Second Corinthians in the Perspective of Late Second Temple Judaism
Compendia Rerum Iudaicarum
ad Novum Testamentum
Board of Editors
Friedrich Avemarie † (University of Marburg)
Shaye Cohen (Harvard University)
David Goodblat (University of California at San Diego)
Christine Hayes (Yale University)
Richard Kalmin (Jewish Theological Seminary of America)
Karl-Wilhelm Niebuhr (University of Jena)
Pieter van der Horst (Royal Netherlands Academy of Arts and Sciences)
Huub van de Sandt (Tilburg University)
James VanderKam (University of Notre Dame)
General Editors
Joshua Schwartz (Bar-Ilan University)
Peter J. Tomson (Catholic University of Leuven)
VOLUME 14
The titles published in this series are listed at brill.com/crint
Second Corinthians in the
Perspective of Late Second
Temple Judaism
Edited by
Reimund Bieringer
Emmanuel Nathan
Didier Pollefeyt
Peter J. Tomson
LEIDEN | BOSTON
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Second Corinthians in the perspective of late second temple Judaism / edited by Reimund Bieringer,
Emmanuel Nathan, Didier Pollefeyt, Peter J. Tomson.
pages cm. -- (Compendia rerum Iudaicarum ad Novum Testamentum., ISSN 1877-4970 ; VOLUME 14)
Includes bibliographical references and index.
ISBN 978-90-04-26928-6 (hardback : alk. paper) -- ISBN 978-90-04-27166-1 (e-book) 1. Bible. Corinthians,
2nd--Criticism, interpretation, etc. 2. Judaism--History--Post-exilic period, 586 B.C.-210 A.D. 3. Judaism
(Christian theology) I. Bieringer, R. (Reimund), editor of compilation.
BS2675.52.S43 2014
227’.3067--dc23
2014007086
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Contents
Editors’ Foreword vii
Notes on Contributors ix
Introductory Essay 1
Peter J. Tomson
Love as that which Binds Everything Together? The Unity of
2 Corinthians Revisited in Light of Aγαπ- Terminology 11
Reimund Bieringer
The Politics of the Fifties: Jewish Leadership and the Jews of Corinth in the
Time of 2 Corinthians 25
Martin Goodman
Methodological Remarks on ‘Jewish’ Identity: Jews, Jewish Christians and
Prolegomena on Pauline Judaism 36
Joshua Schwartz
The Notion of a ‘New Covenant’ in 2 Corinthians 3: Its Function in Paul’s
Argument and Its Jewish Background 59
Friedrich Avemarie
Christ, Belial, and Women: 2 Cor 6:14–7:1 Compared with Ancient Judaism
and with the Pauline Corpus 79
Peter J. Tomson
Paul’s ‘Collection for the Saints’ (2 Cor 8–9) and Financial Support of
Leaders in Early Christianity and Judaism 132
Ze’ev Safrai and Peter J. Tomson
Paul’s ‘Fool’s Speech’ (2 Cor 11:16–32) in the Context of Ancient Jewish and
Graeco-Roman Culture 221
Catherine Hezser
vi
Contents
The Ascent into Paradise (2 Cor 12:1–12): Paul’s Merkava Vision and
Apostolic Call 245
Christopher R.A. Morray-Jones
Bibliographical Abbreviations 287
Bibliography 289
Index of Ancient Names 317
Index of Modern Names 320
Source Abbreviations 326
Index of Ancient Sources 328
Editors’ Foreword
The present volume is the outcome of a colloquium held at the Faculty
of Theology and Religious Studies of the Catholic University of Leuven on
30 March 2009. Three years prior to that, in 2006, the Faculty had organized,
on the initiative of and in collaboration with the Institutum Iudaicum – the
Inter-University Center for the Academic Study of Judaism, Brussels – a colloquium devoted to the theme of the New Testament and Rabbinic Literature.1
In planning a future event, it seemed logical to follow this up with a colloquium that would devote itself to one book of the New Testament and study
that from the perspective of recent insights in Second Temple Judaism scholarship, which have contributed to a better understanding of the Jewish background to the New Testament.
It was then also extremely fortuitous that at the time a research project
underway at the Faculty of Theology and Religious Studies in Leuven was
devoted to the Second Letter to the Corinthians. This research project, entitled,
‘New Perspectives on Paul and the Jews,’ jointly funded by the Research
Foundation – Flanders and the Research Council of the Catholic University of
Leuven, was set up to critically investigate three important research questions:
(1) whether (and if so, how) the letters of Paul contributed to the later parting
of the ways between Judaism and Christianity; here, particular attention would
be paid to the Second Letter to the Corinthians, given an already established
research specialization in Second Corinthians studies at Leuven; (2) a critical
evaluation of the New Perspective on Paul and recent paradigm shifts in
Pauline studies; and (3) developments in late twentieth century JewishChristian dialogue that have been influenced by, and in turn may have
influenced, the evolving landscape of Pauline studies on questions of Paul’s
Jewish identity and his relationship to the Mosaic covenant, the Tora, and
the people/land of Israel.2 The research project thus provided the broader
framework within which the present colloquium could in large part be hosted
and financed.
1 Bieringer – García Martínez – Pollefeyt – Tomson, The New Testament and Rabbinic Literature.
2 This research project ran from October 2006 to September 2010 and resulted in two PhD dissertations: David Bolton, Justifying Paul among Jews and Christians? (accepted 2011);
Emmanuel Nathan, New Perspectives on Paul and the New Covenant in 2 Corinthians 3:6.7–18
(accepted 2010). In addition to the present volume, the project has also been involved in the
publication of the following volumes: Bieringer – Pollefeyt, Paul and Judaism; Casey – Taylor,
Paul’s Jewish Matrix.
viii
Editors’ Foreword
Given this background, the colloquium chose to focus on a number of
Jewish elements that could conceivably have influenced the writing of Paul’s
Second Letter to the Corinthians: Jewish mysticism and apocalypticism, the
rise of Jewish nationalism (ca. 50 ce), the question of covenant, and issues of
Jewish/Israelite identity and self-understanding. Viewing the Second Letter to
the Corinthians against the background of Late Second Temple Judaism offered
the Leuven hosts the chance to invite participants who would share insights
and perspectives not normally associated with Second Corinthians studies.
As a result, the colloquium themes allowed participants to offer papers that
probed more deeply into the question of whether Paul’s epistle can be understood as occupying a middle ground between Qumran thought and later rabbinic developments.
The editors wish to express their gratitude to the authors who contributed
to a very lively and fruitful exchange of ideas at the colloquium itself, and then
subsequently integrated these insights into what have now become the volume’s individual book chapters. We are confident that the same academic
spirit and energy that was felt at the colloquium continues to reverberate in
the pages that follow. We pay tribute, in particular, to Professor Friedrich
Avemarie, Marburg, whose untimely passing shocked us all and who, sadly, will
not see this publication in print. To the other authors, we are grateful for their
patience during the extended process of production.
Last but not least, in addition to the Research Council of the Catholic
University of Leuven and the Research Foundation – Flanders already mentioned, we thank the Institutum Iudaicum, Brussels, the Compendia Rerum
Judaicarum ad Novum Testamentum Foundation, and Brill Publishers for financially supporting the colloquium and this publication. We also thank Harvard
University Press for permission to re-use Christopher Morray-Jones’ materials
published previously in the Harvard Theological Review.
Reimund Bieringer
Didier Pollefeyt
Emmanuel Nathan
Peter J. Tomson
Notes on Contributors
Friedrich Avemarie
was Professor of New Testament at Philipps-Universität Marburg until his
early death in 2012. His writings encompass early Jewish and Christian literature, notably rabbinic literature, and include: Tora und Leben: Untersuchungen
zur Heilsbedeutung der Tora in der frühen rabbinischen Literatur (1996); Die
Tauferzählungen in der Apostelgechichte: Theologie und Geschichte (2002);
Neues Testament und frührabbinisches Judentum: Gesammelte Aufsätze (2013).
Reimund Bieringer
is Professor of New Testament Exegesis at ku Leuven (Catholic University of
Leuven). Among his publications are: Studies in 2 Corinthians (1994, with
J. Lambrecht); Anti-Judaism and the Fourth Gospel (2001, edited together with
D. Pollefeyt and F. Vandecasteele-Vanneuville); Paul and Judaism: CrossCurrents in Pauline Exegesis and the Study of Jewish-Christian Relations (2012,
with D. Pollefeyt); To Touch or Not to Touch? Interdisciplinary Perspectives on the
Noli me tangere (2013, with K. Demasure and B. Baert).
Martin Goodman
is Professor of Jewish Studies in the University of Oxford. He is a Fellow of
Wolfson College and the Oxford Centre for Hebrew and Jewish Studies. His
many publications include The Ruling Class of Judaea: The Origins of the Jewish
Revolt against Rome A.D. 66–70 (1987); The Roman World 44 BC - AD 180 (1997;
2nd ed 2012); Rome and Jerusalem (2007) and Judaism in the Roman World:
collected essays (2007).
Catherine Hezser
is Professor of Jewish Studies at the School of Oriental and African Studies,
University of London. She has published a number of books and articles on the
social history, literature, and daily life of Jews in Roman Palestine, among
them: The Social Structure of the Rabbinic Movement in Roman Palestine (1997);
Jewish Literacy in Roman Palestine (2001); Jewish Slavery in Antiquity (2005); The
Oxford Handbook of Jewish Daily Life in Roman Palestine (ed., 2010), and Jewish
Travel in Antiquity (2011).
Christopher R.A. Morray-Jones
holds a PhD of Cambridge University and a JD of the University of California at
Berkeley. He is author of A Transparent Illusion: The Dangerous Vision of Water
x
Notes on Contributors
in Hekhalot Mysticism. A Source-critical and Tradition-Historical Inquiry (2002)
and The Mystery of God: Early Jewish mysticism and the New Testament (2009,
with Christopher Rowland).
Ze’ev Safrai
is Professor of Historical Geography of Ancient Israel and the incumbent of
the Irving and Cherna Moskowitz Chair for the Study of the Historic Land of
Israel, Department of Land of Israel Studies and Archaeology, Bar-Ilan
University. He is currently at work on a historical and sociological commentary
of the Mishna, Mishnat Eretz Israel (partly in collaboration with his late father
Prof. Shmuel Safrai and his late sister Prof. Chana Safrai). Some twenty-two
volumes have been published to date. He has published numerous books and
studies on the Land of Israel in the Hellenistic, Roman and Byzantine periods.
Joshua Schwartz
is Professor of Historical Geography of Ancient Israel and directs the Ingeborg
Rennert Center for Jerusalem Studies in the Department of Land of Israel
Studies and Archaeology at Bar-Ilan University, Israel. Recent publications
include: ‘When Rabbi Eliezer was Arrested for Heresy’, (2012, with Peter
J. Tomson); ‘Jews at the Dicing Table: Gambling in Ancient Jewish Society
Revisited’ (2013); ‘Good Dog – Bad Dog: Jews and Their Dogs in Ancient Jewish
Society’ (2013); ‘The Book’s the Thing: Roll versus Codex and the Marketing of
Judaism and Christinity’ (2013).
Peter J. Tomson
retired as Professor of New Testament and Jewish Studies at the Faculty of
Protestant Theology in Brussels and is currently Guest Professor of Jewish
Studies at KU Leuven. His publications include: Paul and the Jewish Law;
Halakha in the Letters of the Apostle to the Gentiles (1990); The Image of the
Judaeo-Christians in Early Jewish and Christian Christian Literature (2003, with
D. Lambers-Petry); The New Testament and Rabbinic Literature, (2010, with
R. Bieringer, F. García Martínez, and D. Pollefeyt); ‘When Rabbi Eliezer was
Arrested for Heresy’ (2012, with Joshua Schwartz).
Introductory Essay
Peter J. Tomson
(Joint General Editor of crint)
Paul and Judaism
For a number of decades, ‘Paul and Judaism’ has been an important and even
indispensable item on the agenda of New Testament studies. After E.P. Sanders
published his Paul and Palestinian Judaism (1977), the insight has become
widely shared that the traditional idea of Paul as the Apostle who emancipated
Christianity from its ‘Jewish constraints’1 cannot do justice either to Judaism
or to Paul. A ‘new perspective on Paul’ has been inaugurated,2 and a consensus
is growing that this involves not only a more adequate perspective on the
Judaism of Paul’s day but also a re-interpretation of his letters within that
perspective.3
Beyond that consensus, however, interpreters differ over where actually to
situate Paul. For one, E.P. Sanders has written repeatedly that, in the last analysis, Paul severed ties with Judaism and conceived of ‘Christianity’ as a novel
‘third entity’ alongside Judaism and paganism.4 At the same time, it is worth
observing that, methodologically, Sanders’ analysis in Paul and Palestinian
Judaism does not include comparison of Paul with Jewish sources and draws
important inspiration from Rudolf Bultmann’s interpretation.5 It appears to be
less self-evident than many have imagined how we can properly interpret Paul
within his cultural surroundings, i.e., in comparison with the more nuanced
image of Judaism we have been acquiring. In fact, a number of different ‘new
1 The phrase is classically used by Harnack, ‘Die Stellung des Apostels Paulus… seine jüdischen
Schranken’; cf idem, Das Wesen des Christentums, 113: the disciples have smashed the
Schranken (constraints) of the Jewish character of the preaching of Jesus and his awarenes of
being ‘sent to the lost sheep of the House of Israel’.
2 Dunn, ‘The New Perspective on Paul’.
3 Cf Casey – Taylor, Paul’s Jewish Matrix and the ‘consensus’ Donfried concludes on in the
introductory essay, ‘Paul’s Jewish Matrix’, 40.
4 Most recently in ‘Paul’s Judaism’, Casey – Taylor, Paul’s Jewish Matrix; cf critical queries by
Donfried, ‘Paul’s Jewish Matrix’, 11–14. Previously: Sanders, Paul and Palestinian Judaism, 552;
more explicitly, Sanders, Paul, the Law and the Jewish People, 171–179, referring to Harnack (see
below n11).
5 Tomson, Paul and the Jewish Law, 15f.
© koninklijke brill nv, leiden, 2014 | doi 10.1163/9789004271661_002
2
Tomson
perspectives’ have been proposed, depending on one’s assessment of Paul’s
place in Judaism.6
One fundamental problem at play here concerns the relationship between
history and theology. At one level, this involves the interaction between the
academic disciplines of historical-critical exegesis and systematic theology.
More vitally, it concerns our ability to represent Paul’s thought world adequately within the framework of his actual cultural surroundings. This would
seem to be particularly difficult in the case of 2 Corinthians, where exceedingly
strong tensions with certain Jews and Jewish Christians can be found. How can
we, in such an instance, negotiate a fair understanding of Paul’s theology in
relation to his generally accepted historical place within Judaism?
History and Theology
One proposal to get around this problem might be that Paul’s place in Judaism
only concerns the outward historical form – the vocabulary and the conceptual aspect of his thought – not the vital kernel, the theological essence: his
Christology, soteriology, and teaching of law and grace. Thus, in the case of
Paul and Judaism, we would apply the separation between history and theology that has become a commonplace in scholarly research since the nineteenth century. The rejoinder would be whether this is indeed possible. In a
particular period, can we imagine a Christology – a thought complex expressing the significance of Jesus professed as Messiah – in isolation from the conceptual world of that period, its specific religious terminology? Can there really
be a soteriology – a cluster of concepts representing divine salvation – that is
relevant to a particular time without using the vocabulary of that period? ‘The
mind has speech for its house’, the ancient Jewish philosopher and exegete
Philo wrote; only the mystical vision that surpasses all understanding can do
without language.7 Sensible human understanding is articulated in human
language. Another Jewish sage, R. Yishmael, observed, commenting on a peculiar phrase in biblical Hebrew, ‘The Tora expresses itself in common human
language’.8
Consequently, if human language has its limitations, this confirms the
common awareness that there are limits to human understanding. More than
6 See the overview by Zetterholm, Approaches to Paul.
7 Philo, Migr Abr 1–6, in the famous allegorical exposition of the calling of Abraham.
8 SifNum 112 (p121), see comments by Kahana, ‘Halakhic Midrashim’, 20 and n74. The expression became commonplace in the Babylonian Talmud and other later rabbinic writings.
Introductory Essay
3
anything else this concerns the sciences and humanities and our conception
of these. An earlier, positivist concept of science could still aspire to become
‘pure’ by excluding doubt and uncertainty. In our post-modern age, become
sadder and wiser and informed by post-colonial, post-capitalist, and postpatriarchalist criticisms, we can only strive for a ‘pure’ scholarship by setting
our standards more modestly and realistically, or more specifically, by clearly
outlining our uncertainties and explicitly stating our doubts. This concerns
theology as well as history, both arguably part of the humanities, called
Geisteswissenschaften in German and sciences humaines in French. The ‘production’ both of systematic theology and of historiography essentially consists
in interpretation, and to that extent, hermeneutics is a crucial discipline for
both of them.9 Justifiably, then, it has in this connection been proposed that a
new interpretive paradigm must be sought for, one that allows for the inescapable limitations of human knowledge and that, precisely within such a framework, is able to accommodate both historical scholarship and theology.10
On the level of history, such a more modest paradigm would allow us to
picture Paul as being fully at home in one of the various strands of pre-70
Judaism, yet developing brilliant, unheard-of theological ideas when writing
his letters. We would not need to classify these ideas in the exclusive categories
of either ‘Judaism’ or ‘Christianity’. Indeed, it is important to note that in Paul’s
day, the separation of Judaism and Christianity was still unthinkable. As far as
we can see, the concept of Christianity as a ‘third entity’ separate from Judaism
first emerges in sources from around the middle of the second century ce, and
it is an anachronism to attribute it to Paul.11 By the mid-second century,
Judaism and nascent Christianity had lived through three revolts and their
suppression by the Romans, with a process of profound social change ensuing
from these events. Even though 2 Corinthians witnesses to Paul’s experience of
intense conflicts with fellow Jews and Jewish Christians, he was writing before
that whole process of change had begun. It is only with hindsight that we can
see certain of its causative forces already at work in his day.12
9
10
11
12
Leezenberg – de Vries, Wetenschapsfilosofie voor geesteswetenschappen, esp chapter 6
(Schleiermacher).
Zetterholm, Approaches to Paul, final chapter. An integration of history and theology
was also the ambition of F.C. Baur, the founder of ‘historical criticism’, see Hodgson,
The Formation of Historical Theology. However, Baur’s paradigm was driven by positivist
absolutism, certainly when he adopted Hegel’s philosophy for a conceptual framework.
Richardson, Israel in the Apostolic Church, 22–25, critically reviewing Harnack, Mission
und Ausbreitung, 206–233. And cf E.P. Sanders, above n4.
See Martin Goodman’s warning against interpretations from hindsight, below 26–31. For
a sketch of the 50’s and 60’s ce see Safrai – Tomson, below 158–161.
4
Tomson
On the level of theology, such a non-absolutist interpretive paradigm will
help us avoid the anomaly that results when, with Rudolf Bultmann, we
confine Paul and Jesus within two totally different milieux. In Bultmann’s
immensely influential, historically-structured Theology of the New Testament,
Jesus is situated within the context of Palestinian Judaism, whereas Paul’s conceptual framework is located in ‘Hellenistic Christianity’, thought to be culturally totally removed from the former. The anomalous result is that Jesus’
message is not an integral part of the Christian theology that would only have
started with Paul.13 In Bultmann’s strangely positivist conception,14 the historical chasm between Paul and Jesus corresponds to a theological alienation
between the two. By contrast, if we are correct in concluding that the commandments of Jesus were paramount for Paul,15 we may also posit a corresponding relation between the two on the theological level. Indeed, Jesus and
his teachings should have pride of place in Christian theology, certainly for an
Apostle who could assure his readers when announcing one of his views, ‘I am
persuaded in the Lord Jesus…’16 If all of this is acceptable, the task awaiting
systematic theologians is to comprehend and reformulate the novelty of Paul’s
gospel in the terms of his variety of Judaism – a Judaism that at least also integrated the tradition of Jesus.
Leaving that important work of reformulation to other scholars, the present
volume has as its aim to contribute to the former task, i.e., gaining a closer view
of Paul’s variety of Judaism. More specifically, it seeks to sketch how Paul, while
thoroughly at home in the Greek-speaking Roman world, expressed himself at
important junctures – even if sometimes polemically – in Jewish terms. In the
Second Letter to Corinth here discussed, the author interacts with unnamed
opponents identifying themselves as ‘Israelites’, he elaborates on the disputed
term of a ‘new covenant’, and sets up the community he shares with his readers
as a ‘temple of the living God’. He also urges them to extend the commandment of charity to include ‘the poor’ in Jerusalem and tells them of apocalyptic
experiences not unlike those of other Jews of his time. The contributions in
this volume endeavour to reconstruct these aspects of Paul’s Jewish world and
thus to draw the contours of his Judaism.
13
14
15
16
Bultmann, Theologie des Neuen Testaments, 1 (opening sentence!), 3, 188–190, stressing the
novelty of Paul’s theology: ‘Die Theologie des Paulus ist der Predigt Jesu gegenüber eine
neue Bildung’ (190). This is essentially a development of F.C. Baur’s view, see Tomson, ‘The
Wars against Rome’, 4f and n16.
Note that Bultmann also advocated an existentialist hermeneutic.
Tomson, Paul and the Jewish Law, 144–149, 262f; idem, ‘If This be from Heaven’, 194–202.
Rom 14:14, ‘…that nothing is unclean in itself’. Many plausibly understand the allusion to
refer to (the tradition reflected in) Mark 7:15.
Introductory Essay
5
The crint Series
Begun as a tightly planned series of handbooks describing res judaicae ad
Novum Testamentum, crint has long since turned to publishing individual
monographs on the adoption and adaptation of Jewish traditions or authors in
early Christian literature. While the sketches of Paul’s Jewish world offered in
this volume thus fit in well, such a collected volume of studies is a first in our
series. Other similar ones are set to follow: a volume entitled Jews and Christians
in the First and Second Centuries – How to Write Their History, outcome of a
colloquium held in Brussels in 2011,17 and another one on the topic of Yavne
Revisited: The Historical Rabbis and the Rabbis of History.18
With these conference volumes, crint has marked a move away from a situation where ‘handbooks’ could be published offering definitive summaries of
well-known ‘facts’, to the present ‘workroom’ reality confronting the scholarly
world, one in which new insights must be found and tested in discussion with
colleagues from various backgrounds and disciplines. In keeping with these
sentiments, the Board of Editors has also been revamped and enlarged in view
of the variety of scholarly approaches that now occupy today’s study of early
Judaism and Christianity. What has not changed, however, is crint’s resolute
intention to survey the entire Jewish world of early Christianity in all its variety, and this specifically includes, with the necessary caution, early rabbinic
literature and the Pharisaic and proto-rabbinic traditions it might contain.
The relevance of variegated ancient Judaism for early Christian literature is
fully in focus in the present volume. The various contributions also display a
range of scholarly opinions and positions that answers to the need for academic discussion already mentioned. Therefore the crint editors are most
grateful to all those concerned for the valuable contribution the volume brings
to the series and also for bearing with us during the long wait to the press.
Thanks to Andrey Romanov who ably drew up the indices. Finally, special
thanks are due to Emmanuel Nathan for his important editorial assistance in
seeing the project safely through to completion.
2 Corinthians: Literary and Historical Questions
In their Foreword, the editors of the present volume explain how it came to be
devoted to the Second Letter to the Corinthians. The epistle has a special place
17
18
Tomson – Schwartz, Jews and Christians in the First and Second Centuries (crint 13).
Working title of a conference to be held in January 2015 at Bar-Ilan University, Israel.
6
Tomson
in Pauline scholarship. Its Pauline authorship is not seriously contested, but its
literary integrity is another matter and has been disputed with reference to
virtually every section of the epistle. Since the beginning of modern scholarship, the sudden shifts in tone and content that characterise the letter have
given rise to theories of partition, i.e., the idea that it is in fact a composite
document put together from a number of authentic Pauline letters. This idea
is still dominant in present-day critical scholarship, although the counterhypothesis of its integrity is recently gaining some fresh support.
In the present volume, this is one issue among others, and the contributors
do not subscribe to one particular theory. Some take a version of the partition
hypothesis as their point of departure; others attempt reading the document
as an integral whole. But whatever literary hypothesis one prefers, there can be
agreement on this: 2 Corinthians reflects a situation of great commotion.
Whether viewed as various component parts or as successive sections of one
extant letter, very different feelings and situations are expressed. If it is a composite document, the editor(s) must have taken the parts from letters written
in very different situations; if an integral letter, the author must have tried
to reconcile a number of widely divergent incidents with which he was
engaged.19
In many or all of these issues, Jews and elements of Judaism are involved, be
it positively or negatively. Covenant, apostolate, Jewish-Christians, Jerusalem,
apocalypses – these are familiar, much-discussed items within Second Temple
Judaism. During the time of writing (the disparate parts of) the letter, fellow
Jews and Jewish institutions, either in the Diaspora or in Judaea, must have
interacted with Paul either with great adversity or heart-warming support.
Hence, in a way, reading the various parts of 2 Corinthians leads us to viewing
them within the context of Judaism, or more precisely, the context of Judaean
and Diaspora Judaism in the mid-fifties of the first century ce. What events
or phenomena in that context might explain the great tensions echoed in
2 Corinthians? What was going on in the minuscule Christian communities we
are concerned with, in the various Jewish communities, or in the minds of civil
and military administrators? These are weighty historical questions to be
addressed.
Inevitably, the letter itself is the primary source, and as in other cases, interpreters are not free from the task of engaging with the many historical, literary
and exegetical disputes adhering to it. Nor is the information from extraneous
19
Mitchell, ‘Paul’s Letters to Corinth’ insists ‘on the imperative of intertwining the literary
and the historical in working with the Corinthan letters’. This remains correct even if one
does not go along with her approach to the literary problem.
Introductory Essay
7
sources such as Josephus or rabbinic literature available without a critical
awareness of the hermeneutics and the methodological problems involved.
The Contents of the Volume
The volume opens with Reimund Bieringer’s article on the language of ‘love’
as typifying 2 Corinthians. The frequent use and even spread of the root αγαπover the letter make it stand out among the Pauline corpus. This seemingly
mundane conclusion takes on greater significance when formulated by an
author noted for his research about the integrity of 2 Corinthians and his arguments in favour of it. The precise way in which the αγαπ- root is used seems
another such argument. Indeed, other characteristic elements of vocabulary
with a similar spread over the letter could be added.20 And, while Bieringer’s
findings favour a reading of 2 Corinthians as a coherent letter, his article nonetheless aspires to move beyond entrenched positions regarding the debate on
partition theories and to open up to new ways of looking at 2 Corinthians and
the Jewish perspectives it evokes.
Next, Martin Goodman discusses ‘The Politics of the Fifties’ and how these
would have impacted upon the Jews of Corinth. When considering the fifties of
the first century, one naturally thinks of the sixties that immediately followed
when revolt broke out against Rome, ending in disaster. Indeed, our main
source for the period, Josephus, presents the politics of the fifties as one run-up
to the war. According to Goodman, however, this looks very much like a pattern borrowed from Thucydides, the father of ancient historiography that
Josephus is known to follow in other instances. On the factual level, Josephus
has relatively little to offer for making the outbreak of war a likely outcome.
Goodman concludes that Jewish opposition to Paul in Corinth was more likely
triggered by the repercussions of his preaching in gentile society. The question
may here be asked, though, whether the factual reports of Josephus of this
period, even if they do not indicate a ‘road to war’, at least do show a climate of
growing internal social strife and conflict, a process also reflected in some early
Christian sources.
Joshua Schwartz raises questions about ‘Jewish’ identity in preparation for
a future exploration of ‘Paul’s Judaism’. This involves discussion with the scholarly efforts at a description of late Second Temple Judaism that is both sufficiently loose to cover all varieties and sufficiently precise to make social sense.
A clear emphasis must be placed on action, praxis; hotly debated questions
20
See Tomson – Safrai below, 136 n13.
8
Tomson
about ‘Jewishness’ or ‘Judaean-ness’ must also be asked. In the end, there seems
no sound reason why Paul’s interpretation of ‘Judaism’ would not fit somewhere in late Second Temple period Judaism.
The name of our next author can only be mentioned with great sadness.
When these lines were first written, not even three months had passed since
receiving the devastating news of Friedrich Avemarie’s death at the age of
just under 52 years, leaving his family bereaved of a loving husband and father
and the scholarly world of an exceptionally gifted colleague. Avemarie agreed
to give a paper on ‘The Notion of a “New Covenant” in 2 Cor 3’. Sadly, this was
to be one of his last publications; it is also published in his posthumous collected studies.21 Starting from linguistic observations, the author takes us first
on a tour along Paul’s use of the concept of ‘covenant’; then to its function in 2
Corinthians; and then on to the question why Paul’s ministry involves a ‘new’
covenant. Finally, it is asked whether the ‘new’ replaces the ‘old’. The answer is
negative, although it is abundantly clear that in Paul’s eyes, the radiance of the
new covenant outshines the old with its many shortcomings.
Peter Tomson follows suit with a study of ‘Christ, Belial and Women’ in
2 Cor 6:14–7:1, a section that for its vehement and strongly dualistic, even
Qumranic language (‘Belial’), has often been considered an interpolation.
Another striking element in the passage has generated less interest: the mention of ‘daughters of God’ next to ‘sons’ in a paraphrased section of the vision
of the sanctuary in 2 Samuel 7. Viewed within the spectrum of ancient Judaism,
this perspective on women locates Paul in the vicinity of the rabbis or their
predecessors, the Pharisees – definite adversaries of the Qumran covenanters.
Comparison of the passage with Paul’s other letters shows that Pauline authorship is not at all unthinkable. Finally, viewing 2 Cor 6:14–7:1 as an integral part
of a single letter produces a reading in which the passage functions as a sudden
outburst in a situation tense with the intervention from ‘false apostles’ stressing Jewishness and law observance.
Following this, Zeev Safrai and Peter Tomson contribute a study on a crucial topic for understanding the historical significance of Paul’s mission: the
‘Collection for the Saints’ dealt with in 2 Cor 8–9. The significance of financial
and economic processes is only now beginning to be appreciated in the history
of earliest Christianity. First, the article analyses the way the collection is mentioned in all the major Pauline letters and Acts. In doing so, the authors adopt
the working hypothesis of 2 Corinthians as an integral letter. As in the previous
article, this yields a reading in which fierce conflict with rival Jewish-Christian
apostles is reflected. The authors propose to view this in an overall perspective
21
Avemarie, Neues Testament und frührabbinisches Judentum.
Introductory Essay
9
of growing social tension in the Judaea of the 50’s ce. Then, they explore the
meaning of the term ‘saints’ in early Christian and Jewish sources. This includes
a ‘Holy Congregation’ of rabbis in Jerusalem which seems to polemically echo
the first church in the city. Next, an analysis is given of systems of financial support for spiritual leaders in early Christianity and Judaism. The primitive kernel of Christianity consisting of Jesus and his disciples as evidenced in the
Gospel tradition is one important piece of the puzzle, and it contains interestingly disparate elements. Similarly in Paul’s various arguments, different
motives can be found at play. The authors then provide an in-depth survey of
the various systems for remunerating sages and teachers in later rabbinic tradition. In all, Paul’s support campaign for the mother church and its leaders
stands out as an example of organizational power and of commitment to the
centrality of Jerusalem and its Jewish church.
Catherine Hezser has contributed an article on Paul’s ‘Fool’s Speech’ in 2
Cor 11:16–32, a textual unit in the epistle that shows Paul ‘boasting’ his Jewish
and Apostolic privileges in competition with the ‘false apostles’. First, she
examines the literary, social and biographical context of the passage, always
considering the alternative consequences of reading the letter as an integral
whole or a composite document. Next, she addresses the theme of folly versus
wisdom, a well-known Hellenistic rhetorical motif. Paul’s intention is never to
portray his opponents, but to boost his own image as an Apostle of Jesus, and
the fool’s speech allows him to do so without pedantry. Other themes are Paul’s
apologetic Jewish self-identification, which involves discussion of the parameters of ‘Jewishness’; the ‘suffering servant’ language known from Second
Isaiah; the various punishments, Jewish and other, that Paul claims to have
endured; the impression of a slave’s status these convey; the travel hazards this
remarkable ancient traveller could boast of; and Paul’s restrained bid for recognition as a ‘holy man’ having had apocalyptic visions. As such, Paul’s apologetic
speech does not distinguish him from his adversaries. Rather, it was common
practice.
Finally Christopher Morray-Jones presents his interpretation of the narrative of Paul’s ‘Ascent into Paradise’ in 2 Cor 12:1–5 and its Jewish background.
In the wake of Gershom Scholem’s work, a number of scholars associated
Paul’s paradise story with a rabbinic story of ascent into pardes, which in turn
is related to the literature of the hekhalot, heavenly ‘palaces’, preserved in rabbinic tradition. New Testament scholars have generally not warmed to this
connection, and different assessments of the origins of the hekhalot texts by a
number of rabbinic scholars have not helped to alleviate their scepticism. The
article proceeds with a commentary upon and a comparison of the pardes
story and the pertinent hekhalot traditions; the role played by Rabbi Akiva in
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Tomson
the pardes story and his school in the preservation of these traditions; and
then the story told by Paul analysed in comparison to their Jewish parallels: the
power and weakness of the visionary, the ‘Third Heaven’, the ‘Angel of Satan’,
and the ‘unutterable words’. The article concludes by offering a speculative dating of Paul’s paradise vision.
In conclusion, the articles in the volume represent building blocks towards
a more adequate perspective on Paul’s Judaism in so far as this may be reconstructed on the basis of the extant Second Epistle to Corinth. It is to be hoped
that these and similar efforts will allow scholars to attain a better view of the
way in which the Jewish Apostle to the gentiles formulated his particular message in relation to the various specific situations he addressed. At the very
least, we may be confident that such endeavours to read Paul as much as possible in the terms of his own time and cultural surroundings will help us to
appreciate the unique and lasting value of his preserved letters.
Love as that which Binds Everything Together?
The Unity of 2 Corinthians Revisited in Light of
Αγαπ- Terminology
Reimund Bieringer
The literary-critical debate on the Pauline letters, and on the Second Letter
to the Corinthians in particular, has divided the community of scholars for
more than two centuries. The stalemate that has resulted left them entrenched
in their respective camps. This is especially true in 2 Corinthians studies. To
some degree the image that scholars of the two camps have of each other is
shaped by prejudice and a lack of open communication. Representatives of
the two sides know each other’s positions so well that they can predict their
way of reasoning and their line of defense. For these reasons the debate about
the original unity of 2 Corinthians has not resulted in much communication
and even less progress in the scholarly discussion. In a 1994 publication, I critically reviewed the partition theories which were proposed at the time and
argued extensively for the unity of 2 Corinthians.1 Since then the discussion
has continued with a number of interesting new proposals,2 but no breakthrough. However, the time seems to have come to move beyond the entrenchments of the past.
In this contribution I shall, therefore, propose to try something new. My goal
is not to prove the proponents of partition theories wrong or the defenders
of the unity theories right. I shall rather suggest an experimental approach.
I invite us all, whether one be inclined to side with partition theories or with
unity theories, to assume the unity by way of experiment and to study test
cases in this light. In doing so, I propose to take into consideration the parts of
the letter which are understood by various partition theories as fragments of
individual letters. The question that guides our investigation is whether the
use of the terminology of our test cases is coherent in all these parts and how
they relate to one another. This approach also requires a study of the same test
case with the experimental assumption of partition. A comparison of the
results of both experimental approaches would be the final step in this experimental approach. The goal is to open new perspectives and to foster dialogue
between the two camps in order to increase mutual understanding.
1 Bieringer, Plädoyer.
2 E.g., Becker, Schreiben und Verstehen (et Letter Hermeneutics), cf review by Bieringer in ThLZ.
See also Vegge, 2 Corinthians and Schmeller, Der zweite Brief an die Korinther, esp 19–38).
© koninklijke brill nv, leiden, 2014 | doi 10.1163/9789004271661_003
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Bieringer
The test case I have chosen for this study is Paul’s use of ἀγαπ- terminology.
We will first give a brief overview of Paul’s use of this terminology in his letters
except 2 Corinthians. Our second step will involve a detailed analysis of ἀγαπterminology in 2 Corinthians taking into consideration the subdivisions of the
letter which result from the different literary-critical theories. In the limited
scope of this study it is, however, not possible to offer an analogous investigation of ἀγαπ- terminology under the assumption of specific partition theories.
This will have to wait for a later study.
Αγαπ- Terminology in the Homologoumena Except 2 Corinthians
It is well-known that Greek has several terms for the meaning covered by the
English word ‘love’, namely: ἔρωϛ, στοργή, ϕιλία and ἀγάπη. Of these four, in the
New Testament only ἀγάπη and its cognates ἀγαπάω and ἀγαπητόϛ, –ή, –όν
play a significant role. The occurrences of ϕιλία and its cognates ϕιλέω and
ϕίλημα are much less frequent; ἔρωϛ and στοργή are completely absent. In the
NT, αγαπ- terminology occurs 2.3 times per 1,000 words,3 φιλ- terminology 0.24
times. In the Pauline homologoumena αγαπ- terminology has an average frequency of 3.45 times per 1,000 words, φιλ- terminology only 0.35 times. After
1 Corinthians and Galatians, 2 Corinthians has the third lowest frequency of
αγαπ- terminology, while Philemon has by far the highest (14.9). But these statistics are not able to capture the great variety of uses of this terminology in the
seven letters. This will only come to the fore when we analyse whose love for
whom is expressed when Paul uses αγαπ- terminology.
3 The following chart and statistics is based on GRAMCORD:
word
Rom
1 Cor
2 Cor
Gal
Phil
1 Thess
Phlm
total
ἀγαπάω
ἀγάπη
ἀγαπητόϛ
total
x/1,000
8
9
7
24
3.4
2
14
4
20
2.9
4
9
1 (2)
14 (15)
3.1
2
3
0
5
2.2
0
4
3
7
4.3
2
5
1
8
5.4
0
3
2
5
14.9
18
47
18 (19)
83 (84)
3.45 (3.49)
The statistics of the occurrences of ἀγαπητόϛ, -ή, -όν in 2 Corinthians depend on the question
whether one considers 7:1 to be part of the letter or not. For an overview of the scholarly
discussion see Rabens and Nathan in Bieringer, Theologizing, 229–253 and 211–228
respectively.
The Unity of 2 Corinthians Revisited
13
In 1 Thessalonians, αγαπ- terminology is used once to express God loving
humans (ἠγαπημένοι ὑπὸ [τοῦ] θεοῦ in 1:4) and thrice for love in general as a
virtue in correlation with πίστιϛ (1:3; 3:6 and 5:8). Αγαπ- terminology occurs
four times for interpersonal love, namely twice for the love of the Thessalonians
for each other (3:12; 4:9), once for those who labor among them and have
charge of them in the Lord (5:13) and finally once for the love of Paul for the
Thessalonians (ἀγαπητοὶ ἡμῖν ἐγενήθητε in 2:8).
In the letter to Philemon, Paul does not use the verb ἀγαπάω, but the noun
ἀγάπη thrice an the verbal adjective ἀγαπητόϛ, –ή, –όν twice. Paul express his
love (ἀγάπη) for Philemon (v. 9) when he stresses that love is the basis of his
appeal to him. In v. 5 Paul refers to Philemon’s love for the Lord Jesus and for all
the saints. Philemon’s love for the saints also seems to be alluded to in v. 7
(χαρὰν γὰρ πολλὴν ἔσχον καὶ παράκλησιν ἐπὶ τῇ ἀγάπῃ σου, ὅτι τὰ σπλάγχνα τῶν
ἁγίων ἀναπέπαυται διὰ σοῦ, ἀδελϕέ). Paul uses ἀγαπητόϛ to characterize his relationship with Philemon and the desired relationship between Philemon and
Onesimus (vv. 1 and 16).
In Philippians the verb ἀγαπάω is equally absent. The noun ἀγάπη occurs in
the interpersonal meaning as love in general (παραμύθιον ἀγάπηϛ in 2:1), the
addressees’ love in general (in 1:9)4 and for one another (τὴν αὐτὴν ἀγάπην
ἔχοντεϛ in 2:2). Paul’s love for the Philippians is expressed in verses where
Paul directly addresses the community with the vocative of the verbal adjective ἀγαπητόϛ, –ή, –όν (ἀγαπητοί μου in 2:12; ἀδελϕοί μου ἀγαπητοί and ἀγαπητοί
in 4:1).
Galatians has the lowest frequency of αγαπ- terminology in the Pauline
homologoumena (2.2 per 1,000 words) and it is the only undisputed Pauline
letter where the verbal adjective ἀγαπητόϛ, –ή, –όν is not found. The verb
occurs twice and the noun thrice. Four of the five occurrences are concentrated in chapter 5. Paul refers twice to love in general (πίστιϛ δι᾽ ἀγάπης
ἐνεργουμένη in 5:6 and love as a fruit of the Spirit in 5:22), once to love of
neighbor (ἀγαπήσειϛ τὸν πλησίον σου in 5:14) and once to the love of the
addressees for one another (διὰ τῆϛ ἀγάπηϛ δουλεύετε ἀλλήλοιϛ in 5:13).
There is also one reference to Christ’s love for Paul (τοῦ υἱοῦ τοῦ θεοῦ τοῦ
ἀγαπήσαντόϛ με in 2:20). Considering the content and tone of this letter, it
is not unexpected that in Galatians Paul never refers to his love for the
ἐκκλησίαι of Galatia.
4 See, for instance, Hawthorne, Philippians, 25: ‘It is interesting to note that Paul does not qualify or limit this love for which he prays by adding an object to it – it is not love for others (lb),
nor for each other (jb), nor yet their love for him. Rather it is love unlimited’.
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In 1 Corinthians, there are 20 occurrences of αγαπ- terminology, 18 out of
which are interpersonal. In two cases, using the verb ἀγαπάω Paul speaks about
the love of humans for God.5 Twelve of the 18 interpersonal uses refer to love in
general, most of them in chapter 13.6 Once Paul expresses his love for Timothy
(4:17), in five cases his love for the Corinthians. Three of the latter instances
feature the verbal adjective ἀγαπητόϛ (4:14, 10:14 and 15:58), the remaining two
are 4:21 and 16:24 where Paul uses the noun ἀγάπη. In 4:21 Paul addresses two
rhetorical questions to the Corinthian addressees: τί θέλετε; ἐν ῥάβδῳ ἔλθω πρὸϛ
ὑμᾶϛ ἢ ἐν ἀγάπῃ πνεύματί τε πραΰτητοϛ; Here ἐν ἀγάπῃ is used in antithesis to ἐν
ῥάβδῳ. In a cynical mood, Paul gives the Corinthians the choice between the
stick and his love.7 In 16:23 Paul seems to end his letter with the words ἡ χάριϛ
τοῦ κυρίου Ἰησοῦ μεθ᾽̓ ὑμῶν which he had already used with only slight variations as the concluding words of 1 Thessalonians (5:28), Philippians (4:23) and
Philemon (25). But somewhat surprisingly he adds in 1 Cor 16:24 ἡ ἀγάπη μου
μετὰ πάντων ὑμῶν ἐν Χριστῷ Ἰησοῦ. Here Paul’s love is qualified as love in Christ
Jesus. Paul’s love for the Corinthians receives a particular emphasis in 16:24 due
to the fact that its expression is a variation of a formal epistolary style element
and due to its very emphatic position as the very last words of the letter.8
Before we turn to 2 Corinthians, I will briefly focus on the use of αγαπterminology in the Letter to the Romans. The difference between Romans and
the letters we have analyzed so far is striking, since in Romans about one third,
two-thirds of the occurrences focuses on God’s love for humans (9 of 24)9 and
on expressions of the love of neighbor (7/24). Paul uses ἀγαπητόϛ five times
when speaking about his love for the Romans, for Epaenetus, Ampliatus, Stachys
and Persis. The use of αγαπ- terminology in Romans thus clearly corresponds
5 The only use of ϕιλέω in the Pauline homologoumena is in 1 Cor 16:22 where it refers to the
love of humans for the κύριοϛ which is obviously understood christologically. ϕιλία is absent
from the homologoumena. ϕιλαδελϕία occurs twice (1 Thess 4:9 and Rom 12:10), ϕίλημα four
times (1 Thess 5:26; 1 Cor 16:20; 2 Cor 13:12 and Rom 16:16) and ϕιλόστοργοϛ once (Rom 12:10).
6 It is not clear whether ἀγάπη in 1 Corinthians 13 refers exclusively to interpersonal love or
whether it includes love of God and Christ. See Zeller, Korinther, 420.
7 Conzelmann, Korinther, 120; Schrage, Korinther 1: 363, ʽ…mit einer nachdrücklichen Warnung
in Form leicht ironischer Fragenʼ.
8 See Zeller, Korinther, 549: ʽBei allen Formalien, die den Briefschluss prägen, und trotz des
fehlenden Zusammenhangs bezeichnet das Stichwort “Liebe” (V. 14.22.24) denn doch für
viele Ausleger die spezifische Quintessenz, die aus ihm zu ziehen ist und das Anliegen des
ganzen Schreibens wiedergibt.ʼ We note, however, that Zeller is more cautious, pointing to
the fact that there are important variations in the way love terminology is used in 16:14, 22, 24.
9 In addition we also note a reference to the love of Christ (8:35) and the love of the Spirit
(15:30).
The Unity of 2 Corinthians Revisited
15
to the nature of this letter as one addressed to a community which Paul did not
found, which he had not visited before, but within which there were a number
of those who had been close to him in earlier contexts, Ephesus in particular.
Taking stock of the results of our investigation of αγαπ- terminology in the
undisputed Pauline letters except 2 Corinthians, we note that there is only one
statement about God’s love for humans, one about Christ’s love for Paul and
one about Philemon’s love for the Lord Jesus. Many occurrences of αγαπterminology in these letters address love in general (as a virtue together with
πίστιϛ) where it is not always clear whether human-divine love or interpersonal love or both are expressed. The majority of the uses of of αγαπ- terminology
are, however, interpersonal, referring to love of neighbor or love of the addressees for others or one another. Αγαπ- terminology is regularly used to express
Paul’s love for the addressees (in eight of the eleven cases by the verbal adjective ἀγαπητόϛ, three by the noun ἀγάπη, but never using the verb ἀγαπάω).
Αγαπ- terminology is never used to express the love of the addressees for Paul.
Αγαπ- Terminology in 2 Corinthians
Against the background of these findings, we can now turn to 2 Corinthians.
In this letter Paul uses αγαπ- terminology three times to refer to God’s love for
humans (9:7; 13:11.13) and once for Christ’s love for ‘us’ (5:14). In one case ἀγάπη
refers to the love of the Corinthians for the wrongdoer (2:8). In six out of
the 1510 occurrences of αγαπ- terminology Paul professes his own love for the
Corinthians (2:4; 7:1; 8:7; 11:11; 12:15.19). In the remaining four instances where
Paul uses αγαπ- terminology, it is unclear who is the subject (12:15) or who is
the object of love (6:6; 8:8.24). In what follows we are particularly interested in
how these occurrences of αγαπ- terminology are distributed over the parts of 2
Corinthians that have been claimed to be fragments of originally independent
letters and how the 15 occurrences relate to one another. We will discuss the
alleged letter fragments in the chronological sequence that is commonly
reconstructed concerning these letters.
According to the Schmithals-Bornkamm hypothesis,11 2:14–7:4 is (a fragment of) the earliest part of the correspondence represented in the canonical
10
11
We include in our statistics the occurrence of ἀγαπητόϛ in 2 Cor 7:1 since in distinction
with many scholars we consider 6:14–7:1 to be an integral and authentic part of 2
Corinthians. See Bieringer, ‘2. Kor 6,14–7,1’.
For the terminology and an overview of the research on partition theories, see Bieringer,
‘Teilungshypothesen’. See also Thrall, Second Epistle, 3–49 and Harris, Second Epistle, 1–54.
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Bieringer
2 Corinthians. In this section αγαπ- terminology is rather infrequent. The verb
ἀγαπάω is absent. The noun ἀγάπη is used in 5:14 and 6:6, the adjective
ἀγαπητόϛ in 7:1. In 5:14 we find the only reference to the love of Christ in the
Corinthian correspondence ( cf Gal 2:20 and Rom 8:35, cf 8:39: ‘the love of God
in Christ Jesus our Lord’). The statement ἡ γὰρ ἀγάπη τοῦ Χριστοῦ συνέχει ἡμᾶϛ
in 5:14 is unique. We read ἡ ἀγάπη τοῦ Χριστοῦ as a subjective genitive and ἡμᾶϛ
as referring to Paul. The latter is based on the fact that in 5:11–13 we encounter
a ‘we – you’ antithesis and that in 5:11 Paul uses the first person singular
(ἐλπίζω). With the infrequent verb συνέχω Paul relates the love of Christ to
himself. συνέχω expresses a relationship of being dominated by someone,
in this context obviously with positive connotations. This state of being
dominated by the love of Christ is described as dependent on a certain conviction (κρίνανταϛ τοῦτο) concerning the death of Christ, namely εἷϛ ὑπὲρ πάντων
ἀπέθανεν, ἄρα οἱ πάντεϛ ἀπέθανον˙ καὶ ὑπὲρ πάντων ἀπέθανεν, ἵνα οἱ ζῶντεϛ μηκέτι
ἑαυτοῖϛ ζῶσιν ἀλλὰ τῷ ὑπὲρ αὐτῶν ἀποθανόντι καὶ ἐγερθέντι (5:14c-15). This seems
to imply that one is dominated by the love of Christ, if one no longer lives for
oneself, but for Christ and by implication, I would assume, also for people.
Implicitly Paul seems to say that what ἡ ἀγάπη τοῦ Χριστοῦ means can best be
seen in his death for all.
The second reference to love is in 6:6. I quote the occurrence in context
beginning in v. 4: ἀλλ ̓ἐν παντὶ συνιστάντεϛ ἑαυτοὺϛ ὡϛ θεοῦ διάκονοι, ἐν ὑπομονῇ
πολλῇ, ἐν θλίψεσιν, ἐν ἀνάγκαιϛ, ἐν στενοχωρίαιϛ, 5 ἐν πληγαῖϛ, ἐν ϕυλακαῖϛ, ἐν
ἀκαταστασίαιϛ, ἐν κόποιϛ, ἐν ἀγρυπνίαιϛ, ἐν νηστείαιϛ, 6 ἐν ἁγνότητι, ἐν γνώσει, ἐν
μακροθυμίᾳ, ἐν χρηστότητι, ἐν πνεύματι ἁγίῳ, ἐν ἀγάπῃ ἀνυποκρίτῳ. It is probably
best to read 6:6 in conjunction with 5:14a. If the love of Christ dominates Paul,
then it is clear that he also loves in the same way as Christ. This unselfish, selfgiving love is exemplified in the nouns that precede the catalogue of hardships
(6:4–5). The expression ἐν ἀγάπῃ ἀνυποκρίτῳ does not say explicitly who is the
recipient of this love, but it is clear in the context that Paul implies the communities he founded including the Corinthians. While αγαπ- terminology is
not used to refer directly to Paul’s love for the Corinthians nor for the
Corinthians’ love for Paul, in 6:11–13 and 7:2–4, there are expressions in these
sections which belong to the semantic field of interpersonal love. Paul strongly
expresses his love for the Corinthians when he says: ἡ καρδία ἡμῶν πεπλάτυνται
in 6:11 and ἐν ταῖϛ καρδίαιϛ ἡμῶν ἐστε εἰϛ τὸ συναποθανεῖν καὶ συζῆν in 7:3. He
invites the Corinthians’ reciprocal love explicitly: πλατύνθητε καὶ ὑμεῖϛ in 6:13
and χωρήσατε ἡμᾶϛ in 7:2. The use of καρδία and σπλάγχνα points to affection.
If 6:14–7:1 is authentic and an integral part of its present literary context, it is
not surprising in light of 6:11–13 and 7:2–4 that Paul addresses his addressees as
The Unity of 2 Corinthians Revisited
17
ἀγαπητοί in 7:1. We conclude that in 2:14–7:4 αγαπ- terminology is only used to
refer to Christ’s love and to Paul’s love as θεοῦ διάκονοϛ. As is clear in 6:11–13 and
7:2–4, the statements on Paul’s own unselfish love as a minister and its
Christological foundation are clearly in function of the profession of his own
love for the Corinthians and of his appeal to the Corinthians to make room for
him in their hearts.
The Hausrath-Kennedy, the Weiß-Bultmann and the Schmithals-Bornkamm
hypotheses have in common that they consider 2 Corinthians 10–13 as the letter
of tears or at least as part of it. Therefore we treat it as the next section in
chronological sequence. In 2 Corinthians 10–13 Paul uses αγαπ- terminology
exclusively concerning his relationship with the Corinthian community. The
terminology comes up in three contexts, each time in an apologetic sphere. The
noun does not occur here. The verb ἀγαπάω occurs in 11:11 where in 11:7–11 Paul
defends himself for having preached the gospel of God free of charge (δωρεάν)
(11:7) and for not having financially burdened the Corinthian community (11:9).
His motivation for doing so was not a lack of love, rather he calls upon God as
witness for his love for the community: διὰ τί; ὅτι οὐκ ἀγαπῶ ὑμᾶϛ; ὁ θεὸϛ οἶδεν
(11:11). In a similarly apologetic context in 12:14–15 after announcing his third
visit, Paul promises that he will not be a financial burden for the Corinthians.
In a first expression of his love he says that he does not seek their possessions, but them. He follows the social convention that parents should lay up for
their children and not the other way around. In 12:15 he again expresses his
selfless love in the spirit of 5:14–15 by saying: ‘I will most gladly spend and be
spent for you’. This is followed by another explicit use of ἀγαπάω: εἰ περισσοτέρωϛ
ὑμᾶϛ ἀγαπῶ[ν], ἧσσον ἀγαπῶμαι; As in 2:4 Paul stresses his unique love for the
Corinthians (περισσοτέρωϛ). In the passive ἀγαπῶμαι Paul does not explicitly
mention the agent, but in the context it can hardly be anything but ‘by you’. In
view of the vast importance in the interpretation of texts of what is said and
what is not being said but elliptically implied, we note that the absence of
an explicit agent might indicate Paul’s hesitation to ask directly for their love.
This is then the closest Paul gets to asking the Corinthians to love him using
αγαπ- terminology.
The only remaining use of αγαπ- terminology is found in 12:19, again in an
apologetic context. Paul tries to read the mind of the addressees by suggesting
that they have been thinking that in the preceding passages of the letter he has
been defending himself. He contradicts this by giving a hermeneutical rule for
understanding the previous part of his letter. It is to be read as said ὑπὲρ τῆϛ
ὑμῶν οἰκοδομῆϛ. It is precisely here that Paul addresses the Corinthians
as ἀγαπητοί. This is fully in keeping with what Paul had said in 1 Cor 8:1: ἡ δὲ
18
Bieringer
ἀγάπη οἰκοδομεῖ. The link between love and upbuilding becomes even
more significant when one realizes that 2 Corinthians 10–13 is framed by an
inclusion: περὶ τῆϛ ἐξουσίαϛ ἡμῶν ἧϛ ἔδωκεν ὁ κύριοϛ εἰϛ οἰκοδομὴν καὶ οὐκ εἰϛ
καθαίρεσιν ὑμῶν in 10:8 and almost literatlly the same in 13:10: κατὰ τὴν ἐξουσίαν
ἣν ὁ κύριοϛ ἔδωκέν μοι εἰϛ οἰκοδομὴν καὶ οὐκ εἰϛ καθαίρεσιν. Here and in 12:19 he
clearly gives the hermeneutical instruction of reading all he says in chapters
10–13 as an expression of constructive love. His goal is to invite the Corinthians
to love him. Inevitably this raises the question how to deal with the fact that
much of what Paul says between 10:8 and 13:10 does not live up to his stated
intention of up-building love, but is much rather a unilateral display of power
and threats.
There are two occurrences of αγαπ- terminology in the section that most
partition theorists consider to be the letter of reconciliation, namely 1:1–2:13 +
7:5–16. In 2:4 Paul describes the purpose or intention of the letter of tears.
Paul’s love for the Corinthians is characterized as being of a special kind
(περισσοτέρωϛ, cf 12:15). It is antithetically opposed to λυπέω. In a parallel
statement in 2:9 Paul says that the intention of the letter of tears was ἵνα γνῶ
τὴν δοκιμὴν ὑμῶν, εἰ εἰϛ πάντα ὑπήκοοί ἐστε. Not their love, but their obedience
was Paul’s first concern in the letter of tears.12 This is confirmed by 7:15 where
Paul tells the Corinthians that Titus remembered their obedience (τὴν πάντων
ὑμῶν ὑπακοήν). While Paul wants to prove his love for the Corinthians, he wants
to test not the Corinthians’ love, but their obedience. In the lists of nouns
that describe the Corinthians’ μετάνοια (7:9), we find ἐπιπόθησιϛ (twice, 7:9.11)
and ζῆλοϛ (7:9), but not the word ἀγάπη. Paul does not appeal for the love
of the Corinthians nor does he state that as a result of their change of mind
the Corinthians love him. The only other instance of αγαπ- terminology in
1:1–2:13 + 7:5–16 is found in 2:8 where Paul begs the Corinthians to confirm their
love for the person who had caused grief and whom Paul had demanded to be
punished (2:6).
In 2 Corinthians 8 we find three instances of αγαπ- terminology, where in
each case the noun is used. Each time Paul speaks about interpersonal love. In
8:7 the giver and the recipient of love is expressed, in 8:8 and 24 only the giver is
specified but not the recipient. The discussion in 8:7 is complicated by the fact
that the textual transmission has resulted in competing variants. The two main
competitors are τῇ ἐξ ὑμῶν ἐν ἡμῖν ἀγάπῃ and τῇ ἐξ ἡμῶν ἐν ὑμῖν ἀγάπῃ. For external and internal reasons we prefer τῇ ἐξ ἡμῶν ἐν ὑμῖν ἀγάπῃ. It is attested in 46
12
That is one more reason why neither 2:14–7:4 nor 10:1–13:10 qualify to be fragments of the
letter of tears, since in those sections Paul is – albeit very carefully – inviting the reciprocal love of the Corinthians.
The Unity of 2 Corinthians Revisited
19
and B. It implies a deliberate change of perspective after first listing things which
the Corinthians possess in abundance: πίστει καὶ λόγῳ καὶ γνώσει καὶ πάσῃ σπουδῇ
and then switching to something they do not possess, but receive: the love of
Paul. Thus we see here another expression of Paul’s love for the Corinthians13 and
an implicit reminder that they do not have abundant love for Paul. If we read τῇ
ἐξ ὑμῶν ἐν ἡμῖν ἀγάπῃ in 8:7, what Paul adds in 8:8 would be somewhat confusing,
namely that what he says is part of ‘testing the genuineness of your love’. We may
not overlook that in 8:8 Paul does not specify whether he means the Corinthians’
love for himself or for those who are the recipients of the collection, the saints in
Jerusalem. In the context it is more likely that the first meaning is the Corinthians’
love for the saints in Jerusalem. But since Paul has made the cause of the collection his own and has invested so much of himself in this cause, showing genuine
love in the collection to Paul and showing genuine love to the saints in Jerusalem
are intrinsically related to one another. In 8:24 summarizing the appeal of the
chapter, Paul again requests a proof of their love (τὴν οὖν ἔνδειξιν τῆϛ ἀγάπηϛ
ὑμῶν) and again he does not specify the recipient of their love. It seems that here
also the implied recipients are the saints in Jerusalem. But at the same time by
asking for the proof of their love for them, Paul implicitly also asks for the proof
of their love for him.
2 Corinthians 9 only contains one occurrence of αγαπ- terminology, namely
of the verb ἀγαπάω in 9:7 in a quote from Prov 22:8. What is striking for
our interest here, is the fact that the Hebrew text and the LXX for Prov 22:8
contain
and εὐλογεῖ whereas Paul uses ἀγαπᾷ. One can hardly claim that
in 2 Corinthians, Paul shuns ευλογ- terminology, considering the prominent place εὐλογία has in 9:5–6 where it occurs four times. Despite the uncertainty of which version of the text might have been at Paul’s disposal (as text
or by memory), it is not impossible that he deliberately changed εὐλογεῖ
into ἀγαπᾷ.
Finally we turn to 13:11–13. Partition theorists are divided whether they
should consider this text to be the conclusion of the letter that consisted of 2
Corinthians 10–13 or of the letter of reconciliation. We encounter two uses of
ἀγάπη in this section, namely καὶ ὁ θεὸϛ τῆϛ ἀγάπηϛ καὶ εἰρήνηϛ ἔσται μεθ΄ ὑμῶν
in 13:11 and ἡ ἀγάπη τοῦ θεοῦ … μετὰ πάντων ὑμῶν in 13:13. In 13:11 the presence of
the God of love and peace is promised to the Corinthians, if they comply with
Paul’s appeal: χαίρετε, καταρτίζεσθε, παρακαλεῖσθε, τὸ αὐτὸ ϕρονεῖτε, εἰρηνεύετε.
In 13:13 Paul expresses the wish that the love of God be with all of them. In
13
We understand ἐν ὑμῖν as more or less equivalent with εἰϛ ὑμᾶϛ in 2:4 (cf 2:8 and Rom 5:8).
In 2 Cor 8:1 and possibly in 4:3.6 we see instances where ἐν is used in the sense of indicating a direction.
20
Bieringer
comparison with other letter conclusions, the strong emphasis on the love of
God and the God of love is surprising here and one cannot help but wonder
whether it is related to the content of the letter which these verses bring to a
conclusion.14
Implications for the Literary-Critical Debate
The above analysis of αγαπ- terminology in the Pauline homologoumena
and in 2 Corinthians has several important implications for the literary-critical debate of this letter. First, the use of αγαπ- terminology in 2 Corinthians
is characteristically different from its use in the other letters where the use
is more ‘objective’ and removed from the relationship of Paul and his
14
The following table gives an overview of the use of αγαπ- terminology in the Pauline
homologoumena.
who loves whom?
Rom
1 Cor
2 Cor
Gal
Phil
1Th
Phlm
total
God loves humans
humans love God
Christ loves humans
the Spirit loves
humans
Paul loves the
addressees
Paul loves individual
persons
Paul loves ?
Paul is loved by ?
(addressees)
the addressees love
others
the addressees love ?
the addressees love
one another
love of neighbor/one
another
love in general
without specification
total
9
1
1
0
2
0
3
0
1
0
0
1
0
0
0
1
0
0
0
0
0
13
3
3
1
0
0
0
0
0
0
1
1
5
6
0
3
1
2
18
4
0
1
0
0
1
0
0
0
0
0
0
0
0
5
1
0
0
1
0
0
0
0
1
0
0
0
0
0
3
0
0
1
0
0
0
3
0
4
3
0
0
0
1
1
2
0
4
7
0
0
1
0
1
0
9
0
24
12
20
0
15
2
5
2
7
3
8
0
5
19
84
The Unity of 2 Corinthians Revisited
21
addressees, even in 1 Thessalonians and Philippians, letters where the relationship between Paul and the addressees is at its best. Second, in 2
Corinthians (and twice in 1 Corinthians) Paul uses not only the adjective
ἀγαπητόϛ, but also the noun ἀγάπη and the verb ἀγαπάω with reference to
his relationship with the addressees. Third, while in 1 Corinthians the use of
ἀγάπη in general is prevalent due to its use in chapter 13, this abstract meaning is absent in 2 Corinthians where all the uses are very concrete and situational. Fourth, in our interpretation above it proved possible to interpret
the texts in which Paul uses αγαπ- terminology in such a way that in each
part that is postulated by partition theorists as a part of a different letter the
same narrative situation with regard to the love relationship between Paul
and the Corinthians is presupposed. In each part (except ch. 9 and 13:11–13)
there are expressions of Paul’s love for the Corinthians. The expressions
concerning the love of the Corinthians for Paul are much more complex. In
1:1–2:13 and 7:5–16 the focus is more on the obedience of the Corinthians.
There seem to be good reasons to assume that Paul was convinced that as a
result of the effects of the letter of tears, there was a change of mind and
there was obedience and even longing for Paul on the side of the Corinthians,
but not yet love.
If my interpretation is correct that Paul is convinced that at the moment
when Titus returns to him the love of the Corinthians for Paul has not yet been
restored, then it is understandable that in the letter which Paul writes at that
time, there would be appeals for love. However, Paul is very careful in the way
he addresses this and in the way he – mostly indirectly – invites the Corinthians
to love him in return. Such an indirect appeal may be present in his request to
love the one who had caused grief and was punished. Does Paul hope that the
Corinthians will draw the conclusion that, if Paul wants them to confirm their
love even for the person who had caused the whole conflict, this means that he
also wants them to love him? In 2:14–7:4 an indirect appeal is present in Paul’s
statement ‘the love of Christ dominates us’ in 5:14a. Paul hopes that the
Corinthians will let themselves be included in the ‘us’ and will learn the unselfish love which Christ manifested in his dying for all and which Paul manifested
in his suffering for others in his apostolic ministry (cf 4:7–12 and 6:1–10). In
2 Corinthians 8 Paul focuses on the unselfish love which the Corinthians need
to demonstrate by generously contributing to the collection for the saints in
Jerusalem. By asking them the proof of this love, indirectly he is also asking the
proof of their love for him who so strongly identifies with the project of the
collection. In 2 Corinthians 10–13 Paul gives the Corinthians the hermeneutical
key for understanding all that he is saying in this connection as οἰκοδομή, as
intended for their upbuilding (12:19; cf 10:8 and 13:10). After professing his love
22
αγαπ- Terminology in 2 Corinthians.
1:1–2:13 + 7:5–16
2:14–7:4
8:1–
verb
noun
2 Cor 5:14 ἡ γὰρ ἀγάπη τοῦ
Χριστοῦ συνέχει ἡμᾶϛ, κρίνανταϛ
τοῦτο, ὅτι εἷϛ ὑπὲρ πάντων
ἀπέθανεν, ἄρα οἱ πάντεϛ
ἀπέθανον˙
2 Cor 6:6 ἐν ἁγνότητι, ἐν γνώσει,
ἐν μακροθυμίᾳ, ἐν χρηστότητι, ἐν
πνεύματι ἁγίῳ, ἐν ἀγάπῃ
ἀνυποκρίτῳ,
2 Cor 8:7 Ἀλλ᾽ ὥσπερ
ἐν παντὶ περισσεύετε,
πίστει καὶ λόγῳ καὶ
γνώσει καὶ πάσῃ
σπουδῇ καὶ τῇ ἐξ ἡμῶν
ἐν ὑμῖν ἀγάπῃ, ἵνα καὶ
ἐν ταύτῃ τῇ χάριτι
περισσεύητε.
8 οὐ καt ̓ ἐπιταγὴν
λέγω ἀλλὰ διὰ τῆϛ
10:1–13:10
2 Cor 9:7
ἕκαστοϛ καθὼϛ
προῄρηται τῇ
καρδίᾳ, μὴ ἐκ
λύπηϛ ἢ ἐξ
ἀνάγκηϛ˙ ἱλαρὸν
γὰρ δότην ἀγαπᾷ
ὁ θεόϛ.
2 Cor 11:11 διὰ τί; ὅτι οὐκ
ἀγαπῶ ὑμᾶϛ; ὁ θεὸϛ οἶδεν.
2 Cor 12:15 ἐγὼ δὲ ἥδιστα
δαπανήσω καὶ
ἐκδαπανηθήσομαι ὑπὲρ
τῶν ψυχῶν ὑμῶν. εἰ
περισσοτέρωϛ ὑμᾶϛ
ἀγαπῶ[ν], ἧσσον ἀγαπῶμαι;
13:11–13
2 Cor 13:11
Λοιπόν,
ἀδελϕοί,
χαίρετε,
καταρτίζεσθε,
παρακαλεῖσθε,
τὸ αὐτὸ
ϕρονεῖτε,
εἰρηνεύετε,
καὶ ὁ θεὸϛ τῆϛ
Bieringer
2 Cor 2:4 ἐκ γὰρ
πολλῆϛ θλίψεωϛ καὶ
συνοχῆϛ καρδίαϛ
ἔγραψα ὑμῖν διὰ
πολλῶν δακρύων, οὐχ
ἵνα λυπηθῆτε ἀλλὰ
τὴν ἀγάπην ἵνα
γνῶτε ἣν ἔχω
περισσοτέρωϛ εἰϛ
ὑμᾶϛ.
9:1–
2:14–7:4
9:1–
10:1–13:10
[2 Cor 7:1 ταύταϛ οὖν
ἔχοντεϛ τὰϛ ἐπαγγελίαϛ,
ἀγαπητοί, καθαρίσωμεν ἑαυτοὺϛ
ἀπὸ παντὸϛ μολυσμοῦ σαρκὸϛ καὶ
πνεύματοϛ, ἐπιτελοῦντεϛ
ἁγιωσύνην ἐν ϕόβῳ θεοῦ.]
13:11–13
ἀγάπηϛ καὶ
εἰρήνηϛ ἔσται
μεθ᾽ ὑμῶν.
2 Cor 13:13 ‘H
χάριϛ τοῦ
κυρίου’ Ιησου
Χριστοῦ καὶ ἡ
ἀγάπη τοῦ θεοῦ
καὶ ἡ κοινωνία
τοῦ ἁγίου
πνεύματοϛ μετὰ
πάντων ὑμῶν.
ἑτέρων σπουδῆϛ καὶ τὸ
τῆϛ ὑμετέραϛ ἀγάπηϛ
γνήσιον δοκιμάζων˙
2 Cor 8:24 τὴν οὖν
ἔνδειξιν τῆϛ ἀγάπηϛ
ὑμῶν καὶ ἡμῶν
καυχήσεωϛ ὑπὲρ ὑμῶν
εἰϛ αὐτοὺϛ
ἐνδεικνύμενοι εἰϛ
πρόσωπον τῶν
ἐκκλησιῶν.
2 Cor 2:8 διὸ
παρακαλῶ ὑμᾶϛ
κυρῶσαι εἰϛ αὐτὸν
ἀγάπην˙
adjective
8:1–
The Unity of 2 Corinthians Revisited
1:1–2:13 + 7:5–16
2 Cor 12:19 Πάλαι δοκεῖτε
ὅτι ὑμῖν ἀπολογούμεθα.
κατέναντι θεοῦ ἐν Χριστῷ
λαλοῦμεν˙ τὰ δὲ πάντα,
ἀγαπητοί, ὑπὲρ τῆϛ ὑμῶν
οἰκοδομῆϛ.
23
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Bieringer
for them in strong terms, even calling upon God as his witness, and by stressing
his self-giving parent-like love for them, Paul for the first time in all the texts
that form the canonical 2 Corinthians uses αγαπ- terminology in 12:15 to refer
to his being loved (but cf the textual variants in 8:7). But even here there is
something that keeps him from saying outright what he intends to say. Paul
does not request love, but hides his request in a rhetorical question: ἧσσον
ἀγαπῶμαι; Moreover he makes use of the ambiguity of a passive construction
which also allows him not to specify the agent, even though after περισσοτέρωϛ
ὑμᾶϛ the implied agent can only be ‘by you’.
Conclusion
It has by now become clear that I am convinced that Paul’s use of αγαπterminology in all the parts of the canonical 2 Corinthians is coherent and
forms a network where everything is related to everything. The love of the
Corinthians for Paul which is still missing when this letter is written is the
main concern of Paul. It is part of a larger network of love between God and
human beings, the love shown by Christ in his dying for all, the love for the
person who had caused grief and the love for the saints in Jerusalem. Illustrating
how his love relationship with the Corinthians is part of this larger network
enables Paul to approach his appeal for the love of the Corinthians carefully
and gradually until it reaches a climax in 12:15. But even there the appeal
remains indirect and somewhat shrouded. To reconstruct such a network of
love relationships is, however, only possible under the presupposition of the
‘hypothesis of the unity’ of the letter. What I reconstructed as a network of love
underlying 2 Corinthians would run the risk of being reduced to a series of
sporadic and accidental references to love under the presupposition of partition theories that see different letters or letter fragments in the different parts
of 2 Corinthians. In my view, therefore, the pervasiveness of the αγαπ- terminology confirms the integrity hypothesis.
As I mentioned in the introduction, the purpose of this contribution was
experimental. Even though the results of this study favor a reading of the
canonical 2 Corinthians as a coherent letter, we should not forget that the
experimental methodology proposed at the beginning of this study requires us
to study the same terminology with the presupposition of one or more partition theories and to compare the results. It is therefore our concern that the
results of this study should not lead to further entrenchment, but rather to
more openness for the respective other views. The studies published in this
book also propose to walk new paths and to enter uncharted territories as they
focus on the question of the Jewishness of 2 Corinthians.
The Politics of the Fifties: Jewish Leadership and
the Jews of Corinth in the Time of 2 Corinthians
Martin Goodman
The Acts of the Apostles contain a graphic account of an attempt by the
leaders of the Jewish community in Corinth to curb the activities of the
apostle Paul:
When Gallio was proconsul of Achaia, the Jews made a united attack on
Paul and brought him before the tribunal. They said, “This man is persuading people to worship God in ways that are contrary to the law”. Just
as Paul was about to speak, Gallio said to the Jews, “If it were a matter of
crime or serious villainy, I would be justified in accepting the complaint
of you Jews; but since it is a matter of questions about words and names
and your own law, see it to yourselves; I do not wish to be a judge of these
matters”. And he dismissed them from the tribunal. Then all of them
seized Sosthenes, the official of the synagogue, and beat him in front of
the tribunal.1
This event, if the story is not a fictional creation by the author of Acts,2 can be
dated quite precisely to the fifties ce because the period of Gallio’s tenure of
the post of governor of the province of Achaia is known from an inscription.3
Whether the tensions that led the Corinthian Jews to invoke intervention by
the governor were also the cause of the formal judicial punishments that Paul
claimed in 2 Corinthians at around the same time to have suffered at the hands
of officials of the Jewish court – ‘Five times I have received from the Jews the
forty lashes minus one’4 – is not certain. His claim to have earned respect from
the recipients of his letter would be equally efficacious if his sufferings had
been in the distant past, near the beginning of his missionary career, and if
they had occurred elsewhere in the diaspora or in Judaea.5 But the narrative in
Acts 18 suffices to illustrate the political quandary his mission created for
the local Jewish leaders in the city, and it is worth investigating whether this
1
2
3
4
5
Acts 18:12–17.
On the historicity of Acts, see (for example) Hengel, Acts and History.
On Gallio, see Dittenberger, Sylloge 2: 801.
2 Cor 11:24.
On Paul’s career, see Sanders, Paul.
© koninklijke brill nv, leiden, 2014 | doi 10.1163/9789004271661_004
26
Goodman
diaspora community is likely to have felt under particular pressure in this
period.6
The Politics of Judaea in the Fifties
There are advantages to focussing attention on the politics of the Jewish world
specifically in this decade. It is clear that the outlook of Jews living under
Roman rule underwent considerable fluctuations in both the preceding and
the subsequent periods. The forties had begun with a threat to the Jewish
Temple by the emperor Gaius, and for a while Jews everywhere had feared a
desecration of the sanctuary such as they had not experienced since the time
of Antiochus Epiphanes,7 but the tyrant had died,8 the threat had passed, and
for a few glorious years Agrippa I had reigned in Jerusalem, a Jewish king who
could boast not only dominions as impressive as those of his grandfather
Herod but also a close friendship with the new emperor Claudius, who had
come to power in Rome at least in part through his machinations.9 It was true
that Agrippa’s rule had been brought to an abrupt end in 44 ce by his sudden
and unexpected death ‘eaten up by worms’,10 and that Claudius’ plan to allow
his son, the younger Agrippa, to succeed to the whole of his realm in Judaea
had been deemed inadvisable by the emperor’s ministers because of Agrippa’s
youth,11 but the young man still clearly enjoyed imperial favour, since not long
after he was given the kingdom of his uncle Herod of Chalcis and in due
course – certainly before the death of Claudius in 54 – a role in Jerusalem as
custodian of the Temple.12 For Jews to be optimistic about their future under
Roman rule would not have been irrational as the decade drew to its close.
The sixties, conversely, began with hope and ended in disaster. Josephus,
describing the refusal of the Jerusalem authorities in 62 ce to take seriously
the remarkably prescient pronunciations of doom offered incessantly by one
Jesus b. Ananias, explained their attitude by the implausibility of Jesus’ prophecies at the time, when ‘the city was at a peak of peace and prosperity’.13 Four
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
For my earlier discussion on this issue, see Goodman, ‘Persecution of Paul’.
On Gaius’ threat to the Temple, see Josephus, War 2:184–203; Ant 18:261–309; Philo, Leg.
Josephus, War 2:204; Ant 18:305–309.
Schwartz, Agrippa.
Acts 12:19–23.
Josephus, Ant 19:362.
Ant 20:104 (kingdom), 222 (appointed curator of the Temple by Claudius).
War 6:300.
The Politics Of The Fifties
27
years later Jerusalem was at war with Rome, and any optimism that some may
have felt about the Jewish state which counted its era of freedom from the
beginning of the revolt was dashed in 70 ce when both city and Temple were
destroyed.14
For understanding the fifties, crucial is the avoidance of hindsight. In retrospect it is possible to discern the faultlines within Judaean society, not least the
tensions within Jerusalem stoked by the inequitable distribution of the proceeds of prosperity.15 But disaster was not inevitable and would have been difficult to predict. We need to imagine the world as it appeared to Jews at the
time in light of the more optimistic indicators of the precious decade, but with
the knowledge (which we have, but they did not) of where the cracks were to
widen and Judaean society was eventually to disintegrate in the years ahead.
This historiographical aim is easier to propose than to carry out. Evidence
composed by Jews actually in the fifties does not survive in abundance –
indeed, 2 Corinthians is itself of value for Jewish history in this period precisely
because it is a rare exception. The writings of Philo had all (so far as is known)
been completed before the beginning of the decade,16 and none of the diaspora Jewish inscriptions can be securely dated to these years.17 We rely therefore almost entirely on the evidence of Josephus, and therein lies the biggest
problem. All the surviving writings of Josephus were composed after 70 ce and
reflect a world that had been shaped by the disaster.18 The Bellum judaicum
was of course written quite explicitly to explain the causes and course of the
war, but the Antiquitates judaicae, which on the surface covered the narrative
of all Jewish history since the Creation, was similarly structured as an account
of the fortunes of the two Temples, first and second, and hence came to an end
in 66 ce at the point when war broke out.19 Josephus wrote mostly about
Judaea (reasonably enough, in light of these historiographical aims), and he
seems to have made little use of any sources for the history of any diaspora
communities apart from Alexandria, Adiabene and (perhaps) Rome.20
The teleological thrust of Josephus’ narrative in the Bellum of event in
Judaea was cast very clearly in the mould of Thucydides’ history of the
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
For a narrative of the revolt, see Price, Jerusalem under Siege.
See Goodman, Ruling Class, chapter 3.
On the chronology of Philo’s writings, see Sandmel, Introduction.
Horbury – Noy, Jewish Inscriptions of Graeco-Roman Egypt; Noy, Jewish Inscriptions of
Western Europe; Noy et al., Inscriptiones Judaicae Orientis.
Rajak, Josephus; McLaren, Turbulent Times.
See Bilde, Josephus.
On Alexandria, see Josephus, War 2:487–499; Ant 19:278–292; on Adiabene, Ant 20:17–96;
on Rome, Ant 17:299–302; 18:81–84.
28
Goodman
Peloponnesian War – Josephus’ first line, in which he claimed to be writing
about ‘the greatest not only of the wars of our own time, but, so far as accounts
have reached us, well nigh of all that ever broke out between cities or nations’
echoed directly Thucydides’ claims for his own subject.21 Josephus followed
the same master in seeking to delineate those events in the years preceding the
war which might help to explain its outbreak – but in place of the fifty years
(pentêkontaetia) of Thucydides, Josephus substituted the sixty years since the
beginning of direct Roman rule over the province. A problem for the historian,
however, seems to have been a severe shortage of sources for that history. Up to
4 bce he had been able to make use of the narrative of Herod’s reign composed
by Herod’s contemporary, Nicolaus of Damascus.22 But for the rule of Archelaus
from 4 bce to 6 ce he apparently had no written source to use, and he seems to
have been equally ignorant of the years from 6 to 37 ce, about which he proved
able to record only a very small number of events directly relevant to the political history of Judaea.23 Since he was born in 37 ce, he could write about events
in the forties from personal knowledge (but through the eyes of a child, which
might explain some of the enthusiasm of his narrative about the glorious reign
of Agrippa I from 41 to 44 ce, when Josephus was between the ages of four and
seven). By the fifties, Josephus was in his teens, and by the end of the decade he
was twenty-three and involved in the politics of the Jerusalem elite. The
impression from his narrative that there was more to report from this decade
than from earlier decades may reflect no more than the increase in his knowledge of events.24
What Josephus has to tell us about the fifties does not in fact, when stripped
of its rhetoric, suggest a society sliding towards destruction in the fashion usually asserted in the standard textbooks.25 It is true that Josephus refers quite
frequently to matters going from bad to worse,26 and the structure of his narratives in both the Antiquitates and the Bellum, in which one catastrophe follows
another in a steady progression, gives an impression of inexorability which fits
well both with his historiographical purpose and with his theological explanation of the sufferings which God had allowed his people to suffer.27 But even in
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
Josephus, War 1; on echoes of Thucydides, see Rajak, Josephus.
On Josephus’ use of Nicolaus, see Landau, Out-Heroding Herod.
War 2:111–180; Ant 17:339–18:223. Note the excursuses on the haireseis in War 2:119–166 and
in Ant 18:11–25.
On Josephus’ life and career before 66 ce, see Life 1–16; Rajak, Josephus.
So, for example, Schürer, History, vol. 1, 458–466.
E.g. Josephus, Ant 20:160.
On Josephus’ purpose and theodicy, see Bilde, Josephus.
The Politics Of The Fifties
29
his account in the Antiquitates – which is longer and more detailed than that
in the Bellum simply because the narrative of these years constituted the purpose of the work rather than, as in the Bellum, the background to the main
subject, the outbreak of war in 66 – the events which impinged on Jerusalem
during the governorships of Cumanus (from ca. 48 to 52) and Felix (52 to
ca. 60) looked only in retrospect like a prelude to destruction. A deliberate act
of indecency by a soldier led to disturbances in the city and in the process
of restoring order there was a mass stampede which led to the accidental
death of thousands of pilgrims;28 an imperial slave was attacked by villagers
some distance from Jerusalem and one of the soldiers sent to exact punishment publicly destroyed a scroll of the law, for which he was in turn publicly
beheaded by order of the governor;29 a group of Galileans on pilgrimage to
Jerusalem were attacked by Samaritans while on their journey, which led
to considerable disorder in Samaria and intervention by Ummidius Quadratus,
governor of Syria;30 the new governor Felix employed brigands as urban terrorists to do away with a political opponent and erstwhile ally, the former high
priest Jonathan b. Ananus, and this form of terrorism became more common;31 impostors such as a certain Egyptian claimed to be prophets and
tried to encourage the masses to follow them, although the numbers involved
in practice do not seem large – when Felix sent soldiers to attack the followers of the Egyptian, four hundred were killed and two hundred taken prisoner;32 a quarrel between Jews and gentiles in Caesarea escalated from
name-calling to stone-throwing and was suppressed with unnecessary violence by Roman troops;33 similar antagonism, with stones and abusive language, between the high priests and other Jews in Jerusalem by contrast went
unchecked.34
Viewed as a narrative of all the disturbances in the province over a period of
twelve years, the tally seems less impressive than it does when read as a list
of one crisis after another. It is notable that such incidents did not discourage
the emperors Claudius and Nero from leaving the province in the hands of
28
29
30
31
32
33
34
Josephus, Ant 20:105–112.
Ant 20:113–117.
Ant 20:118–136.
Ant 20:160–166.
Ant 20:167–172; in the parallel passage in War 2:261–263, Josephus states that this Egyptian
collected about 30,000 followers, and that most of those with him were killed or taken
prisoner. In Acts 21:38, the figure for the followers of the Egyptian is given as 4,000.
Ant 20:173–178.
Ant 20:179–181.
30
Goodman
equestrian governors with access only to a small number of auxiliary troops,
which were assumed sufficient to control the crowds even at the regular mass
gatherings at the festivals, when a fear of the consequences of disturbances
was logical enough.35 Nor did most of these events have any impact on
Jerusalem itself: the only time between 41 and 66 ce when the governor of
Syria marched with his troops to the city was in ca. 52, when Quadratus, having
sorted out the dispute between the Samaritans and the Jewish supporters of
the Galileans, visited Jerusalem to satisfy himself that no trouble was to be
expected – he found the city at peace, observing one of the festivals.36
The impression that the fifties were not a time of increasing tension in
Judaea is echoed by the brief reference to this decade by Josephus’ younger
contemporary, the historian Tacitus. In his account in the Histories, where he
provided a brief background to the siege of Jerusalem which was a major topic
in his narrative of the year 70 ce, Tacitus had nothing to say about the fifties
beyond the appointment by Claudius of the freedman Felix to the governorship, which the historian characteristically castigated as inappropriate. Felix
‘practised every kind of cruelty and lust, wielding the power of king with all the
instincts of a slave’.37 In the Annals Tacitus provided more information, as
befitted a history which endeavoured to include everything of importance to
Rome year by year. All the more striking that, although like Josephus he viewed
these years with knowledge of what was to come in the sixties and asserted
that after the death of Caligula the Jews still remained fearful that a new
emperor might issue an identical order to place an idolatrous statue in the
Temple,38 the only actual disturbances in the province to which he drew attention in his account of the decade (for which his account happens to survive in
full) was the conflict between the Galileans and the Samaritans – which he
seems to have only imperfectly understood, since he claimed (erroneously)
that Felix governed Samaria and Cumanus Galilee.39 For the senatorial historian, the main interest in the topic lay in the malefactions of Felix as brother of
Claudius’ freedman Pallas, about whose influence over imperial policy Tacitus
expressed much disquiet.40
Of particular importance in upholding the case of the Jews in the dispute
with the Samaritans was the influence of Agrippa II with the emperor Claudius,
35
36
37
38
39
40
See discussion of this issue in Goodman, Rome and Jerusalem, 416–417.
Ant 20:133.
Tacitus, Hist 5.9.3.
Idem, Ann 12.54.1.
Ibid., 12.54.2–4.
Syme, Tacitus.
The Politics Of The Fifties
31
exercised on this occasion through the emperor’s wife Agrippina.41 The equestrian governors of Judaea were unlikely throughout the decade to forget the
immense power that had been wielded within the Roman court by Agrippa’s
father at the time of Claudius’ accession in 41,42 or the favour bestowed on
Agrippa himself by Claudius, who gave him in ca. 50 ce, on the death of his
uncle Herod, the kingdom of Chalcis in Lebanon which Herod had ruled, along
with the same right to control the Jerusalem Temple and to appoint the High
Priests which his uncle had employed.43 In the course of the decade his territory was gradually enlarged, first by Claudius in 53 (who gave him a larger territory further south in exchange for the small kingdom of Chalcis)44 and then
by Nero after 54, who added to his existing territory parts of Galilee and
Transjordan.45 Felix at least was sufficiently aware of the power of the Jewish
king to marry his sister Drusilla,46 and Acts describes the honour paid to
Agrippa and his other sister Berenice by Felix’s successor Festus when they
were asked to join the governor as judges in the trial of Paul in Caesarea,47
while Jews knew that an influential politician like Agrippa, whose devotion to
Judaism was proved by his concern to look after the Temple building,48 could
be expected to look after their interests, even if in the early sixties his concern
to observe Temple proceedings from his palace by raising the height of the
building was to prove less acceptable to the priests, who built a wall to block
his view.49
Jews and Gentiles in Corinth
How much did these conditions in Judaea affect the Jews in diaspora cities?
Certainly there had been times when powerful Jewish leaders from Jerusalem
had intervened on behalf of diaspora Jews. So, for instance, the rights of Jews
in Asia Minor cities recorded by Josephus in books 14 and 16 of the Antiquities
seem at least in part to have been guaranteed by the Roman state at the behest
41
42
43
44
45
46
47
48
49
Josephus, Ant 20:135.
Ant 19:236–277.
Schürer, History, vol. 1, 471–483.
Josephus, Ant 20:137–138.
Ant 20:159.
Ant 20:141–144 (but note that Josephus ascribes this marriage to Drusilla’s exceptional
beauty).
Acts 25:13–26:32.
Cf Josephus, Ant 20:219–223.
Ant 20:189–196.
32
Goodman
of either the Hasmonean Hyrcanus II or Herod the Great,50 and Agrippa I,
according to Philo, played an important role in the story of antagonism
between Jews and Greeks in Alexandria.51 According to Acts the High Priest in
Jerusalem was persuaded by Paul to send him to Damascus with letters to the
Damascene Jews to deal with the nascent Christian community in the city,52
and when war broke out in Jerusalem in 66, the Jews in many of the cities
round about were caught up in the struggle whatever they themselves wished.53
It is impossible to tell how important a diaspora community Corinth would
have seemed in the eyes of Judaean Jews. According to a letter cited by Philo
which purports to have been written to Caligula by Agrippa I at the time of the
crisis over Caligula’s plan to have his statue erected in the Temple, Agrippa
specifically drew the emperor’s attention to the Jews of Corinth as one of the
colonies from the mother city Jerusalem whose favour Caligula would win if he
were to abandon his plans,54 but Agrippa is made also to mention numerous
other places, and the import of the rhetoric of the letter is to stress that even
distant places ‘situated in every region of the inhabited world whether in
Europe or in Asia or in Libya’ contain Jewish communities affected by the
emperor’s decision.55 More significant may be the connections of Corinth to
Rome: the city was a colonia, settled with veteran soldiers in the time of Julius
Caesar and still to some extent a Roman enclave in Greece,56 and it may not
have been accidental that, according to Acts, it was to Corinth that a Jew
named Aquila, a native of Pontus, came with his wife Priscilla when all Jews
were ordered by Claudius to leave Rome,57 in what was probably a symbolic act
by the state, as in the case of other such expulsions from the capital.58
But in any case for most of the time the leaders of diaspora Jewish communities will have been left to fend for themselves, and it is hard to see why events
in distant Judaea or Rome would affect them except at times of particular crisis, such as the pogroms in the cities around Judaea after war broke out in
Jerusalem in 6659 or the travails of the Jews of Antioch in 70.60 On the other
50
51
52
53
54
55
56
57
58
59
60
See Pucci Ben Zeev, Jewish Rights in the Roman World.
Philo, Flacc 103.
Acts 9:1–2.
Josephus, War 2:457–498.
Philo, Leg 281.
Philo, Leg 283–284.
On Corinth in the first century ce, see Murphy-O’Connor, St. Paul’s Corinth.
Acts 18:1–2.
Gruen, Diaspora, 38–41.
Josephus, War 2:457–498.
War 7:47–62.
The Politics Of The Fifties
33
hand, precisely such travails at extreme times illustrated the potential frailty of
diaspora Jewish communities, which continued to exist within majority gentile cities all over the eastern Mediterranean world only because the majority
tolerated them – as the fate of the Jews of Damascus, Gerasa and elsewhere in
66 demonstrated, expulsion or worse could all too easily be inflicted if intercommunal relations broke down, unless the Roman state was willing to intervene, which could not be guaranteed.61
Paul and the Jewish Community in Corinth
It is against this background that the problems posed by Paul to the Jewish
leaders in Corinth is best understood.62 It is hard to see any theological reason
for these leaders to object to Paul’s attempts to bring gentiles to faith in Christ
without requiring those gentiles to become Jews – or, at least, it is hard to imagine any such reason powerful enough for the Jewish leaders to run the considerable risks inherent in trying to curb Paul (who was, after all, a Roman citizen,
according to Acts)63 either by bringing a charge against him before a Jewish
court or by hauling him up before a Roman magistrate. To find such a powerful
reason it is necessary to think instead of the politics involved. The people in
Corinth who were most likely to be upset by Paul were not Jews but the gentile
city authorities, for whom his preaching was objectionable not because of his
positive encouragement of faith in Christ but because of his vehement opposition to idolatry – which meant, in the eyes of ordinary Corinthians, that he was
urging precisely the abandonment of ancestral cults which was the charge to
be brought against Christians in Pontus and Bithynia in the time of the younger
Pliny, some sixty years later.64 For the Jewish authorities this will have been a
concern only in so far as Paul was likely to be seen by the city and Roman
authorities, not just as a troublemaker spreading atheism, but, as implied by
Gallio’s words as reported in Acts, (crucially) as a Jew,65 and therefore likely to
implicate the whole Jewish community of Corinth in his behaviour. By the
time of Pliny, following the persecution of Christians by Nero in Rome in the
sixties and the imposition of a special Roman tax on Jews since 70 ce, Roman
authorities were quite accustomed to treat Christians as members of a group
61
62
63
64
65
See Fredriksen, ‘Judaism, circumcision of gentiles, and apocalyptic hope’.
So Goodman, ‘Persecution of Paul’.
Acts 22:25–29.
Pliny, Ep 10.96.
Acts 18:15: ‘a matter of questions about … your own law’.
34
Goodman
quite separate from Jews, but it was not so easy for the local Jews to distance
themselves from Paul in the eyes of the Roman authorities in Corinth in
the fifties. And that Paul presented himself to the outside world as a Jew is
abundantly clear precisely from 2 Cor 11 – not just because Paul specifically
claimed to be a Hebrew and an Israelite66 but in the far more practical claim
to have undergone punishment by a Jewish court.67 As E.P. Sanders has noted,
punishment implies inclusion.68 At any time, Paul could have brought the
lashes to an end by asserting (as one can imagine that some other Jews, like
Tiberius Julius Alexander, Philo’s nephew, would have done in such circumstances)69 that the court had no jurisdiction over him because he was not a
Jew – the legal basis (according to Roman law) on which a Jewish court in
the diaspora would inflict such corporal punishment must in any case have
been tenuous, and it is unlikely that this jurisdiction was ever a formal
entitlement.70
As I noted at the beginning of this study, it is not known whether any of the
beatings suffered by Paul were actually at the hands of officials of the Corinthian
Jewish community. But according to Acts, the leaders of the community did
take action against Paul by trying to persuade the Roman governor Gallio to
intervene. They impeached Paul before governor just as later Christians were
to be impeached before Pliny – it is a reasonable surmise that what Luke paraphrases as a charge of ‘persuading people to worship God in ways that are contrary to the law’71 will have referred to the spreading of atheism, even though
Gallio purported to understand the issue to be a contravention not of Roman
law (as might reasonably be expected in a case brought before a governor) but
of ‘words and names and your own law’.72 It is what happened next that illustrates most clearly the quandary of these Jewish leaders when faced with the
enthusiasm of an individual like Paul who upset the delicate balance which
allowed Jews to live in peace and security in diaspora cities provided that
they did not interfere in the religious lives of their neighbours. When the
charge against Paul was dismissed by Gallio, ‘all of them’ – presumably
the ordinary citizens of Corinth, rather than either Jews or Paul’s followers –
‘seized Sosthenes, the official of the synagogue, and beat him in front of the
66
67
68
69
70
71
72
2 Cor 11:22.
2 Cor 11:24.
Sanders, Paul, the Law and the Jewish People, 192.
Cf Burr, Tiberius Iulius Alexander.
So Schürer, vol. 3, 119f.
Acts 18:13.
Acts 18:15.
The Politics Of The Fifties
35
tribunal’.73 In this case, at least, the Jewish leaders of Corinth had failed to keep
the support of the Roman state which could act as their ultimate protection
against local persecution, for ‘Gallio paid no attention to any of these things’.74
Conclusion
There is no reason to believe that relations between Jews and gentiles in the
Roman world were particularly bad at any time in the fifties ce, but the position of Jews in diaspora cities was always fragile and dependent on the good
will of the majority community, and, if the narrative in Acts is to be believed, it
seems that this good will was dangerously threatened in Corinth during the
visit of Paul by his mission to gentiles in the city.
73
74
Acts 18:17.
Acts 18:17.
Methodological Remarks on ‘Jewish’ Identity:
Jews, Jewish Christians and Prolegomena on
Pauline Judaism
Joshua Schwartz
Introduction: The Road to Pauline Judaism
The title of this article has undergone many changes. The original title of
the lecture which served as the basis for this study was ‘Prolegomena on the
Establishment of Programmatic and Methodological Issues in the Reconstruction of Pauline Judaism’. This was certainly our original intent, but
lengthiness of title did not necessarily help focus the somewhat fuzzy background of ‘programmatic’, ‘methodological’, and ‘prolegomena’, not to mention ‘Pauline Judaism’. The long title morphed into ‘Methodological Remarks’.
This perhaps was less top-heavy on academic jargon/clichés, but was certainly just as obtuse and, probably, no more appealing than the original
topic. The title now reflects what has become the major crux of this study, i.e.
Jewish identity and the boundaries, or lack of such, between Jews and ‘others’ who might or might not also be considered Jews. Defining ‘Jews’, ‘Jewish’
and ‘Judaism’ will enable the inclusion or the exclusion of groups on the
periphery such as Jewish-Christians and in particular Paul and his followers
or adherents of ‘Pauline Judaism’. This will be a study of boundaries, sometimes sharp and sometimes blurred, sometimes crossed, sometimes not and
sometimes just not there, as well as of definitions. The ultimate result of all
this will hopefully be to establish a tentative methodology for the study of
Jews, Jewish Christians and ‘Pauline Judaism’.
Most of the effort in this study will relate to Jews and Judaism of the Second
Temple period. Only after these terms are defined will it be possible to move on
further to the ‘others’. A major question of definition is whether Judaism and
Jewish identity should be defined as a religion, or perhaps as something else.
The definition of Jewishness, Jewish identity and Judaism will impact upon the
definition of early Christianity and early Christians and their place within
the framework of Jews and Judaism. This is, of course, a monumental under
taking and our present study cannot relate to all aspects of these issues.1 As
1 Thus, for example, a detailed analysis of the trilogy of Boccaccini is beyond the purview of
our study, although his quest to uncover and portray the development of Second Temple
Judaism is certainly an important undertaking and many of his ideas are quite fascinating.
© koninklijke brill nv, leiden, 2014 | doi 10.1163/9789004271661_004
Methodological Remarks On ‘jewish’ Identity
37
mentioned above, this paper should be understood as prolegomena, a method
ology unfolding from day to day.
Identity and Perception: Jews, Judaism and Jewish
Much of our discussion will revolve around issues of identity and perception,
both in terms of ‘self’ as well as of ‘others’. Identity and perception are closely
tied to behavior, and this too will concern us, and the behavior to be discussed
will be both from an emic and an etic perspective, to use the jargon of the
Social Sciences.2 There was a great diversity in Second Temple Period Judaism
that allowed for many different types of Judaism, whether nominally under
some form of official religious umbrella or not. This diversity exited in tandem
with a trend towards some attempt at a coalescence towards at least a titular
theological or ideological normative.3 Indeed, as we shall discuss, there may
not have been as much diversity as has commonly been accepted in scholar
ship, certainly not when it came to practice, but everything, after all, is relative
and in any case, we shall expand upon this further below.
In discussing Judaism, and trying to determine how much unity there was or
was not in Second Temple period times, there is one common underlying per
ception that should be mentioned, whether it is correct or not. If we shall
accept that Judaism is a religion, then it would seem to be a religion of law, and
this law stresses praxis and ‘works’. If this perception is accepted then all of the
rest is secondary and tangential. If this is accepted ab initio, then Judaism and
In his first work, Middle Judaism, Boccaccini claims that the creative phase of Judaism,
between the third century bce and the second century ce encompassed different species of
Judaism such as Pharisaism, early Christianity, Essenism, apocalyptic Judaism and other
varieties. In his second work, Beyond the Essene Hypothesis, Boccaccini refined his model of
Judaisms to include two priestly traditions, the Zadokite and the Enochic. The former even
tually leads to rabbinism and the latter to the Essene movement, Qumran and ultimately to
early Christianity. His third volume, Roots of Rabbinic Judaism, refines these models even
further and sees the simultaneous emergence of three early distinct Judaisms, the Sapiential,
Zadokite and Enochic. All of this theoretically corresponds to the sociological structure of
upper class Jewish society. While much of this is fascinating, the jump from books to society,
the lynchpin of the system is far from clear. In any case, as also mentioned above, a detailed
analysis of all this is beyond the purview of our introductory methodological study.
2 ‘Emic’ relates to a description of behavior in terms meaningful to the individual. ‘Etic’ relates
to a description of behavior by an observer. See, for example, Pike, Language, and Harris,
‘Emic/Etic Distinction’. Cf Craffert, ‘EmicEtic Distinction’.
3 S. Schwartz, Imperialism, 49–99.
38
Schwartz
early Christianity would seem to be on an unavoidable collision course, and
this would certainly be true regarding later Christianity. Much has been writ
ten, of course, in order to make Paul less of a problem regarding halakha and
we shall deal with this below. For the moment we shall make do by stating that
Paul indeed operates within a framework of Jewish law, but I am not sure that
it is ‘halakha’ or what develops into rabbinic halakha.
This, of course, leads us to the matter of briefly defining halakha. The hal
akha of the Second Temple period is not necessarily the halakha of the rabbis,
although it is not necessarily mutually exclusive.4 Is it the ‘common Judaism’
of Sanders and others (and perhaps one should ultimately say ‘common
Judaisms’)?5 Or is it perhaps a ‘commonlaw’ Judaism in the sense that it
develops based on some sort of judicial or juridical process or is it a combina
tion of both of common and commonlaw? Seeing Judaism as a religion of
legalism is today not politicallyacademically correct. However, are a religion
of legalism and a religion of halakha necessarily the same thing? Today it is
commonplace to postulate that Second Temple period Judaism was never a
religion of legalism. Might it still have been a religion of halakha and all the
rest was secondary? In any case, we are getting too far afield from our intended
order of things.
I should like to start with Judaism and then move on to Jews and Jewish and
eventually get to early Christians and Christianity and finally even to Paul.6
Before we do this, though, it is necessary to deal briefly with the somewhat
bewildering claims of Josephus in Ag Ap 2:179–187 regarding the denial of vari
ety altogether within Judaism. Josephus makes the following statements:
It is this above all that has created our remarkable concord (ὁμόνοια).
For holding one and the same conception of God, and not differing at all
in lifestyles or customs, produces a very beautiful harmony (συμφωνία)
in [people’s] character (179)……Nor will one see any difference in our liv
ing habits, as we all share common practices (181)….We, on the contrary,
have taken the sole expression of both wisdom and virtue to consist in
doing or thinking absolutely nothing contrary to the law as promulgated
4 See, for example, Urbach, Halakhah.
5 Sanders, Judaism. According to this view there were beliefs and practices common to all Jews
of the Second Temple period regardless of their religious or ‘party’ affiliation.
6 Cf Satlow, ‘Beyond Influence’, 40–46. While one can agree with Satlow that it is important
to focus ‘on people, not abstractions’, some of those abstractions defined the very essence
of those people, whether as Jews or whether within their cultural and religious milieus,
‘deessentialized’ as Jews, as Satlow requires.
Methodological Remarks On ‘jewish’ Identity
39
(183)….What part of it would one change? What finer law could one
invent? (184)
This would seemingly allude not only to a ‘coalescence’ but to a monolithic
religious system accepted by all and practiced by all. This would leave little
room for deviance, whether within ‘core Judaism’ or without. Josephus himself
espouses a different view both in Jewish War (2:119–166) and in Jewish
Antiquities (18:11–22), describing, as is well known, three haireseis and a Fourth
Philosophy. One might indeed agree with Martin Goodman that the descrip
tion in Against Apion is probably apologetic since Josephus sought in this pas
sage to compare the Jews with the fickle and variegated Greeks.7 Steve Mason
sees this not as apologetics but as part of a description of ‘Judean laws’ as being
perfect and ‘ideal’. They cultivate piety, friendship with one another, humanity
toward the world, justice, steadfastness, and contempt of death. Converts are
also welcome. Josephus has a social and literary agenda here which is obvi
ously not the realistic description, as it were, of the diversity in Judaism.8 In
spite of all this, it would be impossible, in our view at least, either to portray
such a unity, exaggerated as it may be, if there were not some degree of coales
cence within the diversity of Second Temple Judaism, as Josephus himself and
others describe.
As for that diversity, at least in Josephus, it is necessary to make one more
preliminary point. As mentioned above, Josephus mentions three haireseis
and a Fourth Philosophy. These of course include the Pharisees, Sadducees,
Essenes, and Zealots. Josephus does not mention, Christians, or Christian
Judaism in his list of sects, which can basically be called ‘mainstream’, but then
Josephus certainly does not list all (sectarian) permutations of this main
stream.9 Josephus then does not hold us back, whether in terms of his mono
lithic Judaism as described in Against Apion or his list of three haireseis and a
Fourth Philosophy. It is now possible to deal with Jewish identity during the
Second Temple period. There are basically two opposing schools of thought:
one recognizes the existence of ancient ‘Judaism’ at some point during the
Second Temple period and the other claims that there was no such thing as
Judaism at that time. Clearly both views will have different perceptions of
identity. The first view is far from monolithic and we shall present a number of
varieties. The second is basically espoused by one scholar and thus is free from
internal divisions and distinctions. We begin with the first view. There are of
7 Goodman, Judaism, 36f.
8 Mason, ‘Contra Apionem’, 212f.
9 Contra Deines, ‘Pharisees’ 477–491.
40
Schwartz
course divisions and distinctions in definition and description among the pro
tagonists of the first school, but all of these pale in relation to the differences
between them and adherents of the second.
Within the presentation of the first view, I shall begin by describing two sets
of definitions: one relates specifically to the Second Temple period and
attempts to be grounded in history. The other seeks to be systemic and to
describe a Judaic system, although it also uses the term Israelite. This is not to
say that there are no other definitions and descriptions and we shall indeed
make reference to some later on. The first definition that we cite is found in the
work of Seth Schwartz and particularly in his book Imperialism and Jewish
Society, 200 b.c.e. to 640 c.e. The second can be found in the works of Jacob
Neusner, but we shall make reference to that described in particular in Bruce
Chilton and Jacob Neusner (eds.), The Brother of Jesus: James the Just and His
Mission.10
Seth Schwartz sees three pillars of ancient Judaism: God, Tora, and Temple.11
This is an ideological system that is neat in its messiness, that is, allowing for a
mainstream within what might be construed as a diversiveness. In his view,
these three pillars would place limits on the diversity that Judaism would allow
to early Christianity, making it just that – Christianity.12 In our view, however,
these three pillars do just the opposite, allowing for more leeway in terms of
early Christianity. It would not be that difficult for them to accept God, Tora,
and Temple, certainly not at the beginning and for some time afterwards. We
shall make our case for this later on in detail in our discussion of early
Christianity. For the moment suffice it to say that this issue is one, as is almost
everything else, of definitions. Before proceeding, however, the obvious should
be pointed out: diversity is not just a phenomenon of early Judaism, but also of
early Christianity and from a methodological perspective, definitional acro
batics are possible both regarding Jews and Christians.
Seth Schwartz describes a system that is simplistic yet lacking, complete yet
inadequate and this is exactly the fuzziness that would allow for the early
Christians (and even Paul) to find a home in this Judaism. In academia fuzzi
ness is anathema; in real life fuzziness is often a lifepreserver in turbulent
times and seemingly conflicting and perhaps even hostile ideas and ideologies
can reside together in fuzzy harmony. In any case, the details of the system
10
11
12
Neusner, ‘What is Judaism’.
For the most part our theoretical comments relate to the Land of Israel and not to the
Diaspora. Regarding the Diaspora, and especially Philo see LeonhardtBalzer, ‘Jewish
Worship’.
S. Schwartz, Imperialism, 1–99.
Methodological Remarks On ‘jewish’ Identity
41
were probably not known to all Jews (ignorance is often just as beneficial as
fuzziness), and this opens the door even further for mainstream diversity. True
there was a contract, a covenant (accepting the covenantal nomism of Sanders)
says Seth Schwartz and a contract has obligations (law/halakha). If it is impos
sible to observe the obligations then the contract in his view is void (his view
too re Paul),13 but he is too quick to make the obligations impossible to observe.
A good lawyer, or even a good theologian, as opposed perhaps to a historian,
would just redefine the obligations. ‘Torah was a series of negotiations
between an authoritative but opaque text and various sets of traditional but
not fully authoritative practices’.14 I see no reason why early Christianity, or
great parts of it, could not live with this and in my view this was not even
impossible for Paul, as we shall discuss below. Or perhaps it might be possible
to redefine the wrapping of the contract, as it were.
In this vein, the ‘patronal nomism’ (as opposed to covenantal nomism)
postulated by Paul Spilsbury re the relationship between God and His people
in the writings of Josephus, might provide for such a redefinition of obliga
tions. God is seen as a patron and the client must conform to the will of
that patron. Such a relationship while it requires obedience to the law, stresses
the alliance that is formed between patron and client. This too would not
be impossible for early Christianity functioning within the parameters of
Judaism.15
It would also not be impossible for early Christianity to coexist within
the framework of what Schwartz calls the ‘myth’ i.e. a developing apocalyp
tic mythology. The myth was separate from the covenant and indeed it
also compensated for the deficiencies of this system, although both oper
ated within a single complex.16 Any problems that early Christianity might
have had with Tora and Tora covenant might have been mitigated by the
myth.
The second system to be described, as we mentioned above, is that of Jacob
Neusner.17 Neusner lists four characteristics of a Judaic system and we shall use
his nomenclature, although it is not really essential for our purposes: (1) the
privileging of ancient Israelite Scripture (BibleTora); (2) identification with
the community of Israel described there; (3) recognition of the priority of the
system described there; (4) living by that system (and those who do so are
13
14
15
16
17
S. Schwartz, Imperialism, 65f.
Ibid. 68 (transcription as in original).
Spilsbury, ‘Josephus’, 247–255.
S. Schwartz, Imperialism, 74–87.
See n10 above.
42
Schwartz
Israelites).18 When all is said and done, this is not that different than the system
described by Seth Schwartz. Tora is certainly there and that implies God and in
the Second Temple period any person or group living by that system includes
Temple. The point is not to say that Schwartz and Neusner agree here, or not.
Rather, we wish to show that there is a method to the almost chaotic diversity
that one tends to ascribe to Second Temple period Judaism and that that
method does not preclude including early Christianity as part of Judaism.
We should now like to place these two systems within additional frame
works and posit a number of guidelines for further study and understanding.
This is necessary because the protagonists of a religion may not always act
exactly in accordance with the system, especially if the system is somewhat
loose or fuzzy. Obviously this has implications for placing Christianity within
Jewish society in that it is necessary also to study Christians outside of their
system. These additional frameworks and guidelines will be based for the most
part on the work of Martin Goodman and Shaye J.D. Cohen.
Goodman’s views are conveniently found in his collected essays, Judaism in
the Roman World: Collected Essays.19 Cohen’s views are found in his ground
breaking work, The Beginnings of Jewishness: Boundaries, Varieties, Uncertainties.
Perhaps one of the most important sentences in scholarship relevant to the
study of Judaism in the Second Temple period is Goodman’s statement that:
‘The identification of common themes and slogans is an important part of the
study of Judaism in this period, but it is a quite separate exercise from the iden
tification of distinct groups or tendencies’.20 Common ideas do not necessarily
make common groups. Goodman’s statement allows for much speculation and
theorizing. Thus, what is it that makes one distinct or separate? Is identity the
same as ‘group’ or ‘tendency’ or as Albert Baumgarten’s ‘voluntary associa
tion’?21 And who decides? What might seem the same to some is not the same
to others – being once again a question of ‘emic’ and ‘etic’. It’s often all in the
perception (and not reality).
Also, do the common themes perhaps lower the boundaries? Do they
weaken the barriers or perhaps even remove some of them? Do they allow for
‘freedom of movement’, or migration, from group to group, perhaps resulting in
some sort of coalescence or not? Were there certain rites that allowed for
18
19
20
21
‘Israelite’ here does not inherently stand opposed to any other system based on nomen
clature. Ioudaios or ‘Israelite’ is not of importance below. See, however, our comments
below.
See n7 above.
Goodman, Judaism, 40.
Baumgarten, ‘Voluntary Associations’.
Methodological Remarks On ‘jewish’ Identity
43
movement between barriers? Or were there rites that established boundaries
and were they one way or twoway? Could you belong to two groups at once?
Clearly not Pharisee and Sadducee, but other permutations, including early
Christianity, might be possible and even accepted. There might be national
identity with its own barriers and individual identity or theological or religious
identity, each with its own barriers and rules. Is there some type of reality of
doors opening and closing? And does one really have to ‘belong’ to a group or
can one just sort of ‘float’? And if one does ‘belong’, how does one do so?
Different Judaisms probably had different boundaries or perhaps different per
ceptions of common boundaries.
As opposed to Seth Schwartz and his loose coalition of mainstream and
quasimainstream movements and groups, Goodman sees real diversity.
Schwartz lowers the barriers somewhat, Goodman does not. This does not
mean less tolerance, it just means that the barriers seem to remain in place.
While Josephus was tolerant of variety, in spite of his statement in Against
Apion, as we discussed above, there was little room in his worldview for heresy,
and a Josephan heretic, according to Goodman, would be one who claims to
have a better theological system than that of the mainstream covenantal
nomism.22 Where does this leave early Christianity and early Christians? Can
they fit? Or have they moved on to ‘heresy’? For the rabbis, according to
Goodman, who were not liberal and tolerant, there was less of a question,
but then since the rabbis did not show that much interest in early (or late)
Christianity, it is hard to be sure. For our purposes this is somewhat irrelevant
since we are not dealing with the rabbis. When all is said and done, though,
Goodman leaves the door open:
It is likely that varieties of Judaism continued to exist for many years after
70 ce, and it is certain that many different groups described themselves
as Christian. All types of Judaism shared some common characteristics,
as did all types of Christianity. It was possible to be both Jewish and
Christian, but some forms of Judaism had nothing in common with some
forms of Christianity. It was not necessarily the case that the ‘common
core’ of either religion was what mattered most to the adherents of that
religion.23
While the language here is that of ‘separate’, it is still possible to see parts of
both seemingly separate religions as not being separate. There is room for
22
23
Goodman, Judaism, 33–46.
Ibid. 183.
44
Schwartz
some intersection, both before and after 70 ce. Part of the problem is, of course,
that it is not always clear who is a Jew, mainstream or otherwise, making it
even more difficult to know who stands at the fringes.
Continuing in this manner, it is possible to ask: what is the relationship
between Jew and Judaism? Is it that ‘Judaism’ which defines a Jew or might
there even be some other definition? And do these definitions open or shut the
door for early Christianity and early Christians? Might a Jew be defined by
‘political theology’ for instance?24 Relevant to this, of course, is the fact that so
far everything that we have said is based upon the literary sources that present
or describe Judaism. We shall hopefully below be able to make at least some
reference to relevant issues of material culture. Leaving that aside for the time
being, two additional points must be made regarding Judaism before we move
on to ‘Jews’ and both of them are made by Martin Goodman. (1) Much of reli
gious teaching is passed on by learning from behavior. We do not necessarily
have the sources that relate to this, leaving our view of Second Temple period
Judaism skewered, or at least more skewered than before. We might ask,
though: what is the status of those learning and is learning enough? (2) Related
to this, religion, says Goodman, is often caught, and not taught.25 Both these
points make the whole process of establishing a religious identity somewhat
haphazard and accidental. Much might be on the spur of the moment and not
necessarily the result of any theological ideology or systematic presentation.
This is not that far removed from the ‘fuzziness’ and ‘ignorance’ that we men
tioned before and in spite of Goodman’s reluctance to let down the barriers, it
might make them at least somewhat porous.
Shaye J.D. Cohen deals with Jews and Jewishness and not with Judaism.
‘What makes usus and themthem’ and can one of them become one of us?26
24
25
26
The classic statement of this is Schmitt, Political Theology. Schmitt suggests that all con
cepts in modern political thought are secularized theological concepts. In the case of the
ancient world, politics might often truly be described as theological. Moreover, Schmitt
felt that in exceptional times only a sovereign might prevail and save the state. In our case,
the sovereign would be the supreme Sovereign. We shall return to this concept in our
discussion of Paul. Cf Lazier, ‘Political Theology’.
Goodman, Judaism, 42. Cf Philo, Spec leg 4:149f.
Cohen, Beginnings, 1–5. As we pointed out above, our discussion relates for the most part
to Palestine. See, however, LeonhardtBalzer, ‘Jewish Worship’, 53: ‘For Philo, the question
is not so much a matter of distinguishing between ‘them’ and ‘us’ but one of integrating
the whole intellectual and cultural universe within the Jewish tradition and conversely of
giving Judaism its proper placeat the topin the Hellenistic culture of the time’. Cf Satlow,
‘Beyond Influence’, 53 for a similar perspective, albeit with a greater stress on an etic
perspective.
Methodological Remarks On ‘jewish’ Identity
45
These are key questions of Jewish identity and might just as easily be asked of
early Christians, although perhaps with a slight twist and with problematical
syntax: are they ‘us’ or are they ‘them’? If they are ‘us’ do they remain so and if
they are ‘them’ can they become ‘us’? According to Cohen, during the Second
Temple period, the ethnic category of Judaeanness turns into the religious cat
egory of Jewishness. For Cohen the former is early in the Second Temple period
and thus of no consequence for us regarding the relationship of early
Christianity to Judaism.27 Regarding Jewishness, the phenomenon of the latter
part of the Second Temple period, there are numerous open doors for ‘min
gling’ of all types. There are no real external Jewish markers and on the fringes
one might find those whose ‘official’ connection to Jewishness was tenuous, to
say the least. They might have considered themselves Jewish and others may or
may not have done so or agreed. Some of these might have observed the Law in
one form or another or participated in the cult in one form or another, even if
they might not have been halakhic Jews, however halakha may have been
defined. It was a lot easier to become a Jew than one might imagine, and it did
not necessarily have to include ‘official’ conversion.28 While it did require the
practice of Jewish ritual, this might certainly be a subject for interpretation. All
of this being the case, there was more than enough room for early Christians,
certainly JewishChristians or JudaeoChristians, and even those ‘on the
periphery’ might be considered part of the clan, at least if they so wanted.
We now turn to the second view or school of thought regarding ‘Jewish’
identity in the Second Temple period. Steve Mason argues that there was no
category of Judaism in the GraecoRoman world, no religion and that the
Ioudaioi of our sources were understood until late antiquity as an ethnic group
comparable to other ethnic groups with distinctive laws, traditions, customs
and God. They were Judaeans and not Jews or proponents of Judaism.29 There
are those who would not agree that Ioudaios/Ioudaioi should be translated as
Judaean/s and prima facie the correct translation or usage should be Jews, but
for the sake of understanding his view, we shall grant Mason his translation.30
Rather, we shall relate to the implications of his views from the point of view
of identity.
It is obvious, of course, that definitions which revolve around ethnicity
make for seemingly impregnable barriers and would make crossing boundar
ies or lowering them almost impossible when it comes to early Christians and
27
28
29
30
Cohen, Beginnings, 69–139.
Ibid. 107–238.
Mason, ‘Jews, Judaeans’.
D.R. Schwartz, ‘Judaean’.
46
Schwartz
their relationship to this Judaean ethnicity, except of course for those who
were directly born into the fold. However, from the outset, and from a method
ological point of view, it is important to stress that Mason’s perspective in
terms of source material is etic, i.e. his sources basically reflect the perspective
of outsiders – the GraecoRoman world. That is not to say, of course, that there
are not etic elements in the studies of Schwartz, Neusner, Goodman or Cohen,
but their perspective in terms of identity and perception is much more emic,
i.e. inward gazing, than etic. Thus, from a technical standpoint it might be
argued that the discussion between the scholars takes place on different
planes, as it were. However, we cannot simply dismiss his views on such a
technicality.
True, at first glance Mason’s insistence on not recognizing a category of
‘Judaism’ in the GraecoRoman world, i.e. including Second Temple period
Palestine, would seem to be a problem regarding early Christians entering the
ethnic Judaean fold, but upon further consideration even this view seems
to present no insurmountable difficulties regarding this matter. True, if one
is not born into an ethnos it is seemingly hard, or almost impossible, to
become part of that ethnos, but there are enough characteristics of the Judaean
ethnos – cult – philosophy – familial rites of passage – associations – etc. that
might make the barriers somewhat porous and allow for seeing early Christians
as functioning within a ‘Judaean’ framework, particularly regarding those actu
ally born into the fold. However, Mason, seemingly aware of this possibility,
prevents us from solving the issue once again from a ‘technical’ standpoint. At
the very end of his study he claims that any comparison between ‘Judaean’ and
followers of Jesus is impossible. They are incommensurable categories ‘rather
like being a Russian or a Rotarian, a Brazilian or a Bridge player’. Some early
Christians, what we would usually define as JewishChristians or Judaeo
Christians, might be Judaeans by nature and might function according to the
characteristics of behavior patterns of this ethnos, but their Christian practice,
according to Mason would have nothing to do with ‘Judaeaness’.31
Mason’s view is a problem for those who would keep early Christianity,
including Paul, Jewish, because there was no ‘Jewish’, according to Mason, and
‘Judaean’ is irrelevant for them. Paul might attack Judaizing, but according to
Mason, Paul is only setting up a fictitious straw religion, a theological punching
bag with no real connection to reality.32 However, his arguments regarding the
nonexistence of Judaism are not totally convincing. According to Mason,
Christianity was a religion, but not ‘Judaism’ because the etic GraecoRoman
31
32
Ibid. 511–512.
Ibid. 468–470.
Methodological Remarks On ‘jewish’ Identity
47
world considered it an ethnos. The real question, however, is what the
‘Judaeans’ (‘Jews’) considered themselves, i.e. perhaps it really is a matter of
etic versus emic perceptions. For instance, were Josephus’ and Philo’s ‘Judaeans’
relating only to the cult, law and philosophy of an ethnos? The Jews also cer
tainly were an ethnos but those of the Second Temple period were not only (!)
an ethnos. There was also a religion. Here it would be appropriate to quote
Paula Fredriksen: ‘Jews may be one of the few Western groups now for whom
ethnicity and religion closely coincide; back then (!), it was the least odd thing
about them’.33 The quote is appropriate in particular because of the title of the
article in which it is found, which serves as a foil to Mason: ‘Compassion is to
Purity as Fish is to Bicycle and Other Reflections on Constructions of “Judaism”
in Current Work on the Historical Jesus’. Mason’s case for seeing Judaean
JewishJudaism as incommensurable categories to early Christian, Jewish
Christian or JudaeoChristian is far from compelling. Thus, we shall continue
within the parameters of the first view described above, allowing of course for
the individual differences among scholars as we have also described.
We have just seen that nomenclature is often more than a matter of names.
Having just dealt with a matter of nomenclature having potentially substantial
implications for the understanding of Jewish identity, we should like to briefly
deal with one more matter of nomenclature, Israel and Ioudaios, although this
matter would seem to have less potential for changing accepted perceptions
and norms regarding identity, as we shall soon see, and that is what concerns
us in this study. Thus, in terms of nomenclature, according to Peter Tomson, for
example, Israel always reflects an insider perspective that ‘continues the con
cept of Biblical covenant history’ and Ioudaios always reflects an outsider per
spective that views the Jews in relation to other ancient groups.34 Or to cite
another example, John H. Elliot points out that Jesus is never called Ioudaios in
the New Testament (except for three occasions and then only by ‘outsiders’).
Like Mason, he too seems to understand Ioudaios in the ethnic sense and he
claims that this is the case in the Gospels, Acts and letters of Paul. Jesus identi
fied himself and his associates as Israelites, although Galilean, and Nazarene
33
34
Fredriksen, ‘Historical Jesus’, 166.
See in general Tomson, ‘Israel and Jew’, and esp 278. My thanks to Prof. Tomson for provid
ing me with an as of yet unpublished updated version. Israel is the emic usage, the way
that Jews would communicate with fellowJews. When communicating with nonJews a
Jewish speaker would use Jew. In a written communication, Prof. Tomson informs me that
he now feels that Judaeus = ‘Judaean’ accorded with the Roman administrativemilitary
view. Otherwise he stands by his original view regarding Ioudaios and Israel. See also
Tomson ‘“Jews”’. [And cf Tomson, below 124 n172.]
48
Schwartz
are also used, and also Jesus’ followers identified themselves as Israelites. Paul
too prefers Israelite. Thus, when he talks to Israelites – believers or not – he
prefers Israel and Israelite. When he turns to Gentiles he might also use the
ethnic Ioudaios.35
However, we should not make too much of an issue over the nomenclature
here. Even within the Mason system, Jesus was a Judean in the broad ethnic
sense and so was Paul and so were most of the early Christians. At the very
least we have the cultic and ‘religious’ elements that Mason is willing to allow
for and if we stretch this a little outside of Mason’s world to fit with the other
views discussed above, the culticreligious can be morphed into religion –
whether it is called it Judaism or whether it is called ‘Israelite’. Thus, for our
purposes, it would still seem possible to see the early Christians as at least
loosely fitting into the Ioudaioi, however the phrase is translated.
Action and Material Culture
There is one more factor to be mentioned in trying to determine the basis for
understanding the place of early Christianity within Jewish society and that
relates to ‘action’. Thus, how does one act like a Jew during the Second Temple
period? How does one live like a Jew? What constitutes Jewish behavior?
Obviously if early Christians fit in these material parameters, then they would
fit within the Jewish fold, however that would be defined.
Indeed, there are ethnic and religious material markers which might desig
nate one as a Jew and the most prominent relate to halakhic action. The two
most common and prominent of these markers are stoneware implements
and mikvaot and research has shown that these ‘theoretical’ ethnic and reli
gious markers can be correlated to actual Jewish material settlement.36 Are we
to look then for early Christians to be frequenting mikvaot or using stone
implements? We shall have more to say on this below.
35
36
Elliot, ‘Jesus the Israelite’. Cf the two studies of Tomson just cited. See also now Miller,
‘Ioudaios’ and idem, ‘Ethnicity’. Miller provides a detailed discussion of the various views
regarding Ioudaios and ‘Israel’, and finds fault with all the views that he discusses, but
ultimately comes to conclusion that ‘Israel’ was an insider term employed by Jews. As for
Ioudaios, used by Jews, there still remain questions, although it too may have also been
used as an insider term. None of this is particularly important for our discussion. The
same is true for his discussion of the ethnic use of Ioudaios visàvis 20th century under
standings of ethnicity.
Zissu, Rural Settlement; Baruch, ‘DwellingHouse’.
Methodological Remarks On ‘jewish’ Identity
49
In an ideal world it would be nice if there were many more markers so that
we might have more data to widen our search and comparison with Christian
life. However, the reality is disappointing, at least for our purposes. The mate
rial life of the Jews in HellenisticRoman Palestine was not that much different
than that of their neighbors, both in terms of urban and rural life. If there was
anything different in terms of material life, it basically had to do with halakha,
such as the use of mikvaot, or stone vessels, as we just pointed out, the wearing
of fringes on a fourcornered garment, or the use of religious paraphernalia
such as ‘Sabbath lamps’. There might also have been some, minor differences
in agricultural procedures and perhaps in the tools and implements.37 This
then would give us our theoretical Jewish action markers for comparison with
early Christian social life. It should be pointed out, though, that although these
markers are religious and halakhic, it need not be assumed automatically the
material realities always reflect rabbinic halakha.
If the everyday life and material culture of Jews was not that different
than that of their nonJewish neighbors, was the everyday life and material
culture of early Christians different than that of their Jewish brethren? Would
we have found stone cooking or eating implements in a JewishChristian
household, obviously not just as a cooking fashion statement but because
of purity issues? If the residents of Cana, for instance, were to become Chris
tian, would they continue to use their stone implements for the same reason
as they did before?38 Would these early Christians have gone to the mikva
at the same time as Jews and for the same reasons?39 Obviously this is not
the place or time to deal with the attitude of Jesus and his followers, of
Peter and Paul to questions of ritual purity. Their attitude, in the views of schol
ars, ranges from hostility to indifference to some type of accepting passive
acquiescence.40
Even within this variety of views, it is still possible to ask whether the
‘average’ (?) early Christian in Palestine, in all forms and permutations – Jewish
Christian – Jewish – Hellenistic – Christian, etc., would abide by these rules
and act accordingly in everyday life? The question, unfortunately, is mostly
rhetorical. It is most likely that there would be no way to distinguish between
37
38
39
40
J. Schwartz, ‘Material Realities’ and the bibliography listed ad loc., 453–456.
See Schwartz, ‘Jesus the “Material Jew”’, 53–54.
Seeing the mikva as an economic or social contra to the bath or seeing stone implements
as a cheap contrast to expensive utensils and viewing all this as reflecting a ‘resistance
movement’ is of little help here. In any case, our general approach is different. Cf Crossan
and Reed, Excavating Jesus, 317.
See, for example, Kazen, Jesus and Purity.
50
Schwartz
Jews and JewishChristians or early Christians in Palestine in terms of their
basic material world and this would most likely be the case both from an
emic and etic perspective. Without literary sources there would be no way
to distinguish between these Jews and early Christians. We would not even
know that there existed the possibility of different groups. Is this enough
though to posit some type of common identity or belonging? Is this pur
ported lack of distinction enough to posit connection or identification? The
matter is even more complex. As we have stated above, the distance is not
that great between Jews and nonJews in terms of everyday life and mate
rial culture. Would that subsume the Jews within this nonJewish culture?
There are those who would say yes, at least for certain times and places,41 and
if that is the case, might the same logic apply to Jews and early Christians,
some of whom would in any case also fit in well into the nonJewish world of
material culture?
Can the study of Christian archaeology and material culture help?
Unfortunately this is not the case since the study of Christian archaeology
is still very monument oriented and still expends much energy on actively
seeking archaeological confirmation of the New Testament, focusing on
the ‘big’ issues, and not the micro issues of everyday life.42 But the real problem
is that because these early Christians or Jewish Christians are so difficult
to distinguish from other Jews in terms of material culture, it is hard to
know when we are actually dealing with the remains of early Christians.43
Thus remains of everyday life in Nazareth, Cana, or Sepphoris may tell us
about the material culture Jewish background of early Christianity or of
Jewish Christians, but not about their lives in terms of the intersection of
their beliefs and Jewish society. If they continued functioning and living
as Jews they continued their everyday material lives as Jews (and even if
they did not there would not have been much material evidence to the
contrary).44
41
42
43
44
S. Schwartz, Imperialism, 129–161.
Bowes, ‘Early Christian Archaeology’. It is interesting to note the issues that concern
Christian archaeology: domus ecclesiae or house churches, urban topography, Christian
euergetism, pagan/Christian temple conversion, monasticism and pilgrimage, parish
churches and rural Christianity. The majority of all this relates to structures and their
relationship to other structures or clusters of urban or rural structures or monuments.
There is very little interest in material culture or reality.
The works of Bagatti and his school are of little value here. Their archaeology is almost
totally theological and in terms of marking JewishChristians has met with little accep
tance outside of their own Franciscan circles. See, for example, Bagatti, Circumcision.
See in general the studies in Charlesworth, Jesus and Archaeology.
Methodological Remarks On ‘jewish’ Identity
51
Temple
The last factor in terms of Jewish ‘action’ to be examined can fit in with almost
all views mentioned so far. The most marked ‘Jewish’ (Judaean/Israelite) action
or actions related to pilgrimage and Temple cult. This is one of the most out
standing aspects of what it meant to be a Jew in Second Temple period Palestine
and the pull of the Jerusalem Temple certainly also contributed to the nature
of the development of Diaspora Judaism. The Temple was the core of Jewish
life at the time, even if not everyone frequented it on a regular basis and even
if there were those who disapproved of this or that aspect of Temple life or
ritual.45
Moreover, Judaism was not distinct or separate from the Temple, even if at
times it appeared to be so. The Temple and its aura permeated many aspects of
Jewish life, in and out of Jerusalem, and not just for priests but also for ‘com
moners’ of all kinds who frequented the Temple or ‘worshipped’ it from afar. As
we shall shortly discuss below, the Christians certainly had an interest in the
Temple and many frequented it. The question might be though as to how they
were perceived and how others perceived them in the Temple. Were they there
as a foil to the Temple establishment, and if so, as what kind of foil? An anti
establishment replacement, but internal, as it were, or were they considered
some type of ‘outsider’, ‘external’ replacement or foil? Or perhaps neither of
these options is correct? Perhaps they were there as part of the general popular
movement of Temple and Temple pilgrimage? Were early Christians, whether
disciples or ‘commoners’, on the Temple Mount because Jesus preached there
and they sought to imitate him (in the case of the disciples) or just to be where
Jesus had been (in the case of commoners)? Did they go there to worship or to
fulfill any other aspect of the Temple cult and thus any Christian activity there
was secondary and just taking advantage of their presence on the Temple
Mount?46 Or were they there as ‘Christians’ and participation in the cult, if
it took place, was secondary?
Did they go to the Temple and Temple Mount as ‘insiders’ or ‘outsiders’? And
of course, they may have gone as what they considered to be ‘insiders’, but
might not have been perceived that way. And perhaps they were perceived dif
ferently by the Temple Sadducean establishment and in a different manner by
those not of that establishment. It is also possible that their participation in
45
46
The classic work on pilgrimage which also includes a wealth of information on Temple
and Temple life is the still irreplaceable Safrai, Die Wallfahrt, revised and updated transla
tion from the original Hebrew of Safrai, Pilgrimage.
On prayer of the first Christians on the Temple Mount see Holmås, ‘Temple’.
52
Schwartz
the Temple cult was perceived differently. Perhaps some saw it as normative
and others saw it as a cause for concern and ultimately as a cause for arrest and
persecution. And in addition to all this, the above questions relate to the early
Christians who went up to the Temple Mount as a homogenous group. It is just
as possible that some early Christians acted in one manner and others in
another. Perhaps there was no ‘official’ policy and events just happened.
Did they go up to the Temple Mount as Jews observing the halakha on such
matters as ritual purity? Or were they ammei ha-arets in terms of ritual
purity?47 Both, of course, are viable ‘Jewish’ options. If Paul purified himself
before going up to the Temple Mount courtyards (Acts 21:26–27; 24:18), it is
likely that other disciples and perhaps even ‘commoners’ did so also.48 If Paul
had perhaps undertaken vows as a Nazirite, albeit abroad in the Diaspora (Acts
18:18), were there other Christian Nazirites who would have gone up to the
Temple at the end of their period of their vows to offer sacrifice and to purify
themselves?49 James asks Paul to pay the expenses of four apparent Nazirites
who, having finished the period of their vows, or having been defiled, were to
go up to the Temple to shave their heads, offer sacrifice, and purify themselves
(Acts 21:17–24).50 Were they just bystanders, perhaps too poor to pay their own
expenses, or were they perhaps members of the Christian community? In any
case, supporting such people was a sure sign of devotion to both Temple and
law. How much more significant would this be if per chance they were mem
bers of the Christian community?
Moreover, it is possible that the decision of the Christian ‘commoners’
visàvis purity had had more to do with their status and social position within
Jewish (or Judaean, Israelite) society than visàvis Christianity of the time.
Finally, is purity a boundary rite or marker? If it is, and the early Christians
participate in some of these purity rites, on the Temple Mount or otherwise,
then they are clearly making a statement regarding where they stand visàvis
these boundaries and their markers.
Apart from ritual purity, there was not too much that was demanded of visi
tors to the Temple Mount. While rabbinic literature lists various restrictions
regarding respect or disrespect for the Temple,51 since we are dealing with the
47
48
49
50
51
For details see Safrai ibid.
J. Schwartz, ‘Temple and Temple Mount’, 292–295.
Cf Koet, ‘Why Did Paul Shave His Hair’. See also Chepey, Nazirites, 159–165. In this case the
Nazirite vow was observed in the Diaspora (Acts 18: 18). It might have been completed,
though, in Jerusalem.
See in detail Chepey, Nazirites, 165–174.
These are conveniently collected in Lewittes, Maimonides, Temple Service, Ch. 7, 29–34.
Methodological Remarks On ‘jewish’ Identity
53
Second Temple period and refrain from use of this literature unless it clearly
relates to Second Temple times, this would provide no aid or succor for our
purposes. One can assume, though, that spitting or dusty feet or other restric
tions found in rabbinic literature as marks of disrespect were observed also in
the Second Temple period. It is also likely that those who went up to the Temple
Mount, including early Christians, observed these rules, and as mentioned
above, probably observed the basic tenets of purity.52 Not only did LukeActs
have a fairly good picture of life around Temple and Temple Mount as well as
its geography, but it is clear that the major protagonists in Acts, Jews and
Christians, natives and from the Hellenistic Diaspora, maintained a loyalty to
the Temple and its laws.53
Just how strong was that loyalty and how involved were some Christians in
Temple Mount activities and cult? There were apparently priests (Acts 6: 7) and
levites (Acts 4: 36) who were Christian. Did early Christians, or at least some,
participate in the cult bringing the occasional sacrifice? Did their women bring
an offering after birth? If the Apostles, inner and outer circles, were on the
Temple Mount, then they probably were ‘converting’ or trying to convert and
they were converting Jews. Did these Jews stop doing what they used to do on
the Temple Mount if they began to believe in Jesus? The Temple functionaries
were upset with the Apostles because of their teachings, which do not seem to
relate at all to the Temple Cult and ritual. They did not accuse anyone of stop
ping the people from acting like Jews on the Temple Mount.54 I would suggest
that at least until 70 ce, Christians probably participated in the Temple cult,
certainly those who lived in Jerusalem, and I would also suggest that those who
came on pilgrimage still considered the Temple, its cult and rituals an impor
tant part of that pilgrimage and were not in Jerusalem just to be among the
brethren, although there was nothing wrong with that since others pilgrims
would have sought out those with whom they would have been comfortable.
52
53
54
J. Schwartz, ‘Temple and Temple Mount’.
Apart perhaps from Stephen. Much has been written about what Stephen really thought
about both Temple and law. Stephen seemed to have rejected ‘containment’ theory, i.e.
that the Temple and the Holy Land ‘contain’ God’s holiness (Acts 7: 44–50). See J. Schwartz,
ibid. 290–292 and the literature cited ad loc. See also in general Hengel, ‘Geography’,
35–45.
J. Schwartz, ‘Temple and Temple Mount’. See Regev, ‘Temple Concerns’. Regev claims that
the early Christian leaders on the Temple Mount were accused of violating the Temple’s
sacredness. This was the result perhaps of their attempting to partake in the Temple wor
ship in their own way. Even this view does not depict them as preventing anyone from
acting within the parameters of Jewish behavior on the Temple Mount. In any case,
Regev’s thesis is not totally convincing.
54
Schwartz
Paul
All of the above has been to prepare the ground for a ‘Pauline Judaism’. This,
however, we shall do relatively briefly. We do not claim expertise in Paul and
suffice for us at the moment to set up the framework for our continued work as
well as for that of others. At most, we seek to put Paul in a context that derives
from our understanding of the Judaism of the time. The literature on Paul, the
Jews and Judaism is vast, there is no end in sight, and it seems to even renew
itself and spawn new studies upon new studies based upon old studies etc. The
irony is that in spite of all this literature, and perhaps because of it, it seems to
be very difficult, to get a good handle on understanding Paul, both in terms of
Judaism and in terms of Christianity. To quote Monsignor Roland Knox in his
book Enthusiasm: A Chapter in the History of Religion (1950): ‘The mind of Paul
has been misunderstood all down the centuries; there is no aberration of
Christianity which does not point to him as source of its inspiration’. It might
not be too farfetched to claim that the same regarding misunderstanding is
true regarding Judaism, although hopefully not regarding aberrations.55
It is now fairly accepted that Paul was operating within some sort of
Jewish framework and that he was not actively, at least, trying to found a new
religion or as Dieter Georgi puts it in his work on the opponents of Paul in 2
Corinthians:
It cannot be proved that Paul or any of his contemporary Jesus believers
had any thought of representing or founding a new religion. Rather they
considered themselves related to Israel’s holy writings and thought they
were continuing, improving, or radically renewing Israel’s covenant with
God, bringing about its real potential in some way. They were often less
radical than Apocalyptic or Gnostic Jews who did not believe in Jesus,
and there is no reason to separate those who believed in Jesus from the
crowd of those who wanted to interpret and promulgate the revelation of
God given to Israel in her scriptures.56
Thus our attempts to try and place Paul squarely within Judaism are not
unique.57 What is unique in our case is trying to place Paul squarely within the
55
56
57
The quote is cited here from Lilla, ‘Saint Paul’.
Georgi, Opponents of Paul, 348.
See especially Tomson, Paul. For a good up to date survey of scholarship regarding Paul,
Jews and Judaism see Tomson, ‘Halakha in the New Testament’, 167–188. See also Frey,
‘Paul’s Jewish Identity’.
Methodological Remarks On ‘jewish’ Identity
55
parameters of our understanding of Second Temple period Judaism. We shall
now briefly relate to the views of a few scholars on ‘Paul the Jew’ and his Jewish
teachings. Some will be mainstream and some not; I leave the nitty gritty of
Pauline dialectics to the specialists.
We shall start with far afield from mainstream, with Jacob Taubes, The
Political Theology of Paul. This is probably not one of the first volumes that
would be cited by scholars of Paul and/or Judaism. However, his insights, in our
opinion at least, are often quite incisive. Thus, just as Judaism can have a politi
cal philosophy or indeed even philosophies and just as it might be possible to
define Judaism in terms of those political philosophies, so it might be possible
to define the teachings of Paul in terms of a political theology and that political
theology might be Jewish.58 So it was for Taubes. Paul, far from betraying the
Jews, was an echt Jewish fanatic, as it were, sent to universalize the Bible’s hope
of redemption, bringing this revolutionary new idea (but Jewish idea for
Taubes) to the wider world. After Moses, there was never a better Jew than
Paul.59 ‘I regard him’, says Taubes, ‘as more Jewish than any Reform rabbi, or
any Liberal rabbi, I ever heard in Germany, England, America, Switzerland or
anywhere’.60 The comment about Reform rabbis though is quite telling because
it might be possible to define Paul, as a protoConservative or Reform Jew or
rabbi; Paul, as it were, saw the theological future, although it is doubtful that
any Conservative or Reform rabbi today would be comfortable with Paul’s
brand of Hellenistic Pharisaism and his belief in Jesus the Christ.61 E.P. Sanders,
in discussing Paul’s attitude to Law tells us that Paul is selective. The Law
embodies the will of God unless there is a reason to renounce this or that
aspect.62 Taken together with Taubes, this would not be that different from
later halakhic and theological developments in Conservative or Reform
Judaism, sans the belief in Christ. However, if this seems too anachronistic or
simplistic then we can call him a ‘Jew on the Margins’, borrowing the phrase
from Calvin J. Roetzel’s, Paul: A Jew on the Margins.63 Part of the problem of
58
59
60
61
62
63
See n24 above on Carl Schmitt and political theology. On the ‘Jacob TaubesCarl Schmitt
Story’ see Taubes, Political Theology, 97–105.
Taubes, Political Theology, 13–54.
Ibid. 11.
See Tomson, Paul, 264–266.
Sanders, Paul, the Law, 103 and in general 93–105 (‘The Law Should be Fulfilled’). Paul’s
halakha was not systematic, but neither was that of any other group at that time.
Another Jew described as being ‘on the margin’ was Sigmund Freud. See Harold P. Blum,
‘Reflections on Freud’s Letter from Florence, September 7, 1896’. Online: (http://www
.freudarchives.org/PDF/blum_essay.pdf).
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Schwartz
defining or placing Paul is that Paul is somewhat of a chameleon.64 But then
this phenomenon is ‘strategic’ and not ideological and fits in just as well with
later developments in Conservative or Reform Judaism. It would seem to be
clear that if it is necessary, though, to actually place Paul within a specific
Judaism, it would certainly not be rabbinic, although that is not to say, of
course, that there are no points of intersection or that his teachings do not
evince a flexibility reminiscent of rabbinic midrash.65
If this is so, then where should he be placed? While Paul’s Jewish back
ground might be well established, he has been associated with almost every
type of ancient Judaism from Hellenistic to Qumranic to Pharisaic, Hellenistic
or otherwise, and to later rabbinic. Based on our discussion above on Jewish
identity, we might perhaps suggest that he be located in ‘Second Temple
Judaism’, although from our discussion above it should also be clear that there
really was no such thing. We can then suggest that perhaps it would be better
to place him within the array of Second Temple Judaisms, but within the
parameters of that coalescence that we postulated above, discounting for the
moment the views of Mason.
Helpful are the comments of Markus Tiwald:
[The] theology of the apostle Paul has to be understood as an innerJew
ish dialogue about the right fulfillment and interpretation of scripture
but not as an “abrogation of the Tora” as has often been suggested by
some exegetes. Paul was a Jew – and he remained a Jew also in Christian
times. As a Christian he did not abrogate the Tora, but adopted the posi
tion of a liberal Torainterpretation that was already present in early
Judaism.66
It is not clear what Tiwald had in mind regarding liberal Tora interpreta
tion, but the concept is interesting. Paul works from Scripture and inter
prets from Scripture. Paul reads the Bible – and Paul expands upon it –
not deconstructing it like the rabbis were wont to do.67 He is not doing
midrash of any kind but seems to be doing what is called in the past and some
times still today ‘Biblical theology’ and this is so Second Temple (and not
rabbinic)!
64
65
66
67
Sanders, Paul, the Law, 100. Cf, however, Tomson, Paul, 274. This aspect (‘All things to all
men’) should not be exaggerated.
Tomson, Paul, 264.
Online: http://www.firstfollowers.vision.org/public/blog/174538.
However, cf Tomson, Paul, 264.
Methodological Remarks On ‘jewish’ Identity
57
He is talking Tora and at times even redefining Tora. In the course of this he
might sometimes also redefine boundaries or set up new boundaries and as
boundaries are allegiance markers, this can result in new allegiances, but all
still is within the framework of Judaism. He might indeed even replace bound
aries in Old Testament tradition, but he will also use the Old Testament to set
up the new boundaries.68
Paul’s vocabulary and frame of reference is also very Jewish. We have seen
above how central and important the Temple is for Paul. His language is the
language of cleaning and purifying, of sanctifying and of the cult. We may
know that the Temple will be destroyed but he does not, or at least he cannot
be sure even if he believes that this might happen. Paul’s audience would have
understood the language and that apparently would have been the case even if
he were writing for Gentiles, but this language would have certainly also
worked for Jews or Jewish Christians.69
We have mentioned above a number of times the tension, as it were,
between the diversity of Second Temple period Judaism and the trend towards
coalescence. Ultimately, Paul seems to break away from the ‘diversity’ of
Second Temple period Judaism, but moves toward the coalescence or indeed
normative described above. Paul’s view of this coalescence or normative was a
broadened, inclusive Israel. According to Daniel Boyarin, this was primarily
fueled by the Hellenistic ideal of unity.70 While it is not certain that the trend
towards unity was motivated by this factor in particular, as Boyarin claims, Paul
was certainly motivated by some idea of unity and thus attempted to over
come the limitations of ethnic Israel and to create a universal Israel which
would include all humanity. It was this unity, in Boyarin’s view, which would
not carry the day as ‘Judaism’, and which would eventually lead to a ‘Parting of
the Ways’. The irony, as Boyarin correctly points out is that the attempt at unity
led western culture to deny the validity of Judaism and to persecute Jews and
much, unfortunately, under the umbrella of Paul, certainly not his intention.
Conclusion
Our discussion above leads to the conclusion that early Christianity, including
Paul is not ‘Jewish’, but Jewish. While it is obvious that there was a Parting of
Ways between Jew and Christian and between Judaism and Christianity, this
68
69
70
Christiansen, Covenant.
Fredriksen, ‘Paul, Purity’.
Boyarin, Radical Jew.
58
Schwartz
parting was not on account of anything intrinsic or inherent to Jews or early
Christians. The coalescence within the diversity of Second Temple period
Judaism allowed for both, even if limits were at times stretched to their
extremes. Unfortunately, the history of religion is not dependent only on the
history of religion, but rather on events and trends sometimes far removed
from the ethereal or spiritual, such as wars, revolts or the like. Judaism and
Christianity were not divorced from the realities of politics in Palestine or in
the Roman world.71 It was not theology, ritual or tradition that drove the groups
apart.72 As mentioned at the very beginning, though, this study serves as pro
legomena. This is just the beginning.
71
72
This reflects the hypothesis set forth by Tomson, ‘Dynamiek’. My thanks to Prof. Tomson
for sending me a copy of this study. See now Schwartz and Tomson, ‘Rabbi Eliezer’.
Cf Boyarin, Border Lines. I am in agreement with Boyarin that Jews and Christians might
have functioned on the same ‘culture map’ in which their beliefs were widely distributed
and not necessarily mutually exclusive. Boyarin claims that the ultimate parting of the
ways was foisted upon the amorphous religion by external bordermakers, heresiologists
who sought to construct a distinct identity for Christianity.
The Notion of a ‘New Covenant’ in 2 Corinthians 3:
Its Function in Paul’s Argument and Its Jewish
Background
Friedrich Avemarie
‘Covenant’ in Paul
If, in keeping with common usage, we understand by ‘covenant’ an agreement
of unlimited duration based on a set of stipulations that aim at a reliable and
beneficial long-term interaction between its partners, it can hardly be doubted
that for certain biblical statements concerning the relationship between God
and humankind – and the people of Israel in particular –, ‘covenant’ is a
highly suitable category of interpretation. Likewise it seems to be widely,
though not undisputedly, acknowledged that the word ‘covenant’ in a vast
majority of cases provides the most adequate rendering of ְּב ִריתin the Hebrew
Bible and διαθήκη in the New Testament.1 However, a wholesale equation of
ְּב ִריתor διαθήκη with ‘covenant’ in its modern sense founders on the obvious
asymmetry between God as the dominant and man as the dependent partner,
which is paralleled by similar asymmetries in ancient Near Eastern suzerainvassal treaties2 and which accounts for the fact that the Septuagint chose
διαθήκη as its standard translation of ּב ִרית,ְ a word which in secular Hellenistic
documents usually means ‘will’ or ‘testament’, but never ‘covenant’.3
Furthermore, in view of the all-encompassing span of the idea of a covenantal relationship between God and his human partners it seems easily explicable why many biblical and post-biblical texts, though lacking an explicit
mention of a ‘covenant’, are nonetheless often assumed to presuppose covenant theology – which in turn leads to the impression that the number of
occurrences of ְּב ִריתor διαθήκη curiously fails to reflect the actual importance
of covenant thinking in particular writings or bodies of literature.4 On the
1 This holds both for modern Bible translations and for most academic literature, the standard
equivalents being ‘covenant’ in English, ‘alliance’ in French, ‘Bund’ in German, ‘pagt’ in
Danish, etc.
2 Cf, e.g., Kutsch, Neues Testament; for further references see Friedman – Miano, ‘People’, 7–9.
3 Cf, e.g., Deissmann, Licht, 286f.; Porter, ‘Concept’, 275–279. Similar reasons presumably also lie
behind the emphatic protest of Hofius, ‘Gesetz’, 75f. An uptodate assessment of the documen
tary evidence for the use of διαθήκη in Hellenistic Greek, however, seems to be a desideratum.
4 For the early rabbinic literature, cf Sanders, Paul, 236f; Avemarie, ‘Bund’, 163–166; for the
Pauline epistles, cf Dunn, ‘Covenant Theology’, 288f; Porter, ‘Concept’, 269.
© koninklijke brill nv, leiden, 2014 | doi 10.1163/9789004271661_005
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Avemarie
other hand, since it would seem natural for any author not to waste his or her
words on things that can be taken for granted, explicit references should be
expected above all when the existence of a ‘covenant’ is not self-evident, which,
for instance, is the case when a covenant is being either established or broken.
This holds all the more for the idea of a ‘new covenant’, by which the selfevidence of that other, previous covenant, to which it implicitly or explicitly
refers, is inevitably called into question.
In the undisputed letters of Paul, διαθήκη occurs eight times.5 This may
appear few in the eyes of those who hold that Pauline theology is based on a
covenant pattern,6 and it is certainly few in comparison with the seventeen
instances in Hebrews. But it is more than all the remaining New Testament
occurrences put together,7 and it is at least enough to remove any doubt about
the importance of this notion for Paul’s thinking, especially since he employs
the term exclusively in a religious sense, i.e., in order to describe the relationship between God and humankind. However, there is considerable variety in what he may specifically term a ‘covenant’, which cautions against any
attempt to abstract a comprehensive system of covenant theology from these
references.8
Paul’s favourite covenant is the one that God had concluded with Abraham.
Thus, in Gal 3:15–17 it is the promise given to Abraham of a blessing coming
through him upon all Gentiles (Gen 12:3), which Paul terms a διαθήκη, in order
to support his contention that the subsequent revelation of the Tora could not
affect the validity of this promise. In 3:15b, by the way, he speaks of διαθήκη
as a one-sided stipulation, which suggests a translation by ‘testament’ rather
than by ‘covenant’:9 ‘Once ratified, a person’s testament cannot be annulled
or amended by anybody’. However, nor is speaking of a testament wholly
appropriate in this context, as it still leaves the possibility that the testator
himself, i.e. God, makes an amendment or annulment, which is precisely what
Paul wishes to rule out.10 As it seems, one should be rather cautious about
subjecting Paul’s usage to rigid conceptual distinctions. What he wanted to say
5
6
7
8
9
10
Rom 9:4; 11:27; 1 Cor 11:25; 2 Cor 3:6, 14; Gal 3:15, 17; 4:24.
Cf again Dunn, ‘Covenant Theology’, 287.
Matt 26:28; Mark 14:24; Luke 1:72; 22:20; Acts 3:25; 7:8; Eph 2:12.
On this point, there seems to be general agreement; cf Christiansen, Covenant, 270f; Sass,
‘Bund’, 232; Dunn, ‘Covenant Theology’, 306.
Cf Dunn, ‘Covenant Theology’, 291; Porter, ‘Concept’, 276–279.
Therefore Eckstein, Verheissung, 172–175, interprets διαθήκη in Gal 3:15 in the sense of a
donation that is irrevocable even during the donor’s lifetime.
The Notion of a ‘New Covenant’ (2 Cor 3)
61
is simply that God’s promise would never cease to be valid, and for this purpose he considered διαθήκη a fitting expression.
The mention of ‘covenants’ (in the plural) in Rom 9:4 reflects the same belief
in the everlasting validity of God’s διαθήκη. Without specifying which covenants he has in mind, he includes them in a series of unalienable privileges of
Israel by which even non-Christian Jews are distinguished from the nations of
the world. In Gal 4:24 he more precisely speaks of two covenants, one of which
he identifies as the covenant of Mount Sinai, allegorically personified in
Abraham’s maidservant Hagar. For the other he does not offer an explicit identification, but in the subsequent verses he contrastingly associates it with
Sarah, the free woman, with Isaac, Abraham’s heir, and with his Galatian
addressees, who have a share in Isaac’s inheritance (vv26–28). Presumably,
then, this other covenant is the very same Paul had dealt with earlier in Gal
3:15f: the covenant which God had made with Abraham, which antedated the
covenant of Sinai by 430 years, and which guarantees the salvation of those
who believe in Christ.
In 2 Cor 3, however, this chronology of covenants is turned upside
down. The covenant of Mount Sinai is termed ‘the old covenant’, an expression which in v14 metonymically designates the Tora, while the covenant
to which Paul attaches his own Christian ministry appears in v6 as a ‘new
covenant’. The adjectives ‘old’ and ‘new’ are obviously used in mutual reference, the covenant of Sinai being ‘old’ as opposed to the covenant of
Paul’s ministry and vice versa. This means that the covenant of Abraham,
which was prior to that of Sinai, cannot in this context play any role. And
here the central questions of the present paper emerge: Why is it that Paul
in 2 Corinthians departs from what he presupposes in Galatians and
presumably also in Romans, and does his terminological shift also imply
a difference in his theological understanding of the two covenants at
issue?
The problem can be split into three smaller questions: First, what is
Paul’s epistolary purpose in 2 Cor 3? Second, what is in this context the argumentative function of his claim to a ‘ministry of a new covenant’? And
third, what can be said about the relationship between the two covenants?
Is it substantially different from that between the covenants of Galatians 3
and 4?
Before we set out for an analysis of 2 Cor 3, however, we must briefly turn to
the paradosis of the Lord’s supper in 1 Cor 11:23–26, which in v25 contains the
second Pauline reference to a ‘new covenant’. As it represents a pre-Pauline
tradition, this text is often, but perhaps too readily, dismissed from discussions
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Avemarie
on the term ‘covenant’ in Paul.11 Since Mark 14:24, as a considerably later version of the blessing of the cup, still lacks the adjective ‘new’ before ‘covenant’,
its insertion cannot have been very widespread in Paul’s day, so that it is not
altogether unlikely that it was Paul himself who introduced it. But even if the
insertion was made by someone else, Paul’s quotation proves in any case that
the association of the participation in Christ with the idea of a new covenant
was familiar to him and the Corinthian congregation,12 which may have contributed to his readiness to speak of a new covenant in 2 Cor 3.
The Epistolary Purpose of 2 Corinthians 3
In view of the ongoing debate about the literary integrity of 2 Corinthians,
which seems as far from consensus as ever,13 it may suffice for the present purpose to take 2 Cor 2:14–6:13 (and 7:2–4) as the minimum of what since Johannes
Weiss14 would be commonly admitted as a coherent context for Chapter 3. As
to Paul’s primary concern in this section there can be no doubt: he defends the
legitimacy of his apostolic ministry and thereby seeks to regain the approval of
the Corinthian congregation, which had been shattered in the wake of the
activities of other Christian missionaries during his absence from Corinth.
An important element in his strategy of defence is his claim to the transparency of his apostolic ministry, which precludes any secretiveness, clandestine
intrigue or deceit on his part. This claim surfaces already in 2:14–17, where Paul
states that he, in distinction from others who make their preaching a retail
business, is carried along by God in a never-ending triumphal procession that
makes him appear as an ‘aroma for life’ to those who are being saved and an
‘aroma for death’ to those who will perish. At the beginning of Chapter 4, where
the topic continues, he additionally points to the exposure of his ministry to
11
12
13
14
Cf Christiansen, Covenant; Vogel, Heil, 87; Sass, ‘Bund’, 224; Dunn, ‘Covenant Theology’,
296.
Cf Wolff, Der zweite Brief, 61; Kertelge, ‘Buchstabe’, 122.
For a survey of traditional positions see Bieringer, ‘Teilungshypothesen’, and idem,
‘Einheit’. In more recent contributions there is an obvious tendency towards the assumption of the integrity of 2 Cor; cf, e.g., the commentaries of Matera, II Corinthians, 24–32,
and Harris, Second Epistle, 51. For recent support of a partition hypothesis see, however,
Grässer, Der zweite Brief, 1: 29–36.
For the often-quoted comparison of 2:13 and 7:5 with the matching fragments of a broken
ring, see Weiss, Urchristentum, 265. For the previous history of Weiss’ hypothesis, see
Bieringer, ‘Teilungshypothesen’, 85f; for a contemporary plea in its defence, see Welborn,
‘Paul’s Letter’.
The Notion of a ‘New Covenant’ (2 Cor 3)
63
public scrutiny. Taking pride in his abstention from shameful secrets, from
trickery and from adulterating the word of God, he frankly commends himself
‘to every human conscience in the sight of God’ (4:2).15 His gospel is public, and
if nevertheless to certain people it remains hidden, this is due to the schemes
of the ‘god of the present aeon’, who has blinded their minds (4:3).
Corresponding to this emphasis on the public character of his ministry, the
text abounds from 2:14 to 4:6 with vocabulary referring to perception, and
visual perception in particular: to look (ἀτενίζω, 3:7, 13), to read (ἀναγινώσκω,
3:2, 15; ἀνάγνωσις, 3:14), to behold (αὐγάζω, 4:4), to shine (λάμπω, 4:5), to be
reflected (κατοπτρίζομαι, 3:18), to be written (ἐγγέγραμμαι, 3:2, 3), to be unveiled
(ἀνακαλύπτομαι, 3:14, 18), to make public (ϕανερόω, 2:14; 3:3; ϕανέρωσις, 4:2),
face (πρόσωπον, 3:7 bis, 13, 18, 4:6), image (εἰκών, 3:18, 4:4), light (ϕῶς, 4:6), illumination (ϕωτισμός, 4:4, 6), and radiance (δόξα, which is visual in 3:7 and 18);
for non-visual perception: odour (ὀσμή, 2:14, 16 bis), fragrance (εὐωδία, 2:15) and
knowledge (γνώσις, 2:14; 4:6); and in the negative: to hide (καλύπτω, 4:3 bis), to
blind (τυϕλόω, 4:4), darkness (σκότος, 4:6) and veil (κάλυμμα, 3:13, 14, 15, 16).16
An impressive series of statements about Christians being bathed in light
marks the latter part of the section: ‘With faces unveiled, we all see the radiance of the Lord as though reflected in a mirror…’ (3:18). Everyone whose mind
has not been blinded is able to behold ‘the light of the gospel, of the radiance
of Christ, who is God’s image’ (4:4). The very God who created light from darkness has kindled a light ‘in our hearts’ which shows us his radiance ‘on the face
of Jesus Christ’ (4:6).
God, however, is not only the core of what Paul proclaims; God is also the
source of his apostolic empowerment. ‘Who is sufficient for these things?’ he
asks rhetorically in 2:16, and somewhat more concretely, he states in 3:5–6: ‘our
competence is from God, who has made us competent to be ministers of a new
covenant…’17 Moreover, God also appears to be in personal attendance when
Paul is preaching. In 2:17 he claims to speak in sincerity as someone who is ‘sent
from God and standing in his presence’,18 and in 4:2 he commends ‘in God’s
sight’ his sincerity ‘to every human conscience’. Paul invokes God as some kind
of superior witness who is able to guarantee the truth of his message and the
legitimacy of his claims.
15
16
17
18
Translation: Thrall, Second Epistle, 1: 297.
For a similar list see Georgi, Gegner, 268. On the metaphors of olfactory and visual perception see Gruber, Herrlichkeit, 124–144 and 266–272; Kuschnerus, Gemeinde, 112–121 and
206–221.
Translations: NRSV.
Translation: NRSV.
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Avemarie
At the beginning of Chapter 3, Paul’s discourse on his apostolic ministry
turns toward the more particular issues concerning himself and his addressees. The rival missionaries who had meddled with the Corinthian congregation were provided with letters of recommendation, which, whoever had
written them,19 apparently did not fail in their effect. Yet the likely impact of
these letters on the fickle sympathies of the congregation notwithstanding, it
was not too difficult for Paul to respond to this challenge, for at any rate,
nobody will need a letter of recommendation for addressees with whom he or
she is intimately familiar. On the contrary, the obvious answer provides occasion for a further argument for the legitimacy and visibility of his ministry. Paul
has in fact a letter of recommendation, he says, but this letter is the Corinthian
congregation itself; and it goes without saying that such a personified recommendation by far outbids the customary written one. It is a letter written on
his20 heart, written by the spirit of the living God, visible not only upon production by the bearer, but always and to everyone (3:2–3). By contentions such
as these, Paul firmly insists on the divine legitimation and the public character
of his ministry.
In v3 Paul introduces, for the first time in this text, a motif that is explicable only as a biblical allusion.21 This is the motif of the ‘tablets of stone’,
which is obviously designed in contrast to Paul’s ‘heart22 of flesh’ to which it
is linked by the key notion of ‘writing’,23 but it hardly fits with the letters of
19
20
21
22
23
For a discussion see Thrall, Second Epistle, 1: 219f.
The decision between the alternative readings ἡμῶν and ὑμῶν should probably best be
taken in accordance with the outer weight of the witnesses (and thus in favour of the former variant), for the contextual appropriateness seems equal in both cases: since Paul is
the owner of the letter, one might expect it to be written on his own heart rather than that
of anybody else. On the other hand, since it consists of the Corinthian congregation and
as such can be read by everybody, it would seem likely that it is written on the hearts of the
Corinthians rather than on Paul’s. For further arguments (and refutations) see Furnish,
II Corinthians, 181; Thrall, Second Epistle, 1: 222–224; Kuschnerus, Gemeinde, 154 n236.
As Stockhausen has convincingly shown, biblical references form ‘an indispensable background apart from which 2 Cor 3:1–6 is not coherent or meaningful’ and ‘Paul’s metaphors
remain hopelessly mixed’; see Stockhausen, Moses’ Veil, 41 and passim. Cf also Kuschnerus,
Gemeinde, 166f.
To be sure, Paul speaks of ‘hearts’ (and ‘tablets of hearts’) in the plural, which is in keeping
with his constant use in 2:14–3:12 of the first person plural in speaking of himself. It is difficult to determine, however, whether this plural (as an ‘apostolic plural’, cf Hofius,
‘Gesetz’, 75 n2) refers to himself exclusively or whether it includes his collaborators (such
as Timothy, who in 2 Cor 1:1 figures as co-author of the letter).
On the pivotal function of this notion for the argument of 3:1–6, see Stockhausen, Moses’
Veil, 71–73.
The Notion of a ‘New Covenant’ (2 Cor 3)
65
recommendation of the rival missionaries. However, on a biblical background
the intrusion of this alien motif can be easily accounted for:24 the contrast
between flesh and stone can be traced back to Ezek 11:19 and 36:26, where God
promises to replace Israel’s heart of stone by a heart of flesh, and the leap from
a ‘heart of stone’ to ‘tablets of stone’ leads to various passages in Exodus and
Deuteronomy where the two sets of tablets on which the Decalogue was
engraved are called πλάκες λίθιναι.25 This shows that as early as in v3, Paul has
in mind the revelation of the Tora on Mount Sinai, to which he will turn more
explicitly in his exposition of Exod 34:29–35 from v7 onward. In passing, v3
may also imply a first basis for the subsequent introduction of the term ‘covenant’ in v6 and 14, as in Deut 9:9 and 11 πλάκες λίθιναι is paralleled by the
synonymous expression πλάκες διαθήκης, the Hebrew equivalent of which,
לוחות הברית, was to become the standard designation for the tablets of the
Decalogue in rabbinic literature.
On the basis of this association of the ‘heart of flesh’ with God’s spirit in
Ezek 11:19 and 36:26f, the contrast of flesh and stone in v6 is transformed into
a contrast of ‘spirit’ and ‘letter’, and the simultaneous association of the spirit
with the power to make alive prompts the inverse – and highly provocative –
statement that ‘the letter kills’. As the idea of a life-giving power of the spirit
and the contrast of spirit and letter are found elsewhere in the Pauline epistles,26 their occurrence in 2 Cor 3:6 does not come across as exceptional.27
However, the image28 of a letter that kills is astounding and singular,29 and its
conciseness and extravagance make it difficult to determine exactly what Paul
meant by it. As regards γράμμα, the most likely referent is the Tora of Moses,
24
25
26
27
28
29
Cf Stockhausen, Moses’ Veil, 47–51; Vogel, Heil, 188; Schröter, ‘Schriftauslegung’, 245–247.
Exod 31:18; 32:15; 34:4; Deut 4:13; 5:22; 9:9, 11; 10:1, 3; cf also 3 Kgdms 8:9 and Josephus, Ant
8:104.
For the former see Rom 8:11 and 1 Cor 15:45, for the latter Rom 2:29 and 7:6.
The association of the heart of flesh and the spirit with the spirit’s power of making alive,
however, may additionally be motivated by the adjacency of the promises of Ezek 36 to
the vision in Ezek 37 of the dead bones which God’s spirit brings back to life; cf
Stockhausen, Moses’ Veil, 68f; Hafemann, Paul, 182.
To say that a ‘letter’ is able to ‘kill’ is highly metaphorical. For a different perspective, however, see Kisch, ‘Tötet der Buchstabe?’
Unlike the motifs of the stone tablets or the hearts of flesh, it cannot be traced back to any
biblical tradition, but seems entirely to depend on the contrast to the life-giving spirit.
Cf Stockhausen, Moses’ Veil, 78f. The distinction between the wording and the (allegorical) meaning of a text, though well-known in the Hellenistic world, does not play
any discernible role in v6; cf the critical response to Grant, Letter, 1–40, in Furnish,
II Corinthians, 200.
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Avemarie
since a retrospective reference to the letters of recommendation in v1 would
certainly seem awkward.30 But it is still far from clear whether ‘killing’ refers to
the Tora’s incapacity for giving life31 (which would be in line with the contrasting characterisation of the spirit and with Gal 3:21) or to its condemnation of
the sinner32 (which seems to be suggested by κατάκρισις in v9 and by Rom
2:12), and whether this lethal function is essential to the Tora33 or whether it is
only an aspect or potential that vanishes as soon as a true understanding and
fulfilment of the Tora is made possible through the gift of the spirit (as the
choice of the word ‘letter’ may imply a conscious distinction from the Tora
itself).34
Whatever, though, the appropriate answer to these questions may be, v6b,
in the pointed concentration of its formulation, is quite an eye-catcher. And as
such, it may easily convey the feeling that Paul’s original concern for the legitimacy of his ministry has, at this point, come out of sight, the thematic focus
shifting now to the antagonism of the law and the gospel,35 whence it returns
to Paul’s apostolate only at the beginning of Chapter 4. In the history of modern exegesis this has proven highly momentous, as the impression of the relative thematic independence of 3:6–18 has led a number of scholars to the
assumption that Paul had used a piece of tradition or even a literary source
when he composed this remarkable interpretation of Exod 34.36
However, the impression is misleading. In 3:6–18 there is no digression at all
from what has been Paul’s central theme from 2:14 onward.37 On the contrary,
30
31
32
33
34
35
36
37
In fact it seems to me highly doubtful that Paul would have accorded such a brilliant
provocation to a bearer of a letter of recommendation. For a different view, however, see
Schröter, ‘Schriftauslegung’, 254f.
Cf Thrall, Second Epistle, 1: 235; Hafemann, Paul, 181. A variant of this view is the existentialist interpretation according to which the law (or its letter) forces the individual to the
vain attempt at his or her own achievement of righteousness; cf, e.g., Käsemann,
Perspektiven, 258f; Furnish, II Corinthians, 201; Kertelge, ‘Buchstabe’, 124.
Cf Hofius, ‘Gesetz’, 82f and passim; Wolff, Der zweite Brief, 86; Hafemann, Paul, 180;
Dautzenberg, ‘Bund’, 233f; Gruber, Herrlichkeit, 190–195; Sass, ‘Bund’, 226f; Grässer, Der
zweite Brief, 126; Kuschnerus, Gemeinde, 178 n339.
Cf Grässer, Der zweite Brief, 126.
This is a major point in the argumentation of Hafemann, Paul, 156–173.
To be sure, neither term appears in the text; cf, however, Kertelge, ‘Buchstabe’, 117.
Cf Schulz, ‘Decke’, 1–20; Georgi, Gegner, 274–282; Theobald, Gnade, 204–208. For a source
hypothesis (concerning 3:7–11 in particular) that is independent of the assumption of a
thematic shift in 3:6f see Hellholm, ‘Moses’, 280f. For critical comments on source criticism in 2 Cor 3 see Hofius, ‘Gesetz’, 86f; Thrall, Second Epistle, 1: 238f; Löning, ‘Krise’, 109;
Back, Verwandlung, 92; Grässer, Der zweite Brief, 1: 130; Blanton, New Covenant, 210.
Cf Wright, Climax, 176–178 and 189; Back, Verwandlung, 98–101.
The Notion of a ‘New Covenant’ (2 Cor 3)
67
the accent in the former part of v6 is clearly on his divine authorisation, and
in vv7–11 the long-winded comparison of his ministry with that of Moses
serves the sole purpose of demonstrating again and again that not only the latter, but also the former is carried out in manifest visibility – and that to an even
higher degree:38 if the ministry of death, the ministry of condemnation, that
which vanishes, is endowed with radiance, then even more so must radiance
emanate from that which is lasting, from the ministry of righteousness, from
the ministry of the spirit (vv7–8, 9, 11), regardless of the striking precariousness of his apostolic life to which Paul will turn in the following chapter. The
threefold a fortiori argument of vv7–11 is in line with the motifs of the triumphal procession in 2:14, of the recommendation written on a heart of flesh in
3:2–3 and of the public self-exposure to everyone’s conscience in 4:2. Open
accessibility is also emphasised in the transitional v12, where Paul draws his
personal conclusions from the foregoing comparison: his ministry is performed
in παρρησία, in utter frankness. In the subsequent verses, the theme of public
visibility is equally dominant – at first to the negative in Paul’s interpretation
of Moses’ veil (vv13–15) and then quite positively in his outlook on the eventual removal of the veil (v16) and on the unveiled mirror-like view of the Lord’s
glory which Christians enjoy already in the present (v18).
Thus, the exposition of Exod 34 is by no means an alien element in Chapter 3,
but perfectly matches the overall purpose of the larger section of 2:14–4:6. To
be sure, the possibility of an underlying source or tradition is not thereby ruled
out, but an important argument in favour of source hypotheses collapses. It
seems quite likely, therefore, that Paul in v6 wrote the words ‘new covenant’
not just because he derived them from a source, but rather did so intentionally.
On the basis of this assumption, we may now examine the argumentative function of his use of these words.
Why does Paul Characterise His Ministry as Based on
‘a New Covenant’?
As mentioned above, in Romans and Galatians the term ‘covenant’ is used with
references strikingly different from those in 2 Cor 3. Thus it may be assumed
that Paul’s terminological choice in the present chapter was motivated by
some particular reason.
A first clue lies in the story in Exod 34:29–35 about Moses’ radiance, to which
Paul refers in vv7–16, for the immediately preceding narrative of Exod 34:1–28
38
Cf Back, Verwandlung, 92 and 96.
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Avemarie
deals with a covenant which God made with Israel on the basis of a second pair
of stone tablets (vv10, 27), after the first had been broken following the golden
calf incident. However, although this covenant in pentateuchal chronology is
posterior to the original Sinaitic covenant, which according to Exod 24 had
been concluded before Moses received the first tablet, Paul in v14 terms it ‘the
old covenant’,39 and obviously he does so in order to contrast it with that ‘new
covenant’ to which he attaches his own ministry.
The motif of the ‘new covenant’ in turn is usually, and probably rightly
so, taken to be an allusion to the prophecy of Jer 38(31):31–34.40 After the book
of Ezekiel had contributed the ‘heart of flesh’ and the contrast between flesh
and stone in v3, the surfacing of a further prophetic borrowing three verses
later would be of little surprise, and the connection with Jeremiah’s announcement of a new covenant gains additional support through the recurrence
of the motif of the heart as God’s writing board in Jer 38(31):33. One might
object that according to Jeremiah, it is the Tora that will be written on Israel’s
hearts,41 which would be at odds with Paul’s self-understanding as a minister
of the gospel.42 However, it is by no means certain that this would have
prevented Paul from alluding to Jer 38(31). His treatment of Deut 30:11–14 in
Rom 10:6–8 rather suggests that he had in fact very few qualms about playing
down biblical references to the Tora or even ascribing to them an entirely different meaning. Moreover, Jeremiah’s prophecy not only speaks of the Tora as
written on Israel’s hearts but also of Israel’s failure in keeping its previous
covenant (v32), and here Paul may have seen a hint at the κατάκρισις he mentions in v9.
However, despite the likelihood of an allusion to Jer 38(31) in v6, the mere
fact of its presence does not explain its purpose and motivation. Therefore, we
must consider once more the punch-line of Paul’s argument in Chapter 3.
In the subsequent verses, concerned with the open visibility of his apostleship,
he adduces the example of Moses in order to demonstrate by comparison that
39
40
41
42
This chronological inconsistency has been rightly noted by Starnitzke, ‘Dienst’, 195. It
remains doubtful, however, whether this warrants Starnitzke’s assumption that Paul affiliates rather than opposes his own ministry to the covenant of Exod 34.
Cf Stockhausen, Moses’ Veil, 43–47; Hafemann, Paul, 127f; Thrall, Second Epistle, 1: 233;
Gruber, Herrlichkeit, 161f. For different views, however, see Wolff, Der zweite Brief, 61, and
Schröter, ‘Schriftauslegung’, 249f. If one wishes to exclude a reference to Jer 38(31), one
must explain the ‘new covenant’ motif as a mere ad-hoc coinage in opposition to the
covenant of Exod 34:10 and 27.
Cf Schröter, ibid.
However, Vogel, Heil, 189, argues that Paul, rather than thinking of an abrogation of the
Tora alludes to Jer 38(31) in order to point to a new, ‘pneumatic’ approach to it.
The Notion of a ‘New Covenant’ (2 Cor 3)
69
his ministry is endowed with radiance. This comparison entails that he places
himself on a par with Moses, or rather, more precisely, on an even higher rank
than Moses.43 However, apart from the likelihood that his Corinthian readers
would have considered such a claim embarrassingly presumptuous, it is by no
means evident that he and Moses are in any way comparable to each other.
What Paul needs, therefore, is a larger conceptual framework which allows
him to establish a relationship between himself and Moses, a relationship that
plausibly involves similarity and, at the same time, difference in rank.
Paul achieves this purpose by two pivotal notions. One of them is the notion
of ‘ministry’, which not only assigns to him and to Moses equivalent functions
and thus states their commensurateness, but also lends itself to an association
with the motif of radiance, which allows him to drop the image of a shining
face in the description of his own status. The other notion is that of ‘covenant’,
and this is what makes it possible to introduce into the comparison the necessary momentum of difference. Drawing on the oracle of Jeremiah (and possibly on the paradosis of the Lord’s supper), Paul can subordinate his ministry to
a ‘new covenant’, a covenant which by the very words of the prophet had been
proven to be superior to the covenant of Sinai.44 Precisely this is the argumentative function of the notion of ‘covenant’ in 2 Cor 3: It provides a framework
which permits the comparison of Paul with Moses and warrants the conclusion that the ministry of the former is of even greater radiance than that of the
latter. What is left to be done in the subsequent verses is to flesh out this comparison with a series of emphatic soteriological opposites: death and (vivifying) spirit (v7f), condemnation and righteousness (v9), evanescence and
duration (v11).
The asymmetry of the comparison, however, leads to the theological question of the specific nature of the relationship Paul establishes between the two
covenants. Certainly, for the mere sake of his argument, he would have no need
to clarify this question. Apart from the radiance of his ministry, which is his
central concern, he could leave the superiority of the new covenant entirely
indistinct. However, to generations of Christian readers this question was of
vital importance, and it seems in fact that the Pauline text contains a number
of clues which might reveal a somewhat more specific attitude underlying his
argument.
43
44
Technically speaking, in the context of Paul’s a fortiori argument, the example of Moses
functions as an exemplum impar, i.e. an ‘unequal’ example; cf Kuschnerus, Gemeinde,
180f.
For a similar understanding of the similarity and dissimilarity between Moses and Paul in
2 Cor 3, see Hafemann, Paul, 449f.
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Avemarie
Does the New Covenant Supersede the Old One?
The crucial problem is whether the advent of the new covenant means an
abrogation of the previous one45 or rather a confirmation, which could even
raise the previous one to a new and higher level. Between these extremes, there
is room also for intermediate solutions, such as suppression of particular features, transformation, renewal etc. The signs in Paul’s text, however, point in
rather diverging directions. On the one hand, the repeated use in 2 Cor 3 of
καταργέομαι, ‘to be annulled’, ‘to perish’, ‘to vanish’ (vv7, 11, 13, 14)46 in relation
to the old covenant seems to indicate that Paul was indeed thinking of its
annulment. On the other hand, what can be gathered from other Pauline epistles would hardly suggest that he could have regarded a covenant ordained by
God as temporary and limited. A glance at the pertinent passages may show
this; and what can be adduced from further Jewish and early Christian sources
will confirm the impression that the invalidation of a divine ‘covenant’ was
almost unthinkable in Paul’s world.
(a) According to Rom 9:4, Israel’s διαθῆκαι belong to the unalienable tokens
of her election, and their annulment is, in this context, as little a possibility that has to be reckoned with as is the cessation of temple worship,
which is mentioned in the same verse. The Sinai covenant is likely to be
included in these διαθῆκαι, regardless of whatever shortcomings Paul may
here have passed over in silence.
(b) In Gal 3:15–17 Paul states that nobody can invalidate a διαθήκη once it
has been ratified. However, if he is thinking here of the customary
rules for testamentary bequest,47 his statement is flawed, as it does
not take into account that a testator himself can change his testament
as long as he is alive. What Paul says, therefore, makes sense only if
he silently presupposes that God, in distinction from a human testator,
would simply never change a διαθήκη once he has made it. This implication is the strongest evidence for Paul’s belief in the everlasting validity
of God’s covenants. It is not to be overlooked, however, that in the
present context it refers to the Abrahamic rather than to the Sinai
covenant.
45
46
47
This is the opinion of, e.g., Gräbe, Bund, 113.
For a discussion of the lexical meaning of καταργέομαι, see Gruber, Herrlichkeit, 219–221;
Gruber argues for a rendering by ‘ausser Kraft gesetzt’ or ‘unwirksam gemacht werden’,
i.e., to be invalidated.
See above note 9.
The Notion of a ‘New Covenant’ (2 Cor 3)
71
(c) In Gal 4:24–25 Paul describes the Sinai covenant as the determining factor for the present enslavement of Jerusalem, which means that he
regarded it as valid at least down to his own day. Admittedly, the unpleasantness of this situation points to a grave deficiency in this covenant;
it might even seem preferable for ‘the present Jerusalem’ (v25) to be
released from it, and at least in the case of himself and his addressees,
Paul in fact envisages an exemption from it as possible. If anything, therefore, this would be the closest Paul comes in his letters to the idea of a
virtual invalidation of the Sinai covenant. However, exemption is not
cancellation, and Paul’s reference in v21 to the ‘law’ as the basis of his
reasoning may even imply that he considers the Sinai covenant an indispensable prerequisite or counterpart of that other covenant mentioned
in v24, to which he affiliates himself and his addressees.
A brief look at some sources in Paul’s vicinity – which of course cannot be
exhaustive – will yield a similar picture:
(a) The early rabbinic tradition knows of quite a number of covenants which
God had established throughout the whole history of humankind and of
Israel in particular.48 As a rule, it seems to be presupposed that these covenants simply build upon each other, so that, for instance, a cohen simultaneously has a share in the covenant of Aaron, the covenant of Mount
Sinai, the covenant of Abraham and the covenant of Noah, without these
various covenants interfering with each other. The ‘new covenant’
announced by Jeremiah, according to rabbinic understanding, will distinguish itself from the previous Mosaic covenant only in that it will free
the study of the Tora from forgetfulness.49
(b) In the writings of the Qumran community, the term ‘new covenant’
occurs above all in the Damascus Document.50 The establishment of this
new covenant in the ‘land of Damascus’ appears as a foundational event
in the history of the community.51 It is distinguished on the one hand
48
49
50
51
Cf Avemarie, ‘Bund’, passim.
Cf PesRK 12.21 (Mandelbaum p219); EcclR 2.1 (6d); CantR 1.2.4 (4d-5a), TanhB Yitro 13
(38b).
Cf CD-A 6:19; 8:21; CD-B 19:33f; 20:12. In 1QpHab 2:4 the word ‘covenant’ is supplied by the
editor. The notion of a ‘renewal’ of a covenant is found in 1QSb 3:26; 5:21 and perhaps 5:5;
cf Blanton, New Covenant, 71.
The ‘land of Damascus’ is referred to in all four passages which deal with the new
covenant.
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Avemarie
from the covenant which God had concluded with Israel’s forefathers52
and on the other hand from the covenant to which the present members
of the community have acceded.53 However, this present covenant seems
to be little more than a prolongation of the ‘new covenant in the land of
Damascus’, and both of these covenants in turn are not only based on
Israel’s previous covenants, but in fact serve no other purpose than an
unrestricted implementation of the Tora. According to CD-A 15:8–10, any
novice admitted to the community is obliged, ‘by the oath of the covenant which Moses made with Israel, in keeping with his word,54 to return
to the Tora of Moses with all (his) heart and all (his) soul…’55 Thus, both
the ‘new covenant’ and the covenant of the present community seem
to provide a kind of buttressing supplement to the Sinai covenant.
One could also speak of a ‘renewal’ of the Sinai covenant,56 in accordance with the hymnal fragment 1QS34bis 3 II:5–6, which praises God
for ‘remembering’ and ‘renewing’ his covenant for his chosen people. In
principle, the notion of a ‘new covenant’ could be indicative of an awareness of deficiencies in its predecessor,57 but the Damascus Document
never puts the blame on the covenant itself but always on the disobedient majority in Israel. The new covenant is obviously made to confirm
and not to question the old one.
(c) The oracle of Jer 38(31):31–34 not only announces a ‘new covenant’ but
also explains its establishment as being due to Israel’s breaking of a former covenant, the covenant that God had made with her ancestors when
he led them out of Egypt. However, Israel’s one-sided disregard of this
covenant does not necessarily imply that it was thereby invalidated.58 On
the one hand, it seems to be denied any further significance for God’s
52
53
54
55
56
57
58
ברית ראשוניםor similar; see CD-A 1:4; 3:10; 4:9; 6:2; 4Q266 (4QDa) 3 I:3; 4Q267 2:7; 2Q268
1:12; 4Q269 2:5. Abegg, ‘Covenant’, 83 identifies this בריתwith the Sinai covenant. However,
it could also be identical to the ‘covenant of Abraham’ mentioned in CD-A 12:11. A reference to ‘the covenant which Moses had made with Israel’ occurs in CD-A 15:8f.
Cf CD-A 15:4–13. For the distinction between this present covenant from the ‘new covenant in the land of Damascus’, see Blanton, New Covenant, 95 and 102.
Reading את דברוrather than את הברית, as in Broshi, Damascus Document, 39. However,
in both ways the construction seems awkward.
For a similar formulation demanding a return ‘to the Tora of Moses’, see 1QS 5:8f.
This is in fact a commonplace in Qumran scholarship; cf, e.g., Evans, ‘Covenant’, 59;
Vanderkam, ‘Covenant’, 152.
Abegg, ‘Covenant’, 85–88, sees the difference in the ‘hidden things’, i.e. legal teachings
which are known only in the community.
Cf Gross, ‘Bund’, 56.
The Notion of a ‘New Covenant’ (2 Cor 3)
73
future dealing with Israel,59 yet on the other, both covenants have the
very same goal, namely Israel’s adherence to the Tora. In this respect,
Jeremiah’s view is comparable to that of the Damascus Document, and
even though the notion of a ‘renewal’ of the previous covenant is clearly
absent from Jer 38(31), the terminological variation in the writings of the
Qumran community shows how easily newness and renewal could be
considered one and the same.
(d) Whilst Jeremiah speaks of Israel’s disregard of the covenant, there are
also a few other passages in the Old Testament that envisage the possibility of God himself forsaking his covenant. However, this possibility usually remains a mere possibility. Nowhere is it said that God actually cuts
the ties between himself and his people. In Dan 3:34 (lxx) Azariah prays
in the fiery furnace, ‘For your name’s sake do not give us up for ever, and
do not annul your covenant’,60 and at the end of the story, he and his fellows are rescued. In Lev 26:44 it is God himself who promises, ‘…when
they are in the land of their enemies I will not spurn them, or abhor them
so as to destroy them utterly and break my covenant with them; for I am
the Lord their God’.61 An exception is Zech 11:10, in that it describes a factual annulment of a covenant on the part of God. However, this annulment aims at the disempowerment of Israel’s unfaithful leadership,62
and thus it underlines the positive relationship between God and his
people rather than calling it into question.
(e) The first ancient text in biblical tradition which explicitly speaks of a
total cessation of the Sinai covenant is the Letter to the Hebrews.63 In
8:13, it comments on Jeremiah’s prophecy of a new covenant as follows:
‘In speaking of a new one, he (i.e. the Lord) has rendered the first one old;
and what is growing old and aged is on the verge of disappearance’.
One may wonder whether the author of these lines really meant what he
wrote, given the indispensability of so much Old Testament material for
the construction of his own theological world. Plausible or not, though,
the word ‘disappearance’, ἀϕανισμός, is unequivocal.
59
60
61
62
63
Cf Gross, ‘Bund’, passim. In this respect, Jer 31 seems to be much more radical than 2 Cor 3.
Translation: NRSV.
Translation: NRSV.
Curiously, the covenant itself is nevertheless characterised as a ‘covenant…established for
all the people’.
According to Frey, διαθήκη, 304, it stands, in this regard, ‘in einem krassen Gegensatz
zu allem, was im jüdischen Denken seiner Zeit über Bund und Tora gesagt werden
konnte’.
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Avemarie
Apparently, on Christian premises it was easier than elsewhere in Judaism to
proceed from a criticism of the traditional covenant theology to its wholesale
rejection. One reason may have been the shift from the Tora to Jesus Christ as
the central theological point of reference, another reason, perhaps, the redefinition of the ethnic boundaries of God’s chosen people. In Paul’s thinking,
each of these plays a highly important role. Moreover, in 2 Cor 3 he uses no less
than four times the verb καταργέομαι, which semantically comes very close to
the ἀϕανισμός of Heb 8:13. The example of Hebrews should also prevent us
from assuming that Paul could not have declared the disappearance of what at
the same time was an indispensable prerequisite of his argument on the logical level, particularly in the threefold a fortiori reasoning in vv7–11.64 This calls
for a thorough scrutiny of those occurrences of καταργέομαι. And for the sake
of clarity, it seems best to start with the simple cases before turning to the more
difficult ones:
(a) In v7 καταργέομαι refers to the vanishing radiance of the face of Moses.
A vanishing radiance could certainly also be a hint at a vanishing covenant, but nothing in this verse is suggestive of this.65
(b) According to v13, the reason for the veil on Moses’ face was that ‘the Israelites should not gaze at the end of what was vanishing’.66 If one took this
to be an allegory, ‘what was vanishing’ [τὸ καταργούμενον] would presumably refer to the covenant of Mount Sinai. However, nothing in the text
requires such an allegorical reading, and taken literally, it is again the
radiance of Moses’ face that ‘is vanishing’.
(c) Clearly allegorical is Paul’s interpretation of Moses’ veil in v14: ‘For until
today the very same veil remains on the reading of the old covenant
[παλαιὰ διαθήκη]; (it is) not being lifted, for67 it vanishes [καταργεῖται] in
Christ’. The problem of this formulation is that it does not explicitly say
64
65
66
67
Cf Dautzenberg, ‘Bund’, 231.
For a different view, however, see Dumbrell, ‘Newness’, 72.
For the purpose of the present article, the question of the meaning of τέλος in v13 can be
left undecided. For the basic contrary options, cf, e.g., Hofius, ‘Gesetz’, 102 (‘Ende’), and
Hafemann, Paul, 347–362 (‘goal’, 361). In my opinion, ‘termination’ fits better in with the
motif of vanishing. In this case, the reason for preventing the Israelites from full view was
probably to spare them the disappointing sight of the vanishing rather than to protect
them from the danger of a direct encounter with God’s glory (as is assumed by Hafemann,
Paul, 282f; cf Theobald, Gnade, 206 ).
The interpretation ‘it is not revealed that’ (as defended, e.g., by Back, Verwandlung, 117f) in
several respects is at variance with Paul’s Greek and therefore is unlikely; cf Wolff, Der
zweite Brief, 73; Thrall, Second Epistle, 1: 264.
The Notion of a ‘New Covenant’ (2 Cor 3)
75
what it is that vanishes. The syntax offers three possible identifications of
the subject, and if we exclude a vanishing of the ‘reading’ as making little
sense, we then have the choice between a vanishing of the ‘old covenant’
and a vanishing of the veil. According to the former possibility,68 the veil,
which remains on the reading of the Mosaic scriptures, prevents the Israelites from realising that the covenant is abolished in Christ. According to
the latter reading, the veil will be removed,69 and its removal will allow
the Israelites an ‘unveiled’ understanding of the ‘old covenant’. That this
second reading is in fact to be preferred70 follows from v16, where Paul
adduces a quotation from Exod 34:34 which in the present context
amounts to a paraphrase of the end of v14 precisely in this sense: ‘But
whenever (someone)71 turns to the Lord, the veil is removed’. It should be
assumed, therefore, that v14 speaks of a vanishing of the veil rather than
a vanishing of the covenant. However, what will Israel see when the veil
is removed? The analogy with v13 points to the vanishing radiance of the
ministry of Moses,72 the statement on the unveiled sight of Paul and his
addressees in v18 suggests that it is the glory of the Lord,73 and both
associations certainly make sense in the present context. However, it is
also evident from v14 itself that Israel will gain this insight in her reading
of the Tora,74 which Paul describes here, by metonymy, as representing
the ‘old covenant’ in general. Thus, it may not only negatively be said that
v14 does not claim a vanishing of the old covenant, but it may also positively be inferred that it implies its lasting validity.75 Paul may even have
68
69
70
71
72
73
74
75
Prominently supported by Bultmann, Der zweite Brief, 89; cf also Furnish, II Corinthians,
210; Stockhausen, Moses’ Veil, 88 n8. Merklein, ‘Bund’, 297 n16, despite his theological
qualms, does not want to rule out this possibility for philological reasons.
Cf, e.g., Hofius, ‘Bund’, 117 n247; Wolff, Der zweite Brief, 73f; Thrall, Second Epistle, 1: 265f;
Hafemann, Paul, 386; Dautzenberg, ‘Bund’, 244.
A further advantage of this reading is that it does not require a shift in the subject from
the main clause to the subordinate clause in v16b; cf Wolff, Der zweite Brief, 73.
Even though a similar formulation in Exod 34:34 (to which Paul apparently alludes) says
the same of Moses, in view of the actualisation signalled by ἕως σήμερον in v15, v16 must
refer to the Israelites (or perhaps, for the sake of congruence, to the ‘heart’ of v15; cf Wolff,
Der zweite Brief, 75).
Cf Wolff, Der zweite Brief, 74; Dautzenberg, ‘Bund’, 244; Back, Verwandlung, 118.
Cf Schulz, ‘Decke’, 23.
Cf von der Osten-Sacken, ‘Geist’, 232 (criticised by Wolff, Der zweite Brief, 75); Kertelge,
‘Buchstabe’, 128; Sass, ‘Bund’, 226; Kuschnerus, Gemeinde, 194.
For a different view see Dumbrell, ‘Newness’, 79 and 82, who assumes that for Paul, the old
covenant ‘should have led the nation to Christ’, but nevertheless has ‘passed away and has
been replaced by the new’.
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Avemarie
regarded this lasting covenant, truly understood as soon as the veil is
removed in Christ, the vanished radiance notwithstanding, as something
wholly positive.76
(d) The most complicated case is that of v11, where Paul sets out the last of
his three a fortiori conclusions: ‘If that which vanished [τὸ καταργούμενον]
(was) by radiance, how much more that which lasts (is) in radiance’. In
the previous two a fortiori arguments, it was the respective ministries of
Moses and Paul which were compared and which at the same time also
functioned as the grammatical subjects. This would suggest that here
again the comparison refers to those ministries:77 ‘If the vanishing ministry of death and condemnation was radiant, how much more radiant is the
lasting ministry of spirit and justice’. If the verse is taken in this way, Paul
would have abstracted here from the image of Moses’ face and spoken of
vanishing on a far more general level. And although a vanishing of the
ministry of Moses is perhaps not the same as a vanishing of the Sinai
covenant, the latter could be implied by the former. However, this is not
the only possible understanding of v11. If one argues that the reference of
καταργέομαι in v11 should be expected to be consistent with that in the
neighbouring verses, it would be again the radiance of Moses’ face that
vanishes, so that v11 should be read as follows: ‘If the vanishing radiance
of Moses’ face was by radiance, how much more will the lasting radiance
attached to the ministry of spirit and justice be in radiance’. The idea that
the radiance itself is ‘in’ or ‘by’ radiance may seem a bit strange, but it is
certainly not stranger than the statement in v10 that ‘what has been
endowed with radiance (τὸ δεδοξασμένον) in terms of the present comparison78 has not been endowed with radiance (οὐ δεδόξασται)’. However, both identifications of ‘that which vanished’, the one with Moses’
76
77
78
At least, this would be consistent with his own readiness (and sometimes even enthusiasm) in using the Tora as a basis of his theological argumentation. In my opinion, the
most likely implication of καταργεῖται ἐν Χριστῷ is that the removal of the veil will disclose to the readers of the ‘Old Testament’ that it essentially deals with Jesus Christ, which
is perfectly in line with v18. Cf von der Osten-Sacken, ‘Geist’, 232; Bergmeier, Gerechtigkeit,
Ch. IV 5.2. Christiansen, Covenant, 259, comes from very different considerations to a
quite similar view.
Cf Wolff, Der zweite Brief, 68f; Kuschnerus, Gemeinde, 185. A reference to the Sinai covenant as a whole is assumed, e.g., by Hofius, ‘Gesetz’, 90; Thrall, Second Epistle, 1: 252;
Hafemann, Paul, 329; Kertelge, ‘Buchstabe’, 125; cf also Stockhausen, Moses Veil, 121;
Kuschnerus, Gemeinde, 185. Such a reading, however, is not sufficiently supported by the
context.
This paraphrase of ἐν τούτῳ τῷ μέρει follows a suggestion by Thrall, Second Epistle, 1: 251.
The Notion of a ‘New Covenant’ (2 Cor 3)
77
ministry and the other with the radiance of Moses’ face, founder on a
noticeable shift of gender, διακονία and δόξα being feminine and τὸ
καταργούμενον a neuter form. This shift in gender strongly suggests that
Paul at this point (i.e. in vv10–11) wants to detach his argument from the
concrete entities with which he has dealt so far.79 Regarding Moses’ radiant face, this shift seems utterly plausible, for claiming even greater radiance for his own face would have hardly been an enticing option for
Paul.80 On the other hand, he must have had reasons also for not directly
speaking of a vanishing of Moses’ ministry, as the syntactical and logical
structure of v11 would have easily permitted this. A reason may have been
that he eschewed an explicit statement on the vanishing ministry of
Moses so as not to convey the impression that the Sinai covenant itself
was vanishing.
Thus if anything in Chapter 3 is suggestive of an abrogation of the Sinai covenant, it is v11. However, the very openness of its formulation may also be a sign
that Paul recoiled from drawing such far-reaching conclusions. In view of the
evidence of vv7, 13 and 14, therefore, one should be rather cautious about taking v11 to imply wholesale supersession.
Conclusion
In sum, it is rather unlikely that 2 Cor 3 states an invalidation of the Sinai covenant. In this regard, there is no contradiction between 2 Corinthians on the
one hand and Romans and Galatians on the other. Rather on the contrary,
2 Cor 3:14 claims that only a Christian perspective makes a proper understanding of the ‘old covenant’ possible. However, what can be learnt about the ‘old
covenant’ from this Christian viewpoint is equally clear: in its lasting validity, it
is nevertheless the basis of a ‘ministry of death’ and a ‘ministry of condemnation’, and its radiance has vanished a long time ago.81 These shortcomings
urgently call for another covenant, and the purpose of this ‘new covenant’ is
79
80
81
According to Stockhausen, Moses’ Veil, 121, the present use of the neuter gender serves ‘to
indicate an emphasis on a general quality rather than an individual reality’.
At least, his comments on his outer appearance in 2 Cor 4:7–18 have little to do with
radiance. For a similar, though more subtle consideration see Gruber, Herrlichkeit,
224–227.
For a more detailed analysis of the value judgments in 2 Cor 3 see Dautzenberg, ‘Bund’,
passim.
78
Avemarie
not the perfect fulfilment of God’s commandments82 as in Jer 38(31), but justification and the gift of the spirit which is able to make alive. It does not supersede the old covenant, rather, it presupposes, incorporates and thus confirms
it; but it is equally clear that it surpasses it by far in its power and radiance.
However, it is not to be overlooked that Paul tells us all this only in passing.
His real concern in 2 Corinthians is not the development of a covenant theology but the claim that he is God’s chosen minister of the new covenant.83
82
83
Even though Paul in Rom 9:4 seems to move in this direction.
My thanks are due to Annika Fröhlich for assistance in typewriting and to Andrew Doole
for checking my English.
Christ, Belial, and Women: 2 Cor 6:14–7:1 Compared
with Ancient Judaism and with the Pauline Corpus
Peter J. Tomson
The six verses of 2 Cor 6:14–7:1 present us with a sudden outburst of dualistic
language sharply contrasting the Church of Christ with ‘Beliar’, as light differs
from darkness, and God’s temple from idolatry. It is not at all clear what occasions this eruptive digression, and the concentration of dualistic concepts is so
high that scholars have hypothesized an interpolation of Qumranic vintage.
However the passage also contains a striking element of a quite different
nature: the mention of ‘daughters’ next to ‘sons’ as members of the spiritual
temple. This is unlike what we know about Qumran and rather resembles more
general Jewish ideas, notably rabbinic. It has hitherto not drawn much attention, and nor has its contrast with the ‘Qumranic’ element. A primary task of
the present paper is to investigate the background of these features and to consider how they could figure together in this brief passage.
The interpolation hypothesis ties in with the range of composition theories that have been proposed of 2 Corinthians as a whole in view of its
jumpy character. Scholars have hypothesized two, three, or more component
parts thought to be discernible in the extant letter and to be taken from now
lost letters of Paul. But even while assuming, e.g., five different letters to be
represented in 2 Corinthians, scholars have often viewed 2 Cor 6:14–7:1 as an
altogether extraneous element which does not actually bear on the composition history.1
Given the singular position of the passage both in its context and in the history of research, we shall for the most part approach it without referring to the
extant letter and its genesis. After a first section about the passage and its characteristics, we shall study its prominent features – apocalyptic dualism and the
inclusion of women – as these appear in a spectrum of ancient Jewish sources.
Gathering up the results, we shall then be able to position the passage roughly
1 Betz, 2 Corinthians 8 and 9, 19–21 mentions Bultmann, Schmithals, and Bornkamm as
scholars who, as he does himself, advocate a complex composition history but except 2
Cor 6:14–7:1 as a corpus alienum. See discussion of partition theories in Betz ibid. ch 1;
Bieringer, ‘Teilungshypothesen’ and ‘Der 2. Korintherbrief’; Thrall, Second Epistle, 3–49. For
theories concerning 2 Cor 6:14–7:1 see Thrall, Second Epistle, 25–36; Bieringer, ‘2. Korinther
6,14–7,1’.
© koninklijke brill nv, leiden, 2014 | doi 10.1163/9789004271661_007
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Tomson
between Qumran and the rabbis.2 With that conclusion in mind we shall then
study the occurrence of the two features elsewhere in Paul, which will result in
a comparison of the passage with the Pauline corpus. This will be an interesting exercise, since all agree that it concerns, as Rudolf Bultmann put it, a piece
of ‘typically Jewish parenesis’ which somehow made its way into the Pauline
correspondence.3 In other words, the passage pointedly puts us once again
before the question of Paul’s relationship with Jewish tradition. We shall find
that if unusual, the passage and its ‘Jewish paraenesis’ are not at all intrinsically alien to Paul’s thought world. In a last section we shall therefore use the
opportunity and consider what meaning it would acquire if we did read it in
the context where it is extant.
The Passage and Its Characteristics
Preceding and following the passage are two sets of three verses which are
linked by vocabulary and by a conciliatory style. The beginning of the passage
diverts with a sudden outburst from this context, but it ends on a pacifying
tone which is not very different from it.4 We shall not now pay further attention to this context but study the passage as though it were a separate piece
of text.
14Μὴ γίνεσθε ἑτεροζυγοῦντες ἀπίστοις· τίς γὰρ μετοχὴ δικαιοσύνῃ καὶ ἀνομίᾳ,
ἢ τίς κοινωνία φωτὶ πρὸς σκότος; 15τίς δὲ συμφώνησις Χριστοῦ πρὸς Βελιάρ, ἢ
τίς μερὶς πιστῷ μετὰ ἀπίστου; 16τίς δὲ συγκατάθεσις ναῷ θεοῦ μετὰ εἰδώλων;
ἡμεῖς γὰρ ναὸς θεοῦ ἐσμεν ζῶντος, καθὼς εἶπεν ὁ θεὸς ὅτι ἐνοικήσω ἐν αὐτοῖς καὶ
ἐμπεριπατήσω καὶ ἔσομαι αὐτῶν θεός καὶ αὐτοὶ ἔσονταί μου λαός. 17διὸ ἐξέλθατε
ἐκ μέσου αὐτῶν καὶ ἀφορίσθητε, λέγει κύριος, καὶ ἀκαθάρτου μὴ ἅπτεσθε· κἀγὼ
εἰσδέξομαι ὑμᾶς 18καὶ ἔσομαι ὑμῖν εἰς πατέρα καὶ ὑμεῖς ἔσεσθέ μοι εἰς υἱοὺς καὶ
θυγατέρας, λέγει κύριος παντοκράτωρ.
7:1ταύτας οὖν ἔχοντες τὰς ἐπαγγελίας, ἀγαπητοί, καθαρίσωμεν ἑαυτοὺς ἀπὸ
παντὸς μολυσμοῦ σαρκὸς καὶ πνεύματος, ἐπιτελοῦντες ἁγιωσύνην ἐν φόβῳ
θεοῦ.
2 Cf Tomson, Paul, 134f, embryonically.
3 Bultmann, Korinther, 182, in shorthand: ‘Typisch jüdische Paränese. Möglich, dass Paulus
selbst ein solches Stück zitierte; dann wohl Fragment aus dem verlorenen ersten Brief…’.
4 Shared vocabulary in the surrounding verses: καρδία, (στενο)χωρέω. See Lambrecht,
‘Fragment’, 535. The conciliatory ending of the passage (ἀγαπητοί) creates a transition to this
context.
Christ, Belial, and Women (2 Cor 6:14-7:1)
81
14Do not be mismated with unbelievers. For what partnership have righteousness and iniquity? Or what fellowship has light with darkness?
15What accord has Christ with Belial? Or what has a believer in common
with an unbeliever? 16What agreement has the temple of God with idols?
For we are the temple of the living God; as God said, I will inhabit them
and walk among them, and I will be their God, and they shall be my people.
17Therefore come out from them, and be separate from them, says the Lord,
and touch nothing unclean; then I will gather you in, 18and I will be a Father
to you, and you shall be my sons and daughters, says the Lord Almighty.
7:1Since we have these promises, beloved, let us cleanse ourselves from
every defilement of body and spirit, and make holiness perfect in the fear
of God.
The passage can be readily divided into three parts each using a different style.5
The first part, v14–16a, comprises a warning against ‘mismating with unbelievers’ which is underpinned by five parallel, starkly dualistic oppositions. The
vocabulary is very refined and betrays distinct rhetorical training.6 Hapax legomena such as the verb ἑτεροζυγέω strike the eye, and in each of the five oppositions, a different word for ‘partnership’ is used: μετοχή, κοινωνία, συμφώνησις,
μερίς, and συγκατάθεσις. The second part of the passage, v16b-18, is an artfully
concatenated series of biblical quotations and allusions which are called
‘promises’ (ἐπαγγελίας, 7:1) and which envelop the reader in a community seen
as God’s spiritual sanctuary. Similar concatenations are found more often in
the Pauline correspondence and in ancient Jewish sources.7 One of the key
verses is from the promise to David of a ‘son’ who will ‘build a house for my
name, and I will establish the throne of his kingdom for ever; I will be his
Father, and he shall be my son’ (2 Sam 7:13–14). Finally the third part, 7:1, rounds
up the passage with a second person plural call for purity and holiness.
The verb ἑτεροζυγέω relates to the relatively rare adjective ἑτεροζύγος which
means ‘yoked with another’, ‘yoked unevenly’, or ‘ill-balanced’.8 The Septuagint
uses it once to translate the Hebrew כלאים, ‘of different kinds’: τὰ κτήνη σου οὐ
5 Similarly Furnish, II Corinthians, 371–375. Lambrecht, ‘Fragment’, 536–538 reads v14a as a
separate introductory appeal.
6 Thus Windisch, 2. Korintherbrief, 213.
7 Cf Lambrecht, ‘Fragment’, 541–545, and see further below. For concatenations in Paul see also
Windisch, 2. Korintherbrief, 216; Fitzmyer, Romans, 333f; Tomson, ‘Death’ and ‘No One’. See
also the explorations by Lim, Scripture, esp 140–176, ‘Paul and his OT quotations’.
8 Cf LSJ ad loc. In the last sense: Ps-Phoc 15, σταθμὸν μὴ κρούειν ἑτερόζυγον, on which see Van der
Horst, Sentences, 121–123.
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κατοχεύσεις ἑτεροζύγῳ, ‘You shall not let your cattle breed with a different kind’
(Lev 19:19). This biblical law is paraphrased by Philo using the same word, while
listing a choice of more or less allegorical meanings including ethnically mixed
marriage, all under the heading of a call for ἁρμονία.9 That reminds us of
συμφώνησις, ‘accord’ and its four synonyms in our passage, which together produce a similar allegorizing tendency. Because the meaning ‘unequal partnership’ is more obvious in our context, an allusion to the biblical phrase is likely.
The passage warns against an ‘ill-balance’ which as yet seems to be only
imminent.10
The passage turns against ‘mismating with unbelievers’. It is not clear from
the context who these are, nor for what reason they are so vehemently
denounced. In 7:1, the language of ‘cleansing from impurity’ is used, but again
it remains unclear what this might imply. Such allusive vagueness is not
unusual in letters ancient or modern. The original addressees will know, but
later readers will not. Small wonder, then, that widely different interpretations
of our passage are found among patristic writers, even in the same author.11
They practically read it as being detached from the rest of the letter – it could
as well be an interpolation! At another level, the plethora of meanings is understandable in view of the potential for allegorical interpretation of the expression ἑτεροζυγέω.
We must now consider three features of the passage with a more
general implication: its dualism, its mention of women, and its Christian
authorship.
The apocalyptic dualism is striking indeed. The opposition of ‘Belial’ to Christ
immediately reminds one of the separatist writings from Qumran and related
ancient Jewish texts. This has led Joseph Fitzmyer in 1961 to publish an influential article titled ‘Qumran and the Interpolated Paragraph 2 Cor 6:14–7:1’.12 In his
9
10
11
12
Spec leg 4:203–307. Cf valuable remarks by Windisch, 2. Korintherbrief, 212f; Plummer,
Commentary, 206; Furnish, II Corinthians, 361.
Plummer ibid: μὴ γίνεσθε, ‘do not become’ (mismated).
Clement of Alexandria, Strom 3.8.62.2–3 quotes the passage with reference to ἐγκρατεία,
but ibid. 5.9.57.5 in relation to pagan thought in general. Origen, Comm in Ioan 19.21.139
and De orat 25.3 reads a reference to belonging to Christ or to the world; but Comm in
Ioan 32.24.302, 382, to Judas as a servant of Satan. In Mart Ign 4.6 the martyr quotes it in
refusal of Trajan’s urge to participate in pagan ritual. Didymus the Blind, Fragm in 2 Cor,
32, reads it as a reference to marriage with an unbeliever; similarly, Didymus, In Gen 151,
quoting in support 1 Cor 7:12. This interpretation is also hinted at in Origen, Fragm ex
Comm in I Cor, 35, using ἑτεροζυγέομαι twice while referring to 1 Cor 7:12ff.
Fitzmyer, ‘Qumran’, referring to Kuhn, ‘Rouleaux de cuivre’, 203 n1 where it is thought ‘que
Paul cite peut-être ici précisément un texte essénien’.
Christ, Belial, and Women (2 Cor 6:14-7:1)
83
view the Qumran sectarian origins prove the passage to be an insert and hardly
Pauline at all.13
However, we must also draw attention to the second feature, one that has
gone almost unnoticed: the inclusion of women. ‘Daughters’ are mentioned
next to ‘sons’ as children of the ‘Father’ and as members of ‘the living temple of
God’. Hans-Dieter Betz is among the few to pay any attention to it, tersely stating in his 1973 article on the passage: ‘This addition accounts for a clear distinction from Qumran literature, with which the text otherwise has so much in
common’.14 The observation is basically correct, and it will be difficult to locate
the passage in the vicinity of Qumran. This does not exempt us, however, from
trying to understand its stark dualism.
A third important aspect, underlined by Fitzmyer, is that whatever the background of the passage, it betrays a Christian author. It is ‘Christ’, not ‘the Angel
of Light’ or ‘the Lord’ who is opposed to Belial. Fitzmyer concluded on a nonPauline passage ‘in which Qumrân ideas and expressions have been reworked
in a Christian cast of thought’.15 Betz agreed and went a daunting step further.
As he read it, the polemics against ‘impurity’ are reminiscent of Paul’s opponents in Galatians and hence the passage is of anti-Pauline, Judaeo-Christian
vintage.16 A similar conclusion was drawn by Gnilka.17
Leaving the discussion where it stands, we can establish that all agree the
passage was written by a Christian author steeped in Jewish traditions. It is
well-advised, therefore, to study it in its most congenial cultural context, i.e.,
ancient Judaism.18 And when doing so, it is obvious to focus on the two prominent features we have singled out, the apocalyptic dualism and the inclusion
13
14
15
16
17
18
Fitzmyer, ‘Qumran’, 271, referring to the commentaries of A. Plummer (1915) and E.-B. Allo
(1937).
Betz, ‘Fragment’, 98. He draws no conclusions from the observation. Lambrecht,
‘Fragment’, 543 n29 quotes Barrett’s commentary where the mention of women is called
‘significant’. Schüssler Fiorenza, Memory, 194–196, citing Betz, concludes against Qumran
provenance.
Fitzmyer, ‘Qumran’, 279.
Betz, ‘Fragment’, esp 108, featuring phrases like, ‘Its Jewishness is so obvious that the name
of Christ seems out of place’ for its authors; and Paul’s ‘“freedom” from the law’ meant
‘turning Christ into a “servant of sin”’. Nathan, ‘Truth’, 286 notes this involves a ‘preunderstanding’ of Paul which places justification theology at the centre.
Gnilka, ‘2 Cor 6:14–7:1’, esp 63: the passage stands in tension to ‘the Pauline concept of the
relationship heathen/Christian’.
Cf review of recent research by Brooke, ‘2 Corinthians 6:14–7:1 Again’; the inclusion of
women is not discussed (but cf his ‘Between Qumran and Corinth’). My thanks to Prof.
Brooke for pre-publication use of his paper.
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of women. We shall see that both features are socially significant: the stance
taken on either one allows us roughly to position a given text in ancient Jewish
society. Moreover these features function more or less in opposite ways in two
obvious bodies of text for comparison, the Qumran scrolls and rabbinic literature. Where Qumran is rather tight on women and lavish on dualism, the
rabbis, as we shall see, eschew dualism and are relatively inclusive vis-à-vis
women. This preliminary insight occasions us to draw up a social-ideological
spectrum, analysing the place either item has in an available set of documents
ranging from Qumran to the rabbis.
The Christian character of our passage is not necessarily such a socially significant feature. As long as any Christian text does not set itself off from
Judaism, it can be approached as being of Jewish or Judaeo-Christian background or sympathetic to such. Put differently, in these cases it is often impossible to distinguish neatly between ‘Jewish’ and ‘Christian’ texts. We shall be
able to observe that writings such as the Testaments of the Twelve Patriarchs
or the Martyrdom of Isaiah – both extant in Christian elaborations – when
seen in the spectrum of ancient Judaism do not distinguish themselves in a
socially significant way qua Christian documents, while they do so on the
issues of women or dualism. The same goes for the Jesus tradition, provided we
isolate it from its anti-Jewish encasement as this is distinguishable in the
Gospels of Matthew and John.19 The Two Ways Tractate contained in the
Didache and Pseudo-Barnabas can be similarly used.20
Some remarks on chronology are in place. Between the rabbinic texts with
their terminus a quo after 200 ce and the near-absolute pre-70 dating of the
Qumran scrolls, we have a gap of a century and a half full of historical development. Yet it would be a learned mistake to treat both corpora as though they
existed on different planets. The sources teach otherwise, even though we cannot establish all the details. The Qumran texts contain polemical passages
targeting rulings and terminology that are identifiably proper to rabbinic literature.21 Conversely, certain polemics in rabbinic literature may be heard as
opposing a dualism reminiscent of Essene thinking.22 This teaches us that with
all the changes in form and formulation that we must allow for, we must also
assume a measure of continuity between the teachings of the pre-70 Pharisees
19
20
21
22
See Tomson, If This be from Heaven.
As analysed by Huub van de Sandt and David Flusser, The Didache.
On the ‘expounders of slippery things’ and their ‘teaching (talmud!) of lies’ see below
at n130. Similarly, the Halakhic Letter, 4QMMT, opposes halakhic rulings which scholars
have identified as Pharisaic, see Qimron – Strugnell, ‘The Halakha’.
See below at n62.
Christ, Belial, and Women (2 Cor 6:14-7:1)
85
and post-200 rabbinic literature. Moreover where available we shall use rabbinic traditions with named attributions to the earliest Tannaim, i.e., around
100 ce. To that extent we may be confident in viewing these sources along with
the others from a distance, in one continuum, phenomenologically so to say,
and see how our passage fits in.
Dualism and Separatism in Ancient Judaism
Turning now to the item of apocalyptic dualism, we start out with the
sources that feature it most characteristically, i.e., the Qumran texts, and end
with rabbinic literature where it seems in clear retreat. In the next section
we shall move in the opposite direction when dealing with the feature on
which rabbinic literature is most outspoken: the inclusion of women. Or
prolonging our methodological metaphor: when checking on the feature of
dualism we shall swing along the spectrum from Qumran to the rabbis, and
then back in the opposite direction when zooming in on the inclusion of
women.
Qumran
Since the discovery of the Dead Sea scrolls, the starkly dualistic message they
contain is no longer the secret it apparently was meant to be, and indeed
remained for ages. The authors considered themselves the community of the
elect and the vanguard of the coming victory of light over darkness, of God
over Satan. We could call this a ‘cognitive dualism’,23 pointing out that it has
interconnected cosmological and social dimensions.24 Not unlike a paranoiac
mindset (except for its pathological basis), the chasm between the desert community and the rest of humankind is thought to parallel the clash between the
forces of light and darkness. The two dimensions reinforce each other: knowledge of the cosmic struggle going on strengthens the community’s sense of
electedness and of meaningful isolation, and vice versa. Its members constitute, as the sociologist of religion Peter L. Berger called it, a ‘cognitive minority’.25 Josephus informs us the Essenes had to take severe oaths to keep the
ideas of the sect secret, and this is confirmed by the scrolls. Such conspired
23
24
25
The term ‘cognitive dualism’ is otherwise used in an epistemological sense.
Frey, ‘Different Patterns’, 280–285 lists 10 categories of ‘dualism’ and utilises these in identifying the distinct Qumran dualisms of sapiential and priestly origin. His category of
‘ethical dualism’ comes close but does not really envisage the social dimension.
Berger, Rumor, 7.
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secrecy is a powerful means of fostering the awareness of belonging to an
elected minority, also in modern times.26
It seems the close correlation between the cosmic and the social dimensions makes for the particular character of Qumran dualism. Strongly dualistic
language is especially found in two of the first documents to have been published, the Rule Scroll and the War Scroll. Without prejudicing the question of
their historical relationship, it is illuminating to quote the beginning of both
texts together:27
For the Instructor (…) Book of the Rule of the Community:
in order to seek God with all one’s heart and with all one’s soul (…)
in order to love everything which He selects and to hate everything that
He rejects (…)
in order to be united in the counsel of God and walk in perfection in his
sight (…)
in order to love all the sons of light, each one according to his lot in God’s
plan,
and to hate all the sons of darkness, each one in accordance with his guilt
in God’s wrath. (1QS 1:1–11)28
For the Instructor: The Rule of War. The first attack by the sons of light
will be launched against the lot of the sons of darkness, against the army
of Belial, against the band of Edom and of Moab and of the sons of
Ammon and…Philistia, and against the bands of the Kittim of Ashur, who
are being helped by the violators of the covenant.
(…) And this is a time of salvation for the nation of God and a period of
rule for all the men of his lot, and of everlasting destruction for all the lot
of Belial. There will be great panic among the sons of Jafeth, Ashur shall
26
27
28
War 2:139–142; cf 1QS 5:7–13. Secrecy was also one of the manipulation techniques used to
the extreme by Jim Jones in his Peoples’ Temple, ending in imposed collective suicide in
Guatemala, November 1978. The analogy was pointed out by Prof. David Flusser during his
NT seminar in Jerusalem, 1978–79.
Osten-Sacken, Gott und Belial, 28–72 stresses the terminological affinity of 1QM 1 and 1QS
3–4. He also proposes (here followed by Collins, ‘Mythology of Holy War’) an evolutionary
relationship between 1QM and 1QS. Davies, ‘Dualism and Eschatology’ rejects this. Cf discussion by Frey, ‘Different Patterns’, 285–287.
Here as elsewhere we follow the edition and ET by García Martínez and Tigchelaar with
occasional modifications, in this case re. the rendering ‘to hate’ for לשנוא, as in 1:4, and
‘wrath’ for נקמה. The order to ‘hate the sons of darkness’ is confirmed by Josephus, who in
War 2:139 mentions the oath μισήσειν ἀεὶ τοὺς ἀδίκους, ‘always to hate the unjust’.
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fall and there will be no help for him; the rule of the Kittim will come to
an end, (…) and there will be no escape for any of the sons of darkness.
(1QM 1:1–7)
In both texts, the human antagonists in the cosmic confrontation are designated as ‘sons of light’ and ‘sons of darkness’. The name ‘Belial’ personifying
evil as used in the War Scroll is typical of this language; it appears a little further on in the Rule Scroll.29 His less frequent counterpart is ‘Michael’, the chief
angel of light also known from the Book of Daniel.30 Furthermore it is evident
from other texts including Daniel that the references to the ‘Sons of Jafeth’ and
the ‘Kittim’ indicate real adversaries, i.e. the Greeks and Romans.31 ‘Ashur’ may
well mean Graeco-Syrian allies of Rome; Edom, Moab and Ammon are familiar
Old Testament clichés for rivalling peoples. Hence the dualistic language of the
Rule Scroll is not meant to be heard in a theological vacuum either. For those
in the know, it refers to very real, armed enemies. Thus viewed, parallels with
Daniel and the Books of Maccabees are striking.32 This is apocalyptic dualism
with palpable military connotations.
More generally, the Qumran texts stand out by their negative attitude to
foreigners as compared with other ancient Jewish texts. Further on, the War
Scroll announces ‘destruction for all the wicked gentiles…the king of the Kittim
and all the army of Belial’ at the hands of the ‘holy ones’ fighting with God on
their side.33 On a different level another ‘sectarian’ text, the Halakhic Letter,
sharply denounces offerings on behalf of gentiles.34 This may seem a trite idea,
but we shall see that it in certain situations it can produce a strong political
29
30
31
32
33
34
1QM passim; for 1QS see below n39. See Osten-Sacken, Gott und Belial, 73–78 on this name
and its background.
1QM 17:6f; Dan 10:13, 21; 12:1. Osten-Sacken, Gott und Belial, 95–100.
E.g., 4QpNah (4Q169) 3+4 i:2–3, involving the Hellenistic kings Demetrios and Antiochos
and ‘the leaders of the Kittim’; 4QpHab passim (‘rulers of the Kittim’); Dan 11:2–4 (‘the
kingdom of Greece’, allusion to Alexander), 30 (‘ships of the Kittim’). See Dimant,
‘Sectarian Literature’, 508–512.
See the interesting observations by Osten-Sacken, Gott und Belial, 62–72.
1QM 15:2, ;כלה לכול גוי רשעה… נגד מלך הכתיים ונגד כל חיל בליעל1QM 16:1, ובקדושי עמו
יעשה גבורה. See also 1QM 1:4–7, above.
4QMMT, 4Q394 frg 3–7 col. 1:5–12, ועל זבח הגוים […זובחים] אל ה[…] היא[ כ]מי שזנת אליו,
‘And concerning the sacrifice of the Gentiles: ]… they sacrifice[ to the ]…[ it is like who
whored with him’. Related is the absolute prohibition on selling clean animals or birds to
gentiles בעבור אשר לא יזבחום, ‘lest they sacrifice them’ – to idols, CD 12:8f. Rationally, the
Mishna restricts this prohibition to specific objects such as pine cones or ‘a white rooster’,
mAZ 1:5–7.
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and military potential. Furthermore, the Florilegium upholds the biblical ban
on Ammonites and Moabites to enter the assembly more than literally (Deut
23:4): ‘…neither an Ammonite, nor a Moabite, or a bastard, or a foreigner or a
proselyte, never, because his holy ones are there’.35 We shall come back to this
text later. It must be noted, however, that is not clear whether the exclusion of
proselytes concerned all sorts of meetings of the Essenes.36
Dualistic language recurs in the Rule Scroll and is carried to an extreme in
what appears to be a coherent treatise on ‘the Two Spirits’ intended ‘for the
instructor’ (1QS 3:13–4:26). It confronts us with an amazingly deterministic
form of cosmic dualism:
And in the hand of the Prince of Lights is dominion over all the sons of
justice; they walk on paths of light. And in the hand of the Angel of
Darkness is total dominion over the sons of deceit; they walk on paths
of darkness. From the Angel of Darkness stems the corruption of all the
sons of justice, and all their sins, their iniquities, their guilts and their
offensive deeds are under his dominion in compliance with the mysteries
of God, until his moment… and all the spirits of his lot cause the sons of
light to fall. However, the God of Israel and the angel of his truth assist all
the sons of light… (1QS 3:20–25)37
Lists follow of the virtues and the vices which make up life under either Spirit,
as well as considerations about predestination and salvation history.38 As we
shall see, lists of virtues and vices in a dual framework are not unique and
appear also in other Jewish and early Christian writings. What singles out the
Qumran texts is their radical conceptual framework and the fact that they
went along with intentional social segregation.
Phrases expressing segregation are found among other documents in
the Rule Scroll itself. After the ‘Two Spirits Treatise’ and several sets of
rules concerning access to the community, novitiate, punition, and the like,
35
36
37
38
4Q174 ]fr 1 col i.21.2[ 1:3–6, see below.
CD 14:3–6 first describes the ‘order of seating of all the camps’ ()סרך מושב כל המחנות:
1. priests, 2. Levites, 3. Israelites, 4. proselytes ( )הגרand then gives the same order for their
inscription. The parellel in 4Q267 frg. 9 v: 6–10 omits proselytes in the seating order, stopping with 3. Israelites, but adds them in the inscription order. The Florilegium seems to
depict a more solemn and eschatological assembly.
On shared motifs between this ‘Treatise’ and the quoted War Scroll passage see OstenSacken, Gott und Belial, 116–123.
Van de Sandt − Flusser, Didache, 147 identify a distinct pattern here.
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considerations of more general nature return to the theme of the community’s
mission that was struck at the beginning:
And when these have become a community in Israel in compliance with
these arrangements, they are to be segregated from within the dwelling
of the men of sin ()יבדלו מתוך מושב אנשי העול, to walk to the desert in
order to open there his path. As it is written: “In the desert, prepare the
way of ****, straighten in the steppe a roadway for our God” (Isa 40:3) −
this is the study of the law which he commanded through the hand of
Moses… (1QS 8:13–15)
The community, whose core group apparently was established in the Judaean
desert, was to ‘segregate’ from the rest of mankind who did not follow their
rules, or in other words from Jewish society at large. This correlates with
the sombre view of the ‘dominion of Belial’ expressed in the opening part of
the Rule.39
A clear command to separate from the majority of the people and their
corrupted law observance as represented by the Temple administrators
and spelled out in concrete items is found in the Damascus Covenant. In the
course of a long admonition against the misguided leaders of the people,
we read:
But all those who have been brought into the covenant shall not enter the
Temple (…). They should take care to act in accordance with the exact
interpretation of the law for the age of wickedness: to keep apart from the
sons of the pit ( ;)להבדל מבני השחתto abstain from wicked wealth which
defiles ()הון הרשעה הטמא, (…) and from the wealth of the Temple and
from stealing from the poor of the people (…); to separate unclean from
clean and differentiate between the holy and the common (…), according
to what was discovered by those who entered the new covenant in the
land of Damascus. (CD 6:13–19)
We need not go into the precise relationship between the authors of this
text and those of the Rule and War Scrolls. Suffice it to say that the separatist
slant of all these documents is unlike anything else we find in ancient Jewish
sources. Again this is interwoven with dualist language: ‘the age of wickedness’
and ‘Belial’ are never far away.40 The cosmically motivated social segregation
39
40
ממשלת בליעל, 1QS 1:18, 23–24; 2:19. בליעלotherwise, 1QS 3:5.
קץ הרש[י[ע, CD 6:10, 14; בליעל, CD 4:13,15; 8:2; 5:17, ‘the prince of lights and Belial’.
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concerns the Jerusalem Temple, its dealings as to money and purity, and any
participation in general society which entail the community’s contamination
on the same issues. Private property is rejected, being called הון הרשעה, ‘wealth
of wickedness’. Similarly, Josephus reports of the Essenes that they rejected
property and observed community of goods.41
Segregation is also emphasized in the Halakhic Letter which sets forth a
series of questions to do with Temple and purity. Towards the end the document, which seems to address leading priests in Jerusalem, states explicitly:
And you know that we have segregated ourselves from the rest of
the people ( […] )שפרשנו מרוב העםand from mingling in these affairs,
and from associating with them in these things. (4QMMT, 4Q398 frg.
14–17 1:7–8)
It is not clear whether the ‘segregation’ concerns the last of the purity questions enumerated or all of them. What is clear is that in the eyes of the authors
the matter at hand justified total ‘separation from the majority’ of Jewish
society. On the whole, the document is remarkably concentrated around halakhic matters and features little theological language. It is one of the earliest
specimens of halakhic literature.42 Nevertheless, there are concluding theological considerations tellingly voicing opposition to ‘the counsel of Belial’
(עצת בליעל, 4QMMT 4Q398 frg 14–17 col. II:5).
Summing up, the radical ‘cognitive dualism’ characteristic of these Qumran
texts evokes a community aware of its being elected from the ‘mass of perdition’ in the perspective of a cosmic struggle, and demarcating itself from that
‘mass’ among other items by shunning contact in shared worship, purity of
food and drink, and commercial dealings.
Testaments of the 12 Patriarchs
Many examples of dualistic language are found in the Testaments of the Twelve
Patriarchs, a larger work pretending to render the moral adhortations of the
twelve sons of Jacob set in a rather thin narrative of their successive deaths.43
41
42
43
War 2:122, ‘Riches they despise, and their community of goods is truly admirable’.
Tomson, ‘Halakhah in the New Testament’, 147–153.
Cf Osten-Sacken 200–205; Gnilka, ‘2 Cor 6:14–7:1’; and the brief item on ‘Dualism’ in
H.C. Kee’s introduction in Charlesworth, otp 1:779. See also Flusser, ‘New Sensitivity’, 485–
487, developing the concept of ‘semi-Essene’ circles in which the Testaments were written. Much of the relevant material is reviewed by M. de Jonge, ‘Testaments’, in light of his
theory that the Testaments are a Christian work with Jewish influences.
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Typically, the name ‘Beliar’ is often used for the chief angel of darkness,
especially in the Testament of Benjamin.44 Furthermore, there is an enumeration of the ‘two ways’ paralleling the ‘Two Spirits Treatise’ from the Rule
Scroll:
God has granted two ways to the sons of men, two mindsets, two lines of
action, two models, and two goals. Accordingly, everything is in pairs, the
one over against the other. The two ways are good and evil; concerning
them are two dispositions within our breasts that choose between them.
If the soul wants to follow the good way, all of its deeds are done in righteousness and every sin is immediately repented. Contemplating just
deeds and rejecting wickedness, the soul overcomes evil and uproots sin.
But if the mind is disposed toward evil, all of its deeds are wicked; driving
out the good, it accepts the evil and is overmastered by Beliar, who, even
when good is undertaken, presses the struggle so as to make the aim of
his action into evil… (T. Asher 1:3–9)45
The passage, which runs on for another five (modest) chapters, is clearly written with a fascination for diametrical opposition. The emphasis is on being not
‘two-faced’ (διπρόσωπος) but ‘single-minded’ (μονοπρόσωπος).46 This choice
seems to presuppose a free moral decision. However, ‘if the mind is disposed
toward evil’, it will be ‘overmastered by Beliar’ (κυριευθεὶς ὑπὸ τοῦ Βελίαρ).47
Though similar, this obviously is not as radical as the deterministic dualism of
the Qumran ‘Two Spirits Treatise’.48 The borderline between the ‘in group’ and
the ‘out group’ seems not cosmically predetermined but human-made.
A clear moral choice is also insisted upon in the following admonition
which sums up the Testament of Levi and which by its vocabulary strongly
reminds us of our passage in 2 Corinthians:
Choose for yourselves light or darkness, the law of the Lord or the works
of Beliar − ἑλέσθε οὖν ἑαυτοῖς ἢ τὸ σκότος ἢ τὸ φῶς, ἢ νόμον Κυρίου ἢ ἔργα
Βελίαρ (T. Levi 19:1).49
44
45
46
47
48
49
7 out of a total of 29 mentions.
Translation here and elsewhere as in otp.
Elsewhere the word ἁπλότης is used, esp 12x in T. Iss plus in its title, Περὶ ἁπλότητος. On
the matter see Flusser, ‘New Sensitivity’, 486.
Cf T. Ash 6:4–5 for the final dominance of ‘the angels of the Lord and of Beliar’.
See Van de Sandt – Flusser, Didache, 149–152 for this aspect of the Treatise.
Also quoted by Gnilka, ‘2 Cor 6:14–7:1’, 66.
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Finally, the idea of a cosmic war against evil is heard:
And there shall arise for you from the tribe of Judah and (the tribe of)
Levi the Lord’s Salvation. He will make war against Beliar; he will grant
the vengeance of victory as our goal. (T. Dan 5:10)50
The theory has been advanced that we are faced here with a remnant of the
archetypal Israelite tradition of ‘holy war’ and hence also a link with the
Qumran War Scroll.51 Even if this could be true, the incidental character of
the reference, added to the eclectic form in which the dualistic language
appears throughout the Testaments, gives the impression rather of an echo of
some ancient, broader tradition. One can imagine this to be related to the genesis of the Testaments in a second or first century bce Graeco-Jewish milieu.52
A Hellenistic Jew conversant with traditions circulating among other languages in Hebrew and Aramaic could have composed the ‘Testaments of the
Twelve Patriarchs’, embellishing them with topics and motifs taken from a
range of sources, including cosmic dualism.53
Martyrdom of Isaiah
An interesting but complex piece of evidence is the Martyrdom and Assumption
of Isaiah. In one of the earliest studies to take stock of the impact of the Qumran
scrolls, David Flusser underlined the strong dualistic language of this narrative
of the prophet’s martyrdom during the reign of the evil king Manasseh.54
And Manasseh abandoned the service of the Lord of his father, and
he served Satan, and his angels, and his powers. And he turned his
father’s house … away ]from[ the words of wisdom and the service of
50
51
52
53
54
One senses a Christian interpolation, but it is difficult to isolate. Maybe the phrasing is
just pre-Christian.
Osten-Sacken, Gott und Belial, 204f, hypothesising that dualism in T12P is secondary and
combined with other, on the whole later, elements.
Cf Kee, ‘Testaments of the Twelve Patriarchs’, 775–780.
This is exemplified in T. Dan 5:5, ‘For I read in the book of Enoch the Righteous that
your prince is Satan…’ The language of the particular copy of Enoch is of secondary
importance.
Flusser, ‘Martyrdom’; cf Knibb, ‘Martyrdom and Ascension of Isaiah’, 151–153 on the document’s demonology and dualism. In n6, Flusser discusses the remarkable ‘angel of iniquity’ reminiscent of 2 Cor 6:14f and 2 Thess 2:3–12 and especially of the angelus iniquitatis
from the Two Ways passage in the Doctrina Apostolorum. See also ἀνομία in Ps-Barn 18:2
quoted below.
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the Lord … so that they served Beliar; for the angel of iniquity who
rules this world is Beliar… And sorcery and magic, augury and divination,
fornication and adultery, and the persecution of the righteous increased
though Manasseh… (Mart Isa 2:2–5)
Flusser also thought the ensuing story of the prophet’s flight from godless
Jerusalem and his retreat into the desert was a coded reference to the Qumran
community’s history:
And when Isaiah the son of Amoz saw the great iniquity which was being
committed in Jerusalem, and the service of Satan, and his wantonness, he
withdrew from Jerusalem and dwelt in Bethlehem of Judah. And there
also was great iniquity; and he withdrew from Bethlehem and dwelt on a
mountain in a desert place. …And many of the faithful… withdrew and
dwelt on the mountain. (Mart Isa 2:7–9)
Whether Flusser’s identification is correct or not,55 we have here the interesting example of a ‘rewritten Bible story’ remarkably fitted out with Qumran-like
dualistic language − remarkable because many similar Bible retellings do not
contain such language. For comparison, we might think of the books of
Maccabees and of Daniel, which all tell the story of the Maccabaean war
though only Daniel renders it in apocalyptic encoding.
Two Ways’ Tractate
A similar comparison brings us another step ahead in distinguishing the various modes of ancient Jewish dualism. As was recently set forth extensively by
Huub van de Sandt and David Flusser, the early Christian document called
Didache or Apostles’ Teaching opens with a ‘Two Ways Tractate’ which is also
found at the end of the so-called Epistle of Barnabas and which can be compared to the ‘Two Spirits Tractate’ of the Rule Scroll. These are the relevant
passages of Didache and Pseudo-Barnabas:
There are two ways, one of life and the other of death, and there is a
great difference between the two ways. This is the way of life: first,
you shall love God Who made you… But this is the way of death…
(Did 1:1–2; 5:1)
55
Knibb ibid. remains hesitant, while registering that Van der Ploeg and Philonenko
agree.
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There are two ways of teaching and authority, the one of light and
the other of darkness, and the difference between the two ways is great.
Upon the one, lightbearing angels are ordained; upon the other, angels
of Satan. One is the Lord from eternity and to eternity; the other the
Ruler of the present time of iniquity. This is the way of light… The knowledge of walking on it given to us is the following: You shall love the
One Who made you… But the way of blackness is crooked and full
of curses… (Barn 18:1–19:1; 20:1)
The two passages undoubtedly represent different versions of the same work,
though an exact relationship cannot be established. The difference is in the
absence of dualistic language in the Didache, while it treats just as well of the
dual nature of human life, whereas such dualistic terms as ‘lightbearing angels’,
‘angels of Satan’, and ‘the Ruler of the present time of iniquity’ (ὁ ἄρχων τοῦ νῦν
ἀνομίας) in Pseudo-Barnabas remind us of the Qumran Two Spirits Treatise.
Nevertheless, both texts present the way of life as a viable option and its prime
commandment as ‘knowledge given to us’, while in the Rule Scroll, the interference of either the angel of darkness or of light determines human conduct.
If we imagine the three texts on a comparative scale, Didache presents us with
a non-dualistic ‘Two Ways’, Pseudo-Barnabas with a semi-dualistic one, and
the Rule Scroll with a completely dualistic one.
Jesus Tradition
Without any dualistic overtones, the two ways pattern is also reflected in the
Jesus tradition. It figures prominently at the end of the Sermon on the Mount
in the Gospel of Matthew:
Enter by the narrow gate; for the gate is wide and the way is easy that
leads to destruction, and those who enter by it are many. For the gate is
narrow and the way is hard that leads to life, and those who find it
are few. (Matt 7:13–14)
Clearly, it is the choice for either ‘way’ which leads to life or death, not the rule
of angels. The saying can be seen as a development of the ‘Deuteronomistic
pattern’ found in Deut 28 and related passages presenting one with a choice
between ‘life and death’. Indeed, the Beatitudes opening the Sermon on the
Mount are found in the Gospel of Luke in a double pattern of four beatitudes
and four woes: ‘Blessed are you poor… But woe to you that are rich…’ (Luke
6:20–26), thus fully reflecting the un-dualistic Deuteronomistic choice. One
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could even say that the Jesus tradition evinces a slight voluntarist emphasis, as
expressed in the typical send-off saying, remarkable in itself: ‘Your faith has
saved you, go in peace!’56
A dualistic-apocalyptic tone is nevertheless struck in such sayings of Jesus
as the following: ‘I saw Satan fall like lightning from heaven;’ ‘Simon …Satan
demanded to have you …but I have prayed for you…’ (Luke 10:18; 22:31).
Similarly we hear, ‘No one can serve two masters; for either he will hate the one
and love the other, or he will be devoted to the one and despise the other. You
cannot serve God and Mammon’ (Matt 6:24; Luke 16:3). The dilemma between
God and Mammon, however, seems to underline the importance of the choice
to be made, not to illustrate a cosmic struggle.57 This interpretation is confirmed by the paradoxical parable of the unjust steward (Luke 16:1–9), a teaching which is often misunderstood because the example is set by a sinner. David
Flusser has plausibly suggested that the ‘children of light’ who behave ‘unwisely’
as compared with the ‘children of this world’ are not to be seen as Christians
but as Essenes who as we saw despised property.58 To be sure, Jesus speaks
of ‘the Mammon of iniquity’ (μαμωνᾶ τῆς ἀδικίας) in a way very similar
to Qumranic הון הרשעה, ‘wealth of wickedness’ (CD 6:15, see above).
Un-dualistically, the parable’s lesson is precisely to use money to ‘make friends
for yourselves’. Jesus teaches his followers not to ‘leave this world’ (cf 1 Cor
5:10), but to live in it, among ‘sinners and tax-collectors’, pointing them the way
to salvation (Luke 5:30–32).
There is even an anti-dualistic, possibly intentional anti-Essene accent in
Jesus’ command to love one’s enemy, ‘…That you may be sons of your Father
who is in heaven; for he makes his sun rise on the evil and on the good, and
sends rain on the just and on the unjust’ (Matt 5:45).59 Humanely, Jesus is
attributed with a surprising openness towards ‘publicans and sinners’ or
‘whores’ and their hidden longing for salvation.60
56
57
58
59
60
Mark 5:34 (= Matt 9:22; Luke 8:48); Mark 10:52 (= Luke 18:42); Luke 7:50; 17:19. Translation
as in NRSV Luke 18:42.
On the saying see Flusser − Safrai, ‘Slave’, comparing with 2 Cor 6:14–15 and R. Shimon ben
Pazzi’s saying: ‘Man… is the slave of two masters: …of his Creator and …of his (evil) inclination’ (RuthR 3.14). That saying is not found in Strack-Billerbeck, Kommentar, 1:433–435;
it deals with the halakhic problem of a slave having two owners, which undoubtedly
belongs to the background of Jesus’ saying.
Flusser, ‘Jesus’ Opinion’.
Cf Flusser, ‘New Sensitivity’, 124f.
Mark 2:15; Luke 5:30; Matt 21:31, cf Luke 7:39; 19:2–10.
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Early Rabbinic Tradition
In many matters, rabbinic tradition is not of one piece, although this is often
not visible at the surface. A particularly important divide during the first generation of Tannaim (c. 70 ce) was the one between the two ‘Houses’ or schools
of Shammai and of Hillel. The Shammaites appear to have been rather strong
during the last generation before the first revolt, but as concerns the halakha,
the extant texts of rabbinic literature, beginning with the Mishna, are predominantly Hillelite in outlook.61 The shift may well relate to the outcome of the
war, but that should not detain us here. What is important now are the indications that the submerged divide between the two schools somehow also related
to their world view.
In two separate passages about prayer that explain each other and belong
together, the Mishna rejects cosmic dualism with apparent unanimity:62
One who says (in his salutation): “May the Good One bless you” − this is
the way of sectarianism (( ;)דרך המינותone who says in his benediction)
“To a bird’s nest does Thy grace extend”, or, “On account of the good shall
Thy name be mentioned”, or, “We thank Thee, we thank Thee” − he is
silenced (by the congregation). (mMeg 4:9; cf mBer 5:3)
One is obliged to bless (God) on account of bad news as one is on account
of good news, for it is said: “You shall love the Lord your God with all your
heart, all your soul, and all your might” (Deut 6:5). (mBer 9:5)
The saying about the bird’s nest is opaque and explanations vary, but the other
formulae in the first mishna are explicitly criticized for their ‘heretical’ slant: a
blessing ‘on account of the good’ seems to exclude ‘the bad’ and its heavenly
instigators, and repeating ‘We thank thee’ likewise may be heard as proclaiming a duality of heavenly powers. Indeed similar repetitive formulae are found
in the Qumran scrolls.63 In other words the Mishna rejects such dualistic views
as are taught at Qumran.
61
62
63
S. Safrai, ‘Halakha’, 194–200; Goldberg, ‘Mishna’, 213.
Translations of rabbinic literature are mine. Cf on these passages Segal, Two Powers,
98–108, 53–56.
yMeg 4:9 (75c); bMeg 25a (שתי רשויות, ‘two powers’); yBer 5:3 (9c); bBer 33b. See Safrai –
Safrai – Safrai, Mishnat Eretz Israel, Tractate Brachot, 207–209 and Tractate Ta’anit –
Megila, 407–409, referring also to 1QHa 19:3, =( מודה מודהed Licht, Thanksgiving Scroll,
11:3, p161, and see Licht’s comments); 1QS 1:20; 2:10, 18 etc., אמן אמן, a biblical formula
(e.g. Num 5:22; Ps 41:14). Curiously, the Johannine Jesus uses ἀμὴν ἀμήν 25 times, and only
in the double form, while in the synoptic Gospels it is only single ἀμήν, 52x.
Christ, Belial, and Women (2 Cor 6:14-7:1)
97
The second mishna positively prescribes blessing the Creator upon both
good and bad news, bearing witness to the belief in the goodness of His creation. This part also figures in the Tosefta and is there attributed to R. Meir
(c. 150 ce), a latter-day heir to the Hillelite tradition.64 This may point to a submerged intra-rabbinic debate.
Indeed the Babylonian Talmud brings a report to the effect that in the
early days the Pharisees were divided on the question of the goodness of
creation:
For two and a half years did the schools of Shammai and of Hillel dispute,
the former saying: It were better for man, had he not been created rather
than created, and the latter: It is better for man that he has been created
rather than not. They voted and decided… (bEr 13b)
A dimmer view of humanity and of creation – a feature often found in dualisticapocalyptic works65 – is ascribed to the school of Shammai. Conversely, important later representatives of the Hillelite trend of thought, spiritual ancestors
of R. Meir, are accredited with a benevolent view of humankind and creation.66
It seems excluded that the rabbis held a vote on such a theological question.67
However in view of the predominance of the Hillelite tradition in extant
rabbinic literature and of a measure of similarity of Shammaite tradition
to Qumran thinking,68 the one-time existence of a rather more pessimist
world view and of a greater consideration of the forces of evil in Shammaite
64
65
66
67
68
tBer 6:1, 7.
Cf Collins, Apocalypse, 11, 27: ‘The emphasis on the transcendent in the apocalypses
suggests a loss of meaning and a sense of alienation in the present’; ‘The transcendent character of the eschatology points to the underlying problem of all the (Jewish)
apocalypses―this world is out of joint, one must look beyond it for a solution’.
Cf Hillel himself, considering care for the body an honour to his Creator, LevR 34.3
(p776); Rabban Gamliel the Elder, praising the Creator on seeing a handsome non-Jewish
woman, yAZ 1:9 (40a – on the Temple Mount); yBer 9:1 (13c bottom); and R. Akiva,
R. Meir’s teacher, in mAv 3:4, ‘Beloved is man…’ These sources are cited by Urbach and
rehearsed by Safrai, see next n.
Thus Urbach, Sages, 252–254, followed here by S. Safrai, ‘Oral Tora’, 112f. Positive evidence
to support this view is found in the saying of Gamaliel the Elder cited in Acts 5:38f, on
which see Tomson, ‘Gamaliel’s Counsel’, esp 597–603. Both Urbach and Safrai sideline the
possibility of a different view of the Shammaites (while Safrai’s exposition on the humane
rabbinic view is entirely Hillelite in theological outlook).
Apart from cumulative evidence offered in the present paper cf Noam, ‘Traces of Sectarian
Halakha’.
98
Tomson
circles cannot be excluded. Significantly, the possibility of apocalyptic input
into halakhic decisions is expressed by the Shammaite R. Eliezer in the
legendary dispute over ‘the oven of Akhnai’, whereas his Hillelite partner
in debate, R. Yoshua (c. 100 ce), rebuts by quoting with reference to the Tora:
‘She is not in heaven’ (cf Deut 30:12).69 Thus it seems likely that the Shammaite wing of Pharisaism somehow had a greater predisposition towards dualistic and apocalyptic thought patterns, but that in the Mishna and subsequent
rabbinic literature the Hillelite wariness of dualism and apocalypticism
prevails.
In any case a similar difference obtains in regard of separatism. A decidedly
non-dualistic and anti-separatist attitude is ascribed to Hillel the Elder, especially in his saying, ‘Do not separate from the community’ (אל תפרוש מן הצבור,
mAvot 2:4). The meaning of this brief pronouncement is not clear from its
immediate context, but comparison with related passages shows that the likely
intention is the counsel not to become like ‘those who separated themselves
from the ways of the community’ ()מי שפרשו מדרכי צבור,70 i.e. people who
isolate themselves from society for doctrinal or ritual reasons. For an example,
Sadducees are mentioned. We can readily add the Qumran community who, as
we saw, stated about themselves, שפרשנו מרוב העם, ‘we who separated ourselves from the majority of the people’ − meaning from their erroneous halakhot and law interpretations.71 The legacy of Hillel as incorporated in rabbinic
literature is un-separatist and advocates faithfulness to the community in spite
of doctrinal or ritual differences.72
An area where the difference in social orientation between the two schools
was poignantly expressed is the relation to non-Jews. A number of rabbinic traditions consistently portray Shammaites as more reserved towards non-Jews
than Hillelites. Not unlike the Damascus Covenant quoted above, R. Eliezer
‘the Shammaite’ is quoted as disqualifying offerings on behalf of non-Jews
‘because their essential intention is towards idolatry’. Conversely, his Hillelite
colleague R. Yoshua upholds ‘there are righteous among the non-Jews
69
70
71
72
bBM 59b, with Elijah reporting that the Holy One blessed be He also accepted the decision made on earth. Cf mKel 5:10; tEd 2:1; bBer 19a.
Seder Olam 3, see remarks by Flusser, ‘4QMMT’, n5 on the text. I translated more literally
than the quote in the English version of Flusser’s study.
The comparison of Hillel’s saying with 4QMMT is basic to Flusser’s important study,
‘4QMMT’.
Thus explicitly mYev 1:4; tYev 1:10–13; yYev 1:6 (3b). The ending in Tosefta and Yerushalmi
shows this to be Hillelite tradition.
Christ, Belial, and Women (2 Cor 6:14-7:1)
99
who have a share in the world to come’.73 It seems the difference in outlook
inspired Shammaites to take the initiative in the revolt against the Romans.
Josephus maintains that the war was finally triggered by the cessation
of the daily sacrifice for the Emperor at the instigation of Eleazar son
of Ananias the temple governor, who could be identical with the Shammaite leader Elazar ben Hananya known from rabbinic literature.74 Here
we see the militant potential of the prohibition on offerings for gentiles.
More generally it seems that a tendency on the part of the Shammaites to
insist on separateness has made them more ready to fight the Romans.
They even seem to have turned against their reputedly peace-loving fellow
Pharisees, the Hillelites. A thinly but insistently documented rabbinic tradition reports that at one occasion, most likely at the beginning of the revolt, the
Shammaites forced sword in hand ‘18 decrees’ on the Hillelites, killing a
number of them.75 The gist of the decrees probably was anti-gentile legislation. R. Eliezer is quoted as being satisfied with them while R. Yoshua deplores
them.76
On this issue of the attitude to foreigners, the Shammaites once again
were much closer to the Essenes than the Hillelites. Earlier we cited the
Qumran Florilegium and its over-literal interpretation of the biblical ban of
Ammonites and Moabites, shutting out not only foreigners but even proselytes.
Quite to the contrary, the Mishna cites the Hillelite R. Yoshua as explicitly
declaring the biblical ruling void in the case of Yehuda the Ammonite proselyte. Rabban Gamliel the Younger objected, here apparently representing
the Shammaite view, but the sages ‘allowed him (Yehuda) to come into the
assembly’.77
73
74
75
76
77
mHul 2:7, R. Eliezer against offering for gentiles; tSan 13:2, R. Eliezer and the Hillelite
R. Υoshua disputing the salvation of gentiles. bShab 31a, Shammai’s attitude towards prospective proselytes is consistently pictured as negative. On R. Eliezer ‘the Shammaite’ see
S. Safrai, ‘Halakha’, 198–200.
Josephus, War 2:409. The identification was first made by Graetz, Geschichte 3:
470–472, and notes 24, 26, 27 (p795ff). For further data see Goldberg, Commentary, 15–22.
mShab 1:4, see Goldberg, Commentary, 15–22; Hengel, Die Zeloten, 201–208.
tShab 1:16–17; cf S. Safrai, ‘Halakha’, 192f.
mYad 4:4, one of the rulings made ‘on the day when they made R. Elazar ben Azaria president’, temporarily sidelining Rabban Gamliel (mYad 3:5). Gamliel the Younger, though a
scion of Hillel, was notable for his Shammaite leanings, see S. Safrai, ‘The Decision’; idem,
‘Halakha’, 192 n337.
100
Tomson
Women as Members of the Assembly in Ancient Judaism
As to the participation of women in the assembly, we shall work our way
across the spectrum in the opposite direction, starting with rabbinic tradition,
passing through the early Christian texts and various ancient Jewish works,
and concluding with the Qumran documents.
Rabbinic Literature
In rabbinic literature the attendance of women in community worship is a
given. Such has been established by Shmuel Safrai in an inquiry about the
women’s gallery in antiquity.78 The Mishna obliges women to say prayers and
encourages them to ‘read the Scroll’ (of Esther),79 and many narrative reports
confirm that women did attend Tora readings. Classic rabbinic literature knows
nothing of an elevated women’s gallery, and its absence in antiquity is confirmed by archaeology.80 However, women were not supposed to officiate in
reading out aloud, as we shall see in a moment, and they were thought to be
less instructed.81
The rabbis projected this state of affairs back onto the revelation narrative
at Mt. Sinai. Thus while the people of Israel are preparing for the holy event,
Moses is commanded to inform them with a remarkable opening phrase: ‘Thus
you shall say to the house of Jacob, and tell the sons of Israel’ (Exod. 19:3). An
early rabbinic midrash expounds this as follows:82
“Thus shall you say to the House of Jacob” − these are the women; “And
tell the sons of Israel” − these are the men.
Another explanation: “Thus shall you say to the House of Israel” − speak
in simple language, explain the central issues to the women; “And convey
to the sons of Israel” − give them (i.e., the men) the details and explain
these to them.
78
79
80
81
82
S. Safrai, ‘Ezrat nashim’.
S. Safrai, ‘Ezrat nashim’, 159. But see below on the reading of Scripture.
See the final pages of S. Safrai, ‘Ezrat nashim’. The same conclusion was proposed by
Brooten, Women Leaders. In Ch. Safrai, Women in the Temple it is pointed out that while
Second Temple Jewish women did not have decisional power, they did participate in all
Temple matters on a voluntary basis.
Ilan, Jewish Women, 179–184 gives a dense overview of actual involvement of women in
religious life drawing mainly on rabbinic sources. The distinction she makes, however,
between the position of women in ‘the system of religious commandments’ and in ‘the
Jewish legal system’ (176) is not clear. The subject of women officiating is not broached.
MekRY yitro 2 (p205).
Christ, Belial, and Women (2 Cor 6:14-7:1)
101
The two ‘explanations’ are also found in various combinations and elaborations in later midrash collections83 and in the Targumim.84 Basic to them all is
the presence of women at the assembly before Mt. Sinai, an element not mentioned in the Bible. The solemn occasion would have induced the rabbis to
make sure their fundamental views about the Tora and the community were
reflected.85 Indeed, they are able to compare worship in the synagogue to that
in the Tabernacle under Moses.86 The solemnity seems already reflected in the
Exodus passage in the exceptional poetic parallelism of ‘House of Jacob’ and
‘sons of Israel’.87 The more usual address of the people as found e.g. in Exod
12:3 is, ‘Tell all the congregation of Israel’. The Hebrew word for ‘community’,
עדה, is translated in the Septuagint as συναγωγή.88 Thus in the interpretation
of the rabbis, ‘all the congregation of Israel’ is constituted by the men and the
women.
Nevertheless the rabbis barred women from officiating during worship.
A prohibition is not explicit in the Mishna nor the Palestinian Talmud, but
it appears in two parallel rulings in the Tosefta and in a comment in the
Babylonian Talmud. The Tosefta rules as to the ‘reading of the Scroll’ of Esther
at Purim:
All are obliged to reading the Scroll: priests, Levites, lay Israelites,
proselytes, emancipated slaves… Women, slaves, and minors… are not
obliged, and they cannot fulfil the obligation of the community
( ;פטורין ואין מוציאין את הרבים ידי חובתןtMeg 2:7).
83
84
85
86
87
88
ExodR 28.2 gives only the second explanation; MidrGad Exod 19,3 (p477) has both. Tanh
metsora 26a and TanhB metsora 18 (27a) link the priority of the women with their having
no periods and not being impure while in the desert. This reads like a secondary explanation paralleling the one in the Mekhilta about ‘easy language’.
TgPsYon Exod 19:3: כדנא תימר לנשיא דבית יעקב ותתני לבית ישראל, ‘Thus shall you
say to the women of the House of Jacob and teach the House of Israel’; cf FrgTg ibid.
כדנן תימר לאינשי ביתיה דיעקב ותתני אולפן לכנישתהון דבני ישראל, ‘Thus shall you say to the
people of the House of Jacob and teach instruction to the gathering of the sons of Israel’.
The purity aspect added in the Tanhumas is lacking here.
Thus Prof. Shmuel Safrai in a course he gave about this passage while staying at the
Netherlands Institute of Advanced Studies in 1981.
E.g., tMeg 3:21, citing the arrangement of the congregation of Israel in Lev 8:4.
Parallelism involving ‘Jacob’ and ‘Israel’ (or the other way around) is elsewhere found in
Isa 10:20; 46:3; 48:1; Jer 2:4; Mic 3:9; Ps 114:1. ‘House of Jacob’ is itself a prophetic expression
and in the Tora is used only here (in Gen 46:27 it refers to the clan of Patriarch).
The Septuagint often uses συναγωγή even where the Hebrew has no עדהat all. The
Targumim use Aramaic כנישתא, paralleled by Hebrew כנסת, hence the rabbinic idiom
כנסת ישראל, ‘the community of Israel’.
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Tomson
The concluding phrase is crucial: women cannot ‘fulfil the obligation of
the community’ in reading out loud and thus perform the commandment
of ‘reading the Scroll’ on behalf of those who cannot read. The editors of
the Mishna, who may be supposed to have been reviewing this or a similar
ruling, apparently found the phrase ‘all are obliged’ ( )הכל חייביןambiguous
and formulated: ‘All are fit ( )הכל כשריןto reading the Scroll, except the
deaf, the mentally handicapped, and minors’ (mMeg 2:4). Consequently,
the Mishna allows women to read the Scroll, but it does not oblige them
and it can be understood to implicitly prohibit their officiating.89 In comment, the Palestinian Talmud records the ruling that one is obliged to
read out the Scroll before women and minors.90 Thus women were supposed to participate in the Scroll-reading as private persons, but hardly to
officiate.
The same can be said about Tora reading, a much weightier matter since, in
contrast to the book of Esther, the Tora and the commandment to read it out in
public were thought to derive from Moses. The Tosefta again:
All may go up (הכל עולין, i.e. on the bema) to complete the number
of seven (Tora readers on the Sabbath), even women, even minors.
One does not call up women to read out aloud for the community
( ;אין מביאין את האשה לקרות לרביםtMeg 3:11).
Apparently the practice is meant that seven people in a row go up and read
part of the Sabbath portion, while one ‘main reader’ reads it out aloud for
the community, officiating in lieu of those who cannot read, similar to the
prayer being said aloud by the ‘deputy of the community’ ()שליח צבור.91 Thus
while women attended and actively participated in the Tora reading, they were
not supposed to represent the community and to officiate. The Babylonian
Talmud quotes a variant of the Tosefta ruling and, at last, comes clean with a
motive:
89
90
91
Thus Albeck, Shisha sidrei Mishna 2:366, commenting on mMeg 4:6 (about minors
saying Shema as a responsory) by referring to mRH 3:8, כל שאינו מחויב בדבר אינו:זה הכלל
מוציא את הרבים ידי חובתן, ‘This is the general rule: Anyone who is not obliged to a commandment cannot perform it on behalf of the community’.
yMeg 2:4 (23b), citing Bar Kappara and R. Yoshua ben Levi.
See Lieberman, Tosefta ki-fshutah 5:1176–1178; cf Tomson, Paul, 134 n214. I find it difficult to
agree now with Lieberman’s solution that the phrase אין מביאין את האשה לקרות לרבים
refers to the halakha following, not the one preceding. The parallel with tMeg 3:11 seems
to indicate that it refers to the preceding.
Christ, Belial, and Women (2 Cor 6:14-7:1)
103
Our masters taught: All may go up to complete the number of seven,
even minors and even women. But, said the Sages, women should
not read (out aloud) from the Tora, out of respect for the community
( ;אשה לא תקרא בתורה מפני כבוד צבורbMeg 23a).
In ancient rabbinic society, a woman officiating in a public event was thought
to embarrass the community. In this, the rabbis did not distinguish themselves
from their surroundings.
This state of affairs is not necessarily in contradiction by the conclusion drawn by Paul Trebilco that Jewish communities in ancient Asia Minor
counted a relatively remarkable proportion of ἀρχισυναγῶγοι and other types
of women leaders.92 Women could direct communities without being able
to officiate. We shall see that this inference is confirmed by the evidence in
Paul’s letters.
Jesus Tradition
The Gospels are noteworthy for the many stories of women who had themselves or their child healed by Jesus.93 A striking example is the healing of the
elder woman who Jesus said deserved to be freed from her ‘infirmity’ since she
was ‘a daughter of Abraham’ (Luke 13:11–17).94 Women are especially in view in
Luke. ‘Mary has chosen the good portion’ while listening in to Jesus teaching,
rather than her senior sister Martha who did the catering (Luke 10:42; cf.
John 11). This links up with the women who supported Jesus and his disciples
(Luke 8:2–3). Remarkable is the story of the ‘sinful woman’ who anointed Jesus’
feet, an act of contrition which Jesus put up as an example to his Pharisee host
(Luke 7:36–50).95 In another brief story a woman from the crowd praises ‘the
womb that bore Jesus and the breasts he sucked’, responding to which Jesus
praises ‘those who hear the word of God and keep it’ − in clear reminiscence of
92
93
94
95
See Trebilco, Jewish Communities, 104–126. However this does not warrant his conclusion
at 189: ‘The leadership of women in some communities was at odds with rabbinic
teaching’.
Mark 1:29–31; 5:23–43; 7:25–30; Luke 7:11–17.
Cf R. Akiva pronouncing that poor people are entitled to equal damages as the rich, ‘for
they are children of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob’, and applying this to a poor woman, mBK
5:6. Similarly, R. Yohanan ben Matya’s father, mBM 7:1. Cf Luke 19:9, Jesus on Zacchaeus
(‘a son of Abraham’); as in 13:17, the emphasis of the phrase is on moral and bodily dignity
rather than law and damages.
Cf parallels in Mark 14:3–9 // Matt 26:6–13 and John 12:1–8. See Fitzmyer, Luke and Brown,
John, ad loc.
104
Tomson
what has been told earlier of his mother Mary (Luke 11:27f; cf. 1:38; 2:19, 51).96
The women testifying to the Resurrection, notably Mary Magdalene,97 have a
special place in the broader gospel tradition.98 In the Gospel of John, where
lengthy speeches constrain the number of stories, there are the famous narratives of the Samaritan woman being addressed by Jesus and of the sisters
Martha and Mary already mentioned (John 4:1–42; 11:1–12:8). Yet Jesus’ address
to his mother Mary at the Cana wedding does not reflect a high esteem of the
authority of women in public: ‘Woman, what have you to do with me? My hour
has not yet come’ (John 2:4).99 However the dominating presence of the evangelist’s pen must make us wary as to inferences beyond the scope of the fourth
Gospel. All told and done the above suggests that women would be welcomed
in the company of Jesus. This conclusion concerns not just a set of early
Christian sources. It reflects a particular Jewish milieu at the turn of the eras.100
The question is what the openness towards women among Jesus and his
early followers would mean for the position of women in community events.
The data are surprisingly scarce. The norm of strictly chaste behaviour towards
women preserved in the synoptic tradition (Matt 5:28–30) may well have
implied that women were required to be silently present i.e. not to officiate or
teach. Indeed, a passage in Paul to which we shall come back seems to imply
that this is what Jesus had ordained (1 Cor 14:33–37). Otherwise, Martha’s sister
Mary was ‘sitting at the Master’s feet and listening to his teaching’ (Luke 10:39),
but this remains a moot point, for so, presumably, were the male disciples. The
apocryphal Gospel of Thomas offers illumination in retrospect. Its notorious
last saying has Jesus declare Mary Magdelene in need of being ‘made male’ in
order to become ‘a living spirit resembling you males’ and to ‘enter the Kingdom
of Heaven’. ‘Female women’ were not thought to have such privileges.101 It
96
97
98
99
100
101
There is a tension with Luke 8:21f which is based on Mark 3:34f and seems to represent a
different tradition.
GosPet 50 calls her μαθητρία τοῦ κυρίου.
Mark 16:1–8 (Mary ‘the Magdalene’, Mary ‘of James’, and Salome); Luke 24:1–12 (Mary the
Magdalene, Mary of James, and Joanna); Matt 28:1–8 (Mary the Magdalene and ‘the other
Mary’); John 20:1–13 (Mary the Magdalene). See on this feature Mohri, Maria Magdalena.
The vocative γύναι is found 5 times in John (2:4; 4:21; 19:26; 20:13; 20:15), as compared to
once in Matthew and twice in Luke. It is unclear to me what this can mean.
See S. Safrai, ‘Jesus’ and ‘Hasidim’.
GosThom 114, ET Robinson, NHL, 130; cf Mohri, Maria Magdalena, 203–208. This sounds
programmatic in comparison with saying 62, which in this respect is uncomplicated and
rather resembles the canonical Gospels. The expression ‘Kingdom of Heaven’ (also
GosThom 20; 54) is remarkable for otherwise found only in the canonical Gospel of
Matthew and in rabbinic literature.
Christ, Belial, and Women (2 Cor 6:14-7:1)
105
seems safe to say that according to the Jesus tradition as recorded in the
Gospels, women were warmly welcomed at community events but were not
expected to do more than participate modestly.
Philo
In her study of Philo’s perception of women, Dorothy Sly makes the interesting
observation that in commenting on the narrative of the relevation at Sinai, the
Alexandrian exegete adds the women as being present: ‘The ten words or oracles… were delivered by the Father of All when the nation, men and women
alike, were assembled together (ἀνδρῶν καὶ γυναικῶν εἰς ἐκκλησίαν)’.102 This
addition to the biblical text, however, is not maintained in Philo’s comments
on what follows, and the inconsistency gives the impression of ‘superficiality’
and of ‘contradictory influences’ being at work.103
Such inconsistency is not exceptional in Philo. In commenting on the classic passage involving divorce in Deut 24:1–3, he begins by stating that divorce
can be obtained ‘for whatever reason it may be’, which accords both with the
dominant position in rabbinic literature and with the plain meaning of the
verse. In his subsequent comments, however, he suggests various sorts of
improper behaviour on the part of the woman as necessary conditions for
divorce − a decidedly different position in terms of ancient Jewish law.104 This
gives the impression that he begins by paying tribute to a somehow more
authoritative or popular tradition but subsequently reverts to interpretations
more of his own liking. Hence it is not unlikely that in commenting on the
Sinai revelation as well Philo duly cites the interpretation known by tradition
to himself and to his audience, i.e., that ‘men and women alike’ were present at
the sacred gathering, while according to his own opinion, copiously expounded,
women ought to sit in their proper domain: the house.105
Nothwithstanding Philo’s claim halfway his treatise on the Therapeuts and
Essenes, ‘I will not add anything of my own procuring’,106 it is only likely that
his own opinion in matters of women and sex has coloured his description.
The first of these Jewish sects, which he may well have known because they
102
103
104
105
106
Dec 32. Sly, Philo’s Perception, 188 thinks of Exod 19:25, πρὸς τὸν λαόν. Our suspicion would
rather go to Exod 19:3, but there is no foothold for either assumption.
Sly, Philo’s Perception, 188: ‘the superficiality of Philo’s elevating women to equal consideration with men…’.
Spec leg 3:30–31, switching from a Hillelite to a more or less Shammaite conception of
divorce. See Tomson, ‘Divorce Halakha’, 306–308.
Thus at length Spec. leg. 3:171–174; Sly, Philo’s Perception, 196f.
Philo, Cont 1.
106
Tomson
were settled near Alexandria,107 comprised both men and women, who
joined in common worship while keeping separate on either side of a screen
and otherwise practising self-control ‘as it were the foundation of their soul’.108
As to the Essenes, Philo claims they avoided marriage because it is ‘the principal danger to the maintenance of the communal life’ and because they
practised continence. For ‘no Essene takes a wife because a wife is a selfish
creature, excessively jealous and an adept at beguiling the morals of her
husband…’109
In his erudite and passionate classic about Philons griechische und jüdische
Bildung, Isaac Heinemann devoted half a chapter to the solid patriarchalism
and the restrictive sexual ethics of the Alexandrian, confining women to the
inner home and sex to mere procreation, to the extent of imposing divorce on
a childless marriage.110 Astounded at Philo’s low view of women and marriage,
Heinemann, who later was to write important works on rabbinic thought,
ascribed it to the ‘ascetic trend’ which influenced Jewish sectarianism and
early Christianity.111
Testaments of the 12 Patriarchs
The ‘testament’ ascribed to Reuben, archetypal fornicator, comes out very
strongly against the influence of women:
Women are evil (πονηραί εἰσιν αἱ γυναῖκες), my children, and by reason of
their lacking authority (ἐξουσία) or power over man, they scheme treacherously how they might entice him to themselves by means of their
looks…
Accordingly, my children, flee from fornication (φεύγετε οὖν τῆν πορνείαν),
and order your wives and daughters not to adorn their heads and their
appearances … For it was thus that they charmed the Watchers
(ἐγγρήγορες), who were before the Flood…
So protect yourself against fornication, and if you want to remain pure in
your mind, protect your senses from from any female (ἀπὸ πάσης θηλείας).
And tell them not to consort (συνδυάζειν) with men, so that they
107
108
109
110
111
Philo, Cont 22, describing the location near the Mareotic lake with apparent eye-witness
knowledge.
Philo, Cont 34.
Philo, Hyp 11:14. Heinemann, Bildung, 232 also suggests the tendentiousness of this
description.
Heinemann, Bildung, 231–292; Philo, Spec leg 3:34–36.
Heinemann, Bildung, 249, 270–272. Cf I. Heinemann, Darkhei ha-aggada (1970).
Christ, Belial, and Women (2 Cor 6:14-7:1)
107
too might be pure in their minds. For even recurrent chance meetings…
are for these women an incurable disease, but for us they are the plague
of Beliar and an eternal disgrace. (T. Reub 5:1, 5; 6:1–3)112
Men are to protect themselves from seeing and hearing women, women should
prevent themselves from being seen by men. Dualism is in place: to men,
women are the inroad of Beliar and, by virtue of their cosmetics, the bridgehead of the fallen angels, the Watchers. But even when not wearing make-up,
women are not to ‘consort’ with men. Although it is not made explicit, this
would severely impede mixed gatherings. It is difficult to see how the spiritual progenitors of this text would endorse common worship by men and
women.
Apparently, the Testaments are not of one piece either. The Testament of
Benjamin breathes a different spirit:
The person with a mind that is pure with love does not look on a woman
with an intention to fornicate. He has no pollution in his heart, because
upon him is resting the spirit of God. For just as the sun is unpolluted,
though it touches dung and slime, but dries up both and drives off the
bad odor, so also the pure mind, though involved with the corruptions of
earth, edifies instead and is not itself corrupted. (T. Benj 8:3)
The comparison is not exactly flattering for women, and the authors make sure
to steer free from the lures of the female. We also saw that Beliar, the figurehead of dualism, is a frequent visitor in this Testament. Nevertheless a somewhat more positive attitude to women prevails.
Essenes and Qumran
Impressed by similarities between the recently discovered Rule Scroll and the
testimony of ancient authors on the Essenes and their celibacy, early Qumran
scholarship assumed women practically had no place at all in the Essene
movement. More recent studies have modified this in view of the Damascus
Covenant and other texts, though questions remain.
Josephus’ well-known presentation of the ‘three sects’ of ancient Judaism
undoubtedly is schematic, but it appears not to give a bad impression after
all.113 His claim to have passed through each of the three ‘sects’ in his youth114
112
113
114
ET Charlesworth in OTP 1, adapted.
For the triad of ‘sects’ see David Flusser’s study, ‘Pharisees, Sadducees, and Essenes’.
πολλὰ πονηθεὶς τὰς τρεῖς διῆλθον, Life 11.
108
Tomson
is confirmed by many of his descriptions. The convergence between his
description of the three year novitiate and the stratified admission procedure prescribed in the Rule Scroll is among the strongest indications that
the scroll did belong to the movement Josephus calls ‘Essenes’.115 In his exalting portrayal of the Essenes, Josephus asserts they avoided any contact with
women, but adds that a separate branch did allow marriage under strict
conditions:
Marriage they disdain… They do not, indeed, on principle, condemn
wedlock and the propagation thereby of the race, but they wish to protect
themselves against women’s wantonness, being persuaded that none of
the sex keeps her plighted troth to one man.
(…) There is yet another order (τάγμα) of Essenes, which, while at one
with the rest in its mode of life, customs, and regulations, differs from
them in its views on marriage. …They give their wives… a three year probation, and only marry them after they have by three periods of purification given proof of fecundity. (War 2:120–122, 160–161)
Further external evidence is given by Pliny the Elder and Philo of Alexandria,
who both assert that the Essenes lived without women (sine ulla femina; γάμον
παρῃτήσαντο).116 This confirms Josephus’ claim of an Essene celibate order but
betrays ignorance or disinterest regarding the ‘other order’. For a location, Pliny
places the Essenes on the Western shore of the Dead Sea with Engedi to
the South (ab occidente litora …infra hos Engada), which does fit the Qmran
site and seems to echo an inside source.117 Archaeological discoveries of
the remains of women and children in the vicinity of Qumran confirm that
115
116
117
War 2:137–138; 1QS 6:13–23. See the analysis by Licht, Rule Scroll, 145–148. Other parallel
data are the admission oath mentioned above at n26, and the disciplinary procedures,
War 2:143–144; 1QS 6:24–7:27. These and seven further important features in common are
enumerated by D.R. Schwartz, ‘Dead Sea Sect ‘.
Pliny, Nat hist 5.73 (Stern, GLAJJ 1:470); Philo, Hypoth 11.14.
Cf Stern’s discussion of Pliny’s sources, ibid. 466f, and of this passage, 480f. In addition,
Pliny’s phrase, ita per saeculorum milia, incredibile dictu, gens aeterna est, curiously resembles CD 7:6, להחיותם אלף דור, with the incredibile dictu apparently reflecting doubts visà-vis his source. This was also observed by Baumgarten, ‘Qumran-Essene Restraints’. Cf
also 4QpPs37 (4Q171) 3:1, שבי המדבר אשר יחיו אלף דור. In a general sense, the connection
between the Essenes and the Dead Sea is confirmed by Dio Chrysostom (late first
cent. ce) as referred to by Synesius of Cyrene, see Stern, GLAJJ 2:539. See also Stern, ‘Teiur
Erets-Yisrael’, 259f; D.R. Schwartz, ‘Dead Sea Sect’, 606f.
Christ, Belial, and Women (2 Cor 6:14-7:1)
109
communities of mixed gender must have been around as well.118 Furthermore,
both Philo and Josephus write that the Essenes lived in towns and villages
across the country.119 It is reasonable to assume that these various testimonies
reflect a measure of variation within the Essene movement. Communities
excluding women could have been located at least at Qumran, while mixed
settlements of Essenes existed both there and elsewhere across the Land of
Israel.120
Josephus’ description of a two-tiered attitude to women and marriage is
confirmed by a remarkable passage in the Damascus Covenant.121 This document was only known from two medieval manuscripts discovered in the Cairo
Geniza in the late nineteenth century, until rich finds at Qumran proved
its importance for the community or communities that were settled there
before 74 ce.
( כל המתהלכים4)
( באלה בתמים קדש על פי כל יסורו ברית אל נאמנות להם5)
הארץ ולקחו122( להחיותם אלף דור ואם מחנות ישבו כסרך6)
( נשים והולידו בנים והתהלכו על פי התורה7)
For all those who walk (5) according to these matters in holy perfectness
in accordance with all his teachings, God’s covenant is a guarantee for
them (6) that they shall live a thousand generations. Blank And if they
reside in camps in accordance with the rule of the land and take (7)
women and beget children, they shall walk in accordance with the law.
(CD 7:4–7; cf. 19:1–4)
118
119
120
121
122
See data and discussion in Dimant, ‘Qumran Sectarian Literature’, 483–487.
Pliny ibid; Philo, Hypoth. 11.1; Josephus, War 2:124. See the sober discussion by Dimant,
‘Qumran Sectarian Literature’.
Likewise, Baumgarten, ‘Qumran-Essene Restraints’, with interesting remarks on the ‘twotiered approach to halakhah’ and ‘bifurcation in the practice of celibacy among the
Essenes’ (ibid. 15 and n7; 19 ) and on celibacy in Rev 14:4f (ibid. 23 n23, read amômoi, ἄμωμοι
= )תמימים. This reminds us of Paul’s two-tiered approach in 1 Cor 7, cf Tomson, Paul, 123f.
The theory of Gabriele Boccaccini, Beyond the Essene Hypothesis (1998) as summarized
in Richard Bauckham’s important study, ‘Early Jerusalem Church’, 63–66, seems to
exaggerate the divergence between ‘Qumran’ and the ‘Essene movement’ and is not supported by the complementary description of both ‘orders’ in CD and Josephus we have
quoted.
See Baumgarten, ‘Qumran-Essene Restraints’, 18 on the difficulties scholars had with this
passage.
In CD 7:6 García Martínez − Tigchelaar transcribe כסדךbut translate ‘rule’; in 19:2 they
transcribe כסרך.
110
Tomson
The quote suggests that while it is considered the higher norm ‘to walk
in holy perfectness’, it is also allowed to live in ‘camps’, marry, and get
children.123
Indeed the aim of ‘holy perfection’ is presupposed in another central document for the one-time settlers at Qumran, the Rule Scroll, and it seems to imply
celibacy. The same expression, borrowed from the Bible, is used in its opening
passage which states the aim of the community: …להתהלך לפניו תמים, ‘…in
order to walk in perfection in his sight’ (1QS 1:8).124 The separatist dualism of
this passage was noted above, and a link with the intended segregation from
women is likely. Nowhere does the Scroll even mention the female sex until the
very end, where a piece of thanksgiving psalm puts her in unattractive company indeed: ‘As what shall one born of woman be considered in your presence? Shaped from dust has he been, maggots’ food shall be his dwelling…’
(1QS 11:21). The miserable view of women ascribed to the Essenes by Philo (see
above) is strikingly confirmed by the document dubbed ‘Wiles of the Wicked
Woman’ found at Qumran (4Q184).
Thus the above passage of the Damascus Covenant seems to reflect a
movement which strived for celibate perfection yet allowed for lesser degrees
of holiness where rules about women and relations with them were necessary and marriage and even divorce were a fact of life.125 After all, women
are included in all ways and manners in biblical law, which for all Second
Temple Jews was the ultimate reference, and rejecting any social intercourse
with them involves a radical departure from it. Precisely that seems implied
in two textual additions in a second Geniza copy of the passage we have
just quoted: ‘And if they reside in camps in accordance with the rule of
the land, as it was since ancient times, and take women in accordance with the
custom of the law…’126 If these are no glosses of a medieval copiist, they are
reflections of a discussion within the sect about the correctness of absolute
male celibacy.
123
124
125
126
Similarly Baumgarten, ‘Qumran-Essene Restraints’ and his introduction in DJD
18:7–9.
The phrase reminds of the commandment of circumcision given to Abraham,
התהלך לפני והיה תמים, Gen 17:1.
E.g. unbinding the oath of women, CD 8:10–12; forbidden sexual intercourse in the Temple
city, 12:1–2; the laws of sota, 4Q270 frg 4; marriage and divorce, CD 14:16–17. On principle,
divorce seems rejected in CD 4:21–5:5; 11QTemp 57:17–19 along with polygamy. See Wassen,
Women on all these questions.
CD 19:3, ואם מחנות ישבו כסרך הארץ אשר היה מקדם ולקחו נשים כמנהג התורה. This is the
second Geniza manuscript of CD called ‘Text B’.
Christ, Belial, and Women (2 Cor 6:14-7:1)
111
One Qumran manuscript mentions ‘fathers and mothers’, and another text
‘elderly men and women, young men and women, boys and girls’.127 Also, the
Rule of the Congregation describes ‘the congregation of Israel ( )עדת ישראלin
the final days’, ruling that ‘when they come, they shall assemble all those who
come, including children and women, and read into ]their[ ea]rs[ ]a[ll the precepts of the covenant…’ (1QS28a/1QSa 1:1–5). It is not clear, however, whether
the presence of women at this solemn occasion implies their presence at all
community gatherings.128 The Rule Scroll regulates access to the sect by a fourtiered stratification of purity rules, whereby the ‘inner circle’ is accessible only
to those (males) who passed all examinations. In this system, difficulties for
women to pass are easy to imagine. Moreover the Qumran CD copies state that
only virgins or chaste widows can be brought ‘to the holy c]ovenant[’.129
While allowing for inner debate and development, we conclude that the
Essene movement was characterized by a strongly restrictive tendency towards
women. It must have been hard for women to get accepted as member of an
Essene assembly, and it seems they were definitely excluded from the assembly
of the ‘perfect’.
2 Cor 6:14–7:1 Viewed in the Spectrum of Ancient Judaism
Let us now try to accommodate our passage from 2 Corinthians in the social
spectrum we have construed vis-à-vis the two issues of dualism and women.
Starting with the second item, we have just seen that the rabbis added women
on to the biblical picture, introducing them where they were not mentioned in
127
128
129
4Q270 frg 7 i:13–15 mentions ;האבות… האמות4Q502 frg 19:2–3, [ בחורים...זקנים וזק[נות
ובתולות נערים ונער[ותand ibid. frg 14:6 even בנים …וב[נות. See Crawford, ‘Mothers’ and
Wassen, Women, 184–197. Baumgarten, ‘Qumran-Essene Restraints’, 13, 17 thinks the latter
text refers to ‘an already married couple of golden age’ vowing to ‘henceforth live in celibacy’ within the yahad.
Analysing CD and 1QSa Schuller, ‘Women’, 117 tends towards a ‘compromise position’.
Baumgarten, ‘Qumran-Essene Restraints’ discerns between 1QS which favours male celibacy and CD which allows for participation of women. Crawford, ‘Mothers’ explores the
4Q D mss for the place of women, especially involving the epithets אמות, זקנות, and
אחיות. Wassen, Women offers an overview of scholarship (2–11) and gives more ample
discussion, analysing the literary strata discernible in CD. She concludes (207–211) that
CD reflects ‘one Essene community among many’ where ‘as full members, women were
allowed entrance’ into the holiest meetings; celibacy ‘may have been a late development’.
4Q269 fr 9:4–7; 4Q470 fr 5:17–21; 4 Q271 fr 3:11–15 in Baumgarten’s emendation, DJD 18:132,
154, 175.
112
Tomson
the Sinai narrative. By contrast, the Essene communities of the ‘perfect’ at
Qumran and possibly elsewhere seem to have eliminated them from it, banning them from their holy congregations.
This involves attitudes not only to women, but also to the Bible. In the rabbis, a greater tolerance towards women went along with a more liberal view of
Scripture, whilst a more rigid approach of Scripture corresponded to a more
restrictive attitude towards women in the Qumran community. We seem to
have this explicit in the Nahum pesher which comes out sharply against the
דורשי החלקות, ‘expositors of slippery things’, who ‘misdirect Ephraim’ with
their תלמוד שקר, ‘fraudulent teaching’.130 The word used, תלמוד, is common in
ancient Tannaic tradition,131 and the likely conclusion is that it concerns an
outburst against the Pharisees.132 Moreover the biblical lemma used for these
polemics involves the ‘deadly charms’ of the ‘harlot’, the ‘bloody city’ whose
‘nakedness’ will be unveiled in retribution (Nah 3:4–5). The female ‘charms’ are
equated with the ‘slippery expositions’ of the proto-rabbinic adversaries of the
Qumran authors. While we do not know where to locate the Nahum pesher
within the Essene movement, the parallelism between a rigid view of Scripture
and a restrictive attitude to women is obvious and would probably have been
upheld in the strictest Qumran groups.
In between the two extremes, the less ‘perfect’ Essene communities − i.e.
those envisaged by the Damascus Document and described by Josephus −
allowed women to be present and probably also to participate to some degree
in the holy assemblies. Yet more towards the centre of mainstream Judaism,
there may have been a gradual overlap with communities congenial to the
Testaments of the Patriarchs which as we have seen express wariness of women
130
131
132
Cf 4Q169 (4QpNah) frg 3–4 ii:2; iii:2, 6. See VanderKam, ‘Pharisees’. The collocation of the
two terms makes this strong evidence. In view of the rabbinic terms דורשי רשומותand
דורשי חמורותwhich indicate ancient specialists of allegorical midrash (see Bacher,
Terminologie, s.v. דרשand )רשם, דורשי החלקותmust similarly be translated. Like תלמוד,
the polemical use of דורשseems to target the Pharisees. Was ‘( חלקותslippery things’)
meant as the ironical opposite of ‘( חמורותdifficult things’)?
mPea 1:1 mentioning תלמוד תורהamong the items that have ‘no measure’ seems to involve
a tradition of Temple times, cf discussion of ראיוןby S. Safrai, Wallfahrt, 33–36; mKet 5:6
תלמוד תורהinvolves a Houses dispute suggesting antiquity; mAv 5:21 חמש עשרה לתלמוד
is attributed to Yehuda ben Teima who probably flourished shortly after 70 ce (he is
mostly called ‘rabbi’, except here and yEr 1:10, 19d; bPes 70a, 71a: ‘Ben Teima’). The very
frequent exegetical expression תלמוד לומרis ascribed to the exegetical school of Akiva
(Kahana, ‘Halakhic Midrashim’, n108).
Cf CD 1:18, בעבור אשר דרשו בחלקות, which Baumgarten in DJD 18:7 interprets as a reference to ‘Pharisaic opponents’ of the Teacher.
Christ, Belial, and Women (2 Cor 6:14-7:1)
113
being included in social gatherings. The Therapeuts who lived near Alexandria
and are described by Philo (see above) could be placed at about this same spot
in the spectrum. By contrast, in the Jewish milieus presupposed by the Gospels
and Acts, as with the rabbis, women were most welcome in the community,
although it is unlikely they could officiate.
Viewed in this spectrum, the stance our passage takes on the participation of
women seems closest to that of the rabbis. Developing some midrashic tradition on 2 Sam 7, the passage not only turns the Davidic adoptive ‘son of God’
into a plural, but into a plurality of ‘sons and daughters’. It thus introduces
women into the biblical narrative and with it, into the central spiritual sanctuary. This not only outdoes the interpretive flexibility of the Qumranites, but also
decidedly differs from their idea of the ‘perfect’ community. The inclusion of
women parallels the attitude found in the Gospels and Acts, while the midrashic
underpinning reminds us of the rabbis. There is reason to consider the insertion of the ‘daughters’ in 2 Cor 6:18 the result of a proto-rabbinic midrash, possibly inspired by Joel 3:1 (2:28), ‘Your sons and daughters shall prophesy’.133
It is less obvious with the dualism in the first part of our passage, vv14–16a.
The mere mention of ‘Belial’ at once recalls the War Scroll, the Testaments of
the Patriarchs, and the Martrydom of Isaiah. The sophisticated vocabulary, to
be sure, reminds us rather of the author(s) of the Testaments, who as we saw
could have been at home in a Hellenistic-Jewish milieu both cognizant of
apocalyptic texts and traditions and featuring Greek erudition and rhetorical
training. The phrases in v14f, ‘What fellowship has light with darkness? What
accord has Christ with Belial?’ even directly recall T. Levi 19:1, ‘Choose for yourselves light or darkness, the law of the Lord or the works of Beliar’.
How does this relate to the early rabbis and their predecessors? We have
noted that the Hillelite strand took an explicit anti-dualist and anti-separatist
stance which also left its mark on extant rabbinic literature. The Shammaite
school would probably have been more open to dualistic-apocalyptic and
separatist modes of thinking. Indeed the cumulation of such evidence as
the Shammaites’ greater reservation towards gentiles, their more sombre
view of mankind, and their more literalist conception of Scripture,134 suggest
that in fact the Shammaite ‘house’ of Pharisaism − whatever historical entity
we must imagine by that description − was the one closer to the Essenes. The
conclusion follows that the first, dualistic part of our passage is to be located in
133
134
For the remarkable υἱοὶ καὶ θυγατέρες in Barn 1:1 see Wengst, Didache, 196 n2, who refers to
the quote of Joel 3:1 in Αct 2:17, προφητεύσουσιν οἱ υἱοὶ καὶ αἱ θυγατέρες ὑμῶν. The Joel verse
is oft-quoted in rabbinic literature. Cf also 2 Clem 19:1; 20:2, ἀδελφοὶ καὶ ἀδελφφαί.
Cf S. Safrai, ‘Halakha’, 185–194.
114
Tomson
the spectrum somewhere halfway between Qumran and the rabbis, with the
specification that some early rabbis were closer to Qumran than others.
In this light it is interesting to study the second part of the passage in view
of its biblical quotations and allusions. Not a single quotation of a Greek version here is exactly as it is known to us. The quotes all seem to have been combined and moulded to fit the needs of the occasion − whichever this was. The
following chart can be made of the most important verses alluded to according
to the Septuagint, arranged following the verses in 2 Cor 6:16–18.135
2 Cor 6:16, ἐνοικήσω ἐν αὐτοῖς καὶ ἐμπεριπατήσω καὶ ἔσομαι αὐτῶν θεός καὶ
αὐτοὶ ἔσονταὶ μου λαός.
-Ezek 37:27, καὶ ἔσται ἡ κατασκήνωσις μου ἐν αὐτοῖς ( )והיה משכני עליהםκαὶ
ἔσομαι αὐτοῖς θεός καὶ αὐτοί μου ἔσονται λαός.
-Lev 26:11–12, καὶ θήσω τὴν διαθὴκην μου ἐν ὑμῖν ( … )ונתתי משכני בתוככםκαὶ
ἐμπεριπατήσω ἐν ὑμῖν καὶ ἔσομαι ὑμῶν θεός καὶ ὑμεῖς ἔσεσθέ μου λαός.
The opening phrase in 2 Cor 6:16, ἐνοικήσω ἐν αὐτοῖς, is not found in LXX
but resembles Lev 26:11; the second part of the verse resembles Ezek 37:27.
In the Hebrew, the word משכני, ‘my habitation’, is used in both verses, and
2 Cor 6:16 really sounds like an amalgam, with the opening verb freely
being adapted to the rest of the sentence.
2 Cor 6:17, διὸ ἐξέλθατε ἐκ μέσου αὐτῶν καὶ ἀφορίσθητε, λέγει κύριος, καὶ
ἀκαθάρτου μὴ ἅπτεσθε· κἀγὼ εἰσδέξομαι ὑμᾶς.
-Isa 52:11, (ἀποστήτε ἀποστήτε ἐξέλθατε ἐκεῖθεν καὶ) ἀκαθάρτου μὴ ἅπτεσθε,
ἐξέλθατε ἐκ μέσου αὐτῆς, ἀφορίσθητε (οἱ φέροντες τὰ σκεύη κυρίου).
-Ezek 20:34, καὶ ἐξάξω ὑμᾶς ἐκ τῶν λαῶν ( )מן העמיםκαὶ εἰσδέξομαι ὑμᾶς ἐκ τῶν
χορῶν οὗ διεσκορπίσθητε.
In the first part use has been made of Isa 52:11b-c, but in reverse order, adapted
with αὐτῶν instead of αὐτῆς, and with λέγει κύριος added. The context of the
Isaiah verse is redemption from captivity and exile. The same theme is carried by the phrase εἰσδέξομαι which with the object αὐτούς or ὑμᾶς is found 7
times in the Septuagint, three of which in Ezekiel. It always translates the
verb קבץ, ‘gather in’, notably ‘from among the nations’, as in Ezek 20:34 quoted
above and 11:17, καὶ εἰσδέξομαι αὐτοὺς ἐκ τῶν ἐθνῶν ()וקבצתי אתכם מן העמים.
2 Cor 6:18, καὶ ἔσομαι ὑμῖν εἰς πατέρα καὶ ὑμεῖς ἔσεσθέ μοι εἰς υἱοὺς καὶ
θυγατέρας, λέγει κύριος παντοκράτωρ.
-2 Sam 7:14, ἐγὼ ἔσομαι αὐτῷ εἰς πατέρα καὶ αὐτὸς ἔσται μοι εἰς υἱόν.
-Joel 3:1 (2:28), προφητεύσουσιν οἱ υἱοὶ ὑμω᷑ ν καὶ αἱ θυγατέρες ὑμῶν.
135
Cf Lambrecht, ‘Fragment’, 541–545.
Christ, Belial, and Women (2 Cor 6:14-7:1)
115
-Isa 43:6, ἄγε τοὺς υἱοὺς μου ἀπὸ γῆς πόρρωθεν καὶ τὰς θυγατέρας μου ἀπ᾽ ἄκρων
τῆς γῆς.
The main allusion is clearly to 2 Sam 7:14, with the third person singular
changed into the second plural.
Also, καὶ θυγατέρας is added, possibly at the inspiration of Joel 3:1. An echo
of Isa 43:6 could also be at play. In that case it involves another allusion to
return from exile.
Finally, the phrase λέγει κύριος παντοκράτωρ is found no less than
76 times in the Septuagint, 65 of which in Haggai, Zechariah, and
Malachi.
The outcome is impressive. We are faced with an artful patchwork of dynamic
quotations – we would say, ‘free renderings’ or ‘creative paraphrases’ – that
must have been made by someone fully versed in Greek Scripture. In addition,
the combination of Lev 26:11 and Ezek 37:27 which is understandable via the
Hebrew suggests familiarity with the Hebrew Bible. Furthermore, the use
made of Nathan’s prophecy in 2 Sam 7:14 is very creative and will hardly have
been made all in one go. More likely, it was developed over a number of occasions where related themes were on the agenda.
These observations give reason to return to the Qumran Florilegium which
was mentioned for its exclusion of foreigners and proselytes from the assembly. While clearly differing in social attitude, its form, exegetical technique,
and, in part, its content are similar to 2 Cor 6:16–18. It concerns a textual fragment consisting of a compilation of passages from the Psalms and other biblical books including 2 Sam 7, interspersed with pesher type comments. Main
themes are eschatology and the eschatological temple,136 most remarkably
called ‘a human temple’.137
“…From the day on which I appointed judges over my people Israel”
(2 Sam 7:10) − this (refers to) the house which he will establish for him
in the last days, as it is written ( )כאשר כתובin the book of Moses:
“The sanctuary of Yhwh138 which thy hands will establish, Yhwh shall
136
137
138
See Steudel, Midrasch, with thorough analysis also covering the scope of the document
and its relation to 4Q177. See also Brooke, Exegesis, with review of literature, 211–217.
On this singular element see Flusser, ‘Two Notes’, and the literature indicated in García
Martínez – Tigchelaar, Dead Sea Scrolls 1: 352f.
As in Samaritan and Geniza versions; the Massoretic version has אדני.
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Tomson
reign for ever and ever” (Exod 15:17–18) − this (refers to) the house into
which shall not enter ]…for[ ever either an Ammonite, or a Moabite, or a
bastard, or a foreigner or a proselyte ()ובן נכר וגר, never, because his holy
ones are there. “Yhwh shall reign for ever and ever” − He will appear over
it for ever… And He commanded to build for himself a temple of man
()מקדש אדם, to offer him in it, before him, the works of thanksgiving
()מעשי תודה. And as for what he said to David: “I shall obtain for them
rest from all your enemies” (2 Sam 7:11): (it refers to this) that he
will obtain for them ]rest[ from a]ll[ the sons of Belial… ]And[ yhwh
]de[clares to you that “he will build you a house (…) I will be a father to
him and he will be a son to me” (2 Sam 7:12–14). This (refers to the)
“branch of David” ()צמח דויד, who will arise with the Interpreter of
the law (( … )דורש התורה4Q174 frg 1 i,21,2: 2–7)
A general similarity with 1 Cor 6:16–18 in form and exegetical technique is
found in the thematic concatenation of biblical verses with interspersed exposition. Striking similarities in content concern the exposition of 2 Sam 7:(10-)14
as referring to a ‘human’ or spiritual temple (cf 2 Cor 6:16, ‘we are the temple of
the living God’), in association with the ‘messianic’ interpretation of God as a
‘father’ to his ‘son’ as opposed to the reign of Belial. A formal difference obviously concerns the conciseness of the interruptive digression in 2 Corinthians,
whereas the Florilegium seems to take all the time it needs to expound favourite verses. As to style, the 2 Corinthians passage betrays erudition and a refined
vocabulary, while the Florilegium uses more simple and quasi-biblical language. Also, the interpretation of the ‘son’ as the Davidic Messiah is much
closer to the direct biblical meaning than the ‘sons and daughters’ of 2 Cor 6:18.
The theme of the inclusion of women itself is not touched on in the extant
Florilegium.
Thus the comparison with the Florilegium enhances the conclusions
that have been emerging from our investigations. 2 Cor 6:14–7:1 is a specimen of expositional rhetoric composed by someone steeped in the Greek
Scriptures and also knowledgeable of the Hebrew Bible. Although its dualistic language reminds one of Qumran, its literary sophistication is far beyond
any known text produced in the Dead Sea scriptoria. The inclusion of women
in its second part reminds us most of the attitude of the rabbis on this issue
and of their way of dealing with Scripture. Furthermore the type of apocalyptic dualism expressed in the first part locates the passage in our understanding somewhere halfway between the Qumran scrolls and extant rabbinic
literature.
Christ, Belial, and Women (2 Cor 6:14-7:1)
117
The Inclusion of Women and Apocalyptic Dualism in
Paul’s Letters
We now turn our investigation around in order to study the inclusion of women
and apocalyptic dualism as these appear in Paul’s undoubted letters. While
doing so we shall ignore 1 Cor 6:14–7:1, as though indeed it is an insert of
unknown provenance into a (composite) letter of Paul’s. We have not forgotten, however, our acquired knowledge of the spectrum of ancient Judaism and
we shall use it when applicable in studying Paul.
Leaving the Deutero-Paulines aside,139 we are dealing with real, non-fictitious letters.140 Two characteristics must be stressed here: the widely different
situations these letters presumably address, and the versatile yet dynamically
coherent mode of thinking of their author.141 Thus on the one hand, we must
read every letter on its own terms and in view of its particular rhetorical situation, but on the other, we may be confronted with recurrent terminology, concepts, and sayings also found in other letters. More particularly, we find
stereotyped formulae that do not quite fit their context and sometimes seem
to interrupt the flow of thought by way of digression. Such formulae are typical
for their ‘viscosity’, for a blend of continuity and variation we may well imagine
at home in a milieu of oral delivery and study. They often consist of a number
of concatenated expressions, some of which are not relevant to the immediate
context, while other elements are relevant and may show signs of adaptation
to the context.142
One instructive example will indirectly bring us to the subject of the inclusion of women. 1 Cor 7:17–23 ‘ordains’ Jews and non-Jews, slaves and freemen
to ‘remain in the state in which (they were) called’.143 The rhetorical aim of
this passage is to offer a motivating digression in the midst of a chapter on the
139
140
141
142
143
Most scholars agree these include 1 Tim and Tit. I think there is sufficient reason to consider 2 Thes, Col and 2 Tim (at least in part) real letters of Paul’s; cf Grant, Historical
Introduction; Barclay, ‘Conflict’. Much discussion remains on Eph.
Cf Vielhauer, Geschichte, 58–70.
Cf the categories of ‘contingency’ and ‘coherence’ developed by J. Christiaan Beker, Paul
to characterize Paul’s mode of thought.
On concatenations see above n7. In his NT seminar in Jerusalem in 1978–79, Prof. David
Flusser used the metaphor of ‘lumps (Lokschen) floating in the soup’ to describe recurring tradition-driven motif clusters, in that instance the one involving ‘stones’ in 1 Pet
2:4–9.
See Tomson, Paul, 270–274 for more discussion and for possible Jewish motifs
at play.
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subject of sexual abstinence, celibacy, divorce, and remarriage in order ‘to
devote oneself to prayer’ or to ‘care for the affairs of the Lord’ (7:32, 34). In other
words, the passage drags along the issues of men and women and of slavery
that are not relevant to the context, in order to illustrate the overarching principle that is relevant: ‘Remain in the state in which you were called’. We seem
to be dealing with an existing string of concepts and phrases that is partially
adapted to the present context. Indeed, recurring similarities with a series of
passages elsewhere in this and other letters give reason to view 1 Cor 7:17–23 as
a relatively elaborate form of one such stereotyped formula of Paul’s. In one of
its occurrences, it features the inclusion of women.
The ‘viscous formula’ concerned variously recurs in at least three different
letters,144 each time juxtaposing ‘Jew and Greek’ or its equivalent ‘circumcision
and foreskin’;145 less frequently, ‘slave and freeman’;146 and, one single time
each, ‘barbarian and Scythian’ and ‘male and female’.147 In its varied extant
form, it may well be of Paul’s own making,148 in the first place because, as we
have said, he cites it in many places. In the second place, he explicitly calls it on
two occasions his ‘canon’ and ‘that which I ordain in all churches’.149 It sums up
Paul’s inclusive view of the Church as it embraces ‘Jews and Greeks’ in the first
place. In fact, only that category appears in all variants of the formula, and
always in first position.
We are now interested on the version that includes women. These are the
relevant phrases:
144
145
146
147
148
149
It is possible to find echoes of Paul’s rule in Romans, e.g. 10:12, but clearly the rhetorical
situation here was very different and required extraordinary phrases like ‘to the Jew first,
and also to the Greek’ (Rom 1:17; 2:10).
‘Circumcision and foreskin’ are mentioned 1 Cor 7:17–24; Gal 5:6; Gal 6:15; ‘Jew(s) and
Greek(s)’ in 1 Cor 12:13; Gal 3:28; and ‘Greek and Jew’ in Col 3:11.
1 Cor 17:21–24; Gal 3:28.
Respectively, Col 3:11 and Gal 3:28.
Thus Martyn, Galatians, 473, cf 378: use being made of Stoic, proto-gnostic, and/or apocalyptic motifs. Similarly Vouga, Galater, 91. Meeks, ‘Androgyne’, 11–13 limits comparison to
the three occurrences associated with baptism (Gal 3:28, Col 3:110f., and 1 Cor 12:13) and
concludes on a quotation from traditional baptismal liturgy. Hogan, No Longer, 22–25
allows for both Meeks’ and Vouga’s interpretation. Betz, Galatians, 181–201 focusses on the
larger unit Gal 3:26–29 and the supposed baptismal formula, not on v28 and the three
‘pairs’. The large spread in Paul, with three occurrences in Galatians alone, at least suggests Paul’s intimate affinity with the formula. Most recently Neutel, Cosmopolitan Ideal
defends Pauline authorship.
Gal 6:16, in the autographed summation of the letter, following the formula: καὶ ὅσοι τῷ
κανόνι τούτῳ στοιχήσουσιν…; 1 Cor 7:17, introducing the formula: καὶ οὕτως ἐν ταῖς ἐκκλησίαις
πάσαις διατάσσομαι…
Christ, Belial, and Women (2 Cor 6:14-7:1)
119
For … you … were baptized (and) have put on Christ: there is neither Jew
nor Greek, there is neither slave nor free, there is neither male nor female
(ἄρσεν καὶ θῆλυ); for you are all one in Christ Jesus. (Gal 3:28)
This is the first of three appearances of the formula in Galatians. Each time, the
pair Jew-Greek or circumcision-foreskin is mentioned, but only in this instance
in Galatians do the pairs slave-freeman and male-female also appear. Given
that Galatians reads as one extended argument against forced circumcision
and ‘Judaizing’ for gentile Christians,150 it seems obvious that the pair JewGreek is closest to the central aim of the letter. This is borne out by the other
two occurrences. In Gal 5:2–6, Paul reiterates that circumcision does not bring
a gentile Christian closer to Christ. On the contrary, trying to get closer by getting circumcised removes one from him, ‘for in Christ Jesus neither circumcision has any power nor foreskin…’ Similarly in Gal 6:11–16 Paul sums up his
letter in his own handwriting: those who want to force you to get circumcised have ‘political’ aims; he will not play the power game but feels strong
in Christ’s cross, ‘for neither circumcision is anything nor foreskin…’ In a sense,
the stereotyped formula ‘neither Jew nor Greek’ sums up the argument of
Galatians.
The question then is why in only Gal 3:28 are the pairs slave-freeman and
male-female added. As in the case of 1 Cor 7:17–23, slavery is not a topic of
the letter, nor is the inclusion of women. The simplest explanation is that Gal
3:28 as well renders a customary formula, coined at some other occasion, on
behalf of the first pair, while the other two pairs are dragged along by custom.
As to the provenance of the fuller formula, it is obvious to assume, among
other things, the convergence with analogous formulae current in popular
philosophical traditions; various Greek and Jewish analogies have been suggested.151 The upshot is that even if we ignore the origins of the formula in
Paul’s thought, he uses it here by way of habit in what seems to be its fullest,
three part form. It implies that for Paul, the inclusion of women in the assembly of Christ is a given that needs no explanation.
This should not be misunderstood as though he aimed at legal equality in
the modern, post-revolutionary human rights sense. Paul lived in a world
where social order was thought immutable and revolution unimaginable.
Indeed, for each of three three pairs in Gal 3:28, it is possible to point out social
150
151
ʹ
Cf the phrases ᾽Iουδαϊσμός, ᾽Iουδαϊκῶς ζῆν, and ἰουδαϊζειν
in Gal 1:13f; 2:14, on which see
Betz, Galatians, 112.
Colish, Stoic Tradition, 36–38; Martyn, above n148; cf Betz, Galatians, 194; Neutel,
Cosmopolitical Ideal, 37–42.
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Tomson
differences Paul upholds elsewhere. Slaves ought to obey their masters in all
(Col 3:22; cf. Eph 6:5); Jews do have ‘advantages’ over non-Jews (Rom 3:1f;
cf. 9:2f); and women must submit to their husbands (1 Cor 11:3; Col 3:18). It follows that the set phrase ‘in Christ there is neither… nor…’ was not meant to
erase social differences, but to include all in the assembly.152
In consequence, Paul’s teaching works out in a paradoxical way. The phrase
ἄρσεν καὶ θῆλυ, using the neuter instead of gendered adjectives as in the other
two categories, obviously must derive from the first creation story, ‘God created
man in his own image, (…) male and female he created them’ (ἄρσεν καὶ θῆλυ −
Gen 1:27, cf. 5:1f). However, in 1 Cor 11:6, where a different situation seems
adressed, Paul alludes to the very same verse in order to argue female submission, playing now on the word ‘image’ (εἰκών): ‘…She must cover herself; for a
man ought not to cover his head, since he is the image and glory of God; but
woman is the glory of man’. Moreover some verses on, Paul draws in the second
creation narrative. This fits the argument much better, for it is the terrestrial
story of desire and sin, power and submission. More liberally paraphrasing,
Paul writes, ‘Man was not created for woman, but woman for man’ (1 Cor 11:9;
cf. Gen 2:18–22). In 1 Cor 11, Paul will read female submission; he must have
seen the need to do so in his letter to Corinth for reasons not easy to fathom for
us.153 Indeed, the same passage emphasizes that a woman when praying ought
‘to have an authority (ἐξουσίαν) on her head, because of the angels’, following
the custom of ‘the churches of God’ (ἐκκλησίαι τοῦ θεοῦ, 1 Cor 11:10, 16). However
one turns it, the context indicates that this is about female headcovering during prayer, conforming to Jewish or Judaeo-Christian custom.154 We also note
two elements that will have our attention in a moment: the apocalyptic background and the phrase ‘churches of God’.
152
153
154
But cf Betz, Galatians, 190–195: ‘Paul’s statements have … a revolutionary dimension’; they
abolish distinctions not only between Jews and Greeks but, ‘strangest of the three statements’, between also males and females. Neutel, Cosmopolitan Ideal wisely steers away
from modern egalitarian interpretations and develops the fruitful terminology of equality
vs. inclusion.
Cf the considerations of Schrage, Korinther 2: 490–517. Oepke, γυνή, 786f offers sources
affirming a prominent role of women in Greek religious ceremonies.
Thus with clarity Fitzmyer, First Corinthians, 404–421; Conzelmann, Korinther, 217f.
Brooke, ‘Between Qumran and Corinth’, 173 does me the honour to put me with Tertullian
in an ‘influential subset’ who read the ‘angels’ negatively (Tomson, Paul, 135f), and instead
proposes that 1 Cor 11:10 ἐξουσία and 4Q270 frg 7 i:14 רוקמהsignal ‘her authority’. Alas, to
our shared regret no doubt, there is no explaining away the patriarchalism of our ancient
sources.
Christ, Belial, and Women (2 Cor 6:14-7:1)
121
Further on in 1 Corinthians Paul returns to the issue of women, thus creating
an inclusion that envelops the section on worship and liturgy in 1 Cor 11–14:
As in all the churches of the saints (ἐκκλησίαις τῶν ἁγίων), women should
keep silence in the churches (αἱ γυναῖκες ἐν ταῖς ἐκκλησίαις σιγάτωσαν).
For they are not permitted to speak, but should be subordinate
(ὑποτασσέσθωσαν), as even the law says. If there is anything they desire
to know, let them ask their husbands at home. For it is shameful
(αἰσχρόν) for a woman to speak in church (ἐν ἐκκλησίᾳ). (…) What I am
writing to you is a command of the Lord (κυρίου ἐστὶν ἐντολή). (1 Cor
14:33–37)
We note again the use of the word ἐκκλησία, which here seems to mean ‘holy
assembly’; we come to it in a moment. The number of authorities Paul appeals
to is remarkable. The custom of ‘all the churches of saints’ that sets the example again seems to refer to the churches in Judaea or the Judaeo-Christian communities.155 At which point the Tora is thought to state women should be
subordinate is difficult to guess; passages from Gen 1 and 2 would again be
likely. The clincher of Paul’s argument clearly is the ‘command of the Lord’, a
phrase that links up with three similar mentions in 1 Corinthians and refers to
Jesus.156 Text-critical problems have strengthened scholars in their disbelief
that Jesus could have said such a thing.157 The burden of proof is on their side
and it comes up against the average ancient view of women and their incapacity to officiate in public, both in Jewish and Roman surroundings.158 Finally, the
argument of ‘shame on the community’ is fully analogous to the opinion of the
rabbis recorded in the Tosefta (tMeg 3:11, above).
The recurrent key term in these passages is ἐκκλησία,159 the ‘holy assembly’
where women are most welcome provided they do not officiate and do wear
155
156
157
158
159
Cf differently Fitzmyer, First Corinthians, 527. Also he follows the traditional verse division, with a troublesome outcome: ‘For God is a God not of disorder but of peace, as in all
the churches of the saints’.
1 Cor 7:10; 9:15; 11:23. See Tomson, Paul, 73–87, 262. Fitzmyer, First Corinthians, 536f (quoting Schrage, Korinther 3: 460) isolates 1 Cor 14:36–39 from the preceding and thinks ‘the
Lord’ is the risen Christ.
Schrage, Korinther 3: 481–492 accumulates arguments for an interpolation, which after all
is an easy way out for this difficult passage; cf Fitzmyer, First Corinthians, 528–531. Ellis,
‘Silenced Wives’ rejects the interpolation solution.
Schüssler Fiorenza, Memory, 231f.
The basic Greek meaning is ‘assembly’, see Acts 19:32, 35, 39f: the ‘lawful assembly’
(ἔννομος ἐκκλησία) of Ephesus with its ‘secretary’ (γράμματευς). I largely agree with
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Tomson
veils when praying ‘because of the angels’. Angels are involved, and this reveals
the apocalyptic dimension community worship had for Paul. In this altogether
‘reasonable’ letter to Corinth, the readers are reminded that ‘(we) the saints…
are to judge …angels’. As a former Pharisee, Paul – who also was a cosmopolite
businessman! – was much closer to the apocalyptic mindset of the Qumran
communities than many of us are likely to realize. His view may be different in
degree, but not in quality from Qumran in reckoning with a correspondence
between the worship of the ‘holy’ on earth and those in heaven.160 Similarly, as
we noted above, in Qumran the handicapped or underaged are not to be
brought into the assembly ‘since the holy angels are in its midst’ (CD 15:15–17).
More insight in these connections is found when we turn again to the
Qumran Florilegium, this time for comparison with Paul himself. We quote
again the ban on improper persons from the ‘human temple’ it pronounces: ‘…
Either an Ammonite, or a Moabite, or a bastard, or a foreigner or a proselyte, never, because his holy ones are there’ (4Q174 frg. 1, i,21,2: 3–4). Again,
the presence of angels is the reason given. Now, however, we must study the
underlying biblical prohibition that is being interpreted, Deut 23:3–4, and
the Greek is also important: ‘No bastard… Ammonite or Moabite shall enter
the assembly of the Lord (’בקהל ה, εἰς ἐκκλησίαν κυρίου)’. Here we have
ἐκκλησία in the pregnant meaning used also by Paul. The fit is even closer with
the revision of Deut 23 in 2 Esdras: ‘…In the book of Moses … it was found written that no Ammonite or Moabite should ever enter the assembly of God’
(ἐν ἐκκλησίᾳ θεοῦ, בקהל האלהים, 2 Esdr 23:1 = Neh 13:1). The equivalent Hebrew
phrase קהל אלis found in Qumran, once, significantly, in another interpretation of Deut 23 in the Rule of the Congregation.161 Paul mostly writes simply
160
161
Trebilco, ‘Why Did the Early Christians’, and Self-Designations, chapter 5 (see below n163).
See also the excursus by Thrall, Second Epistle, 89–93. The Graeco-Roman context stressed
by Van Kooten, ‘Εκκλησια του θεου’, is most relevant but should not be viewed in opposition to this. Doubtless for Paul the language of Bible and Jewish tradition was a primary
context.
Similarly Fitzmyer, First Corinthians, 418f. 1QSa 2:9 ;מלאכי קודש [בעד[תם1QS 11:8, קדושים
are members of the עדהnext to בני שמים. On ‘communion with the angels’ in the ‘Songs
of the Sabbath Sacrifice’ see also Newsom, ‘Introduction’, 9; and, more elaborately,
Abusch, ‘Seven-fold Hymns’.
1QM 4:10 קהל אל, written on a banner; 1Q28a (1QSa) 2:4–9, וכול איש מנוגע באחת מכול
כיא מלאכי קודש [בעד[תם...טמאות האדם אל יבוא בקהל אלה, ‘No man defiled by any of
the impurities of a man shall enter the assembly of God… for the holy angels are among
their ]congre[gation’. See Donfried, ‘Assembly of the Thessalonians’, 157f; Fitzmyer, First
Corinthians, 81f. García Martínez and Tigchelaar read אלהas a demonstrative plural, ‘the
assembly of these’. Barthélemy, DJD 1:117 and Lohse, Texte, 48–50 emend אלfor אלה.
Christ, Belial, and Women (2 Cor 6:14-7:1)
123
ἐκκλησία,162 but he also uses ἐκκλησία τοῦ θεοῦ in a specific way, notably when
appealing to its custom as to the head covering of women and in the formal
addresses of 1 and 2 Corinthians. In view of the biblical backgrounds, it must
be the more solemn and ancient term.163
The comparison of Paul with the Florilegium also reveals differences. One
huge difference concerns the latter text’s ban of foreigners and proselytes from
the assembly. We did not follow this theme through when going over the spectrum of ancient Judaism because it does not figure in 2 Cor 6:14–7:1. On occasion we have noted pertinent features, however, such as the generally negative
attitude to foreigners of the Essenes and the difference on this point between
the Pharisaic schools of Shammai and Hillel. Another difference with Paul
would undoubtedly be the attitude on women. The extant Florilegium is silent
on this matter, but going by the joint external and internal evidence on the
Essenes and Qumran, its authors must have had a pretty tight view.164 By contrast, for Paul, as we have seen, the admission of gentiles and women to the
‘assembly of God’ was a given, even if the importance of being Jewish remains
undisputable (Rom 3:1) and women must be silent and wear veils, precisely
‘because of the angels’. This different assessment of the ‘angelic impediment’ –
a difference in degree, admittedly – sums up Paul’s distance vis-à-vis his
Qumran colleagues. His attitude on gentiles rather reminds us of the acceptance by the rabbis of the proposal of R. Yoshua the Hillelite in the case of
Yehuda the Ammonite proselyte: התירוהו לבוא בקהל, ‘They allowed him to
come into the assembly’– again, with a clear allusion to Deut 23.165
162
163
164
165
Barthélemy writes ibid: ‘Un aramaïsme dans la forme du nom divin semble moins probable’, but Wassen, Women, 145 quotes J. Charlesworth to affirm just that. The allusion to
Neh 13/Deut 23 decides the matter. The ruling itself is a primitive formulation banning
persons impure in first and second degree from the assembly. Rabbinic halakha is much
more lenient: mBer 3:4–6; tBer 2:12–14.
᾽Εκκλησία without specification is used almost 50 times in Paul. Singular usages are
ἐκκλησίαι τοῦ Χριστοῦ, Rom 16:16; ἐκκλησίαι τῶν ἐθνῶν, Rom 16:4.
It designates the churches in Judaea in 1 Cor 15:9, Gal 1:13, and possibly 1 Cor 11:16. Apart
from the letter address in 1 Cor 1:2 and 2 Cor 1:1, it is found in 1 Cor 10:32; 11:22; 1 Thess 2:14;
2 Thess 1:4; cf Eph 3:10. Similarly Bauckham, ‘Jerusalem Church’, 83f; Fitzmyer, First
Corinthians, 81. This does not necessarily contradict the suggestion of Trebilco, ‘Why Did
the early Christians’ of origins in the usage of the ‘Hellenists’.
The Florilegium’s fidelity to central Qumran ideology seems signalled by its faithfulness
to the ‘Interpreter of the Law’, 4Q174 frg. 1, i,21,2:11.
mYad 4:4, cf above. קהלis no regular rabbinic Hebrew but biblical, cf Deut 23:4,
;לא יבא עמוני ומואבי בקהלsee the following paper in this volume at n139. See also the
positions taken in mYev 8:3f and subsequent discussion in yYev 8:2–3 (9a–d) and bYev
76b–78b.
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Paul’s attitude on the participation of women is borne out in his actual practice. His letters mention three or four prominent women collaborators from
Corinth and Rome: Chloe, whose people informed him of matters in Corinth
(1 Cor 1:11); Phoebe, a ‘deaconess (διάκονος) of the church at Cenchreaeae’,
the harbour town of Corinth (Rom 16:1); and Prisca from Rome who with her
husband Aquila ran a church at their house while living in Corinth, and who
is usually mentioned first before Aquila.166 Junia must be added, for indeed
it seems it concerns a woman who is mentioned along with her husband
as being ‘of note among the apostles’ (Rom 16:7).167 Information from Acts
could be added.168 The practice of women not officiating yet fulfilling
important community functions is fully analogous to average contemporary
Judaism.169
In the above we have duly noted the apocalyptic dimension the women’s
issue has for Paul. This makes for a smooth transition to that other issue we are
discussing in this paper, apocalyptic dualism – this time round as it appears in
Paul. Apocalyptic thinking was pervasive in ancient Judaism, and Paul is no
exception. But significantly, dualism seems to pop up in his letters in connection with specific issues and situations.
An instructive example is 1 Thessalonians. The first part of the letter, which
could be Paul’s earliest, oscillates between infusing the readers with warmth
and affection and presenting apocalyptic depictions of their own past paganism (1:9–10), of the fanaticism of the ‘Jews’ in Judaea (2:14–16), and of the final
judgment (3:13).170 ‘Satan’ is actively present (2:18; cf. 3:5). The vehement apostrophe against the ‘Jews’ can be seen in light of the events in Thessalonica
which we are informed about by a particularly close overlap with Acts (17–19)
and 1 Corinthians.171 It seems that the aggressive reaction of local Jews to Paul’s
preaching set his entire campaign in the city at risk and reminded him of the
zealotry which was rampant in Judaea at that moment.172
166
167
168
169
170
171
172
Rom 16:4; 1 Cor 16:19; 2 Tim 4:19. Luke calls her Priscilla, Acts 18:2, 18, 26; and see below.
See Fitzmyer, Romans, 737f. The overwhelming Patristic evidence justifies adopting this
interpretation.
Cf Tabitha/Dorcas, the Jewish μαθητρία from Joppa, Acts 9:36–43; Lydia, the God-fearing
business woman from Thyatira (16:14); Priscilla, the wife of her co-disciple Aquila (18:2).
See Brooten, Women Leaders; Kraemer, ‘New Inscription’; Trebilco, Jewish Communities,
104–126.
Lambrecht, ‘Thanksgiving’.
Cf Barclay, ‘Thessalonica and Corinth’.
See Bockmuehl, ‘1 Thessalonians 2:14–16’. It may be that in this exceptional case, ᾽Ιουδαῖοι
has a more political meaning than elsewhere in Paul’s usage, conforming to Roman
administrative usage, and must rendered as ‘Judaeans’, cf D.R. Schwartz, ‘Residents and
Christ, Belial, and Women (2 Cor 6:14-7:1)
125
If, as seems difficult to disprove, 2 Thessalonians is an authentic letter,173 it
is another instance of stark apocalyptic dualism in Paul. Especially in 2:1–12,
the author speaks of ‘the mystery of lawlessness’ (μυστήριον τῆς ἀνομίας), by
which ‘the man of lawlessness is revealed, the son of perdition… whose advent
is by the activity of Satan’ (2:3, 9). The allusion seems to be to some public figure, possibly a Roman official of disputable character.174 On account of that
reality, ‘Satan’, ‘lawlessness’, and similar terms evoke a dualistic universe and
generate resistance towards external dangers. Again we find an apocalypticdualist Paul reacting to dramatic contemporary history.
Strong apocalyptic and dualistic accents are found also in 2 Corinthians,
which for the purpose at hand is considered separate from the ‘insert’ in 2 Cor
6:14–7:1. Satan’s presence is felt more than elsewhere: in 2 Cor 2:11, Satan is
meddling in Paul’s relation with Corinth; in 11:14 he is the inspiration of the
‘false apostles’; and in 12:7, an ‘angel of Satan’ impersonates the ‘thorn’ in Paul’s
flesh. Again, this can be seen in relation to the serious opposition Paul has
come up against, as evidenced by the polemical sections of the extant letter;
we shall pursue that line of explanation in the next section.
A different-though-related Paul appears in 1 Corinthians, a letter largely
devoted to a series of practical questions raised either by the readers or by the
author. In everything, the Apostle is concerned to build up the church he has
founded and to guard it against dangers from without and, especially, within.
The language of ‘holiness’ and ‘purification’ belongs here, but also ‘evil’, ‘Satan’,
and ‘angels’; women during prayer must dress adequately ‘because of the
angels’. The tone, however, is much more sober than in the Thessalonian letters
and 2 Corinthians and nowhere conveys an agitated feeling. The message is
not that of ‘separating’ from evil and impurity from without, but of ‘cleansing’ these from within the community. The image of the congregation as a spiritual temple serves to foster respect for those who laid its ‘foundations’175 and
the will to cleanse its members from sexual immorality.176 Only one grave occasion triggers dualistic language: the case of the man living in an incestuous
173
174
175
176
Exiles’, 125f; and pace Tomson, ‘Names’ (a revised version is in preparation). See overview
of discussion in Miller, ‘Meaning of Ioudaios’, CBR 9 (2010) 98–126.
Cf Barclay, ‘Conflict’; Grant, Historical Introduction, ch. 13.
See Dibelius, Thessalonicher, 43–51 for related apocalyptic materials. It is obvious to think
here of the exemplary impact of Caligula’s plan, aborted by his death in 41 ce, to erect a
statue of himself in the Temple in Jerusalem (Philo, Leg 184; Josephus, Ant 18:261).
1 Cor 3:9–17, alluding to the precious ‘foundations’ (10f) of the ‘temple’ in Isa 54:11–14, ‘for
God’s temple is holy, and that temple are you’ (17). The idea of a ‘human temple’ based on
Isa 54 is found both in Essene and rabbinic literature: 4Q164; bBer 64a.
1 Cor 6:19, ‘Your body is a temple of the Holy Spirit within you’.
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relationship with his father’s wife is addressed: ‘You are to deliver this man to
Satan for the destruction of the flesh… Cleanse out (ἐκκαθάρατε) the old
leaven… Do not associate with immoral men… “Drive out the evil person (τὸν
πονηρόν) from among you”’ (1 Cor 5:5, 7, 9, 13; Deut 17:7).
In Romans, apocalyptic language is used mainly in the passages about the
‘new humanity’ in Christ (Rom 5; 8) and Israel’s future salvation (Rom 11). It is
hardly dualistic.177 Yet it is the same Paul. Apocalypticism is part of his mindset, but so are reason and human experience. Dualistic language pops up in
situations tense with antagonism or wrongdoing.
Let us sum up our results. On the inclusion of women, Paul plainly resembles the rabbis. On the related subtheme of the admission of gentiles, he even
resembles the Hillelite R. Yoshua. To the extent that apocalyptic dualism is
involved in these issues (angels!), Paul is rather un-apocalyptic, as was
R. Yoshua. As to dualism itself, we saw that it is not pervasive in Paul but pops
up in tense situations. The information we have gathered about rabbinic literature does not warrant a comparison. However it could be that Paul’s mindset
on this score was not very different from the average mid-first century Pharisee.
Our various comparative studies have an important cumulative result. We
have elaborately studied 2 Cor 6:14–7:1, its apocalyptic dualism, and its inclusion of women, in comparison with a spectrum of ancient Jewish texts. Against
the background of the Jewish spectrum, we then have also studied the two
features, plus the subtheme of the inclusion of gentiles, as these appear in the
authentic letters of Paul. Viewed against this background, the net result is that
2 Cor 6:14–7:1 with its particular emphases is not at all incompatible with Paul’s
letters. On the contrary, it rather seems congenial with his way of thinking and
his position in ancient Judaism. Notwithstanding the debate about the composition of 2 Corinthians as a whole, there is no argument from content to deny
its Pauline authorship.178
2 Cor 6:14–7:1 Read as Part of 2 Corinthians
Up till now we have studied 2 Cor 6:14–7:1 as a piece of text artfully composed
by an unknown Judaeo-Christian of Graeco-Hebrew erudition that somehow
177
178
Cf Rom 16:20, God will ‘crush Satan under your feet’.
This concurs with the conclusion of Thrall, Second Epistle, 35f; and more cautiously, also
Brooke, ‘2 Corinthians 6:14–7:1 Again’. Martin, 2 Corinthians, 193, 195 goes a step further:
‘not a digression but a logical development’ of the argument from 2 Cor 5 on. And cf the
sobre considerations of Hogeterp, Paul and God’s Temple, chapter 8.
Christ, Belial, and Women (2 Cor 6:14-7:1)
127
ended up in 2 Corinthians. If from here we proceed on the basis of the hypothesis that the rest of the letter is a composite pieced together from disparate
places, any further speculation about the primary meaning of the passage
would be senseless and we would want to end our study here. If on the contrary we suppose that 2 Corinthians including our passage is an integral letter,
we are free to explore what the six verses might mean in the context of a dramatic and eventful document.179 This is the option we shall pursue a little
further.
Reading the six verses in 6:14–7:1 as integral part of 2 Corinthians implies
assuming it is one of those interruptive, cluster-like digressions of Paul. We
would have to accept the fact that we are not informed about the occasion by
which the passage was triggered. There is no hint whatsoever as to what the
actual problem of ‘mismating with unbelievers’ was about, nor its remedy:
‘cleansing from impurity’. Incidentally, the language of ‘cleansing from defilement of body and spirit’ and ‘perfect holiness’ is not alien to Paul either and
has convincing parallels elsewhere.180 Furthermore, a link with the unspecified perpetrator of the ‘injustice’ and his victim featuring in the non-extant
‘previous letter’ (2 Cor 7:12) is imaginable but unwarranted.181 In general, we
must resist the temptation to lump together poorly known entities for lack of
more information.
A solution popular among the Church Fathers was to take the warning against mismating literally − and crudely − as a prohibition on marriage
with ‘unbelievers’.182 The frequent use of ἄπιστος in 1 Cor 7:12–15 which is
about marriage with a non-believing non-Jew may have occasioned the association. In that passage, interestingly enough, the marriage bond is sacrosanct for Paul at the Lord’s behest, so much so that even the partner’s unbelief
does not invalidate it, except if he or she does not consent in one’s involvement with the church. In 2 Cor 6:14, by contrast, one is to avoid a partnership with ‘unbelievers’ without qualification. If it would concern marriage
here as well, it is not clear what could account for the difference, certainly
not if it concerned marriage with an ‘unbelieving’ Jew. Even apart from the
179
180
181
182
As proposed in Bieringer – Lambrecht, Studies, esp Lambrecht, ‘Fragment’ and Bieringer,
‘2. Korinther’; Hogeterp, see previous note.
Cor 5:7, ἐκκαθάρατε τὴν παλαιὰν ζυμὴν re. a grave sin to be ‘cleansed’ from within the
church; 1 Thes 3:13, ἀμέμπτους ἐν ἁγιωσύνῃ as a general moral incentive. Obviously, it is
allegorically intended as it involves gentiles to whom Jewish purity rules do not apply. For
the larger context see Hogeterp, Paul and God’s Temple, chapters 6–8.
See especially Bieringer, ‘Plädoyer’ on the nature and import of this question.
Cf above n11.
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obvious allegorical meanings of ‘mismating’,183 this track does not take us any
further.
When reading the passage as part of the extant letter, the use of the
word ἄπιστοι elsewhere draws our attention, i.e., in the polemical section in
2 Cor 3–5: ‘The god of this world has blinded the minds of the unbelievers’
(2 Cor 4:4). As in 6:14–7:1, the ‘unbelievers’ are seen here in a starkly apocalyptic-dualistic light. This ties in with the relative frequence of ‘Satan’ in this
letter we have noted. ‘The god of this world’ (ὁ θεὸς τοῦ αἰῶνος τούτου) is understood to be the enemy of the Creator and resembles the ‘Angel of Darkness’
who in the Qumran Rule scroll has ‘total dominion over the sons of deceit’
(1QS 3:21). In name, he is almost identical with the ἄρχων τοῦ καιροῦ τοῦ νῦν τῆς
ἀνομίας, the ‘ruler of the present time of lawlessness’ found in Ps-Barnabas
(18:2, see above). As there is no indication of dependence either way, these
seem to be alternative renderings of some Hebrew or Aramaic phrase. The
coincidence of these strongly apocalyptic motifs in both passages in 2
Corinthians suggests a connection.
Further details reveal an important facet of the identity of those ‘unbelievers’. They have their ‘mind hardened’ (ἐπωρώθη, 2 Cor 3:14) and ‘the god of this
world has blinded (ἐτύφλωσεν) their minds’ (4:4). As a result, ‘to this day whenever Moses is read, a veil (κάλυμμα) lies over their minds’ (3:15). In particular,
Paul’s gospel remains ‘veiled’ (κεκαλυμμένον) to them (4:3). Clearly, these
‘unbelievers’ are Jews who do not accept Paul’s message about Jesus as Messiah:
‘in Christ is (the veil) done away with’ (καταργεῖται, 3:14).184 The situation
seems comparable to the one in Romans, where unbelieving Jews are seen as
being temporarily subject to a ‘hardening’ (πώρωσις, Rom 11:25, cf. 11:7). The
apocalyptic theme of the temporary ‘blindness’ of (a part of) Israel is also
found in the Damascus Covenant (עורון ישראל, CD 16:2–3). In our case as well,
it sounds the trumpet of a ‘cognitive minority’.
Then must we assume – ever supposing we are dealing with an integral
letter – that the ἄπιστοι who in 2 Cor 6:14 are denounced in apocalyptic terms
and constrasted with the ‘temple of the living God’ are identical with those
polemically and apocalyptically depicted ‘unbelieving Jews’ from 2 Cor 3–5?
Here the history of interpretation, as carefully reviewed by Reimund Bieringer,
reveals a curious contradiction. On the one hand, most interpreters do identify
183
184
Above n9.
Similarly F.C. Baur, as quoted by Sumney, Identifying, 141. Georgi, Opponents identifies the
opponents in 2 Cor 3–5 and 10–13 as Hellenistic-Jewish Christian apologists, while downplaying their ‘nomism’. On Baur see also below p137f and 159.
Christ, Belial, and Women (2 Cor 6:14-7:1)
129
the adversaries of 2 Cor 1–7 with those in 10–13, taking both to be Jews.185 On
the other, the majority think the ‘unbelievers’ in 6:14 are pagans, which probably also relates to their view on the authenticity of the passage.186
There is no denying the complex relationship between these passages and
their protagonists. The adversaries targeted in 2 Cor 10–13 are ῾Εβραῖοι and
᾽Ισραηλῖται (which in combination would mean Hebrew-speaking Jews), but
they also called ψευδαπόστολοι, ‘false apostles’, and ἐργάται δόλιοι, ‘treacherous
workers’, who promulgate ‘a different gospel’, εὐαγγέλιον ἕτερον (2 Cor 11:4,
13, 22). This calls to mind the polemics in Galatians against those who bring ‘a
different gospel’ (ἕτερον εὐαγγέλιον) insisting on circumcision of gentile
Christians, and who remind the author of the ‘false brethren’ (ψευδαδέλφους)
he had to deal with years earlier in Jerusalem because they did not accept gentile Christians as ‘children of Abraham’ (Gal 1:6; 6:13; 2:4; cf. 3:29). Thus the
adversaries in 2 Cor 10–13 could as well be ‘believing’ Jews somehow associated
with the Jerusalem apostles or at least with Palestinian circumstances.187 In
contradistinction, we have found the adversaries in 2 Cor 3–5 to be ‘unbelieving’ Jews. Yet at the same time, we register the impression that the author
somehow associates them with the adversaries in 10–13, in addition to their all
being Jews. The impression is created among other things by the prominent,
combined use of the key verbs συνίστασθαι and καυχᾶσθαι in both passages, in
other words by the author’s need to justify himself and assert his position over
against these various enemies.188 We need to look for an explanation that is
able to accommodate both the difference between the ‘believing’ and ‘unbelieving’ Jews and their apparent association. Meanwhile, we note that hypothesizing the ‘unbelievers’ in 6:14 to be Jews fits better with the epistle taken as a
whole.
An argument against the adversaries in 2 Cor 6:14 being Jews could be found
in the mention of ‘idols’ as opposed to ‘the temple of God’ in 6:16. However, this
argument has limited validity. The ancient Israelites themselves as well often
succumbed to the seduction of idols, as Paul tactfully reminds his readers in
1 Cor 10:7. Moreover, ‘idols’ can be taken metaphorically, as is already done in
the New Testament. We discussed Jesus’ juxtaposition of ‘God and Mammon’,
185
186
187
188
See overview by Bieringer, ‘Gegner’, esp 185f. Blanton, Constructing, 179 is unconvincing in
maintaining that the opponents in 2 Cor are Hellenistic-Jewish Christians with no ties to
Jerusalem.
See Bieringer, ‘2 Korinther 6,14–7,1 im Kontext’, esp 563.
Cf 11:5; 12:11, ὑπερλίαν ἀπόστολοι, apparently paralleling Gal 2:9, στύλοι: the main Jerusalem
apostles.
See esp 2 Cor 3:1; 5:12 and 10:8–18.
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and in Pauline surroundings as well, ‘idolatry’ is used as a metaphor for
greed.189 Formally, the opposition between ‘temple of God’ and ‘idols’ comes
last in the series of five, being intended as the most damaging and insulting
blow against the adversaries. Also, the passage reads as a typically Pauline
digression whose terms are not quite adequate to the context. Nowhere in 2
Corinthians is the role of women in the congregation at stake, and the addition
of ‘daughters’ must stem from some other occasion; the ample attention given
to the presence of women in the assembly in 1 Corinthians comes to mind.
Another sign of an extraneous provenance is the phrase from the Prophets
εἰσδέξομαι in 2 Cor 6:16 which has to do with the return from exile. All of this
discourages pressing the ‘idols’ too much. It rather seems to be a climactic element in a habitual sequence used in a polemical context.190
By contrast, a weighty argument in favour of identifying the ἄπιστοι in 2 Cor
6:14–7:1 as Jews follows from the very character of the passage. Both their fivefold dualist-apocalyptic denunciation as ‘lawless’ etc. over against the elect
and the subsequent assertion of the latter as ‘temple of the living God’ with a
chain of scriptural ‘promises’ in support fit in the genre of inner-Jewish strife
best known from the Qumran scrolls.191 Similar polemics would make no sense
at all when directed against pagans.
We are left with the following picture. The ‘unbelievers’ denounced in 2 Cor
6:14–7:1 appear to be Jewish adversaries who do not need to be identical with
but are seen in the same apocalyptic light as those mentioned in 2 Cor 4:4 and
who jeopardize the Corinthians’ adherence to Paul’s gospel. They are distinct
from the ‘false apostles’ Paul engages with in 2 Cor 10–13, seeing himself forced
to justify himself and his message. Yet he perceives a link between both types
of adversaries, as though the menace presented by the ‘unbelieving’ Jews reinforces the pressure of the ‘believing’ ones.
The passage bursts forth in dualistic language aiming to isolate the readers
from these associated adversaries, and it ends by tuning in with the conciliatory tone of the immediate context. Thus it reads as a desperate last effort
to win back ‘beloved ones’ that are sliding out of the author’s reach. The outcry ‘Do not become (μὴ γίνεσθε)192 mismated with the unbelieving’ is to prevent
189
190
191
192
Matt 6:24; Luke 16:13 (cf 16:9, μαμωνᾶς τῆς ἀδικίας); Col 3:5. Cf vice lists in Gal 5:20; 1 Pet 4:3.
Long, Ancient Rhetoric, 168–172 adduces a ‘gross idolatrous sin’ without citing any evidence. However his argument that 2 Cor 6:14–7:1 is part of a counter-attack in the apologetic strategy of 2 Cor is enlightening.
A more specialised ploy in this genre is the ‘scriptural sobriquet’ utilised in 4QpHab and
4QpNah − and in the Epistle of Jude.
Above n10.
Christ, Belial, and Women (2 Cor 6:14-7:1)
131
an imminent alliance of Corinthian church members with (some of) the
‘unbelieving’ Jewish adversaries. This could involve anything from a marriage contract to a business enterprise or some administrative or political
collaboration.
In order for this reading of 2 Cor 6:14–7:1 in its extant context to make more
historical sense, it would now need to be put in a wider perspective. This would
require a more general study of 2 Corinthians and of the debate about the literary and historical questions attached. As it happens, Paul’s fundraising campaign dealt with in 2 Cor 8–9 is an important piece of evidence in the debate.
The next paper in the volume is devoted to that subject and addresses some of
those questions as well as suggesting some answers.
Paul’s ‘Collection for the Saints’ (2 Cor 8–9)
and Financial Support of Leaders in Early
Christianity and Judaism
Ze’ev Safrai and Peter J. Tomson
In 2 Corinthians 8 and 9, Paul elaborately discusses a fundraising campaign.
More briefly, the subject also figures in Romans and 1 Corinthians, as well as,
furtively, in Galatians. In modern scholarship these are considered the four
‘major’ Pauline letters. To that extent, the campaign was a central issue for
the apostle. Furthermore, Paul designates it as ‘the collection for the saints’
or ‘the service to the saints’. This term is not found elsewhere. It appears
to denote a campaign which must be distinguished from the common
phenomenon known as ‘charity’ or ‘almsgiving’ in ancient Judaism and
Christianity, as also from other specific fundraising activities mentioned in
the New Testament.
The contributions from the churches in Greece and Asia Minor were
earmarked for the church in Jerusalem. As did others, Paul considered
her in a way to be the ‘mother of all churches’ and, in spite of later tensions,
her leaders as ‘pillars’ (cf. Gal 4:26; 2:9). In effect his campaign provided
financial support for the foremost church and its leaders. This was an
unknown phenomenon in ancient Judaism and it begs explanation. Given
Paul’s cultural and religious background, it is obvious to compare it with
Jewish procedures of financial support for leaders and teachers in Jerusalem
or in the Land of Israel. Rich information is to be gleaned from rabbinic
literature, which admittedly reflects a later period and different circumstances both in the Land of Israel and in Babylonia. However it evinces a
development in Jewish society at large that ran roughly analogous to the
dynamic of Paul’s campaign. Often by sheer contrast, the slow emergence of
a paid leadership in ancient Judaism helps illuminate the singularity of
Paul’s achievement.
Paul is studied mostly with an exclusive interest for theology. Our focus,
however, shall be on the way theology actually functioned in ancient society.
The campaign was an undertaking with enormous ramifications both social
and theological. It expressed a recognition of the hegemony of Jerusalem
and of loyalty where apparently there were doubts about this. Indeed, ‘money
talks’: the collection would grant Paul social and religious status and help
© koninklijke brill nv, leiden, 2014 | doi 10.1163/9789004271661_008
Paul’s ‘Collection for the Saints’ (2 Cor 8–9)
133
neutralizing criticism of him in Jerusalem.1 Salient analogies of money being
used to manage tensions between the diaspora and the Jerusalem centre can
be found in rabbinic literature,2 as also in the present-day situation which is
beyond our purview. More generally, our interest is in comparing Paul’s fundraising campaign with the larger development discernible in rabbinic literature, all in the framework of ancient society.
Apart from the information found in Paul’s letters, there is no evidence as to
the size or duration of the collection. In his last reasonably datable letter, the
one to Rome which is usually put at c. 58 ce, Paul registers strong resistance
from Judaea. We shall argue that this relates to the tense climate preceding the
Jewish revolt against Rome of 66–70 ce. Obviously, the revolt itself made continuation impossible, even if Paul had still been alive, and it seems certain that
no efforts were made to reinstate the campaign after the war. Paul’s collection
for the Jerusalem church appears to have remained a unique phenomenon.
The argument developed in 2 Cor 8–9 remained alive, however. In mid fifth
century Rome, Pope Leo the Great held a series of fundraising sermons in
which he profusely drew on the exhortative language from Paul’s letter to
Corinth in order to get his richer parishioners to donate for the poor of their
own city. Although, once again, in our view Paul’s collection does not belong in
the category of charity, we shall see that 2 Cor 8–9 does involve imagery related
to that concept. The distant echo of 2 Corinthians heard in Leo’s sermons testifies to the rise of a full-grown system of charity for the poor in late ancient
Christianity and of the bishop as its governor.3
The first half of our study describes the sources and cultural background of
Paul’s campaign, discussing (1) the historical and literary evidence, (2) the origins of the term ‘saints’ used to indicate it, and (3) the use of this term in
rabbinic literature, including (4) an interesting possible rabbinical echo of the
Jerusalem ‘assembly of saints’. The second half focusses on the socio-economic
parameters of Paul’s campaign and of the much larger development reflected
in rabbinic literature. We shall discuss (5) theoretical social models and
(6) existing values that might have influenced Paul. Also, (7) the ideas about
1 For a similar evaluation see Betz, Galatians, 103.
2 A philanthropist set the pace in the Jewish community in Rome in following a deviant
Passover custom, but later comments say the Palestinian sages refrained from ostracizing
him because he used to send them charity (tBeitsa 2:15; bBeitsa 23a; yPes 7:1, 34a).
3 Leo the Great, sermons 6–11, CCSL 138, ed A. Chavasse, Turnhout 1973, 26–46; trans
J.P. Freeland – A.J. Conway, Washington DC, Catholic UP, 1996, 34–48. See Salzman, ‘Leo in
Rome’, esp 348–352. For the late ancient Christian charity system see Brown, Poverty, esp
chapter 2 on the bishop as ‘governor of the poor’.
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financial compensation of spiritual leaders in the earliest Christian sources are
analysed, and the same is done (8) for the extensive rabbinic evidence. Finally,
we step back for (9) comparative conclusions about the development in the
primitive Christian and early Jewish communities, the influence of Jewish tradition on Paul’s initiative, and the scope of his achievement.4
1
The Historical and Literary Evidence for the Collection
2 Corinthians 8 and 9 makes an elaborate appeal on the Corinthian Christians
to resume or to carry on with the fundraising campaign which they had joined
‘a year ago’.5 The campaign is indicated as the ‘service to the saints’ (διακονία εἰς
τοὺς ἁγίους) and appears to be running also in Macedonia (8:1–4; 9:1–4). This
makes it obvious to look for the connections with the ‘collection for the saints’
in Jerusalem mentioned in the earlier letter to Corinth, where the churches in
Galatia also appear to be involved (1 Cor 16:1), as also with the ‘service to the
saints’ rendered by Macedonia and Achaia which Paul touches on in Romans
(Rom 15:25f).
The collection has been the subject of a fair number of studies.6 Apart from
its great social and historical interest, it also entails weighty literary questions
relating to the composition and nature of the sources, in particular 2
Corinthians itself. These questions are not central to our inquiry, but we have
no choice but to deal with them. As a central activity running through Paul’s
major epistles, the collection is a premier piece of evidence in the scholarly
discussion about his career and his correspondence. In this matter, history and
literature are inextricably intertwined:7 our take on the genesis of Paul’s letters
to Corinth will influence our reading of the history surrounding them, and vice
4 Sections 1 and 2 of this paper were primarily written by Peter Tomson; the other sections by
Ze’ev Safrai.
5 ἀπὸ πέρυσι, 2 Cor 8:10 and 9:2.
6 Holl, Kirchenbegriff (1921); Bowen, ‘Collection’ (1923); Goguel, ‘Collecte’ (1925); Buck, ‘Collection’
(1950); Munck, Paulus, 282–292 (1954); Georgi, Geschichte (1965), and Remembering (1992);
Nickle, Collection (1966); Berger, ‘Almosen’ (1977); Hurtado, ‘Jerusalem Collection’ (1979); Betz,
2 Corinthians 8 and 9 (1985); Melick, ‘Collection’ (1989); Verbrugge, Paul’s Style (1992); Adesina,
Collection (1995); Beckheuer, Paulus (1997); Martyn, Galatians, 222–228 (‘comment’ – excursus);
Wan, ‘Collection’, (2000); Joubert, Benefactor (2002); Kim, Kollekte (2002); Wedderburn,
‘Collection’ (2002); Downs, ‘Collection’ (2006); Downs, Offering (2008); Ogereau, ‘Jerusalem
Collection’ (2012). Non reperimus: E. Lombard, RTP 35 (1902) 113–139; 262–281.
7 Thus Mitchell, ‘Paul’s Letters to Corinth’, with the eloquent subtitle: ‘The Interpretive
Intertwining of Literary and Historical Reconstruction’. More on this study below.
Paul’s ‘Collection for the Saints’ (2 Cor 8–9)
135
versa. The following discussion will be guided by the insight that in a similar
situation, the import of external evidence is crucial. We shall start out with
literary questions pertaining to 2 Cor 8–9 and develop our method while discussing the sources one by one.
In his separately published commentary on the two chapters, Hans-Dieter
Betz holds the view that they comprise (fragments of) two different letters. In
particular the opening formula of chapter 9, περὶ μὲν γὰρ τῆς διακονίας, ‘Now
concerning the charitable collection’, is viewed as introducing the subject
without connection to the preceding.8 In response to this explanation, it has
been pointed out that περὶ μὲν γάρ as used elsewhere in Greek literature
announces that after an introductory section, the author is now coming to
his actual point.9 Pending a resolution to this debate, a more general consideration is that in questions of textual and literary criticism – as in medical
surgery – a ‘conservative’ approach is advisable, especially where positive indications for an invasive intervention are lacking. Or, varying Ockham’s reputed
maxim, epistulae non sunt multiplicandae praeter necessitatem.10 Hence, as
long as this does not seem to be artificial and bending the evidence, we shall
read the two chapters as one literary unit.11 Doing so will enable us among
other things to perceive a conventional tripartite rhetorical pattern in the
two chapters.
The same question on a larger scale is whether 2 Cor 8–9 belongs with the
other chapters of the extant text to constitute a single authentic letter of Paul.
For over two centuries and a half, the sudden transitions characteristic of the
document – notably the beginning and end of 2 Cor 8–9 – have given rise to
8
9
10
11
Betz, 2 Corinthians 8 and 9, 90 (his translation) – as being distinct from περὶ δέ ‘which
opens new sections’. Similarly Goguel, ‘Collecte’, 313, following Heinrici and others.
Cf Mitchell, ‘Paul’s Letters’, 325, and the summary of her overall theory in ‘Korintherbriefe’.
Mitchell, ‘Concerning PERI DE’, demonstrating that περὶ δέ as frequent in 1 Cor and elsewhere is ‘simply a topic marker’, leaves ‘the problematic formula περὶ μὲν γάρ out of this
discussion’ (235 n28).
Stowers, ‘Peri men gar’. See also Lambrecht, ‘Paul’s Boasting’.
Cf the Wikipedia article ‘Occam’s Razor’ (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Occam’s_razor
consulted at July 27, 2009). Similarly Adesina, Collection, 14 rejects ‘unnecessary multiplication of hypotheses’. Wedderburn, ‘Collection’, 102 n17 quotes the observation made by
Troels Engberg-Pedersen (Paul and the Stoics, ch 4) that partition theories are more popular among German-speaking than English-speaking scholars. To the extent that there is
truth in that observation, the notable exceptions are also obvious.
While studying Paul’s collection as a single phenomenon, both Georgi, Geschichte and
Remembering and Beckheuer, Paulus take 2 Cor 8 and 9 to be separate fragments from
different letters.
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theories viewing it as a compound put together from two up to nine separate
letters. Another important incentive has been found in the references made to
non-extant previous letters from Paul (1 Cor 5:9; 2 Cor 2:3; 7:12). And as
discussed in the previous paper, the dualistic-apocalyptic outburst in 2 Cor
6:14–7:1 is perceived as a glaring interpolation. Conversely, there have always
been those who think integrity the more plausible option.12 First of all, apart
from our difficulty in comprehending the extant text of 2 Corinthians, positive
evidence for any such partition theory is lacking. Otherwise, a simple but
weighty argument in favour of integrity is the frequency of characteristic key
words in all parts of the extant letter.13 Again, our wager will be that the
simpler, less ‘invasive’ hypothesis is advised and we shall assume one difficult
to decipher but integral document.
A first observation which is then to be made concerns the complete difference in tone and mood between the first extant letter to Corinth and the
second one. 1 Corinthians quietly and tactfully deals with a series of important and sometimes grave issues without ever getting drawn into polemics.
Apollos, whose brilliant attractiveness seems to engender division in the
Corinthian church, is cautiously put in his proper place; a case of incest is
tackled in strong terminology but without letting this spill over into the rest
of the letter. The author deals with practical questions of food and pagan cult
without ever losing the soliciting tone, and his response to the criticism of
some on his behaviour is moderate (1 Cor 9:3). In all, it is a well-balanced and
diplomatic document.14 It is usually dated to the mid-fifties ce.15 Most
important for us, the collection is addressed in a straightforward and matterof-fact style.
12
13
14
15
For surveys see Betz, 2 Corinthians 8 and 9, chapter 1; Bieringer, ‘Teilungshypothesen’ and
‘Der 2. Korintherbrief’; Thrall, Second Epistle, 3–49. For Bieringer’s own single document
view see ‘Plädoyer’. Amador, ‘Revisiting 2 Corinthians’ and Long, Ancient Rhetoric argue
for integrity on the basis of rhetorical analysis, and so does more recently Vegge, 2
Corinthians, amplifying his arguments with comparison of ancient epistolography and
psychogagy (and see ibid. 7–34 for an the history of research). On Margaret Mitchell’s
approach see below.
See Bieringer in the present volume on the occurrence of the αγαπ- stem. In our view, a
similar case can be made for the important stem συνιστα- (10 occurrences in 2 Cor out of
a total of 14 in Paul plus Eph, including the NT hapax συστατικός, 2 Cor 3:1; cf Long, Ancient
Rhetoric, 233); as also for καυχα- (29 in 2 Cor out of 58 total); παρακαλ- (24/54); διακον(20/42); λυπε- (15/19); θλιβ- (12/28). Except for συνιστα-, these are all found also in 2 Cor
8–9 and, excepting λυπε- and θλιβ-, also in 2 Cor 10–13.
Cf Margaret Mitchell’s convincing Rhetoric of Reconciliation.
Cf the considerations of Fitzmyer, First Corinthians, 37–48.
Paul’s ‘Collection for the Saints’ (2 Cor 8–9)
137
By contrast, in 2 Corinthians, read as a single whole, the polemics of the
author and the need to justify himself are all over the place, and the letter
could with some justification be called an ‘apology’.16 As compared with chapters 3–5 and 10–13, the outburst in 6:14–7:1 is certainly more abrupt, but it is not
particularly remarkable by content (see previous paper in this volume). In the
midst of these polemics, the subject of the collection, which has been known
to the readers ‘for a year now’,17 is addressed with surprising rhetorical flourish
and with great effort to regain the readers’ sympathy. Why would this be necessary, given the straightforward instruction in 1 Cor 16:1–4 written a year before?
Many interpreters conclude that something has intervened, that rival missionaries have compromised Paul’s mission.
This reading of the data has been called into question by Margaret Mitchell
in the framework of a comprehensive approach on the Corinthian correspondence. She challenges ‘the pervading suggestion’ of Dieter Georgi and those
following him that there was ‘a tremendous breach in the historical situation’
between the two letters, because there is no evidence for any external events
having caused such. Instead, taking into account the intertwining of history
and literature in this area, Mitchell proposes to reconstruct Paul’s Corinthian
correspondence and the history of his collection solely on the basis of the evidence of 1 and 2 Corinthians, while assuming that 2 Corinthians comprises
fragments of five different letters of Paul’s. The reconstructed sequence of six
letters plus the responses from Corinth are to document not only the history of
Paul’s mission and his collection, but also the nascent interpretation process of
his letters.18 This is a most interesting approach indeed, but the concomitant
historical reconstruction remains a moot point without supportive external
evidence. In our view, there is indeed evidence to be found outside the
Corinthian correspondence, and it suggests a different explanation.
In the study on Paul’s opponents published by Dieter Georgi shortly before
his other one about the collection,19 he reminds us that the idea of JudaeoChristian missionaries intervening in Paul’s churches in Corinth and Galatia
was introduced by Ferdinand-Christian Baur of Tübingen in the early nineteenth century. Starting from the ‘factions’ mentioned in 1 Corinthians and the
16
17
18
19
Long, Ancient Rhetoric, 112f, 230: ‘Paul’s great apology’.
ἀπὸ πέρυσι, 2 Cor 8:10; 9:2.
Mitchell, ‘Paul’s Letters’, referring to Georgi, Opponents. The idea of the ‘birth of Christian
hermeneutics’ of and within Paul’s letters is brilliantly developed in Mitchell, Paul, the
Corinthians.
Georgi, Gegner (1964) and Geschichte (1965), translated as Opponents (1986) and
Remembering (1992).
138
Safrai and Tomson
clash between Paul and Peter in Gal 2:11–14, Baur construed the ‘false apostles’
from 2 Cor 11:13 as emissaries of law-observant ‘Petrine’ Christianity come to
counteract Paul’s law-free mission. The subsequent articulation along the lines
of Hegelian dialectics caused loss of interest in the ‘Tübingen approach’, but
the supposed antithesis between Paul and Judaeo-Christianity has always
remained with us. Baur’s interpretation was relaunched by Ernst Käsemann,
who proposed to view Paul’s adversaries in 2 Cor 10–13 as emissaries from the
judaizing Jerusalem church who boasted their familiarity with Jesus.20 In his
own construal of Paul’s opponents, Georgi makes sure to avoid the Tübingen
antithesis and views them rather as non-nomistic Hellenistic Jewish apologists.21 In a similar vein, the much-acclaimed ‘new perspective on Paul’ inaugurated by E.P. Sanders and James Dunn involves the consensus that Paul did not
turn against Judaism or the Jewish law as such.22 The question then is, what did
he turn against after all? It is here proposed that while it is a mistake to attribute Paul with an anti-nomian and anti-Jewish attitude, Baur and others have
seen correctly that Paul came up against Judaeo-Christian opposition in
Corinth and elsewhere. In our view, however, this must not be seen as a static
property of Judaeo-Christianity, but as something that evolved over time and
in particular circumstances. We shall further unfold this historical perspective
in the below.
The remarkable rhetorical flourish of 2 Cor 8–9 we have mentioned has
another implication. Since it deploys a persuasive strategy to convince the
readers to join the project (anew), it cannot be read as a reliable source about
the actual reasons behind it.23 These must rather be sought elsewhere.24 We
have first of all 1 Cor 16, but Rom 15 and other passages in Paul as well as in Acts
have been mentioned in this connection and we must check their usefulness.
We review these sources one by one in the perspective just proposed and then
summarize the implications on the historical and the literary level.
1.1
First Corinthians 16:1–4
We begin with this passage because of its particular style as compared with
the other two main passages. Romans 15 makes an oblique reference to the
20
21
22
23
24
Käsemann, ‘Legitimität’, esp 48–51; cf Georgi, Opponents, 7f; Bieringer, ‘Gegner’, 208f.
The force of Käsemann’s arguments was recognized by Barrett, ‘Paul’s Opponents’.
Baur, ‘Die Christuspartei in der korinthischen Gemeinde’ (1830), and ‘Über Zweck und
Veranlassung des Römerbriefs’ (1836). See Georgi, Opponents, 2. A main drawback of
Georgi’s construal is the quasi timeless and purely doctrine-oriented approach.
Sanders, Paul and Palestinian Judaism; Dunn, ‘New Perspective’ and New Perspective.
Unlike Melick, ‘Collection’, 116 and Kim, Kollekte, 5f.
Thus correctly Verbrugge, Paul’s Style.
Paul’s ‘Collection for the Saints’ (2 Cor 8–9)
139
collection in a context expressing apprehension as to Paul’s enemies in
Jerusalem. 2 Cor 8–9, differently again, aims at captivating the readers’ benevolence and motivating them to comply with a request made earlier. In contrast,
the style of 1 Cor 16:1–4 has convincingly been described as a ‘commanding
letter’ stating matters in a business-like and authoritative way.25 This stylistic
characterization was not lost on ancient commentators either.26 In this matter-of-fact style, Paul instructs the Corinthians how to go by it:
Now concerning the contribution for the saints (περὶ δὲ τῆς λογείας τῆς εἰς
τοὺς ἁγίους): as I directed the churches of Galatia, so you also are to do.
On the first day of every week, each of you is to put something aside, …
so that contributions need not be made when I come. And when I arrive,
I will send those whom you accredit using letters to carry your gift to
Jerusalem; if it seems advisable that I should go also, they will accompany
me. (1 Cor 16:1–2)
Paul wants to avoid the mess they are likely to make if they do it their own way.
He implies they already knew about the collection, which is confirmed by his
reference to the way of bringing the money to Jerusalem (16:3f). He does not
need to explain that it does concern a collection intended for Jerusalem and
only fills in the details.
As to the terminology Paul uses, we shall deal with the appellation ‘saints’ in
the next section; now let us take λογεία. Ancient papyri have shown this is a
technical term for a ‘collection of taxes or voluntary contributions’.27 In other
words, Paul is using administrative language to indicate a special campaign. It
is therefore to be distinguished from the general religious duty known as ‘almsgiving’, ἐλεημοσύνη, which, often along with prayer and fasting, is common in
the New Testament and subsequent Christian literature, and derives from
Jewish usage.28 Patristic commentators found it necessary to explain the word,
25
26
27
28
Verbrugge, Paul’s Style. Georgi, Remembering, 54: Paul fills in details of instructions given
earlier.
Cf John of Damascus, In Corinthios, MPG 95:701, commenting on 1 Cor 16:1, οὐκ εἶπε,
«παρῄνεσα» καὶ «συνεβούλευσα», ἀλλὰ «διέταξα», ὅπερ αὐθεντικώτερον, ‘He did not say,
“I advised” or “I recommended”, but “I directed”, which is definitely more authoritative’.
This was first established by Deissmann, Licht vom Osten, 72f, see Moulton – Milligan,
Vocabulary, no. 3,048. Often the Hellenistic spelling λογία is met with, as in the Church
Fathers. See also LSJ s.v., mentioning mainly archaeological material; BDAG s.v.
Cf Beckheuer, Paulus, 110–113.
E.g., Tob 12:8, ἀγαθὸν προσευχὴ μετὰ νηστείας καὶ ἐλεημοσύνης καὶ δικαιοσύνης; Sir 7:10,
προσευχὴ …καὶ ἐλεημοσύνη; Matt 6:2–4, ἐλεημοσύνη along with prayer and fasting; Did 15:4,
140
Safrai and Tomson
suggesting that in their day it was no longer understood in that sense: ‘Λογία is
his (Paul’s) phrase for collecting money’.29
An interesting terminological analogy is found in a ‘collection for the sages’
( מגבית חכמיםor )מגבת חכמיםmentioned in Palestinian Amoraic traditions
and involving a number of Tannaim who are in the vicinity of Antioch (!) collecting money destined for the Land of Israel. It is not clear whether this is for
the poor or for Tora scholars; it will be further discussed below (section 8.5).
A significant point concerns the beneficiary of Paul’s collection: the church
of Jerusalem. It is mentioned not just in Romans, a letter where this feature has
a special significance since it deals with the place of the Jews in the church,30
but also in this more prosaic ‘commanding letter’ in 1 Cor 16:3. Here, Paul is
soberly considering how best to get the money to Jerusalem through the mediation of envoys. This may or may not relate to the list of travel companions
mentioned in Acts 20:4, a question we shall discuss below. If it does relate, then
another person might have been travelling with Paul: Stephanas, whom Paul in
the continuation calls ‘the first-fruit of Achaia’ (baptized by Paul, 1 Cor 1:16),
and who with his household has ‘devoted himself to the service of the saints’
(διακωνία τοῖς ἁγίοις, 1 Cor 16:15; cf 2 Cor 8:4; 9:1). In any case, this is another
reference to the collection, and it shows how Paul set up a network of collaborators to organize it with him.
It is most significant that in this matter-of-fact instruction – as distinct from
2 Cor 8–9 and Rom 15 – Paul does not say that the collection is meant for ‘the
poor’. This does not confirm the theory that ‘the poor’ was another special
appellation of the Jerusalem church.31 The collection is meant for the Jerusalem
church of ‘saints’; they will know what to use it for. Going by the reports in Acts
which we shall review in a moment, it must have included supporting poor
members. In 1 Cor 16, this seems to be a point unnecessary to make, and other
aims may be included. It may well be that what is implicitly included here is
what Paul elsewhere in 1 Corinthians describes as the apostles’ ex officio ‘right
(ἐξουσία) to eat and drink’, even along with their wives (1 Cor 9:2–5, 14). Seeming
confirmation of this reading is found in the ruling in the Didache that resident
29
30
31
εὐχὰς καὶ ἐλεημοσύνας; Acts 10:4, αἱ προσευχαί σου καὶ αἱ ἐλεημοσύναι σου (cf 10:31) − oft
quoted in the Church Fathers. Cf also Athanasius, De virgin. 6 (νηστεία… προσευχὴ…
ἐλεημοσύνη); ibid. 12.
Theodoret, In Cor, MPG 82:369, Λογίαν τὴν συλλογὴν τῶν χρημάτων καλεῖ, quoted by John
of Damascus, In Cor, MPG 95:701. Apparently this meaning of λογεία/λογία eclipsed in late
antiquity, and it is not listed in Lampe, Lexicon.
Munck, Paulus, 292–302; Jervell, ‘Letter to Jerusalem’, though overstretching the point.
As maintained by Holl, ‘Kirchenbegriff’, 60; cf references and critical notes in Betz,
Galatians, 102, and see below.
Paul’s ‘Collection for the Saints’ (2 Cor 8–9)
141
prophets and teachers have a right to be sustained by the church (Did 13:1–7;
see below sections 7.2 and 7.3).
1.2
Galatians 2:1–10
Of great consequence is the question how to evaluate Paul’s brief report of the
meeting with the other apostles in Jerusalem in Galatians 2. Paul relates how
the conference, which he says turned on the justification of his own ‘gospel to
the uncircumcised’, ended with a handshake: ‘We should go to the gentiles and
they to the circumcised; only they would have us remember the poor, which
very thing I was eager to do’ (Gal 2:7–10).
In an influential study from 1921 which stressed the social import of the
‘collection for the saints’, Karl Holl construed this account as evidence that the
initiative came from the Jerusalem church asserting her position to the point
of exacting submission by gentile Christians. Paul would have initially submitted to the request, but meanwhile have replaced the Jerusalem-centred concept of the Church by a more spiritual, universalist concept. While adopting
the designation of the Jerusalem church as ‘the saints’, Paul ‘almost intentionally’ addressed his gentile readers as ‘saints’ as well: ‘Saints are not only to
be found in Jerusalem nor in Judaea only, but also in Corinth and Rome’.32
In itself, this point is correct and we shall have to come back to it. However, as
Johannes Munck showed in his seminal Paulus und die Heilsgeschichte of
1954, Holl’s reading of Galatians is based on the Tübingen antithesis of ‘Petrine
against Pauline Christianity’.33 Indeed, Holl not only ignores the import
of Romans, but also the layered account of Galatians. In consequence, the
fundamental importance of the apostles’ agreement in Jerusalem remains
underrated.
The request to ‘remember the poor’ is embedded in a chronologically stratified account extending over the letter to the Galatians. We shall now analyse
this in reverse direction, as though excavating a ‘tell’ stratum by stratum –
although counting them from the surface down, unlike real archaeologists.34
32
33
34
Holl, ‘Kirchenbegriff’, 64; cf Georgi, Remembering, 17; Beckheuer, Paulus, 15–18, 41f. Not
unlike his mentor Harnack, Holl combined Lutheran partialism with anti-Judaism and
anti-Catholicism. Abolishing Jerusalem’s primacy, Paul would have effectively cleared the
way for that of Rome: ‘Das römische Papsttum ist tatsächlich nichts anderes als die
Wiederaufrichtung der Stellung des Jakobus’ (65).
Munck, Paulus, 61–78, 282f. Munck seems wrong in rejecting Holl’s assumption that ‘the
saints’ was a name for the Jerusalem church, but correct in criticizing his thwarted reading of Galatians.
Cf, less schematically, the excursus on ‘The Conflict at Antioch’ in Betz, Galatians, 103f.
The metaphor of the ‘tell’ is used by Martyn, Gospel of John, 90.
142
Safrai and Tomson
Stratum 1 (Gal 1:1–12; 6:11–18). This is the auctorial present rendered by
the epistolary aorist, ὑμῖν ἔγραψα (6:11, see below): Paul ‘writing’ (dictating) his letter. He has been confronted with the news about ‘another gospel’ brought to the Galatian churches of gentiles, insisting that they must
get circumcised and become Jewish proselytes in order to become fullblown Christians. In his extempore reaction to this anti-gentile gospel,35
Paul sees need to clarify his relationship with Jerusalem and the apostles
residing there, ‘For I would have you know, brethren, that the gospel
which was preached by me is not man’s gospel; for I did not receive it
from man, nor was I taught it, but it came through a revelation of Jesus
Christ’ (1:11f). The expositional main part of the letter (3:1–6:10) can be
counted with this stratum.
Stratum 2 (2:11–21). The ‘other gospel’ did not come out of the blue for
Paul, since recently there had been this conflict in the Antioch church
with Peter and Barnabas over table fellowship between Jews and nonJews. It had occurred after some people had come ‘from James’ in
Jerusalem and insisted on separation from gentile ways and ‘judaizing’
(ἰουδαΐζειν, 2:14). As for Paul, he has stood his ground and stuck to his message, to ‘the truth of the gospel’: one is saved by loyalty to Jesus Messiah
(ἐκ πίστεως Χριστοῦ), irrespective of whether one belongs to those observing the law or not.
Stratum 3 (2:1–10). That is in fact the message which the apostles had
approved of in a meeting in Jerusalem which preceded that confrontation: ‘James and Cephas and John, who were reputed to be pillars, gave to
me and Barnabas the right hand of fellowship, that we should go to the
gentiles and they to the circumcised; only they would have us remember
the poor, which very thing I was diligent in doing’ (μόνον τῶν πτωχῶν ἵνα
μνημονεύωμεν, ὃ καὶ ἐσπούδασα αὐτὸ τοῦτο ποιῆσαι). Even the intervention
of some ‘false brothers’ who just before this meeting had tried to ‘bring us
into bondage’ by the requirement to circumcise Titus had not thwarted
the agreement: Paul had not yielded ‘even for a moment’ but stood for
‘the truth of the gospel’.
Stratum 4 (1:21–24). Preceding that Jerusalem meeting, Paul had been
preaching and teaching for ‘fourteen years’ in the churches around
Antioch, during which time the churches in Judaea ‘did not see his face’
(2:21; 2:1). This work had been based on the same message that was now
approved of in Jerusalem (Acts 15:1 suggests this was after complaints had
been raised by some of Paul’s parochians from Antioch).
35
Cf the lacking of a proper exordium involving nice words to be said about the readers.
Paul’s ‘Collection for the Saints’ (2 Cor 8–9)
143
Stratum 5 (1:18–20). Before departing on his work in Antioch, Paul had
been in Jerusalem for two weeks, staying with Peter and otherwise only
seeing James once; ‘in what I am writing to you, before God, I do not lie’.
Paul must make himself clear: even early in his career, he was no servant
of the apostles.
Stratum 6 (1:13–17). Three years before that Jerusalem visit, his conversion had occurred – the moment when he abandoned his life as a zealot
Pharisee on the basis of a visionary call to preach to the gentiles, having
consulted about this no one at Jerusalem, only some people in Damascus.
In this sequence, Paul distances himself both from the anti-gentile mood rampant in the Jerusalem church at the time of writing (stratum 1) and from his
own zealot Pharisee past at the beginning of his career (stratum 6). The relationship with the Jerusalem apostles has been compromised (stratum 2, cf stratum 5), which seems to mean that for many they had become associated with
the anti-gentile mood. Paul’s own position, which he calls ‘the truth of the gospel’, is well-established in the middle of the sequence: it is the message he had
taught at Antioch and that was recognised by the apostles at the Jerusalem conference (strata 4 and 3). That is also the setting in which the request to ‘remember the poor’ must be heard: it is based on the mutual recognition of the
apostolates to the Jews and to the gentiles led by Peter and Paul, respectively.
Within that framework, it implies the recognition by Paul of the primacy of the
Jerusalem apostles, insofar as they had approved of his gospel to the non-Jews.
Thus read, the sequence in the Galatians account supports the interpretation that the collection mentioned in 1 and 2 Corinthians and in Romans was
linked to the apostles’ request, and that subsequent developments have compromised it.36 Since originally (strata 3 and 4) it implied mutual acknowledgment between Jews and gentiles in the church, this can be seen in relation to
the motif of ‘equality’ Paul appeals to in 2 Corinthians (see below). Therefore
in reaction to the apostles’ request ‘that we remember the poor’, Paul registers
his wholehearted agreement: ‘which very thing I was diligent (ἐσπούδασα) in
doing’ (Gal 2:10).
The first person singular aorist ἐσπούδασα strikingly shifts in number, mood,
and tense from the preceding plural present subjunctive μνημονεύωμεν, ‘we
were to remember’. It has been found difficult to explain in the framework of
the letter. This is inevitable if one takes the aorist simply to denote past events
and does not adequately distinguish between the different chronological strata
36
Thus e.g. Georgi, Remembering; Jewett, ‘Agitators’; Hurtado, ‘Jerusalem Collection’; Betz,
Galatians, 101–103.
144
Safrai and Tomson
of the letter.37 The Greek tenses basically do not relate to the chronological
‘time’ of an action or process, but to something we could describe as its state
of completion or its actuality. While the present and imperfect tenses describe
an event that is or was still going on, and the perfect and pluperfect one
which is or was already accomplished, the aorist may be said to describe an
action whose state of completion is or was temporally ‘undefined’ – literally,
ἀόριστος – but whose ‘actuality’ is stressed, either in past, present, or even
future.38 Using the first person aorist ἐσπούδασα Paul underlines that as far he
is concerned – and notwithstanding the immediately ensuing clash with Peter
and Barnabas – the Jerusalem agreement as ‘materialized’ in the collection for
‘the poor’ is firmly in place.39
In the matter-of-fact instruction in 1 Cor 16:1, the Galatians are mentioned as
a model for the method of collecting the money. Therefore when Paul wrote
his letter to them, they must have been familiar with the project. Possibly, however, their enthusiasm for it was diminished, along with their withering
allegiance to Paul’s ‘gospel for gentiles’.40 At this point, the various strata of the
letter interlock, and here lies the difficulty of the passage. In the midst of the
account of stratum 3 (the Jerusalem meeting), there is this apparent allusion to
stratum 1 (present polemics). Using the ‘undefined’ aorist tense, Paul is able to
address both strata at once, assuring his Galatian readers that regardless of
37
38
39
40
Thus Georgi, Remembering, 43–45 and Geschichte, 30–32, setting off Paul from Barnabas;
Martyn, Galatians, 207 (‘simple past tense’); Wedderburn, ‘Collection’, 100 n12 (a virtual
‘pluperfect’); and Downs, ‘Collection’, 61. Verbrugge, Paul’s Style, 312 reads it as an inceptive aorist.
Porter, Aspect, chapter 4 resists temporal definitions of the aorist. In 1 Thess 2:16 Paul’s
ἔφθασεν refers to a future but ‘very real’ situation, as was unforgettably explained by Prof.
S. Agourides from Athens at the Pauline Colloquium on 1 Thess in Rome, Sept. 1999: when
in Greece you finally get impatient and inform about your coffee, the waiter will unperturbedly declare, έφθασε, ‘it is here!’ This also well explains the ‘epistolary aorist’: ἔγραψα in
1 Cor 5:9 refers to a previous letter but in 5:11, to the present one being written, as in Gal 6:11.
Cf BDR §334; and Mitchell, Paul, The Corinthians, 18f, 30f: the epistolary aorist is ‘temporally
ambiguous’. Young, Greek, 124f points to Phlm 12 ἀνέπεμψα as also having a future sense. In
all these cases, the reader is assured about the ‘actuality of the action’. The ‘punctual’ sense
often read from the aorist indicative does apply in narratives such as found in the Gospels
(contrasting with the imperfect) but it does not at all exhaust the aorist’s connotations. The
evidence given by Wallace, Grammar, 562f contradicts his preceding explanation.
Thus the drift of Betz, Galatians, 102f, though not explicitly addressing the aorist. Similarly
Beckheuer, Paulus, 49. Porter, Aspect, 331 paraphrases ἐσπούδασα as ‘[I] desired to do [this]
anyway’. I must fully agree here with Bruce, New Testament History, 270 and n21f.
Wedderburn, ‘Collection’, 103 and Hurtado, ‘Jerusalem Collection’, 49f conclude from the
omission of Galatia in 2 Cor 8–9 and Rom 15 that the Galatians had ceased contributing.
Paul’s ‘Collection for the Saints’ (2 Cor 8–9)
145
what people make of the apostles’ request at this point, he will go on with it as he
has always done. This is what is echoed in the switch from the first person plural to the singular, ‘We were to remember the poor … I am ever diligent in doing
precisely that’. This is what we later read in Romans: it is Paul’s project now,
and he shall go on with it, never mind what they say or do in Galatia, Corinth,
or even Jerusalem (Rom 15:25, 31).41 This is what he unflinchingly stands for,
signing off in his own hand (ἔγραψα) and praying for peace both on those who
stick to the original Jerusalem agreement and on ‘the Israel of God’ (Gal 6:11–
16).42 The passage just preceding this autographed conclusion may even imply
an allusive appeal to keep supporting the collection: ‘Those who are taught the
word must share in all good things with their teacher … If you sow to the Spirit,
you will reap eternal life from the Spirit’ (Gal 6:6–8).43
1.3
Second Corinthians 8–9: A Closer Look
The type of rhetoric of these two chapters has already been referred to: it is
persuasive speech. It operates in a customary three-part schedule also found,
e.g., in 1 Cor 5–6; 8–10; and 12–14: (A) a general introduction of the theme;
(B) one or more illustrative or motivating digressions; and (A’) a matter-of-fact
and detailed discussion of the theme. Thus 2 Cor 8:1–15 circles around the
subject on a general level; 8:16–24 digresses about the inspiring excellence of
Titus and the other two collaborators; and 9:1–15 finally comes round with a
head-on renewal of the appeal on the Corinthians.44
One of the main persuasive themes is ‘poverty’. Setting the example, the
Macedonians ‘in their extreme poverty have overflowed in a wealth of liberality on their part’, just as the Corinthians are supposed to remember that ‘our
Lord Jesus Christ, though he was rich, yet for your sake became poor, so that by
his poverty you might become rich’ (2 Cor 8:2, 9). Similarly, thus Paul’s appeal
to the Corinthians, your contribution ‘will increase the harvest of your righteousness,45 you will be enriched in every way for great generosity, …for the
41
42
43
44
45
Cf Beckheuer, Paulus, 270–275 (Zusammenfassung); Verbrugge, Paul’s Style, 311f; Downs,
‘Collection’, 60. Georgi, Remembering thinks Barnabas has also fallen out, hence the singular ἐσπούδασα.
Similarly Hurtado, ‘Jerusalem Collection’, 56f.
Hurtado ibid. Cf key words κοινωνέω, σπείρω, θερίζω also found in 2 Cor 8:4; 9:6, and the
idea of reciprocity in Rom 15:27.
Cf Lambrecht, ‘Paul’s Boasting’.
Apart from the possible allusion to Hosea 10:12 (γενήματα δικαιοσύνης), γενήματα τῆς
δικαιοσύνης is not necessarily un-Pauline, cf δικαιοσύνη and δικαιόω in 1 Cor 1:30; 4:4; 6:11;
nor is 2 Cor 9:8, περισσεύετε εἰς πᾶν ἐργον ἀγαθόν. Paul’s concept of ‘justification’ has
an eschatological dimension and involves judgment on one’s deeds, cf Rom 2:6, 13 and
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rendering of this service not only supplies the wants of the saints (ὑστερήματα
τῶν ἁγίων) but also overflows in many thanksgivings to God’ (9:10–12). The highly
tactful and effective rhetoric clearly is aimed at making the Corinthians overcome their hesitations and continue contributing. This probably tells us more
about economic wealth and mental reservations in Corinth than about the economic situation in Jerusalem. After all, the Macedonians are praised as well for
contributing in spite of ‘their extreme poverty’. Along with the evidence from
the business-like passage in 1 Corinthians where the theme is lacking, this confirms our impression that it concerns one of the rhetorical ploys used by Paul.
On another level, the theme of exchanging riches and poverty links up with
social concepts stressing reciprocity in Graeco-Roman society as scholars have
investigated these.46 In the 2 Corinthians passage it is expressed by the term
‘equality’ (ἰσότης) and illustrated with an appealing quote from the Exodus
story about the bread that came as a gift from heaven:
…That as a matter of equality your abundance at the present time
should supply their want, so that their abundance may supply your
want, that there may be equality. As it is written, “He who gathered
much had nothing over, and he who gathered little had no lack” (2 Cor
8:14f, Exod 16:18).
We shall also find this theme in the Romans passage. In both cases, the reciprocity involved implies a recognition of the spiritual leadership of the
Jerusalem church and its message, in return for which the gentile diaspora
churches are now sending their material support. This is made explicit
in Romans: ‘For if the gentiles have come to share in their spiritual blessings
(τοῖς πνευματικοῖς), they ought also to be of service to them in material blessings’ (ἐν τοῖς σαρκικοῖς, Rom 15:27).
A theme which figures more subtly in the third part is ‘blessing’, εὐλογία.47
It is also a biblical theme, although this is not made explicit and familiarity
46
47
the strong textual variant (P46, D*, Irlat, Ambst) in Phil 3:12, (οὐχ ὅτι)…ἤδη δεδικαιῶμαι.
The ‘harvest of righteousness’ in the present context is rather associated with the virtue of
almsgiving, cf δικαιοσύνη in Tobit (above n28) and צדקהin rabbinic literature.
Georgi, Remembering, cf appendix on Philo 138–140; Verbrugge, Paul’s Style, 145–243;
Joubert, Benefactor, 17–72; Wan, ‘Collection’, 210–215; Downs, Offering, 73–119. Ogereau,
‘Jerusalem Collection’ adds the socio-political import of Greek κοινωνία, 2 Cor 8:4; 9:13;
Rom 15:25f; this must be supplemented by the parallel with the Essenes and the primitive
church (Acts 2:42), to which he correctly reverts, below n77.
Following Windisch, Georgi, Remembering, 93f perceives a word play on λογεία also
involving ‘biblical’ (Septuagintal) meanings.
Paul’s ‘Collection for the Saints’ (2 Cor 8–9)
147
with the biblical narrative is tacitly presupposed in the readers. Whereas in
general Greek, εὐλογία means ‘speaking well’, ‘eulogy’, ‘praises’, the Septuagint
translators have chosen it to render the Hebrew ברכהwhich can mean both
‘praises’ and ‘wealth’ or ‘bounty’. A speaker at home both in general Greek and
in biblical parlance can play at both fields of meaning. This is done by Philo in
an exposition on the ‘blessing’ of Abraham, and, in a different way, by Paul in
our passage:48
So I thought it necessary to urge the brethren to go on to you before
me, and arrange in advance for this gift you have promised (τὴν
προεπηγγελμένην εὐλογίαν), so that it may be ready not as an exaction
but as a willing gift (ὡς εὐλογίαν). The point is this: he who sows
sparingly will also reap sparingly, and he who sows bountifully will
also reap bountifully (ὁ σπείρων ἐπ᾽ εὐλογίας ἐπ᾽ εὐλογίας καὶ θερίσει).
(2 Cor 9:5f)
In the maxim at the end, Paul may be alluding to the section on Joseph in the
‘blessing’ of Jacob, which we translate here from the Septuagint version:
…And my God has saved you and blessed you with blessings of heaven
above, blessings of the earth that carries all, for the sake of blessings
of breasts and womb; the blessings of your father He has made mighty
beyond the blessings (ἐπ᾽ εὐλογίαις) of the eternal mountains and
beyond the bounties (ἐπ᾽ εὐλογίαις) of the everlasting hills.
LXX Gen 49:25f
The link is not very strong, though, and it might as well be that an expository
source unknown to us is being quoted or alluded to. In any case the ‘biblical’,
material connotation of εὐλογία meshes nicely with the more spiritual general
meaning, and both meanings strengthen each other. This is sublime biblical
rhetoric, or in other words homiletics: the different semantic fields play nicely
together; the biblical and general worlds are creatively connected; and the
point of ‘equality’ through the exchange of material for spiritual goods is elegantly achieved.
Familiarity with ‘biblical language’ is required of the readers; their liberality in exchange for their receiving the spiritual riches come from Jerusalem
is anticipated on; and everything is couched in elegant rhetoric. Why is
48
Philo, Migr. 70–73, on Gen 12:1–5; for elaboration see Tomson, ‘Blessing’.
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all this necessary? Why is the sober style used in 1 Cor 16:1–4 no longer
sufficient?
The obvious inference we have advanced is that since the writing of
1 Corinthians, things have dramatically changed in the church of Corinth. And
if, as we are assuming, the two chapters can meaningfully be read along with
the other parts of 2 Corinthians to form one integral letter, we are facing a
document rife with tensions. Two potentially different trends can be distinguished: the pervasive need of the author to ‘recommend’ himself over against
certain allegations,49 and his polemics against those brandishing the law of
Moses or ‘Hebrew Christian’ prerogatives (2 Cor 1–7; 10–12). These opponents
need not be identical. Paul’s authority could have been jeopardized by
whatever internal development within the community, as appears from his
discussion about ‘partisanship’ in 1 Corinthians (1 Cor 1:12). The need to defend
his gospel against radical Judaeo-Christian tendencies, however, seems to
reflect external influences.
As to the latter aspect, a change had most probably occurred in Paul’s relation to Jerusalem, or rather, in the relation of Jerusalem’s Judaeo-Christians
to Paul and his gospel. So much is clear from comparison with Galatians and
1 Corinthians. 1 Corinthians shows no trace of tension about the law and the
commandments, no polemics, no elaborate scriptural arguments. Without
ado, Paul can quote ‘the law’ as a source of authority when giving instructions.50 In contrast, both Galatians and 2 Corinthians reflect the intervention
of radical Judaeo-Christians who pressurize gentile Christians and insist on
the law of Moses. This ties in with the lavish rhetoric about the collection in
2 Corinthians. If Paul would manage to revive the participation of Corinth, he
would have a point against his judaizing opponents. More than anything, the
‘gift of the gentiles’ to the mother church would demonstrate the viability of
his gospel. Paul may well have been mustering all his rhetorical skills in order
to salvage not only his collection but his entire mission in Corinth.
The practical organization is also mentioned. Titus is Paul’s agent in carrying out the task, along with two others, one of whom is ‘this brother
(τὸν ἀδελφόν) famous among all the churches for his proclaiming the good
news’ and who has been ‘appointed by the churches to travel with us while
we are administering this generous undertaking’ (2 Cor 8:6, 18f, 23). It may well
be Timothy, the co-author of the extant letter who is mentioned in almost
all of Paul’s letters. According to Acts he was with Paul when he travelled to
Jerusalem, possibly along with So(si)patros, and according to Romans this was
49
50
See on this theme Catherine Hezser in this volume.
See for this oft-neglected aspect Tomson, Paul, 68–73. 1 Cor does seem to contain polemics regarding remuneration of apostles, see below 184f.
Paul’s ‘Collection for the Saints’ (2 Cor 8–9)
149
when they brought the money (Acts 20:4; Rom 16:21). Paul counts on the
Corinthians to be prepared when these men arrive, for he has spread the news
they already were a year ago (2 Cor 9:2–4; cf 1 Cor 16:2). If ‘Achaia’ in Rom 15:26
includes Corinth as it does in 2 Cor 9:2, Corinth indeed was prepared.
1.4
Romans 15:25–31
The collection is no direct theme in Romans. It is mentioned at the end, when
Paul tells of the journey to Jerusalem he is making and thus offers an oblique
view on the project toward its completion. It has been suggested that this nevertheless belongs among the main themes of this complex and opaque epistle,
supposing there was a link between the Jews or Judaeo-Christians in Rome and
the church in Jerusalem which Paul could use as leverage to help getting the
collection accepted.51 The fact is that from beginning to end, Romans is replete
with motifs to do with the relationship between Jews and non-Jews. Therefore
one could also suppose Paul shares some details about the collection because
it fits in the thematic of the letter and the readers could be interested. In other
words, the collection fits well in the letter, even if we cannot be sure that this
was one of its practical aims.
However that may be, Paul writes to Rome that he is now underway to
deliver ‘a modest contribution for the poor among the saints at Jerusalem’
(κοινωνίαν τινὰ … εἰς τοὺς πτωχοὺς τῶν ἁγίων τῶν ἐν ᾽Ιερουσαλήμ, Rom 15:25–27).
As in 1 Cor 16:1, 15 and 2 Cor 9:1 (cf. 8:4), Paul mentions ‘the saints’ as beneficiaries of the ‘service’, but this time he adds it concerns ‘the poor’ among them,
and ‘the saints in Jerusalem’. Why is this? Paul betrays he has not yet been to
Rome (Rom 1:13). Could it be he is not sure if they are familiar with his jargon?
He does address the Roman church as κλητοὶς ἁγίοις, ‘those called to be saints’
(Rom 1:7, see next section). Did he feel the need to specify?
As to the addition of ‘the poor’, it has been proposed to view this as a
technical term for the Jerusalem church, paralleling ‘the saints’.52 The suggestion is tempting given the name of the later Judaeo-Christian group of
Ebionites mentioned by the Church Fathers (᾽Εβιωναῖοι);53 also, there would be
interesting links with the self-designation ( אביוניםpoor) found in the Qumran
scrolls, as also with Jesus’ beatitude of ‘the poor (in spirit)’.54 However the
51
52
53
54
Jervell, ‘Letter’, cf below n75.
Above n31.
Origen likes to make the reference derisively, e.g. De princ 4.3.8, ‘Ebionites, those poor in
understanding’. See also Holl, ‘Kirchenbegriff’, 60 n2.
עדת האביונים, paraphrasing ענוים, is found next to עדת בחיר[י[וin 4QpPs37 (4Q171) 2:4, 10;
3:5, 10. Further references in Fitzmyer, Romans, 722, who thinks ‘the real needy among the
Jewish Christians in Jerusalem’ are meant.
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suggestion does not quite convince. For one thing, ‘the poor’ as a technical
term would sit awkwardly next to its parallel, ‘the saints’.55 More importantly,
as we saw, in the business-like 1 Corinthians passage Paul does not mention
‘the poor’ as recipients of the collection, nor does he refer to their actual poverty as a reason to contribute. The theme of ‘poverty’ and ‘riches’ does, however, have a prominent rhetorical function in 2 Corinthians.
In Romans the theme of ‘poverty and riches’ is exploited allegorically, as in
2 Corinthians, but in a universal perspective that goes much beyond:
Macedonia and Achaia have been pleased to make some contribution for
the poor among the saints at Jerusalem; … indeed they are in debt to
them, for if the gentiles have come to share in their spiritual goods, they
ought also to be of service to them in material goods. So, when I have
completed this … I will set out by way of you to Spain… (Rom 15:27)
Thus Romans, pleading salvation ‘for the Jew first, but also for the Greek’ (1:16;
2:10), reveals relations between ‘gentiles’ and Jews to be an explicit motive behind
the collection, confirming the impression we have gathered from Gal 2:10. The
‘spiritual goods’ of the Judaeo-Christians have ‘enriched’ the gentile Christians in
Macedonia and Achaia, who are now ‘in debt’ to repay their Judaeo-Christian
brethren from their ‘material goods’. As Johannes Munck has pointed out, a strategic purpose of the collection was to embody the unity of the Church of Christ
consisting of Jews and gentiles and to express the link with Jerusalem while the
gospel spreads throughout the world.56 In Galatians and 2 Corinthians, Paul
probably could not deploy this motivation, given the need there to strike the balance between his basically positive relationship with the Jerusalem church and
its getting compromised by the intervention of radicalized Judaeo-Christians.
A similar development does not seem to be at work in the church in Rome,
to Paul’s knowledge. At least he feels at liberty to expand and urge the Romans
to pray for him in view of the difficulties elsewhere: ‘…That I may be delivered
from the unbelieving (ἀπειθούντων) in Judaea, and that my service for Jerusalem
may be acceptable to the saints’ (εὐπρόσδεκτος τοῖς ἁγίοις, Rom 15:31). This
reveals two objects of great worry.
In the first place, there are these ‘unbelieving’ or ‘uncompromising’ in
Judaea from whom Paul seeks ‘deliverance’ and who even seem to physically
55
56
Verbrugge, Paul’s Style, 308.
Munck, Paulus, esp 285: unlike the Tübingen antithesis, Paul wished ‘die neuen Kirchen
innerhalb der Heiden mit der Mission unter den Juden zusammenzuknüpfen’; Berger,
‘Almosen’; Jervell, ‘Letter’. Cf 2 Cor 8:13f, ἰσότης.
Paul’s ‘Collection for the Saints’ (2 Cor 8–9)
151
endanger him. This reference is socially and politically much more explicit
than what we read in Galatians and 2 Corinthians. It is obvious to think of the
Acts account of radical Jews who have Paul arrested and actually threaten to
murder him. Their accusations against Paul express an anti-gentile motivation:
‘Men of Israel, help! This is the man who is teaching all men everywhere against
the people and the law and this place; moreover he also brought Greeks
into the Temple and he has defiled this holy place’ (Acts 21:28). Comparison
between details in the narrative and Josephus’ account date these events to
57 or 58 ce.57
A similar militant activism is reflected in other sources. The Mishna mentions the impetuous actions of the ‘bloom of the priesthood’ ( )פרחי כהונהin
association with that of ‘the zealots’ ( )קנאיןin guarding the sanctity of the
Temple (mSan 9:6). Even if this is a later echo and no context is indicated, it
seems to carry a memory of Temple times; the association with the ‘zealots’
carries a reference to Phineas, the ‘arch-zealot’. Josephus reports that some
years after Paul’s arrest, in the cascade of events leading towards the revolt, a
similar ‘zealot’ mentality was seen especially in the youthful Temple captain
Eleazar son of Ananias, who ‘persuaded those who officiated in the Temple
services to accept no gift or sacrifice from a foreigner’ (War 2:409). It seems
likely that this mentality was associated with the Pharisaic faction of the
Shammaites known from rabbinic literature for its more reserved attitude
towards gentiles.58 Thus Paul’s worry about ‘the unbelieving in Judaea’ seems
to correspond to indications that in the later 50’s of the first century ce, a
religious-nationalist mood was on the rise among Jews who resented the presence of gentiles and gentile ways of life in the Jewish land.59
Paul’s other worry is about ‘the saints’, the church in Jerusalem: he is not
certain they will accept the collection from his gentile churches. It seems there
were strong forces opposing this, and as we suggested it is obvious to associate
these with the growing opposition to Paul’s gentile mission reflected both in
his letters and in Acts. Paul calls those people ‘pseudo-brethren’ or ‘pseudoapostles’ (Gal 2:4; 2 Cor 11:13, 26). They no longer respected the compromise
reached at the Jerusalem meeting and wanted to impose the whole Jewish
57
58
59
Acts 21:27, the sicarii and the Egyptian militant prophet correspond with Josephus, War
2:253–264, towards the end of Felix’s term of office.
Num 25:8 and 25:11, proverbially, בקנאו את קנאתי, ‘by acting out My zeal’ against the union
of the Israelite with a Moabite woman. For this whole cluster of themes see Hengel,
Zeloten, esp chapter 4, ‘Der Eifer’. See also the previous paper in this volume at n73–76.
Similar observations about the political climate of the day are made by Nickle, Collection,
47f, 70–72; Wan, ‘Collection’, 202. Without such a link to contemporaneous Jewish history
Georgi, Remembering, 23 does refer to ‘Judaizing zealots’.
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law on gentile Christians. It follows they were radicalized Judaeo-Christians.
This corresponds to the mention in Acts of ‘thousands of believing Jews
who are zealous for the law’ and who discredit Paul’s mission to the gentiles
(Acts 21:20f).60
Thus it appears Paul’s two worries were linked. The growing climate of ‘zeal
for the law’ and anti-gentile sentiment seems to have penetrated the churches
in Jerusalem and Judaea. It is also probable that this sentiment had been
exported to the diaspora churches, causing the rise of opposition to Paul’s mission and his collection in Galatia and in Corinth subsequent to 1 Corinthians.
The existence of regular communications between Judaea and the diaspora is
confirmed by Acts, where the leaders of the Jewish community in Rome refer
to ‘letters from Judaea’ as something they could count on (Acts 28:21). Indeed,
Paul refers to ‘people come from James’ in Jerusalem who stimulated separation between Jews and gentiles in the Antioch church (Gal 2:12). Although it
refers to an earlier stage, i.e., before the actual crisis in Galatia, this furtive reference reveals a phenomenon that quite probably continued to exist. The
polemics in Galatians and 2 Corinthians are not against the Jewish law nor
against Judaeo-Christians as such, but against the growing number of JudaeoChristians who would no longer stick with ‘the truth of the gospel’ as Paul calls
it, or in other words the apostles’ Jerusalem agreement – whereas previously
most of them did.
We are uncertain about the details of Paul’s life after his arrival in Rome
(Acts 28). It has now become very unlikely, however, that the zealot climate
allowed continuation of the collection preceding the revolt, and it seems certain that no such effort was possible after it.
1.5
Philippians
One may wonder why Paul does not mention the collection in other letters,
especially the one to Philippi.61 As we shall argue more elaborately below,
Phil 4:10–19 abounds with sacrificial imagery thanking the Philippians for
the donations they had repeatedly made to his person. In combination with
Phil 1:5 and 4:15, this makes it unthinkable that they did not participate in the
collection: ‘…(I am) thankful for your partnership in the gospel (κοινωνία
ὑμῶν εἰς τὸ εὐαγγέλιον); … no church entered into partnership with me in
giving and receiving (ἐκοινώνησεν εἰς λόγον δόσεως καὶ λήμψεως) except you
60
61
This evidence runs counter to the explanation of Nanos, ‘Spies’ that in Gal 2:4 these
concerned non-Christian ‘vigilante’ and similar Jews and hence coincided with the ‘unbelieving’ of Rom 15:31.
Wedderburn, ‘Collection’, 102 – a ‘more difficult question’.
Paul’s ‘Collection for the Saints’ (2 Cor 8–9)
153
only’.62 It follows the collection is being passed over in silence. We can think
of several reasons. When writing this letter, Paul was in prison, and if this
was in Rome, as is most likely, he would be unable to continue directing the
campaign.63 An additional possibility is that things were fine in Philippi and
there was no special reason to bring it up. In any case it seems certain that
the Philippian church was among the Macedonian mainstays of the campaign (2 Cor 8:1; 9:4; Rom 15:26). This is interesting in view of the possibility
that the author of Acts came from Philippi to join Paul on his last journey to
Jerusalem (Acts 16:11f; 20:6, see next section).
1.6
The Acts of the Apostles
Attention has been drawn to the fact that the author of Acts in spite of references to other gifts and offerings never makes the slightest mention of such a
consequential phenomenon as Paul’s collection for Jerusalem.64 This is all the
more remarkable since the link with Jerusalem and the union between Jewish
and gentile Christians are central to his narrative; a collection for the Jerusalem
church would fit in nicely. The author, whom we shall call Luke,65 left it for us
to guess at his motives.
We can think of various reasons. It could be embarrassment because the
collection was discontinued after Paul’s arrest in Jerusalem, or because in the
end the collection was rejected in Jerusalem, whereas Luke or his source for
the collection was among the company that went along with Paul.66 Probably
a more pressing reason is that at the time of writing, i.e. after the defeat of
the Jewish revolt by the Romans, the ‘Jewish tax’ had been introduced,
Vespasian’s self-serving conversion of the internal Jewish Temple tax into an
62
63
64
65
66
Georgi, Remembering, 62–67 thinks Phil does refer to the collection (while unOckhamishly considering 4:10–23 another ‘fragmentary letter’).
‘Chains’, Phil 1:7, 13, 17; ‘the praetorium’, 1:13; ‘the imperial house’ 4:22, ‘Clement’, 4:3. Brown,
Introduction opts for Ephesus c. 55 ce for a date. Grant, Historical Introduction excludes
the Ephesus imprisonment theory for lack of solid evidence and considers Philippians to
be one of the prison letters written from Rome. Similarly Wedderburn, ‘Collection’, 102
(n20: praetorium points to Rome).
Goguel, ‘Collecte’, 316–318; Downs, ‘Collection’, 52. Wedderburn, ‘Collection’, 103f assumes
as much.
Following patristic tradition in identifying him with the companion Paul mentions in
Col 4:14 (a non-Jew); Phlm 24; 2 Tim 4:11. There is no convincing evidence to the contrary.
Cf Fitzmyer, Acts, 50f.
Discontinued: Goguel, ‘Collecte’, 316f; rejected: Wedderburn, ‘Collection’, 104 n27. The
rejection theory is contradicted by Acts 21:16–26 (continuing the ‘we-passage’) and 24:17f
(on which see below); cf Fitzmyer, Romans, 726.
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annual contribution to the temple of Jupiter Capitolinus in Rome to be paid by
all Jewish men, women and minors. It involved deciding who is Jewish and
who is not and it thereby must have heavily encumbered relations between
Jews and non-Jews, especially so in the churches.67 While at that time Paul’s
collection certainly had been discontinued, it may also have become a sensitive topic to raise. A gentile Christian collection for the Jerusalem church could
well have become completely unthinkable.
Nevertheless, three passages in Acts have been thought to give information
on Paul’s collection. The first one is Acts 11:27–30, where Paul, during the first
phase of his missionary career, is staying at Antioch with Barnabas, when a
group of prophets come from Jerusalem and announce a famine ‘in the entire
world’. The Antiochenes decide to give ‘aid’ (διακονία) and charge Paul and
Barnabas to deliver it ‘to the brethren in Judaea’. Scholars have linked this with
the request to ‘remember the poor’ which the apostles made to Paul at the end
of the meeting in Jerusalem described in Gal 2:1–10.68 This implies identifying
the detailed Galatians narrative of the Jerusalem meeting not with the account
in Acts 15 of a meeting of Paul and Barnabas with the apostles in Jerusalem on
an almost identical agenda, but with the earlier visit of Paul and Barnabas to
Jerusalem briefly hinted at in Acts 11:30. It is an identification hard to maintain.
First, important elements are lacking on both sides. Acts 11 does not mention
such an important item as a meeting of Paul with the apostles, and Galatians
does not refer to prophets or a famine. Second, and more importantly, we must
pay attention to what both narratives do mention and to the way they do. This
will suggest another reading.
In the unfolding of the Acts narrative, the apostles’ meeting in chapter 15
plays a pivotal role, both literally and figuratively, in respect of the growing
urgence of the question about gentiles in the Church and the commandments
incumbent on them (11:2f; 15:5; 21:20f). Similarly, in the narrative Paul gives of
his relations with Jerusalem in Gal 1:15–2:21, not only can a parallel build-up be
discerned, but the extensively covered apostles’ meeting in Jerusalem as well
occurs in the middle. In both narratives, the question of the position of gentile
Christians is central, and it is resolved with a similar agreement aiming at
enabling law-observing Jews and non-observant gentiles to co-exist in the
churches. These parallels make it probable that the Jerusalem meeting in Gal
2:1–10 is identical with the one in Acts 15:6–29, rather than with the brief hint
67
68
Josephus, War 7:218; Suetonius, Domit 12.2; Cassius Dio, Hist rom 66.7.2. See Stern, GLAJJ,
nos. 320, 430; Smallwood, The Jews, 345, 371–376; Goodman, ‘Fiscus Iudaicus’; Heemstra,
Fiscus Judaicus.
Wedderburn, ‘Collection’; Downs, ‘Collection’.
Paul’s ‘Collection for the Saints’ (2 Cor 8–9)
155
in Acts 11:30 which contains no such meeting nor involves questions about
gentile Christians. It follows that Acts 11:29 does not refer to Paul’s collection
for the saints but to a separate relief campaign by the Antioch church in
response to the intervention of prophets from Jerusalem.69 As to the Jerusalem
conference, it seems we must accept that Luke was unwilling or unable to
mention the request by the apostles to ‘remember the poor’ and the collection
for the Jerusalem church initiated by Paul.
The second relevant passage is the narrative of Paul’s last travel from
Macedonia through Achaia and Asia Minor to Jerusalem in Acts 20–21. At an
emotional meeting in Ephesus Paul holds what may be heard as a farewell discourse,70 saying, ‘The Holy Spirit testifies to me (…) that imprisonment and
afflictions await me’ (Acts 20:22f). Indeed upon his arrival in Jerusalem, zealot
elements get him arrested on the suspicion of sacrilege. It is plausible to associate this with what Rom 15:25–31 relates about Paul’s journey to Jerusalem with
the collection moneys.71 If indeed Acts is about the same journey, this would
explain an element in the narrative which otherwise is not well understood.
Acts 20:4 gives a detailed list of persons from various cities, most of whom in
pairs, who accompany Paul on this journey, without explaining why. As this is
in the middle of a ‘we passage’ suggesting the narrator was present without
mentioning himself, some scholars read the list as ‘a piece of traditional information’ without function in the narrative.72 That would not be like Luke. More
likely, he is indeed referring to the journey also mentioned in Rom 15 but for his
own reasons does not mention the collection. In that case, Paul was delivering
his ‘collection for the saints’ with a heavy delegation from the churches of
gentiles. If the author of the ‘we-passages’ (and likely of Acts) had remained
in Philippi until joining Paul directly at Troas (Acts 16:11f; 20:6, ἡμεῖς δὲ
ἐξεπλεύσαμεν), he would be a co-organizer of the collection as a representative from Philippi.73 Other co-organizers not mentioned here are possibly
Stephanas (1 Cor 16:15) and, with certainty, Titus (2 Cor 8:6, 16, 23). Given Luke’s
69
70
71
72
73
Eusebius CH 2.12.2 links this episode with the famine in Judaea and the relief organized
by Queen Helena of Adiabene which is mentioned by Josephus, Ant 20:101.
Cf Marguerat, ‘Enigma’.
E.g. Munck, Paulus, 288; Georgi, Remembering, 122–127.
Koch, ‘Kollektenbericht’, esp 376–380; Wedderburn, ‘Collection’, 104 n25 and 26, also mentioning H. Conzelmann and G. Lüdemann.
Thus Munck, Paulus, 289; the possibility is further explored by Pilhofer, Philippi. The lavish gifts from Philippi hinted at in Paul’s letter to that city (see above) would tie in with
this possibility. Jervell, Apostelgeschichte, 498 and Wedderburn, ‘Collection’, 104–108 think
it just concerns a travel company.
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modesty, his involvement could be an additional reason for him to be silent
about the collection.74
The third relevant element in Acts is Paul’s defence before Felix following
his arrest. In his apology he says he has done nothing punishable, explaining
he had come up ‘to worship in Jerusalem… to bring to my nation alms and
offerings (ἐλεημοσύνας ποιήσων εἰς τὸ ἔθνος μου … καὶ προσφοράς), during which
they found me purified in the temple, without any crowd or tumult’ (Acts
24:17f). It is clear that this must relate to what is reported in Acts 21:26 about
Paul’s participating in a sanctification rite at James’ proposal. Indeed in 24:17
Paul says he made these financial contributions not to the Jerusalem church or
their poor, but ‘to my people’, i.e., to the poor’s fund in the Temple.75 Luke here
presents Paul as faithfully fulfilling his duties as a Jew, after James had recalled
the rule that believing gentiles are only obliged to keep the prohibitions of ‘idol
offerings, blood, strangled meat, and unchastity’ (21:25). The fact that we are
told here that Paul has come to Jerusalem bringing money76 makes the silence
about ‘the collection for the saints’ all the more striking.
If for reasons of his own Luke prefers not to mention Paul’s collection, he
does give a piece of information which becomes the more significant if combined with the evidence from Paul’s own letters. It concerns his well-known
double-report on the community of goods in the pristine Jerusalem church.
Thus we read in Acts:
And they devoted themselves to the apostles’ teaching and to common
life (κοινωνία), to the breaking of bread, and the prayers. (…) And all who
believed were together and had all things in common (εἶχον ἅπαντα
κοινά); and they sold their possessions and goods and distributed them to
all, as any had need. And day by day, attending the temple together and
breaking bread in their homes… (Acts 2:42–46)
Now the company of those who believed were of one heart and soul, and
no one said that any of the things which he possessed was his own, but
they had everything in common (ἅπαντα κοινά). (…) There was not a
74
75
76
The author’s modesty is seen from the contrast between the ‘we-passages’ in Acts and his
prologues (Luke 1:1–4; Acts 1:1f) which identify his protector but not himself – unlike
Josephus, Ant 1:1; Life 1–6, 430.
Downs, ‘Collection’, 66. Cf below 179–181 for evidence on charity procedures in the Temple.
Jervell, Apostelgeschichte, 571 overstates his point by explaining that Luke thus indicates
the collection in order to prove Paul’s law observance. Fitzmyer, Acts, 736 simply accepts
it concerns Paul’s collection which ‘Luke has not emphasized … to the same extent as did
Paul himself’.
Similarly Wedderburn, ‘Collection’, 104.
Paul’s ‘Collection for the Saints’ (2 Cor 8–9)
157
needy person among them, for as many as were possessors of lands or
houses sold them, and brought the proceeds of what was sold and laid it
at the apostles’ feet; and distribution was made to each as any had need.
(Acts 4:32–35)
In the continuation of the last passage, Barnabas is mentioned as one of those
who sold part of his property and ‘laid the money at the apostles’ feet’ (4:36;
cf. 5:1–6). Significantly, Barnabas was also Paul’s companion who according to Gal
2:10 was to organize the collection together with Paul. Moreover we hear that
the collected money functioned as a common treasure ‘to make distribution to
those who had need’. More soberly said: those who did not work because they
continuously attended the Temple, were in need of donations for living. The mention of ‘the apostles’ feet’ symbolizes spiritual authority being paid tribute to.
It is likely that these reports preserve authentic tradition. Not only would
this be in line with Luke’s particular method, but it is confirmed by the similarity with the Essenes and their community of goods as described by Josephus:
‘Their community of goods (κοινωνικόν) is tryly admirable; …new members on
admission to the sect shall confiscate their property to the order’ (War 2:122).
Although we have no information about the economical organization of the
Jerusalem church in the subsequent decades, there is no reason to assume that
the partial sharing of goods and the relying on gifts were abolished by Paul’s
time. Some confirmation is found in the Didache which preserves elaborate
instructions about the common treasure of a late first century church, usually
located in Antioch (Did 11–13).
The implication would be that the moneys which Paul collected from the
gentile churches were destined for the communal treasure of the Jerusalem
church, similar to the donations of Barnabas and others mentioned at the
beginning of Acts.77 We have already referred to the likelihood that this also
covered the ex officio right of the apostles to sustenance, as we have it for
‘prophets and teachers’ in the Didache passage just cited.
We may venture one speculative step further. We noted that the implied
author of Acts was among the delegation from diaspora churches accompanying Paul on his last journey to Jerusalem, and that he joined the company
coming from Philippi, where he had ‘stayed some days’ (Acts 16:11f; 20:6).
If indeed this journey is identical with the one Paul mentions in Rom
15:25f, Luke would likely have been among those contributing the money
from the Philippians – those to whom Paul later writes to thank them
for their lavish financial support, ostensibly during his emprisonment in
77
Similarly Ogereau, ‘Jerusalem Collection’, 377 as against Hengel, Property, 35.
158
Safrai and Tomson
Rome.78 These connections would make the repeated detailed report on the
communal church treasure in Jerusalem fully understandable.
1.7
Summary of Historical and Literary Evidence
We possess references to the collection for the Jerusalem church in Paul’s four
‘major’ letters. Clearly, the campaign was central to his work and has correctly
been understood as a key to his intentions and theology. It was a large-scale
project, running for at least a couple of years in Galatia, Macedonia, and Achaia.79
It was a ‘collection for the saints’ from the ‘churches of gentiles’ (cf. Rom 16:4)
strategically planned and energetically carried out by Paul himself.80
1 Cor 16:1–4 appears to give the most matter-of-fact information on the campaign. Paul calls it by the technical term of λογεία, ‘collection’; it is to be carried
out in Corinth (and probably elsewhere) as it is in Galatia; and it is intended for
the church of Jerusalem, where it will be sent through an embassy or by a
group of people led by Paul himself.
Gal 2:10, embedded in the stratified rhetorical build-up of Galatians, adds to
our information that the collection apparently was the outcome of an agreement between Paul and the other apostles, aimed at expressing the reciprocity
between the Jewish and gentile parts of the Church and recognizing the
spiritual leadership of the Jerusalem community. It is also clear, however, that
subsequent developments have jeopardized the agreement and quite probably
also the unanimity about the collection.
2 Cor 8–9 seems to confirm this impression. The Corinthian church, which
may be assumed to have still collaborated wholeheartedly in the collection a
year earlier, now needs to be persuaded to carry on or to resume. We also hear
that the churches in Macedonia participate, setting the example. In Corinth,
there is now strong resistance to the collection, while radicalized JudaeoChristians are questioning Paul’s authority as an apostle.
The political dimensions of the situation sensed in 2 Cor 8–9 can be
gauged in Rom 15. Paul is carrying the contributions from Macedonia and
Achaia to Jerusalem.81 The opposition to this gentile tribute seems to have
78
79
80
81
Cf the probably authentic information that ‘Luke is only with me’, 2 Tim 4:11, and cf
Col 4:14. Bruce, New Testament History, 354 cautiously accepts the possibility that Luke
joined the company with money from Philippi, but ibid. 364 rejects the ‘particularly
doubtful’ evidence of Philippians.
Cf Scott, Paul for the geographical implications of Paul’s plan.
Munck, Paul; Jervell, ‘Letter’; Berger, ‘Almosen’.
It is not clear what the omission of Galatia means, cf above n40. Achaia (hence probably
also Corinth) has finally continued its participation.
Paul’s ‘Collection for the Saints’ (2 Cor 8–9)
159
grown, first of all in Judaea. Judaeo-Christians seem to be influenced by the
movement of ‘zealot’ Jews in Judaea, radicals who endanger Paul and his
mission to the gentiles. Unflinchingly, he keeps presenting the collection as
a material gift from the gentiles in return for the spiritual generosity of the
Jerusalem church.
Acts is eloquently silent on the collection, although Paul’s career, the relations between Jews and non-Jews, and the importance of Jerusalem are all central themes. Possible indirect allusions were found, which makes the silence all
the more remarkable. Maybe the author wanted to dissimulate his own active
involvement out of modesty. More importantly, he wrote after the revolt, when
the Temple tax had been converted into a tax for the Roman Jupiter temple as
a punishment, and it may just have been unwise to mention the collection.
As we have said, the historical perspective in which we are presenting the
sources is not new. It consists in a modification of Baur’s scenario by viewing
the arrival of Judaeo-Christian emissaries from Judaea in Corinth and Galatia
in an evolutionary perspective, and by explaining Paul’s defense not from his
opposition to the Jewish law as such but to emerging zealot radicalism.82 After
all, the Judaeo-Christian opposition he came up against had much older roots,
as it somehow echoes the reputed hesitation of Jesus and, initially, of his disciple Peter vis-à-vis the inclusion of gentiles in their movement (Mark 7:27;
Acts 10:28).83 However, if we are to believe Acts 10–11, Peter and the other apostles had subsequently become convinced that gentiles should be admitted.
And when questions arose, both Acts and Paul himself testify that the apostles
formalized their previous informal agreement to welcome gentile ‘believers’,
much as many synagogues used to admit ‘Godfearing’ non-Jews in their midst
(Acts 15; Gal 2:1–10). Later still, this more liberal attitude increasingly came
under pressure, and this is the situation Paul is facing in Galatians, 2 Corinthians,
and Romans.
Our survey of the sources also has implications for the literary questions
about 2 Corinthians. Heedful of Ockham’s razor, we have avoided the purely
hypothetical multiplication of letters and given the ‘more difficult’ extant text
a try. This has implied that the difference between the treatment of the collection in 1 and 2 Corinthians must be read as reflecting a sharp historical change.
Such a reading is put into relief by the fierce polemics in 2 Cor 3–5 and 10–13,
as distinct from the restrained language throughout 1 Corinthians. We have
also stated, however, that the import of external evidence will be crucial.
82
83
Jewett, ‘Agitators’ has proposed this developmental perspective in view of Galatians. For
some elaboration with special reference to Romans see Tomson, ‘Täter’, final section.
Cf on the implications of these passages Tomson, ‘Matthäusevangelium’.
Safrai and Tomson
160
We can now establish that such evidence has been found both in other letters
of Paul’s and in Acts. Let us summarize it once again for clarity’s sake, also
pointing at some further evidence.
First, the sequence of events encased in Paul’s account in Galatians as we
have analysed it involves a development from a situation where no questions
were asked about the mission to the gentiles (Gal 1:21–24), via one where the
Jerusalem agreement was needed to quell precisely such questions that had
meanwhile arisen (2:1–10), on to one where men ‘from James’ called this very
agreement into question (2:11–21), and finally to the situation at the time of
writing, when Christian preachers urging gentile Christians to judaize were
signalled in Galatia (1:1–12; 6:11–18).
Second, an analogous development is described in Acts. Even if this work is
evidently later than Paul’s letters and its author may be suspected to know
these, some significant divergencies in the details make it reasonable to treat
Acts as a source external to Paul. The initial, relatively peaceful unfolding of
Paul’s apostolate to the gentiles is narrated in Acts 11:25–14:28 – significantly, in
the wake of that of Peter’s (10:1–11:18). A next stage is announced by the critical
questions about the gentile’s attitude to the law asked first in Antioch, then in
Jerusalem; the apostolic agreement is meant to remedy this (15:1–16:5). A third
stage, in which Jewish Christians ‘zealous for the law’ seriously doubt Paul’s
reliability vis-à-vis the law, is signalled in Acts 21. True to the ‘zealot’ spirit, they
manage to get Paul arrested on the suspicion of sacrilege by bringing gentiles
into the Temple (21:28).
Third, the last, radicalized stage reflected in Galatians and Acts seems also
evidenced in Romans 15. We recall that the collection was intended by mutual
agreement to be a tribute from the gentile diaspora churches to the Jewish
church of Jerusalem. When finally travelling to Jerusalem with the money,
however, Paul expresses apprehension about the ‘unbelieving in Judaea’ who
endanger this mission, apparently using their leverage over certain Jerusalemite
Christians.
A fourth source, external to the New Testament, would be found in Josephus’
reports of the deteriorating situation in Judaea prior to the Jewish war against
Rome (War 2:204–408). The value of this evidence, however, is called into question in the present volume by Martin Goodman and therefore in all fairness
cannot be discussed here.84
A fifth source, also outside the New Testament, are the rabbinic traditions about the differences of the Shammaite and Hillelite factions of Pharisees, notably in regard of gentiles, which apparently culminated in armed
84
The intention is to do so in a separate study.
Paul’s ‘Collection for the Saints’ (2 Cor 8–9)
161
Shammaite violence against Hillelites.85 In isolation, these traditions are
hard to pinpoint chronologically, but they can be of value in combination with
the better datable sources we have been quoting. As such, they do illuminate
the rampant agitation, especially vis-à-vis non-Jews, in Judaea since the late
50’s ce.
We sum up. On the historical level, sources external to the Corinthian correspondence reflect a gradual shift during the 50’s ce from a more pluralist
climate to one of agitated insistence on Jewishness and law observance. This
confirms that the difference in tone between 1 and 2 Corinthians reflects
a change in the external situation. At the same time, on the literary level, it
confirms the wisdom of the wager to refrain from complicated composition
theories and to read 2 Corinthians as an integral document. It also confirms
that as to our theme proper, the collection, the elaborate plea 2 Cor 8–9 to
resume participating reflects the impact in Corinth of the rising tide of judaizing zealotry in Judaea and in the Judaean churches.
2
‘Saints’ in Ancient Jewish and Christian Usage
Having assessed the historical and literary parameters of the collection, let us
now study the term ‘saints’ used by Paul, and with it, arguably, an aspect of the
cultural and spiritual background of his campaign. This terminology is used
even in the most matter-of-fact reference in 1 Cor 16:1 and seems to be a set
phrase. As we shall see, the word has cultic and apocalyptic associations and
seems to have been especially cherished in traditions associated with the figures of Daniel and Enoch. Moreover Paul’s use of a collection ‘for the saints’
without specifying that it concerns those in Jerusalem suggests the appellation
was once used especially for the Jerusalem church.86
The biblical adjective ( קדושkadosh) is translated in Septuagint Greek ἅγιος
and in Aramaic ;קדישאwe shall use the translations ‘saintly’ or ‘holy’. As referring to humans, especially in the plural, the word typically appears in writings
post-dating the rise of Christianity, foremost in the New Testament epistles.
The usage is not drawn from the Greek-speaking world,87 since it was not common there until the Byzantine period, and there certainly was no social group
given this title. If special qualities were attributed to a personage such as
85
86
87
See previous paper in this volume, above 98f.
Correctly so Holl, ‘Kirchenbegriff’, 59; Georgi, Remembering, 33f. See esp Bauckham,
‘Jerusalem Church’, 79–83 and the references there.
See Proksch, art. ἅγιος, 88 for the occurrence in Greek.
Safrai and Tomson
162
Apollonius of Tyana, we never find the qualification ‘holy’. The word must
derive from biblical tradition.
In the Hebrew Bible, the term קדושrefers most often to the Sovereign of the
world and to the Temple. In humans, it signifies association with the divine
and/or the cult, and it also has a moral and a ritual aspect.88 The root קדש
often relates to the priests, as in: ‘You shall anoint Aaron and his sons and sanctify them ( )וקדשת אתםto serve me’.89 In priestly usage, the community of
Israel is called upon to be holy, always involving dissociation from unholy matters: והתקדשתם והייתם קדושים כי קדוש אני, ‘Consecrate yourselves therefore,
and be holy, for I am holy’.90 Thus the entire nation is once called holy: ‘And
you will be for me a kingdom of priests and a holy nation’ ()גוי קדוש.91 In the
singular, the leading priest which God will choose will be הקדוש, ‘the holy one’
(Num 16:7). Outside the sphere of the sanctuary, the prophet Elisha is once
called איש אלהים קדוש, ‘a holy man of God’ (2 Kgs 4:9). Twice, the term appears
in the Psalms in the plural referring to humans: לקדושים אשר בארץ, ‘As for the
saints in the land’ (Ps 16:3); יראו את ה’ קדשיו, ‘O fear the Lord, you his saints, for
those who fear him have no want’ (Ps 34:10). This usage is carried on in Psalms
of Solomon 17:34, ‘There is no lawlessness in their midst in his days, they are all
saints (ὅτι πάντες ἅγιοι) and their king is the Anointed of the Lord’.
A different meaning of the word appears in the prophet Zechariah in connection with the Day of the Lord: ‘Then the Lord your God will come, and all
the holy ones with him’ (Zech 14:5, ;כל קדשים עמךLXX, πάντες οἱ ἅγιοι μετ᾽
αὐτοῦ). In this apocalyptic setting, the word seems to refer to angels.
A specialised usage begins to show up in the book of Daniel. In the Aramaic
apocalypse in chapter 7, the kingdom is given the chosen ones who are called
‘the saints of the Most High’ or ‘the people of the saints of the Most High’
([עם[ קדישי עליונין, Dan 7:18, 22, 27); the Septuagint translation is also important
for us: ἅγιοι ὑψίστου. The ‘horn’, i.e. the evil king, ‘makes war with the saints
( )קדישיןand prevails over them’, but in the end, ‘the saints receive the kingdom’
(ומלכותא החסנו קדישין, τὸ βασίλειον κατέσχον οἱ ἅγιοι, 7:21f). This usage is carried
on in the Hebrew part of the book, where the king of Greece ‘destroys mighty
men and the people of the saints’ (עם קדושים, Dan 8:24). For our survey it is
important to note that the apocalypse in Dan 7 also contains the motif of one ‘like
a son of man’ (כבר אנש, ὡς υἱὸς ἀνθρώπου) who comes with the clouds of heaven
and appears before the Ancient of Days and his myriads of angels (Dan 7:13).
88
89
90
91
Cf Proksch, art. ἅγιος, 89.
Exod 30:30; cf 29:44.
Lev 11:44; cf 11:45; 19:2; 20:7, 26; 21:6; Exod 22:30.
Exod 19:6; cf Deut 7:6; 14:21; 28:9.
Paul’s ‘Collection for the Saints’ (2 Cor 8–9)
163
The Danielic language is adopted in the Qumran documents, although
often, the word קדושhere refers to angels.92 In the War Scroll, we read:
לאל ישראל המלוכה ולקדושי עמו יעשה חיל, ‘For kingship belongs to the God of
Israel and with the holy ones of his nation he will work wonders’, and again, …
ובקדושי עמו יעשה גבורה, ‘…and with the holy ones of his people he will
perform a mighty deed’.93 Especially the Rule of the Community calls the
community by such striking expressions as בית קודש לישראל וסוד,מטעת עולם
קודש קודשים לאהרון, ‘an everlasting plantation, a holy house for Israel and the
foundation of the holy of holies for Aaron’.94
The specialised usage of ‘the saints’ thus seems to develop in circles entertaining apocalyptic traditions like those of the book of Daniel. A further stage
is evidenced in the so-called ‘Book of the Similitudes’ or ‘Parables’ which makes
up the second of the five ‘books’ of the Ethiopic apocalypse of Enoch (1 En
37–71).95 This also seems to be the stage where Jewish usage begins to spill over
in what will subsequently be called ‘Christianity’.
The importance of the Enochic traditions for early Christianity has drawn
increased interest of scholars since the Aramaic Enoch fragments discovered
at Qumran gave more substance to the dating of the various texts. Early
Christian authors are notable for their liberal borrowings from these traditions, but since the late third century ce this liberality has all but disappeared
in mainline Christian literature, in apparent coincidence with the growing
awareness of an authoritative, i.e., ‘non-heretical’, ‘canon’ of Scriptures.96 For
the early period, however, it is hardly an exaggeration to say that Christianity is
unthinkable without the Enoch connection.97 Nor is Enoch completely absent
from rabbinic literature, notably in the Hebrew Apocalypse of Enoch also
known as Sefer Hekhalot or 3 Enoch.98 A feature of these traditions which is
especially important for us are the border crossings between heaven and earth,
between angels and humans. This is poignantly expressed in the motifs of
Enoch’s heavenly journeys and angelic transfiguration (1 En 70; 2 En 22; 3 En 4),
developments of the narrative fragment of Enoch’s translation found in
Gen 5:22–24. The reader of the New Testament is reminded of course of Jesus’
92
93
94
95
96
97
98
Bauckham, ‘Jerusalem Church’, 81, in dialogue with the Daniel commentary by J.J. Collins.
1QM 6:6; 16:1; cf 4Q511 frg 2 i:6.
1QS 8:5–6 (cf Isa 60:21); cf 1QS 8:8–9; 9:6. Cf also 1QS 9:8, אנשי הקודש ההולכים בתמים,
‘the men of holiness who walk in perfection’.
Bauckham, ‘Jerusalem Church’, 81–83.
See VanderKam, ‘1 Enoch’; Adler, ‘Introduction’, 25–29. To be sure it were (non-Catholic)
Christian churches who preserved much of the Enoch literature.
See Rowland – Morray Jones, Mystery.
Cf the introduction in Alexander, ‘3 Enoch’.
164
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transfiguration and ascension; the angelic appearance of the glorified Christ in
Revelation also comes to mind.99 Along with the somewhat later date of the
pertinent Enoch passages, this raises the question of the direction of influence,
i.e. from Jewish Enoch traditions to Christian ones, or the reverse.100 Possible
answers are contingent on the doubtful possibility to separate ‘Jewish’ from
‘Christian’ elements at this stage, and anyway they are not decisive for our
discussion.
The fact is that in one of the older parts of 1 Enoch we read that the Lord of the
universe ‘will arrive with ten million of the holy ones in order to execute
judgment upon all’ (1 En 1:9). This recalls the quotation from Zechariah we have
made above. It is also more or less the sentence we shall find quoted in the Epistle
of Jude, and it is closely related to other references to the coming of ‘the Lord’
with his holy ones or angels basic to early Christian tradition. A related important motif shared by the Enoch traditions and earliest Christian literature is the
‘son of man’. In the Enoch literature, it appears solely in the Book of Similitudes,
which scholars date to around the beginning of the Common Era. Remarkably,
this is also where we find a number of references to ‘the holy ones’ meaning
the elect or righteous on earth.101 Let us quote one remarkable passage, which
incidentally shows no specifically Christian features:102
…For the Son of Man was concealed from the beginning, and the Most
High One preserved him in the presence of his power; then he revealed
him to the holy and the elect ones. The congregation of the holy ones
shall be planted, and all the elect ones shall stand before him. (1 En
62:7–8)
As to Christian sources, an archaic use seems to be found in Did 4:2, as
part of the originally Jewish Two Ways Tractate: ‘Seek every day the presence
of the saints (τὸ πρόσωπον τῶν ἁγίων)103 that you may find rest in their
99
100
101
102
103
Mark 9:2–8; Acts 1:9–11; Rev 1:12–20 (with clear Danielic/Enochic allusions). See Rowland –
Morray Jones, Mystery, esp chapters 3 and 4.
Milik, Books, 89–107 considers 1 En 37–71 a Christian composition. VanderKam, ‘Major
Issues’, 358–362 criticizes this position. Cf also VanderKam, ‘1 Enoch’, 33.
Bauckham, ‘Jerusalem Church’, 81f.
The ‘hidden Messiah’ is a theme known from rabbinic literature, and the ‘planting’ of the
‘people of the righteous’ is a reference to Isa 60:21 also known from Qumran, see esp 1QS
8:5, למטעת עולם בית קודש לישראל.
Ms H; cf Doctrina Apostolorum, require autem facies sanctorum (probably reflecting a
pre-Christian version of the Two Ways: Van de Sandt – Flusser, Didache, 61–63). Const
Apost and Barn 19:10 (mss.) read τὰ πρόσωπα τῶν ἁγίων.
Paul’s ‘Collection for the Saints’ (2 Cor 8–9)
165
words’ – involving a glaring Hebraism, פני הקדושים, and thus probably reflecting a Palestinian provenance. Here, the word ‘saints’ has acquired the
solemn intimacy of the daily gathering of the elect. A related usage, κολλᾶσθαι
τοῖς ἁγίοις, ‘to adhere to the saints’ as a norm for pious behaviour, is evidenced
in a quotation from an unknown source in 1 Clement and in a standardized
phrase in the Pastor Hermae, which also points to ancient usage; moreover
there is a perfect equivalent in Tannaic Hebrew.104 There is no indication that
the appellation is exclusive to one locality; it rather seems to be a general designation. Therefore it is likely that the generalised use of ‘the saints’ for the
local Christian communities is no innovation of Paul’s, as has been suggested,105 but derives from earliest Christian and possibly even pre-Christian,
Enochic usage. Acts also has some archaic-sounding occurrences of ‘saints’
which belong here; the archaism involved may well be intentional.106 In such
passages, the phrase ‘the saints’ appears to designate the community in its
sacred assembly.
In Paul’s epistles, the address used in a number of cases, τοῖς ἁγίοις, ‘to the
saints’,107 is remarkable, the more so in view of the frequent Pauline themes of
‘boasting’ and ‘justification through faith’.108 Added to the sources we have just
reviewed, this enhances the likelihood that Paul adopted the usage from primitive Christian tradition. The intimate aspect we have just pointed out is found
in concluding salutation formulae such as the following interesting example:
‘All the saints (πάντες οἱ ἅγιοι) greet you, especially those of Caesar’s household’
(Phil 4:22).109 Paul also uses the verb ἁγιάζειν, ‘to sanctify’, among other connections referring to baptism.110
104
105
106
107
108
109
110
1Clem 46:2, γέγραπται γάρ· “κολλᾶσθαι τοῖς ἁγίοις, ὅτι οἱ κολλώμενοι αὐτοῖς ἁγιασθήσονται”. Herm 14:2; 74:1, οἱ τοῖς ἁγίοις μὴ κολλώμενοι. Cf SifDeut ekev 49 (p114f), הדבק
בחכמים ובתלמידיהם, ‘Adhere to the sages and their disciples’. Being inspired by Deut 11:22,
ולדבקה בו, ‘To adhere to Him’, the allusion is to mysticism.
Holl, ‘Kirchenbegriff’, see above at n32.
Using ‘authentic’ language for ancient history is typical of Luke. See Acts 9:13 (and 26:10!);
9:32 and 9:41, ‘the saints’ in Jerusalem, Lydda, and Joppa, respectively, in the last case in
the interesting combination, οἱ ἅγιοι καὶ αἱ χήραι. Similarly Proksch, art. ἅγιος, 108 (‘In der
Judenchristenheit enthalten’).
2 Cor 1:1; Eph 1:1; Phil 1:1; Col 1:2.
Boasting (καυχάομαι): cf 1 Cor 1:29, 31; Rom 2:17, 23. The καυχα- root appears 29x in 2 Cor,
as often as in all Paul’s other letters. The typical association of καυχα- and δικ- appears in
Rom 3:26f; 4:2f; 1 Cor 1:28–30.
Cf also Rom 16:15; 2 Cor 13:12; Heb 13:24.
1 Cor 6:11, ἀλλὰ ἀπελούσασθε, ἀλλὰ ἡγιάσησθε, ἀλλὰ έδικαιώθητε, ‘but you were washed, you
were sanctified, you were justified’. These may well be traditional phrases. See also the
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Of special significance for our subject is the traditional usage of ‘love’
(ἀγάπη) and ‘service’ (διακονία) towards ‘the saints’ in a generalised sense.111
The phrase διακονία εἰς τοὺς ἁγίους, ‘service to the saints’ as referring to the collection for Jerusalem, links up with this. It makes the singular use, λογεία εἰς
τοὺς ἁγίους, ‘collection for the saints’ (1 Cor 16:1) stand out as a technical phrase.
The stronger is the impression that ‘the saints’ here is a set phrase indicating
the Jerusalem church.
A special usage in two of Paul’s letter headings deserves mention here: the
address κλητοὶς ἁγίοις, ‘to those called as saints’ (Rom 1:7; 1 Cor 1:2). Again,
this seems to echo an archaic or at least solemn usage. A likely suggestion is
that it relates to the Pentateuchal phrase, מקרא קדש, ‘holy assembly’,112
which the Septuagint translates as (ἡμέρα) κλητὴ ἁγία.113 Some confirmation
of this link is found in the names of two war banners in the War Scroll:
קהל אלand קרואי אל, ‘the called ones of God’ and ‘assembly of God’, which
translated in Greek would be, ἐκκλησία θεοῦ and κλητοὶ θεοῦ.114 A veritable
play on these words appears in 1 Cor 1:2, where the κλητοὶ ἅγιοι constitute the
ἐκκλησία τοῦ θεοῦ and are being addressed along ‘with all those who call
upon (ἐπικαλουμένοις) the name of the Lord’. The phrase ἐκκλησία τοῦ θεοῦ,
which is not infrequent in Paul, as well must be ancient. Another remarkable
phrase in Paul is ἐκκλησίαι τῶν ἁγίων, ‘the churches of the saints’ (1 Cor 14:33),
whose custom is cited as authority for the obligation of women to remain
silent during assemblies.115
In early Christianity as well, the ‘holy assembly’ and its prayers are viewed as
directly relating to the angels, and this is where we begin to see the border
crossings. We find this most expressively in the Revelation of John, a book preserving altogether remarkable Judaeo-Christian traditions: ‘And another angel
came and stood at the altar with a golden censer; and he was given much
incense to mingle with the prayers of all the saints (προσευχαὶ τῶν ἁγίων
πάντων) upon the golden altar before the throne; and the smoke of the incense
111
112
113
114
115
letter address, 1 Cor 1:2, ἡγιασμένοις ἐν Χριστῳ ‘Ιησοῦ, κλητοῖς ἁγίοις, and the very special
usage referring to mixed marriage, 1 Cor 7:14, ἡγιάσται γὰρ ὁ ἀνὴρ ὁ ἄπιστος ἐν τῇ γυναικὶ καὶ
ἡγιάσται ἡ γυνή ἡ ἄπιστος ἐν τῷ ἀδελφῷ.
Rom 12:13; 1 Cor 16:15; Eph 1:15; 4:12; Col 1:4; 1 Tim 5:10; Philm 5, 7; Heb 6:10.
Proksch, art. ἅγιος, 108.
Exod 12:16; Exod 23 (8x); Num 28:25; the phrase is left untranslated once in Exod and 5
times in Num.
1QM 4:10, cf previous paper p122. The leaders are called אנשי השם קרואי המועד וכול ראשי
אבות העדהin 1QM 2:7, which clearly varies Num 16:2, ;נשיאי עדה קראי מועד אנשי שםand
similarly קרואי העדה, Num 1:16; 26:9.
For both expressions cf p121–123 in this volume.
Paul’s ‘Collection for the Saints’ (2 Cor 8–9)
167
rose with the prayers of the saints from the hand of the angel before God’.116
A most remarkable and apparently archaic phrase is Rev 20:9, τὴν παρεμβολὴν
τῶν ἁγίων καὶ τὴν πόλιν τὴν ἠγαπημένην, ‘the camp of the holy ones and
the beloved city’ which the gentiles besieged. There must be a relation here −
however distant − with the War Scroll, where holy warriors and angels are
described fighting side by side.117
Similar angelic-human correspondences are also found elsewhere in early
Christian literature, though more modestly. The tiny Epistle of Jude contains
both ‘the faith once for all delivered to the saints’ and the explicit quote, ‘Enoch
in the seventh generation from Adam prophesied, saying, Behold, the Lord
came with his holy myriads (ἦλθεν κύριος ἐν ἁγίαις μυριάσιν αὐτοῦ), to execute
judgment on all…’ (Jude 3, 14). In Paul, we must point out the angels he senses
being present during community worship, necessitating women to wear veils
‘because of the angels’.118 Also, Paul knows of those who ‘speak in the tongues
of men and of angels’ (1 Cor 13:1), and once, becoming ‘foolish’, he grants us an
echo of his own angelic auditions − although the ‘angel of Satan’ is right at his
side to prevent him from being arrogant (2 Cor 12:4, 7, 11).
The apocalyptic aspect has an eschatological dimension. Here, ‘saints’ and
‘angels’ are sometimes interchangeable. The link with the Enoch tradition is
clearest here, and next to ‘saints’, the ‘son of man’ appears. Thus in the letters to
the upheaval-ridden Thessalonian church we read of ‘the parousia of our Lord
Jesus with all his saints’ (μετὰ πάντων τῶν ἁγίων ἀυτοῦ) and of ‘that day …when
he comes to be glorified in his saints’ (ἐν τοῖς ἁγίοις ἀυτοῦ, 1 Thess 3:13; 2 Thess
1:10). We know other variants of this phrase from the Didache and the synoptic
tradition. We hear both, ‘The Lord will come with his holy ones’ (καὶ οἱ ἅγιοι
μετ᾽ ἀυτοῦ, Did 16:7), and ‘the Son of man …when he comes in the glory of his
Father with the holy angels’ (μετὰ τῶν ἀγγέλων τῶν ἁγίων, Mark 8:38; cf Matt
16:27). We have already cited the phrase of the coming of ‘the Lord with his
holy myriads’ which the Epistle of Jude attributes to Enoch, ‘the seventh from
Adam’ (Jude 14). The link with the Enoch tradition is explicit.
Subsidiary influence on the early Christian use of the term ‘saints’ may have
come from the Elijah − Elisha tradition. As we have seen, the Hebrew Bible
calls Elijah once ‘a holy man of God’. The Elijah − Elisha motif is prominent in
116
117
118
Rev 8:3f; cf 5:8. This tradition could have influenced the verse in Tob 12:15 mss A-B, with
‘holy angels’, ‘prayers of the holy’, and ‘the Holy One’; cf ms S where all this is lacking.
1QM 12:7, ;ועדה קדושיכם בתוכנו לעזר עולמים1QM 7:6, no minors, women, handicapped or
unclean may go out to war with them, כיא מלאכי קודש עם צבאותם יחד, ‘for the holy
angels are together with their armies’.
1 Cor 11:10. For this aspect of Paul’s ecclesiology see p120−123 in this volume.
168
Safrai and Tomson
the synoptic tradition,119 as is seen from a number of miracle stories120 and
from the association of John the Baptist with Elijah.121 More central to our subject, Elijah appears to Jesus along with Moses during the transfiguration on top
of the mountain (Mark 9:4 and parallels). The predilection for the Elijah figure
rather belongs to the register of popular religion, as is also clear from the way
it appears in rabbinic literature.122 However the connection with the word
‘holy’ is too rare to be of much significance for us.
Summing up now, our survey teaches us that major importance must be
given to the Enochic-Danielic motifs of ‘the saints’ in heaven and on earth and
of the ‘son of man’. Among early Christian sources, the ‘son of man’ motif has
virtually remained restricted to the synoptic Gospels and some Jesus sayings in
John. The only other reference in the New Testament is in Stephen’s speech
before his executioners, which has a clear Enochic-Danielic ring: ‘Behold, I see
the heavens opened and the son of man standing at the right hand of God’
(Acts 7:56). Thus it seems a safe guess that the ‘Christian’ appropriation of the
Enochic ‘son of man’ motif originated in the Jewish milieu where Jesus was
educated.123 Along with the ‘son of God’ and ‘son of David’ motifs it is likely to
have belonged to the central elements of the thought world of Jesus himself.
The typical appellation of ‘the saints’ for the inner circle of Jesus’ disciples,
especially in their solemn assemblies, seems to derive from these same surroundings. We have it nowhere attributed to Jesus, although we have a saying
of his comparing resurrected humans with ‘angels’.124 The earliest appearance
in our sources seems to be Did 4:2 which was cited above and which seems
closely related to Palestinian Judaeo-Christian tradition.125 If this is acceptable, it would both explain the special meaning of the term designating the
primitive Jerusalem church and its successive application to all communities
of Christians. If we are to go by the book of Acts, the Jerusalem church was the
first to come into existence after the terrible Passover events. While the Enoch
motif of the ‘son of man’ remained restricted to the Jesus tradition, that of
‘the saints’ passed into general Christian usage. Paul must have adopted this
119
120
121
122
123
124
125
Elijah’s name appears 23 times. Also indirectly, in narrative such fragments as John 1:21, 25;
Rom 11:22; Jas 5:17.
The bread multiplication, Mark 6:34–44; 8:1–9, cf 2 Kgs 4:42–44; the resuscitation of a boy
at Nain, Luke 7:11–17, cf 1 Kgs 17:10–24; the ascension, Acts 1:8–9, cf 2 Kgs 2:11.
Mark 9:13, ‘Elijah has come’; Matt 11:14, John ‘is Elijah’.
Cf the baraita of Pinhas ben Yair, mSot 9:15, below at n135.
Bauckham, ‘Jerusalem Church’, 83 ascribes it to ‘the Jerusalem church’s own, original exegetical work’. For wider ramifications cf also Bauckham, Jude, chapter 7.
Mark 12:25, ὅταν … ἐκ νεκρῶν ἀναστῶσιν …εἰσὶν ὡς ἄγγελοι ἐν τοῖς οὐρανοῖς.
Above at n102.
Paul’s ‘Collection for the Saints’ (2 Cor 8–9)
169
terminology, both in its general meaning referring to the various assemblies of
‘saints’ and in its special use for the church where it all began – the one in
Jerusalem that was led by Jesus’ brother, James, and his foremost disciples,
Peter and John (Gal 1:18f; 2:9).
3
‘Holy Ones’ in Tannaic and Amoraic Literature
For the sake of comparison in the framework of this paper, we extend our
survey to include rabbinic literature. In this literature, the adjective קדושis a
familiar element derived from biblical Hebrew, but its literary and semantic
development is different. The plural קדושיםusually refers to all members of the
Jewish people. Only rarely do the word and its cognates refer to priests, mostly in
line with the biblical context that is the starting point of a midrash. For example,
the expression איסור קדושה, ‘prohibitions on holiness’, refers to matrimonial prohibitions that apply only to priests.126 In this respect, there is a notable shift from
Tannaic to Amoraic literature, i.e., in the early third century.
As a rule, we do not find in Tannaic literature that the term ‘holy’ is used for
special individuals who are above the common people. For example, in the
wording of the confession of the High Priest on Yom Kippur it says, ‘Please
God, I have transgressed and sinned before you, I and all my house and the
sons of Aaron and your holy nation’ (mYom 4:2). The entire nation is called
‘holy’, not just the priests. Similarly, the child of a convert born after the father’s
conversion is considered to have been born in ‘holiness’ as per its belonging to
the Jewish people (mYev 11:1; mKet 4:3; tHor 2:10, e.g.). A special significance is
given to the commandments:
“And you will be holy men unto me” (Exod 22:30) − R. Yishmael says,
when you are holy, you are mine. Isi b. Yehuda says, when God introduces
a mitsva to the Jews, He adds holiness to them. (MekRY mishpatim, kaspa
20, p320)
From what it says “Because you are a holy nation unto God” (Deut 14:2).
How? That is the holiness of mitsvot. Because every time the Holy One
blessed be He gives the Jews another commandment he adds to their
holiness. (MekRSbY 19:6, p139)
The message of these parallel sources is that observing commandments is
a condition for holiness, and holiness applies to all those who observe the
126
mYev 2:4, cf Lev 21:6; 22:2.
170
Safrai and Tomson
commandments. This idea could (or should) be understood as polemic against
the view that holiness is restricted to priests. It is repeated in many sources.127
Such is the situation in Tannaic literature, with two important exceptions:
(1) a remarkable group called the ‘Holy Congregation in Jerusalem’, which we
deal with separately in the next section; (2) the extraordinary appellation ‘our
holy rabbi’ ( )רבינו הקדושused for R. Yehuda the Prince, who was the leader of
the nation and of the sages of his generation, the editor of the Mishna, and a
strong and admired leader.128
As we have said, there appears a shift in the Amoraic period. From the
third century onwards, the term ‘holy’ became more widely used. It appears
in inscriptions, as for example, ‘Rabbi Aninana and his saintly sons’ (רבי
)אנינאנה ובניו הקדושים.129 It is also used to describe such individual sages as R.
Meir, R. Nahum ‘a man of the Holy of Holies’, or Hanania son of the brother of
R. Yoshua.130 There is even a midrash which says, ‘Anyone who separates himself
from forbidden sexual relations is called holy. For the Shunamit tells the woman,
“I knew that he is a holy man of God”’ (1 Kgs 4:9; yYev 2:4, 3d). If that is the case,
even normal observant behaviour would be sufficient for being called ‘holy’.
The shift between Tannaic and Amoraic thought may be only gradual. In
Tannaic literature, only R. Yehuda the Prince received the title ‘Holy’.131 Also, a
Tannaic midrash explains why a Nazirite is called holy, picking up on Num 6:8,
‘The way of separation and purity is called holy, and in addition, Scripture
considers him a prophet’.132 The holy man is therefore a unique figure, and
not only a Nazirite in a technical-formal sense. The Amoraic tradition may
be understood to expand this definition, e.g., when saying in the name of
R. Eliezer that ‘anyone who flagellates himself is called a holy man’; ‘anyone
who observes the words of the sages is called holy’; or, ‘anyone who abstains
from forbidden foods is called holy’.133 The idea that anyone who abstains from
127
128
129
130
131
132
133
Such as MekRSbY 14:15; MekRY Beshalah shira 4; Sifra Kedoshim 1:1.
MekRY shira 2 (p125, )שאל אנטונינוס את רבינו הקדושand MekRY beshalah shira 6 (p137,
idem), with many Amoraic parallels.
Avigad, Beit Shearim 3, 72; cf another Greek inscription ibid. 74.
Such as ySan 10:5 (29c); yNed 6:8 (40a); ySan 1:2 (19a). In an inscription from Hurvat Sussia
the donor is called, ‘his holiness rabbi Issi the Priest’: ;זכור לטובה קדושת מרי רבי איסי הכהן
Naveh, On Stone, 115, no. 75.
Above n127.
Sifrei Zuta 6:8 (p242), quoting Amos 2:11, ‘And I raised up some of your sons for prophets,
and some of your young men for Nazirites’.
bTaan 11a; bYev 20a; MidrTann Deut 14:21 (p75). Midrash Tannaim was reconstructed
mainly from post-Amoraic collections, and the Tannaic provenance of a particular
midrash can never be taken for granted.
Paul’s ‘Collection for the Saints’ (2 Cor 8–9)
171
forbidden sexual relations is called holy, which was mentioned already, is often
repeated in the Amoraic midrash collections. It implies an inflation of the concept of holiness, turning it into a general qualification for anyone who behaves
according to accepted religious norms.
Angels play a lesser role in rabbinic literature than, for example, in the apocryphal literature or in the New Testament.134 Nevertheless, we also find a link
being made between holiness among humans and the angels in rabbinic literature, as in the following tradition:
Israel are called holy ( )קדושיםand the ministering angels are called holy.
How do we know Israel are called holy? Because it says, “Israel is holy
unto God” (Jer 2:3). And how do we know it about the angels? Because it
says, “The sentence is by the decree of the watchers, the decision by the
word of the holy ones” (Dan 4:14[17]). And you do not know which is
holier than the other. But when it says, “Israel is holy unto God” −
(it implies) you are holier before Me than the ministering angels. (ARN
b 44, p124)
The emphasis on the holiness of all Israel is characteristic of rabbinic tradition,
as is the gentle irony in calling them even more holy than the ministering
angels. In another tradition, R. Akiva is seen leading his multitudes of disciples
כגבריאל בראש קדושים, ‘as Gabriel heading his holy ones’, and he is said to be
דומה למלאכי השרת, ‘resembling the ministering angels’.135
Of special interest in this connection is the tradition of the ancient
hasidim, the ‘pious individuals’ who are mentioned sporadically in rabbinic
literature and are to be located in the fringes of the rabbinic movement. In
their way of thinking, the concept of ‘holiness’ had a different place. We have
mentioned the ‘holiness’ that according to rabbinic tradition is brought
about by a special observance of commandments, in other words, taking on
additional commandments. It is somewhat different in the philosophy of
the hasidim. This is expressed, for example, in the chain saying attributed to
R. Pinhas ben Yair:
Expediency leads to cleanliness, cleanliness leads to purity, purity leads
to separation, separation leads to holiness, holiness leads to modesty,
modesty leads to fear of sin, fear of sin leads to piety ()חסידות, piety leads
134
135
On angels in rabbinic literature cf Moore, Judaism 1, 401–413; Urbach, Sages, 135–183.
ARN a8 (ms Vat 44, ed Schechter, appendix B, fol 82a).
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Safrai and Tomson
to the Holy Spirit, the Holy Spirit leads to the resurrection of the dead,
and the resurrection of the dead comes by means of Elijah of blessed
memory, Amen. (mSot 9:15)
Although preserved in the Mishna, this is a baraita, i.e., a tradition of
Tannaim − or reputed to be so − recorded in Amoraic literature. It retains an
echo from the hasidic tradition, emphasizing ‘piety’ and the fear of sin as
supreme attributes and stating that piety leads to the Holy Spirit and to the
revelation of Elijah. Furthermore, the baraita does not reflect the importance
of Tora study which was of major importance for the rabbinic sages. It has been
recognised that there are important links between Jesus and the ancient
hasidic movement.136
Apart from a more liberal use of the term ‘holy’ in Amoraic literature we also
occasionally find a striking opposition to it. This is what we read in the following two versions of a late midrash:
R. Shimon b. Yohai said: The Holy One, blessed be He, does not attribute
his name (‘holy’) to the righteous in their lifetime but after their death.
As it says (Ps 16:3), “They belong to the holy ones in the land,” etc. When
are they holy? When they are buried in the land. Because as long as they
are alive the Holy One, blessed be He, does not attribute his name to
them. Why? Because He does not believe that they will not be misled by
the evil inclination. (MidrTeh 16:2; Tanh toledot 7)
“They belong to the holy ones in the land” (Ps 16:3) − Rabbi beR. Yitshak said, when are they holy? When they are in the ground, since
as long as they are alive the Holy One, blessed be He does not attribute
his name to them.137
Living people do not deserve the name ‘holy’, since they might disappoint
the Creator; only after death can a person be awarded this title. This runs
counter to the trend we have noted in the above. An explanation might be
that the midrash voices opposition to a perceived exaggerated devotion
for Christian saints in Jerusalem or for Christian desert monks in the
Byzantine period.
136
137
For the hasidim and the link with Jesus see S. Safrai, ‘Hassidic Teaching’; ‘Hassidim veanshei maase’; ‘Mishnat hasidim’; ‘The Pharisees’; ‘Jesus and the Hasidic Movement’.
Midr Yelamdenu, ed Mann, bereshit no. 131 (J. Mann, The Bible as Read and Preached in the
Old Synagogue, Cincinnati 1966–1971).
Paul’s ‘Collection for the Saints’ (2 Cor 8–9)
4
173
‘The Holy Congregation in Jerusalem’
A very interesting exception to the Tannaic reservation in ascribing ‘holiness’
to individuals is presented by a group of rabbinic sages which the sources call
‘the Holy Congregation of Jerusalem’ or ‘Holy Assembly’.138 It is the more interesting because it may seem to stand in a peculiar relationship to the pre-70
Jerusalem church.
The community apparently consisted of a particular group of sages who
convened in Jerusalem more than a generation after the Bar Kokhba revolt
of 132–135 ce. The evidence is mainly found in Amoraic literature. In the
Bavli, the group bears the Aramaic name, קהלא קדישא דבירושלים, ‘the Holy
Congregation in Jerusalem’.139 The group is also mentioned in midrash collections dependent on the Bavli such as Shemot Rabba and Kohelet Rabba, as
well as, once, in passing, in the Yerushalmi, and in all these passages it has the
Hebrew name, עדה קדושה, ‘Holy Assembly’.140 Most likely, we are faced with
an ancient tradition informing us that a distinct group of disciples of R. Meir
were active in Jerusalem in the latter half of the second century ce. Eusebius
reports (Church History 4.6.3–4) that after the war Hadrian banned the Jews
from the city and the region of Judaea surrounding it. Apparently, however, the
ban relaxed some time after Hadrian’s death.141 The fact that the evidence is so
widely scattered across the Amoraic literature gives the impression that it
reflects actual memories from the Tannaic period, and the various pieces of
evidence taken together create a fairly coherent picture.
It should be noted in passing that the term ‘holy congregation’ became
watered down as well in the Amoraic sources, where it is transferred to all
the people: ‘May the waters gather beneath the heavens for the Holy
Congregation that in future will say before me, “This is my God and I will
praise him”’ (ExodR 21.8 citing Exod 15:2). The ‘Holy Congregation’ here denotes
the people of Israel standing before the Red Sea. Interestingly for us, the
138
139
140
141
See S. Safrai, ‘Holy Congregation’. Among other sources, this study relies on the inscription on the tomb of R. Shmuel found in Jaffa, which constitutes non-rabbinic evidence
(see Safrai, ibid). It should be noted that the tradition in KohR and yMSh 2:4 (53d) comments on a baraita which mentions the Holy Congregation but whose origin is lost.
bBer 9b; bRH 19b; bYom 69a; bBeitsa 14b; 27a; bTam 27b. While עדהand קהלare synonymous in biblical Hebrew, עדהpassed into rabbinic usage while קהלwas understood as
biblical, see yYev 8:2 (9b) and cf Sokoloff, Jewish Babylonian Aramaic, s.v. קהלה. See further the previous paper in this volume at n164.
yMSh 2:4 (53d); ShemR 21.8; KohR 9.1.
The actual effect of this law is unclear, since there is more evidence about a Jewish community existing in Jerusalem in the second and third centuries.
174
Safrai and Tomson
expression ‘holy congregation’ is also found in some fourth to sixth century
synagogue inscriptions in Sussia and Ein Gedi, and there refers to those who
attend synagogue, or in other words the local community.142
Returning now to the ‘Holy Congregation of Jerusalem’, we must note both
the striking similarities and the differences with the church of Jerusalem as
this is reflected in Paul’s letters and Acts. Both groups were based in Jerusalem,
consisted of exceptional people worthy of admiration, and enjoyed spiritual
authority. Both were attributed with pious behaviour, prayed a great deal, and
were qualified as ‘holy’. One important difference concerns the behaviour of
the members of the Holy Congregation:
Rabbi (Yehuda the Prince) said in the name of the Holy Congregation:
you acquire skill in Tora. Why? As it is written, “Enjoy life with the woman
you love” (Kohelet 9:9 – “life” being understood as work, and the “woman”,
as the Tora). And why does he call them the Holy Congregation? Because
they included R. Yose b. Meshullam and R. Shimon b. Menasia who would
divide the day into three parts, one third for Tora, one third for prayer,
and one third for work. And some say that they would labour at Tora in
the winter and at physical work in the summer… (KohR 9.1)
The special mention of the fact that the named members of the Congregation
R. Yose b. Meshullam and R. Shimon b. Menasia worked for a living may well
mean that they emphatically refrained from living on donations and charity.
Apparently they lived a pious, modest, and industrious life. By contrast, as we
have seen in the reports at the beginning of Acts, the ‘church of saints’ in
Jerusalem relied at least in part on donations. These were ‘laid at the feet of the
apostles’ (Acts 2:35), suggesting special spiritual authority. Moreover we have
found it likely that Paul’s fundraising campaign was intended as a similar donation to the treasure of the ‘mother church’ in Jerusalem from the gentile
churches and on a larger and more consistent scale.
We venture the hypothesis that the pattern of similarity and contrast
between the two groups is not coincidental, and more particularly, that it concerns a symbolic transformation. As we have seen, the evidence suggests that
the concept of an ‘assembly of saints’ emerged in the primitive Christian
milieu, drawing on such ideas as ‘a holy house for Israel’ and ‘the assembly of
God’.143 The Holy Congregation founded in Jerusalem by R. Meir’s disciples
142
143
Frey, Corpus, no. 980 (Kfar Hananya); Naveh, On Stone no. 26 (Hamat Tiberias); no. 69
(Jericho); no. 84 (Susia); no. 46 (Scythopolis).
See references above n94 and 114.
Paul’s ‘Collection for the Saints’ (2 Cor 8–9)
175
more than a century later can be seen as some sort of a polemical reaction in a
time of increased rivalry between Jews and Christians. On the one hand,
it would be positively inspired by the Christian concept, while on the other, it
emphasized the critical point the sages wanted to make: to work for a living is
better than relying on charity.
When R. Meir’s disciples started to gather in Jerusalem, there also existed a
Christian church in the city which according to the same report in Eusebius
consisted entirely of non-Jews but which nevertheless must have been very
aware of the memory of the pristine ‘church of saints’ as mentioned in Acts.
This makes it possible that the term ‘holy congregation’ was coined to stress
the differences between the two groups. The name apparently stuck and
remained to be mentioned in the Jewish sources even when the rabbinic ‘holy
community’ had ceased to exist, as had, long before, the Jerusalem ‘church
of saints’.
Admittedly there is a danger of over-interpreting here. While we cannot go
into the ideological struggle between Christians or Judaeo-Christians and Jews
at the time, it is true that this was a sensitive issue charged both in rabbinic and
in Christian sources with overt and covert polemics. However, scholars have
interpreted many rabbinic stories in a perspective of polemics, while these
could also be read in a more general sense.
Still it is worthy of note that one member of the ‘holy community’,
R. Shimon ben Menasia, is reported to engage in polemics against minim
who probably are to be identified as Christians: ‘It says, “Drink water from
your source” (בורך, borkha; Prov 5:15) – drink the waters of your Creator
(בוראך, bor’ekha), do not drink bad waters that attract you to the teachings of
the minim’.144 A number of his sayings can be read as polemics against
Christian boasting about martyrdom. In a midrashic sequence where loving
God as in Deut 6:4 is linked with martyrdom and with the verse, ‘For Thy sake
are we killed all the day’ (Ps 44:23[22]), he objects: ‘How can a person be
killed every day? The Holy One blessed be He gives credit to the righteous as
though they are killed every day’.145 Even though other sages stress the
importance of martyrdom in the same sequence, R. Shimon ben Menasia
denies this and maintains that the righteous are more important than
martyrs. A reason for this remarkable counter-opinion could be his opposition to the Christian emphasis on martyrdom, which is documented in many
martyrs’ acts from that of Polycarp (c. 160 ce) onwards. Furthermore it is
144
145
SifDeut 48 (p110), and cf the water metaphor in Jesus’ teachings in John 4:14; 7:38.
SifDeut 32 (p55). The emphasis on Ps 44:23 in relation to suffering for God is extant in
Rom 8:36.
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striking that R. Shimon ben Menasia is attributed with a saying about the
Sabbath remarkably close to a singular saying of Jesus in Mark.146 A similar
rivalling use of identical traditions appears to be expressed in the name of
the ‘holy congregation of Jerusalem’.
5
Social Implications of Financial Support for Leaders
Our ambition is now to study Paul’s well-organized campaign in the more
general perspective of the development of a salaried leadership in Judaism
and Christianity in the Roman Empire. To that aim we must first consider the
social implications of any such system. We begin by some general reflections
on ancient society.
Ancient society had a prominent elite class which controlled major public
functions such as administration, the magistrature, the economy, the army,
and science, and which received compensation for this. In fact the elite can be
defined as the class that receives the highest and most relevant compensation
for the services rendered to and requested by society. A class that does not succeed in receiving satisfactory compensation for its tasks is not an elite, even if
its services to society are essential. Street cleaners, for example, were never a
social elite, not even in modern egalitarian societies, although the tasks of
this group are essential. Compensation can be acquired in three main areas:
(1) money, real estate, or financial privileges; (2) power to take decisions and
implement them; (3) honour, social prestige, or affection. The job itself was not
the goal, but rather a means of acquiring the compensation. The three instruments of compensation are likely to be interchangeable, although not in every
situation or in every society.147
For example, a freed slave of the Empire was a rich man, and we know of
many who also had political power, but they never received the same honour
as the poorest of the senators. A poor senator, on the other hand, could
acquire a position and become a person of wealth and power. Today this
would be considered corrupt governance, but in antiquity it was considered
acceptable. The wealthy man in modern times is respected by society,
146
147
MekRY ki tisa p341, ‘R. Shimon ben Menasia says, behold it says, “You shall keep the
Sabbath for it is holy unto you” (Exod 31:14) – unto you is the Sabbath given, and you
are not given to the Sabbath’. Mark 2:27, ‘The Sabbath was made for man, not man for
the Sabbath’.
For basic discussion see Eisenstadt, Social Development, Foreword, 105f.
Paul’s ‘Collection for the Saints’ (2 Cor 8–9)
177
although he is not necessarily well liked, nor does he always have a position
of power.148
In the later Second Temple period, the priests in Jerusalem received monetary compensation for their work in the Temple. Their power also enabled
them to increase their economic privileges and to take control, for example, of
the traditional property of the Levites, the tithes.149 Moreover, they managed
to take over various positions of power in Jerusalem and all over the country.
We can assume that they were highly respected by the public, but there is no
question that they did not arouse affection. Rabbinic literature preserves
polemical utterings on their account which vividly illustrate both their ability
to acquire compensation and the hatred this provoked among the population
(tMen 13:18–21).
The stage during which a group decides to compensate its leaders, directly
by payment or indirectly by way of donations, is crucial in the process of social
institutionalization. It is then that the title ‘leader’ requires formal definition.
It is also the point when the group is liable to lose its pristine innocence and
when criticism of the leaders who are living at the expense of the faithful
becomes possible.
Payment to sages leads to the consolidation of a professional leadership, of
a class whose members are involved with the community only as leaders.
Professional leadership does not change, it has an ethos of permanency and a
lack of dependence on the public. We do not go now into the question whether
such leadership is preferable, tolerable or problematic, and whether it suits a
democratic society.
Sages, apostles or other religious leaders who earn a living from some job in
society almost inevitably create a different social type. Such leaders, as would
anyone, invest a considerable part of their time in their work, and during the
rest of the day serve as teacher and leader. They fulfil two social roles simultaneously, that of member and partner in the community, and that of leader.
Such leaders are familiar with social reality and deal with it in a variety of ways,
since they are at one and the same time both partners and leaders. They are
also an elite class, but their uniqueness and consolidation is different. They
have various circles of social identity: as a sage who is familiar with texts, religion, and law, but also as a farmer or an artisan.
148
149
For the sociological basis to this discussion see Bottomore, Elites and Society, 19–27, 59–63,
77–80; Malinowski, Coral Gardens. For other types of punishment, such as a fear of a negative social reaction, see Gluckman, ‘Gossip’; Roberts, Order.
Cf Oppenheimer, ‘First Tithes’; Sanders, Jewish Law, 43–48.
Safrai and Tomson
178
There is no question that spiritual leaders who work for a living have less
free time to study. Therefore their ability as scholars must be somewhat inferior, and if they are religious preachers, their ability to preach effectively is
undermined. Conversely, their liability to develop abstract, theoretical, and
absolute views is also reduced, since they are exposed to contact with reality
and their neighbours know them during their practical life as well. Leaders
who benefit from public funds enjoy greater free time, but their contact with
the public and its problems is more one-sided.
When in the following examining the various Christian and Jewish sources,
we must distinguish between a number of possible situations that theologically may be similar, but socially very different:
– wandering sages receiving hospitality for their teaching, typical of a society
lacking organized frameworks for leadership and teaching;
– teachers being given incidental payment for their teaching, by way of
charity;
– sages or teachers receiving regular pay for their teaching, as a source of
livelihood;
– a support system for leaders involving charity funds and campaigns to convince the public to donate;
– a general system of collections or taxes in all communities that insures support for teachers or main teachers (who are also community leaders).
6
Motives for Supporting Spiritual Leaders in Jerusalem
With these social parameters in mind, let us now turn to the possible
motivations for financial support of spiritual leaders, especially those residing
in Jerusalem, that are discernible in the sources and that might have influenced Paul.
We are not likely to find any influence here from Graeco-Roman culture.
As we have already mentioned, the Graeco-Roman world was not familiar
with the phenomenon of holy men, certainly not as a social group. Nor was
the system of paying salaries or giving donations to leaders familiar. As we have
observed, the elite fulfilled the task of leading and administrating society
voluntarily, though they often used these positions to enrich themselves.150
Nor was the Roman world familiar with personal payments to priests. Needless
to say, support for a group of leaders living in a distant and supposedly holy
150
Cf Rives, Religion, 43–47.
Paul’s ‘Collection for the Saints’ (2 Cor 8–9)
179
province was not common in the Roman world. In short, Paul did not borrow
the model for the system he established from the Roman world.
A motive which must undoubtedly have been of some influence, however,
is the general moral concept of charity rooted in the Hebrew Bible and subsequent Jewish tradition; it has been much discussed in the literature. It is
clear that the early Church wholeheartedly embraced the Jewish requirement of charity; one could even say that she did so with more enthusiasm
than what is seen reflected in rabbinic literature.151 Sages and spiritual leaders, especially if called ‘holy’, would naturally be entitled to charitable support if they needed it.
A more specific motive is the significance of Jerusalem. This aspect has been
thoroughly discussed in the research.152 No doubt Jerusalem was a city of great
fame in Second Temple Judaism, including in the diaspora, and by consequence also in early Christianity. However, the Second Temple period offers no
evidence of an organized structure of sending money from the diaspora destined to the leaders or to the poor in Jerusalem. At most we can point to the
distribution of charity and tithes via the Temple. However if indeed the importance of Jerusalem as a spiritual centre in Judaism has influenced Paul’s efforts
for his collection and the way of indicating it, we must distinguish between
procedures in the Second Temple period and the practice evidenced in rabbinic literature which we may suppose to have existed only from the second
century onwards.
The Temple collected money that was donated in the Land of Israel and
abroad – the half shekel. This donation assumed the character of a tax,
although at least in the diaspora it was a voluntary contribution. The money
was earmarked for the Temple only. According to rabbinic halakha it could not
be transferred to the priests, except as a direct payment for the services they
provided to the Temple. It may be, however, that actually this aspect of Temple
procedures was run according to the rules of the Sadducees, of which we have
no information.153 Priests did receive tithes and heave offerings both from the
Jews from the Land and the diaspora. Priestly gifts were set aside and sent to
Jerusalem, although the Tora stipulates only to give them to priests and Levites
151
152
153
Cf Garrison, Almsgiving, and, for the later period, Finn, Almsgiving. The basic study
remains Bolkestein, Wohltätigkeit.
Davies, The Gospel and the Land, 222–376; Burrell – Landau, Voices from Jerusalem;
Dinaburg, ‘Zion and Jerusalem’; Amir, ‘Philo’s Version’; Amaru, ‘Theology’; Kopp, Heiligen
Stätten; Safrai – Safrai, ‘Sanctity of Eretz Israel’.
See mShek 5. Perhaps these laws reflected ancient Eastern lifestyles and more ancient
Jewish halakha. However this question is outside the purview of our discussion.
180
Safrai and Tomson
and not to bring them to the holy city. Paul’s collection for the saints, however,
does not seem to relate to this system. It contains no detail that enables us to
compare it to the tax system in the Tora. Even the terminology differs from that
in the Tora. The Temple could have been a general source of inspiration at
most, not a model of organization.
We must also note a reference from the Yavne generation in the Mishna
involving ‘tithes for the poor’ sent from the diaspora to Jerusalem while the
Temple functioned (mYad 4:3). It is an isolated piece of information whose
inference would be that the practice had been established in the past, but its
true extent is unclear.
In addition to the general motive of charity, the distribution of charity
specifically in the Jerusalem Temple may have been a possible source of
inspiration for Paul’s collection. It was an informal system about which
we have some more information. The Mishna understands the verse, ‘You
shall not see my face empty-handed’ (Exod 23:15), as referring to sacrifices.154
But the Sifrei explains otherwise: ‘… “Not empty-handed” – referring to
charity’. While we cannot exclude that the expounder meant charity only,
it is certain he believed that one must also bring charity money; and we
find the same in Pseudo-Yonatan on Deuteronomy.155 Indeed we read in
the Mishna:
There were two chambers in the Temple, one called the Chamber of
Discreet Donations and the other, the Chamber of Implements. In the
Chamber of Discreet Donations, God-fearing people contributed discreetly, and poor people from good families could support themselves
from it in discreetly. (mShek 5:6)
According to this mishna, the Temple functioned as a charity centre that
provided actual support to the poor.
This rabbinic evidence is confirmed by the New Testament. We are told that
Jesus observed the poor and the rich contributing money to the charity coffer in
the Temple.156 Similarly, when Judas Iscariot wanted to donate the thirty pieces
of silver to the Temple, the priests were not willing to let him, but destined the
money to purchase burial ground for strangers.157 Burial of the poor is one of the
typical forms of charity; according to later rabbinic literature the community is
154
155
156
157
mHag 1:1–2; MekRY kaspa 20 (p333). See also yMS 5:9 (56d); ySot 9:11 (24a).
SifDeut 143 (p196); TgPsYon Deut 16:17.
Mark 12:41–44; Luke 21:1–4.
Matt 27:5–7.
Paul’s ‘Collection for the Saints’ (2 Cor 8–9)
181
responsible for helping the poor bury their relatives.158 Again, when Judas left
the Last Supper, some disciples believed he went to give money to the poor159 –
presumably as part of pilgrimage duties. Another type of charity is financing
sacrifices for poor Nazirites; we have seen this attributed to Paul in Acts.160
Thus the Mishna we have quoted fits in well with Second Temple sources
that present the Jerusalem sanctuary as a centre for social charity. Earlier, we
mentioned the rules of the Essenes for distributing charity among their own
members, not unlike the practice of the pristine Jerusalem church.161 On the
surface of it, these differ from rabbinic tradition which emphasizes charity is
given to all. On a closer look, however, the cited phrase in the Mishna that the
‘poor from good families’ are preferred is not dissimilar to Essene practice. All
of this would allow us to imagine how Paul would have taken inspiration from
this Temple institution in setting up his system of support for the ‘saints’ in
Jerusalem. However, there is an important difference. As we have emphasized,
the ‘collection for the saints’ reflects an organized, coordinated initiative,
whereas in the Temple charity was ran on incidental contributions.
7
Remuneration of Spiritual Leaders in Early Christianity
7.1
The Jesus Tradition
We shall start from a foundational saying attributed to Jesus and only found in
Matthew. When dispatching his disciples to be wandering teachers, cure the
sick and cleanse lepers, Jesus demands of them, ‘You received without paying,
give without pay’ (Matt 10:8). This implies a prohibition against receiving a
salary, as exemplified by Jesus who teaches without pay. While we cannot
be certain that this is in fact the earliest statement on the matter in Christian
tradition, it does present the viewpoint we may consider prior according to
the logic of social development, i.e., from the sporadic to the organized.
Interestingly, there is a strikingly similar rabbinic saying which we shall discuss
below (section 8.2), but which gives a somewhat different role to the sage: he is
only to teach, not to ‘give’ – i.e. not to cure and perform miracles.
Jesus’ saying is only found in the dispatch narrative in Matthew, a Gospel
which most scholars assume is an elaboration of Mark with much teaching
158
159
160
161
Semahot 1:8. According to tPea 4:19 this is the main ‘deed of loving kindness’, See Z. Safrai,
Jewish Community, 67f.
John 13:29.
Acts 18:18; 21:23–27, see, e.g., mNaz 2:5; Josephus, Ant. 18:29.
Josephus, War 2:122; Ant 18:22.
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material added. Our task then is first to study the relevant material in the synoptic Gospels, Mark and its two known elaborations, Luke and Matthew, while
keeping in mind that there may have been many texts and oral traditions out
there that we are ignorant about. In Mark, the dispatch narrative involves two
successive stages:
And he went up on the mountain, and called to him those whom he
desired; and they came to him. And he appointed twelve, to be with him,
and to be sent out to preach and have authority to cast out demons:
Simon whom he surnamed Peter… (Mark 3:13–16)
And he called to him the twelve, and began to send them out two by two,
and gave them authority over the unclean spirits. He charged them to
take nothing for their journey except a staff; no bread, no bag, no money
in their belts; but to wear sandals and not put on two tunics. And he said
to them, Where you enter a house, stay there until you leave the place.
And if any place will not receive you and they refuse to hear you, when
you leave, shake off the dust that is on your feet for a testimony against
them. (Mark 6:7–11)
Thus we have a ‘two stage’ dispatch in Mark. Stage one, the appointment of
the ‘twelve’, undoubtedly must be associated with the legendary twelve tribes
and the eschatological judgment (cf Matt 19:25; Luke 22:30). Stage two is their
dispatch, which involves four elements: (1) they are sent out to preach
(as explicit in 3:14; 6:12) and to heal; (2) they are to travel with no extra clothing
or resources; (3) they can accept hospitality when offered; (4) they should
resolutely part ways with people who do not receive them.
A ‘two stage event’ is found as well in Luke, only here it concerns two successive dispatches. While Luke also adds teaching material on Mark, the saying
about ‘without pay’ is not found. In Luke 9:1–6, ‘the twelve’ are sent out
with the commission (1) to preach and to heal; (2) to bring no extra clothing
or resources; (3) to accept hospitality where offered; and (4) to cut ties with
those who do not receive them. This reads as an abbreviated version of Mark
6:7–11 or of some text similar to it.162 Then in Luke 10:1–11, seventy(-two)163
162
163
Luke is more concise and lacks the grammatical irregularities in Mark, to the point that it
cannot be excluded that the author had another but very similar model text before him.
Matt 10 in general stays a little closer to Mark 6.
ἑβδημήκοντα δύο in ms Vatican, Papyrus 75 and some others. 72 is 6 for each tribe, implying
an inner-Jewish perspective (cf Rev 7); 70 is the legendary number of gentile peoples (Gen
10). The latter version would be preferred by gentile Christian scribes and is in fact found
in the great majority of manuscripts.
Paul’s ‘Collection for the Saints’ (2 Cor 8–9)
183
disciples are sent out in a story paralleling the previous one but based on a different Vorlage than Mark 6.164 Much of the sayings material here is also found,
however, in Matthew and is therefore ascribed by many scholars to the hypothetical sayings source ‘Q’ shared by Luke and Matthew.165 The command to
preach and heal is also lacking, but we do have (2) the limitation on clothing
and resources; (3) the permission to enjoy hospitality offered – but in a much
more elaborate way, and moreover including a motivating saying (3b): ἄξιος ὁ
ἐργάτης τοῦ μισθοῦ αὐτοῦ, ‘The labourer deserves his wages’ (Luke 10:7); (4) the
command to part ways with those who do not receive them, again with much
sayings material added. Thus Luke seems to have construed his double dispatch on the two-stage narrative in Mark, amplified with material taken from
unknown sources.
In Matthew, there is a single dispatch narrative which integrates both the
materials from Mark 3 and 6 and much of what is found in Luke 10. We have the
four commands variously found in Mark 6 and Luke 9 and 10: (1) to preach and
heal; (2) no extra clothes or money;166 (3) to accept hospitality; (4) to part from
those who do not accept. Furthermore, there is the saying about the labourer,
but in a different form (3a): ‘The labourer deserves his food’ (ἄξιος ὁ ἐργάτης τῆς
τροφῆς αὐτοῦ, Matt 10:10). We shall come back to this formulation. In addition,
there is the saying we began this section with, and which adds another
element to the list (5): ‘You received without paying, give without pay’ (δωρεὰν
ἐλάβετε, δωρεὰν δότε, Matt 10:8). As we said, it involves a straight prohibition to
receive a salary for preaching, teaching, and healing, and this is of prime
importance for our study.
We are not interested now in the exact development of the synoptic tradition but of the early Christian attitude to remuneration for religious functions.
It suffices to conclude that Matthew somehow presents the most comprehensive synthesis of the material available from Mark and unknown other sources.
Just so, it contains contradictions which betray divergence and development
within the first few generations of the Jesus movement. Ulrich Luz formulated
this as follows: ‘In their various versions the sayings give us a glimpse into the
164
165
166
Cf such elements unique to Luke 10 as, μηδένα κατὰ τὴν ὁδὸν ἀσπάσησθε, ‘Salute no one on
the road’ (10:4); ἐὰν ἐκεῖ ᾖ υἱὸς εἰρήνης, ‘If a son of peace is there’ (10:6). The latter Semiticism
is lacking even in the parallel, Matt 10:13, and is of a type Luke will copy from tradition:
Luke 5:34, cf Mark 2:19; see also Luke 16:8 and 20:34.
In spite of the proliferation of ‘Q’ theories and editions, we stick with Henry Cadbury’s
verdict (The Making of Luke-Acts) that until actual textual material is found Q remains a
mere hypothesis and a faulty basis for building further theories.
‘No gold, nor silver, nor copper in your belts (purses)’ (Matt 10:9) would imply not to
receive payment in cash.
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history of early Christian itinerant radicalism and show how it developed in
the first century and adapted to changing circumstances’.167 Thus we can
perceive a contradiction between the instructions given to ‘wandering charismatics’ and those intended for ‘settled members of the community’ who are to
host the wandering teachers.168 There is an important link here with the more
detailed instructions contained in the companion text of Matthew, the Didache
(see below).
We are interested in the contradiction in the extant Matthew between the
maxims, ‘You received without paying, give without pay’, which excludes any
remuneration, and, ‘The labourer is worthy of his food’ – which includes being
hosted free of charge, and if necessary given shoes and clothing, or at least
laundering services. Paradoxically, the obligation of poverty imposed on the
preachers (no bag, nor silver, nor two tunics) creates a financial burden on the
community and constitutes partial permission to receive payment. This can
easily expand to the approval of any payment, for any worker, and that is also
how the verse was understood in the apostolic traditions that we will bring
below. From the social point of view, we will remark that partial permission is
liable quickly to turn into a system of taxation and exploitation. This is where
the Didache provided further guidelines, at least for a period of time. We also
note that these Gospel traditions are not based on the practices of the priesthood (tithes and heave offerings), nor on a mention of the obligation of charity
(that one must support the poor, and even more so the teachers, who are poor
by dint of their job).
The conclusion is that the synoptic Gospels integrate a combination of various earlier traditions. The organizational structure evidenced in the sources
does not necessarily depend on the theological motivations they contain, and
these are to be considered separate. In last analysis, the maxim, ‘You received
without paying, give without pay’ and its implications represent a particular
strand in the tradition and, as we shall argue when discussing this material
again below, it reflects a different ideological approach.
7.2
Paul
We now return to Paul while focussing on the socio-economic dimensions of
his campaign. In point of fact, he deals with the subject in a number of epistles
expressing different points of view. In 1 Cor 9:4–10, he assumes the right to be
supported while on mission:169 ‘Do we not have the right to our food and
167
168
169
Luz, Matthew 8–20, 71, commenting on the passage.
Matt 10:5–6, 9–14, 23, 40 (wandering); 41–42 (settled). Luz ibid. 62.
Cf for the following Tomson, Paul, 125–131.
Paul’s ‘Collection for the Saints’ (2 Cor 8–9)
185
drink?’ He also claims the right to bring a woman with him and make the public support her, as did ‘the other apostles and the brothers of the Lord and
Cephas’. Paul adduces a number of theological motivations for his demand.
The first is the claim that every worker receives a salary, whether working in
the vineyard or in the army. This type of argument is based on the analogy with
daily life and in rabbinic literature is termed דרך ארץ, ‘the way of man’. It differs from what we read in the Gospels about Jesus, who did not receive payment but at most sometimes relied on hospitality in the villages he passed
through. Quite to the contrary, he saw it as his responsibility to support the
community of his followers and to provide them with bread (Mark 6:35–44 and
parallels).
But, as we said, the saying about the labourer being worthy of his food or
wages is ascribed to Jesus in Matthew and Luke. In fact, Paul uses a paraphrase
of this saying as a further argument, writing, ‘In the same way, the Lord commanded that those who proclaim the gospel should get their living by the
gospel’ (1 Cor 9:14). It represents one of Paul’s explicit references to the words
of Jesus. The explicit mention of ‘the Lord’s command’ reads as a claim of
authority.
Paul also presents an argument of midrashic nature, based on a verse in
Deut 25:4: ‘Does not the law say the same? For it is written in the law of Moses,
“You shall not muzzle an ox when it is treading out the grain”’ (1 Cor 9:7–8). The
verse expands the demand for a salary and facilitates receiving a higher salary,
not only by apostles and teachers, but by those engaged in fundraising and
other community functions. We can see this in a probably deutero-Pauline letter, where it represents a much broader claim to respect and financial assistance for the elders: ‘Let the elders who rule well be considered worthy of
double honour, especially those who labour in preaching and teaching, for the
Scripture says, “You shall not muzzle an ox when it is treading out the grain,”
and, “The labourer deserves his wages”’ (1 Tim 5:18). Quite probably this reflects
the situation in the sub-apostolic period which we shall describe in a moment.
Meanwhile, we find here the saying about the ‘labourer’ from the Gospels,
curiously being cited as ‘Scripture’.170 Moreover it conforms to the version in
Luke: ‘The labourer deserves his wages’ (τοῦ μισθοῦ αὐτοῦ, Luke 10:7), as distinct
from Matthew and the Didache, ‘The labourer deserves his food’ (τῆς τροφῆς
αὐτοῦ, Matt 10:10; Did 13:1, see below). In the framework of our present analysis,
the Lukan version now appears to be an expansive interpretation to the effect
that every worker deserves payment, quite in the spirit of the developed arguments in 1 Corinthians, but without the tone of apology that is audible there
170
Cf Koester, Early Christian Gospels, 63f.
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Safrai and Tomson
(see below). It is probably more correct, then, to say that Luke 10:7 uses the
‘Pauline form’ of the saying.171
Another argument is, ‘If we have sown spiritual things for you, is it a great
thing if we reap your material things?!’ (1 Cor 9:11), which is further developed
into, ‘Do you not know that those who are employed in the temple service
get their food from the temple, and those who serve at the altar share in the
sacrificial offerings?’ (v13). Here Paul bases himself on Temple customs, and
mainly on the practice written in the Tora of giving meat from the sacrifices to
the priests.
It would be unwise to read all this as a purely theological discussion. Rather,
Paul’s arguments express an apology against some criticism on his behaviour,
responding to ‘those who judge me’, adding that these claims are made only
against him and Barnabas, whereas all the other apostles do the same and nobody
is angry at them (1 Cor 9:3–6). This seems to be a quarrel rather than a theological
argument. At the end of the passage he adds that he himself did not make use
of his privilege – in his case the entire reward is the fulfilment of his obligation.
These words reflect opposition to receiving a salary, since it would damage
the ‘purity’ of the mission and the independence of the messenger (9:15–19). At
the same time Paul hints at the Matthaean Jesus saying, ‘You received without
paying, give without pay’ (Matt 10:8), or at least at the principle behind it.
After claiming the right to receive a salary and saying that the objections
against it are not only unjustified but contradict the tradition of Jesus himself,
the arguments against accepting a salary even sound somewhat suspect.
However, they actually contain a great deal of social logic. As we shall see, the
same arguments keep recurring in rabbinic literature centuries after Paul, even
though a development to the contrary was clearly under way, and apparently
they were deeply rooted in Jewish social culture. It is these arguments which
seem to be used by Paul’s readers opposed to remuneration, as well as by representatives of less organized forms of Christianity that preserved a similar
type of social thinking.
Nevertheless the passage as it appears in 1 Corinthians 9 arouses the
question of internal contradiction. We can divide the question in two parts:
how did the ‘historical’ Paul behave? And, why did he choose to present his
behaviour in this complicated way? We must first clarify the various relevant
passages.
171
This confirms what was said by Irenaeus, Haer 3.3.3 (Eusebius CH 5.8.3), ‘Luke, the follower of Paul, recorded the gospel preached by the latter in a book’; and less precisely
Origen, apud Eusebius CH 6.25.6, ‘Luke has composed the gospel for the gentiles praised
by Paul’.
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187
First let us check Acts. Here, the apostles are described as working men, and
more particularly, Paul is a tent maker (18:3; 20:34). We can assume that his
membership in the local guild not only brought him into contact with
colleagues (ibid) but also with clients who would eventually become his
followers. From Milete, Paul invites the elders of Ephesus by letter and when
they have arrived he declares that he did not desire local private property (‘anyone’s silver or gold’) and not only worked for a living, but even put some money
aside as charity for community needs. Incidentally he quotes a saying of Jesus
not found in the extant Gospels: ‘It is better to give than to receive’. It is not
extant anywhere else, and we can assume that it was taken from a forgotten
tradition regarding the laws of charity (Acts 20:33–35). Thus the Acts narrative
confirms the ideology opposed to receive a salary for teaching.
In view of the Acts report about Paul’s work for a living, it is interesting to
turn to Paul’s teaching in praise of labour in the letters to Thessalonika. We
assume that the second extant Epistle to that place is also Paul’s, and that both
were written some years before the First to Corinth.172 Thus we have two passages where Paul comes out strongly in favour of working for one’s living, again
pointing to his own example:
We exhort you…to work with your hands, as we charged you, so that
you may command the respect of outsiders, and be dependent on nobody.
(1 Thess 4:10–12)
…We did not eat any one’s bread without paying (δωρεάν), but with toil
and labour we worked night and day, that we might not burden any of
you. It was not because we have not that right, but to give you in our conduct an example to imitate. … We gave you this command: If any one will
not work, let him not eat. (2 Thess 3:7–10)
The repeated command to the Thessalonians to ‘work with their own hands’
may relate to a special situation in the capital of the Roman province of
Macedonia. Scholars have mentioned the patron-client system, according to
which impoverished peasants or labourers would be dependent of the patron’s
financial help.173 Nevertheless the emphasis on working for a living is a recurrent theme in Paul and reminds us of similar emphases made in rabbinic
literature (see below).
172
173
Agreeing with John Barclay, ‘Conflict’, that there are no conclusive arguments to declare 2
Thess unauthentic. Paul apparently sent the second letter shortly after the first.
Touloumakos, ‘Gemeindepatronat’; Wallace-Hadrill, Patronage.
188
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In other epistles as well Paul mentions that he himself did not take money.
In 2 Corinthians, he emphasizes that he worked ‘free of charge’, using the same
expression as found in Matthew (δωρεάν, 2 Cor 11:7; cf Matt 10:8). But in the
same breath he explains that he taught in Corinth without pay because the
brothers from Macedonia supported him (2 Cor 11:9; see below). In comparison, the verses in Acts appear to be casually describing his lifestyle, whereas
the short passage in 2 Corinthians is argumentative and explains that Paul is as
good as the other apostles and rhetorically asks whether he sinned by working
without pay: ‘Did I commit a sin in abasing myself so that you might be exalted,
because I preached God’s gospel without cost to you?’ (2 Cor 11:7). This rejects
the implied idea that if someone works free of charge, his words are not worthwhile, or as the Talmud has it, centuries later, ‘A doctor who works without pay
is not worth paying’ (bBK 85a). Paul is defending his status, and the claims that
he did not take money from members of the community are not to be taken at
face value but are a polemical argument to defend his behaviour. Between the
lines we hear what we also heard in 1 Corinthians: there was a struggle going on
regarding the apostles’ obligation to live in poverty and about the community’s
duty of giving them charity. The struggle was both social and ideological in
nature, and included the feeling that anyone who works without a price is
unworthy of honour.
In effect this describes a non-institutionalized charity system. In Corinth,
Paul worked for a living and received some support from Macedonia, while the
hesitations regarding the payment structure had not yet ended. Later Paul
promises that he is willing to go to Corinth again, this time too working without compensation (2 Cor 12:13–15). Here as well, he writes in a sarcastic tone,
asking forgiveness for not bothering the members of the community with a
request for monetary assistance, in line with the best of Greek rhetoric.
On the other hand, the epistle to the Philippians (4:10–19) praises the
members of the community in view of a different situation. Paul praises the
financial assistance he received from them in the past, when he left Macedonia
(4:15) as well as during his previous visit to the city (4:10); they even sent his
‘needs’ (χρείαν) – in other words payment – to Thessalonika (4:15–18) a number
of times. This indicates (a) that assistance was not sent regularly and (b) that
Thessalonika itself did not provide the needs of the apostle. We have seen that
when writing to the Thessalonians themselves, he claims to have received no
salary from them (1 Thess 2:9). The letter to the Philippians must have been
written years later, and it appears that during a later stay in Thessalonika he
did receive help from the church in Philippi. Repeating again that he does not
need assistance, being used to a life of poverty (Phil 4:11–12), he nevertheless
praises the church in Philippi for their lavish support. On the ideological plane
Paul’s ‘Collection for the Saints’ (2 Cor 8–9)
189
he even uses the language of sacrifice (Phil 4:18), implying the assistance was
analogous to the sacrifices given to the priests, as we also saw in 1 Corinthians.
In other words, in Thessalonika and Corinth, Paul did not receive assistance
from the churches, but he did so from others in Macedonia, apparently mainly
from Philippi.
The overall picture we receive in Paul is inconsistent, and we might seem
to see only his rhetoric at work, mentioning precedents that are expedient in
one place and ignoring them elsewhere when less convenient. However, we
believe that it was not just the rhetoric but the actual practice that was
not uniform. Roughly speaking, there was a heterogeneous, non-institutionalized development, from the stage in which the apostles worked for a living
to a situation as prescribed in 1 Timothy, where not only the outstanding
apostles are to receive assistance but also the local system of elders and
teachers.
In the intermediate stage there probably were more organized communities that helped financially, others that did not assist, and in addition, occasional, irregular assistance. The obligation to give support and the permission
to receive it were debated, as evidenced in 1 and 2 Corinthians. Logically,
during the first stage the debate would be whether an apostle is permitted to
receive assistance, and in the second, whether the community is obliged to
provide it. In addition to the midrash-based argument about ‘muzzling
the threshing ox’ two reasons are given. The first, which seems to us the
main one, is the person’s needs: a labourer must receive payment, otherwise
he cannot invest the available time to the sacred task. The second argument
is more ideological, taking for its model priests who receive sacrifices
from the community in the Temple. The apostles are like priests and teaching is like officiating for the community. These similes are also found in rabbinic literature.
In view of these ongoing debates about the apostles’ pay, it is remarkable
that Paul managed to set up an organized financial support system for the
members of the ‘assembly of saints’ in Jerusalem. The situation seems to
have been such that the ideological commitment to the Jerusalem church
proved more important than the day-to-day problems. More particularly, it
seems we may view Paul’s initiative as an early realization of a development
that on a larger scale was much slower to materialize. We have been describing a process of development from an informal to a formalized situation of
payment, both because that is how the process of organization of any
social system is likely to take place, and because of the situation of regular
payment arrangements visible in later rabbinic Judaism which we shall
study below.
190
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7.3
The Sub-Apostolic Period
During the sub-apostolic period the theological debate had already ended, and
the arrangement for paying the local leadership had been defined. We have
met that situation in the probably deutero-Pauline passage in 1 Tim 5:18 discussed above.
The author of the Didache deals with the subject in three chapters.174 Did
11 and 12 deal with wandering teachers and prophets, a subject we will discuss in
more detail later. A teacher of this kind must be treated with respect and hosted
and nourished as a guest (11:1–4), and when leaving he should be given bread
(11:6). The maximum time he may reside in one place is three days (11:5, cf 12:2),
and he should not be paid in cash (11:6, 12). On the other hand, teachers and
prophets who settle permanently are discussed in chapter 13. They are entitled
to regular payment: ‘A true teacher too, like the labourer, deserves his food’ (ἄξιος
καὶ αὐτὸς ὥσπερ ὁ ἐργάτης τῆς τροφῆς αὐτοῦ, Did 13:2). The formulation differs
from the Pauline tradition (see above) and equals that in Matthew, with which
the Didache is closely related (Matt 10:10). This more ancient formulation does
not correspond to the actual situation reflected in the Didache, however.
The author also emphasizes the element of ἀπαρχαί, i.e. the first products of
the threshing floor, the wine press, the slaughtering of cattle, and even a rule
relating to clothing (13:7). The prophets, and probably also the teachers, are
compared to ‘high priests’ (ἀρχιερεῖς), and the influence of the biblical priestly
model, both as this applies within and outside the Temple, is evident. However,
the author emphasizes that if there is no teacher, these donations will be given
to the poor. Here we already find a description of a kind of competition for the
charity resources between the teachers and the poor. We will encounter a similar situation in the rabbinic milieu.
The author of the Didache mentions the argument that the teacher is
entitled to be supported like a labourer (13:2), in the spirit though not in the
wording of 1 Timothy. There is still no payment of a regular salary here, nor a
tax to maintain the teacher, but there is regular receipt of charity as a part of
the laws of charity that is explained as being necessary for the basic needs (the
labourer must receive sustenance). The common treasure from which prophets and guests are sustained reminds us of the organization of the early
Jerusalem church. On the other hand, the Didache contains no hint of a concerted action like the collection for the saints in Jerusalem. While reflections of
the central significance of Jerusalem are found in the document,175 its silence
174
175
See on the pasage Van de Sandt – Flusser, Didache, 350–364.
Cf the David motif, esp Did 10:6 if the Coptic version is to be preferred as defended by
Audet, La Didachè, 62–67, ‘Hosannah to the House of David’.
Paul’s ‘Collection for the Saints’ (2 Cor 8–9)
191
on Paul’s collection is understandable from its non-Pauline background.176
Moreover even Acts, which openly supports Paul and stresses the centrality of
Jerusalem, does not mention the collection for its church; we have explained
this from its inopportunity at the time of writing after the revolt.
7.4
Summary
The general demand to sustain Christian leaders is supported by means of the
biblical laws of tithes and first fruits, and, more generally, offerings. Paul, the
Didache and later works use similar terms. But no one connects these arguments to the collection for the ‘saints’ in Jerusalem.
While our ability to date the evidence is limited, the analogy with the development we shall find in rabbinic literature and with other models of social
organization allows us to reconstruct the process of formalization and institutionalization of Christian support for teachers.
As we said, we hypothesize that the process started out from a fundamental
opposition to receive salaries: ‘You received without pay, give without pay’.
Already at the first stage, this principle was partially violated in order to enable
wandering teachers to work. During the second stage, the institution of the
‘apostolate’ originated (ἀποστολή, 1 Cor 9:2), and again the principle was from
the start that the apostle would work for his living. Probably there was also the
practical reason that there was still no community likely to support the apostle
and provide his livelihood. At this stage, however, a debate began about financial support for apostles, with each church behaving differently: some were
generous while others refrained from paying. Paul avoided to demand giving
charity to the apostles, but churches that did so were encouraged. Paul sometimes received assistance and sometimes did not; at times a (weaker?) church
did not help, while assistance came from an older and more established
church. Later, the issue of payment was institutionalized.
Theological and social reasons of course are mixed up in this debate.
As such, especially the social arguments against payment in 2 Corinthians
seem to offer a surprising prefiguration of problems that arose hundreds of
years later in a different situation in the rabbinic milieu.
In this entire development, the collection for the ‘saints’ stands out. Even
before there was an established custom of support for apostles, this collection
provided for organized support to be sent to the Jerusalemites. At the same
time, it is a striking expression of the appreciation of the centrality of Jerusalem
and of its ‘saints’ in early Christianity.
176
On other grounds, David Flusser argued the anti-Pauline position of Didache’s author:
Flusser, ‘Paul’s Jewish-Christian Opponents’; cf Van de Sandt – Flusser, Didache, 238–270.
192
Safrai and Tomson
As we have seen, the Temple and priestly gifts constituted a source of inspiration for donations to the apostles and teachers. At the same time, and still
later on, we hear that donations to spiritual leaders are an actual part of the
general laws of charity. These two models are not identical. Both payments to
teachers and donations to Jerusalem are types of charity, but the latter donations have the additional meaning of support for the city’s prominence.
Paradoxically, with reference to charity for local teachers ‘Temple rhetoric’ is
sometimes used, whereas the donations to Jerusalem are not explained with
such rhetoric. It appears in the sources as an existing reality that is no longer in
need of explanation.
8
Remuneration of Sages in Early Jewish and Rabbinic Tradition
In order to study the emergence of a paid leadership in ancient Judaism at
large, we shall now examine the sources found in rabbinic literature. As we
have said, this literature contains the major source material for the development in Judaism in the Roman Empire. For a correct perspective on the earliest
period, we must also draw in some other sources, among which, once again,
early Christian texts – this time round as sources for early Jewish history.
8.1
Wandering Teachers
We shall start with a phenomenon that deserves special discussion – that of
sages who wander from one settlement to another and teach the masses.
Sociologically, it presupposes that hospitality is offered to them by the community they are visiting. Such a system of supporting spiritual leaders is typical
of a culture lacking an organized apparatus of local leadership and study. The
phenomenon is familiar from Second Temple times. The exemplary wandering
teacher is Jesus, who also sent out his disciples to the same aim.
We can assume that during the earliest stage of the Jesus movement, the
phenomenon of wandering teachers was more common. During the next
stage, reflected in Paul’s epistles and Acts, the apostles became semi-nomadic.
They wandered, but they could spend a long time in each place, sometimes
over a year. As we will see below, the system of financial support now became
more organized and concrete. But the system of wandering disciples did not
cease to exist, and the Didache still refers to it (Did 12). The desert monks of
Syria, Egypt, and the Land of Israel even continued the phenomenon up to the
sixth and seventh centuries.
Wandering sages are also mentioned in rabbinic sources referring to the
Second Temple period and to the period of Tannaim and Amoraim, both in the
Paul’s ‘Collection for the Saints’ (2 Cor 8–9)
193
Land of Israel and in Babylonia.177 These sages needed help on their travels,
and hosting them during their journeys presented a special obligation.
Contradictory instructions appear in the sources.
1.
2.
3.
4.
177
178
179
180
There are prohibitions against receiving any enjoyment while on the
road, as in the saying of R. Yehuda ben Elai that pretends to describe the
actions of the prophet Elijah: ‘Even candle-holders and wicks Elijah used
to bring from place to place in order not to bother anyone’.178 Of course,
even when following this basic rule, the sage would need help for sleeping arrangements.
Permission for accepting limited hospitality appears in Jesus’ dispatch
instruction, as we have seen. In the Matthaean synthesis it says: ‘Freely
you have received, freely give. Provide neither gold nor silver nor copper
in your money belts, nor bag for your journey, nor two tunics, nor sandals,
nor staffs; for a worker is worthy of his food’ (Matt 10:9–11). The subtle
wording, which conceals the essence of the idea, indicates the daring
innovation involved in the suggested arrangement, as probably also the
internal debate or at least the hesitations regarding the matter.
Paradoxically, the previous prohibition implies the demand that the
faithful pay the preachers, which was in fact the custom of the local
churches as we know it from the sources. Significantly, Josephus describes
the wanderings of the Essenes in a similar manner (War 2:125), and one
understands what is permitted from what is prohibited: the wandering
sage is not permitted to receive a salary, but he is entitled to receive
his needs in full. Similarly, the words of the sages contain praises for anyone who receives Tora scholars: ‘“And Di-Zahav” (Deut 1:1, lit. “too much
gold”) – R. Shimon says: What is it like? Like someone who used to receive
sages and their disciples, and everyone would congratulate him…’ That
apparently is also the purpose of the counsel, ‘Let your home be a meeting place for sages’.179 An example of this hospitality is the hosting of the
convention of the sages in Usha.180
We find instructions to receive Tora scholars, provide for their needs, and
give them gifts. Jesus was specifically opposed to that (‘neither gold nor
Alon, Toledot ha-Yehudim 1, 312; Beer, ‘Torah’, 158f.
CantR 2.16, in contradiction to the opinion of R. Shimon b. Yohai there. It is possible that
Elijah appears as a model of a Hasid rather than a model of a Sage. See discussion of the
ascetic aspect of the Hasidim by S. Safrai, ‘Mishnat Hasidim’.
SifDeut 1 (p6); mAv 1:4; ARN a 6; b 11 (p28); mEr 3:5.
ShirR 2.16 and parallels.
194
Safrai and Tomson
silver nor copper in your money belts’), but we can learn from his words
that this was a known practice. Specific confirmation can be found in the
Bavli: ‘R. Jose b. R. Hanina said in the name of R. Eliezer b. Yaakov: Anyone
who hosts a Tora scholar in his home and lets him benefit from his possessions…’181 The Amora R. Ami instructed a teacher to provide a Tora
scholar who arrived in the settlement with hospitality and to take care of
his clothes and his donkey.182 It turns out that R. Ami was referring to
sages who wandered among the settlements, and hospitality was offered
in an organized manner at the expense of the community. During the
Amoraic period we hear of sages who embark on wanderings in order
to earn a living. The means therefore becomes an end in itself: ‘R. Hiya
b. Abba came to R. Lazar and told him: Convince R. Yehuda the Prince to
write me one letter of recommendation and I will go to make my living
abroad’ (yHag 1:8, 76d). How far removed this is from the practice of the
Tannaim!
8.2
Early Halakha
In the early halakha it was unambiguously ruled that one should not receive a
salary for teaching Tora. The Tora is not to be used as a means to gain income
(mAvot 1:13; 4:5). This emphasis is found both in Tannaic and in Amoraic
sources:
Just as water is always free, so are the words of Tora always free
()מה מים חנם לעולם כך דברי תורה חנם לעולם, as it is written: “Ho,
every one who thirsts, come to the waters” (Isa 55:1). Just as water is
free of charge so words of Tora are free of charge (מה מים אין להם
)דמים כך דברי תורה אין להם דמים, as it is written: “It is more precious
that pearls” (Prov 3:15).183
“Behold I have taught you laws and rulings” – just as I did it free of charge,
so you must do it free of charge ()מה אני בחינם אף אתם בחינם.184
Of special interest is the maxim, ‘Just as I did it free of charge, so you must
do it free of charge’. While it is found only in Amoraic documents, it is fully
181
182
183
184
bBer 10b, cf 63b.
yMeg 3:3 (74a).
SifDeut 48 (p111); MidrTeh 1,18 (p17); cf the modification in Midr. Makhiri, Tehilim, 1.22
(p9); and Amoraic literary development: NumR 1.6; MidrTeh 15.6 (p118).
yNed 4:3 (38c); bNed 36b-37b; bBekh 29a; bKet 105a; MidrGad Deut 4:5 (p71).
Paul’s ‘Collection for the Saints’ (2 Cor 8–9)
195
analogous to the saying of Jesus we have quoted, ‘You received without paying,
give without pay’ (Matt 10:8).185
Significantly, similar things are heard with special emphasis in the so-called
Derekh Erets literature:
Make your Tora free of charge, and do not take a salary for it, because one
does not take a salary for words of Tora. For the Holy One, blessed be He,
gave it free of charge. If you take a salary for the words of Tora, you are
found to destroy the whole world. Do not say, I have got no money, for all
the money belongs to Me. If you are able to earn money, give charity, as
long as you own it. Acquire with your money both this world and the
coming world… (Tractate Yirat Het, chapter Talmidei Hakhamim, p85)
This type of rabbinic material is hard to date; it was edited in the third-fourth
century at the earliest. Even so, both a relationship to the stories of the ‘early
hasidim’ and to the Jesus tradition has been noted.186 Indeed, an emphasis on
charity is typical of Jesus’ teachings: ‘Go, sell what you have, and give to the
poor, and you will have treasure in heaven, and come, follow me’ (Mark 10:21).187
In retrospect, this combined evidence enhances the likelihood that the
Matthaean saying, ‘You received free of charge, give free of charge’, is central to
the Jesus tradition.
From the range of sources it is clear that on principle, following early
Tannaic tradition one should not receive a salary for the mitsva of teaching,
nor is there any way of determining the level of the salary, since words of
Tora are precious and their value cannot be calculated – they are ‘more
precious than pearls’. This world view has various social implications. As to
the class of sages, we could distinguish between social factors producing an
ideology and social consequences from a shared ideology. Were the sages
capable of convincing society to reward their teaching properly, or did the
existing ideology by itself turn the desirable into reality? Is teaching Tora free
of charge a tool for disseminating Tora among the masses, since a demand
for payment would necessarily reduce the number of disciples? Or does it
reduce the number of teachers and limit studying Tora to the wealthy? And
does this ideological manoeuver perhaps contain an internal contradiction
between the need to disseminate Tora and the need to uphold the sages as a
unique and therefore uncommon group?
185
186
187
Δωρεάν is equivalent to בחינם. Cf rich data in Strack-Billerbeck, Kommentar, 1:561–564.
See the studies of S. Safrai mentioned above n135.
See also Luke 16:9; Matt 6:19–21.
196
Safrai and Tomson
In the Amoraic period, at any rate, there was an erosion of the ideal of teaching for free.188 During a first stage, only scribes and ‘repeaters’ ()משנים189 were
allowed to receive a salary: ‘You must also [teach] free of charge, does that
apply to Bible and Targum as well? It says: You must teach laws and rules free
of charge, but you do not teach Bible and Targum free of charge’.190 The prohibition against receiving a salary applies to the sages who teach in the beit
midrash, not for those teaching Bible and Targum in school. In the Bavli various explanations are given for this permission. For example, the teacher-scribe
is said to receive his salary for additional services given in the classroom: ‘Rav
said, a salary for caretaking; R. Yohanan said, a salary for (teaching) punctuation’. Similarly, in the Yerushalmi, the scribe receives a salary for being available
and not a salary for work done.191
We can assume that the reason for this permission was rather practical.
Already in Tannaic times ‘scribes’ were a profession for all intents and purposes, and the school operated all morning long in each community. Giving a
salary to the teachers was probably an essential condition for the functioning
of the institution. In the Amoraic sources there is a great deal of evidence of an
orderly system for collecting money from the public to pay scribes and ‘repeaters’, and this placed a heavy financial burden on the community system.192
However, the sages demanded that the salary of scribes and ‘repeaters’ should
not be too high, for socio-economic reasons:
Be aware of scribes and cantors and watchmen that serve you, not to
enhance their status and not to give them too high a salary, and impose a
burden on the public… As it is written regarding the sons of Samuel,
because they paid a high salary to the cantors and the scribes (teachers):
“…They turned aside after gain, they took bribes and perverted justice”
(1 Sam 8:3).193
This seems to reflect a realistic assessment of the community’s financial ability, and there is no reason to search for additional hidden motives.
188
189
190
191
192
193
But see mBekh 6:4, below.
Those who teach Mishna, or those who repeat the lesson to help the student to remember
the halakhot.
E.g. yNed 4:3 (38c); yPea 8:6 (21a).
bNed 37a; yNed 4:2 (38c).
Z. Safrai, Community, 307–309.
MidrGad Exod 21:1 (p454); cf bShab 55b-56a.
Paul’s ‘Collection for the Saints’ (2 Cor 8–9)
197
When it comes to the rabbinic academy too, we can trace an erosion of the
idea of free lessons. The beginning of this process is apparently implied in the
Mishna and the Tosefta:
He who takes a salary for judging, his judgments are void’ (mBekh 4:6).
He who is suspected of taking a salary when serving as judge … all his
judgments … are void, but one gives the judge a salary for his judgment…
as an unemployed worker, even though they said: Ugly is the judge who
takes a salary…’ (tBekh 3:8–9).
In spite of the opposition, some people did take a salary for legal rulings; the
formal reason was like the reason for the salary of the teachers. The language
of the Tosefta seems to indicate that this process originated under pressure
from actual practice: judges who did not behave properly and in effect initiated
a new practice. At first, the sages imposed sanctions on those who deviated,
declaring the judgment void, but later they accepted the new practice willynilly, although they did not stop criticizing it: ‘Ugly is the judge…’
It is not clear whether the sources are referring to a sage who gives judgment
on halakhic issues or to a municipal judge who operates by communal authority.
One would not expect a sage to be concerned, since sages would obey the halakha. However, already in the Talmuds this halakha is understood as dealing
directly with the sages. The Yerushalmi tells of the practice of Rav Huna, a
Babylonian Amora, of hiring a worker to work in his place, and the Bavli tells two
additional anecdotes about sages who received a salary for sitting in judgment.194
Meanwhile all the anecdotes in the two Talmuds refer to Babylonians, and there
is no evidence that the Palestinian sages demanded a salary for legal rulings.
Dozens of testimonies regarding halakhic and civic rulings in the Land of
Israel have been preserved, and there is no mention of a payment given to a
judge. We could imagine a social development supposing the Tannaim were
referring to a judge who was not a sage, then in Babylonia it became customary
to pay sages, whereupon this custom became accepted. On the other hand, in
the Land of Israel they were not familiar with the phenomenon, and the
Yerushalmi tells about it while citing the Tosefta with the set quotation formula,195 to the effect that it is a Babylonian custom foreign to the Palestinian
194
195
ySan 1:1 (18b); bBekh 29a; bKet 105a. See Beer, Babylonian Amoraim, 267–269.
תמן תנינןin the Yerushalmi may indicate a tradition from Babylonia, or a tradition from
another Palestinian academy, or sometimes a baraita from an entirely different area of
study; and rarely even a mishna from another tractate.
198
Safrai and Tomson
sages. Thus we also read in the Tosefta: ‘When there were many instances of
imposing inventory on the family heads, bribery increased and judgment was
biased’ (tSot 14:5). We can assume that the statement is directed against municipal judges who are accused of ‘imposing inventory’. The arrangement of
imposing inventory is familiar in Amoraic sources as one of the means of supporting Tora scholars, i.e. forming a partnership between the donor and the
sage. The donor gives the scholar an inventory of merchandise to sell and both
share the profits. It is hard to assume that the author of the Tosefta would
accuse the circle to which he belongs of bribery, and therefore the statement
should be explained as criticism of the municipal judges, in the sense of, ‘Ugly
is the judge…’
8.3
Direct Pay
The functioning of the Jewish city and community in the later Roman period is
known from dozens of rabbinic reports. In the entire body of Palestinian traditions, there is no evidence of the obligation of a city to pay sages a direct salary
in exchange for the sacred task in which they are engaged. Only during the
Amoraic period did the town place the synagogue and the beit midrash at the
disposal of the sage as a place of learning, and could he use the building and its
facilities, including water cisterns.196 That is how R. Berekhya explains the use
of the synagogue water cistern: ‘R. Yoshua b. Levi said: Synagogues and batei
midrash are for the sages and their disciples’ (yMeg 3:4, 74a); that is to say, the
sage and his students used to study in this building. Nevertheless, the sage is
not a municipal official and does not receive a salary for his public function.
Teaching Tora, therefore, was usually done free of charge.
There is an amount of evidence to the contrary. Most of the sources are
questionable, however, and we should deal with each of them separately.
Tradition has it that there were sages active who taught the priests for the
purposes of the Temple and under its aegis, and who seem to have received a
salary from the Temple:
Scholars who teach the priests the laws of slaughter, the laws of receiving
the blood, or the laws of scattering the blood, receive their salary from the
contributions to the treasury. R. Yitshak b. Redifa in the name of R. Imi:
Those who check the defects in the holy offerings receive their salary
from the contributions to the treasury’.197
196
197
Safrai, Community, 186–189.
yShek 4:2 (48a), see bKet 106a; ShirR 3.12 (on 3:7); NumR 11.8. The variations in the Sages’
names are not important.
Paul’s ‘Collection for the Saints’ (2 Cor 8–9)
199
We also hear in the Mishna about a salary for those who check defects;
however, this service is not the same as teaching Tora (mBekh 4:5). Moreover,
all these traditions are Amoraic, and it is possible that they reflect only the
wishful thinking, not the actual situation even of these Amoraic sages. The
purpose of these statement then is to demonstrate that halakha is part of
the service in the Temple and a condition for it, and the sages are the ones
who teach halakha in the Temple as everywhere else. There is some reason to
be sceptical as to whether the priests, presumably Sadducees, were in need of
guidance from the Pharisaic sages, and perhaps these were no teachers from
the Pharisaic sect at all.
A related report is about a kind of special judges in the Temple called dayanei gezeirot (mKet 13:1–9). The Talmud tells in the name of a Palestinian Amora
that the salary of these judges in the sectors was especially high (bKet 105a).
Although the sum of 99 mane sounds exaggerated and legendary, apparently at
least later sages believed that they should be paid an exorbitant salary, and in
any case, some sort of salary. These traditions are only partially relevant to our
discussion; they are evidence of the relationship between the sages and the
Temple priests, of the power struggles between Sadducees and Pharisees, and
of the Pharisaic supervision of the Temple, but they cannot teach us about the
lifestyle of the sages in their batei midrash. The dayanei gezeirot did not belong
to the ordinary class of sages either, and the Talmuds already sensed that they
were not part of the world of the beit midrash. Although we do not know what
their precise role was, their connections to the Temple are quite clear.198 So
apparently the tradesmen who worked in the Temple received a high salary for
their services, and the sages who delivered services to the Temple also received
direct monetary compensation. As in many other areas, the sages did not or
could not impose their accepted norms of behaviour on Temple practice, and
they condoned the custom of paying sages, without letting that change their
lifestyle rules for the beit midrash.
Furthermore, the Bavli tells that Hillel at the start of his career paid half a
traifik (a small coin) each time he entered the beit midrash. Again, this is a legendary anecdote that appears only in the Babylonian tradition. Moreover it
contradicts more ancient reports about Hillel’s status and economic situation
as well as the information we have about the practice of the beit midrash.199
It is also taught: “Just as I do it free of charge, so should you”. Now how do
we know that if he did not find it free of charge he should study for a fee?
198
199
yKet 3:5 (35c); bKet 105a.
bYom 35b.
200
Safrai and Tomson
Because it says: “Buy truth…” (Prov 23:23). And how do we know that he
should not say: Just as I studied it for a fee so I should teach it for a fee?
It is written: “Buy truth and do not sell it” (ibid). (bBekh 29a)
Thus it was permitted to study but not to teach for a fee; and even a situation
where occasionally one has to pay in order to study is not according to the
wishes of the sages. Again this concerns a tradition from Babylonia, where as
we saw the phenomenon of teaching for a salary is mentioned, which may be
seen as a certain self-criticism.
At the end of the chapter ‘Kinyan Tora’, R. Yossi b. Kisma tells of the tempting
proposal made by a rich travel companion who heard he lived in a city of
scribes and sages: ‘Rabbi, would you like to live here with us? So I will give you
thousands of gold dinars and precious stones and pearls?’ (mAv 6:9).200 The
proposal involves some sort of direct salary, but its size and the legendary
wording disqualify the source. In Avot de-R. Natan we read: ‘May your friend’s
money be as dear to you as your own. How? When a scholar enters your home
and says: “Teach me” – if you can teach, do so, and if not, dismiss him immediately and do not take his money from him’ (ARN a17, p65). However, Schechter
already remarked that the words ‘do not take his money from him’ are missing
in the commentary of the Rishonim, and the midrash is concerned with the
person’s time and does not mention his money.
Again, it is said of Rabban Gamliel that ‘he placed at the head’ R. Elazar
Hisma and R. Yohanan b. Gudgeda, two poor scholars, so they would become
wealthy. This clearly involves monetary compensation, although it does not
mention a direct salary and possibly it involved donations they would receive.
In any case, the issue of monetary compensation appears only in the Bavli and
is entirely lacking in the parallel in Sifrei.201 In similar vein, when it was proposed to appoint R. Abahu to preside, he tried to convince his friends to
appoint R. Abba of Acre instead because he was poor and had large debts.
Again this is a tradition unique to the Bavli without parallel in the Yerushalmi.202
The opposite follows from a midrash about Hillel and Shammai: ‘“He does not
put out his money at interest” (Ps 15:5) – these are Shammai and Hillel who did
not teach Tora for money’.203 The midrash presumably refers to a practice of
teaching for money, rejecting it. As in previous anecdotes, the reference may
200
201
202
203
The Rishonim already ruled that this chapter does not belong to Avot. Neither is it extant
in the early mss.
bHor 10a; SifDeut 16 (p26).
bSot 40a.
MidrTeh 15.6 (p118).
Paul’s ‘Collection for the Saints’ (2 Cor 8–9)
201
be to irregular donations, not necessarily to direct and regular payment, which
deserves separate discussion.
Two traditions indicate a municipal appointment of a person to combine
the functions of scribe (teacher), repeater of mishna, and judge, and probably
for pay. In one anecdote the residents of Simonia in the Jezreel Valley ask Rabbi
to find them someone to be ‘a preacher, a judge and a hazan (sexton), a teacher
and repeater, and to fulfil all our needs’;204 in another, the residents of Basra
ask for someone to be ‘a preacher, a judge, a teacher; someone who fulfil all our
needs’. In neither case does he need to have been a teaching sage as well.
A rather later source specifically mentions receipt of a salary, but on the other
hand there is no mention of the fact that among the candidate’s jobs is the
obligation to preach.205 These stories include the job of the ‘teacher’ or ‘scribe’,
and we have already discussed the salary of the scribe.
Tanna de-Bei Eliyyahu seems to say that the city must hire a sage: ‘A small
city in Israel… and they built themselves a synagogue and a beit midrash and
hired a sage (variant readings: hazan) and hired teachers of infants’.206 This
work is unique within rabbinic literature; scholars are in disagreement as to its
time and origin.207 The study of Tora and respect for the sages are of central
importance in the work. The quoted passage represents a single and exceptional piece of information, and we cannot simply rely on it about the situation in the Land of Israel in the later Roman period. Moreover the work has
profound connections with the Bavli and traditions reminiscent of Babylonia,
as Aptovitzer already noted.208 Wherever there are differences in the basic
world view between the Babylonian traditions and those of the Land of Israel,
Tanna de-Bei Eliyyahu is closer to the Babylonian lifestyle.
Finally, in the beit midrash of R. Yohanan there were two sages, R. Yehuda
b. Nahman and R. Levi, whose job was to occupy the congregation with words
of Tora until they all gathered for the derasha, a kind of ‘warming up’ for the
main derasha by R. Yohanan. The two each received two selas for their work.209
In this case too it is not ordinary teaching but part of the organizational system
of the beit midrash. However, we should not downplay the importance of this
204
205
206
207
208
209
GenR 81.2 (p969); yYev 2:6 (13a); to the list can be added ‘a sage’: Tanh tsav 5 (7b); TanB tsav
7 (9a). The role of the preacher and the public occasion held for R. Levy upon his appointment to the position indicate that it was a kind of appointment for a Sage.
yShev 6:1 (36d); Deut Rabbati, va-ethanan p60.
SER 10 [11] p54. This is the version of printed edition and the Parma ms.
The best summary is in the preface by Braude to Braude – Kapstein, Tanna debe Eliyyahu,
3–12. For the connection to Babylonia see Aptovizer, ‘Seder Elia’.
Aptovizer, ibid; Epstein, Mavo, 1302f.
GenR 98[99].11 (p1261).
202
Safrai and Tomson
source. It is the only definite evidence from the Land of Israel for direct payment for teaching and the study of Tora in public.
In summary, the proof of direct payment to sages is for the most part
dubious and appears mainly in Babylonian sources. We can assert that in the
Land of Israel in the Amoraic period it was at most exceptional practice, while
in Babylonia it was somewhat more prevalent, and it was never quite accepted
by the rabbinic leadership. In any case, we have no Tannaic evidence of the
practice.210
8.4
Tax Exemptions
One of the methods of monetary compensation was exemption from taxes.
The Roman administration levied a variety of taxes. One type was direct taxes:
head tax and land tax. These were imposed on the city or the village as a public
body, according to a previous estimate based on an orderly census. Another
type was commercial and personal taxes, which were imposed individually on
economic activities. Occasionally the taxes were imposed on the guild, and the
administrators of the guild were responsible for sharing the burden among the
members and for joint collection. In addition there were special taxes, imposed
for the most part on the community. Angariae (compulsory service) and liturgiae (public service), when planned in advance, were usually imposed on the
settlement, though occasionally an incidental angaria was imposed on a private individual.211 The Jewish city also imposed taxes on its members.212 The
various types of taxes also had corresponding exemptions. Private individuals
occasionally benefited from tax exemptions as a personal gesture on the part
of the Roman administration, the settlement or the guild – when these bodies
agreed to pay the share of those members they wanted to honour.
We have no information from Tannaic sources that the sages were exempt
from taxes in general, nor of exemption for individual sages. However in the
Babylonian sources from the Amoraic period there are several hints which suggest that there was such a partial and incidental exemption.
In Numbers Rabba213 (19.15) we read: ‘Just as the desert did not pay arnona
(real estate tax), so Tora scholars are free men in this world’. This is not about
210
211
212
213
We explained the mishna at the beginning of the present section in light of this
conclusion.
yBer 1:1 (2d). See Rostovtzeff, ‘Synteleia Toronon’; ‘Angariae’.
For the president’s taxes see Linder, The Jews, introduction; Mantel, Sanhedrin, 217–226;
Schwabe, ‘Letters’, 100f; Juster, Les Juifs, 386–388. For Jewish city taxes see Z. Safrai,
Community, 303–324.
Numbers Rabba is a late composition (c. 12th cent.) and was influenced also by Babylonian
sources, see Zunz-Albeck, Ha-derashot, 125–127.
Paul’s ‘Collection for the Saints’ (2 Cor 8–9)
203
an actual exemption of Tora scholars from taxes but rather their general
exemption from the obligations of this world, in the spirit of the words of
R. Nehunya b. Hakanah: ‘Whoever takes upon himself the yoke of Tora, from
him will be taken away the yoke of government and the yoke of worldly care’
(mAv 3:6). This obligation of ‘taking away’ is not imposed on the community
de facto, and is only part of the world’s reckoning.
In another report, it is said that Tiberias had to pay kelila (aurum coronarium, ‘crown tax’), and ‘Rabbi’, apparently R. Yehuda Nesia who lived in Tiberias,
refused the request of city residents to impose the tax on the sages as well
(bBB 8a). The legal background of the story is not sufficiently clear. Aurum
coronarium is a special tax that was imposed on inhabitants of the Empire in
honour of the appointment of a new emperor. We are to understand that the
tax was imposed on the polis of Tiberias, which in turn imposed part of it on
the Jewish community. The story is suspect, however, because the community
did not engage in collecting the Roman taxes.214
Byzantine legislation informs us of an incidental exemption from liturgiae.
In 330 ce the Emperor exempted certain religious figures from personal liturgiae, including those of the Jews.215 The law was abolished in 383 and reinstated
in 397.216 The significance of this event is difficult to assess; the relationship
between pagan and Christian religious functionaries and the Jewish ones
would require additional investigation. In any event, the evidence deals with
personal liturgiae only, not with exemption from all types of taxation.
Lieberman217 believes the authorities exempted the sages from taxes as they
did the priests of pagan temples. If so, the exemption does not reflect an
economic structure within Jewish society, rather the lobbying ability of the
community’s representatives. It is to be seen as part of the dealings of the Jews
and their religion with the authorities. Had the Jewish community leaders
been able to do so, they would have released all members of their nation from
taxes. However, the fact that they lobbied with the authorities on the issue of
the sages indirectly testifies to the respect for the latter, even if it does not
prove the community’s willingness to pay for that respect.
The only proof of a tax exemption for sages in the Land of Israel appears,
again, in the Bavli. According to the story, R. Abahu managed to convince nonJewish (probably Christian) officials in Caesaraea that R. Safra was a great man
214
215
216
217
Alon, Toledot ha-Yehudim 2, 119ff. The story appears only in the Bavli, and as we will see the
practice of granting the Sages tax breaks is more familiar in Babylonia.
Linder, The Jews, no. 9.
Ibid. no. 15 + no. 27.
Lieberman, Yavvanit, 360–363; Levine, Rabbinic Class, 31.
204
Safrai and Tomson
and therefore, ‘they exempted him from taxes for 12 years’.218 Even in this
Babylonian version, this is told as an exceptional event. Because they were particularly impressed by R. Safra, they granted him a temporary and limited
exemption from taxes. This is no proof of a general exemption of all sages from
taxes; on the contrary, it is proof that the sages normally did not receive such
an exemption. We do have additional evidence of tax exemption for sages in
Babylonia, but that is beyond the purview of our discussion.219
All allusions to tax exemptions are Amoraic, and mainly Babylonian. The
Bavli brings a series of examples where Palestinian sages discuss exemption
from internal Jewish taxes. R. Yehuda Nesia required the sages to participate
in the payment or construction of a wall in Tiberias (bBB 7b-8a). Resh Lakish
and R. Yohanan criticized the decision, claiming that ‘Sages are not in need
of protection’ (hence would not have to pay for the wall), supporting their
words from Scripture. As opposed to the story about R. Yehuda Nesia that
was just cited, the Nasi here is not a partner to the trend of exempting Tora
scholars, and it is still not clear what the accepted practice was. The dictum,
‘Sages are not in need of protection,’ is cited four more times220 and becomes
a halakhic principle exempting the sages from taxes. At the end of the discussion in the Bavli two Palestinian sages are cited: ‘Said R. Asi in the name
of R. Yohanan: everyone pays city taxes, even orphans, but the sages do not
need protection’. However the last phrase is missing in some manuscripts
and it seems to have been transferred from the words of Resh Lakish at the
beginning of the discussion.221 The entire discussion is found, again, only in
the Bavli, and it has no parallels in the Palestinian sources. There is reason to
suspect that all the stories represent the situation in Babylonia; moreover,
the discussion includes no evidence of de facto exemption, but rather of the
sages’ desire for it. Examination of the manuscripts222 gives rise to the suggestion that the rule ‘Sages do not need protection’ applies only to the
construction of the wall in Tiberias, whereas the Palestinian sages did
not demand general exemption from taxes for themselves, not even from
security-related taxes.
218
219
220
221
222
bAZ 4a, Abramson ms.
Beer, Babylonian Amoraim, 225–245.
bBM 108a and four times bBB 7b-8a. We can assume that it started from only one statement, and the other occurrences reflect deliberate or technical redaction. See esp the
Florence ms.
The sentence appears in the Hamburg and Florence mss. and is missing from the Munich
ms., and see Dikdukei Sofrim ad loc.
See the two previous notes.
Paul’s ‘Collection for the Saints’ (2 Cor 8–9)
205
Another case is related in the Yerushalmi: ‘During the time of R. Yirmia trouble befell Tiberias. He sent for a silver candelabrum from R. Yaakov b. R. Bon.
He sent it and told him: Yirmia has not yet recovered from his trouble, and they
wish to excommunicate him’.223 The entire story is unclear, however. Why did
R. Yirmia want a silver candelabrum, why was R. Yaakov b. R. Bon angry? The
possibility that R. Yirmia collected tax money and R. Yaakov was opposed to
collecting taxes from Tora scholars is no more than a possible guess. In any
case, usually the community did not collect taxes, and it certainly was not the
business of the sage. We should probably not relate this story to tax exemption
for sages.
We do have specific evidence of an exemption from all physical liturgiae224
granted by the authorities to priests (kohanim), ‘heads of synagogues’ and
‘fathers of synagogues’, and it is reasonable to assume that this exemption
included the sages. We know this because in a law from 333 the exemption was
cancelled, for the reason that Christian priests were also required to render
liturgiae.225 The cancellation of the exemption refers specifically to the Judaeae
legis homines (people of the Jewish law) and apparently it does refer to the
sages. Moreover tax exemption for priests and Levites is alluded to in a midrash:
‘R. Yehuda said: the tribe of Levi was exempt from the liturgiae in Egypt’.226 The
sages considered themselves the successors to the priests, and the words of the
sage may have been said in the realistic situation of exemption of sages from
the liturgiae.
There is also other, more dubious evidence: ‘R. Abbahu said in the name of
R. Elazar: Why was Abraham punished? … Because he required Tora scholars
to render angaria’ (bNed 32a). The saying appears only in the Bavli. In another
place Rabba accuses Asa for imposing an angaria and recruiting Tora scholars,
and in the parallel in the Yerushalmi the idea appears by implication but without the note of complaint.227
In summary, there is no evidence that the Palestinian sages were exempted
from paying taxes. Apparently they were usually released from liturgiae, but it
was not an absolute and consistent release. Release from the liturgiae is
not monetary compensation, but rather compensation in terms of honour and
223
224
225
226
227
yMK 3:1 (81d).
Linder, The Jews, no. 9; Cod. Theodosius 16.4.8.
Linder, ibid. no. 15.
TanhB vaera 4 (p20); ShemR 5.16 and parallels. Liturgiae is the tax so called – the obligation to provide services to the government or the army.
bSot 10a; ySot 8:7, 23a. It should be noted that the drafting of soldiers is not included in the
term angaria, and it is difficult to assume that a distorted sentence would be uttered by a
person who was familiar with the practices of the Roman administration.
206
Safrai and Tomson
power. The very discussion of the subject testifies to their honourable place in
Jewish society and their power to achieve preferred positions. Moreover, their
honour was not limited to the area of the community alone, and the authorities also recognized their senior status in society.
8.5
Charity or Indirect Financial Compensation
So far we have discussed direct payments given in an organized and
institutionalized manner. However, in every social system there is also a
non-institutionalized form of financial compensation, namely irregular or
incidental donations which do not originate in legislation and official
arrangements but depend on the generosity of the donors. Donations, even
if not regular, are likely to be a very generous alternative and to provide
members of the elite class with both wealth and honour. Donations may also
be a sign of respect with little financial compensation. The Indian fakir in
effect lives on donations; he receives monetary compensation, but his
honour still lies in his poverty. On the other hand, leaders of certain sects
in the Western world manage to turn such donations into a powerful financial lever. We must find out whether the sages demanded donations and
whether they received them, and to which of the contexts the world of the
beit midrash belongs.
Rabbinic literature contains dozens or hundreds of testimonies to the fact
that the sages often asked the Jewish community give charity to those who
laboured in Tora. Most of the evidence consists of a general demand to give a
sage a donation, with many words of praise for anyone who does so. In this
vein we can collect not only sayings and midrashim but also specific halakhot
about setting aside ‘a tithe of money’ for Tora scholars.228 The idealized social
model for supporting Tora scholars are ‘Issaschar and Zebulun’, two brothers,
one of whom is a merchant and supports his brother who studies. The sages
emphasize that the merit of Zebulun the merchant is equal to that of the
scholar Issaschar, and seemingly even greater.229
In spite of the wealth of sources in praise of charity and in particular of
donating to Tora scholars, we have no clear evidence of the phenomenon in
the Tannaic period and the idea seems to have developed for the most part
only in the time of the Amoraim.230 To be sure, the model of Issachar and
Zebulun develops a Tannaic idea. In Tannaic literature it has a geographical
228
229
230
Cf PesRK, aser taaser 10 (p172).
Beer, ‘Issaschar and Zabulun’.
Beer ibid. and Ben Shalom, ‘Favourite Saying’ already discussed the large number of
Amoraic traditions in praise of donations to Tora scholars.
Paul’s ‘Collection for the Saints’ (2 Cor 8–9)
207
import: Zebulun, who lives along the coast, markets the fruits of the hill farmers from the tribe of Issachar:
“Rejoice, Zebulun, in your going out” (Deut 33:18) – this teaches us that
Zebulun was an intermediary for his brother, and would take from his
brother and sell to the non-Jews, and from the non-Jews and sell to his
brother; “and Issachar, in your tents” (ibid) – this teaches that the tribe of
Issachar distinguished itself in the Tora.231
Only in Amoraic literature was the economic division of labour changed to a
social ideal of supporting Tora scholars.
There are several Tannaic texts that seem to demand financial support for
Tora scholars, thus contradicting our argument. Each one has its own difficulty,
however, and we shall deal with them one by one.
In Sifrei Deuteronomy we read: ‘If you say, I am studying Tora in order to
become rich, in order to be called rabbi, in order to receive a reward in the
world to come – it is written: “…To love the Lord your God” (Deut 11:13) – whatever you will do, do it only out of love’ (SifDeut 41, p87). It might seem that the
preacher is discussing compensation arrangements, money and honour, not
only in the form of a salary but also in the form of the opportunity to become
rich. However, in a parallel in Sifrei it says: ‘If you say I am studying Tora in
order to be called a sage, in order to sit in a yeshiva, in order to have a long life
in the world to come, it is written: “to love…”’ (SifDeut 48, p113).232 In other
words, a sage should not expect financial compensation, but rather compensation in honour only. The second version is preferable, because the version that
mentions money speaks not only of payment but of wealth, and even in the
period when the sages demanded charity, and received it as well, it is doubtful
to what extent they became rich from the donation.
In the Tosefta it says: ‘When the number of those who get profit (or pleasure) increased, the honour of the Tora was cancelled and the law was ruined’
(tSot 14:3). This is unequivocal criticism against the connection between Tora
study and profit (or pleasure). The advantages alluded to are not necessarily
monetary, and the saying applies to the subject of the honour of the sages as
well. Moreover: ‘When the number of those imposing inventory arrangements
on heads of households increased, bribery increased and the law was biased’
(ibid). As we mentioned, the criticism here is not directed at the sages but
against the municipal judges.
231
232
SifDeut 454 (p415) and parallels. See additional development in SER 89 (10) p51.
The same in all the mss. as well as in bNed 62a.
208
Safrai and Tomson
We already referred to the ‘collection for the sages’ ( )מגבת חכמיםwhich is
mentioned twice in the Yerushalmi. It was organized by such sages of the Yavne
generation as R. Eliezer, R. Yoshua, and R. Akiva, who were in the vicinity of
Antioch collecting money destined for the sages in the Land of Israel. They also
inscribed the contributions, which are made on a voluntary basis, in a טומוס,
i.e. a τόμος, ‘tome’ or register.233 We do not find the exact term ‘collection for
the sages’ in the Tannaic sources, and in any case this can be explained as a
collection carried out or initiated by the sages in their function of public leaders, for the poor of their generation. In fact, we have quite a number of items
already in the Tannaic period about sages as public leaders. R. Akiva,234 for
example, is so called, and significantly, he is one of the sages mentioned in the
traditions about the collection for the sages. Todos (Theodotos) of Rome, a
member of the Yavne generation at the latest, is described in the Yerushalmi as
‘sending the rabbis their livelihood’.235 These words appear only as spoken by
the Amora R. Hanania, whereas in the Tannaic sources Todos is described as
an important person but not necessarily as a respected donor (e.g. tBeitsa 2:14).
In the Palestinian Midrashim there is an entertaining story about R. Tarfon
who gave money to R. Akiva to buy an estate in partnership: ‘R. Akiva sold
it and gave the money to scribes and repeaters and Tora scholars – and to
those who study Tora’.236 Again, the story appears only in Amoraic sources,
and the expression ‘those who study Tora’ is missing in some of the main
manuscripts.
In one drought year Rabbi (Yehuda the Prince) was willing to help Tora
scholars, but not the ammei haarets. From the story it is clear that his disciple
R. Yonatan was opposed to it, and even Rabbi himself, or the editor of the section, admits the mistake. Again, the story appears only in the Bavli (bBB 8a),
and is related to the struggle against ammei haarets and not to support for Tora
scholars. The struggle against ammei haarets and the hatred towards them are
a Babylonian motif only.237 Therefore, not only is the story exclusively
Babylonian, but it is also unlikely that it belongs to our discussion.
233
234
235
236
237
yHor 3:4 (48a); LevR 5.4 (p110–114) and parallels in other mishnayot; For a similar anecdote see EstR 2.3. Read טומוסfor טימוסin yHor, see comment by Margulies in LevR ad loc.
yPes 4:6 (31a-b) has another story about a collection carried out by R. Akiva. The story is
similar in its parts, but the term ‘collection for the Sages’ and other details are lacking.
mMS 5:9 and other Amoraic sources. See S. Safrai, Rabbi Akiva, 23.
yMK 3:1 (81d); yPes 7:11 (34a). In the parallel in bPes 53b, Todos is described as someone
who ‘places inventory in the pocket of Tora scholars’.
LevR 34.16 (p812) and other parallels; see variants in ed Margulies.
Cohen, ‘Place of the Rabbi’, 165f.
Paul’s ‘Collection for the Saints’ (2 Cor 8–9)
209
As we recall, R. Yossi b. Kisma rejected the suggestion to receive a huge
fortune for studying Tora; we have suggested that this should not be considered evidence of a regular salary for Tora scholars. The story does, however,
evidence a desire of the sages for monetary compensation. As mentioned, the
story appears only in the chapter ‘Kinyan Tora’ appended to Tractate Avot (6:9);
it is not integral to the tractate and apparently is Amoraic. We even find the
following legendary phrase: ‘Great is Tora … long life at its right hand and
wealth and honour at its left’ (6:7).
In Midrash Tannaim on Deut 14:22 a series of midrashim attributed to
Tannaim demand, or justify, monetary contributions made to the sages and
presents these as a sacrifice or tithes. However, the material used in reconstructing this Midrash was taken from Midrash Hagadol,238 and although it
is attributed to Tannaim it is apparently Amoraic. Similarly, Tanna de-Bei
Eliyyahu has a series of midrashim in praise of support for Tora scholars and
their wives and children. However as we said the dating of this midrash collection is controversial.239 Without regard to chronological considerations, our
findings are that in every aspect of our subject matter, there is a difference
between Tannaic and Amoraic literature as to the behaviour of the sages as a
class. As we have mentioned, Tanna de-Bei Eliyyahu tends towards Amoraic
and Babylonian traditions. Apparently the passages quoted also belong in that
category.
The state of the evidence seems to justify the claim that during the Tannaic
period there was no demand to help Tora scholars. At most it may have been a
secondary demand that had not yet become a religious value. Conversely, during the Amoraic period the sages repeatedly demand monetary assistance and
consider this both a precondition for maintaining public Tora study and an
expression of the participation of the entire nation in the great mitsva of
Tora study. The difference between the Tannaic and the Amoraic corpus is
entirely clear.
8.6
Charity, Tora Study, and Labour
The absence in the Tannaic sources of a demand to give charity to the sages
stands out in light of the specific demand to give charity to the poor. The
demand to help the poor in every way possible appears repeatedly in many
sources.240 Shimon the Just presents charity as one of the three foundations of
238
239
240
See Kahana, ‘Halakhic Midrashim’, 100–103.
SER 10[11] p52; 27[25], p139; 18, p91. For the dating see Braude (above n206).
Urbach, ‘Political and Social Tendencies’, 114–116; Rosenthal, ‘Sedaka’, 427f; Hamel, Poverty,
220f; Seccombe, ‘Charity’. Z. Safrai, Community, 62–75 discusses the organizational aspects
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Safrai and Tomson
the world (mAv 1:2). The combination in the words of the first ‘pair’ of sages is
interesting: ‘Yose b. Yoezer says: Let your house be a meeting place for the
sages, cleave to the dust of their feet, and be thirsty drinking their words. Yose
b. Yohanan of Jerusalem says: Let your house be wide open and let the poor be
like members of your family’ (mAv 1:4–5). The first sage addresses participation in study, and at most hospitality for wandering Tora scholars, while his
colleague deals with the mitsva of charity. In Avot de-R. Natan the mitsva of
‘inviting impoverished people’ was interpreted to mean giving charity and the
obligation to feed Tora scholars (ARN b14, p34). We learn that the Tannaim did
not hesitate to demand of those who heard their lessons that they distribute
charity from their own money, but they refrained from demanding the charity
for themselves.
The teachings of the Tannaim contain a number expressions reflecting the
poverty and discomfort involved in devoting one’s life to Tora. We read in Sifrei:
‘Thus says Moses: Just as I studied it in discomfort, so will you study it in discomfort;’ similarly in Avot: ‘Anyone who observes Tora in poverty in the end
will observe it in wealth’.241 It is said in the name of Ben Azzai, although only in
Avot de-R. Natan: ‘If a person withers away over words of Tora and eats dried
dates and wears soiled clothing and sits and guards the doorway of sages, every
passer-by says: Look at that fool – in the end you find that he possesses the
entire Tora’. We are also told that R. Eliezer b. Hyrcanus began in poverty and
asceticism, and the same is said about R. Akiva at the start of his career.242
The same is found in later sources. R. Yoshua is described as a poor sage in
the Talmudim; and there are general sayings: ‘Tora scholars are poor so that
they won’t engage in other things and forget the Tora,’ or, ‘The Tora is found in
a punishment of poverty’. The author of Tanna de-Bei Eliyyahu repeatedly
emphasizes that Tora goes well with poverty.243
The idea turns up in the sources from the Tannaic period on, and we find it
increasingly reverberating in the Amoraic sources. Some of the sayings should
be understood in light of the natural tendency of some sages towards a life of
asceticism and poverty. In addition, Urbach has shown in an enlightening article that there was a minority group among the sages who considered a life of
241
242
243
of observing this commandment. For a rich and still incomplete collection for sources see
Meil tsedaka, in Menorat Hamaor (Israel al-Nakava/Alnaqua) 3, 541–563.
SifDeut 306 (p337); mAv 4:9. Cf mAv 6:4.
Respectively, ARN a11 with variant a12 (p46); ARN a6 and b13 (p30f); ARN a6 and b23
(p29f).
R. Yoshua, yBer 4:1 (7d) and bBer 27b-28a. For sayings see YalShim Tehilim 934; YalShim
Ruth 597; SER 3 (p13); 5 (p32).
Paul’s ‘Collection for the Saints’ (2 Cor 8–9)
211
poverty a religious ideal and a central path to the worship of God.244 It turns
out that this ideal was supported mainly by the circles of the ‘ancient hasidim’.
In the framework of the present volume, it is important to note that this
appears also to have been the spiritual milieu of Jesus. Above we have quoted
some of his sayings on poverty and giving alms and associated them with the
saying, ‘You receive without paying, give without pay’. The same connection
was found in the Derekh Erets literature, and can be pointed out in Tanna deBei Eliyahu. In view of the following we must also note the almost disdainful
words of Jesus to Martha who is ‘anxious and troubled about many things’
while keeping the household running and offering hospitality to Jesus’ group
of wandering teachers, while her sister Mary who ‘sits at the master’s feet’ listening, ‘has chosen the good portion’ (Luke 10:38–42).245
In comparison, the sayings about the preference for Tora study out of
poverty apparently reflect a different mood and more generally express the
harsh reality of actual life. Many of those who wanted to study did so out of
poverty, not as a matter of principle but for lack of choice. The idea is very
prevalent in rabbinic literature and includes all classes of sages.246 In addition,
we can also point out that the ideal of poverty of the Jesus tradition differs
from the teachings of Paul. In this area, the apostle seems closer to mainstream
Pharisaic-rabbinic thinking.
To the lack of enthusiasm for monetary support of the Tora scholar we
perceive in Tannaic literature must be added the positive image of the sage,
and along with it the view on labour and especially the combination of Tora
and labour. Many sayings are directed both at the simple and the wealthy
man who may disdain labour; we are now interested in sayings aimed at the
sage. Labour is presented as part of the proper way of life and as a mitsva in
itself, and the sage is not permitted to refrain from work but obligated to
combine his Tora study with his daily work: ‘Love labour and hate authority’
(mAv 1:10).247 In the philosophy of the Tannaim, Tora study is not a profession. The scholar is both forbidden to receive a salary for his work, and he is
required to participate in the practical world on a daily basis. Tora study
must be limited because of a life of activity and labour, even if this requires
poverty and discomfort.
244
245
246
247
For a reservation that is actually an expansion see Urbach, World of the Sages, 437–458;
Fraade, ‘Ascetical Aspects’.
Above 7.1. Mary offers a proverbial illustration of the saying in mAv 1:4 quoted above.
Urbach, World of the Sages, 437–458.
Beer, ‘Torah’; Ayali, ‘Ha-hityahsut’; Ayali, Poalim ve-omanim; Ben Shalom, ‘Favourite
Saying’.
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From Tannaic times onwards a minority group believed that Tora study was
preferable. The outstanding, almost exclusive representative of this group is R.
Shimon B. Yohai, who expresses the hope that Israel will study Tora and Heaven
will help to support them. The sage does not impose the obligation to help on
the community either, but hopes for a miracle: ‘The Tora was not given for
study except to those who eat manna,’248 and other sayings.249 The viewpoint
of R. Shimon b. Yohai is related to his unique personality and his unusual career
in the study of the Tora, his tendency towards asceticism, as well as his particular halakha. His world is restricted to the observance of commandments and
Tora study, and the latter is more important than all other commandments
including acts of kindness; it required a quasi-monastic severance from everyday life. He was the first to create the type of sage whose Tora is his trade and
who owns nothing but Tora. A number of sayings support the approach of R.
Shimon b. Yohai:
R. Nehorai says: I set aside all the trades in the world and teach my son
only Tora, the reward for which one enjoys in this world...250
R. Shimon b. Elazar said: Have you every seen a lion who is a porter, a deer
who is a pluckier, a fox who is a shopkeeper… but I did pad deeds and
deprived myself of my livelihood.251
(The Rechabites say:) …I left behind me everything I had, only to study
Tora, but now, I sow and harvest, and when do I study Tora?252
It must be noted, however, that the picture of the Rechabites seems to reflect
the world of the Essenes rather than that of the sages.253 Precisely so it is
clear that rabbinic literature including the aggadic midrash collections
displays a positive attitude to the concept of labour. Even the opinions of
R. Shimon ben Yohai, R. Shimon ben Elazar, and R. Nehorai represent a
248
249
250
251
252
253
MekRY, vayehi (p76); ibid. vayasa (p161); Tanh, beshalah 20 (p90). Cf the discussion in
MekRY vayasa 5 (p172); MekRSbY Exod 16:33 (p116).
SifDeut 42 (p90); bBer 35b; ARN a35 (p105ff).
tKid 5:16. Cf mKid 4:14; Sofrim 16:1 (p282); bKid 82b; yKid 4:14 (66b). The question of
whether it belongs in the Mishna or the Tosefta is not significant here. The words of R.
Nehorai contain no hint of monetary reward in this world; the Tora ‘preserves him from
all evil in his youth and gives him an end and hope in his old age’ (mKid ibid). The Mishna
at the beginning of the tractate and its parallels should be similarly understood. The
reward in this world is not monetary but religious and social, as we have explained.
tKid 5:15.
SifZ 10.29 (p264). Cf ARN a35 (p205).
See Z. Safrai, ‘Sons of Rekhav’.
Paul’s ‘Collection for the Saints’ (2 Cor 8–9)
213
negligible minority in view of the quantity of Tannaic utterings and sayings
in praise of work.
During the Amoraic period a social change occurs. Amoraic literature
includes many sayings of praise for anyone who maintains a sage in his own
home, marries off his daughter to him, or helps him financially in every way
possible.254 The monetary tithe was given to the sages: ‘…A reference to merchants and sailors who used to give one-tenth to those who laboured in Tora’;
and priests who were Tora scholars were preferred for that quality when it
came to granting an ordinary tithe.255 In the Targum to the Song of Songs,
which reflects a Babylonian reality that may postdate the Amoraic period, it is
even written that tithes and heave offerings should be given to the head of the
yeshiva who is the navel of the world.256 No parallel has been found for such an
extreme viewpoint, not even in the Bavli, and it has no parallel in the thinking
of the Palestinian sages.
In any case, in the Babylonian traditions funding Tora study is presented as
a way open to those who do not study Tora, almost as a substitute for actively
participating in it. The reward of the helper is equal to that of the scholar, and
he seemingly gets credit for Tora study. Of all the many sayings, two examples
may suffice:
Hillel and Shevna were brothers, Hillel studied Tora, Shevna worked in
business. In the end he said to him: Let us mix and share. A voice called
out and said: If a person gives all the wealth of his home with love, he will
be scorned.
R. Hiya b. Abba said, the Holy One blessed be He will make shade and
canopies for Tora scholars in the Garden of Eden… Simon the brother of
Azaria, and Simon was older than Azaria, but because Azaria dealt with
practical matters, and gave food to Simon, the halakha is named after
him, as in “to Zebulun he said…”257
Kimelman has well demonstrated that from Amoraic times onwards there are
few original sayings in praise of labour.258 The ideal of the Tora scholar who
254
255
256
257
258
Beer, ‘Issaschar and Zabulun’; Levine, Rabbinic Class, 43f.
PesRK aser teaser 10 (p172); yMS 5:6 (56b). It is not necessary to explain this to mean that
R. Aha b. Ula who received the tithe was not a priest. The fact is being emphasized that he
received the tithe because he was a Tora scholar.
Tg Cant 7:3. Cf, however, the ‘first fruits and heave offerings’ being given to the ‘prophets’
in Did 13:3–7 (cf above p140f).
Hillel and Shevna: bSot 21a. R. Hiya b. Abba: LevR 25.2 (p570f) and many parallels.
Kimelman, ‘Maamad ha-rabbanut’.
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supports himself by working lost some of its validity and vitality, both in the
Land of Israel and in Babylonia.259 The differences between the Tannaic and
Amoraic periods should not be exaggerated, however. Amoraic literature does
cite Tannaic sayings in praise of labour and manual work, and there are also
some new ones.260 The ideal did not become utopian and still presented a
challenge to the sages, or to some of them.
Yet a social change had taken place. An Amora like R. Yohanan could reprimand R. Hanina b. Sisi and claim he was not permitted to chop wood in public
since, ‘It is not respectable for you,’ and when defending himself, R. Hanina
complained, ‘What should I do, I have nobody to serve me? [R. Yohanan said to
R. Hanina:] If you did not have anyone to serve you, you should not have agreed
to be appointed’ (ySan 2:6, 20c). Such an elitist viewpoint could not have been
expressed in the Tannaic period, and even during the Amoraic period
it is an exception. The minority view of R. Shimon b. Yohai became accepted
during the Amoraic period, although not in its entire religious and organizational scope.
The sages did not demand actual wealth for themselves. Although they
said that it was proper to support Tora scholars, they were referring to poor
ones.261 The esteemed R. Yohanan, the leading sage of his generation, in whose
beit midrash the junior preachers received a salary and who was himself
from a wealthy home, ended his life without possessions, although not necessarily poor.262
We are left with the question why the Tannaim refrained from demanding
monetary compensation, as also, why the Amoraim did not translate their
increasing power into aggressive economic demands. This question is likely to
have an ideological answer, or maybe a practical one, or a combination of the
two (which is what happens in most societies). Moreover, it involves trying to
discover the social implications of the strategic decisions on the subject. But
these questions are already beyond the scope of our discussion.
8.7
Summary
The rabbinic sources evidence a gradual shift towards a salaried leadership
from the Amoraic period onwards, i.e., since the third century ce, and especially in Babylonian sources.
259
260
261
262
Ben Shalom, ‘Favourite Saying’.
In favour of physical labour see, e.g., MidrTeh 128.1 (p513); bBer 16b; bPes 113a; bPes 118a;
bBB 110a; GenR 20.10 (p194); ibid. 31:12 (p869f); Tanh, vayetse 13.
For example ARN b 12 (p34).
LevR 31.1 (p688f); bTaan 21a and further sources.
Paul’s ‘Collection for the Saints’ (2 Cor 8–9)
215
The phenomenon of wandering teachers remunerated in the form of board
and lodging which we have also encountered in earliest Christianity remains
as a marginal feature of Jewish society throughout the period. The earlier
halakha as documented in Tannaic literature, however, is unanimous that
teaching should be for free. Only in sources from the Amoraic period onwards
do we find scattered reports of remuneration for teaching, first of all vis-à-vis
the lower class of scribes and teachers.
Direct pay to sages in an orderly community framework is attested poorly
and only in Babylonian Amoraic traditions. So is exemption from government
taxes by way of payment. Ample documentation is found, however, of irregular
donations and charity being given to teachers and sages and of explicit appeals
to do so. But again, this is only from the Amoraic period onwards. A concomitant development seems to be the bleakening of the gallant Tannaic idealization of labour in the Amoraic traditions. It seems that the rivalling ideal of
living for the Tora in poverty that existed as a minority view in Tannaic times
became more widely accepted in the Amoraic period.
9
Conclusions
9.1
The Emergence of a Salaried Leadership in Christianity and Judaism
Let us now summarize the parallel development in both communities in a
larger perspective and thus put the dimensions of Paul’s campaign into relief.
The debate regarding payment for spiritual leaders appears in both traditions,
although the Jewish material is far greater because of the sheer quantity of
sources. Both in Jewish and Christian circles, there initially was religious opposition to paying teachers. Such opposition expressed in any case also a resistance to an established hierarchy and a professional leadership.
During a second stage, this lofty idea started to erode. Main reasons were
the need at hand and the growing demand for teachers who would devote all
their time to teaching. In the Jewish community these were school teachers; in
the primitive Church, the leading apostles. Here, there appears to be a difference between both communities. In the Jewish community, permission to
accept compensation was first given to junior teachers who were not the leading elite, whereas in the primitive Church the leaders permitted themselves to
take charity. In both communities the permission went on to develop and
became more established and widespread. Through the doing of Paul, however, the early Church attained within a generation or two what took the Jewish
community all five generations of the Tannaic period, and even then only partially in the Land of Israel.
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In both communities the ethos of opposition to wealth remained alive.
Teachers were not supposed to be wealthy, and charity was given only to those
in need of support. We do not have enough information to decide whether this
ethos was also maintained in practice.
In both communities, the Jewish institution of the priesthood served as a
model for emulation. Tora study is a substitute for sacrifices, and payment to
teachers is compared with tithes, heave offerings, first fruits, etc. In rabbinic
literature for example, a practice is mentioned of tithing money similar to tithing agricultural produce, but this was earmarked for sages and their students.
However, the model of tithes did not receive the same legal expression in
Judaism as the priestly gifts. They were not mandatory; the amount and precise
quantities were unspecified; there were no related positive and negative commandments; and there was no prohibition against eating without redemption.
And decisively, it did not exempt a Jew from the obligation to separate heave
offerings for the priests.
On the social level the payment to Tora teachers involved competition with
the poor for the community’s charity resources. Although in fact neither religious tradition said so openly, the financial resources were rare and limited.
In early Christian literature the motive of charity is less overt, whereas the
Jewish sources consider support for school teachers and scholars, charity, to all
intents and purposes.
Our main subject is Paul’s collection for the ‘saints’. We found no similar
institution in the Jewish community, and as mentioned, in earliest Christianity
it also remained exceptional because it did not accord with the general policy
on support for teachers. In Palestinian Jewish society a more or less organized
support system developed only later. The earliest rabbinic indications are from
the Yavne generation (early second century) and they concern non-institutionalized support meant specifically for the poor. Information starts to be more
amply available from the third century on, and by then the support was
also designated for scholars and the patriarchal establishment, though not
exclusively.
We are left with a lot of questions. For one thing, it is hard to explain the
difference in social dynamic between both communities. It would seem that
the similarities rather than the differences should surprise us. However that
may be, the early Church was a new and non-established entity which shows
signs of a much faster organizational development. This could be part of the
explanation. It could also be that the Church surrendered more quickly to
practical needs (or wishes) of their religious elite, giving up its ideology or
initial utopia.
Paul’s ‘Collection for the Saints’ (2 Cor 8–9)
217
There were also important differences in overall social and political status.
The churches were a new phenomenon and were taking the initial steps of
getting organized, formulating an overall identity, and working out a new
teaching and way of life. Regarding all these aspects, Jewish communities
could draw on existing resources. Moreover, the comparison is faulty because
we do not really know how the Jewish communities in the diaspora behaved.
Our evidence allows us mainly to compare the large, established and organized
Jewish community in the Land of Israel with the Christian churches scattered
all over the Roman Empire. In itself, this divergence in available source material could be sufficient to explain the entire difference in development. We
could also think of the fact that churches operated in urban Roman society,
where they were faced with consolidated communal networks. However we do
not attribute much importance to this factor, because in effect the churches
did not adopt the organizational practices of the Roman polis in the areas
under discussion. As we have seen, support systems for teachers and charity
networks were hardly known in the polis.
9.2
In What Way Did Jewish Tradition Inspire Paul’s Collection?
The fundraising campaign organized by Paul does not have an obvious
antecedent in Jewish history. It can be understood, however, as a practical and
organizational application of a range of Jewish conceptions. He would have
adopted these in his own original way and applied them in a new organizational framework that suited the needs of the churches and of the nascent
Christian community.
Regarding the question of indirect payment to Tora scholars we have
noted the differences in emphasis between the Tannaic and Amoraic periods. During the Tannaic period the sages refrained from asking monetary
compensation for their efforts. The ensuing Amoraic period was less
restrictive, though there still is evidence of avoidance of direct monetary
compensation; moreover Palestinian sages were stricter about it than their
Babylonian colleagues. On the other hand, the view underlying Paul’s collection is supportive of paying salaries and donations to at least the principal leaders. A similar view was ideologically and socially disapproved of by
the sages, and it differs from what is familiar in Tannaic literature. A minority opinion in this literature, however, allows for support being given to
wandering Tora scholars. We get the impression that this was the loophole
utilized by Paul. On the whole, the institution of the collection for the
‘saints’ has no parallel in rabbinic literature and is an original development
of the global Christian community.
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If we now wish to explain the historical development in both communities,
several alternative models of explanation are imaginable.
(1)
The primitive Church developed its own system of support for its leaders
and its main centre. The idea of the prevalence of the Jerusalem community was deeply rooted in Jewish tradition and Paul’s campaign can probably be considered a direct adoption of this tradition. Monetary
support and exemption from work for leaders, however, does not accord
with ordinary Jewish custom. Somehow, Paul effectively undertook to
institutionalize the leadership of the Christian Church, thus prefiguring
developments in larger Jewish society. Social values of lesser-known
circles in Second Temple Judaism may have played a role here (cf Acts 2
and 4). Later on, the Palestinian and Babylonian Amoraim adopted an
analogous system, as a result either of Christian influence or of an independent parallel development.
(2) Alternatively, in Jewish society the practice of support for sages would
have existed as a minority practice or perhaps even as the prevalent
custom. The sages were opposed to it for ideological reasons, but in reality this did not prevent donations from being made and sages from
accepting them. Paul then would have adopted the Jewish practice
openly, whereas the sages adopted it de facto while maintaining their
theoretical opposition.
(3) We could also suppose that the above distinction between Amoraic and
Tannaic sources is artificial. Although Tannaic literature did not preserve
evidence of monetary support for sages, such a sharp distinction between
the sources would not be justified in terms of methodology. In other
words, the Amoraic sources would preserve spurious Tannaic traditions
that were omitted in the Tannaic literature presumed to be more original
or realistic.
(4) There is also the scholarly opinion that collecting rabbinic sources
is a waste of time since they do not reflect historical reality to
start with.
This is not the place for a full discussion of the alternative methodologies.
Suffice it to say that option (4) is not convincing in light of the cumulative
experience made in studying rabbinic sources from a historical perspective.
Although this basic approach is extensively represented in scholarship, in
recent years it is losing some of its appeal. Option (3) in effect reverts to traditional methods of Jewish scholarship on rabbinic sources; it is also opposed to
more recent cumulative scholarly experience. Option (2) is not unlikely but is
Paul’s ‘Collection for the Saints’ (2 Cor 8–9)
219
somewhat simplistic. In our estimation, therefore, option (1) is the most adequate explanation of the known overall data we have reviewed.
9.3
Paul’s Achievement
It follows that Paul must have created an original model of financial support
for spiritual leaders using Jewish motifs and values, and with a far greater
degree of organization than what has been usually understood from his letters.
If the sources we have reviewed do reflect the actual situation, the churches
had reached a remarkable level of institutionalization already in the first generation of Christianity’s spread in the diaspora. In Roman society in general,
and to some extent in Jewish society too, leadership was in the hands of the
wealthy elite, and it was expected that public service was rendered voluntarily
and without payment. The decentralization of leadership among all classes
visible in Paul’s urban communities263 demanded a solution to the question of
supporting less well-to-do leaders. With revolutionary insight, Paul apparently
understood this at once, whereas the sages adhered to the ancient model for
another three or four generations, until they were forced to change their policy
under pressure from reality and the inherent need for institutionalization.264
In sociological terms, Paul seems to have aimed at creating a salaried leadership standing above the people and not being bound by the exigencies of practical life. In spite of the fragility of the early Christian communities, they
succeeded in establishing this social model. Would they have wanted to go in
the same direction, the Tannaim would have been in a much better position to
succeed. It follows that the opposition of the Tannaim to an institutionalized,
professional leadership was mainly ideologically motivated, notwithstanding
the fact that support from public money would have strengthened the status of
the leaders and would have made their work in controlling society easier.
It is important to note once again that Paul’s campaign, as well as his view
on labour and teaching, also differs from the social model implied in the
Gospel tradition. The teachings of Jesus presuppose preachers who wander
263
264
See Meeks, First Urban Christians, chapters 2 and 4.
In rabbinic literature, engaging in physical labour was seen as a spiritual value, a mitsva,
and the obligation to avoid a monetary reward for teaching Tora coincides with this attitude. However this must all be seen in the context of the sages’ economic utopia (see
Z. Safrai, Economy, 304–314), which in turn was part of the Hellenistic and Roman utopian
philosophy. On the other hand, in Christian literature there is no echo of this economic
utopia, and it is evident that it reflects people from lower social classes, the actual workers
who did not have time and resources to consider their work a spiritual asset. They saw a
life of labour as an undesirable constraint. The claims in this footnote should be developed and clarified.
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Safrai and Tomson
from one community to another and who value preaching the Kingdom of
Heaven in poverty higher than labour. In that sense it can be maintained that
Jesus did not and would not found churches, whereas Paul and the other apostles set up the organizational framework that enabled the churches their
speedy growth.
Having attained these conclusions, it is obvious that further study would be
necessary, confronting our results with sources and research pertaining to
early and later patristic literature, especially as regards the offices of bishops
and priests and their socio-economic infrastructure.265
265
Cf the sketch by Hengel, Property. Schöllgen, Anfänge, 34–100 gives a good analysis of
important Christian sources till and including the Syriac Didascalia, pointing out that a
salaried, institutionalized Christian clergy appears in the sources around the turn of the
2nd and the 3rd century.
Paul’s ‘Fool’s Speech’ (2 Cor 11:16–32) in the Context
of Ancient Jewish and Graeco-Roman Culture
Catherine Hezser
Paul’s autobiographical account in 2 Cor 10–13 is a very complex and puzzling
text which has received a variety of interpretations by scholars over the last
decades. In this text Paul defends himself against the attacks of his opponents,
missionaries like himself who have been able to win over to their side members of the Corinthian community which Paul had founded on his first visit to
the city. The main question addressed by scholars in relation to this text is the
possible identity of Paul’s adversaries.1 Are these the same people who are
mentioned in 2 Cor 1–9, which some scholars consider a separate letter?2 Or
are they different people who arrived in Corinth after Paul’s writing of the first
(part of the) letter? Can his opponents be identified with specific early
Christian apostles whom we know from the book of Acts? Should they be considered Judaizers or Jewish Christians? Does Paul’s response allow us to identify them at all?
Strangely enough, in 2 Cor 10–13 Paul never discusses his opponents’
theology. He rather writes an apology in which he rejects his enemies’
accusations and defends his own behavior and actions to reestablish himself as a proper apostle to the Corinthians. His main concern is to change
the Corinthians’ perception of himself: instead of viewing him from the
perspective of his enemies they are invited to understand his conduct
within the broader context of his personal disposition and missionary
activity. In 2 Cor 11:16–32 this reversal of the Corinthians’ perception is
attempted by the use of several rhetorical and literary strategies such as
irony, comparison, and self-praise. The topoi addressed in this section
range from the author’s self-identification as a ‘Hebrew’, ‘Israelite’, and
descendant of Abraham to his self-proclaimed ‘foolishness’, ‘enslavement’,
suffering, and deprivation.
In the following we shall first deal with the literary, social, and biographical
context of the passage under discussion and afterwards discuss the topoi of
Paul’s self-defense within the framework of ancient Judaism and Graeco-Roman
1 See, e.g., Smith, ‘Paul’s Arguments’, 254–260; Georgi, Opponents of Paul; Sumney, Identifying
Paul’s Opponents; Kolenkow, ‘Paul and Opponents’, 351–374.
2 On the partition versus the unity hypothesis see, e.g., Vegge, 2 Corinthians, 379.
© koninklijke brill nv, leiden, 2014 | doi 10.1163/9789004271661_009
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culture. As Ed P. Sanders has already noted, 2 Cor 11 has been ‘less discussed
[than other Pauline letters] in considering Paul’s attitude towards Judaism
and Jewish people’.3 Yet the text provides interesting insights into Paul’s selfperception and Jewish affiliation. The Graeco-Roman context of Paul’s argumentation is also of great importance for a proper understanding of his
attitudes.
The Literary, Social, and Biographical Context of 2 Cor 11:16–32
The immediate context of 2 Cor 11:16–32 are the chapters 10–13 in which Paul
defends himself against criticism by anonymous opponents. 2 Cor 11:16–32
can be properly understood only within this wider literary context, where
particular issues and themes reoccur: the issues of self-praise (cf 2 Cor 10:8, 13,
16–17; 11:10, 12, 17–18, 30; 12:1, 5–6) and foolishness (cf 2 Cor 11:1, 16–19, 21; 12:6,
11), the comparison with other apostles (cf 2 Cor 10:12), the opposition
between body and spirit (cf 2 Cor 10:2–4; 11:18), between speech and writing/
knowledge (2 Cor 10:10; 11:6), between self-debasement and exaltation (2 Cor
11:7; 12:7, 9; 13:4, 9). Paul emphasizes his economic self-reliance and abstention from monetary payments (2 Cor 11:7; 12:14). His references to his opponents range from the neutral ‘certain people’ (10:2, 12) to the ironic
‘super-apostles’ (11:5, 12:11) to the polemic ‘false apostles’ (11:13) and ‘Satan’ in
disguise (11:14, cf 12:7). These adversaries’ teachings and practices are never
specified but the text implies that they invaded Paul’s missionary territory,
won over at least some of his congregants, and cast Paul in a bad light, so that
his former Corinthian adherents became suspicious of his religious status
and leadership qualities.
In these chapters Paul provides certain hints which help locate the text
within the itinerary of his missionary journeys. He mentions that he is writing
to the Corinthians in preparation of his third visit to the city (2 Cor 12:14; 13:1).
It remains unclear whether the entire text of 2 Corinthians or only chapters
10–13 constitute this last letter. Scholars who argue in favor of two separate letters point to the differences in tone and style between 2 Cor 1–9 and 10–13.
They say that the first part of 2 Cor gives the impression that certain conflicts
between Paul and the Corinthians were solved, whereas chapters 10–13 address
open problems. Those who argue for a unity of composition point to recurrent
themes within the text and to the general tenor of reconciliation between Paul
3 Sanders, ‘Paul on the Law’, 76.
Paul’s ‘Fool’s Speech’ (2 Cor 11:16-32)
223
and his community.4 Should chapters 10–13 be interpreted as an integral part
of 2 Corinthians as a whole or as an independent response to new circumstances? Obviously, this decision has important consequences for the identification of Paul’s opponents: are the adversaries mentioned in chapters 10–13
identical with those mentioned in chapters 1–9 or should they be considered a
different set of people?
In 2 Cor 1:15 Paul mentions a first visit to Corinth together with Silvanus and
Timotheus (cf v. 19), as well as a second visit, on his way back to Judaea. The
second visit seems to have been disappointing, since Paul wrote the so-called
‘letter of tears’ in its aftermath (2 Cor 2:4; see also 7:8). Scholars differ over the
question whether this letter should be considered identical with 2 Cor 10–13.5
If so, 2 Cor 10–13 would precede the earlier chapters chronologically and chapters 1–9 would be based on a reconciliation between Paul and the Corinthians
when the conflicts had been solved, as reported to Paul by Titus.6 But the ‘letter
of tears’ could also be an unknown letter which did not survive and does not
form part of the Corinthian correspondence that came down to us. In the context of this presentation we cannot discuss this issue in detail. From the rhetorical point of view, the change from friendliness and reconciliation (chapters
1–9) to polemic and apology (chapters 10–13) does not seem logical, however,
and suggests that these texts were written on different occasions.7
Nevertheless, there are certain similarities and continuities between the
first and second part of 2 Corinthians, since the same community is addressed,
even if chapters 1–9 and 10–13 relate to different times and circumstances. For
example, the issue of self-promotion appears in 2 Cor 5:12 already: Paul claims
that he does not want to commend himself but to provide reasons to the
Corinthians to boast about him, in contrast to ‘those who boast in outward
appearance and not in the heart’. Elsewhere an anonymous person who
wronged him or was unjust towards him is mentioned (7:12). Just as in chapters
10–13, specific adversaries are never identified and references to some kind of
opposition to Paul remain very unspecific and general.
4 See Matera, II Corinthians, 213–214; Vegge, 2 Corinthians, 379, who follows Reimund Bieringer
in considering 2 Corinthians ‘a uniform letter of reconciliation’. Bash, ‘Psychodynamic
Approach’, 59, argues, however, that chapters 10–13 follow chapters 1–9 chronologically and
were written on another occasion. See also Holland, ‘Speaking Like a Fool’, 250, who points to
the difference in tone between the former and later chapters: confidence and pride in chapters 1–9 versus polemic and apologetic in chapters 10–13.
5 See Lamb, 2 Corinthians, 149.
6 See Matera, II Corinthians, 214.
7 See also Bash, ‘Psychodynamic Approach’, 59.
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Chapters 1–9 already locate Paul between Graeco-Roman paganism on the
one side and traditional Judaism on the other. On the one hand, the Corinthians
are warned against socializing with pagans (2 Cor 6:14–18), who are called
ἄπιστοι (non-believers), practicing ἀνομία (lawlessness, 6:14). On the other
hand, Paul stresses the advantages of the ‘new covenant’ in comparison to the
‘old’ (3:4–18). He introduces himself as a ‘servant of the new covenant’ (3:6), a
covenant based on the spirit rather than the letter (ibid). By using the literary
form of kal va-homer, which also frequently appears in rabbinic sources, he
argues for the greater glory of the ‘service of the spirit’ over the ‘service of the
letter’ which stands for obedience to the Thora given to Moses (3:7–8): if
the ‘service of the letter’, associated with Moses, already led to glory, how
much more so does glory apply to the ‘service of the spirit’, which is also
called the ‘service of justification [by faith]’ or the ‘service of righteousness’
here (v. 9).
Paul obviously considers his belief in Jesus as the Messiah an advancement
over traditional Jewish beliefs, a kind of enhancement of Judaism, and at
the same time distances himself from Graeco-Roman idolatry. He claims
that those of his fellow-Jews who do not share his faith in Jesus are unable to
see the truth, because a cloth covers their interpretation of the Bible (3:14)
whose revelations can be understood properly only from the Christian point
of view. Paul’s reasoning remains very general and theoretical here. He does
not mention the possibility that Jews who shared his belief in Jesus might
teach quite different interpretations of the Bible and propagate diverse practices which could result in communal conflicts. In 11:15 he applies the term
servants of righteousness’ to his adversaries, who allegedly assumed this title
in disguise.
Obviously these competing missionaries had propagated Paul’s flaws and
convinced Corinthian Christians of Paul’s inadequacy as an apostle since Paul’s
last visit to the city. Whether they were identical with Apollos and Cephas, the
faction leaders mentioned in 1 Corinthians (1 Cor 1:12), as some scholars have
surmised,8 cannot be ascertained and is rather unlikely, since Paul never refers
to them by name. It is quite difficult to reconstruct these adversaries’ specific
criticism of Paul, which can be deduced on the basis of the latter’s self-defense
only. Whereas the Corinthians’ allegiance to someone who ‘proclaims a different Jesus’ and ‘a different gospel’ is alluded to in 11:4, it is clear that their allegations concerned Paul’s personal disqualification: his behavior and way of life
rather than the contents of his teaching, which do not form part of Paul’s
apology.
8 See, e.g., Barnett, ‘Paul, Apologist to the Corinthians’, 315–321.
Paul’s ‘Fool’s Speech’ (2 Cor 11:16-32)
225
Scholars have already pointed out that Paul’s apology should be understood
within the context of Graeco-Roman rhetorics and in comparison with other
ancient autobiographical writings. Thus, Scott B. Andrews has examined 2 Cor
11 in connection with peristasis (hardship) catalogues in ancient literature and
suggested that ancient rhetoricians’ epideictic discourse, which praises those
who overcame hardships and misfortune, provides the proper framework for
understanding Paul’s literary technique.9 Whether and to what extent Paul’s
discourse adheres to or rather differs from Graeco-Roman rhetoric shall be
examined below in connection with the specific topoi he addresses. Glenn
Holland has alerted readers to Paul’s use of irony as a rhetorical tool in 2
Corinthians 10–13: ‘… the use of irony allows Paul to “speak like a fool” in his
own defense, saying things that must be said but which he could not say in
proper persona’.10 Paul’s self-identification as a ‘fool’ is indeed striking and shall
be discussed in more detail below. Jan Lambrecht has stressed Paul’s ‘vivid and
emotional’ style and his alleged distinction between legitimate and illegitimate boasting.11 Paul’s ‘foolish’ boasting of his weaknesses is presented as legitimate, whereas the so-called super-apostles’ proud boasting of their
accomplishments is presented as inappropriate. The paradoxes between foolishness and wisdom, weakness and power are recurrent themes of Paul’s argumentation. Like other ancient autobiographical texts Paul’s autobiographical
passages do not necessarily provide historically reliable insights into his actual
life experiences. Oda Wischmeyer has pointed to the apologetic and polemic
character of his argumentation and Lukas Bormann has emphasized the fictional and rhetorical elements in Paul’s as well as in other ancient authors’
autobiographical writings.12 The so-called ‘fool’s speech’ evinces the ‘liberty of
fictional construction’ (‘Freiheit der fiktionalen Gestaltung’) in which the various issues are presented from a particular perspective and (partly) distorted in
order ‘to achieve a higher level of generality of the statements’.13
The issues which Paul addresses in this text and which shall be examined
more closely within the context of ancient Jewish and Graeco-Roman tradition
concern the opposition between foolishness and wisdom, his self-identification, the metaphorical use of the slavery theme, the hazards involved in travel,
his alleged persecution and suffering, as well as his assumption of leadership
and supervision over other Christians. One has to keep in mind that Paul does
9
10
11
12
13
Andrews, ‘Too Weak Not to Lead’, 263–265.
Holland, ‘Speaking Like a Fool’, 251.
Lambrecht, ‘Dangerous Boasting’, 108 and 110.
Wischmeyer, ‘Paulus als Ich-Erzähler’, 88–105; Bormann, ‘Autobiographische Fiktionalität’.
Bormann, ‘Autobiographische Fiktionalität’, 122 (my translation).
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not address his opponents directly here. The letter is rather addressed to
Corinthian Christians whom other apostles have influenced against Paul. Paul
tries to win them over to his side rather than refute his opponents’ allegations.
He would therefore thematize these allegations only in so far as he assumes
that community members might have held them up against him.
Foolishness Versus Wisdom
Paul’s rhetorical self-identification as a ‘fool’ is a recurrent theme in 2 Cor 10–12
and may strike one as odd on the basis of the rabbinic and philosophical
emphasis on wisdom. The terms which he mainly uses in this regard are the
noun ἀφροσύνη (11:1, 21) and the adjective ἄφρων (11:16, 19; 12:6, 11), but the
expression ἰδιώτης τῷ λόγῳ (11:6) also appears at least once. The term ἀφροσύνη
is the direct opposite of the Hellenistic philosophical ideal of σωφροσύνη,
which denotes theoretical and practical wisdom, and the ἰδιώτης is the opposite of the σοφός or wise man.
Like the Hellenistic philosophers, post-70 rabbis presented themselves
as wise men, חכמים, distinguishing themselves from their ordinary unlearned
contemporaries whom they considered inferior to themselves. Their selfidentification as חכמיםstands in line with the biblical and Jewish Hellenistic
wisdom tradition. In works such as Ben Sira the Tora is identified with
wisdom (Sir 19:20; 21:11; 24:19–29) and as such constitutes an alternative to the
wisdom held up by the various Hellenistic philosophical schools. As I have
already shown elsewhere, the Jewish emphasis on sages and their wisdom,
which is evident in Jewish Hellenistic literature at least from the second century bce onwards, developed in analogy to a distinctive sophos-ideology in
Graeco-Roman culture.14
In the Hellenistic and early Roman period all major philosophical schools
proclaimed the striving for wisdom as their ideal and considered the wise man
to occupy the top of an alternative social hierarchy.15 Although they differed
among themselves with regard to the contents of what they considered wisdom, their wisdom was never purely theoretical but had to be expressed in
practice. The wise man stood out on the basis of both his teaching and his way
of life. This would also have been the case with Jewish wise men, whether
Hellenistic Jewish intellectuals or rabbis. Whereas their teachings might reach
a rather limited circle of disciples only, their actual practices could have been
14
15
See Hezser, Social Structure, 130–137.
See also Wilckens – Fohrer, ‘σοφια, σοφος, σοφιζω’, 472.
Paul’s ‘Fool’s Speech’ (2 Cor 11:16-32)
227
observed, imitated, or criticized by a wider range of people. Rumors about
their life style, often distinct from that of ordinary people, would have circulated locally and sometimes even spread to more distant realms.
The very definition of wisdom was based on a self-distinction from the
unlearned, who are called φαῦλοι, μωροί, or ἰδιῶται in the Graeco-Roman literary sources. The Hebrew-Aramaic loanword הדיות, which appears in rabbinic
sources, equals the Greek ἰδιώτης in its denotation of the ordinary citizen who
is distinguished from the sage.16 At the same time, wisdom was a subjective
category which could not be measured on the basis of fixed and agreed-upon
criteria. The wise man was acknowledged as such by his friends and adherents,
whereas his adversaries and competitors could deny his wisdom. Since no
clear criteria existed, there is no good reason to believe that a ‘sage’ was considered a ‘sage’ by everyone. Rabbinic sources provide many examples of competition amongst sages and ambiguity over individual sages’ worthiness of the
title ‘Rabbi’.17
Paul must have been aware of the connotations of the categories of wisdom
and foolishness within the Jewish and Graeco-Roman culture of his time. He
would have used these terms in full cognizance of their meaning amongst his
Corinthian addressees. So how exactly does he use these terms?
In 2 Cor 11:1 Paul asks the Corinthians to tolerate ‘a little bit of foolishness’,
without specifying what this ‘foolishness’ consists of. In the following he distinguishes his own teaching amongst the Corinthians from that of other missionaries whom he mockingly calls ‘super-apostles’ (11:4–5), maintaining that
he is not inferior to them. In this connection he admits being an ἰδιώτης τῷ
λόγῳ (11:6), an expression which his adversaries may have used in denigrating
Paul amongst the Corinthians. The expression may point to Paul’s lack of professional rhetorical training or to his general lack of proficiency when speaking
to an audience. While admitting this flaw, Paul quickly stresses his expertise in
knowledge and insight (γνῶσις, ibid), of which the community members
should be aware. Speech is only an outer form of expression, whereas knowledge manifests itself inside. Therefore the relationship between speech and
knowledge equals that between the body and the spirit, a recurrent topic in
2 Corinthians and other Pauline letters. Paul’s self-proclaimed ‘foolishness’
may also be associated with the fact that he did not accept money for his teaching from the Corinthians (cf 11:7). At the end of this passage he polemicizes
against his competitors, who probably labeled him as foolish and whom he
16
17
See Hezser, ‘“Privat” und “öffentlich”’, 467–474; idem, ‘Interfaces between Rabbinic
Literature’, 165f.
See Hezser, Social Structure, 111–142.
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Hezser
now calls ‘false apostles’ and ‘Satan in disguise’ (11:13–14). It seems that Paul
uses the term ‘foolishness’ here as a reaction to his adversaries’ allegations
against him and in order to reverse the strength of their argumentation: if he is
‘foolish’ in the sense of non-expert and un-professional, this foolishness concerns unimportant external matters only, which do not touch upon the essence
of his teaching and insight.
At the beginning of the following passage, the so-called ‘fool’s speech’, Paul
explicitly asks Corinthians not to consider him a ‘fool’ (11:16), thus distancing
himself from the appellation. If they nevertheless do so, due to the influence of
his competitors, they should allow him to praise himself like a fool (ibid). Here
he deliberately takes up the epithet and uses it for his own purposes. It is evident that the foolishness – wisdom opposition appears in the context of fierce
competition between Paul and other – probably also Jewish – missionaries in
Corinth. These competing missionaries would have presented themselves as
wise men in front of the Corinthians and denigrated Paul as foolish and unprofessional. Paul defends himself against such accusations by disguising himself
as a fool and praising himself of things which the Corinthians might not consider praiseworthy: his misfortunes and humiliations on their behalf and on
behalf of the gospel which he preaches (cf 11:21–32). At the same time the
Corinthians themselves, who may have considered themselves reasonable, are
revealed as the true fools (11:19): they have let themselves become enslaved by
the other apostles, who seduced them and took advantage of them, probably
by requesting maintenance and salaries (11:20).
By playing with the terms foolishness and wisdom, by applying the term
‘fool’ to both himself and the Corinthians, and by both identifying and distancing himself from the designation, Paul is able to subvert the image which his
opponents created of him. The use of this terminology by Paul and his competitors fits well into the Hellenistic intellectual context and into the context
of inner-Jewish competition amongst religious leadership figures, whose reputation depended upon their recognition amongst their colleagues and community. Denigrating one’s competitors seems to have been a common strategy
amongst ancient religious and philosophical leaders. Claiming wisdom for
oneself and denying it to others played an important role in the competition
for adherents, an issue which we shall take up again later on.
Jewish Self-Identification
In his defense against his competitors’ allegations Paul emphasizes that he is a
Hebrew (ʽΕβραῖος), Israelite (᾽Ισραηλίτης), and descendant of Abraham (σπέρμα
Paul’s ‘Fool’s Speech’ (2 Cor 11:16-32)
229
᾽Αβραάμ) just like them (2 Cor 11:22). From this emphasis we may infer that his
competitors stressed their Jewish origin. Paul maintains that he is equal to
them in this regard. The emphasis suggests that the Jewishness of the apostles
was considered advantageous in the ancient missionary environment. Their
Jewishness linked these apostles to the Hebrew Bible, the Land of Israel, and
Jesus himself. These links seem to be expressed in Paul’s use of three different
expressions to mark his allegiance to the ethnic group from which both the
Tora and Jesus originated. The term Hebrew (ʽΕβραῖος) seems to denote
the Hebrew cultural context, whereas the term Israelite (᾽Ισραηλίτης) refers to
the ethnic origin.18 The expression ‘seed of Abraham’ (σπέρμα ᾽Αβραάμ)
includes Jews as well as converts to the messianic type of Judaism which Paul
and the competing apostles propagated.
Daniel Boyarin has recently suggested that the terms ‘Jewish Christianity’
and ‘Jewish Christians’ should be avoided when speaking of ancient Jews like
Paul and his competitors who believed in Jesus as the Messiah.19 He is correct
in pointing out that no clear notions of ‘Judaism’ and ‘Christianity’ as mutually
exclusive religious systems existed in the first century ce. Nor did anyone identify him- or herself as ‘Jewish-Christian’.20 Despite their belief in Jesus, Paul
and the other Corinthian apostles considered themselves Jews rather than
adherents of another religion that was later called ‘Christianity’. As Jews they
distinguished themselves from Graeco-Roman paganism which they considered idolatrous (cf Paul’s admonitions in 2 Cor 6:14–18). They clearly considered themselves superior to pagans and advertised their Jewish descent
amongst the congregants they tried to win. In the Roman Empire Judaism was
recognized as an ancient tradition and respected as such. On his missionary
journeys Paul seems to have preferred to preach in synagogues (cf, e.g., Acts
13:14; 16:13), where he would also encounter non-Jewish sympathizers with
18
19
20
Against Matera, II Corinthians, 263, who suggests that ‘Israelite’ refers to Paul’s ‘religious’
identity, to his membership in the covenant and Israel as a chosen people. It is more likely
that Paul uses ‘Israelite’ in the same sense in which it also appears in post-70 rabbinic
sources: to distinguish himself ethnically from gentiles. According to Tomson, ‘Israel’, the
term reflects an insider perspective in contrast to the term ‘Jews’.
Boyarin, ‘Rethinking Jewish Christianity’, 8; see also ibid. 28: ‘… there is no non-theological or non-anachronistic way at all to distinguish Christianity from Judaism until institutions are in place that make and enforce this distinction…’. Such institutions developed in
the fourth century ce only, see ibid. 12f. See also Williams, ‘No More Clever Titles’, 40.
See Paget, ‘Jewish Christianity’, 731. Ibid. 733–742 he discusses in detail the problems
involved in the various definitions of Jewish-Christianity. For recent volumes of articles
on Jewish-Christianity see: Skarsaune – Hvalvik (eds), Jewish Believers in Jesus; JacksonMcCabe (ed), Jewish Christianity Reconsidered.
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Judaism. The very phenomenon of disputes between Paul and the so-called
Jerusalem apostles concerning pagan adherents shows that what was at issue
here was admission to a new variety of ‘Judaism’ rather than the foundation of
a new religion.21
Paul’s self-identification as a Jew on both cultural and ethnic grounds stands
in line with modern scholars’ definition of what constituted the essence of
Jewishness within a diversity of expressions in the first centuries ce. Both
Shaye Cohen and David Goodblatt consider (the belief in) common ancestry
and culture the main criteria that defined ancient Judaism.22 They agree that
the term ’Ιουδαῖος is almost exclusively used to denote Judaean ethnicity and
culture in Philo, Josephus, and other texts from the Second Temple period.23
Whereas Goodblatt thinks that kinship and ethnicity were the main markers
of Jewish identity, Cohen puts more stress on the cultural element, though. He
has argued that from the time of the Maccabean revolt onwards the term
’Ιουδαῖος could also denote the ‘Jew’ in cultural-religious terms.24 Some texts
(such as Josephus story of the house of Adiabene in Ant 20:17–96) refer to nonJews who converted to Judaism as a religion, an option that was not available
when Judaism was defined in ethnic terms only. Cohen notes, however, that
‘2 Maccabees does not distinguish practices and beliefs that are of a religious
nature from those that are not’, that is, religious practices such as circumcision
and observance of the Sabbath form part of the culture of the Judaeans/Jews.25
Cohen’s view of a developing cultural-religious definition of Judaism that
was open to converts has been criticized recently by Martha Himmelfarb and
21
22
23
24
25
See also Davies, Jewish and Pauline Studies, 130, who thinks that 2 Corinthians stands
between Galatians and Romans in this regard: ‘Paul as minister of a new covenant was not
founding a new religion or a new people, and not dismissing the old covenant but revealing a new meaning and character in it’.
See Himmelfarb’s review essay, ‘Judaism in Antiquity’, 68. Her article reviews Cohen, From
the Maccabees to the Mishnah, and Goodblatt, Elements of Ancient Jewish Nationalism. For
a discussion of the various understandings of the term see also Miller, ‘Meaning of
Ioudaios’; Tomson, ‘Names Israel and Jew’; idem, ‘“Jews””.
Cohen, ‘ΙΟΥΔΑΙΟΣ ΤΟ ΓΕΝΟΣ’ he examines passages in Josephus that use the expression
mentioned in the title and concludes that it should always be translated with ‘Judaean by
birth’. See also Goodblatt, Elements of Ancient Jewish Nationalism, 26f.
See Cohen, ‘Ioudaios: “Judaean” and “Jew”’, 211–220. Cohen shows that in Sus and 1 Macc
the meaning of the term is always ‘Judaean’. This is also the case in most passages that use
the term in 2 Macc, with the possible exception of 2 Macc 6:6 (‘… confess themselves to
be Jews’) and 9:17 (Antiochus ‘would become a Jew’). Cohen assumes that these two references ‘mark an important turning point in the history of the word Ioudaios…’ (219).
See ibid. 219.
Paul’s ‘Fool’s Speech’ (2 Cor 11:16-32)
231
Steve Mason.26 Himmelfarb maintains that converts remain exceptions in rabbinic Judaism and that the mere practice and acceptance of conversion has
not resulted in a reformulation of the criteria of Jewishness, which is generally
based on ancestry.27 In addition, what Cohen calls ‘conversion’ remained an
informal and unregulated process, which became more formalized by the
rabbis of the Mishna only. The latter point has also been developed in more
detail by Steve Mason, who similarly questions the validity of Cohen’s theory
of a transformation from a Judaean ethnos to a ‘Jewish’ religion in Hasmonean
times.28 The texts which Cohen cites in support of the possibility of conversion
do not point to a religious ritual ‘but rather of adopting or going over to foreign
laws, customs, and ways…’.29 Since such a conversion to Judaean customs and
laws was ‘actually a matter of adopting a new citizenship’, which constituted ‘a
betrayal of the native ethnos and its ancestral traditions’, Romans could not
accept it.30
A particular problem of early Christian self-definition was whether nonJewish believers in Jesus could belong to the Judaean ethnos or not.31 If
Judaeanism was strictly defined in ethnic terms, an integration of non-Jews
would be difficult, if not impossible. At least in certain exceptional cases
cultural-religious elements seem to have played a role, as shown by the literary
example of Aseneth, the daughter of an Egyptian priest who smashed her idols
and committed herself to monotheism in order to marry Joseph.32 Cohen sees
Paul as a Jewish author who stands in a tradition of increasing emphasis on the
cultural-religious elements of Judaeanism. He drew ‘the logical, if radical conclusion’ that a ’Ιουδαῖος should be defined by internal rather than external criteria (cf Rom 2:28–29), by belief and practice rather than ethnicity and
kinship.33 In rabbinic Judaism, on the other hand, the ethnic element seems to
have played a larger role than it did for Paul and the other Jewish missionaries
26
27
28
29
30
31
32
33
For a development of this theory see also Cohen, Beginnings of Jewishness, 109–139.
Himmelfarb, Kingdom of Priests, 182–184. Himmelfarb notes that ‘The limited impact of
conversion is perhaps in part because of its [i.e., conversion’s] association with
Christianity’ (184).
Mason, ‘Jews, Judaeans, Judaizing, Judaism’, 494–495.
Ibid. 506.
Ibid. 510.
See ibid. 512.
Cf the Jewish Hellenistic novel Joseph and Aseneth, tr. by Burchard, ‘Joseph and Aseneth’,
177–247. On Aseneth as a ‘Typus des Proselyten’ in Jos Asen 8:5 and 11:10f and the rejection
of idolatry as the major criterium for the admission of gentiles see Pesch, ‘Paulus und die
jüdische Identität’, 389–390.
Cohen, ‘Ioudaios: “Judaean” and “Jew”’, 219–220.
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Hezser
who tried to win over Corinthians to their form of Judaism. Himmelfarb may
be right when suggesting that the rabbinic connection between ethnicity and
redemption may be ‘a response to Christian denigration of mere physical
descent from Abraham’.34
Such a denigration is not evident in 2 Cor 11:22, though, where ‘seed of
Abraham’ follows upon Paul’s self-identification as ‘Hebrew’ and ‘Israelite’, that
is, his physical descent from and kinship ties with the people of Israel are
emphasized here. Although Paul has stressed elsewhere that ‘there is neither
Jew nor Greek… for all of you are one in Christ Jesus; and if you are Christ’s,
then you are Abraham’s offspring, heirs according to the promise’ (Gal 3:28–29) –
the Corinthian circumstances required a different argumentation. In Corinth
Paul was eager to persuade his former adherents that he was equal if not superior to the other Jewish missionaries who obviously stressed their Judaean
heritage and ancestry.35
Unfortunately, we do not learn much about these other missionaries’ teachings and practices besides Paul’s allegation that they taught ‘another Jesus’ and
‘another gospel’ (2 Cor 11:4). Specific aspects of Tora observance are never
mentioned in chapters 10 to 13. On the basis of the sparse information provided
in this text, it is impossible to identify these missionaries besides their obvious
Jewish ethnicity.36 The reference to a ‘different spirit’ in 11:4 and to ‘visions and
revelations’ in 12:1 may indicate that these other apostles were perceived as
charismatics by the Corinthians.37 They may have presented themselves as
miracle workers and visionaries to prove their spiritual power and leadership
authority.
Competition amongst religious leadership figures and between charismatics and other teachers is also evident from post-70 ce rabbinic sources. Paul
and other first-century Jews who taught that the end of times was near and
that Jesus was the Messiah may have differed amongst themselves with regard
to the form and contents of their teachings and their practices.38 Like the later
34
35
36
37
38
Himmelfarb, ‘Judaism in Antiquity’, 69.
See also Georgi, Opponents of Paul, 315: ‘…the opponents advertised their Jewish particularities as a critical potential vis-à-vis their competitors and as propagandistic attractions’.
Smith, ‘Paul’s Arguments’, 259, believes that Kephas and James were (the leaders of) Paul’s
opponents in Corinth. This hypothesis is based on texts in Acts and Gal rather than 2 Cor,
though.
See also Sumney, Identifying Paul’s Opponents, 179, who suggests that they were
‘Pneumatics’, with the spirit as their source of authority.
Davies, ‘Paul: From the Jewish Point of View’, 697, also stresses that ‘it would be erroneous
to think of them as a homogeneous group’. An ‘inner group conflict’ has also been suggested by Kolenkow, ‘Paul and Opponents’, 371.
Paul’s ‘Fool’s Speech’ (2 Cor 11:16-32)
233
post-70 rabbis they competed with each other in the quest for sympathizers
and adherents. The denigration of the other teachers’ competence and the
claim of one’s own superiority would have formed part of this competition.
The denouncement could also involve personal attacks. Later rabbinic sources
transmit numerous instances of conflicts, status differences, and competition
amongst rabbis.39 Charismatics such as Hanina b. Dosa and Honi the circledrawer claimed to possess special powers due to their alleged closeness to God.
As Baruch M. Bokser and others have shown, rabbis first refuted such individuals’ authority claims and later integrated them into their circles by rabbinizing
them.40
One may assume that such struggles amongst colleagues would also have
had repercussions amongst the respective teachers’ sympathizers and adherents, who might side with their master or leave him on the basis of the rumors
that circulated about him. We should not dismiss the importance of rumors of
praise and slander in a society that was largely based on hearsay and oral transmission. As Paul’s Corinthian dilemma shows, one’s adherents could easily be
won over by one’s competitors if one did not confront negative reports and
remained out of touch for too long.
The Suffering Servant
Immediately after his self-identification as a ‘Hebrew’, ‘Israelite’, and descendant of Abraham, Paul introduces himself as a better ‘servant of Christ’ than
his competitors and justifies this claim by reference to his many sufferings
(2 Cor 11:23–25a). The term ‘servant of Christ’ (διάκονος Χριστοῦ) is already reminiscent of the servant or ‘slave’ ( )עבדof God in Deutero-Isaiah (Isa 40–55),
who is destined to reveal the truth amongst the nations (Isa 42:1b) and to
redeem others through his own sufferings (Isa 52:13–15). In Deutero-Isaiah
Israel itself seems to be identified with God’s suffering servant (cf, e.g., 41:8;
43:1; 44:2). Israel’s service to God, which involves various kinds of tribulations
and humiliations (53:3–9), is associated with election and redemption here.
The suffering servant’s life is declared to be a ‘guilt offering’, through which
other people’s sins can be redeemed in the future (53:10).
39
40
See Hezser, Social Structure, 241–244 and 255–306.
See Büchler, Types of Jewish Palestinian Piety; Safrai, ‘Hasidim ve-anshei maase’; Green,
‘Palestinian Holy Men’; Freyne, ‘Charismatic’; Bokser, ‘Wonder-Working’; Hezser, Social
Structure, 289–298.
234
Hezser
The connection between Paul’s terminology in 2 Cor 11:23–25 and the
suffering servant in Deutero-Isaiah has already been recognized by Leora
Batnitzky.41 On the one hand, the Bible presents suffering as punishment for
one’s sins or the sins of one’s ancestors: ‘… Suffering, broadly defined, is punishment from God – transgression of the Divine Will finds its direct response
in Divine Retribution’.42 On the other hand, we find the ‘notion that suffering
reflects a kind of moral superiority, not inferiority’ and that ‘there is a theological and ethical value in suffering for others’,43 so that suffering can become a
means to redemption. In contrast to the association of suffering with sin, Isa
52:13 to 53:12 emphasizes the innocence of the suffering servant and his
particular closeness to God (see also Isa 42:1).
When Paul presents himself as a suffering servant, he must have had these
biblical associations in mind. The list of his many tribulations (2 Cor 11:23–25)
is meant to justify his claim that he exceeds his competitors in being a ‘servant
of Christ’. While the biblical model provides the basis and context for Paul’s
presentation, he also adapts it to his own circumstances: instead of Israel being
the ‘slave’ of God, Paul presents himself (and the other apostles) as ‘servants of
Christ’, that is, he individualizes and Christianizes the prophetic prototype.
The use of weakness and suffering as an asset also finds a model in the Christian
perception of Jesus’ suffering and crucifixion, which is alluded to in 12:9b–10.
Here, Paul’s suffering is presented as an imitatio Christi: ‘So, I will boast all the
more gladly of my weaknesses, so that the power of Christ may dwell in me.
Therefore I am content with weaknesses, insults, hardships, persecutions, and
calamities for the sake of Christ; for whenever I am weak, then I am strong’.44
Punishment by Jews?
As one of the sufferings he experienced, Paul mentions the thirty-nine lashes
which he allegedly received from Jews five times (2 Cor 11:24). Harvey has
pointed out that Paul could have received this ‘synagogue’ punishment only if
he had willingly submitted himself to the authority of the synagogue community.45 Neither the synagogue nor Jewish communal authorities are explicitly
mentioned here, though. The very nature of the synagogue and its leadership
41
42
43
44
45
Batnitzky, ‘Suffering of God’s Chosen’, 203–220.
Kraemer, Responses to Suffering, 18.
Batnitzky, ‘Suffering of God’s Chosen’, 205.
Translation with NRSV.
Harvey, ‘Forty Strokes Save One’, 83.
Paul’s ‘Fool’s Speech’ (2 Cor 11:16-32)
235
in the first century ce is heavily disputed amongst scholars. Seth Schwartz has
argued that Palestinian Jews constituted religious communities with synagogues as their central institutions from the fourth century ce onwards only.46
Yet, ‘neither the synagogue nor the community were rabbinic inventions’,47
and rabbis did not figure as the leaders of synagogues in antiquity.48 Therefore
neither the synagogue nor rabbis seem to be alluded to by Paul here. We do not
know much about the organization of Jewish Diaspora communities in antiquity. It is possible that Jews who lived as a minority amongst pagans would
have organized themselves more than their co-religionists in the Land of Israel.
Whether Paul refers to punishments he received in the Land of Israel or the
Diaspora remains unclear.49
Whereas Deut 25:3 stipulates that forty lashes are the maximum number
which a judge may inflict upon a guilty litigant, Josephus (Ant 4:8:21) and the
Mishna (mMak 3:10) mention the reduced number of ‘forty minus one’, that is,
thirty-nine. The Mishna shows that the maximum number of lashes was still
disputed amongst rabbis of the first two centuries ce. Some rabbis (cf the opinion attributed to R. Yehuda) insisted on maintaining the biblical number of
forty. Although the reference to thirty-nine lashes appears in texts of the first
and second century ce only, the notion that thirty-nine rather than forty lashes
should be administered may have circulated orally in Hellenistic times already.
The Septuagint version of Deut 25:3 translates ( במספר ארבעיםDeut 25:2–3)
with ‘about the number of forty’.50 Thirty-nine lashes may have become customary as a precautionary measure, to prevent exceeding the biblically
ordained number.51
We do not know whether Paul’s reference to five times thirty-nine lashes
was based on his actual experience or whether this is a rhetorical exaggeration in the service of his overall argument of extensive suffering.52 Bormann
has already suggested that Paul’s reference to stoning in 2 Cor 11:25 may be
a fictional element used for rhetorical purposes only: to survive stoning
is rather unrealistic (cf Acts 14:19).53 It is probably also unrealistic to survive
46
47
48
49
50
51
52
53
Schwartz, Imperialism and Jewish Society, 215f.
Ibid. 238.
See Levine, Ancient Synagogue, 440–470.
On this topic see also Martin Goodman’s contribution in this volume.
See Kohler – Amram, ‘Corporal Punishment’.
See ibid.
On the rhetorical use of peristasis catalogues see Andrews, ‘Too Weak Not to Lead’, 269,
who maintains that the list of hardships in 2 Cor 11:23b-28 shows all major elements of
this rhetorical device which is also used by Graeco-Roman authors.
Bormann, ‘Autobiographische Fiktionalität’, 114.
236
Hezser
five punishments of thirty-nine lashes. Paul does not specify on which occasions these lashes were inflicted on him. The very lack of explicitness in
this regard may caution us against taking him too literally. The book of Acts
does not mention Jews inflicting lashes on Paul. The submission (παραδίδωμι)
of Christian missionaries to synagogues mentioned in Matt 10:17 cannot
be equated with Paul’s reference to lashes by Jews in 2 Cor 11:24. Without
any further evidence supporting Paul’s claim we must assume that he turned
the occasional strikes that he may have received from fellow-Jews into a
continual endurance of the most severe corporal punishment used in
ancient Jewish society. Tellingly, this alleged endurance of punishments is
formulated in a very general way which precludes any further investigation of
its historical basis.
Slavery Metaphors
According to Josephus, physical punishment by lashes was ‘a most ignominious one for a free-man’ (Ant 4:8:22). It was associated with slavery and incompatible with the dignity of the freeborn person. Jennifer A. Glancy has also
pointed out that the various types of beatings which Paul mentions in 2 Cor
11:24–25 (‘Five times I have received from the Jews the forty lashes minus one.
Three times I was beaten with rods’; cf Gal 6:17: ‘I carry the marks (στίγματα) of
Jesus branded on my body’) would probably have been associated with ‘markings of a servile body, insignia of humiliation and submission’ within the
Graeco-Roman context of the Corinthian community.54 On the one hand,
Graeco-Roman authors mention scars as tokens of manliness (ἀνδρεία), of
‘endurance of hardship’, military success and honor. But such scars could
also have a very different, humiliating meaning, indicating a lack of integrity
and a servile status. In the case of Paul, whose beatings and scars were not
induced in a military context, the second possibility would have applied:
Paul did not boast of his andreia but ‘of his humiliating corporal vulnerability’.55 His scars would have been interpreted as servile scars rather than
battle scars by his Corinthian addressees and solicited contempt rather than
admiration.56
Physical punishment and the violation of one’s body were amongst the
greatest humiliations a person could be subjected to in antiquity. They were
54
55
56
Glancy, ‘Boasting of Beatings’, 99.
Ibid. 101.
See ibid. 118.
Paul’s ‘Fool’s Speech’ (2 Cor 11:16-32)
237
incompatible with the honor of a free Roman citizen.57 Whereas lashes were
part of the householder’s or supervisor’s way of disciplining slaves and minor
children, fathers were admonished to control their anger against their children
so that they would grow up to become honorable citizens.58 First-century philosophers such as Seneca even advised masters to show clemency towards
their slaves and to abstain from beatings and harsh treatment.59
In this context Paul’s boasting about his beatings seems strange. Did he not
fear that his addressees might despise him even more when being confronted
with such humiliating incidents? Would they not consider him dishonorable
in comparison to the other, competing missionaries who ‘marketed’ their virtues in Corinth? Even if such self-humiliation was part of Paul’s rhetorical
strategy, could it not back-fire and do more harm than good to his missionary
cause?
In Roman rhetorical practice boasting of injuries was legitimate only in connection with military heroes. Otherwise, disgraceful issues would not be mentioned at all. Therefore Paul’s behavior stands in contrast to the rhetorical
customs of his time.60 The philosophical propagation of indifference towards
physical pain is also not really analogous to Paul’s emphasis on the kind of
humiliation and suffering that was usually only inflicted upon slaves.61 Paul’s
argumentation can probably be understood properly only when taking the
context of the ‘fool’s speech’ into account: what he presents here is a subversion of the customary notions of honor and dignity. Paul identifies with the
body of the slave at the lowest level of the social hierarchy. For the sake of
his argument he accepts his adversaries’ reference to the weakness of his body
(2 Cor 10:10) and their questioning of his manhood62 in order to turn these
allegations into the opposite: in weakness lies real strength, ‘for whenever I am
weak, then I am strong’ (12:10).
On the one hand, Paul’s argumentation is based on christological foundations: Jesus’ weakness on the cross is interpreted as the basis of his exaltation.
On the other hand, Paul may have been influenced by a Jewish rather than
a Roman image of manhood and manliness here. As Daniel Boyarin has
pointed out, rabbinic literature presents an image of masculinity which is very
57
58
59
60
61
62
See Saller, Patriarchy, Property, and Death, 33.
Cf ibid. 142f.
See Seneca, De Clementia 1.18.1. On this issue see also Hezser, Jewish Slavery, 202–211.
See Glancy, ‘Boasting of Beatings’, 120–122.
See ibid. 124, against Andrews, ‘Too Weak Not to Lead’, 263–276, who points to ancient
rhetoricians’ peristasis catalogues as an analogy to Paul’s argumentation.
See Harrill, ‘Invective Against Paul’, 189–213.
238
Hezser
different from that of the Roman war hero.63 The ideal rabbi is presented
as ‘effeminate in appearance’.64 He devotes himself to the study of the Tora
rather than to military pursuits. This alternative notion of maleness may have
developed amongst Jews before 70 ce already. The experience of foreign imperialism may have suppressed most people’s military zeal until it was rekindled
by the leaders of the Jewish revolt. Therefore Paul’s presentation of a weak
body that was subjected to inflictions may also be based on a particularly
Jewish perception of the (male) body which was different from Roman views
of manliness.
Paul also uses other associations of slavery in 2 Cor 11:16–32. Besides presenting himself as a ‘servant of Christ’ (διάκονος Χριστοῦ) like the competing apostles (11:23), he maintains that the Corinthians let themselves be enslaved
(καταδουλοί) by these missionaries (11:20). Interestingly, different terminology
is used here: the term διάκονος, ‘servant’ for the positive notion of working on
behalf of Christ, and the term καταδουλοί, from δοῦλος, ‘slave’, for the negative
experience of working for earthly masters, even if this term is used in a metaphorical sense here. The ‘service of Christ’ is reminiscent of the שימוש חכמים,
the ‘service of sages’, which rabbinic students were expected to render to their
masters.65 Such service, although reminiscent of servile work, was not considered humiliating but honorable in ancient Jewish society. It was a service for a
hierarchically superior religious leader, who was believed to stand in a particularly close relationship to God. In contrast to rabbinic disciples, who could
aspire to become the beneficiaries of such service themselves once they were
recognized as sages in their own right, Paul’s service to Christ would remain
one-sided, unless one considers the community’s support of the apostle as a
compensation for his efforts on Christ’s behalf.
Travel Hazards
Amongst the major troubles he experienced Paul refers to the dangers encountered during his travels. His description of the travel hazards is surprisingly
detailed:
Three times I was shipwrecked; for a night and a day I was adrift at sea;
on frequent journeys, in danger from rivers, danger from bandits, danger
63
64
65
See Boyarin, Unheroic Conduct, 127–150.
Ibid. 129.
On this practice see Hezser, Social Structure, 332–334; Hezser, Jewish Slavery, 174–178.
Paul’s ‘Fool’s Speech’ (2 Cor 11:16-32)
239
from my own people, danger from gentiles, danger in the city, danger in
the wilderness, danger at sea, danger from false brothers and sisters;
in toil and hardship, through many a sleepless night, hungry and thirsty,
often without food, cold and naked (2 Cor 11:25–27).
The terms danger (κίνδυνος) and hardship (μόχθος) stand out in this
description. Besides the experience of shipwrecks, natural hazards as well
as the possibility of attacks from fellow-human beings, not just bandits, are
listed. References to the lack of food, water, and accommodation for the
night complete Paul’s account of the travails of a frequent traveler in
antiquity.
Paul was certainly not alone in presenting ancient travel in such a bad light.
But he was one of the few writers we know of who nevertheless traveled extensively in the Eastern Mediterranean region. His journeys brought him from the
Land of Israel to Syria, Asia Minor, Greece, Macedonia, and Roman Italy. Since
he traveled so widely, he possessed first-hand knowledge of the many hazards
that could happen to ancient travelers wherever they went.
The gradual construction of a far-ranging public road network and improved
ship-building technologies made travel in Roman times easier than in previous
centuries, relatively speaking. At the time of Paul this development would still
be in its initial stages, though, since these roads were mainly built in connection with and in the aftermath of the two revolts and the military and administrative reorganization of the province.66 In any case, Paul is not known to
have traveled extensively within Palestine. He would merely have needed to
reach the coast, from where he boarded ships which traveled along the coast of
the Eastern Mediterranean.
The book of Acts provides a detailed account of Paul’s journeys, despite the
fact that the itineraries sometimes conflict with those alluded to in the Pauline
letters, an issue which we cannot deal with here. One of the shipwrecks which
Paul experienced is vividly described in Acts 27:1–28:1, when he was brought as
a prisoner from Caesarea to Rome. When they were near the coast of Crete,
heavy north-easterly winds began to blow so that the ship’s crew could hardly
manage to get the ship under control. They eventually reached the small island
of Cauda: ‘We were being pounded by the storm so violently, that on the next
day they began to throw the cargo overboard’ (27:18). An additional problem
was the scarcity of food, since they had already finished their food rations a
66
See Avi-Yonah, ‘Development of the Roman Road System’, 54–60; Roll, ‘Terrestrial
Transportation of the Roman Army’, 749–761; idem, ‘Roman Road System in Judaea’,
136–161.
240
Hezser
long time ago (27:21).67 After having been adrift on the sea for fourteen days
they eventually saw land. In the morning those who were able to swim swam
to the coast of Malta (28:1), where they had to wait for three months until they
found another ship to continue their journey (28:11). They sailed on to Syracuse,
stayed there for three days, then reached Rhegium, Puteoli, and eventually
Rome.68
The account shows that a journey along the Mediterranean coast from
Palestine to Rome could take several months or even half a year, depending on
the weather conditions and the availability of ships that sailed into the desired
direction. Since no passenger ships existed, one had to accommodate oneself
with merchant ships and bring one’s own food. If the journey took longer than
expected, the food and water supplies could easily be depleted, a danger which
would have been especially serious on the open sea. Sea storms and shipwrecks
are frequently mentioned in the ancient sources.69 Like Paul, Josephus reports
that he was shipwrecked on his way to Rome (Life 14–16). His ship experienced
a severe storm in the middle of the Adria with six hundred passengers on
board, who had to swim in the sea all night. At daybreak they saw a ship from
Cyrene which allowed eighty people on board, amongst them Josephus. They
eventually reached Puteoli, the harbor of Rome. Sean Kingsley reckons that
15,000 shipwrecks occurred in the Mediterranean and Black Sea in the first
millenium bce alone and that the large majority of shipwrecks remain undocumented.70 The Israel Antiquities Authority has information about approximately 200 shipwrecks along Israel’s coasts, which is only a small proportion
of the actual number of wreckage sites, most of which have not been investigated yet.71
67
68
69
70
71
The running out of food supplies on ship journeys which lasted longer than expected
because of stormy weather is also thematized in the (late) Midrash KohR 11:1, quoted in
Sperber, Nautica Talmudica, 95–96. In the midrashic story the passengers decide to share
their provisions.
Paul and his companions seem to have traveled on a grain ship that was on its way from
Alexandria to Rome, see Hirschfeld, ‘Ship of Saint Paul’, 25–30; Fitzgerald, ‘Ship of Saint
Paul’, 31–38.
See André – Baslez, Voyager dans l’Antiquité, 437–447.
Kingsley, Shipwreck Archaeology, 10.
See ibid. 26: ‘Estimates suggest that wrecks exist every 25–50 m along the country’s
230 km-long coastline (…)’. The 200 sites that are known to the IAA are ‘unlikely to represent more than 20% of the total number of sites awaiting discovery off Israel today
(excluding deep-water sites)’, ibid. 33.
Paul’s ‘Fool’s Speech’ (2 Cor 11:16-32)
241
Road travel also involved numerous dangers in ancient times. The seizure
of caravans by bandits seems to have been a common occurrence, since it is
discussed by rabbis in some detail (see, for example, tBM 7:13: those who used
caravans to transport their merchandise could sue the contractors in case a
robbery occurred). That people could die in confrontation with bandits is suggested by the story about a woman who wanted to remarry after her husband
had disappeared during a caravan journey (tYev 14:10). Bandits and robbers are
also associated with travelers’ hostels in Jewish and Graeco-Roman sources.
A story about a vicious innkeeper is transmitted in GenR 92:6 (p114): guests
are spending the night at an inn, waiting to join a caravan for the continuation
of their journey. The innkeeper announces the arrival of such a caravan in the
middle of the night, hoping that the guests would leave the security of the inn
with all their possessions and be an easy prey for the robbers who lie in wait for
them outside. The innkeeper could share the spoil with the robbers then without being blamed for the crime himself.
Like Paul, other ancient Jews dreaded travelling because of the dangers
involved. A statement attributed to R. Shimon b. Abba in the name of
R. Hanina claims that ‘every journey is potentially dangerous’ and mentions
that ‘R. Yannai, when he went out to a lodging, gave orders in his house’, in
case he did not return from his journey (yBer 4:4, 8b). Brian C. McGing has
pointed out that ‘Banditry was a fact of life, and death, in the Greco-Roman
world’.72 Bandits, who often originated from the lower social strata of society,
would operate along the roads and sometimes have ties to local hostel owners
and other types of accomplices.73 Whether Paul associated the Jews and gentiles who allegedly endangered him (2 Cor 11:26) with banditry remains uncertain but possible on the basis of the context in which the various perils
encountered on journeys are listed. All travelers were dependent on the support and cooperation of their fellow-travelers and of locals who might provide
them with food and accommodation. At the same time, we may imagine that
travelers would compete for such services at places where they were sparse.
The general reference to Jews, gentiles, and ‘false brothers’ may relate to people
who refrained from being hospitable to Paul and refused to share their provisions with him. The results of such behavior are mentioned in the following
sentence: Paul had to suffer sleepless nights, hunger and thirst, coldness and
lack of clothes (11:27).
72
73
McGing, ‘Bandits, Real and Imagined’, 159.
See ibid. 167–169.
242
Hezser
Leadership Competition among Jewish ‘Holy Men’
Paul’s ‘fool’s speech’ (2 Cor 10–13) needs to be understood in the context of his
competition for religious leadership with other Jewish apostles in Corinth.
Paul was the one who had founded the community but others had invaded his
missionary territory. Instead of surrendering his leadership role to them, he
entered a competition for best apostleship.
Paul boasts of the ‘visions and revelations of the Lord’ which he received
(12:1), besides emphasizing his Jewish ethnic roots and the dangers and afflictions he underwent on behalf of his mission. Some scholars have mentioned
the phenomenon of the theios aner or holy man in this connection.74 Kolenkow
assumes that Paul’s opponents’ claim to authority was based on visions and
miracles in addition to ‘a concept of “suffering apostleship” similar to Paul’s
own’.75 Sumney also believes that the other apostles emphasized their miraculous deeds and visions as a proof of their spiritual power and apostolic authority.76 They allegedly accused Paul of (literally) ‘walking according to the flesh’
(κατὰ σάρκα) (10:2). In his defense against this accusation Paul emphasizes the
super-human means he uses in his missionary activity: ‘for the weapons of our
warfare are not merely human, but they have divine power to destroy strongholds’ (10:4). In contrast to his competitors, who may have pointed to their own
holiness and super-human qualities, Paul merely states that divine power supports him in his teaching, that he can tap this energy whenever necessary.
In 2 Cor 12:1–5 he is similarly cautious in connection with claiming visions
and revelations for himself. On the one hand, he mentions his past access to
the third heaven and vision of paradise (cf Acts 22:17), that is, he claims to have
experienced an otherworldly journey ‘whether in the body or out of the body
I do not know’ (2 Cor 12:2).77 On the other hand, he distances himself from
this experience and stresses that he is not willing to use this experience to
boast about himself (12:5). Although this passage is still part of the ‘fool’s
speech’ in which Paul subverts common notions of virtue, strength, and
authority rhetorically, it is nevertheless clear that he considers the propagation
74
75
76
77
See, e.g., Georgi, Opponents of Paul, 318; Kolenkow, ‘Paul and Opponents’, 351. Sumney,
Identifying Paul’s Opponents, 177, thinks that a ‘spirit-inspired way of life’ was the central
issue in this conflict.
Kolenkow, ‘Paul and Opponents’, 353.
Sumney, Identifying Paul’s Opponents, 177–179.
On otherwordly journeys in ancient Jewish, Christian and Graeco-Roman literature see
Hezser, ‘Ancient “Science Fiction”’. On Paul’s alleged ascent into paradise see Morrey
Jones, ‘Ascent into Paradise’, 379–85, and his chapter in this volume.
Paul’s ‘Fool’s Speech’ (2 Cor 11:16-32)
243
of such spiritual experiences inappropriate. According to Paul, visions and
miracles should not be used to verify one’s apostolic status.78
William D. Davies has associated Paul with ‘a visionary-Apocalyptic Pharisaic
tradition’, but his emphasis on mystical elements in Paul’s letters seems to be
exaggerated.79 Paul’s reference to his ascent to the third heaven and vision of
paradise does not indicate his knowledge of ‘the mystic way of the Merkava’,
as Peter Schäfer has already shown.80 Ascents to heaven and otherworldly
visions also appear elsewhere in Hellenistic Jewish literature. Schäfer mentions parallels to Paul’s notion that paradise was located in the third heaven in
Slavonic Enoch (8:1) and the Apocalypse of Moses (37:5).81 Paul never elaborates or emphasizes such experiences, though.
As already suggested above, Paul’s competition with other Jewish apostles,
who seem to have claimed a greater spiritual and charismatic authority for
themselves, seems to resemble post-70 rabbis’ relationship to charismatic individuals in some regards. Like rabbis, Paul refrains from advertising his own
spiritual and charismatic qualities. As in the case of Paul, the actual differences
between rabbis and charismatic individuals were not always clear. Visions and
miracles are also occasionally attributed to rabbis in rabbinic sources. The difference between these forms of religious leadership seems to have rather been
a matter of different emphasis and prerogatives. The so-called charismatics
seem to have emphasized their personal holiness, whereas rabbis – and Paul –
made a clear distinction between themselves and their own qualities and the
divine. Nevertheless all of these leadership figures were dependent on other
people’s recognition or lack of acknowledgment of their expertise and ‘holiness’, whatever the term may mean. All of them could rely on personal rather
than institutional authority only and therefore had to fight for adherents.82
As I have already argued elsewhere, Max Weber’s definition of charismatic
authority and his distinction between ancient Judaism and Christianity in this
regard is not entirely convincing.83 In Weber’s writing charismatic authority is
a residual category applicable to various types of (religious) leaders whose
78
79
80
81
82
83
See also Holland, ‘Speaking Like a Fool’, 262.
Davies, ‘Paul’, 685.
Davies, ‘Paul’, 686; Schäfer, ‘New Testament and Hekhalot Literature’, 19–35. [But see
C. Morray-Jones elsewhere in this volume – Eds.]
Schäfer, ‘New Testament and Hekhalot Literature’, 22. On Paul’s reference to his ascent to
heaven see also Tabor, Things Unutterable.
For the distinction between different types of authority in connection with rabbis see
Hezser, Social Structure, 450–462.
See ibid. 451f.
244
Hezser
authority at least partially depended on their sympathizers’ ‘irrational’ belief
in them.84 As such, both Paul and his opponents, rabbis and individuals
such as Hanina b. Dosa and Honi the circle-drawer can be considered ‘charismatics’, but the use of the term does not help us to identify the differences
between them. The same is true for the term ‘holy man’, which is similarly
general and applied to many different types of ancient religious leaders and
intermediaries.85
Since Paul does not really distinguish himself from his adversaries theologically or with regard to (a lack of) Tora observance or practice, one may assume
that in reality the differences between him and his Jewish competitors were
not that great and a matter of self-presentation rather than substance. Paul’s
‘fool’s speech’ gives us an impression of the kind of competition that went on
amongst early Christian missionaries, which was similar in some regards to
competition amongst rabbis in the following centuries. Neither Paul and his
adversaries nor the later rabbis were institutionalized communal leaders; they
rather had to rely on other people’s belief in their ‘holiness’, knowledge, and
leadership qualities, a foundation which may have been feeble and uncertain
at times.
84
85
See Weber, Ancient Judaism; on Weber’s theory see Schluchter, ‘Einleitung: Max Webers
Analyse’, esp 40.
On the category of the ‘holy man’ see especially Brown, ‘Rise and Function’.
The Ascent into Paradise (2 Cor 12:1–12):
Paul’s Merkava Vision and Apostolic Call
Christopher R.A. Morray-Jones
Recent years have seen a growing recognition of the influence of Jewish
apocalyptic and visionary-mystical merkava traditions on Paul’s thought and
experience, and on his understanding of his apostolic role.1 This chapter develops key elements of an argument first proposed in 1993 and restated in detail
elsewhere in the present series.2 My purpose here is to further illuminate the
unique apocalyptic disclosure passage encountered in 2 Corinthians 12 and the
extraordinary significance of that disclosure in relation to the polemical
context in which the passage is embedded.3 Main tenets of the argument
are (1) the existence in late Second Temple Judaism of a trend of mysticism
involving visionary practices and experiences, which resembles and prefigures
the type of mysticism encountered in rabbinic documents from the third
century onwards and in the hekhalot (‘heavenly palaces’) literature; (2) the
close relationship of the visionary experience mentioned in 2 Cor 12:1–12 to
this proto-rabbinic mysticism, and in particular to the story of ‘The Four Who
Entered Paradise’; and (3) the centrality of that vision to Paul’s claim to have
received his apostolic commission not by human transmission, but directly
from the heavenly-enthroned Christ.
Scholarship on Mysticism in Paul and Early Judaism
The theory that a key to understanding Paul’s rapture into Paradise
(2 Corinthians 12) is provided by the talmudic story of four men who entered
pardes (garden, park, orchard, or ‘Paradise’) is widely associated with the
1 See, e.g., Kim, Origin, esp 252–256; Rowland, Open Heaven, esp 368–286; and Segal, Paul the
Convert.
2 Morray-Jones, ‘Paradise Revisited’; Rowland – Morray-Jones, Mystery, 341–419. The version
offered here has been reorganized and simplified, especially as regards the scholarly apparatus in the footnotes. Some significant new material has also been added.
3 The following argument incorporates (but is not necessarily contingent on) the assumption
that chapters 10–13 of 2 Corinthians are imported from a different source than the preceding
nine chapters, and that this source was probably the ‘severe letter’ referred to in 2 Cor 2:3–4,
2:9, 7:8, and 7:12. See: Taylor, ‘Composition’.
© koninklijke brill nv, leiden, 2014 | doi 10.1163/9789004271661_010
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name of Gershom Scholem,4 although in fact it originated with Wilhelm
Bousset, and, prior to Scholem, was developed by Hans Windisch and Hans
Bietenhard.5 Scholem’s original contribution was his advocacy for the position
that the talmudic story refers to the practice of the heavenly ascent described
in the hekhalot writings, which have preserved authentic ‘merkava mystical’
traditions of the Tannaic era, as the Geonim believed.6
Subsequent to Scholem, a number of scholars have developed his theory
about the story of the four. An important contribution was made by Andre
Neher, who argued that the word pardes was a technical term for the celestial
temple.7 Neher’s thesis was that visionary experience was associated with the
temple sanctuary from a very early period – as indicated by texts such as Isaiah
6 and several passages of Ezekiel – and that merkava or hekhalot mysticism
was a development and relocation into heaven of the temple cult tradition. A
few New Testament scholars have sought to develop Scholem’s theory with
regard to Paul.8
Until recently, however, most NT scholars have treated the proposed connection between Paul’s ascent into ‘Paradise’ and the story of the four with a high
degree of caution. This is undoubtedly due in part to the simple fact that most
NT scholars are unfamiliar with the relevant Jewish source materials. However,
ideological factors may also be at work. Most Jewish commentators previous to
Scholem viewed the hekhalot materials with suspicion and distaste, finding
them to be incompatible with the spirit and fundamental tenets of ‘rational’
Judaism, and, for that reason, relegated them to, or outside, the margins of rabbinic thought and teaching.9 Similarly, even after Scholem, much NT scholarship has continued to be afflicted by a profound discomfort with the notion of
Paul as a merkava visonary, which seems hard to reconcile with interpretations
of his teaching that have been filtered through the lens of ‘rational,’ and especially Protestant, theology. Commentators who subscribe to a supposedly ‘rational’ view of Paul have typically tended to maintain that visionary experiences
like the one recorded in 2 Cor 12 were of no more than marginal importance to
4 Scholem, Jewish Gnosticism, 14–19.
5 Bousset, ‘Himmelsreise’, esp 147f; Windisch, Korintherbrief, 368–398, esp 375f; Bietenhard,
Himmlische Welt, 91–95 and 161–168.
6 Lewin, Otzar ha-Geonim 4, Yom Tov, 13f; Hananel b. Hushiel on bHag 14b-15a; see MorrayJones, Mystery, 232f, 265f, 252.
7 Neher, ‘Voyage mystique’.
8 See, e.g., Young, ‘Ascension Motif’; Tabor, Things Unutterable; and Segal, Paul the Convert.
9 See, e.g., Graetz, ‘Mystische Literatur’; idem, Gnosticismus und Judentum; Joël, Blicke, 1:
163–170; Bacher, Agada 1: 333; and Friedländer, Gnosticismus, 57–60.
The Ascent into Paradise (2 Cor 12:1-12)
247
his spiritual life and apostolic self-understanding.10 As will be argued below,
this view is contradicted not only by the whole record of Paul’s career, but also
by the context of 2 Cor 12 in which he makes reference to his vision. Rather, that
experience is the very basis of his claim to possess the status and authority of an
apostle, and to have received his commission, not from human hands, but
through a direct encounter with the heavenly, enthroned Christ.
Another, arguably more legitimate, reason why NT scholars have been cautious about pursuing this connection is that Scholem’s theories about the origins and original meaning of the pardes story itself have been seriously
questioned by a number of very eminent rabbinic scholars. These include
Johann Maier and Ephraim Urbach, both of whom believed (in slightly different ways) that the story originally referred to contemplative exegesis of
Ezekiel’s merkava vision, employing the imagery of the heavenly temple and
its cult, and that it was only later understood by the hekhalot writers − and,
secondarily, the Geonim − to be an account of an actual visionary ascent.11
Others, notably Peter Schäfer and David Halperin, have questioned whether
the story was originally concerned with maase merkava at all.12
The Rabbinic Versions of ‘Four Entered Paradise’
Let us begin by examining the story as preserved in four ‘mainstream’ collections of rabbinic literature: tHag 2:1,13 yHag 77b, bHag 14b-15b, and CantR 1,2814
(= 1.4.115).
As can be seen, the essential elements of the story are as follows: three
named individuals ‘went into pardes’; one (either ben Azzai or ben Zoma)
‘looked and died’; one (either ben Zoma or ben Azzai) ‘looked and was
smitten’; one, Elisha ben Avuya, also known by the sobriquet Aher (‘the other’),
‘cut the shoots’ (thereby damaging the pardes itself); and only Rabbi
Akiva ascended and descended (or: went in and came out) in peace and safety
(beshalom). In these four ‘mainstream’ versions, each of the four characters
10
11
12
13
14
15
For examples and critique of this approach, see Tabor, Things Unutterable, 32–34, and
Morray-Jones, Mystery, 409–410, esp n229.
Maier, ‘Gefährdungsmotiv’, 28–40; idem, Kultus, 18–19, 140–46; Urbach, ‘Ha-mesorot’.
Halperin, Faces, 34–37 and 199–208; idem, Merkabah, 86–99; Schäfer, ‘New Testament’.
The text below follows ms. Vienna. See Lieberman, Tosefta, 2: 381. For ms. Erfurt, which
contains minor variations, see Zuckermandel, Tosephta, 234.
In Dunsky, Midrash Rabba Shir ha-Shirim, 27.
In Freedman – Simon, Midrash Rabbah, 9:2, 46–47. For textual variants to the four versions see Morray-Jones, Mystery, 344–351.
248
“Four Entered Paradise” — The Rabbinic Versions
Tosefta (majority readings)
Yerushalmi
1
2
Four men went into pardes:
Four men went into pardes:
3
Bavli
Canticles Rabba
Our rabbis taught:
We read in a mishna:
1
Four men went into pardes
Four men went into pardes:
2
and these are they:
3
4
ben Azzai and ben Zoma
ben Azzai, ben Zoma,
ben Azzai and ben Zoma
4
5
Aher and R. Akiva.
Aher, and R. Akiva.
Aher and R. Akiva
5
6
One looked and died;
One looked and died;
6
7
one looked and was smitten;
one looked and was smitten;
7
8
one looked and cut the shoots;
one looked and cut the shoots;
8
9
one went up in peace
one went in in peace
9
10
and came down in peace.
and came out in peace.
10
11
R. Akiva said to them:
11
When you approach
12
13
the pure marble stones
13
14
do not say:
14
15
‘Water! Water!’
15
l6
– according to what is written:
16
17
‘The speaker of lies
17
18
shall not endure
18
19
before my sight.’
19
Ps 101:7
Morray-Jones
12
Ben Azzai looked and died.
Ben Azzai looked and was smitten. Ben Azzai looked and died
21
Of him, Scripture says:
Of him, Scripture says:
Of him, Scripture says:
Ben Azzai looked and was smitten, 20
and of him it is said:
21
22
‘Precious in the eyes of the Lord
‘Have you found honey?
‘Precious in the eyes of the Lord
‘Have you found honey?
22
Ps 116:15
23
is the death of his saints.’
Eat what is enough for you …’
is the death of his saints.’
Eat what is enough for you …’
23
Prov 25:16
24
Ben Zoma looked and was smitten. Ben Zoma looked and died.
Ben Zoma looked and was smitten, Ben Zoma looked and died,
24
25
Of him, Scripture says:
Of him, Scripture says:
and of him Scripture says:
and of him it is said:
25
26
‘Have you found honey?
‘Precious in the eyes of the Lord
‘Have you found honey?
‘Precious in the eyes of the Lord
26
Ps 116:15
27
Eat what is enough for you …’
is the death of his saints.’
Eat what is enough for you,
is the death of his saints.’
27
Prov 25:16
28
lest you be filled with it
28
29
and vomit it.’
29
30
Aher cut the shoots
30
31
R. Akiva came out in peace
31
32
Elisha looked and cut the shoots. Aher cut the shoots.
Aher cut the shoots.
Elisha b. Avuya cut the shoots
32
33
Who is Aher?
33
34
Elisha ben Avuya, who
34
35
used to kill the masters of Tora
The Ascent into Paradise (2 Cor 12:1-12)
20
35
36
Of him, Scripture says:
Of him, Scripture says:
Of him, Scripture says:
And of him it is said:
36
37
‘Do not let your mouth
‘Do not let your mouth
‘Do not let your mouth
‘Do not let your mouth
37
38
lead your flesh into sin …’
lead your flesh into sin …,’ etc.
lead your flesh into sin …’
lead your flesh into sin …’
38
Eccl 5:5.
249
250
“Four Entered Paradise” — The Rabbinic Versions (cont.)
Tosefta (majority readings)
Yerushalmi
39
– that he ruined the work
40
of his own hands.
Bavli
Canticles Rabba
39
40
41
R. Akiva went up in peace
R. Akiva went up in peace
R. Akiva went up in peace
R. Akiva went in in peace
41
42
and came down in peace.
and came out in peace.
and came down in peace.
and came out in peace,
42
43
and he said:
43
44
Not because I am greater
44
45
than my fellows
45
46
but thus taught the sages
46
47
in a mishna:
47
48
‘Your deeds will bring you near
48
49
and your deeds will keep you far.’
49
And of him it is said:
50
Of him, Scripture says:
Of him, Scripture says:
mEd 5:7
50
Of him, Scripture says:
51
‘Draw me after you!
‘Draw me after you!
‘Draw me after you!
‘The king has brought me
51
Cant 1:4a
52
Let us run …,’ etc.
Let us run!’
Let us run!”
into his chambers.’
52
Cant 1:4b
Even R. Akiva –
53
54
the ministering angels
54
55
wanted to drive him away.
55
Morray-Jones
53
The Holy One, blessed be he,
56
57
said to them:
57
58
Leave this elder alone,
58
59
for he is worthy
59
60
to make use of my glory.
60
61
They employed a parable:
62
To what may the matter be compared?
63
To the garden (pardes) of a king
… to the garden of a king
64
with an upper chamber
with an upper chamber
65
built above it.
built above it.
66
What should a man do?
67
Look,
One may look,
68
only let him not
but not
69
feast his eyes on it.
approach.
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Morray-Jones
252
(1) is named; and (2) is associated with a verse of scripture. In Song of Songs
Rabba, Akiva is also associated with a citation of the Mishna (lines 41–49). In
the Bavli, there can really be no doubt that the story does refer to a journey into
the celestial temple, as indicated by the reference to the ‘marble stones’ in lines
11–12 (the dangerous vision of water alludes to Ezekiel’s firmament, which
forms the floor of the celestial temple16) and the encounter with the ‘ministering angels’ who wanted to ‘drive him away’ in lines 53–60. However, the versions preserved in the Tosefta and the Yerushalmi are less explicit and perhaps,
at first sight, more enigmatic.
Before we can begin to understand this story, it is important to observe that
in the Tosefta and the two Talmuds, it is included as part of a collection of
materials referring to maase merkava, designated by David Halperin as ‘the
Mystical Collection’ (MC),17 which functions as a commentary on mHag 2:1.
Let us review that passage first:
A
A1
ולא במעשה בראשית בשנים
ולא במרכבה ביחיד
אלא אם כן היה חכם ומבין
B1
Whoever meditates upon (lit., ‘gazes
at’) four things,
it were fitting [var.: a mercy] for him
if he had not come into the world:
what is above,
what is below,
what is/was before,
and what is behind
[or: and what will be hereafter].
כל המסתכל בארבעה דברים
And whoever is not careful about
the Glory of his Creator,
it were a mercy [var.: fitting] for him
that he had not come into the world.
וכל שלא חס על כבוד קונו
B2
B2a
B2b
B2c
B2d
C1
C2
16
17
[variant: אין דורשין [שונין
בעריות בשלשה
It is not permitted to expound
the forbidden sexual relationships
with three (persons),
A2 nor the story of Creation with two,
A3a nor the merkava with an individual
A3b unless he were a sage and
understands
[var.: understood] from his own
knowledge.
Morray-Jones, Transparent Illusion.
See Halperin, Merkabah, esp 13–18.
[ מדעתוvariant: ]והבין
[ לוvariant: ראוי [רתוי
כאילו לא בא בעולם
מה למעלה
מה למטה
מה לפנים
מה לאחור
[ לוvariant: ראוי [רתוי
שלא בא בעולם
The Ascent into Paradise (2 Cor 12:1-12)
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In its present form, this mishna states that the forbidden relations (A1) may
be taught to a maximum of two (not three) students at one time, the story of
Creation (A2) only to one (not two), and ha-merkava (i.e. Ezek 1) (A3a-b) not
even to a single student unless he meets the required condition.18 However, it
is almost certain that the ‘merkava-restriction’ (A3a-b) originally circulated as
an independent unit, and that the mishna as we have it is an editorial construct in which the 3–2–1 numerical sequence has been developed on the basis
of the merkava-restriction’s beyahid.19 The significance of that term will be
addressed shortly. First, however, we should pause to consider the qualifications required of one who is permitted to ‘expound the merkava’. ‘The merkava
may not be expounded by an individual (yahid) ‘unless he were a sage (hakham)
and understands (ve-mevin or ve-hevin) from his (own) knowledge (midaato)’.
The origins of this language can be traced to the pre-rabbinic apocalyptic and
mantic Wisdom literature, in which the term daat and its Aramaic and Greek
equivalents (mandea and gnosis) refer to revealed or esoteric knowledge, and
where the verbal roots hakham, bana (whence bina, ‘understanding’) and yada
(whence daat) are very frequently juxtaposed. In the Book of Daniel, they refer
to the revealed wisdom, understanding and knowledge that are conferred
upon, the ‘mantic’ or visionary sage: ‘He gives wisdom to the wise and knowledge to those who know understanding’ (ּומנְ ְּד ָעא ְליָ ְד ֵעי
ַ ימין
ִ יָ ֵהב ָח ְכ ְמ ָתא ְל ַח ִּכ
)בינָ ה
ִ (Dan 2:21). In the Qumran Scrolls, this same language is characteristically applied to the heavenly, esoteric knowledge revealed by the
Teacher of Righteousness: ‘… to instruct the upright in the knowledge of the
Most High and to teach the wisdom of the heavenly ones to those of perfect
conduct’ ()להבין ישרים בדעת עליון והכמת בני שמים להשכיל תמימי דרך.
(1QS 4:22). In the context of rabbinic Judaism, however, the language of ‘wisdom, understanding and knowledge’ takes on a different meaning. Here, the
reference is to expertise in Tora scholarship and talmudic lore. The term
hakham, in particular, assumes the specific or technical meaning: a formally
ordained and recognized ‘sage,’ who is called by the title ‘rabbi’.
According to mTaan 1:4, the term yahid also carries a specific or technical
meaning: ‘If the seventeenth of Heshvan had come, and no rain had fallen, single
individuals (yehidim) began to fast [and observed] three days of fasting’. The question of who, exactly, these ‘single individuals’ were is briefly addressed in tTaan 1:7:
Who is a yahid? R. Shimon b. Elazar says: Not everyone who wishes
to make himself a yahid or a talmid hakham may do so and receive a
blessing. Where it is a matter of gain, not everyone who wishes to make
18
19
This is explained in tHag 2:1 and bHag 11b.
See Halperin, Merkabah, 19–63; and Rowland – Morray-Jones, Mystery, 221–23.
Morray-Jones
254
himself a yahid or a talmid hakham is permitted to do so, unless a bet-din
has appointed him over the community.
The same question is discussed in greater detail in bTaan 10a-b:
Who are the yehidim? R. Huna said: The rabbis. … The rabbis have taught:
Let not a man say, ‘I am only a disciple (talmid) and I am therefore not
worthy to consider myself a yahid’, since all disciples of the sages (talmidei hakhamim) are considered to be yehidim.
Who is a yahid? And who is a talmid? A yahid is one who is worthy to
be appointed Community Leader; a talmid is one who is asked any question of halakha connected with his studies and can answer it, even if it is
on a subject covered by the tractate Kalla.
According to these texts, the yehidim are ‘individuals’ who, in times of drought,
undertake ascetic and penitential performances as a means of intercession
before God on behalf of the community in order to obtain rain. André Neher
identifies these ascetic ‘individuals’ with the hasidim ha-rishonim or ‘pious
men of former times’ (mBer 5:1, etc.),20 and it is certainly true that some individuals counted among the hasidim ha-rishonim, such as Honi the ‘circledrawer’ (mTaan 3:8, etc.), appear to have performed the same social function.
Just as in mHag 2:1 (A3a-b), the rabbinic authorities were evidently concerned
to restrict this activity to a limited group of permitted individuals. According to
the opinion of R. Huna, the duties of a yahid may only be undertaken by the
rabbis themselves, but the consensus is that an officially recognized talmid
hakham (or ‘student sage’) may also do so. A person who is not a talmid is
forbidden to serve as a professional yahid. The title talmid hakham indicates a
status of considerable distinction, but one which falls below the rank of a fullyfledged hakham or rabbi. The discussion probably reflects a situation in which
the function of yahid was being performed by charismatic ascetics and wonder-workers, such as Honi, whose popularity and social influence was perceived by the rabbinic leaders as a challenge to their authority. It is probable
that visionary-mystical traditions were also current in these charismatic circles. If we read mHag 2:1 (A3a-b) in the light of this material, the meaning is
that a yahid who possesses only the status of a talmid hakham is not permitted
to engage in unsupervised study of, or teach, maase merkava. For that authority to be granted, the status of a full hakham, or rabbi, is required.
20
Neher, ‘Échos’.
The Ascent into Paradise (2 Cor 12:1-12)
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Thus, the meaning of the restriction about the merkava preserved in mHag
2:1 appears to have evolved over time. Its original meaning was probably that
only a ‘mantic’ or visionary sage possessed the necessary experiential knowledge to understand and explain Ezekiel’s vision of the merkava. However, the
early editors of the mishna reinterpreted the term hakham in accordance with
rabbinic usage and so took the unit to mean that only an ordained rabbi (or
talmudic Sage) was permitted to engage in unsupervised study of Ezekiel’s
vision, or to teach maase merkava. In their view, the status of yahid (although
necessary) was insufficient to confer the authority to engage with or teach this
theologically difficult and dangerous subject, since the minimum qualification
for that status was the lower rank of talmid. Later still, the combination of this
unit with the others on the list obscured the original meaning of the traditional unit still further by causing it to be understood as a restriction concerning the number of students that could be instructed at one time.
Keeping this background in mind, if we now turn to the traditions about the
four characters named in the rabbinic versions of ‘Four Entered Paradise,’ the
meaning of the story becomes clear. In yMaaser Sheni 2:10, and bHor 2b, ben
Azzai and ben Zoma are mentioned as proverbial examples of outstanding
‘students’ (talmidei hakhamim) who were privileged to dispute before the sages
and to render difficult decisions of halakha. The rabbinic sources generally
portray both of these characters in a favorable light. Shimon ben Azzai is portrayed as a person of exceptional sanctity and, although his celibacy is mentioned in several sources, there is no indication that it was associated with
deviant beliefs. The traditions concerning his death are somewhat confused.
He appears in a list of martyrs in LamR 2: 2,4, but this is of doubtful historical
value. Other sources record that he recited Ps 116:15, the verse applied to him in
the pardes narrative (22–23), with reference to the death of God’s saints. There
is some evidence to suggest that ben Zoma was involved in esoteric matters
and/or suspected of unorthodox beliefs about the creation,21 but on the whole,
the sources speak respectfully of his wisdom.22 Nonetheless, it is quite clear
that neither of these two characters was ever ordained as a rabbi. In other
words, they never graduated from the status of talmid to that of hakham.
Like ben Azzai and ben Zoma, Elisha ben Avuya possessed a reputation for
outstanding wisdom. Unlike them, he also acquired the status of an arch villain, in the later rabbinic tradition at least.23 However, according to presumably earlier traditions preserved in Mishna Avot, his teachings appear to be
21
22
23
GenR 4.6 and 5.4; MidrTeh 93,3.
mSot 9:15; mBer 1:5; bSot 49b; bHor 2b.
yHag 77b; bHag 15a-b; RuthR 6:4; KohR 7.81.
256
Morray-Jones
cited with respect.24 This seeming contradiction is addressed in a passage
about Elisha preserved in bHag 15b:
Rabba expounded: What does the verse mean, ‘I went down to the garden
of nuts to look at the blossoms of the valley …,’ etc. (Cant 6:11)? Why are
the talmidei hakhamim compared to nuts? To tell you that just as this nut,
though it be spoiled with mud and filth, yet what is inside it is not condemned, just so a talmid, though he has sinned, yet his Tora is not
condemned.
Here, like ben Azzai and ben Zoma, Elisha is categorized as a talmid. And in
fact, we learn from this and many other sources that, despite his great learning,
he was never ordained a rabbi.25 Hence, according to one tradition, R. Meir
transmitted the teachings of ‘Elisha his master’ under the rubric: ‘others say …,’
()אחרים אומרים.26
In bKid 49b, we find a discussion of the relative statuses of talmid and
hakham in which three of the four characters of the pardes story are
mentioned:
On condition that I am a talmid: they do not mean like Shimon ben Azzai
or like Shimon ben Zoma, but anyone who when asked about a single
matter in any place in his learning can pronounce on it, even in tractate
Kalla.
On condition that I am a hakham: this does not mean like the sages of
Yavne, or like R. Akiva and his colleagues, but anyone who when asked
about a matter of wisdom in any place, can pronounce on it.
Here, ben Azzai and ben Zoma are accorded a special status as exceptional
talmidim, whose learning far exceeded the required minimum. Nonetheless,
they are excluded from the category of hakhamim, which is exemplified by
Akiva.
All four characters of the pardes story occur together in a list of dreamobjects, preserved in both versions of Avot de-R. Natan and also in bBer 57b,
which reads as follows:
24
25
26
See Goshen Gottstein, Sinner, 39–40.
See Bacher, Agada 1, 430–34.
Tosafot to bSot 12a. See S. Safrai, ‘Elisha b. Avuyah’, 668a; and Kaplan, ‘Aḥerim’. I am grateful to Prof. Peter Tomson for drawing my attention to this point.
The Ascent into Paradise (2 Cor 12:1-12)
257
There are three sages (hakhamim): one who sees Rabbi Akiva in a
dream should expect saintliness; Rabbi Elazar ben Azaria: one should
expect greatness and wealth; Rabbi Yishmael ben Elisha: one should fear
calamity.
There are three students of the sages (talmidei hakhamim): one who
sees ben Azzai in a dream should expect saintliness; Ben Zoma: one
should expect wisdom; Aher: one should fear calamity.
Here again, the category of talmidei hakhamim is exemplified by ben Zoma,
ben Azzai, and Elisha (Aher). Akiva is included in the list of hakhamim.27
It has emerged from this discussion that all four characters in the pardes
narrative have one thing in common: their reputation as outstanding scholars.
However, only one of them, Akiva, was a fully-fledged hakham. The other three,
in spite of their outstanding wisdom, were merely students (talmidim). We
need look no further than this for the meaning of the talmudic version of the
pardes story, which is specifically intended to be an illustration of mHag 2:1.
Only a hakham may expound the merkava. The three talmidei hakhamim failed
to meet this requirement and so their involvement in maase merkava resulted
in disaster. In this context, therefore, the names of the four characters embody
the essential message of the story.
However, it must immediately be noted that the version preserved in Song
of Songs Rabba is at variance with this conclusion. Of the versions examined
thus far, this is the only one that provides an explicit explanation of the reason
why Akiva succeeded where the other three failed. Those outcomes were the
consequences of his and their ‘deeds’. This explanation has nothing to do with
the difference in their formal status. One way to explain this discrepancy would
be to posit that the explanation in Song of Songs Rabba was added by an editor
who simply missed the point of the talmudic version. On the other hand, if the
explanation in Song of Songs Rabba is an original component of the story, this
would call into question the meaning attached to the story by the compiler of
the talmudic MC, as embodied in the four names.
The Hekhalot Sources
The origins of the traditions preserved in the hekhalot writings are still somewhat controversial. The earliest fragments of texts containing these traditions,
27
For more detailed discussion of these lists, see Morray-Jones, Mystery, 358–363 and
sources cited there.
258
Morray-Jones
dating to about the ninth century, were recovered from the Cairo Geniza,28 but
they are most extensively preserved in a number of medieval European manuscripts stemming directly or indirectly from circles of the Hasidei Ashkenaz.29
The literary organization of these strange, rambling collections is extremely
fluid, varying greatly between the manuscripts, and what is true of rabbinic
literature in general is much more so of these documents: the text, such as it is,
represents a relatively late stage in the development of the tradition and developed over a considerable period of time. Many units of tradition (‘microforms’
or, in NT parlance, pericopae) have migrated freely between one collection and
another, and in some instances have been subjected to significant alteration in
the process (as will appear below, this is true of the story of the four). The oldest of the five or six major compilations (‘macroforms’) appears to be Hekhalot
Zutarti (the ‘Lesser Hekhalot’) (HekhZ), which purports to record the mystical
teachings of R. Akiva. Some parts of this macroform appear to have existed in
their present forms no later than the third century ce, and very possibly earlier.30 The better known and more extensive Hekhalot Rabbati (the ‘Greater
Hekhalot’) (HekhR) contains later reworkings of some of the same traditions
together with much additional material, some of which may also be of early
origin. HekhR is mainly attributed to R. Yishmael. Other seemingly later collections of hekhalot traditions include Merkava Rabba (MerkR), Maase Merkava
(MaMerk), and Sefer Hekhalot, better known as 3 Enoch.31 It must again be
emphasized, however, that all of these macroforms are essentially compilations or loosely organized anthologies of traditional materials which have
been variously revised and reworked by one or, in many instances, a series of
compilers. For these reasons, questions of dating, priority, provenance and
original meaning must be addressed to the individual units of tradition, not
the ‘macroforms’ themselves.32
According to the theory proposed by Gershom Scholem and developed by,
amongst others, Ithamar Gruenwald, the talmudic maase merkava passages
refer to a tradition of esoteric visionary mysticism known to, and practised by,
28
29
30
31
32
Schäfer, Geniza-Fragmente. See further Dan, ‘Hekhalot-Genuzim’; and Schäfer, ‘Einleitung’
to idem, Hekhalot-Studien, 3–6.
See Schäfer, Synopse, where the seven principal mss. are presented in parallel, with numbered paragraphs.
Following Scholem, Jewish Gnosticism, 75–83; idem, Major Trends, 45; and Gruenwald,
Apocalyptic, 142–149; against Schäfer, ‘Aufbau,’ in Hekhalot Studien, 62. See Morray-Jones,
Transparent Illusion, esp 81–87, 105–118, 174–191, and 215–217.
See further, Morray-Jones, Transparent Illusion, 247–256, and sources cited there.
See, e.g., Schäfer, ‘Tradition and Redaction’; and see further, Rowland – Morray-Jones,
Mystery, 228–256, and sources cited there.
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259
some rabbis, who inherited it from pre-rabbinic apocalyptic circles. That same
tradition is more fully expresed in the hekhalot writings.33 This theory has
been challenged by a number of scholars, who argue that the rabbinic maase
merkava was concerned only with speculative exegesis of Ezekiel 1, and that
the visionary-mystical practices of the hekhalot literature developed in circles
marginal to Rabbinism during late and post-talmudic times.34 More recent
research has tended to support a modified version of the Scholem-Gruenwald
hypothesis. The data appear to indicate that esoteric traditions associated with
the vision of God’s enthroned Glory (kabod), including the practice of heavenly ascents, were indeed inherited from apocalyptic circles and enthusiastically developed by some Tannaim, but that they were strongly opposed by
others, who associated those traditions and practices with groups and movements whom they regarded as heretical, including Christians and Gnostics.
Thus, while it cannot be assumed that everything in the hekhalot literature
goes back to the Tannaic period, the writers’ claim to be the heirs to a tradition
from this time and milieu deserves to be taken seriously.35 As pointed out by
Segal, Paul himself is a witness to the currency of a mystical tradition within
first-century apocalyptic Judaism.36 Whatever the attitude of subsequent rabbinic orthodoxy towards that tradition may have been, it seems certain to have
been the ancestor, at least, of the mysticism encountered in the hekhalot texts.
The expression ‘hekhalot literature’ refers to the visionary practice described
in these texts, wherein the visionary adept (somewhat perplexingly called the
yored merkava or ‘descender to the chariot’) ascends through a progression of
seven concentric ‘palaces’ or ‘temples’ (hekhalot), passing en route through
seven gateways guarded by merciless and ferocious angels, who are likely to
attack and even kill him should he be deemed unworthy. The seven hekhalot are
identical to the seven heavens of the cosmos, which – as in many apocalyptic
writings – is in turn perceived as a gigantic seven-layered temple whose structure corresponds to that of the microcosmic temple in Jerusalem.37 The five
‘lower’ or ‘outer’ hekhalot are the outer courts of this cosmic temple, while the
sixth and seventh are, respectively, the sanctuary and the holy of holies, both
33
34
35
36
37
Scholem, Jewish Gnosticism; idem, Major Trends, 40–79; Gruenwald, Apocalyptic; idem,
From Apocalypticism to Gnosticism.
See, e.g., Maier, ‘Gefährdungsmotiv’; idem, Kultus; Urbach, ‘Ha-mesorot’; Schäfer, ‘Tradition and Redaction’; idem, ‘Merkavah Mysticism and Rabbinic Judaism’; idem, ‘Gershom
Scholem Reconsidered’; Halperin, Merkabah; and idem, Faces.
See Rowland – Morray-Jones, Mystery, 256–264, and sources cited there.
Segal, Paul the Convert, especially 34–71.
Himmelfarb, Ascent to Heaven. Morray-Jones, Mystery, 303–339.
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260
being located above and beyond Ezekiel’s shining firmament, where the divine
kavod appears on the merkava. The merkava or ‘chariot throne’ is, of course, the
Ark of the Covenant, no longer confined to the Jerusalem temple but restored
and relocated to the heavens. There the yored merkava participates in the
worship of the angels and, in so doing, assumes an angelic-priestly, even quasimessianic status. By his knowledge of the celestial liturgy and, especially,
the secret divine names that are embedded within it, he gains mastery over the
angels and exerts – or at least, claims – a corresponding authority over
the earthly community on whose behalf he intercedes before the throne.
Those same names, when presented to the angelic gatekeepers in proper order,
protect him from their fury and enable him to gain admittance to each succeeding hekhal.
The Hekhalot Version of ‘Four Entered Paradise’38
A version of the pardes story which differs from the rabbinic versions quoted
above is preserved in four manuscripts of the Hekhalot literature: mss. Munich
22 and New York of Hekhalot Zutarti [HekhZ(M) and HekhZ(N)]; and mss.
New York and Oxford of Merkava Rabba [MerkR(N) and MerkR(O)].39 The
copyists of the remaining manuscripts of both macroforms all give the opening sentence or ‘title’ only (‘Four entered pardes …, etc’.), thereby indicating
that, although the story was included in their source, they considered it too
well-known to justify the chore of copying it in full. HekhZ(N) includes additional material unique to that manuscript, as also does MerkR(N). In the following presentation, the basic text of the story (found in all four manuscripts)
is shown in ordinary print. Material unique to MerkR(N) is shown in italics and
within braces {…}. Material unique to HekhZ(N) is shown in italics, within
angled brackets, and underlined <…>.
A1a
A1b
A2a
38
39
R. Akiva said:
We were four who went into pardes: one looked and died; one
looked and was smitten; one looked and cut the shoots; and I
went in in peace and came out in peace.
Why did I go in in peace and come out in peace?
For more detailed discussion of the material contained in this section, see Rowland –
Morray-Jones, Mystery, 366–379.
See Schäfer, Synopse, §§ 338–339 and 346 [HekhZ(M)]; §§ 344–345 [HekhZ(N)]; and §§
671–673 [MerkR(N) and MerkR(O)].
The Ascent into Paradise (2 Cor 12:1-12)
A2b
B1a
B1b
B2a
B2b
B2c
B2d
261
[HekhZ(N) and MerkR(N) omit A2a.]
Not because I am greater than my fellows, but my deeds
[MerkR(N) and HekhZ(N): ‘they’] have caused me to fulfill the
teaching that the sages have taught in their mishna: ‘Your
deeds will bring you near and your deeds will keep you far’
(mEd 5:7).
And these are they that went into pardes: ben Azzai and ben
Zoma and Aher and R. Akiva.
{R. Akiva said to them: Beware! When you approach the pure marble stones, do not say, ‘Water! Water!’ − according to what is written:
‘The speaker of lies shall not endure before my sight’ (Ps 101:7).}
Ben Azzai [MerkR(O): ‘ben Zoma’] looked <into the sixth palace
and saw the brilliance of the air of the marble stones with which the
palace was paved, and his body could not bear it, and he opened his
mouth and asked them: ‘These waters − what is the nature of
them?’> and died. Of him, Scripture says: ‘Precious in the eyes of
the Lord is the death of his saints’ (Ps 116:15).
Ben Zoma [MerkR(O): ‘ben Azzai’] looked <at the brilliance in the
marble stones and thought that they were water, and his bodv could
bear that he did not ask them, but his mind could not bear it and
was smitten < − he went out of his mind>. Of him Scripture says:
‘Have you found honey? Eat what is enough for you …,’ etc.
(Prov 25:16).
Elisha b. Avuya looked [HekhZ(N): ‘went down’] and cut the
shoots. <In what way did he cut the shoots? They say that whenever
he went into the synagogues and study-houses and saw children
succeeding in Tora-study, he used to speak over them and they
would be silenced, and> of him, Scripture says: ‘Do not let your
mouth lead your flesh into sin …!’ (Eccl 5:5)
{They say that when Elisha went down to the merkava he saw
Metatron to whom permission had been given to sit for one hour in
the day to write down the merits of Israel. He said, ‘The sages have
taught: On high there is neither standing nor sitting, neither
rivalry nor contention, neither division nor affliction’. He entertained the thought that there might perhaps be two powers in
heaven. At once, they led Metatron outside the curtain and punished him with sixty lashes of fire, and permission was given to
Metatron to burn the merits of Aher. A heavenly voice came forth
and they (sic) said: “Return, backsliding children’ ( Jer 3:22) −
except for Aher!’}
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262
B2e
C1
C2a
C2b
R. Akiva went in [HekhZ(N) and MerkR(N): ‘went up’] in peace
and came out [HekhZ(N) and MerkR(N): ‘came down’] in peace.
Of him, Scripture says: ‘Draw me after you! Let us run!’ (Cant 1:4a).
R. Akiva said:
At that time, when I went up to the heavenly height, I made more
signs in the entrances of rakia than in the entrances of my house,
and when I arrived at the curtain (pargod), angels of destruction
came forth to do me violence. The Holy One, blessed be he, said
to them: ‘Leave this elder alone, for he is worthy to behold my
Glory’ [MerkR(N): ‘… to behold me’]. [HekhZ(N) omits C1-2b.]
It will be observed that sections A and C of this passage are both written in the
form of a first-person account by Akiva. Section B, like the talmudic versions, is
a third-person narrative. The basic text of section B consists of the names of
the four and the biblical verses associated with each one – again, in agreement
with the talmudic versions. The words: ‘And these are they …’ in B1a are parallel
to the Bavli, line A3. It therefore seems highly probable that this version of
‘Four Entered Paradise’ was originally a first-person narrative attributed to
Akiva, comprising sections A and C only; and that section B was added by a
subsequent redactor, who borrowed this material from the talmudic version of
the story. It is important to note that the first-person account in sections A and
C mentions only Akiva, as narrator, and does not include the names of the
three who failed to enter and leave the pardes ‘in peace’. In this version, the
explanation of Akiva’s success, and the others’ failure, corresponds to that
found in CantR 1,28.
Subsections A2a-b of the hekhalot version are parallel to Song of Songs
Rabba, lines A41–49. It is noteworthy that Song of Songs Rabba employs
the first person only at this point, which suggests strongly that the Hekhalot
version has priority with regard to this item. As we have seen, this explanation
of Akiva’s success is incompatible with the meaning of the talmudic versions
(that he, unlike the others, was an ordained hakham). Subsection C2b corresponds to the Bavli, A53–60, although the Bavli expresses this item in the third,
not first, person. The ‘angels of destruction’ referenced in this unit are equivalent to the gatekeepers of the seventh hekhal, i.e., the celestial holy of holies or
divine throne-room, the entrance to which is screened by a ‘curtain’ (pargod)
corresponding to the ‘veil’ (parokhet) of the earthly temple. It cannot be a
coincidence that God’s statement that Akiva is ‘worthy to behold my glory
(rauy le histakkel bikevodi)’ uses the language of mHag 2:1 B-C. Here, too, the
Hekhalot version must have priority over the Bavli, which changes lehistakkel
to lehistammesh.
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263
It seems, then, that the hekhalot writings have preserved a form of the
pardes narrative (sections A-C) which is quite different from the one found in
the talmudic sources, even though it was subsequently expanded by an editor
who was familiar with the talmudic version (section B). When the material
inserted by that redactor is discounted, it can be seen that the hekhalot version
was originally a statement by or attributed to Akiva that he and three unnamed
individuals went into pardes; that the other three met with disaster; and that
he alone went in/up and came out/down safely, despite the opposition of the
angels, through the merit of his deeds. Since the other three were not identified, the meaning of the story in this version cannot have been that, unlike
Akiva, they were not ordained hakhamim. Indeed, Akiva refers to them as
haverim (section A2b, corresponding to Song of Songs Rabba, lines A41–50).
This term implies equality of status (‘fellows’ or ‘colleagues’) and, possibly, comembership of a formal (perhaps esoteric) ‘fellowship’ (havura).
It has emerged from this analysis that an early redactor of the talmudic MC
took a preexistent story about Akiva’s ascent to the merkava, in the face of
angelic opposition, and made that story into an illustration of the merkava
restriction in mHag 2:1 by identifying the three unnamed characters as talmidei
hakhamim. However, it is important to recognize that the source-version of
‘Four Entered Paradise’ preserved in the Hekhalot writings (section C2b) uses
the characteristic language of the Mishna: rauy lehistakkel bikevodi. Therefore,
the source-version must already have been among the traditions associated
with mHag 2:1 even before it was adapted by the compiler of the MC. According
to that source version, the pardes is located ‘behind the pargod’ (section C2b),
which can only mean: in the celestial holy of holies, where God resides in his
kavod. Thus, the source from which the talmudic versions are derived refers
quite explicitly to an ascent to the heavenly temple, culminating in the vision
of God’s Glory, and cannot have been understood in any other terms.
Heavenly Temple and Paradise
As we have already seen, the motif of the heavenly temple, the courts of which
are identical with the heavens, is a central feature of the apocalyptic and
merkava mystical tradition. It occurs throughout rabbinic literature and was
also known to Philo.40 Whereas the hekhalot writings, the later apocalypses,
the majority of rabbinic texts, and the Sabbath Shirot from Qumran all refer to
40
See, e.g., bSan 94b; ARN(a) 37; GenR 69,7; LevR 29,11; Tanh naso 19; MidrGad Exod 7:1; PesR
20,4; Tg Isa 1:1–6; Tg 1 Chr 21:15; Philo, Spec leg 1:66.
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Morray-Jones
a seven-tiered cosmic temple, some important early sources, including the
Testament of Levi and the early strata of 1 Enoch, embody a cosmology of three
heavens and corresponding temple courts. In 1 En 14, the ascending visionary
passes first through a wall, corresponding to the soreg or wall around the inner
courts of the temple, before entering two ‘houses’ contained one within the
other, corresponding to the sanctuary building and the holy of holies. According
to other early passages of 1 Enoch, the third and highest of the celestial levels
contains the ‘Paradise of Righteousness’ (in Aramaic, pardes kushta).
This correspondence between the Garden of Eden (= the future Paradise
of the righteous) and the heavenly sanctuary is also found in Jub 3:9–13, 8:19,
and 2 Bar 4:2–7. In Questions of Ezra 1:19–21, the throne of glory is placed
‘opposite the garden’ in the seventh heaven. Some late midrashim describe
the garden of Paradise as a succession of seven halls or chambers, of gold,
silver, and precious stones, to which the various classes of the righteous are
allocated.41 At least one such source has only three chambers.42 The division
of the righteous in the world to come into seven hierarchical classes is found
in several midrashic sources,43 in yHag 77a, and in 4 Ezra 7:92–98, where the
seventh class is said to behold the vision of God. A threefold division is occasionally recorded.44 In all of these sources, the traditions of the Garden of
Eden or Paradise, the celestial levels, the heavenly temple, and the hekhalot
are closely intertwined. The common factor uniting these traditions is, of
course, the idea of a holy place in which God’s Glory may be seen. In the simpler and older cosmology represented by 1 Enoch 14, the three celestial levels
correspond to (1) the soreg (or barrier around the temple beyond which gentiles were not permitted to pass); (2) the sanctuary building; and (3) the holy
of holies. In the later, more elaborate seven-level model, the same correspondences apply, but four intermediate levels (2–5) are interposed between the
soreg (1) and the sanctuary building (6), followed by the innermost holy of
holies (7).
The image of the temple as a garden can be further explained by reference
to the descriptions of Solomon’s temple found in Scripture, which state that
the inner walls of the sanctuary were covered with carvings of gourds, flowers,
and palm trees, all overlaid with gold. Rabbinic traditions about this ‘gold of
41
42
43
44
LevR 30,2; MidrTeh to Ps 11:6 (77a); YalShim Bereshit 1:20 (ed Hyman 1: 68–71); Seder GanEden B (Jellinek, BHM 3: 131–40); compare 4 Ezra 7:92–98.
‘Maase be-Rabbi Joshua ben Levi’ in Gaster, Exempla, Hebrew section (Sefer Maasiyot),
96f.
E.g., LevR 30:2; MidrPs 11:6.
E.g., ARN (b) 43.
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265
parvayim’ (2 Chr 3:6) state that it came from the Garden of Eden, and that the
trees made from this gold bore golden fruit.45 In the Genesis Apocryphon from
Qumran, parvayim is evidently a term for Paradise. It appears, then, that the
interior of the sanctuary was both a replica of its celestial counterpart and an
image of the primordial and future Paradise.
These observations explain the parable of the King’s garden in the Tosefta
(lines 61–69), which refers to the structure of the Jerusalem temple itself.
The ‘garden’ (pardes) represents the sanctuary building (hekhal), containing
the holy of holies on the ground floor, while the ‘upper chamber’ (aliyya)
is the unused empty space that occupied the upper portion of the building.
This reading is confirmed by mMid 4:5, which refers to the empty chamber as
the aliyyat bet kodeshei ha-kodeshim (cf bPes 26a). According to this source,
whenever it became necessary to make repairs to the internal walls of the holy
of holies, the workmen were let down from the empty upper chamber in closed
boxes ‘lest they should feast their eyes on the holy of holies’. The fact that the
parable in the Tosefta likewise warns of the danger of ‘feasting one’s eyes’ (lines
66–69) is a clear indication that, in the pardes story, the forbidden object at
which the three talmidim ‘looked’ (lines 6–10, etc.) was, indeed, the celestial
holy of holies.
Whoever the original author of ‘Four Entered Paradise’ may have been, it is
now clear that he used the term pardes as a technical term for the holy of holies
in the highest heaven, where God appears in his Gory (kavod) on the merkava.
He evidently expected his readers to understand this usage, which was deeply
rooted in the pre-rabbinic and pre-Christian tradition of the visionary ascent.
Akiva, His School, and the Maase Merkava Tradition46
These findings leave little room for doubt that the rabbinic tradition of the four
who entered pardes was originally associated with the subject of maase
merkava. The MC, which includes the pardes story, is older than the earliest
talmudic document, the Tosefta, and must therefore have been compiled in
the third or very early fourth century, at the latest. The hekhalot version of the
pardes story must be earlier still, and was already associated with the merkava
restriction in mHag 2:1 even before it was reworked by the editor of the MC.
45
46
NumR 11.3; CantR 4,17 (= 3.10.3).
I am grateful to Prof. Peter Tomson for alerting me to the potential significance of the
material on which this section is based. Any flaws in the argument are, of course, my own
responsibility.
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Therefore, the most conservative possible estimate of the story’s date of composition would be somewhere in the early third century. A date during the
second century seems much more probable, bringing us close to the lifetime of
the story’s hero, Akiva. It may well be the case that a preexistent unit of tradition, which was already associated with the merkava restriction (itself of prerabbinic origin), was either appropriated by Akiva or attributed to him in the
years following his death.
It is worth noting that the Yerushalmi attributes the restrictions stated in
mHag 2:1 to Akiva. With regard to the first two subjects, arayot and maase
bereshit, the more permissive opinion of R. Yishmael is preferred over Akiva’s
rules, which are therefore not adopted as authoritative halakha, but Akiva’s
merkava restriction is upheld by all authorities.47
There are also very good reasons for believing that the talmudic MC originated, or was first compiled, in the school of Akiva. The basic structure or ‘skeleton’ of the MC’s discussion of maase merkava, which can be discerned most
clearly in the shortest and simplest version preserved in the Tosefta, consists of
three narrative units.48 The first unit tells how R. Elazar b. Arakh delivered a
discourse on the subject of maase merkava to his master, Rabban Yohanan b.
Zakkai, who endorsed the exposition and warmly praised his gifted student.
This story is also preserved in the Mekhilta de-R. Shimon b. Yohai (MekRShbY),
which is a halakhic midrash of the school of Akiva and attributed to one of
Akiva’s most distinguished students.49 The version preserved in MekRShbY
appears to have priority over those found in the Tosefta and the two Talmuds.50
The hero of the story, R. Elazar b. Arakh, was according to tradition one of
Rabban Yohanan’s most gifted students.51 However, when b. Zakkai moved his
school to Yavne after the destruction of the temple, R. Elazar declined to go
with him. In consequence, his wisdom declined and no lineage of teaching
stemmed from him.52
47
48
49
50
51
52
yHag 77a, 10–16, 42–45.
tHag 2:1–3; see the translation in Rowland – Morray-Jones, Mystery, 425–427 (Sections
B-D).
See Kahana, ‘The Halakhic Midrashim’, 33–35, and 72–77.
Following: Bowker, “‘Merkabah’ Visions”, 169; Neusner, ‘The Development of the Merkavah
Tradition’; idem; Development of a Legend, 247–51; Halperin, Merkabah, 107–127; idem,
Faces, 13–15; and Morray-Jones, Merkabah Mysticism, 229–273. Contra: Goldberg, ‘Vortrag’,
4; Urbach, ‘Ha-mesorot’, 2–11; and Neusner, Eliezer ben Hyrcanus, 442 (reconsidering his
earlier position).
mAvot 2:10–14.
ARN(a) 14:6; ARN(b) 31; KohR 7,7; cf bShabb 147b.
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267
Thus, in the context of the MC, the story of R. Elazar b. Arakh’s discourse
indicates a ‘dead end’ in the transmission of teaching about maase merkava.
Instead, the succession of authoritative knowledge is traced from Rabban
Yohanan, via R. Yoshua, to R. Akiva. The second of the three units states the
chain of transmission, as follows:
R. Yose b. R. Yehuda says:
R. Yoshua discoursed before R. Yohanan b. Zakkai;
R. Akiva discoursed before R. Yoshua;
Hanania b. Hakhinai discoursed before R. Akiva.
Here, the authoritative teaching about maase merkava passes from Rabban
Yohanan B. Zakkai to R. Yoshua, who, like R. Elazar B. Arakh, discourses on
maase merkava before his master. But, in contrast to the fruitless R. Elazar, who
had no student to discourse before him, R. Yoshua hears and approves the merkava discourse of R. Akiva, and thereby transmits the succession to him. The
same sequence of three lectures is recited in the Yerushalmi, which adds the
note: ‘From then on, their knowledge is not pure’ ()מיכן והילך אין דעתן נקייה.53
At first sight, it would appear that the line of authority to discourse or teach
about maase merkava then passes from R. Akiva to Hanania b. Hakhinai.
However, a closer examination reveals that this unit embodies the same message as the Talmudic version of ‘Four Entered Paradise’. All of the other links in
the chain of transmission – Yohanan, Yoshua, Akiva, and even the fruitless
Elazar – are given the title: Rabbi. In the case of Hanania, that title is conspicuously lacking.
The significance of this observation is confirmed by the traditions about
Hanania b. Hakhinai in other sources. He is, admittedly, given the title: Rabbi
in a very few cases,54 but according to the overwhelming majority of sources,
he was a talmid and not a rabbi.55 At tBer 4:18, he is listed as one of Akiva’s
distinguished students. The list includes ben Azzai, among others. At bSanh
17b, he is identified, together with ben Azzai, ben Zoma, and Hanan the
Egyptian, as one of those who ‘discussed before the sages’. In yShek 5:1, he
appears together with Ben Azzai and Ben Zoma in yet another list of four,
which, like ‘Four Entered Paradise’, consists of three students and one rabbi (in
this case, R. Eleazar b. Mattia).
53
54
55
yHag 77b, 5–7.
I am aware of only two such sources: mAvot 3:4; and bKet 62b.
In addition to the sources cited below, see: mMak 3:9; mKil 4:8; tShev 3:6; bNid 52b; and
GenR 17.3.
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Considered in the light of our analysis of ‘Four Entered Paradise’, the meaning of the MC’s list of ‘three who discoursed’ becomes clear. The succession of
authoritative teaching began with Rabban Yohanan ben Zakkai, the ‘founding
father’ of rabbinic Judaism, and was passed to R. Elazar b. Arakh, but then went
nowhere. It also passed to R. Yoshua and thence, to his student, R. Akiva, who,
in turn, discoursed before him. Hanina b. Hakhinai discoursed before R. Akiva
but, being only a talmid and not a hakham, was not authorized to teach maase
merkava or to pass the succession on. In other words, Hanina represents
another ‘dead end’ in the succession of authoritative teaching about maase
merkava. The final link in the ‘live’ chain of succession is R. Akiva, the hero of
‘Four Entered Paradise,’ which is the third and last structural unit of the discussion of maase merkava in the MC.
Thus, the central message of the MC is that all authoritative teaching about
maase merkava comes from R. Akiva. That view appears to have been shared by
the authors and compilers of HekhZ, who claimed to have preserved Akiva’s
teaching, and who did in fact preserve the earliest form – now concealed
beneath layers of subsequent editorial activity – of ‘Four Entered Paradise’
itself. It is certain that this and several other microforms contained in HekhZ
are at least as old as the early third century ce. It is therefore very probable
that the authors and editors of the earliest Hekhalot writings were associated
with Akiva or his school.
Paul’s Pre-Conversion Status
Before turning to a detailed examination of Paul’s account of his vision, we
should pause to consider his assertion that, prior to his conversion, ‘I advanced
in Judaism beyond many of my own people, so extremely zealous was I for the
traditions of my fathers’ (Gal 1:14). Likewise in Acts, he states that he studied
Tora under the eminent Rabban Gamaliel and claims to have been a ‘thoroughly trained’ and zealous student (Acts 22:3). However, he does not claim to
have been charged with authority to teach Tora prior to his conversion and is
nowhere called ‘rabbi’ either by others or by himself. According to Acts 9:1–2,
his acts against the early Christian community required letters of authorization from authorities higher than himself. This is hardly surprising if, as indicated in Acts 7:58 he was a young man at the time.
It thus appears that, although Paul nowhere claims to have been an authorized teacher of the Law prior to his conversion, he did claim to have been –
and may perhaps have been regarded as – an outstanding student. In this
respect, his pre-conversion status appears to have been at least approximately
The Ascent into Paradise (2 Cor 12:1-12)
269
equivalent to that of a talmid hakham. According to the editors of mHag 2:1
and the MC, such a one is not authorized to engage in unsupervised study of
maase merkava, no matter how learned in other aspects of Tora he may be.
If he attempts to engage the forbidden subject and seeks to attain the vision of
the merkava before being authorized to do so, he risks death or injury at the
hands of the angels, and is liable to incur the even worse outcome of apostasy,
as exemplified in ‘Four Entered Paradise’ by, respectively, Shimon ben Azzai,
Shimon ben Zoma, and Elisha ben Avuya.
Paul’s Ascent to ‘Paradise’
2 Cor 12:1–12 reads as follows:
1It is necessary for me to boast. Though it is not profitable, yet I will come
to visions and revelations of the Lord (ὀπτασίας καὶ ἀποκαλύψεις κυρίου).
2I know a man in Christ who fourteen years ago − whether in the body I
do not know, or out of (ἐκτός) the body I do not know, God knows − was
caught up as far as the third heaven (ἁρπαγέντα … ἕως τρίτου οὐρανοῦ).
3And I know that this man − whether in the body or outside of (χωρίς) the
body I do not know, God knows − 4was caught up into paradise (ἡρπάγη
εἰς τὸν παράδεισον) and heard unutterable words, which it is not permitted for a human being to speak (ἄρρητα ῥήματα ἃ οὐκ ἐξὸν ἀνθρώπῳ
λαλῆσαι). 5On behalf of this man I will boast, but on behalf of myself I
will not boast, save in my weaknesses. 6So, if I wish to boast, I will not be
a fool, for I will be speaking the truth, but I refrain, lest anyone should
give me credit beyond what he sees in me or hears from me, 7aeven considering the exceptional nature of the revelations (καὶ τῇ ὑπερβολῇ τῶν
ἀποκαλύψεων). 7bTherefore, lest I should become too exalted, a thorn in
the flesh (σκόλοψ τῇ σαρκί) was given to me − an angel of Satan, that he
might strike me (ἄγγελος σατανᾶ ἵνα με κολαφίζῃ), lest I should become
too exalted. 8Three times, I called upon the Lord about this, that he/it
might leave me (ἵνα ἀποστῇ ἀπ’ ἐμοῦ), but he said to me, ‘My grace is sufficient for you, for (my) power is perfected in weakness’. 9Rather, then, I
will boast most gladly of my weaknesses, that the power of Christ may
dwell over me. 10Therefore I am content with weaknesses, insults, hardships, persecutions, and calamities on behalf of Christ, for whenever I am
weak, I am powerful.
11I have become foolish − you have compelled me, for I ought to be
commended by you! For I was inferior to the ‘super-apostles’ in nothing,
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270
even if I am nothing! 12Indeed, the signs of an apostle were performed
among you with complete patience, and with signs and wonders and
works of power (σημείοις τε τέρασιν καὶ δυνάμεσιν)!
In order to understand this passage, we must take account of its context.
Paul is at this point engaged in a defense of his apostolic authority, which has
been challenged by his opponents, evidently Jewish Christians of some kind,
who laid claim to ‘visions and revelations’ of their own.56 The frame within
which 2 Cor 10–13 is set is thus very similar to that indicated by Galatians 1–2,
and it is probable that both letters were written under the same or similar circumstances and at about the same time.57 In both letters, Paul’s defense is that
his apostolic commission comes directly from God or Christ, and not through
human mediation (compare 2 Cor 10:8 and 3:10 with Gal 1:1, 1:12, and 2:7).58
While it is true that Paul includes a similar claim in the standardized opening
formula of several of his letters, this strong emphasis on the independence of
his authority from any chain of human transmission is found only in Galatians
and 2 Cor 10–13. It is also worth noting that both letters include a time-specific
reference to ‘fourteen years’. According to Galatians, this was the period
between Paul’s first visit to Jerusalem, three years after his conversion, and his
second, which corresponds to the ‘Jerusalem conference’ of Acts 15.
Paul’s Boasting: Power and Weakness
In 2 Cor 12:11, continuing a theme begun in 11:16–33, Paul explains that he is
driven to ‘boast’ of his visionary experience, against his own wishes and better
judgment, by his need to respond to the claims of his opponents. Normally, he
refrains from such boasting (2 Cor 12:6). He thus makes it clear that (i) he is
referring to an experience of which he would much rather not speak (or write);
but (ii) he feels forced to do so by the exigencies of his situation. Even so, he
refers only obliquely to the central content of the revelation. Elsewhere in his
56
57
58
See, e.g., Kasemann, ‘Legitimität’; Friedrich, ‘Gegner’; Barrett, ‘Paul’s Opponents’ and
idem, Commentary, 302–306; Gunther, St. Paul’s Opponents, esp 298–307; Ellis, ‘Paul and
his Opponents’; Georgi, Opponents, esp 32–39; Tabor, Things Unutterable, 21–45; Martin,
‘Opponents of Paul’; Sumney, Identifying Paul’s Opponents; Newman, Glory-Christology,
229–240; Strecker, ‘ Legitimität’, 570–573.
Knox, ‘Fourteen Years Later’; Riddle, Man of Conflict, 18–24 and 205.
Benz, Paulus als Visionär, 77–121; Saake, ‘Paulus als Ekstatiker’; Rowland, Open Heaven,
379f.
The Ascent into Paradise (2 Cor 12:1-12)
271
writings, Paul states that he received his apostolic authority not by human
transmission, but ‘through a revelation (δι’ ἀποκαλύψεως) of Jesus Christ’
(Gal.1:11–12). Other passages, such as 1 Cor 9:1 (‘Am I not an apostle? Have I not
seen Jesus our Lord?’), clearly indicate that he bases his claim to apostolic
authority on his vision or visions of the risen Christ. It seems that the vision
recorded in 2 Cor 12 is somehow crucial to that claim.
A central theme of 2 Cor 10–13 is Paul’s contrast between his own weakness
and the power of Christ.59 This contrast is an attempt to resolve the difficult
situation in which he finds himself. If he does not ‘boast’ he has no answer to
the claims of his opponents, but to do so is to commit the very error for which
he has castigated them (2 Cori 10:12). In 2 Cor 12:8–12, he models his position on
that of Christ. Just as the power of God was made manifest by Christ’s weakness, so Paul’s weakness manifests the power of Christ. Thus, Paul’s very ‘nothingness’ is the basis of his claim to be ‘inferior in nothing’ to the so-called
‘super-apostles’. In this way, he tells us that he is boasting of Christ’s power, and
not his own attainment (compare 1 Cor 1:26–2:5).
Warnings against self-exaltation with regard to visionary experience are
quite common in the hekhalot literature. Akiva’s disclaimer in the original version of the pardes story: ‘Not because I am greater than my fellows,’ is, of course,
a case in point. Another example is found in MaMerk 24:60
R. Yishmael said: שקדחוזיאthe Angel of the Presence, said to me: ‘Son of
the noble ones, do not exalt yourself above all your companions, and do
not say, ‘Even I, out of them all, have been worthy!’ For this has not come
about through your effort or through your power, but by the power of
your Father who is in heaven’.
This warning is given to Yishmael immediately after he has experienced a
charismatic revelation whereby he is empowered to pronounce the names of
the angelic gatekeepers of the seven hekhalot. A little later, when Nehunya b.
ha-Kana challenges his right to reveal those names, Yishmael responds: ‘I did
not do it for my own honor, but for the glory of the king of the universe’
(MaMerk 26).61 Paul’s unwillingness to boast on his own account is wholly consistent with these traditions.
59
60
61
Lietzmann-Kümmel, Korinther, 152–177; Betz, Der Apostel Paulus, 97–100; Bultmann,
Second Letter, 218–230.
Schäfer, Synopse, § 584; Swartz, Mystical Prayer, 242.
Schäfer, Synopse, § 586; Swartz, Mystical Prayer, 242.
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This reticence explains the third-person expression “man in Christ” in 2 Cor
12:2–5. Although he feels forced to cite his vision in defense of his apostolic
authority, Paul is unwilling to claim it as a personal attainment. This may well
be, in part, an expression of deference to the pseudepigraphic convention associated with the apocalyptic and early mystical tradition, even though Paul
cannot fully observe that convention without defeating his own purpose.62
However, his choice of language may also signify a deeper and more ‘mystical’
meaning. In many apocalyptic and merkava-mystical writings, including the
hekhalot texts, the process of ascent into heaven, leading to the vision of
the kavod (whom Paul identifies with Christ), involves a transformation of the
visionary into an angelic or supra-angelic likeness of that glorious divine
image.63 This seems to be the background of Paul’s concept of ‘glorification’,
expressed in passages such as Rom 8:29 and 2 Cor 3:18.64 The ‘man in Christ’ of
2 Cor 12:2 is, therefore, Paul’s ‘heavenly self’ or ‘apostolic identity’, which is conformed to the image of the enthroned and glorified Christ, and thereby endowed
with divinely conferred authority or ‘power’. ‘This man’ is contrasted with Paul’s
earthly, human self. Just as Paul’s earthly personality is conformed to that of
Jesus (characterized by ‘weakness’), so his ‘heavenly being’ is conformed to the
image of Christ-as-kavod or celestial Glory (characterized by ‘power’). It is Paul’s
identity with this celestial ‘man in Christ’, on behalf of whom he is willing to
boast, that is the source of his power and authority, even though, paradoxically,
that power is made manifest in and through his own personal ‘weakness’. This
theme of conformity with Christ is at the heart of Paul’s apostolic claim. As
observed by James Tabor, “the apostle is the mediator of divine power in the
world and the guarantor of the ‘success of the enterprise’. He not only speaks ‘in’
or ‘for’ Christ, but in a representative sense is Christ manifest in the world”.65
In 2 Cor 12:6, Paul explains that, under normal circumstances, he would not
choose to boast of his mystical attainments because he wishes to be given
credit only for his words and deeds. This idea is picked up in verses 11–12, where
he states that he has been compelled to abandon his usual restraint and ‘commend’ himself because his readers have failed to ‘commend’ him in spite of the
‘signs and wonders and works of power’ that he has performed among them.
Those works, which Paul feels should preclude his need to boast, are the evidence of his apostolic authority. They are also clearly connected in Paul’s mind
with the ‘visions and revelations’ by which that authority was conferred upon
62
63
64
65
Rowland, Open Heaven, 244f; Segal, Paul the Convert, 58f.
Morray-Jones, ‘Transformational Mysticism’.
Segal, Paul the Convert, 34–71.
Tabor, Things Unutterable, 23.
The Ascent into Paradise (2 Cor 12:1-12)
273
him. It is very noteworthy that, when alluding to his prior performance of
‘signs and wonders’, Paul uses a rather awkward third-person, passive-mood
construction and − just as when speaking of his ascent into heaven − goes out
of his way to avoid the first person.
The claim that Paul makes for himself in this passage is similar in substance
to a series of statements at the very beginning of HekhR, where the merkava
adept is said to possess seven kinds of ‘greatness’:66
1:1
1:2
1:3
1:4
1:5
1:6
66
R. Yishmael said: What are the specific songs ( )אילו שירותthat are to
be said by one who wishes to behold the vision of the merkava
( )להסתכל בצפיית מרכבהin order to descend in peace and ascend in
peace?
Greatness beyond them all (( )גדולה מכולםthat he is able) to bind
(the angels) to himself, (compelling them) to admit him and lead
him into the chambers of the palace of Aravot Rakia and to place
him on the right of the throne of glory, and (that he is able), when
he stands opposite טעצש יהוה, the God of Israel, to see all that is
done before the throne of his glory and to know all that is going to
happen in the world.
Greatness beyond them all, for he sees and discerns all the deeds of
men, even when they are performed in secret, distinguishing
between worthy and disgraceful actions. If a man steals, he knows it
and recognizes him. If one commits adultery, he knows it and recognizes him. If one murders, he knows it and recognizes him […]
Greatness beyond them all, for anyone who raises his hand against
him and strikes him will be clothed with plague and covered with
leprosy and crowned with boils. Greatness beyond them all, for anyone who speaks evil of him will have cast upon him plagues of
ulcers, dreadful wounds and sores dripping pus.
Greatness beyond them all, for he is set apart from all the sons of
men, feared in all his characteristics and honored by those above
and those below […]
Greatness beyond them all, for all creatures before him are like silver
to a smith. He knows which silver is blemished and which has been
purified. He examines a family (and discerns) how many bastards
there are, how many sons of impure intercourse there are, how many
eunuchs there are, how many men with severed members there are […]
HekhR 1:1–2:3 (Schäfer § 81–93), abbreviated below where indicated. For detailed notes,
see Rowland – Morray-Jones, Mystery, 385–387.
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2:1
Greatness beyond them all, for everyone who hardens his face
against him will be struck blind […]
2:2 Greatness beyond them all, for the heavenly bet din blows the plain
note, then the tremolo, then the plain note again, and they pronounce the lesser ban, then the lesser ban again, then the greater
ban, three times every day since the time when permission was
given to the pure, to the humble, to the meek, to the discerning, to
the upright, to the pious, to the chosen, to those set apart, to the
righteous and to the perfect, to descend and ascend to the merkava,
to say: Let him be under a ban!’ to טעצש יהוה, the God of Israel67 − to
him, to his glorious throne, to the crown of his head, to the bet din
on high, to the bet din below, to all the host of heaven, and to all his
ministers who stand before him, attending to the merkava and serving him.
2:3 R. Yishmael said, ‘It is taught thus concerning the vision of the
merkava: one who attends the merkava has permission to stand up
only in these three cases: before the king, before the high priest,
and before the sanhedrin when the Nasi is present. But if the Nasi
is not present, he may not stand up even before the sanhedrin. And
if he does stand up, his blood is upon his own head, because he
lessens his days and shortens his years’.
Here, Yishmael’s opening statement that the adept is able to ‘descend in peace
and ascend in peace’ uses the language of the pardes story. This text that
follows is more crudely melodramatic than Paul’s account in 2 Cor 12:1–12,
but the claim that it makes is essentially the same. Supernatural power and
authority are conferred upon one who attains to the vision of the merkava.
Such a person functions as God’s emissary and is empowered to judge both
Israel and the angels. In Schäfer’s words, ‘the Merkavah mystic is the chosen
one of God to whom messianic qualities are ascribed’.68 Gerd Wewers infers
that this passage was composed in response to a hostile social environment,
towards which the writer adopted an attitude of patient, passive suffering
based on the ‘servant’ model encountered in prophecy and the Psalms.69
Despite his personal powerlessness, the adept is vindicated by the intervention of divine power on his behalf and possesses divinely conferred authority
to pass judgment on his adversaries. Wewers observes that ‘the mystic aligned
67
68
69
This name probably refers to the angelic priest who leads the celestial hierarchy and is
elsewhere known by such names as Metatron (Morray-Jones, Mystery, 387, n157).
Schäfer, ‘Gershom Scholem Reconsidered’, 16.
Wewers, ‘Überlegenheit’, 20–23.
The Ascent into Paradise (2 Cor 12:1-12)
275
his self-portrayal with eschatological individuals (Elijah, the messiah) and saw
himself as corresponding closely to these figures (or identified himself with
them?)’.70 The situation inferred by Wewers is not at all dissimilar from that
addressed by Paul, who, in his claim to have achieved conformity with Christ,
likewise assumes the ‘servant’ role.
According to HekhR 2:2, the authority claimed by the merkava adept has been
given ‘to the pure, to the humble, to the meek’. This is highly reminiscent of Paul’s
contrast between God’s ‘power’ and his own ‘weakness’, a theme that he continues to develop in the concluding passage of the letter (2 Cor 13:1–10), in which he
warns his readers to reform their conduct in advance of his imminent visit:
2b … if I come again, I will not be merciful (οὐ φείσομαι), 3since you look
for proof that Christ is speaking in me, who is not weak towards you, but
powerful in you! 4For just as he was crucified from weakness, yet lives by
the power of God – just so, we are weak in him, yet we shall live with him
by God’s power towards you! … 10Therefore, I write these things while I
am absent so that when I am present, I do not have to treat you with
severity (ἀποτόμος) in accordance with the authority (κατὰ τὴν ἐξουσίαν)
that the Lord gave me for building up, not tearing down (εἰς οἰκοδομὴν καὶ
οὐκ εἰς καθαίρεσιν).
In these verses, Paul reminds his readers that God has conferred on him a degree
of power concomitant to his apostolic status. Because that power was given to
him for the purpose of ‘building up’, Paul wishes to be ‘merciful’. Nonetheless, he
warns his readers that if they do not mend their ways, he will be obliged to
exercise his God-given power towards them in a way that is ‘severe’ and destructive. Although Paul does not specify what this may mean, there can be no doubt
as to his threatening intent. For an indication of the nature of the threat, we
should perhaps turn to the many stories in the Book of Acts in which disastrous
outcomes befall those who oppose God’s will, expressed through the apostles.71
These stories doubtless reflect an understanding of ‘power’ that was no more
foreign to Paul and his readers than it was to the author of Acts or, indeed, the
hekhalot writers. When Paul presents himself as one endowed with authority to
judge − and, if necessary, power to punish − the community, he assumes a role
very similar to that of the merkava-adept in HekhR. It is also noteworthy that,
although the passage in HekhR is attributed to R. Yishmael, his claims about the
adept’s ‘greatness’ are – like Paul’s boasting in 2 Cor 12 – expressed in the third
person, rather than the first.
70
71
Ibid. 21.
Acts 5:1–10; 12:1–24; 13:6–11.
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The ‘Third Heaven’
The relationship between the ‘third heaven’ of 2 Cor 12:2 and the ‘paradise’ of
12:4 requires consideration. Are verses 2 and 3–4 to be understood sequentially
or in parallel? If a seven-heaven cosmology is assumed, either interpretation is
theoretically possible, but it seems most unlikely that Paul would have based his
claim to apostolic authority on an ascent merely to the third of seven heavens,
since this would hardly qualify as an ‘exceptional’ revelation (2 Cor 12:7a).
Moreover, our analysis of the Jewish sources has shown that pardes was a term for
the celestial holy of holies, which is identical with the uppermost heaven. Since
there is clear evidence for the existence of an alternative − and earlier − threeheaven cosmology, we may be certain that Paul is referring to this model.72
The ‘Angel of Satan’
The nature of Paul’s ‘thorn (or stake) in the flesh’ (2 Cor 12:7b) has been the subject of much speculation.73 Many modern scholars, following the earliest
recorded church tradition,74 and taking τῇ σαρκί literally, have concluded that
the expression refers to an illness or disability, which is also mentioned at Gal
4:13–14.75 Some commentators, rightly perceiving that the ‘thorn’ is closely associated in Paul’s mind with his ‘exceptional’ revelations, have suggested a nervous
complaint (such as epilepsy) caused by, or associated with, his ecstatic and
visionary experience.76 According to this view, the parallel expression ἄγγελος
σατανᾶ shows that Paul believed his illness was caused by the assaults of a demon.
Others have argued in favour of an interpretation first proposed by Chrysostom,77
who suggested that Paul is referring to a powerful opponent at whose hands
he has suffered persecution.78 However, Robert Price has pointed out that the
theory of a human enemy fails to account for the close connection that exists in
Paul’s mind between the ‘thorn’ and the visionary experience. Price therefore
suggests that the reference is to an angelic opponent similar to the gatekeepers
of the hekhalot tradition, whose function is to attack and punish those deemed
72
73
74
75
76
77
78
For a more detailed discussion, see Rowland – Morray-Jones, Mystery, 390–396.
For a useful summary, see Martin, 2 Corinthians, 410–423.
Irenaeus, Haer 5.3.1; Tertullian, Pud 3:6 and Marc 5:12.
BAG, s.v. σκόλοψ, 441b-42a and κολαφίζω,763b-64a; Smith, ‘The Thorn that Stayed’; Bruce,
1 and 2 Corinthians, 248f.
Windisch, Der zweite Korintherbrief; Schmidt, κολαφίζω.
Hom. 26 on 2 Corinthians.
See especially Mullins, ‘Paul’s Thorn’.
The Ascent into Paradise (2 Cor 12:1-12)
277
unworthy to ascend to the Merkava.79 This theory is consistent with Paul’s
emphasis on his ‘weakness’ and his dependence on the power of Christ.
In the light of this interpretation, several noteworthy correspondences
between Paul’s account and the Jewish pardes story become apparent. First,
Paul’s ‘angel of Satan’ appears to be a close cousin of the demonic ‘angels of
destruction’ who seek to ‘do violence’ to R. Akiva in HekhZ and MerkR. In the
early tradition represented by this version of the pardes story, the guards of
the merkava realm appear to have possessed destructive and wrathful, even
demonic attributes.80 In early post-biblical literature, these same qualities are
often associated with the throne-bearing hayyot (‘living beings’ or ‘beasts’)
themselves, although their demonic and bestial aspect is suppressed in later
sources.81 Although the celestial gatekeepers of the hekhalot literature are
not identified with the hayyot, the character and function of these angels −
especially the guards of the sixth and seventh hekhalot − are consistent with
these traditions.82
There can be little doubt that the background of Paul’s ‘angel of Satan’ is to
be found in these traditions about the demonic-angelic gatekeepers of the
heavenly temple, and perhaps also the untamed, destructive hayyot. It will also
be recalled that, according to the pardes story, one of the four was ‘smitten’
(nifga). This is precisely the meaning of the verb κολαφίζω, employed by Paul
in 2 Cor 12:7b. Since this correspondence can hardly be coincidental, the
Pauline account and the pardes story at this point explain each other. Finally,
Paul’s report that he besought Christ to make his tormentor ‘leave’ him corresponds closely to God’s intervention on behalf of Akiva, ‘Leave this elder alone’
(HekhZ/MerkR C2b; Bavli, line A58).
Unutterable Words
The continuation of the pardes story in HekhZ is worthy of attention:83
§ 348a R. Akiva said:
§ 348b At that time, when I ascended to the merkava, a heavenly voice
went forth from beneath the throne of glory, speaking in the Aramaic
tongue. In this tongue, what did it say?
79
80
81
82
83
Price, ‘Punished in Paradise’, 33–40; cf Windisch, Zweite Korintherbrief, 382–390.
See, e.g., HekhR 15:8–16:2 (Schäfer § 213–215).
Halperin, Faces, 77, 112f, 123–135, and 152f.
For further detail, see Rowland – Morray-Jones, Mystery, 397–402, and sources cited there.
HekhZ § 348–352.
278
Morray-Jones
§ 348c Before the Lord made heaven and earth, he established
[corrupt word] in Rakia, by which to go in and come out (scribal gloss:
and [corrupt word] means nothing other than ‘gateway’). He established
the irrefutable name, with which to design the entire universe.
§ 349 And what man is there who is able
to ascend on high,
to ride the chariot-wheels,
to descend below,
to explore the world,
to walk on the dry ground,
to behold his splendor,
to unbind his crown,
to be transformed in glory,
to utter praise,
to combine letters,
to utter names,
to behold what is on high,
and to behold what is below,
to know the meaning of the living,
and to see the vision of the dead,
to walk in rivers of fire,
and to know the lightning?
§ 350a And who is able to explain, and who is able to see?
§ 350b First of all it is written: ‘…for no man may see me and live’ (Exod
33:20);
§ 350c and in the second place it is written: ‘…for God speaks to man, and
he lives’ (Deut 5:21//24);
§ 350d and in the third place it is written: ‘I saw the Lord sitting upon a
throne,’ etc. (Isa 6:11).
§ 351a What is his name?
§ 351b, ססיית כספן ודין דנין נון נינה
who is entirely holy, whose hosts are fire!
ואש יה שווה והיי צבי אש בנין הוד כישן נגוני אבירו
‘…sitting on a high and exalted throne…’
‘…Holy! Holy! Holy is the Lord of Hosts!’
‘The whole earth is full of his glory!’ (Isa 6:1–3),
‘Blessed be the glory of the Lord from his place!’ (Ezek 3:12),
אוטייס פוסוקסיו היטה שחקה קספף פטקי טוקו אפהה ספהק סופק
יאיק ניסהה קקה סקוס והס ואקיא הא אקטם פטהיי
The Ascent into Paradise (2 Cor 12:1-12)
279
§ 351c And Israel say before him: ‘A glorious high throne from the beginning [is the place of our sanctuary]’ (Jer 17:12).
§ 352a His holy ones on high say: We see (him) like the appearance of
lightning!
§ 352b His prophets say: We see (him) in a dream-vision, like a man who
sees visions in the night.
§ 352c The kings who are upon the earth say: ( עלוקא כתר גהיםcorrupt
text?)
§ 352d But our rabbis say [N: R. Akiva says]: He is, so to speak, like us,
but he is greater than everything; and this is his glory, which is hidden
from us.
§ 352e Moses says to them, to these and those: Do not inquire into
(the meaning of) your words, but let him be praised in his place!
§ 352f Therefore it is said: ‘Blessed be the Glory of the Lord from his place!’
This passage is significant in several respects. In § 348a-b, we learn that Akiva,
like Paul, heard words when he ascended into Paradise. In § 348c, we find
references to the heavenly temple where the ‘irrefutable name’ resides, and to
the time before the creation of the universe − in other words, the forbidden
mysteries of maase bereshit. § 349, which contains several echoes of mHag 2:1,
is a summary of the mysteries revealed to the ascending apocalyptic hero and
the attainments of the merkava adept.84 As observed by Schäfer, the juxtaposition of three apparently contradictory verses in § 350 serves, in a traditional
rabbinic manner, to introduce the question ‘whether man can see God at all
and, if so, who, and what he looks like’.85 The answer to this question is that
certain exceptional individuals may, like Isaiah, behold God’s name (the Lord),
embodied in his Glory. The following passage concerns the vision of the kavod
or manifest Glory (Ezekiel’s likeness of a man) and the mysteries of the divine
name, which is embodied in the kavod. In § 351a-c, the angels’ worship of the
kavod in the celestial sanctuary is linked to that of Israel in the earthly temple.
In § 352, we find a discussion of the manner in which the kavod is seen by various categories of being. The section culminates in a warning, attributed to
Moses, that this is not a matter for rational understanding or verbal definition.
Rather, the vision of God may be experienced in and through the act of worship. The same idea is encountered in an anonymous medieval Yemenite commentary on the Song of Songs:
84
85
Compare Rowland, The Open Heaven, 75–189.
Schäfer, Der verborgene, 56.
Morray-Jones
280
‘It was said in the presence of Rabban Gamaliel: Though created beings
do not have permission to declare the true being of the Creator, they do
have permission to declare His praise. How so? As it is written: ‘for no
man shall see me and live’ (Exod 33:20). Life depends upon his praise, but
his true being is concealed.86
Elsewhere in the commentary, we encounter allusions to esoteric shiur koma
teachings about the divine body or kavod as it appears on the merkava.87 It is
tempting to conjecture that this tradition may go back to Rabban Gamaliel the
Elder, whom Paul allegedly claimed as his teacher (Acts 22:3).
The following sections of HekhZ (§ 353–406) contain detailed descriptions
of the hayyot, the merkava, and the kavod, together with long strings of magical
names of God. Thus, the words heard by Akiva when he ascended to the
merkava in the celestial sanctuary, pardes, concerned the central mysteries of
maase merkava, which is to say, the innermost mysteries of God’s being. Those
mysteries cannot and may not be described in words. However, they may be
partially known and expressed through participation in the worship of the
celestial temple, which includes the recitation of his names. This is a remarkably close parallel to Paul’s ‘unutterable words which it is not permitted for
man to speak’ (2 Cor 12:4).
The Passages Compared
The cumulative weight of the evidence thus far seems overwhelming. Paul’s
account of his ascent to paradise and the story of the four who entered pardes
are closely related units of tradition. Both are characterized by an initially
enigmatic quality, and by a reticent and elliptical manner of description. Both
refer to an ascent into Paradise, which we have identified as the celestial holy
of holies and the highest heaven. In addition to this general similarity of content, we have discovered several striking correspondences of detail, which may
be summarized as follows:
(a) Paul’s ‘angel of Satan’ corresponds closely to Akiva’s ‘angels of
destruction’.
(b) Like one of the characters in the pardes story, Paul was ‘smitten’ by
one of those angels.
86
87
Friedländer, ‘Tehillat peirush’, 58. See Lieberman, Yeminite Midrashim, 12–19.
For a discussion of the shiur koma teachings, see Rowland – Morray-Jones, Mystery,
501–579.
The Ascent into Paradise (2 Cor 12:1-12)
281
(c) Paul’s prayer to Christ to make the angels ‘leave me’ corresponds to
God’s instruction that those angels should leave Akiva alone.
(d) Paul’s account and the continuation of the pardes story in HekhZ
both involve the hearing of unutterable words.
Of course, Paul, who died before Akiva’s lifetime, cannot possibly have known
the pardes story in its present form. Nor is it possible to see Paul’s account as a
source of the pardes story. Since neither unit can have directly influenced the
other, we are compelled to conclude that both Paul and the composer of the
pardes story are using the language of a common tradition, which – as clearly
shown by these close correspondences of detail – was already well-developed
in the mid-first century ce.
In addition to these specific points of contact with the pardes story, we have
found points of agreement with the merkava traditions recorded in other
sources:
(1)
Paul’s unwillingness to exalt himself by boasting is consistent with traditions recorded in the hekhalot literature, including Akiva’s statement in the pardes story: ‘Not because I am greater than my fellows’.
(2) Paul nonetheless claims a role similar to that of the merkava adept
in HekhR 1–2 and elsewhere.
(3) As in HekhR1–2, Paul speaks of his attainment and his resulting
authority in the third person.
(4) Like the adept in HekhR 1–2, Paul responds to opposition and persecution by adopting the ‘servant’ role.
These findings are more than sufficient to justify the conclusion that in 2 Cor
12:1–12, Paul is referring to his ascent to the heavenly temple and his merkava
vision of the enthroned and ‘glorified’ Christ. From the perspective of the
author of ‘Four Entered Paradise,’ Paul would be compared unfavorably with R.
Akiva owing to his admission that he was ‘smitten’ by one of the guards of the
temple. In 2 Cor 12, as we have seen, he is battling a similarly unfavorable comparison between his mystical attainments and those claimed his opponents –
hence, the juxtaposition of his personal weakness with Christ’s power.
However, this ‘smiting’ does not in any way imply that Paul has failed to reach
the highest heaven, or the innermost sanctuary. On the contrary, according to
the merkava tradition, that is precisely the location in which encounters with,
and ‘smitings’ by, the temple guards occur.88
88
Contra Gooder, Only the Third. See Rowland – Morray-Jones, Mystery, 390–396.
Morray-Jones
282
We know from the context in which Paul’s account is set that he based his
claim to possess the authority of an apostle on this vision. We must therefore
conclude that merkava mysticism was central to his religious practice and
experience, and that it profoundly shaped his understanding of his calling and
apostolic role.89
The Historical Setting of Paul’s Vision
Finally, the question of the historical event to which Paul refers remains to be
considered. Many scholars have denied that there is any connection between
this event and Paul’s visions recorded elsewhere.90 This position is often
associated with a tendentious desire to prove that visionary experience was of
no more than marginal importance to Paul – a position which fails to take
account of the context in which Paul refers to his vision in 2 Cor 12, and which
ignores or distorts the whole record of his career.91 Other commentators have
suggested that, in 2 Cor 12, Paul is describing only one of several such experiences, which occurred at some indeterminate point in his career.92 This view
must be rejected on two counts: in the first place, this vision is evidently the
basis of his claim to apostolic authority (in defense of which he is compelled,
against his will, to boast of it); and, second, he is at pains to give the event a
precise historical location. A few scholars have identified the ascent to paradise with the conversion on the Damascus road,93 but this is unconvincing.
There is no indication of a heavenly ascent in connection with that event,
either in Paul’s own account of his experience in Galatians 1, or in any of the
three accounts in Acts. Moreover, no account of the Damascus Road experience refers to, or uses imagery of, the temple, which is the very heart of the
Paradise tradition.
There remains a recorded experience of Paul which has attracted little
attention from recent commentators, but which seems to satisfy all of these
89
90
91
92
93
Compare Segal, Paul the Convert, 33–39.
E.g., Käsemann, ‘Die Legitimität’, 67–71; Georgi, Opponents, 177–183; Lietzmann-Kümmel,
Korinther, 155–212; Barrett, ‘Paul’s Opponents’, 244f; idem, Commentary, 302–306; Gunther,
Opponents, 276f; Bultmann, Second Letter, 218–230; Lincoln, ‘Paul the Visionary’; idem,
Paradise Now, 71–85; Baird, ‘Visions’; Martin, 2 Corinthians, 387–424; Sumney, Identifying
Paul’s Opponents, 167f; Strecker, ‘Die Legitimität’, 577.
See Tabor, Things Unutterable, 32–34.
Ibid. 21; Segal, Paul the Convert, 34–71.
Riddle, Man of Conflict and 62f and 208–211; Buck and Taylor, Saint Paul, 220–226.
The Ascent into Paradise (2 Cor 12:1-12)
283
criteria.94 This is the vision in the Jerusalem temple, reported in Acts 22 at the
conclusion of Paul’s defense speech on the temple steps:
17After I had returned to Jerusalem and while I was praying in the temple,
I came to be in an ecstatic trance (γενέσθαι με ἐν ἐκστάσει) 18aand to see
him, saying to me: 18b’Hurry, and get out of Jerusalem quickly, because
they will not accept your testimony about me’. 19And I said: ‘Lord, they
themselves know that in all the synagogues I used to imprison and beat
those who believed in you, 20and (that) while the blood of your witness
Stephen was being shed I myself stood by approving and guarding the
garments of those who were killing him’. 21Then he said to me: ‘Go, for I
will send you (ἐξαποστελῶ σε) far away to the gentiles,’ 22Up to this point,
they (the crowd in the temple) listened to him, but then they shouted:
‘Remove this person from the earth, for it were not fitting for him to live
(οὐ γὰρ καθῆκεν αὐτὸν ζῆν)!’ (Acts 22:17–22)
According to Acts, the vision in the temple occurred during Paul’s first visit to
Jerusalem after his conversion. In Gal 1:18 and 2:1, Paul states that this first visit
occurred three years after his conversion and fourteen years before his second
visit (the Jerusalem conference).
If one who ascends to Paradise gains entry to the holy of holies of the cosmic temple, this incident quite clearly involves just such an experience. Paul
has been transported in his ecstatic trance from the earthly to the heavenly
temple and thence, into the celestial holy of holies, where he beholds the risen
Christ, now identified with the divine Glory on the throne. The account in Acts
22 contains many echoes of Isaiah 6, in which the prophet enters the holy of
holies, and there receives his prophetic commission by the enthroned kavod.95
This is a central text of the merkava tradition, second in importance only to
Ezek 1. Acts 22:17 echoes Isa 6:1 (‘I saw the Lord’), while Acts 22:21 (‘I will send
you far away’) must be derived from Isa 6:8 (‘Whom shall I send?’) and 6:12
(‘until the Lord has sent everyone far away’). Here, then, is the account of
Paul’s apostolic commission to the gentiles, set in the context of a merkava
vision of Christ enthroned as the divine Glory (kavod) in the celestial sanctuary, to which 2 Cor 12:1–10 refers.
94
95
For a more detailed exposition of the following argument, including my responses to the
objections of Kim (Paul and the New Perspective, 186 n169), Chester (Messiah, 84), Harris
(Second Epistle, 837), and Gooder (Only the Third, 8), see Rowland – Morray-Jones, Mystery,
409–418.
See O. Betz, ‘Die Vision des Paulus’.
284
Morray-Jones
Acts 22:18b (‘they will not accept your testimony’) seems to reflect Isa 6:9–13,
in which the prophet proclaims God’s condemnation of Israel and predicts the
destruction of the kingdom. These same verses are fundamental to Paul’s theological theory of ‘hardhearted Israel’ (compare Acts 28:25–28). In the context
of Paul’s speech in the temple, the implied reference amounts to a statement
that the divine Glory (Christ) has abandoned Israel in favor of the nations.
Thus, whereas Isaiah was ‘sent’ to Israel, Paul is now ‘sent’ to the gentiles. This
radical reinterpretation of the prophetic narrative explains the anger and outrage of his listeners (Acts 22:22), which is expressed in language highly reminiscent of mHag 2:1: ‘And whoever is not careful about the Glory of his Creator, it
were fitting for him that he had not come into the world’.
If the vision reported in Acts 22 is indeed the Paradise vision of 2 Cor 12 and
Paul’s commissioning event, it appears to have occurred in Jerusalem three
years after his conversion, shortly following his escape from Damascus. This is
clearly stated in Acts 22. In 2 Corinthians also, the ascent to Paradise (12:1–10)
occurs immediately after the escape from Damascus (11:32–33).
As we have seen, the purpose of Paul’s ‘boasting’ in 2 Cor 12 is to defend the
validity of his apostolic commission. Therefore, the whole thrust of his argument in 2 Cor 10–13 tells us – and will have told Paul’s readers – that the vision
of which he boasts was the commissioning event. This is exactly what is
described in Acts 22:17–22. The chronological parallel between Acts 22 and 2
Cor 11–12 merely confirms what is already evident.
Rom 15:15–20 confirms this reconstruction of events:
15But I have written to you in part boldly, to remind you, on account of the
grace given to me by God 16to be a servant of Christ Jesus to the gentiles,
administering the gospel of God as a priestly service (ἱερουργοῦντα τὸ
εὐαγγέλιον τοῦ θεοῦ), that the offering of the gentiles may be acceptable,
sanctified by the Holy Spirit. 17ln Christ Jesus, then, I have my boast in the
things pertaining to God, 18for I will not presume to speak of anything
except that which Christ has accomplished through me for the obedience of the gentiles, by word and deed, 19through the power of signs and
wonders, through the power of the Spirit of God, so that from Jerusalem
and around to Illyricum I have fully proclaimed the gospel of Christ.
20Thus, I aspire to preach the gospel, not where Christ has already been
named, so that I do not build on another’s foundation.
Here, Paul characteristically emphasizes the independence of his apostolic
mission from any human authority. He also places the beginning of the gentile
mission not in Damascus, but in Jerusalem. He describes his apostolic calling
The Ascent into Paradise (2 Cor 12:1-12)
285
to the gentiles as the exercise of a priestly ministry. His references to boasting
and works of power are very reminiscent of 2 Cor 12.
Implications for Pauline Chronology
These findings have significant implications for the chronology of Paul’s career.
Gal 2:1 specifies a fourteen-year interval between the first visit to Jerusalem
(when the commissioning vision occurred) and the second (the ‘Jerusalem
conference’). Therefore, 2 Cor 10–13, which locates the ascent to Paradise “fourteen years ago” must have been written close to the time of the Jerusalem conference. Both letters (2 Cor 10–13 and Galatians) seem to have been written in
the heat of the crisis over Paul’s apostolic authority and gentile mission. Since
Galatians mentions the Jerusalem conference, it must of course have been
written after the event, whereas 2 Cor 10–13, which makes no explicit reference
to the conference, may be dated either very shortly before or very shortly after
that event. In either case, the two letters will have been written within a few
months of each other, at most. But it is not possible to explore this issue in
detail here. It is enough to have shown that Paul’s ascent to Paradise, his
ecstatic vision in the temple, and his commission to be the apostle to the gentiles were all one and the same revolutionary event, and that his merkava
vision of Christ enthroned as the divine kavod in Paradise was the foundation
of his apostolic claim.
Bibliographical Abbreviations
ab
agaju
agju
ajec
AnBib
anrw
aos
ba
betl
bhm
bjrl
bjs
bts
cbq
cbr
djd
et
etl
EvT
fb
frlant
fs
Heb
hnt
htr
hts
huca
iej
jac
jaos
jbl
jps
jqr
jrs
jsj
jsp
jsnt
Anchor Bible
Arbeiten zur Geschichte des antiken Judentums und des Urchristentums
Arbeiten zur Geschichte des Judentums und seiner Umwelt
Ancient Judaism and Early Christianity
Analecta biblica
Aufstieg und Niedergang der römischen Welt
American Oriental Society
The Biblical Archaeologist
Bibliotheca Ephemeridum Theologicarum Lovaniensium
Jellinek, Bet ha-Midrash
Bulletin of the John Rylands Library
Brown Judaic Studies
Biblical Tools and Studies
Catholic Bible Quarterly
Currents in Biblical Research
Discoveries in the Judaean Desert
English translation
Ephemerides Theologicae Lovanienses
Evangelische Theologie
Forschungen zur Bibel
Forschungen zur Religion und Literatur des Alten und Neuen Testaments
Festschrift
in Hebrew
Handbuch zum Neuen Testament
Harvard Theological Review
Harvard Theological Studies
Hebrew Union College Annual
Israel Exploration Journal
Jahrbuch für Antike und Christentum
Journal of the American Oriental Society
Journal of Biblical Literature
Jewish Publication Society
Jewish Quarterly Review
Journal of Roman Studies
Journal for the Study of Judaism
Journal for the Study of the Pseudepigrapha
Journal for the Study of the New Testament
© koninklijke brill nv, leiden, 2014 | doi 10.1163/9789004271661_011
288
jsot
jss
jts
jts
kek
mgjw
ms
ncb
NedTT
nigtc
NovT
nrsv
nts
otp
pib
rb
rphr
scm
Ser
sjla
spb
spck
stdj
Sup
tanz
tdnt
ThLZ
ThWNT
tsaj
u
up
Vdh&R
vt
wbc
wcjs
wjk
wmant
wunt
Bibliographical Abbreviations
Journal for the Study of the Old Testament
Journal of Semitic Studies
Jewish Theological Seminary
Journal of Theological Studies
Kritisch-exegetischer Kommentar zum Neuen Testament
Monatsschrift für die Geschichte und Wissenschaft des Judentums
Mohr Siebeck
New Century Bible
Nederlands Theologisch Tijdschrift
New International Greek Testament Commentary
Novum Testamentum
New Revised Standard Version
New Testament Studies
Charlesworth, Old Testament Pseudepigrapha
Pontificio Istituto Biblico
Revue biblique
Revue de philosophie et de l’histoire des religions
Student Christian Movement
Series
Studies in Judaism in Late Antiquity
Studia Post-Biblica
Society for Promoting Christian Knowledge
Studies on the Texts of the Desert of Judah
Supplement
Texte und Arbeiten zum neutestamentlichen Zeitalter
Theological Dictionary of the New Testament
Theologische Literaturzeitung
Theologisches Wörterbuch zum Neuen Testament
Texts and Studies in Ancient Judaism
University
University Press
Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht
Vetus Testamentum
Word Biblical Commentary
World Congress of Jewish Studies
Westminster John Knox
Wissenschaftliche Monographien zum Alten und Neuen Testament
Wissenschaftliche Untersuchungen zum Neuen Testament
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Index of Names
Ancient Names
Aaron
71, 162f
Abahu, R.
200, 203, 205
Abba of Acre, R.
200
Abraham
60f, 70f, 72n52, 103, 103n94,
110n124, 129, 147, 205, 221, 228f, 232f
Adam
167
Agrippa I
26, 28, 32
Agrippa II
26, 30f
Agrippina
31
Aha b. Ula, R.
213n255
Aher (Elisha b. Avuya)
248f, 261
Akiva, R.
9f, 97n66, 103n94, 112n131, 171,
208, 208n233, 210, 247, 248–250, 252,
256–258, 260–263, 266–268, 271, 277,
279–281
Alexander, the Great
87n31
Ami, R.
194
Amoz
93
Ampliatus
14
Ananias
99
Aninana, R.
170
Antiochos
87n31
Antiochus
230n24
Antiochus Epiphanes
26
Apollonius of Tyana
162
Apollos
136, 224
Aquila
32, 124, 124n168
Archelaus
28
Asa
205
Assi, R.
204
Azaria
213
Azariah
73
Bar Kappara
102n90
Bar Kokhba
173
Barnabas
142, 144, 144n37, 145n41, 154,
157, 186
ben Azzai (Shimon ben Azzai)
210,
247–249, 255–257, 261, 267, 269
Ben Shalom
206n230, 211n247, 214n259
ben Zoma (Shimon ben)
247–249,
255–257, 261, 267, 269
Berekhya, R.
198
Berenice
31
Caligula
26, 26n7, 30, 32, 125n174
Chloe
124
Claudius
26, 29–32
Cumanus
29f
Daniel
161, 168
David
81, 113, 116, 168, 190n175
Demetrios
87n31
Dio Chrysostom
108n117
Drusilla
31, 31n46
Elazar b. Arakh, R.
266–268
Elazar ben Azaria, R.
99n77, 257
Elazar ben Hananya
99
Elazar Hisma, R.
200
Elazar, R.
205
Eleazar b. Mattia, R.
267
Eleazar, son of Ananias
151
Eliezer, R.
98f, 99n73, 170, 208
Eliezer b. Hyrcanus, R.
210
Eliezer b. Yaakov, R.
194
Elijah (Elisha)
98n69, 162, 167f, 168n119,
168n121, 172, 193, 193n178, 275
Elisha ben Avuya (Aher)
247, 255–257, 269
Enoch
92n53, 161, 163f, 167f
Epaenetus
14
Ephraim
112
Eusebius
173, 175
Ezekiel
246f, 252, 255, 260, 279
Felix
Festus
29–31, 151n57, 156
31
Gallio
25, 25n3, 33–35
Gamaliel the Elder
97n66f, 268, 280
Gamliel the Younger
99, 99n77, 200
Hadrian
173
Hagar
61
Hanan the Egyptian
Hananel b. Hushiel
Hanania
170
267
246n6
318
Hanania b. Hakhinai
267, 268
Haninah b. Dosa
233, 244
Hasidei Ashkenaz
258
Helena, Queen of Adiabene
155n69
Herod (the Great)
26, 28, 32
Herod of Chalcis
26, 31
Hillel
96–98, 97n66, 97n67, 98n71,
98n72, 99n73, 99n77, 105n104, 113,
123, 160f, 199f, 213, 213n257
Honi
233f, 254
Hyrcanus II
32
Imi, R.
198
Isaac
61, 103n94
Isaiah
93, 279, 284
Isi b. Yehuda
169
Issachar
207
Jacob
103n94
Jakobus
141n32
James
52, 142f, 152, 156, 169, 232n36
Jeremiah
68f, 71, 73
Jesus (Christ)
1n1, 2, 4, 4n13, 9, 13–17,
14n6, 14n9, 20n14, 21f, 33, 47–49, 51,
53–55, 62f, 74–76, 75n75, 76n76, 79,
82–84, 82n11, 83n16, 94f, 95n57, 96n63,
103–105, 103n4, 113, 119–121, 126, 128f, 138,
142, 145, 149, 159, 163f, 167–169, 172,
172n136, 176, 181, 183, 185–187, 192f,
195, 211, 220, 224, 229, 231f, 233f,
237f, 245, 247, 269–272, 275, 277,
281, 283–285
Jesus b. Ananias
26
Joanna
104n98
John
96n63, 142, 169
John the Baptist
168, 168n121
John Chrysostom
276
Jonathan b. Ananus
29
Jose b. R. Hanina, R.
194
Josephus
7, 26–31, 28n22, 28n24, 28n27,
31n46, 38f, 41, 43, 47, 85, 86n28, 90, 99,
107–109, 109n120, 112, 151, 230, 230n23, 236, 240
Judah
92
Judas (Iscariot)
82n11, 180f
Julius Caesar
32
Junia
124
Lazar, R.
194
Levi
92
Index of ancient Names
Levi, R.
201, 201n204
Luke
34, 124n166, 153, 155–157, 156n75,
158n78, 165n106, 186n171
Lydia
124n168
Manasseh, king
92f
Martha
103f, 103n95, 211
Mary Magdalene
104,104n98
Mary, Mother of Jesus
104
Mary ‘of James’
104n98
Mary, sister of Martha
103f, 103n95, 211,
211n245
Meir, R.
97, 97n66, 170, 173–175, 256
Moses
55, 65, 67–69, 69n43, 69n44, 71f,
72n52, 72n55, 74f, 75n71, 76f, 89, 100–102,
115, 122, 148, 168, 185, 210, 279
Nahum, R.
170
Nathan
115
Nehorai, R.
212, 212n250, 213
Nehunya b. Hakanah, R.
203, 271
Nero
29, 31, 33
Nicolaus of Damascus
28, 28n22
Noah
71
Onesimus
13
Origen
186n171
Pallas
30
Persis
14
Peter (Cephas, Kephas, Simon)
49, 95,
138, 142–144, 159f, 169, 182, 185, 224, 232n36
Philemon
13, 15
Philo
2, 27, 27n16, 32, 34, 40n11,
44n26, 47, 82, 105f, 105n103, 108–110,
113, 146n46, 147, 230, 263
Phoebe
124
Pinhas ben Yair, R.
171
Pliny, the elder
108, 108n117
Pliny, the younger
33f
Polycarp
175
Pope Leo the Great
133
Prisca (Priscilla)
32, 124, 124n166, 168
Quadratus Ummidius
Rav
196
Resh Lakish
204
Reuben
106
29f
319
Index of ancient Names
Safra, R.
203f
Salome
104n98
Samuel
196
Sarah
61
Seneca
237, 237n59
Shammai
96–99, 97n68, 99n73,
99n77, 105n104, 113, 123, 151,
160f, 200
Shimon, R.
193
Shimon b. Abba, R.
241
Shimon b. Elazar, R.
212f, 253
Shimon the Just
209
Shimon b. Menasia, R.
174–176, 176n146
Shimon ben Pazzi, R.
95n57
Shimon b. Yohai, R.
172, 193n178, 212–214
Shmuel, R.
173n138
Silvanus
223
Solomon
264
So(si)patros
148
Sosthenes
25, 34
Stachys
14
Stephanas
140, 155
Stephen
53n53, 168, 283
Synesius of Cyrene
108n117
Tacitus
30
Tarfon, R.
208
Tertullian
120n154
Thucydides
7, 27f, 28n21
Tiberius Julius Alexander
34
Timotheus
223
Timothy
14, 64n22, 148
Titus
18, 21, 142, 145, 148, 155, 223
Todos (Theodotos) of Rome
208,
208n235
Trajan
82n11
Vespasian
153
Yaakov b. R. Bon, R.
205
Yannai, R.
241
Yehuda, R.
205, 235
Yehuda the Ammonite proselyte
99, 123
Yehuda ben Elai, R.
193
Yehuda b. Nahman, R.
201
Yehuda Nesia, R.
203f
Yehuda the Prince, R.
170, 174, 194, 208
Yehuda ben Teima
112n131
Yirmia, R.
205
Yishmael, R.
2, 169, 257f, 266, 271, 273–275
Yitshak b. Redifa, R.
172, 198
Yohanan, R.
196, 201, 204, 214, 267
Yohanan b. Gudgeda, R.
200
Yohanan ben Matya, R., father of
103n. 94
Yohanan b. Zakkai, R.
267f
Yonatan, R.
208
Yose b. Meshullam, R.
174
Yose b. R. Yehuda, R.
267
Yose b. Yohanan of Jerusalem
210
Yose b. Yoezer
210
Yoshua, R.
98f, 99n73, 170, 208, 210, 267f
Yoshua ben Levi, R.
102n90, 198
Yoshua the Hillelite, R.
123, 126
Yossi b. Kisma, R.
200, 209
320
Index of modern Names
Modern Names
Abegg, M.G.
72n52, 72n57
Abusch, R.
122n160
Adesina, A.A.
134n6, 135n10
Adler, W.
163n96
Albeck, Ch.
102n89, 202n213
Alexander, P.S.
163n98
Allo, E.-B.
83n13
Alon, G.
193n177, 203n214
Amador, J.D.H.
136n12
Amaru, B.H.
179n152
Amir, Y.
179n152
Amram, D.W.
235n50, 235n51
André, J.M.
240n69
Andrews, S.B.
225, 225n9, 235n52, 237n61
Aptovizer, A.
201, 201n207, 201n208
Audet, J.-P.
190n175
Avemarie, F.
8, 8n21, 60n4, 71n48
Avigad, N.
170n129
Avi-Yonah, M.
239n66
Ayali, M.
211n247
Bacher, W.
112n130, 246n9, 256n25
Back, F.
66n36, 66n37, 67n38, 74n67,
75n72
Bagatti, B.
50n43
Baird, W.
282n90
Barclay, J.M.G.
117n39, 124n171, 125n173,
187n172
Barnett, P.
224n8
Barrett, C.K.
83n14, 138n20, 270n56,
282n90
Barthélemy, D.
122n161
Baruch, E.
48n36
Bash, A.
223n4, 223n7
Baslez, M-F.
240n69
Batnitzky, L.
234, 234n41, 234n43
Bauckham, R.
109n120, 123n163, 161n86,
163n92, 163n95, 164n101, 168n123
Baumgarten, A.
42, 42n21, 108n117,
109n120, 109n121, 110n123, 111n127, 111n128,
111n129, 112n132
Baur, F.C.
3n10, 4n13, 128n184, 137f, 138n21,
159
Becker, E.-M.
11n2
Beckheuer, B.
134n6, 135n11, 139n27,
141n32, 144n39, 145n41
Beer, M.
193n177, 197n194, 204n219,
206n229, 206n230, 211n247, 213n254
Beker, J.C.
117n141
Benz, E.
270n58
Berger, K.
134n6, 150n56, 158n80
Berger, P.L.
85, 85n25
Bergmeier, R.
76n76
Betz, H.-D.
79n1, 83, 83n14, 83n16, 118n148,
119n150, 119n151, 120n152, 133n1, 134n6, 135,
135n8, 136n12, 140n31, 141n34, 143n36,
144n39, 271n59
Betz, O.
283n95
Bieringer, R.
7, 11n1, 11n2, 12n3, 15n10,
15n11, 62n13, 62n14, 79n1, 127n179, 127n181,
128, 129n185, 129n186, 136n12, 136n13,
138n20, 223n4
Bietenhard, H.
246, 246n5
Bilde, P.
27n19, 28n27
Billerbeck, P.
95n57, 195n185
Blanton T.R.
66n36, 71n50, 72n53, 129n185
Blum, H.P.
55n63
Boccaccini, G.
36n1, 109n120
Bockmuehl, M.N.A.
124n172
Bokser, B.M.
233, 233n40
Bolkestein H.
179n151
Bormann, L.
225, 225n12, 225n13, 235,
235n53
Bornkamm, G.
15, 17, 79n1
Bottomore, T.B.
177n148
Bousset, W.
246, 246n5
Bowen, C.R.
134n6
Bowes, K.
50n42
Cadbury, H.
183n165
Casey, T.E.
1n3, 1n4
Charlesworth, J.H.
50n44, 90n43, 107n112,
122n161
Chavasse, A.
133n3
Chepey, S.
52n49, 52n50
Chester, A.N.
283n94
Chilton, B.
40
Christiansen, E.J.
57n68, 60n8, 62n11, 76n76
Cohen, S.J.D.
42, 44, 44n26, 45, 45n27,
45n28, 46, 208n237, 230, 230n22, 230n23,
230n24, 230n25, 231, 231n26
Colish, M.L.
119n151
Index of modern Names
Collins, J.J.
86n27, 97n65, 163n92
Conway, A.J.
133n3
Conzelmann, H.
14n7, 120n154, 155n72
Craffert P.F.
37n2
Crawford, S.W.
111n127, 111n128
Crossan, J.D.
49n39
Dan, J.
258n28
Dautzenberg, G.
66n32, 74n64, 75n69,
75n72, 77n81
Davies, P.R.
86n27
Davies, W.D.
179n152, 230n21, 232n38, 243,
243n79, 243n80
Deines, R.
39n9
Deissmann, A.
59n3, 139n27
de Vries, G.
3n9
Dibelius, M.
125n174
Dimant, D.
87n31, 109n118, 109n119
Dinaburg, B.
179n152
Dittenberger, W.
25n3
Donfried, K.P.
1n3, 1n4, 122n161
Doole, A.
78n83
Downs, D.J.
134n6, 144n37, 145n41,
146n46, 153n64, 154n68, 156n75
Dumbrell, W.J.
74n65, 75n75
Dunn, J.D.G.
1n2, 60n4, 60n6, 60n8, 60n9,
62n11, 138, 138n22
Dunsky, S.
247n14
Eckstein, H.-J.
60n10
Eisenstadt, S.N.
176n147
Elliot, J.H.
47f, 48n35
Ellis, E.E.
121n157, 270n56
Engberg-Pedersen, T.
135n10
Epstein J.N.
201n208
Evans, C.A.
72n56
Finn, R.D.
179n151
Fitzgerald, M.
240n68
Fitzmyer, J.A.
81n7, 82f, 82n12, 83n13,
83n15, 103n95, 120n154, 121n155, 121n156,
121n157, 122n160, 122n161, 123n163, 124n167,
136n15, 149n54, 153n65, 153n66, 156n75
Flusser, D.
84n20, 86n26, 88n38, 90n43,
91n46, 91n48, 92f, 92n54, 95, 95n57, 95n58,
95n59, 98n70, 98n71, 107n113, 115n137,
117n142, 164n103, 190n174, 191n176
Fohrer, G.
226n15
Fraade, D.
211n244
321
Fredriksen, P.
33n61, 47, 47n33, 57n69
Freedman, H.
247n15
Freeland, J.P.
133n3
Freud, S.
55n63
Frey, J.
54n57, 73n63, 85n24, 86n27
Frey, J.B.
174n42
Freyne, S.
233n40
Friedländer, M.
246n9, 280n86
Freedman, D.R.
59n2
Friedrich, G.
270n56
Fröhlich, A.
78n83
Furnish, V.
64n20, 65n29, 66n31, 75n68,
81n5, 82n9
García Martínez, F.
86n28, 109n122,
115n137, 122n161
Garrison, R.
179n151
Gaster, M.
264n42
Georgi, D.
54, 54n56, 63n16, 66n36,
128n184, 134n6, 135n11, 137f, 137n18, 137n19,
138n20, 138n21, 139n25, 141n32, 143n36,
144n37, 145n41, 146n46, 146n47, 151n59,
153n62, 155n71, 161n86, 221n1, 232n35,
242n74, 270n56, 282n90
Glancy, J.A.
236, 236n54, 236n55, 236n56,
237n60, 237n61
Gluckman, M.
177n148
Gnilka, J.
83, 83n17, 90n43, 91n49
Goguel, M.
134n6, 135n8, 153n64, 153n66
Goldberg, Abr.
96n61, 99n74, 99n75
Goldberg, Arn.
266n50
Goodblatt, D.
230, 230n23
Gooder, P.
281n88, 283n94
Goodman, M.
3n12, 7, 26n6, 27n15, 30n35,
33n62, 39, 39n7, 42–44, 42n20, 43n22,23,
44n25, 46, 154n67, 160, 235n49
Goshen-Gottstein, A.
256n24
Gräbe, P.J.
70n45
Graetz, H.
99n74, 246n9
Grant, R.M.
65n29, 117n139, 125n173,
153n63
Grässer, E.
62n13, 66n32, 66n33, 66n36
Green, W.S.
233n40
Gross, W.
72n58, 73n59
Gruber, M.M.
63n16, 66n32, 68n40,
70n46, 77n80
Gruen, E.S.
32n58
Gruenwald, I.
258, 258n30, 259, 259n33
Gunther, J.J.
270n56, 282n90
322
Index of modern Names
Hafemann, S.J.
65n27, 66n31, 66n32,
66n34, 68n40, 69n44, 74n66, 75n69, 76n77
Halperin, D.
247n12, 252, 252n17, 253n19,
259n34, 266n50, 277n81
Hamel, G.
209n240
Harnack, A.
1n1, 1n4, 3n11, 141n32
Harrill, J.A.
237n62
Harris, M.
37n2
Harris, M.J.
15n11, 62n13, 283n94
Harvey, A.E.
234, 234n45
Hausrath, A.
17
Hawthorne, G.F.
13n4
Heemstra, M.
154n67
Hegel, G.W.F.
3n10
Heinemann, I.
106, 106n109, 106n110,
106n111
Heinrici, G.
135n8
Hellholm, D.
66n36
Hengel, M.
25n2, 53n53, 99n75, 151n58,
157n77, 220n265
Hezser, C.
9, 148n49, 226n14, 227n16,
227n17, 233n39, 233n40, 237n59, 238n65,
242n77, 243n82, 243n83
Himmelfarb, M.
230–232, 230n22, 231n27,
232n34, 259n37
Hirschfeld, N.
240n68
Hodgson, P.C.
3n10
Hofius, O.
59n3, 64n22, 66n32, 66n36,
74n66, 75n69, 76n77
Hogan, P.N.
118n148
Hogeterp, A.L.
126n178, 127n179, 127n180
Holl, K.
134n6, 140n31, 141, 141n32, 141n33,
149n53, 161n86, 165n105
Holland, G.
223n4, 225, 225n10, 243n78
Holmås, G.O.
51n46
Horbury W.
27n17
Horst, P.W. van der
81n8
Hurtado, L.W.
134n6, 143n36, 144n40,
145n42, 145n43
Hvalvik, R.
229n20
Ilan, T.
100n.81
Jackson- McCabe, M.
229n20
Jervell, J.
140n30, 149n51, 150n56, 155n73,
156n75, 158n80
Jewett, R.
143n36, 159n82
Joël, M.
246n9
Jonge, M. de
90n43
Joubert, S.
Juster, J.
134n6, 146n46
202n212
Kahana, M.
2n8, 112n131, 209n238,
266n49
Kaplan, Z.
256n26
Kapstein, I.J.
201n207
Käsemann, E.
66n31, 138, 138n20, 270n56,
282n90
Kazen, T.
49n40
Kee, H.C.
90n43, 92n52
Kennedy, J.H.
17
Kertelge, K.
62n12, 66n31, 66n35, 75n74,
76n77
Kim, B.-M.
134n6, 138n23
Kim, S.
245n1, 283n94
Kimelman, R.
214, 214n258
Kingsley, S.
240, 240n70, 240n71
Kisch, E.E.
65n28
Knibb, M.A.
92n54, 93n55
Knox, J.
270n57
Knox, R.
54
Koch, D.A.
155n72
Koester, H.
185n170
Koet, B.J.
52n49
Kohler, K.
235n50, 235n51
Kolenkow, A.B.
221n1, 232n38, 242,
242n74, 242n75
Kooten, G.H. van
121n159
Kopp, C.
179n152
Kraemer, D.
124n169, 234, 234n42
Kuhn, K.G.
82n12
Kümmel, W.G.
271n59, 282n90
Kuschnerus, B.
63n16, 64n20, 64n21,
66n32, 69n43, 75n74, 76n77
Kutsch, E.
59n2
Lamb, J.
223n5
Lambrecht, J.
80n4, 81n5, 81n7, 83n14,
114n135, 124n170, 127n179, 135n9, 145n44,
225, 225n11
Lampe, G.W.H
140n29
Landau, T.
28n22
Landau, Y.
179n152
Lazier, B.
44n24
Leezenberg, M.
3n9
Leonhardt-Balzer, J.
40n11, 44n26
Levine, L.I.
203n217, 213n254, 235n48
Lewin, B.M.
246n6
323
Index of modern Names
Lewittes, M.
52n51
Licht, J.
96n63, 108n115
Lieberman, S.
102n91, 203, 203n217,
247n13, 280n86
Lietzmann, H.
271n59, 282n90
Lilla, M.
54n55
Lim, T.H.
81n7
Lincoln, A.T.
282n90
Linder, A.
202n212, 203n215, 203n16,
205n224, 205n225
Lohse, E.
122n161
Lombard, E.
134n6
Long, F.J.
130n190, 136n12, 136n13, 137n16
Löning, K.
66n36
Ludemann, G.
155n72
Luz, U.
183, 184n167, 184n168
Maier, J.
247, 247n11, 259n34
Malinowski, B.
177n148
Mann, J.
172n137
Mantel, H.
202n212
Marguerat, D.
155n70
Margulies, M.
208n233, 208n236
Martin, R.P.
126n178, 270n56, 276n73,
282n90
Martyn, J.L.
118n148, 119n151, 134n6,
141n34, 144n37
Mason, S.
39, 39n8, 45, 45n29, 46–48, 231,
231n28, 231n29, 231n30, 231n31
Matera, F.J.
62n13, 223n4, 223n6, 229n18
McGing, B.C.
241, 241n72, 241n73
McLaren, J.S.
27n18
Meeks, W.A.
118n148, 219n263
Melick, R.R.
134n6, 138n23
Merklein, H.
75n68
Miano, D.
59n2
Milik, J.T.
164n100
Miller, D.M.
48n.35, 124n172, 230n22
Milligan, G.
139n27
Mitchell, M.M.
6n19, 134n7, 135n8, 136n12,
136n14, 137, 137n18, 144n38
Mohri, E.
104n98, 104n101
Moore, G.F.
171n134
Morray-Jones, C.
9f, 163n97, 164n99, 242n77,
243n80, 245n2, 246n6, 247n10, 247n15,
252n16, 253n19, 257n27, 258n30, 258n31,
258n32, 259n35, 259n37, 260n38, 266n48,
266n50, 272n63, 273n66, 274, 274n67, 276n72,
277n82, 280n87, 281n88, 283n94
Moulton, J.H.
139n27
Mullins, T.Y.
276n78
Munck, J.
134n6, 140n30, 141, 141n33, 150,
150n56, 155n71, 155n73, 158n80
Murphy-O’Connor, J.
32n56
Nanos, M.D.
152n60
Nathan, E.
5, 12n3, 83n16
Naveh, J.
170n130, 174n42
Neher, A.
246, 246n7, 254, 254n20
Neusner, J.
40–42, 40n10, 46, 266n50
Neutel, K.B.
118n148, 119n151, 120n152
Newman, C.C
270n56
Newsom, C.A.
122n160
Nickle, K.F.
134n6, 151n59
Noam, V.
97n68
Noy, D.
27n17
Oepke, W.
120n153
Ogereau, J.M.
134n6, 146n46, 157n77
Oppenheimer, A.
177n149
Osten-Sacken, P. von der
75n74, 76n76,
86n27, 87n29, 87n30, 87n32, 88n37, 90n43,
92n51
Paget, J.C.
229n20
Pesch, R.
231n32
Philonenko, M.
93n55
Pike, K.L.
37n2
Pilhofer, P.
155n73
Plummer, A.
82n9, 82n10, 83n13
Porter, S.E.
59n3, 60n4, 60n9, 144n38,
144n39
Price, J.J.
27n14
Price, R.M.
276, 277n79
Proksch, O.
161n87, 162n88, 165n106,
166n112
Pucci Ben Zeev, M.
32n50
Qimron, E.
84n21
Rabens, V.
12n3
Rajak, T.
27n18, 28n21, 28n24
Reed, J.L.
49n39
Regev, E.
53n54
Richardson, P.
3n11
Riddle, D.W.
270n57, 282n93
Rives, J.B.
178n150
Roberts, S.
177n148
324
Robinson, E.T.
104n101
Roetzel, C.J.
55
Roll, I.
239n66
Rosenthal, F.
209n240
Rostovtzeff, M.
202n211
Rowland, C.C.
163n97, 164n99, 245n1,
253n19, 258n32, 259n35, 260n38, 266n48,
270n58, 272n62, 273n66, 276n72, 277n82,
279n84, 280n87, 281n88, 283n94
Saake, H.
270n58
Safrai, Ch.
96n63, 100n80, 179n152
Safrai, S.
51n45, 52n47, 95n57, 96n61,
96n63, 97n66, 97n67, 99n73, 99n76, 99n77,
100, 100n78, 100n79, 100n80, 101n85,
104n100, 112n131, 113n134, 172n136, 173n138,
193n178, 195n186, 208n234, 233n40, 256n26
Safrai, Z.
3n12, 7n20, 8f, 96n63, 134n4,
179n152, 181n158, 196n192, 198n196, 202n212,
209n240, 212n253, 219n264
Saller, R.
237n57, 237n58
Salzman M.R.
133n3
Sanders, E.P.
1, 1n4, 3n11, 25n5, 34, 34n68,
38, 38n5, 41, 55, 55n62, 56n64, 60n4, 138,
138n22, 177n149, 222, 222n3
Sandmel, S.
27n16
Sandt, H. van de
84n20, 88n38, 91n48, 93,
164n103, 190n174, 191n176
Sass, G.
60n8, 62n11, 66n32, 75n74
Satlow, M.L.
38n6, 44n26
Schäfer, P.
243, 243n80, 243n81, 247n12,
258n28, 258n29, 258n30, 258n32, 259n34,
260n39, 271n60, 271n61, 274, 274n68,
277n80, 279, 279n85
Schechter, S.
200
Schluchter, W.
244n84
Schmeller, T.
11n2
Schmidt, K.L.
276n76
Schmithals, W.
15, 17, 79n
Schmitt, C.
44n24, 55n58
Scholem, G.G.
9, 246f, 246n4, 258f,
258n30, 259n33, 259n34
Schöllgen, G.
220n265
Schrage, W.
14n7, 120n153, 121n156, 121n157
Schröter, J.
65n24, 66n30, 68n40, 68n41
Schuller, E.
111n128
Schulz, S.
66n36, 75n73
Schürer, E.
28n25, 31n43, 34n70
Schüssler Fiorenza, E.
83n14, 121n158
Index of modern Names
Schwabe, M.
202n212
Schwartz, J.
5n17, 7, 49n37, 49n38, 52n48,
53n52, 53n53, 53n54, 58n71
Schwartz, D.R.
26n9, 45n30, 108n115,
108n117, 124n172
Schwartz, S.
37n3, 40–43, 40n12,
41n13, 41n14, 41n16, 46, 50n41, 235,
235n46, 235n47
Scott, J.M.
158n79
Seccombe, D.
209n240
Segal, A.
96n62, 245n1, 246n8, 259,
259n36, 272n62, 272n64, 282n89, 282n92
Simon, M.
247n15
Skarsaune, O.
229n20
Sly, D.
105, 105n102, 105n103, 105n105
Smallwood, E.M.
154n67
Smith, M.
221n1, 232n36
Smith, N.G.
276n75
Sokoloff, M.
173n139
Sperber, D.
240n67
Spilsbury, P.
41, 41n15
Starnitzke, D.
68n39
Stern, M.
108n116, 108n117, 154n67
Steudel, A.
115n136
Stockhausen, C.K.
64n21, 64n23, 65n24,
65n27, 65n29, 68n40, 75n68, 76n77, 77n79
Stowers, C.K.
135n9
Strack, H.L.
95n57, 195n185
Strecker, G.
270n56, 282n90
Strugnell, J.
84n21
Sumney, J.L.
128n184, 221n1, 232n37, 242,
242n74, 242n76, 270n56, 282n90
Swartz, M.D.
271n60, 271n61
Syme, R.
30n40
Tabor, J.D.
243n81, 246n8, 247n10, 270n56,
272, 272n65, 282n91, 282n92
Taubes, J.
55, 55n58, 55n59, 55n60
Taylor, N.H.
1n3, 1n4, 245n3, 282n93
Thrall, M.
15n11, 63n15, 64n19, 64n20,
66n31, 66n36, 68n40, 74n67, 75n69, 76n77,
76n78, 79n1, 121n159, 126n178, 136n12
Tigchelaar, E.J.C.
86n28, 109n122, 115n137,
122n161
Tiwald, M.
56
Tomson, P.
1n5, 3n12, 4n13, 4n15, 5n17, 7n20,
8f, 47, 47n34, 48n35, 54n57, 55n61, 56n64,
56n65, 56n67, 58n71, 80n2, 81n7, 84n19, 90n42,
96n62, 97n67, 98n70, 102n91, 105n104, 109n120,
325
Index of modern Names
117n143, 120n154, 121n156, 121n159, 124n172,
134n4, 147n48, 148n50, 159n82, 159n83,
184n169, 229n18, 230n22, 256n26, 265n46
Touloumakos, J.
187n173
Trebilco, P.
103, 103n92, 121n159, 123n163,
124n169
Urbach, E.E.
38n4, 97n66, 97n67, 171n134,
209n240, 210, 211n244, 211n246, 247, 247n11,
259n34, 266n50
VanderKam, J.C.
72n56, 112n130, 163n96,
164n100
Vegge, I.
11n2, 136n12, 221n2, 223n4
Verbrugge, V.L.
134n6, 138n24, 139n25,
144n37, 145n41, 146n46, 150n55
Vielhauer, P.
117n140
Vogel, M.
62n11, 65n24, 68n42
Vouga, F.
118n148
Wallace, D.B.
144n38
Wallace-Hadrill, A.
187n173
Wan, S.-K.
134n6, 146n46, 151n59
Wassen, C.
110n125, 111n127, 111n128,
122n161
Weber, M.
243, 244n84
Wedderburn, A.J.M.
134n6, 135n10,
144n37, 144n40, 152n61, 153n63,
153n64, 153n66, 154n68, 155n72,
155n73, 156n76
Weiß, J.
17, 62, 62n14
Welborn, L.
62n14
Wengst, K.
113n133
Wewers, G.A.
274, 274n69, 275, 275n70
Wilckens, U.
226n15
Williams, M.H.
229n19
Windisch, H.
81n6, 81n7, 82n9, 146n47,
246, 246n5, 276n76, 277n79
Wischmeyer, O.
225, 225n12
Wolff, C.
62n12, 66n32, 68n40,
74n67, 75n69, 75n70, 75n71, 75n72,
75n74, 76n77
Wright, N.T.
66n37
Young, B.H.
Young, R.A.
246n8
144n38
Zeller, D.
14n6, 14n8
Zetterholm, M.
2n6, 3n10
Zissu, B.
48n36
Zuckermandel, M.S.
247n13
Zunz, Y.L.
202n213
Source Abbreviations
Names of ancient literature are abbreviated following SBL usage, excepting the
use of italics and full stops. For rabbinic and related documents see following
lists.
Tractates of Mishna and Talmud
Av
AZ
BB
Bekh
Ber
BK
BM
Er
Hag
Hor
Hul
Kel
Ket
Kid
Kil
Mak
Meg
Men
Avot
Avoda Zara
Bava Batra
Bekhorot
Berakhot
Bava Kamma
Bava Metsia
Eruvin
Hagiga
Horayot
Hullin
Kelim
Ketubbot
Kiddushin
Kilayim
Makkot
Megilla
Menahot
Mid
MS
Naz
Ned
Nid
Pea
Pes
RH
San
Shab
Shek
Shev
Sot
Taan
Tam
Yad
Yev
Yom
Middot
Maaser Sheni
Nazir
Nedarim
Nidda
Pea
Pesahim
Rosh HaShana
Sanhedrin
Shabbat
Shekalim
Sheviit
Sota
Taanit
Tamid
Yadayim
Yevamot
Yoma
Other Rabbinic Sources
ARN a / b
CantR
DER
DeutR
DEZ
EcclR
EsthR
ExodR
FrgTg
Avot de-R. Natan, version A / B (ed Schechter)
Canticles Rabba
Derekh Erets Rabba
Deuteronomy Rabba
Derekh Erets Zuta
Ecclesiastes Rabba
Esther Rabba
Exodus Rabba
Fragmentary Targum
Source Abbreviations
GenAp
GenR
HekhR
HekhZ
KohR
LamR
LevR
MaMerk
MekRY
MekRSbY
MerkR
MidrGad
MidrPs
MidrTann
MidrTeh
NumR
PesR
PesRK
SER
ShemR
ShirR
SifDeut
Sifra
Tanh
TanhB
Tg
TgOnk
YalShim
TgYon
Genesis Apocryphon
Genesis Rabba (ed Theodor-Albeck)
Hekhalot Rabbati
Hekhalot Zutarti
Kohelet Rabba
Lamentations rabba
Leviticus Rabba (ed Margulies)
Maase Merkava
Mekhilta de-R. Yishmael
Mekhilta de-R. Shimon ben Yohai
Merkava Rabba
Midrash ha-Gadol
Midrash Psalms
Midrash Tannaim
Midrash Tehillim
Numbers Rabba
Pesikta Rabbati (ed Friedman)
Pesikta de-Rav Kahana (ed Mandelbaum)
Seder Eliyahu Rabba
Shemot (Exodus) Rabba
Shir ha-Shirim (Canticles) Rabba
Sifrei Deutronomy
Sifra
Tanhuma
Tanhuma ed S. Buber
Targum
Targum Onkelos
Yalkut Shimoni
Targum Yonatan
327
Index of Ancient Sources
Old Testament and Apocrypha
Genesis
1
1:27
2
2:18–22
5:1f
5:22–24
12:1–5
12:3
17:1
46:27
49:25f
121
120
121
120
120
163
147n48
60
110n124
101n87
147
Exodus
12:3
12:16
15:2
15:17–18
16:18
19:3
19:6
19:25
22:30
23
23:15
24
29:44
30:30
31:14
31:18
32:15
33:20
34
34:1–28
34:4
34:10
34:27
34:29–35
34:34
65
101
166n113
173
115f
146
100f, 105n102
162n91
105n102
162n90, 169
166n113
180
68
162n89
162n89
176n146
65n25
65n25
278, 280
66f, 68n39
67
65n25
68, 68n40
68, 68n40
65, 67
75, 75n71
Leviticus
8:4
11:44
101n86
162n90
11:45
19:2
19:19
20:7
20:26
21:6
22:2
26:11–12
26:11
26:44
162n90
162n90
82
162n90
162n90
162n90, 169n126
169n126
114
114f
73
Numbers
1:16
5:22
6:8
16:2
16:7
25:8
25:11
26:9
28:25
166n114
96n63
170
166n114
162
151n58
151n58
166n114
166n113
Deuteronomy
65
1:1
193
4:13
65n25
5:21
278
5:22
65n25
5:24
278
6:4
175
6:5
96
7:6
162n91
9:9
65, 65n25
9:11
65, 65n25
10:1
65n25
10:3
65n25
11:13
207
11:22
165n104
14:2
169
14:21
162n91
17:7
126
23
122n161, 123
23:3–4
122
23:4
88, 123n165
329
Index Of Ancient Sources
24:1–3
25:2–3
25:3
25:4
28
28:9
30:11–14
30:12
33:18
105
235
235
185
94
162n91
68
98
207
Proverbs
3:15
5:15
22:8
23:23
25:16
1 Samuel
8:3
196
2 Samuel
7
7:(10–)14
7:10
7:11
7:12–14
7:13–14
7:14
8, 113, 115
116
115
116
116
81
115
Song of Solomon (Canticles)
1:4
250
1:4a
262
1:4b
250
6:11
256
1 Kings
17:10–24
168n120
2 Kings
2:11
4:9
4:42–44
168n120
162, 170
168n120
2 Chronicles
3:6
265
Nehemiah
13:1 (=2Esdr 23:1)
122
Esther
100, 102
Psalms
15:5
16:3
34:10
41:14
44:23[22]
101:7
114:1
116:15
200
162, 172
162
96n63
175, 175n145
248, 261
101n87
249, 255, 261
194
175
19
200
249, 261
Ecclesiastes (Kohelet)
5:5(6–?)
249, 261
9:9
174
Isaiah
6
6:1–3
6:1
6:8
6:9–13
6:11
6:12
10:20
40–55
40:3
41:8
42:1
42:1b
43:1
43:6
44:2
46:3
48:1
52:11
52:11b-c
52:13–53:12
52:13–15
53:3–9
53:10
54:11–14
55:1
60:21
246, 283
278
283
283
284
278
283
101n87
233
89
233
234
233
233
115
233
101n87
101n87
114
114
234
233
233
233
125n175
194
163n94, 164n102
Jeremiah
2:3
2:4
171
101n87
330
3:22
17:12
38(31)
38(31):31–34
38(31):33(32)
Ezekiel
1
3:12
11:17
11:19
20:34
36
36:26
37
37:27
Index of Ancient Sources
261
279
68n40, 68n42, 73,
73n59, 78
68, 72f
68
253, 259, 283
278
114
65
114
65n 27
65
65n27
114f
11:10
14:5
164
73
162
Tobit
12:8
12:15
139n28, 145n45
167n116
Ben Sira (Sirach)
19:20
21:11
24:19–29
226
226
226
Susanna
230n24
The Books of Maccabees
87, 93
Daniel
2:21
3:34 (lxx)
4:14[17]
7:13
7:18
7:21f
7:22
7:27
8:24
10:13
10:21
11:2–4
11:30
12:1
87, 93, 163
253
73
171
162
162
162
162
162
162
87n30
87n30
87n31
87n31
87n30
Hosea
10:12
145n45
Joel
3:1 (2:28)
113, 113n133, 115
Amos
2:11
170n132
Micah
3:9
Zechariah
101n87
1 Macc
230n24
2 Macc
6:6
9:17
230, 230n24
230n24
230n24
Pseudepigrapha
1 Enoch
1:9
14
37–71 (Book of
the ‘Similitudes’
or ‘Parables’)
62:7–8
70
164
264
163f, 164n100
164
163
2 Enoch (Slavonic Enoch)
8:1
243
22
163
3 Enoch (Hebrew/Sefer Hekhalot)
163, 258
4
163
331
Index Of Ancient Sources
T. Issachar
2 Baruch
4:2–7
264
4 Ezra
7:92–98
264, 264n41
Apocalypse of Moses
37:5
243
Assumption of Isaiah
91n46
T. Dan
5:5
5:10
92n53
92
T. Asher
1:3–9
6:4–5
91
91n47
92
Benjamin
Joseph and Aseneth
8:5
11:10f
231n32
231n32
Jubilees
3:9–13
8:19
264
264
Martyrdom of Isaiah
2:2–5
2:7–9
84, 92f, 113
93
93
Psalms of Solomon
17:34
162
Pseudo-Phocylides
15
81n8
Questions of Ezra
1:19–21
264
Testaments of the
Twelve Patriarchs
84, 90–92, 92n51, 113
T. Reuben
5:1
5:5
6:1–3
106f
106f
106f
T. Levi
19:1
264
91, 113
8:3
91
107
Qumran
1QHa 19:3
1QpHab 2:4
96n63
71n50
1QM (War Scroll)
86f, 87n29, 88n37,
89, 92, 113, 163, 167
86n27
87
87n33
166n114
122n161, 166n114
163n93
167n117
167n117
87n33
163n93
87n30
1QM 1
1QM 1:1–7
1QM 1:4–7
1QM 2:7
1QM 4:10
1QM 6:6
1QM 7:6
1QM 12:7
1QM 15:2
1QM 16:1
1QM 17:6f
1QS (Community Rule, Rule Scroll)
86–89, 91, 93f, 107f,
110f, 111n128
1QS 1:1–11
86
1QS 1:4
86n28
1QS 1:8
110
1QS 1:18
89n39
1QS 1:20
96n63
1QS 1:23–24
89n39
1QS 2:10
96n63
1QS 2:18
96n63
332
1QS 2:19
1QS 3–4
1QS 3:5
1QS 3:13–4:26
1QS 3:20–25
1QS 3:21
1QS 4:22
1QS 5:7–13
1QS 5:8f
1QS 6:13–23
1QS 6:24–7:27
1QS 8:5–6
1QS 8:5
1QS 8:8–9
1QS 8:13–15
1QS 9:6
1QS 9:8
1QS 11:8
1QS 11:21
Index of Ancient Sources
89n39
86n27
89n39
88
88
128
253
86n26
72n55
108n115
108n115
163n94
164n102
163n94
89
163n94
163n94
122n160
110
1QSa
4Q174 frg. 1, i,21, 2:11
4Q177
4Q184
4Q266 (4QDa) 3 I:3
4Q267 2:7
4Q267 frg. 9:6–10
4Q269 2:5
4Q269 fr 9:4–7
4Q270 frg 4
4Q270 frg 7 i:13–15
4Q270 frg 7 i:14
4 Q271 fr 3:11–15
4Q470 fr 5:17–21
4Q502 frg 14:6
4Q502 frg 19:2–3
4Q511 frg 2 i:6
4QMMT (the Halakhic Letter)
123n64
115n136
110
72n52
72n52
88n36
72n52
111n129
110n125
111n127
120n154
111n129
111n129
111n127
111n127
163n93
84n21, 87,
90, 98n71
4QMMT, 4Q394 frg 3–7
col. 1:5–12
4QMMT, 4Q398 frg. 14–17 1:7–8
4QMMT, 4Q398 frg 14–17
col. II:5
4QpHab
4QpNah
4QpNah (4Q169) 3+4 i:2–3
4QpPs37 (4Q171) 2:4
4QpPs37 (4Q171) 2:10
4QpPs37 (4Q171) 3:5
4QpPs37 (4Q171) 3:10
4QpPs37 (4Q171) 3:1
90
87n31, 130n191
130n191
87n31
149n54
149n54
149n54
149n54
108n117
110n125
87n33
90
1QSa 1:1–5
1QSa 2:4–9
1QSa 2:9
1QSb 3:26
1QSb 5:21
1QSb 5:5
111n128
111
122n161
122 n160
71n50
71n50
71n50
1QS34bis 3 II:5–6
72
1Q20 (Genesis
Apocryphon)
265
11QTemp 57:17–19
2Q268 1:12
4Q D mss
4Q164
72n52
111n128
125n175
CD (Damascus Covenant Document)
72f, 89, 98, 110,
111n128, 112
CD 1:18
112n132
CD 4:13
89n40
CD 4:15
89n40
CD 4:21–5:5
110n125
CD 5:17
89n40
CD 6:10
89n40
CD 6:13–19
89
CD 6:14
89n40
CD 6:15
95
CD 7:4–7
109, 109n120
CD 7:6
108n117, 109n122
4QpNah (Nahum pesher)
112
4Q169 (4QpNah)
frg 3–4 ii:2; iii:2, 6
4Q174 (Florilegium)
4Q174 [fr 1 col i.21.2] 1:3–6
4 Q174 frg 1 i,21, 2: 2–7
4Q174 frg. 1, i,21, 2: 3–4
112n130
88, 88n36, 99,
115f, 122f
88n35
116
122
333
Index Of Ancient Sources
CD 8:2
CD 8:10–12
CD 12:1–2
CD 12:8f
CD 14:3–6
CD 14:16–17
CD 15:15–17
CD 16:2–3
CD 19:1–4
CD 19:2
CD 19:3
CD-A 1:4
CD-A 3:10
CD-A 4:9
CD-A 6:2
CD-A 6:19
CD-A 8:21
CD-A 12:11
CD-A 15:4–13
CD-A 15:8–10
CD-A 15:8f
CD-B 19:33f
CD-B 20:12
89n40
110n125
110n125
87n33
88n36
110n125
122
128
109, 109n120
109n122
110n126
72n52
72n52
72n52
72n52
71n50
71n50
72n52
72n53
72
72n52
71n50
71n50
Philo
Cont
1
22
34
105n106
106n107
106n108
Dec 32
105n102
Flacc 103
32n51
Hypoth
11:1
11:14
109n119
106n109, 108n116
Leg
184
281
283–284
26n7
125n174
32n54
32n55
Migr Abr 1–6
70–73
2n7
147n48
Spec leg 1:66
3:30–31
3:34–36
3:171–174
4:149f
4:203–307
263n40
105n104
106n110
105n105
44n25
82n9
Josephus
Against Apion
2:179–187
39, 43
38f
Antiquities
1:1
4:8:21
4:8:22
8:104
14
16
17:299–302
17:339–18:223
18:11–25
18:11–22
18:22
18:29
18:81–84
18:261–309
18:261
18:305–309
19:236–277
19:278–292
19:362
20:17–96
20:101
20:104
20:105–112
20:113–117
20:118–136
20:133
20:135
20:137–138
20:141–144
20:159
20:160–166
20:160
27–29
156n74
235
236
65n25
31
31
27n20
28n23
28n23
39
181n161
181n160
27n20
26n7
125n174
26n8
31n42
27n20
26n11
27n20, 230
155n69
26n12
29n28
29n29
29n30
30n36
31n41
31n44
31n46
31n45
29n31
28n26
334
20:167–172
20:173–178
20:179–181
20:189–196
20:219–223
20:222
Index of Ancient Sources
29n32
29n33
29n34
31n49
31n48
26n12
War
1
2:111–180
2:119–166
2:120–122
2:122
2:124
2:125
2:137–138
2:139–142
2:139
2:143–144
2:160–161
2:184–203
2:204–408
2:204
2:253–264
2:261–263
2:409
2:457–498
2:487–499
6:300
7:47–62
7:218
27–29
28n21
28n23
28n23, 39
108
90n41, 157, 181n161
109n119
193
108n115
86n26
86n28
108n115
108
26n7
160
26n8
151n57
29n32
99n74, 151
32n53, 32n59
27n20
26n13
32n60
154n67
Life
1–16
1–6
11
14–16
430
28n24
156n74
107n114
240
156n74
New Testament
Matthew
5:28–30
5:45
84, 184
104
95
6:2–4
6:19–21
6:24
7:13–14
9:22
10
10:5–6
10:8
10:9–14
10:9–11
10:9
10:10
10:13
10:17
10:23
10:40
10:41–42
11:14
16:27
19:25
21:31
26:6–13
26:28
27:5–7
28:1–8
139n28
195n187
95, 130n189
94
95n56
182n162
184n168
181, 183, 186, 188, 195
184n168
193
183n166
183, 185, 190
183n164
236
184n168
184n168
184n168
168n121
167
182
95n60
103n95
60n.7
180n157
104n98
Mark
1:29–31
2:15
2:19
2:27
3
3:13–16
3:14
3:34f
5:23–43
5:34
6
6:7–11
6:12
6:34–44
6:35–44
7:15
7:25–30
7:27
8:1–9
8:38
9:2–8
9:4
103n93
95n60
183n164
176n146
183
182
182
104n96
103n93
95n56
182n162, 183
182
182
168n120
185
4n16
103n93
159
168n120
167
164n99
168
335
Index Of Ancient Sources
9:13
10:21
10:52
12:25
12:41–44
14:3–9
14:24
16:1–8
168n121
195
95n56
168n124
180n156
103n95
60n7, 62
104n98
Luke
1:1–4
1:38
1:72
2:19
2:51
5:30–32
5:30
5:34
6:20–26
7:11–17
7:36–50
7:39
7:50
8:2–3
8:21f
8:48
9
9:1–6
10:1–11
10:4
10:6
10:7
10:18
10:38–42
10:39
10:42
11:27f
13:11–17
13:17
16:1–9
16:3
16:8
16:9
16:13
17:19
18:42
19:2–10
19:9
156n74
104
60n7
104
104
95
95n60
183n164
94
103n93, 168n120
103
95n60
95n56
103
104n96
95n56
183
182
182
183n164
183n164
183, 185f
95
211
104
103
104
103
103n94
95
95
183n164
130n189, 195n187
130n189
95n56
95n56
95n60
103n94
20:34
21:1–4
22:20
22:30
22:31
24:1–12
John
1:21
1:25
2:4
4:1–42
4:14
4:21
7:38
11
11:1–12:8
12:1–8
13:29
19:26
20:1–13
20:13
20:15
183n164
180n156
60n7
182
95
104n98
84, 168
168n119
168n119
104, 104n99
104
175n144
104n99
175n144
103
104
103n95
181n159
104n99
104n98
104n99
104n99
Acts of the Apostles
34f, 175, 165, 168, 174,
191, 221, 282
1:1f
156n74
1:8–9
168n120
1:9–11
164n99
2
218
2:17
113n133
2:35
174
2:42–46
156
2:42
146n46
3:25
60n7
4
218
4:32–35
157
4:36
53, 157
5:1–10
275n71
5:1–6
157
5:38f
97n67
6:7
53
7:8
60n.7
7:44–50
53n53
7:56
168
7:58
268
9:1–2
32n52, 268
9:13
165n106
336
9:32
9:36–43
9:41
10–11
10:1–11
10:4
10:28
10:31
11:2f
11:25–14:28
11:27–30
11:29
11:30
12:1–24
12:19–23
13:6–11
13:14
14:19
15
15:1–16:5
15:1
15:5
15:6–29
16:11f
16:13
16:14
17–19
18
18:1–2
18:2
18:3
18:12–17
18:13
18:15
18:17
18:18
18:26
19:32
19:35
19:39f
20–21
20:4
20:6
20:22f
20:33–35
20:34
21:16–26
21:17–24
21:20f
Index of Ancient Sources
165n106
124 n168
165n106
159
160
139n28
159
139n28
154
160
154
155
154f
275n71
26n10
275n71
229
235
154, 159, 270
160
142
154
154
153, 155, 157
229
124n168
124
25
32n57
124n166, 124n168
187
25n1
34n 71
33n65, 34n72
35n73, 35n74
52, 52n49, 124n166, 181n160
124n166
121n159
121n159
121n159
155
140, 149, 155
153, 155, 157
155
187
187
153n66
52
152, 154
21:23–27
21:25
21:26–27
21:26
21:27
21:28
21:38
22
22:3
22:17–22
22:17
22:18b
22:21
22:22
22:25–29
24:17f
24:18
25:13–26:32
26:10
27:1–28:1
27:18
27:21
28
28:1
28:11
28:21
28:25–28
181n160
156
52
156
151n57
151, 160
29n32
284
268, 280
283f
242, 283
284
283
284
33n63
153n66, 156
52
31n47
165n106
239
239
240
152
240
240
152
284
Romans
1:7
1:13
1:16
1:17
2:6
2:10
2:12
2:13
2:17
2:23
2:28–29
2:29
3:1
3:1f
3:26f
4:2f
5
5:8
7:6
12n3, 14, 20n14, 132, 143
149, 166
149
150
118n144
145n45
118n144, 150
66
145n45
165n108
165n108
231
65n26
123
120
165n108
165n108
126
19n13
65n26
337
Index Of Ancient Sources
8
8:11
8:29
8:35
8:36
8:39
9:2f
9:4
10:6–8
10:12
11
11:7
11:22
11:25
11:27
12:10
12:13
14:14
15
15:15–20
15:25–31
15:25–27
15:25f
15:25
15:26
15:27
15:30
15:31
16:1
16:4
16:7
16:15
16:16
16:20
16:21
126
65n26
272
14n9, 16
175n145
16
120
60n5, 61, 70, 78n82
68
118n144
126
128
168n119
128
60n5
14n5
166n111
4n16
138, 140, 144n40, 158, 160
284
149, 155
149
134, 146n46, 157
145
149, 153
145n43, 146, 150
14n9
145, 150, 152n60
124
123n162, 124n166, 158
124
165n109
14n5, 123n162
126n177
149
1 Corinthians
1:2
1:11
1:12
1:16
1:26–2:5
1:28–30
1:29
1:30
1:31
12n3, 20n14, 21, 121, 123f, 130,
125, 132, 135n8, 136f, 143,
146, 148, 159
123n163, 165n110, 166
124
148, 224
140
271
165n108
165n108
142n45
165n108
3:9–17
3:10f
3:17
4:4
4:14
4:17
4:21
5–6
5:5
5:7
5:9
5:10
5:11
5:13
6:11
6:19
7
7:10
7:12–15
7:12
7:14
7:17–24
7:17–23
7:17
7:32
7:34
8–10
8:1
9:1
9:2–5
9:2
9:3–6
9:3
9:4–10
9:7–8
9:11
9:13
9:14
9:15–19
9:15
10:7
10:14
10:32
11–14
11
11:3
11:6
11:9
11:10
125n175
125n175
125n175
142n45
14
14
14
145
126
126, 127n180
126, 136, 144n38
95
144n38
126
142n45, 165n110
125 n176
109n120
121n156
127
82n11
165n110
118n145
117–119
118 n. 149
118
118
145
17
271
140
191
186
136
184
185
186
186
140, 185
186
121n156
129
14
123n163
121
120
120
120
120
120, 120n154, 167n118
338
11:16
11:22
11:23–26
11:23
11:25
12–14
12:13
13
13:1
14:33–37
14:33
14:36–39
15:9
15:45
15:58
16
16:1–4
16:1–2
16:1
16:2
16:3
16:14
16:15
16:19
16:20
16:22
16:23
16:24
Index of Ancient Sources
120, 123n163
123n163
61
121n156
60n5, 61f
145
118n145, 118n148
14, 14n6, 21
167
104, 121
166
121n156
123n163
65n26
14
138, 140
137–139, 148, 158
139
134, 139n26, 144, 149, 161, 166
149
139, 140
14n8
140, 149, 155, 166n111
124n166
14n5
14n5, 14n8
14
14, 14n8
2 Corinthians
1–9
1–7
1:1–2:13
1:1
1:15
1:19
2:3–4
2:3
2:4
2:6
2:8
2:9
2:11
2:13
2–8, 10–12, 12n3, 20, 20n14,
21f, 25, 27, 78f, 91, 116, 123,
126f, 129n185, 130f, 130n190,
134, 136, 143, 148, 150–152, 159,
161, 165n108, 191
221–224, 223n4
129, 148
18, 21, 23f
64n22, 123n163, 165n107
223
223
245n3
136
15, 17, 18, 19n13, 23, 223
18
15, 18, 19n13, 24
18, 245n3
125
62n14
2:14–7:4
2:14–6:13
2:14–4:6
2:14–3:12
2:14–17
2:14
2:15
2:16
2:17
3–5
3
3:1–6
3:1
3:2–3
3:2
3:3
3:4–18
3:5–6
3:6–18
3:6
3:6b
3:7–16
3:7–11
3:7–8
3:7
3:9
3:10–11
3:10
3:11
3:12
3:13–15
3:13
3:14
3:15
3:16
3:16b
3:18
4
4:2
4:3
4:4
4:5
4:6
4:7–18
4:7–12
5
15f, 18n12, 21, 23f
62
63, 67
64n22
62
63, 66f
63
63
63
128, 128n184, 129, 137, 159
62, 64, 66n36, 67–69, 69n44,
73n59, 74, 77, 77n81
64n21, 23
65f, 129n188, 136n13
67
63f
63–65, 68
224
63
66
60n5, 61, 65, 65n29, 66n36,
67f, 224
66
67
66n36, 67, 74
67, 224
63, 65, 69f, 74, 77
66–69, 224
77
76, 270
67, 69f, 76f
67
67
63, 70, 74f, 74n66, 77
60n5, 61, 63, 65, 68, 70, 74, 75,
77, 128, 224
63, 75n71, 128
63, 67, 75, 75n71
75n70
63, 67, 75,76n76, 272
62, 66
63, 67
19n13, 63, 128
63, 128, 130
63
19n13, 63
77n80
21
126n178
339
Index Of Ancient Sources
5:11–13
5:11
5:12
5:14–15
5:14
5:14a
5:14c-15
6:1–10
6:1
6:4–5
6:6
6:11–13
6:13
6:14–7:1
6:14–18
6:14–16a
6:14–15
6:14f
6:14
6:14a
6:16–18
6:16b-18
6:16
6:17
6:18
7:1
7:2–4
7:2
7:3
7:5–16
7:5
7:8
7:9
7:11
7:12
7:15
8–9
8
8:1–4
8:1
8:2
8:4
8:6
8:7
8:8
8:9
16
16
129n188, 223
17
15f, 23
16, 21
16
21
16
16
15f, 23
16f
16
8, 15n10, 16, 79–82, 79n1, 116,
123, 125f, 128, 130n190,
130f, 136f
224, 229
81, 113
95n57
92n54, 113
127–129, 224
81n5
114–116
81
114, 116, 129f
114
113f, 116
15f, 15n10, 24, 81f
16f, 62
16
16
18, 21, 23f
62n14
223, 245n3
18
18
127, 136, 223, 245n3
18
8, 131, 133, 135, 135n11, 136n13,
138–140, 144n40, 158, 161
18, 21, 132, 134, 145
134
19n13, 23f, 145, 153
145
140, 145n43, 146n46, 149
148, 155
15, 18, 19, 23
15, 18f, 23
145
8:10
8:13f
8:14f
8:16–24
8:16
8:18f
8:23
8:24
9
9:1–15
9:1–4
9:1
9:2–4
9:2
9:4
9:5–6
9:5f
9:6
9:7
9:8
9:10–12
9:13
10–13
10–12
10:1–13:10
10:2–4
10:2
10:4
10:8–18
10:8
10:10
10:12
10:13
10:16–17
11–12
11
11:1
11:4–5
11:4
11:5
11:6
11:7–11
11:7
11:9
11:10
11:11
134n5, 137n17
150n56
146
145
155
148
148, 155
15, 18f, 24
21
145
134
23f, 140, 149
149
134n5, 137n17, 149
153
19
147
145n43
15, 19, 23
145n45
146
146n46
17–19, 21f, 128n184, 129f,
136n13, 137f, 159, 221–223,
223n4, 225, 232, 242, 245n3,
270f, 284f
148, 226
18n12, 23f
222
222, 242
242
129n188
18, 22, 222, 270
222, 237
222, 271
222
222
284
34, 222, 225
222, 226f
227
129, 224, 232
129n187, 222
222, 226f
17
17, 188, 222, 227
17, 188
222
15, 17, 23
340
11:12
11:13–14
11:13
11:14
11:15
11:16–33
11:16–32
11:16–19
11:16
11:17–18
11:18
11:19
11:20
11:21–32
11:21
11:22
11:23–25
11:23–25a
11:23b-28
11:23
11:24–25
11:24
11:25–27
11:25
11:26
11:27
11:30
11:32–33
12
12:1–12
12:1–10
12:1–5
12:1
12:2–5
12:2
12:3–4
12:4
12:5–6
12:5
12:6
12:7
12:7a
12:7b
12:8–12
12:9
12:9b–10
12:10
12:11–12
Index of Ancient Sources
222
228
129, 138, 151, 222
125, 222
224
270
9, 221f, 238
222
226, 228
222
222
226, 228
228, 238
228
222, 226
34n66, 129, 229, 232
234
233
235n52
238
236
25n4, 34n67, 234, 236
239
235
151, 241
241
222
284
246f, 271, 275, 282, 285
245, 269, 274, 281
283f
9, 242
222, 232, 242
272
242, 272, 276
276
167, 280
222
242
222, 226, 270, 272
125, 167, 222
276
276f
271
222
234
237
272
12:11
12:13–15
12:14–15
12:14
12:15
12:19
13:1–10
13:1
13:4
13:9
13:10
13:11–13
13:11
13:12
13:13
129n187, 167, 222, 226, 270
188
17
222
15, 17f, 22f
15, 17f, 22, 24
275
222
222
222
18, 22
19, 21, 23f
15, 19, 23
165n109
15, 19, 24
Galatians
1–2
1
1:1–12
1:1
1:6
1:11–12
1:11f
1:12
1:13–17
1:13f
1:13
1:14
1:15
1:18–20
1:18f
1:18
1:21–24
2:1–10
2:1
2:4
2:7–10
2:7
2:9
2:10
2:11–21
2:11–14
2:12
2:14
2:20
2:21
12n3, 20n14, 83, 132, 148, 151f
270
282
142, 160
270
129
271
142
270
143
119n150
123n163
268
154
143
169
283
142, 160
141, 142, 154, 159f
142, 283, 285
129, 151, 152n60
141
270
129n187, 132, 169
143, 150, 157f
142, 160
138
152
119n150, 142
13, 16
142, 154
341
Index Of Ancient Sources
3
3:1–6:10
3:15–17
3:15f
3:15
3:15b
3:17
3:21
3:26–29
3:28–29
3:28
3:29
4
4:13–14
4:21
4:24–25
4:24
4:25
4:26–28
4:26
5:2–6
5:6
5:13
5:14
5:20
5:22
6:6–8
6:11–18
6:11–16
6:11
6:13
6:15
6:16
6:17
61
142
60, 70
61
60n5, 60n10
60
60n5
66
118n148
232
118n145, 118n146, 118n147,
118n148, 119
129
61
276
71
71
60n5, 61, 71
71
61
132
119
13, 118n145
13
13
130n189
13
145
142, 160
119, 145
142, 144n38
129
118n145
118n149
236
Ephesians
1:1
1:15
2:12
3:10
4:12
6:5
117n139
165n107
166n111
60n7
123n163
166n111
120
Philippians
1:1
12n3, 20n14, 21
165n107
1:5
1:7
1:9
1:13
1:17
2:1
2:2
2:12
3:12
4:1
4:3
4:10–23
4:10–19
4:10
4:11–12
4:15–18
4:15
4:18
4:22
4:23
152
153n63
13
153n63
153n63
13
13
13
145n45
13
153n63
153n62
152, 188
188
188
188
152, 188
189
153n63, 165
14
Colossians
1:2
1:4
3:5
3:10f
3:11
3:18
3:22
4:14
117n139
165n107
166n111
130 n. 189
118n148
118n145, 118n147
120
120
153n65, 158n78
1 Thessalonians
1:3
1:4
1:9–10
2:8
2:9
2:14–16
2:14
2:16
2:18
3:5
3:6
3:12
3:13
12n3, 20n14, 21
13
13
124
13
188
124
123n163
144n38
124
124
13
13
124,
127n180, 167
342
4:9
4:10–12
5:8
5:13
5:26
5:28
Index of Ancient Sources
13, 14n5
187
13
13
14n5
14
2 Thessalonians
1:4
1:10
2:1–12
2:3–12
2:3
2:9
3:7–10
168n119
1 Peter
2:4–9
4:3.
117n142
130n189
Jude
117n139, 125,
187n172
123n163
167
125
92n54
125
125
187
1 Timothy
5:10
5:18
James
5:17
117n139
166n111
185, 190
3
14
130n191, 164, 167
167
167
Revelation
1:12–20
5:8
7
8:3f
14:4f
20:9
166
164n99
167n116
182n163
167n116
109n120
167
Apostolic and Patristic Writings
2 Timothy
4:11
4:19
Titus
117n139
153n65,
158n78
124n166
117n139
Philemon
1
5
7
9
12
16
24
25
12n3, 20n14
13
13, 166n111
13, 166n111
13
144n38
13
153n65
14
Hebrews
6:10
8:13
13:24
60
166n111
73f
165n109
1 Clement
46:2
165
165n104
2 Clement
19:1
20:2
113n133
113n133
Athanasius
De virgin. 6
12
139n28
139n28
Barnabas (Epistle of, Pseudo-)
84, 93f
1:1
113n133
18:1–19:1
94
18:2
92n54, 128
19:10
164n103
20:1
94
Chrysostom
Homily 26 on
2 Corinthians
276n77
343
Index Of Ancient Sources
Clement of Alexandria
Strom 3.8.62.2–3
82n11
5.9.57.5
82n11
Didache
1:1–2
4:2
5:1
10:6
11–13
11
11:1–4
11:5
11:6
11:12
12
12:2
13:1–7
13:1
13:2
13:3–7
13:7
15:4
16:7
84, 93f, 184, 191,
191n176
93
164, 168
93
190n175
157
190
190
190
190
190
190, 192
190
141
185
190
213n256
190
139n28
167
Didymus the Blind
Fragm in 2 Cor, 32 82n11
In Gen 151
82n11
Doctrina Apostolorum
92n54,
164n103
Eusebius, Church History
2.12.2
155n69
4.6.3–4
173
5.8.3
186n171
6.25.6
186n171
Gospel of Peter
50
104n97
Irenaeus
Adversus
Haereses 3.3.3
5.3.1
186n171
276n74
John of Damascus
In Corinthios,
MPG 95:701
139n26, 140n29
Leo the Great
Sermons 6–11
133n3
Martyrdom of Ignatius
4.6
82n11
Origen
Comm in Ioan
19.21.139
32.24.302
32.24.382
De orat 25.3
De princ 4.3.8
Fragm ex Comm
in I Cor, 35
82n11
82n11
82n11
82n11
149n53
82n11
Pastor Hermae
14:2
74:1
165
165n104
165n104
Theodoret
In Cor, MPG 82:369 140n29
Tertullian
Pud 3:6
Marc 5:12
276n74
276n74
Gospel of Thomas
20
54
62
114
104
104n101
104n101
104n101
104n101
Rabbinic literature
Mishna
mAv 1:2
mAv 1:4
210
193n179
344
mAv 1:4–5
mAv 1:10
mAv 3:4
mAv 3:6
mAv 4:9
mAv 5:21
mAv 6:4
mAv 6:7
mAv 6:9
mAv 1:13
mAv 2:4
mAv 2:10–14
mAv 3:4
mAv 4:5
mAv 1:5–7
mBekh 4:5
mBekh 4:6
mBekh 6:4
mBer 1:5
mBer 3:4–6
mBer 5:1
mBer 5:3
mBer 9:5
mBK 5:6
mBM 7:1
mEd 5:7
mEr 3:5
mHag 1:1–2
mHag 2:1
mHul 2:7
mKel 5:10
mKet 4:3
mKet 5:6
mKet 13:1–9
mKid 4:14
mKil 4:8
mMak 3:9
mMak 3:10
mMeg 2:4
mMeg 4:6
mMeg 4:9
mMid 4:5
mMS 5:9
mNaz 2:5
mPea 1:1
mRH 3:8
mSan 9:6
mShab 1:4
Index of Ancient Sources
210
211
97n66
203
210n241
112n131
210n241
209
200, 209
194
98
266n51
267n54
194
87n33
199
197
196n188
255n22
122n161
254
96
96
103n94
103n94
250, 261
193n179
180n154
252, 254f, 257, 262f, 265f,
269, 279, 284
99n73
98n69
169
112n131
199
212n250
267n55
267n55
235
102
102n89
96
265
208n234
181n160
112n131
102n89
151
99n75
mShek 5
mShek 5:6
mSot 9:15
mTaan 1:4
mTaan 3:8
mYad 3:5
mYad 4:3
mYad 4:4
mYev 1:4
mYev 2:4
mYev 8:3f
mYev 11:1
mYom 4:2
179n153
180
168n122, 172, 255n22
253
254
99n77
180
99n77, 123n165
98n72
169n126
123n165
169
169
Tosefta
tBeitsa 2:15
tBekh 3:8–9
tBer 2:12–14
tBer 4:18
tBer 6:1
tBer 6:7
tBetsa 2:14
tBM 7:13
tEd 2:1
tHag 2:1–3
tHag 2:1
tHag 2:13
tHor 2:10
tKid 5:15
tKid 5:16
tMeg 2:7
tMeg 3:11
tMeg 3:21
tMen 13:18–21
tPea 4:19
tSan 13:2
tShab 1:16–17
tShev 3:6
tSot 14:3
tSot 14:5
tTaan 1:7
tYev 1:10–13
tYev 14:10
248, 250, 252
133n2
197
122n161
267
97n64
97n64
208
241
98n69
266n48
247, 253n18
247
169
212n251
212n250
101
102, 102n91, 121
101n86
177
181n158
99n73
99n76
267n55
207
198
253
98n72
241
Palestinian Talmud (Yerushalmi)
98n72, 197, 200, 205, 208,
248, 252
Index Of Ancient Sources
yAZ 1:9 (40a)
yBer 1:1 (2d)
yBer 4:1 (7d)
yBer 4:4 (8b)
yBer 5:3 (9c)
yBer 9:1 (13c)
yEr 1:10
yEr 1:19d
yHag 1:8
yHag 5–7
yHag 10–16
yHag 42–45
yHag 76d
yHag 77a
yHag 77b
yHor 3:4 (48a)
yKet 3:5 (35c)
yKid 4:14 (66b)
yMeg 2:4 (23b)
yMeg 3:3 (74a)
yMeg 3:4 (74a)
yMeg 4:9 (75c)
yMK 3:1 (81d)
yMS 2:10
yMS 5:6 (56b)
yMS 5:9 (56d)
yMSh 2:4 (53d)
yNed 4:2 (38c)
yNed 4:3 (38c)
yNed 6:8 (40a)
yPea 8:6 (21a)
yPes 4:6 (31a-b)
yPes 7:1 (34a)
yPes 7:11 (34a)
ySan 1:1 (18b)
ySan 1:2 (19a)
ySan 2:6 (20c)
ySan 10:5 (29c)
yShek 4:2 (48a)
yShek 5:1
yShev 6:1 (36d)
ySot 8:7 (23a)
ySot 9:11 (24a)
yYev 1:6 (3b)
yYev 2:4 (3d)
yYev 2:6 (13a)
yYev 8:2–3 (9a–d)
yYev 8:2 (9b)
97n66
202n211
210n243
241
96n63
97n66
112n131
112n131
194
267n53
266n47
266n47
194
264, 266n47
247, 255n23, 267n53
208n233
199n198
212n250
102n90
194n182
198
96n63
205n223, 208n235
255
213n255
180n154
173n138, 173n40
196n191
194n184, 196n190
170n130
196n190
208n233
133n2
208n235
197n194
170n130
214
170n130
198n197
267
201n205
205n227
180n154
98n72
170
201n204
123n165
173n139
345
Babylonian Talmud (Bavli)
173, 194, 196f, 199–201,
203f, 203n214, 213, 248,
252, 262
bAZ 4a
(Abramson ms.) 204n218
bBB 7b-8a
204, 204n220
bBB 8a
203, 208
bBB 110a
214n260
bBeitsa 14b
173n139
bBeitsa 23a
133n2
bBeitsa 27a
173n139
bBekh 29a
194n184,
197n194, 200
bBer 9b
173n139
bBer 10b
194n181
bBer 16b
214n260
bBer 19a
98n69
bBer 27b-28a
210n243
bBer 33b
96n63
bBer 35b
212n249
bBer 57b
256
bBer 63b
194n181
bBer 64a
125n175
bBK 85a
188
bBM 59b
98n69
bBM 108a
204n220
bEr 13b
97
bHag 11b
253n18
bHag 14b-15a
246n4
bHag 14b-15b
247
bHag 15a-b
255n23
bHag 15b
256
bHor 2b
255, 255n22
bHor 10a
200n201
bKet 62b
267n54
bKet 105a
194n184, 197n194,
199, 199n198
bKet 106a
198n197
bKid 49b
256
bKid 82b
212n250
bMeg 23a
103
bMeg 25a
96n63
bNed 32a
205
bNed 36b-37b
194n184
bNed 37a
196n191
bNed 62a
207n232
bNid 52b
267n55
bPes 26a
265
346
bPes 53b
bPes 70a
bPes 71a
bPes 113a
bPes 118a
bRH 19b
bSan 94b
bSanh 17b
bShab 31a
bShab 55b-56a
bShabb 147b
bSot 10a
bSot 21a
bSot 40a
bSot 49b
bTaan 10a-b
bTaan 11a
bTaan 21a
bTam 27b
bYev 20a
bYev 76b–78b
bYom 35b
bYom 69a
Halakhic Midrashim
MekRY Beshalah
shira 4
MekRY beshalah
shira 6
MekRY kaspa
20 (p333)
MekRY ki tisa (p341)
MekRY mishpatim,
kaspa 20 (p320)
MekRY shira 2
MekRY vayasa 5 (p172)
MekRY yitro 2 (p205)
MekRY, vayasa (p161)
MekRY, vayehi (p76)
MekRShbY
MekRSbY 14:15
MekRSbY 19:6 (p139)
MekRSbY Exod
16:33 (p116)
MidrTann Deut 14:21
MidrTann Deut 14:22
Sifra Kedoshim 1:1
Index of Ancient Sources
208n235
112n131
112n131
214n260
214n260
173n139
263n40
267
99n73
196n193
266n52
205n227
213n257
200n202
255n22
254
170n133
214n262
173n139
170n133
123n165
199n199
173n139
170n127
170n128
180n154
176n146
169
170n128
212n248
100n82
212n248
212n248
266
170n127
169
212n248
170n133
209
170n127
SifDeut 1 (p6)
SifDeut 16 (p26)
SifDeut 32 (p55)
SifDeut 41 (p87)
SifDeut 42 (p90)
SifDeut 48 (p110)
SifDeut 48 (p111)
SifDeut 48 (p113)
SifDeut ekev
49 (p114f)
SifDeut 143 (p196)
SifDeut 306 (p337)
SifDeut 454 (p415)
Sifrei Zuta 6:8
SifZ 10.29 (p264)
Aggadic Midrashim
CantR (Song of
Songs Rabba)
CantR 1.2.4 (4d-5a)
CantR 1,28
CantR 2.16
CantR 4,17
(= 3.10.3)
EcclR 2.1 (6d)
EstR 2.3
ExodR 21,8
ExodR 28.2
GenR 4.6
GenR 5.4
GenR 17.3
GenR 20.10 (p194)
GenR 31.12 (p869f)
GenR 69.7
GenR 81.2 (p969)
GenR 92.6 (p114)
GenR 98[99]
11 (p1261)
KohR
KohR 7,7
KohR 7.81
KohR 9.1
KohR 11:1
PesR 20,4
PesRK, aser
taaser 10 (p172)
193n179
200n201
175n145
207
212n249
175n144
194n183
207
165n104
180n155
210n241
207n231
170n132
212n252
257, 263
71n49
247, 262
193n178
265n45
71n49
208n233
173
101n83
255n21
255n21
267n55
214n260
214n260
263n40
201n204
241
201n209
173, 173n138
266n52
255n23
173n40, 174
240n67
263n40
206n228,
213n255
347
Index Of Ancient Sources
PesRK 12.21 (p219)
LamR 2: 2,4
LevR 5.4 (p110–114)
LevR 25.2 (p570f)
LevR 29,11
LevR 30,2
LevR 31.1 (p688f)
LevR 34.3
LevR 34.16 (p812)
MidrTeh 1,18 (p17)
MidrTeh 15.6 (p118)
MidrTeh 16:2
MidrTeh 93,3
MidrTeh 128.1 (p513)
MidrTeh 11:6
MidrTeh to Ps 11:6 (77a)
NumR 1.6
NumR 11.3
NumR 11.8
NumR 15
NumR 19
RuthR 3.14
RuthR 6:4
ShemR 5.16
ShemR 21.8
ShirR 2.16
ShirR 3.12 (on 3:7)
Tanh beshalah 20 (p90)
Tanh metsora 26a
Tanh naso 19
Tanh toledot 7
Tanh tsav 5 (7b)
Tanh vayetse 13
TanhB metsora 18 (27a)
TanhB tsav 7 (9a)
TanhB vaera 4 (20)
TanhB yitro 13 (38b)
71n49
255
208n233
213n257
263n40
264n41, 264n43
214n262
97n66
208n236
194n183
194n183, 200n203
172
255n21
214n260
264n43
264n41
194n183
265n45
198n197
202
202
95n57
255n23
205n226
173n40
193n180
198n197
212n248
101n83
263n40
172
201n204
214n260
101n83
201n204
205n226
71n49
ARN a17 (p65)
ARN a35 (p105ff)
ARN b11 (p28)
ARN b12 (p34)
ARN b13 (p30f)
ARN b14 (p34)
ARN b23 (p29f)
ARN b44 (p124)
200
212n249,
212n252
193n179
214n261
210n242
210
210n242
171
Derekh Erets literature
211
Deut Rabbati,
va-ethanan p60
Hekhalot Rabbati
HekhR 1–2
HekhR 1:1–2:3
(Schäfer § 81–93)
HekhR 1:1–6
HekhR 2:1–3
HekhR 2:2
HekhR 15:8–16:2
Hekhalot Zutarti
281
HekhZ § 348–352
HekhZ § 353–406
201n205
258
281
273n66
273
274
275
277n80
258, 268, 277,
277n83
280
Mystical Collection (MC)
252, 265–268
Maase Merkava (MaMerk)
MaMerk 24
MaMerk 26
258
271
271
Meil tsedaka 3, 541–563
209n240
Merkava Rabba (MerkR)
258, 277
Midr Makhiri, Tehilim,
1.22 (p9)
194n183
Midrash Hagadol
MidrGad Deut 4:5 (p71)
MidrGad Exod 19,3 (p477)
209
194n184
101n83
Other Rabbinic Works
Avot de-R. Natan
ARN a6
ARN a8 (ms Vat 44)
ARN a12 (p46)
ARN a14:6
ARN b31
ARN a37
ARN b43
256
193n179, 210n242
171n135
210n242
266n52
266n52
263n40
264n44
348
MidrGad Exod 21:1 (p454)
MidrGad Exod 7:1
Index of Ancient Sources
196n193
263n40
Seder Gan-Eden B (BHM 3:131–40)
264n41
Seder Olam 3
98n70
Sefer Maasiyot (Gaster) 96f
264n42
Semahot 1:8
181n158
SER (Tanna de-Bei Eliyyahu)
SER 3 (p13)
SER 5 (p32)
SER 10[11] p52
SER 10 [11] p54
SER 18, p91
SER 27[25], p139
SER 89 (10) p51
201, 209, 211
210n243
210n243
209n239
201n206
209n239
209n239
207n231
Sofrim 16:1 (p282)
212n250
YalShim Tehilim 934
Yelamdenu, ed Mann,
bereshit no. 131
Yemenite commentary
on the Song of Songs
210n243
172n137
279
Yirat Het, chapter Talmidei
Hakhamim, p85
195
Greek and Latin Authors
Targumim
Tg 1 Chr 21:15
Tg Cant 7:3
Tg Isa 1:1–6
TgPsYon Deut 16:17
TgPsYon Exod 19:3
FrgTg
263n40
213n256
263n40
180n155
101n84
101n84
Tosafot bSot 12a
256n26
YalShim Bereshit 1:20
YalShim Ruth 597
264n41
210n243
Cassius Dio
Hist rom 66.7.2
154n67
Pliny
Ep 10.96
Nat hist 5.73
33n64
108n116, 109n119
Suetonius
Domit 12.2
154n67
Tacitus
Histories
5.9.3
Annals
12.54.1
12.54.2–4
30
30n37
30
30n38
30n39