The reception and interpretation of the Bible in late antiquity: proceedings of the Montréal colloquium in honour of Charles Kannengiesser, 11-13 October 2006

The Reception and Interpretation of the Bible in Late Antiquity Bible in Ancient Christianity General Editor D. Jeff...

Author: Lorenzo DiTommaso | Lucian Turcescu

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The Reception and Interpretation of the Bible in Late Antiquity

Bible in Ancient Christianity General Editor

D. Jeffrey Bingham Editorial Board

Brian E. Daley Robin M. Jensen Christoph Markschies Maureen A. Tilley Robert L. Wilken Frances M. Young

VOLUME 6

The Reception and Interpretation of the Bible in Late Antiquity Proceedings of the Montréal Colloquium in Honour of Charles Kannengiesser, 11–13 October 2006

Edited by

Lorenzo DiTommaso & Lucian Turcescu

LEIDEN • BOSTON 2008

Cover design: Jeannet Leendertse Cover art: Adapted from Greek New Testament, with Erasmus’s translation into Latin. Special Collections Division, Georgetown University Library. This book is printed on acid-free paper. Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data The reception and interpretation of the Bible in late antiquity : proceedings of the Montreal colloquium in honour of Charles Kannengiesser, 11–13 October 2006 / edited by Lorenzo DiTommaso & Lucian Turcescu. p. cm. — (Bible in ancient Christianity ; v. 6) English and French. Includes bibliographical references and index. ISBN 978-90-04-16715-5 (hardback : alk. paper) 1. Bible—Criticism, interpretation, etc.—History—Early church, ca. 30–600— Congresses. I. Kannengiesser, Charles. II. DiTommaso, Lorenzo. III. Turcescu, Lucian. IV. Title. V. Series. BS500.R4 2008 220.609’015—dc22 2008010511

ISSN 1542-1295 ISBN 978 90 04 16715 5 Copyright 2008 by Koninklijke Brill NV, Leiden, The Netherlands Koninklijke Brill NV incorporates the imprints Brill, Hotei Publishing, IDC Publishers, Martinus Nijhoff Publishers and VSP. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, translated, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without prior written permission from the publisher. Authorization to photocopy items for internal or personal use is granted by Koninklijke Brill NV provided that the appropriate fees are paid directly to The Copyright Clearance Center, 222 Rosewood Drive, Suite 910, Danvers, MA 01923, USA. Fees are subject to change. printed in the netherlands

CONTENTS Abbreviations .............................................................................. List of Contributors .................................................................... Acknowledgements .....................................................................

ix xv xix

Introduction: The Reception and Interpretation of the Bible in Late Antiquity ........................................................................ Lorenzo DiTommaso and Lucian Turcescu

xxi

Congratulatory Letter ................................................................. xxvii The Most Reverend and Right Honourable Rowan Williams, Archbishop of Canterbury KEYNOTE ADDRESS

The Novelty and Inescapability of the Bible in Late Antiquity ..................................................................................... Robert Louis Wilken

3

PAPERS

« Car mes iniquités dépassèrent ma tête » : Les fonctions du texte biblique dans la section katanyktique du Logos Asketikos de Maxime le Confesseur ................................................................ Pablo Argárate

17

What Makes Exegesis either Christian or Jewish? .................... Herbert W. Basser

37

Augustine and the Ethics of Reading the Bible ........................ Pamela Bright

55

Appeals to Jesus and the One ‘Who Heals Every Illness and Every Infirmity’ (Matt 4:23, 9:35) in Amulets in Late Antiquity ..................................................................................... Theodore de Bruyn Le commentaire au 4e siècle ou, pour reformuler le dicton, ancienneté a-t-elle toujours autorité? ......................................... Marie-Pierre Bussières

65

83

vi

contents

Completing the Gospel: The Infancy Gospel of Thomas as a Supplement to the Gospel of Luke ........................................... Tony Chartrand-Burke

101

Good Tree, Bad Tree: The Matthean/Lukan Paradigm in Manichaeism and Its Opponents ............................................... J. Kevin Coyle

121

Biblical Form, Function, and Genre in the Post-Biblical Historical Apocalyptica .............................................................. Lorenzo DiTommaso

145

The Reception and Interpretation of Paul in Late Antiquity: 1 Corinthians 7 and the Ascetic Debates .................................. David G. Hunter

163

The Eternal Gospel: Origen’s Eschatological Exegesis ............. Shawn W.J. Keough Making the Imperfect Perfect: The Adaptation of Hebrews 11 in the 9th Mēmrā of the Syriac Book of Steps .............................. Robert A. Kitchen Les Homélies sur l’Évangile de Luc de Titus de Bostra ................... Jean-Michel Lavoie, Paul-Hubert Poirier et Thomas S. Schmidt Hearing Love’s Language: The Letter of the Text in Origen’s Commentary on the Song of Songs .................................................... Richard A. Layton The Early Rabbinic Refashioning of Biblical Heilsgeschichte, the Fashioning of the Rabbinic Canon of Scriptures, and the Formation of the Early Rabbinic Movement ............................ Jack N. Lightstone ‘Τὰ τίνων ἄρα ῥήματα θεολογεῖ?’: The Exegetical Relationship between Athanasius’ Orationes contra Arianos I–III and Marcellus of Ancyra’s Contra Asterium ................................. Sara Parvis Présupposés herméneutiques de la lecture de la Bible juive chez les gnostiques. Étude de quelques procédés exégétiques dans un traité de Nag Hammadi (NH 2, 4) .............................. Anne Pasquier

193

227 253

287

317

337

369

contents

vii

Scripture for a Life of Perfection. The Bible in Late Antique Monasticism: The Case of Palestine .......................................... Lorenzo Perrone

393

Separating Light from Darkness: Manichaean Use of Biblical Traditions in the Kephalaia .......................................................... Timothy Pettipiece

419

The Reception of Early Christian Texts and Traditions in Late Antiquity Apocryphal Literature ................................................ 429 Pierluigi Piovanelli Methods of Early Rabbinic Biblical Exegesis ........................... Gary G. Porton

441

Pseudepigraphy, Authorship, and the Reception of ‘the Bible’ in Late Antiquity ........................................................................ Annette Yoshiko Reed

467

Between Scripture and Tradition: The Marian Apocrypha of Early Christianity ........................................................................ Stephen J. Shoemaker

491

Gregory of Nyssa’s Biblical Hermeneutics in De opificio hominis .......................................................................................... Lucian Turcescu

511

SPECIAL GUEST PAPER

Scripture as a Legacy of the Fathers ......................................... Charles Kannengiesser

529

Bibliography of the Works of Charles Kannengiesser ..............

543

Index of Ancient Sources ........................................................... Index of Modern Authors .......................................................... Compiled by Éric Crégheur

561 599

ABBREVIATIONS AATor AB ABD ACO ACW AJPh AKG AMRG AnBoll ANRW AOC APF ARefG ARG ASE AugS Augustin BAC BASP BCNH BEATAJ BÉFAR BÉHÉ BETL BI Bijdragen BJb BJRL BJS BKT BL BLE BP BSGRT BSR Byz ByzNGJb ByzZ BZ BZAW BZNW CA

Atti (della reale) Accademia (delle scienze di) Torino Anchor Bible Anchor Bible Dictionary (ed. D.N. Freedman; New York: Doubleday, 1992) Acta conciliorum oecomenicorum Ancient Christian Writers American Journal of Philology Arbeiten zur Kirchengeschichte Arbeitsmaterialien zur Religionsgeschichte. Analecta Bollandiana Aufstieg und Niedergang der römischen Welt. Geschichte und Kultur Roms im Spiegel der neueren Forschung (ed. H. Temporini and W. Haase; Berlin/ New York: W. de Gruyter, 1972–) Archives de l’orient chrétien Archiv für Papyrusforschung und verwandte Gebiete Archiv für Reformationgeschichte Archiv für Religiongeschichte Annali di storia dell’esegesi Augustinian Studies Augustinianum The Bible in Ancient Christianity Bulletin of the American Society of Papyrologists Bibliothèque copte de Nag Hammadi Beiträge zur Erforschung des Alten Testaments und des antiken Judentum Bibliothèque de l’École française d’Athènes et de Rome Bibliothèque de l’École des hautes études Bibliotheca ephemeridum theologicarum Lovaniensium Biblical Interpretation Bijdragen van de philosophische en theologische Faculteiten der nederlandische Jezuieten Bonner Jahrbuch Bulletin of the John Rylands (University) Library Brown Judaic Studies Berliner Klassikertexte Bibel und Leben Bulletin de littérature ecclésiastique Biblioteca patristica Bibliotheca scriptorum graecorum et romanorum Teubneriana Biblioteca di scienze religiose Byzantion. Revue internationale des études byzantines Byzantinisch-neugriechische Jahrbücher Byzantinische Zeitschrift Biblische Zeitschrift Beihefte zur Zeitschrift für alttestamentliche Wissenschaft Beihefte zur Zeitschrift für die neutestamentliche Wissenschaft und die Kunde der älteren Kirche Christianisme antique

x CahO CahRTP CBQ CBQMS CBR CCCM CCL CCR CCSA CCSG CCSL CDR CF CHR CistS CJA CollAug CollÉAug CollRÉJ CRINT CSASE CSCO (SSyr) CSEL CSSCA CUSEC DBI DBSup DCT DECA DECL DivT DOP DPAC DS DSD DTC ÉAC ÉAug EB EEC2 EPh ÉPRO

abbreviations Cahiers d’orientalisme Cahiers de la Revue de théologie et de philosophie Catholic Biblical Quarterly Catholic Biblical Quarterly Monograph Series Currents in Biblical Research Corpus christianorum, continuatio mediaevalis California Classical Library Coptic Church Review Corpus christianorum, series apocryphorum Corpus christianorum, series graeca Corpus christianorum, series latina Classici delle religioni Cogitatio fidei Catholic Historical Review Cistercian Studies Christianity and Judaism in Antiquity Collectanea augustiniana Collection des études augustiniennes Collection de la Revue des études juives Compendia rerum iudaicarum ad Novum Testamentum Cambridge Studies in Anglo-Saxon England Corpus scriptorum christianorum orientalium. Scriptores syri. Corpus scriptorum ecclesiasticorum latinorum Cambridge Studies in Social and Cultural Anthropology Catholic University of America Studies in Early Christianity Dictionary of Biblical Interpretation (ed. J.H. Hayes; Nashville: Abingdon, 1999) Dictionnaire de la Bible. Supplément (ed. L. Pirot, et al.; Paris: Letouzey et Ané, 1928–) Dictionnaire critique de théologie (ed. J.P. Lacoste. Paris: Presses universitaires de France, 1998) Dictionnaire encyclopédique du christianisme ancien [French adaptation of DPAC ] (Ed. F. Vial; Paris: Cerf, 1990) Dictionary of Early Christian Literature (ed. S. Döpp and W. Geerlings; New York: Crossroad, 2000) Divus Thomas (Genève) Dumbarton Oaks Papers Dizionario patristico e di antichità cristiane (ed. A. Di Bernardino; Casale Monferrato: Marietti, 1983–1988) Dictionnaire de spiritualité ascétique et mystique: doctrine et histoire (ed. M. Viller; Paris: Beauchesne, 1937–1995) Dead Sea Discoveries Dictionnaire de théologie catholique, contenant l’exposé des doctrines de la théologie catholique, leurs preuves et leur histoire (ed. A. Vacant, et al.; Paris: Letouzey et Ané, 1908–1950) Écrits apocryphes chrétiens (2 vols.; ed. F. Bovon, P. Geoltrain, and J.-D. Kaestli; Bibliothèque de la Pléiade 442, 516; Paris: Gallimard, 1997–2005) Études Augustiniennes Essays bibliques Encyclopedia of Early Christianity (ed. E. Ferguson; New York: Garland, 2 1997) Ekklesiastikos Pharos Études preliminaires aux religions orientales dans l’empire Romain

abbreviations ER ETL ÉTR FBE FC FOTC FS FRLANT GOTR GCS GNO HCSPTH HS HSCPh HTR HUAS HUCA Hypo ICS IP(M) Ir ITQ ITS JAAR JbAC JbACE JBL JCPS JCSSS JECS JJS JPh JPOS JQR JSHRZS JSJ JSJSup JSJT JSL(BR) JSOTSup JSQ JTS LCC LCL LD LTK 3 LTP MDB MHSCB

xi

The Encyclopedia of Religion (ed. M. Eliade; New York: Macmillan, 1993) Ephemerides theologicae Lovanienses Études théologiques et religieuses Forum for bibelsk eksegese Fontes christiani Fathers of the Church Franciscan Studies Forschungen zur Religion und Literatur des Alten und Neuen Testaments Greek Orthodox Theological Review Die griechischen-christlichen Schriftsteller der ersten drei Jahrhunderte Gregorii Nysseni Opera Holy Cross Studies in Patristic Theology and History Hellenic Studies Harvard Studies in Classical Philology Harvard Theological Review Hebrew University Armenian Studies Hebrew Union College Annual Hypomnemata. Untersuchungen zur Antike und zu ihrem Nachleben Illinois Classical Studies Instrumenta patristica (et mediaevalia) Irénikon Irish Theological Quarterly Innsbrucker theologische Studien Journal of the American Academy of Religion Jahrbuch für Antike und Christentum Jahrbuch für Antike und Christentum—Ergänzungsband Journal of Biblical Literature Jewish and Christian Perspectives Series Journal of the Canadian Society of Syriac Studies Journal of Early Christian Studies Journal of Jewish Studies The Journal of Philology The Journal of the Palestine Oriental Society Jewish Quarterly Review Studien zu den Jüdische Schriften aus hellenistisch-römischer Zeit Journal for the Study of Judaism Supplements to the Journal for the Study of Judaism Jerusalem Studies in Jewish Thought Journal of Sacred Literature (and Biblical Record) Journal for the Study of the Old Testament Supplement Series Jewish Studies Quarterly Journal of Theological Studies Library of Christian Classics Loeb Classical Library Lectio divina Lexikon für Theologie und Kirche. (ed. W. Kasper, et al.; Freiburg: Herder, 3 1993–) Laval théologique et philosophique Le Monde de la Bible Manichäische Handschriften der Sammlung A. Chester Beatty

xii MHSMB MRTS MTS NAWGött NedTT NH(C) NHMS NovT NovTSup NPNF NTA NTOA NTS NTTS NumenSup OBC OCA OCP ODB OECS OECT ÖT OKS OrChr OTM PFTUG PG PGM PIBA PIRSB PL PMS PO POC PRL PS PSor PTS QVetChr RAC RAug RB RBen RE RÉA

abbreviations Manichäische Handschriften der Staatlichen Museen Berlin Medieval and Renaissance Texts and Studies Marburger theologische Studien Nachrichten von der [königlichen] Gesellschaft der Akademie der Wissenschaften zu Göttingen Nederlands theologisch Tijdschrift Nag Hammadi (codex) Nag Hammadi and Manichaean Studies Novum Testamentum Supplements to Novum Testamentum Nicene and Post-Nicene Fathers Neutestamentliche Abhandlungen Novum Testamentum et orbis antiquus New Testament Studies New Testament Tools and Studies Studies in the History of Religions. Supplements to Numen Orientalia biblica et christiana Orientalia christiana analecta Orientalia christiana periodica The Oxford Dictionary of Byzantium (ed. A.P. Kazhdan; New York: Oxford University Press, 1991) Oxford Early Christian Studies Oxford Early Christian Texts Ökumenische Theologie Ostkirchliche Studien Oriens christianus Oxford Theological Monographs Publications de la Faculté de théologie de l’Université de Genève Patrologiae cursus completus, series graeca (ed. J.-P. Migne; Paris, 1857–1866) Papyri graecae magicae: Die griechischen Zauberpapyri (ed. K. Preisendanz, E. Heitsch and A. Henrichs; Stuttgart: Teubner, 21974) Proceedings of the Irish Biblical Association Publications de l’Institut romand des sciences bibliques Patrologiae cursus completus, series latina (ed. J.-P. Migne; Paris, 1844–1864) Patristic Monograph Series Patrologia orientalis (ed. R. Graffin, et al.; Paris: Firmin-Didot, 1907–) Proche-orient chrétien Patrimoines. Religions du livre. Patrologia syriaca (ed. R. Graffin; Paris: Firmin-Didot, 1894– 1926) Patristica Sorbonensia Patristische Texte und Studien Quaderni di Vetera christianorum Reallexikon für Antike und Christentum (ed. T. Klauser, et al.; Stuttgart, 1950–) Recherches Augustiniennes Revue biblique Revue Bénédictine Paulys Real-Encyclopädie der classischen Altertumswissenschaft (ed. G. Wissowa, et al.; München: A. Druckenmüller, 1914–1972) Revue des études anciennes

abbreviations REK RGG3 RGG4 RGRW RHPR RHR RILomb RRJ RSC RSLR RSPT RSR RSRev RTAM RTP SAWBay SAWBerlin SBLDS SBLEJL SBLRBS SBLSS SBLTT SC SCI SEAug SEC SEcc SECT SG SHKK SHR SMon SNTSU SO SP SPap SPB SPM SPMon SR SRS S&T STAC STDJ SubH SVTP SVTQ TCH TDÉHC

xiii

Der kleine Pauly: Lexikon der Antike (ed. K. Ziegler and W. Sontheimer; Stuttgart: A. Druckenmüller, 1964–1975) Religion in Geschichte und Gegenwart: Handwörterbuch für Theologie und Religionswissenschaft (ed. K. Galling, et al.; Tübingen: Mohr, 31957– 1962) Religion in Geschichte und Gegenwart: Handwörterbuch für Theologie und Religionswissenschaft (ed. H.-D. Betz, et al.; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 4 1998–2005) Religions in the Graeco-Roman World Revue d’histoire et de philosophie religieuses Revue de l’histoire des religions Rendiconti del Reale istituto (dell’Istituto) Lombardo di scienze e lettere Review of Rabbinic Judaism Rivista di storia del cristianesimo Rivista di storia e letteratura religiosa Revue des sciences philosophiques et théologiques Recherches de science religieuse Religious Studies Review Recherches de théologie ancienne et médiévale Revue de théologie et de philosophie Sitzungsberichte der (königlich) bayerischen Akademie der Wissenschaften Sitzungsberichte der deutschen Akademie der Wissenschaften zu Berlin Society of Biblical Literature Dissertation Series Society of Biblical Literature Early Judaism and Its Literature Society of Biblical Literature Resources for Biblical Study Society of Biblical Literature Symposium Series Society of Biblical Literature Texts and Translations Sources chrétiennes Scripta classica Israelica Studia ephemeridis Augustinianum Studies in Early Christianity Sciences ecclésiastiques Sources of Early Christian Thought Sagesses chrétiennes Schriften des historischen Kollegs Kolloquien Studies in the History of Religions Studia monastica Studien zum Neuen Testament und seiner Umwelt Symbolae Osloenses Studia patristica Studia papyrologica Studia post-biblica Studia patristica Mediolanensia Studia Philonica Monographs Studies in Religion/Sciences religieuses Studies in Religion and Society Studi e testi Studien und Texte zu Antike und Christentum Studies on the Texts of the Desert of Judah Subsidia hagiographica Studia in Veteris Testamenti pseudepigrapha St. Vladimir’s Theological Quarterly The Transformation of the Classical Heritage Textes et documents pour l’étude historique du christianisme

xiv TDSA TENTS TH TJT TRE TS T&S TSAJ TTZ TU UMS UPATS VC VCSup VL VTSup WSt WUNT ZAC ZKG ZKT ZNW

abbreviations Testi e documenti per lo studio dell’antichità Texts and Editions for New Testament Study Théologie historique Toronto Journal of Theology Theologische Realenzyklopädie (ed. H.R. Balz, G. Krause, and G. Müller; Berlin/New York: W. de Gruyter, 1977–2006) Theological Studies Texts and Studies. Contributions to Biblical and Patristic Literature Texte und Studien zum antiken Judentum / Texts and Studies in Ancient Judaism Trierer theologische Zeitschrift Texte und Untersuchungen zur Geschichte der altchristlichen Literatur University of Michigan Studies University of Pennsylvania Armenian Texts and Studies Vigilae christianae Supplements to Vigilae christianae Vetus latina Supplements to Vetus Testamentum Weiner Studien. Zeitschrift für classische (klassische) Philologie Wissenschaftliche Untersuchungen zum Neuen Testament Zeitschrift für antikes Christentum Zeitschrift für Kirchengeschichte Zeitschrift für katholische Theologie Zeitschrift für die neutestamentliche Wissenschaft und die Kunde der älteren Kirche

LIST OF CONTRIBUTORS Pablo Argárate Associate Professor, Faculty of Theology University of Saint Michael’s College, University of Toronto, Toronto Herbert W. Basser Professor, Department of Religious Studies Professor, Queen’s Theological College Queen’s University, Kingston Pamela Bright Professor, Department of Theological Studies Concordia University, Montréal Theodore de Bruyn Associate Professor, Department of Classics and Religious Studies University of Ottawa, Ottawa Marie-Pierre Bussières Professeur adjoint, Département d’études anciennes et sciences religieuses Université Ottawa, Ottawa Tony Chartrand-Burke Assistant Professor, School of Arts and Letters, Atkinson Faculty of Liberal and Professional Studies York University, Toronto J. Kevin Coyle Professor, Faculty of Theology Saint Paul University, Ottawa Lorenzo DiTommaso Assistant Professor, Department of Theology Concordia University, Montréal David G. Hunter Cottrill-Rolfes Professor of Catholic Studies, Department of Modern and Classical Languages, Literatures, and Cultures University of Kentucky, Lexington

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list of contributors

Charles Kannengiesser Catherine F. Huisking Professor of Theology Emeritus, Department of Theology University of Notre Dame, Notre Dame Adjunct Professor, Department of Theological Studies Concordia University, Montréal Shawn W.J. Keough Research Fellow in Late Antique Christianity, Faculteit Godgeleerdheid Katholieke Universiteit Leuven, Leuven Robert A. Kitchen Knox-Metropolitan United Church Regina, Saskatchewan Jean-Michel Lavoie Département des littératures et Institut d’études anciennes Université Laval, Québec Richard A. Layton Associate Professor, Program for the Study of Religion University of Illinois, Urbana-Champaign Jack N. Lightstone President and Vice-Chancellor Brock University, St. Catharine’s Sara Parvis Lecturer in Patristics, School of Divinity University of Edinburgh, Edinburgh Anne Pasquier Professeure titulaire, Faculté de théologie et de sciences religieuses Université Laval, Québec Lorenzo Perrone Professore ordinario, Dipartimento di filologia classica e medioevale ‘Alma Mater Studiorum’—Università di Bologna, Bologna Timothy Pettipiece SSHRC Postdoctoral Fellow, Department of Classics and Religious Studies University of Ottawa, Ottawa

list of contributors

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Pierluigi Piovanelli Full Professor and Chair, Department of Classics and Religious Studies University of Ottawa, Ottawa Paul-Hubert Poirier Professeur titulaire, Faculté de théologie et de sciences religieuses et Institut d’études anciennes Université Laval, Québec Gary G. Porton Sarah and Charles Drobny Professor of Talmudic Studies and Judaism Professor, Program for the Study of Religion University of Illinois, Urbana-Champaign Annette Yoshiko Reed Assistant Professor, Department of Religious Studies University of Pennsylvania, Philadelphia Thomas S. Schmidt Professeur agrégé, Département des littératures et Institut d’études anciennes Université Laval, Québec Stephen J. Shoemaker Associate Professor, Department of Religious Studies University of Oregon, Eugene Lucian Turcescu President, Canadian Society of Patristic Studies (2004–2008) Associate Professor, Department of Theological Studies Concordia University, Montréal Adjunct Professor, Faculté de théologie et de science des religions Université de Montréal, Montréal Robert L. Wilken William F. Kenan, Jr. Professor of Early Christian History, Department of Religious Studies University of Virginia, Charlottesville

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS Major funding for the Montréal colloquium was provided through a generous Aid to Conferences and Workshops Grant from the Social Sciences and Humanities Research Council of Canada. Additional financial assistance was supplied by the Loyola Jesuits of Montréal, the Canadian Society of Patristic Studies, the Department of Theological Studies, and the Dean of the Faculty of Arts and Science at Concordia University. To these organizations we tender our gratitude. We express our special thanks to Joseph Gavin, SJ, of the Loyola Jesuits, and to David Graham, Dean of the Faculty of Arts and Science, and now Provost of Concordia University, for graciously hosting our banquet at Le Saint-Gabriel in Vieux Montréal. Several faculty colleagues kindly contributed their time to moderate panel sessions: Ellen Aitken (now Dean) of the Faculty of Religious Studies, McGill University, Andrea Falcon of the Department of Philosophy, Concordia University, and Paul Allen, Marie-France Dion, and Christine Jamieson of the Department of Theological Studies, Concordia University. We are indebted to many current and former graduate students in the Department of Theological Studies. Komal Gandhar Chakravarty was the colloquium’s executive graduate assistant, and its success very much depended on his energy and commitment. On-site registration and assistance was provided by Adriana Bara, Jean Daou, David Maurice, and Sara Terrault. Melanie Perialis helped to copy-edit the revised versions of the colloquium papers; Jennifer Tacci assisted with the roster of Charles Kannengiesser’s publications. The colloquium book-table, which featured monographs and other studies authored by the invited guests, was assembled by the staff of the Montréal Diocesan Bookstore and administered by its personnel and Fr. John Tkachuk of The Sign of the Theotokos Orthodox Church, Montréal. Éric Crégheur, doctoral candidate, Faculté de théologie et de sciences religieuses, Université Laval, prepared the indexes to this volume. Finally, we extend our appreciation to Brill Academic Publishers for accepting this volume of proceedings as part of the same series in which Charles Kannengiesser’s Handbook of Patristic Exegesis was published, and especially to D. Jeffrey Bingham, the series editor.

INTRODUCTION

THE RECEPTION AND INTERPRETATION OF THE BIBLE IN LATE ANTIQUITY This volume honours Charles Kannengiesser on the occasion of his eightieth birthday. It is presented in recognition of his numerous contributions to the study and teaching of patristic literature, and in retrospect of his lifelong interest in the reception and interpretation of the Bible in late antiquity. It is also an opportunity to display our appreciation to Pamela Bright, Charles’ dear wife, Professor, and, until her retirement at the end of 2006, Chair of the Department of Theological Studies at Concordia University, Montréal. Charles Kannengiesser was born on 24 May 1926, in Michelbach, Alsace, France, to a middle-class family. His father was a station master working for the French railway system, while his mother was a housewife. The family had to move to a new train station with every new promotion the father received. Charles was the eldest of four children born to the Kannengiessers, and their only son. His parents were nominally Catholic, but did not insist on church attendance, except perhaps on major feast days. The experience of the Second World War had a dramatic impact on young Charles, who in 1942 attempted suicide while in a sanatorium in the Vosges Mountains, following the abuses he had witnessed at the hands of the German occupants. A nurse managed to rescue him, and directed him to a parish priest who told him about the Jesuits. In 1943, Charles had a conversion experience and started to read a great deal about Catholicism and the Jesuits. In 1945, as many teenagers of the newly liberated France volunteered to go to war in Indochina, to the surprise of his family, Charles “volunteered” to go to the Jesuits, where he became a novice. In 1945, Charles received a Baccalauréat de Lettres-Philosophie from Strasbourg, and in 1949 was awarded the Diplôme d’Études Littéraires Supérieures (Greek, Latin, French Literature, German Language) from the Sorbonne. Three licenses followed: Licence de Philosophie Ecclésiastique (Scholasticat S.J., Le Puy) in 1952, Licence de Philosophie

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(Université de Montpellier) in 1953, and Licence in Theology (School of Theology, S.J., Chantilly) in 1959. In 1964, Charles was awarded the Doctorate (3e cycle), Ph.D. in Religious Studies (mention ‘Très bien’) from Strasbourg, which led to the publication of the first critical edition of Athanasius’ treatise On the Incarnation and established a broad agreement among experts about the date of that work. This Ph.D. was followed by the Doctorate in Theology in 1970 (mention ‘Singulari prorsus cum laude’) from the Institut catholique, Paris, and the Doctorat d’État ès-Lettres in 1982 (mention ‘très honourable’) from the Université de Paris IV (Sorbonne). The last two doctorates focused on the Athanasian Discourses against the Arians, a work that would be published by Charles in the near future with an original French translation and commentary in the famous series “Sources chrétiennes.” Charles began his professional career in 1953 as a Teacher of Philosophy at Collège St.-Clément, S.J., in Metz. On the recommendation of Paul Egger, a colleague and older Jesuit, Charles became interested in the church fathers. He decided to read them chronologically and started with Clement of Rome. By the time he began studying theology at the Jesuit theologate in Enghien, Belgium, in 1955, he had read through to Eusebius of Caesarea and Athanasius of Alexandria. At Enghien, Charles met Régis Bernard, a Jesuit who had recently defended in Rome a doctorate on the image of God in Athanasius, and became impressed by the figure and theology of the great Alexandrian. After the customarily long formation as a Jesuit at the time, Charles was ordained a priest in 1958. During his theological training, Charles deepened his interest in the study of early Christian literature, but at the time of his ordination underwent a serious crisis because of the disappointing way in which Catholic theology was being taught. He managed to gain more theological coherence later in life, especially after meeting and befriending such theologians as Yves Congar, Marie-Dominique Chenu, and Karl Rahner. A long-lasting companionship with Michel de Certeau, and fruitful encounters with thinkers as diverse as the future John Paul II, Michel Foucault, and Paul Ricoeur (his former philosophy professor in Strasbourg) also enhanced Charles’ inner maturing. Charles served as a Visiting Professor in Dogmatics at Collège Ste.-Marie in Montréal in 1964, and from 1964–68 as a Lecturer in Patristics on the Faculty of Theology at Fourvière, the Jesuit scholasticate in Lyon. The Jesuits of the Lyon province and the Dominicans of Le Saulchoir led the French theological revival and boasted some of the greatest names in twentieth-century Catholic scholarship, such as

reception and interpretation of the bible in late antiquity xxiii Henri de Lubac, Jean Daniélou, Hans Urs von Balthasar, Yves Congar, Marie-Dominique Chenu, and Louis Bouyer. These were some of the main Catholic theologians whose effort led to the ressourcement and aggiornamento that culminated in the general Vatican II Council (1962–65). In reaction to the neo-Scholasticism of the first half of the twentieth century, the ressourcement theologians called for a creative hermeneutical exercise in which the “sources” of Christian faith were reinterrogated with new questions. Two of these theologians in particular, De Lubac and Daniélou, were also the founders of the “Sources chrétiennes,” the series in which the works of so many early Christian fathers and writers were published. It was at the 1963 International Patristic Conference in Oxford that Charles had the chance encounter that was to mark him for the rest of his life. A nervous and very inquisitive priest approached Charles after his fifteen-minute presentation to inquire more about who he was and what he was doing. It transpired that priest was none other than the great Jesuit scholar Jean Daniélou (1905–1974), who invited Charles to become his associate and collaborator at the Institut catholique in Paris. Between 1964–68, Charles taught for one semester in Lyon and the other semester in Paris, where he became a close friend and disciple of Daniélou. In 1969, Charles moved fully to the Institut catholique, where he became an Associate Professor in 1973, and from 1970–75 was the chairman of Graduate Studies, leading a doctoral programme with over one hundred students from all parts of the world. In 1969, Daniélou asked Charles to assume responsibility for the “Bulletin de théologie patristique,” an extremely time-consuming but worthy enterprise that not only kept him up-to-date with latest patristic scholarship, but allowed the author’s opinions to become widely known. Charles ended up writing the Bulletin for the next sixteen years. At about the same time, Daniélou also asked Charles to replace him at Éditions Beauchesne as the editor of several series, most notably the “Théologie historique,” a series that he directed from volume eleven to volume one hundred and five. Charles has continued in that capacity to this day and supervised the publication of over 200 titles since 1970. His most spectacular achievement in that domain was the creation, with 250 collaborators, of the multivolume “Bible de Tous les Temps,” a critical survey of the global reception of the Bible in all Christian traditions. In 1977 Charles became a full professor in the Chair of Jean Daniélou at the Institut. Meanwhile, he taught at the University of San Francisco

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in the summer of 1974, and was a visiting professor at the Graduate Theological Union in the autumn of 1975 and at the University of Notre Dame in 1980. From 1977–82 he presented lectures at Claremont, Yale, Duke, Brown, Berkeley, Barnard College, New York, Boston College, Leeds, Tübingen, Göttingen, Athens, München, Passau, and Regensburg, and at the École française de Rome. In Paris, where he lived for almost two decades in close proximity to the Sorbonne and the Bibliothèque nationale, Charles established himself as an enthusiastic promoter of patristic studies. He combined an arduous effort of research on the Athanasian manuscripts with a vivid engagement into renewed views on the gospel event. With a group of post-graduates, mainly from the elite Parisian “grands écoles,” he built up a spiritual community with regular meetings and retreats in the 1970s. Already distanced from the Jesuits at that time, he intensified his personal faith commitment by multiplying his scholarly initiatives. Having given numerous courses in the United States in the 1970s, Charles was invited to replace Johannes Quasten at the Catholic University of America in Washington, D.C., in 1979. He chose instead to go to the University of Notre Dame, Indiana, first as a Visiting Professor from 1980–81, and then as the Catherine F. Huisking Professor of Theology from 1981–91 (Emeritus after 1991). He was a member of the Institute for Advanced Study, Princeton, in 1989–90 (and has been a Fellow since 1991), and also a Fellow of the Institute for the Advanced Study of Religion at the University of Chicago in 1991–92. In 1991, he was awarded the Palmes Académiques from the French Government, a distinction introduced by Napoleon Bonaparte in 1808 to honour members of the academy who have rendered eminent services to education. With the full support of his friend, Father Peter Hans Kolvenbach, the Superior General of the Jesuits since 1983, Charles secured his secularisation and then married Pamela Bright in 1991. After his retirement from Notre Dame, Charles accompanied Pamela to Concordia University in Montréal, first as an Invited Professor from 1992–94, and, since 1994, as an Adjunct Professor with its Department of Theological Studies. In addition to serving as an Adjunct Professor at the University of Sherbrooke from 1993–94, since coming to Montréal Charles has been invited to speak at numerous universities in Europe, North America, Australia, and Japan, and has participated in conferences and colloquia worldwide.

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A member of multiple academic societies, in 1989–90 Charles was elected President of the North American Patristics Society. With others, he launched the society’s Journal of Early Christian Studies. Over the course of his long teaching career, he directed some forty doctoral theses in France, the United States, and Canada. His own scholarly contribution continues to focus on the updating of historical judgments and perspectives concerning the relevance of patristic foundations in the history of Christianity. His recent 1500-page Handbook of Patristic Exegesis, a labour of love shared with his wife Pamela and some friends, testifies to that orientation still calling for more projects to be materialised. A complete list of scholarly works published by Charles Kannengiesser can be found at the end of this volume. On 11–13 October 2006 a colloquium was held in Charles’s honour at Concordia University in Montréal, Canada. Although the colloquium’s topic was obvious in light of the research interests and teaching career of its honouree, its scope was anything but predetermined. In the end, we decided not to opt for the intense focus of a workshop of plenary papers dedicated to the Church Fathers. Rather, wanting to address the subject of the reception and interpretation of the Bible in view of the full range of its major expressions in late antiquity, we also invited specialists of early rabbinic literature, the gnostic texts, and the biblical apocrypha of post-biblical Judaism and Christianity, and structured the colloquium into panels of three or four papers apiece. One panel was devoted to rabbinics, one to the gnostic material, one to the apocryphal literature, and three to the patristic writers. All the panels were open to the public and were very well attended. We take this to be a testament to the ongoing interest in the Bible and its reception among scholars, students, and laypersons alike. This volume collects revised versions of the colloquium papers presented by the panel participants, plus the keynote address of Robert Louis Wilken and a special guest paper from Charles himself. JeanMichel Lavoie was unable to travel to Montréal, but with Paul-Hubert Poirier and Thomas Schmidt he co-authored the paper in this volume. The volume also contains several other invited papers, including a few from those whose other responsibilities did not permit them to accept our invitation to speak at the colloquium. No collection of essays can address the subject of the reception and interpretation of the Bible in late antiquity in anything but the most summary fashion. We are aware that the papers in this volume

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describe but a few isolated parcels of terrain out of a vast territory that even today remains only partially mapped. At the same time, it is truly an appropriate subject by which we might honour Professor Charles Kannengiesser, who has done so much to chart this territory and to disclose its wonders to all those who follow in his path. Lorenzo DiTommaso and Lucian Turcescu Montréal October, 2007

CONGRATULATORY LETTER Lambeth Palace London My dear Charles, I’m delighted that this volume of essays is being presented in your honour and that I have a chance to write a few words of introduction (it’s a sadness that there has not been time to prepare a proper contribution for it, but you will realise that my present state of dignitas sine otio leaves not a great deal of time for the joys of scholarship!). Ever since my first encounter with your work in the early eighties, you have stimulated and inspired my own researches; and the delight of your friendship to myself and Jane over many years has been a real gift. Scholars being scholars, we haven’t always seen eye to eye on some of the details of the fourth century! But what you have invariably done is to set before me—as before many others—some very exacting standards of precise and close analysis of words and phrases. You have never been afraid to offer bold re-readings and relocations of the texts you have studied, reminding us that so much of the chronology and attribution of the patristic literary heritage is still uncertain and open for ever-renewed examination. But you have also performed such examinations with love and respect for that heritage, literary and spiritual, which is another source of encouragement to the rest of us. And the particularly selfless work of regularly updating the scholarly community with comprehensive tours d’horizon of your field has not been the least of your contributions. A great scholar is always one who conveys love for his or her subject and convinces others of the sheer worthwhileness of what is being studied. Your enthusiasm and generosity in scholarly engagement and debate have conveyed and convinced in just this way. Patristics is not always the most fashionable area of study these days, but you continue to demonstrate how rich it is.

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congratulatory letter

Ad multos annos, Charles, and may your work and witness continue to generate enthusiasm and energy in the rising generation of scholars, who will go on reading your work, I’m sure, with the same pleasure and gratitude that your friends and colleagues have long felt. Every blessing to you. Rowan Williams Archbishop of Canterbury

KEYNOTE ADDRESS

THE NOVELTY AND INESCAPABILITY OF THE BIBLE IN LATE ANTIQUITY Robert Louis Wilken In the great debate over icons in the eighth century, John of Damascus said that if Christ cannot be painted, then the divine Logos did not become man. Although John was engaged in a controversy over the legitimacy of images within Byzantine Christianity, his comment highlights a distinctive feature of the biblical tradition. The Bible is a book whose narrative invites depiction in pictures. Though it includes the law codes of Leviticus, the poetry of the Psalms, the moral precepts of Proverbs and Sirach, the oracles of the prophets, and the letters of St. Paul, the Bible is primarily a book of history, the history of the people of Israel, and the history of Jesus Christ and the first Christian communities. It is also a book of stories of memorable deeds, many admirable, some shameful, of great men and women. Without history, or without the central story that gives form to the whole, the individual parts, though interesting in themselves, make no enduring claim on the reader. It was inevitable that Jews and Christians would create art to portray the notable and worthy deeds recounted in the pages of the Bible. For Judaism, the premier example of course is the series of wall paintings at Dura Europos, discovered in the 1930s, and an object of intense scholarly debate for more than half a century. Dura, however, does not stand alone as the mosaic of the Binding of Isaac on the floor of the synagogue of Beth Alpha at Beth She’an in Israel confirms. Some scholars, e.g. Rostoftzeff,1 saw no unity in the paintings at Dura, others, e.g. Grabar2 and Sonne,3 discerned theological themes, but did not agree on what those themes were; Kraeling4 took the paintings to be an expression, in the artistic medium of ancient Parthia, of the M.I. Rostovtzeff, Dura-Europos and Its Art (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1938). A. Grabar, “Le theme religieux des fresques de la synagogue de Doura,” RHR 123 (1941), 143–92, 124 (1942), 5–35. 3 I. Sonne, “The Paintings of the Dura Synagogue,” HUCA 20 (1947), 255–362. 4 C.H. Kraeling, The Synagogue (Excavations at Dura-Europos; Final Report 8, part 1; New Haven: Yale University Press, 1956). 1 2

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Judaism we know from the Mishnah and Talmud; and most famously Erwin Goodenough5 thought they reflected a kind of mystical Judaism alien to the rabbinical tradition. However one resolves the question of what kind of Judaism gave rise to the paintings in the synagogue at Dura, it is undeniable that the primary subject matter of the paintings is based on the biblical narrative. There are representations of David and Saul in the wilderness of Ziph, of Elijah and the failure of the sacrifice of the priests of Baal, of the Exodus out of Egypt and the crossing of the Red Sea, of the infancy of Moses and Moses at the burning bush, and most strikingly the vision of Ezekiel in the Valley of Dry Bones. In paintings illustrating the first half of chapter 37, Ezekiel is depicted no less than six times.6 Though the subject matter of these paintings is taken from the Jewish Bible, they are not simply a visual representation of the biblical narrative. They reflect a conscious selection of scenes from the Scriptures that were of special significance for the Jews living in this third-century frontier town. The Bible presented on the walls at Dura is an interpreted book reflecting the piety and practices of the community that had commissioned the paintings. Less than two hundred years later a Christian church was built in Rome with an elaborate series of mosaics in the nave based on events in the Septuagint, the Christian Old Testament, and complemented by scenes from the life of Christ taken in part from the Proto-Evangelium of James as well as the canonical gospels. I am of course speaking about the magnificent basilica Santa Maria Maggiore, constructed in Rome between 432–440.7 As one would expect the choice of images is different from that of the synagogue at Dura Europos. For example, one panel depicts Melchizedek offering bread and wine to Abraham, another the three mysterious visitors to Abraham (Genesis 18). Although the scope of scenes taken from the Scriptures is quite extensive and the rationale for the selection elusive, it is clear that here as at Dura that we are dealing with the Bible as read and interpreted within a particular religious tradition. The pictures of Jesus, Mary, and Joseph in the triumphal

5 E.R. Goodenough, Jewish Symbols in the Greco-Roman Period. Vols. 9–11 (New York: Pantheon, 1964). 6 See Kraeling, Synagogue. 7 C. Pietrangeli and G. Andreotti, Santa Maria Maggiore a Roma (Firenze: Nardini, 1988).

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arch make this clear, for what is pictured in the mosaics in the nave finds fulfillment in the panels flanking the apse. Of course narrative art is not unique to Jews or Christians. It can be found in different forms in ancient Greece and Rome, e.g. the Telephos frieze on the altar at Pergamon, scenes from the Odyssey painted on Greek bowls, or the carvings of a series of military triumphs during Trajan’s reign on the column that stands in the Piazza Colonna in Rome.8 Still, though it is possible to view Dura and Santa Maggiore within the history of ancient narrative art (and ancient book illustration), there is something more at work in these paintings. For both Dura Europos and Santa Maggiore have much larger stories to tell than what is found, for example, in the Iliad or the Aeneid or in the military triumphs of Trajan. The biblical story, as told by Jews and Christians, is marked by a series of paradigmatic events. It is a history not only with a beginning but also with an ending which is not simply an end that brings things to a close, but an end that is a goal. I need only remind you of the final words of 2 Chronicles, the last book of the Bible in the Jewish ordering of the Scriptures: “Whoever is among you of all his people the Lord our God be with him, and let him go up.” That is, let him go up to Jerusalem. Though the end of the story is yet to unfold, the goal is known, and will be realized in God’s good time. Likewise the Christian Bible ends with a vision of a “holy city”, a “new Jerusalem” that comes down from heaven “as a bride adorned for her husband”. And its penultimate word, before a blessing, is “Surely I am coming soon.” The events depicted on the wall of the synagogue at Dura and in the basilica in Rome conceal as much as they depict. Their meaning is not fully disclosed in what one sees. An example would be the figure of Moses before the burning bush. In a picture of a human being looking at a bush that is aflame something is hidden, and if one is not privy to what is not divulged the picture remains unintelligible. The synagogue at Dura Europos and the church of Santa Maria Maggiore were not museums where anyone could walk in and gawk at pretty pictures. One had to have eyes to see.

8 See the essays by G.M.A. Hanfmann, P.H. von Blanckenhagen, and K. Weitzmann in “Narration in Ancient Art: A Symposium” in American Journal of Archaeology 61 (1957), 71–92.

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You will recall that in discussing the difference between Homeric narrative and biblical narrative in Mimesis Erich Auerbach said that the Homeric style “leave nothing which it mentions half in darkness and unexternalized.”9 His illustration is the story of the discovery of Odysseus’s scar by his aged nurse Euryclea as she washes his feet when he has returned to his home in Ithaca. In the richness of details in Homer’s telling of the story, “everything is visible,” nothing is hidden. In fact, says Auerbach, even the idea that the present would be open “to the depths of the past” was quite alien to Homer. As illustration of the biblical style of narrative Auerbach used the account of the Akedah, or the sacrifice of Isaac in Christian terminology, in Genesis. The contrast with Homer is evident in the opening sentence. “And it came to pass after these things that God did tempt Abraham, and said to him, Abraham! And he said, Behold, here I am.” Unlike Homer, the story begins without any background, no mis en scène, and more to the point, the two speakers, God and Abraham, are on quite different levels. Abraham is located in a particular place but where the voice comes from is not identified. By contrast, “the Homeric poems,” in Auerbach’s words, “conceal nothing; they contain no teaching and no secret second meaning. Homer can be analyzed . . . but he cannot be interpreted.” Or in the pungent judgment of W.H. Auden: “The world of Homer is unbearably sad because it never transcends the immediate moment; one is happy, one wins, one loses, finally one dies. That is all.” In the biblical style, not only are essential details omitted, the narrative itself is incomplete. Whether one reads the Akedah through Jewish eyes, or the sacrifice of Isaac through Christian eyes, the full meaning of what happened cannot be captured by recounting the past event. All of which is to say that the Bible, though rooted in real history, the history of men and women who lived in time and space, whose affairs are part of the history of the ancient world, can, indeed, must be seen in relation to the things that happened later and are yet to happen. It is a history open to a future that God will bring about. Without God as participant, God as actor, God as telos, the Bible is a random collection of books from various periods and places in the ancient world. Which I suppose is pretty much what modern biblical scholarship has

9 E. Auerbach, Mimesis. The Representation of Reality in Western Literature (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1974), 3–24.


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made the Bible to be—one reason why a strictly historical approach to the Bible takes us only so far, so far, one might say, as the point at which it really begins to get interesting. And so I come to the first term in my title, “novelty.” Whether in its Jewish or Christian form, the Bible is a new kind of book, i.e., a book carried by the synagogue and the Church, whose genesis cannot be explained by drawing parallels from the Ancient Near East or the Greco-Roman world. The unity of this collection comes not from an author, as for example the Aeneid springs from the imagination of the Roman poet Virgil, but from the people who wrote and collected the books and from their belief in the one God. We know that by the time Christianity came on the scene philosophical thought in the Greco-Roman world was moving toward belief in one God, what used to be called henotheism, but which is best described as philosophical monotheism or mystical monotheism. Though early Christian thinkers, and Philo among the Jews, drew on this tradition to understand and explain the biblical belief in one God, the Jewish and Christian confession of one God rested on a quite different foundation. The difference can be illustrated by a passage from Philo’s treatise On the Change of Name.10 There he writes that the “existent reality,” that which “truly exists,” cannot be apprehended by human faculties, not even the mind. For to see God, Moses had to enter “into the darkness.” Later, when Philo discusses the various names for God, he says that the name of God given to the thoughtless and indifferent, those who need to learn the fear appropriate to a sovereign, is Kurios, Lord. For those who are on the way to virtue, the proper phrase is “I am your God.” And for those who have reached perfection, it is “I am your Lord God of your fathers.” What is striking about Philo’s choice of names is that the two latter categories use expressions that imply a relation to God. The term Lord or God is qualified with “your,” and the name for those who are most advanced is “the Lord God of your fathers.” Now one might say that is what one would expect because this treatise, like so many of Philo’s writings, is exegetical. But that is precisely the point. The monotheism that formed western civilization is biblical monotheism centered

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am.”

On the Change of Names 7–26. The discussion is based on Ex 3:14, “I am who I

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on the God of the Sh’ma, “Hear O Israel the Lord your God is one God.” It is a monotheism that is made known in events in the life of a people, in the election of the Israelites, and the calling together of a new community by the outpouring of the Holy Spirit after the resurrection of Jesus, all of which is recorded in a book. As a consequence a way of thinking took root in the civilization of the west that was exegetical and historical. In his Gifford lectures in 1931–32 the philosopher Etienne Gilson, speaking of Christianity, put it this way: “Now it is a fact that between ourselves and the Greeks the Christian revelation has intervened, and has profoundly modified the conditions under which reason has to work.”11 Reason can no longer be exercised independently of what happened in Israel and in Christ and is written in the Bible. And that leads to the second word in my title, the inescapability of the Bible in late antiquity. But first a word about the phrase “late antiquity.” I grow increasingly uneasy about what the term signifies. My unease was confirmed by a recent review of Peter Heather’s new book, The Fall of the Roman Empire. A New History of Rome and the Barbarians, by my colleague the Roman historian Jon Lendon. Heather’s prey, writes Lendon, “is the idea—grown plump and wattled over the last 30 years—that there was a separate period of European history, Late Antiquity, nestled between the height of the Roman empire and the Middle Ages.” Lendon observes that “no convincing commonality was ever found” to mark this period and the consequence has led to the “desperate triviality of so much academic work on the era: the fixation on magic and sex, on dream interpretation and bizarre religious enthusiasms—what has aptly been called the “Jerry Springerization of Late Antiquity.”12 The point can be illustrated with reference to the topic of our conference, the Bible in late antiquity. If there is anything in late antiquity we know for certain—reflected by the burgeoning study of early Christian commentaries by patristic scholars—it is that the Bible, whether in its Hebrew version among the Jews, or its Greek, Latin and Syriac (and Coptic and Armenian, et al.) versions among Christians, was ubiquitous in this period. It is an inescapable feature of the landscape from Ireland

11 E. Gilson, The Spirit of Medieval Philosophy (trans. A.H.C. Downes; New York: C. Scribner’s Sons, 1940), 5. 12 See The Weekly Standard, September 25, 2006.


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to Central Asia. Copy-books for children were found in Ireland written in Latin and clay tablets in Panjikent in Syriac in which a child copied out lines from the Psalms of David.13 There is little one can touch in this period without discovering the Bible in the background or more often in the foreground, whether it be art or architecture, poetry or history, preaching or spiritual life, law or theology, pedagogy or statecraft—all displaying specific features drawn directly from the Scriptures. Yet, in the encyclopedia, Late Antiquity. A Guide to the Post-Classical World, edited by Bowersock, Brown and Grabar—as distinguished a company as one will find—there is no entry for Bible nor for Scriptures. And if one looks in the index under Bible one is referred to an article on “chant” and another on “literacy.” The only entry in the volume is a short article of two columns on Bible translations. Things are, however, changing. I noticed that the topic for Dumbarton Oaks’ Winter symposium this year is “The Bible in Byzantium.” The description of the conference pretty much confirms my point: This symposium, designed to complement an exhibition of early Bible manuscripts at the Sackler Gallery of Art, examines the use of the Greek Old Testament as text, social practice and cultural experience in the Byzantine Empire. Not only are reminiscences of the Old Testament frequent in Byzantine literature and art, but Byzantines revered and identified with Old Testament role models. The phenomenon has never received systematic investigation, despite the fact that this was the part of its tradition that Byzantium shared most widely with other cultures—not only its Christian neighbors, but Judaism and Islam.

So let me give a few examples of the inescapability of the Bible in late antiquity. I have already discussed one of the most obvious, the influence of the Bible on Christian and Jewish art. But the Bible is not only a collection of stories recording a history, it is a lexicon of words and images. Another way, then, that the Bible shaped the imagination and ways of thinking, of the new civilization being constructed during “late antiquity” was language. The biblical language gave men and women a new way to express their thoughts and feelings. Think of words such as sin, grace, love, faith, hope, obedience, creation, image, Word, patience (in the sense of long-suffering, the biblical makrothumia, not endurance, upomeni ), passion, flesh, self, to mention only a few 13 A.V. Paykova, “The Syrian Ostracon from Panjikent,” Le Museon 92 (1979), 159–69; E.C.R. Armstrong and R.A.S. Macalister, “Wooden Book Found near Springmount Bog, Co. Antrim,” Journal of the Royal Society of Antiquaries of Ireland 50 (1920), 160–6.

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examples. Or martyr, with its double meaning of witness and one who bears witness by death, persons Augustine would like to have called heroes using the Roman word for hero, vir, but instead conformed, in his phrase, to “the church’s way of speaking.”14 The best example of just how versatile this biblical language could be and how many tasks it could perform is Gregory the Great’s Moralia. The Moralia is a commentary on the book of Job in thirty-six books, a huge work whose exuberant allegory many moderns have found, in Holmes Dudden’s words, “inexplicably wearisome.” But what most have missed is that Job is a book filled with arresting images and powerful metaphors. Gregory realized that these images and metaphors could be put to work in ways that were beyond the horizon of the original author. Here is one illustration from his commentary on Job 14:18–19, which reads, “But the mountain falls and crumbles away, and the rock is removed from the place; the waters wear away the stones, the torrents wash away the soil of the earth little by little. . . .” Gregory suggests that Job’s language speaks of two kind of temptation, those that come on unexpectedly, “like a mountain falling,” or those that come on gradually, “like a rock worn smooth slowly.” He illustrates the first with king David, who slipped by a sudden fall when from his roof he saw Bathsheba bathing, and the latter by Solomon whose inconstancy in sensual matters led gradually to perfidy in spiritual things, in the language of Job, as “the waters wear away the stone.”15 Certainly Gregory could have discussed temptation without using Job’s metaphors, but once there was a Bible, Christian teachers discovered that they could penetrate more deeply into things, in this case human psychology and the spiritual life, by using biblical language rather than by employing words from elsewhere that would, on first blush, seem more appropriate. As a consequence the language of the Bible formed his imagination as it did Augustine’s when he said that it gave him greater pleasure to contemplate the saints as beautiful teeth, using the metaphor from the Song of Songs, “your teeth are like a flock of shorn ewes ascending from the pool,” than by using plain words. A second area where one can see the ubiquity of the Bible in late antiquity is in the realm of law, and here it is Judaism that provides the best example. As you know, the two large bodies of literature from

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The City of God 10.21. Moralia 12.18.22.


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rabbinic Judaism are, the midrashim, which are exegetical treatises, e.g., Sifra on Leviticus, the Mekiltha or B’reshit Rabbah; and the Mishnah, Tosephta and Gemara that deal with halachic questions, e.g., liturgical and calendrical matters, women, including a tractate on divorce, damages, what we would call torts, or hallowed things, e.g., different kinds of offerings. One discovers, however, that the Mishnah and its commentaries are filled with biblical references, examples, and allusions. This is not as obvious as it seems, if one considers the Christian parallel. In general Christian law, the canons of the ancient councils, what came to be called canon law, seldom legitimate their decisions with biblical authority. For example, in the canons of the Council of Elvira there are few references to biblical texts. Some have argued that the Mishnah eschews biblical support and stands on its own authority, and I do not have the learning to take a side in that debate. But it seems evident to me that the Bible not only gave the rabbis the language and many of the examples used in their arguments, it even shapes the subject matter of the tractates in surprising ways. I offer one example from the tractate Shevuot that I owe to my colleague Elizabeth Shanks Alexander. The Mishnaic tractate deals with three kinds of oaths: declarative oaths, testimonial oaths, and oaths of deposit, i.e., about disputed fines or fees. Yet a section of the tractate also deals with what is clearly extraneous to the topics of oaths, uncleanness, e.g., in relation to animal offerings, in relation to what one eats, or to holy places. The intrusion of this material is inexplicable unless one consults one of the two biblical texts that Shevuot cites in its discussion of oaths, Leviticus 5 (the other is Exodus 22). When one turns to Leviticus one discovers that Lev 5:1 has to do with oaths, but 5:2 talks about uncleanness that comes from touching an animal carcass, and 5:3 about touching human uncleanness (a topic which is discussed much more extensively in Leviticus 11–15), and only in 5:4 does Leviticus return to returns to oaths. My point is a simple one; the topics discussed in Shevuot and hence in the gemara are determined by the way certain things were presented in the Torah. In other words even the form of the tractate is dictated by Scripture. But one can also detect a more general influence of the Bible on the Mishnah. Though the Mishnah is not part of the Bible, and is clearly distinct from the canon of Scripture, the rabbis, influenced by the practices of Jewish exegesis in the midrashim, transport exegetical

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assumptions and techniques from midrash to the Mishnah and treat it like Scripture. This is evident to any student of the talmudim, and it was recognized in the early middle ages by Rabbi Sherira Gaon. According to Sherira, Rabbi, the presumed author of the Mishnah, followed the practice of his teachers who expressed themselves “succinctly.” “His teachings were more exact than any of the other tanaaim, without superfluous language. Each and every word made a vital point without unnecessary exaggeration.”16 In other words, every word in the Mishnah is teeming with strange delights and could yield meanings without reference to literary context. Hence the kind of exegesis practiced by the midrashists was adopted for quite different purposes by halachic thinkers. What made this possible and created a tradition of reasoning that is still practiced today, was the Bible and its interpretation. Finally, an example from the world of statecraft and political theory. In the Latin west, early medieval biblical commentators took particular interest in the books of the kings: 1 and 2 Samuel and 1 and 2 Kings. I have in mind writers such as Isidore of Seville, Bede, Hincmar of Reims, Hrabanus Maurus, Angelomus of Luxeuil, Jonas of Orleans, to mention a few.17 With the ascendancy of kingship as the way of ordering the new Christian kingdoms, and in particular the hegemony of the Carolingian kings in central Europe, Christian exegetes found a model for the Christian king in the kings of ancient Israel. The Franks thought of themselves as the populus Dei, and self-consciously adopted ideas found in the Old Testament where they could read in detail what the government of the people of God should look like. Pope Stephen II called the Merovingian king Pippin “a shining new David,” and when Charlemagne constructed a throne for himself at Aachen he modeled it on the throne of Solomon. This notion of sacral kingship was quite unknown among the Germans. But Christian kings, drawing on the model of Israelite kings, gained their authority neither from blood nor kinship with distant ancestors, but from divine sanction. A king was a “king by the grace of God.” What is more, authority and legitimacy were conveyed to the 16 A translation of the passage from R. Sherira Gaon can be found in E.S. Alexander, Transmitting Mishnah. The Shaping Influence of Oral Tradition (Cambridge/New York: Cambridge University Press, 2006), 79. 17 On early medieval commentaries on the books of the Kings and ideas about kingship, see E.P. Miller, The Politics of Imitation Christ: Christ the King and Christomimetic Rulership in Early Medieval Biblical Commentaries (Unpublished Ph.D. dissertation, University of Virginia, 2001).


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king by the ritual of the “anointing” of the king by a religious figure. In the Old Testament the anointing had been done by a prophet (think of Samuel anointing Saul) or priest, and in the Carolingian kingdom it was a priest, i.e., a bishop, who did the anointing, namely the bishop of Rome, the pope. As Walter Ullmann observes in his book on Carolingian kingship, in the adoption of this practice one can see how the “exegesis of the Bible took fruit.”18 The Old Testament abounds with examples of the anointing of kings by a priest who acted as mediator between the divine and human realms. And so the idea took root—and it was to endure into early modern times—that there could be no king without anointing. The formulas used for anointing were modeled on blessings taken from the Old Testament. When Pope Stephen IV anointed Louis I, son of Charlemagne, in October 816, he said: “Blessed be our Lord who has granted us to see the second David.” The Christian king became, like the king of ancient Israel, a prince over the people of God, the “dux populi dei.” It was the king, not the bishop, who was the head of the Christian people—setting the stage for the great controversy over investiture that would erupt in the eleventh century. So the Scriptures, whether in their Jewish or Christian form, were an inescapable feature of the late antique world. One could say with John Milton: “There are no songs comparable to the songs of Zion/ nor orations equal to those of the prophets; and no politics like those which the Scriptures teach.” The Bible was not a passive book to be kept in the ark of the synagogue or in the sacristy of a church to be brought out and read in worship or studied by scholars; it was an active participant in the new culture, shaping people’s ideas and sentiments and helping give form to their communal and political life. My examples have come from art, language, law, and statecraft, but they could just as well be chosen from theology (Athanasius’s treatises Against the Arians), spiritual literature (Gregory of Nyssa’s Life of Moses), poetry (Ephrem Syrus’s hymns on the nativity of Christ), liturgy (the lectionary), monasticism (the recitation of the psalms), or cosmology (Basil’s homilies on the Hexaemeron), et al. When one reflects on the many ways the Bible entered into the life and thought of men and women of late antiquity, one is inclined to say: well, that is all rather obvious.

18 W. Ullmann, The Carolingian Renaissance and the Idea of Kingship (Birkbeck Lectures, 1968–69; London: Methuen, 1969), 43–71.

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And indeed it is, but as scholars we sometimes need to be reminded of what is directly before our eyes. So as much as I would like you to think I am saying something original, in truth I am only reminding you of what you already know, which means that there is no need for a conclusion. However, I might close by returning to something I said at the beginning. The Bible we are speaking of is that book received and interpreted by Jews and Christians. It is not a collection of books of the ancient near east or of Hellenistic culture. It was a carried book, two books really, the book of the synagogue and the book of church, and how it came to be used and to mean what it did, is a piece with the formation of these two religious traditions. In the interplay of the life of these communities and the Scriptures one discovers the Bible that has nurtured our civilization. Which is to say that if one wishes to know what is most significant, most enduring, and most compelling about the Bible, it is to the present company, students of late antiquity, not to the biblical scholars that one should turn.

PAPERS

« CAR MES INIQUITÉS DÉPASSÈRENT MA TÊTE » : LES FONCTIONS DU TEXTE BIBLIQUE DANS LA SECTION KATANYKTIQUE DU LOGOS ASKETIKOS DE MAXIME LE CONFESSEUR Pablo Argárate Le Logos Asketikos est une des œuvres les plus captivantes de toute la littérature spirituelle chrétienne. Il a eu un effet immense dans la formation de la théologie spirituelle non seulement byzantine mais aussi slave.1 Mais, d’où vient la force de sa séduction ? Sans doute est-il question ici de la beauté, la simplicité, le caractère profondément évangélique, et l’équilibre avec lesquelles Maxime présente ici une profonde spiritualité, écho de l’expérience de plusieurs siècles de désert,2 d’une manière simple ou presque naïve, cependant sans être dépourvue d’une solide théologie. Au contraire, en lieu d’un série de monitions ascétiques, on trouve une puissante synthèse théologique3 sans équivalant dans la littérature patristique grecque. Même dans autres parties de l’œuvre du Confesseur on trouve difficilement des parallèles. Bien sûr, les thèmes les plus familiers et chéris du Confesseur se trouvent dans plusieurs de ses écrits. Cependant, c’est la force de la synthèse théologique et spirituelle, qui fait cette unicité. Dans ce contexte c’est la charité, surtout, qui atteint ici son expression la plus achevée dans toute l’œuvre de Maxime, en surpassant, même, la deuxième épître. Tout cela a amené Irénée-Henri Dalmais à

1 Inexplicablement elle n’a été incluse dans ce grand recueil qu’est la Philokalia grecque ni dans sa version slave, la Dobrotoliubie. 2 Cf. Maximi Confessoris Liber asceticus (ed. P. van Deun ; CCSG 40 ; Brepols : Turnhout, 2000), xv–xvi : « L’œuvre est d’un équilibre et d’une plénitude remarquables, et se caractérise par un langage très simple et par de nombreuses citations bibliques—presque un tiers du texte reprend des passages de l’Ancien ou du Nouveau Testament, qui constituent, depuis Évagre, l’arsenal habituel des moines dans leur combat contre les péchés et les tentations des démons— ; ce dialogue entre un γέρων et un jeune novice, qui, assez vite, prend la forme d’un monologue, est largement influencé par l’atmosphère et le genre littéraire des Apophthegmata Patrum et des questions-réponses (ἐρωταποκρίσεις) très répandus dans les milieux monastiques ». 3 Cf. I.-H. Dalmais, « La doctrine ascétique de S. Maxime le Confesseur d’après le ‘Liber Asceticus’ », Irénikon 26 (1953), 17–39.

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soutenir qu’il s’agit de la dernière œuvre du Confesseur, son testament spirituel.4 Toutefois, malgré la considérable inflation de ces dernières années, en ce qui concerne les monographies et les études sur Maxime comme en témoigne la publication graduelle des éditions critiques de ses œuvres, le Logos n’a reçu aucune étude propre, à la seule exception d’un article rédigée par Dalmais il y a déjà plus de un demi siècle.5 À celui-ci il faudrait également ajouter d’autres du même auteur,6 ainsi que les travaux d’autres chercheurs, qui ont surtout écrit sur la spiritualité du Confesseur,7 ainsi que les introductions aux diverses traductions du Logos.8 4 Cf. I.-H. Dalmais, « L’oeuvre spirituelle de Saint Maxime le Confesseur. Notes sur son développement et sa signification », Supplément de la Vie spirituelle 6 (1952), 224–5. 5 Dalmais, « La doctrine ascétique. » 6 Cf. I.-H. Dalmais, « Saint Maxime le Confesseur, Docteur de la Charité », La vie spirituelle 79 (1948), 294–303 ; « La théorie des ‘lógoi’ des créatures chez S. Maxime le Confesseur », RSPT 36 (1952), 244–9 ; « L’oeuvre spirituelle de Saint Maxime le Confesseur. Notes sur son développement et sa signification », Supplément de la Vie spirituelle 6 (1952), 216–26 ; « L’anthropologie spirituelle de saint Maxime le Confesseur », Recherches et débats du Centre catholique des intellectuels français 36 (1961), 202–11 ; « L’héritage évagrien dans la synthèse de Saint Maxime le Confesseur », SP VIII (1966) 356–62 ; « Mystère liturgique et divinisation dans la Mystagogie de S. Maxime le Confesseur », Epektasis. Mélanges patristiques offerts au Cardinal Jean Daniélou (ed. J. Fontaine and Ch. Kannengiesser ; Paris: Beauchesne, 1972), 55–62 ; « Maxime le Confesseur », DS 10.836–47 ; « La manifestation du Lógos dans l’homme et dans l’Église. Typologie anthropologique et typologie ecclésiale d’après Qu. Th. 60 et la Mystagogie », Maximus Confessor. Actes du Symposium sur Maxime le Confesseur (éd. F. Heinzer et Chr. Schönborn ; Fribourg: Éditions Universitaires, 1982), 13–25 ; « La fonction unificatrice du Verbe Incarné dans les oeuvres de saint Maxime le Confesseur », SEcc 14 (1962), 445–59. 7 Cf. W. Völker, Maximus Confessor als Meister des geistlichen Lebens (Wiesbaden : Steiner, 1965) ; P. Argárate, « ‘Conociendo de modo incognoscible a Quien está por encima de todo conocimiento’. El Ascenso a Dios en san Máximo el Confesor », SMon 39 (1997), 107–30 ; idem, « Πρὸς τὸν θεῖον ἔρωτα. El Itinerario de las Centurias sobre la Caridad », SMon 40 (1998), 213–64 ; idem, « Πολυπόθητον Πέλαγος. La noción de Dios en Máximo el Confesor », SMon 42 (2000), 295–317 ; M.J. Choi, « Maximus and the Role of Humility in ascesis », Studies in Spirituality 16 (2006), 59–70. 8 Nous avons les suivantes traductions du Logos: en français, de P. Deseille, L’évangile au désert (Paris, 1999), 227–67 ; en allemand de M. Garbas, Des heiligen Maximus Confessor Buch vom geistlichen Leben (Breslau, 1925) ; de F. Murawski, Führer zu Gott. Eine Auswahl aus griechischen Kirchenschriftstellern in freier Übersetzung (Mainz, 1926), 13–37 ; de B. Hermann, Weisheit, die betet. Maximus, der Bekenner, 580–662 (Würzburg, 1941), 182–206 ; de G. Bausenhart, Maximus der Bekenner. Drei geistliche Schriften (Einsiedeln/Freiburg im Breisgau, 1996), 55–100 ; en anglais de P. Sherwood, The Ascetic Life. The Four Centuries on Charity (Westminster/London, 1955) ; en italien de R. Cantarella, La mistagogia ed altri scritti (Firenze, 1931) ; de M. del Pra, S. Massimo Confessore. Il libro ascetico (Milano, 1944) ; en espagnol, de P. Argárate, Máximo el Confesor. Tratados Espirituales. Diálogo Ascético. Centurias sobre la Caridad. Interpretación del Padre Nuestro (Madrid, 1997), 45–85 ; en grec moderne de E. Meretakès, Μαξίμου τοῦ Ὁμολογητοῦ Μυσταγωγία, Κεφάλαια περὶ ἀγάπης,

CAR MES INIQUITÉS DÉPASSÈRENT MA TÊTE

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L’édition princeps du Logos apparut dans les opera omnia de Maxime, publiés par le dominicain François Combefis en 1675.9 Migne réimprime ce texte dans le volume 90 de la P.G. (col. 912–956), en le corrigeant.10 Cantarella11 présente en 1931 le texte grec muni de la traduction italienne de certaines œuvres de Maxime, parmi lesquelles se trouve le Logos. En faisant cela, il compare les éditions de Combefis et de Migne, en suggérant en outre quelques conjectures textuelles.12 Finalement, il y a quelques années, Peter van Deun établit la première édition critique de notre œuvre.13 Considérée comme une œuvre authentique de Maxime,14 elle est datée parmi les œuvres de jeunesse vers 626.15 Son titre est attesté par

Λόγος ἀσκητικός, Κεφάλαια θεολογικά, (Thessalonique, 1985), 354–443 ; en suédois,

de M. Mauritsson, Maxim Bekännaren (580–662 e. Kr.) Asketisk bok. Inledning och översättning (Malmö, 1963) ; en roumain de D. Staniloae, Filocalia sau culegere din scrierile sfintilor Parinti, tradusa din greceste (Sibiu, 1974), 1–35 ; en russe de A. I. Sidorov, Tvorenija prepodobnogo Maksima Ispovednika. (Moscou, 1993), 75–95 ; en polonais de A. Warkotsch, Maksym Wyznawca. Antologiał zycia wewnetrzego, Dialog o zyciu wewnetrznym, Ksiega miłosci, Ksiga oswieconych, Wykład modlitwy panskiej, List o miłosci (Poznan, 1981) 253–73 ; et en serbo-croate A. Radosavlejevic, « Sveti Maksim Ispovednik : Podviznisko slovo. Prevod », Sveti knez Lazar 1 (1993), 63–83. 9 Pour le Logos Asketikos il se base sur trois manuscrits du XIe siècle (le Par. gr. 1098, 1145, et 886). À plusieurs occasions déjà Combefis corrige le texte. Cependant le texte final a été considéré très mauvais. 10 Toutefois, comme le note van Deun, il a fait à son tour quelques fautes nouvelles. 11 S. Massimo Confessore, La mistagogia ed altri scritti (Firenze, 1931). 12 Finalement, il est question d’un témoin du XVIIIe siècle appartenant actuellement à la Bibliothèque de l’Académie de Bucarest. Cependant, van Deun affirme qu’il s’agit d’une copie de l’édition princeps. Maximi Confessoris Liber asceticus, cclxvii. 13 Maximi Confessoris (voir n. 2). Etabli sur la base de 84 manuscrits qui forment part de cinq grandes familles, étant le plus ancien du IXe siècle (Vaticanus, Pal. gr. 49, fols. 236–260). La tradition indirecte est aussi riche, en son sein il faudrait mentionner à titre d’exemple l’important florilège de Paul de l’Évergetis du milieu du XIe siècle et aussi la Chaîne sur l’évangile de Luc compilée par Nicétas d’Héraclée, ainsi que la Chaîne sur l’évangile de Matthieu par le même auteur. 14 Van Deun note seulement l’exception de Chrestou et Nikolaou, lesquels toutefois ne fournissent pas d’arguments importants pour démontrer sa position. Van Deun, Maximi Confessoris Liber asceticus, xvi. 15 Ce traité s’inscrit d’après la chronologie établie par Sherwood (An Annotated DateList of the Works of Maximus the Confessor [Rome: Studia Anselmiana, 1952], 26) dans les premières œuvres de Maxime, écrit avec le Commentaire du Psaume 59 et les Quaestiones et dubia autour de 626. Dans le prologue aux Chapitres sur la Charité, Maxime dit avoir envoyé le Logos Asketikos au même destinataire des Chapitres, un tel Elpidios (Prologue, 1–2. C. Gastaldo, Massimo Confessore. Capitoli sulla Carità [Rome : Studium, 1963], 3). Seulement Dalmais a contesté cette datation en raison de la théologie et le style du Logos comme un œuvre de pleine maturité spirituelle et théologique. Il propose une datation tardive. Cf. I.-H. Dalmais, « L’œuvre spirituelle », 220–25 ; « La doctrine ascétique », 17.31–32.39.

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la quasi unanimité des manuscrits comme λόγος ἀσκητικὸς κατὰ πεῦσιν καὶ ἀπόκρισιν.16 Concernant son genre, l’œuvre peut être subsumée dans diverses catégories, échappant par cela à une classification trop stricte. D’abord, c’est un λόγος, un discours qui prend la forme d’un vrai traité.17 En même temps notre œuvre consiste cependant en un dialogue18 entre un ancien moine et un jeune novice. Kattan le définit comme un hochstilisertes didaktisch-paranätisches Gespräch.19 Finalement la structure de ce dialogue renvoie à une autre forme, celle des erotapokriseis.20 Une rapide lecture du texte nous réfère clairement à son contexte monastique. Dans la tradition du désert tout l’enseignement spirituel assume fréquemment la forme d’un dialogue entre un moine expérimenté, le vieillard (γέρων ou ἄββας), qu’introduit le novice dans les secrets de l’art ascétique et le met en garde contre les pièges du démon. La question initiale du novice depuis les Apophthegmata est toujours la même : « Comment puis-je me sauver ? » ou « Père, dis-moi ce que je dois faire ».21 Il n’est pas question ici d’une recherche spéculative, mais plutôt d’une quête existentielle pour pouvoir survivre et progresser dans la dureté du combat spirituel. Le Logos assume ainsi un caractère traditionnel marqué, en se situant dans la longue tradition monastique qui jaillit chez les Pères du désert en Egypte. En même temps, il s’agit cependant d’une œuvre fort originale au delà d’un langage partagé avec le reste de la littérature monastique. Cela devient clair, déjà au

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L’unique variable intéressante présentée par une sous-famille est λόγος ἀσκητικὸς

κατὰ διάλογον. Cf. van Deun, xvi.

17 D’une certain point de vue on peut aussi trouver ce genre dans quelques épîtres, surtout la fameuse épître 2 sur la charité. Kattan (A.E. Kattan, Verleiblichung und Synergie. Grundzüge der Bibelhermeneutik bei Maximus Confessor [Leiden: Brill, 2004], 163) cite à cet égard D. Weber, « Dialog », Lexikon der antiken christlichen Literatur (ed. S. Döpp et W. Geerlings ; Freiburg im Breisgau, 1988), qui affirme que chaque oeuvre « das großteils oder zur Ganze ein Gespräch, d.h., eine auf mindestens zwei Sprecher aufgeteilte Erörterung eines oder mehrerer Themen umfasst, die . . . nicht in Handlungsabfolgen, sondern allein im Wechselgespräch ausgeführt werden ». Toutefois, dans une certaine mesure, dans le Logos il y a une Handlungsfolge et la proportion pour chaque interlocuteur n’est pas équilibrée. Ainsi faut-il relativiser le caractère absolu des classifications en genres littéraires. 18 Aussi ici nous trouvons la Disputatio cum Pyrrho. 19 Kattan, xlviii. 20 À ce genre appartiennent les Quaestiones ad Thalassium, les Ambigua ad Ionannem, les Ambigua ad Thomam, les Quaestiones et dubia et les Quaestiones ad Theopemptum. Pour une étude détaillée, cf. L. Perrone, « Perspectives sur Origène et la littérature patristique des Quaestiones et responsiones », Origeniana Sexta (BETL 118, éd. G. Dorival et A. le Boulluec ; Louvain : Peeters, 1995), 151–64. 21 Asc 40.


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début du texte, avec la question sur le « but » ou finalité (σκόπος) de l’incarnation du Seigneur. Ici se trouve précisément le mérite de l’œuvre de Maxime. Elle réussit à établir le rapport entre ascèse et théologie, en fixant la pratique ascétique dans la christologie.22 En effet, c’est dans le mystère du Christ23 que la création entière, en sa diversité et unité,24 trouve son centre et sa clé herméneutique. En conséquence, la question ascétique, déjà présente dans le titre, ne peut être seulement répondue que dans un cadre christologique. Et cette réponse tout au long du dialogue est toujours la même : le but et le sens du mystère du Christ c’est la divinisation25 de l’homme,26 comme l’exprime le vieillard : 22 Cf. Dalmais, « la doctrine ascétique », 23 : « En élargissant la perspective d’un ascétisme trop immédiatement anthropocentrique à une vision vraiment christologique, Maxime assure à la suite de son enseignement des bases fermes, en même temps qu’il pose des exigences mal discernées jusqu’alors ». 23 Pour la christologie de Maxime, cf. D.J. Unger, « Christ Jesus, Center and Final Scope of All Creation According to St. Maximus Confessor », FS 9 (1949), 50–62 ; P. Piret, Le Christ et la Trinité selon Maxime le Confesseur (Paris: Beauchesne, 1983) ; D. Staniloae, « La christologie de saint Maxime le Confesseur », Contacts 40 (1988), 112–20 ; T. Tollefsen, The Christocentric Cosmology of St. Maximus the Confessor: A Study of His Metaphysical Principles (Oslo: Unipub, 2000) ; I.A. McFarland, « Developing an Apophatic Christocentrism: Lessons from Maximus the Confessor », Theology Today 60 (2003), 200–14 ; D. Bathrellos, The Byzantine Christ: Person, Nature, and Will in the Christology of Saint Maximus the Confessor (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2004) ; I.A. McFarland, « Fleshing Out Christ: Maximus the Confessor’s Christology in Anthropological Perspective », SVTQ 49 (2005), 417–36 ; A. Lévy, « Le Christ au désert chez Maxime le Confesseur », Nicolaus 33 (2006), 279–300. 24 Sur la doctrine de la création, cf. P. Argárate, « La unidad dinámica del cosmos en san Máximo el Confesor », Teología 67 (1996), 35–51 ; idem, « El ser creado en los escritos de san Máximo el Confesor”, Communio 29 (1996), 3–28 ; idem, « El movimiento del ser en el pensamiento de san Máximo el Confesor », Anámnesis 12 (1996), 51–100 ; Chr. Terezis et E. Tzouramani, « The Dialectic Relationship between God and Human Beings in Origen and Maximus the Confessor », GOTR 44 (1999), 329–39 ; P. Argárate, « Maximus Confessor’s Criticism of Origenism : The Role of Movement within Ontology », Origeniana Octava: Origen and the Alexandrian Tradition (ed. L. Perrone ; BETL 164 A & B ; Leuven : Peeters, 2003). 25 Pour la doctrine de la divinisation, cf. J.M. Garrigues, Maxime le Confesseur, La charité avenir divine de l’homme (Paris: Beauchesne, 1976) ; P. Argárate, « La liturgia como camino de divinización en la Mystagogía de san Máximo el Confesor », ἘΠΙΜΕΛΕΙΑ 4 (1993), 189–220 ; J.-C. Larchet, La divinisation de l’homme selon saint Maxime le Confesseur (Paris: Cerf, 1996) ; K. Savvidis, Die Lehre von der Vergöttlichung des Menschen bei Maximos dem Bekenner und ihre Rezeption durch Gregor Palamas (St. Ottilien: EOS, 1997) ; P. Argárate, « Un corazón compasivo. Una aproximación al misterio de la divinización en san Máximo el Confesor », Anámnesis, 16 (1998), 41–55 ; B. DeAngelis, « I fondamenti ontologici della divinizzazione dell’uomo in Massimo il Confessore”, DivT 108 (2005), 65–80 ; A.G. Cooper, The Body in St. Maximus the Confessor: Holy Flesh, Wholly Deified (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2005). 26 Sur l’anthropologie de Maxime, cf. L. Thunberg, Man and the Cosmos. The Vision of St. Maximus the Confessor (Crestwood, NY: St. Vladimir Seminary’s Press, 1985) ; idem,

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« Devenons des dieux par sa médiation, car c’est pour cela qu’il s’est fait homme, lui qui par nature est Dieu et Maître ».27 Avec l’Incarnation, le Seigneur « nous a montré la conduite de la vie divine »,28 à travers l’observance des commandements. Tenté par le démon à travers les hommes, il a réussi à reconnaître cette tentation et donc à aimer ses ennemis. Nous aussi serons capables d’imiter le Seigneur pourvu que nous connaissions le but du Seigneur. Ainsi nous pourrons garder ses commandements, c’est-à-dire l’amour double pour Dieu et pour le prochain ou, encore mieux, l’amour pour Dieu dans le prochain. Mais pour y réussir il est nécessaire de connaître en même temps le but des démons, lequel consiste à nous égarer de l’amour divin. À cette fin nous devons rester sobres dans la tentation par les vertus surtout la νῆψις et la componction. Confiant seulement dans le Nom de Dieu et sa miséricorde, nous devons faire pénitence, en imitant les saints, pour ainsi joindre finalement les anges en sa doxologie trinitaire. L’un des aspects les plus caractéristiques du Logos est sa trace profondément biblique. En effet, il est construit comme un tissu dense de citations et de références bibliques, comme une méditation continue et ruminée sur le mystère de la charité révélée dans le Christ et présent dans les textes bibliques. Toutefois le cadre monastique mentionné auparavant réfère à une certaine manière de lire les textes sacrés, une approche toute particulière à la lecture du texte biblique. Tout cela est indubitablement présent dans le Logos, et plus bas j’analyserai plus en détail cette interprétation monastique. Toutefois, je veux maintenant discuter de l’herméneutique biblique de Maxime en général.29 Tout d’abord Microcosm and Mediator : The Theological Anthropology of Maximus the Confessor (Chicago : Open Court, 1995) ; P. Argárate, « El hombre como microcosmos en el pensamiento de san Máximo el Confesor » RTAM 63 (1996), 177–98 ; idem, « La constitución triádica del hombre en san Máximo el Confesor », Anámnesis 13 (1997), 5–18 ; idem, « El hombre creado a imagen y semejanza de Dios en san Máximo el Confesor », Communio 30 (1998), 189–219 ; idem, « Τι τῶν ὅλων συνεκτικώτατον ἐργαστήριον. El hombre como mediador en el pensamiento de Máximo el Confesor », OCP 66 (2000), 317–34 ; idem, « Ζῶον ἓν ἐξ ἀμφοτέρων. El dinamismo de la constitución antropológica en Máximo el Confesor », SMon 43 (2001), 47–65 ; Ph.G. Renczes, Agir de Dieu et liberté de l’homme : recherches sur l’anthropologie théologique de saint Maxime le confesseur (Paris : Cerf, 2003). 27 Asc 43, 983–984. Normalement j’utilise la traduction de Deseille, même si, je dois souvent la corriger. Pour la référence je donne d’abord le paragraphe de l’édition de Migne, et après le numéro de ligne de l’édition critique de van Deun. 28 Asc 1, 17. 29 Cf. P. Sherwood, « Exposition and Use of Scripture in St. Maximus as Manifest in the ‘Quaestiones ad Thalassium’ », OCP 24 (1958), 202–7 ; J. Pelikan, « Council of Fathers or Scripture ? The Concept of Authority in the Theology of Maximus Confessor », The Heritage of the Early Church. (ed. D. Neiman et M. Schatkin ; Rome,


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il faut souligner qu’il ne s’agit pas d’un système herméneutique30 ni même d’une herméneutique indépendante. Au contraire, l’interprétation biblique du Confesseur appartient au cadre plus vaste de sa théologie christocentrique.31 On y découvre deux aspects fondamentaux de son herméneutique. D’abord il faut articuler la centralité de sa doctrine du Logos-logoi, non seulement pour l’herméneutique mais plutôt pour toute sa théologie. Il s’agit d’une intelligence dynamique des Écritures (et du monde), comprise comme tension et théâtre de la révélation du Logos dans la multiplicité des logoi. Les mots de l’Écriture sont pourtant typoi de l’incarnation du Logos. En ce sens, toutes les Écritures peuvent être ramenées au mystère du Logos-Christ.32 En affirmant ceci Maxime se situe évidemment dans le cadre de la compréhension alexandrine déjà présente en Origène, en la développant encore plus. Un second stade renvoie à la montée mystique, dans laquelle s’insèrent la lecture et l’interprétation de la Bible.33 Le Christ, en tant qu’incarnation du

1973), 277–88 ; C. Laga, « Maximus as a Stylist in Quaestiones ad Thalassium », Maximus Confessor. Actes du Symposium sur Maxime le Confesseur (ed. F. Heinzer et Chr. Schönborn ; Fribourg : Éditions Universitaires, 1982), 139–46 ; P.M. Blowers, Exegesis and Spiritual Pedagogy in Maximus the Confessor. An Investigation of the “Quaestiones ad Thalassium” (Notre Dame: Notre Dame University Press, 1991) ; G.C. Berthold, « Levels of Scriptural Meaning in Maximus the Confessor », SP 27 (1993), 129–44 ; P.M. Blowers, « The Anagogical Imagination : Maximus the Confessor and the Legacy of Origenian Hermeneutics », Origeniana Sexta, 639–54 ; A.G. Cooper, « Maximus the Confessor on the Structural Dynamics of Revelation », VC 55 (2001), 161–86 ; P.M. Blowers, « The World in the Mirror of the Holy Scriptures. Maximus the Confessor’s Short Hermeneutical Treatise in Ambiguum ad Joannem 37 », In Dominico Eloquio. In Lordly Eloquence. Essays on Patristic Exegesis in Honor of Robert Louis Wilken (ed. P.M. Blowers, A.R. Christman, D.G. Hunter, and R.D. Young ; Michigan/Cambridge: Eerdmans, 2002), 408–26 ; G.C. Berthold, « Maximus Confessor: Theologian of the Word », dans Ch. Kannengiesser, Handbook of Patristic Exegesis : The Bible in Ancient Christianity (BAC ; Leiden/Boston : Brill, 2004), 942–71. 30 Berthold, « Levels of Scriptural Meaning », 129. Et cela malgré la présence par exemple d’un « short hermeneutical treatise » (voir P.M. Blowers, The World in the Mirror of the Holy Scriptures, passim) dans Amb 37, où Maxime tente de construire un système scientifique précis de niveaux progressifs de contemplation de l’Écriture, en intégrant des ‘catégories’ aristotéliciennes et la montée de la vie spirituelle en trois étapes (Blowers, 413). 31 Cf. Kattan, 273. 32 Cf. Blowers, « The World in the Mirror of the Holy Scriptures », 415: « we must continue to remember that for Maximus the biblical narratives are simply the peculiar vehicles of the larger ‘world story,’ the eschatological epiphany of the Logos-Christi in the λόγοι of the universe ». 33 Cf. Berthold, « Maximus Confessor », 944 : « for the monk devoted to the pursuit of perfection it was reasonable to link ascetical progress with scriptural study. The reading, or rather contemplation of scripture, was supposed to be a transformative process, an uplifting, a spiritual progression, a journey in mystical insight. It was an anagogy ».

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Logos, constitue par conséquent le centre et la clé herméneutique des textes sacrés pour l’exégèse chrétienne des deux testaments,34 tout en contenant, en même temps et en lui-même tous les mystères de l’Écriture. Kattan a souligné l’importance de l’herméneutique de Maxime qui fixe l’interprétation biblique à la Christologie.35 En outre, c’est précisément dans cette perspective christocentrique qu’il faut comprendre la dialectique entre allégorie, si fréquente et parfois si lourde dans la plupart des œuvres du Confesseur, et le sens littéral, pour révéler le Logos incarné dans l’histoire.36 Le Logos Asketikos constitue cependant une pièce singulière comme exemple d’interprétation biblique. 37 Il n’est pas ici question d’une exégèse détaillée des divers textes difficiles, comme c’est le cas dans les Quaestiones ad Thalassium,38 ni de la valeur dogmatique de certains passages, comme dans les Ambigua, mais il s’agit, comme son nom l’indique, d’un traité sur l’ascèse chrétienne. Les textes bibliques doivent être situés et compris dans ce cadre de la dynamique ascétique. C’est d’une façon particulière dans la troisième section du Logos, celle que nous sommes en train d’analyser, où les textes servent le propos parénétique et la conversion. Comme je vais le montrer, le fait d’introduire des textes si nombreux vise non à une élucidation dogmatique ou exégétique, mais

Ibid., 955. Kattan, 277 : « Was ist aber die Relevanz der Bibelhermeneutik des Confessors in ihrem eigenen Kontext ? . . . scheint ein Versuch zu sein, die Schriftauslegung an der Christologie fe stzubinden ». 36 Cf. Kattan, 276 : « Diese Allegorese, von der Maximus in seiner Auslegungspraxis stark Gebrauch macht, ist selber in dem Maße christologisch bedingt, als sie das Ziel verfolgt, den in dem Gemisch der historischen Gestalten und Ereignisse des wörtlichen Schriftsinnes inkarnierten Logos auftreten zu lassen und seine Fähigkeit, sich durch das schriftliche Wort auf jeden Leser anzupassen, zu illustrieren ». 37 Seulement une fois apparaît le terme Γραφή dans le traité (Asc 21, 377), étant l’Écriture plus fréquemment désigné comme λόγος ou λόγοι. Composée de l’Ancien et le Nouveau Testament (Asc 41, 913–914), en elle s’exprime le Seigneur directement (Asc 2, 34–35) ou à travers les hommes (comme Moïse, par exemple, Asc 30, 552) qui parlent au nom de Dieu (Asc 27, 472), par ses paroles (Asc 29, 539). La parole écrit (Asc 14, 17, 18, 32), s’écrie (Asc 27), se lamente et pleure sur nous, montre, ordonne (Asc 24), corrige, contredit (34) et même maudit. Elle prophétise (Asc 5, 32), parle en figure et s’accomplit en nous en vérité (Asc 39, 838–839). En outre, la parole réclame-t-elle l’écoute de la part des hommes, mais ceci ne se produit pas, comme constate le passage du Ps. 80 : 14–15 (« Si mon peuple m’avait écouté . . .) (Asc 43, 985–986), la parole de Dieu restant en nous inefficace : « Qui donc ne pleurerait pas sur notre manque de foi et l’aveuglement de notre âme? Car nous avons beau entendre tous ces avertissements, nous ne sommes pas touchés de repentir et nous ne pleurons pas amèrement notre profonde négligence et notre paresse » (Asc 29, 533–536). 38 Cf. Blowers, Exegesis and Spiritual Pedagogy. 34 35


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surtout à la transformation de celui qui écoute les textes, en le poussant à acquérir la componction, c’est-à-dire avoir son cœur transpercé. Cette ligne herméneutique peut être résumée dans le passage suivant : « Ayant donc appris de l’Ancien et du Nouveau Testament ce qu’est la crainte du Seigneur et quels sont sa bonté et son amour, convertissons-nous à lui de tout notre cœur ».39 Les textes sacrés ont été instrumentalisés dans le Logos, surtout dans sa section parénétique, pour aboutir à la conversion (ἐπιστρέψωμεν). C’est cela le sens et la fonction des textes cités par Maxime. Le Logos Asketikos se structure en quatre sections. J’ai déjà fait référence à la question sur le « but » de l’incarnation du Seigneur. La réflexion sur ce thème occupe une quatrième partie du traité en constituant sa première section.40 Comme je l’ai déjà mentionné, il est tout à fait nécessaire de connaître que le Seigneur s’est fait homme pour observer d’une manière suprême les commandements, surtout le commandement de l’amour des hommes et spécialement des ennemis. L’imitation du Seigneur dans son combat spirituel constitue la deuxième section.41 Il s’agit du combat contre les démons et les passions, et simultanément l’acquisition des vertus. À ce double égard le vieillard souligne l’importance de la νῆψις, dont la place dans la littérature monastique est si connue qu’il n’y a pas besoin d’explication ultérieure. L’analyse proposée par le vieillard montre comment cette vertu fondamentale du désert a besoin à son tour de trois autres vertus : la charité, la continence, et la prière constante. Mais à la fin du paragraphe 26, après avoir loué les saints pour posséder la charité divine, le vieillard ajoute : « Mais malheur à nous, misérables, parce que nous avons abandonné la voie des saints Pères, et nous sommes pour cela dépourvus de toute œuvre spirituelle ».42 Cela suscite la question du frère, ce qui jette les bases de toute la thématique centrale de mon étude en ouvrant en même temps la troisième section. « Père, pourquoi n’ai-je pas la componction ? ».43 Le vieillard répondra avec un très long discours sur ce sujet, en finissant avec une belle prière à la miséricorde divine. Après cela, le novice ayant acquis la componction et reconnaissant qu’il n’y a pas pour lui d’espoir de salut, il ajoute : « Mais je t’en prie, Père, dis-moi

39 40 41 42 43

Asc 41, 912–914. Asc 1–15. Asc 16–26. Asc 26, 464–466. Asc 27, 467.

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ce que je dois faire ». En réponse à cela le vieillard à son tour lance dans la quatrième section une longue exhortation à la conversion : « Faisons donc sincèrement pénitence. . . . Courons vers le ciel, où nous aurons une cité permanente ».44 Toutefois, dans cette parénèse il intègre et récapitule tout ce qu’il avait déjà exprimé auparavant au long du discours. En d’autres termes, la voie de salut se concentre dans l’amour des ennemis, ou comme il le dit lui-même : « la miséricorde de Dieu est cachée dans la miséricorde envers le prochain. . . . Tu le vois, le Seigneur nous a donné le moyen de nous sauver, et il nous a donné le pouvoir céleste de devenir fils de Dieu. Ainsi, en définitive, notre salut est au pouvoir de notre volonté ».45 Après cette introduction détaillée il est déjà temps de nous concentrer sur la troisième section du Logos Asketikos, qui constitue le centre de notre étude. Elle occupe les paragraphes 27–39 en constituant d’après son extension une troisième partie du Logos. Cette section contient un discours ininterrompu du vieillard destiné à susciter la componction. Il est encadré entre la constatation du novice qui n’a pas la componction et sa question postérieure: « dis-moi ce que je dois faire ». Le thème de la componction (κατάνυξις) occupe un lieu privilégié dans la littérature monastique primitive, byzantine et orientale en générale.46 Auprès de la kata,nuxij on découvre un vocabulaire vaste qui réfère à la même expérience fondamentale de la conscience du péché. Ici des notions comme πένθος, θρῆνος, δάκρυα, etc. sont récurrentes. La littérature monastique orientale, mais aussi occidentale, avec le don des larmes,47 la situe à la base de l’édifice spirituel. De cette façon, ici aussi, le Logos s’insère dans une longue chaîne d’œuvres, parmi lesquels se distinguent certains Apophthegmata, la Scala Paradisi de Jean Climaque, l’œuvre de Syméon le Nouveau Théologien, pour ne mentionner seulement que quelques exemples. Même dans la liturgie il y a des compositions appelés κατανυκτικά, destinées à susciter ces vertus.

Asc 45, 1018–1039. Asc 42, 971–974. 46 Cf. I. Hausherr, Penthos : la doctrine de la componction dans l’orient chrétien (Rome : Pontificium Institutum Orientalium Studiorum, 1944) et H. Hunt, Joy-Bearing Grief. Tears of Contrition in the Writings of the Early Syrian and Byzantine Fathers (Leiden/Boston: Brill, 2004). Toutefois ni Hausherr ni Hunt ne s’arrêtent sur Maxime dans ces analyses de la componction. Tandis que Hunt l’ignore complètement, Hausherr cite seulement un texte des « Alia Capita ex Vaticano » dans l’épilogue de son livre. 47 Cf. Chr. Benke, Die Gabe der Tränen. Zur Tradition und Theologie eines vergessenen Kapitels der Glaubensgeschichte (Würzburg : Echter, 2002). 44 45


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Cette section constitue un vrai traité sur la componction constitué pour la plupart de textes bibliques. Comme le dit Dalmais, « C’est une rapsodie de textes empruntés à toutes les parties de l’Écriture pour inciter à la componction ».48 Des 156 citations ou références bibliques49 au long du Logos, plus de la moitié, 80, se trouve dans notre section.50 Il est question de références et citations plus ou moins longues, organisées thématiquement, et dans ces thèmes, par auteur biblique. En outre, ces citations sont fréquemment entrecoupées par des questions rhétoriques chargées d’un profond dramatisme: « Qui, en effet, ne serait touché de componction . . . ? »,51 « Qui ne frissonnerait en entendant ces paroles ? »,52 « Qui ne serait effrayé à ces paroles ? »,53 « Qui ne tremblerait pas . . . ? »,54 « Quelle pourra être notre défense . . . ? »,55 « Qui donc ne se lamenterait de nous voir en de telles dispositions ? ».56 En plus, les textes bibliques constituent une élégie en parlant prophétiquement de nous et de notre tragédie : « Jérémie a pleuré sur nous »,57 « C’est aussi de nous que j’entends Moïse parler »,58 « Michée se lamente et dit »,59 « le psalmiste dit de même à nôtre sujet »,60 « L’Apôtre également se lamente sur nous par avance »,61 « le grand Isaïe pleure sur nous »,62 « L’Apôtre décrit lui aussi la désolation de notre âme »,63 « Le Seigneur lui-même a annoncé cette désolation de l’âme . . . »,64 « Isaïe s’écrie en nous voyant ».65 Toutes ces courtes phrases ne sont pas sans signification, mais fournissent plutôt déjà une herméneutique des passages cités. En même temps, ils construisent un rythme que parcourt et intensifie la

I.H. Dalmais, « La doctrine ascétique », 36. Les livres bibliques utilisés sont dans l’Ancien Testament : « Moïse » (Deut), « David », 1 Rois, 3 Rois, Ps., Eccles., Sir., Is., Jer., Ez., Mi., Jl., Dn. Dans le Nouveau Testament : les quatre évangiles, diverses lettres de Paul, Hb., 1 Pierre, Jac., 1 Jn. 50 Douze déjà dans le premier paragraphe. 51 Asc 27, 471. 52 Asc 27, 500. 53 Asc 28, 523. 54 Asc 29, 530–531. 55 Asc 31, 562. 56 Asc 37, 747–748. 57 Asc 31, 563. 58 Asc 31, 568. 59 Asc 31, 572. 60 Asc 31, 576. 61 Asc 32, 581–582. 62 Asc 35, 669–670. 63 Asc 35, 678–679. 64 Asc 36, 693. 65 Asc 36, 698. 48 49

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puissance des textes. De cette façon, chaque nouvelle question introduit un nouveau texte ou une série de textes en donnant comme un nouveau coup au cœur du frère. Et précisément ces coups constituent, même en un sens étymologique, la com-ponction, la κατάνυξις, qui transformera le novice progressivement. Dans le développement du discours du vieillard on peut découvrir une certaine progression dans la pensée de notre auteur. Il commence avec la centralité de la crainte de Dieu, représentée avec toute la puissance de l’imagerie vétérotestamentaire du châtiment et du jugement. Dans une deuxième étape il passe au constat du manque total de sainteté chez les hommes et avec cela l’échec de leurs projets. Cet échec est confirmé par l’abandon divin. En reconnaissant cette terrible situation, le vieillard se tourne finalement vers Dieu, en s’adressant à la miséricorde divine dans une très belle prière riche en références bibliques. La deuxième section du Logos se ferme après avoir cité 1 Cor 12,9–10, et interprété ce passage comme la joie des saints dans leur tribulations. Toutefois, avant de passer à la troisième section, centre de notre analyse, le vieillard laisse tomber une lamentation : « Mais malheur à nous, parce que nos avons abandonné la voie des saints Pères, et sommes pour cela dépourvus de toute œuvre spirituelle ». « Malheur à nous ! » Ainsi la fin du paragraphe 26 anticipe déjà le ton de la section à analyser. C’est cet οὐαὶ ἡμῖν qui motive la question du novice. En effet, celui-ci interroge le vieillard : « Père, pourquoi n’ai-je pas la componction ? »66 Il prend conscience de son inconscience. Malgré sa compréhension intellectuelle de ce que le vieillard vient de dire, le frère ne « sent » pas la componction, il n’est pas touché par elle. Le vieillard développe maintenant sa longue réponse qui prendra toute notre section, en la basant sur la crainte de Dieu. Toutes les pages suivantes rapporteront à maintes reprises toujours le même thème sous formes diverses : seul la crainte peut fournir la componction. A la manière d’un résumé, et concentrant tout ce qu’il va dire dans la suite, le vieillard explique l’absence de componction: « Parce que la crainte (φόβος) de Dieu n’est pas devant nos yeux » alors « nous méprisons la pensée du jugement redoutable (φοβερᾶς)67

66 67

Asc 27, 467. Deseille rend ici κρίσεως à tort avec « châtiment ».


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de Dieu, comme s’il s’agissait d’une idée sans conséquence ».68 L’idée principale est l’absence du φόβος, qui est une réalité qui transcende les νοήματα et qui doit être notre perspective générale. Le texte cité est emprunté à Paul : οὐκ ἔστιν φόβος θεοῦ ἀπέναντι τῶν ὀφθαλμῶν αὐτῶν, comme le vieillard le citera plus bas en son contexte.69 Comme j’ai déjà exprimé plus haut, c’est cela la réponse à la question sur la (absence de) κατάνυξις. Cependant, étant donnée son importance fondamentale dans la tradition monastique il est incontestable que la compréhension de φόβος serve comme base à tout l’édifice spirituel, en consonance avec la tradition, et même avec les autres écrits de Maxime. La pensée de la crainte de Dieu, fondation de la spiritualité du désert, bien plus qu’une simple pensée, devient le cadre et le seuil de la vie spirituelle. Notre section est traversée par la récurrence du terme φόβος. En effet, dans le même paragraphe 27 seront les citations de Jér 5 (“Moi, ne me craindrez-vous pas ? dit le Seigneur”) et 15 (« j’étais dans la crainte »). En introduisant le texte de Dan 7, le vieillard dit : « Et qui ne serait touché de componction en entendant Daniel décrire si clairement le jour du jugement redoutable ? » ; la citation de Eccl. 11 commence-t-elle avec « Crains Dieu ». Comme déjà mentionné, le vieillard ajoute ici le texte de Rom 3,16–18. Dans le contexte de la prière finale de notre section, dans le paragraphe 37, la question de la crainte reviendra encore une fois, quand le vieillard en s’adressant à Dieu l’interroge : « Pourquoi as-tu endurci nos cœurs, pour que nous ne te craignons pas ? » Si l’endurcissement du cœur cause l’absence de la crainte, retrouver cette crainte produira le transpercement (la compunctio) du cœur. C’est précisément celle-ci la thèse que le vieillard veut démontrer. Finalement, bien qu’au-dehors de la section ici analysée, mais tout en se référant a celle-ci, le vieillard la récapitule en disant : « Ayant donc appris de l’Ancien et du Nouveau Testament ce qu’est la crainte du Seigneur . . . » En d’autres termes, toute cette section n’est pas plus ( je ne suis pas sur de respecter le sens) que de la doctrine, dans le sens d’enseignement, biblique sur le φόβος Θεοῦ. Ce thème sera illustré par les motifs habituels. Tout d’abord, la référence au « jugement redoutable » apparut dans la première réponse du

68 69

Asc 27, 468–471. Asc 32, 586–587 ; cf. Rom 3,18.

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vieillard70 ainsi que dans l’introduction au texte de Dan 771 mentionnée auparavant, mais aussi dans le vocabulaire classique représenté par les termes comme « trembler »,72 « effrayer »,73 « frissonner »,74 « pleurer »,75 « se lamenter »,76 et « feu ».77 Notre section se ferme avec une pétition angoissante : « Sauve-nous, Seigneur, . . . afin que nous puissions . . . nous tenir sans tache et sans reproche devant ton trône redoutable, et obtenir alors la vie éternelle ».78 Bref, en répondant à la question du frère, la recette du maître spirituel pour acquérir la componction se manifeste dans sa simplicité : il faut réintroduire la crainte de Dieu, qui est aussi et en même temps, crainte du châtiment. En effet, immédiatement après sa réponse initiale,79 il ajoute en introduisant un texte de Deut 22 : « Qui, en effet, ne serait touché de componction (κατανύγηται) ? »80 C’est-à-dire, la crainte produit inévitablement la componction. Cela est encore intensifié par la remarque suivante : « Qui ne frissonnerait en entendant ces paroles ? ».81 La série continue et le vieillard cite maintenant dix passages effrayants de l’Ancien Testament, surtout des prophètes,82 sur le châtiment eschatologique. La plupart tourne autour des images traditionnelles, surtout du feu brûlant, qui vient à quatre reprises, comme expression de la colère divine. L’effet psychologique et spirituel de ces images est évidemment la terreur. Cette puissante description atteint son point culminant dans la très vive et longue83 description du jugement fournie par Daniel.84 On peut entrevoir que l’imagerie du feu sert aussi ici de lien entre châtiment et jugement. En représentant ce dernier le vieillard fournit un autre texte biblique : Asc 27, 471. Asc 27, 505–507. 72 Asc 29, 530–531. 73 Asc 28, 523. 74 Asc 27, 500. 75 Asc 29, 533–536 (deux fois) ; 31, 563 ; 32, 581–582 ; 35, 669–670 ; 37, 747–748. 76 Asc 31, 572 ; 37, 748. 77 Asc 27, 480.–481.484.510 (en plusieurs reprises) ; 29, 546. 78 Asc 39, 847–851. 79 Asc 27, 468–471: « Parce que la crainte de Dieu n’est pas devant nos yeux, parce que nous sommes devenus le repaire de tout mal et que, pour cette raison, nous méprisons la pensée du terrible jugement de Dieu, comme s’il s’agissait d’une idée sans conséquence. » 80 Asc 27, 471. 81 Asc 27, 500. 82 Il y a trois textes d’Isaïe, quatre de Jérémie, et un texte d’Ézéchiel. La seule exception est la double citation du chapitre 32 du Deutéronome, attribué à « Moïse ». 83 17 lignes dans l’édition critique. 84 Dan 7, 9–10.13–15. 70 71


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« Son trône était flammes de feu, aux roues de feu ardent. Un fleuve de feu coulait, issu de devant lui ». Le jugement et le juge même sont entourés par le feu. À travers trois nouveaux textes le vieillard fait à continuation référence au critère du jugement : Dieu récompense les œuvres85 et la garde des commandements.86 Dans le contexte de rétribution apparaît pour la première fois une référence au Nouveau Testament dans notre section jusqu’ici dominée par un tissu de textes vétérotestamentaires. De cette façon le discours a parcouru dans le sens contraire le processus qui mène à la récompense : châtiment—jugement—bonnes ou mauvaises actions. Dans ce contexte il est important d’attirer l’attention sur un passage de l’Ecclésiaste, utilisé dans une prise de parole, qui ferme ce livre de la Bible en synthétisant le message du vieillard : « Crains Dieu et observe ses commandements, car c’est là tout l’homme ».87 Dans une deuxième partie de la section et après cette dense concentration de passages bibliques, le discours mène à une description et une analyse de la situation de péché. Celle-ci est définie comme « être rempli de tout mal » ainsi qu’une absence absolue de justice dans la génération contemporaine, justice qui s’atteint seulement par l’observance des commandements.88 Le vieillard reproduit à cet égard plusieurs textes bibliques, en les interprétant comme prophéties d’une situation terrible. C’est Dieu qui à travers les auteurs des livres sacrés reproche ce manque de sainteté. Moïse, Michée, le psalmiste et, finalement, l’Apôtre se lamentent et pleurent tous sur nous car « il n’est plus de saints »89 ou, exprimé d’une façon semblable : « Il n’y a pas de juste »,90 « pas un juste parmi les gens ».91 Il faut souligner également que tous les passages bibliques rapportés sont systématiquement référés par le vieillard à « nous ». Ecoutonsle : « Jérémie a pleuré sur nous » ; « C’est aussi de nous que j’entends

Ps 61,12. Eccl 11,13. 87 Eccl. 12,13 : τὸν θεὸν φοβοῦ καὶ τὰς ἐντολὰς αὐτοῦ φύλασσε ὅτι τοῦτο πᾶς ὁ ἄνθρωπος. 88 Est connue l’importance immense que celles-ci ont dans la théologie spirituelle de Maxime et aussi dans le Logos Asketikos. Son observance, spécialement de l’amour pour les ennemis, constitue le σκόπος, le but de l’incarnation du Seigneur, qui revient ici encore une fois et parcourt toute notre œuvre. 89 Ps 11,2. Asc 31. 90 Rom 3,12. 91 L’absence des justes vient dans le texte de Mich 7,2 (ὅτι ἀπόλωλεν εὐλαβὴς ἀπὸ τῆς γῆς) et dans Rom 3,12 (οὐκ ἔστιν ὁ ποιῶν χρηστότητα, [οὐκ ἔστιν] ἕως ἑνός). 85 86

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Moïse parler » ; « le psalmiste dit de même à notre sujet » ; « L’Apôtre également se lamente sur nous prophétiquement ». Ils n’ont pas seulement parlé à notre sujet, mais ils l’on fait aussi à l’avance, comme le confirme le dernier texte. Un nouveau passage de Paul (2 Tim 3,1–4) approfondit encore plus cette idée : « Et voilà pourquoi il écrit encore à Timothée prévoyant les choses futures92 au sujet de notre mauvaise conduite actuelle ».93 Le texte de l’Apôtre fait référence aux « derniers jours » en dénombrant une série de vices. Le vieillard en offrira une longue glose, sous la forme des questions négatives qui commencent avec οὐ ou οὐχί πάντες, en appliquant tous ces vices à la situation contemporaine. Cette glose s’ouvre par l’exclamation : « Malheur à nous (οὐαὶ ἡμῖν),94 donc, car nous avons atteint les dernières limites du mal », et se ferme avec la forte invective de Jésus à ses adversaires : « Vous êtes du diable, votre père, et ce sont les désirs de votre père que vous voulez accomplir ».95 Le dernier texte sert de connexion avec les deux prochains paragraphes, dans lesquels le vieillard oppose ceux qui sont conduits par la mort à ceux qui sont conduits par l’Esprit de Dieu. Ceux-ci sont caractérisés par leur amour pour les ennemis, tandis que les premiers le sont par leur attitude négative au regard des commandements. En effet, « nous agissons contrairement à tous ses commandements » et « nous avons abandonné les commandements du Seigneur ».96 L’effet de cet abandon est présenté systématiquement en termes de chute et de transformation en contraires (γεγόναμεν ἀντί), une structure qui reviendra aussi plus bas. Dans la troisième partie de son discours97 le vieillard fournit, aussi ici, un nombre de passages bibliques relativement longs. Il s’agit de quatre textes d’Isaïe, trois de Paul, un de Matthieu, un autre tiré de la première épître de Jean, et finalement un autre texte de Matthieu qui reprend un passage d’Isaïe. Tous ces passages ont comme sujet l’abandon par Dieu, qui apparaît comme conséquence de l’abandon par les hommes des commandements exprimés au paragraphe antérieur. L’abandon de l’homme par Dieu, toutefois, reçoit diverses nuances et interprétations. Asc 32, 588 : προβλέπων τὰ μέλλοντα. Asc 32, 588–589. La traduction de Deseille omet ici de traduire περὶ τῆς νῦν ἡμῶν πονηρᾶς διαγωγῆς. 94 Comme à la fin du paragraphe 27. 95 Jn 8, 44. 96 Asc 34, 660–667. 97 Paragraphes 35–37b. 92 93


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Dans Is. 1,8, il sera question de la fille de Sion, mais deux autres textes (Rom 1,28–32 et Matth. 23,37) seront appliqués à l’âme. Tandis que cette interprétation est naturelle pour l’épître aux Romains, qui fait allusion aux passions, le texte de Matthieu, où Jésus pleure sur Jérusalem (« Eh bien ! Votre maison va vous être laissée déserte ! »),98 peut être interprété ainsi seulement dans une perspective tropologique et spirituelle. Finalement le passage de Is. 1,10–15 apporte la célèbre critique du culte par Dieu. Elle va se fermer avec une forte affirmation : « Quand vous étendez les mains, je détourne les yeux ».99 Le vieillard interrompt ici le texte avec une question rhétorique : « Et pourquoi cela ? ». En d’autres termes, quelle est la raison pour laquelle Dieu nous abandonne? Le discours reprend la conclusion du texte d’Isaïe : « Car vos mains, dit-il, sont pleines de sang », et l’explique en recourrant à 1 Jn 3,15 : « Quiconque hait son frère est un homicide » et finalise le paragraphe avec une phrase qui pourrait résumer tout l’enseignement du Logos Asketikos : « C’est à cause de cela que toute ascèse privée de la charité, est étrangère à Dieu ».100 De cette manière, le vieillard a repris encore une fois le thème central du commandement de l’amour pour les ennemis comme noyau de toute sa spiritualité. C’est précisément l’abandon de ce commandement capital qui amène à l’abandon par Dieu. Reprenant l’esprit du texte d’Isaïe cité auparavant, le vieillard apporte maintenant un nouveau passage, cette fois de Matthieu, qui se réfère à son tour à Isaïe : « Ce peuple m’honore des lèvres, mais leur coeur est loin de moi ».101 Cela donne l’occasion au vieillard de lancer une longue glose semblable à celle de la section antérieure.102 Aussi ici le thème est la situation contemporaine des moines, lesquels sont appelés maintenant « les hypocrites modernes ».103 La structure de cette glose est rythmée par des questions négatives qui commencent à dix reprises, ici aussi, avec Ἤ οὐχί. Ces questions glosent l’invective de Jésus contre les pharisiens dans le chapitre 23 de Matthieu.104 La dernière partie du paragraphe constitue une élégie sur notre situation tirée de Lam. 4 : « Qui donc ne se lamenterait de nous voir en de telles dispositions ? Qui ne pleurerait sur notre captivité si pénible ? A cause 98 99 100 101 102 103 104

Matth. 23, 37. Is. 1,14–15. Asc 36, 714–716. Matth. 15, 8 ; cf. Is. 29, 13. Asc 32, 596–618. Asc 37, 721. Seulement en deux occasions il est question de Luc 11.

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de cela, nous sommes comptés, nous, nobles fils de Dieu, pour des vases de terre, etc. »105 Aussi ici la structure de la chute est exprimée sous la forme de transformation, en fermant l’analyse de l’abandon par Dieu à travers le résumé suivant : « C’est à cause de cela que nous avons été livrés entre les mains d’ennemis implacables . . . parce que nous avons péché et agi indignement, transgressant les commandement du Seigneur notre Dieu ».106 Bref, c’est l’abandon des commandements qui provoque l’abandon par Dieu. Dans la dernière partie de notre section sur la componction suit une longue prière tissée elle aussi de textes bibliques magnifiques provenant surtout des Psaumes et d’Isaïe. Cette prière qui se rattache à la section antérieure en commençant par : « Mais ne nous abandonne pas pour toujours » s’appuie seulement sur la miséricorde divine et son Nom107 à cause de la situation de péché structural des hommes. « Et tu as détourné de nous ta Face et tu nous as abandonnés à cause de nos crimes. Et cependant, Seigneur, tu es notre Père, et nous, nous sommes de l’argile, tous l’ouvrage de tes mains ». Le vieillard finalise son discours en priant pour nous tenir sans tache et sans reproche devant l’autel redoutable et terrible [de Dieu] (τῷ φοβερῷ καὶ φρικτῷ σου βήματι).108 Le Logos Asketikos est d’une certaine perspective une méditation biblique prolongée. Tissu de citations bibliques abondantes tirées d’un grand nombre des livres de l’Ecriture, il constitue, dans la section analysée dans la présente étude, presque une catena,109 où les passages cités in extenso forment le cœur du traité. Une première lecture de ce texte pourrait mener à voir en Maxime un compilateur,110 lequel aurait rassemblé thématiquement une grande quantité de textes, dans notre cas sur la componction et la crainte de Dieu, en ajoutant seulement de brèves phrases introductives aux textes, de concises questions rhétoriques et des gloses plus ou moins longues. Toutefois, un regard plus attentif découvre une intention et un propos forts clairs dans la sélection des passages bibliques comme on en trouve ailleurs dans le travail éditorial de Maxime. Il ne s’agit pas d’une simple juxtaposition de textes et allusions bibliques, même si parfois la coordination n’est pas réussie d’une Asc 37, 747–750. Asc 37, 760–764. 107 Six fois apparaît le terme ὄνομα dans cette prière. 108 Asc 39, 850–851. 109 Il reste encore à éclairer si Maxime a fait usage des testimonia existants sur divers sujets. Il me semble, cependant, que ce n’est pas le cas. 110 Cf. Kattan, 278. 105 106


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manière parfaite. Le Logos nous met face à un dialogue, presque un monologue, où il est question d’exhorter à la conversion et d’une façon spéciale, à la componction. Le discours tourne autour du sujet de la crainte de Dieu vis-à-vis du péché de l’homme et l’abandon conséquent par Dieu, tout ceci avec des nuances différentiées. Cet objectif en tête, le Confesseur emprunte des textes surtout aux prophètes et à l’Apôtre. Dans le premier cas, il reprend les terribles images vétérotestamentaires du jugement assorties d’invectives qui appellent à la conversion. A l’égard de Paul, ce sera principalement sa réflexion sur la situation du péché dans toute son universalité et sa profondeur qui sera retenue. Les livres sacrés sont pourtant examinés sous l’angle de la crainte. Mais Maxime amplifie encore plus la force des textes scripturaires avec les questions rhétoriques qu’il pose ; questions qui rythment le discours en ajoutant un profond dramatisme à une situation de plus en plus désespérée. Avec ses gloses il vise à concrétiser et actualiser le message de la parole de Dieu dans le hic et nunc de son interlocuteur. Cela arrive de manière particulière en deux reprises, quand le texte biblique est interprété en référence directe aux moines contemporains. La sélection des textes et l’insistance de la part du Confesseur sur le « nous » à qui s’adresse l’Ecriture fait de la lecture de la Bible une vraie lectio divina, dans laquelle l’interlocuteur-lecteur se découvre impliqué dans les événements bibliques, le vrai destinataire de la parole de Dieu. Dès cette perspective, le Logos montre bien une herméneutique très claire. La Parole de Dieu est une parole vive, qu’il faut écouter, puisque la seule audition ne porte pas de fruits, comme c’est le cas à l’égard des moines mentionnés. Le drame du péché se condense ainsi dans le texte suivant : « Si mon peuple m’avait écouté—dit il—, si Israël avait marché dans mes voies, en un instant j’aurais humilié ses ennemis, et j’aurais fait peser ma main sur ses oppresseurs ».111 En outre, dans la dernière partie de notre section, la longue prière adressée à Dieu, on peut trouver un autre but dans les références bibliques. Ici les textes, provenant presque exclusivement des Psaumes et d’Isaïe, sont insérés dans la prière, en nous enseignant que l’Écriture doit informer et constituer l’âme de la prière chrétienne.112

Ps. 80,14–15. Asc 43, 985–986. Sur la prière, cf. Asc 24–25. Il s’agit ici spécifiquement de la prière ininterrompue. 111 112

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Bref, dans la section katanyktique du Logos Asketikos, le texte biblique, dans toute son actualité souligné par l’amplification et la contextualisation de son sens fourni par Maxime même, est utilisé dans le but de la conversion et de la componction. Et le discours biblique du vieillard atteignit son but. Après avoir entendu tous ces paroles et profondément touché de componction (κατανυγείς), le frère, en larmes, dit au vieillard: D’après ce que je vois, Père, il ne me reste plus d’espoir de salut ! Car mes iniquités me dépassent la tête. Mais je t’en prie, Père, dis-moi ce que je dois faire.113

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Asc 40, 852–856.

WHAT MAKES EXEGESIS EITHER CHRISTIAN OR JEWISH?

Herbert W. Basser How should we approach this question?1 I doubt if there is any point in calling exegesis done by Jews “Jewish exegesis,” and exegesis done by Christians “Christian exegesis.” Categorizing Christian and Jewish exegesis in this way tells us nothing. What needs to be done is to show how the religious traditions of the respective exegetes determine the direction and themes of the exegetical work they have done. In what follows I shall attempt, however tentatively, to explore, if not to define, on a broad scale the genres of Jewish and Christian biblical exegesis in Antiquity and the Middle Ages.2 I shall also attempt to determine what, if anything, is significant in the differences in the exegesis written by Jewish and Christian exegetes during these periods. Above all I shall attempt to show how the religious traditions of the respective exegetes determined the direction and themes of the exegetical work they did during these periods. To do such work involves a certain amount of harmonizing generalizations from extrapolated sources. Before I begin, however, I shall state for the purposes of this paper both what I understand the task of the true biblical exegete to be and what, in terms of his religious beliefs, distinguishes the Jewish from the Christian exegete. The primary task of the true biblical exegete is to try to makes sense of what appear to be deviations in the text. For the true exegete asserts that, within plausible and acceptable modes of argumentation, there are

1 I thank the SSHRC granting agency for their support of this project, and Mr. David Malone who spent many hours revising this paper. 2 I dwell here only on the Western exegetical traditions of Judaism and Christianity. I have found much helpful material in the following works, especially in their comprehensive bibliographies. Much of the information on the early Church Fathers and their approach to Jewish Scriptures comes from H. Hailpern, Rashi and the Christian Scholars (Pittsburgh: University of Pittsburgh Press, 1963), Ch. Merchavia, The Church Versus Talmudic and Midrashic Literature, 500–1248 [in Hebrew] ( Jerusalem, Bialik, 1970), and S. Kamin, Jews and Christians Interpret the Bible ( Jerusalem, Magnes Press, 1991). M. Hirshman, trans., Batya Stein, SUNY series in Judaica: Hermeneutics, Mysticism, and Religion (Albany: SUNY Press, 1966).

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in fact no deviations in the text. It is only that an adjustment of some sort is needed to make sense of what appears not to fit. Emendation, the refuge of the duller critical scholar, is of no use to the true exegete. The received text is as it should be. I understand that a Jewish exegete is one who espouses ideals of 1) monotheism, 2) future messianic redemption and, 3) the resurrection of the faithful Jews (and civilized non-Jews) at the end of time and the eternal validity of God’s written and oral law as practiced by his community. This exegete trusts that the teachings of the Sages in his holy traditions are God’s will. He sees himself as belonging to a history that has been told by faithful Jews for countless generations before him. And I understand that a Christian exegete is one who believes in the Trinity and in the salvation of sin by faith in the death and resurrection of Jesus, and also in the truth of the Gospels and the Old Law and the prophets. This exegete sees himself as belonging to a story long told but whose meaning was not revealed until the Easter event. It is this event which shines light on all ancient prophecies. Josephus, a Jew who wrote in the latter part of the first century, makes known in his work how generally the Jews interpreted the meaning of the Bible in his time: reward and punishment were meted out by God according to one’s degree of obedience to his word.3 This is no surprise as it is in line with the biblical theology of the Torah and the prophets. According to this theology, sinners are warned of punishment but if they repent and act righteously they will be redeemed. The keys to achieving God’s favour are found in knowledge of Torah, good works, and the keeping of his festivals and commands. Some texts of the Jewish Sages claim that even if there were to be personal and/or national failures grace is always open to the Jews by virtue of their being descended from the biblical patriarchs and the original covenant community.4 To some extent this theology, developed from that of the prophets, came to form part of the backbone of Christian biblical exegesis. But of course in Christian exegesis there was a profound difference. Christian exegetes replaced the centrality Ant. 1:14 (Proem). S. Schechter, “The Zachuth of the Fathers: Imputed Righteousness and Imputed Sin,” Some Aspects of Rabbinic Theology (New York, 1909), 170–98, remains the best survey of rabbinic material on the topic of zekhut avot. See also A. Marmorstein, The Doctrine of Merits in Old Rabbinic Literature (London, 1920). Among recent scholars, see E.E. Urbach, The Sages ( Jerusalem, 1975) 15:7, pp. 483–511; R. Kasher, “Miracles, Faith and Merit of the Fathers,” [Hebrew] JSJT 5 (1986), 15–23. 3 4

what makes exegesis either christian or jewish?

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of Torah knowledge with faith in Christ Jesus as Son of God whose death and resurrection redeemed the whole world. For them the love of God extended to all who embraced Jesus, while the Jews who continued to hold to their traditions and beliefs were thought to be blind and without hope. Christians who embraced Jesus, and who thought of themselves as redeemed thereby, also thought of themselves as the true heirs of the patriarchs. The originator of this manner of interpretation in the West was Paul. So while Jewish exegetes were bent on showing that the Hebrew Bible was a witness to true blessedness—a blessedness which derived from obedience to God’s commandments and moral injunctions—Christian exegetes were more concerned with finding in it precursors of Jesus’ sonship and messiahship, prefigures of the persons of the Trinity, foreshadowing Jesus’ resurrection and, most importantly, intimations of the incarnation. In order to show how, as a result of the respective religious traditions of the Jewish and Christian exegetes, Jewish and Christian exegesis differed concerning a specific text from the Hebrew Bible during this period of late Antiquity and the early Middle Ages, we turn to the biblical story of Jonah and to the way certain of these exegetes interpreted it. Some Jewish exegetes found that the book of Jonah adhered to those midrashim which claim that since the Ninevites, who had no ancestral merit, could be saved,5 then it was not possible that God could ever abandon his own beloved people.6 A more dominant thrust in the Jewish interpretation of Jonah, especially in the Middle Ages—with such figures as Saadiah Gaon (Iraq, c. 933),7 Rashi (France, c. 1070), David Kimhi (Provence, c. 1200), Don Isaac Abravanel (Spain, c. 1480) being a part of this thrust—understood that Jonah exemplified the role of the prophet of doom. Now in his commentary to Ezek 33:1, Jerome 5 In general, “saving” refers to God’s active participation in human affairs (often individual) in response to human initiative, while “salvation” denotes God’s complete rescue and redeeming of the people (usually the nation) without any human physical initiative. 6 See the references in U. Simon, Jonah ( JPS Bible Commentary; Philadelphia, PA: Jewish Publication Society, 1999). On the other hand, Y. Sanhed 11:5 makes the point that God will punish Israel severely because they did not repent and the Ninevites did. The Syriac Christian, Ephraem, cites this very understanding against the Jews—“the shame of the Jews.” 7 Book of Beliefs and Opinions 3,5 (Yale Judaica Series; New Haven: Yale University Press 1948).

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understood Jonah in this way too. According to him, Jonah learns the nature of what it is to be a true prophet, which is to foretell punishment so that it can be made unnecessary. However, besides understanding that Jonah fulfils the role of the prophet of doom, Jerome also found him to be a Christ figure.8 He points to the theme of resurrection in Jonah of which Jesus speaks in Matt 12:40–1 and 16:4 (cf. Luke 11:29–32), and also to an ancient tradition claiming that Jonah was the son of the widow of Zarephath who was resuscitated by the prophet Elijah (1 Kings 17). The second oration of St. Gregory of Nazianzus (104–10) anticipates Jerome. According to him, the prophet knew that salvation for the pagans would mean the fall of Israel; this, and not the literal escaping of the divine presence, was the motive behind his flight. The Christian ideology in his commentary is clear: while Israel declines the Gentile Church rises. Moreover, in this oration St. Gregory tells us that in order to escape the future, Jonah throws himself into a sea of sadness, in which he is swallowed by a whale and, as a protoChristian, rises up out of it on the third day with Christ. The obvious point here is that in their exegesis Christian exegetes were bound by a Christological framework. 1. Method How do the methods of the Jewish and Christian exegetes differ, if at all? Vigorous exegetical activity is found in the works produced by the Jews in the Second Temple period, including the Greek and Aramaic translations of the Bible, the Dead Sea Scrolls, and the writings of Philo and Josephus. These works show us that the Jews often interpreted the biblical text on several levels. Indeed, Philo understood that the biblical text could have both a literal and spiritual level of meaning,9 and Josephus understood that within the text there were things written explicitly, things written figuratively, and things written allusively.10 These Comm. in Jonah, Prol., PL XXV, 118. Cf. Pseudo-Epiphanius (De Vitis Prophetarum, xvi, PL XLIII, 407). 9 E.g., in Abraham 88, Abraham is noted to have both a physical trip and a soul journey. 10 See Ant. 1:24 [ Proem]; likely traceable to the three methods of interpretation alluded to in Neh 8:8 (LXX). The implication is that the exegete needs to discover the particular level of discourse in the Bible and then focus his thoughts within that level. Greek students of Homer who exposed hidden meanings in the text referred to this act as hyponoia. The act of constructing a bridge to help the reader move words from 8


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works also show us that during this period the Jews used allegory as a method of interpretation. Early Christian exegetes also used allegory as a method of interpretation, especially when the literal sense of the text proved embarrassing to Christian doctrine. It became standard following Paul’s hermeneutic ploy in the interpretation of the Bible for Christian exegetes to claim that the meaning of the allegory of the Law was now the revelation to the Church. Paul spoke of how the mind of Christ in the Church made known spiritual realities to those who were in possession of the spirit (1 Cor 2:13–16). It is not surprising then that Origen, in his commentary to Numbers, in which he interprets the text allegorically, makes the point of showing how the Church possessed the true meaning of Scriptures. Origen understood that the Scriptures contained a literal meaning but that this level of meaning was only the beginning point of interpretation. He also believed that there were profounder moral and spiritual levels of meaning in the text.11 Let us briefly look at how he interpreted Num 12:1–9. Here is the text: [12:1] And Miriam and Aaron spoke against Moses because of the Cushite woman whom he had married; for he had married a Cushite woman. [2] And they said: ‘Has the Lord indeed spoken only with Moses? Has He not spoken also with us?’12 And the Lord heard it. [3] Now the man Moses was very meek, above all the men that were upon the face of the earth. [4] And the Lord spoke suddenly unto Moses, and unto Aaron, and unto Miriam: ‘Come out you three unto the tent of meeting.’ And they three came out. [5] And the Lord came down in a pillar of cloud, and stood at the door of the Tent, and called Aaron and Miriam; and they both came forth. [6] And He said: ‘Hear now My words: if there be a prophet among you, I the Lord do make Myself known unto him in a vision, I do speak with him in a dream. [7] My servant Moses is not so; he is trusted in all My house; [8] with him do I speak mouth to mouth, even manifestly, and not in dark speeches; and the similitude of the Lord does he behold; wherefore then were you not afraid to speak against My servant, against Moses?’ [9] And the anger of the Lord was kindled against them; and He departed.

the obscurity of darkness into the light of full meaning is what I understand exegesis to be. It is a kind of creative engineering and requires precise skills. 11 See his sixth and seventh homilies in his Commentary to the Book of Numbers. 12 All commentators are bothered by the apparent lack of coherence in the first two verses of this chapter and set out to solve the problem. Origen ingeniously turns things upside down by claiming that allegory is the plain and direct revealed meaning.

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According to Origen, in this text Moses represents the true Church and the Cushite woman who was Moses’ wife represents the Gentile nations; Miriam stands for the Jews while Aaron stands for the Israelite priesthood. Moses (i.e., the Church) “beholds” the message of God clearly because this message has been given to him (to the Church) “mouth to mouth.” That is, the Church understands the Scriptures in the true way because it has received direct communication from God, and not by way of “dark speeches,” which, according to Origen, is how the Jewish prophets have received communication from God. For Origen, the real meaning of this text is the spiritual meaning, which he brings out by way of allegory. His religious presuppositions guide his exegesis. Not just Origen, but also the other early Christian exegetes were heirs to Pauline hermeneutics; they were heirs to the philosophic schools of exegesis which flourished in Alexandria. Moreover, they inherited Palestinian ideas of midrash. In fact Ginzberg13 and Kraus14 have noted that midrashic themes appear in the works of the Church Fathers many times. All of these appearances are attributed to Jewish informants and they all appear in the works of the Fathers before they appeared in written Jewish texts. The interpretative activity of Augustine and Jerome produced two different manners of approach—text as inspirational philosophy, and text as words and story—which lasted throughout the Middle Ages. Augustine, who understood that the text had historical, etiological, analogical or mystical, and allegorical levels of meaning, was more disposed to the theological and inspirational messages he found in it. Jerome, who along with Origen understood that the biblical text had a literal, a moral, and a spiritual level of meaning, was more disposed to the philological and historical frameworks of criticism and broke new ground by preferring the Hebrew text and seeking out the Jewish understandings of the text.15

13 See the notes to vols. 5 and 6 of his Legends of the Jews (trans. H. Szold and P. Radin; Philadelphia, 1909–1938; rep. Baltimore/London, 1998; with an index [vol. 7] by B. Cohen), and in particular Die Haggada bei den Kirchenvätern und in der apokryphischen

Litteratur, in Monatsschrift, 1898, xlii. et seq., and reprinted, Berlin, 1900.

14 “Church Fathers,” Jewish Encyclopedia (1906) 4.82. See also idem, “The Jews in the Works of the Church Fathers,” JQR 6 o.s. (1894), 233–58, and M. Hirshman, “The Greek Fathers and the Aggada on Ecclesiastes,” HUCA 59 (1988), 137–65. 15 I cannot resist noting that it seems almost a truism that those Christians who learned from the Jews were also those who were most hostile towards them. Origen called the Jews enemies of Christ, while it was Paul who showed the Church the true


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The plain textual approach in Jewish commentary, which also can include the philological and historical approaches, is evident from the tenth century, beginning with Saadiah and then later with Abraham ibn Ezra. We also note that Rabbi Isaac Alfasi, from the eleventh century, rejected the writing down of such non-traditional interpretation as this.16 In Northern France, Joseph Kara, Rashi and Rashbam followed in the footsteps of the more literal-minded Spanish grammarians. In the twelfth century, Northern French- and German-Jewish scholars abandoned allegory as a method of interpretation altogether. In his book, Fashioning Jewish Identity in Medieval Western Christendom, Robert Chazon suggests that during this period some Jewish exegetes used purely literal methods of interpretation in order to compete against the Christians who had come to use these more literal methods of interpretation too. However, since we do not have many earlier commentaries from the Jewish communities during this period, so that we cannot see now why this essentially polemical interpretive approach might not have appeared earlier, Chazon’s speculation remains uncertain. What is certain is that by the thirteenth century Jewish commentary was varied. The four-fold exegesis of Bachya, the contrast of peshuto shel miqra17 and midrash aggadah18 in Rashi, the focus of the grammarians on language instead of plot or moral, the writings of the mystical and philosophical schools—all of these interpretive methods sought for centre stage in the Jewish world that was now being torn apart by the Crusades and the Inquisition. Something that surprises during the period of the Middle Ages is that the early accounts of the Jews and/or Christians that were told of them by the members of the other community continued to get retold. That is, neither community ever took the time to acquire much knowledge about the contemporary thought of the other. In his “Counter-History and Jewish Polemics against Christianity: The Sefer Toldot Yeshu and the

meaning of the Law. In the fourth century, Chrysostom, Ephraem and Jerome—“I am the bitter enemy of the circumcised”—used Jewish traditions known to midrash to calumniate the Jews. If Jesus is the risen Christ, they claimed, then the Jews do wrong in adhering to their laws. They are blind to Christ because they are evil. In line with this manner of thinking, Augustine saw the Jews as blind men holding the light of the Law, which allows the Christians to see their way along the right path. 16 See his Halakhot, Sanhedrin 11:1. 17 Interpreting each word within its contextual narrative. 18 Traditional lore often ignoring the context in order to make some theological point.

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Sefer Zerubavel,”19 David Beale refers to Amos Funkenstein’s suggestion that during this period the Jews and the Christians inverted each other’s biblical narratives.20 That is, they each deliberately distorted the content of the other’s narratives to show that what appeared positive in each was in fact nothing short of diabolical. In doing so they attempted to distort each other’s self-identity and collective memory. In relation to this, it is of interest to note that in his commentary to Sanhed 98a Rashi can say of Isa 53:3–4—“He was despised, and forsaken of men, a man of pains, and acquainted with disease, and as one from whom men hide their face: he was despised, and we esteemed him not. Surely our diseases he did bear, and our pains he carried”—that it refers to a suffering Messiah; but in his biblical commentary to the same text he says that it refers to the people of Israel as a whole. That is, while in the Talmudic commentary in which he speaks of the text Rashi makes it clear that the Messiah was still suffering long after the first century had passed and so could not refer to Jesus, in his biblical commentary he rejects the identification of the figure in the text with the Messiah. It is possible that Rashi wanted to use his Talmudic commentary to Sanhed 98 (which mentions a Messiah with wounds) to subvert the Christian interpretation of this text from Isaiah, which was that the figure spoken of in it referred to Jesus. Even though one perhaps can say that Iranaeus was influenced by Midrash, Jerome by the Targumim, de Lyra by Rashi, and Aquinas by

Jewish Social Studies n.s. 6 (1999), 130–45. De Lyra adopts Aquinas’ understanding of the meaning of the Jewish ceremonial law of Sabbath as it is spelled out in the Hebrew Scriptures. These two Christian thinkers determined an allegorical meaning for other Christians. According to them Sabbath rest prescribed for Jews prefigured the post-Easter Christian knowledge of the resurrection. The Sabbath laws of the Jews, they said, referred to the body of Jesus lying at rest in the tomb on the Sabbath before the resurrection. As I say, De Lyra accepts this notion and tells us this that method is within the scope of Paul’s understanding of the Law (1 Cor. 10:11). We now know this method was also in line with Pesher typologies found in the Qumran scrolls. In these typologies biblical references are identified with contemporary religious history. Aquinas and de Lyra pesherize: What the Israelites of old did by resting on the Sabbath was in fact a foreshadowing of that singular event in history when Jesus’ body lay at rest in the tomb on the Sabbath before his resurrection and ascension. Christians now celebrate the Ascension Day as the Lord’s Day, which is the fulfillment of the biblical Sabbath. For both Aquinas and de Lyra there was nothing intrinsically evil in resting on the Sabbath but if one were to do it intending thereby to fulfill the biblical command then one’s soul would be damned. If one kept the Sabbath as a command, they seem to suggest, one denied the story of the resurrection and showed a lack of faith in the central Christian doctrine. 19 20


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Maimonides, it is also the case that almost all early Christian commentators thought contemporary Jews were and remained very much as they were depicted in the New Testament. Of course Origen and Jerome had close contact with Jewish scholars but later Christian exegetes borrowed either from them or from others and wrote about the Jews as if they knew about them when in fact they did not. Much of the reason for this had to do with certain rules set out in the Justinian Code 146 (533), which among other things prohibited Jews from preaching in the public synagogue and allowed them to hear a plain reading of the Scriptures only, that is, a reading without commentary. The Code also prohibited what the Fathers called Deuterosis, which seems to have included midrash, halakhah, sermons and all translations of the Bible except for LXX or the Vulgate. Another effect of the Justinian Code was that it gave rise to the belief among Christians that the Jews were guilty of deicide and that their works not only vilified them but also spread the most fantastic tales concerning their Scriptures. As a result of the anti-Jewish sentiment that swept Christendom beginning in the early Middle Ages, which was not only directed towards the people but also towards their writings (by 681, Jewish books were being confiscated),21 we find scholars such as John of Damascus from the eighth century acquiring his knowledge of Jewish traditions from the fourth century figure Epiphanius, who knew of the Jewish groups of the first century or so. In complete ignorance of the Jews of his time John was able to state that the Jews were divided into eight different groups.22 From the eighth century, too, Bede, who might be considered the last of the Christian commentators to write in the style of the Church 21 I have used Merchavia for the information in the following paragraphs dealing with Christian interpreters of the Bible. 22 1) Scribes, who were experts in scriptural law and believed in the resurrection of the body in the end of days; 2) Deuterotoi, who were reciters of the traditions of the Ancestors and whose laws are not from Moses; 3) Pharisoi, who were oriented towards purity; who fasted and lived simply and prayed unceasingly; who believed in angels and the eternity of the soul; who wore long wool shawls with fringes and donned phylacteries with straps of crimson; 4) Sadducees, who denied resurrection and did not believe in angels or the soul; 5) Morning Bathers, who advocated daily ablutions to bring one to eternity; 6) Essenes, who were impudent (in additions to the Writings of Moses, they added their own later writings and rejected most of prophets); 7) Nasoreans, who forswore the eating any living thing and rejected the practice of sacrifices; who extolled the holy men from Abraham to Joshua and denied that Moses wrote the Scriptures (they had other writings they claimed were divine); 8) Herodians, who believed Herod was the Messiah but otherwise were Pharisees.

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Fathers, also relied on information about the Jews from the earlier Church Fathers, so that he too described the Jews in much the same way that John of Damascus did. In his work from the ninth century Rabanus Maurus quotes certain Jews as if he knew them personally, but the information contained in these quotes is taken from Jerome and Pseudo-Jerome (i.e., from the fourth century). Nevertheless Rabanus knew the Talmudic traditions ascribing various biblical books to specific authors. He also knew the midrashic traditions on Hebrew letters that circulated among Christian commentators. Also from the ninth century we have the commentaries of Angelomus, which are midrashic in form and connect in part with authentic rabbinic sources. In sum, with few exceptions, Christian commentators from the seventh century onward knew almost nothing about the beliefs and practices of the Jews. Any contact between Jews and Christians during this time seems to have been limited to literary works only. Except for the Victorines, the Christians had nothing to do with Jewish legal notions and ridiculed the methods of the Jews.23 Even de Lyra, who was well acquainted with Jewish writings, had contempt for the Jews because they adhered to the Old Law.24 Nonetheless many Christian commentators inherited Jewish methods of interpretation and even actual Jewish traditions bearing on names and numbers mentioned in various texts of the Hebrew Bible, but at the same time had no knowledge of the source from which these traditions came. These Jewish traditions, combined also with unwritten Christian traditions, passed down through Church teaching to form the backbone of much of Christian biblical interpretation. Before we draw any conclusions concerning the differences found in Jewish and Christian biblical exegesis in late antiquity and the Middle Ages, let us sharpen our view of it by looking once again at what it was that separated the Jewish from the Christian biblical exegete as it was revealed in the exegesis each did. Because it became a formative model for Christian exegesis, I turn first to Paul’s Epistle to the Romans. Paul begins by referring both to Jews who believe in Christ, i.e., baptized Jews, and to Greeks who believe in Christ.

23 See the study by B. Smalley, The Study of the Bible in the Middle Ages (Oxford: Blackwell, 1952). 24 As evidenced in his tract “De Messia Ejusque Adventu Præterito.”


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[1:16] For I am not ashamed of the gospel of Christ: for it is the power of God unto salvation to every one that believes; to the Jew first, and also to the Greek. [17] For therein is the righteousness of God revealed from belief to belief: as it is written, ‘The just shall live by belief ’ (Hab 2:4).

Then in what follows, especially in Romans 4, Paul attempts to explain why God will extend righteousness, or credit, to both the Jews and the Greeks, credit that will be extended to them on account of Abraham’s belief that, as God promised, he would have descendants (Gen 15:4–5). Romans 4 is written in the style of a sermon in the “Hebrew idiom.” In it Paul uses an extended proof-texted argument to counter the Jewish claim that only the Jews are to be recipients of God’s promise of credit, or righteousness, to Abraham (Gen 15:6). According to Paul, the promise has actually been fulfilled by means of the resurrection of Jesus, in which likewise the Jews must believe if they are to be saved. Paul bases his argument here on the rabbinic doctrine of zekhut avot, that is, the doctrine of the “merit of the fathers,” which states that the descendants of a pious ancestor will inherit the right to the credit given him by God. In Romans 4, Paul argues that both Jews and nonJews are to be recipients of the credit God promised to Abraham. Proof of this for Paul is the fact that God gave this promise of credit to Abraham before he gave to him any laws. But only the Jews have committed transgressions against the law—only they were to adhere to the law—and so it was for them that Jesus died. Abraham’s merit is to be given freely to the Gentiles but it must be earned by the Jews. The Jews are to earn this merit by believing that Jesus’ death atones for their transgressions. They need to believe this in order to undo their misdeeds—the occasions when they broke the Law—and so free themselves from God’s “wrath.” The Gentiles need to believe this in order to confirm that they are indeed children of Abraham.25 In verses 14–17a, we read: [4:14] For if those who adhere to the law are the heirs, belief is null and the promise is void. [15] For the law produces wrath; but where there is no law, neither is there violation. [16] For this reason, it depends on belief, so that it may be a gift, and the promise may be guaranteed to all

25 Paul’s goal is to show the promise of eternal credit given to Abraham for the sake of his children accrues somewhat differently to Gentiles than to Jews. Indeed, in Gal 3:7 the Gentile Christians are said to be the true children of Abraham.

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herbert w. basser his descendants, not to those who only adhere to the law but to those26 who follow the faith of Abraham, who is the father of all of us, [17] as it is written, “I have made you father of many nations . . .” (Gen 17:5).

Paul sees the “nations” as being the heirs of Abraham, which God promised that he would have. Paul ignores Genesis 17:8, in which God promised to give the Land of Canaan to these heirs. Here is the full text from Genesis 17: [17:1] When Abram was ninety-nine years old, the Lord appeared to him and said, “I am God Almighty; walk before me and be blameless. [2] I will confirm my covenant between me and you and will greatly increase your numbers.” [3] Abram fell facedown, and God said to him, [4] “As for me, this is my covenant with you: You will be the father of many nations. [5] No longer will you be called Abram; your name will be Abraham, for I have made you a father of many nations. [6] I will make you very fruitful; I will make nations of you, and kings will come from you. [7] I will establish my covenant as an everlasting covenant between me and you and your descendants after you for the generations to come, to be your God and the God of your descendants after you. [8] The whole land of Canaan, where you are now an alien, I will give as an everlasting possession to you and your descendants after you; and I will be their God.” [9] Then God said to Abraham, “As for you, you must keep my covenant, you and your descendants after you for the generations to come. [10] This is my covenant with you and your descendants after you, the covenant you are to keep: Every male among you shall be circumcised. [11] You are to undergo circumcision, and it will be the sign of the covenant between me and you. [12] For the generations to come every male among you who is eight days old must be circumcised, including those born in your household or bought with money from a foreigner—those who are not your offspring. [13] Whether born in your household or bought with your money, they must be circumcised. My covenant in your flesh is to be an everlasting covenant. [14] Any uncircumcised male, who has not been circumcised in the flesh, will be cut off from his people; he has broken my covenant.”

Having removed Gen 17:5 from its context—the covenant of circumcision—Paul now turns to Gen 15:5 and places Gen 17:5 alongside it, transforming its meaning:27

I.e., Gentile believers in Paul’s doctrines. Justin Martyr tried to explain that the Gentiles were the true Israel. The rite of circumcision was a sign of separation indicating that the Jews should suffer and their land be made desolate. This was their curse, since they had slain the Just One, cursing in their synagogues those who believe on Christ (Trypho 16:2–4). 26 27


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[4:17b] . . . He [Abraham] is our father in the sight of God, in whom he believed, who gives life to the dead and calls into being what does not exist. He believed, hoping against hope, that he would become “father of many nations” (Gen. 17:5), according to what was said, “Thus shall your descendants be” (Gen. 15:5).

The phrase “who calls into being” reflects a standard rabbinic characteristic of God (e.g., Tosefta Baba Kama 7:10). Paul also says of God that he has the power to resurrect. No Pharisee would have objected to this description. Then in 4:23–24 Paul uses these characteristics of God to make his point. Because Abraham believed he would have a son he therefore believed in resurrection (rejuvenation of his own body), and so those who believe in Jesus’ resurrection are righteous like Abraham. We read: [4:19] He did not weaken in belief when he considered his own body as (already) dead (for he was almost a hundred years old), and the dead womb of Sarah. [20] He did not doubt God’s promise by unbelief; rather, he was empowered by belief and gave glory to God [21] and was fully convinced that what he had promised he was also able to do. [22] That is why “it was credited to him as righteousness.” [23] But it was not for him alone that it was written that “it was credited to him”; [24a] it was also for us, to whom it will be credited. . . .

The “descendants” referred to in Gen 15:5 are those that “shall come out of [Abraham’s] bowels” (15:4). Following, we read: [Gen 15:5] And He brought him forth abroad, and said: “Look now toward heaven, and count the stars, if you be able to count them;” and He said unto him: “Thus shall your descendants be.” [6] And he believed in the Lord; and He counted it to him for righteousness.

The discussion between God and Abraham in Genesis 15 concerns Abraham’s direct descendants, that is, those who are related to him by blood. But Paul has arranged the texts in such a way that he can interpret God’s words to Abraham “father of many nations” (17:5) to mean, or to include also, descendants of Abraham who are not related to him by blood. And so the credit that was given to Abraham will indeed be given to his descendants, but his descendants, according to Paul, are not only Jews but also non-Jews. Abraham and his listeners are now identified as believers in the God who promised resurrection to Abraham (from impotence) and Jesus (from real death). As Romans 4:25 states,

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herbert w. basser . . . who believe in the one who raised Jesus our Lord from the dead, who was handed over for our transgressions and was raised for our justification.

Now we too, Paul says, are children of Abraham, if we believe in the promise—the promise that is fulfilled in the Jesus story. The doctrine of zekhut avot is interpreted here in such a way that it ceases to be a doctrine that pertains only to the Jews. Implicit in Paul’s interpretation of these texts from Genesis in Romans 4 is the idea of Israel’s collective guilt and impending punishment, a punishment that can only be averted if the people of Israel come to believe in the resurrection of Jesus. With such a belief, life eternal will be granted to them. The nations need not atone for sins for which they were not forewarned in the Law not to commit. Their belief in the resurrection brings them the life eternal that was promised to Abraham. Paul’s words have proven formative for Christian doctrine and exegesis ever since. Abraham’s credit easily extends life eternal to the nations who are baptized in Christ, whereas Jesus had to undergo crucifixion to atone for the sins of the Jews. So in a way Jews are responsible for the necessity of the crucifixion. If they refuse this gift they have no hope.28 2. The Jewish Look at Zekhut Avot We now look at several Jewish sources that discuss righteousness and credit and how it was that certain Jewish exegetes interpreted these sources.29 In Rabbinic literature there are various interpretations of zekhut avot. Several interpretations understand that the promised credit came with an expiry date which has long since past (b Shab. 55a, y Sanhed 10:1). Another suggests that through prayer and deeds of kindness one is still able to invoke this credit (Lev. Rabba 36:6). The “Eighteen Benedictions,” the prayer of all Jews today, which was first recited in antiquity, states that God recalls the mercies of the fathers and brings

28 Cf. N.T. Wright, “Romans,” The New Interpreter’s Bible (Nashville: Abingdon, 2002). 29 Note Rashi’s comment to Gen 15:6—“And he counted it to him for righteousness.” Rashi understands zedaka (righteousness) to mean both personal credit and righteousness. God rewarded Abraham “because of the faith with which he believed in Him.” This verse does not act as the source of the doctrine of zekhut avot for Rashi.


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redemption to their descendents for the sake of his name with love. To those who invoke his name in prayer God recalls the faithfulness of the patriarchs and therefore extends his love to their descendents. Another Rabbinic text, Gen. R. 60:2, parses Prov 17:2 as follows: A servant that dealeth wisely—refers to Eliezer who bound himself to Abraham—was likened with a son that brings shame to others—refers to Isaac whose submission at the Aqeda shamed the faith of idolators, and [likened] to be among brothers [with whom] he will share a part of the inheritance—refers to Israel. Just as these [descendents] invoked the merit of the fathers—Eliezer had likewise invoked it. “And he said: ‘O Lord, the God of my master Abraham, [send me, I pray Thee, good speed this day,] and show kindness unto my master Abraham’” (Gen. 24:12). This is the absolute beginning point of the process [of such merit.]

Israel is the recipient of divine grace and because of this its people were redeemed from Egypt. Y Ta’anit 1:1 cites a passage mentioning five reasons why Israel was not only redeemed from Egypt but would also continue to be redeemed. Along with the merit of the forefathers, grace and mercy are also mentioned. In the following text, credit is equivalent to righteousness. Credit is the very mercy that God shows Israel by giving the Law and the commandments to her people. Needless to say, concerning this, Paul and the Rabbis are in complete opposition. R. Hanania ben Aqashia said: “The Holy One, blessed be He, was pleased to give credit to Israel, therefore he multiplied unto them Law and precepts, as it is written (Is. 42:21): ‘The Lord willed to do this for the sake of his righteousness; therefore he magnifies the law and makes it honorable.’” (b. Makkot 23b)

There appears to be no hint here of the doctrine of zekhut avot. Yet the exegesis is so fragmentary that it is possible that this doctrine is at play here. Although somewhat fragmentary as well, the following text does refer to the doctrine of zekhut avot. Rabban Gamaliel the son of Rabbi Judah the Patriarch said: “And all who labour in concert with the community, let their labour be for the sake of heaven, for it is the credit of their [the community’s] fathers that sustains them, and their [fathers’] righteousness endures forever. . . .” (Mishnah Avot, Chapter 2, Mishna 2)

The phrase “righteousness endures forever” may indicate an ancient tradition that zekhut avot is eternal—that is, that what is accounted for righteousness or credit lasts forever—and that it did indeed begin with

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Abraham. The origin of this text appears to be to Ps 106:30–31—“Then stood up Phineas, and wrought judgment, and so the plague was stayed. And that was counted unto him for righteousness, unto all generations for ever.” Rabban Gamaliel takes the idea of the righteousness, which is accounted only to Phineas or Abraham, and extends it to their descendants forever. The credit and righteousness of the fathers combine here and act as a sustaining force for their descendants. But what happens if the credit of patriarchal grace were to run out? According to the Rabbis, prayer and grace are always operative. Gen 6:7 tells us that God repented of his creation and that his intention now was to blot out all living creatures from the face of the earth. But then one reads in Gen 6:8: “And Noah found grace in the eyes of God.” Gen Rabba 29:1 interprets the text in this way: “And even Noah who survived them was not worthy to live. He was spared because he ‘found grace in the eyes of God’.” This theology of grace is based on Ex 33:19: And He said: “I will make all My goodness pass before thee, and will proclaim the name of the Lord before thee; and I will be gracious to whom I will be gracious, and will show mercy on whom I will show mercy.”

B Rosh Hashannah 17b interprets the verse: God wrapped himself in a shawl as a cantor and taught Moses the proper rite of prayer. He told him, “Whenever Israel sins they shall perform for me this rite and I will forgive them”.

Rashi reworks these ancient sources to tell us what transpired on the Rock on which Moses stood desiring to see God’s Glory. Concerning Ex 33:1, Rashi remarks: The time has come for you to see my Glory as much as I can permit you to see for I am pleased to instruct you in the manner of effective prayer. Whenever you prayed for Israel you mentioned the credit of the fathers. Should you think that this credit has expired with no further hope available, I shall now recite before you all the mechanisms of grace upon the Rock while you are sheltered in the cave. I shall call out the divine name [of forgiveness] for you to show you the manner of seeking mercy even if the process of merit of the patriarchs has ended. And in the manner you see me wrapped in a shawl and reciting the thirteen attributes [of mercy] you shall teach Israel to do likewise. And as they recite before me: “merciful and gracious etc” they shall be answered for my mercy does not end.


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3. Conclusion In sum, it can be said that there was much in common in the methods, language and style of the Jewish and Christian exegetes during the periods of Late Antiquity and the Middle Ages. At times both Jewish and Christian exegetes read the biblical texts on at least several levels; at times they both interpreted the texts allegorically; at times they both sought the plain meaning of the texts. Yet however similar were the methods and styles and language that the Jewish and Christian exegetes used in the exegesis they did during these periods, as a result of the very different religious traditions to which they each belonged the content of the exegesis they each did was very different. Whereas the Jewish exegete approached the biblical texts with the history of the eternal love of God for the Jews and the Jewish love for God uppermost in his mind, the Christian exegete approached the biblical texts with the figure of Christ uppermost in his mind. The exegesis the Jewish and Christian exegetes did makes this clear. It is also clear that the exegesis these interpreters did was for the benefit of their respective religious communities only. That is, with some exceptions, there was almost no reaching out from the one community to the other, so that each community for the most part remained ignorant of the genuine traditions of the other. As a result of this ongoing state of mutual ignorance between the communities there was also an ongoing tension between them, which was often revealed in the exegesis that came out of each of these communities. During Late Antiquity and the Middle Ages the Jewish and Christian exegetes used exegesis as a way of defending their faith communities by highlighting the very different central truths of their faiths in the exegesis they did.

AUGUSTINE AND THE ETHICS OF READING THE BIBLE Pamela Bright The Ethics of Reading The volume, Le Temps de la lecture: exégèse biblique et sémiotique,1 is evidence of the increasing attention, in the fields of contemporary exegesis and semiotics, to the dynamics of the “reception” of the text. In his introduction to the volume, Louis Panier claims that this awareness of the pivotal nature of reception is fairly recent in interpretative circles: “Historical criticism has perceived that texts are anchored in history, not only upstream in time, but also downstream, not only by their past ‘production,’ but also subsequently by their reading and their ‘reception’.”2 Reception appropriates texts and transforms them: “Read, re-read, interpreted, the biblical text generates other texts. Interpreting means writing another text, which appropriates the older one, transforms it and keeps it in its own focus.”3 The dynamics of “reception” not only includes the discernment of the impact of reader response, such as the hermeneutics of suspicion, but also takes into consideration the impact of what J. Hillis Miller calls “the ethics of reading.”4 Writing from the perspective of the intercommunication between text and reader, Miller observes: “[As a reader] I still stand before the law of the ethics of reading, subject to it, compelled by it, persuaded of its existence and sovereignty by what happens to me when I read. What happens is the experience of an ‘I must’.”5

1 Le Temps de la lecture: exégèse biblique et sémiotique. Recueil d’hommages pour Jean Delorme (ed. L. Panier; LD 155; Paris: Cerf, 1993). 2 L. Panier, “Introduction,” Le Temps de la Lecture: Exégèse biblique et sémiotique. Recueil d’hommages pour Jean Delorme (ed. L. Panier; LD 155; Paris: Cerf, 1993), 13 (my translation). 3 Ibid. 4 The spelling, “Millar,” used by J.T.K. Lim (see note 5, below), is inconsistent with the spelling of this author’s name ( Joseph Hillis Miller) as used elsewhere. ‘Miller’ has been used in references here. 5 Reproduced by J.T.K. Lim, A Strategy for Reading Biblical Texts (StudBL 29; New York: Peter Lang, 2002), 121. See also J. Hillis Miller, The Ethics of Reading (New York: Columbia University Press, 1987), 127.

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In the section of the volume, Le Temps de la lecture, devoted to the reception of the text, Daniel Marguerat’s contribution is entitled “L’Évangile de Jean et son lecteur.”6 Marguerat finds support for his own response to the question of who John’s reader might be, by calling on a formula of Jean Delorme: “the text opens itself up to its future readers.”7 Marguerat confirms the openness of the text by pointing to the presence of these “future readers” in the mind of the author in the very act of writing the Gospel: “Now Jesus did many other signs in the presence of his disciples which are not written in this book. But these are written so that you may come to believe that Jesus is the Messiah and that through believing you may have life in his name.”8 In analyzing “this interconnective play between author and reader,” Marguerat is drawn to ask what kind of reader is implicitly required by the text. He explores this interaction in the context of what he calls the “rules of hospitality”—the intricate interplay of giving and receiving in the social art of writing and reading a text. The “attitude” of the reader’s reception of a text is also broached in another recent study, A Strategy for Reading Biblical Texts.9 The chapter begins with a telling quotation from Alice in Wonderland: “‘Would you tell me which way I ought to go from here?’ ‘That depends a good deal on where you want to go to,’ said the cat ‘I don’t much care where,’ said Alice ‘Then it doesn’t matter which way you go’ said the cat.”10 Lim analyzes this lack of engagement in the context of gauging the “attitude of the reader.” In establishing exegetical priorities—synchronic/diachronic, text/event, source language/cognate—he includes the notion of reading as “performance.” The act of reading a text calls for an “attitude” of responsibility, receptivity and reflectivity.11 At all times the text is paramount. According to Werner G. Jeanrond, the law of the text “consists of instructions to be followed by the reader

6 D. Marguerat, “L’Évangile de Jean et son lecteur,” Le Temps de la lecture: exégèse biblique et sémiotique. Recueil d’hommages pour Jean Delorme (ed. L. Panier; LD 155; Paris: Cerf, 1993), 305–24. 7 Marguerat, “L’Évangile de Jean,” 305, 323–4. 8 John 20:30–31; Marguerat, “L’Evangile de Jean,” 308. 9 Lim, Strategy for Reading Biblical Texts, 115–21. 10 Lim, Strategy for Reading Biblical Texts, 115; Lewis Carroll, Alice in Wonderland (Mineola, NY: Dover, 1962), 87. 11 Lim, Strategy for Reading Biblical Texts, 117–20.

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and open spaces to be filled in by the reader.”12 Lim calls attention to Sean McEvenue’s argument about reciprocity in interpretation: “a reader will understand a text in so far as he correctly identifies the thing (subject matter, object etc.) about which the text speaks, and successfully negotiates a reciprocal illumination of the thing by the text, and of the text by the thing.”13 Augustine and Text-Reader Response In this paper I would like to draw attention to a possible contribution of Augustine of Hippo to the contemporary analysis of text-reader response. Contemporary scholars in the field of semiotics can trace their intellectual lineage back to the philosophical discussions concerning the theory of signs in classical antiquity. Augustine himself, in his elaborate argumentation concerning the importance of the understanding of the theory of “signs” in Books II and III in De doctrina Christiana (hereafter: DDC ),14 was heir to almost a millennium of philosophical theorizing on this issue. In the judgement of Robert Markus, “Augustine’s discussion of signs was the first to merit the name ‘semiotics’, its originality consisting in its success in rounding off the achievement of classical antiquity in a new synthesis.”15 For Markus, this Augustinian synthesis can be found in the attention Augustine gives to author-intentionality and reader-response in the interpretative process: “A thing is a sign for Augustine, precisely in so far as it stands for something to someone.” While Aristotle had argued that “anything which involves in its being, the being of something else either at the same time, or before, or later, is a sign of that thing or event,”16 and while Plotinus in the Enneads had categorized speech as a “meaningful action,”17 Augustine includes in

12 Ibid., 121; See also Werner G. Jeanrond, “Biblical Interpretation as Appropriation of Texts,” The Message of the Text (ed. W. Harington; PIBA 6; Dublin: Irish Biblical Association, 1982), 11. 13 Lim, Strategy for Reading Biblical Texts, 121. See also S. McEvenue, Interpretation and Bible: Essays on Truth in Literature (Collegeville, MN: The Liturgical Press, 1994), 49. 14 Augustine of Hippo, De doctrina Christiana (ed. and tr. R.P.H. Green; Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1993). 15 See P. Bright, “St. Augustine,” in Christian Theologies of Scripture: A Comparative Introduction (ed. J.S. Holcomb; New York: New York University Press, 2006), 47. 16 Bright, “St. Augustine,” 47. 17 Ibid.

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his own analysis a very precise focus on the intentionality of the writer in respect to the response of the reader. In Book XI of the Confessions, in the context of the exegetical problems posed by the first chapter of Genesis, Augustine is focused on discovering the meaning in the mind of Moses, the presumed author of the text: “He is not face to face with me now. If he were, then I would take hold of him and ask him and in your name implore him to open these mysteries to me. I would bend my bodily ears to the sounds that broke from his mouth.”18 He expressed similar sentiments in De doctrina Christiana: “The person examining the divine utterances must of course do his best to arrive at the intention of the writer through whom the Holy Spirit produced that part of scripture; he may reach that meaning or carve out from the words another meaning which does not run counter to faith.”19 His harshest criticism is directed at the exegetes who prefer to impose their own opinion on the text, without taking into account authorial intention: “because they are proud, and without having grasped Moses’ idea they are infatuated with their own.”20 In Book 12 of the Confessions, Augustine continues to insist upon the social dynamics of interpretation. He not only repudiates the idea of holding to one’s own opinion above that of the author of the text, but claims that the very process of interpretation is communal by nature. For Augustine, reader-responsiveness not only includes responsiveness to the text, and the authorial intention of the text, but also includes a social dimension of responsiveness to the reading of others who encounter the same biblical text.21 Thus, Augustine introduces an ever-widening parameter in text-reader response, analogous to the exercise of responsibility, receptivity and reflectivity elaborated by Lim and implied in Miller’s “ethics of reading.”22

18 St. Augustine: The Confessions 11.3.5. (intr. and tr. M. Boulding; ed. J.E. Rotelle; New York: New City Press, 1997), 287–8. 19 DDC 3.38, Green, 169. 20 Conf. 12.25.34, Boulding, 333. 21 “One possible safeguard against total arbitrariness in the appropriation of the text is to call upon the community of readers” ( Jeanrond, “Biblical Interpretation,” 12–13). 22 Lim, Strategy for Reading Biblical Texts, 117–21.


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Augustine and the Transformative Dynamics of Reading With over forty years devoted to “preaching the Word and administering the sacrament to God’s people,”23 Augustine has left an enormous legacy of scriptural commentary in many different genres. He has written works of exegetical theory which remain classics,24 as well as hundreds of sermons, letters, theological treatises, all infused with his magisterial, and at the same time, highly personalized, exposition of the biblical text. However, in the midst of all this wealth of material, there is a small jewel set in the first great work of his early episcopate, De doctrina Christiana in which one can grasp facets of an extraordinary insight into an original and finely polished notion about the transformative dynamics of reading the biblical text. In just eight short paragraphs, Book II 16–23, in reference to Isa 11:2–3, Augustine draws a parallel between the phases of the reader-reception of scripture and the “steps” in the spiritual life, that is, a life increasingly illumined by the gifts of the Spirit. Just as there is a gradation in the ascent to Wisdom, so too, there is a stage-by-stage maturing in the reception of the biblical text. Augustine is well aware of the importance of the motivation of the reader. In the opening lines of the Preface of De doctrina Christiana he announces: There are certain rules ( praeceptae) for those interpreting the scriptures which, as I am well aware, can usefully be passed on to those with an appetite for such study to make it possible for them to progress not just reading the work of others who have illumined the obscurities of divine literature, but also by finding illumination for themselves.25

This motivation is intensified when the reader directs himself or herself to the commandment of love: So when someone has learned that the aim of the commandment is “love from a pure heart, and a good conscience and genuine faith,” he will be ready to relate every interpretation of the holy scripture to

Conf. 11.2.2; Boulding, 285. See De doctrina Christiana: A Classic of Western Culture (ed. D.W.H. Arnold and P. Bright; Notre Dame, IN: University of Notre Dame Press, 1995). 25 My emphasis, DDC Preface 1.1, Green p. 3. At this point R.P.H. Green, in his editing and translation of the text of the De doctrina Christiana, argues for ipsi (for themselves) as the preferred reading, rather than aliis “to others,” a reading found in many editions, but in very few manuscripts. Note 1, p. 2. 23

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pamela bright these three things and may approach the handling of these books with confidence.26

While the very process of reading is enhanced by the increasing confidence and eagerness of the reader, Augustine is also aware of the scale of the difficulties of the biblical text. While deeply appreciative of the labours of generations of translators,27 Augustine reminds his readers of the shadow side of coping with diversity of languages of the biblical text. The myriad of human languages recalls the “sin of human disunity . . . sourced in pride”28 and calls the readers to an awareness of their own vulnerability (“the many serious disorders of the human will”).29 He insists that, in spite of the complexities and obscurities of the text, there is a kind of simplicity and directness conducive to reading the Bible: “The aim of its readers is simply to find out the thoughts and wishes of those by whom it was written down and, through them, the will of God, which we believe these men [the biblical authors] followed as they spoke.”30 Thus, Augustine has prepared his readers, by his careful insistence of the importance of motivation and receptivity, for his reflection on the stages of the reading process, based on the listing of the gifts of the Spirit in Isa 11:2–3. Reversing the order of spiritual gifts in Isa 11:2–3,31 Augustine describes the “seven steps” or graduated phases that the reader will pass through in entering the world of the biblical text: dei timoris, “the fear of the Lord”; pietas, “holiness”;32 scientia, knowledge;33 fortitude, fortitude; concilium misericordiae, “the resolve of compassion”;34 purgat oculorum cordis, “cleansing of the eye of the heart”;35 and sapientia, wisdom.36 Although Augustine himself explains that while his focus on Book II is on the third step, scientia (his exposition of the precepts for interpreting the biblical texts), the acquiring and the exercising of these exegetical tools are set within a much broader context—the encounter between the DDC I, 95. Green, 53. DDC Book I, Green, 61, 83, 87, 89; Book III, Green, 133. 28 Gen 11:1–9; DDC II, 8, Green, 61. 29 DDC II, 9, Green, 61. 30 DDC II, 9, Green, 61. 31 “The fear of the Lord is the beginning of wisdom”, Psalm 110:10 (Ps 111:10), DDC II, 23, Green, 67; II.10, Green, 64. 32 DDC II.11, Green, 64. 33 DDC II.11, Green, 64. 34 DDC II.11, Green, 64. 35 DDC II.11, Green, 66. 36 DDC II.11, Green, 66. 26 27


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reader and the text. This encounter is transformative by nature. It is a journey in which more than the discovery of the text is at stake. It is a journey of self-discovery and self-transcendence. In short, it is an ascent to Wisdom. It is worth quoting from the text of Book II, 16–23 at some length to appreciate Augustine’s description of the steps that lie before the reader as he or she prepares to encounter the biblical texts. In the first two steps, Augustine begins with the inner motivation of the reader and the need for an attitude of responsiveness to the text: It is therefore necessary above all else to be moved by the fear of God dei timore towards learning his will: what is it that he instructs us to seek or avoid. This fear will necessarily inspire reflection about our mortality and future death, and by nailing our flesh to the wood of the cross as it were crucify all our presumptuous impulses. After that it is necessary, through holiness pietate, to become docile, and not to contradict holy scripture—whether we understand it (as when it hits at some of our vices) or fail to understand it (as when we feel that we could by ourselves find better knowledge or give better instruction)—but rather ponder and believe that what is written there, even if obscure, is better and truer than any insights that we may gain by our own efforts.37

Augustine then turns to the third stage, knowledge, scientia. He will return to this step immediately after concluding his reflections on the seven steps,38 and, in the rest of Book II and in Book III will lay out such a vast panorama of areas of knowledge and specialized skills that some commentators of De doctrina Christiana claim that his intention in composing this work was to outline a whole system of Christian education.39 However, in his treatment of the phase of “knowledge” within the commentary of the seven steps in Book II, sections 16–23, Augustine directs his readers’ attention back to his earlier insistence that the “knowledge” central to the Bible is the double commandment of love. This third step, scientia, “is the area in which every student of the divine scriptures exerts himself, and what he will find in them is quite simply that he must love God for himself, and his neighbour for God’s sake, and that he must love God with his whole heart, his whole soul, and his whole mind, and his neighbour as himself (Mt 22:37–39

37 38 39

DDC II.16, 17, Green, 63, 65. DDC II.24, Green, 67. Arnold and Bright, ed., De doctrina Christiana: A Classic, Preface xiii–xv.

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(I have dealt with these two commandments in the previous book, in my discussion of things).”40 Before turning to the fourth stage, fortitude, Augustine recapitulates the interactive play between reader and text in the first three stages: It is vital that the reader first learns from the scriptures that he is entangled in a love of this present age, of temporal things, that is, and is far from loving God and his neighbour to the extent that scripture prescribes. It is at this point that the fear that makes him ponder the judgement of God and the holiness that makes it impossible for him not to admit and submit to the authority of the holy books, compel him to deplore his own condition. For this knowledge makes the person with good reason to hope not boastful but remorseful; in this state he obtains by constant prayer the encouragement of divine assistance, so that he is not crushed by despair. And so he begins to be at the fourth stage—that of fortitude—which brings a hunger and thirst after righteousness (Mt 5:6). In this state he extricates himself from all the fatal charms of transient things; turning away from these, he turns to the love of external things, namely the unchangeable unity which is the Trinity.41

The transformative dynamic, imaged by Augustine as a graduated ascent to Wisdom, leads to an ever-intensifying responsiveness to the text. This responsiveness spills over into an ethics of active social consciousness which Augustine terms “the counsel of compassion” concilium misericordiae: When he holds this light (as far as he is able to), shining as it does even in remote places, and realizes that because of the weakness of his vision he cannot bear its brilliance, he is at the fifth stage—that is in the resolve of compassion—and purifies his mind, which is somehow turbulent and feuding with itself because of the impurities accumulated by its desire of what is inferior. Here he strenuously occupies himself with the love of his neighbour and becomes perfect in it.42

In the context of his allegory of the days of creation in Confessions Book XIII, written around the same period of his early episcopacy, Augustine explores the notion of “compassion,” misericordia, in commenting on the “dry land” of day three where “the soil of our souls grows fertile in works of mercy”

40 DDC II.19, Green, 65. Theory of signs Book I. See also R.A. Markus, “Signs, Communications and Communities in Augustine’s De doctrina Christiana,” in De Doctrina Christiana: A Classic, 97–108. 41 DDC II.19, Green, 65. 42 DDC II.21, Green, 65.


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. . . we fructify in love of our neighbour by assisting them in their bodily needs, for having seeds of similar kind within ourselves we learn compassion from our own weakness. So we are impelled to succour the needy in the way we would wish to be relieved ourselves if we were in the same distress. This means not only the easy provision that could be likened to seed-bearing grass; we may also be called upon to supply the stout, oaklike protection of a fruit-bearing tree, which in its benign strength can lift an injured person clear of the grasp of a powerful oppressor, and furnish protective shade by the unshakeable firmness of just judgement.43

With the focus of the “fifth step” in his reflection on the “counsel of compassion,” Augustine gives the reader a reminder of the broad horizon he envisages for the process of reading the biblical text. There is the creative receptivity between text and reader that is consonant with “the rules of hospitality” in the “social art” of writing and reading a text, as suggested by Daniel Marguerat.44 Throughout his reflection on Isaiah 11, Augustine does not refer to exegetic methods like allegory or typology in his reflection on the phases experienced in a life-long reading of the biblical texts. However, it is clear that for Augustine, the “actualizing” of the text, that is, the application of the reading to the day-to-day realities of life, was an integral part of the reading, indeed the heart of the process of “reception” of scripture. In concluding his section on “Spiritual Exegesis” in the Handbook of Patristic Exegesis, Charles Kannengiesser writes: This kind of theological “actualizing” found in the allegorical vision of reality, the appropriate means for universalizing the biblical message. Thereby the exegetes opened a space, without limits of time and space, other than the confines of God’s redeemed universe. With an explicit affirmation about the actual truth of any biblical affirmation as its scope, and a cultural ability to express that truth through the multi-faceted mirror of significant analogies, the “spiritual sense” was for early Christian interpreters more than just a rhetorical strategy, it was their proper approach to the divine mystery contained in the sacred words of scripture. This is way common to all of them, beyond their different languages and cultures, or their local school traditions, Greek or Syriac or Latin alike, reaching fame in second century Roman Africa, or in sixth century Constantinople, was the shared “spiritual sense,” at once rooted in scripture itself, and in a millennium-old trend of poetic imagination.45

43 44 45

Gen 1:9–13, Conf. XIII.17.21, Boulding, 356. Marguerat, “L’Évangile de Jean,” 305, 323–4. Charles Kannengiesser, Handbook of Patristic Exegesis (Leiden: Brill, 2004) 1:209.

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The world of reading creates and encourages contemplative “spaces” for the reader’s imagination; it is at once a contemplative world and a world charged with energy and engagement. This is well suggested in Augustine’s treatment of the fifth and sixth step. While the fifth step invites a constant compassionate engagement with societal needs, the sixth step, infused with a contemplative “single-mindedness,”46 “so that he [the reader] will not be deflected from the truth either by an eagerness to please men, or by the thought of avoiding any of the troubles which beset him in this life. Such a son ascends to wisdom, which is the seventh and last stage, enjoyed by those who are calm and peaceful. ‘The fear of the Lord is the beginning of wisdom’: these are the stages by which we progress from the one to the other.”47 Conclusion Augustine’s graduated phases of text-reader interaction are in many ways in harmony with the observations about the “laws of the ethics of reading” advanced by Lim and by Miller. The experience of an “I must,”48 in response to the reading of the biblical text is not one of oppression, but of considered response. In that sense, it may be argued that Augustine is proposing a hermeneutics of assent—of considered assent! Text and reader are bound together in a kind of transformative mutuality. For Marguerat,49 the “social art” of writing and reading a text calls for exercise of the “rules of hospitality.” I suggest that these “rules of hospitality” allow for an interchange of roles between text and reader—sometimes as guest and sometimes as host. In this context, the “ethics of reading” the biblical text is at once, rigorous in its demands, and gracious in its execution.

46 47 48 49

DDC II. 23, Green, 67. DDC II. 23, Green, 67. Miller, quoted by Lim, Strategy for Reading Biblical Texts, 121. Marguerat, “L’Évangile de Jean,” 305, 323–4.

APPEALS TO JESUS AS THE ONE ‘WHO HEALS EVERY ILLNESS AND EVERY INFIRMITY’ (MATT 4:23, 9:35) IN AMULETS IN LATE ANTIQUITY Theodore de Bruyn One of the intriguing aspects of the study of Christianity in late antiquity—a period extending, roughly, from the third to the seventh centuries—is the process whereby Christian narratives, beliefs, and norms emerge and develop in the discourse and the practices of the population.1 The process is characterized by a fascinating diversity. Whether one considers the elaboration of Christian liturgies, the disquisitions about salvation, the formation of asceticism, the veneration of saints, or some other area of Christian expression, one is confronted by more than one path through a tangle of growth, some paths more heavily trodden than others. The study of the reception and interpretation of scripture by Christians in late antiquity is no exception. As one can see from the territory charted in Charles Kannengiesser’s Handbook of Patristic Exegesis and in the specificity of the studies presented here in his honour, there are many ways to explore the appropriation of scripture by early Christians. My own point of departure is the reception of a phrase from the gospel attributed to Matthew in Greek papyrus amulets in the fifth and sixth centuries. Over half a dozen amulets incorporate in some way or other Matthew’s statement that Jesus went about “healing every illness and every infirmity” (Matt 4:23, 9:35, cf. Matt 10:1). This is a significant number of attestations. Other accounts of healings by Jesus are taken

1 Research for this paper was supported by a grant from the Social Sciences and Humanities Research Council of Canada and by a release from teaching from the Faculty of Arts of the University of Ottawa. I gratefully acknowledge this assistance. A version of the paper was presented at a meeting of the Ottawa Early Christianity Group, convened by Professor J. Kevin Coyle. My thanks to the participants for their comments and for bringing literature to my attention. For the abbreviations used in this paper for papyri, ostraca, and tablets published in collections of edited texts, consult the Checklist of Greek, Latin, Demotic and Coptic Papyri, Ostraca and Tablets (ed. J.F. Oates, et al.), at http://scriptorium.lib.duke.edu/papyrus/texts/clist.html, December, 2005. The titles of editions of Christian literature are given only when the edition does not appear in a series.

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up in Greek amulets, but none is so widely cited as the passage from Matthew.2 How can we situate the appropriation of this particular passage—Matt 4:23/9:35—for this specific practice—the preparation and application of amulets for healing and protection—within the broader field of the reception and interpretation of scripture? This is the subject of this paper. We begin with a review of the amulets under consideration. A few amulets simply quote Matt 4:23. P.Oxy. VIII 1077,3 a sixth-century amulet written in uncials, quotes Matt 4:23–24 almost in full. The verses are prefaced with the title “Curative gospel according to Matthew,” and are inscribed in the shape of a series of small crosses in five columns, surrounding the head and torso of a human figure in the centre of the middle column, presumably representative of the person to be healed. P.Berl. inv. 6096,4 dated to the sixth century or later, consists of a sequence of biblical quotations (Ps 90:1, John 1:1–2, Matt 1:1, Mark 1:1, Luke 1:1, Ps 117:6–7, Ps 17:2, Matt 4:23), several of which are commonly cited in amulets.5 Matt 4:23 concludes the sequence. It

P.Oxy. VIII 1151 alludes to the healing of the paralytic by the pool at the Sheep Gate ( John 5:2–9) as well as to Matt 4:23/9:35. P.Turner 49 recalls the healing of Peter’s mother-in-law (Matt 8:14–15) as well as Matt 4:23/9:35. PSI inv. 365 recollects the raising of Lazarus ( John 10:40–11:44), the healing of Peter’s mother-in-law, and healings not mentioned in the canonical gospels. P.Louvre E 7332 bis refers to Jesus stilling the storm (Matt 8:26–27), while P.Berl. 11858 recounts the story of Jesus rescuing Peter from the sea (Matt 14:28–31). I discuss the use of these and other narratives in amulets in “Apocryphal and Canonical Christian Narratives in Greek Papyri Amulets in Late Antiquity,” in Christian Apocryphal Texts for the New Millennium: Achievements, Prospects, and Challenges (ed. P. Piovanelli; SBLSS; Leiden: Brill), forthcoming. 3 The Oxyrhynchus Papyri (vol. 8; ed. A.S. Hunt; London: Egypt Exploration Fund, 1911), 10–11; PGM 2.211 [P 4]; C. Wessely, Les plus anciens monuments du christianisme écrits sur papyrus, II, PO 18.3, 341–509 at 413–15; M. Meyer and R. Smith, ed., Ancient Christian Magic: Coptic Texts of Ritual Power (San Francisco: HarperCollins, 1994), 33. 4 F. Krebs, NAWGött 4 (1892), 118–19, no. 4; Altchristliche Texte (ed. C. Schmidt and W. Schubart; BKT 6; Berlin: Weidmannsche Buchhandlung, 1910), 129–30; Wessely, Les plus anciens monuments II, 412–13; Meyer and Smith, Ancient Christian Magic, 34–5. 5 A number of Greek papyrus amulets comprise or include a series of biblical passages, typically the opening verses of Psalm 90, the incipits of the gospels, and the Lord’s Prayer. See BGU III 954 (see n. 20 below); P.Cair. 10696 (Catalogue général des antiquités égyptiennes du Musée du Caire: Nos. 10001–10869. Greek Papyri. [ed. B.P. Grenfell and A.S. Hunt; 1903; rpt. Amsterdam: Adolf M. Hakkert, 1972], 85; PGM 2.213–14 [P 5c]); P.Duke inv. 778 (C.A. La’da and A. Papathomas, “A Greek Papyrus Amulet from the Duke Collection with Biblical Excerpts,” BASP 41 [2004], 93–113); P.Osl. inv. 1644 (L. Amundsen, “Christian Papyri from the Oslo Collection,” SO 24 [1945], 141–4) with P.Schøyen I 16 (Papyri Graecae Schøyen [P.Schøyen I] [ed. R. Pintaudi; Papyrologica Florentina 35; Florence: Edizioni Gonnelli, 2005], 55–56; PSI VI 719 (Papiri greci e latini [ed. G. Vitelli and M. Norsa; Publicazioni della Società Italiana per la ricerca dei papiri greci e latini in Egitto 6; Florence: Enrico Ariani, 1920], 151–2; PGM 2

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is followed by a request and an acclamation, “† The body and blood of Christ, spare your servant who wears this amulet. Amen. Alleluia. † α † ω †.” Several amulets incorporate the phrase “who heals every illness and every infirmity” as a clausal historiola to describe the one who is being invoked as healer.6 In P.Oxy. VIII 1151,7 a fifth-century amulet written in a literary hand, Christ is invoked to heal a certain Joannia from fever and evil: “O Lord, † Christ, Son and Word of the living God, who heals every illness and every infirmity,8 also heal and watch over your handmaid Joannia whom Anastasia, also called Euphemia, bore, and chase away and put to flight from her every fever and every sort of chill—quotidian, tertian, quartan—and every evil.”9 In another amulet, P.Turner 49,10 the request for healing is preceded by several expressions of belief, including a short creed and the statement that “[We believe,] Jesus, that you were healing then every infirmity of the people and every illness.”11 The amulet is written in a small cursive hand,12 and is thought to date from the late fifth or early sixth century.13 In a third

2.227–28 [P 19]); P.Vindob.G. 348 (R.W. Daniel, “A Christian Amulet on Papyrus,” VC 37 [1983], 400–4). 6 Historiolae are short narratives that recite an aspect or an action of a deity. In his study of historiolae in amulets, David Frankfurter has argued that historiolae, iconographic vignettes, and scriptural quotations are all forms of performative utterances that convey power from a mythic realm to a human present. Frankfurter distinguishes between narratives that are recited independently—historiolae proper—and narratives that form the preamble to an ensuing request—clausal historiolae. The former are, seemingly, efficacious simply by virtue of their inscription or recitation; the latter tie the mythic event to the present need: “just as then you did such-and-such, so now do such-andsuch.” See D. Frankfuter, “Narrating Power: The Theory and Practice of the Magical historiola in Ritual Spells,” Ancient Magic and Ritual Power (ed. M. Meyer and P. Mirecki; ÉPRO 129; Leiden: Brill, 1995), 464–5. 7 Oxyrhynchus Papyri, 8.251–3; PGM 2.212–13 [P 5b]; Meyer and Smith, Ancient Christian Magic, 40–1. 8

ὁ ἰαϲάμενοϲ πᾶϲαν νόϲον καὶ πᾶϲαν μαλακίαν.

Meyer and Smith, Ancient Christian Magic, 40, slightly modified. W. Brashear, “Vier berliner Zaubertexte,” ZPE 17 (1975): 31–3; idem, “Christian Amulet,” in Papyri: Greek and Egyptian (ed. P.J. Parsons, et al.; London: Egypt Exploration Society, 1981), 192–3; R.W. Daniel and F. Maltomini, ed., Supplementum magicum (2 vols.; Opladen: Westdeutscher Verlag, 1991–1992), 1.86–9; G. Ioannidou, ed., Catalogue of Greek and Latin Literary Papyri in Berlin (P. Berol. inv. 21101–21299, 21911) (BKT 9; Mainz: Philipp von Zabern, 1996), 134. 11 ἐθεράπευεϲ τότε πᾶϲαν μαλακίαν τοῦ λαοῦ κ(αὶ) πᾶϲαν νόϲον, in Daniel and Maltomini, Supplementum magicum, 1.87. 12 Brashear, “Vier berliner Zaubertexte,” 31. 13 Brashear, “Christian Amulet,” 192; Daniel and Maltomini, Supplementum magicum, 1.86. 9

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example, P.Coll.Youtie II 91,14 we have a fragment of a formulary (a recipe for an amulet) that alludes to Matt 4:23/9:35: “. . . by him who created [heaven and earth.] You who healed every illness [and every infirmity,]15 Jesus Christ, heal the man or [woman] who wears [this amulet] . . . and soul and body and spirit . . . from every evil. . . .”16 The fragment is written in a hand characteristic of a scribe accustomed to copying biblical and liturgical texts, dated, like the previous example, to the late fifth or sixth centuries.17 And in a last example of this type, P.Köln inv. 2283,18 we have a small amulet consisting simply of the acclamation, “One God who heals every illness.”19 Finally, a few amulets allude to Matt 4:23/9:35 in formulating the request for healing. BGU III 954,20 a sixth-century amulet written in a careful uncial, opens with the following request: “† O Lord God almighty, Father of our Lord and Savior [ Jesus Christ], and St. Serenus: I, Silvanus, son of Sarapion, pray and bow [my] head before you, and ask and beseech that you drive out of me, your servant, the demon of witchcraft and the one of wickedness and the one of enmity, and take from me every illness and every infirmity,21 that I may be healthy and

14 O. Montevecchi, “Amuleto cristiano,” Collectanea papyrologica. Texts Published in Honor of H.C. Youtie (Part Two Numbers 66–126) (ed. A.E. Hanson; Bonn: Rudolf Habelt Verlag, 1976), 585–8; G.M. Parássoglou, “Adnotatiunculae, II,” Hellenika 32 (1980), 83; Daniel and Maltomini, Supplementum magicum, 1.83–5. 15 ὁ εἰαϲά{ϲ}μενοϲ (for ἰαϲάμενοϲ) πᾶϲαν νό[ϲ]ον, κ[αὶ πᾶϲαν μαλακίαν], in Daniel and Maltomini, Supplementum magicum, 1.83. 16 Daniel and Maltomini, Supplementum magicum, 1.84. 17 Montevecchi, 585. 18 D. Wortmann, “Neue magische Texte,” BJb 168 (1968), 105; Daniel and Maltomini, Supplementum magicum, 1.97–8; H.-D. Betz, ed., The Greek Magical Papyri in Translation, Including the Demotic Spells (Chicago/London: Chicago University Press, 2 1992), 307, no. XCIX. 19 εἷϲ θ(εὸ)ϲ ὁ θεραπεύων πᾶϲαν νόϲον, in Daniel and Maltomini, Supplementum magicum, 1.97. Amulets and inscriptions incorporating the acclamation εἷϲ θεόϲ are associated with many religious milieux in late antiquity: Graeco-Roman, Jewish, Samaritan, Christian. To my knowledge, this is the only instance where the acclamation continues with the phrase found also in Matt 4:23/9:35. Cf. E. Peterson, Εἷς θεός. Epigraphische, formgeschichtliche und religionsgeschichtliche Untersuchungen (FRLANT n.F. 24; Göttingen: Vandenhoek & Ruprecht, 1926), 81–109; C. Bonner, Studies in Magical Amulets, Chiefly Graeco-Egyptian (UMS, Humanistic Series 49; Ann Arbor, University of Michigan Press, 1950), 174–6, with nos. 276, 298–306, 309–314, 316, 318, 324–325, and 332 in the descriptions of the plates at pp. 249 ff.; L. di Segni, “Εἷς θεός in Palestinian Inscriptions,” SCI 13 (1994), 94–115. 20 U. Wilcken, “Heidnisches und Christliches aus Ägypten,” APF 1 (1901): 431–6; idem, ed., Aegyptische Urkunden aus den koeniglichen Museen zu Berlin: Griechische Urkunden (vol. 3; Berlin: Weidmannsche Buchhandlung, 1903), 278–9; PGM 2.217 [P 9]; Wessely, Les plus anciens monuments II, 420–2; Meyer and Smith, Ancient Christian Magic, 42. 21 κα[ὶ] πᾶϲαν δὲ νόϲον καὶ πᾶϲαν μαλακίαν ἄφελε ἀπ᾽ ἐμοῦ, in PGM 2.217.


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may [be destined, in good health], to speak the prayer of the gospel.”22 The Lord’s Prayer ensues. Similarly, P.Köln VIII 340,23 an elaborate fifth- or sixth-century amulet in a semi-cursive hand, has a long quotation from John 1 followed by the request: “We invoke you, God—and Mary Theotokos—[Father] of our Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ, so that you send your angel to heal the one who bears this adjuration and chase from him every illness and every infirmity . . .”24 The other side of this fragment has two figures praying in the orantes position. In short, among Greek papyri amulets that incorporate Christian motifs, Jesus’ power to heal is often epitomized in the language of Matt 4:23/9:35. Only a few other passages of scripture, specifically the opening verses of Psalm 90 LXX (Psalm 91) and the Lord’s Prayer, appear more frequently in amulets.25 How did the language of Matt 4:23/9:35 come to be so used? We begin our investigation at the other end of the trajectory of this portion of scripture, with the redaction of the gospel attributed to Matthew. In the New Testament the phrase “healing every illness and every infirmity” is found only in Matthew.26 It occurs three times. Twice it forms part of Matthew’s summary of Jesus’ ministry in Galilee, where Jesus is said to have gone about “teaching in their synagogues and proclaiming the good news of the kingdom and healing every illness and every infirmity” (Matt 4:23, 9:35).27 The third time the phrase serves to describe the authority that Jesus in turn bestows on his disciples “to cast out [the unclean spirits] and to heal every illness and every infirmity” (Matt 10:1). The location of the phrase—particularly in Matt 4:23–24, where it forms part of the central message of the gospel about

Meyer and Smith, Ancient Christian Magic, 42. F. Maltomini, “Amuleto con NT Ev. Jo. 1, 1–11,” Kölner Papyri (P. Köln), vol. 8 (ed. M. Gronewald, K. Maresch, and C. Römer; Opladen: Westdeutscher Verlag, 1997), 82–95. 22 23

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κ(αὶ) ἀπωδιώξῃϲ ἀπ᾽ αὐτοῦ πᾶϲαν νό[ϲον κ]αὶ πᾶ[ϲαν] μαλα[κίαν].

See La’da and Papathomas, 107–13; T.J. Kraus, “Septuaginta-Psalm 90 in apotropäischer Verwendung: Vorüberlegungen für eine kritische Edition und (bisheriges) Datenmaterial,” BN n.F. 125 (2005), 39–73; idem, “Manuscripts with the Lord’s Prayer—They Are More Than Simply Witnesses to That Text Itself,” in New Testament Manuscripts: Their Texts and Their World (ed. T.J. Kraus and T. Nicklas; TENT 2; Leiden: Brill, 2006), 227–66. 26 For the discussion that follows of the use of the phrase in Matthew, see now K. Asahu-Ejere, The Kingdom of God and Healing-Exorcism (Mt 4:17–5:12) (Frankfurt am Main: Peter Lang, 2003), particularly 48–9, 173, and 182–3. 27 At Matt 4:23 the phrase concludes with “among the people.” These words are also found in some manuscripts at Matt 9:35 (Nestle-Aland26). 25

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the kingdom of God (Matt 4:17–5:12)—underscores its significance as a defining characteristic of Jesus in the gospel. The repetition of the phrase with little variation suggests that by the time of the redaction of the gospel we already have a formulaic articulation of Jesus’ power as a healer. In fact, the phrase is itself a product of the reception of scripture: the wording of the phrase echoes that of the covenantal blessing at Deut 7:15 LXX: “And the Lord will take away from you all the infirmities, and all the evil diseases of Egypt, which you have seen and have known, he will not place upon you, and he will place them on those who hate you.”28 The influence of Matthew in the first two centuries of the Christian movement has been thoroughly investigated by Édouard Massaux,29 Wolf-Dietrich Köhler, 30 and others.31 While scholars differ on whether Christian writers in the first half of the first century used Matthew in its final written form,32 it is generally agreed that by the middle of the first century the gospel was so used, especially by Justin. 33 His debt to Matthew is particularly evident in the chapters summarizing Jesus’

28 καὶ περιελεῖ κύριος ἀπὸ σοῦ πᾶσαν μαλακίαν· καὶ πάσας νόσους Αἰγύπτου τὰς πονηράς, ἃς ἑώρακας καὶ ὅσα ἔγνως, οὐκ ἐπιθήσει ἐπὶ σὲ καὶ ἐπιθήσει αὐτὰ ἐπὶ πάντας τοὺς μισοῦντάς σε, J.W. Wevers, ed., Septuaginta: Vetus Testamentum Graecum Auctoritate

Academiae Scientiarum Gottingensis editum, vol. 3.2: Deuteronomium (Göttingen: Vandenhoek & Ruprecht, 1977), 132–3. 29 Influence de l’évangile de saint Matthieu sur la littérature chrétienne avant saint Irénée (BETL 75; Louvain, 1950; repr. by F. Neirynck, with a Supplément: Bibliographie 1950–1985 by B. Dehandschutter; Louvain: Presses Universitaires de Louvain, 1986). 30 Die Rezeption des Mattäusevangeliums in der Zeit vor Irenäeus (WUNT 2/24; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1987). 31 See F. Neirynck, “Introduction à la réimpression,” in Massaux, xi–xiii. 32 Neirynck, x–xiv. 33 Massaux, 647–55; Köhler, 256–8, 517–23. Massaux based his assessment on the use made by Christian writers not only of Matthew but also of other works that eventually came to be included in the New Testament. Interestingly, the distribution of manuscripts of the canonical gospels before 300 ce provides a somewhat different picture. Among the 30 witnesses to the canonical gospels, there are 12 for Matthew, 1 for Mark (P45, a manuscript containing all four gospels and the Apocalpyse), 7 for Luke, and 16 for John (D. Lührmann, with E. Schlarb, Fragmente Apokryph gewordene Evangelien in griechischer und lateinischer Sprache [MTS 59; Marburg: N.G. Elwert, 2000], 22). However, Matthew is cited more often in the magical papyri than John. In his examination of 43 Christian magical papyri, Alessandro Biondi found 23 with biblical citations. Of 67 citations from the New Testament, 26 were from Matthew and 13 from John (“Le citazioni bibliche nei papiri magici cristiani greci,” SPap 20 [1981], 93–127; cf. the data in Tab II). Biondi concluded that there appears to be a preference for Matthew in the non-literary, magical material, not least of all the Matthean version of the Lord’s Prayer (Biondi, 120–1).


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teaching in the First Apology.34 Later in the same work Justin draws on Matt 4:23/9:35. He is about to review passages in the Hebrew scriptures that according to him predict the events of Jesus’ birth, life, death, and resurrection.35 He begins with a summary of these events,36 one of several christological professions to appear in the First Apology and the Dialogue with Trypho.37 While the elements of these summaries, or regulae fidei, had become fairly standard by the middle of the second century, their wording was not fixed—a characteristic that distinguishes them from creedal statements.38 Justin’s summary here differs from others in the First Apology and the Dialogue with Trypho in that it includes a clause describing Jesus’ ministry in the words of Matt 4:23/9:35: “and healing every illness and every infirmity and raising the dead.”39 Since Justin is the earliest Christian writer known to have used the wording of Matt 4:23/9:35 and since his use of Matthew elsewhere is extensive, we cannot be sure whether he is echoing an earlier reception of the passage or relying on his own knowledge of the gospel. But his use of the phrase attests, at the very least, to its value as a formulaic summary of Jesus’ work as someone who heals the sick and raises the dead. Matthew’s phrase continued to have this value in later centuries. I will trace its subsequent reception in three types of discourse: didactic literature, apocryphal narratives, and liturgical prayers.

34 1 Apol. 14–17, in Saint Justin, Apologies (ed. A. Wartelle; Paris: Études Augustiniennes, 1987), 114–22; cf. Massaux, 466–73; Köhler, passim. 35 1 Apol. 30–53 (ed. Wartelle), 136–72. 36 1 Apol. 31.7 (ed. Wartelle), 138. 37 1 Apol. 21.1, 42.4, 46.5 (ed. Wartelle), 126, 154, 160; Dial. 63.1, 85.2, 126.1, 132.1 (ed. G. Archambault; TDÉHC; Paris: Librairie Alphonse Picard, 1909), 1.296, 2.54–56, 246, 272; cf. J.N.D. Kelly, Early Christian Creeds (London: Longman, 31972), 70–6. 38 See P. Smulders, “The Sitz im Leben of the Old Roman Creed: New Conclusions from Neglected Data,” in Papers Presented to the Sixth International Conference on Patristic Studies Held in Oxford 1971. Part II: Classica et Hellenica, Theologica, Liturgica, Ascetica (ed. E.A. Livingstone; SP 13; TU 116; Berlin: Akademie-Verlag, 1975), 417–21; idem, “Some Riddles in the Apostles’ Creed. II. Creeds and Rules of Faith,” Bijdragen 32 (1971), 357–64; cf. now also L.W. Westra, The Apostles’ Creed: Origin, History, and Some Early Commentaries (IPM 43; Turnhout: Brepols, 2002), 38–9, with 40–1 nn. 77–78 and 63 n. 165. For an overview of scholarship on christological professions in the New Testament, see R.N. Longenecker, New Wine into Fresh Wineskins: Contextualizing the Early Christian Confessions (Peabody, MA: Hendrickson, 1999), 13–20. 39 1 Apol. 31.7 (ed. Wartelle), 138.22–23: καὶ θεραπεύοντα πᾶσαν νόσον καὶ πᾶσαν μαλακίαν καὶ νεκροὺς ἀνεγείροντα. Kelly, 74, omits this line.

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In surveying the use of Matt 4:23/9:35 in didactic literature, I have chosen to focus on Greek literature produced in and around Egypt,40 since this is the region where the amulets under consideration have been preserved and found. The works that refer to the phrase “healing every illness and every infirmity” are, by and large, apologetic, exegetical, or christological in nature. They refer to the phrase, or to the verses in which the phrase appears, in a limited number of ways. First, in the context of various arguments, writers cite the phrase as a succinct statement of the healings performed by Jesus,41 sometimes using the phrase to introduce or conclude a review of the different kinds of healings performed by Jesus. So, for example, Eusebius concludes his argument that Jesus fulfilled the prophecy of Isa 35:5–6 by referring to the “various illnesses and infirmities” that Jesus healed.42 Likewise, Athanasius ends a recitation of the healings Jesus performed, which he takes to be manifest evidence of Jesus’ divinity, with an allusion to Matthew’s phrase.43 Similarly, Didymus the Blind ends a list of the types of miracles accomplished by Jesus with a reference to Matt 4:23/9:35: “the raising of the dead, the recovery of sight for the blind, the cleansing of lepers, and, in general, the healing of ‘every illness and every infirmity’.”44 Secondly, these same writers, when referring to Matt 4:23/9:35, sometimes add a comment about spiritual healing.

40 The following review of the use of Matt 4:23, 9:35, and 10:1 is based on a search of the phrase πᾶϲαν νόϲον καὶ πᾶϲαν μαλακίαν in the database of Thesaurus linguae graecae and on references to the verses in Biblia Patristica: Index des citations et allusions bibliques dans la littérature patristique, vols. 1–7 (Paris: Éditions du CNRS, 1975–2000). I also investigated the use of the verses in Latin Christian writers, by means of references in Biblia Patristica and a search of key words in the phrase omnem languorem et omnem infirmitatem in the databases CLCLT–5 and PL. It appears that the verses were not as widely used by Christian Latin writers as by Christian Greek writers. 41 Origen, Comm. Matt. 12.2 (ed. E. Benz and E. Klostermann; GCS 40; Leipzig: J.C. Hinrichs, 1935), 70.27–30; Eusebius, Comm. Ps. 108:5, PG 23:1336B2–6; Theoph. 3.40 (ed. H. Gressmann; GCS 11.2, Leipzig: J.C. Hinrichs, 1904), 145*–147*; Athanasius, Decr. 1, PG 25:417B11–13; Didymus, Comm. Zach. 2.173 (ed. L. Doutreleau; SC 84; Paris: Cerf, 1962), 504.14–17. 42 Dem. evang. 6.21.3 (ed. I.A. Heikel; GCS 23.1; Leipzig: J.C. Hinrichs, 1913), 290.5–8; cf. Dem. evang. 9.13.2 (ed. I.A. Heikel; GCS 23.2; Leipzig: J.C. Hinrichs, 1913), 431.25–30. 43 Inc. 18.4 (ed. C. Kannengiesser; SC 199; Paris: Cerf, 1973), 330.23–332.29. 44 Comm. Job, Hypothesis, in Didymos der Blinde. Kommentar zu Hiob (Tura-Papyrus). Teil I: Kommentar zu Hiob Kap. 1–4 (ed. A. Henrichs; Bonn: Rudolf Habelt, 1968), 32, ll. 30–34; συνόλως, “in general,” underscores the summary character of the phrase from Matt 4:23/9:35.


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They remark that Jesus heals not only the body but also the soul,45 or that Jesus not only healed people of physical illness and infirmity in his own day, but also heals people of spiritual illness and infirmity today.46 Indeed, both Origen and those he calls “heterodox” understand Matt 4:23/9:35 (as well as other healings in the gospels) to refer allegorically to the healing of souls.47 This tendency to spiritualize the meaning of Matt 4:23/9:35 is to be expected in a milieu where scripture is thought to bear several levels of meaning, where the spiritual sense of the text is believed to yield the ultimate meaning of the text for the Christian,48 and where attention to the soul is the chief concern of a philosophical way of life.49 Moreover, a spiritual reading of Matt 4:23/9:35 has the advantage of allowing for continuity between the work of Jesus, his disciples, and the church. When the interpreters mentioned above read Matt 4:23/9:35 in a spiritual sense, they observe that the healing that Jesus provided through his teaching continues to be manifest or available in the teaching of the church.50 This is not to say that they are not cognizant of healing in the common sense of the term, past or present. At times in their interpretation of Matt 4:23/9:35 they note that Jesus healed the body

Eusebius, Comm. Isa. 1.11, 2.9 (ed. J. Ziegler; GCS 56; Berlin: Akademie Verlag, 1975), 6.23–5, 228.35–229.3; Didymus, Comm. Zach. 2.173 (ed. Doutreleau; SC 84), 504; cf. Origen, Fr. Matt. 193 (ed. E. Benz and E. Klostermann; GCS 41.1; Leipzig: J.C. Hinrichs, 1941), 92–3, where Origen explains how, in reference to Matt 10:1, the disciples are empowered to heal illnesses of the soul as well as the body. 46 Origen, Comm. Cant. 2.4 (ed. O. Rousseau; SC 37 bis; Paris: Cerf, 21966), 118; Eusebius, Dem. evang. 6.21.7 (ed. Heikel, GCS 23.1), 290.25–34. 47 Origen, Comm. Matt. 13.4 (ed. Benz and Klostermann; GCS 40), 187–8; Origen, Fr. Matt. 77 (ed. Benz and Klostermann; GCS 41.1), 46; for the “heterodox”, see Origen, Comm. Jo. 20.166 (ed. C. Blanc; SC 290; Paris: Cerf, 1982), 238; cf. Comm. Jo. 20.329 (ed. Blanc, SC 290), 318. 48 See C. Kannengiesser, Handbook of Patristic Exegesis (BAC; Leiden: Brill, 2004), 1.206–12; cf., e.g., H. de Lubac, Histoire et Esprit. L’intelligence de l’Écriture d’après Origène (Paris: Éditions Aubier-Montagne,1950; rpt. Paris: Cerf, 2002), 139–245; H. Crouzel, Origène (Paris: Éditions Lethielleux; Namur: Culture et Vérité, 1984), 91–120; J.W. Trigg, Origen: The Bible and Philosophy in the Third-Century Church (Atlanta: John Knox Press, 1983), 120–87. 49 See P. Hadot, Exercises spirituels et philosophie antique (Paris: Études Augustiniennes, 1981), 59–74. 50 Origen, Hom. Ps., Hom. 1 in Psal. 37, PG 12:1369B2–D4; Eusebius, Dem. evang. 9.13.2 (ed. Heikel; GCS 23.2), 431.25–432.1. One observes a variant of this penchant in the Valentinian text Tri. Trac. 116.13–117.2, in Le traité tripartite (NH I, 5) (ed. E. Thomassen; trans. and ed. L. Painchaud and E. Thomassen; BCNH, section “Textes” 19; Québec: Les Presses de l’Université Laval, 1989), 208–10 with the comments at 425. 45

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as well as the soul,51 and even Origen, known for his spiritual readings of scripture, argues in another context that traces of the power of the Holy Spirit, to which Jesus’ healings bore witness, can still be seen in healings performed by Christians.52 Nevertheless, the tendency of these writers is to read Matt 4:23/9:35 in a spiritual sense when discussing the present manifestation of Jesus’ power. In this regard Cyril of Alexandria’s use of Matthew’s phrase is interesting. Whereas all the writers mentioned thus far refer mainly to Matt 4:23/9:35, Cyril of Alexandria refers almost exclusively to Matt 10:1 and the power that Jesus bestowed on his disciples.53 In the context of the trinitarian and christological disputes of the time, the passage allows Cyril to distinguish the power which Jesus exercises by virtue of his divine nature and the power that he bestows on created human beings through the gift of the Holy Spirit.54 At one point Cyril remarks that Jesus, being divine in nature, “heals with authority, displaying not an act of prayer, as do the saints, but the work of his own essential power.”55 For Cyril, healing from physical illness is still available to Christians, but only through prayer. We know, in fact, that Christians wrote to holy men, asking them to pray on their behalf for healing.56 Cyril’s remark, distinguishing the prayer of the saint from the power of Christ, acknowledges this practice. The use of the Matthean phrase in the diverse writings known as Christian apocrypha complements what we have found in the didactic literature. Surprisingly, there are only a few allusions to the phrase. Most occur in the apocryphal acts, where the phrase serves to describe power exercised by the apostles. When recounting the story of Abgar

51 Eusebius, Theoph. 3.40 (ed. Gressmann; GCS 11.2), 145*–147*; Didymus, Comm. Zach. 2.173 (ed. Doutreleau; SC 84), 504. 52 Origen, Cels. 1.46 (ed. M. Borret; SC 132; Paris: Cerf, 1967), 194–6. 53 Cyril of Alexandria, Dial. trin. 3.494b (ed. G.M. du Durand; SC 237; Paris: Cerf, 1977), 106; Dial. inc. 713a–b (ed. G.M. du Durand; SC 97; Paris: Cerf, 1964), 297–8; Thesaur., assertio XXXII, PG 75:521A6–9; Comm. Isa. 62:11–12, PG 70:1379C14–D2; Comm. Luc. 22:34, PG 72:917A3–7; Hom. Luc. 9:49 (ed. J. Sickenberger; TU 34.1; Leipzig: J.C. Hinrichs), 90.18–21; Comm. in Jo. 884a, in Sancti patris nostri Cyrilli Archiepiscopi Alexandrini in D. Joannis Evangelium, 3 vols. (ed. P.B. Pusey; Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1872; reprinted Brussels: Culture et Civilisation, 1965), 2:571.18–26. 54 Cyril of Alexandria, Dial. trin. 3.494b (ed. du Durand; SC 237), 106–108; Thesaur., assertio XXXII, PG 75:521A6–B15. 55 Cyril of Alexandria, Thesaur., assertio XXXII, PG 75:521B3–7. 56 R.J.S. Barrett-Lennard, Christian Healing after the New Testament: Some Approaches to Illness in the Second, Third and Fourth Centuries (Lanham: University Press of America, 1994), 43–83.


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and Jesus, Eusebius writes that Thaddaeus, sent to Edessa in Jesus’ stead, “began in the power of God to heal every illness and infirmity.”57 In the Acts of Peter and Andrew, composed around the beginning of the fifth century in Egypt,58 the prostitute who was compelled by the magistrates of a town to deter Peter and Andrew from entering the town instead announces to its inhabitants that the apostles of Christ have arrived, “forgiving the sins of those who believe in them and healing every illness and every infirmity.”59 The Acts of Thaddeus, which dates from the seventh century,60 has Thaddeus proclaim to the Jews of Anida that Jesus has given to his apostles “power to chase away the demons and to heal every illness and every infirmity and to raise the dead.”61 Finally, one of the manuscripts of the Acts of John, Parisinus gr. 1468, contains an interpolation which summarizes the ministry of John in the words of the Matthean formula.62 In short, the use of the Matthean phrase in the apocryphal acts reinforces the sense that the apostles are the delegates of Jesus and, in that capacity, replicate his power. This representation of the apostles is similar to Cyril of Alexandria’s: the apostles’ power derives from and witnesses to the original power of God manifested in Christ.63 To summarize: thus far in our survey of the reception of the Matthew’s phrase “healing every illness and every infirmity,” the discourse has been concerned mainly with the healing power of Jesus and his disciples. Furthermore, in this discourse physical healing is largely a

57 Eusebius, Hist. eccl. 1.13.12 (ed. F. Winkelmann; GCS 6.1 bis; Berlin: Akademie Verlag, 21999), 90. 58 J.-M. Prieur, “Introduction” to “Actes de Pierre et André,” Écrits apocryphes chrétiens (2 vols.; F. Bovon, P. Geoltrain and J.-D. Kaestli; Bibliothèque de la Pléiade 442, 516; Paris: Gallimard, 1997–2005), 2.525 with n. 1. 59 Acts Pet. Andr. 11.2, in Acta apostolorum apocryphorum, vol. 2.1 (ed. M. Bonnet; Leipzig: Hermann Mendelssohn, 1898), 122. 60 A. Palmer, “Introduction” to “Actes de Thaddée,” Écrits apocryphes chrétiens (ed. Bovon, Geoltrain and Kaestli), 2.646–8. 61 Acts Thad. 6.6, in Acta apostolorum apocryphorum, vol. 1 (ed. R.A. Lipsius: Leipzig: Hermann Mendelssohn, 1891), 277. 62 Acta Johannis (ed. E. Junod and J.-D. Kaestli; CCSA 1; Turnhout: Brepols, 1983), 371; cf. Acta apostolorum apocryphorum (ed. Bonnet), 2.1:175.19–22. 63 Cf. J.-M. van Cangh, “Miracles évangéliques—miracles apocryphes,” in The Four Gospels 1992: Festschrift Frans Neirynck (3 vols.; ed. F. Van Segbroek, et al.; Leuven: Leuven University Press/Uitgeverij Peeters, 1992), 3.2318–19; F. Bovon, “Miracles, magie et guérison dans les Acts apocryphes des apôtres,” JECS 3 (1995), 253; repr. as “Miracles, Magic, and Healing in the Apocryphal Acts of the Apostles,” in Studies in Early Christianity (WUNT 161; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2003), 260.

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thing of the past, the work of Jesus and his disciples, whereas spiritual healing is a thing of the present, the work of the church. In the liturgical prayers of the church, however, we come closer to the reception of Matthew’s phrase in actual practices of healing—practices analogous to the use of the amulets. The Euchologion attributed to Serapion—one of our earliest sources for the liturgy of the church in Egypt, dated to the mid-fourth century64—contains three prayers for blessing of oils used in the rites of the church: Prayers 15, 16, and 17. Prayer 17 is for the blessing of oil or bread or water for the sick. The prayer implores God to send from heaven the healing power of Christ on the oil being blessed so that it might become “to those who are anointed (or to those who receive of these your creatures) for a throwing off of every illness and every infirmity,65 for an antidote for every demon, for a separation of every unclean spirit, for an expulsion of every evil spirit, for a driving out of all fever and shiverings and every weakness, for good grace and forgiveness of sins, for a medicine of life and salvation, for health and wholeness of soul, body, spirit, for perfect strength.”66 In their analysis of the action of religious rituals, Thomas Lawson and Robert McCauley explain how consecratory prayers such as Prayer 17 establish a necessary connection between objects used in religious rituals and the ultimate source of power in the religious system. These prayers invest the objects with the properties that make them efficacious in subsequent ritual actions.67 Viewed in this light, Prayer 17 invests the elements being blessed with healing, protective, and exorcistic power akin to that invested in amulets. It is noteworthy, in this regard, that Prayer 17 incorporates both the phraseology of Matt 4:23/9:35 to describe the power to expel every illness and every infirmity and the phraseology often found in amulets to describe the power to expel “all fever and shiverings and every weakness.”68

M.E. Johnson, The Prayers of Sarapion of Thmuis: A Literary, Liturgical and Theological Analysis (OCA 249; Rome: Pontificio Istituto orientale, 1995), 279–81 summarizes arguments for dating the compilation to the mid-fourth century. 65 εἰς ἀποβολὴν πάσης νόσου και πάσης μαλακίας, in Johnson, Prayers of Sarapion, 66. 66 Johnson, 66–7; cf. Barrett-Lennard, 291–2. 67 E.T. Lawson and R.N. Mccauley, Rethinking Religion: Connecting Cognition and Culture (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1990), 102–13. 68 Cf. Barrett-Lennard, 292. 64


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We are fortunate to have another early liturgical prayer that incorporates Matthew’s phrase, and it too comes from Egypt. It is a prayer to accompany the ritual of laying hands on the sick. There are two fourth-century witnesses to this particular prayer. It is included in a set of liturgical prayers found in a fourth-century codex, P.Barc. 154b–157b,69 and it is inscribed on a single tablet found during the recent archaeological excavations in the ancient village of Kellis in the Dakhleh Oasis, P.Kellis I 88.70 The Kellis tablet was initially believed to have been an amulet,71 but now, having been re-examined in light of the prayer in the Barcelona codex, it too is thought to have come from a liturgical book.72 Because the material found at Kellis, especially in House 3 where the tablet was unearthed,73 included many Manichaean documents,74 it is possible that the prayer found on the Kellis tablet was used by Manichaeans. As the authors of the re-edition observe, the imposition of hands was an important ritual for Manichaens,75 and the absence of the concluding doxology, where praise is offered to God through Christ, in the Kellis version of the prayer suggests that it was adapted for use by Manichaeans.76 The prayer invokes the mighty hand and lofty arm of God, “full of healing and power, full of well-being and life,”77 and

R. Roca-Puig, Anàfora de Barcelona. I Altres pregàres (Missa del segle IV) (Barcelona: Grafos, 21996), 9–10 on the set of prayers, 103–11 on the prayer in question here (P.Barc. 155b.19–156a.5). 70 R.W. Daniel, “Christian Amulet,” in Greek Papyri from Kellis: I (P. Kell. G.) Nos. 1–90 (ed. K.A. Worp; Oxford: Oxbow, 1995), 220–2. 71 Daniel, “Christian Amulet,” 221–2. 72 C.E. Römer, R.W. Daniel, and K.A. Worp, “Das Gebet zur Handauflegung bei Kranken in P. Barc. 155, 19–156, 5 und P. Kellis I 88,” ZPE 119 (1997), 128. 73 Daniel, “Christian Amulet,” 220. 74 I. Gardner, “The Manichaean Community at Kellis: A Progress Report,” in Emerging from Darkness: Studies in the Recovery of Manichaean Sources (ed. P. Mirecki and J. BeDuhn; NHMS 43; Leiden: Brill, 1997), 161–75; I. Gardner, with S. Clackson, M. Franzmann, and K.A. Worp, eds., Kellis Literary Texts (Dakhleh Oasis Project: Monograph No. 4; Oxford: Oxbow, 1996), vi–xiii. 75 In addition to the literature cited at Römer, Daniel, and Worp, 129 n. 12, see now J.K. Coyle, “Hands and Imposition of Hands in Manichaeism,” in Peregrina Curiositas: Eine Reise durch den orbis antiquus zu Ehren von Dirk van Damme (ed. A. Kessler, T. Ricklin, and G. Wurst; NTOA 27; Göttingen: Vandenhoek & Ruprecht, 1994), 181–90; cf. idem, “Healing and the ‘Physician’ in Manichaeism,” in Healing in Religion and Society, From Hippocrates to the Puritans (ed. J.K. Coyle and S.C. Muir; SRS 43; Lewiston: Edwin Mellon, 1999), 135–58. 76 Römer, Daniel, and Worp, 129. 77 P.Barc. 155.21–22: τὸν πλήρη ἰάϲεωϲ καὶ δυνάμεωϲ, τὸν πλήρη ὁλοκληρίαϲ καὶ ζωῆϲ; cf. P.Kellis I 88.7–10: τὸν πλήρη ἰάϲεωϲ καὶ ὁλοκληρίαϲ, τὸν πλήρη δυνάμεωϲ 69

καὶ ζωῆϲ.

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asks God to “keep away . . . every illness, every infirmity, every spirit of sickness.”78 As in Prayer 17 of the Euchologion, the efficacy of the ritual action—here the imposition of hands—is said to derive from the power of God.79 And the protection that is sought encompasses the physical and spiritual aspects of illness, although the sense of the threat that evil spirits pose to all aspects of health—physical, mental, and spiritual—is more fully articulated in Prayer 17.80 When these prayers are viewed within their context, they take us beyond the invocation of divine power (as in the prayers for the blessing of oil) to its application (as in the use of blessed oil to heal illnesses). We know that in late antiquity Christians obtained oil that had been blessed and applied it to their bodies in order to heal ailments.81 In fact, bishops encouraged them to do so rather than to resort to “diabolical” equivalents—sacred sites, amulets, diviners, and the like.82 Several extant prayers for the blessing of oil indicate that the oil was intended for this purpose;83 once blessed, the oil was endowed with the power or presence of God,84 a power and presence that repulsed the demonic spirits who were thought to be the source of illness. Holy men and women were also known to bless oil and apply it to the sick or provide it for 78 P.Barc. 155.23–24: χώριϲον ἀπ᾽ αὐτῶν πᾶϲαν νόϲον, πᾶϲαν μαλακίαν, πᾶν πνεῦμα ἀϲθενίαϲ; cf. P.Kellis I 88.11–14: χώριϲον ἀπ᾽ αὐτοῦ πᾶϲαν νόϲον καὶ πᾶϲαν μαλακίαν καὶ πὰν πν(εῦμ)α ἀϲθενείαϲ.

Cf. Barrett-Lennard, 289. Cf. Barrett-Lennard, 291–6. 81 For summaries of the evidence, see B. Poschmann, Penance and the Anointing of the Sick (trans. F. Courtney; Freiburg/Montréal: Herder/Palm, 1964), 234–42; J. Halliburton, “Anointing in the Early Church,” in The Oil of Gladness: Anointing in the Christian Tradition (ed. M. Dudley and G. Rowell; London/Collegeville: SPCK/Liturgical Press, 1993), 82–9; A. Cuschieri, Anointing of the Sick: A Theological and Canonical Study (Lanham: University Press of America, 1993), 1–29. 82 Halliburton, 86–7; cf. N. Brox, “Magie und Aberglaube an den Anfängen des Christentums,” TTZ 83 (1974), 168–71; H.F. Stander, “Amulets and the Church Fathers,” EPh 75 (1993), 62–6. 83 Cf. Apostolic Tradition 5 (ed. B. Botte; SC 11 bis; Paris: Cerf, 21968), 54–5, with P.F. Bradshaw, M.E. Johnson, and L.E. Phillips, The Apostolic Tradition: A Commentary (ed. H.W. Attridge; Hermeneia; Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 2002), 49–51, E. Segelberg, “The Benedictio Olei in the Apostolic Tradition of Hippolytus,” OrChr 48 (1964), 268–81, and Barrett-Lennard, 240–4; Apostolic Constitutions 8.29 (ed. M. Metzger; SC 336; Paris: Cerf, 1987), 232, which, unlike the prayer in the Apostolic Tradition, is unambiguous in mentioning the power of the oil to produce health; Testamentum domini 24 (ed. I.E. Rahmani; Moguntiae: Sumptibus Francisci Kirchheim, 1899), 48–9, with Testamentum domini 18, in Testamentum domini éthiopien (ed. R. Beylot; Louvain: Peeters, 1984), 174, both of which allude to Matt 4:23/9:35. 84 Cyril of Jerusalem, Catech. myst. III.3 (ed. A. Piédagnel; SC 126 bis; Paris: Cerf, 1966; reprinted 2004), 124.2–7. 79 80


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the sick to apply to themselves.85 Even oil that was physically associated with the shrines of the martyrs, relics, and crucifixes was used to heal and to drive away demons.86 These practices bring us into the domain of the amulets with which we began this paper. The preparation and use of amulets was similar to the preparation and use of oil. In all likelihood some if not all of the papyri discussed above were prepared by Christian priests or monks;87 the hand that prepared the formulary P.Coll.Youtie II 91, for instance, resembles that of a copyist of biblical and liturgical texts,88 and in several instances the phraseology of the amulets echoes the phraseology of liturgical prayers or acclamations.89 Moreover, as with the oil, amulets were rendered powerful by ritual actions: by the actions of writing, reciting, and wearing the inscription.90 And finally, once prepared by a cleric or a monk or another ritual specialist, amulets, like the oil, could be taken away and applied by oneself. There is one conspicuous difference, however, between the oil and the amulets: amulets could be inscribed. Inscription was, in fact, a source or a channel of power in amulets.91 A few of the amulets we have considered attest to the power ascribed specifically to Matt 4:23, notably P.Oxy. VIII 1077, which presents the verse in the form of crosses and prefaces it with the title “Curative gospel according to Matthew,” and P.Berl. inv. 6096, which concludes a series of biblical passages with the verse. Here we have concrete evidence of the reception of this passage as a warrant in and of itself for the healing or protective power of Christ. 85 Halliburton, 84–5, summarizing the extensive discussion of F.W. Puller, The Anointing of the Sick in Scripture and Tradition, with Some Considerations on the Numbering of the Sacraments (London: SPCK, 1904), 149–98. 86 Halliburton, 86. 87 Cf. D. Frankfurter, “Ritual Expertise in Roman Egypt and the Problem of the Category ‘Magician’,” in Envisioning Magic: A Princeton Seminar and Symposium (ed. P. Schäfer and H.G. Kippenberg; SHR 75; Brill: Leiden, 1997), 115–35, esp. 125–30. 88 Montevecchi, 585. 89 See, e.g., BGU III 954, P.Oxy. VIII 1151, and P.Turner 49; cf. G.H.R. Horsley, New Documents Illustrating Early Christianity: A Review of the Greek Inscriptions and Papyri Published in 1978 (Macquarie University: The Ancient History Documentary Research Centre, 1983), 116. 90 See R. Kotansky, “Incantations and Prayers for Salvation on Inscribed Greek Amulets,” in Magika Hiera: Ancient Greek Magic and Religion (ed. C.A. Faraone and D. Obbink; Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1991), 108–10; Frankfurter, “Narrating Power,” 462–3; Frankfurter in Meyer and Smith, Ancient Christian Magic, 79–82, 105–7. 91 See D. Frankfurter, Religion in Roman Egypt: Assimilation and Resistance (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1998), 268.

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It may be that the other evidence we have reviewed in this paper points to a familiarity with this passage that would account, in part, for its use as a warrant in these particular amulets. But short of these amulets we would not have specific knowledge of the manner in which this passage of scripture figured, apart from any contextual invocation, as the means for channeling divine power to protect and to heal. Having traced the use of the phrase “healing every illness and every infirmity” in Christian discourse and practice from the first to the sixth centuries, I would like to return to the theme of this collection of papers: the reception and the interpretation of the Bible in late antiquity. The sources that we have traversed, each with its particular appropriation of Matthew’s phrase, remind us of the partiality that necessarily characterizes the reception and interpretation of a scriptural passage. In antiquity, as now, people appropriate scripture within certain contexts and for certain purposes. This is a truism, but it is an important truism. The appropriation of Matt 4:23/9:35 by the apologists, polemicists, and commentators of the third and fourth centuries, for example, is shaped by their larger project to demonstrate that Jesus is the fulfillment of prophecy, the embodiment of divinity, and the bearer of salvation. The appropriation of Matt 4:23/9:35 by the producers of amulets, on the other hand, serves their aim to invoke and channel the power of Jesus to heal people of their present ailments. These two forms of appropriation are not utterly disassociated: the amulets invoke divine power in phrases that recall, explicitly or implicitly, the confessional concerns of the didactic literature. But were we to rely on the didactic literature for evidence of contemporary practices, we would come away with little sense of how the Matthean phrase “healing every illness and every infirmity” was used to invoke the healing power of God in amulets. Secondly, the evidence we have for the appropriation of Matt 4:23/9:35, sketchy as it is, calls attention to the role of formulaic expressions in conveying the meaning of scripture or, indeed, of rendering it meaningful. The formulaic character of the phrase “healing every illness and every infirmity” is apparent already in Matthew’s gospel. Because of its formulaic character, the phrase lent itself to incorporation into summary expressions of the faith: the proclamation of the kingdom in Matthew’s gospel, the christological confessions of Justin’s writings; the explication of fulfilled prophecy by Eusebius. Our sources do not reveal if or how Matt 4:23/9:35 figured in the prayers, readings, or


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acclamations of the liturgy of the church, beyond the prayers associated with rituals of healing. Nevertheless, it is plausible that the formulaic character of Matt 4:23/9:35 facilitated its recitation or invocation in the context of ritual actions, and that these actions in turn established or reinforced the value of the passage as a means of confessing or invoking the power of God manifested by Christ.92 Finally, the use of formulaic expressions from scripture in amulets, like the phrase from Matt 4:23/9:35, highlights the role of ritual actions in the reception of scripture. The paths that most people trod in late antiquity are not the same as those that scholars tread today. Our study of the use of the Bible in late antiquity is heavily skewed toward literary sources. But most people in late antiquity did not read this material. They encountered the scriptures in the liturgy of the church—in the form of acclamations, prayers, readings, and the like. They also encountered it in other ritual actions, such as the production and application of amulets. In fact, by virtue of its relevance and importance to people, the practice of consulting ritual specialists, of inscribing sacred texts on amulets, and of using amulets to heal ailments was a pervasive medium for the transition from a traditional cult to a Christian cult in Egypt, as David Frankfurter has so admirably described.93 While it may be appropriate, if not inevitable, for us as scholars to focus on literary sources in our study of the interpretation of scripture, when we turn to study the reception of scripture we need to widen our horizon beyond these sources to the ritual actions of Christians. The ways in which scripture was presented or appropriated through ritual actions were simpler than the ways in which it might be explained or understood in the didactic literature, although some of this literature—homilies, for example—was in fact presented in the context of ritual actions. But the reach and the impact of ritual actions extended beyond that of didactic literature. Rituals such as the use of amulets inscribed with passages from scripture or prayers alluding to scripture led people not only to accept a given text as scripture but also to interpret their experiences in terms of that text.

92 On the role of ritual in investing words and actions with religious significance or value, see R.A. Rappaport, Ritual and Religion in the Making of Humanity (CSSCA 110; Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1999), 313–43. 93 Religion in Roman Egypt, 267–72.

LE COMMENTAIRE AU 4E SIÈCLE OU, POUR REFORMULER LE DICTON, ANCIENNETÉ A-T-ELLE TOUJOURS AUTORITÉ? Marie-Pierre Bussières Dans la conclusion à une étude sur la critique littéraire du grammairien Servius,1 on nous présente un parallèle entre la méthode du commentaire des grammairiens de la fin du 4e s. et celle du commentaire exégétique des auteurs chrétiens de la même époque. Ce rapprochement n’est pas surprenant, puisque on associe traditionnellement à un même professeur, Donat, quelques commentateurs et exégètes latins, actifs à la fin du quatrième siècle. En effet, on sait par exemple que Jérôme a compté parmi les élèves du grammairien2 et on considère ordinairement que Servius est un digne représentant de la formation dispensée à l’école de Donat.3 L’auteur de cette étude a affirmé dans ce parallèle que, tant pour le grammairien que pour l’exégète, l’autorité du texte était systématiquement fondée sur l’antiquité des manuscrits, comme si les commentateurs de l’Antiquité tardive eussent été de bons élèves de Lachmann et eussent rejeté les manuscrits recentiores en tant que deteriores. L’affirmation est fondée sur un passage d’un exégète de la fin du 4e siècle, connu sous le surnom d’Ambrosiaster, auteur notamment d’une collection de Questions sur l’Ancien et le Nouveau Testament et d’un Commentaire à l’Épître de Paul aux Romains. Dans ce commentaire, l’Ambrosiaster critiquait en ces termes les exégètes: De fait, quiconque ne peut user de sa propre autorité pour l’emporter falsifie les termes de la Loi, afin de défendre son idée comme s’il s’agissait

1 Le sujet de cet article nous a été indirectement inspiré par Alban Baudou de l’Université Laval, qui prépare une traduction française des Commentaires de Servius à l’Énéide de Virgile, à laquelle nous collaborons, lorsqu’il a attiré notre attention sur la conclusion à la thèse de Ph.N. Lockhart, The Literary Criticism of Servius (dissertation doctorale, Yale University, 1959). 2 Jérôme appelle Donat « praeceptor meus » en In Eccl. 9, 10 ; Adu. Ruf. 1, 16 et en Chron. Abr. 2370. 3 Notamment Lockhart, 55, même si le fait que Servius ait lui-même été un élève de Donat est mis en doute, cf. L. Holtz, Donat et la tradition de l’enseignement grammatical. Étude et édition critique (Paris: CNRS, 1981), 224–5.

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marie-pierre bussières des termes de la Loi et afin que ce soit non pas la raison mais l’autorité qui agisse comme argument.4

L’auteur de l’étude, Ph. Lockhart, a glosé sur la citation d’Ambrosiaster et ajouté cette remarque de portée plus générale: This is exactly what Servius and his contemporaries have done with Vergil: adulterated the text so that not the reason of the emendator but the auctoritas of an old text should seem to be their source.5

Ce rapprochement entre les critiques, du reste fort célèbres, de l’Ambrosiaster et la méthode du grammairien Servius a d’autant piqué notre curiosité que les deux volets de notre travail portent précisément sur ces auteurs.6 Or ce parallèle sur l’usage abusif de l’autorité ne nous avait jamais frappée. Par ailleurs, Ph. Lockhart introduit dans les conclusions qu’il tire du passage de l’Ambrosiaster une notion qui ne s’y trouve pas: celle d’old text, c’est-à-dire d’autorité strictement liée à l’antiquité du manuscrit, comme on le comprend par son opposition du texte à son correcteur. Nous aimerions donc ici examiner d’un peu plus près l’affirmation sévère voulant que l’auctoritas des anciens manuscrits l’emporte systématiquement sur la raison et si cette affirmation peut être vérifiée chez les commentateurs du 4e siècle, en prenant pour modèles le grammairien Servius et l’exégète Jérôme. Ensuite, nous étudierons dans son contexte l’accusation portée par l’Ambrosiaster aux exégètes de son temps, considérés comme les représentants de l’école traditionnelle du commentaire littéraire au 4e siècle. Enfin, la méthode exégétique de l’Ambrosiaster lui-même sera analysée afin de comprendre ce qu’il entend par « antiquité » et « autorité », mais surtout « raison », et de mieux mesurer sa situation par rapport à ses collègues exégètes et grammairiens.

4 Ambrosiast., Rom. 5.14.4e γ : Quia enim propria quis auctoritate uti non potest ad uictoriam, uerba legis adulterat, ut sensum suum quasi uerba legis asserat, ut non ratio, sed auctoritas praescribere uideatur. (éd. H.J. Vogels, CSEL 81,1; Vienne: Hoelder-Pichler-Tempsky, 1966). Toutes les traduction sont les nôtres. 5 Lockhart, 57. 6 Outre notre collaboration à la traduction de Servius, nous préparons une nouvelle édition des Questions sur l’Ancien et le Nouveau Testament de l’Ambrosiaster.

le commentaire au 4e siècle

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1. Les manuscrits anciens chez les grammairiens et les exégètes Selon Ph. Lockhart, le recours systématique aux leçons des manuscrits anciens constitue un principe de critique développé et enseigné dans les écoles telles que celle de Donat, et dont les grammairiens et les exégètes du 4e siècle auraient hérité. Sans remonter au Déluge, qu’il nous soit permis de voir ce qu’il en était de la tradition critique chez les commentateurs antérieurs au 4e siècle. Les παλαιὰ ἀντίγραφα chez les Alexandrins Si l’on en croit Diogène Laërce, le philosophe Timon affirmait que les manuscrits anciens étaient plus exempts d’erreurs que ceux corrigés par les soins des grammairiens de son temps7 et étaient pour cette raison plus dignes de confiance. Il semble en fait que ce conservatisme ait été dans une certaine mesure partagé par ces correcteurs qu’il dénonce puisque, s’ils jugeaient volontiers le texte selon des critères parfois bien peu philologiques,8 ils se sont souvent contentés de marquer le texte par des signes diacritiques plutôt que faire disparaître les vers qu’ils jugeaient inappropriés.9 Afin de vérifier quel traitement on réservait aux manuscrits anciens, nous avons rapidement examiné quel rôle jouait l’argument des παλαιὰ ἀντίγραφα / ἀρχαῖα βιβλία dans les scholies à Homère et aux tragiques. Il apert que le nombre de fois où l’ancienneté des manuscrits est invoquée pour conserver une leçon est minime en comparaison du volume des scholies. Notre enquête a mis au jour des références aux manuscrits « mauvais »,10 « inférieurs »11 ou encore « assez banals »,12 mais aucune

7 Diogène Laërce, 9.113 : φασὶ δὲ καὶ ῎Αρατον πυθέσθαι αὐτοῦ πῶς τὴν Ὁμήρου ποίησιν ἀσφαλῆ κτήσαιτο, τὸν δὲ εἰπεῖν· « εἰ τοῖς ἀρχαίοις ἀντιγράφοις ἐντυγχάνοι καὶ μὴ τοῖς ἤδη διωρθωμένοις » (éd. R.D. Hicks, LCL; Londres: Heinemann, 1950). (on

raconte qu’Aratos s’enquit auprès de lui [Timon] comment acquérir une copie sûre d’Homère et que celui-ci lui répondit : « si tu trouves d’anciens manuscrits et non ceux maintenant c orrigés »). 8 Ils usaient notamment d’arguments de bienséance ou de morale. Voir à ce sujet l’ouvrage classique de R. Pfeiffer, Classical Scholarship from the Beginnings to the End of the Hellenistic Age (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1968), 171–233. 9 Pfeiffer, 173–4. 10 In Hom., Il. 20.384 : ἔν τισι τῶν φαύλων ἀντιγράφων. 11 In Hom., Il. 20.255a : τὰ δὲ φαυλότερα τῶν ἀντιγράφων. 12 In Hom., Il. 20.255a : τὰ δὲ εἰκαιότερα τῶν ἀντιγράφων. On trouve de même dans les scholies aux tragiques des références aux manuscrits « meilleurs » (In Aesch.,

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précision d’âge n’est associée à ces qualités. C’est dans les scholies à Eschyle qu’on trouve mentionnés le plus souvent les manuscrits anciens, mais ces scholies pourraient avoir été écrites n’importe quand entre le 3e siècle avant J.-C. et l’époque byzantine.13 Et dans ces cas, l’âge ne constitue pas le seul argument invoqué pour retenir une leçon et vient généralement compléter une explication sur la prosodie ou sur la justesse d’un mot.14 Il est donc permis de croire que, chez les commentateurs, le facteur antique a gagné en importance à une période plus tardive que celle des grammairiens alexandrins. Les ueteres libri au 2e siècle Il n’existait donc guère avant l’époque romaine une tradition de préjugé favorable aux manuscrits anciens, si ce n’est la méfiance exprimée par Timon, qui se mue en révérence chez les archaïsants du 2e siècle de notre ère. Mais à cette époque, l’antiquité attire surtout la curiosité du collectionneur d’objets et de mots anciens. Aulu-Gelle témoigne, malgré son amour de l’antique, qu’un uetus liber ne garantit pas nécessairement la foi que l’on peut placer en ses leçons.15 Par ailleurs, lorsque le même Aulu-Gelle réfère aux antiques manuscrits de Cicéron copiés de la main de Tiron, il ressort de ces remarques que la sûreté des éditions de Tiron ait été garante de fiabilité autant que l’ancienneté du manuscrit.16 Par

Per. 795 : ἐν τοῖς ἀρίστοις τῶν ἀντιγράφων), « plus exacts » (In Aesch., Per. 118 : ἐν τοῖς ἀκριβεστάτοις τῶν ἀντιγράφων) voire « plus utiles » (In Soph., Oedipus Coloneus 30 : ἐν τοῖς ἀναγκαιοτέροις τῶν ἀντιγράφων).

13 O.L. Smith, éditeur des scholies à Eschyle, a édité les scholies jusqu’à celles de Démétrios Triclinios, datant du 14e siècle, cf. Scholia Graeca in Aeschylum quae exstant omnia, pars I (BSGRT ; Leipzig: Teubner 1976), xiv–xv. 14 Citons seulement à titre d’exemple, In Aesch., Per. 632 : Πέρας χρὴ γράφειν ἐνταῦθα,

ἵν᾽ εἴη τὸ κῶλον ἑφθημιμερὲς ὡς ἀποθετικόν. Οὕτω γὰρ εὕρηται καὶ ἔν τινι τῶν παλαιῶν ἀντιγράφων. Οἱ δὲ Πέρσαις γράφοντες ἀγνοῦσι τὰ μέτρα. (Il faut écrire « πέρας » dans ce

passage, afin que le vers soit hephthémimère, ainsi que catalectique. On le trouve ainsi dans un des anciens manuscrits aussi. Ceux qui écrivent « Πέρσαις » ne connaissent pas la métrique.) Nous ne donnons que la référence à d’autres exemples similaires : In Aesch., Th. 100 ; 957 ; In Aesch., Prom. 233 ; 568. 15 Comme en atteste l’expression employée par Aulu-Gelle en NA 13.32.5 : librum ueterem fidei spectatae « un livre ancien d’une fiabilité éprouvée » : il faut faire la preuve de la confiance qu’on peut avoir dans le texte même d’un livre ancien. Cf. à ce sujet M. Griffe, « Veteres nostri. Le critère de l’antiquité dans la définition du bon usage chez Aulu-Gelle », (éd. B. Bakhouche, L’ancienneté chez les Anciens, tome II: Mythologie et religion, Montpellier: Centre d’études et de la recherche sur les civilisations antiques de la Méditerranée, 2001), 553–73. 16 Aulu-Gelle, NA 13.21.16 : hoc enim scriptum in uno atque in altero antiquissimae fidei libro Tironiano repperi ( je l’ai trouvé écrit dans deux copies de [la main de] Tiron, d’une fi-


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ailleurs, comme chez les scholiastes, l’argument de l’ancienneté n’est apporté que pour renforcer celui de la ratio, la formation analogique du langage.17 Les quelques exemples tirés d’Aulu-Gelle ne constituent pas des arguments de poids : malgré le préjugé favorable envers tout ce qui était antique entretenu par les grammairiens et commentateurs antérieurs au 4e siècle, on ne semble pas l’avoir formulé en principe voulant que le texte du manuscrit le plus ancien dût systématiquement être préféré. Le 4e siècle : Servius et Jérôme Dans ce contexte, le jugement de Ph. Lockhart nous apparaît fort sévère: s’il est vrai que l’antiquité d’un manuscrit vient souvent confirmer une leçon, cependant cela ne va pas sans raisonnement préalable de la part du commentateur. Nous avons cherché chez Servius des exemples où la uetustas du manuscrit serait le seul argument invoqué pour retenir une leçon. Seul le passage qui suit s’approche d’une telle réduction d’argument, bien que l’antiquité du témoin ne constitue pas l’unique gage de fiabilité de la leçon retenue. INTER SE COISSE VIROS ET CERNERE FERRO

l’autre et tranchaient de l’épée)

(les hommes se ruèrent l’un sur

[Cernere « trancher »] est la vraie et antique leçon. De fait, Virgile a suivi Ennius qui dit : « ceux qui agissaient tranchaient (cernebant) dans les affaires importantes ».18

La leçon ancienne nécessite la caution d’un auteur, ancien lui aussi, dont la pureté d’expression a traversé les âges et dont l’autorité est pour cette raison indiscutable. La valeur sémantique attestée par les auteurs anciens joue donc un grand rôle dans la justification du choix des

able antiquité). Voir sur la réputation de Tiron et la recherche de l’antique au 2e siècle J.E.G. Zetzel, « Emendaui ad Tironem : Some Notes on Scholarship in the Second Century A.D. », HSCPh 73 (1977), 225–43. 17 Griffe, 572–3. 18 Servius, Ad Aen. 12.709 : INTER SE COISSE VIROS ET CERNERE FERRO uera et antiqua haec est lectio : nam Ennium secutus est qui ait « olli cernebant magnis de rebus agentes » (éd. G. Thilo et H. Hagen, Leipzig: Olms, 1881, réimp. Hildesheim, 1961).

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leçons antiques,19 tout comme aussi l’explication des formes archaïques, toujours validées par le témoignage des auteurs anciens.20 À l’occasion, le témoignage des manuscrits anciens est réfuté au moyen de l’autorité de l’auteur lui-même, comme c’est le cas au sujet de la division des livres de l’Énéide. Il est à noter que Tucca et Varius ont jugé que le cinquième livre se terminait sur ce vers: de fait, Virgile avaient ajouté deux vers à la suite de celui-ci. Pour cette raison, dans un grand nombre de manuscrits anciens, le début du sixième livre est: obuertunt pelago proras, tum dente tenaci.21

Malgré le témoignage des manuscrits anciens, qui suivent l’édition de Tucca et Varius produite à la demande d’Auguste, l’autorité de l’auteur prévaut évidemment. Il est clair qu’un contexte plus large était pris en considération et que l’on ne regardait pas que l’ancienneté des manuscrits pour retenir une leçon.

19 On pourrait ajouter à l’exemple cité un autre passage qui use du même procédé argumentatif : Servius, Ad Aen. 11.708: VENTOSA FERAT CVI GLORIA FRAVDEM haec est uera et antiqua lectio, ut « fraudem » non « laudem » legas, ut si « fraudem » legeris, sit sensus : pedes congredere, iam agnosces cui inanis iactantia adferat poenam : nam « fraudem » ueteres poenam vocabant, [. . .] ut etiam in antiquo cognoscitur iure. (VENTOSA FERAT CVI GLORIA FRAVDEM (à qui la vaine gloire causera détriment) [ fraudem] est la vraie et antique leçon, si bien qu’on doit lire fraudem « détriment » et non laudem « gloire » ; si on lit fraudem « détriment », le sens est le suivant : viens-en au combat, tu sauras bientôt pour qui une vaine vantardise entraîne le châtiment. De fait, les anciens appelaient le châtiment fraus, [. . .] comme on l’apprend dans le droit antique). (éd. Thilo et Hagen, nous avons coupé l’addition du Servius Danielis). 20 Citons seulement, à titre d’exemple, Servius, Ad Aen. 11.801–802: NEQVE AVRAS NEC SONITVS MEMOR haec est antiqua lectio ; namque apud maiores trahebatur interdum a Graeco genetiuus singularis. Hinc est et « paterfamilias » et « materfamilias », quae duo tantum nomina remanserunt : nam nec « huius auras » dicimus, nec « huius custodias » secundum Sallustium, qui ait « castella custodias thesaurorum » pro « custodiae » : ita enim etiam Asper intellegit, licet alii « custodias » accusatiuum uelint. (éd. Thilo et Hagen). ([Ne reconnaissant ni le souffle ni le sifflement] [Auras] est l’antique leçon. De fait, chez les Anciens, on formait parfois le génitif singulier d’après les formes grecques. C’est ce qui explique les formes paterfamilias et materfamilias, et seuls ces deux noms ont perduré. En effet, on ne dit plus huius auras, ni huius custodias en suivant Salluste, qui dit : « castella custodias thesaurorum » à la place de custodiae. Du moins est-ce ainsi qu’Asper l’a compris, bien que d’autres aient considéré que custodias était un accusatif.) Sur l’auctoritas des auteurs anciens chez Servius, cf. R.A. Kaster, « Servius and Idonei Auctores », AJPh 99 (1978), 181–209, et plus récemment, l’étude d’A. Uhl, Servius als Sprachlehrer. Zur Sprachrichtigkeit in der exegetischen Praxis des spätantiken Grammatikerunterrichts (Hypo 117; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1998), 218 s. 21 Servius, Ad Aen. 5.871 : Sciendum sane Tuccam et Varium hunc finem quinti esse uoluisse: nam a Vergilio duo uersus sequentes huic iuncti fuerunt : unde in non nullis antiquis codicibus sexti initium est « obuertunt pelago proras, tum dente tenaci » (éd. Thilo et Hagen). Servius place les deux vers, « Sic fatur lacrimans, classique immittit habenas/et tandem Euboicis Cumarum adlabitur oris » à la fin du livre V. Les éditions modernes suivent plutôt l’avis de Tucca et Varius.


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Dans certain cas, la leçon des manuscrits récents se compare à celle des manuscrits anciens: FLAVOS LAVINIA CRINES

(Lavinia aux blonds cheveux)

L’antique leçon se lisait floros « éclatants », c’est-à-dire florulentos « florissant », pulchros « beaux ». C’est également un terme employé par Ennius.22

L’antique leçon est mentionnée, mais Servius ne retient ni n’écarte la leçon, sans autre explication. Il considère sans doute les variantes comme interchangeables, puisque le sens, « belle chevelure » ou « blonde chevelure », de même que le pied ( floros et flauos sont tous deux spondée) ne changent pas. Dès lors, il est étonnant qu’il ne se prononce pas en faveur de l’ancienne leçon cependant, puisque on l’a vu plus haut recevoir les leçons d’anciens manuscrits lorsqu’elles sont justifiées par un uetus auctor, notamment Ennius. Bien plus, il se trouve même des occurrences où l’autorité ni d’Ennius ni d’antiques manuscrits ne peut faire accepter la variante au grammairien, comme on le voit dans ce dernier extrait que nous proposerons au lecteur. Dans ce passage, on voit Servius rejeter non pas une, mais deux leçons trouvées dans les manuscrits anciens: HIC SPECVS HORRENDVM ET SAEVI les soupiraux du cruel Dis)

SPIRACVLA

DITIS (ici une grotte terrifiante et

Les anciens utilisaient ce nom (specus) aux trois genres. Ennius l’a utilisé au féminin, Horace au masculin: « quae nemora aut quos agor in specus » (dans quels bois, dans quelles grottes suis-je emporté) et Virgile au neutre. Aujourd’hui, nous l’utilisons au neutre mais seulement à trois cas du singulier: nominatif, génitif et vocatif. En revanche, nous ne le connaissons qu’au masculin à tous les cas du pluriel, ce qui explique « ipsi in defossis specubus » (eux-mêmes, dans des grottes creusées). [Il faut lire horrendum (neutre)], bien que les anciens manuscrits portent la leçon horrendus [masculin]. SPIRACVLA DITIS [spiracula] désigne les entrées (aditus) et vient du verbe spirare « exhaler ». Les anciens manuscrits portent la leçon piracula « les limites », qui tirent leur nom du grec πέρας « limite », c’est-à-dire les limites des enfers.23

22 Servius, Ad Aen. 12. 605: FLAVOS LAVINIA CRINES antiqua lectio « floros » habuit, id est florulentos, pulchros : et est sermo Ennianus. (éd. Thilo et Hagen). 23 Servius, Ad Aen. 7.568: HIC SPECVS HORRENDVM hoc nomen apud maiores trium generum fuit. Ennius feminino posuit, Horatius masculino « quae nemora aut quos agor in specus » (Carm. 3.25.2), Vergilius neutro, quod hodie in numero singulari tribus tantum utimur casibus « hoc specus, huius specus, o specus ». Nam pluralem tantum a genere masculino habemus in omnibus casibus : hinc

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Voilà deux exemples où Servius ne retient pas la leçon des manuscrits anciens, pour des raisons qu’il expose brièvement et qui reposent sur les critères d’auctoritas et de latinitas, c’est-à-dire la dérivation analogique latine des mots.24 Tout d’abord, l’usage du masculin specus, comme dans la leçon specus horrendus, n’est pas attestée par un usage assez constant des anciens: le mot figure aux trois genres chez les poètes et il s’agit assez clairement de licence poétique. Ce n’est donc pas une garantie sûre et Servius préfère s’en tenir à l’usage qui a persisté et qu’il sait être bien attesté à toutes les époques, c’est-à-dire le singulier neutre. Quant aux deux variantes spiracula/piracula, elles sont chacune justifiées par l’étymologie: l’une latine, l’autre grecque. Servius préfère évidemment l’origine latine à la grecque. En effet, le rôle social du grammairien est de conserver la qualité de la langue latine et sa pureté en cohésoin avec l’histoire.25 Les cas de specus et spiracula illustrent le fait que l’argument de l’ancienneté des manuscrits n’emporte pas d’office l’adhésion du commentateur, puisque les leçons retenues ne sont pas identifiées à des ueteres codices et que les variantes des ueteres codices ne sont pas retenues, en vertu de critères dictés par les arguments d’usage et d’étymologie latine. Il semble donc sûr que Servius ne se laissait pas convaincre par le seul argument de l’autorité liée à l’antiquitas, mais qu’au contraire la raison, pour reprendre les termes de Ph. Lockhart, joue également un rôle important dans la sélection des leçons.26 Notons par ailleurs que les termes opposés par Ph. Lockhart dans le passage cité en ouverture, à savoir l’auctoritas et la « raison », ou le raisonnement du correcteur, ne sont pas conformes à l’usage qu’en fait Servius : en effet, Servius utilise le terme d’auctoritas pour désigner les auteurs anciens et non les manuscrits antiques. Il s’agit de l’usus confirmé chez les auteurs classi-

est « ipsi in defossis specubus » (Georg. 3.376). Quamquam antiqui codices habeant « hic specus horrendus ». SPIRACVLA DITIS aditus, a spirando. antiqui codices « piracula » habent, quae dicta sunt ἀπὸ τῶν περάτων, hoc est a finibus inferorum. (éd. Thilo et Hagen). Le lecteur notera que defossis specubus ci-dessus pourrait très bien être féminin ou neutre et que l’exemple est mal choisi pour la démonstration. 24 Cf. Kaster, « Servius and Idonei Auctores », 182 ; Griffe, 572–3. 25 Cf. à ce sujet R.A. Kaster, « Macrobius and Servius : Verecundia and the Grammarian’s F unction », HSCPh 84 (1980), 219–62, notamment p. 254. 26 Peu nous importe si le raisonnement invoqué par Servius nous semble aujourd’hui erroné, comme a voulu le montrer la note vindicative de R.D. Williams, « Servius Commentator and Guide », Proceedings of the Virgil Society 6 (1966–1967), 50–5. Notre propos est de montrer qu’il a recours à d’autres arguments que l’ancienneté.


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ques, qu’ils soient ueteres ou neoterici,27 qui possède nécessairement une force persuasive et dont l’usage présent est dépourvu. En revanche, il qualifie l’« autorité »—ou plutôt la crédibilité—des manuscrits anciens d’antiquitas.28 Cette distinction revêtira une grande importance pour la suite de notre démonstration. Quant à Jérome, qui a été formé à l’école de Donat, il ne semble guère se soucier de l’âge des manuscrits qu’il utilise. En effet, dans son œuvre exégétique, les questions et commentaires sur les Écritures, il ne fait en tout et pour tout qu’une seule référence aux manuscrits anciens: CVRREBATIS BENE, QVIS VOS IMPEDIVIT VERITATI NON bien, qui vous empêcha d’obéir à la vérité ?)

OBOEDIRE ?

(Vous couriez

La phrase que le traducteur latin a ici employée, « d’obéir à la vérité » (ueritati non oboedire), figure aussi dans le texte grec (τῇ ἀληθείᾳ μὴ πείθεσθαι) ; elle a été traduite plus haut de la manière suivante: « de croire à la vérité » (non credere ueritati). Et cette phrase, nous avons noté en ses lieu et place qu’elle ne figure pas dans les anciens manuscrits : il peut arriver que les témoins grecs aient aussi été touchés par cette erreur.29

C’est la seule fois où Jérôme a recours à l’ancienneté des témoins pour rejeter une leçon. Dans un autre commentaire, il qualifie, un peu à la manière des Alexandrins, les manuscrits d’« authentiques », mais sans autre précision que les grammairiens sur la valeur antique de ce qualificatif.30 Autrement, il compare plutôt les traditions de la traduction grecque et des traductions latines au texte hébreu de l’Ancien Testament

Kaster, « Servius and Idonei Auctores », 204–7. Cf. Uhl, 411–13. Elle note que Servius n’emploie jamais uetustas au sens d’antiquitas, c’est-à-dire l’âge qui accorde la crédibilité. Faut-il en tirer des conclusions sur la valeur du témoignage accordé par Servius aux ueteres codices ? Ce serait sans doute pousser trop loin l’analyse. Il s’agit à notre avis d’une distinction sémantique selon laquelle antiquus désigne ce qui date « d’antan », alors que uetus représente plutôt une antiquité matérielle. 29 Jérôme, In Gal. 3.5.7: CVRREBATIS BENE, QVIS VOS IMPEDIVIT VERITATI NON OBOEDIRE ? Id quod nunc Latinus posuit interpres, « ueritati non oboedire », et in Graeco scriptum est, τῇ ἀληθείᾳ μὴ πείθεσθαι, in superiori loco ita interpretatus est, « non credere ueritati ». Quod quidem nos, in uetustis codicibus non haberi, in suo loco annotauimus (cf. In Gal. 1.3.1) : licet et Graeca exemplaria hoc errore confusa sint. (PL 26, 401 C; l’édition de G. Raspanti, CCSL 77A ; Turnhout: Brepols, 2006, n’était pas encore disponible au moment d’écrire ces lignes). 30 Jérôme, Qu. Hebr. Gen. 32.2: ET EMORTVA EST SARA IN CIVITATE ARBOC, QVAE EST IN VALLE : HAEC EST CHEBRON, IN TERRA CHANAAN Hoc quod hic positum est, quae est in ualle, in authenticis codicibus non habetur. (éd. P. de Lagarde, G. Morin, M. Adriaen, CCSL 72; Turnhout: Brepols, 1959). ([Et Sara mourut dans la ville d’Abroc, qui se trouve dans une vallée, cette ville est Hébron, en terre de Canaan] Cette précision, « qui se trouve dans une vallée », n e figure pas dans les manuscrits authentiques). 27 28

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ou le latin face au grec du Nouveau Testament: les expressions telles que in Latinis codicibus, in Graecis et Latinis codicibus, in nostris codicibus servent souvent à signaler une erreur de traduction et une correction à apporter au texte de la Septante ou des traductions latines.31 Jérôme a pour seule auctoritas la philologie, la plus grande conformité possible avec le texte hébreu de l’Ancien et avec le texte grec du Nouveau Testament—du moins celui qu’il lit in codicibus suis—en raison de leur statut de version originale. Le commentaire de Jérôme ne se fonde donc pas sur l’antiquité du témoin, or on ne peut certes pas dire qu’il n’a pas été influencé par l’éducation qu’il reçut à l’école de Donat. Les conclusions de Ph. Lockhart ne s’applique donc pas plus à l’exégète du 4e siècle qu’au grammairien. 2. Ambrosiaster et sa critique contre les exégètes Reprenons les conclusions de Ph. Lockhart: il affirme, sur le témoignage de l’Ambrosiaster, que grammairiens et exégètes avaient pour pratique courante de falsifier les textes, adulterate en anglais, adulterare en latin chez l’Ambrosiaster. Mais avant de nous intéresser à la fraude des exégètes de son temps, examinons tout d’abord le contexte dans lequel l’Ambrosiaster a lancé cette grave accusation. En effet, si l’on restitue la citation utilisée par Ph. Lockhart dans son contexte, on s’aperçoit qu’il n’est pas tant question de manuscrits anciens ou récents, mais plutôt de version grecque (originale) du Nouveau Testament et de traduction latine, sur fond de querelle à la fois philologique et doctrinale: Or on nous oppose les manuscrits grecs, comme si eux-mêmes ne différaient pas entre eux, ce qui est le fait d’un certain goût pour la querelle. De fait, quiconque ne peut user de sa propre autorité pour l’emporter falsifie les termes de la Loi, afin de défendre son idée comme s’il utilisait les termes de la Loi et afin que ce soit non pas la raison mais l’autorité qui semble agir comme argument. Il est bien établi que certains manuscrits latins ont été autrefois traduits

Nous ne citons que les références, en donner le texte serait encombrer inutilement la note. In Hebraicis/Latinis/Graecis codicibus/uoluminibus: Qu. Hebr. Gen., praef., 21.22, 22.20, 25.8, 32.29–30, 45.9–10, 46.26; In Eccl. 1.1, 2.5; In Is. 3.6.9–10, 3.8.1–4, 3.8.5–8, 15.54.15; In Jer. 5.27.5, 5.53.5, 6.11.2; In Ez. 2.9.11–19, 9. 26.6–14, 9.28.11–19; In Mich. 2.1–5; In Ab. 2.19–20; In Os. 1.1.1; In Mt 1.5.26, 4.24.36; In Eph. PL 26, 450 A, 453 D, 471 B, 476 A, 487 C, 511 C, 513 B, 525 B, 530 B; In Gal. PL 26, 333 A, 334 B, 357 C, 364 D, 372 D, 402 A, 418 C, 425 A. In nostris codicibus: Qu. Hebr. Gen. praef., 1.2, 24.43, 43.11, 45.9–10; In Is. 18.66.10–11; In Ez. 11.37.1–14; In Gal. PL 26, 363A, 402 C; In Eph. PL 26, 535 A. 31


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à partir de manuscrits grecs anciens, que la pureté de l’époque a préservés et dont elle garantit l’intégrité. Mais après, lorsque les âmes se sont éloignées de la communion et que les hérétiques semèrent le désordre, on commença à les tourmenter de questions, et beaucoup de passage ont été transformés selon l’interprétation des hommes, afin de trouver dans les Écritures ce que l’homme percevait ; pour cette raison, les manuscrits grecs eux-mêmes ont aussi des variantes32 (nos italiques).

Il est notoire qu’avec les travaux de révision de la traduction de Jérôme, le recours à l’original grec du Nouveau Testament, ou à la traduction grecque des Septante de l’Ancien Testament, pesait sur les exégètes comme une sorte d’obligation professionnelle.33 Or elle n’a pas fait que des adeptes et l’Ambrosiaster n’a pas du tout participé à ce mouvement. Il croyait au contraire qu’il importait surtout que le texte soit accessible aux fidèles et interprété sainement. En effet, toujours dans cette polémique autour de l’usage des versions grecques ou des versions latines, on le voit reprocher à ses opposants de vouloir imposer à tous les chrétiens l’usage d’un texte qu’ils ne comprendraient pas, puisque plusieurs ignoraient le grec, et de vouloir généraliser l’incompréhension, comme chez ces gens qui à l’Église chantent une liturgie dont ils ne comprennent pas un mot.34 On sait qu’il existait des débats sur la

32 Ambrosiast., In Rom. 5.14.4e–5 γ: Et tamen sic praescribere nobis uolunt de Graecis codicibus, quasi non ipsi ab inuicem discrepent. Quod facit studium contentionis. Quia enim propria quis auctoritate uti non potest ad uictoriam, uerba legis adulterat, ut sensum suum quasi uerba legis asserat, ut non ratio, sed auctoritas praescribere uideatur. Constat autem quosdam Latinos porro olim de ueteribus Graecis translatos codicibus, quos incorruptos simplicitas temporum seruauit et probat. Postquam autem a concordia animis discedentibus, et haereticis perturbantibus torqueri quaestionibus coeperunt, multa immutata sunt ad sensum humanum, ut hoc contineretur in litteris, quod homini uideretur. Vnde etiam ipsi Graeci diuersos codices habent. (éd. Vogels). 33 Augustin s’en sert à l’occasion dans ses commentaires sur la Bible, cf. H.-I. Marrou, Saint Augustin et la fin de la culture antique (BÉFAR 145 bis; Paris: de Boccard, 21949), 30. 34 Ambrosiast., In 1 Cor. 14.14: SI ORAVERO LINGVA, SPIRITVS MEVS ORAT ; MENS AVTEM MEA SINE FRVCTV EST. Manifestum est ignorare animum nostrum, si lingua loquatur quam nescit, sicut adsolent Latini homines Graece cantare oblectati sono uerborum, nescientes tamen quid dicant. Spiritus ergo, qui datur in baptismo, scit quid oret animus, dum loquitur aut perorat lingua sibi ignota ; mens autem, qui est animus, sine fructu est. Quem enim potest habere profectum, qui ignorat quae loquatur ? (éd. H.J. Vogels, CSEL 81, 2; Vienne: Hoelder-Pichler-Tempsky, 1968). ([Si je prie en langue, mon esprit est en prière; en revanche mon intelligence est stérile.] Il est clair que notre pensée est dans l’ignorance, si elle parle dans une langue qu’elle ne connaît pas, comme les hommes Latins ont l’habitude de chanter en grec, charmés par le son des mots, ne sachant pas cependant ce qu’ils disent. Donc l’Esprit, qui est donné lors du baptême, sait ce que dit la pensée en prière, lorsqu’elle parle ou prie dans une langue inconnue d’elle-même. En revanche, l’intelligence, qui est la pensée, est stérile. Quel profit en effet peut obtenir celui qui ignore ce qu’il dit ?).

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question35 et il a déjà été démontré que l’Ambrosiaster et Jérôme s’opposaient sans doute personnellement sur ce point.36 Dans ce contexte, il apparaît clairement que ce dont l’Ambrosiaster accusait les exégètes tels que Jérôme, ce n’était pas tant de manquer de jugement et de se reposer uniquement sur l’ancienneté des manuscrits pour déterminer quel texte des Écritures il fallait lire et commenter—au contraire, il semblait enclin à accorder sa confiance à un texte ancien—mais de faire preuve de naïveté ou—ce qui est pire—de malhonnêteté en prétendant que les manuscrits grecs étaient seuls une garantie d’orthodoxie en raison de la pureté de leur texte en comparaison des nombreuses traductions latines qui circulaient à cette époque. L’Ambrosiaster rétorquait que le grec ne mettait pas à l’abri de la fraude et que certains se servaient de cet écran pour couvrir les manipulations qu’ils opéraient sur le texte afin d’y insérer leurs impiétés. 3. La méthode de l’Ambrosiaster Les ueteres codices Les manuscrits anciens étaient, de l’avis de l’Ambrosiaster, préservés de la corruption par leur antiquité, mais il en parlait comme de témoins perdus, non accessibles: modèles anciens et depuis disparus sur lesquels les premières traductions latines avaient été faites. Cette antiquité transmettait donc son crédit au texte latin, malgré ses détracteurs. Sur la base de ce jugement, l’Ambrosiaster ne prenait pas en considération l’âge des manuscrits qu’il consultait, lorsqu’il commentait le texte des Écritures. L’antiquité des manuscrits n’était tout simplement pas un facteur de commentaire ou même de choix du texte. Conséquemment, les conclusions que l’on aurait pu tirer sur les méthodes de commentaire de l’Ambrosiaster à partir du parallèle établi par Ph. Lockhart entre 35 Jérôme, In Gal. 2.4.26, témoigne des oppositions auxquelles donnaient lieu son travail sur les versions originales des Écritures et affirme : de codice suo tollere noluerunt putantes aduersum nos relinqui : quod scilicet Lex aliter sit intelligenda, quam scripta est ; cum utique allegorice (quod nos quoque fatemur, et Paulus docet) accipienda sit, non pro uoluntate legentis [ . . .].(PL 26, 401 C). (certains ont refusé de retirer ce passage de leur manuscrit, pensant, en désaccord avec nous, qu’il doit être laissé, c’est-à-dire que pour cela la Loi devrait être comprise autrement qu’elle n’a été écrite ; alors que certes elle doit parfois être interprétée allégoriquement (ce que nous admettons et ce dont Paul donne l’exemple), cela ne doit pas être fait selon l’idée du lecteur [. . .]). Jérôme évoque aussi la calomnie au sujet des variantes dans les traduction de la part des Juifs, cf. In Ez. 11.37.1–14. 36 H.J. Vogels, « Ambrosiaster und Hieronymus », RBen 66 (1956), 14–19.


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ses critiques et le travail de Servius seraient nécessairement erronées. En poursuivant le raisonnement de Ph. Lockhart, on en serait venu à conclure que l’Ambrosiaster se livrait à une critique éclairée, pesant les variantes du texte, anciennes et récentes, et choisissait ensuite la leçon en fonction de paramètres philologiques : l’analyse linguistique, le contexte interne à l’œuvre et la cohérence des Écritures. Ces conclusions seraient très éloignées de la véritable méthode de travail de l’Ambrosiaster. En effet, dans le reste de cette même citation de l’Ambrosiaster—que nous avons tronquée à dessein ci-dessus afin de ménager nos effets !—il explique comment il procède à la distinction du vrai texte: Au reste, je crois un énoncé vrai lorsque à la fois la raison, l’histoire et l’autorité sont respectées : en effet, ce que l’on reproche aujourd’hui aux manuscrits latins, on le trouve de même cité par les auteurs anciens: chez Tertullien, Victorinus et Cyprien.37

Faisons d’abord un sort à l’autorité, puisque, on le voit par le recours aux auteurs « anciens » du christianisme, Tertullien, Cyprien et Victorinus, l’Ambrosiaster ne dérogeait pas à la garantie d’un texte biblique qu’il trouvait cité chez ces auteurs confirmés. Quant à l’histoire, il s’agit chez l’Ambrosiaster du respect de la lettre des Écritures, de la vérité historique manifestant la puissance de Dieu. L’Ambrosiaster en somme jugeait de l’authenticité du texte selon qu’il ne s’écartait pas de la tradition de l’histoire sainte (historia) et qu’il était confirmé par sa réception chez des auteurs anciens dont l’autorité servait de garantie (auctoritas). Il lui restait à vérifier qu’il s’avérait également conforme à la raison (ratio), c’est-à-dire l’orthodoxie. La raison La raison, chez Servius, couvrait tout ce qui pouvait justifier une leçon, que ce fût la cohérence interne de l’auteur, la métrique, l’usus ou l’étymologie. Chez Jérôme, la raison reposait dans l’argument philologique du texte transmis dans la langue d’origine, de la correction en fonction du texte majoritaire, hébreu ou grec, selon qu’il commentait l’Ancien ou le Nouveau Testament. Quant à l’Ambrosiaster, il ne recherchait pas la variante et s’il arrivait en effet qu’il en examinât, il traitait deux

37 Ambrosiast., In Rom. 5.14.5a γ: Hoc autem uerum arbitror, quando et ratio et historia et auctoritas conseruatur. Nam hodieque quae in Latinis reprehenduntur codicibus, sic inueniuntur a ueteribus posita, Tertulliano, Victorino et Cypriano. (éd. Vogels).

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leçons comme équivalentes : très paulinien en cela, il considérait que si la lettre pouvait être interprétée en accord avec l’esprit, c’est-à-dire selon la raison de la foi, et que l’orthodoxie était sauve, on pouvait fort bien s’accommoder de variantes. À titre d’exemple, citons le commentaire de l’Ambrosiaster sur un passage de la seconde Épître de Paul aux Corinthiens: SIQVIDEM INDVTI, NON NVDI INVENIAMVR

(si du moins nous sommes trouvés revêtus et non nus) [ . . .] D’autres manuscrits portent la leçon suivante: « siquidem exspoliati, non nudi inueniamur » (si du moins nous sommes trouvés dépouillés et non nus), c’est-à-dire si, sortant de notre corps, nous étions revêtus du Christ, parce que tous ceux qui sont baptisés dans le Christ sont revêtus (induuntur) du Christ. C’est pourquoi si nous respectons la règle du baptême et la tradition, une fois dépouillés (exspoliati) de notre corps on ne nous trouve pas nus, parce que le Christ habite au plus intime de l’homme.38

Dans ce passage, l’Ambrosiaster n’a pas cherché à cacher l’opposition littérale des deux leçons, mais expliquait la variante d’une façon qui revenait à une interprétation spirituelle allant dans le même sens que le texte qu’il conservait (induti). Pas d’explication philologique, pas de recours au texte grec, l’important était que le son lecteur trouvât matière à édification dans le texte de Paul, quelle que fût la version qu’il lût. Ailleurs, le traitement des variantes est encore plus expéditif: L’Écriture dit à Pharaon « je t’ai préservé (seruaui) afin de montrer en toi ma puissance et que mon nom soit proclamé sur toute la terre ». D’autres manuscrits ont la leçon suivante : « Je t’ai élevé (suscitaui), afin de montrer en toi ma puissance ». Que le texte soit « préservé » (seruaui ) ou « élevé » (suscitaui), le sens est le même.39

Puisque la survie ou la glorification de Pharaon sont deux moyens à la disposition de Dieu pour témoigner de sa puissance, peu importe ce qu’il fait, dans la mesure où l’on comprend ses desseins ! Et puisque le

38 Ambrosiast., In 2 Cor. 5.2–3.2: SIQVIDEM INDVTI, NON NVDI INVENIAMVR Alii codices sic habent : « Siquidem exspoliati, non nudi inueniamur » id est, si exeuntes de corpore Christum uestiti fuerimus, quia quicumque in Christo baptizantur, Christum induunt (cf. Gal 3:27). Itaque si in forma baptismi et traditionis manserimus, exspoliati corpore, non nudi inuenimur quia in interiore homine habitat Christus. (éd. Vogels). 39 Ambrosiast., In Rom. 9.17.1a γ: Dicit enim Scriptura ad Faraonem (Ex 9:16) « Quia in hoc ipsum te seruaui ut ostendam in te uirtutem meam, et ut nuntietur nomen meum in universa terra ». Alii codices sic habent : « Ad hoc te suscitaui ut ostendam in te uirtutem meam ». Siue « seruaui », siue « suscitaui », unus est sensus. (éd. Vogels).


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commentaire ne repose pas sur l’art du poète, comme chez Servius, mais sur l’enseignement spirituel qu’il véhicule, l’Ambrosiaster n’avait pas à se soucier de considérations de métrique ou d’évolution sémantique des mots. Il pouvait très bien s’accommoder des variantes textuelles, et même les balayer nonchalamment, si l’interprétation des Écritures demeurait orthodoxe. 4. Conclusion Cette rapide enquête, menée à partir des conclusions de Ph. Lockhart, sur les arguments utilisés par les grammairiens et les exégètes pour distinguer entre les diverses leçons d’un texte nous a permis de clarifier quelques points sur la méthode du commentaire au 4e siècle. Tout d’abord, malgré l’enthousiasme du 2e siècle pour les antiquités, il n’y a pas de tradition antérieure au 4e siècle dans la recherche des manuscrits anciens dans un but strictement ecdotique, ou en vue d’un commentaire. Deuxièmement, la critique formulée par l’Ambrosiaster ne concernait pas du tout une trop grande valorisation de l’antiquité des manuscrits : ce qu’on aurait pu au départ prendre pour une critique de l’argument philologique de l’antiquitas—à ne pas confondre d’ailleurs avec l’auctoritas—était en fait un éloge de l’antiquitas combiné à une critique du recours à tout prix à la version originale, à la lecture des Écritures « dans le texte » sans compromis. En troisième lieu, il y a bien une méthode grammaticale ou, dirait-on aujourd’hui, philologique, commune aux grammairiens et aux exégètes et dans laquelle la raison joue un grand rôle. Mais contrairement à ce que croyait Ph. Lockhart, les commentateurs du 4e siècle n’étaient pas partisans du texte ancien au point de négliger « la raison du correcteur » : chez Servius, la raison prend la forme de la cohérence des règles d’écritures poétiques et latine et chez Jérôme, elle consiste en l’exactitude de la traduction latine par rapport aux versions hébreu et grecque. C’est ici que l’Ambrosiaster se distingue de ses deux contemporains sur le terrain de la raison, car il n’use pas d’une raison philologique, fondée sur le témoignage des manuscrits, mais d’une raison théologique, fondée sur l’orthodoxie: toute leçon est acceptable dans la mesure où elle peut être interprétée conformément à la doctrine orthodoxe. Il est intéressant dans ce contexte de constater que Jérôme, qui use d’une méthode de commentaire plus proche de celle du grammairien—recherche des

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témoins, comparaison des textes—a également pratiqué l’exégèse allégorique, comme Origène dont il connaît bien l’œuvre. En revanche, l’Ambrosiaster qui s’accommode mieux des variantes textuelles, pour peu qu’il puisse préserver le sens du texte, s’adonnait de préférence à une exégèse plus historique, de type littéral. Il est frappant de voir que la fidélité textuelle ne va pas nécessairement de pair avec la fidélité historique dans la méthode exégétique et que l’exégèse littérale se passe fort bien d’une étude philologique préalable. En terminant, il sera intéressant d’appliquer le cadre de la vérité défini par l’Ambrosiaster dans le commentaire à l’Épître aux Romains cité ci-dessus (Ad Rom. 5.14.5a γ) à l’un des passages étudiés du commentaire à l’Énéide (Ad Aen. 7.568), où l’on voit Servius rejeter une variante d’un manuscrit ancien, et de constater que le grammairien jugeait lui aussi de la valeur du texte selon « la raison, l’histoire et l’autorité ». Ces notions se manifestent de la façon suivante : la raison est évoquée par l’étymologie latine qui justifie la leçon spiracula, l’histoire est représentée dans ce passage par l’étude diachronique de l’emploi des genres du mot specus, l’autorité reste la confirmation d’une leçon par le témoignage des poètes anciens. L’autorité est le seul aspect, parmi les trois auteurs auxquels nous nous sommes attardés, que grammairien et exégètes entendaient de la même manière. Nous avons en outre évoqué plus haut l’importance que la nuance entre autorité et ancienneté revêtait pour notre argumentation: il ne faut pas confondre antiquité des manuscrit et autorité des auteurs anciens. Cette notion d’autorité sera amplifiée d’un second niveau dans l’exégèse de l’Ambrosiaster.40 D’une part, là où chez les grammairiens l’auctoritas sert d’argument pour baliser ce qui est acceptable en latin, plutôt qu’à définir ce qui est correct,41 l’Ambrosiaster l’évoque pour défendre un texte critiqué pour son inauthenticité, en arguant du fait que des auteurs confirmés tels que Tertullien, Cyprien et Victorinus l’ont aussi utilisé. Il s’agit en quelque sorte, pour reprendre les termes énoncés ci-dessus, de présenter un texte comme acceptable alors qu’il est jugé incorrect par les exégètes contemporains. D’autre part, on

40 Sur les deux niveaux de lecture de la raison, l’histoire et l’autorité chez l’Ambrosiaster, cf. notre article « Vérité et mensonge chez l’Ambrosiaster : les paramètres de l’histoire divine et de l’histoire des hommes » (éd. P. Fleury, Actes du colloques Rhétorique et historiographie, Cahiers d’Études Anciennes, 42 [2005]), 75–88. 41 R.A. Kaster, Guardians of Language: The Grammarian and Society in Late Antiquity (TCH 11; Berkeley: University of California Press, 1988), 177.


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comprend par son traitement des variantes que ce qui leur donne du crédit, c’est l’autorité de la foi: tout texte, peu importe l’ancienneté des manuscrits, qui va à l’encontre de la foi, sera traité comme un texte falsifié par des auteurs mal intentionnés. Et si l’argument de l’autorité est très important dans l’exégèse de l’Ambrosiaster, cette auctoritas est conférée par l’orthodoxie, que la foi chrétienne tient de Dieu lui-même et non de l’ancienneté.42 Chez l’Ambrosiaster, l’auctoritas devient donc, à un niveau théologique et non plus philologique, l’apanage d’un seul auteur, la garantie de créance qu’offre l’Auctor, dont l’antiquitas dépasse celle du monde lui-même, puisqu’il s’agit de l’auteur du monde.43

42 Ambrosiast., Qu. test. 114.29 : ueritatis ratio non ex consuetudine neque ex uetustate, sed ex deo sit, qui non uetustate deus probatur, sed aeternitate (la raison de la vérité ne vient pas de l’habitude ni de l’ancienneté, mais de Dieu, dont la divinité n’est pas prouvée par l’ancienneté, mais par son éternité). En cela, l’Ambrosiaster s’oppose à la plupart des Pères de l’Église, qui ont beaucoup utilisé l’argument de l’antériorité pour défendre le christianisme. Cf. à ce sujet A. Fraïsse, « De l’antériorité comme preuve de vérité chez les premiers Pères de l’Église » (éd. B. Bakhouche, L’ancienneté chez les Anciens, tome II : Mythologie et religion, Montpellier : Centre d’études et de la recherche sur les civilisations antiques de la Méditerranée, 2001), 411–23. 43 L’Ambrosiaster, Qu. test. 114.15, qualifie Dieu d’« auctor », avec le sens de « Créateur ».

COMPLETING THE GOSPEL: THE INFANCY GOSPEL OF THOMAS AS A SUPPLEMENT TO THE GOSPEL OF LUKE Tony Chartrand-Burke Early Christian apocryphal texts regularly take episodes from earlier texts and rework them in a variety of ways—for example, by retelling a story in light of doctrinal developments, by grounding new ideas in events from the past, or by grafting other early traditions onto wellknown narratives. These transformations are forms of exegesis, for, in changing their sources, apocryphal writers also interpret and elucidate the earlier material. An example of such exegesis can be found in the Infancy Gospel of Thomas (IGT). This second-century apocryphal gospel traces the life of Jesus from the ages of five to twelve, terminating with Luke’s story of Jesus in the Temple (2:41–52). Aside from the author of IGT,1 only a handful of early Christian writers comment on the episode of Jesus in the Temple. Yet, it appears to be a story with much exegetical flexibility, for both orthodox and heretical writers use it to support very different positions on the nature and origins of Jesus. Gnostic Christians used the age assigned to Jesus in the Temple story as an opportunity for numerological speculation.2 The Valentinians, for example, connected the episode to elements of their cosmogony. According to Irenaeus, the Valentinians claimed “the production, again, of the Duodecad of the Aeons, is indicated by the fact that the Lord was twelve years of age when He disputed with the teachers of the law, and by the election of the apostles, for of these

1 The story of Jesus in the Temple appears also in the Arabic Infancy Gospel, an eighthor ninth-century compilation of IGT, the Protoevangelium of James and other infancy traditions (see J.K. Elliott, The Apocryphal New Testament [Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1993], 100). This gospel’s use of Jesus in the Temple, copied as it is from IGT, is of little value to the present discussion. 2 With few exceptions, the Gnostic writers otherwise show little interest in Jesus’ childhood, and no interest in canonical childhood traditions. Rather than invoking Luke’s story, Justin the Gnostic reports a tale of incarnation in which the angel Baruch appears to a twelve-year-old Jesus who is tending sheep (Hippolytus, Haer. 5.26.29). The Pistis Sophia (8 and 61) discusses Jesus’ conception and offers another story in which the spirit unites with Jesus as a youth.

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there were twelve” (Haer. 1.3:2).3 The Marcosians, to whom Irenaeus (Haer. 1.20:1) credits the origin of IGT’s story of Jesus and the Teacher (IGT 6, 14, 15),4 used Luke 2:49 (“Did you not know that I must be in my Father’s house?”) to claim that Jesus “announced to them the Father of whom they were ignorant” (Haer. 1.20:2). Orthodox doctrine is found supported also in Jesus in the Temple. Tertullian invokes Luke 2:49 in his argument against Praxeas to show that the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit were not one and the same (Prax., 26). The Constitutions of the Holy Apostles (6.23) mentions Jesus’ submission to his parents (Luke 2:51), and both Tertullian (Pud., 1) and Origen (Comm. Matt. 8.13) affirm Jesus’ humanity by mentioning his growth in wisdom (Luke 2:52). Few scholars of IGT have made much of its use of the story of Jesus in the Temple.5 The tendency has been to see IGT as nothing more than a haphazard collection of stories woodenly “filling in” information missing in the canonical gospels. Thus, Jesus in the Temple serves merely to connect the apocryphal stories with canonical traditions. But there is much to be learned from IGT’s exegesis of Luke. Careful study of IGT in its earliest recoverable form indicates that the gospel was written not to “fill in” the NT gospels as a group, but to supplement Luke in particular, for it can be argued that IGT shows no awareness of any Christian text other than Luke-Acts and appears to share some of Luke’s redactional and christological concerns. Yet, in supplementing Luke, the author of IGT reveals a dissatisfaction with Luke’s portrayal of Jesus. At the very least he must have felt something was missing in the third gospel. But the problem is more acute, for the author of IGT does not merely reproduce verbatim the Jesus in the Temple episode; rather, he alters it to emphasize aspects of Jesus’ character that he feels are lacking in the canonical account. The goal of IGT’s transformation

3 Translation from Irenaeus, Against Heresies, in The Ante-Nicene Fathers; Translations of the Writings of the Fathers Down to AD 325, vol. 1 (ed. A. Roberts and J. Donaldson; 1885– 1887; Repr. Peabody, MA: Hendrickson, 1994). 4 For ease of comparison all citations of IGT reflect the chapter and verse divisions of R. Hock, The Infancy Gospels of James and Thomas (The Scholars Bible 2; Sonoma, CA: Polebridge Press, 1995), 104–43. Excerpts from IGT are taken from Hock’s translation except for readings from the Greek S form of the text—these are my own. 5 Only two articles have appeared dealing particularly with IGT’s use of Luke: G. Schmahl, “Lk 2, 41–52 und die Kindheitserzählung des Thomas 19, 1–5: Ein Vergleich,” BL 15 (1974), 249–58; and J. de Jonge, “Sonship, Wisdom, Infancy: Luke 2:41– 51a,” NTS 24 (1978), 317–54. Both authors conclude (to no-one’s surprise) that IGT borrowed Luke’s story.

completing the gospel

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of the story, and indeed the reason for composition of the entire gospel, appears to be to increase the young Jesus’ knowledge and acumen so that, together IGT and Luke can effectively compete with contemporary biographies of other eminent figures. Compared to other biographical literature, Luke was too subtle, too reserved in its portrayal of Jesus. IGT was created to fix it. 1. The Transmission History of the Infancy Gospel of Thomas IGT is a text with a complicated transmission history—so complicated that all but a few scholars have shied away from it. Though it was reintroduced in the West in the seventeenth century, only in the past few decades has research on the text progressed to the point that its original form and contents are finally coming into view. And only with that information can something significant be said about IGT’s relationship to the Gospel of Luke. Most readers know IGT in the nineteen-chapter form made popular by Constantin von Tischendorf in his Evangelia Apocrypha collection of 1853.6 Tischendorf established the text on four manuscripts: two complete and nearly identical (Dresden, Sachsische Bibliothek A 187 and Bologna, Biblioteca universitaria 2702) and two fragmentary (Vienna, Österreichische Nationalbibliothek Phil. gr. 162 and Paris, Bibliothèque nationale de France, a.f. gr. 239). He called this form of the text Greek A. Three other forms of the text appear in Tischendorf ’s edition: a second, much shorter Greek text (which he called Greek B) established on a single manuscript (Sinai gr. 453),7 plus an early Latin version that is extant both in a fragmentary palimpsest from the fifth century (Vienna, Österreichische Nationalbibliothek, Vindobensis 563)8 and incorporated 6 C. von Tischendorf, Evangelia apocrypha (Leipzig: H. Mendelsohn, 1853)—available more widely in the second edition of 1876 (pp. 140–57). For complete descriptions of all the Greek manuscripts of IGT see T. Chartrand-Burke, “The Infancy Gospel of Thomas: The Text, Its Origins, and Its Transmission” (Ph.D. diss., University of Toronto, 2001), 101–16, or idem, “The Greek Manuscript Tradition of the Infancy Gospel of Thomas,” Apocrypha 14 (2004), 129–51. 7 Tischendorf, Evangelia apocrypha2, 158–63; first published in idem, “Rechenschaft über meine handschriftlichen Studien auf meiner wissenschaftlichen Reise von 1840 bis 1844,” Jahrbucher der Literatur 114 (Vienna, 1846), 51–53, and discussed in idem, De evangeliorum apocryphorum origine et usu (Verhandelingen ultgegeven door het haagsche genootschap tot verdedigung van de christelijke godsdienst 12; The Hague, 1851), 210–12. 8 Tischendorf, Evangelia Apocrypha2, xliv–xlvi. Most of the text of the palimpsest was previewed in Tischendorf, De evangeliorum, 214–15.

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in some late manuscripts of the Latin Gospel of Pseudo-Matthew,9 and an unrelated late Latin version (Città del Vaticano, Biblioteca apostolica vaticana, Vat. lat. 4578), featuring a three-chapter prologue of the Holy Family’s journeys in Egypt.10 Several other manuscript discoveries and editions have appeared since Tischendorf ’s day: a third Greek recension (usually dubbed Greek D),11 and versions in Syriac, Ethiopic, Georgian, Irish, Arabic, and Slavonic.12 In 1980 Lucas van Rompay determined that the early versions (Syriac, Ethiopic, Georgian, and Old Latin) preserve the text in a more original form than the available Greek recensions;13 this form lacks the introduction with its attribution to the apostle Thomas and several other chapters (10, 17, and 18) but includes a lengthy section of chapter six missing in Tischendorf ’s manuscripts. Scholars have been surprisingly slow to incorporate van Rompay’s conclusions into their treatments of the text. Time and again IGT is found in New Testament Apocrypha collections in the familiar nineteen-chapter form, often without any acknowledgement of the evidence from the early versions.14 This is doubtless due in part to scholars’ lack

Tischendorf, Evangelia apocrypha2, 93–112. Tischendorf, Evangelia apocrypha2, 164–80. 11 A. Delatte, “Évangile de l’Enfance de Jacques: manuscrit No. 355 de la Bibliothèque nationale,” in Anecdota Atheniensia, vol. 1 (Paris, 1927), 264–71. The text is called Greek C by Malcolm Lowe (“ΙΟΥ∆ΑΙΟΙ of the Apocrypha: A Fresh Approach to the Gospels of James, Pseudo-Thomas, Peter and Nicodemus,” NovT 23 [1981]: 56–90), P.A. Mirecki (“Thomas, Infancy Gospel of,” ABD 6.540–44), and in my own work (“The Infancy Gospel of Thomas,” and idem, “Authorship and Identity in The Infancy Gospel of Thomas,” TJT 14 [1998], 27–43). 12 For a complete overview see Chartrand-Burke, “The Infancy Gospel of Thomas,” 116–33; also S. Voicu, “Verso il testo primitivo dei Παιδικὰ τοῦ Κυρίου Ἰησοῦ ‘Racconti dell’ infanzia del Signore Gesù’,” Apocrypha 9 (1998), 7–95. 13 “De ethiopische versie van het Kindsheidsevangelie volgens Thomas de Israëliet,” L’enfant dans les civilisations orientales (ed. A. Theodorides, P. Naster, and J. Ries; Leuven: Editions Peeters, 1980), 119–32. 14 For example, see O. Cullmann, “The Infancy Story of Thomas,” in New Testament Apocrypha vol. 1 (ed. W. Schneemelcher; trans. R.M. Wilson; rev. ed.; Louisville, Ky.: Westminster John Knox, 1991), 444–52; Elliott, Apocryphal New Testament, 68–83; M. Erbetta, Gli apocrifi del Nuovo Testamento, vol. 1.2 (Turin: Marietti, 1981), 78–101; L. Moraldi, Apocrifi del Nuovo Testamento, vol. 2 (Turin: Unione Tipografico-Editrice Torinese, 1971), 247–79; W. Michaelis, Die apocryphen Schriften zum Neuen Testament (Bremen: Carl Schunemann, 21958), 96–111; and the editions of A. de Santos Otero, Los evangelios apócrifos (Madrid: Biblioteca de autores christianos, 1941), 302–24; P.G. Bonaccorsi, Vangeli apocrifi, vol. 1 (Florence: Libreria editrice Fiorentina, 1948), 110–51; and G. Schneider, Apokryphe Kindheitsevangelien (New York: Herder, 1995), 147–72; and used in R. Funk, New Gospel Parallels, vol. 2: John and the Other Gospels (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1985), 235–86, and A. Fuchs and F. Weissengruber, Konkordanz zum Thomasevangelium: 9

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of familiarity with the languages of the versions—most scholars prefer to work with flawed Greek and Latin texts than tangle with Syriac, Ethiopic, or Georgian. What a great boon to scholarship it would be to find a Greek manuscript of IGT with the same form of the text reflected in the early versions. Fortunately, such a manuscript has been found: Jerusalem, Patriarchiate Library Sabaiticus gr. 259.15 This eleventh-century manuscript (different enough from other Greek manuscripts to be assigned its own recension: Greek S) figured prominently in Sever Voicu’s 1990 study of IGT.16 Here Voicu noted the manuscript’s affinities with the early versions and placed it in an intermediary point of development between the early versions and the later Greek recensions—it features readings closer to the versions than the other Greek manuscripts, including the expanded ch. 6, and though it includes two of the chapters found in Greek A and D (1 and 10, with the latter placed after ch. 16), it does not have chapters 17 and 18. To be fair, Sabaiticus 259 may not present IGT in a form exactly like that of the versions, but, with the removal of chs. 1 and 10, it comes pretty close. Despite its obvious value, Voicu has not worked with the manuscript in any great detail because he believes the Ethiopic text is more useful for recovering the original form of the gospel. Yet, for all its flaws, Sabaiticus 259 is the closest we can get to the original form of IGT in its language of composition.17 An additional seven Greek manuscripts of IGT were collated for a critical edition in 2001.18 None of these manuscripts belong to the same recension as Sabaiticus 259, but they do help to establish the texts of the other three Greek recensions.

Version A und B (SNTSU 4; Freistadt: Plöchl, 1978). Some of these editions and translations include variant readings from non-Greek traditions only as appendices. Hock’s edition (Infancy Gospels) is perhaps the most progressive—it follows Greek A primarily but switches to Greek D for chapter six and includes variants from other published witnesses in the apparatus. 15 The manuscript was noted first by J. Noret, “Pour une édition de l’Évangile de l’enfance selon Thomas,” AnBoll 90 (1972), 412. It was finally published in T. Chartrand-Burke, “The Infancy Gospel of Thomas.” 16 “Notes sur l’histoire du texte de L’Histoire de l’Enfance de Jésus,” Apocrypha 2 (1991), 119–32. 17 Several scholars have claimed IGT was composed in Syriac, but offer no evidence for their position. The theory of Syriac origin is refuted in Voicu, “Verso il testo primitive,” 53–5, and more extensively in Chartrand-Burke, “The Infancy Gospel of Thomas,” 247–54. 18 Chartrand-Burke, “The Infancy Gospel of Thomas,” and see also idem, “The Greek Manuscript Tradition.”

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tony chartrand-burke 2. The Infancy Gospel of Thomas and the New Testament

Greek S has the potential to significantly change scholarly assessments of IGT. The gospel has been described previously as a crude, haphazard collection of tales without any apparent order or sophistication.19 Some of the tales have been characterized as imitations of synopticstyle miracle stories, adding to the perception of the text as later than and derivative of the Synoptic gospels. But all of these assessments are based on late, poor witnesses to the text. The earlier Saba manuscript presents us with a version of IGT that has far fewer borrowings of content or style from the NT and has more sophistication than has previously been allowed. A reader of IGT in its Greek A, B or D recensions will observe few explicit parallels between IGT and NT but will come away from the text with a sense that the author is consciously evoking stories and teachings of Jesus and the apostles from the Synoptics, John, and Acts. The introduction attributes the text to Thomas, an apostle who appears only in John, and the speech of Jesus in chapter six shows several points of contact with the Fourth Gospel (particularly in the oft-repeated line “I and the one who sent me to you”). The section also quotes 1 Corinthians 13:1 (the boy says to his teacher: “To me this is like a noisy gong or a clanging cymbal,” IGT 6:17). The Synoptic gospels are evoked in two stories: Jesus and the Sparrows and Jesus Curses the Son of Annas (IGT 2–3). So Joseph went there, and as soon as he spotted him he shouted, “Why are you doing what’s not permitted on the sabbath?” But Jesus simply clapped his hands and shouted to the sparrows, “Be off, fly away, and remember me, you who are now alive!” And the sparrows took off and flew away noisily. The Jews watched with amazement, then left the scene to report to their leaders what they had seen Jesus doing. The son of Annas the scholar, standing there with Jesus, took a willow branch and drained the water Jesus had collected. Jesus, however, saw what had happened and became angry, saying to him, “Damn you, you irreverent fool! What harm did the ponds of water do to you? From this moment you, too, will dry up like a tree, and you’ll never produce leaves or root or bear fruit.” In an instant the boy had completely withered away. Then Jesus departed and left for the house of Joseph. The parents of the boy who had withered away picked him up and were carrying him

19 See for example Schneider, Apokryphe Kindheitsevangelien, 37; Hock, Infancy Gospels, 85; Voicu, “Verso il testo primitivo,” 50–51.


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out, sad because he was so young. And they came to Joseph and accused him, “It’s your fault—your boy did this.” (2:5–3:4)

This pericope, like Mark 3:1–6 (par.), features a combination of Sabbath controversy, withered victim, and report to the authorities. Also, the mention here of the son of Annas the scribe indicates awareness of the future High Priest’s presence in Luke 3:2, Acts 4:6, and John 18:13, 24. The Synoptics are evoked again in chapters 10, 17, and 18, which feature miracles in the Synoptic style, complete with apophthegms.20 In the center of the text, a teacher named Zacchaeus questions Jesus’ birth and infancy (“What sort of womb bore him, what sort of mother nourished him? I don’t know,” 7:5) recalling Luke 11:27 (a woman says to Jesus: “Blessed is the womb that bore you and the breasts that nursed you”). Another Teacher story (IGT 15) is similar to Luke’s version of Jesus’ Rejection at Nazareth (Luke 4:16–22)—in both stories Jesus enters a room, picks up a scroll, reads, and amazes the witnesses with his teaching. The saying on seeking and finding, found in a number of places in the canonical gospels (Matt 7:7; Luke 11:9–13; John 7:34), is employed in IGT 5:3. And Paul’s encounter with a snake in Acts 28:3–6 may lie behind the story of the snake that bites James (IGT 16). Finally, chapter 19 features IGT’s only unambiguous and explicit NT parallel: Luke’s Jesus in the Temple (2:41–52). The cumulative weight of these parallels has led previous scholars to consider IGT a relatively late text, dating from as early as the end of second century to as late as the fourth. But that assessment may change as scholars become more aware of the form of the text found in Greek S and reflected in the early versions. First, the parallels between IGT and the NT can be attributed to knowledge only of Luke and Acts. Chapter 1, with its attribution to Thomas, and the Synoptic-like apophthegms (chs. 10, 17, and 18) are late additions to the text, appearing in the tradition sometime between the sixth and eleventh centuries. The Johannine parallels in chapter six are less explicit in the earlier sources—Jesus does claim to have knowledge of when his older antagonists and their ancestors were born but nowhere in the versions does Jesus use the term “the one who sent me to you.” And the apparent quotation from 1 Cor 13:1 may arise

20 For an examination of these apophthegms see S. Gero, “The Infancy Gospel of Thomas: A Study of the Textual and Literary Problems,” NovT 13 (1971), 64–67.

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from the common use of a popular proverb.21 All the remaining NT parallels could be explained as use of Luke and Acts. The new, shorter IGT is also a text of greater literary sophistication than previous scholars have allowed. Failing to find any observable principle of organization or progression linking the tales aside from the occasional indication of Jesus’ age, they were befuddled as to why Jesus’ character did not grow and develop as he aged. They expected, like the crowds in the tales, that the enfant terrible should turn from cursing to blessing. But after raising a boy to life (ch. 9), healing a man’s foot (ch. 10), and assisting his parents (chs. 11–13), he relapses to his former, wicked ways by slaying a teacher (ch. 14). The problem with such expectations is that they are anachronistic; the need to rehabilitate Jesus is far more a concern of modern readers than it is of the author of IGT. The real transformation in the narrative is made in those around Jesus, not Jesus himself. Like the NT gospels, IGT is the tale of a wonderworker who must demonstrate his authority to the unbelieving masses through wondrous miracles and unearthly teachings. Whenever Jesus demonstrates his abilities, he faces incredulity, even violence, instead of acceptance. Unlike the NT Jesus, however, IGT’s Jesus responds in kind, chastising those who oppose him. But once Jesus’ neighbours and family begin to see that he is more than mortal, his actions change. The first realization of Jesus’ divine nature is made by Zacchaeus. Humbled by the youth, Zacchaeus declares, “what great thing this boy is—either a god or an angel or whatever else I might say—I do not know” (Greek S 7:8). Thereafter, Jesus performs miracles that benefit his neighbours and family, and that elicit a more desirable response from recipients and witnesses. The crowds are amazed at his teachings (15:4), and they worship Jesus and praise God (9:6). Only when Jesus again encounters opposition, in the second Teacher episode, does he revert to cursing instead of blessing. But once the third teacher declares that Jesus is “full of much grace and wisdom” (Greek S 15:6), Jesus resumes his miracles of healing. This third Teacher story illustrates best the proper interpretation of the text. As in folklore, where triplicate episodes are quite common, the third and final version of a tale dictates the behaviour expected from the characters in the narrative. In IGT, this means that people should respond to Jesus not with incredulity or

21 Greek S also contains a phrase from 1 Corinthians 7:2 (IGT 6:3 in ChartrandBurke, “The Infancy Gospel of Thomas”), but this is found neither in the early versions nor any other witness to the text.


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violence, but with belief and praise. At no time does the text suggest that Jesus is rehabilitated; in fact, it is Jesus’ teachers, neighbours, and parents who have a lesson to learn here. This theme of teaching is prevalent in IGT. Indeed, the exchange between Jesus and Zacchaeus occupies a considerable portion of the text. And given the repetition of the story’s principle elements in IGT 14–15, it is quite likely that IGT was built around this key episode. Just as Jesus instructs his teacher in the arcane qualities of the alpha, and ultimately his own otherworldly nature, he teaches the same lesson also to the crowds who witness all of his miracles. Therefore, Luke’s Temple story, with its interaction between Jesus and teachers, makes a fitting conclusion to the collection. But IGT does not woodenly reproduce Luke’s story; the author makes some changes to the tale in order to make it better fit his theme and also to improve on Luke’s portrayal of Jesus as a youth. 3. The Infancy Gospel of Thomas as a Supplement to Luke A relationship between IGT and Luke is unmistakable, but the relationship is more than simply IGT’s reproduction of one of Luke’s tales. When read in its earliest form, IGT stands revealed as a text with great affinities with Luke and with Luke’s second volume, Acts. Indeed, IGT and Luke have similar redactional and christological interests, suggesting origins in a common milieu. But IGT’s efforts to supplement Luke with new childhood tales and additions to the Temple story indicate also a dissatisfaction with Luke, as if the third gospel was in some way deficient in its portrayal of Jesus. IGT’s childhood tales come from a variety of sources. Some evoke activities of biblical figures (particularly Elijah and Elisha—e.g., the young Jesus’ gathering and purifying of rainwater from ch. 2 recalls Elisha’s purification of water in 2 Kings 19–22), some resemble stories of the adult Jesus (e.g., the Sabbath controversy story of chs. 2–3 mentioned above). Others may be drawn from a pool of folkloric motifs that appear in non-biblical tales of Ahikar,22 Ezra,23 and Rabbi Hanina ben Dosa

See B. McNeil, “Jesus and the Alphabet,” JTS 27 (1976), 126–8. See A. Mingana and R. Harris, “Woodbrooke Studies 2: (i) A New Jeremiah Apocryphon,” BJRL 11 (1927), 329–447; and K.H. Kuhn, “A Coptic Jeremiah Apocryphon,” Le Muséon 83 (1970), 95–135, 291–350. 22 23

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(t. Ber. 3:20/b. Ber. 33a; and b. Ta{an. 25a).24 But whatever their origins, the stories have been compiled and arranged by a single writer, a writer who has incorporated into his sources an element of Lukan redaction: several of the stories conclude, like Luke, with their characters either returning to their homes (IGT 14:5; 15:6 and perhaps 7:11; cf. Luke 1:23, 56; 2:20, 39, 51; 5:25; 7:10; 23:49; 24:12) or similarly progressing (IGT 2:7; cf. Luke 4:14, 30; 5:16; 7:50; 8:39; 9:56; 10:37; 17:14, 19; 24:52). Significant also is the fact that IGT’s few NT parallels could be drawn entirely from Luke and Acts. This indicates not only a close tie between IGT and Luke, but also perhaps a time of composition before the wide dispersion of other NT texts. IGT’s christology also appears influenced by Luke-Acts. Previous discussions of IGT’s christology have indicated that Jesus is here presented as a young Gnostic Redeemer. But that assessment was based largely on the mistaken identification of IGT with the Gospel of Thomas. Faced with numerous citations associating a “Gospel of Thomas” with certain gnostic groups like the Manicheans (Cyril of Jerusalem, Catechesis 4.36; 6.31; Decretum Gelasianum; Ps.-Leontius of Byzantium, De sectis 3.2; Timothy of Constantinople, Haer. [see PG 86/1:21C]; Acts of the Second Council of Nicaea 6.5; Peter of Sicily, Historia Manichaeorum 16; and Ps.Photius, Contra Manichaeos 1.14) and the Naasenes (Hippolytus, Haer. 5.7.20), as well as the text’s apparent use by Marcus (Irenaeus, Haer. 1.20.1) and the author of Acts Thom. (see ch. 79), the early scholars on the text looked in earnest for gnostic affinities in the gospel. Finding few such affinities, many concluded that the missing gnostic elements must have been removed by a Catholic reviser. Now that the true Gospel of Thomas has been found, there is no justification for the position that IGT is Gnostic—indeed, IGT’s attribution to Thomas is a late addition to the text—nor for the identification of IGT’s Jesus as a Gnostic Redeemer figure. Yet, many scholars today continue to claim IGT was originally a Gnostic text now purged of much of its heretical elements.25

See the discussion in C.A. Evans, Noncanonical Writings and New Testament Interpretation (Peabody, MA: Hendrickson, 1992), 234. Connections have also been proposed to tales of Buddha and Krishna. The most recent discussion of these parallels is by Z.P. Thundy, “Intertextuality, Buddhism and the Infancy Gospels,” in Religious Writings and Religious Systems (ed. J. Neusner, et al.; Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1989), 1.17–73; and idem, Buddha and Christ: Nativity Stories and Indian Traditions (SHR 60; Leiden: Brill, 1993). 25 Most recently, F. Lapham, An Introduction to the New Testament Apocrypha (London/ New York: T&T Clark, 2003), 130; and H.-J. Klauck, Apocryphal Gospels: An Introduction (trans. B. McNeil; London/New York: T&T Clark, 2003), 77. 24


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This erroneous viewpoint has prevented more reasoned assessments of the text’s affinities. Read appropriately, IGT looks far less heretical than has been previously proposed. Such an appropriate reading of IGT involves study of ancient biography. In this literature, childhood stories are employed to foreshadow the protagonist’s future achievements.26 This was made possible by the belief that personality is inherited and remains consistent throughout one’s life. Therefore, if the young Jesus is meant to evoke the Christology of an older Jesus, the author of IGT must have imagined the adult Jesus would be just as likely to curse as to bless. The model of the cantankerous wonderworker in the Jewish world is provided by Elijah and his protégé Elisha. The two prophets bless—by healing (2 Kgs 5:8–14; 13:20–21), re-animating (1 Kgs 17:17–24; 2 Kgs 4:18– 36), feeding (1 Kgs 17:8–16; 2 Kgs 4:42–44), and bringing rain (1 Kgs 17:45; 2 Kgs 3:13–20)—as well as curse: among their victims are kings (1 Kgs 21:17–29; 2 Kgs 1), prophets (1 Kgs 18:40; 2 Kgs 5:20–27), messengers (2 Kgs 1:9–12), and others (2 Kgs 2:23–24; 5:20–27; 6:18). In the first century, the prophet in the style of Elijah was so popular that several Jewish luminaries were honoured for being like Elijah or even Elijah reborn, including Hanina ben Dosa (b. Ber. 61b), Honi the Circle Drawer (Gen. Rab. 13:7), John the Baptist (Mark 6:15; Luke 9:8), and Jesus himself (Mark 8:28 par; Josephus, Ant. 18.63).27 Additional evidence suggests that some Jewish and early Christian writers had no hesitation portraying venerable figures performing curses—for example, Artapanus credits Moses with a curse and subsequent revivification (frg. 3), and though he refused, Honi was expected by the men of Hyrcanus to place a curse on Aristobulus ( Josephus, Ant. 14.22–24). In later times, the holy men of the hills surrounding Antioch documented in Theodoret’s History of the Monks of Syria also performed punitive miracles as displays of their power and authority, and similar tales are told of the

26 See Hock, Infancy Gospels, 95–7, building principally on T. Wiedemann, Adults and Children in the Roman Empire (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1989), 55. On the motif see C.H. Talbert, “Prophecies of Future Greatness: The Contribution of Greco-Roman Biographies to an Understanding of Luke 1:5–4:15,” in The Divine Helmsman: Studies on God’s Control of Human Events, Presented to Lou Silberman (ed. J.L. Crenshaw and S. Sandmel; New York: KTAV, 1980), 129–41; and C. Pelling, “Childhood and Personality in Greek Literature,” in Characterization and Individuality in Greek Literature (ed. C. Pelling; Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1990), 235–40. 27 Josephus describes Jesus as a performer of “marvelous deeds,” the same phrase he uses for Elijah (Ant. 9.182).

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apostles in the Apocryphal Acts.28 Though the more irascible qualities in the holy man’s personality excited alarm in those around him, the divine authority behind the saint’s power to curse apparently was not questioned.29 Given the prevalence of curse stories in IGT, it would seem that the Christology of IGT owes much to the popular figure of the powerful, yet irascible holy man. While all three Synoptic gospels draw upon the Elijah/Elisha narratives in their depictions of Jesus, Luke does so to greatest effect.30 Luke reproduces curses from Q ( Jesus pronounces woes, which may have the strength of curses, on unrepentant cities [ Luke 10:13–15/Matt 11:20–24], and scribes and Pharisees [ Luke 11/Matt 23], and permits the disciples to curse cities and individuals [Luke 9:5; 10:10–12/Matt 10:11–15]) and features curses of his own: the muting of Zechariah (1:20) and the antitheses of the Sermon on the Plain (6:24–36). But curses are far more plentiful in Acts. Here Judas (1:16–20), Ananias and Sapphira (5:1–11), and Agrippa (12:20–23) fall to God’s wrath; Paul is blinded (9:39) and later, Paul himself blinds Elymas (13:6–11). Curses are so prevalent in Luke-Acts that O. Wesley Allen Jr. has identified a retribution theme in Luke. In The Death of Herod, Allen states: “Luke’s use of retribution has generally been neglected by scholarship. Perhaps this neglect is due to modern sensitivities which find a theology of retribution unappealing. Nevertheless, it was a theme of some importance in the ancient world.”31 NT scholars in general tend to shy away from

28 For example, the Acts of Peter tells the story of an unworthy woman who is paralyzed when she receives the Eucharist at Paul’s hands (ch. 2); Paul destroys the Temple of Apollo in Sidon (Acts Paul 5) and blinds a greedy son (Acts Paul 4); Peter prays and the flying Simon falls and breaks his legs (Acts Pet. 32); an unworthy boy’s hands wither when he takes the elements from Thomas (Acts Thom. 51), and a man dies as a result of slapping Thomas just as the apostle predicted (Acts Thom. 8). In the Acts of John the unrepentant are bitten by snakes (70–80) and John threatens the worshippers of Artemis with death, destroys their temple, and then restores life to a priest who perished in the destruction (37–47). 29 See W.S. Green, “Palestinian Holy Men: Charismatic Leadership and Rabbinic Tradition,” ANRW 19.2 (Berlin, 1979), 625; R.A. Horsley and J.S. Hanson, Bandits, Prophets, and Messiahs: Popular Movements in the Time of Jesus (Minneapolis: Winston Press, 1985), 153–60. Theodoret betrays some discomfort with the curses of his holy men but he justified the imprecations with reference to the canonical stories of the cursing of Ananias and Sapphira (Acts 5:1–11) and Elisha’s sending of a she-bear to maul the children who taunted him (2 Kgs 2:23–25) (Phil. hist. 1.5; 1.8). 30 See, for example, C.A. Evans, “Luke’s Use of the Elijah/Elisha Narratives and the Ethics of Election,” JBL 106 (1987): 75–83. 31 O.W. Allen, Jr., The Death of Herod: The Narrative and Theological Function of Retribution in Luke-Acts (SBLDS 158; Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1997), 202.


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canonical cursing stories, thereby marginalizing IGT’s portrayal of Jesus as aberrant; but IGT’s Jesus is not so peculiar at all, and likely the author of Luke-Acts would have recognized a kinship between his work and the “heretical” infancy gospel. 4. The Infancy Gospel of Thomas as an Improvement of Luke But the author of IGT apparently was not completely satisfied with Luke’s gospel. He may have approved of Luke’s rhetorical style and Christology, but his desire to supplement the gospel with additional childhood stories suggests that he felt Luke was in some way deficient. IGT’s changes to the Temple story further indicate that the author wished to supply something lacking in the tale. The problem is simple: compared to other venerable figures in ancient biographies, Luke’s Jesus is not powerful enough, not assertive enough, and not wise enough. One of the functions of ancient biography was to praise the subject of the text in order to sustain or to gain devotees. In the competition between religious groups, the leader who had the most to offer his followers would be the most successful. Therefore, a biography had to affirm its protagonist’s connection to the divine realm in striking ways—most typically with claims of divine paternity, omens at birth, and signs of childhood promise. The rhetoricians Quintilian and Menander reveal the process of composing such tales. In describing how to construct a panegyric, Quintilian instructs his readers to praise a subject with descriptions of his background and beauty, and with accounts of his education: “it has sometimes proved the more effective course to trace a man’s life and deeds in due chronological order, praising his natural gifts as a child, then his progress at school” (Inst. 3.7.15).32 Menander advises speakers to include in their praises such miracles as the recognition of an emperor’s future role by children at play; if no such tradition is known, the speaker is instructed to invent one (Treatise 2.371.10–15).33 Ancient writers seem to have taken the rhetoricians’ advice, for there are numerous examples of biographical 32 Translation from Quintilian, The Institutio Oratoria (trans. H.E. Butler; LCL; Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1969). 33 See further the discussion in Wiedemann, Adults and Children, 53–60 (summarized also in Hock, The Infancy Gospels, 95–7). Wiedemann mentions both the canonical infancy narratives and IGT in connection with Greco-Roman panegyric (Adults and Children, 55).

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literature that include childhood tales—including lives of emperors, statesmen, philosophers, and holy men.34 All of these tales portray their subjects in ways consistent with knowledge of their adult careers. Even biographies of impious figures use childhood stories, but in these cases to foreshadow their future crimes. It seems that biographers saw childhood as a choice time in a person’s life for exploitation in propaganda—whether positive or negative.35 The subject’s true childhood experiences are not significant, perhaps because childhood was not regarded well by ancient writers. Cicero, for example, ascribes to Cato the Elder the view that if the gods were to offer him the gift of returning to the cradle and starting life over again as a child, he would refuse (Sen. 83). Cato and his ilk undervalued childhood, in part, because they believed children, like women, lacked the important virtue of reason. Since reason was required to participate in the rational world of the Roman citizen, those who lacked this virtue were perceived as standing outside the norm.36 Children were ignorant, capricious, foolish, and quarrelsome. They spoke nonsense, lacked judgment, were physically frail, and easily frightened.37 Jewish literature also often portrays childhood negatively.38 In biblical texts children are characterized as ignorant, capricious, and in need of strict discipline (see 2 Kgs 2:23–24; Isa 3:4; Wis 12:24–25; 15:14; Prov 22:15; Sir 30:1–13). And Rabbinic texts associate the young with the deaf and dumb and the weak-minded, indicating that children, too, lack their full faculties ({Erub. 3:2; Šeqal. 1.3; Sukkah 2.8; 3.10, etc.). Set against this background, the injunction of Jesus to receive the kingdom of God “as

For an overview of the primary sources see Chartrand-Burke, “The Infancy Gospel of Thomas,” 380–94. 35 On biographies as propaganda see C.H. Talbert, What Is a Gospel? The Genre of the Canonical Gospels (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1977), 92–109; R.A. Burridge, What are the Gospels? A Comparison with Graeco-Roman Biography (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1992), 76; D.E. Aune, The New Testament in Its Literary Environment (Philadelphia: Westminster, 1987), 35; and P. Cox, Biography in Antiquity: A Quest for the Holy Man (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1983), xiv–xv; as negative propaganda, ibid., 10–12, and Pelling, “Childhood and Personality,” 217. 36 Wiedemann, Adults and Children, 22–3. 37 Wiedemann, Adults and Children, 17–19, 24; see also M. Golden, Children and Childhood in Classical Athens (Baltimore: John Hopkins University Press, 1990), 4–7; and S. Currie, “Childhood and Christianity from Paul to the Council of Chalcedon” (Ph. D. diss., Cambridge, 1993), 15–16. 38 See further J.M. Gundry-Volf, “The Least and the Greatest: Children in The New Testament,” in The Child in Christian Thought (ed. M.J. Bunge; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2000), 35. 34


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a little child” (Mark 10:13–16 par) assumes its intended shock value. It took considerable exegetical acrobatics for early Christian writers to reconcile Jesus’ words with the writers’ culturally-derived negative valuation of childhood.39 Compared to other ancient biographies, Luke is rather bare in its description of its protagonist’s early years. Signs and miracles attend the conception, birth, and circumcision, but only one anecdote is related of Jesus’ childhood. This anecdote employs a common motif: a display of adult-like wisdom among teachers. The motif is used in biographies of gods (Osiris, Krishna), holy men (Apollonios, Pythagoras, Buddha), prophets (Daniel), heroes (Heracles), statesmen (Alexander, Augustus, Solomon), writers ( Josephus), and philosophers (Demonax, Epicurus).40 Often, such wisdom is displayed at the age of twelve. In many of these cases, the protagonist humbles his teachers with his display of superior knowledge. But in Luke’s version of Jesus in the Temple, Jesus sits among the teachers “listening to them and asking them questions” (2:46), and though “all who heard him were amazed at his understanding and his answers” (2:47), the teachers are not humbled. IGT alters the tale at this point to report that “those listening to him were amazed how he questioned the elders and explained the main points of the law and the riddles and the parables of the prophets” (Greek S 19:5). In Luke, Jesus sits engrossed as an attentive, curious student; in IGT Jesus explains to them the main points of the Law. This display leads the scribes and Pharisees to declare: “such present wisdom and glory of virtue we have never seen nor heard” (Greek S 19:10). This theme of Jesus’ superior, even superhuman, knowledge is prominent in IGT, beginning with the exchange with his first teacher through to the third teacher story, but it climaxes in Jesus in the Temple. Here Jesus sits in the centre of the Jewish world, showered with the respect, honour, and awe that is his due. Where Luke reports one childhood anecdote showing future promise and affirming divine paternity, IGT includes over a dozen—each one 39 See the lengthy discussion of the issue in Currie, “Childhood and Christianity.” To this day the injunction continues to arouse the interests of Christian theology where most often it is taken still far too literally. As John Dominic Crossan states in The Historical Jesus: The Life of a Mediterranean Jewish Peasant (San Francisco: Harper Collins, 1991), 269, Jesus used children merely as a metaphor for the powerless in society, and not because he had any special regard for them. 40 See particularly de Jonge, “Sonship,” and Talbert, “Prophecies of Future Greatness.”

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a declaration that he is more than human, wise beyond his years, and deserving of veneration. The author of IGT, it seems, felt Luke did not go far enough in foreshadowing Jesus’ adult career; thus, additional stories were required to elevate Jesus above other eminent figures. Luke’s story of Jesus in the Temple also had to be modified. Other scholars have seen in IGT’s changes to Jesus in the Temple evidence of docetism and Gnosticism;41 in reality, IGT merely brings Luke’s story into accord with the non-Christian parallels which typically have their protagonists surpass the teachers just as IGT’s Jesus does. Luke seems to “dumb down” Jesus, whereas IGT is more true to the pattern. 5. Conclusions The Infancy Gospel of Thomas is a wonder of literature. There is no other text like it. Though childhood tales regularly appear in ancient biographies, they do so only as a prelude to the unfolding of the subject’s adult career.42 IGT reports no adult stories. As a result, modern readers have been left shocked by its portrayal of the young Jesus—they cannot fathom how a Christian writer, versed in the canonical gospels, could imagine Jesus this way. But that view is based on a number of misguided assumptions: 1. IGT is a loosely-assembled compilation of tales that draws upon a range of Christian literature, canonical and non-canonical (to the contrary, it does have an observable plot and arguably shows contact only with Luke-Acts); 2. the adult Jesus would not perform such wicked deeds as IGT’s young Jesus (yet, Jesus and the apostles do curse, particularly in Luke-Acts); 3. the precocity and wisdom of the young Jesus must reflect Gnostic Christology (but Gnostics had little interest in Jesus’ childhood and wisdom in youth is a common motif found in a variety of literary sources); and 4. no one could possibly consider IGT edifying (but some Christians did; indeed, early objections to the text were principally doctrinal—a miracle-working young Jesus contradicts John’s claim that Jesus performed no miracles

See, for example Currie, “Childhood and Christianity,” 207. Onesicritus’ lost work How Alexander Was Brought Up may have been similar. This lost text is noted in Pelling, “Childhood and Personality,” 218. Similar also are the biographies of child emperors who perished before they reached adulthood. However, these texts form a class apart from the other literature as their activities cannot anticipate future accomplishments. 41 42


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before his first sign in Cana [2:11]43—and the text was transmitted widely over the centuries). Modern readers’ concerns about IGT are satisfied when the text is read together with Luke. Indeed, IGT requires an account of Jesus’ adult career for it to be intelligible. And Luke fills that requirement well. There is much we can learn about IGT when it is read together with Luke; similarly, we can learn also much about Luke when read together with IGT. For IGT’s use of Luke-Acts illustrates that these canonical texts were well-regarded by the author of the infancy gospel—perhaps we can think of IGT as the product of a Lukan “community”—but IGT’s efforts to alter and enhance Luke show that the author felt Luke required supplementation. Only together do IGT and Luke present a complete biography of Jesus, one worthy enough to compete with the literature of the day.

43 Of all the ancient and medieval discussions of IGT not one writer objects to the behaviour of the child. See John Chrysostom, Hom. Jo. 17; Epiphanius of Salamina, Pan. 51.20.2–3; Timothy of Constantinople, Rec. haer. (PG 86:22C); Anastasius Sinaita, Hodegos 13; and Georgius Syncellus, Chronographia a. 5505.

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tony chartrand-burke APPENDIX: JESUS IN THE TEMPLE

The Greek text and English translation of IGT, based on the manuscript Sabaiticus 259, are from my forthcoming critical edition, Evangelium Thomae de infantia Salvatoris (CCSA; Turnhout: Brepols). The Greek text of Luke is from B. Aland, et al., ed., The Greek New Testament (Stuttgart: United Bible Societies, 4 1993); the English translation is drawn from the NRSV. Infancy Gospel of Thomas 19

Luke

1 Ὄντος δὲ τοῦ Ἰησοῦ δωδεκαετοῦς ἐπορεύοντο οἱ γονεῖς αὐτοῦ κατὰ τὸ ἔθος εἰς Ἱεροσόλυμα εἰς τὴν ἑορτὴν τοῦ πάσχα. 2 Ἐν δὲ τῷ ἐπιστρέφειν αὐτοὺς ἀπέμεινεν Ἰησοῦς εἰς Ἱερουσαλήμ. Καὶ οὐκ ἔγνωσαν οἱ γονεῖς αὐτοῦ νομίσαντες εἶναι αὐτὸν ἐν τῇ συνοδίᾳ. 3 ῏Ηλθαν ἡμέρας ὁδὸν καὶ ἐζήτουν αὐτὸν ἐν τοῖς συγγενεῦσιν καὶ ἐν τοῖς γνωστοῖς αὐτῶν. Καὶ μὴ εὑρόντες αὐτὸν ὑπέστρεψαν εἰς Ἰερουσαλὴμ ζητοῦντες αὐτόν. 4 Καὶ μετὰ ἡμέρας τρεῖς εὗρον αὐτὸν ἐν τῷ ἱερῷ καθήμενον ἐν μέσῳ τῶν διδασκάλων καὶ ἀκούοντα αὐτῶν καὶ ἐπερωτῶντα αὐτούς.

2 41 Καὶ ἐπορεύοντο οἱ γονεῖς αὐτοῦ κατ’ ἔτος εἰς Ἱηρουσαλὴμ τῇ ἑορτῇ τοῦ πάσχα. 42 Καὶ ὅτε ἐγένετο ἑτῶν δώδεκα, ἀναβαινόντων αὐτῶν κατὰ τὸ ἔθος τῆς ἑορτῆς 43 καὶ τελειωσάντων τὰς ἡμέρας, ἐν τῷ ὑποστρέφειν αὐτοὺς ὑπέμεινεν Ἰησοῦς ὁ παῖς ἐν Ἱερουσαλήμ, καὶ οὐκ ἔγνωσαν οἱ γονεῖς αὐτοῦ. 44 Νομίσαντες δὲ αὐτὸν εἶναι ἐν τῇ συνοδίᾳ ἦλθον ἡμέρας ὁδὸν καὶ ἀνεζήτουν αὐτὸν ἐν τοῖς συγγενεῦσιν καὶ τοῖς γνωστοῖς, 45 καὶ μὴ εὑρόντες ὑπέστρεψαν εἰς Ἰερουσαλὴμ ἀναζητοῦντες αὐτόν. 46 Καὶ ἐγένετο μετὰ ἡμέρας τρεῖς εὗρον αὐτὸν ἐν τῷ ἱερῷ καθεζόμενον ἐν μέσῳ τῶν διδασκάλων καὶ ἀκούοντα αὐτῶν καὶ ἐπερωτῶντα αὐτούς·

5 Ἐξίσταντο δὲ οἱ ἀκούοντες αὐτοῦ πῶς ἀπεστομάτιζεν τοὺς πρεσβυτέρους καὶ ἐπιλύων τὰ κεφάλαια τοῦ νόμου καὶ τῶν προφητῶν τὰ σκολιὰ καὶ τὰς παραβολάς. 6 Καὶ εἶπεν πρὸς αὐτὸν ἡ μήτηρ αὐτοῦ· “Τέκνον, τί ἐποίησας ἡμῖν ; Ἰδοὺ ὀδυνώμενοι λυπούμενοι ἐζητοῦμέν σε”. 7 Καὶ εἶπεν αὐτοῖς ὁ Ἰησοῦς· “Ἵνα τί ἐζητεῖτέ με; Οὐκ οἴδατε ὅτι ἐν τοῖς τοῦ πατρός μου δεῖ εἶναί με;” 8 Οἱ δὲ γραμματεῖς καὶ οἱ Φαρισαῖοι εἶπαν τῇ Μαρίᾳ· “Σὺ εἶ ἡ μήτηρ τοῦ παιδίου τούτου;” 9 Ἡ δὲ εἶπεν· “ Ἐγώ εἰμι”. 10 Εἶπαν δὲ πρὸς αὐτήν· “Μακαρία εἶ σύ, ὅτι ηὐλόγησεν Κύριος ὁ Θεὸς τὸν καρπὸν τῆς κοιλίας σου”. Τοιαύτην γὰρ σοφίαν ἐνεστώς καὶ δόξαν ἀρετῆς οὐδὲ εἴδαμεν οὔτε ἠκούσαμέν ποτε.

47 Ἐξίσταντο δὲ πάντες οἱ ἀκούοντες αὐτοῦ ἐπὶ τῇ συνέσει καὶ ταῖς ἀποκρίσεσιν αὐτοῦ. 48 Καὶ ἰδόντες αὐτὸν ἐξεπλάγησαν, καὶ εἶπεν πρὸς αὐτὸν ἡ μήτηρ αὐτοῦ, “Τέκνον, τί ἐποίησας ἡμῖν οὕτως; Ἰδοὺ ὁ πατήρ σου κἀγὼ ὀδυνώμενοι ἐζητοῦμέν σε”. 49 Καὶ εἶπεν πρὸς αὐτούς· “Τί ὅτι ἐζητεῖτέ με; Οὐκ ᾔδειτε ὅτι ἐν τοῖς τοῦ πατρός μου δεῖ εἶναί με;” 50 Καὶ αὐτοὶ οὐ συνῆκαν τὸ ῥῆμα ὃ ἐλάλησεν αὐτοῖς.

11 Ἀναστὰς δὲ ἐκεῖθεν ὁ Ἰησοῦς ἠκολούθησεν τῇ μητρὶ αὐτοῦ καὶ ἦν ὑποτασσόμενος τοῖς γονεῦσιν αὐτοῦ. Καὶ διετήρει πάντα τὰ ῥήματα ταῦτα συμβαλοῦσα ἐν τῇ καρδίᾳ αὐτῆς. Καὶ ὁ Ἰησοῦς προέκοπτεν σοφίᾳ καὶ ἡλικίᾳ καὶ χάριτι παρὰ Θεῷ καὶ ἀνθρώποις.

51 Καὶ κατέβη μετ’ αὐτῶν καὶ ἦλθεν εἰς Ναζαρὲθ καὶ ἦν ὑποτασσόμενος αὐτοῖς. Καὶ ἡ μήτηρ αὐτοῦ διετήρει πάντα τὰ ῥήματα ἐν τῇ καρδίᾳ αὐτῆς.


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12 Καὶ ὁ Ἰησοῦς προέκοπτεν σοφίᾳ καὶ ἡλικίᾳ καὶ χάριτι παρὰ Θεῷ καὶ ἀνθρώποις. 13  ἡ δό[ξα] . . .

52 Καὶ Ἰησοῦς προέκοπτεν σοφίᾳ καὶ ἡλικίᾳ καὶ χάριτι παρὰ Θεῷ καὶ ἀνθρώποις.

1 And when Jesus was twelve years old his parents went as usual to Jerusalem for the festival of the Passover. 2 But as they turned back, Jesus stayed behind in Jerusalem. His parents did not know, assuming him to be in the group of travelers. 3 They went a day’s journey and they looked for him among their relatives and friends. When they did not find him, they returned to Jerusalem to search for him. 4 After three days they found him in the Temple, sitting among the teachers, listening to them and asking them questions.

41 Now every year his parents went to

Jerusalem for the festival of the Passover.

42 And when he was twelve years old,

they went up as usual for the festival. 43 When the festival was ended and they started to return, the boy Jesus stayed behind in Jerusalem, but his parents did not know it. 44 Assuming that he was in the group of travelers, they went a day’s journey. Then they started to look for him among their relatives and friends. 45 When they did not find him, they returned to Jerusalem to search for him. 46 After three days they found him in the temple, sitting among the teachers, listening to them and asking them questions.

5 And those listening to him were

47 And all who heard him were amazed at his understanding and his answers. 48 When his parents saw him they were astonished; and his mother said to him, “Child, why have you treated us like this? Look, your father and I have been searching for you in great anxiety.” 49 He said to them, “Why were you searching for me? Did you not know that I must be in my Father’s house?” 50 But they did not understand what he said to them.

11 And Jesus rose from there and followed his mother and was obedient to his parents. And she treasured all these things, pondering them in her heart.

51 Then he went down with them and came to Nazareth, and was obedient to them. His mother treasured all these things in her heart.

12 And Jesus increased in wisdom

52 And Jesus increased in wisdom and in years, and in human and divine favour.

amazed how he questioned the elders and explained the main points of the Law and the riddles and the parables of the prophets. 6 And his mother said to him: “Child, why have you done this to us? Look, we have been searching for you in great anxiety and grief.” 7 Jesus said to them: “Why were you searching for me? Did you not know that I must be in my Father’s house?” 8 And the scribes and the Pharisees said to Mary: “Are you the mother of this child?” 9 And she said: “I am.” 10 And they said to her: “Blessed are you, because the Lord God has blessed the fruit of your womb. For such present wisdom and glory of virtue we have never seen nor heard.”

and in years and in human and divine favour. 13 To whom be glory . . .

GOOD TREE, BAD TREE: THE MATTHEAN/LUKAN PARADIGM IN MANICHAEISM AND ITS OPPONENTS J. Kevin Coyle While investigating the Manichaean notion of “the good” a decade ago, I was struck by frequent allusions to the “good tree/bad tree” theme, in both Manichaean writings and writings against Manichaeism, as a metaphor for radical dualism. I noted then: “In this system there would be no such thing as ‘degrees of goodness’. Hence, a bad tree really is bad; and a good tree bears literally good fruit; and neither has anything to do with the other.”1 That observation did not make me the first to remark on the presence of the “trees” image in Manichaeism. Victoria Arnold-Döben, who more than anyone has studied Manichaean symbolism, asserted in 1978: “Eines der zentralen Symbole im Manichäismus ist das des Baumes (damit verkunden das Symbol der Frucht, der Wurzel, der Zweige).”2 But she did not pursue the aspect I will examine here, viz., the Synoptic Gospel image of the two trees.3 I will look at the related symbols of fruit, root, and branch only inasmuch as they enhance the basic Manichaean cosmogonical myth as mediated by “the two trees.”4 I will also leave aside other uses of the tree metaphor, such as the “Tree of Knowledge.”5 Further, I will focus on the Roman Empire, whence our oldest Manichaean and anti-Manichaean sources derive, and I will concentrate on texts that—indisputably—allude to the Christian

1 J.K. Coyle, “The Idea of the ‘Good’ in Manichaeism,” Studia Manichaica: IV. Internationaler Kongreß zum Manichäismus, Berlin, 14.–18. Juli 1997 (ed. R.E. Emmerick, W. Sundermann, and P. Zieme; Berlin-Brandenburgische Akademie der Wissenschaften, Berichte und Abhandlungen, Sonderband 4; Berlin: Akademie Verlag, 2000), 126. 2 V. Arnold-Döben, “Die Symbolik des Baumes im Manichäismus,” Symbolon n.F. 5 (1980), 10. Be it noted, however, that she extracts her sources without regard to chronology or geography. See eadem, Die Bildersprache des Manichäismus (AMRG 3; Köln: E.J. Brill, 1978), 7–44 (including the symbols of fruit, root, and branch). 3 Timothy Pettipiece also devotes some attention to the theme in this volume. 4 Ephrem the Deacon and Serapion of Thmuis, for instance, both allude to the “root” image in their refutation of Manichaeism, but not to that of the “trees.” 5 On which, see Arnold-Döben, “Die Symbolik,” 11–12; Die Bildersprache, 10–12.

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scriptural canon. The objective in all of this is to illustrate exegetical methods in Manichaeism and its opponents. First, though, it will be helpful to offer a (simplified) version of Manichaeism’s cosmogony. Mani (216–276 ce),6 the founder of Manichaeism, came from Mesopotamia. His teaching started with a fundamental question: Why does evil exist? He sought the answer in a radical dualism, “the fundamental datum of Manichaeism,”7 in which two principles or natures or roots, completely separated from one another, co-existed from before time. One, the good, displayed only agreeable qualities (peace, intelligence, and so on), and dwelt in the realm of Light that was composed of the good principle’s Light-substance. This principle is God, usually called the “Father of Greatness.” The other principle is intrinsically evil and disagreeable. Often called “matter” (Hylē ) or Satan, it inhabited the realm of its own substance, which is Darkness. But the separation between them was, though radical, not absolute, and eventually the separated state of affairs ended when, during the turmoil that endlessly took place in the realm of Darkness, the evil principle rose to the border of its realm. There it perceived the Light, desired it, and invaded it with Archons composed of its dark, evil substance. To defend the Light, the good principle called Aeons into existence, all composed of its own Light-substance. After a long battle, the evil cohorts overcame one of the Aeons (Primal Human) and captured his Light, though forces of the Light-realm in turn captured some of the Archons. That is how Light and Darkness, good and evil, spirit and matter, came to be mixed. Now the good principle sent other beings to free the Primal Human and construct the physical world out of parts of the captive Archons. In this they succeeded, but some particles of Light remained mixed with Darkness. It is of this mixture of light and dark elements that our present, visible world is constituted, such that whatever we find pleasing in it is attributable to the presence of entrapped Light, and whatever is disagreeable is due to the Darkness that is the Light’s prison. Thus creation is a trap, reluctantly brought into existence by the true, good God only to free imprisoned Light and regain it for the Light-realm.

6 In the various languages of Western sources he is also called Manes or Μάνης, Manichaeus, Μαν(ν)ιχαίος or manixaios, and YNM or YN)M. 7 N.J. Baker-Brian, “ ‘. . . quaedam disputationes Adimanti’ (Retr. I.xxii.1): Reading the Manichaean Biblical Discourse in Augustine’s Contra Adimantum,” AugS 34 (2003), 184.

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To provide a way of freeing this imprisoned Light, the good principle took two steps. First, the Father of Greatness created a mechanism, constructed of uncontaminated Light-substance and including the moon and sun, to serve as collector stations for Light that had been freed and funnelled to them through the Milky Way. Moon and sun would then send the Light to the Light-realm. The evil principle countered by creating a rival to the Primal Human. This was accomplished by having a male and female Archon devour the Light fallen to earth (as “abortions”), then mate. Their union produced Adam, the first earthly man. Adam was the world in miniature, a microcosm, since he contained within himself both spirit-Light (soul) and matter-Darkness (body). Later the Archons mated again and produced Eve, the first woman. The first human couple, far from being God’s creation, thus resulted from Evil’s initiative, and were intended to keep as much Light trapped in the visible world as possible, chiefly by generating offspring.8 Adam and Eve were unaware of the Light-particles trapped within them. To offset this new tactic of Darkness, “Jesus” (called “Splendour”) was sent from the Light-realm to reveal to Adam and Eve knowledge ( gnosis) of how to obtain salvation.9 Finding them in a deep sleep, Jesus roused them to wakefulness. Then he showed them their condition: demonic in origin, prisons of the captured Light, with a soul of divine composition but a body that was material and therefore in a bad state. Jesus further “warned Adam of the danger of lust and the need to restrain himself from having intercourse with Eve. Adam obeyed him but the male archon had intercourse with Eve his daughter and she gave birth to Cain. Cain in turn had intercourse with his mother and she

8 S.N.C. Lieu, Manichaeism in the Later Roman Empire and Medieval China (WUNT 63; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 21992), 21: “Thus created, Adam was a microcosm, an exact miniature of the universe (macrocosm) since both possessed a mixture of Light and Matter [. . .] As the microcosm, man was designed to perpetuate the confinement of the soul in body through lust and procreation. The archons had so fashioned him that they intended to rule the world through him.” 9 According to I Kephalaia 1 (Kephalaia: 1. Hälfte [Lieferung 1–10] [MHSMB, Band I; Stuttgart: W. Kohlhammer, 1940]) and Theodore bar Khonai, Liber Scholiorum 11 (ca. 790), by having them taste from the Tree of Life. In the Coptic psalm 248 to Jesus (in C.R.C. Allberry, A Manichaean Psalm-Book Part II [Manichaean Manuscripts in the Chester Beatty Collection, vol. II; Stuttgart: W. Kohlhammer, 1938], p. 57.7–10) the evil author of the Old Testament had prevented this: “When Adam and Eve were created and put in Paradise, who was it that ordered them: ‘Eat not of the Tree’, that they might not distinguish the evil from the good? Another fought against him and made them eat of the Tree.” It would be interesting to examine other allusions to the theme of the good and bad fruit for a connection to the Manichaean dietary regime.

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gave birth to Abel.”10 So humanity remained flawed and continued to serve the demonic purpose. But the realm of Light continued to send revealers, among them the Buddha, Zoroaster, and Jesus the Messiah. Mani was convinced that the revelations of previous religious founders, though authentic, were incomplete, and that it was his task to bring to the world the fullness of revelation, through what he called “the Religion of Light.” The primary task of Manichaeans was to release the Light trapped in matter (through digestion), so it could return to the Light-realm, its true home. Given the theme of the Colloquium, at this juncture one might expect this text to present the Manichaean interpretation of the JudaeoChristian scriptures; but others have largely accomplished that task.11 Here let it suffice to provide a brief account of Manichaeans’ approach to “canon” before looking at their treatment of the New Testament image of “the two trees.” 1. Manichaeism, the Canon, and the Synoptic “Trees” The sketch of the Manichaean cosmogony, brief as it is, has touched on how Manichaeans reworked the Genesis creation account. Since their starting-point was a radical dualism, they could not ascribe to the “Father of Greatness” any direct responsibility for material creation, thus rendering the Old Testament creation myth null and void. And since they considered matter to be synonymous with evil, and saw the material creation as a work of necessity rather than of love, Manichaeans repudiated the presentation of creation found in Genesis, along with its creator god (identified with the principle of evil or one of the Archons). Manichaeans went on to reject the remainder of

Lieu, Manichaeism, 22. F. Trechsel, Ueber den Kanon, die Kritik und Exegese der Manichäer (Bern: Jenni, 1832); A. Böhlig, “Die Bibel bei den Manichäern”: Inaugural-Dissertation zur Erlangung der Doktorwürde der evangelisch-theologischen Fakultät der Westfälischen Landesuniversität zu Münster i. W. ( January 22, 1947, unpublished); H.-J. Klimkeit, “The Use of Scripture in Manichaeism,” in M. Heuser and H.-J. Klimkeit, Studies in Manichaean Literature and Art (NHMS 46; Leiden: E.J. Brill, 1998), 111–22, trans. of “Der Gebrauch Heiliger Schriften im Manichäismus,” Stimuli: Exegese und ihre Hermeneutik in Antike und Christentum. Festschrift für Ernst Dassmann (ed. G. Schölgren and C. Schotten; JbACE 23; Münster i. W.: Aschendorff, 1996), 191–9; and especially M. Tardieu, “Principes de l’exégèse manichéenne du Nouveau Testament,” Les règles de l’interprétation (ed. M. Tardieu; Paris: Cerf, 1987), 123–46. 10 11

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the Old Testament (termed “the Law and the Prophets”)12 as well as everything they deemed “Jewish interpolations” in the New, leaving only some of the gospel material and the letters of Paul13 (thus terming the New Testament “the Gospel and the Apostle”).14 Nevertheless, Manichaeans did attribute a revelatory (albeit imperfect) character to what remained of the New Testament after its “decontamination.”15 Naturally, they favoured passages and symbols there that would serve to promote their particular doctrine, especially for regions where the population might have a ready familiarity with the New Testament. The Law and the Prophets, they said, were designed to conceal the truth of the world’s origin, through “a complex series of lies, which were intended to deceive the religious adherent who abided by the Law into believing that the author of the work was God the Father, and that God was responsible for the occurrences of good and evil in the composite texts and, therefore, in the visible world [. . .] It fell to the chain of apostles to break this influence by demonstrating that the claims of the Law were false.”16 For its part, the Manichaean canon consisted, first, of Mani’s own writings, then of “the Gospel and the Apostle,” and finally of some later Manichaean writings.17 Though he does not develop his remark, Nic Baker-Brian is basically correct when he affirms that, when it came to the New Testament, “The teachings of Jesus in the Gospel and of Paul in the letters were understood by Manichees to present the true situation: thus, one of the most important sayings of Jesus for the Manichaean community was the account of the Two Trees (v. Mt. 7.17–19) which was understood to maintain the exclusive origins and forms of the two natures and their patterns of influence.”18 Whether one might be prepared to go quite as far as this, the good and bad trees undeniably stand among those New Testament symbols Manichaeans adopted. In the canonical New Testament, the pertinent passages19 read: See Matt 5:17. On this see A. Viciano, “Notions and Methods of [Manichaean] Exegesis,” in C. Kannengiesser, Handbook of Patristic Exegesis 1 (BAC; Leiden/Boston: Brill, 2004), 658–65; also Tardieu; and Baker-Brian, 180–6. 14 See Tardieu, 140–2. 15 Tardieu, 128–31. 16 Baker-Brian, 184. 17 See Baker-Brian, 181; Böhlig, 74. 18 Baker-Brian, 184. 19 Matt 15:13 (Πάσα φυτεία, ἥν οὐκ ἐφύτευσεν ὁ πατήρ μου ὁ οὐράναιος, ἐκριζωθήσεται—there is no Synoptic parallel—is of marginal relevance to our topic. 12 13

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Luke

3:10: ἤδη δὲ ἡ ἀξίνη πρὸς τὴν ῥίζαν τῶν δένδρων κεῖται· πᾶν οὖν δένδρον μὴ ποιοῦν καρπὸν καλὸν ἐκκόπτεται καὶ εἰς πῦρ βάλλεται.

3:9: ἤδη δὲ καὶ ἡ ἀξίνη πρὸς τὴν

7:17–20: οὕτως πᾶν δένδρον ἀγαθὸν καρποὺς καλοὺς ποιεῖ, τὸ δὲ σαπρὸν δένδρον καρποὺς πονηροὺς ποιεῖ.18 οὐ δύναται δένδρον ἀγαθὸν καρποὺς πονηροὺς ἐνεγκεῖν, οὐδὲ δένδρον σαπρὸν καρποὺς καλοὺς ἐνεγκεῖν.19 πᾶν δένδρον μὴ ποιοῦν καρπὸν καλὸν ἐκκόπτεται καὶ εἰς πῦρ βάλλεται.20 ἄραγε ἀπὸ τῶν καρπῶν αὐτῶν ἐπιγνώσεσθε αὐτούς.

6:43–44: οὐ γάρ ἐστιν δένδρον

12:33: Ἢ ποιήσατε τὸ δένδρον καλὸν καὶ τὸν καρπὸν αὐτοῦ καλόν, ἢ ποιήσατε τὸ δένδρον σαπρὸν καὶ τὸν καρπὸν αὐτοῦ σαπρόν.

ῥίζαν τῶν δένδρων κεῖται. πᾶν οὖν δένδρον μὴ ποιοῦν καρπὸν καλὸν ἐκκόπτεται καὶ εἰς πῦρ βάλλεται. καλὸν ποιοῦν καρπὸν σαπρόν, οὐδὲ πάλιν δένδρον σαπρὸν ποιοῦν καρπὸν καλόν.44 ἕκαστον γὰρ δένδρον ἐκ τοῦ ἰδίου καρποῦ γινώσκεται.

6:43–44

2. Coptic Manichaean Sources Victoria Arnold-Döben has claimed that in Manichaean sources from the Roman Empire, the “tree” symbol appears most often in Coptic writings.20 She means writings that belonged to a fourth century library discovered in 1930 in Egypt (Medinet Madi, the Narmouthis of ancient times), 21 including two works called Kephalaia (Chapters) and a book of psalms.22 Sometimes their imagery of the “two trees” is of obviously Synoptic inspiration. The classic instance of this is in the Kephalaia.23

Arnold-Döben, “Die Symbolik,” 10; Die Bildersprache, 7. On the discovery and contents see C. Schmidt and H.J. Polotsky, “Ein Mani-Fund in Ägypten: Originalschriften des Mani und seiner Schüler,” SAWBerlin, Jhg. 1933, 4–90; also Lieu, Manichaeism, 9–10. 22 Homilies also found in the collection contain no texts for our purposes: see H.J. Polotsky, Manichäische Homilien (MHSCB, Band I; Stuttgart: W. Kohlhammer, 1934). 23 Two codices bearing this name came to light at Medinet Madi. Only one has been published, and that not completely: this is the “Kephalaia of the Teacher,” also known as the Berlin Kephalaia after the city where it is conserved (Berlin P. 15996). It will be referred to here as I Ke. The other work (“Kephalaia of the Wisdom of My Lord Mani” = II Ke) is conserved in Dublin (Codex C), and is as yet unedited. See the contribution to this volume by T. Pettipiece. 20 21

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After an introduction and first chapter (kefalaion) “On the coming of the Apostle [Mani],” in which Mani leaves behind a tree laden with fruits to be picked by his followers,24 I Ke moves directly to the chapter “Concerning the Parable of the Tree,” in which Mani’s followers query him about the trees Jesus spoke of, and Mani exegetes the Synoptic pericope. The pertinent excerpts from I Ke 2 are: We beseech you, our master, that you may recount and explain to us about these two trees that Jesus preached to his disciples. As it is written in the Gospel, he says: The good tree shall give good fruit; also the bad tree shall give bad fruit. There is no good tree that shall give bad fruit; nor a bad tree that shall give good fruit. One knows each tree by its fruits [. . .]. Then speaks our master Manichaios, the apostle of greatness, to his disciples [. . .] Judas Iscariot, first they called him a good man; but . . . traitor and murderer . . . It is written about Paul, that first he was acting persecutor . . . church of God . . . Behold, . . . the explanation of the sects [δόγμα] . . . listen and I will reveal to you concerning the . . . that the saviour preached in the parable about the good tree and the bad tree . . . The fruits of the good tree are glorious Jesus the Splendour, the father of all the apostles. Yet, the taste of the fruits of the good tree is the holy church . . . However, the taste of these bad fruits is these evil people, the sects . . . which are bound in law after law, they and their teachers . . . the law of death . . . This is the tree that shall give good fruit; the one that our master called the good tree shall give good fruit . . . Also, the bad tree is Matter [ὕλη] . . . Blessed is every one . . . these two trees, and separates them one from another. He understands that they did not arise out of one another, nor did they come from one another. They did not come from one!25

As in a Coptic Psalm of Thom: see Allberry, p. 218.15–21. Translation by I. Gardner, The Kephalaia of the Teacher: The Edited Coptic Manichaean Texts in Translation with Commentary (NHMS 37; Leiden/New York/Köln: E.J. Brill, 1995), 22–6 (my italics, and omitting here some passages (indicated by [. . .]) and diacritical and editorial marks, except where the text is missing from the original (indicated as . . . ). Coptic text in Kephalaia: 1. Hälfte (Lieferung 1–10), pp. 17.2—23.3: t\\ntwbH mm[a]k? \p@?n? J?aIs Je ekats . . . n nkHermhneue n[e]n 24 25

etbe p? i ? [S]h? n sneu [eta _ i hs teo]uau aneFmaqhths eush?H a[p]e?uag?g?e?[lion efJw] mmas Je pShn etanit SaFT [kar]po[s eFanit pS]h?n an etHau wafT karpos e?F? [Hau. . . . . . . \m@n Shn] eFanit eSaFT ka?rpos eFHau [oude \m@n Shn eFHau e]SaFT karpos [eF]anit? e[Sau] [sou]wn [Shn nim Hn] neFkarpos [. . .] t?o?t?e? paJe p\nJai+s pm_nx\s papostolos [nte tmn]tnaG aneFmaqhths [. . .] ioudas oun piskar[iwths au]moute araF \ n Sarp Je rwme eFanit. . . . . . . . . . . neF Hi pro?d?o?ths Hi reFHwtbe [. . .] [sshH etbe] paul?os Je ne?Fo ndiwkth?s nSarp? . . . [ekklh]s?ia mpn?oute eFdiwke [. . .] eiste . . . te. . [. . tHer]m?hnia _nndog?m?a? sn [. . .] swt\ m ? ntao? u wn[H] nht\ n abal e? t ? b e [. . .] [. . eta

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There is more (for example, the description of the five limbs on each tree), but the main points here are that the parable of the two trees leads directly to a vindication of Manichaeism’s basic dualistic construct; and that, though there is no explicit connection here with any specific gospel passage, the metaphor is said to come from “the Gospel.”26 As in Matt 7:20 (Luke 6:44), Mani explains that the fruit it produces exposes the true nature of the tree. The real intention of this Kephalaion, however, is to expand the metaphor to the point where it can serve as a vehicle for presenting the Manichaean cosmogony. Appearances can be deceiving: Judas was an apostle, but betrayed his master. Paul began as a persecutor of the Church, only to become its most important promoter. Thus Manichaeism employs “the two trees” of Matthew/Luke primarily as a metaphor for the two eternal principles: “The bad tree is Hylē,” the Father of Greatness is therefore the good tree, and good and bad have nothing to do with each other.27

p]s?h?r t?eo?uau H\n t[parabolh] e?t?b?e pShn etanit m?n? pShn etHau [. . .] nkarpos n?t?e? p?Shn etanit pe _ihs \pprie eto? neau piwt [nnapo?]s?t?o?[l]o?s throu tTpe de nnkarpos mpShn [etanit te t?e?]kk?lhsia etouabe [. . .] t[Tpe] HwF [nni]karpos etHau pe nirmbwneF ndogma [. . .] [e]tmhr Hn Hnnomos nomos ntau @\m@n nous?aH. . . . . . . [pn]omos \mpm?o?u [. . .] pei+ pe p?Shn? e?[SaFT karpos e]n?anouF peta p\nJai+s m?oute ara[F Je pShn etanit eSaF]T karpos enanouF [. . .] p]Shn HwwF etHau t?e tHulh [. . .] nei+etF \nouan nim. . . . . . p]Shn [s]neu \n@FparJou abal nn?[ou]erhu \n?@F?@m?m?e Je \ntauSwpe e?n abal \nn?ouerhu [\nt]auei abal en \nno?uerhu \nta?ue?i? abal en \noue.

26 S.N.C. Lieu, in M. Vermes, Hegemonius, Acta Archelai (The Acts of Archelaus) (Manichaean Studies 4; Turnhout: Brepols, 2001), 67 n. 108, says Luke is the source of the (italicised) quote. A. Baumstark, “Ein ‘Evangelium’-Zitat der manichäischen Kephalaia,” OrChr 34 (1937), 169–91, saw the whole citation as Diatesseronic. More accurately, Baker-Brian, 184 n. 27, points to Luke 6:43 as the reference, with the first line coming from Matt 7:17. But it is most precise to say that all but the first line comes from Luke 6:43–44. In I Kephalaia, “gospel” usually refers to Mani’s own Living Gospel. 27 Baker-Brian, 184, observes: “For Manichees, the saying of Jesus from the Gospel (a good tree bears good fruit and a bad tree bears bad fruit) represented arguably their most important biblical text. The Manichaean attachment to the verse meant that they stood in the tradition of Gnostic dualistic movements who regarded the verse as a proof-text for dualism [. . .] Adimantus considered Christian malfeasance to lie in their attempt to hold by both passages (Amos 3:3–6 and Matt 7:17), when in fact the saying of Jesus ought to be regarded as providing the definitive statement that corrected the erroneous and maleficent verse from the prophet.” Baker-Brian does not reference his claim about Gnostics, but an interesting adjunct to this study would be one on both “tree” and “the two trees” in the Synoptics as appropriated by Gnostic writings. See also Klimkeit, 112 (German: 192).

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Though this Kephalaion has lost its description of the fruits of the bad tree, the good tree/bad tree image (and the respective fruits) appears fairly frequently in the Kephalaia of the Teacher. In I Ke 148 Mani’s works are “the good fruit that I have given from the good tree.”28 Matter formed bad trees (I Ke 56),29 so must be cut out of them at the root (I Ke 17).30 I Ke 18 quotes Matt 3:10 (“As the saviour has said: Behold, the axe is put to the root of the evil tree, so that from this time it cannot bear evil fruit”).31 In a Manichaean psalm to Jesus (271) there is a clear blend of Matt 15:13 and 3:10 (or Luke 3:9): “Every branch that shall give bad fruit is cut with its root and is cast into the fire . . . because it gave not good fruit”).32 And a Psalm of the Wanderers has “Thou art the two-edged axe wherewith they cut the bitter root.”33 In I Ke 16 Jesus the Splendour has planted “the tree of life that will make good fruit.”34 According to I Ke 87 the church “is like a good tree.”35 In a Bema-psalm (227) we read: “Glory and victory to the Paraclete-Spirit, the fruitful tree of life.”36 A psalm to Jesus (248) affirms: “I have distinguished this pair of trees of this pair of kingdoms, . . . the bitter fountain and the holy essence of God. The Light I have distinguished from the Darkness, life from death, Christ and the church I have distinguished from the deceit of the world”;37 and the following psalm (249) prays: “pluck me as I flourish on the pleasant tree (bw) 28 W.-P. Funk, Kephalaia I, Zweite Hälfte, Lieferung 13/14 (MHSMB, Band 1; Stuttgart: Kohlhammer, [1999]), p. 355.17–18: pei+ pe pkarpos etani?t e[t] ai+teeF? [nhtne] abal \mpSh?n etanit. 29 Kephalaia: 1. Hälfte (Lieferung 1–10), p. 138.6–9. 30 Kephalaia: 1. Hälfte (Lieferung 1–10), p. 58.7–19. 31 Gardner, 62; Kephalaia: 1. Hälfte (Lieferung 1–10), p. 58.18–19: [ntHe] eta?

p_sh\r Joos Je eis? pkalabin kat Ha tnoun?[e \m]p?Shn etHau Je neFT ka?rpos eFHau Jn mpineu. 32 Allberry, p. 91.5–7: SlH n[i]m etaT karp[os etHau se]Sat\F m\nt\Fnoune \nsenaJ\F atse?[te . . . . J]e \mp\FT outau enanouF.

See also p. 136.20–21 (the good tree did not give bad fruit). 33 Allberry, pp. 162.31–163.1: nto pe pka?labin eto \nHo sneu etauGw[Je n?H?h?t?F? n[t]nou[n]e et?s?aS[e]. See also p. 178.7–8. 34 Gardner, 58; Kephalaia: 1. Hälfte (Lieferung 1–10), p. 53.26–7: [pS]hn nte pwn?[H] e?t?n?a\r H\nkarpos euanit. 35 Gardner, 225; Kephalaia: 1. Hälfte (Lieferung 1–10), pp. 217.32–218.1: Gire ouShn etanit. 36 Allberry, p. 22.22–23: oueau [mnouG]ro \mp[pk]l[s] \mp _ n\a pShn \mpwn\H \ntai[outaH]. 37 Allberry, p. 56.21–25: a[pwr]J \mpisaIS \nShn \nte Tsai+S

\mm\nt\rr?o? . . . . . . .a?i? qalme etsaSe m\ntousia \mpnoute etou] a?b?e pouai+ne ai+parJ\F abal \mpkeke pwnH] abal \mpmou p_xr\s m\ntekklhsia ai+parJo?u? \n?t?a?p?ath \mpkosmos.

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of the church. I am a flourishing fruit, pure from my youth up.”38 The Father of Greatness is the “Good tree, that gave not bad fruit” in the second psalm of the Wanderers.39 In the preceding psalm, “The fruits of the good tree are Christ who is in the Church,”40 while later on in the same collection Jesus is “the flourishing fruit of the unperishing tree.”41 A psalm to the Trinity speaks of “Jesus, the Tree of Life.”42 Elsewhere, the bad tree is given a parallel origin. A Jesus-psalm (251) prays to “the lamb of God on high, who has plucked out the root of the tree of sin.”43 Further on (psalm 255), the psalmist proclaims: “I have known and understood that which is and that which shall be: what is mortal and what on the other hand is immortal; and what is the King of Light who is the tree of life, and what again is the Darkness which is the tree of death.”44 So the image and its Synoptic inspiration are clear in these texts, the image being extended to connect with the cosmogonical principles on the one hand, and to Mani, his church, and the individual believer on the other.

Allberry, p. 58.9–10: n . . a?uJalt’ ei+raut’ H\ntbw etnatme \ntekk[lhsia anak ouk[a]rpos eFraut’ ei+toubai+t’ J\n\n[tam \ntkoui+. The use of bw for “tree” is infrequent in the Psalms, which usually employ Shn. 39 Allberry, p. 136.20–21: pShn etanit pete \mp\FT karpos eFHau. 40 Allberry, p. 134.19: \ n ]karpos \ m piShn etanit pe p_ x r\ s etH\ntekklhsia?. 41 Allberry, p. 185.10: pikarpos etraut \nte pS[hn \na]tteko. 42 Allberry, p. 116.7: _i?h\s pShn \mpwn\H. See also p. 154.22, and Turbo’s 38

testimony in the Acts of Archelaus (see below) ascribed to Hegemonius 11.1 (GCS 16, p. 18.3–4): τὸ δὲ ἐν παραδείσῳ φυτὸν ἐξ οὗ γνωρίζουσι τὸ καλόν, αὐτὸς ἐστι ὁ Ἰησοῦς. But Mani, too, is this tree (Allberry, pp. 80.24 and 219.28), while Jesus (or Christ) is also the fruit of the good tree (Allberry, pp. 134.19 and 185.10). 43 Allberry, p. 60.22–23: pHiib \mpnoute etJase petaF p?[wrk abal] \ntnoune \mpShn \mpnabe. One need not infer from this that Manichaeans employed the New Testament Book of Revelation, even though the Tree of Life figures there in 2:7 and 22:2, 14. On possible background for Christ as the Tree of Life in Manichaeism see C. Murray, Symbols of Church and Kingdom )td(d )zD8 )twKLMdw: A Study in Early Syriac Tradition (London: Cambridge University Press, 1975; revised Edinburgh/ Piscataway, NJ: T&T Clark/Gorgias, 2004), 124–9. 44 Allberry, p. 66.25–28: aIsaune aI\mme apetSoop m\npetnaSwpe Je e?u? [p]eteSaFteko h eu \ntaF petemaFteko h? eu p?e p\rro \mpouaIne ete \ntaF pe pShn \mpwn\H h eu HwwF pe pkeke ete \ntaF pe pShn \mpmou.

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3. Greek Sources from Manichaeism and Its Adversaries No anti-Manichaean work has been preserved in Coptic; for such sources, we need to turn to other languages. In Egypt, whence the Coptic Manichaica come, Didymus (the Blind) of Alexandria (died before 400) briefly recalls in his treatise against Manichaeans how Mani applied the “tree” image, in a manner surprisingly similar to Augustine, as we will see: “He refers to [bad] trees, not as something plain to the senses, but [as] human beings constituted by wickedness. The root of these trees is very bad, and from it arises no edible fruit, but one that is noxious.”45 Didymus’ affirmation is backed up by the Acts of Archelaus, which may be his source for this. At any rate, this is the extent of the polemical response in Egypt to Manichaean exegesis of “the two trees.” Though the surviving Coptic Manichaean works were not part of Manichaeism’s primary canon, Severus, Monophysite Patriarch of Antioch,46 traced the “two trees” image back to Mani himself, who, he says, called the two eternally opposed principles “Tree of Life” and “Tree of Death,” or respectively “Tree of Light” and “Tree of Darkness.” Severus wrote and preached in Greek but his Cathedral Homilies survive only in a sixth century Syriac translation. His Homily 123 (from the year 518) is of interest here, being, in the words of René Roux, “pratiquement un traité contre les Manichéens.”47 Severus actually appears to be quoting a work by Mani when he further informs us: “And they say: ‘That which is Good, also named Light and the Tree of Life, possesses those regions which lie to the east, west, and north; for those (regions) which lie to the south and to the meridian belong to the Tree of Death’.”48 Still quoting the same source, Severus adds:

45 Didymus, Κατὰ Μανιχαιῶν 17. My translation. PG 39, col. 1108C: ∆ένδρα δὲ οὐκ αἰσθητὰ λέγει, ἀλλ᾽ ἀνθρώπους κατὰ κακίαν πεποιημένους. Ῥίζα δὲ τῶν δένδρων τούτων ἡ χειρίστη ἕξις, ἀφ᾽ ἧς καρπὸς οὐκ ἐδώδιμος, ἀλλὰ δηλητήριος γίνεται.

46 For background on Severus see J.C. Reeves, Jewish Lore in Manichaean Cosmogony: Studies in the Book of Giants Traditions (Cincinnati: Hebrew Union College Press, 1992), 165. 47 R. Roux, L’exégèse biblique dans les Homilies Cathédrales de Sévère d’Antioche (SEAug 84; Roma: Institutum Patristicum Augustinianum, 2002), 12. But Roux makes no other mention of Manichaeans in his study, nor does he refer there to the “two trees” image in Severus. 48 Severus, Hom. 123 96. Translation in Reeves, 167, whose sections correspond to page numbers in F. Cumont, Extrait de la CXXIIIe homélie de Sévère d’Antioche (Le manichéisme 2; Bruxelles: H. Lamertin, 1912). PO 29, p. 152.14–17:

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j. kevin coyle For he says in one of his books (those which are in secret); or rather, those which deserve (to be named) “darkness” and “error,” thusly: These are they which are unceasing and which have existed eternally, from the beginning—he speaks here of Hyle and God—everything in its essence has come from them. Likewise does the Tree of Life exist, which is there adorned with every sort of pleasing and lovely, beautiful thing [. . .] And below there is nothing that has sunk or withdrawn from it not even into any of the regions; rather, it extends infinitely both beyond and below.49

Again, citing (probably) the same work, The Tree of Death is divided into many (parts); war and bitterness characterize them, for they are strangers to (the concept of ) peace, and are full of every sort of wickedness. Good fruits are never upon them. (The Tree) is divided against its fruits, and the fruits are also divided against the Tree [. . .] The Tree is wholly evil, and it never produces any good thing, but remains divided against itself, and all of its parts corrupt whatever draws near it.50

There is no clear Synoptic reference here—the focus is cosmogonical—but the Synoptics would seem to be the image’s inspiration, as can be inferred from other texts that, we have seen, were read with a Manichaean perspective identifying the trees with the principles. Severus does not spend nearly as much space refuting these ideas as he does reporting them. His refutation of the cosmogony, such as it is, is constructed around the two trees and their fruit:

)xNdM twLd oYLh )twD8t)L ! yhwYNK )Yx8d )NLY) P) )D8hw]N P)d tYK wh[ ! )twM{d wh[ )NLY) ! )YD8h+w )YNM8Yt oYd oYLhL ! dY]x) )YbrGw )Br(Mw .)tdY}b(] )]Lw )t4Yb yGS[d yh[ )LwhL ! )NKh P) rYG oYrQ 49 Severus, Hom. 123.99-101, trans. Reeves, 168. PO 29, p. 154.6-14: dxB rY G rM[) x}(w+Lw )Kw$xL oYw$[d nwNh[ oYd nwLL)M ! )NLLM*tM] )]L oYLh h LYd )B* tK oM oYd rM)[ ; )Yrw$ oM nwhYtY) oByLKBw tY)NYM)d nwNh[ &oYLh : )NKh yhwtY) )NKhw . yhwtY) hLYd )NYKB ; nwhNM dx lK ; )hL) l+Mw )Lwh l+M )LM}[w . hLYd )twY*)P twD8YP4Bw h]tD**Yp$ oYhLKB oMt tB cM]}d; )Y*xd wh{ )NLY) )Lw t]xtL oMw […] . hLYd )NYKB (YB]qw rr4[M]w . htB*+ oYhLKB P+(]Mw )]L yh )L) . )tY*N]p oM )dxB )Lp)w ; hNM )N]G{ w) dYM(d tY) mdM ; h[YtY) )twNKYtsM

See also PO 29, pp. 154.26—156.8. 50 Severus, Hom. 123 117–8, trans. Reeves, 168–9. PO 29, p. 162.6–9:

wh[ )NLY) )YD*KwN oYd )NY4d . nwhb tY) )twrYrMw )BrQdw ! GLpM ))Y*GSL )}twM{d . nwhL tY) )B8+{ )D*)p mwtM )Lp)w ! )tw$Y]B h{LKd )YLM]8w ! nwhYtY) .)NLY) L( )D*)p nwNh} p)w ! yhwD*)p L( yhwtY) GYLpdw

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Let them say if these [bad] fruits grew at the same time as Matter, from the beginning and the origin, or if they were added later. If from the beginning, they are numerous, without beginning and uncreated [. . .] But if, like a tree, [Matter] made those fruits over time and produced all the charge of wickedness, part would be revealed [from the beginning] but many [parts would be] created afterwards. How can one consider the same essence to be both created and uncreated?51

Prior to Severus there were already other Christian anti-Manichaean works on the same theme. The Acts of Archelaus, attributed to one Hegemonius and likely composed in the second quarter of the fourth century,52 describes two encounters alleged to have occurred in the third quarter of the previous century between Mani and Archelaus, bishop of “Carchar,” apparently a Roman town situated on the border with Persia. If, as seems likely, the work was composed in Greek, it also circulated in Coptic (and possibly Syriac), as well as in the Latin version in which it has come down to us complete. In the Acts, a letter from Mani to Marcellus attacks those who “attribute the beginning and the end, and the father of these evils, to God [. . .] For they do not believe in the words spoken in the Gospels by our Saviour and Lord Jesus Christ, that ‘a good tree cannot bear bad fruit nor a bad tree good fruit’.”53 Then, Mani’s opening gambit in his first disputation with Archelaus speaks in terms strongly reminiscent of I Ke 2: “[W]ho should be believed? Those teachers of yours, who feast on meat and

51 Severus, Hom. 123. 130–1. My translation. PO 29, pp. 166.26—168.4: nwrM)[N ! )Yrw4 oMw L(L oM h[L wwh nwhYtY) )tY(wMB x*w4] )D*)p oYLh n) LYKh )Ld oYLh nwhYtY) ))Y8GS ; LNL oM oM{ n)w & wwh wPSwtt) )trx}L w) ! )D*)p oYLh t[(]rp) )NBzB )NLY) twM]dB oYd n) [ . . .] ; )dY]B*(] )]Lw )$Yr )]L h[YtY) )wht [h[NM] mdM oM[ )tN[M ; t[YtY) )tw4YBd )NO}+ )Nh hLKw ! )pq[N )NKY{)w . oYN}Q*t) oKrtB oMdw )]tdY*B]( & oYd )t)Y*GS ; )tdYB(] .)tdYB](] )]Lw )tdYB( LKt[SN )YSw)L h[L dK h[Ld

52 On the Acts of Archelaus see S.N.C. Lieu, “Fact and Fiction in the Acta Archelai,” Manichaeism in Mesopotamia and the Roman East (ed. S.N.C. Lieu; RGRW 118; Leiden: E.J. Brill, 1994), 132–55; revised from Manichaean Studies: Proceedings of the First International Conference on Manichaean Studies, August 5–9, 1987, Department of History of Religions, Lund University, Sweden (ed. P. Bryder; Lund Studies in African and Asian Religions 1; Lund: Plus Ultra, 1988), 69–88. 53 Acta Archelai 5.4. The translation is from Vermes, 42, but I have corrected his inversion, which is based on the Latin, not the Greek text (in GCS 16, p. 7.1–6): ἀρχὴν γὰρ καὶ τέλος καὶ τὸν τούτων πατέρα τῶν κακῶν ἐπὶ τὸν θεὸν ἀναφέρουσιν [. . .] οὔτε γὰρ ἐν τοῖς εἰρημένοις εὐαγγελίοις παρ᾽ αὐτοῦ τοῦ σωτῆρος ἡμῶν καὶ κυρίου

Ἰησοῦ Χριστοῦ πιστεύουσιν, ὅτι οὐ δύναται δένδρον καλὸν καρποὺς κακοὺς ποιῆσαι, οὐδὲ μὴν δένδρον κακὸν καλοὺς καρποὺς ποιῆσαι.

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enjoy most abundant delights, or the Saviour Jesus Christ who says, as is written in the book of the Gospels, a good tree cannot bear bad fruit, nor a bad tree bear good fruit?”54 Later, Archelaus flings the “trees” reference back at Mani, whom he identifies with the “bad tree”: “Let him say what evil is, in case he is defending or constructing the mere name. But if it is not the name of evil but its substance, let him expound to us the fruits of this wickedness and iniquity, since the nature of a tree can never be recognised without its fruit.”55 As the debate continues, Mani bolsters the “two trees” image by invoking the “root” also present in Matt 3:10: Manes said: “Let it first be agreed by you that there is another root of wickedness, which God did not plant; and then I shall tell you its fruits.” Archelaus said: “Consideration of the truth demands the opposite, for I shall not agree with you that there is a root of such an evil tree, of whose fruits no one has ever tasted [. . .], I shall not agree with you that it is an evil and very bad tree, until the quality of its fruits is made known. For it is written that a tree is known by its fruits (Matt 7:16). So tell us, Manes: with that tree that is called evil, what fruit does it produce, or what is its nature and what power does it possess, so that we may believe that the root of that tree is of the same kind?” Manes said: “The root is indeed evil, and the tree very bad, but its growth comes not from God, and its fruits of fornication, adulteries, murders, avarice and all evil deeds come from that evil root.”56

54 Acta Archelai 15.6, trans. Vermes, 60. GCS 16, p. 24.15–19: “Cui enim oportet credi? Magistris vestris istis, qui carnibus vescuntur et afluentissimis deliciis perfruuntur, aut salvatori Iesu Christi dicenti, sicut scriptum est in evangeliorum libro: Non potest arbor bona malos fructus facere, neque arbor mala bonos fructus facere?” 55 Acta Archelai 18.7, trans. Vermes, 67. GCS 16, p. 29.24–28: “Sed postremo dicat quid est malum, ne forte nomen solum defendat aut adstruat. Quod si non nomen mali, sed substantia, fructus nobis malitiae et nequitiae huius exponat, quoniam non agnoscitur umquam arboris natura sine fructu.” 56 Acta Archelai 19.1–3, trans. Vermes, 67. GCS 16, pp. 29.29–30.10: “Manes dixit: Constet apud te prius, quia est radix alia malitiae, quam non plantavit deus, et tunc dicam fructus eius. Archelaus dixit : Non hoc veri expetit ratio; neque enim adsentiar tibi radicem esse malae arboris illius, de cuius fructibus numquam ullus gustaverit [. . .]; ita neque ego tibi adsentiar esse arborem malam et pessimam nisi prius qualitas fructuum eius fuerit manifestata; scriptum est enim quia de fructibus arbor cognoscitur. Dic ergo nobis, o Manes, arbor quae dicitur mala quem adferat fructum, aut cuius naturae sit, quam virtutem habeat, ut tibi credamus etiam radicem arboris ipsius esse talem. Manes dixit: Radix quidem mala, arbor autem pessima, incrementum vero non ex deo, fructus autem fornicationes, adulteria, homicidia, avaritia et omnes mali actus malae illius radicis.”

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Also writing in Greek, Titus of Bostra (in Roman Arabia) says in the fourth book of his Πρὸς Μανιχαίους (written soon after 363)57 that Mani made express use of Matt 7:18 to speak of the two eternal natures (oYNYK). Mani, he says, moves on to the following Gospel passage: A good tree cannot bear bad fruit, nor a bad tree good fruit. Every tree will be known by the fruit it gives (Luke 6: 43–44). Here again with dangerous cunning or irrational stupidity he seizes upon a word without regarding anything beyond custom and behaviour for his doctrine of two conflicting natures. For our Lord plainly clarifies this image through what follows, and he says: A good man brings good out of the good treasure in his heart; but a bad man [brings] evil out of the evil treasure in his heart; for the mouth speaks out of the heart’s fullness (Luke 6:45). Here he clearly calls the heart a treasure, because of the freedom of the will; but he does not rebuke another principle, or anything else. For were something to originate from some principle with no beginning, he would have called “treasure of evil” that principle without a beginning, not the heart, which plainly receives the evil that does not, however, derive from it. But since the treasure of evil is not in another place, but only in the heart, that is where the treasure of evil also is; and clearly so is the origin of the evil that comes into being through the will’s cunning and not from a principle with no beginning.58

57 The fourth book of Titus’ original Greek work is extant only in Syriac. On the “Tree of Life and Tree of Death” in Titus, see N.A. Pedersen, Demonstrative Proof in Defence of God: A Study of Titus of Bostra’s Contra Manichaeos—The Work’s Sources, Aims and Relation to its Contemporary Theology (NHMS 56; Leiden/Boston: E.J. Brill, 2004), 240–3. On Titus, see also the contribution of J.-M. Lavoie, P.-H. Poirier, and T. Schmidt to this volume. 58 Titus, Πρὸς Μανιχαίους 4.47. My translation. P.A. de Lagarde, Titus Bostreni Contra Manichaeos libri quatuor syriace (Berlin: G. Schultze, 1859, repr. Hanover: H. Lefaire, 1924; and Osnabrück/Wiesbaden: Otto Zeller/Otto Harrassowitz, 1967), 152.13–29: dBONd )B+ )NLY) xK4M )Ld )tLM Ys[p) nwYLGNw) oM xrSM oYd Bwtw

oM tY)d )NLY) LK . )B*+ )D*)p dB(Nd )$YB] )NLY) Bwt )Lp)w . )4*YB )D*)p )tLML . )NY(r )Ld )twLLB w) . )t4YB )tw)rxB p) Bwt )Krhw . (dYtM YhwD*)p BSN )dd8 x d )LBwqLd oY* N YK oYD* t d )twNpLML )dY* ( L(w )D* B wd L(d tY)YLG q4pM oKrtBdoYN[ h dYB )LtM )NhL hL nrM rYG wh] . h[ L )tM*YS oM )4YB )rBGw & )tB*+ qpM hBLBd )tB*+ )tM*YS oM )B+ )rBGd rM[)w tY)YLG )BLLw . )Mwp LLMM )BLd rYG )D*twt oM & )t4*YB qpM hBLBd )t4*YB Ld( nrx) mdML )wh )Lw )twN$r )wh )Lw )NYBcd )twr)x L+M hM$ )tMYS .)t4Ybd )tMYS )t4YB twh )Ydr Yrw$ )Ld mdM )twN$r oM mdM rYG wL) & )Lw tY)YLG wh )NLbqMd kY) )BLL )wh )Lw . )wh rM[) Yrw$ )Ld )twN$r Yh[L )L) )t4Ybd )tMYS hYtY) nrx) kwdB )wh )L oYd n)w . oYN) hNM )wh )t(NcBd . )t4Ybd h[Yrw$ p) wh oMt )tMYS Yh oMtd )KY) )BLB dwxLB .Yrw$ )Ld mdM )twN$r oM )wh )Lw . )Yw[h )NYBcd

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Chronologically, Titus is the first to introduce the connection of the “trees” image with the will, that is, with moral choice.59 He goes further than anyone else we have seen (or will see) in invoking the next verse in Luke (which has no parallel in Matthew) to clarify the meaning of the image in 6:43–44. Like Titus, Epiphanius, bishop of Salamis (in Cyprus), in his Panarion (written between 374 and 377) ascribes to Mani himself the use of Matt 7:18 and 20 (Luke 6:44) as denoting the two principles: Again, [Mani] uselessly cites a text to prove the existence of the dyad he believes in and distinguish between the two first principles: the Savior’s words, A good tree cannot bring forth evil fruit, neither can a corrupt tree bring forth good fruit; for by its fruit the tree is known. And notice his shallow mind, which does not understand the contents of sacred scripture in any depth! If there are trees they have a cultivator; trees are growing things, and must have been planted by someone. But nothing planted is beginningless; it has its beginning. But since it has a beginning, it will have an end as well. The corrupt tree was not always there, then; it had been planted [. . .] These two trees are figurative expressions for righteousness and sin; but in this barbarous Mani’s opinion, [one] means God and [the other] means the devil. And yet, it is plain that no one can dare to say that God will ever create evil—perish the thought!—or that the devil does good. All good things are made by God, and nothing evil has been created or made by him [. . .] Mani’s argument has failed. The evil and good trees refer to good and evil works and not to the Old and the New Testaments, the position Mani takes.60

59 Pedersen, 56: “Mani similarly quoted Lk. 6:43–45 on the two trees and interpreted the verses as references to the two principles. However, the sequel (Lk. 6:45) shows that Jesus was not speaking of the two principles but about ethics (IV.47). For instructive purposes Jesus used unfree things from nature such as the two trees in order to speak about the freedom of the will (IV.48). The difference between necessity of nature and freedom is expressed by Jesus saying on the one hand good trees cannot bring forth bad fruit, nor bad trees good fruit, but on the other hand, despite His assertion that the evil person produces evil deeds, He does not say that such a person cannot also do good.” 60 Epiphanius, Panarion 66.62.1–3 and 11–14. Translation by F. Williams, The Panarion of Epiphanius of Salamis, Books II and III (Sects 47–80, De fide) (NHMS 36; Leiden/New York/Köln: E.J. Brill, 1994), 279–81. GCS 37, pp. 99.23–100.3 and 101.4–15: Πάλιν

δὲ βούλεται φέρειν μαρτυρίαν, ἵνα παραστήσῃ τὴν παρ᾽ αὐτῷ λεγομένην δυάδα καὶ διέλῃ ἀνὰ μέσον τῶν δύο ἀρχῶν, κενῶς ἐν τῷ εἰπεῖν τὸν σωτῆρα »οὐ δύναται δένδρον ἀγαθὸν καρποὺς κακοὺς ποιῆσαι, οὐδὲ δένδρον σαπρὸν καρποὺς ἀγαθοὺς ποιῆσαι· ἐκ γὰρ τοῦ καρποῦ τὸ δένδρον γινώσκεται«. καὶ ὅρα μοι τὴν ἐλαφρὰν διάνοιαν καὶ μηδὲν ἐν βάθει τὰ τῆς θείας γραφῆς κατανοοῦσαν. εἰ μὲν γὰρ δένδρα εἰσίν, ἂρα καὶ γεωργὸν ἒχουσι, καὶ φυτὰ τυγχάνοντα καὶ πάντως ὑπὸ τινός εἰσι πεφυτευμένα. πᾶν δὲ τὸ πεφυτευμένον οὐκ ἔστιν ἄναρχον. ἀλλὰ ἀρχὴν ἒχει. ἀρχὴν δὲ ἒχον καὶ τέλος ὑφέξει. τοίνυν τὸ σαπρὸν δένδρον οὐκ ἦν ἀεί, ἀλλὰ πεφύτευται [. . .] Ταῦτα τὰ δύο

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Following an approach similar to that of Titus, Epiphanius is less intent on reporting than on rebuttal. It is unclear whether he is drawing directly on a Manichaean source or on an earlier anti-Manichaean one. The Old and New Testaments have suddenly appeared in his refutation; in his text there is no preceding explicit connection between them and the trees, although there is a discussion of Mani’s rejection of the Old Testament. Finally, Theodoret of Khyrros (or Cyrrhus, in Syria), who died in 466, provides an account similar to Severus’: (Mani) said that there are two unbegotten and eternal beings, God and Matter (Hylē ), and he called God Light, Matter Darkness, Light Good, Darkness Bad. And he employed other names (for them). For Light he called a good tree, with good fruit, and Matter a bad tree bearing bad fruit, corresponding to [its] root.61

But this takes the nature of a simple report; as in Severus, there is no attempt to expand on or confute it. 4. Latin Sources from Manichaeism and Augustine of Hippo In the Latin world, our principal (indeed, only) source for the “two trees” image is Augustine, Catholic bishop of Hippo; in him we have a former Manichaean as well as a participant in real Catholic-Manichaean debates, both oral and written (whatever one may think of the authenticity of Acts of Archelaus), and the accounts of these preserve some words of his Manichaean opponents. Reading those disputes makes it clear that the “two trees” image plays an important role here. Consider the declaration to Augustine (then a presbyter) by the Manichaean presbyter δένδρα περὶ δικαιουσύνης καὶ περὶ ἁμαρτίας [τοῦτον] ἔχει τὸν τρόπον· ὡς δὲ οὗτος ὁ βάρβαρος Μάνης διανοεῖται, περὶ θεοῦ βούλεται λέγειν καὶ περὶ τοῦ διαβόλου. καὶ ὅτι περὶ θεοῦ οὐδεὶς δύναται τολμῆσαι καὶ εἰπεῖν ὅτι κακὸν ποιήσει ποτέ (μὴ γένοιτο), καὶ οὔτε περὶ τοῦ διαβόλου, ὅτι ἀγαθὸν ἐργάζεται, τοῦτο δῆλον. ἀλλὰ διὰ θεοῦ πάντα γίνεται τὰ ἀγαθά, καὶ φαῦλον ἐξ αὐτοῦ οὐδὲν κέκτισται οὐδὲ γίνεται [. . .] διέπεσεν ὁ αὐτοῦ λόγος. τὸ γὰρ σαπρὸν δένδρον καὶ ἀγαθὸν δένδρον περὶ ἀγαθῶν ἔργων τυγχάνει καὶ περὶ φαύλων καὶ οὐκ ἔστι περὶ παλαιᾶς διαθήκης καὶ καινῆς, καθὼς βούλεται ὁ [τοῦ] Μάνη, λόγος. 61

Theodoret, Haereticarum fabularum compendium 26. My translation. PG 83, col. 377B:

Οὕτος δύο ἀγεννήτους καὶ ἀιδίους ἔφησεν εἶναι, θεὸν καὶ ὕλην, καὶ προσηγόρευσε τὸν μὲν θεὸν φῶς, τὴν δὲ ὕλην σκότος· καὶ τὸ μὲν φῶς ἀγαθὸν, τὸ δὲ σκότος, κακόν· ἐπιτέθεικε δὲ καὶ ἄλλα ὀνόματα· τὸ μὲν γὰρ φῶς ὠνόμασε δένδρον ἀγαθὸν, ἀγαθῶν πεπληρωμένον καρπῶν τὴν δὲ ὕλην, δένδρον κακὸν, συμβαίνοντας τῇ ῥίζῃ φέρον καρπούς.

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Fortunatus, during a public disputation that took place in 392.62 It is Fortunatus who brings “the two trees” into the discussion: [F ]rom the facts themselves it is evident that darkness and light are not at all alike, that the truth and a lie are not at all alike, that death and life are not at all alike, that soul and body are not at all alike, nor are other things like these, which differ from one another by their names and appearances. And our Lord was right to say: The tree that my heavenly Father has not planted will be uprooted (Matt 15:13), because it does not bear good fruit (Matt 3:10), and there is also the tree that he has planted. Hence, it is very clear from the nature of things that there are two substances in this world, which differ in their appearances and names; one of these is that of the body, but the other is eternal, which we believe is the substance of the almighty Father.63

Like I Ke 2, Fortunatus is patently employing the “two trees” imagery to promote a radical dualism. He dilutes the classic Manichaean points of reference somewhat but, in the end, for him “the two trees” not only stand for, but are, the two eternal substances. In his retort, Augustine addresses covetousness (cupiditas) as the root of all evils (see 1 Tm 6:10), providing Fortunatus with the opportunity to link “root” and “tree” to express the notion of the reality of evil within each human as particles of Darkness: [C]ovetousness, which you said is the root of all evils, is not understood in a single way as if it were found only in our bodies. For it is clear that the evil that is found in us comes from an evil author and that this root, which you say exists, is a small portion of the evil. Thus the evil that is found in us is not itself the root but a portion of the evil—of the evil that is found everywhere. Our Lord also called that root the bad tree that never bears good fruit, the tree that his Father did not plant and that is rightly uprooted and cast into the fire.64 62 See F. Decret, Aspects du manichéisme dans l’Afrique romaine: les controverses de Fortunatus, Faustus et Felix avec saint Augustin (Paris: Études Augustiniennes, 1970), 39–50. 63 Aug., Contra Fortunatum 14. Translation by R. Teske, The Manichean Debate (The Works of Saint Augustine: A Translation for the 21st Century I/19; Hyde Park, NY: New City Press, 2006), 149–50. CSEL 25/1, p. 91.8–18: “rebus ipsis paret, quia nihil simile tenebrae et lux, nihil simile ueritas et mendacium, nihil simile mors et uita, nihil simile anima et corpus et cetera istis similia, quae et nominibus et speciebus distant ab inuicem, et merito dixisse dominum nostrum: arbor, quam non plantauit pater meus caelestis, eradicabitur et in ignem mittatur, quae non adferet fructus bonos, et esse arborem radicatam. hinc uero constat et ratione rerum, quod duae sunt substantiae in hoc mundo, quae speciebus et nominibus distant: quarum est una corporis, alia uero aeterna, patris omnipotentis quam esse credimus. ” Notice the introduction here of Matt 15:13. 64 Aug., C. Fort. 21, trans. Teske, 156. CSEL 25/1, p. 102.15–23: “cupiditas uero non uno modo intellegitur, quam dixisti radicem omnium malorum, quasi quae in cordibus

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Then Augustine addresses the significance of the two trees, with a classic element of Augustinian anti-Manichaean rebuttal —free choice, an application already made by Didymus, Titus, and Epiphanius:65 [T]he Lord said with perfect truth that the two trees which you mentioned, the good tree and the bad tree, have their own fruit; that is, the good tree cannot produce bad fruit, nor can the bad tree produce good fruit, but only as long as it is bad. Let us take two human beings, one good and the other bad. As long as the one is good, he cannot produce bad fruit; as long as the other is bad, he cannot produce good fruit. But in order that you may understand that the Lord mentioned these two trees in order to signify free choice, and that those two trees are not our natures but our wills, he said in the gospel, Either make the tree good, or make the tree bad (Matt 12:33). Who is there who can make a nature? If, then, we are commanded to make a tree good or bad, it is up to us to choose what we want.66

nostris solum uersetur, cum constet hoc quod in nobis uersatur malum, ex auctore malo descendere et portiunculam esse mali hanc radicem, quam tu esse dicis, ut non sit ipsa radix, sed sit portiuncula mali, eius mali, quod ubique uersatur. quam radicem et arborem malam dominus noster appellauit numquam fructus bonos adferentem, quam non plantauit pater suus, ac merito eradicari et in ignem mitti.” Teske has chosen the reading corporibus found in Migne (PL 34, 123) instead of cordibus in CSEL, though the latter seems to me the better choice, because Augustine has just been making a point about free will. See the allusion to Luke 6:45 in Titus of Bostra, above. 65 Augustine makes similar applications in his non-Manichaean works as well. Good examples of this are in De nuptiis et concupiscentia 2.48 and Contra Iulianum 5.21, 23. He applies Matt 7:17–20 to the will as well in De ciuitate dei 14.11, 13. See also his Sermo 72, which speaks of the two roots: “Sicut est enim radix omnium malorum cupiditas, sic et radix omnium bonorum caritas.” PL 38, cols. 467–70, as edited by P.-P. Verbraken, “Le sermon LXXII de saint Augustin sur l’arbre et son fruit,” Forma Futuri: Studi in onore del Cardinale Michele Pellegrino (Torino: Bottega d’Erasmo, 1975), 800–4. This is because for Augustine good and evil are the will’s fundamental choices: see N. Fischer, “Bonum,” Augustinus-Lexikon I (ed. C.P. Mayer; Basel: Schwabe, 1986–1994), 675–7. In De sermone dom. in monte 2.24.78–9, Augustine once opposes exegeting the “two trees” as signifying two natures. 66 Aug., C. Fort. 22, trans. Teske, 158. CSEL 25/1, p. 105.4–17: “ex quo illae duae arbores, bona arbor et mala arbor, quas commemorasti, uerissime dictum est a domino quod suos fructus habeant, id est neque bonam posse dare malos fructus neque malam bonos, sed malos quamdiu mala est. Accipiamus duos homines: bonum hominem et malum hominem; quamdiu bonus est, malos fructus dare non potest; quamdiu malus est, fructus bonos dare non potest. sed ut intellegas istas duas arbores sic esse a domino positas, ut ibi significaretur liberum arbitrium, non naturas esse istas duas arbores, sed uoluntates nostras, ipse ait in euangelio: aut facite arborem bonam aut facite arborem malam. quis est, qui possit facere naturam? Si ergo imperatum est nobis, ut faciamus arborem aut bonam aut malam, nostrum est eligere, quid uelimus.” For the italicised bad Teske has good.

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In Contra Adimantum (written perhaps in 394), Augustine portrays Mani’s close disciple Adimantus (Addai or Addā) and highly revered by Faustus,67 as comparing Matt 7:17 with Amos 3:3–6 to show that nothing evil can be associated with God.68 In this case, Augustine uses Matthew 12:33 along with 7:17 as the counterpoint, and the “bad” they mention to indicate God’s punishment for sin: And so, insofar as it pertains to him, he causes something good, because everything just is good, and that punishment is just. Hence, Adimantus’ objection that the Lord said, A good tree produces good fruit, but a bad tree produces bad fruit, is not contrary to this. For, though hell is evil for someone damned, the justice of God is good, and this fruit comes from a good tree [. . .] And yet these two trees were most clearly presented as a likeness of two human beings, that is, of someone just and of someone unjust, because, unless someone changes his will, he cannot do what is good. In another passage the Lord teaches that this is placed in our power, where he says, Either make the tree good and its fruit good, or make the tree bad and its fruit bad [. . .] A bad tree, therefore, cannot produce good fruit; but it can become a good tree from a bad one in order that it might bear good fruit. The apostle says, For you were once darkness, but now you are light in the Lord (Eph 5:8[a]), as if he had said, “You were once bad trees and for that reason you were able to produce only bad fruit. But now you are light in the Lord, that is, now that you have become good trees, bear good fruit.” He says the following: Walk like children of the light, for the fruit of the light is found in all righteousness and truth. Give your approval to what is pleasing to the Lord (Eph 5:8[b]–10) [. . .] For the Lord says there what Adimantus also quoted: Every tree that does not bear good fruit will be cut down and cast into the fire. These are the evils that God produces, that is, punishment for sinners, because he casts into the fire the trees that persevered in their wickedness and refused to become good, although this is the evil for the trees themselves. But God, as I have often said, does not bear evil fruit, because the punishment of sin is the fruit of justice.69 67 He calls him theologus noster (Aug., Contra Faustum I.2). On Adimantus see Tardieu, 133–4. 68 On Adimantus’ agenda see Baker-Brian, 187; also 194: “For Adimantus the passage from Amos was yet another example of the Law’s attempt to conflate the two natures (good and evil) in the one God and thereby mislead humanity over the true nature of its being. Adimantus demonstrated that the antidote to the passage was the knowledge taught by Jesus, who had been sent by God the father to enable believers to recognise the dualistic origins of good and evil.” 69 Aug., Contra Adimantum 26, trans. Teske, 219–20. CSEL 25/1, pp. 185.3–186.12: “Itaque ipse, quantum ad se pertinet, bonum facit, quia omne iustum bonum est, et iusta est illa uindicta, et ideo non est contrarium, quod Adimantus obicit dixisse dominum: arbor bona fructus bonos facit; mala autem arbor malos fructus facit. quamuis enim malum sit gehenna damnato, iustitia tamen dei bona est et ipse fructus est ex

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In his public debate with Augustine in 404, the Manichaean doctor Felix70 was even more succinct than Fortunatus, yet more direct, easily providing the most explicit link we have yet seen between the Synoptic image (Matt 7:17) and Manichaean dualism: Mani says that there are two natures, and now he is blamed because he said that there are two, a good nature and a [sic] evil nature. In the gospel Christ says that there are two trees: The good tree never produces bad fruit, and the bad tree never produces good fruit. There you have two natures.71

Augustine’s reply is, once again, that the gospel citation in question refers to proper and improper use of free will. Again he invokes Matt 12:33: Listen first, then, to the Lord himself concerning free choice, where he speaks of the two trees, of which you yourself made mention. Listen to him as he says, Either make the tree good and its fruit good, or make the tree bad and its fruit bad. When, therefore, he says, “Either do this or do that,” he indicates a power, not a nature. After all, only God can make a tree. But each person has it in his will either to choose what is good and to be a good tree or to choose what is evil and to be a bad tree, not because the evils that we choose have some substance in themselves but because God created all the things that he created in their different ranks and distinguished them in their kinds. He created heavenly things and earthly things, immortal things and mortal things, all good, each in its own kind, and he placed the soul that has free choice under himself and above

arbore bona [. . .] quamquam duae istae arbores manifestissime in similitudine duorum hominum positae sint, id est iusti et iniusti, quia nisi quisque uoluntatem mutauerit, bonum operari non potest. quod in nostra potestate esse positum alio loco docet, ubi ait: aut facite arborem bonam et fructum eius bonum; aut facite arborem malam et fructum eius malum [. . .] mala ergo arbor fructus bonos facere non potest; sed ex mala fieri bona potest, ut bonos fructus ferat. fuistis enim aliquando tenebrae, inquit, nunc autem lux in domino. tamquam si diceret: fuistis aliquando arbores malae et ideo tunc non poteratis nisi malos fructus facere; nunc autem lux in domino, id est iam facti arbores bonae date fructus bonos; quod sequitur dicens: sicut filii lucis ambulate—fructus enim luminis est in omnia iustitia et ueritate—probantes quid sit beneplacitum deo [. . .] ibi enim ait dominus, quod etiam iste commemorauit: omnis arbor, quae non facit fructus bonos, excidetur et in igem mittetur. haec sunt mala, quae deus facit, id est peccatoribus poenas, quod in ignem mittet arbores, quae in malitia perseuerantes fieri bonae noluerint, cum hoc ipsis arboribus malum sit. deus autem, ut saepe dixi, non dat fructus malos, quia iustitiae fructus est uindicta peccati.” 70 On Felix and the debate see Decret, 71–89. 71 Aug., Contra Felicem 2,2, trans. Teske, 299. CSEL 25/2, p. 829.13–17: “Felix dixit: Manichaeus dicit duas esse naturas et modo inde culpatur, quia dixit duas esse, bonam et malam. Christus in euangelio duas dicit esse arbores: arbor bona numquam facit fructum malum, et arbor mala numquam facit fructum bonum. ecce duas naturas.”

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j. kevin coyle other things. In that way, if the soul served what was above it, it would rule what was beneath it. But if it offended what was above it, it would experience punishment from what was beneath it. And so, when the Lord said, “Either do this or do that,” he showed that what they would do was in their power, while he was secure and certain in himself as God, and that, if they chose the good, they would receive a reward from him, while if they chose evil, they would feel punishment from him. But God is always just, whether he rewards or condemns.72

This is reminiscent of Fortunatus’ radical division between light and dark, and so on, except that Augustine attributes everything with real existence and that is not God to God’s creating power. But evil has no real existence, and does not, therefore, originate with God or any other uncreated power. It is, so to speak, the creation of a human (and therefore created) choice; and that is what the good and bad trees are meant to symbolise. Finally, in Contra Secundinum 2 (written after 404), Augustine appeals to Matt 12:33 to speak of wills culpably perverted from the good.73 It is interesting that in his letter to Augustine (1), Secundinus refers to Matt 7, but skirts around “the two trees,” employing instead “the two houses” of verses 24–28, as well as verses 13 and 14.74 This may be why Augustine pays no further attention to the image in his reply.

72 Aug., C. Fel. 2.4, trans. Teske, 301. CSEL 25/2, pp. 831.26–832.16: “Audi ergo de libero arbitrio primo ipsum dominum, ubi duas arbores commemorat, quarum mentionem ipse fecisti, audi dicentem: aut facite arborem bonam et fructum eius bonum aut facite arborem malam et fructum eius malum. cum ergo dicit ‘aut hoc facite aut illud facite,’ potestatem indicat, non naturam. nemo enim nisi deus facere arborem potest; sed habet unusquisque in uoluntate aut eligere, quae bona sunt, et esse arbor bona, aut eligere, quae mala sunt, et esse arbor mala, non quia mala ipsa, quae eliguntur, aliquam habent in se ipsis substantiam, sed quia deus omnia, quae condidit, gradibus suis condidit generibusque distinxit, calestia atque terrena, inmortalia atque mortalia et omnia bona in suo quodque genere condidit, animam habentem liberum arbitrium sub se ipso et supra cetera collocauit: ut si seruiret superiori, dominaretur inferiori; si autem offenderet superiorem, poenam ex inferiore sentiret. hoc ergo dominus dicens ‘aut facite illud aut facite illud’ ostendit esse in potestate quid facerent, ipse securus et certus in se tamquam deus, et quia si bonum eligerent, praemium eius acciperent, si malum eligerent, poenam eius sentirent; semper autem ille iustus est aut remunerator aut damnator.” 73 CSEL 25/2, p. 907.3–11. 74 CSEL 25/2, pp. 893–6.

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5. Conclusions 1. My conclusions begin with another remark from the article I cited at the beginning: that “If Manichaeism was not overly given to conceptualising either good or evil, it is clear that the tree image serves for both. The fact that it is found so widely in Manichaean literature indicates that it belongs to the earliest stratum of the system”75— probably, I would now add, to Mani himself. 2. From this study a definite pattern has emerged, wherein the Manichaean use of the “two trees” image is meant to demonstrate the fundamental difference between good and bad, and to trace that difference all the way back to the two eternal principles. But the “two trees” imagery not only serves to mediate Manichaean teaching on the two eternal principles, the trees are even identified with them. On the ethical plane, the objective is to argue that the good (i.e., God) is in no way responsible for anything, including moral evil, that may be deemed bad. 3. A corollary is that the image is meant to drive home the disparity between the claims of the Old Testament (Law and Prophets) and New Testament (Gospel and Apostle) to revealed status. The latter unveils evil’s true origin in the world, while the former seeks to cover it up. 4. A second corollary is the moral lesson: the good and bad trees, since they stem from the two principles, teach about the presence of virtue and vice. 5. In areas where the Christian scriptures would have a strong following (such as Egypt, Syria, and North Africa), the image serves as a (perhaps the) major vehicle to mediate this. Thus, while there may not be enough evidence to support Baker-Brian’s claim that in the two trees image we have “one of the most important sayings of Jesus for the Manichaean community,”76 there is enough to temper Arnold-Döben’s remark that in Western Manichaeism the image is mostly found in the Manichaean Coptic library.77 6. The Manichaean application of the image is not intended as an exegetical justification of doctrine (the two principles) but rather as mediating doctrine arrived at independently of the New Testament. 75 76 77

Coyle, 133. Baker-Brian, 184. He does not expand on this affirmation. See above.

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7. The anti-Manichaean response consists of (a) the argument that the application of the image to cosmogony is inappropriate; (b) the invalidation of the cosmogony behind it; and (c) a rebuttal that either (i) focuses on the absurdity of trees as eternal or infinite; or (ii) insists on the value of the New Testament image as symbolizing the two fundamental paths of the moral life, between which each person must choose.

BIBLICAL FORM, FUNCTION, AND GENRE IN THE POST-BIBLICAL HISTORICAL APOCALYPTICA Lorenzo DiTommaso Thus while, on the one hand, the reality of the Old Testament presents itself as complete truth with a claim to sole authority, on the other hand that very claim forces it to a constant interpretative change in its own content; for millennia it undergoes an incessant and active development with the life of man in Europe. E. Auerbach, “The Scar of Odysseus”1

According to its best definition, an apocalypse is “a genre of revelatory literature with a narrative framework, in which a revelation is mediated by an otherworldly being to a human recipient, disclosing a transcendent reality which is both temporal, insofar as it envisions eschatological salvation, and spatial as it involves another, supernatural world.”2 This definition was formulated in the late 1970s by a special SBL group, led by John J. Collins, to address a taxonomical dilemma that had been inhibiting the scientific study of apocalyptic literature. Previously, scholars used a single category, apocalyptic, to designate apocalyptic literature and to describe its characteristic eschatology, ideology, language, settings, themes, and purposes. While such indiscriminate usage reflected the view that these phenomena were basically interrelated, it could not accommodate the reality of the evidence that they were not precisely identical. Not all apocalyptic communities, for instances, produce apocalypses, nor is apocalyptic eschatology or imagery limited to formal examples of the genre. The SBL taxonomy, constructed on a template

1 “Während also einerseits die Wirklichkeit des Alten Testaments als volle Wahrheit mit dem Anspruch auf Alleinherrschaft auftritt, zwingt sie eben Anspruch zu einer ständigen deutenden Veränderung des eigenen Inhalts; dieser lebt Jahrtausende lang in unausgesetzter, bewegter Entwicklung in dem Leben der Menschen in Europa.” E. Auerbach, “Die Narbe des Odysseus,” Mimesis; dargestellte Wirklichkeit in der abendländischen Literatur (Bern: A. Franke, 31964), 19 [ Eng. trans.: W.R. Trask (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1953), 16]. 2 J.J. Collins, “Introduction,” Apocalypse: The Morphology of a Genre, Semeia 14 (1979), 9; idem, The Apocalyptic Imagination: An Introduction to Jewish Apocalyptic Literature (Grand Rapids/Cambridge: Eerdmans, 21998), 4–5.

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proposed by Paul D. Hanson,3 isolated and defined the principal phenomena.4 The chief category and focus of research, apocalypse, identified the formal literary genre, the ancient examples of which were classified into two major types, ‘historical’ and ‘otherworldly.’ Apocalypticism designated the underlying ideology of movements that share the genre’s conceptual framework. Apocalyptic eschatology, while impossible to define on a point-by-point basis, specified a transcendent outlook that anticipates post-mortem resurrection and retribution beyond the bounds of human history. It further recommended that ‘apocalyptic’ be restricted to adjectival applications, such as ‘apocalyptic themes’ or ‘apocalyptic movements.’ The importance of the SBL taxonomy can hardly be overestimated. Much of the advanced scholarship conducted on apocalypses and apocalypticism over the past three decades rests on its premises and definitions. Yet it would be disingenuous to suggest that the taxonomy has been embraced by every biblical scholar, overly optimistic to report that it informs scholarship outside biblical and mediaeval studies to the same extent,5 and unrealistic to assume that after thirty years further reflection and fresh evidence have not prompted a re-evaluation on several levels. This paper examines one of the bases for this re-evaluation, viz., the post-biblical apocalyptic texts attributed to the prophet Daniel, as well as the intimately related but curiously neglected issue of the development of the genre apocalypse, which in turn sheds light on the broader subject of its reception in late antiquity. The production of historical apocalypses in both Judaism and Christianity virtually ceased after the middle of the second century ce, the reasons for which remain incompletely understood. In Judaism, the

3 P.D. Hanson, “Apocalypse, Genre,” and “Apocalypticism,” The Interpreter’s Dictionary of the Bible. Supplementary Volume (ed. K. Crim; Nashville: Abingdon, 1976), 27–34. 4 In this task the SBL group built upon the work of P.D. Hanson, The Dawn of Apocalyptic: The Historical and Sociological Roots of Early Jewish Apocalyptic Eschatology (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1975), and in the light of a classic essay by M.E. Stone, “Lists of Revealed Things in the Apocalyptic Literature,” Magnalia Dei: The Mighty Acts of God. Essays on the Bible and Archaeology in Memory of G. Ernest Wright (ed. F.M. Cross, et al.; New York: Doubleday, 1976), 414–52. 5 Studies on modern apocalypticism and apocalyptic movements often proceed from different premises; cf., e.g., the essays in T. Robbins and S.J. Palmer, ed., Millennium, Messiahs, and Mayhem: Contemporary Apocalyptic Movements (New York/London: Routledge, 1997), and in S.D. O’Leary and G.S. McGhee, War in Heaven/Heaven on Earth: Theories of the Apocalyptic (London/Oakville, CT: Equinox, 2005).

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catastrophic failure of three revolts against Rome perhaps quenched the zeal for intense eschatological speculation, prompting the rabbis to focus their attention on the study of Torah.6 Some authorities have proposed that during this period, the otherworldly stream of apocalypticism gradually transformed into an esotericism which focused on heavenly ascents and which later acquired literary form in the mediaeval Jewish mystical tractates.7 Yet the theory of a straightforward evolution of apocalypticism to mysticism cannot stand without modification.8 More importantly, it does not offer a viable explanation for the fact that historical apocalypses were unknown in Judaism from Bar Kokhba until the Byzantine period.9 In early Christianity the situation was somewhat different. Although responsible for a remarkable array of ascent apocalypses and related

A.J. Saldarini, “The Uses of Apocalyptic in the Mishnah and Tosepta,” CBQ 39 (1977), 396–409; idem, “ ‘Apocalypses’ and ‘Apocalyptic’ in Rabbinic Literature,” Apocalypse: The Morphology of a Genre (ed. J.J. Collins; Semeia 14; Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1979), 187–205. This assertion is perhaps too bold. The rabbis were not unconcerned with eschatology, nor are their writings devoid of expectations for messianic figures, the eschatological adversary, Gog, Magog, and the final battle, or the New Jerusalem. 7 G. Scholem, Major Trends in Jewish Mysticism (New York: Schocken, 1946), idem, Jewish Gnosticism, Merkabah Mysticism, and Talmudic Tradition (New York: Jewish Theological Seminary, 21965), I. Gruenwald, From Apocalypticism to Gnosticism. Studies in Apocalypticism, Merkavah Mysticism and Gnosticism (BEATAJ, 14; Frankfurt a.M.: Lang, 1988). For a discussion of the theory, see M. Mach, “From Apocalypticism to Early Jewish Mysticism?” The Encyclopedia of Apocalypticism. Volume I: The Origins of Apocalypticism in Judaism and Christianity (ed. J.J. Collins; New York: Continuum, 1998), 229–64, and A.Y. Reed, Fallen Angels and the History of Judaism and Christianity. The Reception of Enochic Literature (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2005), 233–49. See also the following note. 8 See P. Schäfer, Hekalot-Studien (TSAJ 19; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1988), and Reed, Fallen Angels, esp. 122–272. Among other things, apocalypticism and mysticism, inasmuch as I understand the latter, seem to flow from different founts on the issues of God’s nature and knowability: the gulf seems as much epistemological as theological. This objection may be avoided by tracing the sources of Merkavah mysticism through specific channels carved by the ‘otherworldly’ stream of Second Temple apocalypticism, such as the Songs of the Sabbath Sacrifice. Yet, as Schäfer argues in a recent study, “Any attempt to discover in the [Songs] the earliest version of the heavenly journey as described in the Hekalot literature and therefore the hidden source of what is later called Merkavah mysticism is misguided” (“Communion with the Angels: Qumran and the Origins of Jewish Mysticism,” Wege mystischer Gotteserfahrung—Mystical Approaches to God [ed. P. Schäfer; SHKK 65; Oldenbourg, 2006], 37–66 at 65). For a somewhat different assessment in an equally recent study, see P.A. Alexander, The Mystical Texts. Songs of the Sabbath Sacrifice and Related Manuscripts (LSTS 61; London/New York: T&T Clark, 2006), 121–38. 9 This is reflected in the texts collected by J.C. Reeves in his Trajectories in Near Eastern Apocalyptic: A Postrabbinic Jewish Reader (SBLRBS 45; Atlanta: Society of Biblical Literature, 2005). 6

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texts of the otherworldly type, the early Christian writers were apparently unconcerned with writing apocalypses that turned on the meaning and culmination of history.10 The form was revived only two and half centuries later, in the closing decades of the fourth century. It was undoubtedly precipitated (but not altogether caused) by a protracted period of military and political crises, which began with the tectonic migration of the trans-Danubian Huns, climaxed famously in the sack of Rome in 410 and, by the end of the century, culminated in the effective withdrawal of Imperial authority in the West.11 One of the first texts written in response to the crisis was the Sibylla Tiburtina. It was probably composed around the year 380 as a response to the Roman catastrophe at Adrianople,12 and in its eschatological formulations proved to be highly influential, particularly in the West, translated as it was, first into Latin and then again into most of the vernacular languages of late mediaeval Europe.13 The number of late antique and early mediaeval historical apocalyptica swelled steadily over the 10 This is not to say that there was no interest in apocalyptic timetables during this period, nor can we ignore the ongoing influence of Augustine’s spiritual interpretation of apocalyptic themes and expectations during the subsequent age of the revival of historical apocalypses (for an excellent survey of the field, see B. Daley, “Apocalypticism in Early Christian Theology,” The Encyclopedia of Apocalypticism. Volume 2: Apocalypticism in Western History and Culture [ed. B. McGinn; New York: Continuum, 2000], 3–47). That being said, D.J. Frankfurter observes that the vaticinium ex eventu compositional style—so characteristic to historical apocalyptica—was quite uncommon during the two centuries before Augustine (“Early Christian Apocalypticism: Literature and Social World,” The Encyclopedia of Apocalypticism. Volume I: The Origins of Apocalypticism in Judaism and Christianity (ed. J.J. Collins; New York: Continuum, 1998), 415–53 at 433); see also idem, “The Legacy of Jewish Apocalypses in Early Christianity; Regional Trajectories,” The Jewish Apocalyptic Heritage in Early Christianity (ed. J.C. VanderKam and W. Adler; CRINT 3.4; Assen/Minneapolis: Van Gorcum/Fortress, 1996), 129–200. The long essay by L.L. Thompson, “Social Location of Early Christian Apocalyptic,” ANRW 2.26.3 (Berlin/New York: W. de Gruyter, 1996), 2615–65, focuses mostly on firstcentury texts and attitudes. 11 L. DiTommaso, The Book of Daniel and the Apocryphal Daniel Literature (SVTP 20; Leiden/Boston: Brill, 2005); idem, “The Early Christian Daniel Apocalyptica,” Apocalyptic Themes in Early Christianity (ed. R. Daly; HCSPTH; Grand Rapids: Baker Academic Press, 2009); and idem, “The Armenian Seventh Vision of Daniel and the Historical Apocalyptica of Late Antiquity,” After the Apocalypse: The Nachleben of Apocalyptic Literature in the Armenian Tradition (ed. S. La Porta; HUAS; Louvain: Peeters). I will examine the revival of historical apocalypses, along with other issues, in a new book on apocalypticism ancient, mediaeval, and modern, forthcoming from Oxford University Press. 12 P.J. Alexander, The Oracle of Baalbek: The Tiburtine Sibyl in Greek Dress (Washington: Dumbarton Oaks, 1967). 13 See P.J. Alexander, “The Diffusion of Byzantine Apocalypses in the Medieval West and the Beginnings of Joachimism,” Prophecy and Millenarianism: Essays in Honour of Marjorie Reeves (ed. A. Williams; London: Variorum, 1980), 55–106.


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middle centuries of the first millennium, and eventually included the Reuelationes of Pseudo-Methodius (whose popularity, like that of the Tiburtine Sibyl, benefited from its widespread diffusion throughout western Christendom), the Edessene fragment,14 Pseudo-Ephraem, the Syriac Alexander literature, and the Oracles of Leo the Wise.15 To this roster we must further add the late antique revisions and augmentations to the Sibylline Oracles, as well as several other Sibylline texts, plus a double handful of historical apocalyptica pseudonymously ascribed to New Testament figures,16 and hundreds of anonymous political oracula of uncertain date but certain eschatological orientation,17 most of which remain either uncatalogued or, if catalogued, unedited. Of these myriad corpora of historical apocalyptica (whose highly complex interrelationship remains to be articulated), arguably the most popular were those attributed to the prophet Daniel. Twenty-four compositions are presently known; more almost certainly await discovery. The earliest examples date from the late fourth and fifth centuries,18 and thus stand alongside the Sibylla Tiburtina and the original form of Pseudo-Ephraem at the vanguard of the revival of historiologic apocalypticism. Approximately half the Daniel apocalyptica are written in Greek; the rest are extant in Arabic, Armenian, Coptic, Hebrew, Persian, Slavonic, and Syriac.19 Most are Christian compositions, but at least one Islamic example survives, along with four mediaeval Jewish ones.20 The overall picture painted by the evidence of over one hundred

G.J. Reinink, “Der edessenische ‘Pseudo-Methodius’,” ByzZ 83 (1990), 31–45. B. McGinn, Visions of the End: Apocalyptic Traditions in the Middle Ages (New York: Columbia University Press, 21998). 16 Daley, 35–9; P. Piovanelli, “Les origines de l’Apocalypse de Paul reconsidérées,” Apocrypha 4 (1993), 25–64. 17 A. Vassiliev, Anecdota graeco-byzantina I (Moskva, 1893), 47–58, E. Trapp, “Vulgärorakel aus Wiener Handschriften,” ἈΚΡΟΘΙΝΙΑ. Sodalium seminarii byzantini Vindobonensis, Herberto Hunger oblata (ed. J. Koder and E. Trapp; Wien: Institut für Byzantinistik der Universität Wien, 1964), 83–120, and I. Ševčenko, “Unpublished Byzantine Texts on the End of the World about the Year 1000 ad,” Travaux et mémoires 14 (2002), 561–78. 18 Two Daniel oracle fragments in Greek might be products of the late fourth century, while the lost Greek original of the Armenian Seventh Vision of Daniel almost certainly dates from the late fifth century. 19 One of the Arabic compositions is a translation from Coptic, while two of the texts in Slavonic are preserved in Greek versions. 20 Islamic: The Apocalypse of Daniel on the Events after al-Mu tamid; Jewish: the History of Daniel (Qissa-yi Dāniyāl ), the Vision of Daniel by the River Kebar, the Nevu’ot Daniel, and the very late Book of Daniel (Dāniyāl-nāma). 14 15

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manuscripts21 and the testimonies of eyewitnesses such as Liudprand, Bishop of Cremona22 is one in which a large number of texts were composed, copied, and circulated, and were culturally significant over a long period of time and to a remarkably wide range of communities throughout the Eastern Roman Empire and its peripheries.23 For a long time, however, the picture was quite different.24 Since the late nineteenth century, critical appreciation of the Daniel apocalyptica has been framed by a few central, interlocking assumptions. One assumption was that the corpus was comparatively compact: perhaps eight or nine apocalypses, preserved in various languages. Another was that all the texts derived from an original Greek Apocalypse of Daniel, which either had been lost to history or was now preserved in an Armenian translation known as the Seventh Vision of Daniel.25 A third assumption was that the pattern of textual dispersion from this archetype could be modeled by stemmata that describe the composition and transmission of discrete texts. These assumptions are no longer sustainable by the manuscript evidence.26 As mentioned, the corpus now comprises two dozen compositions, not eight or nine, and it is obvious from even a cursory review of

This total includes unverified copies listed in the manuscript catalogues; it remains unclear whether these are unknown compositions or copies of previously known ones. 22 Habent Graeci et Saraceni libros, quod ὁράσεις, sive visiones, Danielis vocant, ego autem Sibyllanos, in quibus scriptum reperitur quot annis imperator quisque vivat, quae sint futura eo imperitante tempora, pax an simultas, secundae Saracenorum res an adversae (Relatio de legatione Constantopolitana §39, in P. Chiesa, ed., Liudprandi Cremonensis. Antapodosis, Homelia paschalis, Historia Ottonis. Relatio de legatione Constantopolitana [CCCM 156; Turnhout: Brepols, 1998], 204). See also Salimbene de Adam’s record of the effect of one of these texts during the Fourth Crusade (Cronica fratris Salimbene de Adam ordinus minorum [ed. O. Holder-Egger; MGH, scriptores 32; Hannover/Leipzig, 1905–1913], 23–4). 23 To the best of my knowledge, not one Daniel apocalypse or apocalyptic oracle, ancient or mediaeval, was composed west of Sicily, or copied in Latin or any of the vernacular languages of the West. 24 See DiTommaso, Apocryphal Daniel Literature, and the sources cited there. 25 The influence of W. Bousset cannot be underestimated. Not only did he consider the Daniel texts of which he was aware to be versions of a single text, but his hypothesis of a relatively static, nearly ahistorical underlying Antichrist myth could scarcely admit the possibility of significant variation in key elements among the texts (Der Antichrist [Göttingen: Vanderhoeck & Ruprecht, 1895]). 26 It was also assumed that apocalyptic literature was relatively unimportant, and even if at certain and in specific places times it captured the interest of large segments of a population, it remained in essence a socially peripheral phenomenon, best appreciated as folk literature or expressions of popular discontent. This assumption, too, can no longer stand. 21


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their contents that they are not all versions of a lost Greek archetype. More importantly, the recurrence of micro- and macro-forms among the manuscripts denotes a process of creation, transmission, and reception that involved, among other things, the disassembly of older texts and the reprocessing of their oracles and oracle components to create new texts.27 Any model of the relationship among the manuscripts must account for the spontaneous creation of new compositions and the persistent recycling of old ones.28 In effect, although some Daniel apocalyptica were clearly received, transmitted, and sometimes translated as discrete units (e.g., there are nearly three dozen Greek and Slavonic copies of the Last Vision of Daniel), the relationship among the full complement of the extant manuscripts is, from the panoramic perspective, less a textual-critical issue than a literary-critical one.29 Recent research has also dispelled the assumption that these Daniel texts are apocalypses.30 In fact, less than half actually fit the SBL

27 While most of the Daniel apocalyptica are preserved in bound form in manuscript books, these are late copies, and that in their original forms these texts likely circulated in leaf or pamphlet form, thereby contributing to the ease to which they might be subject to later editing and disassembly. 28 These processes also appear to have been operative with respect to other contemporary corpora of texts. Regarding the Hekhalot literature, P. Schäfer comments, “The most significant result of investigations undertaken so far has been to show that we are dealing with an extremely fluctuating literature that has been crystalized in various macroforms, which are nonetheless interwoven with one another on many different levels . . . Even more differentiated and complicated is the picture when one compares individual sets of traditions and smaller units on the level of ‘microforms’ with one another, which can appear in various relationships within the various macroforms” (The Hidden and Manifest God: Some Major Themes in Early Jewish Mysticism [trans. A. Pomerance; Albany: SUNY Press, 1992], 6). Likewise, G.J. Reinink writes of the early mediaeval Syriac apocalyptic literature, “[We] should avoid applying a method of source-critical research which too hastily draws its conclusions from a mere textual comparison of the different works. The postulating of some older ‘common source’, which is supposedly lost today, does not always form a satisfactory explanation of the differences between these texts and especially not, if we should completely ignore the specific literary and historical conditions under which each of these work came into being, conditions which may have led to certain reinterpretations, adaptations and modifications of the existing tradition” (“Alexander the Great in Seventh-Century Syriac ‘Apocalyptic’ Texts,” Byzantinorossica 2 [2003], 150–78; reprinted in Syriac Christianity under Late Sasanian and Early Islamic Rule [Aldershot/Burlington, VT: Variorum, 2005] at 152). 29 For additional details, see DiTommaso, “Armenian Seventh Vision of Daniel.” 30 The setting for the composition of these texts was usually assumed to be identical to that of apocalyptic literature in general: small, oppressed groups at the margins of society. Yet many Daniel apocalyptica obviously address the entire population of Constantinople, and we cannot ignore Liudprand’s report of the influence of these texts within court circles (see note 22, above), however much he might have inflated the actual situation. Similarly, apocalyptic historiography need not be restricted to the

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definition; the rest are what I have described elsewhere as “apocalyptic oracles.”31 The sole difference—at least from the standpoint of the formal definition—is that revelation in apocalyptic oracles is disclosed directly to the reader through a sequence of pronouncements, like those in the Sibylline Oracles, whereas revelation in the biblical book of Daniel and in other early Jewish apocalypses is mediated through an otherworldly interpreter, normally an angel.32 One might raise the objection that other definitions of the genre omit this component. But mediated revelation is a consistent feature of ancient apocalypses regardless of its inclusion in a definition, and it is equally absent from the post-biblical apocalyptic oracles. The issue is whether this difference is significant. I am convinced that it is, and for more than one reason, as we shall see. Apocalyptic oracles may be further distinguished from apocalypses in ways that do not involve the formal definition. The book of Daniel is a ‘historical’ type of apocalypse, very probably the first of its kind,33

peripheral aspects of society when it so obviously linked the Empire with the divine plan for history. The fundamental nationalism of apocalyptic literature could serve official interests as well, particularly when political power was causally linked to the greater, divinely-controlled order. D. Olster argues that, unlike the apocalyptic speculation of Pseudo-Methodius, the Daniel texts represented a stream of apocalyptica that did not anticipate an imperial restoration (“Byzantine Apocalypses,” The Encyclopedia of Apocalypticism. Volume 2: Apocalypticism in Western History and Culture [ed. B. McGinn; New York: Continuum, 2000], 48–73 at 64). In this they are a direct descendent of the quietist inclinations of the maskilim of the book of Daniel. 31 DiTommaso, Apocryphal Daniel Literature, 195–206. M. Henze was the first to observe that while all these texts contain an apocalyptic eschatology, only a few fit the formal definition of an apocalypse (Syriac Apocalypse of Daniel. Introduction, Text, and Commentary [STAC 11; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2001], 6–7). In my view, the types are more evenly distributed among the corpus, with the apocalyptic oracles holding a slight edge in numbers. Either way, most other scholars have been content to label these texts as apocalypses, without investigating the issue of their genre; the manuscripts themselves will occasionally preserve the word ὅρασις in title or incipit. 32 In the Odes of Solomon 32.7–11, ‘Truth’ functions as the angelus interpres; see D.E. Aune, “The Odes of Solomon and Early Christian Prophecy,” NTS 28 (1982), 435–60, reprinted in Apocalypticism, Prophecy, and Magic in Early Christianity (WUNT 199; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2006), 320–46 at 330. Cf., however, the “angel of truth” at 1QS iii 24 and 4Q177 iv 12. 33 The book in its present form dates to the first months of the year 164 bce. Eight fragmentary manuscript copies of Daniel were discovered among the Dead Sea Scrolls; the earliest, 4QDanc (4Q114), dates from the end of the second century bce, perhaps no more than a generation or two removed from its final redaction. The text of these copies confirms the antiquity of the MT form of the book in its sequence of languages and order of material, as well as its general consonantal framework. I have argued elsewhere that an Aramaic historical apocalypse, known only from two copies


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and in the history of its composition and redaction is the record of the development of apocalyptic historiography in early Judaism.34 Daniel is also the only full-blown apocalypse in the Hebrew Bible. Its chronological primacy and canonical status guaranteed that it would exert a tremendous influence on subsequent Jewish and Christian thought, although in the case of early Christianity the New Testament book of Revelation would come to play an even greater role. The book of Daniel also established the conceptual axioms for historical apocalypses that are reflected in all the later examples, including the post-biblical Daniel apocalyptica. Four revelations constitute the second half of MT Daniel: the vision of the four beasts of chapter 7, the vision of the ram, the goat, and the horn of chapter 8, the reinterpretation of the ‘seventy weeks’ of chapter 9, and the long, final revelation of chapters 10–12. All four revelations exhibit a binary structure consisting of a visionary component, where Daniel is typically shown a series of bizarre scenes, and an interpretation component, where an angelic figure explains them.35 Consider, for example, MT Daniel 8 (nrsv), which begins: [8:1] In the third year of the reign of King Belshazzar a vision appeared to me, Daniel, after the one that had appeared to me at first. [2] In the vision I was looking and saw myself in Susa the capital, in the province of Elam, and I was by the river Ulai. [3] I looked up and saw a ram standing beside the river. It had two horns. Both horns were long, but one was longer than the other, and the longer one came up second. [4] And I saw the ram charging westward and northward and southward. All beasts were powerless to withstand it, and no one could rescue from its power; it did as it pleased and became strong.

The rest of Daniel’s vision unfolds until its climax, at which point Daniel’s account resumes: [8:15] When I, Daniel, had seen the vision, I tried to understand it. Then someone appeared standing before me, having the appearance of a man,

preserved among the Dead Sea Scrolls, is approximately contemporary (“4QPseudoDaniela-b (4Q243–4Q244) and the Book of Daniel,” DSD 12 [2005], 101–33). 34 L. DiTommaso, “Daniel,” forthcoming in J.J. Collins and D.C. Harlow, ed., The Dictionary of Early Judaism (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans). 35 The subject of Daniel 9 is a special case. The initial revelation of seventy years of exile is given to Jeremiah, not Daniel, so there can be no formal vision component. Yet Daniel reifies it and ponders its meaning, which, in a famous passage, Gabriel reinterprets to refer to seventy weeks of years, or seven times seventy years. The vision is succeeded by its interpretation, and angelic interpretation is still necessary.

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lorenzo ditommaso [16] and I heard a human voice by the Ulai, calling, “Gabriel, help this man understand the vision.” [17] So he came near where I stood; and when he came, I became frightened and fell prostrate. But he said to me, “Understand, O mortal, that the vision is for the time of the end.” [18] As he was speaking to me, I fell into a trance, face to the ground; then he touched me and set me on my feet. [19] He said, “Listen, and I will tell you what tales place later in the period of wrath; for it refers to the appointed time of the end. [20] As for the ram that you saw with the two horns, these are the kings of Media and Persia.”

The chapter continues in the same vein until Daniel’s vision is explained in its entirety. In contrast, apocalyptic oracles almost always omit the visionary component, presenting only the substance of the revelation. Compare the form of the biblical account of Daniel’s vision and its interpretation in mt Daniel 8 with the opening sentences of Daniel’s account in the Vision of Daniel by the River Kebar:36 [4] I, Daniel, was standing beside the River Chebar [cf. Ezek 1:1, 3, etc.], and the dread vision was heavy upon me, and I [5] was amazed. And there came to me Gabriel, captain of the heavenly host, and said unto me, “Know, beloved man [6] and hearken: I have come to tell you that the Mighty Holy One commanded me, ‘Go, Gabriel, and reveal to Daniel what [7] is to be at the end of days.” In those days there will arise a king and the sign of his name will be the sum of the letters A R B, [8] and he will be given dominion. He will be the blasphemer before God, and he will deal scornfully with [9] God’s congregation. He will make mock priests and will anger the Most High by his deed. And God will destroy him, setting [10] another king in his place who will slay him for the evil of his doings. And this tribe will be exalted from its former state. [11] The sign of his name will be two B’s.”37

36 The text exists as a single folio of a unique copy (New York, Jewish Theological Seminary, Schechter Genizah fol. 5r–v), recovered by Solomon Schechter as part of the horde of manuscript leaves and scraps he obtained from the Genizah of the BenEzra Synagogue in Old Cairo. See DiTommaso, Apocryphal Daniel Literature, 162–70, 459–61. 37 A. Sharf, “A Source for Byzantine Jewry under the Early Macedonians,” ByzNGJb 20 (1970), 320–8 [originally: “‫ ”’חזון דניאל‘ כמקור לתולדות יהודי ביזנטיה‬Bar-Ilan 4/5 (1967), 197–208]. This translation is unhappy in some places and problematic in others, but the details are beyond the scope of this paper. It is reprinted as “The Vision of Daniel,” Byzantine Jewry from Justinian to the Fourth Crusade (London, 1971), 201–4, and is the source from which the passage above is drawn. Text: ‫ אני דניאל הייתי עומד על נהר כבר והחזון הנוראה נוראת לי מכובדת ואני‬.4 ‫ תמהתי באותו חזון ובא אלי גבריאל שר צבא עליון ואמר לי דע איש חמודות‬.5 ‫ ושמע מה באתי לך להגיד שגבור וקדוש אמר אלי לך גבריאל וגלה לדניאל מה‬.6


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The narrative commences immediately with the uaticinium ex euentu. Angelic mediation is still required in this particular composition, but the reader is provided only a passing indication that Daniel has had a vision that requires interpretation. The Vision also presents correspondingly fewer details about the prophet’s coördinates in space and time, and lacks the characteristic visionary phraseology such as “And I saw/ looked” or “The angel/He showed me.”38 Even more truncated in form is the Diēgēsis Daniēlis,39 which almost without introduction commences with the proclamation: According to the God-spoken word which says: “When you hear of wars and rumors of wars, nation will fight against nation, and kingdom against kingdom, earthquakes [cf. Mk 13:7–8], plagues and deviations of stars.” Then the bush which restrains the sons of Hagar will dry up. And three sons of Hagar will go forth into great Babylonia, (whose) name(s are) Ouachēs, and another Axiaphar, and the third Morphosar. And Ishmael will come down the region of the land of swift passage. And he will establish his camp in Chalcedon across from Byzantium. And the other

‫ עתיד להיות באחרית הימים בימים ההם יעמוד מלך ויהי אות שמו מניין א׳ר׳ב׳‬.7 ‫ והממשלה ינתן לו וישבעו במלכותו הטובות והוא יהיה המגדף לפני אל וקהל‬.8 ‫ אל יבזה וכוהני דמויות יעשה ויכעיס עליון במעשיו והאלי ׳ם יאבד אתו ויעמוד‬.9 ‫ תחתיו האלי ׳ם מלך אחר שיכרות אתו מרוע מעלליו ואתו השבט יתנשא משלפניו‬.10 ‫ ויהי אות שמו שתי ב ׳‬.11 (apud L. Ginzberg, “‫חזון דניאל‬,” in ‫—גנזי שעכטער‬Geniza Studies in Memory of Doctor Solomon Schechter [New York, 1928], 1.313–23 at 317–19). 38 These phrases are not simply window-dressing, but are eloquent of certain fundamental axioms distinctive to apocalypticism; see L. DiTommaso, “‫ ”חזה‬and “‫חלמ‬,” forthcoming in the Theologisches Wörterbuch zu den Qumranschriften (ed. H.-J. Fabry and U. Dahmen). 39 The Diēgēsis exists in two manuscript copies, not three, as claimed by other authorities. One copy is located in Oxford (Bodleian Library Canonicus gr. 19 [Summary Catalogue no. 18472], fols. 145–152), the other in Montpellier (Bibliothèque de la Faculté de médicine 405, fols. 105–115). Neither is attributed to Daniel in its title or incipit. The so-called third copy (Venice, Biblioteca Marciana gr. VII.22, fols. 14–16), first identified as such by K. Berger, Die griechische Daniel-Diegese. Eine altkirchliche Apokalypse. Text, Übersetzung und Kommentar (SPB 27; Leiden, 1976), while attributed to Daniel is actually a copy of a different text, The Vision and Revelation of the Prophet Daniel, preserved also in a Slavonic copy. As with the Daniel apocalyptica as a whole, the affiliation between the Diēgēsis and the Vision and Revelation, which as yet is not fully resolved, must be articulated on the level of their shared oracles rather than on the level of the text. The Diēgēsis has been dated either to the early eighth or ninth century; I prefer the year 797 or 798 (Apocryphal Daniel Literature, 135–9). The issue of shared attribution among the Daniel, Pseudo-Methodius, and Leo Sapiens corpora extends beyond the parameters of the present essay.

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lorenzo ditommaso one will come to Antioch, Cilicia, and Iberian Anatolia, the Thrakysan country and Smyrna and as far as the Seven-hilled (city).40

The Diēgēsis omits angelic mediation entirely; what remains is an apocalyptic oracle, framed as a historical forecast. The acme of this streamlining process is located in oracles such as The Vision of Daniel on the Future of the Seven-Hilled City,41 whose text begins with the words of doom: “Woe to you, O seven-hilled city: your shining walls soon shall fall!”42 In this and similarly direct apocalyptic oracles the identity of the seer or his environment is unimportant. This differs greatly from the standard among the ancient apocalypses (and here we may call to mind 4 Ezra, in addition to Daniel), which also typically describe the seer’s preparation for the vision. The cumulative result of such omissions is a drastic simplification of form, to the point that the apocalyptic oracles scarcely resemble the formal apocalypses as represented by the book of Daniel. It might even seem as if their point of origin is not the genre apocalypse at all, but rather the genre oracle, whose examples are found throughout the classical and Ancient Near Eastern worlds of antiquity and whose most famous surviving exemplar is the Sibylline Oracles, an amalgamate collection of ancient and late antique Jewish and Christian politicaleschatological predictions. Yet this hypothesis is unsupported by the manuscripts, since slightly less than half the post-biblical Daniel texts, including many of the later examples, retain the full form of the genre,

40 G. Zervos, “Apocalypse of Daniel,” The Old Testament Pseudepigrapha. Volume I: Apocalyptic Literature and Testaments (ed. J.H. Charlesworth; New York: Doubleday, 1983), 755–70. The Diēgēsis Daniēlis has become relatively well known by virtue of its being the only example of the Daniel apocalyptica included in the two-volume Old Testament Pseudepigrapha. Text: Κατὰ τὴν θεόλεκτον φωνὴν τὴν λέγουσαν. ὅταν ἀκούσατε πολέμους

καὶ ἀκοὰς πολέμων ἐγερθήσεται ἔθνος ἐπὶ ἔθνος καὶ βασιλεία ἐπὶ βασιλείαν σεισμοὶ λοιμοὶ καὶ ἄστρων παρατροπαί. τότε ξηρανθήσεται ἡ βάτος ἡ κρατοῦσα τοὺς τῆς Ἄγαρ υἱούς. καὶ ἐξελεύσεται τῆς μεγάλης Βαβυλωνίας τὰ ἔθνη καὶ υἱοὶ τῆς ῎Αγαρ οἱ τρεῖς. καὶ ὁ μὲν οὖν εἷς ἐξ αὐτῶν ὄνομα Οὐαλης, ὁ ἕτερος Α ̓ ξιάφαρ ὁ δὲ τρίτος Μορφόσαρ. Καὶ ὁ μὲν Ἰ σμαηλ κατέλθη τὸ μέρος τῆς γῆς τοῦ ὀξέος δρόμου. καὶ πήξη τὸ φοσσατον αὐτοῦ ἐν Χαλκηδώνῃ ἀπέναντι τοῦ Βυζαντίου. οἱ δὲ τρεῖς υἱοὶ τῆς ῎Αγαρ ὁ μὲν εἷς κατέλθη εἱς τὰ μεσημβρίας πόλεως Ἀντιοχείας, Κιλικίαν, Ἀνατολίαν Ἰβήρων, τὴν χώραν θρακησίου Σμύρνης καὶ ἔως τς Ἑπταλόφου (apud Berger, Daniel-Diegese, 12).

41 Sources and commentary: DiTommaso, Apocryphal Daniel Literature, 126–30, 354–6. 42 οὑαί σοι, πόλις Ἑπτάλοφε, μέλλει τὰ ὡραῖά σου τείχη πεσεῖν. Text: Venezia, Biblioteca Marciana gr. VII.3, fol. 8v (apud H. Schmoldt, “Die Schrift ‘Vom jungen Daniel’ und ‘Daniels letzte Vision.’ Herausgabe und Interpretation zweier apokalyptischer Texte” [Diss: Hamburg, 1972], 188–201 at 190).


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replete with angelic mediation and preserving a greater or lesser degree of additional detail.43 We also cannot explain the origin of the Daniel apocalyptica with resort to their function, social settings, or eschatological content. Apocalyptic oracles performed the same function as apocalypses, were often composed under similar historical settings, and contained the identical sort of eschatological expectations. In my view, the Daniel oracles developed through an overuse of the genre apocalypse44 that resulted from a tension between the authority of the biblical canon and the requirements of texts which could simultaneously explain past history, address present crises, and express future expectations.45 The wholesale recycling of blocks of apocalyptic material was not a normal feature of ancient apocalypses; the revelatory visions of Daniel, for example, are neither reproduced nor rewritten in the post-biblical Daniel apocalypses or in the Sibylline Oracles.46 This is even true when texts were products of an accretive process, like 1 Enoch, or in cases when the original prophecy went unfulfilled. In the latter instance, rather than importing, updating, and embedding a long section from an original prophecy in a new composition, authors resolved discrepancies between past revelation and present reality through interpretation: MT Daniel 9 updates the prophecy of the seventy weeks of Jeremiah 25:11–12, 29:10, the ‘Eagle Vision’ of 4 Ezra 11–12 reinterprets the meaning of the fourth beast of Daniel 7, while several New Testament passages testify to a creative exegesis of

43 Conceptually, too, the direct antecedents of the Daniel apocalyptic oracles are the apocalyptic visions of the book of Daniel; see DiTommaso, Apocryphal Daniel Literature, 209–24. 44 This itself was part of a larger process—one in which the Sibylline form played a significant role—where the apocalyptic oracle became the dominant vehicle for the expression of historiologic apocalypticism in late antiquity and the early mediaeval era. I also find it increasingly probable that the Sibylline Oracles themselves underwent a similar if less radical evolution during the first several centuries ce. Both statements are quite preliminary and require more support from the manuscript evidence. 45 The cardinal function of all writings that reflect the apocalyptic understanding of history is to assure their audience that, despite outward appearances, history remains under God’s control. This message was particularly, although not exclusively, formulated for communities that were facing dire military threat or were under intense political, social, or religious oppression. Critical to the consolatory and paraenetic purposes of this literature was the reassurance that even present-day tribulations were part of a divine master plan that would culminate in an impending eschatological reversal of fortune. The nuances of this message and the internal structures by which it was articulated are subjects that require a dedicated study; see note 57, below. 46 This is true even in cases where the post-biblical text re-employs vocabulary distinctive to the biblical book.

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several historical allusions of revelatory visions of the book of Daniel in response to the Jewish war with Rome.47 While the reinterpretation of received revelation certainly did not disappear after Bar Kokhba, within 250 years it was accompanied by a new type of composition, of which the Daniel apocalyptica are catalogue exemplars. The canonical status of the Book of Daniel undoubtedly imposed a degree of stasis on the contents of its visions,48 and various communities in the post-biblical age devoted much energy to relating their present-day situation to its revelatory data.49 At the same time, other communities evidently found that this mode of interpretation did not address their specific needs,50 and so created new apocalyptica by which to assess and address contemporary historical situations. The catalyst for change was the recurrent teetering from crisis to catastrophe that afflicted the Empire from the late fourth century throughout the early Byzantine period, in a way it had not in previous centuries, and particularly after the seventh century, on account of the ever-present Muslim threat, which seemed to encroach upon the Byzantine shore with the regularity of the tide. As various apocalyptica were hurriedly composed to address each new domestic crisis or

47 A. Yarbro Collins, “Christian Messianism and the First Jewish War with Rome,” Biblical Traditions in Transmission: Essays in Honour of Michael A. Knibb (ed. C. Hempel and J.M. Lieu; JSJSup 111; Leiden/Boston: Brill, 2006), 333–43. 48 While there are cases where apocryphal Daniel apocalyptica are suffixed to the biblical Book, they are never inserted in it. The title of the Coptic Fourteenth Vision of Daniel derives from its terminal position in some of the Coptic Bibles, which also contain the stories of Bel and the Dragon, but label them as the “twelfth” and “thirteenth” vision respectively. The Seventh Vision of Daniel derives its name from the fact that it is appended to the book of Daniel in some Armenian Bibles; since these Bibles are divided into six visions, the apocryphal vision is the “seventh” vision of Daniel. 49 Examples include the concept of the translatio imperii, whose ultimate biblical antecedent was the four-kingdom schema of Daniel 2 and 7 (see Podskalsky, Byzantinische Reichseschatologie, and S. de Boer, “Rome, the ‘Translatio Imperii’ and the Early-Christian Interpretation of Daniel II and VII” [trans. L. Grooten], RSLR 21 [1985], 181–218), and apocalyptic timetables such as the seventy weeks of years of Daniel 9 (see W. Adler, “The Apocalyptic Survey of History Adapted by Christians: Daniel’s Prophecy of 70 Weeks,” The Jewish Apocalyptic Heritage in Early Christianity [ed. J.C. VanderKam and W. Adler; CRINT 3.4; Assen/Minneapolis: Van Gorcum/Fortress, 1996], 201–38). 50 The two processes are not necessarily exclusive. The Vision of the Prophet Daniel on the Emperors refers to all four beasts of Daniel 7. As with Daniel, the first beast of the Vision has the shape of a lion; unlike Daniel, however, its interpretation concerns the Isaurian Empire rather than the Babylonian, and the rest of the text is neither an updating nor a reworking of Daniel 7.


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military calamity,51 their eschatological expectations were employed and re-employed as the occasion demanded. Oracles were composed and shortly thereafter ‘deposited’ in a conceptual store-house—a modern analogue is the “myth kitty” of the literary critics—later to be reworked and/or reused, time and again, in correspondent circumstances.52 In this way, individual topoi, specific oracles, and entire texts were continually refitted to recurrent historical situations, and their overuse bred expectation, conversancy, and ultimately transformation.53 In short: although the genre apocalypse did not vanish in late antiquity, it was gradually overshadowed by this new form, the apocalyptic oracle, where expressions of revelation became streamlined and, in general, briefer. The Daniel apocalyptica therefore bear witness to an evolutionary phenomenon,54 which while not unique to these texts found in them its best representative. Let me conclude by returning to the issue of the significance of the element of mediated revelation, specifically its absence or presence. With respect to the former, at the start of this paper I stated that three decades of fresh evidence and further reflection have induced a re-evaluation of the SBL taxonomy, of which the Daniel apocalyptica are a part.55 We have seen that the evolution of the genre apocalypse in late antiquity was not a result of a change in function, setting, or eschatological content of these texts. Indeed, there is no evidence to

51 We cannot discount the effect of the market, either: at certain times the production of these texts must have supported a cottage industry. 52 This process is described in greater details in DiTommaso, “The Early Christian Daniel Apocalyptica.” 53 There is little doubt on this point: the apocalyptic format and the storehouse of images and expectations were overused. This is indicated by sheer number of historical apocalyptica (Danielic or otherwise) and their numbers in manuscript, as well as in the corroborating evidence; see note 22, above. 54 While it is tempting to picture this development as a straightforward transformation from apocalypse to apocalyptic oracle, where each text represents a stage on a well-defined evolutionary trajectory, this is contradicted by the manuscript evidence; not only do apocalyptic oracles constitute the earliest examples of these Daniel texts, but apocalypses continued to be produced in later centuries. This only reinforces the view that contemporary audiences made no distinction between the types. 55 This process has worked itself out into two positions. One position rejects the SBL taxonomy, often in favour of a broader classification that relegates the genre to a mere genus of prophetic or revelatory literature. The other position, to which I subscribe, seeks the possibility of discovering a new approach to the evidence while acknowledging the heuristic utility of the SBL categories and its core premise that both apocalypticism and apocalypses are categorically distinctive. See further L. DiTommaso, “Apocalypses and Apocalypticism in Antiquity (Part I),” CBR 5 (2007), 235–86 at 238–50.

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assert that contemporary audiences would have appreciated apocalyptic oracles any differently than formal apocalypses—and recall: both types are preserved among the Daniel apocalyptica of the post-biblical period. It is difficult to escape the conclusion that, with respect to the literature of this later period, and other than suggesting that there was an evolution of the genre, the absence of the element of mediated revelation is irrelevant. Moreover, since formal apocalypses constitute less than half the Daniel apocalyptica (and only a far smaller fraction of the complete range of late antique and early mediaeval apocalyptic literature), the foundation of our scientific enquiry, pace the SBL approach, cannot be the genre, as this would narrow our perspective needlessly.56 Instead, our enquiry must rest on the ideology, for it is the underlying apocalyptic worldview which framed the composition, reception, and transmission of these texts, regardless of their genre. If the absence of the angelus interpres in the post-biblical Daniel apocalyptica points us toward a path that leads to a re-evaluation of the SBL approach, then its presence in the formal apocalypses of the Second Temple period might reveal new insights into the formation of the genre. In my view, with respect to the literature of this earlier period, the defining element of mediated revelation is critical. Whereas by late antiquity the genre apocalypse had become so well-established that its form could alter without substantive change to its function (a process that continues into the modern world), in the Second-Temple period, where the unique identity of the genre developed out of a complicated matrix that included the prophetic tradition of pre-exilic Israel, the mantic-sapiential patterns of the Ancient Near East, and the radical dualism of Persian Zoroastrianism, form followed function far more closely. Mediated revelation is not simply a literary device by which the bizarre images and cryptic language of the apocalypses are made partially intelligible. Instead, it is an essential component of a distinctive and remarkably powerful theology of history which circumscribes both memory and revelation, and which offers radically novel responses to elemental human questions about time, history, and human destiny. It reflects a fresh way of perceiving God, and insists on a new manner by which his purposes in history are understood. For these reasons it is a bona fide historiography, or way of appreciating history, and its influence on western thought has been profound. It has proven more

56

This evaluation is of course confirmed by other evidence.


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influential than any of the other great historical meta-narratives (to employ the vocabulary of Hayden White), including ‘Whig’ history, Marxist historiography, psychohistory, or the Annales approach, to cite a few of the most famous examples. Tracing the often hidden currents of this influence through the broad estuaries of mediaeval and modern culture is, however, a task for another study.57

57 Important background works include R.W. Southern, “Aspects of the European Tradition of Historical Writing: 3. History as Prophecy,” Transactions of the Royal Historical Society 22 (1972), 159–80; G. Podskalsky, Byzantinische Reichseschatologie. Die Periodisierung der Weltgeschichte in den vier Grossreichen (Daniel 2 und 7) und dem tausendjährigen Friedensreiche (Apok. 20) (München: W. Fink, 1972); U. Rappaport, “Apocalyptic Vision and Preservation of Historical Memory,” JSJ 23 (1992), 217–26; G.J. Reinink, “Ps.Methodius: A Concept of History in Response to the Rise of Islam,” The Byzantine and Early Islamic Near East. I: Problems in the Literary Source Material (ed. A. Cameron and L.I. Conrad; Princeton: Darwin Press, 1992), 149–87 [reprinted in Syriac Christianity under Late Sasanian and Early Islamic Rule]); I. Gruenwald, “A Case Study of Scripture and Culture: Apocalypticism as Cultural Identity in Past and Present,” Ancient and Modern Perspectives on the Bible and Culture. Essays in Honor of Hans Dieter Betz (ed. A. Yarbro Collins; Atlanta, 1996), 252–80; H. Tronier, “Apokalyptikkens historiefilosofi. Erkendelse og historiekonstruktion i Dyreapokalypsen, Første Enoks Bog 85–90,” FBE 10 (1999), 140–61; the essays in A.I. Baumgarten, ed., Apocalyptic Time (NumenSup 86; Leiden/ Boston: Brill, 2000); and B.G. Lategan, “Questing or Sense-Making? Some Thoughts on the Nature of Historiography,” BI 11 (2003), 588–601. See also L. DiTommaso, “History and Apocalyptic Eschatology: A Reply to J.Y. Jindo,” VT 56 (2006), 413–18, idem, “Daniel,” idem, “Apocalypses and Apocalypticism. III. Judaism,” forthcoming in the Encyclopedia of the Bible and Its Reception (eds. H.-J. Klauck, B. McGinn, et al.; Berlin/ New York: W. de Gruyter), and the sources cited in note 11, above.

THE RECEPTION AND INTERPRETATION OF PAUL IN LATE ANTIQUITY: 1 CORINTHIANS 7 AND THE ASCETIC DEBATES David G. Hunter Two of the more important developments in patristic scholarship of the past generation have been, on the one hand, a renewed appreciation of the centrality of the Bible in late ancient Christianity—evidenced in the publication of Charles Kannengiesser’s Handbook of Patristic Exegesis and in the theme of this colloquium—and, on the other hand, a deeper sense of the pervasive power of asceticism in the lives of late antique men and women. The congruence of these concerns of both asceticism and biblical interpretation can be seen, for example, in the study of Elizabeth A. Clark, Reading Renunciation, which maps the varied strategies employed by early Christian writers in their efforts to inscribe an ascetic agenda onto biblical texts that were, at times, resistant to such ascetic readings.1 As Clark has demonstrated, writings attributed to the apostle Paul—both his authentic letters and the deutero-Pauline and Pastoral Epistles—were the subject of ingenious attempts by Christian commentators to turn the apostle’s ambivalent observations on marriage and celibacy into wholesale ascetic propaganda. But Clark’s own treatment of the patristic texts, as I will argue here, may obscure as much as it reveals. Because she wants to show that early Christian textual exegesis can be analyzed within the categories of contemporary, post-modern literary theory, Clark emphasizes the sheer diversity of “interpretive strategies” practiced by early Christians. Although she presents a rich collation of patristic documentation, Clark places together texts and authors from widely differing times and places without much regard for their original contexts. The resultant picture of early Christian interpretation of Paul is primarily one of diverse practices and divergent agendas. As Clark notes in the conclusion of her chapter on 1 Corinthians 7 (echoing Roland Barthes), early Christian readings of the text might best be characterized by the words 1 E.A. Clark, Reading Renunciation: Asceticism and Scripture in Early Christianity (Princeton, New Jersey: Princeton University Press, 1999).

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of the demoniac in Mark 5:9: “My name is Legion: for we are many.” Patristic readers, Clark observes (again echoing Barthes), “have not so much ‘decoded’ or ‘deciphered’ Paul’s text, but have ‘overcoded’ it for their own ends.”2 Although Clark has provided many new insights into the specific reading practices of individual patristic authors, I would argue that something important has been lost in this approach, namely a coherent vision provided by a broader narrative. Her verse-by-verse treatment of 1 Corinthians 7 and juxtaposition of authors from different eras has the effect of “de-historicizing” the texts, atomizing them, and removing them from context.3 I would like to propose another way of reading the history of interpretation of 1 Corinthians 7, namely within the framework of a narrative of the development of “orthodoxy” and “heresy.” Framing the history of interpretation within this broader narrative will enable us to take account of both the radically ascetic readings of the biblical text (which, in my narrative, eventually fall under the rubric of “heresy”) and the more moderate readings that stress Paul’s acceptance of sex and marriage (which can be construed under the label of “orthodoxy” or “proto-orthodoxy”). The advantage of this approach, I suggest, shall be two-fold: it will provide a more coherent framework for an historical understanding of the varied patristic interpretations, and it will provide a more useful basis for a theological appropriation of the text of the apostle. The core of my argument is that the letters of Paul, and especially 1 Corinthians 7, have been at the center of Christian attempts to define “orthodoxy” and “heresy” on marriage and celibacy from at least the early second century. For the purpose of this paper I will focus on a particularly contentious moment in late antiquity, namely the late fourth-century conflict between Jovinian and Jerome, a debate which attracted the attention of the most distinguished figures in Latin letters, such as Ambrose, Pelagius, and Augustine. It is critical to acknowledge,

Reading Renunciation, 328. On p. 329 Clark acknowledges that the “ends” pursued by patristic exegetes of Paul should be viewed “not so much as personal interpretive resolution to textual problems, but as informed by the religious, ecclesiastical, and moral (not to speak of social and material) circumstances of the interpreters.” Hence she offers an invitation to the type of historical work that I am pursuing in this essay. 3 Clark’s approach may be intentional. It is characteristic of some strains of postmodern theory to eschew the notion that history can be ordered by means of a “grand narrative.” See the discussion in E.A. Clark, History, Theory, Text: Historians and the Linguistic Turn (Cambridge, MA/London: Harvard University Press, 2004), 86–105. 2

1 corinthians 7 and the ascetic debates

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however, that there was a long history of patristic discussion prior to the late fourth century and that this earlier history did much to shape the fourth-century debates. In fact, specific traditions of interpreting 1 Corinthians 7 (most notably those of Tertullian and Origen) reappeared in the fourth-century writings of Jerome and provided fodder for further controversy. In the first part of this paper, therefore, I will examine the earlier history of the interpretation of 1 Corinthians 7 in order to provide a context for interpreting the late fourth-century conflicts.4 1. The First Three Centuries I will propose three distinct phases or moments in the interpretation of 1 Corinthians 7 that can be discerned prior to the fourth century: 1) a radically ascetic (i.e., “encratite”) reading that used Paul to endorse compulsory sexual renunciation; this approach is evident especially in the writings of the second-century apologist Tatian; 2) a response to and rejection of the “encratite” reading of Paul; this approach can be seen especially in the Pastoral Epistles and their use by Clement of Alexandria to refute radical encratism; 3) the appearance in the third century of a “moderate encratite” reading of Paul; this approach, which differs from both of the previous views, is reflected in the writings of both Tertullian and Origen. This third approach to 1 Corinthians 7, I will argue, when it reappears in the fourth century in the writings of Jerome, will be rejected by some Christians no less vigorously than the original “radical” encratism of Tatian himself. Phase One: Paul the “Radical Encratite” It is well known that the reception of Paul’s letters in the second century was a complex and contentious affair. Christians of very different outlooks sought to make the apostle to the Gentiles a spokesman for their own interpretations of the faith: Marcion, Valentinus, and Tatian are just some of the second-century teachers (later regarded as “heretics”) who appealed to Paul to justify their particular versions of

4 The argument I am advancing derives from material I have treated in my recent monograph: Marriage, Celibacy, and Heresy in Ancient Christianity: The Jovinianist Controversy (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2007), from which I have borrowed liberally.

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Christian truth.5 On the subject of marriage and celibacy, Paul himself had been reacting to previous Christian extremists, who claimed “It is good for a man not to touch a woman” (1 Cor 7:1).6 Although he rejected these calls to compulsory sexual renunciation, Paul offered a decidedly ambivalent perspective on marriage. While allowing married couples to continue having sex, he also counseled temporary abstinence for the sake of prayer (1 Cor 7:5); while granting permission to marry to the unwed and widows (“ . . . if they are not practicing self-control”: εἰ δὲ οὐκ ἐγκρατεύονται), he also acknowledged “it is better to marry than to burn” (1 Cor 7:9); and while granting that marriage is no sin (1 Cor 7:28), he also portrayed married persons as “divided” and “anxious about the affairs of the world” (1 Cor 7:33–34). With these ambivalent responses to the questions of the Corinthians, he left the door open for the radical “encratite” interpretations of his teaching that appeared in the second century.7 Early in the second century the appearance of the Pastoral Epistles attests that a fierce debate was already underway regarding the legacy of the apostle and the status of marriage and family life. As Dennis MacDonald has argued, the Pastoral Epistles, composed most likely in the opening decades of the second century, were originally written to repudiate the portrait of Paul as an apostle of encratism that had already begun to circulate.8 By urging young widows to marry (1 Tim 5 On Marcion’s appropriation of Paul and the development of the canon, see H. von Campenhausen, The Formation of the Christian Bible (trans. J.A. Baker; Philadelphia: Fortress Press, 1972), 146–65; on Paul in Valentinianism, see E. Pagels, The Gnostic Paul: Gnostic Exegesis of the Pauline Letters (Philadelphia: Trinity Press International, 1992). Tatian’s use of Paul will be discussed further below. 6 The precise background of the Corinthian ascetics has been much discussed. For a recent review and proposal, see J.M. Gundry-Volf, “Controlling the Bodies. A Theological Profile of The Corinthian Sexual Ascetics (1 Cor 7),” in The Corinthian Correspondence (ed. R. Bieringer; Leuven: Peeters, 1996), 519–41, who argues that the ascetics are “pneumatics” who “seek to facilitate divine inspiration and communication with God through sexual asceticism” (540). 7 Paul’s ambivalence has also led modern commentators to dramatically different interpretations of his teaching. See, e.g., the contrasting perspectives of two recent studies: W. Deming, Paul on Marriage and Celibacy: The Hellenistic Background of 1 Corinthians 7 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1995); and D. Boyarin, A Radical Jew: Paul and the Politics of Identity (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1994), 158–79. The former denies any real “ascetic” content in Paul’s teaching; the latter sees Paul as a “proto-Encratite.” 8 The Legend and the Apostle: The Battle for Paul in Story and Canon (Philadelphia: Westminster Press, 1983). His thesis has recently been endorsed by S.J. Davis, The Cult of Saint Thecla: A Tradition of Women’s Piety in Late Antiquity (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 2001), 8–18. See also E. Pagels, “Adam and Eve, Christ and the Church: A Survey of


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5:14), by endorsing the choice of married householders as bishops and deacons (1 Tim 3:2, 4–5, 12), and, above all, by characterizing the prohibition of marriage as a teaching of demons (1 Tim 4:1–3), the author of the Pastoral Epistles offered a resolutely non-ascetic reading of the apostle placed on lips (or pen) of the apostle himself. By the late second century, when the Acts of Paul and Thecla presented a Paul who preached sexual renunciation, announcing “the word of God concerning continence (περὶ ἐγκρατείας) and the resurrection,” such an ascetic presentation of Paul was neither unexpected nor unprecedented. It had already been rejected in the Pastoral Epistles. The clearest exponent of the “encratite” reading of 1 Corinthians 7 in the second century was Tatian, the enigmatic apologist and former disciple of Justin. According to the recent study of Kathy L. Gaca, “Tatian is the first known Christian writer to have seen the practical need to explain the significance of Paul’s ideas about uncontrolled sexual activity.”9 One must approach Tatian with caution. Aside from his Oration to the Greeks and Diatessaron, we are dependent mostly on fragments preserved for refutation by Clement of Alexandria and on the hostile reports of his other opponents. Tatian was once characterized as a Valentinian “Gnostic” in outlook, although this interpretation has now fallen out of favor.10 Irenaeus also attempted to portray Tatian as a disciple of Saturninus and Marcion, but that was surely a heresiological fiction, an effort to inscribe Tatian into an alleged heretical tradition.11

Second-Century Controversies Concerning Marriage,” in The New Testament and Gnosis: Essays in Honor of R.Mcl. Wilson (ed. A.H.B. Logan and A.J.M. Wedderburn; Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1983), 149: “All [the deutero-Pauline letters] challenge radically ascetic interpretations of Paul, presenting instead an anti-ascetic version of his teaching that is far more consonant with Jewish teaching.” 9 The Making of Fornication: Eros, Ethics, and Political Reform in Greek Philosophy and Early Christianity (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2003), 224. 10 The similarity to Valentinus was first noted by Irenaeus, haer. 1.28.1, and later argued by R.M. Grant, “The Heresy of Tatian,” JTS 5 (1954), 62–8, and “Tatian (or. 30) and the Gnostics,” JTS 15 (1964), 65–9. See now the decisive refutation of Grant by E. Hunt, Christianity in the Second Century: The Case of Tatian (London/New York: Routledge, 2003), 20–36. 11 See the comments of Le Boulluec, La notion d’hérésie dans la littérature grecque (II e–III e siècles) (Paris: Études Augustiniennes, 1985), 173; G. Sfameni Gasparro, Enkrateia e antropologia: le motivazioni protologiche della continenza e della verginità nel cristianesimo dei primi secoli e nello gnosticismo (Rome: Institutum Patristicum Augustinianum, 1984), 23–31; and G. Quispel, “The Study of Encratism,” in La tradizione dell’enkrateia: motivazioni ontologiche e protologiche (ed. U. Bianchi; Rome: Edizioni dell’Ateneo, 1985), 73–4. All are dependent

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While Tatian was neither a Gnostic nor a follower of Marcion, the inferences he drew from his theology of the fall did lead him to certain “encratite” conclusions. In his Oration to the Greeks Tatian argued that the first human beings were created as a harmonious union of body, soul, and spirit and were meant to live forever in union with the divine Spirit (or. 7.1). But now they have lost that primal union with the divine Spirit and have suffered the penalty of death. As a result, human beings have come under the dominion of demons and started to live like animals (or. 15.3). Lust for power, wealth, glory, and sex have afflicted humanity after the fall (or. 11.1). But all is not lost. People still retain their freedom and a trace of the divine Spirit within them. Echoing Paul (Col 2:20, Rom 6:10), Tatian asserted that people still have the potential to “die to the world” and to “live to God”: “Die to the world” by rejecting its madness; “live to God” by comprehending him and rejecting the old birth (τὴν παλαιὰν γένεσιν). We were not born to die, but die through our own fault. Free will has destroyed us; born free, we have become slaves; we have been put up for sale because of sin. God has done nothing bad, it was we who exhibited wickedness; but we who exhibited it are still capable of rejecting it.12

The aim of the Christian life, as Tatian envisioned it, was to restore the lost union with the Holy Spirit: “. . . we ought now to search for what we once had and have lost, and link the soul to the Holy Spirit and busy ourselves with the union ordained by God.”13 If a person is willing to reject the “constitution that makes for death,” Tatian believed, it is possible to reestablish the ancient connection with God’s Spirit and to regain immortality. In his Oration to the Greeks Tatian did not explicitly address the question of sexual relations within marriage. This may have been due to the apologetic character of that work. But there is little doubt about the eventual evolution of his thought. In his treatise, On Perfection According to the Savior, which was known and cited by Clement of Alexandria, Tatian made it clear that he regarded all sexual union, whether within or outside of marriage, as “fornication.” According to Clement, Tatian based this view on a tendentious reading of 1 Cor 7:5, where Paul upon the detailed analysis of F. Bolgiani, “La tradizione eresiologica sull’encratismo, i. La notizie di Ireneo,” AATor 91 (1956–1957), 343–419. 12 Or. 11.2; trans. M. Whittaker, Tatian: Oratio ad Graecos and Fragments (OECT; Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1982), 23. 13 Or. 15.1; trans. Whittaker, 31.


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allowed (or, in Tatian’s reading, demanded) sexual continence for the sake of prayer. Clement presented Tatian’s interpretation as follows: I believe Tatian the Syrian made bold to teach these doctrines. At any rate he writes these words in his book On Perfection According to the Saviour: “While agreement to be continent makes prayer possible, intercourse of corruption destroys it. By the very disparaging way in which he [the apostle Paul] allows it, he forbids it. For although he allowed them to come together again because of Satan and the temptation to incontinence, he indicated that the man who takes advantage of this permission will be serving two masters, God if there is ‘agreement’, but, if there is no such agreement, incontinence, fornication, and the devil.” This he says in expounding the apostle.14

According to Tatian’s “encratite” reading of Paul, Paul’s permission to married Christians to engage in sexual intercourse “because of your lack of self-control” (διὰ τὴν ἀκρασίαν ὑμῶν) was, in fact, no permission at all, but rather a tacit prohibition. Since Paul insisted that sexual relations were an obstacle to prayer, Tatian argued, he implicitly indicated that all sexual activity involved enslavement to Satan. Gaca has succinctly summarized Tatian’s interpretation of Paul: “Christians therefore have only one way to avoid being a sexually acratic pawn of Satan. To gain proper control over their sexuality, they need to renounce any and all sexual activity as the ‘union of sexual corruption’.”15 Phase Two: Paul the “Anti-Encratite” This brings me to a second approach to Pauline interpretation, the refutation of Tatian’s encratite reading. Before proceeding to Clement of Alexandria, who offered the most extensive response to encratite theology in the early church, it is worth noting that the adoption of the Pastoral Epistles within the developing Christian canon—evident, for example, in numerous citations in Irenaeus’ Adversus Haereses—was itself 14 Stromateis 3.12.81 (hereafter Strom.) My references to the Greek text are to the edition of O. Stählin, revised by L. Früchtel in GCS 52; I cite the English version of Clement’s Stromateis 3 from the translation of H. Chadwick in Alexandrian Christianity (ed. J.E.L. Oulton and H. Chadwick; LCC 2; Philadelphia: Westminster Press, 1954), 77–8. In Adversus haereses 3.23.8 (SC 211, 466–68) Irenaeus stated that Tatian also used 1 Cor 15: 22 (“For as all die in Adam . . .”) to demonstrate that Adam could not be saved. Tatian’s ascetical inclinations also appeared in his Diatessaron, which included numerous ascetically-oriented readings. See W.L. Peterson, “Tatian’s Diatessaron,” Ancient Christian Gospels: Their History and Development (ed. H. Koester; Philadelphia: Trinity Press International, 1990), 403–30; Quispel, “Study of Encratism,” 55. 15 Making of Fornication, 225.

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part of an effort to draw stricter boundaries between “orthodoxy” and “heresy” by offering a “definitive” interpretation of the original Paul. As Gerd Lüdemann has recently observed, the Pastoral Epistles were written as a group and added to an already existing collection of Paul’s letters “in order to give the church a guideline for understanding Paul.”16 Irenaeus’ quotations of the Pastorals indicate that “the Pastorals played a decisive role in the reception of Paul—and thus completely fulfilled the purpose which their author intended—even if Irenaeus fights his battles with Gnosis (and Marcion) as a battle over the correct exegesis of the letters of Paul.”17 In other words, the inclusion of the Pastoral Epistles within the “proto-orthodox” canon (e.g., by Irenaeus and the Muratorian Fragment) was an effort to provide a normative reading of the original letters of Paul. To accept the canon as proposed by Irenaeus was to read 1 Corinthians 7 through the lens of 1 Timothy. This “orthodox” reading of Paul is reflected in Clement of Alexandria’s response to Tatian’s interpretation of 1 Corinthians 7. In the third book of his Stromateis, dedicated to the refutation of what he perceived as heretical approaches to marriage, Clement dealt briefly with radical ascetics such as Marcion, who required sexual renunciation, and with alleged libertine sects, such as the Carpocratians, whom he accused of sexual licentiousness, but the bulk of his discussion was devoted to Tatian and to like-minded “Encratites” (e.g., Julius Cassian), whose ascetic postures rested on rather different grounds than Marcionism. A key feature of Clement’s argument was that there is an essential unity between the perspectives on marriage in the Old Testament and those expressed by Jesus and Paul in the New Testament. Moreover, like Jesus in the Gospels (e.g., Matt 19:6), Paul affirmed the continuity between the old and new dispensations when he stated, “the law is holy and the commandment holy, righteous, and good” (Rom 7:12). If the law is holy, Clement concluded, then marriage is also holy. That is why the apostle in Ephesians 5:31–32 could cite the Old Testament law (Gen 2:24) and refer the marital imagery of Genesis to the “mystery” of the union between Christ and the Church.18

16

201.

Heretics: The Other Side of Early Christianity (trans. J. Bowden; London: SCM, 1996),

17 Ibid. Lüdemann acknowledges, of course, that the Pastorals represented only one possible interpretation of Paul. He designates the Pastorals as a source of “right-wing Paulinism” in contrast to the “left-wing” Paulinism of Colossians and Ephesians. 18 Strom. 3.12.84 (Stählin-Früchtel 2, 234).


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In his specific response to Tatian’s encratite reading of 1 Corinthians 7, Clement argued that the apostle had conceded to the Christian couple only that they should adopt a temporary period of sexual abstinence; he had not meant to denigrate sex or marriage. Paul’s primary point, Clement observed, was that excessive abstinence might lead to fornication, not, as Tatian would have it, that marital intercourse was itself fornication: We too confess that incontinence and fornication are diabolical passions, but the agreement of a controlled marriage occupies a middle position. If the married couple agree to be continent, it helps them to pray; if they agree with reverence to have sexual relations it leads them to beget children. . . . The point of the apostle’s addition “And then come together again because of Satan” is to stop the husband from ever turning aside after other women. A temporary agreement, although for the moment intercourse is not approved, does not mean that the natural instincts are completely removed. Because of them he again restores the marriage bond, not so that husband and wife may be incontinent and fornicate and do the devil’s work, but to prevent them from falling into incontinence, fornication, and the devil.19

It is difficult to escape the conclusion that Clement has captured the essence of Paul’s teaching more accurately than Tatian. Although Clement has added his characteristic emphasis on procreation (an emphasis completely absent from the original letter of Paul), his reading of the purpose of Paul’s concession of temporary abstinence is certainly closer to the apostle’s original intention than the encratite reading of Tatian. Clement further developed his rehabilitation of the apostle Paul by turning to the view of marriage expressed in the Pastoral Epistles. Because of their pro-marital tendencies, the Pastorals were particularly suited to Clement’s anti-encratite agenda. In several places Clement noted that the author of the Pastorals had expressed his preference that candidates for the office of bishop and deacon should be married men who had demonstrated their suitability by the orderly management of a household.20 Clement also observed that in 1 Tim 5:14–15 the apostle had advised younger widows to “marry, bear children, and manage their households,” so as to avoid the temptation of Satan.21

19 20 21

Strom. 3.12.82; trans. Chadwick, 78. Strom. 3.12.79 (Stählin-Früchtel 2, 231–32); 3.18.108 (Stählin-Früchtel 2, 246). Strom. 3.12.89 (Stählin-Früchtel 2, 237).

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Moreover, in 1 Tim 2:15 “Paul” had explicitly stated that the married person would be “saved by child-bearing.”22 As a result, Clement concluded, marriage itself could not be the temptation of Satan nor the “fornication” that Tatian claimed it was. Furthermore, Clement appealed to the apostle’s prediction in 1 Tim 4:1–5 that there would arise “hypocritical sophists” who would “forbid marriage and demand abstinence from foods which God created to be eaten with thanksgiving by believers who know the truth.” Such a prediction, Clement argued, decisively demonstrated that “it is wrong to forbid marriage and indeed eating meat or drinking wine.” Clement even denied that there was any intrinsic merit to either eating or not eating: “But both he who eats with thanksgiving and he who does not eat, who also offers thanksgiving and has a continent enjoyment, should live in accordance with reason.”23 In short, Clement insisted: All the epistles of the apostle teach self-control and continence and contain numerous instructions about marriage, begetting children, and domestic life. But they nowhere rule out self-controlled marriage. Rather they preserve the harmony of the law and the gospel and approve both the man who with thanks to God enters upon marriage with sobriety and the man who in accordance with the Lord’s will lives as a celibate, even as each individual is called, making his choice without blemish and in perfection.24

Reading the authentic Paul of 1 Corinthians 7 in the light of the Pastoral Epistles, Clement refuted the encratite interpretation by pointing to the domestic, familial, and marital virtues stressed in these letters. For Clement, the “Paul” of the Pastorals was the hermeneutical key to the Paul of 1 Corinthians 7.25 Phase Three: Paul the “Moderate Encratite” There is yet a third reading of 1 Corinthians 7 that gained currency in the third century: what might be called the “moderate encratite” perspective. This term, which I have borrowed from the writings of Giulia

Strom. 3.12.90 (Stählin-Früchtel 2, 237). Strom. 3.12.85 (Stählin-Früchtel 2, 235); trans. Chadwick, 80. 24 Strom. 3.12.86 (Stählin-Früchtel 2, 235); trans. Chadwick, 80. 25 Clement’s exegetical strategy is precisely the reverse of that employed by Jerome and other ascetic teachers. As Elizabeth Clark has observed, Jerome deployed the Paul of 1 Corinthians 7 to “answer back” the “Paul” of the Pastoral Epistles and other late New Testament books. See Clark, Reading Renunciation, 355–70. 22 23


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Sfameni Gasparro, refers to an approach to asceticism and exegesis that blended aspects of both the “encratite” and the “anti-encratite” positions.26 Against the radical encratites, the moderate encratite accepted marriage and sex within marriage as permissible for Christians. But in contrast to the viewpoint of Clement of Alexandria, the moderate encratite retained many aspects of Tatian’s ascetic outlook, as well as specific features of his biblical exegesis. Readings of 1 Corinthians 7 by Tertullian and Origen will serve to illustrate the “moderate encratite” presentation of Paul. Tertullian, like Paul himself, presented decidedly ambivalent views on sex and marriage. On the one hand, when attacking the teaching of Marcion, he could vigorously defend the goodness of the body and sex as parts of a God-given creation.27 Like Clement, Tertullian based much of his response to Marcion on the interpretation of Paul. For example, he observed that Marcion had included Paul’s Letter to the Ephesians in his canon of scripture. Since Ephesians 5:31 contains the citation from Genesis 2:24, which Paul used to characterize the Church as the body and bride of Christ, Tertullian argued, Paul must have intended to approve of marriage and procreation.28 Elsewhere, however, Tertullian’s approach to marriage was not so sanguine. As he became progressively influenced by the eschatological perspectives of the “New Prophecy,” Tertullian became increasingly hostile both to marriage and to remarriage. Like Tatian and encratite thinkers before him, Tertullian supported his rigorism with an interpretation of 1 Corinthians 7 that stretched to the breaking point Paul’s already tenuous regard for marriage. In the letter To His Wife Tertullian argued that Paul allowed Christians to marry only because of the danger of a worse sin, i.e., fornication. When the apostle said, “It is better to marry than to burn” (1 Cor 7:9), Tertullian insisted, he clearly indicated that marriage was merely a lesser evil than fornication. Such “goods,” Tertullian explained, really were in a sense forbidden.29 Later, in his Exhortation to Chastity, Tertullian took an even harsher stance. Since God, through the apostle Paul, had

26 See her article “Asceticism and Anthropology: Enkrateia and ‘Double Creation’ in Early Christianity,” in Asceticism (ed. V.L. Wimbush and R. Valantasis; New York/Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1995), 127–46. 27 E.g., Adversus Marcionem 1.29.6–7 (CCSL 1, 474). 28 Adversus Marcionem 5.18.9 (CCSL 1, 719). 29 Ad uxorem 1.3.5 (SC 273, 100).

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stated his preference for celibacy, failure to follow God’s preferential will actually is a kind of sin: “When you do what God merely wills and despise what God preferentially wills, your choice is more offensive than meritorious. You are, in part, guilty of sin; and in part, even though you do not sin, you do fail to merit. And is not one’s very unwillingness to merit itself a sin?”30 By the time Tertullian composed his third treatise on marriage, De monogamia, his reading of Paul was even more intransigent. According to Tertullian’s later reading, Paul did not merely teach that marriage is a lesser evil than fornication. Like Tatian, he argued that marriage actually is a sin, that is, a kind of “fornication” (stuprum). Although the main object of Tertullian’s attack was the practice of remarriage, he applied this negative judgment even to monogamous first marriages: “Yes, and with good reason, since this, too, in the shameful act which constitutes its essence, is the same as fornication.”31 As René Braun has noted, Tertullian’s interpretation of Paul in his writings on remarriage was so extreme that it resembled that of Marcion, the very “heretic” whom Tertullian had opposed so vigorously elsewhere.32 Tertullian, of course, was no Marcionite; he granted that the true God had created the world. Nor was he a radical encratite in the manner of Tatian, for he held that sexual relations in marriage were permissible. Nevertheless, Tertullian’s stark eschatological outlook led him to denigrate sex, marriage, and procreation in a manner that resembled traditional encratite theology.33 He was, in effect, a “moderate encratite.” Similar observations can be made about the asceticism and exegesis of Origen of Alexandria. For reasons rather different from those which

30 De exhortatione castitatis 3.4–5 (SC 319, 78); Tertullian: Treatises on Marriage and Remarriage (trans. W.P. Le Saint; ACW 13; New York/Ramsey, NJ: Newman Press, 1951), 46 (slightly altered). 31 De exhortatione castitatis 9.4 (SC 319, 100): “Nec immerito, quia et ipsae ex eo constant quod est stuprum.” 32 For the suggestion that Marcion’s exegesis influenced that of Tertullian, see R. Braun, “Tertullien et l’exégèse de I Cor 7,” in Epektasis. Mélanges patristiques offerts au Cardinal Jean Daniélou (ed. J. Fontaine and C. Kannengiesser; Paris: Beauchesne, 1972), 21–28. There are also many parallels between Tertullian’s reading of Paul and the encratite exegesis of Tatian and Julius Cassian; see Sfameni Gasparro, Enkrateia e antropologia, 174–84. 33 Cf. De virginibus velandis 10.4 (SC 424, 162), where Tertullian referred to a married couple’s decision to renounce the “common insult” (contumeliam communem) of marriage.


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inspired the asceticism of Tertullian—namely his doctrine of the preexistence of souls and the notion of a “double creation”—Origen’s attitude towards the body and sex was decidedly ambivalent, and this ambivalence is especially apparent in his treatment of 1 Corinthians 7. On the one hand, Origen certainly accepted Paul’s concession of marriage to those who could not control their sexual desires (1 Cor 7:9).34 In the extant fragments of his Commentary on 1 Corinthians, for example, Origen warned of the danger that could arise when one spouse tried to practice celibacy without the consent of the other. Such a practice, Origen observed, violated the balanced teaching presented by the apostle: “[Paul] did not exaggerate the teaching on celibacy and suppress marriage, nor did he prefer marriage and suppress celibacy.” 35 Citing 1 Cor 13:5 (“Love does not insist on its own way”), Origen stressed that charity required married people to abstain from sex only by agreement in order to be free for prayer. The unilateral adoption of celibacy was forbidden: “For it is preferable that two should be saved through the works of marriage than that one should fall from hope in Christ because of the glory of the other. Indeed, how can a man who is responsible for the death of his wife be saved? For a man’s holiness is not pure when the discipline (‘to be free for prayer before God’) is imposed on both of them without the agreement of his wife.”36 In one place Origen could even speak of procreation as something “holy.”37 Like his predecessors Clement and Tertullian, Origen also strongly resisted the radical demand for sexual renunciation, particularly that of Marcion. In his commentary on 1 Corinthians Origen explicitly attacked the Marcionite insistence on celibacy because it rested on a rejection of creation and a refusal to cooperate with the will of the Creator-God.38 In several places Origen cited 1 Tim 4:1–3 to condemn those who forbade marriage and demanded abstinence from foods that God had created. Such persons, he says, are “wiser than is fitting in respect to chastity.”39 Moreover, Origen took the apostle Paul at his

Fr. 29 in 1 Cor.; ed. C. Jenkins, “Origen on I Corinthians,” JTS 9 (1908), 370. Fr. 33 in 1 Cor. ( Jenkins, 500); cited in Crouzel, Virginité et marriage selon Origène (Paris: Desclée de Brouwer, 1963), 164. For much of my account of Origen’s views I am dependent on Crouzel’s excellent study. 36 Fr. 33 in 1 Cor. ( Jenkins, 501); cited in Crouzel, Virginité, 165. 37 Fr. 35 in 1 Cor. ( Jenkins, 505): παιδοποιΐας ἁγίας. 38 Fr. 37 in 1 Cor. ( Jenkins, 507). 39 Comm. Rom. 9.2.9; the Latin text of Origen’s Commentary on Romans has been edited by C.P. Hammond Bammel, Der Römerbriefkommentar des Origenes: Kritischer 34

35

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word when he stated that marriage, like celibacy, was a “gift” (charisma). Citing 1 Cor 7:7 (“I wish that all were as I myself am. But each has a particular gift from God, one having one kind and another a different kind”), Origen affirmed that marriage and procreation had been ordained by the providence of God. Therefore, Jesus’ prohibition of divorce, like the apostle’s injunctions in 1 Tim 4:1–3 and Ephesians 5, was intended to subvert the heretical demand for celibacy.40 But these positive elements in Origen’s teaching were only part of the total picture. Elsewhere in his writings, especially in his discussion of 1 Corinthians 7, Origen emphasized the more negative dimensions of Paul’s teaching. For example, Paul’s recommendation that married couples should abstain from sex temporarily for the sake of prayer suggested to Origen that there was a fundamental incompatibility between sexual activity and union with God. In his treatise, On Prayer, Origen stated his opinion that people should not pray in a place where sexual relations take place. He reasoned thus: “For if it is impossible to have leisure for prayer as we should unless someone dedicates himself to this ‘by agreement for a season’ (1 Cor 7:5), then perhaps the same consideration should apply, if possible, to the place.”41 Although in the same treatise Origen acknowledged that it was possible for the “mysteries of marriage” to be conducted “with holiness, deliberately, and without passion,” he still argued that sexual relations were fundamentally incompatible with prayer.42 One aspect of Origen’s interpretation of 1 Corinthians 7 that became especially influential was his invocation of Old Testament ritual purity laws to interpret Paul’s teaching on abstinence from sex for the sake of prayer.43 Commenting on 1 Cor 7:5 (the same text that had inspired

Ausgabe der Übersetzung Rufins (VL 34; Freiburg: Herder, 1998), 723; English translation by T.P. Scheck, Origen: Commentary on the Epistle to the Romans. Books 6–10 (FOTC 104; Washington, D.C.: Catholic University of America Press, 2002), 201. Cf. De principiis 2.7.3 (SC 252, 330–32). 40 Comm. Matt. 14.16 (GCS 10, 324); cited in Crouzel, Virginité, 132. On marriage as a “charism,” see Origen, Fr. 34 in 1 Cor. ( Jenkins, 501–3), and the discussion in Crouzel, Virginité, 142–43. 41 Or. 31.4 (PG 11, 553); trans. Rowan A. Greer, Origen (Classics of Western Spirituality; New York: Paulist Press, 1979), 166. 42 Or. 2.2 (PG 11, 420); trans. Greer, 83. 43 Given his usual preference for a spiritual reading of scripture, it is ironic that Origen tended to preserve the literal sense of these ritual prescriptions when it came to sex. Cf. Peter Brown, The Body and Society: Men, Women, and Sexual Renunciation in Early Christianity (New York: Columbia University Press, 1988), 352.


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Tatian’s rejection of marriage), Origen explicitly appealed to the ancient purity regulations in order to justify the practice of sexual abstinence before prayer and reception of the eucharist: You should know that the prayer of a man and woman who live in purity is not the same as the prayer of those who engage in sexual relations. . . . Even Moses purified the people and said, “For three days do not go near a woman” (Exod 19:15), so that after this period of purification they might be able to hear God. And in the Book of Kings, when the priest wished to offer the holy bread to David, who was fleeing from the deceit of Saul, what did the priest ask? “Have the young men kept away from women?” (1 Sam 21:4). And he was speaking not of strange women, but of their own wives. Therefore, in order for someone to receive the “bread of the Presence,” he had to be pure from women. And so, in order to receive the breads that are greater than the “bread of the Presence”—those breads over which the names of God, Christ, and the Holy Spirit are invoked—should not a person be even more pure, so that he might receive those breads truly for salvation and not for condemnation?44

Like Tatian and Tertullian before him, Origen interpreted Paul to be an advocate of sexual renunciation. The apostle’s suggestion in 1 Cor 7:5 that temporary sexual abstinence should be allowed for prayer was taken as a demand for temporary abstinence in order to make prayer possible. Origen’s application of the Pauline text to reception of the Eucharist was to exert an unusually strong influence in the West, especially through the mediation of Jerome.45 Like Tertullian, Origen is an excellent example of the “moderate encratite” perspective that became increasingly prominent in third-century ascetical discourse. Although he did not embrace the extremes of radical encratism, his reflections on the body and sexuality were similar to the encratite perspectives that we have seen in Tatian. As he wrote in his commentary on 1 Corinthians 7: Do not think that the body is meant for sexual intercourse, just because “the stomach is meant for food and food for the stomach” (cf. 1 Cor 6:13). If you want to know the chief reason for the existence of the body, take note: It is meant to be a temple for the Lord, and the soul is meant to be holy and blameless, to serve as a handmaid to the Holy Spirit and to become a priest to the Holy Spirit that is within you. For Adam had a

Fr. 34 in 1 Cor. ( Jenkins, 501–2); cited in Crouzel, Virginité, 55. See the discussion in Clark, Reading Renunciation, 277–82, and in Y.-M. Duval, L’Affaire Jovinien: d’une crise de la société romaine à une crise de la pensée chrétienne à la fin du IV è et au début du Vè siècle (Rome: Institutum Patristicum Augustinianum, 2003), 120–1. 44

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david g. hunter body in paradise, and yet it was not in paradise that “Adam knew his wife Eve” (Gen 4:1), but when he had been expelled after the disobedience.

At this point Origen interjected that he did not intend to forbid marriage. Citing 1 Cor 7:9 he acknowledged that Paul had taught: “If a man is not living chastely, he should marry. For it is better to marry than to burn.” But the apostle granted such a concession, Origen argued, “not as a guiding principle, but on account of weakness. The guiding principle (τὸ γὰρ προηγούμενον) is to be pure, to be chaste, and to ‘be free for prayer’ (1 Cor 7:5). For if a person has already been awakened with Christ and has come ‘to share in the likeness of his resurrection’ and ‘in the newness of life’ (Rom 6:4), the body should belong to no one but the Lord.”46 Even though Origen was willing to accept the presence of married Christians in the Church, it is clear that his deepest instinct was to view them as second-class citizens. His interpretation of 1 Corinthians 7 consistently reveals a tendency towards an “encratite” reading, even as he qualifies and moderates it. Unlike celibate Christians, married persons were considered “slaves” to their conjugal obligations.47 Unlike the virgin who was “free” through her chastity, the married woman fell under the obligation of Gen 3:16 (“In pain you shall bring forth children, yet your desire shall be for your husband and he shall rule over you”).48 As Origen observed, “every marriage takes place in darkness, which is why [scripture says] ‘not in debauchery and licentiousness’ (Rom 13:13). But the marriage of Christ, when he takes to himself the Church, occurs in the light.” The five wise virgins in the gospel parable, who attended the wedding with their lamps filled with oil, symbolize the luminous nobility of that spiritual wedding. Whereas union in the flesh produces merely “one body,” as the apostle said, union with the Lord produces “one spirit”: “And what can be nobler than the soul which unites with the Spirit and becomes one with it and no longer is a soul, but becomes that which the Spirit is?”49 There appears to be little in Origen’s statement that Tatian could not have affirmed!

Fr. 29 in 1 Cor. ( Jenkins, 370–71). Comm. Rom. 1.2 (VL 16, 49). 48 Fr. 39 in 1 Cor. ( Jenkins, 510). 49 1 Cor 6:16–17, paraphrased in Fr. 39 in 1 Cor. ( Jenkins, 510). It is significant that Origen has drawn from Paul’s discussion of fornication with prostitutes in 1 Corinthians 6 in order to characterize the nature of marital union. This argument is typical of that used by encratites, both radical and moderate. 46 47


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This sketch of the interpretation of 1 Corinthians 7 in the first three centuries has revealed three exegetical tendencies: 1) a “radical encratite” interpretation that claimed Paul as an advocate of compulsory sexual renunciation (Tatian); 2) an “anti-encratite” interpretation that rejected the previous view (Clement of Alexandria); and 3) a “moderate encratite” interpretation that grudgingly accepted marriage, but also simultaneously cast suspicion over all sexual activity (Tertullian and Origen). The last view invoked Paul primarily to endorse sexual renunciation, though without requiring it of all Christians. As I will argue below, in the fourth-century West this third exegetical tendency will become the object of increased scrutiny and criticism, especially as it was advocated by Jerome. In the controversy over the teachings of Jovinian, we will see yet a further refinement of interpretation of 1 Corinthians 7. In response to Jerome’s appropriation of the exegesis of Tertullian and Origen, several Christian writers—most notably Pelagius and Augustine—will attempt to tread a middle path, somewhere between the “anti-encratism” of Jovinian and the “moderate encratism” of Jerome. 2. The Jovinianist Controversy As monasticism and other forms of ascetic piety became increasingly popular in fourth-century Christianity, it was perhaps inevitable that there would arise a crisis in the Christian conscience regarding marriage and celibacy. Despite the efforts of anti-heretical authors, radical encratism persisted and even gained new life with the appearance of Manichaean Christianity. But one did not have to be a Manichaean to press for compulsory celibacy. Both Athanasius and Epiphanius reported that an Egyptian monastic leader named Hieracas espoused a version of encratism based on a radical interpretation of 1 Corinthians 7. Athanasius, for example, presented the following quotation from Hieracas: “I have read the epistle that Paul wrote to the Corinthians, in which he wrote about virginity, but about married people (he wrote), ‘The time is short’, and then, ‘Let those who have wives live like those who have none’ (1 Cor 7:29).”50 Hieracas apparently accepted that

50 Epistula ad virgines 27; trans. D. Brakke, Athanasius and the Politics of Asceticism (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1995), 282–3. Epiphanius, Panarion adversus haereses 67.2.2–6 (Holl-Dummer 3, 134), also attested the centrality of 1 Corinthians 7 in the encratite

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marriage and procreation had a place in the Old Testament dispensation, but he rejected its use in the New. According to Epiphanius, Hieracas taught that “Christ came to make only this correction—to preach continence (ἐγκράτεια) in the world, and choose purity and continence for his own; and without continence no one can be saved.”51 Although radical encratism remained a matter of concern to the generation of heresiologists from Epiphanius to Augustine, I would like to focus attention on the way in which even the moderate encratism of Tertullian and Origen came to be seen as problematic. In the controversy surrounding the monk Jovinian, which affected the Western church in the final decade of the fourth century and first decade of the fifth century, we see once again a battle over the interpretation of Paul. In this instance the “heretical” readings being attacked are not those of Tatian, but rather those of Tertullian and Origen as they were present in the ascetic exegesis of Jerome. In the Jovinianist controversy the views of Jerome came to be as widely rejected as those of Jovinian, and, once again, the interpretation of Paul was a critical element in the conflict. Jerome the “Moderate Encratite” In the spring or early summer of 393, ensconced in his monastery in Bethlehem, Jerome received some distressing news. A monk named Jovinian was spreading a scandalous teaching, namely that “virgins, widows, and married women, once they have been washed in Christ are of the same merit, if they do not differ in other works.”52 Jovinian’s other teachings, as reported by Jerome, were equally disturbing: he denied that those who had been authentically regenerated in baptism could be overthrown by the devil; he claimed that fasting was not superior to taking food in a thankful spirit; and he argued that all those who preserved their baptismal grace would receive an equal reward in heaven.53 Roused to refute Jovinian, Jerome composed a two-book theology of Hieracas. Against Hieracas, Athanasius responded that Paul had merely recommended temporary abstinence for the sake of prayer (cf. 1 Cor 7:5), not perpetual sexual continence. 51 Epiphanius, Haer. 67.1.8–9 (Holl-Dummer 3, 133–34); trans. in F. Williams, The Panarion of Epiphanius of Salamis (NHMS 36; Leiden: Brill, 1994), 309, slightly altered. 52 Cited in Jerome, Adversus Jovinianum 1.3 (PL 23, 224); cited hereafter as Jov. 53 For a comprehensive overview of Jovinian’s teaching, see Hunter, Marriage, Celibacy, and Heresy, 15–50.


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treatise, Adversus Jovinianum, in which he responded in detail to Jovinian’s arguments. One of the most challenging features of Jovinian’s teaching, as Jerome and other observers admit, was his extensive use of scriptural texts to support the equality of marriage and celibacy. Among the biblical passages to which Jovinian appealed was, of course, Paul’s discussion in 1 Corinthians 7. Unfortunately, Jerome does not tell us very much about Jovinian’s use of Paul, other than to note that Jovinian read 1 Corinthians 7 through the lens of the later Pauline writings. For example, Jovinian had cited the following texts in the context of discussing 1 Corinthians 7: 1 Tim 5:14 (“I would have younger widows marry and bear children”), 1 Tim 2:14–15 (“Adam was not deceived, but the woman was deceived and became a transgressor. Yet she will be saved through childbearing, provided they continue in faith and love and holiness”), and Hebrews 13:4 (“Let marriage be held in honor by all, and let the marriage bed be kept undefiled”). He also appealed to 1 Tim 4:1–5 and accused radical ascetics of being “Manichaeans” and having “consciences seared as with a hot iron.”54 It appears that Jovinian, like Clement of Alexandria before him, had attempted to read Paul’s ambivalent statements in the light of the Pastoral Epistles and other deutero-Pauline letters and thus to offer an “anti-encratite” interpretation of 1 Corinthians 7. We are much better informed about Jerome’s response to Jovinian, because Jerome developed a mini-commentary on 1 Corinthians 7 in the midst of his Adversus Jovinianum. In fact, Jerome placed his discussion of 1 Corinthians 7 at the very beginning of his response to Jovinian, explicitly indicating that on the matter of the relative merits of marriage and celibacy Paul was the decisive voice and that Paul’s authority on the matter was equal to that of Jesus.55 In his recent study of the Jovinianist controversy, Yves-Marie Duval has discussed at length the sources Jerome used in his excursus on 1 Corinthians 7 in chapters seven through fourteen of Adversus Jovinianum.56 Duval has demonstrated Jerome’s deep debt to Origen and especially to Tertullian for his reading of the Pauline text. Moreover, Duval has shown that Jerome often

Jerome reported on Jovinian’s use of Paul in Jov. 1.5 (PL 23, 227). Cf. Jerome, Jov. 1.6 (PL 23, 228): “Opponam in prima fonte apostolum Paulum, et quasi fortissimum ducem, suis telis, id est, suis armabo sententiis. . . . Quidquid autem statuerit, hoc Christi in eo loquentis, legem putemus.” 56 Duval, L’Affaire Jovinien, 115–51. 54 55

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ignored the more moderate statements of Origen in favor of his more ascetic sentiments and that Jerome relied most often on De monogamia, which contains Tertullian’s latest and most radical interpretations of Paul. In other words, not only was Jerome thoroughly steeped in the “moderate encratism” of Tertullian and Origen, but he was drawn to the most uncompromising versions of their teachings.57 A few examples will suffice. One of the first instances of Jerome’s reliance on Tertullian is found in his comments on the opening verse of 1 Corinthians 7: “It is good for a man not to touch a woman.” Following Tertullian’s De monogamia at times verbatim, Jerome observed: If it is good not to touch a woman, it is bad (malum) to touch one; for the only opposite of goodness is badness. Now if it is bad and the evil is pardoned, the reason for the concession is to prevent worse evil. But surely something that is permitted only because there may be something worse has only a slight degree of goodness . . .. What is naturally good is not compared with evil, nor is it overshadowed because something else is preferred.58

This statement is typical of Jerome’s interpretation of Paul in Adversus Jovinianum. Although Jerome could call marriage a “good” and “a gift of God” (on one occasion each), he preferred to portray marriage simply as the lesser of two evils, rather than a genuine good in its own right.59 He derived this opinion directly from Tertullian. Another place where Jerome showed the influence of both Tertullian and Origen was his interpretation of 1 Cor 7:5, where Paul had allowed temporary sexual abstinence for the sake of prayer. As we have seen, this passage was especially important to Tatian, and Origen had interpreted it to stress the incompatibility of sex and participation in eucharist. In his treatise, An Exhortation to Chastity, Tertullian had emphasized the need to pray at all times (alluding to 1 Thess 5:17) and suggested that Paul’s permission for temporary sexual abstinence had actually been an invita57 Cf. Duval, L’Affaire Jovinien, 115: “L’originalité de Jérôme n’est pas moins nette dans la manière dont, chez ses modèles, il a, le plus souvent, choisi l’affirmation la plus radicale.” 58 Jov. 1.7 (PL 23, 229). 59 See, e.g., his observations on 1 Cor 7:9 (“It is better to marry than to burn”): “The reason why it is better to marry is because it is worse to burn. Take away the fire of lust, and he will not say, ‘it is better to marry’. . . . If marriage is good in itself, do not compare it with fire, but simply say ‘it is good to marry’. I am suspicious of the ‘good’ of that thing which the greatness of another evil compels to be the lesser evil. What I want is not a lesser evil (levius malum), but a good that is simply good in itself ” ( Jov. 1.9 [PL 23, 233]).


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tion to perpetual abstinence.60 Jerome’s comment echoed Tertullian’s (including the allusion to 1 Thess 5:17), but, under the influence of Origen, Jerome added a reference to the eucharist: I ask you, what sort of good is that which prevents prayer? Which does not allow reception of Christ’s body? As long as I fulfill the duty of a husband, I do not fulfill the duty of continence. In another place the same apostle orders us to pray always (1 Thess 5:17). If one must pray always, then one must never serve one’s spouse, since however often I pay the debt to my wife, I am unable to pray.61

We know that Jerome was influenced by Origen’s interpretation of 1 Cor 7:5 because later in the Adversus Jovinianum he cited Origen’s examples of Moses on Mount Sinai (Exod 19:15) and the words of the priest Ahimelech to David (1 Sam 21:4) regarding sexual abstinence.62 Jerome’s comment on the biblical texts, however, exceeded Origen’s ascetic rigor: “The truth is that in relation to the purity of the body of Christ, all sexual intercourse is unclean!” Jerome clearly has gone beyond either Tertullian or Origen in his assertion that all sexual intercourse renders a person unfit to receive the eucharist.63 Examples of Jerome’s “moderate encratite” reading of 1 Corinthians 7 could be multiplied, but I will cite only one more instance. Commenting on 1 Cor 7:26 (“I think that in view of the pressing necessity [ propter instantem necessitatem] it is good for you to remain as you are”), Jerome blended together comments from both Origen and Tertullian to produce an interpretation that exceeded even the rigors of these (moderate encratite) teachers:64 What is this “necessity” that seeks the freedom of virginity by spurning the conjugal bond? “Woe to those who are pregnant and nursing on that day” (Mt 24:19). We do not have here a condemnation of harlots or

De exhortatione castitatis 10.2; cf. Duval, L’Affaire Jovinien, 119–20. Jov. 1.7 (PL 23, 230). 62 Jov. 1.20 (PL 23, 249) = Origen, fr. 34 ( Jenkins, 501–2); the parallels are noted in Duval, L’Affaire Jovinien, 162–63. 63 Jov. 1.20 (PL 23, 249): “videlicet quod ad munditias corporis Christi, omnis coitus immunda sit.” Later in Letter 49 to Pammachius, Jerome’s apology for the excesses of Adversus Jovinianum, he cited and defended this reading of 1 Cor 7:5. See Ep. 49.15 (CSEL 54, 376): “quid est maius: orare an Christi corpus accipere? Utique corpus Christi. Si per coitum, quod minus est, impeditur, multo magis, quod maius est.” 64 As Duval, L’Affaire Jovinien, 134–36, has demonstrated, Jerome’s use of Matt 24:19, which he also employed in Contra Helvidium 21, echoed Tertullian, Ad uxorem 1.5.22–3, De exhortatione castitatis 9.5, and De monogamia 16.5. Duval also has noted a parallel with Origen, fr. 39 ( Jenkins, 509). 60 61

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david g. hunter brothels, about whose damnation there is no doubt. What is condemned is the swelling womb, the wailing infant, and the fruits and works of marriage! “Since it is good for a man to be as he is” (1 Cor 7:26). If it is good for a man to remain as he is, it is bad (malum) for a man not to remain as he is!65

Jerome has here gone beyond Tertullian and Origen to interpret Paul in an encratite direction. If we take him at his word, he is claiming that sex, pregnancy, and childbirth are subject to “condemnation” (condemnantur) and that marriage is an “evil” (malum). With these words Jerome seems to have crossed the line from “moderate encratism” into “radical encratism.” Against Jerome the “Encratite” Even before Jerome’s books Against Jovinian had reached Rome, Jovinian had been condemned for “heresy” by Pope Siricius at Rome and by Bishop Ambrose at Milan. The condemnation of Jovinian, however, did not mean the vindication of Jerome. From letters that Jerome composed the following year (394) to his Roman friends Pammachius and Domnio, we know that his Adversus Jovinianum had been widely repudiated as heretical, even by those who were supporters of the ascetic life. Domnio compiled a list of offensive passages from the treatise and sent it to Jerome demanding an explanation; Pammachius even tried to withdraw the exemplars of the text from circulation, unsuccessfully, as Jerome tells us.66 Around the year 400 Rufinus of Aquileia declared that Jerome’s treatise contained teaching that amounted to “the dogma of the Manichaeans.”67 Over the next decade several Western writers felt the need to respond to Jerome’s treatise and to correct its excesses. It is significant that Jerome’s interpretation of 1 Corinthians 7 was subject to special criticism. In my recent study of the Jovinianist controversy, I have discussed in detail the ways in which three later Latin writers—Augustine, Pelagius, and the anonymous author of the Consultationes Zacchaei et Apollonii— attempted to refute Jerome’s excessive hostility to marriage.68 Although

Jov. 1.12 (PL 23, 239). Ep. 48.2 (CSEL 54, 347); cf. ep. 49 to Pammachius and ep. 50.3 to Domnio (CSEL 54, 391). 67 Apologia adversus Hieronymum 2.42 (CCSL 20, 116). 68 Hunter, Marriage, Celibacy, and Heresy, 250–56 (Consultationes), 259–68 (Pelagius), 273–84 (Augustine). 65

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each of these authors agreed with Jerome’s rejection of Jovinian and supported the notion that celibacy was better than marriage, all of them took issue with Jerome’s characterization of marriage as something “evil” (malum). In each case, readings of 1 Corinthians 7 were central to their responses to Jerome. For example, in a passage of the Consultationes that shows direct dependence on Adversus Jovinianum, the anonymous author contradicted Jerome’s reading of 1 Cor 7:26 (“I think that in view of the pressing necessity, it is good for you to remain as you are”). After invoking Matt 19:12, Isa 56:5, and Matt 24:19 (also found together in Adversus Jovinianum 1.12), the author of the Consultationes insisted that granting priority to celibacy did not entail condemning marriage: Therefore, it is reasonable to prefer the better things, but those which are lower (humiliora) are not bad. Nor does it signify that there is any defect (delictum) in marriage, but as you recognized a little while ago, continence is advised on account of the necessity of the imminent end ( propter instantis finis necessitatem), lest according to the gospel there be “woe to those who are pregnant and nursing” (Matt 24:19).69

Given the parallel collection of biblical citations, there can be no doubt that the author of the Consultationes had before him Jerome’s Adversus Jovinianum. Therefore, the anonymous author’s emphasis on marriage as a genuine bonum and his claim that there is no ‘defect’ (delictum) in marriage must have been a direct response to Jerome’s description of marriage as a malum and ‘the fruits and works of marriage’ as worthy of condemnation. Similarly, Pelagius, although he explicitly rejected Jovinian’s teaching on the equality of marriage and celibacy, also repudiated any attempt to use the writings of Paul, especially 1 Corinthians 7, to denigrate marriage. In his letter to the matron Celantia, Pelagius argued that the apostle Paul had trod “a moderate, middle path” between Jovinian and the Manichaeans.70 To avoid the error of the Manichaeans, according to Pelagius, one must accept the goodness of marriage, as well as the superiority of sexual continence. Commenting on 1 Cor 7:28 (“But if you have taken a wife you have not sinned”), Pelagius remarked, “Since you have free will, if you do not wish to be greater, you may be less; marriage is not a sin, although because of their concern for the

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Consultationes Zacchaei et Apollonii 3.5.14 (SC 402, 200). Epistula ad Celantiam matronam 28 (CSEL 56/1, 352).

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world those who are marry are barely able to fulfill the law.”71 From Pelagius’ point of view, “worldly concern” (sollicitudo mundi) made it more difficult for married persons to achieve a state of righteousness; the virgin, by contrast, was able “to fulfill greater justice with less labor.”72 Marriage itself, however, was not regarded as an evil, nor were married Christians excluded from the possibility of perfection; indeed, the novelty of Pelagius’ ascetical theology was precisely that married people were subject to the same requirement of perfect righteousness as celibates.73 This, Pelagius asserted, was the meaning of Paul’s description of the Church as “without spot or wrinkle” (Eph 5:27): it referred to the common perfection that could be achieved by virgins, widows, and married women.74 Another difference between Pelagius and Jerome can be seen in their rival interpretations of 1 Cor 7:26 where Paul had stated, “On account of the pressing necessity, it is good for a man to remain as he is.” As we saw above, in Adversus Jovinianum Jerome had invoked this passage to argue that marriage was “condemned” as “evil” (malum). Pelagius’ interpretation of 1 Cor 7:26, by contrast, was at once more moderate and more nuanced than that of Jerome: “On account of the pressing necessity.” That is, concern for the present life, which can be a great obstacle to righteousness, and by which those who are joined in marriage are especially implicated. “It is good for a man to remain as he is.” There is a twofold good: he avoids the cares of the world and he awaits the reward of virginity.75

Unlike Jerome, Pelagius did not regard sex or procreation as, in themselves, deficient or sinful. For Pelagius, marriage represented an inferior choice of life because it involved a person in “worldly cares” that made

71 Exp. 1 Cor. 7:28. I cite Pelagius’ Pauline commentary from the edition of A. Souter, Pelagius’s Expositions of the Thirteen Epistles of St. Paul. II: Text and Apparatus Criticus (T&S 9; Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1926), 166. 72 Exp. 1 Cor. 7:28 (Souter, 167): “ut minore labore maiorem possitis implere iustitiam.” 73 In his Letter to Demetrias, written several years after the Pauline commentary, Pelagius referred to marriage as one of the “intermediate” things (media), like meat and wine; they were neither forbidden nor recommended, but simply “allowed” (conceduntur). See Epistula ad Demetriadem 9.2 (PL 30, 25). 74 Epistula ad Claudiam de virginitate 11.3 (CSEL 1, 241); Epistula ad Demetriadem 24.3 (PL 30, 40). As S. Thier, Kirche bei Pelagius (PTS 50; Berlin/New York: Walter de Gruyter, 1999), 155, has argued, for Pelagius the difference between marriage and virginity was more “quantitative,” whereas for Jerome it was more “qualitative.” 75 Exp. 1 Cor. 7:26 (Souter, 166).


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it more difficult to fulfill all the precepts of the law. In continence, by contrast, “the body is freed of conjugal use, the soul is freed of concern for worldly things, while the whole person is freed for divine service.”76 Hence the apostle Paul encouraged more prudent Christians to choose the better path and to avoid becoming involved in transient, worldly affairs.77 On the whole, then, Pelagius offered an account of marriage and celibacy that preserved the ascetic hierarchy (contra Jovinian) and yet treated marriage without rancor or contempt (contra Jerome). The apostle Paul (in Pelagius’ reading) sought to encourage continence without condemning marriage: “He preaches chastity and abstinence in such a way that he does not condemn either nature or creatures. He encourages the stronger to follow one path, while he allows the weaker to follow another.”78 Had not the apostle taught that a married woman who achieved righteousness was “happy” (beata), even though the widow was “happier” (beatior), and the virgin “happiest of all” (beatissima)?79 Pelagius’ response to the Jovinianist controversy, while opposed to Jovinian’s teaching on the equality of marriage and celibacy, also offered an important corrective to the excesses of Jerome’s Adversus Jovinianum. Like the author of the Consultationes Zacchaei et Apollonii, Pelagius distanced himself from Jerome’s treatment of 1 Corinthians 7 by insisting that marriage was a genuine (albeit lower) good than celibacy. The most extensive response to Jerome’s interpretation of Paul can be found in the writings of Augustine. It has long been recognized that when Augustine composed his treatises De bono coniugali and De sancta virginitate around 404, he intended not only to refute Jovinian, but also to controvert the extremism of Jerome’s Adversus Jovinianum.80 For example, Augustine persistently emphasized that the superiority of

Exp. 1 Cor. 7:34 (Souter, 169). Exp. 1 Cor. 7:38 (Souter, 170): “unde prudentibus semper meliora et perfectiora sectanda sunt, quia nec in saecularibus et [in] caduis norunt mediocribus esse contenti.” 78 Exp. 1 Tim. 4:2 (Souter, 489). Cf. Pelagius’ comment at Exp. Eph. 5:29 (Souter, 378): “non nuptias quidem damnat, sed ad continentiam cohortatur.” 79 Exp. 1 Cor. 7:40 (Souter, 170). 80 See, e.g., É. Schmitt, Le mariage chrétien dans l’oeuvre de saint Augustin: Une théologie baptismale de la vie conjugale (Paris: Études Augustiniennes, 1983), 68. Rather than the traditional date of 401, I have adopted the revised date of 404 proposed by P.-M. Hombert, Nouvelles recherches de chronologie augustinienne (Paris: Études Augustiniennes, 2000), 105–36. For my arguments in support of Hombert’s chronology, see “Augustine, Sermon 354A: Its Place in His Thought on Marriage and Sexuality,” AugS 33 (2002), 40–4. 76

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celibacy did not entail any condemnation of marriage. He explicitly rejected the view of Jerome that marriage was merely a “lesser evil” than fornication: We do not call marriage “good” merely because it is good in comparison with fornication. In that case, there would be two evils, one of which was worse. . . . No, marriage and fornication are not two evils, one of which is worse, but marriage and continence are two goods, one of which is better. In the same way health and sickness in this life are not two evils, one of which is worse, but earthly health and immortality are two goods, one of which is better. Likewise, knowledge and illusion are not two evils, with illusion being worse, but knowledge and love are two goods, with love being better. For “knowledge will end,” the apostle says, although in the present it is still necessary, whereas “love will never fail” (1 Cor 13:8).81

For Augustine the proper analogy between marriage and celibacy was the behavior of Martha and Mary. While Mary chose the “better part” by sitting at the Lord’s feet (cf. Luke 10:42), Martha’s actions in attending to the needs of the saints were not bad, even though Mary had to forego the lesser good in order to achieve the greater one.82 Like Pelagius and the author of the Consultationes, Augustine went out of his way to correct Jerome’s teaching on marriage as a “lesser evil” and to insist on its genuine goodness. There was, however, a level of complexity to Augustine’s repudiation of Jerome’s interpretation of 1 Corinthians 7 that went beyond that of his contemporaries. As I have argued in a paper presented at the 2003 Oxford International Conference on Patristic Studies, Augustine’s conflict with Jerome over Paul’s teaching on marriage reached back a decade earlier than De bono coniugali and De sancta virginitate to his conflict with Jerome over the interpretation of Galatians 2.83 In several letters to Jerome and in one of the sermons recently discovered by François Dolbeau, all composed between 395 and 405, Augustine had argued that if Jerome’s reading of Galatians 2 were correct—namely, if the apostle Paul’s opposition to Peter at Antioch were merely feigned—then the apostle’s acceptance of marriage likewise could be taken as unreliable by anyone who wished to portray that apostle Paul as an advocate of

De bono coniugali 8.8 (CSEL 41, 198). De bono coniugali 8.8 (CSEL 41, 199). 83 “Between Jovinian and Jerome: Augustine and the Interpretation of 1 Corinthians 7,” SP 43 (2006), 131–6; see also Hunter, Marriage, Celibacy, and Heresy, 273–7. 81 82


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compulsory sexual renunciation. As Augustine put it in Sermon 162C on Galatians 2: What are we to do, when I say to someone, “It is good to marry, but it is better not to marry, as the apostle Paul wrote” (cf. 1 Cor 7:28, 38)? What if someone who condemns marriage (damnator nuptiarum) then replies to me: “Paul most certainly did condemn marriage; but he was only pretending when he wrote this, since the truth itself could not be borne by the weak. It is because continence can only be undertaken with great hardship that he said, ‘It is good to marry.’ In fact, he knew that it is bad to marry.”84

It is clear from Augustine’s comments here, and from similar observations in his letters to Jerome, that even before he undertook to discuss the relative merits of marriage and celibacy in De bono coniugali and De sancta virginitate he had strong doubts about the direction of Jerome’s teachings on marriage and that these doubts were magnified by Jerome’s willingness to attribute dissimulation to the apostle Paul.85 This combination of concerns surfaced in Augustine’s response to Jerome in De sancta virginitate, where Augustine simultaneously addressed the issue of the veracity of scripture and Paul’s teaching on marriage. While commenting on 1 Cor 7:28, Augustine observed: “First of all, therefore, and above all, let those who choose virginity hold it as absolutely beyond question that holy scripture contains no lies, and hence that statement also was true: ‘And if you have married, you have not committed a sin, and if a virgin marries, she does not commit a sin’.”86 It is critical, Augustine insisted, that the text of 1 Cor 7:28 be taken in its plain and most literal sense: “In a matter of such importance, what would we do if it were not clear and certain that chaste marriages should not be condemned, not less than it is clear and certain that holy scripture cannot lie?”87 Several lines later Augustine again raised the issue of the veracity of scripture, this time in connection with 1 Cor 7:38:

Ser. 162C.14 (= Dolbeau 10). The text has been published in F. Dolbeau, Augustin d’Hippone: vingt-six sermons au people d’Afrique (Paris: Études Augustiniennes, 2001), 45–56, quotation at 54–5. 85 See Augustine, ep. 28.3.4 (CSEL 34/1, 108–9), dated to 395; Ep. 82.6 (CSEL 34/2, 356), dated to 405. 86 De sancta virginitate 18.18 (CSEL 41, 251); trans. R. Kearney, Augustine: Marriage and Virginity (The Works of Saint Augustine 1/9; Hyde Park, NY: New City Press, 1999), 77–78. 87 De sancta virginitate 20.20 (CSEL 41, 254); trans. Kearney, 79. 84

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david g. hunter Since people are being urged to aspire to such a splendid gift, not because of a merely human opinion, but on the authority of divine scripture, we must act in a careful and thorough manner, so that no one will think that the divine scripture contains lies. Those who would persuade sacred virgins to maintain that way of life by condemning marriage are really discouraging them rather than encouraging them. For how can they be sure that the text, “and he who does not marry does better” (1 Cor 7:38b), is true, if they think that what was written immediately before it, “He who marries his virgin does well” (1 Cor 7:38a), is not true? But if they believe the scripture without question when it speaks of the good of marriage, they will find security in that absolutely trustworthy authority of the heavenly speech, and will hurry on with enthusiasm and confidence to what it says about their own superior good.88

It is clear from Augustine’s comments in De sancta virginitate that he remained concerned with the original issue raised in his correspondence with Jerome. Interpretations of scripture, such as Jerome’s, that attributed mendacity or duplicity to the biblical authors remained anathema to Augustine, as did any suggestion that marriage was not good. In the writings of Jerome, Augustine believed that he had found both errors. Conclusion At the beginning of this essay I proposed to place some of the disparate patristic interpretations of 1 Corinthians 7 within the context of a narrative of the development of “orthodoxy” and “heresy” on the question of marriage and celibacy. I would like now to draw out the implications of this survey for that issue. There would appear to be at least three stages through which Christian tradition evolved as it sought to define “orthodoxy” on this contentious question: 1. In response to “radical encratite” readings of 1 Corinthians 7, teachers such as Irenaeus and Clement of Alexandria insisted that the pro-marital views of the Pastoral Epistles must be the lens through which Paul’s ambivalence towards marriage was interpreted. Given the wide spectrum of perspectives that existed in the second century, this was an effort to constrict the boundaries of acceptable Christian discourse and to limit the possible readings of Paul (i.e., to exclude the “radical encratite” option of Tatian). 88

De sancta virginitate 21.21 (CSEL 41, 255); trans. Kearney, 79–80, altered.


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2. In the third century, the “moderate encratite” approach of Tertullian and Origen accepted the boundaries placed by Irenaeus and Clement; that is to say, these authors rejected the radical encratite call to compulsory sexual renunciation. Yet both Tertullian and Origen differed from the “orthodox” position, at least as it had been articulated by Clement. By stressing the inherently deficient, even “sinful” character of marital intercourse, Tertullian and Origen laid the foundations of an ascetic hierarchy which, while permitting marriage, also degraded it in comparison to celibacy. 3. By the later years of the fourth century, the ascetic hierarchy had attained virtually the status of a “new orthodoxy,” as evidenced in the condemnation of Jovinian. But the debate surrounding the reception of Jerome’s Adversus Jovinianum shows that “moderate encratism” was also deemed problematic. In the hands of Jerome the troubling aspects of the readings of Paul by Tertullian and Origen had become abundantly clear. As Augustine and the other critics of Jerome insisted, Jerome’s approach failed to acknowledge the essential goodness of marriage. Even if Jovinian’s equation of marriage and celibacy was to be rejected, Tertullian’s characterization of marriage as stuprum and Jerome’s view of it as merely a “lesser evil” also were no longer acceptable. If Paul was to be reclaimed for “orthodoxy,” he could be neither a “radical” nor a “moderate” encratite. The positions articulated by Augustine, Pelagius, and the other critics of Jerome, therefore, embraced the ascetic hierarchy, while simultaneously rejecting much of the Pauline interpretation that had underwritten it.89

89 It is worth noting that the criticism of Jerome’s reading of 1 Corinthians 7 by Augustine, Pelagius, and others did not signal the end of the “encratite” interpretation of Paul. The anonymous “Pelagian” Epistula de castitate contains an extended discussion of 1 Corinthians 7 that is heavily dependent on Jerome’s Adversus Jovinianum. It appears that the making of “orthodoxy” remained in flux.

THE ETERNAL GOSPEL: ORIGEN’S ESCHATOLOGICAL EXEGESIS1 Shawn W.J. Keough This paper offers some observations on the intersection of eschatology and exegesis in Origen by means of an analysis of the use Origen makes of the ‘eternal gospel’ (cf. Rev 14:6) in his extant writings.2 Exegesis and eschatology are perhaps the two most hotly debated topics in studies of Origen (both ancient and modern), and yet the significance of their relationship has received comparatively little attention. The manner in which Origen makes use of the eternal gospel not only demonstrates the character and significance of this confluence of eschatology and exegesis but also clarifies the content of Origen’s primary eschatological and exegetical convictions. An in-depth analysis of Origen’s deployment of this concept positions the convergence of eschatological and exegetical concerns against the grand backdrop of Origen’s all-embracing theological vision, while also enabling a fuller description of the way Origen understands scripture to serve and participate in the unfolding purposes of God. Origen’s use of Rev 14:6 was entirely original, and thus not only constitutes an extraordinary chapter in the history of biblical interpretation,3 but also clarifies the

1 This essay is offered with gratitude for the generous invitation to participate in the Montréal Colloquium in honour of Prof. Dr. Charles Kannengiesser. I wish to thank especially Dr. Lorenzo DiTommaso and Dr. Lucian Turcescu for planning and hosting such an exciting event, and for making a doctoral student (as I was at the time) feel welcome among so many esteemed scholars. Prof. Pamela Bright’s kindness and grace were especially memorable. It is a special privilege to dedicate this essay to Professor Kannengiesser, who exemplifies the highest standards of scholarship and who personifies the warmest and most generous collegiality. In both respects I can testify that his superlative example has been carefully marked by many young students of the Fathers. 2 “Then I saw another angel flying in midheaven, with an eternal gospel to proclaim to those who live on the earth—to every nation and tribe and language and people” [Καὶ εἶδον ἄλλον ἄγγελον πετόμενον ἐν μεσουρανήματι, ἔχοντα εὐαγγέλιον αἰώνιον

εὐαγγελίσαι ἐπὶ τοὺς καθημένους ἐπὶ τῆς γῆς καὶ ἐπὶ πᾶν ἔθνος καὶ φυλὴν καὶ γλῶσσαν καὶ λαόν] (nrsv/na27).

3 Origen was unique among early Christian writers in his use of Rev 14:6. The evidence does not indicate any other significant use of Rev 14:6 in the period preceding or immediately following Origen. The indices of the successive volumes of Biblica

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relationships between Origen’s central exegetical, eschatological, and theological commitments. After reviewing previous research on Origen’s concept of the eternal gospel this essay considers each instance where Origen alludes to or cites Rev 14:6. I conclude with a synthetic analysis of the evidence and some remarks regarding the manner in which the eternal gospel serves as a unifying concept in Origen, a concept that unites exegetical procedure, eschatological vision, and theological conviction. For Origen the eternal gospel indicates the manner in which biblical exegesis is an explicitly eschatological activity, that is, an activity which is oriented toward and conditioned by the ultimate fulfillment of all God’s intentions for created reality. The ‘eternal gospel’ thus not only indicates the specifically biblical character of Origen’s eschatological thought but also clarifies his understanding of the exegetical enterprise as a participation in a revelatory and redemptive movement of which scripture is both sign and instrument. Status quaestionis: The Eternal Gospel and the Economy of Salvation The concept of the eternal gospel in Origen has received rather slight scholarly attention. The indices of the three volumes of Henri Crouzel’s annotated bibliography to Origen indicate only one entry under the Patristica: Index des citations et allusions bibliques dans la littérature patristique (7 vols.; Paris: Éditions du CNRS, 1975–2000) demonstrate that there is not one citation of Rev 14:6 in the extant Christian literature preceding Origen, and that among writers in the third century it appears only once in Hippolytus (Capita contra Gaium, in a fragment extant only in the twelfth-century Syrian Orthodox bishop Dionysius bar Salībī, In Apocalypsim 8 (ed. I. Sedlacek; CSCO, SSyr, series secunda 60; Leipzig, 1910), once in Victorinus of Pettau (In Apocalypsim: PL 5, 340b) and twice in Cyprian (Ad Fortunatum de exhortatione martyrii 2: PL 4, 657b; Testimonia ad Quirinium 3.20: PL 4, 748b). In Christian literature following Origen, Rev 14:6 is not cited once by the Cappadocians or Didymus the Blind (Gregory of Nyssa and Didymus being perhaps the two most likely candidates to display the influence of Origen in this regard). The verse is cited once by Eusebius (Eclogae propheticae 4.30: PG 22, 1253d) and once by Ambrose (De interpellatione Iob et Dauid 1.9.30: PL 14, 810c). Most of these six citations do not mention the eternal gospel, and none of them demonstrate anything of interest to this investigation (for example, Cyprian simply notes the verse as one of a series of biblical passages indicating the need to appropriately worship and reverence the Creator, and Ambrose seems to produce Rev 14:6 as proof that angels can fly). By way of contrast, there are ten citations of or allusions to Rev 14:6 in the extant texts of Origen and in each case they indicate that the concept of the eternal gospel was one that carried special significance for Origen. Origen’s use of this biblical text and the concept of the eternal gospel is without parallel in early Christian literature.

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topic, and it is not a study devoted to Origen.4 While there have been no studies dedicated specifically to the topic, three significant books on Origen published following the second World War devoted attention to the function of the eternal gospel in Origen’s writings. These three studies are in substantial agreement in their treatment of the eternal gospel in Origen, each describing the eternal gospel as the climax to the economy of salvation. Henri de Lubac’s Histoire et esprit devoted a subsection of its fifth chapter, L’Évangile, to the topic of the eternal gospel.5 In this section de Lubac notes that Origen does not rest content with any purely personal or individually ‘spiritual’ fulfillment of the gospel. Rather, the whole of the New Testament is oriented toward a reality even more profound and definitive than itself, a reality which the New Testament “a charge de signifier en la préparant, servant ainsi d’intermédiaire entre la Loi ancienne et l’Évangile éternel.”6 The schema which de Lubac develops around the eternal gospel is thus threefold, and outlines the movement from the Old Testament, understood as the Law, to the New Testament, understood as the temporal or sensible gospel, and finally to the eternal gospel. In this schema the New Testament is a sign announcing a reality of the age to come, just as the Old Testament is understood to announce and find its fulfillment in the New.7 The eternal gospel thus signifies the fulfillment of all that is announced in the temporal gospel. This trichotomy of law-temporal gospel-eternal gospel is one instance of a pattern that de Lubac finds throughout Origen’s works, a trichotomy corresponding to the basic divisions between shadow-image-truth. The law is a shadow of the truth, while the temporal gospel is its image; only in the eternal gospel will the truth itself be made plain.8 In a certain 4 H. Crouzel, Bibliographie critique d’Origène (Steenbrugis: In Abbatia Sancti Petri, 1971); supplément I (1982); supplément II (1996). The first supplement is the only volume with the heading ‘l’évangile éternel’, under which is found X. Rousselot, Étude d’Histoire religieuse aux XII et XII siècle: Joachim de Flore, Jean de Parme et la doctrine de l’Évangile eternal (Paris, 21867 [orig.: 1861: Histoire de l’Évangile éternel]). Rousselot’s contention that Origen served as a material source for Joachim’s understanding of the eternal gospel was later refuted by J. Denis, De la philosophie d’Origène (Paris, 1884), 576–9. 5 “L’Évangile éternel” in H. de Lubac, Histoire et esprit: l’intelligence de l’Écriture d’après Origène (Paris: Éditions Montaigne, 1950), 217–27. 6 de Lubac, Histoire et esprit, 217. 7 de Lubac, Histoire et esprit, 218. 8 de Lubac, Histoire et esprit, 219. The clearest confirmation of this trichotomy for de Lubac is found especially in Ambrose, which is interesting since Ambrose does not make any significant use of Rev 14:6 or the concept of the eternal gospel in his writings (cf. n. 1, above). Examples supplied include In ps. 38 Enarratio 25: Primum igitur umbra

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fashion this trichotomy is one of perception rather than indicative of any substantial difference between the temporal and eternal gospel; it is rather in human understanding of scripture that degrees are properly distinguished, so that the trichotomy of shadow-image-truth is indeed “une trichotomie de sens scriptuaires.”9 Henri Crouzel follows de Lubac’s analysis in his Origène et la conaissance mystique,10 arguing that the scriptures reveal three epochs: the Old Testament, the temporal gospel, and the eternal gospel, and that the eternal gospel designates the complete revelation of mysteries to come in the world of the resurrection.11 While the incarnation (or temporal gospel) indeed brought fulfillment to the Law, the incarnation is nevertheless not the totality or fullness of God’s revelatory action.12 There is a need to pass beyond the temporal gospel, which is still not the reality itself, and move toward the eternal gospel, the fullness of revelation.13 praecessit, secuta est imago, erit veritas. Umbra in Lege, imago vero in Evangelio, veritas in caelestibus. Umbra Evangelii et Ecclesiae congregationis in Lege, imago futurae veritatis in Evangelio, veritas in judicio Dei (PL 14, 1051c); De fide resurrectionis 2.109: Umbra Judaeis carnalibus, imago nobis, veritas resurrecturis. Tria enim haec secundum Legem esse cognovimus: umbram, imaginem, veritatem; umbram in Lege, imago in Evangelio, veritatem in judicio. Sed Christi omnia, in Christo omnia . . . (PL 16, 1347c). However, it should be noted that Marguerite Harl disputes the legitimacy of de Lubac’s claim to find these three stages of revelation in Origen, arguing that Origen habitually uses shadow and image as synonyms and, unlike Ambrose, does not clearly designate the Old Testament as shadow and New Testament as image within such a threefold schema: Origène et la fonction révélatrice du Verbe incarné (Paris: Éditions du Seuil, 1958), 144–5. 9 de Lubac, Histoire et esprit, 222. 10 H. Crouzel, “Chapitre IV: L’Évangile temporel est-il image ou verité?” Origène et la conaissance mystique (Paris: Desclée de Brouwer, 1961), 324–70. The instances in which the eternal gospel is discussed in Crouzel’s later publication Origen (tr. A.S. Worrall; Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1989 [orig. 1985]) reproduce material and conclusions found in the earlier text. 11 Crouzel, Origène et la conaissance mystique, 324. 12 “Mais l’Incarnation n’y suffit pas.” Crouzel, Origène et la conaissance mystique, 326. 13 Crouzel, Origène et la conaissance mystique, 335. Crouzel also draws on the passages in Ambrose cited by de Lubac when clarifying this threefold schema. However, Crouzel makes extended use of a passage from the Latin fragments of Origen’s Commentary on Matthew (CMtS 138), a passage that also figures in de Lubac’s analysis as evidence that the shadow-image-truth relation forms a consistent revelatory and redemptive trichotomy in Origen. The text is an interesting reflection on the gospel account of the tearing of the veil in Temple following the death of Jesus. In it Origen states that by the suffering of Christ the outer veil of the Temple is torn from top to bottom, indicating that the mysteries from the beginning of the world (the top of the veil) to the end of the world (the bottom of the veil) are made known. However, the torn veil was the outer veil, not the second, inner veil that separated the Holy places from the Holy of Holies. This indicates the still only partial knowledge available to the exegete, for if everything had already been made manifest then both curtains would have been torn, the inner as well as the outer. But only the knowledge of the realities


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Crouzel discusses this threefold schema in sacramental and Christological language. He first picks up on Origen’s Christological vocabulary in order to make the argument that while the two gospels differ, they only do so according to the ἐπίνοια of each, not according to their ὑπόστασις: the temporal and eternal gospel do not represent two distinct realities, rather they represent the same revelatory action of God perceived less or more completely.14 That the temporal and eternal gospels are a single gospel is important for Crouzel, as this then forms the foundation of the temporal gospel’s sacramental character. Indeed, for Crouzel the temporal gospel “expresses the essence of sacramentalism: here below we possess the true realities, but we perceive them under the veil of an image.”15 In this way Crouzel holds together two potentially conflicting emphases of Origen: on the one hand the significance of the Old Testament, and even the New Testament, are not exhausted by the first advent of Christ but rather both move toward

revealed by the tearing of the outer curtain is now revealed. Only when the perfect will have come, when all that remains to be revealed is finally revealed, will the second curtain be removed in order to show what is hidden behind it. I provide the full text here, as it figures so prominently in de Lubac and Crouzel’s accounts and provides intriguing reflections upon Origen’s understanding of eschatology and exegesis within the threefold economy of salvation, even if it does not actually make use of the concept of the eternal gospel. Origenes Matthäuserklärung II: Die lateinische Übersetzung der Commentariorum Series (ed. E. Klostermann; GCS: Origenes Werke 11; Leipzig, 1933): Quaeret autem aliquis, qui non neglegenter intellegit scripturas, et aspicit duo esse vela, unum quidem interius quod velat sancta sanctorum, alterum autem exterius sive tabernaculi sive templi, quae figurae erant tabernaculi sancti, quod praeparavit ab initio pater. quorum velorum templi unum scissum est in duas partes a sursum usque deorsum, quando ‘voce magna clamans Iesus emisit spiritum’ hoc ostendens (sicut puto) mysterium, quoniam in passione domini salvatoris velum, quod erat a foris, conscissum est a sursum usque deorsum, ut a sursum (id est ab initio mundi) usque ad deorsum (id est usque ad finem eius) conscisso velamine mysteria publicentur, quae usque ad Christi adventum rationabiliter fuerant occulta. et nisi ‘ex parte’ cognosceremus, sed iam nunc manifestarentur omnia adhuc in corpore constitutis dilectis Christi discipulis, utrumque velum fuerat conscindendum, id est quod a foris est et interius. nunc autem quoniam ad scientiam rerum novarum producimur, ideo quod a foris quidem fuerat velum, interim conscinditur a sursum usque deorsum, ut ‘quando venerit quod perfectum est’ et revelata fuerint cetera quae restabant, tunc auferatur etiam secundum velum, ut videamus etiam quae intra secundum velum sunt occulta, veram arcam testamenti et, sicut ipsa se habet natura, videamus cherubin et propitiatorium verum et repositionem mannae in aureo vaso, et omnia manifesta atque maiora illis, quae per legem Moysi fuerant demonstrata, in quibus dixit deus ad eum: ‘facies omnia secundum formam eorum, quae tibi ostensa sunt in monte’. 14 “Si les deux Évangiles différent par l’ἐπίνοια, c’est qu’ils possèdent une unique ὑπόστασις, une même réalité. Il n’y a qu’une seul évangile, qui se manifeste partiellement ici-bas, qui se manifestera complètement dans l’éternité . . . Les deux Évangiles sont donc un par l’ὑπόστασις, différents par l’ἐπίνοια.” Crouzel, Origène et la conaissance mystique, 352–3. Of course Crouzel is here drawing on Origen’s doctrine of the epinoiai Christou. 15 Crouzel, Origen, 68.

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their eschatological fulfillment in the eternal gospel; on the other hand even now the exegete has access to a real (if imperfect) participation in eschatological realities, a participation Crouzel describes in sacramental imagery.16 Rolf Gögler’s Zur Theologie des biblischen Wortes bei Origenes also devoted an entire chapter to the question of the eternal gospel.17 As its subtitle indicates (“Vom Buchstaben zum Geist. Altes Testament—Evangelium—Ewiges Evangelium”), Gögler is in substantial agreement with both de Lubac and Crouzel in his discussion of the eternal gospel, focusing on the tripartite schema of God’s revelatory and redemptive activity and the central position of the incarnation therein: “Zwischen Altem Testament und ewigem pneumatischem Evangelium ist das Evangelium der ersten Ankunft Christi ergangen.”18 Gögler describes the relationship between the temporal gospel and the eternal gospel as one between image and truth, body and spirit, and promise and fulfillment. He follows Crouzel by arguing that there can be no substantial distinction between them, and even uses the term ἐπίνοια to clarify the difference between their formal modes of revealing while rejecting any substantial difference of revelation.19 Like de Lubac and Crouzel, Gögler’s account of the eternal gospel is oriented toward the anticipated eschatological fulfillment of the entire economy of salvation. While the temporal gospel is, on the one hand, understood in Platonic terms as only an “imperfect image of the perfect truth [unvollkommenem Abbild der vollkommenen Wahrheit],” on the other hand the temporal gospel has a distinctly prophetic character by which it presently indicates that which will ultimately take place. Thus the relationship between the temporal and the eternal gospel is one that is not strictly timeless or Platonic, but rather one that is thoroughly eschatological and oriented toward the coming age.20

Crouzel, Origen, 68; Crouzel, Origène et la conaissance mystique, 359, 361. R. Gögler, “VIII: Die christologische Ökonomie des Wortes: Vom Buchstaben zum Geist. Altes Testament—Evangelium—Ewiges Evangelium” Zur Theologie des biblischen Wortes bei Origenes (Düsseldorf: Patmos Verlag, 1963), 381–9. 18 Gögler, Theologie des biblischen Wortes, 385. 19 “Der Unterschied zwischen sinnlichem und pneumatischem Evangelium ist kein substantieller, sondern nur ein solcher der Weise der Offenbarung (τῇ ἐπινοίᾳ). Der Fortschritt der Offenbarung vom sinnenhaften zum pneumatischen Evangelium ist nur ein formeller” (Gögler, Theologie des biblischen Wortes, 384). 20 “Offenbarung geschiet in doppelter Weise: als Mitteilung für das Erkennen zuerst im Gleichnis, dann in Wahrheit, und als Teilgabe zuerst als Verheißung, dann als gegenwärtige Verwirklichung und Erfüllung. Der kommende Äon bringt beides: 16 17


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All three of these treatments of the eternal gospel have described a tripartite revelatory and redemptive economy, a trichotomy expressed in the stages of Old Testament (or law), New Testament (or temporal gospel), and the eternal gospel. All have emphasized the essential unity of the temporal and eternal gospel, describing the difference as one of perception or revelatory mode. All three treatments have also emphasized the eschatological progression inherent to the threefold revelatory and redemptive economy: the law first prefigures and finds its fulfillment in the temporal gospel, and the temporal gospel not only fulfills the law but also prefigures and is itself fulfilled in the eternal gospel. This threefold redemptive and revelatory economy governs the central concerns of each of these three expositions of the eternal gospel in Origen.21 The eternal gospel, according to all three accounts, represents the eschatological climax of all God’s purposes, the perfect fulfillment of all that is yet promised. The eternal gospel in these accounts thus functions as a shorthand reference for the culmination of revelation and redemption, understood as the third and final stage in the economy of salvation. The Eternal Gospel in Origen: A Comprehensive Analysis The instances in which Origen cites or alludes to Rev 14:6 appear in the following texts:22 Prin 3.6.8, 4.3.13 (twice); CIo 1.40, 1.84; FrEph 8; HLv 4.10; and CRm 1.4 (twice) and 1.14.23 It is in these texts alone

vollkommene Klarheit in unmittelbarer Schau und vollkommene Verwirklichung” (Gögler, Theologie des biblischen Wortes, 385). 21 For this reason many key texts in the expositions of de Lubac, Crouzel, and Gögler do not actually make any mention of the eternal gospel, but instead simply provide clear descriptions of the tripartite revelatory and redemptive economy, or instances of the shadow-image-truth trichotomy, such as CMtS 138. 22 Abbreviations of Origen’s works follow those of Adamantius, the Journal of the Italian Research Group on Origen and the Alexandrian Tradition, now also adopted by the published acts of the colloquia Origeniana, the most recent being Origeniana Octava: Origen and the Alexandrian Tradition. Papers of the Eighth International Origen Congress (2 vols.; ed. L. Perrone; Leuven: Peeters, 2004). 23 These texts are listed according to their relative chronology. Of course, it is impossible to be certain about the precise details of the chronology, even if the basic order or relative priority may be gauged (certainly the basic division between Alexandrian and Caesarean works is clear enough). I do not make any claims for the order in which I have set out the texts other than that they reflect a basic division into earlier Alexandrian and later Caesarean works (the division situated between CIo 1.84 and FrEph 8). For more detailed discussions regarding the relative chronology of these

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that Origen makes explicit reference to the eternal gospel.24 Each text will appear in its most recent edition as well as a published English translation. I will place each text within its larger context to clarify the actual function the concept fills in each instance of Origen’s writing. The juxtaposition of all available texts in which Origen makes use of the eternal gospel allows for a more comprehensive judgment regarding Origen’s understanding and use of the concept. The actual and specific use to which Origen puts the eternal gospel will serve to demonstrate the character and significance of the intersection between eschatology and exegesis for Origen, and his understanding of its implications for the exegete. While admittedly Origen makes less use of Rev 14:6 than other biblical texts,25 the texts and images which tend to cluster around his use of Rev 14:6, as well as the manner in which the eternal gospel is often decisive in Origen’s arguments and conclusions, indicates that the concept exercised determinative influence on his understanding of scripture, exegesis, and eschatology. I. On First Principles 3.6.8 26 Vnde mihi uidetur quod, sicut in hac terra lex paedagogus quidam fuit eorum, qui ad Christum ab ipsa perduci deberent, erudit ab ea et instituti, ut facilius possent post institutionem legis perfectiora quaeque Christi instituta suscipere, ita etiam illa terra,

texts and Origen’s writings in general, see R.P.C. Hanson, Origen’s Doctrine of Tradition (London: SPCK, 1954), 1–30; P. Nautin, Origène: sa vie et son oeuvre (Paris: Beauchesne, 1977), 363–412; R.E. Heine, The Commentaries of Origen and Jerome on St Paul’s Epistle to the Ephesians (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2002), 42–7. Internal evidence indicates that On First Principles and at least the first four books of the Commentary on John belong to Origen’s years in Alexandria, having been completed by (at the latest) 230 or 232, while the remaining texts discussed here were written in Caesarea. I tend to agree with Kannengiesser that On First Principles may well have been completed by c. 215, that is, by Origen’s early thirties, and with Heine that the Commentary on Ephesians was completed prior to the Commentary on Romans: C. Kannengiesser, “Écriture et théologie trinitaire d’Origène,” Orig. VI: 351; Heine, Commentaries of Origen and Jerome, 47. 24 As far as I have been able to determine this is the only comprehensive juxtaposition and analysis of all available texts in which Origen cites or alludes to Rev 14:6. 25 Even if this verse only appears ten times in Origen, the simple fact that Origen makes such use as he does of this verse remains unique among early Christian writers (cf. n. 2, above). 26 Origène. Traité des Principes, Introduction, texte critique de la Philocalie et de la version de Rufin, tr. H. Crouzel and M. Simonetti (SC 252, 253, 268, 269, 312; Paris: Cerf, 1978–1984); On First Principles: Being Koetschau’s Text of the De Principiis. Translated into English, together with an Introduction and notes by G.W. Butterworth (Gloucester, MA: Peter Smith, 1973 [orig. 1936]).


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sanctos quosque suscipiens, uerae et aeternae legis institutionibus eos prius imbuat et informet, quo facilius etiam caeli perfecta illa et quibus addi iam nihil potest instituta patiantur; in quo uere erit illud, quod aeternum dicitur euangelium et testamentum semper nouum, quod numquam ueterescet. It seems to me, therefore, that as in this earth the law was a kind of schoolmaster to those who by it were appointed to be led to Christ (Gal 3:24) and to be instructed and trained in order that after their training in the law they might be able with greater facility to receive the more perfect precepts of Christ, so also that other earth, when it receives all the saints, first imbues and educates them in the precepts of the true and eternal law in order that they may with greater facility accept the precepts of heaven which are perfect and to which nothing can ever be added. And in heaven will truly exist what is called the eternal gospel and the testament that is always new, which can never grow old.

These words come at the conclusion of the third book of On First Principles, in a chapter entitled De consummatione mundi in Rufinus’ translation, while simply Περὶ τέλους according to Photius. This chapter begins with Origen’s reflections regarding the highest good (summum bonum) toward which all rational nature progresses, which may also be referred to as the end of all things ( finis omnium). Origen states that this highest good, this end to which all rational nature makes progress, is to become as far as possible like God ( prout possibile est, similem fieri deo). Acknowledging that this definition is to be found among the philosophers, Origen claims the priority of scripture for the principle and cites Gen 1:26–28 in order to frame the discussion around the distinction between the image of God which humanity received at its creation and the likeness of God which humanity must acquire by means of persistent effort in the imitation of God. It is this distinction between image and likeness which then governs Origen’s discussion of both the summum bonum and the finis omnium, as their foundation and trajectory is given in humanity’s creation in the image of God, while their goal and fulfillment is found in humanity’s attaining the likeness of God. This highest goal and end of rational nature is then given a Christological focus when Origen makes the further connection to 1 John 3:2 (nrsv), “Beloved, we are God’s children now; what we will be has not yet been revealed. What we do know is this: when he is revealed, we will be like him, for we will see him as he is” and John 17:24 and 21 (nrsv), “Father, I desire that those also, whom you have given me, may be with me where I am, to see my glory, which you have given me because you loved me before the foundation of the world . . . As you, Father, are in me and I

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am in you, may they also be in us, so that the world may believe that you have sent me.”27 The opening of the chapter thus sets Origen’s use of the eternal gospel within the context of God’s intended end for all of rational creation. This intended end and highest good is understood in terms of the framework provided by Origen’s exposition of Gen 1:26–28, that is, in terms of the image and likeness of God (thereby setting the parameters of discussion as wide as protology and eschatology will allow). The consummation of God’s purpose for rational nature is also given an explicitly Christological focus, which serves to temper the apophatic reserve Origen finds in scripture: while it is not known what precise shape the fullness of humanity’s eschatological likeness to God will take, it can be confidently stated to be linked to the revelation of the Son in glory. This revelation of Jesus will result, therefore, in both transformation and participation: the climactic revelation of the Son in glory brings climactic fulfillment to humanity’s transformation into the likeness of God, thereby enabling human nature to perceive the Son as he is (‘when he is revealed, we will be like him, for we will see him as he is’), while simultaneously enabling human participation in the Son’s communion with the Father (‘As you, Father, are in me and I am in you, may they also be in us’). Origen continues in Prin 3.6.3 to describe this end of rational nature in terms of its renewal according to its pattern of origin ( finis ad principium reparatus), here twice citing Paul’s statement that in the eschaton God will be all in all [ ἵνα ᾖ ὁ θεὸς (τὰ) πάντα ἐν πᾶσιν] (1 Cor 15:28: the phrase is cited by Origen eight times in this chapter). The transformation affected by the revelation of the Saviour in glory is then drawn out by Origen, so that it is not an event which takes place suddenly but rather gradually, by degrees, during the lapse of “immeasurable ages,” the goal of which is linked to the opening verse of Genesis: “In the beginning God created the heavens and the earth (Gen 1:1 rsv).” These two biblical passages (1 Cor 15:28 and Gen 1:1) are paired by Origen in making his claim that “the end is always like the beginning.”28 This Here I follow Origen in quoting the verses out of sequence. “For the end is always like the beginning; as therefore there is one end of all things, so we must understand that there is one beginning of all things, and as there is one end of many things, so from one beginning arise many differences and varieties, which in their turn are restored, through God’s goodness, through their subjection to Christ and their unity with the Holy Spirit, to one end, which is like the beginning” [Semper enim similis est finis initiis; et ideo sicut unus omnium finis, ita unum omnium intellegi 27

28


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process of transformation achieved by the revelation of the Saviour in glory results in the restoration of all things to communion with God, so that God can be truly ‘all in all.’ This summum bonum, this finis omnium is for Origen inseparable from the origin of created reality. The highest good and intended end of all rational nature is thus found already given in the beginning: it is Origen’s doctrine of creation which orients and gives decisive content to his understanding of creation’s destiny. It is at this point that the excerpt given above appears, and it is followed by Origen’s concluding reflection that the consummation of all things will follow a sequence of progress and ascent in which Christ himself will instruct those capable of receiving his teachings, rendering them capable of ascending to the Father, at which point God will truly be to them ‘all in all’. Thus concludes book three of On First Principles. This first instance of Origen’s use of the eternal gospel serves to highlight the manner in which the concept lies at the crossroads of exegesis and eschatology. The context is an explicitly eschatological one, and Origen is led to his comments by way of his reflections on the intended end of all rational nature. This chapter on eschatology serves to conclude the first three books of On First Principles, and is immediately followed by the final book devoted to the principles of scriptural interpretation. The explicitly eschatological context of Origen’s allusion to Rev 14:6 is preceded by an exegetical extrapolation of Paul’s description of law as a pedagogue. Origen here takes the analogy of the law as pedagogue and applies it to the instruction of the saints by Christ in preparation for the perfect law of heaven to which nothing may ever be added. The entire chapter, as well as the specific excerpt, is governed by the revelation of Christ and the (oft-repeated) words of Paul, ‘so that God may be all in all.’ The eternal gospel here designates that perfect fullness of truth, that always new and living expression of God which cannot change by either diminishment or augmentation. Moses promulgated but a ‘shadow’ of this eternal gospel, and it is only by means of the revelation of the Saviour in glory and the subsequent pedagogy of the Logos that humanity is rendered capable of receiving this perfect, eternal gospel. The goal of the revelation and pedagogy of Christ is oriented toward the restoration of all things to communion

debet initium; et sicut multorum unus finis, ita ab uno initio multae differentiae ac uarietates, quae rursum per bonitatem dei, per subiectionem Christi atque unitatem spiritus sancti in unum finem, qui sit initio similis]” (Prin 1.6.2).

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with God, so that it is the perfection of creaturely communion with God that becomes the ultimate goal of progress, pedagogy and ascent. The transformation of human nature and the participation of humanity in the Son’s communion with the Father are both accomplished by that climactic, eschatological revelation of the Saviour in glory, even as both transformation and participation are understood in terms of the image of God given at creation and the likeness of God awaiting its eschatological fulfillment. The threefold schema outlined by de Lubac, Crouzel and Gögler is evident here: just as the law served as a pedagogue in preparation for the ‘more perfect’ teachings of Christ, so also there remains for the saints instruction from Christ which will be preparatory for that ultimate and absolute gospel of paradise, the eternal gospel which is “always new, which can never grow old [semper nouum, quod numquam ueterescet].” While this threefold schema has been the received interpretation of the eternal gospel in Origen it has not sufficiently accounted for the manner in which the eternal gospel is linked here to Origen’s understanding of image and likeness, as well as the eschatological revelation of Christ and humanity’s subsequent transformation according to the likeness of God and participation in the Son’s communion with the Father. It has been seen here that the eternal gospel is understood in terms given by the exegetical theme of image and likeness which addresses both protology and eschatology even as it is given explicitly Christological content and orientation. It is in this context that Origen connects the eternal gospel with two key eschatological motifs: the end is always like the beginning, and, God will be all in all. These are both central eschatological concepts for Origen, and here they are both unmistakably brought together under the heading of the eternal gospel within the wider context provided by creation (image and likeness) and Christology (transformation and participation). II. On First Principles 4.3.1329 Sed uidendum est ne forte magis illud indicare uideatur, quod sicut in Deuteronomio euidentior et manifestior legislatio declaratur quam in his, quae primo scripta sunt, ita et ab eo aduentu saluatoris, quem in humilitate conpleuit, cum formam serui suscepit, clarior ille et gloriosor secundus in gloria patris eius indicetur aduentus, et in

29 This use of Rev 14:6 survives only in Rufinus’ translation of Prin 4.3, as the Greek text from the Philocalia ends at Prin 4.3.11.


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illo forma Deuteronomii conpleatur, cum in regno caelorum sancti omnes aeterni illius euangelii legibus uiuent; et sicut nunc adueniens legem repleuit eam, quae umbram habet futurorum bonorum, ita et per illum gloriosum aduentum inplebitur et ad perfectum deducetur huius aduentus umbra. Ita enim dixit propheta de eo: Spiritus uultus nostri Christus dominus, cuius diximus quia in umbra eius uiuemus in gentibus, cum scilicet ab euangelio temporali dignius omnes sanctos ad aeternum euangelium transferet, secundum quod Iohannes in Apocalypsi de aeterno euangelio designauit. We must also see, however, whether the scriptures may not perhaps indicate this further truth, that just as the legislation is presented with greater clearness and distinctness in Deuteronomy than in those books which were written at the first, so also we may gather from that coming of the Saviour which he fulfilled in humility, when he ‘took upon him the form of a servant’ (Phil 2:7), an indication of ‘the more splendid and glorious second coming in the glory of his Father’ (Matt 26:27 and par.), at which coming, when in the kingdom of heaven all the saints shall live by the laws of the ‘eternal gospel’ (Rev 14:6), the figure of Deuteronomy will be fulfilled; and just as by his present coming he has fulfilled that law which has a ‘shadow of the good things to come’ (cf. Heb 10:1), so also by that glorious coming the shadow of his first coming will be fulfilled and brought to perfection. For the prophet has spoken of it thus: ‘The breath of our countenance is Christ the Lord, of whom we said that under his shadow we shall live under the nations’ (Lam 4:20), that is, at the time when he shall duly transfer all the saints from the temporal to the eternal gospel, to use a phrase employed by John in the Apocalypse, where he speaks of the ‘eternal gospel’ (Rev 14:6).

In this chapter Origen has been concerned to demonstrate the absurdity of a strictly literal interpretation of scripture and the necessity of an interpretive approach that moves beyond the letter of the text, arguing that while all scripture has a spiritual meaning not all has a bodily meaning.30 In order to preserve reverence, piety and appropriate notions of divinity it is necessary to seek out the hidden sense of scripture with great care, tracing out the manner in which similar expressions are employed throughout the whole of scripture (Prin 4.3.5), in reliance upon divine grace and aid (Prin 4.3.11). This excerpt comprises the final section in a series of reflections on different aspects of Israel’s history, understood and interpreted as including the shadow and pattern of heavenly things (cf. Heb 8:5). The spur to Origen’s reflections here was provided by the relationship between Leviticus and Deuteronomy, or the first and second giving of the law,

30

ὅτι πᾶσα μὲν ἔχει τὸ πνευματικόν, οὐ πᾶσα δὲ τὸ σωματικόν (Prin 4.3.5).

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which serves as a paradigm for the relationship between the first and second advents of Christ. Just as the law was delivered with greater clarity in Deuteronomy so also the revelation of the Saviour in glory will fulfill and bring to perfection that first coming of the Saviour in humility. Just as the law of Moses was the shadow of which the law of Joshua31 was the fulfillment, so also the first advent of Christ is the shadow of his second advent in glory.32 In this excerpt the distinction between the temporal gospel and the eternal gospel corresponds to the first and second advents of Christ (the first advent in humility corresponding to the temporal gospel, the second in glory to the eternal). The threefold revelatory and redemptive schema is developed so that the first advent of Christ is understood to itself prefigure the second, even as the law of Moses points to the first. This passage clearly presents the three stages ably outlined by de Lubac, Crouzel and Gögler: the law of Moses is a shadow of the temporal gospel, and the temporal gospel fulfills the law of Moses even as it is fulfilled by the eternal gospel. Again, while the eternal gospel has traditionally been understood according to this threefold movement, the specifically exegetical burden of this wider passage is not given much attention in previous accounts of the concept. Origen arrives at these conclusions by means of a series of reflections on the need for an exegetical strategy appropriate to the unique revelatory character of scripture, a reading strategy faithful to scripture’s own presentation of the redemptive economy. It is thus by an interwoven series of biblical patterns and their exegetical extrapolation that Origen is carried to his concluding convictions regarding appropriate exegetical procedure. The relationship between Leviticus and Deuteronomy leads Origen to discuss the difference between Moses and Joshua, and the Old Testament and Jesus. These correspondences lead Origen by means of a final extrapolation to the distinction between the temporal gospel and the eternal gospel. This is a specifically exegetical move for Origen, taken as the culmination of his extended discussion regarding the reading strategy specifically proper to scripture’s own revelatory mode. The eternal gospel is here again given Christological focus both in its content and its outworking: the eternal gospel is revealed in the glory of Of course, Origen read Ἰησοῦς in his Greek Old Testament. Cf. Gögler, Theologie des biblischen Wortes, 385: “Die eschatologische Enthüllung und Erfüllung wird in pädagogischen Stufen vorbereitet. Schon im Alten Bund bemerkt Origenes fortscheitende Klarheit vom ersten zum ‘deutlicheren, offeneren’ zweiten Gesetz, dem Deuteronomium.” 31 32


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the coming Christ, and it is the coming Christ who will transfer his own from the temporal to the eternal gospel. The eternal gospel represents the anticipated fulfillment and perfection of the temporal gospel. The eschatological orientation is unmistakable: just as the law of Moses was a shadow of the temporal gospel, so also the temporal gospel is a shadow of the eternal gospel which fulfills and perfects the figure of Deuteronomy (or the second law). This eschatological orientation is inseparable from categories and patterns Origen discerns in scripture, that is, eschatology here is given in entirely biblical language and is framed by biblical patterns. The content, vocabulary and principles of Origen’s eschatology here derive entirely from what Origen discerns as a pattern in scripture, and this scriptural pattern serves to orient the exegete along a trajectory extending beyond the bare letter of the temporal gospel toward its ultimate and glorious fulfillment. This passage thus clarifies the relationship between eschatology and exegesis, as well as the character of eschatological exegesis. Here eschatology and exegesis are inseparable: eschatology is governed by an exegetical pattern even as exegesis operates within an eschatological framework and orientation. Eschatological exegesis is nothing less than discerning and pursuing the revelatory and redemptive vector of scripture. It would seem that for Origen, while the eternal gospel yet awaits its glorious revelation, it is already recognized in the temporal gospel and anticipated in the activity of the exegete. The exegete moves along the vector established by scripture, extrapolating beyond the letter of the text. For this reason exegesis is an eschatological activity for Origen: exegesis must not only align itself along the trajectory of God’s saving action and purposes, but must also move along this vector, pursuing those realities to which the text bears witness but does not fully disclose.33

33 This passage is followed by followed by Fragment 30 in Koetschau’s edition of On First Principles, an excerpt from Justinian Ep. ad Mennam; cf. also Jerome Ep. 124 (Ep. ad Avitum): “After saying that according to the apocalypse of John “the everlasting gospel” which shall be revealed in heaven as much surpasses our gospel as Christ’s preaching does the sacraments of the ancient law, he has asserted what it is sacrilegious even to think: that Christ will once more suffer in the sky for the salvation of demons. And although he has not expressly said it, it is yet implied in his words that as for men God became man to set men free, so for the salvation of demons when He comes to deliver them He will become a demon. To shew that this is no gloss of mine, I must give his own words: “As Christ,” he writes, “has fulfilled the shadow of the law by the shadow of the gospel, and as all law is a pattern and shadow of things done in heaven, we must inquire whether we are justified in supposing that even the heavenly law and the rites of the celestial worship are still incomplete and need the true gospel which in the apocalypse of John is called everlasting to distinguish it from ours which is only

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III. Commentary on John 1.39–4034 [39] Καὶ τοῦτο δὲ εἰδέναι ἐχρῆν, ὅτι ὥσπερ ἔστι «νόμος σκιὰν» περιέχων

«τῶν μελλόντων ἀγαθῶν» ὑπὸ τοῦ κατὰ ἀλήθειαν καταγγελλομένου νόμου δηλουμένων, οὕτω καὶ εὐαγγέλιον σκιὰν μυστηρίων Χριστοῦ διδάσκει τὸ νομιζόμενον ὑπὸ πάντων τῶν ἐντυγχανόντων νοεῖσθαι. [40] Ὃ δέ φησιν Ἰωάννης εὐαγγέλιον αἰώνιον, οἰκείως ἂν λεχθησόμενον πνευματικόν, σαφῶς παρίστησι τοῖς νοοῦσιν τὰ πάντα ἐνώπιον περὶ αὐτοῦ τοῦ υἱοῦ τοῦ θεοῦ καὶ τὰ παριστάμενα μυστήρια ὑπὸ τῶν λόγων αὐτοῦ τά τε πράγματα, ὧν αἰνίγματα ἦσαν αἱ πράξεις αὐτοῦ. [39] And we must also know that just as there is a ‘law’ which contains a ‘shadow of the good things to come’ (Heb 10:1), which have been revealed by the law proclaimed in accordance with truth, so also the gospel, which is thought to be understood by all who read it, teaches a shadow of the mysteries of Christ. [40] And that which John calls an ‘eternal gospel’ (Rev 14:6), which would properly be called a spiritual gospel, clearly presents both the mysteries presented by Christ’s words and the things of which his acts were symbols, to those who consider ‘all things face to face’ (cf. 1 Cor 13:12) concerning the Son of God himself.

This use of the eternal gospel comes in a section in which Origen defines the word ‘gospel’ as “a discourse which contains the presence of a good for the believer, or a discourse which announces that an awaited good is present.”35 Origen goes on to assert that the incarnation rendered all scripture gospel: the divine nature of the law and the prophets has been made plain by the revelatory action of the incarnate Saviour.36 While the newness of the gospel properly speaking refers to temporal, set forth in a world that shall pass away. Now if we extend our inquiry to the passion of our Lord and Saviour, it may indeed be overbold to suppose that He will suffer in heaven; yet if there is spiritual wickedness in heavenly places and if we confess without a blush that the Lord has once been crucified to destroy those things which He has destroyed by His passion; why need we fear to imagine a like occurrence in the upper world in the fulness of time, so that the nations of all realms shall be saved by a passion of Christ?” (Ep. ad Avitum 13, NPNF 2.6.418). The issues raised here in connection with Origen’s understanding of the eternal gospel being preached to the angels will be more appropriately discussed under the seventh text (CRm 1.4); cf. n. 50, below. 34 Origène. Commentaire sur Saint Jean (ed. and tr. C. Blanc; SC 120, 157, 222, 290; Paris: Cerf, 1966–1982); Origen. Commentary on the Gospel According to John (tr. R.E. Heine; FC 80, 89; Washington, D.C.: Catholic University of America Press, 1989–1993). 35 Ἢ εὐαγγέλιόν ἐστι λόγος περιέχων ἀγαθοῦ τῷ πιστεύοντι παρουσίαν ἢ λόγος ἐπαγγελλόμενος παρεῖναι ἀγαθὸν τὸ προσδοκώμενον (CIo 1.27).

36 “But since the Saviour has come, and has caused the gospel to embodied in the gospel, he has made all things gospel . . . when he had removed the veil on the law and the prophets, he showed the divine nature of them all” [ὁ δὲ σωτὴρ ἐπιδημήσας


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the New Testament, it is nevertheless stored up in all the scriptures: all scripture is capable of shining forth the newness of the Spirit in the light of knowledge.37 Some of Origen’s favourite Pauline expressions are deployed in this wider section: by his advent the Saviour removed the veil covering the law and the prophets (2 Cor 3:14–16); the Old Testament stories occurred figuratively (τυπικῶς) and were written down for us upon whom the ends of the ages have met (1 Cor 10:11); now we see through a mirror dimly (ἐν αἰνίγματι), then we shall see face to face (1 Cor 13:12). These are all key exegetical texts for Origen, and these texts authorize and govern Origen’s approach to scripture as an exegete who follows the example of the apostle Paul.38 The eternal gospel is in this context presented as an eschatological principle authorized and commissioned by exegetical principles. Origen is lead to his conclusions regarding the eternal gospel by following through on principles that are established by the revelatory significance of the incarnation and modeled upon the pattern of biblical interpretation found in the apostle Paul. It is thus Paul who best exemplifies for Origen this pattern of exegesis that discerns the newness of the gospel in all of scripture, that gospel now revealed by the incarnation of the Saviour. Paul in this way becomes for Origen both model and guide for exegesis that discerns the eternal gospel in all of scripture. Here again the threefold movement outlined in previous research is plain, as is Origen’s designation of the eternal gospel as the ‘spiritual gospel’, that is, the eternal gospel is presented in terms of a spiritual exegesis of the temporal gospel. Just as the events and sayings of the Old Testament were symbols of spiritual mysteries (a shadow), so also the temporal gospel must be read and interpreted spiritually as symbols of the mysteries of Christ. It is the eternal gospel, or the spiritual

καὶ τὸ εὐαγγέλιον σωματοποιηθῆναι ποιήσας τῷ εὐαγγελίῳ πάντα ὡσεὶ εὐαγγέλιον πεποίηκεν . . . περιελὼν τὸ ἐν τῷ νόμῳ καὶ προφήταις κάλυμμα, πάντων τὸ θεῖον ἀπέδειξε]

(CIo 1.33, 34).

37 Οὐκοῦν πρὸ τοῦ εὐαγγελίου, ὃ γέγονε διὰ τὴν Χριστοῦ ἐπιδημίαν, οὐδὲν τῶν πάλαι εὐαγγέλιον ἦν. Τὸ δὲ εὐαγγέλιον, ὅπερ ἐστὶ διαθήκη καινή, ἀποστῆσαν ἡμᾶς παλαιότητος τοῦ γράμματος τήν μηδέποτε παλαιουμένην καινότητα τοῦ πνεύματος, οἰκείαν τῆς καινῆς διαθήκης τυγχάνουσαν, ἐν πάσαις ἀνακειμένην γραφαῖς τῷ φωτὶ τῆς γνώσεως ἀνέλαμψεν. Ἐχρῆν δὲ τὸ ποιητικὸν τοῦ καὶ ἐν τῇ παλαιᾷ διαθήκῃ νομιζομένου εὐαγγελίου εὐαγγέλιον ἐξαιρέτως καλεῖσθαι «εὐαγγέλιον» (CIo 1.36).

38 Cf. F. Cocchini, Il Paolo di Origene: Contributo all storia della recezione delle epistole Paoline nel III secolo (Roma: Edizioni Studium, 1992).

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gospel, which clearly presents the mysteries of Christ’s words and the things symbolized by Christ’s actions. The same principles of exegesis which Origen established in the context of Old Testament interpretation are here applied to the sayings and actions of Christ presented in the four canonical gospels. Indeed, Origen concludes this section by defining the exegetical task as that of translating the bodily gospel into the spiritual gospel (CIo 1.43–45).39 It is the exegete’s responsibility not only to interpret all scripture as gospel in the light of the incarnation, but also to move beyond the gospel to the eternal gospel, to translate the temporal gospel into the eternal gospel. This passage extends the reflections of On First Principles by further developing the relationship between the law, the gospels and the eschaton. Origen is bold to state that the gospels, which indeed are the substance of which the law is a shadow, nevertheless are a shadow of the mysteries of Christ. The temporal gospel occupies a position in its relation to the eternal gospel analogous to the relation between the law and the temporal gospel. The eternal gospel is the clear presentation of that which is only hinted at and symbolized in the temporal gospel, just as the temporal gospel clarifies that which the law hints at and symbolizes. The relation between eschatology and exegesis is here intensified by Origen. The mysteries of the temporal gospel will only be revealed in eternal gospel, just as the mysteries of the law were only made plain in the incarnation of Christ. However, in all cases it is the pedagogy of the divine Logos that prepares and instructs humanity in the eternal gospel.40 Just as those perfect under the law (the patriarchs, Moses, the prophets) were spiritually instructed by the Logos, so also those under the temporal gospel depend upon and seek the presence of

39 “The task before us now is to translate the gospel perceptible to the sense into the spiritual gospel. For what is the interpretation of the gospel perceptible to the senses unless it is translated into the spiritual gospel? It is little or nothing, even though the common people believe they receive the things which are revealed from the literal sense” [Καὶ γὰρ νῦν πρόκειται τὸ αἰσθητὸν εὐαγγέλιον μεταλαβεῖν εἰς πνευματικόν· τίς γὰρ ἡ διήγησις τοῦ αἰσθητοῦ, εἰ μὴ μεταλαμβάνοιτο εἰς πνευματικόν; Ἤτοι οὐδεμία ἢ ὀλίγη καὶ τῶν τυχόντων ἀπὸ τῆς λέξεως αὑτοὺς πεπεικότων λαμβάνειν τὰ δηλούμενα] (CIo 1.45). 40 The pedagogy of the Logos has been described at length by Karen Torjesen as an exegetical activity; exegesis is not only guided by the pedagogy of the Logos, but in exegesis the Logos is actively present to the exegete by means of the revelatory text: cf. K.J. Torjesen, Hermeneutical Procedure and Theological Method in Origen’s Exegesis (Berlin: W. de Gruyter, 1986).


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the Logos in order that they might discern the outlines of the eternal gospel within the temporal: not satisfied with the knowledge of Christ crucified they press on to the fullness of Christ’s divine identity and communion with the Father (CIo 1.43). Just as the truth of the law was only figured enigmatically, and it was necessary for Christ to remove the veil covering the law and the prophets, so also it is now necessary that Christ remove the veil covering the temporal gospel. This pedagogy of the Logos is what makes present ‘the fullness of time’ (cf. Gal 4:2, alluded to twice), that is, the pedagogy of the Logos is mediated by an exegetical process that participates in the realities of the coming age. Eschatological fulfillment is anticipated in eschatological exegesis: the exegetical task is nothing less than a translation of the bodily gospel into the spiritual gospel, the temporal gospel into the eternal gospel. Exegesis is an eschatological activity, an activity in which the Logos guides and instructs the exegete toward the full reception of the mysteries of the eternal gospel.41 Just as the incarnation rendered all scripture gospel, so the coming of Christ in glory renders all scripture eternal gospel, and the discerning exegete will identify and articulate the mystery of the eternal gospel hidden in all of scripture. IV. Commentary on John 1.83–84 [83] Οὐ μίαν δὲ καὶ βραχεῖαν πιστεύονται διακονίαν εὐαγγελικὴν ἄγγελοι οὐδὲ μόνην τὴν πρὸς τοὺς ποιμένας γεγενημένην· ἀλλὰ γὰρ ἐπὶ τέλει μετέωρος καὶ ἱπτάμενος ἄγγελος εὐαγγέλιον ἔχων εὐαγγελιεῖται πᾶν ἔθνος, τοῦ ἀγαθοῦ πατρὸς οὐ πάντη καταλιπόντος τοὺς ἀποπεπτωκότας αὐτοῦ. [84] Φησὶ γοῦν ἐν τῇ Ἀποκαλύψει ὁ τοῦ Ζεβεδαίου Ἰωάννης· ‘Καὶ εἶδον ἄγγελον πετόμενον ἐν μεσουρανήματι, ἔχοντα εὐαγγέλιον αἰώνιον εὐαγγελίσασθαι ἐπὶ τοὺς καθημένους ἐπὶ τῆς γῆς καὶ ἐπὶ πᾶν ἔθνος καὶ φυλὴν καὶ γλώσσαν καὶ λαόν, λέγων ἐν φωνῇ μεγάλῃ· Φοβήθητε τὸν

41 These remarks are reminiscent of Origen’s later statements in the same commentary regarding scripture as an introduction to knowledge: “For indeed, scripture has not contained some of the more lordly and more divine aspects of the mysteries of God . . . Now I think that all of the scriptures, even when perceived very accurately, are only very elementary rudiments of and very brief introductions to all knowledge . . . The scriptures, therefore, are introductions, called the fountain of Jacob. Once they have now been accurately understood, one must go up from them to Jesus, that he may freely give us the fountain of water that leaps into eternal life” [Καὶ γὰρ τὰ κυριώτερα καὶ θειότερα τῶν μυστηρίων τοῦ θεοῦ ἔνια μὲν οὐ κεχώρηκεν γραφή . . . Οἶμαι δὲ τῆς ὅλης γνώσεως στοιχεῖά τινα ἐλάχιστα καὶ βραχυτάτας εἶναι εἰσαγωγὰς ὅλας γραφάς, κἂν πάνυ νοηθῶσιν ἀκριβῶς . . . Εἰσαγωγαὶ οὖν εἰσιν αἱ γραφαί, ἀφ’ ὧν ἀκριβῶς νενοημένων νῦν ὀνομαζομένων πηγῆς τοῦ Ἰακὼβ ἀνελθετέον πρὸς τὸν Ἰησοῦν, ἵν’ ἡμῖν χαρίσηται πηγὴν τοῦ ἁλλομένου ὕδατος εἰς ζωὴν αἰώνιον] (CIo 13.27, 30, 37).

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shawn w.j. keough θεὸν καὶ δότε αὐτῷ δόξαν, ὅτι ἦλθεν ἡ ὥρα τῆς κρίσεως αὐτοῦ, καὶ προσκυνήσατε τὸν ποιήσαντα τὸν οὐρανὸν καὶ τὴν γῆν καὶ τὴν θάλασσαν καὶ πηγὰς ὑδάτων.’

[83] The angels, however, are not merely entrusted with one brief service pertaining to the gospel, nor merely with visiting the shepherds. At the end of time an angel flying in mid-air with the gospel will proclaim good news to every nation, since the good Father has not completely forsaken those who have fallen away from him. [84] Wherefore, John, the son of Zebedee, says in the Apocalypse, ‘And I saw an angel flying in the midst of heaven having the eternal gospel to preach to those who sit upon the earth, and to every nation, and tribe, and tongue, and people, saying with a loud voice, “Fear God and give him glory because the hour of his judgment has come; and adore him who made heaven, and earth, and the sea, and the fountains of waters”’ (Rev 14:6).

Origen’s comments here are preceded by remarks regarding the role of angels as evangelists proclaiming the gospel to the shepherds (Luke 2:9–14). This prompts Origen to reflect on the relation of the Old Testament to the gospel, arguing that the Old Testament is not excluded from the gospel, nor is it even simply a part of the gospel’s beginning. Rather, just as there is a continuity of divine identity across both the Old and New Testaments, so also both the Old and New Testament bear witness to the same divine purposes. Although the gospel is always necessarily the gospel of Jesus, the Old Testament is nevertheless not excluded from the category of gospel: Philip’s proclamation of Christ to the Ethiopian eunuch from the text of Isaiah is an indication that all scripture is gospel, or at least that all scripture is capable of being gospel (CIo 1.79–80, 85–86). The fact that all scripture is capable of being gospel brings to the fore the necessity of eschatological exegesis for Origen. The exegete’s task is to translate the temporal gospel into the eternal gospel. However, after the advent of Christ all of scripture is in some sense gospel, as all scripture points to Christ. The radical character of eschatological exegesis here for Origen is that all scripture points to the eternal gospel. Just as all scripture is capable of being gospel for Origen, so also all scripture is capable of being eternal gospel: it is the eternal gospel which becomes the ultimate referent of all scripture, and ultimately that gospel will be comprehensively revealed to all humanity. Indeed, Origen follows this excerpt by making explicit his claim that the proclamation of the eternal gospel will encompass not only all nations of the earth but indeed “the entire system of heaven and earth, or of the heavens and earth” (CIo 1.87).


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These two observations (that all scripture is capable of being gospel, and that the eternal gospel will be preached in the heavens as well as on the earth) present the necessity of eschatological exegesis for Origen: the translation of the temporal gospel into the eternal gospel involves discerning that final, perfect and completely universal proclamation of God’s redemptive purposes for all of created reality. The exegete serves and participates in the present outworking of that eschatological proclamation by seeking out and making visible the manner in which the eternal gospel is already present in the temporal gospel. The incarnation rendered all scripture gospel, and the ultimate revelation of the Saviour in glory already renders all scripture eternal gospel (or at least capable of being eternal gospel). The eternal gospel, which the exegete discerns in the text of all scripture, is the final and perfect proclamation of God’s redemptive purposes for all of created reality, and its ultimate proclamation will extend to all of created reality. Thus the task of the exegete is a participation in the present outworking of that comprehensive and universal eschatological proclamation, an anticipation and partial realization of that final word extending throughout the entirety of created reality. For Origen exegesis is inseparable from proclamation: the exegete is the herald of God’s intentions for all of created reality, and these intentions are announced in all of scripture. All of scripture discloses the eternal gospel to the discerning reader, and it is this gospel which is the subject of the exegete’s proclamation. V. Commentary on Ephesians 842 ἀλλὰ οῦ τὸ μὲν ‘εὐαγγέλιον’ ὀνομάζεται παρατηρητέον, δὲ καὶ τὰς προστιθεμένας αὐτῷ λέξεις, οἷον κατὰ τὸ εὐαγγέλιόν μου, ἢ ἀρχὴ τοῦ εὐαγγελίου Ἰησοῦ Χριστοῦ, ἢ εὐαγγέλιον αἰώνιον, ἢ εὐαγγέλιον τῆς σωτηρίας τῶν Ἐφεσίων· ἢ ἁπλῶς ‘εὐαγγέλιον,’ ὥσπερ ὅταν λέγῃ περὶ τοῦ Λουκᾶ ὁ Παῦλος, οὗ ὁ ἔπαινος ἐν τῷ εὐαγγελίῳ διὰ πασῶν τῶν ἐκκλησιῶν.

But one must observe where the ‘gospel’ is designated and also the words applied to it, such as ‘according to my gospel’ (Rom 2:16), or the ‘beginning of the gospel of Jesus of Christ’ (Mark 1:1), or the ‘eternal gospel’ (Rev 14:6), or the ‘gospel of the salvation’ of the Ephesians (Eph 1:13), or simply ‘gospel’, as when Paul says of Luke, ‘Whose praise in the gospel is in all the churches’ (2 Cor 8:18).

42 J.A.F. Gregg, “The Commentary of Origen upon the Epistle to the Ephesians,” JTS 3 (1901–1902), 233–44, 398–420, 554–76; Heine, Commentaries of Origen and Jerome.

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Origen’s commentary on Ephesians is lost and only fragments are preserved in a Byzantine catena, which does not provide sufficient evidence to reconstruct Origen’s commentary. However, recent important studies by Heine43 and Layton44 have made possible the retrieval of much of Origen’s exegesis of this text, especially by means of a comparison with the commentary on the same text by Jerome. While this passage does not seem to contain much of interest regarding the eternal gospel, the simple fact that it is mentioned in this fragment serves to indicate that Rev 14:6 may have played an even larger role in Origen’s thought than the extant evidence suggests. The manner in which Origen mentions the eternal gospel displays his characteristic concern for precision: each instance of the word ‘gospel’ in scripture must be examined according to its function within its wider context and according to its specific designation. Therefore the angel’s universal proclamation of the eternal gospel in Rev 14:6 must be understood by Origen as having a precise meaning: the eternal gospel is invested with a singular reference and unique significance for Origen. The eschatological emphases discernible in the fragments of Origen’s commentary to this letter serve to illuminate the relationship between exegesis and eschatology in Origen. Layton argues that in this commentary Origen seeks to establish a strong relationship between present Christian experience and the final perfection that may be gained through persistent progress, so much so that the shape of eschatological perfection is already visible in the present work of the Spirit in the church, and that as a result the anticipated eschatological consummation will not be established by means of a radical rupture with what precedes it but rather will be attained as the result of continuous progress along already established trajectories.45 I suggest that this principle may be applied to Origen’s understanding of scripture: within scripture the outlines of the future perfection are already visible, and the consummation of God’s intentions for humanity and the cosmos as represented by the eternal gospel will be a fulfillment of the law and of the temporal gospel rather than an abandonment of them. As we have seen before, all scripture

Heine, Commentaries of Origen and Jerome. R.A. Layton, Origen as a Reader of Paul: A Study of the Commentary on Ephesians (Ph.D. dissertation, University of Virginia, 1996); idem, “Recovering Origen’s Pauline Exegesis: Exegesis and Eschatology in the Commentary on Ephesians,” JECS 8 (2000), 373–411. 45 Layton, “Recovering Origen’s Pauline Exegesis,” 381–2. 43 44


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is gospel, even eternal gospel for Origen. Just as there is continuity of divine identity across the Old and New Testaments, there is continuity in the movement from law, to temporal gospel, to eternal gospel. The earlier stages in the threefold revelatory and redemptive economy prefigure and are fulfilled by its successor. For Origen the eternal gospel is not an entirely new gospel, not a radical rejection of the Old or New Testaments. Rather, the eternal gospel will be acknowledged as gospel precisely because of its continuity with the law and the temporal gospel, and the unity of its divine subject.46 VI. Homilies on Leviticus 4.10.547 Et haec, inquit, est ‘lex aeterna’. Iohannes quidem Apostolus in Apocalypsi dicit esse ‘Evangelium aeternum’. Invenimus et hic scriptum esse ‘legem aeternam’, sed isti, qui legem secundum litteram sequi volunt, velim mihi nunc dicerent, quomodo lex huius sacrificii esse possit ‘aeterna’, cum utique destructo templo, subverso altari et omnibus, quae dicebantur sancta, profanatis ritus iste sacrificiorum non potuerit permanere. Quomodo ergo aeternam dicent, quod olim cessasse et finitum esse iam constat? Restat ut secundum eam partem lex haec ‘aeterna’ dicatur, qua nos dicimus ‘legem’ esse ‘spiritalem’ et per eam spiritalia offerri posse sacrificia, quae neque irrumpi umquam neque cessare possunt. Non enim in loco sunt, qui subvertitur, aut in tempore, quod mutatur, sed in fide credentis et in corde sacrificantis. And it says this ‘law’ is ‘eternal’. Indeed, John the Apostle says in the Revelations that it is ‘an eternal gospel’ (Rev 14:6). We also find this written as ‘an eternal law’. But those who want to follow the letter of the law, I want them to tell me now how the law of this sacrifice can be ‘eternal’, since certainly with the destruction of the Temple, with the overturning of the altar and with all the things that were called holy profaned, this

46 The issue of continuity and discontinuity is important, although perhaps more so (and for different reasons) in two subsequent writers who made significant use of the eternal gospel as a central concept: Joachim of Fiore (c. 1132–1202) and Gotthold Ephraim Lessing (1729–1781). Indeed, the concept is now more usually associated with Joachim’s third age of the Spirit or with Lessing’s Die Erziehung des Menschengeschlechts (1780) than with Origen, and it is with these two writers that the issue of continuity and (especially) discontinuity is brought much more forcefully to the fore. As important and intriguing as these two figures are, they are necessarily left aside in this investigation. Nevertheless, it would be very interesting to compare the different conceptions of the eternal gospel found in Origen, Joachim, and Lessing. 47 Origène. Homélies sur Lévitique (ed. and tr. M. Borret; SC 286, 287; Paris: Cerf, 1981); Origen, Origen. Homilies on Leviticus 1–16 (tr. G.W. Barkley; FC 83; Washington, D.C.: Catholic University of America Press, 1990). This passage is not discussed in Cl. Anselmetto, “La presenza dell’Apocalisse di Giovanni nelle Omelie di Origene,” Orig. II: 255–66, nor does it appear in the appendix which lists the “most significant” passages from Revelation appearing in Origen’s homilies.

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shawn w.j. keough rite of sacrifices could not remain. How do they call eternal, therefore, what has obviously ceased long ago and was already finished? It remains that according to this part this law is called ‘eternal’, by which we mean ‘the law is spiritual’ (Rom 7:14), and through it spiritual sacrifices can be offered which can neither be interrupted at any time nor cease. For they are not in a place that is overthrown, or in a time which is changed, but are in the faith of the believer and in the heart of the one making a sacrifice.

The explicitly eschatological and exegetical aspects of the eternal gospel seen in On First Principles and the Commentary on John are not here as immediately pronounced. Here the eternal gospel is equated with the spiritual understanding of the law, an understanding that moves the place of sacrifice from a physical altar in the Temple in Jerusalem to the interior disposition of the individual. However, from Origen’s perspective this argument would also be understood as an eschatological one, as Origen was unexceptional among his Christian contemporaries in assuming that the destruction of the Temple was a sign of God’s judgment upon the literal observance of the law. The Temple’s destruction was thus an eschatological sign that the law could no longer be understood apart from its fulfillment in the gospel of Christ. However, this assumption is paired by Origen with the outworking of the threefold distinction between law-temporal gospel-eternal gospel, leading Origen to locate this progression in human history: history bears witness to a eschatological movement and marks the transition from law to the temporal gospel. Origen follows the text of Leviticus, which designates the commandment an eternal law,48 and then asserts that this eternal law of Leviticus is in fact the eternal gospel. Here we see Origen engaged in eschatological exegesis, in translating the temporal gospel into the eternal. Not only is all scripture capable of being gospel, but indeed all scripture is capable of being the eternal gospel. The sacrificial law in Leviticus, which the text designates as ‘eternal’ and which Origen identifies as the eternal gospel, is thus revealed to enigmatically figure the perfect fulfillment of God’s intentions for humanity. Eschatological exegesis discerns the substance of the mystery beneath the surface of laws and narratives, so that Moses and the prophets do not merely

48 The crucial phrase in Lev 6:22 (Lev 6:15 in some versifications) is ‫חק־עולם‬ according to the MT, translated by the lxx as νόμος αἰώνιος, which presumably is what lies behind Rufinus’ rendering lex aeterna. The Vulgate does not translate this phrase.


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prepare the way for the gospel (temporal or otherwise), do not simply prefigure or anticipate their own fulfillment in the gospel, but in themselves actually make present and reveal the eternal gospel. The eternal gospel here designates the fullness of biblical revelation, a totality of scriptural meaning which is capable of being discerned only from the perspective afforded by the advent of Christ. Indeed, not only by Christ’s first advent in humility but also by the second advent of Christ in glory, and not merely discerned, but also appropriated. Origen’s statement that ‘this is the eternal gospel’ alerts us to the manner in which eschatology and exegesis intersect for Origen. The perfect fulfillment of God’s intentions for humanity is made present to the exegete in all of scripture, so that even the law is capable of being gospel, even eternal gospel. All of scripture is a sign and instrument of the perfect fulfillment of the revelatory and redemptive economy, and by engaging in biblical interpretation the exegete necessarily becomes caught up in that dynamic revelatory and redemptive movement. VII. Commentary on Romans 1.449 ‘Quod ante promiserat per profetas suos in scripturis sanctis’. Utrum simpliciter accipi debeat euangelium per scripturas profeticas a Deo repromissum an ad distinctionem alterius euangelii quod aeternum dicit Iohanes in Apocalypsi quod tunc reuelandum est cum umbra transiert et ueritias uenerit et cum mors fuerit absorta et aeternitas restituta considerato etiam tu qui legis. Cui aeterno euangelio conuenire uidebuntur etiam illi anni aeterni de quibus profeta dicit: ‘et annos aeternos in mente habui’. Eique adiungi potest et ille liber uitae in quo sanctorum nomina scripta dicuntur, sed et illi libri qui apud Danihelum cum iudicium consedisset aperti sunt uel qui apud Iezechielum profetam deintus et deforis dicuntur inscripti omniaque quae non atramento sed spiritu Dei uiui scripta memorantur. De quibus quamuis periculosum uideatur chartulis committere sermonem tamen non otiose praetereunda sunt dicta sapientium et aenigmata sed subtili admodum mentis acie in quantum res patitur uelet per quoddam speculum contemplanda; ne forte is qui uerbum caro factus apparuit positis in carne sicut apostolus dicit: ‘quia manifestatus est in carne iustificatus in spiritu apparuit angelis’; hoc quod apparuit angelis non eis absque euangelio apparuit; sicut ne nobis quidem hominibus ad quos missum se dicit euangelizare pauperibus dimittere captiuos in remissione et adnuntiare annum Domini acceptum. Si ergo cum apparuit nobis hominibus non sine euangelio apparuit consequentia uidetur ostendere quod etiam angelico ordini non sine euangelio apparuerit, illo fortassis quod aeternum euangelium ab Iohane memoratum supra

49 Der Römerbriefkommentar des Origenes: Kritische Ausgabe der Übersetzung Rufins (ed. Caroline P. Hammond Bammel; 3 vols.; Freiburg im Breisgau: Herder, 1990–1998); Origen: Commentary on the Epistle to the Romans (tr. T.P. Scheck; FC 103, 104; Washington, D.C.: Catholic University of America Press, 2001–2002).

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shawn w.j. keough edocuimus. Si uero etiam in reliquis caelestibus ordinibus tale aliquid ab eo gestum esse suspicandum sit in ea qua singuli quique sunt forma apparens eis et annuntians pacem, quomiam quidem per sanguinem crucis suae pacificauit non solum quae in terra sed et quae in caelis sunt, etiam tu apud temet ipsum discutito. Which he had promised beforehand through his prophets in the Holy Scriptures (Rom 1:2). Whether this ought to be interpreted simply as referring to the gospel promised by God in the prophetic Scriptures, or to the distinction of another gospel which John calls in the Apocalypse ‘eternal’ (Rev 14:6), which is to be revealed at that time when the shadow passes away and the truth comes and when death shall be swallowed up (1 Cor 15:54) and eternity restored, I leave for you the reader to consider. Those eternal years spoken of by the prophet evidently correspond with this eternal gospel: ‘I kept in mind the eternal years’ (Ps 77:5). With the eternal gospel can also be associated the book of life, in which the names of the saints are said to be written down (cf. Phil 4:3; Rev 3:5, 17:8, 21:27), as can those books which, in Daniel, were opened when the court was seated (Dan 7:10), or those in Ezekiel the prophet which are said to be inscribed on the inside and outside (Ezek 2:10), and all the things that are recounted as having been written not with ink but with the Spirit of the living God (cf. 2 Cor 3:3). Although it may be risky to commit this discussion to paper, nevertheless the sayings and riddles of the wise (Prov 1:6) ought not to be leisurely passed over but should be contemplated as in a mirror (1 Cor 13:12) with the subtle acuteness of the entire mind, to the extent the matter allows this. He who was the Word who became flesh ( John 1:14) appeared to those who were in the flesh, as the Apostle says, ‘For he was revealed in the flesh, was justified in the spirit, and appeared to angels’ (1 Tim 3:16). That which appeared to angels did not appear to them apart from the gospel; nor to us men, to whom it says he was sent to preach the good news to the poor, to release the captives in remission, and to proclaim the accepted year of the Lord (Isa 61:1–2; Luke 4:18). Well then, if, when he appeared to us men, he did not appear apart from the gospel, it seems consistent to declare that he did not appear to the angelic order apart from the gospel, possibly the one called by John the ‘eternal gospel’ (Rev 14:6), as we have taught above. Now whether we should also assume that such a thing was accomplished by him among the other heavenly orders of beings, that he appeared to each of them in their own form and announced peace, since he indeed made peace through the blood of his cross not only with things on earth but also with the heavenly things (Eph 2:17; Col 1:20), this too is a question you yourself must investigate.

This use of the eternal gospel immediately brings eschatology in view. The eternal gospel will be revealed when the shadow passes away and the truth comes, when death will be swallowed up in victory, et aeternitas restituta. The movement from shadow to truth is characteristic of Ori-


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gen and is consistent with the relations between the law, the temporal gospel and the eternal gospel sketched earlier. The cessation of death is paired with the restoration of eternity, another emphasis consistent with Origen’s earlier descriptions of the end being like the beginning, where he also was careful to note that death would no longer be an enemy. Here the eternal gospel is also linked to the destiny of the saints (the book of life), with the eschatological judgment (the books opened in the court room of Daniel’s vision), as well as with esoteric revelations of the Spirit (Ezekiel’s vision of a scroll inscribed on the inside and outside, and all things written not with ink but with the Spirit of the living God). These images cluster around the eternal gospel here, serving to weight the concept with several overlapping references. The cumulative effect emphasizes that the eternal gospel is an inscrutable mystery that belongs entirely to God alone, just as the book of life, the books in Daniel’s vision of the heavenly court, Ezekiel’s scroll and those things inscribed by the Spirit all belong to the secrets of God, secrets not made available to all people or to all times, rather being reserved for those capable of receiving the mystery and for times appropriate to the disclosure of the mystery.50 For this reason Origen hesitates to commit himself to writing as he pursues this line of reflection, nevertheless daring to at least offer preliminary observations and tentative suggestions for discussion and consideration. Taking his cue from the apostle’s statement that Christ “was revealed in flesh, vindicated in spirit, seen by angels” (1 Tim 3:16 nrsv), Origen considers that just as Christ did not appear to humanity apart from the gospel, so it would seem consistent to assume that he did not appear to the angels apart from the gospel, possibly 50 This motif runs throughout Origen’s Commentary on Romans, and is perhaps best exemplified in the description Origen offers of Paul in his parable of the steward (CRm 5.1.9–10): the apostle is like a faithful and wise steward who has been led through the king’s palace where he has seen many large rooms filled with priceless treasures, each room with different exits and entrances not clearly marked, and he has even been repeatedly led into the central treasury containing the royal purple and diadems. Entrusted with knowledge of the king’s treasures, the steward is sent to recruit an army for the king, a task which requires that the steward give at least some indication of the vast wealth he has seen in the king’s treasuries. However, the apostle is a faithful and wise steward, and for this reason he conceals the mysteries of the king and only gives veiled indications of the palace’s organization and the vast treasures within. I am grateful to my colleague David Robinson for drawing my attention to the relevance of this passage. For more on Origen’s understanding of Paul in this commentary, see Th. Heither, Translatio Religionis: Die Paulusdeutung des Origenes in seinem Kommentar zum Römerbrief (Köln: Böhlau Verlag, 1990).

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the eternal gospel. Here Origen dares to at least put forward the idea for consideration that this eternal gospel may have involved Christ’s appearance among different angelic beings.51 This passage resonates with Origen’s conclusion regarding the eternal gospel in the Commentary on John: whatever is called gospel is the gospel of Jesus and is announced not only to the entire world but to the entire cosmos. Intriguingly, however, in the Commentary on John it is the angels who announce the gospel both in the whole world and in the eschaton. Here the proclamation of the eternal gospel is accomplished by Christ. Indeed, Christ is not only herald of the eternal gospel but himself enacts and accomplishes it in comprehensive fashion, so that there can be no sphere of existence exempt from the finished and perfected work of Christ on the cross. The explicit mention of ‘the blood of the cross’ here is also different from previous descriptions of the eternal gospel. In fact, the Commentary on John would seem to indicate that the blood of the cross belongs exclusively within the sphere of the temporal gospel. However, here Origen makes plain his understanding of the cosmic significance of the cross within the revelatory and redemptive economy: the blood of the cross not only occupies a central place within the restoration of communion between God and humanity, but also between God and the whole of heavenly reality. The blood of the cross establishes peace for all rational nature. Just as the sacrificial law in Leviticus is an eternal law and eternal gospel, so the blood of the cross is applied to every sphere of creaturely existence for Origen. The eternal gospel, while designating the most profound mysteries of God’s purposes and judgments, is not made known apart from the blood of the cross (nor even from the Levitical law), even in its heavenly proclamation. Jesus Christ is revealed in this passage as both the content and the agent of the eternal gospel. The heavenly herald of the eternal gospel is the one who accomplishes God’s purposes for all created reality by means of the blood of his cross. It is the blood of the cross which establishes peace for the whole of created reality and is proclaimed by the Saviour in the heavens as the eternal gospel. 51 Both de Lubac and especially Crouzel are especially keen to defend Origen from the charges laid against him by Jerome and Justinian regarding the proclamation of the gospel to the angels (cf. Jerome’s Ep. ad Avitum in n. 32, above), emphasizing that for Origen there are not multiple instances in which the passion of Christ takes place, but rather that the singular event is efficacious on multiple levels; cf. de Lubac, Histoire et esprit, 221–2 and Crouzel, Origen, 196.


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VIII. Commentary on Romans 1.14 ‘Non enim erubesco euangelium; uirtus enim Dei est in salutem omni credenti’ . . . Sed et illud aduertendum est ne forte quia Christus uirtus Dei dicitur et euangelium uirtus Dei Christus sicut alia multa ita etiam euangelium intellegi debeat, et forte aeternum quod dicitur euangelium de ipso dici sentiendum sit. For I am not ashamed of the gospel; for it is the power of God for salvation to everyone who believes (Rom 1.16). [. . .] Because Christ is called the power of God (1 Cor 1.24) and the gospel also is called the power of God, the following ought to be considered: whether Christ, as he is many other things, ought also to be understood as the gospel. Indeed, perhaps what is called ‘the eternal gospel’ (Rev 14.6) should be interpreted with reference to him.

The eternal gospel is here given the strongest possible Christocentric focus: the eternal gospel is gospel only is so far as it refers to Christ, even as it is eternal gospel only insofar as Christ is the unique and absolute content of God’s intentions throughout the entire revelatory and redemptive economy. The eternal gospel can only be interpreted in relation to Christ: it is Christ who is the agent and content, the foundation and goal, of all God’s purposes for the whole of created reality. This has profound implications for the foregoing excerpts dealing with the eternal gospel, both in terms of eschatology and exegesis. Exegetically, Origen’s statement that all scripture is gospel must be understood as meaning that all scripture treats of Christ. The gospel is the gospel of Jesus Christ, and all scripture is gospel (or at least capable of being gospel). At the revelation of the Saviour in glory the eternal gospel will at last be made plain, even as that final proclamation is presently discerned in the law of Moses and in the blood of the cross. While the eternal gospel may not be exhausted by reference to Moses or the cross, nevertheless the eternal gospel cannot be authentically presented apart from both Moses and the cross, as both Moses and the cross constitute unsubstitutable stages in and expressions of God’s desire to restore all humanity and all reality to the same communion enjoyed between the Father and the Son from all eternity. In this excerpt eschatology and exegesis find their common ground and goal, which really are the same, for ‘the end is always like the beginning.’ Both creation and new creation, or image and likeness, find their decisive shape and content in the revelation of Christ. Eschatology and exegesis intersect for Origen at creation and consummation, both of which are understood in reference to Christ. The original

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establishment and the climactic fulfillment of God’s purposes for all of reality in Christ is the glad tidings of the eternal gospel, and this is what Origen finds concealed and revealed on every page of scripture. Exegesis is necessarily an eschatological activity for the exegete who interprets scripture between Christ’s first and second advent, as that exegete participates in nothing less than the present outworking of the eschatological consummation of God’s creative intentions for all reality by translating the temporal gospel into the eternal gospel. Exegesis understood in this framework discerns and traces the presence of Christ and the outlines of Christ’s story in scripture. For Origen exegesis is therefore necessarily eschatological because Christ is yet ‘the coming one [ὁ ἐρχόμενος]’ (Rev 1:4).52 That exegesis is an eschatological activity for Origen is simply a recognition that the story of Jesus remains unfinished: the conclusion is yet to come even if it is already announced. The revelatory and redemptive economy is consistently given Christological content by Origen, so that the movement from law to temporal gospel to eternal gospel becomes a narrative movement, a progression in the story of the Saviour. The grand narrative that Origen discerns in the text of scripture stretches from before the creation of the world to the final restoration of all created reality to communion with God, and this grand narrative is understood in terms provided by the story of Jesus. The Johannine texts deployed by Origen in clarifying the character of the summum bonum and finis omnium bear this out::53 the eschatological transformation of human nature is attendant upon the climactic revelation of Christ in glory,54 and the subsequent participation of renewed humanity in the communion of the Son with the Father is participation in a communion that stretches back beyond the origins of created reality.55 Transformation and participation, image and likeness, creation and new creation are all categories given in an explicitly Christological frame of reference by Origen. Protology and eschatology for Origen are both here seen to be explicitly Christological categories. That ‘the end is always like 52 Prin 1.2.10: “For who else is this one ‘who is to come’ but the Christ? [Qui enim uenturus est, quis est alius nisi Christus?].” 53 As demonstrated in the discussion under the first excerpt, Prin 3.6.8. 54 “When he is revealed we will be like him” (1 John 3:2 nrsv). 55 “As you, Father, are in me and I am in you, may they also be in us . . . Father, I desire that those also, whom you have given me, may be with me where I am, to see my glory, which you have given me because you loved me before the foundation of the world” ( John 17:21, 24 nrsv).


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the beginning’ is therefore less about cosmology for Origen than it is a matter of Christology. The grand narrative of scripture is the story of Jesus, and that story remains unfinished. Origen’s understanding of the eternal gospel pivots upon his understanding that the climax to this story lies in the future, and that this future is construed narratively as the future of Jesus Christ. It is Christ’s future which serves to orient and govern all considerations attendant upon the eternal gospel for Origen: the eternal gospel is nothing less or other than the future of Jesus Christ. The Eternal Gospel: Biblical Interpretation in the Revelatory and Redemptive Economy of the Logos The relationship between eschatology and exegesis is for Origen a reciprocal one, a confluence that dynamically orients his understanding of scripture’s nature and function in a direction established by the ultimate purposes of God in creation and redemption. Exegesis is an eschatological activity for Origen because the exegete is charged with the fundamental task of translating the (temporal) gospel into the eternal gospel. For Origen the ‘eternal gospel’ indicates the provisional nature of biblical exegesis even as it places the exegete upon the trajectory of God’s revelatory and redemptive action, drawing the exegete into the present outworking of God’s intentions for humanity and the cosmos, the fullness of which may already be discerned in scripture and presently anticipated by the exegete. This understanding of the eternal gospel is not only a unique chapter in the history of biblical interpretation and the reception of Rev 14:6, but it is also central to Origen’s understanding of eschatology, exegesis, and their interrelationship. The threefold distinction and movement from Old Testament (law) to New Testament (temporal gospel) to the eternal gospel has been the focus of previous accounts of the eternal gospel in Origen. However, not one of the three previous investigations identified and independently analyzed the specific texts in which Origen refers to the eternal gospel. Rather, de Lubac, Crouzel, and Gögler discussed the eternal gospel in Origen within the framework of a tripartite revelatory and redemptive economy. Many of the central texts in their expositions thus did not make any reference to the eternal gospel at all. I have attempted to impose some discipline on the discussion by limiting myself to the actual texts in which Origen makes use of the eternal gospel, thereby

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placing the gains of previous research on the topic within Origen’s intersecting concerns of eschatology and exegesis. While the threefold schema identified in de Lubac, Crouzel, and Gögler is clearly essential to Origen’s understanding of the eternal gospel, a comprehensive juxtaposition and analysis of all the relevant texts indicate clearly that the eternal gospel does more for Origen than simply name that third epoch in the economy of salvation. The eternal gospel is as much a protological category for Origen as it is eschatological: ‘the end is always like the beginning.’ Origen’s understanding of humanity’s creation according to the image and likeness of God sets the parameters of any discussion of God’s activity as wide as protology and eschatology will allow, and it is also image and likeness which then place both exegesis and eschatology along an explicitly Christological trajectory. The eternal gospel is nothing if not a revelation of the one who is yet to come, that revelation which is itself the highest good and perfect end of created reality. The eternal gospel finds its fulfillment only in the revelation of Jesus Christ and in the subsequent transformation of a humanity renewed according to the likeness of God and enabled to participate in the Son’s communion with the Father: ‘God will be all in all.’ The intersection of eschatology and exegesis for Origen coincides with the crossroads of creation and Christology, set within Origen’s characteristically dynamic soteriological framework. In this sense eschatological exegesis for Origen is less concerned with the exegete or with any specific exegetical approach than it is with the present outworking and ultimate realization of the revelatory and redemptive economy of God.56 Eschatological exegesis 56 For that reason this investigation has avoided the use of terms such as ‘allegory,’ ‘typology,’ or ‘the spiritual sense’ when discussing Origen’s exegesis. The scholarly use of such terminology often does not correspond to Origen’s own, and is usually more distracting than helpful. Certainly modern notions typically associated with such terminology do not account for what we have seen to be at stake in Origen’s use of the eternal gospel. Richard A. Layton’s contribution to this volume is very helpful in this regard. The classic study of Origen’s ‘allegorical method’ is R.P.C. Hanson, Allegory and Event: A Study of the Sources and Significance of Origen’s Interpretation of Scripture (London: SCM Press, 1959). See also the important exchange regarding the difference between ‘allegory’ and ‘typology’ (an invariably value-laden distinction) between J. Daniélou, “Traversée de la mer rouge et baptême aux premiers siècles,” RSR 33 (1946), 402–30, and H. de Lubac, “Typologie et allégorisme,” RSR 34 (1947), 180–226; cf. also Crouzel, “La distinction de la typologie et de l’allegorie,” BLE 65 (1964), 161–74. B. Neuschäfer, Origenes als Philologe (Basel: Friedrich Reinhardt Verlag, 1987) is invaluable as a study which examines Origen against the critical background and resources of late antiquity, in consequence presenting a sharply constrasting image of Origen to that of Hanson, who famously judged Origen by the canons of modern


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for Origen is nothing other than the tracing out of the overarching narrative structure of scripture, and the pursuit of its revelatory and redemptive trajectory. This trajectory is already established by the biblical text, even as it necessarily moves beyond that text.57 Biblical interpretation thus construed participates in nothing less than the totality of God’s unfolding purposes in transforming humanity according to God’s own likeness with the goal of enabling all rational nature to share in the Son’s communion with the Father. In the task of exegesis the exegete is caught up in a dynamic movement extending from eternity to eternity, that is, from the eternal communion of the Son with the Father to the eternal communion of the Son with the Father.58 Biblical interpretation is situated between creation and new creation, and is an activity oriented toward the climax of a revelatory and redemptive economy framed in terms specific to the identity and story of Jesus. The scriptures are best understood as introductions to the identity and story of this Saviour, and it is for that reason that while exegesis necessarily begins with the text of scripture exegesis must also necessarily move beyond that text.59 Origen understands the text of historical criticism and pronounced him a woefully inadequate biblical commentator. Hanson’s conclusions have also received an important response in the excellent study by M.J. Edwards, Origen Against Plato (Aldershot: Ashgate, 2002). 57 It may be important to note here that for Origen while eschatological exegesis necessarily moves beyond the text it does not supersede the text. At no point does the eternal gospel become a new religion or revelation for Origen. At no point does the eternal gospel require or even allow the rejection of the Old or New Testament. This may be one of the most striking differences between Origen and Joachim of Fiore or Gotthold Ephraim Lessing (cf. n. 45, above). For Origen, while eschatological exegesis moves beyond the text of scripture it does so under the guidance of scripture. Because eschatological exegesis moves along the revelatory and redemptive trajectory already established within scripture, it is inconceivable to Origen that the eternal gospel would be a radical rupture with or rejection of the law and (temporal) gospel. Rather, the eternal gospel for Origen represents the culmination and intended end of all that is already made plain in the Law and the (temporal) gospel. This continuity in the revelatory and redemptive economy is guaranteed by the unity of its divine subject. 58 Of course the entire notion of time is called into question when the narrative stretches from eternity to eternity. Here I simply speak of time in a narrative sense, as the movement of a story that stretches from the eternal communion of the Son with the Father before the foundation of the world to the eschatological climax of God’s intentions where all of created reality is enabled to participate in that communion. For more technical material related to Origen’s view of time, see the helpful study by P. Tzamalikos, Origen: Cosmology and Ontology of Time (Leiden: Brill, 2006). 59 “The person of the Incarnate Lord is the source of revelation; the narrative in the Gospels is the prime disclosure of that person; yet it is faith in this disclosure, in the Gospel story itself, that frees theology from the literal construction of the text . . . The axiom of [Origen’s] hermeneutical method is that the author of the written word is also its only subject. To be a Christian, is to believe, on the evidence of the text, that

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scripture to point beyond itself to the climactic eschatological revelation of the Saviour, and it is that climactic revelation, or rather the revelation of that person, which is the preeminent subject of exegesis. Biblical exegesis is above all concerned with the story of Jesus, and it is the movement of Jesus’ story which the exegete traces and pursues. This exegetical pursuit is guided by the pedagogy of the Logos, so that the activity of biblical interpretation itself anticipates humanity’s transformation according to the likeness of God and participation in the Son’s communion with the Father. To engage in eschatological exegesis is thus simply to cling to Jesus.60 And even as scripture is both sign and instrument of a dynamic soteriological movement oriented toward the summum bonum and finis omnium, so Origen understands the task of biblical exegesis to be an exploration and pursuit of that eschatological revelation presently perceived in scripture, if only dimly (ἐν αἰνίγματι). However, while the eternal gospel is already specified in scripture it is not fully disclosed by scripture. For this reason the task of the exegete for Origen is nothing less than a present anticipation of the future of Jesus Christ, and, in Christ, the future of humanity and the cosmos.

the author himself has entered the interpretive process . . . Thus Christian hermeneutics, which addresses only scripture, will conclude with what can only lie beyond the word of scripture” (M.J. Edwards, “Christ or Plato? Origen on Revelation and Anthropology,” Christian Origins. Theology, Rhetoric and Community [ed. Lewis Ayres and Gareth Jones; London: Routledge, 1998], 22–3). 60 “The Word, however, departs on his own courses, and he who follows him follows the Word; but he who is not prepared to walk in his steps persistently cannot follow, since the Word leads those to his Father who do all things that they might be able to follow him, and that they might follow him until they may say to Christ, ‘my soul has clung to you’” [ἄπεισιν δὲ ὁ λόγος τὰς ἑαυτοῦ πορείας, καὶ ἀκολουθεῖ μὲν αὐτῷ ὁ λόγῳ ἑπόμενος· οὐ δύναται δὲ ἀκολουθεῖν ὁ μὴ εὐτρεπισμένος ὥστ’ εὐτόνως κατ’ ἴχνη βαίνειν, τοῦ λόγου ὁδηγοῦντος πρὸς τὸν ἑαυτοῦ πατέρα τοὺς πάντα πράττοντας ἵνα καὶ δύνωνται αὐτῷ ἕπεσθαι καὶ ἀκολουθῶσιν αὐτῷ, ἕως εἴπωσιν τῷ χριστῷ· «Ἐκολλήθη ὀπίσω «σου ἡ ψυχή μου»] (CIo 32.400).

MAKING THE IMPERFECT PERFECT: THE ADAPTATION OF HEBREWS 11 IN THE 9TH MĒMRĀ OF THE SYRIAC BOOK OF STEPS Robert A. Kitchen Sebastian P. Brock extends the analogy that the Greek and Latin traditions provide the two lungs of the Christian Church by declaring that the Syriac tradition is indeed “the third lung” of Christian heritage and theology.1 Through whom does this third lung breathe? Certainly, Aphrahat, Ephrem, Narsai, Jacob of Serug, Philoxenus of Mabbug, and Isaac of Nineveh are increasingly becoming recognized among the most significant of early Christian Biblical exegetes, writers on doctrinal controversies, and poets of the spiritual life. Students of the Syriac tradition would normally add to that number the enigmatic mid- to late-fourth-century collection of discourses on the spiritual life known as The Book of Steps (BoS hereafter; also entitled by the editor of the critical edition, Liber graduum).2 The Anonymity of Perfection Intentionally anonymous, this lengthy work by the spiritual leader of an equally anonymous Christian community, probably located in the Persian-controlled Adiabene region (modern Iraq), witnesses to an important picture of early asceticism evolving within Syriac ecclesiastical structures. The sizeable collection of 30 mēmrē or discourses vividly depicts the struggle for Christian perfection against many stumbling blocks along the way, and reveals to the reader an author saturated in Scripture, yet seemingly well-distanced from other patristic influences.

1 S.P. Brock, “The Syriac Orient: A Third ‘Lung’ for the Church?” OCP 71 (2005), 6–20. 2 Liber graduum (ed. M. Kmosko; PS 3; Paris, 1926); English translation and introduction: The Book of Steps: The Syriac Liber Graduum (trans. R.A. Kitchen and M.F.G. Parmentier; CistS 196; Kalamazoo: Cistercian Publications, 2004).

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Still, anonymity has been a problem. Suggestions were left behind in the margins of a couple of manuscripts regarding a certain Philo3 and a Eusebius the Solitary,4 but nothing convincing. Befitting a writer “who did not wish to make his name known,”5 the collection is bereft of geographical, historical and chronological markers that would normally facilitate the interpretation of the work and its situation—except for one tantalizing analogy that mentions the Lesser Zab River located in northeastern Iraq. Almost certainly, the principals involved in the living and composition of BoS resided in the Persian Empire under an unsympathetic regime which viewed Christians as Roman conspirators. A few subtle references to the cultural and political confrontation between the two rival empires are hinted, but never explicit.6 The anonymous author, however, does not conceal his ardor for the Gospels and for the spiritual and ascetic development of those under his pastoral care in the Christian life. The thirty mēmrē detail a two-level hierarchy in this particular Christian community: the Upright ones (kēnē) who would be generally classified as lay people, married, working in the secular world and performing the active ministries of charity to the poor, ailing and disadvantaged, as well as supporting and serving the higher level of Christians; and the Perfect ones (gmīrē) who are dedicated to a higher and limitless life of asceticism and prayer. The Perfect do not work, not even the acts of charity, and have no permanent home. They do teach and function occasionally as mediators of disputes in other communities. The author frequently compares and contrasts the two levels. Essentially, anything the Upright may do as part of their limited Christian vocation, the Perfect can do better, without limit. Monasticism proper has not yet emerged and the author does not offer any indications of traditional monastic life, so these Perfect ones should not be considered monks.

St. Mark’s Monastery, Jerusalem, syr. 180 (Ms R in Kmosko’s critical edition). London, British Library Add. 17193, fols. 3r–3v. 5 Liber graduum, column 1: lines 3–4 (Syriac text); The Book of Steps 1. §1, p. 3 (English translation). 6 Cf. G. Greatrex, “Byzantium and the East in the Sixth Century,” The Cambridge Companion to the Age of Justinian (ed. M. Maas; Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2005), 477–509, esp. 480. Also, idem, “The Romano-Persian Frontier and the Context of the Book of Steps” in Breaking the Mind: Essays on the Syriac Book of Steps (CUSEC; Washington, DC: Catholic University of America Press, forthcoming). 3 4

making the imperfect perfect

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Aspersions of Messalianism The text has had its problems with reception in modern scholarship. When Michel Kmosko compiled the critical edition in 1926 with a parallel Latin translation, he included an extensive Latin introduction to the work that identified BoS as the lost “Asketikon” of the Messalian heretical movement of the late-fourth and early-fifth-centuries. Kmosko appended to the edition a corpus of Greek texts dealing with various aspects of the Messalian controversy, providing an uncommon resource, but one that tainted the reputation and study of BoS for a number of decades. Indicative of the problems and attitudes engendered by Kmosko’s evaluation of BoS is seen in Irenée Hausherr’s review of the French translation of the Homélies of Philoxenus of Mabbug by Eugène Lemoine for the Sources Chrétiennes series.7 Hausherr noted that the primary manuscript for Philoxenus’ text—Paris, Bibliothèque nationale de France, syr. 201, fols. 1–161—is followed by the primary text for Kmosko’s edition of BoS (fols. 174–280). Père Hausherr felt compelled to defend the doctrinal purity of Philoxenus (a Monophysite, nonetheless!) given his heretical manuscript companion.8 Gradually, BoS was released from its Messalian shackles and started being read again for its own innate merits. Yes, the debate continues, though those who still see Messalian connections are not as numerous. BoS does exhibit some of the reputed characteristic ideas and concepts of the so-called Messalian movement, but the author argues vehemently in a number of mēmrē against these same tendencies and trajectories.9 The Messalian attributes and labels were imposed upon BoS, but a coherent story emerges, if not always narrated in a linear fashion. The thirty mēmrē do not present a systematic theology, but the collected works of the pastor/author in the midst of a town or village, incorporating a diversity of literary genres. The initial eight mēmrē treat the theological and practical fundamentals of the life of the two levels. Later mēmrē deal with various issues as they Philoxène de Mabboug: homélies (ed. E. Lemoine; SC 44; Paris: Cerf, 1956). I. Hausherr, “Spiritualité syrienne: Philoxène de Mabboug en version française,” OCP 23 (1957), 171–85. 9 Cf. Kitchen and Parmentier, The Book of Steps, Introduction, xviii–xxi, lvi–lxi; also R.A. Kitchen, “Becoming Perfect: The Maturing of Asceticism in the Syriac Book of Steps,” JCSSS 2 (2002), 30–45. 7 8

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arise (sexuality, free will, prayer, discernment), along with prescriptions for progress in the way of perfection. Three of the mēmrē (10, 25, 29) appear to be sermons directed to the community to address a variety of problems. Along the way, one senses that a crisis has been brewing in the community and all is not Perfect. Fidelity to the institution of Perfection has been eroding, so the author attempts to clarify the definitions and duties of the two levels and respond to controversies and conflicts. The asceticism practiced by this Syriac community does not reach the spectacular extremes of Theodoret’s Syrian ascetical athletes (e.g., Simeon Stylites) in the Historia religiosa, and as if to emphasize this point, the author gradually admits his admiration for the spiritual progress and development of the Upright—who could be Perfect ones right now if only they would become celibate.10 The last five mēmrē are evidence of this paradigm shift as the author increasingly champions the lower level while chastising the higher level. None of this is achieved without the immersion of the author into the texts, language and thought world of the Bible. Around 1200 citations of Scripture appear in the thirty mēmrē, with a significant number being extended exegeses of Biblical episodes and, as has often been the case with most preachers and theologians, an attempt at exegesis of the Biblical text can turn into eisegesis, in which the commentator brings to the text the exigencies of a particular social situation and/or desired interpretive outcome that governs one’s examination and understanding of the text. The author of BoS reads Scripture through an ascetic’s eyes and there are occasions when his ascetical agendas appear to take precedence over the plain senses of Scripture, and some intriguing interpretations emerge. Just such an occasion is the Ninth Mēmrā, and it will be the focus of the next section of this paper. The Dilemma of the Prophets in the Ninth Mēmrā of the Book of Steps Mēmrā Nine, “On Uprightness and the Love of the Upright and the Perfect,” is an extended exegesis of Old Testament themes and personalities following the initial series of mēmrē on the basics of Uprightness and Perfection.11 The author has not finished describing and prescribing 10 11

Holiness in Syriac is “qadīšūtā” and typically implies celibacy. Liber graduum, cols. 201–248; The Book of Steps, pp. 87–103.


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the duties and subtleties of each level, but he has compiled an ample portrait. Now, however, his logic and system encounter a stumbling block. The tone of this discourse indicates that the author is responding defensively to a challenge to his depiction of the Christian ascetical life. It is, in fact, a conflict between the Biblical and ascetical agendas and ideals. No one doubts the venerability of the Old Testament prophets, yet by the contemporary standards of Perfection and Uprightness their unorthodox and sometimes violent behaviour directed against the enemies of God consign them to a status far below even the lower level of Uprightness—a situation both unthinkable and unacceptable to the author. Nevertheless, his deep acquaintance with Scripture quickly surfaces a solution to the dilemma, noting how the author of the Letter to the Hebrews sums up his case (Heb 11:39–40, NRSV): “Yet all these, though they were commended for their faith, did not receive what was promised, since God had provided something better so that they would not, apart from us, be made perfect.” The author of BoS reconfigures the argument as follows: Our Lord said to his chosen ones, ‘I promised the prophets that I would come and perfect them. For the reason they were not perfected is not that they were less than you in being perfected, but because there was no peace in their days. On account of this Uprightness will arrange [it] so that even those will be perfected.’12 Because of this the Apostle said, ‘We do not have more than them; he foresaw that they would not be perfected without us.’13 Even more than that he said, since we are the first, He hurried to perfect us before them and not them before us. The Perfect ones of today are the image of the Apostles, which is a great gift. The prophets and the first Upright ones, those who were perfected after they had departed from this world in the sight of the Apostles, were perfected because they had pursued love and Perfection in this world.14

The author understands that the prophets of the Old Testament were holy people, eminently worthy of living the way of Perfection (gmīrūtā), but because of their violent acts God held them back from Perfection—even though it was God who commanded these prophets to do these very same deeds—until after the Apostles were admitted. Then

12 13 14

Apocryphal. Heb 11:40. Liber graduum 232:13–233:3; The Book of Steps 9. §14, p. 98.

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the prophets would become Perfect since they had pursued Perfection in the first place. Moreover, the author perceives the Perfect ones of his community as “the image of the Apostles” (dmūtā dashlī ē ). In other places, the author infers that Perfection is the recreation of existence in the Garden of Eden before Adam sinned; therefore, the Perfect ones and the Apostles have returned to the paradise of the Garden. The author of BoS not only utilizes Heb 11:39–40 as his interpretive solution, his canon within the canon, but he also shapes the mēmrā into the genre of Hebrew 11’s rehearsal of Old Testament saints of faith, albeit from a distinctive homiletical perspective. Hebrews 11: Recent Scholarship and Overview It is very easy to be swallowed up by the literature surrounding Hebrews 11, so an overview to see how the author of BoS makes his way and argument will be compact by necessity. We turn to more recent offerings to provide a taste of the shape of this famous text.15 Hebrews 11 is “one of the deservedly famous set pieces of New Testament rhetoric,”16 an encomium on faith, utilizing a catena of Old Testament characters to exemplify the author’s interpretation. Beginning with the definition “faith is the substance of things hoped for, a proof of things not seen” (translation by Luke T. Johnson)17 the likewise anonymous author of Hebrews slowly works a way through the Biblical narrative. The catena begins with Abel (verse 4), Enoch (5–6) and Noah (7)—“those who were righteous.” Hebrews proceeds to the patriarchs, “those who journeyed obediently in faith”—Abraham (8–12) with Sarah’s contribution noted, then to the Aqedah (17–19), Isaac on his own (20), Jacob (21) and Joseph (22). Moses (23–25) is treated with almost the same depth as Abraham, beginning the last group “who were tested by suffering.”

Cf. T.G. Long, Hebrews (Interpretation: A Bible Commentary for Teaching and Preaching; Louisville, KY: John Knox Press, 1997); T. Wright, Hebrews for Everyone (Louisville, KY: Westminister John Knox Press, 2004); L.T. Johnson, Hebrews (New Testament Library; Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2006); also, Hebrews (E.M. Heen and P.D.W. Krey, ed.; Ancient Christian Commentary, NT Volume 10; Downers Grove, IL: InterVarsity Press, 2005). 16 Johnson, Hebrews, 274. 17 Johnson, 276. I find convincing his observations on “hypostasis” and its translation into “substance,” 276–9. 15


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Then the pace picks up noticeably with nods to the People of Israel at the Red Sea (29), the tumbling down walls of Jericho (30), the other woman Rahab and her role (31); and finally, a recital of famous names too numerous to describe in detail: Gideon, Barak, Samson, Jepthah, David, Samuel and the prophets (32), and a lengthy witness to all sorts of anonymous faithful figures who suffered persecution, torture and death (33–37). Hebrews concludes with the key passage for the author of BoS, that while all these people were commended for their faith, they did not receive the promise “since God had provided something better so that they would not, apart from us, be made perfect” (39–40). Several aspects of Hebrews 11 are worth noting. First, the author of Hebrews makes no apologies for overlooking some of the details of the Biblical accounts of these faith heroes; his focus is on the argument for faith, so that a full balanced assessment of the character sometimes would only slow things down and confuse the argument. The author of BoS, likewise, will omit idiosyncratically more than he includes in order to satisfy the needs of his point. Second, Thomas Long is correct in his portrayal of the “Letter” to the Hebrews as a long, but marvelously crafted sermon by a welleducated preacher to his oppressed congregation(s).18 Few Christian congregations in the first and second centuries, of course, did not feel the weight of religious, political, and social discrimination and oppression. Hebrews 11 is a rhetorical gem, a preached word whose cadence can still be heard in many a Christian community. Third, following on the second, is that Hebrews has a live audience in mind, if not originally in sight from the pulpit, whom he includes as actors in this cloud of witnesses. “They would not be made perfect, apart from us” is none other than the community listening to this soon to be set piece. BoS takes precisely the same tactic. As will be shown, the author uses Hebrews 11 as his form, but never explicitly identifies it that way, so his community, his church, is gathered around to hear themselves involved in the salvation history.19 18 Long, Hebrews, 2–3. Long, a professor of preaching at Candler School of Theology, Emory University, has an ear particularly attuned to this genre. 19 J.J. O’Keefe and R.R. Reno, Sanctified Vision: An Introduction to Early Christian Interpretation of the Bible (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 2005), 73, observe that two of the patterns for the use of typological interpretation in patristic writers (can one categorize the author of The Letter to the Hebrews as a patristic writer?) include: “establishing the scriptural basis for the practices of the early church”; and “the fathers used scriptural patterns from both Testaments to integrate the contemporary experience of

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Fourth, as Luke T. Johnson points out succinctly in an excursus,20 Hebrews was not the first to construct a recital of Israel’s history and heroes. Philo’s Rewards and Punishments 11–14 actually provides a fairly close template to Hebrews 11, a smaller encomium on hope, though enlisting a different cast of characters. There are abbreviated recitals of the Biblical story in Josh 24:1–15, Ezek 20:2–38, Neh 9:6–38, Pss 135:1–26 and 77:1–72. Hellenistic Judaism contributes Judith 5:5–21, Wisdom 10:16–11:14, 1 Macc 2:51–59, 4 Macc 16:2–25, and most impressively of all, the “Now let us praise famous men” set piece in Sirach 44:1–50:24. There are many characters in the Biblical story and none of these lists contains all of them, not even compiled together. Many are not arranged in their proper Biblical chronology, many a characterization one would dispute as to its reading and interpretation. There are fewer common references than one would think and the variety of hermeneutical strategies used to compile the specific heroes and their meaning for the message is diverse. Hebrews 11 constructs its own group of heroes, and the author of BoS will likewise exercise his own peculiar reading and choices of the journey towards Christian perfection. Summary of Mēmrā Nine of The Book of Steps The following outline of Mēmrā Nine provides an overview of the structure of this mid- to late-fourth century text. Section 1. The prophets had a love worthy of the Ten Commandments and New Testament and walked according to the will of God. Yet they were held back by God from Perfection because they had killed—even though it was by God’s command. Jesus came into the world for the sinner and the lost, to teach all about his lowliness and humility, for not everyone is capable of hearing the will of God through the Spirit. 2. Explanation of God’s mission for the prophets: If God had killed the idolaters without the prophets, the idolaters would have thought it was their idols that killed and would have kept on sacrificing to their idols. Citations from Jeremiah and David on how God required them to hate and do violence to God’s enemies.

Christians into those patterns.” The author of BoS especially seems to have the second pattern in mind for his project. 20 Johnson, Hebrews, 310–12.


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3. Sometimes God demoted prophets even below Uprightness because they had cursed and harmed people—although in obedience to God’s orders—the kind of act which the Upright do not do. Otherwise, the prophets were faithful in loving God and all of humanity. Samuel prayed for those who rejected him, and Jeremiah prayed for those who had abused him, even though God had told him not to pray for them. 4. Jeremiah cursed enemies in response to an ecstatic vision, though he did not want to. Prophets were guilty of violating ‘reverse’ Golden Rule: do not do to others what you would hate for them to do to you. They were not to blame in anything God commanded them, for as yet Jesus was not born who would make lowliness, peace and welfare a better covenant than the first. Because of their obedience, God was not ashamed to be called their God (Heb 11:16), and perfected them in the sight of the Apostles. Today God asks people to love one another and not do to others any detestable act they might do to them. 5. Moses confronted God about killing the Israelites, “If you blot them out, blot me out [too].” Author’s homiletic note: “How do we resemble these Upright ones who prayed for sinners—when we rejoice at another’s misfortune?” God brought Moses down below Uprightness when he commanded the Levites to slay the golden calf worshippers and Moses saw it was no use to pray for them. Also when Moses slew Amalek, he became lower than Uprightness. 6. God no longer makes wars as in former times, so whoever fights today fights by his own desire. Jesus established peace, but human beings do not want to be peaceful—an allusion probably to Roman and Persian Empires in constant warfare, not building upon the peace Jesus had made. 7. David pursued Perfection when he did not kill his persecutor Saul. But when David commanded Solomon to punish Shimei and Joab, it was God who spoke through him. Author’s admonition that today we are pleased to provoke anger and evil against one another, although God has not told anyone today to do evil or to be a zealot for God as in ancient days. 8. Abraham pursued Perfection, supplying the needy and afflicted with food and clothing, personally serving them, and showing humility and honour to those who took his wife from him (Genesis 12 and 20). God brought Abraham down from the love of Perfection, sending him to slay evil kings. Mechilzedek blessed him because he had kept the commandments. 9. Elijah pursued Perfection when he ran ahead of his enemy Ahab in order to honor him. Elijah prayed for rain which fell. Author’s homiletic note: Prophets desired life and honor for the world and its kings, even those who denied God and offended the prophets. 10. Elisha pursued Perfection when he fed his enemies and sent them peacefully home. But the Lord brought him down when he killed the young boys who taunted him—although this was the will of God.

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robert a. kitchen 11. Abel pursued Perfection submitting to the violence of Cain and not striking back at him. Adam did not require vengeance and God forgave Cain and did not kill him. 12. The prophets wanted to practice the Golden Rule and promote peace, but God did not want to make peace then because humanity did not want to acknowledge him. So the prophets had to wait for Perfection. 13. God slew sinful people by means of the prophets in order that they might acknowledge and fear him, but they were not persuaded. God said to the chosen ones that the prophets were not perfected because they were less than you, but that there was no peace at that time. He foresaw that they would not be perfected without us (Heb 11:40). The Perfect ones of today are the image of the Apostles. 14. Anyone not perfect today is not to be perfected in the next world upon death. One inherits Perfection and the Paraclete according to his manner of life in this world. 15. Jesus has been proclaimed throughout all creation, so all know, though some do not respond. Jesus’ reconciliation on the Cross absolves the need for zealots and chastisement of the wicked. So today God does not need the prophets, for killing the evil ones never seems to get the point across. 16. Today God no longer holds back a person from love and Perfection. Therefore, one cannot fall and be eventually redeemed like the prophets of old, for that time is over. 17. Gentiles today hear about Jesus’ atoning death and then repent and are converted. 18. It is extraordinary to hear that Jesus, whose nature transcends death, died for his creation. People are captivated by this love. 19. Abraham and Isaac pursued Perfection when their wives and wealth were taken from them and they did not quarrel or fight. The author imagines that if God had asked them to renounce their wives and property, they would have. Abraham and Isaac are becoming closer to the ideal of the Perfect, but it would have been easier to be celibate and renounce all than to go with everything. They became an example to all those married in the world. 20. Jacob pursued Perfection by demonstrating humility before Esau. Author’s homiletic note: “Who humbles himself before an enemy like this today?” 21. Joseph pursued Perfection by repaying good things for bad to his brothers, and whenever he was treated badly he triumphed over evil with good things. He reconciled with his brothers who were fearful that he would avenge himself once their father had died. God’s friends shine their love upon the good and the bad.


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Parallels with Hebrews 11 The author of BoS is not using Hebrews 11 slavishly as a trope, but he has creatively played variations on a theme with a different cast of characters and a different measurement of both the rougher characters and of the more Perfect ones. Also, the author, like that of Hebrews 11, has exercised significant discretion in what events and traits he brings forward to demonstrate virtue for his cloud of witnesses and which he chooses not to mention. Just as in Hebrews, the author keeps to a tightly woven argument in which every citation, every episode related, builds a stronger argument.21 The fact that Jeremiah and David are complaining that as much as they try to help others they always seem to have lots of enemies witnesses to the reality that God sometimes held back his prophets both from love and from Uprightness in order to deal with God’s most recalcitrant enemies (§2, pp. 89–90). Nevertheless, the prophets were naturally peaceful, loving and selfsacrificing as long as they were not grasped by God’s passion. The author takes as one case in point “when Samuel prayed for those who had rejected him,” a reference to 1 Sam 12:23–25 in which Samuel offers his farewell address having acquiesced to the demands for a king over Israel. (§3, p. 90) A better and paradoxical example is the occasion in which Jeremiah refused to obey God: “. . . and when Jeremiah prayed for those who threw him into the muddy cistern, the Lord said to him three times, ‘Do not pray for them,’22 but [ Jeremiah] did not listen to him” (§3, p. 90) All three incidents were regarding the idol worshipping of the Israelites that God rejected. The intercession from Jeremiah was not accepted and it is ironic that Jeremiah can refuse God’s command here, defending a sinful people. The author would later show Moses doing the same thing. The principle involved is that both these prophets behaved towards their fellow human beings as they wanted to be treated, the “reverse” Golden Rule.

21 O’Keefe and Reno, Sanctified Vision, 76, observe that the exegetical arguments of typology are not intended as proof texts, but as a cumulative witness, “an everexpanding network of patterns and associations that refer back to the apostolic witness about Jesus Christ.” 22 Jer 7:16, 11:14, 14:11.

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But to make clear the inner dynamics, the author cites Jeremiah’s anguish over the internal fire that God has placed in him to go out and curse God’s enemies23 The author takes Jer 20:9 (NRSV)—“If I say, ‘I will not mention him, or speak any more in his name,’ then within me there is something like a burning fire shut up in my bones; I am weary with holding it in, and I cannot”—and paraphrases the sentiment so that it fits the Gospel principle more readily: “Jeremiah said, ‘I held myself back from going out and cursing them,’ the [very] thing I hate someone doing to me. The Word of the Lord came upon me like fire and it set me on fire and I was not able to endure it and not curse them” (§4, p. 90). So far, this deals with fairly mild sentiments and circumstances. The author observes that this was a different age, an age before Our Lord (Jesus): “On account of this they were not to blame in everything the Lord commanded them, [for] as yet our Lord had not been born of Mary [when] he would make lowliness, peace and welfare a better covenant than the first [covenant]” (§4, p. 91). Not only does the author echo Hebrews’ “better country” (11:16) and “something better” (11:40), but he continues to parallel the New Testament text: Because of this, ‘God was not ashamed to be called their God.’24 This means, He is not ashamed to call them his brothers as He had called the Apostles. Because of this, ‘He prepared for them a holy city.’25 This means, He perfected them in the sight of the Apostles (§4, p. 91).

The times have clearly changed, an example of the ascetical hermeneutic strategy “the difference in times”—i.e., between Biblical times and the current ascetical situation.26 What was allowed in the Old Testament era is no longer valid for the Church and particularly for those aspiring to Perfection. That the author does not tie himself to the order of Hebrews 11 is evident in that his first fuller treatment of a personality—Moses (§5, pp. 91–92)—appeared in Hebrews 11:23–28 as the last personality to be given a relatively extensive dossier. Moreover, the two authors cite completely different texts, illustrating that their purposes were distinc-

Jer 20:8–9. Heb 11:16. 25 Ibid. 26 E.A. Clark, Reading Renunciation: Asceticism and Scripture in Early Christianity (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1999), 145–52. 23 24


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tive. Hebrews’ citations are more of a biographical outline, noting the faith of his parents, Moses’ desire to be considered a Hebrew, his faith upon leaving Egypt and his keeping of the Passover. BoS is about as long, but is focused on two incidents and responses of Moses. A pattern has already been established by the author. First, he recalls how the character desires to treat other people as himself, or more often not to do to others what one does not want done to oneself. The so-called Golden Rule (Matt 7:12), along with the commandment to love one’s enemies (Matt 5:44), are seen as particularly New Testament, “the better covenant,” injunctions and the signs of a person pursuing authentic Perfection. Second, however, the author details an incident of hatred and violence committed by the same person—but always at God’s specific command—that reduces his status to below even Uprightness. Moses Pursued Perfection The author points to the infamous incident of the worshipping of the golden calf, but in his effort to maintain this pattern reverses the order of events. He begins lifting up Moses’ empathy with the rebellious Israelites after God has threatened to kill them: When our Lord sought to kill the Israelites, Moses said in his prayer concerning these who were embittering his spirit every day and abusing him, ‘If you blot them out, blot me out from your book of life.’27

The Israelites had been resisting and opposing Moses, so that in some ways they were his enemies. Yet, as he wished that the righteous might do to him if he had done wrong, that they might pray for him. See how the Upright pursued Perfection! But God said to him, ‘No, but I will blot out whomever sins against me.’28 Moses prayed with his love, [for] he loved humanity as himself. Thus through his Uprightness he desired that a person should pray for him if he did wrong, until the Lord forgave the transgressions of his brothers, the sons of Adam.

Moses is classified as an Upright one pursuing Perfection, and not wishing to do evil to others is constituent of his Uprightness. This

27 28

Ex 32:32. Ex 32:33.

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observation implies that the mēmrā originated in a preached sermon to the community of BoS. On one side, Moses never did attain Perfection in the way some of the listeners to the sermon would have, and for those still laboring in Uprightness it is an encouraging note to realize that they are on a par with the great Moses. The author inserts the first of a series of homiletic notes that further indicate its oral character: “In what way do we resemble these Upright ones whom [misfortune] grieved—we [who] rejoice at one another’s misfortune—and [who] prayed for him upon whom misfortune came on account of his sins?” As will be evident throughout the BoS, the community to whom the author speaks and pastors does not consist completely of Perfect ones or even Upright ones. The author turns back a few verses to illustrate Moses’ less than Upright behavior: In another place [in Scripture], the Lord brought Moses down to [a stage] lower than Uprightness when he said to him, ‘Command the Levites to slay their brothers and fathers because they worshipped the calf,’29 exchanging [God] for a dead calf. When Moses saw that evil had targeted him, and it was no use if he prayed for them, he did to them that thing he hated for someone to do to him if he sins; that is, [he acted] by the word from the Lord’s mouth, and not by the will of Moses. When he slew the sinful Amalek,30 the Lord brought him down from Uprightness and he did the thing he hated for someone to do to him and to his brothers, the sons of Adam. For in that time there was enmity between God and humanity (§5, p. 92).

The pivotal element in Moses’ actions is his will and, when violence is involved, it is always God’s will that compels the Upright one to violate the code. The author projects into Moses’ thoughts an awareness of the reverse Golden Rule, but one sees quickly the irony of Moses’ recognizing “it was no use if he prayed for them,” and so enabling the bloody retribution of the Levites, and then five verses later challenging and pleading with God over the same issue. A second homiletic interlude offers a brief overview of Biblical and salvation history that intersects with the contemporary political situation—a passage that comes as close as any in BoS to giving an historical framework for the text. The Assyrians were the divinely appointed scourge against the disobedient Jews, but today that divine commission is no longer in effect. 29 30

Ex 32:27. Ex 17:8–16.


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But since the day our Lord dissolved enmity and reconciled with the blood of his cross what is on the earth [with] what is in heaven, causing wars to cease from the ends of the earth,31 no longer when the Assyrian wakes up is it our Lord who awakens him; nor when the Roman descends to battle, is it our Lord who makes him descend; nor when the prophet becomes a zealot and kills the sinners is it our Lord who sends him, but [it is] evil rising up today in all of them. (§6, p. 92)

The collective will can no longer be sanctified—“Our Lord no longer makes wars today as in former times, but it is these people who fight today by their own desire.” The two antagonists—the Roman and Persian Empires—by their warfare and struggles against one another condemn themselves to torment “because they did not build upon the peace which our Lord Jesus had made on earth and in heaven, and because they raised up these wars which he had caused to cease from the ends of the earth (Ps 46:9)” (§6, p. 93). The old era has passed away and the new era has arrived and there are clearly different rules. David Pursued Perfection Starting with David, the author strings a catena of characters (§§7–11) that mimics the structure of Hebrews 11. A lengthy homiletic section will intervene (§§12–18) and then the author concludes the mēmrā with a catena of three more characters (§§19–21). Of all the glorious and sordid achievements of David, the author of BoS does not seek out the obvious and famous incidents, but selects two occasions when David dealt with his enemies. David also pursued Perfection when the Lord delivered his persecutor Saul into his hands, yet [David] did not kill him, but repaid him good things instead of bad.32 But when David commanded Solomon to punish Shimei,33 it was the Lord [who] spoke through his mouth, so that through that forceful judgment he might take vengeance from Shimei [for] all he had unjustly done and carry out the judgment on himself.

The author shifts direction, observing that David had repaid his enemy and persecutor Saul good things for bad, which the author will build as a theme for the remainder of the prophets. The focus is on the

31 32 33

Ps 46:9. 1 Sam 26. 1 Kgs 2:8.

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beneficence of David’s will where his compassion towards Saul is plain. However, concerning his directions to Solomon regarding Joab and Shimei, the author has to stretch mightily to justify David’s wishes. The author here and in other places does not want to believe that such a nascent saint could possibly do something sinister by his own free will. The fact that David forgave Shimei during his life is evidence that this compassionate, reconciling will is his real one; therefore, it must have been God’s will for justice and vengeance that enabled such vengeful words to come forth and be executed. One more homiletic note is attached at the conclusion of David’s section. Peace and reconciliation between God and people now exists, especially through Jesus Christ. God no longer kills one or two evil ones, but allows the good to transform them. However, we humans delight in anger and doing evil to one another; God has not commanded anyone today to be a zealot for God as of old and commit evil acts for God. There is a tendency among some of the Perfect towards vainglory, a tendency to consider themselves above and beyond the law, so the author makes it clear that the Perfect are not to believe they have license to imitate the spectacular transgressions of the Old Testament. Abraham Pursued Perfection Both Hebrews 11 and BoS include Abraham twice; one episode for each referring to Abraham and Isaac. But as before, none of the incidents are the same or overlap. Most notably, Heb 11:17–19 focuses on the Aqedah, the near sacrifice of Isaac by Abraham at God’s command and the faith demonstrated by Abraham in carrying out this command (Genesis 22). Surprisingly, BoS does not include this obvious case of violence-below-Uprightness commanded by God, a passage frequently attributed with Christological overtones. The author remembers Abraham (§8, pp. 94–95) as one who treated well all kinds of people, supplying the needy and afflicted with food and clothing, indeed, squandering his property for the sake of the needy. He did not allow his servants to do the work, but insisted upon serving them himself. The author describes Abraham as imitating Christ, washing the feet of foreigners, good and bad people. When his wife was taken from him (Genesis 12 and 20), he was humble and bowed to the usurpers, calling them “my lords” in order to honor them. Here Abraham is pictured as a genuinely humble and self-effacing person,


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passively non-violent in today’s terms, whose characteristics prefigure those of Christ. Towards the end of the mēmrā (§19), the author returns to Abraham, this time with Isaac, but not for the Aqedah. Filling out a little more the circumstances of how both men’s wives were taken from them (add Isaac’s parallel episode, Genesis 26), the author points out that they did not complain. Their well was taken from them as well and they did not quarrel or make their abusers their enemies: “They endured the rape of their riches with joy, and were held captive neither by their possession nor by their wives, as [they were] by the love of and desire for God” (§19, p. 101). The author’s depiction of how Abraham possessed and used his wealth begins to turn his argument towards the Upright ones of the community. The author answers his own rhetorical question that is directed to the listeners/readers of the mēmrā: “If the Lord had said to them, ‘Renounce your wives and let go of your property,’ as he had said to the Apostles, they would have done his will, just as when he had said to them, ‘Go out from your land and from your family, and go where I tell you.’”34 Obviously, the author is making his disciples understand that Abraham could easily have been Perfect, for his humble behavior showing little anxiety over what was taken from him demonstrates his potential as a Perfect one today. Nevertheless, the author arrives at a startling conclusion for an ascetically minded writer—Abraham chose the more difficult path by keeping his possessions and remaining married! Enduring all his deprivations and anguish, he provides a model for how the contemporary Upright ones need to live their lives faithfully and humbly: “All whom the Lord held back from renunciation and from physical celibacy were to become an example to all who are married in this world, so that they might live like them” (§19, p. 102). Returning to §8, Abraham pursued Perfection, but was held back since he had been sent by God to kill the evil kings “who had intruded into what did not belong to them” (Genesis 14; §8, p. 95). To prove that this was in fact God who had sent him on this task, God met him and said, “Your reward shall be very great, because you have come and gone at my word and you did not covet spoils.”35 The latter two italicized clauses

34 35

Gen 12:1. Gen 15:1.

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have been added by the author, summarizing the apparent reasons for Abram’s reward in the preceding episode. Melchizedek’s appearance with bread and wine and blessing (Gen 14:8) validates Abram’s obedience to God’s command. Elijah Pursued Perfection Elijah nearly gets away without accounting for his various slayings, the prophets of Ba{al and others. He is depicted initially as a messenger of peace as he ran many miles ahead of Ahab (1 Kgs 18:46), his enemy and persecutor, “though Elijah had not injured a thing, except when the Lord had compelled him to do these things” (§9, p. 95). There are always exceptions, but the author is not interested in them. He interprets Elijah as humbly concerned for the welfare and honor of others, and in particular, for his enemies. The author concludes Elijah’s story with a perspective on the general attitude of the prophets. For Elijah prayed and rain fell and he ran to [seek] the honor of the wicked king so that he might enter his house with honor. You see that the prophets [too] desired the life and honor of the world and of its kings—while they denied God and offended the prophets (§9, pp. 95–96).

This is one of the gentlest portraits of Elijah one is likely to find in patristic literature. Elisha Pursued Perfection Elisha does not escape so easily. The author again has to scrounge for a Perfection-directed action for this equally fiery successor of Elijah. The briefest of notices refers to the occasion when Elisha prayed for blindness upon the attacking enemy Syrian generals, but then gave them food and drink and sent safely home, rather than kill them, as convention would normally have it (2 Kgs 6:15–23). In so doing, he demonstrated the mercy and love of one’s enemy that the author requires of the Perfect ones. “He fed and gave drink to his enemies as he wished that his enemies would do to him” (§10, p. 96) confirms that Elisha’s will is rooted in the Gospel ethic. The author so far has sidestepped the worst of behavior by his particular cloud of witnesses, but with the surreal incident of Elisha’s prayer that elicited two bears to come and maul forty-two young boys


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(2 Kgs 2:23–24) we have one of the worst. The author senses strongly the irony of this infamous instance in which the boys taunted and teased the prophet for his baldness, and so prefaces the event by stating the irony: But in another place, the Lord brought him down from Uprightness and from love when he did to these children the thing which he would have hated that someone should do to him if he transgressed. To those who sought to kill him he did good things instead of bad, as is appropriate for one who seeks Perfection (§10, p. 96).

Despite all of this Elisha’s will remains within the fold. The problem is solved simply, if not also surreally: “But it had been the will of Elisha when he fed his enemies. Yet when he killed the children, it was the will of God.” Squeezing a square peg into a round hole is one way to describe the exercise of eisegesis, but there is an unstated rationale for the author present in the Biblical text. After hearing their taunts, Elisha turns around and “cursed them in the name of the Lord” (2 Kgs 2:24). Invoking God’s name now makes God the initiator of action, and there is no word that Elisha did anything else in the affair. The two she-bears just come out of the woods and do their worst. Therefore, it was God who facilitated the attack, for Elisha did not explicitly will the mauling. The very fact that God would respond to Elisha’s curse, and quickly, would indicate that the prophet was deeply in favor with the Lord. Abel Pursued Perfection The inclusion of Abel’s brief story now is final proof that the author of BoS was not interested in following Biblical chronology. Utilizing a midrashic reading between the lines that not only compliments Hebrews’ treatment in 11:4, but also creatively conforms these earliest of personalities to the non-violent demeanor worthy of and necessary for Perfection: Abel pursued Perfection when he submitted to his murderer and did not violate love and Uprightness by striking [Cain], the thing which he hated lest someone should strike him. Adam demonstrated his [love of ] truth when he did not require vengeance for Abel from the hands of Cain, because he wished that every person would forgive him whenever he would sin. Thus the Lord was content to forgive [Cain] on the day he went astray and did not kill him (§11, p. 96).

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While the author does not violate the canonical narrative (Gen 4:2–16), he exploits the territory where nothing is explicitly mentioned. He identifies Abel as pursuing Perfection, though Abel never utters a word and the only thing he explicitly does is offer one of his sheep to God and walk with his brother Cain to that fated field. The author assumes Abel submitted to his brother’s attack without striking back, “the thing which he hated lest someone should strike him,” molding Abel’s will into the patterns of Uprightness. In the canonical text Adam is mentioned in 4:1 and not again until 4:25, in both instances in the process of “knowing Eve his wife”—first for Cain, and presumably Abel in 4:2, and finally for Seth. The author appeals to what feminist Biblical interpreters would call “the hidden history” of the text: one knows that Adam is somewhere in the vicinity and involved and grieved by what happens; it is just that the Biblical writer does not find the occasion to mention him. The author does mention Adam, that he did not require vengeance from Cain, “because he wished that every person would forgive him whenever he would sin.” Not only does the author recreate a scenario for which there is no contradictory witness, but he also fits Adam’s intentions into those of an Upright one pursuing Perfection. The last actor is God who has a lot to say to Cain. The author draws an implicit conclusion from the narrative that God was content to forgive Cain and did not kill him as a proof of his forgiveness. God would not allow anyone to kill Cain, and so the Mark. Forgiveness is possible, probable, certainly divine, but tacit. Hardly needing mention is that Abel did nothing to reduce his status below Uprightness. Homiletic Interlude A lengthy homiletic interlude follows (§§12–18) in which the author reviews the themes already encountered. Nothing new is added, but all the perspectives previously noted in asides and concluding remarks to an exegesis are now organized together. The actions and intentions of the prophets are explained and defended, especially in their carrying out the Golden Rule equally to those who treated them well or badly, “[all this] so long as the Lord did not force them to do evil to his enemies” (§12, p. 97). Proceeding to demonstrate how the times have changed since that ancient of days, the author rehearses the strategies God adopted by means of the prophets against the idolaters and others who did not


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recognize God’s authority. They had to use violence in God’s name because the idolaters would not have understood the point otherwise and would have believed it was their own gods that had killed them. Ultimately, this strategy did not work, for the idolaters were stubborn and did not listen, and so there was no peace during that time. There has been significant progress for humanity since then, particularly because of the appearance of Christ who has established peace. Therefore, God no longer guides anyone to use violence in this way. Any violence or evil performed in this day against another person is due completely to the sinfulness of the violent one, and that one will bear the punishment. No zealots are required any longer, for God will enact the punishments directly. God no longer holds back anyone from love and Perfection. The point and impact of all these biographical vignettes is to show that these prophets, remarkable people with exceptional accomplishments, were involved in precisely the same pilgrimage as the author’s gathered listeners—from the Upright ones all the way up to the Perfect ones. The prophets were required by God to perform certain unpleasant and revolting acts, but their pursuit of Perfection was not forgotten and finally they would be perfected in the sight of the Apostles. The Perfect ones now share the same full Paraclete of the Spirit as the Apostles, so spiritually the Perfect are the equals of the Apostles. The prophets were elevated to Perfection only after those gathered around the author’s pulpit. It is the incarnation and atoning death of Jesus Christ that brings about this new status. Exhortations to the Upright The oral shape of this mēmrā appears more clearly, for after this long homiletic passage, with the theological foundations having been laid, the author uses three final cases to direct his comments directly to the situation and problems of his congregation. The first example is the one discussed above concerning Abraham and Isaac, providing encouragement to the lower status of Upright ones to utilize their wealth and circumstances wisely and properly, and not to become attached to or obsessed by either. There are persistent hints throughout BoS that the Upright ones, though they perform and support most of the Christian endeavours of charity and social service, are looked upon condescendingly by the higher level of the Perfect ones and not valued for their

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contribution. The author takes the time to bolster the cause and status of the Upright ones, recognizing that such condescension of the Perfect will undermine the higher level. Jacob Pursued Perfection Typically characterized as one of the scoundrels of the Bible, Jacob emerges here as a model of humility. None of his questionable behavior is mentioned in the brief exposition—one would almost think a revisionist interpretation of Jacob’s deceiving his father Isaac for the birthright, along with Rebekah’s role, would be required. Nonetheless, the author appropriately attaches the turning point of Jacob’s spiritual life, the encounter and reconciliation with his brother Esau after many years (Genesis 32–33). There is no preamble—presumably one is expected to know the story—so the first words are those of Esau’s anger. Every action of Jacob demonstrates his abject humility before the brother we know he has wronged. He sends gifts, identifying himself as “your servant,” and then bows down to Esau seven times at his approach. The enmity of Esau evaporates and he reconciles with his brother (§20, p. 102). As with Abraham and Isaac and Abel above, there are no occasions mentioned by the author when Jacob was brought down below Uprightness. Instead, the author directs a pointed charge to his listeners: “Where is our own lowliness today? Who among us is humbled like this before his enemy, bowing down to him and reconciling himself with him?” There is a tone of voice coming through the author’s plea that this is not a typical sermonic turn of phrase void of any specific circumstances. The concluding mēmrā 30 of BoS describes a disturbing level of conflict between the Upright and Perfect brothers and some outside forces that results in violence and apparently murder.36 The author’s persistent theme of loving and treating well one’s enemies is directed internally, rather than against an outside foreign threat.

36 Cf. The Book of Steps, li–lvi, and R.A. Kitchen, “Conflict on the Stairway to Heaven: The Anonymity of Perfection in the Syriac Liber Graduum,” OCA 256 (1998), 211–20. Also S. Abou-Zayd, “Violence and Killing in the Liber Graduum,” Aram 11–12 (1999–2000), 451–65; P. Nagel, “Die ‘Martyrer des Glaubens’ und die ‘Martyrer der Liebe’ im syrische Liber Graduum,” in Religion und Wahrheit. Religionsgeschichtliche Studien. Festschrift für Gernot Wiessner (ed. B. Kohler; Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz, 1998), 127–42.


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Joseph Pursued Perfection The author concludes the mēmrā with Joseph, the eleventh son of Jacob, who has not suffered the bruised reputation of the other prophets and patriarchs. He pursued Perfection in repaying “good things for bad to his brothers who had sought twice to kill him.” He was sold into slavery and endured great sufferings on account of his brothers’ actions. Yet, “he repaid them all noble deeds instead of spiteful things and did not keep a grudge, nor did he become their enemy.”37 The author continues to point out that Joseph went on to be wrongly accused and persecuted while he was Egypt, yet each time he endured the evil actions, “and [so] he excelled and triumphed over every evil with good things” (§21, p. 103). The climactic moment of the Book of Genesis comes after the death of Jacob and the brothers fear that Joseph will mete out just punishment to them, now that his father is no longer around: “Then Joseph raised his voice with sighs and tears and said to his brothers, who were his murderers, ‘Do not fear me, for I am subject to God.’38 And [so] they realized that he was a friend of the Lord like his fathers, and would keep His commandments.” Joseph is now “a friend of God”—which is then defined as those who “shine their love upon the good and the bad” (§21, p. 103). Certainly, amidst their conflicts and jealousies and falling down from one level to the next, this is what the author calls the members of his congregation to aspire to be, “the friends of God.” A crucial aspect of Joseph’s being a friend of God is contained in his response to his brothers, “for I am subject to God.” That he is under the rule and command of God is a necessary requisite for such a friend. However, this reading is an intriguing Syriac variant. The Hebrew Masoretic text is rendered not as a declaration, but as a question, “Am I in the place of God?” (Gen 50:19, NRSV). The difference between the senses of both readings is not vastly divergent, but there is a distinction. The canonical text has Joseph rebuffing aspersions that he has appropriated God’s role as judge. The BoS, on the other hand, has Joseph affirm that all that he does and think belongs to God’s will and mind. The author of BoS is not engaging in a free recall of the text, for he is citing precisely the Syriac Peshitta text of Gen 50:19.

37 38

Rom 12:21. Gen 50:19.

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The phrase in the Masoretic Text reads in Hebrew: kī ha-ta ath elohīm ānī. The key word is ta ath, which in Hebrew means “in the place of.” The Peshitta translators rendered the same phrase: metul d-ta ēth allāhā ( e)nā. The same word (ta ēth) is virtually transliterated from Hebrew to Syriac, but in Syriac the word means “under” or here “under the authority,” “subject to.” This does not radically alter the meaning of the text, but it seems the author of BoS was following a different interpretive tradition issuing from the Peshitta’s variant. Concluding Postscript Mēmrā Nine of BoS is an intriguing example of an adaptation of a genre (“set piece”) of canonical Scripture to fit the particular needs and situation of a living Christian community. The anonymous author had as his primary concern the pastoral care and nurturing of a body of Christians who were perceived operating on two levels of attainment—the lower level of the Upright ones who were married and lived in the secular world; and the higher level of the Perfect who conducted what would be called now contemplative lives with as little attachment to the world as possible. Whether the author is the architect of this approach to Christian community and spiritual development is not available to us. What he is vigilant about is defining as clearly as possible the ascetical life, clarifying doctrinal misunderstandings, and chastising and redirecting members of the community for neglecting aspects of their calling. The author can express all this in no other way than through the language, thought-world and images of the Bible. Mēmrā Nine is a case in point. Mēmrā Nine of The Book of Steps does not represent an attempt by the author to paraphrase the content of Hebrews 11, for the New Testament chapter is centered around the expression of faith, not only in the Old Testament characters cited, but also in the lives of the congregation to whom the author of Hebrews speaks. The themes of BoS are not so sharply focused, though a consistent picture gradually comes into focus. Ostensibly, the purpose is to solve the problem of the Old Testament “saintly” prophets that the author perceives are held back from ascending to the level of Perfection because of the aggressive and hateful actions they have performed at the command of God. The author is not just presenting a scholarly exegesis of selected problematic Biblical


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passages, but is preaching to segments of the BoS community who need to realign their thinking and relationships. The ascetical institution of the Upright and the Perfect, operating for some time in this community, finds its roots and themes in the Biblical narrative. How these obviously time-honored prophets with their less-than-holy behavior fit into the scheme of the Upright and the Perfect is more than a theoretical issue for the author. The Old Testament prophets are shown to provide models of how one struggles in the various degrees of the Christian ascetical life. The author must also demonstrate and emphasize that with the incarnation, crucifixion and resurrection of Jesus Christ, the old has passed away and the New has come to stay. Therefore, one is no longer permitted to act like the zealous prophets, no matter how Perfect one may aspire to be. Some in the community have apparently attempted to use “Biblical license” to justify improper behavior. The author of BoS does use Hebrews 11 as the structure for his sermon/discourse. The most obvious element is providing his own perspectives through a chain of Biblical heroes—the list in BoS is different from Hebrews 11 in order and personalities selected, with a few common characters. Even the prophets held in common are depicted by different incidents in their lives. It is the use by the author of BoS of Heb 11:16, “they desire a better country”; and 11:40, “since God had provided something better so that they would not, apart from us, be made perfect” as the key interpretive passages for his solution of the zealous prophets. In good homiletic practice, these solutions are both a caution against too literal an imitation of the erstwhile holy men, but also a word of encouragement to the contemporary Upright and Perfect that they are accomplishing something of significance and should persevere. The canonical text once again is the starting point and organizing structure for a patristic writer addressing his own community’s needs and giving new life to an ancient text.

LES HOMÉLIES SUR L’ÉVANGILE DE LUC DE TITUS DE BOSTRA Jean-Michel Lavoie, Paul-Hubert Poirier et Thomas S. Schmidt Nous savons peu de choses sur la vie de Titus, évêque de Bostra (ou Bosra), ville commerciale et militaire de l’Arabie Pétrée,1 mais les quelques bribes de sa biographie qui sont parvenues jusqu’à nous sont d’une assez grande précision.2 Ces éléments biographiques, qui permettent de dater quelques événements de la vie et de la carrière ecclésiastique de Titus, portent sur les faits suivants: (1) Ses démêlés avec l’empereur Julien. Alors que Titus était déjà évêque de Bostra, l’empereur Julien (361–363) adressa aux Bostréniens, depuis Antioche, une lettre datée du 1er août 362 dans laquelle il est nommément fait mention de Titus et de ses clercs qui, écrit l’empereur, « dans des suppliques qu’ils m’ont remises, se sont faits les accusateurs des masses qu’ils ont avec eux ». Et l’empereur d’inviter les habitants de Bostra à expulser « spontanément » l’évêque de leur ville.3 (2) Sa participation à un synode réuni à Antioche en 363 pour régler les séquelles de l’arianisme.4 C’est au cours de ce synode qu’Acace de Césarée accepta, pour un temps du moins, le symbole de Nicée, renonçant ainsi formellement à l’arianisme. La chronique du synode,

1 Sur cette ville, voir M. Sartre, Bostra Des origines à l’Islam (Institut français d’archéologie du Proche-Orient, Bibliothèque archéologique et historique, 117; Paris: P. Geuthner, 1985). 2 Principales notices sur Titus de Bostra: R.P. Casey, « Titus von Bostra » RE 2/6, cols. 1586–91; É. Amann, « Tite de Bostra », DTC 15, cols. 1143–4; A. Solignac, « Titus de Bostra », DS 15, cols. 999–1006; K. Wegenast, « Titus 5. Bischof von Bostra », REK 5, col. 876; E. Cavalcanti, « Titus de Bostra », DECA 2, 2458; F.W. Norris, « Titus of Bostra », EEC, 1135; B. Baldwin, « Titus », ODB 3, 2089–90; C. Schmidt, « Titus of Bostra », DECL, 579–80; C. Römer, « Titus von Bostra », dans RGG4 8, 422. Voir également J. Sickenberger, Titus von Bostra. Studien zu dessen Lukashomilien (TU 21, 1; Leipzig: J.C. Hinrichs’sche Buchhandlung, 1901), 1–10; N. A. Pedersen, Demonstrative Proof in Defence of God: A Study of Titus of Bostra’s Contra Manichaeos. The Work’s Sources, Aims and Relation to its Contemporary Theology (NHMS 56; Leiden: Brill, 2004), 66–68 et 120–129. 3 Lettre 114 (= 52 Hertlein), éd. et trad. J. Bidez, L’Empereur Julien. Oeuvres complètes Tome I, 2e partie, Lettres et fragments (CUFSG 22; Paris: Les belles lettres, 1924); sur cette lettre et son contexte, voir ibid., 123–6. 4 Cf. M. Geerard, CPG, Volumen IV, 25, §8595.

254 jean-michel lavoie, paul-hubert poirier et thomas s. schmidt voulu par Jovien (363–364), nous a été conservée par Socrate, qui donne également les signatures des vingt-six évêques présents, dont Titus.5 (3) La composition du Contra Manichaeos (CPG 3575). D’après une allusion de Titus lui-même à la situation contemporaine,6 elle a dû être entreprise sous le règne de Julien et s’être poursuivie et achevée sous celui de ses deux successeurs immédiats, Jovien ( juin 363–février 364) et Valens (364–378). La notice de Jérôme, dans son De viris inlustribus, qui situe la rédaction de l’ouvrage sub Iuliano et Ioviano,7 permet de penser que celle-ci devait être terminée au début de l’année 364.8 Elle dut en tout cas l’être avant 374 puisqu’Épiphane de Salamine put utiliser le Contra Manichaeos pour sa notice sur les manichéens, comme il le reconnaît lui-même.9 (4) Quant à sa mort, elle survint, au témoignage de Jérôme,10 sub Valente, donc entre 364 et 378. S’il fut un personnage assez important pour s’attirer les foudres de l’empereur Julien et voir son nom inscrit dans l’historiographie chrétienne, Titus de Bostra doit sa réputation et sa survie à une monumentale réfutation du manichéisme, dont il rédigea l’essentiel (au moins depuis II, 28), comme nous venons de le voir, peu après la mort toute récente de l’empereur Julien, survenue le 26 juin 363. Déjà à l’époque de Jérôme, Titus n’était plus connu que comme l’auteur d’un Contra Manichaeos. La notice du De viris inlustribus porte, en effet, que Titus « fortes Adversum Manichaeos scripsit libros et nonnulla alia ».11 De ces

5 Histoire ecclésiastique III, xxv, 18, éd. et trad. P. Périchon, P. Maraval, Socrate de Constantinople. Histoire ecclésiastique. Livres II–III (SC 493; Paris: Cerf, 2005), 356–357. 6 Évoquant le sort de villes qui périssent parfois du fait de l’impiété de leurs habitants, Titus écrit (Contra Manichaeos II, 28) que « cela s’est précisément produit sous le règne de celui qui fut très impie et qui rappela l’erreur des idoles—οἷα δὴ πρώην ἐπὶ τοῦ λίαν ἀσεβήσαντος καὶ τῶν εἰδώλων τὴν πλάνην ἀναμνήσαντος », éd. P. De Lagarde, Titi Bostreni quae ex opere contra Manichaeos edito in codice hamburgensi servata sunt graece e recognitione Paul Antonii de Lagarde (Berlin: W. Hertz, 1859), 43, 35–36. Titus fait probablement référence au tremblement de terre qui, en 362, frappa Nicomédie et Nicée, cf. Pedersen, Demonstrative Proof, 126. 7 102, éd. E.C. Richardson, Hieronymus, Liber de viris inlustribus. Gennadius, Liber de viris inlustribus (TU 14; Leipzig: J.C. Hinrichs’sche Buchhandlung, 1896), 48, 24. 8 On ne peut donc en fixer les terminus post quem et ante quem en 363 et 378, comme le fait N. A. Pedersen, Demonstrative Proof, 126; si le témoignage de Jérôme est recevable, il permet d’être plus précis. 9 Panarion 66, 21, 3, éd. K. Holl et J. Dummer, Epiphanius III, Panarion haer. 65–80. De fide (GCS; Berlin: Akademie-Verlag, 1985) 49, 3; cf. Pedersen, Demonstrative Proof, 67 et 126–7. 10 Ibid., 48, 26–27. 11 Loc. cit.

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nonnulla alia, Jérôme semble bien ne rien connaître sinon par ouï-dire. Ailleurs, Jérôme, revendiquant pour les chrétiens le droit d’utiliser les auteurs païens, mentionne Titus dans une liste d’écrivains ecclésiastiques qui « ont si copieusement farci leurs ouvrages des doctrines et maximes des philosophes, qu’on ne sait ce que l’on doit admirer surtout chez eux, l’érudition profane ou la science des Écritures ».12 Que ce Contra Manichaeos ait répondu à un besoin immédiat et qu’il se soit imposé dans l’Orient chrétien, nous en avons pour preuve qu’une traduction syriaque intégrale en fut assez vite réalisée, dont une copie, produite à Édesse moins de cinquante ans après la composition de l’ouvrage, en 411 de notre ère,13 aujourd’hui le manuscrit British Library, Add. 12150, est parvenue jusqu’à nous.14 Outre son importance capitale comme témoin unique du texte complet du Contra Manichaeos, ce manuscrit, dans lequel on retrouve, à côté de Titus, des ouvrages du pseudo-Clément de Rome (les Recognitiones) et d’Eusèbe de Césarée (dont la Théophanie), revêt une très grande signification pour l’histoire de la traduction dans le monde syriaque.15 Mais l’activité littéraire et théologique de l’évêque de Bostra ne s’est pas limitée à réfuter les manichéens. Des nonnulla alia dont parle Jérôme, il ne reste cependant plus que des fragments. L’essentiel de ceux-ci, préservés par la tradition caténique, provient des Homélies sur Luc (CPG 3576) qui constituent l’objet de la présente communication. Neuf scholies in Danielem (CPG 3577) ont été rééditées par Joseph Sickenberger à partir d’une chaine sur Daniel.16 Celui-ci les tient pour

12 Lettre 70, 4, éd. et trad. J. Labourt, Saint Jérôme, Lettres, tome III (CUFSL, 140; Paris: Les belles lettres, 1953), 213. 13 Nous ne savons pas à quelle date cette traduction syriaque a pu être réalisée, mais on ne peut affirmer que ce fut « within five years of the author’s death », comme dans C. Kannengiesser, Handbook of Patristic Exegesis II (BAC; Leiden/Boston: Brill, 2004), 775, puisque nous ignorons la date de la mort de Titus. 14 Éd. P. De Lagarde, Titi Bostreni contra manichaeos libri quatuor syriace (Berlin: C. Schultze, 1859). Une nouvelle édition, accompagnée d’une concordance et d’une traduction française des versions grecque et syriaque du Contra Manichaeos, est en préparation à l’Université Laval par les soins de P.-H. Poirier, Th. Schmidt et A. Roman. Subventionnée par le Conseil de recherche en sciences humaines du Canada, cette édition paraîtra dans la « series graeca » du CCCM (Turnhout, Brepols). 15 Cf. à ce propos P.-H. Poirier et C. Sensal, « Du grec au syriaque: quelques réflexions sur la version syriaque du Contra Manichaeos de Titus de Bostra », V Symposium syriacum 1988 (éd R. Lavenant; OCP 236; Rome: Pontificum Institutum Studiorum Orientalium, 1990), 307–19. 16 Sickenberger, Titus von Bostra, 246–9; il s’agit de la Catena Iohannis Drungari, dont on trouvera l’analyse dans la CPG, 220–221, §C 75.

256 jean-michel lavoie, paul-hubert poirier et thomas s. schmidt authentiques et pense qu’elles proviennent, non d’un commentaire suivi de Daniel, mais des homélies sur Luc de Titus, comme l’indique d’ailleurs le lemme d’un des fragments (Τίτου ἐκ τοῦ κατὰ Λουκᾶν εὐαγγελίου).17 Un « florilège édessénien anonyme », dont une version syriaque fut effectuée avant 562,18 a également conservé quatre fragments d’un Sermon sur l’Épiphanie (CPG 3578).19 Une homélie In Lazarum et in ramos palmarum (CPG 3580), qu’un seul manuscrit sur huit attribue à Hésychius de Jérusalem alors que les sept autres la donnent sous le nom de Titus de Bostra, n’appartient ni à l’un ni à l’autre, comme Michel Aubineau l’a clairement montré en dernier lieu.20 Des fragments de Titus ont également été signalés dans des florilèges, mais sans indications précises.21 L’héritage littéraire de Titus de Bostra se résume donc pour l’essentiel à son traité contre les manichéens et à ses homélies sur Luc, deux œuvres transmises d’une manière imparfaite et, dans le cas de la seconde, singulièrement complexe, comme nous le verrons à l’instant. Les homélies de Titus sur l’Évangile de Luc ne nous sont pas parvenues sous leur forme originelle, sauf peut-être dans un manuscrit palimpseste de l’Ambrosienne (F. 130 sup.) signalé par Giovanni Mercati,22 dont les maigres restes, très difficiles à lire, pourraient appartenir à une collection d’homélies de Titus, selon l’analyse qu’en a faite Joseph Sickenberger dans sa magistrale édition des scholies de l’évêque de Bostra, fondement de toutes les études postérieures sur Titus ainsi que des remarques qui suivent.23 Ibid., 130–4. Cf. R. P. Casey, « Titus von Bostra », col. 1591. 19 Éd., avec une rétroversion grecque, I. Rucker, Florilegium Edessenum anonymum (syriace ante 562) (SAWBay philosophisch-historische Abteilung, Jahrgang 1933, Heft 5; Munich: Verlag der Bayerischen Akadamie der Wissenschaften, 1933), 82–87, §§82–85 (361–4). 20 Voir M. Aubineau, Les homélies festales d’Hésychius de Jérusalem II Les homélies XVI–XXI et tables des deux volumes (SubH 59; Bruxelles: Société des Bollandistes, 1978), 617–18 et 715–77. 21 M. Richard, « Florilèges spirituels. III. Florilèges grecs », col. 506 (= M. Richard, Opera Minora I, n° 1; Turnhout/Leuven, Brepols/University Press, 1976) dans DS, vol. 5 (Viller, M., Cavallera, F., Guibert, J. de, éd.; Paris, 1962); M. Richard, « Quelques nouveaux fragments des Pères anténicéens et nicéens » SO 38 (1963) 77 (= ibid., no 5). 22 A. Mercati, « Alcune note di letteratura patristica IV. Reliquie d’un Commentario greco all’Evangelo di S. Luca », RILomb serie II, t. 31 (1898) 1191–1203 (= Opere minori II, (1897–1906) [S&T 77; Città del Vaticano: Biblioteca apostolica vaticana, 1937] 72–84). Nous envisageons une ré-édition de ce manuscrit. 23 Sickenberger, Titus von Bostra, 250–9 (sur le manuscrit de l’Ambrosienne, Milano). 17 18


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Le nom de Titus de Bostra est en revanche explicitement associé à un commentaire sur l’Évangile de Luc conservé dans plus d’une quarantaine de manuscrits,24 que certains transmettent sous le titre suivant: τοῦ ἐν ἁγίοις πατρὸς ἡμῶν Τίτου ἐπισκόπου Βοστρῶν καὶ ἄλλων τινῶν ἁγίων πατέρων ἑρμενεία εἰς τὸ κατὰ Λουκᾶν εὐαγγέλιον. Ce commentaire citant (sans les nommer) plusieurs auteurs postérieurs à Titus, les savants ont reconnu très tôt qu’il ne pouvait être de la main de Titus et certains sont allés jusqu’à imaginer l’existence d’un second Titus, d’époque plus tardive.25 En vérité, comme l’a démontré Sickenberger,26 il s’agit d’un commentaire anonyme, datant vraisemblablement du VIe siècle, offrant une compilation d’extraits d’auteurs variés, parmi lesquels les scholies de Cyrille d’Alexandrie occupent une place prépondérante (42% du texte), alors que celles de Titus ne représentent qu’environ 7%.27 Si seul le nom de Titus a été retenu dans le titre, c’est simplement parce que la première scholie citée dans le commentaire est précisément due à notre évêque.28 Ce commentaire n’est donc nullement l’oeuvre de Titus et c’est à juste titre qu’on le qualifie de « commentaire du pseudoTitus » dans la littérature moderne. Il semblerait que son auteur soit le même que le compilateur du commentaire à l’Évangile de Matthieu, auquel il renvoie explicitement pour les passages qu’il ne commente pas.29 Quoi qu’il en soit, cette compilation illustre bien le sort qui fut celui des homélies de Titus: elles furent très tôt intégrées sous la forme de scholies dans des commentaires et des chaînes exégétiques portant sur l’Évangile de Luc. L’histoire de la transmission des scholies de Titus est donc directement liée à celle des chaînes dans lesquelles elles figurent et, 24 Cf. Sickenberger, Titus von Bostra, 17–25; M. Rauer, Origenes Werke, neunter Band: Die Homilien zu Lukas in der Übersetzung des Hieronymus und die griechischen Reste der Homilien und des Lukas-Kommentars (GCS 49; Berlin: Akademie-Verlag, 1959), xxxvi–xxxviii; CPG C 130 (Typus A); le renvoi de la CPG à Karo-Lietzmann est erroné, ce commentaire n’y étant pas abordé. 25 Cf. Sickenberger, Titus von Bostra, 23. 26 Cf. ibid., 16–41. 27 Ces chiffres sont avancés par J. Sickenberger, « Über griechische Evangelienkommentare », BZ 1 (1903), 185, en réponse aux remarques de H. von Soden, Die Schriften des Neuen Testaments in ihrer ältesten erreichbaren Textgestalt hergestellt auf Grund ihrer Textgeschichte, I. Teil: Untersuchungen, I. Abteilung: Die Textzeugen (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck und Ruprecht, 1902 [1911]), 580–2, qui contestait les résultats de l’étude de J. Sickenberger, Titus von Bostra. 28 Cf. Sickenberger, « Über griechische Evangelienkommentare », 39; M. Rauer, Origenes Werke, xxxvi. 29 Cf. Sickenberger, ibid., 29 et 40; J. Reuss, Lukas-Kommentare aus der griechischen Kirche aus Katenenhandschriften gesammelt und herausgegeben (TU 130; Berlin: Akademie-Verlag, 1984), xi; CPG C 130.

258 jean-michel lavoie, paul-hubert poirier et thomas s. schmidt grâce à la sagacité des spécialistes qui se sont penchés sur cette tradition complexe, il est possible d’en dresser le portrait suivant.30 Dans un premier temps, les scholies de Titus furent intégrées à deux commentaires anonymes, dont le premier est le commentaire du pseudo-Titus évoqué ci-dessus. Le second est également un commentaire suivi que certains manuscrits transmettent sous le nom de Pierre de Laodicée, mais dont on s’accorde aujourd’hui pour penser qu’il n’est pas de lui.31 Datant du VIe–VIIe siècle (Reuss) ou du VIIe–VIIIe siècle (Rauer,32 Clavis), il est transmis dans un nombre important de manuscrits33 et se présente lui aussi sous la forme d’une compilation de scholies sans indications d’auteurs. Les extraits les plus nombreux (334 scholies sur un total de 727)34 proviennent une fois encore des homélies de Cyrille d’Alexandrie, mais la part des scholies de Titus (100) n’est pas négligeable et se situe au troisième rang des auteurs cités, après Origène (112).35 La diffusion des deux commentaires précités fut large, comme en témoignent les nombreux manuscrits qui en transmettent le texte; leur influence fut assurément considérable, puisqu’il est établi qu’ils ont servi de base à la plupart des chaînes exégétiques sur l’Évangile de Luc. Six types de chaînes peuvent être identifiés, même si leur nomenclature varie considérablement entre les différents spécialistes. Le premier (c-Katene Sickenberger = Typus I Karo-Lietzmann = Rauer b = Typus A Reuss = Typus B Clavis) correspond à la chaîne dite de Cramer, du nom de son premier éditeur.36 Transmise dans une

30 Sickenberger, ibid.; G. Karo et H. Lietzmann, « Catenarum graecarum catalogus », 5, NAWGött (1902), 572–83; M. Rauer, Der dem Petrus von Laodicea zugeschriebene Lukaskommentar (NTA 8, 2; Münster: Aschendorff, 1920); M. Rauer, Origenes Werke; R. Devreesse, « Chaînes exégétiques grecques », dans DBSup 1, cols. 1181–94; J. Reuss, Lukas-Kommentare, x–xvii. 31 Cf. Sickenberger, ibid., 127; M. Rauer, Der dem Petrus von Laodicea zugeschriebene Lukaskommentar, 48–52; J. Reuss, Lukas-Kommentare, xii–xiii; Clavis C 132 (Typus C). 32 Rauer, Lukaskommentar, 74. 33 Cf. Sickenberger, Titus von Bostra, 121–7; Rauer, Lukaskommentar, 8–24; Rauer, Origenes Werke, xxxix–xliv; les pages de Sickenberger indiquées par J. Reuss, Lukas-Kommentare, xii, n. 20, sont erronées, car elles se rapportent aux manuscrits de la chaîne r. 34 Selon les indications fournies par la CPG (C 132), reprises de Rauer, Lukaskommentar, 33–46, 53–68. Cf. aussi J. Reuss, Lukas-Kommentare, xiii. 35 Sickenberger (Titus von Bostra, 129) affirme qu’au moins 4/5 des 186 scholies de son édition trouvent des parallèles dans le commentaire du pseudo-Pierre de Laodicée, ce qui ne semble pas concorder avec les chiffres avancés dans la CPG. 36 J.A. Cramer, Catenae graecorum patrum in Novum Testamentum II (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1841), 3–174, 415–430.


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dizaine de manuscrits37 et probablement rédigée vers 700, elle semble être l’oeuvre du même compilateur que celui des chaînes à Matthieu et à Jean.38 Celui-ci s’était visiblement donné pour mission de combler les lacunes du commentaire du pseudo-Titus (cf. ci-dessus), sur lequel sa chaîne est basée et auquel il ajoute de très nombreuses scholies en précisant le nom de leurs auteurs. Il s’agit principalement, par ordre d’importance, de Cyrille d’Alexandrie, de Titus de Bostra, d’Origène et de Jean Chrysostome. Sickenberger y dénombre environ 50 scholies de Titus, qu’il estime tirées du texte original de ses homélies et non d’une source indirecte.39 Le deuxième type (p-Katene Sickenberger = Typus III KaroLietzmann = Rauer w = Typus D Reuss = Typus E Clavis) n’est attesté que dans un manuscrit (Città del Vaticano, Biblioteca apostolica Vaticana, Pal. gr. 20) et sa copie (Vat. gr. 1933), ainsi qu’en deux fragments assez étendus dans le Reg. 3.40 Sa date de rédaction est incertaine; Sickenberger la situe entre 950 et 1150, mais considère le Xe siècle comme vraisemblable.41 La chaîne indique les noms des auteurs des scholies, en premier lieu Cyrille d’Alexandrie (155 scholies), suivi de Titus (48), Origène (39) et Jean Chrysostome (38). Une source importante du caténiste semble avoir été le commentaire du pseudo-Pierre de Laodicée et, dans une moindre mesure, celui du pseudo-Titus. Selon Sickenberger, le caténiste devait toutefois avoir aussi un accès direct au texte original de Titus, ce qui lui a permis de procéder à certains ajouts et réajustements des scholies de Titus trouvées dans les deux commentaires.42 Sa méthode de travail consistait néanmoins principalement à raccourcir et à paraphraser l’original, en y ajoutant parfois une note explicative. Le troisième type (r-Katene Sickenberger = Typus II Karo-Lietzmann = Rauer e = Typus B Reuss = Typus D Clavis), attesté dans une

Cf. Sickenberger, Titus von Bostra, 56–57; Karo et Lietzmann, « Catenarum graecarum catalogues », 573–4; Rauer, Origenes Werke, xxxviii–xxxix. 38 Cf. Sickenberger, ibid., 56. Cet avis n’est pas partagé par J. Reuss, Lukas-Kommentare, xiii. 39 Cf. Sickenberger, ibid., 58. 40 Cf. Sickenberger, ibid., 59–60; Karo et Lietzmann, « Catenarum graecarum catalogus », 576–7; Rauer, Origenes Werke, liii–liv. 41 Cf. Sickenberger, ibid., 61. 42 Cf. Sickenberger, ibid., 61–8. 37

260 jean-michel lavoie, paul-hubert poirier et thomas s. schmidt dizaine de manuscrits43 et signalé pour la première fois par Ehrhard,44 constitue un élargissement du commentaire du pseudo-Pierre de Laodicée, principalement à l’aide de scholies de Cyrille d’Alexandrie. On y dénombre aussi une trentaine de scholies de Titus, qui sont presque toujours similaires au texte transmis dans les deux types de chaînes précédemment décrits. Sickenberger en concluait que cette chaîne devait vraisemblablement dépendre des deux autres—il affirmait avec certitude une dépendance par rapport à la chaîne c, mais restait prudent quant à la chaîne p, l’antériorité de la chaîne r ne lui paraissant pas impossible.45 Aussi Sickenberger s’était-il abstenu d’avancer une date de rédaction pour ce troisième type de chaîne. Reuss, en revanche, la situe vers le VIIe–VIIIe siècle, sans toutefois donner de justification ni de références bibliographiques.46 Le quatrième type (n-Katene Sickenberger = Typus IV KaroLietzmann = Rauer k = Typus C Reuss = Typus F Clavis) est de loin la chaîne la plus importante par son ampleur et par la fiabilité de son texte et de ses informations. Son auteur, Nicétas d’Héraclée (ou de Serres),47 qui vécut dans la deuxième moitié du XIe siècle, avait très certainement à sa disposition les autres types de chaînes précités, mais il s’est adonné à un travail de compilation indépendant et basé, en ce qui concerne Titus, sur le texte original de ses homélies, qui circulaient visiblement encore à l’époque de Nicétas.48 Cette chaîne, attestée dans au moins une quinzaine de manuscrits,49 représente un effort colossal, puisqu’elle rassemble quelques 3300 scholies dont la majorité proviennent de Jean Chrysostome (877), Cyrille d’Alexandrie (575), Basile de Césarée (246) et Grégoire de Nysse (192).50 Titus vient au cinquième

43 Cf. Sickenberger, ibid., 69–73; Karo et Lietzmann, « Catenarum graecarum catalogus », 574–6; Rauer, Lukaskommentar, 24–9; Rauer, Origenes Werke, xliv–xlvi. 44 A. Ehrhard, dans K. Krumbacher, Geschichte der byzantinischen Litteratur von Justinian bis zum Ende des Oströmischen Reiches, 527–1453 (Munich: C.H. Beck, 1897), 137. 45 Cf. Sickenberger, Titus von Bostra, 73–4. 46 Cf. Reuss, Lukas-Kommentare, xiii. 47 Sur Nicétas, cf. B. Roosen, « The Works of Niceta Heracleensis (ὁ) τοῦ Σερρῶν », Byz 69 (1999), 119–44. 48 Cf. Sickenberger, ibid., 47. 49 Cf. Sickenberger, ibid., 42–46; (1902), 30–68; (1940), 151–61; Karo et Lietzmann, « Catenarum graecarum catalogues », 577–81; Rauer, Origenes Werke, xlvi–l. 50 Selon les indications de la CPG (C 135), reprises de Devreesse, « Chaînes exégétiques grecques » et de C.T. Krikones, Συναγωγὴ πατέρων εἰς τὸ κατὰ Λουκᾶν εὐαγγέλιον (Vyzantina Keimena kai meletai 9; Thessalonique: Kentron Byzantinōn Ereunōn, 1973).


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rang, avec 145 scholies dont l’authenticité a été confirmée par l’étude de Sickenberger et qui constituent la base de son édition. Le cinquième type (Typus E Reuss), inconnu de Sickenberger, KaroLietzmann et Rauer, n’a pas été repris dans la Clavis. Il s’agit d’une chaîne conservée dans un seul manuscrit, le Codex Zacynthius (Londres) édité par Greenlee.51 Elle date vraisemblablement du VIIe–VIIIe siècle et pourrait être la plus ancienne chaîne de Luc conservée. Elle fut probablement influencée par les commentaires du pseudo-Titus et du pseudo-Pierre (à vérifier).52 Les extraits les plus nombreux proviennent de Cyrille d’Alexandrie (93); Titus occupe le deuxième rang avec 45 scholies dont six offrent un texte nouveau par rapport à l’édition de Sickenberger.53 Le sixième type (Sickenberger pp. 76–78 = Typus VI Karo-Lietzmann = Rauer y = Typus F Reuss = Clavis C 137.1) est lui aussi représenté par un seul manuscrit (Vienne, Österreichische Nationalbibliothek Theol. 301, XIe siècle).54 Il ne s’agit pas d’une véritable chaîne, mais plutôt, comme le titre l’indique, d’une ἐπιτομὴ ἑρμενειῶν ἐκ τοῦ κατὰ Λουκᾶν εὐαγγελίου διαφόρων πατέρων, c’est-à-dire d’une collection assez éclectique de scholies de différents auteurs à certains passages de l’Évangile de Luc. Les lemmes sont souvent imprécis et les indications des noms des auteurs inexactes. Parmi les auteurs cités, Cyrille d’Alexandrie occupe le premier rang (59 scholies), suivi d’Origène (30) et de Titus (18).55 Le texte des scholies est très fortement abrégé par rapport à celui des autres chaînes, si bien qu’il est souvent difficile de déterminer leur provenance. L’hypothèse la plus vraisemblable, selon Sickenberger, est que le compilateur s’est servi de la chaîne de Cramer ainsi que du commentaire du pseudo-Pierre, dont il n’aurait retenu que quelques scholies qu’il aurait, par ailleurs, considérablement raccourcies.56 Leur utilité pour une édition de texte est donc très limitée.

51 J.H. Greenlee, « The Catena of Codex Zacynthius » Biblica 40 (1959), 992– 1001. 52 Cf. Reuss, Lukas-Kommentare, xv. 53 Elles ont été éditées par J. Reuss, « Bemerkungen zu den Lukas-Homilien des Titus von Bostra », Biblica 57 (1976) 538–41. 54 Cf. Karo et Lietzmann, « Catenarum graecarum catalogus », 582–3; Rauer, Origenes Werke, lv–lvi. 55 Selon les indications de la CPG (C 137.1). 56 Cf. Sickenberger, Titus von Bostra, 76–8; Rauer, Lukaskommentar, 77–8.

262 jean-michel lavoie, paul-hubert poirier et thomas s. schmidt Pour compléter ce tableau, il convient de mentionner certains manuscrits isolés, comme le Monac. gr. 208 (Rauer X = Clavis C 137.2),57 et quelques autres chaînes transmettant des extraits des homélies de Titus. Vers le milieu du XIVe siècle, Macarios Chrysocéphalos confectionna une chaîne sur Luc ne portant que sur les passages propres à cet évangile, répartis en 24 « logoi ».58 Basée presqu’exclusivement sur la chaîne de Nicétas, elle n’offre aucun matériel nouveau en ce qui concerne Titus, sinon que la transmission textuelle des scholies est évidemment indépendante de celles de Nicétas. Ce dernier avait par ailleurs constitué une chaîne sur l’Évangile de Matthieu, dans laquelle il inséra 7 scholies de Titus, dont 6 proviennent directement de sa propre chaîne sur Luc.59 Macarios Chrysocéphalos était lui aussi l’auteur d’une chaîne sur Matthieu qui transmettrait un certain nombre de scholies de Titus, mais dont Sickenberger, sans avoir pu la consulter, estime qu’elle ne devait guère contenir d’extraits qui ne figurent déjà dans la chaîne de Nicétas.60 Semblablement, les fragments de Titus transmis en latin dans la Glossa continua super Evangelia (ou Catena aurea) de Thomas d’Aquin (68 citations) ne sont que des traductions d’extraits tirés de la chaîne de Nicétas, qu’elles abrègent souvent fortement.61 Pour résumer la question de la transmission des homélies de Titus, on retiendra que, dès le VIe–VIIe siècle, elles furent intégrées sous forme de scholies à deux commentaires, celui du pseudo-Titus et celui du pseudo-Pierre. Chacun de ces commentaires fut à l’origine d’au moins une chaîne majeure: la chaîne de Cramer (c) dans le cas du pseudo-Titus, constituée vers le VIIe–VIIIe siècle, et la chaîne de Ehrhard (r) pour le pseudo-Pierre, dont la date n’est pas assurée. À ces deux chaînes s’ajoute une troisième de type mixte (p), probablement confectionnée au Xe siècle et dépendant aussi bien du pseudo-Titus que du pseudo-Pierre. Deux autres chaînes présentent un caractère unique plus difficile à évaluer: le Codex Zacynthius (VIIe–VIIIe s.) et le Theol. gr. 301 (XIe s.). La chaîne de Nicétas (n), en revanche, est une compilation indépendante des deux commentaires et des chaînes subséquentes et se base en grande partie sur le texte original de Titus. Sa richesse et 57 Cf. Rauer, Origenes Werke, liv–lv; pour d’autres manuscrits isolés, cf. ibid., li–liii. 58 Cf. Sickenberger, ibid., 47–50; Karo et Lietzmann, « Catenarum graecarum catalogus », 582 (Typus V); Rauer, Origenes Werke, L–LI; CPG C 136. 59 Cf. Sickenberger, ibid., 51–4. 60 Cf. Sickenberger, ibid., 54–5. 61 Cf. Sickenberger, ibid., 50–1; Rauer, Origenes Werke, l.


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la qualité de son texte en font un témoin privilégié de la transmission des scholies de Titus et c’est avec raison que Sickenberger en a fait la base de son édition. Cette dernière, compte tenu des recoupements de texte entre les différentes chaînes, comporte au total 186 scholies, auquel il faut ajouter les 6 scholies provenant du Codex Zacynthius.62 Il demeure surprenant (et décevant!) qu’aucun manuscrit n’ait conservé le texte original des homélies de Titus alors qu’on les lisait encore à l’époque de Nicétas. Pour illustrer la pratique exégétique et homilétique de Titus de Bostra, nous proposons une brève anthologie formée de huit scholies proviennant de la chaine de Nicétas. En présentant ces quelques fragments, nous voulons modestement donner l’occasion au lecteur d’apprécier une oeuvre qui, à toutes fins pratiques, a été complétement ignorée depuis son édition en 1901. Pour chacune de ces scholies, nous donnerons le texte grec de Sickenberger63 et une traduction française inédite,64 suivis d’un très bref commentaire. Le texte de chaque scholie est précédé du lemme sur lequel elle porte et de sa traduction.65 §1. In Lucam 4,1 (pp. 154–5 Sickenberger) Lc 4,1: « Ἰησοῦς δὲ πλήρης πνεύματος ἁγίου ὑπέστρεψεν ἀπὸ τοῦ Ἰορδάνου καὶ ἤγετο ἐν τῷ πνεύματι ἐν τῇ ἐρήμῳ—Jésus, rempli d’Esprit Saint, s’en retourna du Jourdain, et il était mené par l’Esprit à travers le désert ».

62 L’édition de Sickenberger comporte par ailleurs 9 scholies de Titus se rapportant au livre de Daniel (ed. cit., 130–34 et 246–9). Des scholies de Titus sont également contenues dans des chaînes coptes (cf. P. De Lagarde, Catenae in evangelia aegyptiacae quae supersunt [Göttingen: Dieterich Arnold Hoyer, 1886], et P. Bellet, « Excerpts of Titus of Bostra in the Coptic Catena on the Gospels » SP 1, Part I [éd. K. Aland et F.L. Cross; TU 63; Berlin: Akademie-Verlag, 1957], 10–14) et arabes (cf. F.J.C. Iturbe, La cadena árabe del Evangelio de San Mateo, [S&T 254–255; Città del Vaticano: Biblioteca apostolica vaticana, 1969–1970]). Cf. aussi Sickenberger, Titus von Bostra, 138–9. 63 Sickenberger, ibid. 64 Tirée, sous réserve de modifications, de J.-M. Lavoie, Titus de Bostra, lecteur des Écritures. Fragments du Commentaire sur l’Évangile de Luc, Mémoire (M.A.) en études anciennes, Faculté des lettres, Département des littératures, Université Laval, Québec, 2006. 65 Texte K. Aland, M. Black, C. M. Martini, B. M. Metzger, A. Wikgren, The Greek New Testament, (Stuttgart/Londres: Deutsche Bibelgesellschaft/United Bible Societies, 4 1993); La Bible, traduction É. Osty et J. Trinquet (Paris: Éditions du Seuil, 1973).

264 jean-michel lavoie, paul-hubert poirier et thomas s. schmidt [Τίτου καὶ Γρηγορίου Νύσσης καὶ Βασιλείου]. Ἀλλ᾿ ὅρα μοι πάλιν τῆς οἰκονομίας τὸ εὐτεχνές· ἀναχωρεῖ ὁ σωτὴρ εἰς τόπον ἐπιτήδειον οὐ ῥήμασι καλῶν τὸν ἀντίπαλον, ἀλλ᾿ αὐτῷ τῷ ἔργῳ προτρέπων. Ἀναχωρεῖ εἰς τὴν ἔρημον· φιλέρημος γὰρ ὁ διάβολος, οὐκ ἀνέχεται τῶν πόλεων· λυπεῖ γὰρ αὐτὸν συμφωνία πολισμάτων. Εὗρεν ὁ διάβολος καιρὸν καὶ τὸν τόπον νομίσας ἴδιον ἐπηκολούθησε πρὸς τὴν πεῖραν. Ἡ δὲ πεῖρα μετὰ τὸ βάπτισμα γίνεται, ἵνα καὶ σὺ σχῇς κανόνα. Ἔτι μὲν γὰρ μανθάνοντί σοι καὶ κατηχουμένῳ ἔλαττον ἐπιβουλεύει ὁ ἐχθρός, εἰδὼς ὅτι οὐδέπω ἔλαβες τὴν σφραγῖδα, οὐδέπω ἐφόρεσας τὸ κατ᾿ αὐτοῦ ὅπλον, οὐδέπω μετεχειρίσω τῆς πίστεως τὸ ξίφος, καὶ προσέχει σοι ἔτι ὡς ἰδίῳ. Ἐὰν δὲ ἀποτάξῃ ἐν τῷ λουτρῷ τῇ πλάνῃ καὶ ἀναχωρήσῃς τῆς ἀπάτης καὶ γένῃ Χριστοῦ μαθητής, τότε γίνεται κατὰ σοῦ. Ἵνα τοίνυν ὁ κύριος φανερόν σοι τοῦτο ποιήσῃ, ἐκλέγεται καιρὸν τὸν μετὰ τὸ βάπτισμα— ἄπεισιν εἰς τὴν ἔρημον, ἀπόσιτος διέμεινεν ἡμέρας τεσσαράκοντα. Εἶδεν ὁ διάβολος νηστεύοντα καὶ μὴ πεινῶντα καὶ οὐκ ἐτόλμα προσελθεῖν. Ἐνήστευσε δὲ δεικνὺς ὅτι τῷ μέλλοντι πρὸς τοὺς ἀγῶνας τῶν πειρασμῶν ἀποδύεσθαι ἀναγκαία ἡ ἄσκησις· οἱονεὶ γὰρ παιδοτριβεῖ πρὸς τὴν νίκην οὔπω πιασμὸς τοῦ σώματος. Ἐπεὶ οὖν τὸ μὴ πεινῆσαι ἦν ὑπὲρ ἄνθρωπον, ἐδέξατο τὸ κατὰ τὴν πεῖναν πάθος ὁ κύριος οὐ κρίνας αὐτὴν ἁμαρτίαν καὶ ἔδωκεν, ὅτε ἐβούλετο, τῇ φύσει καιρὸν τὰ ἑαυτῆς ἐνεργῆσαι. Ἐπείνασε γὰρ οὐχ ἡττώμενος πρὸς τὴν χρείαν ὁ ἐπάνω τῆς φύσεως, ἀλλὰ προτρεπόμενος πρὸς τὴν πάλην. Εἶδεν ὁ διάβολος ἀσθένειαν—ὅπου γὰρ πεῖνα, ἐκεῖ ἀσθένεια—καὶ προετράπη πρὸς τὸ πειράσαι· ὅτε γὰρ ἔγνω ὁ τῶν πειρασμῶν εὑρετὴς τὸ κατὰ τὴν πεῖναν πάθος καὶ ἐν τῷ κυρίῳ γενόμενον, συνεβούλευε λίθοις τὴν ὄρεξιν δεξιώσασθαι, τοῦτο δέ ἐστιν, τὸ παρατρέψαι τὴν ἐπιθυμίαν ἐκ τῆς κατὰ φύσιν τροφῆς ἐπὶ τὰ ἔξω τῆς φύσεως. Ἔφησε γάρ· εἰ υἱὸς εἶ τοῦ θεοῦ· ὑποπτεύει, τὴν ἀμφιβολίαν ἑαυτῷ λῦσαι ποθεῖ. Ἀλλ᾿ ὁ τῶν πειρασμῶν καθαιρέτης οὐχὶ τὴν πεῖναν ἐξορίζει τῆς

[De Titus, Grégoire de Nysse, et Basile]. Constate de nouveau (avec) moi l’habileté de l’économie (divine). Le Sauveur se retire en un lieu approprié, n’interpellant pas son adversaire par des paroles, mais l’excitant à le suivre par son action même. Il se retire dans le désert. Le Diable, en effet, aime le désert; il ne supporte pas les cités, car l’harmonie de ces communautés l’afflige. Le Diable trouva un moment favorable, et, jugeant le lieu propice, suivit (le Sauveur) pour le mettre à l’épreuve. L’épreuve a lieu après le baptême, afin que toi aussi tu disposes d’une règle. En effet, l’ennemi complote moins (volontiers) contre toi, lorsque tu es encore en train d’apprendre et catéchumène, parce qu’il sait que tu n’as pas encore reçu le sceau, que tu ne t’es pas encore revêtu d’armes contre lui, que tu n’as pas encore brandi l’épée de la foi, et il se comporte encore à ton égard comme envers ce qui est sien. Si toutefois tu renonces à ton égarement dans le bain, si tu t’éloignes de la tromperie et que tu deviens disciple du Christ, alors il se tourne contre toi. C’est donc afin de rendre ceci manifeste pour toi que le Seigneur choisit comme moment favorable celui qui suit le baptême.—Ils partent vers le désert, et (le Seigneur) resta quarante jours sans manger (cf. Mt 4,2). Le Diable vit qu’il jeûnait et qu’il n’avait pas faim; il n’osait pas s’approcher. Il jeûna, montrant que l’ascèse est nécessaire à celui qui se prépare à se dépouiller en vue des combats que sont les épreuves. C’est comme si ne plus engraisser le corps entraîne à la victoire. Puisque donc ne pas avoir faim était surhumain, le Seigneur accepta d’endurer la faim, sans avoir jugé la faim comme une faute, puis il donna à la nature l’occasion d’opérer, lorsqu’elle le voulait, ses propres effets. En effet, celui qui est au-dessus de la nature eut faim non pas parce qu’il s’inclinait devant la nécessité, mais parce qu’il se préparait à la lutte. Le Diable vit sa faiblesse—car où est la faim est aussi la faiblesse—et se tourna vers la mise à l’épreuve. Lorsque l’inventeur des tentations comprit que même le Seigneur souffrait de faim,

les HOMÉLIES SUR L’ÉVANGILE DE LUC de titus de bostra φύσεως ὡς κακῶν αἰτίαν—συντηρητικὴ γάρ ἐστι τῆς ζωῆς ἡμῶν —, ἀλλὰ τὴν περιεργίαν τὴν ἐκ τῆς συμβουλῆς τοῦ ἀντικειμένου συνεισιοῦσαν τῇ χρείᾳ μόνην ἀποπεμψάμενος ἀφῆκε τοῖς ἰδίοις ὅροις οἰκονομεῖσθαι τὴν φύσιν εἰπὼν ἐκεῖνον εἶναι τρόφιμον ἄρτον, ὃς τῷ ῥήματι τοῦ θεοῦ πρὸς τὴν φύσιν ᾠκείωται. Οὐκ ἐπ᾿ ἄρτῳ, γάρ φησιν, μόνῳ ζήσεται ἄνθρωπος ἀλλ᾿ ἐπὶ παντὶ ῥήματι θεοῦ· ἐὰν γὰρ δῷ αὐτῷ δύναμιν, δύναται μὴ φαγεῖν καὶ ζῆν, ὡς τῷ Μωϋσεῖ ἐν τῷ ὄρει, ὡς τῷ Ἠλίᾳ ἐν τῇ ἐρήμῳ. Εἰ τοίνυν ἐστὶν ἄλλως ζῆσαι, διὰ τί ποιῶ τὸν λίθον ἄρτον;

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il lui conseilla de soulager son appétit avec des pierres, c’est-à-dire, de détourner le désir de nourriture conforme à la nature vers ce qui est étranger à la nature. En effet, il dit: « Si tu es fils de Dieu » (lc 4,3); il est méfiant et souhaite ardemment résoudre son incertitude. Mais le destructeur des tentations ne bannit pas la faim de la nature, sous prétexte qu’elle serait source de maux—car de fait, elle veille sur nos vies—, mais ne rejetant que le seul superflu, qui, à cause du conseil de l’Ennemi, s’insinue en même temps comme une nécessité, il laisse à la nature le soin de fixer ses propres limites, disant que celui-là est le pain nourricier qui approprie à la Parole de Dieu la nature. N’affirme-t-il pas en effet que « l’homme ne vivra pas seulement de pain, mais de toute parole de Dieu? » (Mt 4,4) Car s’il lui en donne le pouvoir, il peut vivre sans manger, comme (il le donna) à Moïse sur la montagne, à Élie dans le désert. Si, en fin de compte, il est possible de vivre autrement, pourquoi transformerai-je la pierre en pain?

Ce fragment pose de nombreux problèmes. La triple attribution qui figure dans l’en-tête indique qu’il s’agit d’une construction éditoriale qui fusionne des passages empruntés aux trois auteurs. Il faut donc distinguer ce qui appartient en propre à Titus et ce qui appartient à d’autres auteurs, en l’occurrence Basile de Césarée et surtout Grégoire de Nysse.66 Sur les quarante-quatre lignes que compte le fragment dans l’édition de Sickenberger, une trentaine sont de Titus (l. 1–17; 18–19; 22–23; 25–28; 32–33; 39–44) et une dizaine des deux cappadociens (l. 17–18; 19–22; 23–25; 29–32; 34–39).67 La méthode de travail du caténiste apparaît alors assez clairement: il juxtapose ses extraits d’auteurs différents en blocs plus ou moins homogènes auxquels il ajoute une transition, au besoin. Il est évidemment très difficile d’attribuer avec certitude tous

Pour les références des passages cités, cf. Sickenberger, Titus von Bostra, 154–5, apparat. 67 Ces passages apparaissent en italique dans notre synopse. Les ouvrages mis à contribution sont (toutes les indications de lignes sont données d’après l’édition de Sickenberger): l. 17–18 = Grégoire de Nysse, Sur les béatitudes IV, PG 44, 1237 A; l. 19–22 = Basile de Césarée, Sur Isaie I, PG I 575 C; l. 25–33 = Grégoire de Nysse, ibid., 1240 B–C. 66

266 jean-michel lavoie, paul-hubert poirier et thomas s. schmidt les passages restants à Titus, étant donné la nature de leur transmission. Par exemple, le passage ἔφησε γὰρ (. . .) ποθεῖ (l. 32–33) pourrait théoriquement être dû à la plume de Nicétas, étant donné sa position imbriquée entre deux développements de Grégoire de Nysse, mais son caractère s’accorde mal avec celui d’un simple travail éditorial. De la même manière, la séquence ἐπεὶ οὖν τὸ μὴ πεινῆσαι ἦν ὑπὲρ ἄνθρωπον (. . .) ὁ κύριος (l. 22–23), tout en effectuant la transition du texte de Basile à celui de Grégoire, n’est pas nécessairement le fait du compilateur. Le texte restant est du reste remarquable par la rudesse de ses transitions, qui n’est pas sans rappeler les aspérités du Contra Manichaeos. Ce qui explique peut-être le fait que le caténiste, ayant trouvé le rythme de l’homélie trop abrupt, aura jugé approprié d’adoucir la pente avec quelques développements glanés ailleurs, à moins que le texte de Titus n’ait été amputé de quelques membres. Notre fragment met en scène un dialogue fictif entre Titus et un auditeur, qui tient le rôle de toute l’assemblée, sorte de « singulier collectif » très fréquent dans l’homilétique antique.68 Le thème de la scholie—le baptême—suggère qu’elle devait faire partie à l’origine d’une homélie catéchétique adressée à la communauté orthodoxe de Bostra, ou plus particulièrement à ceux qui s’apprêtaient à joindre ses rangs, à savoir les catéchumènes.69 Dans ce fragment, Titus dévoile un aspect de sa vision du christianisme, celle d’un évêque cultivé, tributaire de la culture urbaine hellénistique, et il s’oppose ainsi aux idées ascétiques de certains de ses contemporains, notamment Jérôme, qui affirmait que quicumque in ciuitate sunt, Christiani non sunt.70 Entre la συμφωνία πολισμάτων (l. 6) de Titus et l’association entre la ville et le péché de Jérôme, ce sont deux philosophies opposées, deux définitions de la vie chrétienne authentique qui s’affrontent. La distance entre Titus, attaché aux valeurs urbaines classiques, et, par là, à la définition aristotélicienne de l’homme comme ζῷον πολιτικόν, et Jérôme, qui répudie les unes comme l’autre, met en lumière les disparités d’opinion sur la communauté chrétienne parfaite et sur l’idéal chrétien communautaire.

68 Cf. frag. sur Lc 6, 43 (ed. cit., 163), où le discours n’est manifestement pas adressé à des catéchumènes; aussi chez Cyrille de Jérusalem, Procatéchèse 2. 69 Cf. S.G. Hall, Doctrine and Practice in the Early Church (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1992), 104. 70 Jérôme, Lettre 14,6, éd. J. Labourt, Saint Jérôme, Lettres, tome I (CUFSL 126; Paris: Les belles lettres, 1949), 39.


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§2. In Lucam 5,12 (p. 158 Sickenberger) Lc 5,12: « Καὶ ἐγένετο ἐν τῷ εἶναι αὐτὸν ἐν μιᾷ τῶν πόλεων καὶ ἰδοὺ ἀνὴρ πλήρης λέπρας· ἰδὼν δὲ τὸν Ἰησοῦν, πεσὼν ἐπὶ πρόσωπον ἐδεήθη αὐτοῦ λέγων, Κύριε, ἐὰν θέλῃς δύνασαί με καθαρίσαι—Or, comme il était dans une des villes, voici un homme plein de lèpre. À la vue de Jésus, il tomba sur la face et le pria en disant: “Seigneur, si tu le veux, tu peux me purifier” ». Μάθωμεν ἐκ τῶν τοῦ λεπροῦ ῥημάτων μὴ πάντως τῶν σωματικῶν νοσημάτων τὴν ἴασιν ἐπιζητεῖν, ἀλλὰ τῇ βουλήσει τοῦ θεοῦ τὸ πᾶν ἐπιτρέπειν· αὐτὸς γὰρ οἶδε τὰ συμφέροντα καὶ πάντα κρίσει ποιεῖ. Ὁμολογήσας τοίνυν ὁ λεπρὸς τοῦ Χριστοῦ τὴν δύναμιν, οὐ βιάζεται τὴν ἴασιν , ἀλλὰ συνετὸς ὢν αὐτὸν κύριον ποιεῖ τῆς διορθώσεως. Ὁ δὲ καίτοι λόγῳ τὰ πάντα δημιουργήσας ἅπτεται αὐτοῦ. Τί δήποτε; Ἀπεφήνατο ὁ Μωσαϊκὸς νόμος ὅτι ἐὰν ἅψηταί τις λεπροῦ, ἀκάθαρτός ἐστι καὶ ὅτι ὀφείλει ὅλην τὴν ἡμέραν διατελέσαι ὡς ἀκάθαρτος καὶ ἑσπέρας λουσάμενος καθαρισθῆναι. Ἵνα τοίνυν δείξῃ , ὅτι ἀκαθαρσία σωτῆρος οὐχ ἅπτεται κατὰ φύσιν, καὶ ὅτι ὁ νόμος οὐκ ἦν κατ᾿ αὐτοῦ, ἀλλὰ κατὰ ἀνθρώπων ψιλῶν — οὐ γὰρ ὑπέκειτο ὁ νομοθέτης τῷ νόμῳ—ἐπίτηδες ἅπτεται τοῦ λεπροῦ καὶ μεταδίδωσι τῆς ἰδίας δυνάμεως . Θεραπεύεται ἡ λέπρα , πέμπεται πρὸς τὸν ἱερέα ὁ τεθεραπευμένος· ἐκεῖνος γὰρ εἶχε τῆς ἰάσεως τὰ σημεῖα καὶ διακρίνων τὴν κάθαρσιν οὐκέτι ὡς ἀκάθαρτον ἔξω τῆς παρεμβολῆς ἀπεπέμπετο τὸν τεθεραπευμένον , ἀλλὰ μετὰ τοῦ λαοῦ ἐγκατέλεγεν. Εἰς δοκιμασίαν τοίνυν τῆς ἰατρείας πέμπει αὐτὸν ὁ σωτὴρ πρὸς τὸν ἱερέα, ἵνα μὴ ἐκτὸς διάγῃ τοῦ ναοῦ.

Apprenons des paroles du lépreux qu’il ne faut aucunement chercher la guérison des afflictions corporelles, mais plutôt s’en remettre complètement à la volonté de Dieu, car lui seul connaît ce qui est utile et fait toutes choses avec jugement. Ayant confessé la puissance du Christ, le lépreux ne cherche pas à forcer la guérison, mais, en homme avisé, il considère ce dernier comme étant le maître de son rétablissement. Mais lui, alors qu’il a fabriqué toutes choses par la Parole, touche le lépreux. Pourquoi donc? La loi mosaïque stipule que quiconque touche un lépreux est impur et doit rester toute la journée impur, puis être purifié le soir venu en se baignant (cf. Lv 22,4–7). Donc, afin de démontrer que l’impureté n’atteint pas le Sauveur selon la nature et que la Loi ne le concernait pas, mais plutôt les simples hommes—car le législateur n’était pas soumis à la Loi—, c’est à dessein qu’il touche le lépreux et lui communique sa propre force. La lèpre est soignée, puis, celui qui a été guéri est envoyé au prêtre. Celui-ci disposait en effet des signes de la guérison, et prononçant la purification, il ne le chassait plus hors du camp comme impur, mais le comptait parmi le peuple assemblé (cf. Lv 14,2–9). C’est donc pour un examen que le Sauveur l’envoie chez le prêtre, de telle sorte qu’on ne le conduise plus hors du sanctuaire.

268 jean-michel lavoie, paul-hubert poirier et thomas s. schmidt Le plan de ce fragment est bipartite. Titus se livre tout d’abord (l. 1–4) à une lecture spirituelle du récit de la guérison du lépreux (« Apprenons des paroles du lépreux . . . »), en invitant ses auditeurs à s’en remettre à Dieu plutôt qu’aux médecins. Il passe ensuite (l. 4–21) à une lecture littérale et à une analyse du comportement du lépreux qui «ne cherche pas à forcer la guérison, mais, en homme avisé, considère (le Christ) comme étant le maître de son rétablissement». Titus cherche également à expliquer pourquoi Jésus devait envoyer le lépreux chez le prêtre pour que celui-ci constate la guérison. §3. In Lucam 8,26 (p. 176 Sickenberger)

Lc 8,26: « Καὶ κατέπλευσαν εἰς τὴν χώραν τῶν Γερασηνῶν, ἥτις ἐστιν ἀντιπέρα τῆς Γαλιλαίας—Et ils abordèrent au pays des Géraséniens, lequel fait face à la Galilée ». Οὔτε Γαδαρηνῶν, οὔτε Γερασηνῶν τὰ ἀκριβῆ ἔχει τῶν ἀντιγράφων, ἀλλὰ Γεργεσηνῶν. Γάδαρα γὰρ πόλις ἐστὶ τῆς Ἰουδαίας, λίμνη δὲ κρημνοῖς παρακειμένη οὐδαμῶς ἐστιν ἐν αὐτῇ ἢ θάλασσα. Γέρασα δὲ τῆς Ἀραβίας ἐστὶ πόλις οὔτε θάλασσαν οὔτε λίμνην πλησίον ἔχουσα. Καὶ οὐκ ἂν οὕτω ψεῦδος εὐέλεγκτον οἱ εὐαγγελισταὶ εἰρήκασιν ἄνδρες ἐπιμελῶς γινώσκοντες τὰ περὶ τῆς Ἰουδαίας. Γέργεσα τοίνυν ἐστὶν ἀφ᾿ ἧς οἱ Γεργεσαῖοι, πόλις ἀρχαία περὶ τὴν νῦν καλουμένην Τιβεριάδα λίμνην, περὶ ἣν κρημνὸς παρακείμενος τῇ λίμνῃ. Ἀφ᾿ οὗ δείκνυται τοὺς χοίρους ὑπὸ τῶν δαιμόνων καταβεβλῆσθαι. Ἑρμηνεύεται δὲ ἡ Γέργεσα παροικία ἐκβεβληκότων ἐπώνυμος οὖσα τάχα προφητικῶς οὗ περὶ τὸν σωτῆρα πεποιήκασι παρακαλέσαντες αὐτὸν μεταβῆναι ἐκ τῶν ὁρίων αὐτῶν οἱ τῶν χοίρων πολῖται, ὥστε συνᾴδει τὸ ὄνομα τῷ· ἠρώτησαν αὐτὸν ἀπελθεῖν ἀπ᾿ αὐτῶν καὶ ῥητῶς καὶ κατὰ ἀναγωγήν . Πλὴν ἐπεὶ ἡ Γάδαρα ὅμορός ἐστι τῇ χώρᾳ τῶν Γεργεσηνῶν, εἰκός ἐστιν ἐκεῖθεν εἰς

Les plus exactes parmi les copies n’ont ni « Gadaréniens » (Mt 8,28), ni « Géraséniens » (Mc 5,1; Lc 8,26), mais plutôt « Gergéséniens ». Gadara, en effet, est une cité de Judée, mais il n’y a pas à proximité de lac ou de mer qui soient bordés de ravins (cf. Lc 8,33). De son côté, Gérasa est une cité d’Arabie où l’on ne trouve pas de lac ou de mer à proximité. Les Évangélistes n’auraient pas proféré une fausseté aussi facile à réfuter, en hommes qui connaissent avec précision les environs de la Judée. Gergésa est donc le lieu dont viennent les Gergésiens; c’est une cité ancienne, située au bord du lac qu’on appelle Tibériade, auprès duquel se trouve une crevasse, d’où l’on prétend que les porcs ont été précipités par des démons. Gergésa se traduit par « lieu de séjour des bannis »,71 étant éponyme, peut-être prophétiquement, de ce qu’ont fait les concitoyens des porcs au Sauveur, lui ayant ordonné de s’éloigner de leurs frontières, de telle sorte que le nom (de Gergésa) fait écho

71 Étymologie attestée par les recueils onomastiques anciens, voir P. De Lagarde, Onomastica sacra (Göttingen: L. Horstmann, 1887), 225, 262.

les HOMÉLIES SUR L’ÉVANGILE DE LUC de titus de bostra τὴν τούτων χώραν ἐλαθῆναι τοὺς χοίρους ὑπὸ τῶν δαιμόνων . Καὶ εἰ οὕτως ἔχει, οὐδεὶς τῶν εὐαγγελιστῶν διαψεύδεται· ὃ μὲν γὰρ εἶπεν, ὅθεν ἦσαν οἱ χοῖροι, ὃ δέ, ὅθεν πεπτώκασιν.

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à ceci: « Il lui demandèrent de s’éloigner d’eux » à la fois au sens littéral et au sens anagogique. Du reste, puisque Gadara est comprise dans le territoire des Gergéséniens, il est plausible que les porcs aient été conduits de cet endroit jusque dans leurs terres par les démons. S’il en est ainsi, aucun des évangélistes ne commet d’erreur: l’un dit d’où venaient les porcs, l’autre, d’où ils tombèrent.

Ce fragment est presque entièrement tiré d’Origène.72 En effet, comme l’avait déjà remarqué Sickenberger, il ne s’écarte du texte du commentaire origénien que par quelques variantes.73 Titus adopte ici, presque mot pour mot, la correction proposée par Origène.74 Pour celui-ci, ni Gérasa ni Gadara ne sont des lieux convenables pour situer l’épisode évangélique: Gérasa est trop éloignée de la mer de Galilée, alors que Gadara ne possède ni lac ni falaises, contredisant le témoignage de Flavius Josèphe, pour qui Gadara « possède un territoire qui borde le lac Tibériade ».75 À ces deux cités, Origène préfère celle de Gergésa, sur la foi des témoignages de ses habitants qui désignaient un endroit duquel les porcs auraient été poussés en bas par les démons. Cette même tradition locale est mentionnée par Eusèbe et Jérôme.76 En faisant

72 Titus semble avoir estimé Origène. Dans la notice de la Bibliothèque consacrée à Étienne Gobar (cod. 232, 291 b 20–21), Photius rapporte que « Titus de Bostra et Grégoire le Théologien l’appellent dans leurs lettres l’ami de la vertu (φιλόκαλον) », éd. et trad. R. Henry, Photius. Bibliothèque V (CUFSG 177; Paris: Les belles lettres, 1967), 79. Si le ἐν ἐπιτολαῖς qui suit le nom de Grégoire rapporte bien et à celui-ci et à Titus, comme le veut la traduction de Henry, un recueil des lettres de Titus a dû exister. 73 L. 3: Ἰουδαίας au lieu de Ἰουδαίας περὶ ἣν τὰ διαβόητα θερμὰ τυγχάναι, et l. 6: ψεῦδος εὐέλεγκτον au lieu de προφανὲς ψεῦδος καὶ εὐέλεγκτον; Sickenberger, Titus von Bostra, 176–7, apparat. Le passage d’Origène utilisé par Titus se trouve dans l’In Iohannem VI, 209–211; éd. et trad. C. Blanc, Origène. Commentaire sur saint Jean II, (Livres VI et X) (SC 157; Paris: Cerf, 1970), 288–91. 74 Sur le problème textuel posé par Lc 8,26, cf. B.M. Metzger, A Textual Commentary on the Greek New Testament. A Companion Volume to the United Bible Societies’ Greek New Testament (3rd ed.), (Stuttgart/Londres: Deutsche Bibelgesellschaft/United Bible Societies, 31994), 18–19 et 121. 75 Μεθόριοι (sc. κώμαι) τῆς Τιβεριάδος γῆς, Josèphe, Vita 42, éd. A. Pelletier, Flavius Josèphe, Autobiographie (CUFSG 138; Paris: Les belles lettres, 1959), 7. 76 Eusèbe, De nominibus, éd. P. De Lagarde, Onomastica sacra, 256–257, §248,14–17; Jérôme, De situ et nominibus locorum hebraicorum liber, ibid., 162, §130,18–21. Voir aussi R.S. Notley et Z. Safrai, Eusebius, Onomasticon. The Place Names of Divine Scripture. Including the Latin Edition of Jerome Translated into English and with Topographical Commentary ( JCPS 9; Boston/Leiden: Brill, 2005), 73 (§363) et note ad §304, 63.

270 jean-michel lavoie, paul-hubert poirier et thomas s. schmidt siennes les observations d’Origène, Titus annonce donc clairement ses préférences, à savoir une analyse plus « scientifique » des Écritures, très conforme à l’esprit d’Antioche, concret et non allégorique.77 §4. In Lucam 9,38–41 (pp. 183–4 Sickenberger) Lc 9,38–41: « Kαὶ ἰδοὺ ἀνὴρ ἀπὸ τοῦ ὄχλου ἐβόησεν λέγων, ∆ιδάσκαλε, δέομαί σου ἐπιβλέψαι ἐπὶ τὸν υἱόν μου, ὅτι μονογενής μοί ἐστιν, καὶ ἰδοὺ πνεῦμα λαμβάνει αὐτόν καὶ ἐξαίφνης κράζει καὶ σπαράσσει αὐτὸν μετὰ ἀφροῦ καὶ μόγις ἀποχωρεῖ ἀπ᾿ αὐτοῦ συντρῖβον αὐτόν καὶ ἐδεήθην τῶν μαθητῶν σου ἵνα ἐκβάλωσιν αὐτό, καὶ οὐκ ἠδυνηθήσαν. Ἀποκριθεὶς δὲ ὁ Ἰησοῦς εἶπεν, Ὦ γενεὰ ἄπιστος καὶ διεστραμμένη, ἕως πότε ἔσομαι πρὸς ὑμᾶς καὶ ἀνέξομαι ὑμῶν; Προσάγαγε ὧδε τὸν υἱόν σου—Et voici qu’un homme de la foule s’exclama: « Maître, je te prie de jeter les yeux sur mon fils, parce que c’est mon unique. Et voilà qu’un esprit le prend, et soudain il crie, et il le secoue avec violence et le fait écumer, et ce n’est qu’à grand-peine qu’il s’en éloigne, le laissant tout brisé. Et j’ai prié tes disciples de le chasser, et ils n’ont pas pu. » Répondant, Jésus dit: « Génération incrédule et pervertie, jusques à quand serai-je auprès de vous et vous supporterai-je? Amène ici ton fils” ». Ἴσως δὲ οὐκ ἄπιστός ἐστιν ὁ τοῦ δαιμονῶντος πατήρ, ἀλλὰ καὶ ἄξιος ἐπαίνου. Kαί μοι φρόνιμος δοκεῖ τις οὗτος· οὐ γὰρ εἶπε τῷ σωτῆρι· ποίησον τόδε ἢ τόδε, ἀλλ᾿· ἐπίβλεψον. Ἀρκεῖ γὰρ τοῦτο πρὸς τὸ ὑγιάσαι πάντως ὡς ἔλεγεν ὁ προφήτης τῷ θεῷ· ἐπίβλεψον ἐπ᾿ ἐμὲ καὶ ἐλέησόν με. Ἄκουε δὲ καὶ εὐαγγελιστοῦ· ἰδού, φησίν, ἀνὴρ ἀπὸ τοῦ ὄχλου ἐβόησε—θαυμαστὸς τὴν βοήν, καλὸς τὴν ἀναισχυντίαν πατὴρ ὑπὲρ υἱοῦ παρακαλεῖ, ἐπειδὴ ὁ υἱὸς ἐν ἀναισθησίᾳ ἦν ὑπὸ πνεύματος ἀκαθάρτου κατειλημμένος—δέομαι σου, ἐπίβλεψον, δώρησαί μοι τὸ βούλημά σου μόνον καὶ καθαίρεταί σου τὸ πλάσμα. Καὶ λέγει· ἐπὶ τὸν υἱόν μου, ἵνα δείξῃ εὔλογον τὴν

Sans doute le père du possédé n’est-il pas incrédule, mais bien digne d’éloges. Aussi cet individu me paraît-il sensé. Car il ne dit pas au Sauveur: « Fais ceci ou cela », mais plutôt: « Jette les yeux ». Ceci suffit pour guérir, tout comme le prophète dit au Sauveur: « Jette les yeux sur moi et aie pitié de moi » (Ps 24lxx,16; 85lxx,16). Écoute aussi l’Évangéliste: «Voilà qu’un homme, dit-il, s’écria au milieu de la foule »—un père étonnant par son cri, beau par son impudence, demande de l’aide pour son fils, puisque ce dernier était inconscient, sous l’emprise de l’esprit impur—« Je te le demande, jette les yeux (sur lui); accorde-moi seulement ta volonté

Pour une discussion des problèmes inhérents à ce passage dans les synoptiques, et son traitement par Origène, cf. T. Baarda, « Gadarenes, Gerasenes, Gergesenes and the “Diatessaron” Tradition », dans Neotestamentica et Semitica. Studies in Honour of Matthew Black (éd. E.E. Ellis et M. Wilcox; Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1969), 181–97. 77

les HOMÉLIES SUR L’ÉVANGILE DE LUC de titus de bostra ἀναισχυντίαν, ὅτι μόνος ἐν πλήθει βοᾷ. Καὶ προστίθησιν· ὅτι μονογενής μοί ἐστιν. Οὐδείς μοι, φησίν, ἕτερος προσδοκᾶται παραμύθιον ἔσεσθαι τοῦ γήρως . Εἶτα ἑρμηνεύει τὸ πάθος, ἵνα οἶκτον ἐμποιήσῃ τῷ ἀκούοντι , καὶ κατηγορεῖ τάχα τῶν μαθητῶν, ἀλλ᾿ ἀπολογεῖται ὅτι δικαίως ἀναισχυντεῖ. Μὴ γὰρ δὴ νόμιζε, φησίν, ὦ διδάσκαλε, ὅτι ῥᾳδίως ἄν σοι προσῆλθον· οὐ γὰρ δὴ πρόχειρον τὸ σοὶ προσελθεῖν, φρικτόν σου τὸ ἀξίωμα , φοβερὰ ἡ κατάστασις· οὐχ ἅμα σοι ἠνώχλησα, τοῖς μαθηταῖς σου πρῶτον προσῆλθον—καὶ εἴθε γε ἐθεράπευσαν, ἵνα μή σοι τῷ τιμίῳ ἐνοχλήσω· νῦν δὲ ἐπεὶ οὐκ ἐθεράπευσαν, ἀνάγκην ἔχω προσελθεῖν σοι· μονογενής μοί ἐστι . Καὶ εἴγε ἔλαβον παρὰ τῶν μαθητῶν τὴν σωτηρίαν, σοὶ ἂν ἐλογισάμην τὸ κατόρθωμα· τί γὰρ ποιεῖ μαθητὴς ἄνευ συνεργείας διδασκάλου; ∆οκεῖ μὲν οὖν κατηγορίαν ἔχειν τῶν μαθητῶν τὸ ῥῆμα· οὐκ ἔστι δὲ ἴσως κατηγορία, ἀλλ᾿ ἀπολογία τῆς προσόδου. Τί οὖν ὀ κύριος; Ἐγὼ μέν, φησίν, ἔδωκα τὴν ἐξουσίαν, τὸ δὲ ὀλιγόπιστον ἐμπόδιον τῶν ἐνεργημάτων καὶ τὸν μὲν πατέρα ἀποδέχεται, τῆς δὲ γενεᾶς καταβοᾷ ὡς ἀπίστου· εἴ τις γὰρ χρῄζει σημείων οὗτος ἄπιστος.

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et ta créature sera purifiée ». Et il dit: « Sur mon fils », afin de montrer que son impudence était justifiée, car il est dans la foule le seul qui crie. Et il ajoute: « Car il est mon seul enfant ». « Nul autre, dit-il, n’est pressenti pour être la consolation de ma vieillesse ». Ensuite, il se fait l’interprète de sa douleur afin d’inspirer la compassion chez l’auditeur et accuse aussitôt les disciples, mais dit en sa défense que c’est à bon droit qu’il est impudent. « Ne va pas pourtant croire, Maître, dit-il, que je me serais approché facilement de toi. T’approcher n’est certes pas simple, ta dignité fait frémir, ta condition fait peur. Je n’ai pas commencé par t’importuner, j’ai d’abord approché tes disciples—si seulement ils l’avaient guéri, de sorte que je ne dusse pas troubler ta dignité ! Mais maintenant, puisqu’ils ne l’ont pas guéri, je suis dans l’obligation de t’approcher. Il est mon seul enfant. Et même si j’avais obtenu son salut auprès de tes disciples, je mettrais (quand même) à ton compte son rétablissement. Car que fait un disciple sans le concours du maître? » Son discours ressemble en conséquence à une mise en accusation des disciples. Or, il s’agit plutôt, en toute justice, d’une explication de sa conduite. Que (répond) donc le Seigneur? « Moi, j’ai donné la puissance, mais le manque de foi est un obstacle à ses effets »; il accueille le père alors qu’il les traite de génération incrédule. Car qui a besoin de signes est incrédule.

Titus tente ici de restreindre et d’expliquer la remontrance qu’adresse le Christ à la foule, contre le sens apparent de l’Écriture. Le commentaire suit le texte de l’Évangile pas à pas. Titus analyse chaque parole du père et les réponses du Christ pour en dégager la raison profonde. L’accumulation des questions et des réponses confère par ailleurs une vivacité certaine au discours de l’évêque. Il coule ainsi son discours dans les paroles du père qu’il prétend rapporter. Ce procédé, très fréquent dans l’homilétique byzantine, rappelle l’ἠθοποιΐα enseignée dans les écoles de rhétorique, par laquelle on met dans la bouche d’un personnage connu (souvent emprunté à la mythologie) se trouvant dans une

272 jean-michel lavoie, paul-hubert poirier et thomas s. schmidt situation convenue un discours plausible.78 Mais à l’époque de Titus, les personnages bibliques renouvellent l’univers de cet exercice rhétorique, même si la véritable sermocinatio, en tant qu’exercice littéraire et en tant que genre, demeura très longtemps attachée à la mythologie hellénique (les personnages bibliques ne remplacèrent les Atrides et les Olympiens qu’autour du Xe siècle dans les écoles byzantines).79 §5. In Lucam 10,21 (pp. 193–6 Sickenberger) Lc 10,21: « Ἐν αὐτῇ τῇ ὥρᾳ ἠγαλλιάσατο [ἐν] τῷ πνεύματι τῷ ἁγίῳ καὶ εἶπεν, Ἐξομολογοῦμαί σοι, πάτερ, κύριε τοῦ οὐρανοῦ καὶ τῆς γῆς, ὅτι ἀπέκρυψας ταῦτα ἀπὸ σοφῶν καὶ συνετῶν, καὶ ἀπεκάλυψας αὐτὰ νηπίοις· ναί, ὁ πατήρ, ὅτι οὕτως εὐδοκία ἐγένετο ἔμπροσθεν σου—À l’heure même, il exulta par l’Esprit, l’(Esprit) Saint, et il dit: “Je te loue, Père, Seigneur du ciel et de la terre, parce que tu as caché cela aux sages et aux intelligents, et l’as révélé aux enfants. Oui, Père, parce que tel a été ton bon plaisir” ». Ὁ πατὴρ αὐτοῦ μὲν πατήρ, οὐρανοῦ δὲ καὶ γῆς κύριος . Ἆρα οὖν καὶ οὐρανοῦ οὐχὶ πατήρ; Πατὴρ μὲν οὐρανοῦ καὶ γῆς ὡς κτίστης, τοῦ δὲ μονογενοῦς μόνου ὡς ἀληθινοῦ φύσει πατὴρ ὡς γεννήματος ἰδίου πατήρ ; Μονογενὴς γὰρ ὢν υἱὸς κατὰ πάντα μονογενής ἐστι καὶ κατὰ τοῦτο. Ἄλλος τοίνυν ὁ τρόπος τοῦ εἶναι, πατὴρ τῶν διὰ Χριστοῦ γενομένων καὶ ἄλλος τῆς ἀκαταλήπτου γεννήσεως τοῦ μονογενοῦς. Ἐνταῦθα μὲν γὰρ ἐκ μὴ ὄντων, διὰ Χριστοῦ τὰ γινόμενα· δι᾿ οὗ δὲ ἐκ μὴ ὄντων ταῦτα, αὐτὸς οὐκ ἐκ μὴ ὄντων, ἀλλὰ μόνος ἀκαταλήπτως ἐξ αἰτίου τοῦ πατρός, διὸ καὶ μόνος υἱός.—Λέγει τοίνυν ὁ υἱὸς τῷ πατρί· ἐξομολογοῦμαί σοι , πάτερ . Σὺ δὲ μήτοι νόμιζε τὸ ἐξομολογοῦμαί σοι ἁμαρτιῶν ὥσπερ ἐξομολόγησιν

Le Père est son père; il est en revanche Seigneur du ciel et de la terre. N’est-il donc pas aussi Père du ciel? Il est Père du ciel et de la terre comme Créateur; mais du Monogène, unique et véritable, il est père par nature comme père de sa propre progéniture. En effet, puisque le fils est monogène en tout, il l’est aussi sous ce rapport-là: autre, donc, est la manière d’être Père des choses qui sont venues à l’être par l’intermédiaire du Christ et autre celle (d’être Père) de l’incompréhensible génération du Monogène. Dans le premier cas, en effet, les choses venues à l’être sont issues du néant par l’intermédiaire du Christ: celui par qui ces choses sont tirées du néant n’est pas lui-même issu du néant, mais il est le seul à être issu

78 Ἠθοποιία ἐστὶ μίμησις ἤθους ὑποκειμένου προσώπου, οἷον τίνας ἂν εἴποι λόγους Ἀνδρομάχη ἐπὶ Ἕκτορι, Hermogène, Progymnasmata 9, trad. M. Patillon, Hermogène.

L’Art rhétorique. Exercices préparatoires, États de cause, Invention, Catégories stylistiques, Méthode de l’habileté (Idea) (Paris: L’Âge d’homme, 1997), 145–7. 79 Voir les études rassemblées dans E. Amato et J. Schamp, éd., ἨΘΟΠΟΙΙΑ. La représentation de caractères entre fiction scolaire te réalité vivante à l’époque impériale et tardive (Cardo 3; Slerne: Helios editrice, 2005).

les HOMÉLIES SUR L’ÉVANGILE DE LUC de titus de bostra εἶναι κατὰ τὸ σύνηθες ἡμῖν . ∆ύο γάρ εἰσιν ἐξομολογήσεως τρόποι· εἷς μὲν ὁ τῆς ἐξαγορεύσεως καθὸ εἴρηται ὅτι ἐβαπτίζοντο ὑπὸ Ἰωάννου ἐξομολογούμενοι τὰς ἁμαρτίας αὐτῶν· ἐφ᾿ οἷς γάρ τις ἁμαρτάνει, ἐξαγορεύει ἃ ἐπλημμέλησεν· ἕτερος δὲ ἐν τῷ δοξάζειν τε καὶ ὑμνεῖν τὸν θεὸν κατὰ τὸ ἐξομολογήσομαί σοι, κύριε, ἐν ὅλῃ καρδίᾳ μου, καὶ τὸ ἐξομολόγησις καὶ ὡραιότης ἐνώπιον αὐτοῦ. Ὅταν τοίνυν λέγῃ ὁ υἱὸς τῷ πατρί· ἐξομολογοῦμαι σοι, τουτέστιν ὃ λέγει· δοξάσω σε, πάτερ.—Εἰ δὲ δοξάζει ὁ υἱὸς τὸν πατέρα, μὴ θαύμαζε· οὐδεὶς γὰρ οὕτως δοξάζει τὸν γεννήσαντα ἢ τὸ ἐξ αὐτοῦ γεγεννημένον. Πᾶσα οὖν γλῶσσα ἐξομολογήσεται ὅτι κύριος Ἰησοῦς Χριστὸς εἰς δόξαν θεοῦ πατρὸς καὶ ὅλη ἡ ὑπόστασις τοῦ μονογενοῦς δόξα ἐστὶ τοῦ γεννήσαντος. ∆όξα μὲν γὰρ καὶ τὰ γενόμενα καὶ δόξα τοῦ δημιουργοῦ οὐρανός τε καὶ ἄγγελοι , τά τε ἐλάττω καὶ τὰ σύμπαντα . Ἀλλ᾿ ἐπειδὴ ταῦτα ὑποβέβηκε καὶ κάτω λίαν ἐστὶ καὶ χαμαὶ ὡς πρὸς τὸ ἀξίωμα τοῦ δημιουργήσαντος, ἐξ ἡμισείας προσφέρει τῷ ποιήσαντι τὴν δόξαν . Ὁ δὲ υἱὸς ἐπειδὴ ἄνω νένευκε τῇ φύσει πρὸς τὸν πατέρα — τί λέγω νένευκε , ἐπειδὴ ἀκριβῶς ὡμοίωται τῷ γεννήσαντι , ἐπειδὴ ἐξ αὐτοῦ μόνος ἐκ μόνου τυγχάνει, ἐπειδὴ ὁλόκληρον ἐν τῇ φύσει σώζει τοῦ πατρὸς τὸν χαρακτῆρα, ἐπειδὴ ἀπαράλλακτός ἐστιν εἰκὼν τοῦ θεοῦ τοῦ ἀοράτου , ἐπειδὴ κατ᾿ οὐδὲν τῇ φύσει διαλλάττει — ὁ γὰρ πατὴρ γεννήσας οὐδὲν παρακατέσχεν ἐκ τῆς ὁμοιότητος ἑαυτοῦ ἀπὸ τοῦ γεννωμένου· οὔτε γὰρ ἀσθενείᾳ ἐκωλύετο οὔτε φθόνῳ κατείχετο —, ἐπεὶ τοίνυν τέλειος ἐκ τελείου καὶ τελείως τέλειος — οὐ γὰρ ἁπλῶς τέλειος—, μόνος Ἰησοῦς Χριστὸς εἰς δόξαν θεοῦ πατρός ἐστιν .— Ὅταν τοίνυν λέγῃ· ἐξομολογοῦμαί σοι, δοξάζει τὸ γέννημα τὸ πρὸ αἰώνων ἀκαταλήπτῳ τρόπῳ γεγεννημένον τὸν γεννήσαντα· ἔπρεπε γὰρ τῷ γεννῶντι καὶ τῷ γεννωμένῳ μηδένα μεσιτεῦσαι τῇ ἀρρήτῳ γεννήσει. Οὐ δύνασαι γοῦν παρεμβάλλειν ἐκεῖ μέσον αἰῶνα ἢ διάστημά τι, ὅτι ἀκατάληπτος ἥ τε ἀρχαιότης τοῦ υἱοῦ καὶ τὸ πῶς ἐκ τοῦ

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de façon incompréhensible de la cause qu’est le Père. Voilà pourquoi il est Fils unique—Le Fils dit donc au Père: « je te confesse, Père ». Mais toi, ne va pas croire que dire: « je te confesse » équivaut à une confession (des péchés) comme l’est une confession en accord avec nos usages. Il y a en effet deux types de confession. La première est l’aveu, (selon) ce qu’il est dit, à savoir: « ils étaient baptisés par Jean en confessant leurs péchés » (Mt 3,6; Mc 1,5). Car sur les points où l’on pèche, on avoue les fautes commises. L’autre consiste dans le fait de glorifier et de chanter la louange de Dieu suivant le (verset): « je te confesse, Seigneur, de tout mon cœur » (Ps 9lxx,2) et: « confession et beauté soient devant lui » (Ps 95lxx,6). Dès lors, quand le Fils dit au Père: « je te confesse », cela revient à dire: « je te glorifierai »—or, que le Fils glorifie le Père, ne sois pas surpris. Personne en effet ne glorifie celui qui engendre comme le fait celui qui est engendré de lui. « Toute langue confessera donc que Jésus-Christ est Seigneur, pour la gloire du Dieu Père » (Ph 2,11), et toute la substance du monogène est gloire de celui qui l’a engendré: gloire sont ceux qui sont venus à l’être, et gloire du démiurge, le ciel, les anges, les choses de moindre importance et les réalités en général. Mais puisque ces choses sont inférieures, tout à fait basses et terre à terre en regard de la dignité du créateur, elles ne procurent qu’à moitié la gloire à celui qui les a faites. Puisque le Fils, par nature, tend vers le haut en direction de son père—que dis-je « tend », puisqu’il est exactement semblable à son engendreur, puisqu’Unique, il est issu de l’Unique, puisque parfait dans sa nature, il conserve l’empreinte du Père, puisqu’il est l’image sans pareille du Dieu invisible, puisque il ne diffère en rien de lui selon la nature—en effet, le Père, en engendrant, n’a rien soustrait de sa propre semblance à celui qu’il engendrait; nulle faiblesse ne le contraignait, et nulle jalousie ne le retenait—puisque certes, parfait, issu du parfait et parfaitement parfait—pas

274 jean-michel lavoie, paul-hubert poirier et thomas s. schmidt πατρὸς ὁ υἱός. Ἐπειδὴ οὖν ἀκατάληπτος. ∆ιὰ τοῦτο ἀγνοοῦντες ἐρυθριῶμεν; Οὐχὶ δὲ ἐν τούτῳ γινώσκομεν τὴν περὶ τῆς ἀβύσσου ἀλήθειαν τῷ εἰδέναι ὅτι μετρήσει οὐχ ὑποβάλλεται; Μὴ αἰσχύνῃ εἰπεῖν ὅτι ἀμέτρητον τὸ πρᾶγμα ; Οὐχὶ ἡ γνῶσις αὐτοῦ τὸ εἰδέναι ὅτι ἀμέτρητον; Ἐὰν δέ τίς σοι θελήσῃ μετρῆσαι τὸ διάστημα ἀπὸ γῆς εἰς οὐρανόν. Οὐχὶ ἅμα καὶ εὐθὺς νοεῖς ὅτι παντελῶς ἀγνοεῖ; Εἴποις γὰρ ἂν εἰκότως· οὗτος εἰ ᾔδει. Οὐκ ἂν ἐπεχείρει μετρῆσαι. ∆έον εἰδέναι ὅτι ἡμῖν κατὰ φύσιν οὐ καταλαμβάνεται, οἶδε [δὲ] ὁ ποιήσας . Ἀρίθμησον εἰ δύνασαι τοὺς ἀστέρας, ἀρίθμησον ψάμμον θαλασσῶν· οὐ δύνασαι δηλαδὴ τοὺς κόκκους ἐκλέξαι. Εἰ τοίνυν οὔτε ὕδωρ μετρεῖς οὔτε ἀστέρας ἀριθμεῖς οὔτε τὸ διάστημα τοῦ ἀέρος, πόσον ἐστί , δύνασαι γνῶναι , εἰ τὰ δημιουργήματά σοι ἐν τῷ ἀκαταλήπτῳ τῆς θεάσεως καὶ τῆς διαμετρήσεως ἔχει τὴν κατάληψιν καὶ ἐν τῷ νοεῖν ὅτι ὑπερβαίνει σου τὴν διάγνωσιν , γινώσκεται καὶ ταύτην παρ᾿ ἡμῖν ἔχει τὴν γνῶσιν, ἆρα τὸ πῶς ἐκ τοῦ πατρὸς ὁ υἱός , οὐκ ἐν τούτῳ ἔχει τὴν γνῶσιν, ἐν τῷ γινώσκειν ὅτι καταλαβεῖν οὐ δύνῃ κατὰ φύσιν τὸ πᾶσαν φύσιν ὑπερβαῖνον; Τίς οὖν ἐστι τούτου ἡ κατάληψις ; Ἡ γνῶσις τοῦ εἰδέναι ὅτι ἀδύνατον καταλαβεῖν. Ὡς εἴ τις ἐπιχειρήσειεν , ἀγνοῶν διελέγχεται, εἰ δέ τις τὴν ἀληθεστάτην ἔχοι γνῶσιν. Οὐδέποτε ἐπιχειρήσει καταλαβεῖν τὸ ἀκατάληπτον.—Λέγει τοίνυν ὁ υἱός , ᾧ ἀκολουθητέον μόνῳ· ἐξομολογοῦμαί σοι, πάτερ , τουτέστι δοξάζω σε . Ὅταν δὲ ἀκούσῃς τοῦ πατρὸς ἀποκρινομένου τῷ μονογενεῖ· ἐδόξασα καὶ πάλιν δοξάσω, ὅρα ἀντίδοσιν δόξης υἱοῦ μὲν ὡς πρὸς πατέρα, πατρὸς δὲ ὡς πρὸς υἱόν. Ἀγαπᾷ γὰρ τὸ ἴδιον γέννημα. Καὶ τίς ἂν μετρήσειε τὴν ἀγάπην; Ποίῳ δὲ μέτρῳ μετρηθήσεται ἐκείνη ἡ ἀγάπη; Οὐ δύνανται γὰρ οὐδὲ ἄγγελοι γνῶναι ἐκεῖνο τὸ μέτρον τῆς ἀγάπης . Πλὴν ἀλλὰ φιλονεικήσωμεν ἀναβῆναι , οὐχ ἵνα μετρήσωμεν ὅλην , ἀλλ᾿ ἵνα ἀναβῶμεν, ὅσον δυνάμεθα. Πόση τοίνυν ἡ ἀγάπη; Ὅση ἡ γνῶσις. Ἣ δὲ, ὅση ἡ φύσις. Πόση δὲ ἡ φύσις, ἀδύνατον

parfait tout court !—, seul Jésus Christ est « pour la gloire de Dieu le Père » (Ph 2,11). Donc, lorsqu’il dit: « je te confesse », c’est l’engendreur que glorifie le rejeton qui fut engendré avant les siècles sous un mode insaisissable; en effet, il convient que rien ne s’interpose entre l’Engendrant et l’Engendré en ce qui concerne l’indicible génération. Il n’est donc pas possible d’y insérer un temps médian ou quelque intervalle que ce soit, car l’ancienneté du Fils et la manière dont le Fils est issu du Père sont (des réalités) insaisissables. Puisque donc elles sont insaisissables, allons-nous pour autant rougir pour cela de notre ignorance? Au contraire, ne reconnaissons-nous pas en ceci la vérité qui concerne l’abîme, dans le fait que nous savons qu’elle n’est pas soumise à une mesure? N’es-tu pas honteux de dire que la chose est incommensurable? La connaissance à son sujet ne résiderait-elle pas (justement) dans le fait de savoir qu’elle est incommensurable? Or, si quelqu’un veut mesurer la distance depuis la terre jusqu’au ciel, ne comprends-tu pas alors tout aussitôt qu’il est complètement ignorant? En effet, tu dirais probablement: « celui-là, s’il savait, il n’essaierait pas de mesurer » alors qu’il faut savoir qu’en raison de notre nature, cette distance, nous ne la saisissons pas, mais celui qui l’a faite la connaît. Compte, si tu peux, les étoiles, compte les grains de sable des mers. Tu ne peux pas, bien sûr, faire le compte des grains (de sable). Donc, si tu ne peux ni mesurer l’étendue de l’eau, ni compter les étoiles ni saisir l’espace occupé par l’air, si pour toi la compréhension des œuvres démiurgiques tient, dans ce qui est insaisissable, de la vue et de la mesure, et si la compréhension que tu en as tient dans le fait de reconnaître qu’elle dépasse notre entendement, alors la connaissance de la manière dont le Fils est issu du Père ne tient-elle pas à son tour dans le fait de savoir qu’on ne peut comprendre, par nature, ce qui dépasse toute nature? En quoi consiste, alors, la compréhension de celui-ci? C’est la connaissance

les HOMÉLIES SUR L’ÉVANGILE DE LUC de titus de bostra εἰπεῖν . Καλῶς ἀναβαίνεις οὕτως καὶ καλῶς γινώσκεις· ἀκολουθεῖ γὰρ τῇ φύσει ἡ γνῶσις, τῇ δὲ γνώσει ἡ ἀγάπη. Ἀλλὰ σὺ μὲν ὅσον γινώσκεις, τοσοῦτον καὶ ἀγαπᾷς, ὁ δὲ υἱὸς ἐπειδὴ τελείως γινώσκει, τελείως καὶ ἀγαπᾷ. Τὰ δὲ ὑποβεβηκότα ὅσον τῇ γνώσει, τοσοῦτον ὑποβέβηκε καὶ τῇ ἀγάπῃ. Πλέον σου ἄγγελος ἀγαπᾷ, ἐπειδὴ ὑπερβέβηκέ σε, οὔπω δὲ τὸ τέλειον τῆς ἀγάπης ἔχει . Καὶ ἀρχάγγελος πλέον , οὐδέπω δὲ πρὸς τὸ τέλειον ἥκει. Τὸ δὲ πνεῦμα ὁμοίως τῷ υἱῷ γινώσκει, ἐπειδὴ πάντα ἐρευνᾷ καὶ τὰ βάθη τοῦ θεοῦ. Καὶ πάλιν οὐδεὶς γινώσκει, τίς ἐστιν ὁ υἱός, εἰ μὴ ὁ πατήρ. Καὶ ἀνάπαλιν ἀντίδοσις γνώσεως· ὁμοία γὰρ ἡ φύσις.

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du fait de savoir qu’il est impossible de comprendre. Car, si quelqu’un venait à essayer, il est convaincu d’ignorance, de même que, si quelqu’un venait à avoir la connaissance la plus vraie, il ne s’aventurerait jamais à essayer de comprendre l’incompréhensible—Le Fils, le seul qu’il faut suivre, dit donc: « Je te confesse, Père », c’est-à-dire, « je te glorifie ». Mais lorsque tu entends le Père répondre au Monogène: « J’ai glorifié et glorifierai de nouveau » ( Jn 12,28), observe le don réciproque de gloire du Fils comme vers le Père et du Père comme vers le Fils. En effet, il aime son propre rejeton. Et qui pourrait mesurer l’amour? Par quel (genre) de mesure cet amour sera-t-il mesuré? Pas même les anges ne peuvent connaître cette mesure de l’amour. Rivalisons donc pour nous élever, non pas afin de le mesurer tout entier, mais afin de nous élever autant que nous le pouvons. De quelle grandeur est donc l’amour? De la même grandeur que la connaissance. Et cette dernière est aussi grande que la nature. Mais de quelle grandeur est la nature? Impossible à dire. Autant tu t’élèves de façon excellente, autant tu connaîtras de façon excellente. La connaissance, en effet, suit la nature, et l’amour, la connaissance. Mais toi, autant tu connais, autant tu aimes, alors que le Fils, puisqu’il a une connaissance parfaite, aime aussi parfaitement. Les êtres qui sont inférieurs en connaissance le sont tout autant en ce qui concerne l’amour. L’ange aime davantage que toi, puisqu’il te surpasse, mais il ne possède pas encore la perfection de l’amour. Et l’archange (aime encore) davantage, mais il n’arrive pas, lui non plus, à la perfection. Quant à l’Esprit, il a une connaissance semblable au Fils, puisqu’il sonde tout, même les profondeurs de Dieu (cf. 1 Co 2,10). Et encore, personne ne sait qui est le Fils, si ce n’est le Père (cf. Lc 10,22). Et réciproquement, il y a échange de connaissance. En effet, leur nature est semblable.

276 jean-michel lavoie, paul-hubert poirier et thomas s. schmidt Le fragment portant sur Lc 10, 21, la plus longue scholie exégétique de Titus, est tout entier consacré à un problème théologique crucial pour l’Église du IVe siècle, la définition de la nature du Christ, et, par conséquent, de sa relation avec le Père. Il reflète bien les discussions qui avaient cours en Syrie durant l’épiscopat de Titus et qui devaient solliciter l’attention des évêques à l’égard de leurs fidèles, partagés comme leurs pasteurs entre la foi nicéenne et les diverses tendances qui s’affronteront jusqu’au concile de 381. Il est intéressant de noter que Titus évite d’utiliser un vocabulaire associé de trop près à la doctrine de Nicée. Ce qui suggère qu’à l’époque de la composition de l’homélie, il n’a pas encore pris position, notamment en ce qui concerne l’usage de l’ὁμοούσιος,80 ou que la présence d’éléments à sympathies « arianisantes » dans l’assemblée le pousse à user de prudence pour se les concilier. Dans cet extrait, Titus cherche à établir l’égalité du Père et du Fils en montrant que la génération de celui-ci diffère de la génération ordinaire. Pour illustrer son point, il entreprend de montrer, citations bibliques à l’appui, que leurs rapports mutuels sont placés sous le signe de l’égalité. Ainsi, lorsque Jésus semble se placer en situation d’infériorité en regard de son Père (comme le suggère la louange que le Fils adresse au Père dans le verset commenté), en fait, il ne fait que lui rendre la gloire qui leur est propre. Toute tentative de déterminer l’exacte teneur de la « gloire » divine impartie au Père et au Fils est donc vouée à l’échec. Cette abdication de la recherche de la connaissance au profit de la Foi est un thème qui revient ailleurs chez Titus (frag. in Lc 5, 12 ff et 9, 38 en particulier) et qui évoque la polémique anti-eunomienne. Le fragment portant sur Lc 10,21 fait partie, avec les quatre suivants, d’un grand ensemble, portant sur Lc 11,2b; 11,4a et 11,4b et 11,9. Ils sont fort probablement les restants d’une homélie consacrée à l’exégèse du « Notre Père ». §6. In Lucam 11,2–3 (pp. 198–9 Sickenberger) Lc 11,2–3: « Εἶπεν δὲ αὐτοῖς, Ὅταν προσεύχησθε λέγετε, Πάτερ, ἁγιασθήτω τὸ ὄνομά σου· ἐλθέτω ἡ βασιλεία σου—Il leur dit: “Lorsque vous priez, dites: ‘Père, sanctifié soit ton nom! Vienne ton règne!’ » 80 Nous savons que Titus fit partie des signataires d’une lettre entérinant l’usage du terme, lors du synode d’Antioche de 363.

les HOMÉLIES SUR L’ÉVANGILE DE LUC de titus de bostra Λέγων οὖν· ἁγιασθήτω τὸ ὄνομά σου , τοῦτο λέγει· γνώτω σου τὴν ἁγιότητα πᾶς ὁ κόσμος καὶ ὑμνησάτω πρεπόντως. Τίνες δὲ οἱ πρεπόντως ὑμνοῦντες, προεῖπεν ἡ γραφή· τοῖς εὐθέσι πρέπει αἴνεσις . ∆ιόρθωσιν οὖν τοῦ παντὸς κόσμου προσέταξεν εὔχεσθαι γενέσθαι, ἵνα μὴ μόνον ὑπὲρ ἑαυτῶν, ἀλλὰ καὶ ὑπὲρ τοῦ κοινοῦ γένους τὴν εὐχὴν ποιώμεθα. Καὶ τὸ αἰώνιον τέλος ὑπέδειξεν, ὅπερ ἐστὶ τὸ πάντας τοὺς οἰκείους θεοῦ καὶ ὑμνητὰς θεοῦ κατασκευσθῆναι, ὅτε καὶ κατὰ τὸν προφήτην Ἡσαΐαν πᾶν γόνυ κάμψει θεῷ καὶ πᾶσα γλῶσσα ἐξομολογήσεται. Πῶς δὲ ἔσται, Παῦλος ἐδίδαξε λέγων ὅτι ἐν τῷ ὀνόματι Ἰησοῦ εἰς δόξαν θεοῦ πατρός. Ὅτε οὖν ἐπιγνωσθήσεται ὁ Χριστός, τότε ὁ πατὴρ οἰκείως δοξασθήσεται, τότε καὶ τὸ ὄνομα τοῦ πατρὸς κατὰ τὴν εὐχὴν ἁγιασθήσεται. Νῦν δὲ ἕως οὔπω Χριστὸς ἅπασιν ἀνθρώποις ἐπέγνωσται, οὔπω τὸ ὄνομα τοῦ πατρὸς ἡγίασται. ∆ιὸ ἐπιφέρει· ἐλθέτω ἡ βασιλεία σου, τουτέστι μηκέτι βασιλευέτω τὸ κακόν. Ἀλλ᾿ ἡ σὴ θεότης κατακρατείτω τῶν ψυχῶν καὶ τὸν κόσμον εὐεργετείτω ταῖς τελείαις εὐεργεσίαις· δῆλον γὰρ ὅτι τοῦ θεοῦ βασιλεύοντος τὰ θεοῦ ἀγαθὰ πληρώσει τὸν κόσμον. Ἡ δὲ τῶν πονηρῶν ἀρχόντων ἐπήρεια παύσεται τῶν κακούντων τὰ ἀνθρώπινα διὰ τὴν αὐθαίρετον ἀνθρώπων κακίαν· αὐτοὶ γὰρ ἐπισπασάμενοι τὴν τῶν δαιμόνων ἐπικράτειαν κακοῦνται ὑπ᾿ αὐτῶν ὡς ὑπὸ τυράννων βιαίων. ∆ιὸ καὶ πάλιν ἑκόντας ἐπὶ τὸν ἀγαθὸν βασιλέα χρὴ καταφεύγειν, ἵνα παρ᾿ αὐτοῦ τύχωμεν δωρεῶν διὰ Ἰησοῦ Χριστοῦ. Συγκαταβέβηκε γὰρ τοῖς ἀνθρώποις ἐκπεσοῦσιν ἀπὸ θεοῦ καὶ δέδωκεν ἑαυτὸν ἕως τῶν ὑποχθονίων , ἵνα διὰ τῆς πρὸς αὐτὸν οἰκειώσεως. Ἧς ἐχαρίσατο κατελθών , γενώμεθα πάλιν θεοῦ κτήματα. Εἰς τοῦτο γάρ, φησίν, ὁ Χριστὸς ἀπέθανε καὶ ἀνέστη , ἵνα καὶ νεκρῶν καὶ ζώντων κυριεύσῃ. Τῶν οὖν βασιλευομένων ἐστὶν ἡ εὐεργεσία τὸ βασιλευθῆναι ὑπὸ θεοῦ διὰ Χριστοῦ. Καὶ οὐχ ὥσπερ ἐπ᾿ ἀνθρώπου βασιλεύοντος, οὕτως καὶ ἐπὶ θεοῦ δυνατὸν νοῆσαι

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Donc, en disant: « Que ton nom soit sanctifié », il dit ceci: « Que tout l’univers connaisse ta sainteté et qu’il te chante de façon appropriée ». Mais qui sont ceux qui le chantent de façon appropriée, l’Écriture l’a dit dans un passage précédent: «Aux hommes droits convient la louange» (Ps 32lxx,1). Il ordonna donc que l’on prie pour le redressement de tout l’univers, afin que nous fassions notre prière non seulement pour nous-mêmes, mais aussi pour tout le genre humain. Il montra que la finalité éternelle est que tous les familiers de Dieu (cf. Ep 2,19) soient apprêtés aussi comme des louangeurs de Dieu, lorsque, selon le prophète Isaïe, tout genou fléchira devant Dieu et toute langue le confessera (cf. Is 45,23; Ph 2,10–11). Comment cela sera, Paul l’a enseigné en disant: « au nom du Christ pour la gloire de Dieu le Père » (Ph 2, 10–11). Donc, c’est au moment où le Christ sera reconnu que le Père sera glorifié convenablement, et alors (seulement) le nom du Père sera sanctifié en accord avec notre prière. Mais en réalité, tant que le Christ ne sera pas reconnu par tous les hommes, le nom du Père ne sera pas sanctifié. C’est pourquoi il ajoute: « que ton règne vienne », c’est-à-dire: « que le mal ne règne plus, mais que ta divinité se rende plutôt maîtresse des âmes et se montre bienveillante à l’endroit de l’univers par le biais de bienfaits parfaits ». Il est clair en effet, que sous la royauté de Dieu, les bienfaits de Dieu rempliront l’univers. Et la menace des puissances mauvaises cessera, elles qui pervertissent les affaires humaines par l’entremise de la malice délibérée des hommes. En effet, ceux qui attirent à eux-mêmes la domination des démons sont maltraités par eux comme par des tyrans brutaux. C’est pourquoi il faut nous enfuir pour retourner de notre propre chef auprès du bon roi, afin qu’une fois chez lui, nous obtenions des dons par Jésus Christ. En effet, il a condescendu aux hommes qui étaient tombés loin de Dieu et il s’est livré lui-même jusque

278 jean-michel lavoie, paul-hubert poirier et thomas s. schmidt δόξαν αὐτῷ τινα προσγενομένην διὰ τοῦ βασιλεύειν.

parmi les êtres infernaux, afin que, grâce à notre familiarité avec lui dont il nous a fait grâce en descendant ici-bas, nous redevenions possessions de Dieu. En effet, « c’est en vue de cela, dit-il, que le Christ est mort et qu’il est ressuscité, afin qu’il règne sur les morts et les vivants » (Rm 14,9). C’est donc un bienfait pour ses sujets que d’être soumis à la royauté de Dieu par l’intermédiaire du Christ. Mais contrairement à une royauté humaine, il est impossible, à propos de Dieu, de comprendre de la même manière quelque chose de la gloire qui s’ajouterait à lui du fait de régner.

Une certaine communauté de ton et de propos unit ce fragment à la scholie précédente. Car toutes deux ont comme objectif implicite la polémique avec les ariens. En effet, tout comme Titus cherchait plus tôt à désamorcer l’argumentation arienne en niant la possibilité d’une compréhension humaine de la relation Père-Fils, ainsi tente-t-il ici de démontrer, citations bibliques à l’appui, que seule compte pour Dieu la louange « des hommes droits ». Vers la fin de ce fragment, Titus trahit sa culture platonicienne. En effet, l’injonction διὸ καὶ πάλιν ἑκόντας ἐπὶ τὸν ἀγαθὸν βασιλέα χρὴ καταφεύγειν est une reprise évidente du fameux passage du Théétète 176 ab (διὸ καὶ πειρᾶσθαι χρὴ ἐνθένδε ἐκεῖσε φεύγειν ὅτι τάχιστα), qui connaitra une grande fortune dans le platonisme, le christianisme et la gnose.81 §7. In Lucam 12,58 (pp. 206–7 Sickenberger) Lc 12,58: « Ὡς γὰρ ὑπάγεις μετὰ τοῦ ἀντιδίκου σου ἐπ᾿ ἄρχοντα, ἐν τῇ ὁδῷ δὸς ἐργασίαν ἀπηλλάχθαι ἀπ᾿ αὐτοῦ, μήποτε κατασύρῃ σε πρὸς τὸν κριτήν, καὶ ὁ κριτής σε παραδώσει τῷ πράκτορι, καὶ ὁ πράκτωρ σε βάλῃ εἰς φυλακήν—Ainsi, quand tu vas avec ton adversaire devant un chef, en chemin fais en sorte d’en avoir fini avec lui, de peur qu’il ne te traîne devant le juge, et que le juge ne te livre à l’exécuteur, et que l’exécuteur ne te jette en prison. » 81 Pour les références voir P.-H. Poirier, dans W.-P. Funk, P.-H. Poirier et J.D. Turner, Marsanès (NH X), (BCNH section “Textes” 27; Québec/Louvain-Paris: Les Presses de l’Université Laval/Éditions Peeters, 2000), 400–1.

les HOMÉLIES SUR L’ÉVANGILE DE LUC de titus de bostra Χρήσιμον μὲν οὖν τὸ ὑπόδειγμα καὶ κατὰ τὸ αἰσθητόν. Οἱ γὰρ πρὸ δίκης διαλυόμενοι φρονιμώτεροι εἰσιν μὴ ἀναγκαζόμενοι· οἱ γὰρ ἀφ᾿ ἑαυτῶν τὸ δίκαιον ὁρῶντες, οὗτοι ἑαυτοῖς δικασταὶ γενόμενοι ἀποφέρονται τὴν ψῆφον τῆς δικαιοσύνης. Πρὸς ὃ δὲ λαμβάνεται τὸ ὑπόδειγμα χρησιμώτερον· ὅπερ γὰρ καλὸν ἐνταῦθα ποιεῖν, τοῦτο καλόν ἐστι κἀκεῖ ποιῆσαι. Ἐγκαλεῖ σοι, φησίν, ὅτι ἥμαρτες καὶ ἔχεις συνειδὸς ἁμαρτημάτων· διάλυσαι πρὸς τὸν ἀντίδικόν σου . Ἀντίδικος δὲ ἡμῶν ἡ ὀργὴ καὶ ἡ ἐπιθυμία καὶ τὰ λοιπὰ πάθη τῆς ἀτιμίας . Ἄγε τοίνυν , ἀδελφέ, ἐὰν αἴσθῃ ἐπιθυμίας σωματικῆς ἢ ὀργῆς ἢ ἑτέρου πάθους, διάλυσαι πρὸς ἐκεῖνο, κατάργησον αὐτοῦ τὰ σκιρτήματα, κατάπαυσον αὐτὸ κακῶς κινούμενον, ἵνα μὴ ἔλθῃς πρὸς τὸν κριτὴν καὶ ὁ κριτής σε παραδῷ τῷ πράκτορι, τοῖς ἀγγέλοις τοῖς διακονουμένοις , πρὸς τὴν κρίσιν , καὶ ὁ πράκτωρ σε βάλῃ εἰς φυλακήν, ἕως ἂν τὸ ἔσχατον λεπτὸν ἀποδῷς. Ἐὰν γὰρ διαλύσῃ διὰ τῆς μετανοίας, ἀπαλλάσσῃ δικαστηρίων , ἐὰν δὲ παραμείνῃς ἐν ταῖς ἁμαρτίαις , καὶ περὶ ὧν ἐλάλησας καὶ περὶ ὧν ἐνεθυμήθης καὶ περὶ ὧν ἔπραξας, μέλλεις τιμωρεῖσθαι, ἕως ἂν καὶ τὸ ἔσχατον λεπτὸν ἀποδῷς . Βλέπε φιλανθρωπίαν κριτοῦ· προλέγει, ἵνα μὴ ἐμπέσωμεν.

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L’exemple est donc utile, même selon le (registre du) sensible. En effet, ceux qui se réconcilient avant le jugement sont plus sensés, puisqu’ils ne le font pas sous la contrainte. Car ceux qui voient d’eux-mêmes ce qui est juste, ceux-là, devenus pour eux-mêmes juges, déposent le suffrage de la justice. Mais l’exemple est plus utile s’il est pris en ce sens: en effet, ce qu’il est bien de faire ici-bas, il est bien de le faire aussi dans l’au-delà. Tu t’accuses, dit-il, d’avoir péché et tu as conscience de tes péchés. Réconcilie-toi avec ton adversaire. Notre adversaire, c’est la colère, le désir, ainsi que le reste des passions honteuses. Allons, frère, réconcilie-toi avec cela, si tu ressens des désirs corporels de colère ou toute autre passion corporelle, retiens ses élans, fais cesser ce qui se meut en vue du mal, afin que tu n’ailles pas chez le juge et que le juge ne te livre pas au huissier (les anges qui assistent au jugement) et que le huissier ne te jette en prison, jusqu’à ce que tu aies rendu la dernière obole. Car si tu te réconcilies par le repentir, tu seras libéré des tribunaux, mais si tu demeures dans les péchés, qui concernent ce que tu as dit et ce que tu as désiré ou ce que tu as fait, tu te destines au châtiment, jusqu’à ce que tu rendes la dernière obole. Constate l’humanité du juge; il avertit, afin que nous ne sombrions pas.

Cette scholie est intéressante dans la mesure où elle montre l’intérêt que porte Titus au sens littéral et éthique de l’Écriture de préférence au sens spirituel ou allégorique, qu’il n’ignore toutefois pas, comme le montre son commentaire de Lc 15,3 (scholie suivante). Le début du fragment témoigne de l’orientation de l’exégèse de Titus. Il affirme en effet que « l’exemple est utile, même selon le (registre du) sensible ». Déterminer l’utilité, τὸ χρήσιμον, d’un livre—ou d’une partie d’un livre—faisait partie des objectifs principaux du commentateur. De fait, les philosophes néoplatoniciens situaient la question de l’utilité de l’œuvre au second rang des questions préliminaires, après le σκοπός.82 Dans le cas présent, Titus ne discute qu’un seul passage, 82

Cf. P. Hoffmann, « Catégories et langage selon Simplicius—La question du

280 jean-michel lavoie, paul-hubert poirier et thomas s. schmidt à savoir une parabole, qu’il appelle τὸ ὑπόδειγμα, exemplum, et l’utilité qu’il en dégage, comme il le précise, est une utilité pratique, sensible. Dans l’exégèse néotestamentaire de Cyrille d’Alexandrie, on retrouve une opposition entre interprétation κατὰ τὰ ἀνθρώπινα et κατὰ τὰ αἰσθητά. Toutes deux représentent un aspect de l’interprétation de la lettre du texte biblique: la première se référant aux choses ayant trait aux activités caractéristiques de l’homme en tant qu’individu et en tant que groupe, tandis que la seconde se réfère aux réalités perçues par les sens, en particulier la vue et l’ouïe.83 Il est difficile de savoir si Titus connaissait cette distinction, mais, d’après l’explication qu’il propose du passage lucanien, il semble bien que, pour lui, le κατὰ τὸ αἰσθητόν corresponde à une exégèse de type moral. §8. In Lucam 15,3 (pp. 211–13 Sickenberger) Lc 15,3: « Εἶπεν δὲ πρὸς αὐτους τὴν παραβολὴν ταύτην—Il leur dit cette parabole ». Οἱ τῶν παραβολῶν ἀκροαταὶ γεγενημένοι δηλονότι ἐπιθυμοῦσι τῆς ἑρμηνείας. Χρὴ γὰρ ὡς εἰκὸς αὐτὰς ἑρμηνεῦσαι , ἵνα φανῇ ὁ σκοπὸς τοῦ λαλήσαντος καὶ τὸ ὄφελος τῶν ἀκουόντων. Καὶ πρῶτον ἐκεῖνο λεγέσθω ὅτι διὰ παραβολῶν ἐλάλησεν ὁ κύριος, ἵνα παραστήσῃ ἡμῖν διὰ τῶν ἐπιγείων τὰ ἐπουράνια πράγματα. Ἐπειδὴ γὰρ ἡ οὐράνιος κατάστασις ἀόρατός ἐστιν ἀνθρώποις, ἀόρατα δὲ ἰδεῖν οὐ δυνάμεθα, διὰ τῶν ὁρωμένων προσβιαζόμεθα πρὸς νόησιν τῶν μὴ φαινομένων. Αὐτὸς τοίνυν ἐστὶν ὁ ἐν τῷ ψαλμῷ λαλήσας· προσέχετε λαός μου , τῷ νόμῳ μου κλίνατε τὸ οὖς ὑμῶν εἰς τὰ ῥήματα τοῦ στόματός μου, ἀνοίξω ἐν παραβολαῖς τὸ στόμα μου . Ἐπηγγείλατό σοι ἐν προφήταις παραβολάς, ἐπλήρωσεν ἐν τῷ εὐαγγελίῳ· ἐν τῇ παλαιᾷ ἡ ἐπαγγελία, ἐν τῇ καινῇ ἡ

Ceux qui sont devenus les auditeurs des paraboles désirent manifestement l’interprétation. Il faut en effet, comme il est naturel, les interpréter, afin que paraisse l’intention de celui qui a parlé, ainsi que le profit pour ceux qui l’écoutent. Que soit d’abord précisé ceci, à savoir que le Seigneur s’est exprimé en paraboles afin de mettre à notre disposition les choses célestes par le truchement des réalités terrestres. En effet, puisque l’état céleste est invisible aux yeux des hommes et que nous ne pouvons voir l’invisible, nous sommes forcés d’aller vers la conception des choses non apparentes par le biais des choses visibles. Certes, c’est lui-même qui a dit dans le psaume: « Ô mon peuple, soyez attentifs à ma Loi, tendez votre oreille aux paroles de ma bouche, j’ouvrirai ma

“Skopos” du traité aristotélicien des “Catégories” », dans Simplicius, sa vie, son oeuvre, sa survie. Actes du Colloque international de Paris (28 sept.–1er oct. 1985) (éd. I. Hadot; Berlin/New York: Walter de Gruyter, 1987), 65. 83 Cf. A. Kerrigan, « The Objects of the Literal and Spiritual Senses of the NT According to Cyril of Alexandria », SP 1, Part I (éd. K. Aland et F.L. Cross; TU 63; Berlin, Akademie-Verlag, 1957), 354–71.

les HOMÉLIES SUR L’ÉVANGILE DE LUC de titus de bostra ἀποπλήρωσις. Ἐπείτοι τίς ἐστιν ὁ λέγων· προσέχετε τῷ νόμῳ μου; Ἆρά γε ∆αβίδ; Ἀλλ᾿ οὐκ ἔστιν νομοθέτης ὁ ∆αβίδ , ἀλλὰ βασιλεὺς ὑπὸ νόμον Μωϋσέως , οὐδὲν νομοθετήσας. Ῥωμαίων γὰρ τοῖς βασιλεῦσιν ἔξεστι προστιθέναι νόμους καὶ οἱ ἐφεξῆς ἀεὶ προστιθέασι κατὰ τὴν χρείαν τῶν καθεστηκότων. Παρὰ δὲ Ἰουδαίοις οὐκ ἦν, ἀλλ᾿ εἷς ἦν ὁ νόμος, ᾧ οὔτε προστιθέναι ἔδει, οὔτε ἀφελεῖν. Πῶς οὖν ∆αβὶδ λέγει· προσέχετε τῷ νόμῳ μου; Ποίῳ νόμῳ; Ὅπου γε νομοθέτης οὐκ ἦν, ἀλλὰ βασιλεὺς ὑπὸ νόμον. Ἆρα οὖν ∆αβὶδ μὲν λέγει, εἰς ἕτερον δὲ πρόσωπον ἀνάγεται; Οὐκ ἐλάλησεν παραβολὰς ὁ ∆αβίδ , καὶ κινδυνεύει ψεῦδος εἶναι τὸ λεγόμενον. Ὁ δὲ Χριστὸς ἐλάλησεν, ὁ ἐκ ∆αβὶδ κατὰ σάρκα. Μετάβα οὖν ἀπὸ προσώπου εἰς πρόσωπον, ἀπὸ βασιλέως εἰς βασιλέα καὶ ἀπὸ ἀνθρώπου εἰς θεὸν ἄνθρωπον γενόμενον καὶ ἀπὸ τῶν κάτω εἰς τὰ ἄνω, ἵνα καλὴν μετάβασιν λάβῃς προσώπων καὶ ἄνοδον ἔχῃς ἀπὸ γῆς εἰς οὐρανόν. Πρὸς τούτοις κἀκεῖνο γινέσθω δῆλον ὅτι ἐκεῖ μὲν ἐπήγγελται παραβολὰς καὶ νόμον, ἐν δὲ τῷ εὐαγγελίῳ τὰ δύο πληροῖ. ∆ύο γὰρ εἰσι νόμοι· εἷς ὁ τῆς παλαιᾶς καὶ εἷς ὁ τῆς καινῆς, δύο διαθῆκαι· ἡ παλαιὰ περὶ σῶμα, ἡ καινὴ περὶ διάνοιαν , ἡ παλαιὰ σωματικὰς ἐντολὰς ἔχει , ἡ καινὴ πνευματικὰς ἐπαγγελίας, ἡ παλαιὰ τὰ στοιχεῖα ἔχει, ἡ καινὴ γυμνὰ τὰ μαθήματα, ἡ παλαιὰ τὸ γάλα ἔχει, ἡ καινὴ τὴν στερεὰν τροφὴν, ἡ παλαιὰ τὴν σκιὰν διαγράφει, ἡ καινὴ ὁλόκληρον τὸ σῶμα δείκνυσιν, ἡ παλαιὰ τὰς εἰκόνας διαγράφει, ἡ καινὴ αὐτὸ τὸ πρόσωπον τὸ βασιλικὸν σημαίνει. Μήτε ταύτην καθ᾿ ἑαυτὴν λάβῃς, ἵνα μὴ γένῃ μετὰ αἱρετικῶν διεφθαρμένος, μήτε μόνην τὴν παλαιὰν λάβῃς, ἵνα μὴ γένῃ μέτα τῶν Ἰουδαίων ἄπιστος. Εἷς γάρ ἐστιν ὁ τῶν δύο διαθηκῶν νομοθέτης ὁ τὴν παλαιὰν χαρισάμενος ἀντὶ στοιχείων καὶ τὴν καινὴν δωρησάμενος ἀντὶ μαθημάτων, τὸν ἕνα παῖδα ἀνατρέψας, τὴν ἀνθρωπότητα πᾶσαν, τὸ μὲν πρῶτον διὰ γάλακτος, τὸ δὲ δεύτερον διὰ στερεᾶς τροφῆς. Μὴ μείνῃς ἐν τῷ γάλακτι, ἵνα μὴ διαφθαρῇς, μηδὲ ὡς

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bouche en paraboles » (Ps 77lxx,1–2; cf. Mt 13,35)). Il t’a promis des paraboles dans les prophètes, il les a réalisées dans l’Évangile. Dans l’Ancien, la promesse, dans le Nouveau, l’accomplissement. Mais alors, qui est celui qui dit: « Soyez attentifs à ma Loi »? S’agit-il de David? Mais David n’est pas le législateur, mais un roi soumis à la loi de Moïse; il n’a établi aucune loi. En effet, il est permis aux empereurs des Romains d’introduire des lois; ils les introduisent les unes après les autres, au gré des affaires courantes. Chez les Juifs, en revanche, ce n’était pas le cas. Au contraire, la loi était unique et il ne fallait ni y ajouter ni y retrancher quoi que ce fût. Comment donc David peut-il dire: « Soyez attentifs à ma Loi »? Quelle loi, étant donné qu’il n’était assurément pas législateur, mais roi, soumis à la Loi? Est-ce donc David qui parle, mais en se référant à une autre personne par anagogie? David ne s’est pas exprimé en paraboles, et ce qui est dit risque d’être un mensonge. Mais le Christ le fit, lui qui est issu de David selon la chair (cf. Rm 1,3). Passe donc d’une personne à l’autre, du roi au Roi, de l’homme au Dieu devenu homme, du bas vers le haut, afin que tu saisisses cette belle transition d’une personne à l’autre et que tu aies un chemin pour monter de la terre vers le ciel. En plus de ces choses, que cela aussi soit clair, à savoir que s’il promet là-bas les paraboles et la Loi, il les accomplit toutes deux dans l’Évangile. Il y a en effet deux lois; l’une est celle de l’ancienne (alliance), l’autre de la nouvelle. Il y a deux testaments. L’ancien concerne le corps, le nouveau la pensée; l’ancien contient des commandements corporels, le nouveau des promesses spirituelles; l’ancien contient les lettres, le nouveau les enseignements dans leur plus simple expression; l’ancien contient le lait, le nouveau la nourriture solide (cf. He 5,12; 1 Co 3,2); l’ancien esquisse la silhouette, le nouveau montre le corps parfait (cf. He 10,1); l’ancien trace les images, le nouveau montre le visage du Roi lui-même. Ne

282 jean-michel lavoie, paul-hubert poirier et thomas s. schmidt ὑβρίζων τὸ γάλα ἀθρόον εἰς τὴν στερεὰν τροφὴν ἔλθῃς αἱρετικῶς, ἵνα μὴ ἀποπνιγῇς, οὕτως ἡμᾶς διδάσκει τὸ πνεῦμα τὸ ἅγιον. Ἐπεὶ ποία ἂν ἀλήθεια εἴη, εἰ ὁ ∆αβὶδ λέγει· ἀνοίξω ἐν παραβολαῖς τὸ στόμα μου—οὐ γὰρ ἐλάλησεν παραβολάς—ἤ· προσέχετε τῷ νόμῳ μου — οὐ γὰρ ἐνομοθέτησεν ; Ἀλλὰ δῆλον, εἰς ὃν ἀνάγει τὰ ῥήματα, καὶ φανερὰ ἡ μεταφορὰ τοῦ προσώπου. Οὐ γάρ ἐστιν ἀλλότριος ὁ Χριστὸς τοῦ ∆αβίδ, οὐδὲ ∆αβὶδ τοῦ Χριστοῦ, ἀλλ᾿ ὁ μὲν Χριστὸς τοῦ ∆αβὶδ κατὰ σάρκα υἱός, ὁ δὲ ∆αβὶδ δοῦλος τοῦ Χριστοῦ κατὰ πνεῦμα .— Ἤκουσας ὅτι τέως Χριστὸς διὰ ∆αβὶδ ἐπηγγείλατο παραβολὰς καὶ ἐνταῦθα ἐπλήρωσεν. Ἐγκύψωμεν οὖν, ὅση δύναμις, ἑρμηνεύοντες, ἵνα εἰσέλθωμεν εἰς τὴν διάνοιαν τὴν εὐαγγελικήν· τῶν γὰρ Φαρισαίων ἀγανακτησάντων , ἐπειδὴ τελῶναι ἐπλησίαζον τῷ σωτῆρι, καὶ μεμφομένων ὅτι δὴ καὶ τιμῆς παρ᾿ αὐτῷ κατηξιοῦντο , ὁ σωτὴρ ἤρξατο λέγειν ὅτι χρεία τῶν μετανοούντων· διὰ τοῦτο παραγέγονα, ἵνα τοὺς ἐν θανάτῳ καὶ τοὺς ἐν ἀπωλείᾳ εὕρω καὶ τοὺς καταπεσόντας ἀναστήσω. Οὐ γὰρ χρείαν ἔχουσι οἱ ὑγιαίνοντες ἰατροῦ, ἀλλ᾿ οἱ κακῶς ἔχοντες . Εἰ γὰρ μὴ ἔδει τοὺς ἁμαρτωλοὺς σῶσαι, ἀπώλετο ἂν ἡ χρεία τῆς διδασκαλίας. Ὥσπερ γὰρ ἀναγκαία ἡ ἰατρεία εὑρισκομένων νοσημάτων , οὕτως οὐκ ἀργὴ ἡ διδασκαλία τοὺς ἁμαρτάνοντας καλοῦσα εἰς μετάνοιαν. Τοῦτο δὲ οὐ προτροπὴ ἁμαρτίας, ἀλλὰ προτροπὴ μετανοίας. Τὸ μὲν γὰρ ἁμαρτάνειν πρόλημμα. Τὸ δὲ μετανοεῖν ἐπίκρισις εἰς αἵρεσιν καλλίονος.

84

Titus vise ici les marcionites.

prends ni celui-ci (tout) seul en lui-même, de peur de te perdre avec les hérétiques,84 ni l’ancien seul, de peur de devenir infidèle avec les Juifs. Il n’y a qu’un seul législateur des deux Testaments, qui nous gratifia de l’Ancien Testament, qui tint lieu de lettres, et nous offrit le Nouveau, qui tient lieu d’enseignements, ayant élevé son unique enfant, l’humanité toute entière, en lui donnant d’abord du lait, pour ensuite passer à la nourriture solide. Ne t’en tiens pas au lait, afin de ne pas dépérir, et ne va pas non plus mépriser d’emblée le lait pour passer à la nourriture solide, comme un hérétique, afin de ne pas t’étouffer. Ainsi nous enseigne l’Esprit-Saint. Car quelle serait la vérité si David dit: « J’ouvrirai ma bouche en paraboles »—en effet, il ne s’est pas exprimé en paraboles—ou bien « Soyez attentifs à ma Loi »—car il n’en a pas établi—? Mais vers qui se dirigent ces paroles est clair, comme est manifeste le transfert d’identité. Car le Christ n’est pas étranger à David, ni David au Christ, mais le Christ est fils de David selon la chair et David serviteur du Christ selon l’esprit—tu as entendu que, jusqu’alors, le Christ a promis, par l’intermédiaire de David, des paraboles, et qu’il les a accomplies ici. Penchons-nous donc pour interpréter, à la mesure de notre capacité afin que nous entrions dans l’intelligence évangélique. Alors que des Pharisiens s’irritaient parce que des publicains approchaient le Sauveur et qu’ils le lui reprochaient parce qu’ils se jugeaient dignes de l’honneur d’être auprès de lui, le Sauveur commença à dire que c’était au profit de ceux qui se repentaient: « Voilà pourquoi je les côtoie, pour trouver ceux qui sont dans la mort et dans la perdition, et relever ceux qui sont tombés ». En effet, ceux qui sont en bonne santé n’ont nul besoin d’un médecin, mais plutôt ceux qui se portent mal (Mt 9,12; Mc 2,17; Lc


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5,31). En effet, s’il ne fallait pas sauver les pécheurs, alors l’utilité de l’enseignement serait perdue. Tout comme la guérison est nécessaire lorsque nous découvrons une maladie, ainsi l’enseignement qui appelle les pécheurs à la repentance n’est pas vain. Cela n’est pas encouragement au péché, mais à la pénitence. D’une part pécher est prédisposition, d’autre part, la décision de se convertir est décision vers le choix de ce qui est plus beau.

Ce long fragment est le seul de notre collection où Titus s’adonne à l’interprétation typologique, cherchant à reconnaître dans l’Ancien Testament l’annonce d’un événement de la vie de Jésus, suivant une formule qu’il énonce lui-même: (l. 12–13): « (Le Seigneur) t’a promis des paraboles dans les prophètes, il les a réalisées dans l’Évangile ». Plus loin, Titus utilise le verbe ἀνάγειν85 (l. 24) pour amorcer une lecture « anagogique » du personnage de David, anticipation de Jésus. Ce fragment montre que Titus est capable d’une exégèse autre que littérale. Il faut toutefois noter qu’il y était en quelque sorte contraint par la nature du texte qu’il expliquait. Il aurait en effet été absurde de chercher à commenter une parabole ad litteram, qui, par nature nécessite une μετάβασις (l. 30) vers un sens spirituel, comme il le remarque lui-même: Ceux qui sont devenus les auditeurs des paraboles désirent manifestement l’interprétation. Il faut en effet, comme il est naturel, les interpréter, afin que paraisse l’intention de celui qui a parlé, ainsi que le profit pour ceux qui l’écoutent. Que soit d’abord précisé ceci, à savoir que le Seigneur s’est exprimé en paraboles afin de mettre à notre disposition les choses célestes par le truchement des réalités terrestres (l. 1–6).

Si Titus abandonne un instant son registre exégétique habituel, en bon pédagogue, il demeure sensible aux besoins de son auditoire. C’est ainsi qu’il explique d’abord longuement la raison d’être de l’exégèse typologique avant d’en venir à l’interprétation comme telle; de fait, on pourrait considérer ce fragment comme l’exposition, par Titus, des conditions de la typologie: il faut identifier les acteurs, puis examiner

85 Cf. G.W.H. Lampe, A Patristic Greek Lexicon (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1961), 100a., s.v.

284 jean-michel lavoie, paul-hubert poirier et thomas s. schmidt leurs rapports mutuels et, enfin, passer à l’anagogie proprement dite. L’homélie devient ainsi, par-delà la rhétorique, dialogue avec l’auditoire et occasion d’enseignement. Titus met en pratique ce qu’il dit de Moïse, qui, « lui non plus, ne va pas au-delà de la capacité de ses auditeurs, mais s’adapte à leurs manières, comme un pédagogue qui condescend à s’adapter à leur faiblesse afin de les élever petit à petit (τοῖς τρόποις αὐτῶν συγκαθίσταται, οἷα παιδαγωγὸς συγκαταβαίνων αὐτῶν τῇ ἀσθενείᾳ, ἵνα κατὰ μικρὸν αὐτοὺς ἀναγάγῃ) » (In Lc 18,18, p. 226,16–227,18 Sickenberger). Au terme de cette brève étude consacrée aux homélies de Titus sur l’Évangile de Luc et nonobstant le fait que nous n’avons considéré que quelques scholies, retenons deux traits distinctifs de la pratique exégétique de l’évêque de Bostra. Premièrement, la lecture de la Bible par Titus est avant tout caractérisée par une attention constante portée au sens littéral du texte. Il se situe donc résolument dans la perspective antiochienne plutôt qu’alexandrine. Il reste constamment préoccupé par l’aspect pratique et pastoral de son exégèse, y compris dans la façon dont il reprend l’œuvre de ses devanciers. Ainsi dans la scholie sur Lc 8,26, copié directement d’Origène, dans laquelle Titus traite d’une question d’incohérence géographique dans le texte évangélique. Il ne se permet donc d’être origénien que lorsqu’Origène éclaire le sens littéral. Quand il se résoud à dépasser le sens littéral pour mettre en valeur une interprétation morale ou pour recourir à l’anagogie (cf. le fragment sur Lc 15,3), Titus le fait toujours de façon modérée. Deuxièmement, la lecture de l’Écriture par Titus n’est jamais coupée de préoccupations dogmatiques. Ou pour dire les choses autrement, Titus, s’adressant à ses fidèles, s’efforce de répondre à leurs besoins spirituels et de les mettre en garde contre les dangers qui les guettent, en particulier sur le plan christologique. C’est le même souci qui l’a poussé à entreprendre sa monumentale réfutation du manichéisme. Prêchant sur l’Évangile de Luc, il saisit l’occasion pour exposer à ses auditeurs la conception du Christ et de son œuvre salvatrice qu’il juge orthodoxe. Par sa façon de conjuguer exégèse et polémique antihérétique, Titus demeure fidèle à lui-même et conserve dans ses homélies la pugnacité qu’il déploie ailleurs contre le manichéisme. Il est regrettable que ces homélies sur Luc aient été transmises d’une manière aussi incomplète et aussi imparfaite. Mais les fragments qui en ont été conservés permettent néanmoins de se faire une bonne idée de


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la vigueur et de la précision de l’exégèse de Titus de Bostra. Celui-ci n’avait peut-être ni la trempe oratoire d’un Jean Chrysostome ni l’acuité théologique d’un Théodore de Mopsueste, mais il nourrissait sa lecture des Évangiles aux mêmes sources. La publication en 1901 par Joseph Sickenberg des vestiges des homélies sur Luc de Titus a permis de les sauver de l’oubli, mais elle ne les a pas rendus accessibles pour autant. Pour rendre justice à Titus et enrichir notre connaissance de l’exégèse antiochienne de la seconde moitié du IVe siècle, il conviendrait de traduire en une langue moderne et de commenter l’ensemble de ces fragments. Il faudrait procéder également à une nouvelle lecture du palimpseste de l’Ambrosienne (Cod. F. supp. 130) jadis édité par Mercati.86 Les techniques modernes en matière de déchiffrement des palimpsestes permettraient sans doute d’améliorer le texte, à moins qu’il n’ait été irrémédiablement endommagé par les réagents utilisés par A. Mai et G. Mercati.87

86 A. Mercati, « Alcune note di letteratura patristica IV. Reliquie d’un Commentario greco all’Evangelo di S. Luca », étude reprise dans les Opere minori II; cf. J. Sickenberger, Titus von Bostra, 250–259. 87 Cette communication a été préparée dans le cadre des activités du Groupe de recherche sur le christianisme et l’antiquité tardive (GRECAT) de l’Université Laval, grâce à une subvention du Fonds québécois de recherche sur la société et la culture (FQRSC).

HEARING LOVE’S LANGUAGE: THE LETTER OF THE TEXT IN ORIGEN’S COMMENTARY ON THE SONG OF SONGS Richard A. Layton From antiquity, the reception of Origen’s Canticle exegesis has been securely bound to a figurative explication of the text.1 Jerome pronounced that while Origen “surpassed all in other books, in his Commentary on the Song of Songs he surpassed himself.” He particularly had in view that Origen ushered the reader to esoteric insight: “it seems to me that in him is fulfilled the saying ‘the king has brought me into his bedchamber’ (Song 1:4).”2 Jerome and others regarded Origen’s primary contribution to be the thorough exposition of the Song as an expression of the nuptial union between Christ and the church collectively and between the Word and the soul individually.3 Origen, to be sure, was not the first to introduce a figurative reading of the Song, as both Rabbinic exegetes and Hippolytus previously had developed allegories identifying the Canticle as a song between God and God’s people. Nevertheless, Origen’s commentary gave new prominence to the nuptial motif and his two-fold mystical interpretation brought more 1 I cite Origen’s commentary according to the text and its division in Origène: Commentaire sur le Cantique des Cantiques (ed. L. Brésard and H. Crouzel; SC 375–376; Paris: Cerf, 1991–1992). I cite the homilies according to the text and division of Origène: Homélies sur le Cantique des Cantiques (ed. O. Rousseau; SC 37; Paris: Cerf, 1954). For both, I have adapted the translation of R.P. Lawson, Origen: The Song of Songs, Commentary and Homilies (ACW 26; New York/Ramsey, NJ: Newman Press, 1957). I would like to thank Lorenzo DiTommaso and Lucian Turcescu for organizing the conference on “The Reception and Interpretation of the Bible in Late Antiquity.” I have benefited immensely from discussion of a draft of this paper, both at the panel session and afterwards. I would also like to thank Georgia Frank, David Hunter, Robert Alun Jones, and Lorenzo Perrone for generous bibliographic help and insightful comments. 2 Jerome, prologue to the translation of Origen’s homilies on Songs, in Homélies (SC 37.58). 3 Gregory of Nyssa’s single mention of Origen by name in his commentary, Cant. prol., Gregorii Nysseni in Canticum Canticorum (ed. H. Langerbeck; GNO 6; Leiden: Brill, 1960), 13, also situates Origen solely in the context of allegorical interpretation. See also Theodoret, Cant. praef. (PG 81.32B), identifying Origen among others who defines the book as “spiritual” and Notker Balbulus, De interpretibus divinarum Scriptuarum, 2 (PL 131.996), citing Jerome’s comment in pleading with a brother to seek a translation of Origen’s commentary into Latin.

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than a millennium of Christian thought under the gravitational pull of his contemplative vision.4 Origen, however, pairs this allegorical reading with a pioneering literal interpretation of the Canticle. He interprets the lovers’ exchanges in the Song as a drama that unfolds in dialogue among four characters: the bride, the groom and their respective entourages.5 This dramatic reading of the Song is the continuous touchstone for Origen’s spiritual exegesis. What Origen identifies as the “interior,” “spiritual,” or “mystical” interpretation of the Song stands in reciprocal relationship to the exegesis of the letter.6 This organization of the commentary into paired “literal” and “figurative” sections was scarcely an obvious exegetical approach in antiquity. Most commentaries in antiquity, in fact, provided little, if any, literal exposition. In this essay I inquire how the dramatic interpretation contributes to either the eschatological marriage of Christ and church or the potential union of soul and Logos. The central claim I want to advance is that the letter constitutes an indispensable and persistent experience in Origen’s reading of the Song. The mainspring underlying this claim is that Origen’s understanding of the letter begins with the pronounced text as spoken and heard. The relationship between the dramatic and spiritual registers of reading has been subject to a range of interpretations.7 Until recently, 4 J.C. King, Origen on the Song of Songs as the Spirit of Scripture: The Bridegroom’s Perfect Marriage-Song (OTM; Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2005), 3–6, persuasively argues that Origen was the first Christian writer to make a sustained attempt to explore the full theological potential of the nuptial motif. On the impact of Origen’s exegesis on subsequent, especially medieval Latin, interpretation of the Song, see F. Ohly, Hohelied-Studien: Grundzüge einer Geschichte der Hoheliedauslegung des Abendlandes bis um 1200 (Wiesbaden: Franz Steiner, 1958), passim; E.A. Matter, The Voice of My Beloved: The Song of Songs in Western Medieval Christianity (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 1990), esp. 20–49; A.W. Astell, The Song of Songs in the Middle Ages (Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 1990), esp. 1–24; Brésard and Crouzel, Commentaire sur le Cantique (SC 375), 54–68. More recently, E.A. Clark, “Origen, the Jews, and the Song of Songs. Allegory and Polemic in Christian Antiquity,” in Perspectives on the Song of Songs/Perspektiven der Hoheliedauslegung (ed. A.C. Hagedorn; BZAW 346; Berlin/New York: W. de Gruyter, 2005), 274–93, retrieves a theme that was not appropriated in subsequent commentary tradition: a hope for Jewish-Gentile union in Christianity. 5 Origen, Cant. prol. 1.1–3. See now L. Perrone, “‘The Bride at the Crossroads’: Origen’s Dramatic Interpretation of the Song of Songs,” ETL 82 (2006), 69–102. 6 See, e.g., Origen, Cant. 1.1.5 (SC 375.178) interior intellectus; 2.1.2 (SC 375.260–261) ordo mysticus; 2.4.4 (SC 375.332) intelligentiam mysticam; 2.9.2 (375.436) intelligentiam spiritalem. 7 I follow King, Origen on the Song of Songs, 206–14, in regarding the dramatic and spiritual as two concurrent registers of reading rather than separate “levels” of meaning. This terminology better facilitates the retention of Origen’s aim in elucidating two dimensions to the Song as a single unity.

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the most common view has been that Origen advances his allegorical interpretation by suppressing or sublimating the text’s literal content, which itself is judged to be overtly erotic. Origen can, from this perspective, only sustain the spiritual meaning by denying the Song’s original reference to the physical union enjoyed by two lovers and replacing it with a figurative application.8 In this scheme, the literal interpretation can have no positive function, and instead poses a barrier to the transposition of the drama to the spiritual plane. Ann Astell links this process more generally to Origen’s hermeneutical practice. Astell begins with Origen’s well-known analogy in On First Principles in which Scripture, like the human self, is composed of body, soul, and spirit. The meaning of a text ultimately is deposited in its “spirit.”9 In light of this hermeneutical theory, “the literal carnality of the Song veils a spiritual meaning (allegoria), even as the human body houses a soul.” The reader must suppress the overt eroticism of the text, and sublimate bodily impulses to stimulate an intense mystical desire. Origen’s exegetical process mirrors his mystical pedagogy: “Even as the exegete moves away from the Canticum’s literal, carnal meaning to its sensus interioris, the bridal soul, renouncing what is earthly, reaches out for the invisible and eternal.”10 The experience of the letter of the text, consequently, is an impediment to authentic understanding of the Canticle, and must be pierced like a veil to reach the true meaning. As Astell’s summation reflects, this reading of Origen can incorporate a psychologizing dimension, perceiving in the move from literal to spiritual a repression of the erotic impulse.11 It seems doubtless true that Origen’s attitude toward human corporeality and sexuality is marked, as Ann Matter observes in the context of the Canticle, by deep ambivalence.12 The pivotal issue in 8 More generally, an allegorical reading of the Song represents, in the expression of M. Jastrow, The Song of Songs, Being a Collection of Love Lyrics of Ancient Palestine (Philadelphia/London: J.B. Lippincott Co., 1921), 30–1, a “theory of despair,” that aims to “conceal” the secular origins of the text. 9 Origen, Princ. 4.2.4–5. 10 Astell, Song of Songs in the Middle Ages, 2–3. 11 M. Pope, Song of Songs (AB 7C; Garden City, NY: Doubleday, 1977), 115, provides perhaps the most explicit expression of a critique of Origen rooted in a theory of repression: “Origen tended toward thoroughness in all that he did. He took seriously and literally Jesus’ saying about the removal of bodily members that offend and lead to sin and proceeded to castrate himself. He was fully convinced also that the literal sense of the Song of Songs was likewise something to be eliminated.” For rebuttal of this type of critique, see Matter, Voice of My Beloved, 31–4, King, Origen on the Song of Songs, 78–94. 12 Matter, Voice of My Beloved, 33–4. See also David Hunter’s paper in this volume, esp. the section where he treats Origen as representing a form of moderate Encratism.

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Origen’s Song exegesis, however, centers on his understanding of what constitutes the letter of the text and its content, which Astell seems to presume can only have a basis in a “carnal meaning.” As Astell reflects, one approach to the issue is to ground the Songs commentary on the hermeneutical theory Origen articulates in book four of On First Principles. As Scripture as a whole is a composite reality of body, soul and spirit, the literal dimension of the Song is its “body” and the figurative meaning is its “spirit.” Karen Torjesen employs this same framework to very different effect.13 Origen’s exegesis follows, Torjesen argues, a consistent four-step process that conducts the hearer (presuming an aural context for Origen’s commentaries) from the letter to the spirit and its application to the believer’s life. The first two steps usher the hearer through the grammatical and historical levels, which together constitute the “literal” meaning of the text. More specifically, Torjesen identifies Origen’s literal meaning as the exposition of the truths of the Logos symbolically represented in Scriptural narratives. In the third and fourth steps, the spiritual meaning develops organically from this historical-grammatical understanding of the literal sense. A spiritual interpretation is already implicit in the literal levels, which reciprocally point to their ultimate fulfillment in the spirit. Divine inspiration is a quality that marks the text at its most basic level, as the very words of Scripture are produced by an inspired encounter of the writer with the Logos. In this way, “the words themselves from the point of origin already point to the Logos. It is the very literalness of Scripture which demands a spiritual interpretation. The words are written in order to be understood in a spiritual way.” Moreover, the historical level has as its subject matter the history of the Logos’ own pedagogy, “his revelation of himself, his teaching to Moses, to the prophets, and to the apostles.” As the relevant historical reality is the self-revelation of the Logos as encountered by inspired writers—rather than external events to which the narratives might point—historical interpretation already centers on the spirit. The spiritual interpretation is not a rejection or repression of the letter, but a move from the particular experience of the inspired writer to a universal doctrinal truth.14

13 K.J. Torjesen, Hermeneutical Procedure and Theological Method in Origen’s Exegesis (PTS 28; Berlin/New York: W. de Gruyter, 1986). 14 Ibid., 139–44 (quotations from 139–40).


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Torjesen maps the dramatic dialogue of the Song through the four-step structure of Origen’s exegesis. Solomon reflects the Word’s pedagogical guidance by creating an analogy between the reader’s own progress toward spiritual perfection and the dramatic situation of the lovers. In the Songs commentary, Torjesen holds, the “literal meaning is also symbolic for the spiritual meaning” in which the drama at the textual level also provides an image of a second drama, “that of the perfecting of love between the church/soul and Christ.” The two dramas situate the hearer in an analogous relationship to the perfect church, so “as the perfect church experiences the Logos so does also the soul by analogy, repeating the movements of the perfect church toward Christ.” This movement of analogy is nonetheless founded on a “real history,” which Torjesen identifies as “the still-to-be-consummated history of Christ in the church.” Nevertheless, the “grammatical sense has no other referent than this eternal history.”15 The significant distinction in the case of the Song is that the “historical reality” (step two), which functions as a record of the encounter of inspired authors with the pedagogical Logos, is founded on an eschatological event and has no referent outside this event. While for Torjesen the historical level always anticipates the spiritual explication, the Song blurs the possibility for distinguishing these two steps as separate interpretive moments. Torjesen’s analysis within the hermeneutical framework of On First Principles permits the relationship between letter and spirit to be evaluated on principles internal to Origen’s own exegetical practice. In a brief article that appeared in the same year as Torjesen’s monograph, Patricia Cox Miller establishes a different point of departure from which to approach the Songs commentary. Rather than seeking to explain Origen’s commentary as an example, albeit a distinctive one, of his general hermeneutical practice, Miller offers that a more basic foundation is provided by “actively erotic” potential of language. “Language,” Miller asserts, “establishes a relationship between a reader and a text that may (or may not) yield a reading that inflames the consciousness of the reader that unleashes the powers of erôs burning in the text.”16 Miller focuses less on how Origen explicates the action of the Song than

Ibid., 132. P.C. Miller, “ ‘Pleasure of the Text, Text of Pleasure’: Eros and Language in Origen’s Commentary on the Song of Songs,” JAAR 54 (1986), 241–53, quotation at 242. 15

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on his aim to cultivate a reader who “dwells profoundly in the textual reality of Scriptural language.” She insists that this dwelling within the text is an erotic experience, noting that Origen refers to the Logos in terms—kisses, darts, love-charms, wounds of love—that establish the Word as an erotic presence. Full appreciation of Origen’s commentary should take account of this erotic relationship established between the text and the reader. “It is not,” Miller judges, “a question of looking at an erotic text and interpreting allegorically.” Instead, it is necessary to allow the Song’s “secret metaphors of love” to enter into and fill the reader. The words of the text operate as more than signs that point to the spiritual level; they are indelible and “visible provocations toward the invisible.”17 The tension between the letter and the spirit in the Song cannot be resolved by a transposition of meaning, nor can the letter be viewed simply as a vehicle through which the universal truths of the Logos are disclosed. Miller emphasizes—in contrast to Torjesen—that for Origen the process of exegesis actively shapes the spiritual experience of the reader. Where Torjesen suggests that the reader obtains meaning via analogy with the dramatized experience of the lovers, Miller argues that the erotically charged dialogue impresses itself into the reader’s expectation of the soul’s encounter with the Logos. The text, as she says, “desires the reader and not the other way around,” and the interpretive act necessarily becomes a mutually reciprocal erotic encounter. Whereas Torjesen emphasizes the “utility” of Scripture as being the basis for Origen’s concept of Scriptural inspiration, Miller points to the actual experience of reading as one of pleasure.18 These categories need not be exclusive, as J. Christopher King demonstrates in a recent monograph which amplifies the intrinsic relationship between the erotic quality of language and the Song’s pedagogy.19 As will be seen below, I differ substantially with King’s assessment of the status of the literaldramatic reading in the commentary. Nevertheless, his study makes a significant contribution in bridging the gap between Miller’s linguistic approach and Torjesen’s pedagogical hermeneutic. In so doing, King brings to the foreground a valuable point: the Song, Origen insists, is

Ibid., 242, 246–7. Compare Torjesen, Hermeneutical Procedure, 124–5, citing Origen, Princ. 4.2.7, with Miller, “Pleasure of the Text,” 242, on the “excess of pleasure.” For the “text desires the reader,” see Miller, 245. 19 King, Origen on the Song of Songs as the Spirit of Scripture (see above, note 3). 17 18


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a vital force for achieving the eschatological transformation expressed in the nuptial motif. Origen’s commentary, King argues, moves the reader to anticipate in the Song the consummate and unique prophetic experience of the Logos. The Canticle’s drama is not merely an exemplification of divine love, as Torjesen might suggest. Rather, through the words of the text it imparts that love to the reader, generating a “salvific eros.”20 To inculcate this effect, Origen “scrupulously excludes” a literal meaning from the Song and develops a reading of the text that is allegorical in toto, in that every aspect of the text can receive only a spiritual meaning with “no surplus of a conventional, obvious, or corporeal meaning.”21 King’s concept of “total allegory” does not entail extinction of the letter itself. Rather, he argues, Origen imposes a distinction between the letter ( gramma) as the “fixity, structure, and form of the written text” and the text’s “body” (sôma) which represents the “fixed and limited understanding found in, and in a sense imputed to, the gramma by the materialistic habitus that is our mind’s second nature.”22 While the gramma is integral and vital to the Song, Origen systematically separates the reader from the “body” to develop a new habitus to recognize the Canticle not as a text that contains a spiritual meaning, but one that consists entirely of a prophetic and spiritual utterance. Solomon is a participant in the drama in the “figure of the Bride” (Cant. prol. 1.1.), but he is also “the unique prophetic source of the Song” and thus as a type of Christ, who utters the very presence of the Word as Bridegroom.23 As does Torjesen, King situates this reading of the Song within the hermeneutical framework of Ibid., 177, 238. Ibid., 39. 22 Ibid., 54. King suggests that the body (sôma) of Scripture consists of both an objective dimension (the actual letter of the text) and a subjective dimension (habitus) constituted by the reader’s own dispositions. Unfortunately, this suggestion remains undeveloped on two key points: 1) the support in Origen King identifies for this subjective dimension to the Scriptural body, and 2) how this habitus is cultivated. On the first point, Origen, Princ. 4.2.4 does not elaborate on the character of the “flesh” (sarx) of Scripture beyond indicating that it is suitable for edification of the “more simple” and that it can be denominated the “common explication” (tên procheiron ekdochên), which Rufinus further glosses as historialem intellectum. On the second point, it is unclear to what extent King intentionally evokes the concept of habitus, developed by Pierre Bourdieu, as a durable but transposable system of socially acquired practices, tastes, bodily skills, and dispositions. For a contrasting discussion of the “somatic” meaning in Scripture that omits this subjective dimension, see E.A. Dively Lauro, The Soul and Spirit of Scripture within Origen’s Exegesis (BAC 3; Boston/Leiden: Brill, 2005). 23 Cf. Origen, Cant., prol. 4.13, 4.28 (SC 375.154, 166), with discussion of King, Origen on the Song of Songs, 215–6. 20 21

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On First Principles. The unique feature of the Song is that, unlike other Scriptures, it is a “bodiless” text, which possesses only a “spirit.” The drama in the Song is only provisional, replete with “stumbling blocks” that should provoke the reader to transcend the narrative action and ultimately hear only the pure voice of the Logos as the sole singer of the “song of songs, which is Solomon’s.”24 I have offered this extended survey of current scholarship because my own suggestions which follow are deeply indebted to and overlap in significant ways with it. As Torjesen and King both show, Origen’s understanding of the drama in the Song addresses a reality that is not encompassed by the historical circumstances in which Solomon produced the text. Origen carefully separates literal exegesis of the Song from a historical or biographical frame of reference.25 In the extant portions of the commentary, Origen refers to the exposition of the Song at its textual level solely in terms of the establishment of the action of the dramatic players in the form of a narrative.26 It is the “interpreta24 King, Origen on the Song of Songs, 45–61, develops the primary argument for the Song as a “bodiless” text in conjunction with Origen’s assertion, Princ. 4.2.5, that some Scriptural texts possess no “corporeality” (to sômatikon oudamôs echousai). For discussion of “stumbling blocks” (skandala, cf. Princ. 4.2.9) in the Song, see ibid., 138–67. King’s concept of the “stumbling block,” however, conflates two separate phenomena distinguished by Origen: historical impossibilities (adunata) recorded in Scripture to prompt the reader to look for spiritual meaning, and textual difficulties (quaestiones or problêmata) that require an exegetical solution (solutio or lysis). One of the primary tasks Origen assigns to an exegete is to identify these quaestiones and to offer the reader a range of possible solutiones. In this respect the Canticle is no different from any other Scriptural text. One might compare, for example, Origen’s extended discussion of the problem of the chronology presumed in John 4:35 (Io. 13.250–259) in which Origen concludes that the purported chronology is either impossible or implausible, but this does not call into question the historical value of the gospel as whole. For more discussion of the integral role of defining possible solutiones to quaestiones, see, e.g., L. Perrone, “La parrhesia di Mose: L’argomentazione di Origene nel Trattato sul libero arbitrio e il metodo dell ‘quaestiones et responsiones,” in Il cuore indurito de Faraone: Origene e il problema de libero arbitrio (ed. L. Perrone; Origini 3; Genova: Marietti, 1992), 31–64, and idem, “Perspectives sur Origène et la littérature patristique des ‘Quaestiones et Responsiones’,” in Origeniana Sexta: Origène et la Bible / Origen and the Bible. Actes du Colloquium Origenianum Sextum, Chantilly, 30 août-3 septembre 1993 (ed. G. Dorival and A. Le Boulluec; BETL 118; Leuven: University Press, 1995), 151–66 (with further bibliography). 25 For a contrasting view see King, 38–45, who characterizes the dramatic interpretation as “total allegory.” I am more inclined to characterize this tightly restricted definition of the scope of literal interpretation in terms of what M. Engammere, “Die sensus litteralis des Hohen Liedes im Reformationzeitalter: interessante Indizien am Rande des Exegese,” ARefG 83 (1992), 3–30, refers to as a specifically “literary” mode of literal interpretation. 26 As has been widely recognized, it is difficult to define with confidence the precise exegetical terminology Origen employs in the Song commentary. We possess the com-


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tion with respect to the narrative” (secundum historicam intelligentiam or historicus sensus) or the “interpretation with respect to the arrangement of the drama as presented in the form of a narrative” (secundum propositi dramatis ordinem quasi historicus intellectus).27 Origen never attempts to define Solomon’s intention by correlating the text to events outside the horizons of the text itself. In the initial sentence of the commentary, Origen identifies Solomon as both author and singer of the Song, adopting the persona of the bride, who, moreover, explicitly regards her groom to be the Word of God. Under these terms, Solomon cannot be regarded as composing a commemoration of an event in his own life. Origen does not even raise the possibility that the Song might have its origins in any other intention of Israel’s fabled king, either to indulge in the pleasures of the flesh or to commemorate a royal wedding.28 In the body of the commentary, the only events relevant to interpreting the Song are those related in the narrative which unfolds in the dialogue of the bride and her spouse. Consequently, the dramatic interpretation for Origen differs sharply from a historical exposition, which would define the foundation for the “literal” in terms of the life of Solomon. An explanation for Origen’s drama, therefore, requires a reconsideration of what constitutes the “literal.” Torjesen’s reliance on an analogical

mentary only in the partial Latin translation of Rufinus and thirty-two Greek fragments primarily isolated from the paraphrase of Procopius. Of the extant fragments identified by Baehrens, only one instance pertains to the literal exegesis: Tauta pros tên tôn dramatikôs epagomenôn saphênian (GCS 33.LIV.3). This statement apparently corresponds to Rufinus 3.11.9 (SC 376.602), but the relationship is not precise enough to allow reconstruction of Origen’s text. 27 Origen, Cant. 1.2.2 (SC 375.192); 1.5.2 (SC 375.242). Similar phrases recur throughout the commentary. The formula secundum litteram to describe this mode of interpretation appears only once in the commentary (3.8.2 [SC 376.568]). 28 Didymus, Eccl.T. 6.12–23, discussed below, provides to my knowledge the earliest testimony to an attempt to locate the occasion of the Canticle in the court life of Solomon. The otherwise unknown Seras the Arian, to whom Didymus attributes the position that the Song celebrates the author’s marriage to Pharaoh’s daughter, would have been active in the middle of the fourth century. It is unfortunate that Jerome, ep. 37, in his criticism of Rheticius provides so little information on that now-lost commentary, which may have also advanced a historical theory for the composition of the text. In the fifth century, Theodoret, Cant. prol. (PG 81.29A–32C), perhaps drawing on Theodore of Mopsuestia, recounts three different theories for the historical circumstances surrounding the composition of the Song. The first repeats the assertion that Solomon composed it concerning himself and Pharaoh’s daughter. An alternative identifies the bride as Abishag the Shunamite. The third and final suggestion, unfortunately not elaborated by Theodoret, treats the Song as a royal poem with the people assuming the role of the bride and the king as the groom, a theory which anticipates the political interpretation later endorsed by Martin Luther.

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relationship between a spiritual, eschatological drama and its textual representation is ultimately static. The Song and its drama is not productive of the eschatological aim. King’s “total allegory” improves upon this situation, but in his approach the letter is a trace of the spirit, a residue of the prophetic moment that leaves a mark (gramma) but does not inhabit the reality (historia) of either the prophet or the readers of the text.29 This attenuation of the link between gramma and historia does not do justice, in my view, to the contribution the sensus litteralis makes to the intelligentiam spiritalem for Origen. In the remainder of this essay, I will argue for a more robust understanding of the literal in the Songs commentary. To do so, I will stand with Miller in proposing a point of entrance into the commentary outside of the hermeneutical theory of On First Principles.30 Construing the commentary simply as an example of this theory limits the ability to perceive Origen’s effort to grapple with the actual experience of reading. Miller, however, sees the text of the Song as a visual entity. I will emphasize, by contrast, that the Song is something to be sung and heard, and thereby embodied in its auditors. Further, as the auditors hear and embody the Song, they are likewise essential to the production of the text. In conceiving of the drama as the form (modum, prol. 1.1) of the Song, Origen has in view a mode of literary production that enlists the activity of the hearer in the origination of the text.31 The designation of the action in the text as a drama enables Origen to treat the historia of the Song as available for realization in the activity of its auditors. In this way, I hope to show, Origen reduces the distance between author and reader as he simultaneously forges the union between the letter and the spirit. For Origen the primary sensory experience of Scripture is aural rather than visual. He regularly prioritizes the text as heard over its appearance as seen. Origen refers to the Corinthian recipients of Paul’s corresponKing, Origen on the Song of Songs, 240–63. See also Perrone, “Origen’s Dramatic Interpretation of the Song of Songs,” 69–70, for reservations of adopting Princ. as controlling access to the exegetical practice reflected in the Commentary. 31 Torjesen, Hermeneutical Procedure, 138–47, holds that spiritual reading is an essential part of the text’s identity. King, 229–30, also is moving in this direction in acknowledging that the pedagogical effectiveness of a text depends on the reader’s participation which is analogous to the prophet’s original experience. Yet, he holds, the Song is unique in its prophetic origination such that this ladder of analogy seems to rupture. My argument is somewhat different: that the actual production of the text itself requires the reader’s participation. 29 30


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dence as the apostle’s “hearers.” When he comments on Balaam’s oracle that the “lion does not lie down until it has eaten the prey and drunk the blood of the wounded” (Num 23:24), it is the visceral impact of the spoken words that Origen emphasizes. “Who is there so insensible,” he asks, that “that he will not, shuddering at the sound of the letter, take refuge by necessity in the delight of allegory?”32 In the Song as well, he entreats those who encounter the text to regard themselves as its hearers. In his first homily on the Canticle, Origen addresses the audience as hearers not only of his own words, but also of the Song itself: “Make haste to join with the Bride in saying what she says, so that you may hear also what she heard.”33 This aural sensibility plays a significant role in both Origen’s conception of the purpose of the drama of the lovers and his reservation of the Song for the “perfect.” At the outset of his prologue, Origen defines the form of the text as a wedding song cast in the form of a drama (id est nuptiale carmen, dramatis in modum), a genre designation which grounds his approach to the issue of authorial intention ( prol. 1.1–3). For now, I will defer discussion of this dramatic conception of the Song. Instead, I want to consider the point that Origen makes in what immediately follows. He argues that this “little book” (libellum) should only come into the hands of those believers he labels as the “perfect” ( prol. 1.4–7). In this way, Origen immediately balances reference to authorial intent with consideration of the experience of one who reads, or cleaving more closely to his own words, who hears the Song. The church, Origen holds, is composed of individuals whose spiritual progress of the “inner person” (cf. Rom 7:22, 2 Cor 4:16) can be regarded in analogy to natural development either as “infants” (1 Cor 3:2, Heb 5:13) or as the “perfect” who are capable of consuming the “strong food” (Heb 5:14). This discussion recurs frequently in Origen’s commentaries and homilies, and points to the regular interplay between hermeneutics and ecclesiology in his exegesis.34 The polarity is a dynamic one, as believers progress from one stage to another under the tutelage 32 Origen, comm. in 1 Cor., fr. 12 (ed. C. Jenkins, JTS 9 [1908], 232–47 at 241); Origen, Hom. 16.9 in Num. (GCS 30.151): quis ita brutus invenietur, qui non horrescens sonum litterae ad allegoriae dulcedinum ipsa necessitate confugiat? 33 Origen, Hom. 1.1 in Cant. (SC 37.62), tr. Lawson, 268. 34 Origen adduces this distinction frequently throughout his homilies and commentaries. See F. Ledegang, Mysterium ecclesiae: Images of the Church and Its Members in Origen (BETL 156; Leuven: University Press, 2001), 234–5; M. Harl, Origène et la fonction révélatrice du Verbe incarné (PSor 2; Paris: Éditions du Seuil, 1958), 264–6.

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of Scripture, which provides the nourishment appropriate to each of the faithful at his or her stage of development. This difference may be apparent in the appetite for either simpler or more difficult fare. The less mature prefer direct narratives, “such as the little book of Esther or Judith or even Tobit or the precepts of Wisdom,” while the mature are capable of digesting the obscure statutes concerning sacrifice in the book of Leviticus.35 The distinction can also manifest itself in the form of instruction that is suitable to each group. Paul, Origen asserts, accommodates the infants among his “hearers” in Corinth by establishing the less stringent moral requirement of chastity within marriage as a “concession” (1 Cor 7:6), while urging the more perfect to the “substantial food” of virginity and martyrdom.36 Finally, Origen can exploit this distinction as a hermeneutical one: to the “infants” belong the interpretation of Scripture at the moral level, while the perfect can pursue the doctrinal mysteries embedded in the text.37 In the Songs commentary, Origen adduces the polarity of the infant and the mature to effect a unique distinction. Unlike other scriptures, which nourishes all readers to some degree, the Canticle, he asserts, benefits only the perfect, those who are able to “hear” (auditores) with a “sense (sensus) exercised for the discernment of good and evil” (Heb 5:12, 14).38 Just as youths are not moved toward amorous passion, so also those who are yet infants with respect to the “interior person” are not stirred by the words of the Song. If such readers should come to this text, perhaps they would neither benefit nor would they be damaged by the reading of the Song. At this point, Origen introduces a third type of believer, an individual he identifies as a “man solely according to the flesh.”39 To such a believer the Song is without utility, and it also may be dangerous. Since “he does not know how to hear (audire) the names of love purely and with chaste ears (auribus), he will divert the

Origen, Hom. 27.1.3 in Num. (SC 461.272, GCS 30.256). Origen, comm. in 1 Cor., fr. 12. I rely here on the translation provided by J.L. Kovacs, 1 Corinthians Interpreted by Early Christian Commentators (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2005), 49. 37 See, e.g., Origen, Hom. 5.6 in Iud. (GCS 30.496); comm. in 1 Cor., fr. 12, and Princ. 4.2.4–5. 38 Lauro, Soul and Spirit of Scripture, 196, suggests on this basis that the commentary was intended for those who were themselves “preachers and teachers.” 39 Qui secundum carnem tantummodo vir est. Although it is not noted either by Baehrens or Brésard and Crouzel, Origen’s phrase here seems best explained as an allusion to 1 Cor 3:2, hôs sarkinois, hôs nêpiois, which Origen takes as referring to two separate classes of believer. See Origen, comm in 1 Cor., fr. 12. 35

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entire manner of listening (omnem auditum) from the interior person to the exterior and fleshly man and will be turned from the spirit to the flesh and he will nourish in himself carnal lusts, and he will seem by cause of the divine Scripture to be moved and incited to carnal desire.”40 Origen bases his reservation of the Song to the spiritually mature in part on a hermeneutical distinction that recurs through much of his exegesis: the stratified nature of the church correspondingly requires a differentiated approach to Scripture. At the same time, however, he brings to the fore the sensory impact of the lyric poetry of the Song itself. While the “infant” remains unmoved by the recitation of the Canticle, the very sound of the “names of love” (amoris nomina) can resonate in the ears of someone accustomed to hear in those terms reference to physical attributes of being human. In emphasizing the sensory response to the reading of the Song, Origen acutely recognizes how the Canticle rendered the very act of reading problematic. In antiquity, while silent reading did occur on rare occasions, the primary mode for reading any text, especially Scripture, was the spoken word.41 Most reading took place in communal situations, but even in private readers typically would mumble the text under the breath. The practice of writing texts in continuous script required, according to Paul Saenger, intonation to define word and line division, which slowed the physical process of reading. Ancients did not regard such slowness as an impediment, as the sonorous properties of speech represented one of the pleasures of reading. In the absence of silent reading by sight, reading was a highly corporeal undertaking, since the activity itself elicited the motions and responses of the reader’s body.42 Alberto Manguel recalls watching his grandmother while she read the Bible, “mouthing the words and moving her body back and forth to the rhythms of her prayer.” Unlike visual appropriation of printed text, the pronounced text does not permit the hearer time to mediate affective

Origen, Comm. Cant. prol. 1.6 (SC 375.84) (my translation). Augustine’s marveling at Ambrose reading with his voice silent and his “tongue still” (vox autem et lingua quiescebant [Conf. 6.3, CCSL 27.75]) is often cited as an exception that vividly illustrates the dominant custom of pronounced reading. For discussion of the significance of Augustine and other possible examples of fully silent reading, see P. Saenger, Space between Words: The Origins of Silent Reading (Stanford: Stanford University Press, 1997), 1–17; A. Manguel, A History of Reading (New York: Viking, 1996), 41–51. 42 Cf. Tertullian, Prax. 8.4 (CCSL 2.1167): Sermo spiritu structus est . . . sermonis corpus spiritus; the breath (spiritus) is the ‘body’ of the spoken word (sermo). 40 41

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responses. Reading the Song would be a highly sensory, corporeal and social practice, precluding the emergence of what Manguel labels as the “interior space” that silent reading fosters in those who ingest the text by sight.43 In oral reading, the text acts upon the hearer in a primary fashion before the interpreter acts upon the text.44 Other commentators in antiquity recognized this aspect of the Song. In the prologue to his commentary, Nilus of Ancyra captures the ambiguity of the auditory experience of reading with an arresting simile. He compares the book to a beautiful and modest woman, who employs her allure to draw young men under the spell of chastity. Beguiling them with her charm and effecting a “piercing desire” in them, she easily leads them into a “freely chosen servitude” so that they do whatever she might bid, simply to maintain the enjoyment of seeing her. In the same way, Nilus avers, the Canticle easily draws readers, “delighting [them] instantly by the seductiveness of its language and persuading them to serve the holiness of [its] vision.”45 Nilus’ figure, developed at some length, vividly expresses the duality of experience for pious readers of the text of the Song of Songs. In the simple act of hearing the words spoken, such readers felt a surge of emotion delicious and pleasurable, but also somewhat uncanny, even before they attempted to decode what those words might signify.46 Fundamental interpretive difficulties coalesced around this instantaneous and ambivalent response of pleasure and emotional vulnerability. The delight produced by the words could overwhelm the reader. To Nilus, reading the beautiful text of the Song is like being subject to a “tyrant,” a figure which captures the ambiguity of an involuntary and compelled response which the reader simultaneously welcomes as delightful.47 Origen and subsequent Christian interpreters frequently

43 Effect of continuous script: Saenger, Space between Words, 11; corporeal involvement in pronounced reading: Manguel, History of Reading, 45–6; interior space of silent reading: Manguel, History of Reading, 50–1. 44 Miller, Pleasure of Reading, 242, 245. She does not, however, relate the activity of the text to the social practice of reading, and her discussion seems to presume a modern custom of sight reading. 45 Nilus of Ancyra, Cant., prol. 1–2 (ed. M.-G. Guérard, Nil d’Ancyre: commentaire sur le Cantique des Cantiques [SC 403; Paris: Cerf, 1994], 112–16). 46 Miller, “Pleasure of the Text,” 242, calls attention to the “dangerously disturbing and pleasurable” nature of reading in Origen. It seems that this observation applies even more explicitly to the simile Nilus quite consciously develops in his prologue. 47 Nilus of Ancyra, Cant. prol. 2.


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reminded readers of the Song that Scripture customarily presented in the contemplative mysteries through enigmas and parables (cf. Prov 1:6).48 As Gregory the Great recognized, however, the words that a reader heard uttered did not strike the ear as enigmatic: “in this book, kisses are mentioned, breasts are mentioned, cheeks are mentioned, thighs are mentioned.”49 Gregory’s blunt warning to the reader both renders explicit the nomina amoris to which Origen obliquely referred and also brings into relief the hermeneutical gap that figurative readings of the Song had to bridge. Readers did not encounter these terms as puzzles to be solved, but as evocative utterances that could not easily be fixed as symbolic referents to contemplative realities. While it certainly was intelligible to ancient readers that such signs might point to a higher reality, the relationship between these signs and their signified was not clear, nor direct, nor univocal. Interpretation began with the effort to assimilate this auditory experience into a meaningful whole. Before connecting the speeches into the dramatic narrative, the hearer was moved by the words as uttered.50 Allegory could be a powerful tool in rendering this auditory experience meaningful, and in the centuries after Origen, this technique eclipsed the literal exposition. In the words of Gregory the Great, allegory created a “certain engine” (quasi quandam machinam) through which the soul is lifted toward God. It was the vehicle that carried the reader through the “exterior words” to arrive at the “interior understanding.”51 At the same time, a singular stress on allegory tended to introduce a sharp dichotomy in the Song’s lyric speech.52 The letter covers the spirit, Gregory the Great explains, just as the chaff covers the grain. One ought to cast away the chaff and hasten to eat the grain of the spirit. The text is a 48 Origen, Cant. prol. 3.11 (SC 375.134); Gregory of Nyssa, Cant. prol. (GNO 6.4–5); Gregory the Great, Cant. 1 (Commentaire sur le Cantique des Cantiques [ed. R. Bélanger; SC 314; Paris: Cerf, 1984], 68). 49 Gregory the Great, Cant. 3 (SC 314.70). Similar lists are recited by Origen, fr. 186 in Lc. (GCS 49.306), Nilus of Ancyra, Cant. prol. 3 (SC 403.116). 50 Saenger, Space between Words, 9, emphasizes that this staging was in part a physiological requirement necessitated by the form of script: “For the ancients, lectio, the synthetic combination of letters to form syllables and syllables to form words, of necessity preceded narratio, that is, the comprehension of a text.” 51 Gregory the Great, Cant. 2.1–3.15 (SC 314.68–70). 52 See, e.g., Gregory of Elvira, Cant 1.1 (CCSL 69.170): carmen epithalamii . . . pro caelestium nuptiarum allegorica decantatione praedixit; Gregory the Great, Cant. 2 (SC 314.68); Angelomus Luxeuil, Enarrationes in Cantica canticorum (PL 115.553D–554A): sed antequam prolegomena ad calcem preveniat, notandum est quod in hoc libro nil carnale nilque historiale requirere debeat, sed allegoriarum mysteria contineri non dubitet.

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protective covering that must be discarded before the nutritious grain can be consumed.53 In the prologue of his commentary, Gregory of Nyssa articulates a similar relationship between the text and its meaning. He understands as the task set before him the duty to “make manifest the philosophy hidden in the words, purified into pure mental conceptions from the ordinary appearance in speech.”54 For both Gregorys the dramatic form of the dialogue in the Canticle possesses little intrinsic value; it is simply the mechanism or device that conveys the reader to the goal.55 Both exegetes ominously warn that in reading the Song “the letter kills, but the spirit makes alive” (2 Cor 3:6).56 Perhaps the most thorough dichotomy of the literal from the spiritual is articulated by Didymus the Blind, a fourth-century Alexandrian teacher closely associated with the tradition of Origen. In a classroom lecture on Ecclesiastes, Didymus dismisses in toto any literal interpretation of the Canticle: Everything in the Song of Songs is spiritual, contemplative, supra-celestial. Noone, not even those who are completely impoverished in thought, interprets the Song of Songs literally (epi rhêtou). Only Seras the Arian used to attempt to interpret it this way. [vacat] . . . he used to say that the daughter of Pharaoh was this bride lauded in the book. I have closely examined the figure of the bride many times, bringing forward language that cannot be interpreted literally (epi rhêtou). For when it says that “your breasts are like two fawns of a deer, browsing among the lilies, until the day breathes and the shadows are stirred” (Song 4:5), what kind of beauty do the breasts have, when they are compared to these things? And since they are compared simply to “fawns of a deer,” it says “browsing among the lilies,” for they are different when they are browsing among the lilies. And there are many examples. Here, therefore, are the realities that transcend the natural, the eternal realities, which they who look to what is above, those who “store treasure in heaven” (Matt. 6:20), ought to contemplate.57

Gregory the Great, Cant. 4 (SC 314.72). A similar relationship, though without the vivid analogy is proposed by Apponius, 1.4 (SC 420.146): In quo Cantico omnia quae narrantur tecta mysteriis. 54 Gregory of Nyssa, Cant. prol. (GNO 6.3–4). 55 See F. Dünzl, “Die Canticum Exegese des Gregor von Nyssa und Origenes im Vergleich,” JbAC 36 (1993), 94–109, esp. 97–9. 56 Gregory of Nyssa, Cant., prol., GNO 6.7; Gregory the Great, Comm. Cant. 4 (SC 314.72). 57 Didymus, Eccl.T. 6.12–23. 53


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The rhetorical vehemence of this polemic matches the dichotomy Didymus posits. As the literal and the spiritual represent exclusive paths to reading the Song, only those who are devoid of any spiritual inclination can adopt a literal approach to the text. His literary critique moves in a surprising direction, arguing that taken literally, the praises of the bride are anomalous.58 This is unique, as far I know, in an ancient Christian apology for allegorical interpretation of the Song.59 Typically, interpreters voice anxiety that the passionate language of the poem will stimulate desire, not that it will subject the Scripture to ridicule. As Didymus and others reflect, a strong current emerges in the centuries subsequent to Origen that opposes a spiritual to a literal reading. This strenuous effort to vindicate the Canticle as a spiritual text might reflect an apologetic aim to pre-empt the kind of historical criticism undertaken by Theodore of Mospuestia.60 In comparison, Origen’s own movement between the literal and the spiritual registers is more fluid and less sharply delineated. Unlike Gregory of Nyssa and Gregory the Great, Origen tends to avoid terminology that compares the literal as “cover” to the fruit. He never quotes 2 Cor 3:6 to define the relationship between spiritual and literal.61 Moreover, Origen is capable of defining the literal and spiritual as different epistemological modes rather than as separate ontological levels. An especially illuminating example of this approach appears in a text now extant only in the Philocalia, the extracts from Origen compiled by Basil of Caesarea and Gregory of Nazianzus.62 The original context of the passage is uncertain, but the 58 Didymus’ critique here resembles what King, 150–1, identifies as “figurative stumbling-blocks” that compel an allegorical interpretation. Cf. Origen, Princ. 4.3.1 (SC 268.342–6). 59 By contrast, the eighteeenth century literary critic, R. Lowth, Lectures on the Sacred Poetry of the Hebrews, Translated from the Latin of the Right Rev. Robert Lowth by G. Gregory (London, 1787), 2.340, offers rapturous praise of precisely the same metaphor Didymus: “Nothing can, I think, be imagined more truly elegant and poetical than all these passages, nothing more apt or expressive, than these comparisons.” 60 Theodore of Mopsuestia, testimonia 77–80 in Actio Quarta, Ex Scriptis Theodori Mopsuesteni, Concilium Universale Constantinopolitanum sub Iustiniano Habitum (ed. J. Straub, ACO 4.1; Berlin: W. de Gruyter, 1971), 68–70. Theodore, however, was not alone in this approach to the Canticle, as evidenced by Didymus’ critique of the otherwise unknown Seras the Arian and the complaints of Filastrius of Brescia, diversarum haereseon Liber, 135 (CCSL 9.299–300). 61 One possible exception is Origen Cant. 3.9.1 (SC 376.582), which may have 2 Cor 3:6 in view: Descriptio est quidem amatorii dramatis sponsae festinantis ad conubium sponsi . . . Sed converte te velocius ad Spiritum vivificantem . . . et non te rapiat carnalis et passibilis sensus. Brésard and Crouzel identify here a reference to 1 Cor 15:45. 62 Origen, Philoc. 15.19. The standard edition is J.A.Robinson, The Philocalia of Origen

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excerptor probably derived it from a copy of Origen’s Against Celsus, an apology composed close to the same time as the Songs commentary.63 If this passage is to be located in that apology, Origen addresses in it the complaint of Celsus that the gospel story does not represent Jesus in an appropriate fashion. A body inhabited by a divine spirit, Celsus maintains, ought to differ “from other bodies in size or voice or strength or striking appearance or powers of persuasion.” Jesus’ body, however, displayed none of these characteristics, and according to subsequent reports, Celsus holds, was “little and ugly and undistinguished.”64 In response, Origen draws attention to the account of the transfiguration, asserting that Christ’s body “differed in accordance with the capacity of those who saw it.” To those “who are still down below,” the Logos appears without either form or beauty, but to those who have received the power to ascend to the high mountain “he has a more divine form.”65 In the Philocalia excerpt, Origen extends this argument also to Jesus’s garments, which in Matthew are described as altered to “dazzling white” (Matt 17:2):

(Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1893). M. Harl, Origène: Philocalie, 1–20: Sur les Écritures (SC 302; Paris: Cerf, 1983), uses Robinson’s text and adds further analysis along with French translation. There are no variations between the two editions for the passage under consideration here. 63 In his edition of Contra Celsum (GCS 2.148f. [1899]), Koetschau includes the Philocalia passage at 6.77 in brackets because it is not extant in the thirteenth-century ms (Vatican, gr. 386) from which all other extant manuscripts are derived. On the basis of stylistic objections to its authenticity, Koetschau, however, declined to include the passage in his translation of Contra Celsum, a judgment followed by H. Chadwick, Origen: Contra Celsum (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1953, 391) and M. Borret, Origène: Contre Celse, Tome III (Livres V et VI) (SC 147; Paris, Cerf, 1969), 374–5, n. 1. After Chadwick’s translation appeared, J. Scherer, Extraits des Livres I et II du Contre Celse d’Origène d’après le papyrus no. 88747 du Musée du Caire (Bibliothéque d’étude 28; Cairo: Institut français d’archéologie orientale, 1956) demonstrated that in at least some places of the first two books in the Vatican manuscript suffered some losses and that the Philocalia sometimes preserved biblical quotations more accurately. Subsequently, R.P.C. Hanson, “The Passage marked unde? in Robinson’s Philocalia XV 19,” Origeniana secunda (ed. H. Crouzel and A. Quacquarelli; QVetChr15; Rome: Edizioni dell’Ateneo, 1980), 293–303, addressed the primary objections to accepting the Contra Celsum as the source of the passage, and concluded that it at least belonged to the manuscript possessed by the editor of the Philocalia. Harl, Philocalie, 441–2, accepts this conclusion. This conclusion only judges that by the fourth century a manuscript tradition had developed that assigned the passage to Contra Celsum, it does not attempt to demonstrate the authenticity of the passage itself. 64 Origen, Cels. 6.75 (tr. Chadwick, 388–9). 65 Origen, Cels. 6.77 (tr. Chadwick, 390–1). For parallel instances of this interpretation of the transfiguration, see Origen, Comm. in Mt. 12:36–37 (GCS 40.151–153), and Hom. 3 in Lc. (GCS 49.21–22).


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His garments also are different below, they are not white, they are not like light. If you ascend the high mountain, you will see his light and the garments. The garments of the Word are the words (lexeis) of Scripture, the vestment of the divine thoughts, these are spoken words (rhêmata). Therefore, just as [Christ] appears of another kind when below, and after ascending is transfigured, and his face has become as the sun, so also his vestments, so also the garments. Now when you are below, they are not brilliant, they are not white, yet when you ascend you will see the beauty and the light of the garments and you will admire the transfigured face of Jesus. . . . Those who are able to follow the tracks of Jesus when he ascends and is transfigured from his appearance on earth will see his tranfiguration in each part of Scripture. It is as if when Jesus appears to the many he does so as the ordinary diction (tês procheirou lexeôs), but when he ascends to the high mountain and is transfigured, he appears, particularly to the few of the disciples and to those who are given power to follow to the heights, as the highest and most exalted meaning which contains oracles of the wisdom hidden in mystery, which God predestined before the ages for the glory of his righteous ones (cf. 1 Cor 2:7).66

The most salient point for our purposes in this passage is that the transfigured “garments” are the “ordinary diction” of Scripture, the spoken words that the reader hears uttered.67 The transfiguration of Scripture is not a release from the words, but a glorification of the words themselves. The reader who ascends the mountain obtains a transfigured perception of the words themselves rather than ascends from one level of exegesis to another. Origen suggests that the transfiguration of Scripture results from an ability of the reader to perceive the “ordinary diction” in a new, exalted way. This concept resonates with the aim of the Songs commentary, in which Origen maintains that the words familiar to human usage are used with the purpose that, “even if we hear (audiamus) words which are well-known and familiar, we might perceive (sentiamus) by that perception (illo sensu) which is due to divine and incorporeal things.”68 Solomon’s aim, in this view, is to transform the language of love, the Origen, Philoc. 15.19 (ed. Harl, SC 302.436–438, Robinson, 84–86). King, Origen on the Song of Songs, 62–65, astutely intuits that Origen would see an application of the transfiguration to his doctrine of Scripture. He does not, however, discuss this important text, and so suggests that the letter of Scripture is represented in the transfigured body of Christ, rather than his garments. 68 Origen, Cant. 3.9.4 (SC 376.584), cf. Lawson tr. p. 201. One might also note a striking verbal echo between the Philocalia passage and the Songs commentary. Just as Origen refers to those who follow the “tracks” of Jesus up the mountain, so too he defines the activity of an interpreter in the Songs commentary as one of following the elusive “tracks” of the Scriptural narrative (Cant. 3.14.1 [SC 376.656]). 66 67

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spoken utterances that the reader hears in the Canticle. Whoever properly attends to the Song’s speech sharpens a kind of “sense” by which intelligible realities are perceived. Spiritual preparation is necessary for authentic reading, and the disciplined exercise of reading transforms one’s perceptive ability. Let us now consider how the structure of the Song enlists the reader in this act of transformation. Origen, as discussed above, holds that the Song belongs to those perfect hearers, who according to Heb 5:12, “by ability have their senses exercised (ta aisthêtêria gegymnasmena) to the discerning of good and evil.” This one verse combines three points for Origen: that the text is for the “perfect;” that such readers have a special quality of sense-perception; finally that this faculty is the result of gymnasia, the training of mind and body that Origen insists is indispensible to spiritual progress.69 The concept of a “spiritual sense” rests on Origen’s theory of homonymy, the bivalence of Scriptural language to address the dual nature of human reality.70 Human identity is twofold, consisting of an outer person and an inner person. Origen regards scriptural references to physical components of the self or to their activities as homonyms, in which the same spoken utterance may apply to either corporeal or spiritual realities. In terms of sensory capacity, Origen cites the dictum from Prov 2:5 “you will find a divine sense” (aisthêsin) to hold that all references to sense perception also are homonymic.71 There are, he judges, “two kinds of senses in us, one kind is the sense of what is mortal, corruptible and 69 See Origen, Cant. 1.4.16 (SC 375.230): the divine senses are “acquired by training (exercitia) and are said to be trained when they investigate the meaning of things with sharpened keenness” (Lawson, 79, modified). 70 For spiritual sense and homonymy, see Origen, princ. 1.1.9, Cels. 7.34, and especially, Dial. 15.28–23.1 For discussion of Origen’s concept, see K. Rahner, “The Spiritual Senses in Origen,” in idem., Theological Investigations, vol. 16 (New York, 1979), 83–103; and J.M. Dillon, “Aisthêsis Noêtê: A Doctrine of Spiritual Senses in Origen and in Plotinus,” in Hellenica et Judaica: hommage à Valentin Nikiprowetzky (ed. A. Caquot, M. Hadas-Lebel and J. Riaud; CollRÉJ 3; Leuven-Paris: Peeters, 1986), 443–55. 71 Origen’s text of Prov. 2:5 is a variant from the usual lxx text: “then you will understand fear of the Lord and you will find knowledge (epignôsin) of God.” Origen’s variant is also reflected in Clement of Alexandria Str. 1.3.27.2 and Gregory of Nyssa, Cant. 1 (GNO 6.34): “Perception is something that is two-fold in us, one is corporeal, but the other is more divine, just as the Word of the Proverb says somewhere (pou) that you will find a divine sense.” Gregory’s uncertain citation probably reflects both his dependence on Origen for the verse and his inability to locate this variant in his own copies of Scripture. Dillon, “Aisthêsis Noêtê,” p. 444, n.3, adduces this variant as “bizarre” and opines that “[w]e have here, therefore, a good example of a piece of Origenist doctrine hatched from the wind-egg of a false translation.”


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human, while the other is of immortal and intellectual objects, which here [Scripture] has named as ‘divine.’”72 In the Songs commentary, Origen repeatedly draws the reader’s attention to the full range of sensory experience. For example, he holds that the “maiden souls” who have smelled the fragrance of the bridegroom have been drawn into love for him (Cant 1:3–1:4). “What do you think,” Origen asks, “they will do when the Word of God takes possession of their hearing, their sight, their touch, and their taste as well?”73 Solomon’s song prompts the reader to examine the process of sensation and to train those senses to respond with new facility. The Word is like the apple tree praised by the lover (2:3), which brings forth “fragrant apples” that are “so sweet that they not only yield their luscious taste to the mouth and lips but keep their sweetness also when they reach the inner throat.” By this exercise the mind as a whole becomes illuminated “divine sense” (sensibus). Christ stimulates each of the soul’s senses in turn, adapting himself as light for the soul’s eyes, bread for its taste, spikenard or ointment to smell and flesh, “so that the hand of the interior soul may touch concerning the Word of life.”74 To be a full self, the inner person must be operative in all of these senses and capable of pleasure. Whoever has “reached the peak of perfection and happiness will be delighted in the Word of God in all his senses.”75 Education of the senses is consequently an indispensable part of spiritual pedagogy. Christ assumes for each individual a different form (epinoia) in turn to exercise the senses of the soul and “so leaves none of the soul’s faculties empty of his grace.”76 Origen proposes that mystic reading of the text does not foreclose human experience, but redirects the entire self—its perceptions, its experiences, its passions—to a different order of reality. To the extent that Origen seeks to delineate a doctrine of the spiritual senses, he articulates their reality in a twofold way that comprises an irreducible ambiguity. He can present the divine sense either in terms of an actual form of perception that operates in parallel to corporeal senses, or as a mental operation upon perceptions ordinarily obtained 72 Origen, Princ. 1.1.9 (GCS 22.27): Sciebat (scil. Solomon) namque duo genera esse sensuum in nobis, unum genus sensuum mortale, corruptibile, humanum, aliud genus immortale et intellectuale, quod nunc divinum nominavit. 73 Origen, Cant. 1.4.11 (SC 375.226), tr. Lawson, 78. 74 Origen, Cant. 2.9.12–13 (SC 375.442). 75 Ibid., 1.4.15 (SC 375.230) (tr. Lawson, 78, slightly modified). 76 Ibid. 2.9.14 (SC 375.442).

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in an intelligent fashion.77 This ambiguity is also reflected in the Songs commentary. In an extended admonition to the reader to separate from unreflective corporeal experience, Origen emphasizes the dimension of the spiritual senses as a form of intelligent discernment of authentic and persistent reality in the midst of ephemeral occurrences.78 Nevertheless, in explicating the unfolding drama, Origen almost never fails to capitalize on the sensory experience of the bride. Without exception, Origen treats the sensations of the characters—particularly of the bride—as actual occurrences that move the action of the drama at critical junctures. He notes that the bride first becomes aware of the Word’s presence through his fragrance, at which she “marvels.” She anoints the groom with her ointment and delights how the mixture returns his “sweetness” to her.79 In this way, the duplex character of sensory response to the Word’s presence is integral to Origen’s reading—and staging—of the drama. One especially good example illustrates the extent to which the interactions of the characters are essential to how Origen exhibits the perceptive spirituality of sensation. When Origen arrives at the bride’s praise of her groom, “Behold, thou art good, my Nephew, behold, thou art fair indeed” (Cant 1:16), he attends first to the process of sensation and perception evidenced in the speaker’s words. He paints the scene, focusing on the act of vision: It seems that now for the first time (nunc primum) the Bride has examined more closely (attentius inspexisse) the beauty of her Spouse, and has considered with those eyes that have been called “doves,” (cf. Song 1:15) the grace and the beauty of the Word of God. For it is true that it is not possible to perceive and recognize how great is the magnificence of the Word, unless one first receives dove’s eyes—that is, a spiritual understanding.80

77 Cf. Origen, fr.192 in Lucam (GCS 49.308–309): “to see the divine things, to hear the voice of God, tasting the living bread, smelling the odor of the myrrh of Christ, being touched by the living Word.” In either articulation of the concept, Origen restricts the experience as proper to the saint, and not shared in common either with humanity or non-rational beings (ibid., fr. 186 [GCS 49.306], cf. princ. 4.37). In a second, perhaps related, ambiguity, Origen varies between referring to individual spiritual senses (e.g., Io. 10.279 (GCS 10.218) and to a single sense manifest in diverse forms (e.g., Cels. 1.48, 7.34, princ. 4.4.10). 78 Origen, Cant. 1.4.16–21 (SC 375.230–231). 79 Origen, Cant. 1.3.1–3, 2.9.1–2 (SC 375.208–209, 436–437). 80 Origen, Cant. 3.2.1 (SC 376.502). Cf. Lawson, tr. 172, who seems to overlook the emphatic force of nunc primum. By contrast, Brésard and Crouzel capture it perfectly: “Maintenant pour la première fois . . .”


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Origen capitalizes on the bride’s exclamation to cast the moment of spiritual illumination as an act of perception, an instance of fresh receptivity to previously unrecognized beauty. The bride is a model here of the sharpening of the spiritual senses, and Origen invites his readers here to look through her eyes. The words she addresses to her beloved can only be understood in the accompaniment of a gesture, a searching gaze that she has just now applied to the Word. In this example, we see that for Origen the Song does not simply transfer the reader’s sensory perception to a spiritual plane. Instead, the drama enacts that vision by which the bride sees her groom in this spiritual light. From the very first words of the prologue, Origen insists that Solomon exclusively intends to dramatize the process by which the soul—corporately as the church and separately as an individual—achieves union with the divine Word: “This small book is an epithalamium, that is a wedding song, written by Solomon, it seems to me, in the form of a play, which he has sung in the figure of a bride about to wed and burning with divine love for her bridegroom, who is the Word of God.”81 Origen regards the genre designation as a play to be a key point which, he says, needs frequently to be repeated (3.11.1). The definition of a drama here is not rigorously technical, and is employed at some distance from Aristotelian canons. What Origen pulls from the concept of a play is that in a drama a story is acted out in scenes, and there is an “interchange” of characters, who enter onto and depart from the stage. The reader must begin with the expectation that Solomon’s song is dialogical speech performed by players on a stage. This expectation involves a significant shift in the roles that Origen assigns to the author and reader in producing the meaning of the text. Solomon’s framing of the nuptial song as a drama requires the reader’s participation in its enactment. This further requires the reader to shift among the various perspectives of a dramatic production: director, actors, audience. It is not possible in this space to delineate how Origen crafts the entirety of the text into a theatrical production.82 Instead, let us examine in detail an example of this procedure: Origen’s comments on the first line: “Let him kiss me with kisses of his mouth” (Song 1:2).

Origen, Cant. prol. 1.1. For a detailed explication of the flow of the play, see Perrone, “Origen’s Dramatic Interpretation of the Song of Songs,” 81–99. 81 82

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Origen opens his interpretation of the speech by arranging the scene. “We see,” he comments, “a bride appearing on the stage, having received for her betrothal by way of dowry most fitting gifts from a most noble bridegroom.” Despite this favor, her good fortune is clouded by anxiety. Her betrothed has long delayed his advent to consummate their marriage, and she has attempted in many ways without success to secure his arrival. Thus “vexed by the inward wound of love,” she petitions God to intervene. Clothed “in decent apparel with modesty and sobriety,” she lifts up “holy hands without anger or contention.” In this attitude of prayer—urgent, distraught, but yet self-controlled—she utters the first words of the Song of Songs: “Let him kiss me with the kisses of his mouth.” In the text as read, the lover’s words plunge the reader of the Canticle in medias res. The text identifies neither the speaker of this plea, nor to whom it is addressed. Not a single narratorial comment specifies the context in which the lover gives voice to her desire, or explains why the readers (or audience, if the drama is produced) are privileged to overhear this urgent and intimate expression. In his initial sermon on the Canticle, Bernard of Clairvaux crisply outlines the problem this speech presents: “tell me, please do, by whom, concerning whom and to whom are the words addressed, ‘let him kiss me with the kiss of his mouth?”83 Origen’s staging provides answers to Bernard’s catalogue of questions. Origen, however, does something more. Bernard explicates the difficulties of the text; Origen produces the text. Bernard invites the reader into an investigation of the seams of the text; Origen solicits the reader as a participant in its enactment. Origen fixes the image of the speaker in the reader’s mind, embodying her with all proper Roman decorum. On the thin scaffolding of this single petition, Origen fashions a drama. He positions his protagonist on the stage, orchestrates her gestures, and supplies a past relationship to the betrothed that colors her tone with the ambivalence of yearning. With these vivid and concrete directions, Origen asks his reader to envision—along with himself—not the bare script that Solomon composed, but a dramatic production that enacts and vivifies the written word. In staging the dialogue, Origen shapes not simply what meaning a devout reader applies to the words, but also the manner in which such

83 Bernard of Clairvaux, Serm. 1.5 in Cant. (ed. J. Leclerq, H. Rochais and Ch.H. Talbot, Bernard de Clairvaux: Sermons Sur le Cantique [SC 414; Paris: Cerf, 1996]), 1.66.


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a reader experiences them. Let us consider, for instance, Origen’s decision to cast the bride’s initial words as prayer. Origen may be the first Christian interpreter to make this claim.84 It subsequently became an almost universal feature of Christian exegesis, usually stripped of the dramatic setting Origen conceives. This stage direction, first of all, is visual. Origen does not simply declare the words to be prayer, he asks the reader to see her in a prayerful posture, hands lifted aloft to God. Second, from the very first words of the poem, the presence of God is invoked. This is not a trivial move. As Theodore of Mopsuestia would observe, God is not mentioned once in the eight chapters of the Song.85 Despite this absence, Origen establishes God the Father as the providential guide overseeing the progress of the drama. Origen reinforces the hidden activity of God by construing the bride’s immediately ensuing words as evidence of the instant fulfillment of her petition: “for your breasts are better than wine.” The bride’s shift in address from third person to second person is accompanied, in Origen’s staging, by the appearance of the groom on the stage. As Origen puts it, even as she utters her prayer to God, and was ready to add if necessary some further words of prayer, the bride sees that he is there, and “moved deeply by the beauty of his breasts and by the fragrant odor of himself, she alters the form of her prayer from what she intended.”86 Finally, Origen’s presentation of this utterance as prayer decisively shapes the reader’s perception of the bride herself. The words, although filled with yearning, are not nostalgic and lovesick wishes. Origen does not depict her either as pining on her couch, or surrounded by her entourage of young maidens engaged in girl talk.87 The moment is

84 The fragmentary remains of Hippolytus commentary do not allow certainty, but it appears that he construed the petition as directed toward Christ. If this is the case, Hippolytus did not seek to explain the use of the third person in the bride’s wish. See G. Chappuzeau, “Die Exegese von Hohelied 1,2a. b und 7 bei den Kirchenvätern von Hippolyt bis Bernhard: Ein Beitrag zum Verständnis von Allegorie und Analogie,” JbAC 18 (1975), 90–143 at 93. 85 Theodore of Mopsuestia, testimonium 80, Actio Quarta, Ex Scriptis, 70: si enim propheticam gratiam meruisset, mentionem alicubi dei fecisset; in nulla enim prophetica scriptura deus non memoratur. 86 Origen, Cant. 1.2.2 (SC 375.190), tr. Lawson, 63. 87 Cf. Johann Gottfried Herder, Lieder der Liebe (in Werke, volume 3, ed. U. Gaier [Frankfurt: Deutscher Klassiker Verlage, 1990], 431–522 at 434–5): “Vielleicht ward dieser Seufzer mit einer schmachtenden Blume, mit einer duftenden Morgenrose übersandt; das sehnende Mädchen duftet mit hinüber . . . Ein schüchternes Täubchen bringt den Brief, und buhlt um ihn, aber nur als ihrer Schwestern Bote.” Like Origen, Herder constructs a strong visual tableau; in an introspective moment, the maid here lingers

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solemn. As prayer, the bride’s soliloquy initiates the action of the drama, but it equally reveals the inner state of her character. Her words disclose to the audience her parrhêsia, her confident access to God, founded upon the freedom her conscience possesses of a yearning untainted by lust. The reader is prompted here to regard her as the perfect model of spiritual progress and to identify her speech as the way the devout properly address God. Throughout the commentary, Origen sustains the highly visual sense he creates in this opening scene. This task, he admits, is by no means easy. The story does not flow in a well-ordered sequence of events, so that a reader does not experience “any continuous narrative such as we find in other stories of the Scripture.”88 He expresses a temptation to yield to frustration, declaring at one point “it is necessary to apply everything to the spiritual understanding.”89 This is the single instance in the extant commentary where Origen seems prepared to discard the effort at a literal exposition. More characteristic is his cheerful comparison of himself to a hunter who has lost a track. Like that hunter, he labors ever more arduously to recover the scent, and repeatedly combs through the text to find the traces of the narrative.90 The effort even leads Origen to reconsider his initial production of the opening scene. Perhaps, he offers, at the beginning of the drama, the bride is not inside but stands at the intersection of two roads, “looking this way and that, to see if perhaps He may be coming, and maybe is in sight. But so long as she does not know from which direction He is likely to come, she is unwilling either to set out on any road or to stay indoors.”91 The effort to produce the drama does not lead to a final and conclusive literal meaning, and instead invites the reader repeatedly to reconsider and to revisualize the play. In casting the dialogue as a wedding drama, Origen binds the the ordo dramatis with the ordo mysticum. The move to the spiritual does not nostalgically over a letter from her lover perfumed by the scent of a rose. Similar to Origen, as well, is Herder’s activation of multiple senses (the sigh, the scent). 88 Origen, Cant. 4.2.4 (SC 376.700), tr. Lawson, 247. 89 Ibid., unde necesse est cuncta ad spiritalem transferre intelligentiam. It is difficult to determine how broadly Origen applies the cuncta in this context. Is this declaration restricted to the immediate verses under consideration (2:13b–14) or the entirety of the Song? King, Origen on the Song of Songs, 155, holds for the latter: “Origen implies that these judgements apply to the whole Song and not merely to this isolated verse or some collection of isolated verses in the text.” 90 Origen, Cant. 3.14.1 (SC 376.656). 91 Ibid., 3.14.4 (SC 376.658), tr. Lawson, 230.


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discard the letter as a husk, but immerses the reader in the dialogue, and thrusts him or her into the nuptial drama. For example, the bridegroom is not such who is “in perpetual attendance on the bride” and he “frequently goes out.” When he is absent she is “anguished anew by love for Him, and goes all around the house, and in and out of it, looking in all directions for her Bridegroom’s return.” In the midst of such distress, the bride suddenly gives a joyful call: “The voice of my beloved! Look, he comes, leaping upon the mountains . . . Look there he stands behind our wall, gazing in at the window, looking through the nets.” (2:8–9). Origen lingers on this scene, prodding the reader to imagine the scenery, gestures and positions of bodies and to discern from these unspoken dispositions of mind. The bridegroom, he offers, “stands a while behind [the wall], considering something, as a person will, and turning it over in his mind. Then, being himself moved now with something of love for the Bride and availing himself of his height . . . since he when he leans against [the windows] is taller than they and reaches to their upper parts which, as we said, are divided by network, he looks through these nets and speaks to the Bride.”92 These directorial cues inflect the entirety of his spiritual interpretation of the passage. The church, taken as the bride, is securely sheltered under the “wall” of stable doctrines, over which the Bridegroom looks down upon his bride. He does not show himself openly to her, but urges her to come outside to see Him, “no longer through windows and nets, nor through a glass in a dark manner; but going out to Him, to see Him face to face.”93 The spiritual interpretation is not a static transferral of symbols, but seeks to replicate the motion and interplay between the couple. Visualizing the staging helps the reader, in Origen’s view, to render with precision the restless seeking of soul and Word for one another. This enacted text is for Origen the sensus litteralis of Solomon’s most exalted writing. In committing his marriage song to writing, Solomon did not seek to deposit its truth in the words, but to use the words to structure an encounter that unfolds dramatically through the participation of the reader. Literal interpretation embodies the text in a vision the reader and writer jointly promote. Why, in Origen’s view, does Solomon employ this dramatic pedagogy? In his prologue, Origen promises to

92 93

Ibid., 3.14.8 (SC 376.660), tr. Lawson, 231. Ibid., 3.14.14 (SC 376.664), tr. Lawson, 233.

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address this question. Unfortunately, whether through Rufinus’s editing or Origen’s omission, that promise remains unfulfilled.94 By following the staging of the drama, however, it is possible to venture a provisional answer. Solomon employs the genre of drama precisely to involve the reader in the realization of the text. The text, in such a case, is not identical to the bare words copied onto the page. Solomon’s song is the one reader and author co-operatively produce, and it is in the act of singing that Word and soul address each other. For Origen, this is not a Christological reading of an Old Testament text. Rather, the text itself is Christ, and enacting the drama—petitioning “let him kiss me”—calls forth the actual presence of the Word. At a few points, this underlying Christology achieves a kind of transparency in Origen’s commentary. For example, the bride declares “our bed is shady” (Song 1:16). She crafts here, Origen maintains, a figure for the density of spiritual meanings that overlay the words of Scripture and cast, as it were, a protective shade. “Moreover, I,” he continues, “even if yet placed in the body, understand the great numbers of spiritual menanings, the sense of the Divine Scriptures that is woven together with such frequent obscurity, so that the fiercer heat that is wont to burn many and shrivel up their fruits, yet cannot darken me, neither can any power of temptation dry up in me the seed of faith—if this be so, then I can ( possum dicere) say: ‘Our bed is shady’.”95 In this passing exhortation, Origen effaces the distinction between the bride as speaker in the play and the reader as one who repeats the bride’s words. Because Origen has refused to pin the bride’s identity to a historical personnage, she remains available for any reader who can assume her persona. Origen makes this explicit in his first homily on the Song. “Make haste,” he urges, “to join with the Bride in saying what she says, so that you may hear also what she heard. And, if you are unable to join the Bride in her words, then, so that you may hear the things that are said to her, make haste at least to join the Bridegroom’s companions. And if they also are beyond you, then be with the maidens who stay in the Bride’s retinue and share her pleasures.”96 To enter into the allegory is not to depart from the literal. Indeed, the aim of the drama is to literalize

Origen, Cant. Prol. 1.8 (SC 375.86); see n. 2, above. Origen, Cant. 3.2.4 (SC 376.504). I have modified slightly the translation of Lawson, 173. 96 Origen, Hom. 1.1 in Cant. (SC 37.62), tr. Lawson, 268. 94

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the allegory, to achieve through the process of staging the drama the very union that Solomon depicts. I have argued that for Origen elucidating the “literary” sense of the text consists in explicating the internal logic of the drama. This task skirts biographical concerns about Solomon the king to engage with Solomon the philosopher. Such a view of authorial intention does not seek to extract the literal meaning from the text, but to enact that meaning in the experience of the readers. Here is the ultimate logic of the drama, and conversely, also the reason for which the “song, which is Solomon’s” must take the form of a play. Via the enactment of the drama, the song fosters the ability to sense the nature of reality in a new way, to be opened to new, more genuine, modes of sensation. The prophet’s written text becomes the “letter” when the reader(s) give it gesture, movement, and voice. In this way, Scripture intentionally constructs an encounter of the reader with a dramatic poem that will exercise his or her senses to develop the passion that will enable ascent to the celestial realities. As Origen contends in his prologue, “the power of love is none other than that which leads the soul from earth to the lofty heights of heaven, and that the highest beatitude can only be attained under the stimulus of love’s desire.”97 The letter of the text is indispensable to this process, as it both stimulates the necessary passion and also trains the senses to view reality in a new fashion. Solomon aims, in Origen’s understanding, not simply to depict the supra-celestial reality, but to train readers to experience that reality. To adopt this standpoint destabilizes the opposition between the literal and the figurative. The literal is not simply the vehicle that transports the reader to the inner meaning of the text. The figurative is not the serene contemplative vision which emerges once erotic tension has safely been discharged from the letter. The literal concerns the text’s activity upon the hearer, from the impact of the words upon the ears to the effort of the mind to construct a coherent narrative from the assemblage of phonemes. If Origen’s view of the text is adopted, the ultimate aim of interpretation, perhaps, was not to allegorize the letter, but to “literalize” the allegory. If so, Origen reads the Song not as a “bodiless” text, but rather as a song that is seeking embodiment.

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Origen, Cant. prol. 2.1 (SC 375.90), tr. Lawson, 23–4.

THE EARLY RABBINIC REFASHIONING OF BIBLICAL HEILSGESCHICHTE, THE FASHIONING OF THE RABBINIC CANON OF SCRIPTURES, AND THE FORMATION OF THE EARLY RABBINIC MOVEMENT Jack N. Lightstone 1. Introduction While in the second and third centuries early Christianity was engaged in its own exercise of self-definition and social formation over against Greco-Roman society, on the one hand, and (other) contemporary Judaisms, on the other, the nascent rabbinic movement was similarly engaged. The early rabbis (too) defined their movement’s character and authority (a) by promulgating a new and particular rendition of the core biblical narrative, (b) confirming for themselves a particular canon of biblical scriptures, (c) creating and promulgating within their circles their own idiomatic literary creations, for which they ultimately claimed the authority of revelation by reason of an alleged chain of tradition going back to Moses on Sinai, and on these bases (d) representing themselves to late-Roman Palestinian Jewish society and to the Palestinian Jewish Patriarchate as kind of occupational guild comprising the exclusive heirs of Mosaic authority. From the perspective of the social-anthropology of knowledge, this paper tries to demonstrate that there is a socially constructed set of homologies among: (a) how rabbis re-conceived biblical history, (b) how they defined the canon, (c) how they perceived of the authority of their newly formed professional guild, and (d) what their formative documents, particularly the Mishnah, did.1 Understanding how these elements in early rabbinic circles served to create a systemic whole of

1 My notions of “fit,” “social homologies” and their combined effects in providing an air of “self-evidence” to a community’s shared perceptions of reality, are based upon the works of P. Berger and T. Luckmann, The Social Construction of Reality (New York: Penguin, 1966), C. Geertz, “Religion as a Cultural System,” Anthropological Approaches to the Study of Religion (ed. M. Banton; London: Tavistock, 1966), M. Douglas, Natural Symbols, (London: RKP, 21973); and eadem, “Self-Evidence,” Implicit Meanings (ed. M. Douglas; London: RKP, 1975).

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mutually re-enforcing shared perceptions contributes a case study in the social-anthropology of “canonical refashioning.”2 By canonical refashioning I refer to a process by which an authoritative tradition that serves a “canonical function”—that is, delimiting what and who is authoritative for whom—is continuously refashioned sometimes explicitly (for example, by redefining “what is in and what is out of a biblical collection,” as did the early Reformation with respect to the Church’s “Old Testament”), but more often implicitly. Indeed, part of the conceptual framework that underlies this paper is that empirically speaking, canonical refashioning, often implicitly achieved, is an essential aspect of a group or society opting for a canonical tradition as the formal basis for putative authoritative persons making putative authoritative claims. This being said, permit me in the next section to say more about this paper’s conceptual underpinnings. 2. Definitional Issues Before proceeding it is worth starting on a common page as regards what we might mean when we use the term “canon.” One might start by noting that a community may have authoritative scriptures without having a canon. Indeed, the early Christian literature that ultimately came to be included in the New Testament was scriptural writing in 2 I have previously taken up some of these issues in a cursory way in the very last paragraphs of J.N. Lightstone, “The Rabbis’ Bible: The Canon of the Hebrew Bible and the Early Rabbinic Guild, The Canon Debate: On the Origins and Formation of the Bible (ed. L.M. McDonald and J.A. Sanders; Peabody, MA: Hendrickson, 2002), 163–84. Most of the last-mentioned essay deals in detail with the evidence for the development within early rabbinic circles of a specifically rabbinic canon of biblical scriptures, a matter not taken up extensively here. Other chapters of The Canon Debate concern themselves with the development of the biblical canon in other Jewish and Christian circles. Prior to the publication of The Canon Debate, among the more influential or comprehensive treatments of the development of the Hebrew scriptural, or OT, canon were (and still are): S.Z. Leiman, The Canonization of the Hebrew Scriptures: The Talmudic and Midrashic Evidence (Hamden, CT: Archon, 1976); A.C. Sundberg, The Old Testament of the Early Church (Cambridge, MA/London: Harvard University Press/Oxford University Press, 1964); and, more recently, R.T. Beckwith, “Formation of the Hebrew Bible,” and E.E. Ellis, “The Old Testament Canon in the Early Church,” both in Mikra: Text, Translation, Reading and Interpretation of the Hebrew Bible in Ancient and Early Christianity (ed. M.J. Mulder and H. Sysling; CRINT 2.1; Assen/Maastricht/Philadelphia: Van Gorcum/Fortress, 1988), 39–86 and 653–90 respectively. The foregoing list, however, is hardly comprehensive. See also my own earlier work, “The Formation of the Biblical Canon in Judaism of Late Antiquity: Prolegomenon to a General Reassessment,” SR 8 (1979), 135–42.

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the first several centuries of their circulation within the Christian community. As to what constitutes a “canon,” there has been much debate on the issue. The range of scholarly views is well summarized by Lee M. McDonald and James A. Sanders,3 as well as by Eugene Ulrich.4 I will not enter into the definitional debate here. Nor will I give an account of the range of positions. However, Ulrich’s characterization of the three definitional features of canon5 will serve as handy, common ground from which to explore other matters in this paper. He writes: There are three elements in the definition of canon. . . . First, the canon involves books, not the textual forms of the books; secondly, it requires reflective judgment; and thirdly, it denotes a closed list.6

By the first he means to distinguish whether, for example, the book of Isaiah is part of the canon of the Hebrew Bible, as opposed to a particular textual tradition of Isaiah. Communities’ discussions about the latter are not “canonical” discussions. The third element is reasonably self-explanatory; a list of canonical books has a beginning, middle, and end. It is not open-ended. An open-ended “canon” is a self-contradiction. The second feature highlighted by Ulrich is not self-explanatory. He means by it that a canon does not grow by accident, as it were, as a result of some historical process of layered accretions—first the Torah, then the Prophets, then the Writings, for example. Rather, according to Ulrich, communities look back reflectively upon their sacred literatures, their scriptures, and make deliberative distinctions and judgments concerning what will be included in a “canon of scriptures” and concerning how the canon will organized. As long as one is open to a wide range of cultural forms by which this reflective judgment is expressed and through which it is undertaken, then I can assent to the centrality of this second element of Ulrich in a rough draft definition of that which is canonical. To depart with a common working definition of canon in hand is one thing. To have a framework within which to understand and interpret the cultural and historical dynamics of “canons of scripture” within living communities requires more than definitions. It requires 3 L.M. McDonald and J.A. Sanders, “Introduction,” The Canon Debate (ed. L.M. McDonald and J.A. Sanders; Peabody, MA: Hendrickson, 2002), 1–17. 4 E. Ulrich, “The Notion and Definition of Canon,” The Canon Debate (ed. L.M. McDonald and J.A. Sanders; Peabody, MA: Hendrickson, 2002), 22–35. 5 Ulrich, “Notion and Definition,” 31–3. 6 Ulrich, “Notion and Definition,” 31.

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a conceptual-theoretical framework that helps first identify and then understand these dynamics. It is to these, more critical issues that I turn in the next section. 3. Conceptual Framework If Geertz7 is correct in understanding religion as a cultural system, a claim with which I agree, then religion is intimately tied to a (religiously [in]formed) community’s (a) shared norms for behaviour and about social roles, and (b) shared perceptions of “how things really are.”8 For this reason, religions have everything to do with power9 and legitimation, on the one hand, and with plausibility,10 on the other, even if these are not the only things that religions are about. The literature of Ancient Israel offers evidence of a not atypical array of institutionalized roles for the exercise of power within religious cultural systems.11 Divinely appointed kings rule as the deity’s servant and special agent via the institutions of the state. In the surviving literature, David and Solomon present prototypes for Yahweh’s kings. A priestly class of the Temple and the shrines is the guardian of arcane cultic rituals that effect ongoing exchange of goods and services between the people and their god, and thereby assure the natural and social order. Shaman-seerers operating in various institutionalized settings proffer the god’s oracles and channel the deity’s power. While these are distinctive power roles, the surviving literary record shows a blurring of types as well. The text claims for Solomon at least episodic prophetic experiences and a wisdom that comes from shaman-seerer-like charisma. (“Is Saul among the prophets?”). Samuel clearly plays the priest on his annual circuit through the clans. Elijah contends with the priests of Baal in a sacrificial shoot-out. (“And the god who answers with fire, He is God.”) The high priest casts the twelve stones of the Urim veTumim and reads the results for oracular purposes.

Geertz, “Religion as a Cultural System.” See above, n. 1. 9 See W.S. Green, “Levitical Religion,” Judaism from Moses to Muhammad: An Interpretation (ed. J. Neusner, W.S. Green, and A.J. Avery-Peck; Leiden: Brill, 2005), 3–18. 10 See above, n. 1. 11 See above, n. 9. 7 8


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At first glance, it would appear that the development and designation of a “canon”12 within a religious cultural system has to do with the legitimation of power. For example, the king’s law is to be obeyed, because his authority is specified in canonical teachings; or the priest’s rituals are correct, because they are precisely enjoined in the scripture. Of course, canons play an important role in socially constructed systems of legitimation. But this understanding of the role of a canonical entity also begs a question: Whence the legitimacy of the canon itself in any social setting? Within religious-cultural systems, answers to these questions tend to be circular and/or tautologous—such as, the canon itself specifies whence its authority and legitimacy. The conceptual approach of this paper, by contrast, will examine issues pertaining to canon—specifically, the biblical canon within the context of the social formation of the earliest rabbinic guild—within a conceptual frame that relates canon to systems of plausibility in religiously informed cultural settings. In this vein, permit me to say something about canon and plausibility before turning to the evidence for the early rabbinic guild of masters. For our purposes, I define plausibility in social-anthropological terms as the tendency within a group to experience their shared perceptions of the world and shared norms for living together in that world as selfevidently appropriate and valid. What generates this tendency? Mary Douglas dealt with this question extensively in the second edition of Natural Symbols,13 in two articles (“Self-Evidence” and “In the Nature of Things”) in Implicit Meanings,14 and in Cultural Bias.15 Her theoretical approach in this regard was inspired by the research of Basil Bernstein, who related how language is used in family settings, on the one hand, and how authority within the family is understood, on the other. Based largely on Douglas, I have come to see plausibility in a social setting as grounded in the “fit” or similarity in “the basic shape of

12 I choose deliberately to finesse somewhat the question of how one analytically defines “canon” in favour of considering some of a canon’s features. A discussion about definitions would lead us too far afield, given the purpose of this article. I refer the reader to the groundbreaking article by J.Z. Smith, “Sacred Persistence: Toward a Redescription of Canon,” Imagining Religion: From Babylon to Jonestown (ed. J.Z. Smith; Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1983). 13 See above, n. 1. 14 See above, n. 1. 15 M. Douglas, Cultural Bias (Royal Anthropological Institute of Great Britain and Ireland, Occasional Paper 35; Atlantic Highlands, NJ: Humanities Press, 1978).

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things” in sphere after sphere of a community’s shared, socially constructed world—for example, some fundamental pattern replication in how they structure social relations, in how they structure the family, in how they structure their economic lives, in how they imagine the cosmos to be structured, and so on. It is this recurrence of the same basic pattern in socially constructed sphere after socially constructed sphere that gives to that pattern in any one sphere the air of self-evident appropriateness, and hence of plausibility. For this reason, what is experienced as the height of foolishness (or worse) in one group may be experienced as the height of wisdom in another. It is why searching for hidden revelatory meaning in the Hebrew Bible by having a computer permute its Hebrew letters is crazy to me, but oracular to others, assuming as I must that I and they have an equal capacity for rationality, and a comparable need to experience a plausible “world.” Let me turn now from my theoretical construct of plausibility to some remarks about canon in light of that construct. Strange as it may seem, the distinguishing element of the canonicity of a canonical literature is probably not its authoritative character or, rather, its designation as authoritative. Religion, as W.S. Green reminds us,16 is always about power and authority, among other things, of course. So documents promulgated by religions, or more properly by recognized religious authorities, make prima facie claims to authoritative status. But not all such authoritative documents comprise in whole or in part a canon. Many examples that are readily at hand from many traditions indicate that it is patently inappropriate to deem all such documents as canonical or part of a canon. Indeed, sometimes we deliberately use the term, canon, in a much reduced sense precisely because of this fact. For example, some may characterize Yosef Karo’s Beit Yoseph or Maimonides’ Mishneh Torah as part of the Rabbinic canon, and these same persons might discuss whether the Iggrot Moshe by the twentieth-century Orthodox American Rabbi Moses Feinstein should be included in this canon. Many medieval and modern Jewish circles treated Zohar, the Kabbalistic composition, as canonical. No one doubts that these four rabbinic sources are authoritative for certain Jewish circles. But, by the same token, most would also recognize that to call them part of the rabbinic canon is to use the term in an almost metaphorical manner.

16

See above, n. 9.


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So if socially ascribed authority is not what specifically distinguishes a canon from other bodies of authoritative religious literature, what does? The beginnings of an answer might be inferred from an article by J.Z. Smith.17 In an original and innovative look at canons from a comparative cultural perspective, he suggests that it is the closed-set character of a canon which distinguishes it in culture after culture. A second feature which Smith identifies is the use of the canon for divination—its designated oracular function. He would have us look therefore at the sixty-four hexagrams of ancient Chinese divination: sixty-four, no more and no less; these sixty-four and no others; and an elaborated system of formal methods for wringing meaning out of these fixed hexagrams. For the purposes of this article, I would restate one of Smith’s proposals otherwise. What would appear to be the specific feature of a canon is both formal boundedness and formal internal structuring. A canon is not only a set of authoritative and/or potentially oracular-generating objects, but the objects of the set are usually subject to a careful internal organization, and often internal differentiation, based on equally formal, ascribed criteria or traits. Thus a canon has a formal shape and displays internal ordering in accordance with either explicit or implicit rules. This make a canon yet another ordered, internally configured realm or sphere experienced by the community of those who revere it—one more sphere among others in their shared, socially constructed world. Moreover, as one more such sphere (perhaps a particularly important one), the fit between the shape of their canon and other socially constructed spheres is part and parcel of the sense of plausibility or self-evident appropriateness the community experiences regarding their world as a whole and the constituent ordered realms that comprise their socially constructed world. Canon shaping and structuring is part of sociallybased world construction. Finally, it follows from the above that at least one branch of canonical criticism lies in the ken of the social-anthropology of knowledge, which is the study of how groups create plausible cognitive worlds and shared perceptions of reality.18 In this branch of canonical criticism, one would study how the “shape” of the canon is made to fit with other ordered spheres comprising the group’s “world.” And since

17 18

See above, n. 12. See above, n. 1.

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these “worlds” themselves are periodically and necessarily subject to reconfiguration, the study of their canon, if they have one, is the study not only of its fashioning, but its refashioning so that fit is maintained and plausibility bolstered. 4. Rabbinic Canonical Refashioning in the Second and Third Centuries Shape, Fit, and the Social Construction of “the Rabbi” within the Rabbinic Guild

CE:

There has been a great deal of ink dedicated to the issue of whether the early Rabbinic movement met (1) in a council at Yavneh ( Jamnia) in the late first or early second century ce, (2) during a period when Gamaliel II was allegedly deposed as the council’s head and replaced by Eleazar b. Azariah, and (3) acted, among other things, to “fix” the Hebrew canon of scriptures.19 There is no point revisiting this issue here, beyond making the following assertion. In my view, there is little or no reliable evidence substantiating any of the components of the foregoing claims. Therefore, I shall here dedicate no additional ink to assessing these claims and the putative evidence for them.20 If, by contrast, our interest lies in the nascent period of the early rabbinic movement, in its self-defining in part through their “reflective judgments” about the biblical canon, and in the fit between the canon’s shape and other elements comprising the social construction of the early rabbinic movement, then there is much that may more reliably be proffered. However, in the absence of any viable evidence about “canonical councils,” indeed of any direct substantive evidence about the early rabbis’ undertaking concerted and deliberative action at one or several occasions to define, fix and promulgate a canon of their own,21 we must divine their shared view about the shape or their shaping of their collection of biblical scriptures from other artifacts of the earliest rabbinic movement. That artifact must be Mishnah, for reasons which I

19 See above, n. 2. See also R. Goldenberg, “The Deposition of Gamaliel,” Persons and Institutions in Early Rabbinic Judaism, I (ed. W.S. Green; Scholars Press: Missoula MT, 1977). See also J. Lewis, “Jamnia Revisited,” The Canon Debate (ed. L.M. McDonald and J.A. Sanders; Peabody, MA: Hendrickson, 2002), 146–62. 20 I have given a full account of my views and reasoning concerning these matters in two previously published articles: “The Rabbis’ Bible” and “The Formation of the Biblical Canon.” 21 Lightstone, “The Rabbis’ Bible.”


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shall presently explain. We will ask: What do the literary and rhetorical traits of Mishnah tell us about the earliest rabbis’ reflective judgments about the shape and character of their biblical scriptures, and how do the character of Mishnah and the rabbis’ shared perceptions of their canon “fit” to lend an air of self-evidence to the social formation of the earliest rabbinic movement? The Early Rabbis’ Biblical Canon Before turning to Mishnah, let me say something of the canon of biblical scriptures as it was understood by the rabbis of Late Antiquity. In the preceding paragraphs I remarked on what we do not know, indeed, cannot know. As already intimated, canonical activity and debates akin to those in evidence in the early church are not in evidence in the earliest rabbinic period, which is somewhat of a black box in these respects. We know something of the input into the black box from last several centuries bce and the first century ce. We know what the rabbinic canon looked like at the output end of the box in the early medieval period. And we have some evidence that allows us to backdate what we see in the early medieval period to the later Talmudic period in the fifth and sixth centuries ce. Let me briefly characterize the input and output.22 In the first several centuries ce, the Jewish communities of the GrecoRoman world seem to evince both convergent and divergent views about their biblical canon. Virtually all Jewish or Judean communities seemed to have defined their canon as a multi-partite affair. They all understood the first five books of the biblical collection (Torah/nomos) to contain God’s revelation to Moses and to have been authored by Moses (several verses here and there excepted), who seemed to have enjoyed preeminence among Jews of the Hellenistic and Early Roman Periods as an authority. Only the Samaritans demurred on identifying Torah with a Pentateuch in favour of a Hexateuch that included their version of Joshua. (The Samaritan Torah, then, is not wholly and exclusively identified either with Mosaic authority or Mosiac authorship.) Many Jewish communities also specified that their scriptures were tripartite (Torah/nomos, Prophets/Oracles, Writings). Some communities

22 The remainder of this subsection rehearses the results of my research previously published in “The Rabbis’ Bible.” Detailed references and full argumentation may be found there.

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seem to have had a four-part collection (Torah/nomos, Histories, Prophets/Oracles, and Writings, or Torah/nomos, Prophets/Oracles, Hymns/Psalms, and Writings). Still others may have had a five-part collection (Torah/nomos, Histories, Prophets/Oracles, Hymns/Psalms, and Writings). For many communities, the scriptural collection was “closed,” that is, no more books were to be added, and none may be removed from the collection. But there is at least circumstantial evidence that some communities believed the Writings to be open to “new” candidates of revelatory content. The authors of the Community Rule, among the “sectarian” documents found at Qumran, have novices swear allegiance to the Torah of Moses and to “all that has been revealed to the Sons of Zadoq, the priests.” This clause clearly signifies a body of divinely revealed law that supplemented those of the Torah. A number of the sectarian documents found at Qumran seem to have functioned as scripture for the sectarian community. Whether these documents were thought of as falling within the Writings or whether the sectarian texts were conceived as outside of, and complementary to, a nominally closed biblical canon is uncertain. According to the last section of 4 Ezra, God re-reveals to Ezra the books of the Hebrew Bible, and He reveals to him as well an additional seventy books (14.46). The section strongly implies that these additional seventy works had also been revealed to Moses, but had been lost. In any case, the additional books are portrayed by the author of this section of 4 Ezra as complementing a biblical canon that the author believes the readers of 4 Ezra understand to be closed. (If this were not the assumed position of 4 Ezra’s implied readers, why designate the seventy books to be additional?) Many Jewish communities held that the number of books in the canon was limited to twenty-two (or twenty-four). Some explicitly drew the parallel between this figure and the number the letters of the Hebrew alphabet. Others seem to have had collections of more than double that number. There seems to have been some divergence among communities concerning which books belonged in which sub-division, although there as little or no dissention about the make-up of the first subdivision (Torah/nomos) ascribed to Mosaic authorship. Again, the Samaritans are the exception that proves the rule. With respect to understanding both the diversity and convergence of views concerning the nature, shape and content of a Jewish biblical canon in Greco-Roman times, evidence from Jews themselves takes us


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a great deal of the way (e.g., Josephus, the preface to the extant Greek versions of Ben Sira). However, the evidence from others is also of paramount importance. Early Christian evidence is of particular historical significance. The early churches of the Mediterranean basin and the Near East, in looking to their respective local Jewish communities’ for authoritative evidence about the shape and character of the Church’s scriptures, provide evidence for all of these configurations (with the exception perhaps of formulations found among or implied by Qumran’s sectarian documents). With all of this as possible and available input into the early rabbinic movement’s own perceptions about the shape and character of scripture, and given that the earliest rabbinic texts do not portray the early rabbis deliberating to shape and close their canon of scriptures—and there is no reason why the texts could not have so portrayed matters—what does the output side of our rabbinic black box indicate about the about the input end or imply about the processes within the black box? The answer best supported by the evidence is that the early rabbis felt they had little marges de manoeuvre in closing their canon or deciding which books were in and which were out. Indeed, in my view, the real upshot of precisely those rabbinic passages out of which the Yavnean canonical council is inappropriately concocted is that the earliest rabbinic movement believed it could not exclude or include books in the scriptural collection, even if some seemed objectionable to them. Why would they have felt this way? My proposition is that the persons or parties that coalesced to form the early rabbinic movement sometime in the latter half of the second century ce likely all stood quite firmly within one specific canonical tradition or within a limited range of quite similar canonical traditions that they had already inherited from their antecedents? I would further suggest that this commonality was one of the important factors which allowed disparate parties to ally under the umbrella of the early, nascent rabbinic movement in an attempt to bring an end to the sectarianism that characterized Judean society up to the Bar Kokhba rebellion. What then seems to have comprised this shared canonical tradition—this against the backdrop of the larger range of contemporary canonical norms—that these parties experienced as more or less given? A number of elements seem clear: The parties comprising the early rabbinic movement appear to have inherited:

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(1) the norm of a tripartite canon (Torah, Prophets and Writings); (2) that ascribed the Torah to Mosaic authorship and that limited torah (I have deliberately not capitalized the “t” and omitted the definite article) to that ascribed to Mosaic authority; (3) that limited the number of books in the collection to 22 or 24, and (4) that defined all three sub-divisions as closed. Moreover, for the rabbis, (5) the period of Ezra and his associates marks a type of canonical terminus ante quem, since they seem implicitly to define authorship (as they understood it) up to and including the period of Ezra as one criterion for inclusion in the biblical canon of scriptures. This left books like Ben Sira and at least some version of a Book of the Hasmoneans/Maccabees out of their canon at the output end, despite their evident affection of the teachings of the former, and their embracing of a major festival based on the mythologized events of the Maccabean Revolt. On the other had, sometime between the mid-third century and the end of the fifth century, and somewhat like the author of the Community Rule and 4 Ezra, the rabbinic movement propounds the notion that there is a supplementary/complementary revelation (in the rabbinic instance to Moses as “Oral Torah”), of which the rabbis claimed exclusive mastery (what else!). But the rabbis made no attempt to insinuate documents, that is, their own literary compositions, containing this alleged supplementary/complementary revelation into their scriptures; indeed, as late as the early and high middle ages, they appear still quite sensitive to and defensive about perceived challenges to the authenticity of this alleged “Oral Torah.” Within the limitation of the degrees of freedom the rabbis seem to have had, and the hard evidence we have at hand, what did the early rabbis do to shape their canon. The answer comes from evidence that appears in the Babylonian Talmud (sixth century), in a passage for which the Talmudic editors claim tannaitic authority (b. Baba Batra 14b–15a). The point of the passage may be to proffer a definitive stance on (1) which biblical books belong in the collection of the Prophets and which belong in the division of Writings, (2) the order of books in each of these two canonical divisions, and (3) the basis of authority for each of these books. The passage presumes that no proffering of the same for the books of the Pentateuch is required, save for the author-


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ship of several problematic sections of the Pentateuch. In this respect, Moses centrism and the complete identification of torah and Torah with Mosaic authority is taken for granted, and the Ezra-centric terminus ante quem of that which is authentically biblical is confirmed. How does all this fit with other key artifacts deriving from and contributing to the early rabbis’ social construction of their movement or professional guild? To respond, I turn to Mishnah. The Neo-Deuteronomic-Levitical “World” of Mishnah and Rabbinic Reflective Judgments about the Shape of the Biblical Canon Why do I harp on Mishnah as the point of comparison of any fit between the early rabbis conception of the shape and character of their biblical canon, on the one hand, and the shape and character of other spheres of the early rabbis’ social constructed world on the other? Produced and promulgated near the end of the second century ce or the beginning of the third, Mishnah is the earliest extant rabbinic document that we possess. We possess not a shred of rabbinic literature composed earlier, save what in Mishnah may be safely assigned to an earlier period. In its current formulation and language, there is little or nothing in Mishnah that can be reliably assigned to an earlier period. Mishnah is the first document authored by the nascent rabbinic movement that was promulgated as authoritative (along with scripture, of course).23 For several centuries after Mishnah’s initial promulgation, it was known to be the most authoritative text within the rabbinic

23 I do not concur with Judith Hauptman’s proposition, most recently and fully articulated in her Rereading Mishnah (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2005). She maintains that there was a “Mishnah” before “our” extant Mishnah, and that “our” Tosefta was composed on the basis of that alleged proto-Mishnah, and therefore Tosefta predates “our” Mishnah. Hauptman’s argument is founded on the analysis of the legal content of a number of parallel Mishnah and Tosefta passages, and she argues that in these instances Mishnah is aware of and attempting to solve legal problems present in the Toseftan passage. She recognizes that Tosefta is organized in light of “our” extant Mishnah, and she therefore must also admit that her proto-Mishnah is organized within tractates in the same fashion, chapter by chapter, paragraph by paragraph, as “our” extant Mishnah. What she does not recognize is there is more than an ordinal dependency at the level of organization. Over and over again, the very language of Tosefta can be shown to depend upon the very language of “our” extant Mishnah. At this point, her proto-Mishnah is so like “our” extant Mishnah, that the very positing of a proto-Mishnah seems unfounded, and another hypothesis to explain what she sees at these junctures at the level of legal content is called for.

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movement (aside from scripture itself ). To become a rabbi one had to master Mishnah, and to remain a rabbi entailed the lifelong study of Mishnah. Most of the literature produced by the early rabbinic guild in the several centuries following Mishnah’s promulgation deal in one fashion or another with elucidating or complementing Mishnah, including the clarification of the points of contact between Mishnah’s content and scripture’s. Avot, Tosefta, the halakhic midrashim, Avot deRabbi Natan, the Talmud Yerushalmi, Masekhet Semahot, and the Talmud Bavli all fall within this larger frame focusing in various ways on Mishnah. This is why, when we ask how the shape and internal structure of the early rabbis’ canon of scriptures fit other structured spheres of the rabbis’ socially constructed world, we must begin by asking how the shape of their world portrayed or imagined in Mishnah reinforces and is reinforced by the particular shape of their scriptural canon. About Mishnah, then24—Mishnah is a legal study comprising over five dozen topical tractates (I exclude Avot, which, in my view, is a mid-third century addition), grouped under six major collections (seder/sedarim). Tractates are of highly varied lengths and are themselves comprised of intermediate-sized topical essays (“chapters”) on sub-themes of the tractate’s topic. Mishnah is not a law code in structure, substance or rhetorical formulation. Neither is Mishnah a simple repository of early rabbinic (or proto-rabbinic) legal traditions. And Mishnah is certainly not a collection of actual cases and decisions rendered concerning them. If Mishnah is not these things, what, then, is it? Mishnah is a legal-analytic exploration of a hypothetical taxonomy of the social, liturgical and cultic spheres with respect to how God’s law for Israel applies.25 By this I mean that Mishnah: (a) will define and explore an hypothetical case (b) by breaking it down into its constituent elements, and (c) speculating about whether Yahweh’s law is this or that in such a case, with possible alternative rulings registered. 24 For a description and interpretation of the social meaning of Mishnah’s formal, literary and rhetorical traits see J.N. Lightstone, Mishnah and Social Formation of the Early Rabbinic Guild: A Socio-Rhetorical Study, with an Appendix by Vernon K. Robbins (Waterloo: Wilfrid Laurier Press, 2002). See especially chapters 2 and 5. See also J. Neusner, Judaism, the Evidence of the Mishnah (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1981), and idem, The Mishnah: An Introduction (Northvale, NJ: Aronson, 1989). 25 See J.N. Lightstone, Mishnah and Social Formation of the Early Rabbinic Guild, especially chapters 2 and 5.


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Then Mishnah typically will: (d) permute the constituent elements by varying some factors and holding others constant, (e) to produce a variant of the foregoing case, and (f ) speculate once more about whether this or that divinely sanctioned rulings best fits these new circumstances. This pattern is repeated until either the topic has reached some semblance of closure, or until the author seems to have deemed that the reader-student will have grasped the underlying, but implicit, legal principles of the speculative “rulings”—that is, has drawn from the analyses of the varying hypothetical cases and the respective speculative rulings the inner logic of God’s law and how it may be used with respect to classifying the complex circumstances that comprise the hypothetical world of Mishnah’s cases. To better understand the foregoing, it should prove helpful to schematically “chart” one common formulation of a Mishnah passage. Such a passage might look like: condition a plus condition b—the rule is x; condition a plus condition not b, the rule is y; condition not a plus condition b, the rule is y; condition not a plus condition not b, the rule is x, and rabbi z says, the rule is y.26

This charting of one typical mode of elaborated Mishnah passage, dramatically demonstrates that what Mishnah is about is a sort of “academic” exploration of “high-resolution” taxonomy. Such exploratory exercises of the classification of things in light of some specific, salient factors, and in terms of whether one law or another applies to a given configuration of these factors, serve to create an ordered world. But it is an ordered world of the mind. Moreover, given such a formal rhetorical patterning, it is evident that for Mishnah it matters not one iota, whether any of the cases ever transpired, or what the likelihood would be of any of them ever transpiring. That is not the point, because what seems the point is achieving an air of comprehensiveness born of permuting the constituent elements that comprise each case. For only this air of comprehensiveness assures that the student will learn how

26

J.N. Lightstone, “The Rabbis Bible,” 163–84.

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God’s law may order any eventuality. In this sense, it is quite reasonable to characterize Mishnah’s world as a creative fiction, as an exercise of the imagination and as its product. There is also a second important reason why Mishnah’s world is an imagined one. This has to do with Mishnah’s topical agenda. In the world comprised of the hypothetical and often highly improbable circumstances that make up Mishnah’s cases, the sole central Temple, destroyed more than a century-and-quarter earlier, still operates, the Temple priests and Levites carry out their sacerdotal functions, the High Priest still governs both the Temple and Israel, the system of purity that depended upon the Temple’s rites and served to guard the Temple from contamination by impurities is completely operational, the Temple’s Sanhedrin legislates for all Israel, and its subsidiary courts throughout Israel dispense justice and administer God’s cultic, criminal, civil and family law in the towns of the Land, and an administrativelegal guild of scribe-like bureaucrats called the “sages” provide the legal and administrative expertise to assure the proper function of all of the foregoing in accordance with God’s teachings, His torah. To be sure, the world constructed via Mishnah’s permutation and consideration of highly stipulated, hypothetical circumstances also includes synagogues, formal synagogue liturgies (that include the formal public reading of scriptures), and synagogue officials.27 But in Mishnah, the institution of the synagogue is subsumed within the Temple state (as indeed it was in Roman Palestine before the Temple’s destruction in 70 ce). Since no such Temple State existed at the time of Mishnah’s composition, its existence in the agenda of Mishnah constitutes yet a second way in which the “world” explored in Mishnah is an act of imagination. The student of Mishnah was therefore expected fully to participate in, to enter into, this imagined world. Indeed, within the historical context of the late second or early third century ce, such an imagined world might well qualify as a fantasy, and perhaps a delusion. These last-proffered remarks presage a third reason for asserting that Mishnah’s world is an act of imagination. In terms of literary and rhetorical traits, there is relatively less in Mishnah that is presented as, or more accurately, as if it were, an historical reminiscence of the “real” Temple state as it had or might have operated just prior to its

27

In these regards, see especially Mishnah Tractate Megilah.


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destruction in 70 ce.28 More often and repeatedly one gets the impression that some ideal Temple state is the focus of Mishnah’s agenda. But that ideal or utopian Temple state in Mishnah is hardly the result of a kind of imaginative creation ex nihilo. Clearly the more immediate basis and the antecedents for Mishnah’s (a) topical agenda, (b) Mishnah’s basic underlying taxonomy, and (c) the laws by which that taxonomy is brought into high relief in Mishnah’s elaborated compositions are nothing more or less than the Pentateuch’s injunctions, rather than the actual Temple state that had operated in the Land of Israel only 130 years earlier, about which there might well have been many reliable traditions rendering moot much of Mishnah’s inquiries. For the sake of clarity, permit an example. In Mishnah Tractate Menahot, the authors of Mishnah ask, what is the difference between a mahreshet and a mahvat, and what are their distinctive uses of each in Temple cultic practice? Both words mean “firepan,” and both terms are biblical. However, the biblical text itself is not terribly clear about how they differ in nature or use. Surely, over the course of the many centuries of the actual operation of the Jerusalem Temple the need to implement the injunctions of scripture would have resulted in some conventional specification of the distinctive nature and uses of a mahreshet versus a mahvat. Yet Mishnah poses its question in any case, as if it were reading the relevant scriptural verses for the first time. For Mishnah the matter is not an issue of recovery of an historical convention. Rather it is a kind of exegetical problem. The “Fit” among the Social Formation of Earliest Rabbinic Guild, Mishnah, and the Early Rabbis’ Reflective Judgments about Their Scriptural Canon The foregoing paragraph highlights a paradox concerning the topical, formal, and rhetorical character of Mishnah. Mishnah is not a bible commentary in form by any conventional sense of the term commentary. Mishnah does not paraphrase or rewrite scripture as a kind of Jewish biblical apocryphon. Mishnah is not like a Josephan or Philonic account of scripture. Mishnah does not resemble any of the various Qumranian modes of treating scripture (including 4QMMT). And Mishnah is not a rabbinic midrash, which immediately post-Mishnaic rabbinic circles produced with a vengeance. Nor is Mishnah a précis of 28 Mishnah Tractates Yoma and Sotah are the more notable exceptions that prove the rule.

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any ‘lost’ rabbinic midrash. Yet through its topical, formal and rhetorical traits, Mishnah is in large part engaged in an exegetical exercise. It is focused extensively (even if not completely) on an ideal world, the authoritative sources for which exist only in scripture. Moreover, Mishnah’s lens is focused almost entirely on certain sections of scripture only. These are the legal sections of the Pentateuch, a kind of neo-Deuteronomized, Levitical code, supplemented, oddly enough by the one chapter of the Book of Esther that, loosely speaking, has legal import or content (relating, of course, to the celebration of the Fast and Feast of Esther). Surely this supplemental focus on one section of the Book of Esther is the exception that proves the rule. What is the rule? For the rabbinic circles that produced and promulgated Mishnah as the first and most authoritative document, after scripture itself, within the early rabbinic guild, what really mattered was the “world” that, in their view, Moses had enjoined. Absolutely, nothing is more important in scripture for Mishnah’s authors; indeed, very little else draws their attention—not the biblical narrative concerning how Moses’ teachings were or were not faithfully implemented, not the patriarchal narratives that in the Pentateuch provide the raison d’etre for Yahweh’s revelation of his law to Moses, not the operations of the Second Temple (from which the rabbi’s would certainly have inherited many living traditions). In short, what draws the early rabbis attention above else was a world that Moses’ enjoined and that, in the rabbis’ minds, may never have existed as Yahweh and Moses’ ‘imagined’—and as Mishnah’s rabbis now imaginatively explore. The Earliest Rabbis’ Biblical Collection and Their Rewriting of Biblical Heilsgeschichte I argued earlier that the early rabbis seem to stand within one quite well established tradition concerning the shape and content of the biblical canon. Their margins of maneuverability at the outset were probably quite slim. They defined or more likely inherited a definition of that which was biblical as starting with Mosaic authorship and ending with the careers of Ezra and Nehemiah. But we now see that what truly interested Mishnah was a very limited subset of that collection, its content and its sacred history. One might say that they were focused almost exclusively on God’s revelation to Moses of those laws that if completely and faithfully implemented would set up the perfect Neo-Deuteronomic, Temple-centered Israelite state. I do not


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think that the early rabbis themselves defined the careers of Ezra and Nehemiah as the cut-off point for that which was biblical. But there is a certain appropriateness to that cut-off point, given Mishnah’s myopic and utopian focus on the perfect Mosiac Temple-centered state. There is some sense that in the Land of Israel only Ezra and Nehemiah fully attempted and for a time largely succeeded in establishing that Templecentred world. In any case, Mishnah’s rabbis’ biblical Heilsgechichte is an extremely truncated version of that of the biblical canon that they inherited and endorsed. God revealed to Moses his law for the perfect Temple-state; that is it, and all of it. The rabbis of the Mishnah are those who perfect its contemplation. In light of the above, it should little surprise us that sometime in the several centuries following the promulgation of Mishnah as the magnum opus of the rabbinic guild, the rabbis should promulgate a new version of the ancient Israelite sacred story, one in which Moses is in fact a rabbi, the first rabbinic disciple of Yahweh, with Yahweh his rabbinic Master. In this story all subsequent biblical heroes are transformed into rabbinic disciples and masters, and the rabbis represent themselves as replicates of ‘Moses our Rabbi.”29 In essence the Hebrew Scriptures’ own sacred story is all but eclipsed in this particular rabbinic one.

29 See J. Neusner, Torah: From Scroll to Symbol in Formative Judaism, (Philadelphia: Fortress Press, 1985), especially 74–9. See also idem, The Oral Torah, The Sacred Books of Judaism: An Introduction (San Francisco: Harper and Row, 1986).

‘Τὰ τίνων ἄρα ῥήματα θεολογεῖ?’: THE EXEGETICAL RELATIONSHIP BETWEEN ATHANASIUS’ ORATIONES CONTRA ARIANOS I–III AND MARCELLUS OF ANCYRA’S CONTRA ASTERIUM Sara Parvis Introduction: A Many-Layered Text As long ago as 1983, Professor Kannengiesser was calling for “une comparaison approfondie” between the Orationes contra Arianos of Athanasius of Alexandria, and three other works: Marcellus of Ancyra’s Contra Asterium, Eusebius of Caesarea’s Contra Marcellum, and the same author’s De ecclesiastica theologia.1 Many other commentators have also noted links between these works, including Theodor Zahn, Martin Tetz, Timothy Barnes, Markus Vinzent, Joseph Lienhard, and most recently Kelley McCarthy Spoerl.2 But a systematic comparison between the Orations and any of the other three works has yet to appear. I do not, on this occasion, intend to tackle the links between the Orations and Eusebius’ two works in any detail, though there is much still to be said on this subject. That Athanasius was aware of these

1 C. Kannengiesser, Athanase d’Alexandrie évêque et écrivain: une lecture des traités Contre les ariens (TH 70; Paris: Beauchesne, 1983), 123 n. 16. The edition of the Orations used is Athanasius Werke, Erster Band. Erster Teil, Die Dogmatischen Schriften, herausgegeben von der patristischen Arbeitsstelle Bochum der Nordrhein-Westfälischen Akademie der Wissenschaften unter der Leitung von Martin Tetz/Dietmar Wyrwa, 2. Lieferung, Orationes I et II contra Arianos and 3. Lieferung, Oratio III contra Arianos (ed. K. Metzler with K. Savvidis: Berlin/New York: W. de Gruyter, 1998). The edition of Marcellus’ fragments used is M. Vinzent, ed. and tr., Markell von Ankyra: Die Fragmente und Der Brief an Julius von Rom (VCSup 39; Leiden/New York/Köln: Brill, 1997), though some of its emendations are rejected. 2 T. Zahn, Marcellus von Ancyra. Ein Beitrag zur Geschichte der Theologie (Gotha: F.A. Perthes, 1867), 118; M. Tetz, “Athanasius von Alexandrien,” TRE 4.333–49 at 337–8; T. Barnes, Athanasius and Constantius: Theology and Politics in the Constantinian Empire (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1993), 55; M. Vinzent, ed. and tr., Asterius von Kappadokien: Die theologischen Fragmente. Einleitung, kritischer Text, Übersetzung und Kommentar (VCSup 20; Leiden: Brill, 1993), 36; J.T. Lienhard, “Did Athanasius Reject Marcellus?” Arianism after Arius: Essays on the Development of the Fourth-Century Trinitarian Conflicts (ed. M.R. Barnes and D.H. Williams; Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1993), 65–80 at 70; K.M. Spoerl, “Athanasius and the Anti-Marcellan Controversy,” ZAC 10 (2006), 34–55.

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works seems clear. Spoerl has identified two specific sets of linguistic parallels between De ecclesiastica theologia and the Orations: accusations of believing in a God who is σύνθετος (which Athanasius casts back at the “Arians”), and the claim that the pre-incarnate God should not be understood in terms of λόγος ἐνδιάθετος and λόγος προφορικός (which presumably is indeed a covertly anti-Marcellan argument, though there is no actual evidence from his own writings that Marcellus used these terms).3 There are others that could be added. In addition, Athanasius seems to pick up the central thrust of Eusebius’ argument when he moves to criticize his opponents precisely for themselves not being “ecclesiastical,” in a phrase which includes what must be a tacit reference to Marcellus as an ἄγκυρα τῆς πίστεως.4 There is one more means by which Athanasius may tacitly accept the criticism of Marcellus offered by De ecclesiastica theologia, as we shall see, which is precisely by dividing his orations into three. But my task in this article will be to concentrate rather on the links between the Orations and Marcellus’ own work. I hope to show that these links are so close, and the exegetical parallels in particular between the two works so extensive, that the Orations must be considered as nothing less than a re-writing of Marcellus’ Contra Asterium. To begin with, however, we should note how far advanced the exegetical debates behind the Arian controversy actually are by the time of the Orations. The Orations can be shown to be drawing on at least five layers of written debate from the 310s, 320s, and 330s that we ourselves still have access to. A reading of Athanasius’ work alongside Marcellus’ provides the key to many of the details of these earlier debates, as we shall see. Our first layer is the pre-Nicene dossier of letters which were sent in support of Arius, particularly the letter of Eusebius of Nicomedia to Paulinus of Tyre.5 This is likely to be the writing of Eusebius “which reckons the Son with things generated” referred to in CA I.22.4. There

Spoerl, 36–7, 42–6. “If the opponents of Christ had also thought of these things in this way, and recognized the ecclesiastical view as an anchor of faith, they would not have suffered shipwreck with the faith, nor would they have been so without shame as to oppose even those who were trying to raise them up, and to regard instead as enemies those whose were admonishing them towards piety [εὐσέβεια]” (CA III.58.3). Cf. Historia Arianorum, 6.1. Translations of Contra Arianos and Marcellus are my own. 5 Urk. 8 in Athanasius Werke, Dritter Band, Urkunden zur Geschichte des arianischen Streites (ed. H.G. Opitz; Berlin: De Gruyter, 1934–1941). 3 4

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is likely to have been at least one other letter of Eusebius’ from this time which Athanasius knew, because of the reference in CA I.37.3–4 to Eusebius’ exegesis of Phil 2:9, which does not survive elsewhere. Such a letter is likely to have drawn on exegesis of Phil 2:5–11 and of Hebrews, as the letter of “Eusebius” to Constantia does.6 It may be noted in passing how difficult it is to explain why documents of the early supporters of Arius discussing the ᾿Αγέννητος/γεννητός divide and its consequences for the nature of the Word, based mainly on exegesis of Prov 8:22, are so well preserved, when documents which must have been collected at the same time showing their exegesis of Hebrews and Phil 2:5–11 (the documents behind the charge that the supporters of Arius believe the Son to be in principle mutable) do not survive. It may be that the theological differences between the allies of Alexander concerning the soul of Christ militated against much concentration on this aspect of their disagreements with the pro-Arian alliance. Our second layer of exegetical argument on which the Orations draw is the pre-Nicene material responding to the exegesis of Arius and his supporters, including Henos Somatos (the Letter from Alexander to All Bishops), which was probably written by Athanasius himself, and He Philarchos (the Letter of Alexander to Alexander).7 The links of the Orations with Henos Somatos are well known and have been traced in detail by Rudolph Lorenz in particular,8 but we should note in passing that the mutability arguments Athanasius uses in CA I.37–52 are closer to those of He Philarchos than Henos Somatos, since the former explains that the assertion of the Son’s mutability is made on the basis of Scripture passages which discuss the humiliation of the Son, whereas the latter

6 For the argument that Eusebius of Nicomedia rather than Eusebius of Caesarea was the author of the Letter to Constantia, see K. Schäferdiek, “Zu Verfasserschaft und Situation der epistula ad Constantiam de imagine Christi,” ZKG 91 (1980), 177–86. A critical edition of the extant fragments of the letter, edited by A. von Stockhausen, is available in T. Krannich, C. Schubert, and C. Sode, Die ikonoklastische Synode von Hiereia 754 (STAC 15; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2002), 91–112. On early pro-Arian use of the Epistle to the Hebrews, see R.C. Gregg and D.E. Groh, Early Arianism: A View of Salvation (London: SCM Press, 1981). Though one might dispute some aspects of the authors’ depiction of early pro-Arian soteriology, their exegetical insights are extremely helpful. 7 Opitz, Urkunde zur Geschichte der Arianischen Streites 4b (cf. G.C. Stead, “Athanasius’ Earliest Written Work,” JTS 39 (1988), 76–91), and Urk 14. 8 R. Lorenz, Arius Judaizans? Untersuchungen zur dogmengeschichtlichen Einordnung des Arius (Gottingen: Vandenhoek & Ruprecht, 1979), 38–47.

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gives no clue to the exegetical basis of the claim. A third exegetical stage reflected in the Orations may be Eustathius of Antioch’s anti-Arian works, written shortly after Nicaea, but this needs more investigation.9 The next stage, in any case, is secure. As Markus Vinzent has shown in detail in his critical edition of the extant fragments, the Orations make widespread use of the work of Asterius the Sophist, who is Athanasius’ main opponent in all but the first eleven chapters of the Orations. There is no absolute agreement as to whether Athanasius is using one work of Asterius’ or more than one, but he is certainly using a work written by Asterius in defense of Eusebius of Nicomedia some time after Nicaea, in the late 320s or very early 330s, which Marcellus also uses.10 Asterius is a key link in the exegetical chain, because he is defending Eusebius against attacks on his theology similar to those expressed in Henos Somatos and He Philarchos, and quite possibly against attacks which were specifically made at Nicaea.11 The next link in the chain is the subject of the present study, Marcellus of Ancyra’s work of the early 330s attacking Asterius in his turn, generally known as the Contra Asterium.12 Marcellus’ work must, of course, be reconstructed from the surviving fragments. Klaus Seibt made important strides in making sense of their order, using the indications

9 On the putative number, dates, and titles of Eustathius’ anti-Arian works, and for a new critical edition of the fragments themselves, see J.H. Declerck, ed., Eustathii Antiocheni, Patris Nicaeni, Opera Quae Supersunt Omnia (CCSG 51; Turnhout/Leuven: Brepols/Leuven University Press, 2002), ccclxxxv–ccccxvi. 10 There is a helpful table of the spread of discussion of the main Asterian themes between Athanasius and Marcellus in Vinzent, Asterius, 35–6. 11 Cf. Eustathius’ account of “the blasphemy of Eusebius” in Declerck, fr. 79 (Eustathii, 149–50). 12 Klaus Seibt, in his important study Die Theologie des Markell von Ankyra (AKG 59; Berlin: W. de Gruyter, 1994) entitles the work “Opus ad Constantinum Imperatorem,” the title he also uses in his article “Markell von Ancyra” in the TRE 22.83–9. However, this title has not gained general currency, above all because most of the current major writers on Marcellus do not think the work was necessarily originally written for Constantine. The fragments of Marcellus’ work are currently arranged in four different numberings: i) the original order published by C.H.G. Rettberg in his Marcelliana, accedit Eunomii Εκθεσις Πιστεως emendatior (Göttingen, 1794); ii) E. Klostermann’s improved version of the same order in Eusebius Werke, Vierter Band, Gegen Marcell, Über die kirchliche Theologie, Die Fragmente Marcells (ed. G.C. Hansen; GCS; Berlin: AkademieVerlag, 21972), 185–215; iii) the order established by Klaus Seibt in Die Theologie and published, with one minor variation, in Markus Vinzent, Markell; and iv) the order of my own forthcoming edition of Marcellus’ extant works. For ease of reference, since even Rettberg’s order cannot yet be retired as it is still the only numbering used in the body of the text of Eusebius’ anti-Marcellan works in Klostermann’s edition, I have cited all four numbers, in the form P 1 S/V 1 Re 1 K 1.


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in Eusebius’ works as to which ones came before or after each other in the original. I hope I have been able to improve on his work still further by extracting even more clues from Eusebius, but much must still remain enigmatic: the fragments we have only represent about a sixth of the treatise. The detail of Marcellus’ theological positions on a number of matters will continue to be puzzled over and argued over. Nonetheless, the general thrust of his exegesis in the Contra Asterium is clear, as I have already argued, and as I hope will appear in the following study.13 At this stage we should note merely that this work engaged extensively both with Asterius’ work and with the writings of those bishops, including Eusebius of Nicomedia, who were of the same theological mindset as Asterius. The Contra Asterium, therefore, could well be the source of all the actual written quotations used in the Orations, assuming with various commentators that Athanasius is citing the Thalia from memory.14 The opponents of Marcellus’ work and those of Athanasius’ are suspiciously similar. If we leave aside the ‘Introduction générale’ to the Orations, CA I.1–10, which Kannengiesser has shown to be rather different from the remainder of the work in any case,15 we have in the Orations (apart the few subsequent references to Arius himself ), a nebulous group of bishops called the “Arians,” who “think what Arius thinks,” and Marcellus’ two principal surviving opponents: Eusebius of Nicomedia and Asterius the Sophist. The final link in the chain, which as noted will not be discussed in detail here, is Eusebius of Caesarea’s polemic against Marcellus, as expressed in his two anti-Marcellan works Contra Marcellum and De Ecclesiastica Theologia. We might here note two general points, however, which emerge from those works. The three Orations together are impressively close to being the same length as the Contra Asterium: 9,600 sixteen-syllable lines, as compared with the “some 10,000 lines” of Marcellus’ 13 My discussion of Marcellus’ exegesis in this article further develops two previous accounts I have given of Marcellus’ exegetical thread in the Contra Asterium, one in my Marcellus of Ancyra and the Lost Years of the Arian Controversy 325–345 (OECS; Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2006), 30–7, and one in “Christology in the Early Arian Controversy: The Exegetical War,” Christology and Scripture: Interdisciplinary Perpectives (ed. A.T. Lincoln and A. Paddison; London: T&T Clark, 2007), 120–37 at 128–36. 14 E.g., Barnes, Athanasius, 55. There is no evidence that Marcellus discussed Arius’ theology at all, though he may have done: it was clearly Asterius whom he saw as the crucial figure. A number of scholars are now inclined to agree with Marcellus on this (see Vinzent, Asterius, 21–2). 15 Kannengiesser, Athanase, 21–40.

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work.16 Nonetheless, like Eusebius’ De ecclesiastica theologia, the Orations are written in three books rather than one. Eusebius of Caesarea had made a point of the number, as had Marcellus: Eusebius quotes him as saying he had written his treatise as one book “to make known the one God.”17 Athanasius is entirely silent on the subject, but the coincidence is interesting nonetheless. A full analysis of this complex interplay of texts, of defense and attack and counter-defense and counter-attack, is beyond the scope of one article. A full analysis even of all the linguistic parallels between the Orations and Marcellus’ Contra Asterium would demand something closer to a monograph than an article. I will confine myself, for the most part, therefore, to an analysis of the exegetical parallels between the Orations and Marcellus’ Contra Asterium. I hope that these will be persuasive and suggestive enough to excite the interest of other scholars of the Orations and of patristic exegesis in general, not least Kannengiesser. One and One in the Exegetical Logic of Eusebius, Asterius, and Marcellus Marcellus’ work, as already noted, was specifically written against a letter of Asterius in defense of Eusebius of Nicomedia. “So now I shall begin from the letter which was written by him [Asterius], in order to reply to each of the things which were not written rightly.” “But I will remind you of those things which he himself [Asterius] has written, allying himself with the things written badly by Eusebius. . . .For he wrote thus in these words: ‘For the point of the letter is to refer to the will [βουλή] of the Father the begetting of the Son, and not to declare the begetting of God a passion.’ ” “With the result that Asterius, wishing to exonerate Eusebius who had written badly, became himself his own accuser, having made mention of both ‘the nature of the Father’ and ‘the nature of the Begotten.’ For it would have been far better to have left the ‘depth of the thought of Eusebius’—as he himself wrote—lying in brevity, unexamined, than that he, having used such a θεωρία, should bring the wickedness of the writing to light.”18

Eusebius, Contra Marcellum I.1.3. De Ecclesiastica Theologia, dedication (Klostermann, Eusebius Werke iv, 60). 18 Marcellus, fragments P1 S/V 1 Re 59 K 65; P2 S/V 2 Re 29, K 34; P3 S/V 9 Re 30 K 35. On the method of citation, see n. 12, above. 16 17


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The writing of Eusebius in view, as becomes clear in the course of the fragments, is Eusebius of Nicomedia’s Letter to Paulinus of Tyre. Eusebius wrote, One [ἓν μὲν] is τὸ ᾿Αγέννητον, the other [ἓν δὲ] is one who came to be by it [τὸ γεγονός], truly came to be, not from its ousia; not in any way participating [μετέχον] in the nature of the ᾿Αγέννητον, nor being from its ousia, but being entirely other in nature and power, having come to be in perfect likeness, both of disposition and of power, to the one who made him [πεποιηκότος].19

This passage is probably ultimately based on exegesis of 1 Tim 2:5, εἷς γὰρ θεός, εἷς καὶ μεσίτης θεοῦ καὶ ἀνθρώπων, ἄνθρωπος Χριστὸς ᾿Ιησοῦς. Asterius defended Eusebius’ words with a slightly softer parallel: For one is the Father [ἄλλος μὲν γάρ ἐστιν ὁ πατήρ], who begot from himself the only-begotten Word and First-born of all creation—One begetting One [μόνος μόνον], Perfect begetting Perfect, King begetting King, Lord begetting Lord, God begetting God, an unvarying image of essence and will and glory and power. / But the other is the one begotten from him (ἄλλος δέ ἐστιν ὁ ἐξ αὐτοῦ γεννηθείς), who is Image of the invisible God. / For one is ingenerate, the other is generate.20

As is clear from the above, and from the exegesis of Asterius and “those who think like him” referred to in both Contra Asterium and the Orations, their argument is as follows. There are two Μόνοι, two perfect beings, two Kings, two Lords, and two Gods, an Ingenerate and a generate. Scripture teaches that the first of each of these is perfect, King, Lord, and God by nature, and the second in some sense becomes so: he was made perfect (Heb 5:9), anointed King (Ps 44:8 [LXX]), made Lord (Acts 11:36), and given the Name of God (cf. Phil 2:9). These are all gifts, or rewards, reflecting the Son’s generate, alterable nature, which allows him to become what he was not before. Because the Son is generate, none of the Son’s epinoiai are truly eternal. The Word is called Word as a reflection of the Father’s true and eternal Word; Wisdom is created (Prov 8:22) as a reflection of the Father’s true Wisdom; Christ is indeed Power of God, but there are a number of Powers of God (cf. Joel 2:25); and the Son, being begotten, came to be and is not eternal, because before he came to be he was not.

19 20

Opitz, Urk 8.3. Asterius, fragments 10, 11, 12 (Vinzent).

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The main Asterian proof-texts in play here and in the extant fragments in general are the following: John 1:18 (especially the term “only-begotten”); Col 1:13–20 (especially 1:15, “He is the image of the invisible God, the first-born of all creation”); Phil 2:6–11; Prov 8:22–31 (especially the verbs of 22–25, “created,” “founded,” and “begets”); 1 Tim 2:5 (“For there is one God and one mediator between God and human beings, the human being Jesus Christ”); Ps 109:3 [LXX] (“From the womb before the morning star I begot you”); John 17:1–5 (“Glorify thy Son that thy Son might glorify thee”); Matt 3:17 (“This is my Son, the Beloved, in whom I am well pleased”); Ps 96:1 [LXX] (“The Lord has become King, let the earth rejoice”); and Ps 2.6 (“I was established king by him on Zion”). As we shall see, all of these are used in Marcellus’ Contra Asterium, and all of them are also discussed in the Orations. Texts of which Asterius seems to have been providing a defensive exegesis are John 17:21–22 (“That they may all be one, even as you, Father, are in me, and I am in you”); Exod 3:14 (“I am the one who is [ὁ ὤν]”); Gen 1:26 (“Let us make a human being according to our image and likeness”); and John 8:42 (“I am come forth from the Father and I am come”), 10:30 (“I and the Father are one”), 10:38 (“The Father is in me and I am in the Father”), 14:24 (“The Word which you hear is not mine, but that of the Father who sent me”), and 16:15 (“All things which the Father has are mine”). All of these are dealt with in Marcellus’ work. Athanasius, as we shall note, carefully avoids Exod 3:14, but deals with all the others. “Touchstone” texts, which Marcellus introduces to refute Asterius,21 include John 1:1 (“In the beginning was the Word”); Matt 11:27 (“No one knows the Father except the Son”); John 1:3 (“All things came to be through him”); and batteries of texts proclaiming the meaning of the name ᾿Ιησοῦς, the existence of the Word of God, and the oneness of God. Athanasius also uses the three named texts as “touchstones,” and discusses most of the others. The different approaches of Marcellus and Athanasius to Asterius’ exegesis of most of these texts will be discussed in detail below.22 But

21 I am borrowing James D. Ernest’s use of the term to describe texts considered as “fixed points with which interpretation of disputed texts must harmonise” (The Bible in Athanasius of Alexandria [BAC 2; Boston/Leiden: Brill, 2004], 120–1, 151–9). Athanasius’ favourite touchstone texts as used in the Orations are listed on pages 154–5. 22 I have not, unfortunately, found room here for a discussion of the Marcellan and


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we might note some general points now. Marcellus’ response to Asterius’ exegetical approach is to accept that his favored texts do indeed imply what he says they do: that there are two mentioned in Scripture, one who is and one who comes to be as part of creation; one who is eternal and one who is not; a King and Lord who is and a King and Lord who comes to be; one who is perfect and one who becomes perfect; a glory of the Son that is different to that of the Father; an Image who is a lesser, domesticated version of the one of whom he is image. Begetting does indeed imply coming to be in time, in Marcellus’ Contra Asterium. But he applies all these conclusions, all these theological terms, and all the passages from which they derive, to the Incarnation. Athanasius attacks the exegesis of Asterius and the others in two ways. He accepts a good deal of Marcellus’ general approach, as well as a good number of his specific arguments. But he also pulls back from a number of the details of Marcellus’ exegesis, and argues some points quite differently from him, and even in opposition to him. In particular, he does so in one matter above all from what we might broadly call an “Origenist” perspective: he insists that the Image of God is the eternal image, not the incarnate flesh, though also that the Image is much more closely like the Father than Asterius allows. Athanasius’ other great difference from Marcellus (besides his use of the term ousia, which Marcellus always avoids as a positive affirmation) is his insistence on the Son’s eternal generation. But it is relatively rare for him to argue that Marcellus’ exegesis of a passage is actually wrong, though as we shall see, he does do so from time to time. The First-born of All Creation (Col 1:15) We turn now to looking at some of the moves Marcellus makes at greater length, to see how they are picked up by Athanasius in one way or another. A clear parallel is Asterius’ conjunction, in the passage above, of “only-begotten” ( John 1:18) with “first-born” (Col 1.15). Marcellus addresses this pairing of the terms initially with sarcasm: “Having joined them both up, he wrote ‘Only-begotten and First-born,’ there being a great divide between these two names, as it is easy even for

Athanasian treatment of the texts dealt with in CA I.46–52, which are used by Asterius to argue for a second King or Lord, though these are very interesting. For a discussion of Marcellus’ use of these texts, see Parvis, “Christology,” 129, 133–4.

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the very untaught to know. For it is clear that the only-begotten, if he really is only-begotten, can no longer be first-born, and the first-born, qua first-born, can no longer be only-begotten” (P4 S/V 10 Re 3 K 3). Athanasius makes the same point more quietly in CA II.62.1: “If he is also called First-born of the creation, nonetheless he is not called First-born as if he were equated with the creatures, and the first of them in time, for how would that be, when he is Only-begotten? . . . For the Only-begotten is not ‘only-begotten’ when there are siblings, but the First-born is called ‘first-born’ because of the siblings.” Marcellus goes on to argue that Jesus is “first-born of all creation” in the sense of “first-born of the new creation,” by analogy with “firstborn from the dead”: So then, not only does the apostle say that he is the “first-born” of the “new creation,” but also “first-born from the dead,” for no other reason, it seems to me, than so that it could be known through the phrase “firstborn of the dead” how “first-born of all creation” was also said. For our master Jesus Christ did not rise first from the dead, but the one raised through Elisha the prophet rose first. (P 23 S/V 12 Re 2 K 2) Therefore he was named “first-born of all creation,” because of the genesis according to the flesh, not because of the first—as they think— “creation.” (P25 S/V 14 Re 5 K 5) So then, this one, the most holy Word, is not named “first-born of all creation” before the Incarnation—for how could the one who always is [τὸν ἀεὶ ὄντα] be someone’s “first-born”?—but the first καινὸν ἄνθρωπον, in whom God wanted to “sum up all things,” this one the divine Scriptures name “first-born of all creation.” (P 26 S/V 15 Re 6 K 6)

We have to reconstruct slightly the argument concerning the “first-born from the dead,” but it seems clear enough: since Jesus was not actually the “first-born from the dead” in a straightforward sense, because others were raised before him, the phrase must refer to him as the first to rise to new life, the new life he himself was giving, showing that “first-born of all creation” must similarly be taken in the sense of “first-born of the new creation.” Athanasius uses these same three texts in CA II.63.7, a passage summing up the argument of II.61–3: it is proved that he was called “first-born among many brothers and sisters” because of the kinship of the flesh, and “first-born from the dead” because the resurrection of the dead is from him and after him, and “first-born of all creation,” because of the Father’s φιλανθρωπία, because of which not only did he make all things to subsist in his Word, but also the creation itself, concerning which the apostle said “waiting for the revealing of


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the children of God, it shall be freed from the slavery of corruption into the freedom of the glory of the children of God.” This creation being thus made free, the Lord will also be first-born of it, together with all those who are made children, so that by his being called “first” the things which are after him may endure, as connected from a beginning which is the Word.

This passage, and the preceding argument which it sums up, show Athanasius’ method beautifully. He is explicitly arguing against οἱ δυσσεβεῖς who say, “If he is first-born of all creation, it is clear that he also is one of the creation” (II.67.2) At the same time, he is engaging implicitly with Marcellus’ discussion of the same point, sometimes using his arguments, sometimes subtly altering them, sometimes departing from them completely, sometimes implicitly disagreeing with them, sometimes (though not here) even directly attacking them. Marcellus had argued that “only-begotten” referred to the birth from Mary; Athanasius quietly drops that, and instead argues that, because the two terms “only-begotten” and “first-born” are incompatible, they must come from different relations: one must be said of the generation from the Father, the other of the Incarnation (62.3–4). Athanasius also argues, less convincingly, that “first-born” works even as a pre-incarnate title without implying that the Word is part of creation, because it simply means that all things were created in him (62.4–63.6). His exegesis of “first-born of many brothers and sisters” as applying to the saving of all flesh through his flesh (61.3–4) may well derive from Marcellus, as this is precisely how Marcellus’ soteriology works; his exegesis of “first-born from the dead” clearly makes use of Marcellus’, although not enough of Marcellus’ argument remains to tell whether he made exactly the same point Athanasius does, or a slightly different one. Finally, Athanasius uses the new creation of Rom 8:19–21 exactly as Marcellus must have done, arguing that the Lord will be first-born of this new creation, inaugurating the salvation of those who come after him. The Eternity of the Word A brief study of Athanasius’ section on the eternity of the Son and Word (CA I.11–36) will again show the ways in which Athanasius variously uses, engages with, and disagrees with Marcellus’ account. To begin, they both use John 1:1 as a “touchstone” text for the eternity of the Word, as well as 1 Corinthians 1:24 (“Christ, Power of God and Wisdom of God”), Matt 11:27 (“No one knows the Father except

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the Son”), and John 14:9 (“He who has seen me has seen the Father”). But there are some interesting differences in their treatments, because Marcellus uses several of these texts in the course of arguing the Word’s unity with the Father, a view from which Athanasius distances himself in this section. Both Athanasius and Marcellus claim that the “Word is the δύναμις of the Father” (Marcellus fr. P 84 S/V 74 Re 64 K 73; CA I.12.1). But Athanasius links this to one of his favorite texts, Rom 1:20 (“For the invisible things of him, both his eternal power and Godhead, are clearly seen from the creation of the world, being understood from the things that are made”), whereas Marcellus uses it in the midst of a discussion as to why “I and the Father are one” ( John 10:30—a text which is also one of Athanasius’ touchstones, it should be noted) must mean more than merely a unity of wills. Both link John 14:9 to the same discussion as the Corinthians passage (P 85 S/V 75 Re 65 K 74; CA I.12.2); both also use Matt 11:27 as a touchstone (Athanasius in the same discussion as before, Marcellus in fragment P 72 S/V 69 Re 38 K 44). But Athanasius goes on to discuss the importance of the eternal generation of the Son, which marks an important difference from Marcellus. Marcellus’ position is understandable: Eusebius of Nicomedia and Arius had both linked the terms κτίσμα and γέννημα as implying a belonging to the realm of coming to be.23 Marcellus shies away from the term γέννημα, at least in the context of Asterius’ exegesis (once again, it is difficult to tell from the relevant fragment [P 5 S/V 66 Re 31 K 36] exactly what he is arguing). But Athanasius argues that εἰ δὲ ἀίδιον γέννημα τοῦ πατρὸς λέγεται, καλῶς λέγεται (CA I.14.5). Marcellus had worried about the idea that γέννημα conveyed a “human appearance [ἀνθρωπίνη ὄψις].” But Athanasius argues that “He is ‘Son’ (for both the Father says this, and the Scriptures cry it out), and ‘Son’ is nothing other than ‘what is born from the Father,’ and what is born from God is his Word and Wisdom and Effulgence” (CA I.14.6). This must be said with an eye on Marcellus as well as his avowed interlocutors, for all that Athanasius goes on to weave it into his ongoing argument against the Arian slogan “there was when he was not.” Other arguments with more than an eye on Marcellus follow. Athanasius sums up his argument at the end of CA I.16 as follows:

23

Urk 6.2–3.


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Having thus said this and shown this, that this one who is offspring of the Father’s ousia is the Son, there remains no more reason for anyone to waver, but it should be clear, that this one is the Wisdom and Word of the Father, in whom and through whom he creates and makes all things, and this is his effulgence, “in whom he enlightens all things,” and “is revealed to those whomsoever he wills”; this one is his stamp [χαρακτήρ] and image, in whom he is contemplated and known, therefore also “he and the Father are one.” For also the one seeing this one sees also the Father; this one is the Christ, in whom he redeemed all things, and again he worked the new creation. (CA I.16.6)

Here Athanasius must partly be arguing against Marcellus’ exegetical move of seeing the man Jesus as the Christ and the image of the invisible God, rather than the eternal Word, using Marcellus’ favorite text John 10:30 to do so. Athanasius rather has things both ways on this matter in general, since he will at different times apply the same text to the incarnation and to the eternal Word, but he is consistent in applying the Image of God text of Col 1:15 always to the Pre-incarnate. He may not have persuaded Marcellus on the matter of image, but the Letter to Julius certainly shows they came to an agreement on pre-incarnation use of the word Son. Trias and Monas Athanasius continues in the very next section with further implicit criticism of Marcellus, under cover of attacking the Arians. If the Word is not eternally subsisting with the Father, the Three is not eternal; but the Μονάς on the one hand was earlier, and the Three on the other came to be later from addition, and as time went on the knowledge of the θεολογία concerning them grew and took shape. And again, if the Son is not proper offspring of the Father’s essence, but came to be out of nothing, then the Three subsists out of nothing, and there was once when the Three was not, but a Μονάς. (CA I.17.3–4)

This is clearly parallel to two fragments of Marcellus (P 68 S/V 47 Re 60 K 66 and P 69 S/V 48 Re 60 K 67): For it is impossible, there being three hypostases, for them to be united as a μονάς, unless earlier the Three should have its origin from a μονάς. For the holy Paul says those things which in no way belong to the oneness of God are summed up as a μονάς. For the Word and the Spirit alone belong to God with respect to oneness./ Does not the μονάς clearly and manifestly appear here with ineffable reason, on the one hand broadening into a Three, but on the other in no way enduring to be divided?

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Athanasius is himself triangulating here: he is pushing away the positions of Marcellus and the “Arians” on either side, to leave his own as the only palatable alternative to both positions. Later on in this section, Athanasius turns to a series of market-place slogans of his opponents, including ὁ ὢν τὸν μὴ ὄντα ἐκ τοῦ μὴ ὄντος πεποίηκεν ἢ τὸν ὄντ!α; and ἓν τὸ ἀγένητον ἢ δύο; (CA I.22.4). Both of these have a single parallel in a discussion of Marcellus, of a passage which Athanasius very carefully avoids: Exod 3:14, ἐγώ εἰμι ὁ ὤν. So now, who does Asterius think is the one saying ἐγώ εἰμι ὁ ὤν, the Son or the Father? For he said “There are two hypostases, the Father and the Son,” looking to the human flesh which the Word of God took and imagining thus because of it, thus dividing the Son of God from the Father, as someone might divide the son of a human being from his father according to nature. (P 94 S/V 85 Re 57 K 63) So now, if he will say that the Father, dividing himself from the Son, said these things to Moses, he will confess that the Son is not God. For how is it possible for the one who says ἐγώ εἰμι ὁ ὤν not to confess at the same time that he says that he is ὁ ὤν in contradistinction to τοῦ μὴ ὄντος? But if he should say that the Son, divided by hypostasis, said this, the ἐγώ εἰμι ὁ ὤν, he will be reckoned to have said the same thing again concerning the Father. And either of these is impious. (P 95 S/V 86 Re 58 K 64)

For Marcellus, the solution to the problem that there can only be one ὁ ὤν is that Father and Son must be one hypostasis, one undivided God, so that the Father, speaking through the Word, can say ἐγώ εἰμι ὁ ὤν. Marcellus is here asking, in effect, “Is ὁ ὤν one or two?” and forcing Asterius (in theory, at least) to admit that ὁ ὤν is one, the one hypostasis of Father and Son. Whether Asterius would have had any difficulty by this stage denying that the Son is ὁ ὤν is an interesting question. Athanasius’ analysis would have suggested not, but Marcellus’ question implies that at the very least Asterius was now keen to avoid the ὁ ὤν / ὁ μὴ ὤν divide in favor of ἀγέν(ν)ητος / γέν(ν)ητος, whereas Marcellus was keen not to give him the option. Athanasius avoids any exegesis of Exod 3:14, but he does answer Asterius’ question: ὁ ὢν θεὸς ἐξ αὐτοῦ ὄντα τὸν λόγον ἔχει (I.25.3). The Wisdom, Word, and Son is not “from without,” but is from the Father, is eternal, and is. The Father who is made the Son who is, because—the Son being Son of God—he made him Son of Man at the Incarnation. That is all Athanasius is prepared to say on the subject. He will not answer Marcellus’ question, because the hypostasis problem is one he simply does not wish to take a stand on. It is the one exegetical challenge he completely ignores.


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The Name above Every Name (Phil 2:9) Let us turn to another interesting but fragmentary argument of Marcellus’, which in this case only makes sense in the light of the Orations. Marcellus is arguing (P 19 S/V 4 Re 1 K 1) that, of all names named on the earth, there is no greater name than “Jesus,” for “he shall be called Great, and Son of the Highest.” In doing this, he makes use of two Septuagint examples of the name: Zech 3:1, which speaks of “Jesus the great priest,” and Jesus ( Joshua) the son of Nun, who leads the people of God into the Holy Land. The historical Joshua cannot be the one called “great,” Marcellus argues, because even Moses was not called great, though God called him “God of Pharaoh”; he is rather meant to be a prototype of the one who led his own people into that great Jerusalem, the Church. The point of Marcellus’ argument as it stands is obscure, as so often in the case of the surviving fragments: Eusebius of Caesarea was, after all, trying to make Marcellus’ views sound as odd and extreme as possible, as of course Athanasius also does with the views of his opponents. But it must be connected with a detailed discussion of the exegesis of Phil 2:5–11, as Athanasius’ argument in CA I.37–40 makes clear. Athanasius begins with a discussion of Phil 2:9–10: “Therefore God has highly exalted him and graced him with the name which is above every name, in order that in the name of Jesus every knee should bow, of those in heaven and on earth and in the underworld.” Eusebius and Arius, he claims, have written that “if ‘because of this’ he was exalted and received grace . . . he received the reward of his choice. But if he acted from choice, he is ontologically of an alterable nature” (CA I.37.3–4). (Vinzent ascribes this fragment to Asterius [fr. 45]). It looks as though Asterius’ exegesis, at least, went on to argue that the name above every name which was given to Jesus as a reward was “Son of the Highest,” on the basis of Luke 1:32, because Athanasius goes on to argue against the notion that the “name of Son” might have been given as a prize, rather than being eternal: And being such as they say, it will appear rather that he did not have the name Son from the beginning, if indeed he had this as the prize of works, and of no other advancement than of that when he became a human being and “took the form of a slave.” For that is when, “having become obedient unto death,” he is said to be highly exalted, and to have received the name as a grace, in order that “in the name of Jesus every knee should bow.” (I.38.2–3)

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If Asterius is claiming that the Name above all names which Jesus has been given is “Son of the Most High,” then it looks as though Marcellus is arguing in the extract cited earlier that the name this passage actually means was given is “Jesus” itself, and Athanasius is here subtly agreeing with him: in other words, the Word has not been given a cosmic title, but the incarnate Christ has been given a soteriological one. Nonetheless, Marcellus seems also to accept that the name “Son” is only given after the Incarnation (fr. P 20 S/V 7 Re 36 K 42) (though he probably only allows this view as an argumentum ad hominem, because most often in the fragments he uses the term “Son” of the pre-incarnate Word).24 Athanasius may be covertly attacking Marcellus for a moment, as well as Asterius, when he asks, “What then was he before this, if now he was exalted, and now began to be worshipped, and now was called Son, when he became a human being?” (CA I.38.3). Marcellus had asked a similar-sounding question: “What else was there before ‘what came down in the last days,’ as [Asterius] also wrote, and ‘what was born from the Virgin’ took human flesh? There was nothing other than Word” (P 12 S/V 5 Re 42 K 48). Athanasius would clearly have preferred Son to be added (he stresses the importance of using both titles together to make sense of each other, CA I.28.3). But Athanasius quickly returns to making clear how much ground he shares with Marcellus: For if the Lord is God, Son, Word, but was not these things before he became a human being, either he was something else besides these things, and later participated in them out of virtue, just as we have said; or the other possibility—so that it may be turned on their heads—they must say that he did not even exist before this, but is wholly a human being by nature and nothing else. (CA I.38.4)

Marcellus never suggests in the slightest that the eternal Word was anything other than God before the Incarnation. Athanasius goes on to make exactly the same move that Marcellus makes: to claim that “highly exalted” applies not to the Word, but to the ἄνθρωπος (CA I.41.2). Marcellus cites a battery of prophetic passages speaking of the Word of the Lord, apparently to counter a reluctance on the part of his opponents to use the term (P 13 S/V 67 Re 41 K 47). Athanasius briefly makes the same point in CA II.32.2, “The prophets on the one 24 Marcellus’ belief in a pre-incarnate Son is most clearly to be seen in fragment P 43 S/V 38 Re 17 K 20: “The prophet reasonably said ‘he founded me before the age,” clearly with reference to that which is according to the flesh, because of the fellowship with the one who is truly his Son, the Word.”


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hand say ‘And the Word of the Lord came to me,’ but John says on the other ‘In the beginning was the Word.’ ” The μὲν . . . δὲ . . . construction here, for all it is very much in passing, seems to echo the structure of the argument of Marcellus’ fragments P 13 S/V 67 Re 41 K 47 and P14 S/V 68 Re 46 K 51. Marcellus seems to be arguing that the Word was well known in Old Testament times, but that John revealed the eternity of the Word as something new. His argument for the eternity of the Word, which comes near the beginning of his work, looks to have fulfilled the same function as Athanasius’ initial discussion of the eternity of the Word in CA I.11–36. Marcellus’ discussion, as it survives, is far less extensive, but on the other hand Eusebius of Caesarea had little incentive to cite very much of it, since it was the point on which he himself was most vulnerable to accusations of heresy. The Lord Created Me (Prov 8:22) Returning to the likely order of Marcellus’ Contra Asterium, we should look now at the section of exegesis in both works which deals with the Septuagint version of Prov 8:22, “The Lord created me the beginning of his ways for his work”. This is Orations II.44–82, and Marcellus fragments P28 S/V 23 Re 112 K 125 to P 50 S/V 45 Re 22 K 27. The similarities of Athanasius’ exegesis of Prov 8:22 to Marcellus’ have long been noted.25 But equally interesting are the differences, or the ways in which Athanasius repeats a point Marcellus makes, but tones it down considerably. As this section includes the longest of Marcellus’ fragments, it allows us the clearest look at the difference between the styles of the two authors. Proverbs 8:22 had had a very long history as one of the key texts of Christian apologetic, being held to demonstrate the presence of a second divine being in the Jewish scriptures, and for this reason it was acknowledged on all sides to be the locus classicus for revelation concerning the pre-incarnate Son. Justin Martyr had used the text in this way in his dialogue with Trypho, joining it to Genesis 1:1, a move which had already been made in rabbinic exegesis.26 Athenagoras and Tertullian 25 Zahn points out the following points in common between the exegesis of Marcellus and that of Athanasius: both note the parabolic character of Proverbs; both interpret ἔκτισε of the Incarnation; both explain “the beginning of ways” with reference to John 14:6; both interpret θεμέλιος with reference to 1 Cor 3:11. 26 Justin, Dialogue 61 and 129.3–4. On rabbinic parallels, see O. Skarsaune, The Proof

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also used the passage.27 It was one of Origen’s key texts: he made a number of further important exegetical connections, such as the connection with John 1:1 (In the Beginning—that is, in Wisdom—was the Word); with Col 1:15, the “first-born of all creation”—since Wisdom is created “the Beginning of his ways for his works”; and with 1 Cor 1:24, “Christ, Power of God and Wisdom of God.”28 This had come to be also the most important text for the argument of Arius, Eusebius of Nicomedia, and Asterius that the Son was a different sort of being from the Father. “Created,” and the aorist verb from the following verse, “founded” (to which they tended to assimilate the verb “begets,” in the present in the original), implied a coming to be in (or before) time, as well as a different nature from the Father. Marcellus argues that the whole passage should be understood of the “second economy,” the Incarnation. In order to do this, he begins with a lively excursus on the form of the proverb (which Eusebius quotes at length), citing pagan proverb collections and commentaries, to make the point that proverbs (παροιμίαι) are supposed to be cryptic, and so an enigmatic meaning should be looked for (P 28 S/V 23 Re 112 K 125; P 29 S/V 24 Re 110, K 123). Proverbs 8:22 is a prophecy in the form of an enigma: it prophesied the Incarnation, but this would have been entirely obscure to those who heard it at the time, until the meaning was revealed by the coming of Christ (P 30 S/V 25 Re 111 K 124; P 31 S/V 26 Re 9 K 9). “For who would have believed, before it was made known by the facts, that the Word of God, having been born through the Virgin, would assume our flesh, and in it show forth bodily the whole Godhead?” (P 38 S/V 33 Re 13 K 16). What is referred to in the phrase “The Lord created me,” Marcellus argues, is not the beginning of the Godhead, but the human flesh (P 34 S/V 29 Re 10 K 11), and he proceeds to interpret the whole passage in the light of the salvific work of Jesus and of the life of the Church. He is the beginning of ways because he is about to renew all things in the new creation; the ways he is the beginning of are the ways of θεοσέβεια, of Godly piety (P 32 S/V 27 Re 11 K 12; P 35 S/V 30

from Prophecy, A Study in Justin Martyr’s Proof-Text Tradition: Text-Type, Provenance, Theological Profile (NovTSup 56; Leiden: Brill, 1987), 388 with n. 26. On the development of patristic exegesis of the verse, see M. Simonetti, “Sull’interpretazione patristica di Proverbi 8, 22,” in Simonetti, Studi sull’arianesimo (Rome: Editrice Studium, 1965), 9–87. 27 See Athenagoras, Legatio 10.4; Tertullian, Adversus Praxean 6–7. 28 See Origen, De Principiis I.2.1, and Commentarii in Joannem I. xvii.101–2.


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Re 12 K 13). He is the beginning of the ways of preaching, too, and of the ways handed on by the apostles after him (P 36 S/V 31 Re 12 K 14). The works he is “for” are not the works of creation, but of salvation, of which he says, “I have finished the work which you gave me” (P 37 S/V 32 Re 13 K 15). Marcellus goes on to interpret “he founded me before the age” of the age “according to the economy of the flesh,” since one age is mentioned rather than several. (He chides Asterius for reading the passage as “before the ages.”) Marcellus reads “founded me” as “laid me as a foundation,” after 1 Cor 3:11, “For no one is able to lay any other foundation than the one already laid, which is Jesus Christ.” Just as “He chose us in him before the laying-down (καταβολή) of the world” in his thought, having “in love pre-appointed us to sonship through Jesus Christ,” so he set Christ as a foundation in thought before the age that was to come, the age of the Word made flesh. So then, even if the things at the last times were made manifest most especially as this new mystery, so that because of this it was pre-appointed before this age, the prophet reasonably said, “He laid me as a foundation before the age,” clearly the one which is according to the flesh, because of the communion with the one who is truly his Son, the Word. (P 43 S/V 38 Re 17 K 20)

Marcellus continues with allegory, although Eusebius allows us rather briefer snatches of this section, so the argument becomes less clear once again. “In the beginning, before making the earth” is interpreted as the making of Christ’s flesh, called earth because it was the sort of flesh which had become earth again “after the disobedience” and was doomed to perish. “For it was necessary for this [flesh] to gain healing, having had communion in some way with the holy Word” (P 44 S/V 39 Re 18 K 21). “And before making the depths” becomes the depths of the hearts of the saints, in whose depths are the gift of the Spirit (drawing on Rom 8:26). “Before the springs of water came forth” is referred to the twelve apostles, the twelve springs of Exod 15:27, who are told to “Go and make disciples of all the nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit” (Matt 28:19). “Before the mountains were established, and before all the hills, he begets me” is applied to the apostles and the successors of the apostles, so the writer might “signify proverbially their just way of life beyond other human beings” (P 50 S/V 45 Re 22 K 27). There must, again, be some other Scriptural parallel for this interpretation, but it is not evident which it is. The fragments we have from this section

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conclude with a plea to readers to find more demonstrations themselves of what has already been said (P 51 S/V 46 Re 79 K 89). The parallels of all this with Athanasius’ Orationes contra Arianos II.44–82 are numerous and evident, but once again the two discussions are interesting above all for their differences. Athanasius begins, as Marcellus had, with the point that “what is said in proverbs is not said ἐκ φανεροῦ” (Marcellus had employed the term ἐκ τοῦ προχείρου), but κεκρυμμένως (δυσεύρετον was Marcellus’ word). But Athanasius makes the point briefly and quietly, with none of Marcellus’ ebullience, and demonstrates it not at length from classical proverbs, but in one example from the Gospel of John (II.44.2). Athanasius then goes on to set out the terms of his argument: that the Word is not created with regard to his divine substance, nor his eternal and real birth from the Father, but with regard to the humanity, and the economy which is for us (II.45.1). In this (and in particular in the phrase τὴν ἐκ πατρὸς ἀίδιον ἑαυτοῦ καὶ γνησίαν γέννησιν), he already distances himself from Marcellus, who, like Eusebius and Arius, takes γεννάω to be more or less equivalent to κτίζω (and, indeed, equivalent to γίνομαι, so close to γεννάω in many of its forms). For Athanasius, the difference between the two is key: he will argue that κτίζω (in Prov 8:22) is to be taken of the humanity of the Word, but γεννάω (in Prov 8:25) is to be taken of the Word’s eternal generation. In this way, as usual, he moves to conciliate the less extreme card-carrying Origenists, as well as those allied to the views of Eustathius and Marcellus, who are steadily losing political ground in the East under Constantius. In addition, although Athanasius approaches his exegesis of Prov 8:22 ultimately in the same way as Marcellus (and as Eustathius also had), he sets out his argument much more cautiously than Marcellus seems to (though of course we do not know how much of Marcellus’ argument is cut out by Eusebius). Athanasius begins his exegesis by noting in passing that the passage has to be speaking of the Incarnation, but he then spends the next five and a half chapters (II.45.2–50.6) arguing a negative case: whatever the passage means, it cannot mean that the Word is created as to essence, or that Wisdom herself is a creature. This is an impious conclusion, so the exegetical arguments of Asterius and friends must be wrong. Biblical use of the term “he created” in general does not necessarily refer to substance, he points out. A κτίσμα is not the invariable correlative of the verb κτίζω, nor does the verb necessarily refer to something new which comes into being. He cites various uses of the verb in the Septuagint and the New Testament,


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such as Ps 50:12 in the Septuagint (καρδίαν καθαρὰν κτίσον ἐν ἐμοί, ὁ θεός) and Eph 2:15 (ἵνα τοὺς δύο κτίσῃ ἐν ἑαυτῷ εἰς ἕνα καινὸν ἄνθρωπον), to prove that there are occasions when the word cannot possibly be taken in the sense of substance. When he does go on to argue that Prov 8:22 concerns not the substance of the Word but the humanity, he argues it principally from the expression “for his works”: these works cannot be the work of creation, because that would mean the Word is for creation, and therefore in a sense posterior to creation, not “the beginning of his ways” (II.50.2–3). Therefore, it must apply to the “economy towards the works”: “so that his ‘being created for the works’ might make plain the coming to be of the human being for the renewal of these things” (II.53.2–3). “For it was fitting for him, being other than the works, but rather their Maker, also to take upon himself the renewal of these things, in order that, he being created for us, he might recreate in himself all things” (II.53.3). Athanasius continues by discoursing at length on salvation, and here once again he both embraces the language of Marcellus and adds a further, Origenist, dimension, which he mentions first. The Savior came “for the sake of giving a witness [to the Truth], and to take on Death on our behalf, and for the sake of raising up human beings and loosing the works of the Devil” (II.55.1). But he also implicitly criticizes here the sort of Origenist interpretation used by writers such as Eusebius of Caesarea: Since if he, being a creature, says “The Lord created me,” on the grounds that according to them the essence of the Word is created, he was not created for our sake. But if he was not created for our sake, we were not created “in him.” But not being created in him, we would not have him in ourselves, but we would have him from outside, if we received instruction from him as from a teacher. (II.56.1)

Athanasius next goes on (II.56.5–60.4) to contrast the use of κτίζω in Prov 8:22 with γεννάω in 8:25, chiding the “Arians” (in other words, Asterius) for equating γέννημα with κτίσμα and even ποίημα (II.58.2), a criticism he must also be implicitly leveling at Marcellus, though Marcellus is only responding to Asterius in his own terms. He outlines once again in response his theology of humanity as creatures who have become children, so are first of all described as “made” and secondly as “begotten,” and are related to by God both as Creator (as creatures) and Father (as adopted children). He continues by discussing the Asterian conjunction of “only-begotten and first-born,” just as Marcellus had, as alluded to above. He finishes his discussion of Prov 8:22 with

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an appeal to readers very similar to that of Marcellus. Marcellus had said, “But I ask those reading who are holy, just as having truly received seeds and beginnings of this exegesis, to apply ampler demonstrations to the things which have been said, so that the opinions of those perverting the faith may be exposed still further” (P 51 S/V 46 Re 79 K 89). Athanasius borrows the sentiment: “So concerning ‘The Lord created me the beginning of ways,’ even if briefly [he has borrowed this joke from Marcellus too], yet as I think these things are sufficient to provide occasion to the more learned to fashion more things for the overthrow of the Arian heresy” (II.72.5). Athanasius continues more briefly with the rest of the section, Proverbs 23–30. “He founded me before the age” is also to be ascribed to the Word’s coming in flesh: “Wisdom herself is founded for us, so that she might become the beginning and foundation of our new creation and renewal” (II.73.1). 1 Cor 3:11 is once again seen as the key to the meaning of the passage, but in this case the argument is that others will be built on the foundation, so they must be the same sort of thing as the foundation; but because there is no other like the eternal Word, it must be referring to the Word made Flesh, not the essence of the Godhead. Athanasius then turns to an argument which must have Marcellus’ exegesis in view: “But let ‘before the age’ and ‘before the earth was made’ and ‘before the mountains were brought forth’ disturb no one; for he joined this also very well to ‘he founded’ and ‘he created’” (II.75.1). “Before the age” refers to God’s foreknowledge of the need for the Incarnation from all time (Athanasius here uses Marcellus’ “foreknowledge” argument, but pushes the foreknowledge back to before the creation itself ). But Athanasius has no place for Marcellus’ over-inventive if charming explanations of the earth, depths, springs of water, and mountains: Then, lest anyone, hearing concerning the wisdom that has thus been created in the works, should reckon the true Wisdom of God, the Son, to be a creature by nature, he necessarily added “before the mountains” and “before the earth” and “before the waters” and “before the hills he begets me”, that in saying “before all creation”—for he includes the whole creation in these—he might show that he is not created together with the works according to essence. (II.80.4)

Athanasius’ extensive exegesis of Prov 8:22–30, particularly 8:22 itself, sums up in a nutshell the strategy of the Orations. He makes extensive use of Marcellus’ Against Asterius, but also distances himself from it at points, and even implicitly argues against it. He argues against the


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exegesis of Asterius, with occasional references to parallels in Eusebius of Nicomedia and Arius, but designates them all by the term “Arians.” He targets Eusebius of Caesarea in more covert fashion, but he targets him nonetheless. Above all, he works to keep open both an Origenist interpretation and an incarnational one of the text in question. The greatest difference of all between Athanasius and Marcellus is their understanding of the “Image of the Invisible God” of Col 1:15. It is key to Athanasius’ thought that the Son is eternal Image of the Father. For Marcellus, meanwhile, it is key to the revealing of the mystery of God that the one who looks on Jesus in the flesh has seen the Father, for it is the visible fleshly Christ who is the image of the invisible God. The Third Oration and Its Marcellan Parallels The Third Oration is often held to be later than the other two, with a different structure, and perhaps different opponents from the first two.29 But it also has close parallels with Marcellus’ Contra Asterium (though its parallels with Eustathius’ anti-Arian works may be even closer), and once more seems to be loosely following the probable order of Marcellus’ work. The Third Oration opens with a discussion of John 14:10, “I am in the Father and the Father is in Me.” This section (CA III.1–6, whose themes extend indeed as far as III.25) also deals with a number of allied texts: John 10:30 (“I and the Father are one”), John 16:15 (“All things which the Father has are mine”), John 17:10 (“All things which are mine are yours, and the things which are yours are mine”), John 14:9 (“The one who has seen me has seen the Father”). All of these are also dealt with together in Marcellus’ work (P 84–5 S/V 74–5 Re 64–5 K 73–4), though he uses not John 14:10 but the parallel passage, “The Father in me and I in the Father” ( John 10:38). Both Athanasius and Marcellus, as well as Asterius, whom Athanasius cites in his discussion, discuss John 10:38/14:10 in terms of δύναμις. Asterius claims, “It is clear that he said himself to be in the Father and again the Father to be in himself for this reason, that neither does he say that the word of which he was treating was his own, but of the

29 Recent scholarly views on the composition of the Third Oration are summarized in C. Kannengiesser, “The Dating of Athanasius’ Double Apology and Three Treatises Against the Arians,” ZAC 10 (2006), 19–33.

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Father, nor are the works his own, but of the Father who gave him the δύναμις” (CA III.2.1 = Asterius fr. 38 [Vinzent]). Marcellus argues, So, if he himself says these things—“I came forth from the Father and I am come” and again “and the word which you hear is not mine, but that of the Father who sent me,” and “all those things which the Father has are mine”—it is clear that he reasonably also said this: “The Father in me and I in the Father,” so that the Word, the one saying this, might be in God, and the Father be in the Word, because the Word is the δύναμις of the Father. For a witness worthy of belief has called him “Power of God and Wisdom of God.” (P 84 S/V 74 Re 64 K 73)

Athanasius also calls the Son “the Father’s Power and Wisdom” in this context. But he quickly defines this in terms of the Son’s being the γέννημα τοῦ πατρὸς ἴδιον (CA III.1.6), because his real interest is in affirming that the Son is “proper to the Father’s essence” (CA III.3.2). He even goes so far as to speak of the Son’s “sameness of Godhead and oneness of essence” (τὴν μὲν ταυτότητα τῆς θεότητος, τὴν δὲ ἑνότητα τῆς οὐσίας; CA III.3.3) in dealing with John 10:30, which is potentially far more alarming than what survives of Marcellus’ discussion, at least to later fourth-century theologians. It is Athanasius who always brings the question of essence into the discussion, not quite using the Nicene word homoousios, but something fairly close. Athanasius does add an anti-Sabellian rider here, which may be intended to be a corrective to Marcellus, or simply a defense of his own position, which would have incurred the censure of Eusebius of Caesarea just as Marcellus’ had: For they are one not as one again divided into two parts and being nothing but one, nor as one twice named, so that the same is at one time Father, and at another becomes his own Son (for Sabellios, having thought this, was judged a heretic), but they are two, because the Father is Father and the same is not Son, and the Son is Son and the same is not Father. (CA III.4.1)

Athanasius goes on to join John 14:9 to the other two passages, and declares that all three have the same meaning: “For the Godhead of the Son is of the Father, and it is in the Son. . . . For in the Son the Father’s Godhead is contemplated” (CA III.5.2). Marcellus had made a similar point in a passage already referred to: “For who would have believed, before it was made known by the facts, that the Word of God, having been born through the Virgin, would assume our flesh, and in it show forth bodily the whole Godhead?” (P 38 S/V 33 Re 13 K 16). Here he is referring to the flesh, but in the long fragment which parallels Athanasius’ discussion on the Johannine texts he also


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adopts the language of noetic contemplation: “I am with you for so long a time, Philip, and you say ‘Show me the Father?’—clearly not to these eyes, but to those of the mind, able to see intelligible things” (P 85 S/V 75 Re 65 K 74). The Marcellan context of Athanasius’ discussion is clear in his next turning to the statue of the emperor (the emperor’s image) as the model of how one sees the Father by seeing the Son (CA III.5.3). Marcellus had argued that the point of an image (like the emperor’s statue) was to make the absent present, the invisible visible (cf. P 56 S/V 55 Re 83 K 94). Athanasius is too keen on the Son as eternal image of the Father to accept wholesale Marcellus’ exegesis of the “image of the invisible God” as the incarnate Son, but his use of the statue imagery only really works in the context of the Incarnation. Nonetheless, having left his sense ambiguous for most of the discussion, he concludes “the being of the Son is the Godhead and property of the Father (ἡ θεότης καὶ ἡ ἰδιότης τοῦ πατρὸς τὸ εἶναι τοῦ υἱοῦ ἐστι)” (CA II.5.5). Athanasius proceeds to a battery of texts discussing the oneness of God (III.6.6–9.6), still in exegesis of John 10:30, which closely parallels the battery of texts used by Marcellus in fragments P 99–104 (S/V 90–93, 95, 97). He then returns to John 10:30 itself and to the argument of Marcellus’ fragment P 84 S/V 74 Re 64 K 73. Marcellus is there above all concerned to refute Asterius’ claim that the Savior said “the Father and I are one” “because of the exact harmony in all things, both words and works,” and especially of wills (Marcellus’ demolition of this claim of Asterius’ by evoking the agony in the garden is extremely powerful). Athanasius does make passing reference to Marcellus’ lively exegesis, which mocks Asterius with the idea that according to his account the Father and the Son might fight over the things they both have in common, by raising the ridiculousness of the possibility of rivalry between the two (CA III.7.2). But his argument against the “harmony in all things” interpretation is simply that this would be true of the angels and powers and the sun, moon, and stars, as well as the Son, which all will what God wills (CA III.10.1–3). It is very likely that Marcellus’ work also originally included a parallel to Athanasius’ discussion of John 17:11, “that they may be one just as we are one” (CA III.17–25), which rounds off this section of the Third Oration, but it does not survive. The middle section of the Third Oration (26–58a) has initially more in common with Eustathius of Antioch’s work than it does with the surviving fragments of Marcellus, but it makes the key move Marcellus

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also makes: to ascribe texts dealing with Christ’s weakness or ignorance to the flesh, or the ἄνθρωπος.30 Where the parallel does become closer is in the discussion of John 12:28, “Father glorify your Name . . . I both have glorified and shall glorify again,” and John 17:5, “Glorify me, Father, with the glory which I had with you before the world was.” This is adumbrated in chapter 26.2–4, and addressed at greater length in chapters 38–40. In the parallel section in Marcellus’ work, there are also two other verses from John in the background: 17:1–2 (“Father, the hour has come. Glorify your Son, so that your Son may glorify you”) and 17:21 (“And I have given the glory which you gave me to them”). Marcellus argues that implies there are indeed two glories involved in John 12:28, but that neither of them is the “glory I had with you before the world was,” which is simply the glory the Word had in God before creation. The glory given to Jesus is given to him as man for human beings: “For if the sacred Gospel speaks about a certain glory given to him from the Father, the ἄνθρωπος appears as having received this through the Word” (P 110 S/V 79 Re 95 K 106). The two glories are the glory of the Incarnation and of the Resurrection: And he made humankind [ὁ ἄνθρωπος], which had fallen through disobedience, worthy to be joined through the Virgin to his own Word. For what sort of other, greater glory might there be among human beings than this glory? But having said “I have glorified you,” he continues, saying “and I shall glorify again,” so that because of his excessive love for humankind he might, with the second glory after the resurrection of the flesh, make immortal formerly mortal humankind, and glorify it with such great glory that it might not only be delivered from former slavery, but even be made worthy of more than human glory. (P 111 S/V 80 Re 96 K 107).

Athanasius broadly accepts this approach, though he pulls back from discussion of the exegetical detail: “So then, whenever the Savior says concerning those things which they use as a pretext, ‘authority has been given to me’ and ‘glorify your Son,’ and Peter says ‘authority is given to him,’ we understand all these things in the same sense, that he speaks all these things humanly because of the body” (CA III.38.3). “And while asking for glory, he was and is ‘the Lord of Glory,’ as Paul says: ‘For if they had known, they would not have crucified the Lord 30 I hope to return to the parallels between Eustathius and the Orations in the future.


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of Glory.’ For he had what he asked for when he said ‘the glory which I had with you before the world was’ ” (CA III 39.6). One thing Athanasius does do, however, is quietly to correct a major problem in Marcellus’ system. Marcellus holds only one view which is clearly and unmistakably heretical, by later standards, and that is his view that once salvation history is complete, after the final judgment, the Word will withdraw from the human flesh, as the work performed through the Incarnation will now be complete. Athanasius insists that it must be the Word who receives, though qua human being: For if the ἄνθρωπος alone receives, he is capable also of being deprived; and this was shown in the case of Adam. For, receiving, he lost. But in order that the grace might become irrelinquishable and be preserved secure for human beings, for this reason he makes the gift his own [ἰδιοποιεῖται], and says that he has received authority as a human being, which he holds eternally as God. And he says “glorify me,” he who glorifies others, in order that he might show that he has flesh which needs these things. (CA III.38.4)

There are no clear parallels, once again, between Marcellus’ fragments and Athanasius’ discussion of texts implying the Savior’s ignorance (III.42–50) and advance in wisdom (III.51–53). But the discussion of the agony in the garden (III.57), as part of a general section dealing with emotion and suffering (III.54–58.3), does have parallels with Marcellus’ long fragment P 84 S/V 74 Re 64 K 73, which we have already partly looked at. Marcellus evoked an apparent difference (he is always careful to say κατὰ τὸ φαινόμενον) between the Son’s will and that of the Father. Athanasius subtly modifies this exegesis also, while adopting its basic principle: For he willed what he asked to be let off from, and because of this he had come. But his was the willing31—for on this account he came—but the fearing was of the flesh. Therefore also as ἄνθρωπος he uttered such a cry [φωνή]. And both again were said by the same, in order that he might show that he, God, was willing, but having become man he had flesh which feared, because of which he mingled his own will with human weakness. (III.57.1)

Athanasius insists on the Word as acting and willing subject, even though he allows the expression of being unwilling to belong to the human

31 Reading αὐτοῦ (with the x family of manuscripts) against τοῦ of the MetzlerSavvidis text.

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flesh. But he seems to have no doubt in his own mind that, even if Marcellus’ exegesis needs some adjustment, he is still on the side of the angels. It is the very next chapter, the end of this section of the Third Oration, which contains the “anchor of faith” passage implicitly praising Marcellus for trying to raise up the χριστομάχοι when they had fallen, and guide them back to εὐσέβεια.32 The final nine chapters of the Third Oration are a puzzle, in the matter of Marcellan influence as in other questions. They deal with the question of whether the Son was begotten by the Father by βούλησις and θέλησις, which, as Luise Abramowski has pointed out, has clear parallels with the anathemas added to the Fourth Creed of Antioch by the Eastern synod of Serdica, whatever one makes of this fact.33 On the surface, it appears as though they have few parallels with Marcellus’ Contra Asterium, and none where the two words are found together in those forms. But the slighter parallels that do exist are nonetheless suggestive. They draw on two of the Asterian passages which are most important to the structure of Marcellus’ work against him: fragment P 2 S/V 2 Re 29 K 34, and fragment P 59 S/V 113 Re 85 K 96. The first defends Eusebius of Nicomedia’s letter to Paulinus of Tyre, as we saw at the beginning: “For the point of the letter is to refer to the will [βουλή] of the Father the begetting of the Son, and not to declare the begetting of God a passion.” Athanasius has already discussed this question at the beginning of the Second Oration (CA II.2), but it is likely to have been important to Marcellus’ discussion, too, even though his comments on this fragment of Asterius do not survive. The second is Asterius’ designating the Word as “unvarying image of essence and will [βουλή] and glory and power,” in the fragment which so closely parallels the Second Creed of Antioch. This is presumably addressed by Athanasius both in the earlier discussion and here, where he again designates the Son the living will (βουλή) of the Father (CA III.64.1)—rather than the image of the will; presumably Marcellus would have agreed with the equation of βουλή and δύναμις which Athanasius reaches, though again no reference to this survives.

See above, n. 4. L. Abramowski, “Die Dritte Arianerrede des Athanasius: Eusebianer und Arianer und das westliche Serdicense,” ZKG 102 (1991), 392–5. 32 33


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The ‘Introduction générale’ (CA I.1–10) Whatever one makes of the date and circumstances of the composition of the last nine chapters, it seems clear from the foregoing that in most of the remainder of the Orations, from I.11–III.58.3, Athanasius is engaging so closely with the arguments of Marcellus against Asterius that he must have a text of the Contra Asterium in front of him. Athanasius could have had a text from Marcellus at any point after its initial composition in the years before 335, so we need not necessarily posit that he composed the bulk of the Orations when he was with Marcellus in Rome in 339–341, though the leisure this would have given him to compose, combined with his apparent lack of access to more than the snippets of text quoted by Marcellus from his opponents, surely make that likely. But the one section he is very likely indeed to have composed in Rome is the introduction, chapters I.1–10. I have argued elsewhere, as have others, that the first 10 chapters of the Orations closely match in places two works of Marcellus’ written in Rome in 340–1, his Letter to Julius and his De sancta ecclesia.34 The latter work parallels the heresiological list of chapter 3 (though with some interesting variations), and the former both the Arian slogans of chapters 5–6 and 9, and the final list of the two alternative theological systems of chapter 10. Marcellus’ Letter was written, I have argued, at a very specific moment: when the two Roman presbyters, Philoxenus and Elpidius, returned from Antioch, bearing the letters sent by the Dedication Synod to Julius and the Church of Rome.35 This would also be an attractive time to set the first ten chapters of the Orations: as a response to the crisis which faced Athanasius and Marcellus as they realized that what had doubtless been represented to Julius as a small cabal was now speaking in the name of a synod of nearly 100 Eastern bishops, as well as Constantius. Athanasius heightens his rhetoric here even further than he had done in the rest of the work. The Arian heresy, misusing both Scripture and language, has led astray some of the foolish, so they not only listen to it, but taste it and call it good. “For what likeness have they seen between the

34 Parvis, Lost Years, 180–92. M. Barnes, “The Fourth Century as Trinitarian Canon,” Christian Origins: Theology, Rhetoric and Community (ed. L. Ayres and G. Jones; London & New York: Routledge, 1998) 47–67, had already pointed out the parallels between the Orations and the Letter to Julius (p. 55). 35 Parvis, Lost Years, 192–3.

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heresy and the pious faith, that they should nonsensically speak as if those were saying nothing evil? This is truly for them to call Caiphas a Christian. . . .” (CA I.2.1). This would make sense as a reply to the famous claim, “We have not followed Arius . . . nor have we received any other faith than that put forth from the beginning, but we, having become examiners and approvers of his faith, have accepted him” (First Creed of Antioch).36 Athanasius’ subsequent launch into mockery of Arius’ Thalia seems to be an attempt to find some new way of raising the stakes in discrediting those who are prepared to see Arius as respectable. The introduction ends with an animadversion against those who accept Arius, for hiding their true beliefs and “proclaiming things other than these” (CA I.10.3–4). This potentially rather surprising charge of unfairly promulgating orthodoxy rather than heresy would make sense in the wake of the Dedication Synod, which issued two creeds which left room for denial of the Son’s eternity, belief in a Son who was “a κτίσμα but not as one of the κτίσματα,” “a ποίημα but not as one of the ποιήματα,” and other doctrines dealt with in the rest of the Orations. It is notable that these are the charges Athanasius concludes this introduction by making: that according to his opponents the Son is “one of the κτίσματα” and “was not before he was made,” and is a ποίημα. The boasting of the patronage of friends and of the fear of Constantius (CA I.10.4) would also make sense in a letter from a synod at which the emperor had just been present. Conclusion This short sketch by no means exhausts the parallels between the Orations and the fragments of Marcellus. There are numerous expressions, turns of phrase, jokes, insults, and logical techniques which these works have in common, as well as some exegetical moves I have barely touched on. I hope this initial survey will inspire others to find many more demonstrations of the connections between the two, and will offer Professor Kanneniesser in particular some further interesting evidence for his studies on the dating and process of composition of the work.

36 A. Hahn, Symbole und Glaubensregeln der Alten Kirche (ed. G. Ludwig Hahn; Breslau: Morgenstern Verlag, 31897), 183.


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But I would make one final observation. I have tried to show how Athanasius both draws on Marcellus’ work against Asterius and quietly takes issue with it, using some points, toning down others, leaving others aside without comment, and tacitly refuting yet others. Some might be tempted as a result of this to see the Orations as Athanasius’ via media between “Arianism” and the theology of Marcellus, picking out a careful path between the two extremes. But this is to ignore Athanasius’ presentation of his own work. Chapter 9 of the First Oration tells us that the whole of each case as to what it is fitting to say about God is made known in the following: “He was” or “he was not”; “he always was” or “before he came to be”; “eternal” or “from which” and “from when”; “true” or “by adoption” and “from participation” and “according to aspect”; to say he is “one of the things coming into being” or to unite him to the Father; that he is “unlike the Father according to essence” or “like and proper to the Father”; that he is a κτίσμα, or that the κτίσματα came to be through him; that he is himself the Word of the Father, or that there is another besides this one, and through that one this one came to be, and through another Wisdom, and that this one is only called Wisdom and Word by name, and has come to be as participating in that Wisdom, and second to it. So whose words speak of God and show our Lord Jesus the Christ to be God and Son of the Father? (CA I.9.10–10.1)

Athanasius has deliberately in this key “them or us” section used only expressions on which he and Marcellus are agreed—the eternity of the Word, the Word’s status as true Word, united to the Father, like and proper to the Father, the one through whom all created things were made, truly Wisdom and Word, with no positive reference to οὐσία, or εἰκών, or γέννημα, the points on which their usage otherwise most differs. In this section, too, Eusebius of Caesarea as well as Eusebius of Nicomedia, Asterius, and Arius would be at least mostly on the other side. Athanasius would come to make common cause with a number of those who had seen nothing wrong with the theology of the Dedication Synod. But his conviction of the theological gulf between himself and those Marcellus had attacked in the Contra Asterium was far from being manufactured, just as his alliance with Marcellus himself was far more than mere convenience—as Epiphanius was to find.

PRÉSUPPOSÉS HERMÉNEUTIQUES DE LA LECTURE DE LA BIBLE JUIVE CHEZ LES GNOSTIQUES. ÉTUDE DE QUELQUES PROCÉDÉS EXÉGÉTIQUES DANS UN TRAITÉ DE NAG HAMMADI (NH 2, 4) Anne Pasquier 1. Remarques préliminaires Si l’on examine les index des références scripturaires dans les études consacrées à l’utilisation de la Bible juive par les gnostiques,1 on ne peut que faire le constat suivant: leur recours à la Bible est fréquent et ils se réfèrent à de multiples livres.2 Il faut excepter ceux qui fréquentèrent Plotin et ses disciples et dont les écrits adoptèrent le langage et les textes des platoniciens, pour des raisons rhétoriques. On peut donc en déduire que ce qui deviendra l’Ancien Testament est pour bon nombre d’entre eux un texte inspiré par l’Esprit. Plusieurs traits caractérisent leur recours à la Bible. 1) Certains passages scripturaires reviennent constamment, soit Gn 1–3 et particulièrement Gn 1, 26–27 et Gn 2, 7; Es 45, 6 et 46, 9, ainsi que les Psaumes.3

1 J’utilise le terme « gnostique », même s’il n’est pas tout à fait adéquat. Je désigne par là les enseignements ainsi que la vision du monde qui transparaissent dans bon nombre de sources directes, comme les écrits de la BCNH, et indirectes (textes des hérésiologues). On y trouve en effet, selon moi, assez de traits communs, malgré les variations, pour y discerner une réflexion cohérente. Les variations s’expliquent en grande partie par le fait que les textes présentent des genres littéraires divers, qu’ils ont en conséquence des fonctions diverses, et qu’ils ont circulé en différents milieux. Bien sûr, la Bibliothèque copte de Nag Hammadi contient, comme toute collection, quelques textes qui sont autres, comme les Sentences de Sextus, mais qui étaient susceptibles de s’intégrer à cette vision du monde. 2 Par exemple, G. Filoramo et Cl. Gianotto, « L’interpretazione gnostica dell’Antico Testamento : pozitioni ermeneutische e techniche esegetiche », Augustin 22 (1982), 53–74; Nag Hammadi Texts and the Bible. A Synopsis and Index (ed. C.A. Evans, R.L. Webb, R.A. Wiebe, NTTS 18; Leiden/New York: Brill, 1993). 3 Ce sont les textes les plus universels qui sont utilisés et non ceux qui touchent l’histoire spécifique d’Israël.

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2) La Septante semble être le principal texte grec utilisé, même si on note quelques rares emprunts à une autre traduction, en particulier celle d’Aquila.4 Il faudrait poursuivre les recherches sur cette question. 3) Les textes coptes ont été traduits du grec, une traduction souvent targoumique, bien que certains mots soient conservés en grec. Par exemple, le mot eikôn de Gn 1, 26 est très souvent transcrit tel quel.5 4) La forme midrashique (ou plutôt pré-midrashique) de leurs écrits est prédominante, ce qui rend parfois malaisé le repérage des sources, outre la traduction.6 Les gnostiques ont en effet très souvent recours à une exégèse de type aggadique pour élaborer leur enseignement.7 5) Enfin, leur vision théologique de ce qui deviendra l’Ancien Testament influence la façon dont les textes sont transmis et explique le choix des passages bibliques, qui sont retenus en fonction de l’argumentation du texte. Leur exégèse est créée à partir d’intérêts apologétique, théologique ou liturgique. 4 Par exemple, il est possible qu’un passage du Témoignage Véritable (NH 9, 3, p. 45, 31–46, 2) provienne d’Aquila : citant Gen 3, 1, le serpent est dit être ousabe pe (= phronimôtatos lxx) para n=zwon throu et×zm pparadeisos = Aquila pantôn tôn zôôn, au lieu de pantôn tôn theriôn = lxx. Le contexte appelle une telle phrase : il n’est question ni de bêtes, ni de la terre. Le Traité Tripartite (NH 1, 5, p. 107, 10–16) utilise panourgos = Aquila (Pearson, Thomassen), au lieu de phronimos (lxx) : le serpent est le plus panourgos de toutes les Puissances mauvaises. Cf. Philon, Leg All II, 106 : le plaisir (hedone) est le serpent dans le paradis, tôn pantôn panourgôtaton, le plus perfide ou sournois de tous. Le Tripartite a une vision négative du serpent qui se rapproche de celle de Philon. En revanche, dans l’Écrit sans Titre (2, 5, p. 118, 25), le serpent est plus sage qu’eux tous (les archontes ?, tous les êtres) : psabe pararoou throu = Christ. 5 Sur la Bible copte, voir J. Trebolle Barrera, The Jewish and the Christian Bible (Leiden : Brill, 1998), 361 : les versions coptes de l’AT sont généralement des traductions du texte grec de la lxx. 6 Une question se pose également: y a-t-il eu des révisions chrétiennes ou judéochrétiennes de la Bible juive, ce qui pourrait expliquer certaines divergences dans les citations ? 7 Par exégèse de type « pré-midrashique » et « aggadique », j’entends ici celle que l’on trouve dans les littératures juive et chrétienne (grosso modo du 2e avant au 2e siècle après notre ère), dans les apocryphes et les pseudépigraphes, exégèse qui a joué un rôle dans l’apparition des premiers recueils midrashiques de la littérature rabbinique (midrashim des tannaïm et des amoraïm et le matériel aggadique dans la Mischna et la Tossefta). Très souvent, les communautés juives pré-rabbiniques ainsi que les premiers chrétiens montrent une grande liberté de création dans l’interprétation des parties non légales de la Bible, en retrouvant leur propre histoire dans le texte biblique et en actualisant celuici. L’exégèse aggadique se fonde alors parfois sur un silence du texte, sur un problème textuel ou encore sur une « anomalie ». Voir à ce sujet, Hebrew Bible, Old Testament. The History of Its Interpretation (vol. I/1 : Antiquity; éd. M. Sæbø; Göttingen : Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1996), chap. 7 ( J. M. Harris), 256–69.

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Deux critères peuvent être utilisés pour regrouper les textes gnostiques sur la question de l’exégèse de l’Ancien Testament:8 selon les techniques exégétiques utilisées ou selon leur relation avec les Écritures, c’est-àdire la vision théologique qu’ils expriment. Pour le premier critère, on distingue trois techniques exégétiques principales: la typologie, l’interprétation allégorique et les procédés de l’exégèse midrashique.9 Suivant le second critère, on peut déceler très généralement trois types de relation avec la Bible: a) les sources qui manifestent une polémique ouverte et un rejet, par exemple le Deuxième Traité du Grand Seth (NH 7, 2) et la Paraphrase de Sem (NH 7, 1) du même codex; b) celles qui interprètent positivement l’Ancien Testament, comme l’Exégèse de l’âme (NH 2, 6) et Eugnoste (NH, 3, 3 et 5, 1); c) celles qui manifestent une position médiane qui semble bien être la plus répandue.10 Cependant la question est complexe. Par exemple, chose étonnante, les textes ouvertement critiques envers l’Ancien Testament entretiennent en fait une polémique, non pas directement avec le judaïsme, mais avec d’autres chrétiens. Ce qui est en jeu est la christologie, l’interprétation des rites ainsi que l’organisation ecclésiale.11 Il est donc utile d’examiner la rhétorique d’une oeuvre afin de discerner le milieu dans lequel elle a circulé ainsi que les destinataires, si l’on veut comprendre son attitude par rapport à la Bible et l’interprétation qu’elle en donne. Essayer de 8 Voir les études de Filoramo et Gianotto, « L’interpretazione gnostica dell’AT », 53–74, et B.A. Pearson, The Emergence of the Christian Religion. Essays on Early Christianity (Harrisburg, PA : Trinity Press International, 1997), chap. 6. 9 Sur la manière dont est utilisée la Bible juive par les gnostiques, lire R.McL. Wilson, « The Gnostics and the Old Testament », Proceedings of the International Colloquium on Gnosticism: Stockholm, August 20–25, 1973 (ed. G. Widengren; Stockholm: Almqvist & Wiksell, 1977), 164–8 : soit une citation suivie d’un commentaire midrashique qui l’interprète, soit une paraphrase midrashique qui montre une connaissance du texte sans qu’il y ait citation, ou encore un usage rhétorique par lequel des textes de la Bible sont utilisés pour supporter une doctrine qui vient d’être développée ou une idée. 10 Cette position médiane pourrait être résumée par celle que l’on trouve dans la Lettre de Ptolémée à Flora dont l’intérêt est de traiter du rapport avec l’Ancien Testament. La plupart des textes adoptent cette vision sélective. Cependant la vision du démiurge peut être plus ou moins radicale et négative. 11 Le Deuxième Traité du Grand Seth (NH 7, 2) est toujours le texte cité pour le premier groupe. Le contexte général est celui d’une polémique contre la Grande Église, ou ce qui est en train de le devenir, et plus précisément contre la hiérarchie ecclésiale qu’il juge arrogante. Le texte prône à l’inverse l’égalité entre les membres, l’accent étant mis sur l’Esprit. Le texte conteste donc une Église qui se fonde sur la Bible juive pour démontrer sa vision du christianisme et justifier ainsi l’ancienneté de sa tradition et de son pouvoir (NH 7, 2, p. 62, 27ss.). Voir aussi la Paraphrase de Sem, 7, 1, p. 28, 14–19. La Paraphrase de Sem polémique contre le baptême d’eau, c’est-à-dire vraisemblablement contre des mouvements baptistes judéochrétiens et leur christologie.

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cerner la fonction d’un texte est également essentiel : par exemple, une oeuvre ayant une fonction cultuelle, ou associée à une liturgie, sera élaborée en conséquence. Écrite pour des initiés, elle n’adoptera pas un ton polémique. Il est donc difficile de déceler exactement sa vision théologique des Écritures. La relation aux Écritures n’est pas la même non plus selon le sujet ou le contenu. Les textes qui manifestent une attitude positive, comme l’Exégèse de l’âme (NH 2, 6) ou Eugnoste (NH, 3, 3 et 5, 1), abordent peu ou pas du tout la question du monde matériel et de ses Puissances.12 Eugnoste, par exemple, qui traite principalement du monde supérieur et du salut, donne une interprétation spirituelle du début de la Genèse.13 Une des caractéristiques de l’exégèse gnostique est en effet de proposer un double sens en rapport avec l’opposition platonicienne sens littéralsens spirituel, les deux sens correspondant respectivement au monde matériel et au monde spirituel. Le sens littéral donne une connaissance sur notre monde et, pour un même texte biblique, on peut ensuite passer à des significations plus profondes qui permettent d’entrevoir une autre région invisible. Ce qui fait donc problème est justement cette exégèse littérale, voir littéraliste, de la Bible, polémique dans le sens où elle laisse transparaître une vision pessimiste du monde d’en bas. Pourtant, c’est bien en ce monde que se produit le salut et ce monde est un mélange de lumière et de ténèbres. C’est pourquoi, même dans les écrits gnostiques qui en traitent directement, les interprétations positives

12 Un exemple d’appréciation extrêmement positive des Écritures juives se trouve dans l’Exégèse de l’âme (NH 2, 6). Les plus longs passages de l’Ancien Testament, en général reproduits de façon scrupuleuse, viennent des grands prophètes : Jérémie, Osée, Ézéchiel, Isaïe, Psaumes, Genèse. S’agit-il d’un texte « gnostique » ? La question a été posée plusieurs fois. Voir aussi pour la Pistis Sophia du codex Askew, Filoramo et Gianotto, « L’interpretazione gnostica dell’AT », 67ss. : citations nombreuses des Psaumes, paraphrases targoumiques ou commentaires proches des Pesharim de Qumran. 13 Eugnoste donne une interprétation spirituelle de type midrashique et allégorique. On note une grande cohérence dans l’organisation du texte du début jusqu’à la fin, marquée par la disposition rhétorique. Eugnoste propose une relecture du récit de Genèse 1–3 qui constitue en quelque sorte la trame dont il donne la clé de lecture et l’accomplissement. Il lui suffit cependant de citer quelques mots du texte biblique, le sens total devant être connu de ses lecteurs. Ce genre d’écriture suppose des lecteurs capables de saisir les allusions les plus fines ainsi que le contexte qui les entoure. L’interprétation suit le texte fondateur dans son déroulement, afin d’y retrouver un enchaînement logique, correspondant à un processus graduel qui va du caché au manifesté. L’akolouthia ou la recherche d’une signification cohérente du début à la fin est une des caractéristiques de l’exégèse philonienne. Le texte n’est pas cité mais il est ressaisi dans une histoire : on reprend sans le dire des termes, expressions, images dont on fait le matériel de son commentaire et qui se présentent comme les fragments d’une mosaïque.


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et négatives se côtoient. La position médiane est prédominante comme on l’a dit. Pour illustrer toute l’ambiguïté du rapport des gnostiques à la Bible,14 je voudrais examiner un exemple qui me semble caractéristique de cette position intermédiaire: l’Hypostase des Archontes, ou du moins un passage en particulier qui traite de l’anthropogonie. C’est un texte représentatif dans la mesure où d’autres sources gnostiques portent une exégèse apparentée, une interprétation à la fois littéraliste et spirituelle. 2. Un exemple représentatif : le récit de la création de l’homme dans l’Hypostase de Archontes (NH 2, 4) Lorsqu’on examine le récit anthropogonique de l’Hypostase des Archontes (HA), qui occupe les pages 87, 11 à 89, 17, deux traits en particulier retiennent l’attention. Alors qu’il se fonde manifestement sur le début de la Genèse pour élaborer son enseignement, l’auteur a opéré des bouleversements dans l’ordre de ce texte fondateur que ses lecteurs devaient certainement bien connaître. Ensuite, plusieurs des termes utilisés par lui ne proviennent pas de la Genèse, tout en étant parfaitement imbriqués. Il nous faut donc nous intéresser à l’intertexte, c’est-à-dire à l’ensemble des textes auxquels l’auteur se réfère.15 L’objectif n’est pas l’examen des sources en tant que telles, mais plutôt de la façon dont elles ont été intégrées et transformées. Autrement dit, analyser la fonction et la finalité de l’intertexte ainsi que des bouleversements que l’on peut observer dans la trame du récit de l’HA peut, sans doute, faciliter l’accès à ce texte si obscur sous certains aspects. Une citation de l’Épître aux Éphésiens sert d’incipit à l’ensemble.16 Ainsi que l’écrivait B. Barc, « En plaçant en exergue une citation de Paul (Ep 6, 11–12) le rédacteur invite le lecteur chrétien à voir dans les mythes d’origine de l’homme et des Archontes, l’expression symbolique du J’entends ici la partie qui deviendra l’Ancien Testament. L’intertextualité, au sens restreint, désigne les relations de coprésence ou d’inclusion entre deux textes (un texte A est à l’intérieur du texte B, par le biais de la citation, de l’allusion, de la référence ou du plagiat). 16 HA 86, 23–25 : « Nous ne combattons pas contre (des êtres) de chair et [de sang], mais contre les Puissances du mon[de] et les Esprits du mal », trad. B. Barc, L’Hypostase des Archontes. Traité gnostique sur l’origine de l’homme, du monde et des Archontes (NH II, 4), suivi de Noréa (NH IX, 2), par Michel Roberge, (BCNH, section « Textes » 5; Québec/Louvain: Presses de l’Université Laval/Éditions Peeters, 1980), 51. La traduction adoptée tout au long de cet article est celle de Barc, 51–61. 14 15

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combat spirituel dont parle l’apôtre ».17 L’HA apparaît ainsi comme un commentaire exégétique de ce verset de l’Épître aux Éphésiens. Ce commentaire prend la forme d’un récit qui en développe les implications. Après l’incipit, un exorde résume un épisode central de la théogonie, soit le blasphème de la Puissance à l’origine de l’organisation du monde inférieur, et revient avec insistance sur son aveuglement et son ignorance. Alors que, dans la seconde partie du texte, est donnée une synthèse de cette théogonie, le prologue ne fournit que les éléments indispensables pour comprendre le récit de la création de l’homme. C’est sur cette toile de fond que l’anthropogonie prendra sens. Par rapport à cette dernière, le résumé théogonique sert alors d’exposition, partie initiale du récit par laquelle l’auteur fait connaître les circonstances, les personnages et les faits qui ont préparé l’action qui va suivre. L’auteur-narrateur nous incite ainsi à dégager l’utilité structurale des informations ainsi que le type de renseignements contenus dans ce bref exposé: rien n’est dit sur la création des différents Archontes à l’œuvre dans le monde, ni sur le geste de la Sagesse divine qui l’a provoquée; seuls sont fournis les renseignements pouvant permettre de saisir les raisons de la création de l’homme. C’est l’arrogance de la Puissance matérielle originelle, affirmant être le seul Dieu, qui suscite une intervention d’en haut dont l’objectif est la manifestation du vrai Dieu : un Dieu qui prendra forme humaine. En ce sens, le blasphème de la Puissance est aussi en quelque sorte un élément déclencheur de l’action. Il explique l’intervention qui ouvre le récit anthropogonique, celle de l’« Incorruptibilité ». Son regard vers le bas provoque l’apparition d’une ressemblance humaine dans les eaux inférieures. Cette apparition est en fait le véritable élément déclencheur de l’anthropogonie elle-même. Le résumé théogonique évoque l’abaissement de cette Puissance originelle, l’organisation hiérarchique de ses fils sur le modèle du monde supérieur et ce, grâce à l’intervention de la Pistis Sophia, la Sagesse de la foi, qui fait en sorte que le manifesté soit organisé sur le modèle du caché. Il y a peut-être là une influence de l’Épître aux Hébreux (11, 1–3) qui souligne la distinction existant entre deux sphères de réalité : le monde réel, spirituel et invisible, seul monde digne de foi car il est stable, et le monde matériel, celui des réalités visibles. Selon cette épître, c’est par la pistis que l’on découvre que ce qui est visible est venu à l’existence à partir de ce qui est invisible. Dans l’HA, la fonction de la Sagesse

17

Barc, L’Hypostase des Archontes, 74.


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dans la formation de copies a pour but de montrer le caractère dérivé du monde et de ses Archontes qui ne se suffisent pas à eux-mêmes. La création est traitée comme une question théologique enseignant que ce monde est gouverné d’en haut. Avec les thèmes de l’arrogance et de l’aveuglement de la Puissance originelle ainsi que de sa déchéance, ce prologue fournit aux destinataires une clé de lecture ainsi que réconfort. Ils seront en mesure, s’ils sont attentifs, de saisir l’enseignement du texte, avec la possibilité de comprendre ce que les personnages du récit eux-mêmes ne perçoivent pas. Ces thèmes les placent dès le début dans une situation dominante par rapport aux Archontes. Le récit anthropogonique: prologue L’anthropogonie est elle-même précédée d’un court morceau (87, 11–23) lui servant de prologue et délimité par une inclusion, le thème central étant celui de l’apparition d’une image dans les eaux : Borne initiale : L’incorruptibilité regarda en bas, vers les régions des eaux. Sa ressemblance apparut dans les eaux. Et les Puissances des ténèbres la désirèrent, mais ne purent pas saisir cette ressemblance qui leur était apparue dans les eaux à cause de leur faiblesse – les psychiques en effet, ne peuvent saisir les spirituels— car elles sont d’en bas, alors qu’elle est d’en haut. Borne finale : C’est pourquoi l’incorruptibilité regarda en bas, vers les régions, afin d’unir, selon la volonté du Père, le Tout à la Lumière.

Par cette inclusion, dont les bornes mettent en lumière le rôle de l’« Incorruptibilité » personnifiée, le prologue a tout d’abord pour fonction de mettre en mouvement l’anthropogonie. C’est en effet la manifestation d’une ressemblance céleste dans les eaux d’en bas qui conduit les Puissances du monde inférieur à procéder à la création de l’homme, création qui est donc envisagée positivement. Ce geste d’une entité supérieure, qui constitue ce qu’on appelle la provocation ou l’élément déclencheur, est une réponse au blasphème de la Puissance, en vue de lui faire obstacle. Au centre de l’inclusion, ce qui les met en valeur, sont imbriquées deux références scripturaires, adaptées librement : la première est tirée de 1 Co 2, 14, l’autre de Jn 8, 23 : « les psychiques en effet, ne peuvent saisir les spirituels—car elles (les Puissances) sont d’en bas, alors qu’elle (la ressemblance) est d’en haut » (87, 17–19). Leur imbrication en transforme le sens, dans la mesure où ce sont les Puissances du monde ou les Archontes qui sont identifiés aux psychiques, dans le sens de la citation d’Ep 6, 11–12 qui sert d’incipit.

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Examinons maintenant les termes principaux de ce prologue ainsi que leur fonction. Tout d’abord, le mot « ressemblance » (en copte: eine) renvoie au passage de Gn 1, 26–27, sur la création de l’homme. C’est d’après cette ressemblance que les Puissances du monde inférieur façonnent l’homme à partir de la poussière du sol : celui de Gn 2, 7. Le modèle à l’origine de la création de l’homme matériel est donc également un humain, un humain céleste puisqu’il se penche vers le monde d’en bas, et dont la caractéristique est l’incorruptibilité. Il est en effet désigné par une métonymie qui met en lumière un de ses traits déterminants et laisse entrevoir sa fonction salvatrice. La distinction entre un homme céleste et un homme matériel incite à reconnaître, dans le mot « incorruptibilité », une allusion à 1 Co 15, 35–38 où, traitant de la résurrection, Paul distingue le corruptible et l’incorruptibilité: l’homme terrestre et le céleste dont nous porterons l’image, celui qui est âme vivante et celui qui est esprit vivifiant, plusieurs des principaux termes pauliniens se retrouvant dans le récit anthropogonique. La citation d’Ep 6, 11–12, qui forme l’incipit du texte, nous incline à aller dans ce sens. Il est possible que soit également évoqué Rm 1, 18–23, dans sa polémique contre ceux qui ont transformé la gloire du Dieu incorruptible contre une représentation, simple image d’homme corruptible, et axé lui aussi sur la différence entre l’invisible et le visible.18 Il n’est donc pas étonnant de retrouver au centre du passage la distinction paulinienne entre psychiques et pneumatiques. Voyant la ressemblance qui apparaît dans les eaux, les Puissances tentent de la saisir, mais en vain. L’explication qui suit : « les psychiques en effet, ne peuvent saisir les spirituels » (87, 17–19) est une citation libre de 1 Co 2, 14, selon lequel le psychique ne peut saisir ce qui est de l’Esprit de Dieu. Première constatation: l’homme ainsi apparu dans l’eau est le reflet d’un homme spirituel, ou de l’Esprit. C’est donc également Gn 1, 2, où l’Esprit se tient au-dessus des eaux, qui est rappelé. Le thème de

18 Outre ces versets pauliniens, on peut vraisemblablement reconnaître une allusion au passage de la Sagesse de Salomon 2, 23–24, qui explicite en termes d’incorruptibilité la formule de Gn 1, 26–27 : « Dieu a créé l’homme pour l’incorruptibilité et il l’a fait image de sa propre ressemblance » (ou de sa propre éternité « aidiotètos », ou encore, selon d’autres mss, de sa propre spécificité, « idiotètos »: voir M. Alexandre, Le commencement du Livre Genèse I–V. La version grecque de la Septante et sa réception, [CA 3; Paris: Beauchesne, 1988], 179). C’est un procédé courant chez les gnostiques que d’évoquer un texte sapientiel et un texte néo-testamentaire, afin de montrer la double activité de la Sagesse et de son conjoint, le Sauveur.


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l’apparition de l’image dans les régions inférieures est l’équivalent de celui de la descente d’une parcelle ou d’une goutte de Lumière spirituelle, en d’autres traités. 19 Dans un contexte similaire, celui du blasphème de l’Archonte, le Livre du Grand Esprit Invisible (NH 3, 2) évoque « la descente de l’image d’en haut » et rappelle que c’est « grâce au regard de l’image d’en haut » que « fut façonné le premier modelage » (59, 4–9). Dans l’HA, la borne finale de l’inclusion (87, 20–23) explique l’objectif de la manifestation dans les eaux : « unir le Tout à la Lumière », la réunification d’une collectivité dispersée, grâce à une illumination. Ensuite, le verbe « saisir » est répété deux fois,20 le texte jouant sur deux acceptions du mot : « comprendre », selon le sens paulinien, mais aussi « s’emparer de quelqu’un », pour caractériser la tentative des Puissances. Mais, ce faisant, le sens est transformé. Alors que chez Paul la distinction entre psychiques et pneumatiques s’applique à deux types d’hommes, dont l’un ne peut atteindre ou connaître l’autre, elle vise ici les Puissances du monde, du moins principalement.21 En outre, est ajouté en guise d’explication « car elles sont d’en bas, alors qu’elle (l’image) est d’en haut », presque un décalque de Jn 8, 22, où Jésus dit aux Pharisiens : « Vous, c’est d’en bas que vous êtes moi, c’est d’en haut que je suis ».22 L’identification des psychiques aux Puissances du monde qui désirent s’emparer de l’Homme céleste, dans un détournement de 1 Co 2, 14, et la liaison de ce dernier verset avec Jn 8, 22 qui désigne Jésus comme l’Homme d’en haut, sont, à mon avis, un signal envoyé au lecteur, un lecteur chrétien et averti: sous le couvert d’une anthropogonie, il est en fait question de l’histoire du Sauveur. De son baptême, avec l’accent mis sur la manifestation « dans l’eau », mais également de sa mort et de sa résurrection. C’est au baptême qu’est révélée la nature divine de Jésus, événement qui déclenche l’hostilité de la Puissance maléfique.

19 Voir par exemple, la Sagesse de Jésus-Christ, BG 119, 4–120, 3 (NH III, 4), texte établi, traduit et commenté par C. Barry (BCNH Section « Textes » 20; Québec : Presses de l’Université Laval, 1993). 20 En copte teze : lambanein ou katalambanein. 21 Sous le couvert des Puissances est certainement visé un groupe adverse, celui qui a tenté de « se saisir » de Jésus pour le mettre à mort. 22 La traduction adoptée est celle de La Bible de Jérusalem traduite en français sous la direction de l’École biblique de Jérusalem (nouvelle éd. revue et corrigée; Paris : Desclée de Brouwer, 1998), 2026.

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Et c’est au baptême que s’opère la jonction entre le divin et l’humain. La manifestation de la ressemblance céleste provoque la création du corps et de l’âme par les Puissances. Programmatique, le prologue fournit au lecteur une clé d’interprétation. Il suggère ce qu’on appelle un « horizon herméneutique » sur le fond duquel le reste du texte doit être lu. Il laisse entrevoir à la lumière de quels autres textes des Écritures les destinataires sont invités à comprendre le récit de la Genèse. S’abritant sous l’autorité de Paul, l’auteur propose une interprétation spirituelle de ce récit. Plus précisément, selon mon hypothèse, il donne du récit fondateur une interprétation typologique. Dans le christianisme ancien, la typologie est une forme d’exégèse qui discerne, dans les personnages et les événements de la Bible, des « types » qui anticipent le salut à venir en préfigurant la personne de Jésus et son œuvre de salut. Car son arrivée a ouvert les Écritures. Mais au lieu de la forme plus habituelle du commentaire exégétique, dans le texte gnostique l’interprétation prend celle d’un midrash de type haggadique.23 L’auteur amplifie et remanie le récit fondateur, afin d’en donner cette interprétation typologique. Autrement dit, il réécrit le récit de la création pour montrer, au-delà du sens apparent, la préfiguration des événements du salut. C’est cette hypothèse d’une lecture typologique des Écritures qui rend le mieux compte, selon moi, des transformations effectuées. Le déroulement du récit : actions et réactions En fonction du prologue, il nous faut donc être attentifs aux termes hétérogènes par rapport à ceux de la Genèse et tenter de déceler ceux qui, provenant des récits évangéliques, concernent les principaux événements du salut. Ils sont hétérogènes dans la mesure où ils proviennent d’autres sources que la Genèse, sans être pour autant séparables de leur contexte, contrairement aux gloses et interventions secondaires. Si mon hypothèse est juste, le traité gnostique ne peut avoir une cohérence et un sens sans le recours à ces autres textes. Plus encore, les bouleversements dans l’ordre des événements présentés dans la Genèse ne s’expliquent qu’en fonction d’une telle lecture spirituelle. Voici un plan schématique du récit de l’HA : (1) Création d’Adam: insufflation et descente de l’Esprit. (2) Rassemblement des « animaux » et

23

Voir à ce sujet la note 7.


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mise à l’épreuve d’Adam par les Archontes. (3) L’épisode du jardin : sommeil et éveil d’Adam, suivi de la manifestation de la femme spirituelle. (1) Création d’Adam: insufflation et descente de l’Esprit Ce premier volet est une interprétation de Gn 2, 7 (« Et Dieu façonna l’homme, poussière prise à la terre, et il souffla sur sa face un souffle de vie et l’homme devint être vivant »).24 Le narrateur met en scène les Archontes par l’entremise de qui est effectuée la création d’Adam. Deux expressions en particulier se détachent sur le fond du récit de la Genèse (« se saisir de » et « tenir conseil »). L’objectif de la fabrication du modelage d’Adam est clair: se saisir de l’Homme d’en haut (87, 33–34) et dans ce but il est rapporté que : « Les Archontes tinrent conseil . . . » ( 87, 23–24). Cela fait référence soit aux jours qui suivent la naissance de Jésus (Mt 2, 13ss.), soit aux événements qui précèdent la Passion : « Les grands prêtres et les Pharisiens réunirent alors un conseil » . . . « afin qu’on le saisit » ( Jn 11, 57; aussi Jn 10, 39 : « Ils cherchaient . . . à le saisir, mais il leur échappa des mains »).25 Chez Jn 11, 47, par exemple, l’hostilité vient du fait que Jésus se dit fils de Dieu et qu’il vient d’en haut. Selon l’HA, en accord avec la doctrine paulinienne (1 Co 2, 7ss.), l’opposition à Jésus est d’abord le fait des Archontes de cet éon. Ailleurs, dans les écrits du Nouveau Testament, la dénomination d’archontes s’applique d’abord aux responsables religieux (Lc 8, 41; 14, 1; 23, 13. 35; 24, 20; Ac 3, 17; 4, 5. 8, etc.), ceux-ci étant toutefois associés à leurs contreparties surnaturelles en certains cas. Toujours selon le texte gnostique, l’histoire du Christ est préfigurée dans les temps protogoniques, comme par exemple dans le Deuxième Traité du Grand Seth 53, 5–12, où l’Homme de la Vérité apparaît sous la forme de l’Adam façonné. L’objectif des Puissances est de tromper les hommes, de les détourner, par ce modelage, de la Grandeur des cieux qui est l’Homme céleste. À travers les figures des Puissances, les adversaires visés par ce dernier traité cherchent à montrer que le messie n’est qu’un homme charnel.26 24 La traduction du texte de la LXX est tirée de : La Bible d’Alexandrie. LXX, t. 1 : La Genèse, traduction du texte grec de la Septante, introduction et notes par M. Harl, avec la collaboration de M. Alexandre, C. Dogniez, G. Dorival, A. Le Boulluec, O. Munnich, P. Sandevoir, F. Vinel (Paris: Cerf, 1986), 100–10. 25 Trad. La Bible de Jérusalem, 2036 et 2033. 26 Voir L. Painchaud, Le Deuxième Traité du Grand Seth (NH VII, 2), texte établi et présenté par Louis Painchaud, (BCNH, section « Textes » 6; Québec/Louvain: Presses de l’Université Laval/Éditions Peeters, 1982), 93.

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Seconde « anomalie » par rapport à la Genèse, l’HA présente une double insufflation qui correspond à la distinction déjà évoquée entre psychiques et pneumatiques, bref entre deux sortes d’hommes. Le narrateur discerne en effet en Gn 2, 7 deux opérations. D’une part, une insufflation de la part de l’Archonte: « Et il souffla dans son visage et l’homme devint psychique, sur la terre pour longtemps » (88, 3–5). B. Barc note la suppression de l’expression « une haleine de vie », présente dans la Genèse, puisque la vie désigne l’état de spirituel selon la doctrine du traité.27 Le narrateur envisage les choses dans une perspective historique : ce n’est pas avant la venue du salut que les psychiques pourront être sauvés. Puis il revient à son récit fondateur. Malgré ce souffle donné à l’homme, qui se meut (en copte : kim) alors sur la terre, les Archontes ne parviennent pas à le faire se lever ou se dresser.28 Lu par un chrétien, le verbe connote l’idée de résurrection, à laquelle le psychique ne peut participer. D’autre part, est racontée la descente de l’Esprit sur Adam et en lui: « Après cela l’Esprit vit l’homme psychique sur la terre. Et l’Esprit sortit de la terre adamantine, il descendit, il habita en lui. Cet homme devint (alors) âme vivante. . . .Une Voix sortit de l’Incorruptibilité au sujet de l’Aide d’Adam » (HA 88, 11–19).29 Notons deux ajouts importants au texte de Genèse : la descente de l’Esprit, accompagnée d’une voix céleste, provenant de l’Incorruptibilité. Cette voix proclame la venue d’une aide pour Adam. La mention de l’aide d’Adam fait référence à Ève, selon Gn 2, 18 et 20 (« Il n’est pas bon que l’homme soit seul. Faisons lui une aide qui lui corresponde », Gn 2, 18). L’HA identifie celle-ci à l’Esprit, tout comme l’Apocryphon de Jean qui précise que c’est : « l’Esprit saint que l’on appelle Vie, la Mère de tous » (BG 8502 38, 10–11) . . . « l’Esprit saint que l’on appelle ‘Mère des vivants’ » (NH II 10, 18).30 L’Esprit est le souffle par lequel l’homme devient vivant, c’est-à-dire spirituel. L’HA partage avec d’autres textes gnostiques la métaphore d’une féminité transcendante de l’Esprit ainsi que celle d’un engendrement spirituel

Barc, L’Hypostase des Archontes, pp. 80–81. En copte twoun ainsi que la forme transitive tounos, qui correspond généralement au grec : anistanai, exanistanai ou egeirein : faire se lever, éveiller : voir W.C. Crum, A Coptic Dictionary (Oxford : Clarendon Press, 1972), 445–7. 29 Sur la terre adamantine comme monde ou paradis céleste, voir Barc, L’Hypostase des Archontes, 82. 30 Trad. M. Tardieu, Écrits gnostiques. Codex de Berlin (Sources Gnostiques et Manichéennes 1; Paris : Cerf, 1984). 108. L’identification de l’Esprit saint et de la Mère des vivants provient d’une exégèse associant Gn 1, 2 et Gn 3, 20. 27

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de l’homme par l’Esprit mère. Dans les récits évangéliques et dans la Bible en général, la voix correspond à une manifestation divine (Mc 1, 11; Mt 3, 17; Jn 5, 25, etc.), plusieurs versets soulignant le fait que l’on entend seulement la voix sans voir de forme (Deut 4, 12; Sag 18, 1). Dans ce passage de l’HA, l’Esprit reste invisible aux Archontes et il n’est pas encore communiqué. À mon avis, on peut y retrouver plusieurs éléments du baptême de Jésus dans les évangiles, soit la descente de l’Esprit, l’intervention d’une voix céleste et l’engendrement spirituel :31 « Et aussitôt, remontant de l’eau, il vit les cieux se déchirer et l’Esprit comme une colombe descendre vers lui, et une voix vint des cieux : ‘Tu es mon fils bien-aimé, tu as toute ma faveur » (Mc 1,10–11; voir aussi Lc 3, 22 : « moi aujourd’hui, je t’ai engendré »).32 Toutefois, une fois encore, dans l’HA comme dans les évangiles, l’Esprit n’est pas encore répandu et il reste invisible. (2) Rassemblement des « animaux » et mise à l’épreuve d’Adam par les Archontes Comparons les deux textes. Selon la Genèse : « Et Dieu façonna encore à partir de la terre tous les animaux sauvages des champs et tous les volatiles du ciel, et il les amena à Adam pour voir comment il les appellerait, et toute appellation qu’Adam donna à un être vivant, cela fut son nom. Et Adam donna des noms à tous les bestiaux et à tous les volatiles du ciel et à tous les animaux sauvages des champs, mais pour Adam il ne fut pas trouvé d’aide semblable à lui » (Gn 2, 19–20). L’HA résume cette fois l’histoire : « Et les Archontes rassemblèrent toutes les bêtes de la terre et tous les oiseaux du ciel, ils les amenèrent à Adam pour voir comment Adam les appellerait <et il> donna un nom à chacun des oiseaux et à tous les animaux » (HA 88, 19–24). On peut constater, avec l’éditeur B. Barc, que le narrateur remplace le mot « façonner » par « rassembler ».33 Il n’est nullement question ici d’une création. Ensuite, deux passages sont supprimés: Gn 2, 19b où les animaux sont appelés « âmes vivantes », expressions qui désignent les spirituels selon l’HA; et Gn 2, 20b : « Mais pour Adam on ne trouva 31 Certains spécialistes du NT ont d’ailleurs relevé le parallèle entre le récit du Baptême de Jésus et les traditions reliées à la création, par exemple l’Esprit de Dieu planant sur les eaux (Gn 1, 2) et la colombe du Baptême : voir C. Grappe, « Baptême de Jésus des premiers chrétiens », RHPR 73 (1993/4), 378, n. 25. 32 Trad. La Bible de Jérusalem, p. 1902, 1943 et 2006. Cf. Ps 2, 7; voir aussi Jn 1, 32–33. 33 Barc, L’Hypostase des Archontes, 84–6, qui note aussi l’inversion entre l’ordre de présentation des animaux par les Archontes et l’ordre d’imposition des noms par Adam.

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pas d’aide », inacceptable puisque Adam a déjà reçu cette Aide. Enfin, cette scène est une mise à l’épreuve d’Adam par les Archontes. L’Écrit sans Titre raconte le même épisode sous une forme comparable, mais en l’explicitant : « quand les archontes virent leur Adam avait accédé à une connaissance autre, ils voulurent le mettre à l’épreuve. Ils rassemblèrent tous les animaux. . . . » (Ecr sT 120, 17–20).34 Barc note encore que la signification du geste des Archontes est claire dans l’Écrit sans Titre : nommer les animaux et les oiseaux signifie connaître la différence entre la lumière et les ténèbres, cette dernière formule n’étant elle-même qu’une exégèse de Gn 3, 5 : « Vous serez comme des dieux, connaissant le bien et le mal » ou, selon les termes de ce traité, connaissant la différence entre les mauvais et les bons (Ec sT 119, 3–4). Dans l’HA, la réécriture introduit également une opposition entre bêtes de la terre et oiseaux du ciel qui n’existait pas dans le texte biblique. Grâce à l’Esprit, Adam possède l’autorité qui lui permet de distinguer ceux qui proviennent de la terre de ceux qui viennent du ciel, nommant ces derniers un à un, alors que les autres ne le sont que globalement, par opposition. Il s’agit d’un rassemblement lors duquel a lieu un jugement qui discrimine les uns des autres. Le fait qu’Adam soit en mesure de les nommer montre sa domination sur tous, y compris les Archontes, qui lui est conférée parce qu’il est devenu « à la ressemblance de Dieu », masculin et féminin (Gn 1, 26–27). Cela ne peut se faire que parce qu’il tire son autorité du ciel. Enfin, autre « anomalie », l’auteur passe directement de Gn 2, 7 à Gn 2, 19–20, sans mentionner l’épisode du jardin (Gn 2, 15–17). La présentation des « animaux » et l’imposition des noms n’ont donc pas lieu dans le jardin. Ce n’est qu’à la suite de cette épreuve qu’a lieu l’annonce de la mort pour qui mangera de l’arbre de la connaissance et dans ce jardin où il va alors entrer, Adam s’endort. Autrement dit, l’auteur intervertit les deux épisodes et place Gn 2, 18–20 avant Gn 2, 15–17. Ces dissonances par rapport au texte biblique ont encore une fois pour but d’attirer l’attention du lecteur, en faisant appel à son expérience des textes sacrés. Plus précisément, de susciter dans son esprit soit une association avec le récit de la tentation de Jésus par Satan après 34 Trad. L. Painchaud, L’Écrit sans Titre. Traité sur l’origine du monde (NH II, 5 et XIII, 2 et Brit. Lib. Or. 4926 [1]), avec deux contributions de W.-P. Funk (BCNH, section « Textes » 21; Québec/Louvain: Presses de l’Université Laval/Éditions Peeters, 1995), 199–201.


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son baptême, soit avec les récits de mise à l’épreuve qui jalonnent son ministère public, le premier étant en quelque sorte la préfiguration des seconds. Dans les deux cas, il s’agit, suite à la descente de l’Esprit, de tester l’origine céleste de Jésus. Pour le premier épisode de tentation, l’Évangile de Marc plus particulièrement met en scène des entités terrestres et célestes : alors que « l’Esprit le pousse au désert », Jésus est alors tenté par Satan et « il était avec les bêtes sauvages, et les anges le servaient » (Mc 1, 12–13). La mention des bêtes évoque la domination sur les animaux, avec l’espérance messianique du retour à l’harmonie paradisiaque, le service des anges, la protection contre la tentation.35 Dans les récits de mise à l’épreuve de Jésus par les notables juifs, le mot « rassemblement » est important. L’usage du verbe συνάγω (équivalent grec de swouz ezoun) y est fréquent pour désigner les foules qui se réunissent autour de Jésus. Au milieu d’elles se distinguent les apôtres et les adversaires (Mc 2, 2; 4, 1; 5, 21; 6, 30, les apôtres; 7, 1, scribes et pharisiens). C’est lors de ces rassemblements qui ont lieu entre le Baptême et la Passion que Jésus appelle à lui ceux qu’il veut et leur donne nom (Mc 3, 13–19). Cette élection préfigure celle qui aura lieu lors du grand rassemblement eschatologique de toutes les nations, qui marquera la séparation des uns et des autres (Mt 25, 31). Chez Matthieu particulièrement, le verbe συνάγω se caractérise par un contexte hostile à Jésus et il est associé à la mise à l’épreuve (Mt 26, 3. 57; aussi Mt 16, 1; 19, 3). Il désigne dans les parties narratives tout rassemblement en vue d’une consultation ou d’un jugement, avec pour sujet majoritairement les autorités juives.36 C’est alors que le narrateur introduit l’épisode de l’entrée d’Adam dans le jardin « pour qu’il le travaille et pour qu’il le garde » (Gn 2, 15). Selon B. Barc, les « Archontes vont s’efforcer d’arracher d’Adam cet Esprit qui l’habite, d’abord en l’enfermant dans le Paradis, puis en lui donnant un commandement de mort (88, 26–89, 3), enfin en le plongeant dans le sommeil de l’ignorance » (89, 3–11). 37 Bref, les 35 Voir C.A. Steiner, « Le rôle du prologue de Marc », Intertextualités. La Bible en échos (éd. D. Marguerat et A. Curtis; MDB 40; Genève: Labor et Fides, 2000), 170–1, sur les parallèles entre le récit du Commencement et les récits évangéliques. 36 Cf. P. Keith, « À propos de Matthieu 22, 34 : L’histoire à l’ombre du texte. Négligence, fiction ou intertextualité ? De quelle histoire et de quel texte parler ? », Intertextualités. La Bible en échos (éd. D. Marguerat et A. Curtis éd.; MDB 40; Genève: Labor et Fides, 2000), 129. 37 Barc, L’Hypostase des Archontes, 87.

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Archontes cherchent à le faire mourir, à tuer l’Esprit en lui, pour qu’il ne soit plus qu’un être hylique et, dans ce but, ils « tinrent conseil » (Mt 26, 3–4, etc.). L’épisode du paradis est donc interprété négativement, comme une tentative d’enfermement. Il est possible que l‘auteur ait identifié le jardin, avec ses arbres, à la Loi et ses préceptes, ainsi que l’ont fait bon nombre de commentateurs anciens, tant juifs que chrétiens, intrigués par la double tâche confiée à Adam (Gn 2, 15). Adoptant une interprétation allégorique, plusieurs ont compris ce verset dans le sens de : rendre un culte selon la Loi et garder ses commandements.38 À leur insu, les paroles des Archontes sont prophétiques : « Ils [lui disent] cela sans comprendre ce qu’ils lui [ont dit]. Mais c’est par la volonté du Père qu’ils ont dit cela de cette façon, afin qu’il mange. . . . », comme le montre un peu plus loin le récit qui raconte la manducation et l’ouverture des yeux de l’Adam et de l’Ève psychiques, ancêtres de tous les psychiques sur la terre (89, 31–90, 19). Il y a alors séparation d’avec l’Adam hylique, qui meurt en eux, et donc Vie du spirituel, accès à la connaissance. C’est pourquoi est interdit par les Archontes le « bois » de la connaissance qui seul permet la compréhension du sens spirituel de la Loi. Chez les chrétiens, au plan symbolique, de multiples correspondances se sont établies entre le récit du jardin et la Passion et la Résurrection du Christ, particulièrement à travers le motif du « bois » de la croix et de l’eucharistie.39 (3) Sommeil et éveil d’Adam : manifestation de la femme spirituelle Les Archontes tinrent conseil les uns avec les autres, ils dirent: « Allons ! faisons tomber un sommeil sur Adam ». Et il s’endormit. Or le sommeil, c’est l’ignorance qu’ils ont amenée sur lui; et il s’endormit. Ils ouvrirent son côté semblable à une femme vivante et ils construisirent son côté en chair, pour la remplacer. Et Adam devint entièrement psychique. Et la Femme spirituelle vint vers lui, elle parla avec lui, elle dit : « Lève-toi, Adam ! » Et lorsqu’il la vit, il dit: « Tu es celle qui m’a donné la vie; on t’appellera la Mère des vivants » (89, 3–15). . . . elle devint arbre . . . (89, 25).40

38 Pour les références anciennes, chez Philon et dans les Targum, voir M. Alexandre, Le commencement du Livre, 267–8. 39 Sur ces multiples correspondances, voir M. Alexandre, Le commencement du Livre, 51–8. Par exemple, l’arbre de la connaissance a été identifié à la sagesse ou la Torah ou encore situé dans une perspective messianique (Is 65, 22). 40 Barc, L’Hypostase des Archontes, 57, et comm. 91: traduction légèrement remaniée. Je traduis le verbe ouwn par « ouvrir » (Ils ouvrirent son côté), en suivant Crum, A Coptic Dictionary, 482–3.


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Cet extrait suit généralement la trame narrative de Gn 2, 21–22, Gn 3, 4–5 et Gn 3, 20: Et Dieu jeta un égarement sur Adam et il l’endormit; et il prit un de ses côtés et il substitua de la chair à sa place. Et le Seigneur Dieu édifia le côté qu’il avait pris à Adam pour en faire une femme et il l’amena à Adam. Et Adam dit : « C’est maintenant l’os de mes os et la chair de ma chair, celle-ci sera appelée femme parce que c’est de son homme qu’elle a été prise » [Gn 2, 21–23].

Ensuite a lieu l’épisode du serpent et de la manducation de l’arbre interdit, dont les fruits sont mortifères, ce qui occasionne la chute et la malédiction divine (Gn 3, 17–19) : Ève enfantera ses enfants dans la souffrance et Adam retournera à la terre d’où il a été pris « parce que tu es terre et que tu t’en iras dans la terre », lui dit Dieu. « Et Adam donna à sa femme le nom de Vie parce qu’elle est la mère de tous les vivants » (Gn 3, 20).41 L’auteur du traité a encore effectué plusieurs transformations dont l’une des plus évidentes est le déplacement de Gn 3, 20 : la déclaration d’Adam, située après la chute dans la Genèse, est mise dans sa bouche bien avant, au sortir de son sommeil : c’est alors qu’il attribue à sa femme le nom de « Vie » et celui de mère. Ève n’est plus subordonnée à Adam, mais elle est celle qui l’éveille et le rend vivant. De plus, dans l’ensemble du passage, il est possible de déceler des « anomalies » par rapport au texte biblique, qui présentent des similitudes entre elles, une série de mots contraignant le lecteur à recourir à un intertexte : par exemple le terme « psychique » qui caractérise Adam dans son sommeil. L’auteur reprend encore une fois l’opposition paulinienne entre l’homme psychique, incapable de saisir les réalités spirituelles, et l’homme pneumatique ou spirituel (1 Co 2, 12–16). Le sommeil d’Adam est identifié à l’état d’ignorance du psychique. De nouveau, il propose une interprétation typologique, reprenant la « traduction » que la Bible grecque donne du nom de la première femme. En effet, le grec utilise le nom de Zoè, la « vie », pour rendre le jeu étymologique de l’hébreu entre le nom d’Ève et l’idée de vie. Or, dans la Genèse, l’appellation de « Vie » et de « mère des vivants » est donnée après la chute. Elle désigne Ève comme l’origine des générations humaines qui vivront dans la douleur et la mort, en dehors du paradis. Mais selon le midrash gnostique, lors du sommeil d’Adam, il y a

41

Trad. La Bible d’Alexandrie. LXX, t. 1 : La Genèse, 104–10.

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« ouverture » de son « côté ». C’est alors que se révèle la « Vie », ici identifiée avec l’incorruptibilité, terme paulinien étroitement lié à la résurrection (1 Co 15, 42 et 52–54). Une Ève spirituelle, ou l’Esprit, apparaît au moment de la mort en Adam de l’homme psychique et charnel et de sa séparation d’avec lui. C’est alors qu’elle engendre spirituellement un autre type d’homme en lui disant : « Lève-toi, Adam ! ». Chez les chrétiens anciens, selon la typologie d’Ep 5, 31–32, un sens spirituel était donné au sommeil d’Adam: il préfigurait la mort du Christ qui, lors de sa Passion, laisse sortir l’Esprit de son côté ouvert, ce qui est le commencement de la résurrection pour l’Église ( Jn 19, 34).42 En un renversement parodique, le sommeil destiné à faire mourir spirituellement Adam est ce qui va permettre le salut en libérant l’Esprit. Adam préfigure à la fois le Christ et une collectivité spirituelle enfantée par l’Esprit. Il déclare qu’Ève est sa mère mais aussi qu’elle sera appelée « mère des vivants », ce qui établit une équivalence entre lui et l’ensemble de ces vivants. Il y a tension entre le « déjà là » et le « pas encore » : la fonction de la prolepse est ainsi de révéler au lecteur l’accomplissement du salut, dans la mesure où il est préfiguré dans la Bible. Comme le Fils de l’Homme, Adam est inséparable de la communauté messianique à venir. Il était également essentiel pour l’auteur de marquer l’analogie : de même qu’il y eut engendrement du Fils sans accouplement, celui-ci étant Fils de la femme, ainsi Ève estelle décrite comme « vierge », puisqu’elle n’a pas encore connu Adam. L’Esprit peut être conçu à la fois comme « mère » qui enfante le Fils au baptême et ensuite ses membres; comme « épouse », en tant qu’il s’identifie à la communauté qui forme ainsi un seul souffle, un seul corps, avec le Christ; comme « fille », puisque manifesté et répandu par lui à la résurrection. Puis l’Esprit se fait arbre dans le Paradis (Gn 3, 8).43 Toute mention d’un « bois » est une annonce de la croix chez

42 Tertullien, De Anima, 21, 2; Adversus Marcionem III, 5, 4 et V, 18, 8–9; Hilaire, De Mysteriis I, 3. 43 L’Écrit sans Titre raconte le même épisode en se montrant, cette fois encore, plus explicite: l’Ève spirituelle obscurcit les yeux des Archontes et elle entre dans l’arbre de la connaissance : « Elle leur parut être entrée dans l’arbre et s’être faite arbre. Pris d’une grande crainte, les aveugles s’enfuirent » (116, 29–33). L’Esprit pénètre dans l’arbre de la connaissance et devient nourriture de vie, arbre de Vie, pour ceux qui le mangent. Selon L’HA, c’est alors qu’Ève présente aux Puissances du monde son « ombre », qui est à son « image », que les Puissances corrompent abominablement (89, 19–30). Le thème de l’Esprit et de l’aveuglement, ainsi que celui de l’arbre de la connaissance associé aux termes « ombre » et « image », suggèrent que c’est du texte biblique dont il est question dans ce passage : du voilement de son sens véritable et de sa corruption.


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les premiers chrétiens, celle-ci n’ayant plus valeur de mort mais de vie et de connaissance. Le narrateur gnostique poursuit en ce sens dans le reste de son traité, en abordant entre autres l’épisode du serpent dans l’arbre qu’il conclut ainsi : « Depuis ce jour, le serpent fut sous la malédiction des Puissances. Jusqu’à ce que vienne l’Homme parfait cette malédiction a pesé sur le serpent » (HA 90, 34–91, 3). Il y intègre une double référence scripturaire : Ga 3, 10 : « Le Christ nous a rachetés de cette malédiction de la Loi, devenu lui-même malédiction pour nous, car il est écrit : Maudit quiconque pend au gibet » (Deut 21, 23) et Ep 4, 13, où les croyants sont appelés à collaborer à l’« édification » du corps du Christ, à ne faire plus qu’un avec lui, en un seul Esprit (Gn 2, 24), pour constituer l’« Homme parfait ». Il aborde également le thème de la manducation des fruits de l’arbre de la connaissance, thématique interprétée sans doute en un sens eucharistique. L’auteur-narrateur connaît les procédés de l’exégèse juive traditionnelle et, s’il suit la Genèse, son récit est truffé d’allusions à des textes chrétiens ainsi qu’à des événements fondateurs du christianisme, comme le baptême et la résurrection. C’est un chrétien qui interprète le début de la Genèse à partir des écrits néo-testamentaires, du moins à partir de certains d’entre eux. Il fait appel à la mémoire du lecteur qui connaît à l’avance tous ces textes. Quel est son but? Montrer que le message chrétien était déjà présent sous le texte biblique, voilé et caché. Le salut est préfiguré en Adam, mais seuls peuvent le discerner ceux qui possèdent l’Esprit. L’auteur-narrateur désire donner à ses lecteurs une compréhension spirituelle de la Genèse. Il conteste une exégèse littérale qui n’y verrait que le récit d’une création purement matérielle, sans espoir de salut. Il y a donc à la fois reconnaissance de l’autorité du texte biblique et contestation, continuité et rupture. L’ambiguïté de la relation s’explique historiquement: jusqu’au milieu du IIe siècle de notre ère, il n’existe, pour les premiers chrétiens, qu’une Écriture inspirée et sacrée, et c’est la Bible, qui sera nommée par la suite l’Ancien Testament. Mais la « lettre » de l’Écriture, c’est-à-dire l’interprétation juive, est alors conçue comme « ombre » et « figure » des réalités à venir.

L’arbre de la connaissance a souvent été identifié à la Torah par les commentateurs anciens, et les mots image et ombre font partie du vocabulaire de l’interprétation figurative. Si en effet l’auteur se doit de reconstituer la Genèse véritable, en bouleversant et transformant le texte biblique, c’est qu’à son avis ce dernier a été corrompu. Sinon, aucune préfiguration ne peut y apparaître clairement.

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À cette fin, l’auteur effectue une amplification narrative. La réécriture se présente et comme une amplification et comme une interprétation dans le texte gnostique qui adopte, pour ce faire, une forme littéraire connue dans le judaïsme et le christianisme ancien: celle du midrash haggadique. Il reprend ainsi, sans le dire, des termes, expressions, images bibliques dont il fait le matériau de son commentaire. En utilisant la forme midrashique, l’auteur ne se contente toutefois pas d’amplifier, de combler les lacunes, ou d’exploiter les silences du texte biblique : il le transforme en un sens particulièrement subversif. 3. L’exégèse gnostique ou la construction identitaire du soi et de l’autre Afin de bien saisir les enjeux de l’interprétation polémique dans l’Hypostase des Archontes et d’autres textes, précisons que celle-ci touche les parties de l’Ancien Testament qui traditionnellement soit étaient problématiques, soit faisaient l’objet de critiques, particulièrement de la part des philosophes. Quels sont ces passages problématiques? C’est par exemple le pluriel de Gn 1, 26–27 que le Livre des Jubilées interprète comme une référence aux anges qui aident Dieu lors de la création ( Jub 3, 4). On peut souligner à ce propos l’embarras d’un Philon d’Alexandrie qui, en évoquant les deux Puissances de Dieu lui servant de médiatrices pour administrer le cosmos, confesse que la vérité à propos de ce passage, Dieu seul la connaît (Opif 72; Fug 68). Autres exemples : la prédiction de Gn 2, 17 qui interdit de manger de l’arbre sous peine de mort. Or, non seulement le couple n’est pas mort, mais Adam et Ève ont donné la vie; Gn 2, 19 où Dieu présente les animaux à Adam, passage qui semble montrer un Dieu qui doute et n’a aucune prescience (voir Philon, Qaest Gen 1, 21); Gn 3, 7 où il est écrit que leurs yeux s’ouvrirent, alors qu’Adam et Ève ont mangé du fruit de l’arbre défendu; Gn 3, 8 en lequel Dieu demande où est Adam; Gn 3, 14–19 sur les malédictions de Dieu : malédiction du serpent, de la terre et même du couple; Gn 3, 22 où Dieu dit : « Voici, Adam est devenu comme l’un de nous pour connaître le bien et le mal »,44 puis l’empêche de manger de l’arbre de vie; Es 6, 10 où Dieu fait en sorte d’aveugler l’intelligence de son peuple. D’autres épisodes comme celui du déluge montrent pareilles difficultés. 44 Trad. La Bible d’Alexandrie. LXX, t. 1 : La Genèse, traduction du texte grec de la Septante, introduction et notes par M. Harl et alii, 110.


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La plupart des passages difficiles correspondent parfaitement à ceux qu’ont relevés des philosophes comme Celse dans son Logos véritable (voir Origène, Contre Celse, 4, 36–40, 71–73; 6, 29, 58, 61; 4, 38, 48–51, 89), Julien l’Empereur, dans le Contre les Galiléens (75a, 93e, 160d) ou encore Porphyre, Contre les chrétiens. Ce sont avant tout les anthropomorphismes qui sont dénoncés, un langage inadéquat selon eux pour parler du divin, et ce qui leur semble un manque de contrôle de Dieu sur sa propre création : Dieu plantant un jardin, Dieu jaloux, en colère, se repentant d’avoir fabriqué ses créatures, puis changeant d’idée au déluge. Julien se demande par exemple pourquoi Dieu aurait voulu dénier aux humains la puissance de discriminer entre le bien et le mal (Contre les Galiléens 89a). Il conclut qu’un tel Dieu est envieux et il cite Ex 20, 5 et Deut 5, 9 (Contre les Galiléens 93e, 155c–d). Les philosophes, on le voit, font une lecture littéraliste du texte biblique. Or, ce sont ces mêmes critiques que l’on discerne dans plusieurs écrits gnostiques, comme l’Hypostase des Archontes, l’Apocryphon de Jean, l’Écrit sans titre ou encore le Témoignage véritable.45 Ils sont polémiques envers des passages qui présentaient traditionnellement des difficultés exégétiques. Cependant, leur rapport aux Écritures n’est pas le même que celui des philosophes. Ils ne rejettent pas l’ensemble de la Bible juive. Pourtant, comme les philosophes, les auteurs gnostiques refusent d’allégoriser de tels passages, et ils n’emploient pas habituellement les stratégies herméneutiques utilisées par les juifs et les autres chrétiens, pour résoudre ces difficultés. Que ce soit dans le judaïsme ou le reste du christianisme, on tentait de trouver une solution à de telles « anomalies ». Le genre littéraire des questions et réponses, adopté par un Philon d’Alexandrie dans ses Questions sur la Genèse, avait pour but de résoudre les apories de l’Écriture, mais aussi de répondre à des attaques provenant vraisemblablement de son entourage. Réécritures midrashiques, paraphrases, corrections même du texte témoignent de cet effort. Mais avant tout, c’est le recours à l’allégorie qui permit de « sauver » ces passages bibliques.

45 Voir par exemple, le Témoignage véritable du codex 9 : « De quelle sorte est donc ce Dieu-là ? Premièrement, [il] a envié à Adam de m[a]nger de l’arbre de la g[no]se; et deuxièmement, il a dit : {Adam, où es-tu ?’. Dieu n’a donc pas la prescience, c’està-dire qu’il ne savait pas dès le début. E[t] ensuite il [a] dit : ‘Jet[o]ns-le [hors] d’i[c]i, afin qu’il [ne] mange [pas] de l’Arbre de la Vie et ne vive pas éternellement !’. Mais s’il s’est révélé (ici) lui-même comme un méchant envieux, alors quelle sorte de Dieu est-ce là ? » (47, 14–48, 2) : éd. et trad. A. et J.P. Mahé (BCNH Section « Textes », 23; Québec/Louvain : Presses de l’Université Laval/Éditions Peeters, 1996), 112–13.

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Face aux critiques des adversaires de l’allégorie, Philon répond qu’il y a dans l’Écriture des indices, des signes qu’il nomme des aphormai, avertissant le lecteur que le texte doit être compris autrement (Leg all 1, 43). Quels sont ces indices? C’est avant tout le caractère paradoxal ou absurde du sens littéral. Ce peut être une contradiction interne46 ou une obscurité du texte qui le rend incompréhensible, l’étrangeté, l’apparence mythique, les erreurs historiques ou logiques et les apories. Mais, avant tout, il faut éviter les anthropomorphismes. Selon Philon, c’est lorsqu’elles s’appliquent à Dieu que les anomalies, les incohérences ou les étrangetés deviennent les plus significatives de l’allégorie.47 À sa suite, Origène a conscience d’une dégradation entre la pensée et son incarnation en parole. Au livre quatre de son Traité des Principes, consacré à l’exégèse, il reconnaît des impossibilités de sens dans l’Ancien Testament, des contradictions et des discordances. Mais, écrit-il, cela est nécessaire. La Sagesse divine fit en sorte de produire des pierres d’achoppement et des interruptions dans la trame du récit historique (IV, 2, 9). Et cela afin de signaler qu’il ne faut pas en rester au sens apparent, qu’il faut poursuivre le chemin de la recherche d’un sens plus profond. Ce sont des « pierres d’achoppement » (cf. Es 8, 14; Rm 9, 33) qui ont une fonction utile, car elles sont le signe de l’invisible.48 Au début de ce quatrième livre du Traité des Principes, Origène passe donc en revue pour les critiquer tous les littéralistes dont les plus dangereux sont selon lui les gnostiques. Les affirmations sur Dieu, si on les prend telles quelles sans les allégoriser, donnent une image dégradée de Dieu. Origène sait très bien que les gnostiques donnent également une interprétation spirituelle de l’Écriture. Ce qu’il vise, c’est vraisemblablement le type d’interprétation que l’on peut voir à l’œuvre dans l’Hypostase des Archontes. Toutefois, selon les gnostiques, il n’est pas possible de soumettre toute la Bible juive à l’allégorie. Des motifs théologiques motivent une telle attitude. Si la Loi est l’image de la Vérité, si elle contient l’Esprit à son insu, elle est aussi un mélange. Dans plusieurs cas, on peut interpréter un 46 Par exemple, en Leg all 1, 33, Philon trouve contradictoire la menace de mort proférée contre Adam (Gn 2, 17) et la continuation de sa vie, et plus loin le fait qu’Adam se couvre d’un vêtement (Gn 3, 7) et l’affirmation de sa nudité (Leg all 3, 18, 55). 47 Voir J. Pépin, La tradition de l’allégorie de Philon d’Alexandrie à Dante (Paris, 1987), 34–40, et H. J. Vogt, « Origen of Alexandria », dans Ch. Kannengiesser, Handbook of Patristic Exegesis: The Bible in Ancient Christianity (BAC 1; Leiden/Boston: Brill, 2004), 1.536–54. 48 Origène, Philocalie 1, 16 = Traité des Principes IV, 2,9.


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même passage différemment, suivant différents degrés. On peut trouver le vrai Dieu dans la Bible, et le Sauveur qui est le véritable démiurge du cosmos.49 Dans les écrits qui manifestent une position médiane, à la fois positive et négative, par rapport aux Écritures, ce n’est pas la Loi en tant que telle qui est attaquée.50 Mais certaines des parties de la Bible contiennent des choses indignes ou contradictoires sur Dieu. Dans ce cas, seul le sens littéral est possible. Autrement dit, ces passages sont vrais en ce sens qu’ils apportent une certaine connaissance sur la création et l’état du monde. Si on lit certaines de ses parties de façon littérale, elles révèlent quelque chose sur les Puissances qui le domine. Cependant, outre les motifs théologiques, il est également probable que des questions identitaires sont en jeu. Il me semble difficile de comprendre la vision gnostique du démiurge ainsi que le motif du blasphème de la Puissance matérielle en dehors d’un contexte de menace identitaire, menaces ressenties tant par les juifs que les chrétiens. Ce qui est en question, dans ce type d’interprétation, est la construction identitaire du soi et de l’autre. Ce contexte de confrontation mutuelle est susceptible d’expliquer pourquoi les fondements mêmes de l’identité groupale juive, comme la Loi et les déclarations monothéistes, sont ainsi attaqués. Pour les gnostiques, ces déclarations prennent alors le sens d’une affirmation arrogante et menaçante contre l’idée de l’existence du Fils, d’une seconde figure demeurant auprès de Dieu. Elle ne peut donc pas provenir du Dieu véritable.

Dans les sources gnostiques directes et indirectes, le Logos, ou le second Principe en tant que Sauveur, est désigné comme le véritable démiurge du cosmos, avec la Sagesse. C’est lui qui en fournit le modèle. Voir par exemple Extrait de Théodote 47, 1; Irénée, Contre les hérésies I, 5, 1; II, 6, 3, etc., et l’Hypostase des Archontes 87, 10–11 : le manifesté a été conçu à partir du caché. 50 Un traité comme l’HA par exemple et d’autres du même type font la distinction entre la figure de Sabaoth et la ou les Puissances à l’œuvre dans le monde. Le premier représente la Loi. Celle-ci étant une image du monde supérieur, elle est susceptible de conduire à ce monde. 49

SCRIPTURE FOR A LIFE OF PERFECTION. THE BIBLE IN LATE ANTIQUE MONASTICISM: THE CASE OF PALESTINE Lorenzo Perrone The Bible and Early Monastic Culture: From Egypt to Palestine It is no longer a matter of controversy that early Christian monasticism had something to do with the Bible. Though its way of life, at first sight, was not explicitly prescribed by the Scriptures, from its very beginnings monasticism has found in them a permanent source of inspiration, so much so that it came to regard itself as the most accomplished fulfillment of the Gospel.1 At present scholarly disputes are rather focused on the definition of the cultural context in which the Bible has come to play such a decisive role: have we still to accept the idea of a substantial and yet exclusive ‘biblicism’—as represented especially in the Sayings of the Desert Fathers—or should we consider the reception of the Bible within Egyptian monasticism as intimately rooted in the exegetical and theological tradition of Alexandria?2 In other words, did the monks’ faithful attachment to the message of the Bible as the ‘manifesto’ of their own conduct not prevent them from approaching the Scriptures in a larger doctrinal framework, as we see first and foremost in Evagrius Ponticus, who incidentally should not be regarded anymore as an isolated experience? In this case, the traditional emphasis on orality as the dominant feature of early monastic culture should be toned down in order to allow for a greater familiarity with the written word.3 The debate concerning these issues is still open, even 1 The central place of the Bible within the monastic movement was vindicated by H. Dörries (“Die Bibel im ältesten Mönchtum,” TLZ 72 [1947], 215–22, repr. in idem, Wort und Stunde, 1. Bd.: Gesammelte Studien zur Kirchengeschichte des vierten Jahrhunderts [Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1966], 251–76), who nevertheless pointed to an existing tension beween scriptural authority and the inspired word of the gerontes. 2 D. Burton-Christie, The Word in the Desert: Scripture and the Quest of Holiness in Early Christian Monasticism (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1993), supports the first alternative. For the second one, see the seminal investigation of S. Rubenson, The Letters of St. Antony: Monasticism and the Making of a Saint (Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 1995). 3 D. Burton-Christie, “Oral Culture, Biblical Interpretation, and Spirituality in Early

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if recent studies have largely contributed to revising older representations of the early monks, which depicted them, almost invariably, as unlettered and uneducated.4 Instead of taking sides in this discussion which concerns almost exclusively Egyptian monasticism, I would like to address the topic of the Bible in early monasticism through the distinctive perspective provided by the monastic world of Byzantine Palestine. Holy Land monasticism, despite the noteworthy amount of relevant available sources—both literary and archaeological—has not yet attracted the attention it deserves, at least not as far as the topic of this presentation is concerned.5 This is not to say that references to Palestinian monks are entirely absent from contemporary studies on the use of the Scriptures in Egyptian monasticism. Such an association is quite frequent, given the fact that the two monastic landscapes share many common aspects, not least the tradition of the Desert Fathers which most probably took its final shape precisely in Palestine. Nevertheless, relying on Palestinian evidence when trying to bring to light the way

Christian Monasticism,” The Bible in Greek Christian Antiquity (ed. and transl. by P.M. Blowers; Notre Dame, IN.: University of Notre Dame University Press, 1997), 415–40, insists on the primacy of oral culture. 4 See, on the one hand, M. Sheridan, “Il mondo spirituale e intellettuale del primo monachesimo egiziano,” L’Egitto cristiano. Aspetti e problemi in età tardo-antica (ed. A. Camplani; Roma: Institutum Patristicum Augustinianum, 1997), 177–216, and, on the other, a critical reaction to the new trends by R.D. Williams, Faith and Experience in Early Monasticism: New Perspectives on the Letters of Ammonas. Laudatio und Festvortrag anläßlich der Ehrenpromotion von Rowan Douglas Williams durch die Theologische Fakultät der Universität Erlangen-Nürnberg am 02.07.1999 in der Aula des Erlanger Schlosses (Akademische Reden und Kolloquien. Friedrich-Alexander-Universität Erlangen-Nürnberg 20; Erlangen/Nürnberg: Universitätsbibliothek, 2002), 19–36. For an overview of current research, see F. Vecoli, “Vent’anni di cammino nel deserto. Lo stato della ricerca sul monachesimo egiziano,” RSC 3 (2006), 211–44. 5 Important investigations by archaeologists, though both concerned mainly with monasticism in the Judaean desert, are Y. Hirschfeld, The Judean Desert Monasteries in the Byzantine Period (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1992), and J. Patrich, Sabas, Leader of Palestinian Monasticism. A Comparative Study in Eastern Monasticism, Fourth to Seventh Centuries (Washington, DC: Dumbarton Oaks Research Library and Collection, 1995). For the general picture, see D.J. Chitty, The Desert a City. An Introduction to the Study of Egyptian and Palestinian Monasticism under the Christian Empire (London: Mowbrays, 21977), and J. Binns, Ascetics and Ambassadors of Christ. The Monasteries of Palestine, 314–631 (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1994). An essential overview can be found in my article, “Monasticism in the Holy Land: From the Beginnings to the Crusaders,” POC 45 (1995), 31–63; and in B. Bitton-Ashkelony and A. Kofsky, “Monasticism in the Holy Land,” Christians and Christianity in the Holy Land. From the Origins to the Latin Kingdoms (ed. O. Limor and G.G. Stroumsa; Turnhout: Brepols, 2006), 257–91.

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Egyptian monks were dealing with the Bible may sometimes prove to be a rather questionable methodological approach.6 The lack of more specific studies can be explained as a consequence of the characteristic features of monasticism in the Holy Land, namely, its composite and cosmopolitan profile, which brought together individuals and foundations of very different origin; then, its connections with the Holy Places and, consequently, with the ecclesiastic institutions in charge of them; finally, its dogmatic center-stage involvement in the Christological controversies of the fifth and sixth centuries, which was apparently concerned more with the theological doctrines rather than with the Scriptures themselves. Nevertheless, at a closer look, we will discover the endless traces of a biblically motivated monastic culture. It is appropriate in this respect to recall here the foundations laid by Origen and the intellectual tradition depending on him. Without entering into a debate, which would perhaps resemble too much the actual dispute on the identity and amount of Origenism to be sought for in the spiritual texture of Egyptian monasticism, it is impossible to ignore the imprint of biblical studies left by Origen, for which we find witnesses not only among his ‘friends’ and ‘enemies’—as in the emblematic couple of Rufinus and Jerome—but in several other documents and events. It is perhaps not by chance that biblical catenae were born in Byzantine Palestine; these represent to a large extent a remarkable effort to transmit the exegetical heritage of Origen and his tradition, notwithstanding the attacks to which the great master of Alexandria and Caesarea was exposed during this period.7 With this in mind, we may view Antony’s ‘discriminating’ appreciation of his visitors, whom, according to Palladius, he used to define as either ‘Jerusalemites’ or ‘Egyptians.’ In this way, he was not merely hinting at a conventional code of symbolic nature; the qualification of the first ones as ‘the more thoughtful’ may perhaps betray some traces of the distinctive cultural

6 Surprisingly enough, to evaluate the practice of literacy within Egyptian monasticism D. Burton-Christie, “Oral Culture,” occasionally uses traditions taken from Palestinian monasticism (Gelasius and Epiphanius in the Apophthegmata) without drawing the necessary distinctions (see 437–8 n. 24). In fact, H. Dörries, “Die Bibel im ältesten Mönchtum,” had done the same by referring, e.g., to the apophthegmatic materials on Epiphanius (254–5). 7 I have tried to sketch the intellectual profile of Palestinian monasticism against this complex background in “Palestinian Monasticism, the Bible, and Theology in the Wake of the Second Origenist Controversy,” The Sabaite Heritage in the Orthodox Church From the Fifth Century to the Present (ed. J. Patrich; Leuven: Peeters, 2001), 245–59.

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physiognomy of Palestinian monasticism when compared with that of Egyptian monasticism.8 I could not possibly pretend to offer here an in-depth investigation of this cultural profile; I would like to focus, however, on the impact that the Bible exerted on Palestinian monasticism during the Byzantine period. A Unique Context: The Land of the Bible—A Holy Land The connection of Palestinian monasticism with the Bible was given from the very beginning, so to say, in loco. For ancient Christian writers, starting with Melito of Sardis in the second century, and continuing with Origen, Eusebius and Jerome, Palestine was primarily the ‘Land of the Bible’; this was an idea that would find its most eloquent visual expression in Byzantine times, when the prosperity of the province reached its peak, in the mosaic map of Madaba. But by the time monks had begun to spread throughout the country, in the course of the fourth century, Palestine had already become much more than that, since it was now a ‘Holy Land’ for all the Christians, attracting pilgrims from everywhere, all eager to reenact ‘on the spot’ the events described in the Bible. Pilgrimage and monasticism thus go hand in hand, especially during the earliest phase of Palestinian monasticism, which, despite later attempts to link it with such problematic ‘forefathers’ as Chariton in the Judaean Desert or Hilarion in Gaza, was born first of all in the shadow of the sacred geography of Jerusalem and the Holy Places.9

8 Palladius, The Lausiac History, 21,8–9 (ed. G.J. Bartelink; Milano: Mondadori, 1974, 110–12). The author was well acquaintend with both monastic landscapes having spent some years in Palestine, especially in Jerusalem, before and after his longer sojourn in Egypt. On these connections, see S. Rubenson, “The Egyptian Relations of Early Palestinian Monasticism,” The Christian Heritage in the Holy Land (ed. A. O’Mahony, G. Gunner, K. Hintlian, London: Scorpion Cavendish, 1995), 35–46. For a different appreciation of the Egyptians, when compared with Syrian and Greek monks, see Zeno 3 (PG 65, 176 C-D). 9 I have argued for these origins most recently in “All’ombra dei Luoghi Santi: il monachesimo di Palestina in epoca bizantina e l’esperienza di Gaza,” Il deserto di Gaza: Barsanufio, Giovanni e Doroteo. Atti dell’XI Convegno ecumenico internazionale di spiritualità ortodossa, sezione bizantina. Bose, 14–16 settembre 2003 (ed. S. Chialà, L. Cremaschi; Comunità di Bose/Magnano: Qiqajon, 2004), 23–50. On the birth of a Christian ‘Holy Land’, see R.L. Wilken, The Land Called Holy. Palestine in Christian History and Thought (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1992). Monastic vocation and attachment to the Holy Places, conforming to the initial pattern, are still exemplified in the first half of the fifth century by Melania the Younger; see, for instance, V. Mel. Iunioris L 36,5: Vespertinis uero horis, postquam locus sanctae Resurrectionis a custodibus claudebatur, omnibus rite receptis, haec beatis-


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Egeria, the Spanish pilgrim who came to Jerusalem in the last quarter of the fourth century, offers the best evidence for this. Her guidebook consisted essentially of the Scriptures; the guides accompanying the visitors were mainly recruited from among the monks, who were acquainted with the places because they were familiar with the Bible.10 Moreover, monks were aware that it was precisely that land which had provided them with the closest antecedents for their lifestyle, insofar as their monastic ideal had been embodied in some paradigmatic biblical prototypes, first and foremost Elijah and John the Baptist.11 Cyril of Jerusalem also celebrated John the Baptist as the ‘model of asceticism’ in his Prebaptismal Catecheses, although he was mostly interested in the living link with the Holy Scriptures assured by the liturgical performances held in Jerusalem.12 Among the members of Cyril’s audience, there were already monks, and a few decades later Egeria’s diary would attest their regular presence. We have to assume, therefore, that they gained access to the Bible not only by means of the sites themselves but also through the ‘historicizing’ celebrations performed at these sites. In addition to this, there was also a biblical re-fashioning of the concrete Palestinian landscape, as this was submitted to a process of idealization brought about by the intense contact with the Scriptures. Perhaps the best example of this kind can be found in a famous letter Jerome wrote together with Paula and Eustochium; there he described ‘the mystery of Judaea.’ In an attempt to promote pilgrimage to the Holy Land for the benefit of a Roman lady and his ascetic friend, Marcella, Jerome sketched the bucolic picture of a land where even

sima, egrediens de cella sua ad fores sanctae Anastaseos, uigilans in oratione pernoctebat usque ad eam horam in qua ceteri ad psallendum conuenirent (Gérontius. La Vie latine de sainte Mélanie [Édition critique, traduction et commentaire par P. Laurence, Jerusalem: Franciscan Printing Press 2002], 224,10–15). 10 P. Maraval, “La Bible des pèlerins d’Orient,” Le monde grec ancien et la Bible (ed. C. Mondésert; Paris: Beauchesne 1984), 387–97. For the relationship between monks, Holy Places, and the Bible see, for instance, Itin. Eg. 16,3: Tunc ego, ut sum satis curiosa, requirere cepi, quae esset haec vallis ubi sanctus monachus nunc monasterium sibi fecisset; non enim putabam hoc sine causa esse (ed. N. Natalucci; BP 17; Firenze: Nardini, 1991, 124,13–16)— Egeria, inquiring about the reasons of a monastic establishment on the place she was visiting, found out that it was related to the story of Elijah (1 Kgs 17:3–6). 11 Thus the Life of Chariton praises the Cappadocian ascetic as “the first, after those admirable pioneers who have been Elijah and John the Baptist” (V. Char. 43 [Cercare Dio nel deserto. Vita di Caritone, Introd., trad. e note a cura di L. Campagnano Di Segni; Comunità di Bose/Magnano: Qiqajon, 1990, 72]). 12 Cyril of Jerusalem, Prebaptismal Cat. 3,6, presents John the Baptist as “a lover of the desert, but not a hater of mankind.”

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the peasants went on working on the field while singing the Hallelujah or the Psalms.13 Although Jerome’s image would remain quite unique, the perception of the Holy Land in monastic milieus would continue to be expressed in the light of the biblical text. An interesting document from the beginning of the sixth century, born in the middle of an intense dogmatic conflict, provides us with new, eloquent evidence. Once again, this is a letter—a protest sent by the monks of Palestine to Emperor Anastasius against the military violence and the pressures that the supporters of the council of Chalcedon (451) were suffering in Jerusalem. Now the city, together with the Holy Places, was granted, so to say, the status of a ‘fifth gospel’ on behalf of its inhabitants, this priviledge resting upon the testimony of the Scriptures and the apostolic preaching and thus building on both of them a continuum of doctrinal tradition.14 Even in the dark days of the Persian invasion (614), a momentous prelude to the impending Arab conquest of Palestine in the fourth decade of the seventh century, we can still find traces of this unique context: for the author of the Life of George of Choziba, God will never abandon His Holy City and the Land around it, since in His eyes this land will forever remain the ‘promised Land.’15 Becoming a Monk, Learning the Bible Biblical and devotional motives alike must have contributed, in most cases, to generate a propensity towards monastic life in the Holy Land, at least before the renown of established institutions, such as the cenobium of Theodosius or the laura of Sabas, would suffice by itself to attract new members to them. Accustomed as we are with Athanasius’

13 Jerome, Ep. 46, 12, referring to Bethlehem: in Christi uero . . . uillula tota rusticitas et extra psalmum silentium est. Quocumque te uerteris, arator stiuam tenens alleluia decantat, sudans messor psalmis se auocat et curua adtondens uitem falce uinitor aliquid Dauiticum canit (ed. I. Hilberg; CSEL 52; Wien/Leipzig: F. Tempsky/G. Freytag, 1909, 342,15–343,2). I have discussed this letter in “ ‘The Mystery of Judaea’ ( Jerome, Ep. 46): The Holy City of Jerusalem Between History and Symbol in Early Christian Thought,” Jerusalem, Its Sanctity and Centrality to Judaism, Christianity, and Islam (ed. L.I. Levine, New York: Continuum, 1999), 221–39. 14 See Cyril of Scythopolis, V. Sab. 57, and R.L. Wilken, “Loving the Jerusalem Below: The Monks of Palestine,” Jerusalem, Its Sanctity and Centrality to Judaism, Christianity, and Islam (see n. 13, above), 240–50. 15 Antony of Choziba, V. Georg. Choz. VIII, 34 (Nel deserto accanto ai fratelli: Vite di Gerasimo e di Giorgio di Choziba [ed. L. Campagnano Di Segni; Comunità di Bose/Magnano: Qiqajon 1991], 105).


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fashioning of Antony’s ‘conversion’ to monasticism as a response to the call of Christ for a perfect life, we would look for similar stories in our hagiographic sources. Yet, as far as I can see, there is nothing there strictly comparable to Athanasius’ scriptural idealization of his hero. In the portraits of Palestinian monks we generally get the impression that biblically inspired asceticism was inextricably interwoven with the pilgrim’s spiritual habits and expectations, so as to lead such pilgrims to make their choice of the Holy Land on such multiple motivations. One may nevertheless notice a different emphasis in one particular source. In the anonymous Life of Chariton, written more than two hundred years after his death to promote this elusive figure as the ‘protomonk’ of the Judaean Desert at the turn of the fourth century, we observe a predominantly biblical justification for anachoretic life, whereby the appeal of the desert seems to overcome even that of Jerusalem as the Holy City. Chariton’s practice of hesychia in a cave is, for his hagiographer, the realization of a word of the Scripture.16 With a later ascetic, Gerasimus, the decision to settle as an anchorite near the Jordan and the Dead Sea, in the aftermath of Chalcedon, appears as the final step on his path of spiritual progress, which combined his virtuous disposition, biblical impulses and the experience of pilgrimage.17 The idea of a spiritual ascent also underlies the story of Melania the Younger and her husband Pinianus as narrated by Gerontius: after having stripped themselves of all secular burdens, they yearned for seeing the places of Christ’s glorious deeds.18 In other accounts, pilgrimage to the Holy Places and the decision to conduct an ascetic existence there take on a penitential note, that may also, directly or indirectly, be inspired by the

16 This is Ps. 45:11 LXX: σχολάσατε καὶ γνῶτε ὅτι ἐγώ εἰμι ὁ θεός: ὑψωθήσομαι ἐν τοῖς ἔθνεσιν, ὑψωθήσομαι ἐν τῇ γῇ (see V. Char. 14). As remarked by Di Segni, the hagi-

ographer was led to adopt this passage because of the conceptual association between the two verbs σχολάζειν and ἡσυχάζειν (Cercare Dio nel deserto. Vita di Caritone, 76 n. 19). 17 For his biographer, Gerasimus came from Lycia to Jerusalem led by God’s love, and advancing “from glory to glory” (2 Cor 3:18), after having kneeled at the Holy Places, he went to the Jordan and stayed in the desert along the Dead Sea (V. Ger. 1; Nel deserto accanto ai fratelli, 68). To what extent this pattern may later turn into a topos is apparent in the case of Heraclides, the brother of George of Choziba. He too made his pilgrimage to Jerusalem and then went to the Jordan and “kneeled there before God,” subsequently joining the laura of Calamon (Antony of Choziba, V. Georg. Choz. I, 1; Nel deserto accanto ai fratelli, 83). 18 Gerontius, V. Mel. L 34, 1: Cum autem omne pondus saeculi deposuissent, ascendit eis desiderium uidendi sancta loca, in qua Dominus noster uirtutis suae gloriam demonstrauit (Gérontius. La Vie latine de sainte Mélanie, 214,1–3). For the beginnings of Melania’s apotaxis, recalled by Gerontius in the framework of Eph 6:12, see ibid., 16, 2 (186,3–7).

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Scriptures. Leaving aside individuals as different as Evagrius Ponticus, escaping a love affair in Constantinople, and a boxer from the same city who also came on a penitential journey to Jerusalem on the eve of the Persian invasion,19 we have the impressive story of Dositheus’ conversion to asceticism. The young man serving as a page of a military officer, while he was on visit to the Holy Places, was made aware for the first time of the Last Judgment and the problem of salvation after the frightening sight of hell in a fresco in Gethsemani. In such a case, I believe, one may safely speak of an experience resembling that of the Biblia pauperum in medieval Europe, inasmuch as Dositheus is said by his anonymous panegyrist to have never heard the ‘Word of God’ before.20 If it is difficult to ascertain with some precision the weight of a biblical imprint on monastic vocations, there is enough evidence for the role the Scriptures were called to play in training converts to monasticism. Without naively establishing a simplistic line of continuity, we could nevertheless recall Origen’s learning of the Bible, when still a child, as described by Eusebius,21 and compare it with the biblical apprenticeship of Dositheus, after he went to the monastery of Seridos near Gaza. Once the young man was admitted into the monastery, he was entrusted to the care of Dorotheus, who supervised his monastic formation, which included among other things the reading of the Bible. Yet his spiritual master curtailed Dositheus’ inquisitive scriptural probing, when the young man was led to raise questions concerning the Bible. Dorotheus’ reaction resembles that of an embarrassed Leonidas, Origen’s father, when faced with the surprising progress of his son in interpreting biblical texts. Yet poor Dositheus, who was quite relentless in his questioning of the Scriptures, would ultimately get a slap

19 See respectively Palladius, Hist. Laus. 38, 7 (ed. Bartelink, 198,60–62), and Antony of Choziba, V. Georg. Choz., IV 15–16 (Nel deserto accanto ai fratelli, 92–3). 20 V. Dos. 3: οὐδέποτε ἦν ἀκούσας λόγον Θεοῦ, ἢ ὅτι ἔστιν κρίσις (Dorotheus von Gaza, Doctrinae diversae. Die geistliche Lehre [ed. J. Pauli; Freiburg i. Br.: Herder, 2000, 102). We may connect this otherwise vague passage, as far as the iconographic content of the fresco is concerned, with Antony’s vision of the place assigned to saints and sinners in the afterlife as presented in Palladius, Hist. Laus. 21, 16–17 (ed. Bartelink, 116,127– 140). 21 See Eusebius of Caesarea, Hist. Eccl. VI, 2, 8–10; and the comments by E. Norelli, “Il VI libro dell’Historia Ecclesiastica. Appunti di storia della redazione: il caso dell’infanzia e dell’adolescenza di Origene,” La biografia di Origene fra storia e geografia. Atti del VI Convegno di Studi del Gruppo Italiano di Ricerca su Origene e la Tradizione Alessandrina (ed. A. Monaci Castagno, Verucchio/Rimini: Pazzini, 2004), 147–74.


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in the face from Seridos the abbot; this was a rude correction meant to remind him that he should postpone his scriptural queries for later, and devote himself first of all to practicing humility.22 Of course, as a rule, monks did not learn the Bible just in order to foster their own intellectual curiosity. Instead, their first acquaintance with the Scriptures was meant to provide them, in good Pachomian tradition, with some essential instruction. This was a necessary prerequisite, especially for the monks who were expected to become members of cenobitic monasteries and as such to participate regularly in the common life of prayer.23 Cyril of Scythopolis, chosen in advance by Sabas for a monastic career when he was still a child, was then entrusted by him to his father, with the bishop’s assistance, so that he may learn first to read the Psalms and then add to them the letters of Paul.24 According to his future disciple and biographer, Sabas himself had gone the same way: at the moment he entered a monastery in Cappadocia, he had to “learn by heart the Psalter and the other institutions of the cenobitic rule.”25

22 V. Dos. 12: ἐρωτᾷ αὐτὸν ῥῆμα τῆς ῾Αγίας Γραφῆς: ἤρξατο γὰρ ἀπὸ καθαρότητος νοεῖν τινα τῆς Γραφῆ. ῾Ο δὲ οὐκ ἤθελεν αὐτὸν τέως εἰς ταῦτα ἐπιβάλλειν, ἀλλὰ μᾶλλον διὰ τῆς ταπεινώσεως φυλαχθῆναι (Dorotheus von Gaza, Doctrinae diversae. Die geistliche

Lehre, 116). On the exemplary value of this episode for spiritual direction according to the Gaza model, see B. Flusin, “Paternità spirituale e comunità monastica nell’agiografia palestinese del VI secolo,” Storia della direzione spirituale (ed. G. Filoramo; Brescia: Morcelliana, 2006), 397–422, especially 400–1. 23 Among the rules for admittance into the Pachomian koinônia, we find for instance Pr. 49 (Pachomiana Latina [ed. A. Boon; Louvain: Bibliothèque de la Revue d’Histoire Ecclésiastique, 1932], 25–6): before entering it, one should learn the Lord’s Prayer and so many Psalms as possible. Further, Pr. 139 (49–50) enjoins the novice to “learn twenty psalms or two letters of the Apostle or another part of Scripture,” and in the case he cannot yet read, he should be instructed to do it. Once again, Pr. 141 (50) commands that every monk should be able to read and memorize some part of the Bible, at least the New Testament and the Psalms. This custom is also attested to by Palladius (infra, n. 36). On the formative influence of the Scripture and its constant presence in the life of Pachomian monks, see Pacomio e i suoi discepoli. Regole e scritti (ed. L. Cremaschi, Comunità di Bose/Magnano: Qiqajon, 1988), 100 n. 3; and H.Y. Gamble, Books and Readers in the Early Church (New Haven/London: Yale University Press, 1995), 170, for whom “although early monasticism took no interest in learning or scholarship, Scripture was important to the devotional life of the monks.” 24 Cyril of Scythopolis, V. Sab. 75. Not incidentally Psalms is “the biblical book that is most often quoted or alluded to” in Cyril’ Lives (P.W. van der Horst, “The Role of Scripture in Cyril of Scythopolis’ Lives of the Monks of Palestine,” The Sabaite Heritage in the Orthodox Church From the Fifth Century to the Present [ed. J. Patrich; Leuven: Peeters, 2001], 127–45 at 128). 25 Cyril of Scythopolis, V. Sab. 2. See Patrich, 229, for other passages and the importance of Psalms in the monks’ daily prayer, both in the Sabaite community and elsewhere in eastern monasticism.

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This task, however, may have met with some difficulties in a multiethnic and plurilingual community. Thus, for instance, in the cenobium of Abba Seridos, a monk of unknown provenance (presumably an Egyptian) complained to Barsanuphius that he did not understand what he read in Greek and asked whether, in such circumstances, he should read or learn the Psalms by heart in this language. In his reply, the Great Old Man dwelt on the ascetic value of the labour the monk was taking on when learning the Scriptures; for this reason, learning the Psalms with much effort would help the monk to follow Christ on the path of humility.26 In other situations, however, monks were used to praying and singing the Psalms in their native tongue, as we may see not only in the case of the large cenobium of Theodosius, where as many as three different linguistic communities lived together, but also in the smaller eremitic community of Sabas. Here, even if the initial group of the Armenians consisted of only three monks, they were allowed to hold the service on Saturdays and Sundays in their own language, as an indication of how essential a full acquittal of this monastic duty was considered to be.27 Both in its collective expressions and in its individual dimension, the spiritual life of a monk was deeply influenced by the presence of the Psalms; in this respect, there was no substantial distinction between anchorites and cenobites. On the one hand, Jerome, in his picture of the eremitic apprenticeship of Hilarion, shows him fighting against temptations with the help of the Psalter, while Chariton, his counterpart in the Judaean desert, spends almost the whole night standing up for the psalmody.28 On the other hand, once again in Gaza (and, this time, with more reliable evidence), in a letter addressed to a cenobite of Seridos’ monastery, Barsanuphius recommended him not to grow

26 See Barsanuphius and John of Gaza, Letters 228, and the (not altogether convincing) analysis of this section of the correspondence by J.L. Hevelone-Harper, Disciples of the Desert. Monks, Laity, and Spiritual Authority in Sixth-Century Gaza (Baltimore/London: Johns Hopkins University Press, 2005), 45–51. 27 See Cyril of Scythopolis, V. Sab. 20 and 32. In Theodosius’ monastery there were Greek-speaking, Bessi and Armenian monks, who held the office of psalmody separately, seven times a day (Theodor of Petra, V. Theod., in Der heilige Theodosios. Schriften des Theodoros und Kyrillos, ed. H. Usener, Leipzig: Teubner, 1890, 45,4–46,4). As for the divine liturgy, in both monasteries there was a separate service for the readings, while the eucharist was celebrated in common. 28 See respectively Jerome, V. Hilar. 3, 5. 11 (Vita di Martino, Vita di Ilarione, In memoria di Paola [ed. A.A.R. Bastiaensen; Milano: Mondadori, 1975], 80,25; 82,48) and V. Char. 15 (Cercare Dio nel deserto. Vita di Caritone, 58).


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slack when learning the Psalms by heart, since by so doing he would gain spiritual strength.29 Therefore, it was not only for the benefit of the cenobites that the injunction regarding psalmody appears as a topos in much of the Palestinian hagiographic literature. Such a requirement is also attested in the tradition of the Apophthegmata under the name of Epiphanius, himself originally a monk near Eleutheropolis and a friend of Hilarion. One of the sayings attributed to him supports the canonic schedule of seven times of prayer every day and places it under the authority of ‘David the Prophet’, while another one emphasizes the idea that a true monk keeps always prayer and psalmody in his heart.30 The claim of a prophetic authority for the seven hours’ rule of psalmody was naturally taken from Psalm 118 (v. 164: “Seven times a day do I praise thee, because of thy righteous judgments”), whose importance is also shown in other sources on Palestinian monasticism.31 Cyriacus, an anchorite to whom Cyril of Scythopolis dedicated one of his shorter Lives, proudly confessed to him that as long as he served as canonarch in the lavra of Suka, he never ceased to announce the time for the night prayer, knocking the simandron, before he had finished Psalm 118, the longest of all.32 Personal piety and communal performance of the psalmody, as displayed in these examples, fostered the composition of the impressive Catena on the Psalms, the origins of which have been traced back to Palestine.33

29 Barsanuphius and John of Gaza, Letters 215. On this passage, see the thorough introduction of L. Mortari in Barsanufio e Giovanni di Gaza. Epistolario (ed. M.F.T. Lovato and L. Mortari, Roma: Città Nuova, 1991), 34–5. 30 See respectively Epiphanius 7 and 3: ∆εῖ γὰρ τὸν ἀληθινὸν μοναχὸν ἀδιαλείπτως ἔχειν τὴν εὐχὴν καὶ τὴν ψαλμῳδίαν ἐν τῇ καρδίᾳ αὐτοῦ (PG 65, 164 C). This saying is meant as a rebuke to the abbot of Epiphanius’ former monastery in Palestine who had mentioned to him a canon of five hours for prayer. 31 For example, in V. Char. 16. (Cercare Dio nel deserto. Vita di Caritone, 59). Reference to Ps. 118—though combined with Dan. 6:11—supports also the description of the office in the community of Melania the Younger, as shown in V. Mel. L 46 (Gérontius. La Vie latine de sainte Mélanie, 244). 32 Cyril of Scythopolis, V. Sab. 7; Patrich, 233. 33 C. Curti and M.A. Barbàra, “Catene esegetiche greche,” Patrologia. V: Dal Concilio di Calcedonia (451) a Giovanni Damasceno († 750) (ed. A. di Berardino; Genova: Marietti, 2000), 622–30. For the section on Psalm 118 see La chaîne palestinienne sur le Psaume 118 (ed. M. Harl, SC 189–190; Paris: Cerf, 1972).

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lorenzo perrone A Lifelong Companion: Memorizing, Writing and Reading Scripture

Learning the Bible was indeed a lifelong task that gradually turned the scriptural text into a sort of permanent possession and made it a continuous presence for the monks. This task, as we have just seen, was sustained by memorization. In fact, learning by heart was not confined to the Psalms alone, but extended to other parts of the Scriptures as well, as we can see once more with the ‘paradigmatic’ figure of Hilarion. Should we believe Jerome, the anchorite of Gaza was not content with reciting prayers and psalms, but also learned ‘the Holy Scriptures’ by heart.34 Melania the Younger, who at the time of her arrival in Jerusalem still lived as one of the devotees of the Anastasis, consecrated most of her spare time to reading and memorizing the Bible in solitude.35 Presumably, this practice was much more widespread than these and a few other examples in our sources might suggest, if we take into consideration the testimony of Palladius concerning contemporary Egyptian monasticism.36 We should not take the relatively limited evidence for memorization as an indication of a proportionally slight impact of ‘oral culture’ on Palestinian monasticism as opposed to the greater impact of ‘literacy’, for learning by heart should not be regarded as the exclusive prerogative of uneducated monks. Quite the contrary, memorizing the Bible seems to have been a feat that both educated and uneducated

34 Jerome, V. Hilar. 4, 3: Scripturas quoque Sanctas memoriter tenens post orationes et psalmos quasi Deo praesente recitabat (ed. Bastiaensen, 82,13–15). 35 Gerontius, V. Mel. L 36, 1–2: Permanebat igitur beatissima cum matre sua in sancta Resurrectione et, secrete residens opusque suum per singulos dies consumans et lectioni uacans, memoriam Scripturarum diuinarum suo pectori recondebat (ed. Laurence, 224,1–4). Already in 26, 1 the biographer, recording Melania’s yearly reading of the Bible, notes her familiarity with the Psalter: reddens etiam psalterium singulariter (202,3). See also Zosimas, Adloquia 13, on the recitation of a passage from Proverbs (Iperechio, Stefano di Tebe, Zosima. Parole dal deserto: Adhortatio ad monachos, Logos asketikos, Adloquia, ed. L. Cremaschi, Comunità di Bose—Magnano: Qiqajon, 1992, 118). Memorization, as attested by the Miracles of Our Lady of Choziba, could also be applied to liturgical texts (Antony of Choziba, Mirac. 5; Nel deserto accanto ai fratelli, 130). 36 There were monks who learned by heart the Old and the New Testament, such as Ammonios, one of the Tall Brothers (Palladius, Hist. Laus. 11, 4: παλαιὰν καὶ καινὴν γραφὴν ἀποστηθίσας; ed. Bartelink, 52,30); or Mark, a disciple of Macarius of Alexandria (Hist. Laus. 18, 25 [92,219]). Heron, a disciple of Evagrius and a companion of Palladius himself, on his forty-mile long journey to Scetis managed to say by heart “fifteen Psalms, then the long one (Ps. 118), the Epistle to the Hebrews, and after that Isaiah and a part of Jeremiah, and thereupon the Gospel of Luke and Proverbs” (Hist. Laus. 26, 3 [140,21–24). Palladius also states that Pachomian monks memorize the whole Scripture (Hist. Laus. 32, 12 [160,101]).


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monks could accomplish to very similar effect, at least as far as, once again, we can rely on the testimony of the Historia Lausiaca.37 Actually, Palestinian monasticism offers even more abundant evidence for writing and reading practices. To trust again Jerome’s narrative, Hilarion, in his early youth had copied a codex with the Gospels, which then became his only material possession, to be bequeathed to his faithful disciple Hesychius at his death.38 Such scarcity of books, despite being the object of hagiographic celebration, was surely not to be found with Jerome and the Latin monastic community in Bethlehem or with that of Rufinus and Melania the Elder on the Mount of Olives. Following in their footsteps, Melania the Younger also used to exert herself as a scribe. In compliance with the model of the lectio divina that Jerome had introduced into Roman ascetic circles while transmitting to them—at first in association with Melania the Elder and Rufinus—Origen’s exegetical heritage, Melania the Younger also engaged in making transcriptions of biblical texts and commentaries, following a weekly program.39 Moreover, in a disputed passage of the Life, Melania even appears to have distributed, probably among other monks, the manuscripts she had copied herself.40 At all events,

Apart from the Origenist Ammonios mentioned before (n. 36), we have on the one hand the story of Serapion the Mime, who εὐγράμματος δὲ ὢν ἀπεστήθιζε πάσας τὰς γραφάς (Hist. Laus. 37, 1 [182,3–4]), and, on the other hand, that of Paphnutios, who, without being able to read, nevertheless possessed the science of Scripture—πᾶσαν αὐτὴν ἑρμηνεύων μὴ ἀναγνοὺς γραφάς (Hist. Laus. 47, 3 [226,19–20]). 38 Jerome, V. Hilar. 25, 2: Evangeliorum codice, quem manu sua adulescens scripserat (ed. Bastiaensen, 126,3–4). Hilarion wanted to pay with it his travel to Sicily, but the shipowner refused, maxime cum videret illos, excepto illo codice et his quibus vestiti erant, amplius nihil habere (25, 6 [126,18–19]). Eventually, Hilarion left all his material possessions to Hesychius: Evangelium scilicet et tunicam sacceam, cucullam et palliolum (32, 1 [140,4–5]). On these passages see P.E. Arns, La technique du livre d’après Saint Jérôme (Paris: Editions de Boccard, 1953), though he thinks that Hilarion gave up the Gospel book for the fare. On the contrary, as rightly stated by J. de Ghellinck, “Bibliothèques,” DS 1.1589–1606 at 1590, “Hilarion... estimait tellement son exemplaire des Évangiles, transcrit de sa main, qu’il le légua en testament à son ami Hésychius.” 39 Gerontius, V. Mel. L 23, 1–4: Scribebat etiam per totam septimanam in membranis. Cum autem scribebat ipsa, una de sororibus ei legebat, et in tantum sensu sobrio audiebat ut etiam emendaret eam quae legebat, uel si in una littera errasset. Ipsa uero sine perturbatione scribebat. Statutum enim habebat quantum scriberet quantumque legeret ex Scripturis canonicis, nec non et interpretationibus tractatorum. Et post haec, sicut placenta mellis edens, ad conuersationem monachorum transiebat (ed. Laurence, 198,1–7). As for Jerome’s model of lectio divina, see D. Gorce, La lectio divina nell’ambiente ascetico di S. Girolamo (It. tr., Bologna: Edizioni Dehoniane Bologna, 1990 [La lectio divina des origines du cénobitisme à saint Benoît et Cassiodore: St. Jérôme et la lecture sacrée dans le milieu ascétique romain, Paris: A. Picard, 1925]). 40 Gerontius, V. Mel. L 26, 1 (ed. Laurence, 202,1–4, with the comments ad loc.). 37

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Gerontius felt it necessary to reassure his readers that Melania kept on her “work of writing,” even when she came to stay in a cell near the Anastasis.41 In the experience of cultivated monks like Jerome or Melania the Younger, writing, reading and memorizing Scripture go hand in hand, since for them copying manuscripts is not primarily meant as a means of subsistence.42 It is altogether difficult to say to what extent they should be regarded as a relevant exception, as we possess more information on the production and the circulation of books in Palestine, first the Bible, but also other related writings. Among the many factors to be taken into account, we have probably to reckon with an enduring influence of the library of Caesarea, created by Origen, expanded by Pamphilus and Eusebius, and renovated by bishop Euzoios in the first half of the fourth century.43 The example of Jerome, who frequented the library and made copies for himself, is far from singular. Moreover, we should not exclude from among the original motivations of its foundation the idea that the library might actually function as a scriptorium; this much is suggested not only by Pamphilus’ generous distribution of copies of the Bible to laymen, even to interested women,44 but also by the wellknown request of Emperor Constantine to Eusebius for fifty copies of the Bible to be sent to the churches in Constantinople.45 Nor should we forget the existence of a second ecclesiastical library in Palestine, namely, the one established in Jerusalem by bishop Alexander (212–250),

41 Ibid., 36, 4 (224,9–10). On Melania’s scribal activity see lately M. Detoraki, “Copie sous dictée et bains monastiques. Deux renseignements propres à la Vie latine de sainte Mélanie la Jeune,” JbAC 47 (2004), 98–107. 42 As observed by Guglielmo Cavallo, “dans les pratiques du monachisme qui remontait à saint Jérôme et à Cassiodore, l’acte d’écrire devait coïncider avec l’acte de lire. (. . .) Donc copier un texte équivalait à le lire et à en recueillir le contenu, surtout s’il était de caractère sacré; copier plusieurs fois le même texte équivalait à le mémoriser” (G. Cavallo, “Les bibliothèques monastiques et la transmission des textes en Occident,” Des Alexandries I: du livre au texte (ed. L. Giard and Ch. Jacob, Paris: Bibliothèque nationale de France, 2001), 263–74 at 270). On writing as an economic expedient, see, e.g., Palladius, Hist. Laus. 13, 1 (ed. Bartelink, 56,3); 38, 10, about Evagrius: γράφων τοῦ ἔτους τὴν τιμὴν μόνον ὧν ἔσθιεν (200,87–88); 45,3 (220,23–25). 43 On the history of the library until Jerome’s times, see A. Carriker, The Library of Eusebius of Caesarea (Leiden/Boston: Brill, 2003). 44 In the words of Jerome, quoting from the third book of Eusebius’ Life of Pamphilus: Scripturas quoque sanctas non ad legendum tantum, sed et ad habendum, tribuebat promptissime. Nec solum viris, sed et feminis, quas vidisset lectioni deditas. Unde et multos codices praeparabat, ut cum necessitas poposcisset, volentibus largiretur ( Jerome, C. Ruf. I 9; PL 23, 422 B-C). 45 Eusebius of Caesarea, V. Const. IV, 36, 1.


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which provided Eusebius with important materials for the composition of his Ecclesiastical History.46 Monasticism soon created its own libraries, initially rather exiguous in size and limited mainly to biblical books and to writings connected with the Scriptures; normally, these would have served only for devotional purposes. Yet Egyptian findings and, for Palestine, the example of Jerome’s community in Bethlehem show that sometimes monastic libraries could also reflect a larger spectrum of cultural interests.47 Even if we are not in the position to quote similar examples from the Holy Land during the Byzantine period, even then, monks certainly had access to books. We may also assume that these books came in some variety, as we occasionally see happening between the sixth and the seventh centuries. This must have been the case, to quote just a few relevant examples, at the coenobium of Abba Seridos, as suggested by the story about a discussion on the sensitive subject of which among Evagrius’ works monks should be permitted to read, or in the story reported by John Moschus about the circulation of Nestorian writings in the laura of Calamon.48 In addition to this, there is also the later history of an important library such as that of Mar Saba, which must have had its beginnings during our period. That Cyril of Scythopolis could write his Lives there around the middle of the sixth century was undoubtedly made possible by the rich resources of a library well-endowed with hagiographical and theological literature.49 Yet the remarkable wealth of this library would find its best illustration dur-

46 On the library in Jerusalem, see Gamble, 154; and Carriker, 72. Cavallo, 265, refers to a third, later Christian library in Gaza. 47 Commenting upon the findings of Pachomian libraries, Gamble observed that “by the early fourth century highly ascetic and remote Christian groups were accumulating, transcribing, storing, and using extensive collection of books” (p. 174). See also the interesting suggestions in De Ghellinck, 1597–1600. 48 The first episode concerns more generally the controversial doctrines of the Origenian-Evagrian tradition, which also involved readings of other patristic authors such as Gregory of Nazianzus. See Barsanuphius and John of Gaza, Letters 600–607, and my article, “Palestinian Monasticism, the Bible, and Theology,” 251–5. As for the second story, see John Moschus, Pratum spirituale 46 (PG 87, 2900D–2901C). Surprisingly enough, the Nestorian writings were bound in a single codex together with works of Hesychius of Jerusalem, an opponent of Nestorianism! In the end, these were preserved while the heterodox quires were thrown into the fire. 49 See Patrich, 189–92. As shown by B. Flusin, Miracle et histoire dans l’œuvre de Cyrille de Scythopolis (Paris: Institut d’Études Augustiniennes, 1983), esp. 41–86, Cyril drew his inspiration from classical works of Greek monastic hagiography, writings of historians and theologians, as well as from official documents.

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ing the seventh and eighth centuries in the monumental works of two Sabaite monks: Antiochus and John of Damascus.50 In most cases, the initial holdings of a monk’s library must have originated from or taken their justification in a conviction voiced by Epiphanius of Salamis and, because of its particular ascetic application, included among the Apophthegmata: “It is necessary to possess the Christian books for those who have them. Actually, just the sight of the Bible makes us more hesitant in front of sin and gives us more strength to act rightly.”51 In tune with this saying, a story brings before us Epiphanius as he saved a sum of money at the time he established his monastery near Eleutheropolis, and earmarked it for buying the “godly and life-giving books.”52 Another story on buying books for similar purposes is reported in the Conversations of abbas Zosimas, who lived near Caesarea in the third decade of the sixth century. Once the books he had ordered from a “clever scribe” were copied, they came into the possession of another monk who had heard about the whole transaction and had paid for them instead of Zosimas. The scribe got angry with the ‘usurper’ and wanted to reproach him but refrained from doing so when he heard Zosimas’ admonition: “Brother, you know that we buy books to learn from them charity, humility, meekness and peace.”53 If the acquisition of books is thus justified on account of ascetic praxis, for which both the Bible and monastic literature provided an essential foundation, what strikes the reader of this anecdote is the fact that, on the one hand, the demand for books was apparently greater than the offer and, on the other, that we are clearly dealing with individuals who had access to books on their own. To confirm this picture, Zosimas also recalled what happened to a solitary living near a cenobium in the coastal plain. A neighbour entered his cell and

50 “Den ganzen Reichtum der Bibliothek bezeugen die in der Sabas-Laura verfaßten Werke, der Πανδέκτης τῆς ἁγίας γραφῆς des Antiochos aus dem Anfang des 7. Jh. u. des Johannes von Damaskos Πεγὴ γνώσεως aus der Mitte des 8. Jh.” (C. Wendel, “Bibliothek,” RAC 2.231–274 at 254). 51 Epiphanius, 8: εἶπε πάλιν, ὅτι ἀναγκαία τῶν Χριστιανῶν βιβλίων ἡ κτῆσις τοῖς

ἔχουσι. Καὶ αὐτὴ γὰρ καθ’ ἑαυτὴν τῶν βιβλίων ἡ ὄψις, ὀκνηροτέρους ἡμᾶς πρὸς τὴν ἁμαρτίαν ἐργάζεται, καὶ πρὸς δικαιοσύνην μᾶλλον διανίστασθαι προτρέπεται (PG 65,

165 B). It is indeed a unique recommendation, as significantly pointed out by Dörries, 252: “Es ist der kostbarste Besitz, den der Mönch hat, und doch schärft nur ein einziges Wort die Notwendigkeit seines Erwerbs ein, und dies Wort stammt nicht von einem Eremiten.” 52 See PG 41, 33 A-B and Wendel, 253–4. 53 Zosimas, Adl. 13 (Iperechio, Stefano di Tebe, Zosima. Parole dal deserto, 119).


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stole the coat and ‘the books’—as it later turns out, these ‘books’ were, in fact, only ‘one book’—that, as the thief confessed, had meanwhile landed with a third monk.54 It is more than tempting to suppose that this single ‘book’ would have been the Bible. In the ascetic teachings retroactively attributed to Chariton by his biographer there is a recommendation for the anchorites to unroll in their cells the “volumes inspired by God and speaking with the voice of God, to extract from them, as from some blossoming plants, the fruits useful to the soul.”55 This would have been impossible, at least during the night, for the anchorites in the Lavra of Gerasimus, since he strictly prohibited the use of a lamp for reading during the night office, saying that those who wished such facilities should rather live in a cenobium.56 In a monastery of cenobitic type, as we know from the Pachomian rules, books would have been kept in certain places at the disposal of the monks, who could borrow them for a given period.57 Now, in the cenobium founded by Gelasius at Nicopolis, he put a precious parchment manuscript with the Old and the New Testament in the church, at the disposal of those who wished to read from it. This generous opportunity proved a temptation too strong to resist for a foreign monk, who stole the manuscript and attempted to sell it; Gelasius eventually recovered it from the very hands of the thief.58 To possess the whole Bible in a single codex, as Gelasius did, would have been neither easy nor common with the other monks. John Moschus was asked by an anchorite living near the Jordan to purchase for him a book with the whole New Testament.59 Yet Syncletica, before she went to hide herself for eighteen years in a desert cave in the same region, was able to afford the purchase of two ‘pandects’, presumably two books comprising respectively the Old and the New Testament, which would represent a unique spiritual companion for the rest of her life.60

54 Ibid., 15 (121–122). See also John Moschus, Pratum spirituale 134 (PG 87, 2997A-D), where an anchorite turns down the offer to get his New Testament for free, even though the abbot of a coenobium had offered it to him as a gift. 55 V. Char. 16 (Cercare Dio nel deserto. Vita di Caritone, 58–9). 56 V. Ger. 4 (Nel deserto accanto ai fratelli, 69). 57 On the presence of codices in the Pachomian monasteries, see Pr. 82, 100, 101 (37, 41). For De Ghellinck, 1591, the large amount of Greek and Coptic biblical papyri from the fourth and fifth centuries “témoignent de la diffusion des lectures bibliques, surtout de celles du Nouveau Testament et des Psaumes.” 58 Gelasius 1 (PG 65, 145 C). 59 John Moschus, Pratum spirituale 135 (PG 87, 2997A-D). 60 According to B. Flusin, J. Paramelle, “De Syncletica in deserto Jordanis (BHG

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lorenzo perrone For the Sake of Perfection: The Bible and Beyond

The series of sayings on the reading of Scripture ascribed to Epiphanius in the Apophthegmata emphasized its spiritual necessity, lest one should endanger one’s own salvation.61 Monks were expected to engage in it, in contradistinction to laity, though laypersons were also likely to develop an interest in the Bible, particularly if they had submitted to spiritual direction.62 As suggested by Epiphanius, reading was understood as an activity essentially instrumental in the achievement of monastic praxis, rather than as a way to reach the theoria that would have been placed at the higher end of the spiritual journey according to the Evagrian model. Reservations may be manifested, if this balance should not be observed. In one of the stories concerning Silvanus, a Palestinian who settled near Gaza after having lived as a monk first at Scetis and then in Sinai, we find a visitor criticizing the brethren, as he sees them busy with work. He was then sent into a cell with a book, and when he wondered why he did not get anything to eat, Silvanus ironically replied to him that he had chosen to be a ‘spiritual’, instead of being ‘carnal’ like the brethren who meanwhile had, naturally, taken their food.63 As a rule, emphasis on reading could not have been viewed without some suspicion within the monastic politeia, especially when it appeared too exclusive or if it tended to compromise somehow the essential goal of ascetic behaviour.64 Nevertheless, this did not prevent monks from devoting themselves, in a more or less exclusive form, to 1318w),” AnBoll 100 (1982), 291–317, the βιβλία δύο πανδέκτια (De Syncl. 7) must refer to an edition of the Bible in two volumes. 61 Epiphanius 9: εἶπε πάλιν, ὅτι μεγάλη ἀσφάλεια πρὸς τὸ μὴ ἁμαρτάνειν, τῶν Γραφῶν ἡ ἀνάγνωσις (PG 65, 165 B); 10: εἶπε πάλιν, ὅτι μέγας κρημνὸς καὶ βαθὺ βάραθρον, τῶν Γραφῶν ἡ ἄγνοια (ibid.); 11: εἶπε πάλιν, ὅτι μεγάλη προδοσία σωτηρίας, τὸ μηδένα τῶν θείων νόμων εἰδέναι (ibid.). 62 See the reply of the laity to Chrysostom’s insistence on the reading of the Bible: μὴ γὰρ μοναχός εἰμι (Hom. in Matth. II, 5 [PG 57, 30]; Hom. de Lazaro III, 1 [PG 48, 992]; Hom. in Gen. XXI, 6 [PG 53, 183]). On the other hand, we have the interesting testimony of Sozomen about the excellent biblical competence of his grandfather (Hist. Eccl. V, 15, 16). Remember also Pamphilus’ distribution of copies of the Bible to lay faithful, in particular to women (supra, n. 44). 63 See Silvanus 5 (PG 65, 409 C-D); and M. van Parys, “Abba Silvain et ses disciples. Une famille monastique entre Scété et la Palestine à la fin du IVe et durant la première moitié du Ve siècle,” Irénikon 61 (1988), 315–30, 451–80. 64 Conversely, a monk of Ancyra—as reported by Palladius, Hist. Laus. 68, 4—could not devote himself to reading, because driven by the urgency of philanthropia: πυκτίῳ ἐγκύψαι οὐ καρτερεῖ τῆς φιλανθρωπίας αὐτὸν ἐλαυνούσης τῶν ἀναγνωσμάτων (ed. Bartelink, 280,22–24).


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such occupation. Even in Silvanus’ monastic family, we find traces of a book-centered monastic culture. Traditions associated with this community preserved the memory of a disciple called Mark, who worked as a scribe in Egypt,65 while another one, Zacharias, remarked himself because of his acquaintance with a ‘Hebrew book’ not pertaining to the Old Testament canon.66 In addition to the various possible situations mentioned until now in connection with books and readers in an anchoritic or cenobitic regime, our sources occasionally present us with more or less developed programs of reading the Bible and the related writings. All these cases undoubtedly betray the unmistakable influence of Origen’s tradition of biblical interpretation, which was subsequently taken over by Jerome and crystallized in his model of the lectio divina informed by philological and spiritual concerns alike. On the path of that tradition, according to Palladius, Melania the Elder, driven by her love of the Scriptures, spent all her time in reading and re-reading the works of the biblical commentators, most of all those of Origen.67 Her granddaughter, Melania the Younger, faithfully developed the same habits while involving her community in an organic system of reading. From Gerontius’ testimony we learn that she was used to reading the Bible, both the Old and the New Testament, four times every year, and that she also went in search of every commentary, Latin or Greek, which could help her understand the language of the Scriptures.68 In order to achieve this intensive reading program, Melania forced herself to follow strict rules, with a fixed daily pensum of writing and reading; this latter referred both to the Bible and to its interpreters.69 As for Melania’s community, the nuns were engaged in reading the Scriptures,

Mark 1 (PG 65, 293). Sozomen, Hist. Eccl. IX, 17, 4 (ed. G.Ch. Hansen; GCS 50; Berlin: Akademie Verlag, 1960), 408,1–3. 67 Palladius, Hist. Laus. 55, 3: Αὕτη λογιωτάτη γενομένη ἢ καὶ φιλήσασα τὸν λόγον τὰς 65 66

νύκτας εἰς ἡμέρας μετέβαλε πᾶν σύγγραμμα τῶν ἀρχαίων ὑπομνηματισμῶν διελθοῦσα

(ed. Bartelink, 252,21–23). The list of commentators (Origen, Gregor, Stephen, Pierius, Basilius and others), with stichometric indications revealing the larger amount of Origen’s works, has inspired the short story of Nikolai Lesskow, Skomoroch Pamfalon. Here an anchorite, entirely devoted to practicing hesychia, recites by heart “the three million lines of Origen and the 250.000 of Gregory, Pierius and Stephen.” 68 Gerontius, V. Mel. L 26, 1–2: Legebat autem nouum et uetus testamentum per annos singulos quater . . . Nam ad locutiones interpretationum non eam latuit liber quem potuit inuenire, et quaedam propria, quaedam deforis accipiens, studiosius meditabatur (ed. Laurence, 202,1–2). 69 Ibid., 23, 3 (198,4–6), quoted above, n. 39. See also 24, 2 (200,4–5).

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more precisely they were expected to perform three readings every day during the office, presumably of the kind the founder of the monastery herself was practicing on a much larger scale.70 Yet there is also a third group of readings in which Melania the Younger engaged, one that was less demanding, since, in the words of her biographer, she sought it to relax a little, refreshing herself with their ‘sweetness.’71 By saying this, Gerontius clearly had in mind writings that dealt with the way of life of monks, similar to, if not already the materials which would be collected later in the “Lives and Sayings of the Desert Fathers.” Such readings certainly included martyrological texts or other hagiographic sources, as we see, for instance, in the case of the office for the feast of St. Stephen performed by Melania shortly before her death.72 The example of Melania the Younger may, therefore, be valued not only as a further indication of the enduring influence of the Origenian tradition of biblical interpretation,73 but also as the expression of a new cultural situation in ancient monasticism. Its spiritual nourishment, as far as the written word is concerned, no longer consisted only, or not mainly, of the Bible, but could also be provided by edifying literature of a new kind, which mirrored the specific experience and needs of the monks. It would be mistaken to consider this literature as an alternative to the Bible, for the “Lives and Sayings of the Desert Fathers” were based on the overall conviction that monasticism is the concrete form of obedience to the Word of God and that the monastic Fathers are his actual oracles.74 Yet a distinction, perhaps occasionally ensuing in a separation of the Bible from this ‘specialized’ literature started to appear, not least because of the awareness that for some, the goal of

70 Ibid., 43, 1: Videte quomodo per singulos dies legentes Scripturas diuinas et mandata retinere debeatis (238,2–3); 48, 6: Faciebat autem ut in die legerent tres lectiones, ita ut doctrinae et adnuntiationi ecclesiasticae mens earum ad bonum semper uacaret institutis orationibus (248,13–15). 71 Ibid., 23, 4 (198,6–7), quoted above, n. 39. 72 Ibid., 64, 1. The office consisted of five readings, the first of which was taken from the Inventio of St. Stephen’s relics and was made by Gerontius himself. After three nuns, Melania herself read the last piece, the story of the martyrdom from Acts. 73 In 36, 2, Gerontius describes her accepting interviews in Jerusalem with bishops and monks only doctrinam et diuinarum Scripturarum secreta mysteria requirens (224,6–7). 74 “The call to sell everything, give the proceeds to the poor, and follow the Gospel (Mt 19:21), the exhortation never to let the sun set on one’s anger (Eph 4:25), the commandment to love: these texts shaped the lives of the desert fathers in a particular way and projected a ‘world of meaning’ which they strove to appropriate. Holiness in the desert meant giving concrete shape to this world of possibilities stretching ahead of the sacred texts by interpreting them and appropriating them into one’s life” (BurtonChristie, The Word in the Desert, 20).


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spiritual perfection was more easily attainable through such writings than by direct recourse to the Bible. Let us recall the slap on the face that Dositheus got from his abbot, Seridos, as an incentive to put an end to his overheated desire to expand his knowledge of the Bible.75 This was a reaction dictated by a sense of awe in front of the Holy Scriptures and their mystery, which only the perfect could dare scrutinize. Yet who among the monks could boast of having achieved such perfection while still walking on the path towards it?76 A possible answer to this question would emphasize the sense of spiritual inadequacy before the Scriptures while insisting on the priority of ascetic concerns over exegetical or theological ones in the case of the monks. It is essentially an answer of this kind that underlies the warnings of Isaiah of Gaza against excessive probing of the Scriptures,77 Cyriacus’ criticisms of the Origenist monks in the Judean Desert—as reported by Cyril of Scythopolis—or the reactions of Barsanuphius and John of Gaza towards the brethren who were interested in reading Evagrius’ Gnostika.78 According to this line of thought, which dominates our sources, ascetics were encouraged more or less subtly to profit from ‘practical’, edifying writings instead of devoting themselves to investigating the Bible, which was too high of a task for most if not for all the monks.79 Therefore, with the consolidation of a monastic tradition especially embodied in the Apophthegmata, we can observe the emergence of a second type of authority next to the Scriptures, in order to provide guide and orientation for the ascetics’ behavior. Whereas Antony’s 75 76 77

See above, p. 400 and n. 22. Dorotheus, Did. 2, 36 (ed. Pauli, 176) exemplifies the point with regard to Zosimas. Abbah Isaiah, Asceticon 6: τὸ ἀγαπῆσαι τὸ περιεργάζεσθαι τὴν Γραφήν, τίκτει τὴν

ἔχθραν καὶ τὴν ἔριν, τὸ δὲ κλαίειν περὶ τῶν ἁμαρτιῶν, φέρει τὴν εἰρήνην· ἁμαρτία γάρ ἐστι μοναχῷ καθημένῳ ἐν τῷ κελλίῳ αὐτοῦ, καὶ καταλιμπάνοντι τὰς ἑαυτοῦ ἁμαρτίας καὶ περιεργαζομένῳ τὴν Γραφήν (ed. Augoustinos Monachos; Jerusalem, 1911; ed. S.N.

Schoinas, Volos: Hagioreitike Bibliotheke, 21962), 68. 78 See respectively Cyril of Scythopolis, V. Cyr. 12–13 and Barsanuphius and John of Gaza, Letters 600–607, with my remarks on both sources in “Palestinian Monasticism, the Bible, and Theology,” 251–58. See also D. Hombergen, The Second Origenist Controversy. A New Perspective on Cyril of Scythopolis’ Monastic Biographies as Historical Sources for Sixth-Century Origenism (Roma: Pontificio Ateneo S. Anselmo, 2001). 79 Referring to Antony 26, Dörries described the changing attitude towards the Bible as follows: “Sie wird der Gefahr ausgesetzt, das Schicksal des Dogmas zu teilen, unangetastet, aber unumfragt und so zur Unwirksamkeit verurteilt zu werden. Das mußte um so eher geschehen, je mehr man der Bibel nur Weisungen entnahm, als sei sie das göttliche Gesetzbuch, das stummen Gehorsam fordere, nicht verstehenden Glauben. . . . Die Bibel war der Gefahr asugesetzt, zur Ikone zu erstarren, deren Züge im Weihrauch der Verehrung verschwimmen” (273).

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Letters already suggest a comparison with the apostolic epistles, in later monastic writings the Sayings of the Desert Fathers tend to gain, more or less, a sort of ‘canonical status’.80 This impression is supported, among other things, by the juxtaposition of the Scriptures and of the Sayings of the Fathers, most notably when our sources tend to quote both as if they were parallel or convergent ‘authorities.’81 It is also interesting to observe the process through which a growing corpus of ascetical writings contributed to preserve and transmit previous monastic experiences and teachings, conferring them ‘normative’ value within a very short span of time. For instance, in the correspondence of Barsanuphius and John of Gaza, in addition to that of the Sayings of the Fathers, we can also detect the influence of the Asceticon of Isaiah, a work that predates the two Old Men of Gaza with only a few decades.82 Moreover, the Conversations of Zosimas, a contemporary of Barsanuphius and John, also shows frequent and clear traces of their author’s familiarity with the Gerontikon.83 In turn, the Teachings of Dorotheus of Gaza refer to Zosimas as a witness of this ascetic tradition. Now Zosimas himself is counted among the ‘Fathers’, and this fact contributes to reinforcing their authority as teachers of the way to perfection.84 The New ‘Fathers’ and the Old: Re-enacting the Bible in the Present The new ‘Fathers’ of monasticism were not meant as substitutes for the old ones. They only reflected, in the eyes of monks, a further devel-

80 In connection with Antony’s Letters scholars have mentioned the inspiration of Pauline epistles (e.g. Rubenson, The Letters of St. Antony, 48–9) or also of the wisdom literature (Vecoli, 225). Later on we find, for instance, Shenute’s Letters to Nuns, where the archimandrite acts as the ‘Word of God’ on behalf of the community (ibid., 241). 81 According to Hevelone-Harper, Barsanuphius “drew upon two categories of authority, that of scripture and that of the Apophthegmata Patrum” (17). 82 F. Neyt, “La formation au monastère de l’Abbé Séridos à Gaza,” Christian Gaza in Late Antiquity (ed. B. Bitton-Ashkelony and A. Kofsky, Leiden/Boston: Brill, 2004), 151–61. On Isaiah and the other exponents of Gaza monasticism, see my article, “Monasticism in Gaza: A Chapter in the History of Byzantine Palestine,” Zwischen Polis, Provinz und Peripherie. Beiträge zur byzantinischen Geschichte und Kultur (ed. L.M. Hoffmann, Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz, 2005), 59–74. 83 Zosimas, Adl. 12 (Iperechio, Stefano di Tebe, Zosima. Parole dal deserto, 116) presents one monk as “continually reading the Sayings of the Fathers and almost breathing in them, so as to extract from them the fruits of every virtue.” 84 Dorotheus of Gaza, Did. 1, 14 (ed. Pauli, 142); 2, 36 (176); 6, 77 (256); 8, 91 (282); 8, 94 (292). On the expression οἱ Πατέρες with regard to Zosimas, see Dorotheus, Ep. 7 (486).


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opment of the history of salvation to be conceived as a continuum, a unique sequence from biblical to present times. The anonymous author of the Life of Chariton clearly implied this by asserting the fundamental equivalence between the Old and the New Testament, and the ascetic literature, inasmuch as all the three sources proposed the same pattern of virtue.85 And so did Palladius when he ascribed to his Lausiac History a purpose identical to that of the biblical authors who wrote the lives of Abraham, Moses, Elijah and John the Baptist, namely to offer, like them, moral utility for the readers.86 To conclude our brief review on the presence of the Bible in the world of Palestinian monasticism, we should indicate the manner in which monks used to consider their actual experience in the light of the biblical past. As is generally acknowledged, a sense of continuity with both biblical heroes and the martyrs characterized early monasticism and was probably quite common among Palestinian monks, too. In the Life of Euthymius, Cyril of Scythopolis expressed this through a short compendium of the history of salvation: Euthymius, being inhabited by the Spirit of God, is like Adam before the fall; consequently, both the animals and the elements submit to his powers as a charismatic monk.87 Monastic ‘Fathers,’ responding to God’s call for a life in his presence, saw themselves as walking in the footsteps of the patriarchs, first and foremost those of Abraham. Once again, Cyril of Scythopolis, testifying to the importance of the book of Genesis for ancient monasticism, was not shy to allude to Abraham’s death, when he described how Euthymius, Sabas and Theodosius died.88 In his turn, John Rufus with his Life of Peter the Iberian presented the figure of the militant monk and bishop of Maiumas, leader of the resistance to Chalcedon during

85 86

V. Char. 1 (Cercare Dio nel deserto. Vita di Caritone, 50). Palladius, Hist. Laus. Prol. 7: Καὶ γὰρ οἱ τοὺς τῶν πατέρων ἀναγραψάμενοι βίους,

̓Αβραάμ τε καὶ τῶν καθεξῆς, Μωσέως καὶ ̓Ηλίου καὶ ̓Ιωάννου, οὐχ ἵνα ἐκείνους δοξάσωσιν ἐξηγήσαντο, ἀλλ’ ἵνα καὶ τοὺς ἐντυγχάνοντας ὠφελήσωσιν (ed. Bartelink,

8,62–66). 87 Cyril of Scythopolis, V. Euth. 13. 88 For Van der Horst, with regard to Genesis, “it was especially the stories about the pioneers of faith, the patriarchs, that made this book a particular favorite with the early monks. The patriarchs’ roaming through the deserts at God’s command cannot have failed to make an impact on the minds of the desert fathers and their admirers. The fact that Cyril repeatedly alludes to the wording of Gen 25:8, where Abraham’s death is described, when he writes about the deaths of Sabas, Euthymius, and Theodosius makes it clear that he regarded these saints as worthy followers of the great patriarch” (129).

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the four decades following the council, as a new Moses.89 Biblical paradigms thus helped to shape the hagiographical construction in order to enhance the profile of its protagonists. In the case of Chariton, his biographer does not shy away from comparing the missionary initiative of his hero with that of the Apostle of the Gentiles.90 Moreover, he even considered a miracle performed by Chariton, the raising of a source of water, as being equal to those of Moses, Samson and Eliseus as narrated in the Bible.91 Finally, for him, the status of Chariton as an anchorite combined in one person the roles of prophet, apostle and martyr.92 In one of the instructions he addressed to his community Dorotheus spoke of the new ‘Fathers’ of monasticism as of those who have accomplished the original design of God for the salvation of mankind.93 It was through the Word of God transmitted by Scripture that the ancient monks became aware of this salvific design. They meditated on it in their daily life, first and foremost by praying with the Psalms, their most immediate help in the ascetic fight and a constant source of inspiration. But they were also acquainted with the whole biblical revelation in several ways, by listening to reading and preaching in the liturgy or by performing the office, and also by reading from the holy books, or by conversing and discussing with their brethren or even with interested laypersons.94 Although the monks were interested in doctrinal matters—as amply testified by their involvement in the dogmatic controversies of the fourth, fifth, and the sixth centuries—it was primarily the Bible that represented for them, in a very special way, a body of moral teachings and practical examples. As both hagiographical works and ascetic writings show, their exegetical approach mainly led the monks to extract from the Bible lessons for a life of perfection.

89 B. Bitton-Ashkelony, “Imitatio Mosis and Pilgrimage in the Life of Peter the Iberian,” Christian Gaza in Late Antiquity, 107–29. 90 This synkrisis figures in V. Char. 15 (Cercare Dio nel deserto. Vita di Caritone, 57). 91 Ibid., 24 (62–63). 92 For Chariton’s role as apostle, see ibid., 38 (69); as prophet, 39 (69–70); and as martyr, 40 (70). The anonymous author overcomes his embarrassment over the lack of information on Chariton’s miracles by comparing once more his hero with biblical figures like Henoch or Melchisedech (ibid., 43 [71]). 93 See Dorotheus, Did. 1, 11–12 (ed. Pauli, 138–40). 94 See, e.g., the question put to Isaiah of Gaza by a member of the curia of Gaza on how to understand man “in the image of God” (Zacharias Rhetor, V. Is. [ed. E.W Brooks; CSCO 7; repr. Louvain: Durbecq, 1955], 5).


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Moreover the monks, in Palestine as elsewhere, not only joined the Bible and the works of the commentators, ultimately filtrated through the catenae, but added to these more and more of their own new creation, a monastic literature endowed with considerable authority, which culminated in the Sayings of the Desert Fathers. They even applied to this literature the techniques they were used to practice when interpreting the Bible, although this kind of writings was expected to be less problematic and challenging.95 Yet, in spite of all this, they also encouraged a sense of inadequacy with regard to their own monastic paradigms not dissimilar from the attitude they maintained in face of the Bible. A layperson who was fond of talking about the Lives of the Fathers and asked Barsanuphius in what spirit he should do it was taught by the Great Old Man that he should always remain aware of the fact that he talked about the virtues of the Fathers without possessing any of them.96 With a similar emphasis, Barsanuphius, now addressing a monk who appreciated ‘dogmatic books,’ exhorted him to read instead the sayings of the Fathers, so as to humble his mind instead of elevating himself.97 In Byzantine Palestine, then as elsewhere, in spite of an undoubtedly larger display of literacy and of the lively intellectual dynamics connected with it, the relation of monasticism with the Bible never lost its predominantly ‘practical’ aspect.98

95 In Did. 2, 26 Dorotheus introduces a ‘zetetic’ approach, comparable to that applied to Scriptures, in regard of a saying of Isaiah of Gaza: ζητήσωμεν τί ἐστιν ἡ δύναμις τοῦ λόγου τοῦ γέροντος (162). 96 Thus he should say to himself: Οὐαί μοι, πῶς λαλῶ τὰς ἀρετὰς τῶν πατέρων, καὶ οὐδὲν ἐκτησάμην ἀπʼ αὐτῶν (Barsanuphius and John of Gaza, Letters 689). Also for abbas Irenaeus the reading of a βιβλίον γεροντικόν, in a laura near Gaza, makes him aware of his trespass against the Fathers ( John Moschus, Pratum spirituale 55 [PG 87, 2909 B]). 97 Barsanuphius and John of Gaza, 547. 98 I would like to thank Dr. Cristian Gaspar (Central European University, Budapest) for the revision of my English text.

SEPARATING LIGHT FROM DARKNESS: MANICHAEAN USE OF BIBLICAL TRADITIONS IN THE KEPHALAIA Timothy Pettipiece Manichaeans were interested in a wide range of religious literature. While they were particularly influenced by what we might call “apocryphal” or “pseudepigraphic” Jewish and Christian texts and traditions,1

1 For instance, the Coptic Manichaean Psalm-book makes prominent use of material drawn from the apocryphal acts of the apostles, such as the Acts of Paul, the Acts of Peter, the Acts of Andrew, the Acts of John, and the Acts of Thomas; see P. Nagel, “Die apokryphen Apostelakten des 2. und 3. Jahrhunderts in der manichäischen Literatur,” Gnosis und Neues Testament (ed. K.-W. Tröger; Gütersloh: Gütersloher Verlagshaus Mohn, 1973), 149–82; J.-D. Kaestli, “L’utilisation des actes apocryphes des apôtres dans le manichéisme,” Gnosis and Gnosticism: Papers Read at the Seventh International Conference on Patristic Studies (Oxford, September 8th–13th 1975) (ed. M. Krause; NHS 8; Leiden: Brill, 1977), 107–16; and L. Leloir, “Les actes apocryphes d’André,” in Manichaica selecta: Studies Presented to Professor Julien Ries on the Occasion of His Seventieth Birthday (ed. A. van Tongerloo and S. Giversen; Manichaean Studies 1; Louvain: Brepols, 1991), 191–201. It has even been shown, by P. Mirecki (“Coptic Manichaean Psalm 278 and Gospel of Thomas 37,” Manichaica selecta, 243–62), W.-P. Funk (“ ‘Einer aus tausend, zwei aus zehntausend’: Zitate aus dem Thomas-Evangelium in den koptischen Manichaica,” For the Children, Perfect Instruction: Studies in Honor of Hans-Martin Schenke on the Occasion of the Berliner Arbeitskreis für koptisch-gnostische Schriften’s Thirtieth Year [eds. H.-G. Bethge, et al.; NHMS 54; Leiden: Brill, 2002], 67–94), and J.K. Coyle (“The Gospel of Thomas among the Manichaeans?” in the acts of L’Évangile selon Thomas et les textes de Nag Hammadi colloquium, Université Laval, May 29–31, 2003, forthcoming), that Manichaeans made significant use of various logia found in the Gospel of Thomas. Similarly, the so-called Cologne Mani Codex, a hagiographical biography of Mani, incorporated Jewish apocryphal material attributed to biblical figures such as Adam, Sethel, Enos(h), S(h)em, and Enoch (CMC 48–58) as part of a deliberately polemical rhetorical strategy (T. Sala, “Apocalyptic Visions—Apologetic Revisions. Rhetorical Strategies in Baraies the Teacher’s Homily on Mani’s Apostleship,” in the acts of Sixth International Meeting of the International Association of Manichaean Studies [ Flagstaff, AZ, Aug. 1–5, 2006], forthcoming), as well as imagery from the Syriac Apocalypse of Baruch, as demonstrated by M. Tardieu, “La vision de la mer aux eaux noires (CMC 77, 4–79,12),” Au Carrefour des religions: mélanges offerts à Philippe Gignoux (ed. R. Gyselen; Res orientales 7; Bures-sur-Yvette: Groupe pour l’étude de la civilisation du MoyenOrient, 1995), 303–10. Most recently, however, newly excavated personal letters from ancient Kellis (Ismant el-Kharab, Egypt), reveal traces of how apocryphal literature was used by lay members of the community when a certain Makarios instructs his son Matheos to study various texts, including one known as the Judgment of Peter; see I. Gardner, A. Alcock, and W.-P. Funk, eds., Coptic Documentary Texts from Kellis, Volume 1 (Oxford: Oxbow Books, 1999). Moreover, the Kellis find also includes a Greek text

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they also made productive use of proto-canonical, early Christian writings in their efforts to communicate their own particular theological themes. But, as Michel Tardieu complained nearly twenty years ago, few outside of the specialized domain of Manichaean Studies have been interested in Manichaean readings of biblical texts.2 That is, until now. The inclusion of a chapter on Mani in Charles Kannengiesser’s Handbook of Patristic Exegesis (Leiden: Brill, 2004) fills an important lacuna in our understanding of biblical exegesis in late antiquity. We may now give Mani and his followers their proper place in the history of biblical exegesis. Among the mutilated debris that is Manichaean literature, the Coptic codices discovered in 1929 in Egypt, near the town of Medinet Madi (ancient Narmouthis),3 open an important albeit somewhat fractured window on early Manichaean readings of the Bible. Not only do these Manichaean writings possess a particularly Christian hue (especially when compared to fragmentary texts from Central Asia), those who produced and utilized them considered themselves to be the definitive followers of Jesus and identified themselves the “Holy Church.” Thus, it is not surprising that they should have made some effort to situate themselves within the framework of early Christian discourse and even employ proto-canonical material in service of their theological agenda.

thought to resemble the Acts of John; see G. Jenkins, “Papyrus 1 from Kellis: A Greek text with affinities to the Acts of John,” The Apocryphal Acts of John (ed. J.N. Bremmer; Kampen: Kok Pharos, 1995), 197–216. 2 “Principes de l’exégèse manichéenne du Nouveau Testament,” Les règles de l’interprétation (ed. M. Tardieu; Paris: Cerf, 1987), 123–4. Specialized studies include P. Alfaric, Les écritures manichéennes (Paris, 1919); A. Böhlig, “Die Bibel bei den Manichäer” (Diss: Münster, 1947); P. Cantaloup, L’Harmonie des deux Testaments dans le Contra Faustum d’Augustin (Toulouse: Institut catholique, 1957); L. Rougier, “La critique biblique dans l’Antiquité: Marcion et Faustus de Milève,” Cahiers du cercle Ernest-Renan (Paris, 1958); J. Ries, “La Bible chez saint Augustin et chez les manichéens,” Revue des études augustiniennes 9 (1963), 203–15; C. Riggi, “Les manichéens et leur utilisation de la Bible selon Épiphane (Panarion LXVI),” Fifth Congress of Patristic Studies, Oxford 1967 (Rome, 1969); F. Decret, Aspects du manichéisme dans l’Afrique romain: les controverses de Fortunatus, Faustus et Felix avec saint Augustin (Paris: Études augustiniennes, 1970), 93–182 at 169–72. 3 The classic account of their discovery was by C. Schmidt and H.-J. Polotsky, “Ein Mani-Fund in Ägypten,” Sitzungsberichte der preussischen Akademie der Wissenschaften (1933): 4–90. For a more up-to-date account see J. Robinson, “The Fate of the Manichaean Codices of Medinet Madi: 1929–1989,” Studia Manichaica, II. Internationaler Kongreß zum Manichäismus, 6.–10. August 1989, St. Augustin/Bonn (eds. G.Wießner and H.-J. Klimkeit; Wiesbaden: Otto Harrassowitz, 1992), 19–62. See also I. Gardner and S.N.C. Lieu, “From Narmouthis (Medinet Madi) to Kellis (Ismant el-Kharab): Manichaean Documents from Roman Egypt,” Journal of Roman Studies 86 (1996): 146–69.

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For the sake of brevity, I will focus on the most doctrinally orientated of these Coptic codices, the so-called Kephalaia of the Teacher,4 and show some examples of how Manichaeans used and interpreted passages drawn particularly from the New Testament5 in support some uniquely Manichaean themes. The Advent of the Apostle In Kephalaia Chapter 1 “On the Advent of the Apostle” a great effort is made by the compilers6 of the text to demonstrate that Mani is not only the most recent but is in fact the most relevant in a long line of divine messengers stretching back to Adam, Seth, and Enoch (1Ke 12.10–12), through eastern sages such as Buddha, Aurentes,7 and Zarathustra (1Ke 12.15–18), down to “Jesus the Christ” (1Ke 12.20). While Mani’s predecessors are little more than a series of names, the apostolate of Jesus is given an extended description rich with allusions to the New Testament. In particular, the author of Chapter 1 cites Phil 2:7 by stating that Christ’s “apostles have also proclaimed/of him that he took the

The Manichaean Kephalaia exist in two Coptic codices discovered near the Egyptian town of Medinet Madi in 1929. The first codex (Berlin codex P. 15996 or Berlin Kephalaia codex) is entitled “The Kephalaia of the Teacher,” while the second codex (Codex C or Dublin Kephalaia codex) is entitled “The Kephalaia of the Wisdom of My Lord Mani.” Much of the Berlin Kephalaia codex was published by H.-J. Polotsky and A. Böhlig (Kephalaia (I) : 1. Hälfte [Lieferung 1–10] (Stuttgart: Kohlhammer, 1940) and Kephalaia (I) : 2 Hälfte [Lieferung 11–12] (Stuttgart: Kohlhammer, 1966), while the remainder is being published by W.-P. Funk (see Kephalaia (I) : Zweite Hälfte [Lieferung 13–14] (Stuttgart: Kohlhammer, 1999) and Kephalaia (I) : Zweite Hälfte [Lieferung 15–16] (Stuttgart: Kohlhammer, 2000). For a recent account of the characteristics, content, and reconstruction of the Kephalaia codices, see Funk, “The Reconstruction of the Manichaean Kephalaia,” Emerging from Darkness: Studies in the Recovery of Manichaean Sources (eds. P. Mirecki and J. BeDuhn; NHMS 43; Leiden: Brill, 1997), 143–59. 5 It should be noted, however, that since Manichaeism originated in Syriac-speaking Mesopotamia, the biblical text with which they would have been most familiar was not the New Testament per se, but rather Tatian’s Diatessaron, which held sway in this region until the fifth century. In addition, they were also influenced by the bipartite scheme of Gospel and Apostle inherited from Marcion (Tardieu, “Principes,” 140–3). 6 My assumption is that the Kephalaia is a composite work involving a number of authors and redactors whom I generically label “compilers.” 7 This is thought to represent the Buddhist technical term arhant; see I. Gardner, The Kephalaia of the Teacher (NHMS 37; Leiden: Brill, 1995), 15; and idem, “Some Comments on Mani and Indian Religions: According to the Coptic Kephalaia,” Il Manicheismo: nuove prospettive della richerca (eds. A. van Tongerloo and L. Cirillo; Manichaean Studies 5; Louvain: Brepols, 2005], 129). 4

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form of a slave, the likeness of human beings” (1Ke 12.24–26).8 Unfortunately, Mani argued, Jesus’ teachings were imperfectly preserved and, in spite of the efforts of people such as Paul and (perhaps) Marcion,9 his community suffered the same fate as his predecessors—corruption and decay. Luckily, the story does not end there, since the saviour promised to send another agent to correct this situation. Enter here Mani, who made the audacious assertion that he in fact was the “Paraclete” promised by Jesus in John 16:7ff. As such, Mani is made to cite this passage as a proof-text in support of his own apostolic pretensions: When the church of the Saviour was raised up, my/apostolate began— which you questioned me about. From that time,/the Holy Paraclete of Truth was sent, the one/who has come to you in this last generation. As the Saviour/said: When I go I will send you the Paraclete/. . . when the Paraclete comes, he will reprimand the world about/[sin] . . . he will speak to you about righteousness and/about . . . (1Ke 14.3–10).

This citation allows Mani to be presented as an agent of God in direct line with Jesus and as the reformer of the true “Holy Church.” In this way, the Kephalaia compilers’ understanding of Mani’s apostolate is reinforced by biblical tradition. The Two Trees There can be no denying that the foundation of Manichaean ontology is to be found in the doctrine of the two radically opposed natures of Light and Darkness. Thus, it should not be surprising that after establishing Mani’s credentials as the final apostle of God in Chapter 1, this foundational issue would be addressed straight away in Kephalaia Chapter 2 “The Second, on the Parable of the Tree.” In this chapter, the concept of the natures is potently expressed by the image of the “Two Trees” drawn from Matt 7:17–20/Luke 6:43–44. Here, however, the biblical citation comes in the form of a question from Mani’s disciples: We implore you, our/Lord, that you [teach us] and interpret for us these/two trees [which Jesus] proclaimed to his disciples, as is written/in the [Gospel, where he said]: The good tree produces/[good fruit,] although [the]

NB: All translations of Kephalaia material are mine. According to Chapter 1, “a righteous man of truth” (1Ke 13.30) appeared subsequent to Paul, who is identified by some as Marcion (see Gardner, The Kephalaia of the Teacher, 19). 8 9


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evil tree produces bad fruit /[. . . There is no] good tree that produces bad fruit,/[nor is there an evil tree that] produces good fruit. / [Every tree is known by] its fruit (1Ke 17.2–9).

One of the principal points of this chapter, however, is the fact that even though the two natures are in total ontological opposition, they are structurally similar, since they each possess the same set of five qualities, known to Manichaeans as “Limbs”: 1) Mind, 2) Thought, 3) Insight, 4) Counsel, and 5) Consideration—a motif which is attested in other apocryphal sources such as the Acts of Thomas or Eugnostos. Nevertheless, the fact that the good and evil natures are structurally identical means that one can really only distinguish them by an evaluation of their “fruits”, i.e., their impact on the world. As an illustration, the compiler chooses Luke 22:3 to show how Judas “was counted among the [twelve],/but, in the end, because it is written about him that Satan [entered him]/he handed the Saviour over to the Jews” (1Ke 19.1–3). Similarly, Chapter 2 alludes to 1 Cor 15:9 by stating that “[it is written about]/Paul that he was a persecutor at first . . . the church/of God, as he persecuted . . .” (1Ke 6–8). This furnishes additional proof that people, and by extension natures, are not always what they appear to be. The image of the trees is taken up again in Kephalaia Chapter 18 “[On the Five] Wars [which the] Sons of Light waged with [the Sons] of Darkness.” In this case, however, the reference is to Matt 3:10 and the image is extended to the level of the cosmogonic struggle when, in response to the invasion of the light-realm, the First Man was sent by the Father into battled with the Archons of Darkness: “. . . he cut (and) uprooted the roots of [the Five]/[Trees?] . . . root of the evil trees like an axe./As the Saviour said: Behold, the axe is at the root /[of ] the evil tree, so that it might not produce evil fruit from now on” (1Ke 58.16–19). Here again the compiler provides a biblical proof text to reinforce the authority of his master and to establish a continuity between the teachings of Mani and Jesus.10 Heart and Treasure One of the most widely applied biblical texts found in the Kephalaia comes from Matt 6:21: “For where your treasure is, there your heart

10

Matt 3:10 is also cited by Gospel of Philip 83.12 (NHC II,3).

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will be also” (nrsv). This passage, which is inverted in the Manichaean usage, occurs in four different chapters. The first occurrence can be found in Chapter 82 “The Chapter on Righteous [ Judgement],” in which Mani counsels his disciples to persevere in love and fear: “. . . but the place where your heart and your [. . .]/your treasure will also be found in [that] place” (1Ke 200.3–4). The next occurrence comes from Kephalaia Chapter 85 “On the Cross of Light . . .,” where Mani counsels his disciples not to harm the “Cross of Light,” the Manichaean symbol for light-particles imprisoned—metaphorically “crucified”—within matter. In some cases, however, it may be necessary to do some damage to the cross during every-day life, as long as one is mindful of what is being done: “[where]/your heart is, your treasure will also be found [there] (1Ke 210.31–32). In Chapter 89, “The Chapter on the Nazorean who questions the Teacher,” Mani is made to explain to a sectarian that sinners are ultimately responsible for the judgment God passes on them, since “[where]/your (pl.) heart is, your (pl.) treasure will also [be found]” (1Ke 223.3–4). Finally, the phrase also occurs in Kephalaia Chapter 91 “On the Catechumen . . .,” which is a long discourse on the proper conduct of a Manichaean “hearer.” If such a person behaves properly, after death he “is /purified, either above or below, he is /purified according to the value of his works, and he is/purified, cleansed, and adorned. Afterwards, he/is fashioned a Light-image/and is drawn and elevated to the Land of Rest, so that,/where his heart is, his treasure is there too” (1Ke 234.3–9). It is interesting to note that these citations occur in relative proximity to each other within the Kephalaia collection, in chapters 82, 85, 89, and 91—all within the same 35 codex pages. In addition, two of these four chapter titles (82 and 89) are given the atypical formulation “The Chapter on x,” whereas the majority of chapters from Kephalaia volume 1 are given the simple formula “On x.” Could this indicate the presence of a particular authorial or editorial hand? We cannot say. What we might suppose, however, is that the Manichaean version of Matt 6:21 served as some kind of catechetical catch-phrase aimed at strengthening the resolve of adherents, or, it was simply a preferred text of this particular compiler. Moreover, the fact that Manichaeans inverted the phrase to “where your heart is, your treasure will be also” could be connected to the so-called “seal of the heart” imposed on the Elect (see Augustine, De moribus manichaeorum, 10.19) or the general importance of “treasure” as a theological keyword going back to Mani’s own book, Treasure of Life.


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Proper Conduct The Kephalaia also contains a number of biblical citations that serve to reinforce statements about Manichaean ethics and conduct. For example, Chapter 77 “On the Four [Kingdoms]” alludes to Matt 10:42 when Mani is made to teach that greater than the mighty kingdoms of Babylon, Rome, Axum, and Silis (i.e., China)11 is the one who “[will give]/bread and a cup of water to one of my disciples on [account of/the name of ] God” (1Ke 189.6–7). On a more directly personal level, Mani takes issue with the conduct of his community when he embraces a deformed Elect who is being mocked by the congregation and is made to cite Matt 18:10: “For the [Saviour] says: [He who shares] something with the least of these faithful, who [. . . /. . .] their angel sees the face of the Father daily” (1Ke 201.28–31). Later, the conduct of lay-people is again addressed by Kephalaia Chapter 91 “On the Catechumen . . .,” where Mani is made to cite 1 Cor 7:29–31 in an explanation of the virtues of the catechumenate: But, the one who excels in all these things—/solitude, respect, and love for the saints who/are with him—he cares for the Church like [his] house,/in fact more than his house. He entrusts all his wealth to the/Elect men and women. For this is what [the] Saviour/preached through the mouth of his Apostle:12 From today/onwards those who have wives, let them become like those who do not./Those who buy like those not buying, those who rejoice like those not rejoicing,/those who weep like those not weeping, those who profit from this world/like those not in wantonness” (1Ke 229.6–15).

In this way, biblical citations could be used by the Kephalaia compilers to reinforce statements about Manichaean ethics. No doubt this appealed to Manichaean insiders, since their respect and veneration for Jesus was considerable, but it certainly would have served to attract outsiders already predisposed to Christianity.

11 The particular selection of kingdoms reveals much about the political world view of early Manichaeans. 12 It is interesting to note how in citing this passage from Paul, the Manichaean author ultimately attributes its wisdom to Jesus.

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timothy pettipiece Additional Themes

Biblical allusions are also used to support a variety of other themes. For instance, in Kephalaia Chapter 75 “(On the Letter[?])” a reference to Matt 21.22 is used to reinforce Manichaean ideas about prayer, which Mani is made to compare to the sending of “letters of peace” between divine and/or human beings: “Everything you ask [for/…] will be given you” (1Ke 183.7–8). In Chapter 9 “The Interpretation of the (Sign of ) Peace, what it means, the Right Hand, the Kiss, the Adoration,” Mani is made to cite Mark 12:36 in an explanation of how various ritual actions, such as the so-called “Laying on of Hands,” represent events from the cosmic drama: The second/Laying on of Hands is this, that after the Living Spirit had led the First/Man up from the war, he rescued him from all the/waves. He brought him up (and) gave him rest in the Great/Aeons of Light which belong to the house of his people./He set him before the Father, the Lord of All./Then, when he ascended to the great Father of/Light, a voice came to him from the height, saying:/Set my son, my first-born, at my right, that I might/place all his enemies as a footstool under his feet (1Ke 40.5–14).

The issues of rejection and adversity are addressed by Kephalaia Chapter 76 “On Lord Manichaios: how he journeyed,” when Mani, citing John 3:19, explains that his message has not been widely received because “the world loves the Darkness; [ but hates the]/Light, because its works are evil” (1Ke 184.11–12; 185.12–13). As a result of such darkness and evil, we learn in Chapter 63 “On Love,” that “the Apostle (i.e., Mani) too will give [him-]/self for his Church. Because of [this]/the Church also calls him ‘love’. For/it is written that there is no greater love than this, that one should [give himself ]/to death for his friend ” (1Ke 156.12–16; cf. John 15:13). Finally, in a rare allusion to the Jewish Scriptures, Deut 17:2–5 is polemically cited by Chapter 65 “On the Sun” as a criticism of Manichaean veneration of the sun as a light-vehicle: “But, since Satan13 knows that it is the departure-gate/of souls, he placed an exclusionary judgement in his law that no one (should) worship it, saying: Whoever worships it will die” (1Ke 159.1–4).

13 See here the influence of Marcionite and Gnostic characterizations of the Jewish God.


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Conclusion Based on this sampling of direct and indirect biblical citations found within the Kephalaia we can see that passages drawn from the New Testament served as an important source of proof-texts for the Manichaean compilers. Such citations function in much the same way as New Testament citations of the Jewish Scriptures, that is, as a way to reinforce the authority of the new revelation, while at the same time maintaining continuity with what has come before. As Tardieu recognized, Manichaeans viewed the New Testament in a similar fashion as proto-orthodox Christians viewed the Hebrew Bible,14 although in the case of the Kephalaia the emphasis is not so much on explaining the texts cited15 as it is on using them in support of a manifestly Manichaean theological agenda, namely, establishing the apostolic authority of Mani as final messenger of God, underlining the dualistic foundation of Manichaean ontology, and encouraging the faithful in the face of rejection and adversity.

“Principes,” 129. Later Manichaean teachers such as Faustus engaged in more formal literary criticism (Tardieu, “Principes,” 145). 14 15

THE RECEPTION OF EARLY CHRISTIAN TEXTS AND TRADITIONS IN LATE ANTIQUITY APOCRYPHAL LITERATURE Pierluigi Piovanelli One of the most significant paradigmatic shifts in the study of Christian apocryphal literature has been the recent rediscovery and reappraisal of late antique texts written in the period from the fourth to the sixth century ce, including the Questions of Bartholomew, the Acts of Philip, the Gospel of Nicodemus, the “orthodox” Apocalypse of Paul, the so-called Gospel of the Savior (also known as the “Unknown Berlin Gospel”), and the Book of the Cock. The turning point was, in my opinion, the 1983 publication of the new critical edition and commentary of the Acts of John by Éric Junod and Jean-Daniel Kaestli.1 Prior to this groundbreaking work, the opinio communis was the view promulgated by Edgar Hennecke and Wilhelm Schneemelcher, the editors of the Neutestamentliche Apokryphen, the well-known anthology of apocryphal texts in German translation. According to them, after the end of the third century ce there were no more “New Testament Apocrypha”—as they called the earlier Christian apocryphal texts—only hagiographic legends.2 In contrast, rather than exclusively devoting their energies to the reconstruction and the study of the original text of the Acts of John written in the second half of the second century ce, Junod and Kaestli were able to extend their research not only to the corpus of the other Apocryphal Acts of

1 É. Junod and J.-D. Kaestli, Acta Iohannis (2 vols.; CCSA 1–2; Turnhout: Brepols, 1983). See also eidem, L’histoire des actes apocryphes des apôtres du III e au IX e siècle: le cas des Actes de Jean (CahRTP 7; Genève: Revue de théologie et de philosophie, 1982); eidem, “Le dossier des ‘Actes de Jean’: état de la question et perspectives nouvelles,” ANRW 2.25.6 (Berlin/New York: W. de Gruyter, 1988), 4293–362; eidem, “Actes de Jean,” ÉAC, 1.973–1037. 2 W. Schneemelcher, “General Introduction,” New Testament Apocrypha (2 vols.; ed. W. Schneemelcher; trans. R.McL. Wilson; Cambridge/Louisville: J. Clarke/Westminster John Knox Press, 1991–1992 [orig.: Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 61989–1990]), 1.9–75 at 54, 58, and 60–2. See the retrospective comments of C. Markschies, “ ‘Neutestamentliche Apokryphen.’ Bemerkungen zu Geschichte und Zukunft einer von Edgar Hennecke im Jahr 1904 begründeten Quellensammlung,” Apocrypha 9 (1998), 97–132.

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the Apostles of the second and third centuries,3 but also to the various Lives of John that were composed after the end of the third century.4 This new awareness of the importance of correspondingly later rewritings paved the way to a full-scale critique of the traditional notion of “New Testament Apocrypha”5 and, in the end, to the rehabilitation of late antique and early medieval apocryphal texts, many of which are included, in French translation, in the recently published two-volume Bibliothèque de la Pléiade anthology, Écrits apocryphes chrétiens.6 The inclusion of these relatively late texts within the compass of Christian apocryphal literature raises some interesting questions for specialists of Early Christianity. Are such texts intrinsically valuable because they preserve some portions of earlier documents? Or do they deserve our special attention because they contain, reflect, or are otherwise based on older traditions? Or is it possible that some of these

3 See their essays published in F. Bovon, et al., Les Actes apocryphes des apôtres: christianisme et monde païen (PFTUG 4; Genève: Labor et Fides, 1981), and D.R. MacDonald (ed.), The Apocryphal Acts of the Apostles (Semeia 38; Decatur, GA: Scholars Press, 1986). 4 Junod and Kaestli, Acta Iohannis, 2.705–17 (Syriac History of John), 718–49 (Acts of John by Prochorus), 750–834 (Passio and Virtutes Iohannis) and 835–86 (Acts of John in Rome); eidem, “Le dossier des ‘Actes de Jean’,” 4315–29. See also eidem, “Actes de Jean à Rome,” ÉAC, 2.697–708. 5 É. Junod, “Apocryphes du NT ou apocryphes chrétiens anciens? Remarques sur la désignation d’un corpus et indications bibliographiques sur les instruments de travail récents,” ÉTR 58 (1983), 409–21; idem, “La littérature apocryphe chrétienne constituet-elle un objet d’études?” RÉA 93 (1991), 397–414; idem, “ ‘Apocryphes du Nouveau Testament:’ Une appellation erronée et une collection artificielle. Discussion de la nouvelle définition proposée par W. Schneemelcher,” Apocrypha 3 (1992), 17–46; idem, “Le mystère apocryphe ou les richesses cachées d’une littérature méconnue,” Le Mystère apocryphe: introduction à une littérature méconnue (ed. J.-D. Kaestli and D. Marguerat; EB 26; Genève: Labor et Fides, 1995; 22007), 9–25; J.-C. Picard, “L’apocryphe à l’étroit: notes historiographiques sur les corpus d’apocryphes bibliques,” Apocrypha 1 (1990), 69–117 (repr. Le Continent apocryphe: essai sur les littératures apocryphes juive et chrétienne [IP 36; Steenbrugis/Turnhout: In Abbatia S. Petri/Brepols, 1999], 13–51); P. Piovanelli, “What Is a Christian Apocryphal Text and How Does It Work? Some Observations on Apocryphal Hermeneutics,” NedTT 59 (2005), 31–40; idem, “Qu’est-ce qu’un ‘écrit apocryphe chrétien,’ et comment ça marche? Quelques suggestions pour une herméneutique apocryphe,” Pierre Geoltrain, ou comment “faire l’histoire” des religions: le chantier des “origines,” les méthodes du doute et la conversation contemporaine entre les disciplines (ed. S.C. Mimouni and I. Ullern-Weité; BÉHÉ, sciences religieuses 128; Turnhout: Brepols, 2006), 173–86; idem, “L’interface entre Sciences bibliques et Sciences des religions au Canada: enquête sur quelques synergies prometteuses,” SR 35 (2006), 411–26 at 418–9. 6 Ed. F. Bovon, P. Geoltrain, and J.-D. Kaestli (2 vols.; Bibliothèque de la Pléiade 442, 516; Paris: Gallimard, 1997–2005). See the remarks of T. Nicklas, “ ‘Écrits apocryphes chrétiens:’ Ein Sammelband als Spiegel eines Weitreichenden Paradigmenwechsels in der Apokryphenforschung,” VC 61 (2007), 70–95.

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texts are not late compositions at all, but instead are as ancient as those found among the Nag Hammadi library? Examples of the first category of texts, i.e., those that preserve earlier written sources, are the Apocalypse of Paul and the Pseudo-Clementine Homilies and Recognitions, whose greatest interest for scholars apparently resides in their supposedly second- or third-century Urtexten.7 To the second category clearly belong the Questions of Bartholomew and the closely related Coptic Book of the Resurrection of Jesus-Christ by Bartholomew the Apostle.8 Two excellent examples of newly discovered second-century writings (that are actually at least a couple of centuries later) are two other fragmentary Coptic texts, the Gospel of the Savior and a rather anomalous version (in the opinion of its editor) of the Transitus Mariae. The Gospel of the Savior is preserved in three copies that date from the fifth to the seventh centuries: the manuscript Berlin Inv. 22200,9 the papyrus Strasbourg Coptic 5–7, and the excerpts (?) in a “prayer book”

7 Happily enough, a new generation of specialists has already begun to analyze these texts more synchronically as witnesses of late antique Christian literature, culture, and society. See M. Vielberg, Klemens in den pseudoklementinischen Rekognitionen: Studien zur literarischen Form des spätantiken Romans (TU 145; Berlin: Akademie Verlag, 2000); D. Côté, Le Thème de l’opposition entre Pierre et Simon dans les Pseudo-Clémentines (CollÉAug, série antiquité 167; Paris: Institut d’études augustiniennes, 2001); idem, “La fonction littéraire de Simon le Magicien dans les Pseudo-Clémentines,” LTP 57 (2001), 513–23; A.Y. Reed, “ ‘Jewish Christianity’ after the ‘Parting of the Ways’: Approaches to Historiography and Self-Definition in the Pseudo-Clementines,” The Ways That Never Parted: Jews and Christians in Late Antiquity and the Early Middle Ages (ed. A.H. Becker and A.Y. Reed; TSAJ 95; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2003; 22007), 189–231; N. Kelley, “Problems of Knowledge and Authority in the Pseudo-Clementine Romance of Recognitions,” JECS 13 (2005), 315–48; eadem, Knowledge and Religious Authority in the Pseudo-Clementines: Situating the Recognitions in Fourth Century Syria (WUNT 2.213; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2006), as well as the works on the Apocalypse of Paul quoted below, n. 16. 8 See J.-D. Kaestli, “Où en est l’étude de l’Évangile de Barthélemy?” RB 95 (1988), 5–33; idem, “Questions de Barthélemy,” ÉAC, 1.255–95; J.-D. Kaestli and P. Cherix, L’évangile de Barthélemy d’après deux écrits apocryphes. I: Questions de Barthélemy; II: Livre de la résurrection de Jésus-Christ par l’apôtre Barthélemy (Apocryphes 1; Turnhout: Brepols, 1993); eidem, “Livre de la résurrection de Jésus-Christ par l’apôtre Barthélemy,” ÉAC, 1.297–356; E. Lucchesi, “Feuillets coptes non identifiés du prétendu Évangile de Barthélemy,” VC 51 (1997), 273–5; M. Westerhoff, Auferstehung und Jenseits im koptischen “Buch der Auferstehung Jesu Christi, unseres Herrn” (OBC 11; Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz, 1999). 9 Its editio princeps was published by C.W. Hedrick and P.A. Mirecki, The Gospel of the Savior: A New Ancient Gospel (CCL; Santa Rosa, CA: Polebridge, 1999). See the subsequent improvements (palaeographical, codicological, and text-critical) suggested by S. Emmel, “The Recently Published Gospel of the Saviour (‘Unbekanntes berliner Evangelium’): Righting the Order of Pages and Events,” HTR 95 (2002), 45–72, to which C.W. Hedrick, “Caveats to a ‘Righted Order’ of the Gospel of the Savior,” HTR 96 (2003), 229–38, replied.

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from Qasr al-Wizz in Central Nubia.10 As for the second text, the only extant copy of it identified so far, P. Vindob. K. 7589, dates from the ninth century.11 I think that the third possibility, the rediscovery of a truly ancient text, is the most remote of all. This does not mean that such texts cannot be identified, for example, among the remnants of Coptic manuscripts that have been dispersed among European and North American libraries. However, before attributing ancient dates to Coptic fragmentary texts copied in medieval manuscripts, one should think of past failures and recall that, in spite of Eugène Revillout’s claims about the antiquity of the so-called Gospel of the Twelve Disciples, the fragments that he published in 1904 are from a variety of different texts, including a late antique or early medieval homily.12 A better knowledge of the evolu10 See S. Emmel, “Unbekanntes Berliner Evangelium = The Strasbourg Coptic Gospel: Prolegomena to a New Edition of the Strasbourg Fragments,” For the Children Perfect Instruction: Studies in Honor of Hans-Martin Schenke on the Occasion of the Berliner Arbeitskreis für koptisch-gnostische Schriften’s Thirtieth Year (ed. H.-G. Bethge, et al.; NHMS 54; Leiden: Brill, 2002), 353–74; idem, “Preliminary Reedition and Translation of the Gospel of the Savior: New Light on the Strasbourg Coptic Gospel and the Stauros-Text from Nubia,” Apocrypha 14 (2003), 9–53; idem, “Ein altes Evangelium der Apostel taucht in Fragmenten aus Ägypten und Nubien auf,” ZAC 9 (2005), 85–99. See also H.-M. Schenke, “Das sogenannte ‘Unbekannte Berliner Evangelium’ (UBE),” ZAC 2 (1998), 199–213; U.-K. Plisch, Verborgene Worte Jesu —verworfene Evangelien: Apokryphe Schriften des frühen Christentums (Berlin: Deutsche Bibelgesellschaft, 2000), 27–34; idem, “Zu einigen Einleitungsfragen des Unbekannten Berliner Evangeliums (UBE),” ZAC 9 (2005), 64–84; J. Frey, “Leidenskampf und Himmelreise. Das berliner Evangelienfragment (Papyrus Berolinensis 22220) und die Gethsemane-Tradition,” BZ 46 (2002), 71–96; H.-J. Klauck, Apocryphal Gospels: An Introduction (trans. B. McNeil; London/New York: T&T Clark International, 2003 [orig.: Stuttgart: Verlag Katholisches Werk, 2002]), 28–32; T. Nagel, “Das ‘Unbekannte Berliner Evangelium’ und das Johannesevangelium,” ZNW 93 (2002), 251–67; P. Nagel, “ ‘Gespräche Jesu mit seinen Jüngern vor der Auferstehung’—zur Herkunft und Datierung des ‘Unbekannten Berliner Evangeliums’,” ZNW 94 (2003), 215–57. One should note that, in spite of the new title the last editor has attributed to it (so M.J. Kruger, The Gospel of the Savior: An Analysis of P.Oxy 840 and Its Place in the Gospel Traditions of Early Christianity [TENTS 1; Leiden: Brill, 2005]), the Gospel fragment of Papyrus Oxyrhynchus 840 apparently has nothing to do with the Coptic Gospel of the Savior. 11 Published by H. Förster, Transitus Mariae: Beiträge zur koptischen Überlieferung mit einer Edition von P. Vindob. K. 7589, Cambridge Add 1876 8 und Paris BN copte 12917 ff. 28 und 29 (GCS, n.F. 14; Berlin/New York: W. de Gruyter, 2006). The astonishing features that the editor finds so characteristic of a second century milieu are, in fact, also present in other Coptic texts as, for example, a homily In Honor of the Virgin attributed to Cyril of Jerusalem which, according to A. Campagnano, Ps. Cirillo di Gerusalemme: Omelie copte sulla Passione, sulla Croce e sulla Vergine (TDSA 65; Milano: Cisalpino-Goliardica, 1980), 14, was probably written in the first half of the seventh century. 12 E. Revillout, Les Apocryphes coptes. Première partie: les Évangiles des douze apôtres et de saint Barthélemy (PO 2.2; Paris: F. Didot, 1904), 123–30 and 131–84. The fragments


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tion of Coptic culture and literature sometimes can lead to a different appreciation of the documents under examination, and, needless to say, not every Coptic fragment necessarily derives from no longer extant second century and/or “Gnostic” texts. In this respect, the discovery and publication of the Al Minya codex containing the Gospel of Judas was quite exceptional.13 Be that as it may, the search for older documents that would augment the existing corpus is a heritage of the old-fashioned source critical approaches. In some cases this methodology produced excellent and reliable results, such as, for example, for the reconstruction of “Q” or the study of the Jewish Christian document embedded in Pseudo-Clementine Recognitions 1.27–71.14 However, it is by now largely admitted—even (or especially) in New Testament studies—that ancient authors of narrative texts did not simply cut-and-paste preexisting documents, which contemporary scholars in turn can surgically extract from their present literary context. The ways they used their “palimpsests” (as Gérard Genette characterizes source documents)15 was far less mechanical and

belonging to such a late homily have been translated and commented by F. Morard, “Homélie sur la vie de Jésus et son amour pour les apôtres,” ÉAC, 2.101–34. 13 See R. Kasser, M. Meyer, and G. Wurst, The Gospel of Judas from Codex Tchacos (Washington, DC: National Geographic Society, 2006); J.M. Robinson, The Secrets of Judas: The Story of the Misunderstood Disciple and His Lost Gospel (New York: HarperSanFrancisco, 2006; 22007); B.D. Ehrman, The Lost Gospel of Judas Iscariot: A New Look at Betrayer and Betrayed (Oxford/New York: Oxford University Press, 2006); H.-J. Klauck, Judas, un disciple de Jésus: exégèse et répercussions historiques (trans. J. Hoffmann; LD 212; Paris: Cerf, 2006 [orig.: Freiburg: Herder, 1987]), 149–59; E. Pagels and K.L. King, Reading Judas: The Gospel of Judas and the Shaping of Christianity (New York: Penguin Group, 2007); M. Meyer, “The Gospel of Judas,” The Nag Hammadi Scriptures: The International Edition (ed. M. Meyer, et al.; New York: HarperCollins, 2007), 755–69. A.D. DeConick, The Thirteenth Apostle: What the Gospel of Judas Really Says (London/New York: Continuum, 2007). For a critical review of the French editions of the first two works, see P. Piovanelli, SR 36 (2007), 174–9. The editio princeps has been subsequently published by R. Kasser and G. Wurst, The Gospel of Judas, Critical Edition: Together with the Letter of Peter to Philip, James, and a Book of Allogenes from Codex Tchacos (Washington, DC: National Geographic Society, 2007). 14 See respectively J.M. Robinson, P. Hoffmann, and J.S. Kloppenborg, eds., The Critical Edition of Q: A Synopsis Including the Gospels of Matthew and Luke, Mark and Thomas with English, German and French Translations of Q and Thomas (Hermeneia Supplements; Minneapolis/Leuven: Fortress/Peeters, 2000), and F.S. Jones, An Ancient Jewish Christian Source on the History of Christianity: Pseudo-Clementine “Recognitions” 1.27–71 (SBLTT 37; Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1995). 15 G. Genette, Palimpsests: Literature in the Second Degree (trans. C. Newman and C. Doubinsky; Stages 8; Lincoln: University of Nebraska Press, 1997 [orig.: Paris: Seuil, 1982]). The proposal to apply Genette’s model of “hypertextuality” to the Apocryphal Acts of the Apostles has sparked a lively debate. See D. Marguerat, “The Acts of Paul

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frequently more sophisticated. Ancient authors reemployed and recycled written sources and oral traditions in an intertextual and hypertextual manner. The Apocalypse of Paul and the Book of the Cock offer perhaps the best examples of this art of writing. The first one is an “orthodox” apocalyptic text written around 400 ce that depicts the ascent of the souls, their judgment, and the interim places of reward and punishment.16 Its scriptural pretext is provided by Paul’s allusion to his ascent to the third heaven and to paradise in 2 Cor 12:1–5. Its theological leitmotif is also, at first sight, perfectly grounded in Paulinian thought: the damned repeatedly complain that impedimenta mundi fecerunt eos miseros, “the impediments of the world made them miserable” (10; 40bis; 42), thus echoing Paul’s worries about the deleterious effects of concerns for “the things of the world” (1 Cor 7:33–34). At the same time, however, the reader of the Apocalypse of Paul will immediately notice that in this text, the faithful are clearly saved by works and not (only) by grace.17 In such a perfectly scriptural framework is inscribed a beautiful tour of heaven and hell that is but a skillful rewriting of earlier materials

and the Canonical Acts: A Phenomenon of Rereading,” The Apocryphal Acts of the Apostles in Intertextual Perspectives (ed. R.F. Stoops, Jr.; Semeia 80; Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1997), 169–83; J.-D. Kaestli, “La littérature apocryphe peut-elle être comprise comme ‘littérature au second degré’ (G. Genette)?” Intertextualités: la Bible en échos (ed. D. Marguerat and A.H.W. Curtis; MDB 40; Genève: Labor et Fides, 2000), 288–304; R. Gounelle, “Actes apocryphes des apôtres et Actes des apôtres canoniques: état de la recherche et perspectives nouvelles,” RHPR 84 (2004), 3–30 and 419–41; idem, “Les Actes apocryphes des apôtres témoignent-ils de la réception des Actes des Apôtres canoniques?” Les Actes des Apôtres: histoire, récit, théologie. XXe congrès de l’Association catholique française pour l’étude de la Bible (Angers, 2003) (ed. M. Berder; LD 199; Paris: Cerf, 2005), 177–211. 16 See P. Piovanelli, “Les origines de l’Apocalypse de Paul reconsidérées,” Apocrypha 4 (1993), 25–64; idem, “La découverte miraculeuse du manuscrit caché, ou La fonction du Prologue dans l’Apocalypse de Paul,” Entrer en matière: les prologues (ed. J.-D. Dubois and B. Roussel; PRL; Paris: Cerf, 1998), 111–24; idem, “The Miraculous Discovery of the Hidden Manuscript, or The Para-Textual Function of the Prologue to the Apocalypse of Paul,” Narrativity in Biblical and Related Texts—La narrativité dans la Bible et les textes apparentés (ed. G.J. Brooke and J.-D. Kaestli; BETL 149; Leuven: Leuven University Press/Peeters, 2000), 265–82 (repr.: The Visio Pauli and the Gnostic Apocalypse of Paul [ed. J.N. Bremmer and I. Czachesz; SECA 9; Leuven: Peeters, 2007], 23–49); idem, “La Prière et Apocalypse de Paul au sein de la littérature apocryphe d’attribution paulinienne,” Apocrypha 15 (2004), 31–40; K.B. Copeland, “Mapping the Apocalypse of Paul: Geography, Genre and History” (Diss.: Princeton, 2001); eadem, “The Earthly Monastery and the Transformation of the Heavenly City in Late Antique Egypt,” Heavenly Realms and Earthly Realities in Late Antique Religions (ed. R.S. Boustan and A.Y. Reed; Cambridge/New York: Cambridge University Press, 2004), 142–58. 17 Perhaps this only means that, mutatis mutandis, the “New Perspective on Paul” is not so new.


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found in a collection of eschatological texts coming from a great variety of horizons: Judaism or Jewish Christianity (the Testament of Abraham and the Apocalypse of Zephaniah),18 Christian “Gnosticism” (the Valentinian Coptic Apocalypse of Paul [NHC V,2]),19 and even pagan Hermeticism (the complaint of the elements in the Korè kosmou).20 As Kirsti Copeland observed, “If it could be imagined that the author of our Apocalypse of Paul knew something like the Apocalypse of Paul found at Nag Hammadi, we might have an insight into how a Pachomian monk might have read this text, neither by accepting it nor by rejecting it, but by transforming it.”21 The slightly later passion gospel called in Ethiopic the Book of the Cock also has something to tell us about apocryphal rewriting of early Christian stories. As I pointed out in a series of previous studies,22 the sources used by the author are the four canonical gospels—but especially Matthew, Luke, and John—as well as some apocryphal or legendary traditions as, for example, Paul’s involvement in Jesus’ arrest or the miracle of the resurrection of the rooster cooked for the last supper. I was able to demonstrate that some of these traditions are rooted in Jewish-Christian stories of old, but these are not the only ancient features that the Book of the Cock has preserved. In this connection, especially noteworthy is the fact that the text begins with a dialogue between Jesus and the disciples on the Mount of Olives the day before the celebration of the Passover in Bethany (1:3–20). There, miraculously, a “pillar of stone” reveals the betrayal of Jesus by Judas. 18 For the current discussion on the Testament of Abraham, see J.R. Davila, The Provenance of the Pseudepigrapha: Jewish, Christian, or Other? ( JSJSup 105; Leiden: Brill, 2005), 199–207. 19 See J.-M. Rosenstiehl and M. Kaler, L’Apocalypse de Paul (NH V,2) (BCNH, section ‘textes’ 31; Québec/Leuven: Presses de l’Université Laval/Peeters, 2005); M. Kaler, “An Investigation of the Coptic, Gnostic Apocalypse of Paul and Its Context” (Diss.: Laval, 2006). One should note that we cannot exclude the possibility that the Nag Hammadi copy of the Coptic Apocalypse of Paul is but an abridged version of a presently lost longer text. 20 See C. Carozzi, Eschatologie et au-delà: recherches sur l’Apocalypse de Paul (Aix-enProvence: Université de Provence, 1994), 53–8. 21 Copeland, “Mapping the Apocalypse of Paul,” 176 (emphasis added). 22 P. Piovanelli, “Exploring the Ethiopic Book of the Cock, an Apocryphal Passion Gospel from Late Antiquity,” HTR 96 (2003), 427–54; idem, “Marius Chaîne, Joseph Trinquet et la version éthiopienne du Livre du coq,” Transversalités 85 (2003), 51–62; idem, “Livre du coq,” ÉAC, 2.135–203; idem, “The Book of the Cock and the Rediscovery of Ancient Jewish Christian Traditions in Fifth Century Palestine,” The Changing Face of Judaism, Christianity and Other Greco-Roman Religions in Antiquity (ed. I.H. Henderson and G.S. Oegema; JSHRZS 2; Gütersloh: Gütersloher Verlagshaus, 2006), 308–22.

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As a result, the latter, extremely shocked, denounces the former as a magician. Thus, in the Book of the Cock as in the recently rediscovered Gospel of Judas, the episode describing Judas’ new understanding of his master’s role (in the case of Gospel of Judas 33:4–6, “three days before he celebrated Passover”) becomes the necessary prelude to the subsequent story of Jesus’ passion. This does not mean, of course, that in the fifth century the author of the Book of the Cock used, or even replied to, the second century Gospel of Judas, but at least it demonstrates that there was an ancient tradition about a first disclosure of Judas’ responsibility in Jesus’ betrayal before the last supper. The goal of such a story was probably to provide a plausible explanation to the rather abrupt decision of the apostle to hand over his master to the high priests in the synoptic gospels (Mark 14:10–11 parr. Matthew 26:14–16; Luke 22:3–6). The detail of the satanic possession added by Luke (22:3) and John (13:2) being apparently insufficient, it was to the omniscient Christ to reveal Judas’ felony as a part of the prophetic announcements of his death (see Matthew 26:1–2). One author built on such a tradition a “Gnostic” (probably Sethian) dialogue, while another one used it as point of departure for an “orthodox” (actually, anti-Chalcedonian) retelling of the passion. One of the major problems of interpreting newly discovered ancient apocryphal texts is how to evaluate their intermingling of canonical and extracanonical traditions, episodes, and sayings. Thus, for example, Charles W. Hedrick has argued that the traditions found in the Gospel of the Savior are as old and significant as the traditions of the synoptic gospels and the Gospel of Thomas, while Titus Nagel has convincingly demonstrated that the Gospel of the Savior heavily depends on the Gospel(s) of John (and Matthew).23 One interesting passage occurs when Jesus converses with his disciples and announces that he will appear again to them after his death and resurrection. In order to avoid any trouble, the disciples are recommended, in the same terms that Mary of Magdala is addressed in John 20:17, to not “touch” (or “hold”) the risen Christ. Then Jesus explains

23 Contrast C.W. Hedrick, “An Anecdotal Argument for the Independence of the Gospel of Thomas from the Synoptic Gospels,” For the Children Perfect Instruction: Studies in Honor of Hans-Martin Schenke on the Occasion of the Berliner Arbeitskreis für koptisch-gnostische Schriften’s Thirtieth Year (ed. H.-G. Bethge, et al.; NHMS 54; Leiden: Brill, 2002), 113–26 at 123; T. Nagel, “Das ‘Unbekannte Berliner Evangelium’,” 264–7.


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why it would be so dangerous to approach him. The last part of his statement is very close to a well-known extracanonical saying that is preserved as the logion 82 of the Gospel of Thomas and in a quotation by Origen (Homilies in Jeremiah 3.3) and Didymus the Blind (Commentary on the Psalms 88.8).24 [67] We said to him, “Lord, in what form will you reveal yourself to us, or in what kind of body will you come? Tell us!” [68] John spoke up and said, “Lord, when you are ready to reveal yourself to us, do not reveal yourself to us in all your glory, but change your glory into [some other] glory so that [we might be able to bear] it, lest we see [you and ] despair from [fear]!” [69] [ The Savior replied], “[ I will rid] you [of ] this [fear] that [you] are afraid of, so that by seeing you might believe! [70] But do not touch (or hold) me until I ascend to [my Father and your Father], to [my God and] your God, to my Lord and your Lord! [71] If someone [comes close to me], he [will get burned. I] am [the] blazing [fire. Whoever is close] to [me] is close to [the fire]. Whoever is far from me is far from life.25

From a hermeneutical point of view, the Thomasine logion (“Jesus said, ‘Whoever is close to me is close to the fire. Whoever is far from me is far from the kingdom’.”) has been not only reemployed, demetaphorized (in spite of his human figure, the risen Christ will truly burn),26 and contextualized into a new narrative framework, but also adapted to the Johannine perspectives of its new environment. Thus the original mention of the “kingdom (of heaven)” has been replaced by a reference to the more spiritual concept of “(eternal) life.”27 One could hardly interpret such a secondary blend of Jesus traditions as a sign of great

24 See Hedrick and Mirecki, The Gospel of the Savior, 22–3; P. Nagel, “ ‘Gespräche Jesu mit seinen Jüngern’,” 232–4; Plisch, “Zu einigen Einleitungsfragen,” 75–6; M. Pesce, Le parole dimenticate di Gesù (Milano: Fondazione Lorenzo Valla/A. Mondadori Editore, 2004), 68–9 and 578–9. 25 Stephen Emmel’s translation (“Preliminary Reedition and Translation,” 41). 26 Originally, “[t]he image of fire symbolizes the intensity with which the good news of God’s sovereignty wishes to take hold of human being, purifying and transforming them; and this good news is to spread like a bush fire” (Klauck, Apocryphal Gospels, 15). Ironically enough, in its new setting the logion has now the same generic meaning as the famous “proverb attributed to Aesop: ‘One who is near Zeus is near the lightning’, which [. . .] is a warning against drawing too close to the god” (ibid.). 27 This was also the case of an anonymous fourth century Exposition of the Gospel preserved in an Armenian version (Hedrick and Mirecki, The Gospel of the Savior, 23; P. Nagel, “ ‘Gespräche Jesu mit seinen Jüngern’,” 232–3; Plisch, “Zu einigen Einleitungsfragen,” 75).

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antiquity.28 Perhaps it would be wiser to apply to the case of the Gospel of the Savior too what the experience of the study of the Apocalypse of Paul and the Book of the Cock has taught us about the recycling of older apocryphal texts and traditions.29 In conclusion, it is seems clear that many continuities and some discontinuities existed between early Christian apocryphal texts that were written before the end of the third century and the late-antique texts that were put in circulation from the beginning of the fourth to the end of the sixth century. The authors of the latter often reemployed and actualized some traditions found in the former.30 The main difference between early and late apocryphal texts is perhaps that the authors of the latter found another set of inspirational material in the freshly canonized collection of the Christian Testament.31 Creative exegesis of the New Testament and reuse of earlier writings and traditions

28 Actually, Peter Nagel has argued that the Gospel of the Savior is not a translation from the Greek but a text originally written in Coptic (“ ‘Gespräche Jesu mit seinen Jüngern’,” 234–8; contrast with Plisch, “Zu einigen Einleitungsfragen,” 69–72, who still defends a Greek Vorlage). In Nagel’s opinion (239–47), the Christological and Eucharistic positions inscribed in the Gospel of the Savior are similar to the ones held by the famous abbot Shenoute of Atripe, who died around 465 CE. Accordingly, the Gospel of the Savior could have been written somewhere in Upper Egypt in the course of the fifth or even the sixth century (248). As for the proposal of Uwe-Karsten Plisch to identify the Gospel of the Savior with the Gospel of Andrew mentioned in the Decretum Gelasianum (“Zu einigen Einleitungsfragen,” 83), at this stage of the research it is simply too speculative. 29 Compare, for example, the presence of Jewish Christian materials in the Book of the Cock (discussed by Piovanelli, “The Rediscovery of Ancient Jewish Christian Traditions”) with the possible use of the Gospel of Peter (as suggested by Plisch, “Zu einigen Einleitungsfragen,” 76–8) in the Gospel of the Savior. 30 I describe the phenomenon of recycling at length in “Le recyclage des textes apocryphes à l’heure de la petite ‘mondialisation’ de l’Antiquité tardive (ca. 325–451). Quelques perspectives littéraires et historiques,” Poussières de christianisme et de judaïsme antiques: études réunies en l’honneur de Jean-Daniel Kaestli et Éric Junod (ed. R. Gounelle and A. Frey; PIRSB 5; Prahins, CH: Zèbre, 2007), 277–95. The Life and Miracles of Thecla, a fifth-century paraphrase of the earlier Acts of Paul and Thecla, is another excellent example of such an updating practice. See the exhaustive monograph of S.F. Johnson, The Life and Miracles of Thekla: A Literary Study (HS 13; Washington/Cambridge, MA: Center for Hellenic Studies/Harvard University Press, 2006), especially his survey of biblical rewritings in antiquity and late antiquity (67–112). 31 On the modalities of the canonizing process, see now the contributions collected in the volumes of Le canon du Nouveau Testament: regards nouveaux sur l’histoire de sa formation (ed. G. Aragione, É. Junod, and E. Norelli; MDB 54; Genève: Labor et Fides, 2005), and The Canon of Scripture in Jewish and Christian Tradition—Le canon des Écritures dans les traditions juive et chrétienne (ed. P.S. Alexander and J.-D. Kaestli; PIRSB 4; Prahins, CH: Zèbre, 2007).


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thus became the point of departure for the production of new apocryphal texts—a habit that went far beyond the narrow limits of late antiquity to become the main characteristic of Christian apocryphal hermeneutics.32

32 As stressed by Piovanelli, “What Is a Christian Apocryphal Text?” and “Qu’est-ce qu’un ‘écrit apocryphe chrétien’?”

METHODS OF EARLY RABBINIC BIBLICAL EXEGESIS1 Gary G. Porton 1 This paper investigates the use of Ishmael’s thirteen middot in our earliest midrashic collections—Sifra, Mekhilta deRabbi Ishmael, Sifré BaMidbar, and Sifré Devarim. The paper will examine the occurrences of each middah in the various collections, their distribution among the four midrashim, and the sages to whom the use of these middot is attributed. With this information in hand, the essay will offer some suggestions about the reasons the list of middot was created, why the one prefixed to Sifra was attributed to R. Ishmael, and why it was prefixed to Sifra. Primarily, this essay will suggest that the list of Ishmael’s middot at the opening of Sifra is an Amoraic creation and that its purpose is not to set forth the list alone but to provide examples of how people should legitimately interpret the Torah in light of the realities of the fourth and fifth centuries. 2 Before we enter into our main discussion, we need to hold some basic knowledge in common. Rabbinic midrash is a form of rabbinic literature which explicitly cites or alludes to a canonical biblical text.2 In simple terms, this form of literature can easily be distinguished from rabbinic documents such as Mishnah, Tosefta, and large parts of the Babylonian and Palestinian gemarot, which do not cite a biblical verse. Of course rabbis were not the only Jews in late antiquity who cited 1 I would like to thank my colleagues Richard A. Layton of the University of Illinois and Alan Avery-Peck, the Kraft-Hiatt Professor in Judaic Studies at the College of the Holy Cross, for reading earlier drafts of this essay and for their suggestions and comments. Professor Burton L. Visotzky also read an earlier draft of this paper, and I have benefited from many of his insights and suggestions. 2 For a detailed discussion which stands behind this definition see G.G. Porton, “Midrash: Palestinian Jews and the Hebrew Bible in the Greco-Roman Period,” ANRW II.19.2, 103–38.

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and commented upon, expanded upon, or interpreted canonical biblical portions; that phenomenon appears in the Hebrew Bible itself, as well as in the apocrypha, pseudepigrapha, many texts from Qumran, Philo, Josephus, and of course the New Testament. However, rabbinic midrash differs from these other enterprises and has its own distinct literary forms and characteristics.3 While many have suggested that the synagogue in late antiquity provided the Sitz im Leben for midrash, especially the later collections, we find little evidence to support that claim. It is more likely that rabbinic midrashic activity was situated in the rabbinic academies. If some midrashim did originate in a synagogual setting, it is most likely a synagogue whose participants were rabbis or rabbis-in-training. There is scant evidence that rabbis participated in the “lay” synagogues of late antiquity.4 Sifra, Mekhilta, Sifré BaMidbar and Sifré Devarim are our oldest collections of rabbinic midrashic texts. Most scholars place the editing of these collections in the latter half of the third century of the common era, or in the fourth century at the latest.5 The problems we face studying these collections are common to all of the rabbinic documents of late antiquity. They are collections of material, some of which may be quite old, and some of which may be much later. There are no indications within the documents as we now have them which allow us with any confidence to place the material in the first, second, third, or even fourth century. We do not know who collected the traditions they contain or why. Nor can we ascertain the “editorial principles” which underlie their formation. We do not know the sources of the material, what the editors omitted, what they changed, or what they created de novo. Although the narrative framework of the documents is primarily anonymous, there are numerous passages attributed to various sages, and the dating of these collections as well as their provenance is often related to the sages named in the texts. However, the authenticity of

“Midrash,” 128–35. For a detailed argument against the claim that rabbinic midrash originated primarily in synagogues see G.G. Porton, “Midrash and the Rabbinic Sermon,” When Judaism & Christianity Began: Essays in Memory of Anthony J. Saldarini (ed. A.J. Avery-Peck, D.J. Harrington, and J. Neusner; Leiden/Boston: Brill, 2004), 2.461–82. 5 On the dating of these collections and the various scholarly positions and arguments see H.L. Strack and G. Stemberger, Introduction to the Talmud and Midrash, translated by M. Bockmuehl (Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1991), 269–300. 3 4

methods of early rabbinic biblical exegesis

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these attributions is far from certain.6 We simply cannot be certain that the sages cited in the documents actually said or thought what the texts claim they said or thought. This uncertainty means that we will never be sure if Rabbi X actually used or didn’t use exegetical method Y. In addition, even if the materials we have in the collections accurately reflect the thought of a given rabbi, we do not know what else he might have said or thought. All we have is what later editors give us, and we do not know what else any rabbi might have said or done. If Rabbi X uses exegetical technique Y five times in Sifra, is that a complete record of his using it in his comments on Leviticus, or are there other instances which Sifra’s editor did not include in the collection? The problem of discovering the “original” or “authentic” version of a comment or saying is complicated because we do not have good editions of these texts. We cannot get back to what was said or compiled in the first four centuries of the common era. All we can say is that given the texts as we have them today, they tell us that these techniques were used, those exegetical methods were not used, these methods were used that many times, and these rabbis used these particular methods when interpreting particular biblical texts.7 Finally, a word should be said about the lists of exegetical techniques attributed to Hillel and to Ishmael.8 For our purposes we can dismiss the list of techniques attributed to Eliezer b. Yosi HaGalilee which appears only in late anthologies of rabbinic exegetical comments. Ishmael’s list contains all of the methods found in Hillel’s list, and those middot which the sages actually employ most frequently are those common to both lists. Hillel’s list appears in three different texts,9 and in at least two different versions. The methods enumerated in Sifra are significantly different from the lists in the other two versions. If we take all of Hillel’s

6 The classic discussion of this problem is W.S. Green, “What’s in a Name?—The Problematic of Rabbinic ‘Biography’,” Approaches to Ancient Judaism: Theory and Practice (ed. W.S. Green; Missoula: Scholars Press, 1978), 77–96. See also Strack and Stemberger, 63–66. 7 See Ch. Milikowsky, “Reflections on the Practice of Textual Criticism in the Study of Midrash Aggada: The Legitimacy, the Indispensability and the Feasibility of Recovering and Presenting the (Most) Original Text,” Current Trends in the Study of Midrash (ed. C. Bakhos; Leiden/Boston: Brill, 2006), 79–110, for our purposes, especially 87–8. 8 For a fuller discussion of the nature of these lists and the problems related to them see G.G. Porton, “Hermeneutics, A Critical Approach” Encyclopedia of Midrash: Biblical Interpretation in Formative Judaism (ed. J. Neusner and A.J. Avery-Peck; Leiden/Boston: Brill, 2005), 1.250–68. 9 Tosefta Sanhedrin 7:11, Avot deRabbi Natan A 37:7, Sifra 3a.

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exegetical activity reported in the entire rabbinic corpus as authentic, Hillel employs a heqesh, a qal vahomer, and a gezerah shavah. The heqesh does not appear in any versions of Hillel’s or Ishmael’s lists. Ishmael’s list appears only as at the opening of Sifra; it clearly stands apart from the rest of the collection in its form and content. The “thirteen” techniques are actually sixteen. The elements of the list occur in several different literary forms, and it appears that the list is the creation of its editor.10 Ishmael uses few of the techniques,11 and as we shall see below, this fact is even more striking when we limit our inquiry to the earliest midrashic collections. Ishmael’s list prefixed to Sifra contains the following sixteen exegetical principles: 1) a fortiori; 2) gezerah shavah; 3) prototype based on one passage; 4) prototype based on two passages; 5) a general statement and a specific statement; 6) a specific statement and a general statement; 7) a general statement, a specific statement, and a general statement; 8) a general statement which requires a specific statement; 9) a specific statement which requires a general statement; 10) anything which is included in a general statement and which is specified in order to teach something teaches not only about itself but also about everything included in the general statement; 11) anything which is included in the general statement and which is specified as a requirement concerning another requirement which is in keeping with the general statement is specified in order to make the second requirement less stringent and not more stringent; 12) anything that is included in the general statement and which is specified as a requirement concerning another requirement which is not in keeping with the general statement is specified either to make less or more stringent; 13) anything which is included in the general statement and which is excepted from it by an entirely new provision you may not return it to the provisions of its original general statement unless Scripture expressly indicates that you may do so; 14) a thing is to be explained from its context; 15) a thing is to be explained from what follows it; 16) two passages which contradict each other cannot be reconciled unless a third passage comes and decides between

10 G.G. Porton, The Traditions of Rabbi Ishmael Part Two: Exegetical Comments in Tannaitic Collections (Leiden: Brill, 1977), 63–5. 11 G.G. Porton, The Traditions of Rabbi Ishmael Part Four: The Materials as a Whole (Leiden: Brill, 1982), 160–211.


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them.12 All the versions of Hillel’s list contain items 1, 2, some version of 3 and/or 4, some version of 5 and/or 6, and 14. We know a good deal about the nature of Hillel’s and Ishmael’s lists and how these two sages employed the exegetical methods enumerated in the two lists. And, we know a good deal about Ishmael’s and Hillel’s exegetical activity.13 This paper addresses a different set of issues which moves past Hillel and Ishmael as biblical exegetes: 1) It seeks to discover which methods in Ishmael’s list are actually used in the Tannaitic midrashic, and how they are distributed among the four earliest midrashim collections. 2) It examines which named sages used the methods, which methods they employed, and in which collections they appear. 3) It seeks to determine whether the appearance of the methods and the sages who use them produce any pattern which would help us better understand the provenance of the collections. 4) It offers some suggestions about the reasons some editor at a particular time prefixed the list of Ishmael’s middot to the opening of Sifra. In the simplest terms, this paper is about terminology more than methods of interpretation. Several scholars have demonstrated that the Tannaim employed many more exegetical techniques than those covered by Ishmael’s “thirteen” middot, Hillel’s “eight” or even Aqiba’s techniques.14 In part, this variety results from the fact that there are many different literary forms by which to argue a fortiori or a minori and to draw analogies. Because our major focus is on the techniques enumerate in Ishmael’s list at the opening of Sifra, we only are concerned with the a fortiori argument which includes the technical terms ql whmr. Hillel’s and Ishmael’s lists refer to this specific terminology, so that I have not deal with a fortiori and a minori arguments which occur in other forms and do not contain this terminology. In addition, if the terms ql and hwmr identify the nature of items in the comparison, I have included the passage. Similarly, both lists have only one method

12 For a detailed, if rather traditional, discussion of Ishmael’s list, see L. Finkelstein, Sifra on Leviticus, Volume I: Introduction (New York: The Jewish Theological Seminary of America, 1989), 120–86; Volume IV: Commentary (1990), 1–6. 13 See Porton, n. 8. 14 Two of the more important scholars are J.M. Harris, How Do We Know This? Midrash and the Fragmentation of Modern Judaism (Albany: SUNY Press, 1995) and A.L. Urowtiz-Freudenstein, An Investigation of Exegetical Methods in the Tannaitic Midrashim: A Study of Texts that Mention Individual Women, unpublished dissertation for The Graduate School of the Jewish Theological Seminary of America, 1997. Professor Visotzky drew my attention to this work.

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of drawing an analogy between two verses, the gezerah shavah; therefore, we only are interested in passages which contain the phrase gzr swh or use the constituent terminology. Neither list mentions the heqesh, which is a complex and widely employed exegetical method in its own right; therefore, we will not explore this technique in this essay. 3 The standard form of an a fortiori argument is ql whwmr. The rabbinic texts make no distinction between an a fortiori or an a minori argument. In most cases the argument begins with mh or ‘m and ends with any number of expressions, the most common of which are wdyn hw’, aynw dyn, ‘l ‘ht kmh wkmh, or ql whwmr. We shall see below, however, that we have a few examples of the a fortiori argument which do not contain the ql whwmr, and there are a few in which the terms ql and hwmr appear without the ql whwmr formula. Because the list speaks of the ql whwmr, at this point we will deal with only those pericopae which explicitly contain the formula. The a fortiori argument is a key logical argument, and for that reason it appears the most frequently of all of the exegetical methods. Distinguishing between those cases in which the a fortiori argument might be used as an exegetical principle from those instances in which it is a method for a logical argumentation is not always easy. This is especially the case in the midrashic collections, for in one sense every part of the arguments is connected to a biblical text and may in fact be considered an exegetical principle. However, I have attempted to make a distinction between those two types of arguments: If the a fortiori argument is rejected, especially by the citation of Scripture, I have omitted it from the following lists.15 We turn initially to those passages in the earliest midrashic collections which contain the phrase ql whwmr, either spelled out or as an abbreviation. The a fortiori argument is a literary form used to draw an analogy between two unequal items: If it is true in the case of A, it is certainly true in the case of B. The inherent character of the items being compared does not always make it obvious which will be the

15 Upon reading the earlier draft, Professor Visotzky convinced me that I should find a way to distinguish between these two uses of the a fortiori argument. Originally, I had argued that if the method appeared in a midrashic collection, it was connected to the biblical text.


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more important or the less important. Their relationship is only made explicit in the comparison itself. This suggests that there was a desire to use the form without regard for its appropriateness to the particular items under evaluation. Sifra contains 2516 a fortiori arguments.17 Mekhilta contains 5318 plus two more which contain the words ql and hwmr without the introductory or concluding ql whwmr.19 71 a fortiori arguments appear in Sifré BaMidbar.20 Finally, Sifré Devarim has 44 examples of the argument.21 This yields a total of 193 a fortiori arguments in these collections.22 At this point we can make several observations. First, the exegetical principle appears in all four collections; however, it is not evenly distributed throughout each collection. Each document has its own clusters of uses of the principle. Second, the distribution among the documents is as follows: Sifra, 13%, Mekhilta, 27%, Sifré BaMidbar,

16 The numbers in this essay are as exact as possible; however, they are best seen as relative numbers rather than absolute figures. Instead of relying on the CDs—such as the Davka Judaic Classic Library or the Bar Ilan Judaic Library—or the various concordances prepared by the Kosovky family, I read through all of the midrashic collections and collected the data anew. For that reason, the numbers are subject to simple human error. We must also remember, as mentioned above, that we do not have good editions of all of these collections, so that one cannot with complete confidence move from our current editions to the realities of the third century. Even using the information in the three critical editions we do have is not always useful, for we know that later scribes and editors would add the technical exegetical terminology to passages they believed demanded the additions. Therefore, finding the terminology in some textual versions but not others does not always allow us to ascertain the “original” or “authentic” version of the pericope. 17 I.H. Weiss, Sifra Dbe Rav: Torah Kohanim (New York: Om Publishing Company, 1946), 3c, 4c, 8a, 13d, 14a, 24b, 40a, 42b, 43b, 45a, 46d, 49a, 54c, 71b, 73a (2), 76c, 81b, 92c (2), 92d (4), 110b. 18 H.S. Horovitz and I.A. Rabin, Mechilta D’Rabbi Ismael ( Jerusalem: Bamberger & Wahrman: 1960), 2, 10 (2), 12, 20, 24 (2), 26, 31, 38, 39, 46, 48, 61 (3), 65, 77, 78, 80, 85, 96, 114 (2), 118, 123, 165, 230, 244 (2), 245, 256 (2), 257, 259 (2), 266, 277, 280, 292 (2), 296, 306, 314 (2), 328 (2), 338 (3), 340 (3). 19 244, 251. 20 H.S. Horovitz, Siphre D’Be Rab ( Jerusalem: Wahrmann Books, 1966), 5, 8 (2) 12 (2), 13, 16, 17, 20 (2), 21, 22, 36, 37 (2), 39, 45, 74 (3), 76, 86, 93, 98 (2), 101, 102, 103, 106, 126, 127, 146, 148 149, 153, 160, 161, 162, 164, 165, 167 (3), 168 (4), 178 (2), 179, 180, 181, 184, 187, 198 (2), 202 (2), 203, 204 (2), 206 (2), 207, 208, 213, 214 (2), 216, 217, 219, 220. 21 L. Finkelstein, Siphre ad Deuteronomium (New York: The Jewish Theological Seminary of America, 1969), 5, 31, 38, 42, 50, 54, 56 (2), 69, 71 (3), 72, 75, 76, 94 (2), 102, 106 (2), 107, 119, 150, 161 (2), 173, 200, 209, 239, 247, 279 (2), 289, 294, 300, 304, 313, 332, 341, 342, 347 (2), 366, 386, 415. 22 There are some repetitions within the various collections, as well as among them.

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37%, and Sifré Devarim, 23%.23 Third, given the amount of material in the four collections, 193 examples is not a large number. While it is clear that the a fortiori argument was employed by the sages and/or editors of these collections, it was not used with great frequency. To quote Harris: “First, as noted by many,24 most of the principles are rarely, if ever, actually applied in a rabbinic text. Furthermore, even those that are used scarcely exhaust the techniques used in rabbinic legal midrash. More exegetical techniques are available than are encapsulated in this list of principles.”25 While the overwhelming majority of these passages are anonymous, some of them are assigned to named sages. Since there are several problems with assigning particular sayings to individual sages, not the least of which is the lack of quotation marks, which makes it hard to tell where a sage’s comment begins and/or ends, I have attempted to be as inclusive as possible: if there is a possibility that the exegetical technique is part of a named sage’s comments, I have counted it as such. One passage in Sifra can possibly be attributed to Simeon,26 one to Meir,27 one to Yosi b. Rabbi Judah,28 and one to Yohahan b. Zakkai.29 16% of Sifra’s arguments are assigned to named sages. In Mekhilta we find six attributed to Ishmael,30 two attributed to Aqiba,31 and one each attributed to Yohanan b. Zakkai,32 Eleazar b. Azariah,33 Meir,34 and Isaac.35 22% of Mekhilta’s arguments are assigned to particular

23 This numbers would be more meaningful if there were some way to calculate and compare the number of words in each midrashic collection. Unfortunately, several different editors have collected and published the documents in a variety of fonts and styles. It might be possible to count the “bites” on the Davka disk, but I cannot find that information. A person with more computer expertise should be able to discover that data. 24 Unfortunately he does not tell us who the “many” are. 25 J.M. Harris “Midrash Halachah,” The Cambridge History of Judaism Volume IV: The Late Roman Period (ed. S.T. Katz; Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2006), 345–6. See also idem, How Do We Know This? Midrash and the Fragmentation of Modern Judaism (Albany: SUNY Press, 1995). 26 4c, 22d, 71. 27 73a. 28 71b. 29 92d. 30 12, 20, 61 (2), 256, 340. 31 296, 340. 32 244. 33 340. 34 96. 35 277.


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rabbis. 15% of the arguments in Sifré BaMidbar can be attributed to known masters: Rabbi (2),36 Isaac,37 Issi b. Aqiba,38 Issi b. Aqabya,39 Simeon b. Manasia,40 Abba Hanan quoting Eliezer,41 and Eleazar b. Azariah,42 Issi b. Menahem,43 and Ishmael (2).44 Finally, 32% of the pericopae in Sifré Devarim assign the a fortiori argument to a named sage: Eleazar b. Azariah (2),45 Simeon b. Yohai (4),46 Ishmael,47 Simeon (2),48 Aqiba (2),49 Meir,50 Joshua,51 and Simeon b. Manasia.52 With the exception of Sifra, which has the fewest examples, in absolute numbers, we see a fairly even distribution among the other three documents: Sifra contains 4, Mekhilta has 12, Sifré BaMidbar includes 11, and Sifré Devarim has 14. Taken as a whole, we find the following distribution: Simeon 3, Yosi b. Rabbi Judah 1, Eliezer 1, Joshua 1, Meir 3, Aqiba 4, Yohanan b. Zakkai 2, Ishmael 7, Eleazar b. Azariah 4, Isaac 2, Rabbi 3, Issi b. Aqabya 1, Issi b. Aqiba 1, Simeon b. Yohai 4, Simeon b. Manasia 2, Abba Hanan quoting Eliezer 1. We can make several points at this stage. First, only a few of the many Tannaim are said to have used the a fortiori argument. Second, its use crosses the generations from Yohanan b. Zakkai to Judah the Patriarch. Third, if we divide its use between the “schools” of Ishmael and Aqiba we do not find a great difference. If we omit Meir because he studied with both Ishmael and Aqiba, we find that Aqiba and the first generation of his disciples employ the technique more frequently that Ishmael and his students. We also note that sages who lived before Ishmael used the technique. Again, we need to remember that I have counted each repetition as a separate occurrence,

36 37 38 39 40 41 42 43 44 45 46 47 48 49 50 51 52

13, 149. 122. 8. 148. 86. 17. 220. 106. 12, 106. 279, 300. 50, 102, 107, 342. 239. 279, 304. 54, 94. 94. 75. 106.

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and I have not included those examples of possible a fortiori arguments if the technical terminology—ql whwmr—did not appear. The occurrence and use of the gezerah shavah is a complicated matter.53 This method is another basic form of analogy. In its simplest form it draws an analogy between two biblical verses or sections because they share a common word or phrase. However, the method also brings together two passages because they share a common concept drawn from different forms of the same Hebrew root, such as “taking” for two appearances of different verbal constructions of the Hebrew root “to take,” lqh. There does not appear to be any major difference between these two types of analogies. The common rhetorical pattern is as follows: “ ‘x’ ” is said here, and ‘x’ is said elsewhere, just as here/elsewhere . . ., so also elsewhere/here . . .” As we shall see, however, often the rhetorical pattern appears without any introduction which identifies it is a gezerah shavah. In fact, the method appears more often without being introduced by the term gzrh swh than with it. It appears that the technical term gezerah shavah and the actual use of the exegetical method are unrelated. Also, we have examples of a form of the Hebrew verb nqs, which means to draw an analogy, preceding the appearance of what is formally a gzrh swh. In some places, the midrash notes that a certain word in a verse is unnecessary and appears specifically to be singled out, mpwnh, for a gezerah shavah. The term gezerah shavah appears twenty-four times in Sifra,54 always in anonymous statements. Bringing two verses together because of a common word or common verbal root occurs ninety-six additional times in Sifra without the appearance of the term gezerah shavah;55 that means,

53 Michael Chernick has produced an extensive study of the gezerah shavah. He argues that the schools of Ishmael and Aqiba used the technique differently, and he argues that the Amoraim developed the technique in ways which moved beyond its tannaitic orgins. This is not the place to discuss Chernick’s analysis in detail because much of his discussion is irrelevant to our set of questions. For our purposes, the study shows just how complex the actual use of the gezerah shavah is in the rabbinic texts, and how one must look to the Amoraic collections to find the major development and uses of the technique. M. Chernick, Gezerah Shavah: Its Various Forms in Midrashic and Talmudic Sources [Hebrew] (Lod: Haberman Institute for Literary Research, 1994). 54 10c, 14c,26d, 32a, 35b, 37d, 46d, 49c, 53b (2), 71b, 73d, 91b, 92a, 94b, 94d, 95a, 96b, 98c, 99b, 101d, 103a, 110b, 112d. 55 3c, 6b, 6c, 6d, 7c, 8d, 9d, 10b, 11c, 12c (2), 12d, 17d (2), 18d (2), 19a (4), 19b (3), 19c, 22c, 22d, 24b (3), 25a, 25c, 28d, 29c, 29d, 33b, 34a, 35a, 35b, 44a, 46a (2), 50b, 67a, 67d, 69b, 71b, 72a, 73b, 73c, 73d (2), 78b, 80d, 81b, 81c, 81d, 82c, 82d, 83a (2), 83c, 86a, 89c, 89d, 90b, 90d, 91d, 92a, 92b (3), 92c (5), 93a, 93b, 94c, 96a, 97b, 97d, 99a, 99c, 100d, 101b, 102d (2)103a, 104b (2), 104d, 112d (2), 114b, 115a.


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the method occurs four times more frequently without the technical term than with it. The term appears ten times in Mekhilta.56 The method without the technical term appears twenty-two times in this collection.57 Sifré BaMidbar contains seven pericopae with the rhetorical term specifically mentioned, and thirty-two cases in which the technique appears without the technical term.58 There are twelve pericopae in Sifré Devarim in which the term gezerah shavah appears. In thirty-nine pericopae, the method appears without the technical term. In 233 passages in the four collections we find two biblical passages brought together because they share a common word, phrase, or idea. In only fifty-three of these pericopae, 23%, does the term gezerah shavah occur. When we consider the distribution of attributed passages, we also encounter some unexpected results. All of the appearances of the technical terminology are anonymous in Sifra, Sifré BaMidbar, and Sifré Devarim. In Mekhilta, it is possible that Eliezer,59 Aqiba,60 Yoshia,61 and Simeon b. Yohai62 are involved with the gezerah shavah. However, these attributions are uncertain, for the lack of quotation marks makes all but the assignment to Aqiba and Yoshia problematic. The technical term appears infrequently in the earliest midrashic collections, and most often it appears anonymously. The four assigned passages appear among both Ishmael’s students and Aqiba and his students. When we turn to the passages in which the technique appears but the technical terminology is missing, we find more assigned sayings. However, given the disparity in the numbers of the two types of materials, this fact is exactly what we would expect. In Sifra, Eliezer employs the technique 2 times,63 Eleazar seems to use it in 1 place,64 Ishmael uses it 5 times,65 Aqiba utilizes it 2 times,66 Simeon’s name occurs in

17, 54, 213, 247, 273, 281 (3), 284, 308. 53, 67, 70, 253, 254, 261, 262 (2), 273, 276, 279, 289, 300, 306, 304, 309, 310, 314, 332, 333, 337, 338. 58 16, 17, 19, 21, 25, 24, 42, 58, 68 (2), 69, 70, 100, 113, 116, 122, 131, 134, 149, 151, 156, 157, 163, 165, 166 (2), 177 (2), 188, 194, 198, 199. 59 54. 60 308. 61 17. 62 281. 63 22c, 90d. 64 114b. 65 6c, 50b, 81d, 83a where “they said in the name of R. Ishmael”, 97b. 66 6b, 50b. 56 57

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5 passages,67 Judah appears 3 times,68 Meir uses the method 1 time,69 Ishmael b. Yohanan b. Beroqa employs it in 1 passage,70 and Rabbi uses it in 1 passage.71 Among these passages in Mekhilta, we find Eliezer 2 times,72 Nathan 2 times,73 and Ishmael,74 Issi b. Gorya,75 and Rabbi76 each appearing one time. Aqiba may also appear; however, Horovitz marks the text with .77 Eliezer employs the technique once in Sifré BaMidbar.78 In this collection Ishmael,79 Yohanan b. Nuri,80 perhaps Issi b. Menahem,81 Judah,82 and perhaps Yoshia83 also use the technique one time each. Aqiba uses it 3 times,84 Nathan employs it 2 times,85 and Rabbi utilizes the method twice.86 A review of Sifré Devarim produces the same results: Aqiba once,87 Simeon once,88 and Judah 3 times.89 Aqiba and his students, excluding Meir, employ the technique without the technical term 18 times, Ishmael and his students employ it 6 times. Again, assigning statements to sages in these documents is far from certain. However, we see that only a few names appear, and it is difficult to argue that Ishmael and his students employed the technique differently from the way Aqiba and his students used it. The more important conclusion is that so few of the passage that employ the term gezerah shavah are assigned to any sage, which means that placing its use in any particular “school” of biblical exegesis is problematic.

67 68 69 70 71 72 73 74 75 76 77 78 79 80 81 82 83 84 85 86 87 88 89

10b, 12d, 19b, 101b, 104b. 86a, 102c, 104d. 19b. 99a. 92c. 53, 279. 273, 332. 314. 337. 338. 273. 131. 134. 134. 16. 177. 163; Horovitz puts the name in . 70, 131, 177. 42, 157. 116, 166. 162. 162. 231, 308, 312.


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The midrashim contain several other ways to draw analogies that do not appear in Ishmael’s or Hillel’s list. The appearance of the pattern mh . . . ‘p . . . . . “if . . . also . . .” is ubiquitous in the collections. Another common form introduces the argument with a form of the root dyn followed by mh and ending with a clause introduced with ‘ynw dyn. Because these words also appear in an a fortiori argument, this pattern may be an alternate form of an a fortiori argument which does not use the technical expression ql whwmr. In many cases it is not clear exactly which type of comparison should be drawn: an a fortiori or merely a gezerah shavah. Finally, we have a number of analogies introduced with a form of nqs.90 Given that there are several common ways for the rabbinic documents to draw analogies between passages, the sage’s or editor’s employing the ql whwmr or the gezerah shavah probably reflects a conscious decision to use this terminology. The heqesh and the gezerah shavah are different, but related techniques. This point becomes clear when we encounter the awkward formulation of using a form of nqs with the technical term gzrh swh.91 The texts imply that the gezerah shavah is a form of an analogy, heqesh, so that they are the same thing. However, even a cursory reading of all the examples indicates that the heqesh is a much more varied technical term than this simple formulation would suggest. The next form we examine is referred to as a prototype, bnyn ‘b. The most common prototype in Sifra focuses on a single verse. The midrash refers to a verse or part of the verse and notes that it forms a prototype for everything like the specific item or ritual mentioned in the verse.92 One of these is attributed to Yosi b. R. Judah93 and one to Rabbi,94 both fourth generation Tannaim. Sifra also contains 5 pericopae in which the prototype is drawn from two verses or phenomena. The

90 Sifra 11d, 14d ( Judah), 15a ( Judah), 30a, 31a, 34c, 36b, 41c, 45b, 45d, 58b, 60b, 65d (3), 67b, 68a, 69d (Rabbi), 82c, 86a, 86b (2), 86d, 100b, 105c, 106c, 109d, 113a (Simeon); Mekhilta 2, 33, 58 (2), 65, 204 (2), 231 (3), 250 (2), 251, 252, 256, 256 (Aqiba), 261, 262, 269 (Nathan), 272, 285 (Aqiba), 288, 291, 309 ( Judah b. Bathyra), 319, 320, 330; Sifré BaMidbar, 22, 38, 40, 42 (Nathan), 100, 138, 140, 141 (Ishmael), 147, 165, 189 (Horovitz places Ishmael and Aqiba in ), 195, 200, 202, 203, 207, 208; Sifré Devarim 75, 90, 123, 134, 167 (2), 184, 187 (2), 187, 198, 242, 243 (2), 257, 265, 277, 288. 91 Sifra 92a; Mekhilta 17 (Yoshia), 247, 281 (Simeon b. Yohai), 284, 308 (Aqiba); Sifré BaMidbar 32, 33, 61, 165 (but the term gezerah shavah does not appear), 189, 213. 92 19c, 21b, 24d, 37b, 80c, 82a, 82d, 83b, 83d, 87b, 100c, 101d. 93 101d. 94 82d.

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text juxtaposes the two items and develops the prototype from their common element(s).95 These can be extended passages in which several items are juxtaposed in order to arrive at the point of the discussion.96 Mekhilta contains fewer examples of uses of the prototype, but more varieties than we find in Sifra. One prototype is based on two items mentioned in one verse,97 and it looks for the common element between the two items. Two prototypes derive from two verses.98 One brings together three different theological concepts and creates a prototype from what they have in common; the passage does not cite biblical verses, but rather concepts.99 Yoshia100 and Judah b. Bathyra101 both find the common element from two items mentioned in one verses; however, neither use the technical term “prototype” in their comments. Sifré BaMidbar contains one prototype from two items in one verse,102 and one from the common element in three different verses.103 Sifré Devarim contains five pericopae which employ a prototype. Three of them derive the prototype from one verse.104 One of these is attributed to Isaac.105 One passage, which is based on two verses, appears in an extended form106 and an abbreviated version.107 The use of the prototype appears in both Hillel’s and Ishmael’s list; however, the three versions of Hillel’s list are inconsistent in their formulation of the principle.108 The most common use of the principle derives the prototype from one verse. Given the ambiguity of Hillel’s list, one cannot determine with certainty whether finding the common element between two items in one verse is the same as stating that the prototype is based on one verse. In addition, neither list mentions that one derives a prototype from three verses or from three theological principles, both of which appear in our collections. The collections employ a principle found in

95 96 97 98 99 100 101 102 103 104 105 106 107 108

3c, 11b (2), 91d, 93a. 3c, 91d. 297. 268, 279. 73. 329. 288. 64. 218. 66, 202, 260. 66. 103. 125. Porton, “Hermeneutics,” 252–4.


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Hillel’s and Ishmael’s list, and they contain variations on that principle which do not appear in the lists. Ishmael’s list contains several variations of the use of a general statement and a specific statement, the next exegetical form we want to examine. Hillel’s list contains two of the items, so that Ishmael’s list appears as an expansion of Hillel’s list. Although Ishmael’s list implies that there were specific ways in which one distinguished among the various biblical texts which contain general comments and specific lists in the same context, we shall see that the use of the technique pales when compared to the a fortiori argument and the gezerah shavah. Sifra contains four passages in which the technical term “general statement,” kll, appears. In four passages we are told that in the statement “comes out, from the general statement so that one can use it for the basis of an analogy, lhqys.”109 This expression appears to mean that a particular item in the general statement is specified for the purposes of drawing an analogy. In another pericope the discussion about the general statement concerns whether it is a “warning” or a statement of punishment. The passage also attempts to explain why certain elements of the general statement are specified, and it concludes by noting that the specified term serves to remove two specific elements from the general statement. None of the discussion revolving around the “general statement” follows any of the techniques in Ishmael’s list. One pericope uses the terminology, but in a completely different way from Ishmael’s techniques.110 One passage directly refers to the principle that when there is a general statement and a specific statement, the general statement includes only those items in the specific statement.111 We also find one passage, quoted in Ishmael’s name, which follows an abbreviated statement of his thirteenth rule: Anything in a general statement which is specified for something new, Scripture must specifically include it in the general statement.112 Mekhilta contains a number of pericopae which reflect the traditions found in the list at the opening of Sifra. If there is a general statement and a specific statement, apparently in that order, the general statement only includes what is in the specific statement.113 Mekhilta

109 110 111 112 113

11d, 31a, 36b, 100b. 37c. 86b. 13d–14d. 52, 72, 277, 300, 234.

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also contains what appears to be a variation of this rule: A specific item “comes out of ” the general statement to teach about the general statement.114 In three pericopae, the teaching is specified.115 We also learn that if a general statement is added to a specific statement, everything is in the general statement.116 In one place we learn that a specific statement requires (Éryk) a general statement and a general statement requires a specific statement;117 the rule appears in Ishmael’s list. The rule implies that both statements are needed to understand the full implications of each. We are told that “this is one of the 13 middot by which the Torah is exegeted”; however, Ishmael’s name does not appear. This principle is used in a similar fashion to the previous one. Two passages in Mekhilta quote Ishmael’s rule concerning something which is removed from the general statement to teach something new.118 Several pericopae in Mekhilta note that a specific matter came out of the general statement in order to make it more stringent, which appears to be related to, but in different wording from, the items in Ishmael’s list,119 while one pericope follows the wording in the list.120 In one place the specific comment which is removed from the general statement appears to lead to a more lenient ruling.121 In a passage attributed to Judah b. Bathyra we are told that an item was specified so that we could draw an analogy from it, lhqys.122 Finally, in three passages an item is specified in a general statement in order to teach something specific.123 The passages are all anonymous, with one exception;124 that saying is attributed to one of Ishmael’s students. As we have it today, Mekhilta knows that the appearance of general statements and specific statements in the Torah can serve as a basis for exegeting Scripture. Furthermore, some of the techniques which appear in Ishmael’s list are either quoted in Mekhilta or are similar to those which appear in the collection. Finally, there is one explicit reference to the thirteenth exegetical principle, and the principles which follow do appear in the 114 115 116 117 118 119 120 121 122 123 124

27, 64. 310, 347 (2). 303. 57. 284, 297. 278, 264, 280, 291 (2). 287. 271. 309. 227, 264, 301. 264.


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same wording in Ishmael’s list. Unfortunately, we cannot ascertain if these statements are from the first three centuries of the common era or a later editorial remark. Five pericopae in Sifré BaMidbar inform us that when there is a general statement and a specific statement, the general statement contains only what is in the specific statement.125 One of these statements is attributed to Ishmael.126 Five anonymous passages tell us that the specific statement teaches about the general statement,127 a formulation which also appears in Mekhilta. Two anonymous pericopae128 inform us that Scripture must return a specific statement which comes out to teach a new thing to its general statement, a method which appears in Mekhilta and Sifra. Three anonymous sayings tell us that the specific statement comes out of the general statement to make a stringent ruling;129 again, this formulation reflects Sifra and also appears in Mekhilta. A third passage130 does not employ the same wording but amounts to the same teaching. Two passages note that we find verses in the Torah in which the specific and general statements appear in different patterns with regard to which is at the beginning and which is at the end.131 We read in one place that a specific statement came out of the general statement to teach a specific rule. This saying is attributed to Isaac.132 Finally, we are told that if following the principle of a general statement and a specific statement in the Torah would pervert justice, we follow both of them in order not to pervert justice.133 While some of Mekhilta’s and Sifré BaMidbar’s discussions seem to reflect the list in Sifra or a tradition related to it, materials found in Sifré Devarim do not. In one long passage, we have six sayings in which a specific item comes out of the general statement to teach something.134 In one place we are told that Moses and the prophets spoke in general and specific statements,135 but the passage is meant to draw parallels between Moses and the prophets; the principle is not used. 125 126 127 128 129 130 131 132 133 134 135

14, 29, 39, 139, 151. 14. 2, 39, 66, 109, 107. 24, 41. 116, 192 (2). 161. 142, 151. 118. 15. 118. 148.

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In four places, Judah b. Bathyra’s principle found in Mekhilta appears anonymously in Sifré Devarim: Something comes out of a general statement so that it can be used for an analogy, lhqys.136 The four midrashic collections contain approximately fifty-nine passages which build on the general and specific statements the rabbis find in Scripture and are recorded in these collections. Mekhilta and Sifré BaMidbar each contain five passages in which we read that the general statement contains only what is in the specific statement, a formulation which appears in Ishmael’s list in Sifra. The formulation that the specific statement teaches about the general statement seems to be a different formulation of the same principle: Mekhilta has two examples, and Sifré BaMidbar contains five examples. We find passages which allude to Ishmael’s rule that a specific item can come out of a general statement to make something more stringent or more lenient, but the formulations in the midrashic collections are different from the wording in the list: Mekhilta has five examples, and there are three in Sifré BaMidbar. The principle that a specific statement comes out of the general statement to be the basis of an analogy does not appear in Ishmael’s list, but does occur in three of the four collections: Sifra (4), Mekhilta (1), Sifré BaMidbar (4). We also find Ishmael’s principle that a Scripture must return a specific statement to the general statement if the former teaches about something new: Sifra (1), Mekhilta (2), and Sifré BaMidbar (2). The evidence before us does not lead to any clear-cut conclusions. Clearly, general statements and specific statements appear as exegetical techniques in all of the collections, and some of the methods by which one deals with these phenomena were common across the documents. The exact formulations in Ishmael’s list are found in several collections, but we also discover a number of variations which amount to virtually the same principles the list contains. In addition, there also were methods of addressing these phenomena in the Torah which differ from the rules set forth in Ishmael’s list. Of course, it is striking that there are so few examples of recourse to these principles in the four collections, especially because Hillel’s list also uses the general statement and the specific statement as a basis for biblical exegesis. Ishmael’s last principle clearly states that when two verses disagree, a third verse must be brought to solve the disagreement. In four pas-

136

134, 242, 257, 265.


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sages,137 Sifra solves the contradiction between two verses without citing a third verse. It merely offers a solution to the contradictions. Similarly, Mekhilta contains fifteen instances in which the text solves the contradiction between two verses without recourse to a third verse.138 Aqiba brings a third verse to solve a contradiction,139 and Ishmael uses the principle once.140 Aqiba, not Ishmael, refers to the rule as one of the mdwt in the Torah. Eleazar b. HaQapara of Lydia solves the contradiction of several verses in order to teach Matya b. Harash’s lesson about Ishmael’s four divisions of Atonement.141 The pattern is not much different in Sifré BaMidbar. There are two rather long passages in which the contradictions between two verses are solved without referring to a third verse.142 In other places, Nathan,143 Jonathan,144 and Rabbi145 solve the contradictions without recourse to a third biblical text. Only in one passage are we told that one solves the contradiction between two verses by bringing a third verse.146 Sifré Debarim contains five pericopae in which the contradictions between two verses are not reconciled by a third verse.147 The remarkable fact in this context is that in the overwhelming number of pericopae in which we are told that two verses contradict each other, the rabbinic authorities could have followed the exegetical principle of bringing a third verse to solve the contradiction, but they did not do so. 4 The evidence of the midrashic collections for the actual use, or “nonuse” of Hillel’s and Ishmael’s exegetical principles leads us to several clear conclusions. First, Hillel’s and Ishmael’s lists do not adequately account for the exegetical activity we encounter in the earliest rabbinic

137 138 139 140 141 142 143 144 145 146 147

27c, 30d, 37d, 100d. 27 (2), 50 (2), 64 (2), 124, 234, 242, 274, 302, 323,325, 330, 342. 13. 238. 228. 47, 60. 60. 56. 83. 56. 78, 81, 128 (2), 177.

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midrashic collections.148 Some of the techniques are employed in the earliest collections, but given the extensive number of exegetical comments, they appear relatively infrequently. The items common to the two lists occur most often. Second, the vast majority of the pericopae in which the techniques appear are anonymous. Neither Hillel, nor Ishmael, nor their students predominate in the passages which employ these exegetical principles. Third, all the techniques which are actually used appear in all of the collections, and they are attributed to students of both schools in all of the documents.149 Fourth, given the facts, one cannot assign the earliest collections of midrashim to the schools of Ishmael or Aqiba based on the appearance of the exegetical techniques. David Hoffmann was the first modern scholar to divide the Tannaitic midrashic collections between the schools of Ishmael and Aqiba.150 In all fairness to Hoffmann, he drew his distinctions between the methods of Ishmael and Aqiba first from the Amoraic discussions in the two talmuds, as well as later midrashic collections. Once he had established the characteristics of each school from the Amoraic materials, he then moved to his analysis of the tannaitic midrashim.151 However, throughout his work, he continually refers to the Amoraic collections as a means of understanding and interpreting the tannaitic collections.152 While the Amoraic documents may prove useful in our understanding the Tannaitic collections, they may also be a hindrance to seeing the earlier collections in their own terms. If we want to know what the tannitic midrashic collections contain and what they tell us about the midrashic techniques within them, we should limit ourselves to those documents At this juncture we have established that the techniques in Ishmael’s list are not frequently employed within the tannaitic midrashim, do not appear in the so-called Ishmaelean collections more often than the so-called Aqiban collections, and represent only a fraction of the

See above, n. 13. These are not new conclusions; I have reached them in different ways elsewhere. See Porton, “Hermenutics,” 263–8. 150 D. Hoffmann, Zur Einleitung in die halachischen Midraschim (Berlin: M. Driesner, 5647 [1886–1887]). For a summary of other scholarly discussion of this issue, see An Investigation, 13–24. For one of the clearest traditional discussions about the “differences” between the thought of Ishmael and Aqiba, see A.J. Heschel, Torah min HaShammayim (New York: Soncino, 1962), xxxvii–lix. 151 Hoffmann, 5–12. Of course, his discussion of the ‘Tanna deBe Rab” and the Tanna de-be R. Ishmael” also relies on the Amoraic texts. 152 For example, see his analysis of Sifra, which draws on collections as late as Midrash Esther, on 23. 148 149


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exegetical techniques which appear in the early midrashim. In brief, Ishmael’s principles do not appear to reflect those techniques he or anyone else employed in the tannaitic midrashim, nor do they point to the way that scholars since Hoffmann have divided the collections between the “schools” of Ishmael and Aqiba. Given the evidence we have adduced above, the purpose behind the creation of Ishmael’s list and its placement at the beginning of Sifra are elusive. In a recent article, “Midrash, Christian Exegesis, and Hellenistic Hermeneutics,”153 Burton L. Visotzky draws our attention to the progymnasmata of the first centuries of the common era. He also stresses the Hellenistic nature of rabbinic exegetical techniques and as his teacher Saul Lieberman had done before him, Visotzky draws specific parallels between some of the exegetical techniques which the rabbis employed and those used by Greek Rhetoricians. I would like to draw on Visotzky’s insights and suggest a possible new interpretation of Ishmael’s list at the opening of Sifra.154 The evidence before us indicates that neither list reflects Hillel’s, Ishmael’s, or the Tannaim’s exegetical activity. The lists do not seem to reflect “historical reality,” at least in terms of what the tradition has preserved and handed down to us. Few of the techniques occur, and given the extensive amount of exegetical activity within the four collections, those which are used appear rather infrequently. The disjunction between the lists and the realities of tannaitic midrashic activity is striking. Contrary to traditional acceptance at face value of what the texts say, we need a new approach. I would argue that we have misread the import of Ishmael’s list at the opening of Sifra because, following the traditional historians of Judaism in late antiquity, we have taken for granted that what the text says accurately reflects what specific rabbis actually said, thought, and did.155 Perhaps Ishmael’s list at the opening of Sifra, rather than

153 B.L. Visotzky, “Midrash, Christian Exegesis, and Hellenistic Hermeneutics,” in Current Trends in the Study of Midrash (ed. C. Bakhos; Leiden/Boston: Brill, 2006), 111–31. 154 See especially Visotzky’s discussion of the gezerah shavah and synkrisis pros ison, which offers a guarded criticism of Lieberman’s analysis, “Midrash, Christian Exegesis,” 122–5. 155 For a discussion of this way of interpreting rabbinic texts see G.G. Porton, “Historical Questions and Questioning History: Studying Judaism in Late Antiquity,” Historical Knowledge in Biblical Antiquity (ed. J. Neusner, B.D. Chilton, and W.S. Green; Blandford Forum: Deo Publish Co, 2006).

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reporting what Ishmael or his followers actually did, has as its main purpose to demonstrate how sages should accurately interpret Scripture, especially when trying to establish the legitimacy of rabbinic law. We have known for a long time that the rabbis’ exegetical techniques find parallels in the Hellenistic rhetorical tradition.156 For this reason, the impetus for the creation of Ishmael’s list may be found in the rabbis’ filtering of the Hellenistic tradition through their own eyes. That is, the list may be a means for the later rabbis to systemize and teach “legitimate” methods for exegeting Scripture. Attribution of such a list to Ishmael, and to Hillel before him, would have been natural. Certainly these great sages introduced and used the appropriate methods of exegeting Scripture. If the methods had parallels in the non-Jewish Hellenistic world, assigning them to rabbis simply made them Jewish exegetical techniques. Support for this understanding of the list as an Amoraic creation is the fact that, while Ishmael’s exegetical techniques appear infrequently in the Tannaitic stratum, they occur much more often in the Babylonian and Palestinian gemarot. Granted, these texts are vastly larger than the four early midrashic collections, but still a quick survey of their frequency in the two Talmuds produces about 700 examples of the a fortiori argument,157 a significantly larger number than appear in all of the tannitic collections combined. In addition, the Babylonian Talmud contains detailed discussions of how the a fortiori argument and the gezerah shavah158 compare and should be used.159 Whatever their importance in the first three centuries—and that importance seems to have been limited—by the Amoraic period there was a good deal of interest in many of these principles. It is entirely possible, therefore, that the

156 D. Daube, “Rabbinic Methods of Interpretation and Hellenistic Rhetoric,” HUCA 22 (1949), 239–64; W. Sibley Towner, “Hermeneutical Systems of Hillel and the Tannaim: A Fresh Look,” HUCA 53 (1982), 101–35; S. Lieberman, “Rabbinic Interpretation of Scripture,” in Hellenism in Jewish Palestine (New York: Jewish Theological Seminary, 2 1962), 47–82; Visotzky, “Midrash, Christian Exegesis.” 157 If one searches q”w and ql whwmr on the Davka Judaic Library CD, one finds 381 references. If one adds an * before the entries to indicate a prefix, there are approximately 226 additional entries. Similar searches in the Palestinian Talmud add another hundred references. This number may be artificially high because the a fortiori argument can be a logical argument without any reference to a biblical verse. 158 A similar method finds about sixty examples of the principle in the Babylonian Talmud. Of course, the other forms of analogy often appear. See Porton, “Hermeneutics,” 260–5. 159 Porton, “Hermeneutics,” 263–5.


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creation of Ishmael’s lists should be placed in the Amoraic period, and not in the Tannaitic period. This would explain why so few Tannaim employ the techniques in the earliest midrashic collections. We saw above that the overwhelming majority of Tannaitic examples of the uses of the principles are anonymous. We also observed that the named sages who employ the techniques represent both Ishmael’s and Aqiba’s “schools.” We may now ask how/why the list of thirteen principles was attached to Ishmael. Again, the Amoraic period may provide the answer. Aqiba’s importance and fame was widely acknowledged in the Amoraic documents. One of Aqiba’s most well-known practices was his imaginative interpretations of the Bible.160 The story in the Babylonian Talmud161 which records Moses’ lack of comprehension of Aqiba’s use of the Torah as the basis of his teachings, is a classic example of how some sages imagined Aqiba’s “free-wheeling” biblical exegesis.162 While Aqiba’s stature was widely acknowledged, one can imagine the Amoriam concerned about his style of interpreting Scripture. This would have been even more pressing in the Amoraic period if we assume, as we should, that at least some Palestinian sages knew of the ferment among their Christian contemporaries who were interpreting the Hebrew Bible as the Old Testament.163 The third century of the common era, the period to which the story of Moses in Aqiba’s schoolhouse is attributed ( Judah quotes Rav), was also the age of Origen and other Christian exegetes who were employing exegetical methods which some sages could have considered illegitimate ways of reading Scripture. In an attempt to limit the internal “creativity” of biblical exegesis among the rabbinic circles, and perhaps also to show concern with what Christian exegetes were doing, some Amoraim could 160 Unfortunately, we do not have a modern study of the Aqiban corpus which moves past the Tannaitic period. However, if one examines the provenance of the pericopae upon which the standard “biographies” of Aqiba are drawn, one can see that they have been compiled from Amoraic document. C. Primus, Aqiva’s Contribution to the Law of Zera’im (Leiden: Brill, 1977); L. Finkelstein, Akiba: Scholar, Saint and Martyr (New York: Atheneum, 1975); M. Margalioth, Encyclopedia of Talmudic and Geonic Literature (Tel Aviv: Joshua Chachik, 1962), 2.725–734. 161 BMenahot 29b. 162 For a nuanced discussion of this passage see, B.L. Visotzky, “Jots and Tittles: On Scriptural Interpretation in Rabbinic and Patristic Literatures.” Reprinted in idem, Fathers of the World (Tübingen: J.C.B. Mohr, 1995), 28–9. Professor Visotzky drew my attention to this article. 163 There is a vast literature on this topic. Most recently see above Visotzky, “Midrash, Christian Exegesis,” and Porton, “Midrash and the Rabbinic Sermon.” See also Visotzky, “Jots and Tittles,” 29–40.

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have argued that Aqiba’s “imaginative” exegetical comments were not the only Tannaitic tradition. In fact, there was a much more “rational” exegetical tradition which could be traced back to Ishmael, Aqiba’s most famous interlocutor.164 The tradition that Hillel employed logical exegetical techniques in common with the Hellenistic rhetoricians was well established. But the tradition was rather confused, and it did not really off-set Aqiba’s methods. Therefore, “creating” an Ishmaelean list of “rational” and well-known Hellenistic rhetorical principles was meant to “rein in” the more “radical” rabbinic biblical exegetes, those who might follow in Aqiba’s footsteps, as well as demonstrate to their Christian contemporaries that the rabbis had from the earliest times carefully and logically interpreted the Hebrew Bible. Ishmael’s list at the beginning of Sifra may have served one more purpose. Hillel’s list was brief, and the transmission of the list was somewhat corrupt. Furthermore, while we have the terms, we do not know how to apply them. The tradition at the opening of Sifra is much clearer. Most scholarship has focused on the list and how the sages employed the principles. What may be equally significant is that examples of how the various exegetical techniques work immediately follow the list. If one reads the list together with the examples, we have a rabbinic teaching document: These are the principles and these are the ways they should be used. The opening of Sifra thus may be an abbreviated rabbinic form of the Hellenistic progymnasmata.165 In this reading, the examples of how the methods are to be used may be more important than the list of principles. The list and examples cannot be a list of exercises like the progymnasmata because, in fact, the examples which illustrate the methods in the list are rather obscure, and reading them or learning them would not give anyone a clear picture of exactly how the principles should be put into practice.166 However, if a sage were to learn the principles and the examples he would have a memory device either to his lessons on exegetical techniques in the schoolhouse or a memory device to recall how one should employ the techniques. Learning the lists and the examples would be an important step for 164 Dividing the rabbinic camps between Ishmael and Aqiba was so pervasive that it found its way into the mystical hekhalot tradition. 165 G.A. Kennedy, Progymnasmata: Greek Textbooks of Prose Composition and Rhetoric (Atlanta: Society of Biblical Literature, 2003). 166 See R. Kern-Ulmer, “Hermeneutics, Techniques of Rabbinic Exegesis,” Encyclopedia of Midrash: Biblical Interpretation in Formative Judaism (Ed. J. Neusner and A. AveryPeck; Leiden: Brill, 2005), 1.273–85.


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members of the Amoraic rabbinic academies to take to become rabbis. While the Talmuds contain a variety of formulations of the techniques, especially those connected to the general statement and specific statement, eventually they created the “official” versions and list. A distinguishing characteristic of the rabbi was his ability to interpret the Hebrew Bible. The rabbi was a rabbi because he knew both the written Torah and the oral Torah. To him, the dual revelation formed one complete whole—it was the entire perfect revelation from the One Perfect God. To know the whole Torah was to know what was humanly possible to know about God. In addition, one demonstrated his acumen as a rabbi by demonstrating his ability to understand, explain, and interpret God’s word. The midrashic activity covered a wide range of possibilities and examples. Some of it was clearly fanciful and mental gymnastics, a mental game to demonstrate how agile the rabbi could be with the text. Rav Judah quoted Rav: “They do not allow a person to sit in the Sanhedrin unless he knows [how] to [prove that] a creeping thing is clean from the words of Torah itself.”167 In effect, the sage would have to demonstrate from the words of Torah itself that one of the objects it declares unclean—the creeping thing—is in fact clean. According to Rav one had to be able to turn the biblical text on its ear if one wished to be able to sit in the highest court in the Land. However, once one was seated in the tribunal, his ability to interpret Scripture in terms of legal activity and practice was probably more limited. The gemara contains lengthy discussions of how one can legitimately employ the rhetorical techniques in legal discussions and their comparative value. In addition, as Neusner has shown,168 much of the gemarot is designed to demonstrate the biblical bases of Mishnaic law. Connecting law to the Bible was a major occupation of the Amoraim. It is possible that Ishmael’s list and examples, which appears to be based on Hillel’s list, is an Amoraic creation which should serve as a basic resource of the rabbis as they attempt to connect the halakhah to the TaNaKh. We are left with several questions. Why was Ishmael’s list placed at the opening of Sifra, which from as early as Sherira was identified as an Aqiban document,169 and when did it become attached to Sifra, the BSanhedrin 17a. Strack and Stemberger, 156. 169 B.M. Levin, The Letter of Rav Sherira Gaon ( Jerusalem: reprint, 1972), 27. Sherira knows that Ishmael exegeted the Torah by 13 principles, but the only two he names 167 168

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midrashic collection on Leviticus? From the rabbinic period onward, Leviticus seems to have been the book with which childhood Jewish education began.170 In fact, the “rabbinic curriculum” in the Midrash to Proverbs indicates that a sage should study Scripture, Mishnah, the Midrash on Leviticus, the midrashim on all five books of the Torah, the haggadah, and the Talmud.171 Given the importance of Leviticus and Sifra in the rabbinic curriculum, it would be logical to place the key text for learning and illustrating the ways to interpret Scripture for halakhic purposes at the opening of this midrashic collection. Additionally, Visotzky has convincingly dated the Midrash on Proverbs to the 9th century. He has also argued that the collection may contain a good deal of anti-Karaite polemic. In this light, the appearance of Ishmael’s list at the opening of Sifra takes on added importance, for it lays forth the ways in which the rabbis may legitimately derive halakhah from Scripture in answer to the Karaite claims that rabbinic law transcends the bounds of Scripture.172 To summarize: One can reasonable argue that the Amoraim created the list of Ishmael’s “thirteen principles” because of their concern with methods of biblical exegesis, both within and outside the Amoraic academies. They created the list to demonstrate the “rational” limits of biblical exegesis as well as to show that the Tannaim had been part of the larger intellectual world of the Greek Rhetoricians. The Amoraim are not claiming that the Tannaim borrowed the rhetorical techniques from the Greeks. Just the opposite; they are claiming that Hillel and Ishmael “created” or systematized the exegetical techniques of the Tannaitic period. This process could well have occurred in the third and perhaps fourth centuries of the common era. In the tenth century, this list was prefixed to Sifra as a means of responding to the Karaites’ claims that the rabbis were moving too far beyond Scripture and to provide for the rabbis and rabbis-in-training a convenient study guide to accepted rabbinic techniques of interpreting Scripture.

in the context are the ql vahomer and the gezerah shavah, 48. He had mentioned these two earlier with reference to Yohanan b. Zakkai who was among Hillel’s students, 9. 170 See, for example, I.G. Marcus, Rituals of Childhood: Jewish Acculturation in Medieval Europe (New Haven/London: Yale University Press, 1996), 32, 36, 38–39. 171 B.L. Visotzky, The Midrash on Proverbs: Translated from the Hebrew with an Introduction and Annotations (New Haven/London: Yale University Press), 56–7. 172 Visotzky, The Midrash on Proverbs 10–11, and the commentary throughout. Again, I owe this insight to Professor Visotzky.

PSEUDEPIGRAPHY, AUTHORSHIP, AND THE RECEPTION OF ‘THE BIBLE’ IN LATE ANTIQUITY* Annette Yoshiko Reed “Who has made the simple folk believe that books belong to Enoch, even though no scriptures existed before Moses? On what basis will they say that there is an apocryphal book of Isaiah? . . . How could Moses have an apocryphal book?” In his 39th Festal Letter (367 ce), Athanasius thus voices his incredulity at the very phenomenon of biblical pseudepigraphy. In his view, the production of books in the names of biblical figures can only be a specious and pernicious practice, motivated by deceptive aims. “Heretics,” he proclaims, “write these books whenever they want and then grant and bestow upon them dates, so that, by publishing them as if they were ancient, they might have a pretext for deceiving the simple folk!”1 Athanasius expresses these complaints about the pseudepigraphical authors of “apocrypha”2 in the same festal letter so famous for * An earlier version of this paper was presented at the Concordia conference on “The Reception and Interpretation of the Bible in Late Antiquity” in October 2006. The final form has benefited much from the questions and suggestions that I received during the conference as well as from the other papers and broader discussions. Warmest thanks to Lorenzo DiTommaso and Lucian Turcescu for the opportunity to participate in such a rich and thought-provoking event. This paper also integrates portions of another conference presentation: “Between ‘Biblical’ and ‘Parabiblical’: Pre-canonical Perspectives on Writing, Reading, and Revelation,” presented at the Society of Biblical Literature Annual Meeting, consultation on “Rethinking the Concept and Categories of ‘Bible’ in Antiquity,” November 2006. For feedback and critique of the written version, I am also grateful to Hindy Najman, Andy Chi Kit Wong, and Benjamin Fleming. This research was supported by a grant from the Social Science and Humanities Research Council of Canada. 1 Translations of Ep. 39 follow D. Brakke, Athanasius and the Politics of Asceticism (Oxford: Clarendon, 1995), 326–32. 2 In this article, I use the term “apocrypha” only with reference to the late antique Christian discourse about “apocryphal” and “canonical” scriptures; in this usage, “apocrypha” is a value-laden term denoting books deemed dangerously similar to biblical books by some ecclesiarchs. For our present purposes, it is significant that biblical pseudepigrapha emblematized this danger. The negative connotations of the term are also important to note inasmuch as they were reapplied in modern times to specific groups of texts (“Old Testament apocrypha” = books traditionally in the Catholic Old Testament but not in the Jewish Tanakh, which were labeled with the polemical term “apocrypha” during the Protestant Reformation and which were deemed “deuterocanonical”

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being the first to contain a list of Old Testament and New Testament books that corresponds precisely to what would become “the Bible” of Western Christendom. Perhaps more influential than his list, however, is his approach. Whereas earlier authors describe which scriptures are accepted in common by different Christian communities,3 Athanasius frames his list in pointedly prescriptive terms. Like his contemporaries, he sorts books into three categories: he deems some fit for liturgical use, others fit for reading, and still others not fit to be used by Christians at all.4 Yet, he does so with an essentialist and dichotomous rhetoric that pits canonicity squarely against pseudepigraphy.5 He presents the

for Catholics at the Council of Trent in 1546; “New Testament apocrypha” = apostolic pseudepigrapha and anonymous books otherwise closely aligned with the New Testament literature that are not included in the New Testament canon). 3 According to Eusebius, Hist. eccl. 6.24–25, Origen sorted apostolically-aligned books into those universally known and accepted, those known and disputed, and those rejected. The middle category include Hebrews, 2 Peter, 2 and 3 John, James, Jude, Barnabas, Shepherd of Hermas, Didache, and Gospel of the Hebrews. Eusebius uses the same descriptive categories; his list of disputed books includes James, Jude, 2 Peter, 2 and 3 John, Barnabas, Didache, Gospel of the Hebrews, Acts of Paul, Shepherd of Hermas, and Apocalypse of Peter, while his list of rejected books include the Gospel of Peter, Gospel of Thomas, Gospel of Matthias, Acts of Andrew, and Acts of John (Hist. eccl. 3.25.1–7). 4 The middle category (“catechesical” or “ecclesiastical”) proves particularly significant for our purposes inasmuch as it shows some fluidity in the understanding of “the Bible” even during this period of canon closure. Athanasius, for instance, deems Esther, Wisdom of Solomon, Wisdom of ben Sira, Judith, Tobit, Didache, and Shepherd of Hermas useful but not inspired. With regard to “apocrypha,” Athanasius rejects them as heretical in whole or part and thus not fit for use by Christians at all, but Rufinus leaves open the possibility that they still have some value, albeit outside of worship and teaching (Exp. symb. 36–38). Within the discussions of “outside books,” “books of hamirim,” and “books of the minim” in the classical Rabbinic literature, we may glimpse parallel debates about whether, how, when, and why it is acceptable to study books outside of the Tanakh; e.g., m. Sanhedrin 10.1; m. Yadaim 4.6; t. Yadaim 2.13; y. Sanhedrin 10.1; b. Sanhedrin 100b; Numbers Rabbah 14.4; Pesiqta Rabbati 3.9. 5 I here use the term “pseudepigraphy” to refer to the practice of penning books in the name of another. Hence, “biblical pseudepigraphy” refers to writing in the name of figures from the Hebrew Bible, “Enochic pseudepigraphy” to writing in the name of Enoch, “apostolic pseudepigraphy” to writing in the names of apostles, and so on. Accordingly, in this article, the term “pseudepigrapha” simply refers to the products of this literary process. This usage differs from the modern category of “Old Testament Pseudepigrapha,” which encompasses Christian-transmitted biblical pseudepigrapha of Jewish and Christian origin that are not found in Jewish, Protestant, or Catholic biblical canons as well as anonymous books closely aligned with the Hebrew Bible. On the practice of pseudepigraphy in the ancient world, see the essays in K. von Fritz, ed., Pseudepigrapha I: Pseudopythagorica, Lettres de Platon, Littérature pseudépigraphique juives (Geneva: Fondation Hardt pour l’étude l’antiquité classique, 1972), and E. Chazon and M.E. Stone, ed., Pseudepigraphic Perspectives: The Apocrypha and Pseudepigrapha in Light of the Dead Sea Scrolls (STDJ 31; Leiden: Brill, 1999).

pseudepigraphy, authorship, and ‘the bible’ in late antiquity 469 latter as coterminous with “heresy.”6 And, just as he is the first to apply the language of “canonizing” [kanônizein] to lists of books, so he fully articulates a concept of “apocrypha” as spurious, late, and authored for deceptive aims.7 If these books strike many of his flock as biblical in form and content, it is only—he argues—because wicked heretics pen fraudulent writings to prey on the gullible.8 In other words, Athanasius’ letter represents a key step, not only in the formation of the Christian canon, but also in the construction of the Western concepts of “the Bible,” “Apocrypha,” and “Pseudepigrapha.”

6 D. Brakke, “Canon Formation and Social Conflict in Fourth-Century Egypt: Athanasius of Alexandria’s Thirty-Ninth Festal Letter,” HTR 87 (1994), 395–419; A.S. Jacobs, “The Disorder of Books: Priscillian’s Canonical Defense of Apocrypha,” HTR 93 (2000), 135–43. In the second and third centuries, Enochic and other pseudepigrapha were used by prominent heresiologists such as Justin, Irenaeus, and Tertullian, and even those who expressed some skepticism towards parabiblical books not included in the Jewish Tanakh (e.g., Origen) did not connect them with “heretics”; see further A.Y. Reed, Fallen Angels and the History of Judaism and Christianity (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2005), 160–99. Interestingly, the association of pseudepigraphy and “heresy” appears to originate in polemics against books penned in the names of apostles rather than those penned in the names of figures from the Hebrew Bible (see e.g., Serapion’s comments on the Gospel of Peter in Eusebius, Hist. eccl. 6.12.3). We may see a similar Rabbinic impulse to associate non-canonical literature with “heresy” [minut] in b. Sanhedrin 100b, which preserves a baraita interpreting the “outside books” condemned in m. Sanhedrin 10.1 as “books of the minim.” 7 An important precedent is adv. Haer. 1.21.1, in which Irenaeus accuses the Marcosians of forging “apocryphal and spurious writings” to deceive the ignorant. There, however, no mention is made of false authorship; rather, the stress falls on the claim to secret knowledge. The term “apocrypha” bears the same sense in Clement, Strom. 1.1.13.2–3. In the writings of Origen, the term “apocrypha” also denotes secret books; by contrast, however, he seems to use the term in a non-pejorative sense to denote non-biblical books that resemble biblical ones, drawing a distinction between “known” and secret books that resonates with the distinction in 4 Ezra 14:26 between the 24 books revealed to the public and the 70 revealed books reserved for the wise (see esp. Origen, Ep. Afr. 13). On Origen’s view of “apocrypha,” see further W. Adler, “The Pseudepigrapha in the Early Church,” The Canon Debate (ed. L.M. McDonald and J.A. Sanders; Peabody, Mass.: Hendriksen, 2002), 214–24, and J. Ruwet, “Les apocryphes dans le oeuvres d’Origène,” Biblica 25 (1944), 143–66. 8 Fourth-century parallels to Athanasius include the Apostolic Constitutions, an apostolic pseudepigrapha that ironically condemns apostolic pseudepigraphy with appeal to biblical pseudepigraphy: “We have sent all these things to you, that you may know what our opinion is, and that you may not receive those books which obtain in our name, but are written by the ungodly . . . For we know that Simon and Cleobius, and their followers have compiled poisonous books under the name of Christ and of his disciples, and they carry them about in order to deceive you who love Christ and us his servants. And among the ancients, also, some have written apocryphal books of Moses, and Enoch, and Adam, and Isaiah, and David, and Elijah, and of the three patriarchs—pernicious and repugnant to the truth. The same things even now have the wicked heretics done . . .” (6.16).

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He articulates a notion of “canonical scriptures” as essentially distinct from all other types of literature. He does so, moreover, by denigrating those books that most resemble his “canonical scriptures.”9 At a time when more and more Christian texts were being circulated under the names of their own authors, he accuses the creators of so-called “apocrypha” of writing only with the aim to deceive; he dismisses these books as recent creations, and he relegates their readers to the ranks of the ignorant. Our literary and manuscript evidence, however, tells a different story. Especially since the manuscript discoveries at Qumran, it has become clear that not all works of biblical pseudepigraphy can be dismissed as late or derivative; among the Enochic pseudepigrapha that Athanasius singles out for censure, for instance, are found writings that predate Daniel, the latest book in the Tanakh/Old Testament.10 Moreover, in the centuries before concerted Christian attempts to promote closed biblical canons,11 books written in the names of Enoch, Moses, and other biblical figures had rich afterlives, circulating in multiple versions and influencing a variety of Jewish and Christian texts.12 Research into the reception-histories of 1 Enoch and Jubilees, for instance, has suggested that these texts functioned as scripture in certain early Jewish communities.13 It has also demonstrated their popularity among early 9 Note, e.g., Athanasius’ concern that “a few of the simple folk might be led astray from sincerity and purity through human deceit and might then begin to read other books, the so-called apocrypha [tois legomenois apokruphois], deceived by their having the same names as genuine books” (Ep. 39). 10 I.e., the Astronomical Book (1 En. 72–82) and Book of the Watchers (1 En. 1–36), which date from the third or late second century BCE. 11 On the fourth century as a critical era for the formation of Christian biblical canons, see e.g., L.M. McDonald, The Formation of the Christian Biblical Canon (rev. ed.; Peabody, Mass.: Hendriksen, 1996); B. Metzger, The Canon of the New Testament: Its Origins, Development, and Significance (Oxford: Clarendon, 1987). On the earlier fluidity and the slow growth of “canonical consciousness,” see also J.C. VanderKam, “Revealed Literature in the Second Temple Period,” From Revelation to Canon: Studies in Hebrew Bible and Second Temple Literature ( JSJSup 62; Leiden: Brill, 2000), 1–30; A.Y. Reed, “EUAGGELLION: Orality, Textuality, and the Christian Truth in Irenaeus Adversus haereses,” VC 56 (2002), 11–46. On “canon” as distinct from “scripture,” see E. Ulrich, “The Notion and Definition of Canon,” The Canon Debate, 21–36. 12 E.g., Adler, “Pseudepigrapha,” The Canon Debate, 211–28, and the essays in J.C. Reeves, ed., Tracing the Treads: Studies in the Vitality of Jewish Pseudepigrapha (SBLEJL 6; Atlanta, Georgia: Scholars Press, 1994). 13 Note esp. the multiple copies of each found at Qumran. See further P.W. Flint, “Noncanonical Writings in the Dead Sea Scrolls: Apocrypha, Other Previously Known Writings, Pseudepigrapha,” The Bible at Qumran: Text, Shape, and Interpretation (ed. P.W. Flint; Grand Rapids, Mich.: Eerdmans, 2001), 116–21; G.W.E. Nickelsburg, “Scripture

pseudepigraphy, authorship, and ‘the bible’ in late antiquity 471 Christians.14 With regard to Enochic books like the Book of the Watchers, it seems that some Christians granted them a degree of textual authority akin to books that later became canonical, treating them as sources for prophetic wisdom and citing them as prooftexts in apologetic, exegetical, polemical, and ethical discussions.15 Moreover, long after the canonizing activities of Christians like Athanasius, the relevance and delineation of textual categories remained a matter of opinion.16 Many books that were deemed dangerously “apocryphal” by fourth- and fifth-century Christians were freely used—and even defended—by Church Fathers before them17 as well as other

in 1 Enoch and 1 Enoch as Scripture,” Texts and Contexts: Biblical Texts in their Textual and Situational Contexts, Essays in Honor of Lars Hartman (ed. T. Fornberg and D. Hellholm; Oslo: Scandanavian University Press, 1995), 333–54; Reed, Fallen Angels, 58–121; eadem, “ ‘Revealed Literature’ in the Second Century BCE: Jubilees, 1 Enoch, Qumran, and the (Pre)History of the Biblical Canon,” Enoch and Qumran Origins: New Light on a Forgotten Connection (ed. G. Boccaccini with J.H. Ellens and J. Waddell; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2005), 94–8. 14 H.L. Lawlor, “Early Citations from the Book of Enoch,” JPh 25 (1897), 164–225; J.C. VanderKam, “1 Enoch, Enochic Motifs, and Enoch in Early Christian Literature,” The Jewish Apocalyptic Heritage in Early Christianity (ed. W. Adler and J.C. VanderKam; Minneapolis: Fortress, 1996), 33–101; Reed, Fallen Angels, 147–89; W. Adler, “Abraham and the Burning of the Temple of Idols: Jubilees’ Traditions in Christian Chronography,” JQR 77 (1987), 95–117; idem, “The Christian Reception of Jubilees: A Prime Example,” paper presented for the 40th Philadelphia Seminar on Christian Origins, Princeton University, March 13, 2002. 15 Reed, Fallen Angels, 147–55. Most notably, Jude 14–15 quotes 1 En. 1:9 as a prophecy of Enoch. Clement of Alexandria paraphrases 1 En. 19:3 in Ecl. 2.1 (note also allusions to 1 En. 7:1–8:3 in Ecl. 53.4 and to 1 En. 16:3 in Strom. 5.1.10.1–2). Tertullian paraphrases 1 En. 19:1, 99:6–7 in Idol. 4.2–3 and alludes to 1 En. 8:1 in Cult. fem. 1.3; 2.10; in fact, he explicitly defends the use of the books of Enoch in Cult.fem. 1.3 with reference to 4 Ezra 14:26, 45. Origen quotes 1 En. 19:3 and 21:1 in Princ. 4.4.8 (note also the possible allusion to 1 En. 2–5 in Princ. 1.3.3), and he references 1 En. 6:6 in his commentary to John 6:25; see also c. Cels. 5.52–55. 16 McDonald, for instance, stresses the continued variance in canonical lists after Athanasius. See Formation, 222–27; also Appendices 1.B and 1.D. 17 On Justin’s use of Enochic texts and traditions, see A.Y. Reed, “The Trickery of the Fallen Angels and the Demonic Mimesis of the Divine: Aetiology, Demonology, and Polemics in the Writings of Justin Martyr,” JECS 12 (2004), 141–71; Justin may have also drawn on traditions aligned with the Testaments of the Twelve Patriarchs (cf. O. Skarsaune, The Proof from Prophecy: A Study in Justin Martyr’s Proof-Text Tradition: Text-Type, Provenance, Theological Profile [Leiden: Brill, 1987] 253–5, 270–2, 281, 291, 344–5, 428–9). With regard to the use of Enochic literature by Clement of Alexandria, see R. Bauckham, “The Fall of the Angels as the Source of Philosophy in Hermias and Clement of Alexandria,” VC 39 (1985), 319–30. Clement also appears to have used the Apocryphon of Ezekiel (Paed. 1.9.84.2–4; 10.91.2), 4 Ezra (Strom. 3.16.100.4), and Apocalypse of Zephaniah (Strom. 5.11.77.2); see Adler, “Pseudepigrapha,” 213–14. I discuss Athenagoras’ use of Enochic literature in “Beyond Revealed Wisdom and Apocalyptic Epistemology: Early Christian Transformations of Enochic Traditions about

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learned Christians after them.18 Contrary to Athanasius’ implication that the authority and ancient authorship of so-called “apocrypha” were only accepted among “simple folk” in his own time (cf. Cassianus, Coll. 7.20), his native Egypt is rich in evidence for the cultivation of such literature in monastic communities, both in Late Antiquity and well beyond.19 Moreover, some books rejected in the Roman Empire are still authoritative, to this day, in other ancient churches; indeed, from the perspective of the Ethiopian church, Jubilees and 1 Enoch are “biblical.”20 Nevertheless, many modern scholars share Athanasius’ concerns.21 Not only do his anxieties about pseudepigraphy resonate with modern notions of authorship, but a number of his assertions have been naturalized and are now accepted as common assumptions. The latter is perhaps not surprising inasmuch as his efforts played a part in the construction and promotion of the concept of “the Bible” as a single and clearly delineated entity, distinct from other writings in religious and epistemological status—a concept consolidated in Late Antiquity and now widely taken for granted.22 The late antique conceptualiza-

Knowledge,” Early Christian Literature and Intertextuality (ed. C.A. Evans and H.D. Zacharias; LSTS; London: T&T Clark), forthcoming. 18 R.A. Kraft, “The Pseudepigrapha in Christianity,” Tracing the Threads, 68–70; W. Adler, Time Immemorial: Archaic History and Its Sources in Christian Chronography (Washington, D.C.: Dumbarton Oaks, 1989), 80–97; idem, “Jacob of Edessa and the Jewish Pseudepigrapha in Syriac Chronography,” Tracing the Treads, 143–71, idem, “Pseudepigrapha,” 228; Jacobs, “Disorder,” 144–54; A. Golitzin, “Earthly Angels and Heavenly Men: The Old Testament Pseudepigrapha, Niketas Stethatos, and the Tradition of ‘Interiorized Apocalyptic’ in Eastern Christian Ascetical and Mystical Literature,” DOP 55 (2001), 125–53. 19 H.L. Lawlor, “The Book of Enoch in the Egyptian Church,” Hermathena 30 (1904), 178–83; D. Frankfurter, “The Legacy of Jewish Apocalypses in Early Christianity: Regional Trajectories,” Jewish Apocalyptic Heritage, 185–95. 20 R.W. Cowley, “The Biblical Canon of the Ethiopian Orthodox Church Today,” OKS 23 (1974), 318–23. The privileging of certain biblical canons over others is one among many problematic assumptions attendant on applying the modern Western category of “the Bible” uncritically to pre-modern contexts; see further J.E. Bowley and J.C. Reeves, “Rethinking the Concept of ‘Bible’: Some Theses and Proposals,” Henoch 25 (2003), 3–18. 21 Note, e.g., R. Beckwith’s approach to biblical pseudepigraphy in The Old Testament Canon of the New Testament Church (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1985), 338–408, and the critiques of his position in VanderKam, From Revelation, 1–30; Reed, Fallen Angels, 129–36. 22 I do not mean to deny, of course, that a concept of certain texts as “Scripture” emerged within Judaism by the Babylonian Exile, together with the view of the Torah/ Pentateuch as uniquely authoritative. Yet this concept of textual authority seems to have remained open, as demonstrated by the later groupings of texts into Neviim and

pseudepigraphy, authorship, and ‘the bible’ in late antiquity 473 tion of the “canonical scriptures” as a privileged site for interpretation and intertextuality has informed modern scholarly approaches to “biblical” books no less than to their “extrabiblical” counterparts, shaping the questions we ask and the terms in which we ask them. Christian notions of the biblical canon as closed list have even, arguably, skewed scholarly treatments of the different and distinct dynamics in the earlier and parallel emergence of the Jewish Tanakh.23 Most significantly for our present purposes, elements of Athanasius’ articulation of the category “apocrypha” still echo in research on ancient books that fall outside of Jewish and Western Christian bibles. The idea that now non-canonical texts are secondary and derivative, for instance, is reflected in the distinction between “Old Testament Pseudepigrapha” and “New Testament Apocrypha,” wherein (Christian) canonical categories are treated as determinative and whereby disciplinary boundaries thus divide the study of similar texts from the same times and places.24 Relatedly, research on the Late Antiquity has often assumed a single and set “Bible” already in the early centuries of the Common Era, often overlooking the evolving place of “apocrypha” and

Ketuvim and their gradual elevation to a status akin to the Torah/Pentateuch as well as by the vast quantity of the parabiblical literature composed and read as revealed literature by Second Temple Jews and early Christians. The formation of closed biblical “canons,” by means of lists and with an emphasis on exclusion and exclusivity, is a related but later and distinct phenomenon—which, moreover, played out differently in different Jewish and Christian communities. Unmatched is the judicious account of this process in McDonald, Formation. See also E. Ulrich, “The Bible in the Making: The Scriptures Found at Qumran,” The Bible at Qumran, 51–66; Z. Zevit, “The SecondThird Century Canonization of the Hebrew Bible and Its Influence on Christian Canonizing,” Canonization and Decanonization (ed. A. van der Kooij and K. van der Toorn; Leiden: Brill, 1998), 133–60; J. Schaper, “The Rabbinic Canon and the Old Testament of the Early Church,” Canonization and Decanonization, 93–106. 23 I.e., rather than making lists of canonical and non-canonical books, early Rabbinic discussions center on halakhic questions, esp. as to which books do and do not “defile the hands” (e.g., m. Yadaim 3.5; t. Yadaim 2.19); here, list-making seems secondary (cf. b. Baba Batra 14b). The contrast with the Christian discourse on canonicity is well articulated by S.Z. Leiman, The Canonization of Hebrew Literature: The Talmudic and Midrashic Evidence (Hamden, CT: Archon, 1976); see esp. 14–16, 128–31. See also D. Kraemer, “The Formation of the Rabbinic Canon: Authority and Boundaries,” JBL 110 (1991), 613–30. 24 For an eloquent argument for a new approach to these traditional boundaries, see L. DiTommaso, “Jewish Pseudepigrapha and Christian Apocrypha: Definitions, Boundaries, and Points of Contact,” paper presented at Christian Apocryphal Texts for the New Millennium: Achievements, Prospects, Challenges, University of Ottawa, September 29, 2006.

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“pseudepigrapha” in the late antique Jewish and Christian encounter with the biblical past. The present essay seeks to explore some paths towards redressing this problem, by focusing on the practice and perception of biblical pseudepigraphy as it relates to biblical interpretation, on the one hand, and ancient views of authorship, on the other.25 In what follows, I reflect upon the variety of ways that biblical pseudepigrapha influenced the reception and interpretation of older authoritative scriptures (esp. the Torah/Pentateuch). I begin by considering the rise of the practice of biblical pseudepigraphy in the Second Temple period and its influence on biblical interpretation in Late Antiquity. I then ask how biblical pseudepigrapha may have contributed to the process whereby certain sets of scriptures came to be conceived as an omni-significant and selfcontained whole (i.e., as “the Bible”)—a process whose products have become so familiar in Western culture that we may often forget its significance for the late antique reception, interpretation, re-imagining, and representation of the biblical past. 1. Pseudepigraphy and/as Authorship The ancient practice of pseudepigraphy does not sit well with most modern readers. Modern Western concepts of writing and interpretation tend to stress authorial intent, locating the primary locus of a text’s meaning in the aims of its author.26 Hence, it is perhaps not surprising that the dismissive attitudes towards biblical pseudepigraphy among

25 Responding to the tendency of past research to dismiss biblical pseudepigraphy as mere fraud, some scholars have defended the ancient practice of pseudepigraphy with appeal to speculations about the ecstatic religious experiences of the authors (e.g. M.E. Stone, “Apocalyptic—Vision or Hallucination?” Milla wa-Milla 14 [1974], 55–56). By contrast, I here follow M. Himmelfarb in focusing on biblical pseudepigraphy as a literary practice (Ascent to Heaven in Jewish and Christian Apocalypses [Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1995], 95–114). Although I am not confident about our ability to reconstruct the psychological states of the anonymous ancient authors of biblical Pseudepigrapha, I do think that we may be able to recover some of the cultural connotations of pseudepigraphy as a literary practice from the evidence of its products and their reception. In light of the diversity of biblical pseudepigrapha, moreover, it seems prudent to leave open the possibility that different authors had different motives for adopting this common literary convention. 26 Perhaps the most famous contextualization and problematization of this position is M. Foucault, “What is an Author?” in The Foucault Reader (ed. P. Rabinow; New York: Random House, 1984), 101–20.

pseudepigraphy, authorship, and ‘the bible’ in late antiquity 475 fourth-century Christians such as Athanasius might resonate with some modern readers. When seen from a perspective in which texts are theatres of autonomous authorial creativity, the act of penning a book in the name of an ancient biblical figure might well seem like an insurgent act of fraud or forgery, the offense of which is compounded by the encroachment upon what is assumed to be the already unquestioned claim of “the Bible” to the status of divinely-inspired textual revelation. Yet this mode of literary production is hardly limited to those texts that we most often label as “pseudepigrapha.” The practice of pseudepigraphy shaped a number of now canonical books, ranging from Deuteronomy to the Pastoral Epistles.27 In fact, the most sustained and sympathetic attempts to understand pseudepigraphy have come from research on canonical examples. When grappling with the presence of Pauline pseudepigrapha in the New Testament, for instance, scholars such as D.G. Meade have cautioned against assuming that this ancient literary practice was necessarily motivated by any radical intent to replace an earlier text or tradition.28 Like the prophetic pseudepigraphy that formed second and third Isaiah, for instance, the Pauline pseudepigraphy of the Pastoral Epistles may be better understood in terms of a claim to faithful oral reception and written transmission of Pauline teachings and/or as a claim to the inspired interpretation and faithful continuation of Pauline tradition. Rather than a rebellion against the textual authority of Paul’s own writings, this literary choice may reflect a conservatism vis-à-vis received tradition, forged in settings in which its

27 Now canonical pseudepigrapha also include, of course, the Book of Daniel— notable for its appeal to a figure who remained a popular pseudepigraphical author. See e.g., L. DiTommaso, The Book of Daniel and the Apocryphal Daniel Literature (SVTP 20; Leiden: Brill, 2005); R.A. Kraft, “Daniel Outside the Traditional Jewish Canon: In the Footsteps of M.R. James,” Studies in the Hebrew Bible, Qumran, and the Septuagint: Essays Presented to Eugene Ulrich on the Occasion of His Sixty-Fifth Birthday (ed. E. Tov, J. VanderKam, and P. Flint; VTSup 101; Leiden: Brill 2005), 121–33. 28 D.G. Meade, Pseudonymity and Canon (repr. ed.; Grand Rapids, Mich.: Eerdmans, 1986). See also the survey of research in B.M. Metzger, “Literary Forgeries and Canonical Pseudepigrapha,” JBL 91 (1972), 3–24, and recent discussions in R. Burnet, “La pseudépigraphie comme procédé littéraire autonome: L’exemple des pastorales,” Apocrypha 11 (2000), 77–91; T.L. Wilder, Pseudonymity, the New Testament and Deception: An Inquiry into Intention and Reception (Lanham: University Press of America, 2004); L.R. Donelson, Pseudepigraphy and Ethical Argument in the Pastoral Epistles (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2006). On the dynamics distinctive to the composition of pseudepigraphical letters, see R. Bauckham, “Pseudo-Apostolic Letters,” JBL 107 (1988), 469–94.

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preservation seemed, to some, to be endangered by competing readings of the meanings of Paul’s written words. The same insights have increasingly been applied to now noncanonical literature.29 In the case of the second-century bce Book of Jubilees, for instance, Hindy Najman has shown how its claim to Mosaic authorship functions as part of a broader “Mosaic discourse” begun in Deuteronomy. Her work thus throws doubt on the scholarly tendency to read the practice of pseudepigraphy in Jubilees as somehow suspect or as a challenge to the authority of Exodus and Numbers in a way that Deuteronomy is not. Inasmuch as Jubilees extends Deuteronomy’s retelling and expansion of earlier Mosaic traditions, it is misleading to draw too sharp a contrast between “biblical” source and “post-biblical” retelling: both form part of a continued practice of written reflection on—and textual (re)presentation of—a cherished past privileged as normative for guiding present practice.30 By stressing continuities in the modes of literary production that shaped now canonical and now noncanonical literature, Najman’s work pushes us towards more nuanced perspectives on biblical pseudepigraphy, rooted in parallels with biblical tradition rather than in modern concepts of authorial creativity. Following further along these lines, it might be suggested that the literary practice of pseudepigraphy should not be judged as a rejection or imitation of any established notion of attributed authorship akin to modern models. Rather, its Jewish practice should be seen as a development from the anonymous authorship that dominated ancient Near Eastern and ancient Israelite literary production. Seen from this perspective, the Deuteronomist(s)’ composition of lengthy Mosaic speeches may represent a kind of intermediate position between the literary dependence on omniscient and unnamed third-person narrators to tell the tale of the prehistory of Israel in the rest of the Torah/Pentateuch and the claims of Second Temple and later texts to authorship by the biblical figures such as Enoch and Moses. Significantly, our earliest Israelite/Jewish examples of pseudepigraphy do not base their authority on the status of the chosen pseudonymous author—at least not in ancient Greek, late antique Christian, or modern Western senses of the term. Instead, such figures are primarily

29 Himmelfarb, Ascent to Heaven, 95–114; H. Najman, Seconding Sinai: The Development of Mosaic Discourse in Second Temple Judaism ( JSJSup 77; Leiden: Brill, 2003), esp. 1–12. 30 Najman, Seconding Sinai, 1–69.

pseudepigraphy, authorship, and ‘the bible’ in late antiquity 477 used to validate the status of a book as revealed literature.31 Just as the contents of books of biblical prophecy are vouchsafed by the reputations of the prophets whose names they bear, so early Enochic and Mosaic pseudepigrapha, for instance, do not claim authority only from Enoch and Moses. Texts like the Book of the Watchers, Astronomical Book, Book of Dreams, Epistle of Enoch, Jubilees, and the Temple Scroll (11QT) emphasize the divine revelations received and transmitted to these figures and their special access to heavenly and angelic knowledge.32 The appeal to Moses is thus framed as an appeal to his status as one known to have spoken with God and as the prophet chosen to receive divine revelations at Mt. Sinai, whereas the appeal to Enoch is framed as an appeal to a man who walked with God in the days before the Deluge.33 In other words, the early texts attributed to such figures appeal to them, not as authors with authority rooted in their own wisdom or virtue, but primarily as conduits for the transmission of divine knowledge to humankind. This may also be the case with the pseudepigraphy of later Jewish and Christian apocalypses, which may be best understood as an extension of the legitimization of prophetic books with reference to the divine commission and oral proclamations of prophets.34 In some cases, the pseudonymous writer is not so much creator or author as tradent and guarantor. Continuity with biblical tradition, however, does not suffice to explain the apparent growth in the literary practice of pseudepigraphy in

31 VanderKam, From Revelation, 23–25; G.W.E. Nickelsburg, “Revealed Wisdom as a Criterion for Inclusion and Exclusion: From Jewish Sectarianism to Early Christianity,” in To See Ourselves as Others See Us (ed. J. Neusner and E.S. Frerichs; Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1985) 73–91; idem, “The Nature and Function of Revelation in 1 Enoch, Jubilees, and Some Qumranic Documents,” Pseudepigraphic Perspectives, 91–120. 32 For the contents of Enochic books as revelations to Enoch from God and His angels, see e.g. 1 En. 1:2; 14:1, 8; 19:3; 37:1; 83:1–2; 88:3; 90:2, 42; 93:2; 96:13. For Jubilees’ claims to preserve revelations from God, angels, and heavenly books, see, e.g. Jub. 1:5–18, 22–28; 2:1; 3:8–14; 3:31; 4:5, 32; 5:13; 6:17, 29–35; 15:25–26; 16:9, 29; 18:19; 19:9; 23:32; 24:33; 28:6; 30:9, 19–20; 31:32; 32:15; 33:10; 50:13. So too, it seems, Aramaic Levi Document, with a focus on priesthood, and Daniel, with a focus on visions and mantic wisdom. 33 Esp. Jub. pr. and 1; 1 En. 12–14. 34 This is particularly striking in 6 Ezra, on which see T.A. Bergren, “Prophetic Rhetoric in 6 Ezra,” For a Later Generation: The Transformation of Tradition in Israel, Early Judaism and Christianity (ed. R.A. Argall, B. Bow, and R. Werline; Harrisburg, PA: Trinity Press International, 2000), 25–32, and in the Ascension of Isaiah, on which see E. Norelli, Ascension d’Isaïe (Turnhout: Brepols, 1993), 87–99.

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Second Temple times.35 Here, we may glimpse the influence of Hellenistic ideas about authorial creativity and textual authority.36 The practice of penning books in one’s own name remains surprisingly rare among Second Temple Jews; writers like ben Sira, Aristobulus, Eupolemus, and Artapanus (and, later, Philo and Josephus) are exceptions to the general rule of the continued dominance of anonymous and pseudonymous authorship within Jewish tradition. New anxieties about authorship, however, may be glimpsed in the tendency to attribute older anonymous books to famous figures, most notably with the suggestion that Moses penned the entire Torah/Pentateuch.37 Likewise, the growth in the production of pseudepigraphical literature in the Second Temple period may reflect—at least in part—a response to Hellenistic views of the authority of a text as tied its author and the resultant reading practice of interpreting texts in light of the lives of their authors.38 In short, the practice of pseudepigraphy may be part of the same impulse that spurred the attribution of anonymous ancient books, the defense of the accurate textual transmission of Israelite/Jewish history, and the reinterpretation of biblical history as a series of ancient heroes, akin to

Contrast M. Smith, “Pseudepigraphy in the Israelite Tradition,” Pseudepigrapha I, 191–215. Smith largely dismisses the Jewish pseudepigraphy of the Hellenistic age, speculating that it “was not taken seriously” and that all of its products derived from a single sectarian group (p. 215). Notably, his article was written prior to the publication of relevant Qumran material, on which see M.J. Bernstein, “Pseudepigraphy in the Qumran Scrolls: Categories and Functions,” Pseudepigraphic Perspectives, 1–26. 36 For a recent treatment of the pseudepigraphy of early Jewish apocalypses that focuses instead on the anxiety of influence from older authoritative scriptures, see M.E. Stone, “Pseudepigraphy Reconsidered,” RRJ 9 (2006), 1–15. 37 Esp. Josephus, c. Ap. 1.39–40. See also 11QPsa for early evidence of the idea of David as author; cf. b. Baba Batra 14b. Note also the attribution of psalms to David and the attribution of Proverbs, Qohelet, and Song of Songs to Solomon (cf. the pseudepigraphical Wisdom of Solomon, Psalms of Solomon, and Testament of Solomon). For a recent discussion of the phenomenon of biblical attribution and the influence of Greek attribution analysis on Christian and Jewish views of the authorship of anonymous biblical books, see J. Wyrick, The Ascension of Authorship: Attribution and Canon Formation in Jewish, Hellenistic, and Christian Traditions (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2004). 38 On Greek attribution analysis, Greco-Roman views of authorship, and the place of biography therein, see Wyrick, Ascension, esp. 282–91. It is perhaps telling that pseudepigraphy and false attribution were also widespread in Greco-Roman culture; see e.g., W. Burkert’s “Zur geistesgeschichtlichsen Einordnung einiger Pseudopythagoria,” H. Thesleff’s “On the Problem of the Doric Pseudo-Pythagorica,” N. Gulley’s “The Authenticity of the Platonic Epistles,” and G.J.D. Aalders’ “Political Thought and Political Programs in the Platonic Epistles” in Pseudepigrapha I, 23–188. 35

pseudepigraphy, authorship, and ‘the bible’ in late antiquity 479 the culture-heroes, poets, philosophers, and lawmakers of the Greeks.39 Just as biblical models may help us to understand the pseudepigraphy of apocalypses, so the Hellenistic context may prove especially useful with regard to the various testaments that proliferated in Second Temple Judaism and early Christianity, in which Israel’s ancestors are reconceived as authors and/or orators as well as moral exemplars. Also significant is a concurrent trend, namely, the increased association of writing and revelation in Second Temple Judaism, beginning already under Persian rule.40 John Reeves points to a phenomenon that he terms “prophetization,” wherein figures outside of the ancient Israelite prophetic tradition (e.g., Enoch, David, Solomon) were labeled as prophets and their wisdom often also reconceived specifically in terms of the writing of books (e.g., Josephus, c. Ap. 1.37).41 The flipside to this phenomenon may be the production of pseudepigraphical writings (esp. apocalypses) in the names of well-known scribes of biblical history, such as Ezra and Baruch, beginning among Jews in the first century of the Common Era and continuing for many centuries thereafter among Christians.42 When seen in continuity with ancient Israelite literary production and when placed against the background of the Jewish encounter with (and participation in) Greco-Roman culture under Hellenistic and Roman rule, the pseudepigraphy of the Second Temple period emerges as a multi-faceted phenomenon, the methods and motives of which prove far more complex than modern notions of literary frauds

39 This impulse is perhaps most evident in Josephus, on whom see L. Feldman, Josephus’s Interpretation of the Bible (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1998). 40 Ezekiel 3 is often cited in this regard; whereas earlier prophets hear and speak the word of the Lord, Ezekiel is given a scroll to eat, in a striking image of the exilic/ post-exilic re-conceptualization of prophesy in terms of writing. See E.F. David, Swallowing the Scroll: Textuality and the Dynamics of Discourse in Ezekiel’s Prophecy ( JSOTSup 78; Sheffield: Journal for the Study of the Old Testament, 1989). 41 J.C. Reeves, “Scriptural Authority in Early Judaism,” Living Traditions of the Bible: Scripture in Jewish, Christian, and Muslim Practice (ed. J.E. Bowley; St. Louis: Chalice, 1999), 63–84. 42 I.e., 4, 5, 6 Ezra; Vision of Ezra; Questions of Ezra; Revelation of Ezra; Baruch; 2, 3 Baruch; 4 Baruch/Paraleipomena of Jeremiah. On Ezra as pseudepigraphical author, see R.A. Kraft, “ ‘Ezra’ Materials in Judaism and Christianity,” ANRW 2.19.1 (1979), 119–36. 4 Ezra has also been a locus for discussions of pseudepigraphy; see esp. M.E. Stone, 4 Ezra (Hermeneia; Minneapolis: Fortress, 1990), 121, 326–7, 429–31; H. Najman, “How Should We Contextualize Pseudepigrapha? Imitation and Emulation in 4Ezra,” Flores Florentino: Dead Sea Scrolls and Other Early Jewish Studies in Honour of Florentino García Martínez (ed. A. Hilhorst, É. Puech, and E. Tigchelaar; Leiden: Brill, 2007).

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and forgeries.43 But what can any of this tell us about the reception and interpretation of the biblical past in Late Antiquity? In what follows, I will make two suggestions, the first concerning the on-going place of biblical pseudepigrapha in biblical interpretation and the second pertaining to the influence of pseudepigraphy and its literary products on late antique ideas about the biblical past. 2. Pseudepigraphy and/as Biblical Interpretation Just as it is misleading to dismiss biblical pseudepigraphy as a post-biblical phenomenon, so it is impossible to draw any clear-cut lines between “the Bible” and its interpretation. Not only did the interpretation of now canonical books precede, parallel, and inform the construction of a canon, but many of these books have long redaction-histories marked by interpretation; as Michael Fishbane and others have shown, some contain internal evidence of “inner-biblical exegesis” in the course of their transmission, both as books and as intertextually connected collections of books.44 Arguably, the authors, redactors, tradents, and anthologists of biblical literature drew selectively from a broader Israelite/Jewish tradition to preserve some strands in written form, even as other strands continued to be developed in interpretative and other oral settings. Especially with regard to our earliest pseudepigrapha, something may thus be missed when we read them simply in terms of the written exegesis and expansion of a separate and authoritative written biblical lemma.45 Authors of biblical pseudepigrapha likely drew on earlier traditions to weave their narratives. If so, this may help us to understand how and why ancient readers/hearers might so readily accept their claims to ancient authorship: their audiences’ views of the biblical past already encompassed more than merely the contents of a group of books, and at least some of the biblically-aligned motifs and

43 Notable is the range of genres, which include apocalypses, testaments, epistles, prayers, and sapiential texts. This point is well made by Bernstein, “Pseudepigraphy,” 4–7. 44 M. Fishbane, Biblical Interpretation in Ancient Israel (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1985). 45 On the continuum between biblical text, biblical retelling, and biblical interpretation see e.g. J. VanderKam, “Questions of Canon viewed through the Dead Sea Scrolls,” Canon Debate, 91–109.

pseudepigraphy, authorship, and ‘the bible’ in late antiquity 481 traditions in “new” pseudepigrapha may have already been familiar to them. The fluid boundaries between biblical literature, biblical pseudepigraphy, and biblical interpretation in Second Temple Judaism serves as a helpful reminder that—as James Kugel has stressed—the biblical heritage bequeathed to late antique Jews and Christians went well beyond the texts of the books that became canonical.46 Rather, it included a broad body of traditions, oral and written, related to biblical interpretation and, more generally, to the biblical past. During the first three centuries of the Common Era, we have ample evidence for the impact of biblical pseudepigrapha on the early Christian interpretation of biblical literature.47 With regard to Enochic pseudepigrapha, for instance, some Christians seem to have accepted their claims to ancient authorship (e.g., Tertullian, Cult. fem. 1.3), while others were more skeptical but nevertheless drew on those elements of such texts that prove helpful for their exegetical, polemical, and apologetic aims (e.g., Origen, Princ. 1.3.3; 4.4.8). Indeed, the influence of biblical pseudepigrapha on Christian biblical interpretation is clear from the fact that the establishment of a Christian biblical canon in the Roman Empire entailed concerted attempts to exclude such traditions; when discussing Gen 6:1–4, for instance, Augustine must explicitly address the status of the “books of Enoch” (Civ. 15.23). Moreover, even as “canonical consciousness” developed in some sectors, the earlier fluidity seemed to prevail in others. Even as GrecoRoman ideas about authorial agency became largely integrated into elite Christian culture, earlier Jewish understandings of writing and divine inspiration continued to bear fruit too. Biblical pseudepigrapha 46 J. Kugel, Traditions of the Bible: A Guide to the Bible as It Was at the Start of the Common Era (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1998). 47 See n. 17 above as well as S. Brock, “Jewish Traditions in Syriac Sources,” JJS 30 (1979), 212–32; D. Bundy, “Pseudepigrapha in Syriac Literature” SBL Seminar Papers 30 (1991) 745–65; M. de Jonge, “The Transmission of the Testaments of the Twelve Patriarchs by Christians,” VC 47 (1993), 1–28; M.A. Knibb, “Christian Adoption and Transmission of Jewish Pseudepigrapha: The Case of 1 Enoch,” JSJ 32 (2001), 396–415; G.W.E. Nickelsburg, “Two Enochic Manuscripts: Unstudied Evidence for Egyptian Christianity,” Of Scribes and Scrolls: Studies on the Hebrew Bible, Intertestamental Judaism, and Christian Origins Presented to John Strugnell on the Occasion of his Sixtieth Birthday (ed. H. Attridge, J.J. Collins, and T. Tobin; Lanham: University Press of America, 1990), 251–60; J.C. Reeves, “An Enochic Citation in Barnabas 4:3 and the Oracles of Hystaspes,” Pursuing the Text: Studies in Honor of Ben Zion Wacholder on the Occasion of his Seventieth Birthday (ed. J.C. Reeves and J. Kampen; JSOTSup 184; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1994), 260–77.

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continued to be created, redacted, reworked, and transmitted for centuries, even despite the complaints of ecclesiarchs like Athanasius and Augustine and the creation of list after list of excluded texts.48 Even after the rejection of such books as “apocryphal,” many continued to be read, and their traditions continued to influence biblical interpretation. For some readers, “apocryphal” status may have lent an esoteric luster.49 Others were suspicious of their status but, nevertheless, found them books useful as supplements to fill the narrative, historical, “scientific,” or exegetical gaps in canonical literature.50 Indeed, a number of Christian interpretative traditions—as well as a great many Christian iconographical traditions—are not fully comprehensive apart from some sense of their origins and/or development in biblical pseudepigrapha. We find a somewhat different circumstance within late antique Jewish circles. The Rabbinic concept of the Oral Torah signals a sharp selfconsciousness about the fact that biblical tradition consists much more than just the text of the Written Torah.51 At the same time, however, the association of authentic extrabiblical tradition with orality serves— perhaps deliberately—to rob biblical pseudepigrapha of any basis for authority, even as supplement to the Written Torah or as an aid to its interpretation. Rabbinic midrashim may preserve many motifs that have

48 Although many discussions of omitted texts focus on apostolic pseudepigrapha (e.g., Cyril, Catechesical Lectures 4.36), biblical pseudepigrapha remain prominent in lists such as the so-called Decretum Gelasianum and the Stichometery of Nicephorus. On the continued production and circulation of biblical pseudepigrapha see sources cited in nn. 18–19 as well as Reed, Fallen Angels, 226–32; J.C. Reeves, “Exploring the Afterlife of Jewish Pseudepigrapha in Medieval Near Eastern Religious Traditions: Some Initial Soundings,” JSJ 30 (1999), 148–77; B. Pearson, “Enoch in Egypt,” For a Later Generation, 216–31. 49 E.g., Zosimus in Syncellus, Chron. 14.2–14. 50 Most notably, Christian chronographers, on whom, see Adler, Time Immemorial, 80–97. George Syncellus, for instance, cautions his readers that the book of Enoch is “apocryphal, questionable in places” (24.6–9) and has been “adulterated by Jews and heretics” (27.11), but he nevertheless reproduces large passages from the Book of the Watchers (1 En. 6:1–9:5, 9:1–10:15, 15:8–16:2). 51 E.g., y. Hag 1.7; y. Meg 4.1; M. Jaffee, “The Oral-Cultural Context of the Talmud Yerushalmi: Greco-Roman Rhetorical Paideia, Discplineship, and the Concept of the Oral Torah,” Transmitting Jewish Traditions: Orality, Textuality, and Cultural Diffusion (ed. Y. Elman and I. Gershoni; New Haven: Yale University Press, 2000), 27–73; idem, Torah in the Mouth: Writing and Oral Tradition in Palestinian Judaism, 200 BCE–400 CE (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2001); S. Talmon, “Oral Tradition and Written Transmission, or the Heard and Seen Word in Judaism of the Second Temple Period,” Jesus and the Oral Gospel Tradition (ed. H. Wansbrough; Sheffield: Journal for the Study of the Old Testament, 1991), 121–58.

pseudepigraphy, authorship, and ‘the bible’ in late antiquity 483 their ultimate origins in earlier Jewish pseudepigrapha,52 but the practice and products of biblical pseudepigraphy are excluded by early Rabbis, concurrent with the dismissal of apocalypticism, the supersession of older models of priestly and scribal authority, and the development of new modes of literary production.53 It is perhaps telling, for instance, that the Wisdom of ben Sira—one of the few author-attributed books of Second Temple Judaism—is the only “outside book” embraced by late antique Rabbis.54 3. Pseudepigraphy and the Omni-Significant Past Just as we would be naïve to accept Athanasius’ assessment of “apocrypha” simply at face value, so would it also be short-sighted to dismiss his comments as a polemical or propagandist account and/or as an elitist perspective at a far remove from the social realities of the transmission of traditions “on the ground.” Rather, his famous festal letter is part of the same continuum of continued reflection on the biblical past that produced biblical pseudepigrapha. Taken together, they may also attest evolving attempts to negotiate ancient Israelite and ancient Greek perspectives on authorship, inspiration, and textual authenticity. In the fourth century, concurrent with the decriminalization of Christianity in the Roman Empire, it seems that the task of determining the 52 E.g., M. Kister, “Observations on Aspects of the Exegesis, Tradition, and Theology in Midrash, Pseudepigrapha, and Other Jewish Writings,” Tracing the Threads, 1–34. On the afterlives of biblical pseudepigrapha in later Jewish tradition, see M. Himmelfarb, “R. Moses the Preacher and the Testaments of the Twelve Patriarchs,” AJS Review 9 (1984), 55–78; eadem, “Some Echoes of Jubilees in Medieval Hebrew Literature,” Tracing the Threads, 115–43; eadem, “Heavenly Ascent and the Relationship of the Apocalypses and the Hekhalot Literature,” HUCA 59 (1988), 73–100; A.Y. Reed, “From Asael and Šemihazah to Uzzah, Azzah, and Azael: 3 Enoch 5 (§§7–8) and the Jewish ReceptionHistory of 1 Enoch,” JSQ 8 (2001), 1–32; eadem, Fallen Angels, 233–72; I. Ta-Shma, “Rabbi Moses Hadarshan and the Apocryphal Literature” [Hebrew], Studies in Jewish History and Literature ( Jerusalem, 2001), 5–16. 53 On Rabbinic pseudepigraphy, however, see M. Bregman, “Pseudepigraphy in Rabbinic Literature,” Pseudepigraphic Perspectives, 22–42; S. Stern, “Attribution and authorship in the Babylonian Talmud,” Journal of Jewish Studies, 45 (1994), 28–51; R.S. Boustan, “The Emergence of Pseudonymous Attribution in Heikhalot Literature: Empirical Evidence from the Jewish ‘Magical’ Corpora,” JSQ 14 (2007), 18–38. 54 E.g., y. Berakhot 11b; y. Nazir 54b; Genesis Rabbah 91.3; Ecclesiastes Rabbah 7.11; b. Berakhot 48a; Leiman, Canonization, 91–102; B.J. Wright, “B. Sanhedrin 100b and Rabbinic Knowledge of Ben Sira,” Treasures of Wisdom: Studies in Ben Sira and the Book of Wisdom: Festschrift M. Gilbert (ed. N. Calduch-Benages and J. Vermeylen; Leuven: Peeters, 1999), 41–50.

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exact contours and contents of the church’s biblical heritage became very pressing indeed. Although part of a general move towards standardization in Christian liturgy, festal and ritual practice, and doctrine, such efforts at homogenization and unification do not suffice to explain the pointed concern, evident in the writings of Eusebius, Athanasius, Augustine, and Jerome, to delineate the literary bounds of “the Bible” and to exclude previously popular elements of biblical tradition, including pseudepigrapha that played an important part in earlier Christian apologetics, ethics, and exegesis.55 Here too a focus on ancient views of authorship might offer a fresh perspective. When we examine the rhetorics whereby authors like Athanasius and Augustine reject “apocrypha,” we may also glimpse hints of a need to defend the authenticity and authority of Jewish “canonical scriptures” to Greek-educated “pagans,” “heretics,” and Christians.56 By the standards of Hellenistic attribution analysis, the anonymity of most biblical literature sheds doubt on their authorship and, thus, their authenticity and authority.57 Likewise, by the standards of Greco-Roman historiography, Genesis is suspect for its claims to record historical truths about eras that Greeks widely dismissed as the realm of myth, just as the Gospels prove questionable as historical records due to their many differences of detail.58 In one sense, then, the rejection of certain books as falsely-authored “apocrypha” may have served as a means to articulate and defend the authenticity of “canonical” books, whose authorship and authenticity might also come

55 Note, e.g., the place of the Book of the Watchers in polemics against Greco-Roman culture (esp. Justin, Clement) and in promoting Christian sexual ethics (esp. Tertullian); Reed, Fallen Angels, 160–89. 56 Particularly notable for our purposes are “pagan” accusations of Moses’ plagiarism of Greek authors (e.g., Celsus’ position in Origen, c. Cels. 1.21; 4.21, 41–42; 6.1–7.58). On the critiques of biblical literature by Celsus, Porphyry, and Julian see further J.G. Cook, The Interpretation of the Old Testament in Greco-Roman Paganism (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2004). 57 It is perhaps telling that the Jewish and Christian defense of the Torah/Pentateuch against “pagan” critics goes hand in hand with the defense of Mosaic authorship of the Pentateuch, Moses’ antiquity, and Moses’ priority over Greek authors. See e.g., Josephus, c. Ap. praef. 1–2; 2.145–56; Justin, 1 Apol. 23.1; 44.8–19; Tatian, Or. 31, 35–41; Clement, Strom. 1.101.1–147.6; Origen, c. Cels. 1.17–20; Julius Africanus apud Eusebius, Praep. ev. 10.10; A.J. Droge, Homer or Moses? Early Christian Interpretations of the History of Culture (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1988); D. Ridings, The Attic Moses: The Dependency Theme in Some Early Christian Writers (Göteborg: Acta Universitatis Gothoburgensis, 1995). 58 For a recent summary of “pagan” polemics, see Cook, Interpretation; idem, The Interpretation of the New Testament in Greco-Roman Paganism (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2000).

pseudepigraphy, authorship, and ‘the bible’ in late antiquity 485 into question.59 When Augustine, for instance, accepts that Enoch wrote books but nonetheless rejects the “books of Enoch” as uncertain in their authorship and history of transmission, it is perhaps telling that he also appeals to the faithful preservation of “canonical scriptures” through an unbroken line of the transmission in the Temple of the Jews (Civ. 15.23; 18.37–38).60 Especially in light of the many challenges to the biblical books by “pagans” and “heretics,” however, we might also ask why Augustine and others found it so important to retain and delineate this literary biblical heritage in the first place. For this, some consideration of biblical pseudepigrapha may also prove helpful, supplementing scholarly insights into how the Christian reception of the Tanakh/Old Testament was shaped by polemics against Marcionites, Manichees, etc., and by the need to defend the antiquity of Christian belief against “pagan” accusations about its suspect novelty. To this, we might arguably add that “the Bible” received by late antique Christians was not merely a group of ancient books but already a locus for reflection on virtually all elements of human experience. Already in the Second Temple, the biblical past becomes constructed as an ancient era which stood in radical continuity with the present and in which was revealed—whether orally or in writing, whether in veiled or explicit terms, whether in secret books or public ones—all that one needed to know for the present and the future. In this, the practice of biblical pseudepigraphy seems to have also played a part, informing biblical interpretation but also facilitating the expansion of the revealed wisdom of the biblical past to include “scientific,” historical, eschatological, and ethical information not found on the surface of biblical texts. The very act of biblical pseudepigraphy, indeed, stands as a profound testimony to the power of the past—and,

59 A striking example of the place of Hellenistic attribution analysis in “pagan”/ Christian polemics is Porphyry’s argument that the Book of Daniel is a forgery composed centuries after its claimed exilic date, as attested and answered in Jerome’s Commentary on Daniel. 60 Wyrick, Ascension, esp. 344–81. Wyrick argues that early Christian attitudes towards biblical authorship continue to be shaped, like their Second Temple Jewish predecessors, by a tension between [1] Hellenistic notions of the author as the source of a text’s authority and [2] ancient Israelite ideas about the authority of a text as residing in the trustworthiness of its claim to contain divine revelation. He credits Augustine with negotiating the resolution to this tension that would dominate in later Christian approaches to questions about biblical authorship.

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in this case, specifically to the Second Temple Jewish elevation of the ancient Israelite past as the source for all wisdom worth knowing. As new approaches to the so-called “Old Testament pseudepigrapha” turn our attention to the role of Christians in creating, redacting, and transmitting books written in the names of figures from the Tanakh/Old Testament,61 we are also beginning to get a sense of how this process may have continued in Christianity. Contrary to traditional views of the early Christian encounter with the Tanakh/Old Testament as largely limited to the extraction and compilation of Christological prooftexts, the struggle to “explain away” material deemed distasteful or irrelevant to Christians, and the interpretation of Israel’s history in terms of its culmination in Christ and the church, the continued creation of biblical pseudepigrapha (including many with only minor Christological content) may show how some Christians continued to engage, expand, and expound the biblical past in a manner similar to their Jewish predecessors—not just as preface to Christian history but also as a cherished past in its own right. Arguably, the literary practice of pseudepigraphy also opened the way for the progressive integration of new wisdom into the memory of this past, facilitating the presentation of new and/or foreign knowledge as

61 Traditionally, “Old Testament Pseudepigrapha” were studied for what they might tell us about Second Temple Judaism and the Jewish background to the New Testament. When faced with biblical pseudepigrapha with Christian content, scholars thus treated the obviously Christian portions as later accretions to be cleared away to reach the original Jewish core. The tacit assumption was that early Christians would never be interested in biblical figures for their own sake; hence, they must just be adopting and adapting pre-existing Jewish works. Recently, however, fresh efforts have been made to understand the Christian forms of such works and their function in Christian communities; Kraft, “Pseudepigrapha,” 55–86; idem, “Setting the Stage and Framing Some Central Questions,” JSJ 32 (2001), 371–95; D.C. Harlow, “The Christianization of Early Jewish Pseudepigrapha: The Case of 3 Baruch,” JSJ 32 (2001), 416–44; R.S. Kraemer, When Asenath Met Joseph: A Late Antique Tale of the Biblical Patriarch and His Egyptian Wife, Reconsidered (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1998); M. de Jonge, Pseudepigrapha of the Old Testament as Part of Christian Literature: The Case of the Testaments of the Twelve Patriarchs and the Greek Life of Adam and Eve (SVTP 18; Leiden: Brill, 2003); J.R. Davila, The Provenance of the Pseudepigrapha: Jewish, Christian, or Other? ( JSJSup 105; Leiden: Brill, 2005). A number of texts once assumed to have been lightly Christianized versions of earlier Jewish texts are now suggested to be possibly Christian compositions—or at least, in their present forms, meaningfully Christian and/or important overlooked evidence for early Christianity; see de Jonge on the Testaments of the Twelve Patriarchs; Kraemer on Joseph and Asenath; Davila on Testament of Abraham, Testament of Job, and Story of Zosimus. Even in the case of Jewish-authored biblical pseudpigrapha, the need to look at the Christian contexts of their transmission is increasingly being recognized (e.g., Knibb, “Christian Adoption” on 1 Enoch).

pseudepigraphy, authorship, and ‘the bible’ in late antiquity 487 merely the unfolding or revelation of divine wisdom always and already known to ancient biblical heroes. Already in the third century bce, the Astronomical Book, for instance, uses the figure of Enoch to claim Babylonian sciences as part of Israel’s ancient heritage, just as the firstcentury ce 2 Enoch later uses the same figure to claim Hellenistic and Egyptian cosmological traditions as divine wisdom first transmitted by the Jews (cf. Pseudo-Eupolemus apud Eus. Praep. ev. 9.17.2–9). This continued use of biblical pseudepigraphy to integrate “scientific” wisdom into biblical tradition is attested by Anatolius’ intriguing comments about a “book of Enoch” that confirms the calendrical system of the Jews (apud Eus. Hist. eccl. 7.32.19), the Christian chronographical use of traditions from 1 Enoch and Jubilees for information about astronomy and the history of the calendar, Asaf ha-Rofe’s use of Jubilees-related traditions to frame Greek medicinal traditions as revealed by angels to Noah, and the continued composition of calendrical computus related to Enoch and lunaries related to Daniel.62 One might also cite, in this regard, the appeals to Enoch in alchemical traditions and the use of Solomon, Moses, and other biblical figures to convey knowledge about “magic” and divination.63 In each case, of course, the information conveyed is different, and each literary choice of pseudepigraphy must be situated in its specific historical and social setting. What is striking, however, is the strength of the shared assumption: all true knowledge accessible to humankind was already revealed in the biblical past. In addition, “the Bible” received by late antique Christians was already adapted for historiographical expansion and re-use, in part because of the pseudepigraphy of historical apocalypses such as the Book of Dreams, Daniel, and 4 Ezra. Schematized reviews-of-history like 62 E.g., L. DiTommaso, “Pseudepigrapha Notes I: 1. Lunationes Danielis. 2. Biblical Figures outside the Bible,” JSP 15 (2006), 119–44; P.S. Alexander, “Enoch and the Beginnings of Jewish Interest in Natural Science,” The Wisdom Texts from Qumran and the Development of Sapiential Throught (ed. C. Hempel, A. Lange, and H. Lichtenberger; BETL 159; Leuven: Peeters, 2002), 223–44; E. Lieber, “Asaf ’s book of medicines: A Hebrew encyclopedia of Greek and Jewish magic, possibly compiled on an Indian model,” DOP 38 (1984), 233–49; A.Y. Reed, “Was There Science in Ancient Judaism? Historical and Cross-Cultural Perspectives on Religion and Science,” SR 36 (2007), 461–95. 63 Esp. Testament of Solomon; Sword of Moses. J.G. Gager, Moses in Greco-Roman Paganism (Nashville: Abingdon Press, 1972), 134–61, and idem, “Moses the Magician: Hero of an Ancient Counter-Culture?” Helios 21 (1994), 179–88, on Moses and “magic.” On Solomon, C.C. McCown, “The Christian Tradition as to the Magical Wisdom of Solomon,” JPOS 2 (1922), 1–24; D.J. Halperin, “The Book of Remedies, the Canonization of the Solomonic Writings and the Riddle of Pseudo-Eusebius,” JQR 72 (1982), 269–92.

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the “Apocalypse of Weeks” (1 En. 93:1–10; 91:11–17), for instance, arguably form part of the prehistory of late antique Christian ideas about universal history, wherein large-scale attempts were made to fit the histories of all humankind into the framework of biblical history.64 The influence of these traditions is perhaps most obvious in the case of Christian chronographers, who extend the apocalyptic discourse on timetables of history and its end, often with explicit appeal to biblical pseudepigrapha. This discourse, however, also had a broader impact on Christian ideas about time, salvation-history, and the Eschaton, by virtue of the influence of writers like Eusebius. Lastly, we might also note the influence of biblical pseudepigraphy in providing literary and epistemological models for apostolic pseudepigraphy. Of course, concurrent with the continued writing of books in the names of biblical heroes, Christians were also penning new apocalypses, epistles, gospels, acts, etc., in the names of apostles.65 This practice formed part of a sustained reflection on the apostolic past in Late Antiquity that, similarly, contributed to the elevation of this era

On apocalypses and historiography, see e.g., A. Momigliano, “The Origin of Universal History,” On Pagans, Jews, and Christians (Middletown, CT: Wesleyan University Press, 1987), 31–57. 65 As with biblical pseudepigrapha, the apostolic pseudepigrapha that appear in early Patristic citations are generally the same ones cited in later lists of “apocrypha” and discussions of rejected books. Particularly prominent are Petrine pseudepigrapha. The Apocalypse of Peter, for instance, is cited as authoritative by Clement (Eclogae Propheticae 41, 48–49; cf. Eusebius, Hist. eccl. 6.14) and included in the canon lists of the Muratorian Canon and Catalogue Claromontanus but is referenced as an example of a rejected text by Eusebius (Hist. eccl. 3.3.1–2, together with 2 Peter, the Gospel of Peter, and the Preaching of Peter; also 3.25; cf. Rufinus, Exp. symb. 38). Similarly, Sozomen complains of its continued liturgical use in Palestinian churches in the fifth century in Hist. eccl. 7.19 (a passage that also laments the popularity of the Apocalypse of Paul among monks; see also citations of the Apocalypse of Peter by Methodius of Olympus [Symposium 2.6] and Macarius Magnes [Apocritica 4.6]). It is listed among disputed books—alongside Revelation—in the Stichometry of Nicephorus. The Preaching of Peter is cited frequently by Clement with acceptance of Petrine authorship (e.g. Strom. 1.1.29.182; 2.15.68; 6.5.39, 42; 6.6.48; 6.15.128; Eclogae propheticae 58.1; see also Theophilus of Antioch, Ad Autolycum 1.14; 2.19) and mentioned, albeit with caution, by Origen (Comm. in John 13.17; De. Princ. praef. 8); it is also listed among “ecclesiastical” books by Rufinus (Exp. symb. 38), even though Eusebius (Hist. eccl. 3.3. 2) and Jerome (De vir. ill. 1) assert its rejection. The use of the Gospel of Peter is attested in Origen, Comm. in Matt. 10.17 and its debated status is clear from Serapion apud Eusebius, Hist. eccl. 6.12.3; like Eusebius, Jerome rejects the text and denies its use by earlier Christians (De vir. ill. 1). Notably, some books now in the New Testament, such as Revelation, were also omitted from some canon lists and grouped with disputed texts (see e.g., Eusebius, Hist. eccl. 3.25.4; Cyril, Catechetical Lectures 4.36). 64

pseudepigraphy, authorship, and ‘the bible’ in late antiquity 489 to a special status as normative and ideal—as well as epistemologically fertile—in a manner akin to the biblical past described in the Tanakh/Old Testament and enshrined in the rich body of written and oral traditions surrounding it.66 4. Concluding Reflections When discussing the reception and interpretation of “the Bible,” scholars of Late Antiquity often ignore the practice and products of pseudepigraphy. In our Christian literature from this time, we have so many authored texts, and research focuses on named interpreters who pen their own views of biblical books in their own names. In our late antique Jewish literature, the discourse also differs radically from the parabiblical literature of Second Temple times; late antique Rabbis, after all, saw the gates of prophesy as already closed and stressed that “the language of the Torah is one thing, the language of the Sages another” (b. Avodah Zarah 58b; b. Rosh ha-Shanah 5a, 15a; b. Menahot 65a). Traditionally, too, biblical pseudepigraphy has been considered to be a Second Temple Jewish phenomenon, and its products have been studied by scholars for insights into early Judaism and Christian Origins. The continued Christian production, redaction, and transmission of such texts has only recently been a topic of sustained inquiry.67 Inasmuch as Late Antiquity sees efforts to assert the bounds of the biblical canon, it can also be easy to forget the on-going significance of those books that were omitted from this authoritative category. Arguably, however, the creation and reception of biblical pseudepigraphy forms an important part of the evolving Jewish and Christian encounter with the biblical past and its elevation to the status as embodiment of a privileged era that served as normative horizon for the present. The continued practice of this mode of literary production, moreover, may help us to situate the reception and interpretation of biblical texts within the broader context of an on-going interaction between ancient Israelite and ancient Greek views of authorship, interpretation, and textual authority. Likewise, for our understanding

J.-D. Kaestli, “Mémoire et pseudépigraphie dans le christianisme de l’âge postapostolique,” RTP 125 (1993), 41–63. 67 See n. 61 above. 66

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of the emergence of the very notion of “the Bible” in Late Antiquity, it may be important to consider the pseudepigraphical assertion of the omni-significance of the biblical past, no less than the Listenwissenschaft of Western Christian ecclesiarchs and the radically intertextual Midrash of late antique Rabbis.

BETWEEN SCRIPTURE AND TRADITION: THE MARIAN APOCRYPHA OF EARLY CHRISTIANITY Stephen J. Shoemaker In the study of ancient Christianity one frequently meets a tendency to regard early Christian apocryphal literature as rejected scriptures, produced largely by a variety of heterodox movements to rival or even replace the collection of New Testament writings that gave protoorthodox Christianity its core identity. Such a mindset is reflected, for instance, in the title of Bart Ehrman’s recent collection of apocrypha, Lost Scriptures: Books That Did Not Make It into the New Testament, a companion volume to his Lost Christianities: The Battles for Scripture and the Faiths We Never Knew.1 Presumably, the important discoveries at Nag Hammadi and perhaps the Dead Sea Scrolls as well have fueled this widespread perception of the early Christian apocrypha as rejected scriptures. These dramatic textual finds of the mid-twentieth century vastly enriched our knowledge of the extra-biblical literatures of early Judaism and Christianity, revealing an astonishing diversity of early traditions that previously could only be imagined from the polemics of their opponents. The excitement of these new discoveries and the recovery of the lost traditions that they embody has meant that much work on apocryphal traditions over the last several decades has focused on extra-biblical literature as a window into the repressed diversity of formative Judaism and Christianity—and rightly so. Yet equally significant in fostering a perception of apocrypha as failed scriptures is the parallel influence exerted by the (Hennecke-)Schneemelcher collection of early Christian apocrypha.2 Schneemelcher’s conceptualization of this corpus is essentially designed around the theme of Christian apocrypha as rejected scriptures, intended for inclusion in the canon but

1 B.D. Ehrman, Lost Scriptures: Books That Did Not Make It into the New Testament (New York: Oxford University Press, 2003); idem, Lost Christianities: The Battles for Scripture and the Faiths That We Never Knew (New York: Oxford University Press, 2003). 2 W. Schneemelcher, ed., New Testament Apocrypha (trans. R.McL. Wilson; 2 vols.; rev. ed.; Louisville: Westminster/John Knox Press, 1991–1992).

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excluded on the basis of their contents or doubts about their authenticity. To be sure, such a view was not invented in the mid-twentieth century, as evidenced not only by the titles of earlier collections (such as Hone’s The Lost Books of the Bible)3 but also by the polemics of certain early Church Fathers, including for instance Irenaeus, Tertullian, and Hippolytus, and later Eusebius, Athanasius, and Augustine, who charged their opponents with inventing false scriptures.4 Nevertheless, this conception of Christian apocrypha fails to do justice to the historical diversity of the apocryphal traditions themselves or their varied usage within the Christian faith. As we will see, not all early Christian apocrypha are simply rejected scriptures, and indeed some are better understood as an accepted part of ecclesiastical Tradition, such as, for example, the Marian apocrypha of early Christianity. Schneemelcher’s widely adopted description of “New Testament” apocrypha largely ensured that for much of the last century early Christianity’s extra-biblical traditions would be regarded as unsuccessful, frequently heterodox, candidates for inclusion in the Christian canon.5 According to his rather narrow definition, the New Testament Apocrypha are writings which have not been received into the canon, but which by title and other statements lay claim to be of equal status (gleichwertig) to the writings of the canon, and which from the point of view of Form Criticism further develop and mold the literary genres (Stilgattungen) created and received in the NT, whilst foreign elements certainly intrude.6

3 W. Hone, J. Jones, and W. Wake, The Lost Books of the Bible, Being All the Gospels, Epistles, and Other Pieces Now Extant Attributed in the First Four Centuries to Jesus Christ, His Apostles and Their Companions, Not Included, by Its Compilers, in the Authorized New Testament. (New York: Alpha Publishing Company, 1926). 4 See, e.g., Schneemelcher, New Testament Apocrypha, rev. ed., 1:14; S.C. Mimouni, “Le concept d’apocryphité dans le christianisme ancien et médiéval. Réflexions en guise d’introduction,” Apocryphité: histoire d’une concept transversal aux religions du livre (ed. S.C. Mimouni; BÉHÉ, sciences religieuses 113; Turnhout: Brepols, 2002), 15–17; D.A. Bertrand, “La notion d’apocryphe dans l’argumentation de la Réfutation de toutes les hérésies,” op. cit., 131–40; A. Le Boulluec, “Écrits ‘contestés,’ ‘inauthentiques,’ ou ‘impies’? (Eusèbe de Césarée, Histoire Ecclésiastique, III, 25),” op. cit., 153–65. 5 Schneemelcher’s definition is adopted, for instance, in M. Erbetta, Gli apocrifi del Nuovo Testamento (3 vols.; Torino: Marietti, 1966–81); L. Moraldi, Apocrifi del Nuovo Testamento (2 vols.; CDR 24, sezione 5: Le altre confessioni cristiane; Torino: Unione tipografico-editrice torinese, 1971); R.McL. Wilson, “Christian Apocrypha,” TRE, 316–62 6 W. Schneemelcher, ed., Neutestamentliche Apokryphen in deutscher Übersetzung (2 vols.; Tübingen: Mohr [Siebeck], 31959–64), 1:6; W. Schneemelcher, ed., New Testament

the marian apocrypha of early christianity

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Schneemelcher further specifies that since any apocryphon must have been composed with the intent of inclusion in the canon, only texts written prior to the close of the New Testament canon, which he approximates to the fourth century, can rightly be classified as apocrypha. Any texts written after this time thus are not truly apocrypha but are instead better classified as hagiography or some other type of literature.7 Yet this tight linkage between the concept of apocrypha and the writings of the New Testament is deeply problematic and does not allow for consideration of the broad range of apocryphal material that was produced and consumed in early and medieval Christian culture. Schneemelcher’s simplification of this very complex historical phenomenon leaves no place for the many Christian apocrypha on Old Testament themes, for instance, nor can it explain the abiding impulse to produce new apocrypha well after the effective close of the canon, indeed, even into the modern period.8 Moreover, this establishment of the New Testament canon as the literary and theological norms that define the apocrypha makes it difficult to understand the varied purpose and function of Christian apocrypha. Schneemelcher’s sola scriptura standard precludes an appreciation of the important role many apocrypha played as vital and often authoritative component of Christian Tradition. In his essentially Protestant calculus, any document claiming to speak with authority on the origins of the Christian faith must have been intended as a direct rival to the canonical writings, and its exclusion from the authorized collection signaled its rejection by orthodox Christianity. The Marian apocrypha of early Christianity in many instances belie Schneemelcher’s definition of apocrypha, and perhaps this explains why apocryphal traditions about the Virgin fare so poorly in his collection,

Apocrypha (2 vols.; trans. R.McL. Wilson, Philadelphia: Westminster Press, 1963–5), 1:27, trans. slightly modified. 7 Schneemelcher, Neutestamentliche Apokryphen, 3rd ed., 1:7, 17–18, 32–5; Schneemelcher, New Testament Apocrypha, 1:28, 40–1, 60–4. 8 See for instance the intriguing discussions of modern apocrypha in P. Piovanelli, “What Is a Christian Apocryphal Text and How Does It Work? Some Observations on Apocryphal Hermeneutics,” NedTT 59 (2005), 31–40; and idem, “Qu’est-ce qu’un ‘écrit apocryphe chrétien,’ et comment ça marche? Quelques suggestions pour une herméneutique apocryphe,” in Pierre Geoltrain, ou comment « faire l’histoire » des religions. Le chantier des « origines », les méthodes du doute, et la conversation contemporaine entre disciplines (ed. S.C. Mimouni and I. Ullern-Weité; BÉHÉ, sciences religieuses 128; Turnhout: Brepols, 2006), 171–84.

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which is in fact a virtual Marian wasteland. Excepting the Protevangelium of James (about which more in a moment), Schneemelcher allots only four pages to discussion of Mary in apocrypha, where he rather incredibly focuses almost entirely on her portrayal in the canonical gospels, dispatching with the traditions of her Dormition and Assumption, over thirty different texts from the early Christian period, in a mere eleven lines.9 Since most of these Marian narratives were not composed until after 300, they fall outside the bounds of Schneemelcher’s definition of apocrypha. Yet while some of these Marian apocrypha are quite heterodox and thus survive only in a handful of manuscripts, others survive in almost innumerable copies and were among the most influential extra-biblical traditions of the Christian faith. Any useful definition of apocrypha must not only be capable of including these important non-canonical texts but must also illuminate the diverse historical roles that these and other Christian apocrypha played beyond simply the formation of the canon. Such an improved definition we now possess, thanks in particular to the work of Éric Junod, as well as other members of the Association pour l’étude de la littérature apocryphe chrétienne. In a 1983 article, Junod identified several problems with Schneemelcher’s conception of apocrypha, proposing instead an alternative definition capable of including the vast extent of apocryphal material produced within the Christian tradition.10 Firstly, Junod challenges the notion that an apocryphon must have been composed before the fourth century, a chronological boundary that excludes an enormous amount of apocryphal material. Despite Schneemelcher’s assertion to the contrary, the production of apocryphal narratives continued unabated after the effective establishment of the New Testament canon, continuing even into the present day. Related to this point is a critique of Schneemelcher’s belief that any true apocryphon must have been composed with the specific intent of finding a place among the sacred scriptures of the Christian canon. As Junod remarks, judging the “intent” of these essentially anonymous writings with respect to the canon is rather difficult, if not entirely impossible. Indeed, many of the early Christian writings in

9 Schneemelcher, New Testament Apocrypha, rev. ed., 1:479–83. For comparison, the History of Joseph the Carpenter fares much better, receiving close to thirty lines. 10 É. Junod, “Apocryphes du Nouveau Testament ou apocryphes chrétiens anciens? Remarques sur la désignation d’un corpus et indications bibliographiques sur instruments de travail récents,” ÉTR 59 (1983), 409–21, esp. 409–14.


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Schneemelcher’s collection of apocrypha themselves fail to meet this criterion. Finally, Schneemelcher’s limitation of Christian apocryphal literature to the genres found in the New Testament is equally problematic and, moreover, also contradicted by any number of the texts in Schneemelcher’s collection: many apocryphal “gospels,” for instance, have little in common with the biblical genre. As an alternative, Junod offers the following definition, which much more successfully encompasses the breadth of Christian apocryphal material: Anonymous or pseudepigraphical texts of Christian origin which maintain a connection with the books of the New Testament as well as the Old Testament because they are devoted to events described or mentioned in these books, or because they are devoted to events that take place in the expansion of events described or mentioned in these books, because they focus on persons appearing in these books, or because their literary genre is related to those of the biblical writings.11

Such a definition clearly envisions a considerably larger corpus of Christian apocrypha and is much more amenable to the study of later apocryphal traditions, including many of the most important Marian texts, as will be seen. Moreover, Junod allows that his definition will need to be somewhat flexible, since not every apocryphal text will possess all of these characteristics, and certainly not to the same degree. Most importantly, however, this definition aims to sever the investigation of Christian apocryphal literature from the biblical standards that have long served as norms, allowing us to reconfigure our understanding of Christian apocrypha as more than just writings with failed canonical pretensions. In the most recent edition of his anthology, Schneemelcher replies to Junod’s proposal by insisting all the more firmly on the process of canon formation as determinative, maintaining that no traditions produced after 300 ce can rightly be considered as apocrypha.12 This divide, he maintains, is essential for differentiating between apocryphal literature (written before 300) and hagiography (after 300). The fourth century witnessed not only the formation of the canon, but a number of new developments, including monasticism and the veneration of Ibid., 412. W. Schneemelcher, ed., Neutestamentliche Apokryphen in deutscher Übersetzung (2 vols.; Tübingen: J.C.B. Mohr [P. Siebeck], 61989–90), 1.40–52; Schneemelcher, New Testament Apocrypha, rev. ed., 1.50–61. 11 12

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saints, both of which present a new Sitz im Leben for the production of hagiographical, rather than apocryphal, texts. Yet Junod and others have remained unconvinced by this rather arbitrary chronological divide: merely establishing a boundary in the year 300 does not resolve the extremely complicated question of the relation between apocrypha and hagiography, a difficult problem which Schneemelcher’s insistence on a canonical standard ultimately works to obscure rather than illuminate.13 With the concept of apocrypha so reconfigured, one is newly able to see instead of a collection of rejected scriptural pretenders an astonishing variety of texts that have been put to diverse usage within the Christian tradition.14 For instance, Schneemelcher is certainly right that it is often extremely difficult to distinguish apocrypha from hagiography, yet his insistent chronological division does not resolve the problem, not even in the pre-Constantinian period. From early on, the apostles were revered as martyrs and saints, and thus it is not at all clear, for instance, how the martyrdom of Peter, from the Acts of Peter, is essentially different from the Acts of Polycarp or the Martyrdom of Perpetua and Felicitas. Although scholars have often noted the problem of distinguishing between hagiography and apocrypha, most have resigned themselves to an inability to identify precise criteria for drawing a distinction, and in many cases it may simply be impossible to make a clear division.15 While some genres, such as a laudatio or homily, lean more in the direction of hagiography, it is nevertheless not uncommon to find apocryphal traditions expressed in such texts. One must 13 É. Junod, “ ‘Apocryphes du Nouveau Testament’: un appellation erronée et une collection artificielle,” Apocrypha 3 (1992), 17–46, esp. 35–9; J.-D. Kaestli, “Les écrits apocryphes chrétiens. Pour une approche qui valorise leur diversité et leurs attaches bibliques,” in Le mystère apocryphe: introduction à une littérature méconnue (ed. J.-D. Kaestli and Daniel Marguerat; Essais bibliques 26; Geneva: Labor et Fides, 1996), 27–41; J.-C. Picard, “Le continent apocryphe,” in Le continent apocryphe: essai sur les littératures apocryphes juive et chrétienne (IP 36; Turnhout: Brepols, 1999), 3–6. 14 See also S.J. Shoemaker, “Early Christian Apocrypha,” Oxford Handbook of Early Christian Studies (ed. S.A. Harvey and D.G. Hunter; Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2008), forthcoming. 15 Junod, “Apocryphes du Nouveau Testament,” 27, 34–6; C. Markschies, “ ‘Neutestamentliche Apokryphen’: Bemerkungen zu Geschichte und Zukunft einer von Edgar Hennecke im Jahr 1904 begründeten Quellensammlung,” Apocrypha 9 (1998), 97–132 at 117–19; F. Bovon, “Editing the Apocryphal Acts of the Apostles,” The Apocryphal Acts of the Apostles (ed. F. Bovon, A.G. Brock, and C.R. Matthews; Religions of the World; Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Center for the Study of World Religions, 1999), 1–35, 3–4; F. Bovon, “Byzantine Witnesses for the Apocryphal Acts of the Apostles,” op. cit., 87–98; Mimouni, “Le concept d’apocryphité,” 4–5.


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consider each text individually, and in many instances it simply may not be possible to identify a particular writing either as strictly hagiographical or apocryphal. Indeed, it is quite revealing just how many Christian “apocrypha” appear in the Bibliotheca Hagiographica Graeca, the Bibliotheca Hagiographica Latina, and the Bibliotheca Hagiographica Orientalis. Closely related to this overlap between apocrypha and hagiography is the frequent use of apocryphal traditions in a liturgical context, and not just by those early heterodox groups who included apocryphal texts within their canon.16 Apocryphal traditions frequently appear in the early and medieval church as readings for the feast days of saints from the biblical tradition. In fact, a number of apocrypha appear to have been composed specifically for liturgical purposes, while in other instances earlier apocryphal material was revised and adapted for this setting. Such apocryphal narratives certainly should not be understood as rival scriptures, but rather as an important, and authoritative, component of ecclesiastical Tradition. Correlate with such use of Christian apocrypha as a part of church Tradition is a more accepting attitude toward apocryphal literature that one finds among certain of the Church Fathers, from a fairly early date. In contrast to the anti-apocryphal vitriol of some Fathers, particularly heresiologists such as Irenaeus, Tertullian, and Epiphanius, others, including Rufinus and even Jerome and Athanasius on occasion, identified positive value in the selective reading of apocryphal texts. The apocrypha were not simply the rejected scriptures of the heretics, but among them were to be found writings that, although outside the biblical canon, could and even should be read by orthodox Christians for spiritual instruction.17 Even an arch-conservative such as Epiphanius cites apocryphal material as an authoritative part of Christian Tradition, when in Panarion 79 he refers to traditions about Joakim and Anna from the Protevangelium of James, albeit without acknowledging his

Écrits apocryphes chrétiens (2 vols.; ed. F. Bovon, P. Geoltrain and J.-D. Kaestli; Bibliothèque de la Pléiade 442, 516; Paris: Gallimard, 1997–2005), 1.xxviii; Bovon, “Editing the Apocryphal Acts”; idem, “Byzantine Witnesses,” 3–15; Picard, 3–6. 17 A.S. Jacobs, “The Disorder of Books: Priscillian’s Canonical Defense of Apocrypha,” HTR 93 (2000), 135–59 at 140–1; D. Brakke, “Canon Formation and Social Conflict in Fourth-Century Egypt: Athanasius of Alexandria’s Thirty-Ninth Festal Letter,” HTR 87 (1994), 395–419 at 397. The case of Priscillian, however, illustrates how difficult it could be to strike the appropriate balance in acceptance of certain apocrypha: this could easily be turned against one by one’s opponents. 16

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reliance on apocryphal traditions.18 Even the Scriptures themselves allow for the use of apocryphal writings,19 as witnessed in Jude’s references to 1 Enoch and the Assumption of Moses ( Jude 1.9, 14–15), or in the deuterocanonical 4 Ezra (2 Esdras), a canonical text for many Christians,20 which advises withholding extracanonical “sacred books” from the masses but recommending them for the learned, who can profit from their contents (14.45–7). Thus the apocrypha were not necessarily rivals to scriptural authority that sought inclusion within the canon, but instead were often valued as a useful supplement that belonged within the broader category of church Tradition. Many of the Marian apocrypha from the ancient church exemplify this pattern of what essentially amounts to the acceptance of apocrypha as a valid part of Tradition, in contrast to the notion of their rejection as false scriptures. Perhaps no text better illustrates this role of the apocrypha within the Christian tradition than the Protevangelium of James: as Hans-Josef Klauck observes, “it is hardly possible to overestimate the influence of the Protevangelium on subsequent church history.”21 In reality this so-called “infancy gospel” is a very early biography of the Virgin Mary, composed most likely in the second half of the second century.22 Originally entitled Γένεσις Μαρίας, the Birth of Mary, this

18 Epiphanius, Panarion 79.5.4–5, 79.7.1 (K. Holl and J. Dummer, ed., Epiphanius [3 vols.; second ed.; GCS 25, 31, 37; Leipzig/Berlin: J.C. Hinrichs/Akademie-Verlag, 1915, 1980, 1985], 3:480–1). 19 A point made by Priscillian in his unsuccessful defense of apocryphal literature, now translated in B.D. Ehrman and A.S. Jacobs, ed., Christianity in Late Antiquity: 300–450 C.E. (New York: Oxford University Press, 2004), 427–33. 20 4 Ezra is canonical in Russian Orthodox (but not Greek Orthodox) and Ethiopic Bibles. It is also usually present in medieval manuscripts of the Vulgate, but since the council of Trent it has been separately in an appendix, although it continues to be printed as a part of the Latin Bible. In the Armenian Bible, 4 Ezra has a similar status as in the Vulgate. R.W. Cowley, “The Biblical Canon of the Ethiopian Orthodox Church Today,” OKS 23 (1974), 318–23; M.E. Stone, The Armenian Version of IV Ezra (UPATS 1; Missoula: Scholars Press, 1979), 35–43; B.M. Metzger, “The Fourth Book of Ezra,” The Old Testament Pseudepigrapha, Volume I: Apocalyptic Literature and Testaments (ed. J.H. Charlesworth; Garden City, N.Y.: Doubleday, 1983), 516–59; M.E. Stone, Fourth Ezra: A Commentary on the Book of Fourth Ezra (Hermeneia; Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 1990), 3–8. 21 H.-J. Klauck, Apokryphe Evangelien: Eine Einführung (Stuttgart: Kath. Bibelwerk, 2002), 98. Note that the English translation mistranslates überschätzen as “underestimate,” yielding a very different meaning: H.-J. Klauck, Apocryphal Gospels: An Introduction (trans. B. McNeil; New York: T&T Clark, 2003), 72. 22 See É. de Strycker, La forme la plus ancienne du Protévangile de Jacques (SubH 33; Brussels: Société des Bollandistes, 1961); Schneemelcher, New Testament Apocrypha, rev. ed., 1:421–6.


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apocryphon relates not the childhood of Jesus but the story of Mary’s early life from her conception up through her miraculous birth of Jesus, and its customary classification among the infancy gospels unfortunately works to obscure its primary focus on glorification of Mary. Although it always remained outside of the canon, the Protevangelium’s Nachleben is so considerable that in some respects it is appropriate to speak of it as almost “quasi-canonical.” Particularly in the areas of Mariology, liturgy, asceticism, and iconography, the Protevangelium exercised considerable influence on the subsequent development of Christianity. The sheer number of manuscripts preserving the Protevangelium attests to the value placed on this text in the Christian tradition: there are at least one-hundred and forty Greek manuscripts and another one-hundred and sixty-nine in Church Slavonic, with presumably more waiting to be discovered. The overwhelming majority of the manuscripts are liturgical in nature, meaning that the Protevangelium’s traditions formed a regular part of Christian worship. The Protevangelium was used either in whole or in part as a liturgical reading especially for the feast of Mary’s Nativity, but also for the feasts of the Presentation, of Joachim and Anna, Mary’s Conception, the Slaughter of the Holy Innocents, and even for Christmas.23 The latter is particularly interesting, inasmuch as the Protevangelium’s Nativity traditions mark the one area where this apocryphon seems to offer a direct challenge to the canonical scriptures. Although the Protevangelium’s Nativity account remained outside of the canon, its influence was nonetheless considerable. Its effect is most visible in Christian iconography, where the birth of Christ is traditionally depicted as having occurred in a cave outside the city of Bethlehem, in accordance with the Protevangelium. Yet the Protevangelium’s influence is also seen in the early liturgical traditions of Jerusalem, which appear to have observed the commemoration of the Nativity at a location mid-way between Jerusalem and Bethlehem, the site identified in this apocryphon.24 Although this Jerusalemite tradition was gradually displaced as attention came to be focused on Constantine’s Nativity shrine in Bethlehem, the traditions of the Protevangelium retained their 23 Émile de Strycker, “Die griechischen Handschriften des Protevangeliums Iacobi,” in Griechische Kodikologie und Textüberlieferung (ed. D. Harlfinger; Darmstadt: Wissenschaftliche Buchgesellschaft, 1980), 577–612 at 585–8. 24 See W.D. Ray, “August 15 and the Development of the Jerusalem Calendar” (Ph.D. diss., University of Notre Dame, 2000); S.J. Shoemaker, Ancient Traditions of the Virgin Mary’s Dormition and Assumption (OECS; Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2002), 81–98.

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value, comprising the bulk of the Christian tradition’s “knowledge” about the early life of the Virgin. In light of the Protevangelium’s considerable importance in the Christian East, its near absence from the Latin West is at first glance surprising, but in actuality this apocryphon was no less influential on the western church, where its traditions were transmitted indirectly, largely through a pair of Latin apocrypha that are essentially rewritings of the Protevangelium. Although we know that a Latin version of the Protevangelium existed in the Middle Ages, it is only witnessed by a few fragments and its influence on certain Irish apocrypha.25 Instead, the Protevangelium’s traditions were widely diffused through the so-called Gospel of Ps.-Matthew and its later derivative, the Book of the Nativity of Mary. The Gospel of Ps.-Matthew is largely a Latin reworking of the Protevangelium that was probably composed in the early seventh century.26 Ps.-Matthew’s revision of the Protevangelium, which accounts for approximately three-fourths of its contents, essentially smoothes out its source by bringing it more into harmony with the Nativity traditions of the canonical gospels, although Christ’s birth in a cave between Bethlehem and Jerusalem is retained. Moreover, Ps-Matthew’s author adds a few new traditions, including the story of the Holy Family’s flight into Egypt and the presence of an ox and ass at Jesus’ birth (in fulfillment of Isa 1:3), which became a canonical element of the Nativity in western Christian tradition. No less popular than its source, the Gospel of Ps.-Matthew circulated very widely, being extant in over one-hundred and thirty manuscripts.27 Moreover, the traditions of the Protevangelium were further disseminated in the West by the Book of the Nativity of Mary, a Carolingian revision of Ps.-Matthew whose contents correspond largely with the Protevangelium.28 The Book of the Nativity of Mary presses Ps.-Matthew’s editorial process further, bringing its contents even more into harmony with the

25 On the Latin Protevangelium and its influence on the Irish traditions, see M. McNamara, et al., Apocrypha Hiberniae, vol. 1, Evangelia infantiae (CCSA 13–14; Turnhout: Brepols, 2001), 46–52, 671–880, 921–57. 26 J. Gijsel and R. Beyers, Libri de nativitate mariae (2 vols., CCSA 9–10; Turnhout: Brepols, 1997), vol. 1. On the relation to the Protevangelium, see 37–58; concerning the date, see 59–67. 27 A detailed description of these manuscripts can be found in J. Gijsel, Die unmittelbare Textüberlieferung des sog. Pseudo-Matthäus (Verhandelingen van de koninklijke Academie voor Wetenschappen, Letteren en schone Kunsten van België, Klasse der Letteren; Brussels: AWLSK, 1981). 28 Gijsel and Beyers, vol. 2. The relations with Ps.-Matthew and the Protevangelium are described on 18–23; on the date, see 28–33.


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canonical gospels, eliminating, for instance, the traditions of Joseph’s prior marriage and Christ’s birth in a cave. Nonetheless, the bulk of the Protevangelium’s account of Mary’s childhood and childbearing remains intact, and this widely circulated text, also extant in over one-hundred and thirty manuscripts, added to the influence that the Protevangelium has had on subsequent Christian tradition.29 Both writings were frequently used as liturgical readings, and a summary of material from both apocrypha was included in the twelfth-century Golden Legend, a popular hagiographical collection that insured even broader circulation of these traditions.30 Consequently, just like their source the Protevangelium, these two Latin biographies of the Virgin are poorly understood as apocrypha, at least in Schneemelcher’s sense of rejected scriptures, and the Gospel of Ps.Matthew bears an extensive prologue in which “Jerome” makes an apology for the authority of its extra-canonical traditions. (Ps.-) Jerome explains that Matthew originally composed this gospel for private use, without intending that it would become public. By Jerome’s time, however, this gospel had come into the hands of heretics, who published their own distorted version. Consequently, Jerome explains, it was necessary to publish Matthew’s original version in response. Nevertheless, “Jerome” is very careful to emphasize that even though its author was an apostle and evangelist, its authority was not equal to the writings of the scriptural canon. Thus Ps.-Matthew is presented not as a rival to the canonical gospels, with pretensions of entering the canon, but instead a piece of apostolic tradition preserved within the church whose contents serve to clarify a matter on which the scriptures are silent. The apocryphal narratives of the end of Mary’s life found a position within the Christian tradition similar to these extra-biblical accounts of her conception and childhood. While it seems unlikely that these narratives were ever intended for inclusion in the canon, a number of these apocrypha found acceptance as an esteemed component of ecclesiastical Tradition, particularly in a liturgical setting. Like the Protevangelium and Ps.-Matthew, these Dormition narratives exist in numerous copies, generally preserved in liturgical manuscripts, although some of the earliest Dormition apocrypha survive only in a handful of copies, which are

The manuscripts are described in ibid., 2:35–139. The subsequent influence and circulation of these apocrypha in the medieval West is described in ibid., 1:22–34. 29

30

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often very fragmentary, a result of their heterodox contents. Nonetheless, even these theologically deviant narratives, which are among the oldest accounts, show marks of having been used in a liturgical context. The most popular of these early Dormition apocrypha was without a doubt the Transitus Mariae attributed to the apostle John, composed in Greek sometime in the late fifth or early sixth century.31 This Ps.-John narrative survives in over two-hundred Greek and Church Slavonic manuscripts, as well in Georgian, Latin, Ethiopic, and Arabic versions, in an as yet unknown number of manuscripts.32 It was, as Michel van Esbroeck characterizes it, a medieval “best-seller” that was widely used in a liturgical setting, particularly for the feast of the Virgin’s Dormition.33 Certain features of this narrative suggest that it was from the very beginning designed for use as a liturgical reading for the feast of the Memory of Mary, the earliest annual commemoration of the Virgin.34 On this basis Simon Mimouni even proposes that perhaps we should not consider this text and the early Dormition narratives as apocrypha, on account of their design for liturgical use.35 But as we have already noted, the boundary between hagiography and apocrypha is quite difficult to trace and in some cases impossible, and in light of the new reconfiguration of early Christian apocrypha that avoids the biblical standard, one can more easily appreciate how liturgical and apocryphal materials can in fact overlap. Indeed, this problem is not

Shoemaker, Ancient Traditions of the Virgin Mary’s Dormition, 51. A. Wenger, L’Assomption de la T.S. Vierge dans la tradition byzantine du VI e au X e siècle: études et documents (AOC 5; Paris: Institut français d’études byzantines, 1955), 17; M. van Esbroeck, “Les textes littéraires sur l’assomption avant le Xe siècle,” in Les actes apocryphes des apôtres (ed. F. Bovon; Geneva: Labor et Fides, 1981), 265–85 at 266–9; A. de Santos Otero, Die handshriftliche Überlieferung der altslavischen Apokryphen (PTS 20 & 23; Berlin: Walter de Gruyter, 1978–1981), 2:161–95. 33 Van Esbroeck, “Les textes littéraires,” 269. 34 S.C. Mimouni, Dormition et Assomption de Marie: Histoire des traditions anciennes (TH 98; Paris: Beauchesne, 1995), 124. 35 S.C. Mimouni, “Les Transitus Mariae sont-ils vraiment des apocryphes?” SP 25 (1993), 122–28; idem, “La lecture liturgique et les apocryphes du Nouveau Testament: Le cas de la Dormitio grecque du Pseudo-Jean,” OCP 59 (1993), 403–25; and S.C. Mimouni and S.J. Voicu, La tradition grecque de la Dormition et de l’Assomption de Marie: textes introduit, traduits et annotés (SG; Paris: Cerf, 2003), 19. A real weakness of Mimouni’s argument, however, is that he bases his conclusions largely on the Ps.-John Transitus and other later narratives, overlooking the importance of the Liber Requiei/Obsequies, which is quite heterodox. 31 32


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unique to Marian apocrypha, and other early apocryphal traditions often survive in liturgical collections.36 Also popular in the eastern churches as a liturgical reading was John of Thessalonica’s Homily on the Dormition, which he composed while bishop of that city in the early seventh century. Although technically speaking John’s homily is not an apocryphon, its contents depend almost entirely on an earlier apocryphon, which it reproduces nearly verbatim in a theologically edited version. Thus, John’s Dormition homily is not only extremely important for understanding the early history of the Dormition traditions, but it explicitly attests to the value that early and medieval Christians placed on these materials as a part of Christian Tradition. In the prologue to his homily John speaks directly to the value and authority of such extra-biblical traditions, at least when they are not tainted with the stain of heresy: [A]fter those who had been present then [at the Virgin’s Dormition] . . . wrote about her consummation, later, some of the wicked heretics, introducing their tares, twisted the writings, and on account of this, our fathers abstained from these as unfit for the catholic church. . . . But we do not spit on these truthful writings on account of their God-hated deceits, but cleansing the evil interpolations, we embrace these deeds of the saints as truly to the glory of God.37

A single Greek manuscript preserves a very closely related version of the apocryphon that lay before John’s eyes as he composed his homily, and judging from its contents one can see why it was not more widely copied.38 Among the heretical “tares” in this narrative are an angel Christology and an emphasis on salvation through esoteric knowledge. But in John’s expurgated version this apocryphon lived on, surviving in at least sixty-five Greek and Church Slavonic manuscripts, although there is reason to suspect that the actual number is closer to that of the Ps.-John Transitus.39 Like the latter, this homily was originally

Bovon and Geoltrain, xxviii–lii–liii; Bovon, “Editing the Apocryphal Acts,” 3–15; Bovon, “Byzantine Witnesses”; Picard, 3–6. 37 John of Thessalonica, Homily on the Dormition A 1 (ed. M. Jugie, Homélies mariales byzantines: textes grecs [PO 16.3, 19.3; Paris: Firmin-Didot, 1922–1926], 2.376–7). 38 Wenger, 17–67. 39 Martin Jugie identified seventeen manuscripts: Jugie, 2:349–57; Wenger identified several more: Wenger, 26–7. Mimouni adds a few more manuscripts, particularly from Mt. Athos: Mimouni, Dormition et Assomption, 140–4. Regarding the Church Slavonic tradition, see de Santos Otero, 2.161–95. 36

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produced for a liturgical context and was frequently reused in this setting, particularly as a reading for the feast of the Dormition. The so-called “Six Books” apocryphon, the oldest narrative from the “Bethlehem” Dormition traditions, similarly was used in a liturgical setting from a very early date. This apocryphon, which appears to date to the mid-fourth century, comes complete with its own liturgical calendar, in which it serves as the primary reading for the ceremonies.40 In a brief liturgical handbook toward the end of the narrative, the Six Books mandates the annual observance of three Marian feasts, the first two or three days after the Nativity, followed by a second on 15 May and a third on 13 August.41 Instructions follow for how to perform the ceremony, which involves bread offerings in the Virgin’s name, as well as the direction that during the commemoration “the New and Old Testaments [should] be read, and the volume of the decease of the blessed one,” namely, the Six Books apocryphon.42 This apocryphon survives in several early Syriac manuscripts from the fifth and sixth centuries, and in whole or in part in a number of later Syriac, Ethiopic, and Arabic manuscripts, the precise number being at present unknown.43 Although it was originally composed in Greek, the Six Books is no longer extant in this language: presumably it was displaced in Greek by the Ps.-John Transitus, which is in fact a précis of the Six Books, probably produced for liturgical efficiency. Nevertheless, the primary significance of the Six Books lies not in its subsequent popularity, but rather in its early

40 S.J. Shoemaker, “Epiphanius of Salamis, the Kollyridians, and the Early Dormition Narratives: The Cult of the Virgin in the Later Fourth Century,” JECS 16 (2008) (forthcoming). See also idem, “A Peculiar Version of the Inventio crucis in the Early Syriac Dormition Traditions,” SP 41 (2006), 75–81. 41 A.S. Lewis, Apocrypha syriaca (Studia sinaitica 11; London: C.J. Clay and Sons, 1902), ‫ܩ‬-‫( ܨܚ‬Syr) and 59–61 (Eng); W. Wright, “The Departure of My Lady Mary from This World,” JSLBR 6–7 (1865), 417–448 and 108–160, ‫ܡ‬-‫( ܠܛ‬Syr) and 152–3 (Eng); the fifthcentury palimpsest fragments from Sinai also refer to the three feasts, although this particular section is lacking: see Smith Lewis, - ; trans. Shoemaker, Ancient Traditions of the Virgin Mary’s Dormition, 371–2. See also S.C. Mimouni, “La fête de la dormition de Marie en Syrie à l’epoque byzantine,” The Harp 5 (1992), 157–74. 42 Wright, “Departure of my Lady Mary,” -‫( ܡ‬Syr) and 153 (Eng), translation slightly modified). An almost identical version appears in the sixth-century MS, Göttingen syr. 10, fol. 31. 43 Shoemaker, Ancient Traditions of the Virgin Mary’s Dormition, 46–9. Mimouni identifies a number of other manuscripts in each of these language traditions, although his lists are not exhaustive: Mimouni, Dormition et Assomption, 91–2, 213–14, 242. There is also an unedited fifth-century manuscript preserving fragments of the Six Books in the Schøyen collection.


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witness to the incorporation of apocrypha into the liturgy alongside of canonical materials. As with the traditions of Mary’s birth and youth, the Christian West focused on its own Dormition apocrypha that were largely based on the earlier eastern traditions. Most influential was the Latin Transitus attributed to Melito of Sardis, a late fifth-century composition extant in at least fifty manuscripts (although perhaps more remain to be discovered).44 This work and other anonymous Latin recensions of the earlier Greek apocrypha were frequently employed as liturgical readings, playing a similar role in the Irish and British churches, where they were translated into Old Irish and Old English.45 Even the most strikingly heterodox of the early Dormition narratives, the Obsequies of the Virgin or the Book of Mary’s Repose, shows signs of having been used for liturgical reading. Both the Syriac manuscript from the later fifth century and the Ethiopic from the fourteenth have rubrics suggesting that at least their final sections, where Christ leads his mother on a tour of Heaven and Hell, were used in a liturgical setting.46 This final episode of the early Dormition narratives reflects the beginnings of what would eventually develop into one of the most popular apocrypha of the Christian tradition, the Apocalypse of the Virgin. Although the Dormition apocrypha preserve the earliest accounts of Mary’s otherworldly visions, the most famous and successful Marian apocalypse is the Greek Apocalypse of the Virgin, a work composed sometime between the sixth and ninth centuries that was widely diffused throughout the eastern Christian world. So popular was this Apocalypse of the Virgin in subsequent Christian tradition that Richard Bauckham names it “one of the two most influential of the extra-canonical Christian apocalypses,” an honor it shares with the Apocalypse of Paul, which

44 Monika Haibach-Reinisch, Ein neuer “Transitus Mariae” des Pseudo-Melito (Rome: Pontificia Academia Mariana Internationalis, 1962), 31–2, 55–9; several additional manuscripts are signaled in Mimouni, Dormition et Assomption, 266 n. 32. 45 A. Wilmart, Analecta reginensia: Extraits des manuscrits latins de la reine Christine conservés au Vatican (S&T, 59; Città del Vaticano: Biblioteca apostolica Vaticana, 1933), 323–62; Wenger, 17–30; M. McNamara, The Apocrypha in the Irish Church (Dublin: Dublin Institute for Advanced Studies, 1984), 119–31; M. Clayton, The Apocryphal Gospels of Mary in Anglo-Saxon England (CSASE 26; Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1998). 46 Liber Requiei 88 (V. Arras, De transitu Mariae apocrypha aethiopice [2 vols.; CSCO 342–3, 351–2; Louvain: Secrétariat du Corpus SCO, 1973], 52 [Eth] and 34 [Lat]); William Wright, Contributions to the Apocryphal Literature of the New Testament (London: Williams and Norgate, 1865), ‫( ܣ‬Syr) and 47 (Eng); trans. Shoemaker, Ancient Traditions of the Virgin Mary’s Dormition, 339–41.

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circulated primarily in the Christian West.47 Unfortunately modern scholarship has almost completely neglected this important apocryphon, and consequently the number of manuscripts preserving the Apocalypse of the Virgin is at present unknown. In addition to Greek, we should expect to find a large number in Church Slavonic, as well as in Romanian, Georgian, and Armenian, probably totaling well over one-hundred manuscripts.48 Much work remains to be done on the extent of this work’s influence in medieval (and modern) Christian culture, although Jane Baun’s forthcoming study of the Greek Apocalypse of the Virgin’s influence in the middle Byzantine period marks an excellent start.49 Even more neglected than the Greek Apocalypse of the Virgin, however, are the apocalyptic endings to the earliest Dormition narratives, which we may designate as the Dormition Apocalypses of the Virgin. The Six Books narrative and the earliest Palm Dormition narratives (i.e., the Obsequies/Liber Requiei) preserve quite distinct accounts of Mary’s otherworldly journey that followed her Assumption, in which she is given a tour of the heavens guided by her son. Bauckham suggests that the Six Books apocalypse may be particularly early, dating to the fourth century at the latest, while apocalypse from the Palm tradition appears to have exercised an influence on the Apocalypse of Paul.50 It is clear that some sort of literary dependence exists between the Apocalypse of Paul and the Palm apocalypse, and Bauckham identifies several elements suggesting that the Apocalypse of Paul has made use of the Dormition

47 R. Bauckham, “Virgin, Apocalypses of the,” ABD, 6.854–6; idem, “The Four Apocalypses of the Virgin Mary,” in The Fate of the Dead: Studies on Jewish and Christian Apocalypses (NovTSup 93; Leiden: Brill, 1998), 332–62, 332–8; S.C. Mimouni, “Les Apocalypses de la Vierge: état de la question,” Apocrypha 4 (1993), 101–12. Mimouni tries to establish an early date for this apocryphon, but he does so by merging the textual histories of the Greek Apocalypse of the Virgin with the Dormition Apocalypses. These traditions are best considered separately from one another, as Bauckham also concludes (“Four Apocalypses of the Virgin,” 337). See also J. Baun, Tales from Another Byzantium: Celestial Journey and Local Community in the Medieval Greek Apocrypha (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2007), which includes study of the Greek Apocalypse of the Virgin. 48 See Bauckham, “Four Apocalypses of the Virgin,” 335–6; Mimouni, “Les Apocalypses de la Vierge,” 102–7; de Santos Otero, 1:188–95 identifies thirty-six manuscripts. 49 Baun, Tales from Another Byzantium. See also Jane Baun, “The Apocalypse of Anastasia in its Middle Byzantine Context” (Ph.D. diss., Princeton University, 1997). In the modern period, one should note the work’s continued influence in the Greek and Slavic world, perhaps most famously reflected in the mention of the Apocalypse of the Virgin in the Grand Inquisitor scene from Dostoevsky’s The Brothers Karamazov. 50 Bauckham, “Four Apocalypses of the Virgin,” 344–6, 358–60.


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apocalypse, a hypothesis that I have further advanced by identifying additional indications of the Apocalypse of Paul’s dependence.51 It remains for experts on the Apocalypse of Paul to seriously consider this theory, as its relations with the early Dormition traditions have been almost completely overlooked. But if this early Marian apocryphon can be identified as the Apocalypse of Paul’s source, this would mean that its descriptions of the afterlife had worked an enormous influence on ideas about the nature of Heaven and Hell in western Christian tradition, since the Apocalypse of Paul more than any other apocryphal apocalypse shaped Latin Christianity’s conception of afterlife, influencing even Dante’s Inferno it would appear.52 Finally, there are the various Lives of the Virgin, a tradition that first took shape only at the very end of antiquity, although certain collections of Marian apocrypha from the fifth and sixth centuries in Greek and Syriac seem to point towards the creation of a kind of “proto-Life” of the Virgin already by this time through a combination of the Protevangelium with the Six Books apocryphon, sometimes with the Infancy Gospel of Thomas.53 While one could conceivably insist that these Marian biographies are more properly classed as hagiography, as already noted it is extremely difficult to distinguish these two genres, and the apocryphal acts of the apostles (particularly many of the later acts) and the Vitae Prophetorum present similar difficulties but generally are regarded as apocrypha. The most important of the various Lives of the Virgin is a seventh-century biography attributed to Maximus the Confessor that survives only in a Georgian translation.54 This earliest formal 51 Shoemaker, Ancient Traditions of the Virgin Mary’s Dormition, 43–6. The Apocalypse of Paul’s dependence on the apocalyptic conclusion to this early Dormition narrative was previously proposed by Édouard Cothenet, whose insights were unfortunately overlooked: É. Cothenet, “Marie dans les Apocryphes,” in Maria: études sur la Sainte Vierge (ed. H. du Manoir de Juaye; 7 vols.; Paris: Beauchesne, 1952), 6.117–56 at 127–9. 52 See, e.g., J.K. Elliott, The Apocryphal New Testament: A Collection of Apocryphal Christian Literature in an English Translation (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1993), 616. 53 See Shoemaker, Ancient Traditions of the Virgin Mary’s Dormition, 46–9; Tübingen Theosophy 4 (ed. H. Erbse, Theosophorum graecorum fragmenta [Stuttgart: Teubner, 1995], 2–3). Two of these Syriac manuscripts have been published in Wright, “Departure of My Lady Mary”; Wright, Contributions to Apocryphal Literature; Smith Lewis, Apocrypha syriaca. I have prepared an edition of a third, sixth-century manuscript in Göttingen. A new edition these “proto-lives” will appear in the critical edition of the Syriac Six Books apocryphon that I am preparing for the CCSA. 54 M. van Esbroeck, ed., Maxime le Confesseur: Vie de la Vierge (2 vols.; CSCO 478–479, scriptores Iberici, 21–22; Lovanii: E. Peeters, 1986). See also S.J. Shoemaker, “The Georgian Life of the Virgin Attributed to Maximus the Confessor: Its Authenticity(?) and Importance,” in Mémorial R.P. Michel van Esbroeck, S.J. (ed. A. Muraviev and B.

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biography of the Virgin is essentially a compendium of the ancient Christian apocryphal traditions about the Virgin Mary, including many that would be otherwise unknown. Indeed, its author (whoever that may be) acknowledges the value of certain apocrypha as an important part of church Tradition as he introduces the work, explaining that he has relied on “some things from apocryphal writings, namely, that which is true and without error and which has been accepted and confirmed by the…holy fathers.”55 These apocryphal sources include especially the Protevangelium and the Dormition apocrypha, although not the Infancy Gospel of Thomas, which the author explicitly rejects—presumably a signal that he was aware of its inclusion as part of the earlier “proto-Lives.” In addition, this Life of the Virgin attributed to Maximus relates a significant amount of “new” apocryphal material, particularly in the section overlapping with the canonical gospels, where it describes the Virgin Mary as a leader both within her son’s movement and in the early Christian community, with authority even over the apostles.56 She is identified as the sole witness to all the events of the Passion, and the narratives of the canonical gospels are said to rely on her testimony. Mary also maintains a constant vigil at her son’s tomb after obtaining his body and seeing to his burial, and as a result she is the first to behold the Resurrection and preach it to the other disciples. Then, after the Ascension, Mary serves effectively as the “Matriarch” of the early Christian community, directing the apostles in how to both pray and what to teach. The source of these traditions is not entirely clear, and while they may be the author’s creation, it is also possible that this Life of the Virgin preserves earlier apocryphal traditions about the Virgin that have otherwise been lost. Whatever their origin, the subsequent influence of these traditions on Christian faith is considerable. While the traditions of Mary’s authority within the nascent community did not meet with much success, presumably running afoul of the pattern of male ecclesiastical leadership, Mary’s involvement in the Passion became a stock element

Lourié; Scrinium 2; St. Petersburg: 2006), 307–28; and idem, “The Earliest Life of the Virgin and Constantinople’s Marian Relics,” DOP 62 (2008), forthcoming. 55 Maximus the Confessor, Life of the Virgin 2 (van Esbroeck, Maxime le Confesseur: Vie de la Vierge, 4 [Geor] and 3 [Fr]). 56 See S.J. Shoemaker, “The Virgin Mary in the Ministry of Jesus and the Early Church according to the Earliest Life of the Virgin,” HTR 98 (2005), 441–67.


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of eastern Christian Tradition. This first Life of the Virgin was extremely influential on the later tradition, serving as the template for a number of Byzantium’s most important Marian writings, including the Lives of the Virgin by John the Geometer and Symeon the Metaphrast, as well as George of Nicomedia’s famous Passion homilies. Both Symeon’s Life and George’s homilies enjoyed a wide circulation in the middle ages, assuring that these extra-biblical traditions about the Virgin found a wide audience, and it is primarily through these intermediaries that the apocryphal traditions of this now obscure ancient Life exerted a significant influence on the Eastern Orthodox churches. The traditional laments of the Virgin at the Cross in particular first appear in this earliest Life, and through George’s homilies these eventually found a place in the Orthodox liturgy for Good Friday, where they retain a prominent role in these contemporary Christian communities.57 A similar example of the continuing influence of this apocryphal material is the contemporary Life of the Virgin Mary, the Theotokos written and compiled by the Orthodox nuns of the Holy Apostles Convent in Colorado. This modern biography of Mary openly acknowledges a considerable dependence on “apocryphal” sources, accounts which, its compilers explain, the Church—the Church Fathers, hymnographers, and iconographers—have made “part of the ancient Tradition.”58 And while the present article has focused particularly on Marian apocrypha, the same could also be said of many other apocryphal traditions. As François Bovon observes, even as Constantin Tischendorf and R.A. Lipsius and M. Bonnet were preparing their critical editions of early Christian apocrypha in the later nineteenth century, “a Greek monk from Palestine was retelling in his own style the same stories” that Tischendorff and Lipsius and Bonnet were in essence laboring

57 See Shoemaker, “Georgian Life of the Virgin”; idem, “Virgin Mary in the Ministry of Jesus”; idem, “A Mother’s Passion: Mary’s Role in the Crucifixion and Resurrection in the Earliest Life of the Virgin and Its Influence on George of Nicomedia’s Passion Homilies,” in The Cult of the Mother of God in Byzantium (ed. L. Brubaker and M. Cunningham; Aldershot: Ashgate, 2008), forthcoming; M. Vassilaki and N. Tsironis, “Representations of the Virgin and Their Association with the Passion of Christ,” Mother of God: Representations of the Virgin in Byzantine Art (ed. M. Vassilaki; Milan: Skira, 2000), 453–63, 457; N. Tsironis, “The Lament of the Virgin Mary from Romanos the Melode to George of Nicomedia” (Ph.D. diss., University of London, 1998), 279, 292. 58 Holy Apostles Convent and Dormition Skete, The Life of the Virgin Mary, the Theotokos (Buena Vista, Colo.: Holy Apostles Convent & Dormition Skete, 1989), vii–x.

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to recover.59 These traditions too had become a part of Christianity’s living Tradition with an authority parallel, and not opposed, to that of the Scriptures. If then these Marian apocrypha (as well as many other apocrypha) can be understood as an authoritative part of ecclesiastical Tradition, should we follow Mimouni in concluding that they are not actually apocrypha but instead hagiography? It seems clear that with perhaps the exception of the Nativity traditions from the Protevangelium of James, these writings were not composed with pretensions of joining or replacing the canonical scriptures and they certainly have much in common with the tradition of Christian hagiography. Relying on Schneemelcher’s definition of apocrypha one is certainly left with little other alternative, and no doubt this explains the almost wholesale exclusion of this material from his collection of apocrypha. Yet the new definition of apocrypha advanced by Junod and the Association pour l’étude de la littérature apocryphe chrétienne affords the possibility of a more nuanced understanding of this material, which while presumably not intended for the canon differs from hagiography in its focus on characters and themes from the New Testament. Moreover, it also allows one to appreciate early Christian apocrypha as something more than just the failed scriptures of “lost Christianities.” While the important role of apocryphal literature in recovering the repressed theological and scriptural diversity of ancient Christianity need not be diminished, it is essential to appreciate simultaneously the many contributions that the apocrypha have made to what eventually became the orthodox Christian tradition(s), and the Marian apocrypha of early Christianity exemplify this aspect of the apocrypha particularly well.

59 F. Bovon, “The Synoptic Gospels and the Non-canonical Acts of the Apostles,” HTR 81 (1988), 19–36 at 19–20. The monk in question was Joasaph of Mar Saba, who ended his life on Mt. Athos, where his writings are preserved in the Library of the Megali Lavra.

GREGORY OF NYSSA’S BIBLICAL HERMENEUTICS IN DE OPIFICIO HOMINIS Lucian Turcescu Introduction To date the most complete study of biblical hermeneutics in Gregory of Nyssa remains Mariette Canevet’s 1983 Grégoire de Nysse et l’herméneutique biblique.1 However, since it appeared more than two decades ago and because in the meanwhile a lot has been published on both biblical interpretations in general and on Gregory of Nyssa in particular, I consider that an update is needed on some aspects of Gregory of Nyssa’s reception and interpretation of the Bible. I would like to focus on Gregory of Nyssa’s De opificio hominis (On the creation of humans, hereafter: De opif. hom.),2 a rather early work dated to 379 ce.3 With the exception of four chapters, all the chapters in this work contain quotations from or allusions to the Bible.4 But before going into specifics about the work, several introductory remarks are in order for placing Gregory biblical interpretation and reception in the larger context. After that, the paper will look at several ways in which Gregory interprets the Bible.

1 M. Canévet, Grégoire de Nysse et l’herméneutique biblique: étude des rapports entre le langage et la connaissance de Dieu (Paris: Études augustiniennes, 1983). 2 Gregory of Nyssa, De opificio hominis, Greek text in PG 44:124–256; ET in On the Making of Man (trans. H.A. Wilson; NPNF 2.5; New York: The Christian Literature Company, 1893), 387–427. 3 J. Laplace, “Introduction” in Gregory of Nyssa, La création de l’homme, rprt. of the first ed., revised and corrected (trans. J. Laplace; SC 6; Paris: Cerf, 2002), 5; G. May, “Die Chronologie des Lebens und der Werke des Gregor von Nyssa” in Écriture et culture philosophique dans la pensée de Grégoire de Nysse. Actes du Colloque de Chevetogne (22–26 septembre 1969) (ed. M. Harl; Leiden: Brill, 1971), 57; J. Daniélou, “La chronologie des oeuvres de Grégoire de Nysse,” SP VII (1966), 162. 4 For a comprehensive list of biblical quotations or allusions in Gregory’s hom, see F. Young, “Adam and Anthropos: A Study of the Interaction of Science and the Bible in Two Anthropological Treatises of the Fourth Century,” VC 37 (1983), 121–5.

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As Simonetti noted in 1981, Basil of Caesarea, Gregory’s older brother and the compiler (with Gregory of Nazianzus) of the famous Philokalia by Origen—the pinnacle of allegorical interpretation in the Alexandrian tradition—tended to discard allegorical interpretation in his few exegetical homilies that came down to us.5 On the one hand, in his Homiliae in Hexaemeron, Basil paid little attention to the criteria for allegorical interpretation explained in the Philokalia, proposing instead a predominantly literal interpretation of the Genesis account of the creation of the world. In Homily 3 Basil even goes as far as to dismiss an allegorical interpretation which saw the waters above and below the firmament in Gen 1:7 as symbols of angelic powers, and labeling that type of interpretation as a fantasy or old men’s tales. Simonetti writes that “Given that the interpretation is actually that of Origen, the strong tone of criticism is quite striking.”6 On the other hand, Basil’s younger brother, Gregory, tended to disagree with his otherwise respected brother’s views and adopt a mystical and allegorical interpretation in many of his extant works. Simonetti believes that Gregory’s In inscriptiones Psalmorum (written before 379 ce) contains in nuce the type of interpretation of scripture one can see time and again in Gregory’s later writings: “the historical events narrated in Scripture are not intended to increase our knowledge, but rather to educate us in the practice of virtue; to this end, the literal account refers us to a higher meaning.”7 In an earlier work such as the Apologia in Hexaemeron (379 ce), a work meant to continue and complete Basil’s homilies on the six days of creation, Gregory turns against Basil and embraces Origen’s interpretation of the waters above and below the firmament: “Let no one presume to introduce confusion into the text through figurative expression so that we favor the opinions of those who preceded us and say that those powers which are deficient are the abyss. The worldly powers of darkness are understood to be the darkness above the abyss.” 8 5 M. Simonetti, Biblical Interpretation in the Early Church: An Historical Introduction to Patristic Exegesis (trans. J.A. Hughes; ed. A. Bergquist and M. Bockmuehl; Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1994), 64–6. The original Italian work appeared in 1981. 6 Ibid., 65, 73–4. 7 Ibid., 65. 8 Gregory of Nyssa, Apologia in Hexaemeron (PG 44:81.48–54): Καὶ με μηδεὶς ὑπονοείτω

διὰ τῆς τροπολογίας σύγχυσιν ἐπάγειν τῇ θεωρίᾳ τῆς λέξεως, ὡς ταῖς ὑπονοίαις τῶν πρὸ ἡμῶν τὰ τοιαῦτα τεθεωρηκότων συμφέρεσθαι, καὶ λέγειν· τὰς μὲν ἀποστατικὰς δυνάμεις,

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Gregory’s appreciation for Origen’s spiritual exegesis is evident in his In Canticum canticorum (hereafter: In Cant.) and other works.9 Gregory shows explicit familiarity with the great Alexandrian’s work in the Prologue to his In Cant., one of his major mystical works, when he mentions his predecessor by name: “Although Origen laboriously applied himself to the Song of Songs, we too have desired to publish our efforts” (In Cant. 6.13.3).10 In a more recent article, Morwenna Ludlow emphasizes how Gregory embraced and defended Origen’s basic hermeneutical ideas, with regard to, for example, the inspiration of all parts of scripture, although the truth contained therein is not always easy to access (Contra Eunomium III, GNO 2, p. 163.5 ff; hereafter: CEun); the rejection of the literal meaning of the text and the embrace of a spiritual sense if the text represents a theological impropriety, a physical or logical impossibility, useless or immoral acts (In Cant., prologue); both authors employ Paul (esp. Gal 4:24) to defend the allegorical reading of scripture, and both are fond of spiritual interpretations.11 One has to keep in mind that Origen himself was also influenced by the Middle-Platonism of Philo. I will deal with Philo’s influence on both Origen and Gregory below when looking at the double creation theory. Ἀκολουθία

An important concept in the interpretation of the Bible by both Origen and Gregory is ἀκολουθία or “sequence.” Gregory believes that sequence is part of God’s intention in creating the world and a certain sequence is manifested in the scriptural text. The presence of

ἄβυσσον λέγεσθαι· τὸν δὲ κοσμοκράτορα τοῦ σκότους, τὸ ἐπάνω τῆς ἀβύσσου νοεῖσθαι σκότος. ET by R. McCambly, Works of Gregory of Nyssa Website CD (2004). Available

online at: http://www.bhsu.edu/artssciences/asfaculty/dsalomon/nyssa/home.html. 9 C. Kannengiesser, Handbook of Patristic Exegesis: The Bible in Ancient Christianity (BAC 1; Leiden: Brill, 2004), 1:754; C. McCambly, “Introduction” to Gregory of Nyssa, Commentary on the Song of Songs (trans. C. McCambly; The Archbishop Iakovos Library of Ecclesiastical and Historical Sources no. 12; Brookline, MA: The Hellenic College Press, 1987), passim. 10 Gregory of Nyssa, In Canticum canticorum (ed. H. Langerbeck; GNO 6; Leiden: Brill, 1960), 3–469. 11 M. Ludlow, “Theology and Allegory: Origen and Gregory of Nyssa on the Unity and Diversity of Scripture,” International Journal of Systematic Theology 4 (2002), 53; E. Ferguson, “Gregory of Nyssa,” in Dictionary of Biblical Interpretation (ed. J.H. Hayes; Nashville, TN: Abingdon, 1999), 1.466–7.

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this sequence points to the unity of scripture which is inspired by the Holy Spirit.12 Sequence or succession is also present in all the processes connected with life, creation, history, virtue, and salvation. The Lexicon Gregorianum allots about ten large pages to ἀκολουθία and its cognates, thus pointing to an important concept in Gregory’s thought,13 while a quick search through the Thesaurus linguae graecae database reveals over 800 occurrences of the ἀκολουθ- in Gregory’s extant works and over 600 occurrences of the same in Origen. Daniélou considered ἀκολουθία a key to Gregory’s methodology. Despite M. Alexandre’s challenge of Daniélou’s view according to which ἀκολουθία occurred first in Gregory’s In Inscriptiones Psalmorum (hereafter: Inscr. Ps.) and her argument that the concept first appeared in his De opif. hom. and the In Hexaemeron instead,14 modern search capabilities allowed us to detect the use of the concept in an early work such as De Virginitate, dated to 371 ce. Sometimes Gregory does not distinguish as clearly as Origen between sequence (ἀκολουθία) and order (τάξις), and Daniélou thought that ἀκολουθία is almost synonymous with οἰκονομία in Gregory.15 Heine also noticed in his introduction to his English translation of the Inscr. Ps. that Every achievement, [Gregory] argues, related to a σκόπος follows a natural and necessary order (τάξις) which progressively (δι᾽ ἀκολούθου) achieves that which is sought (Inscr. Ps. II. 133). . . . The sequence (ἀκολουθία) related to salvation has regard only for our being helped towards the good through each of the events related in the psalms (II. 137–138). This meant that, although some psalms may be out of historical sequence, they are in the proper sequence so far as their soteriological meaning is concerned.16

Ludlow, “Theology and Allegory,” 63. F. Mann, ed., Lexicon Gregorianum. Wörterbuch zu den Schriften Gregors von Nyssa, vol. 1: ἀβαρής—ἄωρος Leiden: Brill, 1999), 145–55. 14 M. Alexandre, “La théorie de l’exégèse dans le de hominis opificio et l’in Hexaemeron,” in Écriture et culture philosophique dans la pensée de Grégoire de Nysse, 95; J. Daniélou, “Akolouthia chez Grégoire de Nysse,” RSR 27 (1966), 219–49. 15 J. Daniélou, L’être et le temps chez Grégoire de Nysse (Leiden: Brill, 1970), 34; M. Alexandre, “L’exégèse de Gen. 1, 1–2a dans l’In Hexaemeron de Grégoire de Nysse: deux approches du problème de la matière,” Gregor von Nyssa und die Philosophie: Zweites internationales Kolloquium über Gregor von Nyssa: Freckenhorst bei Münster, 18–23 September 1972 (ed. H. Dörrie, et al.; Leiden: Brill, 1976), 160. 16 R.E. Heine, “Introduction” to Gregory of Nyssa’s Treatise on the Inscriptions of the Psalms (trans. R.E. Heine; OECS; Oxford: Clarendon, 1995), 44–5. 12 13


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Ludlow also comments that Gregory seems to be seeing more order in the world than Origen does.17 In De opif. hom. the importance of sequence becomes apparent when the Genesis account places the creation of humans in a succession after the rest of the created world: The lawgiver [ Moses] says that after inanimate matter (as a sort of foundation for the form of animate things), this vegetative life was made, and had earlier existence in the growth of plants; then he proceeds to introduce the genesis of those creatures which are regulated by sense; and since, following the same order, of those things which have obtained life in the flesh, those which have sense can exist by themselves even apart from the intellectual nature, while the rational principle could not be embodied save as blended with the sensitive—for this reason man was made last after the animals, as nature advanced in an orderly course to perfection (ὁδῷ τινι πρὸς τὸ τέλειον ἀκολούθως προϊούσης τῆς φύσεως, De opif. hom. 145.25–31, NPNF 2.5:394).

The rational soul is the perfect one and is present only in humans, and “what is perfect comes last, according to a certain necessary sequence in the order of things” (ἐπ᾽ ἀναγκαίᾳ τινὶ τῇ τάξεως ἀκολουθίᾳ, De opif. hom. 148.20, NPNF 2.5:394), that is, after the other kinds of soul (vegetative, sensitive) were created which all have been made present in the human being. According to Gregory, Moses does understand the necessary sequence and therefore his account in Genesis speaks about humans being created at the end (NPNF 2.5:394). In other words, the sequence is present both in God’s creation and in scripture, because God is the ultimate author of both. Connected with the idea of sequence is the idea of perfection, fulfillment, as well as beginning and end. What comes later is superior to what comes earlier in the created order. Humans are more complete than the rest of the creation because they come last in the sequence of creation. But above humans there is God, “who governs all things in a certain order and sequence” (De opif. hom. XXII.5, NPNF 5.2:412). God somehow awaits the full number of humans to come into life through animal generation before undertaking to change everything from corruptible to incorruptible: when the generation of humans is completed, time should cease together with its completion, and then should take place the dissolution (De opif.

17

Ludlow, “Theology and Allegory,” 53.

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lucian turcescu hom. 205.39 ἀναστοιχείωσις) of all things, and with the world-reformation humanity also should be changed from the corruptible and earthly to the impassible and eternal. (De opif. hom. 205.36–41; NPNF 2.5:412)

When explaining how the human being is formed of body and soul, that is, two elements, but one being, Gregory again makes recourse to the concept of ἀκολουθία: We suppose the human germ to possess the potentiality of its nature, sown with it at the first start of its existence, and that it is unfolded and manifested by a natural sequence (φυσικῆς ἀκολουθίας) as it proceeds to its perfect state. . . . For even the form of the future man is there potentially, but is concealed because it is not possible that it should be made visible before the necessary sequence of events allows it. (De opif. hom. 236.19–23; 236.40–43; NPNF 2.5:421)

This sequence of events (referred to at times as natural or necessary) is important in the manifestation of the human being and it makes possible its fulfillment. In this fallen state, human beings are to multiply by sexual generation, which they share with the animal world. Yet, if the fall had not occurred, then a different fulfillment would have been possible for humans. Gregory describes it on the last page of De opif. hom. [The form of our soul created in the divine image] indeed would have been perfect from the beginning had our nature not been maimed by evil. Thus our community in that generation, which is subject to passion and of animal nature, brings it about that the divine image does not at once shine forth at our formation, but brings man to perfection by a certain method and sequence, through those attributes of the soul which are material, and belong rather to the animal creation. (De opif. hom. 253.57–256.7; NPNF 2.5:426)

Scientific Knowledge Is Needed to Complement Biblical Explanations When interpreting the Bible in his De opif. hom., Gregory believes that the Bible needs to be complemented with scientific explanations if it is to be understood fully. One cannot help but notice Gregory’s display of an impressive familiarity with the scientific knowledge of his time, ranging from explanations about plants to various theories about the human brain. He uses this medical knowledge to explain the text both literally and allegorically. The most important issue in connection with the creation of humankind is its creation in the image of God. For Gregory, because it was created in God’s image, the human being is the crown and perfection of God’s creation (De opif. hom. III, IV, V).


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Humanity was created after the rest of the creation in order to dominate it as a royal figure and to make sure that, as such, it has subjects to rule over. Although not specifically used here, the idea of a sequence can also be detected as undergirding Gregory’s thought: he does speak of a sequential order. “The form of man is upright, and extends aloft towards heaven, and looks upwards: and these are marks of sovereignty which show his royal dignity” (De opif. hom. VIII.1). De opif. hom. VII and VIII contain a lengthy discussion about why humans, of the entire animal realm in which they belong because of their material bodies, are devoid of natural weapons and covering such as horns, sharp claws, hoofs, sharp teeth, deadly venom, etc. The conclusion is that humans are to rule through their reason and not to impose themselves like the animals through the power of some organ in their body. Then Gregory distinguishes three types of soul: a power of growth and nutrition or vegetative soul (possessed by plants), the power of management according to the sense or the sensitive soul (possessed by animals) and the rational soul or the perfect bodily power seen in the rational (i.e., human) nature, “which both is nourished and endowed with sense, and also partakes of reason and is ordered by mind” (De opif. hom. VIII.4). Gregory’s conclusion is that humans are more complete than the rest of the creation and he uses Paul’s 1 Thess 5:23 (mistakenly referred to in PG 145.42 as Ephesians), 1 Corinthians, and the Gospel according to Mark to support his tripartite division of the soul in an interesting example of interpretation: [M]an consists of these three: as we are taught the like thing by the apostle in what he says to the Ephesians [it is in fact 1 Thess 5:23], praying for them that the complete grace of their “body and soul and spirit” may be preserved at the coming of the Lord; using, the word “body” for the nutritive part, and denoting the sensitive by the word “soul,” and the intellectual by “spirit.” Likewise too the Lord instructs the scribe in the Gospel that he should set before every commandment that love to God which is exercised with all the heart and soul and mind (Mk 12:30): for here also it seems to me that the phrase indicates the same difference, naming the more corporeal existence “heart,” the intermediate “soul,” and the higher nature, the intellectual and mental faculty, “mind.” Hence also the apostle recognizes three divisions of dispositions, calling one “carnal” (De opif. hom. 148.3, σαρκικὴν), which is busied with the belly and the pleasures connected with it, another “natural” [or perhaps psychic] (De opif. hom. 148.4, ψυχικὴν), which holds a middle position with regard to virtue and vice, rising above the one, but without pure participation in the other; and another “spiritual” (De opif. hom. 148.7, πνευματικὴν), which perceives the perfection of godly life: wherefore he says to the Corinthians,

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lucian turcescu reproaching their indulgence in pleasure and passion, “You are carnal” (1 Cor 3:3) and incapable of receiving the more perfect doctrine; while elsewhere, making a comparison of the middle kind with the perfect, he says, “but the natural man received not the things of the Spirit, for they are foolishness unto him; but he that is spiritual judges all things, yet he himself is judged by no one (1 Cor 2:14, 15).” As, then, the natural man is higher than the carnal, by the same measure also the spiritual man rises above the natural. (De opif. hom. 145.49–148.15; NPNF 2.5:394)

The interpretation just quoted tries to make Paul speak the language of Plato. Plato’s famous tripartite division of the soul (Republic 436a–b) refers to the appetitive soul, spirited soul, and rational soul. Like Plato, Gregory held the view that what came to be referred to as the “three souls,” in the case of humans, were in fact three divisions of the one soul, corresponding to what we call today faculties. The scope of this paper does not allow me to go into more details about how Gregory ended up embracing this Platonic interpretation. However, the above quote can be invoked as an instance of Gregory’s knowledge of the scientific knowledge of his time and its usefulness in interpreting the Bible. The analysis of Gen 1:26 (“Let us make humankind in our image”) led Gregory, like others before him, to the conclusion that God was seeking “counsel” when he said “let us,” because God was involved in a special part of his creation: the creation of humans. No counsel was sought about the rest of the creation, both heavenly and earthly. Humans are in the image of God because of the virtues, freedom from passions, blessedness, alienation from all evil (De opif. hom. V), and rationality. Scholars have noticed the difficulties when Gregory tries to bring together this idealized view of humankind as created in the “image of God” with the view according to which humans are drawn toward base preoccupations and not living in accordance with the reason given them because of the passions associated with the animal part in humans.18 In De opif. hom. XII (156.26 ff ) in particular Gregory uses the science of his time, when explaining how our passions and inclinations can be influenced by chemical processes in our brains and bodies. However, he is not willing to give credit to those chemical processes for fully determining our passions and behavior, because he strongly believes that humans have rationality or the mind (νοῦς) as the main characteristic distinguishing them from beasts, and rationality cannot be impeded 18

Young, “Adam and Anthropos,” 120, Laplace, “Introduction,” 14–15.


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by chemical processes alone. In Gregory’s understanding, humankind is a borderland between the divine and the animal, in the same way in which the air is a borderland (μεθόριος, De opif. hom. II or 129.19) between the heavenly creation and the earthly creation, sharing in the characteristics of both. Although he does not use μεθόριος explicitly about humankind in De opif. hom., Gregory speaks of the human nature as a borderland between virtue and vice in CEun III, 1, 121.19 The “Double Creation” Theory The issue of the “image of God” in humans is an important one in Gregory’s thought and thus deserving of additional scrutiny. Gregory uses the “double creation” theory as an exegetical instrument when trying to explain the “image of God” in humans. It is an acknowledged fact that Platonists like Origen and Gregory of Nyssa embraced what came to be known as the “double creation” theory, trying to explain the double account of the creation of humanity from Gen 1:26–27 (“Then God said, ‘Let us make humankind in our image, according to our likeness. So God created humankind in his image, in the image of God he created them; male and female he created them.”) and Gen 2:7, 21–22 (“then the Lord God formed man from the dust of the ground, and breathed into his nostrils the breath of life; and the man became a living being”; “So the Lord God caused a deep sleep to fall upon the man, and he slept; then he took one of his ribs and closed up its place with flesh. And the rib that the Lord God had taken from the man he made into a woman and brought her to the man.”). The “double creation” theory argued that, according to Gen 1:26, God created a “heavenly human,” generic, universal and sexually undifferentiated, in contrast to Gen 2:7, which speaks of a composite of body and soul, and to Gen 1:27, and 2:7, 21–22, which introduce sexual differentiation in humanity. It is a theory that was perhaps developed in order to deal with what was perceived as two different accounts of the creation story at a time when ancient biblical interpreters were not aware that the two main biblical verses involved come from two different traditions

19 L. Turcescu, Gregory of Nyssa and the Concept of Divine Persons (American Academy of Religion Academy Series; New York: Oxford University Press, 2005), 95–102; J. Daniélou, “La notion de confins (methorios) chez Grégoire de Nysse,” RSR 49 (1961), 161–87.

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or sources, as we are aware today due to the so-called “documentary hypothesis”: today we argue that Gen 2:7, 21–22 comes from the Yahwist ( J ) literary tradition, an earlier source dated back to the tenth century bce, while Gen 1:26 comes from the Priestly (P) tradition, a later source dated back to the fifth century bce.20 The influence of the “double creation” theory on Origen and Gregory of Nyssa can be traced back to Philo of Alexandria whom the scholarship of the past fifty years has pointed out as an important source of inspiration for Christian Platonists in the Alexandrian tradition. Philo and other Hellenistic Jewish exegetes endeavored to demonstrate that the Bible is in harmony with the best philosophical insights of their times and many church fathers were sympathetic to that idea.21 Other scholars have emphasized the influence on Christian interpretation of Rabbinic Judaism itself, with its various types of interpretation.22 Editors of Philo’s works have noticed that Philo’s allegorical interpretation starts in his commentary De opificio mundi (De opif.). Philo’s entire De opif. is best understood as “the foundation which casts light on the use of allegory” in the complementary treatise Legum allegoriae.23 Philo was not always consistent about embracing the double creation theory as an explanation, and in the Legum allegoriae he oscillates between a “double creation” and a “single creation” theory, sometimes with an anti-anthropomorphic orientation.24 One of Philo’s best examples of the double creation theory can be found in his De opif. 134–135: After this he says that “God formed man by taking clay from the earth, and breathed into his face the breath of life” (Gen 2:7). By this also he shows very clearly that there is a vast difference between the man thus formed and the man that came into existence earlier after the image of God; for the man so formed is an object of sense perception, partaking already of such or such a quality, consisting of body and soul, man or woman, by nature mortal; while he that was after the image was an

20 “Biblical literature” in Encyclopædia Britannica. 2006. Encyclopædia Britannica Online. 20 Dec. 2006 . 21 Cf. D.T. Runia, Philo and the Church Fathers: A Collection of Papers (VCSup 32; Leiden: Brill, 1995), 10; Kannengiesser, Handbook, 176–83; T.H. Tobin, The Creation of Man: Philo and the History of Interpretation (CBQMS 14; Washington, DC: Catholic Biblical Association of America, 1983). 22 M.A. Signer and S.L. Graham, “Rabbinic Literature,” in Kannengiesser, Handbook, 120–44. 23 Arnaldez in Kannengiesser, Handbook, 176. 24 Tobin, The Creation of Man.


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idea, or genus or seal, an object of thought, incorporeal, neither male nor female, by nature incorruptible.

Contrary to his custom with other writers, very few of whom he mentions by name, several times Gregory of Nyssa does mention Philo by name as Φίλων or ὁ Ἑβραῖος Φίλων (CEun 3.5.24.7, 3.7.8.4, 3.7.8.6, 3.7.9.2). In naming Philo in his CEun, Gregory wants to show that his archenemy Eunomius distorts the meaning of Philo’s words and ideas in order to support his heresy. In doing so, Gregory shows familiarity with the Hebrew author’s thought.25 Geljon is of the opinion that “Gregory’s attitude to Philo is rather negative, because he sees a relationship between the doctrine of Philo and the heresy of the Neo-Arian Eunomius.”26 This negative attitude might be due to the polemical nature of CEun, but as Geljon and others demonstrate, Gregory employs positively Philonic interpretations in some of his other treatises. Geljon writes: “on the one hand Gregory accuses Eunomius of Judaism and associates him with Philo, but at [sic] the other [hand] he defends against Eunomius theological positions that are also held by Philo.”27 Marcel Aubineau, Jean Daniélou, Monique Alexandre and David Runia have all noticed a number of Philonic influences on Gregory of Nyssa: the idea of spiritual marriage, the interpretation of Israel crossing the Red Sea; the idea a logical sequence of creation (ἀκολουθία or εἱρμός see Philo, De opif. 28, 65, 131); the question why man is created last of all creatures, as well as why God, like a good host, invites his guests when everything is ready (Nyssen, De opif. hom. 132D–133B; cf. Philo, De opif. 77–78); and the idea of a double creation (Nyssen, De opif. hom. 181A–D; cf. Philo, De opif., 69–71).28 In his De Vita Moysis Gregory draws heavily on Philo’s Legum Allegoriae, as Geljon demonstates extensively. Geljon also attempts to answer the question of

25 Cf. Runia, Philo and the Church Fathers, 42; H.R. Drobner, “Die Deutung des alttestamentlichen Pascha (Ex 12) bei Gregor von Nyssa im Lichte der Auslegungstradition der griechischen Kirche,” Studien zu Gregor von Nyssa und der christlichen Spätantike (ed. H.R. Drobner and C. Klock; VCSup 12; Leiden: Brill, 1990), 281. 26 A.C. Geljon, Philonic Exegesis in Gregory of Nyssa’s De Vita Moysis (BJS 333; SPMon 5; Providence, RI: Brown University Press, 2002), 53. 27 Geljon, Philonic Exegesis in Gregory of Nyssa, 62. 28 Grégoire de Nysse, Traité de la virginité (trans. M. Aubineau; SC 119; Paris: Cerf, 1966), 112–14; J. Daniélou, “Philon et Grégoire de Nysse,” Philon d’Alexandrie: Lyon 11–15 septembre 1966. (Colloques nationaux du Centre national de la recherche scientifique; Paris: Éditions du Centre national de la recherche scientifique 1967), 335–9; M. Alexandre, “La théorie de l’exégèse,” passim; Runia, Philo and the Church Fathers, 251–6.

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why Gregory felt the need to use Philo so much, instead of a Christian author like Origen. He writes: It is Gregory’s goal to show how Moses’ life can function as a model for virtuous life . . . For this reason his exegesis of Moses’ life is centered on the theme of fighting against passions . . . Parts of the interpretations of Moses’ life as given by Philo suit Gregory’s theme very well. . . . Because Philo’s allegory is more in keeping with his own theme, Gregory stays closer to Philo’s line of thought than to Origen’s interpretation, though he does make a number of omissions and adaptations. . . . [The method Gregory employs in his use of Philo can be described by the keywords] selection, adaptation, transposition and Christianization.29

Gregory of Nyssa’s De opif. hom. XVI–XX considers extensively the image of God in humans and it is in this context that the second creation is considered. He starts by rejecting the notion that humans are a microcosm, because in his view that would belittle the value of the human beings and make them resemble the world more than God: How mean and how unworthy of the majesty of man are the fancies of some heathen writers, who magnify humanity, as they supposed, by their comparison of it to this world; for they say that man is a microcosm, composed of the same elements with the universe. Those who bestow on human nature such praise as this by a high-sounding name, forget that they are dignifying man with the attributes of the gnat and the mouse. (De opif. hom. XVI.1)

The doctrine of the Church, writes Gregory, holds that “Not in his likeness to the created world, but in his being in the image of the nature of the Creator” does the greatness of man consist (De opif. hom. XVI.2). Invoking the “double creation” theory, Gregory writes: In saying that ‘God created man’ the text indicates, by the indefinite character of the term, all mankind; for was not Adam here named together with the creation . . . yet the name given to the man created is not the particular, but the general name. . . . In the divine foreknowledge and power all humanity is included in the first creation. (De opif. hom. XVI.16)

Gregory thus argues that God first created a generic, universal human being, in which all the other humans (male and female) were somehow contained virtually. To this, one should add the following quotation from Gregory: 29

Geljon, Philonic Exegesis in Gregory of Nyssa, 171–2.


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we find . . . that that which was made ‘in the image’ is one thing, and that which is now manifested in wretchedness is another. ‘God created man,’ it says ‘in the image of God created He him.’ There is an end of the creation of that which was made ‘in the image’: then it makes a resumption of the account of creation, and says, ‘male and female created He them.’ (De opif. hom. XVI.7)

This represents the second creation, when God created sexually differentiated human individuals. Unlike Philo, however, a Hellenistic Alexandrian Jew, but not a rabbi, who flourished in the first century (c. 20 bce–c. 50 ce), our fourthcentury Christian author Gregory of Nyssa uses New Testament arguments to support his view of the double creation. Lk 20:27–36 is one New Testament passage used by Gregory in De opif. hom. XVII.2. This is the pericope where Jesus is challenged by some Sadduccees who did not believe in the resurrection to answer the question about the woman married successively to seven men and say whose wife she would be in the afterlife. Jesus answers that “Those who belong to this age marry and are given in marriage; but those who are considered worthy of a place in that age and in the resurrection from the dead neither marry nor are given in marriage. Indeed they cannot die anymore, because they are like angels and are children of God, being children of the resurrection” (Lk 20:27–36). Another key passage supporting Gregory’s “double creation” theory is Gal 3:28: “There is no longer Jew or Greek, there is no longer slave or free, there is no longer male and female; for all of you are one in Christ Jesus.” Gal 3:28 refers to baptism, but Gregory extends it to resurrected life. Moreover, as I said already, but I would like to re-emphasize, both pericopes are applied to the resurrected life. So, the logical question is: what is the relationship between these texts and the “double creation” theory, or what does the end have to do with the beginning? Gregory believes that the resurrected life is a life of return to the primordial state of humanity: “the man that was manifested at the first creation of the world, and he that shall be after the consummation of all, are alike: they equally bear in themselves the divine image” (De opif. hom. XVI.17).30 Therefore, in his view, it is acceptable to interpret the Genesis story about the creation

30 De opificio hominis 185.43–46: Ὁμοίως ἔχει ὅ τε τῇ πρώτῃ τοῦ κόσμου κατασκευῇ συναναδειχθεὶς ἄνθρωπος, καὶ ὁ κατὰ τὴν τοῦ παντὸς συντέλειαν γενησόμενος, ἐπίσης ἐφ᾽ ἑαυτῶν φέρουσι τὴν θείαν εἰκόνα.

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of humankind in the image of God using the New Testament texts referring to the resurrection and baptism. In her magisterial work on biblical hermeneutics in Gregory of Nyssa, Canevet noticed the difficulties with Gregory’s “double creation” theory, which is present both in his Apologia in hexaemeron and De opif. hom. But she thinks that Gregory’s own “double creation” theory allows him to break with the Neoplatonic (sic! instead perhaps of Middle Platonic, as was the case with Philo and Origen) speculations of his predecessors who, in identifying the intelligible world with the Logos, made the Logos play an intermediary role in the creation of the world, leading to various orders of creation: first intelligible and second sensible.31 On the same page, she argues further that, in breaking with the Alexandrian tradition of Origen and Philo, Gregory established that humankind was created in the image of God, not just the image of the Logos. Literal and Allegorical Interpretation There are instances in De opif. hom. where Gregory is satisfied with a literal interpretation of the biblical text. In particular, when covering the creation of plants and animals, like in De opif. hom. I.5, he is content to just repeat and perhaps explain literally how the creation evolved. One could quote a large section, but one or two sentences should suffice to illustrate that type of interpretation: and all the beasts that had come into life at God’s command were rejoicing, we may suppose, and skipping about, running to and fro in the thickets in herds according to their kind, while every sheltered and shady spot was ringing with the chants of the song-birds. And at sea, we may suppose, the sight to be seen was of the like kind. (De opif. hom. 132.18–24, NPNF 2.5:389)

Another instance of literal interpretation occurs in connection with 1 Cor 15:51–52: “Listen, I will tell you a mystery! We will not all die, but we will all be changed, in a moment, in the twinkling of an eye, at the last trumpet.” Gregory comments that the apostle indicated by that the sudden stoppage of time, and the change of the things that are now moving on back to the opposite end, contending that

31

Canévet, Grégoire de Nysse et l’herméneutique biblique, 91.


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For when, as I suppose, the full complement of human nature has reached the limit of the pre-determined measure, because there is no longer anything to be made up in the way of increase to the number of souls, he teaches us that the change in existing things will take place in an instant of time, giving to that limit of time which has no parts or extension the names of ‘a moment’ and the ‘twinkling of an eye’ (De opif. hom. 205.47–208.1; NPNF 2.5:412).

Yet several passages in De opif. hom. display an allegorical interpretation of the Bible. Like Origen, Gregory interpreted allegorically passages that appeared as theological improprieties, a physical or logical impossibility, as well as useless or immoral acts. He was also preoccupied to point to a deeper spiritual meaning when interpreting a passage allegorically. A major passage where allegory is used is De opif. hom. 145.49–148.15 (already quoted at length in this paper), where Gregory not only displays an acquaintance with the science of his time and with the Platonic tripartite division of the soul, but he interprets allegorically some biblical passages making them agree with his view and the view of other Christian Platonists who held that the Bible can be harmonized with the best insights of Greek philosophy. Another example of allegorical interpretation is connected with his interpretation of paradise in the Genesis account: It seems to me that I may take the great David and the wise Solomon as my instructors in the interpretation of this text: for both understand the grace of the permitted delight to be one—that very actual Good, which in truth is “every” good—David, when he says, “Delight you in the Lord” (Ps 37:4) and Solomon, when he names Wisdom herself (which is the Lord) “a tree of life” (Prov 3:18). Thus the “every” tree of which the passage gives food to him who was made in the likeness of God, is the same with the tree of life; and there is opposed to this tree another tree, the food given by which is the knowledge of good and evil.

Here Gregory abandons the literal interpretation, probably due to the difficulties this would present, and uses other texts in the Bible (Psalms and Proverbs in this case) to provide a spiritual interpretation for the mysterious tree of life and for the phrase “every tree” in the garden. Conclusion To sum up, Gregory of Nyssa’s De opif. hom. uses several instruments to interpret the creation of humans according to the Genesis account. He uses allegorical and literal methods of interpretation; the concept

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of sequence (ἀκολουθία), which he sees as part of God’s intention in creating the world; the “double creation” theory coming from Philo and Origen; as well as the science of his time. All of these allow Gregory to provide a rather complex interpretation of the Bible, trying to satisfy several audiences, to rebut several adversaries, and to point to spiritual ideals, including his views about the end of humanity and history and its return to God.

SPECIAL GUEST PAPER

SCRIPTURE AS A LEGACY OF THE FATHERS Charles Kannengiesser For this presentation I deliberately chose a title with an old fashioned flavour. What have the “Fathers” to do with our post-modern world in which traditions are disrupted, new technologies invented everyday, and sacred values trivialized in a kaleidoscope of hasty media? To mention a “legacy of the Fathers” evokes ancestral pastures with the saga of the tribe recited around the campfires. Rather than “sons” and “daughters” born in the continuity of cultural blood-lines, many of us may rather feel like orphans set adrift in an alien landscape, their heritage despoiled and their origins in a kind of fractured memory. 1. “Fathers”? Speaking about the Bible, the “Fathers” whom I have in mind are actually of a relatively recent vintage. They are not the oldest known Semites who invented an original graphism with signs out of which the Hebrew alphabet emerged, nor are they the generations of believers who carried on the story of Abraham’s tribe migrating out of Chaldaea, and who codified the oral treasure of their nomadic epic. The “Fathers” of whom I am going to speak are neither the religious authorities in the Israelite kingdom who established the primacy of Torah at the time when in India the collection of the Upanishads was not yet completed. In the postmodern vacuum of sacred foundations we are paradoxically more than ever informed about the religious structures of past civilizations. In the search for a historical perspective of our own, our problem is not to reach out to such structures. Our problem is to choose if, yes or no, we still belong to one of them. In short, the “Fathers” are the believers, Jews or others, responsible for the production and transmission of the Christian Bible, as read today by two billion of our contemporaries in churches all over the planet.1 1 Charles Kannengiesser, Handbook of Patristic Exegesis: The Bible in Ancient Christianity (BAC 1; Leiden: Brill, 2004).

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In the early fourth century, at the time of Emperor Constantine, a deeply pious and learned Greek philosopher named Iamblichus (250–330 ce) lamented in his old age over the fact that all cultic trends in the religions of his time seemed henceforth to depend on books and on other written codifications. He was speculating about the religious mindset of his ancestors over a millennium earlier in the idealized Antiquity of Pythagoras, where allegedly any sacred learning saved people through exclusively oral transmission. Iamblichus, the most original disciple of Plotinus, with all his educated Greek contemporaries in the Mediterranean culture of the early fourth century still ignored the epoch-making significance of the birth of Christianity some three hundred years in their past.2 2. The “Gospel Event”: A Notion Due to the Fathers In the fullness of its significance, the historic event of the birth of Christianity, the Gospel-Event as I call it, included the fast-spreading message of the death and resurrection of Jesus, his proclamation by Jewish and Gentile disciples as the Messiah, but also and foremost an integral reception of the Hebrew Bible by the first Christian believers, a Bible interpreted by them according to their peculiar messianism of the end of times. As an oral and eventually written message, the Gospel-Event was truly the work of some of the “Fathers” mentioned in the title of this paper, namely the authors of the New Testament whom we know only by their literary names, or pseudo-names. Thoroughly submitted to the letter and the spirit of the Torah, these men were fascinated by the message of the Gospel-Event in which they recognized the decisive focus and interpretive key needed by them for their own reception of ancient scripture. Amazingly enough, the whole Hebrew Bible had been given over to them in its canonical integrality despite the collapse of biblical Israel and the destruction of the Temple by the Roman army. In the understanding of these Gospel-believers, the sacred scripture of Israel, translated into Greek, metamorphosed into a “Christian” Bible. The hermeneutical miracle of that metamorphosis, contemplated in

2 The same is true of Plotinus himself despite some vague echoes of trouble in the Jewish Diaspora of his time.

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its long-lasting consequences, is precisely the primordial issue at the top of my survey of the biblical legacy of the Fathers. For, in my view, it would be a grave mistake to analyse that legacy of the subsequent centuries without first examining its immediate source and foundation, conventionally called the New Testament. The writings of the New Testament not only witness to the earliest reception of Torah and the other sacred texts of Israel inside the nascent church. They also testify to a hermeneutical dynamic always at work inside the Hebrew Bible, a dynamic which the Fathers, commenting on scripture, would inherit in their turn. My main point here is that the literary production of the so-called New Testament, foremost the four canonical Gospels, should itself be included in the biblical legacy of the Fathers instead of having that legacy considered only as post-neotestamental data not connected to the emergence of the New Testament. Indeed the extraordinary creativity of that earliest stage in the diffusion of the Gospel message, marked by the production of the New Testament writings, determined significantly the whole subsequent tradition of Christianity. As intellectual leaders of Christian communities in the late second century agreed to call it, that earliest stage represented the “apostolic age” of Christianity, which means a time when the revelatory hermeneutics inside scripture, given over by Jesus to his disciples, were more than ever at work in the communities of Gospel neophytes. For a constant and irrepressible dynamic of hermeneutical renewal inside Hebrew Bible has often been stressed by the critics from the beginning to the end of its reception in a canonical form. For instance, the narrative of the six days of creation needed a retelling which reflected the on-going changes in the minds of early generations of Israelite believers. Deuteronomy recapitulates and reassesses the essentials of the Torah already consigned by the authors of Exodus, Leviticus, and Numbers. A second and then a third Isaiah were added to the first collection of prophecies under that name. Psalms and Wisdom sayings, without repeating each other, called constantly on earlier models with the purpose of giving them again and again a renewed actuality. That inner dynamic of hermeneutical renewal permeates the whole canonical scripture of Israel, being proper to the peculiar inventiveness of Semitic biblical authors. That same dynamic resulted in the production of New Testament writings, as they are essentially a midrashic extension of ancient prophecies and a testimony to the Yahwist experience of faith inherited from ancient traditions by the first Christians.

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charles kannengiesser 3. The “Apostolic” Age

It is that same dynamic of a creative interpretation, but now extended to the authors of the apostolic age, which I find connected with the earliest reception of the Bible among the Fathers. Some fifty years ago, in the standard school theology of my junior training, the study of the New Testament and of the whole Bible was entirely monopolized by highly qualified biblical exegetes, who left the ulterior reception of scripture in Christian churches out of any serious consideration. Indeed for these specialized experts the inner power of divine inspiration was located on a transcendent level of reality where only God was supposed to operate. The fact itself of exegetes interpreting scripture was seen as an external circumstance in regard to the sacred text. Old scholastic thinking could not understand interpretation as comprised in the very process of the scriptural text’s emerging, whereas the canonical authors, gifted as they claimed to be with divine inspiration, always made their contributions by first of all interpreting earlier biblical productions. Hence, culturally conditioned interpretation and divine inspiration should be seen ( pace Karl Barth) as two simultaneous components—at any level and in any time—of biblical creativity, whereas in the scholastic teaching as I still experienced it in the 1950s these components were radically disjoint, and studied on two heterogeneous levels of reality, the one of intrinsic inspiration, and the other one of extrinsic interpretation. Such a strange categorizing prevented scholars from perceiving the inner dynamic of the Christian tradition, based as it is on a constant interpretation of scripture. The proper notion of such a dynamic was not even perceived before 1960, when the Dominican Yves Congar elaborated in Le Saulchoir his groundbreaking synthesis on La Tradition et les traditions. In short, when contemplated inside the Christian institution, the theological prejudice proper to that dogmatist view of God’s revelation, categorically declared that the creative dynamic of a hermeneutical invention in the beginnings of Christianity was strictly proper to Old and New Testament authors.3 The whole biblical legacy

3 The exclusiveness of specific divine inspiration proper to canonical writers of Scripture was undisputed among these writers as dogmatic evidence. To this day, divine inspiration remains the cornerstone of biblical exegesis. Hence we have the distinction between the “inspired” writings of the canon and non-inspired apocrypha.


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of the Fathers appeared then like a static enumeration of comments, a plethoric repetition of the same, completely disconnected from the hermeneutical process which was renewing scripture itself from the inside, transforming an “old” Testament into a “new” one. With the proper impetus of the “apostolic age” identified as an inner biblical rush into self-interpretation communicated from transmitted scripture to the very process of that legacy, the whole patristic commentary of scripture comes eventually back to life showing itself in a permanent need for inner newness in its self-awareness along the centuries. 4. From the “Apostolic” Age to Patristic Traditions Before plunging into that ocean of the patristic commentary on scripture (truly the equivalent of a world-literature covering approximately a thousand years of western culture), the basic appreciation of the very birth of that commentary should be expressed even more in depth. Near the end of the second century, outstanding leaders of Christianity, such as Irenaeus of Lyon, head of the main Christian communities in the Rhone Valley, and Theophilus, bishop of Antioch in Roman Syria, and certainly others among their contemporaries, magnified the work of their community-building predecessors of the first century, whom they called “presbyters” or “elders,” allegedly appointed by the Apostles. The pastoral options taken by Irenaeus and Theophilus, in a new generation of Christian community-builders during the late second century, always intended to secure primarily the safe transmission of the scriptures given over to them by the generation of the so-called Apostles. For them “apostolic” meant “in conformity with scripture”, and scripture meant “apostolic” in origin and content. Thus, a historical time-counting of the oldest precarious expansion of church communities was initiated. The time of the explosive hermeneutical newness, which had generated the New Testament, became sacralized as “apostolic” and was qualified as truly unique in its foundational relevance for the following ages of scripture-reception in the church. For Christian believers, who thereby reshaped their historic past and thus inaugurated a tradition of their own, the central evidence of their faith-experience, along their century long process was that of a distancing themselves more and more from the physical actuality of the “apostolic age.” In the distance of ongoing history they nevertheless

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continued to carry in their own creativity the same hermeneutical dynamic of scripture which had filled their “apostolic” predecessors in their foundational experience of scriptural tradition inherited from biblical Israel. Not only did these Fathers read scripture. They literally saved it from being corrupted or lost from one generation to the other in the turbulent odyssey of Christian communities excluded from the rabbinic establishment. The earliest Christian authors secured the very survival of both written Testaments. Like the rabbis, their homologues, from whom they learned so much, they preserved the sacred text from any neglect by copyists or from intentional revised readings. To this very day the Christian Bible is the one these earliest transmitters preserved from decay. In a critical consideration of the Bible as the proper legacy of the Fathers, I think that one would never stress enough the historic importance of the hermeneutical inventiveness thanks to which these Fathers succeeded in transmitting a new scripture in continuity with the Hebrew Bible. 5. Main Features of the Patristic Traditions Now I would like to point out three major features of that whole patristic legacy centred on scripture. By “features” I mean constitutive characteristics significant of the whole patristic tradition in its uniqueness. A first feature of the whole biblical legacy of the Fathers is, without the shadow of a doubt, due to the core-structure imposed on it by the inner biblical impetus, calling for a constantly renewed hermeneutic in the reception of the Bible. The core-structure of that legacy is then seen as Christological in full conformity with the Christ-centered polarization of the new Judeo-Christian scripture itself. The Christological motif of the whole patristic tradition is indeed an inspiring motif of such a pregnant urgency that the entire patristic commentary became marked by it forever. For, prior to its submission to rules and forms of interpretation imposed by the various cultural contexts where the Gospel was announced and scripture commented on, the whole discourse of the Fathers complied with the Christological imperative infused into it by the genuinely hermeneutical dynamic of Christian scripture. In the context of the broad controversy of the twentieth century about the so-called senses of scripture, Henri de Lubac and Jean Daniélou, as well as Hans Urs von Balthasar and Karl Rahner with many others, to limit myself


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only to the Roman Catholic tradition, abundantly discussed this central motif of patristic exegesis.4 The Bible as a legacy of the Fathers was seen by these experts as an organic body of transcendent messages to be decoded essentially on two different levels of comprehension: on a literal level and on a spiritual level, the latter being itself understood as offering three distinct possibilities of interpretation. I shall come back to the literal level in a moment, but first the spiritual level of the patristic interpretation needs to be clarified.5 Due to the Christo-centric impetus overwhelmingly imposed on them in the church by scripture itself, the Fathers first of all articulated any scriptural relevance as perceived by them, around that central notion of Christ, the interpretive key of all scripture. For the structural centrality of that notion commanded, in their view, several distinct forms of relevance in what they called the “spiritual” sense of scripture. Thus the dogmatic relevance of scripture gave the Fathers biblical writings speaking directly to them about the mystery of Christ, a fundamental relevance indeed, which they called “allegory,” or “talk about other matters.” Another kind of relevance was linked by the Fathers with the ethical values of human existence and they called that other form of relevance “tropology,” in other words a “teaching about changes” (tropoi ) of behaviour in facing the multitude of concrete ethical challenges in human existence. A third sort of relevance, polarized by the ultimate human destiny as conceived by the Fathers, was called “anagogy,” meaning “lifting up”, or the “leading upwards” of the self into the beyond after death. As the patristic legacy par excellence, the Bible of the Fathers represents therefore the canonical collection of biblical writings consistently screened and processed through the well-defined hermeneutical network of these distinctions referred to by the Fathers as the “spiritual sense.” An additional important remark must be added in order to round up that first basic feature of the biblical legacy as inherited from ancient Christian traditions. Contrary to what the study of the spiritual sense might suggest, defining the literal sense of scripture has also been at the core of patristic exegesis. That exegesis was based on various translations of the sacred texts, even on double-leveled translations from Hebrew to Greek and from Greek to Latin, or to Syriac and other

4 5

Kannengiesser, Handbook, 86–9. Ibid., 213–69.

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ancient languages. The patristic commentary also had to face another sort of severe hermeneutical challenges during the Gnostic crisis of the second and third centuries, and again during the following centuries of doctrinal controversies, mainly in the Greek-speaking East of the Mediterranean. It is the everlasting achievement of the Fathers to have saved, as already mentioned, the bare letter of scripture throughout that period of history.6 A second basic feature of the biblical legacy of the Fathers as a whole is what I would like to call the universality of their perspective in their commentary on scripture. In their Christo-centric perspective they consistently go beyond the confines of their local problematic. They address the human condition, sin and salvation. In describing everyone’s expectations and accomplishments, they focus on human hope. They always envisage the church, or history and humanity as global realities, even when concentrating on individual cases or recounting singular chains of events. The biblical horizon of their thought permanently kept their mind open to the beyond. A unanimous agreement on reading the Bible in the fullness of time, under the open sky of a redeemed cosmos, gave their biblical exegesis its special flavour. A third and last basic feature of the patristic legacy, as being centred on the Bible transmitted, interpreted and actualized by them, is precisely the unanimous and indefectible testimony of these Fathers claiming that scripture means for them a permanent newness of interpretation. In its current edition, the Handbook of Patristic Exegesis gives voice to a chorus of two hundred and twenty-four authors from the first to the eighth century in the Latin West, or further on to the twelfth century in Great Armenia, and to the thirteenth in Syriac-speaking territories. It is not enough to say that one is facing here “Himalayan” ranges of literary achievements, as stated by an imaginative Irish critic. To avoid the innumerable side-tracks of scholarly research, as it has been promoted more than ever during the past hundred years, that immense cultural territory imposes on us to fix our compass anew and to keep permanently in sight the magnetic pole of our investigation. For through thick and thin of the patristic commentary of scripture, the hermeneutical urge to communicate the meaning of scripture operates like a magnet. Generation after generation, the Fathers took over the interpretative task. They never succeeded in establishing definitive rules which would

6

Ibid., 167–215.


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have brought the interpretation of scripture to an end. Echoing through whole centuries, the accomplishments of the most gifted among them, like Origen of Alexandria,7 Theodore of Mopsuestia,8 or Augustine of Hippo,9 regulated some distinctive lines of biblical exegesis. On the various levels of their multi-lingual discourse these interpreters of the Bible were at once scholars, pastors, philosophers, and catechists and almost all of them politically involved in the destiny of whole communities. No generation-conflicts and no gender-gaps disrupted their on-going celebration of scripture. In Alexandria, which was the first main intellectual metropolis of Christianity, the pioneering work of Pantaenos in the second century was directly taken over in the early third century by the newcomer Clement, whose amazing creativity was absorbed in turn by the genius of Origen, whose own spectacular exegesis of the whole Bible was applied long after his death to the new political establishment of the church in Constantine’s time by Bishop Athanasius of Alexandria; Athanasius, also appointed Didymus the Blind as an official interpreter of scripture for many decades after his tenure, and prepared the theological framing for the exegesis of his most important successor, Cyril of Alexandria, in the fifth century. Belonging to the imperial Christianity of late antiquity, all these interpreters were male clerics, but a few exceptions nevertheless demonstrate how scripture seen as the essential patristic legacy could also be actualized by gifted women. Proba,10 daughter, sister and mother of consuls, and the wife of the Prefect of the city of Rome in the fourth century, composed six hundred and ninety-four hexameters with exclusively Virgilian phrasing, and boldly claimed: “I shall say how Virgil sang the holy gifts of Christ” (verse 23). Over a thousand years after her death, her work went through many editions in the eleventh century and continued to enjoy a high popularity until the Renaissance. At the time of the Council of Chalcedon, in the fifth century, Aelia Eudocia,11 who for about twenty years was the wife of Emperor Theodosius II until she went into exile, composed a large collection of short poems paraphrasing Gospel narratives by using exclusively versified elements

7 8 9 10 11

Ibid., Ibid., Ibid., Ibid., Ibid.,

536–74 (H.I. Vogt). 799–828 (M. Simonetti). 1149–1218 (C. Kannengiesser), 1219–33 (P. Bright). 1021. 883.

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of Homeric poetry, her main ambition being to give children a chance to get rid of pagan models when reading poetry. That third vital feature of the Fathers’ legacy determined by the transmission of the Bible, namely its being a legacy showing permanent newness of interpretation, found its extreme and most dramatic field of application in patristic allegorism. Often misunderstood and loudly rejected by modern exegetes during the past century, the patristic allegory was actually taking over the Christo-centric core structure of the New Testament itself. The Fathers understood the entire Bible as a unified illustration of that core structure based on the Gospel-Event. With all resources of Greek and Latin rationality they elaborated a complex architecture of dogmatic truths. Debated in solemn assemblies presided over by the emperors in person, the Fathers’ deepest confrontations resulted in defined formulae of faith about God and all transcendent realities, added to their notion of God in their passionate extrapolations as believers.12 What was allegory on the hermeneutical level of their reception of scripture became in their abstract statements solidified as untouchable dogma. Paradoxically, the urge for constant newness of biblical understanding finally reached thereby its limits in the Western form of rationality. We would miss the whole point of the present inquiry, if we neglected to consider that end of hermeneutical creativity, that dying out of the canonical legacy of the Fathers, as being itself part of the consistent and prodigiously innovative reception of scripture in the church. The Bible of the Fathers, the only one ever known in the traditional culture of Christianity, has eventually migrated into what André Malraux called the “musée imaginaire” of the West. It has become our living “archive” in the pregnant sense of Michel Foucault,13 centralizing most of the information we need to get about the religious past of the West, not only for us, in view of defining our own attitude as believers, should it be the case, but even more so for projecting a common vision of our future, religious or not, as Dietrich Bonhoeffer wondered about it sixty years ago. As the main legacy of the Fathers, the Christian reception of the Bible has in any case become the cornerstone of the

12 The imperial synod of Nicaea I (325 ce) inaugurated a long series of politicoecclesiastical summits dedicated to defining Christian beliefs in the Roman Empire. 13 M. Foucault, L’Archéologie du savoir (Bibliothèque des sciences humaines; Paris: Gallimard, 1969), 177–83.


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spiritual civilization in the West, in this regard comparable only with the Holy Qur-ān in the Islamic world. That enormous relic of our cultural past still shows extraordinary resources of meaning, just as the Fathers would have dug them out and scrutinized in their own hermeneutics. It is precisely the richness of their results as interpreters of the Bible which challenges us today more than anything else when we in our own turn contemplate the Bible as explaining a whole past and opening a promising future for our own present self-identification. I cannot start here another presentation on these existential issues but let me illustrate the argument in two short points. First Point We are dealing with a Bible thoroughly interpreted by the Fathers in a supersessionist perspective, in which their so-called Old Testament was seen as overcome in its prophetic truth by the undisputable revelation of the New Testament, and both Testaments, following each other in the duration of time, were claiming in their common reception the divine mystery of salvation exclusively in conformity with the teaching of the church. An anti-Judaic trend, though not to be assimilated with modern anti-Semitism, pervaded more or less that entire approach to the Bible. Hence, the legacy of the Fathers was ideologically biased in a way, in all regards, contradictory to the current Jewish-Christian dialogue. The most urgent challenge for contemporary Christians is then to evaluate the biased legacy of the Fathers, as biased, in order to introduce into it the fundamental correctives imposed today by the new sense for the Gospel-Event as included in the ongoing Covenant of Abraham, a sense which calls, of course, for a painful revision of New Testament exegesis. A bright future based on the reconciliation of Christians and Jews after two millennia of tragic sadness calls for a very new biblical hermeneutics on the Christian side, and for a more adequate appreciation of the whole legacy of the Fathers. Second Point By its spectacular flourishing for a thousand years in Late Antiquity and in the monastic culture of Western Middle Ages, but even more so by its dying out under the pressure of a new critical rationality developed in the West thanks to a logical retrieving of the Aristotelian heritage, in part transmitted by Islamic philosophers, the biblical legacy

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of the Fathers eventually reveals itself to us in the West as a perishable fulfillment of history, as only one of the possible incarnations of the monotheistic revelation in the ever-transformative reality of what is called history. In a secret connection with the prophetic dream of a sort of end-oftimes reunion of Jews and Christians as sketched out by the document Nostra Aetate of Vatican II, dating from 1965, a more immediate historic evidence, into which we become by the day more and more involved, is the world-wide meeting of the main religions on the planet. Again exclusive particularism and any kind of triumphalist self-glorification are henceforth banished from Christian thought—at least in principle. In a statistical overview of Christianity on the scale of the planet the numbers speak of a record-fast growing of populations calling themselves Christian, even in communist China. There is no doubt in my view that traditional Christianity is thoroughly questioned in its very identity by this demographic explosion in and around the churches as we cross the threshold of the new millennium. My second point of conclusion is in fact a very frustrating one because it obviously requires much more attention than I can give it now, but it calls with a very new urgency for a serious consideration of the Bible as the legacy of the Fathers. In the context of the present encounter between world-religions, the intrinsic spirit of scripture asks more than ever for a spiritual exegesis, and not for fundamentalist impositions of the literal statements of the Bible. Only a renewed familiarity with the creatively interpretive process of the biblical reception through the past twenty centuries might offer the needed platform for the appropriate re-thinking of the relevance of scripture in the present inter-religious turn of history.14 The scholarly trends in the modern study of the Bible, passionately focused on the problematic of historical critical exegesis, are up to now more or less oblivious of the reception of the Bible during the two millennia of European primacy in that reception. In the new context created since Vatican II, by the Jewish-Christian dialogue and 14 In line with a few similar initiatives of recent decades, I tried to provide a global survey of the western reception of the Bible in its multiple aspects by engaging some 250 experts in the series Bible de tous les temps, in nine substantial volumes (Paris: Beauchesne, 1984 and 1989). See also The Reception of the Church Fathers in the West: From the Carolingians to the Maurists, 2 vols. (ed. I. Backus; Boston/Leiden: Brill, 2001); Dictionary of Biblical Interpretation (2 vols.; ed. J.H. Hayes; Nashville, TN: Abingdon, 1999); and Historical Handbook of Major Biblical Interpreters (ed. D.K. McKim; Downers Grove, IL: InterVarsity Press, 1998).


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by the effective encounter of a new type between world religions, the whole ideological superstructure of Christian thought seems to be in need of a renewed critical assessment. This has happened more than once in the Christian past. The conceptual elaboration and the critical revision of our research may sometimes stress obsolete aspects of our scholarship, and they may make the dogmatic discourse of the Fathers sound outdated. But what shows itself to be more than ever highly significant about the legacy of the Fathers is the creative process itself in the ongoing biblical reception even today, generating in the light of that legacy a new Christian view of our whole world in full reshaping. “Creative” in the present case, more than anything else, means probably keeping the memory of the Fathers alive, particularly when supported by the complementary rabbinic tradition of scholarship; we turn our attention, centered on the gospel-event, to Asia in the non-western world of our future, of the future of Christianity.

BIBLIOGRAPHY OF THE WORKS OF CHARLES KANNENGIESSER 1962 “Enarratio in Psalmum CXVIII, Science de la révélation et progrès spiritual.” RAug 11 (1962). 359–81. 1964 “Recherches sur les Traités contra gentes et De incarnatione verbi de Saint Athanase d’Alexandrie.” Doctoral Dissertation, Faculty of Catholic Theology, University of Strasbourg, 1964. “Le témoignage des Lettres Festales de Saint Athanase sur la Date de 1’Apologie contre les païens—Sur 1’Incarnation du Verbe.” RSR 52 (1964). 91–100. [also included in Arius and Athanasius (1991)] “Le texte court du De incarnatione athanasien.” RSR 52 (1964). 589–93. 1965 “Le texte court du De Incarnatione athanasien.” RSR 53 (1965). 77–111. 1966 “Les différentes recensions du traité De incarnatione verbi de Saint Athanase.” SP VII. TU 93. 1966. 221–9. 1967 “L’infinité divine chez Grégoire de Nysse,” RSR 55 (1967). 51–65. “Philon et les Pères sur la double création de l’homme,” Philon d’Alexandrie, Lyon, 11–15 septembre 1966. Paris: Éditions du CNRS, 1967. 227–96. 1968 “L’héritage d’Hilaire de Poitiers.” RSR 56 (1968). 435–456. “Hilaire de Poitiers (Saint).” DS 7.477–499.

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works of charles kannengiesser 1969

“Des Pères, des spirituels et des saints.” RSR 57 (1969). 563–74. “L’exégèse d’Hilaire: Hilaire et son temps.” ÉAug (1969). 127–42. “Rapport de synthèse.” ÉAug (1969). 307–10. 1970 “Bulletin de théologie patristique: I. Instrumenta patristica. II. Origène. III. Théologie grecque du IVieme siècle.” RSR 58 (1970). 603–30. “La date de l’Apologie d’Athanase contre les païens et Sur l’incarnation du verbe.” RSR 58 (1970). 383–428. [also included in Arius and Athanasius (1991)] “Où et quand Arius composa-t-il la Thalie?” Kyriakon. Festschrift Johannes Quasten. Ed. P. Granfield and J.A. Jungmann. Münster/Westfalia: Aschendorff, 1970. 346–51. “Porphyre dans l’oeuvre théologique de Marius Victorinus.” RÉAug 16 (1970). 159–69. Traité sur l’incarnation du Verbe et sur sa manifestation corporelle en notre faveur. Trans. C. Kannengiesser. Paris: Institut catholique, 1970. 1971 “Bulletin de théologie patristique: L’exégèse des Pères.” RSR 59 (1971). 619–43. “Les citations bibliques du traité athanasien Sur l’Incarnation du Verbe et les Testimonia.” La Bible et les Pères. Colloque de Strasbourg, 1er–3 octobre, 1969. Paris: Presses Universitaires de France, 1971. 135–60. “Trois leçons actuelles de la mission dans l’ancienne Eglise.” Spiritus 12 (1971). 115–24. “Une nouvelle interprétation de la christologie d’Apollinaire.” RSR 59 (1971). 27–36. 1972 Athanase d’Alexandrie. Sur l’Incarnation du Verbe. Texte critique, traduction, introduction, notes et index. SC 199. Paris: Cerf, 1973. [ 22000]

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“Bibliographie patristique du Cardinal Jean Daniélou.” Epektasis: mélanges patristiques offerts au Cardinal Jean Daniélou. Ed. J. Fontaine and C. Kannengiesser. Paris, Beauchesne, 1972. 675–89. “Bulletin de théologie Patristique: Église, ministères, sacrements. Problèmes de philosophie.” RSR 60 (1972). 459–82. Epektasis: mélanges patristiques offerts au Cardinal Jean Daniélou. Ed. J. Fontaine and C. Kannengiesser. Paris, Beauchesne, 1972. “Logos et Noûs chez Athanase d’Alexandrie.” SP XI. TU 108. 1972. 199–202. “Le recours au Livre de Jérémie chez Athanase d’Alexandrie.” Epektasis: mélanges patristiques offerts au Cardinal Jean Daniélou. Ed. J. Fontaine et C. Kannengiesser. Paris, Beauchesne, 1972. 317–25. “Le théologien.” Recherches actuelles 2. Institut catholique de Paris. Paris: Beauchesne, 1972. 181–97. 1973 “Athanasius of Alexandria and the Foundation of Traditional Christology.” TS 34 (1973). 103–13. [also included in Arius and Athanasius (1991)] “Athanase édité par Robert W. Thomson.” RSR 61 (1973). 217–32. “Athanasius von Alexandrien. Seine Beziehungen zu Trier und seine Rolle in der Geschichte der christlichen Theologie.” TTZ 82 (1973). 141–53. “Bulletin de théologie patristique: La liturgie et ses mystères.” RSR 61 (1973). 371–8. “Jérémie chez les Pères de l’Église.” DS 8.889–901. Recherches actuelles. Coll. Le Point théologique 2. With H. Bouillard, C. Perrot, B. Plongeron, and P.M. Gy. Paris: Beauchesne, 1973. “Le symbolisme eucharistique dans l’Eglise Ancienne.” LTP 29 (1973). 307–12. 1974 “Bulletin de théologie patristique. I. Les Pères et la Bible. II. Saint Augustin. III. Latinité chrétienne.” RSR 62 (1974). 435–76.

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“The Fathers of the Church: Contemplation of the Humanity of Christ.” Jesus in Christian Devotion and Contemplation. Trans. P.J. Oligny. Ed. E.J. Malatesta. Religious Experience Series St. Meinrad, IN: Abbey Press, 1974. 17–25. Foi en la résurrection: résurrection de la foi. Coll. Le Point théologique 9. Beauchesne: Paris, 1974. “Gnostiques.” Grande encyclopédie Larousse 9 (1974). 5457–8. “Job patristique.” DS. 8.1218–25. Politique et théologie chez Athanase d’Alexandrie: actes du Colloque de Chantilly, 23–25 septembre 1973. Ed. C. Kannengiesser. TH 27. Paris: Beauchesne, 1974. 1975 “Bulletin de théologie patristique: Trois siècles de tradition alexandrine.” RSR 63 (1975). 579–614. Jean Chrysostome et Augustin: actes du colloque de Chantilly, 22–24 septembre 1974. Ed. C. Kannengiesser. TH 35. Paris: Beauchesne, 1975. “L’Interprétation de Jérémie dans la tradition alexandrine.” SP XII. TU 115. 1975. 317–20. “Le Mystère pascal du Christ mort et ressuscité selon Jean Chrysostome.” Jean Chrysostome et Augustin. Actes du Colloque de Chantilly, 22–24 septembre 1974. Ed. C. Kannengiesser. TH 35. Paris: Beauchesne, 1975. 221–46. [also included in Arius and Athanasius (1991)] “Le Mystère pascal du Christ selon Athanase.” RSR 63 (1975): 407–42. “Patrologie.” Grande encyclopédie Larousse 15 (1975). 9174–6. 1976 “Bulletin de théologie patristique: I. Ouvrages généraux, dictionnaires, mélanges. II. Textes doctrinaux. III. Éditions nouvelles et textes grecs.” RSR 64 (1976). 285–316. “Logique et idées motrices dans le recours biblique selon Grégoire de Nysse.” Gregor von Nyssa und die Philosophie. Zweites internationales Kolloquium über Gregor von Nyssa, Freckenhorst bei Münster, 18–23. September 1972. Ed. H. Dörrie, et al. Leiden: Brill, 1976. 85–106.


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Humanisme et foi chrétienne: mélanges scientifiques du centenaire de l’Institut Catholique de Paris. Ed. C. Kannengiesser et Y. Marchasson. Paris: Beauchesne, 1976. “Sacerdoce.” Grande encyclopédie Larousse 17 (1976). 10683–6. “Tertullien.” Grande encyclopédie Larousse 19 (1976). 11795–6. “Théologie catholique.” Grande encyclopédie Larousse 19 (1976). 11872–5. “Théologie et patristique. Le sens actuel de leur rapport verifié chez Athanase d’Alexandrie.” Humanisme et foi chrétienne. Mélanges scientifiques du Centenaire de l’Institut Catholique de Paris. Ed. C. Kannengiesser and Y. Marchasson. Paris: Beauchesne, 1976. 503–26. 1977 “Avenir des traditions fondatrices. La Christologie comme tâche au champ des études patristiques: visages du Christ.” RSR 65 (1977). 139–68. 1978 “Bulletin de théologie patristique: I. Les latins. II. Les alexandrins. III. Les syriens. IV. Thèmes généraux. V. Instruments de la recherche.” RSR 66 (1978). 265–309, 389–416. “Nicée dans l’histoire du christianisme.” Concilium 138 (1978). 39–47. 1979 “Bulletin de théologie patristique: I. “L’Affaire Ignace d’Antioche. II. Autour d’Irénée de Lyon.” RSR 67 (1979). 599–623. “Nicaea 325 in the History of Christendom.” Ecumenical Confession of Faith. Ed. H. Küng and J. Moltmann. Concilium. New York: Seabury Press, 1979. 27–35. 1980 “Bulletin de théologie patristique: Ethique chrétienne et structures d’Église.” RSR 68 (1980). 95–110.

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“Athanasius of Alexandria and the Holy Spirit between Nicea I and Constantinople I.” ITQ 48 (1981). 166–79. [also included in Arius and Athanasius (1991)] “Bulletin de théologie patristique: I. Bible des Pères. II. Ouvrages généraux.” RSR 69 (1981). 443–79. 1982 “Athanasius of Alexandria. Three Orations against the Arians. A Reappraisal.” SP XVII.3. Elmsford, NY: Pergamon Press, 1982. 981–95. [also included in Arius and Athanasius (1991)] “Bulletin de théologie patristique: La Crise arienne.” RSR 70 (1982). 583–62. Holy Scripture and Hellenistic Hermeneutics in Alexandrian Christology: The Arian Crisis. Colloquium 41. Berkeley: Center for Hermeneutical Studies in Hellenistic and Modern Culture, 1982. [also included in Arius and Athanasius (1991)] “La Nouveauté chrétienne vue par Origène” L’Ancien et le nouveau: travaux de l’U.E.R. de théologie et de sciences religieuses (Paris). Ed. J. Doré, et al. CF 111. Paris: Cerf, 1982. 111–36. 1983 “Adamo ed Eva.” DPAC 1, cols. 42–5. “Alessandro di Alessandria.” DPAC 1, cols. 132–3. “Alessandro di Constantinopoli.” DPAC 1, cols. 135–6. “Apollinare di Laodicea, Apollinarismo.” DPAC 1, cols. 281–5. “Arius and the Arians.” TS 44 (1983). 456–75. [also included in Arius and Athanasius (1991)] Athanase d’Alexandrie, évêque et écrivain: une lecture des traités Contre les Ariens. TH 70. Paris: Beauchesne, 1983. “Bulletin de théologie patristique.” RSR 71 (1983). 539–62. “Constantinopoli 381.” DPAC 1, cols. 813–6.


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“Elia profeta.” DPAC 1, cols. 1132–3. “Eusebio di Nicomedia.” DPAC 1, cols. 1296–9. 1984 “Athanasius von Alexandrien.” Gestalten der Kirchengeschichte. Band 1: Alte Kirche I. Ed. M. Greschat. Stuttgart: W. Kohlhammer, 1984. 266–83. “La Bible et la crise arienne.” Le monde grec ancien et la Bible. Ed. C. Mondésert. Bible de Tous les temps 1. Ed. C. Kannengiesser. Paris: Beauchesne, 1984. 301–12. “Les ‘Blasphèmes d’Arius’ (Athanase d’Alexandrie, De synodis 15): Un écrit neo-arien.” Mémorial André-Jean Festugière: antiquite païenne et chrétienne. Vingt-cinq études. Ed. E. Lucchesi and H.D. Saffrey. CahO 10. Genève: P. Cramer, 1984. 143–51. “Bulletin de théologie patristique: I. Gnoses antiques. II. Alexandrie chrétienne. III. Quatrième siècle oriental. IV. Encyclopédies et ouvrages collectifs.” RSR 72 (1984). 591–627. “Origenes, Augustin und der Paradigmenwechsel in der Theologie.” Theologie, wohin? Auf dem Weg zu einem neuen Paradigma. Ed. H. Küng and D. Tracy. ÖT 11. Zürich/Köln/Gütersloh: Benziger/Gütersloher Verlagshaus Mohn, 1984. 151–67. 1985 “The Athanasian Decade (1974–1984).” TS 46 (1985). 524–41. [also included in Arius and Athanasius (1991)] “La Bible dans le cadre des controverses ariennes en Occident.” Le Monde latin antique et la Bible. Ed. J. Fontaine. Bible de Tous les Temps 2. Ed. C. Kannengiesser. Paris: Beauchesne, 1985. 543–64. “The Blasphemies of Arius (Athanasius De synodis 15).” Arianism: Historical and Theological Reassessments: Papers from the Ninth International Conference on Patristic Studies, September 5–10, 1983, Oxford, England. Ed. R.C. Gregg. PMS 11. Cambridge, MA: Philadelphia Patristic Foundation, 1985. 59–78. [also included in Arius and Athanasius (1991)] “Bulletin de Théologie Patristique: I. Sources latines. II. Thèmes et ouvrages généraux.” RSR 73 (1985). 603–27.

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“The Spiritual Message of the Great Fathers.” Christian Spirituality: Origins to the Twelfth Century. Ed. B. McGinn and J. Meyerdorff, in collaboration with J. Leclercq. World Spirituality 16. New York: Crossroad, 1985. 61–88. 1986 “Athanasius of Alexandria vs. Arius: the Alexandrian Crisis.” The Roots of Egyptian Christianity. Ed. B.A. Pearson and J. Goehring. Studies in Antiquity and Christianity. New York: Fortress, 1986. 204–15. [also included in Arius and Athanasius (1991)] “Augustine on Love: Response to Fr. Tarcisius van Bavel, The Double Face of Love in Augustine.” AugS 17 (1986). 187–90. “Begriff und Ziel historischer Theologie heute.” Kairos 28 (1986). 1–10. “Bulletin de Théologie Patristique.” RSR 74 (1986). 575–614. Early Christian Spirituality. Trans. P. Bright. Ed. C. Kannengiesser. SECT. New York: Fortress, 1986. “L’Essor actuel de la patristique.” La Foi et le temps 16 (1986). 156–62. “New Origins and Foundations of Christian Theology.” Grail 2 (1986). 70–80. 1987 “À propos du témoin syriaque Cod. Vat. syr. 104.” Texte und Textkritik. Eine Aufsatzsammlung. Ed. J. Irmscher, et al. TU 133. Berlin: AkademieVerlag, 1987. 283–86. “Arianism.” ER. 1.405–6. “Arius.” ER. 1.412. “Athanasius von Alexandrien in heutiger Sicht.” ZKT 109 (1987). 276–93. “Athanasius of Alexandria.” ER. 1.478–9. “Athenagoras.” ER. 1.491. “Cyril of Alexandria.” ER. 4.192–3.


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“L’Énigme de la lettre au philosophe Maxime d’Athanase d’Alexandrie.” Alexandrina. Hellénisme, judaïsme et christianisme à Alexandrie: mélanges offerts au P. Claude Mondésert. Paris: Cerf, 1987. 261–76. “Literarische Leistung und geistiges Erbe des Athanasius von Alexandrien in heutiger Sicht.” WSt 100 (1987). 155–73. [also included in Arius and Athanasius (1991)] “Origenes im christlichen Abendland bis zur Zeit der Reformation.” Origeniana quarta: die Referate des 4. Internationalen Origeneskongresses (Innsbruck, 2.–6. September 1985). Ed. L. Lies. ITS 19. Innsbruck/Wien: TyroliaVerlag, 1987. 465–470. 1988 “Athanasius of Alexandria: A Paradigm for the Church of Today.” Pacifica (Victoria, Australia) 1 (1988). 85–99. [also included in Arius and Athanasius (1991)] “Divine Trinity and the Structure of Peri Archon.” Origen. His World and His Legacy. Ed. C. Kannengiesser and W. Petersen. Notre Dame: University of Notre Dame Press, 1988. 231–49. Origen of Alexandria: His World and His Legacy. Edd. C. Kannengiesser and W.L. Petersen. CJA 1. Notre Dame: University of Notre Dame Press, 1988. “St. Athanasius of Alexandria Rediscovered: His Political and Pastoral Achievement.” CCR 9 (1988). 68–74. “Schriftauslegung als Ursache aller Konflikte: Die Tragödie des Origenes.” Gegenentwürfe: 24 Lebensläufe für eine andere Theologie. Ed. H. Häring and K.-J. Kuschel. München: Piper, 1988. 25–36. 1989 A Conflict of Christian Hermeneutics in Roman Africa: Tyconius and Augustine. With Pamela Bright. Colloquium 58. Berkeley: Center for Hermeneutical Studies in Hellenistic and Modern Culture, 1989. “Fifty Years of Patristics.” TS 50 (1989). 633–56. “The Homiletic Festal Letters of Athanasius.” Preaching in the Patristic Age. Studies in Honour of Walter J. Burghardt, S.J. Ed. D.G. Hunter. New York: Paulist, 1989. 73–100. [also included in Arius and Athanasius (1991)]

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“In der Schule der Väter.” Hans Urs von Balthasar, Gestalt und Werk. Ed. K. Lehmann and W. Kasper. Köln: Communio, 1989. 78–84. “Listening to the Fathers.” Communio 16 (1989). 413–18. “Questions ouvertes sur Athanase d’Alexandrie.” Vox patrum 16 (1989). 689–705. “Wspolczense Studiowanie Ojcow Koscioka.” Vox patrum 16 (1989). 148–54. 1990 “Alexander and Arius of Alexandria: The Last Ante-Nicene Theologians.” Pléroma: Salus carnis; homenaje a Antonio Orbe, S.J. Ed. E. RomeroPose. Santiago de Compostela: Compostellanum, 1990. 391–403. [also included in Arius and Athanasius (1991)] “Divine Love Poetry: The Song of Songs.” Hebrew Bible or Old Testament? Studying the Bible in Judaism and Christianity. Ed. R. Brooks and J.J. Collins. Notre Dame, IN: University of Notre Dame Press, 1990. 211–15. Le Verbe de Dieu selon Athanase d’Alexandrie. Paris: Desclée, 1990. [21999] 1991 Arius and Athanasius: Two Alexandrian Theologians. Collected Studies 353. Aldershot: Variorum, 1991. “Athanasius of Alexandria. Some Open Questions.” Coptologia. Journal of Coptic Thought and Orthodox Spirituality 12 (1991). 27–48. “The Bible as Read in the Early Church: Patristic Exegesis and Its Presuppositions.” The Bible and Its Readers. Ed. W. Beuken, S. Freye, and A. Weiler. London: SCM Press/Philadelphia, PA: Trinity Press International, 1991. 29–36. “The Future of Patristics.” TS 52 (1991). 128–39. “Scripture Interpreted: The Definition of Catholic Theology.” Faith Seeking Understanding: Learning and the Catholic Tradition. Selected Papers from the Symposium and Convocation Celebrating the Saint Anselm College Centennial. Ed. G.C. Bertold. Manchester, NH: Saint Anselm College Press, 1991. 13–24.


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1992 “Athanasiana and Pseudo-Athanasiana. Alfred Stülken Reconsidered.” Festschrift H.J. Vogt. Tübingen, 1992. 136–52. “Eusebius of Caesarea, Origenist.” Eusebius, Christianity and Judaism. Ed. Gohei Hata. Tokyo: Yamamoto Shoten Publishing House, 1992 [in Japanese]. Ed. H. Attridge, Detroit: Wayne State University Press in America, 1992. [in English]. 435–66. Platonism in Late Antiquity (Festschrift Edouard des Places, S.J.). Ed. S. Gersh and C. Kannengiesser. CJA 8. Notre Dame: University of Notre Dame Press, 1992. 1993 “Apollinarius von Laodikeia.” LTK 3. 1.826–8. “Arius and the Arians.” Doctrines of God and Christ in the Early Church. Ed. E. Ferguson. SEC 9. New York, 1993. 456–75. “Athanasius der Grosse.” LTK 3. 1.1126–30. “Athanasius’ So-Called Third Oration against the Arians.” SP XXVI. Leuven: Peeters, 1993. 375–88. “Local Setting and Motivation of De doctrina christiana.” Augustine: Presbyter factus sum. Ed. J.T. Lienhard, E.C. Muller, and R. Teske. CollAug 3. New York: P. Lang, 1993. 331–40. “Origen, Systematician in De principiis.” Origeniana quinta: Papers of the 5th International Origen Congress, Boston College, 14–18 August 1989. Ed. R.J. Daly. Leuven: University Press/Peeters, 1992. 395–405. “(Ps-)Athanasius, Ad Afros Examined.” Logos: Festschrift für Luise Abramowski zum 8. Juli 1993. Ed. H.C. Brennecke, et al. BZNW 67. Berlin/New York: W. de Gruyter, 1993. 264–80. “Un certain Athanase.” Penser la foi: recherches en théologie aujourd’hui. Mélanges offerts à Joseph Moingt. Ed. J. Doré and C. Theobald. Paris: Cerf, 1993. 425–36. 1994 “Basilius v. Caesarea.” LTK 3. 2.67–9.

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“Quintilian, Tyconius, and Augustine.” ICS 19 (1994) [Festschrift Marcovich]. 239–54. 1995 “Approche biblique et discours éthique face au problème de la contraception dans Veritatis splendor.” Drames humains et foi chrétienne: approches éthiques et théologiques. Actes du Congrès 1994 de la Société canadienne de théologie. Ed. C. Ménard. Héritage et projet. Éthique chrétienne 55. Montréal: Fides, 1995. 121–28. “Athanasius of Alexandria and the Ascetic Movement of His Time.” Asceticism. Ed. V.L. Wimbush and R. Valantasis. New York: Oxford University Press, 1995. 479–92. “Antony, Athanasius, Evagrius: The Egyptian Fate of Origenism.” CCR 16 (1995). 3–8. Augustine: De doctrina christiana. A Classic of Western Culture. An International Colloquium Convened by C. Kannengiesser, April 4–7, 1991, University of Notre Dame. Ed. D.H.W. Arnold and P. Bright. Notre Dame: University of Notre Dame Press, 1995. “Diodoros.” LTK 3. 3.238 “Dorotheos v. Antiochien.” LTK 3. 3.347. “Eusebios v. Dorylaion.” LTK 3. 3.1010. “Eustathios v. Berytos.” LTK 3. 3.1015. “Eutherios v. Tyana.” LTK 3. 3.1019–20. “Firmos v. Caesarea.” LTK 3. 3.1298. “Flavian I v. Antiochien.” LTK 3. 3.1315. “Écriture et théologie trinitaire d’Origène” Origeniana sexta. Origène et la Bible = Origen and the Bible: actes du Colloquium Origenianum Sextum Chantilly, 30 août–3 septembre 1993. Ed. G. Dorival and A. Le Boulluec, with the assistance of M. Alexandre, et al. BETL 118. Leuven: Leuven University Press/Peeters, 1995. 351–64. “Enseigner les Origines du christianisme dans le cadre actuel des sciences religieuses au Québec.” Religiologiques 11 (1995). 111–19.


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“État des travaux et des involvements de travail sur la réception de la Bible à 1’époque patristique.” La Documentation patristique: bilan et prospective. Ed. J.-C. Fredoville and R.-M. Roberge. Québec/Paris: Presses de l’Université Laval/Presses de l’Université de Paris-Sorbonne, 1995. 71–82. “The Interrupted De doctrina christiana.” Augustine: De doctrina christiana. A Classic of Western Culture. An International Colloquium Convened by C. Kannengiesser, April 4–7, 1991, University of Notre Dame. Ed. D.H.W. Arnold and P. Bright. Notre Dame, IN: University of Notre Dame Press, 1995. 3–13. “Mystagogie chez les Pères de l’Église.” Liturgie, foi et culture vol. 29, no. 142 (1995). 41–7. “ ‘Il est grand le mystère de la foi’: Une exploration contemporaine du sens de l’eucharistie.” Liturgie, foi et culture vol. 29, no. 144 (1995). 11–26. “La leçon des Écritures.” Liturgie, foi et culture vol. 29, no. 144 (1995). 27–34. “Die Sonderstellung der dritten Arianerrede des Athanasius.” ZKG 106 (1995). 18–53. “La Splendeur de la vérité dans les ténèbres de l’histoire.” Actes du colloque de Sherbrooke, 25 janvier 1994. Ed. J. Desclos. Montréal, 1995. 1996 “Athanasius von Alexandrien als Exeget.” Stimuli: Exegese und ihre Hermeneutik in Antike und Christentum. Festschrift für Ernst Dassmann. Ed. G. Schöllgen und C. Scholten. JbACE 23. Münster: Aschendorff, 1996. 336–43. “The Meeting between Classical Philosophy and Christian Exegesis in Ancient Alexandria.” Studies in Medieval Thought (Tokyo) 38 (1996). “My Life-Long Adventure with Saint Athanasius.” Patristica (Tokyo) 3 (1996). 1–13. 1997 “Apollinaris of Laodicea.” EEC 2. 79–81.

556


“Arius.” EEC 2. 114–5. “Athanasius.” EEC 2. 137–40. “Henri-Irénée Marrou.” LTK 3. 6.1414. “Spirituality.” EEC 2. 1086–88. 1998 “Apollinaris von Laodicea.” RGG 4. 1: 606–608. “Arianisme.” DTC. 85–7. “Athanase.” DTC. 95–6. “The Athanasian Understanding of Scripture.” The Early Church in Its Context. Essays in Honor of Everett Ferguson. Ed. A.J. Malherbe, et al. NovTSup 90. Leiden: Brill, 1998. “Augustine of Hippo (354–430).” Historical Handbook of Major Biblical Interpreters. Ed. D.K. McKim. Downers Grove, IL: InterVarsity Press, 1998. 22–28. “The Bible and the Arian Crisis.” The Bible in the Greek Christian Antiquity. Ed. and trans. P.M. Blowers. Notre Dame: University of Notre Dame Press, 1998. 217–28. “Biblical Interpretation in the Early Church.” Historical Handbook of Major Biblical Interpreters. Ed. D.K. McKim. Downers Grove, IL: InterVarsity Press, 1998. 1–16. “Consubstantiel.” DTC. 269–70. “How Has the Bible Exercised Power to Guide the Faithful in the Early History of the Church?” The International Bible Commentary, A Catholic and Ecumenical Commentary for the Twenty-First Century. Ed. W.R. Farmer. Collegeville, Minnesota, 1998. 46–7. “Nero.” LTK 3. 7.741–2. “Nicée I.” DTC. 798–9. “The ‘Speaking God’ and Irenaeus’ Interpretive Patterns: The Reception of Genesis.” ASE 15 (1998). 337–52.


557

1999 “Arius.” DBI. 1.57. “A Select Bibliography (1945–1995).” Augustine and the Bible. Ed. and trans. P. Bright. The Bible through the Ages 2. Notre Dame: University of Notre Dame Press, 1999. 319–32. “Athanasius.” DBI. 1.83–4. “Athenagoras.” DBI. 1.84. “Augustine and Tyconius: A Conflict of Christian Hermeneutics in Roman Africa.” Augustine and the Bible. Ed. and trans. P. Bright. The Bible through the Ages 2. Notre Dame: University of Notre Dame Press, 1999. 149–77. “Lady Wisdom’s Final Call: The Patristic Recovery of Proverbs 8.” Nova doctrina vetusque. Essays on Early Christianity in Honor of Fredric W. Schlatter, S.J. Ed. C. Brown Tkacz and D. Kries. American University Studies, ser. VII, Theology and Religion 207. New York: P. Lang, 1999. 65–78. “Universalism and Cultural Diversity in Christian Foundations.” Culture, Religion and the Problem of Universalism. Ed. You Shibata. Occasional Paper 7 (Meiji Gakuin Daigaku. Institute for International Studies). Yokohama, Japan: Meiji Gakuin University, 1999. 91–8. “Das Vermächtnis des ‘fleissigen’ Origenes zur Theologie des Athanasius.” Origeniana septima: Origenes in den Auseinandersetzungen des 4. Jahrhunderts. Ed. W. Bienert and U. Kühneweg. BETL 137. Leuven: Leuven University Press/Peeters, 1999. 173–84. 2000 “Athanasius.” The Oxford Companion to Christian Thought. Ed. A. Hastings, et al. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2000. 47–9. “Iulianus VI ( Julianos von Halikarnassos).” RAC. Cols. 505–8. “My Life-Long Adventure with Athanasius.” Patristica (Tokyo) 1 (2000). 5–17. “Sisinnios, novatian. Bf. von Konstantinopel.” LTK 3. 9.635–6. “Theognostos von Alexandrien.” LTK 3. 9.1429.

558


“A Century in Quest of Origen’s Spirituality.” Origene maestro di vita spirituale/Origen: Master of Spiritual Life. Milano, 13–15 settembre 1999. Ed. L.F. Pizzolato and M. Rizzi. SPM 22. Milano: Vita e pensiero, 2001. 3–19. “A Farewell to Antiquity: Boethius, Cassiodorus, Gregory the Great.” The Medieval Theologians. Ed. G.R. Evans. Oxford/Malden, MA: Blackwell, 2001. 24–36. “L’Histoire des Ariens d’Athanase d’Alexandrie: une historiographie de combat au IVe siècle.” L’Historiographie de l’église des premiers siècles. Ed. B. Pouderon and Y.-M. Duval. TH 114. Paris: Beuschesne, 2001. 127–38. “Prolegomena to the Biography of Athanasius.” Adamantius 7 (2001). 25–43. “Ticonius, donatist. Theologe.” LTK 3. 10.23–4. 2002 “A Key for the Future of Patristics: The ‘Senses’ of Scripture.” In Dominico eloquio—In Lordly Eloquence. Essays on Patristic Exegesis in Honor of Robert Louis Wilken. Ed. P.M. Blowers, et al. Grand Rapids/Cambridge: Eerdmans, 2002. 90–106. “Tyconius of Carthage, the Earliest Latin Theoretician of Biblical Hermeneutics: The Current Debate.” Historiam perscrutari: miscellanea di studi offerti al prof. Ottorino Pasquato. Ed. M. Maritano. BSR 180. Roma: LAS, 2002. 297–311. 2003 “Athanasius von Alexandrien: Apologia contra Arianos, Epistola de decretis Nicaenae synodi, Orationes tres contra Arianos, Contra Gentes, De incarnatione verbi.” Lexikon der theologischen Werke. Ed. M. Eckert, et al. Stuttgart: Alfred Kröner, 2003. “Early Christian Spirituality.” Southwestern Journal of Theology 45 (2003). 4–19.


559

“On Divine Incarnation: In Dialog with Marie Campbell.” Word in the World [Graduate Journal of Theological Studies, Concordia University] 1 (2003). 25–29. “Origen’s Doctrine Transmittted by Antony the Hermit and Athanasius of Alexandria.” Origeniana octava: Origen and the Alexandrian Tradition—Origene e la tradizione alessandrina. Papers of the 8th International Origen Congress, Pisa, 27–31 August 2001. Ed. L. Perrone. BETL 164. Leuven: Leuven University Press/Peeters, 2003. 889–99. “Scripture and Spirituality in Ancient Christianity.” Prayer and Spirituality in the Early Church. Volume 3: Liturgy and Life. Ed. P. Allen, et al. Strathfield, NSW/Virginia, QLD: St. Paul’s/Centre for Early Christian Studies, Australian Catholic University, 2003. 3–15. 2004 Handbook of Patristic Exegesis. 2 vols. BAC 1. Brill, Leiden: Brill, 2004. [Reprinted in one volume, 2006] “A Summer with Hildegard.” Word in the World [Graduate Journal of Theological Studies, Concordia University] 2 (2004). 97–104. 2006 “The Dating of Athanasius’ Double Apology and Three Treatises Against the Arians,” ZAC 10 (2006). 19–33. “Un avenir pour l’herméneutique patristique.” Les Péres de l’église dans le monde d’aujourd’hui: actes du colloque international organisé par le New Europe College. Ed. C. Badilita and C. Kannengiesser. Paris/Bucarest: Beauchesne/Curtea Veche, 2006. 37–49. Les Péres de l’église dans le monde d’aujourd’hui: actes du colloque international organisé par le New Europe College. Ed. C. Badilita and C. Kannengiesser. Paris/Bucarest: Beauchesne/Curtea Veche, 2006. 2008 “Scripture as a Legacy of the Fathers.” The Reception and Interpretation of the Bible in Late Antiquity: Proceedings of the Montréal Colloquium in Honour of Charles Kannengiesser, 11–13 October 2006. Ed. L. DiTommaso and L. Turcescu. BAC 6. Leiden/Boston: Brill, 2008. 529–41.

560

works of charles kannengiesser Forthcoming

Athanasius: Orations Against the Arians. Ed., trans., and commentary. SC. Paris: Cerf: 2009. Handbook of Patristic Exegesis. Revised and updated ed. Leiden/Boston: Brill. 22009. Histoire de la littérature grecque chrétienne, III: le quatrième siècle. Ed. C. Kannengiesser and P. Maraval. Paris: Cerf, 2009. Athanasius of Alexandria (299–373): The Spiritual Journey. Oxford: Blackwell.

INDEX OF ANCIENT SOURCES Hebrew Bible Genesis

1 1–3 1:1 1:2 1:7 1:9–13 1:26 1:26–27 1:26–28 1:27 2:7 2:15 2:15–17 2:17 2:18 2:18–20 2:19 2:19–20 2:20 2:21–22 2:21–23 2:24 3:4–5 3:5 3:7 3:8 3:14–19 3:16 3:17–19 3:20 3:22 4:1 4:2 4:2–16 4:25 6:1–4 6:7 6:8 11:1–9 12

6, 50, 124, 249, 372, 372 n. 12, 373, 378–380, 385, 387, 387 n. 43, 415, 415 n. 88, 484, 512, 515, 523, 525 58 369, 372 n. 13 202, 353 376, 380 n. 30, 381 n. 31 512 63 n. 43 344, 370, 518, 520 369, 376, 376 n. 18, 382, 388, 519 201–202 519 369, 376, 380, 382, 519–520 383–384 382 388, 390 n. 46 380 382 381, 388 381–382 380–381 385, 519–520 385 170, 173, 387 385 382 388, 390 n. 46 386, 388 388 178 385 380 n. 30, 385 388 178, 246 246 246 246 481 52 52 60 n. 28 235, 242

12:1 14 15 15:1 15:4 15:4–5 15:5 15:5–6 15:6 17:1–14 17:5 17:8 18 20 22 24:12 25:8 26 32–33 50:19

243 n. 34 243 49 243 n. 35 49 47 48–49 49 47, 50 n. 29 48 48–49 48 4 235, 242 242 51 415 n. 88 243 248 249, 249 n. 38

Exodus 3:14 9:16 15:27 17:8–16 19:15 20:5 22 32:27 32:32 32:33 33:1 33:19

476, 531 7 n. 10, 344, 350 96 n. 39 355 240 n. 30 177, 183 389 11 240 n. 29 239 n. 27 239 n. 28 52 52

Leviticus

3, 205–206, 216, 220, 298, 443, 466, 531 11 11 11 11 11 216 n. 48 216 n. 48 11

5 5:1 5:2 5:3 5:4 6:15 6:22 11–15

562

index of ancient sources

14:2–9 22:4–7

267 267

Isaiah

Numbers 12:1–9 23:24

476, 531 41 297

Deuteronomy 4:12 5:9 17:2–5 21:23 22 32

27 n. 49, 205–207, 475–476, 531 381 389 426 387 30 30 n. 82

Joshua 24:1–15

234

1 Samuel 12:23–25 21:4 26

12 237 177, 183 241 n. 32

1:3 1:8 1:10–15 1:14–15 3:4 6:10 8:14 11:2–3 29:13 35:5–6 40–55 42:21 45:6 45:23 46:9 53:3–4 56–66 56:5 61:1–2 65:22

2 Samuel

12

Jeremiah

1 Kings 2:8 17 17:3–6 17:8–16 17:17–24 17:45 18:40 18:46 21:17–29

12, 27 n. 49 241 n. 33 40 397 n. 10 111 111 111 111 244 111

5 7:16 11:14 14:11 15 20:8–9 20:9 25:11–12 29:10

2 Kings 1 1:9–12 2:23–24 2:23–25 2:24 3:13–20 4:18–36 4:42–44 5:8–14 5:20–27 6:15–23 6:18 13:20–21 19–22

12, 27 n. 49 111 111 111, 114, 245 112 n. 29 245 111 111 111 111 111 244 111 111 109

Ezekiel

27 n. 49, 30 n. 82, 32, 34–35, 212, 319, 372 n. 12, 404 n. 36, 531 500 33 33 33 n. 99 114 388 390 59–60 33 n. 101 72 475, 531 51 369 277 369 44 475, 531 185 218 384 n. 39 27 n. 49, 30 n. 82, 372 n. 12, 404 n. 36 29 237 n. 22 237 n. 22 237 n. 22 29 238 n. 23 238 157 157

1:1 1:3 2:10 3 20:2–38 33:1 37

27 n. 49, 30 n. 82, 372 n. 12 154 154 218 479 n. 40 234 39 4

The Twelve Hosea Joel 2:25 Amos 3:3–6 Jonah Micah 7:2

372 n. 12 27 n. 49 343 139 n. 68 128 n. 27, 139 39–40 27 n. 49 31 n. 91

septuagint Habakkuk 2:4 Psalms

2:6 2:7 11:2 17:2 37:4 46:9 61:12 77:1–72 77:5 80 80:14–15 90:1 106:30–31 117:6–7 118 118:164 135:1–26 Proverbs

47 3, 9, 27 n. 49, 34–35, 369, 372 n. 12, 398, 401, 401 nn 23–25, 402–404, 404 n. 36, 416, 478 n. 37, 525, 531 344 381 31 n. 89 66 525 241, 241 n. 31 31 n. 85 234 218 66 n. 5 24 n. 37, 35 n. 111 66 52 66 403, 403 nn 31.33, 404 n. 36 403 234

1:6 3:18 8:22 8:22–25 8:22–31 17:2 22:15

3, 306 n. 71, 404 nn 35–36, 466, 478 n. 37, 525 218, 301 525 339, 343 344 344 51 114

Job 14:18–19

10 10

Song of Songs

10, 287, 288, 288 nn 4.7, 289, 289 nn 8.11, 290– 294, 294 n. 24, 295, 295 n. 28, 296, 296 n. 31, 297–303, 306, 309–311,

563

1:2 1:3–1:4 1:4 1:15 1:16 2:3 2:8–9 2:13–14 4:5

312 n. 89, 315, 478 n. 37, 513 309 307 287 308 308, 314 307 313 312 n. 89 302

Lamentations 4 4:20

33 205

Ecclesiastes (Qoheleth) 11 11:13 12:13

27 n. 49, 31, 302, 478 n. 37 29 31 n. 86 31 n. 87

Esther

298, 334, 468 n. 4

Daniel

27 n. 49, 152, 152 n. 30, 153, 156–158, 158 n. 48, 263 n. 62, 470, 475 n. 27, 485 n. 59, 487 158 n. 49 403 n. 31 29–30, 153, 157, 157 n. 43, 158 nn 49–50 30 n. 84 218 30 n. 84 153–154 153 153–154 153, 153 n. 35, 157, 158 n. 49 153

2 6:11 7 7:9–10 7:10 7:13–15 8 8:1–4 8:15–20 9 10–12

Ezra-Nehemiah 9:6–38 234 2 Chronicles

5

Septuagint Genesis 2:7 3:1

379 370 n. 4

Deuteronomy 7:15

70

Nehemiah 8:8

40 n. 10

564


Psalms 9:2 24:16 32:1 44:8 45:11 50:12 77:1–2 85:16 90 (91) 95:6 96:1 109:3 110:10 (111:10)

273 270 277 343 399 n. 16 357 281 270 69, 69 n. 25 273 344 344 60 n. 31

Proverbs 2:5 8:22 8:22–30 8:25 23–30

353 n. 25, 356 306, 306 n. 71 353–354, 356–358 358 356–357 358

Wisdom

298, 468 n. 4, 478 n. 37, 531 376 n. 18

2:23–24

10:16–11:14 12:24–25 15:14 18:1

234 114 114 381

Sirach 30:1–13 44:1–50:24

3, 27 n. 49, 327–328, 468 n. 4, 483 114 234

Judith 5:5–21

298, 468 n. 4 234

Tobit

298, 468 n. 4

Zechariah 3:1

351

Baruch

479 n. 42

1 Maccabees 2:51–59

234

4 Maccabees 16:2–25

234

Peshitta Genesis 50:19

249 New Testament

Matthew

1:1 2:13ss. 3:6 3:10 3:17 4:2 4:4 4:17–5:12 4:23

27 n. 49, 32, 65–66, 69–70, 70 n. 33, 71, 79–80, 106–108, 112, 121, 135, 210, 259, 262, 435–436, 531 66 379 273 126, 129, 134, 137, 423, 423 n. 19 344, 381 264 265 70 65–66, 66 n. 2, 68, 68 n. 19, 69, 69 n. 27, 71–72, 72 nn 40.44, 73–74, 76, 78 n. 83, 79–81

4:23–24 5:6 5:17 5:44 6:20 6:21 7 7:7 7:12 7:13–14 7:16 7:17 7:17–19 7:17–20 7:18 7:20 7:24–28 8:14–15 8:26–27

66, 69 62 125 n. 12 239 302 423–424 142 107 239 142 134 128 nn 26–27, 139, 141 125 126, 139 n. 65, 422 134, 136 128, 136 142 66 n. 2 66 n. 2

new testament 8:28 9:12 9:35

10:1 10:11–15 10:42 11:20–24 11:27 12:33 12:40–41 13:35 14:28–31 15:8 15:13 16:1 16:4 17:2 18:10 19:3 19:6 19:12 19:21 21:22 22:37–39 23 23:37 24:19 25:31 26:1–2 26:3 26:3–4 26:14–16 26:27 26:57 28:19 Mark 1:1 1:5 1:10–11 1:11 1:12–13 2:2 2:17 3:1–6 3:13–19 4:1

268 282 65–66, 66 n. 2, 68, 68 n. 19, 69, 69 n. 27, 71–72, 72 nn 40.44, 73–74, 76, 78 n. 83, 80–81 65, 69, 72 n. 40, 73 n. 45, 74 112 425 112 344, 347–348 126, 139, 141–142 40 281 66 n. 2 33 n. 101 125 n. 19, 129, 137, 138 n. 63 383 40 304 425 383 170 185 412 n. 74 426 61 33, 112 33, 33 n. 98 183, 183 n. 64, 185 383 436 383 384 436 205 383 355 27 n. 49, 70 n. 33, 106–108, 112, 121, 210, 435–436, 517, 531 66, 213 273 381 381 383 383 282 107 383 383

565

5:1 5:9 5:21 6:15 6:30 7:1 8:28 10:13–16 12:30 12:36 13:7–8 14:10–11

268 164 383 111 383 383 111 115 517 426 155 436

Luke

27 n. 49, 70 n. 33, 102, 102 n. 5, 103, 106–110, 112–113, 115–117, 121, 210, 257–258, 261, 284, 404 n. 36, 435–436, 531 66 112 110 351 110 212 110 110 101, 107, 117–119 115 115 102 102, 110 102 107 126, 129 381 263 265 110 107 218 110 267 110 110 282–283 112 128 n. 26 126, 128 n. 26, 134–135, 422 135 n. 59 127, 136 135, 135 n. 59, 138 n. 64 110 110

1:1 1:20 1:23 1:32 1:56 2:9–14 2:20 2:39 2:41–52 2:46 2:47 2:49 2:51 2:52 3:2 3:9 3:22 4:1 4:3 4:14 4:16–22 4:18 4:30 5:12 5:16 5:25 5:31 6:24–36 6:43 6:43–44 6:43–45 6:44 6:45 7:10 7:50

566


8:26 8:33 8:39 8:41 9:5 9:8 9:38–41 9:56 10:10–12 10:13 10:37 10:21 10:22 10:42 11 11:2 11:2–3 11:4 11:9 11:9–13 11:27 11:29–32 12:58 14:1 15:3 17:14 17:19 20:27–36 22:3 22:3–6 23:13 23:35 23:49 24:12 24:20 24:52

268, 269 n. 74, 284 268 110 379 112 111 270 110 112 112 110 272, 276 275 188 33 n. 104, 112 276 276 276 276 107 107 40 278 379 279–280, 284 110 110 523 423, 436 436 379 379 110 110 379 110

John

27 n. 49, 70 n. 33, 106, 108, 210, 259, 356, 435, 531 69 344, 347, 354 66 344 218 344–345 381 n. 32 117 426 294 n. 25 66 n. 2 381 471 n. 15 107

1 1:1 1:1–2 1:3 1:14 1:18 1:32–33 2:11 3:19 4:35 5:2–9 5:25 6:25 7:34

8:22 8:23 8:42 8:44 10:30 10:38 10:39 10:40–11:44 11:47 11:57 12:28 13:2 14:6 14:9 14:10 14:24 15:13 16:7ff. 16:15 17:1–2 17:1–5 17:5 17:10 17:11 17:21 17:21–22 17:24 18:13 18:24 19:34 20:17 20:30–31

377 375 344 32 n. 95 344, 348–349, 359–361 359 379 66 n. 2 379 379 275, 362 436 353 n. 25 348, 359–360 359 344 426 422 344, 359 362 344 362 359 361 201, 222 n. 55, 362 244 201, 222 n. 55 107 107 386 436 56 n. 8

Acts 1:16–20 3:17 4:5 4:6 4:8 5:1–11 9:39 11:36 12:20–23 13:6–11 28:3–6

102, 106–110, 112–113, 116–117, 412 n. 72 112 379 379 107 379 112, 112 n. 29 112 343 112 112 107

Romans 1:2 1:3 1:16 1:16–17 1:18–23 1:20

46 218 281 221 47 376 348

new testament 1:28–32 2:16 3:12 3:16–18 3:18 4 4:14–17 4:17 4:19–24 4:23–24 4:25 6:4 6:10 7:12 7:14 7:22 8:19–21 8:26 9:33 12:21 13:13 14:9

33 213 31 nn 90–91 29 29 n. 69 47, 50 47–48 49 49 49 49–50 178 168 170 216 297 347 355 390 249 n. 37 178 277

1 Corinthians 1:24 2:7 2:7ss. 2:10 2:12–16 2:13–16 2:14 2:15 3:2 3:3 3:11 6 6:13 6:16–17 7

517 221, 347, 354 305 379 275 385 41 375–377, 518 518 281, 297, 298 n. 39 518 353 n. 25, 355, 358 178 n. 49 177 178 n. 49 163–165, 167, 170–172, 172 n. 25, 173, 175–176, 178–179, 181–185, 187–188, 190–191, 191 n. 89 166 108 n. 21 166, 168, 176–178, 180 n. 50, 182–183, 183 n. 63 298 176 166, 173, 175, 178, 182 n. 59 183–186 166, 185, 189 179

7:1 7:2 7:5 7:6 7:7 7:9 7:26 7:28 7:29

567

7:29–31 7:33–34 7:38 10:11 12:9–10 13:1 13:5 13:8 13:12 15:9 15:22 15:28 15:35–38 15:42 15:45 15:51–52 15:52–54 15:54

425 166, 434 189–190 44 n. 20, 209 28 106–107 175 188 208–209, 218 423 169 n. 14 202 376 386 303 n. 61 524 386 218

2 Corinthians 3:3 3:6 3:14–16 3:18 4:16 8:18 12:1–5

96 218 302–303, 303 n. 61 209 399 n. 17 297 213 434

Galatians 2 3:7 3:10 3:24 3:27 3:28 4:2 4:24

189 47 n. 25 387 201 96 n. 38 523 211 513

Ephesians 1:13 2:15 2:17 2:19 4:13 4:25 5 5:8 5:8–10 5:27 5:31 5:31–32 6:11–12 6:12

173, 373–374, 517 213 357 218 277 387 412 n. 74 176 140 140 186 173 170, 386 373, 375–376 399 n. 18

568


Philippians 2:5–11 2:6–11 2:7 2:9 2:9–10 2:10–11 2:11 4:3

339, 351 344 205, 421 339, 343, 351 351 277 273–274 218

Colossians 1:13–20 1:15 1:20 2:20

344 344–345, 349, 354, 359 218 168

11:17–19 11:20 11:21 11:22 11:23–25 11:23–28 11:29 11:30 11:31 11:32 11:33–37 11:39–40 11:40 13:4

232 232 235, 238, 238 nn 24–25, 251 232, 242 232 232 232 232 238 233 233 233 233 233 231–233 231 n. 13, 236, 238, 251 181

James

27 n. 49, 468 n. 3

1 Peter

27 n. 49

2 Peter

468 n. 3, 488 n. 65

1 John 3:2 3:15

27 n. 49, 32 201, 222 n. 54 33

2 John

468 n. 3

3 John

468 n. 3

2 Timothy 3:1–4 32

Jude 1:9 1:14–15

468 n. 3 498 471 n. 15, 498

Hebrews

Revelation

130 n. 43, 153, 207 n. 33, 215 n. 47, 488 n. 65 222 130 n. 43 218 193, 193 n. 3, 194, 194 n. 3, 195 n. 8, 199–200, 200 n. 24, 203, 204 n. 29, 205, 207, 212–215, 218, 221, 223 218 218 130 n. 43 130 n. 43

1 Thessalonians 5:17 182–183 5:23 517 1 Timothy 2:5 2:14–15 2:15 3:2 3:4–5 3:12 3:16 4:1–3 4:1–5 5:14 5:14–15 6:10

5:9 5:12 5:13 5:14 8:5 10:1 11 11:1–3 11:4 11:5–6

170 343–344 181 172 167 167 167 218–219 167, 175–176 172, 181 166–167, 181 171 138

27 n. 49, 232–233, 233 n. 19, 234, 237, 239, 339, 339 n. 6, 404 n. 36, 468 n. 3 343 281, 298, 306 297 297–298 205 205, 208, 281 232–234, 237–238, 241–242, 250–251 374 232, 245 232

11:7 11:8–12 11:16

1:4 2:7 3:5 14:6

17:8 21:27 22:2 22:14

dead sea scrolls

569

Classical and Post-Classical Texts Aeschylus (Scholia) Scholia on Persians 118 632 795

86 n. 12 86 n. 14 85–86 n. 12

Scholia on Prometheus Bound 233 86 n. 14 568 86 n. 14

86 n. 16 86 n. 15

Celsus The True Word

389

113

Theaetetus 176 ab

85 n. 7

Hermes Trismegistus Korè kosmou 435 Hermogenes of Tarsus Progymnasmata 9 272 n. 78 Homer Iliad Odyssey Scholia on Iliad 20.255a 20.384

Menander Treatise 2.371.10–15

Plato Republic 436a–b

Cicero Cato Maior de senectute 83 114 Diogenes Laertius Vitae philosophorum 9.113

89 n. 23

Onesicritus How Alexander Was Brought Up 116 n. 42

Scholia on Seven against Thebes 100 86 n. 14 957 86 n. 14 Aulus Gellius Noctes Atticae 13.21.16 13.32.5

Horace Carmina 3.25.2

5 5 85 nn 11.12 85 n. 10

518 278

Plotinus Enneads

57

Porphyry Adversus christianos

389

Quintilian Institutio Oratoria 3.7.15

113

Servius Commentary on the Aeneid of Virgil 5.871 7.568 11.708 11.801–802 12.605 12.709

83 88 89 88 88 89 87

n. n. n. n. n. n. n.

1 21 23, 98 19 20 22 18

Sophocles (Scholia) Scholia in Oedipus at Colonus 30 86 n. 12 Virgil Aeneid

5, 7, 88

Dead Sea Scrolls 1QS (Community Rule) 328 iii 24 152 n. 32

4Q177 iv 12

152 n. 32

570


4Q213–214 (Aramaic Levi Document) 477 n. 32

4Q400–407 (Songs of the Sabbath Sacrifice) 147 n. 8

4Q114 (4QDanc)

152 n. 33

11Q5 (11QPsa) (Psalms)

478 n. 37

4Q394–399 (4QMMT)

333

11Q19 (11QT) (Temple Scroll )

477

Philo of Alexandria De Abrahamo 88

40 n. 9

De fuga et inventione

388

De mutatione nominum 7–26

7 n. 10

De praemiis et poenis 11–14

234

De opificio mundi 28 65 69–71

520 521 521 521

72 77–78 131 134–135

388 521 521 520

Legum allegoriae 1.33 1.43 2.106 3.18.55

520–521 390 n. 46 390 370 n. 4 390 n. 46

Quaestiones et solutiones in Genesim 1.21

389 388

Josephus Antiquities of the Jews 1.14 1.24 9.182 14.22–24 18.63

38 n. 3 40 n. 10 111 n. 27 111 111

Contra Apionem Praef. 1–2 1.37 1.39–40 2.145–56

484 n. 57 479 478 n. 37 484 n. 57

Vita 42

269 n. 75

Pseudepigrapha Artapanus Fr. 3

111

Apocalypse of Zephaniah

435, 471 n. 15

Apocalypse of Daniel on the Events after al-Mu’tamid 149 n. 20 Apocryphon of Ezekiel

471 n. 15

Ascension of Isaiah

477 n. 34

Assumption of Moses

498

2 Baruch

419 n. 1, 479 n. 42

3 Baruch

479 n. 42

4 Baruch (Paraleipomena of Jeremiah)

479 n. 42

Book of Daniel (Dāniyāl-nāma)

149 n. 20

Diēgēsis Daniēlis

155, 155 n. 39, 156, 156 n. 40

pseudepigrapha 1 Enoch 1–36 (Book of the Watchers)

157, 470, 472, 486 n. 61, 487, 498

470 n. 10, 471, 477, 482 n. 50, 484 n. 55 1.2 477 n. 32 1.9 471 n. 15 2–5 471 n. 15 6.1–9.5 482 n. 50 6.6 471 n. 15 7.1–8.3 471 n. 15 8.1 471 n. 15 9.1–10 482 n. 50 12–14 477 n. 33 14.1 477 n. 32 14.8 477 n. 32 15.8–16.2 482 n. 50 16.3 471 n. 15 19.1 471 n. 15 19.3 471 n. 15, 477 n. 32 21.1 471 n. 15 37.1 477 n. 32 72–82 (Astronomical Book) 470 n. 10, 477, 487 83–90 (Book of Dreams) 477, 487 83.1–2 477 n. 32 88.3 477 n. 32 90.2 477 n. 32 90.42 477 n. 32 91–108 (Epistle of Enoch) 477 91.11–17 488 93.1–10 488 93.2 477 n. 32 96.13 477 n. 32 99.6–7 471 n. 15 2 Enoch

487

4 Ezra

14.45 14.45–7 14.46

156, 326, 328, 471 n. 15, 479 n. 42, 487, 498, 498 n. 20 157 469 n. 7, 471 n. 15 471 n. 15 498 326

5 Ezra

479 n. 42

11–12 14.26

6 Ezra

571 477 n. 34, 479 n. 42

Fourteenth Vision of Daniel

158 n. 48

History of Daniel (Qissa-yi Dēāniyāl) Joseph and Asenath

149 n. 20 486 n. 61

Jubilees Pr. 1 1.5–18 1.22–28 2.1 3.4 3.8–14 3.31 4.5 4.32 5.13 6.17 6.29–35 15.25–26 16.9 16.29 18.19 19.9 23.32 24.33 28.6 30.9 30.19–20 31.32 32.15 33.10 50.13

470, 472, 476–477, 487 477 n. 33 477 n. 33 477 n. 32 477 n. 32 477 n. 32 388 477 n. 32 477 n. 32 477 n. 32 477 n. 32 477 n. 32 477 n. 32 477 n. 32 477 n. 32 477 n. 32 477 n. 32 477 n. 32 477 n. 32 477 n. 32 477 n. 32 477 n. 32 477 n. 32 477 n. 32 477 n. 32 477 n. 32 477 n. 32 477 n. 32

Last Vision of Daniel

151

Nevu’ot Daniel

149 n. 20

Psalms of Solomon

478 n. 37

Questions of Ezra

479 n. 42

Revelation of Ezra

479 n. 42

Seventh Vision of Daniel

149 n. 18, 150, 158

Sibylline Oracles

149, 152, 156–157, 157 n. 44

572


Sibylla Tiburtina

148–149

Sword of Moses

487 n. 63

Testament of Abraham 435, 435 n. 18, 486 n. 61 Testament of Job

486 n. 61

Testament of Solomon

478 n. 37, 487 n. 63

Testament of the Twelve Patriarchs

471 n. 15, 486 n. 61

Vision of Daniel on the Future of the Seven-Hilled City 156 Vision of Daniel by the River Kebar 149 n. 20, 155 4–11 154 Vision of Ezra

479 n. 42

Vision of the Prophet Daniel on the Emperors 158 n. 50 Vision and Revelation of the Prophet Daniel 155

Rabbinic and Later Jewish Literature Mishna

Avot 2.2

4, 11–12, 317, 324–325, 329, 329 n. 23, 330, 330 n. 24, 331–335, 370 n. 7, 441, 466 330 51

‘Erubin 3.2

114

Megilah

332 n. 27

Menahot

333

Sanhedrin 10.1 98 98a

468 n. 4, 469 n. 6 44 44

Šeqalim 1.3

114

Shevuot

11

Sotah

333 n. 28

Sukkah 2.8 3.10

114 114

Yadaim 3.5 4.6

473 n. 23 468 n. 4

Yoma

333 n. 28

Tosefta Baba Kama 7.10

11, 329 n. 23, 330, 370 n. 7, 441 49

Berakhot 3.20

110

Sanhedrin 7.11

443 n. 9

Yadaim 2.13 2.19

468 n. 4 473 n. 23

Talmud 4, 466 Babylonian Talmud 328, 330, 462, 462 n. 158, 463, 465 b. Avodah Zarah 58b 489 b. Baba Batra 14b

473 n. 23, 478 n. 37

b. Berakhot 33a 48a 61b

110 483 n. 54 111

b. Makkoth 23b

51

b. Menahot 29b 65a

463 n. 161 489

rabbinic and later jewish literature b. Rosh ha-Shanah 5a 15a 17b

489 489 52

b. Sanhedrin 17a 100b

465 n. 167 468 n. 4, 469 n. 6

b. Shabbat 55a

50

b. Ta’anit 25a

110

Palestinian Talmud 330, 462, 462 n. 157, 465 y. Berakhot 11b 483 n. 54 y. Hagigah 1.7

482 n. 51

y. Megilah 4.1

482 n. 51

y. Nazir 54b

483 n. 54

y. Sanhedrin 10.1 11.5

50, 468 n. 4 39 n. 6

y. Ta’anit 1.1

51

Targum and Midrash

44, 384 n. 38 12, 42–43, 43 n. 15, 44–45, 333–334, 378, 388, 441–442, 442 n. 4, 448, 450, 453, 490

Avot deRabbi Natan A37.7

330 443 n. 9

Ecclesiastes Rabbah 7.11

483 n. 54

Esther Rabbah

460 n. 152

Genesis Rabbah 13.7 29.1

11 111 52

60.2 91.3

573

51 483 n. 54

Leviticus Rabbah 36.6 50 Mekhilta deRabbi Ishmael (Exodus) 441, 442, 447–449, 451–452, 453 nn 90–91, 454–459 2 447 n. 18, 453 n. 90 10 447 n. 18 12 447 n. 18, 448 n. 30 13 459 n. 139 17 451 nn 56.61, 453 n. 91 20 447 n. 18, 448 n. 30 24 447 n. 18 26 447 n. 18 27 456 n. 114, 459 n. 138 31 447 n. 18 33 453 n. 90 38 447 n. 18 39 447 n. 18 46 447 n. 18 48 447 n. 18 50 459 n. 138 52 455 n. 113 53 451 n. 57, 452 n. 72 54 451 nn 56.59 57 456 n. 117 58 453 n. 90 61 447 n. 18, 448 n. 30 64 456 n. 114, 459 n. 138 65 447 n. 18, 453 n. 90 67 451 n. 57 70 451 n. 57 72 455 n. 113 73 454 n. 99 77 447 n. 18 78 447 n. 18 80 447 n. 18 85 447 n. 18 96 447 n. 18, 448 n. 34 114 447 n. 18 118 447 n. 18 123 447 n. 18 124 459 n. 138 165 447 n. 18 204 453 n. 90 213 451 n. 56 227 456 n. 123 228 459 n. 141 230 447 n. 18 231 453 n. 90

574 234 238 242 244 245 247 250 251 252 253 254 256 257 259 261 262 264 266 268 269 271 272 273 274 276 277 278 279 280 281 284 285 287 288 289 291 292 296 297 300 301 302 303 304 306 308 309 310 314 319 320 323 325 328

index of ancient sources 455 n. 113, 459 n. 138 459 n. 140 459 n. 138 447 nn 18.19, 448 n. 32 447 n. 18 451 n. 56, 453 n. 91 453 n. 90 447 n. 19, 453 n. 90 453 n. 90 451 n. 57 451 n. 57 447 n. 18, 448 n. 30, 453 n. 90 447 n. 18 447 n. 18 451 n. 57, 453 n. 90 451 n. 57, 453 n. 90 456 n. 119, 456 nn 123–124 447 n. 18 454 n. 98 453 n. 90 456 n. 121 453 n. 90 451 nn 56.57, 452 nn 73.77 459 n. 138 451 n. 57 447 n. 18, 448 n. 35, 455 n. 113 456 n. 119 451 n. 57, 452 n. 72, 454 n. 98 447 n. 18, 456 n. 119 451 nn 56.62, 453 n. 91 451 n. 56, 453 n. 91, 456 n. 118 453 n. 90 456 n. 120 453 n. 90, 454 n. 101 451 n. 57 453 n. 90, 456 n. 119 447 n. 18 447 n. 18, 448 n. 31 454 n. 97, 456 n. 118 451 n. 57, 455 n. 113 456 n. 123 459 n. 138 456 n. 116 451 n. 57 447 n. 18, 451 n. 57 451 nn 56.60, 453 n. 91 451 n. 57, 453 n. 90, 456 n. 122 451 n. 57, 456 n. 115 447 n. 18, 451 n. 57, 452 n. 74 453 n. 90 453 n. 90 459 n. 138 459 n. 138 447 n. 18

329 330 332 333 337 338

342 347

454 n. 100 453 n. 90, 459 451 n. 57, 452 451 n. 57 451 n. 57, 452 447 n. 18, 451 452 n. 76 447 n. 18, 448 30.31.33 459 n. 138 456 n. 115

Midrash Proverbs

466

Numbers Rabbah 14.4

468 n. 4

Pesiqta Rabbati 3.9

468 n. 4

Semahot

330

Sifra (Leviticus)

11, 441–445, 447–451, 453, 453 nn 90–91, 454–455, 457–459, 460 n. 152, 461, 464–466 443 447 n. 17, 450 n. 55, 454 nn 95–96 447 n. 17, 448 n. 26 450 n. 55, 451 n. 66 450 n. 55, 451 n. 65 450 n. 55 450 n. 55 447 n. 17 450 n. 55 450 n. 55 450 n. 55, 452 n. 67 450 n. 54 454 n. 95 450 n. 55 453 n. 90, 455 n. 109 450 n. 55 450 n. 55, 452 n. 67 447 n. 17 455 n. 112 447 n. 17 450 n. 54 453 n. 90 453 n. 90 450 n. 55 450 n. 55 450 n. 55

340

3a 3c 4c 6b 6c 6d 7c 8a 8d 9d 10b 10c 11b 11c 11d 12c 12d 13d 13d–14a 14a 14c 14d 15a 17d 18d 19a

n. 138 n. 73 n. 75 n. 57, nn

rabbinic and later jewish literature 19b 19c 21b 22c 22d 24b 24d 25a 25c 26d 27c 28d 29c 29d 30a 30d 31a 32a 33b 34a 34c 35a 35b 36b 37b 37c 37d 40a 41c 42b 43b 44a 45a 45b 45d 46a 46d 49a 49c 50b 53b 54c 58b 60b 65d 67a 67b 67d 68a 69b 69d 71 71b

450 n. 55, 452 450 n. 55, 453 453 n. 92 450 n. 55, 451 448 n. 26, 450 447 n. 17, 450 453 n. 92 450 n. 55 450 n. 55 450 n. 54 459 n. 137 450 n. 55 450 n. 55 450 n. 55 453 n. 90 459 n. 137 453 n. 90, 455 450 n. 54 450 n. 55 450 n. 55 453 n. 90 450 n. 55 450 nn 54–55 453 n. 90, 455 453 n. 92 455 n. 110 450 n. 54, 459 447 n. 17 453 n. 90 447 n. 17 447 n. 17 450 n. 55 447 n. 17 453 n. 90 453 n. 90 450 n. 55 447 n. 17, 450 447 n. 17 450 n. 54 450 n. 55, 451 450 n. 54 447 n. 17 453 n. 90 453 n. 90 453 n. 90 450 n. 55 453 n. 90 450 n. 55 453 n. 90 450 n. 55 453 n. 90 448 n. 26 447 n. 17, 448 54–55

nn 67.69 n. 92 n. 63 n. 55 n. 55

n. 109

n. 109 n. 137

n. 54 nn 65–66

n. 28, 450 nn

72a 73a 73b 73c 73d 76c 78b 80c 80d 81b 81c 81d 82a 82c 82d 83a 83b 83c 83d 86a 86b 86d 87b 89c 89d 90b 90d 91b 91d 92a 92b 92c 92d 93a 93b 94b 94c 94d 95a 96a 96b 97b 97d 98c 99a 99b 99c 100b 100c 100d 101b 101d 102c 102d

450 447 450 450 450 447 450 453 450 447 450 450 453 450 450 450 453 450 453 450 453 453 453 450 450 450 450 450 450 450 450 447 447 450 450 450 450 450 450 450 450 450 450 450 450 450 450 453 453 450 450 450 452 450

575

n. 55 n. 17, 448 n. 27 n. 55 n. 55 nn 54–55 n. 17 n. 55 n. 92 n. 55 n. 17, 450 n. 55 n. 55 n. 55, 451 n. 65 n. 92 n. 55, 453 n. 90 n. 55, 453 nn 92.94 n. 55, 451 n. 65 n. 92 n. 55 n. 92 n. 55, 452 n. 68, 453 n. 90 n. 90, 455 n. 111 n. 90 n. 92 n. 55 n. 55 n. 55 n. 55, 451 n. 63 n. 54 n. 55, 454 nn 95–96 nn 54–55, 453 n. 91 n. 55 n. 17, 450 n. 55, 452 n. 71 n. 17, 448 n. 29 n. 55, 454 n. 95 n. 55 n. 54 n. 55 n. 54 n. 54 n. 55 n. 54 n. 55, 451 n. 65 n. 55 n. 54 n. 55, 452 n. 70 n. 54 n. 55 n. 90, 455 n. 109 n. 92 n. 55, 459 n. 137 n. 55, 452 n. 67 n. 54, 453 nn 92–93 n. 68 n. 55

576 103a 104b 104d 105c 106c 109d 110b 112d 113a 114b 115a

index of ancient sources 450 450 450 453 453 453 447 450 453 450 450

nn 54–55 n. 55, 452 n. 55, 452 n. 90 n. 90 n. 90 n. 17, 450 nn 54–55 n. 90 n. 55, 451 n. 55

n. 67 n. 68

n. 54 n. 64

Sifré BaMidbar (Numbers) 441–442, 447, 449, 451–452, 453 nn 90–91, 454, 457–459 2 457 n. 127 5 447 n. 20 8 447 n. 20, 449 n. 38 12 447 n. 20, 449 n. 44 13 447 n. 20, 449 n. 36 14 457 nn 125–126 15 457 n. 133 16 447 n. 20, 451 n. 58, 452 n. 81 17 447 n. 20, 449 n. 41, 451 n. 58 19 451 n. 58 20 447 n. 20 21 447 n. 20, 451 n. 58 22 447 n. 20, 453 n. 90 24 451 n. 58, 457 n. 128 25 451 n. 58 29 457 n. 125 32 453 n. 91 33 453 n. 91 36 447 n. 20 37 447 n. 20 38 453 n. 90 39 447 n. 20, 457 nn 125.127 40 453 n. 90 41 457 n. 128 42 451 n. 58, 452 n. 85, 453 n. 90 45 447 n. 20 47 459 n. 142 56 459 nn 144.146 58 451 n. 58 60 459 nn 142–143 61 453 n. 91 64 454 n. 102 66 457 n. 127 68 451 n. 58 69 451 n. 58

70 74 76 83 86 93 98 100 101 102 103 106 107 109 113 116 118 122 126 127 131 134 138 139 140 141 142 146 147 148 149 151 153 156 157 160 161 162 163 164 165 166 167 168 177 178 179 180 181 184 187 188 189

451 n. 58, 452 447 n. 20 447 n. 20 459 n. 145 447 n. 20, 449 447 n. 20 447 n. 20 451 n. 58, 453 447 n. 20 447 n. 20 447 n. 20 447 n. 20, 449 457 n. 127 457 n. 127 451 n. 58 451 n. 58, 452 457 n. 132 449 n. 37, 451 447 n. 20 447 n. 20 451 n. 58, 452 451 n. 58, 452 453 n. 90 457 n. 125 453 n. 90 453 n. 90 457 n. 131 447 n. 20 453 n. 90 447 n. 20, 449 447 n. 20, 449 451 n. 58, 457 447 n. 20 451 n. 58 451 n. 58, 452 447 n. 20 447 n. 20, 457 447 n. 20 451 n. 58, 452 447 n. 20 447 n. 20, 451 nn 90–91 451 n. 58, 452 447 n. 20 447 n. 20 451 n. 58, 452 447 n. 20 447 n. 20 447 n. 20 447 n. 20 447 n. 20 447 n. 20 451 n. 58 453 nn 90–91

n. 84

n. 40 n. 90

nn 43–44

n. 86, 457 n. 129 n. 58 nn 78.84 nn 79–80

n. 39 n. 36, 451 n. 58 nn 125.131 n. 85 n. 130 n. 83 n. 58, 453 n. 86 nn 82.84

rabbinic and later jewish literature 192 194 195 198 199 200 202 203 204 206 207 208 213 214 216 217 218 219 220 Sifré Devarim (Deuteronomy) 5 31 38 42 50 54 56 66 69 71 72 75 76 78 81 90 94 102 103 106 107 118 119 123 125 128 134 148

457 451 453 447 451 453 447 447 447 447 447 447 447 447 447 447 454 447 447

n. n. n. n. n. n. n. n. n. n. n. n. n. n. n. n. n. n. n.

129 58 90 20, 451 58 90 20, 453 20, 453 20 20 20, 453 20, 453 20, 453 20 20 20 103 20 20, 449

n. 58 n. 90 n. 90 n. 90 n. 90 n. 91

n. 42

441–442, 447–449, 451–452, 453 n. 90, 454, 457–459 447 n. 21 447 n. 21 447 n. 21 447 n. 21 447 n. 21, 449 n. 46 447 n. 21, 449 n. 49 447 n. 21 454 nn 104–105 447 n. 21 447 n. 21 447 n. 21 447 n. 21, 449 n. 51, 453 n. 90 447 n. 21 459 n. 147 459 n. 147 453 n. 90 447 n. 21, 449 nn 49–50 447 n. 21, 449 n. 46 454 n. 106 447 n. 21, 449 n. 52 447 n. 21, 449 n. 46 457 n. 134 447 n. 21 453 n. 90 454 n. 107 459 n. 147 453 n. 90, 458 n. 136 457 n. 135

150 161 162 167 173 177 184 187 198 200 202 209 231 239 242 243 247 257 260 265 277 279 288 289 294 300 304 308 312 313 332 341 342 347 366 386 415

447 n. 21 447 n. 21 452 nn 87–88 453 n. 90 447 n. 21 459 n. 147 453 n. 90 453 n. 90 453 n. 90 447 n. 21 454 n. 104 447 n. 21 452 n. 89 447 n. 21, 449 n. 47 453 n. 90, 458 n. 136 453 n. 90 447 n. 21 453 n. 90, 458 n. 136 454 n. 104 453 n. 90, 458 n. 136 453 n. 90 447 n. 21, 449 n. 45, 449 n. 48 453 n. 90 447 n. 21 447 n. 21 447 n. 21, 449 n. 45 447 n. 21, 449 n. 48 452 n. 89 452 n. 89 447 n. 21 447 n. 21 447 n. 21 447 n. 21, 449 n. 46 447 n. 21 447 n. 21 447 n. 21 447 n. 21

Other Jewish Texts Maimonides Mishneh Torah

322

Rabbi Isaac Alfasi Halakhot Sanhedrin 11:1

43 n. 16

Rabbi Moses Feinstein Iggrot Moshe 322 Rashi Commentary to Exodus 33:1

577

52

578


Commentary to Genesis 15:6 50 n. 29 Commentary to Sanhedrin 98 44 Commentary to Sanhedrin 98a 44

Yosef Karo Beith Yoseph

322

Zohar

322

Samaritan Writings Joshua

325 Nag Hammadi and Other Gnostic Texts

Apocalypse of Paul (NH V,2) Apocryphon of John (BG 2; NH II,1; III,1; IV,1) BG 38.10–11 II 10.18 Eugnostos (NH III,3; V,1)

Expository Treatise on the Soul (NH II,6)

Gospel of the Egyptians (NH III,2; IV,2) III 59.4–9

435, 435 n. 19 389 380 380 371–372, 372 n. 13, 423 371–372, 372 n. 12

377

Gospel of Judas (Codex Tchacos) 33.4–6

433, 436 436

Gospel of Philip (NH II,3) 83.12

423 n. 10

Gospel of Thomas (NH II,2)

Log. 82 Hypostasis of the Archons (NH II,4)

86.23–25

110, 419 n. 1, 436, 468 n. 3 437 373–374, 378–382, 388–390, 391 n. 50 373 n. 16

87.10 87.11–23 87.11–89.17 87.17–19 87.20–23 87.23–24 87.33–34 88.3–5 88.11–19 88.19–24 88.26–89.3 89.3–11 89.3–15 89.19–30 89.25 89.31–90.19 90.34–91.3

391 n. 49 375 373 375–376 377 379 379 380 380 381 383 383 384 386 n. 43 384 384 387

On the Origin of the World (NH II,5) 382, 389 116.29–33 386 n. 43 118.25 370 n. 4 119.3–4 382 120.17–20 382 Pistis Sophia (Codex Askewianus) 372 n. 12 8 101 n. 2 61 101 n. 2 Paraphrase of Shem (NH VII,1) 371, 371 n. 11 28.14–19 371 n. 11 Sophia of Jesus Christ (BG 3; NH III, 4) BG 119.4–120.3 377 n. 19 Second Treatise of the Great Seth (NH VII,2) 371, 371 n. 11

manichaean texts 53.5–12 62.27ss.

379 371 n. 11

Sentences of Sextus (NH XII,1) 369 n. 2

Testimony of Truth (NH IX,3) 389 45.31–46.2 47.14–48.2

579

370 n. 4 389 n. 45

Tripartite Tractate (NH I,5) 107.10–16 370 n. 4 116.13–117.2 73 n. 50 Manichaean Texts

Cologne Mani Codex (CMC) 419 n. 1 48–59 419 n. 1 Coptic Manichaen PsalmBook

126, 129 n. 38, 419 n. 1 115 (Psalm to the Trinity) 130 227 129 248 123 n. 9, 129 249 129 251 130 255 130 271 129 Allberry 134.19 130 n. 40 136, 20–21 130 n. 39 162.31–163.1 129 n. 33 218.15–21 127 n. 24 Kephalaia

I Kephalaia (Kephalaia of the Teacher)

1 1.12.10–12 1.12.15–18 1.12.20 1.12.24–26 1.13.30 1.14.3–10

126, 421 nn 4.6, 422, 422 n. 8, 423, 425, 427 126 n. 23, 127–128, 128 n. 26, 421, 421 n. 4, 422 123 n. 9, 422 421 421 421 422 422 n. 9 422

2 2.17.2–9 2.19.1–3 2.19.6–8 9.40.5–14 16 17 18 18.58.16–19 56 63.156.12–16 65.159.1–4 75.183.7–8 76.184.11–12 76.185.12–13 77.189.6–7 82 82.200.3–4 83.201.28–31 85 85.210.31–32 87 89 89.223.3–4 91 91.229.6–15 91.234.3–9 148

127, 133, 138, 422 423 423 423 426 129 129 129 423 129 426 426 426 426 426 425 424 424 425 424 424 129 424 424 424 425 424 128

II Kephalaia (Kephalaia of the Wisdom of My Lord Mani) 126 n. 23, 421 n. 4 Manichaean Homilies

126 n. 22

Mani Living Gospel Treasure of Life

128 n. 26 424

580

index of ancient sources Early Christian Apocrypha

Acts of Andrew

419 n. 1, 468 n. 3

Acts of John 37–47 70–80

75, 419 n. 1, 420 n. 1, 429, 468 n. 3 112 n. 28 112 n. 28

Acts of Paul 4 5

419 n. 1, 468 n. 3 112 n. 28 112 n. 28

Acts of Paul and Thecla 167, 438 n. 30 Acts of Peter 2 32

419 n. 1, 496 112 n. 28 112 n. 28

Acts of Peter and Andrew 75 11.2 75 n. 59 Acts of Philip

429

Acts of Polycarp

496

Acts of Thaddeus 6.6

75 75 n. 61

Acts of Thomas 8 51 79

419 n. 1, 423 112 n. 28 112 n. 28 110

Apocalypse of Paul

429, 431, 431 n. 7, 434–435, 438, 488 n. 65, 505– 507, 507 n. 51 434 434 434

10 40 42 Apocalypse of Peter

468 n. 3, 488 n. 65

Apocalypse of the Virgin 505–506, 506 nn 47.49 Apostolic Constitutions 6.16 6.23 8.29

469 n. 8 102 78 n. 83

Arabic Infancy Gospel

101 n. 1

Asketikon

229

Book of the Cock 1.3–20

429, 434–436, 438, 438 n. 29 435

Book of the Nativity of Mary

500

Book of the Resurrection of Jesus-Christ by Bartholomew the Apostle 431 Book of Steps (Liber graduum)

9. §2 9. §3 9. §4 9. §5 9. §6 9. §§7–11 9. §8 9. §9 9. §10 9. §11 9. §12 9. §§12–18 9. §14 (232:12–233:3) 9. §19 9. §§19–21 9. §20 9. §21 9. §30 10 25 26–30 29

227–234, 234 n. 19, 237, 239–242, 245, 247, 249–251 228 n. 5 229 230, 230 n. 11, 234–236, 250 237 237 238 238, 240 241 241 242–243 244 244–245 245 246 241, 246 231 n. 14 243 241 248 249 248 230 230 230 230

Catalogue Claromontanus

488 n. 65

1. §1 (1:3–4) 1–8 9 (201–248)

Consultationes Zacchaei et Apollonii 3.5.14

184–185, 187–188 185 n. 69

early christian apocrypha Didache

468 nn 3–4

Epistle of Barnabas

468 n. 3

Exposition of the Gospel

437 n. 27

First Creed of Antioch

366

Florilegium edessenum anonymum

256

Gospel of Andrew

438 n. 28

Gospel of the Hebrews

468 n. 3

Gospel of Matthias

468 n. 3

Gospel of Nicodemus

429

Gospel of Peter

438 n. 29, 468 n. 3, 469 n. 6, 488 n. 65

Gospel of Pseudo-Matthew 104, 500, 500 n. 28, 501 Gospel of the Savior

67–69

429, 431, 432 n. 10, 436, 438, 438 nn 28–29 437

Gospel of the Twelve Disciples

432

History of Joseph the Carpenter

494 n. 9

Infancy Gospel of Thomas 101, 101 n. 1, 102, 102 nn 4–5, 103, 103 n. 6, 104–105, 105 n. 17, 106–113, 113 n. 33, 115–116, 117 n. 43, 507–508 2 109 2–3 106, 109 2:5–3:4 107 2:7 110 5:3 107 6 102, 107

581

6:3 (Greek S) 6:17 7:5 7:8 (Greek S) 7:11 9 9:6 10 11–13 14 14–15 14:5 15 15:4 15:6 15:6 (Greek S) 16 17 18 19 19:1–13 (Greek S) 19:5 (Greek S) 19:10 (Greek S)

108 n. 21 106 107 108 110 108 108 107–108 108 102, 108 109 110 102, 107 108 110 108 107 107 107 107 117–119 115 115

Judgment of Peter

419 n. 1

Liber Requiei Mariae/ Obsequies 88

502 n. 35, 505–506 505 n. 46

Life and Miracles of Thecla

438 n. 30

Martyrdom of Perpetua and Felicitas

496

Muratorian Canon

488 n. 65

Preaching of Peter

488 n. 65

Odes of Solomon 32.7–11

152 n. 32

Protevangelium of James

4, 101 n. 1, 494, 497–500, 500 nn 25–26.28, 501, 507–508, 510

Q

112, 433

Questions of Bartholomew 429, 431

582


Shepherd of Hermas

468 n. 3–4

Six Books Apocryphon

504, 504 n. 43, 506–507

Story of Zosimus

486 n. 61

Testamentum domini 18 24 Transitus Mariae Tübingen Theosophy 4

78 n. 83 78 n. 83 431, 502, 502 n. 35, 503–504 507 n. 53

Patristic and Medieval Christian Writers Apophthegmata Patrum 17 n. 2, 20, 26, 393, 395 n. 6, 403, 412–414, 414 nn 81.83, 417 De abbate Antonio 26 413 n. 79 De abbate Marco 1

411 n. 65

De abbate Gelasio 1

395 n. 6 409 n. 58

De abbate Silvano 5

410 n. 63

De abbate Zenone 3

396 n. 8

De matre Syncletica 7

410 n. 60

De sancto Epiphanio 3 7 8 9 11

395 403 403 408 410 410

Abbah Isaiah Asceticon 6

414 413 n. 77

n. n. n. n. n. n.

6 30 30 51 61 61

Alexander of Alexandria Epistula ad Alexandrum Thessalonicensem (He Philarchos) 339–340 Ambrose of Milan De fide resurrectionis 2.109 196 n. 8

De interpellatione Iob et Dauid 1.9.30 194 n. 3 In psalmos 38 enarratio 25

195 n. 8

Ambrosiaster Commentary on 1 Corinthians 14.14 93 n. 34 Commentary on 2 Corinthians 5.2–3.2 96 n. 38 Commentary on Romans 83 84 n. 4 5.14.4e γ 5.14.4e–5 γ 93 n. 32 95 n. 37, 98 5.14.5a γ 96 n. 39 9.17.1a γ Quaestiones Veteris et Novi Testamenti 114.15 114.29 Anastasius Sinaita Hodegos 13

83, 84 n. 6 99 n. 43 99 n. 42

117 n. 43

Angelomus Luxeuil Enarrationes in Cantica Canticorum PL 115.553D–554A 301 n. 52 Antony of Egypt Letters

413–414, 414 n. 80

Antony of Choziba Miracles of Our Lady of Choziba 5 404 n. 35

patristic and medieval christian writers Vita sancti Georgii Chozibitae I,1 300 n. 17 IV,15–16 400 n. 19 VIII,34 398 n. 15 Apponius Commentary on the Song of Songs 1.4 302 n. 53 Arius Thalia

341, 366

Asterius the Sophist Fragments 10 343 n. 20 11 343 n. 20 12 343 n. 20 38 360 45 351 Athenagoras of Athens Legatio 10.4 354 n. 27 Athanasius of Alexandria De decretis Nicaenae synodi 1 72 n. 41 Epistula Alexandri Alexandrini (Henos Somatos) 339–340 Epistula ad virgines 27 179 n. 50 Epistulae festales 39 467, 467 n. 1, 469, 470 n. 9, 483 Letter to Julius Orationes conta Arianos

I.1–10 I.2.1 I.3 I.5–6 I.9 I.9.10–10.1 I.10

349 13, 337, 337 n. 1, 338, 338 n. 4, 339–344, 344 n. 21, 351, 358, 362 n. 30, 365, 365 n. 34, 366–367 341, 365 366 365 365 365 367 365

I.10.3–4 I.10.4 I.11–36 I.11–III.58.3 I.12.1 I.12.2 I.14.5 I.14.6 I.16 I.16.6 I.17.3–4 I.22.4 I.25.3 I.28.3 I.37–40 I.37–52 I.37.3–4 I.38.2–3 I.38.3 I.38.4 I.41.2 I.46–52 II.2 II.5.5 II.32.2 II.44–82 II.44.2 II.45.1 II.45.2–50.6 II.50.2–3 II.53.2–3 II.53.3 II.55.1 II.56.1 II.56.5–60.4 II.58.2 II.61–3 II.61.3–4 II.62.1 II.62.3–4 II.62.4–63.6 II.63.7 II.67.2 II.72.5 II.73.1 II.75.1 II.80.4 III III.1–6 III.1.6 III.2.1 III.3.2 III.3.3 III.4.1

583

366 366 347 365 348 348 348 348 348 349 349 338, 350 350 352 351 339 339, 351 351 352 352 352 345 n. 22 364 361 352 353, 356 356 356 356 357 357 357 357 357 357 357 346 347 346 347 347 346 347 358 358 358 358 359, 359 n. 29, 364 359 360 360 360 360 360

584 III.5.2 III.5.3 III.6.6–9.6 III.7.2 III.10.1–3 III.17–25 III.25 III.26–58a III.26.2–4 III.38–40 III.38.3 III.38.4 III.39.6 III.42–50 III.51–53 III.54–58.3 III.57 III.57.1 III.58.3 III.64.1

index of ancient sources 360 361 361 361 361 361 359 361 362 362 362 363 363 363 363 363 363 363 338 n. 4 364

Oratio de incarnatione Verbi 18.4 72 n. 43 Augustine Contra Adimantum 139 26 140 n. 69 Contra Faustum I.2

139 n. 67

Contra Felicem 2.2 2.4

141 n. 71 141 n. 72

Contra Fortunatum 14 21 22

138 n. 63 138 n. 64 139 n. 66

Contra Iulianum 5.21 5.23

138 n. 65 138 n. 65

Contra Secundinum 2

142

Confessions 6.3 11 11.2.2 11.3.5 12 12.25.34 13 13.17.21

299 n. 41 58 59 n. 23 58 n. 18 58 58 n. 20 62 63 n. 43

De bono coniugali 8.8

187–189 188 nn 81–82

De ciuitate dei 10.21 14.11 14.13 15.23 18.37–38

10 n. 14 139 n. 65 139 n. 65 481, 485 485

De doctrina christiana Preface 1.1 I I.95 II II–III II.8 II.9 II.10 II.11 II.16 II.16–23 II.17 II.19 II.21 II.23 II.24 III III.38

57 n. 14, 59, 61 59 n. 25 60 n. 27 60 n. 26 60–61 57 60 n. 28 60 nn 29–30 60 n. 31 60 nn 32–36 61 n. 37 59, 61 61 n. 37 62, nn 40–41 62 n. 42 60 n. 31, 64 nn 46–47 61 n. 38 60 n. 27, 61 58 n. 19

De moribus manichaeorum 10.19 424 De nuptiis et concupiscentia 2.48 138 n. 65 De sancta virginitate 18.18 20.20 21.21

187–190 189 n. 86 189 n. 86 189 n. 88

De sermon Domini in monte 2.24.78–9 139 n. 65 Epistulae 28.3.4 82.6 Sermones 72 162C.14 (Dolbeau 10)

189 n. 85 189 n. 85 139 n. 65 189 n. 84

patristic and medieval christian writers Barsanuphius and John of Gaza Letters 414 215 403 n. 29 228 402 n. 26 547 417 n. 97 600–607 407 n. 48, 413 n. 78 689 417 n. 96 Basil of Caesarea Homilies on the Hexaemeron 3

13, 512 512

Commentary on Isaiah I. PG 30.575C 265 n. 67 Bernard of Clairvaux Sermones in Canticum Canticorum 1.5 310 n. 83 Cassianus Collationes 7.20

472

Clement of Alexandria Eclogae propheticae 2.1 471 41 488 48–49 488 53.4 471 58.1 488

3.12.90 3.16.100.4 5.1.10.1–2 5.11.77.2 6.5.39 6.5.42 6.6.48 6.15.128

172 471 471 471 488 488 488 488

585 n. n. n. n. n. n. n. n.

22 15 15 15 65 65 65 65

Pseudo-Clement of Rome Homilies 431 Recognitiones 1.27–71

255, 431 433

Cyprian Ad Fortunatum de exhortatione martyrii 2 194 n. 3 Testimonia ad Quirinium 3.20 194 n. 3 Cyril of Alexandria Commentary on Isaiah 62:11–12 74 n. 53

n. n. n. n. n.

15 65 65 15 65

Excerpta e Theodoto 47.1 391 n. 49 Paedagogus 1.9.84.2–4 1.10.91.2

471 n. 15 471 n. 15

Stromata 1.1.13.2–3 1.1.29.182 1.3.27.2 1.101.1–147.6 2.15.68 3 3.12.79 3.12.81 3.12.82 3.12.84 3.12.85 3.12.86 3.12.89

469 488 306 484 488 169 171 169 171 170 172 172 171

n. n. n. n. n. n. n. n. n. n. n. n. n.

7 65 71 57 65 14, 170 20 14 19 18 22 24 21

Commentary on John 884a

74 n. 53

Commentary on Luke 9:49 22:34

257–258 74 n. 53 74 n. 53

De sancta trinitate dialogi 3.494b 74 nn 53–54 De incarnatione unigeniti 713a–b 74 n. 53 Thesaurus de sancta et consubstantiali trinitate Assertion XXXII 74 nn 53–55 Cyril of Jerusalem Mystagogicae catecheses III.3 78 n. 84 Procatechesis 2 3.6 4.36 6.31

266 n. 68 397 n. 12 110, 482 n. 48, 488 n. 65 110

586


Pseudo-Cyril of Jerusalem In Honor of the Virgin 432 n. 11

Epistulae 7

414 n. 84

Cyril of Scythopolis Lives of the Monks of Palestine

Vita Dosithei 3 12

400 n. 20 401 n. 22

401 n. 24, 407

Vita Cyriaci 12–13

413 n. 78

Vita Euthymii 13

415 n. 87

Vita Gerasimi 1 4

399 n. 17 409 n. 56

Vita Sabae 2 7 20 32 57 75

401 403 402 402 398 401

n. n. n. n. n. n.

25 32 27 27 14 24

Didymus the Blind Commentary on Ecclesiastes 6.12–23 295 n. 28, 302 n. 57 Commentary on Job

72 n. 44

Commentary on Psalms 88.8 437 Commentary on Zechariah 2.173 72 n. 41, 73 n. 45, 74 n. 51 Contra Manichaeos 17 Dionysius bar Salībī In Apocalypsim 8 Dorotheus of Gaza Didaskalia 1,11–12 1,14 2,26 2,36 6,77 8,91

131 n. 45

194 n. 3 414 416 n. 414 n. 417 n. 413 n. n. 84 414 n. 414 n.

93 84 95 76, 414 84 84

Egeria Itinerarium 16,3

397 n. 10

Ephrem Syrus Hymns on the nativity of Christ 13 Epiphanius of Salamina Panarion 136 51.20.2–3 117 n. 43 66.21.3 254 n. 9 66.62.1–3 136 n. 60 66.62.11–14 136 n. 60 67.1.8–9 180 n. 51 67.2.2–6 179 n. 50 79 497 79.5.4–5 498 n. 18 79.7.1 498 n. 18 Pseudo-Epiphanius De vitis prophetarum 16

40 n. 8

Eusebius of Caesarea Commentary on Isaiah 1.11 2.9

73 n. 45 73 n. 45

Commentary on Psalms 108:5 Contra Marcellum I.1.3

72 n. 41 337, 340 n. 12, 341 342 n. 16

De ecclesiastica theologia 337, 338, 340 n. 12, 341–342 Dedication 342 n. 17 De nominibus Demonstratio evangelica 6.21.3 6.21.7 9:13.2

269 n. 76 72 n. 42 73 n. 46 72 n. 42, 73 n. 50

patristic and medieval christian writers Eclogae propheticae 4.30 Historia ecclesiastica 1.13.12 3.3.1–2 3.3.2 3.25 3.25.1–7 3.25.4 6.2.8–10 6.12.3 6.14 6.24–25 7.32.19 Letter to Constantia

194 n. 3 407 75 n. 57 488 n. 65 488 n. 65 488 n. 65 468 n. 3 488 n. 65 400 n. 21 469 n. 6, 488 n. 65 488 n. 65 468 n. 3 487 339, 339 n. 6

Life of Pamphilius 3

406 n. 44

Praeparatio evangelica 9.17.2–9 10.10

487 484 n. 57

Theophania 3.40 Vita Constantini IV,36,1 Eusebius of Nicomedia Letter to Paulinus of Tyre Eustathius of Antioch Anti-Arian Works Fr. 79 Evagrius Gnostika Filastrius of Brescia Diversarum haereseon liber 135 Pseudo-Gelasius Decretum Gelasianum

255 72 n. 41, 74 n. 51 406 n. 45 343, 364 340, 340 n. 9, 359 340 n. 11 413

303 n. 60 110, 438 n. 28, 482 n. 48

587

George of Nicomedia Passion Homilies

509

Georgius Syncellus Chronographia 14.2–14 24.6–9 27.11 a. 5505

482 482 482 117

n. n. n. n.

49 50 50 43

Gerontius Vita Melaniae Iunioris 16,2 399 n. 18 23,1–4 405 n. 39 23,3 411 n. 69 23,4 412 n. 71 24,2 411 n. 69 26,1 404 n. 35, 405 n. 40 26,1–2 411 n. 68 34,1 399 n. 18 36,1–2 404 n. 35 36,2 412 n. 73 36,4 406 n. 41 36,5 396 n. 9 43,1 412 n. 70 46 403 n. 31 48,6 412 n. 70 64,1 412 n. 72 Gregory of Elvira In Canticum Canticorum 1.1 301 n. 52 Gregory the Great Commentary on Song of Songs 1 301 n. 48 2 301 n. 52 2.1–3.15 301 n. 51 3 301 n. 49 4 302 nn 53.56 Moralia 12.18.22 Gregory of Nazianzus Orationes 2.104–110

10 10 n. 15

40

Gregory of Nyssa Apologia in hexaemeron 524 PG 44.81.48–54 512 n. 8, 514

588 Contra Eunomium 3 3.1.121 3.5.24.7 3.7.8.4 3.7.8.6 3.7.9.2

index of ancient sources 521 513 519 521 521 521 521

De opificio hominis

511, 511 n. 2, 514, 516, 519, 524–525 I.5 524 II 519 III 516 IV 516 V 516, 518 VII 517 VIII 517 VIII.1 517 VIII.4 517 XII 518 XVI–XX 522 XVI.1 522 XVI.2 522 XVI.7 523 XVI.16 522 XVI.17 523 XVII.2 523 XXII.5 515 PG 44.129.19 519 PG 44.132D-133B 521 PG 44.132.18–24 524 PG 44.145.25–31 515 PG 44.145.49–148.15 518, 525 PG 44.148.3 517 PG 44.148.4 517 PG 44.148.7 517 PG 44.148.20 515 PG 44.156.26 ff 518 PG 44.181A–D 521 PG 44.185.43–46 523 n. 30 PG 44.205.36–41 516 PG 44.205.39 515–516 PG 44.205.47–208.1 525 PG 44.236.19–23 516 PG 44.236.40–43 516 PG 44.253.57–256.7 516 De virginitate

514

De vita Moysis

13, 521

In Canticum Canticorum homiliae Prol. 1 6.13.3 13

513 301 n. 48, 302, 302 nn 54.56, 513 306 n. 71 513 287 n. 3

In inscriptiones psalmorum 512, 514 II.133 514 II.137–138 51 Orationes de beatitudinibus IV (PG 44.1237A) 265 n. 67 IV (PG 44.1240B–C) 265 n. 67 Hegemonius Acta Archelai 5.4 11.1 15.6 18.7 19.1–3

131, 133, 137 133 n. 53 130 n. 42 133 n. 54 134 n. 55 134 n. 56

Hilary of Poitiers De Mysteriis I.3

386 n. 42

Hippolytus of Rome Apostolic Tradition 5

78 n. 83 78 n. 83

Capita contra Gaium

194 n. 3

Commentary on Song of Songs

311 n. 84

Refutatio omnium haeresium 5.7.20 110 5.26.29 101 n. 2 Irenaeus of Lyons Against Heresies 1.3.2 1.5.1 1.20.1 1.20.2 1.21.1 1.28.1 2.6.3 3.23.8

102 n. 3, 169 102 391 n. 49 102, 110 102 469 n. 7 167 n. 10 391 n. 49 169 n. 14

patristic and medieval christian writers Jacobus de Voragine Golden Legend Jerome Adversus Jovinianum

1.3 1.5 1.6 1.7 1.9 1.12 1.20

501 181–183, 183 n. 63, 184–187, 191, 191 n. 89 180 n. 52 181 n. 54 181 n. 55 182 n. 58, 183 n. 61 182 n. 59 184 n. 65, 185 183 nn 62–63

Adversus Rufinum 1,9 1,16

406 n. 44 83 n. 2

Chronicle Abr. 2370

83 n. 2

Commentary on Obadiah 2.19–20

92 n. 31

Commentary on Daniel

485 n. 59

Commentary on Ephesians 214 PL 26.450A 92 n. 31 PL 26.453D 92 n. 31 PL 26.471B 92 n. 31 PL 26.476A 92 n. 31 PL 26.487C 92 n. 31 PL 26.511C 92 n. 31 PL 26.513B 92 n. 31 PL 26.525B 92 n. 31 PL 26.530B 92 n. 31 PL 26.535A 92 n. 31 Commentary on Galatians 1.3.1 2.4.26 3.5.7 PL 26.333A PL 26.334B PL 26.357C PL 26.363A PL 26.364D PL 26.372D

91 94 91 92 92 92 92 92 92

n. n. n. n. n. n. n. n. n.

29 35 29 31 31 31 31 31 31

PL PL PL PL

26.402A 26.402C 26.418C 26.425A

589 92 92 92 92

n. n. n. n.

31 31 31 31

Commentary on Ecclesiastes 1.1 92 n. 31 2.5 92 n. 31 9.10 83 n. 2 Commentary on Matthew 1.5.26 92 n. 31 4.24.36 92 n. 31 Commentary on Ezekiel 2.9.11–19 9.26.6–14 9.28.11–19 11.37.1–14

92 n. 92 n. 92 n. 92 n. n. 35

31 31 31 31, 94

Commentary on Jonah Prologue (PL 25.118)

40 n. 8

Commentary in Isaiah 3.6.9–10 3.8.1–4 3.8.5–8 15.54.1 18.66.10–11

92 92 92 92 92

n. n. n. n. n.

31 31 31 31 31

Commentary on Jeremiah 5.27.5 92 n. 31 5.53.5 92 n. 31 6.11.2 92 n. 31 Commentary on Micah 2.1–5

92 n. 31

Commentary on Hosea 1.1.1

92 n. 31

Contra Helvidium 21

183 n. 64

De situ et nominibus locorum hebraicorum liber 269 n. 76 De viris illustribus 1 102

488 n. 65 254 nn 7.10–11

Epistulae 14.6

266 n. 70

590 49 37 46.12 48.2 49.15 50.3 70.4 124 124.13

index of ancient sources 183 n. 63, 184 n. 66 295 n. 28 398 n. 13 184 n. 66 183 n. 63 184 n. 66 255 n. 12 207 n. 33, 220 n. 51 208 n. 33

Liber quaestionum hebraicarum in Genesim Praef. 92 n. 31 1.2 92 n. 31 21.22 92 n. 31 22.20 92 n. 31 24.43 92 n. 31 25.8 92 n. 31 32.2 91 n. 30 32.29–30 92 n. 31 43.11 92 n. 31 45.9–10 92 n. 31 46.26 92 n. 31 Prologue to the translation of Origen’s homilies on Song of the Songs 287 n. 2 Vita Hilarionis 3.5.11 4.3 25.2 25.6 32.1

402 404 405 405 405

n. n. n. n. n.

28 34 38 38 38

John Chrysostom Homiliae in Genesim XXI,6 410 n. 62 Homiliae in Iohannem 17 117 n. 43 Homiliae de Lazaro III,1 410 n. 62 Homiliae in Matthaeum II,5 410 n. 62 John Climacus Scala Paradisi

26

John the Geometer Life of the Virgin 509

John Moschus Pratum spirituale 46 55 134 135

407 417 409 409

n. n. n. n.

48 96 54 59

John Rufus Life of Peter the Iberian 415 John of Thessalonica Homily on the Dormition of Mary 503 A.1 503 n. 37 Julian the Apostate Against the Galileans 75a 89a 93e 155c–d 160d Letters 114 (52 Hertlein) Justin Martyr Dialogue with Trypho 16.2–4 61 63.1 85.2 126.1 129.3–4 132.1 First Apology 14–17 21.1 23.1 30–53 31.7 42.4 44.8–19 46.5 Justinian Epistula ad Mennam Justinian Code 146 Leo the Wise Oracles

389 389 389 389 389 253 n. 3 71 48 n. 27 353 n. 26 71 n. 37 71 n. 37 71 n. 37 353 n. 26 71 n. 37 71 71 n. 34 71 n. 37 484 n. 57 71 n. 35 71 nn 36.39 71 n. 37 484 n. 57 71 n. 37 207 n. 33 45 149

patristic and medieval christian writers Pseudo-Leontius of Byzantium De sectis 3.2 110 Liudprand of Cremona Relatio de legatione Constantopolitana §39 150 n. 22 Marcellus of Ancyra Contra Asterium

Fr. P1 S/V 1 Re 59 K 65 Fr. P2 S/V 2 Re 29, K 34 Fr. P3 S/V 9 Re 30 K 35 Fr. P4 S/V 10 Re 3K 3 Fr. P5 S/V 66 Re 31 K 36 Fr. P12 S/V 5 Re 42 K 48 Fr. P13 S/V 67 Re 41 K 47 Fr. P14 S/V 68 Re 46 K 51 Fr. P19 S/V 4 Re 1 K 1 Fr. P20 S/V 7 Re 36 K 42 Fr. P23 S/V 12 Re 2 K2 Fr. P25 S/V 14 Re 5 K5 Fr. P26 S/V 15 Re 6 K6 Fr. P28 S/V 23 Re 112 K 125 Fr. P28 S/V 23 Re 112 K 125– Fr. P50 S/V 45 Re 22 K 27 Fr. P29 S/V 24 Re 110 K 123 Fr. P30 S/V 25 Re 111 K 124

337, 337 n. 1, 338, 340, 340 n. 12, 341, 341 n. 13, 342–345, 353, 358–359, 364–367 342 n. 18 342 n. 18, 364 342 n. 18 346 348 352 352–353 353 351

Fr. P31 S/V 26 Re 9 K9 Fr. P32 S/V 27 Re 11 K 12 Fr. P34 S/V 29 Re 10 K 11 Fr. P35 S/V 30 Re 12 K 13 Fr. P36 S/V 31 Re 12 K 14 Fr. P37 S/V 32 Re 13 K 15 Fr. P38 S/V 33 Re 13 K 16 Fr. P43 S/V 38 Re 17 K 20 Fr. P44 S/V 39 Re 18 K 21 Fr. P50 S/V 45 Re 22 K 27 Fr. P51 S/V 46 Re 79 K 89 Fr. P56 S/V 55 Re 83 K 94 Fr. P59 S/V 113 Re 85 K 96 Fr. P68 S/V 47 Re 60 K 66 Fr. P69 S/V 48 Re 60 K 67 Fr. P72 S/V 69 Re 38 K 44 Fr. P84 S/V 74 Re 64 K 73

591 354 354 354 354–355 355 355 354, 360 348, 355 355 355 356, 358 361 364 349 349 348 348, 360– 361, 363

353

Fr. P84–5 S/V 74–5 Re 64–5 K 73–4 Fr. P85 S/V 75 Re 65 K 74 Fr. P94 S/V 85 Re 57 K 63 Fr. P95 S/V 86 Re 58 K 64 Fr. P99–104 S/V 90–93, 95, 97 Fr. P110 S/V 79 Re 95 K 106 Fr. P111 S/V 80 Re 96 K 107

354

De sancta ecclesia

365

354

Letter to Julius

365, 365 n. 34

352 346 346 346 354

359 348, 361 350 350 361 362 362

592


Macarius Magnes Apocritica 4.6

488 n. 65

Maximus the Confessor Ambigua ad Ionannem

20 n. 20, 24

Ambigua ad Thomam

20 n. 20, 24

Capita de caritate Prol. 1–2

19 n. 15

Disputatio cum Pyrrho

20 n. 18

Expositio in Psalmum lix 19 n. 15 Logos Asketikos

1–15 1,17 2,34–35 5,32 14,17 16–26 18,32 21,377 24 24–25 26 26,464–466 27 27–39 27,467 27,468–471 27,471 27,472 27,480–481 27,484 27,500 27,505–507 27,510 28,523 29,530–531

17–19, 19 nn 9.15, 20, 20 n. 17, 22, 24–28, 31 n. 88, 33–36 25 n. 40 22 n. 28 24 n. 37 24 n. 37 24 n. 37 25 n. 41 24 n. 37 24 n. 37 24 n. 37 35 n. 112 28 25 n. 42 24 n. 37, 29, 32 n. 94 26 25 n. 43, 28 n. 66 29 n. 68, 30 n. 79 27 n. 51, 30 nn 70.80 24 n. 37 30 n. 77 30 n. 77 27 n. 52, 30 nn 74.81 30 n. 71 30 n. 77 27 n. 53, 30 n. 73 27 n. 54, 30 n. 72

29,533–536 29,539 29,546 30,552 31 31,562 31,563 31,568 31,572 31,576 32,581–582 32,586–587 32,588 32,588–589 32,596–618 34 34,660–667 35–37b 35,669–670 35,678–679 36,693 36,698 36,714–716 37 37,721 37,747–748 37,747–750 37,748 37,760–764 39,838–839 39,847–851 39,850–851 40 40,852–856 41,912–914 41,913–914 42,971–974 43,983–984 43,985–986 45,1018–1039

24 24 30 24 31 27 27 27 27 27 27 29 32 32 33 24 32 32 27 27 27 27 33 29 33 27 34 30 34 24 30 34 20 36 25 24 26 22 24 26

n. n. n. n. n. n. n. n. n. n. n. n. n. n. n. n. n. n. n. n. n. n. n.

37, 30 37 77 37 89 55 57, 30 58 59, 30 60 61, 30 69 92 93 102 37 96 97 62, 30 63 64 65 100

n. 75

n. n. n. n. n. n. n. n. n. n. n. n. n. n. n. n.

103 56, 30 n. 75 105 76 106 37 78 108 21 113 39 37 45 27 37, 35 n. 111 44

Epistulae 2

17, 20 n. 17

Quaestiones ad Thalassium

20 n. 20, 24

Quaestiones ad Theopemptum

20 n. 20

Quaestiones et dubia

19 n. 15, 20 n. 20

n. 75 n. 76 n. 75

n. 75

patristic and medieval christian writers Pseudo-Maximus the Confessor Life of the Virgin 507–509 2 508 n. 55 Pseudo-Melito of Sardis Transitus 505 Methodius of Olympus Symposium 2.6 488 n. 65 Pseudo-Methodius Reuelationes Nicephorus Stichometery

149 482 n. 48, 488 n. 65

Nicetas of Heraclea Catena on the Gospel of Luke 19 n. 13 Catena on the Gospel of Matthew 19 n. 13 Nikodemos of the Holy Mountain and Makarios of Corinth Philocalia 17 n. 1 Nilus of Ancyra Commentary on Song of Songs Prol. 1–2 300 n. 45 Prol. 2 300 n. 47 Prol. 3 301 n. 48 Notker Balbulus De interpretibus divinarum Scriptuarum 2 287 n. 3 Origen Against Celsus 1.17–20 1.21 1.46 1.48 4.21 4.36–40 4.38 4.41–42 4.48–51 4.71–73 4.89 5.52–55

304, 304 n. 63 484 n. 57 484 n. 56 74 n. 52 308 n. 77 484 n. 56 389 389 484 n. 56 389 389 389 471 n. 15

6.1–7.58 6.29 6.58 6.61 6.75 6.77 7.34 Commentary on 1 Corinthians Fr. 12 Fr. 29 Fr. 33 Fr. 34 Fr. 35 Fr. 37 Fr. 39

593 484 n. 56 389 389 389 304 n. 64 304 nn 63.65 306 n. 70, 308 n. 77 175, 177 297 n. 32, 298 nn 36.37.39 175 n. 34, 178 n. 46 175 nn 35–36 176 n. 40, 177 n. 44, 183 n. 62 175 n. 37 175 n. 38 178 nn 48–49, 183 n. 64

Commentary on Ephesians 200 n. 23, 214 8 199, 199 n. 23, 213 Commentary on John 1.17.101–102 1.27 1.33 1.34 1.36 1.39–40 1.40 1.43 1.43–45 1.45 1.79–80 1.83–84 1.84 1.85–86 1.87 6.209–211 10.279

200 n. 23, 216, 220, 471 n. 15 354 n. 28 208 n. 35 209 n. 36 209 n. 36 209 n. 37 208 199 211 210 210 n. 39 212 211 199, 199 n. 23 212 212 269 n. 73 308 n. 77

594 13.17 13.27 13.30 13.37 13.250–259 20.166 20.329 32.400 Commentary on Luke Fr. 186 Fr. 192

index of ancient sources 488 n. 65 211 n. 41 211 n. 41 211 n. 41 294 n. 24 73 n. 47 73 n. 47 226 n. 60 301 n. 49, 308 n. 77 308 n. 77

Commentary on Matthew 8.13 102 10.17 488 n. 65 12.2 72 n. 41 12:36–37 304 n. 65 13.4 73 n. 47 14.16 176 n. 40 Fr. 77 73 n. 47 Fr. 138 196 n. 13, 199 n. 21 Fr. 193 73 n. 45 Commentary on Numbers 6–7

41 41 n. 11

Commentary on Romans

175 n. 39, 200 n. 23, 219 n. 50 178 n. 47 217, 199, 208 n. 33 199, 221 219 n. 50 175 n. 39

1.2 1.4 1.14 5.1.9–10 9.2.9 Commentary on Song of Songs

Prol. 1.1 Prol. 1.1–3 Prol. 1.4–7 Prol. 1.6

287, 287 n. 1, 288, 290–293, 294 n. 26, 296, 296 n. 31, 298, 304–305, 305 n. 68, 307–308, 312, 314 293, 296, 309 n. 81 288 n. 5, 297 297 299 n. 40

Prol. 1.8 Prol. 2.1 Prol. 3.11 Prol. 4.13 Prol. 4.28 1.1.5 1.2.2 1.3.1–3 1.4.11 1.4.15 1.4.16 1.4.16–21 1.5.2 2.1.2 2.4 2.4.4 2.9.1–2 2.9.2 2.9.12–13 2.9.14 3.2.1 3.2.4 3.8.2 3.9.1 3.9.4 3.11.1 3.11.9 3.14.1 3.14.4 3.14.8 3.14.14 4.2.4

314 n. 94 315 n. 97 301 n. 48 293 n. 23 293 n. 23 288 n. 6 295 n. 27, 311 n. 86 308 n. 79 307 n. 73 307 n. 75 306 n. 69 308 n. 78 295 n. 27 288 n. 6 73 n. 46 288 n. 6 308 n. 79 288 n. 6 307 n. 74 307 n. 76 308 n. 80 314 n. 95 295 n. 27 303 n. 61 305 n. 68 309 295 n. 26 305 n. 68, 312 n. 90 312 n. 91 313 n. 92 313 n. 93 312 nn 88–89

De principiis

200 n. 23, 210, 216, 289, 291, 294, 296, 296 n. 30 488 n. 65 203 306 n. 70, 307 n. 72 354 n. 28 222 n. 52 471 n. 15, 481 203 n. 28 176 n. 39 201, 203 202 199–200, 222 n. 53 290, 390 293 n. 22 289 n. 9, 298 n. 37 294 n. 24 292 n. 18 294 n. 24, 390, 390 n. 48

Praef. 8 1–3 1.1.9 1.2.1 1.2.10 1.3.3 1.6.2 2.7.3. 3 3.6.3 3.6.8 4 4.2.1 4.2.4–5 4.2.5 4.2.7 4.2.9

patristic and medieval christian writers 4.3 4.3.1 4.3.5

4.4.10 Fr. 30

204 n. 29 303 n. 58 205, 205 n. 30 204 n. 29, 205 199, 204 308 n. 77 471 n. 15, 481 308 n. 77 207 n. 33

Dialogue with Heraclides 15.28–23.1

306 n. 70

4.3.11 4.3.13 4.37 4.4.8

Epistula ad Iulium Africanum 13 469 n. 7 Homilies on Judges 5.6

298 n. 37

Homilies on Jeremiah 3.3

437

Homilies on Leviticus 4.10 4.10.5

199 215

Homilies on Luke 3

304 n. 65

Homilies on Numbers 16.9 27.1.3

297 n. 32 298 n. 35

Homilies on Psalms 1.37

73 n. 50

Homilies on Song of Songs 1.1

287 n. 1 297 n. 33, 314 n. 96

On Prayer (De oratione) 2.2 31.4

176 176 n. 42 176 n. 41

Philocalia

204 n. 29, 303–304, 304 n. 63, 305 n. 68, 512 390 n. 48 303 n. 62, 304 n. 66

1.16 15.19

595

Pachomius Pachomiana Latina 49 82 100 101 139 141

401 409 409 409 401 401

n. n. n. n. n. n.

23 57 57 57 23 23

Palladius of Galatia Lausiac History Prol. 7 11,4 13,1 18,25 21,8–9 21,16–17 26,3 32,12 37,1 38,7 38,10 45,3 47,3 55,3 68,4

415 404 406 404 396 400 404 404 405 400 406 406 405 411 410

n. n. n. n. n. n. n. n. n. n. n. n. n. n. n.

86 36 42 36 8 20 36 36 37 19 42 42 37 67 64

Peter of Sicily Historia Manichaeorum 16 110 Pelagius Epistula ad Celantiam matronam 28 185 n. 70 Epistula ad Claudiam de virginitate 11.3 186 n. 74 Epistula ad Demetriadem 9.2 186 n. 73 24.3 186 n. 7 Epistula de castitate 191 n. 89 Expositions on 1 Corinthians 7:26 186 n. 75 7:28 186 nn 71–72 7:34 187 n. 76 7:38 187 n. 77 7:40 187 n. 79 Expositions on Ephesians 5:29 187 n. 78

596


Expositions on 1 Timothy 4:2 187 n. 78 Pseudo-Peter of Laodicea Commentary on Luke 258, 258 n. 35, 259, 261–262 Philoxenus of Mabbug Homilies

229

Photius Bibliotheca Cod. 232,291b20–21

269 n. 72

Pseudo-Photius Contra Manichaeos 1.14

110

Proba Cento virgilianus 23

537

Ptolemy Letter to Flora

371 n. 10

Salimbene de Adam Cronica fratris Salimbene de Adam ordinus minorum 150 n. 22 76 76 78

Severus of Antioch Cathedral Homilies 123 123.96 123.99–101 123.117–8 123.130–1

131 131 131 132 132 132

Shenute Letters to Nuns

414

Tatian Diatessaron

128 n. 26, 167, 169 n. 14, 421 n. 5

On Perfection according to the Saviour 168–169

468 n. 4 488 n. 65

Sarapion of Thmuis Euchologion 15–17 17

Sozomen Historia ecclesiastica 5.15.16 410 n. 62 7.19 488 n. 65 9.17.4 411 n. 66 Symeon the Metaphrast Life of the Virgin 509

Rufinus of Aquileia Apologia adversus Hieronymum 2.42 184 n. 67 Expositio symboli 36–38 38

Socrates of Constantinople Historia ecclesiastica 3.25.18 254 n. 5

n. n. n. n.

48 49 50 51

Oration to the Greeks 7.1 11.1 11.2 15.1 15.3 31 35–41 Tertullian Ad uxorem 1.3.5 1.5.22–3

167–168 168 168 168 n. 12 168 n. 13 168 484 n. 57 484 n. 57 173 173 n. 29 183 n. 64

Adversus Marcionem 1.29.6–7 173 3.5.4 386 5.18.8–9 386 5.18.9 173

n. n. n. n.

27 42 42 28

Adversus Praxean 8.4 6–7 26

299 n. 42 354 n. 27 102

De anima 21.2

386 n. 42

De cultu feminarum 1.3 471 n. 15, 481 2.10 471 n. 15

patristic and medieval christian writers De exhortatione castitatis 3.4–5 9.4 9.5 10.2

173, 182 174 n. 30 174 n. 31 183 n. 64 183 n. 60

De idololatria 4.2–3

471 n. 15

De monogamia 16.5

174, 182 183 n. 64

De pudicitia 1

102

De virginibus velandis 10.4

174 n. 33

Theodor of Petra Vita Theodosii

402 n. 27

Theodore of Mopsuestia estimonia 77–80 estimonium 80

303 n. 60 311 n. 85

Theodoret of Cyrrhus Haereticarum fabularum compendium 26 137 n. 61 History of the Monks of Syria

111

In Canticum Canticorum Prol. (PG 81.29A–32C) 295 n. 28 Praef. (PG 81.32B) 287 n. 3 Philotheos historiae 1.5 1.8

230 112 n. 29 112 n. 29

Theophilus of Antioch Ad Autolycum 1.14 2.19

488 n. 65 488 n. 65

Thomas Aquinas Glossa continua super Evangelia Catena aurea 262 Timothy of Constantinople Acts of the Second Council of Nicea 6.5 110

De receptione haereticorum PG 86.21C PG 86.22C Titus of Bostra Contra Manichaeos 2.28 4.47 4.48 Homilies on Luke (Scholia) In In In In

Lucam Lucam Lucam Lucam

4,1 4,3 5,12 8,26

In In In In In In In

Lucam Lucam Lucam Lucam Lucam Lucam Lucam

9,38 9,38–41 10,21 11,2–3 12,58 15,3 18,18

597 110 117 n. 43 134, 254– 256, 266 254 n. 6 135 nn 58–59 135 n. 59 255–260, 262–263, 284–285 263–265 266 n. 68 267, 276 268–269, 284 269 270–271 272–276 276–278 278–279 279–284 284

Scholies on Daniel

255

Sermo in epiphaniam

256

Pseudo-Titus Commentary on Luke

257–262

Commentary on Matthew

257

Homilia in Lazarum et in ramos palmarum

256

Victorinus of Pettau Commentarii in Apoclaypsim PL 5.340B 194 n. 3 Zacharias Rhetor Vita Isaiae Zosimas Adloquia (Conversations) 12 13 15

416 n. 94 408, 414 414 n. 83 404 n. 35, 408 n. 53 409 n. 54

598


Anonymous Vita Charitonis 1 14 15

399 415 n. 85 399 n. 16 402 n. 28, 416 n. 90

16 24 38 39 40 43

403 n. 31, 409 n. 55 416 n. 91 416 n. 92 416 n. 92 416 n. 92 397 n. 11, 416 n. 92

Magical Papyri BGU III 954

66 n. 5, 68, 79 n. 89

P.Barc. P.Barc. P.Barc. P.Barc.

77 77 n. 77 78 n. 78 77 n. 69

154b–157b 155.21–22 155.23–24 155b.19–156a.5

P.Berl. 11858 P.Berl. inv. 6096

66 n. 2 66, 79

P.Cair. 10696

66 n. 5

P.Coll.Youtie II 91

68, 79

P.Duke inv. 778

66 n. 5

PGM PGM PGM PGM PGM PGM

66 67 66 68 69 67

2.211 [P 4] 2.212–13 [P 5b] 2.213–14 [P 5c] 2.217 [P 9] 2.217 2.227–28 [P 19]

n. n. n. n. n. n.

3 7 5 20 21 5

P.Kellis I 88 P.Kellis I 88.7–10 P.Kellis I 88.11–14

77 77 n. 77 78 n. 78

P.Köln VIII 340 P.Köln inv. 2283

69 68

P.Louvre E 7332 bis

66 n. 2

P.Osl. inv. 1644

66 n. 5

P.Oxy. VIII 1077 P.Oxy. VIII 1151

66, 79 66 n. 2, 67, 79 n. 89

PSI VI 719 PSI inv. 365

66 n. 5 66 n. 2

P. Turner 49

66 n. 2, 67, 79 n. 89

P.Vindob.G. 348

67 n. 5

INDEX OF MODERN AUTHORS Aalders, G.J.D. 478 n. 38 Abou-Zayd, S. 248 n. 36 Abramowski, L. 364, 364 n. 33 Adler, W. 158 n. 49, 469 n. 7, 470 n. 12, 471 nn 14–15, 472 n. 18, 482 n. 50 Adriaen, M. 91 n. 30 Aland, B. 117, 263 n. 65 Alcock, A. 419 n. 1 Alexander, E.S. 12 n. 1 Alexander, P.A. 147 n. 8, 148 nn 12–13 Alexander, P.S. 438 n. 31, 487 n. 62 Alexandre, M. 376 n. 18, 379 n. 24, 384 nn 38–39, 514, 514 nn 14–15, 521, 521 n. 28 Alfaric, P. 420 n. 2 Allberry, C.R.C. 123 n. 9, 127 n. 24, 129 nn 32–33.36–38, 130 nn 39–44 Allen, Jr., O.W. 112, 112 n. 31 Amann, É. 253 n. 2 Amato, E. 272 n. 79 Amundsen, L. 66 n. 5 Andreotti, G. 4 n. 7 Anselmetto, Cl. 215 n. 47 Aragione, G. 438 n. 31 Archambault, G. 71 n. 37 Argárate, P. 18 nn 7–8, 21 nn 24–25, 22 n. 26 Armstrong, E.C.R. 9 n. 13 Arnaldez, R. 520 n. 23 Arnold, D.W.H. 59 n. 24, 61 n. 39 Arnold-Döben, V. 121, 121 nn 2.5, 126, 126 n. 20, 143 Arns, P.E. 405 n. 38 Arras, V. 505 n. 46 Asahu-Ejere, K. 69 n. 26 Astell, A.W. 288 n. 4, 289, 289 n. 10 Aubineau, M. 256, 256 n. 20, 521, 521 n. 28 Auden, W.H. 6 Auerbach, E. 6, 6 n. 9, 145, 145 n. 1 Augoustinos Monachos 413 n. 77 Aune, D.E. 114 n. 36 Baarda, T. 270 n. 77 Backus, I. 540 n. 14

Baehrens, W.A. 295 n. 26, 298 n. 39 Baker-Brian, N.J. 122 n. 7, 125, 125 nn 13.16–18, 128 nn 26–27, 139 n. 68, 143, 143 n. 76 Baldwin, B. 253 n. 2 Balthasar, H.U. von 534 Barbàra, M.A. 403 n. 33 Barc, B. 373, 373 n. 16, 374 n. 17, 380, 380 nn 27.29, 381, 381 n. 33, 382–383, 383 n. 37, 384 n. 40 Barkley, G.W. 215 n. 47 Barnes, M. 365 n. 34 Barnes, T. 337, 337 n. 2, 341 n. 14 Barrera, J.T. 370 n. 4 Barrett-Lennard, R.J.S. 74 n. 56, 76 nn 66.68, 78 nn 79–80.83 Barry, C. 377 n. 19 Bartelink, G.J. 396 n. 8, 400 nn 19–20, 404 n. 36, 406 n. 42, 410 n. 64, 411 n. 67, 415 n. 86 Barth, K. 532 Barthes, R. 163–164 Bastiaensen, A.A.R. 402 n. 28, 404 n. 34, 405 n. 38 Bathrellos, D. 21 n. 23 Bauckham, R. 471 n. 17, 475 n. 28, 505–506, 506 nn 47–48.50 Baumgarten, A.I. 161 n. 57 Baumstark, A. 128 n. 26 Baun, J. 506, 506 nn 47.49 Bausenhart, G. 18 n. 8 Beale, D. 44 Beckwith, R.T. 318 n. 2, 472 n. 21 Bélanger, R. 301 n. 48 Bellet, P. 263 n. 62 Benke, Chr. 26 n. 47 Benz, E. 72 n. 41, 73 nn 45.47 Berger, K. 155 n. 39, 156 n. 40 Berger, P. 317 n. 1 Bergren, T.A. 477 n. 34 Bernstein, B. 321 Bernstein, M.J. 478 n. 35, 480 n. 43 Berthold, G.C. 23 nn 29–30.33 Bertrand, D.A. 492 n. 4 Betz, H.-D. 68 n. 18 Beyers, R. 500 nn 26.28, 501 nn 29–30

600

index of modern authors

Beylot, R. 78 n. 83 Bidez, J. 253 n. 3 Binns, J. 394 n. 5 Biondi, A. 70 n. 33 Bitton-Ashkelony, B. 394 n. 5, 416 n. 89 Black, M. 263 n. 65 Blanc, C. 73 n. 47, 208 n. 34, 269 n. 73 Blanckenhagen, P.H. von 5 n. 8 Blowers, P.M. 23 nn 29–30.32, 24 n. 38 Boer, S. de 158 n. 49 Böhlig, A. 124 n. 11, 125 n. 17, 420 n. 2, 421 n. 4 Bolgiani, F. 168 n. 11 Bonaccorsi, P.G. 104 n. 14 Bonhoeffer, D. 538 Bonner, C. 68 n. 19 Bonnet, M. 75 nn 59.62, 509 Boon, A. 401 n. 23 Borret, M. 74 n. 52, 215 n. 47, 304 n. 63 Botte, B. 78 n. 83 Boulding, M. 58 nn 18.20, 59 n. 23, 63 n. 43 Bourdieu, P. 293 n. 22 Bousset, W. 150 n. 25 Boustan, R.S. 483 n. 53 Bovon, F. 75 n. 63, 430 n. 6, 496 n. 15, 497 n. 16, 503 n. 36, 509, 510 n. 59 Bowersock, G.W. 9 Bowley, J.E. 472 n. 20 Boyarin, D. 166 n. 7 Bradshaw, P.F. 78 n. 83 Brakke, D. 179 n. 50, 467 n. 1, 469 n. 6, 497 n. 17 Brashear, W. 67 nn 10.12–13 Braun, R. 174, 174 n. 32 Bregman, M. 483 n. 53 Brésard, L. 287 n. 1, 288 n. 4, 298 n. 39, 303 n. 61, 308 n. 80 Bright, P. 57 nn 15–17, 59 n. 24, 61 n. 39, 537 n. 9 Brock, S.P. 227, 227 n. 1, 481 n. 47 Brooks, E.W. 416 n. 94 Brown, P. 9, 176 n. 43 Brox, N. 78 n. 82 Bruyn, Th. de 66 n. 2 Bundy, D. 481 n. 47 Burkert, W. 478 n. 38 Burnet, R. 475 n. 28 Burridge, R.A. 114 n. 35

Burton-Christie, D. 393 nn 2–3, 395 n. 6, 412 n. 74 Bussières, M.-P. 98 n. 40 Butler, H.E. 113 n. 32 Butterworth, G.W. 200 n. 26 Campagnano, A. 432 n. 11 Campenhausen, H. von 166 n. 5 Canévet, M. 511, 511 n. 1, 524, 524 n. 31 Cangh, J.-M. van 75 n. 63 Cantaloup, P. 420 n. 2 Cantarella, R. 18 n. 8, 19 Carozzi, C. 435 n. 20 Carriker, A. 406 n. 43, 407 n. 46 Carroll, L. 56 n. 10 Casey, R.P. 253 n. 2, 256 n. 18 Cavalcanti, E. 253 n. 2 Cavallo, G. 406 n. 42, 407 n. 46 Chadwick, H. 169 n. 14, 171 n. 19, 172 nn 23–24, 304 nn 63–65 Chappuzeau, G. 311 n. 84 Chartrand-Burke, T. 103 n. 6, 104 nn 11–12, 105 nn 15.17–18, 108 n. 21, 114 n. 34 Chazon, E. 468 n. 5 Chazon, R. 43 Cherix, P. 431 n. 8 Chernick, M. 450 n. 53 Chiesa, P. 150 n. 22 Chitty, D.J. 394 n. 5 Choi, M.J. 18 n. 7 Chrestou, P. 19 n. 14 Clackson, S. 77 n. 74 Clark, E.A. 163, 163 n. 1, 164, 164 nn 2–3, 172 n. 25, 177 n. 45, 238 n. 26, 288 n. 4 Clayton, M. 505 n. 45 Cocchini, F. 209 n. 38 Collins, A.Y. 158 n. 47 Collins, J.J. 145, 145 n. 2 Combefis, F. 19, 19 n. 9 Congar, Y. 532 Cook, J.G. 484 nn 56.58 Cooper, A.G. 21 n. 25, 23 n. 29 Copeland, K.B. 434 n. 16, 435, 435 n. 21 Côté, D. 431 n. 7 Cothenet, É. 507 n. 51 Cowley, R.W. 472 n. 20, 498 n. 20 Cox, P. 114 n. 35 Coyle, J.K. 77 n. 75, 121 n. 1, 142 n. 75, 419 n. 1 Cramer, J.A. 258, 258 n. 36, 261–262

index of modern authors Cremaschi, L. 401 n. 23, 404 n. 35 Crossan, J.D. 115 n. 39 Crouzel, H. 73 n. 48, 175 nn 35–36, 176 n. 40, 177 n. 44, 194, 195 n. 4, 196, 196 nn 10–13, 197, 197 nn 13–15, 198, 198 n. 16, 199 n. 21, 200 n. 26, 204, 206, 220 n. 51, 223–224, 224 n. 56, 287 n. 1, 288 n. 4, 298 n. 39, 303 n. 61, 308 n. 80 Crum, W.C. 380 n. 28, 384 n. 40 Cullmann, O. 104 n. 14 Cumont, F. 131 n. 48 Currie, S. 114 n. 37, 115 n. 39, 116 n. 41 Curti, C. 403 n. 33 Cuschieri, A. 78 n. 81 Daley, B. 148 n. 10 Dalmais, I.-H. 17, 17 n. 3, 18, 18 nn 4–6, 19 n. 15, 21 n. 22, 27, 27 n. 48 Daniel, R.W. 67 nn 5.10–11.13, 68 nn 14–16.18–19, 77 nn 70–73.75–76 Daniélou, J. 224 n. 56, 511 n. 3, 514, 514 nn 14–15, 519 n. 19, 521, 521 n. 28, 534 Daube, D. 462 n. 156 David, E.F. 479 n. 40 Davila, J.R. 435 n. 18, 486 n. 61 Davis, S.J. 166 n. 8 DeAngelis, B. 21 n. 25 Declerck, J.H. 340 nn 9.11 DeConick, A.D. 433 n. 13 Decret, F. 137 n. 62, 141 n. 70, 420 n. 2 Dehandschutter, B. 70 n. 29 Delatte, A. 104 n. 11 Delorme, J. 56 Deming, W. 166 n. 7 Denis, J. 195 n. 4 Deseille, P. 18 n. 8, 22 n. 27, 28 n. 67, 32 n. 93 Detoraki, M. 406 n. 41 Deun, P. van 17 n. 2, 19, 19 nn 10.12.14, 20 n. 16, 22 n. 27 Deveresse, R. 258 n. 30, 260 n. 50 Di Segni, L.C. 397 n. 11, 398 n. 15, 399 n. 16 Dillon, J.M. 306 nn 70–71 DiTommaso, L. 148 n. 11, 150 n. 24, 151 n. 29, 153 n. 34, 154 n. 36, 155 n. 38, 156 n. 41, 157 n. 43, 159 nn 51.55, 161 n. 57, 473 n. 24, 475 n. 27, 487 n. 62 Dogniez, C. 379 n. 24

601

Dolbeau, F. 188, 189 n. 84 Donaldson, J. 102 n. 3 Donelson, L.R. 475 n. 28 Dorival, G. 379 n. 24 Dörries, H. 393 n. 1, 395 n. 6, 408 n. 51, 413 n. 79 Douglas, M. 317 n. 1, 321, 321 n. 15 Doutreleau, L. 72 n. 41, 73 n. 45, 74 n. 51 Drobner, H.R. 521 n. 25 Droge, A.J. 484 n. 57 Dudden, H. 10 Dünzl, F. 302 n. 55 Dummer, J. 179 n. 50, 180 n. 51, 254 n. 9, 498 n. 18 Durand, G.M. du 74 nn 53–54 Duval, Y.-M. 177 n. 45, 181, 181 n. 56, 182 n. 57, 183 nn 60.62.64 Edwards, M.J. 225 n. 56, 226 n. 59 Ehrhard, A. 260, 260 n. 44, 262 Ehrman, B.D. 433 n. 13, 491, 491 n. 1, 498 n. 19 Elliott, J.K. 101 n. 1, 104 n. 14, 507 n. 52 Ellis, E.E. 318 n. 2 Emmel, S. 431 n. 9, 432 n. 10, 437 n. 25 Engammere, M. 294 n. 25 Erbetta, M. 104 n. 14, 492 n. 5 Erbse, H. 507 n. 53 Ernest, J.D. 344 n. 21 Esbroeck, M. van 502, 502 nn 32–33, 507 n. 54, 508 n. 55 Evans, C.A. 110 n. 24, 112 n. 30, 369 n. 2 Feldman, L. 479 n. 39 Ferguson, E. 513 n. 11 Filoramo, G. 369 n. 2, 371 n. 8, 372 n. 12 Finkelstein, L. 445 n. 12, 447 n. 21 Fischer, N. 139 n. 65 Fishbane, M. 480, 480 n. 44 Flint, P.W. 470 n. 13 Flusin, B. 401 n. 22, 407 n. 49, 409 n. 60 Förster, H. 432 n. 11 Foucault, M. 538, 538 n. 13 Fraïsse, A. 99 n. 42 Frankfurter, D. 67 n. 6, 79 nn 87, 90–91, 81, 148 n. 10, 472 n. 19 Franzmann, M. 77 n. 74 Frey, J. 432 n. 10

602


Fritz, K. von 468 n. 5 Früchtel, L. 169 n. 14, 170 n. 18, 171 nn 20–21, 172 nn 22–24 Fuchs, A. 104 n. 14 Funk, R. 104 n. 14 Funk, W.-P. 129 n. 28, 419 n. 1, 421 n. 4 Funkenstein, A. 44 Gaca, K.L. 167, 169 Gager, J.G. 487 n. 63 Gamble, H.Y. 401 n. 23, 407 nn 46–47 Garbas, M. 18 n. 8 Gardner, I. 77 n. 74, 127 n. 25, 129 nn 31.24–25, 419 n. 1, 420 n. 3, 421 n. 7, 422 n. 9 Garrigues, J.M. 21 n. 25 Gastaldo, C. 19 n. 15 Geerard, M. 253 n. 4 Geertz, C. 317 n. 1, 320, 320 n. 1 Geljon, A.C. 521, 521 nn 26–27, 522 n. 29 Genette, G. 433, 433 n. 15 Geoltrain, P. 430 n. 6, 497 n. 16, 503 n. 36 Gero, S. 107 n. 20 Ghellinck, J. de 405 n. 38, 407 n. 47, 409 n. 57 Gianotto, Cl. 369 n. 2, 371 n. 8, 372 n. 12 Gijsel, J. 500 nn 26–28, 501 nn 29–30 Gilson, E. 8, 8 n. 11 Ginzberg, L. 42, 155 n. 37 Gögler, R. 198, 198 nn 17–19, 199 nn 20–21, 204, 206, 206 n. 32, 223–224 Golden, M. 114 n. 37 Goldenberg, R. 324 n. 19 Golitzin, A. 472 n. 18 Goodenough, E.R. 4, 4 n. 5 Gorce, D. 405 n. 39 Gounelle, R. 434 n. 15 Grabar, A. 3, 3 n. 2 Grabar, O. 9 Graham, S.L. 520 n. 22 Grant, R.M. 167 n. 10 Grappe, C. 381 n. 31 Greatrex, G. 228 n. 6 Green, R.P.H. 57 n. 14, 58 n. 19, 59 n. 25, 60 nn 26–36, 61 nn 37–38, 62 nn 40–42, 64 nn 46–47 Green, W.S. 112 n. 29, 320 n. 9, 322, 443 n. 6

Greenlee, J.H. 261 n. 51 Greer, R.A. 176 nn 41–42 Gregg, J.A.F. 213 n. 42 Gregg, R.C. 339 n. 6 Grenfell, B.P. 66 n. 5 Gressmann, H. 72 n. 41, 74 n. 51 Griffe, M. 86 n. 15, 87 n. 17, 90 n. 24 Groh, D.E. 339 n. 6 Gruenwald, I. 147 n. 7, 161 n. 57 Guérard, M.-G. 300 n. 45 Gulley, N. 478 n. 38 Gundry-Volf, J.M. 114 n. 38, 166 n. 5 Hadot, P. 73 n. 49 Hagen, H. 87 n. 18, 88 nn 19–21, 89 n. 22, 90 n. 23 Hahn, A. 366 n. 36 Haibach-Reinisch, M. 505 n. 44 Hailpern, H. 37 n. 2 Hall, S.G. 266 n. 69 Halliburton, J. 78 nn 81–82, 79 nn 85–86 Halperin, D.J. 487 n. 63 Hammond Bammel, C.P. 175 n. 39, 217 n. 49 Hanfmann, G.M.A. 5 n. 8 Hansen, G.Ch. 411 n. 66 Hanson, J.S. 112 n. 29 Hanson, P.S. 146, 146 nn 3–4 Hanson, R.P.C. 200 n. 23, 224 n. 56, 225 n. 56, 304 n. 63 Harl, M. 196 n. 8, 297 n. 34, 304 nn 62–63, 305 n. 66, 379 n. 24, 388 n. 44, 403 n. 33 Harlot, D.C. 486 n. 61 Harris, J.M. 370 n. 7, 445 n. 14 Harris, R. 109 n. 23 Hauptman, J. 329 n. 23 Hausherr, I. 26 n. 46, 229, 229 n. 8 Hayes, J.H. 540 n. 14 Heather, P. 8 Hedrick, C.W. 431 n. 9, 436, 436 n. 23, 437 nn 24.27 Heen, E.M. 232 n. 15 Heikel, I.A. 72 n. 42, 73 nn 46.50 Heine, R.E. 200 n. 23, 208 n. 34, 213 n. 42, 214, 214 n. 43, 514, 514 n. 16 Heither, Th. 219 n. 50 Hennecke, E. 429, 491 Henrichs, A. 72 n. 44 Henry, R. 269 n. 72 Herder, J.G. 311 n. 87, 312 n. 87 Hermann, B. 18 n. 8

index of modern authors Heschel, A.J. 460 n. 150 Hevelone-Harper, J.L. 402 n. 26, 414 n. 81 Hicks, R.D. 85 n. 7 Hilberg, I. 398 n. 13 Himmelfarb, M. 474 n. 25, 476 n. 29, 483 n. 52 Hirschfeld, Y. 394 n. 5 Hirshman, M. 37 n. 2 Hock, R. 102 n. 4, 105 n. 14, 106 n. 19, 111 n. 26, 113 n. 33 Hoffmann, D. 460, 460 nn 150–152, 461 Hoffmann, P. 279 n. 82, 433 n. 14 Holder-Egger, O. 150 n. 22 Holl, K. 179 n. 50, 180 n. 51, 254 n. 9, 498 n. 18 Holtz, L. 83 n. 3 Hombert, P.-M. 187 n. 80 Hombergen, D. 413 n. 78 Hone, W. 492, 492 n. 3 Horovitz, H.S. 447 nn 18.20, 452 n. 83, 453 n. 90 Horsley, G.H.R. 79 n. 89 Horsley, R.A. 112 n. 29 Horst, P.W. van der 401 n. 24, 415 n. 88 Hunt, A.S. 66 nn 3.5 Hunt, E. 167 n. 10 Hunt, H. 26 n. 46 Hunter, D.G. 165 n. 4, 180 n. 53, 184 n. 68, 187 n. 80, 188, 188 n. 83, 289 n. 12 Ioannidou, G. 67 n. 10 Iturbe, F.J.C. 263 n. 62 Jacobs, A.S. 469 n. 6, 472 n. 18, 497 n. 17, 498 n. 19 Jaffee, M. 482 n. 51 Jastrow, M. 289 n. 8 Jeanrond, W.G. 56, 57 n. 12, 58 n. 20 Jenkins, C. 175 nn 34–38, 176 n. 40, 177 n. 44, 178 nn 46.48–49, 183 nn 62.64, 297 n. 32 Jenkins, G. 420 n. 1 Johnson, L.T. 232, 232 nn 15–17, 234, 234 n. 20 Johnson, M.E. 76 nn 64–66, 78 n. 83 Johnson, S.F. 438 n. 30 Jones, F.S. 433 n. 14 Jones, J. 492 n. 3 Jonge, J. de 102 n. 5, 115 n. 40 Jonge, M. de 481 n. 47, 486 n. 61

603

Jugie, M. 503 nn 37.39 Junod, É. 75 n. 62, 429, 429 n. 1, 430 nn 3–5, 438 n. 31, 494, 494 n. 10, 495, 495 n. 11, 496, 496 nn 13.15, 510 Kaestli, J.-D. 75 n. 62, 419 n. 1, 429, 429 n. 1, 430 nn 3–4.6, 431 n. 8, 434 n. 15, 438 n. 31, 489 n. 66, 496 n. 13, 497 n. 16 Kaler, M. 435 n. 19 Kamin, S. 37 n. 2 Kannengiesser, Ch. 63, 63 n. 45, 65, 72 n. 43, 73 n. 48, 163, 200 n. 23, 255 n. 13, 337, 337 n. 1, 341, 341 n. 15, 359 n. 29, 420, 513 n. 9, 520 n. 21, 529 n. 1, 535 nn 4–5, 536 n. 6, 537 nn 9–11, 540 n. 14 Karo, G. 257 n. 24, 258, 258 n. 30, 259, 259 nn 37.40, 260, 260 nn 43.49, 261, 261 n. 54, 262 n. 58 Kasher, R. 38 n. 4 Kasser, R. 433 n. 13 Kaster, R.A. 88 n. 20, 90 nn 24–25, 91 n. 27, 98 n. 41 Kattan, A.E. 20, 20 n. 17, 23 n. 31, 34 n. 110 Kearney, R. 189 nn 86–87, 190 n. 88 Keith, P. 383 n. 36 Kelley, N. 431 n. 7 Kelly, J.N.D. 71 nn 37.39 Kennedy, G.A. 464 n. 165 Kern-Ulmer, R. 464 n. 166 Kerrigan, A. 280 n. 83 King, J.C. 288 nn 4.7, 289 n. 11, 292, 292 n. 19, 293, 293 nn 20–23, 294, 294 nn 24–25, 296, 296 nn 29.31, 303 n. 58, 305 n. 67, 312 n. 89 King, K.L. 433 n. 13 Kister, M. 483 n. 52 Kitchen, R.A. 227 n. 2, 229 n. 9, 248 n. 36 Klauck, H.-J. 110 n. 25, 432 n. 10, 433 n. 13, 437 n. 26, 498, 498 n. 21 Klimkeit, H.-J. 124 n. 11, 128 n. 27 Kloppenborg, J.S. 433 n. 14 Klostermann, E. 72 n. 41, 73 nn 45.47, 197 n. 13, 340 n. 12, 342 n. 17 Kmosko, M. 227 n. 2, 228 n. 3, 229 Knibb, M.A. 481 n. 47, 486 n. 61 Koetschau, B. 207 n. 33, 304 n. 63 Kofsky, A. 394 n. 5 Köhler, W.-D. 70, 70 n. 33, 71 n. 34

604


Kotansky, R. 79 n. 90 Kovacs, J.L. 298 n. 36 Kraeling, C.H. 3, 3 n. 4, 4 n. 6 Kraemer, D. 473 n. 23 Kraemer, R.S. 486 n. 61 Kraft, R.A. 472 n. 18, 475 n. 27, 479 n. 42, 486 n. 61 Krannich, T. 339 n. 6 Kraus, S. 42 Kraus, T.J. 69 n. 25 Krebs, F. 66 n. 4 Krey, P.D.W. 232 n. 15 Krikones, C.T. 260 n. 50 Kruger, M.J. 432 n. 10 Kugel, J. 481, 481 n. 46 Kuhn, K.H. 109 n. 23 La’da, C.A. 66 n. 5, 69 n. 25 Labourt, J. 255 n. 12, 266 n. 70 Lachmann, C. 83 Laga, C. 23 n. 29 Lagarde, P. de 91 n. 30, 254 n. 6, 255 n. 14, 263 n. 62, 268 n. 71, 269 n. 76 Lampe, G.W.H. 283 n. 85 Langerbeck, H. 287 n. 3, 513 n. 10 Lapham, F. 110 n. 25 Laplace, J. 511 n. 3, 518 n. 18 Larchet, J.-C. 21 n. 25 Lategan, B.G. 161 n. 57 Laurence, P. 397 n. 9, 404 n. 35, 405 nn 39–40, 411 n. 68 Lauro, E.A.D. 293 n. 22, 298 n. 38 Lavoie, J.-M. 134 n. 57, 263 n. 64 Lawlor, H.L. 471 n. 14, 472 n. 19 Lawson, E.T. 76, 76 n. 67 Lawson, R.P. 287 n. 1, 297 n. 33, 305 n. 68, 306 n. 69, 307 nn 73.75, 308 n. 80, 311 n. 86, 312 nn 88.91, 313 nn 92–93, 314 nn 95–96, 315 n. 97 Layton, R.A. 214, 214 nn 45–46, 224 n. 56 Le Boulluec, A. 167 n. 11, 379 n. 24, 492 n. 4 Leclerq, J. 310 n. 83 Ledegang, F. 297 n. 34 Leiman, S.Z. 318 n. 2, 473 n. 23, 483 n. 54 Leloir, L. 419 n. 1 Lemoine, E. 229, 229 n. 7 Lendon, J. 8 Lessing, G.E. 215 n. 46, 225 n. 57 Lesskow, N. 411 n. 67 Levin, B.M. 465 n. 169

Lévy, A. 21 n. 23 Lewis, A.S. 504 n. 41, 507 n. 53 Lewis, J. 324 n. 19 Lieber, E. 487 n. 62 Lieberman, S. 461, 461 n. 154 Lienhard, J.T. 337, 337 n. 2, 462 n. 156 Lietzmann, H. 257 n. 24, 258, 258 n. 30, 259, 259 nn 37.40, 260, 260 nn 43.49, 261, 261 n. 54, 262 n. 58 Lieu, S.N.C. 123 n. 8, 124 n. 10, 126 n. 21, 128 n. 26, 133 n. 52, 420 n. 3 Lightstone, J.N. 318 n. 2, 324 nn 20–21, 325 n. 22, 330 nn 24–25, 331 n. 26 Lim, J.T.K. 55 nn 4–5, 56, 56 nn 9–11, 57, 57 nn 12–13, 58, 58 n. 22, 64, 64 n. 48 Lipsius, R.A. 75 n. 61, 509 Lockhart, Ph.N. 83 nn 1.3, 84, 84 n. 5, 85, 87, 90, 94–95, 97 Long, T.G. 232 n. 15, 233, 233 n. 18 Longenecker, R.N. 71 n. 38 Lorenz, R. 339, 339 n. 8 Lowe, M. 104 n. 11 Lowth, R. 303 n. 59 Lubac, H. de 73 n. 48, 195, 195 nn 6–8, 196, 196 nn 8–9.13, 197 n. 13, 198, 199 n. 21, 204, 206, 220 n. 51, 223–224, 224 n. 56, 534 Lucchesi, E. 431 n. 8 Luckmann, T. 317 n. 1 Ludlow, M. 513, 513 n. 11, 514 n. 12, 515, 515 n. 17 Lüdemann, G. 170, 170 n. 17 Lührmann, D. 70 n. 33 Macalister, R.A.S. 9 n. 13 MacDonald, D.R. 166, 430 n. 3 Mach, M. 147 n. 7 Mahé, A. 389 n. 45 Mahé, J.-P. 389 n. 45 Mai, A. 285 Malraux, A. 538 Maltomini, F. 67 nn 10–11.13, 68 nn 14–16.18–19, 69 n. 23 Manguel, A. 299, 299 n. 41, 300, 300 n. 43 Mann, F. 514 n. 13 Maraval, P. 254 n. 5, 397 n. 10 Marcus, I.G. 466 n. 170 Margalioth, M. 463 n. 160 Marguerat, D. 56, 56 nn 6–8, 63, 63 n. 44, 64, 64 n. 49, 433 n. 15

index of modern authors Maritsson, M. 19 n. 8 Markschies, C. 429 n. 2, 496 n. 15 Markus, R.A. 57, 62 n. 40 Marmorstein, A. 38 n. 4 Marrou, H.-I. 93 n. 33 Martini, C.M. 263 n. 65 Massaux, É. 70, 70 nn 31.33, 71 n. 34 Matter, E.A. 288 n. 4, 289, 289 nn 11–12 May, G. 511 n. 3 McCambly, R. 513 nn 8–9 McCauley, R.N. 76, 76 n. 67 McCown, C.C. 487 n. 63 McDonald, L.M. 319, 319 n. 3, 470 n. 11, 471 n. 16, 473 n. 22 McEvenue, S. 57, 57 n. 13 McFarland, I.A. 21 n. 23 McGhee, G.S. 146 n. 5 McKim, D.K. 540 n. 14 McNamara, M. 500 n. 25, 505 n. 45 McNeil, B. 109 n. 22 Meade, D.G. 475, 475 n. 28 Mercati, G. 256, 256 n. 22, 285, 285 n. 86 Merchavia, Ch. 37 n. 2, 45 n. 21 Meretakès, E. 18 n. 8 Metzger, B.M. 263 n. 65, 269 n. 74, 470 n. 11, 475 n. 28, 498 n. 20 Metzger, M. 78 n. 83 Metzler, K. 337 n. 1, 363 n. 31 Meyer, M. 66 nn 3–4, 67 nn 7.9, 68 n. 20, 69 n. 22, 433 n. 13 Michaelis, W. 104 n. 14 Migne, J.-P. 19, 22 n. 27, 138 n. 64 Milikowsky, Ch. 443 n. 7 Miller, E.P. 12 n. 17 Miller, J.H. 55, 55 n. 5, 58, 64, 64 n. 48 Miller, P.C. 291, 291 n. 16, 292, 292 nn 17–18, 296, 300 nn 44.46 Milton, J. 13 Mimouni, S.C. 492 n. 4, 496 n. 15, 502, 502 nn 34–35, 503 n. 39, 504 nn 41.43, 505 n. 44, 506 nn 47–48, 510 Mingana, A. 109 n. 23 Mirecki, P.A. 104 n. 11, 419 n. 1, 431 n. 9, 437 nn 24.27 Momigliano, A. 488 n. 65 Montevecchi, O. 68 nn 14.17, 79 n. 88 Moraldi, L. 104 n. 14, 492 n. 5 Morard, F. 433 n. 12 Morin, G. 91 n. 30 Mortari, L. 403 n. 29

605

Munnich, O. 379 n. 24 Murawski, F. 18 n. 8 Nagel, P. 248 n. 36, 419 n. 1, 432 n. 10, 437 nn 24.27, 438 n. 28 Nagel, T. 432 n. 10, 436, 436 n. 23 Najman, H. 476, 476 nn 29–30, 479 n. 42 Natalucci, N. 397 n. 10 Nautin, P. 200 n. 23 Neirynck, F. 70 nn 29.31–32 Neuschäfer, B. 224 n. 56 Neusner, J. 330 n. 24, 335 n. 29, 465 Neyt, F. 414 n. 82 Nickelsburg, G.W.E. 470 n. 13, 477 n. 31, 481 n. 47 Nicklas, T. 430 n. 6 Nikolaou, Th. 19 n. 14 Norelli, E. 400 n. 21, 438 n. 31, 477 n. 34 Noret, J. 105 n. 15 Norris, F.W. 253 n. 2 Norsa, M. 66 n. 5 Notley, R.S. 269 n. 76 O’Leary, S.D. 146 n. 5 Oates, J.F. 65 n. 1 Ohly, F. 288 n. 4 O’Keefe, J.J. 233 n. 19, 237 n. 21 Opitz, H.G. 338 n. 5, 339 n. 7, 343 n. 19 Osty, É. 263 n. 65 Pagels, E. 166 nn 5.8, 433 n. 13 Painchaud, L. 73 n. 50, 379 n. 26, 382 n. 34 Palmer, A. 75 n. 60 Palmer, S.J. 146 n. 5 Panier, L. 55, 55 nn 1–3 Papathomas, A. 66 n. 5, 69 n. 25 Paramelle, J. 409 n. 60 Parássoglou, G.M. 68 n. 14 Parmentier, M.F.G. 227 n. 2, 229 n. 9 Parvis, S. 341 n. 13, 345 n. 22, 365 nn 34–35 Parys, M. van 410 n. 63 Patillon, M. 272 n. 78 Patrich, J. 394 n. 5, 401 n. 25, 403 n. 32, 407 n. 49 Pauli, J. 400 n. 20, 413 n. 76, 414 n. 84, 416 n. 93 Paykova, A.V. 9 n. 13 Pearson, B.A. 370 n. 4, 371 n. 8, 482 n. 48

606


Pedersen, N.A. 134 n. 57, 135 n. 59, 253 n. 2, 254 nn 6.8–9 Pelikan, J. 22 n. 29 Pelletier, A. 269 n. 75 Pelling, C. 111 n. 26, 114 n. 35, 116 n. 42 Pépin, J. 390 n. 47 Périchon, P. 254 n. 5 Perrone, L. 20 n. 20, 199 n. 22, 288 n. 5, 294 n. 24, 296 n. 30, 309 n. 82, 394 n. 5, 395 n. 6, 396 n. 9, 398 n. 13, 407 n. 48, 414 n. 82 Pesce, M. 437 n. 24 Peterson, E. 68 n. 19 Peterson, W.L. 169 n. 14 Pettipiece, T. 121 n. 3, 126 n. 23 Pfeiffer, R. 85 n. 8.9 Phillips, L.E. 78 n. 83 Picard, J.-C. 430 n. 5, 496 n. 13, 497 n. 16 Piédagnel, A. 78 n. 84 Pietrangeli, C. 4 n. 7 Piovanelli, P. 430 n. 5, 433 n. 13, 434 n. 16, 435 n. 22, 438 nn 29–30, 439 n. 32, 493 n. 8 Piret, P. 21 n. 23 Plisch, U.-K. 432 n. 10, 437 nn 24.27, 438 nn 28–29 Podskalsky, G. 158 n. 49, 161 n. 57 Poirier, P.-H. 134 n. 57, 255 nn 14–15, 278 n. 81 Polotsky, H.-J. 126 nn 21–22, 420 n. 3, 421 n. 4 Pope, M. 289 n. 11 Porton, G.G. 441 n. 2, 442 nn 3–4, 443 n. 8, 444 nn 10–11, 445 n. 13, 454 n. 108, 460 n. 149, 461 n. 155, 462 nn 158–159, 463 n. 163 Poschmann, B. 78 n. 81 Pra, M. del 18 n. 8 Prieur, J.-M. 75 n. 58 Primus, C. 463 n. 160 Puller, F.W. 79 n. 85 Pusey, P.B. 74 n. 53 Quispel, G.

167 n. 11, 169 n. 14

Rabin, I.A. 447 n. 18 Radosavlejevic, A. 19 n. 8 Rahmani, I.E. 78 n. 83 Rahner, K. 306 n. 70, 534 Rappaport, R.A. 81 n. 92 Rappaport, U. 161 n. 57 Raspanti, G. 91 n. 29 Rauer, M. 257 nn 24.28, 258, 258 nn 30–34, 259, 259 nn 37.40, 260, 260

nn 43.49, 261, 261 nn 54.56, 262 nn 57–58.61 Ray, W.D. 499 n. 24 Reed, A.Y. 147 nn 7–8, 431 n. 7, 469 n. 6, 470 n. 11, 471 nn 13–15.17, 472 n. 21, 482 n. 48, 483 n. 52, 484 n. 55, 487 n. 62 Reeves, J.C. 131 nn 46.48, 132 nn 49–50, 147 n. 9, 470 n. 12, 472 n. 20, 479, 479 n. 41, 481 n. 47, 482 n. 48 Reinink, G.J. 151 n. 28, 161 n. 57 Renczes, Ph.G. 22 n. 26 Reno, R.R. 233 n. 19, 237 n. 21 Rettberg, C.H.G. 340 n. 12 Reuss, J. 257 n. 29, 258, 258 nn 30–31.33–34, 259, 259 n. 38, 260, 260 n. 46, 261, 261 nn 52–53 Revillout, E. 432, 432 n. 12 Richard, M. 256 n. 21 Richardson, E.C. 254 n. 7 Ridings, D. 484 n. 57 Ries, J. 420 n. 2 Riggi, C. 420 n. 2 Robbins, T. 146 n. 5 Roberts, A. 102 n. 3 Robinson, J.A. 303 n. 62, 304 n. 62, 305 n. 66 Robinson, J.M. 420 n. 3, 433 nn 13–14 Roca-Puig, R. 77 n. 69 Rochais, H. 310 n. 83 Roman, A. 255 n. 14 Römer, C. (E.) 69 n. 25, 77 nn 72.75–76, 253 n. 2 Rompay, L. van 104 Roosen, B. 260 n. 47 Rosenstiehl, J.-M. 435 n. 19 Rostovtzeff, M.I. 3, 3 n. 1 Rotelle, J.E. 58 n. 18 Rougier, L. 420 n. 2 Rousseau, O. 73 n. 46, 287 n. 1 Rousselot, X. 195 n. 4 Roux, R. 131, 131 n. 47, Rubenson, S. 393 n. 2, 396 n. 8, 414 n. 80 Rucker, I. 256 n. 19 Runia, D.T. 520 n. 21, 521, 521 nn 25.28 Ruwet, J. 469 n. 7 Saenger, P. 299, 299 n. 41, 300 n. 43, 301 n. 50 Safrai, Z. 269 n. 76 Sala, T. 419 n. 1

index of modern authors Saldarini, A.J. 147 n. 6 Sanders, J.A. 319, 319 n. 3 Sandevoir, P. 379 n. 24 Santos Otero, A. de 104 n. 14, 502 n. 32, 503 n. 39, 506 n. 48 Sartre, M. 253 n. 1 Savvidis, K. 21 n. 25, 337 n. 1, 363 n. 31 Schäfer, P. 147 n. 8, 151 n. 28 Schäferdiek, K. 339 n. 6 Schamp, J. 272 n. 79 Schaper, J. 473 n. 22 Schechter, S. 38 n. 4, 154 n. 36 Scheck, T.P. 217 n. 49 Schenke, H.-M. 432 n. 10 Scherer, J. 304 n. 63 Schlarb, E. 70 n. 33 Schmahl, G. 102 n. 5 Schmidt, C. 66 n. 4, 126 n. 21, 420 n. 3 Schmidt, É. 187 n. 80 Schmidt, T. 134 n. 57, 255 n. 14 Schmoldt, H. 156 n. 42 Schneemelcher, W. 429, 429 n. 2, 491, 491 n. 2, 492, 492 nn 4–6, 493, 493 n. 7, 494, 494 n. 9, 495, 495 n. 12, 496, 498 n. 22, 501, 510 Schneider, G. 104 n. 14, 106 n. 19 Schoinas, S.N. 413 n. 77 Scholem, G. 147 n. 7 Schubart, W. 66 n. 4 Schubert, C. 339 n. 6 Sedlacek, I. 194 n. 3 Segelberg, E. 78 n. 83 Segni, L. di 68 n. 19 Seibt, K. 340, 340 n. 12 Sensal, C. 255 n. 15 Sfameni Gasparro, G. 167 n. 11, 172–173, 174 n. 32 Sharf, A. 154 n. 37 Sheridan, M. 394 n. 4 Sherwood, P. 18 n. 8, 19 n. 15, 22 n. 29 Shoemaker, S.J. 496 n. 14, 499 n. 24, 502 n. 31, 504 nn 40–41.43, 505 n. 46, 507 nn 51.53–54, 508 nn 54.56, 509 n. 57 Sickenberger, J. 74 n. 53, 253 n. 2, 255, 255 n. 16, 256, 256 nn 17.23, 257, 257 nn 24–29, 258, 258 nn 30–31.33.35, 259, 259 nn 37–42, 60, 260 nn 43.45.48–49, 261, 261 n. 56, 262, 262 nn 58–61, 263, 263 nn 62–63, 265, 265 nn 66–67,

607

267–269, 269 n. 73, 270, 272, 276, 278, 280, 284–285, 285 n. 86 Sidorov, A. I. 19 n. 8 Signer, M.A. 520 n. 22 Simon, U. 39 n. 6, Simonetti, M. 200 n. 26, 354 n. 26, 512, 512 nn 5–7, 537 n. 8 Skarsaune, O. 353 n. 26, 471 n. 17 Smalley, B. 46 n. 23 Smith, J.Z. 321 n. 12, 323 Smith, M. 478 n. 35 Smith, O.L. 86 n. 13 Smith, R. 66 nn 3–4, 67 nn 7.9, 68 n. 20, 69 n. 22 Smulders, P. 71 n. 38 Sode, C. 339 n. 6 Soden, H. von 257 n. 27 Solignac, A. 253 n. 2 Sonne, I. 3, 3 n. 3 Souter A. 186 nn 71–72.75, 187 nn 76–79 Southern, R.W. 161 n. 57 Spoerl, K.M. 337, 337 n. 2, 338, 338 n. 3 Stählin, O. 169 n. 14, 170 n. 18, 171 nn 20–21, 172 nn 22–24 Stander, H.F. 78 n. 82 Staniloae, D. 19 n. 8, 21 n. 23 Stead, G.C. 339 n. 7 Steiner, C.A. 383 n. 35, Stemberger, G. 442 n. 5, 465 n. 168 Stern, S. 483 n. 53 Stockhausen, A. von 339 n. 6 Stone, M.E. 146 n. 4, 468 n. 5, 474 n. 25, 478 n. 36, 479 n. 42, 498 n. 20 Strack, H.L. 442 n. 5, 465 n. 168 Straub, J. 303 n. 60 Strycker, É. de 498 n. 22, 499 n. 23 Sundberg, A.C. 318 n. 2 Ta-Shma, I. 483 n. 52 Talbert, C.H. 111 n. 26, 114 n. 35, 115 n. 40 Talbot, Ch.H. 310 n. 83 Talmon, S. 482 n. 51 Tardieu, M. 124 n. 11, 125 nn 13–15, 139 n. 67, 380 n. 30, 419 n. 1, 420, 421 n. 5, 427, 427 n. 15 Terezis, Chr. 21 n. 24 Teske, R. 138 nn 63–64, 139 n. 66, 140 n. 69, 141 nn 71–72, 142 nn 73–74 Tetz, M. 337, 337 n. 2 Thesleff, H. 477 n. 38

608


Thier, S. 186 n. 74 Thilo, G. 87 n. 18, 88 nn 19–21, 89 n. 22, 90 n. 23 Thomassen, E. 73 n. 50, 370 n. 4 Thompson. L.L. 148 n. 10 Thunberg, L. 21 n. 26 Thundy, Z.P. 110 n. 24 Tischendorf, C. von 103, 103 nn 6–8, 104, 104 nn 9–10, 509 Tobin, T.H. 520 nn 21.24 Tollefsen, T. 21 n. 23 Torjesen, K.J. 210 n. 40, 290, 290 nn 13–14, 291, 291 n. 15, 292, 292 n. 18, 293–295, 296 n. 31 Towner, W.S. 462 n. 156 Trechsel, F. 124 n. 11 Trigg, J.W. 73 n. 48 Tronier, H. 161 n. 57 Tsironis, N. 509 n. 57 Turcescu, L. 519 n. 19 Tzamalikos, P. 225 n. 58 Tzouramani, E. 21 n. 24 Uhl, A. 88 n. 20, 91 n. 28 Ullmann, W. 13, 13 n. 18 Ulrich, E. 319, 319 nn 4–6, 470 n. 11, 473 n. 22 Unger, D.J. 21 n. 23 Urbach, E.E. 38 n. 4 Urowitz-Freudenstein, A.L. 445 n. 14 Usener, H. 402 n. 27 VanderKam, J.C. 470 n. 11, 471 n. 14, 472 n. 21, 477 n. 31, 480 n. 45 Vassilaki, M. 509 n. 57 Vecoli, F. 394 n. 4, 414 n. 80 Verbraken, P.-P. 139 n. 65 Vermes, M. 133 nn 53–54, 134 nn 55–56 Viciano, A. 125 n. 13 Vielberg, M. 431 n. 7 Vinel, F. 379 n. 24 Vinzent, M. 337, 337 nn 1–2, 340, 340 nn 10.12, 341 n. 14, 351 Visotzky, B.L. 461, 461 nn 153–154, 462 n. 156, 463 nn 162–163, 466, 466 nn 171–172 Vitelli, G. 66 n. 5 Vogels, H.J. 84 n. 4, 93 nn 32.34, 94 n. 36, 95 n. 37, 96 nn 38–39 Vogt, H.I. 390 n. 47, 537 n. 7

Voicu, S. 104 n. 12, 105, 105 n. 17, 106 n. 19, 502 n. 35 Völker, W. 18 n. 7 Wake, W. 492 n. 3 Warkotsch, A. 19 n. 8 Wartelle, A. 71 nn 34–37.39 Webb, R.L. 369 n. 2 Weber, D. 20 n. 17 Wegenast, K. 253 n. 2 Weiss, I.H. 447 n. 17 Weissengruber, F. 104 n. 14 Weitzmann, K. 5 n. 8 Wendel, C. 408 nn 50.52 Wenger, A. 502 n. 32, 503 nn 38–39, 505 n. 45 Wessely, C. 66 nn 3–4, 68 n. 20 Westerhoff, M. 431 n. 8 Westra, L.W. 71 n. 38 Wevers, J.W. 70 n. 28 White, H. 161 Whittaker, M. 168 nn 12–13 Wiebe, R.A. 369 n. 2 Wiedemann, T. 111 n. 26, 113 n. 33, 114 nn 36–37 Wikgren, A. 263 n. 65 Wilcken, U. 68 n. 20 Wilder, T.L. 475 n. 28 Wilken, R.L. 396 n. 9, 398 n. 14 Williams, F. 136 n. 60, 180 n. 51 Williams, R.D. 90 n. 26, 394 n. 4 Wilmart, A. 505 n. 45 Wilson, R.McL. 371 n. 9, 492 n. 5 Wilson, H.A. 511 n. 2 Winkelmann, F. 75 n. 57 Worp, K.A. 77 nn 72.74–76 Wortmann, D. 68 n. 18 Wright, B.J. 483 n. 54 Wright, N.T. 50 n. 28 Wright, T. 232 n. 15 Wright, W. 504 nn 41–42, 505 n. 46, 507 n. 53 Wurst, G. 433 n. 13 Wyrick, J. 478 nn 37–38, 485 n. 60 Young, F.

511 n. 4, 518 n. 18

Zahn, T. 337, 337 n. 2, 353 n. 25 Zervos, G. 156 n. 40 Zetzel, J.E.G. 87 n. 16 Zevit, Z. 473 n. 22 Ziegler, J. 73 n. 45

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