τύπος. Normally rendered ‘type’, ‘pattern’ or ‘mould’, it conveys the idea of resemblance.19 The type is a visible The beginnings of midrashic activity are normally traced to Ezra and his zeal for the Torah following the Exile. With his contemporaries, Ezra bridges the past with the present: ‘They read from the Book of the Law of God, making it clear and giving the meaning so that the people could understand what was being read’ (Neh. 8.8). For some, then, midrash thus became the ‘queen of Jewish spiritual life’ in the fourth and third centuries bce (cf. Gen. Rab. 9) 12 M. Gertner, ‘Midrashim in the New Testament’, JSS 7 (1962): 267–92 (267). One might cite, for example, the exegetical principle undergirding much of the literature at Qumran, whereby two passages from the Hebrew Scriptures are linked together by means of an identical word or phrase to be found in both. Hereon, see Elieser Slomovic, ‘Toward an Understanding of the Exegesis in the Dead Sea Scrolls’, RevQ 7 (1969–70): 3–16 (5–10). Elsewhere I have noted several examples of this in the Qumran literature and the relevance thereof for Jude; see Charles, Literary Strategy, pp. 32–33. 13 So B. F. Westcott, The Epistle to the Hebrews (London:  Macmillan, 1892), p.  200, and G. W.  H. Lampe and K. J. Woollcombe, Essays on Typology (Naperville: Allenson, 1957), pp. 39–40. 14 On the nature of typology, see Leonhard Goppelt, Typos: The Typological Interpretation of the Old Testament in the New (trans. D. H. Madvig; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1982), pp. 1–20. 15 See Robert L. Webb, ‘The Eschatology of the Epistle of Jude and Its Rhetorical and Social Functions’, BBR 6 (1996): 139–51. 16 See E. K. Lee, ‘Words Denoting “Pattern” in the New Testament’, NTS 8 (1961–62): 166–73. 17 2 Pet. 2.6 uses ὑποδειγμα to describe the destruction of Sodom and Gomorrah, but its sense approximates that of Jude 7. 18 One of only two occurrences in the NT of the verb παραδειγματίζω (‘expose, make as an example’) is found in Hebrews 6 in the context of a warning against apostasy. The writer announces that repentance is impossible for those having fallen away from the faith inasmuch as they have crucified again the Son of God and made him a show of public disgrace (6.6). 19 Lee, ‘Words’, p. 171. 11

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representation of a spiritual reality, and thus, correspondence goes beyond mere metaphor; an organic or historical relationship exists between type and antitype.20 The effect of typology, whether christological or moral in character, is to comfort, exhort and warn; the end, though certain, is nonetheless hidden and unannounced. In the case of Jude, typology serves a uniformly hortatory or ethical function; it functions as a warning – and a severe one at that. While Jude is by no means the only NT letter to utilize typology in the service of moral exhortation, the reader is struck by the particular density of types to be found therein.21 These paradigms are marshalled chiefly to warn against the cancerous effects of apostasy insofar as each example being set forth in Jude is proverbial in Jewish literature for hard-heartedness and falling away. Evidence is compounded against the guilty; the writer calls up exhibit after exhibit as supporting proof of his argument. In the hermeneutic of Jude, the past explains the present and serves as a token of the future. An awareness of this link is intended to produce a conscious and dramatic response among Jude’s readers. They are to distance themselves morally from ‘certain persons’ who have infiltrated the community of faith (v. 4). While not a single explicit citation from the OT is found in the letter, Jude is replete with examples, τύποι (‘types’), of prophetic typology. No fewer than nine subjects  – unbelieving Israel, the fallen angels, Sodom and Gomorrah, Michael the archangel, Moses, Cain, Balaam, Korah and Enoch – are employed in a polemic against ungodly ‘antitypes’ who have ‘wormed their way in’22 (v. 4) among the faithful and thus pose a danger to the community. It is ‘these’ certain individuals (οὗτοι [‘these’]: vv. 8, 10, 12, 16, 19; τινες [‘certain’]: v. 4; αὐτοῖς [‘them’]: v. 11) who are the focus of Jude’s invective. Not unlike commentary on the OT found in sectarian Jewish pesharim23 Jude links prophetic types of the past to the present midrashically, that is, by modifying texts or traditions to suit the particular needs in the community.24 Structurally, this occurs in the form of source, commentary, source, commentary, and so on. Much of this is sustained logistically through the use of catchwords  – e.g. ἀσέβεια, κρίσις, οὗτοι, πλάνη, βλασϕημέω, τηρέω (‘ungodliness’, ‘judgement’, ‘these’, ‘blaspheme’, ‘reserve’) – which form the links in Jude’s polemical argument.25 The usefulness of this sort of interpretative activity in Jude should not be underestimated. Rather than seeing in the letter an opaque, obscure and incoherent volley of passionate denunciations, we learn to appreciate a method at work that is calculated, concise and pungent. The categorization of Jude’s opponents leaves his readers with

Two occurrences of ἀυτίτυπος (‘antitype’) are found in the NT: Heb. 9.24 and 1 Pet. 3.21. The former is used to depict the tabernacle’s heavenly–earthly correspondence, while the latter is used to refer to baptism, which now saves. 21 It goes without saying that in this regard 2 Peter and Hebrews rival Jude. 22 So J. N. D. Kelly, The Epistles of Peter and Jude (BNTC; Peabody, MA: Hendrickson, 1969), p. 248. 23 Ellis, ‘Prophecy and Hermeneutic’, pp. 220–36. Ellis’s pioneering work, which observed similarities between Jude’s hermeneutic and that of the ‘Covenanters’ of Qumran, was extended by Richard J. Bauckham, Jude, 2 Peter (WBC, 50; Waco, TX: Word Books, 1983), p. 45; Richard J. Bauckham, ‘James, 1 and 2 Peter, Jude’, in It Is Written: Scripture Citing Scripture (Festschrift B. Lindars; ed. D. A. Carson and H. G. M. Williamson; Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1988), pp. 303–17 (303–305); and Bauckham, ‘The Letter of Jude’, p. 3801. 24 ‘Midrash’ might be viewed as a kind of interpretative activity. The central issue in this ‘activity’ is the need to deal with present realities of cultural and religious tension. New problems and situations come into play. Midrash resolves these tensions and affirms the community by utilizing traditions of the past. 25 While Bauckham’s work has noted this structural pattern, Rowston (‘Most Neglected Book’, pp. 558–59) identified the use of connective catchwords in Jude, although without identifying its midrashic character. See also Charles, Literary Strategy, pp.  31–33; J. Daryl Charles, ‘ “Those” and “These”:  The Use of the Old Testament in the Epistle of Jude’, JSNT 38 (1990): 109–24 (109–10); and J. Daryl Charles, ‘Literary Artifice in the Epistle of Jude’, ZNW (1991): 106–24 (111–12). 20

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no possibility for neutrality or indifference. Both the faithful and the ungodly are being ‘kept’ by the Sovereign Lord for the day of judgement. The fundamental dichotomy expressed in the letter is the tension between the faithful and the ungodly. Antithesis is an important element not only in Jude but in OT prophetic and Jewish apocalyptic literature in general.26 Two sets of triplets (vv. 5-7, 11) are employed by the writer as paradigms of the hard-hearted ungodly to reinforce a fundamental antithesis between the faithful and the ungodly. In vv. 5-7, unbelieving Israel, the fallen angels and Sodom and Gomorrah all serve to illustrate a crucial point. Each departed from a normal condition, thus undergoing judgement and subsequent disenfranchisement. Having been delivered ‘once for all’ (ἅπαξ) from Egypt, Israel was destroyed ‘the second time’ (τὸ δεύτερον). The angels, who had not ‘kept’ their rule, have been hence ‘kept’ (note here the perfect tense of τηρέω, ‘to keep’) for ‘the judgement of the great day’. And Sodom and Gomorrah, whose sin is linked in v. 7 correspondingly (ὡς, ‘as’) to that of the angels and unbelieving Israel, presently ‘serve as an example’ (πρόκεινται δεῖγμα) of divine judgement.27 The ungodly types of the second triad, Cain, Balaam and Korah (v. 11), are united by means of a woe-cry, and each is signified by a formula – the ‘way of Cain’, ‘the error of Balaam’, ‘the rebellion of Korah’ – which suggests that a standardized type had been formulated and was normative in Jewish exegetical circles. The three verbs of v. 11 – πορεύομαι, ἐκχέω, and ἀπόλλυμι (‘walk’, ‘abandon’, ‘perish’) – describe the course of the ἀσεβεῖς (‘ungodly’) in three levels of ascending gravity. ‘These’ at first walk, next they abandon and finally they perish. What should be further observed is that the language of antithesis in Jude possesses a conspicuously moral quality. ‘These’ whom Jude is opposing and condemning are depicted in terms of ἀσέβεια (‘ungodliness’, vv. 4, 15 [3x], 18), ἀσέλγεια (‘licentiousness’, v. 4) and ἐπιθυμία (‘desire’, vv. 16, 18). Use of these particular terms, moreover, entails rhyme and alliteration. The faithful, by contrast, are portrayed as ἅγιος (‘holy’, vv. 14, 20), ἄμωμος (‘spotless’, v. 24) and μισοῦντες καὶ τὸν άπὸ τῆς σαρκὸς εσπιλωμένον χιτῶνα (‘hating even the garment stained from corrupted flesh’, v. 23), alliterative descriptions that contain parallel imagery. But Jude is not content merely to reference OT traditions, for he exploits extra-canonical and Jewish apocalyptic tradition-material. Perhaps he senses among his readers interest in apocalyptic themes; perhaps his audience has been steeped in these traditions. It is plausible that he appropriates these sources because of their utility, given his knowledge of his audience and needs in the community. Several interlocking traditions call for a bit of comment as we consider Jude’s use of typology. A rather fanciful speculation characterizes OT pseudepigraphal depictions of the heavenly rebellion. Jewish interest in the angels appears to have reached a zenith during the Second Temple period, of which 1 Enoch is paradigmatic. In this work the chief angels in heaven’s multi-tiered hierarchy develop strategies. While a fuller discussion of the OT and Jewish apocalyptic background to the tradition of the fallen angels as imprisoned spirits remains Fully apart from the OT prophetic corpus, the righteous–ungodly dualism is part of wisdom literature and thus proverbial. The righteous or wise and the foolish or ungodly stand irreconcilably opposed to one another. 27 While much commentary makes note of the prevailing notion in Jewish Second Temple and early Christian interpretation that the sin of the angels was sexual, based on a peculiar reading of Gen. 6.1-4 and the ‘sons of God’, this is not the context in Jude in vv. 5-7 specifically. What unites this triplet of paradigms is that they left their normal state and consequently were judged for it, not the particular type of sin or sins that they committed. Elsewhere I develop this distinction more fully in Charles, Literary Strategy, pp. 108–16. 26

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outside the scope of this essay,28 what needs emphasis is the fact that the angels left their domain (v. 6; cf. 2 Pet. 2.4) and because of this abandonment they are reserved for judgement. This particular use of typology is designed to shock Jude’s audience. The apocalyptic theme of the angels’ imprisonment (cf. Rev. 18.2; 20.7) reinforces the utter sobriety and severity of leaving their original state. Certainly, Jude’s indebtedness to the Jewish apocalyptic tradition is irrefutable. The writer’s allusion to Michael the archangel (v. 9), attributed from the early patristic period onward to the apocryphal Testament of Moses, and his near-verbatim citation of 1 En. 1.9 (vv. 14-15) would be meaningless in a predominantly Gentile environment.29 Moreover, the similarities between Jude 6 and 1 Enoch (given his citation of 1 Enoch), coupled with Jude’s astral imagery (v. 13; cf. 1 En. 18.14; 21.6; 86.1; 90.24), would have engendered familiarity in the minds of his readers, had they been exposed to apocalyptic viewpoint.30 For this reason, Roger T. Beckwith writes concerning the early church’s Jewish matrix: The penumbra of the Christian prophetic movement .  .  . would be almost bound to include certain people (whether originally Essenes, Pharisees, or of some other mixed or obscure allegiance) who. could think of no better service to the new faith than to adapt existing apocalypses to make them support Christianity.31 Yet, at the same time, we are justified in maintaining that Jude is free to adopt apocalyptic themes and language without necessarily importing (and embracing) Jewish apocalyptic theology. Indeed, while his mode is conspicuously apocalyptic, his outlook, in theological terms, is prophetic. The apocalyptic typology in Jude mirrors a striking yet strategic knowledge of writings associated with sectarian Judaism. Here Jude weaves a compact yet forceful polemic against his opponents. He combines motifs that were central to Jewish apocalyptic (and early Christian) literature and meaningful to his audience – for example, the contrast of the righteous and the ungodly, judgement and the fate of the ungodly, angelic powers, and rebellion in heaven – to underscore the fate of his opponents. This stereotyping has the effect of exposing those who disturb the community, assuring the community of his opponents’ ill-fated end and creating a resolve among his readers to distance themselves from the opponents.32 In the end, however, This background is discussed at greater length in J. Daryl Charles, ‘Jude’s Use of Pseudepigraphal Source-Material as Part of a Literary Strategy’, NTS 37 (1991): 130–45 (134–44) and Charles, Literary Strategy, pp. 108–16, 145–49. 29 For this reason, we may speculate that 2 Peter, despite its similarities to Jude, does not utilize such traditions; references to Jewish apocalyptic works would at best carry no weight and at worst be meaningless to his readers, whose social location would appear to be more pervasively Gentile. 30 Viewing 1 Enoch as a composite work, whose contents are dated as early as pre-Maccabaean and as late as late first century ce, we benefit from a sketch of central Enochic ideas and motifs, which are (1)  the disenfranchised angels, (2) theophany and judgement, (3) the constant antithesis between good and evil, between the righteous and the wicked, (4) the certainty of final judgement, (5) a heavenly Messiah who sits on his throne to judge, (6) cosmic disorder that is rooted in spiritual causes and (7) closing admonitions to the faithful. It should be noted that these themes, to a greater or lesser extent, are common to the Testaments of the Twelve Patriarchs, Jubilees, and the Testament of Moses. 31 Roger T. Beckwith, The Old Testament Canon of the New Testament Church and Its Background in Early Judaism (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1985), pp. 399–400. 32 Any attempts to determine the precise identity of Jude’s opponents eludes us, even when we take into account his selective and strategic borrowing of traditions and texts. What can be said with relative certainty, however, is that their error demonstrates itself chiefly in antinomianism – manifest in a rejection of moral authority and moral laxness. The 28

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both sides of the antithesis are being ‘preserved’ for their appointed end – the oὗτοι (‘these’) for divine retribution and the ὗμεῖς (‘you’) for divine inheritance. By giving attention to Jude’s sources and his typological interpretation of those sources we come closer to an understanding of the writer’s intent. Hereby the wide gulf separating the modern and ancient reader is considerably lessened, and the hermeneutical task begins to disentangle when we are informed by plausible explanations of why Jude might have chosen his particular sources.

3.  Rhetorical Strategy and Polemic in Jude a.  On the Value of Rhetorical Analysis To re-visit rhetoric is to re-visit an important part of the past, and certainly an important part of antiquity. Few would deny that the influence of rhetoric is scarcely appreciated in contemporary culture, even when we have focused attention on composition and literary criticism. And even fewer would consider probing the moral–philosophical basis of rhetorical practice, if they were prepared to concede that such even exists. As we are learning in the wake of renewed interest in rhetorical studies in recent decades, rhetorical composition was important to the ancients.33 While one need not be a rhetorician, linguist or literary critic to appreciate documents of the NT as literary–rhetorical art, one is struck by the awareness that the medium can never be divorced from the message, that form and substance are inseparable. This symbiosis is true of both oral and written communication.34 At the same time it must be emphasized that to acquire a renewed interest in an old tradition is not to return – or attempt to return – to the days of Aristotle or Cicero or Quintilian or the Renaissance. It is, however, to illuminate a text in order that we might better understand it. But a

problem is both theory and practice, as Thomas R. Wolthuis, ‘Jude and Jewish Traditions’, CTJ 22 (1987): 21–41 (40), has pointed out. Jude’s burden would appear to be ethical, given the ethical colour of his language throughout. Hardheartedness, apostasy and disenfranchisement are the common lot of the types from the past that are appropriated by Jude to condemn his opponents in the present. Traditional lines of interpretation have assumed that Jude’s opponents were Gnostics, chiefly based on ‘early Catholic’ assumptions and developments that stem from a late first-century or second-century dating and that are read back into the text of Jude; thus, e.g., Charles Bigg, A Critical and Exegetical Commentary on the Epistles of St. Peter and St. Jude (ICC; Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1901), pp. 313–15; Hans Windisch, Die katholischen Briefe (HNT, 15; Tübingen: Mohr, 2nd edn, 1930), p. 38; E. H. Plumptre, The General Epistles of St. Peter and St. Jude (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1926), p. 203; C. E. B. Cranfield, I and II Peter and Jude (TBC; London: SCM Press, 1960), pp. 157–61; Bo Reicke, The Epistles of James, Peter, and Jude (AB, 37; Garden City, NY: Doubleday, 1964), pp. 192–96; E. M. Sidebottom, James, Jude and 2 Peter (NCB; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1967), p. 79; Kelly, Peter and Jude; Karl Hermann Schelkle, Die Petrusbriefe, der Judasbrief (HTKNT, 13.2; Freiburg: Herder, 5th edn, 1970), p. 157; Frederik Wisse, ‘The Epistle of Jude in the History of Heresiology’, in Essays on the Nag Hammadi Texts (Festschrift A. Böhlig; ed. M. Krause; NHS, 3; Leiden: E. J. Brill, 1972), pp. 133–43; Jean Cantinat, Les épîtres de Saint Jacques et de Saint Jude (SB; Paris: Gabalda, 1973); W. Grundmann, Der Brief des Judas und der zweite Brief des Petrus (THKNT, 15; Berlin Evangelische Verlagsanstalt, 1974), p. 28; and Gerhard Krodel, ‘The Letter of Jude’, in Hebrews, James, 1 and 2 Peter, Jude, Revelation (Reginald H. Fuller, et al.; PC; Philadelphia: Fortress, 1977), pp. 92–98 (93). On this standard ‘early Catholic’ account, the purpose of Jude is to warn against heretical teachers. However, this interpretation begins with theological presuppositions that derive from the second century and then reads them back into the text rather than beginning with the text to discern the nature of the opponents 33 This, perhaps more than anything, is the burden of Charles Sears Baldwin, Ancient Rhetoric and Poetic: Interpreted from Representative Works (Gloucester, MA: Peter Smith, 1959). 34 In the present discussion, I shall not develop a distinction between oral and literary rhetorical forms, presupposing for our own purposes common norms that govern both forms of communication.

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caveat is in order. To engage in ‘rhetorical criticism’ requires the acknowledgement that literary critics themselves are not united as to what the well-worn term ‘rhetoric’ signifies.35 Indeed, ‘rhetorical’ analysis might refer to anything ranging from a strict application of principles and terminology of ancient Graeco-Roman rhetorical theory, such as Duane F. Watson has applied to Jude and 2 Peter,36 to a broader examination of ‘any type of meaningful “social interaction” ’, in the words of E. R. Wendland.37 In any case, the Aristotelian conception of rhetoric serves us well, for it connotes the art of speaking persuasively. Rhetoric’s function might be said to have three aspects: to shape a response, to reinforce a response and to induce a response of change.38 Furthermore, rhetoric’s mode of appeal might be rational and intellectual, corresponding to the λóγος (‘word, reason’) of Stoic understanding (cf. Jn 1.1-4). It may be emotional (πάθος), by which sympathy and outrage or shock are exploited. Or it may be ethical to the extent that the strength of any argument relies on the moral authority of the author (ἦθος). But an important question arises: is rhetoric the art of oratory (i.e., speaking) or the art of persuasion? According to the ancients, it was the latter, as the standard recital of ancient rhetoric’s five parts – invention or investigation (ἕυρεσις, inventio), disposition or plan (τάξις, dispositio), elocution or style (λέξις, elocutio), memory (μνήμη, memoria), and action or delivery (ὑπόκρισις, actio)39  – would seem to suggest.40 That is, elocutionary skill is but one of the elements that constitute the discipline of rhetoric. Not infrequently, rhetoric has been reduced to stylistics, ornamentation and artificial discourse. But the ancients would have disagreed with this emphasis, whether in conception or in practice, since for them the goal of rhetoric was to persuade, not merely to create a work of art. Plato, as an example, readily acknowledges in Gorgias, as does Aristotle in Rhetorica,41 that a demagogue will resort to techniques unworthy of a philosopher. Cicero on this point is blunt: sound without substance is folly, and the purpose of rhetoric is to make philosophy effective.42 What is more, he observes, the rhetoric manuals have nothing to say about justice, self-control and human nature. And for this reason, Augustine describes the purpose of ‘sacred discourse’ and divinely inspired eloquence thus: ‘It is necessary therefore for the ecclesiastical orator, when he urges that something be done, not only to teach that he may instruct, and to please that he may hold attention, but to persuade that he may be victorious.’43 If the reader is persuaded, according to Augustine, he or she will be drawn and take seriously your threats, reject what you condemn, embrace what you commend, grieve or rejoice.44

E. R. Wendland (‘A Comparative Study of “Rhetorical Criticism”, Ancient and Modern – With Special Reference to the Larger Structure and Function of the Epistle of Jude’, Neot 28 [1994]: 193–228 [193]) has made this point with utmost clarity. 36 Duane F. Watson, Invention, Arrangement, and Style:  Rhetorical Criticism of Jude and 2 Peter (SBLDS, 104; Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1988). 37 Wendland, ‘A Comparative Study’, p. 194. 38 Thus Wendland (‘A Comparative Study’, p. 194), who is following Bruce C. Johanson, To All the Brethren: A TextLinguistic and Rhetorical Approach to 1 Thessalonians (ConBNT, 16; Stockholm: Almquist & Wiksell, 1987), p. 35. 39 These are set forth in Quintilian’s De institutione oratoria. 40 Cicero laments the decline and decadence of rhetoric in his own day in De or. 1.9-15 41 Aristotle, Rhet. 1 (1357a 1-4). 42 Cicero, De or. 1.12.51. Having penned seven works on rhetoric, Cicero wrote more than any other on the subject. 43 Augustine, Doctr. chr. 4.13.29. 44 Augustine, Doctr. chr. 4.12.27. 35

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Rhetoric’s purpose, then, is to convince one’s audience of what is true and just for the purpose of inciting action, not merely to please or flatter. This distinction can scarcely be overstated, given prevailing misconceptions about rhetorical practice – ancient or modern. In its essence, rhetoric can be understood as the art of giving effectiveness to truth and not merely giving effectiveness to the speaker.45 That is, while oratory or public utterance is to be effective, its mere ornamental or emotive effect is not the chief goal. The value of rhetoric, rather, is the extent to which it furnishes proof or evidence by means of justificatory reasoning. Properly viewed, then, rhetoric is philosophical insofar as it is reasoned argumentation; in argumentative contexts, strategies must be employed.46 In Book 1 of Rhetorica Aristotle emphasizes the role of rhetoric in the public sphere as a means by which several critically important and interlocking things transpire. As a public vehicle, it contends for truth and justice against the backdrop of what is false or unjust, it exposes sophistry and fallacious arguments, and it advances public discussion where absolute proof might be lacking or impossible to furnish. Several properties characterize effective rhetorical practice. Inter alia reasoned and persuasive argumentation will entail the moral authority of the speaker (ἦθος), the speaker’s ability to accommodate and relate to his audience (involving ἦθος and πάθος), persuasive elocutionary techniques (involving λέξις and πάθος), as well as the ability to marshal evidences, proofs or ‘witnesses’ for one’s case in a compelling manner (involving λόγος and πάθος).47 To hold a more or less Aristotelian and Ciceronian view of human communication, that is, to contend for what is true and just and to furnish evidence therefore, is to presume that all language is persuasive and that there is simply no such thing as ‘neutral language’. Some – not infrequently, those in the modern scientific community – would assure us that they are ‘objective’ in their accounts or explanations. But neither is language neutral nor should we desire that such in fact be the case.48 I suspect that the widespread presumption of ‘neutrality’ or ‘objectivity’, wherever it might manifest itself, stands behind much ‘ideological criticism’ of our day and thus needs debunking. Be that as it may, all language may be viewed as persuasive, and for this reason Aristotle’s fundamental notion of rhetoric entails utilizing the best means of persuading others to act.49 Try as we might, language can never communicate nothing or elicit no response; indeed, it is the very nature of language to persuade. Aristotle, therefore, appears to be correct: rhetoric is necessarily ethical in everything that humans communicate.50 It goes without saying, therefore, that analysing the rhetorical dimensions of a text greatly enhances biblical interpretation insofar as its aim is to bring to light the composition of the text.51 Of the varieties of human discourse  – whether descriptive, narrative, expository, propositional or persuasive – it is the latter that focuses with acuity on the relationship between Baldwin’s discussion (Ancient Rhetoric and Poetic, pp. 3–5) of the spirit of ancient rhetorical practice captures this essence quite accurately. 46 It is not insignificant that the importance of rhetorical theory was enunciated by the greatest philosopher in antiquity 47 Aristotle, Rhet. 1 (1355a-b). 48 We might even go so far as to say that all language is human action, and every action has moral consequences. Therefore, language entails moral responsibility. In this regard, W.  Ross Winterowd (Rhetoric:  A Synthesis [New York: Holt, Rinehart & Winston, 1968], pp. 8–14) poses a question that is surely worth pondering: Why do linguists, in their study of the function of language, tend to ignore the moral nature of language? 49 Aristotle, Rhet. 1 (1355b). 50 Aristotle, Rhet. 1 (1356a). 51 Roland Meynet, Rhetorical Analysis: An Introduction to Biblical Rhetoric (JSOTSup, 256; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1998), p. 21, has pressed this argument with considerable clarity. 45

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the speaker/writer and the audience, a relationship and situational context that give rise to a particular type of text. The rhetorical rubric is all the more applicable to epistolary literature, given the typically persuasive and apologetic function that many – if not all – of the NT epistles possess. A weakness of some traditional historical-critical inquiry is its tendency to engender a fragmentary rather than an organic and unitary portrait of the biblical text. One aspect of older historical criticism, for example, devotes an exclusive focus to smaller units or ‘forms’ – forms that are assumed to be distinct from one another and over time collected and edited without authentic unitary composition. Rhetorical study assumes the contrary. It operates on the premise that biblical texts are well composed, even when the opposite impression might surface on occasion. Correlatively, these texts are assumed to possess their own internal logic, even when that logic may escape the modern reader. As distinct from much historical-critical methodology, rhetorical study presumes that texts are an organic whole.52 It, too, investigates the forms in which the text is presented, the peculiar editorial concerns that weigh upon the author, and how the author shapes the material in light of these exigencies. The focus, however, is on the mode of communication that illuminates the finished textual product. As an interpretative approach, it avoids pitting the text and the context and the reader/audience against one another.53 Simply put, rhetorical analysis invites us to appreciate in fresh and attractive ways the coherence of biblical form and content.54 In practical terms, incorporating rhetorical insights into the study of a NT epistle is necessary – and exceedingly fruitful – for many reasons.55 It helps mend the rupture between It is possible  – and helpful  – to observe that historical-critical study of the NT has evolved in various stages. It may be properly said that both strengths and weaknesses have attended the implementation of each of these analytic approaches. For example, given the assumed process by which oral tradition became literary tradition in the transmission of the NT tradition, form critics saw as necessary the identification and recovery of particular forms in what they understood to be the development of the tradition. In response (and at times in reaction), redaction critics devoted attention to the editorial work of the NT writers, concerned to pose different kinds of questions. How did each author shape the material in the tradition and why was it adapted in such a manner? What were the unique concerns, emphasis and theological purpose that contributed to this shaping? What needs in the community informed this process? Focus on the redactive work of the author naturally moves critical analysis away from the evolution of the tradition and in the direction of the text and the wider ‘narrative’. The wider narrative view is a natural – and necessary – hermeneutical outgrowth. But when not constrained by other guiding concerns that are simultaneously rooted in the text as well as a social and a historical awareness of both author and audience, it too is not without potential weakness. 53 A host of questions arise as we consider what constitutes the heart of rhetorical analysis. Does it entail the study of poetic structure or require a focus on elocution and stylistics? Classical criticism according to fixed categories? Is it concerned with a writer’s use of sources or with a writer’s method of argumentation? Is it akin to narratology or literary criticism? Does it involve linguistics or communication theory? And with respect to biblical interpretation, is it to be understood as Graeco-Roman or is it Jewish-Christian? None of these possibilities is to be excluded, even when none encompasses or fully embodies the rhetorical study and the rhetorical dimensions of any text. Moreover, rhetoric is to be understood and analysed not only in its immediate functions or effects but in its relationship to other disciplines. Therefore I am assuming, with C. Clifton Black (‘Keeping Up with Recent Studies: XVI. Rhetorical Criticism and Biblical Interpretation’, ExpT 100 [1989]: 252–58 [256]) and Lauri Thurén (The Rhetorical Strategy of 1 Peter [Åbo: Åbo Akademis Förlag, 1990], p. 42), that there is no single fixed ‘system’ of rhetorical analysis. It is, rather, a general approach to the text that assesses the relationship between author and audience at multiple levels. For the purposes of the present discussion, rhetorical analysis borrows or incorporates insights from a variety of interpretative approaches, considering the wider strategy of the text and the techniques used by the author to that end, and as such, is not merely confined to the steps of classical rhetorical analysis. 54 Thus Black, ‘Rhetorical Criticism’, p. 257. 55 What I understand to be a ‘rhetorical’ reading of the epistle is to examine the author’s calculated use of language in order to understand the manner in which the author communicates. This does not necessarily require the superimposing of the grid of classical rhetorical categories upon the text by either the author or the interpreter, as 52

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text and context, between the world within Scripture and the world outside of it. In seeking to understand the author’s intention through the language and literary conventions employed, it appreciates the function of each part of the composition as well as the whole.56 It acknowledges that epistles in particular frequently have an immediate rhetorical context and reason for being written which is discernible within the text, unlike poems or historical narratives, for example, which do not always provide as much information, explicitly or implicitly. And it understands that the use of language is itself an art, a technique, a τέχνη (‘skill’); not all people communicate in the same manner or with equal facility. Hence, epistolary literature, as much as any genre, is found to mirror a carefully crafted composition.57 This is all the more valid regarding the neglected Letter of Jude. b.  Applying the Rhetorical Lens to the Study of Jude 1. Classifying Jude. One of the great challenges in interpreting the General Epistles in general and the Epistle of Jude in particular is the absence of historical, social and contextual markers to guide the reader. Jude leaves us with little on which to proceed – or so it would seem. At the same time, the text suggests that Jude was penned in order to address a specific situation (vv. 3-4). Moreover, as several commentators argue, there is a conspicuously Palestinian-Jewish character to the letter, which itself is also suggestive of a specific location and audience to which Jude is writing.58 The combined effect of these markers, opaque as many of these are, is to offer the reader a number of richly suggestive interpretative hints. Consider, for example, the following: ● ● ● ● ● ● ● ●

evidence that a previous letter had been intended the infiltration and influence of certain undesirable persons the wrestling/fighting metaphor to admonish the readers toward resistance sources drawn from a Palestinian-Jewish milieu the apocalyptic mode midrashic exegesis an eschatological outlook woe-cries directed against the opponents

Carl J. Classen, Rhetorical Criticism of the New Testament (WUNT, 128; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2000), pp. 45–46, quite helpfully points out. The author may or may not have consciously applied theory; indeed, the author may have roughly imitated a practice. At any rate, the author’s attempt to persuade is deliberate and consists of some particular strategy or cluster of strategies. 56 Facility in exegesis, it needs reiterating, does not issue out of the use of one or two exegetical methodologies, even when we grant that any methodology is capable of offering helpful insights. Every method is inherently restrictive in its scope and dimensions. The interpretation of a text, it follows, is more satisfactory and richly rewarding to the extent that a variety of methodologies are integrated and mutually subordinated to one another, and to the extent that they are reconcilable to – and in conversation with – the historic interpretative community. 57 Rhetorical matters deserve to be called such because ‘they invite us to reduce our reckoning of the differences between the written and the oral’. Writing norms are ‘directly kindred to oral style, which render the traditional dramatization of their difference less indispensable’ (Meynet, Rhetorical Analysis, p. 10) 58 Representative of this position are Kelly, Peter and Jude, pp. 233–34; Bauckham, Jude, 2 Peter, p. 7; Joubert, ‘Persuasion in the Letter of Jude’, pp. 78–79; Charles, Literary Strategy, pp. 42–47, 65–81; Charles, ‘Jude’s Use’, pp. 130–34; and Peter H.  Davids, The Letters of 2 Peter and Jude (Pillar New Testament Commentary; Grand Rapids:  Eerdmans, 2006), pp. 12–14.

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the prevailing attitude of antinomianism among the opponents that spawns moral laxness and resistance to authority the appellative ‘beloved’ that is used to address the readers

These markers serve as important clues in our attempts to identify, if it is possible, what sort of sub-genre or ‘species’ of argumentation Jude might be employing. Because letter-writing assumed a variety of roles in the ancient world,59 identifying its particular sub-genre with any measure of precision eludes us. Is Jude judicial or forensic in character? Technically, probably not, but given the strongly polemical character of the letter by which Jude attacks or accuses his opponents, the letter contains a judicial element. Is it deliberative? That is, does Jude admonish his readers, based on future consequences, to do or not to do something, utilizing proofs and evidence to persuade or dissuade his readers? Clearly, the letter possesses this important quality.60 Or, is it epideictic? Does the writer wish to project praise or blame on his subject(s) and inculcate particular values or convictions? Without question, the epideictic element is present in Jude; the vilifying and negative stereotyping of his opponents (vituperatio) and the contrasting admonitions toward holiness (laudatio) that follow Jude’s condemnation of his opponents (a condemnation that encompasses accusation, woe and sentence) are central to the letter’s rhetorical strategy.61 Given the fact of Jude’s ‘global strategy’,62 by which linguistic and semantic, syntactical, rhetorical, stylistic and typological strategies together produce symptoms of all three sub-species in the letter,63 precision in classifying and restricting Jude to one particular sub-genre eludes us. In his examination of the Epistle of Jude, E. R. Wendland has cautioned against restricting ‘rhetorical analysis’ of biblical texts to the five steps of classical rhetorical criticism as advanced by George Kennedy and others.64 His concerns are manifold. One is the aforementioned difficulty of restricting NT documents to one particular rhetorical sub-genre or ‘species’. In Wendland’s view, a writing such as Jude offers too much leeway; thus, to assign it one and only one classification is far too subjective a task. Another basic concern is the tendency for theological or hermeneutical concerns to get lost amidst an overly technical terminology and discussion of rhetorical theory. Yet a further problem, as Wendland sees it, is the degree to which rhetoric may or may not have influenced the epistolary genre and Jewish or JewishChristian texts in particular. Peter Davids believes that because Jude possesses ‘an over-riding See Stanley K.  Stowers, Letter Writing in Greco-Roman Antiquity (Philadelphia:  Westminster, 1986); Abraham J. Malherbe, Ancient Epistolary Theorists (SBLSBS, 19; Missoula, MT: Scholars Press, 1988); and M. Luther Stirewalt, Studies in Ancient Greek Epistolography (SBLRBS, 27; Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1993). More recently, Jeffrey T. Reed (‘The Epistle’, in Handbook of Classical Rhetoric in the Hellenistic Period 330 B. C.– A. D. 400 [ed. Stanley E. Porter; Leiden: E. J. Brill, 1997], pp. 173–93) has made this point by providing a most helpful comparison of ancient epistles and rhetorical speeches, given their importance as genres of communication in antiquity. 60 This is the position of Watson, Invention, Arrangement, and Style, pp.  32–34, and Duane F.  Watson, ‘The Letter of Jude’, in The New Interpreter’s Bible (ed. C. Clifton Black; Nashville: Abingdon Press, 1998), vol. 12, pp. 471–500 (473–79, esp. 477). 61 This is the position of Joubert, ‘Persuasion in the Letter of Jude’, p. 79. Lauri Thurén (‘The General New Testament Writings’, in Handbook of Classical Rhetoric in the Hellenistic Period 300 B.  C.– A.  D. 400 [ed. Stanley E.  Porter; Leiden: E. J. Brill, 1997], pp. 587–607 [605]) refrains from clearly specifying Jude’s sub-genre but writes that the letter ‘comes close to the epideictic genre’. 62 Joubert (‘Persuasion in the Letter of Jude’, p. 79) uses this term. 63 Only if we insist on limiting Jude to one technical classification may Lauri Thurén’s claim (‘Hey Jude! Asking for the Original Situation and Message of a Catholic Epistle’, NTS 43 [1997]: 451–65 [460 n. 61]) that ‘neither a judicial nor a deliberative genus properly describe [sic] the rhetorical situation of the text’ be permitted. 64 Wendland, ‘A Comparative Study’, pp. 200–203. 59

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literary [i.e., epistolary] structure’, therefore ‘rhetorical form is secondary and often modified’, and ‘Jude’s rhetorical pattern does not fit the Greco-Roman ideal’.65 In this regard, Jeffrey T.  Reed adopts a more or less mediating position, arguing that epistolary theorists and practitioners were not bound by a formal ‘rhetorical’ agenda for letter-writing, and that the relationship between the epistolary genre and rhetoric should rather be treated in terms of common communicative practice. While writers of both genres were careful in their selection of topoi based on the epistolary and rhetorical situation facing them, epistolary theorists tended not to conceive of epistolary arrangement according to standard rhetorical conventions.66 The reason for this appears to have been the simple fact that letters had their own long-established structural conventions. Wendland agrees, arguing that imposing the classical rhetorical grid on an epistle creates a lack of ‘alternative organizing perspectives’.67 2. Assessing the Design of Jude’s Argument. In our evaluation of Jude’s ability to present a persuasive argument, we shall consider the epistle’s basic design (εὕρεσις, inventio), assuming with most commentary that, based on its ‘epistolary situation’,68 Jude qualifies as a sort of ‘epistolary sermon’69 and functions as a λόγος παρακλήσεως (‘word of exhortation’).70 In what manner does the writer marshal proofs in support of his case? These proofs may be external (ἀτέχνος) in nature such as historical paradigms, witnesses’ citations, documents, and so on or they may be internal, aesthetic or artistic (ἐντέχνος) proofs such as maxims, ethical arguments, theological arguments or logic. Both types are to be found in Jude’s argument, despite the epistle’s brevity. External proofs consist of paradigms taken from history and the Jewish apocalyptic tradition. These include two triads of ‘witnesses’ from Jewish history – unbelieving Israel, the rebellious angels, Sodom and Gomorrah (vv. 5-7) and Cain, Balaam and Korah (v. 11), all of which were disenfranchised – as well as an allusion to the pseudepigraphic Testament of Moses and citation from 1 Enoch. The final ‘witness’, bringing a climax to the argument, consists of the words of the apostles (v. 17). Internal proofs in Jude include the argument from divine foreknowledge and fate (v. 4), a moral assessment of his opponents’ character and moral state (vv. 4, 16 and 19), a contrasting of the opponent’s moral inferiority and the moral superiority of Michael (vv. 8-10), graphic metaphorical depiction of the opponents (vv. 12-13), a contrasting

Davids, 2 Peter and Jude, p. 24; cf. Jerome H. Neyrey, 2 Peter, Jude (AB, 37C; New York: Doubleday, 1993), pp. 26–27. Reed, ‘The Epistle’, pp.  179–80. One might, however, argue to the contrary, based on definitions of ἐπιστoλή (‘epistle’) – ‘A letter is one half of a dialogue or a surrogate for an actual dialogue’ (Demetrius, Eloc. 223); ‘The letter is, in effect, speech in written medium’ (Cicero, Att. 8.14.1)  – that characteristics of effective epistolary style were no less than those characteristics of effective rhetoric; so, for example, Demetrius, in Eloc. 81-242:  plainness and clarity, conciseness, deliberation, picturesque language, poetic diction, rhythm, grace of style in the arrangement of the material, suitability for the occasion, mood of the audience, skill and artistry, use of repetition for amplification, euphony, harshness of sound when appropriate for effect, use of metaphor to produce vividness, sarcasm when appropriate, suitable embellishment when possible and brevity for maximum force. 67 Wendland, ‘A Comparative Study’, pp. 200–203. Reed observes (‘The Epistle’, pp. 180–81): ‘There is no inherent oneto-one correspondence between the epistolary opening, body, and closing and the exordium, narratio, confirmatio, and peroratio. In fact, epistolary conventions used in actual letters seem to resist a disposition classification. ‘ For this reason, Robert L. Webb (‘Jude, Letter of ’, in The IVP Dictionary of the New Testament [ed. Daniel G. Reid; Downers Grove, IL: InterVarsity, 2004], pp. 616–24 [618]) writes: ‘How to classify such paraenesis in NT letters is one of the questions still unanswered in the application of rhetorical analysis to biblical texts.’ 68 On which see William G. Doty, ‘The Classification of Epistolary Literature’, CBQ 31 (1969): 183–98. 69 So Bauckham, Jude, 2 Peter, p. 3. 70 Cf. as well Acts 13. 15 and Heb. 13.22. Exhortation begins Jude’s argument in v. 3 (‘I find it necessary to write to you exhorting [παρακαλῶν]’) and ends it in the form of a final appeal (vv. 20-23). 65 66

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of the faithful and unfaithful (vv. 22-23), and the promissory reminder to his readers that they will be preserved and presented one day as morally blameless (v. 24). When we view Jude through the lens of ancient theory, the artistic mode of the writer seems to be ‘logical’, whereby persuasion is sought by means of inductive reasoning or deductive argumentation. At the same time, it also appears to be ‘ethical’, insofar as the writer seeks to hold the moral high ground against his opponents and to establish an appeal on the basis of his own moral authority. And yet, the letter has an emotive and ‘pathetic’ quality as well, to the degree that the writer attempts to stir the emotions of his audience. How might we then evaluate Jude? The writer would seem to incorporate all three modes into his polemic. On the one hand, his use of logos or reason, by which he relies primarily on inductive argumentation based on parallels between historical paradigms and his opponents (the oὗτοι, ‘these’), is aimed at eliciting agreement on the part of his readers. The opponents are stereotyped, with the rhetorical effect being that the readers have no choice but to distance themselves from the opponents. On the other hand, the writer’s appeal is also ‘ethical’ insofar as his own moral authority is grounded in his identity as a δοῦλος (‘slave’) of Jesus Christ and ἀδελϕός (‘brother’) of James. And it is ‘ethical’ due to the identity of his opponents, who are cast as morally inferior through their ‘perversion’ of grace and rebellion against authority. But the writer’s appeal is also emotive and ‘pathetic’ to the extent that he uses graphic imagery, stark typology and strong language to portray his opponents. Once again, as with its purported rhetorical sub-genre, Jude defies categories. After all the evidence is gathered and displayed, the recipients of the letter should be fully persuaded of Jude’s thesis: God is able simultaneously to ‘keep’ the wicked, whoever they are, for irresistible judgement, since they are indeed guilty,71 and to preserve the faithful for divine glory. Jude’s mode of persuasion is full-bodied and compelling.72 3. Assessing the Composition of Jude’s Argument. How does Jude mould together the component parts of his argument? Our evaluation of the structural arrangement or composition (τάξις. collocutio, dispositio) of the epistle might be done by utilizing several lenses that are by no means mutually exclusive. One is to understand Jude’s as a sort of typological midrash, as noted earlier, whereby a pattern of type–interpretation–type–interpretation. and so on is employed for the purposes of stereotyping Jude’s opponents. Bauckham, following Ellis,73 correctly notes that this structural device serves the greater purpose of the letter and not vice versa.74 The wider appeal to Jude’s readers originates in v. 3 and surfaces again in vv. 20-23. not as a postscript but as a form of climax to which everything else in the letter points. Address and greeting. vv. 1-2 Occasion. purpose and exhortation. vv. 3-4 Illustrative paradigms. vv. 5-16 The rhetorical function of judgement as a theme in Jude has been explored by Webb, ‘Eschatology of the Epistle of Jude’. 72 Whether or not we have difficulty pressing Jude’s argumentation into standard rhetorical categories, what is not in question is Jude’s considerable rhetorical ability, as has been demonstrated by Watson, Invention, Arrangement, and Style, pp. 29–79; Watson, ‘The Letter of Jude’, pp. 474, 476–79; Neyrey, 2 Peter, Jude, pp. 29–36; and Charles, Literary Strategy, pp. 25–42. 73 Ellis, ‘Prophecy and Hermeneutic’, pp. 221–36. 74 Bauckham, Jude, 2 Peter, pp. 3–5, 45. 71

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Reminder. vv. 17-19 Exhortation. vv. 20-23 Closing. vv. 24-2575 Another structural lens by which to observe the composition of Jude is to consider the writer’s use of catchwords and connectives that stitch together individual parts of Jude’s argument into a whole.76 Rowston and others have called our attention to the repeated use of catchwords in the letter77  – a phenomenon that is rhetorically quite effective. Rowston writes:  ‘Lest a cataloguing of quotations. allusions. reminiscences and catchwords should leave a false impression of the author of Jude as a scissors-and-paste expert. one must note the employment of his own catchwords and the grouping of his traditions.’78 Recurring words are not the result of haphazard or arbitrary construction; rather. they are rhetorically significant. Moreover, in light of the epistle’s brevity, the frequency of these catchwords in Jude which link material together is striking. In a mere 25 verses of text. a remarkable nine terms occur five or more times with five of these appearing seven or more times. Consider the following examples: ● ● ● ● ● ● ● ● ● ● ●

ἀσεβεῖς/ἀσέβεια (‘ungodly’/‘ungodliness’): vv. 4. 15 [3x], 18 ὑμεῖς (‘you’): vv. 3 [3x], 5 [2x], 12, 17, 18, 20 [2x], 24 τηρέω (‘guard’): vv. 1, 6 [2x], 13. 21; cf. φυλάσσω (‘keep’): v. 24 οὗτοι: (‘these’): vv. 8. 10. 12. 16. 19; cf. τινες (‘certain’): v. 4; αὐτοῖς (‘them’): v. 11 κύριος (‘Lord’): vv. 4, 5, 9, 14, 17, 21, 25 ἅγιος (‘holy’): vv. 3, 14, 20 [2x]; cf. ἄμωμος (‘unblemished’): v. 24 ἀγάπη/ἀγάπητοί (‘love’/‘beloved’): vv. 1, 2, 3, 12, 17, 20, 21 ἔλεος/ἐλεάω (‘mercy’/‘have mercy on’): vv. 2, 21, 22, 23 κρίσις/κρίμα (‘judgement’/‘condemnation’): vv. 4, 6, 9, 15 πᾶς (‘all, every’): vv. 3, 5, 15 [4x], 25 [2x] δόξα (‘glory, glorious ones’): vv. 8, 24, 25

In paying attention to the connectives that bind together Jude’s material, we observe that a similar structure to that shown above naturally emerges: Address and greeting, vv. 1-2 Occasion, purpose and exhortation, vv. 3-4    . . . for. . . Illustrative paradigms, vv. 5-16 . . . Now . . . for . . . and . . . rather . . . just as.    …Yet . . . But . . . rather … yet . . . and.    . . . for . . . And indeed . . . Reminder, vv. 17-19

Bauckham, Jude, 2 Peter, p. 4. See Charles, ‘Literary Artifice’, pp. 111–12, and Charles, Literary Strategy, pp. 30–31. 77 Rowston, ‘Most Neglected Book’, p. 559. 78 Rowston, ‘Most Neglected Book’, p. 559. 75 76

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   . . . But . . . for . . . Exhortation, vv. 20-23    . . . But . . . and . . . and … Closing, vv. 24-25    . . . Now. . . .79 A more classically rhetorical grid is applied to Jude in the studies of Duane Watson and Lauri Thurén. Watson’s structural arrangement is as follows: exordium, v. 3 narratio, v. 4 probatio, vv. 5-16     first proof: vv.  5-10     second proof: vv.  11-13     third proof: vv.  14-16 peroratio, vv. 17-23 quasi-peroratio, vv. 24-2580 Thurén, by contrast, suggests a far more compressed structure for Jude than that of Watson: exordium, vv. 1-4 argumentatio, vv. 5-16 peroratio, vv. 17-2581 The matter of Jude’s structure, as argued by E. R. Wendland, is particularly important and raises basic questions about how best to interpret the epistle. According to Wendland, organizing Jude according to the classical rhetorical scheme that is applied by Watson presupposes that Jude adheres to conventional principles of invention, arrangement and style as practised by ancient theorists. Wendland believes that this structural explanation may not tell the whole story of Jude’s argument. He sees in Jude’s argument more symmetry than is suggested or required by the classical rhetorical grid and prefers instead the basic structure that has been proposed by Richard Bauckham and adopted by others.82 In Wendland’s view, points of difference between classical rhetoric and alternative structuring are worth noting:83 ●

Vv. 3-4: These verses constitute the body-opening of the epistle, yet the classical rhetorical model must divide the text into exordium (v. 3) and narratio (v. 4). However, the connective γάρ that bridges the two verses is important, insofar as the text is topically symmetrical in nature, in keeping with Hebrew thought.

So Charles, ‘Literary Artifice’, p. 112, and Charles, Literary Strategy, p. 31. Watson, Invention, Arrangement, and Style, pp. 34–77. 81 Thurén, ‘General New Testament Writings’, p. 604. 82 Wendland, ‘A Comparative Study’, pp. 206–207, 211–12; cf. Bauckham, Jude, 2 Peter, pp. 5–6. 83 Wendland, ‘A Comparative Study’, pp. 207–209. 79 80

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V. 3: There is more in this statement than classical rhetoric is able to accommodate. If we are to consider this statement as an exordium, it does not serve as the sole source of authority and vindication of the rhetor (supporting his ἦθος); the author’s authority rests elsewhere, as vv. 17 and 20–23 indicate (these qualifying statements are consistent with those used by other writers of NT epistles).84 Vv. 17-19: Whereas v. 17 according to the classical rhetorical interpretation begins a recapitulation or repetitio, it might rather be seen as a final proof provided by Jude in his argumentation. Vv. 20-23: It may well be reasonably argued that this closing of the body proper begins with paraenesis, not a continuation of the peroratio or an emotional appeal.

As a means of protecting the integrity of each part of Jude’s argument while at the same time wishing to mirror the organic nature of Jude’s argumentation, Wendland proposes an inherently chiastic structure for the letter.85 This chiasm avoids forcing the epistle into an arbitrary division yet preserves  – immaculately, it would seem  – the symmetry of Jude’s argument: A Introduction    B Salutation       C Purpose          D Motivation             E Reminder               F Description                 G Extra-canonical example                    H Description                       I Woe-cry                    H’ Description                 G’ Extra-canonical example               F’ Description             E’ Reminder          D’ Motivation       C’ Purpose    B’ Commission A’ Closing

Wendland’s caution here seems reasonable. To impose the rhetorical exordium on the letter is not required, since genre and function need not be equated. 85 Wendland is by no means the first to suggest a generally chiastic structure for the epistle. Cantinat, Saint Jacques et de Saint Jude, p. 267, and J. R. B. Saiz, ‘La carte de Judas a la luz de algunos escritos judíos’, EstBíb 39 (1981): 83–105 (86), have also done so, while Bauckham’s ABB’A’ scheme (Jude, 2 Peter, pp. 5–6) has been adopted by several (though not all) commentaries since. 84

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4. Assessing Language and Style in Jude’s Argument. It is fair to maintain that Jude demonstrates a normal use of the Greek idiom with bits of artistic flair. The writer’s lexical and syntactical skills confirm this portrait.86 He uses the article skilfully with participles, and his abundant use of participles – all told, participial forms occur a remarkable 34 times in a brief 25 verses – would indicate a command of Greek. In good Greek fashion, word order in Jude has the article and noun separated by a prepositional phrase three times (vv. 1, 12 and 23); on thirteen occasions (vv. 3 [2x], 4 [2x], 6 [2x], 7 [2x], 9, 10, 11, 18 and 20) an adjective, an adverb or a participle is placed between the article and noun. Semitisms, with the obvious exceptions of the woe-cry and the expression ‘following the way of Cain’, are not abundant. In the 27 sentences of text, Jude uses the connecting particle 17 times. The remaining cases of asyndeton are most notably lists of descriptions that apply to Jude’s opponents. Most commentators are quick to acknowledge in Jude’s vocabulary the use of a very good literary Greek. The writer’s fluid use of Christian technical terms such as κλητός (‘called’, v. 1), πίστις (‘faith’, vv. 3, 20), πνεῦμα (‘spirit’, vv. 19, 20), ψυχικός (‘worldly’, v. 19), ἅγιος (‘holy’, vv. 3, 14, 20) and δόξα (‘glory’, vv. 8, 24, 25) bears some resemblance to Paul. In light of the epistle’s brevity, the richness of vocabulary and the abundance of hapax legomena are noteworthy. In this regard, Fuchs and Reymond have called attention to at least 22 rare terms in the letter,87 a fact pointing to considerable originality in the writer’s style. Furthermore, three additional terms – συνευωχέομαι (‘feast together’, v. 12), ὑπέρογκος (‘bombastic’, v. 16) and ἐμπαίκτης (‘scoffer’, v. 18) – are used in 2 Peter (2.13, 18; 3.3) but occur nowhere else in the NT. What most impresses the reader, however, apart from these statistics, is the sheer economy with which Jude writes. Originality and diversity are all the more remarkable when viewed in the context of notable brevity. The aforementioned technique of employing particular catchwords serves several functions. Not only does it aid the interpreter in discerning a possible structure to the writer’s thought and illuminating the writer’s sources, it lends notable stylistic effect. The writer thereby leaves indelibly etched on the audience’s mind strong images and stereotypes that help bring about a desired response. A similar function stylistically is accomplished by repetition or synonymous parallelism and contrast or antithetical parallelism, both of which are exploited for maximum effect in Jude.88 By its very nature, antithesis is essential to argumentation. Incompatible notions are brought into open conflict. Thesis and antithesis stand in rigid and irreconcilable opposition. Dramatizing and maximizing the tension between the two is rhetorically quite effective, as Jude well illustrates. Consider the following examples of antithesis or contrast that surface in the epistle: ● ● ● ● ●

‘servant’ (v. 1) vs. ‘Lord’ (vv. 4, 5, 9, 14, 17, 21, 25) and ‘Master’ (v. 4) ‘these’ (vv. 4, 8, 10, 11, 12, 16, 19) vs. ‘you’ (vv. 3, 5, 12, 17, 18, 20, 24) ‘ungodly’ (vv. 4, 15, 18) vs. ‘holy’ (vv. 3, 14, 20) ‘mercy’ (vv. 2, 21, 22, 23) vs. ‘judgement’ (vv. 4, 6, 9, 15) ‘fire’ (vv. 7, 23) vs. ‘glory’ (vv. 8, 24, 25)

Elsewhere I have examined the writer’s stylistic tendencies in Charles, ‘Literary Artifice’, pp. 106–23, and Charles, Literary Strategy, pp. 25–42. 87 Eric Fuchs and Pierre Reymond, La deuxième épître de saint Pierre. L ‘épître de saint Jude (CNT, 13b; Geneva: Labor et Fides, 1988), p. 138. 88 Examples are set forth in Charles, ‘Literary Artifice’, pp. 112–14, and Charles, Literary Strategy, pp. 38–39. 86

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‘knowing’ (v. 10) vs. ‘irrational’ (v. 10) ‘fearless’ (v. 12) vs. ‘in fear’ (v. 23) ‘lusts’ and ‘flesh’ (vv. 7, 16, 18, 23) vs. ‘spotless’ (vv. 23-24) ‘grace’ (v. 4) vs. ‘licentiousness’ (v. 4) ‘saved’ (v. 5) vs. ‘destroyed’ (v. 5) ‘darkness’ (vv. 6. 13) vs. ‘glory’ (vv. 24-25) ‘grumbling’, ‘boasting’ and ‘flattering’ (v. 16) vs. ‘apostolic predictions’ (v. 17) ‘causing schism’ (v. 19) vs. ‘edifying’ (v. 20) ‘stumbling’ (v. 24) vs. ‘standing’ (v. 24) ‘having mercy’ (v. 22) vs. ‘judging’ (v. 22)

In addition to contrast and antithesis. another type of ‘parallelism’ found in Jude is paronomasia. which seeks to add rhetorical force through sound resemblances for the sake of literary effect.89 Paronomasiac sub-types include alliteration, assonance, homoioteleuton, rhyme and word- or name-play. Jude’s short but lively polemic is not lacking in its colourful ‘sound structure’.90 One further form of ‘parallelism’ in Jude deserves mention. Chiasm, what we might view as a type of ‘structural parallelism’, occurs not only in the grand interpretative scheme offered by Wendland but also at a secondary or ‘topical’ level within the text. Consider the nuances and possible rhetorical effect of smaller chiastic features within the wider chiastic structure that the following references – appearing at both the beginning and the end of his polemic – might have in strengthening Jude’s argument: ● ● ● ● ●

calling: vv. 1 and 24 Jesus Christ: vv. 1 and 25 beloved: vv. 1 and 17 mercy: vv. 2 and 22-23 contend, fight, act: vv. 3 and 22-23

These various forms of parallelism. whether they exist in the writer’s thought-forms or in his speech-forms. Strengthen, deepen and enrich Jude’s fundamental argument. In their function. these features serve as more than mere repetition; they provide amplification. Rhetorically. the goal is to set the faithful and the opponents in irredeemable opposition by creating and amplifying an existing stereotype. In order to increase the force of rhetorical expression. new linguistic forms can be marshalled. To the Greeks. these forms were known as σχήματα; to the Romans, figura. Simply put, a ‘figure of speech’ is a word, expression or sentence thrown into a peculiar form – a form different from its original or simplest meaning or usage.91 While the modern English ‘figure of speech’ is somewhat misleading in that we tend to view this expression as a weakening of a

Although paronomasia may be understood as recurrence of the same word or word-stem, recurrence of likesounding words, or simply a play on words, in the widest sense, the term encompasses all cases in which resemblance in sound is exploited. 90 Elsewhere I note examples of paronomasia in Jude in Charles, ‘Literary Artifice’, p. 114, and Charles. Literary Strategy, pp. 39–40. 91 E. W. Bullinger, Figures of Speech Used in the Bible (Grand Rapids: Baker. repr., 1968), p. xv. 89

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word, precisely the opposite is intended: in its design a ‘figure’ aims to increase rhetorical force. Examples of figurative language in Jude include the following: ● ● ● ● ● ● ● ● ● ●

metonymy and metaphor, v. 3 adjunction, irony and reflexio, v. 6 hysterisis, v. 9 simile, v. 10 metaphor and antimerism, v. 11 multiple metaphors, vv. 12-13 pleonasm, v. 15 metaphor, v. 20 double hyperbole, v. 23 antonomasia and metaphor, v. 24

A final element in our evaluation of the stylistic component almost goes unnoticed. It is Jude’s seemingly curious interest in triadic illustration.92 Not one or two illustrations suffice, but three. Repetition is one of the most fundamental tools for the effective communicator, whether oral or written. A point, a thesis or a description is repeated in order to fix the teaching in the mind of the listener. Whether in the use of his prophetic types or in his explanation of these types as they apply to his opponents, the writer exploits the method of a ‘three-fold witness’93 to condemn his opponents while exhorting the faithful. Three-fold listings or descriptions are exceedingly abundant, encompassing the writer’s self-designations (v. 1), attributes ascribed to the audience (v. 1), elements in the greetings (v. 2), participles modifying the main verb (v. 4), paradigms of judgement (vv. 5-7), indicative actions of the opponents (v. 8), indicative actions of Michael (v. 9), examples of woe (v. 11), escalation of rebellious action (v. 11), traits of those at the love-feasts (v. 12), characteristics of the trees (v. 12), characteristics of the waves (v. 13), actions of the Lord (vv. 14-15), traits of the opponents (v. 16), further traits of the opponents (v. 19), participles clarifying the imperative (vv. 20-21), reference to Spirit, God and Christ (a Trinitarian allusion, vv. 20-21), imperatives for the faithful (vv. 22-23), divine designations (v. 25) and perspectives on time (v. 25). 5. Rhetorical Analysis and Interpretation of Jude. Perhaps like the minor prophets, the General Epistles traditionally suffer by being overlooked. Surely this has been the lot of Jude. Part of the problem may be lodged in Jude’s prophetic–apocalyptic outlook. Part of the problem surely stems from the spate of cryptic characters from OT and Jewish tradition that are utterly foreign to the modern reader. And doubtless part of the problem arises from its traditional place in the canon, languishing in the shadows of Pauline epistles and the Gospel narratives. Nevertheless, Jude’s relevance surprises when we devote attention to its basic design, the intricacy of its composition and the stylistic flair with which it is composed. Not only do we become witnesses to a literary–rhetorical artist at work, we gain greater understanding of the message of this much misunderstood epistle – a message that has enduring value.

See J. B. Mayor, The Epistle of St. Jude and the Second Epistle of St. Peter (New York: Macmillan, 1907), pp. lvi–lvii; Charles, ‘Literary Strategy’, pp. 122–23. 93 Cf. Deut. 17.6; 19.15; Mt. 18.16; Jn 5.31-33; 8.17-18; 2 Cor. 13.1; 1 Tim. 5.19 and Heb. 10.28. 92

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4.  Prophetic Typology or Jewish-Christian Rhetoric or Neither? Concluding Thoughts on the Purpose and Polemic of Jude Commenting on the distinctly Jewish character of James, 2 Peter and Jude, Stanislav Segert acknowledges that all three epistles ‘go back to Jewish traditions; nevertheless the tools of Hellenistic rhetorics, known in Palestinian Judaism long before, were effectively used’ by the writers for conveying their message.94 In light of the fluent and at times elegant Koine that is on display in both Jude and James, past generations of NT scholars would have been predisposed to ask with considerable scepticism whether Galilean Jews could have indeed written such works.95 Fully aside from whether NT writers employed amanuenses (cf. Rom. 16.22; 1 Pet. 5.12), the remark by G. H. Rendall earlier in the twentieth century – which by no means represented mainstream opinion at the time – certainly bears repeating: ‘It is time surely to discard the figment of Galilean illiteracy . . . Philodemus the philosopher, Meleager the epigrammatist and anthologist, Theodorus the rhetorician, and one may add Josephus the historian, were all of Galilee.’96 J. N. Sevenster echoes a similar sentiment: ‘It is no longer possible to refute such a possibility by recalling that these were usually people of modest origins.’97 Whatever Jude’s personal background, we may legitimately detect in his work a blend of the Jewish and the Hellenistic, of particular source-material, that is strategic in its mobilization and application, and of rhetorical technique that is calculated, remarkably compact, yet extraordinarily effective.98 Whether one is convinced that a midrashic typological or a classically rhetorical grid (or neither) be utilized to interpret Jude, one’s method will determine an interpretative strategy or grid by which the epistle is to be understood. The position taken in this essay is that one need not choose one interpretative lens over the other; both – and more – may be applied, each approach yielding a perspective that sheds new light on a document that desperately needs as much light as possible shed on it. Where, for example, midrashic activity is patently manifest in a manner that utilizes explicit references and attendant commentary, interpretation is less problematic. Where, however, the form of the midrash is ‘invisible’, more covert or paraphrastic, the exegetical task can be somewhat more perplexing. Where rhetorical analysis is applied, organization will tend (though not universally) to conform to the classical grid, without necessarily taking account of the epistle’s inherent symmetry, use of sources or theological vantage-point. Yet, at the same time, the penetrating analysis that issues out of the classical approach illuminates in previously unknown ways the relationship between

Stanislav Segert, ‘Semitic Poetic Structures in the New Testament’, in ANRW 2.25.2, pp. 1433–62 (1458). A listing of historical critics who would have held this view would be too extensive for our present purposes. Erasmus was one of the first to question James’ authenticity. Noting that the author writes as if Greek were his mother tongue and rhetoric were his vocation, Erasmus rejects the epistle’s attribution to James, the Lord’s brother. The Greek, he concludes, is simply too good to be written by a Palestinian from Nazareth. Similarly, Luther questions Jude not only on the basis of its perceived insufficient christocentrism but its Greek: ‘the Apostle Jude did not go to Greek-speaking lands, but to Persia, as it is said, so that he did not write Greek’ (LW 35: 398). 96 G. H. Rendall, The Epistle of James and Judaic Christianity (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1927), p. 39. 97 J. N. Sevenster, Do You Know Greek? How Much Greek Could the First Jewish Christian Have Known? (NovTSup, 19; Leiden: E. J. Brill, 1968), p. 190. 98 One of the most helpful examples of blending the best of traditional interpretation with newer, fresh approaches to the study of Jude is Neyrey’s commentary, 2 Peter, Jude. 94 95

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author and audience. Furthermore, its focus on language and its organic approach to assessing argumentation yield fresh insights for the reader that heretofore may have been overlooked. In the end, whether we prefer to describe Jude as ‘prophetic typology’, ‘prophetic midrash’, ‘prophetic rhetoric’,99 ‘epistolary sermon’100 or merely a ‘word of exhortation’ that contains these and more elements, we are witnesses to a literary-rhetorical work of art whose persuasive effect, in rhetorical terms, is inversely proportional to its economy of expression.

So Wendland, ‘A Comparative Study’, p. 220. So Bauckham, Jude, 2 Peter, p. 1.

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FURTHER READINGS (1) Wesley H. Wachob, The Voice of Jesus in the Social Rhetoric of James (SNTS Monograph Series 106; Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2000). A revision of his 1993 doctoral dissertation, Wachob explores the socio-rhetorical context of James. Specifically, he argues that the Epistle of James is an example of deliberative rhetorical discourse in the form of a letter using sayings of Jesus to persuade his audience to new ways of thinking and acting. Wachob focuses on Jas 2:5 as a kind of test case for his approach. He concludes that socio-rhetorical context of Jas 2:5 recalls in the language of Jesus’s teaching regarding God’s promise of the kingdom to the poor (see Mt. 5:3). (2) Wesley H. Wachob, “The Languages of ‘Household’ and ‘Kingdom’ in the Letter of James: A Socio-rhetorical Study,” in Reading James with New Eyes: Methodological Reassessments of the Letter of James (ed. Robert L. Webb and John S. Kloppenborg; LNTS 342; London: T&T Clark, 2007), 151–68. In a more recent study, Wachob again examines the socio-rhetorical context of James. Once again following the insights of Vernon Robbins, Wachob examines the “rhetorolects” or conceptual-linguistic domains that are functioning in James. He argues that James focuses upon two particular domains or rhetorolects. First is the wisdom rhetorolect, which takes the mundane wisdom of the household and the created world and blends it with the reality of God’s cosmos thereby creating a “third space” for the readers. Second, Wachob discerns a prophetic rhetorolect that focuses on the kingdom. The kingdom rhetorolect attempts to create a reality on earth where God’s righteousness is enacted and communicated via prophetic action and speech. (3) Lauri Thurén, “Risky Rhetoric in James?” NovT 37 (1995): 262–84. Though not the first to apply rhetorical analysis in the study of James,1 Thurén’s rhetorical analysis of James broke new ground with regard to the letter’s structure. For Thurén, in the light of rhetorical analysis, James appears to be a carefully constructed text with a clear purpose. It consists of an exordium (1:1-18), propositio (1:19-27), argumentatio (2:1–5:6), and peroratio (5:7-20), and this rhetorical arrangement indicates the text’s primary focus on wisdom/speech and money/action as well as the relation between conviction and action. The application of classical rhetorical categories to James has not been convincing to all scholars, but Thurén’s article is an excellent example of the approach. (4) John H. Elliott, A Home for the Homeless: A Sociological Exegesis of 1 Peter, Its Situation and Strategy (Philadelphia, PA: Fortress, 1981).

For one of the pioneering attempts at such analysis see, W. H. Wuellner, “Der Jakobusbrief im Licht der Rhetorik und Testpragmatik,” LingBibl 43 (1978): 5–66. 1

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John Elliott has been one of the pioneers of social-scientific analysis of the New Testament (or as Elliott puts in here, “sociological exegesis”), and in this groundbreaking study from the early 1980s he provides a fresh view of the letter’s social background, communicative strategy, and ideology. Elliott argues the “urgent need of the exegetical enterprise [is to develop] a sociology of the scriptural literature.”2 He notes well that social-scientific criticism is a subset of exegesis, by which he means it is part of the historical-critical methodology. Elliott argues for the particular social setting of 1 Peter’s phrase “aliens and visiting strangers,” which rather than marking the result of election, the audience’s status as “aliens and visiting strangers,” labeled the audience’s status before encountering the Jesus movement. Therefore, because of their socially vulnerable status as “aliens and visiting strangers” the author encourages a solidarity in community. A second edition in paperback (1990) was released with an expended introduction that situated the work in the context of research on 1 Peter and social-scientific exegesis. (5) John H. Elliott, “The Epistle of James in Rhetorical and Social Scientific Perspective: HolinessWholeness and Patterns of Replication,” BTB (1993): 71–81. Following on from his groundbreaking application of social-scientific exegesis in 1 Peter, in this article Elliott turns to James. Here Elliott demonstrates the usefulness of social-scientific analysis to challenge the long-standing notion that James is a disjoined text lacking either literary or thematic unity. In Elliott’s rhetorical and social-scientific analysis, he argues that James contains a complex and coherent argument where purity and pollution function prominently to address fragmentation and conflict on personal, social, and cosmic levels. Elliott’s work suggests that James uses purity and pollution to exhort restoration of holiness and wholeness and a strict enforcement of social boundaries. (6) Barth L. Campbell, Honor, Shame, and the Rhetoric of 1 Peter (Society of Biblical Literature Dissertation Series 160; Atlanta, GA: Scholars, 1998). A revised version of his doctoral dissertation, Campbell offers a social-scientific study of 1 Peter assessing the text’s rhetoric through the lens of honor and shame. His work strongly suggests that the conflict in 1 Peter should be viewed as a kind of honor contest. Here the defamation of the Christian community results in public shame; therefore, the author takes up the conventions of deliberative rhetoric in the letter to exhort his readers to regain honor for the community. Campbell concludes that according to 1 Peter the harassed household of God stands in a divinely honored position and can look forward to a reversal in the presently occurring honor contest. (7) Troy Martin, “The Rehabilitation of a Rhetorical Step-Child:  First Peter and Classical Rhetorical Criticism,” in Reading First Peter with New Eyes: Methodological Reassessments of the Letter of First Peter (ed. Robert L. Webb and Betsy Bauman-Martin; LNTS 364; London: T&T Clark, 2007), 41–71. With a title that deliberately echoes John H. Elliott’s famous essay entitled “The Rehabilitation of an Exegetical Step-Child: 1 Peter in Recent Research,”3 Troy Martin examines the application of classical rhetorical criticism to 1 Peter. Opening with an appreciative caution regarding how

Elliott, A Home for the Homeless, 3. John H. Elliott, “The Rehabilitation of an Exegetical Step-Child: 1 Peter in Recent Research,” JBL 95 (1976): 243–54.

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scholars have largely failed to apply classical rhetorical criticism to the Pauline letters, Martin moves beyond merely classifying the particular category of rhetoric 1 Peter happens to fall within. He notes that the letter actually does not fit neatly within any of the classic categories of rhetoric. Rather, building on his previous work Metaphor and Composition in 1 Peter,4 Martin shows how the author used logos, ethos, and pathos to undergird his argument for his readers to maintain their journey as elect exiles. (8) M. Eugene Boring, “Narrative Dynamics in First Peter: The Function of Narrative World,” in Reading First Peter with New Eyes: Methodological Reassessments of the Letter of First Peter (ed. Robert L. Webb and Betsy Bauman-Martin; LNTS 364; London: T&T Clark, 2007), 7–40. Seeking to apply the methodology of narratology to 1 Peter, Eugene Boring is quick to admit the difficulty of such an approach. Narratology, an approach that brings together the relationship between story (the totality of narrated events), narrative (the discourse that narrates those events), and narrating (the acta that produces the discourse), might seem like an approach out of place with respect to epistolary literature. Yet, fully aware of the pitfalls (especially as narratology has been attempted in the Pauline letters), Boring skillfully navigates a complex analysis of the narrative world projected by 1 Peter despite its nonnarrative genre. He argues that the underlying narrative assumed by the author of 1 Peter serves as a way of making sense of the world—past, present, and future—by which he helps his readers shape their view of the world and their own identity around the central event of Christ’s death and resurrection. By means of this excellent study, Boring demonstrates the explanatory power of a narratological methodology for epistolary literature. (9) Duane F.  Watson, Invention, Arrangement, and Style:  Rhetorical Criticism of Jude and 2 Peter (SBLDS; Atlanta, GA: Scholars, 1988). Watson’s seminal study of the rhetoric of Jude and 2 Peter has been the foundation of several of his further efforts to examine the rhetorical texture of New Testament epistles (most significantly James). Watson argues that Jude and 2 Peter were informed by the rhetorical instruction that one finds in the progymnasmata (elementary school exercises for students in the ancient world). He compellingly demonstrates this influence of Graeco-Roman rhetoric in both letters, which follow similar rhetorical outlines: quasi-exordium (Jude 1–2; 2 Pet. 1:1-2), exordium (Jude 3; 2 Pet. 1:3-15), narratio (Jude 4), probatio (Jude 5–16; 2 Pet. 1:16–3:13), and peroratio (Jude 17–23; 2 Pet. 3:14-18). The final chapter explores the implications of rhetorical criticism for questions of literary integrity and dependency. (10) Ruth Anne Reese, “Narrative Method and the Letter of Second Peter,” in Reading Second Peter with New Eyes:  Methodological Reassessments of the Letter of Second Peter (ed. Duane F. Watson and Robert L. Webb; LNTS 382; London: T&T Clark, 2010), 119–46. Reese focuses on the relationship between events, plot, and time with which she attempts to ascribe particular events to the various actors named in the letter. She reaches three conclusions: not all acting characters undergo change, a character’s awareness of an impending live event can impact his or her narration of events, and finally, the descriptive material that surrounds events cannot be discounted in the process of interpretation. Troy W. Martin, Metaphor and Composition in 1 Peter (SBLDS 131; Atlanta, GA: Scholars, 1992).

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(11) Gene L.  Green, “Second Peter’s Use of Jude:  Imatatio and the Sociology of Early Christianity,” in Reading Second Peter with New Eyes:  Methodological Reassessments of the Letter of Second Peter (ed. Duane F. Watson and Robert L. Webb; LNTS 382; London: T&T Clark, 2010), 1–26. Exploring the socio-rhetorical context of 2 Peter, Gene Green focuses on rhetorical criticism to move beyond the traditional approach to the relationship between Jude and 2 Peter. Specifically, Green reframes the discussion within the framework of intertextual practices of the ancient world. Using the category of imitation, he demonstrates how the authors adopted and adapted material for specific rhetorical aims.

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PART 4 RECEPTION HISTORY OF THE CATHOLIC EPISTLES

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INTRODUCTION

Darian R. Lockett

The gulf between ancient text and contemporary life cannot be bridged by an exclusively historical-critical examination of the Bible. The history of the text’s reception and use inevitably influences modern interpretation. However, even commentaries that are interested in how the “Bible speaks today” usually assume a significant gap between “what it meant” and “what it means,” navigating the distance between ancient and the modern yet paying little or no attention to the history in between.1 Reception history (Wirkungsgeschichte or better “effective history”) not only recognizes the importance of the intervening exegetical and interpretive history, but understands them as constitutive of proper interpretation. Hans-Georg Gadamer observed, “All hermeneutical activity takes place within history and does not originate with an autonomous author or a timeless, interpreting subject.”2 Because every act of interpretation takes place within history, for Gadamer, the interpreter must therefore consider how previous exegetical activity influences her own contemporary understanding of the text. Attending to the reception history of a text entails the attempt to overcome the distance between the ancient author and modern interpreters. This is accomplished by coming to understand the range of inherited assumptions that are brought to the text (consciously or unconsciously) by the modern interpreter. A reception historical approach, therefore, insists that the way a text has been read and interpreted historically “is intrinsic to its ongoing meaning.”3 Several reasons lead to growing interest in tracing the reception history of New Testament texts. First, attending to a text’s historical reception sometimes turns up exegetical traditions that have been lost or forgotten. Neglected interpretive discussions or conclusions often merit consideration. At times modern commentaries purport to have discovered a new exegetical question or conclusion which actually has already been part of the discussion in older material. Second, becoming conversant with a text’s historical reception can throw into sharp relief the variety of interpretive agendas interpreters bring to the text. What will seem to be an obvious and legitimate concern of a seventeenth-century interpreter will stand out as a clear bias to a modern reader. Yet, encountering an example such as this provides an opportunity for modern readers to identify their own potentially biased agenda. Third, because reception history includes nonprofessional or nonacademic uses of the text, one can see how New Testament texts influenced religious and secular communities. Reception history demonstrates that the texts of the New Testament are not the exclusive property of professional scholars.

For more on this particular formulation of reception history, see Markus Bockmuehl, “A Commentator’s Approach to the ‘Effective History’ of Philippians,” JSNT 60 (1995): 57–88. 2 Mark Knight, “Wirkungsgeschichte, Reception History, Reception Theory,” JSNT 33 (2010): 137–46, 138. 3 Knight, Wirkungsgeschichte, 139. 1

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Reception history has been a growing area of research within New Testament studies, yet it is still somewhat in its infancy with regard to the Catholic Epistles. The following studies, along with the suggested readings, constitute some of the embryonic work that has been done in the reception history of the Catholic Epistles.

Summaries of the Readings Included in This Section (1) In “The Product of a Petrine Circle? Challenging an Emerging Consensus,” David Horrell challenges the emerging consensus that 1 Peter developed out of a “Petrine circle.” Recent studies of 1 Peter, especially by J. H. Elliott, have contended that the letter is the product of a Petrine circle. Rather than categorizing 1 Peter as emerging from an insulated tradition of Peter, Horrell demonstrates the intertextual connections drawing the letter close to other early Christian traditions, both Pauline and non-Pauline. Horrell’s examination of the traditions in 1 Peter (both Pauline and non-Pauline) and the names in the letter (Silvanus, Mark, Peter) argue that there is no substantial evidence to support the view that 1 Peter originated from a specifically Petrine group. Rather, the evidence suggests that 1 Peter is more likely the product consolidation of early Christian traditions in Roman Christianity. Here Horrell considers the earliest reception of 1 Peter. (2) A particular trajectory in reception-historical studies is the examination of a text’s journey into the canon. In chapter one of Judith Lieu’s monograph on 2 and 3 John (“Acceptance into the Canon”), she traces the journey of both texts into the New Testament canon. In their somewhat erratic journey into the canon, Lieu cautions that lack of use by the early church fathers should not necessarily imply ignorance or rejection of these two brief and specific letters. Her study considers all three Johannine Epistles, yet focuses on the particular acceptance of 2 and 3 John. Lieu observes that whereas from the fourth century on 2 and 3 John were considered canon, they were not often used—listing did not always lead to use. Her study takes account of the interaction between interpretation and conformity (whether real or contrived) with the doctrines and needs of the church or the individual author that took place within the process of acceptance. Lieu offers a possible reconstruction in conclusion. Beginning with the early acceptance of 1 John, various churches became aware of an “appendix,” 2 John, which proved useful both to 1 John and in its own right. Then, once 3 John became more widely known, it was associated with 2 John. (3) Wolfgang Grünstäudl and Tobias Nicklas consider the different paths taken into the New Testament canon by Jude and 2 Peter in their chapter “Searching for Evidence: The History of Reception of the Epistles of Jude and 2 Peter.” They consider the relatively early acceptance of Jude in light of later queries regarding its use of 1 Enoch. On the other hand, 2 Peter was initially doubted, yet later was embraced as a means of affirming the authority of an early Pauline corpus. Their chapter forwards the provocative thesis that 2 Peter was actually dependent on two early second-century postbiblical texts, the Dialogue of Justin and the Apocalypse of Peter.

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THE PRODUCT OF A PETRINE CIRCLE? CHALLENGING AN EMERGING CONSENSUS

David G. Horrell

1.1.  Introduction: An Emerging Consensus Views of the character and literary relationships of 1 Peter have shifted significantly in recent decades. For many years, 1 Peter was regarded as a ‘Pauline’ document and as exhibiting literary dependence on at least some of the Pauline letters. The case for 1 Peter’s literary dependence on Romans was first set out in detail by W.  Seufert in an 1874 essay.1 In a subsequent and lengthy essay, published in two parts, Seufert outlined the close parallels with Ephesians, seeing both letters as products of the Pauline tradition. In this case, however, he attributed the similarities not to literary dependence but to common authorship and shared dependence on Romans,2 tentatively suggesting the author of Acts as a possible candidate for the writing of both 1 Peter and Ephesians.3 An even more extensive survey of the literary relations of 1 Peter was published by Ora Foster in 1913. Foster firmly agreed with the consensus that ‘the Epistle is thoroughly Pauline’, seeing clear evidence of direct literary dependence on Ephesians and Romans.4 Similarly, in his 1941 study of Paul’s ‘literary influence’, Albert Barnett found evidence for 1 Peter’s acquaintance with a number of the Pauline epistles, most clearly Romans, Ephesians, Galatians and 2 Corinthians, but others too, suggesting ‘the existence and influence of Paul’s letters as a published collection’.5 Arguments for 1 Peter’s dependence on Ephesians, and a rejection of the alternative of Ephesians’ dependence on 1 Peter, were presented in the early 1950s by Leslie Mitton.6 These arguments for literary dependence were one key aspect of a scholarly tradition that regarded 1 Peter as clearly Pauline in character, a view that continues into recent literature, particularly in German. For example, Werner Kümmel, in his influential Introduction to the New Testament, boldly affirms that ‘there can be no doubt that the author of I Pet stands in the line of succession of Pauline theology’.7 Helmut Koester, Hans Hübner and Udo Schnelle are among those who express similar judgements about 1 Peter’s dependence on the Pauline

W. Seufert, ‘Das Abhängigkeitsverhältniss des I. Petrusbriefs vom Römerbrief ’, ZWT 17 (1874), 360–88. W. Seufert, ‘Das Verwandtschaftsverhältniss des ersten Petrusbriefs und Epheserbriefs’, ZWT 24 (1881), 178–97, 332–80, e.g. 186, 341–42 3 Seufert, ‘Verwandtschaftsverhältniss’, 379–80. 4 Ora D. Foster, ‘The Literary Relations of “The first Epistle of Peter” with their Bearing on Date and Place of Authorship’, Transactions of the Connecticut Academy of Arts and Sciences 17 (1913), 363–538 (371; cf. 479–80). 5 Albert E. Barnett, Paul Becomes a Literary Influence (Chicago, IL: University of Chicago Press, 1941), 51–69, with quotation from 51. 6 C. Leslie Mitton, ‘The Relationship between 1 Peter and Ephesians’, JTS 1 (1950), 67–73; C. Leslie Mitton, The Epistle to the Ephesians: Its Authorship, Origin and Purpose (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1951), 176–97. 7 Werner Georg Kümmel, Introduction to the New Testament (2nd edn; London: SCM, 1975), 423. 1 2

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tradition.8 Among English-speaking commentators, Francis Beare, for example, has similarly expressed the conviction that 1 Peter exhibits the signs of Pauline influence and of literary dependence on a number of the Pauline letters.9 In recent years, these views of 1 Peter have been decisively challenged. An important and early move to articulate a different view was made by Edward Gordon Selwyn. Selwyn questions the alleged ‘Paulinism’ of 1 Peter10 and develops at length the alternative view, building on the work of Philip Carrington, that the similarities between 1 Peter and the Pauline literature are to be explained rather by their use of shared Christian traditions.11 Similarly, Ceslas Spicq depicts 1 Peter as ‘une Épître de la Tradition’, an epistle which incorporates diverse and varied strands of early Christian tradition and should not be one-sidedly labelled ‘Pauline’.12 Many recent commentators, while accepting that there are some parallels between 1 Peter and the Pauline tradition, suggest that these may have come from the sharing of common Christian tradition, and stress equally the influence of other Christian traditions within the letter.13 Especially but by no means exclusively in English-language scholarship, this rejection of the ‘Pauline’ view of 1 Peter and an increased emphasis upon the letter’s distinctive character has contributed to what John Elliott, whose work has done much to establish this new view of 1 Peter, describes as a ‘liberation of 1 Peter from its “Pauline bondage” ’.14 According to Elliott, writing in 1976, ‘the theory of a Petrine dependence upon Paul must now be rejected in favor of a common Petrine and Pauline use of a broadly varied (liturgical, parenetic, and catechetical) tradition’.15 Elliott’s alternative view of the epistle is forcefully stated: ‘1 Peter is the product of a Petrine tradition transmitted by Petrine tradents of a Petrine circle.’16 On this basis, while accepting that the letter is formally pseudonymous, Elliott maintains that 1 Peter is ‘authentically Petrine in the sense that it expresses the thoughts, the theology, and the concerns of the apostle Peter as shared, preserved and developed by the group with which he was most closely associated’.17 Elliott elsewhere makes it clear that he sees this Petrine circle as based See Helmut Koester, Introduction to the New Testament:  Vol 2, History and Literature of Early Christianity (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1982), 292–93; Hans Hübner, Biblische Theologie des Neuen Testaments. Band 2: Die Theologie des Paulus und ihre neutestamentliche Wirkungsgeschichte (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1993), 387–95; Udo Schnelle, The History and Theology of the New Testament Writings (London: SCM, 1998), 410–11. For Hübner, 1 Peter is the ‘Höhepunkt der Wirkungsgeschichte der paulinischen Theologie’ (387). 9 Beare, First Epistle of Peter, 44–45, 219. 10 Edward Gordon Selwyn, ‘The Problem of the Authorship of I Peter’, ExpTim 59 (1948), 256–58 (256). 11 Edward Gordon Selwyn, The First Epistle of St. Peter (2nd edn; London and Basingstoke: Macmillan, 1947 [1946]), 17–24, 365–466; Philip Carrington, The Primitive Christian Catechism: A Study in the Epistles (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1940). 12 Ceslas Spicq, Les Épitres de Saint Pierre (SB; Paris: Gabalda, 1966), 15. Cf. also Ceslas Spicq, ‘La Ia Petri et le témoignage évangélique de saint Pierre’, ST 20 (1966), 37–61 (37); François Bovon, ‘Foi chrétienne et Religion populaire dans la première Épitre de Pierre’, ETR 53 (1978), 25–41; Norbert Brox, ‘Der erste Petrusbrief in der literarischen Tradition des Urchristentums’, Kairos 20 (1978), 182–92; Goppelt, I Peter, 26–36. 13 E.g. Michaels, 1 Peter, xliii–xlv; Achtemeier, 1 Peter, 23. 14 Elliott, ‘Rehabilitation’, 248. Elliott, 1 Peter, 40, reiterates the plea: ‘It is high time for 1 Peter to be liberated from its “Pauline captivity” and read as a distinctive voice of the early Church.’ 15 Elliott, ‘Rehabilitation’, 247; cf. Elliott, 1 Peter, 37–40. 16 Elliott, ‘Rehabilitation’, 248. Cf. further John H. Elliott, ‘Peter, Silvanus and Mark in I Peter and Acts: SociologicalExegetical Perspectives on a Petrine Group in Rome’, in W.  Haubeck and M.  Bachmann (eds), Wort in der Zeit: Neutestamentliche Studien. Festgabe für Karl Heinrich Rengstorff zum 75. Geburtstag (Leiden: Brill, 1980), 250–67; John H. Elliott, A Home for the Homeless: A Social-Scientific Criticism of 1 Peter, its Situation and Strategy (2nd edn; Minneapolis, MN: Fortress, 1990 [1981]), 271–72; Elliott, 1 Peter, 127–30, 889–90. 17 Elliott, ‘Peter, Silvanus and Mark’, 253–54. 8

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in Rome and as treasuring not only distinctively Petrine traditions but more generally those of the Roman Christian community (including Paul’s letter to the Romans); hence there are diverse and varied traditions woven into the epistle, which represents the Roman community’s letter of encouragement and exhortation to the suffering Christians of Asia Minor.18 Further weight has been added to the notion of 1 Peter’s distinctively Petrine character by Jens Herzer’s book-length examination and critique of the hypothesis of the ‘Paulinism’ of 1 Peter: Herzer’s conclusion is that direct Pauline influence on 1 Peter is neither provable nor probable.19 Kazuhito Shimada has also offered detailed criticism of the arguments for 1 Peter’s literary dependence on Romans and Ephesians, overturning – or at least, attempting to overturn – the verdict of Seufert, Barnett, Mitton, and others from a previous generation.20 The view of 1 Peter as the product of a Petrine group or school (probably in Rome)21 is not new,22 but has been growing in influence, especially through the detailed work of Elliott.23 Ralph Martin, for example, has suggested that ‘the insight that a document like I  Peter may well be the final product of a group associated with Peter in his lifetime and intent on publishing his teaching after his demise is gaining ground, and holds out the most promise for future understanding’.24 Clifton Black similarly finds Elliott’s view broadly convincing: ‘1 Peter probably was the product of a distinctive group, or circle, within primitive Christianity, perhaps originating in Rome, which aligned itself with the witness of the apostle Peter.’25 John H. Elliott, ‘The Roman Provenance of 1 Peter and the Gospel of Mark: A Response to David Dungan’, in Bruce Corley (ed.), Colloquy on New Testament Studies: A Time for Reappraisal and Fresh Approaches (Macon, GA: Mercer University Press, 1983), 181–94; John H. Elliott, ‘Backward and Forward “In His Steps”: Following Jesus from Rome to Raymond and Beyond: The Tradition, Redaction, and Reception of 1 Peter 2:18-25’, in Fernando F. Segovia (ed.), Discipleship in the New Testament (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1985), 184–209, 196–98; John H. Elliott, What is SocialScientific Criticism? (UK title: Social-Scientific Criticism of the New Testament) (Minneapolis/London: Fortress/SPCK, 1993), 85; Elliott, 1 Peter, 130–34. 19 Herzer, Petrus oder Paulus? For an overview and critique, see David G. Horrell, ‘Review of Jens Herzer, Petrus oder Paulus?’, JTS 51 (2000), 287–92. 20 Kazuhito Shimada, ‘Is I Peter Dependent on Ephesians? A Critique of C.L. Mitton’, AJBI 17 (1991), 77–106; Kazuhito Shimada, ‘Is I Peter Dependent on Romans?’, AJBI 19 (1993), 87–137. Both essays are reprinted in Kazuhito Shimada, Studies on First Peter (Tokyo: Kyo Bun Kwan, 1998). Elliott, 1 Peter, 22, considers that the case for literary dependence on Romans and Ephesians has been decisively refuted by Shimada. 21 On the question of the letter’s place of origin, see the Introduction (p. 5). 22 Already in the 1940s Carrington, Catechism, referred to ‘the school of Peter’ (24) and, in a chapter on ‘the socioreligious unit’, saw 1 Peter (and, correspondingly, Colossians and Ephesians) as reflecting a ‘school’ context, focused on the figures of Peter and Paul respectively, similar to the rabbinic schools (66–73). Ethelbert Stauffer, Die Theologie des Neuen Testaments (5th edn; Gütersloh:  Bertelsmann, 1948), suggested Peter’s influence on 1 Peter, Mark’s Gospel (specifically the passion narrative) and the speeches attributed to Peter in Acts, and spoke of a Petruskreis: ‘Möglicherweise stammt schon die Urgestalt der Passionsgeschichte aus dem Petruskreis. Auch im 1 Pt dürften petrinische Traditionen mitverarbeitet sein’ (18). According to Ernest Best, 1 Peter (NCBC; London/Grand Rapids: Marshall, Morgan & Scott/Eerdmans, 1971), 63, ‘the epistle was pseudonymous but emerged from a Petrine school’. Donald P. Senior, 1 & 2 Peter (New Testament Message 20; Wilmington, Delaware/Dublin: Glazier/Veritas, 1980), also suggested that the letter emerged from ‘a Petrine group at Rome’ (xv). 23 A recent commentary in French, for example, follows Elliott’s perspective, seeing 1 Peter as the product of ‘un groupe qui se réclamait de Pierre, qui gardait fidèlement sa mémoire, qui se voulait l’héritier de sa responsabilité apostolique’. Silvanus and Mark are seen as ‘l’indice de l’existence d’un tel groupe’. Paul Bony, La Première épître de Pierre: Chrétiens en diaspora (Lire la Bible 137; Paris: Cerf, 2004), 13. 24 Ralph P. Martin, ‘The Theology of Jude, 1 Peter, and 2 Peter’, in Andrew Chester and Ralph P. Martin, The Theology of the Letters of James, Peter and Jude (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1994), 92. 25 Clifton C. Black, Mark: Images of an Apostolic Interpreter (Columbia, SC: University of South Carolina Press, 1994), 64. Cf., similarly, Terence V. Smith, Petrine Controversies in Early Christianity: Attitudes towards Peter in Christian Writings of the First Two Centuries (WUNT 2.15; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1985), 153–54. 18

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Kathleen Corley also comments that ‘the argument for a separate Petrine school is gaining wider acceptance’.26 Indeed, some have argued specifically for a Petrine ‘school’: Marion Soards links 1 Peter with 2 Peter and Jude, suggesting that together. they provide evidence for the existence of a Petrine school, analogous to the other ancient schools which existed at the time.27 Similarly, Otto Knoch sees 1 and 2 Peter as witnesses to the existence of a Petrusschule in Rome.28 Most, however, prefer to speak of a ‘circle’ or ‘group’ of Petrine associates.29 Such is the momentum behind this perspective that Eugene Boring regards 1 Peter’s origin in a Petrine circle as ‘virtually certain’, although he also argues that this should not lead us to discount the idea of Pauline influence.30 Indeed, Elliott notes in his magisterial commentary that ‘[n]‌umerous scholars now consider the theory plausible, if not probable’.31 It is no surprise, then, that Frank Matera has recently described as an ‘emerging consensus . . . that the letter had its origin in a Petrine circle that revered the memory and teaching of Peter’.32 There has been surprisingly little critical questioning of this ‘emerging consensus’.33 The aim of this chapter is to assess how valid it is to regard 1 Peter in this way. This will involve a brief consideration of some of the Christian (Pauline and non-Pauline) traditions evident in the letter, some appraisal of the evidence (or lack of it) for a ‘Petrine group’ in Rome, and (if 1 Peter is not the product of a distinctive Petrine group) an attempt to answer the question as to why it was written in the name of Peter (1.1), and mentions Silvanus and Mark (5.12-13). It will be argued that 1 Peter is characterized by a series of intertextual relationships, including with Paul’s letters (notably Romans), and is best seen as the product of a consolidating or synthesizing form of early Christianity (whether in Rome or elsewhere) rather than of a specifically Petrine circle or school, a circle for which there is no substantive evidence.

Kathleen Corley, ‘1 Peter’, in Elisabeth Schüssler Fiorenza (ed.), Searching the Scriptures, Vol.2: A Feminist Commentary (London: SCM, 1995), 349–60 (350). 27 Marion L. Soards, ‘1 Peter, 2 Peter and Jude as Evidence for a Petrine School’, ANRW 2.25.5 (1988), 3827–49. 28 Otto B. Knoch, ‘Gab es eine Petrusschule in Rom? Überlegungen zu einer bedeutsamen Frage’, SNTSU 16 (1991), 105–26. 29 R. J. Bauckham, Jude, 2 Peter (WBC 50; Waco, TX: Word Books, 1983), 146. Note his sharp criticism of Soards in Richard J. Bauckham, Jude and the Relatives of Jesus (Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1990), 147. 30 M. Eugene Boring, ‘First Peter in Recent Study’, WW 24 (2004), 358–67 (361–62), with the quoted phrase from 361. Earl J. Richard, Reading 1 Peter, Jude, and 2 Peter: A Literary and Theological Commentary (Reading the New Testament; Macon, GA: Smyth & Helwys, 2000), 10, who also supports the view that the author belonged ‘to a Petrine group in Rome’, suggests that there is ‘much evidence in the New Testament (Paul, Acts, 1 Peter) and early post-New Testament writers (especially Clement of Rome and Papias) to postulate the existence of such a Petrine circle’. 31 Elliott, 1 Peter, 127. 32 Matera, New Testament Theology, 373. 33 Aside from the earlier essay on which this chapter is based, first published in 2002, scepticism concerning the idea of Petrine school origins has been expressed in some recent German literature. Brief comments are made by Karl Matthias Schmidt, Mahnung und Erinnerung im Maskenspiel:  Epistolographie, Rhetorik, und Narrativik der pseudepigraphen Petrusbriefe (HBS 38; Freiburg, Basel, Vienna: Herder, 2003), 420 and Joachim Gnilka, Petrus und Rom: Das Petrusbild in den ersten zwei Jahrhunderten (Freiburg, Basel, Vienna: Herder, 2002), 198–200, though Gnilka ends by suggesting – rather speculatively in my view – that 1 Peter may have had its origins in one of the various Hausgemeinden that constituted the churches in Rome. In a wider study of Schulen im Neuen Testament, focused mainly on the proposals for Pauline and Johannine schools, Thomas Schmeller concludes that there is insufficient evidence for any Petrine school (Thomas Schmeller, Schulen im Neuen Testament? Zur Stellung des Urchristentums in der Bildungswelt seiner Zeit [HBS 30; Freiburg: Herder, 2001], 29–31). Somewhat more extensive are the critical arguments of Gudrun Guttenberger, Passio Christiana:  Die alltagsmartyrologische Position des Ersten Petrusbriefes (Stuttgarter Bibelstudien 223; Stuttgart: Katholisches Bibelwerk, 2010), 78–87. 26

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1.2.  Pauline Traditions in 1 Peter A comprehensive study of every suggested parallel between the Pauline tradition and 1 Peter cannot be attempted in the space available here. Seufert’s pioneering study of the parallels with Romans alone runs to twenty-eight pages, with another sixty-nine in subsequent articles devoted to the parallels with Ephesians.34 Even in his monograph-length investigation of the supposed ‘Paulinism’ of 1 Peter, Herzer examines only a selection of the possible texts and themes.35 However, an illustrative selection of a variety of parallels, related in particular to the arguments of Herzer’s book, will serve to demonstrate the links between 1 Peter and Pauline language and tradition.36 1.2.1.  The Epistolary Frame In both the opening and the closing verses of 1 Peter a number of similarities with the typical Pauline pattern can be seen, while differences and distinctive ideas at the same time indicate that 1 Peter is certainly not simply an imitation of a Pauline letter. For example, the description of Peter as ἀπόστολος Ἰησοῦ Χριστοῦ (1.1) is reminiscent of Paul, although Paul generally has Χριστοῦ Ἰησοῦ rather than Ἰησοῦ Χριστοῦ37 (cf. 1 Cor. 1.1; 2 Cor. 1.1; but note Gal. 1.1; Tit. 1.1).38 Similarly, the phrase χάρις ὑμῖν καὶ εἰρήνη (1 Pet. 1.2) is a characteristically Pauline greeting (Rom. 1.7; 1 Cor. 1.3; 2 Cor. 1.2; Gal. 1.3; Eph. 1.2; Phil. 1.2; Col. 1.2; 1 Thess. 1.1; 2 Thess. 1.2; Philemon 3; note also Rev. 1.4), although a notable difference is the verb πληθυνθείη which follows in 1 Peter, a verb unknown in the Pauline letters but found, for example, in Jewish epistolary tradition (Dan. 4.1; 6.26 [LXX: Theodotion]) and in the greetings of Jude, 2 Peter, and 1 Clement.39 The common features of the Pauline tradition and 1 Peter may be contrasted with the letter openings of James, 1-2-3 John, and Jude. The author of 1 Peter may possibly not have been conscious that the tradition of Christian epistolography which he followed was decisively shaped by Paul,40 but that would not negate the de facto Pauline influence on the letter form.41 Seufert, ‘Abhängigkeitsverhältniss’; Seufert, ‘Verwandtschaftsverhältniss’. Foster’s extensive study of the literary relations of 1 Peter more generally runs to some 175 pages (Foster, ‘Literary Relations’). 35 Herzer, Petrus oder Paulus?, 12, cf. 4. 36 For a concise overview of the parallels, see also Klaus Berger, Theologiegeschichte des Urchristentums: Theologie des Neuen Testaments (2nd edn; Tübingen and Basel: Francke, 1995), 419–30. 37 As Herzer points out, but overinterprets, arguing against any indebtedness of 1 Peter to the Pauline letter form and pressing the case for 1 Peter’s independence (Herzer, Petrus oder Paulus?, 31–34). Herzer is cautiously followed at this point by Doering, ‘Apostle’, 649. 38 Doering, ‘Apostle’, 648–52, argues that the use of ἀπόστολος without any additional justification contrasts with Paul’s uses, where there is generally some arguing for his apostolicity, reflecting his necessity to defend this status. Since ‘Peter was known as apostle in early Christianity without any reservation’ – he is ‘the apostle par excellence’ – Doering suggests that ‘only Peter would properly be able to write in the style of 1 Pet. 1:1’ (649–50). I think Doering makes a significant point about the ‘Peter image’ presented in the letter, specifically through the use of the title apostle, but presses the differences with the Pauline prescripts too much at this point. 39 Cf. Lutz Doering, ‘First Peter as Early Christian Diaspora Letter’, in Karl-Wilhelm Niebuhr and Robert W. Wall (eds), The Catholic Epistles and Apostolic Tradition: A New Perspective on James to Jude (Waco, TX: Baylor University Press, 2009), 215–36, 441–57 (234), who rightly observes ‘that 1 Peter has taken up and supplemented the well-known Pauline salutation’ in a way that ‘links up with encyclical letter writing in the biblical Jewish tradition’. 40 So Herzer, Petrus oder Paulus?, 83, who denies that the epistolary frame of 1 Peter indicates any dependence on Paul or the Pauline tradition. 41 Lothar Wehr, Petrus und Paulus – Kontrahenten und Partner. Die beiden Apostel im Spiegel des Neuen Testaments, der Apostolischen Väter und früher Zeugnisse Ihrer Verehrung (NTAbh 30; Münster: Aschendorff, 1996), 185, rightly sees the Briefformular of 1 Peter as dependent on the Pauline form. 34

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The opening blessing (1 Pet. 1.3-9) also has some striking similarities to the Pauline letters, most notably Eph. 1.3-14.42 The opening phrase (Εὐλογητὸς ὁ θεὸς καὶ πατὴρ τοῦ κυρίου ἡμῶν ’Iησοῦ Χριστοῦ) is identical in the Greek of 1 Pet. 1.3, Eph. 1.3, and also 2 Cor. 1.3,43 introducing the (only) three New Testament examples of what Nils Dahl calls ‘letter-opening benedictions’.44 There are also a number of verbal similarities in the following verses: 1 Pet. 1.3-9

Eph. 1.3-14

εἰς ἐλπίδα ζῶσαν (v. 3)

τοὺς προηλπικότας ἐν τῷ Χριστῷ (v. 12)

εἰς κληρονομίαν . . . εἰς ὑμᾶς (v. 4)

τῆς κληρονομίας ἡμῶν (v. 14)

εἰς ἔπαινον καὶ δόξαν (v. 7)

εἰς ἔπαινον δόξης . . . (vv. 6, 12, 14)

αἵματος Ἰησοῦ Χριστοῦ (1.2)

διὰ τοῦ αἵματος αὐτοῦ (v. 7)

πρὸ καταβολῆς κόσμου (1.20)

πρὸ καταβολῆς κόσμου (v. 4)

περιποίησιν (2.9 [cf. Isa. 43.21])

περιποιήσεως (v. 14)

Barnett sets out the two passages together (though without identifying specific points of similarity), and comments that ‘there is an unmistakable resemblance’ with ‘literary relationship a matter of practical certainty’.45 One can however point out, as both Shimada and Herzer have done, that the precise similarities are limited, and that the blessing in 1 Peter has its own distinctive shape and content.46 Both authors favour a stance similar to Selwyn’s, that the parallels are best explained by independent use of common early Christian traditions.47 Dahl likewise, in an extensive study of forms of benediction and congratulation in Jewish texts, sees the three benedictions in 2 Cor. 1.3-7, Eph. 1.3-14, and 1 Pet. 1.3-7 as ‘modeled upon a common pattern’ reflecting ‘a form that was used by Paul and other preachers’.48 But some kind of literary or intertextual relationship remains highly plausible, especially given the lack of non-Pauline examples of the phrasing found in 1.3.49 It is perhaps revealing when Dahl comments that ‘[t]‌he similarity of design cannot be due simply to literary imitation . . . since each of the three benedictions has its own structure and function’.50 Yet a literary or intertextual

Cf. Seufert, ‘Verwandtschaftsverhältniss’, 184–90, though Seufert offers a rather maximalist view of the similarities. Cf. Seufert, ‘Verwandtschaftsverhältniss’, 184; Mitton, ‘1 Peter and Ephesians’, 73. 44 Nils Alstrup dahl, Studies in Ephesians: Introductory Questions, Text- & Edition- Critical Issues, Interpretation of Texts and Themes (WUNT 131; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2000), 301. Dahl notes three examples in the New Testament of the formula ‘who is blessed forever’ (Rom. 1.25; 9.5; 2 Cor. 11.31) and four of ‘more extended praise of God introduced with εὐλογητός’ (in addition to the examples in 2 Corinthians, Ephesians, and 1 Peter, Dahl points to Lk. 1.67-79; see 300–301). 45 Barnett, Literary Influence, 54. 46 Shimada, Studies, 81–85; Herzer, Petrus oder Paulus?, 50–54. 47 Cf. Selwyn, First Epistle, 19–23, 363–466. 48 Dahl, Studies in Ephesians, 301. Cf. Wehr, Petrus und Paulus, 185, who comments that 1 Pet. 1.3 is an established liturgical formula, which gives no basis for concluding that there is literary dependence on 2 Cor. 1.3 (or Eph. 1.3). 49 As Mitton comments, ‘the similarity is not adequately accounted for by Selwyn’s plea that the sentence “represents a common form of expression”, unless other instances of it, not derived from Paul’s use of it, can be cited’ (Mitton, ‘1 Peter and Ephesians’, 73). 50 Dahl, Studies in Ephesians, 301. 42 43

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relationship need not entail precise or extensive repetition of large amounts of the source text, but can involve a more subtle and creative engagement. In the letter closing, the most striking link with Paul is the exhortation ἀσπάσασθε ἀλλήλους ἐν φιλήματι ἀγάπης (1 Pet. 5.14), which is paralleled only, and almost precisely, in Paul (Rom. 16.16; 1 Cor. 16.20; 2 Cor. 13.12; 1 Thess. 5.26). The only significant distinction is that Paul describes the kiss as a holy kiss (φιλήματι ἁγίῳ) rather than one of love (ἀγάπης). For Herzer this difference is enough to establish the independence (‘Eigenständigkeit’) of 1 Peter from Paul, the similarity being explained by their common adoption of an early Christian tradition.51 Certainly, as Herzer suggests, greeting with a kiss may have become a widespread and not exclusively Pauline custom in early Christianity, and even if it was introduced to the Roman church by Paul (Rom. 16.16) the author of 1 Peter (if based in Rome) may not have been aware of the Pauline link. Nevertheless, since the custom is known to us (aside from 1 Peter) only through the Pauline letters, to speak of 1 Peter’s independence from Pauline tradition here does not do justice to the available evidence. Rather, the form of the epistolary greeting and the specific custom of the kiss indicate some kind of Pauline influence on 1 Peter. 1.2.2.  The Expression ἐν Χριστῷ The expression ἐν Χριστῷ, so frequent and typical in Paul, occurs elsewhere in the New Testament only in 1 Peter (3.16; 5.10, 14), although there are less precise parallels in the Johannine language of mutual indwelling (Jn 14.20; 15.4-11; 17.21-26; 1 Jn 2.5-6, 24, 27; 4.1216). We may agree with Herzer that the formula is used in 1 Peter in a distinctive way, and conveys the distinctive theology of the letter rather than a blandly reproduced Paulinism.52 It may be conceivable, as Herzer suggests, that the formula had become an independent Christian expression used without awareness of its Pauline origins, though given its absence from the rest of the New Testament this seems a less than likely suggestion.53 Once again, insofar as our evidence allows us to say anything, the distinctively Pauline character and origin of the formula is clear: the use of the phrase ἐν Χριστῷ in 1 Peter most likely indicates the influence of Pauline tradition.54 1.2.3.  The Term χάρισμα Another term found in the New Testament only in the Pauline letters and 1 Peter (4.10) is χάρισμα, used to describe the varied gifts given to the members of the Christian community. The exhortation in 1 Peter to every Christian to use their gifts in service of one another, ἕκαστος καθὼς ἔλαβεν χάρισμα (4.10), is widely regarded as a clear sign of indebtedness

Herzer, Petrus oder Paulus?, 77–80. Herzer, Petrus oder Paulus?, 84–106. Again, however, Herzer overstresses the differences and their significance for 1 Peter’s independence; he concedes, for example, that the idea expressed in 1 Pet. 5.10 is paralleled in Rom. 8.17, but points out that Paul there uses σύν rather than ἐν (104). That there are significant differences need not be denied, but an identical use of phrases or expressions is surely most unlikely in any subsequent adaptation or transmission of tradition (cf. the Pastorals’ presentation of the Pauline tradition!). 53 Herzer, Petrus oder Paulus?, 102–106. 54 Cf. Brox, Petrusbrief, 161: ‘. . . zeigt aber ein weiteres Mal das paulinische Kolarit des 1 Petr.’; Wehr, Petrus und Paulus, 186–87. Elliott, 1 Peter, 38, concedes that the ‘in Christ’ theme may be distinctively Pauline. 51 52

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to Pauline tradition.55 Herzer once again demurs, emphasizing the differences between the Pauline and Petrine usage (e.g. the tendency in the Pauline letters to emphasize the giving of the gifts [δίδωμι: Rom. 12.6; 1 Cor. 12.7ff.], compared with receiving [λαμβάνω] in 1 Peter) and linking the view of gifts in 1 Peter to the tradition in Acts 6, with the division of labour between the two tasks of proclamation and service (1 Pet. 4.11; Acts 6.1-4).56 But while the general and illustrative twofold exhortation εἴ τις λαλεῖ . . . εἴ τις διακονεῖ (1 Pet. 4.11) is very broadly reminiscent of Acts 6, the language of χάρισμα is distinctively Pauline. Moreover, as Lothar Wehr points out, while the word ποικίλος (found in 1 Pet. 4.10) does not appear in the genuine Pauline letters, its meaning appropriately conveys an important aspect of Paul’s teaching on the χαρίσματα.57 The similarities between 1 Pet. 4.10-11 and Rom. 12.6-8, and the specific use of the Pauline vocabulary, are close enough to suggest again the (direct or indirect) influence of Paul (perhaps specifically Romans) on 1 Peter. 1.2.4.  The Paraenetic Tradition Close similarities between the paraenesis in 1 Peter 3, Romans 12, and 1 Thessalonians 5 have often been noted.58 Particularly striking are the parallels between 1 Thess. 5.15, Rom. 12.17, and 1 Pet. 3.9: ὁρᾶτε μή τις κακὸν ἀντὶ κακοῦ τινι ἀποδῷ, ἀλλὰ πάντοτε τὸ ἀγαθὸν διώκετε [καί] εἰς ἀλλήλους καὶ εἰς πάντας (1 Thess. 5.15) μηδενὶ κακὸν ἀντὶ κακοῦ ἀποδιδόντες, προνοούμενοι καλὰ ἐνώπιον πάντων ἀνθρώπων (Rom. 12.17) μὴ ἀποδιδόντες κακὸν ἀντὶ κακοῦ ἢ λοιδορίαν ἀντὶ λοιδορίας, τοὐναντίον δὲ εὐλογοῦντες ὅτι εἰς τοῦτο ἐκλήθητε ἵνα εὐλογίαν κληρονομήσητε (1 Pet. 3.9) Given the similarities between this teaching and that found in the Sermon on the Mount/Plain (Mt. 5.44; Lk. 6.27-28), it is not unlikely that these passages share a common source in early Christian (dominical) paraenesis.59 However, the precise linguistic parallels between the texts listed above do not derive from the synoptic tradition, so again, as far as our evidence shows, the particular formulation of paraenetical tradition found in 1 Peter seems to reflect Pauline influence, with Paul’s letter to the Romans quite possibly being one of the channels through which this teaching was known to the author of 1 Peter, whether through a Roman context or not. Indeed, as we shall see further in the following section, some of the most significant parallels between 1 Peter and Romans are to be found in Romans 12–13.60 E.g. on 4.10 Brox comments:  ‘Der paulinische Charakter ethischer Elemente des 1 Petr ist an dieser Stelle aber immerhin besonders deutlich’ (Brox, Petrusbrief, 207). Wehr, Petrus und Paulus, 188–93, finds the use of both χάρις and χάρισμα in 4.10 indicative of a dependence on Pauline thought, though without any proof of a direct literary relationship with the Pauline letters. 56 Herzer, Petrus oder Paulus?, 158–72. 57 Wehr, Petrus und Paulus, 191 n. 284. 58 See further John Piper, ‘Hope as the Motivation of Love: 1 Peter 3:9–12’, NTS 26 (1980), 212–31 (218–23), who sets out the parallels on p. 219. Cf. also Selwyn, First Epistle, 407–13; Michaels, 1 Peter, 174. 59 Cf., e.g., Piper, ‘Hope’, 221; Michaels, 1 Peter, 175; Herzer, Petrus oder Paulus?, 255–56. 60 Cf. Seufert, ‘Abhängigkeitsverhältniss’, 362–74; Seufert, ‘Verwandtschaftsverhältniss’, 365–66, with a list of parallels between Romans 12–13 and 1 Peter/Ephesians: ‘Lehrreich ist hier besonders die durchgehende Benützung von Röm 12 und 13 in unseren beiden Briefen’ (365). 55

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1.2.5.  Christian Obligations within the State and Household First Peter’s teaching about the Christian’s obligations to the state and within the household also displays clear parallels with the Pauline tradition. Again it is possible, and not infrequently suggested, that both the Pauline and Petrine versions derive from shared early Christian tradition.61 However, the parallels are such as to suggest some particular link between 1 Peter (2.13-17) and the Pauline tradition (Rom. 13.1-7), particularly in the use of ὑποτάσσω and in reference to the authorities as those who reward right and punish wrong (cf. also 1 Tim. 2.1-4; Tit. 3.1). Barnett comments: ‘That Rom. 13:1-7 was in the mind of the author of I Peter is highly probable. The theme, the arrangement of thought, the resemblances in language, support this probability.’62 Barnett does not explore or set out these parallels in detail. But a careful investigation does indeed reveal a striking number of parallels of vocabulary:63 Word

Rom. 13.1-7

1 Pet. 2.13-17

πᾶς

πᾶσα ψυχή

πάσῃ ἀνθρωπίνῃ κτίσει

ὑποτάσσω

ὑποτασσέσθω . . . ὑποτάσσεσθαι

ὑποτάγητε

ἀγαθός/κακός

τῷ ἀγαθῷ ἔργῳ . . . τῷ κακῷ . . .

κακοποιῶν . . . ἀγαθοποιών . . .

τὸ ἀγαθόν ποίει . . . τὸ ἀγαθόν . . .

ἀγαθοποιοῦντας (cf. 2.12,20;

τὸ κακὸν ποιῇς . . . τῷ τὸ κακὸν

3.17; 4.15)

πράσσοντι ἔπαινον

ἔπαινον

ἔπαινον

ἐχδιχ-

ἔκδικος

ἐκδίκησις

συνείδησις

διὰ τήν συνείδησιν

(διὰ συνείδησιν θεοῦ, 2.19)

φοβέω

φόβος . . . μη φοβεῖσθαι . . . τῷ τὸν

τὸν θεόν φοβεῖσθε

φόβον τὸν φόβον τιμάω/τιμή

τῷ τὴν τιμὴν τὴν τιμήν

τὸν βασιλέα τιμᾶτε

We shall consider how best to make sense of this range of parallels below, but for now we should note that they form an impressive list, and would seem to indicate some kind of relationship between the texts, particularly given that they are much more extensive than exist between Romans 13 and either 1 Tim.2.1-4 or Tit. 3.1 (the latter a very brief summary of the Pauline teaching).64 Shimada points to differences ‘[f]‌rom a context-analytical point of view’, in sequence, and in ‘[w]ords, phrases and usages’, concluding that dependence on Romans is unlikely.65 But his criteria for dependence are much too stringent.66 Cf. Selwyn, First Epistle, 426–39; Herzer, Petrus oder Paulus?, 227. Barnett, Literary Influence, 62. 63 I am grateful to Mark Reasoner, in email correspondence, for the stimulus to look in detail at these parallels of vocabulary. 64 See Berger, Theologiegeschichte, 427, for parallels between 1 Pet. 2.13-17, Rom. 13.1-7, and Tit. 3.1, though Berger explains these differently (see below). 65 Shimada, Studies, 141–44. 66 Cf. Shimada, Studies, 105–106. Because Shimada takes ‘ “a direct dependence” to mean a conscious effort on the side of the alleged borrower . . . to make the quotation or reference look very much like the original text’, his first 61 62

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First Peter’s adaptation of ‘household code’ material also suggests some proximity to the deuteroPauline Haustafeln (Col. 3.18–4.1; Eph. 5.21–6.9; 1 Pet. 2.18–3.7). These Christian Haustafeln clearly have non-Christian literary antecedents,67 and the code in Colossians (probably the earliest such code in the New Testament) has a neat and precise structure, suggesting at least some prior tradition of formulation. Broadly comparable but less directly parallel texts in Did. 4.10-11 and Barn. 19.7 also indicate that some forms of ‘household’ teaching came into early Christianity independently of the Pauline tradition. But 1 Peter’s household-code teaching and exhortations about submission to the governing authorities seem to reflect the influence of Pauline tradition – at least to as great an extent as do the Pastorals. One of 1 Peter’s distinctive contributions is to draw together the Pauline teaching on the state with that on the household. Certainly 1 Peter presents this teaching in a distinctive manner, motivating and justifying the expected conduct in ways which vary from what is found in Paul.68 But so do the Pastoral Epistles, where Tit. 3.1 presents only a concise summary of the teaching elaborated in Rom. 13.1-7, and 1 Tim. 2.1-2 introduces the appeal to pray ‘for kings and all who are in high positions’, and where various elements of Haustafel teaching appear rather than the complete and balanced ‘tables’ of Colossians and Ephesians (see 1 Tim. 5.1–6.2; Tit. 2.1-10). Herzer may be right to insist that the paraenesis concerning governing authorities and the household in 1 Peter demonstrates significant differences (‘groβe[!]‌Unterschiede’) from the Pauline tradition, but it seems difficult to sustain the conclusion ‘that a direct Pauline influence is improbable, and that the assumption of a specific presentation of well-known Christian ethical conventions most adequately defines the relationship of 1 Peter to the Pauline tradition’.69 Klaus Berger similarly sees in these texts concerning conduct in relation to the authorities ‘a general piece of early Christian paraenesis’, suggesting that ‘1 Peter presents the comparatively older version’.70 The problems with the view of the two texts as independent adaptations of early Christian paraenesis are, however, considerable. first, alongside 1 Peter, we have evidence for this paraenesis only in the Pauline tradition; proposals regarding prior pieces of early Christian paraenesis can only be hypothetical, given the silence of our sources. Second, the rather extensive linguistic parallels, as detailed above, suggest a rather closer literary relationship between 1 Peter and Romans. determining which of the two texts is the earlier requires not only a consideration of the two passages in question, but also of the wider arguments for the dating of Romans and 1 Peter, and on this score it seems to me that the case for the priority of Romans – and consequently, for the priority of Rom. 13.1-7 as a formulation of the teaching on relating to the authorities – is weighty.71

criterion is that ‘[a]‌passage should be quoted explicitly and extensively (and the author and writings, from which he allegedly quotes, should be identified, if possible)’ (105). This criterion would rule out all but the most explicit and extensive forms of literary dependence, including some of the more obvious citations of the Old Testament in the New Testament, the use of Jude in 2 Peter (or vice versa), etc. 67 See esp. David L. Balch, Let Wives Be Submissive: The Domestic Code in 1 Peter (SBLMS 26; Atlanta, GA: Scholars Press, 1981). 68 Cf. Herzer, Petrus oder Paulus?, 227–44 69 Herzer, Petrus oder Paulus?, 244. 70 Berger, Theologiegeschichte, 427. 71 for brief comments on the likely date of 1 Peter, see the Introduction, p. 5..

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1.2.6.  Further Specific Pauline Parallels In addition to the parallels already mentioned, there are a number of places in 1 Peter where the influence of Pauline thought and language has been suggested. Examples include: 1 Pet. 1.14 (συσχηματιζόμενοι . . .) and Rom. 12.2 (συσχηματίζεσθε . . .), the only two occurrences of this verb in the New Testament; 1 Pet. 2.24 (ἵνα ταῖς ἁμαρτίαις ἀπογενόμενοι τῇ δικαιοσύνῃ ζήσωμεν) and Rom. 6.11, 18 (νεκροὺς μὲν τῇ ἁμαρτία ζῶντας δὲ τῷ θεῷ . . . ἐλευθερωθέντες δὲ ἀπὸ τῆς ἁμαρτίας ἐδουλώθητε τῇ δικαιοσύνῃ).72 Both here and in other parallels we have considered, the fact that many of the suggested links are specifically with Romans is striking, though there are also close links with Ephesians,73 and with other New Testament writings (see below). Many recent authors suggest that the evidence is not such as to prove literary dependence,74 though, as we have seen, their notion of dependence is often defined in too simple and restrictive a way, requiring extensive, precise, and explicit borrowing, and failing to acknowledge the possibility of more subtle and creative forms of intertextual relationship. The extensive parallels we have seen in one key example from Romans (Rom. 13.1-7//1 Pet. 2.13-17) and one from Ephesians (Eph. 1.3-13//1 Pet. 1.3-9) are significant, and the hypothesis that 1 Peter shows the influence of Romans (and probably other Pauline letters, including Ephesians) seems highly plausible.75 Since Romans may be seen, to some extent at least, as synthesizing and consolidating key aspects of Pauline teaching76 – and the same may be said, mutatis mutandis, for Ephesians – the influence of these two letters in particular indicates a significant connection between 1 Peter and the Pauline tradition. 1.2.7.  A ‘Pauline’ Letter? Taken together the above observations lead to the conclusion that 1 Peter shows clear signs of awareness of and dependence upon Pauline language and tradition.77 In some cases the parallels may indicate shared use of common Christian tradition, but in others it is clear that, as far as our evidence allows us to see, the material is distinctively Pauline. There are too many points of contact, in terms both of specific words or phrases and of elements of theology or, to justify the view that 1 Peter is independent of Paul. See further, e.g., Brox, ‘Tradition’, 183–84. For the parallels with Ephesians see Mitton, Ephesians, 176–97. Cf. also Michaels, 1 Peter, xliii–xlv; Elliott, ‘Rehabilitation’, 246–47. Shimada, Studies, 57–99, offers a detailed critique of Mitton. 74 E.g. Shimada, Studies, 57–166; Elliott, 1 Peter, 22; Michaels, 1 Peter, xliii–xlv; Achtemeier, 1 Peter, 15–17. 75 The influence is sometimes explained by the Roman provenance of 1 Peter, which does indeed give a plausible explanation for the parallels with Romans (and also with 1 Clement, etc.), though given the rapid circulation of early Christian texts the parallels with Romans should probably not be given undue weight in ascertaining the provenance of 1 Peter (cf. Introduction, p. 5). Cf. Elliott, ‘Rehabilitation’, 247, who suggests that ‘the author of 1 Peter was dependent less on a letter of Paul than on a cherished document of the Roman community from which he wrote. The influence, then, would be more Roman than Pauline.’ Cf. also Elliott, ‘Roman Provenance’, 186 n. 5 (‘Numerous echoes of Paul’s letter to the Romans in 1 Peter .  .  .’); Elliott, 1 Peter, 37–38; Best, 1 Peter, 32–36. Nevertheless, what the Roman community cherished was, after all, a letter of Paul’s! 76 Cf. Bornkamm, Paul (London: Hodder & Stoughton, 1971), 88–96. 77 Even Elliott, who is concerned to detach 1 Peter from dependence on the Pauline tradition, acknowledges that ‘[i]‌t is possible, if not probable, that the Petrine author was familiar with one or more of Paul’s letters (esp. Romans)’ (Elliott, 1 Peter, 37). Elliott’s suggestion that the influence of Romans was not through ‘direct literary borrowing’ but only from Romans as a part of ‘the body of teaching and traditional exhortation collected at Rome’ (38) does not alter the fact that this is an indication of Pauline influence on 1 Peter (cf. also n. 75 above 72 73

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

1.3.  Non-Pauline Traditions in 1 Peter Even more than in the investigation of possible Pauline parallels, here I can present only a sample of the non-Pauline traditions in 1 Peter. However, an exhaustive survey is unnecessary to establish the conclusion relevant to the argument of this chapter, namely that 1 Peter draws on varied Christian traditions some of which are independent from the Pauline tradition. 1.3.1.  The Address to Diaspora Exiles While the epistolary frame of 1 Peter seems to reflect some indebtedness to the specifically Pauline letter tradition (see §1.2.1. above), the opening address of 1 Peter is by no means thoroughly Pauline. We have already mentioned that the verb πληθυνθείη, which concludes the otherwise Pauline greeting χάρις ὑμῖν καὶ εἰρήνη (1.2) seems to reflect a more Jewish(Christian) influence. This impression is further reinforced by the address ἐκλεκτοῖς παρεπιδήμοις διασπορᾶς (1.1) only the first word of which appears in the Pauline letters

Foster, ‘Literary Relations’, 376, for example, comments that ‘our author was not an original writer’, though was equally ‘no slavish copyist’. 79 See n. 66 above 80 Wehr, Petrus und Paulus, 200. 81 Wehr, Petrus und Paulus, 214. 82 Cf. the brief but convincing comments of Feldmeier, First Epistle of Peter, 27–28, with a critical but balanced assessment of Herzer’s work at n. 15. 78

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(and εκλεκτοί appears in a prescript only in Tit. 1.1).83 The description of the believers as παρεπίδημοι, and as πάροικοι (both terms are found in 2.11; cf. 1.17), quite apart from its overall significance for the strategy of 1 Peter,84 draws on a scriptural image and is closely paralleled in the New Testament in Heb. 11.13 (also in Acts 7.6, 29; Eph. 2.19). The distinctively Jewish term διασπορά is found elsewhere in the New Testament only in Jn 7.35 and Jas 1.1 (cf. e.g. LXX Deut. 28.25; 30.4; Ps. 146.2; Isa. 49.6; 2 Macc. 1.27). The opening address of the letter, then, seems to reflect a distinctive Jewish-Christian influence, alongside its evidently Pauline characteristics.85 1.3.2. Gospel Traditions There is some disagreement over the extent of 1 Peter’s knowledge and use of Gospel traditions. However, for the purposes of the present argument, substantial engagement with the debate is unnecessary. While I  remain unconvinced by those who see extensive parallels which point towards the authenticity of 1 Peter,86 the important points in the present context are uncontentious: 1 Peter does contain some clear allusions to the Gospel traditions,87 though, in common with virtually all early Christian epistles, it does not explicitly or clearly quote from them (contrast 2 Pet. 1.17-18).88 Whether the author knew of these traditions specifically as Jesus traditions or only as Christian paraenetical tradition is hard to determine. It is possible, moreover, that some of the teaching known to the author of 1 Peter was known to him via the Pauline tradition (cf. §1.2.4. above). But the author of 1 Peter’s knowledge of some Gospel traditions, independently of Paul, seems virtually certain. The clearest allusions in 1 Peter are to parts of the Sermon on the Mount – a point that should be noted in connection with the supposed connection between Peter and Mark (see below) – e.g. 1 Pet. 2.12 (Mt. 5.16); 1 Pet. 3.14 (Mt. 5.10); 1 Pet. 4.14 (Mt. 5.11-12). The parallels in vocabulary are particularly close in the makarisms:89 ἀλλ’ εἰ καὶ πάσχοιτε διὰ δικαιοσύνην, μακάριοι (1 Pet. 3.14) μακάριοι οἱ δεδιωγμένοι ἕνεκεν δικαιοσύνης (Mt. 5.10)

Herzer, Petrus oder Paulus?, 34, is therefore almost, but not quite, correct when he states in relation to these three terms: ‘Keiner dieser Begriffe findet sich in den Präskripten des Corpus Paulinum.’ 84 See further ­chapters 4 and 7 below. 85 On the parallels and similarities between 1 Peter and Jewish diaspora letters, see esp. Doering, ‘Diaspora Letter’. 86 E.g. Spicq, ‘Témoignage évangélique’; Robert H. Gundry, ‘ “Verba Christi” in 1 Peter: Their Implication concerning the Authorship of 1 Peter and the Authenticity of the Gospel Tradition’, NTS 13 (1967), 336–50; Robert H. Gundry, ‘Further Verba on Verba Christi in First Peter’, Bib 55 (1974), 211–32. Note the critical comments of Brox, ‘Tradition’, 187–90. 87 This is agreed by Ernest Best, ‘1 Peter and the Gospel Tradition’, NTS 16 (1970), 95–113, who takes issue with the arguments of Gundry, ‘Verba Christi’ (concerning the extent of Gospel allusions in 1 Peter and the conclusions to be drawn from these). For further discussion of the use of Gospel tradition in 1 Peter, see Gerhard Maier, ‘Jesustradition im 1.  Petrusbrief?’, in David wWnham (ed.), Gospel Perspectives, Vol 5:  The Jesus Tradition Outside the Gospels (Sheffield:  JSOT Press, 1985), 85–128; Rainer Metzner, Die Rezeption des Matthäusevangeliums im 1.  Petrusbrief (WUNT 2.74; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1995). 88 See further Michael B. Thompson, Clothed with Christ: The Example and Teaching of Jesus in Romans 12.1—15.13 (JSNTSup 59; Sheffield:  Sheffield Academic Press, 1991), 37–63. The eucharistic words (1 Cor. 11.23-25) are an exception, for obvious reasons, i.e. their liturgical use in Christian worship. 89 Cf. Wehr, Petrus und Paulus, 204, who sets out these same parallels. 83

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εἰ ὀνειδίζεσθε ἐν ὀνόματι Χριστοῦ, μακάριοι (1 Pet. 4.14) μακάριοι ἐστε ὅταν ὀνειδίσωσιν ὑμᾶς ... ἕνεκεν ἐμοῦ (Mt. 5.11) 1.3.3.  The Christological Interpretation of Isaiah 53 To discuss the influence of Isaiah 53 on New Testament Christology is to intrude into another area of continuing debate in which widely divergent positions are taken.90 Nevertheless, for our purposes here, the relevant conclusions are once again relatively uncontroversial. While Paul occasionally quotes from or alludes to parts of Isa. 52.13–53.12, the fourth so-called servant song (e.g. Rom. 4.25; 10.16; 15.21), this passage is hardly prominent in his christological reflection. On the other hand, its influence on 1 Pet. 2.21-25 is obvious and profound, with several phrases from Isaiah 53 directly quoted in this section of 1 Peter.91 Furthermore, important for 1 Peter’s Christology are the image of the spotless lamb whose blood was shed (1 Pet. 1.19), probably derived from Isa. 53.7 as well as from the Passover sacrifice, and the picture of the ‘sprinkling with the blood of Jesus Christ’ (1.2), again derived from the imagery of the Jewish sacrificial system (cf. Heb. 9.11-27; 12.24; Exod. 24.3-9; Numbers 19). These influences on 1 Peter distinguish its Christology from that of Paul, who refers only infrequently to the blood of Christ and only once in passing to Christ as τὸ πάσχα ἡμῶν and seems when he does so to be echoing tradition (1 Cor. 5.7; cf. Jn 1.29, 36; Acts 8.32).92 On the other hand, they link 1 Peter to those traditions of early Christianity that saw Christ’s death primarily in terms derived from the Jewish sacrificial system (cf. esp. Hebrews) and found in Isa. 52.13–53.12, an important source for christological reflection (cf. Acts 8.28-35). 1.3.4.  Shared Paraenesis in James and 1 Peter If it is clear that 1 Peter exhibits some close parallels with the Pauline letters, it is equally clear that there are some close parallels with James. Among a considerable number of parallels between James and 1 Peter probably the most extensive are found between 1 Pet. 5.5-9 and Jas 4.6-10:93 See, e.g., William H. Bellinger and William R. Farmer (eds), Jesus and the Suffering Servant: Isaiah 53 and Christian Origins (Harrisburg, PA: Trinity Press International, 1998). 91 See further Elliott, ‘Backward and Forward’; David G. Horrell, ‘Jesus Remembered in 1 Peter? Early Jesus Traditions, Isaiah 53, and 1 Pet. 2.21-25’, in Alicia J. Batten and John S. Kloppenborg (eds), Early Jesus Traditions in James and 1–2 Peter (LNTS; London and New York: T&T Clark, forthcoming) 92 Aside from eucharistic passages (1 Cor. 10.16; 11.25, 27) Paul mentions the blood of Christ only in Rom. 3.25 and 5.9. Cf. Herzer, Petrus oder Paulus?, 126–30. 93 Cf. also 1 Pet. 1.1//Jas 1.1; 1 Pet. 1.6-7//Jas 1.2-3; 1 Pet. 1.24//Jas 1.10-11; 1 Pet. 2.1-2//Jas 1.21. See further, e.g., Spicq, ‘Témoignage évangélique’, 38 n. 5; Brox, ‘Tradition’, 186; Matthias Konradt, ‘Der Jakobusbrief als Brief des Jakobus. Erwägungen zum historischen Kontext des Jakobusbriefes im Lichte der traditionsgeschichtlichen Beziehungen zum 1. Petrusbriefes und zum Hintergrund der Autorfiktion’, in Petra von Gemünden, Matthias Konradt, and Gerd Theissen, Der Jakobusbrief. Beiträge zur Rehabiliterung der “strohernen Epistel” (Beiträge zum Verstehen der Bibel 3; Münster: Lit, 2003), 16–53, 19–28; Matthias Konradt, ‘The Historical Context of the Letter of James in Light of its Traditio-Historical Relations with First Peter’, in Karl-Wilhelm Niebuhr and Robert W. Wall (eds), The Catholic Epistles and Apostolic Tradition (Waco, TX: Baylor University Press, 2009), 101–25, 403–25, 103–10; David R. Nienhuis, Not by Paul Alone: The Formation of the Catholic Epistle Collection and the Christian Canon (Waco, TX: Baylor University Press, 2007); David R.  Nienhuis, ‘The Letter of James as a Canon-Conscious Pseudepigraph’, in Niebuhr and Wall (eds), The Catholic Epistles and Apostolic Tradition, 183–200, 433–37. Nienhuis in particular develops the argument that there is a deliberate intertextual relationship between James and 1 Peter (and between James and the other letters 90

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James 4.6-10 (NRSV)

And all of you must clothe yourselves with humility in your dealings with one another, for ‘God opposes the proud, but gives grace to the humble’. Humble yourselves therefore under the mighty hand of God, so that he may exalt you in due time. Cast all your anxiety on him, because he cares for you. discipline yourselves, keep alert. Like a roaring lion your adversary the devil prowls around, looking for someone to devour. Resist him, steadfast in your faith, for you know that your brothers and sisters in all the world are undergoing the same kinds of suffering.

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

The crucial phrases in the Greek text are as follows: ὅτι [ὁ] θεὸς ὑπερηφάνοις ἀντιτάσσεται,

διὸ λέγει· ὁ θεὸς ὑπερηφάνοις

ταπεινοῖς δὲ δίδωσιν χάριν. [Prov. 3.34

ἀντιτάσσεται, ταπεινοῖς δὲ δίδωσιν

LXX]

χάριν.

ταπεινώθητε οὖν ὑπὸ τὴν χραταιὰν τοῦ θεοῦ,

ταπεινώθητε ἐνώπίον χυρίου,

ἵνα ὑμᾶς ὑψώσῃ ἐν καιρῷ

καὶ ὑψώσει ὑμᾶς.

ὁ . . . διάβολος . . . ᾧ ἀντίστητε

ἀντίστητε δὲ τῷ διαβόλῳ

The different order and precise content of the teaching in each epistle suggest that this is not an instance of explicit and extensive literary borrowing, so failing Shimada’s criteria for direct literary dependence.94 But as we have noted in the case of Pauline influence, such a set of criteria defines literary dependence in much too restrictive a way. Although a good deal of the overlap consists of the common quotation of scripture, it is notable not only that these are the only two quotations of Prov. 3.34 (LXX) in the New Testament (though note the allusion in Lk. 1.51), but also that both James and 1 Peter quote Prov. 3.34 with exactly the same variation from the LXX text.95 Both letters urge their readers to humble themselves before God, who will then exalt them (1 Pet. 5.6; Jas 4.10), and to resist the devil (1 Pet. 5.8-9; Jas 4.7). Although the idea of resisting the devil (by putting on the armour of God) is paralleled also in Ephesians (Eph. 6.11, 16), the similarities between James and 1 Peter in these verses are much closer, with a series of parallels unique to these two early Christian epistles. Whether the parallels are due to common dependence on established Christian teaching, as many suggest,96 or a more direct literary or textual relationship is hard to say. While in the Catholic Epistle collection), a relationship Nienhuis explains by proposing James as a second-century ‘canonconscious pseudepigraph’. 94 Shimada, Studies, 105. Cf n. 66 above. 95 Both have ὁ θεός in place of the LXX’s κύριος. 96 Cf., e.g., Michaels, 1 Peter, xliv; Goppelt, I Peter, 356; Elliott, 1 Peter, 23, 849. For a recent example of such a position, but arguing for a more specific connection between James and 1 Peter, see Konradt, ‘Jakobusbrief ’, 21; Konradt,

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the former position is the dominant contemporary view, it needs to be noted that it remains something of an argument from silence, given the lack of any explicit evidence for the supposed common stock of early Christian teaching which Carrington and Selwyn influentially sought to reconstruct. As with the issue of 1 Peter’s relation to the Pauline letters, scholars of an earlier generation tended to conclude that ‘a positive literary connexion exists between James and 1 Peter’, even if they disagreed about which letter had priority.97 More recently David Nienhuis has argued for literary dependence, in the form of a complex intertextual relationship between James and the other Catholic Epistles, with James as the latest letter in this collection, written in the second century in an attempt to complete a non-Pauline letter collection from the ‘pillar’ apostles (cf. Gal. 2.9) to counterbalance the weight and influence of the Pauline corpus.98 Whether Nienhuis’ thesis is found convincing or not – and it may be, for example, that the (sometimes somewhat subtle) intertextual links could reflect a different chronological ordering and direction of priority – the indications of a relationship between 1 Peter and James, whichever text has chronological priority, shows at least that 1 Peter contains traditions and teachings that are distinct from the Pauline tradition. 1.3.5.  Christological Creeds Three passages in 1 Peter are often thought to contain credal formulae, concise and rhythmic traditional expressions of the story of Christ’s saving work and subsequent exaltation:  1.18-21; 2.21-25; 3.18-22. It is notable that there is to some extent a logical sequence in these three passages, as they focus in turn on different phases in the ‘story’ of Christ: in 1.18-21 we read of Christ ‘destined before the foundation of the world’ (v. 20), in 2.21-25 of his suffering and passion, and in 3.18-22 of his having ‘gone into heaven . . . at the right hand of God’ (v. 22).99 It may be debated whether these sections contain traditional credal formulae, or whether in fact they are the author’s own work.100 The important point in the context of the present argument is that these traditions, while paralleled to some extent in the Pauline corpus (cf. esp. 1 Tim. 3.16; 2 Tim. 1.9-10; Tit. 2.14), do not represent specifically Pauline formulations. To the extent that they are traditional, they would seem to reflect a broader, common Christian confession, like the shared apostolic kerygma Paul cites in 1 Cor. 15.3-4.

‘Historical Context’, 105. Konradt sees 1 Peter and James as sharing common tradition from Antioch, and specifically from the Jewish- Christian side of the debate there (Konradt, ‘Jakobusbrief ’, 30–42; ‘Historical Context’, 111–17). It is questionable, however, whether such a view can adequately account for the Pauline elements of 1 Peter, and their entirely positive appropriation (cf. Konradt’s comments on this point: ‘Jakobusbrief ’, 39 with n. 119; ‘Historical Context’, 116 with n. 119). 97 Charles Bigg, A Critical and Exegetical Commentary on the Epistles of St. Peter and St. Jude (International Critical Commentary; Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1901), 23, who states that ‘there can be little doubt’ about this literary connection. For an early and thorough survey of the relevant texts and scholarly opinions, see Foster, ‘Literary Relations’, 508–18. Foster concludes that ‘James depends directly upon the first Epistle of Peter’ (518). 98 Nienhuis, Not by Paul. 99 Cf. Horrell, Peter and Jude, 69. 100 Achtemeier, 1 Peter, 126, 130–31, for example, is cautious about identifying traditional credal/liturgical material and is inclined to attribute such material to the author of the epistle.

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1.3.6.  A ‘Non-Pauline’ Letter? The investigation of non-Pauline traditions in 1 Peter has necessarily been selective and brief, but enough has hopefully been done to establish a relatively uncontroversial conclusion:  1 Peter draws on a wide range of Christian traditions.101 Some, as we saw in the previous section, are distinctively Pauline; in common with Paul without a distinctively Pauline origin being evident. These non-Pauline traditions in 1 Peter demonstrate the author of 1 Peter’s awareness of a wide range of early Christian material and also thereby indicate the inappropriateness of labelling 1 Peter ‘Pauline’. Other parallels might profitably have been investigated – for example, those with Hebrews, possibly explained by a common Roman provenance102  – but we have assembled sufficient material to be able to affirm the widespread view that 1 Peter is indeed an ‘epistle of tradition’, both Pauline and non-Pauline (cf. above n. 12). Unlike the letter of James, which seems to indicate some direct and polemical (or at least ‘corrective’) engagement with the Pauline tradition (Jas 2.14-24; cf. Rom. 3.27–4.22),103 it is notable, as Wehr points out, that the author of 1 Peter integrates these various early Christian traditions without perceiving tensions between them.104 This conclusion, however, should also be subject to an important qualification:  1 Peter is by no means merely a compilation of early Christian tradition, but rather a creative and distinctive letter into which a wide range of Christian traditions are incorporated.105 We have seen that scholarship on this subject has been somewhat preoccupied with the question about literary dependence, particularly evident in the shift from the view that 1 Peter exhibits clear signs of literary dependence on the Pauline letters, to the more recent view that it does not. Neither perspective is entirely satisfactory.

1.4.  From Literary (In)dependence to Intertextuality One way forward may be to adopt the terminology and approach of intertextuality. first coined by Julia Kristeva, drawing on the work of Mikhail Bakhtin, the concept is fundamentally opposed to the post-Enlightenment notion of the independent, creative, originating author,

For a more detailed recent survey, see Elliott, 1 Peter, 20–41, who concludes that ‘various forms of diverse traditions have been employed and combined by the Petrine author’ (37). Foster, ‘Literary Relations’, 371, makes the observation that 1 Peter ‘contains, in proportion to its size, perhaps more points of contact with other New Testament literature than any other book of the New Testament’. 102 For a Roman provenance for Hebrews see, e.g., Barnabas Lindars, The Theology of the Letter to the Hebrews (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1991), 17–18; cf. Heb. 13.24. 103 The date of James remains a matter of debate, and this clearly affects whether we see the letter as engaging with Paul, genuine Pauline letters, or the developing Pauline tradition. But the literary parallels (and contrasts) between James 2 and Romans 4 seem clearly to suggest some kind of critical relationship between the two perspectives. On the connections between James and Paul, see Nienhuis, Not by Paul, 113–17, 187–97, 215–24, 227–31; Nienhuis, ‘James’, 185–89. Nienhuis does not see James as polemically engaged with Paul, but rather as written to bring a corrective theological and canonical counterbalance to the Pauline letters, for readers for whom Paul was an acknowledged authority. For a concise overview of the issues, see Andrew Chester, ‘The Theology of James’, in Andrew Chester and Ralph P. Martin, The Theology of the Letters of James, Peter, and Jude (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1994), 1–62 (46–53). 104 Wehr, Petrus und Paulus, 213. Wehr goes on to draw conclusions about what this indicates about the Petrusbild reflected in this letter; on this topic, see §1.8 below. 105 Cf. Bovon, ‘Foi chrétienne’, who sets out the range of influences and traditional themes in 1 Peter, including Jewish and pagan as well as the predominant Christian traditions, while also pointing to the originality of the letter. 101

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stressing instead that all texts exist in a complex relation of repetition and difference from other texts: ‘every text is a mosaic of other texts’.106 The dictum of Charles Grivel – ‘Il n’est de texte que d’intertexte’ – represents a claim, so Heinrich Plett explains, ‘that no text exists in isolation but is always connected to a “universe of texts” . . . Whenever a new text comes into being it relates to previous texts and in its turn becomes the precursor of subsequent texts.’107 This applies to modern writers, despite the value placed on ‘originality’; but it is even more true of ancient writers, for whom imitation was a central and assumed part of the process of composition.108 Moreover, as Wolfgang Raible comments, in a study of the various forms that intertextuality may take, understanding a text – in commenting on it, paraphrasing it, and so on – inevitably assumes its recodifying (Umkodierung), not merely repetition.109 These basic assertions should be enough to demonstrate the inadequacy of any contrast between, say, the ‘creative’ Paul and the ‘compiler’ of traditions who wrote 1 Peter. Much of the work on intertextuality in biblical studies has been focused on the relationship between Old and New Testament texts,110 though in both Testaments, taken separately, there are also clear examples of texts with a close intertextual relationship, where one text is, in a sense a ‘rewritten’ version of the other (Samuel-Kings/Chronicles; Colossians/Ephesians; 2 Peter/Jude).111 With regard to the New Testament epistles in particular, Thomas Brodie has spoken of their ‘triple intertextuality’: ‘Most epistles have at least three types of literary connection: with the Old Testament; with other epistles; and with the gospels.’112 One need not accept either Brodie’s specific literary proposals113 or the idea that this necessarily characterizes all the New Testament epistles to the same extent in order to agree that this

Susanne Gillmayr-Bucher, ‘Intertextuality: Between Literary Theory and Text Analysis’, in Thomas L. Brodie, Dennis R.  MacDonald, and Stanley E.  Porter (eds), The Intertextuality of the Epistles:  Explorations of Theory and Practice (Sheffield: Phoenix, 2006), 13–23 (14). 107 Heinrich F. Plett, ‘Intertextualities’, in Heinrich F. Plett (ed.), Intertextuality (Research in Text Theory/Untersuchungen zur Texttheorie 15; Berlin and New York: De Gruyter, 1991), 3–29 (17). Cf. Gary A. Phillips, ‘Sign/Text/Différance: The Contribution of Intertextual Theory to Biblical Criticism’, in Plett (ed.), Intertextuality, 78–97 (93): ‘Every text is to be viewed as always already bound up within a systemic differentiating relationship with other texts, readings, readers, woven in Peirce’s terms as sign to sign. One text defers, differs from, is differentiated from another. In viewing every text as a supplement, as writing, as sign, the reader’s individualizing, authorizing voice disappears in favor of the effects of difference and the process of differentiation . . .’ 108 On the ancient practices of imitation in writing, see Thomas L. Brodie, The Birthing of the New Testament:  The Intertextual Development of the New Testament Writings (New Testament Monographs 1; Sheffield:  Phoenix, 2004), 3–17. 109 Wolfgang Raible, ‘Arten des Kommentierens  – Arten der Sinnbildung  – Arten des Verstehens’, in Jan Assmann and Burkhard Gladigow (eds), Text und Kommentar: Archäologie der literarischen Kommunikation IV (Munich: Fink, 1995), 51–73. 110 For a useful introduction see Steve Moyise, ‘Intertextuality and the Study of the Old Testament in the New Testament’, in Steve Moyise (ed.), The Old Testament in the New Testament: Essays in Honour of J.L. North (JSNTSup 189; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 2000), 14–41. 111 Cf. Brodie, Birthing, 23–30. 112 Brodie, Birthing, 585. For discussion of this ‘triple intertextuality’ see 585–94 and, presenting very similar material, Thomas L. Brodie, ‘The Triple Intertextuality of the Epistles’, in Thomas L. Brodie, Dennis R. MacDonald, and Stanley E. Porter (eds), The Intertextuality of the Epistles: Explorations of Theory and Practice (New Testament Monographs 16; Sheffield: Phoenix, 2006), 71–89. A collection of essays on this topic is found in this edited volume. 113 For example, his proposal that there is a close relationship between Mk 10.1-45 and 1 Pet. 2.18–3.17, such that ‘Mark systematically distilled the text of 1 Peter’ (Brodie, Birthing, 195) seems to me highly implausible, building far too much on rather loose (and differently ordered) thematic connections. His wider thesis about a Proto-Luke as the basis for the New Testament also seems unlikely to convince many. 106

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

1.5.  A Petrine Tradition from a Petrine Circle? One can say for sure that, if our ‘letter’ [sc. 1 Peter] lacked the first word Peter, no one would have come to suppose that it was written by Peter . . . It would be much easier to believe that it was written by Paul.117 Adolf Jülicher and Erich Fascher’s assertion raises a still pertinent question, even though the range of traditions and materials in the letter prevents our accepting the suggestion that 1 Peter is characteristically Pauline:  is there anything other than the name Πέτρος (1.1) that marks it out as specifically Petrine? The name Πέτρος is not of course to be lightly dismissed as insignificant to the letter’s interpretation, but for the moment I leave it aside to focus on the content of the letter.

See, e.g., William L. Schutter, Hermeneutic and Composition in 1 Peter (WUNT 2.30; Tübingen:  Mohr Siebeck, 1989); Sue Woan, ‘The Psalms in 1 Peter’, in Steve Moyise and Maarten J. J. Menken (eds), The Psalms in the New Testament (London and New York: T&T Clark, 2004), 213–29. On the similar quotations used in Rom. 9.33 and 1 Pet. 2.6-10, see Berger, Theologiegeschichte, 421–22. Again, there are both striking similarities and significant differences between 1 Peter and Romans. 115 See Introduction, p. 5 with n. 6. 116 On this, see the recent essay of Doering, ‘Apostle’; also Smith, Petrine Controversies, 150–56. 117 Adolf Jülicher and Erich Fascher, Einleitung in das Neue Testament (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1931), 192–93, quoted in part by Brox, ‘Pseudepigraphischen Rahmung’, 78. Cf. also Beare, First Epistle of Peter, 44: ‘It is certainly true that if the name “Peter” did not stand at the head of the Epistle, it would never have occurred to anyone to suggest him as the author.’ 114

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In the body of the letter, there is little evidence which could indicate a distinctively Petrine tradition. One might point to the prominence of ‘rock’ imagery in 2.4-8 and relate this to Jesus’ recorded naming of Simon as ‘rock’ (πέτρα) in Mt. 16.18 (cf. Jn 1.42).118 However, quite apart from the fact that the word in 1 Pet. 2.4-8 is λίθος, except in 2.8, where Isa. 8.14 (LXX) is quoted, the ‘stone’ texts which form the basis of 1 Peter’s exegesis here (Ps. 117.22 [LXX]; Isa. 8.14; 28.16) were used elsewhere and recognized as important texts for early Christian reflection.119 Indeed, it is significant to note that the two Isaiah texts are linked already in Rom. 9.33. The exhortation to the elders to ‘shepherd the flock’ (ποιμάνατε τὸ ἐν ὑμῖν ποίμνιον τοῦ θεοῦ; 5.2), given by one who is described as συμπρεσβύτερος καὶ μάρτυς τῶν τοῦ Χριστοῦ παθημάτων (5.1), might also be taken to indicate a specific connection with Peter (cf. Jn 21.16). However, with regard to the shepherd imagery, the tradition of Jesus urging Peter to shepherd his sheep (Jn 21.16), along with the imagery of Jesus as the Good Shepherd (Jn 10.1-18), is found only in John’s Gospel, so whether or not it is authentic it is clearly a tradition known and preserved within Johannine circles and therefore does not indicate 1 Peter’s production by a specifically Petrine circle, a point to which we shall return.120 Moreover, the use of the imagery of shepherd and sheep to describe pastoral leadership is rooted in scripture (Ezek. 34.1-31) and so can hardly with confidence be regarded as the specific imagery or tradition of a Petrine group. Indeed, a close parallel to the exhortation in 1 Pet. 5.2 is found in Acts 20.28, where the departing Paul (!) addresses the elders of the Ephesian church. With regard to the description of ‘Peter’ in 5.1, there are no grounds on which to associate the term πρεσβύτερος specifically with Peter121 and many commentators agree that the reference to Peter as μάρτυς is meant not in the sense of someone who was with Jesus and who watched his painful death (which in any case, according to the Synoptics, Peter did not)122 but of someone who bears witness to, who proclaims, Christ’s suffering and death (cf. 1.1012) and who follows in his footsteps in suffering, perhaps even (as the term came to imply) to martyrdom (2.21; 4.13).123 Hence ‘Peter’ is presented as a co-elder and witness, sharing a Cf. Spicq, ‘Témoignage évangélique’, 56–61; further Gundry, ‘Verba Christi’. On the use of ‫ כיפא‬in Aramaic to mean ‘rock’, in relation to Peter’s name, see Doering, ‘Apostle’, 650–52; Martin Hengel, Saint Peter: The Underestimated Apostle (Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 2010), 14–28. 119 See Mk 12.10-11, quoting Ps. 117.22-23 (par. Mt. 21.42-44; Lk. 20.17-18. Allusions to Isa. 8.14 are also added in Matthew and Luke’s accounts, if Mt. 21.44 is original); Rom. 9.32-33; 10.11. See further John H. Elliott, The Elect and the Holy: An Exegetical Examination of 1 Peter 2:4-10 and the Phrase basileion hierateuma (NovTSup, 12; Leiden: Brill, 1966); Richard J. Bauckham, ‘James, 1 and 2 Peter, Jude’, in Don A. Carson and Hugh G. M. Williamson (eds), It is Written: Scripture Citing Scripture (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1988), 303–17 (309–13). 120 We may therefore accept Doering’s point that this image contributes to the Petrusbild constructed in the letter, while maintaining that the imagery does not imply the existence of a distinctively ‘Petrine’ circle responsible for its production: ‘the letter thus indirectly constructs the image of Peter as shepherd that also appears in John 21:15-17, but due to the post-Easter standing of Peter was perhaps more widespread in early Christian tradition’ (Doering, ‘Apostle’, 657). 121 It is of course widely used in a range of New Testament writings to refer to Christian leaders (Acts, James, Pastorals, 2–3 John); see R. Alastair Campbell, The Elders: Seniority within Earliest Christianity (SNTW; Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1994). Again, this is not to deny that the depiction of the author as συμπρεσβύτερος contributes to the constructed image of the author, and thus to the Petrusbild, so Doering, ‘Apostle’, 652–56. 122 So Smith, Petrine Controversies, 154; Achtemeier, 1 Peter, 323. 123 See, e.g., Angelika Reichert, Eine Urchristliche praeparatio ad martyrium: Studien zur Komposition, Traditionsgeschichte und Theologie des 1. Petrusbriefes (BBET 22; Frankfurt: Lang, 1989), 541–44; Smith, Petrine Controversies, 154–55; Doering, ‘Apostle’, 658–61; Bony, Première épître de Pierre, 11–12, 172, who notes the contrast between ‘eye witness’ 118

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‘common bond’ with those elders who are here addressed,124 though his status is also one of authority (ἀπόστολος) and honour (as μάρτυς).125 The key point in the context of the present argument is that this depiction of ‘Peter’ is made in terms available to early Christian groups generally and does not indicate the preservation of a distinctively Petrine tradition nor imply the existence of a specifically ‘Petrine’ circle.126 The argument that 1 Peter represents a specifically Petrine tradition is severely limited not least by lack of evidence.127 Aside from 1 and 2 Peter – which may or may not convey anything specifically Petrine but which are in any case very different from one another – we know very little about any distinctively ‘Petrine’ formulation of the gospel.128 Moreover, what we do know – Peter’s role as apostle to the Jews (Gal. 2.7), his siding with the people from James at Antioch (Gal. 2.11-14), etc. – has no significant bearing on the content of 1 Peter, which simply applies to (predominantly) gentile Christians129 exclusively Jewish identity descriptions (2.9, etc.) without giving any indication that the extent of obedience to Jewish law and relations between Jewish and gentile Christians are contentious issues.130 From the Gospels we know of Peter’s prominence as a disciple of Jesus, and also of his increasing authority as a leader within the Christian churches (Mt. 16.18-19; Jn 21.15-19). But evidence from Matthew and John  – which appear to represent two distinct strands of early Christianity  – about the high regard for Peter as leader of the Christian movement does not demonstrate the existence of a Petrine circle which preserved traditions about Peter and promoted his distinctive teaching. On the contrary, it demonstrates Peter’s increasing prominence within Christian circles generally (see further below). The pseudo-Petrine literature also supports this view, rather than the idea of a specifically Petrine group or school; certainly this literature shows little if any specific connection with 1 Peter.131 Indeed, in a thorough study of ‘the Peter writings’  – that is, those texts attributed to Peter (1–2 Peter, GosPet, ApocPet) – David Schmidt concludes that ‘[t]‌here is no internal evidence to tie these

(αὐτόπτης, Lk. 1.2) and ‘martyr-witness’ (‘témoin-martyr’, μάρτυς, Rev. 2.13). If Peter’s status as martyr is in view here, this obviously has implications for the letter’s authorship, helpfully discussed on this point by Reichert (543), Bony (12–13), and Doering (660–61). 124 Cf., e.g., Michaels, 1 Peter, 277–81; Achtemeier, 1 Peter, 323–24; J. N. D. Kelly, A Commentary on the Epistles of Peter and Jude (BNTC; London: A & C Black, 1969), 198–99; Brox, Petrusbrief, 229–30. Otherwise Beare, First Epistle of Peter, 198, who sees 5.1 as ‘[t]‌he only attempt in the body of the letter to bring forward the personal status of Peter’ with a ‘mockmodesty’ that swiftly moves to emphasize Peter’s unique position and eminence. 125 Cf. Doering, ‘Apostle’, 656, who speaks of ‘a mixture of authority and collegiality in the Peter image developed in first Peter’; also Smith, Petrine Controversies, 154–55, who comments that as μάρτυς ‘Peter is ideally suitable to provide the readers with an example of how they should behave in the persecution/suffering situation.’ In this way, ‘the appeal to the Peter-figure in 1 Peter is vitally related to the characteristic themes and subject-matter of the letter’. 126 Pace Knoch, ‘Petrusschule’. 127 Cf. Black, Mark, 64. 128 Cf. Norbert Brox, ‘Tendenz und Pseudepigraphie im ersten Petrusbrief ’, Kairos 20 (1978), 110–20 (114):  ‘Wir kennen keine Originalurkunden authentischer petrinscher Theologie.’ 129 The (predominantly) gentile audience is indicated in 1.14, 18; 2.10; 3.6; 4.3-4. See further §4.4.2. 130 This is one of the arguments in favour of the letter’s pseudonymity: not only is the specific focus of the historical Peter no longer evident, but the consciousness of ‘Christian’ identity (cf. 4.16) seems to have moved beyond that of the period in which Paul and Peter were alive. Cf. feldmeier, First Epistle of Peter, 35. 131 Cf. Richard J. Bauckham, ‘The Apocalypse of Peter: An Account of Research’, ANRW 2.25.6 (1988), 4712–50 (4724), who notes that the Apocalypse of Peter reflects knowledge of 2 Peter and Matthew; Lapham, Peter, 246. On the pseudoPetrine literature, see the overview in Pheme Perkins, Peter: Apostle for the Whole Church (Columbia, SC: University of South Carolina Press, 1994), 131–67 and the detailed studies in Lapham, Peter.

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four pseudo-Petrine writings together. In fact, there is almost no evidence to link any two or three together,’ with 2 Peter and the Apocalypse of Peter as the possible exceptions.132 Furthermore, in terms of external evidence concerning date and locale, evidence for close relationships is lacking.133 ‘Thus,’ Schmidt concludes, ‘the suggestion that the Peter writings may reflect a common school of disciples or followers of Peter, such as an Isaiah school, does not seem acceptable.134 In Acts we do have records of speeches and sermons of Peter, which could conceivably contribute to the recovery of a distinctively Petrine theology. But the closest parallels between Acts and 1 Peter are not found specifically in the places in Acts where Peter’s voice is recorded (e.g. Acts 20.28//1 Pet. 5.2) and the speeches in Acts reflect Lukan theology as much as that of their speakers. Any parallels with 1 Peter are likely to reflect either the common use of early Christian kerygma and tradition or a common outlook shared by both Luke and the author of 1 Peter.135 In view of all this it must be acknowledged that we have little evidence revealing any distinctive or particular way in which Peter formulated the Christian Gospel, and even the little evidence there is gives us no firm reasons to conclude that 1 Peter has a distinctively Petrine character.136 Nor does there appear to be any substantial evidence to link various texts, even the texts attributed to Peter, together as products of the supposed Petrine circle. If 1 Peter were authentic, then it would of course constitute a unique piece of evidence for precisely such a ‘Petrine’ formulation of Christian theology.137 However, if on other grounds 1 Peter is thought to be pseudonymous, then the body of the letter gives us no grounds on which to say that it is ‘the product of a Petrine tradition transmitted by Petrine tradents of a Petrine circle’.138 Evidence for such a judgement, and for the existence of such a circle, could only be found, then, in connection with the names found in the letter – Silvanus, Mark, and, of course, Peter – to which we now turn.

David Henry Schmidt, ‘The Peter Writings:  Their Redactors and their Relationships’, PhD thesis (Evanston, IL: Northwestern University, 1972), 191. 133 Schmidt, ‘Peter Writings’, 198–99. 134 Schmidt, ‘Peter writings’, 200. Cf. also Smith, Petrine Controversies, 62–64; Brox, ‘Pseudepigraphie’, 115. 135 Cf. Smith, Petrine Controversies, 151–52; Black, Mark, 64–65. As Black points out, ‘many of the formal similarities between Peter’s address in Acts 15:7-11 and 1 Peter, delineated by Elliott, are replicated in other speeches in Acts, not all of which are delivered by Peter’. Black refers here to Elliott, ‘Peter, Silvanus and Mark’, 264 n. 31. 136 Cf. Norbert Brox, ‘Situation und Sprache der Minderheit im ersten Petrusbrief ’, Kairos 19 (1977), 1–13, 3; Brox, ‘Pseudepigraphie’, 114–15, who argues that apart from the name Peter there is nothing distinctively Petrine about the content of 1 Peter. It is not insignificant that 1 Peter plays very little role, partly due to the debate about authenticity, in the recent studies of the person of Peter (and Petrine theology) by Hengel, Saint Peter (see 86–89 on ‘Petrine theology’) and Markus Bockmuehl, The Remembered Peter in Ancient Reception and Modern Debate (WUNT 262; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2010) (most of whose references to 1 Peter come on p. 203). 137 For this reason at least, arguments over authenticity are significant. Elliott, ‘Peter, Silvanus and Mark’ (cf. also Elliott, 1 Peter, 130) offers his Petrine circle theory as a means of somewhat circumventing the debate about authorship – it is pseudonymous but nevertheless represents genuinely and specifically Petrine material – but this is successful only if we grant his argument that the letter reflects Petrine traditions preserved by a Petrine circle, precisely the point at issue here. 138 Elliott, ‘Rehabilitation’, 248. Cf. the comment of Schmeller, Schulen, 30: ‘der Brief [sc. 1 Peter] selbst enthält jedenfalls keine Hinweise auf die bewußte Pflege einer Tradition, die auf eine bestimmte Größe der Vergangenheit zurückgeht. Um die Annahme einer petrinischen Tradition wahrscheinlich zu machen, wären deshalb weitere Dokumente aus demselben Traditionsstrom unverzichtbar.’ 132

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1.6.  The Names in 1 Peter: Silvanus and Mark Elliott claims that 1 Peter ‘is the product not of a single individual but of a group of which Peter, Silvanus and Mark were chief representatives’.139 The names in 1 Peter are, for Elliott, a crucial part of the evidence to support the theory of 1 Peter’s production by a Petrine circle:  ‘The explicit naming of Silvanus and Mark in 1 Pet. 5:12-13 makes sense if they were actually intimate colleagues of the Apostle Peter and associated with the composition and dispatch of the letter in Peter’s name.’140 While Elliott considers that Peter was already dead by the time of the letter’s composition (which he dates to 73–92 ce), he seems to regard Silvanus and Mark as active and involved in the letter’s ‘composition and dispatch’.141 Others are more inclined to see Silvanus and Mark as part of the fiction of pseudonymity.142 This particular disagreement need not detain us here. As Elliott comments elsewhere, ‘[e]‌ven if all three names be conceded to have been part of the fiction of pseudepigraphy  – a large concession for which there is no evidence or necessity – the significance of the names for the addressees would remain’.143 Moreover, the names indicate something about the production and intentions of the letter, whether the names mentioned are historical or fictional in terms of their involvement in it. In his commentary, Elliott offers seven reasons in support of the ‘Petrine group’ theory.144 The first two are based on the observation – rooted both in New Testament evidence and in what is sociologically ‘likely’ – that ‘Peter, like Paul and others, worked in groups or teams.’145 While this observation is true, it does not by any means establish that, by the time of 1 Peter’s writing, there was a distinctively Petrine group (in Rome, where Elliott locates 1 Peter) – which is, of course, the crucial point. The remaining five points are all based upon the naming of Silvanus and Mark, whom Elliott regards as ‘actually intimate colleagues of the Apostle Peter’.146 While Elliott is right that there is evidence in Acts to link Peter, Silvanus, and Mark, as we shall see below, the evidence does not establish any strong link, especially in the case of Mark. Moreover, what we do know of Silvanus and Mark would suggest that their links were both with Peter/Jerusalem and with Paul, thus undermining Elliott’s claim that the collaborative character of the early Christian mission implies the existence of a distinctively Petrine group, which is the point at issue. There is obviously no doubt that the naming of the author of the letter as Peter serves to connect the document specifically with that apostle and thus claims his authority for the teaching sent in his name. If the letter is neither authentically by Peter, nor specifically Petrine in content and origins, then some plausible explanation is needed as to why it was written in his name. An attempt at such an explanation will be offered below (§1.8). What is necessary Elliott, ‘Peter, Silvanus and Mark’, 250; cf. Elliott 1 Peter, 127–30, 889–90; Senior,1 & 2 Peter, xiv–xv. Elliott, 1 Peter, 128. Feldmeier, First Epistle of Peter, 38–39, 253–55, cautiously supports such an idea. Cf. also Knoch, ‘Petrusschule’, 116. 141 Cf. Elliott, 1 Peter, 90–91 (delivery of the letter by Silvanus), 134–38 (on date), 889. 142 E.g., Beare, First Epistle of Peter, 50: ‘The mention of Mark and Silvanus, and also of Babylon, has no significance except as part of the device of pseudonymity’; cf. also 208–209. Note also the comment of Holloway, Coping with Prejudice, 19, who regards the idea ‘that the aged Silvanus showed up with a letter from Peter decades after the latter’s famous demise’ as ‘patently untenable’ on the assumption of the letter’s pseudonymity. 143 Elliott, ‘Peter, Silvanus and Mark’, 264. 144 Elliott, 1 Peter, 127–29. 145 Elliott, 1 Peter, 128. 146 Elliott, 1 Peter, 128. 139 140

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here is to see first whether the names Silvanus and Mark add any weight to the idea that the letter originated in a Petrine circle.147 It is widely agreed that the Silvanus mentioned in 1 Pet. 5.12 is to be identified with the Silas/Silvanus known from the book of Acts and the letters of Paul.148 According to Acts, Silas travelled to Antioch, along with others, bearing the apostles’ letter after the Jerusalem council (Acts 15.22-35) and subsequently became a co-worker of Paul’s (Acts 15.40–18.5). Paul refers to him, along with Timothy, as a co-author of 1 Thessalonians (1 Thess. 1.1; cf. 2 Thess. 1.1) and co-founder of the Corinthian church (2 Cor. 1.19). His mention in 1 Peter may therefore be seen as a further indication, and perhaps explanation (if Silvanus was involved in co-writing the letter), of the Pauline influences upon 1 Peter. Silvanus has featured prominently in discussions of 1 Peter’s authenticity, the reference to the letter having been written διά Σιλουανοῦ being taken to indicate his role as secretary.149 More recently, however, authors such as Norbert Brox, Elliott, Herzer, and others have pointed to the links between Silvanus and Peter. If, as seems most likely, the phrase διὰ Σιλουανοῦ describes Silvanus as the bearer, rather than the writer, of the letter150 then the parallel with Acts 15.22-23 is significant:  there Silvanus (along with Barsabbas)  – ἄνδρας ἡγουμένους ἐν τοῖς ἀδελφοῖς – is sent from the Jerusalem congregation to deliver a letter from the Jerusalem apostles (most notably, Peter and James) to the gentile believers in Antioch, Syria, and Cilicia.151 Whether the reference to Silvanus in 1 Peter is historical or part of the pseudepigraphical construction, it might signify to the addressees the idea that a Petrine representative is again delivering a Petrine letter to gentile churches. However, a number of counter-points also need to be given due consideration. Silvanus’ link specifically with Peter is hardly strong: the apostolic letter he delivers is sent from the leaders It is possible that another (female) individual – ἡ ἐν Βαβυλῶνι συνεκλεκτή – sends greetings along with Mark in 5.12. However, most commentators agree that the reference is almost certainly collective – perhaps with ἐκκλησία, or even ἀδελφότης as the implied noun – rather than to a specific woman, such as Peter’s wife; so, e.g., Brox, Petrusbrief, 247; Beare, First Epistle of Peter, 210. Otherwise Elliott, Home, 272, who suggests that ‘an unnamed Christian “sister” ’ is in view here, though he more recently argues for a corporate reference, specifically to the ‘brotherhood’ (αδελφότης) (Elliott, 1 Peter, 880–82). Judith K. Applegate, ‘The Co-Elect Woman of 1 Peter’, in Amy-Jill Levine and Maria Mayo Robbins (eds), A Feminist Companion to the Catholic Epistles and Hebrews (London and New York: T&T Clark, 2004), 89–102, argues that a specific woman is in view. 148 Achtemeier, 1 Peter, 351, however, suggests that he may simply be another Silvanus, otherwise unknown to us, who was entrusted with the delivery of the letter. If this were the case, then we would have no other evidence with which to link Silvanus to any particular circle, Petrine or Pauline. 149 A case argued especially by Selwyn, First Epistle, who defended the authenticity of the epistle by arguing for Silvanus’ role as Peter’s secretary, suggesting that some of the problems traditionally associated with Petrine authorship (e.g. the quality of the Greek, the Pauline influences, etc.) could thus be overcome. Note the criticisms of Beare, First Epistle of Peter, 212–16. For a recent defence of the reference to Silvanus as indicating a role as secretary/writer, see Torrey Seland, Strangers in the Light: Philonic Perspectives on Christian Identity in 1 Peter (Biblical Interpretation 76; Leiden: Brill, 2005), 9–37. Thomas Söding, ‘Grüße aus Rom. Die Stellung des Ersten Petrusbriefes in der Geschichte des Urchristentums und im Kanon’, in Thomas Söding (ed.), Hoffnung in Bedrängnis. Studien zum Ersten Petrusbrief (Stuttgarter Bibelstudien 216; Stuttgart: Katholisches Bibelwerk, 2009), 11–45 (16–17), also takes Silvanus to be the real author of the letter, even with a date perhaps in the 70s ce (see 18–19). 150 See, e.g., the convincing arguments of Brox, ‘Pseudepigraphischen Rahmung’, 83–90; Achtemeier, 1 Peter, 350–51; E. Randolph Richards, ‘Silvanus Was Not Peter’s Secretary: Theological Bias in Interpreting διά Σιλουανου . . . ἔγραψα in 1 Peter 5:12’, JETS 43 (2000), 417–32. On the practice and function of letter-carrying, see Peter M. Head, ‘Named Letter-Carriers among the Oxyrhynchus Papyri’, JSNT 31 (2009), 279–99. 151 Cf. Brox, ‘Pseudepigraphischen Rahmung’, 89–90; Elliott, ‘Peter, Silvanus and Mark’, 262–63; Herzer, Petrus oder Paulus?, 69–71. Brox, it should be noted, does not see this evidence as supporting a Petrine circle origin for 1 Peter, but draws rather different conclusions (see below). 147

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of the Jerusalem church and not solely from Peter (Acts 15.22); both Silas and Barsabbas are sent as representatives from the Jerusalem church; and they travel with Paul and Barnabas back to Antioch (i.e. a party of four departs with the letter). Moreover, Silas/Silvanus is more prominent as a companion and fellow missionary of Paul’s (Acts 15.40–18.5; 2 Cor. 1.19; 1 Thess. 1.1; 2 Thess. 1.1). If Silvanus has links with Peter, then, through his prominent position in the Jerusalem congregation (and this should not be denied), he also has strong – indeed, rather stronger  – links with Paul. There is really no basis for the view that Silvanus was a member of a specifically Petrine group in Rome, aside from his mention in 1 Peter. The case of Mark is broadly similar. The Mark of 1 Pet. 5.13 is generally identified with the (John) Mark known both from Acts and the Pauline letters. The description of Mark in 1 Peter as ὁ υἱός μου suggests a close and affectionate relationship between Peter and a more junior Christian, possibly one converted by Peter. However, in the New Testament there is only one indirect piece of evidence to link the two: in Acts 12.12, on his miraculous release from prison, Peter goes to the house of Mary, the mother of John Mark.152 Mark at this time was away from Jerusalem, which seems to have been his home base (cf. Acts 13.13), probably in Antioch with Barnabas and Paul (cf. Acts 11.30; 12.25). Mark also joined Paul and Barnabas on a missionary journey, though only as far as Perga in Pamphylia (Acts 13.13). According to Luke, when Barnabas later wished to take Mark on another mission journey, Paul resisted the idea of joining again with the one who had previously left them, and disagreed with Barnabas to the extent that they went their separate ways, Paul with Silas, Barnabas with Mark (Acts 15.36-40).153 From Philemon 24, assuming that the Mark there named is the same person, it seems that Mark was subsequently active once again among Paul’s co-workers, an impression reinforced by his positive mention in Col. 4.10 and 2 Tim. 4.11. Thus, evidence for Mark’s connection with Peter is slim and tenuous, while his links with Paul and the Pauline mission are significantly more extensive. An important and oft-cited reference connecting Peter and Mark is of course the somewhat later report of Papias, recorded by Eusebius, that Mark ‘followed Peter’, became Peter’s interpreter (ἑρμηνευτής), and ‘wrote accurately all that he remembered, not, indeed, in order, of the things said or done by the Lord’ (HE 3.39.15; cf. 2.15.1-2). The historicity of these remarks is certainly not beyond doubt, and it has been suggested that the connection of Peter with Mark has simply been derived from 1 Pet. 5.13.154 But even if Papias is right to record a connection between Peter and Mark, that hardly proves the existence of a Petrine ‘circle’ responsible for 1 Peter. There may be similarities to be noted between the Gospel of Mark and 1 Peter,155 but there are also features of Mark which suggest that it is in some ways Cf. Brox, ‘Pseudepigraphischen Rahmung’, 90; Elliott, ‘Peter, Silvanus and Mark’, 260. The (indirect) link is missed by Black, Mark, 65: ‘it is only at 1 Peter 5:13 that a connection is established in the New Testament between Mark and Peter’. See further U. H. J. Körtner, ‘Markus der Mitarbeiter des Petrus’, ZNW 71 (1980), 160–73 (162–72), who concludes that it is unlikely that Mark was actually a co-worker of Peter’s (171). 153 On these details, see Elliott, ‘Peter, Silvanus and Mark’, 260. 154 Philipp Vielhauer, Geschichte der urchristlichen Literatur:  Einleitung in das Neue Testament, die Apokryphen und die Apostolischen Vater (Berlin and New York: de Gruyter, 1975), 260–61. In Vielhauer’s opinion, the ‘Papiasnotiz’ concerning the link between Peter and Mark is ‘historisch wertlos’ (261). For a recent defence of the value of Papias’ comment, see Hengel, Saint Peter, 46 (and more generally on Peter’s influence on the Gospel of Mark, 36–48). 155 See, e.g., David L. Dungan, ‘The Purpose and Provenance of the Gospel of Mark according to the “Two-Gospel” (Griesbach) Hypothesis’, in Bruce Corley (ed.), Colloquy on New Testament Studies: A Time for Reappraisal and Fresh Approaches (Macon, GA: Mercer University Press, 1983), 133–56; Elliott, ‘Backward and Forward’, 195–97; Brodie, 152

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a ‘Pauline’ Gospel.156 As in the case of 1 Peter, the most plausible answer to the question of Pauline or Petrine influence may be not either/or, but both/and. One particular problem for the view that both Mark and 1 Peter represent the Petrine traditions of a Petrine circle is that the Gospel traditions most clearly echoed in 1 Peter – those from the Sermon on the Mount – are not found in Mark!157 So Mark’s Gospel and 1 Peter can hardly both be regarded as literary products of the same distinctive (Petrine) circle. Clifton Black is therefore right to conclude that the names Silvanus and Mark are unlikely to have been ‘originally regarded as paradigmatic of Petrine Christianity . . . it appears much more probable that Mark, like Silvanus, was remembered in rather minor though consistently positive association with the Pauline tradition’.158 The names Silvanus and Mark cannot substantiate the idea of a specifically Petrine circle in Rome, a group whose Petrine theology is recorded in 1 Peter.159 The names in 1 Peter may or may not be part of the pseudepigraphical construction of the epistle, but either way, if the ‘group’ they represent is responsible for the letter it is a group which has links with Paul and the Pauline tradition as much as with Peter, and which may be better labelled ‘early Christian’ than ‘Petrine’.

1.7.  First Peter as the Product of an Early Christian Synthesis? We may begin to draw the argument of this chapter together and attempt to reach some conclusions concerning the character of 1 Peter and its place in early Christian history. 1 Peter shows the influence of Paul and the Pauline tradition, but is not a ‘Pauline’ letter; it also draws on other strands of early Christian tradition and exhibits its own distinctive character.160 Neither the content of 1 Peter nor the names mentioned in it (except that of Peter himself) can provide sufficient evidence to support the idea that 1 Peter represents a specifically Petrine tradition preserved and recorded by a Petrine circle or school. On the contrary, both the content of Birthing, 189–95. On the other hand, just as many suggest that without the name ‘Peter’ no one would have thought to connect 1 Peter with the apostle Peter, so Vielhauer suggests that: ‘ohne die Papiasnotiz käme niemand auf die Idee, im MkEv persönliche Erinnerungen des Petrus zu suchen und zu finden’ (Vielhauer, Geschichte, 260). 156 See, e.g., Joel Marcus, ‘Mark – Interpreter of Paul’, NTS 46 (2000), 473–87. 157 Dungan, ‘The Purpose and Provenance of Mark’, argues that the similarities between Mark and 1 Peter lend some support to the Griesbach hypothesis, with both documents representing attempts at reconciliation, bridge-building, between Jewish and Pauline Christianities. Apart from the other arguments to be ranged against the Griesbach hypothesis, here it would be odd, if both documents represented a similar reconciling tendency, for 1 Peter to echo precisely those Gospel traditions which the supposedly irenic Mark chose to omit. 158 Black, Mark, 66. Wehr, Petrus und Paulus, 199, puts the point strongly: ‘In der Nennung von Silvanus und Markus am Schluß des Briefes wird man paulinischen Einfluß sehen müssen.’ Wehr considers that the two co-workers are named not in some conscious attempt here to combine Pauline and Petrine tradition, but simply because of the author’s desire to mention ‘apostolische Mitarbeiter’ (200). 159 Cf. also Brox, ‘Pseudepigraphie’, 112–14. 160 In response to the earlier essay on which this chapter is based, Doering suggests that I tend ‘to make too little of the distinctive features of first Peter’ which mean that ‘it is distinct, and . . . presents itself as distinct, from the Pauline letter tradition’ (Doering, ‘Apostle’, 681 n. 165). I take the point, but with two qualifications: (i) my main concerns were, and are (in this particular argument), to reassert the extent to which there are (some) significant connections with the Pauline tradition, which should not be denied, and, more broadly, to question the idea of a specifically ‘Petrine’ circle of production; (ii) the close similarities between 1 Peter and the Pauline letters in the letter-frame (see §1.2.1 above) mean that, notwithstanding 1 Peter’s distinctive content and theology, it ‘presents itself ’ (so Doering) as more like a Pauline letter than anything else, much more so than the other letters in the Catholic Epistle collection (though 2 Peter comes next closest).

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the epistle and the names within it combine to support the view that 1 Peter reflects both Jewish-Christian (Jerusalem) and Pauline traditions; both Silvanus and Mark have Jerusalem connections, as well as being Pauline co-workers. As such, 1 Peter does not appear to be the product of a Petrine circle, nor indeed of a Pauline circle, but rather of an early Christianity in which diverse and sometimes opposing Christian traditions were drawn together. Further evidence from slightly later texts with some connections or similarities to 1 Peter also adds plausibility to this argument. Perhaps the most obvious examples are 2 Peter and 1 Clement. In terms of literary content 2 Peter is much more closely related to Jude than to 1 Peter: much of the central section of Jude (vv. 4–18) is taken up in 2 Pet. 2.1–3.3.161 By contrast, there are few clear echoes of 1 Peter,162 although the author of 2 Peter clearly knows of the former epistle and explicitly aims to continue its admonitory purpose (2 Pet. 3.1). Indeed, the differences between 1 and 2 Peter render implausible the view that they both emanate from a single ‘school’.163 As seems to be the case with 1 Peter, the author of 2 Peter is aware of Paul and his letters, though clear echoes of the Pauline corpus are few.164 Paul and his letters are highly regarded – Paul is ὁ ἀγαπητòς ἡμῶν ἀδελφός and his letters are ranked as scripture (2 Pet. 3.15-16) – though the letters are acknowledged to be hard to understand and subject in some quarters to distorted and deviant interpretation (3.16). With its explicit self-connection to ‘Peter’s’ former letter, 2 Peter is usually seen as originating in the same location as 1 Peter (often taken to be Rome) and being addressed to the same (or some of the same) areas.165 As such, and with its explicit mention of the two great apostles, Peter and Paul, it represents a further example of a kind of synthesis of ‘Pauline’ and ‘Petrine’ or ‘Gentile’ and ‘Jewish’ streams of early Christianity. If written from Rome  – though this is by no means certain  – then 1 Peter indicates the Roman churches’ concern to influence and support Christian communities elsewhere. Certainly it depicts itself as a letter from Rome, thus presenting itself as probably the first example of such ‘pastoral outreach’ from Rome (cf. Ignatius Rom. 3.1:  ἄλλους ἐδιδάξατε). The same categorization fits 1 Clement, sent from Rome to Corinth around the end of the first century ce.166 For the author of 1 Clement, Peter and Paul are the apostolic heroes par excellence:  they are named together as τούς ἀγαθούς ἀποστόλους (1 Clem. 5.1-7; cf. also Ignatius Rom. 4.3). Interestingly there has been debate about the character of 1 Clement not

See Horrell, Peter and Jude, 140–42, and other studies mentioned there. Most modern scholars have concluded that 2 Peter has used Jude, rather than vice versa, but that there is a close literary relationship of some kind is hardly open to dispute. Mark Mathews has recently made the case for the priority of 2 Peter: Mark D. Mathews, ‘The Literary Relationship of 2 Peter and Jude: Does the Synoptic Tradition Resolve this Synoptic Problem?’, Neot 44 (2010), 47–66. 162 Though see G. H. Boobyer, ‘The Indebtedness of 2 Peter to 1 Peter’, in A. J.  B. Higgins(ed.), New Testament Essays:  Studies in Memory of T.  W. Manson (Manchester:  Manchester University Press, 1959), 34–53; William J. Dalton, ‘The Interpretation of 1 Peter 3,19 and 4,6: Light from 2 Peter’, Bib 60 (1979), 547–55; Tord Fornberg, An Early Church in a Pluralistic Society: A Study of 2 Peter (Lund: Gleerup, 1977), 12–13, who suggest points of connection between the two epistles. 163 Cf. Bauckham, Jude, 2 Peter, 146. 164 Cf. Bauckham, Jude, 2 Peter, 147–48. 165 See 1 Pet. 1.1; Horrell, Peter and Jude, 136–37. 166 For discussion of date, see David G. Horrell, The Social Ethos of the Corinthian Correspondence: Interests and Ideology from 1 Corinthians to 1 Clement (SNTW; Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1996), 238–41 (towards the end of the first century); Horacio E.  Lona, Der erste Clemensbrief (Kommentar zu den Apostolischen Vätern; Göttingen:  Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1998), 75–78 (the last decade of the first century). 161

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

1.8.  Why Peter? A general reason for writing in the name of Peter is not hard to find: the (growing) prominence and authority of Peter in the early Church. Peter was undoubtedly a central figure in the early Christian movement, as the Gospels in their varied ways make clear, and had clearly been regarded as a leading authority from early times (1 Cor. 1.12; 9.5; 15.5; Gal. 2.9; etc.).170 The writing of a letter under Peter’s name seems much more likely to reflect the central place of Peter in early Christianity than the influence of a distinctively Petrine circle, especially given the lack of substantive evidence for any such circle.171 As Brox points out, given the author’s location in Rome (or his desire to make his letter appear to be of Roman origin) and the widespread ‘knowledge’ (whether historically accurate or not) of Peter’s final end in Rome,172 the name of Peter is an obvious choice: ‘Because the author is actually, or fictitiously, writing from Rome, he writes under the name of the apostolic authority whose name had through history become L. Sanders, L’Hellénisme de Saint Clément de Rome et le Paulinisme (Studia Hellenistica; Louvain: Catholic University of Louvain, 1943); K.  Beyschlag, Clemens Romanus und der Fruhkatholizismus:  Untersuchungen zu I  Clemens 1–7 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1966). See further references in Horrell, Social Ethos, 5 n. 26. 168 See, e.g., the use of the Phoenix story in 1 Clem. 25. On the Stoic parallels in 1 Clement see Sanders, L’Hellénisme, 109–30. The influence of the Old Testament (LXX) is also prominent: on the use of Old Testament and New Testament tradition in 1 Clement see Donald A. Hagner, The Use of the Old and New Testaments in Clement of Rome (NovTSup 34; Leiden: Brill, 1973), though he makes rather maximalist claims. 169 See further Horrell, Social Ethos, 250–80. 170 See Hengel, Saint Peter, 28–36. 171 Knoch, ‘Petrusschule’, valuably draws attention to the high regard for the figure of Peter and his consequent authority in the church, but his observations apply without his central but unsubstantiated assumption, that the Petrine letters and appeals to Peter’s authority emanate from a Petruskreis or Petrusschule. 172 The historicity of this has long been disputed; contrast, e.g., the recent scepticism of Michael D.  Goulder, ‘Did Peter ever Go to Rome?’, SJT 57 (2004), 377–96 and Otto Zwierlein, Petrus in Rom. Die literarischen Zeugnisse (Untersuchungen zur antiken Literatur und Geschichte 96; Berlin: De Gruyter, 2009) with the positive assessments of Richard J. Bauckham, ‘The Martyrdom of Peter in Early Christian Literature’, ANRW 2.26.1 (1992), 539–95 and 167

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linked with Rome.’173 After all, Peter later came to be regarded as the first ‘bishop’ of Rome and was from early times regarded as a key figure for the Church as a whole.174 Who better to send an epistle to the churches scattered in Asia Minor? Indeed, rather than regard 1 Peter as evidence for the existence of a Petrine circle or school, ‘1 Peter’, as Pheme Perkins suggests, ‘should be seen as evidence for the universalizing of Peter as a leader for the whole church’.175 Arguing against the idea of a Petrine ‘school’, Thomas Schmeller makes a similar point: ‘It is equally possible that Peter was taken up here as a church-wide authority (“als gesamtkirchliche Autorität”), that the name does not stand directly for any specific tradition.’176 More specifically, given his status as a suffering μάρτυς, ‘Peter is ideally suitable [sic] to provide the readers with an example of how they should behave in the persecution/suffering situation’, such that ‘the appeal to the Peter-figure in 1 Peter is vitally related to the characteristic themes and subjectmatter of the letter’.177 Furthermore, it is important to note that the areas to which 1 Peter was addressed are areas in which Paul’s missionary activity was distinctly limited: ‘in three of the four/five provinces addressed in 1 Pet neither Paul nor Silvanus, according to Paul’s own words or the record of Acts, ever set foot’.178 It may be that these provinces were ones in which Peter and/or his associates were active as missionaries, though the absence of evidence prevents that suggestion being more than a possibility. But there are snippets of evidence pointing to a certain hostility towards Paul in some of these areas: according to Acts 16.7 the ‘Spirit of Jesus’ would not allow Paul and his companions, Silas and Timothy, to enter Bithynia,179 and in 2 Tim. 1.15 ‘Paul’ records that everyone in Asia had turned against him. whether these texts record historical reminiscence of opposition to Paul, or antagonism that had developed in the period when these texts were written, makes little difference in relation to 1 Peter, which also reflects the

Markus Bockmuehl, ‘Peter’s Death in Rome? Back to Front and Upside Down’, SJT 60 (2007), 1–23. As Bockmuehl points out, early Christian tradition is remarkably unanimous concerning Peter’s death in Rome, with no competing location for his tomb even among more hostile sources. Bauckham offers a thorough and cogent overview of the early sources, concluding that there is high historical probability for Peter’s martyrdom in Rome, whereas Zwierlein (whose work is focused on the later apocryphal Acts and martyrdom accounts) offers a rather restricted coverage of the earliest literary evidence (7–35), without reference to Bauckham’s work. 173 Brox, ‘Pseudepigraphischen Rahmung’, 96 (and see 95–96): ‘Weil der Autor tatsächlich oder fiktiv von Rom. aus schreibt, schreibt er unter der apostolischen Autorität, deren Namen sich durch die Geschichte an Rom geheftet hat.’ Brox argues that there is no need to regard the name Peter as indicating that the letter’s content is distinctively Petrine; indeed, it exhibits a Pauline character. Rather, since the apostles’ teaching was regarded as essentially in agreement the particular name given to the letter guaranteed its apostolic authority and did not necessarily indicate the presentation of a particular individual’s tradition (92–95). See also Brox, ‘Minderheit’, 2–3, and Brox, ‘Pseudepigraphie’, 114–20, where he speaks of the ‘Petrus-Rom-Tradition’, which explains why the name Peter was the most suitable to attach to this letter. 174 See Perkins, Peter, 168–73. Cf. Doering, ‘Apostle’, 649, and Feldmeier, First Epistle of Peter, 35, with Peter as ‘apostle par excellence’ though as Feldmeier notes this is likely to reflect a time later than the earliest period (cf. Mt. 16.18-19). 175 Perkins, Peter, 120; cf. Koester, Introduction, 2.293. 176 Schmeller, Schulen, 30. Cf. also Wehr, Petrus und Paulus, 214; Feldmeier, First Epistle of Peter, 35. 177 Smith, Petrine Controversies, 154–55. 178 Elliott, ‘Peter, Silvanus and Mark’, 261. Pace Knoch, ‘Petrusschule’, 115, who comments that 1 Peter is directed ‘an Christen im paulinischen Mission- und Einflußgebiet’. 179 One might of course note that this report also mentions Silas/Silvanus, who is named in 1 Peter. But any hint of ‘opposition’ towards Silvanus would be just as problematic for the view that he is a key figure in the Petrine circle which produced 1 Peter as for the view that opposition to Paul may form part of the explanation for the letter being written in Peter ‘s name, and not Paul’s.

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situation in Asia Minor in the late first century ce. There is little detail to go on, but these references may provide some further indications as to why the name of Peter was more suited than Paul’s to carry authority and command respect throughout the provinces of Asia Minor, quite apart from the general prominence which Peter had attained.180 Elsewhere too Paul was apparently regarded negatively (cf. Acts 21.17-28; Rom. 3.8); his legacy was highly contested, as the Pastoral Epistles show, and his letters were soon seen as dangerously open to diverse interpretations (2 Pet. 3.16).181 There are, then, good reasons to use the name of Peter rather than of Paul in a letter that draws together diverse Christian traditions to address Christian congregations spread over a wide geographical area. In view of the tendency in earlier scholarship to conclude that the name of Paul as author would more naturally fit the character of the letter (see above), it is also important to stress that 1 Peter’s content, as we have seen, does not mark it overall as a Pauline document, but as something much more broadly influenced by various streams of early Christian tradition. Silvanus and Mark are both known in the traditions as members of the Pauline circle, but are also well-placed to serve as bridge-builders between Paul and Jerusalem, since they both apparently belonged to the church in Jerusalem before travelling with Paul. Certainly there is insufficient evidence to link them with a specifically Petrine circle in Rome, a circle for which there is virtually no evidence anyway, but their names may have served to link Peter and Paul and – rather than indicating that the letter is the product of a Petrine circle – to show that the epistle’s message is neither Petrine nor Pauline but apostolic, ‘the true grace of God’ (1 Pet. 5.12).182

1.9. Conclusions While recent work on 1 Peter has done much to reclaim the letter as a distinctive work and not merely a bland example of ‘Paulinism’ – and this achievement is important to stress – the idea that 1 Peter is ‘the product of a Petrine tradition transmitted by Petrine tradents of a Petrine circle’183 seems difficult to sustain. There is no evidence from outside the epistle for the existence of such a circle, nor does the epistle itself lend any substantial support to the thesis, either from its content or from the names mentioned in it. On the contrary, much of the available evidence combines to support the view of 1 Peter as a letter which is richly and triply intertextual, which weaves together a variety of early Christian traditions in its own distinctive attempt to address the situation of the suffering Christians scattered in the ‘diaspora’, sent under the name of the apostle who came to be seen as ‘a leader for the whole church’,184 ‘the apostolic foundational figure’:185 (1) The content of the letter displays no particularly ‘Petrine’ character; (2) the letter is

These, then, may be among the reasons why ‘Peter’ was a better choice than ‘Paul’ as pseudonym, given Reichert’s suggestion that ‘Interesse an einem Märtyrer-Apostel als fiktiven Autor hätte genauso gut zum Paulus-Pseudonym führen können’ (Reichert, Praeparatio, 545). 181 Cf. also Knoch, ‘Petrusschule’, 120–26, on Paul’s more dubious reputation in Rome, compared with Peter’s. 182 Cf. also Brox, ‘Pseudepigraphischen Rahmung’; Brox, ‘Minderheit’; Brox, ‘Pseudepigraphie’. I am grateful to John Barclay for some fruitful suggestions on this section of the chapter. 183 Elliott, ‘Rehabilitation’, 248. 184 Perkins, Peter, 120. 185 Hengel, Saint Peter, 31 (quoting Peter Lampe and Ulrich Luz with approval on this point). 180

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clearly indebted to Pauline tradition at some points, but also draws on non-Pauline traditions; (3) the names of Silvanus and Mark are connected both with Paul and with Peter/Jerusalem; (4) other writings from early Christianity (in Rome and elsewhere) display a similar tendency in their drawing together of a range of early Christian traditions and their veneration of both Peter and Paul. The main reason to think in terms of a specifically Petrine origin – the sheer fact of the attribution of the letter to Peter – has another plausible explanation, namely the prominence of Peter, as apostle and suffering martyr, in early Christianity in general and Rome in particular, combined with the somewhat shaky status of Paul in some parts of Asia Minor (and, perhaps, in Rome). The false step scholarship has made in reaching the ‘consensus’ that 1 Peter is the product of a Petrine group is to assume that high regard for the authority of Peter, and literature produced in his name, must imply the existence of a specifically Petrine circle. The error here, it seems to me, stems from something not dissimilar from the long-established but critically unexamined scholarly tendency to assume that the Gospels emerge from and relate to distinctive early Christian communities  – Matthaean, Markan, Lukan, and Johannine. Richard Bauckham has raised penetrating questions about this tendency, arguing instead that the Gospels were written and intended for early Christian groups more generally.186 One need not accept all the details of Bauckham’s argument to accept the challenge to question established assumptions.187 Indeed, a similar argument can be made about the widely prevalent talk of ‘Pauline churches’ or ‘Pauline communities’:  I have argued elsewhere that there is very little to support the notion of ideologically distinct Pauline communities, and that – without in any way denying the diversity and conflicts within early Christianity – we might better speak simply of ‘early Christian communities’.188 So too there are questions to be raised about the idea that 1 Peter emerges from a Petrine group: the evidence we have examined in this chapter suggests that 1 Peter is more plausibly seen as a product of a synthesizing and proto-orthodox form of early Christianity than of a specifically Petrine circle.189 Such a conclusion inevitably raises the spectre of Ferdinand Christian Baur, for whom 1 Peter was an instance of the Roman church’s moves to synthesize the opposed factions of Jewish (Petrine) and Gentile (Pauline) Christianity by constructing agreement and unity between Peter and Paul. Thus Baur speaks of a mediating tendency (‘vermittelnden Tendenz’) in the two Petrine epistles and of Silvanus and Mark as intermediary figures (‘Mittelspersonen’).190 To some extent the preceding investigation lends support to Baur’s view of 1 Peter as a consolidating,

Richard J. Bauckham, ‘For Whom were the Gospels Written?’, in Richard J. Bauckham (ed.), The Gospels for All Christians: Rethinking the Gospel Audiences (Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans; Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1998), 9–48. 187 For example, one might accept that the Gospels were, initially at least, intended for some particular local context, without then concluding that this (ecclesial) context should be regarded as distinctively ‘Matthaean’ or ‘Markan’ in theological or ideological terms – though it might well be geographically distinctive in certain ways. Cf. the important points raised by Margaret M. Mitchell, ‘Patristic Counter-Evidence to the Claim that “The Gospels Were Written for All Christians”‘, NTS 51 (2005), 36–79. 188 David G. Horrell, ‘Pauline Churches or Early Christian Churches? Unity, Disagreement, and the Eucharist’, in Anatoly Alexeev et al. (eds), Einheit der Kirche im Neuen Testament (WUNT 218; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2008), 185–203. 189 Hence Brox, ‘Minderheit’, 3, argues that rather than being ‘Petrine’ the epistle is ‘ein Zeugnis des frühen Christentums’. 190 Ferdinand Christian Baur, Das Christentum und die christliche Kirche der drei ersten Jahrhunderte (2nd edn; Tübingen, repr. Stuttgart–Bad Cannstatt: Friedrich Frommann, 1966 [1860]), 143–44; cf. Wehr, Petrus und Paulus, 181, who notes the ongoing view, stemming from Baur, of 1 Peter as embodying a Versöhnungstendenz. 186

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unifying document.191 But it should not be taken to support the wider theory within which he located this synthesizing Tendenz of 1 Peter. There is no evidence that 1 Peter is interested in fostering a theological reconciliation between law-observant and law-free factions,192 and in any case there are good reasons to reject Baur’s view that this division formed a basic faultline through an essentially bipartisan earliest Christianity. Elliott and others are surely right to discern the aims and strategy of 1 Peter from the content of the letter itself and not from some grand theory of early Christian history. Nonetheless, Elliott also speaks of the letter as representative of ‘a body of tradition gradually coalescing at Rome’.193 He acknowledges that 1 Peter incorporates a wide diversity of (Roman) Christian traditions and that the early Christian literature associated with Rome shows ‘an interest in consolidation, both liturgical consolidation and the binding together of traditions’.194 Black also speaks of ‘Petrine Christianity’ as ‘highly synthetic and amalgamative of other Christian forms’.195 Such comments are perhaps somewhat closer to Baur than the polemic against his theory would suggest and, moreover, raise questions as to what sense it makes to label this consolidating, synthetic form of Christianity as distinctively ‘Petrine’, rather than simply ‘early Christian’. Instead of seeing the presentation of Peter in 1 Peter as indicating a distinctively Petrine tradition, it is more convincing to see him as representing an encompassing claim to prominence and authority. As Wehr comments, ‘Peter is exemplar (“Vorbild”) and authority in the Church . . . Peter stands for the integration of different streams of early Christian tradition.’196 Without reviving Baur’s theory as such, we may nonetheless conclude that 1 Peter does provide evidence of the ways in which leading figures, whether in Rome or in Asia Minor, presented, consolidated, and synthesized – and at the same time developed and reinterpreted – a variety of early Christian traditions, including some which stemmed from Paul, and found in Peter an appropriate figure of authority and an exemplar of faithful suffering witness. despite the ‘emerging consensus’ of which Matera writes, the view of 1 Peter as the distinctive product of a Petrine tradition from a Petrine circle should be rejected.

So Bovon, ‘Foi chrétienne’, 31, also comments: ‘F.C. Baur n’avait pas tort. La fin du premier siècle rapproche, voire réconcilie Pierre et Paul. Cette réconciliation culminera à Rome . . .’ 192 Cf. Brox, ‘Minderheit’, 2; Brox, ‘Pseudepigraphie’, 116–20. 193 Elliott, 1 Peter, 130. 194 In B. Corley (ed.), Colloquy on New Testament Studies:  A Time for Reappraisal and Fresh Approaches (Macon, GA: Mercer University Press, 1983), 177. Cf. also Elliott, ‘Peter, Silvanus and Mark’, 253 n. 9, 266–67; Elliott, ‘Roman Provenance’, 193–94 – though he elsewhere stresses the idea of the ‘Petrine group’ as ‘independent’ (Elliott, Home, 271). 195 Black, Mark, 64. 196 Wehr, Petrus und Paulus, 214. His comments are worth citing more fully:  ‘Für das Petrusbild des 1 Petr ist der gesamtkirchliche Anspruch kennzeichend. “Petrus”, der sich an paulinisches Missionsgebiet, aber auch an nichtpaulinische Gemeinden wendet, verbindet verschiedene Traditionsströme, zu denen auch paulinische Elemente gehören. Petrus ist Vorbild und Autorität in der Kirche . . . Petrus steht für die Integration verschiedener urchristlicher Traditionsströme.’ 191

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Judith M. Lieu

‘Some think that this and the following letter are not of John the Apostle but of a certain John the Presbyter, whose tomb has been pointed out in Ephesus up to the present day. Indeed, Papias, a hearer of the Apostles and bishop in Hierapolis, frequently mentions him in his works. But now the general consensus of the church is that John the Apostle also wrote these letters.’1 The tradition reported here by Bede in the eighth century goes back long before him and has found its advocates periodically up to the present; it provides a starting point for our exploration of the place of 2 and 3 John in the New Testament canon. How was this ‘general consensus’ achieved and why had some suggested alternative theories of the Epistles’ origin? Similar questions could well be asked of some of the other books of the New Testament and the variety of routes towards recognition which 2 and 3 John followed provides a good illustration of what sometimes seems a haphazard and erratic course in the development of the canon. These are, of course, historical questions about that development and yet, as we shall see, they are inseparable from the particular questions about the background of 2 and 3 John as well as from the wider ones about the nature and also the origins of the New Testament canon. In tracing that ‘erratic course’ of these two members of the canon we must proceed with some caution. In view of their brevity and apparent lack of intrinsic interest few modern readers would be surprised that 2 and 3 John are rarely quoted by the Church fathers; failure to quote need not imply ignorance or rejection of the authority of 2 and 3 John. On the other hand, particularly in the early period, echoes of the language may point to a common tradition rather than literary knowledge, while even proven knowledge need not entail the ascription of any particular authority. Yet despite such caution a picture of the roles of 2 and 3 John in the early church can be sketched and it is a coherent, albeit surprisingly complex, picture.

‘The Letter’ of John That 1 John should have been mentioned and used before there is any reference to a second or third Epistle is hardly surprising for it is longer and has much more theological content. Whether this may on occasion mean that 2 and 3 John were either not known or not accorded authority is difficult to determine. Our earliest witnesses come from Asia Minor and their testimony will only leave us with uncertainties. According to Eusebius, Papias, bishop of Hierapolis in the first part

Bede, Expositio in II Epistolam Iohannis (CChr.SL 121, 329). See below pp. 13–14·

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of the second century, ‘used testimonies from the former letter of John and also that of Peter’.2 ‘Former’ is Eusebius’s word, not Papias’s, and need not suggest Papias knew another Johannine letter.3 Although Papias has often been linked with the ‘Johannine school’ via the ‘Presbyter John’ of Bede’s comment, we know nothing of the context or purpose of Papias’s ‘testimonies’ from 1 John.4 As for his contemporary, Polycarp of Smyrna (d. c. 156), it has often been remarked that he, although also a disciple of John according to Irenaeus, in his extant letter to the Philippians does not refer to that John or quote from the Gospel ascribed to him. However, in that letter, when warning his readers against heresy, he does echo the language of the Epistles: ‘For everyone who does not confess that Jesus Christ has come in the flesh is an antichrist’.5 This recalls both 1 Jn 4.2, ‘Every spirit which confesses Jesus Christ having come in flesh is of God’, and 2 Jn 7, ‘For many deceivers . . . who do not confess Jesus Christ coming in flesh’; most significantly all three passages link a similar false confession with the ‘antichrist’, a term which is first found in 1 and 2 John. The wording of these confessions will occupy us at length later; 1 John gives only the positive, ‘true’ form, while the negative formulation in 2 John is distinguished by its use of the present tense ‘coming’. Polycarp shares with 1 John the singular ‘he (who)’ and the perfect ‘has come’ – although in using the infinitive (cf. ‘that’) where 1 John uses a participle, the attack against heresy is made more explicit. Since the negative form is determined by the definition of heresy any allusion need only be to the passage in 1 John without any conscious echo of 2 John. Even so there is nothing to suggest that Polycarp is consciously quoting an authoritative document of the church and this might be nothing more than the use of traditional language against heresy.6 During the course of the second century 1 John did become widely known and recognised as ‘the letter’ of John. We shall return to Irenaeus, Clement of Alexandria and the Muratorian Canon below; in the last named 1 Jn 1:1f. is used in defence of the Fourth Gospel which suggests that it was the more secure of the two. About this time the Alogi rejected the Gospel and Apocalypse of John but did not debate the First Epistle; far from meaning that this was because it was not then given apostolic authority, it may imply it was beyond dispute and created no theological problems for the Alogi.7 In this context it is appropriate for us to begin to look for evidence of 2 and 3 John. By the beginning of the third century in Africa 1 John is clearly known, apparently without 2 or 3 John. Tertullian quotes from 1 John as from ‘the letter’ of the Apostle John to whom he also ascribed the Gospel and the Apocalypse. He explicitly uses the Epistle against heresy and to this end quotes 1 Jn 4.2 in a negative form; of 2 and 3 John as part of the Apostle’s work he

Eusebius, Historia Ecclesiastica (HE) III.39.17 (GCS 9, 292). Contrast B. F. Westcott, A General Survey of the History of the Canon of the New Testament, 7th ed., London 1896, 78 n. 1. Eusebius uses ‘former’ in his own list in HE III.25.2 (GCS 9, 252). 4 On the ‘Presbyter John’ see below pp. 55–62. Papias’s description of the commandments as ‘reaching us from the truth itself in Eusebius, HE III.39.3 (GCS 9, 286) need not show knowledge of 3 Jn 12. 5 Polycarp, Epistle to the Philippians 7.1, Πᾶς γάρ, ὃς ἂν μή ὁμολογῇ Ἰησοῦν Χριστὸν ἐν σαρκὶ ἐληλυθέναι, ἀντιχριστός ἐστιν. 6 So Η. v. Campenhausen, Polycarp von Smyrna und die Pastoralbriefe, SHAW, Heidelberg 1951, 41. See also E. C. Hoskyns, The Fourth Gospel, ed. F. N. Davey, 2nd ed., London 1947, 99f. 7 Epiphanius, Panarion LI.34 (GCS 31, 308). P. Corssen, Monarchianische Prologe zu den vier Evangelien, TU 15, Leipzig 1896, 50f. suggests that the Alogi did not explicitly reject 1 John because it was not widely given apostolic authority 2 3

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shows no knowledge.8 A similar ‘negative’ use of 1 Jn 4.2 is also found in Cyprian who likewise accepts 1 John as by the Apostle, often introducing it by the formula ‘in his letter’ (in epistula sua). The failure to specify ‘first’ could be taken to prove that he only knew of one letter were it not for the fact that later writers who undoubtedly knew 2 and 3 John also used the formula of 1 John.9 We find a similar situation in references to 1 Peter and, indeed, the phrase is later used of 2 Peter and cannot imply ignorance of the First Epistle.10 Nonetheless, the phrase may have originated when only one letter ascribed to Peter and to John was known and it is notable that with one exception (see below) the phrase is never used when referring to 2 or to 3 John. However, Cyprian himself makes no use of 2 or 3 John and that silence is most eloquent when in his Testimonies he collects proof-texts to establish that ‘one should not speak with heretics’ yet fails to include 2 Jn 10–11 – verses which would make the point rather more forcefully than those he does use.11 Even so, even within one province opinions could vary considerably and Cyprian himself must have come to know 2 John even if he never acknowledged its authority by using it himself. At the Council of Carthage held under him in ad 256 to discuss the rebaptism of schismatics, one of the bishops, Aurelius of Chullabi, quoted 2 Jn 10–11 as the work of the Apostle in support of the necessity of rebaptism for admission into the church. It is he who cites it as if from the First Epistle, ‘John the Apostle laid down in his letter (in epistola sua) . . .’.12 The use of these verses then became a recurring theme in the controversies of the area and a source of much debate.13 The fluidity regarding the writings ascribed to John the Apostle at this time is further underlined by a quotation in Ps. Cyprian, De Montibus Sina et Sion, which is often dated before ad 240. In a work most of whose citations are identifiable Scripture it is intriguing to find a quotation from ‘John his disciple ad populum’; neither the quotation nor the letter can be further identified!14

at the time; contrast A. Ehrhardt, ‘The Gospels in the Muratorian Fragment’, in The Framework of the New Testament Stories, Cambridge 1964, 11–36, who argues that 1 John was widely accepted even by the Alogi (p. 32). 8 E.g. Tertullian, De Pud. XIX.10; Scorp. XII.4; De Idol. II.3 (CChr.SL 2, 1321, 1092, 1102). On the problem of deciding whether quotations are from 1 Jn 4.2 or 2 Jn 7 see below pp. 609–10. 9 Clement of Alexandria, Strom. III.4.32 (GCS 52, 210); Ambrose, De Fide I.117 (CSEL 78, 50); Augustine, De Civ. Dei XX.8.87 (CChr.SL 48, 714); Cassiodorus, Expositio in Psal. 36.25 (CChr.SL 97, 335). 10 Ambrose, Explanatio Psal. XXXVI.2 (CSEL 64, 71) refers to 1 Peter as ‘in epistula sua’ while De Inc. Dom. 82 (CSEL 79, 265) refers to 2 Peter in the same way. 11 Cyprian, Testimonia (ad Quirinium) III.78 (CChr.SL 3, 161f.) is a collection of proof-texts against speaking with heretics (Cum hereticis non loquendum) citing Tit 3.10-11 (identified as Colossians); 1Jn 2.19; 2 Tim 2.17. However, Cyprian may be working over earlier sources; see R.  P. C.  Hanson, Tradition in the Early Church, London 1962, 261–4. P. Schepens, ‘ “Iohannes in epistula sua” (Saint Cyprien, passim)’, RSR 11 (1921) 87–9 notes that Cyprian can quote from Romans as ‘epistula sua’ while knowing other Pauline letters but he does not discuss the evidence of the Testimonia. 12 Sententiae LXXXVII episcoporum, 81 (ed. H.  F.  v.  Soden, Nachrichten von der königlichen Gesellschaft der Wissenschaften zu Göttingen, Phil.-hist. Klasse 3 (1909) 247–307, 275f.). H. F. v. Soden, Das Lateinische Neue Testament in Afrika zur Zeit Cyprians, TU 33, Leipzig 1909, 13 sees Cyprian’s failure to refer to 2 John despite its use by Aurelius and Firmilian (see below p. 610 n. 99 and n. 102) as evidence of the lack of uniformity in respect to the NT canon even within one province. 13 See below p. 610 and nn. 100–102. 14 Ps. Cyprian, De Montibus Sina et Sion 13 (CSEL 3.3, 117), ‘in epistula Iohannis discipuli sui ad populum. ita me in vobis videte, quomodo quis vestrum se videt in aquam aut in speculum’. On this see J. E. Bruns, ‘Biblical Citations and the Agraphon in Pseudo-Cyprian’s Liber De Montibus Sina et Sion’, VigChr 26 (1972) 112–16. There may be some connection with the Acts of John 95–96. See also T. Zahn, Geschichte des Neutestamentlichen Kanons (2 vols.),

597

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The Catholic Epistles

Elsewhere in the church we may point to the fact that 2 and 3 John were not translated into Syriac at the same time as 1 John, which no doubt reflects a time and place when they were not known or were rejected, a pattern which continued to characterise the eastern church.15 The Gnostic writings from Nag Hammadi make use of 1 John but not of the other two letters, but, as is so often the case, these are not settings where we would expect to find 2 or 3 John.16

Doubts about 2 and 3 John The first clear references we do have to a further pair of ‘Johannine’ letters are those which imply some hesitation about their authenticity, no doubt because of their later advent into wide circulation. The first such witness  – and therefore our first witness to 3 John  – is Origen (d. c. 254) who is reported by Eusebius as saying ‘he (the Apostle John, author of the Gospel and Apocalypse) also left a letter of very few lines and it may be also a second and a third; but not everyone says these are genuine. However, together they do not come to a hundred lines’.17 Origen may well have shared these doubts for neither 2 nor 3 John are quoted in his extant works and 1 John is referred to as ‘his’ or ‘the’ letter.18 Origen’s wide travels mean we cannot know whether this approach had an Alexandrian origin but certainly it does seem to have had wider influence after him.19 Only a little later Dionysius of Alexandria confirms that 2 and 3 John were known there although he uses them hesitantly. By a contrast of language and thought he sought to demonstrate that the John of the Apocalypse could not be identified with the Apostle, the accepted author of the Gospel; he points out that neither in the Gospel nor in the Catholic Epistle does the Apostle name himself ‘John’ (contrast Rev 1.1, 4) and ‘not even in the second and third extant letters of John, despite their brevity, is John prefixed by name’.20 The comment comes as a parenthesis in an argument otherwise entirely dependent on the Gospel and 1 John and the strange use of ‘extant’ (φερομένη) and of passive verbs (as ‘is prefixed’) may suggest some doubt in their use.21

Erlangen 1888–92, I, 217–18, who attributes the growth of doubts about 2 and 3 John in Africa to the appearance of such apocrypha. 15 See below pp. 600–1. 16 John seems to be alluded to, for example, in the Gospel of Philip (N.H.II.3)and in the Gospel of Truth (N.H.I.3) 30.27–31;36.14-17;43.14. (English translation in ed. J.  M. Robinson, The Nag Hammadi Library in English, Leiden 1977, 131–151; 37–49). See R.  McL. Wilson, ‘The New Testament in the Nag Hammadi Gospel of Philip’, NTS 9 (1962/3) 291–4. On supposed echoes of 1 John elsewhere in the early church see A. E. Brooke, A Critical and Exegetical Commentary on the Johannine Epistles, ICC, Edinburgh 1912, lii–lv. 17 Origen in Eusebius, HE VI.25.10 (GCS 9, 578). Μ. Müller, ‘Die Überlieferung des Eusebius in seiner Kirchengeschichte über die Schriften des NT und deren Verfasser’, ThStKr 105 (1933) 425–55 suggests that ‘ἔστω’ (it may be) implies that Origen had only heard of 2 and 3 John. 18 In Hom. in Jos. VII. 1 (SC 71, 196) the list of apostolic ‘trumpets’ implies seven Catholic epistles, including three of John. This is only extant in Rufinus’s Latin translation and the question remains open whether the full canon is to be attributed to Rufinus’s editing. See Μ. Stenzel, ‘Der Bibelkanon des Rufin von Aquileja’, Bib. 23 (1942) 43–61, 52–3. J. Ruwet, ‘Les “Antilegomena” dans les oeuvres d’Origene’, Bib. 23 (1942) 18–42 argues without proof that Origen did not share the doubts he knew concerning Hebrews, James, 2 and 3 John and Jude. 19 20 Zahn, Geschichte, I, 215 believes that Origen’s position reflects his travels rather than that of Alexandria. However, that 3 John is first mentioned in Alexandria has been used as evidence of the Epistles’ Alexandrian origin; see J. J. Gunther, ‘The Alexandrian Gospel and Letters of John’, CBQ 41 (1979) 581–603, 602. 20 Dionysius of Alexandria in Eusebius, HE VII.25.7ff. (GCS 9, 692ff.). 21 The reference to 2 and 3 John reads (ibid. VII.25.11), ‘ἀλλ’ οὐδὲ ἐν τῇ δευτέρᾳ φερομένῃ καὶ τρίτῃ, καίτοι βραχείαις οὔσαις ἐπιστολαῖς, ὁ Ἰωάννης ὀνομαστὶ πρόκειται, ἀλλὰ ἀνωνύμως “ὁ πρεσβύτερος” γέγραπται’.

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Acceptance into the Canon

Eusebius’s adoption of this position, possibly influenced by Origen, is explicit. In his Ecclesiastical History (c. 300) 1 John and 1 Peter are included among the ‘recognised’ books, accepted in the past and the present without opposition, while 2 and 3 John with the remaining Catholic Epistles belong to those which are ‘disputed’ (ἀντιλεγομένοι) but ‘known’ (γνωρίμοι). His description of them as ‘the so-called second and third of John, whether they are of the Evangelist or some other of the same name’ shows that despite the anonymity of the text their attribution to ‘John’ was accepted but that silence by earlier writers had led to the questioning of its reference and also of the status of the letters in the church.22 Jerome (342–420) witnesses to the continuation of this tradition in the West, now with a suggestion as to the true identity of the author. In his account Of Illustrious Men 18, after quoting a famous passage of Papias which refers to a John the Elder (also found in Eusebius, HE III.39.3–4), he says ‘From this catalogue of names it appears that the John who is placed among the apostles is other than the John the Elder whom he lists after Aristion. I say this because of the opinion mentioned above which we reported as handed down by many that the two later Epistles of John are not of the Apostle but of the Presbyter’. The reference is to his earlier (ch. 9) ascription of the Gospel to John the Apostle of whom he said ‘he also wrote one Epistle whose opening is “What was from the beginning . . . concerning the word of Life”, which is acknowledged by learned men of the church everywhere. As for the other two whose openings are “The elder to the elect lady and her children”, and, of the next, “The elder to the beloved Gaius whom I love in truth”, these are said to be of John the Presbyter. For to this very day the other tomb at Ephesus is pointed out as his; however, some think that both the memorials are of the same person, John the Evangelist’.23 That Jerome elsewhere quotes 2 and 3 John as by the Apostle suggests he did not share the doubts he reports.24 The development of the tradition of two Johns is an interesting one. Dionysius of Alexandria found in the report of two ‘memorials’ of John in Ephesus a possible answer to his search for a second John to whom to attribute Revelation. Eusebius combined this report, known perhaps only from Dionysius, with the reference to ‘John the Elder’ in the ambiguous passage from Papias and assigned both the second memorial and, tentatively, Revelation to this John.25 The further step of identifying the ‘Elder’ of 2 Jn 1 and 3 Jn 1 with this same John is then taken or reported by Jerome, although he in turn may have been dependent on Eusebius for knowledge both of his existence in the excerpt from Papias and of his tomb.26 He then became the source for the continuation of the tradition in later commentators, including Isidore of Seville, Bede and Oecumenius, and, with increasing confidence, for its revival at the Reformation and so

Eusebius, HE ΙΙΙ.25.2f. (GCS 9, 250). Rufinus’s translation omits ‘so-called’ ὀνομαζομένη; see Stenzel, ‘Bibelkanon’, 56. In HE III.24.17 (ibid.) Eusebius says 1 John has been acknowledged without dispute by those of the present and of the past. 23 Jerome De Viris Illustribus 18; 9 (ed. G. Herding, Leipzig 1924, 22, 15). On the translation of ‘Elder’ by ‘senior’ see below p. 609. 24 For Jerome’s use of 2 and 3 John see Epist. 123.11; 146.1 (CSEL 56, 84, 310); Comm. in Ep. ad Titum I.8–9 (PL 26:602–3). This did not stop later writers appealing to him for the ascription of 2 and 3 John to ‘the Presbyter John’; see below p. 611 and n. 110. 25 Eusebius’s own reference to the two ‘memorials’ in HE III.39.6 repeats almost word for word the account by Dionysius of Alexandria which he reports in VII.25.16 (GCS 9, 288, 696). B. Kötting, Peregrinatio Religiosa, Münster 1950, 173–4 suggests that there were two ‘memorials’ to John – a tomb outside the city walls and the house where he lived. 26 See above. On Jerome’s dependence on Eusebius in the De Viris Illustribus see J.  N. D.  Kelly, Jerome, London 1975, 174–8. 22

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The Catholic Epistles

to the present day.27 Thus legend and hypothesis became ‘fact’ – but it is a markedly tenuous tradition and one which, as we shall see, does not bear much scrutiny. Doubts about 2 and 3 John had made their home in the West; in a Roman list probably emanating from a council held under Pope Damasus in ad 382 one epistle among the ‘epistulae canonicae’ is attributed to John the Apostle and two to John the Presbyter, a distinction removed in the later editing of the text.28 Whether or not Jerome’s influence is to be seen, the canonical status of the letters does not seem to be effected. However, in the fourth century ‘Cheltenham List’ (Canon Mommsensiensis), where three Epistles of John and two of Peter are listed, the scribe has written under each ‘one only’, presumably in rejection of 2 and 3 John and of 2 Peter.29 However, although we have reported more doubts than confidence in 2 and 3 John’s apostolic authority, by the end of the fourth century it was the confidence which was winning. In c. ad 312 Alexander of Alexandria had used 2 Jn 10–11 against the Arians and although those who use 2 and especially 3 John are few and far between, by the end of the fourth century three letters of John the Apostle are regularly included in New Testament lists.30 In the East uncertainty persisted somewhat longer and the picture is a confused one. Although Gregory of Nazianzus (329–389) accepted seven Catholic Epistles, neither he nor the other Cappadocians use 2 and 3 John, while his contemporary, Amphilocius of Iconium, records doubts about these two together with 2 Peter and Jude.31 Among writers of the Antiochene school, Severian of Gabala refers to the rejection of 2 and 3 John by the ‘fathers’,32 and they are not used in the surviving works of John Chrysostom despite the statement in Suidas that he accepted three letters of John as well as Revelation; significantly, the Synopsis of Sacred Scripture attributed to him lists only three Catholic Epistles (James, 1 Peter and 1 John).33

Isidore of Seville, De Eccl. Officiis I.12.12 (PL 83:750); on Bede see p. 595 and n. 1; ‘Oecumenius’, Comm, in Epist. I, II, III Joannis (PG 119:686). On the revival of the tradition at the time of the Reformation see below p. 611. Grotius in his ‘Preface to the so-called second letter of John’ (quoted in W. G. Kummel, The New Testament, The History of the Investigation of its Problems, London 1973, 328) even claims that Jerome saw the tombs! 28 ‘Iohannis apostoli epistula una/alterius Iohannis presbyteri epistulae duae’. See C.  H. Turner, ‘Latin Lists of the Canonical Books. I. The Roman Council under Damasus, AD 382’, JThS 1 (1900) 554–60, who argues for the originality of the Decretum Damasi despite its later editing under Gelasius and Hormisdas. 29 Text in W. Sanday, ‘The Cheltenham List of the Canonical Books of the Old and New Testament and of the Writings of Cyprian’, Studia Biblica III, Oxford 1891, 216–325, 222–5. Harnack suggested that the ‘una sola’ might refer to Jude and James, but this would hardly explain the force of the ‘sola’ (ibid., 243). 30 Cyril of Jerusalem, Catech. IV.33–6; Athanasius, Festal Letter (ad 367); Filastrius, Div. Heres. Liber. 88.5; Rufinus, Comm. in Synth. apost. 337; Gregory of Nazianzus, Carm. XII.3 etc. For the text of these lists see Zahn, Geschichte II, 1–318 and Westcott, Canon, 548–590. However, neither Filastrius nor Gregory use 2 or 3 John. One of the first not merely to list 2 and 3 John but to use them without question is ‘Ambrosiaster’, Comm. in Ep. ad Rom. 12.18; 16.23 (CSEL 81.1, 413, 491). 31 Amphilocius of Iconium, Iambi ad Seleucum II.310–5 (ed. E. Oberg, Patristische Texte und Studien 9, Berlin 1969, 39), ‘. . . καθολικῶν ἐπιστολῶν τινὲς μὲν ἑπτα φάσιν, οἱ δὲ τρεῖς μόνας χρῆναι δέχεσθαι . . .’. 32 Ps. Chrysostom, De qua Potestate (Mt 21.23) (ΡG 56:424) emphasises that 1 John is among the ‘ἐκκλησιαζομένων’ while the fathers ‘ἀποκανονίζουσι’ 2 and 3 John. According to G. Bardy, ‘Severien’, Dictionnaire de Theologie Catholique 14, 2 (1941) 2003, n. 8 this may not be the work of Severian. Cosmas (see n. 45) does report that Severian had doubts about 2 and 3 John. 33 Suidae Lexicon §461 (ed. A. Adler, Leipzig 1928–38, II.647), ‘δέχεται δέ ὁ Χρυσόστομος καὶ τὰς ἐπιστολὰς αὐτοῦ τὰς τρεῖς καὶ τὴν Αποκάλυψιν’; Synopsis Scripturae Sacrae (PG 56:317), ‘καὶ τῶν καθολικῶν ἐπιστολαὶ τρεῖς’. A catena on 3 Jn 8 is ascribed to Chrysostom in K. Staab, ‘Die griechischen Katencommentare zu den katholischen Briefen’, Bib. 27

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Acceptance into the Canon

Some were even more cautious about the Catholic Epistles; none of them are used in the surviving works of Diodore of Tarsus, Chrysostom’s teacher, (d. c. 390), although in Suidas he is credited with a commentary on 1 John.34 His disciple, Theodore of Mopsuestia, was charged by an opponent, Leontius of Byzantium, with rejecting James and the following Catholic Epistles; if Leontius placed James at the head of the Catholic Epistles then Theodore rejected them all, and indeed none are used in his surviving writings while Isho’dad of Merv (c. 850) is silent about the minor Epistles and explicitly claims that Theodore never used James, 1 Peter or 1 John.35 On the other hand Theodore may have accepted 1 Peter and 1 John, Leontius putting James in third place, and in line with this Junilius Africanus, who often reflects Theodore’s thought, ascribed 1 Peter and 1 John to the books of ‘perfect authority’ but James, 2 Peter, Jude and 2 and 3 John with Revelation to those of ‘secondary authority’ (media auctoritas).36 Yet Theodoret of Cyr (d. c. 466), who defended both Diodore and Theodore, did accept three Catholic Epistles.37 In the midst of a complex picture the obscurity surrounding 2 and 3 John is at least one constant theme! As for the Syriac speaking church, although the oldest translation probably contained no Catholic Epistles, James, 1 Peter and 1 John were included in the Peshitto (mid fifth century).38 The remaining ones were added in the sixth century Philoxenian recension used only among the Monophysites.39 1 Peter and 1 John are the only Catholic Epistles in the Syriac writings of Ephraem, although all seven are used in the Greek writings ascribed to him.40 This uncertain position is one which was to continue in the East.41

5 (1924) 296–353, 321. In ed. J. A. Cramer, Catenae Graecorum Patrum in Novum Testamentum vol. 8 In Epistolas Catholicas et Apocalypsin, Oxford 1884, it is anonymous. Ps. Chrysostom, De Pseudoprophetis (PG 59:554, 556, 557) cites 2 John while Palladius in his biography of Chrysostom uses 3 John (PG 47:73). Isidore of Pelusium who followed Chrysostom’s exegesis quotes 2 Jn 8 in his letters, II.300; V.144 (PG 78:727, 1409). 34 Suidae Lexicon §1149 (ed. cit., II.103). See Jerome, De Vir. Illus. 119 (ed. cit., 62), ‘Extant eius in Apostolum commentarii’. See E. Schweizer, ‘Diodor von Tarsus als Exeget’, ZNW 40 (1941) 33–75, who accepts that Diodore used none of the Catholic Epistles or Revelation, although in a footnote he raises a query about I John and 1 Peter (51). 35 Leontius of Byzantium, C. Nestorianos et Eutychianos III. 14 (PG 86:1365) ‘τοῦ μεγάλου Ἰακώβου τὴν ἐπιστολὴν, καὶ τὰς ἐξῆς τῶν ἄλλων ἀποκηρύττει καθολικάς’. Isho’dad of Merv (ed. M.  Gibson, The Commentaries of Isho’dad of Merv vol. IV Acts of the Apostles and Three Catholic Epistles in Syriac and English, Horae Semiticae X, Cambridge 1913) comments on James, 1 Peter and 1 John but finds them inferior and appeals to Theodore who never mentions them or uses illustrations from them (ed. cit. 36, 49). 36 Junilius Africanus, Instituta Regularia I.6–7 (H. Kihn, Theodor von Mopsuestia und Junilius Africanus als Exegeten, Freiburg 1880, 478–80). Kihn believes that Theodore did accept 1 Peter and 1 John, while T. Zahn, ‘Das Neue Testament Theodors von Mopsuestia und der ursprungliche Kanons der Syrer’, NKZ 11 (1900) 788–806 and J. Leipoldt, Geschichte des neutestamentlichen Kanons (2 vols.), Leipzig 1907–8, I, 247 follow Isho’dad in arguing that Theodore accepted none of the Catholic Epistles. 37 Theodoret of Cyr, Eranistes (ed. G. Ettlinger, Oxford 1975, 91, 1.6); he refers to 1 Peter and 1 John each as ‘the letter’. He also quotes from Revelation as by ‘John’ (ed. cit. 102, 1.19f.). Jas 5.13 is quoted in In Psal. XXVI.6 (PG 80:1053A). 38 That the earliest Syriac Canon contained no Catholic Epistles is implied by Aphraat, the Doctrine of Addai and the Syriac stichometry in A. S. Lewis, Catalogue of the Syriac MSS in the Convent of S. Catherine on Mount Sinai, Studia Sinaitica I, London 1894, 8–16. See Zahn, ‘Das NT Theodors’ and Geschichte, I, 373ff. On the Peshitto see B.  M. Metzger, The Early Versions of the New Testament, Oxford 1977, 48–63. 39 See J. Gwynn, Remnants of the Later Syriac Versions of the Bible, London and Oxford 1909; Metzger, Early Versions, 63–8. 40 Ed. J. S. Assemani, Opera Omnia Ephraemi, Rome 1732–46, I.76 cites 3 Jn 4 and III.52 cites 2 Jn 9 but these are only in Greek. 41 There are no Catholic Epistles in the East Syrian Lectionary (ed. A. J. Maclean, London 1894); on Isho’dad of Merv see above n. 38. See further Leipoldt, Geschichte I, 245ff.

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The general picture we have explored is well summarised in the sixth century by Cosmas Indicopleustes – some have doubted all the Catholic Epistles, some accept 1 Peter and 1 John, while ‘among the Syrians only James, 1 Peter and 1 John are found’. Although some accept three Epistles of John, for himself he feels that the perfect Christian can get all he needs from the books which are universally recognised.42

1 and 2 John However, Cosmas’s account does not tell the whole story, for it appears that even while 2 and 3 John were moving through obscurity, questioning and eventual acceptance in some parts of the church, elsewhere the Second Epistle was being acknowledged alongside the First with no hint of its having another partner. (a) Irenaeus and Clement of Alexandria Irenaeus, bishop of Lyons at the end of the second century, had heard Polycarp in his youth and believed him to have been a disciple of John – a claim which has been the inspiration of much scholarly debate.43 Eusebius reports that he used many testimonies from the first (πρώτης) letter of John and also the former letter of Peter;44 in fact he quotes from both 1 and 2 John, but in such a manner as to imply his quotations are from one letter. On one occasion 2 Jn 11 is quoted in condemnation of heretics as the words of ‘John the disciple of the Lord’, Irenaeus’s usual epithet for the author of the Fourth Gospel whom he undoubtedly held to be the Apostle.45 Later, amidst a row of references to the Gospel and First Epistle, 2 Jn 7–8 is cited with the introduction ‘and his disciple John urges us to avoid them (i.e. heretics) in the Epistle mentioned above saying . . .’; the reference can only be back to his earlier use of 1 John, which is in fact cited in the next sentence with the words ‘And again in the letter he says’.46 Irenaeus clearly knew 1 and 2 John but possibly as a single letter, while he gives no hint of 3 John. For the second of those two passages we are unfortunately dependent on a Latin translation of Irenaeus’s work; the same is true of the crucial evidence for Clement of Alexandria’s position (c. 150–215). Among his many works Clement wrote a commentary on some of the biblical books, apparently including some later to be excluded from the canon. For its precise contents we have only the conflicting reports of others together with a Latin translation (usually known as the Adumbrationes) of the commentary on 1 Peter, 1 and 2 John and Jude. Cassiodorus senator (c. 480–580) claimed ultimate responsibility for this translation, which also involved appropriate censorship, although surprisingly his list of the ‘canonical epistles’ on which Clement commented reads 1 Peter, 1 and 2 John and James  – the last surely a mistake for

Cosmas Indicopleustes, Topographia Christiana VII.68–70 (SC 197, 129–133). See below p. 611. See C. K. Barrett, The Gospel according to St. John, 2nd ed., London 1978, 100–105. 44 Eusebius, HE V.8.7 (GCS 9, 446). 45 Irenaeus, Adversus Haereses I.16.3 (SC 264, 262). On the problem of Irenaeus’s identification of ‘John the disciple of the Lord’ with the Apostle see J. J. Gunther, ‘Early Identifications of the Authorship of the Johannine Writings’, JEH 31 (1980) 407–27, 417ff., 426. 46 AH III. 16.8 (SC 211, 318–20). See below p. 32 on the text of 2 Jn 7 here. 42 43

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Jude.47 Yet this conflicts with Eusebius’s report that Clement covered ‘the whole of the canonical Scriptures without omitting the disputed books, namely Jude and the rest of the Catholic Epistles, Barnabas and the so-called Apocalypse of Peter’, and also with Photius’s much later (ninth century) account which refers only to Genesis, Exodus, the Psalms, the Epistles of Paul, the Catholic Epistles and Ecclesiasticus.48 The discrepancies between the reports and the unusual phrasing of the earliest, Eusebius, puts none of them above suspicion; moreover Rufinus’s translation of Eusebius implies that he already had no direct knowledge of the books or their contents while Photius is generally dismissive of the many blasphemies contained in them and only says ‘certain passages’ in the books covered were commented on.49 There is no internal evidence from the Adumbrationes themselves and elsewhere Clement quotes only from 1 Peter, Jude and 1 John, which he calls the ‘greater’ letter of John.50 It does seem possible to accept Cassiodorus’s list with the correction to Jude, and still to explain the other reports – otherwise the disappearance of a commentary on 3 John from those on 1 and 2 John would be hard to explain. Thus it appears Clement chose to comment on – and perhaps knew – only 1 and 2 John.51 (b) Muratorian Canon The so-called Muratorian Canon is a discussion of the books we might think of as the New Testament extant only in an eighth century Latin manuscript. On internal grounds it is usually dated to the end of the second century,52 which, if correct, would make it the oldest discussion of books acknowledged by the church. Yet it is a notoriously difficult text to interpret with confidence; it is clearly incomplete starting as it does with the end of a sentence and continuing with a reference to Luke as the third Gospel. Even within the text appeal to scribal miscopying and omission seems unavoidable, an appeal which is justified by the discrepancies between two versions of part of Ambrose’s De Abrahamo which follow in the manuscript.53 Arguably a translation from Greek, the Latin itself is marked by mistakes in spelling and grammar. Most problematically, the document does not read as a unity and may be made up of fragments from a longer work or works with different purposes. Hence it is hazardous to argue from the

Cassiodorus, Institutiones divinarum Litterarum VIII.4 (ed. R.  A. B.  Mynors, Cassiodori Senatoris Institutiones, Oxford 1937, 29). 48 Eusebius, HE VI.14.1 (GCS 9, 548); Photius, Biblioteca Cod. 109 (ed. R. Henry, Photius Bibliothèque 8 vols., Paris 1959–77, II, 79f.). 49 Rufinus, HE VI. 13.2 (GCS 9, 547) refers to the eight books of the ‘Υποτυπώσεων’ about which he is unable to give any information – an addition to the text of Eusebius. At VI.14.1 (GCS 9, 549) he omits the summary of contents. Photius, loc. cit. 50 For the Adumbrationes see GCS 17, 203–15. At Strom. II.15.66 (GCS 52 (15), 148) 1 John is called ‘greater’ (μείζονι) but in the Greek of this period this need not mean ‘of two’. 51 This is the view taken by Sanday, ‘Cheltenham List’, 248–9 and Leipoldt, Geschichte I, 232–3; contrast J.  Ruwet, ‘Clément d’Alexandrie: Canon des Écritures et Apocryphes’, Bib. 29 (1948) 77–99, 240–68, 391–408. 52 For text and comments see Westcott, Canon, Appendix C; ed. S. P. Tregelles, Canon Muratorianus, Oxford 1867; E. S. Buchanan, ‘The Codex Muratorianus’, JThS 8 (1907) 537–45. A dating at the end of the second century is favoured by the reference to Hermas as written ‘very recently (nuperrime) and in our own times by Hermas while his brother, bishop Pius, was presiding over the church at Rome’; Pius is dated c. ad 142–55. However, A. C. Sundberg, ‘Canon Muratori: A Fourth Century List’, HThR 66 (1973) 1–41, has argued for a later date and Eastern origin; his arguments while not conclusive raise important issues. 53 See Westcott, Canon, 538ff. 47

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author’s silences and difficult to know for whom he speaks. Certainly it would seem wrong to think of this as in any sense an official list.54 After the reference to Luke’s Gospel an explanation of the origin of the Fourth Gospel is given which is clearly apologetic in origin – it was at the instigation of Andrew and the other disciples that John wrote his Gospel. A further guarantee is given by quoting John’s claim to be an eye- and ear-witness ‘in his letter’ (1 Jn 1.1f.).55 After discussing Acts, the letters of Paul to seven churches (signifying universality after the pattern of the Apocalypse) and also those to individuals, the list refers to the spurious (‘finctae’) epistles of Paul to the Laodicaeans and Alexandrians ‘which cannot be accepted into the catholic church’ (‘quae in chatholicam eclesiam recepi non potest’). The tone has now changed from an interest in the origins of the books to the question of their reception into the church, reflecting either the diverse origins of the material or the move from the books Eusebius later describes as ‘acknowledged’ to those that were disputed. It is in this context that there follow the words ‘Certainly the letter of Jude and two with the title of (?) John are held in the catholic (?) and Wisdom written by the friends of Solomon in his honour’ (‘epistola sane iude (read Iudae) et superscrictio (read superscriptio) iohannis duas (vulgar Latin nominative or read duae) in catholica habentur et sapientia ab amicis salomonis in honore ipsius scripta’).56 ‘Superscrip(c)tio’ makes little sense; the translation given assumes reading ‘superscriptae’, ‘with the title’, presumably referring to the absence of any name in the initial greeting, unlike the letters of Paul and Jude. This fits normal use and the probable Greek original better than the alternative of reading ‘superscripti’ and translating ‘of the above mentioned John’ or ‘of the John in the title’.57 ‘In catholica’ is best understood as ‘in catholica ecclesia’, ‘in the catholic church’, the absence of ‘ecclesia’ being a scribal omission, although Tertullian does use the adjective on its own of the church.58 Again this seems preferable to translating ‘of John two together with the Catholic one’ (i.e. 1 John), since the designation of 1 John as ‘the Catholic Epistle,’ only came later into currency.59 Although 1 John had been cited earlier in conjunction with the Gospel this would no more obviate reference to it in its proper place than does comparison of the Apocalypse with Paul’s sevenfold address prevent its later mention after the, admittedly awkward, comment on

See Sundberg, ‘Canon Muratori’, 4ff. ‘in epistulis suis’ (10a, l.28) but in this period the plural could be used of a single letter. On the force of the appeal to 1 John in support of the Gospel see Ehrhardt, ‘The Gospels in the Muratorian Fragment’, 28–29, 34. 56 11a, ll.6–9. 57 ‘Superscriptae’ (implying an underlying Greek, if such there was, ἐπιγεγραμέναι as in Eusebius HE VII.2 5.7 of the Gospel ‘entitled according to John’) is read by Zahn, Geschichte II, 88ff. and by Westcott, Canon, 546. Earlier, in the 2nd edition (1866) Westcott had read ‘superscripti’ (genitive agreeing with ‘iohannis’) ‘of the above mentioned John’ as does Tregelles, Canon Muratorianus, 49. F. Hesse, Das Muratori’sche Fragment, Giessen 1873, read ‘superscripti’, meaning ‘of the John in the title’. 58 Tertullian, De Praes. Haer. 269, 302 (CChr.SL 1, 208, 210) without ‘ecclesia’ provided. 59 P. Katz, ‘The Johannine Epistles in the Muratorian Canon’, JThS NS 8 (1957) 273–4 argues for ‘dua(e) sin catholica’, ‘sin’ being a transliteration for the Greek ‘σύν’ (with); C. F. D. Moule, The Birth of the New Testament, London 1962, 206, n. I proposed an original Greek ‘πρὸς τὴν καθολικήν’ since ‘πρός’ could mean ‘in addition to’ and yet be translated by ‘in’; this was partially anticipated by Dr. W. Fitzgerald in 1860 who suggested an original Greek ‘πρὸς τῇ καθολικῇ’ (Tregelles, Canon Muratorianus, 50). The first clear reference to the ‘catholic epistle’ is by Apollonius (c. ad 197) in Eusebius HE V.18.5 (GCS 9, 474). K. Stendahl, ‘The Apocalypse of John and the Epistles of Paul in the Muratorian Fragment’, in Current Essays in New Testament Interpretation, ed. W. Klassen & G. Snyder, London 1962, 239–45 rejects Katz’s interpretation as involving too technical a use of ‘catholica’. 54 55

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Wisdom. Although the surprising absence of 1 Peter provides a timely warning against undue confidence in interpretation,60 to assume that both it and I John have been lost in the history of the text’s composition is to retreat behind unproveable supposition. As the text stands it knows only two letters of John, 1 John and surely 2 John, which ‘are held’ in the church.61 Although 3 John would hardly fit in with the author’s scheme of universality of intention, he can cope with Paul’s letters to individuals, and so the Muratorian Canon is a further witness to confident acceptance of 1 and 2 John, accompanied by ignorance of the Third Epistle. (c) The Latin Tradition Although translation did not necessarily imply the ascription of particular authority, it might be expected that the history of the versions will reflect something of the history of the canon. Already we have seen this to be the case with the Syriac version;62 on the other hand, although the varying quality of the Greek text of the Catholic Epistles, even within a single manuscript, may be attributed to reliance on manuscripts of different origins when the Catholic Epistles were first brought together as a group, it is often very difficult to relate such textual variations to the history of the canon.63 This warns against overconfidence when evidence as clear as the stages of the Syriac translation is missing. This warning holds true of the Latin translation of the New Testament; its origins are surrounded with obscurity, and although it has been argued that nothing disproves the theory of an original single translation of the Catholic Epistles,64 this remains at best an hypothesis. The multiformity of the Latin translation in the period before the Vulgate is witnessed to by manuscripts and patristic citations reflecting an Old Latin text. To some extent it is possible to isolate from within this multiformity recognisable ‘text-types’ represented by particular manuscripts and authors, sometimes associated with particular geographical areas within a given period.65 The attempt has further been made to trace a development through these text-types from the earliest ‘African’ witnesses to the increased use of vocabulary favoured by European authors and the forms to be found in the Vulgate; thus vocabulary is used to help

M.-J. Lagrange, ‘Le Canon d’Hippolyte et le Fragment de Muratori’, RB 42 (1933) 161–86 reads ‘Peter’ for ‘John’ here. Some hesitation may be implied by ‘habentur’ instead of ‘recipiuntur’ (as in 11a, ll.4, 10). Westcott, Canon (2nd ed.), 192 suggested the use of ‘sane’ implied some hesitation. See also Zahn, Geschichte II, 88f. 62 See above p. 601. 63 See K. Aland, Der Text des Neuen Testaments, Stuttgart 1982, 58ff. However, W. L. Richards, The Classification of the Greek Manuscripts of the Johannine Epistles, SBLDS 35, Montana 1977, 72–75, 196–8, stresses the problems of interpretation – there are examples where within a single manuscript 1 and 3 John reflect a different text from 2 John. 64 That the Catholic Epistles were translated at the same time is argued by W.  Thiele, Epistulaef Catholicae:  Vetus Latina: Die Reste der altlateinischen Bibel 26/1, Freiburg 1956–69, 97*. 65 Thiele distinguishes the following text-types:  African:   K   The text of Carthage to the time of Cyprian. C   A younger text in Donatists, Optatus, early Augustine. European:   S   ‘Spanish’; Ps. Augustine, Speculum, some Priscillian. T  Some MSS including 67 = 1 (Codex Pal. Legionensis/Leon Palimpsest), Cassiodorus, Didymus the Blind, Jerome, Comm, in Ep. ad Titum for 3 Jn 5.  V   Vulgate. Others:     R   Lucifer of Calaris – a mixed text. Aug.  Augustine’s own  text. See W. Thiele, Wortschatzuntersuchungen zu den lateinischen Texten der Johannesbriefe, Freiburg 1958, 10. 60 61

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‘plot’ manuscripts and citations on the line of development.66 This can only be done tentatively and the evidence defies precision, while the results are often difficult to interpret.67 The resulting pattern of development varies from Epistle to Epistle which in part, but only in part, may reflect their history in the canon: with books given less authority and less frequently cited there would be less tendency to refine the translation or to bring it into conformity with the Greek text, but at the same time, and perhaps working in the opposite direction, less concern about accuracy and care of translation and less opposition to changes.68 In the case of the Johannine Epistles, it is not surprising that 2 John does not share the same translation history as 1 John but shows signs of a slower development.69 Rather more surprising is the somewhat greater gap between 3 John and 2 or 1 John even within a single manuscript. Thus in the important Leon Palimpsest (MS 67 = l)70 ἀγάπη (love) is rendered by the older ‘African’ ‘dilectio’ in 3 John, but by ‘caritas’ in 1 and 2 John, a translation which only comes into 3 John in the Vulgate; so also in the same manuscript πονηρός (evil) is translated by the older ‘malus’ in 3 John, but by ‘malignus’ in 1 and 2 John, that translation again coming into 3 John in the Vulgate. In each case the ‘older’ translation – i.e. the form found in 3 John – had been used at an earlier stage in the development of the Latin text of 1 and 2 John.71 Even where comparison is not possible with the other two Epistles, 3 John reveals the continuance of old forms of translation to a later stage both in choice of vocabulary and in its greater freedom of translation.72 It is because 3 John had ‘lagged behind’ in this way that the difference between the Vulgate and the text represented by MS 67 is much more marked in 3 John than in 1 and 2 John.73 The presence of such ‘old’ forms suggests that 3 John was not translated substantially later than the other Epistles despite the absence of any representatives of the earliest stages of the development. On the other hand, the same manuscript contains ways of translation which would normally be seen as signs of a later stage such as ‘protinus’ for εὐθέως (immediately) and ‘eicere’ for ἐκβάλλειν (cast out), both retained in the Vulgate.74

See the introduction to Thiele, Epistulae Catholicae; also B. Fischer, ‘Das Neue Testament in lateinischer Sprache’, in Die Alten Übersetzungen des Neuen Testaments, die Kirchenväterzitate und Lektionare, ed. K. Aland, Berlin/New York 1972, 1–92, 9ff. 67 Some Patristic authors represent more than one text-type. See the reviews by H. F. D. Sparks and G. Willis in JThS NS 17 (1966) 451–3 and 453–6. 68 For this in the case of the Greek manuscript tradition see Richards, Classification, 74–5. 69 See Thiele, Wortschatzuntersuchungen, 42. For example ‘ἵνα μὴ’ is rendered by ‘ne’, an African form, in Lucifer and in V in 2 Jn 8, but by ‘ne’ in T and by ‘ut non’ in V in 1 John. 70 On this manuscript see B.  Fischer, ‘Ein neuer Zeuge zum westlichen Text der Apostelgeschichte’, in Biblical and Patristic Studies, ed. J. N. Birdsall & R. W. Thomson, Freiburg 1963, 33–64. 71 As well as ‘ἀγάπη’ (1 John passim; 2 Jn 3, 6; 3 Jn 6), ‘ἀγαπήτος’ (3 Jn 1, 2, 5) is rendered by ‘dilectissimus’ or ‘dilectus’ in T and by ‘carissimus’ in V in 3 John while in 1 John ‘carissimus’ is used in both T and V (there are no examples in 2 John); Thiele, Wortschatzuntersuchungen, 26f., 30 identifies ‘dilectus/issimus’ and ‘malus’ as older forms common in African text-types. The translation of ‘μαρτυρεῖν’ by ‘testimonium’ and a verb in V in 3 Jn 3,6, 12 is also said to be ‘African’ by Thiele (ibid.); it survives in only one place in the Vulgate in 1 John (5.7–8), ‘testari’ or ‘testificare’ being used elsewhere. This example is also given by T. W. Manson, ‘Entry into Membership of the Early Church’, JThS 48 (1947) 25–33, 32–3. Manson’s other examples are vitiated by referring only to the Vulgate. 72 Thiele, Epistulae Catholicae, 90* gives examples. 73 Examples have already been given where T and V differ in 3 John; however, the Vulgate of 3 John remains freer in relation to the Greek than is the case in 1 and 2 John; see A.  v. Harnack, Zur Revision der Prinzipien der neutestamentlichen Textkritik, Leipzig 1916, 57–74. 74 Thiele, Wortschatzuntersuchungen, 31; so perhaps also the translation of ‘ἐθνικός’ (3 Jn 7) by ‘gentilis’ in T and by ‘gens’ in V when the African tradition would favour ‘ethnicus’, although this may reflect the reading ‘ἐθνῶν’. 66

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This evidence has been given with considerable caution both because of our uncertainties about how the text developed and because of the frequent variation both in the quality of the Latin translation even within one manuscript and in forms of citation even by one author.75 At most it suggests that the Johannine Epistles, which we might expect to be treated as a unity, do not share the same translation history and that 3 John is most distinctively the ‘odd man out’. This may mean that there were in circulation and use copies of 1 and 2 John without 3 John, which thus underwent less revision. In the Greek manuscript tradition P 72, which contains 1 and 2 Peter and Jude amidst a curious collection of texts, warns us against assuming that the Catholic Epistles would necessarily have been treated as a complete and separate corpus.76 Our conclusion that 1 and 2 John may have been known where 3 John was not does receive support from some of the Latin Fathers. Already we have seen the quotation of 2 Jn 10–11 in Africa in the mid-third century, perhaps in close association with 1 Jn, but without mention of a third letter.77 The following century Lucifer of Calaris (d. c. 371) refers to 1 and 2 John as by the Apostle, 2 John being ‘the second epistle’, but nowhere mentions 3 John; similarly Priscillian (d. 385)  quotes 1 and 2 John, although not explicitly as separate letters, but has no reference to the Third Epistle, the only one of the Catholic Epistles he does not use.78 The following century Ps-Augustine Speculum quotes all the Catholic Epistles except 3 John, and clearly ascribes 2 John to the Apostle.79 These writers each represent distinctive forms of the Old Latin text, but there is some relationship between them in 1 and 2 John.80 Perhaps another indicator of the separate history behind 3 John is the Old Latin reading in 2 Jn 1, ‘Iohannes senior . . .’ (John the elder . . .), with no parallel in 3 Jn 1, the witnesses to which include MS 67 and Cassiodorus who draws attention to the difference.81 Finally we may note the vexed problem of the title ‘Ad Parthos’ (To the Parthians) which 1 John bears in Augustine and in other Latin Fathers – perhaps under the same influence – and also (at the end) in MS 67; it is also to be found in many copies of the Vulgate.82 The origin of the title has not been convincingly established but there are some indications of a link with 2 John. It seems likely it originated in Greek and there is Greek minuscule witness for the title attached to 2 John;83 it is also given to 2 John in some manuscripts of Ps-Augustine, Speculum, although variants in the tradition there show its meaning was no longer understood.84 There is some evidence in the Sahidic version for a colophon identifying 2 John as ‘to the virgins’, implying a

See above n. 70. For P72 see ed. M. Testuz, Papyrus Bodmer VII– IX, Cologny-Genève 1959, 8ff. The contents also include 3 Corinthians, Melito etc. 77 See above p. 597 n. 12 and n. 13. 78 Lucifer, De non Conveniendo cum Haereticis XIII–XIV (CSEL 14, 28–30); Lucifer also quotes from 1 Peter and Jude among the Catholic Epistles. Priscillian, Tractatus I (Liber Apologeticus) (CSEL 18, 31), after a quotation from 1 Jn 4.2, ‘sicut et ipse alibi: qui non confitetur Christum Iesum in carne venisse hi sunt seductores et antichristi’. 79 Ps. Augustine, Speculum (De Div. Scripturis) 2 (CSEL 12, 315), after a quotation from 1 John, ‘Item in eiusdem II. Quonian multi fallaces . . . (2 Jn 7)’, and 50 (ibid., 517), ‘Item Iohannes apostolus II. Si quis venit . . . (2 Jn 10f.)’. 80 See Thiele, Epistulae Catholicae, 82*, 88*, 384. 81 Cassiodorus, Complex. in Epist. Apost. (PL 70:1373); MSS 67, 54 (see JThS 12 (1911) 497–534), C (Codex Cavensis), X (Codex Complutensis 1), and three Spanish manuscripts to which Thiele gives the sigla ΣTCO. Thiele, Epistulae Catholicae, 386 also cites Jerome, Comm. in Agg. (PL 25:1404B) but this may be a misinterpretation of the punctuation. 82 Augustine, Tractatus X (PL 35:1977ff.) ‘in epistolam Ioannis ad Parthos’; for other Patristic references see Brooke, Epistles, xxx–xxxii; T. Zahn, Forschungen zur Geschichte des neutestamentlichen Kanons III, Erlangen 1884, 99–103. 83 See Brooke, Epistles, xxxi. 84 Ps. Augustine, Speculum 2 where the variants are ‘ad partos secunda’, ‘ad partes’, and ‘ad pastores scd’a’. 75 76

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Greek ‘πρὸς παρθένους’.85 It is attractive to see a link with Clement of Alexandria’s comment on 2 John, extant only in Latin translation, that it was written ‘ad virgines’ (to virgins) and also that it was written to a certain ‘Babylonian’, although the link could work in more than one way. The Greek παρθένους (‘parthenous’: virgins) could have been miscopied or misunderstood as πάρθους (‘parthous’: Parthians), or Clement may have written the latter, thus agreeing with his reference to the Babylonian Electa (Babylon being held by the Parthians), and have been miscopied or mistranslated.86 At the very least some sort of link between 1 and 2 John in transmission is implied and it may be that the title was transferred from 2 to 1 John early in the Latin tradition. Clearly not everyone in the early church thought of 2 and 3 John as the inseparable pair. While some knew only 1 John as apostolic and entertained doubts about the origin and importance of 2 and 3 John, this alternative tradition, witnessed mainly in the West, acknowledged from an early date both 1 and 2 John as apostolic but left 3 John in obscurity – perhaps reflecting the introduction of 2 John independently from the Third Epistle.

The Acceptance of Three Letters of John As Bede reported, the ‘general consensus of the church’ came to be in favour of all three letters of John as apostolic. Although, as we have seen, listing did not always lead to use, from the second half of the fourth century 2 and 3 John are to be found as part of a canon which, excepting some debate about Revelation, is identical with ours.87 The path by which this consensus was reached is, like so much else in the history of the canon, obscure. 2 John may well have played the greater part in bringing the two smaller Epistles to acceptance and would have been helped in this by that tradition which had never doubted it. Yet how these different traditions of use related to each other and how they would have been reflected in manuscripts and in church use remains something of a mystery.88 Important in the process of acceptance is the interaction between interpretation and conformity, real or contrived, with the doctrines or the needs of the church or individual writer: such conformity aided acceptance while acceptance led to appropriate interpretation. As we see how 2 and 3, but especially 2, John were interpreted and used in the early church, we can see something of the conditions under which they were accepted. Surprisingly, discussion of the epithet ‘elder’ in the first verse of each letter does not focus on the authorship question; it was neither felt to be incompatible with apostolic authorship by either side in the debate nor appealed to by those who ascribed the letters to John the

See G. Horner, The Coptic Version of the New Testament in the Southern Dialect, Vol. VII, The Catholic Epistles and the Apocalypse, Oxford 1924, 175. However in his discussion of the manuscript, (4 = Parchment Vatican 63) he says the description of the letter as ‘to the virgins’ comes before the Third Epistle in the heading (557). 86 Clement of Alexandria, Adumbrationes in Ep.II Joannis (GCS 17, 215) ‘Secunda Iohannis epistola, quae ad virgines scripta est, simplicissima est. Scripta vero est ad quandam Babyloniam, “Electam” nomine’; it is natural to see a link with 1 Pet 5.13 in this comment. (See Zahn, Forschungen III, 99–103). 87 See n. 33. 88 Thiele, Epistulae Catholicae, 15* describes a Latin manuscript (65, c. 800) which does not include 3 John or Jude and leaves no room for them, the Apocalypse being on the verso of the sheet containing 2 John; yet at this date it is difficult to know how to interpret this. 85

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Presbyter. The Latin translation ‘senior’ rather than ‘presbuteros’ both reflects and aided this; it encouraged the interpretation of seniority in years and wisdom, although Jerome does use the verse to show that in the New Testament ‘presbyter’ could be used of a bishop!89 As for the ‘elect lady’ of 2 John, the metaphorical interpretation referring to the church proved dominant and probably aided and then was encouraged by the acceptance of the Epistle as ‘catholic’.90 The literal interpretation referring to an individual is witnessed first by Clement of Alexandria, while Oecumenius later has to refute objections to 2 and 3 John based on the inappropriateness of their individual address for ‘catholic’ Epistles.91 Philemon among the letters of Paul had encountered similar problems at an earlier date but it is to the Pauline letters addressed to individuals and to there being neither male nor female in Christ that Oecumenius now appeals. We have already observed both the similarity between 2 Jn 7 and 1 Jn 4.2f. and the differences  – notably the negative form and the surprising use of the present participle ‘coming’ (ἐρχόμενον) in the former. To identify which verse is being quoted is often difficult, especially if a negative form is required by the context – as it often is since the most common context is the description of heretics.92 The present participle is not noted by any early writer until Oecumenius specifically comments on it referring it to the second coming.93 Irenaeus’s quotation of the verse, only extant in the Latin, in fact uses a perfect infinitive and whether this reflects a perfect participle in his Greek (as in 1 Jn 4.2) or the influence of the Old Latin on the translator is uncertain.94 The pre-Vulgate Latin translation does use the perfect infinitive ‘venisse’ (there being no active perfect participle in Latin), and even after the Vulgate introduced the present participle ‘venientem’ in conformity with the Greek most interpreters assume a past tense.95 There is also a tendency in the Latin tradition to bring the word order into agreement with that found in 1 Jn 4.2;96 clearly the verse was understood as, and useful as, a parallel to the passage in 1 John.

The term is usually explained as ‘aetate provectus’ although in Euthalius, Elenchus Sept. Epist. Cath. (PG 85:665–92) 1 John is introduced as by John who wrote the Gospel, 2 John simply as by ‘the presbyter’. For Jerome see Epist. 146.1 (CSEL 56, 310) and Kelly, Jerome, 147, 212. 90 Jerome, Epist. 123 (CSEL 56, 84); Cassiodorus, Complex. in Epist. Apost. (PL 70:1373); Ps. Hilary, Tract. in Sept. Epist. Can. (PLS 3:126). 91 Clement of Alexandria:  see n.  89; Oecumenius, Comm. in Epist. I, II, III Joannis (PG 119:686–7); Walafridius Strabo, Glossa Ordinaria in Ep. II B. Joannis (PL 114:703). See also the argumentum to 2 John in U (Codex Ulmensis), ‘Usqueado ad sanctam foeminam scribit, ut eandem dominam non dubitet literis appellare’ (J. Wordsworth et  al. Novum Testamentum Domini nostri Iesu Christi Latine sec. edit. S. Hieronymi ad codicum manuscriptorum fidem 3.2, Oxford 1949, 380). 92 See above p. 597 on Tertullian and Cyprian. In The Epistles of St. John, London 1883, 157. B. F. Westcott saw the influence of 2 John in Tertullian and Cyprian, but in Canon, 379–80 he decided that knowledge of 1 John only was implied. 93 Although he has noted the tense of ἐρχόμενον’ and referred it to the second coming Oecumenius brings the argument back to the incarnation by saying that anyone who rejects the second coming will also reject the first. 94 AH III. 16.8 (SC 211, 318–20); see above p. 602. See A. Souter, ‘The New Testament Text of Irenaeus’, in Novum Testamentum Sancti Irenaei Episcopi Lugdunensis, ed. W. Sanday & C. H. Turner, Oxford 1923, cxii–clxix. 95 ‘Venisse’ is read by ‘Ambrosiaster’ Comm, in Ep. ad Rom. 12.18 (see n. 33), Ps. Augustine, Speculum 2, Priscillian, Tract. I, and Lucifer, De non Conveniendo XIII (see nn. 81–2). It is also read by Beatus of Liebana, Ad Elip. Epist. I.23 (PL 96:907) who usually follows the Vulgate text. It is implied by the commentaries of Bede, Cassiodorus, Clement of Alexandria and Euthalius that they took the verb as a perfect. 96 Thus when citing 2 Jn 7 several authors follow the order of 1 John by reading ‘in flesh’ before the participle (Ambrosiaster, Ps. Augustine, Speculum, Cassiodorus, Irenaeus and Priscillian). 89

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However, it is vv. 9–11 which were particularly valuable as a proof-text in a number of contexts. Since here there is no parallel in 1 John their usefulness may have helped secure the ascription of apostolic authority to 2 John and hence earned a place for both Epistles among the recognised books of the New Testament, for it is these verses which are the first to be used regularly. Primarily they gave sanction to the refusal of fellowship to heretics and schismatics; Irenaeus uses them against Gnostics while for Aurelius of Chullabi (ad 256) they establish the necessity for schismatics to be rebaptised before reception into the church, an interpretation Augustine later refuted by arguing that the reference was to relationships with heretics in general and not to baptism as such.97 By this time the verses were already being used to support the expulsion and avoidance of Arians – so already by Alexander of Alexandria in ad 312  – and soon became a standard proof-text on ‘not having dealings with heretics’, to be applied as appropriate.98 Ironically, they also had to be considered by the recipients of such treatment; Firmilian echoes v. 10 when speaking of Stephen of Rome’s refusal to accept the African envoys in the controversy over rebaptism, while Optatus (ad 367)  asserts that in denying Christians a brotherly greeting, the Donatists are failing to recognise that the words of the ‘Apostle’, quoting 1 Cor 5.11; 2 Jn 10; 2 Tim 2.7, were said about heretics and are inappropriate against Christians!99 Textual variants reflect this use; instead of the ambiguous ‘Everyone who leads forward’ (πᾶς ὁ προάγων) of v. 9, the Greek variant ‘Everyone who goes astray’ (πᾶς ὁ παραβαίνων), and the Old Latin ‘Everyone who goes back’ (recedit) defined the heretics much more clearly, and something similar is reflected in the other versions. Again, even after the Vulgate adopted ‘goes ahead’ (praecedit) in conformity with the Greek text, the Old Latin interpretation continued to be adopted.100 In a different way the mention of both Father and Son in v. 9 proved a useful weapon in Trinitarian controversy.101 Little of this interaction between usefulness, interpretation and acceptance can be found in 3 John. Once accepted 3 John provided the moral that the materially rich should help the poor or those rich only in spiritual goods and demonstrated the virtue of not retaliating when maligned.102 Only Jerome sees the Epistle as a sad prophecy of his own day when bishops, neglecting their own duty of hospitality, expel the laity who seek to fulfil it.103 It would seem that 2 John was frequently interpreted in the light of the First Epistle, often being brought into conformity with it. At the same time it supplemented 1 John by providing a sanction against false teachers. This would have encouraged the acceptance of these two letters as a pair. In comparison 3 John was felt to have little to offer and appears as a ‘hanger Irenaeus: see p. 602 n. 45 and n. 48; Aurelius: see p. 597 n. 12. Augustine, De Baptismo VII.89 (CSEL 51, 365–6). Alexander in Socrates, HE 1.6 (ed. W. Bright, Oxford 1893, 8); Ambrose, Epist. 11.4 (PL 16:986); Lucifer, De non Conveniendo XIII; Ps. Augustine, Speculum 50; Vincent of Lerins, Commonitorium 24(33) (ed. R. S. Moxon, Cambridge 1915, 96–7). 99 Firmilian in Cyprian, Epist. 75.25 (CSEL 3.2, 826); Optatus, C. Parmenianum IV.5 (CSEL 26, 108); O. R. VassallPhillips, The Works of St. Optatus against the Donatists, London 1917,189 suggests the texts had been used by Parmenian or some other Donatist. 100 Thus Beatus (see n. 98) reads ‘recedit’ as do some MSS of Bede, according to Thiele, Epistulae Catholicae, 390; Ps. Fulgentius, Pro Fide Catholica (De Trinitate) 6 (CChr.SL 90, 245) and Ps. Vigilius, C. Varimardum III.31 (CChr.SL 90, III) omit the verb. 101 Lucifer, loc. cit. (n. 101); Ps. Fulgentius and Ps. Vigilius, locc. citt. (n. 104). See also Jerome’s rendering of ‘this teaching’ in v. 10 as ‘ecclesiasticam fidem’ in Epist. 89.2 (CSEL 55, 143). 102 Gregory the Great, Hom. in Ezek. I.9.17 (PL 76:877): Hom. in Evang. I.20.12 (PL 76:1166). Similarly Bede and Ps. Hilary (see n. 93). 103 Jerome, Comm, in Ep. ad Titum 1.8–9 (PL 26:602–3). 97 98

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on’, only really coming to be used once it was accepted and had to be interpreted. Thus, in contrast to the case of the Pauline corpus, there is never any question as to the order of the Johannine letters; historically 2 and 3 John were accepted subsequently and in relation to the First Epistle, while as a consequence they (especially 2 John) were interpreted in its light with little awareness of their particularity. A possible reconstruction might be that as books of reputed apostolic authorship were circulated some churches received 1 John alone while others also knew its ‘appendix’ 2 John which before long proved to be useful in its own right. In due course 3 John became more widely known and was either automatically attached to 2 John or, in areas which had originally only known 1 John, the pair together would be viewed with some hesitation. It would seem that the claim that they were written by ‘John’ was being made from the start of their public circulation despite their anonymity; certainly, later alternative proposals of authorship – Papias’s ‘Presbyter John’ – were based on conjecture and on no independent historical information. At this point the questions of authorship and of canonical status were not always identical; for some, such as Cosmas or Severian of Gabala, apostolic authorship is essential, but for others, the Decretum Damasi and perhaps the Euthalian material, attribution to the Presbyter does not deny canonical status.104 Neither should we see the inclusion of 2 and 3 John in lists of recognised books of the New Testament as the end of their story. Not all those who so include them make actual use of them, or indeed of the other disputed writings.105 There is an ambivalence here which is part of the continuing history of the canon and which reemerged very clearly during the period of the Reformation. Then, partly on Jerome’s authority(!), 2 and 3 John were attributed to the Elder John and therefore accorded less authority, particularly for doctrinal purposes, by Cardinal Cajetan in the Roman Catholic church and also by Erasmus, while a similar conclusion is reached by some of the Reformers – although less authority did not necessarily mean exclusion from the canon.106 Debate was halted by the Council of Trent for the Roman Catholic church and to some extent by the Articles of Faith for the Reformed churches, and with it acknowledgement of different levels of authority within the canon.107 Yet the problem of the canon is not a closed one, and Cosmas’s words108 probably echo well what has been felt to be part of that problem, of which 2 and 3 John are only one example: ‘The perfect Christian has no need to lean on those which are disputed, because the canonical and commonly accepted writings sufficiently declare everything about the heavens and the earth and their components and the whole Christian doctrine.’ Severian: see p. 600 and n. 32; Cosmas: see p. 602, 611 and nn. 42, 108. Cosmas talks of the Epistles as being of ‘certain simple presbyters’ (loc. cit.); Decretum Damasi: see p. 14 and n. 31; Euthalius: see n. 92. 105 See above n. 33. 106 Cardinal Cajetan appeals to Jerome for the distinction between the Apostle as author of 1 John and the Presbyter as author of 2 and 3 John and goes on to say ‘Et propterea ambae minoris authoritatis sunt’ (Leipoldt, Geschichte II, 37). Similarly Erasmus in In Epist. Ioannis I–III. Erasmus submitted to the judgement of the church on such questions while Cajetan’s critical views were rejected at the Council of Trent (see Kummel, New Testament, 19 and n.  7–9). Among the Reformers Karlstadt, De Canonicis Scripturis Libellus put James, 2 Peter, 2 and 3 John and Hebrews in ‘tertium et infirmum auctoritatis divinae locum’; Calvin does not comment on 2 and 3 John and calls 1 John ‘sua canonica epistola’. See H. H. Howorth, ‘The Origin and Authority of the Biblical Canon according to the Continental Reformers’, JThS 8 (1906/7) 321–65: 9 (1908) 188–230. 107 The Decretum de libris sacris et de traditionibus recipiendis, ed. H. Denzinger, Enchiridion Symbolorum, 33rd edition, Freiburg 1965, 364–5 rejected any distinction between the classes of canonical books. On the Reformed churches see Westcott, Canon, 492,499–503, 506–7. Article VI of the 39 Articles holds as canonical those books about which there was never any doubt. 108 Cosmas, Topog. Christ. VII.70 (SC 197, 133). 104

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SEARCHING FOR EVIDENCE: THE HISTORY OF RECEPTION OF THE EPISTLES OF JUDE AND 2 PETER

Wolfgang Grünstäudl and Tobias Nicklas

In the introduction to his still-important 1977 monograph, Tord Fornberg states, A hasty glance at bibliographical works such as the Elenchus and New Testament Abstracts indicates that the interest in Early Christian epistolary literature is focused chiefly on the Corpus Paulinum (including Hebrews) and to some extent on the three major Catholic Epistles, i.e. James, 1 Pet[er], and 1 John. The four minor epistles, 2 Pet[er], 2 John, 3 John and Jude on the other hand, seldom come under consideration. (Fornberg 1977, 1) The situation described by Fornberg has not really changed during the last decades. Even if the minor Catholic Epistles are considered as part of most New Testament canons (the exception being the Syriac Peshitta), they play only a very minor role in New Testament scholarship and even less in the life and liturgy of modern churches. In the following study, we will focus on the Epistles of Jude and 2 Peter—both perhaps even more neglected than 2 and 3 John. What were the reasons that these two books have been included in the canon? What role did they play in the life of ancient churches? Only a few traces of the reception of these texts in earliest times are left. While these traces do not allow us to draw a complete picture, at least a few lines of their reception can be made visible.1 Before we discuss receptions of Jude and 2 Peter by ancient Christian authors outside the New Testament, it should not be forgotten that the texts are related on the literary level. It is not possible to discuss all of the evidence here, but it is highly probable that 2 Peter used Jude as one of its sources (see Kraus 2001, 368–76; Wasserman 2006, 73–98). Even if, however, both texts belong together in a certain sense, their paths to canonical status were remarkably different.

Jude—Troubles with Moses and Enoch Evidence for Commentary and Use of Jude Interestingly, the earliest evidence we have about the reception of Jude shows that this text had already been used as an authority at a very early point. The so-called Muratorian Fragment Of course, the space limitations of this chapter do not allow for a complete discussion of the early reception of both texts. We therefore concentrate on some of the most important traces. For more information on the reception of 2 Peter, see Grünstäudl 2013. 1

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(Rome, late second/early third century c.e.) mentions the Epistle of Jude after some “forged” texts like the pseudo-Pauline Epistle to the Laodiceans and Epistle to the Alexandrians and in a group of texts (including two Johannine letters, Wisdom of Solomon, Revelation, and Apocalypse of Peter) that were more or less accepted in the Roman church but remained a matter of discussion.2 Much more interesting, however, is the use of the text by two other authors who were writing at the turn of the second to the third century c.e. In his Adumbrationes in Epistolas Catholicas (Comments on the Catholic Epistles), perhaps the seventh volume of his otherwise lost Hypotyposes (Outlines; see also Eusebius, Hist. eccl. 6.14.1), Clement of Alexandria (140/150– 215/216 c.e.) gives a short commentary on Jude (along with 1 Peter and 1–2 John). While the original Greek text has been lost, a later Latin translation by Cassiodorus (ca. 485–580 c.e.) survived. In any case, Clement seems to have read Jude as part of his “New Testament.” Perhaps even more interesting is a short note in Tertullian’s (ca. 160–ca. 220 c.e.) writing De cultu feminarium (The Apparel of Women), dated between 197 and 201 c.e. In a passage about fallen angels, Tertullian has to acknowledge that the relevant information about these angels comes from the book of Enoch (1 Enoch), which “is not received by some” (1.3, ANF 4:14). According to Tertullian, the problems some people have with 1 Enoch have to do with the question of how this book could have survived the great flood. In his counterargument, Tertullian not only constructs a possible line of transmission of the text via Noah and speaks about questions of inspiration but also finishes the chapter with an additional argument: “To these considerations is added the fact that Enoch possesses a testimony in the Apostle Jude” (ANF 4:16). This is a clear reference to Jude 14, where 1 En.1:9 is quoted (see Hultin 2010). The interesting point here is that Tertullian bases a part of his argument for the disputed authority of 1 Enoch on the authority of Jude. This argument, however, was only possible if Tertullian expected that the authority of the latter was undisputed by his presumed readers. Other authors followed the line of Tertullian’s argument. The most interesting example is Priscillian of Avila (ca. 345–executed 385 c.e.). In his Liber de fide et de apocryphis (Book on Faith and the Apocrypha), Priscillian defends his own interest in apocryphal literature with the fact that even apostles like Jude, the brother of the Lord, quote 1 Enoch. If Jude— and other canonical writings—used apocryphal texts and traditions, the reading of these apocryphal texts cannot be condemned. That is why, according to Priscillian, an absolute ban on reading apocrypha implies a condemnation of the apostles who, at least in some cases, used these texts (see Burrus 1990). Accepted by Most While most of the earliest evidence on Jude is clearly positive, interestingly some later authors are a bit more cautious regarding the letter. While Origen (ca. 185–253 c.e.) personally held Jude in high esteem, in his Commentary on the Gospel of Matthew 17.30 he also bears testimony to doubts raised against the text. Eusebius of Caesarea (264/265–339/340 c.e.), who mentions Jude several times in his Ecclesiastical History, goes even further. Eusebius discusses Although often designated as the Muratorian Canon, the Muratorian Fragment should not be taken for a “canon list.” It should instead be compared to “prologues” of early manuscripts of the Gospels or the Corpus Paulinum. For a thorough discussion of the text’s historical background, see Verheyden 2003. 2

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the letters of James and Jude when concluding a lengthy passage on James the brother of the Lord. Although, according to Eusebius, both texts were publicly read in most communities, he raises some doubts regarding their status because “not many of the ancients [ou polloi ... tōn palaiōn] have mentioned it” (Hist. eccl. 2.23.25, NPNF2 1:128). This judgment is repeated more systematically a bit later when Eusebius gives an overview of the writings of his New Testament (Hist. eccl. 3.25). He starts with the four Gospels and the book of Acts, then mentions the Corpus Paulinum, continues with 1 John and “the,” that is one, Letter of Peter, and adds—with some hesitation—the book of Revelation. He counts all these writings among the acknowledged Scriptures. He continues with a category of so-called antilegomena (“disputed ones”) that, however, were accepted by most: James, Jude, 2 Peter, and 2–3 John. After these two categories, he moves to a third category of texts: among these “spurious” writings (en tois nothois) he counts the Acts of Paul, Shepherd of Hermas, Apocalypse of Peter, Barnabas, and others. While Jude seems to be well on the way toward “universal” acceptance in this late stage of the formation of the New Testament canon, it is highly interesting that its authority, which an earlier author like Tertullian had already taken for granted, was, at least in some circles, still (or again) a matter of dispute. This evidence is affirmed by other fourth-century witnesses. Codex Claromontanus, a sixth-century bilingual manuscript of the Pauline Corpus, offers a catalog of writings (with the numbers of their stichoi) that seems to go back to the fourth century.3 Jude is mentioned here after 1–3 John, but— interestingly—before Barnabas, Revelation, Acts, Shepherd of Hermas, Acts of Paul, and Apocalypse of Peter. At least in the Codex Claromontanus itself, some of the writings in the list—Barnabas, Shepherd of Hermas, Acts of Paul, and Apocalypse of Peter—are marked by a short horizontal stroke that perhaps serves to distinguish between universally acknowledged and disputed (or apocryphal?) writings. It is, however, not clear whether this distinction goes back to the original fourth-century catalog or was only added in the later Claromontanus. In any case, it seems to attest another—more open—approach to authoritative Christian writings than Eusebius shows, and it clearly includes the Epistle of Jude among the acknowledged writings. Additionally, the oldest manuscript witness to Jude goes back to about the same era (third/ fourth century c.e.; see Nicklas and Wasserman 2006; Nicklas 2005; Wasserman 2006). Actually, the text, identified as P72 in Gregory-Aland’s standard list of New Testament manuscripts, is part of a larger codex with miscellaneous contents: the Birth of Mary (= Prote-vangelium of James), 3 Corinthians, Odes of Solomon 11, Melito of Sardis’s Peri Pascha (On the Pascha), an otherwise unknown hymn, the Apology of Phileas, Pss 33 and 34 LXX, Jude, and 1–2 Peter. Interestingly, however, although Jude is written by the same scribe as 1 and 2 Peter, within the manuscript it is separated from both of those epistles. In addition, Jude, contrary to 1–2 Peter, does not contain marginal notes. Its text is written rather carelessly and differs from our modern critical editions in many ways. If we take the fact into account that the codex contains several writings that today would be considered apocryphal, plus the very free treatment of its text, it should at least be considered that the scribe of this text did not regard Jude as part of a “New Testament canon.”

For the text, see Preuschen 1910, 40–42.

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Finally, another Western author who made extensive use of Jude is Lucifer of Cagliari (died 370 c.e.). In his De non conveniendo cum haereticis (Of Not Holding Communion with the Heretics), written around 355/356 c.e., he argues for the need to separate from the Arians. Interestingly, in his conclusion he quotes more than half of Jude (vv. 1–4, 5–8, 11–13, 17–19). Jude’s own (very open) polemic against heretics is thus reused in the new situation created by the Arian schism. This polemical use of Jude, however, is only possible if Lucifer (and his intended audience) considered Jude an authentic apostolic writing. Rejected by Most? Our three earliest witnesses, the Egyptian Clement, the North African Tertullian, and the Roman Muratorian Fragment, had little problem understanding Jude as an authoritative writing. Eusebius of Caesarea provides evidence that Jude was accepted as apostolic in most communities. Athanasius of Alexandria lists it among the writings of a New Testament canon in his famous thirty-ninth Paschal Letter (367 c.e.). At least some other authors, however, attest different opinions about the authority of the text. The most extreme example is Jerome (347–419 c.e.). As was discussed earlier, Tertullian and Priscillian defended their use of 1 Enoch by appealing to the authority of Jude. In Jerome’s De viris illustribus (On Illustrious Men) 4, however, the whole matter is turned on its head. According to Jerome, Jude was rejected by most (a pleris) because of its use of the apocryphal 1 Enoch. In light of the other evidence, it seems that Jerome overemphasized the extent of the letter’s rejection, but he is not the only one who expresses a problem with Jude on account of its use of apocryphal traditions. While Jerome focuses on verse 14, others seemingly had trouble with verse 9 and its idea that the archangel Michael fought with the devil for Moses’ corpse. According to Clement of Alexandria (Adumbrationes in Epistolas Catholicas [Comments on the Catholic Epistles]) and Origen (Princ. 3.1), this tradition finds its roots in the pseudepigraphical Assumption of Moses.4 While for Clement, as we saw above, Jude’s use of this pseudepigraphical text did not cause a major problem, (pseudo-?)Didymus of Alexandria (Epistolam beati Judae apostoli enarratio [Interpretation of the Epistle of the Saint Apostle Jude]; PG 39:1811–18) felt the need to attack people who remained skeptical of Jude because of its use of the Assumption of Moses.

2 Peter—No Part of the Canon? Forged and No Part of the Canon Compared to Jude, the evidence regarding 2 Peter is even more ambiguous. The author of In Epistulas Catholicas brevis enarratio (Short Interpretation of the Catholic Epistles) explicitly disagrees with 2 Peter’s eschatology.5 He clearly states, “It is not to be ignored that the present

In fact, we do not have any evidence of this motif in the manuscripts of the Assumption of Moses currently known to us. 5 This is an ancient commentary on all seven Catholic Epistles that is written in Greek, attributed to Didymus of Alexandria, and translated into Latin in the sixth century c.e. See Cassiodorus, Instutiones Divinarum et Saecularium Litterarum (Institutes of Divine and Human Letters) 1.8.6. The status quaestionis regarding the authorship of the commentary is laid out by Bennett 1997, 27–33. 4

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epistle is spurious [praesentem epistolam esse falsatam], which, although it is published (in the churches), nevertheless is not in the canon [non tamen in canone est].”6 It seems possible that the original (and maybe quite old; see Zahn 1888, 312; and Leipoldt 1907, 239 n. 4) Greek version was much less harsh here than the Latin translation by Cassiodorus (see Leipoldt 1905, 57).7 A  puzzling fact remains, however. In spite of the positive decisions of several fourth-century synods (Laodicea, 360 c.e.; Carthage, 397 c.e.; maybe Rome, 382 c.e.; see also Athanasius, Paschal Letter 39, 367 c.e.) regarding 2 Peter’s canonicity and the presence of 2 Peter in the important majuscules (Codex Alexandrinus, Codex Sinaiticus, and Codex Vaticanus), as late as the sixth century Cassiodorus provided the inhabitants of the monastery Vivariense/Castellum with this translation (intended to aid them in reading Scripture) that plainly does not accept 2 Peter. The author of In Epistulas Catholicas brevis enarratio assessed the eschatological teaching of 2 Peter as nonapostolic.8 Taking a different approach, Jerome (Hieronymus) informs us in De viris illustribus 1 that 2 Peter’s apostolic authorship was doubted by most because of the stylistic differences between 2 Peter and 1 Peter (a plerisque propter stili cum priore dissonantiam, “by most because of its different style compared to the First [Epistle of Peter]”). As in the case of Jerome’s note on Jude that was mentioned earlier, this formulation may be somewhat exaggerated. In Letter 120.11, he attempts to explain these differences by Peter’s alleged use of a secretary in writing his epistle(s). In the early fourth century, Eusebius, discussing the written legacy of Peter, states that he did not receive 2 Peter as canonical (ouk endiathēkon . . . einai pareilēphamen) but that “many” (polloi) judged the text as “useful” (chrēsimos) and worthy “to be studied together with the other scriptures” (meta tōn allōn espoudasthē; Hist. eccl. 3.3.1–4). In his famous categorization of Christian literature, Eusebius lists 2 Peter, like Jude, among the disputed writings (antilegomena) but not as forged (Hist. eccl. 3.25.3). It seems that his judgment is influenced by two different assessments of 2 Peter. On the one hand, he knows a strong tradition (maybe connected to Origen) that accepted only 1 Peter as an authentic Petrine writing (Hist. eccl. 3.3.1, 4). On the other hand, he noticed the emerging authority of the collection of the seven so-called Catholic Epistles (Hist. eccl. 2.25.23; see Nienhuis 2007, 63–70). Second Peter’s “usefulness,” to quote Eusebius, can be seen in two other witnesses. The anti-Marcionite Dialogues with Adamantius (late fourth century; see Tsutsui 2004)  contain theological discussions between Marcus, a representative of Marcionism, and Adamantius, who follows mainstream orthodoxy. Adamantius challenges the typical Marcionite focus on the apostolic authority of Paul by asking for a witness for this authority besides Paul himself The English translation is taken from Ehrman 1983, 9. Ehrman’s judgment “that the commentary must have been an original Latin composition” (10) misinterprets certain explanatory phrases of the translator and does not consider Friedrich Zoepfl’s thorough study of the text (1914). 7 If the word nothos (“ingenuine,” “spurious,” “illegitimate”) was present in the original Greek, then Eusebius’s statement regarding James (Hist. eccl. 2.23.25) would provide a striking parallel. It is, in any case, unlikely that this negative comment on 2 Peter stems from Didymus (see n.  5 above), who quotes 2 Peter several times as an apostolic and authoritative writing (see Ehrman 1983, 9–10). 8 In particular, the destruction of the world through fire (see 2 Pet 3:10–13) is said to contradict Jesus’ teaching about the end of the world as preserved in Luke 17:26–30. As a consequence, this text does not speak of “Peter” or the “apostle” as the author of 2 Peter, but simply calls him conscriptor epistulae (“the writer of the letter”; see PG 39:1773). In a similar way, the Egyptian merchant and later monk Cosmas Indicopleustes struggled with 2 Peter’s eschatology in his Christian Topography (see, e.g., 7:64–70) at the beginning of the sixth century. 6

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(see 2 Cor 10:18). Limited to the Marcionite canon of “Gospel and Apostle,” Marcus is not able to find a satisfying answer. Thus Adamantius triumphs by pointing to Peter’s statement in 2 Pet 3:15 (see Dialogues 2.12). In this way, the Dialogues intend to demonstrate that even a core idea of Marcionism such as the authority of Paul can only be argued by accepting the fuller canon of the orthodox. A fragment probably falsely attributed to Methodius of Olympus (died ca. 311 c.e.) quotes 2 Pet 3:8 with the introductory phrase “the Apostle Peter wrote.”9 This verse is a modified citation of Ps 90 (LXX 89):4, a text quite often used in early Jewish and early Christian writings (see Bauckham 1983, 306–10). While theologians like the author of Barnabas, Justin, Irenaeus, and Hippolytus (all probably not dependent on 2 Peter; see Otto 1877) employed the psalm in a sort of “divine calculus” (see Schrage 1985, 267–75), 2 Peter’s reception attests, by way of contrast, a focus on the incalculability of the coming “day of the Lord” (2 Pet 3:10; cf. 3:12). The fragment follows this latter line of thought in countering a millenarian interpretation of Rev 20:5 by pointing to 2 Pet 3:8, yet it goes even further when it equates the “thousand years” of Revelation with eternity (ho aperantos aiōn; cf. 2 Pet 3:18).10 Thus the Christian communities that produced and preserved the earliest extant textual witness of 2 Peter—the aforementioned P72 (third/fourth centuries)—obviously judged 2 Peter to be “useful.” Regrettably, it seems impossible to sort out the specific reasons for that judgment (see Haines-Eitzen 2000, 96–104; Nicklas and Wasserman 2006). The same holds true for the fascinating Papyrus Michigan 3520 (see Schenke and Kasser 2003), a Coptic manuscript from the first half of the fourth century. The papyrus contains a rather unusual combination of biblical texts: Ecclesiastes, 1 John, and 2 Peter. Interestingly, the oldest Coptic manuscript of 1 Peter, the Crosby-Schøyen Codex (third century?), seems to be unaware of 2 Peter, as it calls 1 Peter (in both the inscriptio and subscriptio) “the Epistle of Peter” (see Bethge 1993, 260).

2 Peter and the “Canon” of Origen Origen’s opinion about 2 Peter is extremely difficult to assess. Without doubt, Origen (ca. 185–255 c.e.) knew a second letter of Peter, a fact that is proven when he refers to 1 Peter as the “first epistle of Peter” (Commentary on the Gospel of Matthew 15.27). Furthermore, a fragment of his Commentaries on the Gospel of John is regarded as the “first absolutely incontrovertible reference in Christian literature” (Chase 1902b, 3:803) to 2 Peter: “And Peter, on whom the Church of Christ is built, ‘against which the gates of hell shall not prevail,’ has left one acknowledged epistle; perhaps [or: let it be granted] also a second, but this is doubtful” (Origen, Commentaries on the Gospel of John 5.3 = Eusebius, Hist. eccl. 6.25.8, NPNF2 1:273).11 It is unclear, however, if the phrase “let it be granted” implies Origen’s doubts concerning the apostolic authorship of 2 Peter (this implication would be supported by Origen’s use of the phrase in his apology Against Celsus, see, e.g., 1.62; 5.7), or if, especially in this context, the

See Bonwetsch 1891, 238 (see XXIV) for information on the fragment. Buchheit (1958, 143–53) points to Andreas of Caesarea (sixth/seventh century c.e.) as the possible author. 10 We would like to thank Prof. Dr. Katharina Bracht (University of Jena) for helpful information on this fragment. 11 Strictly speaking, the fragment does not identify the second letter as 2 Peter, but it is extremely improbable that Origen referred to a different second letter of Peter that perished in later times without a trace. 9

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phrase betrays Origen’s rhetorical interest in minimizing the written legacy of the apostles (see the fragments of the Commentaries on the Gospel of John, which are preserved in the Philocalia [Love of the Beautiful; see Kalin 1990, 279]). In any case, the difference in Origen’s attitude toward 1 Peter and 2 Peter is striking and corresponds with the testimony of his other works that are preserved in the original Greek. The Latin translations made by Rufinus of Aquileia (but not those made by Jerome!) explicitly quote 2 Peter six times (Homilies on Exodus 12.4; Homilies on Leviticus 4.4; Homilies in Numbers 13.8.1; 18.4.6; Commentaries on Romans 4.9; 8.7) and list 2 Peter among the books of the New Testament canon (Homilies on Joshua 7.1). Given the peculiarities of Rufinus’s translation technique (see, e.g. Wagner 1945; Grappone 2007), his strong interest in reconciling Origen with the orthodoxy of the fourth century (see Kalin 1990, 280–81), the absence of a closed canon in Origen’s time, and the differences between the Latin version and Origen’s text in Greek (see Chase 1902b, 3:803), it seems doubtful that these references to 2 Peter stem from Origen himself.12 It follows, therefore, that one should avoid speaking of “quotations” of 2 Peter in Origen, or stating that Origen regarded 2 Peter as “canonical” (see Stenzel 1942, 51–57; Nienhuis 2007, 61–62). There is, however, at least one solid hint that Origen did use 2 Peter. In Princ. 1.8.4, while discussing whether preexisting rational souls could be incarnated into animals (and not only into human beings), Origen clearly alludes to 2 Pet 2:16. The comparison of Rufinus’s translation with the reports of Jerome and Pamphilus on this topic (see the excellent edition of Görgemanns and Karpp 1992, 263–65) shows that Rufinus tried to conceal possible contradictions between Origen’s reflections and later orthodoxy. Given this fact, it seems quite implausible that—just at this place—Rufinus should have interpolated into Origen’s text a biblical proof text in support of a problematic doctrine. Hence, Origen attests the existence of 2 Peter even though he harbors doubts about its apostolic origin (see Commentaries on John 5.3; Commentary on Matthew 15.27). Thus there appears to be evidence for a use of the epistle in a relatively early Alexandrian work of Origen (Princ. 1.8.4), but the explicit quotations of 2 Peter in his other texts are highly dubious (especially Commentaries on Romans 8.7; Homilies on Joshua 7.1). Reception of 2 Peter before Origen? In spite of the numerous testimonies listed by Charles Bigg and Joseph Mayor (see Bigg 1902, 199–215; Mayor 1907, cxv–cxxxiv; further Bauckham 1983, 162–63), there is no clear evidence of the existence of 2 Peter in the time before Origen.13 Sometimes it is assumed that Clement of Alexandria wrote a commentary on 2 Peter, but the information on this subject found in Eusebius (Hist. eccl. 6.14.1) and Photius (Bibliotheca, cod. 109)  is rather vague. Clement’s extant commentaries on the Catholic Epistles (Adumbrationes in Epistolas Catholicas) and his Chadwick (1959, 21)  demonstrates Rufinus’s “redrafting” of Origen’s texts also to include the change and rearrangement of biblical quotations. As far as 2 Peter is concerned, Origen’s Commentaries on Romans 8.7 (cf. 5.3; 9.2) shows especially significant traces of alteration by Rufinus (see Chase 1902b, 3:803). Clearly, this “redrafting” cannot be discussed here in any detail (but see Grünstäudl 2013, 59–73). 13 Unlike Jude, 2 Peter is even missing in the Muratorian Fragment. The Acts of Peter (see esp. 12.20) contains several similarities to 2 Peter, but a literary relationship cannot be proven. In addition, there is an ongoing debate about the exact date of the Acts of Peter. 12

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other works show no knowledge of 2 Peter. Given the extensive use Clement makes of Jude (see above) and his interest in Petrine pseudepigrapha like the Preaching of Peter (see Cambe 2003) and the Apocalypse of Peter (which is closely related to 2 Peter, see below), Clement’s complete silence regarding 2 Peter is remarkable.14 Writing some decades before Clement, Justin Martyr provides a striking parallel to 2 Pet 2:1 in his Dialogue with Trypho (ca. 160 c.e.; see Bobichon 2003) that deserves quotation. And just as there were false prophets [pseudoprophētai] contemporaneous with your holy prophets, so are there now many false teachers [pseudodidaskaloi] amongst us, of whom our Lord forewarned us to beware. (Justin, Dial. 82.1, ANF 1:240) But there were also false prophets [pseudoprophētai] among the people, just as there will be false teachers [pseudodidaskaloi] among you. (2 Pet 2:1 NIV) The extreme rareness of the term “false teachers” (pseudodidaskaloi) in early Christianity (before Origen only these two texts use this term, but see pseudodidaskalia in Polycarp, To the Philippians 7.2), the comparison of these figures with the “false prophets” in Israel, and the similar syntactical structure make a literary relationship between 2 Peter and Justin highly probable (see Ruf 2011, 361; Kraus 2001, 340 n. 100). This relationship, however, does not automatically mean that it is Justin who is in the dependent position. It has to be noted that Justin relates the warning about the false teachers not by referring to Peter but by referring to “our Lord” (ho hēmeteros kyrios). He thereby presents the logion in terms of an actual instance of Jesus’ warnings in Matt 24:11, 24//Mark 13:22. Moreover, the theme of “teaching” is prominent in Justin. If one follows the argument throughout the whole of the Dialogue (see especially Dial. 35.80–82), it seems that Justin is developing the concise parallelism of Dial. 82.1 step by step. Finally, the context of Dial. 82.1 provides several points of contact with 2 Peter—none of them derived from 2 Peter, but from other sources. In Dial. 81.1 the phrase “new heaven and the new earth” (cf. 2 Pet 3:13) is explicitly taken from Isa 65:17. In Dial. 81.2 the “holy mountain” (cf. 2 Pet 1:18) recalls Isa 65:25, and in Dial. 81.3 the allusion to Ps 90:4 (cf. 2 Pet 3:8) is introduced as “the expression” (to eirēmenon). Justin’s use of these other sources leads to the quite surprising conclusion that an (early) patristic text (Justin, Dialogue) might be the source for a New Testament text (2 Peter). If this hypothesis holds, any reception of 2 Peter before Justin would be per se impossible.15 Nevertheless, one other very early text, the Apocalypse of Peter, must be considered here because of its great relevance for recent scholarship on 2 Peter. (See ANF 9:141–47 for a translation.) This text, which should not be confused with the Coptic Apocalypse of Peter from Nag Hammadi (NHC 7.3; second/third century?), was written in the first half of the second century and shows some striking similarities with 2 Peter.16 Several different explanations for The Greek fragments of the Apocalypse of Peter are edited in Nicklas and Kraus 2004 (79–130), the Ethiopic text in Marrassini 1994. For an English translation and commentary, see Buchholz 1988. 15 Picirilli (1988) argues for a reception of 2 Peter in the so-called Apostolic Fathers, but his arguments are not convincing. For a balanced study of the reception of the New Testament writings in the Apostolic Fathers, see Gregory and Tuckett 2005. 16 While B. A. Pearson (1990) thinks that the Apocalypse of Peter from Nag Hammadi used 2 Peter, Havelaar (1999, 167) remains skeptical about this dependence. 14

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these similarities have been provided, but the most thorough discussion of the topic is found in the work of Richard Bauckham (see Bauckham 1998; Kraus 2001, 390–96; 2003, 75–84). Bauckham rightly argues that the relationship between 2 Peter and the Apocalypse of Peter should not be investigated primarily by evaluating the Greek fragment of the apocalypse found in Akhmîm (P.Cair. 10759), but by focusing on the Ethiopic text, which probably comes closer to the lost original form of the apocalypse and is, furthermore, supported by two old Greek fragments (Bodl.MS.Gr.th.f. 4 [P]‌and P.Vindob.G 39756). Building on this important methodological insight, Bauckham is able to demonstrate that the similarities between 2 Peter and the Apocalypse of Peter, taken as a whole, are best explained by a literary relationship between the two Petrine pseudepigrapha. As in the case of Justin, the direction of dependence is not automatically clear. Arguing that the account of the transfiguration in the Apocalypse of Peter makes use of Synoptic tradition while in 2 Peter it does not, Bauckham sees the Apocalypse of Peter in the dependent position. Robert J.  Miller, however, has convincingly questioned 2 Peter’s independence of the Synoptic tradition and thereby weakens the decisive force of Bauckham’s argument (see Miller 1996). Moreover, an examination of the presentation of the figure of Peter and the theological implications of this picture in Apocalypse of Peter and 2 Peter make it more probable that 2 Peter used the apocalypse than vice versa. If 2 Peter were used by Apocalypse of Peter, one would expect that at least some traces of Jude, which was incorporated by 2 Peter, would be found in the apocalypse, but this is not the case. Therefore, the Apocalypse of Peter does not appear to be the first text that used 2 Peter, but is rather—like Jude—a source text for the epistle (see Grünstäudl 2013, 97–144).

Conclusion If Jude and 2 Peter are among the most neglected writings of the New Testament today, this neglect is surely more or less in line with their difficult journey into the canon. At least at first sight, our surviving witnesses to Jude’s early use seem to show a linear progression from more or less universal acceptance of the text to growing doubts due to the text’s use of apocryphal traditions like 1 Enoch and the Assumption of Moses. However, we should be careful not to draw overly simplistic conclusions from our few early testimonies about the text. They do not tell us what “normal” people thought about the text, nor does evidence from Africa (i.e., Tertullian) tell us much about the text’s reception in Syria or Asia Minor. Therefore, we think that we are on quite safe ground if we conclude that from early times Jude was interpreted as an authoritative, apostolic Christian writing by some (or perhaps even many), but that the text remained disputed for a long time (even after Athanasius). The most negative voice surely comes from Jerome, but even though he regards the letter as rejected by most, many other witnesses—even among his contemporaries—point in a different direction. Interestingly, 2 Peter’s inclusion was much more difficult than Jude’s. On the one hand, 2 Peter seems not to be used in the whole of the second century and was, owing to its style and eschatology, doubted until the end of antiquity. On the other hand, 2 Peter was assessed as “useful” in the third and fourth centuries, and therefore it eventually made its way into the canon of the New Testament. The study of this complex process of rejection and reception opens a fascinating window through which to view the Bible “in the making.” In addition, 621

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however, the insights gleaned along the way encourage us to ask questions about 2 Peter’s and Jude’s ongoing “usefulness” today.

References Bauckham, Richard J. 1983. Jude, 2 Peter. WBC 50. Waco, Tex.: Word. ———. 1998. The Fate of the Dead: Studies on the Jewish and Christian Apocalypses. NovTSup 93. Leiden: Brill. Bennett, Byard John. 1997. “The Origin of Evil: Didymus the Blind’s Contra Manichaeos and Its Debt to Origen’s Theology and Exegesis.” Ph.D. diss., University of St. Michael’s College, Toronto School of Theology. Bethge, Hans-Gerhard. 1993. “Der Text des ersten Petrusbriefes im Crosby-Schøyen Codex (Ms. 193 Schøyen Collection).” ZNW 84:255–67. Bigg, Charles. 1902. A Critical and Exegetical Commentary on the Epistles of St. Peter and St. Jude. 2nd ed. ICC. Edinburgh: T&T Clark. Bonwetsch, Gottlieb Nathanael. 1891. Methodius von Olympus I: Schriften. Erlangen/Leipzig: Deichert. Buchholz, Dennis D. 1988. Your Eyes Will Be Opened: A Study of the Greek (Ethiopic) Apocalypse of Peter. SBLDS 97. Atlanta: Scholars Press. Cambe, Michel. 2003. Kerygma Petri: Textus et commentarius. Corpus Christianorum: Series Apocryphorum 15. Turnhout, Belgium: Brepols. Chadwick, Henry. 1959. “Rufinus and the Tura Papyrus of Origen’s Commentary on Romans.” JTS n.s. 10:10–42. Chase, Frederic Henry. 1902a. “Jude, Epistle of.” Pages 799–806 in vol. 2 of A Dictionary of the Bible. Edited by J. Hastings et al. 5 vols. Edinburgh: T&T Clark. ———. 1902b. “Peter, Second Epistle of.” Pages 796–818 in vol. 3 of A Dictionary of the Bible. Edited by J. Hastings et al. 5 vols. Edinburgh: T&T Clark. Ehrman, Bart D. 1983. “The New Testament Canon of Didymus the Blind.” VC 37:1–21. Fornberg, Tord. 1977. An Early Church in a Pluralistic Society: A Study of 2 Peter. ConBNT 9. Lund: Gleerup. Grappone, Antonio. 2007. Omelie Origeniane nella traduzione di Rufino: Un confronto con i testi greci. SEAug 103. Rome: Institutum Patristicum Augustinianum. Gregory, Andrew W., and Christopher M. Tuckett, eds. 2005. The Reception of the New Testament in the Apostolic Fathers. Vol. 1 of The New Testament and the Apostolic Fathers. Edited by A. W. Gregory and C. M. Tuckett. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Görgemanns, Herwig, and Heinrich Karpp, eds. 1992. Origenes: Vier Bücher von den Prinzipien. 3rd ed. Darmstadt: Wissenscha.liche Buchgesellschaft. Grünstäudl, Wolfgang. 2013. Petrus Alexandrinus: Studien zum theolo- gischen und historischen Ort des Zweiten Petrusbriefes. WUNT 2/353. Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck. Haines-Eitzen, Kim. 2000. Guardians of Letters: Literacy, Power, and the Transmitters of Early Christian Literature. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Havelaar, Henriette W., ed. 1999. The Coptic Apocalypse of Peter (Nag Hammadi-Codex VII,3). TUGAL 144. Berlin: Akademie. Kalin, Everett R. 1990. “Re-examining New Testament Canon History 1: The Canon of Origen.” CurTM 17:274–82. Kraus, Thomas J. 2001. Sprache, Stil und historischer Ort des zweiten Petrusbriefes. WUNT 2/136. Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck. ———. 2003. “Die griechische Petrus-Apokalypse und ihre Relation zu ausgewählten Überlieferungsträgern apokalyptischer Stoffe.” Apocrypha 14:73–98. Leipoldt, Johannes. 1905. Didymus der Blinde von Alexandria. Leipzig: Pries. ———. 1907. Geschichte des neutestamentlichen Kanons: Erster Teil/Die Entstehung. Leipzig: Hinrich.

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Searching for Evidence Mayor, Joseph B. 1907. The Epistle of St. Jude and the Second Epistle of St. Peter: Greek Text with Introduction, Notes, and Comments. London: Macmillan. Miller, Robert J. 1996. “Is There Independent Attestation for the Transfiguration in 2 Peter?” NTS 42:620–25. Nicklas, Tobias. 2005. “Der lebendige Text des Neuen Testaments: Der Judasbrief in P72 (P. Bodmer VII).” Annali di storia dell’esegesi 22:203–22. Nicklas, Tobias, and Tommy Wasserman. 2006. “Theologische Linien im Codex Bodmer Miscellani.” Pages 161–88 in New Testament Manuscripts: Their Texts and Their World. Edited by T. J. Kraus and T. Nicklas. Texts and Editions for New Testament Study 2. Leiden: Brill. Nicklas, Tobias, and Thomas J. Kraus. 2004. Das Petrusevangelium und die Petrusapokalypse: Die griechischen Fragmente mit deutscher und englischer Übersetzung. Die griechischen christlichen Schri.steller der ersten Jahrhunderte, Neue Folge 11 (= Neutestamentliche Apokryphen I). Berlin: de Gruyter. Nienhuis, David. 2007. Not by Paul Alone: The Formation of the Catholic Epistle Collection and the Christian Canon. Waco, Tex.: Baylor University Press. Pearson, Birger A. 1969. “A Reminiscence of Classical Myth at 2 Peter 2:4.” GRBS 10:71–80. ———. 1990. “The Apocalypse of Peter and Canonical 2 Peter.” Pages 67–75 in Gnosticism and the Early Christian World: In Honor of James M. Robinson. Edited by J. E. Goehring et al. ForFasc 2. Sonoma, Calif.: Polebridge. Picirilli, Robert E. 1988. “Allusions to 2 Peter in the Apostolic Fathers.” JSNT 33:57–83. Preuschen, Erwin. 1910. Analecta. Kürzere Texte zur Geschichte der Alten Kirche und des Kanons II. Zur Kanongeschichte. 2nd ed. Sammlung ausgewählter kirchen- und dogmengeschichtlicher Quellenschriften 1. Reihe. Tübingen: Mohr. Ruf, Martin G. 2011. Die heiligen Propheten, eure Apostel und ich: Metatextuelle Studien zum zweiten Petrusbrief. WUNT 2/300. Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck. Schenke, Hans-Martin, and Rodolphe Kasser, eds. 2003. Papyrus Michigan 3520 und 6868(a): Ecclesiastes, Erster Johannesbrief und Zweiter Petrusbrief im fayumischen Dialekt. TUGAL 151. Berlin: de Gruyter. Schrage, Wolfgang. 1985. “ ‘Ein Tag ist beim Herrn wie tausend Jahre, und tausend Jahre sind wie ein Tag’ (2 Petr 3,8).” Pages 267–75 in Glaube und Eschatologie: Festschrift für Werner Georg Kümmel zum 80. Geburtstag. Edited by E. Gräßer and O. Merk. Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck. Stenzel, Meinrad. 1942. “Der Bibelkanon des Ru1n von Aquileia.” Bib 23:43–61. Tsutsui, Kenji. 2004. Die Auseinandersetzung mit den Markioniten im Adamantios-Dialog: Ein Kommentar zu den Büchern I–II. PTS 55. Berlin: de Gruyter. Verheyden, Joseph. 2003. “The Canon Muratori: A Matter of Dispute.” Pages 487–556 in The Biblical Canons. Edited by J.-M. Auwers and H. J. de Jonge. BETL 163. Leuven: Peeters. Waner, Maria Monica. 1945. Rufinus, the Translator: A Study of His Theory and His Practice as Illustrated in His Version of the Apologetica of St. Gregory Nazianzen. Patristic Studies 73. Washington, D.C.: Catholic University of America Press. Wasserman, Tommy. 2006. The Epistle of Jude: Its Text and Transmission. ConBNT 43. Stockholm: Almqvist & Wiksell. Zahn, Theodor. 1888. Geschichte des neutestamentlichen Kanons: Erster Band/Erste Hälfte. Erlangen: Deichert. Zoepfl, Friedrich. 1914. Didymi Alexandrini in epistolas canonicas brevis enarratio. NTAbh 4/1. Münster: Aschendorff.

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FURTHER READINGS (1) Matthieu Arnold, Gilbert Dahan, and Annie Noblesse-Rocher (eds.), L’épître de Jacques dans sa tradition d’exégèse (Études D’histoire De L’exégèse 4; Lectio Divina 253; Paris: Cerf, 2012). This edited volume contains essays tracking the reception history of James in the patristic, medieval, sixteenth, and sixteenth through the eighteenth centuries. Several of the authors offer helpful insights into the exegesis of the letter and its reception. (2) Dale C.  Allison, “James through the Centuries,” American Theological Inquiry 7 (2014): 11–23. Originally presented as the Peter Rhea and Ellen Jones Lecture in New Testament, this article offers a brief introduction to the value of reception history and then provides several examples of reception-historical insights into the interpretation of James. (3) David B. Gowler, James through the Centuries (Oxford: Wiley-Blackwell, 2014). Gowler’s contribution to the Wiley-Blackwell commentary series on James highlights the various ways James has been used and understood through the centuries. Insights into the text extend across not only the commentary literature, but also sermons, hymns, and other materials. Gowler provides a snapshot of James’s influence in theological, social, and political contexts as well as highlighting the text’s effects on literature and the arts. The treatment of passages includes discussion of the ancient literary context, ancient and medieval interpretations, and early modern and modern interpretations. (4) Luke Timothy Johnson, Brother of Jesus Friend of God: Studies in the Letter of James (Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 2004). This study brings together several of Johnson’s previously published articles and essays focusing on various issues of the letter. Of particular interest are a few essays, some published here for the first time, on the reception history of James: “A Survey of the History of Interpretation of James,” “The Reception of James in the Early Church,” “Journeying East with James: A Chapter in the History of Reception,” and “How James Won the West:  A Chapter in the History of Canonization.” (5) Andreas Merkt, 1. Petrus, Teilband 1 (NTP 21.1; Göttingen:  Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2015). Merkt’s work is the first part of a two-volume examination of patristic commentary on 1 Peter and opens with an introduction to 1 Peter and its place within the so-called canon of the Catholic Epistles. This portion of the volume includes discussion of 1 Peter in the manuscripts and ancient liturgies and an overview of the early reception and history of interpretation of 1 Peter. Merkt’s main commentary covers 1 Pet. 1:1–2:10, where patristic comments are gathered and discussed under various themes.

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(6) Dan Batovici, “Commenting on 1 Pt 4:7–11: A Case Study in Patristic Reception,” Annali di Storia dell’Esegesi 36 (2019): 163–74. This contribution is a study of the patristic exegesis of 1 Pet. 4:7-11, which focuses on the treatment received by this pericope specifically in exegetical works devoted to the Petrine letter in order (1) to take steps in clarifying the history of the interpretation of 1 Peter and (2) to raise a number of questions with regard to the process of writing exegetical treatises in Late Antiquity. (7) Peter Russell Jones, The Epistle of Jude as Expounded by the Fathers: Clement of Alexandria, Didymus of Alexandria, the Scholia of Cramer’s Catena, Pseudo-Oecumenius, and Bede (Texts and Studies in Religion 89; Lewiston: Mellen, 2001). Filling in a significant gap in the history of biblical interpretation with respect to the Letter of Jude, Jones’s volume takes up the early commentary on this brief letter. His work collects together all that survives of patristic commentary on the letter of Jude, some of which appears for the first time in English translation. The works provided by Jones will be of use for those interested in historical scholarship, theological or pastoral concerns, and preaching.

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INDEX OF AUTHORS

Achtemeier, Paul J., 397, 519, 519 n.75 Adams, Edward, 367, 367 nn.84, 88, 89 Adamson, James B., 43, 48 n.43 Aland, B., 20 n.73 Aland, K., 20 n.73 Alexander, P.S., 230 nn.19–20, 22–23 Alföldy, Geza, 125–126, 125 n.54 Alkema, Roelof Klaas, 7, 7 n.18, 27 Allison, Dale C., 86, 86 nn.5, 7, 8, 9, 10, 89–90, 90 nn.24, 26, 94–96, 94 n.45, 95 n.50, 96 n.51, 391 Allison, Dale, 33 Amphoux, Christian-Bernard, 25, 236 n.64 Anderson, Paul N., 404 Aune, David E., 423, 423 n.47 Baasland, E., 279, 279 n.13, 419 n.25 Bagnani, G., 207 n.15 Baker, William R., 395 Bakhtin, Mikhail, 579 Balch, David L., 397, 398, 413, 467, 467 n.11, 507, 507 n.3, 508–509, 508 n.8, 572 n.67 Barclay, John M. G., 123, 123 n.43 Barnett, Albert E., 563, 563 n.5 Batten, Alicia, 391 Bauckham, R. J., 5, 5 n.7, 33, 33 nn.1, 2, 35, 35 n.5, 37, 88 nn.15, 23, 311, 362–363, 366, 393, 406, 451, 520, 553 n.100, 545, 545 n.74, 546 n.75, 547, 593, 593 n.186, 619, 621 Bauman-Martin, Betsy, 412, 516 Baur, Ferdinand Christian, 311, 593–594 Beare, Francis Wright, 139, 139 n.160, 507, 564 Bechtler, Stephen R., 131 n.104, 132, 509 n.14 Benson, George, 53 Berger, Klaus, 572, 572 n.70 Best, Ernest, 263, 263 n.78 Bethge, Hans-Gebhard, 104, 104 n.40 Beyschlag, K., 590 Bigg, Charles, 619 Bindemann, W., 69 n.11 Black, Clifton C., 565, 565 n.25 Blomkvist, V., 17 n.62 Bockmuehl, Markus, 396 Bond, Helen K., 396 Bonnard, P., 169, 169 n.14 Boobyer, G. H., 398 Boring, M. Eugene, 557, 566, 566 n.30 Bornemann, W., 112, 112 n.95, 114 Bourdieu, Pierre, 493 Brodie, Thomas, 580, 580 n.108

Broughton, T.R.S., 125 n.53, 126 nn.59–60, 62–63, 67, 131 n.105, 136 n.141 Brown, Raymond E., 34, 40, 40 n.4, 192, 192 n.9, 216 n.58 Brox, Norbert, 586, 588, 588 n.159 Büchsel, E., 192, 192 n.7 Bultmann, Rudolf, 170, 170 n.17 Cadoux, A. T., 50, 50 n.62 Cajetan, Cardinal, 611, 611 n.106 Calvin, John, 133, 134 n.124 Campbell, Barth L., 455, 556 Campbell, John Kennedy, 490 Carriker, Andrew, 17, 17 n.59 Carter, Warren, 523–524, 523 n.86 Chamberlain, Joshua L., 487–488 Charles, J. Daryl, 11, 11 n.16, 400, 405–406, 413 Charlesworth, J. H., 108, 108 n.66, 236, 236 n.63 Chester, Andrew, 39 n.1 Cheung, Luke L., 394 Chilton, Bruce, 391 Chow, John K., 118 n.10 Chrysostom, John, 309, 319, 320 n.75, 600 Cladder, H. J., 279, 279 n.18 Clarke, W. K. Lowther, 59 Clemen, A., 192, 192 n.6 Corley, Kathleen, 468, 475, 566, 566 n.26 Cross, F. L., 112, 112 n.98 Culpepper, R. Alan, 404 Dahl, N. A., 197, 197 n.34, 568 Dalton, William J., 357, 357 n.50, 397 Davids, P. H., 9 n.4, 27, 279, 405, 425 n.57, 544 Deissmann, Adolf, 117, 425, 425 n.53, 522 n.80 Dennis, John, 37 DeSilva, D. A., 357, 357 n.52 Dibelius Martin, 40, 53 n.86, 57 nn.113, 114, 278–280, 278 n.9, 279 n.14, 280 n.22, 289 nn.48, 49, 307 nn.13, 16, 415, 415 n.1, 418 n.18, 422 nn.34, 35, 36, 423, 467 n.9 Dodd, C. H., 191, 191 n.3 Donfried, K., 219, 220 n.78 Douglas, Mary, 421, 435–436, 435 nn.6, 8, 10, 11, 12, 436 nn.15, 16, 18 Duncan-Jones, Richard, 121, 121 n.32, 122 n.36 Edwards, Jonathan, 53 Elliott, John H., 119–120, 119 n.17, 120 nn.18, 19, 20, 21, 22, 23, 24, 136 nn.137, 138, 138 n.159, 139, 140 n.168,

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Index of Authors 141 n.173, 142, 137, 142, 142 n.179, 263, 263 n.77, 412–413, 421, 450, 455, 463, 508, 508 n.9, 509–510, 509 n.10, 510 nn.15–18, 511 n.23, 518, 520, 526, 555– 556, 556 n.3, 564, 566, 566 n.31, 585, 585 nn.140, 141, 139, 143, 144, 145, 146, 586, 594, 594 n.193 Ellis, E. E., 404, 545, 545 n.73 Evans, Craig A., 391 Fascher, Erich, 581, 581 n.117 Feldmeier, Reinhard, 399 Finley, 121, 121 n.29 Fiorenza, Schüssler, 468, 468 nn.15, 19, 20 Fornberg, Tord, 613 Fossum, Jarl, 386, 386 nn.78, 79, 80, 81 Francis, Fred O., 393 Frey, Jörg, 405 Friesen, Steven J., 123 nn.42, 47, 124–125, 124 n.47 Geertz, Clifford, 437, 437 n.22 Gielen, Marlies, 13, 13 n.32 Gikandi, Simon, 513 Gilmore, David, 488 Gilmour, Michael J., 400 Glancy, Jennifer, 477, 477 nn.61, 62 Goldstein, J. A., 102, 102 n.27 Goodacre, Mark, 311, 311 n.31 Gouldner, Alvin W., 490, 496 Green, Gene L., 396, 558 Green, Joel B., 36 Greene, Kevin, 121, 121 n.31 Grivel, Charles, 580 Grotius, Hugo, 41, 145 Grünstaudl, Wolfgang, 7–8, 11 n.17, 12 n.25, 13 n.28, 14 n.37, 15 n.42 Hafemann, S. J., 290, 290 n.56 Haines-Eitzen, K., 108–109, 108 nn.71, 72 Hall, Stuart, 513 Hammadi, Nag, 598 Harnack, A. T., 205 n.1, 206, 206 n.7 Harnack, Adolf, 56, 56 n.103 Hartin, Patrick J., 89 Heckel, Theo, 34 Hedrick, Charles W., 102, 102 nn.28–29 Heiligenthal, R., 237 n.70 Hengel, Martin, 31, 36, 369 Herzer, Jens, 565, 572, 586 Herzfeld, Michael, 489 Herzog, William, 497 Hieronymus (church father), 12 n.26, 175, 175 n.2, 617 Hill, D., 398 Hock, R., 205 n.3 Hockey, Katherine, 412 Hogan, Maurice, 64, 64 n.160 Horrell, David G., 34, 413, 462–463 Houdlen, J. L., 192, 192 n.10 Hübner, Hans, 563 Hurtado, Larry W., 396

628

Jackson-McCabe, Matt, 391 Jobes, Karen, 129, 129 nn.93, 94, 95, 130 n.96 Johnson, Luke Timothy, 89, 311, 395 Jones, Peter Rhea, 402 Jongkind, D., 21 n.83 Joseph, S. J., 406 Joubert, Stephan J., 405 Judge, Edwin A., 117, 117 n.3 Jülicher, Adolf, 581, 581 n.117 Käsemann, Ernst, 164 Kelly, J. N. D., 112, 112 n.101 Kennedy, George A., 533, 533 n.7, 543 Kienzle, Beverly Mayne, 468, 468 n.18 Kirk, J. A., 393 Kloppenborg, John S., 391 Knibb, M. A., 236 n.66, 247 n.29–30, 32–33, 248 n.36, 251 n.46–48 Knoch, Otto B., 566, 566 n.28 Koester, Helmut, 563 Konradt, Matthias, 11, 11 n.18, 40 n.5 Kragerud, A., 206 n.8, 212 nn.36–37, 40, 213 nn.43–45, 219 n.69 Kraus, Thomas J., 401 Kristeva, Julia, 579 Kümmel, Werner G., 56, 563 Lactantius, Diogenes, 155, 155 n.39 Landon, Charles, 407 Lapham, Fred, 396 Lessing, Gotthold Ephraim, 175, 175 n.1 Lewis, C. S., 337 Lieu, Judith M., 35, 35 n.4, 37, 184 n.33, 402–404 Lindemann, A., 283 n.32, 287, 287 n.46 Llewelyn, S. R., 56, 57 n.109 Lockett, Darian R., 7, 7 n.18, 9, 25, 275 n.1, 395, 412 Longenecker, Bruce W., 123–124, 123 n.45, 124 n.48 Louis Martyn, J., 65, 65 n.166 Lutz, C. A., 456, 456 n.11 MacDonald, Margaret, 480 Malherbe, Abraham J., 118, 118 n.7, 422, 422 n.37 Marshall, I. Howard, 326–327, 326 nn.5, 6 Martin, Ralph P., 565, 565 n.24 Martin, Troy W., 556 Martin, Victor, 108–109, 108 n.70 Martyr, Justin, 620 Matera, Frank, 566, 566 n.32 Maynard-Reid, Pedrito U., 394 Mayor, Joseph B., 279, 279 n.16, 442, 442 n.52, 619 McKnight, Scot, 86, 86 nn.3, 4, 89, 89 n.22 McNeile, A. H., 62–63, 62 n.140 Meeks, W. A., 142, 142 nn.177, 178 Meggitt, Justin J., 118, 118 n.11, 124–125, 125 n.57 Mellinkof, R., 200 Meyer, Arnold, 56 Michaelis, John David, 46, 46 n.37, 54 Miller, Robert J., 621

629

Index of Authors Milne, H. J., 21 n.78 Mitchell, Margaret M., 125–128, 125 nn.55, 56, 126 nn.61, 63, 64, 65, 66, 67, 68, 127, 127 nn.70, 71, 72, 73, 74, 75, 76, 78, 128 n.79–91 Mitton, C. Leslie, 563, 563 n.6 Moors, A., 456, 456 n.8 Moulton, James H., 60–61 Mussner, F., 279, 280 n.20 Needham, Anuradha Dingwaney, 513–514, 513 n.36 Neill, J. C. O., 191, 191 n.5 Neill, Stephen, 507, 507 n.2 Neusner, Jacob, 391 Neyrey, Jerome H., 34, 34 n.3, 367, 367 n.86, 401 Nienhuis, David R., 3 n.2, 7, 7 nn.15, 17, 9 n.3, 12, 12 nn.21, 22, 14 n.36, 15 n.46, 16 nn. 51, 53, 19 n.68, 23 n.90, 24 n.98, 25, 94, 578, 578 n.98 Nienhuis, Nancy, 468, 468 n.18 Norelli, Enrico, 7, 9 n.4, 14 n.34, 15 nn.44, 47, 16 nn.53, 54, 17 n. 57, 20 n.75, 26 North, Wendy E. S., 403 Oesterley, W. E., 51, 51 n.70 Olivier, Frank, 157 n.46 Osburn, Carroll D., 250 n.45, 405 Painter, John, 391 Parker, D. C., 19, 19 n.72, 21, 21 nn.77, 81 Penner, Todd C., 395 Perdelwitz, R., 112, 112 n.94 Perkins, Judith, 481–482, 481 n.82 Perkins, Pheme, 591 Pitt-Rivers, Julian, 488 Plutarch, 138, 138 n.155, 145–146, 145 n.6, 146 nn.6, 9, 147–149, 147 n.15, 158, 160–161, 160 nn.55–56, 161 nn.57, 59, 60, 164, 364, 402, 470 n.26, 475 nn.48–49, 491, 493–494, 496, 508 n.6 Priesker, H., 112, 112 n.97 Qimron, E., 64 n.163 Rabenau, M., 75 n.45 Raible, Wolfgang, 580, 580 n.109 Reed, Annette Yoshiko, 236, 237 nn.67, 68 Reed, Jeffrey T., 544 Reese, Ruth Anne, 557 Rendall, G. H., 59, 59 n.121, 552, 552 n.96 Rensberger, David, 403 Robbins, Vernon K., 428, 428 n.69 Robinson, J. A. T., 191, 191 n.4 Ropes, J. H., 417, 417 n.11 Rowston, Douglas J., 531, 531 n.1, 546, 546 nn.77, 78 Salmon, E. T., 130 Sanders, E. P., 44, 44 n.25, 309, 309 n.25 Sanders, L., 590, 590 n.167 Sandmel, Samuel, 67, 67 n.1

Scheidel, Walter, 123–125, 123 n.44 Schelke, K. H., 290, 290 n.53 Schlatter, A., 45, 279, 279 n.17 Schlosser, Jacques, 7, 7 n.16, 9 n.4, 26 Schmeller, Schulen, 591 n.176 Schmeller, Thomas, 591 Schmid, Hansjorg, 403 Schmidt, David Henry, 583–584, 584 n.132 Schmidt, K. L., 438, 438 n.27 Schnelle, Udo, 187–188, 563 Schrage, Wolfgang, 229 n.8 Schröter, J., 16 nn.52, 54, 19 n.70, 20 n.73, 23 n.91 Schuck, Michael J., 487 Schürer, E., 70 n.14, 71 n. 18, 73 n.34, 134 n.131, 282 n.31 Schutter, William L., 399 Scott, James C., 511–513, 511 n.24, 515 Segert, Stanislav, 552, 552 n.94 Segovia, Fernando F., 516, 516 n.49 Seland, Torrey, 510, 510 n.21 Selwyn, Edward Gordon, 507, 564 Seufert, W., 563, 563 nn.1, 2, 567 Sevenster, J. N., 552, 552 n.97 Shimada, Kazuhito, 565, 565 n.20, 571 Sidebottom E. M., 56, 56 n.104 Skeat, T. C., 21 n.78 Sloyan, Gerard S., 404 Smalley, S. S., 192 Smith, D. Moody, 211 n.30 Soards, Marion L., 566, 566 n.27 Spicq, C., 290, 290 n.52 Spicq, Ceslas, 564 Spitta, Friedrich, 56 Stanley, Christopher, 134, 134 n.130 Starr, James M., 402, 402 n.2 Stowers, Stanley, 415, 415 nn.2, 5 Strabo, Walafrid, 4 Strugnell, J., 64 n.163 Tsuji, M., 68 n.6, 69n. 9 Swadling, H. C., 403 Talbert, Charles H., 401 Taylor, Gabriele, 458–459, 459 n.21 Temin, Peter, 121–122, 121 n.32 Testuz, Michel, 105, 105 nn.48, 49 Theissen, G., 142–143, 143 nn.180–181 Thielman, Frank, 326–327, 326 n.7 Thurén, Lauri, 547, 547 n.81, 555 Trulock, Alice, 487 Turner, Nigel, 484 VanderKam, J.C., 231 nn.28, 31–34, 232 nn.35–37, 39–40, 233 nn.45, 48, 237 n.73, 266 n.86 Van der Westhuizen, J. D. N., 417, 417 nn., 12, 13, 14, 15, 16 Verseput, Donald J., 393 Vogtle, A., 366, 366 nn.121, 123 von Harnack, A., 280

629

630

Index of Authors Wachob, Wesley H., 425, 425 n.56, 555 Wall, Robert W., 6, 7 n.17, 25, 26, 105, 400 Wasserman, T., 105, 108, 108 n.65, 407 Watson, Duane F., 412, 533, 539 n.36, 547, 557 Webb, Robert L., 406 Wehr, Lothar, 594, 594 n.196 Wendland, E. R., 543, 543 n.64, 544, 544 n.67, 547, 550 Wettstein, Jacob, 145, 145 n.6 Wiefel, Wolfgang, 108, 110–111, 110 nn.85, 87 Willard, L. C., 17 n.62

630

Wilke, Christian G., 279, 279 n.15 Williams, Travis B., 398–399 Willis, William H., 100, 100 nn.6, 9, 13–15 Wilson, Bryan, 509, 511, 511 n.22 Windisch, H., 293 n.67 Winter, Bruce W., 138, 138 nn.157–158, 140 n.171 Wolthius, T., 243 n.13, 244 n.17 Wright, W., 236 n.62 Wuellner, W. H., 279, 555 n.1

631

INDEX OF REFERENCES

Old Testament Genesis: 1 352, 363–364 1:1 353 1:2 363–365 1:2–7 363 1:2–9 363 1:3–30 363 1:6 363 1:7 363 2:17 164 2:7 294 n.71 3:15 199 4 197, 199 n.45 4:3–16 149 n.21–22, 150 n.23, 198 n.38 4:7 198 n.39, 200 4:8 149, 151, 157, 241 4:11 447 4:13 198 4:25 199 5:1–24 229 n.8 5:22–24 270 5:3 198, 198 n.36 6:1–4 229, 230, 230 n.22, 231, 237, 237 nn71, 72, 73, 243, 355, 536 n.27 6:1–6 356 6:2 230 6:3 159, 159 n.51 6:4 162 6:5 447 6–7 352 6–8 364 7:11 364, 364 n.107, 365, 365 n.111 7:4 159, 159 n.51 8:2 365 n.111 9 534 n.11 10 159, 159 n.51 11–25 315 13 439 n.34 15:2 8, 382 15:6 315, 427 19 241 19:1–11 360 19:1–22 360 n.78 19:4–11 243 19:16 162 n.61 20:6 162 n.61

22:12 23:4 25:1 27 31:1 34:5 45:13 Exodus: 1:9 2:22 3:20 6:6 7:14 8:11 9:7 10:1 10:22 12 12:4 12:45 15:13 17:2 17:3 19:10 19:21 19:5 19:5–6 19:6 20 20:3–5 23:22 24:3–9 28 32:9 33:16 33–4 34 34:6

162 n.61 131, 517, 518 n.66 231 n.26 439 n.34 491 13, 27, 439 n.34 491

34:6–7

20 n.73, 520 n.73 517 n.56 447 333 202 n.55 202 n.55 202 n.55 202 n.55 386 333 619 517 n.56 333 7, 386 258, 260 447 446 n.81 264 82 n.81, 498 101, 264, 520, 520 n.53 447 525 n.94 520 n.73 576 202 n.55 202 n.55 520 n.73 197 194, 195, 195 n.24, 196, 202 n.55 193, 194, 196 n.27, 197, 197 n.33, 204 195, 160

Leviticus: 5:3 7:19 10:10 11:24 11:44–45

439 n.33 439 n.28 439 n.28 439 n.33 520 n.73

632

Index of References 13:17 13:3 16:19–20 16:30 18:24–28 19:2 19:18 20:7 21:21, 23 22:10 25:23 25:47 26

439 n.28 439 n.33 447 447 439 n.34 520, 520 n.73 287, 313, 427 520 n.73 446 n.81 517 n.56 132 n.110, 518 n.66 517 n.56 520 n.73

Numbers: 13:8.1 14 14:2 14:18 14:18–19 15:31 15:37–41 16 16:1–2 16:5 16:10 16:11 18:4:6 19 19:12 22 27 29 31:16 31:23 36

619 241, 243, 258 260 160 n.53, 197 n.33 194 151 n.29 245 241 245 254 245 258 619 576 447 241 260 260 241 447 260

Deuteronomy: 1:1 1:32 2:7 4:37 6:13 7:6–8 7:8 8:2 15 16:16 17:6 19:15 21:23 23 23:1–8 23:7 23:5 26:5–10 28:10 28:12

140 n.170 241 447 516 n.52 525 n.94 516 n.52 333 447 199 n.47 446 n.81 551 n.93 551 n.93 439 n.33 93 n.38 94 n.42 517 n.56 241 328 92 n.30, 93 n.34 162

632

28:25 29:3 29:4 29:16–18 29:28 30:4 30:19 32:1 32:4 32:21 32:34–35 32:35 32:37 33:2 33:3 33:22 34

575 288 201 134 249 575 246 246 195 386 159, 159 n.49, 163 163 n.63 156 n.45 229 n.9, 257, 258, 266, 373, 374 162 n.61 366 n.119 260

Joshua: 4:14 7:1 12:14–15 14:115 20:90

520 n.73 619 195 n.21 517 n.60 384

Judges: 5–7 5–19 6:13 6 7 14–15 17–18

35 35 156 n.45 60 n.126 60 n.126 35, 96 n.52 35

1 Samuel: 6:6 12:6

202 n.55 296 n.76

2 Samuel: 7:23

520 n.73

1 Kings: 15:3 18:27

162 n.61 152 n.31

2 Kings: 18:34 19:13

156 n.45 156 n.45

1 Chronicles: 5:10 10:4 14 16:29 28:20 29:15

517, 517 n.56 386 387 492 196 131, 518, 518 n.66

633

Index of References 2 Chronicles: 7:14 92–93 30:9 193 Ezra: 8:35

517 n.58

Nehemiah: 8:8 9:17 9:31 13:2 13:22

534 n.11 160 n.53, 194, 196 193 n.13 94 n.42, 241 162 n.61, 194 n.13

Job: 5:7–11 5:11 8:6 20:13 22:13 28:14 29:3 30:28 33:9 35 40:20

79 60 439 n.29 162 n.61 153 n.34 365 n.111 202 n.60 94 n.40 439 n.29 156 n.45 359 n.62

Psalms: 2:2 378 n.38 4:2 489 5:8 194 n.13 5:12 195 n.21 6:10 489 7:10 377 8:5 489 8:27–28 377 9 152 9:25 152 n.32 10:4 7, 377 12 447 13:1 153 14:9 377 17 489 17:32 369 17:45 377 18 489 18:13 162 n.61 18:5 7, 369 24:4 (LXX 23:4) 447 24:7–10 95 n.49 25:6 164 26 489 29:2 492 30:2 489 31:1,17 (LXX 30:2, 18) 489 33:15 110 33:21 110 33–34 110, 111

34 112 34:4 489 34:5 (LXX 33:6) 489 35 (LXX 34):4,26 489 35:4 489 36:18–19 489 37 (LXX 36):18–19 489 37:18–19 489 38:13 131 39:12 132 n.110, 518 n.66 40 (39):14–15 489 43:13–16 489 44:13–16 489 46 489 50:10 447 51:10 439 n.29 52:5 249 53:5 (LXX 52:6) 489 56:4 489 57:3 (LXX 56:4) 489 63:2 491 68:17 257 69:14 194 n.13 69:3–4 489 70:2–3 (LXX 69:3–4) 489 71:21 489 71:24 489 72 153 77:16 365 n.111 77:18 386 77:50 162 n.61 78:68 516 n.52 82:17–18 489 83:16–17 (LXX 82:17–18) 489 85:5 195, 195 n.21 86 196 86:5 194, 196 86:15 194, 194 n.16 87 489 88:4 (LXX) 516 n.52 88:46 489 89:45 489 90 618 90:4 163, 164, 164 n.69, 620 94:9 386 95:8 258, 260 95:10–11 258, 260 96:7 491 103:3 194, 196 103:8 194, 197 n.33 104:43 (LXX) 516 n.52 104:6 (LXX) 516 n.52 105:5 (LXX) 516 n.52 105:39 439 n.34 106:9 365 n.111 106:17 245 106:24 24–25, 241, 258, 260

633

634

Index of References 106:9 365 n.111 108:28–29 489 109 (LXX 108):28–29 489 110:1 380 111:9 489 112:9 489 116 489 117:22 582 117:22–23 582 n.119 118:22 264, 520 118:31 489 118:78 489 119 (LXX 118):78 489 119:31 489 119:78 489 120 517 n.58 120:5 517 n.58 128:5 489 129 (LXX 128):5 489 129:5 489 130 196 n.26 130:4 194, 196 131:18 489 132 (LXX 131):18 489, 492 135.6 365 n.111 144–50 492 145:8 194 146:2 575 148.7 365 n.111 Proverbs: 2:22 3:4 3:19 3:34 8:27–29 8:28 9:13 10:5 10:12 12:27 13:5 14:29 14:31 15:18 16:32 18:3 20:3 21:21 25:10 25:14

249 491 365 n.111 427, 445, 446, 577 363 365 n.112 492 492 299 n.87 439 n.29 492 193 n.13 491 194 n.13 194 n.13 492 491 491 492 240, 249, 259

Isaiah: 1:24 2:10 2:19 2:21

382 375 375 375

634

3:1 382 3:16–4:1 138 n.155 4:14 375 5:9 (LXX) 97 6:10 172, 202, 202 n.56, 204 6:3 194 n.13 6:9 202 6:9–10 201 8:14 520, 582, 582 n.119 8:14 (LXX) 582 9:32 48 n.45 10:33 382 11:11–13 44 n.24 24:23 376 n.32 27:12–13 44 n.24 28:16 264–265, 460, 489, 492, 497, 498, 520, 582 29:18 201 29:10 201, 288 29:13 446 n.81 29:15 153 n.34 30:18 377 30:30 366 n.119 36:19 156 n.45 37:13 156 n.45 40:4 373 40:10 96 n.52, 257, 373, 374, 376, 379 41:8–9 516 n.52 42:19–20 201 43:1 333 43:5–6 44 n.24 43:7 92 n.30, 93 n.34 43:8–10 203 43:20 101 43:20–21 264, 498, 520 43:21 265 43:21 (LXX) 264 44:1 516 n.52 45:23 376 46:1–10 134 49:23 377 49:6 44 n.24, 575 51:5 377 51:10 365 52:5 (LXX) 92, 92 n.29 52:7 381 52:13–53:1 495 52:13–53:12 576 53 102, 199 n.46, 576, 576 nn.90, 91 53:4–12 479 53:7 494, 576 57:19 250, 255 57:20 240, 250, 250 n.45, 255, 261 57:21 250, 250 n.45, 255, 261 58:2 446 n.81 59:9–10 202 59:10 184 n.33

635

Index of References 59:20–21 60:9 63:7 63:13 63:19 64:3 (LXX) 64:4 64:8 65:16 65:17 65:25 66:15 66:15–16 66:15–16 (LXX) 66:18 66:20 66:22 66:5 (LXX)

96 n.52 377 164 365 92 n.30, 93 n.34 377 377 520 n.73 197 n.33 365, 620 620 257, 379 96 n.52, 229 n.9, 266, 366 n.119, 374 375 375 48 n.48 365 375

Jeremiah: 1:6 2:5 2:6 2:8 4:10 5:12 5:21 5:22–23 6:1 6:2 10:3 13:14 14:9 14:13 15:16 17:17 21:7 23:40 25:31 29:1 29 (36 LXX)

382 438 156 n.45 156 n.45 382 153, 155 201 246 45 n.30 45 n.30 438 162 n.61 62, 92 n.30, 93 n.34 382 62 162 n.61 162 n.61 492 229 n.9, 259, 266, 373 45 n.30 70

Lamentations: 1:10 2:17 2:22 3:32

94 n.42 162 n.61 517 n.58 194 n.13

Ezekiel: 6 9:9 8:12 10 12:3 31:15 32:27

245 n.20 153 n.34 153 n.34 245 n.20 130 n.98 365 360

33–35 34:1–31 34:1–10 34:2 34:3 34:5 34:5–8 37 38:4 40:46 44:27 47–48

392 582 259 240, 245, 245 n.20, 259 245 n.20 245 n.20 245 n.20 44 n.24 245 446 n.81 196 n.29 44 n.24

Daniel: 1:6 2:37 4:1 4:7 5:18 6:26 7:8 7:10 7:25–26 9:9 9:10 9:19 9:19 (LXX) 12:12

520 n.73 491 567 281 n.23 491 567 260 229 n.9, 266 229 n.9, 266 194, 196 93 n.34 92 n.30 93 n.34 377

Hosea: 1:6, 9 1:6, 9, 10 2:1 2:23 4:7 11:11 13:10, 14

264 520 264 264, 265, 520 492 44 n.24 156 n.45

Joel: 2:13 2:17 2:17–18 2:28–32 2:32

160 n.53, 194, 195 n.23 156 n.45 162 n.61 376 92

Amos: 8:14 9:12

196 n.29 92

Jonah: 1:2 1:14 1:16 2:2 2:2–9 4:2 4:11

103 103 103 103 103 195 n.23 162 n.61

635

636

Index of References Micah: 1:3–4 7:7 7:10

373 377 156 n.45

Nahum: 1:3 3:5

160 n.53 492

Habakkuk: 1:13 2:3 3:16 3:3–9

439 n.29 377 517 n.58 373

Zephaniah: 3:8

377

Haggai: 2:1

231 n.27

Zechariah: 1:10 1:19 1:21 2:4 2:6 (LXX) 3:1–2 3:2 3:3–4 4:11 4:14 8:7 10:10 11:6 14 14:5 Malachi: 2:17 3:17

252 252 252 249 44 n.24 386 260 260 252 252 44 n.24 44 n.24 162 n.61 252 96 n.52, 229 n.9, 257, 266, 375, 375 n.26, 376–379

156 n.45 264

Apocrypha: 1 Maccabees: 1:22 1:41–64 8:17–18 15:16–24

332 n.15 134 74 517 n.60

2 Maccabees: 1:1 1:1–10 1–2 1:2–6 1:10

10, 45 n.30, 71 n.21 71 73 n.30, 312 n.33 72 n.22 71 n.20

636

1:10–2:18 71 1:11–12 17, 27–28, 72 n.22, 80 1:11–16 72 n.23 1:17 72 n.22 1:18 72 1:18–2:12 79 1:19–2:12 72 n.23 1:2 25, 76, 78 1:24–5 78 n.57 1:24–29 72 n.22 1:25 78 1:27 29, 77, 79 n.64, 575 1:3–4 82 1:3–5 76 1:7 79 n.63 1:7–8 71, 72 n.23 1:8 72, 72 n.22 2:1–2 70 n.14 2:2 78 2:4 79 2:7 79 n.63, 377 2:7–8 72 n.22 2:8 10–11,  78 2:13–5 75, 79 2:16 72 2:16–18 72 2:17 78 2:17–18 72 n.22 2:18 77 3:35 196 n.29 4:11 74 5–7 111 5:27–7:41 102 n.24 6:10 102 6:7–9 102 8:15 92 n.30, 93 n.34 9 72 11 72 14:36 439 n.31 15:34 439 n.31 18 72 3 Maccabees: 2:4–7 2:5 2:11 6:18 7:19

241, 244, 386 534 197 n.33 197 n.33 334

4 Maccabees: 1:22 18:9 18:15

332 n.15 198 n.37 110

Baruch: 2:15 4:37 5:5

92 n.30, 93 n.34 44 n.24 44 n.24

637

Index of References 78:1–7

44 n.24

Bel and the Dragon: 1:1–22 134 1 Esdras: 8:89

197 n.33

Judith: 16:6

359

Wisdom of Solomon: 1:8 3:13 3:9 4:2 4:12 4:15 4:4 7:22 8:20 10:7 11.15 11:23 11:26 12:8 13–15 14:1 14:17 15:1 17:2

153 n.34 439 n.32 516 n.52 439 n.32 332 n.15 516 n.52 249 167 n7 439 n.32 244 n.14 438 n.26 159 n.49 162 n.61 162 n.61 134 250 n.45 18, 27, 438 n.26 163 n.53 520 n.73

Tobit: 3:14

439 n.29

New Testament  Matthew: 3:3 4:48 5:10 5:11 5:11–12 5:16 5:21 5:3 5:34–37 5:38 5:44 5:48 5:7 5:8 5–7 6:24 6:25–32 6:5 7:11

376 449 n.89 575 576 575 575 296 427, 428, 555 57, 63 n.156, 296 206 570 449 n.89 377 439 n.29 427 382 206 52 n.81 295 n.72

7:19 7:2–5 8:2 10:17 10:22 10:23 10:24–25 10:25 10:40–42 11:10 11:19 11:23 12:3 12:7 12:32 12:39 12:42 13:14–15 13:19 13:20 13:22 13:23 13:27 13:41 13:54 13:57 15:2 15:7 15:13 15:27 15:31 16:4 16:18 16:18–19 16:27 18:15 18:16 19:21 19:28 20 21:5 21:23 21:42–44 21:44 22 23:6 23:6–10 23:26 23:35 23:37 24 24:11 24:33 24:42 24:45–51 25 25:14–30 25:19–23

208 n.17 447 206 300 n.92 460 n.34 206 384 383 206 255 295 n.71 360 n.72 102 n.32 302 n.100 300 n.92 103 295 n.71 201 253 n.55 253 n.55 253 n.55 253 n.55 383 376 n.32 295 n.71 227 n.3 447 228 249 618, 619 492 103 105, 582 583 375 290, 290 n.51 551 n.93 449 n.89 88 253 n.55 257 n.71 600 n.31 582 n.119 582 n.119 253 n.55 52 n.81 209 35 439 n.28 199 n.46 235 n.56 620 24, 620 297 n.78 380 383 298 n.83 383 290 n.52

637

638

Index of References 25:31 25:31–33 25:36 26:63 27:11 27:12–14 27:64 28:19

375 270 297 n.81 494 227 n.3 494 245 290 n.52

Mark: 1:14 1:21 1:3 1:5 2:5–12 2:5 3:1 3:20–35 4:15 4:16 4:18 5:34 6:13 6:2 6:5 6:7 7:2–5 8:38 9:23 9:29 9:37 10:1–45 10:29 10:33–34 10:52 11:22 12:10–11 12:39 13 13:9 13:20 13:22 13:22 13:24–25 13:26 13:27 13:29 13:34–36 13:35 14:61 15:16–32 15:29 15:43 15:5 16 16:14

357 n.49 51 n.73 376 298 n.84 298 n.84 298 n.83 51 n.73 504 253 n.55 253 n.55 253 n.55 298 n.84 297 n.80 295 n.71 298 n.84 298 n.85 447 375, 460 n.31 298 n.84 298 n.84 205 580 n.113 206 502 298 n.84 298 n.84 582 n.119 52 n.81 298 n.85 300 n.92 516 n.52 516 n.52 620 156 n.44 156 n.44 516 n.52 96, 297 n.78 383 383 494 502 300 n.92 377 n.35 494 253 n.55 442 n.52

638

Luke: 1:2 583 n.123 1:46–55 68–79,  492 1:51 577 1:67–79 568 n.44 1:68–79 492 2:25 38, 377 n.35 2:29 383 3:4 376 4:16 51 n.73 6:17–49 427 6:20 427 6:22 460 n.34 6:27–28 570 6:6 51 n.73 7:16 492 7:19–20 377 n.35 7:27 255 7:35 295 n.71 8:14 253 n.55 8:25 156 n.45 9 249 9:26 375 10:16 205 11:13 295 n.72 11:29 103 11:29–30 103 11:31 295 n.71 11:43 52 n.81 12:35–38 383 12:36 380 n.52 12:37 383 12:42–48 383 13:7 249 13:25 383 14:7–11 52 n.81 15 253 n.55 16:9 442 n.52 16:19–31 51 n.68 17:26–32 262 18:9–14 288 n.47 20:17–18 265 582 n.119 20:22–25 293 20:46 52 n.81 21:9 318 n.67, 443 n.61 21:15 293, 295 n.71 22:29–30 88 22:65 300 n.92 23:9 494 23:51 377 n.35 24:17 293 24:39 184 n.33 John 1–20 1:1 1:1–20:31

184 167, 183 n.29 176

639

Index of References 1:1–3 1:3 1:1–4 1:12–3 1:14 1:18 1:23 1:29 1:36 1:42 3:3 3:6 3:7 3:12 3:16 3:16–21 3:18 4:1–42 4:22 5:1–9 5:29 5:30 5:31–33 6:37 6:39 6:60–6 6:67 6:70 7:5 7:35 8:12 8:17–18 8:34–5 8:41–7 8:44 8:48 9:31 9:41 10:1–18 11:9–10 12:21 12:35 12:40 12:44 13:12–17 13:16 13:20 13:34 14:2 14:3 14:6–9 14:17 14:20 14:21 15:4–11 15:12 15:12–13 15:13–15

167 n.7 352 n.8 539 349 169, 186 n.40, 187, 341, 403 346, 349 376 299, 403, 576 576 582 350 183 n.30 350 443 n.56 171 215 349 167 n.5 183 n.30 182 156 n.44 171 n.19 551 n.93 183 n.30 183 n.30 167 n.9 211 n.34 211 n.34 167 n.9 575 171 n.19 551 n.93 171, 172 204 172, 200 300 n.92 202 216 582 171 n.19 182 n.23 171 n.19 202 n.56 347 221 384 180 n.17, 205, 221 n.83 285 n.39 356 n.45 356 n.45 349 188 n.51 569 214 569 172 171 172

15:17 15:19 15:22 15:24 15:27 16:4 16:8 16:10 16:28 17:2 17:3 17:7 17:14–6 17:18 17:21–26 17:24 18:21–3 18:28 19:14 19:25–7 19:34 20:24 20:24–29 20:27 20:29 20:31 21 21:15–17 21:15–19 21:16 21:23 21:24

171, 172 348 216 216 183 n.29, 203 n.62 183 n.29 172 172 356 n.45 183 n.30 169, 197 n.33 183 n.30 350 350 569 183 n.30, 353 341 300 n.93 300 n.93 170 170, 186 n.41, 344, 345 n.24 211 n.34 184, 184 n.32, 184 n.35 341 n.12 184 n.34 184 n.37, 342 212 n.37, 213 n.45 582 n.120 583 582 176 189 n.55, 215

Acts: 2:27 3–4 3:6 3:14 3:17 4–7 4:5 4:9–12 4:14 6 6:1 6:5 6:9 6:12 7:2–53 7:6 7:8 7:39 7:49–50 7:52 8 8:5–40 8–9 8:28–35

360 n.72 96 16 300 n.93 331 300 n.92 62 n.148 96 383 570 286 n.41, 370 182 n.23 283 n.32 62 n.148 328 29, 575 69 286 n.41 352 n.8 300 n.93 62 n.148 182 n.23 524 576

639

640

Index of References 9:1 9:14 9:32–35 9:36 9:43 10:1 10:2 11:2 11:25 11:26 11:30 12 12:1–7 12:12 12:17 12:18 12:25 13:9–11 13:10 13:11 13:12 13:13 13:15 13:16–41 13:17 13:38 13:45 14:11 14:28 15 15:1 15:2 15:3 15:4–18 15:7–11 15:9 15:22 15:22–23 15:23 15:36–39 15:36–40 15:39 15:40–18:5 16:6–10 16:6–12 16:7 16:14 16:15 16:25 16:34 16:37–39 17:16 17:28 17:30 17:4 18:2 18:6 18:7

640

296 21, 92, 93 297 n.81 299 n.88 299 n.88 299 n.88 288 n.47 286 n.41 290 n.50 300 n.92, 460 n.33 298 n.86, 587 300 n.92 182 587 130 n.98 298 n.86 587 296 295 n.75 297 n.81 299 n.88 587 544 n.70 328 334 288 n.47 300 n.92 133 n.121 290 n.50 284, 308, 323 286 n.41 298 n.86 291 n.62 315 n.54 584 n.135 288 n.47 587 586 282 n.31 296 289 n.50, 587 295 n.75 586 290 n.50 289 n.50 591 299 n.88 209 297 n.79 209 296 296 227, 266 288 n.47, 331 299 n.88 291 n.58 300 n.92 299 n.88

18:11 18:18 18:21 18:21–23 19:1 19:9 19:10 19:21 19:31 20:1 20:3 20:4 20:17 20:22 20:24 20:28 20:31 20:38 21:4 21:8 21:11 21:17–28 21:20 22:14 22:16 23:3 23:11 24:14–16 24:15 26 26:5 26:7 26:11 26:20 26:28 28 28:14 28:30 28:31

290 n.50 291 n.58 289 n.50, 293 289 n.50 289 n.50 291 290 n.50 289 n.50, 293 299 n.88 289 n.50 290 n.50 302 n.101 1401 289 n.50 288 n.47 582 290 n.50 293 n.68 293 n.68 182 n.23 293 n.68 592 286 n.41 300 n.93 92 296 289 n.50 288 n.47 377 n.35 291 n.58 301 n.100, 438 44 n.27, 69 300 n.92 288 n.47 460 n.33 140, 288 n.47 289 n.50 291, 299 294 n.69

Romans: 1 313 n.40 1:1 323 1:24 332 n.15 1:25 568 n.44 1:7 567 1:8 443 2:1–11 69 n.11 2:5–12 287 2–3 313 n.41 2–4 9–11,  497 2:11 287 n.44 2:13 287 n.44, 314, 439 n.35 2:23–24 92 2:25 27, 314 3:1 589 3:2 443 3–4 307, 307 n.12

641

Index of References 3:8 3:25 3:27–4:22 3:28 4 4:15 4:2–3 4:25 4:3 4:5 4:9 5:1–2 5:20 5:3–5 5:4–5 5:9 6:1 6:11 6:12–23 6:18 6:23 7:25 7:7–14 8:17 8:21 8:23 8:33 8:39 8:7 9:1 9:17 9:33 9:4–5 9:5 9–11 10:11 10:13 10:16 11:18 15:1 11:26 11:26–27 12 12:1–15: 12:2 12:6 12:6–8 12:8 12:9–19 12:11 12:17 12:18 12:19 12–13 13 13:1–2

296 n.76, 302, 592 333, 576 n.92 579 287 n.45, 307 n.14, 315 n.56, 316 n.57, 320, 320 n.76, 321 579 n.103 297 316 n.57 576 589 286 n.41 619 58 297 58, 287 n.44, 307 307 n.14 333 302 18 573 382 573 380 n.53 380 n.53 297 569 n.52 365 n.116 377 n.35 516 n.52 380 n.53 287 n.45, 619 n.12 296 n.76 288 492, 580 n.114, 581 n.114, 582 78 n.58 568 n.44 497 492 92, 93 576 301 n.97 301 n.97 80 n.70 96 n.52 570 13, 575 n.88 332, 449 n.89, 573 570 570 301 n.99 484 384 522, 570 600 n.30, 609 n.95 317 n.63 570, 570 n.60 571 525 n.94

13:1–7 14:4 15:14 15:16 15:21 15:27 15:30 15:31 15:32 15:9 16:1 16:4 16:6 16:16 16:20 16:22 16:23

523, 528 n.108, 571, 571 n.64, 572, 573 313 290 302 576 301 380 n.53 293 n.68 293 n.67, 385 313 n.40 299 n.88 299 n.88 12, 301 n.99 569 380 n.53 552 600 n.30

1 Corinthians: 1:18–4:21 1:2 1:3 1:7 1:8 1:20 1:23 1:27 1:27–28 1:29 1:31 2:14 2:14–3:3 2:6 2:8 2:9 3:3 3:18 3:19 3:21 3:22 4:1–5 4:7 4:8 5:4 5:5 5:6 5:7 5:11 6:1–9 6:2 6:9 6:11 6:15 6:15–20 7 7:12–16 7:24

318 46, 92, 93, 379 567 377 n.35, 380 376, 379 313 502 492 317 31, 318 376 318 318 449 n.89 95 n.49, 312 317 318 316 313, 439 n.35 318 308 318 318 301 n.97 313 n.40 376 318 333 610 53 n.83 4, 319 n.71 316, 316 n.61, 317, 317 n.62 313 318 318 473 n.40 523 n.84 439 n.35

641

642

Index of References 8:1 8:6 9:5 9:20–23 9:22 9:25–27 10:9 10:14 10:16 10:20–21 11 11:16 11:17–22 11:17–34 11:23–25 11:25 12:12 12:12–13 12:28 13:2 13:3 13:4 14:1 14:3 14:23–25 14:33 14:37 15 15:1–11 15:3–4 15:7 15:9 15:14 15:23 15:24 15:31 15:32 15:33 15:35 15:40 15:44 15:57 16:16 16:22

301 n.97 313 370 308 320 317 385 317 n.63 576 n.92 313 59 316 313 69 n.11 575 n.88 27, 576 n.92 14, 18, 19, 20, 22, 25, 26, 27, 318 318 301 n.99 308, 320–321, 320 n.76 318 318 39 318 318 52 318, 443 n.61 316 59 308 578 323 320 318 313 357 n.54 320, 380 n.53 316 312, 316 316 n.60, 323 443 n.56 46, 318 380 n.53 301 n.99 370

2 Corinthians: 1:1 1:2 1:3 1:3–7 1:6 1:14 1:15–17 1:16 1:19 1:23 2:3 2:14

141 n.174, 567 567 380 n.53, 568, 568 n.48 568 302 n.101 376, 379, 380 290 n.50 291 n.62 586 296, 296 n.76 290 n.50 54

642

5:1 5:6 5:17 6:5 6:7 7:2 7:5 7:14 8:14 8:19 8:20 9:2 9:4 9:12 10:2 10:4 10:8 10–13 10:13 10:13–15 10:17 10:18 10:21–33 11 11:2–3 11:5 11:7 11:10 11:13 11:17 11:20 11:29 11:31 12:1–5 12:6–10 12:7 12:12 12:13 12:20 12:21 12–18 13:2 13:12

443 n.56 297 365 n.116 318 n.67 313 n.39 290 295 n.73 492 300 n.89 292, 302 n.101 290, 302 292 492 300 n.89 295 n.75 291 n.63 291 222, 285 290 291 376 618 291 n.63 291 n.63 198 n.37 291 n.63, 295 n.75 209 141 n.174 295 n.75 385 295 n.75 296 296 n.76 291 n.63 298 n.82 295 n.74 207 209, 299 n.88 295 n.73, 318 nn.67, 68 295 n.75 291 n.63 295 n.75 569

Galatians: 1:1 1:3 1:8 1:9 1:10 1:14 1:19 1:20 2:1–10 2:2 2:4 2:5.14 2–6

319 n.74 567 296 n.76 207 312, 323 295 n.74 306 n.8, 323, 370 296 n.76 298 n.86 357 n.49 295 n.75 295 313 n.41

643

Index of References 2:6 2:7 2:9 2:10 2:10–14 2:11 2:11–14 2:16

284 583 12, 19, 43 n.23, 295, 321, 323, 578 292, 293 308, 323 284, 321 308, 319, 583 307 n.14, 308, 315, 316 n.57, 320, 320 n.76, 321, 322 2:16–3:29 307 2:18 314 2:20 313 3:1 287, 295 n.75 3:7 175 n.2 3:19 361 3:29 44 n.25 4:3 8–9,  382 4:13 297, 298 n.82 4:13–15 298 n.82 4:21 297 4:24 253, 254 5:5 377 n.35 5:12 295 n.75, 296 5:13–6:10 307 5:15 295 n.73 5:15–21 313 5:20 295 n.73, 318 n.68 5:22–23 393 6:6 313 n.39, 316 6:7–8 132 6:10 175 n.2 6:15 40 n.2, 236 n.62 6:16 44 n.25 6:17 298 n.82 6:18 380 n.53 Ephesians: 1:2 1:3 1:3–13 1:3–14 1:4 1:7 1:13 1:17 1:21 2:8 2:9 2:13 2:14–3:19 2:16 2:19 2:20 2:21 3:8 3:11 4:11 4:13

567 205 n.2, 380 n.53, 568 n.48 573 568 353 333 313 n.39 380 n.53 357 n.54 322 318 n.70 333 315 314 n.51 575 315 308 n.20 320 380 n.53 206 314 n.52, 449 n.89

4:14 4:17–19 5 5:14 5:17 5:20 5:21 5:21–6:9 6:1 6:9 6:5–9 6:11 6:16

249 53 n.83 222 236 n.62 385 380 n.53 484 466 383, 384 384 137 n.151 577 577

Philippians: 1:1 1:10 1:17 1:2 1:20 1:25 1:8 2:3 2:7 2:8 2:10 2:10–11 2:13 2:15 2:16 2:24 2:25 3:2 3:3 3:15 3:20 4:1 4:5 4:15 4:18

312, 323 376 295 n.73 567 460 n.31 290 n.50 296 n.76 427 167 n.7 168 443 n.56 384 288 53 n.83 292 n.63, 376 290 n.50 205 n.2, 299 n.88 295 n.75 40 n.2 449 n.89 377 n.35 317 n.63 297 n.78 299 n.88 205 n.2

Colossians: 1 1:2 1:3 1:5 1:13 1:16 1:20 1:28 2:14 2:18 3:7 3:12 3:16 3:17 3:18–4:1 3:22–4:1

64 n.161 567 380 n.53 313 n.39 314 n.52 357 n.54 314 n.51, 333 449 n.89 314 n.51 301 n.100, 438 53 n.83 516 n.52 385, 484 313 n.40 466, 572 137 n.151

643

644

Index of References 4:10 4:12 4:16 1 Thessalonians: 1:1 1:6 1:7–8 1:10 2:5 2:7 2:9 2:10 2:11 2:14 2:19 3:2 3:6 3:9 3:13

587 205 n.2, 449 n.89 113

4:11–12 4:16 5:2 5:9 5:12 5:14 5:15 5:21 5:23 5:26 5:27 5:28

567, 586 313 n.39 141 n.174 377 n.35 290, 296 n.76 372 357 n.49 296 n.76 245 300 n.92 292 n.63, 380, 380 n.54 372 208 570 96 n.52, 313, 313 n.43, 375, 379, 380, 380 n.54 523 372, 376 n.32 376 23, 380, 380 n.53 301 n.99 297 n.81 570 208 n.17, 235 n.56 380 n.54 569 113, 296 n.76 380 n.53

2 Thessalonians: 1 1:1 1:4 1:7 1:7–8 1:8 1:9 1:10 1:12 2:1 2:1–15 2:2 3:18

380 n.53 587 318 n.70 96 n.52, 375 12, 96 n.52, 375 12, 14, 380 375 376 n.32 375, 379 14, 380, 380 n.54 315 376 380 n.53

1 Timothy: 1:3 1:5 1:10 1:13–18 1:14 1:18–20 2:10 2:1–3

290 n.50 439 n.29 226 315 18 331 315 322 n.80 525 n.94

644

2:1–4 2:9 2:9–10 2:14–21 2:22 3:1 3:1–9 3:1–13 3:2 3:3 3:4 3:4–6 3:8 3:9 3:12 3:16 4:13 4:14 4:1–7 4:2–3 5 5:1–6:2 5:3–16 5:10 5:17 5:19 6:1 6:1–2 6:10 6:14 6:18 6:20–21

571 138 n.155 138 315 439 n.29 322 n.80 315 140 208 140 n.170 209 140 140 n.170 439 n.29 137 n.151 578 113 314 n.53 315 331 138 n.157 572 138 n.157 25, 208, 322 n.80 314 n.53 551 n.93 92 n.29 137 n.151 140 n.170 440 322 n.80 315

2 Timothy: 1:9–10 1:12 1:15 1:18 2:10 2:19 2:21 2:22 2:23 3:2 3:8 3:16 3:17 4:3 4:9–13 4:11 4:14 4:19

578 460 n.31 591 377 516 n.52 254, 262 322 n.80, 383 92 295 n.73 140 n.170 227 n.3, 253, 254, 263 203, 233 322 n.80 226 290 n.50 587 322 n.80 291 n.58

Titus: 1:1 1:5 1:5–7 1:5–9

323, 516 n.52, 567, 575 290 n.50, 314 n.53 137 n.151, 140 n.167 140 n.169

645

Index of References 1:7 1:9 1:11 1:12 1:13 1:16 2:1 2:1–10 2:2–4 2:7 2:9–10 2:13 2:14 3:1 3:1–3 3:5 3:8 3:9 3:10–11 3:12 3:13 3:14

140 n.170 173, 208, 226 140 n.170, 290 n.53 227, 266 208 172 n.21, 322 n.80 226 572 140 14, 322 n.80 137 n.151 377 n.35 322 n.80, 578 322 n.80, 571, 571 n.64, 572 528 n.108 322 n.80 322 n.80, 528 n.108 295 n.73 597 n.11 290 n.50 291 n.62 322 n.80

Hebrews: 1:10 3:6 4:1 5:8 5:14 6:4–12 7:18–19 7:1–3 7:5 7:19 7:26 8:6–13 9:11 9:11–15 9:11–27 9:14, 22, 23 9:24 9:28 10:24–39 10:22 10:25 10:28 11:10 11:13 11:3 11:4 11:5 12:2 12:24 12:15 12:18 13:2 13:22 13:22–25

376 318 n.70 534 168 449 n.89 525 521 n.77 241 n.4, 262 48 n.48 446 n.81 439 n.32 521 n.77 449 n.89 521 n.77 576 447 535 n.20 377 n.35 525 439 n.28 94 n.44 551 n.93 377 n.35 575 363 199 n.49 270 502 576 443 n.59 359 n.68 205 n.3 544 n.70 10 n.5

13:24 13:4 13:5 13:9

579 n.102 439 n.32 140 n.170, 484 249

James: 1:1 40–42, 44, 54–57, 60, 61, 66, 89 n.19, 133, 276 n.2, 281 n.25, 312, 575, 576 n.93 1:1–27 425 1–2 313 n.41 1:2 286, 286 n.43, 294, 297 n.79 1:2–4 58, 69 1:3 287 n.44 1:3–4 307, 307 n.14 1:4 58 1:5 76 n.51, 294, 294 n.71, 443 1:5–8 69, 76 1:6 297, 298 n.84 1:8 281 n.23, 318 1:9 51, 77, 300 n.91, 318 1:9–11 21, 54, 69 1:10 51, 281 n.25, 297 n.78, 300 n.91 1:10–11 51, 81 n.73 1:11 300 n.91 1:12 318 1:13 288 1:13–15 69, 287 n.45 1:14–15 332 n.15 1:16 68, 69, 312, 316 1:16–18 69 1:17 76, 77 n.55, 288 1:18 21, 12, 62, 281 n.25, 300 n.92, 313 n.39 1:18–2:13 287 1:20 296 1:20–21 51 1:21 281 n.25, 314, 576 n.93 1:21–23 313 n.39, 314 1:22 286, 287 n.44 1:25 285, 287, 289 1:26 316 1:26–27 393, 395, 438 1:27 302 n.100, 313 2 281 n.25, 426, 428 n.71, 579 n.103 2:1 57, 60, 68, 287 n.44, 299, 312 2:1–3:12 418, 427, 430 2:1–7 51, 52, 52 n.81, 91, 313 2:2 54, 62, 64, 94, 298 n.85, 300 n.91, 301 n.98 2:5 77, 294 n.71, 300 n.91, 317, 427, 555 2:6 294 n.69, 300, 300 nn.91, 93, 319 n.71 2:7 92, 93, 282 n.28, 313 2:8 11, 23, 79, 285, 287 2:11 296, 314 2:12 297 n.78

645

646

Index of References 2:13 2:14 2:14–26 2:16 2:17 2:18 2:19 2:20 2:20–23 2:21 2:21–23 2:21–24 2:21–26 2:22 2:23 2:24 2:25 2:26 3 3:1 3:1–12 3:5 3:6 3:9 3:10 3:12 3:13 3:13–17 3:13–18 3:13–4:12 3:14 3:15 3:15–16 3:15–17 3:16 3:17 4:1 4:1–10 4:2 4:4 4:4–5 4:5 4:6–10 4:8 4:11 4:11–12 4:12 4:13 4:13–15 4:13–16 4:13–5:6 4:14 4:16 5 5:1

646

287, 295, 299, 318 16, 18, 68, 323, 296, 316 283, 286–288, 305, 305 n.4, 306 n.4, 307, 308, 313 n.42, 315, 321, 393, 417 299, 316 288 n.46 316 n.60 77, 313 318 287 n.45 93, 294 60 307 n.12 307 286 n.43, 287 n.45 13 n.29 286 n.42, 287, 287 n.45, 315 60 320, 320 n.76 281 n.25 68, 284 n.36, 295, 297 n.78, 318 418, 418 n.19, 419 n.23, 423 n.42, 426, 428 n.71 6, 295, 318 395, 441 295, 296 n.76 68 68 294 n.71 442 295 318 295 n.73, 318 318 313, 317 294 n.71 318 393, 395 289 n.49, 318 53, 440 53, 289, 297, 318 53 7, 78 56 n.101, 267, 268, 294 n.71 576, 577 53, 281 n.23, 288, 395, 444 68, 287 n.44, 295–297 318 77, 297 n.78, 313 289, 290 80 n.71 284, 289, 294 53 81 n.72, 294 291, 318 68 300 n.91

5:1–6 5:1–8 5:2 5:3–6 5:3–8 5:4 5:5 5:6 5:7 5:7–8 5:7–11 5:8 5:9 5:10 5:10–20 5:11 5:12 5:13 5:14 5:15 5:16 5:17–18 5:19 5:20 1 Peter: 1:1 1:1–2 1:2 1:3 1:3–12 1:3–2:10 1:3–4:11 1:3–5:11 1:3–7 1:3–9 1:4 1:5 1:6 1:6–7 1:7 1:10–12 1:11 1:13–2:10 1:13–21 1:14 1:15 1:15–16 1:16 1:17 1:18 1:18–19 1:19 1:20 1:21

53, 54, 284 n.36 318 296 53 297 77, 298 n.85, 300 n.91 57 n.111d, 295 n.73, 297 n.78, 300 n.93 283 53, 63 n.153, 68, 297, 312 95 76 297 n.78, 313 n.43 68, 295, 297 60, 297 n.79 392 60, 195 n.22 57, 63 n.156, 297 n.79 601 n.37 51 n.73, 62, 93, 298 n.83 60 54, 283, 297, 298 60 68, 299 299, 299 n.87

17, 45, 45 n.29, 57 n.111, 119, 120, 131, 133, 276 n.2, 281 n.25, 508, 576 n.93 265, 516 104 380 n.53, 568, 568 n.48 104 519 112 112 568 103, 568 18, 23, 353, 439 n.32 7, 13, 107, 518 n.64 281 n.25 58 n.120, 478 n.67 131, 281 n.25 261, 330, 330 n.11 330 400 331, 335 134, 135, 353 n.15, 573 106, 472 n.35 265 520 n.73 111, 120, 508 134, 474 n.46 333 102 n.22, 104, 131 n.107, 440, 576 265, 352 n.5, 352–353 104

647

Index of References 1:22 106 1:22–2:2 12 1:24 281 n.25 2:9–11 40 n.2 2:1 131, 281 n.25 2:2 131 n.107 2:3 110, 376 2:4–8 12, 18–20, 478 n.67, 582 2:4–10 263–265, 358, 484, 503, 582 n.119 2:5 106 2:6–10 265, 520, 580 n.114 2:7 336 2:9 101, 102 n.22, 106, 107, 265 2:10 134 2:11 44 n.25, 120, 265, 353 n.15, 508 2:11–3:12 397, 398, 508 2:11–5:11 522 2:12 103, 140, 472 n.35 2:12–14 131 n.107 2:13–17 140 n.172, 143, 528 n.108, 571 2:13–3:6 523 n.86 2:14–15 140 2:16 131 n.107, 140 n.172 2:17 143, 525 2:18 142 n.176 2:18–20 136, 508 2:18–25 503 2:18–3:11 412, 466 2:18–3:17 580 n.113 2:18–3:7 136 2:20 140, 439 n.35, 467 n.19 2:21 104 2:21–25 104, 478 n.69, 576 2:24 573 2:25 131 n.107 3:1 290, 290 n.51, 482 3:1–2 9, 14, 15, 17, 137, 465, 478 n.67 3:1–6 137, 508 3:2 137, 472 n.35 3:3 138 n. 155, 352 n.5 3:3–4 138 3:5–6 139 3:6 140 3:7 139 3:9 570 3:10–11 140 3:10–12 110 3:11 110 3:14 575 3:15 111, 376 3:15–16 103 3:16 472 n.35 3:16–17 140 3:18 106, 107 3:18–20 355 nn.34, 38 3:18–22 354–367 3:18–4:6 397 3:19 355, 357, 360

3:19–20 270, 355 n.38, 356, 357 4:1 106, 107 4:1–2 12–19, 104, 478 n.67 4:2–3 135 4:6 106, 355 n.40 4:7 352 4:7–11 626 4:8 106, 299 n.87 4:9 205 n.3 4:10 570 4:10–11 570 4:11 570 4:13 518 n.64 4:14 576 4:14–16 460 4:15 294 n.69 4:15–16 131 n.107 4:16 104 n.41, 143, 300 n.92, 412, 460 nn.30, 32, 36, 464 n.57, 526 n.102 4:19 106 140 4:34–4 134 5 131 n.107 5:1 133, 518 n.64 5:1–2 140 5:1–5 139 5:2 140 n.170, 290 n.53, 582 5:3 131 n.107 5:5 140 5:5–9 576 5:5b–9 577 5:8 131 n.107 5:8–10 478 n.67 5:10 104, 569 5:12 131 n.107, 586 n.150, 586, 592 5:12–13 265, 585 5:12–14 516 5:13 587, 587 n.152, 608 n.86 5:14 569 2 Peter: 1:1–11 1:2 1:3 1:4 1:5–7 1:11 1:13 1:16 1:16–21 1:17–18 1:18 2:1 2:1–3:3 2:2 2:3 2:3b 2:3b–9

402 107 155 352 n.5, 353, 401 400 157 145 n.6 380, 380 n.54 401 575 620 106, 152, 154, 155, 157, 357, 370, 382–383, 620 589 18, 92 n.29, 358 290 151, 152, 154 154, 158

647

648

Index of References 2:4

17, 157, 158, 270, 358, 359, 359 n.68 2:4–5 162, 356, 359 2:4–7 236 n.62 2:4–8 241, 244, 386 2:4–9 152, 161, 162 2:5 20, 156, 352 n.5, 357 2:6 156, 534 n.17 2:7 155 2:8 155 2:9 157 2:10 155, 353 n.15 2:10a–b 361 2:10b 360 2:12 155, 155 n.42 2:13 18, 358, 549 2:15 106 2:16 619 2:17 157 2:17–18 155 2:18 353 n.15 2:19 154, 155, 155 n.41, 382 2:20 159 2:20–22 155 2:21 155 2:22 145 n.6 3:1 105, 325, 589 3:1–2 329, 330 n.11 3:3 106, 155, 357, 549 3:3–4 151, 156, 157 3:4 151, 155–157, 362 3:4–13 358 3:5 156, 363, 364 3:5–6 352, 362 3:5–7 156, 162 3:6 156, 352 n.5, 364 3:7 12–13, 156, 158, 163, 365 3:8 145 n.6, 163, 164 n.69, 618, 620 3:8–9 164 3:9 151, 152, 154, 155, 157–161, 163 3:9–13 158 3:10 157, 158, 353, 618 3:10–13 158, 617 n.8 3:12 95 3:12–13 366 3:12–14 377 n.35 3:13 155, 157, 620 3:14 106, 440 3:15 160, 618 3:15–16 12, 589 3:16 592 3:17 155 1 John: 1–4 1:1 1:1–2

648

184 n.35 14, 169, 169 n.13, 178–179, 185 n.38, 191, 222, 403, 596, 604 18 n.66

1:1–3 341 1:1–4 34–35,  402 1:1–14 18 n.66 1:2 169, 179 1:3 179–180, 184 n.33 1:4 180–181 1:6–10 214 n.51 1:7 447 1:8 216 1:9 447 1:9–2:2 35, 193–195 1:10 342 n.13 2:1 181 n.19, 187 2:2 299 2:2–3 214 n.51 2:4 168, 170, 172 n.24, 181 n.19 2:5–6 569 2:7 181 n.19 2:8 181 n.19 2:9–10 202 2:11 204 2:12–14 181 n.19 2:9–11 172 2:11 201–204 2:16 200 2:18–26 402 2:18–27 403 2:19 171, 172 n.20, 225 2:20 188, 350 2:21 181 n.19 2:22 172 2:24 569 2:26 181 n.19 2:27 188, 214, 222, 350, 569 3:15 200 3:4 180 n.17 3:5 403 3:7 172, 197–200 3:10–15 172 3:12 263 4 213 4:1 214 4:1–6 173, 343 n.15, 402, 403 4:2 169, 184, 187, 596, 597, 607 n.78, 609 4:3 168 n.12 4:12 346 4:12–16 215, 569 4:14–16 184 n.32 4:15 169 4:18 449 n.89 5:4 183 n.30 5:6 187 5:6–8 186 n.41 5:7 170 5:13 181 n.19, 342 5:16 172, 181 n.19 5:20 197 n.33

649

Index of References 2 John: 1:1 1:3 1:4 1:6 1:7

1:10–11 1:11 1:12

5, 10, 599, 607 606 n.71 10 606 n.71 14 n.35, 169, 596, 597 n.8, 602 n.46, 607 n.79, 609, 609 n.96 14, 602 601 n.33, 606 n.69 10, 172 n.20, 601 n.40 208 n.19, 220, 224, 343, 607 n.79, 610 172 n.20, 208, 597, 600, 607 602 181 n.18

3 John: 1:1 1:2 1:3–4 1:4 1:5 1:6 1:7 1:8 1:9 1:9–10 1:10–11 1:11 1:12

5, 10, 599, 606 n.71 606 n.71 10 601 n.40 605 n.65, 606 n.71 291 n.62, 606 n.71 606 n.74 221, 600 n.33 10 10 14 223 596 n.4

1:7–8 1:8 1:9 1:10

Jude: 1:14–15 406 1:3 226, 357 1:4 7–8, 256 n.64, 263–264, 357, 358, 370, 381, 383–384 1:4–19 240, 263–265 1:5 107 1:5–7 241, 356, 386, 387 1:5–19 404 1:6 60 n.126, 229, 232 n.38, 251, 270, 358–359 1:6–8 358 1:7 60 n.126, 361 1:7–8 358 1:7:30 48 n.48 1:8 243 n.13, 254, 358, 360–361 1:9 227 n.4, 242, 386 1:11 254, 258 1:12 108, 358 1:12–13 229, 229 n.10, 247 1:13 251 n.46, 255, 258 1:14 228 n.7, 232, 236, 373, 377, 379–380, 614 1:15 228 n.7 1:14–15 96 n.52, 227, 228 n.7, 233–234, 255, 258, 266, 406

1:15 1:16 1:17–18 1:18 1:19 1:21 1:24

246, 405 353 n.15 242, 325 353 n.15, 357 318 n.69, 443 n.57 377, 379 440 n.38

Revelation: 1:1 518 n.64, 598 1:3 113 1:4 567, 598 1:18 360 n.72 2:2 207–208 2:9 300 n.92 2:11 249 2:13 583 2:14 263 2:19 254 2:20 263 2:22 297 n.81 4:9 492 4:11 492 5:13 492 6:8 360 n.72 6:10 383 7:4–8 69 7:12 492 7:14 252 11:4 252 14:4 252 17:14 252, 516 n.52 18:2 356 n.47, 537 19:14 375 19:20 342 n.14 20:1–10 360 20:4 164 n.69 20:5 618 20:6 249 20:7 537 20:13 360 n.72 20:14 249, 360 n.72 21:1 156 n.44, 365 n.116 21:8 249 21:12 44 n.27, 69, 96 n.52

Old Testament Pseudepigrapha Apocalypse of Elijah: 1:3 48 n.45 5 366 n.127 L.A.B.: 11:8

93 n.38

2 Baruch (Syriac Apocalypse): 19:1 246 21.21 92 n.30

649

650

Index of References 30:1 62 n.149 40:1 381 56.13 359 n.67 72:2 381 78:1 45 n.30, 49 n.56 78:1–7 44 n.24 78:3 78 78:4 46 78:5 76 78:5–6 79 n.63 78:6–7 79 n.66 78:7 79 n.64, 377 79:2-3 79 n.63 80:7 78 81:2 4, 77 82:2 77, 80, 377 84:2 246 84:10 76 84:10–11 77 84:1–11 79 n.66 84:2–5 78–79 84:2–5 79 n.63 84:6 76 84:8 78 n.58, 78, 82 n.83 85:3 10-15, 79 n.66 85:4 79 n.64 85:8 77 3 Baruch (Greek Apocalypse): 2:7 252 3:5 252 6:3 16, 252 12:3 252 13:4 94 n.40 4 Baruch (Paraleipomena Jeremiou): 6:19 45 n.30, 49 n.56 1 Enoch (Ethiopic Apocalypse): 1:1–2 55 1:3b–7 9, 373 1:3b–9 266, 373, 381 n.56 1–5 229 nn.9, 10, 13, 250, 258, 260, 261 1:8 255, 373, 377 1:9 96 n.52, 228 n.7, 240, 246, 250, 251, 255, 257–261, 266, 614 2:1 361 2:1–5:4 246–247, 246 nn.22, 26, 247 n.28, 250, 251, 257 2:3 246, 247 n.33, 259 5:2 361 5:4 246, 247, 250, 255, 258–261 5:6 266 6–16 356 6–19 241 8:15 252 10 360

650

10:12 241 10:4–6 241, 356, 359, 359 n.67 10:6–12 356 12:4 241 12:4–5 357 12:5 250 359 12–14 357 13:1 250, 359, 359 n.67 14:5 359, 359 n.67 15 252 15:3 241 15:3–10 244 15:4–7 356, 358 15:7 358 15:8–12 356 18:11–16 356 18:14 537 18:21 356 18:11–16 356 18:14 252 18:21 356 21:6 252, 537 22 95 n.49 22:14 48 n.45 22:4 252 2–5 361 25.3 48 n.45, 95 n.49 27.3 5, 48 n.45, 95 n.49 36.4 48 n.45 37–71 250 n.45, 256 n.64 40.3 48 n.45, 95 n.49, 252 45:3 381 46 381 48:7 440 n.41, 442 n.52 54.3–5 359, 359 n.67 55:4 381 56.1–4 359, 359 n.67 57:1 44 n.24 60:8 266 63:2 48 n.45, 95 n.49 66–67 267 67:10 256 n.64 67:5–7 229 n.11, 250 n.45 69:27–29 381 72–82 247, 250 n.45 80 247–250, 248 n.37, 249 n.38, 250 n.45 80:1 258–259 80:2 (67:5–7) 229 n.11 80:2 259 80:2–7 247, 249 80:2–8 246 n.22, 247, 249 n.38 80:3 249, 259 80:6 240, 247, 250, 251, 259 80:6–7 247, 250, 257, 258 83 365 83:3–5 365 83:4 365

651

Index of References 83:4–5 83:8 83:3–5 83:4 83:4–5 88:1 89:31 89:56–58 89:59–90:25 89:65–66 89:74 89:75 90:24 90:18 90:2–4 90:24 90:25 91:13 91:7 92–105 93:3 93:4 99:2 101:3 101:6–7 101:6–8 108:8

365 48 n.45 365 365 365 359, 359 n.67, 537 379 n.50 267 245 n.20 68, 245 n.20 245 n.20 245 n.20 537 245 11, 245 n.20 251 n.46 251 n.46 267 257 270 266 262 245 247, 261 246 246 440 n.41

2 Enoch (Slavonic Apocalypse): 7 356 7:1–3 356 7:2 241 7:3 252 18:3 252 18:4–6 241 32:1 62 n.149 33:1–2 164 n.68 4 Ezra: 1–2 4:25 10.22 10:44 12:10 12:30 12:31–33 12:32 13:26 13:32–50 13:37–38 13:40 14 14:34 15–16

45, 61 n.138 92 n.30 92 n.30 252 252 252 381 252, 369 252, 381 44 n.24 381 252 228, 268 377 45, 61 n.139

Jubilees: 1:12–18 1:29

46 n.36 365 n.1.29

5:6 8:19 14:5

356 292 n.68 356

Odes of Solomon

105, 615

Pseudo-Phocylides

279, 471

Psalms of Solomon: 9:2 9:9 10:6

517 n.60 92 n.30 93 n.38

Sibylline Oracles: 2:170–73 2:229-240 3:271 3:80–90 4:185

44 n.24 359 n.63, 360 517 n.60 366 n.119 359 n.64

Testament of Asher: 3:2 446 n.79 Testament of Benjamin: 7:5 199 n.48 Testament of Dan: 4:7

281 n.23

Testament of Joseph: 4:6 440 n.41 19:3–8 (Arm.) 44 n.24 Testament of Judah: 22:2 62 n.149 Testament of Naphta: 3 360–361 3:2 360 3:4–5 356 n.43 Testament of Job: 32:8

94 n.40

New Testament Apocrypha/Pseudepigrapha Acts of Barnabas: 1:7 383 2:6 285 n.39 4:3 231 n.31, 268 6:2–4 265 6:9 481 n.83 10:11 377 n.35 11:9–10 267 12:1 268–267 12:8 385 16 231 n.31

651

652

Index of References 16:5 267–268 16:5–8 521 n.77 16:6 231, 268 19:7 572 21:3 96 n.52 21:9 312 n.37 Apocalypse of Peter 2

4QFlor (Florilegium) 1:2 3, 11, 12, 252 1:16 254 1:17 252 4QShirShabba (Songs of the Sabbath Sacrifice): 1:18 194 n.18

342 n.14

4QShira (Shirota or Songs of the Sage): 1:1 95 n.49 4Q175 267 4Q177 251 4Q180 267 4Q182 251 4Q400 194 n.18 4Q510 1:1 95 n.49

Cerinthus: Cerinthus: 165, 168, 340, 340 n.2 3 Corinthians: 1:9–15 3:29–31

108 103

Early Jewish Writings (Josephus and Philo)

Protevangelium of James: Prot. Jas. 1:1, 3. 44 n.27 Pseudo-Clementines: Ps.-Clem. Recogn. 5.12.4

23 n.93

Qumran Documents/Dead Sea Scrolls 1QHa (Hodayota or Thanksgiving Hymns): 2:12–13 250, 262 6:8–9 194 7:30 195 n.24 8:15 250, 262 9:13 196 11:19–20 365 n.114 11:19–36 366 n.119 11:31 196 11:34–35 366 n.127 31–33 365 n.114 1QpHab (Pesher Habakkuk): 7:1–8 261 1QM (Milÿamah or War Scroll): 12:8 95 n.49 19:1 95 n.49 1QS (Serek Hayaÿad or Rule of the Community): 2:15 194 n.18 4:11 202 CD (Damascus Document): 1:13 254 2:4 194 n.18 2:17–3:12 241, 244, 258, 386 4:14 253 4:15–19 267 n.87 16:2–4 267 n.89

652

Josephus: Antiquitates judaicae: 14:115 517 n.60 20:90 384 Vita: 274, 422–29

491

Contra Apionem: 2.201

472 n.36

Against Apion: 2.240

359

Jewish Antiquities: 1.61 1.70 1.73 6.31.1 11.133 11.8 12.147–53 13.172 13.297 18.12–15 18.16 14.185–267 18.23 20 20.90 20.90

244 366, 366 n.119 359 443 n.61 44 n.24, 46 93 n.38 134 n.131 297, 158 n.48 150 n.28 158 n.48 150 n.28 135 n.133 384 41 n.14 384 384

Bellum judaicum/Jewish War: 1.73–74 356 nn.42, 43 2.163 287 n.45 2.427 300 n.94 6.48 439

653

Index of References PHILO: De Abrahamo (On the Life of Abraham): 2.21–23 60 30.2–8 262 78.3–4 77 141 244 n.14 264 491 De decalogo (On the Decalogue): 4.11 82 n.78 Quod Deus sit immutabilis (That God Is Unchangeable): Deus 132, 439 De ebrietate (On Drunkenness): Ebr. 143, 439 Hypothetica (Hypothetica): 7.3 472 n.36 Legum allegoriae I, II, III (Allegorical Interpretation 1, 2, 3): 24 231 2.7.19–27 475 n.51 All. 2.107 491 Gai. 36 (281–284) 517 n.60 De vita Mosis I, II (On the Life of Moses 1, 2): 2:56 244 n.14 De plantation (On Planting): 64 439 De posteritate Caini (On the Posterity of Cain): 38–39 244 De providentia I, II (On Providence 1, 2): 1:6 147 n.17 2:6 159, 159 n.50 2:43 146 n.12 3.19 365 n.111 3.34 12 n.23, 427, 445–446, 577 5.14 94 8.22 167 n.7 8.27–29 363 8.28 365, 365 n.112 10.12 12 nn.21, 23, 299 n.87 12.27 439 n.29 30.16 359 n.62 De specialibus legibus I, II, III, IV (On the Special Laws): 1.127 136 n.141 3.159–62 124 n.52 De virtutibus (On the Virtues): 39–40 138 n.155 108 93 n.38

Rabbinic Writings (Mishnah, Talmuds, and other) Bava Qamma: b. B.Qam. 50b

160 n.52

Berakhot: m. Ber. 9:6 m. Ber. 3:3

151 n.29 471 n.33

Bikkurim: m. Bik. 1:4

485

Demai: m. Demai 2:3

485

Hagigah: j. Hag. 2:1 m. Hag. 2:1

153 n.33 231 n.27

Ketubbot: m. Ketub. 2:5

472 n.34

Megillah: t. Meg. 3:12, 14

52 n.81

Nazir: m. Naz. 9:1

471 n.33

Nedarim: m. Ned. 10:1–8

472 n.34

Pesahim: b. Pesah. 87h

46 n.36

Qiddushin: T. Qidd. 1:7

471 n.34

Rosh HaShanah: b. Roš. Haš. 17a

151 n.29

Sanhedrin: Sanh. 111a

160 n.52

Shabbat: b. Sabb. 152b

151 n.29

Shevi’it: m. Šeb. 1:3

485

Sotah: m. Sotah 4:3–4

472 n.34

Sukkah: m. Sukkah 2:8

471 n.33

653

654

Index of References Ta’anit: m. Ta‘an. 4:6

485

Yadayim: m. Yad. 1:1–4:8

447

Yevamot: M. Yebam. 7:1–2; 10:7–9

472 n.34

Yoma: Yoma 69b

160 n.52

Avadim: ÁAbad

302

Midrash: Midr. Psalms 10:6, 25:8 90:17 103:11

153 n.33 163 n.64 164 n.67 160 n.52

Pesiqta of Rab Kahana: 51:5 153 n.33 Rabbah: Genesis Rabbah: 1:3 8:11 8:2 9 19:8 23:1 25:1 26:5 26:6 27:6

163 n.62 153 n.33 163 n.64 534 n.11 164 n.65 164 n.66 231 n.26 230 n.21 153 n.33 153 n.33

Leviticus Rabbah: 2:8 19:1

92 n.30 163 n.64

Numbers Rabbah: 5:4 18:13

163 n.64, 164 n.65 164 n.65

Ecclesiastes Rabbah: 11: 9

153 n.33

Ruth Rabbah: 6:4

153 n.33

Song of Songs Rabbah: 5:11 163 n.64

654

Sifre: Sipre Deut. § 112

48 n.48

Ancient and Christian Writings: Plutarch: Adv. Colotem 1116E 147 n.15 Irenaeus: Adv. Haer. 1.26.1. 340 n.2 Adv. haer. 1.26.2 285 Adv. Haer. 1.12.1 235 n.55 Adv. Haer. 1.15.6 232 Adv. Haer. 1.2. 231 n.34 Adv. Haer. 3.3. 4 340 Adv. haer. 3.4.2 133 Adv. Haer. 4.16.2; 4.36.4. Adv. Haer. 4.27.2 232 Adv. Haer. 5.1.1 341 n.10 Adv. Haer. 5.23 164 n.68

231 n.34

Tertullian: Adv. Marc. 3.16.3–4 385 Justin: Apostolicus: ap. 1.67.6

298 n.83

Apol. 1.31.6 1.44.13 2–3 22 50

300 n.92 290 n.51 523 232 482

Cyril of Jerusalem: catechesis: 4.28 4.36

17 n.56 23

Ecclesiastical History: Eusebius 2.23.24 f. 2.23.24–25 2.23.25 2.25.23 3.25 3.25.1–3 3.25.1–7 3.25.3 3.3.1–4 3.39.17 5.18 6.14.1

16 n.50 9, 9 n.1, 16 3, 615, 617 n.7 617 17, 615 16 22 617 617 14 15 n.44 15 n.43, 614, 619

Priscillian: deus: 385

607

655

Index of References Philostratus: epistula: 10.96.9

289 n.48

Origen: Homilia: Hom. Jer. 20.5 Hom. Num. 28

61 n.135 233 n.46

Gregory the Great: Hom. in Ezek. 1.9.17 610 n.102 Hom. in Evang. 1.20.12 610 n.102 Dio Chrysostom: orator, oratoria, oratio: Or. 2.15; 3.24 491 Politeia: 3.2 4.2 1.1252a–55b

377 n.35 94 475 n.49

Philostratus: Posterior: 38–39

244

Quaestiones: Quaest. in Gen 1.59 resurrection: 32

197 232 n.40

Aristotle: rhetor, rhetorica: 1 (1355a-b) 1.5 1316A 1.138b 1383b15–18 1384a9–15 1385a37–39 2.5.7 2.6 2.6, 1384a21–25 2.6, 1384b23–26 2.6; 1383b

540 n.47 491 491 161 n.57 458 458 458 448 458 459 459 458

Horace: satirae, saturate: 1.15.22

475 n.48

Apostolic Fathers Barnabas: 1:7 2:6 4:3 6:2–4

383 285 n.39 231 n.31, 268 265

6:9 481 n.83 10:11 377 n.35 11:9–10 267 12:1 268–267 12:8 385 16 231 n.31 16:5 267–268 16:5–8 521 n.77 16:6 231, 268 19:7 572 21:3 96 n.52 21:9 312 n.37 1 Clement: 3:2 3:3 5:1–7 5:2 5:6 10:6–7 25 31:2 31:4 33:1 33:7 37:4–38.1 42:4–5 44:4–5 45:7 47:1–4 49:5 49:5 57:1–2 59:4 62:1

321 140 589 321 290 n.50 322 590 n.168 322 44 n.27 322 n.81 322 n.81 590 140 n.167 140 n.167 302 n.100 590 590 299 n.87 140 297 n.81 302 n.100

2 Clement: 5:1, 5 13:4 16:4 17:4–5

44 n.26 92 n.29 299 n.87 96 n.52

Didache: 3:5 11–13 12:5 15:1

140 n.170 140 n.171 290 n.54 140 n.170

Diogenes Laertius: 8:7 10:61 10:133 10:139 10:133–34 10:73 10:151

383 146 n.13 146 n.14, 147 n.16 148 n.19 154 n.36 156 n.43 160 n.54

655

656

Index of References Shepherd of Hermas, Mandate: 5.1.5 383

5 7

Shepherd of Hermas, Similitude: 9.17.1-2a 90

Ignatius, To the Romans: 3:1 589

Shepherd Hermas, Vision: 2.2.4–5 383 3.3.5 383

Ignatius, To Polycarp: 3:2 377 n35

Ignatius, To the Ephesians: 6:1 383 Ignatius, To the Magnesians: 11 345 n.28 Ignatius, To the Smyrnaeans: 2–3 344 n.21

656

344 n.21 345

Ignatius, To the Trallians: 9 344 n.21 Martyrdom of Polycarp: 10–11 524 Polycarp, To the Philippians: 9:1 481 n.83